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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

when you wake up.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: i’m a sucker for protective aaron, alright? sue me. i have checked and double checked, but if i’ve messed up any gender-neutralisms, please let me know! i’d like to thank snow, the academy, and my welbutrin for their spiritual aid as i write these fics at an alarming rate rating/words: teen / 2642 warnings: canon-typical injury, swearing, kissing

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Open!

+++

“You know –“ you gasped, grimacing through the pain, “blood is a bitch to get out of a wool blend.”

Aaron pressed his lips together, his forearms flexing as he staunched the bleeding from the gunshot wound in your shoulder with his gorgeous navy pinstripe blazer.

That one was my favorite, you thought with a pout.

He had you propped against a wall, his shirt splattered with your blood. He had torn the collar of your shirt for better access to your wound, and your vest was entirely forgotten on the floor beside you. Emily called the paramedics about seven minutes prior, but the backroads of Montana were not conducive to prompt medical service.

The pain wasn’t unbearable, and surely you’d been through worse.

Shock is a hell of a drug.

Nevertheless, his concern was touching. It had been a while since either one of you were injured – long before you realized you had feelings for each other and did absolutely nothing about it.

It all happened so fast – you had your gun trained on the unsub, who was using the sixth almost-victim as a shield. As soon as Derek and Aaron threw the back door open, he’d shoved the frightened young woman toward Derek and moved really quickly.

Bang. Ouch. Fuck.

“Aaron.”

He didn’t respond and was dutifully ignoring your eyes, focused entirely on the blood gushing through his fingers under your shoulder blade. The hand attached to your injured arm wrapped around his bicep, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his sleeve.

“I’m fine,” you continued. “It’s through and through. Six weeks tops I’ll be back to my old tricks.”

You brought your other hand to his hair, and he leaned into your touch almost unconsciously. Your thumb smoothed over the hair at his temple, where tiny silver streaks rested in the inky black. You were just teasing him about his greys last week.

“They make you look distinguished!” You insisted. You were behind him as he sat at his dining room table, helping Jack set the table for dinner while Aaron tried (in vain) to review a consult.

“They make me look old,” he retorted in a deadpan.

You raked your fingers through the hair at his temples, massaging his scalp all the way to the crown of his head. He leaned back, his hand relaxing around his pen. With a final pat to the top of his head, you stepped away and returned to the pasta sauce.

“No old man would cook as badly as you do.”

His withering glare made his son laugh out loud, and the look only grew darker as you offered Jack a high-five.

“You’re still losing a lot of blood.” His voice was low and tense, his jaw tight.

Derek hovered nearby, though Aaron had shooed him away minutes earlier. He was talking into the comm, likely getting status updates from EMS.

Offering Derek a weak smile, you let your hand drop to Hotch’s wrist. Your eyes were heavy, but you fought to keep them open. Falling unconscious now would only worry him more.

“Aaron, you need to breathe.”

He huffs, and it’s almost a laugh but there’s no humor in it. “You’re telling me to breathe?”

“I’m breathing just fine.” And you were, focused only on the feel of his hands on your skin and the slow, deep breaths you took to keep your oxygen levels high as your blood pressure dropped. “Breathe with me, please. It’ll make me feel better.” That was a low blow, but you were pulling every card you had to keep him from breaking his teeth with that clenched jaw.

God, you were just so tired.

Aaron’s brown eyes flickered up to yours and softened. He leaned forward, shifting his weight and wrapping an arm around you as sirens faintly wailed some distance away. “Lean into me. It’s okay. You can sleep. I’ve got you.”

You were cheek-to-cheek when you finally passed out, succumbing to the heaviness.

+++

When you woke up, your shoulder ached, and the lights were way too bright.

There was a weight dipping the mattress on your left side and a dark shadow on your right.

You lifted your head slightly to see Aaron fast asleep, his head resting on his arms. You smiled and redirected your attention to your right. The dark shadow was Emily, watching you with a soft smile.

“Hey, champ.”

“Hey Em.”

She gestured to Aaron with her chin. “He hasn’t left once.” There was an implication behind her words, something not-quite suggestive, but understanding.

You ignored it for now. “How long was I out?” You brought your hand to Aaron’s tense shoulder, relaxing there, your thumb tracing back and forth over his baby blue button-down. Your IV line pulled a little, and you retracted your hand to his bicep.

“About two days. Surgery went really well – they just had to patch up a couple of ligaments and set a few pins in your clavicle. Nothing shattered, and no fragments. All things considered, really clean shot.”

Not as bad as I thought.

“He’s been here the whole time? Are we still in Montana? What day is it?”

Emily laughed, smiling broadly. “So many questions!” She counted off on her fingers. “His ass has only left that chair to chase down your doctor and go to the bathroom like...twice. We are still in Montana. It’s Tuesday. We’ll be on our way home as soon as you’re discharged. We wouldn’t leave without you.”

You sighed, adjusting your position on the bed. “Thanks.”

She winked.

Hotch stirred, and Emily stood.

“I’ll leave you two for now. We’re all out in the waiting room if you want to see anyone.” She kissed your forehead and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

You could see the exact moment he registered your hand on his shoulder. He startled, straightening faster than you could blink. His eyes still bleary from sleep, you watched as he took stock of your entire person, finally meeting your eyes.

“Hi, Hotch.”

“Hi.” He reached for your hand with both of his, careful of the IV in your forearm. He brought your linked hands to his lips - warm, relieved breath washing over your fingers.

