Tumgik
#Link you dumb dumb how did you not recognize those brows
eleanore-delphinium · 4 months
Text
For Sauce Weekend: Day 3: "Put This On For Me"
This idea isn’t mine completely, this came from a book in goodnovel (app) titled ‘ Yearning for Her Return’. And it bothered me so this is me amending it to make it make sense.
Also, The Life of A Vampire & A Witch in the Woods, was supposed to be a halloween special. I forgot to say it there and it has bothered me for days.
And A03 link for this fic if you read there (my ff.net is fucked my stats always shows 0 for 3 months now.)
Disclaimer: Modern AU, again not really smut more on domestic fluff. CEO Dami, MATURE.
For Sauce Weekend: Day 3: "Put This On For Me"
Word Count: 10 310 (ish)
~.~.~.~.~.~
"Put This On For Me"
Damian Wayne and Rachel ‘Raven’ Roth were arranged to be married and on the evening of their wedding, Raven was shipped out of Gotham like some unwanted child after a divorce. She didn’t even get to have her long-awaited wedding night, not that she was actually anticipating it. 
People had told her such wonderful things about the wedding night, all the bells and whistles you could ever think of. But she was aware that her wedding was nothing but a show and that expecting all those promises was foolish. 
She knew they only told her that to comfort her.
It’s been three months since her wedding and she never saw or heard from her husband. But it didn’t matter, she had other things to worry about, like finishing up her university and getting her degree in Metropolis.
She returned to her apartment rather early in the morning, having not slept there because she was out doing a project. When she opened the door, she wasn’t really paying attention as she was tired and closed the door the moment, she opened it. Her back turned to the living room instantly. She leaned against the door as she locked it, sighing aloud.
“You should pay more attention to your surroundings.” A male voice came from behind her and she yelped, jumping to the door and hitting her head on the wood.
“God, and I married you?” The voice said and Raven turned to the voice and she gasped taking a step back, her back now pressed on the wooden door.
She’d recognize that face anywhere. Even though she had only seen him once. On their wedding ceremony.
He wore a black suit and a dark green dress shirt underneath. It matched his eyes well. He was the most handsome man Raven had ever had the honor to meet if she'd be honest. His green eyes that were locked on her were nothing less than intoxicating. Or maybe it was his effect on her. He was just that handsome.
“How- how did you get in here?” She asked, trying to breathe normally.
“I’m your husband.” He just answered back and she frowned.
“I should talk to my landlord.” She mumbled under her breath.
“I will deal with that for you, dear wife, but first we have other pressing matters to deal with.” He approached her and she watched him come closer to her. 
She nervously gulped, “Like what?”
“Like the fact that you ran off right after our wedding?” There was an edge to his voice and it annoyed Raven. 
She frowned and the annoyance became anger, “You were the one who sent me away!” 
Damian froze and she watched his jaw tighten and his gaze turned even colder, “What?”
Raven wasn’t dumb, she could see it in his body language that he didn’t send her away. Then he continued making his way to her, she was shaking in her spot against the door. She didn’t know him on a personal level, so being afraid was quite natural.
“How about you changing your number?” He asked, putting a hand beside her head, pinning her to the wall.
She got even angrier, “What are you talking about?” She glared at him then placed both her hands on his chest, pushing him harshly, “You blocked me!” But he didn’t even budge and her hands on his firm chest felt like they were burning.
His chest was really hard underneath all the layers of clothes.
Damian’s face softened a little but not significant enough, even so, she noted how his brows looked less close to one another. His other hand that wasn’t near her head, rummaged inside his blazer pocket and she couldn’t help but look down. He took out his phone and then showed her the screen.
She pulled her head away a bit and blinked as she looked down at the screen. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the light.
After a few seconds he said, “Isn’t this your number?”
Raven frowned and then nodded.
“Then press the call button for me.” He stated as she looked up at him, looking like she wanted to say no but still did what was asked.
“Sorry, the number you have dialed is out of service.” She looked genuinely shocked hearing the robotic voice of a woman tell her that her number is out of service. 
For a moment, the anger subsided, “I never changed my number…” She mumbled to which he raised a brow at her.
Then she tried to push him away again, “But you blocked me!” She countered recalling how many times she tried to reach out to him. And to prove a point, she pulled out her phone and did the same thing he did.
“This is your number, right?” She showed him his phone number on her phone and he nodded. She quickly dialed it and they got the same robotic voice.
Her husband’s angular jaw seemed sharper as he clenched his teeth. “Looks like someone is playing tricks on us.” 
Raven pressed her lips, she had nothing to say, and had no idea who would go to such lengths. 
“Well, now that that mystery is solved– What are you doing here?” She asked carefully and he studied her.
He smiled, a quite enchanting smile if she may add, “Well, I didn’t get to have my honeymoon.”
Her body stiffened then the words sunk it, “You sent me away!”
“I didn’t.” His smile and gaze were alluring and distracting her.
The next thing she knew, his hands were on her waist as he took one step and now his face was just a breath away. One of his hands caressed her spine. 
“I didn’t block you nor did I send you away.” He inhaled deeply. “We were robbed of our own wedding night. As a responsible husband, it seems like I owe you a lot due to your grievances. That includes our first night as a couple.” He whispered and she swallowed her saliva. 
Raven only realized now how deep his voice was and how dangerously close he was. His mouth was hovering over hers and, to be honest, she was anticipating the kiss. His eyes locked on her lips and she didn’t notice it but she had licked her dry lips, making the corners of his lips twitch.
The next moment his lips were on hers and the couple continued to explore each other’s mouths.
Eventually, he pulled away, “Tell me where the bedroom is or I am having you on this damn floor.”
She swallowed and raised an arm while her eyes fluttered, pointing at a door almost directly across the entrance.
He nodded and smiled at her then lifted her up by the waist. Her eyes widened as he pulled her to him and she naturally wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her with ease while also groping her ass. 
Raven felt embarrassed but they were married. 
“I’ve been waiting for this since our wedding ceremony, you can imagine my disappointment when I heard you just left.” There was a tinge of anger in his voice and yet, she just felt even more embarrassed by what he said.
He looked forward to fucking her? 
The nervousness couldn’t be controlled, not with his implications.
The next thing she knew, she was placed gently on her bed that had white sheets and he lightly lifted her chin, “I will rectify this issue and I will treat you well, but I expect the same from you.”
She didn’t even know why, she just nodded. 
He kissed her neck, “I mean I don’t want you cheating on me, wife.”
Raven snapped out of whatever trance he induced in her. She poked his shoulder harshly, “Shouldn’t I say that to you?”
He lifted his head from her neck and raised a brow at her, “And why is that?”
She frowned, “Business meetings? Women and half their tits out bouncing to get your attention?”
He chuckled casually, “I don’t think that is a business meeting, beloved.”
She choked, oh how easy it was for him to pull out a pet name for her out of thin air. 
He stroked her jaw, “Don’t you think it suits you? Beloved?”
She couldn’t answer, she couldn’t even look at him. But she felt that her face was crimson red.
“We will discuss other details later, for now,” His hands found their way under her shirt and to her slim waist. “Let’s have our long-awaited wedding night.”
He was overbearing. She knew this the moment she met him. And as he tossed and turned her for hours, all she could think about was how right she was. 
He was so overbearing. 
He did make her feel good though. And tired. 
Raven sighed as she woke, she remembered that she had a class. She tried to get out but strong arms wrapped around her.
“Where are you going?” He sounded displeased and even though her mind told her to obey, even though she was sore, she knew she had a class. So, she fought through her desire to comply with whatever he would demand of her.
“I have a class.” She mumbled trying not to shy away from his presence. She was her own person before she met him.
The strong arms that she was wrapped around with were starting to feel familiar to her and he easily pulled her back to his chest. He twisted a little, trapping her between his body weight and the bed.
“Skip it.” He just mumbled back, lips finding her neck.
“I have never skipped a class in my life.” She struggled to escape his stronghold as she spoke.
“Well, there is always a first.” He answered back and she sighed loudly. “Your husband came all the way here to Metropolis to see you. We’ve been apart for long enough. You can afford to skip a class.”
She pinched his arm hoping he would let her go, but he didn’t even flinch. 
“We didn’t get the chance to get to know each other. Why don’t we take this fine opportunity, dear beloved wife?” He whispered into her ear and she stiffened. She felt him angle her body so that her butt touched his growing erection.
She gulped, “You seem to like giving me a lot of pet names.” She tried to focus on other things and refused to move an inch, but he had other plans. 
He pressed himself against her supple ass, rendering her nonmovement useless, “I think ‘beloved’ suits you the most, but I have to get used to the idea of having a wife. With that said, you should call me husband so the idea doesn’t get forgotten, don’t you agree, beloved wife?” He blew against her ear. 
Raven’s eyes were swimming, she couldn’t focus, not with the goliath poking at her butt. 
“Wife?” He sang grinding against her with one stroke of his hips and she gasped and gripped the sheets. She couldn’t see how his lips curled up cunningly.
He really was overbearing. And she was married to him.
When he was done with prying and probing every inch of her body, yet again, he studied the woman before him. She was laying on her back on the bed, her legs spread before him forming an M, her chest rose and fell carefully with eyes glazed and lips ajar. He was kneeling in front of her between her open legs.
His hand traced her collarbone then went down between her breasts and pressed her lower abdomen as he watched his cum slip out of her slit. A soft moan came out from her lips.
Then his eyes suddenly lit up, not with desire but a sharpness that could not be identified as a good or bad sign.
“Are you on birth control?” The question from his lips made Raven wake up from her trance. She propped herself up quickly with wide eyes.
She gasped, “Oh my god! No!” 
The sharpness in his gaze turned dark. “Do you not want children?” His jaws tightened but his companion did not notice this.
“Of course not!” She pulled away from his touch as she twisted and tried to get off the bed. “I have to finish university; I don’t want to be pregnant yet.”
Damian looked pleased with her answer, ‘yet’ was the word that calmed him, not that she noticed his distress. His hand wrapped around her ankle and she was suddenly pulled back to the bed, putting her in the same position she was previously laying.
She looked at him confusedly.
“I will have someone buy you some pills, so don’t worry about it.” He simply stated and all she could do was study him. “But I would like you to decide on what kind of birth control you would prefer in the long run.” 
“Okay.” She quietly answered, she didn’t know why but it felt like he was talking to her like a business partner. Although to be fair, their marriage is business for their families.
He leaned down to her, “I don’t mind you getting pregnant, after all, you are my wife and there is nothing wrong with that. But since you want to focus on your studies, I will adhere to your wishes.” 
With the way he looked at her, she was really convinced that this was merely business for him.
“Alright. I understand.” She repeated meekly.
Damian felt that she sounded like a schoolgirl being scolded by her teacher and he sighed. He then lifted her chin with his fingers.
“Raven,” He called her name and she looked up surprised, eyes locked onto his lips, “You are my wife, and I respect our union even if this marriage is arranged. I will treat you the way you deserve. Do not doubt that.”
She gulped nervously and nodded and he hovered over her body.
“I will deal with whoever tried to make us have this misunderstanding. You do not have to worry about anything. In the meantime, for now, we have to act as if we have not–” His finger swiped her crotch, putting stray liquid back in her, “finalized this marriage.” His green eyes were firm on her face. 
He leaned back into her, his face just above hers, “I will honor this marriage and I hope you can do the same.”
She nodded and he frowned, tugging at her chin and tilting her head closer to his face, “I need words, beloved.”
“I will honor this marriage.” She answered quietly, chest rising from the tension he was causing.
He smiled and it took her breath away.
“Good.” He kissed her forehead. “I will have someone buy us new phones; we shall communicate through them as well as acquire your pills.” He pulled away as he got off the bed.
“It’s best we still keep our old phones and use the new ones to exclusively communicate with one another. We would need to make whoever is behind this plot think we haven’t made contact. And I came here in secret if you are wondering.” He explained as he picked up his phone.  He could feel her eyes on him.
Was it bad that Raven kind of felt like she just made a deal with the devil?
Damian then got back onto the bed and pinned her down.
“Why did it sound like you don’t want my kids?” He suddenly asked, his sharp eyes studying her, “Other than school.” 
“I’m a virgin.” She just answered instantly and he looked like he got punched.
He pulled away, the confusion on his face clear, “What?” His eyes studied her legs.
“What, looking for blood?” Her voice sounded on edge, “Men are always the same.”
She could feel his annoyance as he said, “It’s not like that.”
There was indeed an absence of blood and there was no complaining about pain. A common idea of how female virgins act when their virginity is taken from them.
He brought his lips against her ear, “You seemed to know what you were doing.” His tongue flickered on her ear.
She had placed a hand on his chest and his hand captured her fist. “It seems like you and I are very sexually compatible.” His teeth tugged at her reddened ear. 
She couldn’t answer him, she didn’t know how to. There was a voice in the back of her head agreeing to his words.
And as if to prove their sexual compatibility he fucked her again. Oh and how he did her good.
“Fuck!” She swore, forcing herself to roll off of him after another round of his probing. 
He groaned in disapproval. “Where are you going?” He asked her, his belly lying on the bed.
“I told you I had class.” She glared but struggled to get up. And she looked like she was about to cry, she was so sore. Who said having sex with their husband is magical? She pressed her lips as she sat up.
It was magically painful in ways she didn’t think that her body could possibly ache.
Damian honestly enjoyed seeing her struggle and seeing her bare breasts– among the general bareness of such a beautiful body.
“You know you don’t really need to go to classes physically. You can still get your degree while you're in Gotham.” He drawled, flipping over, not attempting to pull her back into bed which she was grateful for.
His words, not so much.
She glared at him as she stood up gasping with wide eyes and finding her balance, “I’m sorry we can’t be like you– graduating uni at age sixteen.” She hissed, “Oh my gosh.” She whispered leaning on her nightstand.
He shifted in the bed and she suddenly added as she turned away from him, “We can’t all have two degrees–”
“Three actually.” He cut her off and she turned to glare at him.
“Besides, I like seeing my classmates and teachers.” She added gently but the discomfort was clear in her face and in the way she moved or lack thereof.
“I didn't. Which was why I finished uni as fast as I could. Father, however, did not enjoy it and kept putting me to school.” He shrugged and pressed his lips when his wife’s face told him to shut up.
“I’m sorry for being dumb.” She muttered and he didn’t know how to respond.
“If you want to go to school, I won’t stop you. I advocate for education.” He propped himself up on the headboard, the blanket covering his lower regions.
He caught the surprise in her eyes and she nodded with a small happy smile.
“I will be right where you left me, wife.” He said with crossed arms, his eyes filled with joy from seeing his wife filled with marks he made. 
And what a lovely piece of art he made indeed.
Raven absentmindedly nodded and made her way to a door at the side which he assumed was the bathroom. And indeed, it was the bathroom when he faintly heard the sound of water from a shower. 
Once she was out of the bathroom, she shyly changed her clothes with an audience. She supposed she’d have to get used to it eventually. She changed her clothes with her towel still covering her up. 
Raven was sore but she endured and had to cover up really well because of what her husband so graciously left on her entire body. She could feel that this relationship would not be easy or convenient.
Damian could tell she was having a hard time changing but she’ll get used to someone being in the same room. And he still enjoyed the little show. It was like peek-a-boo.
“I’ll go to school now.” She awkwardly said, her eyes trying not to look at him. His abdomen looked so goddamn nice. What the fuck!
“I’ll be right here, where you left me.” He smiled, giving her a little salute and wink. 
Damian was really true to his words; he really was where she had left him by the time she returned home. He was on the bed shirtless and looking over papers. 
She frowned at him, “Don’t you run a multi-million company?” 
He glanced up from the paper he was holding, and she didn’t think he’d look even hotter with the eyeglasses he had on. For someone who was a virgin a few hours ago, was it bad that she could feel herself get wet at the sight?
She gulped down her desires as she anticipated his answer.
“That's what this is.” He raised the paper casually. 
“Don’t you need to be there?” She tried to clear up.
He looked at her thoughtfully, she was still standing by her door. “I still haven't taken my honeymoon leave.” His eyes for the briefest second locked at a certain part of her body with the slightest hint of displeasure. But she had not noticed the very quick change.
She scrutinized his face and body language, was he serious?
He placed the papers on the side table, “I am all naked underneath waiting for your return, beloved wife.” 
It took a moment, but Raven’s face turned crimson when his words sunk into her brain. 
Again, he was true to his words, this was starting to feel like a honeymoon– the one filled with nothing but sex. She wasn’t even sure how she reached his side and how they got to grinding against one another’s naked bodies and moaning.
When he was done, and she calmed from her high with his body over hers on the bed. His hand slipped to one of her hands, caressing her knuckles. There was an absence of a ring on either of her hands.
Raven suddenly said, “I used to do gymnastics.”
He looked really taken aback, not understanding where this was coming from. Thankfully his mind was always sharp. He chuckled suddenly to which she frowned.
“Have you been thinking about that this entire time? While you were at school?” He asked after shaking his head. He glanced down at her and saw her serious face and he reeled in his laughter. “I believed you when you said you were a virgin. It doesn’t matter to me if you weren’t either. But now that we are married, again, I expect loyalty and faithfulness.”
“I don’t think I can handle being with another man with your libido.” She muttered, clearly not paying attention to her words and her eyes widened when she realized what she said aloud.
He laughed heartily, “Good.” He kissed her forehead. 
She had to be honest, she thought he’d scold her. And then she felt his hand caressing her thigh. Ah, there it was.
Raven was sure she was being punished, but fuck was he doing it so gently and all she could do was moan into his hand. He thrust from behind her with a softness that seeped into her heart.
“I hope you kept some of those leotards, I think we can make good use of them.” He whispered hoarsely against her ear, still pounding at her. His hips hit her plump ass. 
He couldn’t tell if the moans into his hand were out of agreement or just pleasure, he was more certain it was the latter, but he had to cover her mouth as she had become rather loud. He didn’t want the neighbors banging on her door.
When they were finished, he wrapped her in his arms and whispered to the exhausted woman, “Which reminds me, I got us our new phones–” He stopped, noticing that she was struggling to keep her eyes open. He kissed her forehead.
“Later then.” He mumbled, closing his eyes.
The fact that she lacked a ring did not escape his mind. 
Raven’s husband had been staying with her for three days. And she had no choice but to miss some classes because of him. Much to her dismay.
And every time she went back home from her classes, he’d be propped up on the bed naked, a blanket over his legs while he read papers and with his eyeglasses on. But now it seemed that he had bought a laptop.
“Oh, I noticed you didn’t have a laptop and printer. They are yours, but as of now I am borrowing the laptop.” He nonchalantly said. She absentmindedly nodded.
Raven did need a laptop and printer for school so she was appreciative. 
He didn’t look up from reading his report, “Oh, by the way, I talked to your landlord. I told him your contract is invalid.”
“What?” She glanced at him. She was making her way to her closet, used to having company now, and was planning to change. She had gotten used to his domineering personality too. 
He glanced up to look at her and she studied his face trying to understand him. 
It dawned on her and she replied with an edge on her voice, “Because I wrote Raven on the contract?” He frowned and she continued on, “You are making a big deal over that?”
He sighed, making her stop as she watched him take off his eyeglasses and placed it on the bed. She pressed her lips, the sight was so hot, that she couldn’t help but admit.
Raven tried not to avoid his gaze and tried to glare at him to focus that she was angry at him. The implications of an invalid contract were less than ideal.
“I don’t care if you write Rachel or Raven,” he said carefully and she looked very confused. “But you are a Wayne.” 
He heard her gasp from where he was and she blinked.
“Would you rather resign the contract or move?” He asked and saw how she frowned when he suggested moving.
“I like my apartment.” She stated simply and he studied her room. He knew he could give her better.
He sighed aloud, it was clear to her that he didn’t like her answer. He reached out for a stack of paper that had a pen clipped on it as he offered it to her, “Here is the contract and sign in properly. I will give it to your landlord.”
Raven was surprised, she thought he would tell her to move. Her feet moved by themselves as she approached him and sat beside him as she took the papers from him. She signed Raven Wayne on the paper and gave it to him for checking. 
She was nervous as she waited for his approval, head cast down. She didn’t even know why she was feeling like this or acting like this. She didn’t see how her husband’s lips twitched seeing her name.
“Alright.” He said and she looked up. She was still expecting him to tell her that she couldn’t stay here. From what she heard of Damian he was the excessive type. And with how he had been handling her in the short time they have been together, she can’t deny the statement.
“Oh, I have something for you.” He said and opened the drawer on the nightstand at his side. She tilted her head at him in confusion. 
What else did he have for her?
Damian pulled out a black velvet box and her brows furrowed to show her confusion.
“I noticed you don’t wear your wedding ring.” He said and she stiffened and he opened the box. “I figure it’s too much for school.” He showed her the wedding set inside the box and her eyes twinkled.
“I had this made, I thought this was more to your taste.” He spoke as if they were talking about the weather. 
It was a gold set of two thin band rings. One was a half eternity diamond ring and the other was a larger solitaire ring. This set was far smaller than the platinum set she got at their wedding. Being that the two-ring platinum set was filled with big diamonds stacked with another bigger diamond. 
The design and appearance of the two sets were similar, an eternity ring with a solitaire diamond on one of the bands. But Raven thought the rings she got at her wedding were so gaudy she was embarrassed to be seen wearing them. And it would be too much for school as Damian pointed out. She was also certain she’d be robbed if she so casually walked around wearing the platinum set. 
With Damian’s free hand stuck out, inviting her to put her hand atop his, he said, “This is just a mere placeholder for now. When I get to the bottom of who is trying to fuck with our relationship and when you are ready, we will go and have something made which fits both our preferences.” 
Raven slipped her hand on top of his and watched him slide the two rings onto her finger and she was surprised by the perfect fit. Though, now that she thought about it, was there really something her husband couldn’t do?
“I was rather upset to see that you didn’t wear any kind of a ring as a placeholder to show that you are married.” He sighed putting her hand down and he reached out to his other hand playing with a ring on his ring finger that she didn’t even realize he had one on until now. “I always wear mine.”
His ring was three-toned, mostly black, but had gold and platinum on it. She would like to say it was simple, but with three colors on it, it clearly wasn’t.
“I’m sorry…” She couldn’t help but mumble, finding the new set on her finger with her other hand. “And thank you.”
He smiled thinly, eyes on her fingers brushing her wedding rings.
“Alright, when you figure things out we’ll go to a jeweler.” She mumbled and he nodded.
Just when she was about to stand up, he grabbed her wrist. And he pulled her to him.
“But now I must welcome my wife home.” He smirked as he watched her eyes widen.
Again. This man always gets what he wants. Though, he could have forced her hand and made her move, but he didn’t.
Maybe this time her spreading her legs for him was to show her silent gratitude that he didn’t force her hand and made her move. But maybe not, once his body touched hers it was like her skin was aflame. Memories of how good he fucks her would flash into her mind like a flash flood and she just can’t think straight.
And God, he really fucks her good.
They had finished yet another passionate moment and the two were cuddling in each other’s arms. Her head rested on his chest as she listened to his steady heartbeat. His hand caressed her arm.
“I think I know what I want for my long-term contraceptive.” She whispered, fingers playing with the curves of his abdomen muscles. For a second, she wondered if he really had a desk job as a CEO and all. How does he have time to work out? 
“Oh? What is it?” He asked, breaking her chain of thought. He pulled away from her and shifted her in his arms so they could gaze at one another.
“I want an implant.” She stared at his eyes. She had thought about it. With his libido and her studies, this sounded… well sound. The best option so she didn’t have to think about taking contraceptive pills or injections on a regular basis. 
She thought that he would say no, but he surprised her again, “Alright, I will arrange a hospital appointment for tomorrow.”
She thought he would say no, but she didn’t expect that he would set an appointment just like that. 
Damian saw how his wife frowned and he kissed her forehead, “It is a good choice, beloved, I don’t mind you getting pregnant.” He squeezed her in his arms briefly. “I can take care of you and our child. But we have to pretend like we have not met since our wedding. I’m still looking into who is trying to screw our marriage up. It would be a problem if everyone believed you were fooling around with someone else and that's how you wound up pregnant.” He sighed into her hair.
He made a very reasonable explanation and she nodded her head that was against his firm chest. 
Yet still, he didn’t argue with her. She was certain that he could have. He could get what he wanted by force. And yet, he didn’t.
His attitude was starting to become endearing for Raven, even his arrogance.
Damian has been staying in her apartment for almost a week now and every time she arrived home she wished and hoped he would have already left. At this point, it’s what she hoped for because his sexual libido was so high she believed she couldn’t handle it. But every time he made a move she couldn’t say no, like quite literally the word disappeared from her mind. And she winds up in various positions with him.
She was convinced that he was right about their sexual compatibility.
Again, she entered her bedroom to see Damian on the bed. The same way he always was when she got home. But it was clear that he was very upset over something as he read the paper in his hands.
Raven studied her room, she realized that their clothes from their latest rendezvous were still scattered on the floor. Only at this moment did she realize that he cleans up the bedroom by the time she comes back from school or even when she is in the shower, but he’d always be on the bed when she reenters her bedroom. 
She picked up his boxers, “Put this on for me.” She tossed it on the bed. 
It appeared that he didn’t even realize that she had returned. Whatever troubles he had, it appeared to be deep. But the moment she spoke, his face softened and he glanced at his boxers and scrunched up his face.
He clicked his tongue and she thought he would say no. But she knew better now, she should not approach the bed because he would have her on her back the second, she was in arms reach.
To her surprise, he reached for the boxers and heaved a sigh, likely a show that he didn’t like what she was asking. He got out of the bed and he was indeed naked underneath the sheets like always.
Raven quickly looked away; she still wasn’t sure how that fit in her.
“You act like you weren’t enjoying this just before you left.” He chided pulling his boxers on and her face turned red. She felt even more embarrassed.
“Can’t you learn to put on clothes?” She rebuked helplessly. He just chuckled at her response.
“I don’t have clothes here.” He innocently answered and she glared at him.
“I’ve seen your bodyguards or whatever the hell they are, I know you ask them to bring you boxers.” She crossed her arms as she looked at him. She was thankful he had bottoms on, but that well-toned body was still distracting. “You can ask them to bring you more than just boxers.”
He shrugs at her casually, “It’s not like I plan to leave any time soon.” 
Raven’s eyes were starting to stray and so were her thoughts. She quickly turned around and cleared her throat, “I will make us dinner and I would like it if you are there with me.”
She didn’t try to argue with him as she knew it would be useless.
She didn’t need to ask him to join her, truth be told, normally he’d follow her around if she decided to cook or if she went out of the bedroom. But this was the first time that she asked him to go with her to the kitchen. She didn’t see it but there was a very happy smile on Damian’s lips.
“Alright.” He replied after clearing the smile off his face, sounding casual and whatever.
Raven didn’t take a peek at him because she knew she would swoon and if he laid his hand on her she’d jump him. She coughed to clear her throat and her naughty thoughts. 
In the kitchen, Raven was cutting a carrot and he sat across the counter watching her in all his shirtless glory. His chest had claw marks from her, but at this point, she was way past being embarrassed. His choice of not wearing clothes for almost a week has trained her eyes and mind to the sight. Thankfully, he would wear his boxers when outside the bedroom, but other than that, he was virtually naked as he stayed in her apartment.
He had a strained smile on his face as he watched her.
“What is it?” She pouted, glancing at him.
“I genuinely enjoy your cooking and the fact that you enjoy cooking for me.” He emphasized each word and she frowned as she stopped chopping. “But I admit my palette is used to world-renowned chefs.”
Raven put down her knife, “So, you’re saying my cooking sucks?” 
He approached her, placing a hand on the counter, and genuinely said, “No, your cooking is superb, beloved.” He smiled and she actually believed his sincerity. It felt like he was radiating truthfulness from his very pores.
Or maybe because the sex was so good, she couldn’t get mad at him. He literally just said her cooking sucks by implying he only eats from some classy chef. But they were married and already fucking so she has to endure his attitude, right? Fuck!
Raven was chewing on her lower lip and he placed a thumb against her lip making her stop.
“I am a picky eater; I won’t deny that. If it isn’t a chef I approve of, I don’t eat the dish.” He spoke.
She wanted to bite his thumb. And to think she had been cooking for him out of the goodness of her heart.
“It’s why I learned how to cook.” It felt like Damian had dropped a bomb on Raven. Her feet were unsteady.
“What?” She almost chuckled as she studied him, “You cook?” She raised a brow at him.
He smiled politely, “Yes and I truly love your cooking,” The sincerity in his eyes was something she could not deny. His hands found her waist. “But let me cook for you this time.”
Damian swiftly pulled her to him and their lips were so close to one another that she was expecting a kiss at the back of her mind. Raven gulped as her eyes locked on his mouth. 
He turned themselves around, exchanging spots with his lovely wife. Then he pulled away quite easily from their contact.
“Alright?” He smiled at her and took a step back, reaching for the knife. “I can make do with these ingredients, but I will have my men buy better ingredients for you as always.” 
Raven hummed a response, having no choice but to watch him. She went and sat down on the seat where he would always sit when he watched her cook. And damn it, she felt so fucking stupid. 
Damian was cooking like he himself was some world-renowned chef! How the hell did he let her make him just sit and watch her cook?
She was utterly speechless and embarrassed. She must have looked like a buffoon.
When he was plating the dish he made, adding the last leaf on the plate he said, “Plating matters too, beloved.”
She wished she could make a snarky remark but the dish he put before her was so beautiful. With the same ingredients, she couldn’t possibly make such a beautiful dish.
Damian tilted his head when he placed the plate before her but she did not move.
“Le-let’s see how it tastes then!” She grabbed the plate and turned around from him. He could tell that she was embarrassed by how red her ears were, but he didn’t point it out.
“How is it?” He instead asked as he walked around the counter and slipped a hand on her lower back.
“Oh, God and I cooked for you?” She looked up at him with her back arched forward, eyes watery. 
His Adam’s Apple bobbed at the sight. A similar image of how she looked right now overlapped in his mind, and it was a very very different kind of image, that of when he would confine her in her bedroom to have some fun.
He cleared his throat, “Sit up properly.” He gently told her and rubbed her back upward briefly. She instantly did what was told and he withdrew his hand from her back. 
Raven was temptation incarnate for him. A seductress. 
And what's worse is that she doesn't know how much she could ignite his desire for her with one flick of her wrist.
“I feel so embarrassed cooking for you.” She admitted in a soft voice and he was surprised.
“What? No.” He stood in front of her and pinned her by placing his hands on the counter that was behind her. “Your cooking is world-class.” 
She pressed her lips as she looked up at him. God, his sincerity was intoxicating.
“I should know. I have expensive tastes.” He stated nonchalantly. 
He watched her glance down at her plate with a soft smile. 
The next thing she knew, her head was lifted up and they shared a kiss. A rather chaste kiss.
Maybe even the first chaste kiss since their wedding. Honestly, quite comparable to the chaste kiss at their wedding. 
“I wish I could stay longer, beloved, but I am needed back in Gotham.” He confessed softly. 
“Oh.” She grabbed her fork and tried to prepare a bite of the food he made. “Well, I can finally take a break from you.”
He wished he could get mad or laugh, but he felt neither emotion at her words. He did wish he could just be with her.
“Oh, don’t go celebrating yet.” He leaned to her, bringing his mouth near her ear. “When I return, you and I both know I will make you regret being happy that I’m leaving right now.”
Damian felt her body stiffen and he smirked. “But for now, let us enjoy our remaining time together.”
And they did. They enjoyed their time together, laughing a little. His hands strayed on her body but never did more. He had texted his men to bring him a fresh suit complete with all his accessories. 
He showered in her bathroom and used her things. He smelled like her and it made her blush. He was adjusting the cuff of his white shirt from under his dark blue suit’s jacket cuff. 
This was the third time she had seen him in a suit. He looked colder, yet still hot. He smelled of her and yet looked like the boss that he was. 
Oh my God. She was gushing. 
And so was her pussy.
“Oh, before I forget.” He looked up at her and she stared at him with wide eyes and a smile trying to think of anything but how he made her feel. “I will pay you back for the rent you paid on the apartment.”
She looked confusedly at him and was about to argue but he raised a hand and she pressed her lips shut.
“It’s my responsibility, and besides, I want to do it.” He looked at her as if he was inspecting a product for his company, at least that is what Raven felt like he was doing. He then pulled out his wallet and handed her two cards. “One is a credit card, buy whatever the hell you want, it doesn’t have a limit. The other is an ATM card. Your allowance from me will be deposited every month on the same date as our wedding day. I placed the money you paid for the rent of this apartment in there along with the allowance I owe you since you've been staying here since our wedding.”
She sucked in her lips and stared at the items he was holding out for her. She licked her lips and he patiently waited for her to accept it.
Raven wanted to reject it, but with one quiet glance at his calm face she knew he wouldn’t allow it. And the thing was, she was surprised that he even remembered their wedding day and was going to give her an allowance on the same date every month. 
After a minute or two passed she nodded her head and sighed as she took a step forward and reached out for the cards. “Thank you…” She mumbled.
Damian was pleased that she took the cards and she could tell. 
His hand reached out and cupped her face and she looked at him. He kissed the top of her head.
"Rachel Wayne." She mumbled reading the names on the cards.
"Rachel is your legal name. Unless you want to change it to Raven, in that case, tell me and I will have it arranged." Everything that came out of Damian's mouth was factual. It's just how he always talked. 
"Wayne. I'm a Wayne." She muttered and he pressed his lips atop her ear. 
"Yes, that's right." He whispered with a sigh.
FIN.
~.~.~.~.~.~
BONUS SCENE:
Damian and Raven's relationship was pretty good. She was still in Metropolis over a year later and he'd visit her often since they reunited.
"Augh, I hate this city," Damian said, glaring at the city by the ceiling to the floor window in their apartment.
Raven rolled her eyes, she had known him long enough, he was baiting her.
"You'd rather I finish uni in Gotham?" She asked, of course, she'd still bite.
He turned to look at her thoughtfully, "I suppose it's safer here." He answered as he always does when she asks him if she should go back to Gotham.
He placed her safety a priority, something she noticed fairly quickly since they started a relationship with one another.
She no longer lived in the apartment where they reunited after their wedding; due to the frequency of his visits her former apartment became too small. You’d think he’d respect her space, but somehow, he started taking up so much space in her apartment that she had no choice but to suggest moving. 
Damian of course moved her to a high-rise with a great view and space that was way too big for just them. He had come by to help her move and had stayed ever since, helping her adjust and arrange their apartment. 
She was convinced he purposely took up so much space in her previous apartment so she would move to a bigger ‘safer’ apartment that he of course chose and showed her just as fast as when she suggested moving. 
It seemed planned is what she was saying. But still, he had wormed his way to her heart that she could not find a flaw to what he did, that is if he really did it.
"You always say you hate it here." She mumbled as she reached out for his waist with both arms and embraced him.
"It's bright." He answered, enjoying her warmth.
She never understood what he meant by that. 
"Well, anyway," She pulled her head away and glanced up at him, "I have to go, I need to meet some classmates for a project."
He studied her and said, "Why don't I join you?"
She laughed, shaking her head, "Your face is rather well known, I wouldn't want my classmates to be intimidated by you."
She pulled away from his hold turning around.
"I can wear a hat and sunglasses." He followed her and she paused then turned to him.
"Hmm… Alright." She agreed with a soft smile on her lips.
"I won't be a bother." He promised.
And as always, he was true to his words. When he went to the bathroom and was about to return to her side, Damian heard her friend ask why her husband was wearing a beanie that covered his ears and dark sunglasses.
"Oh, he is sensitive about his hair and he got a terrible eye infection..." He frowned at her lie.
He stepped out from his hiding spot and kissed his wife, "Oh, what are you talking about, beloved?"
"Oh, you know, how best to do this paper," Raven answered calmly.
He just smiled. But the moment they got back home, he pinned her to the door and whispered hoarsely.
"So, I'm balding?" He asked as he pulled the beanie off his head and to the floor. His black thick and luscious hair shone against the light coming from their windows.
Quite the opposite of what she had just made her classmate believe.
Her eyes widened in realization and she pressed her lips as she reached out to remove his sunglasses. "And with an eye infection." She whispered back seriously, tossing the shades away too.
"I will have to punish you." He said, pressing her by the arch of her ass against his hips.
"I know, for being caught." She sighed, and she could feel his erection on her lower abdomen.
He chuckled, "Well, for lying." His tongue licked the curve of her ear.
When the punishment was done and she was sprawled on the bed, lying on her belly, he caressed her hair. 
"I hope you don't lie often." He told her with a dark tone in his voice. 
She understood his implications. With how the two grew closer even if it was just a glance she could tell what he wanted to convey to her. He was the same with her. 
"I don't lie about being married." She whispered, and his face softened. The answer to the question that was never truly asked.
"Good." He scooched over to her side, his crotch pressed against the side of her hip as he littered her shoulder with kisses.
She sighed, closing her eyes, but also refusing to move. If she moved the thing pressed on her side would wake up instantly and she'd be done for. Not that she couldn't tell that it was starting to stir. But if she didn't move, her husband wouldn't either.
"Which reminds me," He pulled his head away from her shoulder and her skin was relieved of the pressure pressing on her thigh. He laid on his side and she turned her head towards him with curious eyes. "I'm transferring to Metropolis."
"What?" Raven propped herself up a little with her confusion clear in her face and voice. He never talked about this before.
He should feel some form of displeasure with her reaction. At least he thought he should because it would seem like she wasn't happy with the news. But he felt calm.
"With how frequently I visit it seems impractical to stay in Gotham." He explained gently and he watched her eyes widen as a soft blush appeared on her cheeks. Maybe this was why he didn't feel upset, he knew her like the back of his hand. Unconsciously he must have known that her confusion was not because she didn't want him here.
"I made plans with Father, and I will be stationed here for the time being as you finish uni. Thank God Wi-Fi exists, it will make this transfer seamless." He smiled at her and she cupped his face.
"You'll be here every day?" She whispered, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. The excitement on her face was clear.
"Yes." He whispered back, snuggling near her.
Then suddenly her eyes widened in fear, "Then you need to control yourself." She poked his shoulder and he chuckled.
At first, he was afraid that she didn't want him here but then understood why she was scared. The fear wasn’t unfounded.
"Oh, whatever do you mean." Damian blinked innocently.
"I'm serious, Dami, if you expect me to spread my legs every day– I'm moving." She stared at him and the smile on his lips was wiped off his face.
"Do not threaten me, beloved." He responded, darkness brewing in his aura.
"I'm serious. I have school." She did not back down. She knew him and she knew he almost always followed her lead no matter what.
He sighed aloud, and then again while he looked away and then one more time. "We'll arrange something."
Damian reached for his wife's waist and buried his face on the side of her shoulder. But she could tell he was pouting. He had actually stuck his lower lip but she couldn't see that.
His libido was really something even after a year he didn't show any signs of not being turned on by her. Though, to be honest, she was the same. 
