#and if he grants a few wishes on the sly himself? it’s because He’s Above The Law | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miekasa · 3 years

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six thirty

+ pairing: armin arlert x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, enemies to lovers… kinda… in a very nerdy academic rivalry kind of way, me being a comedian you’re welcome, fluff, smut/nsfw content

+ word count: 5.6k… pls say sike

+ notes: shout out to ryn for listening to me during our very many rambling sessions and also for extorting me into posting this. consider it a late birthday present for my favorite menace </2

+ side notes: no i am not a part of armin nation and i never want to be, nor do i wish speak of this again.

Armin Arlert is the perfect student. Prompt and well prepared during lecture; smart and insightful during office hours; the apple of any teacher’s eye. Unfortunately for him, so are you.

If you asked Armin, you were a little too clever for your own good, and liked to make it very well known that you believe you’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that he has to sit there and worship your superiority complex.

If someone asked you, you’d say that Armin was a know it all, and a manipulative little piece of shit. Again, not a completely false statement, but perhaps a slightly biased character analysis.

Neither of you are wrong. It’s why you’re both the bane of each other’s existence.

There’s a noticeable grimace on your face, chin in your palm, elbows resting atop your desk, as you turn your head to where, sure enough, Armin is seated where he always is: first row, right side, directly in front of the podium, like perfect little teacher’s pet he wants to be. He doesn’t have any books to unpack like everybody else because a shiny, blue iPad is propped up on his desk in place of all of that. He’s robably looking through his pre-written list of showboaty questions to ask during lecture. Like he’s a cut above everyone else.

Maybe some of the other morons in this course, but not you, that’s for damn sure. You bet that if you broke his thousand dollar tablet he wouldn’t think he’s such hot shit anymore. Maybe that would knock him down a couple of pegs.

“Look at him sitting there with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid Bieber haircut, and his stupid, shiny blonde hair, and his stupid fucking glasses. I bet they’re not even real and he just wears them to—”

“Did you just call his hair shiny?”

You snap your head to your left, “What—no, of course not. I said shoddy, he’s probably a bottle blonde. Maybe all the chemicals from the hair dye seeps into his head and warps his sense of reality.”

“I’m pretty sure you said shiny.”

“Shut up, Annie.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “You got something against blondes? Because your track record would beg to differ.”

“Once. We kissed once, and it was truth or dare, and we were both sloshed.”

“You still chose me,” she reminds you, pulling her notebook out of her backpack.

You huff, ignoring her words and turning your head back to Armin, this time finding him twirling his stupid fucking expensive Apple Pencil between his fingers like it’s nothing. You can feel your eye begin to twitch.

Perhaps he can, too—or maybe he can just feel your eyes boring holes into him—because he turns in your direction and ceases his pen twirling the moment you make eye-contact. More students filter in, walking past your line of vision, but each time they move, you and Armin meet gazes again; neither one of you daring to look away, a palpable tension between you.

His eyes might be icy blue, but you can see the rose pink tint underneath his skin, even from the distance; a familiar blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks. You exhale with a silent laugh, breaking your eye contact before he grows completely red, just in time for Dr. Zöe to start the lecture.

Everybody thinks that Armin’s so brilliant, so smart, so untouchable. You know that his only genius is that he’s fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the kind, humble, little nerd boy who wouldn’t harm a fly, when that’s far from the truth.

Armin is mean. He’s competitive and possessive and snarky and sly. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but you’re pretty sure the only person in the world who might believe that is Eren. Though, you’ve heard some of the insults Armin throws Eren’s way, and they’re not exactly soft. Granted, that’s a factor in any friendship, and most of his jabs are coated with a layer of intellect the brunette likely doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t make Armin any less sarcastic. It just means Eren’s too dumb to know what’s going on.

Poor kid. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s all to say that Armin is nothing but a big talker—not even; a smooth-talker, is more like it. He comes across as perfect, all good and sweet and soft, because that’s what he lets people see. Nobody else looks through to the sharp tongue and ragged edges, because they’re too busy cooing over innocent blue-eyed baby in front of them.

But you know that Armin, the one he doesn’t want other people to see: the one that’s so good, he’s bad; so sweet that he’s sick; so nice that it’s cruel. And you know just how much pressure to apply to make his façade crack.

And you intend on doing so.

“I don’t know which formula to use—hey, are you two eye fucking again? Cut it out, I’m trying not to fail over here,” Eren exclaims, poking Armin’s shoulder with his pen.

The jab averts the blonde’s attention back to his friend, eyes wide as he blinks himself back to reality. He curses under his breath when he feels a familiar warmth creeping across his cheeks. Few things piss Armin off like the way he gets red in the face after thinking about you, or even just looking at you, for too long. Whether it’s red out of pure annoyance, or another feeling he tries to push down, it’s irritating, and above all, embarrassing.

He spares one more glance over his shoulder, to where you and Annie are sat a few tables away in the library. You’ve looked away by now, focusing back on your notes, but Armin swears he can still see that irritating smirk on your face from this angle.

He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should be able to keep it together around you by now, but he can’t, and it bothers him. You bother him.

“We weren’t eye fucking,” he refutes, turning his back to you completely, “She’s such a little know it all sometimes, s’annoying.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. He knows that you and Armin don’t get along, but he doesn’t understand why. Armin knows almost all your friends, and you definitely know all of his—Eren would even go as far as to say that you and him are pretty close friends—so it’s not a matter of not spending time together. You’re also the two smartest people Eren knows. In theory you should have more than enough to talk about together, but every time you’re in the same room, you hardly acknowledge each other outside of surface level commentary, or glances that border on staring.

Thankfully, the bickering remains in the classroom for the most part. Eren’s seen you and Armin go at, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s beyond intimidating. Though, a little part of him finds it oddly entertaining, and he can’t help but to be impressed. All the more reason for you two to start playing on the same team.

Eren thinks the two of you should get to the root of the issue already. Which, if you asked him, has very little to do with your rivaled academic genius, and a lot to do with your lack of it concerning your feelings for each other.

“She’s not that bad,” Eren vouches for you, “I think you two might get along if you ever spoke outside of trying to one-up each other in class.”

“I’m not trying to one-up anybody,” Armin rolls his eyes, a nasty habit he’s picked up as of late, “And if you stopped and used your brain for a moment, then maybe you could solve the problem.”

“I did use my brain!” Eren’s lips fall into an offended pout, “But none of this makes any sense to me! I fucking hate math, you know that.”

Armin sighs, feeling sympathetic for Eren as he slumps into himself defeatedly. He knows that Eren isn’t dumb, but math in any capacity is certainly not his strong suit. He also knows that he shouldn’t give Eren all the answers, but sometimes he needs a little push to get him there. A little bit of added guidance and motivation to keep him going. It’s either that, or he has to trick Eren into doing the work himself, but clearly that method wasn’t working out today.

“You already solved for the activation energy, now you’re supposed to use the Arrhenius equation in the expanded form.”

Eren’s lips fall into a small o-shape, as his eyes scramble across his paper again. “But—how do you—”

“There’s two measurements given for temperature.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Okay, right, but then—”

“You have to convert it to Kelvin first or it won’t work. It’s given to you in Celsius.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows together, and then it finally clicks for him. He mutters to himself as he puts his pencil to paper to begin to work through the problem, “How do I convert—”

“Add 273.15 to it. Make sure you put the bigger one first in the equation, or else you’ll get a negative error.”

“You didn’t even do it,” Eren huffs, angrily punching numbers into his calculator, “How do you know it’s right?”

“Because I took this class already,” Armin reminds him, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’m tutoring you?”

Eren coughs over his embarrassed blush, “Oh, yeah, right.”

It’s quiet between them as Eren makes a final attempt at solving the equation, carefully and proudly circling his answer when he’s finished. He looks to Armin with bright eyes, and is content when the blonde gives him a reassuring nod, confirming that his answer is correct.

“Well that was a bitch to work through,” Eren sighs, stretching his arms behind his head with a slight yawn, “Chemistry is nothing but glorified math. It’s barely a science.”

Armin shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree. He isn’t the biggest fan of chemistry, unlike somebody else he knows. “Why’d you take chem if you knew it would have so much math?”

It’s Eren’s turn to shrug, slumping back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, “I gotta take all the pre-med requirements… just in case.”

“You wanna go to med school? Since when?”

Eren averts his eyes from his friend, a telltale sign of his bashfulness coming over him. It doesn’t happen often, but Armin knows it’s sincere when it does.

“Dunno. I’m not sure of it, just wanna keep my options open, you know?” Eren replies casually, “Doctors help make a difference and all that, and surgery looks kind of cool. Besides, if my bastard father could do it, how hard could it really be?”

A gentle smile grows on Armin’s lips, “You can do it. If you really want to, I know you can.”

Eren’s head snaps up, eyes wide and filled with affirmation and adoration. He relaxes his expression quickly after, but the pink hues are still present, “Thanks, Min.”

From his position he catches eye of another head of familiar blonde hair over Armin’s shoulder, and beside it, your own hair. There’s a flash of a moment when your eyes meet Eren’s, and you offer him a small wave before turning back to Annie to resume doing your homework. Eren barely gets the chance to wave back, but a dopey smile sits on his features at your kind gesture. It fades when he looks back to Armin, once again pondering the animosity between you two.

You and Armin aren’t all that different, you just need to get to know each other better. Actually, Eren thinks that you might make a good couple if you both stopped overthinking it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and (_____)?” Eren asks, bending his right knee to wrap his arm around his leg and rest his chin on top of it, “You act like she kicked your cat.”

“What?” Armin questions, flustered, “What—no, she wouldn’t touch Soup.”

Eren quirks an eyebrow at that. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Soup.”

“It’s technically a nickname.”

“A nickname for what?”

“…For Miso Soup.”

Eren blinks. “Okay, if she didn’t mess with Soup, then what’s the issue? You scared of her or something?”

“Why would I be scared of her?” Armin asks, tone incredulous; then softer, more subdued, like a kid who doesn’t want to admit they’re wrong, “’M not scared of her.”

“You stare at her like you are—well, you look kind of angry, but also scared. Like, when you see those balloon things outside of car washes. You hate them, but you can’t look away from them—”

“I am not scared of those!”

“You are, and it’s okay,” Eren waves away his friend’s denial, “Oh, I get it—is this one of those things where she makes you nervous, so you respond with anger and sarcasm instead of thinking through your feelings?”

“You’ve been going to therapy for one month, relax.”

“Maybe you two should go to friend therapy and work this out,” Eren bites back, “It probably doesn’t help that she’s always with Annie. They both look like they would murder someone with no remorse. I admit, it is kind of scary… but it’s kind of hot, too.”

Armin spares him an unamused glare. Eren crosses his arms in defense, “What? I’m not wrong. It’s sexy in a scary kind of way, maybe that’s why you’re always eye fucking. I don’t blame you, she’s hot. I would let her and Annie axe-murder me without regret.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do problem six, I don’t have all day.”

Eren huffs, but flips the page to the next problem, grumbling under his breath as he attempts the, “It’s not as sexy when you’re mean, you know.”

Armin hits him silent.

Tuesdays are Armin’s favorite days because he only has one class. Sure, it’s three hours long, but it’s much more bearable than his usual eight-hour day.

It’s also the one class he shares with you. Which is why he’s always mentally exhausted by the end of it, but physically, he feels like he could punch a wall; all his pent up anger and frustration is channeled into his body and he’s desperate for an outlet for it. It’s a feeling he hates to love.

Annie seems to have cut class today seeing as she’s not next to you; and it’s almost as if it’s emboldened you to mess with him even more than usual.

He bites his tongue as Dr. Zöe enthusiastically uses your latest point as a segue into the final topic of the evening. He made that same point ten minutes ago. You just worded it differently—admittedly, more concisely, but somehow with a little more nuance, than when he had hesitantly proposed it—and, yeah, maybe you made it sound more convincing, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come up with it first. If his stupid, fancy stylus didn’t cost upwards of $200 he might have snapped it in half.

You’re definitely the better conversationalist, that much he can admit. Words have never been his forte and he hates the way you can talk circles around him, and that there’s so little he can say to make you stop.

He wishes you would just shut up. In fact, he’d like to shut you up himself.

Thankfully, class ends sooner rather than later. Armin finds himself briefly talking with Dr. Zöe afterwards, most other students having taken the opportunity to leave early for the night. To nobody’s surprise, you’re not one of them, having stuck around to talk to the professor, too.

“The two of you should consider lab research this summer,” Dr. Zöe suggests ardently, walking between the two of you as you exit the lecture hall, “I could really use two students like you!”

Armin chuckles at his boisterous professor. He’s known about the research opportunities at their lab for quite some time now, and he knows that you have, too. “I don’t know that lab work is really my strong suit.”

The three of you come to stop at the hallway intersection, the professor now standing across from you and him. You give them a polite smile, “And I’m not sure that collaboration is mine.”

Armin spares a glance just in time to see you flash one of your own in his direction. Dr. Zöe’s eyes flicker between the two students rapidly, a slight squint to their eyelids.

They aren’t quite sure why their two brightest students seem to despise each other. They wish you two would just get along already, so that they don’t have to spend the summer training half-witted chemical engineering majors how to use basic lab equipment; and instead, conduct some actual research.

“Well, I hope the both of you reconsider,” they smile, “I’ll see you during office hours, I presume?”

You two nod in sync, sending the doctor off with happy smile, just long enough until you see that they’ve turned the corner further down the hall

“Had fun stealing my point earlier?” Armin questions, looking your way as you still wave mindlessly, eye-twitching at your polite façade.

“I would call it improvement,” you tell him, not bothering to turn in his direction; still and smiling waving like the professor can see or hear you, “You should stick to showing, rather than saying. You never were good with your words.”

Armin kisses his teeth together. He’ll give you what you want, if that’s how you want it.

In a fit of irritation, he grabs your moving hand by the wrist, and pulls you down the opposite hallway, not caring for your dramatic wailing behind him.

“Hey, Einstein, the exit is the other way, do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of observational learning? Maybe if you shut up for a second, you would figure it out,” he snaps, pulling you further.

There’s a door on the left that Armin knows is unlocked, and he’s quick to open it and pull you inside. Before you have the chance to glance around, he has you pushed up against the wall, jaw forced up and forward.

He could scoff at the small hitch in your breath at his actions, clearly a little too satisfied with being manhandled; but instead, he takes the opportunity to press your lips together. Armin quite likes the feeling of your lips on his; warm and soft and far too welcoming; a rare moment of silence.

“Someone could hear us.”

Or not so silent.

“Then be quiet,” he snarls.

Armin feels your fingers weave themselves into his hair, scraping along his undercut in sync with his lips trailing down your jaw. A groan falls from his when he feels you tug at the ends of the strands, just hard enough to force his face back to eye level with yours.

“You’re the one with the big mouth.”

“You’re so smart, huh. Always got something to say,” Armin lets out a low chuckle, deft fingers running down your sides to squeeze at your waist, “You can be really fuckin’ annoying, you know that.”

You mirror half of his ministrations, letting your right hand trail down his chest barely brushing over the very visible bulge in his jeans, before hooking your index finger under the belt loop, effectively pulling him closer to you.

The smile on your face is dirty, but you’re not laughing like he was, “Do something about it then.”

His blue eyes grow cloudy as he takes a good look at you; slowly rakes over your features, from that stupid, snarky look in your eyes, to your kiss-bruised lips, down to your chest, and back up again. Armin finds himself copying your smirk for all the wrong reasons. But it’s your own fault; you always did like to push him one step over the edge.

“Fine.”

Despite your twisted grin there’s a look in your eyes that’s eager; willing; ready for the taking. That same look you have when you talk over him in class; when you pretend to ignore him around your mutual friends; when you want him to fuck you stupid.

Armin uses his right hand to cup your jaw again, closing the distance between your mouths with a less than gentle kiss. He feels your groans reverberating through his body, waves of heat accompanying them and going straight to his erection. Your arch your back into the kiss, but he forces you backwards, left hand flat against your tummy.

Following suit, he pushes himself against your body, pressing his knee between your legs; the thin fabric of your stockings doing little to prevent your thighs from rubbing against him.

He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips, earning a frenzied whine when glides his tongue across yours, and teasingly licks at the roof of your mouth. Your tongue is lithe against his, but somehow just as deceptive and sly as always, and Armin would be a fool to deny that he loved it.

There’s a spark flickering in his stomach when you push your center harshly against his; and it’s only ignited further when he feels you bite his bottom lip. A guttural growl escapes him, his right hand moving to your throat with practiced ease, pushing the back of your head into the wall.

He pauses for a moment, drinks in your wide eyes and desperate visage, “You are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

And he couldn’t get enough of it if he tried. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You must see through his words, into the grainy expression of adoration in his eyes, because he can see it filtering into yours, pupils dilating with both want and care.

“Aw, baby, I love you, too,” you pout, leaning forward as best to can to peck him on the lips, “Now, shut me up and fuck me. It’s exhausting being this pretty and smart-mouthed, you know.”

Armin dips his head into your neck, squeezes against the column of your throat with warning until he hears a gasp escape from your lips. He presses gentle kisses into your skin, in stark contrast to the increasing pressure from his fingers, waiting for one last request, and then, finally—“Please.”

He smiles, loosens his grip for a moment, just long enough to hear your pretty panting, before slotting his lips against yours again. Your moans are lewd and sloppy and breathless between kisses, and it makes his dick twitch in his pants. You really are so fucking loud. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He uses his free hand to push your skirt up, and subsequently dip past the weak barrier of your tights and underwear. The slightest flicker of his fingers against your center has you choking out a moan, and Armin is forced to press his right thumb harder against your neck.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “You asked nicely, so I’ll give you what you want. No need to be loud about it.”

He watches you nod with short and restricted movements, a sadistic kind of power washing over him at your eager compliance. He uses his middle finger to rub slow, careful circles around your clit; the feeling of your wet cunt against his fingers, coupled with your wanton moaning only spurs on the throbbing in his pants.

“Armin,” you whine, impatiently; but he expected that of you, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes flash to yours briefly, pressing his lips to yours again to swallow your shuddered moans. He dips his tongue into your mouth at the same time he does his middle finger into your cunt. An obscene moan echoing through the classroom, as Armin feels your body arching into his again; feels your fingers frantically flying to his hair, searching for purchase to anchor yourself on.

He pulls away in time to add another digit and watch you groan underneath him. He pushes both his fingers in to the knuckle, carefully curling them upwards to elicit the prettiest sound out of you. He has to admit, it’s probably his favorite thing to hear come out of your mouth.

He keeps a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy with perfect friction, teetering between letting you moan his name and choking you silent. Your hands are frantic in his hair, grasping and pulling and so, so, desperate, Armin can’t help but to finger fuck you harder.

“You want one more?” he questions, but his voice is taunting, words ghosted over your lips just out of reach for you to kiss.

He can feel your leg trembling against his, see you pupils shaking along with your shaking head. Armin stops to smile; he thought you might do that. He could probably make you cry right now if he wanted to. Maybe later.

“Want you to fuck me,” your words short and ragged, eyebrows raised when he uses his thumb to press lightly against your clit, “Armin, please.”

The blonde shakes his head, “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m gonna fuck you in a classroom, baby, so if you want to cum now, you better tell me.”

You have the audacity to pout of all things, “You’re mean.”

Armin lets out a breathless laugh. “You like it,” he leans forward to peck you sweetly, “So, what’ll it be?”

“Fine, but I want head later, too,” you tell him, words becoming less firm when Armin teases his ring finger against your slit, “Please.”

Armin hums in compliance, leaning forward to kiss you again, this time with more tact, and he chases your whines when he finally pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Look at you,” he croons breaking your kiss and forcing your head back again, “You take it so well.”

“Ah—fuck, there, Armin—there,” you cry, wet heat squeezing around his fingers in intermittent spasms.

Armin watches your chest heave with desperate breaths, air stuttering to pass from your lips to your lungs with his hand around your neck. He can feel your walls constricting around his fingers, feel your body shaking underneath him when he increases his pace. He curls his fingers again, just right, just until he hears you sing a strained call of his name. And when he feels your nails scraping down the nape of his neck, and the slight weight of your body convulsing, Armin knows you’re done for.

He’s nice enough to fuck you through your orgasm, shallow thrusts of his fingers bringing you to and down from your high as he watches you pant for him. He presses small kisses against your throat, up, up, up, until he’s kissing you, and carefully pulling his fingers out.

He removes his hand from your neck, and slides it down your waist to offer you support. He’s not prepared for your sudden pull on his neck, forcing him into a kiss that conveys your content; he’s quick to raise his left hand, palm meeting the wall to hold himself up against your sporadic actions, chuckling lightly into your kiss. You were always so reckless and happy after an orgasm.

You kiss him like you have him wrapped your finger despite being the one pleading moments ago. You do, so he supposes it’s not unwarranted; and he welcomes your flirtatious kisses despite the annoying blush they always bring forth.

And sure enough, he can feel his face on fire when you pull away. Armin scoffs internally at himself; he really should be able to keep it together around you by now. But when you kiss him like that, you kind of make it hard to think straight.

“You’re so good when you’re not… pretending to be good,” you hum, a blissful, hazy look on your features as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Armin shakes his head with a chortle of disbelief; leans forward to kiss you again, “’M not pretending. I am good.”

“Yeah, you’re such a good little saint that arguing with your girlfriend turns you on,” you taunt him, “It’s okay, Armin, you can admit it.”

He groans, out of shallow annoyance this time, and it makes you giggle. “Why are you acting like you’re not complicit in this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you refute with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, “You get turned on by hearing me talk about biochemistry. I like it when you tell me to shut up about it. We are not the same.”

“Yeah, because you look hot doing it,” he tells you, “Speaking of which, Eren called you hot today, so I kind of need you to slip a neurotoxin in his Gatorade.”

“Aw, Eren thinks I’m hot? Tell him I think he’s hot, too,” you bat your eyelashes at him, but Armin only offers you an unimpressed glare in return.

“I think he might be onto us, actually,” Armin notes, affectionately bumping his nose against yours.

“If he’s onto us, then it’s because you’re the one giving it away, not me.”

“Oh, because you could never do anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” you flash him an overconfident smile before reaching up to kiss to the tip of his nose, “See you’re so smart, baby.”

Armin shakes his head again in disbelief. You’re a handful, he can see that much.

“Come on,” he prompts, “We should go, I still have to finish my lab write up, and I know you haven’t started your paper.”

Armin tries to motion you forward, but is stopped when he feels your hand combing through his hair, and sees the genuine spark of concern in your eyes. “The one for your elective? I thought you said you were going to finish it on Monday.”

“I was,” Armin admits, “But then I didn’t.”

“You want me to help you with it?” you offer kindly, pushing his bangs back and letting your hands fall down the sides of his face, palms resting against his ears.

He nods gently, turning his head to press a kiss into your left palm, before wrapping his hand around your wrist, “I can help you outline your paper.”

You nod in return, and Armin spares one more kiss, before pulling your hand away to lace your fingers together.

Thankfully, nobody’s around to catch you exiting the classroom, or see you holding hands as you make your way out of the building and towards the bus stop. This was Armin’s favorite part of any Tuesday; the one time he could hold your hand on campus without the fear of getting caught by your friends.

He reasons that you guys should probably tell them soon, though, especially if Eren might have an idea of what’s going on. You were bound to get caught sooner rather than later. That, or Eren and Sasha would start meddling.

“If you think Eren knows, then Mikasa definitely knows,” you note, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk through the parking lot as a shortcut.

“Maybe if you actually remembered to hide Soup’s toys, there would be less evidence for her to piece together.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t forget when your midterms are, I wouldn’t have to emergency cat sit the hour before Mikasa comes around, and there wouldn’t be any toys to hide in the first place.”

“I’m bad with dates, you know that!” Armin pouts, “I don’t say anything when you forget about ten page papers until four hours before they’re due.”

“You’re saying something right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I—you know, you’re so—”

Armin’s quiet when he feels your lips pressed against his cheekily, “Annoying. I know. You like it. You’re not very good at staying mad for very long.”

Armin’s tempted to roll his eyes yet again—he really needs to quit it, or at the very least, get your own temper under control before it’s irreversible and completely rubbed off on him—but takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead, instead.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your eyes twinkle under his affections. “And that you love me?”

He nods, “And that I love you.”

“And that you’re gonna fuck me before you make me write my paper when we get home, right?”

Armin chuckles and presses another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll see about that one.”

Hange huffs as they make their way through the parking. They always forget their keys in their office, and always, inconveniently park half-way across the campus. In their defense, this parking lot is free, and the one closest to the Medical Sciences building is not. So, really, capitalism is the one to blame for their frequent late night car lot strolls.

They hear two familiar voices bickering just as they’re about to step into their car, and are more than surprised to see their two favorite students walking together. Walking together and holding hands. Wait—you and Armin are walking together and holding hands?

Hange blinks for a moment, drowning out the sounds of the conversation after they see you two kiss. Their jaw practically falls to the asphalt and they might not blink for a full two minutes as they process what they just saw.

Their trance is broken when it finally, finally clicks together, and Hange has to try their hardest to contain their squeals before sitting in the driver’s seat, an overly forceful slam to the car door following. They waste no time fumbling with the pockets of their lab coat to fish out their phone, and make a call to their favorite math professor.

“Levi, I told you Arlert and (_____) had to know each other outside of class! I think they might be dating! You know what this means, right? I can have them both in the same lab without worrying they might start a chemical fire, and I won’t have to hire two brick heads this summer!”

Levi has never hung up a call more quickly in his life.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #armin x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #armin smut #armin fluff #eren x reader

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

There was a Girl...

Pairing | Jace Wayland x reader

Summary | When Clary becomes a shadowhunter, she notices how cold and ruthless Jace is. Every one seems to relate to his pain, not resonating at quite the same level. They’re all mourning nevertheless.

Warnings | Mentions of death, brief smut (handjob), angst, heartbreak, unrequited feelings (for Clary)

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Opening your eyes, you awoke to Jace's chest, his blonde hair falling over his face. You preferred how it looked when it was a little bit scruffy instead of slicked back, and you reached for one of the hanging strands. They were like seams of gold, reflecting from the light that hid within him.

Most people had the wrong perspective on the young man, they only saw a well skilled shadow hunter. But they ignored the smart and witty, yet simultaneously charming person that he was underneath all of his runes. His parabatai Alec was familiar with the set of abilities that his brother figure had, and all that he would accomplish. People thought, because of Jace’s distorted, and confusing past, that he was just another warrior to serve whatever institute that he was sent to.

But in fact, he was not. His duty would always be, to put his family and friends first. He liked to put you on the top of the list, but you always felt the need to scrap that idea, claiming that you could not be his priority from start to finish. It was as though you knew what you future held for you, and how indeed, he could not manage to protect every person that he cared about. The prospect was a great responsibility, far too much for one shadow hunter, even if they be among the best of their kind.

To put such a weight on your own shoulders was defiantly cruel, it would always end in failure, no matter what was done to prevent said downfall. There was never a possibility of saving everyone, that was insanity. The monsters had to kill, in order for you all to remain outside of Idris, and continue on with your heaven sent duty.

“Jace?” You could tell he was awake from how he smiled at the sound of your voice. “Come on.” It was an attempt to encourage him, but you were quick to realise that it wasn’t working. He didn’t like mornings all that much, for good reason too, after all you were shadowhunters.

“Jace.” Your voice became louder and clearer, up to the point where it no longer sounded like your own. He looked away from the screen, to see the new girl watching him. She had an expectant glaze to her green eyes, which were much different from the shield that was covering his own. His pools were surrounded by a shadow of grief, pulling down the entirety of his face to the point where it looked as though he no longer wanted to live.

And that wasn’t entirely incorrect, he struggled at life, often never finding a moment of happiness, and if he did, then he would paint a smile upon his face and wear it to satisfy everyone else around. He had tried to cope with the loss that burdened his heart so gravely, yet nothing made it feel okay. You’d want him to move on, whether it be to lose his vengeful esteem concerning your passing, or find someone else to confide in late at night, to stay up with talking as his head rested upon the pillow, that he needed to wash, so it didn’t smell like you.

Or even, if not to share a bed with this new person, your overall plan as you sat with the angels above would be to find some kind of peace. But that appeared to be the last thing that he wanted as he digitally scoured the city of New York for monsters to uncover, and kill. If he couldn’t protect you, the love of his life, then he would settle for doing so with humans, after all, that had been the way that you had gone. The job had been your passion, yet simultaneously your downfall, and he’d be fine if one of these days he failed to tackle a beast, and it got to him first.