You squeezed once, feeling the stress and worry in his grip. “I’m okay.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I got shot.” Your voice was soft, but the humor behind it was unmistakable.

He huffed a laugh against your hands. “I should be mad at you.”

“You aren’t?”

Just then, a twinge in your shoulder made you wince. Your face crinkled up before you could hide it.

Hotch immediately reached for the call button, his body arcing gracefully over yours, pressing it twice. He looked down at you from under his arm. “No, I’m not.”

The nurse came in, said something about how nice it was to see you awake, and administered some more pain medication. She worked around Hotch, who never let go of your hand.

You had your eyes on him the whole time. His hawkish brown eyes tracked everything – the dosage, the IV drip – until the nurse left the room.

Right away, you started feeling heavy, your eyes slipping closed. “I don’t - I don’t wanna sleep,” you mumbled.

The back of Hotch’s hand traced the line of your cheek in a gentle caress. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you felt his touch fall down your good arm and wind your fingers together. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“You should get s’m sleep.”

You weren’t sure if it was the haze of meds or not, but you could swear you felt kisses to each one of your fingertips before you slipped into unconsciousness once more.

+++

When you woke again, he was still there. He was kicked back in the recliner this time, a book in his lap and reading glasses perched on his nose. It was dark outside, and you surmised you’d been asleep for a couple of hours.

“Since when do you wear reading glasses?” Your voice was rough with sleep.

Hotch snatched the glasses in question off his nose and folded them into his collar. “I don’t, usually, but the fluorescents are hard on my eyes after a while.”

You nodded sagely before breaking out into a smile. He offered you one back, one of those sweet, crooked, closed-mouth tip-ups.

Those might be my favorite.

You shifted, scooting over in the hospital bed and raising the head with the remote so you could sit up with more ease. Hotch stood, and you could tell he was trying to give you space as you independently adjusted your surroundings.

You patted the bed next to your hip, and he gingerly sat beside you, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. He probably didn’t realize, but his entire body was bowed toward you, from his toes to his shoulders. You had always been tuned to each other, like finely-made instruments.

There was so much to say, so much unsaid. This injury was pretty far from a near-death experience, but it was enough to screw your head on straight a little bit.

“Aaron, I --“ You stopped, not sure where to begin. You rested a hand on the knee within your reach, tracing absentminded circles on the grain of his jeans.

Almost three days in the hospital and he’s still wearing jeans.

Well...at least it’s not a suit.

“Why did you stay?” Your words left you without your permission, but maybe it was better that way.

His brow lowered. “It’s my job.”

Your lips tipped up in a small, wry smile. “Bullshit.”

He heaved a sigh. “Fine. I felt...compelled to make sure you were alright.” His eyes were cast down toward the heavy white blanket beneath him. “Every time I got up to leave, I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you knowing you could wake up and I wouldn’t be there.”

You were acutely aware of the dopey grin on your face.

He looked up at you. “It doesn’t make any sense I know –“

“Aaron.” You stopped him with four fingers pressed to his mouth. It was the first time you’d actually instigated contact with his mouth. You felt the stubble that was rapidly turning into a proper beard, but you were focused on the softness of his mouth. You softened, letting your hand relax against him. “It makes sense to me.”

There was silence for a moment. You just stared at each other, your hand still over his mouth. You were glad your heart rate stayed steady, as the beeping was one of the only sounds in the room.

“Hey, Aaron?” Your fingers weren’t really tracing his lips, but they weren’t...not doing that either.

He smiled and spoke from behind your fingers. “Yeah?”

“The spot between my shoulders is insanely itchy.”

He shook his head, exasperated, and pulled your fingers from his mouth. “Lean up for a second.”

You did, and he pulled a pillow from behind you and put it in your lap. You wrapped your good arm around it and ducked your head down. His fingers massaged across your good shoulder and neck, releasing some of the tension there.

He laughed aloud when you made a (frankly) obscene noise when he hit a particularly sore spot.

“You’re giving my physical therapist a run for his money, Aaron.”

“Good.”

He moved down underneath the sling strap, gently running his nails back and forth over the skin peeking through your hospital gown. It was heaven.

“Okay, you can’t ever stop doing that.”

He continued, scratching lightly up and down your spine “I’m here as long as you want me here, sweetheart.”

The endearment made your heart feel all fuzzy, and you relaxed further into the pillow, your body relaxing as the tension melted out of your back.

He stopped after a few minutes, just smoothing his hand back and forth along the left side of your back. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you,” you said, leaning back against the pillows.

He brushed some hair away from your face and hesitated there for a moment. Your jaw fit a little too neatly in his hand. You licked your lips, finding your mouth suddenly dry.

“Y/N...” he said, still quiet.

You shook your head and leaned forward at the same time he did. You met halfway, and he captured your lips with a relieved sigh. He was so careful with you, considering your injury, one hand reaching from your jaw to the side of your head, the other resting on your thigh on top of the thin hospital blanket.

The faded smell of his cologne or deodorant or something very masculine swirled around you. It was a smell you could identify anywhere – something spicy and earthy and Aaron.

Your noses slid against each other as you pulled apart to grin at each other. He pulled you back toward him and your lips met again. Your breath caught as his tongue traced your lower lip. You granted him access, ignoring the embarrassing spike in your heart rate that sent the monitors into a frenzy.

A part of you absolutely wanted to jump him then and there, but between your shoulder and the big window facing out into the hallway, that was a no-go.