The moment he'd pin her down and the desire was clear in his eyes, she got so wet. It didn't matter if she was exhausted from school, she'd strip without him even asking.
She recalled what he told her so long ago, "We really are sexually compatible." 
He looked up from her side with wide eyes gazing at her and his eyes sparkled as a smile bloom.
"I have to agree, beloved." His love for her is clear in those beautiful green eyes.
"We'll make it work; we always do."
Put This On Me: Graduation Gift
Raven had no regrets about the birth control that she chose. Sometimes she'd wake up the next day after their midnight sessions thinking that she forgot to take the pill. 
Then she remembers that she has an implant. 
Her burst of fear of an unexpected pregnancy always came after several rounds of fucking from her husband especially when he goes all out for a couple of days straight.
Currently, she was looking out at the city through their apartment window in their living room. When she woke up this morning she had a little burst of fear, yet again. Which was why she was thinking about her birth control.
They've been together for almost four years but gosh was he built differently.
Strong arms wrapped around her body from behind.
"You're graduating soon." He mumbled against her shoulder and she leaned back to him. 
"In a few months." She reminded him.
One of his hands was now on one of her shoulders and the other snaking down to her lower abdomen. "What do you think of a baby for your graduation gift?"
She froze. She knew there was a reason for her unreasonable pregnancy scare. She swatted his hands and stepped away from him. "Not yet."
He sighed and studied her back.
"I want to work first." She turned to look at him.
"You can work for me." He answered immediately and she rolled her eyes. Her eyes locked at his dress shirt collar and she took a step closer and fixed his collar for him.
"If you had your way, you would just have me on your desk panting and moaning, I'm sure." She clicked her tongue and noticed how he bit his bottom lip lustfully and she shook her head but still smoothened his shirt of invisible wrinkles. He had strong pecs.
One of his hands slipped onto her upper spine and slid down to her lower waist pulling her closer to him and she gasped, "Well, then what would my beloved wife want for her graduation gift?"
His eyes looked down at her softly.
"Hmm, I don't know." She admitted.
"Really a no to having a baby?" He asked again with a boyish smile. She giggled at him.
"Hmm, I will have to think about that." Her hand reached out for his black tie, then suddenly tugged at it bringing his face closer to her, "But while I do, you can use it for some sexy dirty talk." She licked her lips.
"Well, don't mind if I do…" He leaned down and captured her lips.
"Doesn't the thought of you pregnant as you get your hard-earned diploma hot, beloved?" He whispered to her kissing her neck and she smiled. She didn't mean for him to do it at this very instant, but God was this man insatiable. "Or maybe– imagine, you accepting your diploma with my cum tightly clenched inside you? Considering how often you are taking in my cock in your tight pussy.”
She choked at the visuals he was painting for her. She felt his teeth tug at her ear as he continued on, “How many times did you fuck me before going to school? Or how many times you went to your classes with my fresh cum still in that naughty pussy? Or when your first meal is my dick.”
Raven’s face was red. She was now regretting telling him to use it for dirty talk.
“Tell me beloved, what would be written in your diploma, Master’s Degree of sucking cock?” His voice had become hoarse and Raven was breathless, “Masters of my dick?” His lips sucking on her ear.
She regrets it. But she also felt the need to fight him back. She was also very embarrassed by his words. She tugged at his tie, making him pull away from her ear. She stared at him seriously.
“On the note of graduation day,” Her free hand brushed the buttons on his shirt. “Should I be completely naked underneath the graduation gown?” This time it was her turn to whisper in his ear.
She felt his body tense up.
This was something she knew to be a fact. Damian was the jealous type. 
“In that case, I will buy you the gown and we can use it in the bedroom.” She thought she could hear his teeth grinding. The flirtiness disappeared from his voice.
Raven smirked; it was her win. 
Another thing she noticed about her husband, he didn’t even like the thought of someone possibly seeing her in any potentially suggestive way. He rarely vocally object, sometimes he’d make a face, but she could always tell when he didn't like it when someone looked at her in the wrong way for even just a second. 
She would notice how his cold face would change on a micro level when she purposely wore a dangerously short skirt or a really revealing outfit. But he had only told her to change clothes a couple of times since they'd been married. All of which were outfits she wore on purpose to see his bottom line. Still, he rarely says his objections but often she can tell when he doesn't like something.
She looped his tie around her hand, “In that case, we can pretend you're the professor, and I, your naughty student.”
It was clear that he wasn’t happy, “Is there a hot professor I didn’t know about?” 
He knows her classmates and her teachers but Raven thinks this is the first time he sounded threatened by a teacher she randomly mentioned.
She studied her husband’s face, it seemed that he was riding his jealousy. “Hmm, hotter than my husband? Quite impossible.” She let go of his tie and placed both her hands on his chest as she rubbed his torso soothingly.
“Then why the professor suggestion?” He quietly asked and she sighed.
“I was thinking you were my hot professor.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and he still wasn’t convinced. 
In all the years that they had been together, he was often cockier than not, but very rarely he would show her this side of him. Uncertain and unsure, so opposite from how the whole world perceived him. 
A man who knows what he wants and gets it without fail.
Damian was often gentle towards her. The only time he'd be rough was during sex. But unsure of himself? Rarely.
“About the baby…” She watched him carefully and it seemed to have caught his attention. He stared at her as he waited for her to continue. “In a few more years, I promise.”
She saw the small smile on his face as the uncertainty disappeared which turned to a gentleness in his demeanor that honestly made her swoon. 
“A baby?” He smiled as his hands found her waist. “Then I’ll have to start looking for our future home with our children.” He said dreamily, there was this softness on his face that tugged at her heart. How could he easily make her swoon and wet in mere seconds? 
“Children?” She ventured, eyes carefully observing his face.
“One is not enough.” He answered back in a quieter voice. No hint of doubt on his face but the volume of his voice might say otherwise. Yet, it was just factual to him, that much she could tell.
She smiled and leaned her forehead against his jaw, “Hmm, you’re always right, beloved.” Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he hugged her back with his muscled arms around her waist.
There was clear surprise in his eyes at her words but he smiled and pressed his upturned lips against her temple. 
He was going to have a family with her. Even if their marriage was arranged, he was happy and excited for their future. He was glad he married her.
"Our fifth wedding anniversary is coming around the corner too. How about another wedding as your graduation gift?" He whispered and Raven pulled away looking up at him with wide eyes. "One where we profess our love and where we plan the wedding the way we actually want it."
She smiled brightly. "I don't think that's a graduation gift." And she saw how his lips were about to frown, she quickly added. "It's a gift for a lifetime."
She watched her husband's tan cheeks flush at her words.
"I love you."
FIN.
~.~.~.~.~.~
A/N:
Well, in the book I read the couple got married, she got shipped out on their wedding night and they never met for like 3-5 years. Apparently, they tried calling each other but only to hear that the number is out of service. And the two knew each other since childhood tho still arranged (and forced) marriage, but still you’d think someone would go find the other. So, this is me coping.
And I still don’t know why they were getting ‘out of service’ when they called each other. 
And then the image of Damian naked but with a blanket over his legs working on the bed with eyeglasses on was stuck in my mind and so I decided to use it here. It also makes sense to me in modern AUs that Damian is cocky. On Modern AU notes, I have like 3 on my drafts with cocky Dami because I was inspired. 
I didn’t even think I would participate too, I wrote this in a few hours in a span of a couple of days. I am impressed but this is also rushed. And I do have some other bonus scene ideas floating currently in my head. But this is already quite long so, maybe I might dump it somewhere, one day. (11/16/23, I do not remember what I had planned, but I will keep this here, so I know that I did at one point. I think one was about the wedding.)
I thought that using the line “Put This On For Me” in this manner would be unique. Which also drove me to write, but it took a while to get there. I think the common thing people would think when they see this line is some sexy outfit. So doing the opposite really called to me.
And if someone is going to ask why the sexy is like that, I am still traumatized from writing smut. There was a time I was writing 5 different smut scenes back-to-back… it left an impression. I can write it if I don’t think about it, but it’s something I have to think about most of the time to write so…it’s hard… anyway…
Before I forget, the end of the bonus scene and the graduation gift, who said it is up for your interpretation, maybe even they said it both.
And to add, in my head this Raven attended college or uni later than normal.
Hope you guys enjoyed it.
Ciao.
59 notes · View notes
zeldaseyebrows · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
“She simply said, ‘Please. Please, I need to live.’  I asked her what was so important to her.  ‘True love,’ she replied.”   
-The Princess Bride
Princess Bride AU with Zelda as the Dread Pirate Tetra and Link as Buttercup let’s go
529 notes · View notes
heartfulofsighs · 3 years
Text
Nice Things…
Tumblr media
Hello All! Coming back with little writings here and there as my inspiration comes along. A little episode inside of the Something to do with Jackson sphere (1, 2) 
Let me know what you think! @negrowhat you know I gotta tag you in everything lol
Jackson decides you both are in need of a little rest and relaxation. Nothing is better then a nice beach house complete with a gigantic bath tub. 
About 4k words; Warnings: Very light smut like its super light, but I’m obligated to say it includes fingering a praise kink and a bathtub. 
Laundry shouldn’t be difficult. Well in retrospect it wasn’t difficult at your old apartment. The laundry room there was stocked with 5 very old very worn washing and drying machines. They were faithful and predictable. They only had about 3 options and 2 dials. Simplicity at its best. You missed them every time you had a load to wash and dry. You had been living in Jackson’s apartment for months and you still couldn’t figure out his machines. For one thing they were sleek and black, very modern, apparently super efficient. They worked via a touch screen and the breath of options that appeared every time you fired them up made you nervous. Twice you had shrunk a favorite article of clothing. You had also ruined your running shoes, the washing machine seemed incredibly aggressive to you. But today was going to be different. This was your only task. You could do this. The touch screen lit up, you took a breath, the beeping started and an array of options appeared. Water temperatures, agitation speeds, your finger hovered over the first option- “BABY, THIS IS WHERE YOU WERE!?” Jackson’s voice boomed in the laundry room. You turned, frantic that all his noise would upset whatever fragile understanding you had. “Jackson!” You hissed, “shush!”
  His hands snapped to cover his mouth. He looked around his brows knitted, “what’s going on?” He whispered. “I’ just,” you turned back to the machine but you didn’t feel the same confidence, “I’m trying to figure out your stupid space aged washing machine.” You confessed, “everytime I put something in here I ruin it.” “Maybe you’re thinking about it too hard.” He walked up behind you and looked down at the same screen. “Baby?” He began slowly, he touched the screen flicking left twice until he got to a place that said ‘presets’.  “Why don’t you just use these instead of trying to pick through all those other settings? This is what I use.” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered softly. There were easy to understand presets displayed proudly.   “You didn’t know about these?” He asked, “I could have sworn I showed you the last time you shrunk your sweater?” You rubbed your face in continued disbelief. All this time. “The dryer has presets too, did I show you those?” He kept talking because of course to him this wasn’t a big deal. You had made it one, once again, something tiny had become huge to you.   “You want me to help you with your laundry? Since I’m home today I wanna spend it with you ok?” When you took your hands away from your face he was beaming like the sun at you. You wondered how he could look so worry free. His job was so stressful, he barely got time for himself or you yet he was always beaming. You wanted to be a bit more like him. Just enough so that inanimate objects stopped irritating you for no reason.            “If you want to help sure, but this stuff is kinda boring. You sure you don’t want to nap? Or I could make you something to eat?” You offered.          “We can do that after, this won’t take long.” He pointed out. He wasn’t wrong. You selected the ‘delicates’ option since you wanted to wash your undies and bras first.          “Ok, delicates first then.” You looked in his direction expectantly. The two baskets of laundry were already separated.            “Just pass me the stuff in the blue basket.”  You instructed, “I’ll do them first.”   He dutifully began to hand you clothes. Some things he stopped to look at. “When did you get this bra?” He asked holding up a flowery bra that you had bought a few weeks ago.   “Like two weeks ago?” You guessed, maybe three. Your hand was outstretched waiting for it. “Oh,” was all he said before he handed it over, “I haven’t see you wear it.” He said softer. “Well, it’s a bra Jackson…” You tried. He handed you a few pairs of underwear which you put in. He was a touch less cheerful as you finished loading. He helped with the detergent and softner before he got the machine started. “I feel so dumb,” when you turned to him he frowned. “I really wish I had remembered about the presets. I’ve been having a battle with this machine since I got here.” You confessed. “Baby...I really don’t think it’s a big deal.” He leaned down and pecked you. “You can ask me questions you know? Before you make a mountain out of a molehill.” “But I’m so good at that.”  You pointed out. He kissed you again. His hands trailing down your arms. When you pulled away he pouted. “Let me at least finish the chores, I have a few things more I wanna clean.” You complained. He accepted this and let you go, “I’m gonna have two weeks off...do you have a lot of work?” He asked. It took you a moment to think about what you had to do, some things could wait and really only one required you to finish immediately. “I just have to finish one job then I think I can take some time off.” You stretched and looked at him with curiosity. “What did you want to do?” He pushed some of your hair behind your ear, “can we go on vacation?” “Where did you want to go?” You spoke as you tied your hair up. “Someplace warm?” You asked. He nodded, “an island!” It seemed like a solid idea. You thought it over, Jackson in his usual fashion grew impatient. He tapped his feet and poked out his lip, “we can have a private beach house…” He edged closer. “That sounds...isn’t that a little extravagant?” You often wondered when you would be able to accept Jackson’s penchant for spending on you. There was something that always made you cringe. “I don’t want you to spend too much-” He frowned and you snapped your mouth closed, “you deserve…” He began. You sighed, “nice things.” He accepted you finishing his sentence quietly before he went back to trying to convince you. “It’ll be private...no cameras...just you and me.” He had basically backed you against the machine. He leaned forward and set his hands on it, caging you in. You couldn’t look away. “We live together but I always miss you,” he kissed you and it was mostly soft. “I’m gone a lot and I feel horrible about it,” he kissed you again nibbling on your bottom lip. “Do you miss me when I’m not here?” “Like crazy.” You whispered. His eyes were on yours, pupils wide. His breathing picked up as you snaked your arms around his neck. “So let me take you to the beach, let’s spend a week....please.” His kiss was less soft more insistent. He pushed until your back was pressed to the machine, the hum seemed to burn through your blood. You kissed him back, hands gripping the hair on the nap of his neck. The time apart always made the time together feel like a single point in the universe. There wasn’t a whole apartment, a whole city, there was just you and Jackson. Starved for each other, hungry to touch and feel. He was so good at making you melt, so good at making you desperate for him. You tasted him and whimpered. The beach was suddenly a fantastic idea, more time alone for more of this. He ground against you and his moan made your knees weak. “Ok,” you managed to say against his lips. He pulled away and beamed at you. The unmistakable look of getting his way. “So we’ll go the day after tomorrow...I actually may have set it up already.” “Jackson.”
You had never been swept away before. In past relationships you had lacked the time and your partners seemed to lack the motivation. It hadn’t bothered you truly because how can you miss something you didn’t have to begin with? You thought about it as you packed and he buzzed around the room with excitement. “Don’t forget bathing suites!” He warned, “and sunscreen!” “I have both.” You answered slowly, “and something nice for dinner...right?” When you looked up he was zipping his bag up. “Yes, and then...not much else…” He raised his eyebrows quickly suggestively and you giggled. He stopped to touch his hand to your leg, “I love you in anything.”   “If it was up to you, I’d just walk around naked all the time.” You said slowly. He considered this then said, “only if you want.” Then he was moving again, his energy nervous all throughout the room. “Are you almost done?” He asked. “The car will be here soon.” You just needed to decide on your one nice outfit. It had been a while since you had really gone out. He had seen you in just about everything you owned...except.... At the back of your closet you had hung a tropical print skirt and top set. It was out of your comfort zone but the print would really work. “Hurry hurry baby.” He chided. You had just enough time to grab it from the closet and stuff it into your bag. He took your hand and led you. The smile on his face relaxed yet you could feel the excitement bubbling out of him. He kissed you in the elevator before the doors opened, then led you to the long black car idling at the apartment building’s entrance. He opened the door for you and waited till you were settled before he put the bags in the trunk and got in next to you. Then his hand was back in yours like it belonged there. “Do you think you’ll get recognized at the airport?” You tried your best not to sound nervous but the thought of screaming fans made your stomach heavy. “I don’t think so, we’ll be in then out.” He brought your linked hands up for a kiss. “Don’t be nervous, it’ll be fine.” You settled into the seat and tried your best not to worry. The media in a way wasn’t very interested in you and Jackson’s story anymore. When they did happen to catch photos of you two together it wasn’t big news but most of the comments were still pretty awful. It was better for your mental health to not read them but every so often you saw yourself online and couldn’t stop yourself from looking. The general take was that you were literally a weight dragging him down. It never seemed like a good idea to comment back, better to just read it all in silence, and really it wasn’t all bad. There was a spattering of people who liked you. Who said nice things and said they were cheering on the relationship. People who pointed out that Jackson was happier with you in his life. You weren’t sure if you would give yourself that much credit but you hoped that he felt how you did. He leaned over, “what are you thinking about so hard?” He planted a kiss on your cheek startling you out of your own head. He had a way of knowing when you were thinking yourself down a rabbit hole. He redirected you gently and patiently. His hand squeezed yours again.   “Nothing, just the work I left...hopefully I did enough.” You said. He knew it wasn’t that, but he didn’t push.. He kissed you on the cheek again, “don’t worry about it, just try your best to relax.”  He whispered. It took you a moment of second guessing, but there was no real use in fighting with Jackson. Especially since you actually did need a relaxing vacation. There would be no worries on the beach, that’s all you had to tell yourself over and over and over again.  
There weren’t any cameras, no reporters, no mobs of fans. He had his mask pulled up and dark sunglasses on. You were wearing one of his caps and your own mask pulled up. The two of you looked like any couple on their way to a romantic trip. He only let go of you to pass through security. Once his hand was out of yours there were new worries. An airplane. The last time you had flown you were forced between a grumpy office worker and a woman who seemed to have bathed in perfume. You remember distinctly how the office worker had complained about her perfume and how she called him lonely and sad. It had been for the most part very unpleasant. Suddenly all you could think about were all your worse flights.  You fumbled through security, including the awkward second search. Taking his hand on the other side calmed you down a little bit. “You’re making a mountain again.” He said into your ear. “I can’t remember ever having a good flight,” you squeezed his hand and almost missed a step. “Every flight that lands safely is a good flight baby.” He chimed happily and just like that you relaxed a bit. He was right of course. Bad seatmates didn’t make a bad flight. Small things didn’t have to be big. Once again you tried to calm yourself, to convince yourself that you were on vacation. You were being swept away and it would be great if all your extra thoughts could be swept away too.
“This is the house?” After a flight you slept through, and an ok trip through the airport that involved a car rental associate who was star struck, here the two of you were. The house was directly on the beach. From the outside it didn’t look like much which made you feel a bit better. If he had rented a beach mansion or something along those lines you would have worried the whole trip about how much all of it had cost and...and if you were really worth all the trouble. But this,...this was so quaint and so cozy. “This is it.” He pulled into the driveway and then put the car into park. You got out admiring the house’s slightly cracked white paint, the green ivy underneath the two small windows on either side of the weathered wooden door. The waves sounded incredibly close and you guessed the beach was literally right in your backyard. Jackson was behind you with your bags. “Here,” when you turned he was holding the key towards you all smiles, “open her up.” He instructed. The key got stuck for a moment in the lock. You panicked per usual but it gave when you pushed your shoulder against the heavy wood. “Be careful,” he clucked his tongue at you but you ignored him. You were stuck looking at the inside. Everything was so bright. You sucked in a breath because of all the light. There were huge skylights all throughout. The entryway was neat, a small blue weathered table held a bowl where Jackson dropped the car keys. He pressed his hand to the small of your back and your feet automatically started to shuffle step forward. The entryway opened into a small kitchen with white tile and teal cabinets. The appliances didn’t look new aged or terrifying like Jackson’s. The big white well loved looking stove was comforting. Through the kitchen There was an open airy dinning room and living room. The living room ended in two gigantic glass doors that opened onto a hedge enclosed patio. The bricks were weathered but still a good red. There was a round picnic table with a few shelves, a rack with two surfboards, and what looked like a hot tub. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek, “let’s look at the bedroom.” It was through a doorway off the kitchen, past a half bathroom. The bedroom suite seemed to be all windows. There were three huge windows with breezy white curtains. The bed was gigantic four poster deal, piled high with pillows at the head. The comforter was white like everything else. “There’s one of those clawfoot tubs,” He led you a little further in, towards the doorway of the bathroom. The tub was huge. There was a shower head on the wall above it. Another two windows, more light. “This place is beautiful.” You finally got out. He squeezed your hand, “I know you like simple things and I thought this place would be nice. The beach is right down a back path and-” You tipped your chin up lips pursed asking for him to dip and kiss you. “Thank you so much for bringing me,” you spoke against his lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’re welcome.” His smile was triumphant. He only let you go to help unpack but beamed the entire time like a happy child. You knew this look, his eyes were centered on yours. He licked his lips before he kissed you. “I picked this house because it’s cozy and…” He trailed off to kiss you again. “And?” “And you never wanna have fun in my bathtub so I made sure that this house had one that was so big you couldn’t argue with me about soaking together.”  He explained. “Jackson.” He beamed again his face back to innocence, “don’t you want to soak with me?” He asked. “You don’t just want to soak,” you pointed out. He shrugged, “humor me.”  In truth he had begged to soak with you plenty of times but the tub in his apartment made you nervous. You had this vision of the two of you settling in and getting stuck or getting in and overflowing the tub in an embarrassing splash. Well maybe it wouldn’t be embarrassing to him but in your mind it was motifying.  You bit your bottom lip and considered the big claw foot tub in the house again. “I guess there’s no harm in a nice soak.” You said softly.  He could barely contain his excitement, he moved deliberately trailing his hands down your waist then squeezing. He searched your face before he broke out into a grin that made you laugh.   “Jackson,” it was hard not to laugh at him. “Jackson right now? You don’t want to eat first?” He cocked his head, “I do, but let’s do that later, my back hurts from the flight.” You made a ‘sure’ face but didn’t argue. It was better to humor him, he gave your bottom another not so gentle squeeze before kissing the top of your head. “So a nice bath, then I’ll make you food,...” he trailed off and took your hand.
The fragrance from the bubble bath he found was making your head feel dreamy and relaxed. His back was against one side of the tub and yours was on the other. He insisted on massaging your feet and there really wasn’t any huge point to arguing. He rubbed away while you sighed slowly to yourself. “You have the cutest little feet.” He murmured. “They’re so gross.” Your response was automatic, years of having being told they were flawed in some way meant that you were use to parroting back the words when you were complimented. “They’re perfect on you.” He dug deep into the sole of your foot and you couldn’t help but groan. “Always say nice things about yourself.” He murmured. “Yeah I know.” You sunk lower into the water and he took the invitation to work his hands up your leg. It was hard for you to say nice things about yourself all the time. You were use to your self deprecating jokes. But he was quick to redirect them, he always told you to make it nice instead. His hands were steady on your body focusing your mind back into the moment.  It was never gonna be just a soak, but you didn’t do anything to stop him. He felt the back of your knee and a shiver ran up your body. His eyes were focused on your skin, “you’ll let me do this at home now right?” He pulled himself a little closer so his hands could go further up, “a nice hot bath, foot massages.” “You’re very good at them,” your voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes seemed to darken. He leaned farther forward, upsetting the water and bubbles so he could kiss your forehead. Under the water his hand had made it all the way up which meant his fingers were in a prime position to rub you where you were most sensitive. He kept the pressure light, teasing you. A whine broke past your lips. He ducked his head and kissed you. “I want you to relax,” he said softly against your lips, he dipped his fingers inside of you. It was so hard not to squirm, he pulled them back and forth slowly before he stopped. You gripped the sides of the the tub and tried to urge him to move. His eyes were mischievous. “Jackson,” You tried to roll your hips to get him to do anything but tease you. He cocked his head, “say something nice about yourself.” The command confused you. Your brow furrowed and for a moment you were confused, “what?” He pulled his hand completely away and touched your face instead. “I read that it’s nice to hear compliments from others but reinforcing it with words you say to yourself is even better.” His voice was earnest his hand dipped into the water again and found your breast. “Something nice…” He played with your nipple and you whimpered. Your mind was reaching for something, any sort of compliment that would make sense. “I like my thighs.”   He beamed, triumphant, then pinched your nipple lightly, “what else baby? You’re so beautiful there’s a million things to compliment.” You were so use to his praise that it was hard to give yourself the same attention. He switched to your other nipple and kissed your forehead again. “One more.” He encouraged. You swallowed, his hands sending pleasure and want all throughout your body. You willed your brain and your mouth to talk, to say something so he would give you what you needed. “I have nice skin...the cream you gave me makes it so soft.” You admitted. He liked that, he kissed you harder. He had both hands involved now, tickling the sides of your tummy. The giggle that escaped your mouth made his smile even wider. “The most perfect skin.” He spent the rest of the bath praising you. Cooing all his favorite compliments while he played with your body. It didn’t take long before your hands gripped the side of the tub and you called his name. Your body locked and then the pleasure ripped through your limbs in what felt like a blaze. Dimly you knew you had splashed water and maybe that would have embarrassed you, but there were more important things. Like the way you still shook while he kissed you everywhere he could reach. If you felt dreamy before your mind was downright foggy now. “You liked that baby?” He asked, finally pulling away to look at you. Your bones felt like jelly, thank god the tub wasn’t too deep. There was no doubt in your mind you would have melted further into the water. It took you what felt like hours to barely nod your head and indicate that yes you had indeed liked it. “It’s so cute when you say my name like that.” he went back to sitting across the tub from you, a smug smile on his face. You didn’t know what face you were making but hopefully it was satisfied. “Let’s just spend the rest of the time here.” You finally got out. He didn’t argue with you, just rested his head on the rim of the tub, “as long as you’re happy that’s all I care about.” You sat up a little, “I’m the happiest I’ve been in forever.” “Perfect.” He spoke softly and maybe it was more to himself than you but he was right. The feeling was perfect.        
249 notes · View notes
strangerays · 3 years
Text
Nothing in Particular Update #3
About seven months and I finished the first draft at 93k!
I always imagined how it would feel to finish a first draft (I’ve been writing novels “seriously” since about 2017) and now that I’ve finally done it, I can say it’s a better feeling than I imagined! Telling my friends and family (and even my doctor, who was really quite excited about it) was an amazing amazing thing. I’m generally pretty nervous to tell people about my work, but I had a really positive reaction. Honestly all of it has me on a creative high (not sure I’m coming down from that any time soon lol).
I’m going back for my last year of school in two days, which means I’m not going to have as much time as I did to write all summer. This is okay, because I’m actually going to take an entire month off of writing! I’m really burnt out - don’t want to start editing a story that’s so near to me if I don’t feel ready. I’ll talk more about editing when the time comes!
In a lot of ways, I found that my life mimicked my art. I think for a lot of people, it tends to be the other way around, but this story did a lot to heal me.
Going to hop right into excerpts now! I’m not going to explain much this far into the story because I would like to try to publish this story (FAR in the future) so I apologize for that! Also, I stopped naming most of the chapters until I go back and edit because there are just SO MANY and I didn’t have the time to stop and think of cool names. Anyways... enjoy!!
(Here is the link to the original masterpost!)
#1
Tumblr media
text: Rays of gold curled to the ground, primordial and shy as the fire reeds on the cusps of shallow pool around the bay outside of Mothouse combed them to fine sparkles. I remembered the way Lonan kneeled on the edges of this pool. He never dove in – just blinked slowly as he watched crabs and minnows chase each other in a swirl of sand. I could not resist the water. I’d made it a part of me. My hair was longer then; down to my elbows, fading from dark red to orange and white, soaked always. Lonan let me borrow his shirts when I forgot to bring my own. They hung from my waist, too big for me, and I was warm even as the breeze rocked us inside.
#2
Tumblr media
text: The sky was never blue in Point Blink. At least, I couldn’t remember the last time the clouds hadn’t given way to a dark gray mist. Jude was here. I was out of place. I was floating – watching slender, underfed pines wave in the breeze behind houses on the water before they disappeared underneath furls of cloud. Bursts of warm light shone in windows on the bay, like hungry eyes watching for a storm. A group of kids our age chaffed on a rocky expanse, their heads popping over pockets of darkness when they laughed. Froths of cloud stretched across the sky, moving the ground with it. Long stretches of trees and islands far on the other side of our small pocket of ocean looked more like large freight ships. Lights glittered and beamed on the roads and highways that belonged to the city. Pink was starting to show over the horizon. Lonan was on the other side. Somewhere.
#3
Tumblr media
text: 
Jude sucked her lips in and flopped onto her stomach so she could see the blue below her feet. Her dark curls draped over her ears and hid her nose.
“I can’t see the bottom of the ocean.” She cupped her fingers with the other hand. “See where the water fades to white and back again? The endless tide. Why do people say the ocean is blue?”
I leaned forward. She was right. Blue ocean climbed up the side of the cliffs and turned the rocks a dark gray; ate the erosion as if from a plate. I’d never had the ocean explained to me that way before.
“I think I like it that way,” I said.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was at the bottom of Point Blink.
#4
Tumblr media
text: 
She smiled weakly. “It’s okay. This is just guesswork. Patchwork.”
I wanted to apologize again, but I had a strong guess that it might make her annoyed with me. “It’s kind of like… I’m just waiting for the next bad thing to happen.”
She wrinkled her nose and eyebrows, scrunched up her little face. “That’s dumb.”
“I think it’s a smart way to live.” Sometimes it felt like worry was the only thing that kept me alive. It wasn’t dumb at all.
“You’re going to be fine though. We’re going to be fine. If something bad happens, we’ll deal with it. Don’t let it eat you.”
There was wisdom in what this seventeen-year-old girl on my bed had offered me. I caught it like a gold coin. Before I could reply with anything, she launched into another question. I didn’t want to think much about change anyways.
#5
Tumblr media
text:
“Oh. Wow. That’s like, next year.” I sort of laughed.
“A year can be a long time,” Lonan said with a wince. “What do you think?”          
I sighed through my nose and leaned back with him. The sun was going down. Sometimes, my life felt less like a golden hourglass and more like a stopwatch with a broken face.
“For once, I think I agree with your mom.”
Lonan just stared at me, with something like awe.
“I think you should do what you want,” I said.
 “Ray,” Lonan started.
“No,” I interrupted him. “It’s not about me. She’s stopped you from doing anything and everything you’ve wanted to for the last four years, so when you go to college, you’ve got to separate yourself from this place.” I pointed to him. “You’re allowed to do this.”
#6
Tumblr media
text: 
Maybe I was just being strange. Lonan was my best friend. It didn’t help that there was a little bit of him in everything – the tide pools, the echo of shells, my broken camera.
Soon, we stood in the center of the field. A breeze whispered through the cattails, fanning against our knees. Ellis loped behind me as I stepped in and out of tire tracks under the cloudless sun. She wasn’t much different than Jude. Her footsteps crunched excitedly behind mine, excited at the prospect of an unprecedented adventure. I’d missed those.
Lonan said he didn’t like to walk in fields because the wind tricked him into thinking that someone was behind him. Every brisk of his heel was a trick of the mind. Sometimes I felt the same way, like I might be haunted.
#7
Tumblr media
text: 
The ageless water begged me closer, frizzed my hair and swathed my arms in a sweet, familiar scent. I remembered galloping down to the shore with a childhood friend in one May. Soft piano accompanied croaky lyrics from someone’s radio when we fell chest-first into the water. Static erupted in my head. There had been nothing new for me in Point Blink for so long that I’d forgotten what it was like to float. Grass turned into pebbles, and I heard Ellis’ footsteps soften to the beat of the sand. Our eyes crumbled the shells that walled the long expanse of dark sand where waves rolled in. We leaned over like two swans, crunching shells beneath our feet, displaying shells to one another, naming the ones we recognized, and when I looked out at the horizon, I saw blue.
Red plastic cups, cigarettes, and even some broken glass stuck out through the sand as we made our way further down the shoreline, as if someone had thrown a party. My brow furrowed. Maybe this part of the beach wasn’t so abandoned after all.
Between the spit of the waves and dry sand lay some sort of book. Sand trickled out of the pages and onto my shoes when I swept it out of line of an oncoming wave. Ellis was beside me in moments. Shells tolled under her shoes.
#8
Tumblr media
*Warning for mention of blood (fake blood and fake knife!!) this takes place on Halloween haha*
text: 
Jude held the container in her palm, kneeled down so we were shoulder to shoulder. Her eyes fixed on the knife in my neck, mine on her hands, then her focused expression. Her fingers tipped my chin up, cold on my skin. I tried not to move. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about Dad, or Raven, or Lonan. I only let Jude in – this girl who had come out of nowhere and wrecked me, saved me. And she didn’t know any of that. I didn’t owe anything to her, but I needed her. She kept us afloat when I couldn’t even keep myself above water. Her fingers painted blood over the center of my throat, our breath quiet on each other’s cheeks. She held my shoulder as she set back.               
“Absolutely feral,” she said.
#9
Tumblr media
text: 
“Point Blink is all I have. It’s where I am, what I am.” My throat was tight. “It’s all I’ve known. I am happy with my life. And I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to throw all of that away so we can dig up answers. I want to stay.”
 Jude sat there for a moment. I think Florian and Ellis had turned to look at us, because when we went silent, I could no longer heat their hushed whispers, only the sound of water as it rose and rose and rose. I wondered if it would rain.
Jude sat up on her hands, then her knees, then she stood over me.
“Is that what you honestly believe?”
Tears bubbled in her eyes. Blood streaked down her cheeks. I’d been so focused on not crying, I had missed when she started to.
“Point Blink is just the same as anywhere,” she said. The words sat somewhere above her inside her chest, weak and frail, as though they’d been realized a long time ago.
I’d stared into her eyes until they disappeared. She grabbed onto a branch above her and quietly swung herself around a corner. Her footsteps echoed until they dissolved into waves and birds and frogs and left me in the dark.
#10
*Warning for strong language!*
Tumblr media
text:
“Why didn’t you tell me how you’d been feeling?” he asked after a few moments of silence. It was beginning to stretch uncomfortably.
“I know I don’t deserve to know,” he added, “but you’ve always put me first.”
I picked at the wood that peeled from the fence.
“I just want you to be okay,” Lonan croaked. “Please tell me what to do.”
Even when we were together, we still worried about each other. It wasn’t always that way. Maybe that was my fault. I didn’t want to think about it.
 “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I mumbled into the crisp, red air. “To be fair, I didn’t know it like I know now for a long time. I think sometimes I got the same way as a kid. Now I have a name for it, and I still don’t know if it feels right.” I sighed. “I guess… I guess I just thought that was how things were supposed to be. I thought I was only the humming low and the high.”
“Of course that’s not how you’re fucking supposed to be.”
 I coughed on a laugh, wiped away a new set of tears. On the rare occasion that Lonan did swear, he sounded much like he was doing it for the first time.
I hadn’t fully realized what I’d said before Lonan’s hand was around my arm. He pulled me close to his chest. I felt smaller than him; warm and safe. I exhaled and sunk into him, didn’t allow anything else in. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.
“You’re funny and smart and better than a lot of people.”
And... that wraps up all of my excerpts for the time being! I really enjoyed writing the last four chapters of this book. Of course they aren’t perfect. A lot of the book needs improvement. There are entire characters who are flat and plot lines I just forgot about! Come October, I plan to get back into my edits/rewrite the story.
Really quick before I finish writing this:
I just wanted to thank everyone who read about my story and showed genuine interest in the characters. Had I not received all of this love from people in real life and online, I might never have finished this draft at all. When I started this story, my mental health was really quite bad. (I’m doing a whole lot better these days!!) I guess you could say the idea started as more of a journal entry. All of these characters are like little parts of me coming together to help the main character, and I think there’s something really special about that.
Thank you so much! Good luck on all your creative endeavors! It pays off in the end, I promise :)
tag list (ask to be +/-); @wannabeauthorzofija @a-completely-normal-writer @baguettethebooklover @corkytheguar​ @writeherewaiting @cryptid-s-wips @kingsinking @author-a-holmes
13 notes · View notes
vampcubus · 4 years
Text
Quiet (Midoriya/Reader | Angst)
| A/n: You know there are some days I question how psychotic I have to be to find pleasure in the suffering that comes when writing angst. *le sad*  |
| See part 2 ... here |
✧❀ Warnings: Angst, unresolved feelings, big sad mood. ❀✧
✧❀ Words: 2800+ ❀✧
| Summary: As Izuku continues to chase his dreams you find yourself being pushed to the side until it seems you’ve been forgotten, and yet you keep quiet. But it seems today that the very person who forgot about you wants nothing more than to talk to you. |
.   .   .
Tumblr media
You bit your lip. Buried your teeth into your tongue. Puffed out your cheeks and bit the insides of them. You kept your mouth shut for a long time, perhaps too long you supposed as you watched a familiar head of wild green hair walk past you along with Iida and Ochako.
You held your breath, closed your eyes, clenched your teeth. You wondered if things would have been different had you swallowed your damn fears and said something. Your eyes followed him as far as they could before he was just too far away.
You took in a deep breath and started walking. You had no real idea where; you kept moving until you were stepping inside of a cafe just off-campus. Your ears perked up at the sound of Midoriya’s voice and Ochako’s laughter, followed by a brief lecture from Iida. You turned to see the trio seated in one of the booths.
Midoriya’s face turns to the entrance of the cafe, but you’re already gone.
You close your eyes, knaw at your nails, and roll your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You wait for the pedestrian walk light to show before crossing the street, walking away from the cafe. As you walk, you don’t notice Midoriya looking out the entrance of the cafe. He deflates when he spots you walking away.
Iida and Ochako come up behind Deku to ask him why he’d gotten up so fast.
“I don’t get it, I was certain she went here every day.” Midoriya sighs and Uraraka places a hand on his shoulder. “I even asked Ashido to be sure.”
“Maybe we’ll see her later, don’t give up yet, Deku.” She reassures him, and he puts on a determined face, nodding in agreement.
.   .   .
You strolled into a familiar shop, smiling at the clerk who recognized you straight away, corralling you into an aisle of books with their newest releases. You skim the covers with your eyes, reaching out to pull a book out and flip through the pages every now and then. A book with skeletal cats and a red and black color scheme caught your eye and you picked it up, opening it up to look through it.
In your distracted state, smiling down at the pictures of cats above each page of text, you almost don’t catch three familiar voices as they wander into the shop. Midoriya approaches the front desk and the clerk greets all three of the students, asking what they were looking for. As they are distracted, you shut the book and place it back on the shelf, holding your breath as you discreetly slipped out of the shop, making eye contact with the clerk on your way out who seems to realize what’s going on.