“Clary.” He greeted her, wanting to remove a dangerous monster from the streets by decapitating it. In memory, he would use your favourite blade, spilling blood upon its glowing stake to keep your legacy continuing, although, it did not do much but serve to release Jace’s frustrations. It was a day in which he wanted to speak to nobody, have nobody following him, nor asking him mundane questions about what it meant to be a shadowhunter. Hell, he didn’t even know! To him, the lifestyle was nothing more than accommodated anguish, though, he had been told not to promote it using those words, otherwise, there wouldn’t exactly be many people lining up to join the adverse fight.

And one of the people that he had in mind concerning excitement over a dire and ‘exciting’ lifestyle was Clary. She was naive, and whilst she didn’t know everything, today wasn’t particularly the day in which he wished to explain it to her. It, being predominantly anything. Whilst he had managed to be nice to her during the first few days, it was out of courtesy, considering Alec had an instant distaste towards the wide eyed redhead; he wasn’t sure why, but he supposed that Clary could see a detail of himself that was hidden from the others.

However, even through Jace’s welcoming exterior, was in pain. The feeling tormented him, denying him a break from the patronising pressure, leaving him to hold blame to nobody but himself. The hurt was cemented into his eyes, reflecting as he watched all other tragedies with a stone cold expressions, them hardly affecting him, because he had and was experiencing the worst routine of torture that was possible to him. He had watched you die, and nothing could take those horrific memories from him, no matter how much he wanted them gone.

That was the last time that he saw you. When you passed in his arms, a large wound in your abdomen pouring out with blood, drowning his desperate hands as he tried his utmost to put pressure on the life threatening injury. He wanted to save you but he didn’t know how, his training had always claimed that killing the monsters was more important than saving the life of a shadowhunter from an unknown bloodline. There had been nothing to prepare him for that day in the field, he was a fighter, and taught to be so, not a healer; he wasn’t a medic, he was just a warrior. “What do you want?” Blatantly fell from his round lips as he cast an eye towards the newbie, unimpressed by her timing, or her presence at all.

Clearly, she hadn’t received the memo to leave him be, especially today out of all the rest. Alec, having the personalised intel as to why Jace was emitting a solitary rut understood why he wished to be alone, and respected the space, granting him as much time to himself as he wanted. And whilst Alec was your friend also, he could feel the deep longing that was stabbing his parabatai in the chest, and it killed him too. Your death had been so unexpected, and now without you, there was a void within the institute. And the archer felt as though Clary was trying to fill it, and he saw that as nothing more than disrespect, though she was probably ignorant to the history that wandered the halls.

Her face revelled back at his tone, but nevertheless she continued on with her prying. “I was wondering if I could join you on the hunt, I’m getting better, Izzy even said so.” Jace refrained from rolling his eyes, and contained the feeling that was trying to burst out of his chest. It was anger, directed at everyone that was still alive, including himself. There was no fairness in it, to say that he was sad was an understatement, he was eternally devastated, the death of you had broken him, crumbled him into a figure that he no longer recognised.

“No, you can’t Clary.” He dismissed her, walking away, and going to grab his seraph so that he could hunt this sucker down, and bring upon the same kind of pain to its family as its kind had down to him. God, did you look badass as you swung it, and the thought alone had tears resonating in his unmatched eyes, thinking of how it was the last relic that remained of you.

Walking casually into the armoury, Jace had his hands prized in the depths of his pockets, as his expert and quick fleeting eyes focalised on you, and the weapon within your hold. Your body leant in harmony with the blade, the sound of it woosh-img in the air satisfying to all that could hear; that being only you and the Wayland boy.

“Can i not train in peace?” You groaned, lowering the blade whence you realised that you were being watched. The eyes trailed up your side where your shirt had ridden up, raking over the rune that you had drew upon your skin only this morning. A light laugh fell from Jace’s lips as he stalked forward, taking your seraph out of your hand, and going to lob it upon the ground, but the stern look in your eyes stopped him. Instead, against his nature, he placed it down as though it were made of glass, and rose to stand before you once more.

“Not when you look that good.” The blonde retorted with a sly smirk, sliding his hands up the sides of your hips, finding absolute solace in the feel of your skin. He could be against you forever, and he would not complain, so long as it did last for such a time. “Makes me want to do things to you y/n y/l/n. Terrible things. What would the heads think?” He asked, in reference to those that were in charge of the institute.

Stifling down remarked laughter at his sensually intended words, you raised your forefinger to the space above his brows, and poked him with enough pressure, so that he would pay attention to the notion. “That you’re not thinking with your own.” You went to cross your arms, but instead, Jace grabbed them, moving down to cast his hand over your own.

“Oh, I’m not.” The shadowhunter confirmed, placing your hand upon the crotch of his sweats, applying enough force behind his grip so that you could feel him twitching. “I am indeed having thoughts from elsewhere, would you like to see my sweet?” Licking your lips, you nodded, watching as he peeled the layer away, wrapping your hand around his base, and giving him a few jerks, feeling his pulse race through his cock.

“Tell me more about what you’re thinking my love.” You bit your bottom lip, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, only to reverberate a groan from the blonde male. He panted as your pace quickened, and he was almost certain that he was going to spray his jizz all over the floor if you did not uphold your sexual administrations. His head leant back, as pleasured sounds broke through the clenching of his teeth.

And then, it all stopped as a voice, dressed in absolute disgust, written over with unmotivated shock, interrupted your little exchange. “Really guys, this is a gym, not your damned bedroom. The two of you really are disgusting!” It was Alec, and he cringed at the fact that he had seen his best friend’s cock being stroked in your grasp. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be training today, or at least, not in the asserted place for it.

“Clary.” Izzy called her name, wearing a short lived smile. Whence she studied the expression of the redhead, she was quick to pay attention to the disappointment upon her face. There was confusion laddered in her skin, masking it with creased that made her look worried all at the same time. “What happened?” The Lightwood woman asked concerned, bracing a hand upon said girl’s shoulder.

“Jace snapped at me.” The newcomer informed her, frowning at the prospect, and then after all that, he had stormed off, as though she didn’t even matter. She felt well and truly rejected, like a newspaper that had been tossed in the street, and ending up in a horrible puddle. “I thought he might have liked me, but his attitude says otherwise.”

Izzy twitched her nose; she knew what day it was. There was no way to break it to Clary easy that Jace had no amorous emotions towards her, and so instead of being blunt with the new resident at the institute, she decided to tell the woman a story. “There was a girl...” she began, knowing that after all was explained, that Clary would understand.

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lordoftermites · 3 years

Text

You Never Break ⚜ Part Ⅰ

⊰ ☘ ⊱ Cardan's POV: The Queen of Nothing, from the end of Chapter 13 through Chapter 17. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ A massive, pterodactyl-screeching thank you to my dearest punishment @euridce and the bombastic @figonas for dealing with my bullshit and allowing me to subject them to betaing this (and literally everything else), but especially for being my Hype Train Goblin Queens and not letting me lose to my perfectionism. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ { edit: the wordcount actually turned out to be 3,765 because I added more shit after I copypasta'd here but I literally cannot be arsed to change the graphic lol. }

≼ FIC MASTERLIST HERE≽

Contrary to erstwhile thinking, it is not quite as simple a task to travel at any expeditious speed whilst carrying a half-dead goblin through the biting nighttide—whilst also taking care to keep yourself and aforementioned half-dead goblin undiscovered by those who would very much like to lop your kingly head right off of your kingly shoulders.

And, if all of that is not enough of a juggling act, appending the minor detail that you’ve just taken flight on a steed conjured from the ragwort in your pocket, after leaving your wife below (at her behest and your protest) to fend for herself with naught but a magical cloak and her unspoken, mortal promise to do as you say...

Well. There are reasons you are not lauded for your prowess as a jester, just as your Queen is even less admired for her graces of verity.

Yet, surely by some feat of fortuitous magic, Cardan does manage it; the concealing mists part just enough to allow the flying mount and its travelers to slip through.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, he watches as the fog coils and swirls closed like a protective curtain behind them. It's disorienting—very like taking an overconfident step forward, only to find the ground is not quite as close as you first perceived. Even as one often besotted with wine and other such stupefacients, Cardan does not particularly enjoy that feeling.

Sea fret mingles with the haze of preternatural clouds as they begin a descent. It veils his lips, clings to his wool-spun clothing and weighs down his hair. He shakes the dampened curls from his eyes just as the four isles of Elfhame begin to take shape in the darkness beneath him, and lets out an unsteady breath; he wonders, absently, if he's exhaled at all since leaving Jude on the ground.

He cannot help the inglorious relief that the Roach, in his state, does not hear it.

It’s an odd sensation, to observe your kingdom from such a high vantage point. Perhaps, before now, he disallowed himself to feel the full measure of his obligation; the sobering comprehension that this vastness of soil and sapling and stone, along with all its inhabitants, will thrive, or decay, under his governance. Looking down at the land—his land—brings that realization crashing down upon him with as much force as one of Balekin’s punishments.

Cardan tightens his grip on the animal’s leafy mane against a bout of dizziness, abruptly wishing he had something a bit less insubstantial with which to steady himself.

The Crooked Forest rises to meet them, gnarled limbs twisting upward as if to embrace their sovereign. That seems illusionary, though Cardan does note at once the marked shift in the air; while still cool, no longer does each inhale carry an icy jab to his lungs or bite at the tips of his ears. It envelopes him and his company, gently carrying them above the mossy heads of slumbering root men and women. None of them stir, thankfully, but Cardan isn’t altogether sure his arrival goes unnoticed by them, either.

Welcome home, young King, the wind seems to whisper in his ear. Cardan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

Alighting just at the edge of the hollow hill, Cardan takes a half-breath to think—and reproaches himself for not doing more of that before they had landed; the Roach’s etiolated complexion, rattling breath, and stiffening limbs are not an entirely promising combination. Then, there is yet the matter of finding Liliver, who might not even be in the palace. And even then, there is the very real likelihood that he is already too late, that the deathsweet’s effects may have already reached its peak.

Cardan has to swallow against the bile creeping up his throat at that unsettling thought.

If only Jude had just come with him. Mistress of strategy and scheming, she would have drawn up a clever plan before they even took flight, as well as a surfeit of contingencies. Moreover, she would know better than he whether or not they held the favor of time; her province of poison is concerningly vast, as she had proven when Cardan himself very nearly shuffled off his immortal coil in dissolution.

Jude had known in an instant, merely by tasting the wraithberry that had stained his lips. How she knew its savour, to say nothing of how she knew it so intimately, Cardan knows not and she has yet to divulge. It is but another closely-clutched secret he must tack onto the growing list of queries for things a man really ought to know about his wife.

In the interim, the High King of Elfhame—and, more regrettably, the Roach—must rely entirely on himself.

Not much of a comfort, that.

Keeping a hand on the Roach to prevent his suffering an unnecessary fall from the horse, Cardan swings himself off of the thing’s back. With care, he lifts the inanimate body of his mentor into his arms. A low, distressed groan comes from the Roach at being jostled—the first sign of cognizance he’s shown since they left Grimsen’s forge. As pained as the sound is, it nonetheless gives Cardan a small hope that perhaps he hasn’t been too late after all.

Its magic spent, the ragwort pony dissolves in a puff of yellow perianths; an indolent breeze scatters some of the remnants across the dark hill, while others continue their aimless drifting to pollinate elsewhere on the isles. Cardan watches a lone petal catch in the wiry hair of the Roach’s brow and without thinking, he brushes it away. He justifies this allowance of rare gentleness with the fact that no one is around to bear witness to it.

As friendship goes, Cardan is all too aware he hasn’t known much in the way of loyalty or for reasons beyond selfish gain. His former companions had desired only what they could glean from him, the immunity his sway as a prince that had granted them the ability to carry out whatever deviant fancy they could dream up. Even Nicasia had had her own contrivances for being his lover, until she had ultimately found more excitement in the stories—and bed—of Locke.

He is not experienced in having a friend simply for the sake of it. In having someone—or a few someones, for that matter—enjoy his wit and cleverness and skills. That enjoy him, Cardan Greenbriar, rather than what advantages the crown atop his head can give.

Perhaps it is dangerous territory for a king to have bonds extending beyond those of mere allies. Perhaps the trust that comes with such friendships is a bit like handing over a blade to your enemy, freshly sharpened, and saying, Here you go, this holds all the ways with which to kill me. I’ll just turn my back.

Even so, when all you have known your entire life is the contempt and malignancy of those who ought to love you, it is not an entirely stunning realization that you would hand over that blade so willingly.

And he had done, in earnest; in his naivety with Nicasia. In his camaraderie with the Court of Shadows. In everything with Jude.

This is doubtless the reason Cardan’s feet begin to move now, carrying him and the Roach in his arms to the palace entrance with some new swell of confidence. Perhaps it is a detriment to believe that these new friends would not be so hastened and flippant as the last to betray him, but he believes it nevertheless. He also knows, albeit by way of unfortunate experience, that when the situation had been reversed, they had not wasted an idle moment in saving him.

So on he goes, through the wall and into the brugh, careful to keep the Roach’s pallid face hidden in the crook of his arm and denying any assistance his guards offer with a firm shake of his head. They move to follow, but halt at once and return to their posts when Cardan waves them off. Of the merits that come with being King, Cardan is especially grateful that denying explanations is one of them.

Even more fortuitously, his journey is not further hindered by any member of the Living Council—who have undoubtedly been tearing at their beards and skirts attempting to locate and descend upon their unruly monarch. Cardan imagines even now they are in the war room or assembled in his chambers, pacing and theorizing and crying out in panic. At the thought of the Minister of Keys pounding his fists on the table and cursing his luck for having such an impudent master to serve, the corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches. If only the wizened Randalin had the sense to make himself more difficult to nettle, perhaps Cardan would try to do so less.

Though the hill is yet alive, with lingering revelers still clutching the edges of twilight and servants clearing the remnants of food and drink, the many tricks of sly-footing he has been taught manages to keep him out of sight from any who might notice; it takes no time at all to slip through the hidden passage, into the wine cellar and emerge on the other side of the new Court of Shadows.

Cardan had hoped to show and consult Jude on the plans for these rooms, including the strategy chamber he had in mind for her—of which he was particularly proud: he had designed it himself—after she pardoned herself and returned to him. That hadn’t gone entirely the way he had imagined, and so they had gone on with the rebuilding without her. Cardan resolves that now, he can simply give her a full tour of them, should she come back posthaste. Should she decide to come back at all.

No, he rebuffs that line of thinking. Jude will return, just as she promised. When she comes home, Cardan will lead her through the rebuilt Court, and she will ooh and ahh and find him so ridiculously clever she’ll be too awed to do anything but kiss him for his prodigiousness.

She will forget she had ever been angry with him—or, at the very least, spare him the full measure of her wrath. She will forgive him for his trickery and assure him again that she had not fed his letters to the fire; she will tell him how desperately she missed him, that the mortal world is awful and terrible and nothing worth going back to. He will kiss her hair and tell her they need never be parted again. They will begin their reign as they should have done the moment their vows were made, and all will be just fine and well and as it should be.

These are all of the things Cardan tells himself as he steps into the main chamber.

He chuckles quietly to the darkness, a sudden incredulity sweeping over him; after all his prior distaste for mortals and those little hopeful deceits they allow, to wish away an awful thing or to make that awful thing seem less terrible, he has caught himself doing just that. He wonders what Jude might say, if he said her mortality was rubbing off on him?

Upon entering the main hall, Cardan is met with a collective gasp—either from the sudden, unannounced arrival of the High King or at the state of the Roach, he doesn’t know, nor does he have time to find out; before he can call for her, Liliver is already there, her dark face paled and taut. She does not seem to even notice Cardan, her frantic, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Roach.

“What happened to him?” The Bomb demands, seeming to realize Cardan’s presence only as an afterthought, though he does nothing to reprimand her for her tone. The current circumstance, along with the raw fear on the rogue’s face, is enough to cast any necessity for formalities into shadow.

"Darts, poisoned with deathsweet," Cardan tells her, elaborating when Liliver's piercing glare flickers up to meet him. "We... misestimated the cleverness of the traps Grimsen set to protect his forge." The Bomb frowns at that, and Cardan is sure he’ll have much more explaining to do before the night is through and she is fully satisfied, but neither of them need reminding of the more important matter at hand. “Let’s—let’s get him to a bed,” Liliver says. Though her voice wavers, her eyes never leave the disturbingly still body of the Roach as she leads them into a small room carved out from the main one.

She steps aside to allow Cardan to enter and lower the Roach onto the single bed, before seating herself on the edge of it. A bundle of tinctures and salves rest in her lap, from where or how she procured them so quickly, Cardan doesn’t know and isn’t inclined to ask. By the deep-set furrow of her brow and the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, she is calculating the situation and he wagers any unnecessary queries might hinder—or annoy—her deliberation. So he simply stands there, silent and helpless, watching her work.

The light emitting from the small orbs hanging above their heads does little to illuminate much of the Roach’s features, but it’s bright enough to view the waxen sheen of his skin, the odd way his limbs lie rigid at his side. He looks as close to death as one could appear, and if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, one could easily believe he had already gone. Cardan swallows and looks away, as if staring instead at the rough stone floor will quash the disquiet he feels.

If the Roach succumbs to the poison, he knows with whom the fault will lie, and there will be none among them to scorn him as much as he will scorn himself.

As Liliver works, sifting through the assortment of small glass bottles in her lap until she picks one filled with a thick, amber solution, Cardan gives her as much detail of the night's emprises as he can in short order: their attempted (and rather unsuccessful) rescue of Jude, of the Roach’s poisoning; of why they had entered the smith’s forge in the first place.

Upon hearing the truth behind the Ghost’s betrayal, the vial slips from her hand and Cardan barely manages to snatch it from the air before it shatters on the ground. The Bomb’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes back the bottle, but Cardan thinks he catches the smallest glint of hope in them, despite their current predicament.

“You mean, all this time... he was being commanded? Controlled by Locke and Madoc?”

Cardan nods. “Doubtless by my brother as well, though Jude didn’t say one way or another.”

He wouldn’t have considered it debasing of Dain's character to control someone in such totality. In fact, he has no misgivings at all that there was anything, save perhaps a grubworm, that had been beneath his brother. He shakes his head and shrugs, more to his own thoughts than the Bomb's question. “I’ll let her tell us which it is, when she comes home.”

It is too afflictive to imagine she will not, that he has yet again voraciously lapped up a lie she has fed him. He cannot believe that as he waits, Jude is riding off through the air with her sisters back to the mortal world, laughing as she tells them how effortlessly she has fooled the desperate High King of Faerie.

He will have time enough to wallow in his own selfish, agonized reveries; Cardan wills his attention back to the present, back to the Bomb and the Roach, who appears even less on the fortunate side of time since they arrived.

“Will he…” Live, or die. Both words are there on his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say either and the question lingers, thick and unfinished in the air between the three of them. Liliver doesn’t seem willing—or able to answer, only giving him a small shake of cloud-white curls as she keeps her back to him.

Watching how carefully she wipes the Roach’s forehead with a damp cloth, hearing the hushed, unintelligible things she tells him, the understanding that Cardan perhaps ought not intrude further becomes all too clear. He has completed his task, what he promised Jude he would do. There is nothing more required of him.

With Liliver’s promise that she will send word of any changes, good or ill, Cardan excuses himself from the Court of Shadows.

Cardan spends the remainder of the day in his chambers attempting sleep, because he has proved himself of little use elsewhere, there is nothing else to do, and because if Jude were here she would tell him a High King needs rest if he is to go delegating and answering petitions and doing whatever else there is that good, proper kings are supposed to do.

However, it is precisely because Jude isn’t here that he cannot rest.

Though he does give it an honest effort. He tries lying on his back, drawing forth tiny white blossoms to count as they bloom above his head, aiming to bore himself into a stupor. He counts and counts and counts. The mingling fragrance of several different flowers permeates the room and penetrates his nose. When he reaches six hundred forty-seven for the third time, he gives that up.

Exasperated, Cardan flops onto his side, stretching an arm across the sheets. He stares at the empty space beside him, where Jude had rested the first night they had spent together—the night he had convinced her that becoming Queen of Elfhame, his wife, was the better choice for both of them.

It had all been true, of course: everything Cardan had said to get her to agree. There had been no deception or scheming in his words; he had desired his freedom, as desperately as Jude craved power, and their union had the ability to grant both in absolution.

The Living Council had become insistent on the idea that their King should take a wife anyway, for their own overboring political reasons, and so Cardan had.

The only addendum to all of this, the only detail that he had surreptitiously kept from both the Council and Jude, was that he wanted to marry her. Not Nicasia, as the Council had wanted, as Cardan had once believed he should and could enjoy. Not the hag Mother Marrow’s daughter, who likely would have found some clever way to cause his demise so that she might live on as the sole ruler of Faerie. None of them would have been well-suited for him, nor he well-suited for them. None of them could give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was Jude.

That is all he wants now—to have her home and here in his bed, to fill the space that has been empty since she left. Since he made her leave.

Cardan pushes himself off the bed in a frustrated huff. Deciding he could do with a little less sober thinking, he calls for wine, and when the servant arrives with a fresh decanter and goblet, he fills it to the brim and drinks it to the dregs. After repeating this process a few more times, Cardan rounds the large desk—his father’s desk, he cannot help to remind himself, no matter how many times he sits at it—to continue the speech he’s been writing. He picks up the slip of paper between two fingers and holds it to the guttering candle flame to examine it. It’s already a rather lengthy speech, admittedly, but more important than any he has articulated yet. It is one explaining to Jude that her exile had not been methodically planned, that he thought she would work it out much more expeditiously. He would further explain he had not accounted for the fact she hadn’t worked it out at all, and that he had come to fully regret his own cleverness midway through his second letter.

Of course, Jude had told him she hadn’t received any of those letters.

He cannot help recalling how she looked at him then, the last time they were here in his rooms: skittish and trembling, desperate as a wild animal backed into a corner.

Hardly a fortnight has passed since Madoc had taken her, believing he had heroically rescued her twin from nigh execution. And yet it feels as distant as any half-remembered dream upon waking, blurred on the details and every attempt to grasp the memory only causes it to slip further away. Like a hand waving smoke.

Except a dream is something usually pleasant; smiling faces, a kiss one might yearn for in the waking world and only receive when they close their eyes. Dreams are things of wonderment. Pretty visions and heart’s desires.

No, it had not been like a dream at all—not the way she had looked at him.

That hatred, burning into him like white-hot iron, the fear she could lie away with words but could not conceal from her face, the venom in her voice when she spoke. It was more terrible than any of Cardan’s nightmares.

Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.

He had wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her his trick had been only that, a hasty plan to keep her out of Orlagh’s grasp. He had wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the comforting scent of her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest. To beg her forgiveness and will away her anger with a kiss.

Then he had seen the glint of the blade in her hand.

Even after Vivi’s flustered explanation of her sister’s capture, after he and the Roach had set out from the mortal world to find her—even after their brief moment in Madoc’s camp just hours ago, when Jude swore she hadn’t thrown in her lot with her betrayer of a foster-father, Cardan cannot rend from his mind the image of her holding that knife.

He passes the paper through the flame and watches it burn until it is nothing but a stain of black ash on the desk.

Waving away the lingering smoke, he rises and goes to dress for the night ahead, without rest, and knowing that no amount of sleep or drink or honeyed words will erase what he has done—or may yet do.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ okAY so this first bit turned out a lot longer than I'd originally intended (legit this whole thing was supposed to just be a oneshot lmfao) but if you made it this far, I'm very sorry but thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it, and as usual—if you didn't, don't tell me about it.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just yeet a reply to this post and I'll add you.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ @euridce @figonas @jurdanhell

#felix's fuckin' fic list #; felix does a write #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #cardan x jude #jude x cardan #the folk of the air #the queen of nothing #tfota #qon #holly black #tfota fic #tfota fanfic

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heauxplesslydevoted · 3 years

Text

Three’s Company

Summary: Naomi goes to lunch with the newest member of the diagnostic’s team.

A/N: Listen, I will not rest until Tobias and Ethan are friends again.

~v~

“It’s not going to be as bad as you’re making it out to be, Ethan. Above all else, Tobias Carrick is a doctor and a professional.”

Ethan resists the urge to roll his eyes at his girlfriend. This situation isn’t her fault, and it’s not like Naomi can help the fact that she’s optimistic. He still huffs under his breath though. “Being a doctor isn’t synonymous with being a professional. Trust me, Tobias is nothing of the sort.”

The news of Tobias Carrick not only coming to Edenbrook but also joining the diagnostics team hasn’t been well received. On top of a pretty tense exchange between Bloom and Ethan, Harper also made it known that she wasn’t a fan, thankfully not as outwardly as Ethan had.

Naomi however, has remained neutral. She doesn’t have history with Tobias like Harper and Ethan do, only knowing him through their biased second hand accounts. Ethan grumbled that he’s arrogant–though the same can be said about him as well–and selfish, but Naomi isn’t one to judge someone without knowing them. And besides, he pitched in to help save her last year, so for the time being, Tobias Carrick has a few brownie points with her.

“You’re being dramatic. He’s been a doctor as long as you have, he went to the same prestigious medical school that you did–”

“He graduated at number two,” Ethan interjects.

At that dig, Naomi huffs. “You’re being ridiculous. And petty, for no reason.”

“Bloom went over our heads and hired him, so I’m automatically suspicious. I apologize for not believing this wasn’t done specifically to annoy me.”

Naomi can concede to it being a bit suspicious, but she isn’t going to admit to this conspiracy of all roads leading back to Ethan. She’s not going to needlessly feed into his ego and rile him up.

The two of them continue their trek throughout the halls of Edenbrook in silence, their fingers loosely interlocked the entire way there. Naomi revels in it, because she knows it’s the calm before the storm.

Before they cross the threshold to the office, Naomi stops Ethan in his tracks. She cranes her head back so they can look each other in the eye. “Listen, like it or not, Tobias is here, and until he does something that warrants your hostility, at least be cordial. Our patients don’t deserve us at anything less than our best.”

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose, and silently counts to three, attempting to steel himself.

“Fine.”

“Thank you.” Raising their joined hands, Naomi brushes a fleeting kiss across his knuckles. “Now stop pouting, Ramsey, we have work to do.”

Ethan untangles their hands only to open the door for Naomi. Once she steps inside she’s greeted with the sight of Tobias fiddling with Ethan’s coffee maker. He looks and flashes them a sly smile. “Mornin’, lovebirds! Ready to get to diagnosing?”

Ethan flashes Naomi a quick look. This is going to be a long day indeed.

~v~

So Tobias’s first day with the team wasn’t smooth sailing like Naomi wanted. Ethan and Harper made it clear that his former friend and roommate wasn’t wanted anywhere near the team, whether it be through passive aggressive eye rolls, thinly-veiled exasperated sighs, or outright aggression via Ethan that spiraled into a tense argument. Naomi remained neutral, corralling all of the attention back to the task at hand: helping their patient.

Naomi isn’t interested in spending another day babysitting these grown adults, so hopefully day 2 is a lot more smooth.

And so far, she seems to be getting her wish. Morning tasks were distributed without a fight, and after their morning huddle, Harper went downstairs to prep for a surgery she has coming up later. The remaining 3 members of the team are all in their own little corners of the office, Ethan typing away on his laptop, Tobias lounging on the couch, and Naomi sitting at their large desk, a pile of books and printed copies of online articles all spread out in front of her.

The words are all starting to blur together, her focus slipping away with each second that ticks on. Being in the office isn’t doing anything for her creativity or brainstorming power. She needs a break.

Naomi closes her textbook and pushes out of her seat, tired of studying. She makes her way over to Ethan’s desk, observing his hunched shoulders and the deep line between his brows. She rounds his desk until she’s standing directly in his line of vision. “You know what? I think it’s time to take a break. How about you and I get out of here and get something to eat?”

Ethan tears his eyes away from his computer screen long enough to look at Naomi. He frowns softly. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take a raincheck. On top of the actual work I have to do for this team, Leland is demanding that I put together a presentation for the board meeting at the end of the week.”

“About what?”

“About the team. Cost versus benefit, outcomes, methodology, etc. Basically, he wants me to sell the diagnostics team to him all over again.”

“Sucks to be the boss at times?”