You settled for devouring him from where you were instead, taking his lips between your teeth until he was groaning into your mouth. His hands knotted in your hair and you twisted his shirt in your hand. You didn’t think too much about the fact you’d been asleep for two days and therefore had two days of morning breath. The only thing on your mind was the taste of coffee on Aaron’s tongue, the hand planted firmly on your thigh, and the surprising softness of his lips.

It’s not that you thought he’d be a bad kisser, but fuck he was good at it. Almost too good. You craved more and damned your shoulder (again) for keeping you tethered to this bed and unable to wrap him in your arms.

“God,” he whispered into your mouth. “I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

You laughed into him, nipping at his lip again. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

There was a desperate edge to his touch as he took your face between his hands and pulled back to look at you. He kissed you once. Twice. So gently you almost couldn’t feel it. “I’m never getting rid of you,” he said. “Not now, not ever.”

It took you a couple of seconds to open your eyes again. When you did, the warm brown of Aaron’s eyes sank into you, and you almost forgot you’d been shot less than 72 hours prior. “Am I nuts to tell you how much I love you when I’m hopped up on pain meds?”

He shook his head, a thousand-gigawatt smile eating up his whole face. You cupped his jaw in your hand, pressing your thumb into one of his dimples. He tenderly covered your hand with his and turned to press an achingly gentle kiss your palm. “Only a little,” he said. He guided you back onto the pillows, arranging them around you so you could sleep without jostling your shoulder.

The nurse bustled back in and asked after your pain level. You said seven (it was a lie, you’d give it a nine and a half if you weren’t trying to be a hero), and she administered another round of meds. She swept out of the room and your eyes started to close again.

“Aaron...” you whispered, clinging to the last dregs of consciousness.

A kiss to your forehead. Warm breath over your fingers.

If safety had a texture, it would be somewhere between the callouses on his hands and the cool cotton of his dress shirts.

“I’m here.” A pause. “Hey.”

You cracked an eyelid.

“I love you too, by the way.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @octothorpetopus @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #i'll have you know hotch autocorrected to hot chip no less than three times while writing that last tag

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donttouchmeimwriting · 3 years

Text

Argo ch. 2

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2084 words, 3rd person POV

I love to hear feedback on my fics so please don't be shy! You can also tell me your thoughts on anon if you don't want your name on your comments!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

...

Meeting Lijah face to face threw off Jason's rhythm for the rest of the day, and for the entire day after. He had no idea what to do with himself. He could go home, but his mother would want progress by now and he did not want to try to explain how he let Lijah go when even he didn't know exactly why he did it. He could start planning the killings of the other counselors, but he couldn't focus long enough to think about that. His mind was stuck on Lijah, and he determined the only way to get unstuck was to see him again. He had to know why he wasn't afraid and treated him so kindly. There had to be some sort of motive.

Darkness fell over the camp that Friday night, and Jason patrolled the outskirts until every last fire went out and all noise had subsided. His blood was on fire, and he could not rest until his curiosity was sated. He quietly crept to the counselor cabins, searching for number five. Would Lijah be alone? Was this a good idea to come here at all? Jason berated himself internally for his interest in this person. This was stupid. Why was he here? He could easily just kill them all and return to his mother as usual. What was different this time?

There, a little distance from the other cabins, Jason saw a large number 5 painted on the side of the building. The lights were off, save for one room where the soft yellow glow spilled out into the woods where Jason stood. He steeled himself, prepared to fight if an ambush awaited him. Not quite ready, but ready enough, he approached the window and peered inside.

Lijah's bedroom was relatively tidy, minus the small heap of dirty clothes in one corner, and some posters with ragged edges and some tears that were taped to the walls. A dresser stood on the right side of the room next to the door, a small radio and some books resting atop it. Above the dresser hung a simple mirror, and it reflected Lijah's slim legs as he lay on the bed on the opposite end of the room. Jason turned his gaze to the left, seeing Lijah in a thin t-shirt and boxer briefs, reading a book on his bed. Was there ever a time he did not look so at peace?

Jason contemplated simply letting himself in, but he felt compelled to avoid scaring Lijah as long as he could. He sighed heavily and knocked on the window, hoping this wasn't the worst decision he could possibly make. Lijah gave a small start at the sound and turned to see who had made it. To Jason's surprise, Lijah's eyes lit up and he smiled as he set the book down and hopped off of the mattress. He lifted the window open and stepped aside for Jason to climb through.

"Hey!" Lijah greeted cheerfully, "I was hoping I'd get to see you again!"

Jason awkwardly clambered into the room, his size proving troublesome for the space provided by the window. He grunted as he heaved himself through, but he managed without Lijah's offered assistance. He closed the window behind him and turned back to Lijah, the closeness of the walls and ceiling emphasizing just how much of a height and width difference there was between them.

"Have a seat!" Lijah insisted, patting the bed, "Make yourself at home. I was just reading a few chapters to make myself tired enough to sleep, but I can stay up to hang out with you."

Jason sank into the mattress, watching Lijah the entire time. Was something wrong with him that he didn't perceive a threat from Jason? Or maybe he was just leading him on and tricking him into trusting him, and then he would turn against him later. Lijah stepped over to his dresser to retrieve one of the books. Jason saw that it was a spiral bound notebook with a pencil jammed in the binding. Lijah brought the notebook to the bed and climbed up to sit next to him, folding his legs underneath himself.

"I figured since you don't talk, this might help if you want to tell me something about yourself or ask me questions," Lijah explained, "Are you comfortable with writing?"