“Actually we’re looking for a friend, we were told she comes through here often,” Midoriya admits sheepishly, hands wringing anxiously as the woman places a hand to her chin as if to think. “Y-you wouldn’t happen to have seen her today have you?”
“Is she the quiet one? Er… L/N, I think it was?” She wonders, and Midoriya perks up at the sound of your name.
“Yes, that’s her!” Deku smiles, eyes bright and hopeful, and the clerk can’t help but smile.
“Well, I’m afraid you just missed her, sorry kid.” She sighs.
“Oh…” Midoriya shrinks a little, clearly dejected by the news. And once again, Ochako comforts him, a hand on his back as he wracks his brain for another solution. “Well, she couldn’t have gone far, right?”
The three exit the store in search of the ghost of you.
.   .   .
You arrive at your final routinely spot of the day, smiling at the blissfully unoccupied picnic table tucked away at the edge of the park just by the forest, separated by a leaning chain-link fence. You look up at the dimming sky, the slight smell of rain and wood calming your nerves. You slide onto the rotting-wooden bench of the picnic table, pulling your knees to your chest in a comfortable balled-up position.
You pull down your hood and pull out your phone, putting in your earbuds and looking up at the sky, watching the sun draw ever closer to setting; waiting for the stars to come out.
Just as the green-haired boy starts to worry that he’s already missed you, he spots your small form at a picnic table at the edge of the park. He lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of you sitting still and not walking away. He gets Iida and Ochako’s attention and points to you, and they look equally relieved to have finally caught up to you after a whole day of hunting.
“Well, I’m afraid this is where we part, Midoriya I hope all goes well with L/N.” Iida salutes and the other two chuckle at their friend’s eccentric behavior.
“Thank you, Iida, I appreciate your help today.” Midoriya thanks him, bowing his head in gratitude and waving at him as he leaves the park to walk back on campus.
Ochako turns to face him and gestures for him to take a deep breath with her, knowing how nervous he must be.
“You’ve got this, Deku, I believe in you!” Uraraka whisper-shouts, raising her hand to offer a fist-pump which he gratefully accepts.
Once Uraraka is out of sight, Midoriya turns around and starts to make his way towards the relaxed shape of you.
“Okay, big breaths…” He mutters to himself as he approaches you, one big ball of anxiety. He stops a few feet away, just to admire you as you watched the sky without a care in the world, a small smile on your lips as your eyes traveled from star to star. “You can do this, Deku.” He tries to pep himself up, though the moment you shift he freezes and almost dashes off.
You uncurl from your ball and stretch your limbs out, turning your head away from the sky to change the song on your phone when you notice a shadow looming over you. You knit your brows together in confusion and turn around, heart leaping into your throat and forcing a gasp from it as you spot Deku a few feet away who stiffens as well when he meets your wide eyes.
You remove your earbuds and pull your knees back up to your chest, mouth opening several times to ask what he was doing here, but each time you clamped it back shut.
“U-Uh h-hey, Y/N-chan! fancy seeing you here I was just looking—p-passing through.” Midoriya babbles with a nervous smile, trying to formulate a proper sentence. Though finally talking to you face-to-face suddenly became more difficult than he remembered. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
You bite your tongue, hold your breath, clench your teeth. Anything to keep the words from spilling. Words you’ve kept down for months.
You can’t just say nothing though.
“Hey, Midoriya.” Is all you can manage before biting down on your tongue again, avoiding his eyes. You know it’s not enough to weasel out of the conversation so you add, “Don’t worry about me, I should be going now anyway.”
Deku’s eyes widened when you got up from the picnic table, shoving your phone in your pocket, ready to leave. He panics, wracking his brain for the right words to say to stop you. Instead, his hand shoots out before he can stop it and grabs your hand.
“No, please don’t go yet!” He blurts out, sounding desperate as you halt all movement and look back at him with wide eyes. Your gaze drifts between his face and his hands as it grasps yours, lips parted in surprise. “I… can we talk for a minute?”
Why? Why does he want to talk now? What could you possibly have that he wants to talk to you about after months of distance, almost a year of growing apart until you had no part in his life?
“Um.” You gesture at his grip on your fingers and he turns bright red, flushing from his neck to his ears. He jerks his hand away from yours and squeezes out a ‘sorry!’
Despite your conscience, the voice telling you to just leave, you sit back down on the rotting bench looking expectantly at him as he stands there.
“Are you going to sit down?” You ask flatly, and the boy jumps with a ‘right’, scrambling to sit down beside you.
It’s quiet.
“Y/N?” Midoriya starts out, and you grimace at the sound, not liking the way each syllable fell from his lips in that nervous voice of his.
“Don’t act like we’re familiar.” You hiss, letting the annoyance slip out into your tone.
He stares for a moment, and you don’t miss the hurt that flashes behind those big green eyes of his. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Why did it make you feel bad that you had plenty of things to say and he had none?
“We’re… not?” Midoriya asks, the sound small in his throat.
What were you talking about? ‘don’t act like we’re familiar?’ The green-haired boy vividly remembers a time when you were very close, and he was the only one that was allowed to use your first name, the only one that could talk to you longer than five minutes without you closing off. You used to come over for playdates at his house and build blanket forts so you could read All Might comics and share dumb secrets. He can’t think of a time he wasn’t familiar with you, even if you had grown apart since you started high school.
You still kept in touch over text and he invited you over to study every now and then.
But now that he thinks of it, he can’t remember the last time he texted you. He can’t recall the last time you had a meaningful conversation outside or inside of school. But even if you didn’t see each other as much, he still considered you his friend. And he’s been crushing on you since middle school. Have you really become unfamiliar with one another? 
You haven’t been close lately, sure, but hearing you say that hurt his feelings.
“Don’t act surprised.” You groan, looking up at the sky. Did he really expect things to just be okay between you after basically ghosting you for almost a year? “This is the first time you’ve talked to me in months.”
Your words hit him hard, and he can feel the guilt crawling on his skin. He feels sick. He realizes just how true your words are when he tries to remember a time you talked in the past few months but couldn’t. It really has been that long.
“I-I’m sorry about that, I guess I was just… busy trying to become the number one h-hero you know?” He chuckles nervously, offering you a smile, hoping that maybe it would lift your spirits, or at least make you look at him.
“You never seem too busy for Ochako or Iida.” You deadpanned, resting your chin on your hand as you leaned over the picnic table. Midoriya’s eyes widened, and he tried to think of what to say, though he should have picked his words a bit more carefully because the next sentence even makes him wince as soon as it comes out.
“B-But that’s different.” Midoriya stutters, squinting his eyes shut and mentally kicking himself. What kind of excuse was that?
“How is it different?” You asked.
“I…” He couldn’t even answer you. What was he supposed to say? It wasn’t different, you were all in the same class, he had countless opportunities to talk to you and he just didn’t. “I’m sorry, that’s no excuse...”
 He hangs his head low, owning up to it.
“Sorry for what? Not talking to me for months or thinking that you could just walk up to me and be all buddy-buddy again?” You had to admit that it sounded harsh, and perhaps you were being petty, but could he really blame you? You spent most of your childhood only sharing his attention with Kacchan, and suddenly there was no room in his life for you.
“Well, you could’ve talked to me too… you haven’t necessarily been the most sociable either.” He mumbles, twiddling his thumbs together.
“Oh, so now it’s my fault.”
He sits up straight raising his hands defensively as you scowl at him from over your shoulder, the bitterness of your tone sending him into panic mode. He hadn’t meant it that way, he would never blame you for this.
“N-no! That’s not what I meant at all!” Midoriya sputtered. “Y/N please hear me out—”
“L/N.” You corrected and Midoriya felt himself choke on the lump in his throat and the tears start to well up in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of you, he’d done that all the time when he was younger, and not once did you hesitate to comfort him no matter what he was crying about. Crying would solve nothing now.
“Y/N please, I-I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be. But please don’t do this, you-you’ve always been an amazing f-friend to me, please don’t shut me out now.” He whimpered, the tears starting to drip down his freckled cheeks.
“You’re the one who shut me out. Don’t twist things to fit into whatever narrative your imagination has written up.” You hissed.
“I didn’t! You keep saying that like I’m not trying to f-fix this, I care about you, and j-just because you stopped believing it doesn’t make it untrue.” Midoriya insisted.
“Fix what? Our friendship that you forgot about?” You scoffed, putting some distance between you on the bench. The resentment in your eyes as you say it shakes him to the core, terrifying him. The thought of you hating him makes him actually want to throw up, he feels nauseous just thinking about it.
“Please—” He chokes on a sob. “P-please don’t h-hate me, please don’t hate me.”
You stared down at the wooden patterns of the picnic table, trying to ignore the pathetic sobs and sniffles to your right. You hated seeing Izuku cry. You can remember a time you would’ve thrown hands for anyone who made him cry. It bugged you even now that you were the cause of his tears, but you were hurt too and no amount of tears can fix that. You didn’t hate him, you hated that this is what your long-term friendship had come to.
“I haven’t been a part of your life since we started high school, Izuku. Do you have any idea how I felt when we stopped talking? I thought that you were getting bored of me, that somehow I just wasn’t worth your time anymore.” You confessed, feeling the tears start to form in your own eyes. You hastily wiped them with the sleeve of your hoodie.
Midoriya sniffled, ears perking at the sound of his first name tumbling so unexpectedly from your lips. He missed being called Izuku, and he’d always admired the fact that you never stopped using it. He felt more and more terrible with every word that left your lips, letting him in on your perspective, how you had been feeling because of him. 
Bored with you? Never! You were always so important, so unique to him. You were the only one who believed in him before he got a quirk.
“I figured that hey, maybe you were just busy and so I didn’t bother you. I thought that hey, once you’re not so busy you’d call me, or text me, or something. But… you didn’t and I… before I knew it, you had new friends, a new life,” You sniffled, unable to muffle the sound behind your sleeve this time and Izuku’s eyes widened in horror when he realized that you were crying. “Without me.”
Izuku sobbed into his hands, the tears rolling freely as he cried. You looked over at his trembling form, letting your own silent tears dampen your hoodie sleeve. One thing about Izuku that you had always admired was that he was never afraid to express himself. There wasn’t a moment in the world that he was insincere with his emotions, whenever he cried he cried for real. So unlike you and many others, bottling up their emotions and hiding their faces from others.
You couldn’t watch this anymore.
“I-I need to go.” You got up to leave again and Midoriya’s head shot up the moment you moved, teary eyes watching as you stood up. “Goodnight, Midoriya.”
And with that, you walked away. Izuku let his head fall into his hands, he pulled at his hair in frustration, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles started to bruise. He cried harder than he had in a long time, muttering a million sorries into the night in hopes that if he said it enough you’d hear him, and forgive him. 
But just like he did when you waited for him to call, to text, to say something… you stayed quiet.
3K notes · View notes
quillingyousoftly · 3 years
Text
🖤
Written for day 6 of Rumrollins Week, for the prompt "You weren't supposed to be here."
AO3 link for tags and whatnot.
Jack stumbled out of yet another pub. A group of people dressed in black leather threw him unfriendly glances as he righted himself and smoothed down his pewter slacks. He hadn't dressed appropriately for the Low Town and he had one too many beers to drink; this little trip to Madripoor was becoming more dangerous by the minute.
He turned his back on the group, placing his hand on the handle of his gun stuffed in an open holster beneath his dress jacket. He wasn't afraid of danger or death; if he was, he wouldn't have come here. He wasn't worried about strangers either; he only cared about finding one person.
His search had proved unsuccessful so far.
He rambled down the street, booze thrumming in his veins, the stink of the city assaulting his nostrils, and the colorful neons painting the nightlife in bright shades. The streets were packed, the citizens desperate for a moment of fun in their otherwise tough lives, and as Jack squeezed through the crowds, he cupped his right front pocket with his free hand to protect his wallet from some sticky fingers. His mind raced as he passed a pub after pub. He felt like he'd already visited each one. Had he been wrong after all? Perhaps Brock wasn't in Madripoor at all, and Jack was just wasting time.
He shook his head. No sign of Crossbones didn't mean Brock wasn't here; after all, with his face all over the news, he hardly needed that old fake identity he used to hide in Madripoor. He wasn't a SHIELD agent anymore, but an ex-Hydra; someone Madripoor should welcome with open arms. Jack could hardly think of a better place for him to seek refuge in.
Maybe that was it. Maybe it was too obvious.
Or maybe Brock got wind of Anatoli Knyazev looking for him and hid from him. One could never be too discreet in Madripoor, and when one was asking questions looking for someone, well, he was bound to get noticed. Jack cursed, ducking into a maze of dark alleyways devoid of crowds, and took a deep breath. He checked the time; it was nearing two. He still had half the night before what was left of SHIELD found out their double agent went triple. 
He looked around, suddenly realizing he had no idea where he was. He stopped his walk, panting. The streets were dark and devoid of life, not counting one raccoon rummaging in a dumpster and cockroaches passing before his feet. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. If it were up to him, Brock would be hiding in the High Town, but he knew well enough Brock thrived in places like the Low Town. Almost like he didn't believe he deserved better.
After observing the cockroaches for half a minute, Jack realized he was hearing sounds of life nearby; a muted EBM music to be exact. He followed the sound, crushing a couple of cockroaches under his oxfords, and reached an unmarked, hole-in-the-wall club. It looked like a secret spot, and Jack narrowed his eyes. For the past few hours, he hadn't seen a better place to hide in.
He crept in closer, watching the entrance. The door swung open and closed several times as people dressed in leather walked out for a smoke or a breath of the air they grew so used to they didn't notice the stink. Jack spied at least two bouncers hiding just behind the doors. Once again, he cursed his choice of clothes; there was no way he'd be let in. Not all was lost though; surely there was someone around whose clothes Jack could 'borrow'.
He sneaked around the club, searching for someone dumb enough to wander around drunk and alone, but as he came close to the back of the club, he heard something even more promising: sex noises. He crept up, holding his breath, eyes fixed on two joined silhouettes hidden in the shadows. 
He froze before even realizing why. Those were two men, alright, unlike what he thought at first, but it wasn't it. He could take down two drunk men with their pants around their ankles easily. 
It was the voice he heard, familiar but strange; the figure of the man bracing himself against the wall, so known to Jack but changed. He hesitated another two seconds--what if he was wrong?--but hell, he'd recognize the love of his life anywhere. No matter the changes.
He moved like a jaguar as he jumped behind the stranger fucking Brock. He wrapped his arm around his neck; he was roughly his size, but not as buff. He cried out and thrashed, but Jack held him tight, moving just his head backwards until he heard a snap. The dead dick fell out of Brock's hole as the body slumped to the ground, and Jack was relieved to see it had a condom on. He kicked the body away and stepped right behind Brock.
"Ya done already?" Brock asked, his voice gravelly as if he had drunk a gallon of gasoline. Jack suppressed a shudder as he realized it wasn't far from the truth.
Brock's masked head turned, and Jack grabbed it to force it back in place. 
"I'm just getting started," he said, opening his pants.
Brock's shoulders tensed as he noticed the change in his companion's voice. He went even more rigid when he saw the dead body lying not so far away from his feet. He thrashed when Jack pressed the blunt head of his cock against his open hole, and Jack had to wrap one arm around his frame--much thinner than he remembered--and press him close against his chest to still him.
"Shhh, calm down, baby," he soothed, sliding inside Brock's lubed hole right past his prostate, his breath hitching. "You're safe."
Brock stilled again. "...Rollins?" he choked out. "...the fuck--you weren't supposed to be here."
"No? Where else could I possibly be?" Jack slid out, then thrust back in powerfully, forcing a moan past Brock's lips. He placed a kiss on an uncovered strip of naked skin on his neck. 
Brock grunted and grabbed Jack's arm holding him, but didn't fight back; he pressed his hips closer to Jack's if anything. "Following the false tracks I left for SHIELD in Monaco, for example?" 
Jack grabbed Brock's right thigh and raised it, so he could slide even deeper, and they both moaned at that. Brock dropped his head, bracing it against the dirty brick wall. 
"And they're following them. But I know you. I'll always know where to find you. You can't hide from me."
Brock's free hand grabbed his hip. "Well, then at least quit playing around and fuck me good before you arrest me. I was getting close there before you went all attack dog on my friend, you jealous fuck."
"Arrest you?" Jack whispered in his ear. "You really think that's why I'm here? Don't break my heart like that." He gave Brock another powerful thrust, punching out another moan. "I found you to join you. To be with you."
Brock's hips moved against him, trying to force a faster pace. It was hard to keep his mind clear with that familiar, silky heat welcoming him home. "Not falling for it... twice..." Brock panted out.
"I'll prove my loyalty to you." 
Jack took Brock's hand in his and braced them against the wall. A cockroach crawled over them, but he paid it no mind. He gave Brock what he wanted, fucking him fast and hard, each needy, broken sound he pushed out of Brock's throat bringing him closer to the edge. Brock's body finally went rigid, twitching with every pump of cum he painted the wall with, then slumped against it. Jack could barely focus on holding him up as he followed soon after, spending himself inside him.
They kept themselves upright against the wall, crushing several cockroaches under their bodies. Jack wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, tucked his spent cock inside his boxers, and zipped up his slacks, then looked at Brock. His forehead was still pressed against the wall, his breath wheezing, and Jack reached for the hem of his black mask to pull it off.
Brock jerked back, almost tripping over his cargo pants still around his ankles. "Fuck off," he said, bending over to pull his pants up. Jack watched him silently. When Brock finally looked up, it was the first time in ages Jack saw his eyes, the same shade of hazel he loved so much, but reddened as if recently irritated.
"What now?" he asked, his voice full of aggression, but Jack heard a note of uncertainty and hope. 
He sighed. "That's not how I planned our meeting," he admitted. "I didn't expect to find you getting riled in the ass behind some seedy club."
Brock flipped him off and walked over to the body. He patted the pockets until he found a pack of cigarettes. He took one, lit it, and hid the pack inside his own pocket. Jack still hadn't moved.
"We have much to discuss," he continued. "I have a place in the High Town."
Brock took a long drag, then held it in his lungs with his eyes closed. He let the smoke out through his nose and looked at Jack, eyeing him up and down.
"Fine," he said finally, his voice even rougher than before, throwing the barely started smoke away. "But if there's a SHIELD tac team waiting for me there, I'm blowing m'self up with you lot."
Jack grinned. "All there's waiting for you is another kind of blowing. If you're nice."
Brock rolled his eyes. "Lead the way," he ordered, turning away from him. 
Jack could swear that just before he did, his mask stretched in a smile.
13 notes · View notes
dadoroki · 4 years
Text
Every Comic Has A Story
Tomura Shigaraki x Reader
Warnings: softboi shiggy, fluff, swearing
Summary: When Japan’s most dangerous villain meets a witty and flirty comic store clerk.
Tumblr media
The mall was unsurprisingly packed, as it was the weekend. Everyone had something to do or somewhere to go. Shopping for items, chatting with friends. Not for Shigaraki though.
After his tight encounter with Midoriya, he walked the crowded mall all alone, stuck in his own thoughts. How could he become stronger? To become better than Stain? To defeat All Might? His thoughts would be dispersed when a loud angry voice boomed from his right side.
“How many times do I gotta tell you kids? This stuff is 18+!” Shigaraki turned his attentive gaze towards your voice, a voice that could instantly gain anyone’s attention. Well, aside from how loud it was. He slowly walked into the store, staring at a messy rack full of comics but secretly eavesdropping on the conversation.
“Ma’am, I’m 18! See?” The boy handed you an ID card, one that instantly made you aware of how fake it was. The card was poorly constructed and taped for crying out loud. “You all look 12. Now get lost before I call one of those bad guys to come down and beat your asses.” The boys ran out of the shop in a hurry, fearing for their lives. You turned your attention to the new customer who wore his black sweater a bit too suspiciously. “Aye, you.”
Shigaraki calmly turned his head towards your direction. He was sure to cover his face, hanging his head down low. “You’re lookin’ hella suspicious. Did you come here to shoplift?” He stood in his place, squinting his eyes at the ground. Were you always this talkative and annoying? “Are you profiling me?”
You were taken aback by his response, moving your hands and shaking your head frantically. “Uh, no. Not at all. Sorry.” His face filled with annoyance, moving to grab a random comic and walking to your counter. You glanced at the book he chose, ‘Pretty Princess Diaries’. A giggle couldn’t help but escape your lips, causing Shigaraki to grow more agitated. You reached under the counter and grabbed a more suitable comic for him. “I think you’d enjoy this better. It’s about the psychology of the villain, Memphis, and how he defeats the heroes.”
There was no reason as to why he even stepped foot in the comic store but this was perfect for Shigaraki. It would give him many ideas and ways to help in the current situation he was in. However, he wasn’t willing to pay the price. “I don’t feel like buying this.” He began to lower his final finger on the cover page, ready to deteriorate it. That way, you’d be frightened by him. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s on the house.”
He removed his entire hand completely away from the comic, watching you take it and place it in a white bag. Confusion was the only emotion he was feeling. You handed him the bag with a smile. Even though you could barely see his face, he strongly caught your interest. He looked mysterious and interesting. Or maybe you’ve just been reading too many romance themes. “If you like it, come back and get the next one.”
Shigaraki looked at you with disgust, fully aware of the love eyes you sent him. He mumbled a quick “sure” and left the store, hoping to never step foot inside ever again.
When he got back from the long travel, he tossed the bag to the side and slumped on his cold bed. He glanced at the plastic bag before pulling out the comic and taking a long look at it. A dark matte cover, red cheapfire font imprinted in the center, and underneath was the main villain. Shigaraki had nothing else better to do so he decided to read only a bit of it. Going from one page, to thirteen, to forty, until it reached the end. He wasn’t aware but it was already 4am in the morning.
Shigaraki entered the store, the same place he refused to step foot in again. He placed the white bag on the counter, setting his empty hands back in his pockets. “I need the next one.” You could barely understand him through his mumbling, causing you to lean in closer. You noticed a few of his hidden features. His fragile face, chapped lips. Chapped lips?
“Nah, what you really need is some chapstick for those crusty ass lips.” You grabbed your cherry lip balm from your purse, holding it out to him with a wink. “You can have mine. It’s my favourite flavour.” Shigaraki snatched the item from your hand, shoving it in his pocket with a huff of annoyance. Your flirtatious presence really started to get on his nerves.
This would be his last visit to you and he couldn’t wait to leave but then, a thought popped off in his head. He needed a pawn to do his dirty work. The work that he nor his group could carry out due to the huge attention it would gain. He needed someone who was as easy as you. “You know, you’re quite a view.”
You raised a brow, not expecting the sudden compliment. “Oh, thanks.” Shigaraki wasn’t the best at flirting but he needed to try in order to fully wield you in. “When’s your lunch break?” You sat straighter in your chair, a smile slowly forming across your face. You weren’t really sure when but you knew your friend would cover your shift if he knew about the situation. “I can end now. Eijiro!” You called in the back room. “I need you to cover my shift please.”
Without even waiting for a response, you grabbed your purse and stood beside an irritated Shigaraki. He didn’t expect to be hanging out with you so soon and wasn’t fully mentally prepared for your excessive energy. It was going to be a long dreadful day.
You both sat on the edge of the water fountain, ice cream in hand. It had only been an hour and Shigaraki was ready to end himself. You gladly licked your ice cream while he sat still, staring at you. Everything about you annoyed him. The way you sat perfectly under the mall sunroof or how graceful you looked eating your ice cream. You took notice of the way his pinky extended away from his cone. “What are you, British?” You pointed at his finger, causing him to look down at it. “I don’t think all British people do that.”
You shrugged your shoulders, standing up from your spot. He followed your movements, his height causing him to look down on you. You embraced him in a tight hold, feeling the rigidness of his body. “I had a great time. By the way, what’s your name?”
He wasted no time in saying his name, incapable of standing your presence any longer. “Shigaraki.” Finally, you’d regret spending the day with him and leave him alone. You stood there silent in confusion, resting a finger on your chin. “Huh, like the villain?” Holy shit, this girl was dumber than he thought. “Anyways I gotta go. Come by tomorrow so we can do this again.” You left him speechless, standing all alone in the middle of the busy mall.
He was sure of giving up. You weren’t worth all the mental suffering but here he was with you again, walking around the same mall. Earlier, he had mentioned how he hated holding hands so instead, you linked your arm with his while he had his hands in his pockets. The big advertisement sign of skincare caught your attention, stopping you in your tracks and making him do the same. “Look Shigz, we should go in. You need that.”
You looked up at him with a cheeky smile, causing him to groan in revulsion. He wasn’t sure why he was going along with it. Applying chapstick was enough for him but to you, if it worked on his lips, it would definitely work on his face.
He noticed all the skin products on display, walking down the extremely bright aisle. He heard his nickname being called and turned around, feeling your soft hands rub against his face. “You said you had a skin condition so the employee recommended me this.” Shigaraki watched as you ran your fingers from his face, all the way down to his neck. He never recalled feeling another human’s touch in such a caring way.
You both made your way towards the counter, paying for the product and leaving. To his surprise, he actually bought the cream. The very first time in his life, he actually bought something instead of stealing it. You were a bad influence on him and his work and he needed nothing more than to depart from you.
“Shit, it’s almost time for my shift.” You stood on your tippy toes, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek before steadily jogging off. “I’ll see you soon!” Never in his life had he been given such affection. Shigaraki touched the area of where your lips had kissed with delicate fingers.
That night, he tossed and turned in his bed, struggling to find sleep. You were an internal battle to him. On one side, he hated your guts and wanted nothing more than to escape from you. On the other, he hated to say it but he enjoyed your company. The way you made him feel something he’d never felt in all his years of living. He decided at that moment, he’d confess to you. No, nothing romantic in any way but strictly his identity. The identity that you somehow failed to process.
“What do you mean she doesn’t work here?” The next day, Shigaraki stepped foot in the comic shop, only to be told you weren’t there. The new clerk adjusted his glasses. “I’m sorry, sir. You’re gonna have to describe her.” A now frustrated Shigaraki grew heavily impatient, not having the time to deal with this. He realized he never asked for your name, a stupid rookie mistake he made. “She’s this short, (y/h/c) hair, (y/e/c) eyes, a little slow, annoying, and dumb.”
The man shook his head with a puzzled face. “I’m sorry but I just started working here and I don’t know much of who works here.” Shigaraki scratched his neck, seconds away from decaying him but restraining himself. “What’s the point of asking me that question then?”
He walked out of the store defeated. Shockingly, he didn’t reach over the counter to kill the goof. You really were a bad influence on him. A moment of walking later, he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Shigz.”
He recognized the fine voice all too clearly. He started to broil in anger. In a matter of seconds, he quickly spun around to face you. “Where were you? I tried visiting you and you weren’t there.” You were astounded, never witnessing Shigaraki this mad before. Usually, he was calm and quiet. “I quit my job. They weren’t paying good.”
He closed his eyes, letting the stress leave his body. “Listen closely.” He opened his red eyes which met yours. In that instant, he wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to express how he felt but his feelings were too complicated and corrupted. “Like I said, I’m Tomura Shigaraki. The leader of the League of Villains.”
“Uh, yeah. You already told me.” He paused in perplexity, having the inability to speak or understand the situation. What did you mean you already knew? For the longest time, he thought you weren’t the brightest and he was okay with that. You began to laugh, trying to maintain it with a hand clasped on your mouth. “Did you really think I didn’t know? It was pretty obvious, Shigz. I just wanted to get to know you as you. Not how everyone sees you.”
He stood motionless feeling flabbergasted, allowing you to grab onto his arm. “I never asked you for your name.” If he never mentioned it, you’d had completely forgotten about it. “(Y/n).”
“(Y/n)” He trailed in a slight whisper, repeating after you. “Why don’t I take you on a proper date?”
With the biggest smile that warmed Shigaraki’s cold heart, you held him in closer.
“I would like that a lot.”
282 notes · View notes
tizzymcwizzy · 4 years
Text
Home Is Where The Heart Is - Chap 1
Ladynoir July Day 10 - Breakdown
lol okay so this was an idea that was requested by my friend @orcarriagesthatwork who was inspired by a headcanon post thing from @rosekasa, but anyway, here it is!!! aaahhh,, I haven't written anything in forever so this may be bad, also it's 1 am but whatever, enjoy!! also, also, this does contain some mild child abuse,, uuhhh should I even call it that? Just a trigger warning, it's not too extreme, not super violent, just be aware!
@ladynoirjuly2020   
Chap 1 - Here    Chap 2
Ao3 Link
Chat Noir rolled a pebble in his hand. Up and over, up and over, up and over. It was a smooth rock he found on the roof of the building he was sat upon. Up and over, up and over, up and-
His ear twitched at the thump that came from behind him. Chat tensed up and dropped the pebble off the side of the building. He made a vain attempt to catch the pebbled as a set of footsteps came closer. Chat froze and let his hand fall limp.
"Hey, Chat. Did I miss anything?" Ladybug asked cheerily as she sat next to him. 
He stared down at the street below. Nothing much. Did you see anything on your way here? It would be so easy to say it, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth.
"Chat?" She asked, turning her head to look at him. She sounded confused. "Did anything happen?" Ladybug looked between his blank face and the street below.
He didn't say anything for a moment. "I dropped a pebble." His voice was almost a whisper.
She blinked at him. "Wha- Is everything alright?" She asked. Her tone was soft and concerned. 
He didn't reply again. It felt like there was something stuck in the back of his throat. If he were to speak, they would all fall out and he'd never be able to stop it. Chat swallowed.
"Chaton, you know you can talk to me," she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and leaned forward to look at him. He looked away.
"I can't," he choked. The lump in his throat was growing bigger. Y'know, Adrien thought it would be easy. Simple, even, to pretend. To smile, to brush the whole thing off, just like he'd done a million times before. But, but this time, it was different. He was tired. So, so very tired. He couldn't push it down, no matter how much he really wanted to. It was stuck, right up in his throat, waiting to spill out. Like an overfilled wine glass at the edge of a table. 
"Is it me?" She asked with a slight tremble in her voice, pulling her hand off his shoulder.
"What?" He whipped his head back at her, "why would-" He shouldn't have looked at her. That's why he was staring at the street in the first place. 
Ladybug’s head was downturned, slightly away from him. The crease between her brows had turned up, different than her usual pout. She pursed her lips and stared at her fingers, which were fidgeting slightly.
He inhaled sharply and slapped a hand over his mouth. A sudden pain struck him in the chest.
She looked up at him, worried, concerned, despairing. "Chaton?"
It broke equally him, and the flood gates. He muffled a cry into his hand, staring into her eyes. Ladybug’s eyebrows shot up and she glanced quickly between his eyes as if trying to figure out how to fix him, like a broken puzzle.
Adrien hated crying. Not the feeling of emotion, though that sucked, it was the rapid breathing, the choked exhales, the tightened windpipe, the snot welling up in his nose, the pounding headache, and the helplessness to stop it all.
He let out another choked noise and held both hands over his mouth as if to try and stop himself. Chat doubled over and tried to breathe, but his body kept shaking with rapid hiccups and sobs. The pain in his chest burned and his throat screamed for air.
“Chaton?” Her voice was breaking. Small hands held his shoulders and pulled him to look up. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, Chat Noir, hey, hey look at me," she said softly as she looked into his eyes. Adrien had never seen that expression before. She looked almost terrified, worry covered every inch of her and she sucked in a sharp breath.
He cried again and put his hands over his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he croaked between heaves. “I’m, I’m sorry.” He clenched his jaw and tried to force his breathing to steady.
Those small arms wrapped around him completely, holding him and rubbing circles into his back. "Don’t be sorry, It's okay, just let it out, it's okay to cry," she whispered softly into his ear. He hated the tremor in her voice.
Chat’s hands slowly fell from his face and wrapped around her. Even though he was maybe twice her size, he felt so small in her arms, like a child. He buried his face into the crook of her neck and just sobbed wreaking, hacking cries, and his body heaved with the hiccups. The pain in his chest spread to his gut and he grimaced. His head hurt terribly, but all he wanted was to cry, and she, for all the world, was letting him. 
Ladybug began to hum softly in his ear after a while. He couldn't recognize the tune. It was warm though, and he could feel it in his arms as she sang. She nestled her head next to his and held him tighter.
His breathing eventually slowed as she rubbed circles into his back. Chat pulled himself away from her, rubbing his nose on his arm. Though, she tugged him back so he was an arms reach away. "Sorry, I got snot on you," he said in a small voice, getsuring to her shoulder. 
"It's fine, it'll be gone with my transformation." Ladybug smiled at him, still with creased brows.
He looked down at his hands, unsure of what to do. Chat hiccuped.
“How do you feel?” She rubbed his arm.
Better. “I’m, I’m okay, I’ve had better days,” He laughed dryly. “I feel better. I,” he trailed off. “Thank you,” He murmured.
“No problem,” She laughed airily. Do, do you want to talk about it?" She asked, gently. 
He looked up. "I shouldn't, the whole identity thing, y'know," he hiccuped and waved his hand, not quite meeting her eyes. Adrien was afraid that if he did, he’d start bawling all over again.
Her eyebrows traced up her head again, she frowned and looked down at the space between them, which wasn't much. "I don't think that stuff matters if you're feeling terrible.” She rubbed his arm as she explained. "We wouldn't be able to work as a team if you couldn't tell me what was going on." She glanced up at him. "Y'know? And it's snot like you're gonna tell me who you are," she quirked a small smile.
He squinted at her for a second before realizing the pun. Chat snorted, she grinned and chuckled at him. Then they doubled over in full laughter, which slowly turned into deep sighs. "That was a good one," he chuckled and rested his head on her collarbone. Then he frowned. "I," he started slowly. "I got into a fight with my dad." Chat bit his lip and let her curl their hands together as she rested her head on his. "I barely even remember what it was about, it was stupid, but, but then we started yelling at each other, and, I dunno why I said it, but-" his voice climbed higher and higher until he choked on a sob and bit his hand, trying to steady his breathing. 
She sighed and traced circles on his hand. "It's okay," she whispered again.
"I-" he took a deep breath, 
---
It was dumb really, arguing with his father. There was little to no point, and he knew it. Fighting with him only fanned the flames and earned a harsher punishment for backtalking. But, for some reason, Adrien was sick and goddamned tired. So, he did the senseless thing and yelled at his father.
“Why?!” Adrien mocked as he whirled around and glared at his father. “Why!? Are you kidding me? How much is it to ask for one little thing around here, huh?” What was he doing, he should stop. As Adrien glanced up to see the ever-growing look of disdain on his father’s face he quickly realized more and more that he should stop, let it go, and apologize. But the glare only emboldened him, somehow. “I do everything you ask, and more! I model, I get the top grades in my class, I hang out with Lila, I practice piano, fencing, I win trophies upon trophies for you,  what else do I have to do? What do I have to do to earn this one thing?” He snapped.
“This is not a matter of your actions, this is a matter of your safety. You stay here where I can keep an eye on you,” His father snarled.
“My safety!” Adrien howled with laughed. “Our city is being guarded by two superheroes, and guess what, you hired a bodyguard for me! If you’re so worried about my safety than what the hell is he there for?” He should really tone it down. The increasing redness of his father’s face wasn’t a good sign.
“You’re so foolish. Count, how many times have you run away from your bodyguard? How many times have you been in the middle of danger? And even with those incompetent superheroes, there is no way you will be as safe out there as you are in here,” He barked, jutting a firm finger at the ground. His father turned away. “You’re just like your mother, never listening to my warning, always recklessly running into danger with her head in the clouds,” he muttered and placed a tense hand on the bridge of his nose.
Adrien shouldn’t have said it, but he did. He blurted it out like the idiot he was. “If I’m so much like my mother, then maybe I should leave just like she did.” His father blinked and turned back towards him. He should’ve stopped there. “Y’know,” Adrien scoffed, “that’s probably why she left us, isn’t it, abandoned you and your stupid rules, I bet she couldn’t take either.” Adrien’s tone turned bitter. “Mom probably got sick from your suffocation, didn’t she,” His voice began to tremble. He should stop, he needed to stop. “She couldn’t take it and hopped on the next train leaving to who knows where all because of your stupid-”
Gabriel backhanded him. Square on the cheek, forcing Adrien to shut up and turn away. He froze. The room was suddenly very very quiet apart for Adrien’s sharp inhale. He shouldn’t have been as shocked as he was, really. Adrien glance back at Gabriel to see a look of horror that crawled across the man’s face. 
“Don’t,” his voice wavered. “Don’t you ever talk about your mother that way.” His tone was harsh, stinging like his cheek. Half of him wanted to apologize, the other half wanted to run, but he stayed rooted there like a statue, head still turned with the way he was hit. Adrien felt everything slow. Had Gabriel hit him with his ringed hand? Is that why it stung so much? “You won’t be going back to school on Monday, and that is final. Go to your room.” The quiet power in his tone, that all the while seethed with rage, forced Adrien from his spot rooted on the tile to run past Gabriel and up to his room. Gabriel, however, remained where he stood and flinched when Adrien slammed the door to his bedroom.
Adrien twisted around and fumbled with the lock on his door. Once it was locked he backed away from it slowly, almost expecting it to burst open. All he wanted was to leave, to run away, to get out of this damn house that was too big and too empty for its own good.
“Adrien?” Plagg asked, flying out of his jacket and hovering near his face, gently touching his cheek.
“I need to go,” Adrien strained to speak, his throat felt raw and tight. His walls would crumble any minute. Plagg nodded at him, concern filling his eyes.
“Transform me, Plagg.” 
Chat Noir lept out of the window and away from that house.
---
Chat Noir continued to sob as he explained to her what happened, leaving out as many details as he could for the sake of his identity. His voice trembled and grew scratchy as he spoke. “I don’t know what I should do,” He wiped his eyes. “I don’t want to go back, all I really want to do is run away, but I wouldn’t know where to go, and I’ve got to-”
“Don’t go back,” Ladybug interjected.
“What? Wha- where would I go?” Chat looked up at her. Her traditional pout was back, but this time it was broiling with rage. Her nostrils were flared, her lips were strewn tight together in a thin line, and the look in her eye frightened any other confused statement right out of him. She stood up and pulled him to his feet. 
“Don’t go back.” She threw her arms around his middle and squeezed him in a tight embrace. “Please,” she looked up at his face, resting her chin on his chest and reached up to wipe a tear off his face. “Don’t ever go back there.”
“Where would I go?” His voice was quiet and weak. Chat’s heart swelled with affection, feeling loved and cared for, and nearly started crying again.
“Go,” She trailed off, thinking. Her nose scrunched up in the way that it always did. “Come- come home with me,” she said.
What? He almost laughed. “What? With you? My lady, I’m flattered,” he tried to joke, though it fell a bit flat as his voice was still torn from tears, “but that’s impossible, what about our identities?” He asked, already knowing the answer. They shouldn’t, the couldn’t, he knew. Didn’t make it hurt less, though.