“De facto boss,” Ethan corrects. “Remember, this team is supposed to be a democracy now. Anyway, I want to get this presentation done as quickly as I can so I can stop thinking about it.”

“I could go for some lunch,” the third person in the room speaks up. Naomi and Ethan both turn around and see Tobias staring back at them. “Oh sorry, am I interrupting the private conversation the two of you are trying to have in our communal workspace?”

“What do you want, Carrick?”

Tobias’s eyes bounce back and forth between the couple. “Naomi wants to escape these four walls and get food. You aren’t available, and I am.” He shrugs. “What are you in the mood for, Valentine? I could go for some Italian, and there’s a good place a few blocks from here.”

“She’s not going to lunch with you,” Ethan grits out possessively.

Naomi’s head whips around faster than she can stop herself. Since when did he get to make decisions on her behalf, especially when it’s not work related?

A small smirk settles on Tobias’s face. Naomi’s physical response to Ethan’s declaration does not go unnoticed by him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know your name was also Naomi Valentine. Whatever the case, I wasn’t speaking to you.”

“Naomi doesn’t–”

“Naomi doesn’t need an advocate to speak on her behalf because she’s an adult,” Naomi interjects sharply.

Whether she wants to accept or decline Tobias’s invitation to lunch, it’s her decision to make, not Ethan’s. His tumultuous relationship with Tobias is not her burden to bear, and he’s not going to force it upon her.

And just to prove it to him, Naomi turns around, her full attention back on Tobias, eyes alight with defiance. “You know what? Italian sounds delicious.”

~v~

20 minutes later, the unlikely duo is nestled into a corner booth of the Italian restaurant Tobias suggested. It’s a nice family owned joint that is currently experiencing a lunch rush. Every inch of the place is bustling with activity, the aromatic smell of sautéed garlic fills the air, soft music playing in the background. And while Naomi has yet to try the food, the restaurant is warm and inviting, and she likes it.

“You know, I’m really shocked you decided to take me up on my offer,” Tobias says, cutting into Naomi’s silent appraisal of their surroundings.

“I wasn’t going to turn down a free meal,” Naomi responds smoothly.

“A free meal?”

“Of course. You invited yourself, so you’re paying, Dr. Carrick. I’m thinking of ordering dessert, too.”

An easygoing smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she speaks, and Tobias laughs. “I meant it because loverboy wasn’t too happy with it.”

“As much as I respect Ethan’s opinions on things, they don’t dictate my life. His issues with you have nothing to do with me, and if you think you can use me as a pawn to piss him off further, I’d advise you to think again.”

This young woman is brazen and full of sass. Tobias likes it. “It wasn’t my intention, I swear. It’s no secret that I’m not a welcomed member of the team, and you happen to be the only one who doesn’t roll your eyes or sneer whenever I speak. You are the closest thing I have to an...acquaintance, I guess.”

Naomi’s defenses deflate slightly at his shocking display of earnestness. She was expecting some display of bravado from the attending, so this has thrown her for a loop.

Tobias is nervous. She picks up on that energy almost instantly.

“Well like I said, their issues with you have nothing to do with me. I try to give everyone a fair shake.”

“I can respect that.”

“But in the interest of said fair shake, you have to answer a question for me. What are you doing here?”

“Here, in this restaurant?”

“At Edenbrook,” Naomi clarifies. “Kenmore is a level one trauma center, it was saved from getting snuffed out when it merged with Solomon, you guys stole my research candidate which brought in a lot of grant money. You had a decent gig there, so why did you come to Edenbrook? Why did you accept a position on Ethan’s team?”

Tobias shrugs. “I hit my threshold at Kenmore. I was at the top of the food chain, I had seen everything there was to see, done everything there was to do. I was...bored and restless. Edenbrook got injected with new blood, everything is new and exciting. Bloom said he wanted to take the team to new heights, and he offered me more money than I know what to do with to be a part of the vision.”

“Okay so who’s to say you’ll be satisfied just being a member of the team? How do I know you won’t attempt to stage a coup and take Ethan’s position?”

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m not gunning for your boyfriend’s spot.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. There’s no need to be condescending.”

“I apologize. But Ethan’s spot on the team is safe. I don’t need Leland breathing down my neck and micromanaging me the way he does Ethan.”

Naomi’s eyes roam his face. He doesn’t have any tells, no eye shifting or twitching, no sudden movements with his hands or mouth, he doesn’t fidget in his seat. She has no reason to believe he’s lying, so she takes him at his word. “Okay.”

“Any other burning questions?”

“Why aren’t you and Ethan friends?”

Tobias doesn’t immediately answer, opting to take his sweet time to think on it. He pulls his lip in-between his teeth, before shrugging. “We’re too similar. Too driven, too ambitious, too stubborn. Two people can only go on the same path for so long before a collision happens.”

“It got ugly because you two wanted the same girl?”

Tobias scoffs. The faceless woman that he was adamant that he was in love with is at the bottom of his list of concerns. “She was just the tip of the iceberg.”

That manages to catch her interest. Naomi sits up in her seat and leans forward slightly. “So what happened?”

Naomi can see the exact moment that Tobias withdraws from the conversation. His posture gets stiff again and he averts his gaze.

“Okay, riddle me this, Carrick,” Naomi continues. “Ethan told me he reached out to you after you had your falling out, but you rebuffed him. Is that part true?”

“He called and asked if we could talk, I said no. I didn’t hear from him again until everything happened with Leland last year.”

“You didn’t want to make amends?”

Making amends and having his old friend back did sound nice once upon a time, but being friends with Ethan again means being in his shadow again. And that’s what led them to this whole thing in the first place. Tobias sighs and scrubs his hand across his jaw. He came here to eat a plate of ravioli and maybe annoy Ethan, not pour his heart out. What is it about Naomi Valentine and those big brown eyes of hers that makes him want to twist himself inside out and spill his guts? Is she some sort of siren?

“Making amends means I’d have to own up to my wrongdoings. I’d have to swallow the fact that I torpedoed our friendship,” Tobias confesses before he even realizes the words are out of his mouth. “Admitting fault and being vulnerable isn’t my strong suit.”

She doesn’t mean to, but Naomi giggles. And that giggle turns into a laugh. A loud one that attracts the attention of a few patrons, a hard feat to accomplish in the middle of a bustling restaurant, but she does it with ease.

“I’m sorry,” Naomi says once she finally calms down. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “God, no wonder you two were best friends. You are just as emotionally constipated as Ethan.”

“Emotionally constipated?” Tobias’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline at the blunt statement. And once the shock wears off, he laughs along with. “Touché, Valentine. Touché.”

~v~

Across the way, at the bar on the other side of the dining room, Ethan watches as his girlfriend and his former friend carry on like two bosom buddies.

Ethan decided to follow them approximately 10 minutes after they left, sheer curiosity getting the better of him. Before he could stop himself, he was in his car and at the restaurant, seated far enough away from them so he’s out of their line of vision, but close enough to see.

Naomi is in the zone, talking excitedly and Tobias sits there, soaking it all up like what she says and does is gospel. Their friendly interaction stirs irritation in the pit of his stomach, but it’s when Naomi lets out a boisterous laugh does he reach his limit. Ethan’s grip on the small tumbler in his hand tightens, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t end up with a million tiny shards of glass in his palm.

What on earth has Tobias said to make Naomi laugh like that? And why is he laughing with her?

Ethan doesn’t like it one bit, for a multitude of reasons. He doesn’t like other men being around Naomi–it’s ridiculous and sexist of him to feel this way, but Ethan is a possessive caveman, and he makes no bones about it. Seeing her actually laughing with Carrick of all people and enjoying his company makes him want to throw the drink ware he’s currently holding.

Deciding enough is enough, Ethan slams the glass down onto the bar and stands up. After dropping a $20 bill on the counter he makes his way over to Naomi and Tobias, unadulterated jealousy and alcohol fueling every step.

Tobias notices him first, and he jerks his head in Ethan’s general direction in order to get Naomi’s attention. She turns around and her eyes go wide at the sight of Ethan.

“Ethan? What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

Now her eyes are narrowed. “You finished that big presentation you had to work on?”

Ethan sniffs haughtily. Leave it to her to throw that back in his face. “I decided that a break was okay.”

“And you coincidentally ended up at this restaurant?”

“Yup.”

Naomi stands up, muttering a quick “excuse me,” in Tobias’s direction and grabs Ethan’s hand, pulling him away. They nestle into a quiet corner of the restaurant, far away from the table, closer to the kitchen. The door constantly swings open and closed, as the waitstaff goes in and out.

Once they get a moment of quiet, Naomi glares at Ethan, the expression on her face nothing short of annoyed. “Are you spying on me? Because spying on me implies that you don’t trust me.”

“What? Of course I trust you!”

“So what are you doing here, Ethan?”

Ethan bites the inside of his cheek and rocks on the balls of his feet. “Okay, so I was spying.” Naomi opens her mouth to say something, but Ethan beats her to the punch. “It’s not because I don’t trust you! It’s him that I don’t trust.”

“Tobias has been nothing short of a gentleman,” Naomi says and Ethan snorts. “He’s acting a lot of a lot more mature than you are, I can say that much.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you treating him like he’s a criminal when he’s given you no reason to do so.”

“He’s given me plenty of reason, Naomi!”

“The last time we saw Tobias, I was near death and he helped save my life,” Naomi says, and that’s more than enough to get Ethan to shut up.

Ethan’s heart slams against his rib cage with enough force to make him think the organ is trying to leave his body. Months have passed since the assassination attempt, but the mention of it is enough to cause Ethan to go into a panic.

“And the time before that, we stole a patient right out from under him, and before that we got into a fight at a freaking hospital softball game,” Naomi continues. “You haven’t been all good, and he hasn’t been all bad, so stop pretending to have the moral high ground.”

“This past year, you made a lot of strides in your personal life. You battled a lot with your mom, but you came out of it, a more well rounded individual, so do not let Tobias’s presence cause you to backslide. I’m not saying he has to be your best friend, but I refuse to tolerate this type of nonsense past today.”

He takes a moment to digest what she’s saying, begrudgingly of course because he doesn’t really want to admit that he hasn’t been behaving like the mature, adult professional that he usually is.

Ethan nods and places a kiss on Naomi’s forehead, his lips lingering there.

“Are you listening to me?”

Ethan kisses the apples of her cheeks, inwardly smirking as he feels Naomi smile. “I promise you that I’ll keep myself in check from now on.”

“And if you don’t, I will.”

The threat causes Ethan to lose focus. She clearly doesn’t mean it in a seductive way, but he can’t help that his brain instantly goes to the gutter when she’s involved. Now he wants nothing more than to be alone with her, with any flat surface readily available.

“Yes ma’am,” Ethan murmurs before capturing her lips with his own.

Naomi doesn’t allow herself to get swept up in the kiss, because she knows Ethan is using it to distract her. She untangles herself from his grip and pulls away before he’s able to get any more leverage.

“Can we go back to the office now?” Ethan asks.

“Absolutely not. I came here to have lunch, so we’re having lunch.”

Ethan frowns. “You still want to go through with this?”

“I didn’t come here to teach you a lesson, and I’m actually enjoying Tobias’s company, so I’m staying. And you’re staying here too.”

“No.”

“You followed me here, you don’t have a choice.”

Ethan reluctantly follows Naomi back to the table, where Tobias is studying the menu. He doesn’t even look up when he hears footsteps approaching. “I’m debating on if I want the ravioli or the chicken parm, which one–” his voice falters as he sees Ethan.

“Look who’s decided to join us for lunch!” Naomi says brightly, steamrolling over the building tension. She pushes Ethan into an empty chair, not giving him a second to turn away.

Tobias opens his mouth to object, “But–”

“I’m going to head to the restroom,” Naomi says. “And one of you guys is ordering me a limoncello, because Tobias is treating.”

She flounces off, not giving either man a chance to respond or argue with her.

Tobias laughs. “Is she always like this? So bossy?”

“Naomi is unapologetically assertive,” Ethan corrects. “She makes no bones about it.”

“The scary part about it is I’m 100 percent going to order her a limoncello, because she’s not the type of person you say no to.”

This time it’s Ethan’s turn to laugh. It’s nice to know he’s not the only unsuspecting sap that cannot say no when Naomi turns on her charm.

Once the laughter tapers off, the former friends are plunged into silence. Ethan checks the time on his watch, watching the seconds stretch on. He needs Naomi to come back. Seriously, how long does it take to use the restroom? He spares a quick glance at Tobias, who’s pointedly not making eye contact with him either.

Eventually Tobias speaks up, “Look, I didn’t come to Edenbrook to cause any trouble. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity that came with more money than I could count.”

“Naveen started this team with the most honorable of intentions,” Ethan says. “This was his life’s work, and he entrusted me with it. You cannot possibly understand the loyalty I have to him, so forgive me if I’m extremely protective over it and skeptical of your motives, which haven’t always been pure.”

“I’m just here to save lives, and work on the most fascinating medical cases of our generation. I know how important this team is, and I’d never intentionally disrespect Naveen like that.”

Ethan nods. That’s all he can really ask of Tobias. “Then I guess we’re good.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Another beat of silence passes and Tobias awkwardly drums his fingers along the stem of his water glass. “So...you and Valentine?”

The question is out of left field and Ethan’s brows furrow in confusion. “Uh, yeah, me and Valentine.”

“I like her,” Tobias says definitively. When Ethan glares at him, Tobias rolls his eyes. “Not like that. Relax, I get it loud and clear that she’s off limits. Besides, I know you’re head over heels in love with her.”

A scarlet flush creeps up Ethan’s neck at Tobias’s matter of fact declaration. “Love? I’m...we don’t...I don’t–”

Tobias smirks. “Oh man. You’ve got it bad.”

That much, Ethan is willing to share. “Yeah, I do.”

“Naomi did say we’re both emotionally constipated, and that blubbering you just did proves her point,” Tobias teases. “But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

The L-word has floated around in the back of Ethan’s mind for months, but he’s always been able to squash it down, locking it away in the deepest recesses of his brain. But hearing someone else say it is something entirely different. Ethan can’t run away from the thought.

Tobias has known since last year. He suspected something when Ethan came to defense during the softball game, but it was confirmed as soon as he saw them together after the incident with the senator. He had never seen Ethan so out of sorts, not even when they competed for the affections of the same woman back in school. Naomi is different. She has the power to bring Ethan to his knees.

“I hope you know that you’re punching way above your weight with that one,” Tobias adds teasingly.

It’s something Ethan thinks about constantly. Naomi could do so much better than him, but every day she chooses him. “Absolutely.”

“And for what it’s worth, she’s just as much into you. The woman gives you heart eyes whenever you’re around. It’s disgusting, to be quite frank.”

The sentence warms Ethan from the inside out. He’ll never get over knowing Naomi wants him just as much as he wants her.

Thankfully Naomi chooses that moment to come back to the table, giving the men something else to focus their attention on. She settles into a seat next to Ethan, and he immediately wraps an arm around her, his fingertips stroking her arm. Tobias observes the fleeting moment of intimacy with a private smile.

Naomi’s eyes flicker back and forth between the men. “Everything okay over here?”

Tobias and Ethan both look at each other, a silent moment of understanding passing between them. Ethan nods. “Everything is fine.”

Naomi smiles. Maybe there’s hope for them yet. “Good. Now let’s flag down a waiter and get some food.”

~v~

Tags: @mvalentine @choicesaddict5 @professorkingslay @maurine07 @aka-calliope @bluebellot @whimsicallywayward15 @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @jamespotterthefirst @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @blainehellyes @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #tobias carrick

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Text

unraveling (Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning)

Rated Mature, Fluff, Naked Morning Cuddles

Read on AO3 or on Tumblr below

* * *

Jiang Cheng rarely wants to get out of bed in the morning, but he's good at forcing himself to.

Although he doesn’t wake at an unbearable hour like the Lan, he isn’t a late riser, either. Yunmeng doesn’t stop moving just because the sun goes down. The earlier Jiang Cheng grits his teeth and throws himself under the current of his work, the better.

Occasionally, he will give himself the luxury of throwing himself back under the covers instead. However, that simply drags out the unpleasantness of waking up, so it's easiest to just plunge himself into the day headfirst after a morning meditation. He has the discipline for it.

Except for right now.

Right now, he is wrapped around Wen Ning, and it’s impossible to muster the will to go anywhere. Wen Ning surrounds him with his steadiness and solidness, like a warm sea of comfort, leaving Jiang Cheng unprepared for the harsh waters he must eventually dive into. Once he faces his sect, everything he wants to be defined will be uncertain, and everything he wants to avoid will form a rigid obstacle.

Here, everything is Wen Ning. No complications.

He’ll stay here for a while longer.

As his awareness trickles in, he recognizes the sensation of skin on skin that he has come to know so well, a unique version of it that can only be felt with Wen Ning. Wen Ning's skin is mostly smooth, but not pristine. His skin is scarred, marked, rough. Like the story written in the dark veins snaking across him, there is an inkling of sorrow in the stiffness that is bound to his body, and in how much care Wen Ning takes to ensure his touch is gentle despite it.

It changes Jiang Cheng, somehow. Huddled against Wen Ning like this, with his face nestled into the space between Wen Ning's neck and shoulder, their chests pressed together, Jiang Cheng feels inverted. Or perhaps inside-out. He is the soft one. The breakable one. The warmth.

As consciousness takes a firmer hold on Jiang Cheng, he notices how Wen Ning's arms fully envelop him, large hands settled beneath his shoulder blades. Wen Ning’s palms press firm against him, but his fingertips are relaxed, an open question of whether he once clutched Jiang Cheng tightly and later loosened his hold, or whether he had never quite finished sealing his grip, left midsentence somewhere between hello and goodbye.

More sensations travel along Jiang Cheng’s skin, painting a full picture of their bodies. Jiang Cheng is on his side, one arm pressed into the bed and curled against Wen Ning's chest, one over Wen Ning's side. His fingertips lightly rest in the groove between the muscles of Wen Ning’s back, just able to feel the bumps of his spine. Jiang Cheng might be wound around Wen Ning most tightly with his leg, slung across Wen Ning as if still searching to deepen their tangle.

The room is silent except for the faint chirping of birds outside. As Jiang Cheng listens, he wakes up fully, although he is still a bit groggy. Pressure settles over his temples, but not a painful pressure like his recurring headaches. Instead, it's soft and soothing, like the heavy blankets over his body. He opens his eyes and blinks a few times. Light is just starting to drip into the room, a threadlike gold at the edge of his vision, but most of his sight is filled by Wen Ning's ivory skin and long curtain of silky black hair.

Drawing in a long breath, Jiang Cheng catches an aroma he isn't used to on Wen Ning, warm and citrusy and slightly spicy. He knows that besides ensuring he is clean and neat, Wen Ning pays little attention to his appearance. If Jiang Cheng isn't there to stop him, he'll buy the first robes that fit him, the simplest pendant he finds, or, in this case, the first soap he sees. Which means that every few weeks, Jiang Cheng will suddenly sense a different scent when he buries his face in Wen Ning's hair and his neck.

Only in these first minutes of the morning, when Jiang Cheng hasn't quite built up his inhibitions, would he openly admit that it drives him insane, in an irresistible way. He doubts Wen Ning even knows the game he’s playing; Wen Ning can't smell. Although Jiang Cheng wouldn't be surprised if Wen Ning really was doing it to tease him.

Unwilling to break the stillness, Jiang Cheng closes his eyes again and sinks deeper into Wen Ning’s embrace, wishing he could fall asleep again. Several minutes pass, each moment like a tap on his shoulder, reminding him of his responsibilities. One of them is going to have to move eventually.

Trying not to audibly sigh, Jiang Cheng slowly untangles himself. But just as he begins to draw away, Wen Ning catches him and pulls him in even more tightly.

"Don't leave yet," Wen Ning murmurs.

Morning gruffness catches Jiang Cheng’s voice, so the most he can muster is a low hum of acquiescence, all too willing to let this idleness drag out as long as possible if Wen Ning so much as asks.

Wen Ning gently traces circles into Jiang Cheng's back, a way of unraveling their long slumber with some gradual movement, a much less abrupt awakening than what Jiang Cheng just attempted. Jiang Cheng lets himself enjoy the light massage, humming into Wen Ning’s collarbone when his fingers roam to an especially rewarding spot. He lets out a long breath and an unintelligible word—he’s not even sure what he means to say—when Wen Ning reaches his upper back and digs in harder.

"Alright,” Jiang Cheng says. “My turn."

It takes a shrug of his shoulders to get Wen Ning to actually stop. Then Jiang Cheng runs his fingers up and down Wen Ning's spine, straying to dig into his back muscles. He massages harder than Wen Ning does for him, providing the bite Wen Ning needs to fully feel his touch.

So far, Wen Ning has granted him a single shiver in response. That's not nearly enough. Jiang Cheng needs to hear at least a whimper, some kind of sound, proof from both Wen Ning’s body and voice that Jiang Cheng has done his job well.

Jiang Cheng nuzzles the curve above Wen Ning's shoulder, kissing his neck. Wen Ning shudders but still makes no sound—Jiang Cheng is beginning to wonder if he is purposely holding it in—so he works his way up until his lips caress behind Wen Ning's ear, sucking at the sensitive spot. That finally earns him a moan.

Wen Ning begins to pull away, about to break the morning’s spell, but Jiang Cheng tugs him back, wrapping his arm and leg around Wen Ning securely. “I'm not done,” he says, voice low and teasing.

A single chuckle from Wen Ning, and they slip back in place. This time their chests aren't flush against each other, which gives Jiang Cheng enough room to slide his arm down and cradle Wen Ning’s cock in his fingers. He tilts his head back, peering at Wen Ning's face to catch the way his eyebrows twitch and his lips part as he draws in a quick breath.

They remain like that for a few minutes longer, cuddling under the covers, Jiang Cheng gently holding Wen Ning’s cock, stroking a finger along it once in a while. Daybreak's golden light falls softly on them, beginning to fill the room.

Wen Ning meets his eyes, a hint of pleading in his glance. “When will you be done?” he asks quietly.

“Oh. Now, I suppose.” Jiang Cheng slips out of Wen Ning’s arms and sits up, turning away to hide his smirk. “Thanks for the reminder.”

He hears Wen Ning rise behind him, the mattress shifting. Just as Jiang Cheng is about to stand up out of the bed, Wen Ning’s arms wrap around him. He feels Wen Ning rest his chin on his shoulder, then a nip at his earlobe and thumbs gliding in ticklish circles up and down his sides. Jiang Cheng wriggles in mock protest.

“A few more minutes?” Wen Ning asks.

Jiang Cheng leans away enough to catch Wen Ning’s eyes. “If you do my paperwork for me.”

“Then you have to teach me how to forge your signature.” He runs a thumb over the dusting of freckles on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, then kisses it. “And write my medical records for me.” He kisses again, closer to Jiang Cheng’s neck. “And let me teach you how to forge my signature.”

He meets Jiang Cheng’s lips. The kiss is gentle, but a bit frisky for this early in the morning, sending a tingle through Jiang Cheng. He knows Wen Ning doesn't need sleep, and sometimes the benefits and drawbacks of that mingle together into what Jiang Cheng can best explain as startled delight.

“Alright, I get it,” Jiang Cheng says, unable to hold back his smile. “I was going to stay a few more minutes anyway.”

A flicker of contentment in Wen Ning's eyes. “I know that.”

They lie back in bed, Wen Ning on his back, Jiang Cheng maneuvering himself below Wen Ning’s hips. He shoots Wen Ning a sly glance before lowering his mouth to Wen Ning’s cock.

It wouldn’t hurt to drag this out longer than a just few more minutes.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by visiting me on AO3!

#mdzsnet #chengning #jiang cheng #wen ning #mdzs #cql #the untamed #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfic #cql fanfiction #the untamed fanfic #the untamed fanfiction #ningcheng #theuntameddaily #emilu fics #emilu creations

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years

Text

GF - Can’t Stand It

For @ho-ne-ye.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan was having a bad day. Well, a bad week. Scratch that, a bad month.

It was March, a beautiful time out in the Arctic. For several weeks the Stan twins hardly ever saw the sun or didn’t see it at all. Closer to the holidays they traveled down south to Northern Europe, exploring the United Kingdom and the Northern Islands in order to enjoy daylight, but now that Summer was approaching and Spring was on their side, the Stan O’ War II was moving up to sail above Canada, breaking melting ice and meeting new creatures.

Today they had stumbled across an island covered in woods. The twins had docked to enjoy stable land, but of course it didn’t take long for them to stumble into trouble when they explored the island. Something about trespassing, Stan may or may not have been magically transformed into a small and cute version of himself, but then turned back to normal by a knocked-over potion. It was all a blur, and it all ended with Stan and Ford being tied together hanging over a raging fire as the clan of seal-people with war paint danced around them and singing a weird song.

Enough was enough. With a knife slipped out of a boot and a few left and right hooks, Ford and Stan managed to get away, now being chased by the angry clan and flying arrows. Stan dove on top of Ford to shield his brother from an arrow and they both scurried to their feet and ran deeper into the woods, heading for the beach, but their path was blocked by a giant monster, a half-spider, half-scorpion kind of creature with eight legs, pinchers, a sharp tail, four red eyes, and an angry kiss as it’s hairs vibrated.

Ford shot at it with his ray gun and that only made it angry. It dove for the six-fingered scientist, but Stan shoved him out of the way and soon Stan was thrown back to a tree and made very little attempts to get back up.

“STANLEY!” Ford cried out and shot at the monster again, this time hitting it in the eye. Temporarily blinded and distracted, Ford was about to grab a nearby spear thrown by a villager, pierce the monster, and leave it to bleed to death as he ran to his brother and knelt in front of him. “Stanley! Stanley, can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

“M’fine, m’fine,” The old sailor mumbled as he blinked a few times. “Just lemme catch my breath…”

Ford noticed how he had a hand to his side. He gently prided it away and was horrified to find blood. The monster must have pierced Stan. In one swift motion the eldest by fifteen minutes scooped Stan up and began to carry him to the shore. “You’ll be okay. I’ll fix you up, I can fix this.”

His brother grunted in response, his hands loosely over his wound, but Stan was losing his strength. Ford then noticed a bead of blood dripping down the back of Stan’s neck; he must have also hit his head perfectly on the tree. Ford swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bobble, and he firmly instructed, “Stay with me, Stanley. Don’t go to sleep. You might have a concussion.”

“M’tired.” He muttered in his twin’s chest. They were close, so close to home. Ford’s boots crushed the sand beneath them.

“Stanley Pines, stay with me!” Ford shouted, ignoring the way his brown eyes stung.

“Why should I?”

Ford’s heart threatened to stop. Stan’s voice had been so quiet that he had nearly missed it, but the old scientist heard every word. The wounds didn’t look that bad, Stan would be fine, he was too tough to be taken down by some pathetic monster like that, but the fact that Stan was even considering…

“Wh-Why?!” Ford repeated, mortified by his brother’s delusional question. “Why?! Because I need you! Don’t you dare think about giving up on me, Stanley, don’t you dare! C-Come on, d-d-don’t you wanna see Dipper and Mabel again? Don’t you wanna see Soos marry that Melody girl?”

Stan’s breathing was shallow against his twin’s blue jacket. “You’d be better off…”

“NO!” Ford screamed as he saw the boat farther along the beach. He broke into a faster run. “No, we wouldn’t! I swear! Stay with me, we’re almost there!”

But Stan wasn’t answering. He was very quiet. And a bit limp in Ford’s hold.

“Stanley?! Stanley! Lee! Lee, don’t you dare give up! Don’t you dare leave me, please! I… I can’t do it!” He shut his eyes at the thought and let tears flow down his cheeks as he climbed up onto the Stan O’ War II. “I can’t lose you again. Please, don’t make me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t fair.

Stan should be perfectly fine, he should be happy. He got his brother back, he had a real family for the first time in forty years, he was living out his dream with his best friend. He wasn’t alien to feeling this cruddy about himself, but at least back then he had something to work towards, something to keep him going, and something to distract him from the voices in his head. But now his thoughts were more apparent now more than ever before and they wouldn’t go away.

The fact remained that everyone would be better off without Stan. He was a mistake, the screw-up, a criminal, a con-artist, a dirty sailor, a worthless heap of flesh. No one really wanted him around, and the people who did would soon get sick of him. Dipper and Mabel called them less and less (which to be fair they have been very busy with exams on the way). And even if it was Ford’s idea to go sailing, how long would it be before he changed his mind? Or had he really meant what he said? Or had he only said what he said because he felt guilty?