Jason shrugged. It had been a long time since he had written anything, not counting his own name in the dirt yesterday. He was able to read, but he wasn't confident in his spelling or handwriting. He accepted the notebook anyway, having some questions for Lijah that he could not express through body language.

"cant rite good. ELijah college?" he wrote, needing to spell the full name and crossing out the 'E' to get it right.

"Do I go to college?" Lijah checked, and upon Jason's nod, he elaborated, "Yup, I'm on break right now, but I'm going back in the fall for my senior year. I'm studying psychology and sociology. I'm hoping I can get into social work or therapy or something and help a lot of people."

Jason's frustration increased at this declaration. There was no way he was this good. There had to be some dark side to him somewhere.

"What about you?" Lijah asked, "Do you live around here? And, I don't mean to be rude, but how old are you?"

Jason nodded and returned to the notebook.

"live with Mother by camp. im 23."

"Oh, nice, you're only two years older than me!" Lijah commented, "Do you get along well with your mom?"

Jason nodded and pointed to Lijah as a means to ask him the same question.

"I don't live with my parents anymore," Lijah answered, his tone changing very slightly to hint at some discomfort, "They're good people, but I couldn't live in that environment anymore once I started college. I've pretty much been living either at school or at summer camps for the past few years, but I'm looking into apartments for myself so I can have a place to live after I graduate."

There was the lead. Something must have been wrong with Lijah's family life to force him out on his own, and the implication that he didn't have friends to stay with made the mystery all the more enticing. He remembered the female counselor from the day before who had asked to go with Lijah before he and Jason had met.

"frends?" Jason wrote, "girl frend?"

Lijah laughed, and Jason felt a shiver at the sound for some reason.

"I get along with everybody, but I don't really have any close friends," he said, "I haven't dated anyone for a while now either. I've been focusing on myself and getting through school, though also the people I tend to date are...not the best for me."

From what Jason had seen of Lijah from afar, he seemed like he had lots of friends and was close with many people, but now it seemed he was just as alone as Jason himself. He stared at Lijah for a moment, trying to figure him out. It was then that he noticed some tiny details about Lijah's face that he hadn't seen in the woods yesterday.

Lijah had freckles on his nose, and his eyelashes were long. His eyes were a greenish hazel, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His usually fluffy brown hair was somewhat damp looking, possibly from a recent shower. Jason couldn't explain it, but Lijah was rather pleasant to look at.

"So you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I'm a little curious," Lijah prompted, snapping Jason back to reality, "Why do you wear a hockey mask? Is it good for keeping bugs out of your face?"

Jason tensed. He didn't want Lijah to see his face under the mask. That would surely scare him and make him hate him like everyone else. Jason shook his head and tried to think of an excuse to write down, but all he could think of was,

"i like it."

Lijah nodded upon reading this.

"That's a good, solid reason for anything," he agreed, "I should start living by that a little more, honestly."

Jason relaxed at this, relieved that Lijah accepted that answer. He wasn't sure why, but he was beginning to want Lijah to like him. It was almost like when he was a child and wanted to be friends with the other kids at camp, but this felt different somehow. Lijah didn't have friends of his own either, so they would only have each other if this worked.

Jason did not even think about possibly killing Lijah at this point. He was far too invested in who he was as a person, as well as excited at the possibility of having a real friend, to remember what his mission was. Mother wasn't expecting him back until August. It should be fine.

"Alright, Jason, I'm gonna tell you something and I don't want you to get upset," Lijah began, scratching the back of his head, "But I figure if you wanted to, you could have easily killed me a few times by now, so I think I'm safe. I honestly thought you were gonna kill me yesterday in the woods - we've all heard the stories of the Killer of Crystal Lake or whatever; they warned me of the history of this place when I was hired - but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and treat everyone the way I'd want to be treated. I figured if I died, I would die putting my best foot forward, and, wouldn't you know it, I did that literally."

Jason blinked. Was that really all he'd needed to not kill people? Someone being nice to him?

"For the record, and I'm sure you know this already, but I'm not scared of you now. People don't have to look a certain way to be good or bad. And, hey, if you helped me out and came to visit me like this, you can't be all bad, can you?"

Either Lijah was too naive for his own good or he was very good in the field he was studying. Perhaps both? Jason wasn't sure. He picked up the pencil again to write,

"can i see u more?"

Lijah read this and nodded.

"I'd love that!" he enthused, "Please, come see me this time of night any night you want. I've got lots of books to read, I've got food in the fridge, you can shower here if you want to...I'm the only one who uses this cabin, so really, I don't mind you being here and making yourself comfortable."

Jason wasn't an expert at body language or understanding people in general, but it was clear to him that Lijah desperately wanted a friend. He felt a twitch at the corners of his mouth, a small smile breaking through. Whatever this was between them, they both wanted it, needed it, and Jason looked forward to exploring an actual friendship with someone his own age. Maybe he could bring Lijah back to Mother and show her that there was someone special in the outside world, someone who cared about everyone.

It was a nice thought, but nice thoughts never lasted long.

-------------------------------------------------

Jason and Lijah spent several hours that night getting to know each other. Jason could not believe how easy it was to communicate with him and even more so how easy it was to let his guard down. He found himself having fun, something he couldn't remember the last time it happened. Lijah did grow quite tired after midnight, however, so Jason excused himself through the window to allow Lijah to sleep.