“Who cares?” What? “Who cares, I don’t, I- I can’t care about that anymore.” She shook her head. 
“What are you saying?” Chat’s throat was suddenly feeling very tight. 
“We have a guest bedroom upstairs, or you could stay in my room, she rambled on. “And I’m sure I have some clothes that will fit you-”
“Wait, wait, slow down,” He looked deep into her eyes, hoping to find some sort of catch, but there was nothing but earnestness. “What? Why, b- but,” he exhaled.
“Come home, please.” She cupped his cheek and stared firmly into his eyes.
mwahahahah cliff hanger!!! >:3 The next chapter will go up tomorrow if I don't die before then,, Thank you for reading!!
154 notes · View notes
fieryanmitsu · 4 years
Text
Worthy | A3! Rare Pairs Week 2020 – Day 1 (Itaru/Izumi)
Tumblr media
I AM SO LATE, but welcome to my first entry for the A3! Rare Pairs Week 2020!
This writing event is being hosted by @A3!_69min on Twitter and AO3 and focuses on writing romantic fics for unpopular A3! pairings. As it happens, every single Izumi pairing except Sakyo/Izumi is a rare pair per the event’s definition of rare pair.
SO, MY GOAL IS TO WRITE IZUMI SHIPS ALL WEEK!
Of course, I’m starting off with my OTP – I love ItaIzu so much, I’ll take any excuse to write them.
Tumblr media
WORTHY
PROMPTS: Adoration / Jealousy
CHARACTERS: Itaru Chigasaki, Izumi Tachibana
PAIRINGS: Itaru/Izumi
My fanfic masterpost: Here
AO3: Link in my Blog Menu
Tumblr media
Izumi was curious.
The question had been on her mind all day since her conversation with Muku over breakfast. The middle schooler had been excitedly telling her all about the shojo manga he was currently reading. Apparently, he hadn’t slept well the night before because he had gotten worked up over the latest chapter.
“You’re staring a hole into my head,” her boyfriend remarked suddenly, though his eyes never left the television screen in front of him, his thumbs flying across his controller.
Itaru was playing some kind of action-adventure game and was currently exploring an underground dungeon with his character. Ever since she had mentioned that she liked the background music, he played this particular game whenever he had to wait for her to finish reviewing her post-rehearsal notes.
“Oh, sorry – I was just… curious about something. But, it’s a bit, er, awkward to ask about…” Izumi responded, one hand fidgeting with the pages of her notebook and the other absentmindedly poking the back of her pen into the Poyo – some pink, round mascot character that Itaru liked – cushion on her lap.
“Oh? Why don’t you try me?”
“Well… I was talking to Muku this morning about the shojo manga he’s reading. There was a scene where the rival character was confessing to the heroine. It was apparently a very heartfelt and passionate declaration of love. Something about how even seeing her with the other guy made his heart feel like it was being torn apart by knives. And that he hated seeing her cry because of that other guy and that he’d give up everything to whisk her away and make her happy. It ended with him asking the heroine to pick him instead.”
“Ahhh, yeah, that’s a classic. Never fails to stir up the fans,” Itaru responded with a knowing nod.
“And then, Muku gave me a 20-minute seminar on classic shojo jealousy scenes and, uh, well… They were more, um, thrilling than I expected? Sooooo, it kinda just, you know… made me wonder,” Izumi stiltedly blurted out. She couldn’t believe she was going to ask him this – her face was already flushed with embarrassment. Maybe Muku’s starry-eyed wonder was contagious. “Do you, umm… ever get jealous of seeing me with other guys?”
“Uh… I’m not sure how to tell you this, but you have twenty other guys, twenty-one if you count Kamekichi, hanging off you – sometimes literally – every single day. If I got jealous every time one of them sat next to you, I’d be six-feet under already.”
“Okay, yeah, that was dumb question – let me rephrase it!” Izumi backpedaled frantically. “What would you do if someone else confessed their love to me – like they were trying to steal me away? Would you be jealous? Would you fly into a blind rage? Or pin me against a wall and forcefully kiss me?! Or barge in and passionately declare: ‘Choose me, not him’?!”
“Man, you really are starting to sound like Muku – all of those options sound awful, by the way. But, in all seriousness, I, uh… don’t think that would ever happen,” he responded with a nervous chuckle.
Izumi felt herself deflate a bit, unable to help feeling just a teensy bit disappointed that he had shot down her fantasies so quickly. At the same time, she wasn’t sure that she could even imagine him acting that way. She just felt like… it wouldn’t be Itaru anymore – and that thought also made her feel uncomfortable. Maybe this whole jealousy thing wasn’t as exciting as she had thought it would be a few minutes ago.
As her thoughts came full circle, she suddenly heard an odd sound from the television. She had been watching Itaru play this game for a few days now and recognized the sounds his character made when he was dying. Thinking that he was losing against a boss, Izumi glanced at the screen and saw that he was just fighting a bunch of normal enemies. She noted that the usual boss music wasn’t playing, either. Yet, his health bar was slowly, but surely, depleting.
Thinking it was strange for him to be playing so badly, Izumi shifted her attention from the television screen to look at Itaru. What she saw made the blood in her veins turn to ice. Unceremoniously throwing her notebook and poor Poyo to the floor, she practically hurled her body across the empty space between them.
Itaru had taught her the basics of how to use his GameStation when she had borrowed a Blu-ray movie from a friend, and she knew that, if she pressed the middle button on his controller, it would bring the user back to the home screen. Reaching over his arm, she pushed down on the middle button and a blue screen immediately popped up, effectively pausing the game. Gently prying the controller away from Itaru’s limp hands, she set it down on his coffee table before she turned off the television screen.
“Itaru, what’s wrong?” she asked worriedly, placing a hand on one of his arms and squeezing it gently.
The salaryman’s brow was furrowed, and he kept his face averted from hers, gaze trained on the floor. Even from his profile, she could see that his mouth was set in a firm and tight line. It had been a long time since she’d seen him make this expression.
“You’re not going to like what I’m about to say,” he responded after a long pause.
Izumi could feel her stomach drop. She had heard those words before – it had been right before her last breakup. She had thought things were going well between them, but maybe she was wrong…?
“Why don’t you try me?” she prompted, trying to keep her voice light as she imitated his words from earlier.
At the same time, she did her best to brace her heart, despite that it was starting to beat erratically. Whatever he said, she would graciously accept it – telling herself that she couldn’t afford to have things be awkward between them.
“Getting jealous over someone… it only happens when you don’t want them taken away from you, right?” Itaru said slowly, deliberately. “So… I don’t think I could ever be jealous… because… I… I don’t feel that way.”
Izumi couldn’t have possibly braced hard enough for that kind of impact. She could feel a hot feeling well up in her throat and tears were already prickling at the back of her eyes.
“Does… Does that mean you don’t want to be with me, anymore?” she asked, unable to help the waver in her voice.
Her question hung in the air unanswered as she watched him clench and unclench his hands on his lap, his eyes still stuck on the floor.
“Itaru, will you look at me? Please?” she begged. She was starting to feel light-headed and she just… She just needed to ground herself somehow.
After a long moment, he shifted his position to angle himself towards her on the couch, though his eyes remained downcast.
Izumi gently cupped his face in her hands and lifted his head to level with her own. She could feel his jaw clenched beneath her palms.
“Itaru, talk to me,” she coaxed gently, fighting to keep her voice steady. “What did you mean earlier?”
Though he didn’t move her hands away, he continued to avert his eyes.
“I… I can’t be jealous,” he began quietly. “Because… if someone else confessed to you, it’d be better that way. I’d be happy.”
“Why would you say that?” Izumi demanded, her tone coming out harsher than she had intended. She inhaled deeply to try and calm herself, though her brain was still rattled by his words. “Weren’t you the one who confessed to me first, Itaru? You asked me to give you a chance, so why would you think that way?”
A long moment passed between them in silence, but Izumi could see Itaru’s emotions warring on his face. She didn’t dare breathe until he finally opened his mouth again.
“Sometimes… I think it was a mistake that I asked you out,” he said quietly, his voice cracking as he continued on. “The more time I spend with you… the more I think about how… how you deserve someone better than me.”
Suddenly, she felt a wet sensation tickle against her fingers. As tears fell from his magenta-coloured eyes, Izumi was struck by several emotions.
The first was awe. For the first time, she understood what it meant when people said that there were beautiful criers. Though she knew that it was morbid, at that moment, she truly thought that Itaru was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, even as tears blotted his cheeks and turned his eyes red.
The second was sorrow. She felt unspeakable sadness that this person before her had struggled through so much in his life that he felt unworthy of being with someone he professed to love and thought that she would be better off without him.
Anger was the third. She was angry at herself for being unable to reassure him, to stop him from feeling this way despite the amount of time they had already spent together.
Last of all, she felt a surge of… something. She had only been in a couple of casual relationships before, and none of them as passionate as the one she had experienced with Itaru in the past half a year. Nor were any of them as comfortable as what she felt when she was with him. Spending time with Itaru both calmed her and brought butterflies to her stomach. Never in her life had she felt like she mattered as much as she did than when this man looked at her.
Was this love? She didn’t know, since she had no landmark to compare it against. But, what she was sure of was that she didn’t want to see Itaru look this way. She wanted to see him with his usual crooked smirk, just like the one he always gave when he teased her. She wanted to see his eyes crinkle like they did when he won a game. She wanted to see a smile on his face – like the one that bloomed across his face whenever the curtains fell after a successful Spring Troupe performance.
 She didn’t know when it had started, but she was crying as well.
 “Itaru,” she started, ignoring the salty taste in her mouth as her tears rolled past her lips, turning his face in an attempt to meet his gaze. “You… You don’t mean that, do you.”
 “I do,” he said firmly, still refusing to look her in the eye. Instead, he took her hands in his and removed it from his face – but rather than letting them go, his fingers squeezed hers tightly.
“No, you don’t,” she replied just as forcefully, finding her footing again as her heart resolved itself. “Because if you did, then you wouldn’t look so torn right now. Your hands wouldn’t be shaking. If you would truly be happy to have someone take me away from you, then you wouldn’t have been dying against enemies that you can usually beat in your sleep.”
 Itaru closed his eyes, as if he were wincing in pain.
 “Itaru, please. Don’t push me away.”
 A fresh stream of tears rolled down his face as he let out a rasping breath, shoulders shaking.
 “Did you know, the look on your face just now was so similar to when you told me you wanted to quit the troupe? You couldn’t look at me when I asked you to admit that you weren’t interested in theatre – that you didn’t care about performing with the others,” she said softly, using her thumb to wipe away the tears streaking his face.
 As a quiet sob tore its way out of Itaru’s throat, he leaned forward and buried his head against her shoulder, quickly soaking the material of her shirt. Letting her own tears fall, she lightly ran her fingers through his hair.
 “I… I want… to be with you… I want to feel worthy of you,” he gasped out in between sobs.
 “Itaru, I’m not some deity on a pedestal. I’m just a regular person, like you. You don’t have to be worthy of anything to be with me,” she replied.
 She felt him shake his head against her shoulder, his hair tickling against her chin.
 “If you still think that way, then… then let me tell you what I told you once before. Give yourself a little more time,” Izumi said, wrapping her arms around him, and nuzzling her face into his hair. “You owe it to yourself to keep trying. And… it’s not all on you. I’ll keep trying, too. I want to be a person that’s worthy of your efforts.”
 Then, after a long moment cradled in her arms, Itaru slowly lifted his head and finally allowed his red-rimmed eyes to meet hers, a small, lop-sided smile sneaking its way onto his lips.
 “Well… then I hope you’re ready to accept responsibility for your actions again.”
 “Of course!”
Tumblr media
I had hoped to put this out on the actual first day of this week, but I kept rewriting it because I wasn’t satisfied with it. Even now, I’m not completely pleased with the finished product, but, I honestly don’t know how long it would take me to finish writing if I kept mulling over it! So, I decided to finally just settle with this version and post it and not look back!!
 In the end, I still got my central point across: which is that I wanted to write about how and why someone doesn’t feel jealous in a romantic relationship. And, so, this happened, haha. But, I didn’t want a sad ending, so I ended up on a hopeful note.
 Anyway, I APPARENTLY ONLY WRITE ITAIZU ANGST. I’m so sorry, Itaru – I’ll do you right next time!! No, really, HAHA. My entry for Day 2 (which will hopefully get written out in the next couple of days) is another ItaIzu and it’s NOT sad, I promise. In fact, it’s just PWP, LOLOL.
 If you liked my first entry, please do stick around for my other pieces for “A3! Rare Pairs Week 2020”! After my ItaIzu for Day 2, I’ll be moving on to other Izumi pairings. It’s a secret for now which pairings will all be covered in the end, but I’m here to spread the Izumi love!!
 Thank you for reading and please do leave a comment letting me know what you think! Any reblogs are always greatly appreciated and would really help me out!
 I hope to see you again! Bye for now!
 -Anmitsu
46 notes · View notes
dallanebbia · 4 years
Text
selcouth
fandom: bnha pairing: kacchako; bakugou katsuki x uraraka ochako word count: 6.6k warnings: minor descriptions of injuries synopsis: five times uraraka held bakugou’s hand – and the one time he held hers. pre-relationship, second year, future fic notes: written for day 5 of kacchako week 2020, with the prompt ‘hand holding.’ fun fact, this was the very last prompt i wrote for this event! i went back and forth with a ton of different plots,  but i ended up with a good ol’ 5+1 fic, ft. lots of fluff and an emotionally dumb, oblivious bakugou. when i started writing this ship, it was hard for me to get into bakugou’s head to write from his pov, but i think i’m getting a little better at it :) ao3: [link]
selcouth (n.) – Old English, something unfamiliar, unusual or wondrous
─── ・。゚❁゚。・ ───
The first time Uraraka held his hand was literally only because he had no other choice.
“Jeez, Bakugou… do you always hafta be so intense about things?”
Uraraka winced at the grotesque sight of Bakugou’s knee, swelling into an angry purple color between the shredded remains of his hero costume pants. 
“Tch, like I was gonna let someone else beat me to the action,” he scowled, leaning against an electrical pole for support.
In retrospect, launching himself headfirst into an ongoing robbery wasn’t the smartest idea – especially when he was only supposed to be an intern. He’d kicked ass of course – those shitty villains had nothing on him – but the busted kneecap and fractured foot he got in exchange weren’t really doing him any favors. 
Kamui Woods had taken one look at him, sighed heavily, and radioed Uraraka to escort Bakugou back to the agency for healing while he dealt with the police.
Bakugou had protested, saying that he didn’t need help – but it was quickly becoming clear that he wasn’t going anywhere. The pain in his legs was excruciating, throbbing in time to his heartbeat, and it took every ounce of his remaining energy to keep himself from collapsing in the middle of the street. 
“Bakugou –” Uraraka bit her lip, watching in worry as he tried to push himself upright, flinching violently. On instinct, she stepped forward, immediately coming up to try and steady him. “Let me –”
“I don’t need your fuckin’ help, Round Face,” he barked, jerking himself away from her outstretched hands. It was a mistake, though – he grimaced, his face crumpling in pain, and he missed the way Uraraka’s eyes narrowed in determination. 
“There’s no way you’re gettin’ back to the agency like that, Bakugou,” she said sternly. “Quit bein’ such a damn edgelord and let me help you!”
“Fuck off,” Bakugou snarled. “I don’t need some pink-cheeked – you bitch, don’t you fucking dare.”
“You really wanna be carried outta here on a stretcher?” He felt anger boiling in his blood just thinking about it. “That’s what I thought.” The set of Uraraka’s mouth just tilted down stubbornly, and before he could keep protesting, she slapped a hand over his bicep.
“I’ll murder you.” His eyes glared daggers into the side of her head, but the pain in his expression eased as he rose into the air.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Uraraka rolled her eyes, grabbing a fistful of his pants and tugging him along as she started down the street. There were already emergency responders helping to clean the crime scene, the police herding the robbers into cars, and all that was left was for them to check into medical and write up their reports. “Lord Explosion Murder, we get it already.”
“That’s King to you, Round Face,” he spat out, making a face as his body started to turn awkwardly in the air. “Oi, quit movin’ me around so much, I’m gonna flip over!”
Uraraka threw him an annoyed look, and adjusted her grip so that she was holding a bigger handful of fabric. “Well, it’s this or your foot, and I don’t wanna risk makin’ your injuries worse than they already are.”
“You’ll make them worse if you keep making me bump into random shit,” he sputtered furiously. He tried batting himself out of the way of a traffic sign, only to be jerked out of the way at the last second like a balloon. “Fuck – I said quit that!”
“If I knew you were gonna be such a pain about this…” Uraraka huffed and came to a stop in the middle of the goddamn sidewalk, ignoring all the attention they were drawing. “Fine, lemme just – “
Bakugou faltered as she yanked him down closer to her, grabbing his gloved hand in hers.
“O-oi, what are you – ?” He scrabbled at his arm, trying to shove her away, but his bulky gauntlets made it virtually impossible.
“S’just my hand, Bakugou,” Uraraka sighed, and tossed him a frown when he kept trying to pull himself out of her grip. “Stop bein’ so weird about it!”
“I’m not being weird,” he snapped, biting the inside of his cheek to hide his discomfort. Had her grip always been so strong? “I could blow your fucking arm off!”  
That earned him a scoff. “You’ve got the most control over your quirk outta anyone from our class, Bakugou. There’s no way you’re gonna blow my arm off,” she said exasperatedly, and he blinked a little at the way she said it, as if it were obvious. “Look, if it’s such a big deal, I’ll princess carry you back instead.”
“Try that and I’m actually gonna kill you,” he growled darkly. Shitty Hair was supposed to swing by the agency so they could grab dinner, and there was no fucking way Bakugou was letting his dumbfuck best friend see him carried in like a damsel in distress.  
Uraraka grinned to herself in victory. “You already said that.”
“Well, I mean it!” he grumbled, and slowly resigned himself to being dragged along like a balloon. At least he was floating right-side up now – and facing the right direction this time.
“… Wait. Did you call me a fuckin’ edgelord?”
─── ・。゚❁゚。・ ───
The second time Uraraka held his hand was an accident.
“Oh sweet Jesus.”
Bakugou exhaled slowly, trying to quell the frustration bubbling in his stomach, and shot a dirty look to the side.
“Oi,” he snapped, glaring at the petite brunette sitting next to him. “Zip it, Round Face.” Uraraka had been squealing and muttering under her breath since the damn movie started, and he was over it.
“Eeek – sorry!” Uraraka whispered, flashing him a wavering, apologetic smile before an upswell in the creepy background music made her features contort in a wince.
Bakugou just grunted, turning his eyes back to the laptop screen. He didn’t know how Pinky got Uraraka to join their weekly movie night ritual, but he had ended up next to her on Shitty Hair’s bed, the two of them squished her up against the wall. Pikachu and Tape Face were sprawled out on the rest of the bed, slowly dozing off, but Shitty Hair and Pinky, who had commandeered the floor space, had left the room ten minutes ago for snacks, and they hadn’t come back yet.
He hoped to hell that they weren’t making out in the hallway again.
“Oh god,” he heard Uraraka squeak quietly, as on the screen, a flash of lightning showed the silhouette of a man in the dark house, while the female protagonist was sleeping, completely unaware. “Oh god, oh fuck no – “
His eyes cut over to the side, eyeing Uraraka in surprise. “The hell?” he muttered, and brown eyes darted in his direction. “Since when do you curse?”
Uraraka frowned at him, but flinched as the woman on screen jolted awake. “M’allowed to curse, Bakugou, I’m not a kid,” she whispered back fiercely, but flinched as another flash of lightning showed the dark figure standing by the woman’s bed. “Ohmygod, ohmygod –“
He scoffed. “It ain’t even that scary, Cheeks,” he murmured with an eyeroll. “This is pussy shit.”
“Maybe for you!” she hissed, and let out a whimper as the music faded, leaving only the sound of the woman’s heavy breathing filtering through the speakers. “Oh my god, no no no – ”
At this point, Bakugou just tilted his head to sneer at her. “Seriously? You could literally fuck that guy up in a second.”
Uraraka made a face. “Just ‘cause I could, doesn’t mean it’s any less creepy! Nobody wants to wake up and find some serial killer in their house!” she protested, a little too loudly, and they both froze as Pikachu groaned a little, shifting so he was sprawled over Tape Face a bit more, before falling limp again.
For a few blissful minutes, she kept quiet while the movie played – but when the main character let out a dramatic gasp, she jumped again, hands flying to her face. She curled herself into a ball, peeking through the fingers covering her eyes, and Bakugou couldn’t help but mutter, “Tch, you’re such a wimp.”
Uraraka’s head whipped up, eyes narrowed. “I am not a wimp!” she whispered hotly.
A blonde eyebrow rose doubtfully. “Are too.”
“Are not!”
“Are too.”
“Are not!”
“Yes, you are,” he emphasized lowly, nodding at the laptop screen. He recognized the scene playing on the screen, and he had to bite back his smirk as he goaded, “You’re not even watching the damn movie.”
“Fine, I’ll prove it!” With a huff, Uraraka sat up, leaning forward and staring at the laptop with knitted brows. Bakugou let himself grin a little – baiting her was fun, but he kept his eyes on her as the main character crept down the dark hallway. He’d seen the movie once a while back, but he remembered that there was a jump scare, just after –   
“Holyfuckingshit!” The shrill, tinny scream from the movie almost covered Uraraka’s strangled squeal of fright, but Bakugou sure as hell didn’t miss the way the brunette leapt clean into the air, diving into Shitty Hair’s comforter like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Bakugou couldn’t quite hide his snickering, his body shaking as he cackled quietly, but when he tried to bring his hand up to wipe at his eyes, something was preventing him from moving.
“The fuck?” he uttered, staring down in bewilderment. At some point, Uraraka had grabbed his hand during her freak out, clenching it tight against her forehead, as if trying to hide her entire body behind the width of his hand. She looked utterly ridiculous, but some part of him couldn’t help but notice how fucking tiny her hands were.
Then, he realized that he was starting to float off the bed.
“Oi, let me go!” he hissed, shaking his hand to try and get her attention.
“H-huh?” Uraraka sat up, a little wild-eyed, and Bakugou leaned over to poke her in the middle of her forehead, hard.
“Your quirk, you idiot!”
Her mouth dropped open in mortification as she realized she had commandeered his hand, pushing it away from her abruptly as she quickly pressed her fingers together. “Sorry, sorry!” she squeaked, and Bakugou dropped back onto the mattress with a thump. “Oh god, I didn’t mean to – ”
“Will you chill the fuck out already?” he grumbled, repositioning himself on the mattress and kicking Pikachu’s fat ass over to give him some more room. He didn’t want her to use him as a teddy bear again, so he grabbed a pillow and shoved it at her. “Here, if you really need to hide behind something...”
He let his voice trail off as Uraraka took the pillow, still flushed in embarrassment. “… sorry,” she offered again, a little timidly, and Bakugou sighed.
“…Whatever, it’s fine,” he muttered, balling the hand she had held in a fist. It felt weird for some reason – why did his palm feel so prickly all of a sudden? “Just shut up already, will you?”
Uraraka just mimed zipping her lips together, nodding furiously, and he rolled his eyes as he turned back to the screen, a good half-meter between them.
─── ・。゚❁゚。・ ───
The third time Uraraka held his hand was just… weird.
“Shit.”
Bakugou glared down at the sloppy tangle of gauze wrapped loosely around his hands. With a grimace, he yanked the bandages away, gritting his teeth against the pain that shot through his body, the echoing ache digging down deep into his bones.
He wanted to call Shitty Hair for help, but the redhead was out for the weekend, visiting his family. There was no way he was going to cave and ask anyone else for help, so Bakugou had sucked it up and tried taking care of it himself.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t going so well.
“Eh? Is that you, Bakugou?” His head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice, and a glance over his shoulder revealed Uraraka, standing in the entrance of the common room in her pajamas. Her hair was a mess and she was rubbing at her face sleepily, but none of that explained what she was doing up at three in the fucking morning.
“What the hell are you doing?” he scowled, turning his back to her.
“I got thirsty,” she yawned. “Why are you up so late? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“What are you, my fuckin’ mother?” he snapped. “Fuck off.”
“Right…” Uraraka pursed her lips, padding to the kitchen. “I was just askin’, sheesh…”
Even though his body was hidden by the couch, and there was no way for her to see anything other than his head as she crossed the room, Bakugou still buried his hands into the front pockets of his hoodie. He was in pain and frustrated and exhausted, and he felt like a spring wound too tight. Uraraka’s sudden appearance had caught him off guard, and he felt oddly exposed for some reason.
She disappeared into the kitchen, and Bakugou exhaled slowly. He slowly pulled his hands back out, grabbing the bundle of gauze with a wince and settling down to untangle the mess for the hundredth time. He could feel his hands protesting, the stitches crawling up his palms already starting to bleed through antibacterial gel he’d lathered on earlier, and he slumped even further into the couch as frustration burned at the backs of his eyes.
“Um… Bakugou?”
He froze, eyes sliding to the side to see Uraraka. She was standing at the other end of the couch, a glass of water in hand, and looked both hesitant and determined all at once.
“Mind your own fuckin’ business, Round Face.” He ducked his head, swallowing as he took a steadying breath.
He picked at the tangled bandages, but the couch dipped suddenly under him. He felt Uraraka scoot close until she was sitting at his side, body turned to face him as she said softly, “If you want, I can…?”
She held her hand out, waiting for him to give her the gauze.
His first instinct was to say no. It was bad enough that he had to ask Shitty Hair for help, but he didn’t want anyone else seeing what a weak little shit he was. He had to learn how to do it himself at some point too – there wasn’t a point in relying on someone when he could do it alone, just as well or even better.
Still… his gaze fell to her outstretched hand, and he noticed the faint scars covering the skin of her palm and fingers. The pale marks were obviously not new, not years old either – but they were well healed, without any excess scar tissue. He didn’t know how he never noticed them before.
Huh. He flicked his gaze up to her face, where she watched him with patient eyes, gnawing at her lip nervously. Well, not like she can make it worse.
“… whatever.” He slapped the bandages into her waiting palm, and cursed himself for being a dumbass as pain and black dots exploded across his vision. “Do what you want,” he muttered with a grimace. He turned his head away, jaw set stubbornly, but slowly, he let his gaze slide to the side, watching her from the corner of his eye.
To his disgruntlement, Uraraka combed through the mess easily, fingers plucking until the length of gauze was coiled loosely in her lap. She reached towards him, and Bakugou had to bite back the instinct to recoil from her touch as she tugged his hand over, cupping it as she started to wrap his palm.
Her hands were cool against his skin, her touch firm yet gentle. She moved quickly and confidently, as if she’d done this exact same thing a hundred times before, and he didn’t notice his head turning to watch her work until she glanced up at him. She met his gaze with a startled “eep!,” and then immediately directed them back down with an embarrassed flush.
He felt his cheeks turn hot, and a weird buzzing sensation settled below his skin, one that got really loud every time Uraraka’s fingers brushed over his. It wasn’t a bad thing per se, but it felt disconcerting – and after she finished tying off the ends of the bandages, he immediately pulled his hands back.
He examined them, begrudgingly impressed. The wraps looked as good as when Recovery Girl had done them, possibly better – but he figured the pain was the reason he was thinking so weirdly, so he pushed the thought out of his head.
“How do they feel?” Uraraka asked. “Not too tight?”
“S’alright,” he mumbled. “Better than how Shitty Hair does it.”
For some reason, she laughed. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He was really touched that you asked him for help, y’know?”
“He’s fucking dead,” Bakugou growled, because of course Shitty Hair went and blabbed. He leaned back against the cushions with a sigh – the stabbing ache was still there, but it was slowly dulling. Without the stress of trying to wrap his injuries by himself, he felt ten times lighter.
He glanced over to Uraraka, who was staring off into nothing, toying with her half-filled water glass absently. His gaze dropped to her hands again, curiosity niggling at the edge of his brain, and he asked brusquely, “How the hell do you know how to do shit like this anyways?”
She jumped a little, blinking in surprise, but when he didn’t say anything, just waiting for an answer, she giggled nervously. “Oh, well… durin’ my internship with Gunhead, he taught me how to throw knives!”
He jerked upright at that, his eyes bugging out, because what the fuck?
“And I was pretty bad at it at first,” Uraraka continued, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly. “I kept cuttin’ my hands up… so I got a lot of practice with takin’ care of stuff like that!”
“Knives?” he repeated incredulously. “You can throw fuckin’ knives?”
“Yeah?” She shrugged, as if she wasn’t aware of how fucking badass she sounded. “I mean, you never know when you’ll need one – that’s what Gunhead always said. I asked the Support Department to add a bunch to my hero costume, but I hafta pass some sort of test before I’m cleared to carry them…”
Bakugou huffed, clicking his tongue. “Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered, shaking his head. He knew that she was strong, but he could feel his respect for her leaping up a few notches.
Knives. Who would’ve thought?
Unfortunately, Uraraka somehow interpreted his words as disbelief, and her eyes narrowed into a glare.
“Hey, I’m serious!” she scowled, scooting closer so she could shove her hand into his face. “See – this one’s from where I dropped one and tried catchin’ it, but I didn’t get all my fingers on the handle… and this one is because I was testin’ out different weights, and there was this one that was super heavy and slipped and cut my palm. And this one –”
Bakugou rolled his eyes, but continued to listen as she chattered away. His gaze settled on one scar that curved from the middle of her left palm across the meat below her thumb, grazing the back of her wrist like a half-drawn contour line. The mark shined a little, catching the light as her arms moved, and he found himself oddly mesmerized by it.
Absently, he wondered what it would feel like, pressed up against the skin of his palm.
─── ・。゚❁゚。・ ───
The fourth time Uraraka held his hand didn’t really count – not until he apologized.
“Yield?”
Bakugou scowled, hands scrabbling against the muscled thighs squeezing his neck. “Hell… no…” he croaked through gritted teeth.
 “Ah-ah-ah,” Uraraka chided, her voice already lilting gleefully. The legs around his throat tightened just a little more. “You ain’t gettin’ out this time, Bakugou – yield already!”
He struggled against her for a few more seconds, trying to squirm his way out of the chokehold, but after another warning squeeze, he sighed, falling limp with a groan. “Fine, fine,” he grumbled, “I yield, now let me go!”
He gasped as Uraraka released him, gulping down air as he tried to catch his breath. At his side, Uraraka rolled onto her knees, grinning in victory.
“Heh, that’s one more for me!” she cheered, pumping the air with her fist, and she gave him a cheeky grin. “Better watch out Bakugou, soon you’re gonna be eatin’ my dust!”
“Tch, don’t get all cocky just yet,” he barked, pushing himself up off the floor. He used the bottom of his tank top to wipe at his face, wincing at the sting of sweat dripping into his eyes. “I’ve still got fifty wins to your forty-eight!”
“Yeah, but I’m catchin’ up!” she shot back, waving her hand dismissively. “You used to have like, ten wins on me at one point – just a few more spars and we’ll be tied!”
He scowled, but only because she wasn’t wrong – when they’d first agreed to start sparring together, a little while after his hands had finally healed up properly, he’d been pinning her to the ground consistently. Then, she started going to those supplemental martial arts classes, and he started getting his ass kicked more and more.
For some reason though, he didn’t mind the idea of losing if it meant he was losing to Uraraka.
Still, he had a reputation to uphold, so he rolled his eyes and spat out, “Pft, in your fuckin’ dreams, Cheeks.”
Uraraka paused, head tilting in confusion. “Cheeks?” she asked, brow raised. “What happened to Round Face?”
“I mean…” Bakugou cursed internally – he hadn’t meant to let the nickname slip out, but since it was already out there… he leaned forward and poked her, right below the pink blush staining her cheekbone. “If the shoe fits, and all that shit.”
It was also meant to refer to her ass, but he figured that she didn’t have to know that.
Uraraka’s expression darkened as he kept poking at her cheek, jerking her face away. “Stop that,” she snapped, and Bakugou just smirked.
“Or what?” he said teasingly. He didn’t quite know how it happened, but trolling Uraraka had become his favorite pastimes – she was just too easy to rile up. He just reached forward and poked her again, ignoring the glare she was giving him. “Whatcha gonna do, Cheeks?”
“If you poke me one more time, I swear – ”
He just snorted, going in to squish her cheek again, but Uraraka’s arm whipped up and caught his hand in a claw-like grip, her thumb digging into a pressure point that sent a stabbing pain shooting through him. “Ow, ow – fuck, what the hell – ?!”
She shoved him away as he crumpled under the force of her grip, and her voice was loud and angry as she yelled, “I said stop, Bakugou!”
He fell back, brows knitted in confusion as Uraraka stood up abruptly, stalking over to where they’d placed their things earlier. She pulled on her jacket roughly, grabbing her water bottle, and Bakugou scrambled to his feet as he realized that she was actually upset.
He caught her right before she made it to the locker room, grabbing her shoulder. “Oi, what was that for?”
“Let me go!”
“Not until you explain,” he growled, and yanked her back so she was facing him. “You’re being all moody now, what gives?”
“You were bein’ a jerk,” she snapped, mouth downturned as she stared at him defiantly. “I don’t appreciate bein’ made fun of.”
What? He frowned. “When the hell did I make fun of you?”
“You called me Cheeks!” she exclaimed furiously. “And you kept pokin’ at ‘em, lookin’ all smug!”
She said it so pointedly, as if that had proved her point, but Bakugou just felt even more confused. Were all girls so fuckin’ weird?
“You’ve got chubby cheeks, so I called you Cheeks.” He didn’t know what was happening – he thought the name fit pretty well, but clearly she didn’t agree. “How the fuck is that making fun of you?”
Uraraka’s jaw clenched. “You literally just called them chubby,” she said, her voice tight as she looked away.
“Cause they are, dumbass.” He paused then, studying her, and as she curled an arm over her stomach, he finally realized what she was going on about.
Bakugou frowned. He knew girls were all sensitive about their bodies and stuff, but he’d thought that Uraraka wasn’t the type to worry about that stuff. She was always stuffing her face when there was free food around, and her costume was basically skin-tight; he figured that she had to have some measure of confidence to pull that kind of shit off, but maybe he was wrong.
“M’not saying that you’re fat,” he said slowly, trying to come up with the right words to explain himself. He knew he could come off as an asshole, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who said shit like that. “You’re not, alright?”
“Whatever, Bakugou.” She didn’t seem convinced, rolling her eyes as she tried shrugging his hand away.
“Oi, I mean it.” He tugged on her shoulder insistently until she met his gaze. “Nobody gives a fuck about what you look like, Uraraka. You’re strong, and that’s all that matters. So fuckin’ what if you’ve got chipmunk cheeks – they’re c-cute, so fuck whoever gives you crap about ‘em!”
He stuttered over the word, his face flushing a little, and he had to avert his eyes when she blinked up at him in surprise. It felt awkward as hell, saying something like that out loud, but he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about him.
He didn’t want her thinking that way about herself.
“Oh.” He heard Uraraka exhale slowly, as if trying to gather her thoughts. Then, she laughed a little and said, “Who are you and what have you done to Bakugou?”
“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?” His head whipped up, a glare ready, but it faltered as he saw the smile on Uraraka’s face as she stared at him. It was small and soft, and there was something he couldn’t quite name lingering in her expression. He felt his tongue go heavy all of a sudden, and all he could do was swallow thickly as a swooping sensation erupted in his stomach.
She shrugged. “You bein’ nice is just… strange, I guess.”
That made him scowl. “I’m always fucking nice, what the hell?”
“Keep tellin’ yourself that, Bakugou,” she said dryly, and then shook her head, huffing a little. “Well, I guess Cheeks is better than Round Face, in any case…”
Her voice trailed off, and the silence that fell between them felt heavy and oppressive as Bakugou shifted on the balls of his feet. There was something weird about the way Uraraka was peering up at him, almost expectantly, but he didn’t know what she was waiting for.
Eventually, he settled on just repeating himself – he figured it wouldn’t hurt to hammer his point in, just one more time. “I mean it, y’know,” he grumbled. “You’re fine the way you are.”
“… Thanks.” For some reason, that made Uraraka’s shoulders slump a little, but before he could read into it, she offered him that weird little smile again. “That means a lot, comin’ from you.”
“Hah?” He blinked. “Why?”
“You’re always upfront and blunt ‘bout what you’re thinkin’,” she explained, and reached up to lay her hand over his, still resting on the curve of her shoulder. She squeezed gently, before dragging it off of her. “I know you really mean it – you aren’t sayin’ stuff just to make me feel better.”
Their hands hung between them, Uraraka still holding his, and goosebumps trailed up his arm as he felt his skin tingle under her touch. Even as she let go, the feeling lingered, and he couldn’t help but flex his hand, trying to work the strange sensation away.
“I don’t do that kind of fake shit,” he said, clearing his throat a little, and tried to hide his discomfort by shoving his hands in his pockets. “But… if you really don’t want me to call you that, I’ll stop.”
Uraraka shook her head. “No, I… I don’t mind it,” she said shyly, twisting her fingers together, and he offered her a nod, mouth quirking upwards as he resisted the odd urge to let himself grin wildly.
“Cheeks it is, then.”
─── ・。゚❁゚。・ ───
The fifth time Uraraka held his hand was only for half-priced ramen.
“Oh my god.” The brunette stopped dead in her tracks, eyes going wide in awe. “Bakugou, look!!”
He paused, confused, and followed her outstretched arm to the storefront of a local ramen shop. They’d gotten permission to leave campus to grab something for dinner after their sparring session, but they’d agreed on going to the supermarket for food.
Bakugou took a second to examine the restaurant façade, head cocked in confusion. There was nothing out of the ordinary – it seemed like the shop probably had decent ramen, but he could make his own just as easily.
“What the hell am I supposed to be seeing?”
“It’s right there! Look!!” Uraraka made an impatient noise, pointing at the shop again in excitement. “They have a 2-for-1 special on their ramen! It’s half the usual price!!”
Ah. Sure enough, there was a sign propped out in the middle of the sidewalk, advertising the very offer Uraraka mentioned. “Yeah? So?”
“So,” she said, dragging out the word expectantly, “Let’s go!”  
It was his turn to stop, this time turning to her incredulously. “… Hah?”
“Let’s go eat there!” she exclaimed, all starry-eyed. “We came out here to grab dinner, right? I bet they have spicy ramen too…”
“Cheeks…” he said warningly, rolling his eyes at her wheedling tone. “We’re supposed to be getting groceries.”
“Aw, c’mon, Bakugou!” she pouted. “We can get groceries after; this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”
“Pretty sure that’s supposed to apply to things like winning the lottery, not some deal at a restaurant,” he said dryly. Still, he took a closer look, his brows rising as he read the tiny characters lining the bottom of the sign. “Besides, it’s only for couples. Unless you’ve got a secret boyfriend, I think you’re shit outta luck, Cheeks.”