No. There was no changing the old man’s mind. Everyone would be better off without him.

He walked down the dock with his hands in the pocket of his brown trenchcoat, his boots clicking against the wood gently. It was bright and shiny and beautiful without it hurting his eyes or requiring sunglasses over his regular glasses. The sun glistened on the water and a soft breeze made him comfortable. The only odd thing was that there was only one boat.

A small boat, actually. It had a sail, like their dream boat as kids, with a cabin down in the bunkers. It was plain and clean and new, with a golden pole and rims on the windows. On it sat a young lady, about early-twenties, with short blonde hair. She was odd, wearing a white Hawaiian shirt with golden palm leaves, white shorts, and had a golden watch on her wrist as she filed her nails, reminding Stan of a secretary from high school. This girl was sitting on the boat with her legs crossed, sporting white sneakers, and hummed a familiar tune, though Stan couldn’t pinpoint it.

The girl glanced up at him, put her eyes back on her work, and called, “You coming?”

Stan shrugged, his hands still in his pockets. “Depends. Where you going, sweetie?”

“Well I’m hoping to grant a handsome sailor his wish, but it’s whatever.” The woman said as she held up her hand to look at her nails boringly.

Stan smiled cockily. “Oh yeah, how so?”

“You think everyone would be better off without you, right?” The woman stood and gestured to her boat. “Wanna see for yourself?”

Stan blinked. Okay this was weird. Was he on TV? He shook his head like a wet dog and scratched next to his red beanie. “Uh… ‘cuse me?”

“You heard me. Wanna see if you’re right?”

“How are you gonna show me if I’m right or not?” Stan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The woman sighed as she glanced at her watch. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time, so here’s how it’s gonna go. I’m gonna go sailing to a timeline in which you were never born. Ford never had a twin, Caryn and Filbrick only had two sons, et cetera and et cetera. Then we can talk about where we’ll go from there. But whether you’re coming or not, this boat is leaving in thirty seconds.”

Stan looked away from the woman, down at the sea crashing against the dock gently. This didn’t make any sense. This was like something out of a cheesy movie. He didn’t have to go with this girl and see a world without him in it, but it might answer some of his questions. He just wasn’t sure if he would get the answers he wanted. Oh well, it’s not like he had anything better to do.

“Ten seconds.”

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Stan shrugged and climbed up on board. “Set sail, Ms… Hey, what’s your name, anyways?”

“You can call me Honey.”

“Okay, Honey…”

“Oh my God, he called me honey…”

“Wait wut?”

“Time to go!” The woman grinned for the first time, a sly foxy smile with sparkling eyes and beautiful lips curled upward. She stood from her seat, pulled her sail loose, and it suddenly jetted across the sea so fast it threw Stan back and he had to catch himself from falling into the ocean, meanwhile the girl in all white stood perfectly calm.

“So, where we going?”

“I told you,” Honey said calmly. “We’re gonna go see what it would've been like if you had never been born.”

“Yeah, but where?”

“First stop, Gravity Falls.” The sea around them was fading into woods and trees and dirt, and soon the bot came to such a sudden stop that Stan was thrown to the other side and sat his head on a pinetree, growling as he stood up straight on the sailboat and rubbed his forehead.

Stan looked around and recognized the woods. Yup, this was definitely Gravity Falls, but… something was off. It was gray and cloudy overhead. And they were in front of a big open patch of woods Stan had never seen before.

“What is this place?” Stan asked as he hopped off the sailboat in the mud.

“Gravity Falls.”

“I know that! I mean… I’ve never been here before.”

“Yes you have.” The woman said as she got off her ride and stood beside the old sailor. “You lived here for thirty years in another timeline.”

Stan’s eyes widened. “No… Is this where the Mystery Shack’s supposed to be?”

“You got it.”

“But…” Stan was racking his brain, thinking. “What, did Ford never come here? Cuz he went to that West Coast Tech school he never came here?”

“Nope. Ford never moved to Gravity Falls, which means no Mystery Shack.”

“I always thought there’d be a big mansion here or something.” Stan shrugged and said, “Okay, so there’s no rundown tourist trap. Big deal.”

“Eh, so you think.” Honey started to walk into the woods, giving no invitation for Stan to follow, making it easier for the conman to do so. “Do you remember what this town was like before the Shack?”

Stan shrugged with his hands in the pocket of his trenchcoat. “Not much. Just a bunch of paranoid weirdos who needed a good laugh.”

They emerged from the woods and Stan gasped at the town. It was even more worn down and cheap than it had been when Stan came thirty years ago. Broken windows were boarded up, pavement was cracked, and either ketchup or blood was splattered here and there.

“Whoa hey, what happened?” Stan asked as they left the woods and walked through the town, shouts and coughs being heard in the distance. “I know this place is a dump, but not this much of a dump.”

“Stan, do you really think your business was the only one to succeed due to the tourists coming in?” The woman in white asked. “What about the motels? Diners like Greasy’s? Stores and gas stations? All those out-of-state tourists didn’t just give money to the Shack. You’d be surprised how much one tourist trap helps the economy of one struggling town.”

“Okay, sure, but there’s no way the Shack helped out the town this much.” Stan argued, gesturing around them lazily.

“No, you’re right. Really, the town didn’t hit hard times until about five years ago.”

“Why…”

Screeching tires interrupted the old man. He and Honey watched as a very nice, rich-looking pick-up truck spun around the corner and came to a sudden stop in front of a grocery store. Stan’s jaw dropped to the pavement as he watched someone he barely recognized get out of the passenger’s seat.

Soos had a black baseball cap on backwards, wearing a cold, spiky, black-leather jacket, torn jeans, and a gothic, graphic t-shirt. His eyes were so cold and menacing, he seemed a bit taller due to holding himself up with so much pride, and when he snapped his fingers and pointed to the grocery store, five guys emerged from the truck and raided it like it was the end of the world.

“S-Soos?!” Stan gasped. “Soos, what are you doing?!” But he was ignored.

“No one can see or hear us, Stanley.” Honey said as they watched Soos’ gang drag a cashier out by her long hair and began to pumble her just because they could. Soos did nothing to stop it, even smiled a little as the girl screamed for help.

“I don't get it… Soos is a good kid! He’d never hurt a fly! Why in Moses’ name is he…” Stan couldn’t finish the sentence. He was frighteningly reminded of the Colombian gang he was once under.

“Oh, c'mon sweetie, connect the dots. Who do you think taught Soos to be a good kid?”

“His abuelita did.”

The woman chuckled and shook her head. “She tried, but as he got older it really began to hurt that his dad didn’t wanna be around him. And cuz you weren’t there to tell him otherwise… let’s just say high school never happened for him.”

“What?!”

“He dropped out of school in the eighth grade and joined a small gang outside of town. Eventually he made his way up the ranks and now his little gang terrorized the bottom half of Oregon.”

“B-But why?! All cuz I wasn’t there?” Stan asked, shaking his head. “There’s no way…”

“Stanley, who do you think taught him that he was worth something? Who taught him how to stand up for himself and give bullies left hooks? Who had him put all of his energy into hard work?”

Stan stared at his pretty tour guide. There was no way Stan did all that, no way. Sure, he liked the kid a lot, but he never actually thought he impacted Soos’ life this much. Stan looked back at this horrible version of Soos as his gang loaded the car with food and cash and they sped off, leaving the woman to bleed on the sidewalk and wipe the blood from her lips.

“C’mon,” Honey said and gestured onward. “We’ve got more people to see.”

“Okay so,” Stan followed her and racked his brain. Surely somebody benefited from him not being alive. “What about Wendy? Is she still around?”

“Nope. Without you to give her a job here in town, she had to move upstate to her cousin’s lodge, remember? She had to leave all of her friends behind and she was miserable. Still is, actually. Very quiet gal. Doesn’t say or do much.”

“Wendy? Quiet? I don’t believe you.”

The woman opened a door to a shop, but instead of the inside of the building they saw a black-haired Wendy sitting on her bed in her new room, criss-crossed, holding her pillow as she listened to depressing heavy metal.

Stan winced. “Yikes. She turned into a real Robbie.”

“That kid joined Soos’ gang, BTW.” The woman said as she closed the door.

Stan was having a hard time buying the idea that nobody actually got some good out of him not being around. "Wh-What about that lil' troll? Gideon?"

Honey snorted and led the way through town. As they walked, Stan was having a hard time buying this scenario. There was no way he made this much of a difference. Okay, sure, if he not being alive meant Ford never moved to Gravity Falls, and that meant Gravity Falls changed a bit, Stan could understand that, but there was no way this town turned for the worst all because Stan wasn’t there. There was no way the screw-up actually made things better. Right?

“Here we are.” The woman said to snap Stan out of his thoughts.

The car dealership looked mostly the same. A little more run-down, sure, and there was no Tent of Telepathy in sight, but Bud still wore that stupid straw hat with a baby-blue Hawaiian shirt and tan pants, but he didn’t look quite right, either. Heavy bags were under his eyes, looking a bit more like his wife, and the little bit of hair he had was graying a bit too early. He waved his customer goodbye with a smile, but the second they were gone he sighed tiredly and was frightened by a window being shattered by a rock.

“DADDY! GET OVER HERE!”

“Oh, boy.” Bud steadied himself and went back to the house.

“Hey, how come the little jerk’s business isn’t booming?” Stan asked, more interested as to why his biggest competitor wasn’t flourishing in a town that needed someone to believe in. “He’d do great here! He could’ve used his little camera to tell people when S-... when the gang was gonna strike, or…”

“Stanley, sweetie, how do you think Gideon started that tent?”

“I dunno, he decided to use his cuteness to get some cash?”

“Not quite. For a few years he was just a bratty kid, but then he found a journal in his playground full of mystical objects, including a magic bow-low tie. It was that journal that made him think of telepathy. Even if he was fake, it was Journal 2 that inspired him.”

“Okay, okay,” Stan held his chin. “So with no me there’s no Ford in Gravity Falls which means no journals which means no Tent of Telepathy. Fine, but the twerp’s gotta be a better person without that spooky book making him think he’s all powerful.”

The woman in white laughed and pointed to the house. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? See for yourself.”

Stan walked up to the broken window and was mortified at the state of the house. Stains everywhere, chipped and torn furniture, cracked walls, torn carpet, and in the midst of it all was a ten-year-old lying on his stomach on the couch, banging his fists and kicking like a toddler as he screamed horribly. Stan winced, but then was completely thrown off to find Gideon’s hair not white and up Dolly Parton-style, but orange and cut short.

“I WANT IT, I WANT IT, I WANT IT!” Gideon screamed as if he was being murdered.

His poor mother was against the wall, holding her heart and breathing heavy; Stan noticed the signs of an anxiety attack.

Bud slowly approached his son and tried to calm him down. “Now, sugar pie, please…” But the human beaver was kicked in the jaw, leaving a bruise and making him bite his lip so hard he bled. Bud held his mouth as Gideon continued to scream.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! YOU NEVER GIMME ANYTHANG I WANT! WHY YA HAVE TO BE SO STUPID?!”

“Yikes, how did not being possessed by a freaky journal make him worse?” Stan asked Honey as they walked away from the house. “I don’t get it.”

“Sure, Gideon wasn’t the best kid before the journal, but at least with the journal he had something to work towards, something to put all of his energy into, and he also had you.”

“M-Me?”

“Don’t you remember the first time you met him?”

“Yeah, he took my parking spot with that stupid van.”

“Actually, you met once before.” Honey chuckled as they walked back into the woods. “You were both at the grocery store when he was four. He was with his mom, bouncing in the buggy and demanding for candy. She gave in just to keep him quiet and tuned to pick some milk. You were across the aisle, picking orange juice, when Gideon dropped his chocolate bar while trying to open it. You noticed the candy and the boy making grabby hands at you and the candy, but you grinned, said ‘no’ firmly, picked up the chocolate…”

“... and ate it right in front of him!” Stan laughed. “I had forgotten… I didn’t know that was Gideon! I thought that was just some spoiled brat.”

“Well, it was. You were the first and only person who ever told that boy ‘no’, the only person who really challenged him and pushed him. Thanks to you, he channeled his anger and energy into trying to take you and the Shack down. But without you around to push him, he had no way to get his energy out, except his parents.”

Stan looked down at the dirt and they stopped walking for a second. “This… This doesn’t make any sense.”

“How so?”

“I’m just a screw-up!” Stan argued as he looked back up at the woman. “I’m the twin no one wanted! I’m just some loser of a conman! It doesn’t make sense that a guy like that could… it… there’s gotta be somebody to benefitted from me not existing! What about Lazy Susan? With no Mystery Shack that means no lazy eye, right?”

“Actually, Soos’ gang raided the diner and it ended badly when Susan stood up to them.” Honey winced. “She ended up not only losing her job, but her eye, too.”

Stan swore under his breath. “Fine… What about that McGucket dude? His life’s gotta be better than living at the dump with his mind all jacked up.”

The woman shrugged and led the way deeper into the woods. “Barely. C’mon, we’re going to Tennessee.”

Stan followed the mysterious tour guide back to the sailboat and this time properly braced himself for the sudden speed. Very suddenly they were racing along the sea, colors swirling by them, until they stopped very suddenly on a river. Stan’s jaw dropped to see a huge, beautiful mansion up on the hill by the river. The woman parked the sailboat by the dock and they started to walk up to the rich house, passing a weeping willow with a stone bench with a big crack in the middle.

“This is McGucket’s place?” Stan clarified.

“You got it, genius.” Honey gestured to the six horse stables, the lush garden, all of the nice cars and wagons, and at just how huge and nice and rich the mansion was. “Fiddleford still went to Backupsmore and met his wife, Emma May, and with no Ford to ask for help on a portal, Fiddleford became the inventor of not only person computers, or what’s commonly called laptops, he became the founder of the largest tech company in the country, Berri.”

The woman reached into her pocket and pulled out one of those smartphones the kids had, except the back had a little strawberry with a bite in it. “They went on to invent the first cell phone, BerriWatch, and right now they’re testing a self-driving car. Fiddleford found himself with more money than he knew what to do with and after he built his family their dream home, which by the way is the richest house in Tennessee, he simply expanded his company and made historical international deals. He’s also made huge donations to small run-down towns, like the one he grew up in, to create jobs and try to help out their economies.”

“Cool, okay, see.” Stan said with a smile, impressed by this hillbilly’s success. “One person got a good deal from me not being around.”

Honey rocked her hand side to side and led the way around the mansion, walking alongside the clear open space, passing the weeping willow and bench to move around the hill. “Just cuz he was successful doesn’t mean he was better off. Don’t forget, Fiddleford was never the greatest at handling his stress well. He invented that Memory Gun because Ford accidentally inspired him to, saying scientists have a way of creating solutions to their problems. So with no way to forget his stress and anxiety, Fiddleford drank to forget how worried he was about losing his company if he made a bad deal or if his newest invention or work or if he was putting out a good public face.”

“No.” Stan shook his head. “That goody two-shoes? No way.”

“Hey, he grew up around moonshine, he just couldn’t get his hands on it when he was living at the dump.” The woman shrugged and they came upon a stone pathway and walked down it to a small flower garden that formed a circle. “Anyways, Fiddleford was never violent, thank goodness, but he was drunk more than he was sober. He should be happy, with a wife and son and booming business to boot, but he wasn’t. He fell into depression and drank until he ended up here.”

Stan looked ahead and felt the wind get knocked out of him. There was a flat tombstone in the middle of the circle of flowers. He knew what was on there, but he still slowly approached to read what the stone said. “Fiddleford H. McGucket. 1956-2011. The angels now sing a whisky lullaby.”

Stan backed away, backing up farther than the woman was, shaking his head and even punching his forehead as he tried to think. “This… This doesn’t make any sense! Their lives were supposed to get better without me, not worse!”

“Stanley…”

“The kids!” Stan gasped and looked up at Honey. “Where are the kids?!”

The woman looked sober and she gestured back to the sailboat to go to their next stop. “Back in California.”

Stan was anxious the whole trip, though it only took a minute to get where they were going, but soon they were on the side of the road in front of a middle school. Stan watched on the boat as the bell rang and kids started pouring out. He kept his eyes peeled for his kids and he grinned at the sight of two brown-haired twins.

Dipper wore a long-sleeved blue flannel over his orange t-shirt to go with his gray pants. He still had bags under his eyes and he still had that lucky star hat to hide his birthmark, slouching a little with his backpack, but he was still here, a brilliant thirteen-year-old. Stan was a bit worried to see him looking so down and upset, but both men soon smiled as a young girl skipped out of the school.

Mabel had her long hair up with a scrunchie today and kept back with a headband, still wearing her sweaters, today wearing leggings with her skirt, and she grinned at her twin and punched his shoulder before hugging him. “Hey bro bro! Wanna go to the arcade today? I hear they got some new prizes!”

“Sure, sounds fun.”

“There, you see.” Stan sighed with relief as he watched the kids walk down the sidewalk, passing the boat. “They’re fine, they’re happy. They still got each other.”

Just then, some big buy came around the corner and bumped elbows with Dipper, making Stan’s nephew stop, and the bully shoved him onto the concrete.

“Dipper!” Mabel cried out and looked ready to punch the bully, but a guy came up behind her and grabbed her around the arms, pinning her. Another guy joined the bully and they cracked their knuckles as they gazed down at their prey.

“If it isn’t the best punching bag in town.” The bully sneered. “Feel like fighting back today, Dipstick. It’s no fun having a sparring partner that doesn’t fight back.”

Dipper growled and made a flimsy attempt to stand and punch his opponent, but the bully grabbed his wrist and punched him in the gut and kicked him down, leaving poor Dipper to huddle on the sidewalk while the two bullies hammered on him and Mabel fought to be free and help but was powerless against her capture.

“HELP! HELP! SOMEONE HE-” And Mabel’s mouth was covered, but she still wiggled and screamed.

Stan couldn’t watch anymore. He had purposely waited to give the kids a chance to fight back, but sometimes you just need a little help. “I’M COMING!”

“Stanley!”

Stan jumped off the boat and ran to the kids to pull the bully off his niece and scoop her into his arms, but his arms went right through them. He frantically tried to shove the bullies off his nephew, but again his body went right through them, like he was a ghost.

The woman stood by his side and said calmly, “I told you, no one can see or hear or feel us.”

“I can’t just stand by and do nothing!” Stan yelled at her face.

“Why not? Everyone else has. No one had ever taught them how to fight back when the world fights them, except…”

“Me.” Stan finished for her with a sigh. He made himself watch as the bullies continued to beat Dipper up, finally stopping after the ring leader kicked him in the jaw, and Mabel was let go as they ran off to celebrate their victory.

Mabel crawled to her twin’s side and checked over his injuries as he carefully sat on his knees. “Dipper! Dipper, are you okay? What hurts? Show me what hurts.”

“Ow, ow, ow,” He whined as Mabel touched his swollen eyes and busted lips. Dipper spat out a tooth and held his chest. “I think… I think they cracked a rib.”

“Let’s go home.” Mabel carried his backpack for him and had him lean on her as they wimped onward. “Mom can look at it and take you to the hospital.”

“I don’t get it.” Stan said as he watched his kids walk away. “They’re good kids! Isn’t anyone gonna stand up for them?! What about their parents?! What about their friends?!”

“They don’t have any friends.” Honey said sadly as they watched the twins. “The only friends they had ever made were in Gravity Falls, which they had never visited cuz there was no family there. And Shermie taught your nephew to keep your head down to stay out of trouble, which he’s trying to teach his kids. Unfortunately, it isn’t working out for them, and what used to be bad nicknames and gum in their hair has escalated to fights and notes to kill themselves.”

Stan bit his lip. Not those kids. Not his kids. He wanted to believe things would get better for them, but if no one taught them that they were worth something, that they could stand up for themselves, he didn't have much hope and he didn’t dare ask what their future looked like. But something didn’t sit right…

“Shermie,” He muttered without looking at the woman, still looking ahead. “Y-You said he taught his kid to keep his head down.”

“I did.”

“Why would he do that?” Stan asked. “I mean, sure he’s always been a lame square, but that’s really bad advice, even for him. He taught me and… He taught Ford to stand up for himself. Crampelter was terrified for weeks when Shermie found out he had been breaking Ford’s fingers.”

“He and Ford didn’t see much of each other.” Honey answered quietly.

Something clicked in Stan’s head. While all of this was interesting or whatever, there was only one person that Stan truly believed was better off without him. His better half, the genius, the loved son, the author of the journals, the criminal of the multiverse. His brother. Stan turned to her and asked quietly, “Where’s Ford?”

For the first time, the woman looked scared. She looked away and said, “You don’t wanna know.”

“Yes I do!” Stan bellowed and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “Please! Where’s my brother?!” This gal had been scaringly quiet about the one person Stan cared the most about.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Stanley, let’s just get back on the boat…”

“Only if you take me to see my brother! Where. Is. Stanford?!” Stan demanded darkly, his eyes pleading the woman to make his request.

The woman sighed and Stan let her go.

They slowly got on the boat and it zipped to the docks of Glass Shard. Stan blinked a few times at being back to where he grew up for the first time in forty years. Dark clouds covered the sky. Not much had changed throughout the years, but why on Earth was Ford still here? They hopped off and planted their feet on the sand, and Honey led the way as she spoke.

“Stanford was still born with six fingers on each hand. Your mother tried to assure him that it only made him special, but Filbrick did a good job of making it clear that that wasn’t the case, and things only got worse when he went to school. You weren’t there to beat up bullies, you weren’t there to tell him that he was special, you weren’t there to help him dream of a future where they would sail away and he’d be free.”

“Yeah but Ford was always a little genius.” Stan interrupted as they left the sand for dirt, the beach slowly turning into a small patch of woods. “He’d win a handful of science fairs and spelling bees and then at least Pa was okay with acknowledging that they were related.”

“But Stanford didn’t win a handful of science fairs and spelling bees.” Honey corrected sadly. “Stanley, you were the only person in his childhood that made him think that he was actually worth something. You were the only one who made him shoot for the stars and believe that he was worth keeping around. Without you to give him confidence, Stanford never expressed his intelligence and therefore never allowed it to grow at all. He did okay in school, but he wasn’t the top student. He never participated in science fairs of sleeping bees or math competitions because he didn’t have enough confidence to put himself out there. Sure he was smart, but teachers weren't going bananas over him because no one, not even himself, knew his potential.”

It started to rain, but of course the two didn’t feel it or were affected by it. “So… he didn’t go to West Coast Tech?” Stan dared to ask as they walked deeper down the dirt path, oblivious to where they were as he was thinking this through.

“No.”

“But… I thought you said he did.”

“No, I said he never moved to Gravity Falls. He never felt home.”

“So… what happened to him? What did Ford end up doing with his life?”

Honey bit his lip and refused to meet Stan’s eye. They walked on and Stan finally realized where they were. He felt ready to throw up. He waited for his guide to speak.

“Much like Dipper and Mabel, things only got worse as he got older. He got to a point where Stanford was stealing Filbrick’s boos and he even started to hurt himself. It wasn’t enough. It was all too much for him. He… He…”

“No.” Stan’s voice cracked and he was terrified when the woman stopped and motioned to a tombstone that laid among the others in this graveyard. “No! You’re lying! He wouldn’t! He didn’t!” He yelled.

“I’m sorry, Stanley.”

Stan finally made himself read the rock. He fell to his knees at the words that shined through the rain. “Stanford Filbrick Pines. 1956-1970.”

“NO!” Stan screamed and punched the ground beneath him as he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. “NO! HE WOULDN’T! HE DIDN’T!”

“Ma found him dangling from the ceiling. She was never the same after losing her baby.” Honey croaked. “He was only fourteen.”

“NO!” Stan shook his head as he ignored how wet his cheeks and eyes were now. “NO! He… He… He never needed me. He never wanted me around.”

“Yes he did.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stanley, listen.” The woman said firmly behind him. “You said it yourself that family needs each other. I know it’s hard to believe that you’re actually worth something when there’s a dozen voices in your head telling you otherwise, but just like how you need them, your family needs you. Your brother needs you.”

Stan listed his fists up from the dirt, his eyes on the tombstone without seeing. “I… I just thought he’d be… they’d be better off I hadn’t been around.”

“No one knows for sure how they change things or how much they really impact others. But you do. And even if you forget all of this, you know your family loves you enough to tell you that they need you.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, but what’s keeping them from saying that outta pity?”

“You can’t let yourself think like that, Stanley, you just can’t.” Honey said firmly. “Your family loves you. Stanford loves you. He needs you, and if you don’t believe me, just take a look at what he’s like when you’re gone.”

“Wait what?”

Honey got on her knees beside him and showed him her golden watch. The face changed to a scene, like a tiny TV, and Stan started to find Ford back at the Stan O’ War II, kneeling beside his injured twin who laid more dead than alive on the couch. With tears streaming down his face Ford was wrapping a bandage around Stan’s head and feeling his heartbeat and checking that the bandages around his torso were well and secure.

“Stanley, Stanley please,” Ford begged as he took Stan’s hand and squeezed it. “Please don’t leave me. I need you, the kids need you. Please.”

“Whoa hey, I’m not going anywhere.” Stan said, but then his eyes grew wide and he looked up at Honey. “Am I?”

“I dunno.” She asked as she lowered her arm and smiled at him. “Do you wanna go?”

“Go where?”

Honey chuckled. “On.”

Stan blinked at her. “No. No, I don’t. If… If that knucklehead really wants me around, then I’ll stay.”

Honey blinked her eyes dry and stood up. “That’s what I like to hear. I’ll get you home.”

Stan stood up and followed her back to the boat. “By the way, honey, why’d you do all this for me? What, wanted to earn your wings?”

“No, this was pure self-indulgent.”