He returned to his temporary campsite in the woods to get some rest as well, wanting to have plenty of energy tomorrow to spend more time with Lijah. He wondered if he had tried to approach the counselors he'd killed differently, if he had a more approachable mask and cleaned up the rest of his appearance, would he have been able to befriend them too? He doubted that notion the instant it materialized in his mind; those counselors weren't like Lijah and would have been afraid of him either way. Lijah was special...Jason could feel it deep within him. Just a few hours with him made Jason reconsider killing anyone this summer.

He hoped Mother would approve.

#friday the 13th fanfiction #friday the 13th #jason voorhees #canon/oc #slasher fanfiction #slashers #argo fic

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twdeadlysins · 4 years

Text

Don’t Listen

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: The Governor wants information and will do whatever it takes to get it from you and Daryl. // Set during Season 3

Request: Could I request a Daryl x Reader with the prompt “How come she loves you?” Where basically the Governor has captured them both at some point during season 3 and is trying to get them both to talk. Daryl and the reader can each hear what is happening to the other, and the Governor tries some emotional manipulation by saying the prompt. Then Rick&Co come to rescue them and they have a tearful reunion. If you decide to write this thank you! Your fanfics are the best ❤❤ // @harpersmariano

Warnings: angst, fluff, abuse (physically + mentally), the usual walking dead themes, and possible typos by yours truly

A/N: I apologize for the wait! I changed this fic SOOO many times because there were so many routes I could take with it.

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

MASTERLIST

The constant shouts, grunts, and the deafening sound of fists colliding with skin made you viciously thrash against your restraints. The rope that bound your wrists was harshly rubbing against your sweaty skin as you used all your strength to lift them, hoping to somehow break free.

It was useless, you were very aware.

There was no way you could tear the material just by tugging on it, but you refused to sit there and do nothing while Daryl was relentlessly getting beat on for information.

You and the hunter were on a supply run specifically looking for baby formula for the newest addition to the group, while also keeping an eye out for anything else that could be useful. After you had walked out the store with what you needed and some other necessities, you were met with a gun and a familiar face.

Merle Dixon.

The presumed dead redneck had grabbed you and placed the weapon to the side of your temple before Daryl stepped out the door, having no choice but to abide by his brother’s commands.

You arrived at a town and were discreetly guided to a building where they separated you from your lover. The wall was super thin, so you heard every sound that was emitted from the room. You’d bet that you could hear a pin drop from where you were seated.

Silence.

The methods of getting information were no more, which left you confused as you halted your struggle. Were you supposed to feel relieved or worried? Did they leave and give Daryl a break or did they end it and kill him?

Before you could ask if he was okay, there was sudden noise of someone fiddling with the door knob to unlock it. Your head whipped to the sound that was once trained on the wall beside you, waiting with an anxious, but curious gaze as to who would step through. The numerous failed attempts of breaking free, and the unknown of who was behind the door and what would happen to you made your chest heave, replacing air faster than the punches that were thrown in the other room.

When the door swiftly opened, your blood began to boil, orbs filling with rage that replaced your anxiety. The amount of hatred that spilled from you prompted you to clench your teeth, refraining yourself from snarling at the man that strided in the room with pride and a smile plastered on his face.

He pulled a wooden chair out with the back facing you, situating himself before he nonchalantly rested his forearms on the top.

“Got yer panties in a bunch, sweetheart?”

“Shut up, Merle.”

You had no patience for his bullshit and since he was in such a fantastic mood, you assumed Daryl was alright. Despite Merle letting them torment his brother, he would be devastated if he was hurt beyond return.

His features crinkled with amusement as a chuckle rumbled through him, which earned you to scoff and roll your eyes, not finding anything humorous.

“Yer a feisty one, can’t believe my baby brother got a fine piece of ass like yerself.” He laughed once again, making you furrow your brows as a question swirled in your head, despite wanting to drop kick him for that comment.

“Speakin’ of your brother, why are you letting them do this to him? Thought you were supposed to protect him? You're his big brother.”

His smirk morphed into confidence. “M’baby brother tough, but he’ll eventually cave. Always does. We were plannin’ on robbin’ the group blind and leavin’ before y’all even knew what hit ya. But y’all left me on that roof before we could, leavin’ me to do this.” Merle lifted his arm, presenting the creation that was made to replace his hand. “So I doubt it’ll take long for him to rat where yer keepin’ each other warm at night,” he said through a smile.

He was alive, that was your confirmation. You didn’t care about their plan, it wasn’t news to you. Daryl had admitted their intention with the group to you during the winter months when you had to travel to different places to find shelter.

Your head tilted as you hummed in disagreement. “Don’t think so. Daryl isn’t the quiet, obedient follower you knew — that you turned him into. He’s helpful, reliable, strong, smart, a leader, and much more, but most importantly he’s himself — something he masked to please you.”

Before the older Dixon could retort, a muffled cough came from the other room followed by a voice. The voice of his torturer. He was elated that Daryl was finally awake and ready to resume their previous activities, except physical torture wasn’t on the agenda anymore it seemed.

“So you and — what’s her name?”

Nothing.

You could only imagine Daryl’s reaction. He was very protective over you, so you knew he was clamping his jaw shut — trying his hardest not to give in.

“Ah! Y/N, that’s it. You and her a couple?”

It fell quiet once again, which only encouraged the man to push further.

“Gotta speak up, Daryl,” his voice boomed. “Cause I’m gonna take your silence as a no and walk in that room. Show her who a real man is.” His voice was taunting and whispery towards the end, making you assume he moved to speak behind the archer, right next to his ear.