Without missing a single beat, Uraraka said, “Well, I have you, don’t I?”
Bakugou sputtered, his heart stuttering. “What?”
Uraraka just blinked up at him even more eagerly, a determined smile growing on her face. “My auntie and her best friend used t’pretend to be a couple to get the paired ticket discounts at amusement parks,” she explained casually, and Bakugou could almost begrudgingly admire that – those places were expensive as shit. “This is the same thing!”
“Uh huh,” he said doubtfully. “And how the hell are we supposed to convince people we’re a couple?”
“All we gotta do is hold hands and be happy together,” she said cheerfully. “They’ll totally buy it!”
Hold hands. Bakugou swallowed a little, something turning uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach as he recalled the last few times she had held his hand. The weird feeling in his hand had eventually gone away, but when he’d gone online for more information, the only rational explanation he found was that his skin was reacting badly to her soap or something.
He scowled – he wasn’t going to risk a full-blown allergic reaction just so Uraraka could get a cheap deal on ramen. “Yeah, not happening.”
“C’mon, Bakugou – please?” He faltered a little as she stared up at him with wide, brown eyes. That weird, warm itch started to spread again, his palms going a little sweaty for some reason – what kind of weird-ass soap did she use? “I can’t eat out all that often… and we did come out to grab food, right?”
He clenched his jaw, folding his arms across his chest stubbornly. “No.”
“Please?” she pleaded, shaking his arm. “C’mon, just this once!”
He studied her with narrowed eyes, chin jutting out as he glowered down at her, but she just kept staring back at him, unblinkingly. As they stood there in stubborn silence, he felt that uncomfortable feeling surge to life, crawling up his spine, but he refused to look away even as he felt heat blooming across the back of his neck.
“Cheeks…” he growled warningly. His throat felt a little thick, a weird tightness spreading through his chest, but somehow, he found his resolve wavering a little. Clearly, whatever he was reacting to had already got to him – he might as well just take advantage of it. And it had been a while since he’d eaten ramen…
“Please?” she asked again, and he held her gaze for a few seconds longer before exhaling heavily.
“Ugh… fine,” he growled, scowling at the way Uraraka’s expression switched from puppy dog eyes to satisfied smugness in the blink of an eye. “But if you tell anyone this happened, you’re dead. Got it?”
“My lips are sealed!” she said cheerily, punching the air in enthusiasm as she beamed. “Ahh, this is gonna be great!”
She didn’t even hesitate as she pulled his arms loose, wrapping a hand in one of his. As their palms slid together, something in his gut did a little flip. Somehow, her hand snugly in his, clasped together as she started to tug him forward, and he could feel the ball of his hand rub against that scar he had noticed, back when she’d helped him wrap his hands that one night.
If she ever decided to switch soap brands, he decided that he wouldn’t mind her holding his hand again.
─── ・。゚❁゚。・ ───
The one and only time Bakugou held her hand was because she was a forgetful idiot.
He looked over at Uraraka again, watching the way she rubbed her hands together, breathing on them as she shivered. He cast a glare over at her shitty friends, who were standing around like oblivious idiots – couldn’t they see she was freezing?
Ending up at the open-air mall with the rest of his classmates had been the very last thing he’d wanted to do today, but Shitty Hair had gotten Tape Face and Pikachu to help drag him out of the dorms, ignoring his hollering as they literally wrapped him up in tape and carried his squirming body onto the train station. He’d given in at that point – especially when he saw the way Uraraka’s face brighten a little as she saw him enter the train car. She had offered him a wave and a smile, but had otherwise stayed with the rest of her stupid friends, even after arriving at the mall.
He kicked at the ground, slouching as he shoved his hands further into his pockets. Peeking at where Uraraka was sitting again, his eyes narrowed as he saw Deku and Frogface and Four-eyes wandering off, Ponytail and Icy-Hot heading in a different direction, until Uraraka was left alone on the bench, surrounded by a bunch of shopping bags that were too expensive to belong to her.
He chewed on his lip, staring as she rubbed her hands together again, and finally made up his mind.
A glimpse over his shoulder showed the other four idiots he called friends running around the shoe store, surrounded by piles of boxes, and he quickly spun on his heel and stalked over to where Uraraka was sitting, humming some song with her eyes closed. When she didn’t react to his presence, he nudged her leg with his knee.
“Oi. Cheeks.”
“H-huh?” Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on him, and he shifted a little as those big brown eyes made his knees feel oddly weak. “Oh hey, Bakugou, what’s up?”
He thrust his hand out with a sigh. “Gimme your hands.”
“Uh… what?” Uraraka watched him in confusion. “Why – ?”
He huffed, wiggling his fingers. “Just give ‘em to me, Cheeks.”
“O… kay?” The wary glance she gave him almost made him want to roll his eyes, but she still reached forward. She placed her hands on his open palm, almost tentatively, but Bakugou quickly grabbed them, engulfing her tiny ones in his as he squatted down to breathe hot air over her bare fingers.
“What kind of dumbass doesn’t bring gloves with them?” he muttered, brows scrunching in concentration. Uraraka squeaked in surprise, but she let out a sigh of relief as he activated his quirk just enough to let heat radiate out from his glove-covered palms. “It’s the middle of the winter, you idiot.”
Uraraka’s face went a deep pink, most likely from the cold air. “I was runnin’ late!” she said bashfully. “By the time I remembered them, we were already on the train…”
“Stupid.” He wanted to make a comment about how shitty her friends were for not helping her, but he bit it back in favor of bringing his hands to his mouth, pulling the gloves off with his teeth. “Here, put these on.”
“E-eh?!” Uraraka waved her arms, flustered, as he shoved them towards her, shaking her head. “Bakugou, what… won’t you be – ”
“I have my quirk, Cheeks.” He gave her a flat stare, holding up a sparking hand. “Take ‘em, it looks like your fingers are gonna fall off.”
“Ah, I’ll be fine, you don’t have to – ”
“Fuck, do I have to do everything myself?” he grumbled, and her mouth fell open a little as he took her hand – and he was right, even with how he’d warmed her hands up, they were still practically icicles – and shoved it into one glove, before doing the same to the other side. Uraraka was still staring at him in bewilderment, so Bakugou tucked in her sleeves before tightening the toggles around her wrists to keep her body heat from escaping.
He checked one last time to make sure all her fingers were in the right places, before letting out a satisfied huff. “There. Now you won’t get fuckin’ frostbite,” he said firmly, and smirked a little – there was no way Uraraka could say he wasn’t nice after this.
Except… when he looked up, she was staring at him with a strangely soft expression that made his lungs go tight. It made him feel all hot and weird all of a sudden – the stupid allergies were coming back, dammit – and he stood up quickly, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.
“Give ‘em back later,” he said, suddenly feeling nervous for some reason. He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding at her as he tried to act cool, and turned around to head back to the shoe store.
He only took a few steps before the sound of Uraraka’s voice called out to him. “W-wait! Bakugou!”
He turned quickly, seeing her standing behind him, his gloves looking comically large hanging off the ends of her arms. “Hah?”
“U-uh, just…” She fidgeted, shifting her weight between her feet, but then her lips stretched into a huge, beaming smile, her eyes crinkling. His heart started to race in his chest under the force of Uraraka’s grin. “Thank you! For…”
“Y-yeah, yeah,” he stuttered, feeling his cheeks burn. “Whatever.” Her smile somehow got a little wider, and he quickly spun around, nearly sprinting away.
Bakugou didn’t look back at her, despite how much he wanted to – but if he had, he would’ve seen the way Uraraka brought his gloves to her nose, inhaling the lingering smoky-sweet smell as she hid a goofy grin behind her hands. 
31 notes · View notes
songfell-ut · 4 years
Text
Chapter 5 already, huh
In which I personally feel sorry for Sans only a little bit, guess when
Oh, and @lostmypotatoes? My brother actually doesn’t have The Virus, which makes me feel even worse for randomly shouting at you about it just because I happened to have our conversation open when I saw the text from my mom. Sorry again! Official chaptery link found here.
Sans had gotten used to waking up in a luxurious, his-sized bed, and after a full week with the High Priestess, he felt he could handle being stuck in the humans' castle for twenty-three more days; it was amazing to sleep so soundly, and he could think of about a million worse fates than spending his waking hours with Frisk. What he could not handle was having a really wonderful dream like that, only to wake up wifeless, childless, and absolutely certain he'd remain that way for the rest of his unnatural life.
He tried not to blame Frisk for it, he really did, but as he emerged from his room, she was sitting at the worktable in her robe with another goddamn proposal in hand, as if to taunt him. "Good...morning," she said. "Are you all right?"
"F'fn m'rg," he muttered.
"I see. I didn't sleep well, either." When he didn't respond, the priestess shrugged and went back to her letter.
The boss monster sat down at the worktable and selected a book at random, trying to shake off the feeling of his dream-wife messing with his face. Less than five minutes later, someone knocked at the door; Sans started to sweep books and mixing tools aside to make room for breakfast, but Frisk shook her head as she got up. "It's Sunday, and I have matins in less than an hour. We won't get fed till afterwards. One minute, please!"
She was about halfway across the room when Sans sat bolt upright: the bar across the doors was lifting itself, and the double doors swung open from the outside. "Good morning," said a soft, scratchy voice.
"Er...good morning, Dr. Serif," Frisk said as the man walked in. "Please, have a seat."
"Thank you." Though the worktable had several chairs pushed beneath it at widely spaced intervals, the doctor sat down next to Sans, ignoring the skeleton's glare and addressing Frisk: "When I informed His Majesty that I would be coming here this morning, he asked me to tell you that he and the Prince will be attending matins. I've brought several men to escort you to the chapel as soon as you're ready."
The High Priestess blinked, and said, "I see." She picked up her veil and headdress from the edge of the worktable. "Please excuse me, then."
Sans waited for her to disappear into her dressing room before he rounded on the royal sorcerer, resisting the urge to grab him by the neck. "What the hell are you doin' here, ya creepy bastard? You steal my magic 'n make Frisk use it, ya come here without askin' and open doors all by yerself—and how come we need a bunch of extra guys to go t'church all of a sudden?"
"She needs them because you will be staying here," said Dr. Serif, unperturbed. "We have several things to discuss, many of which do not directly concern Her Eminence and needn't come to her attention. She already has enough responsibilities for three women."
Sans couldn't argue with that, but he could and did tell the guy, "Hell with you. I'm not interested in anythin' ya have to say."
The doctor shrugged. "Very well. I will only ask you to listen to one word." He reached into his robe and retrieved the end of a very long, thin golden chain hanging from his neck, twisted the chain once around his finger, and pulled—
His face blurred and his hand melted, the flesh sliding off like warm wax. Beneath his pale human features was a long, bone-white, masklike face with black slashes above and beneath his hollow eyes, lipless mouth curving into a grin. His now-bony hand rose in greeting, chain twined around his phalange, its end dangling through the hole in his palm. "Boo," whispered the skeleton.
The door to Frisk's dressing room cracked open. "Shall I wait for you two, Dr. Serif?" she called. "Or will you keep Sans here and deprive him of another hour in church?"
The doctor dropped the chain and was human again. "Indeed, my lady," he said. "I am sorry to disappoint our visitor, and those who will come to see him for themselves, but I understand that monsters employ methods of collecting magical energy that would benefit us greatly. I wish to hear it from the horse's mouth."
"That's probably for the best. He's told me the basics, but I'm not an expert in metallurgy or alchemy, so I'm afraid most of it is over my head." Frisk closed the door behind her, settling her veil in place. "If nothing else, Sans can have a break from me. I think we've been getting along fairly well, but he's probably tired of being lectured." She paused by the edge of the worktable, where Sans was frozen in place. "Well, Sans? Shall I get out of your hair now?"
He was still reeling from what he'd seen, and only vaguely aware that he had to say something leaving-related. "Yeah, bye," he muttered.
He didn't see her start, or how her head ducked as she turned and left. The moment the doors closed, the royal sorcerer removed the chain from around his neck, setting it on the table and scowling at Sans like a disappointed teacher. "You realize you've hurt her feelings very much?" The slashes above and below his right and left sockets creased in disapproval. "No. You don't, do you."
"Well, you're hurting my fuckin' brain, ya—ow!"
Something had immediately smacked Sans in the back of the skull. He whipped around to see a disembodied hand hovering in the air, wagging a skeletal finger in disapproval before it vanished. "I will not tolerate rudeness," the doctor said severely. "Is that clear, young skeleton?"
The boss monster felt as if someone had pulled the floor out from beneath him. "Yeah, I guess so. That's about the only thing I do get right now."
"Understandable. I will begin by asking this, Sans: do you recognize me?"
That was a good question. The longer Sans looked at him, the less certain he was. "You...honestly, it feels like I used ta have nightmares with you in 'em, but I've had so many others since then that ya can't keep up. Competition's pretty stiff in here." He tapped his skull.
The doctor chuckled. "I see. Does the name 'W. D. Gaster' sound familiar?"
Sans flinched, and he didn't know why. He just knew that he wanted to open his head up and scrub the insides till the name was gone. "Not...really," he managed. "'Zat you?"
"More or less." Gaster half turned in his chair and snapped his fingers. Two more hands appeared at the windows, unlatching them and pushing them open to let the chill morning air stream in. "This is an informal meeting, principally to get acquainted again. We can start with this." He picked up the golden chain and held it out for Sans' inspection. "To the best of my knowledge – and I pride myself on thoroughness – there are no similar devices in use by any other monster in this kingdom. You should not be surprised in this fashion again."
"I sure fu—flippin' hope not," Sans remarked. "Whaddya mean, 'get acquainted again'?"
"Ah, you caught that. Well done." Gaster's mouth curved again. "We've met before, but you were so young that I'm not surprised you don't remember. The next question: would you like to have a device of your own, and the ability to appear human?"
Sans prided himself on not being dumb, but this was way too much, too fast. Gaster must have seen it in his expression, because he raised his palmless hands in a conciliatory gesture. "My apologies. I have been looking forward to this meeting for a long, long time, and I may be overly enthusiastic. I'll ask an easier question—did you kill the man found in the gardens yesterday?"
The boss monster put a hand to his skull, as if he could manually collect his thoughts. "The guy jumped. Didn't the King tell ya?"
"His Majesty told me what he was told, yes. Did Her Eminence see the assassin jump rather than give himself up, or did you throw him out the window after you squeezed him eighty-percent to death?" Gaster raised a finger as Sans started to protest. "Don't waste my time or yours, boy. The gentleman may have landed in an unhealthy fashion, but that does not explain the uniformly horizontal bruising across his front and back, or how he struck face-first and still managed to crack most of his thoracic vertebrae. His injuries were consistent with a very large hand doing a very large amount of damage before his fall."
Sans wasn't sorry, and he saw no reason to either lie or volunteer more information. He stared at Gaster, daring him to say anything more, and the royal sorcerer shook his head. "No, I will not judge you for taking drastic measures to save the High Priestess. The man was carrying three large knives and two empty sheaths, which suggests he was very serious in his purpose. Nor do I intend to trouble His Majesty or Frisk with this information, unless perhaps I find out that you crushed the man to pulp right in front of her."
"Hell, no, I didn't," Sans snapped. "Ya think I wanted her ta feel any more messed up than she already was? I didn't even let the f—the guy scream on the way down. She didn't hear anything, an' she didn't see anythin' after I got him outta the room." He drummed his fingertips on his femur. "And don't use her name. 's weird."
Gaster's brow twitched. "That answers that. Thank you."
The boss monster felt like something had gone over his head, and he was about to demand more information when Gaster raised his finger again. "One moment. Do you hear that?"
Very faint choir music was coming through the open windows. "Yeah, I know," Sans said impatiently. "When they get sick of talkin', they do that instead. It all sucks."
"Not necessarily," murmured the doctor. "This particular hymn includes a solo, and with the King in attendance, they'll use their best performer. Listen."
Sans didn't get it till the hymn faded to almost nothing and it seemed as if the song was over. He was thinking of his next question when a single voice rose through the stillness and his head turned of its own volition. His feet made him get up and cram one shoulder out the window to follow the sound, heedless of the floor creaking underfoot.
Sure enough, it was a lone woman singing. The words were indistinct, but the sound sent prickles running over his skull and down his spine; her high notes were perfect, and while he could barely hear the lower tones, they were somehow even better. When the last note died away, he wanted to jump out and yell for whoever it was to keep going.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Gaster was leaning on the other window, arms folded on the sill, head propped up on a spare hand. "I've missed hearing her in the mornings."
Sans hurriedly scratched the corners of his sockets, which somehow felt itchy. "Yeah, I guess s'not bad for a human," he said, trying to sound careless, though he couldn't help adding, "Kinda wasted in a church."
The doctor chuckled again, stepping away from the windowsill. "An increasingly common opinion, as you are doubtless aware by now."
Before Sans could ask what the hell that meant, Gaster glanced meaningfully at the boss monster's face and hand. Sans followed his gaze and saw why: his phalanges were stained bright red. "Wha..." Had he hurt himself? Sans grabbed the corner of his sleeve and swiped at his eyes, pulling it away to reveal more streaks of red. "What the crap is this?"
Gaster was very quiet. Then he reached into his robe and produced a folded white square. "Here," he said. Sans looked at it blankly. "It's a handkerchief, my boy," the doctor explained. "For drying tears."
~
The walk back to her rooms after the service was more irritating than usual. Frisk was thirsty, her calf was beginning to cramp from walking at the four guards' pace, and there was no one to talk to—just like old times, she thought with a twinge of dismay. She was reconsidering the merits of Sans' magic when they reached the double doors and she could all but run inside.
"Greetings, my lady," said Dr. Serif, raising his head from a series of drawings scattered across the worktable. There were tiny words and numbers scribbled all over, and even at a glance, the notations were beyond her. "If you'll allow us a moment, we'll clear the table. Breakfast should be here any moment."
"Thank you," she said. "I'll be out as soon as I extricate myself." Dr. Serif gave his odd half-smile, while Sans didn't so much as look up.
Well, at least changing into a looser dress made her feel better, as did kicking off her slippers and enjoying the strange walking-in-pits feeling of removing heeled shoes. Technically, she knew she should keep her veil on, but the prospect made her want to eat the damn thing. It wasn't as if the royal sorcerer was going to tell on her, and she almost never wore it around Sans anymore—not that he cared either way.
...Good Lord. When was the last time she'd felt this crabby? He must be rubbing off on me, she thought wryly.
Dr. Serif had poured a tall glass of water for her. Frisk came out, seized it from his hand, and drank the whole thing at once, setting it down with a bang and a sigh. "Thank you very much, Doctor."
"I had a suspicion you wouldn't be allowed time to care for yourself after the service," he remarked. Sans was still looking at a sheet of paper, at least until the doctor plucked it out of his hand and set it on a stack of notes. "I hear something in the hall. Sans?"
The skeleton grumbled, but got up to open the doors as Frisk sat by the doctor. "It looks as though you've made some progress. In your opinion, are these ideas practiceable?"
"I believe so, yes," he replied. "Based on what Sans has told me, we could possibly convert some of our existing infrastructure for this purpose. We will need more detailed specifications, but I thank you for allowing me to borrow Sans and attain a starting point."
"And thank you for giving him a break," she said, drawing on all of her training to keep from sounding petulant.
It must not have worked, because the doctor sighed. "That was a very natural misunderstanding on your part, my lady. He and I had words while you were getting dressed, and it distracted him. I doubt that he genuinely wanted you gone. In fact, he's been checking the clock every ten minutes since you left."
Frisk felt herself flushing. "I didn't—"
"Watch out," said Sans, and as they sat back, the dishes flew off the trolley in a burst of red magic, settling neatly onto the table. "There. What's this about me 'n the clock?"
"Nothing whatsoever," the doctor said genially. "Her Eminence is back, by the way."
Sans glowered at him, and glanced at Frisk for the first time since she'd come in. "Yep. You can go now, Doc." He made a shooing gesture, then came back to the table, pulled over a random dish, and began shoveling the food in.
Dr. Serif looked ready to hit the skeleton upside the head. "You were marvelous, as always, Your Eminence," he said loudly. "It's been a long time since you performed at matins, hasn't it?"
Frisk paused mid-stab, rearranging her tomato slices into an angrier pattern. "You can hear the chapel from all the way up here?" Stab. "Would you like something to eat, Doctor?"
"Nothing for me, thank you. On a clear day with little wind, yes, the sound carries quite far."
The priestess couldn't help grimacing. "That's good to know." She got up for another drink. "I had to chat with His Majesty and Gaius for almost twenty minutes after the service. My throat is killing me," she said over her shoulder.
When Frisk turned around, Dr. Serif was not looking at her, but at Sans, who had slowly raised his head. "Hold on a sec," the skeleton said. He shifted to face her. "That was you?"
His obvious disbelief made her want to dunk her head in the water pitcher, and perhaps also throw it at him. "I...yes? It was my turn to take that solo," she said to her plate, and crammed a wad of egg into her mouth.
"Your turn, indeed." Dr. Serif raised his eyebrows at Sans. "Her Eminence is aggressively modest about her vocal talent. You won't hear her again until the Feast of All Souls in three days, and she will do her best to get out of it."
Frisk swallowed, coughed, and said sharply, "Doctor, please." What was he doing?
"Forgive me, my lady." He rested his head on his hand, dark eyes studying her. "Speaking of All Souls Day, I've discussed the matter with Sans in his capacity as your personal guard, but I also wanted to give you a direct word of caution. We may need to employ unorthodox methods to ensure your safety, as you will have an unavoidably public role in the ceremony. Will you agree to comply with whatever measures we may deem necessary?"
That sounded ominous, but Frisk had already been trying not to think of the upcoming holy day, or the dead assassin, or how the prospect of being murdered was no longer an abstract concept. "I'll leave it to you and Sans, Doctor. Thank you for your concern."
"Of course, Your Eminence. Now, with your permission, I'd like to briefly review what you've taught Sans thus far. St. Brigid's is unparalleled in its instructional quality, so I have no doubt as to your knowledge or capability. However—"
Sans banged his empty plate onto a tray, startling them both. "Thanks, Doc. Go away."
"Sans!" the priestess snapped. "What's gotten into you? Do I have to send you to your room?"
Dr. Serif raised his hands good-naturedly and got to his feet. "All right, you can have her to yourself again. But I would like to consult with both of you at least once every day. May I come here in the morning, or is the afternoon more convenient?"
"Either is fine now that I'm excused from most of the services," Frisk answered. She pinned Sans with a glare. "Do you have a preference?"
The skeleton grumble-shrugged. "Splendid," said Dr. Serif. "I will see you tomorrow morning after breakfast, then." He bowed slightly. "My lady."
Frisk rose to walk him out of the room and into the hall. To her surprise, Dr. Serif gestured for the guard to move away, and when the man was out of earshot, the royal sorcerer lowered his voice. "Forgive my asking, but when you spoke with the King, what did he say about Sans?"
The priestess crossed her arms at the waist, and uncrossed them. "He asked how Sans was behaving towards me. I told him I'm not in any danger, but I don't know if he believes it."
To her shock, the doctor laughed. "That was not what he meant, Your Eminence," he said. "I fully agree that Sans bears you no ill will. However, surely you have noticed that he is...we'll say, potentially unstable? I checked the potions you've recently made, and didn't sense his magic in any of them. Have you allowed him to infuse anything yet?"
At this point, Frisk couldn't even try to keep her emotions off her face. If nothing else, she thought bitterly, it'd save time.
"I see. Those who witnessed your initial encounter with him said you stopped him in his full attack without violence. I hate to put responsibility for his actions on your shoulders," the doctor continued, "but as you know, Sans is much too powerful to be allowed to lose control of himself again. There can be no peace between humans and monsters if your emissary destroys any human life or property while he is here, or if he evens frightens anyone too much."
"No, of course not." Frisk shifted her bare feet on the marble floor. "He's being difficult today, but as I said – or at least, I thought – we've been working together well enough. He's an excellent student, and he has a sense of humor. I'm certainly not afraid of him anymore."
"Hmm." The doctor was plainly skeptical. "You don't feel threatened by having such a large monster in your living space? Does he seem apprehensive about your barriers?"
"As a matter of fact, I trust him enough now to have taken down several of them. When I created one so that we could talk privately with the King, he handled it fairly well."
The doctor's eyes grew very wide. "You kept him inside a barrier, and he tolerated it?"
"I...told him it was all right, and I made a bad pun. It seemed to work."
For some reason, Dr. Serif muttered something curse-like under his breath, then said, "I beg your pardon, my lady, but that is extraordinary, especially considering he's been under your care for only a week. Monsters are absolutely terrified of barriers, no matter their size or strength, and he knows firsthand that he cannot break yours. Whatever you are doing to foster trust between you, by all means, continue to do so." He turned as if to go, and paused. "One more thing, Your Eminence. Has he told you how he became a boss monster? There should be none but their King and Queen."
Frisk shook her head. "I tried to ask about it, and he got upset."
"Indeed. Thank you very much for your time. I will see you tomorrow." He strode off down the hall, allowing the guard to return to his post.
Any hope of Sans behaving better with the doctor gone was dashed the moment she came back in. "How come ya don't like singin'?" The skeleton sounded almost accusing. "If I could do that, I'd never shut up."
"That's none of your business." The priestess busied herself collecting dirty dishes and loading them up.
Another cloud of red lifted the trays out of her hands and dumped them back on the trolley with an unholy clatter. The doors opened, the trolley rolled itself out to the hall, and the doors creaked shut. "There, all done. So does it take a lotta magic or somethin'? I noticed ya don't make as much noise around here now that there's not as many barriers ta keep up."
Noise? "Drop it, Sans. I'm not going to ask you again," she warned, coming to sit across from him.
Pause. Frisk could actually see him think about it and then decide to keep right on going. "I didn't think you were the shy type. Yer willin' t'stand up in front of a zillion people and tell 'em not to be scared of the big bad skeleton, you got me right where ya want me, and ya talk to th' most important guys in the kingdom like it's nothin', so how're—"
That did it. She was so furious that she had to fight the urge to throw a barrier in his face. Instead, she inhaled, stuck her thumb and forefinger in her mouth, and gave an ear-splitting whistle.
And that was how Frisk learned an interesting fact about skeletons: they didn't have ears, but when faced with a completely unexpected and shrill sound – not just being shouted at – they still instinctively tried to cover the sides of their head, and at least one of them also yelled, "What the fuckin' crap was that for?!"
"First, watch your language, and second, it was for being a giant hypocrite! I haven't made you tell me how you're a boss monster, and when I want you to stop asking me a personal question, I expect the same courtesy!"
"Are you seriously comparin' my life bein' ruined with yer stupid 'Wahh, I'm a perfect fairy-tale princess, don't listen to me'?"
"This is not a contest! I know what I've experienced and how I feel about it, and it has nothing to do with you!" She slammed her palms on the table, standing up so that she didn't have to keep craning her neck to look at him. "We may be familiar with one another by now, but that does not give you the right to say whatever you want to me! Do you understand?"
Sans was still rubbing his skull. "Not like it matters," he muttered. "Yer the boss, right?"
"Oh, please! Haven't you ever had a friend before, Sans? A real one? Have you ever learned to treat someone with basic respect?"
"Not a damn human!" The skeleton also sprang to his feet, towering over her with eyes aflame. "Excuse me if I hurt your widdle feewings askin' a stupid-ass question!"
"You hurt my feelings because you showed me that you don't care about them! Don't you dare blame this on my being human, Sans! You're wrong, and you damn well know it!"
He snarled, lowering his head until his jagged teeth and the blinding orange-red of his eyes were less than a foot from hers. The effect was terrifying, but Frisk was too angry to remember the doctor's warning about letting the boss monster lose control; the only thing that mattered was standing her ground. "Don't you give me that look!" He wanted to win by being bigger, did he? Frisk put one foot on her chair, stepped onto the table, and, as Sans blinked in confusion, reached down to jab a finger into his sternum. "What are you going to do? Bully me until I'm as afraid of you as every other human you've met? Think of another plan, because that's not going to work!"
The ferocious light went out like a candle. For just a moment, Sans looked as though a tree had sprouted in front of him full-grown and then fallen on his head. He stepped back, mumbled, "'Kay," and went into the bedroom, shutting the door.
Frisk stood in the middle of the table, her pulse racing, not sure whether to cry or step down and then cry. She swallowed several times, but it didn't help.
Damn him. The bedroom was an upset woman's native habitat, and he had stolen it. There was the couch, but it wasn't the same. Besides, even if she understood on a grown-up level that the assassin was gone, she was still afraid to open the office door without Sans there.
At a loss, Frisk sat on the edge of the table, letting her feet dangle as she surveyed her domain. The room had gotten even messier in the past week. If Sans had the power to put dishes away instantaneously, he'd have enough to put all these books and papers away for her, too. Maybe she could make him organize her proposals while he was at it.
Proposals. For the thousandth time, Frisk wondered if it was time to stop ignoring them and start making a list of men she might actually consider accepting. She hadn't told Sans how few positions in the Church were suitable for her current rank, or that the likeliest ones were all lifetime commitments, a fate more lonely and boring than death. She'd been so scared but so excited to become High Priestess, where she'd do so much good and be known and loved by so many people; no one had reminded her that being up on a pedestal meant being utterly alone, not to mention exposed to anyone below who wanted to push her off.
Maybe that was why she had imagined her resident boss monster being smitten with her, why she'd been so hurt by him trying to escape, and why she felt so awful now. Frisk knew he had no social skills whatsoever, and he'd probably thought he was complimenting her in some backhanded, childish fashion, but leave it to Sans to turn being "perfect" into an insult.
No, the choice between the Church and marriage wasn't much of a choice at all. She was very tired of her pedestal, and she wasn't going to trade it for one so high that she couldn't come down again. If she chose the right husband, she could do as much or more for people in need than she already was, and she wouldn't be doing it alone. Even if she and her future spouse were well-to-do and had busy schedules, she'd have company in the evenings, not to mention nights and mornings in bed, which there was no shame in looking forward to! Then there'd be children, a family of her own...
Frisk sighed, massaging her neck and turning it toward the window, then the door. For the briefest and most frustrated of moments, she contemplated sending the skeleton back to the Underground now, perhaps tomorrow morning. He'd learned enough and given the royal sorcerer enough information; surely she could get rid of him in good conscience, and he wouldn't have the chance to hurt her ag—
The child from her nightmares was sitting inches away from her on the edge of the table. It was smiling, eyes shining red, kitchen knife in hand and all its little teeth bared.
Every hair on Frisk's body stood straight up, and her breath came quick and shallow. She tried to push herself off the table, to yell at it to go away, but her muscles were locked in place. All she could do was watch as the child lifted the knife, pointing it straight at the bedroom door, eyes never leaving hers. The child slowly lowered the knife, turned the blade around in its hands, and held the handle out to her.
Frisk's hand twitched. A tiny part of her knew that if she tried, if she really wanted to, she could move enough to grab the knife. But...why?
Something bubbled up in the back of her mind, whispering that even a boss monster was no match for a determined human. She knew exactly what to do: shuffle into the room with her head down and her hands behind her back, creep in close to tell Sans how sorry she was, and bring him down in one swift crimson slash. It'd be so easy!
The child was still smiling, still holding out the knife. Frisk moved her hand, raising it slowly, and the child's grin somehow widened.
Frisk leaned forward. She reached up, and with every shred of determination she possessed, she turned her hand toward herself, jammed her fingers in her mouth, and whistled as hard as she could. The child only had time for one furious glare before it vanished.
The bedroom door banged open. "What the hell d'ya want now?" demanded the skeleton, stepping into the workroom. "I'm not a damn dog! If ya need something, just...oh, shit—" Sans dropped to one knee next to where she'd crumpled onto the floor, shaking, her hand pressed to her mouth. "Frisk! Hey!" He reached for her shoulder, thought better of it, and looked around, as if for help. "Come on, Frisk! Look, I'm sorry, a'right? I know, I shoulda listened to you! I'll shut up next time ya tell me, I swear! Just knock it off!"
Frisk shook her head, tried to speak, and couldn't suppress a sob. Sans considered her from a couple different angles, said, "Incoming," then carefully scooped her up and walked into the bedroom, setting her down on the edge of the bed and sitting on the floor. "I'm sorry," he said again, wincing as she turned her back to him and curled up with her face buried in the pillow. "'m sorry, okay? You were right. I wasn't thinkin' of how ya felt, just bein' a nosy prick. I really don't want ya to be scared of me. Ya don't hafta tell me anythin' if you don't want, I just..."
Something in his tone made her wipe one eye and raise her head far enough to look at him. He was staring at the bedpost. "'s not an excuse for how I acted, but..." Sans shrugged helplessly. "I really, really wish you liked ta sing."
Silence. Then, to his abject horror, Frisk clutched the pillow and began wailing incoherently into it, sobbing in earnest.
"Aw, fuck! I mean—Frisk—" The skeleton opened his mouth and shut it several times. He stood up, paced out of the room and back again, and sat down as the noise continued. "What'd I do now?!"
No answer. Sans tried to think of something, anything to make her stop. "Uh...can I get ya anything?" he asked lamely.
She quieted long enough to shake her head and kept right on crying. Sans scratched the back of his skull, glancing at the windows – still too small to jump out – and finally, against his better judgment, sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey. Ya know that explosion that killed all those people? Asriel, Chara, a bunch of humans, couple'a monsters?"
That got her attention. Frisk sat up, scrubbing her eyes on her sleeve. "What?" A protracted sniffle. "What about it?"
"That day, me 'n Papyrus came to the gala with Kris, and we were way at the back. For some reason, Kris took off into the crowd, an' I was smaller than Pap, so I went after the little bugger." Sans looked at his massive hand. "Next thing I knew, there was this big damn flash of light and I got knocked down. I don't know what happened after that—it hurt like hell, but I was thinkin' of Pap and wondering where Kris was, and then I woke up in the lab."
Frisk sniffled, but she was listening. Sans clicked his phalanges on the bedpost. "The best explanation Alphys and I came up with was that I was determined ta stay alive, but a monster's body can't handle too much determination. I mean, if we feel a lot of it, we literally melt like butter. Al's not sure if I held together because I absorbed little bits of human SOUL as they died, or if I somehow converted some of the ambient magic, or what. Nothin' really makes sense. It sure didn't happen to anyone else who was there. But me? I was on the way to becomin' my bee-yootiful new self." He gestured grandly, back still to her. "The end."
The priestess scooted closer, pillow tucked under one arm. "You said it ruined your life?"
"Hell yes, it did. I got too big to fit in my own damn house! I have to take a shortcut into the living room because I can't fit through the friggin' door!" Sans kicked at nothing. "The other monsters are scared of me 'cause I keep losin' my temper 'n I look scary as hell, Asgore treats me like I'm tryin' to take Toriel from 'im when all I wanna do is tell jokes with someone...oh, and ya know what?" He shifted around to nearly face her. "Remember what I said about monsters havin' kids with magic, and how it's always a pain in the butt?" She nodded, wiping her eyes again. "Well, lucky me, I'm too strong t'even try it. If I was a lady boss monster, I could handle someone else's magic and make a little Sans, no problem, but no. If I tried givin' anyone enough to get the job done, there's no guarantee I wouldn't overdo it and kill 'er." Shrug. "Boss monsters are supposed t'have kids with each other so they can transfer their life force and age naturally as the kid gets older. I'm just gonna live forever as a damn freak."
"You're not a freak. You're Sans." Frisk gave an unlovely snrk. "Thank you for telling me this, but you know you didn't have to."
"Yeah, I know." The skeleton turned around the rest of the way, crossing his legs on the bed. "I'm not tryin' to trade it for your pers'nal business, either."
She smiled a little, and his SOUL lifted a little higher. "My story's not nearly that interesting. My mother said something very cruel the first time I sang for her as a child, and no matter how many people since then have told me how wonderful I sound, there's no getting rid of that feeling that they're all wrong. That's all."
"Yikes. I wouldn't say it's 'all,' not if you were a kid an' you were trusting your own damn mom to not be an asshole. That crap really hurts. I shouldn'a said it was stupid."
"Agreed, but I accept your apology." Frisk sighed, tucking the pillow under her chin to rest her head on it. "I've been feeling sorry for myself because being High Priestess is so isolating, but at least I can get out of it. Isn't there anything you can do?"
"Nope! I can't get hitched and stop bein' a boss monster. We've tried a bunch of different things, and it's irreversible. We can't exactly replicate the accident to make me a lady friend, either."
"No..." The priestess yawned. "No, I expect not. I'm sorry."
"Not yet fault. Not anyone's, so far as we know."
Frisk curled up on her side with a sigh, facing him this time, cuddling the pillow. "I'm glad we had this talk, but I suppose we should get to work soon."
Sans had never wanted to be a pillow so badly. "Isn't it Sunday? Why not take the day off? I vote for a nap and then a game of chess or something."
"Mm." The priestess frowned at a rip in the silken bedsheet, probably caused from his toe catching it. "You know how to play chess?"
"Nope. You can teach me."
Frisk chuckled. "It's a deal." She couldn't help yawning again. "All right, you win. Escort me to my office, please, and I'll get to work on that nap. It's been about a year since I had one."
The boss monster paused, and said, "I feel bad takin' this thing up when yer crashin' on the couch like a houseguest. You take it. There's a lotta floor space fer me out there."
The priestess looked over the huge expanse of mattress, remembering the child and the knife, wondering when she'd feel safe again. On impulse, she hopped over the foot of the bed, landing in front of a cedar chest under the windows and opening it to rummage through the blankets. "I'm fine," Sans informed her. "It takes bein' out in the snow for a while 'fore I get cold."
"It's not for you," Frisk said cheerfully. "Come with me for a moment."
Bemused, the boss monster followed her to the office and the couch. At her instruction, he held out his arms for her to fill up with cushions. Then it was back to the bedroom, where she made him place the cushions on the side of the bed away from the door, holding them up so she could throw a large quilt over them. "There we are! You, sir, are sleeping on the bed. I am sleeping in a pillow fort. There's no impropriety whatsoever."
Sans had so many objections that they all tried to get out his mouth at once. By the time he could say, "I don' think that'd hold up in court," Frisk had already disappeared into her fort.
The mattress was not only wide, but so plush that he could have jumped on the bed without disturbing her arrangement. The skeleton tapped the light off, then lay down in his usual spot near the middle of the bed. He couldn't stretch his arm on that side now, but otherwise, there was still plenty of room. When she sniffled again – in a residual kind of way – Sans remembered the handkerchief, and wished he hadn't used so much of it. It was her fault, having that kind of voice out of nowhere.
Silence settled over them, but it was a comfortable one. Sans closed his eyes, tried to think of something else to say, and decided not to bother: judging by her breathing, Frisk was already asleep.