“Wait wut?”

~~~~~~~~~~

His head hurt. His side ached a little, but his head really hurt. That didn’t matter. He had no idea why, but he had to see his brother.

Stan forced his eyes open and found his vision blurry thanks to his glasses being folded on the end table. He smiled when he saw that Ford had fallen asleep by his side, kneeling beside the couch, holding his hand, and resting his head face-first into his own folded arms. Outside it was dark, which could mean it was seven in the morning of seven at night, given the fact they were up in the Arctic.

The younger, injured twin, snorted at his brother, which made the aged scientist sit up too quickly for it to be wise, wide awake, with his hair in a gray floof and his red eyes wide and alert.

“Stanley! Thank Moses!” He cried out and stood up to better look over him. “How do you feel? Any pain? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Calm down, Sixer,” Stan chuckled weakly as he slowly tried to sit up, sensitive to the wound on his side. “My head hurts, but I’ll be fine with some painkillers, and you’re holding up two fingers like some dumb hippy.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Ford hugged him around his shoulders tightly as his whole body trembled. “I know you showed no signs of a concussion and your wound is not nearly as bad as it could have been, but i didn’t know for sure if you would pull through or what I would do without you and…”

“Geez, relax, it’s okay, Stanford.” Stan shushed as he hugged him and rubbed his back. “M’fine, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Ford said firmly and sat back, a hand still on his shoulder. “Don’t you ever think for a second that I don’t want you here with me, Stanley. I need you.”

“Yikes, where’s all this sappiness coming from, eh?”

Ford blinked at his twin and said slowly, “Y-You said you thought I’d be better off without you…”

Stan waved that away. “Ah, you say stupid stuff when you hit your brain too hard. I swear, Sixer, you’re stuck with me, as long as you’ll have me, anyways. Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t kill yourself out here.”

Ford chuckled tiredly and shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Now do we have any stew left? I’m starving.”

#GF #fanfiction #gravity falls #gift #stan pines #ford pines #angst #nothing but angst #and a little fluff #maybe #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT HONEYE!!!#LOVE YOU!

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redqueen-hypothesis · 3 years

Text

falling stars ➳ shaw (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x shaw (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 1796

➳ GENRE: slightly suggestive, fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: falling stars aren’t really stars, but you’ll still make a wish on them regardless (shaw tells you it’s a scam)

“Shaw, please don’t make it rain tonight.”

The man in question grumbles as the two of you make your way up a little hill, wearing an exasperated expression on his face and trailing behind you reluctantly. “Keep being a wet blanket and I might even call down a thunderstorm.”

You swat him on the arm and he yelps. “We’re here to see a meteor shower! If you make it rain, this entire trip would be wasted.”

“I didn’t want to come in the first place.” Shaw mumbles, but otherwise stays silent when the two of you find a good spot to lay your picnic mat. It’s relatively dark out here, far from the outskirts of Loveland City, the night air quiet and idyllic - you’re used to the hustle and bustle of the city even when the sun has long fallen behind the horizon. “This is dumb.”

You pout, looking put out. “Gods, I just wanted to see the stars with you. If you don’t want to see them, go home then.” He doesn’t catch the sly smile on your lips.

“Are you crazy?” Shaw scoffs, rapping his knuckles on top of your head and this time you’re the one to yelp, shying away from his hand. “It’s late and the streets aren’t safe. I’m not letting you go home alone and that’s that.”

“Wow, that’s so thoughtful of you.” You giggle lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to Shaw’s cheek. His light flush spreads down his neck, under the collar of his black shirt. “You’re my girl. Like I’ll leave you to the wolves.”

When you pull him down to lie with you on the picnic mat, he lays there silently for a few moments. The skies above twinkle gently with stars on this rare, cloudless night, and you squint to make out the constellations you had read about on the way here. “Wow, that star is really pretty.” You point to a single, brilliant dot that seems to outshine all the others. “Look. It’s so bright.”

Shaw doesn’t reply for a few moments, and you’ve gone back to looking at the other stars scattered across the night sky when he suddenly speaks up. “That isn’t a star.”

Your eyes widen, and you turn your head to look at him in surprise. He’s lying on his back, hands cradling his head as he looks up at the sky, a strange expression on his face - crossed somewhere between nostalgia and regret. “It’s not a star? How can you tell?”

“It’s not flickering like stars are supposed to do. See?” Shaw points up at the sky above. To your surprise, he’s right. “The thing that you pointed out is a planet - Jupiter.”

Gavin’s favourite planet. Total trust and loyalty. Unending protectiveness.

“What about falling stars? They’re not really stars, are they?” You whisper into the cool night air, tentative. Shaw lets out a small bark of laughter, amused.

“Don’t be stupid. If a star did fall to the earth we’d all be dead.” His voice sounds lighter now. “When the earth passes into the a trail of debris left by a comment, some get pulled in by the gravity and fall to the ground from space. The meteor shower you’re going to see tonight is called the April Lyrids.”

“I didn’t know you liked astrology.” You murmur quietly, pressing closer to the warmth of Shaw’s body as you shiver lightly. He reaches out an arm to pull you into his side. “I don’t.”

There’s a quietness to his voice. You reach up to pull the arm encircling you - like your own meteor belt, you think - and lace his fingers with yours. “Then how do you know so much about it?”

It’s almost imperceptible, but you’re close enough for your heart to hear the tiny, unsteady exhale Shaw lets out before he answers. “I didn’t, but my brother did. He was so annoying, trying to teach me about them when we were younger.” He doesn’t say anymore, but you know the words that are left unsaid on his tongue.

Not anymore.

You press a kiss to his leather clad fingers, and Shaw shivers slightly at your touch. “Teach me about them some time?”

“Too boring.”

“Hey,” you start to protest, but then out of the corner your eye you see the a streak of white light crossing the sky, like a paintbrush of the heavens moving across the black canvas of the night. “Shaw, look! It’s a shooting star! Make a wish!”

“It’s a bunch of bull.” He complains, but you slap him on the thigh, rising to your knees to look more clearly at the shower of blazing stars that scatter across the cosmos above. A noise of discontent leaves his mouth when your warmth leaves him. “Hells, it’s just a bunch of falling, burning rocks.”

He still sits up next to you anyway, running a hand through his silver locks as he looks up at the sky. Meteoroids in space, pulled out of their orbit to crash land on this planet, burning as they come. Shaw can’t help but feel like one of them when he looks at you, your pull inescapable - but burning hurts him in the best way.

“Make a wish.” You insist, clasping his hands together with your own small ones, squeezing. The look in your eyes is so hopeful that warmth bubbles and settles in his chest, and he lets out a sigh. “Fine, fine.”

Grinning, you shut your own eyes, falling silent as you make your wish. Unknown to you, Shaw doesn’t do the same, instead finding himself watching you in place of the stars above silently. What wish are you making?

For just a second, he wishes selfishly, a lingering hope in his chest that he could be in your wish, somehow.

Too soon, your eyes are blinking open,before they fix on his own - and Shaw thinks he sees stars in their depths that put the ones above to shame.

“That was fast.” You comment, looking surprised and Shaw snorts, turning away. He can feel the tips of his ears burning. “I knew what I wanted, so it was a simple matter for me. What did you wish for?”

At that, you cross your arms across your chest. “Nope, can’t tell you. Don’t you know that if you tell someone your wish, it will never come true?”

Shaw raises a single eyebrow. “What if I show it instead of say it?”

“Huh-”

In a flash, Shaw reaches over and pulls you over to him. You stumble, completely unbalanced and find yourself on your back with the sky above, storm clouds gathering at the edges of your vision. A second later, they’re replaced by honey amber eyes, your wrists held in place by Shaw’s hands, your pulse running wild at the heat of his skin on yours.

“Shaw, what kind of kinky wish is this- mmph!”

His mouth is searing heat, liquid honey and tantalizing liquor all at once, and you find yourself gripping the collar of his shirt tighter to bring his lips down to you, gravitational pull. His tongue slips into your mouth, caressing yours with a burning intensity that makes your head spin and your lungs forget the meaning of air.

You don’t know how long you kiss, breaking apart for air only to come back together fiercer, darker, deeper. His skin is burns like liquid fire runs underneath the surface, and in then his hands are cupping the back of your head, slanting his mouth over yours once again.

Time loses its hold, stars spinning out of control over the two of you... until you feel the first raindrops on your cheeks.

Your eyes fly open and you smack him in the center of the chest gently. He doesn’t even flinch, pulling away to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and a very satisfied smirk. “Shaw! We’re ruining the night for the other people who wanted to watch the meteor shower!”

“It’s not my fault you make me happy.” Shaw complains, sitting back on his heels. The rain drips down his forehead, beading at his bottom lip - your eyes fixate on it, seemingly unable to look at anything else. “Seriously, I told you this was a bad idea-”

You reach up and pull him down to you once again, fingers fisting in the wet locks of his hair. “Just shut up and kiss me. We’ll make the best of what we have.”

Shaw’s eyes sparkle gold with amusement, leaning down to brace himself on his forearms. He’s so close you can see every individual rain drop clinging to his eyelashes, feel the heat of his breath on your mouth. “As you wish, ma’am.”

Before you can breathe, his mouth is on yours again, harder, more desperate. A wandering hand slips beneath the soaked material of your top and you shiver at the burning heat of his palm in contrast with the chilly night air, exploring and mapping out your skin. “You’re cold.”

“Then warm me up.” You reply, breathless, and he looks pleased as he leans in to capture your lips once again, teeth nipping. You almost lose yourself in the heat of the moment, arms holding on to his shoulders when he drags his mouth over the bare skin of your shoulder, until there’s a deafening crack of thunder and the two of you jump apart.

“Goddamn, Shaw!”

“It wasn’t me, I swear!” He raises both hands, glaring up at the sky like he wants to punch it for interrupting him. You look down at your shirt, only to see it soaked through by the rain and groan, crossing your arms over your chest, pink burning at your cheeks.

Shaw sees, and with a roll of the eyes, tugs off his leather jacket to toss it at you. “Here, wear this.” You shrug it on, basking in the body warmth it still retains - and Shaw’s scent curling at the edges of the leather, sharp and spicy on your nose with the cutting hint of ozone. “Maybe we should really get going-”

There’s another ear splitting crack as lighting tears the sky apart, and Shaw grabs your hand, throwing the picnic mat over both your heads. His grin is brighter than the electricity racing across the night, wild with laughter.

“Fucking run!”

Hand in hand, the two of you run down the hill, screaming at each other whenever thunder roars. And yet, you don’t feel the least bit afraid, because of the warmth of Shaw’s hand wrapped around yours.

The stars watching from above twinkle in their amusement through the storm clouds, and at the edge of the sky, a falling star burns bright, a heartfelt wish granted.

I wish that his wish comes true.

#mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc shaw #shaw #mr love queen's choice shaw #mr love queen's choice

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impalaimagining · 4 years

Text

Fire & Rescue [1]

EMT!Jensen Ackles, fireman!Jared Padalecki, EMT-in-training!Reader

1,937 words

Warnings: minor angst, slight implied smut (I guess?)

Series Masterlist - Masterlist

You pulled into the firehouse parking lot, eyeing the huge white doors hiding the engines. Inhaling and closing your eyes, you braced yourself for your first day of training.

“Well.” His voice was low and gravelly, catching you by surprise as you stood outside the door marked office above the frame. “What do we have here?”

You swallowed hard. “Um… I’m Y/N.”

He extended a hand, no expression crossing his face. As you shook his hand, he introduced himself as a veteran EMT, having been on the ambulance for four years. “Name’s Jensen.”

“Hi Jensen.” You swallowed hard, trying to make any kind of attempt at reading his face.

Nothing.

After a few seconds that ticked by more like years, you watched the hard exterior of his facade crack and a warm smile beamed through.

“Let’s get you inside.” He put out his arm, ushering you into the firehouse.

You stood inside the door, gawking at the space in front of you. You’d seen a few firehouses in your time, but this place was immaculate. The offices were pristine, which shocked you, based solely on the fact that the chief and assistant chief were men. The space was decorated like a woman had been around, putting her touch on every inch of the firehouse.

“You like it?” Jensen watched as you took it all in. You nodded. “Guess I take it for granted.” He smiled, folding his arms over his chest. “Place is pretty nice, isn’t it.”

“It’s incredible.” You breathed. Jensen looked down, grinning as he watched you admire your surroundings.

“This is just the lounge.” He smiled. “C’mon. Let me show you the rest.”

“Wait.” You furrowed your brow. “Am I the only one starting today?” You looked into the parking lot and saw six other cars with very nervous-looking people in their drivers’ seats.

“You’re the only one starting under my watch today.” Jensen winked and nodded toward the steps leading downstairs. “Come on. If you think this is nice, just wait until you see the bunks.”

“Is this all of them?” You looked down the line of vehicles, shined up and waiting to hit the road.

Jensen nodded. “The whole fleet.” He smiled proudly across the firetrucks and ambulances. “The guys take good care of them.”

“I can see that.” You observed with a nod. “They’re well taken care of. Everything here is.”

Jensen’s smile grew at your words. “Don’t worry.” He looked at you knowingly. “We’ll take care of you too.”

You choked on your breath at Jensen’s words. There was no denying he was attractive. He was the kind of EMT people wrote romance novels about - shining green eyes, a bright smile, tiny freckles smattered across the high points of his face, lips that always seem to fall into a perfect pout no matter his expression. You would’ve been lying if you’d said you hadn’t been sneaking glances at him throughout the day.

Jensen ushered you back into the lounge and disappeared into the kitchen, but returned quickly. “You okay?” He cracked the seal on a bottle of water and pressed it into your hands.

Taking a careful sip, you took another deep breath in and righted your breathing pattern. “Thank you.” You croaked before drinking again.

Jensen nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his sly smile. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

You didn’t miss it - the way he said he would take care of you instead of they would take care of you. Sure, he was probably assigned to be your mentor, and obviously he knew nothing about you prior to meeting you a few hours earlier, but…

No.

Maybe he’d seen your name on the roster and chose you because you were the only woman. He was probably a dog just like the rest of them. You grew up listening to the firemen your father and grandfather ran with; you knew how they talked about women, especially women in the department.

Looking around, you thought again about the woman’s touch that had seemed to have graced the firehouse. Were you the only woman? There had to have been someone else here at some point. The chief’s wife, maybe.

“There you are, Ackles.” A voice sounded from across the lounge. A man, with at least four inches on Jensen, entered the room from the door that led to the engine bays. “I thought I heard you were gonna be around today.”

Jensen rolled his eyes fondly, and you knew immediately that they were friends. “I told you this morning I was headed in.”

“You think I pay attention to you before my coffee?” Jensen’s friend looked at you. “Who’s this?” His eyes skimmed up and down your body twice before he offered you a smile.

Jensen started. “This is-”

“I’m Y/N” You jumped in, extending your hand for a shake. If you were going to make it for more than a day around these guys, you’d have to establish your dominance sooner rather than later. “Nice to meet you…”

“Jared.” He glanced at your hands, connected and unmoving. You pulled back quickly as you realized you were still grasping his hand. “Nice to meet you too.” His attention shifted to Jensen. “You show her the whole place?” Jensen nodded. “She meet Chief?”

“Not yet.” You spoke up again, not letting Jensen answer questions about you, for you. “Is he around? I’d like to meet him.”

Jared tipped his wrist toward his line of vision and frowned. “Should be in his office.” He looked toward the open door, where no one was seated behind the desk. “Maybe he’s out on a call or something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you have gone on the call too?”

“Not always.” Jared clarified, shaking his head. “Sometimes they only take the higher-ups and let us grunts stay back here in case there’s anything stupid that comes through while the head honchos are out taking care of real business. They take the stuff that makes the papers. We get the little old ladies whose cats climb trees.”

Jensen laughed. “Or the naked old men who can’t get out of their bathtubs.”

Jared cringed. “I wish I could permanently flush that image from my brain.”

You flinched away from their conversation. “I’m just gonna…” You motioned with your thumb over your shoulder to the wall of plaques and photos, side-stepping toward it and escaping any other scarring images for the time being.

They disappeared through the doors of the kitchen, the double doors swinging back and forth in the frame. Through the mirror, you could see the back of Jared’s head, bobbing as he spoke.

“So, what, you picked her because…? Is she some kind of side project? You think because you’re teaching her the ropes you’ll get into her pants?” Jared raised his brows at Jensen.

That was all you needed to hear. Anger bubbled inside of you until it exploded in the form of your fist slamming into the door, propelling the heavy wood outward. You bee-lined for your car, leaving Jensen and Jared behind you.

“No!” Jensen argued, immediately on the defensive. “That’s not why - I just - I don’t know. I figured, I have a little sister about her age. Maybe I’d get along with her better than any of those douchey first-time-in-a-van frat assholes.”

In your car, you seethed, Jared’s words on repeat in your head. You knew Jensen was just like the rest of them. He’d played it off all day like he was the nice guy, talking at least a little bit of shit about every other guy in the brigade, but he was no different. Clenching your fists around the steering wheel, you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip and clamped your eyes shut.

“Fuck this.” You slammed the heel of your hand against the steering wheel and threw the door open, stomping back in through the kitchen door. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” You glared at Jensen.

The two of them drew back, eyes wide and brows raised.

“Wh- what?” Jensen stammered, your face flushed with evident rage. “What are you talking about?”

“The doors aren't fucking sound-proof, Jensen.” You gestured behind you to the doors that separated the kitchen from the lounge. “I’m a side project? You show me the ropes and think I’ll, what, invite you over for dinner and then you can just shove your hand down my pants while we’re watching a movie?”

“Oh, son of a bitch.” Jensen groaned, closing his eyes and tilting his head backward. “Look what you did.” He shot Jared an exasperated look before turning back to you. “No.” He looked into your eyes. “I’m not - I didn’t choose to be your trainer because I thought it would get me somewhere with you. I’m just so sick of the wannabe tough guys who come in on their first day thinking they know it all and can’t even hook up the ventilator right after a week.” He explained, then chuckled and shook his head. “I’m tired of dudes.”

You looked at Jensen, then at Jared, eyes widening as realization dawned on you. “Holy shit.” Your eyes moved between the two of them, slack-jawed as you whispered. “You two are together.”

“What?!” Jared’s mouth fell open in a loud cackle as Jensen waved his hands and shook his head adamantly.

“No, no!” Jensen ran his hand down his face with a loud sigh. “Jesus. No. Jared and I are not together.”

Jared took in a deep breath, ceasing his laughter. “I mean, we do live together.” Jared wiggled his brows, and Jensen reached over and shoved his chest.

“Shut the fuck up.” Jensen looked at him incredulously. “You’re not helping our case here.”

“So you - you’re not…?” You licked your lips, a new heat rising in your cheeks, one of embarrassment.

“No.” Jensen couldn’t help the laughter that escaped his lips. “We’re not gay.”

“Shit.” You mutter, looking down. “I’m sorry I assumed. I just-”

Jared chuckled, shaking his head and pulling you under his arm as he wrapped it around your shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. We won’t tell.” He shot you a quick wink. “But if you’re gonna be hangin’ out around here with all these guys? You’d better get used to it real quick.” You furrowed your brow, looking up at Jared, making him laugh again. “The guys around here are, um… different.” He teased. “You’ll see.” He released you from his one-armed grasp and left through the lounge doors.

You looked up at Jensen and scuffed your foot against the brown tiles of the floor. “I, uh - I’m sorry I yelled.”

Jensen just shrugged. “Happens to the best of us. First day jitters. I get it.”

“And I’m sorry I assumed you were just in it for-”

Jensen held up his hand. “Don’t. Just… don’t assume again, okay? I meant what I said, I’m tired of the assholes who come in here after watching one episode of E.R. when they were ten and now they think they know how to run a mainline in under a minute on their first day in the wagon. I’m sick of dudes acting like they’re above training.”

You smirked, the corner of your mouth quirking upward. “So, women are better learners than men? Better listeners? Less stubborn?” You challenge, and Jensen huffed as he rolled his eyes and nodded. “I’ll, uh, keep that filed away for future reference.” You tapped your temple and grinned at him. “So.” You leaned against the cold metal countertop. “You and Jared live together, huh?”

gif: x

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spookysweet-heart · 3 years

Text

Christmas Story Submission: The Perfect Pair and the Wearable Chair

Note: I'm not good at writing fluff, I'm normally a comedy or horror writer, but I tried my best. I'm sorry about the length! I'd insert a "read more" line if I could! Anyways, tried to make this gender neutral! Enjoy!

***

It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and it was quiet...Okay, no it wasn’t.

Granted, the last few Christmases and Christmas Eves were anything but quiet thanks in part, but actually in full, to your goofball of a boyfriend. One would think that a banshee-siren-like monster like Mare would be more threatening and more serious...like an actual mare. However, if you told that to Mare, he’d accuse you of stereotyping spirits, which only further confused people on why he would call himself Mare when he wasn’t even actually a mare. He still wouldn’t tell you what exactly he was though.

That’s besides the point, the actual point was that Mare was a goofball. Now sure he could be threatening and scary at times when it was necessary; afterall, you still had no idea what happened to the guy that broke into your apartment and stole all your holiday cookies and chocolate. Still, there were times when you legitimately wondered how someone like Mare was capable of being a threat when sometimes he couldn’t even sit in a chair properly. As a result, you were used to something weird happening every year during the holidays.

Moving along though, you were awoken this Christmas Eve morning to the sound of a crash followed by a series of noises that sounded like a plate or something shattering on the floow. Your eyes shot open and you let out a low groan as your mind started to fully awaken. Truth be told, you had been half awake since Mare got up half an hour ago. You thought he had gotten up to go to the bathroom or something and figured he would return shortly and you could cuddle with him a bit longer before waking up. When he didn’t return after five minutes, you heard him go downstairs, so you thought he was gonna make coffee. You figured you could maybe get another half hour of sleep before Mare would try waking you up with his usual method of kissing and tickling you.

The sound of a crash was definitely not something you wanted to wake up to, but it was definitely something that you did wake up to more than any normal person really should. Begrudgingly and with a pout painted on your lips, you rolled out of bed, half literally and half metaphorically. Slipping into your unicorn slippers, a Christmas present that was gifted to you by one of Mare’s brothers last year, you slowly but surely made your way downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, you saw Mare on the ground wiping up the hot chocolate that he had spilled on the floor. Clearing your throat to get his attention, he turned to you and gave a sheepish smile.

“Uh, I tripped.” he said.

Raising an eyebrow, you shook your head. He was lying.

“Tripped, or fell?” you asked pointing to what he was wearing.

And what was he wearing you may ask?

“Uh, okay, maybe I did fall, but-”

“Are you seriously still wearing that stupid wearable chair?” you asked cutting him off.

You made a mental note to somehow get back at Anti for giving your boyfriend such a weird and dumb invention. Ever since he had gotten it, Mare would use it as often as he could. One time he even tried tying his victim to it...it didn’t work out.

“It’s not stupid! It’s-” Mare tried to argue.

“It’s the chair of the future, I know I know!” you said finishing his sentence that you had heard probably a hundred times.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed another few paper towels before you got on the floor with Mare who stopped to watch.

“You really need to be careful with that thing, you might hurt yourself.” you said softly as you finished wiping up the mess.

“Uh...Actually,” Mare gave a small, shy smile, “I kinda bumped my head when I fell.” he said through a light chuckle as he shifted positions to sit on the floor.

“Why am I not surprised?” you said failing to stop the smile that was forming on your lips.

“Can you kiss it better?” Mare asked looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

You rolled your eyes before scooting over to him. Getting yourself on your knees, you placed your hands on his shoulders and looked at the spot on his head that he was pointing at. Leaning it to kiss that spot, you found yourself being pulled towards Mare’s lips instead because only he would pull something like that. He wrapped an arm around you as you kinda just melted into the kiss.

Pulling away, you looked at Mare’s eyes which seemed to be full of hearts.

“You’re a dork.” you said as you rolled your eyes lightly.

“Yeah, but I’m your dork!” Mare corrected with a huge smile now painting itself on his face.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” you murmured softly as you started to get up.

Mare grabbed your hand in protest and attempted to pull you back down to him for another kiss.

“Wait, one more kiss!” he argued.

You pouted and placed a finger on his lips, “No more kisses till after I brush my teeth!” you said laughing.

It was Mare’s turn to pout as he watched you get up. Offering him your hand, you helped him back onto his feet before you went back upstairs to the bathroom. After brushing your teeth and fixing your bedhead, you threw on a flannel as a sweater and headed back to the kitchen where Mare was placing hot chocolate and cookies on the table.

“Did you get those from the bakery?” you asked through a yawn.

“Yup! Went over there this morning and got the last batch!” Mare replied happily.

A few Christmases ago, Mare had actually almost burned the kitchen down trying to make you your favorite Christmas cookies. You appreciated the gesture, you really did, but you really didn’t enjoy having to fight a fire on Christmas. Luckily for you, you were able to save the kitchen, but you couldn’t save the cookies...or the oven. After that, Mare was never allowed to bake again, and if he wanted to get you cookies, he opted to go to the little family owned bakery that was a short walk away.

“They’re your favorite!” Mare exclaimed as he motioned you to the table.

“Really? Yessss!” you squealed as you hurried over.

Before you could take a cookie from the plate, Mare stopped you.

“Waaaaiitttt!” he whined as he grabbed your hand.

“Whaaaaat?” you asked mimicking his tone turning to him slightly annoyed.

Letting go of your hand, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close to him with a wide grin on his face.

“Mistletoe!” he declared as his other hand held a piece of mistletoe above both your heads.

“Really?” you asked with a quizzical look.

“Yes! Now kiss me!” he insisted as he leaned in towards you.

You giggled before kissing him back. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer as you again sank into the kiss as it deepened. When you pulled away, those hearts from before were back in Mare’s eyes.

“Yay!” he sang happily.

You just smirked at him before you sat down and started to eat cookies. Mare, with the wearable chair because he still had that thing on for some reason, sat across from you, watching you happily.

Catching his look of adoration, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked trying, and failing, to hide the blush was creeping up on your cheeks.

“I love you!” he answered cheerily.

Letting out a small laugh, you looked at him and smiled, “I love you too.” you responded softly.

Taking a sip of your hot chocolate, you mused and took in the sound of the soft Christmas music that was playing from the TV.

“You know, I’m really surprised you haven’t set anything on fire. It’s almost like a Christmas miracle!” you half joked.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Mare objected through a chuckle.

“Well…” you hummed, “I mean, our first Christmas together, you somehow set the tree on fire-”

“That wasn’t my fault! The guy who sold me the lights didn’t tell me that they were super old!”

“Then the next Christmas you somehow almost set the porch on fire with a flamethrower.”

“I was trying to melt the ice so you wouldn’t have to worry about slipping on it!”

“And let’s not forget about the kitchen fire last year.”

“I just wanted to make you cookies!”

You giggled, and then paused. Mare really a knack for somehow setting things on fire.

“Okay, well I did those things because I wanted to do something nice for you!” Mare said with a sad look.

“I know, and I love you because of it.” you reassured him as you took his hand in yours, “but if you set something on fire this year, I’m gonna lose my mind.” you added with a serious tone.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that! I promise nothing crazy will happen this year!” Mare said confidently.

You smirked, “You literally fell from the roof five times while putting lights up.” you called out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t set anything on fire!” Mare argued, “Plus, I’m determined to make this the perfect Christmas for you!” he added as his face beamed of hope and cheer.

You just nodded and took a sip of hot chocolate. Mare was being way too cheery today, it was kinda weirding you out. Peeking at your boyfriend again, you realized how well he was sitting at the table really well with that wearable chair.

“You know, you’re really getting the hang of that chair aren’t you?” you pointed out as you got up to put your cup away.

“Sure am!” Mare said proudly.

“I still wish you would just sit on a regular chair though.” you said with your back to him.

“But why? Regular chairs are boring! Besides, this chair is perfect for getting into position.”

“Into what position? Into a falling position?” you joked as you put the cup in the sink.

As if on queue, you heard your boyfriend slip and fall to the ground, most likely due to the chair’s legs giving up when he shifted positions.

“Mare!” you screamed in surprise as you quickly turned around to help him up.

You paused when you saw Mare on the floor. The way he fell made it so he landed on one knee.

“Mare?” you asked quietly.

He looked up with a sly smile.

“What are you-” you began to ask cautiously.

“Like I said, this chair is perfect for getting into position.” Mare said as he got out a small box from his pocket.

Opening the box, you saw a diamond ring that sparkled brightly.

“Oh my god…” you said quietly.

“I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I want to spend every Christmas and every day with you. I know I’ve messed up more than a few times, and I want to make it up to you if you’ll have me. Will you-”

“Yes! Oh my god, yes!” you cut him as you dove into his arms and hugged him so tightly that you swear his bones would’ve cracked if he was human.

You were almost crying as Mare put the ring on your finger; you were so overwhelmed, the diamond was huge.

“Do you like it?” Mare asked.

“I love it!” you said as you stared at the ring in complete and utter wonder.

How Mare was able to afford such a big ring was beyond you. It looked like something from a jewelry catalogue. In fact, you could’ve sworn that saw this exact ring on a celebrity news story from a few days ago-

You paused with realization.

“Mare.”

“Yes?”

“Did you kill someone for this ring?”

Mare looked like a kid who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Uh…” Mare immediately grabbed your shoulders and turned you around to face the living room, “Hey look carolers! GUYS THAT’S YOUR QUEUE!” he shouted.

The door to your apartment swung open and Mare’s brothers and some of the Iplier and Septic egos bursted into the room in Santa hats and reindeer headbands singing carols. However, they didn’t seem to agree what carol they were singing since almost everyone was singing a different one. You sank into confusion as you started to accept the reality of the situation; the reality being that you were engaged with a gorgeous million dollar ring on your finger that Mare got from probably killing someone.

Then one of the ego carolers had their light up santa hat combust into flames.

“HOW DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN???” Mare shouted in dismay as he ran to get a fire extinguisher.

Fin

#spookys holiday contest #1000brightstars #nwtb merch contest #contest entry #natemare #natewantstobattle egos #youtuber egos #youtuber ego #submission

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miss-tc-nova · 4 years

Text

Hopes For the Future - Young Xehanort x Fem!Reader

Sequel to All Flustered

Oh Anon...That was a throw away line! I didn’t have any plans for it! I just needed it to move the story along! But dammit! I love Xehanort too!

On another note, yes, I did take a little inspiration from a Disney movie. It was too cute to resist.

~~~~~

My mind has been all over the place in the last few days since my first kiss with Xehanort. It’s only been like three days but still, it’s been enough to be a mild distraction if I’m not diligently working on something. Needless to say, I get teased about it, from everyone including Xehanort. At least I can get my own little jabs in concerning my dramatic surprise-kiss the following day.

Urd and Vor decided that they had to nag me while I prepare for my date. Of course, they’re going too, everyone is, but apparently I have to look a bit more formal than I usually do, meaning they play with my hair and stuff me in a dress. It’s very pretty at least, but I draw the line when Urd comes at me with a pencil.

“Woah hold on! What do you think you’re doing?!” I exclaim.