“Don’ ya touch her,” Daryl grunted and you heard the chair scrape against the floor.

You were his weakness and it was a conflicting feeling.

He wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, he would do anything to protect you — he loved you. Daryl didn’t have to say those three words for you to know, he easily did it by his actions or with different words like the ones he just spoke.

But if the wrong people knew, you were in a great deal of trouble like you were in now.

The man in charge was going to use your relationship to his advantage, to get what he wanted. Although you didn’t want him to know where your family was, you also didn’t want Daryl to get hurt anymore than he already had — but you’d have to cooperate for that to happen.

“Just gimme what I want n’ I won’t touch a hair on her pretty lil’ head.”

You closed your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t reveal the location. Although you had faith in Daryl that he wouldn’t utter a word, there was a chance he would confess so nothing was inflicted upon you. If the roles were reversed, you would do the same, so you didn’t blame him one bit.

When his offer didn’t receive an answer, you let go the breath you were holding and slowly opened your eyes, giving Merle a side-eye when he tsked and shook his head that his brother still wasn’t giving in.

Before you could make a snide comment towards the one-handed man, you heard the leader tell Daryl that he had enough, he wasn’t going to wait anymore — that he was going to pay you a visit. That had finally gotten a rise out of your boyfriend, he was yelling and violently twisting in his seat, spilling threats.

“It’s okay, Daryl!” You had screamed over his protests and brutal promises, you couldn’t let him cave because it was your turn. He was strong, he took the physical pain while you dealt with it mentally and emotionally. The roles were going to be flipped, but it didn’t matter, you still weren’t going to say anything.

“Don’t give in, don’t give in for me, please,” you begged, not getting an answer — just silence. It was better that way, he wasn’t stopping it — wasn’t offering his compliance to the leader.

Merle stood up and turned the chair around to face you before opening the door, finally revealing the face behind the voice that hurt the man you loved. The older Dixon left, leaving you alone and for once in your life, you wanted Merle to stay.

The man in charge introduced himself as the Governor while he slowly stepped to take a seat in front of you, acting as if he didn’t just come out of the room Daryl was in — the room that he beat and taunted him in.

Before the so called Governor could continue, you interrupted him, tired of the long game. “I don’t care what you have to say. I’m not going to tell you jackshit, so go ahead and do whatever you gotta do to me.”

He chuckled with his arms crossed, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Is that what you want?” He curiously asked, getting up and squatting down to your eye level with a smirk still etched on his face.

Smiling sadistically, you leaned forward as much as you could, mere inches from his face. “Can’t let my boyfriend get all the fun, now can I?”

Of course you didn’t want to get tortured, but you weren’t going to let him think he had all the power — he wasn’t going to get anything from hurting you. You were scared, but you weren’t going to show him — you were going to mask it.

It went on for what felt like hours. The Governor had punched, slapped, and cut while he berated you, your group, your relationship, and Daryl. In the beginning you retorted back to him, but the energy you once had dwindled.

After a few good hits, blood filled your mouth, making you choke on your own words despite the amount of times you had spit it out. You had heard Daryl shout for him to stop, but your torturer paid no mind to him. His pleas were soon drowned out by the thumping in your ears and the Governor screaming that you were nothing, that the group was better off and weren’t looking for you.

The Governor stumbled back as he tried to regain his breath, leaving you on the ground still tied to the chair. Once you weakly turned your head to the side to get rid of the liquid that collected in your mouth, you let out a laugh. “Is… is that all you got?”

He let out a grunt before heading out the door.

“Nope, I got somethin’ else.”

You heard the door to the other room open followed by a chuckle.

“Y/N is something else, I’ll tell you. What I don’t get is why she’s with someone like you?”

“Shut up,” you muttered under your breath.

“How come she loves you?” The Governor questioned. “She got tortured ‘cause of you — ‘cause you wouldn’t comply.”

“Shut up!” you weakly defended before coughing up more blood.

“Something so simple and you couldn’t do it to spare her the pain! It’s all your fault, so why does she love you? Someone who let this happen to her? Someone who’s weak and not worth a damn of her time!” He screamed, getting louder with each sentence he spoke.

“Don’t listen! Don’t listen to him, Daryl! This isn’t your fault!”

“You’re weak — you’re a coward — you don’t deserve her or the blood she’s spilled for you! Why does she love you, huh?”

What you didn’t expect was Daryl’s response.

“I don’ know why!”

You froze at his answer, not understanding why he would say something like that. Did he really believe that he wasn’t worthy of your love? That he wasn’t good enough?

Your heart shattered at the insecurities he held.

“Merle,” you heard the Governor say before silence followed.

Next thing you knew, the older Dixon entered and paused, taking in your state before picking up your chair. He sliced your restraints and gently grabbed onto your arm, dragging you out the room.

Another door opened and you caught a glimpse of Daryl at the end of a long table. He was tied to a chair with fresh tears streaming down his battered face, he looked so tired and worn, your heart ached at the sight — the same for him seeing what The Governor had done to you.

Unknownst to you, the Governor gave Merle a look and the redneck reluctantly pushed you onto your knees, making you fumble, but you never tore your eyes off of Daryl. The Governor told Merle to leave as a gun was cocked and you didn’t have to take a peek to know that the weapon was pointed down at your head.

“No!” Daryl cried out, wide-eyed at the scene in front of him.

“Tell me where you and your group are staying at or I’ll blow her brains out,” he threatened.

The hunter slowly connected his teary orbs with yours.