48 notes · View notes
merlins-tits · 3 years
Link
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Nora Holleran, Percy “Pez” Okonjo, June Claremont-Diaz, Shaan Srivastava
Additional Tags: Boys In Love, minor pez/june, past nora/alex, henry is jealous, Alex is stupid, POV Henry
Summary: The New Year’s Eve party but from Henry’s point of view. UM so I might have wrote the one New Year’s Eve party scene from Henry’s point of view because I couldn’t get it out of my head. The link is there but I’ll also just post it here, too. This is my first writing piece ever. Also I used most of the same dialogue from the actual scene but all credit goes to the wonderful Casey McQustion. These are their characters and they have all rights! A strong, deep bass rumbled from the speakers as Henry stumbled through the crowd searching for Alex. It had gotten to the point where he was on the verge of giving up when he spotted him. Alex was with two girls: Nora at his back with her arms wrapped around a small girl who looked vaguely familiar. Alex, though, had his head thrown back, laughing like someone had just told him the world’s best joke, his whole body alive with movement. It was intoxicating enough that Henry took a deep breath before sidling up next to him. He looked around to see people with their hands in the air, hands on someone’s waist, around someone’s neck, wrapped around a drink. Looking down at his own hands, he tried to copy those around him without looking completely prattish. Spoiler. It didn’t work. “You don’t dance?” Alex says, watching him. “No, I do,” Henry says. “It’s just, the family-mandated ballroom dancing lessons didn’t exactly cover this?” The last few words of his sentence come off as more of a question than a statement. “C’mon, it’s, like, in the hips. You have to loosen up.” Alex replies. He then does the unthinkable: he puts his hands on Henry’s hips and it’s all Henry can do to not tense up. By the look on Alex’s face, he thinks he’s failed. “That’s the opposite of what I said.” “Alex, I don’t–” “Here,” Alex says, moving his own hips, “watch me.” Henry feels the warmth creeping up the back of his neck, takes a gulp of his champagne, and says in what he hopes to be a level tone, “I am.” The song crossfades into another buh-duh dum-dum-dum, dum-duh-dum duh-duh-dum– “Shut up,” Alex yells, looking as though Christmas had come early. “Shut your dumb face, this is my shit!” He throws his hands up in the air as Henry stares at him blankly, and around them, people start cheering too, hundreds of shoulders shimmying to what Henry later learns to be “Get Low” by Lil Jon. “Did you seriously never go to an awkward middle school dance and watch a bunch of teenagers dry hump to this song?” Alex looks up at Henry as he stares back with wide eyes, clutching his champagne glass like a lifeline. “You absolutely must know I did not.” Alex turns to where Nora was standing a few feet away and snatches her away from the girl she was flirting with. Absently, Henry realizes that he recognizes this girl from the recent Spider-Man movie. “Nora!” Alex shouts, bringing Henry’s focus back to him. But honestly, when is he not focused on Alex? “Nora! Henry has never watched a bunch of teenagers dry hump to this song!” Nora stumbles and her face becomes so shocked that Henry fears that he’s done something wrong. “What?” she exclaims. “Please tell me nobody is going to dry hump me,” Henry says, bewilderment written all over his face. “Oh my God, Henry,” Alex yells, seizing Henry by one lapel as the music pounds on, “you have to dance. You have to dance. You need to understand this formative American coming-of-age experience.” Henry feels his willpower dwindling when he realizes just how close Alex has pulled them together. He doesn’t even think that Alex meant to, but suddenly, Henry is all too aware of the feeling of Alex’s body pressed against his. He thinks he might do something extremely stupid when Nora grabs Alex, pulling him away from Henry and spinning him around, her hands on his waist, and starts grinding with abandon. Alex woops and Nora cackles and the crowd jumps around and Henry just gawks at them. He lets out an indignant snort when he hears the lyrics for the first time. “Did that man just say ‘sweat drop down my balls’?” Alex is breathtaking, sweat on his brow, laughing hysterically, bent over grinding his ass against Nora’s front. She starts thrusting against Alex, smacking his ass on time with the beat of the song and Henry is sure he’s only seen this happening in movies. Henry rips his eyes away from the scene in front of him only to see Pez a few feet away bending over to the front and touching his toes. Alex sees it too and laughs even harder at Henry’s face. He accepts a shot from a passing tray, throwing it back and getting back to his dancing. He pouts his lips and shakes his ass, and even though Henry cannot fathom why his body starts reacting without him telling it to, his head starts to bop. "Fuck it up, vato!” Alex yells, and Henry laughs despite himself and hips start to move in a little baby shake. “I thought you weren’t going to babysit him all night,” June whispers to Alex as she twirls by, though it comes off as more of a shout. “I thought you were too busy for guys,” Alex says, nodding behind her. Henry looks over his shoulder and sees Pez watching June with a little grin on his face. He turns back around in time to see June throw Alex a wink before she’s off again. From there, Henry can’t find it in himself to care about how ridiculous he might look. He’s had too much to drink and there’s music he vaguely recognizes as early 2000s blasting from the speakers. He’s drinking champagne directly from the bottle and his willingness to dance likely has to do with how close Alex is and the fact that he can’t quite keep his hands to himself. Henry thinks he might explode. He watches Alex continue to grind against Nora and in the back of his head he hears a whisper that sounds a little bit like Pez saying “you wish that was you, huh?” The staring contest he seems to have started with Alex lasts well up until midnight, laughter bubbling out at random, wide smiles that they both can’t quite keep off of their faces. The countdown to the new year starts as they huddle up in their own little group, arms wrapped around each other, swaying slightly due to how much they’ve all had to drink. Henry thinks everything is going well until the countdown hits one, everyone screams “Happy New Year” and he sees Nora sling her arm around Alex’s neck and kiss him sloppily on the mouth. As they pull out of the kiss, Nora bites Alex’s lip and messes up his hair as he laughs. He opens his eyes and looks straight at Henry. Henry fights to keep his emotions off his face, he’s trained in it. It’s hard considering the jealousy rising up and he’s certain he must be green with it. Alex’s smile grows wider when he registers Henry’s expression, so Henry lifts the bottle of champagne up to his mouth, takes a hearty gulp, turns and walks through the crowd away from two-thirds of the White House Trio. Henry finds himself in the Garden without even registering how he got there and how long he’s been there. He slowly walks up to a tree and looks up into the sky. He’s so numb from the alcohol that he doesn’t care how cold it is. The only way he knows that he maybe should be wearing a jacket is when he breathes out and sees little puffs of steam in front of his face. He’s been out there for God knows how long when he hears a curse as someone stumbles over a bench behind him. “What’re you doing back here?” Alex says, trudging up to stand next to him under the tree. Henry squints down at him trying to focus on Alex’s face. It doesn’t work. It’s still blurry. Still beautiful. Whatever. “Looking for Orion,” he settles on saying. Alex huffs a laugh, looking up into the sky. Henry realizes his excuse must sound silly when he looks up as well and sees Alex fighting back a smile. The sky is not clear. It’s full of fluffy white clouds. “You must be really bored with the commoners to come stand out here and stare at the clouds.” “‘m not bored,” Henry mumbles. “What are you doing out here? Doesn’t America’s golden boy have some swooning crowds to beguile?” He means for it to come out harsher than it sounds. He hopes Alex doesn’t recognize the fondness in his voice. “Says Prince fucking Charming,” Alex answers, smirking. Henry frowns up at the clouds. He’s not sure if he likes that Alex compared him to a beautiful prince or if he’s disappointed that he is anything but. “Hardly.” His knuckle brushes the back of Alex’s hand at their sides, a little zip of warmth in the cold night. Henry feels it in his whole body. From the corner of his eye he can see Alex looking at him. The garden is quiet. It makes Henry uncomfortable. “You really didn’t answer my question, though,” Alex notes. Henry groans, rubbing a hand across his face. “You can’t leave well enough alone, can you?” He leans his head back. It thumps gently against the trunk of the tree. “Sometimes it gets a bit…much.” Alex keeps looking at him. He shifts, leaning back against the tree too. He nudges their shoulders together and Henry feels the corner of his mouth twitch at the contact. He tries to keep his smile down. He’s probably failing. “D’you ever wonder,” he says slowly, “what it’s like to be some anonymous person out in the world?” Alex frowns. “What do you mean?” “Just, you know,” Henry says, trying to find the right words. “If your mom weren’t the president and you were just a normal bloke living a normal life, what things might be like? What you’d be doing instead?” “Ah,” Alex says. He stretches out one arm out in front of him, makes a dismissive gesture with a flick of his wrist. “Well, I mean, obviously I’d be a model. I’ve been on the cover of Teen Vogue twice. These genetics transcend all circumstance.” Henry rolls his eyes, fighting to keep a fond smile off of his face. “What about you?” Henry shakes his head ruefully. “I’d be a writer.” Alex gives a little laugh. “Can’t you do that?” “Not exactly seen as a worthwhile pursuit from a man in line for the throne, scribbling verses about quarter-life angst,” Henry says dryly. “Besides, the traditional family career track is military, so that’s about it, isn’t it?” He bites his lip, and his brain supplies the words I’d date more, probably, as well. It takes him a moment to realize he’s voiced his thoughts when Alex starts laughing. “Right, because it’s so hard to get a date when you’re a prince.” Henry looks down at Alex. “You’d be surprised.” “How? You’re not exactly lacking for options.” Henry looks at him. He thinks there’s a twinge of jealousy in Alex’s voice and he hopes it’s not wishful thinking. It’s probably what gives him the courage to say, “The options I’d like…” dragging the words out, trying to hint at what he’s trying to say. “They don’t quite seem to be options at all.” Alex blinks. “What?” And Henry’s infatuated with him even more. “I’m saying that I have…people…who interest me,” Henry says, turning his body toward Alex now, speaking with a fumbling pointedness. Alex still looks entirely too confused and it’s endearing. “But I shouldn’t pursue them. At least not in my position.” “I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Alex says. Henry wants to punch him. “You don’t?” “No.” “You really don’t?” “I really, really don’t.” Henry grimaces in frustration, looking up to the sky wishing there was something up there to please knock some sense into Alex. He straightens. “Christ, you’re about as thick as it gets,” he says, and he grabs Alex’s face in both hands and kisses him. Alex freezes, and for a split second, Henry wonders if he’s read Alex all wrong. Then he feels Alex lean into him and Henry almost sighs in relief. His mouth slides against Alex’s, opens, and his tongue brushes against Alex’s. It’s wonderful and warm and everything Henry had hoped for. Probably even better. Oh. Definitely better. One of Henry’s hands finds its way into Alex’s hair and grabs it at the roots at the back of his head. Alex makes a small noise in the back of his throat and that’s when Henry realizes just what he’s done. He pulls away roughly, enough that Alex staggers back, eyes glazed over, the beginnings of bewilderment etching across his face. Henry mumbles a curse and a series of apologies, holding up his hands as he backs away. Eyes wide and heart in his throat, he turns on his heel and rushes out of the garden, leaving Alex standing in the snow. When he reaches the portico, he looks back and sees Alex start to come back to himself, touching his lips and beginning to make his way toward the White House. Henry slips inside, pushes through the crowd where he finds Pez. Even in his drunkenness, Pez takes one look at Henry and he must know. It’s probably written all over his face. “Please,” Henry hears himself say. There’s a roaring sound in his ears. “I can’t–Pez, I need to leave. I can’t be here.” Pez grabs his hand and leads him to where the PPOs are waiting by the wall. He leans over to Shaan and the next thing he knows is he’s being shuttled to the SUVs parked around the side of the White House. Henry can’t breathe and he doesn’t remember walking to the SUV. Henry can’t breathe and he sees a flash of betrayal and confusion on Alex’s face in the back of his mind. Henry can’t breathe and suddenly he’s in the private jet. Pez doesn’t even ask him what happened. He looks at Henry with sympathy and keeps a worried eye on him the entire flight. He doesn’t fall asleep, he won’t when Henry can’t breathe. Pez takes a deep breath and grabs Henry’s hand. “It’s gonna be okay, Henry. Just wait. I promise everything will be okay.” He was right, like always, Henry thinks. He runs his fingers down Alex’s naked back in the brownstone they share. Henry takes a deep breath.
2 notes · View notes
galxcs · 4 years
Text
Drunken Nights | Wolfstar
Link to AO3
Chapter Eighteen (Seventeen) (Sixteen) (Fifteen) (Fourteen) (Thirteen) (Twelve) (Eleven) (Ten) (Nine) (Eight) (Seven) (Six) (Five) (Four) (Three) (Two) (One)
For a moment, everything was still. One second dragged into what felt like a million, and Remus watched it all unfolding like he was a ref watching the same play in slow motion to try and see every angle of the event.
Sirius sat beside him, his broad chest on full display. He had his brow furrowed like he always did when he was preparing himself for the worst. One of his arms was propped back behind him where Remus had reached out in his sleepy daze to pull him back to bed.
Remus’ mother stood in the doorway. For a second her mouth had fallen open just to snap back shut immediately. Remus watched her swallow in slow motion and her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.
Just as suddenly as it had happened, things sped back up again, and Sirius was opening his mouth with hallow explanations, but his mother was speaking first, her voice sounding almost normal.
“Remus, your father wants you to start on the paint job for the barn today. Also, breakfast is ready.”
It was Remus’ turn to stare wide eyed at his mother. He was so stunned that no words could escape from his mouth, and they didn’t have to because she was already turning to leave out the door.
Right before she left, Mrs Lupin turned back around, motioning between the two of them. “Don’t tell your father about this just yet.”
Remus forced what probably looked like a very crazy head nod, but she had already left the room. They sat in silence for a second, Sirius’ hand hovering over Remus’. He didn’t know if Sirius realized he was doing it, but after a second, Remus took it in his, running his fingers over Sirius’ knuckles.
As quickly as Remus’ mother had walked in, Sirius suddenly burst out laughing. It made Remus jump a bit, and he turned to Sirius, wondering what on earth there was to be laughing about right now. Sirius doubled over onto the bed, the sheets tangling up in his legs.
“Your mum is so cool,” Sirius snorted. “Did you see how quickly she schooled her expression?”
Remus couldn’t help but let out a little laugh of his own, his shoulders loosening a bit. “Come on this is serious. She could have kicked you out or something,” Remus said, trying not to smile at the way Sirius was still clutching his stomach, sprawled out on his back so that his hair was falling into his face.
“Yeah, but she didn’t. Can you imagine if that had been my parents?”
Remus smiled sadly, taking in the way Sirius’ body language changed a bit when he brought up his own parents. He bent down, kissing Sirius on the forehead, but Sirius tugged him forward to his mouth. Remus thought the kiss might be awkward since Sirius was laying the same was Remus was facing, and Sirius’ nose brushed against Remus’ face, but it wasn’t.
“Like Spiderman,” Remus breathed out.
“Who’s Spiderman?”
And then it was Remus’ turn to burst out laughing.
“How come your mum doesn’t want your dad to know about us?” Sirius asked, his brow furrowing in a way that forced Remus to reach out and smooth it out with his thumb.
Remus sighed and scratched his arm, thinking. “Um, he already blames himself for me being a werewolf. I don't know, I guess it might be hard for him to know I was going to have to grow up being gay and a werewolf.”
When Sirius didn’t respond, Remus laughed awkwardly. He watched Sirius sit up, and felt Sirius’ hands tugging on his own. When Remus complied, folding their fingers together, Sirius smiled. Remus waited for whatever very deep thing that Sirius was about to say, but instead Sirius cracked a grin.
“You’re going to grow up being gay with me, right?” Sirius laughed, but his eyes were serious.
Remus laughed. “Grow up being gay with you like I’m gay and you’re gay and we grow old together, or grow up being gay with you like doing gay things with you?” Remus joked.
“Both.” Sirius smirked.
Remus kissed his smirk away and pulled back, muttering, “Of course we’re growing old together,” against Sirius’ lips.
Sirius smiled; a big smile that reminded Remus of when he was Padfoot, and Sirius tackled Remus back against the bed. They got distracted for a while, and Remus didn’t know if it was him or Sirius that finally mentioned they had been summoned to breakfast a while ago, but eventually they rolled out of bed—Sirius quite literally rolling out of bed—and made their way to the kitchen.
As they sat down, Remus saw his mother smirking at him, and he tried to ignore it. His dad obliviously ate his eggs and pancakes, and Remus tried to finish his meal with the same ease.
Halfway through the meal, Remus glanced up when he heard the distinct sound of an owl.
“Mail?” Remus’ dad asked, glancing towards the open window.
They didn’t often get mail through owls at the farm other than from James or Peter, and although Remus knew his father didn’t like it, he had never said anything about it before.
“It’s probably from James or Pete,” Remus pointed out, watching as the owl flew in elegantly and perched on the window sill like it owned the place.
It was a beautiful owl with wings far bigger than any Remus had seen. It’s feathers were dark and speckled, creating a gorgeous swirling pattern around its face. There was a bright red letter attached to the owl.
Remus glanced at Sirius, about to ask if he recognized it, but then he saw the look on Sirius’ face. Sirius’ eyes were wide, and his shoulders were tense. He was staring at the owl like it carried a death certificate, and he didn’t meet Remus’ gaze.
Just as Remus was about to say something, he realized what he had seen and jerked his head back towards the owl. It wasn’t just any red letter attached to the owl. Remus looked closer, and he could see that the letter looked like it was vibrating slightly.
Remus had seen the same letter once directed at Peter when his parents had found out how he was doing in potions class.
“It’s a howler,” Remus said, knowing now who it was from.
With the elegance of the bird, it’s sudden appearance, and Sirius’ worried face, everything clicked into place. The bird had to be a Black family bird, and that meant the howler was for Sirius.
Sirius took the letter with shaky hands, and the bird whooshed off before they could even offer it some water. Remus watched Sirius watching the letter. It was growing hotter and shaking more insistently in his hands.
“Howler?” Remus’ mum asked.
“Hun, lets go.”
Remus looked up, shock filling his face as his dad tugged his mum up by the arm. He thought his father would have jumped on the chance to hear what the howler had to say, what with all the questions he was constantly asking Sirius. He watched as his mum practically scurried behind his dad in their effort to leave quickly. He heard the loud door slam shut and watched the two of them make their way down the path through the window for a second.
Now that it was just the two of them, and the howler was getting increasingly louder, it hit Remus that maybe Sirius would want him to leave too. Would he be able to get out fast enough before it exploded?
Before he could ask what Sirius wanted, Sirius tugged the howler open, still not looking at Remus, and Sirius’ mother’s voice filled the kitchen like she was standing their with them.
While the howler was loud, Mrs Black was not screaming like Wormtail’s parents had that one time. Her voice was short and clipped, every word said in a biting tone that sounded as if it had millions of layers.
“Sirius,” it started, “while I am disappointed in the decision that you have made, I am not at all surprised. Your father and I always knew you would let us down, and I didn’t expect you to make the right decision about this break, considering those retched kids you call friends that you hang out with. Don’t think that we don’t know about all the little blood traitors you’ve associated yourself with.”
Remus winced at Mrs Black’s words and watched Sirius’ expression. It was empty and cold, with none of the emotion that he had seen only moments before the howler arrived. Remus wanted to ask what the decision was that she was talking about, but he stayed silent, waiting to see if she would say anything else.
“Because of your choices, we have followed through with what we said we would do. Don’t bother coming home to collect your disgusting muggle possessions that we found in your room, or for anything else. You’ve been removed from our family tree like you should have been a long time ago, and to think that you still carry our righteous family name truly disgusts me.”
Remus held in the gasp that was ready to burst from his mouth. What was she talking about? Don’t come home? Was she disowning Sirius?
“I pity Regulus who will still have to see your disloyal face at school, but do not be fooled; Regulus is no longer your brother just as much as we are no longer your parents. We all knew you were stupid, but we never thought you would be dumb enough to throw away everything we’ve done and given to you. You’ve made your decision, and we’ve certainly made ours.”
Sirius’ face was still blank. With every sentence that his mother said, her words ringing loudly in the kitchen, Sirius didn’t even flinch.
“You’re as good as dead to me.” And then the card exploded into pieces, leaving only her harsh parting words in the wake of the silence that had followed.
It took Remus a second to even register that it was over. It took him another second to process what to do next. Glancing at Sirius, Remus still saw the blank cold expression, but something else was growing up, filling his eyes like a dark cloud ready to unleash a rainstorm.
“Sirius,” Remus said gently, reaching his hand out to place over his arm, but Sirius pulled away quickly, pushing his chair back so he could stand up.
When Sirius looked down at Remus, Remus didn’t even recognize him. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his eyes were filled with pain that he had seen in them so many times, but this time the anger that accompanied his pain was also directed at Remus.
Remus stood up with him, putting his hands in front of him like it would help Sirius to calm down. He didn’t know what to do. Remus tried reaching out again, but Sirius pushed him away, harder this time.
“Talk to me,” Remus pleaded.
Out of all the bad nights Sirius had, Remus was always the only one who could draw him out of them. Sirius had never pushed him away before, and this change of pace was scaring Remus. If he couldn’t reach Sirius, who could?
“Talk to you?” Sirius scoffed, his voice booming almost louder than the howler had. “Okay, I’ll talk to you. This is all your fault, Remus!”
Sirius’ gray eyes had grown jet black as he yelled, and Remus found himself stepping away. He had never been afraid of Sirius. No matter what happened, no matter how drunk Sirius was, or how mad he got, he always knew that Sirius would never hurt him. Now, Remus wasn’t so sure.
“What do you mean this is my fault? What was she even talking about?” Remus felt his voice wavering as he spoke, and he swatted a tear away from his eye, forcing himself to stay calm. This was Sirius he was talking to. Sirius who was fiercely protective of Remus from the moment he had met him. He wouldn’t hurt him.
“I was supposed to get the Dark Mark with Regulus this week. My mother told me to choose, either become a Death Eater or be disowned,” Sirius was pacing back and forth, every muscle in his body poised for attack. Remus found himself wishing he hadn’t left his wand on the bedside table, and he hated it the moment the thought entered his mind. “I was going to go, but you forced me  to stay back, and now I have nothing!”
“Pads,” Remus stepped forward. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know they told you that, but I didn’t force you to come here.”
Sirius’ eyes flashed with anger, and he lashed out, grabbing a glass on the counter, and chucking it at the wall. It shattered into pieces, and Remus stared at it in shock. “Really, Remus? You practically begged me to stay! You knew exactly how to get me to come with you. If I hadn’t come here, I wouldn’t be disowned right now.”
Remus sucked in a breath and felt his eyes rushing with tears that he tried desperately to keep at bay. Was this really his fault? He had pressured Sirius to come, but Sirius had seemed so worried. How could he have known? He was just trying to protect Sirius, so he tried to tell him that.
“Sirius, I-I didn’t know.” Remus’ eyes betrayed him, and the tears finally spilled over, slipping down his cheeks. “I just wanted to protect you. I didn’t want them to hurt you anymore.”
“Well nice job! Look where that got you,” Sirius’ words were cold now, aimed right at Remus. He was still tense, and Remus stood back, afraid he would try and throw something again.
“We can figure this out, Sirius. You can stay here for as long as you need, and I’m sure both Pete and James’ parents will say the same. Maybe, maybe this is a good thing,” Remus said between tears.
He knew it was the wrong thing to say the second the words slipped out. Sirius’ face contorted, and his fists clenched tighter, the veins in his arm straining.
“A good thing?” he roared. “You think that this is a good thing? Did you even hear what she said? ‘You’re as good as dead.’ In what world is that a good thing?”
“No, Sirius,” Remus said, desperately trying to fix this. “I just mean that you won’t have to get the Dark Mark. You won’t have to be a Death Eater, and you won’t have to worry about them hurting you anymore.”
Remus was thinking of all of the secrets Sirius had revealed to him. The times he had poured his heart out to Remus, revealing the terrible things that his parents did to him. He could only think that maybe that would be over now. He just wanted Sirius to be safe.
Sirius laughed, a dark humorless laugh. “Don’t pretend you did this for my own good. I have nothing now.”
Remus let out another sob, taking a step forward, despite how badly that had gone every other time. “That’s not true. You still have Hogwarts, and Peter and James. There’s so many people at school who are there for you. You have me.”
Sirius looked Remus dead in the eye, and the person he was so used to wasn’t there anymore. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want you, Remus!”
It took a second for Sirius’ words to click into place. Remus stumbled back, his tears suddenly slowing as the shock of what Sirius had said filled him. His ears started to ring, and he found himself staring dumbly with tears staining his face as Sirius turned his back, marching into the hallway where Remus’ room was.
Sirius reappeared carrying the bag that he came with, and Remus watched him leave the house, the broken door crashing back against the house as Sirius left. Remus didn’t try to stop him, and he definitely didn’t try to go after him. He had said it himself. Sirius didn’t want him anymore.
Remus cried for a long time after Sirius was gone, and although he allowed himself to desperately cling onto the hope that Sirius would come back, he never did.
12 notes · View notes
redwoodwrites · 4 years
Text
Relativity Falls Season 1 Episode 1: Tourist Trap
AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12579416/chapters/28652568
Next
A/N:Welcome, one and all, to Relativity Falls! Here you will find the adventures of a certain dynamic duo as they spend the summer at their Grauntie Mabel's utterly tacky tourist trap. Updates will be every Friday, and after each episode there will be a “Short”, a much shorter original fanfiction which occurs in the time between the episodes. See you in a few days, and enjoy All Hallow's Eve! Warning: *This fanfiction may trigger feels, warm fuzzies, and certain amounts of deja vu. *May cause minor amounts of time travel (forward only) *Author does not claim responsibility for any sightings of ghosts, triangles, or woodpeckers that may or may not occur during or after the reading of this text.  Enjoy!
“AAAAAAAH!”
The golf cart plunged over a cliff, punched straight through a billboard, and landed with a squeal on the road below. The two boys in the cart held on for dear life.
“WE'RE GONNA DIE WE'RE GONNA DIE WE'RE GONNA DIE!” Stanley screamed.
Ford jerked the wheel, fishtailing around a hairpin turn. “Hold on!”
The ground shook with an ominous thumping.
Stanley twisted around, gripping the seat's back so hard his knuckles went white. “Floor it, Ford, it's gaining on us!”
A huge monster rose behind them, throwing a massive shadow over the road. The thing was over thirty feet tall, a crazy conglomeration of glaring eyes, sharp teeth, and bright red hats.
It ripped up a redwood as easily as a dandelion, took aim, and threw. Ford looked up and gasped as the tree soared right over their heads, landing so hard it bounced on the road in front of them.
“Look out!”
Ford jerked the wheel. The golf cart careened, tipping left, then right, skidding crazily. The tree's huge trunk loomed like a brick wall. They braced themselves against the dash and screamed.
A few days earlier...
The bus pulled away from the stop sign, leaving Ford and his brother standing alone on the sidewalk. Stanley had his sleeves rolled up, revealing the superhero-themed band aids on his arms, and the suitcase sitting next to him was covered with half-chewed gum.
Ford was wearing his signature aviator jacket, his notebook sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans. His suitcase was covered with stickers of ghosts and monsters.
Ford shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, looking around expectantly. The town's main road was lined with a few stores, most of them restaurants, plus some arcades, a couple of hardware stores, and a grocery store. Aside from a few random pedestrians, the street was empty.
“She does know we're coming, right?” he asked anxiously.
“Dude, who cares?” Stanley put a foot on his suitcase and struck a heroic pose, shading his eyes like an explorer in a new land. He peered at the redwoods that surrounded the town. “Did you even see this place? It's got nothing but forest for miles! It's the perfectly place for buried treasure!”
Ford rolled his eyes, grinning. “Stanley, we don't have treasure yet.”
“Not yet we don't, but I'll bet you anything we'll find it!” Just then Stan's stomach rumbled. He looked down at it. “Right. First things first. Food time!”
Ford opened his mouth to say they should wait to be picked up, but his stomach cut him off. It had been an eight-hour bus ride and he was seriously hungry. He looked around.
“I think I saw a diner around here...”
“There!” Stanley pointed. There was a restaurant set back against the woods, with a flickering neon sign that read Greasy's Diner.
“Sounds...greasy. We don't even have any money,” Ford pointed out. “You spent our food allowance buying those dumb scratch cards. And all they had on 'em were football players with omelets.”
Stanley shrugged cheerfully. “Don't worry, Sixer, the puppy-dog face works every time! Race you to the door!” He ran into the street.
There was a roar and a screech of tires. Ford yelled. Stanley jumped back, narrowly avoiding a bright purple motorcycle. Stan lay on the ground, shaking a little, and Ford ran to help him up. He glared at the driver.
“Hey, watch where you're going!” he growled.
The rider, a heavy-set woman in a blue blazer and pink skirt, revved the engine. “'Scuse you,” the lady grumped, her voice muffled. “What were ya tryin' to do, kid? That is not how you paint the town red.”
“Guh-guh-guh,” Stanley stammered.
The rider paused, then flicked up the visor. She blinked. “Stanley?”
He stared at her. “Huh?”
“It is you!” She whipped off the helmet. Her gray hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she had a heart-shaped face with light green eyes that glowed with warmth. “And you must be Stanford!” she said to Ford. “You two have grown so much I didn't even recognize you!”
The twins gaped.
“Grauntie Mabel?” Ford finally asked.
“The one and only! Hop aboard, kids, we got a lot of work to do at the Shack!”
They looked at the bike. It wasn't just purple. It was glittery purple, with a chrome finish and a matching side car so rusted it looked ready to disintegrate on the spot.
“Um, there's just one seat,” Ford said.
“Meh, you're each, like, half of an adult! So together you'll be fine!”
A slow grin spread across Stanley's face. “She's got you there, Sixer!” He scrambled to his feet. “So you're really Grauntie Mabel? I don't remember you being so fat.”
“And I don't remember you being so ugly,” she said cheerfully. “Now grab your gear and get in, time is money!”
They hauled their suitcases into the sidecar. It was so small they had to sit with their knees pressed to their chest and they couldn't even take a deep breath. She tossed them a couple of helmets and then took off with a roar, tearing down the quiet road at a decidedly illegal speed.
The bike's engine was too loud for talking, but the town had sights enough to keep them occupied. There was a church, a deserted convenience store, a junkyard, and a gigantic mall. Ford caught his brother staring at the mall, mouthing “babes” with a familiar gleam in his eye. Ford laughed.
The buildings petered out as they turned onto Gopher Road. The forest, which was always in the background of the town, now loomed up around them. The redwoods spiced the air with a sharp, earthy smell. Beams of sunlight sliced the forest with bars of yellow light. Motes of dust and quick-winged birds darted through the canopy, and wind rustled the treetops, which were high enough to touch the clouds.
But the trees grew so thick that they cast deep shadows starting just a few feet from the road. More than once Ford thought he saw movement in those shadows – things that scuttled and creeped and seemed to be watching them as they passed. He shivered.
The sudden appearance of the clearing drove the thought from his mind. Mostly because of what was in the clearing.
A two-story, steeple-roofed cabin stood in the middle of the lawn, completely covered in hot pink glitter, right up to the weathervane (which, instead of the cardinal directions, had the letters W, H, A, and T). Under the gaudy sparkles, he could make out a large sign reading “MYSTERY SHACK” positioned on the roof, with a dozen smaller advertisements above the front and side entrances. An enormous pig lounged on the front porch.  A sign next to it read, 'Picture With Pig - $50!' A Native American totem pole was rose a few yards away, but it was hard to tell what the animals were, since all of them were wearing sweaters of various neon colors.
“Um, wow,” Stan said dubiously, as soon as the engine died.
“Don't mind the glitter,” Mabel said cheerfully. “The girls and I just went a little nuts on our last sleepover.”
“Sleepover?” Stanley muttered to Ford. “But she's, like, grandma-age.”
They got out of the sidecar, grabbed their suitcases, and followed their great-aunt. The pig opened one eye and oinked at them, but otherwise didn't move.
The inside, at least, was less sparkly. They'd entered through the Mystery Shack's Gift Shop. Wood floors, wood walls, and a wood ceiling gave off a definite 'cabin' vibe. Most of the walls were covered in overpriced merchandise and taxidermy monstrosities. There were some clothing racks on the right, next to some tables loaded with snow globes and Grauntie Mabel bobbleheads. The back wall had a vending machine and two doorways, one marked “Employees Only” and the other marked “Museum”. The cash register was on their left, under a stuffed bear head with a narwhal horn glued to its brow. A red-haired teenager in a flannel shirt sat behind the register, his face jammed into a Manly Muscles magazine.
Their great-aunt stood in the center of the shop, legs planted wide and hands at her hips. “Alright, kids, welcome to the Mystery Shack!” she said, gesturing grandly. “Meet our first underpaid employee: Flannel Man!”
“It's 'Boyish Dan',” the teen grunted, without glancing up.
“I'll call you that when you stop reading at work!” Mabel sang. “Flannel Man, meet my great-nephews...my grephews?...Stanley and Stanford Pines!”
“Just 'Ford,'” Ford said, at the same time Stan said, “Just 'Stan'.”
“We also have a mechanic around here somewhere,” Mabel told them. “She's usually fixing things, or breaking them, or both at the same time...oh, Maria! Perfect timing!”
The Employees Only door opened, and a woman in her early twenties stepped through. She wore a faded green hat over her curly dark brown hair, a size-XXXL Mystery Shack shirt, and khaki shorts. One hand gripped a tool box, and the other held a broom.
Grauntie Mabel smiled. “Ria, this is Stan and Ford! My grephews! I told you they'd be coming today.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ria said politely. “Mrs. Pines, I fixed the pipes, but I might've broken the copy machine.”
“Oh, that wasn't you, it's been broken for ages,” Mabel assured her. “Anyway, you two boys go throw your stuff in the attic, and then come back down. I've got a tour bus coming at eleven hundred sharp and I need this place to look spic 'n' span!”
“Wait-wait-wait,” Stan said quickly, holding up his hands. “You mean we're gonna do chores?! But we're on summer vacation!”
Their great-aunt pulled two orange coveralls from behind her back. They had black letters on the front reading “Unpaid Intern #1” and “Unpaid Intern #2” on them in big black letters. She grinned mischievously.
“Not anymore! Now get to work, suckers!”
Stanley managed to talk Grauntie Mabel out of the overalls, but she wasn't kidding about making them work. In the first two days of their stay, they scrubbed the Shack from roof to lawn, swept the house, cleaned out the fridge (Ford swore that was actual glitter in that chicken casserole), and reorganized practically the entire Gift Shop. The only thing they didn't clean was the vending machine, which Mabel declared off-limits after she caught Stan stealing twelve candy bars at a time. They'd even had to re-sew some of the taxidermic monstrosities in the Museum.
The exhibits in there drove Ford crazy. It was all he could do not to shout out corrections when she guided tourists through, calling jackalopes “Antelabbits” and introducing them to bizarre creatures like the “Centaurtaur.” Ford was pretty sure she'd just made that up.
Stan, however, loved it. There was at least one hot babe per bus, and he was determined to make a move on every single one.
Ford watched his brother approach a blue-eyed brunette who was browsing through the shirt rack.
“Do you know a good dentist?” Stan asked, leaning casually on the rack and grinning. “'Cuz you're so sweet I'm gonna get cavities.”
She leaned away from him. “Um, ew.”
Stan didn't give up. “So do you have a name, or should I just call you 'mine'?”
“You can call a lawyer, 'cuz I'm about to sue for harassment,” she snapped, and stalked out of the shop.
This had happened so many times that Stanley didn't even look fazed. He scoffed, turned to the window, and eyed the next busload of tourists shuffling around the lawn.
“Welp,” he said, “one babe down, thirteen to go!”
Ford rolled his eyes. “Stan, some of those girls are like, Mom's age.” He wiped off a jar of eyeballs (which he was convinced watched him when he wasn't looking). “I know you're getting all girl-crazy, but could you turn it down a notch?”
“Not until I get a girlfriend,” Stan said with determination. “All those girls in Jersey were stupid-heads. Now that we're here, I'm going to find the perfect girl to date me.”
“That doesn't mean flirting with every girl you see. Remember when you hit on that lady with a pet turtle? She looked ten years older than you!”
“So I have a thing for older women.” Stan threw one arm around his brother. “Come on, Sixer, I need a wingman! We can both land a hot girl this summer!”
Ford glanced reflexively at his hands, but Stan didn't notice.
“Besides,” he went on, “I got a good feeling about this summer! I wouldn't be surprised if the girl of my dreams walked through that door right now!”
The second Stan pointed to the front door, Grauntie Mabel walked through it and belched up a handful of glitter.
“Ugh, eating actual glitter, not good, ow,” she grumbled.
“Ew, why?!” Stan yelped. Ford laughed.
“Alright, people,” Mabel announced, “I need someone to go hammer these signs in the spooky part of the forest!”
“Not it!” Stan yelled.
“Not it!” Ford echoed.
“Uh, also not it!” Ria called, nailing up a new shelf on the wall.
“No worries, Ria. Flannel Man, I need you to put up these signs for me, please!”
He glanced up. “That's a left-handed hammer. I only use my right hand! The manly hand!” He leaped to his feet. “I'm gonna go make a right-handed hammer right now! HYAAAH!” He ran out the door.
“Oh, not again,” Mabel muttered. “Alright, let's make it eenie, meenie, miney...you.” She pointed to Ford.
He flinched. “What? But Grauntie Mabel, whenever I'm in those woods I feel like I'm being watched.”
“I've been in those woods a hundred times, kiddo. How many times do I have to tell you there's nothing scary in there?”
“Except maybe bears,” Stan added.
“Why don't you do it?” Ford demanded, looking at Stan. “You're the one who wanted to hunt for buried treasure!”
“Nope, she picked you, sucker! See ya!” He dashed out the door after Boyish Dan.
“But it's creepy!” Ford insisted. “I'm telling you, there's something weird about this town. Look – yesterday my mosquito bites spelled out 'BEWARE'!” He pulled up his sleeve to show Mabel.
She peered at it. “First, that says 'BEWARB.' Second, there's no such thing as the supernatural. And third, the longer you wait, the darker it'll get, so hop to it!” She dumped the signs into his arms and moved past him to handle the tourists.
“This is so not fair,” Ford grumbled, hammering up another sign. This deep into the forest, the thick trees cast an eerie shadow over everything. Even the sky looked tombstone gray. “Why doesn't anyone believe me when it comes to the supernatural? I know something's not right here...”
Clang.
Ford blinked. The tree he'd just hammered sounded...metallic. He leaned closer and tapped it again with the hammer.
Clang, clang.
“...huh.”
He ran his fingers over the bark, leaving trails through the dust and dirt. His fingers caught on something and he pulled.
A portion of the tree trunk swung open.
There was a rectangular compartment lined with metal recessed into the tree. Centered on the bottom was some kind of control box, with a dusty screen, a few weird buttons, and a couple of levers. With growing fascination, Ford leaned forward, tapping the buttons and toggling one of the levers.
WHIIRRRR!
Ford spun around. A section of the grass had retracted, revealing another compartment set into the ground.
Grauntie Mabel's pig, which had apparently followed him out here with surprising stealth, gave a startled oink and waddled quickly away.