“Um, make up?” she replies like I should already know the answer.

“No. Nope no uh-uh,” I say, walking away.

She follows after me. “Why not?”

“Because this already too much,” I say gesturing to the dress. “None of you are going dressed up.”

She points at herself and Vor. “WE don’t have dates.” I loathe her Cheshire grin sometimes. “Besides, you look great. Xehanort will love it.”

“Don’t even,” I retort firmly, pointing a finger at her. I can already feel the fire climbing my spine just thinking about him seeing me in this.

Vor giggles. “Aw, even when she’s angry she’s shy.” Rolling my eyes, I storm towards the closet. “What are you doing?”

“You two picked out my whole outfit, I get to at least pick out the boots that won’t kill me. I refuse to wear heels!” I find the ankle boots.

“Okay, fine, but at least put on some lip gloss,” Urd concedes. She wins the argument and just as I’m being attacked again, there’s a knock on the door.

“What is it?” Vor calls.

The door clicks open and Bragi pushes his way in. “Are you girls done yet? We gotta go.” I hate that signature smarmy smirk of his. “Well don’t you clean up nice.”

I groan, covering my face.

“Yep. We’re done here,” Urd replies, none bothered by me. “Let’s go.”

Bragi leads the way from the student quarters to the castle entrance. I lag behind, heart pounding in my chest, dreading Xehanort seeing me like this; I’m the class’s top student and a keyblade wielder, not a princess.

When I spot Hermod, Eraqus, and Xehanort at the bottom of the steps leading to the castle, I hesitate at the top. Sure, Xehanort’s upgraded his normal shirt to a button-up shirt but everything else about his clothes seem normal, even the sleeveless haori—I’m the only one.

I’m going to kill those girls.

My heart skips; he’s spotted me. His silver eyes widen. I start to think I’m imagining things when I see a splash of pink across his nose. I don’t get to second guess myself because Vor grabs my hand and drags me down the rest of the stairs. Nerves bundled in my chest, I can’t even bring myself to look at my date but the tingling across my skin tells me he’s staring.

“Sorry. We were having a bit too much fun,” Urd says.

A warm caress guides my face up. That fire from earlier is engulfing me. His eyes are aglow with the same predatory gleam he had the last time I played prey.

“You look good.”

I’m done. My brain has gone out the window and I might just burst into flames.

Eraqus leans into view. “I think you broke her.”

“That was pretty smooth,” Vor laughs.

“She’ll start functioning again as we go,” Urd says, beginning to push everyone off the castle grounds. “Let’s go.”

Xehanort takes my hand, giving me one more smile but this time it’s honest and warm.

The Founding Festival is as magnificent as always. The city is decked out in decorations and impromptu shops line the streets leading to the center of the city where more of the entertainment is, including the games. I enjoy watching the competitive boys and even the girls try their hands at the rigged games. Eraqus definitely adds to his losing tally against his best friend.

As the sky begins to darken and dinner time rolls around, we wander among the shops in search of food. Vor points out a vendor selling glowing lanterns.

“Wow! Look at those!”

I glance at the stand. “Those ones are pretty.”

“I bet that guy’s making a killing today,” Bragi interjects.

“It is an important part of the tradition,” agrees Hermod.

Xehanort’s eyes linger but we keep walking. “What’s the deal with the lanterns?” he asks.

“You’re supposed send the lanterns to Kingdom Hearts with your hopes for the future,” I explain. “So our ancestors know how to guide you.”

“Ah. A ‘here’s the goal, show me the way’ kinda thing?”

“That’s right.”

He rolls his eyes, clearly not buying the tradition thing. That doesn’t stop him from questioning me though. “So what would you hope for?”

“If I tell you, I’m sure you’ll meddle,” I reply cheekily.

“Of course.” He doesn’t even deny. “Granted I tend to have my hands in everything.”

“Including suggesting to Urd and Vor that I should wear a dress tonight?” I reply with a knowing smirk.

He smiles confidently, but I can see the dust of pink on his cheeks. “No no. That one I had nothing to do with.”

I’m not convinced. “And yet they seemed so sure you would appreciate it.”

“Oh I do but far be it beyond me what girls get up to.” I see his gaze drop to my mouth and that red shade of his darkens. Before I get to ask, however, Hermod points out a food stall that everyone seems to agree on.

Dinner eaten, we snag our spots to watch the reenactment of Scala Ad Caelum being founded. I enjoy it so much I almost don’t catch Xehanort sneaking away. Seeing as he didn’t bother to say anything, I assume he’ll be right back, but I don’t notice he’s back until halfway through the show. I give him a questioning look but he simply grins as if he’s been here the whole time, offering cotton candy I know he didn’t have before.

The show ends and it’s announced that everyone should head to the docks for the lantern ceremony. I start to follow the others, but Xehanort stops me. When I look back, he puts a finger to his sly lips and gestures in the other direction. Excitement prickles at my skin and I let him lead me away. We’re still heading towards the water, but instead of heading for the crowded docks, we’re climbing up the stacked buildings of our home. Finally, he climbs the ladder of a building at the water’s edge, offering a hand to me when he’s at the top. It’s not the tallest building of Scala Ad Caelum, but it’s got a beautiful view of the water and the lanterns lit by the people below.

“Wow,” I awe. “How did you find this place?”

“Unlike some people, I don’t always have my nose in a book.” I stick my tongue out at him. “I figured it would be better than bumping elbows with everyone down there. Plus, the view is definitely better.”

“Always trying to outsmart everyone, aren’t you,” I tease.

“Just wait. It gets better,” he replies, matter-of-factly. The boy wanders towards some roof-top shrubbery where he pulls two lanterns and a lighter. He seems so proud of himself.

Unable to hide my delight, I say, “I wouldn’t have picked you as one for tradition.”

He places one in my hands. “I don’t exactly get this whole Founding Festival thing, but I know it means something to you. And I’m sure it’ll make an excellent backdrop.”

“Backdrop? For what?”

There’s a look of adoration that makes my knees weak. “For you.” He chuckles as I try to hide my rising blush behind my lantern. “Oh you are adorable.”

“Xe, stop,” I complain.

“Why?” He pokes at my shoulder to tease me. “Feeling embarrassed, are we?”

“So.”

His hand pushes the lantern away from my face. “And I must say, those girls really dolled you up for me.”

“I knew it, you liar.” The boy is unashamed and I sigh. “I thought I was gonna have to fight for my life when Urd came at me with makeup.”

Xehanort laughs. “You’re too pretty for any of that.” Before I can gripe at him again, he gets even closer, within kissing range. “Though I have noticed this shine you have on your lips—almost as if you wanted me to pay attention to them.” He ends on a captivating note that almost has me closing the gap.

As if he knows, Xehanort pulls away and, to his amusement, I let out the breath I was holding. His eyes avert towards the water and I realize that it’s already started. I nearly get caught up in watching all the lights when he calls back to me.

“Hey.” I look back to him. The light from his lantern flickers warmly across his skin, reminding me that this is a date, a romantic date. We’d been closer than usual all day and he’s quite often kept a hand at my waist, but any privacy was out the window with our friends involved. But not now, not here. “Don’t forget yours.”

The boy swaps lanterns with me and lights the second while I take in the heart design across the paper, contemplating my desires for the future. Of course there are thoughts of success and happiness, but also the stray thought that I want Xehanort there. I want him in my future.

He interrupts my thoughts. “Ready?”

The saying I’ve grown up on, that’s guided me my entire life, slips from my lips. “May your heart be your guiding key.”

Palms open, I watch the pair float away, swaying together as they join the assemblage of other wishes on their way to Kingdom Hearts. Millions of lanterns are floating away, sprinkling the black night sky with light that feels like hope, mirrored by the water and creating an endless canvas of beauty. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

“This view is incredible,” I awe.

“Yeah, it is.”

A glance reveals that Xehanort is not looking at the sky—he’s watching me. With his ‘better-than-thou’ attitude, I never would’ve guessed Xehanort could be such a romantic; then again, I assumed he would’ve rejected my feelings but here we are. Illuminated by the flickering lights above, I don’t see a single trace of that usual sarcasm or teasing on his features. There’s still confidence in his eyes but it’s so much more gentle than normal. By nature, I would’ve withdrawn a step or two but right now, I want nothing more than to feel his arms around me.

“Looks like I was right.” Shortening the distance between us, he gently brushes a strand of hair from my face. “The perfect backdrop.”

“Xehanort,” I mutter, my insides turning molten.

Head tilting forward, he replies, “Yeah?”

Without an answer, I bite at my lip and I see his eyes instantly divert to them. I smile, watching the nervous gulp he gives, gaze still glued to my lip gloss. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lean in to give him what he wants.

Our first kiss was full of my anxiety and his cockiness and, while I’ll never regret it, it’s nothing compared to this one. I have my wits enough to partake, accept the slow intimacy of the kiss and return it. I can note the remnant taste of cotton candy on his lips but even more, I can tell how honestly he’s expressing himself. Xehanort never shows his cards, but he’s here showing kindness and caring and, dare I say, trust. Encouraging that thought, I pull him in deeper with my fingers intertwining in his hair and he follows me down the rabbit hole.

Breaking the kiss, Xehanort keeps his forehead against mine. “Whatever else you may wish for, I hope I’m at least part of your hopes for the future,” he mutters as if praying for it to be true. I don’t think he’s had a moment in his life where something was out of his control, so I assume my ability to walk away makes him nervous.

The corners of my mouth turn upwards. “As long as you promise to meddle.”

Arms pulling me tightly against him and face buried in my hair, he answers, “Of course.”

#ymx #young master xehanort #young xehanort #xehanort #xehanort x reader #young xehanort x reader #young master xehanort x reader #ymx x reader #kingdom hearts dark road #khdr #khdr eraqus #novas requests #xeha-non #fem!reader

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trails-of-the-past · 3 years

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TotP - Prologue pt2

The favoured few were marked, deep inside them was a power hidden who was similar to the legendary who searched for them. Those six chosen ones were bound together by destiny. They never knew each other but they found each other and so did the legendaries. The Stranger, someone who was never suitable for the world around him, was followed by ice and water. The Warrior, a fighter all through, was followed by willpower. The Minstrel, an incarnation of each art, was followed by flames and fume. The Thief, sly and unnoticed, was followed by thunder and lightning. The Scholar, someone who had trust in his wisdom, was followed by knowledge. The Lover, whose heart was his source, was followed by the emotions. Those six were called the fighter of light.

The legendarys guided them, they learned how to use their new powers and they told them what the goal of their journey would be. They had to renew the seal, but they couldn't tell them how. They nourish hope that the seal was still stable so they only had to fight those who turned themselves to the darkness. Their way led them to a mountain, as they approached them a dark cloud was formed above and a cold feeling went through their bodys. 'We need to hurry.' yelled Azelf. The legendarys dragged them to the top of the mountain, they all could feel it, the seal broke.

As they reached the top of the mountain they could catch a glimpse of a world who was different from their own, a shattered world and creatures they never saw before, who tried to come through a little crack that hovered in the air. It was frightening.

But beside those monsters, were the one who stood right in front of them. Those cold eyes and cold smiles. Even if they were once the same, they lost their souls to the darkness, they lost everything only to break a seal for a reason they couldn't understand. It wasn't possible to talk to them, their minds were gone and they were dead inside. So there was only one solution. A fight to the death. Time pressed while the fight rages. The ones who could fight stood at the front, the others tried to treat the wounds as good as possible and they tried to figure out the solution how they could seal them again.

Blood dyed the ground red. The group who turned to the darkness were defeated but this was no time of joy for the fighter of light. They won but not without losses. Wounds and blood purled most of their bodys but death was among them, too. Two of them had lost their lives to protect those they never met before and because of the wounds one had suffered he was more dead than alive. It was a bloody fight and they couldn't feel as the victor of it. After all the seal was still open, the crack started to expand and those monsters yearn for their blood. But what was the solution?

To combine their powers was the only solution that came to the Scholars mind, but how should they do this after two allies passed away. The Legendarys who gave them their powers would be a help, but without their counterpart they couldn't help them. If they were more cautious in this fight would it be possible to renew the seal like this? They will never know. But there was another solution, the only one who was left for them.

'There is another solution, fighter of light.' a soft voice spoke to them. The bird who brought them the rainbow appeared out of the sky. But before they could ask another voice interfered, a dark and raspy voice. 'A sacrifice, foolish mortals.' Out of nowhere the devourer of souls appeared. 'As the counterparts of our subordinates you are as well our subordinates, so we will grant you our power but to renew the seal we need a sacrifice. Someone with a pure wish to save, a wish who arises from the bottom of one's heart.' Ho-Oh's voice was filled with grief, as if she wished for another way. 'So choose the one who should be the sacrifice, and decide fast.' Giratina's words were cold as ice but he couldn't face those mortals who fought for him and whose soul came back to him. The remaining fighters looked at each other before one of them arose themself. It was the one who was on the brink of death. The other told him he does not have to sacrifice himself, there had to be another solution. But he knew that there was no other way, he wouldn't survive this, his wounds were too deep. A stranger to the world sacrifices himself, with only one wish in his heart, he wanted to protect those 'mon he only knew for a while and who showed him how the world could be.

The two legendaries focus their powers on the seal and with the remaining blood of this fighter they renew it. Giratina and Ho-Oh split this seal into seven. If anyone would turn to the darkness again and would try to free the creatures from their prison they had to break all seven seals to achieve their goal. But if one seal ever breaks, even they couldn't imagine

what might happen.

So the battle for the world ended and out of six fighter of light only three remained. Three who could write down the story they experienced and tell the story about a journey who started as one full of joy and friendship between six 'mon who never met before, a journey who endet with a fight, blood and hearts full of sorrow. But even if time passed those three never lost sight of each other.

This story of creatures trapped in another universe and fighter of light faded with time. It was buried in oblivion. The one who knew about it saw it as nothing more than a myth, but inside every myth is a grain of truth and sometimes a myth will be reawakened and everything will repeat itself.

#pokemon #trails of the past #own story #own art #bisharp #book #gengar #tyranitar #dragonair #mienshao #togetic #zoroark #shadowFuka

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coastalhorrors · 4 years

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I Want To Believe (In Us)

For @oumasaiexchange s Autumn Exchange, written for recipient number 1!!

Prompt: Drama! I like angst with a happy ending. I adore bittersweet content in fanfics. And as art, I like anything with really pastel colors and cute things.

Word count: 4,924

Summary: Shuichi Saihara wasn't too keen on summoning the undead this late at night, especially when the temperature outside his beaten down Subaru Legacy had just gotten down to below freezing.

Shuichi Saihara wasn't too keen on summoning the undead this late at night, especially when the temperature outside his beaten down Subaru Legacy had just gotten down to below freezing.

The car itself rattled with each labored breath it took attempting to keep its inhabitants warm, and dust had started to pile up on the far reaches of the dashboard, but it was in better shape now than when Shuichi had gotten it.

He had bought his car earlier that year from one of his Uncle's coworkers and had spent nearly half that amount of time trying to repair it. When he had gotten the car its seats were worn and stained with who knows what, and both the tail lights were out. There were also multiple dents on the trunk and on its sides, and upon seeing it Shuichi had realized why he had gotten the car so cheap. He had managed to fix the taillights and sanitize the inside, but from various investigations and some dubious late-night research, he figured those dents were just there to stay.

He sighed as another sneeze sounded out from beside him and more dust scattered itself around them.

"You're going to catch some sort of disease if you keep digging through the library's collection of occult tomes," Shuichi said, laying his headache-ridden skull back on the headrest. 'The black plague is back you know, and you're not immune."

He could practically hear the sly smile creeping its way onto Kokichi*s face.

"Aw, is my Shumai worried about me? Oh! Maybe he's just jealous that I'll find evidence of the supernatural before him, the Super High School Level Detective of all people!" He giggled mockingly, a childish lilt to his voice.

"Hardly," Shuichi replied wryly, gazing down drowsily at the dim blue light of the clock.

11:47 P.M.

Thirteen more minutes.

Then Kokichi would try to summon whatever demonic creature he found this week in one of his many forums, historical books, or maybe even a newspaper, ultimately failing, and Shuichi could drive them back to the dorms so that he could watch more of the X-Files until he fell asleep.

That had been their routine since about halfway through their first year at Hope's Peak Academy. Shuichi remembered the day when the infamous Kokichi Ouma had come to his dorm room one night, loud, out of rhythm knocking interrupting the peaceful quite Shuichi had become accustomed to throughout his small-time staying there. He had said he needed a ride somewhere and that he wasn't taking his chances with the questionable form of art that was public transportation.

He also made a point to say that Shuichi was the only classmate he knew with a car, which was utter nonsense if you asked him. Mondo in the class three years above them had a motorcycle and made sure everyone knew it, and Kazuichi from the class above them was a mechanic for Pete's sake. Even Miu and Kaito owned their own trucks and Kirumi had a motorcycle she cherished dearly.

Shuichi recalled brushing it off, Kokichi did enjoy his lies after all. And he didn’t mind going out that night, especially since he meant to go out anyway and grab some snacks for his study session with Kaito, Maki, and Kaede the next day. Which, coincidentally, he ended up almost missing because of how late he slept in.

They ended up staying out until about 3:00 A.M. that night. Kokichi had said it was a stakeout for something Shuichi wouldn't understand, which was probably true considering to him it was a complete waste of time since the only memorable thing that happened that night was a particularly loud owl cooing from somewhere in the trees nearby.

And yet Kokichi came back a few days later with another reason to take Shuichi out into a field in the middle of nowhere, where the stars above shone brighter than any street lamp, and the tranquility was omnipotent.

Shuichi had figured out where he was driving them to a few days in. It was a small field brimming with red and purple wildflowers in the spring and summer, near an old farm where a nice lady lived with her sheep and chickens. She had apparently inherited it from her grandfather who had been missing for years, it had made front-page news about two years ago.

There was a shuffling from beside him, and when Shuichi looked over Kokichi seemed to be going through some sort of hastily written notes. Then he remembered what Kokichi's handwriting looked like and determined that it was probably actually pretty thorough, just too messy to read at a glance. He didn’t bother trying to read it, and he honestly wasn’t too interested in what it was pertaining, only because he knew even if Kokichi did try to explain it to him without lying through the whole thing he still wouldn’t understand why it was so important.

The only words he was able to glean from his momentary glance were the title headers that contained such words as 'continued from page two','very dangerous', and 'what to do if…'. He had no clue what Kokichi was trying to accomplish, or if he'd even succeed, he only knew that this was one of the things he openly took seriously. At least in Shuichi’s eyes, he didn’t know what the rest of his classmates saw.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the passenger's side door opened. "Well Shuichi, wish me luck in not getting my head completely obliterated by a demonic entity!" The smaller boy chirped, exiting the vehicle and trekking through the snowy field, occasionally sidestepping a slippery patch of ice hidden in the weeds. Shuichi watched the other boy for a while, followed him with dull golden eyes, how Kokichi gazed up at the stars for an answer to his question, whatever that was, how he scrutinized each star falling upon his gaze, always searching for something, even in the dead of winter.

And yet Shuichi still couldn't figure the other boy out.

He didn't understand what was so important about this field if there even was anything really important about this field. He figured Kokichi probably wasn't above lying about taking Shuichi out someplace in the middle of nowhere.

He'd have to keep going on these escapades with him to find out what was so important with this place.

Apparently, there wasn't anything important about the field. And if there had been, then Kokichi had completely blown it off.

It was late December when Kokichi decided to take a look down in Hope's Peak Academy's basement. Which, granted was better than driving icy roads at the midnight hour, but at least in his car Shuichi had heating.

The basement was dark and dank, smelling of dust and mold, and Shuichi got the distinct feeling that if he touched one of the walls on accident, he'd catch some sort of wicked disease. Kokichi, naturally, thought it was just right.

"You know Shuichi, this would be the perfect place to summon an unholy monstrosity," Kokichi said, walking beside him, flashlight in hand, round eyes glancing about the large room. "I wouldn't be surprised if there was a dead body hidden somewhere down here either."

"Kokichi why are we down here? Don't you have anything better to do? Like studying for that physics exam maybe?" Shuichi said, ignoring the other boy’s previous statements, he had long gotten used to Kokichi's ramblings by now. He twisted his flashlight towards his right, coming across nothing but a slate grey wall and empty space.

Kokichi gave him a wild look, violet eyes and bright white teeth gleaming from his light. "Oh Shuichi my beloved, when will you learn," he tsked. "I never study for those stupid things, we get them like every week, and as long as you pay attention in class, you're good enough."

"You don't pay attention though," Shuichi said doubtfully, peering at him through his peripherals. "Earlier today you got into an argument with Rantaro in the middle of class."

Kokichi grinned, "Oh you've got it all wrong! I'm a master at multitasking, a leader such as myself would no doubt be able to know what's going on in class whilst debating with my lab partner about whether or not contacting aliens is unethical!"

Shuichi rolled his eyes back into his head, he should've expected an answer like that.

"Ew, what's that creepy look on your face for?" He heard Kokichi say disgustedly.

Shuichi hummed questioningly in response, somewhat quirking a brow, as his gaze fell back to Kokichi.

"You got an ugly smile on your face, you look like a sadist or something," Kokichi said, pointing his lithe fingers towards Shuichi's face. And to his shock, Shuichi realized he had let a small smirk cross his features. Unconsciously he took a small step back and raised his hands in defense.

"O-oh it's nothing, I just remembered something funny from earlier," He said, hoping he successfully blew Kokichi's question off.

He leered at Shuichi for a moment before something caught his eye ahead of them and he jumped forward.

He sighed in relief, then paused abruptly. Why was he relieved? He had nothing to hide, so why was he so nervous under Kokichi's glare? Why did he feel so guilty all of a sudden?

He eyed Kokichi, who had gotten a good few meters away by then, as he crouched down to pick at something on the ground. He was like a child, Shuichi thought, a really disturbing child, and he found himself wanting to let another smile crawl onto his face.

He determined that Kokichi was way too charming for his own good.

As the sun set on a snowy evening a few weeks after their basement escapade, Kokichi found himself back in the same boat. Not that he'd ever left, bugging Shuichi had been a hobby of his since late October.

He sighed wearily and rested his head against the desk in his dorm. He had ended up pulling another all-nighter preparing for tonight’s investigation. They would be going down to the basement again, this time looking for a special type of worm Kokichi had heard about in a podcast. The midnight worm, as they were called, were bloodsuckers and could leap up to seven feet, maybe higher, and he wasn’t passing up the chance to possibly find such a rare specimen.

Shuichi didn’t know that of course. Kokichi made sure he always goes into their little adventures blind. He liked watching the detective piece together the clues he was given, it was fascinating, especially for a runagate like him. The puzzled looks, the tentative movements, it was all just like sweet cream, and Kokichi was the cat lapping it up.

His favorite was when Kokichi had planned a particularly difficult puzzle and Shuichi got fidgety. He bore witness to nose scrunching, nail-biting, clothes tugging, and the like. It made him extremely pleased to know that he’s stumped his starcrossed rival.

Shuichi never learned of what those investigations were about, Kokichi never told him. And he could see how crazy it made the detective, not knowing just what he had gotten himself into. Which was the best part, Shuichi wasn’t entitled to come with Kokichi anymore, now that they had moved indoors for the deep winter. He could easily say no and reject coming with, and yet he just kept doing it.

This also made Kokichi happy to see, as he had piqued the interest of Shuichi so much so that he just couldn’t say no.

This was Kokichi's most nefarious plot yet.

He'd keep coming up with these inspections, keep traveling from basement, to field, to the coast to wherever, as long as Shuichi came with him, until… well. He hadn’t figured that part out yet. He only knew that whatever it was going to lead to, it would be amazingly entertaining.

Kokichi smiled to himself as he gathered up his notes on the midnight worms. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.

The corridors were quiet as he made his way down to Shuichi’s room, stark white walls clashing with the dark wood. Finally, he stood in front of the door of his acquaintance. His friend? His colleague. Though that still didn’t seem right as he knocked quickly on the door. A pattern Shuichi had no doubt gotten used to.

There was a sound like someone had just set something down and some slight curious mumbling from inside when the door swung open.

"Hello, there Mr. Detective! I’ve finally come to murder you in cold blood!" He lilted, stretching out the 'hello' for effect.

The boy in front of him didn’t look fazed in the slightest, in fact, he looked almost expectant.

"There you are, I was starting to worry if I had gotten my timing wrong," Shuichi said, clearly relieved.

Kokichi grinned, "Aw, were you worried about little old me? Don’t worry, I’m always at your door on Thursday evenings, rain or shine!"

"Its Wednesday."

He shrugged, "Tomato, Tomahto. Ready to get moving? We don’t have all night."

Shuichi gave him a long look before blinking, coming back to his senses. "Yeah definitely, just let me grab my bag quick." He turned around, rummaging behind his door. He returned after a few seconds and gave Kokichi a courteous nod.

He started forward, not looking back to see if Shuichi was following him, because he always was.

"So what are we looking for today?" Shuichi asked. His footsteps were even, but Kokichi could feel the expectancy radiating off him. It made his smile return, even brighter this time.

"Oh you know I can’t tell you that, it’d be no fun that way. You are a detective after all." He called, looking over his shoulder. He saw Shuichi blow a small breath out of his mouth. He was glad to know the other boy was still interested.

That was Kokichi's last thought before they descended the staircase into the basement.

Shuichi had a problem. Quite a big one in fact. It had kept him up night after night, and the worst thing about was he couldn't even do anything about it.

He was falling in love with Kokichi Ouma. Except there was something wrong with that sentiment, it being that he really couldn't fully say that he was in love.

He had seen firsthand how people act when they're in love, he knew the consequences of it.

And Shuichi was terrified.

He had seen relationships fall apart, sometimes while he studied at his Uncle's detective agency, and other times just out in the world.

He remembered one time when he was younger and still lived with his parents, his mother had taken him out Christmas shopping. They were almost finished and were about to check out when an older guy, a high schooler he had assumed at the time, started shrieking about his girlfriend breaking his heart. And Shuichi was not too keen on replicating that.

Not that he ever thought he'd go on an angry rampage in a craft store decorated to the brim with wreaths and poinsettias, he liked to think he had much more self-control than that.

No, Shuichi knew he couldn't deal with the aftermath of heartbreak, especially his very first one. It was common knowledge that high school relationships rarely ever last, and if they did, they developed into cruel, twisted and spiteful ones after a good while. And just thinking about the thought that he may never recover from a heartbreak that bad kept him up at night.

Even more so now that there was a person he liked. Not loved. Definitely, totally not loved, he was way too young for that.

But the way that Kokichi always had a puzzle for him, always made sure to keep some sense of mystery going, absolutely captivated him, and he was met with the mental image of a certain infamous mastermind playing a game of cat and mouse with a familiar detective.

And his heart ached every time Kokichi brought him out somewhere now, as he watched violet eyes sparkle with delight at stumping him. He noticed that when the other boy was particularly excited for something, he'd twirl his hair around his finger ever so often. Which made his heart swell with something, all because Kokichi actually cared. He had spent numerous days, weeks even, of his life researching things for Shuichi to help him 'discover', and the thought that someone was there for him, and thought about him so often drove him insane.

But high school relationships never last. It's not love. It's just some silly game they played. Nothing more. This was never going to go anywhere, so why even bother right? There'd be someone else when he was older, more mature.

Shuichi was not going to ask Kokichi out, no matter how much he wanted to. Because as long as he kept reminding himself of that one simple fact that has so far been proven true and just, it would all be okay in the end.

At least he hoped so anyway.

Kokichi was suffering.

Valentine’s day was just around the corner, and he was choking on hearts of red and pink, all because he went and started liking some stupid detective. A very handsome stupid detective. A handsome, and capable, but nevertheless foolish detective.

He had done everything in his power to make Shuichi see him in that way, but it still hasn't worked, and he was starting to get frustrated.

Kokichi had created case after case, researched day and night for something, anything to get Shuichi interested in him. And to a degree, it had worked. Now, they were what most people would safely call 'friends'. And that was well and good, but just friends, the thought of nothing more ever happening between them, made his stomach fall through the floor all the way to some sort of afterlife.

But he couldn't stop trying. There was no harm in trying, only progress. At least that's what Rantaro and Miu would tell him when he lamented to them about his failing love life. That, and some other, less motivational words.

There was nothing left to do except suck it up, do some more exploration into things that might pique the other’s interest even more so than he had already accomplished, and continue with his plan.