“Don’t tell him. It’s okay,” you put on a smile, despite the tears that wanted to spill. “I love you, Daryl. Don’t you ever forget that.”

You closed your eyes, waiting for the bastard to pull the trigger, but Daryl hurriedly shouted out the location.

You let out a breath and cried, trying to muffle your sobs with your hand.

You weren’t mad at Daryl or disappointed, you would’ve done the same if a gun was pointed at his head. All you felt was relief. Death was far from what you wanted, but if that was the outcome to protect Daryl and the group — so be it.

“The prison? That place is overrun. How’d you manage to clear that place out? How many people are in your group?” The Governor asked in bewilderment.

“Eleven,” Daryl replied, not skipping a beat.

The Governor was amused by that number, not believing eleven people cleared the prison to be suitable to live in. He removed the gun aimed at your head, switching on the safety before placing it back in his holster.

“Kill them both and don’t tell Merle,” you heard him order someone when he opened the door.

Although your body screamed at you not to, you pushed yourself up and sprinted towards Daryl, throwing your arms around his neck to clutch onto him. Your fingers were carded in his hair as he buried his face into the spot between your neck and shoulder, apologizing to you over and over again.

You withdrew and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you with his guilt-ridden eyes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me? You’re the strongest, bravest person I know and I’m lucky to call you mine. I love you,” you assured him before pressing your lips to his.

Once you rested your forehead on his, a hand snaked around your waist and vigorously pulled you back, making you shout in denial.

“Let me go!”

You thrashed against the man that held you while another man cut Daryl free to take him too, but the hunter was quick and punched the guy in the face.

The man that had you in his grasp hesitated, conflicted on whether he should help with Daryl or continue taking you. You used the opportunity to elbow him in the stomach before grabbing his arm, twisting it back and kicking his leg so he would kneel down.

Before you knew it, two more men with guns came into the room and pointed it at you, forcing you to let go of the advantage you both had.

They compelled both of you to your knees next to each other and that was when you knew that you were done for.

That this was it.

“I love ya,” Daryl whispered and you both instinctively laced your hands together before your vision of each other was blocked by a bag going over your head.

The grip he had on your hand was strong, but eventually they pried your hands apart and you whimpered, instantly missing his touch. Despite the life-threatening predicament you were in, you felt safe by the hunter’s side. Not being able to see him or feel his warmth stripped that security away as they began tying your hands together.

You could hear Daryl grunt and struggle, not making it easy on your captors as someone guided you forward and you assumed out of the room before something loud went off, making everyone halt their movements and panic. You yanked the bag off your head to see smoke and — Rick?

He grabbed your bounded hands and cut them before quickly taking you out onto the street, sneaking down it with the others close behind to an empty building.

Once you entered the vacant building, your legs gave out, causing you to make contact with the floor. Daryl was by your side in a matter of seconds, checking you out and making sure you were okay.

The look on his face made you caress his cheek, his eyes held guilt, so you shook your head, silently communicating with him. It caused him to divert his orbs to Rick who was trying to come up with a plan as he cautiously looked out the window.

The events of what happened and what could’ve been caught up with you as you stared at Daryl. You choked back a sob at the thought of losing him mere moments ago and wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your head in his neck.

He wasted no time in securing one arm around your waist and the other to cradle the back of your head. He soothed circles on your back and pressed a lingering kiss on the side of your temple while Rick and the others decided on what to do next.

You both almost met death and the last thing you wanted to do was to let go of the love of your life, but that was what motivated you to push forward.

To live and fight for not only yourself, but for Daryl and your family so you would never have to let go.

TAGLIST: @jodiereedus22 @sourwolf-sterek32 @haleypearce @gruffle1 @lonewolf471 @dashesoflipstick @aristocracy-y @harpersmariano @maydayfigment @yes-sir-hotchner

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader insert #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd #twd daryl dixon #the walking dead #amc the walking dead #twd oneshot #twd one shot #f.

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honeytea8 · 4 years

Text

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

#JJBA #jojo’s bizarre adventure #Dio Brando #Dio x Reader #Dio Brando x Reader #Masquerade AU #jojo #Dio #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #3D Renders

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Text

Prompt: Tup + Teaching Reader to Fix a Mechanical Object

Another fluffy fic because I am WEAK. Also, quick reminder that I got the character and prompt pairings by rolling a pair of d20s, so please don’t roast me about Tup not having any interest in mechanics or electronics. I just write what I can think of. (Evidence can be found on my masterlist.)

Anyway, enjoy!

---

“And that is how you fix a LAATi’s main motivator drive,” Tup finished, tapping at the freshly-repaired mechanism. The ring of his gauntlet striking against the hollow metal made you wince. You didn’t know much about mechanical things and, from everything he had just shown you, neither did Tup.

“Very impressive. Do you want to get something to eat” you asked, steering him gently toward the mess hall at GAR’s headquarters. While you walked, you made a mental note to send one of the engineers to check out the motivator drive before the ship was cleared for use. “Where did you learn to do that?”

As you both stepped into the mess, Tup scrubbed a hand over his head, the movement dislodging his hair from where it had been confined in a neatly-tied bun. “Err… I mostly taught myself. You don’t get many chances to cross-train out here and I never got the chance to be in the mechanic corps. I was marked for infantry since I was decanted.”

Well, there was certainly a lot to unpack in that, but now you didn’t feel like you could order him not to fix anything in the future. “Do you want to learn about mechanical processes? It may not be how you want to spend your leave, but I could get you a shadow day or two with some of the mechanics.”