Ford hurried over.
The compartment was full of cobwebs, millipedes, beetles – and one very old, very filthy book, covered in layers of dirt and dust. Ford picked it up carefully and blew the dust away.
The book was bound in deep blue leather, the corners reinforced with a dull bronze-colored metal. In the middle of the cover was a gold pine tree with the number “3” written on it, shimmering against the blue background. The book looked very old, and very strange, like an ancient tome from some kind of secret society.
“Whoa,” he breathed. He laid it carefully on the grass. His head was spinning with questions. Who would hide a book way out here, in such an elaborate hiding spot? Who built the mechanisms? What amazing secrets were written on these very pages?
He opened the book.
The inside cover had an owner's label, but the name had been ripped off. There was a monocle attached to the binding. He picked it up for a moment, weighing it in his hand, before he turned the page and began reading aloud.
“'It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began studying the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls, Oregon.'”
Secrets? Ford was right – there was something going on in Gravity Falls!
He flipped eagerly through the pages. They were filled with illustrations of strange beasts – eyebats, gnomes, gremloblins, with notes taken in precise cursive. There were also several lines of strange symbols and numbers, obviously some kind of code.
“What is all this?” Ford whispered.
He stopped flipping the pages and started to read again. A bold subtitle had caught his eye: Trust no one.
“'Unfortunately, my suspicions have been confirmed. I'm being watched. I must hide this journal before he finds it. Remember, in Gravity Falls, there is no one you can trust!'” He picked up the book and stared at the words. “No one you can trust...”
“HELLO!”
“GAH!” Ford jumped and nearly dropped the book.
Stan sat on the log behind him, grinning from ear to ear. “I swear, Sixer, I shoulda pretended to be a bear. Betcha woulda peed your pants! Hey –” He caught sight of the book in Ford's hands. “Whatcha readin' there, some nerd thing?”
“Uh – uhhh, it's nothing!” Ford said, hiding the book under one arm.
“'Uhhh, it's nothing!'” Stanley mimicked, laughing again. “What, are you actually not gonna show me?”
Ford felt a slight tugging on his book. Grauntie Mabel's stealth pig had come back and was chewing the cover.
He tugged it away. “Let's go somewhere private.”
Stan raised an eyebrow. “We're in the middle of the forest, bro,” he pointed out. But he followed Ford back to the Shack.
Since the pig wasn't allowed in the house, Ford went to the Shack's living room to show Stan the journal. There was a tour bus out front, so he figured their great-aunt would be busy for a while. He didn't really want to share the journal with her. She didn't believe in the supernatural, anyway.
“Ok, so what's the big thing with some dumb book?” Stan asked impatiently, jumping onto their Grauntie's orange chair.
He took the book out of his jacket, smiling down at it. “It's amazing – Grauntie Mabel said there's no such thing as the supernatural, but according to this book, Gravity Falls has a secret dark side.”
“Whoa, shut up!”
“And get this! After a certain point, the pages just – stop, like the guy who was writing it mysteriously disappeared!” He held up the blank pages to show his brother.
“Do you think he was eaten by one of those monsters?” Stan asked.
“Hey – maybe!” Ford said. He hadn't thought of that. “But he hid it first, so I don't think he got eaten. Plus, the author says he was being watched, so I don't think it was a random monster.” He started pacing as he talked. “If he knew he was being watched, did he take steps to protect himself? Is the author still around somewhere? Could he be someone in town? There are some coded parts of the journal in here. I bet if I could crack them, I could figure out what happened, maybe who the author really is!”
Stanley grinned at him. “If anybody can do it, it's you! You're the smartest guy I know!”
Ding dong.
Ford looked up. “Who's that?”
His brother grinned. “Welp, time to spill the beans!” He reached over and flicked an empty can of beans sitting on Mabel's stack of romance novels. The can tipped over. “Haha, beans. This guy's got a date with destiny!”
Ford raised his eyebrows. “Let me get this straight. In the thirty minutes I've been gone, you've already managed to find a girlfriend?”
“Well, not exactly.” Stan ran off to answer the door. Ford hopped up on the chair and sat down to read.
Grauntie Mabel walked in. “Whatcha readin' there, kiddo?” she asked.
He jumped. “Oh – uh, uh –” Ford hid the book behind him and grabbed a novel from the stack. “Just reading, um...Wolf Man, Big Chest?”
“That's a good series,” she commented, taking a swig of Pit Cola.
“Alright, family!” Stan announced, marching proudly into the room. “Say hello to my new buddy, Norman!”
A slouching, black-hoodied teenager shuffled into the room. He wore dark pants and a black hoodie, all covered with bits of dirt and grass, with an actual tree root sticking out of his hood. When he turned to greet them, his face was paper-white, and his eyes were round and bloodshot.
He looked at them. “'Sup.”
“Hey,” Ford said, just as Mabel said, “Hi there!”
“We met at the cemetery,” Stan said. “He hangs out there all the time. Isn't that cool?”
“Um, are you bleeding, Norman?” Ford asked, pointing to something red and drippy on Norman's chin.
Norman's eyes darted nervously. “It's jam,” he rasped.
“Anyway, we're going treasure-hunting!” Stan declared. “You wanna come, Ford?”
The journal pressed into Ford's back. “Um...maybe later,” he said.
“Aw, come on! We were gonna go hunt for treasure! You know you're gonna love it.”
“No thanks,” Ford said, a little more firmly. “I've got...summer reading to do.”
“Oh...” Stan looked dubiously t the book's hiding place. “Fine. Come on, Norman!” he yelled, racing for the door. “Last one out's a rotten egg!”
Norman raised a hand in farewell, walked into a wall, and stumbled after Stan.
Ford got up from the chair, hiding the journal in his jacket, and went to the window. He frowned, watching them leave. “Did Norman seem...normal, to you?” he asked Grauntie Mabel. But he wasn't really expecting an answer. She'd already started rereading that lame romance novel.
He touched the journal, thinking hard. If there was something supernatural about Norman, maybe it could give him some clues.
Half of the upstairs attic was taken up by his and Stan's bedroom. The other half was empty, utterly devoid of furniture with the exception of a single bay window, with stained red glass decorated with a triangular design. Ford sat on the cushioned seat, scooting close to the window to make the most of the light.
He flipped through the book until he found something that caught his eye. It was a hunched figure with its limbs held out stiffly, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Norman.
He started to read. “'Known for their pale skin and bad attitude, these monsters are commonly mistaken for teenagers. Beware of Gravity Falls' notorious –’” he gasped. “ZOMBIE?!”
Grauntie Mabel looked up from the bathroom mirror.
“What was that? 'Crombie'?” she wondered. “No, maybe it was chompy. Or maybe hungry. Hey, I should finish off that Chicken-Glitter Casserole!”
Ford jumped up to a kneeling position and pressed against the glass. There! Stanley was sitting on the picnic table, concentrating on a piece of paper spread out before him. Norman was stalking towards him, arms outstretched, grunting with every step. Stanley was so focused that he was utterly oblivious to the danger.
“Oh no – Stanley!” Ford shouted, but his brother couldn't hear him.
Norman came closer. He loomed over Stanley.
He grabbed him –
Ford yelled –
And Norman pulled back, a miner's helmet on Stan's head. Stanley turned around, grinning and feeling his new hat.
“Is this a real miner's helmet?!” he asked, reaching up to flick the light. It blinked on and off, visible even in the bright sunshine. “Wow! Where did you get this? It's so cool!”
Ford slumped with relief, watching for a few seconds longer as the two of them started pointing to stuff on the paper. From here, it looked like it was some kind of map.
He drew back, shutting the book and sticking it under his arm. For all he knew, the teen was just another emo teenager. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. He held the journal more tightly.
“Is Norman really a zombie,” he muttered, “or am I just going nuts?”
“It's a dilemma, to be sure.”
Ford jumped and spun around. Ria was on a step stool, changing the bulb in the attic's ceiling lamp. Ford hadn't even heard her come in.
He hesitated, but he needed to think this through with someone. “Ria, you've seen Norman, right?” he asked. “He's gotta be a zombie!”
“Hmm. How many brains have you seen him eat?” she asked politely.
He sighed. “Zero.”
She stepped off the stool, wiping the dust from her hands. “Don't fret, chiquito. I do believe you. There are many strange things that happen in this town. The florist, for example. I am almost certain that he is a satyr.”
Ford knew who she was talking about. The florist's shoes made weird clopping noises, he always wore a hat even indoors, and he had flower petals everywhere – even between his teeth.
“But you must have evidence,” Ria continued. “Otherwise, people will simply believe that you are one piece shy of a chess set.”
“I guess you're right,” Ford conceded.
She nodded sagely. “Wisdom is both a blessing and a curse.”
Grauntie Mabel's voice called up to them. “Ria! The portable toilets are clogged again!”
Ria straightened her hat. “I must get the special vacuum.” She held the step stool like a shield and marched out of the room.
Ford looked after her, thinking hard. Ria was right. He'd need some actual proof that Norman was a zombie...hadn't he seen a camera left in the Lost 'N' Found box in the Gift Shop? Grauntie Mabel always waited until the end of the day, then emptied the box, stuck price tags on everything, and resold it as “haunted merchandise”. He could borrow the camera and return it later for her to sell. If he followed Norman around, he'd be able to film actual proof that Norman really was a zombie.
A slow smile spread over his face. He'd be a hero – he could protect his brother, prove the existence of the supernatural to his great-aunt, maybe even get an article published in the newspaper. This was definitely a good plan.
It was time to collect some evidence!
“Here, let's take this one, too,” Stanley said. He and Norman had gone straight to the closest hardware store and begun stocking up on supplies, using Norman's zipped-up jacket as their shopping cart. He shoved a second flashlight down Norman's collar and stood back to admire the effect. With all the stuff they'd packed in, the jacket bulged in unlikely places, but they could just say he'd broken both arms or something. “Perfect,” he decided. “Man, how do you fit all that stuff in there?”
Norman eyed the next item doubtfully. Stanley was holding a shovel almost as tall as himself – three and a half feet long with a wide, pointy steel blade. “Uh, I don't know about the shovel...”
“Well I'm not paying for a perfectly stealable shovel. Are you?” Stanley twirled it like a baton. “Won't we need two of these?”
Norman grunted. “You dig it up, you get 80% of the gold.”
“Well hot dog! You got yourself a deal!” Stanley practically danced with glee – then remembered not to do that. Ford was the only one who didn't laugh when he danced.
Thinking of Ford made his chest twinge. If his brother hadn't found that stupid book with its stupid mysteries, maybe they'd be doing this together...
He gave himself a good mental shake. So what? He and Norman would dig up the gold using the treasure map they'd found, and they'd get filthy rich and Ford would be incredibly jealous, and then Stan could use the gold to buy all the fancy monster-hunting equipment Ford wanted and they'd go exploring the forest together for the rest of their natural lives. In a limo. In two limos!
“C'mon, c'mon, let's get out of here!” Stanley whispered excitedly. “We got some gold to find!”
They picked the lock on the Emergency Exit door and snuck out. Norman insisted they pick up provisions at “the place with ingredients for pie”, which Stan guessed meant the grocery store. But first they decided to dump their equipment at the cemetery. There was a tombstone with a winged angel pointing at something, and her wings were big enough to hide their stuff behind.
Stan threw the shovel in the dirt like a harpoon. A pile of blankets was already stacked there, plus a wagon loaded with a pickaxe and a coil of rope from their previous tool heist.
“Dude, you're like, an expert at this,” Stan said. “By the end of the day, we're gonna be filthy ri–”
“WAGH!”
Stan turned right as Norman did a face-plant in an open grave, spraying him with dirt and gravel. After a second, Norman crawled his way to the surface. Stan burst out laughing.
“Oh, man, that was hilarious!” he gasped, bent double from laughing so hard.
Norman laughed along with him. Stan knelt by the edge of the grave. “Dude, you are covered in dirt. You look like a zombie! Wait – it's like a zombie swimming pool! Swim through the dirt!” He started chanting. “Swim through the dirt! Swim through the dirt!”
Norman grunted and tried to pull himself out. Tools fell out of his jacket and pants. Stan looked down at the grave in dismay.
“Aw, man, you dumped it all.”
Norman handed him the shovel. “Here. Practice.”
“Uh, you're the one who dumped it.”
“I'm...like...not crawling back into an open grave.”
Stan scoffed. “Chicken.” He jumped in feet-first. The dirt was all soft on top, soft enough to move with his hands, so digging was no problem. He brought up their flashlights, thermoses, and a waterproof watch before he noticed Norman watching him. There was a hungry kind of look in his eyes.
“Um...dude. You're freaking me out.”
“Sorry. You're really good at digging.”
“Whatever. Get the stuff and pull me out, would you?”
Norman put a hand down, but when Stan went to grab it, he somehow lost his grip and went tumbling back in the grave. He banged the shovel on his knee.
“Ow!”
“You okay?”
“Ugh...” Stan rubbed the back of his head. “I swear I'm gonna have, like, three concussions and amnesia by the time this summer's over. Get a better grip this time, okay?”
Norman helped him out of the grave and they piled all their stuff in the wagon. By that point, they both looked so filthy that Stan knew they'd never make it in and out of the grocery store without getting caught. You had to look nice and respectable for people's eyes to glaze over you, and somehow grave dirt just wasn't the fashion style of the season.
Fashion style? Ew! Grauntie Mae's rubbing off on me. Definitely time for some manly gold-digging.
Aaand that sounded wrong.
“Let's just get back to the Shack,” Stan said angrily, scowling at the wagon. “You pull, I'll push. We can just grab some stuff from the kitchen and fill up our thermoses there.”
Ford paced the living room angrily, the camera in his hands, disgusted with the wasted day. He'd followed Stan around for the past five hours, and while he'd gotten plenty of evidence of Stan's sticky fingers, there was absolutely nothing to suggest that Norman was anything other than a very awkward teenager.
He heard Stanley slam the back door. It was easy to tell who it was, since he grumbled under his breath the whole way up the stairs. Ford headed up as well and entered their bedroom just as Stanley was putting on a fresh shirt.
“Stanley!” Ford said. “We've gotta talk about Norman.”
“Isn't he the coolest?” Stan asked. He held up his right forearm and pointed. “Check out this neat scar I got!”
“Gah!” Ford stared, alarmed. The scar was at least a foot long and bright pink, the skin around it mottled and purple.
“Haha! Gullible.” Stanley put his arm down and rubbed it. “It's just some paint, see? We painted the wagon we're using. I called it 'The Stanleymobile!'”
Right. Ford had seen Stan and Norman outside earlier, messing around with paint and a rickety-looking wagon. They'd tried to use a leaf blower to make it dry faster and ended up having a sword fight with the blower and a shovel.
Stanley smiled. “That was fun, Sixer, you shoulda joined us!”
Ford shook his head. “No, Stanley, listen – I'm trying to tell you that Norman is not what he seems!” He pulled out the journal, its gold-leaf pine tree glinting ominously.
Stan thought for a second. “Do you think he could be a werewolf? That would be so awesome!”
“Guess again, Stanley,” Ford said, and flipped quickly through the pages. He held it up dramatically. “Sha-BAM!”
Stan yelled in surprise, then frowned. “Wait, what?”
Ford checked the page. “Oh, oh wait, hang on –” He had flipped it to that page about gnomes, all chubby-cheeked and starry-eyed. He turned the pages back until he found the one on zombies. “Okay, sha-BAM!”
Stan was not impressed. “A zombie? That is not funny, Ford.”
“I'm not joking!” Ford started to pace the room. Why didn't anyone believe him? Not Grauntie Mabel, and now not Stan?! He knew what he was talking about! “Look, it all adds up – the bleeding, the limp... He never blinks! Have you noticed that?”
“Maybe he's blinking when you're blinking,” Stanley said.
“Stanley, remember what the book said?” Ford whispered urgently. “'Trust no one!'”
Stan rolled his eyes. “Well what about me, huh? Why can't you trust me?”
Ford grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “Stanley, he's gonna eat your brain!”
Stanley frowned and pushed his hands away. “Stanford, listen to me. You can join us or not, but Norman and I are going treasure-hunting at five o' clock.” He started marching toward Stanford, who was forced to back up a step at a time. “And we're gonna find an awesome pile of gold,” Stan continued, “and we're gonna spend it however we want, and I'm not gonna let you ruin it with your crazy conspiracies!”
Stan slammed the bedroom door in Ford's face.
Ford sighed and slid to the floor, sitting against the door. “Oh man...what am I gonna do?”
Eventually he pulled himself to his feet and dragged himself downstairs, where he flopped on the yellow armchair. He pulled out the video camera and flipped open the viewing screen, glumly rewinding and fast-forwarding various moments of the day. There wasn't even a shred of proof...
The doorbell rang.
“Coming!” Stan yelled.
Ford glanced over the arm of the chair. He had a pretty good view of the front door. Norman was standing in the entrance, as pale and creepy as ever.
Stanley ran to the door, wearing clean(ish) clothes and his miner's helmet. “How do I look?” Stan asked, adjusting the hat. “Do I look like a real treasure-hunter?”
“Cool,” Norman grunted.
“The map's on the picnic table. Let's grab it and get hunting!” He grabbed Norman's sleeve and yanked him outside. Ford kept watching as they grabbed a wagon loaded with food and tools and started lugging it into the forest.
Ford turned away from the door with a groan. “Ugh, maybe Ria was right. I don't have any real evidence...” He watched a brief clip of Stan teaching Norman how to play cards while they ate stolen candy bars. He thumbed the fast-forward button absently. It reached the part where he'd been spying on the two of them in the cemetery. Ford watched as Norman fell into the grave, then climbed out. Totally creepy, but nothing supernatural about it at all. He sank a little lower in the chair. “I guess I can be kind of paranoid sometimes and...”
On the screen, Norman try to pull Stan out of the grave. Norman pulled and his hand popped off just as Stan slipped, falling back into –
“Wait. WHAT!?”
He rewound it again, watching closely. Just as Norman started to pull Stan out of the grave, Norman's hand fell off his wrist! Norman quickly popped it back on when Stan wasn't looking!
Ford yelled in triumph and actually knocked over the chair.
“I was right!” he shouted, scrambling to climb over the seat. “I was right, I knew it, I was –” He stopped short. His brother was out there right now, in a creepy forest with a zombie who wanted to eat his brains!
“Omigosh, omigosh!” He darted for the door. He had to get help! “Grauntie Mabel, Grauntie Mabel!”
He sprinted around the Shack. His great-aunt was giving a tour to some sweaty-looking tourists. She led them to a rather large rock set atop a thick pole, sitting in front of the Shack.
“And here we have Rock-That-Looks-Like-A-Face Rock,” she said proudly. “'The Rock that Looks like a Face.'”
One of the tourists raised his hand. “Does it look like a rock?” he asked, his accent twanging.
“What?” Mabel frowned at him. “No, it looks like a face.”
“Is it a face?” asked another tourist.
“It's a rock that looks like a face.”
Ford rushed up and tried to get around them, but there was no room. He jumped up and down, waving his arms from the back of the crowd. “Over here! Grauntie Mabel!”
She was too engrossed in her argument with the tourists. “For the fifth time, it's not an actual face!”
Ford ground his teeth in frustration.
Stan wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaving a long streak of black dirt on his face. The hole he'd dug was five feet wide and just as deep, with one side of it slanted so he could go up and down like a ramp. The sun was slowly going down, so half of the hole got some good shade, but the other half was right in the sun's path. Every time he stood on that side he got blinded. Sweat rolled down his face and back, making his shirt stick to him like the wrapper on a pastrami sandwich.
“This is taking forever!” Stan complained. He glared up at Norman. “Why aren't you helping more?”
Norman knelt at the side of the hole and handed him a water bottle. “I am helping. Besides, you're almost there.”
“Where, the center of the earth?” Stan threw down the water bottle and stabbed at the ground with the shovel. “Come on! I've been digging solo this whole time, and there's nothing even here –”
TWANG.
The shovel bounced back in Stan's hand. They both stared at the ground.
Stan's eyes went wide. “Is that...?”
“Grauntie Mabel, Grauntie Mabel!” Ford shouted, but he still couldn't get her attention and he knew time had to be running out!
A sudden movement caught his eye. Boyish Dan was parking the golf cart next to the “Pet the Pig” sign.
“Boyish Dan!” Ford ran over to him. “Dan, I need to borrow the golf cart so I can save my brother from a zombie!”
Dan squinted at him. Then he shrugged and dropped the keys into Ford's hand. “Don't hit pedestrians!” he barked, stalking toward the Gift Shop. Ford smiled with relief. Dan was pretty cool.
He hopped in the cart. It was almost exactly like that bumper car he'd ridden at the fair when he was six. He turned the key, shifted the gear stick, and hit the gas, heading straight for the forest.
“Chiquito, it's me, Ria.”
Ford hit the brakes. What was Ria doing just standing in the middle of the lawn?
“This is in case you see a zombie,” Ria said, handing him a large shovel.
“Thanks.” He stowed it in the back seat of the cart.
“And this is in case you see a pinata.” She handed him a baseball bat.
“Uh...thanks?” He put it by the shovel and hit the gas.
“Better safe than sorry!” she called cheerfully, as he zoomed towards the forest.
“Oh, man, I've never seen this much gold in my life!” Stan laughed. He'd dumped the treasure chest out on the bottom of the hole and was digging through the pile of gold coins, running them through his fingers. They glittered in the orange light of the setting sun. He grabbed two fistfuls and threw them up in the air, yelling with delight until they fell back down and pummeled him on the head. “Ow!”
“This is amazing!” Norman said. “I can't believe you dug this up all by yourself!”
“I know, right!” Stan paused, squinting up at Norman. “Yeah, I did do all the work myself. You know, I'm thinking we may need to renegotiate our shares, here.”
“Oh, you can hang on to all of it.”
Stanley stared at him. “Huh?”
Norman seemed not to hear. “Man, look at this! And this was supposed to be one of the harder ones to dig up, too. You did it in an hour flat!”
“...Yeah...” Stan looked from the gold to Norman and back again. Norman really wasn't making any kind of grab for it. He'd just said Stan could have it all, just like that. Something was definitely fishy here. Was it possible Norman had tricked him?
He picked up an old-looking coin. It was worn smooth on one side, but the other side had some kind of sketchy engraving he couldn't quite make out. He knew better than to bite it – if it really was gold, he would dent the metal and decrease the coin's value. He weighed it in his palm. He'd gotten pretty good at that while working at the family pawn shop, and this felt like real gold.
So why would Norman just...?
He looked up. A bunch of foot-high men in bright red caps were standing exactly where Norman had been.
Stan shrieked and fell back on his butt.
“Relax, kid, wouldja?” one of the short guys said impatiently. It was Norman! Or at least Norman's face and voice.
“You – you –” Stan sputtered.
“Right, right, I'll explain.” Norman brushed the hair out of his eyes and smacked one hand with the other. “So! We're gnomes! Got that one out of the way.” He nodded at the other gnomes, all of whom were standing on stilts or carrying fake plastic arms. “I'm Jeff,” he said, “And that's Carson, Steve, Jason, and...I'm sorry, I always forget your name.”
The last gnome, who looked like a wild-eyed Santa Claus, blinked slowly. “Schmebulock,” he said, with a voice like a bunch of falling gravel.
Jeff snapped his fingers. “Right! Schmebulock! Yes! Anyway...” He turned back to Stan.
Stanley blinked rapidly, trying to put it all together. If that was Norman's face...then...Norman had really been a bunch of gnomes the whole time?!
“I still keep the gold,” Stan said flatly. “You said I could, and I did all the digging, and you didn't even pay for the stuff we stole, so –”
“Relax, kid, you can have all that and more!”
Stan blinked again, stunned.  “There's more?”
“Sure!” Jeff pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it around. “Us gnomes got into a fight with a giant hellhound a while ago, and long story short, it buried all our treasure. We've got whole boxes of the stuff buried all over the forest!”
Stan's eyes gleamed. “More gold, huh? You don't say.”
“Yep! But we're not exactly cut out to be diggers, and any tools we steal are definitely not gnome-sized. That's why us gnomes have been looking for a new servant!”
“Say what now?”
“Well, more like slave-labor, really. But it's a great deal!” Jeff nodded enthusiastically. “We offer full medical and dental coverage, plus all the pie we can steal. All you have to do is dig up all of our gold and guard it for the rest of eternity!”
“Are you crazy?” Stan demanded. “I get enough of that child labor stuff from Grauntie Mabel. You're lucky I don't sue your red-capped butts right now! I'm takin' my gold and I'm outta here.”
“We understand.” Jeff and his gnome friends glanced at each other. “Well, Stan...we tried it the easy way.”
Stan backed up. “Huh?”
All five gnomes bared teeth as sharp as a shark's. Stan yelled and threw up his arms as they jumped into the hole, their beady eyes glittering with greed.
“Don't worry, Stanley!” Ford shouted, his foot pressed to the gas. “I'll save you from that zombie!” Luckily, he'd seen the map they'd been using from the window of the attic. He had a pretty good memory. He knew he was to be close to wherever Stan and that zombie were trying to go.
Suddenly Stan's voice echoed through the trees to Ford's left. “Help!” he cried.
“Hold on!” Ford veered off the trail and drove into the trees, heading deeper and deeper into the shadows. The farther he went, the more he noticed an odd bluish light that seemed to come from the forest around him, tinting the foliage mint-green and aqua. The pine-needle carpet was swiftly replaced with odd blue mosses dotted with pink flowers and the occasional clump of mushrooms. There was an off-road path through the trees wide enough for the golf cart, and Ford pressed the accelerator, listening for his brother.
There was a clearing of sorts up ahead. A bunch of tiny red-capped creatures were swarming around a pile of gold. To the left, the rest of the creatures were clustered around Stanley, who was trying to fight them off, throwing punches left and right.
“The more you struggle, the more awkward this is gonna be for everybody!” warned one of the tiny creatures. “Okay, just – get his arm, there, Steve!”
A creature jumped up and tried bite Stan's arm. “Gah! HEY! Let go of me!” he shouted angrily. Another one attacked his midriff and he caught it mid-air with a strong left hook. The thing flew four feet, bounced twice, and landed on its feet next to a tree. It immediately vomited a viscous multicolored bile.
Ford hopped out of the cart and stared. “What the heck is going on here?!”
One of the creatures – men, they looked like little men – scuttled passed and hissed at him. Ford flinched back, dropping the shovel.
“Sixer!” Stanley called. “Norman turned out to be a bunch of gnomes! And they're total jerks!”
Three gnomes stacked themselves up and grabbed Stanley by the hair, swinging from it like monkeys. He yelped and went down.
“Gnomes?” Ford repeated, pulling out the journal. He flipped to the right page – ironically, the same page he'd accidentally shown his brother earlier. The same chubby-cheeked, starry-eyed drawing stared up at him. It was adorable in a creepy, infest-your-grandma's-lawn kind of way. “'Gnomes,'” he read aloud, “'Little men of the Gravity Falls forest. Weaknesses: Unknown.'”
Well that was unhelpful, Ford thought. When he glanced up, the gnomes had tied Stanley to the ground with a bunch of string, like a miniature Gulliver.
“Oh, come on!” Stanley shouted.
“Hey, hey!” Ford marched up to the lead gnome, shovel in hand. “Let go of my brother!”
“Oh, hehe, hey there!” The gnome smiled a little too stiffly. “You know, this is all just a big misunderstanding! Y'see, your brother's not in danger. He's just enslaved to all one thousand of us to become our gold miner for all eternity! Isn't that right, Stan-O?”
“You guys are butt faces!” Stan shouted. A gnome slapped his hands over Stan's mouth.
“Let go of him right now, or else!” Ford threatened.
Jeff glared at him, his face growing darker by the minute. “You think you can stop us, boy? You have no idea what we're capable of. The gnomes are a powerful race! Do not trifle with the –”
Ford scooped him up with the shovel and dumped him to the side.
He yelped indignantly. Ford ignored him and headed straight for Stan, lifting the shovel high and bringing the edge of it down on the strings. Stan jumped up and lashed out at the gnomes, knocking them down and giving them enough time to get away. He stopped to pick something up and Ford grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the golf cart.
“Forget it, Stan, just go!” Ford said.
“He's getting away with our servant!” Jeff yelled. “No, no, no!”
They scrambled into the golf cart. “Seat belt!” Ford barked.
“Mama's boy!” Stan barked back, but he put on the belt and Ford threw it in reverse.
Jeff watched them go, a dark fire burning in his eyes. “You messed with the wrong creatures, boy,” he growled. “Gnomes of the forest, ASSEMBLE!”
Instantly, gnome faces popped out from every nook and crevice in the clearing, crawling from the shadows, literally popping out of the woodwork in the trees. They scuttled towards him, linking arms, climbing onto each other's shoulders, as their collective shadow grew and spread over the ground...
Stan gripped the seat so hard his fingertips went numb. “Hurry, hurry, before they come after us!”
Ford grinned at him. “I wouldn't worry about it. Did you see those little legs? Those suckers are tiny!”
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Ford braked as the whole ground shuddered under their wheels. A shadow fell over the cart and they turned.
Stan gaped. “Dang.”
A thirty-foot conglomeration of gnomes loomed over them, with fingers as thick as telephone poles, arms and legs as thick as train cars, and a huge, sharp-toothed face that came to a hat-shaped point.
Jeff sat at the very top of the point. “Alright, guys, like we practiced!” he called, and yanked a gnome's hat. The giant roared and lifted a huge fist.
“Go go go!” Stan yelled. Ford floored it just in time, and the fist hit the ground where they'd been just a split-second earlier. The fist smashed apart into a pile of angry gnomes. Stanley grabbed the seat for balance and watched, still looking back, as the gnomes quickly regrouped and thundered after them.
“Stanley what's happening?” Ford shouted.
“COME BACK WITH OUR SERVANT!” Jeff howled, his black eyes madder than ever. The gnome giant ran with incredible speed, closing the gap between them in a matter of seconds.
Stan blanched. “Hit the gas hit the gas!”
The giant whipped its arm at them and several razor-toothed gnomes snapped off its fingers and went flying straight for the cart.
Stan grabbed a bat from the back seat. “We got incoming!”
He unbuckled and stood in one smooth motion, hitting the first gnome in the gut with a perfect swing. It went flying into the trees.
“Home run, suckah!”
“Stanley!”
He turned. His brother was fighting off the rest – they were tearing through the cloth roof and climbing down the sides of the cart, shredding whatever they could reach with their teeth. Stanley grinned and wielded the bat like a spear, punching the stupid gnomes flat in the face with the blunt end. One of them tried to bite the bat and Stan smashed the end of it against the hood of the cart, squishing the gnome, which let go and bounced off into the road.
Another gnome swung down from the roof right next to Ford. He yelled, but before Stan could get to it Ford grabbed it by the back of its stupid little jacket and banged it several times against the steering wheel.
“Schmebulock,” groaned the gnome.
Ford smashed it one more time and let it go, and it rebounded off the cart and went tumbling in their dust.
Stan grinned at him. “Way to go, Fo–”
“SCREEEEE!”
A gnome came flying out of nowhere and landed right on Ford's face, squeezing Ford's ears in its vice-like grip.
“I'll save you Ford!” Stan dropped the bat and pummeled the gnome with both fists until he dislodged it with a killer left hook.
“Th-thanks, Stanley,” Ford stammered, swaying slightly and blinking several times.
“Don't mention it.” Stanley had been standing on the seat, but now he crouched down and peered out the back of the cart.
The gnome giant had been gaining all the time, but now it paused and grabbed the nearest tree. It was a redwood at least four stories tall, looked like it had been growing for over a century – and the giant just grabbed it and pulled it up like it was picking daisies! It took aim and threw the tree like a javelin.
“WATCH OUT!” Stan shouted.
Ford glanced back over his shoulder and the two of them yelled with fear as the tree sailed towards them – and then over them. It landed with an incredible BANG in the middle of the path ahead, completely blocking the road.
Stanley threw up his arms as Ford swerved, desperately trying to avoid the tree, screaming as it loomed closer and closer.
The tree had landed with one end propped up on a boulder, with just the smallest gap between the tree and the ground. Ford yanked the wheel hard to the right and the cart skidded under the tree, scraping off bits of bark with the roof of the cart. Ford lost control and the cart started tipping, zooming down the road on just its two right wheels. Stan grabbed the seat – he couldn't reach for the seatbelt or he'd fall out – and Ford pumped the brakes and the gas, trying to regain control. The cart fishtailed, skidding over the road, and finally tipped over, sliding the last ten feet to the Shack.
It took a full minute for Stanley to realize they weren't moving. His head was pounding and the ground spun underneath him. He pulled himself, groaning, from the wreckage of the cart. He glanced over to see his brother standing up shakily, grabbing the bent metal poles of the cart for balance.
The giant gnome stomped towards them, its huge shadow swallowing them up. At its top, Jeff's eyes glittered maliciously. The boys backed up until they were pressed against the wall of the Shack.
“Uh, stay back, gnomes!” Ford yelled shakily. He grabbed the shovel from the back of the cart and threw it.
The giant hit it in mid-air and punched it to the ground.
“AGH!” Ford and Stan jumped.
“Wh-where's Grauntie Mabel?” Ford squeaked.
Inside the Gift Shop, Mabel Pines was demonstrating the newest merchandise to a trio of slack-jawed visitors.
“Behold!” she declared, holding up a toy that looked like a plastic lollipop. It had a swirl pattern decorating the candy part and a string dangling from one side. “The world's most distracting object!”
She pulled the string and the swirl began to turn.
“Ooooh,” the tourists said in unison.
Mabel grinned. “Just try to look away, you can't!” They all stared at the toy, including Mabel. “...Wow, I can't even remember what I was talking about.”
Stan and Ford were trapped between the trash cans and some bushes at the side of the Shack. There was nowhere for them to run, and nothing they could use as a weapon. Stan stood partly in front of his brother, one arm thrown out to protect him. How the heck was he supposed to get them out of this?
“It's the end of the line, kids!” Jeff yelled, looming over them. “Stanley, get over here before we do something crazy!”
“There's gotta be a way outta this,” Ford whispered. He slid the journal partway out of his jacket.
Stan set his jaw. “I gotta do it.”
“What?” Ford grabbed Stan's shoulder. “Stanley, don't do this, are you crazy?”
“Trust me.”
“What?”
“Sixer, just this once.” He turned to look his brother in the eye. “Trust me.”
Ford looked from the monster to Stan and back again. He slowly released Stan's shoulder and backed up.
Stan strode forward. “Alright, Jeff,” he said loudly. “I'll sign your contract.”
Jeff frowned at him. “Contract?”
“Well sure. This is like, a legal agreement, right? I'm going to work for you for eternity and all. Any good boss knows we need a contract to make it legally binding, so I can't run away.”
Jeff rubbed his chin, considering. “I like the way you think, kid!” he said finally. He clapped his hands and started climbing down the giant. “Help me down there, Jason, thanks Andy, whoops – hey Jorge – whoa, watch those fingers, Mike.” He reached the bottom and headed for Stanley, practically strutting, while the gnome-giant stood silently behind him. Stan was thinking furiously, but it looked like he was right – the other gnomes were all staring at Jeff like they didn't know what to do without him. That's what he was counting on.
“Alright kid, where's the contract?”
“You're in luck! We can use the map we left behind earlier,” Stan said. He reached behind the trash cans. “I've got the map and a pen right here...”
He whipped out the leaf blower and switched it on in reverse. Immediately the suction began drawing Jeff towards the blower.
“H-hey, what's going on?!” Jeff tried to back up but slipped on the grass. He grabbed for the ground with his fingers, but the wind was too strong. It yanked him up and he was sucked straight down the pipe. The other gnomes gasped.
“That's for lying to me!” Stan shouted.
He cranked the suction to full. Jeff's body got sucked in until only his cheeks bulged over the rim.
“Ow, my face!”
“That's for taking my gold!”
Stan aimed the blower at the giant gnome monster. It grunted in surprise.
“And this is for messing with my brother!” He glanced at Ford and grinned. “Care to do the honors?”
Ford smiled back. “On three!”
“One!”
“Two!”
“Three!”
Ford flipped the switch to 'blow'. Jeff shot out of the blower like a high-powered rocket. He crashed straight through the giant's chest and out its back.
“I'll get you back for thiiiiis!” he howled, flying at high speed over the treetops and out of sight.
The impact shattered the giant gnome to bits. They broke apart, gnomes falling around them like very ugly confetti. In seconds the lawn was covered with battered gnomes. Their red hats were bent and grass stuck to their sweaty hands and faces. They blinked and looked around blearily, groaning and rubbing their arms and shoulders.
“Ugh...”
“My arms are tired,” one mumbled.
“Who's giving orders?” whined another gnome. “I need orders!”
Stanley shoved the blower at Ford and grabbed his bat. “Anybody else want a piece of this?!” he demanded, swinging the bat like a golf club. He smacked quite a few gnomes on the butt. Ford joined in on the fun, cranking the blower to maximum.
“Yeah, come on!” Ford shouted, laughing.
The gnomes squealed and fled, most of them scampering on all fours into the forest. The twins ran after them, whooping and hollering like maniacs. Even Waddles got in on the action, showing up just in time to drag the last gnome off by its hat.
Ford headed back to the house to replace the leaf blower.
Stan bit his lip. “Hey, Ford.”
His brother turned. Stan shouldered his bat and shoved his free hand into his pocket. “Um. Sorry for getting on your case earlier. I know you were just looking out for me.”
“Come on, don't be like that!” Ford said, smiling. “Did you see what a great team we made? That was awesome!”
Stan grinned a little. “Yeah...hey, wanna see something?” He brought his hand out of his pocket. Resting on his palm was an old, misshapen, yet unmistakably gold coin.
“Whoa, neat-o!” Ford said, bending for a closer look. “You think it's real gold?”
“You bet! I bet you could do some science-y thing to check the weight, but it definitely looks real. The gnomes said there was a ton of it buried all around the forest, but they couldn't dig it up. That's why they wanted me in the first place.”
“You know, I bet we could find it on our own,” Ford mused. “We could get a metal detector or something and go exploring in the woods. We could even make maps like real explorers so we'd know where we'd already checked.”
Stan looked up hopefully. “You mean it? We'll go hunting together?”
“Sure! I bet we'll find a ton of treasure.”
Stanley's smile widened. He felt like fireworks were going off in his chest. “Alright! High six?”
Ford grinned back. “High six.”
They smacked hands.
Grauntie Mabel was counting the day's profits when they walked in. She took one look at them and laughed.
“Whoa, what happened to you?” she asked. “Didja get hit by a bus or something?” She chuckled at her own wit.
Stan grunted for the both of them and the trudged towards the kitchen. Normally he shared her love of terrible jokes, but at the moment he was too beat-up and tired to care. For once he would probably go to bed almost willingly.
“Uh – hey!”