Kokichi was either doomed to fail or gain a mediocre at best win.

Shuichi couldn't do this anymore. It was time to throw in the towel.

He couldn't take the late nights with Kokichi, the unnoticed glances he threw the other boy. The teasing was unbearable as well, he found it impossible not to be flustered around the other boy, and Kokichi would always respond with some snarky comment like, for example, accusing Shuichi of having a crush on him.

Which really wasn't very nice at all, specifically because of the way Kokichi would stare at him when he asked the question. Like he was actually expecting some sort of answer.

It made Shuichi's gut turn. Because really what was he supposed to say? 'Actually, you know what, I do like you Kokichi, a lot.' What kind of sadistic person would do that to themselves? People with a crush on a short, immature, liar that's who.

No.

No, he was done with it. He had to end it now or else it would never happen.

Shuichi had planned it all in his head. Each step in a specific fashion, planned carefully so that he'd have the best results. Which really would just be Kokichi not calling him out on the spot.

Yet as he walked down the hall towards Kokichi's room, he felt his legs moving at an unearthly slow pace. He had to convince himself multiple times that it would be okay, that he could do this, and he wouldn't disintegrate while in the middle of speaking.

Because it was either this or more useless pining after a foolish dream.

As he arrived at the door, Shuichi realized he was shaking the tiniest bit and had to will himself to raise his hand towards the door. His fist clenched so hard, he wouldn't be surprised if he drew blood soon. Then the door swung open, and Kokichi Ouma stood in front of him, eyes wide and brows raised.

"Oh hey Shuichi," he chirped pleasantly. "Are you stalking me now? Because you know, standing outside someone’s door is kinda creepy."

Shuichi felt his face heat up as he stumbled back a step. No doubt his face was as red as the wildflowers just starting to grow in the gardens outside.

He quickly realized his fist was still raised and shot it down beside him.

"Well, no actually, um, I have-" he started but was interrupted by the boy in front of him.

"Whatever, anyways Shuichi we're going out tonight!" Kokichi exclaimed happily, grinning from ear to ear. Except something seemed off.

Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

"O-out?"

"Yup! Remember that old field we went to a few months back? The one by the spooky old murder barn? We're going back there tonight!"

Shuichi did remember that field. And that barn in fact, though he didn’t recall any homicides occurring near it. "You mean you’re going to make me drive you out there again?" Shuichi asked, knowing the answer already as Kokichi nodded his head casually. "Look, Kokichi, I would really love to drive you there but-"

"Great! It's a date then! I'll see you tonight Shuichi!" He said, leaning forward and dragging out Shuichi’s name in a way that made his heart leap.

And just like that, there was a door back in his face as Kokichi closed it on him.

He stood there for a few moments, unsure of what to do next. His choice of words and use of 'date' made his voice catch in his throat, but ultimately he decided it was just a coincidence.

He decided to go along with Kokichi that night, and he’d tell him there that they couldn’t continue these late-night shenanigans.

Tonight would be the last time.

The air was cool with an early spring breeze when they arrived at the grassy meadow. It was nearly dark when the two left the dorms, so Kokichi had made sure to pack some flashlights. He laid down a small linen blanket he'd also made sure to bring over the fresh grass, they were going to be here a while he figured, so why not be comfortable?

Shuichi stood awkwardly at the edge of the blanket, eyeing Kokichi wearily as he relaxed down onto it. "What’s that look for Shuichi?" He asked in a way that hopefully resembled his usual tone and hid the nervousness he was feeling. "If I was less humble I'd say you look a bit flustered."

He swore he saw Shuichi’s face turn pinker than usual, but he blamed it on the lack of light. Kokichi did, however, watch as the detective shifted his weight, clearly on the fence about something, before settling onto the blanket next to him.

Kokichi looked up into the night, staring into the vastness of the universe. They had traveled far enough from the cramped urban cityscape to be able to see a majority of the stars that covered the sky like a curtain. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed coming out here so much. That and watching for otherworldly spaceships.

Though that’s not why he brought Shuichi out here, at least not this time. Kokichi was going to confess. He was tired of waiting and of feeling his heart sink into what seemed like a black hole of hopeless aching. He didn’t care if he got rejected anymore, he just wanted it out.

He took a deep breath and shoved his anxiousness into the corner of his mind. "You know why I brought you out here, right Shuichi?"

Shuichi turned to him, the hands on his chest fidgeting in habit, and an eyebrow quirked in intrigue. "If I was to give a wild guess, I'd assume you took me out here to look for extraterrestrials again?"

Kokichi smiled, he had figured that one out months ago, back when freezing snow still coated the ground in layers.

He was about to speak when Shuichi interrupted him. "Do you really believe in all that stuff? The aliens, the shapeshifting wolves, all the things you brought me with you to find?"

He turned to the other boy, eyes wide in shock, he hadn’t planned for a question like that, especially having been already busy with his own agenda.

"I…Want to believe in them." Kokichi responded, surprising himself with such an honest answer. "It's more fun that way. There are so many boring things in the world. Stuff like that… Like spaceships and vampires and teeny leprechauns, it all just makes life so much more interesting you know? Just like…"

He paused, clamping his eyes shut tight in preparation for what he was about to say. It was now or never.

"Shuichi, you’re really smart you know?" Kokichi began, sitting up from the blanket, "like crazy smart, and so tolerant of everyone, even if they start wearing your patience thin. I could never do that. I think it's really admirable of you."

He felt Shuichi shift beside him and nearly combusted on the spot when he spoke. "Are you alright Kokichi? You’re not acting like yourself, do you want water? Or do we need to get back to the dorms?"

He winced, opening his eyes back up but looking to the left to avoid the others' intense gaze. "That too. You’re so kind. Too kind if you ask me, especially towards people like me who don’t deserve it."

"Kokichi-, "Shuichi started, but he had to keep going, or else he would never get it out.

"Listen, I know it doesn’t make sense, and I know you’re going to hate me afterward but…" He sucked in a breath, "But I like you Shuichi. Like, I really like you. And I know you don’t like me that way, or else I would have known by now, but I physically can’t keep it in anymore Shuichi, if I did, I'd probably die on the spot. That’s… That’s why I brought you here…" Kokichi said the last words slowly, absorbing in sections what he'd just said.

Now Shuichi would scream at him and tell him he’s worthless and foolish for somehow falling for him, and Kokichi would be able to go on with his life and finally get over this. He could deal with the hateful stares and glances in the hallways, as long as the truth was out.

He flinched slightly when he felt a warm hand wrap itself around his arm. "Look at me Kokichi," he heard Shuichi say in a soft voice that made Kokichis heart yearn. "Please?"

Slowly, he turned back towards Shuichi. His face shone dimly in the moonlight, but still, his golden eyes stared through him fiercely, picking every bit of him apart. He didn’t seem angry, however, but he still couldn’t figure out exactly what Shuichi was feeling.

Then, in a nearly inaudible voice said, "I like you too, Kokichi."

It took him a moment to figure out just what Shuichi had meant, but when he did, his heart jumped into his throat.

"What?" He managed to choke out between nervous breaths. Shuichi really couldn’t be serious.

"I said-" he paused, seemingly trying to gather his words. "I said that I really like you too. I was just… Scared, I guess." He quieted again after that.

He was serious.

Kokichi made a small 'O' with his mouth and looked down at the blanket. Shuichi’s hand was still clasped around his arm. He could definitely guess what he was afraid of. Rejection, heartbreak, falling out of love. The like.

"Well," Kokichi started. "We can always deal with that later, down the line when we get to it." He said, looking back up at Shuichi when something caught his eye.

He gasped, "Look Shuichi, a shooting star!" Kokichi said, a childish tone returning to his voice.

"That’s a plane, not a shooting star," Shuichi stated after looking up, clearly still a bit apprehensive from their conversation.

"That doesn’t mean you can’t wish on it though." He said in a sing-song voice, he was tired of their serious discussion. Kokichi saw Shuichi glance back up at the plane. It was small compared to the open sky. He smiled.

Kokichi stood then, brushing off Shuichi’s hand and stretching his arms and legs when he caught the look Shuichi gave him.

"What are you doing?"

"I think, dear Shuichi, that we deserve a treat. Ice cream sounds good right now. And maybe some fries." Kokichi responded. Truthfully told, he had forgotten to eat all day due to his restlessness.

Shuichi smiled up at him, and Kokichi saw him take a breath. Yeah, that sounds nice. We should get going before it gets too late and nothing's open though." He stood and cautiously, reached out his hand towards the other boy.

Kokichi took it.

They walked back to Shuichi’s old car in comfortable silence. It was new, and it made Kokichi shiver at the thought of it, but it was welcomed.

Right then Kokichi decided they could deal with their anxieties later. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy Shuichi’s company.

#IM SO SORRY ABOUT HOW LONG THIS TURNED OUT TO BE #honestly it was meant to be way shorter but then i got ... carried away.....#i hope its not too messy and you enjoy it!!!!!#for an exchange #my writing #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 killing harmony #oumasai #saiouma #oumasai autumn exchange

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sanktnikolais · 4 years

Text

Finding the Right One (Part III)

PART I PART II PART III

Summary: The deal is on. But apparently, the results are as expected. Just like always.

Word count: 5751

Surprisingly, it was Zoya who first who came up with someone a few days later, much to Nikolai’s chagrin. It was on a Friday as he was having a quick snack in the cafeteria, alone, before his next class, all because his schedule granted him straight agony up until seven.

The raven-haired woman suddenly came up to his table at the far corner of the area, and he almost did a double-take and squinted at her above his glasses to check if it was really her.

She was wearing her usual plain gray shirt over her fitted jeans and combat boots, and he was sure that this woman could pull off any outfit and still look better than anyone around her.

“Carveya. After your last class,” Zoya said simply, as if she were presenting him an ultimatum, and he had no choice but to comply. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t come late, Lantsov.”

Nikolai flashed her a grin. “You’re that eager to sell me off, truffle?”

“If you put it that way, then yes.”

“Harsh.”

“Honest.”

He chuckled lightly before taking a sip of the coffee in the cup, and he noticed that his hand was shaking a little. Had he been taking in too much caffeine these days? Probably, Nikolai thought as he set the cup down. “Alright, sure. Anything for you.”

Zoya scowled at him, and Nikolai had to laugh at the familiarity of it. Her expression then changed to a puzzled one. “By the way, don’t you have class?” she asked, glancing at her watch. “It’s already five minutes past one.”

Nikolai sputtered, pushing up his glasses too hard back to his eyes. “What?”

He was ready to bolt up from his seat—unfinished coffee be damned—and already went to grab his bag beside him. The time must have been warped because he didn’t notice that so much time had passed since he came here. But when he glanced over on his own watch, it only showed 12:53, and he swore he heard Zoya bark out a laugh as he did.

What in the world—

“Sike.”

Nikolai recoiled back because he was absolutely horrified that she just pulled off a prank on him and laughed. And even said sike.

Zoya Nazyalensky and laughing were rarely on good terms, so it was always a surprise whenever it happened, and Nikolai wasn’t sure how to react or feel over it.

“Wait,” he said slowly, holding a hand up, “who are you and what did you do to my Zoya?”

“Revenge for the one you did a few days ago.” She gave him a light tap on the shoulder. “After your last class, alright? I’ll beat you if I learn you didn’t show up.”

The university’s Storm turned to leave and Nikolai was left to stare off at her retreating form, the horrified look never leaving his face. Now he definitely knew why Ravka named her the Storm.

Because she was just as unpredictable and could surely leave you breathless.

As much as he was confident as he was witty, Nikolai still found himself hesitating to approach the table that Zoya had reserved under her name. He could already expect that it was probably someone he knew—or heard of, at least—because he and Zoya mostly had the same circle since their senior years.

Swallowing his uneasiness, Nikolai made his way to the same table he had been a few days ago and put the best grin he had on his face, only to stop abruptly when he finally arrived at the table and saw whom he was meeting with.

There were a million questions running in his head as of the moment, but the most mentioned were the words how and why.

Nikolai opened his mouth, and closed it again. He seemed to repeat the same deed for a few times because, apparently, the shock overwhelmed him too much. “Linnea?” he asked, though he definitely knew that it was her.

Her hair had gotten quite a bit longer than when he last saw it, and probably lost a little weight. But there was no denying it.

It’s his sister.

“Nick?” the other blonde said back, an eyebrow raised.

There was a long silence as the siblings looked at each other, and it was only broken when Nikolai gave a loud laugh. “Now this is awkward.”

“Yeah, it sure is. But quite funny, I’d say,” Linnea replied, and she gestured at the seat in front of her. “Well, since you’re here anyway, can you tell me how in the world did you know Zoya?”

Nikolai deadpanned as he moved to sit on the chair, raising a brow back to his sister. “I could ask you the same question, little missy.”

Linnea huffed. “Oh, please. You’re barely a year older than me, brother dear,” she shot back, crossing her arms as if she were challenging him.

“Getting wittier, aren’t we?”

“I’ve had my time.”

Nikolai chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. It’s been a while since he last saw his sister—half-sister—and the last update he had heard from her at least a year ago, was that she had left her old town for an apartment much nearer to her university, and Nikolai never got the chance to ask where she had been staying at.

Their family ties had always been complicated—with Nikolai and Linnea sharing the same father when his mother had an apparent affair with the man, which was the reason why Nikolai grew up suffering in the middle of the conflict.

He was usually sent back and forth to his mother or his father’s authority to stay for an indefinite amount of time. But unfortunately, some from both sides either hated him or didn’t care about him, all for the reason that he was the fruit of an unfaithful deed, and he grew tired of his scenario, the restlessness in his mind developing in the process that eventually contributed to his sleeping disorder.

It was only Linnea who didn’t “unlike” him and told him that she understood that it wasn’t his fault.

Up until now, Nikolai supposed that he probably owed it to his sister for making his childhood a little more bearable.

“How did you know her again?” Nikolai repeated his question, curiosity now taking over his mind as he imagined his sister and Zoya being friends. It didn’t result to a wonderful thought. “Because seriously, I still can’t believe you know her.”

Linnea shrugged. “She’d been my gym buddy for a few months already when I started doing exercises. She was already a regular at the place I go to.”

Nikolai tried to push the images of Zoya working out away from his mind. He chuckled lightly. “Small world.”

“It just came to me that you’re probably the blond one she’d been talking about that exasperates her in the university.” The devil gave a laugh, and Nikolai narrowed his eyes. “It’s even funnier to know that it’s most definitely you.”

“Wow, you’re saying that to your own brother?”

“Knowing you, you’re the only one that exasperating enough, and I can’t blame her.”

Nikolai laughed. “Fair enough.”

“So,” Linnea leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her and a sly grin evident on her face, “are you going to tell me how you two know each other?”

“Why am I sensing that you wouldn’t stop asking until you knew the whole story?”

The other blonde only grinned. “You know me well, Nick.”

Nikolai did end up telling his sister the whole story, though he left out some vivid details of a certain kick on the shoulder that left him paralyzed to the ground due to both impact and shock, and a scolding right after. It never was selfish to leave some dignity for himself.

More than an hour later, he offered to drop her off the apartment complex she had been staying at, and Nikolai thought that the world could never be smaller until they stopped in front of the building.

“You know what, I’m starting to believe that our world is smaller than I imagined it to be,” Nikolai said, eyeing the same building where he had driven Zoya last Monday. His face contorted in disbelief. “Seriously, what the hell?”

“Maybe you two are the ones fated for one another,” Linnea said as they both stepped inside the lobby.

“Tell her that, and you’d probably never see the sunrise again.”

“Oh, good. I’ll try this Sunday.”

Nikolai put a hand to his temple. There was probably nothing that could deny them of being siblings because she was definitely showing the same wits that Nikolai had, and it was also then that he realized how Zoya must have been controlling herself to not strangle him.

“Perhaps you should give her a visit and tell her about this.”

He contemplated about the idea for a moment, and decided that he should tell her about the first attempt that led to a failure of their deal. “Finally, you said something that made sense.”

“Coming from you?”

They got into the elevator in the hall at the left side of the lobby, the lift empty except for the siblings. Linnea punched in the number to her floor, while Nikolai pressed the one to Zoya’s. The bearings operating the elevator gave a groan, and it started to ascend.

“Dad’s been quite upset lately,” Linnea started, breaking the silence between them. “I haven’t been able to visit him for a while, and he had been asking about you as well.”

Nikolai gave a huff. “Tell me about it.”

“He really asked about you, Nick. I understand that you might not want to see him now, but at least tell me you will eventually.”

It was unfair for her to be asking him that kind of favor, but Nikolai realized that perhaps he’d been unfair to their father for the past years as well, and he didn’t want that.

As much as Nikolai wanted to cut off ties with people he knew, the bigger part of him would always come back to them no matter the pain they had given him, and he sometimes wished he never had that kind of person within him.

He gave a loud sigh, and just like that, he was pushing his selfish attitude away and he was left vulnerable again. “Alright, I will,” he replied, and quickly added, “but at my own time.”

Linnea smiled. “That’s good enough for me.”

The elevator sounded and they finally arrived at his sister’s floor. Linnea got out of the lift, and turned back to face him.

“You do realize that you like Zoya, right?”

She might as well have axed him down on the spot, and Nikolai was sure that he looked like someone dropped a bomb in front of him. The conversation took a sudden sharp turn and he was left gaping at her, his eyes wide. He was definitely not expecting that kind of question. “What?”

Linnea laughed, waving a hand in goodbye as the doors began to close. “I’ll see you around, brother dear,” were the last words she said and she gave him a smirk before it shut completely and Nikolai was left staring at his reflection projected by the doors.

He had the same bewildered expression even as the doors finally opened to Zoya’s floor, and he quickly stepped out. The words seemed to repeat in his head, and he had to curse his sister for catching him off guard with that.

The little devil would probably be celebrating tonight for finally outwitting her older brother.

Nikolai stopped in front of Zoya’s door at the end of the hall, and he was reminded of the last time he had been here at least a month ago, when he had to bring home a very drunk Zoya and make sure she didn’t trash her own place while she was in that state. He would never forget the agony of half-dragging and half-carrying the raven-haired through the length of the hall just to get to her door.

He rang the bell, but then he was suddenly hesitating if he was supposed to be here. He had at least a few more seconds to decide whether to make a run for it or—

The door opened, and Nikolai almost jumped in shock. Whatever he was thinking about flew out of his mind when Zoya appeared on the doorway in her black tank top and sweatpants, the perfect arch of her brows drawn tightly together as she frowned.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, inclining her head over the doorframe to look through the hallway. She opened her door wider and stepped aside, an invitation for him to come in. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Carveya?”

Nikolai recovered from his shock with a slight jolt. “It’s done, actually.” He brushed past her and made his way inside her apartment.

The place was a bit small—definitely smaller than the one he was staying at—but he always felt at home whenever he came in here. It was possibly the neat arrangement of her things on the study table at the right side of the living room. Or the books that lined her shelf beside it. Or the perfect view of the downtown expanse from her balcony window. Or just the place itself.

He slumped down on the couch, resting his head on the backrest, his eyes closed. It was only then he felt another wave of tiredness seep through his bones and the comfortable feel of the sofa was definitely helping sleep to invade his senses. The past week’s worth of exhaustion was slowly coming up to bite him.

“You didn’t come here for another sleepover, did you?” Zoya’s voice echoed through the living room, and he felt a strong flick on his forehead, causing him to snap his eyes open with a protest and giving her a glare from upside down. “You know, you still haven’t answered any of my questions yet.”

Nikolai wrinkled his nose as he rubbed a hand on the sore spot on his forehead. “Actually, I did answer one,” he replied, adjusting his position on the couch and resting his head on the armrest instead. He removed his glasses and set them down on the coffee table. “No, I didn’t come here for a sleepover. But I could consider that idea, your couch is definitely inviting me to sleep.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Oh, you know, just being the protective person I am and dropping off Linnea back to her place.”

Zoya gave him a puzzled look and sat on the backrest of the couch, staring down at him. The dim light of the room only made her eyes glow a more vibrant blue, and Nikolai had to look away. “Then aren’t you supposed to be there?”

Nikolai sighed and put an arm over his eyes. “Well, my sister told me to pay you a visit since you two live in the same apartment complex.” He shrugged. “I only heeded her advice.”

There was a long silence after that, and he was aware that Zoya was still processing what he just said. He could picture her bewildered expression in his head, and he had to fight off a laugh threatening to come out from him. He could basically hear her thinking aloud.

When she still didn’t answer after a few more moments, he moved his arm off and looked over the raven-haired storm.

“I beg your fucking pardon?” Zoya said, her voice rising to a shout, and Nikolai couldn’t help it and he finally laughed hysterically. Her expression was priceless, he realized, and he just knew he had to remember this night. “Your sister?”

“Yes, my sister,” Nikolai emphasized, still trying to find a way to breathe from laughing too much. “You know, blonde, with the same hazel eyes and knows how to reply to witty remarks? Yep, that’s her.”

The same expression stayed on the woman’s face, and Nikolai didn’t know whether he should continue to laugh or just look at the bewildered look on her face. It was definitely the first time he saw Zoya Nazyalensky shocked beyond compare.

“Words seemed to have left you, Nazyalensky.”

“You have a sister?”

“Should I repeat it again?”

“How—?” Zoya gestured a hand up vaguely to her door, the same expression never leaving. “Linnea Opjer?”

Nikolai opened his mouth to answer, only to close it again when he was overcome with second-thoughts. He never really told anyone about his real background, especially this part of his past, not even the closest people around him. It was something he wasn’t proud of, and he was afraid of what others might think of him.

Besides, he already had a fair share of harsh words being drilled into his mind in his younger years. It was enough.

Nikolai settled to waving a dismissive hand instead. “Bit of a long story. Perhaps I’ll elaborate next time. But yes. Linnea, your gym partner, is my sister.” He grinned. “Small world, yeah?”

Zoya only gaped at him, and then shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this. The two infuriating blondes in my life are related. Just wow.” She threw up her hands in defeat and surrender. “I’m making coffee.” She got up from the backrest and stomped towards the kitchen.

A thought dawned the blond, and he was suddenly sitting up on the couch. “Am I dreaming, or did the great Zoya Nazyalensky just make a mistake?” Nikolai called out from the living room, trying to get the words out despite laughing. “I’m so remembering this.”

She appeared in his line of sight, a threatening tablespoon pointed at his face. “You’re on thin fucking ice, Lantsov.”

Nikolai only laughed some more, and he was already planning on whom he’d set her up with in the next few days. But for now, he’d relish the iconic mistake that had been made tonight.

***

“Hope you slept well during the weekends, Kostyk,” Zoya told David with a sneer when she came up to him as he was waiting outside the room of their Mechanics class.

David winced. “Come on, Zo, you’ve already hexed me enough for a week.”

“Well, I certainly believe that a week’s worth is not enough.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Zoya still hadn’t told anyone about the mad deal yet, and she could only assume that Nikolai hadn’t mentioned anything to them either. It had been a week since the scheming, but she still wasn’t ready to forget the two’s doing to her.

The first attempt on their deal had been a complete failure, with her not even knowing that the two were related, and the fact that Nikolai had a sister still shocked her even after knowing about it for a few days. She had only known about an older brother he was in not-so-good terms with, and his parents that lived on the far side of the country.

So when Nikolai revealed that Linnea—out of all people—was his sister, it was like a splash of cold water on her head, and she could probably use a little warning for the next time something big was revealed to her.

“The morning is honored to witness even the slightest scowl from our great Zoya Nazyalensky,” an all-too-familiar voice said, and Zoya fought an urge to roll her eyes as she turned to the blond. Speaking of the devil. “You seem to be in a good mood today, truffle.”

Zoya hit him on the back of his shoulder, but Nikolai only chuckled. How could one be in such a good mood at this time in the morning?

“Good mood, indeed.” He reached over for her wrist and pulled her towards him, sending a smile to David. “Can I borrow her for a sec?”

David grinned back, the act so knowing based on the obvious glint in his eyes, and Zoya had the urge to punch it off his face. “It’s not me you need to ask,” he said. “Besides, you didn’t even have to.”

Zoya scowled at the golden boy as he whisked her to the side, and she sent a threatening look to David, who in return only gave her a wink. She turned back to the all-too-grinning blond. “Did you really have to pull me away to say something?”

“Well, if you want David to know about our little agreement from last Tuesday, then let’s talk about this in front of him.”

“Sarcasm will be the reason of your early suffering, Lantsov.”

“Trust me, I already am.” Nikolai waved a dismissive hand even before she could open her mouth to ask what he meant by that. “Anyway, Carveya later. After your shift, perhaps?”

“You didn’t even give me time to at least change.” Zoya shrugged. “But yeah, sure. I’ll go right after. I may forget about that when I take a detour home,” she replied, though she could only hope that she wouldn’t be too tired to worsen her mood later on.

Nikolai grinned. “Perfect, I’ll inform the person you’ll meet tonight.” He tapped her hand, and it was only then that Zoya realized Nikolai hadn’t let go of her wrist yet, the touch sending an unwelcome shiver on her skin. “You’re being good at agreeing lately.”

She slapped his hand and swatted it away, earning a light laugh from the blond. “I’m only agreeing to this because it’s actually fun to see you proven wrong.”

“Harsh.”

“Honest.” Zoya paused, a realization coming to her mind. She eyed the blond idiot carefully. “Wait, it’s nine in the morning, and your class isn’t up until one.” She narrowed her eyes—Nikolai and early had never been in contact. “You’re never this early, Lantsov.”

There was a flash of panic in his eyes, but it was gone in a blink and was replaced with clear amusement, leaving Zoya to contemplate whether she was just seeing things. “I decided that it’s rude not to tell you about tonight in person.”

“Please, you could’ve just texted me during class, just like you always do.”

“There’s no fun in that anymore.” He gave her a playful grin that reached his hazel eyes, and Zoya was sure that she’d never seen them this bright before. There was just so much warmth radiating in them. “And aren’t you glad to see me this early in the morning?”

She made a face of disgust. “No.”

“Are you two finished?” David called out, and they both turned their heads to him. He was looking at them with an inclined head, eyes narrowed curiously.

The students from the previous class were starting to pour out from the room and into the hallway, voices slowly getting louder as they went. David gestured to the open door of their classroom.

“Or do you still need more time for your intimate talk?” he asked.

“Shut up, Kostyk,” they both said in unison.

Zoya thumbed the edge of her button-down as she sat by the table in Carveya—for the nth time, ironically—and waited with slight dread for the one Nikolai had set up for her. She was not going to back out on this.

It was mainly because the blond didn’t stop sending texts telling her that he was only reminding her of tonight. And by the time her shift ended, there were at least thirty texts from the guy, all ranging from short ones to paragraphs—with corny jokes, of course—containing reasons why she shouldn’t ditch it.

She shook her head when her mind started coming up with reasons why this whole setup was pathetic, but she decided that maybe she could give it a chance.

Though she couldn’t help the bitter memories surfacing to her mind; Zoya tried to shove them down to the deepest depths that she could. This was probably not the perfect time to remember them, not when she had to focus on something else.

Maybe this was just what she had become.

Maybe she wasn’t meant to find happiness.

“You know, when Nikolai gave me a call earlier in the morning to meet up with someone, I was already expecting you to be that person.”

Zoya furrowed her brows as she turned to the direction of the voice. It sounded familiar—too familiar—and she wasn’t wrong with her guess when she confirmed who it was. “Zenik?”

The brunette shrugged, and put a hand on her hip. She narrowed her eyes. “Though I’m surprised you actually agreed to this,” she said, an eyebrow raised curiously. “Been a while, Nazyalensky. Finally having a change of heart?”

“Saints, Nina. You’re starting to sound like all of them.”

“Only stating the truth, Zoya.”

They stared each other down for a good minute, as if sizing the other one up. Apparently, Zoya was the one who gave in first and broke into a grin, much to the other woman’s amusement.

“Knew you couldn’t resist it,” said Nina.

Zoya rolled her eyes, standing up from her chair. “Alright, stop saying complete bullshit,” she said and gave the other woman a hug. “Is it just me or have you gotten taller?”

“I don’t know, maybe you’ve just gotten smaller?” Nina replied, releasing their hug. “Yeah, maybe you’d just gotten smaller.”

Zoya found herself chuckling in amusement despite the irony of the situation. True to what Nina said earlier, it’d been a while since they’d last seen each other. The brunette had once been a junior in their volleyball team back in high school, and the one Zoya had passed the team captain position to after she graduated.