He and Ford turned back. Their great-aunt was rubbing the back of her neck like she was anxious. “W-wouldn't you know it, I accidentally overstocked some inventory!” she said awkwardly. “So, uh, why don't the two of you take one item from the shop. On the house, you know?”
Stan's eyes widened. “Like, for free?”
“What's the catch?” Ford asked, folding his arms.
She frowned at him. “The catch is do it before I change my mind. Now take something.” She smacked the register with her elbow and started organizing the bills.
Stan sped straight for the priciest items in the shop. A talking fish on a plaque? A stuffed frogadillo riding a unicycle? He could take whatever he wanted for free!
“Neat-o!” Ford said.
Stan looked over. His brother had found a keychain shaped like a flying saucer. Ford clicked a small button on the side and the whole thing lit up light blue, making the perfect paranormal-themed flashlight. He slipped a finger through the keychain's ring and spun it, making a circle of light shimmer in the air.
“This is so cool!” Ford turned to Stan. “What did you get, Stanley?”
Stan looked around. “Um...I think I'll get...”
Something caught his eye. A glint of metal from the Bargain Box, shoved to the back of a store. He leaned closer to check...and a smile spread over his face.
“I will have a...grappling hook!”
He aimed the weapon around the shop, pretending he was a fighter in the Ol' West. “Pew, pew, pew! Take that!”
Ford and Grauntie Mabel glanced at each other in surprise.
“Wouldn't you rather have, like, a T-shirt or something?” Grauntie Mabel asked.
“Are you kidding?” Stanley aimed at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The hooks shot up, latched onto the roof beam, and yanked him ten feet in the air, where he dangled one-handedly from the ceiling. “GRAPPLING HOOK!” he shouted.
She laughed. “Fair enough!”
Ford sat in his bed later that evening, the blankets pulled over his knees as he wrote in the journal. He'd already filled in the “Weakness” areas of the gnome page: Leaf blowers and baseball bats!
He flipped to the first blank page, halfway through the book.
This journal told me there was no one in Gravity Falls I could trust, he wrote. But when you battle a hundred gnomes side-by-side with someone, you realize they've probably always got your back.
“Hey, Stan, can you get the lights?” he asked.
Stan had been bouncing energetically on his bed, grappling hook in hand.
“I'm on it!” he said. He'd already impaled a stuffed bear with it earlier, and its cotton innards clung to the hooks. He aimed at the lamp and fired.
The hook shot straight through the lamp and smashed the window behind it. The lamp sparked and died.
“It worked!” Stan shouted, and they laughed.
Ford slipped the journal under his pillow and laid back, his arms crossed under his head. He heard a rustling and knew that Stan had taken up an identical pose.
“This summer's gonna be awesome, Stan,” Ford said.
“Duh!” He could hear his brother's smile in his voice. “We're gonna find tons of buried treasure.”
“And monsters.”
“And babes!”
Ford threw a pillow at him. He heard a fwump and muffled laughter.
Ford closed his eyes, still smiling, thinking back to the last thing he wrote in the journal.
Grauntie Mabel told me there's nothing weird going on in Gravity Falls, but who knows what other secrets are waiting to be unlocked?
Next
23 notes · View notes
serendipityjxmn · 4 years
Text
I Hate You, Park Jimin!
Chapter 8
Words Count: 4.4k
TW: Smut
Link to Chapter 7
Link to Chapter 9
I wasn’t able to sleep properly that night so I went to school looking like a zombie. I head straight to the vending machine, in desperate need of caffeine. As I made my way towards my locker, I saw Park Jimin and his group of friends coming from the opposite way. His eyes flickered towards me.
I looked down almost immediately. God- I had no idea why it suddenly felt so embarrassing. I continued straight towards my locker and chunked my books inside. I turned around and regretted instantly. I was met with a sight of two girls scurrying towards Jimin. I was a few meters apart but I could easily read the situation. They wanted his attention and he easily gave it to them! He was flirting back.
I felt my heart sank slowly. Why? You thought after all the time that you spent with him - he’d somehow look at you? A voice inside my head said. I could clearly picture her scoffing at me. I shook my head as I smiled pitifully at myself.
I was going to wait for Jimin at the locker because I had something to say to him but since he seemed occupied with a scene that does not really bring joy to me, I walked away. I still texted him to meet up out front at the bus stand.
It took him about 20 minutes to show up. I pulled one side of my earphone.
“You could’ve waited for 5 minutes just now.”
I ignored his remark. “There’s a fundraising event next week so I won’t be able to see you on Wednesday.” I said matter-of-factly.
He raised his brows. “You’re joining?”
“Yes, I’m in the committee.” I answered impatiently. “So-“
“What will you be doing?”
I threw a look of are-you-serious-right-now. “Carwash.” I replied in exasperation. My bus had arrived. He frowned but didn’t press further so I continued. “So, again, I won’t be seeing you next week.”
He snorted. “Pfft. It’s summer anyways. Who the fuck studies during holidays.”
“I mean-“
“Fine.” He cut me off. “Then I guess you owe me.”
I simply nodded because technically I do owe him. He glanced around but frowned towards the people queuing to hop on the bus.
“Are you heading home?” He asked and I nodded. “Okay. I’ll send you home.”
“Nevermind.” I said and hopped on the bus without glancing back at him.
I woke up with a surge of excitement that day. It was finally the day of fundraising event where any profit that we gain would be sourced to all sorts of organization in need such as autistic kids. The whole committee had spent months planning this. I was sleep deprived up until last night but since today’s the day, I can’t keep the buzzing excitement away. Also, I can’t wait to get this over and sleep all day long after that.
The committees all wore white shirt customized for the event so I paired it with a long pair of blue jeans. I made an attempt to look presentable by curling my hair slightly although I knew that at the end of the day I’d look like a mess after running here and there.
I arrived at college at 8 and was literally out of breath 20 minutes later. I ran around to make sure everything was smoothly set up. My carwash duty won’t start until 10 later so I stopped by Ah Young’s booth to help her get started. She paired with Mina, another girl of the same year to sell cupcakes, macaroons and a lot other delicacies.
“It’s gonna be just fine.” Ah Young assured me when she saw my eyes scanning around every corner just to identify if anyone’s in need of help.
I smiled kindly at her. “It better be. I had so much sleepless nights for this.”
“True, true.”
“Anyway, thanks a lot for helping me out too. You’re always there to save me.” I hugged her shoulders.
“Anytime, babygirl.” She winked at me.
I glanced at my watch. It was almost 10AM so I excused myself from her booth and made my way towards the other side of the school’s parking lot, towards where the carwash would take place.
Some other students had been in charge to distribute flyers informing our carwash service so we had plenty of customers. There was only a few the first hour but a number of cars approached after that.
I looked up when I heard people whistling. Apparently there was a BMW i8 entering the parking lot making its way for a carwash. I shook my head. Boys and their shining toys.
The driver went out and I noticed it was our senior Min Yoongi, one of Jimin’s close friends. Wow, rich kids be hanging out around rich kids huh? For a moment, I thought his eyes flickered towards me but I could be wrong.
Speaking of Jimin.. where is he anyway? I don’t think he does this kind of shit, the other voice in my mind said. I nodded in agreement.
Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned to see Jeon Jungkook grinning widely with his bunny teeth at me.
“Hey!” It had always been great to see Jungkook. He’s normal and not intoxicating like someone... although Jungkook is good looking, yes but his bright personality made it all seem easy. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my break turn and I already had my lunch. I thought you could use some help? Maybe go and grab a lunch? I can cover for you.”
I glanced at my watch. I didn’t realize it was already noon. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m not that hungry yet. But we could always make use of some extra hand.”
He grinned even widely I almost thought his lips were gonna rip apart.
We had fun working our ass off cleaning the cars, whistling our way when expensive cars came through, shouting over the noise with stupid conversations. The amount of cars coming through slowed down in numbers. We had plenty of time to work on the same car together. It was all good until Jungkook decided to be an ass and started teasing me by sprinkling water with soap.
“Stop it.” I glared at him. Of course; knowing the playful personality of his, he didn’t. Instead he was now threatening me with a bucket of soap water. “Oh no you wouldn’t dare!”
“Come and test me.” A devilish smile crept on his face.
I quickly backed myself from him. It all happened so fast then- I tripped over someone’s bucket of water, fell flat on my butt and got sprayed by water.
“Ya Kim Hana!” Jae, a boy same year as mine rushed over to say sorry.
“It’s fine.” I said but I was slightly creeped out by the way he was staring at me.
“Are you okay?” Jungkook extended his hand to help me out.
I nodded as soon as I got on my feet. I noticed Jae was still staring at me while Jungkook’s eyes were looking anywhere except me. I frowned. I wanted to question him but someone approached us to ask if his car was done so I quickly went and retrieved his keys.
JIMIN’S POV
I made my way to the bathroom. As I relieved myself, I heard some other boys entering as well. I was far at the corner and they were deep in conversation so I took it that they didn’t notice my presence.
“Yah- Glad we listened to Woong. Just now was the highlight of my day.”
“I know! I didn’t know it was that easy to make the girls wet.” He made a groaning sound.
“Yah to be honest doing carwash was difficult but seeing all those wet bodies underneath their shirts.. hmmph-“
Carwash? Wet bodies? Didn’t Hana mention she’ll be doing a car wash for this fundraising event?
“I know, man. Yah did you see Hana? Kim Hana? Damn, I thought she was a total nerd, dude. Can’t believe she was hiding a body like that all these time.”
What the fuck? I quickly zipped my pants and charged towards the two guys. They were in my year, I wasn’t entirely sure of their names but I can recognize their faces. I held one of them at their collar shirt. The other one panicked seeing me.
“What the fuck did you just say?” My tone was low and menacing.
“W-what do you mean?” The other guy asked because the person I was currently holding was choking.
“What the fuck were you guys saying about Kim Hana?” I roared.
And then the other guy explained that Woong who was also in the same year as us told them to sign up for carwash. That way they’ll have a chance to see girls with wet bodies by pulling a prank and spraying them with water. I wasted no time punching them in their face after that. I couldn’t contain my disgust.
I immediately went out and began to search for Hana. I headed towards the campus compound where the festival was located at. Within seconds I spotted Kim Hana a few yards away from me. Something burned inside me when I saw her talking animatedly with Jeon Jungkook, the new boy. I went straight towards the car wash area. When I arrived, she seemed oblivious to my presence. I went up to her and snatched the hose away from her.
She seemed shocked to see me. “What the-“
I grew even madder at her sight. She was wearing jeans with her white shirt tucked inside. And they were wet- I could completely see her black bra underneath. “Are you stupid?” I bellowed at her. My tone came out harsher than I intended to and I saw her flinching at my sudden outburst.
“What are you talking about?” She eyed around her, obviously afraid that I’m making a scene and that’d attract people’s attention. Then she looked at me, her eyes scrutinizing me. “Did you fight again?”
I shut my eyes in exasperation. It took me so much not to yell at how stupid she is. Why is she so dumb letting people take advantage of her so easily? I let out a huge breath, trying to remain calm. “I’ll do it.”
Her expression confused.
“I said I’ll do it.” I toned down my voice slightly. I tried hard not to let my eyes roam lower than her face but it was taking all of the effort in me. Fuck, of all days, why did I choose today not to wear a jacket? I could’ve given it to her and helped her cover herself. “If I’m here to replace you then you don’t have to do it right? Just- go home.”
She seemed puzzled by my actions and I softened a bit. “Go. I’ll cover for you.” I said softly. “Just- cover yourself well.” I muttered.
She immediately look down on her shirts and her eyes widened. I tried to stifle a smile at ther reaction. Her hands automatically went across her chest. Yeah, now you know.
“T-thanks.” She muttered and then walked away.
I looked up to see Jungkook staring at me. His expression unreadable. Was he part of the whole prank too?
*KIM HANA*
My brows creased as I made my way towards Ah Young’s booth. Jimin asked me to go home but obviously I wouldn’t. I think I needed some explanation from him. Why was he acting like that anyway? He is so mercurial and unpredictable I was constantly left confused by his actions.
“Hey! You’re done with your work?” Ah Young asked as soon as she saw me.
“Actually, no.” I said, frowning. “Jimin said he’ll cover for me.”
“Huh. I wonder why.” She raised her brows at me.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
I was quite sure that she was about to say something but was interrupted by a customer stopping by. Ah Young’s booth was not that far from the carwash. I could see Jimin’s back as he sprayed water at the cars. I was surprised that he actually does his job. I made a mental note on how many times he gave a different turn of events than what I expected him to do. Then again, what do I know about him? Outside yes, he is all the bad things. Obnoxious, rude, playboy and a lot other negative adjectives. But that’s what he chose to lay out for people to see. Why do I constantly get the feeling that he’s not just all that?
“Is someone in love?” I hear Ah Young’s voice.
I jumped a little. I turned to see her leaning against the table, hands on her waist. I stifled an awkward laugh. “What are you talking about?”
She smiled kindly at me. “It’s not something wrong to fall in love you know. Just want you to be careful. He’s a nice piece of ass but you can’t deny he’s dangerous.”
I swallowed my saliva. “I guess that’s true.” I smiled sadly. “Ah Young ah, I’ll just head to the washroom real quick, okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, go go.”
As I made my way towards the washroom, I overheard something that made me stop on my tracks. Some boys were talking at some empty corner.
“Aish- we got into a fight with Park Jimin just now.” One of them said. Was it Jae?
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, and it was all because I said Kim Hana’s wet body looked so good.” I clasped my hands on my mouth.
The other guy laughed. “To be honest, you deserve that.”
“What- I was just following Woong’s suggestion.” He groaned.
I couldn’t listen on the conversation anymore so I walked away immediately. My head was spinning. Was Jimin trying to protect me? Was that why he was so angry at me? But why? Why would he? He doesn’t have any feelings towards me.. does he?
I ran back out. My intention to pee suddenly evaporated. My heart was racing as I tried to wrap my head around the situation. As soon a I reached Ah Young’s booth, I slung my bag onto my shoulder.
“Ah Young ah, I’m going to head back first.” I said in a rush.
“Oh sure, we’re gonna wrap it up in a few minutes anyway. Are you okay?” She frowned at me. Shit, this isn’t the time to be held back by Ah Young’s Inquisition.
I nodded, trying to force a smile.
“Well,” she went in for a hug. “Will I see you during summer?”
I smiled down at her. “Of course you will.
“Bye!”
I waved at her and then went straight towards the carwash area. I scanned the area to see Jimin still working on wiping a car. Briefly, I marveled at his deliciously toned back. I walked towards him.
“Hana-ya!” Jungkook called as soon as he saw me. But I don’t want to talk to him right now.
Jimin turned around and his eyes met mine. Staring fixatedly at him, I went straight at him and took his fingers in mine as I pulled him out of the place. He blinked as he tried to process what was happening.
I didn’t care at the heads turning twice at the sight of me pulling Park Jimin by his hands. I didn’t stop as I dragged him out of the campus.
“Where are you taking me?” He finally asked once we’re out of the entrance gate, my fingers still gripping his.
I didn’t answer but I continued to drag him with me although my steps had visibly slowed and now we looked like we’re walking hand in hand, side by side. He didn’t question further as he knew the direction we’re heading to.
We reached my small apartment and I punched in the passcodes quickly. I led him inside and towards the sofa. He took a seat and I finally let go of his hand as I went straight to my room to retrieve a first aid kit.
I sat beside him and placed his hands on my lap. He watched me in silence as I nursed his bloodied knuckles. I carefully cleaned his cut and put bandage over it. Then I looked at his face without meeting him in the eye. I spotted a tiny cut above his right brow. I proceeded to wipe it with cotton buds.
I had no idea what washed over me that I wasn’t at all frantic over this close proximity with Jimin, the subtle skin contact with him as well as his piercing stare as I nursed him. Maybe because I was too absorbed in my job or I was far too concerned about his cuts and wounds. As soon as I was done, the awkward atmosphere filled the air. I tensed.
“Am I allowed to talk now?”
I tried to stifle a smile. I noticed that his shirt was also wet. Wet enough to tell me that there’s some very toned muscles underneath it. “Yes.”
“Thank you for nursing me. Although it was merely small cuts.” He said as he placed one arm over the sofa’s back.
I stared at him, my expression serious. “I know what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know. I overheard Jae’s conversation.”
He regarded me for a moment. “Well then maybe that should make my feelings clear I guess.”
What? I searched his eyes for a hint of joke but there was none. I scoffed. “Let’s not play around. We’re strictly business, you know that.”
I could almost swear that his face fell for a second but it was too brief for me to make sure. He then tried to pull his shirt over his head.
“What are you doing?!” I screamed as I shut my eyes closed. As if it wasn’t enough, my hands flung against my eyes too.
I could hear him chuckling. “My shirt is wet. I need to dry it.”
I opened my eyes slightly but shut it again because he was now completely shirtless. “It-it’s just right beside my kitchen-“ I stammered. I felt him raise and then went straight towards the dryer.
I groaned. How was I supposed to open my eyes if he’s going to be shirtless for the next half an hour? I then realized that my shirt was wet too just now. I stood up, trying to find my way towards my room but someone stopped me.
“Where are you trying to go?” Jimin asked, his voice and his hot breath near my face told me that he was standing very near to me.
“My-my room.” I stuttered.
“If you don’t want to end up having bruises, I suggest you open your eyes.”
“No.” I replied almost immediately. But I felt his hands gripping mine, tearing them away from my eyes, slowly placing it on each side of my body. My eyes were still shut tight though.
“Just open your eyes. There’s nothing.” He persuaded.
I gave in. I slowly opened my eyes. I knew he was still shirtless but I locked my eyes with his. He was staring at me so deeply it sent electrical surge throughout my body. His gaze was intense and hot. I tried to look away but he was quicker to cup my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look at him. He inched closer and I gulped, my imagination running wild on the possibility of his next action.
He inched closer and closer, and then I felt his soft lips against mine. I closed my eyes, savouring his taste. It felt so right against mine, as if it was meant to be mine. After what felt like so long, he released my lips.
“Now- tell me,” he whispered. His voice so low and seductive. “Is this a kiss? Or is this still our lips merely brushing?” My breath hitched. I sensed him smiling as his lips still ghosting against mine. “I know you want me.”
“I-I don’t-“ I stammered as I felt heat gathered at my face.
“Are you sure? Even when we’re.. this close?” His fingers circling my cheek softly.
Shiver went down my spine at his words. I thought that was just it but he proved me wrong. He crashed his lips against mine again, this time pushing it deeper. He kept persuading me to give in and reply to his kiss. I refused at first, or at least tried to but he was so skillful and his tongue was so persistent demanding entrance that I finally gave in. I could almost sense his smile as he gained access. His one hand was at the small of my back, giving me support which I was thankful for because with the amount of air being sucked from my lung and how my legs are turning jelly, I would’ve collapsed right then and there if it wasn’t for his support. His other hand moved from my chin towards the back of my neck, pulling me closer towards him.
He tasted sweet and it was almost addictive to continue kissing him. I had never been kissed this way in my whole life. It was careful, passionate yet there was a bit of an urgency in it too.
“I’ve been missing the taste of your lips ever since I kissed you for the first time.” He whispered in between kisses.
He does? My heart skipped a beat. Does that mean he had been thinking about me? He pushed my shoulders gently until I was seated on the sofa without breaking the kiss and he followed suit beside me.
He kissed me so passionately I felt like I was in euphoria. He held my waist and I didn’t know where the courage came from but my hands roamed around his stomach. Shit I forgot he was shirtless. I tried to move my hands away but he was quick to lead them back on his stomach. He guided me towards his toned six packs. He wants me to touch him..
I hesitantly let my hands roam around his stomach and his chest. Damn it, I should stop. I know I should but my body won’t cooperate. I moaned under his touch.
Jimin’s hand went from my waist towards my nape. Then he moved lower.. towards my chest. He brushed his hands against my breast and it was enough to make me whimper from the sensation. The small touches were killing me. Then I felt it. His hands groping my breast, giving me a surge of pleasure. I moaned louder.
“Fuck- you’re making me hard.” He said.
And then I realized that I, Kim Hana was currently making out with Park Jimin. “We need to stop.” I said, breathless. He had now moved his kisses towards my chin and my neck. Shit, I moaned again. My neck was my most sensitive part and he mercilessly planted wet kisses on them.
“Why?” He asked in between kisses. “Do you not like it? Hmm?”
“Ahhhhhggg-“ I moaned as he licked my nape and groped my breast hard.
“Stop me if you don’t like this.” His hand crept under my shirt and reached my breast in no time. He pulled my bra down and he could see my breast under my wet transparent shirt now. He groped and fumbled with my mountains and I moaned again under his touch. “Stop me if you don’t want me now.”
I wanted to stop him because this shouldn’t be happening - because Park Jimin’s bad news and I shouldn’t cross the border line I’ve created ever since I had to partner with him. But he was irresistible. He was too skillful at his touch.
“Ahhh- hmmph,” I was falling apart from the hot and passionate kisses he’s giving me and his fingers that skillfully massaged my breast. “This is wrong..” I whimpered.
“Is it though? Your body says otherwise.” He said as he bites into my neck, a loud moan inevitably escaping my mouth.
“Jimin- stop.. we can’t do this.” I said, trying to find my voice.
“I know you want it too,” he said, all too seductively.
“Jimin, stop.” I said, this time more firmly.
He stilled at my words this time. The air was silent except for our heavy breathings. He then retracted his hand from underneath my shirt and removed his lips from my neck. I missed his touch as soon as it left mine. I hated myself.
I could hear his uneven breath. I didn’t dare to look up to his eyes. “I’m sorry.” I said softly.
He was silent for a few seconds, trying to process things. I assumed he was just as carried away as I did. He then leaned away, making a few centimetres more distance between us. His eyes searched for mine.
“I’m sorry.” I repeated softly. “This is a mistake. We can’t do this. This is wrong.”
“I-“ he paused. “I’m sorry too.”
He looked so distraught I almost wanted to kiss the frown away from his forehead. Shit- Hana. You’re the one asking him to stop. I readjusted my bra and my shirt and then I raised to my feet, walking towards the dryer.
His shirt was done so I quickly took it and went back towards Jimin. I smiled at him. He smiled back at me but it almost seemed painful. Why am I feeling guilty at making him disappointed? I wet my lips as I carefully help him wear his shirt.
“You know what? You’re the first girl that ever rejected me.” One of his eyebrows was raised.
I had no idea what to reply to that but I was relieved he was not angry. “Someone had to do the honor.”
He chuckled and I was again struck by his beautiful smile. “I’m sorry. I just can’t help it.”
Can’t help- what?
Suddenly he leaned into me, closing the proximity between us. His facial expression serious. “I know you have a crush on me.”
My heart skipped a beat and I gulped. How the heck does he know that? If it isn’t too obvious, a voice in my mind retorted. “No- I don’t.” I tried to say as firmly as I can.
He backed away and leaned against the sofa. “You do. You just won’t admit it.”
“No I don’t.”
“It’s okay. I’ll make sure you admit to it one day.” He smirked at me the very same smirk that had haunted me years ago. It continued to haunt me for the rest of the summer.
Link to Chapter 9 
Posted on 200525 10:52PM
13 notes · View notes
cesabutterflywrites · 4 years
Text
The Duke of the Bay: Part 1
This is the Mob AU I’ve been talking about for so long. It was inspired by a request sent in by @littlestr. I hope you enjoy! I’ve been having so much fun writing this. Ao3 Link
Next Part
If you want to be put on a taglist for this please let me know!
[Spotify Playlist] [Youtube Playlist]
I’m a big sucker for the 20s-40s era of history, as I grew up with a famous grandfather who played that music in a piano bar up until he died in 2018. This is a Mob AU. 
Warnings: Guns, threats, alcohol, sexist remarks, homosexual slang used pejoratively and positively, ask me to add any if need be
Chapter Word Count:  3116
Summary: Patton O’Hearty was a great detective. Most people didn’t take him for one at first glance, especially when he dressed casual. He was abnormally chipper; he thought everything was the cat’s pajamas. He had a smile for everyone he met. He was always tipping his hat at the dames and gents when he walked the streets of the Bay Area. 
The only person he could never catch was the leader of the planted mob in Emeryville, nicknamed The Duke. The Duke was good at hiding his dealings and joints well, and he rarely had a snitch in his ranks. The few who tried, well, somehow they disappeared before they could give the police any substantial information. He was well hidden, but popular among the residents of the town. People talked boldly of his rambunctious parties, never revealing the locations though. He was hard to catch, to say the least.
So what happens, when instead, the detective is the one that’s caught?
Part 1
Detective O’Hearty was tall and slender, with a mop of reddish-brown curls that could barely be tamed. He had dark brown eyes that surprised many with their playful stare. He always had a coin to spare for friends who needed it. He was a model detective, and he did his job well. Always brought the drunks in calmly, always had a way of getting suspects to confess with guilt, and he never fired the gun on his belt. 
He always walked to work. He loved saying hi to his fellow townsfolk in the mornings. There was Joe the barber, who was always sweeping his doorstep when Patton walked by. He made a point to pause so the detective could walk through. 
There was Jefferson, who owned the news stand on the corner by the police station. He always offered to give Patton a free copy of the paper every morning, and the good detective always declined. If he needed a paper, he’d pay for it. “Like a normal, everyday man.” 
There were also the normal passerby he made a point to say hello to. He felt that greeting people with a smile was a good way to share his love, and it always put him in a good mood when he walked into work. 
Patton made his way into the police station, a small building with only two holding cells, a few desks, and an office for the captain. Patton made his way to his desk, hanging up his hat and coat. He grunted as he sat down, looking at the various papers covering the desk. He tried his best to make it neat before his partner got in for his shift. He wasn’t in the mood for another lecture from the cold detective. 
As if on cue, Detective Logan Smith walked in swiftly. 
The younger detective was sharp as a whip, and he dressed the part. His slacks were always pressed, his shirts were crisp, and his black hair was slicked back tightly even after being under a hat or in the rain for hours. He had ice blue eyes, which always seemed half present. When one looked in them, there was always a gear turning somewhere in his mind. His jaw was always set, which had a tendency to put people off. 
If Patton was warm and bright, his partner was cold and shut off. He was good for investigating, up to a point. Patton had a way with people, and Logan had a way with patterns. He was sharp when given a puzzling case, though there was something he lacked when it came to mingling with his peers. He had a tendency to get frustrated when confused, which got him in trouble once or twice. Particularly when dealing with the women. 
Logan’s mouth was set in a frown as he walked to his desk. His eyebrows were creased with worry. Patton knew enough of his partner after three years to notice that he had something mulling around in his mind. The shorter man sat down at the desk pushed up across Patton’s, and he immediately opened one of their smaller files. 
Patton was a bit shocked that the man hadn’t greeted him like normal, not even making a comment about his disorganized workspace. 
“Logan, everything okay?” he asked with concern. “Logan,” he said louder when there was no response. 
Logan jumped, too caught up in the case he was looking through to notice his partner. “Yeah, Pat, I just had something strange happen this morning that might really help one of our cases.” 
“Which one?” Patton asked, though he suspected the answer. 
“The Duke,” Logan paused. “I got word from a note in my mailbox that he was hosting a shindig tomorrow night at seven o’clock. They left the address, and included invitations with false names to use to get in.” 
“Is that so…?” Patton leaned back in his seat, tapping a pencil against his chin in thought. Was this a chance to catch the man causing a ruckus in his town? The thought of putting the man behind bars was pleasant enough to make him want to go in immediately. 
“I think we need to speak to the captain, Pat. Only the captain,” Logan leaned over the desk to whisper conspiratorially,  “I suspect a plant in our midst.” 
“No way, Logan,” Patton denied, “There’s no way any of our guys would be bought out by the Duke. It goes against everything we believe in. We’re not like those flacks in Chicago.” 
Logan leaned back and scoffed. “Don’t be naive, Pat. He came to our town loaded, and he’s making money by the minute off the people he’s duped. He’s got the cash, and frankly I’m suspicious of the tip in the first place.
“The world isn’t the same as it used to be,” Logan pointed out sympathetically. 
“Well...I do agree we should go straight to the captain. Just to get time to prep for what we wanna do.” Patton paused, “Wait, what do we want to do? We can’t just leave it unaddressed.” 
Logan smirked, “I think we’re going to go to a party, Pat.” 
-----
The party was in full swing when they arrived. The event was at a speakeasy in a large house in Oakland. It wasn’t the type of event the pair of detectives were used to, but they got in easily enough. They had their pieces hidden, hoping not to be searched. They were going into the Lion’s Den. Logan suspected it was a trap, but Patton wasn’t too sure about that yet.
The large doorman took their invitations with raised brows. “Mr. James Ryder and Mr. Harry Hyde. Welcome.” 
They walked into the front room of the large Victorian. A small band was set up in the corner on a raised platform, playing a jazz tune Patton didn’t recognize. He admired it, though. The joint had a certain...charm he appreciated. 
The inside of the home seemed bigger than outside. The room to their right was where the music and dancers were. Ahead of them was another room with a bar, table of food, and some small dining tables with white cloths. It looked more like a restaurant with a dance floor than a house. 
To their left was a staircase, and next to it a narrow hallway that was dark. Next to that was where the coat room was. The undercover detectives dropped their hats and coats off, then made their way to the dance room.
The folks seemed to be jiving along. There was pure laughter and conversation echoing off of the walls. Patton grinned, partially excited to find out what the night would bring. He did see the draw in for the crowd. He looked at Logan to see what he thought.He saw his partner was frowning, and chuckled to himself.
There were men and women mingling in sinful ways that made Logan’s stomach turn with nerves. The bodies were pressed up together in a primal heat that he couldn’t look away from. Many women looked at him like they were starving, causing him to sweat. He had never been close to a woman, let alone put his hands on them. He fumbled with the vocabulary cards in his pocket. 
“Got your cards, Logan?” Patton asked slowly, careful to not be heard. 
Logan just nodded, sweat starting to form on his face. His breathing was turning shallow, the room was getting warmer, and the amount of people in the room caused him some discomfort. He felt that his tie was too tight, and tugged on his collar to loosen the grip around his throat.
Patton noticed Logan starting to lose his cool, so he pulled him into a lone hallway away from the crowd. “You good, bud?” 
Logan nodded, taking out a kerchief to dab at his temples. “Yes, yes I’m good. It was just a bit hot in there, that’s all.” 
Patton grinned,  “Welcome to the swingin’ life, Logan.” 
Once Logan had calmed down enough, they made their way to the bar setup. There was enough liquid evidence behind the counter to put everyone in the house away for a while. Some bottles were decorative enough to draw anyone in to consume the spirits inside. 
Patton wasn’t particularly interested, and Logan was downright terrified. However, in order to keep appearances, they needed to pretend they were there for what everyone else was there for. 
“Got any gin?” Patton asked, leaning his elbow on the counter smoothly, a confident smile on his face. He was good at setting folks at ease.
The bartender nodded, “One or two?” 
“Two, I’m getting some for my friend here,” Patton patted Logan’s stiff shoulder in jest, “Poor man’s wife is a bearcat. I’m here to show him a good time.” 
The man behind the counter cracked a smile. “I get it, I got a Dumb Dora at home. This is the only place where I can catch a break. Two gins, coming right up.” 
Logan shuffled nervously, leaning in to whisper in Patton’s ear while the man was turned, “What was that?” 
“Look at your cards,” Patton whispered back. 
Logan nodded, discreetly pulling out the notecards in his pocket. Once he shuffled through them,  he nodded in understanding. He secretly wondered how Patton knew the slang, but decided to save that mystery for later. 
They grabbed their drinks and walked back to the party. Patton leaned against the wall to watch the room. The music wafted over him in good rhythm as he sipped his drink. He grinned when Logan looked at him sharply. “Relax, it’s to blend in.” 
He puckered his lips at the taste. It had been a while since his last taste of liquor. He made sure he only nursed it slowly, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself. He noticed through the corner of his eye that his partner was sniffing his drink with a distasteful frown. 
He observed the people in the room. It was mostly full of couples dancing uninhibited by societal pressures to the music. Young girls looked at the men with sultry expressions, and the men gazed back with a beast’s hunger. Young and old, man and woman-they all were under the spell of the jazzy atmosphere. The tension was pulsing through the room with heat. Patton’s neck sweat a little, though he blamed it on the tobacco smoke clouding the room. 
Two young girls walked up to him and Logan, swaying their hips seductively. Patton smirked, curious as to how Logan would take to being the object of a woman’s lustful gaze. He chugged the last of his drink, grinning brightly. Perhaps the dolls could guide their way for the evening.
“Hey, ladies, to what do we owe the pleasure?” He asked smoothly. 
The blonde one giggled into her brunette friend’s ear. “Well,” the brunette spoke with a southern drawl, “My cousin here was wondering if you and your friend wanted to dance with us.” 
Logan choked on his drink, and the girls laughed. “He’s a shy one, isn’t he?” the brunette asked Patton. Patton just nodded, chuckling at his friend’s wide eyes staring at the blonde slinking towards him. 
“Don’t worry, sugar,” the blonde spoke, “I won’t bite. Just one little dance with a lonely girl?” 
Logan looked to Patton, panicked. A silent question in his eyes- What about the Duke? What about the cover? Patton winked, “It’s just a dance, Logan. Live a little.” 
The blonde girl tugged Logan by his tie to the dance floor. The brunette in front of him giggled. “Well, he sure seems to know how to party,” 
Patton just smiled, looking back at the girl that was with him. “What’s your name, doll?” 
“Alice,” she answered with a dazzling smile, “And your friend’s dance partner for the night is Lola.” 
Logan was moving stiffly with Lola, who was laughing at his attempts to dance. Her hands kept trying to wander, but Logan was firm with denying her advances. It was comical to watch the nervous detective attempt to blend in with people who were technically criminals. 
“So, Alice, who‘s the host here?” he asked, putting on his most dazzling smile. A part of him felt bad for using his charms for information, but he needed to know why the Duke hadn’t shown up yet, and why he had been invited under a disguise. 
“Oh, honey, the Duke only throws these parties. He never shows up unless he has important, hm, guests to impress,” she rolled her eyes, seemingly miffed by the fact. 
“Sounds like he’s hard to reach,” Patton commented sympathetically. 
“Very much so,” she twirled her drink, her red lip pouting before she changed the subject. “So, you a better dancer than your friend?” 
“I’d like to think so,” Patton surmised. “Though I should probably be nearby if my friend faints.” He pointed to Logan on the dance floor. He was doing better, but his face was shining with sweat and pretty pale. 
Alice set her drink down on a shelf. “He’ll be fine, just one dance?” 
Patton briefly considered declining again, but if there was more information to get while in the lion’s den…
“Why not?” he agreed. 
They made their way to the dance floor as the band changed to a softer tune. Patton recognized it as I Left My Sugar Standing in the Rain. He and Alice swayed before continuing to talk. 
She leaned her cheek on Patton’s chest. He tried to remind himself he wasn’t leading her on, just being polite and getting information. She looked sweet, definitely younger than she seemed at first glance. He pitied her, wishing she didn’t have to find comfort in him or places like this. 
He decided to table those feelings for later. “So, the Duke doesn’t greet his normal guests?” 
She huffed, pulling her head up to look up at him. “Why so interested?” 
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Just curious, it seems a bit rude.” 
“It is, but no matter,” her brown doe eyes looked up into his, “I’m here.” 
Patton nodded nervously, “Yes, but you’re also a kid.” 
She stopped dancing, stepping back from him. “How did you know?” 
He panicked, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone here!” 
She raised an eyebrow at him, but before she could respond, the band stopped playing for a gentleman who had an announcement. Patton made his way back to Logan, who no longer had an overly eager Lola hanging off of him. Logan gave him a seething look of betrayal, but turned to pay attention to the gentleman at the front of everyone.
He was a short, buff man with a long scar running down his cheek. He had a dark aura about him, and for a moment Patton thought it may be the head criminal they were looking for. However, the sinister man didn’t seem too eager to be on the small raised area that was a stage. He was frowning as the crowd quieted. 
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted. “Tonight we have some special guests with us that The Duke would like to introduce to you himself. So, without further ado, I present-The Duke of the Bay!” His voice was very unenthusiastic. Very few people clapped. 
A man in a fancy zoot suit took the former’s place at the microphone. His suit was black, but his shirt was a weird shade of yellow and green, possibly chartreuse. His mustache curled upwards at the ends of his lips, which were grinning maniacally at the crowd. His eyes were wide, as he scanned the crowd for his special guests. He looked like a well disguised madman, at least that’s what Patton thought. 
He and Logan looked at each other briefly, wondering what to do next. They both nodded, agreeing to still keep their assumed identities until they could get alone with him. It wasn’t a bust night. 
“Hello, dolls and germs!” his nasally voice greeted. He gestured his arms dramatically as he spoke, “I have the distinct honor tonight to announce the presence of two very special men in our midst.” 
The detectives shared a nervous look, realizing in certainty that it was a trap, as he continued on. “Everyone, give a good old Oakland sweet welcome to our guests, Mr. Ryder and Mr. Hyde!” 
Logan’s mouth fell open as Patton froze, trying to figure out what to do. He took a moment to consider his rapidly diminishing options, and decided to pull Logan by the elbow as they made their way up to the most dangerous man in the city, pretending to be friends. 
“There they are!” he gestured as they made their way up, “My dear friends.” 
He hugged Patton first, and whispered in his ear, “I have guards, you bulls ain’t leaving the pen ‘til I say so, get it?” Patton nodded in nervousness, though he refused to show it, as the man made his way to say the same to the even more obviously nervous Logan. 
The Duke stood between the two of them as they looked at the crowd, one arm over their shoulders. Patton forced a smile on his face, not wanting to cause suspicion. He saw Logan doing the same, though it seemed more difficult for him to accomplish. 
“These gentlemen came here for a good time, and we’ll give ‘em one, right?” he called. The audience of people cheered, and he saw that Alice and Lola were staring at them with their mouths open. 
“Alright, well we’re gonna be a dancin’ and a swingin’, make sure you give these cats some love that only we sinners can give!” He walked the nervous men off stage while the crowd cheered once more before getting back to the music. 
“Well, I see no reason why you two gum-shoes can’t keep enjoying the party for now. Have some fun. Dance with some dames, drink some booze, and live a little,” he smiled menacingly, “It may be your last chance. I’ll have Mr. Doris retrieve you to bring you to my office when I’m ready for you.” 
They looked at Mr. Doris; the man with the scarred face. He was glaring at them from across the room. 
“Understand the situation, boys?” The Duke asked. He smiled at their stiff nods. “Excellent! I’m glad we came to an understanding.” He kissed them both on their cheeks before disappearing back upstairs. 
Logan grabbed Patton by the collar and brought him to a corner that didn’t have very many people. “What the hell is going on?” he hissed through his grit teeth. 
“It uh,” Patton cleared his throat, “It seems I was wrong. We were definitely set up.”
-
-
-
-
Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist for this story!
11 notes · View notes