Though Nina had been two years younger than Zoya, the brunette had become a close confidant to her, and it was quite unfortunate that they’d barely contacted each other ever since.

“Why are you in town, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be at the other state?” Zoya asked later when they finally settled in their seats. “I know it takes an hour or two to get back to your university.”

Nina chuckled. “Still the ever know-all-things, you are,” she said, to which Zoya frowned at. The brunette gave a laugh back in reply. “I was here today for some research purposes. I’m with a partner.”

“So that explains the getup.” Zoya gestured to the brunette’s polo shirt, which displayed their university logo—which was a symbol of twin ice mountains.

“Yeah. I really had no free time today, but I figured I’d appease to your favorite blond’s request.”

Zoya let out an exasperated breath. “Please tell me he didn’t bombard you with texts.” She knew how the blond could be persistent—perhaps too persistent—and she had seen an example of how he could be just this evening. “You probably know how determined he can get.”

“He did, actually,” replied Nina with a slight laugh. Then she narrowed her eyes, inclining her head to the side. “What’s with this blind dating and shit, really?” She pointed two fingers up in a gesture. “Aren’t you two already doing that?”

There it was again, the same phrase Zoya had been hearing for as long as she could remember. “I’ve heard that a million times.”

“It only means it’s that obvious,” Nina countered, arms crossed over her chest. She shook her head with a laugh. “Wanna bet, though?”

Zoya fought off a wince. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but if there’s anyone who could outsmart her at some point, it was Nina. “I think I’ve had enough on this deal with Nikolai. Not adding anything more to it.”

Nina smirked in triumph, to which Zoya rolled her eyes at. “Afraid you’d lose to me again, Nazyalensky?”

“Yeah, you wish.” Zoya paused, and decided to deflect the subject from her. “How are you?”

There was a slight change in the easy air around them, and Nina’s green eyes suddenly had this faraway look again. At that point, Zoya knew that the other girl knew that the question wasn’t just for a typical reply of “I’m fine” or other generic ones. It was the one that required the honest feelings or emotions.

Nina turned to the window, eyeing the evening sky with an expression that showed sadness and grief at the same time, and Zoya contemplated whether she should have not asked about her.

“It’s been almost a year since then,” the brunette replied softly, not wanting to elaborate anything more, but Zoya still knew better. “I’ve been better, though. Matthias would want that.”

It happened some time before the beginning of Zoya’s third year, when a news of a mass shootout was reported to have happened in the Kerch Academy. Unfortunately, Matthias had been one of the people that perished on the scene when he had tried to convince the shooter to let everyone go and take him instead.

Matthias had been a hero that day, and would continue to be until the end of days. It was too bad that Zoya had only met him a few times back then.

“Good to know you’re doing better,” Zoya replied after a long silence, and she offered the brunette a small smile. Then she decided to change the subject; they’d rarely caught up with each other these days, and it was definitely not the time for sad narratives. “So, any news about your circle of dorks? I’d like to know what happened to them after pulling off that ridiculous scheme on graduation day.”

With that, Nina’s face brightened up again, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Oh, trust me, you wouldn’t believe how Kaz got away with it again.”

At least over an hour later, much to the both’s dismay, Nina had to cut the moment short when she was called back by her partner Hanne that they had to travel back to their dormitory in less than an hour.

They separated by the intersection when their routes were opposite, and they promised to contact each other a little more if their time was manageable.

Now Zoya found herself walking by the sidewalks of Os Alta as she made her way to her stop, silently hoping to the skies that the bus wasn’t on its last trip yet. The wind picked up, and she shrugged her button-down tighter around her.

It had been the first time in weeks since she felt a little lighter, without the weight of any of her responsibilities staying on her shoulders for the night, and catching up with an old friend definitely helped out with everything she had on her plate.

The stop finally came into view, and Zoya was relieved that there were only a few people waiting by the shed. Most of the time at this ungodly hour, tons of people were packed and it would usually take her at least half an hour before she could finally get on the bus. The odds were quite on her side tonight.

As she waited near the curb, Zoya took out her phone and checked through the messages. She was actually surprised when there were no new ones from the blond—not that she was expecting anything from him.

Zoya long-pressed the number two from the number pad, waiting for the call to take place. The line started to ring, and she held the phone to her ear.

It took a few more rings before she was greeted with a drawl of, “Hellooooo.”

Zoya let out a huff. “How do you maintain your energy until this time of the day, anyway?” she asked. “You seem to be in a good mood today, Lantsov.”

Nikolai chuckled from the other line. “I have my ways, truffle,” he replied. “Good mood, you asked? Because it’s a surprise you’re the one who gave me a call at this ungodly hour.” A short pause, and Zoya could basically see him frowning as he thought of the next things to say. “How was it, though?”

“I’ll let tonight slide, but really, I can’t believe you contacted Nina,” Zoya said, crossing her arms though he wasn’t physically there to see.

There was another pause at his side, but it was a bit longer this time, leaving Zoya to wonder whether Nikolai fell asleep while on the phone or he was just utterly speechless. Which was unlikely, considering the chatterbox the blond was.

“Well, actually…” he trailed off. “Never mind. But hey, you haven’t answered my question yet.”

“We caught up with some things and talked for a while, but nothing more than that.”

“Really? You two were close back then I thought—”

Zoya gave a dark chuckle. “Come on, Lantsov, just because two people are close doesn’t mean there’s something going on between them,” she said out of defense, but she regretted it just as quickly as the words came out of her mouth, and she could swear that she heard a sharp intake of breath from the other line, though Zoya might have only been hearing things. She always seemed to be these days.

Before she could even take back her words, Nikolai spoke again. “Ouch. Harsh,” he said playfully, though Zoya noticed the slight change in his tone.

“Honest,” she corrected.

Nikolai laughed lightly. “Well, my bad. That’s on me,” he said. “You heading back to your place?”

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for the bus.”

“Be careful on your way back. And please, for the love of the saints, don’t glare in public.”

Zoya scowled at his statement. “What—I don’t glare—” she stopped when she realized that her eyebrows were drawn too tightly and how she was actually also glaring as of the moment, and it was slightly appalling on how well Nikolai seemed to just know anything about her. “How dare you, Lantsov.”

“Gotcha,” Nikolai said with a loud laugh. Then there was a slight pause as his laughter died down. Then he added, “See you tomorrow.”

The blond ended the call, and Zoya stared in disbelief at the screen that displayed “The Idiot” as his name in her contacts. The change in his usual cheery voice still bothered her, albeit him pulling off a successful joke on her again, and Zoya was left to think about the reason behind it or if there was anything to begin with.

With a huff, she shoved her phone back into her sling bag, lowly berating herself about giving meaning to stuff. Because then again, Zoya could only be imagining things.

#zoyalai #king of scars #gvbbfic #grishabigbang #school is almost near so ahksfdk #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #gvbbcreation

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firethatgrewsolow · 5 years

Text

Swiss Time - Chapter Sixteen

**The adventure continues (and this time it didn’t take ten years between chapters lol). Side note - it’s come to my attention that the little separator lines don’t work on mobile, so if the transitions in the chapter seem abrupt, that’s why. Apologies! Thanks for reading, and I hope you like it! <3**

Natalie jumped at the sharp crunch behind her, dropping the phone into its cradle. She spun around to find her aunt gnawing on a piece of celery, a devilish grin firmly planted on her face.

“How’s David? Enjoying the land of the rising sun?”

Nat’s mouth fell open. “Were you … eavesdropping on my conversation?”

“Of course.” Another crunch rang the room. “Would you expect anything less?”

Natalie snatched the stalk away, tossing it onto the bar. “Has anyone told you how obnoxious you are?”

“I do my best.” Sue gingerly reclined onto the sofa, nursing her bloody mary. “So, what did you talk about?”

“Why don’t you tell me? Since you were listening to the whole damn thing.”

“I just caught the last part. Unfortunately,” Susan added with a wink. “I suppose you didn’t mention where you spent last night, huh? And that you barely made it here in time for the call?”

Natalie sank into the chaise next to the window. “No. I didn’t.”

“Speaking of last night, care to fill me in on the details?”

“Not really.”

Susan cocked her head. “You are on the pill, right?”

“Aunt Sue!”

“Just making sure you’re safe. After all, you’re quite the juggler. Last night with Robert and then our trip down under next week?” Sue’s lips curved approvingly. “My, my, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Maybe I don’t. Natalie’s eyes glided to the sheet of glass beside her. The sun was beginning its descent, casting shimmering shapes across the expanse of Lake Geneva. She watched the elegant crafts threading through them, her mind wandering. She hadn’t meant for things to escalate so quickly with either of them. Truth be told, the connection with David had been somewhat of a surprise. As was how precious he’d been to her. Promising to call and actually doing it. He always keeps his promises. Unlike someone else she knew. There was another truth, though, a painfully obvious one. And that was that it just didn’t matter. Robert could do or not do whatever he pleased, and she’d still be lost. The draw she had to him trumped everything. What am I getting into? What am I already in?

“Out of your head, Nattie. You’re not answering the question.”

Natalie met her aunt’s vexed gaze. “I’m sorry. What was it?”

“Do they know about each other?”

Nat hesitated, rolling her lips. “Kind of.”

Sue’s brow lifted. “That’s a no if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Not true. Robert knows that I … spend time with David.”

“Darling, you may spend time with David, but you spent the night with Robert.”

Nat shook her head. “But we didn’t do anything … much. Just watched a movie and hung out.”

“Hung out,” Susan repeated, barking a laugh. “I like it. Nice euphemism. I wonder exactly what was hanging out.” She grinned as her niece cut her eyes at her. “You do realize what you’re doing here, right? A game of cat and mouse with some pretty big egos.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sighing, Sue propped her feet up on the coffee table. “You know these aren’t boys from school, Nat. They’re grown men, and they’re not typically fond of sharing.”

Natalie shrugged. “There’s nothing to share.”

“You spent the night in Robert Plant’s hotel suite, honey. If that’s nothing then it’s a whole lotta nothing.”

“Bullshit is what it is. They have girls in every city. Probably more than one.” Nat crossed her arms. “Hypocrites, the lot of them.”

“Hypocrisy is the principle they live by. And you’re well aware of it. Look, all I’m trying to say is that you’re getting in a little deep. And that’s something, coming from me.” Susan rose, padding toward the bar. “You’re playing with fire, love. And somebody’s going to get burned.”

Nat’s attention returned to the glittering lake. Maybe Sue was right. It was a lot to handle. And she’d promised herself she’d not get involved. It was a load of trouble, but more importantly, a potential career killer, and she was just starting to gain real traction. The rattle of glass against crystal filled the air, and Natalie glanced at her aunt. “Isn’t it a bit late in the day for bloody marys?”

“My day just started, sweet. This is breakfast.” Susan tipped the vodka, pouring liberally. “Would you like one? I hate to drink alone, and seeing as how Christian’s stuck at the casino with your boyfriend-”

“My boyfriend? Really?”

“Well, one of them,” Sue drawled, capping the bottle.

“What’s he doing down there?”

Susan rifled through the swizzle sticks, finally opting for her discarded stalk of celery. “Why, it’s the soundcheck, darling. Don’t you remember?”

Oh, shit. Natalie stole a peek at the clock on the bookcase. “Sue, will you call a car? I’m late.”

* * *

“So, you shag her yet?”

Robert rolled his eyes. “It’s none of your business, Bon-”

“That’s a no.” Bonzo cackled, his gaze for an instant darting lower. “You must be in a bloody bad way then, yeah?”

The singer expelled a tense breath, partly in frustration at the lack of filter on his friend but mostly because he was spot on. The night had been magical … sweet, loving, and far from chaste, but not quite the scenario that he’d hoped for. Robert clenched his jaw as Bonzo droned on.

“Well, never mind that. We’ll be in the States before long. Plenty of birds there.”

The drummer spoke the truth, but somehow the words were far from consoling. Robert needed Natalie, not some random girl from the third row. He’d resigned himself to the fact that it was probably going to take time, and he wasn’t going to pressure her or speed things along. He wanted her to want him so badly she couldn’t wait another minute. He knew it would be worth it in the end, but, fuck, he wished the clock would tick just a tiny bit faster. Still, it had been a joy simply being with her, their playful kisses and quiet whispers as they explored each other. Christ, he’d never seen somebody get so wet. It drove him completely mad. She knew it, too, flashing him the wicked little smile usually reserved for when she got her way, which was most of the time. And how she would secretly study him when she didn’t think he could tell what she was doing. Absolutely adorable. Ahh, and her eyes, so big and dark, one second wide and nervous, the next sly, devious. And sexy. Fucking hell, so sexy. He’d watched them close as she’d fallen asleep in his arms, the moonlight finally melding into morning. She’d woken up in them, too, a tangly-haired, sleepy-eyed mess. His tangly-haired, sleepy-eyed mess. He clenched his jaw again, tamping his body’s response.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, mate. You’re a fuckin’ lost cause.”

Robert blinked, finding Bonzo through the film of the reverie. “What?”

“Get out of your head. And I’m not talkin’ about the one on your shoulders.” The drummer lit a cigarette, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. “I was saying you’re a lost cause. And that your girl’s even later that you thought she’d be.”

Robert canvassed the clock hanging haphazardly above the catering table. Bonzo was right. She was going to miss the soundcheck. Damn it. For a moment, he considered ringing her, as he’d done earlier. Meh, it’ll probably still be busy. They must have it off the hook. He snagged a Chimay from the small aluminum tub they’d set up as a makeshift cooler. What was she doing? She’d been gone for over three hours. It didn’t take that long to shower and fetch fresh clothes. Odd, very odd. His stomach rumbled as the aroma of newly delivered short ribs wafted through the room, and with a sigh, he pushed the thought away.

Nat sprang out of the taxi, hustling across the street before the light changed. She rounded the corner, bound for the casino, stopping in her tracks at what awaited her. A throng of people encompassed it, packed shoulder to shoulder along the sidewalks. She scanned the smoky crowd, lingering on a trio of girls that were casing those around them apprehensively. They know they aren’t getting in. In truth, most weren’t. There were simply too many of them. Some were seemingly stoned enough not to care, but that wouldn’t be the case with everyone. Summoning her reserve, she dove into the thick of it, worming her way through with resolute determination. Weathering a few scowls and cross words, she finally reached the tall double doors that marked the entrance to the concert hall. She rapped on the glass, waving to Tom, who was in conversation with a security guard she didn’t recognize. She slipped through the crack he made for her, leaning back against the doors as they shut.

“You should have come around the other way.”

Her eyes flickered to his. “Appreciate the advice, Captain Hindsight. I thought this way would be quicker. I had no idea there would be so many people.”

“You missed the soundcheck.”

Nat waved her hand dismissively. “Couldn’t be helped.”

“Robert didn’t look too happy.”

She ignored the ribbing and the goofy smile on his face. “Are you going to get to film? I did my best.”

“Looks like it. But that Grant guy ... he’s, um-”

“Formidable. I know. Just don’t fuck it up, and you’ll be fine.” She smirked, brushing past him as he turned a shade paler.

She located the boys in the private anteroom adjacent to the hall. Robert and Bonzo were in the corner, hovering over one of the catering tables while Peter and Christian reclined on the sofa, discussing McCartney’s new band, Wings. John Paul and Jimmy were in opposite folding chairs, quietly tuning their guitars and sipping Heineken. Such a contrast to the wild sea of fans just meters away.

“You’re late. You missed the sound check.”

Natalie glanced toward the source of the grumpy proclamation, squelching her amusement. Robert was posing, hands on hips, pouting like an overgrown toddler. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for having a life. I had to go back home at some point.”

The singer grumbled. “There was a song I wanted to do for you.”

“Sneak it into Whole Lotta Love. You put everything else in there.” She blew him a kiss, falling into the sofa next to Peter, who patted the top of her leg with a beefy hand.

“What’s it like out there, love?”

“It’s a madhouse. I mean, everyone’s being cool, but I bet there are four or five thousand people. And this place only holds two.” She caught Jimmy appraising her out of the corner of her eye. “Have you thought of maybe piping the sound outside?”

“Bloody hell, no!” Peter scoffed, crushing his cigarette. “We do that and there’ll be twenty fuckin’ boots on the shelves before it’s even bloody over.”

Natalie dropped her bag on the end table. “So what? Christian’s filming the damn thing.”

“Yeah, but he’s not trying to sell it.”

“Well, I think you’re making a mistake. These people came from miles away, and some of them are going to be pretty pissed off when they realize they can’t get in. You should give them something.”

“Peter, I agree with Natalie. They deserve it for travelling from so far away.”

She pursed her lips to quell her smile. The band leader had spoken, and that sealed the deal. With a grunt, Peter stood, gesturing to Christian, and the two men disappeared into the hall. Nat kicked off her sandals, curling her legs underneath her. “If it’s any consolation, I believe you’re doing the right thing.”

“T’was a good idea.” Jimmy angled his guitar against the sofa. “Peter’s a bit too protective at times.”

“It means quite a lot that you’re allowing Christian to film the concert.”

Jimmy rose, taking the manager’s former seat. “He’s promised us discretion and full authority to destroy it if we deem that necessary.”

“I see.” The cagey nature of the group was no secret. They ran a tight ship and a closed shop, the collaboration with Sandy Denny being one of the rare exceptions. If something didn’t show Zeppelin in the best possible light, it didn’t get shown. Or it disappeared. Nat had heard rumblings about an episode in Bath the previous year. The boys meant business. “Do you ever think you might regret being so heavy-handed about things like bootlegs? Maybe one day you might wish there were more.”

Jimmy met her gaze. “Regret isn’t in my nature. It’s wasteful. And I tend to believe that events transpire as they’re meant to.”

Nat had forgotten what a curious color his eyes were. Not quite green, but not quite hazel. There wasn’t really a name for it. “Like destiny, you mean?” She watched them narrow for a fraction of a second, his response lost to the raucous shouts behind her.

“Bonzo, you fucking git! You’ve ruined it!”

“I told you not to touch my food, mate.”

Nat twisted around to find an extremely furious Robert holding up his black bolero, which was slathered in a reddish-brown sauce. As Bonzo dissolved into a fit of boisterous laughter, she did the same, her hand sailing to her mouth.

“Fuck you, mate.” The singer shoved him mightily, stumbling backwards as his friend returned the favor.

Nat jumped up as they repeated the action, warily circling each other. “Cut it out, you guys.” She yanked the blouse from Robert’s grasp, surveying the damage. “Don’t be such a baby. This will come out with a wash. It’ll be as good as new by tomorrow.”

“Well, what am I going to wear tonight, then?”

“Who gives a fuck, Percy. Just prance around like you always do.”

Robert flew at him, but Bonzo was ready. With surprising agility, he skipped to the side, sending the singer straight into Natalie. She hit the ground with a resounding thud. “Goddamnit! What are you doing?”

“Christ, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Robert held out his hand, but Nat smacked it, grabbing Bonzo’s instead. “You’re like a bull in a china shop. Too rowdy.” She dusted the dirt from the back of her dress, freezing as she spied a newly formed rip in the sleeve of her cardigan. “Damn it! Look what you did.”

Robert picked up the discarded bolero, draping it on the arm of the sofa as he peered over her shoulder. “Did I do that? It’s not so bad.” He grinned as she glared at him.

“I just bought it.” Sliding off the sweater, Natalie inspected the tear. “And now I’ll have to get it mended.”

Robert tugged the cardigan away, his mouth curving as he admired the white and yellow daisies along the placket and collar. “This is rather nice. Blue, too, my favorite color.” He nibbled his lip. “I don’t suppose you’d consider letting me-”

“I want it back. Fixed.”

“You’re on, lads!” Peter’s voice rumbled through the room. It was time.

#robert plant fanfiction #robert plant fan fiction #robert plant fanfic #led zeppelin fanfiction #led zeppelin fan fiction #led zeppelin fanfic #swiss time

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lord-woolsley · 5 years

Text

Neverlove

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale) Chapters: 1/1 (1795 words) Rating: Teen And Up Summary: When the Nogitsune possesses Stiles, there's only one person who can save him: Derek Hale. However, Derek has to fight his own feelings first. Rant: If you like it, please leave some love on ao3. ♡ Ao3: Link

Neverlove

"When the Nogitsune gets the better of me, you have to kill me, Derek“, Stiles said. He was feeling the exhaustion as he managed to free himself out of possession for a very second. His eyes filled with a familiar sparkle, showing a hint of the sly humour that reminded Derek of Stiles’ usual sarcastic self.

His eyes were reflecting small rays of light shining from the light bulb above their heads. Eyes brown like dark chocolate and now without the pain Derek could see in them just a few moments ago. Stiles’ eyes were way too warm and soft for such a terrible situation, way too present for a body that wasn't his anymore. Derek could see the warmth in them that had always helped Stiles and his friends to manage even the worst of situations. But this time Stiles smiled for himself and only for himself, desperately trying to find pieces of self-awareness to hold onto. But after all it was just a mechanism to protect himself from losing everything that ever meant something to him, to shield himself from the corruption of possession that would certainly destroy him.

Derek looked at Stiles’ eyes again and again, eyes he loved so dearly, eyes he wanted to protect at all costs, never letting them go again. Ignoring his feelings however, he nodded slightly, giving his one and only a silent promise to fulfil his wishes, to hopefully save the real him. Even if death seemed to be the only possible solution, the inevitable outcome.

Derek would have loved to give his own life instead of sacrificing the soul beside him. He was a bad person after all, he might even have deserved a fate like this. But Stiles: pure, soft, always happy Stiles, should have been save, save at home watching TV with his dad, out on the field with Scott or (he didn’t even dare to think about it) making out with Malia on the backseat of his jeep. Everything was better than having Stiles here with him, possessed and broken.

"You’re the only one who can do it. Scott and Malia will not be able to end this", Stiles said. "Oh, Stiles", Derek thought. "Why do you think I'm the right person for this?" He didn’t speak the words out loud. Stopping himself from sobbing, he couldn’t show Stiles what he was going through. Stiles needed someone here with him who was ready for whatever outcome this situation might bring. Someone he could trust and Derek wanted to be this person for him when he needed him the most.

It was evening already and the white artificial light threw a silver shadow on everything it could find. Derek and Stiles were sitting next to each other on the ground waiting for the Nogitsune to take over. The high school was empty at this hour and they were completely alone. Every few minutes or so Stiles said something to show Derek he was still in control of his mind, still fighting against it. Not knowing that Derek was fighting a battle of his own. Thankfully the light was faint enough for Stiles to not see the desperation on Derek’s face.

"If you only knew…", Derek muttered softly to himself. His lips were moving, his mouth closed. He didn't have the strength to say the words out loud. He was aware of his feelings for Stiles for a long time now. Every time Derek started to like a person; his life turned into a nightmare. “Maybe…”, an evil voice in his mind said, “you’re not meant to fall in love.” Whenever Derek had felt an intense feeling of attraction, his life fell apart. He didn’t seem to deserve it and now Stiles had to suffer the consequences.

Derek remembered Kate, her long blonde curls, her confident smile. That was the trait he had fallen in love with first. Derek had loved her unconditionally; he had loved her till the moment she killed his family in flames and betrayed him. He was still blaming himself for it, searching for a specific mistake he had made that had led her to destruction. Derek had let the enemy in, opening himself and his family to her who then had to pay the darkest price for his emotions, how ironic. That's what he wanted to spare himself from. Letting Stiles in would only make it worse. That's why he kept silent, why he didn't tell Stiles about his feelings for him because he wouldn’t be able to endure the consequences again. He wouldn't survive losing another person he loved. If Stiles wasn't his, he might even be able to save him.

Derek hadn’t the chance to start crying because Stiles transformed again. His face was turning dark with eyes looking so empty that every last bit of Stiles' mimic seemed to vanish instantly, transforming his expression into something colder than ice, something that wasn’t Stiles at all anymore. Malignity destroying the last hint of ease Stiles had been able to keep on his face for so long. Stiles was gone.

Derek recognized it as soon as it began, and he was trying to get up as quickly as he could when the Nogitsune tried to attack him with a small pocket knife which Stiles had probably hidden in his pocket for self-defence purposes earlier that day. In a fleeting moment Derek would have loved to die, he imagined the creature throwing him to the floor, tearing into him, ripping his heart out into multiple pieces, shredding it. “No heart, no heartbreak. No heartbreak, no pain”, he thought to himself. It was not granted to him.

Instead of lingering on his thoughts much longer, he took Stiles' hands in this, freeing them from the weapon with sheer strength. From one monster to another. Stiles was trying to hold onto the weapon with inhuman strength, there was nothing left of the fragile teenage boy Derek got to know over the last few months. “I’m 145 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones, sarcasm is my only defence”, Derek remembered him once saying. Without his voice and his wits Stiles was defenceless in this, no one could outsmart a Nogitsune with willpower and sarcasm only, especially not while being possessed and trapped in his own body by said creature. Stiles would be unable to free himself.

Stiles’ hands were stiff but still remained warm, they felt exactly like the first time he had the chance to touch them. Derek’s treacherous heart would always remember that moment like it had been yesterday, burnt into his mind forever, setting off a nostalgic spark from the past, a faint glimmer so much needed in the dark hour he was suffering through right now. For a better lack of words he could only describe it as a fast-beating mess.

Back when the Kanima had paralyzed him and he had been so close to drowning in that goddamn school swimming pool, before bodily-weak, fragile Stiles Stilinski had turned himself into a hero just to rescue him. Derek couldn’t trust his eyes back then when someone was actually coming for him, and even less so, when this special someone turned out be Stiles. Very unexpectedly, he might add. Derek smiled gently, mentally bathing in memories from times long gone. He wouldn’t let go off Stiles’ fingers back then and he had blamed the Kanima’s paralyzing poison for it. None of the others ever found out about it, but he was still clinging onto Stiles’ hand long after the poison had already left his body. Stiles’ fingers had always seemed so fragile, this new strength didn't fit them. Derek didn’t like the change because he was aware of what would follow, and he was not ready for it.

Stiles' bones made a horrifying breaking sound when Derek forced his hand open to take the weapon inside it. Not a real weapon though, not even a sword, just a small pocket knife, and oh the irony, still worse than anything Derek could imagine. He pushed it into Stiles' chest, over and over again until his own sobs stopped him. Derek slid down the wall behind him, leaving blood marks on the wallpaper, now holding onto the body he attacked or “saved” from himself seconds ago. He held him too close, desperate, broken. A puppet, still warm, ready to rise again at any given moment.

The lights made the floor look red, making the wet spots look like puddles, puddles shining in dark ruby red.

"I'm so sorry...“, Derek whispered. It was the first time he apologized to someone.

But in this very moment Derek never wanted to be a powerless and weak minded coward again. “You didn’t break your promise”, the voice in his head said. “You owed him that.” Derek wanted the voice to shut up.

Stiles’ shirt was covered in blood but his eyes looked human-like again, hurt, lost in pain. The Nogitsune stopped its possession, ready to move on, ready to find a new host, a host able to live, to act, and to fulfil its commands. The little left of Stiles wasn’t worthy of its control anymore. Stiles was more dead than alive, more corpse than person. Derek let go of Stiles body slowly and kneeled down beside him, one hand softly resting on Stile's cheek. His eyes were open but his breath so very shallow. He was barely conscious when Derek kissed him.

"I'm so so sorry...", Derek repeated. He said it again and again, repeating it like a mantra that, so he hoped, could undo all of his actions. Derek wished he could turn back time, stopping himself from getting too close to Stiles in the first place, preventing Stiles' fate by staying as far away from him as possible. Keeping him save by cutting him out of his cursed life that was destroying everyone near him.

Derek turned around looking for help, someone had to call an emergency. Maybe Stiles could still be saved after what the Nogitsune did to him? After what he did to him. Maybe there was still enough life left in him? Stiles was a fighter. Derek saw Malia instead.

She gazed towards the body in horror, clasping her hands over her mouth, a shrieking sound escaping her lips. Derek got up instantly, risking one last look at Stiles. He would leave Stiles with her. He was not his Stiles anymore, he had never been his Stiles in the first place. He was Malia’s Stiles and that’s what he would be.

"Wait!“, she shouted while calling an ambulance on her mobile phone. Ignoring her, Derek ran faster, still feeling Stiles' lips on his own. Lips sealing their goodbyes. Derek wasn’t sure if he could ever forget them.

#sterek #teen wolf #fanfiction #ao3 #writing #my writing #mine #reading #fanfic #ff #my stuff #personal #one shot

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