“Really?” Tup asked excitedly, piling his tray with more food than you had ever seen anyone eat in one sitting. These troopers and their enhanced metabolisms.

You shrugged a bit at his question. You oversaw most of the GAR’s administrative tasks on Coruscant, but you were still low-level enough that you knew a few of the mechanics. They liked to chat for a bit when you gave them the lists of work orders for ships that needed repairs. “Probably?”

“I would love to do that!” Tup grinned, and the conversation paused as you both took your trays to a table and sat down facing each other.

You ate in silence for a few minutes before Tup gave a small, almost self-deprecating smile. “You might want to warn the mechanics that I mostly work on electronics. I really don’t know much about mechanical stuff, but I want to learn.”

“Electronics?” you asked, perking up a bit as you stirred at the soup you had chosen for some reason. It was always awful, but you got it every now and then to see if it had magically improved. “Do you think you could fix my comlink?”

He seemed bewildered by your question, the blinking he did accentuating both his long lashes and the teardrop tattooed under one eye.

Your face heated a bit. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to ask. It’s just been shorting out lately and repair shops charge so much-”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Tup hurried to say. “I know a bit about comlinks from when I’ve had to fix them in the field. I’d be happy to take a look. Do you have it here?”

“It’s up in my office, actually,” you explained. "Maybe I could run up and get it?"

"I'll come with you," Tup offered, standing from the table only a moment after you did.

"No, you should stay here and eat," you told him. “I’ll be right back.”

"I'm already done," he said, taking a bit of a piece of fruit. Startled, you glanced down at his plate. Though it had been absolutely piled with food only minutes before, it was now empty. The fruit Tup was holding was indeed the last thing left of his meal.

While you were staring at the lack of food on his tray, Tup had been eyeing your barely touched soup. “Do you want to bring that with you? I’m sure they’d have a container for it if you want…”

“Nah, it’s terrible,” you said with a laugh.

“It always is,” he agreed, smiling so widely that his eyes crinkled at the corners. It warmed your heart to see Tup happy and you were a little sad when he turned toward the administrative offices.

You followed Tup, amused to see where you would end up, but he led the way unerringly to your office.

“How did you know where this was?” you asked. “You’ve never been here.”

“Oh, uh… Well, you know troopers,” he hedged. “We all talk, share information. Some of the guys have been here, so I know where it is.”

You frowned, trying to think of a single time when a trooper had visited the admin offices, but nothing came to mind. Too bad, because it certainly would have made your day more interesting. “When did-?”

“Now, where is that comlink?” Tup asked loudly.

“Uh, right over here…” you said slowly, pulling open a drawer and bringing out the malfunctioning piece of equipment. “It’s just having trouble making outgoing calls.”

He hummed a bit, turning the comlink over to study it, then shrugged. “Easy enough to test. Let me put in my frequency and try to make a call…”

Tup typed in a code and his wrist comlink chimed right away. One of his eyebrows shot up and your face heated again. It wasn't as if you had made up a broken comlink in order to get Tup's frequency, but it probably looked that way to him.

"Let's try one more time," he suggested. You nodded, grateful that he wasn't going to start teasing you - at least, not immediately.

You didn't think you had ever hoped for a comlink malfunction before, but stars, it would really be great if Tup could see the problem with his own eyes.

He typed in the number for his frequency again, hit the button to connect, and nothing happened. At least, nothing happened for a split second before his comlink beeped at him.

Tup grinned and you braced for a teasing comment, but he had stifled the expression only a half-second later. “Well, that’s strange. Maybe it’s fixed?”

You frowned at the odd behavior. Most of the troopers never hesitated to mercilessly tease someone, and Tup was no exception. You had seen him absolutely roast Hardcase about his new relationship with an administrator aboard the Resolute only last week, so the fact that he wasn’t teasing you was a cause for concern.

“It really is broken, though,” you insisted.

“I believe you,” Tup said quietly, without a trace of the grin he had worn only a moment before. “You have no reason to lie. But I’ll tell you what: you have my frequency now. If it keeps giving you problems, use a working comlink to call me. If I’m planetside, I’ll come take another look at it, okay?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you,” you agreed, still on-edge. You never thought you would have wanted to be teased, but this was strange behavior.

“And…” he cleared his throat. “And if you ever want to call for another reason, even if you just want to talk, you can. I’ll pick up. I’d be glad to listen to you.”

You stared at him, knowing your eyes were bulging like those of a particularly deranged mynock. “You would?”

“Of course I would,” Tup’s blush at the admission showed even through the smooth brown of his skin. “I always like talking to you."

"I like talking to you, too," you replied, feeling a bit dizzy at the conversational turn. "You're probably my favorite person to spend time with."

"Really?" Tup asked, perking up a bit. "Then… do you want to come to 79s with me? Maybe tomorrow night?"

"79s is a dance club..?" you guessed slowly, trying to remember what little you knew about the place. You weren't really the clubbing type, but for Tup? You would gladly try to be.

"Yeah! A lot of us clones go there. Some guys won't go anywhere else," Tup explained. "Do you want to come? No pressure…"

"Of course I will!" you insisted. "Are you sure none of your friends will mind me tagging along?"

Tup blushed a bit, rubbing at the back of his neck. "There, uh, won't be any other guys there. It'll just be you and me. Like a… a date. It is a date. I mean, will you go on a date with me?"

You had been putting so much effort into following Tup's train of thought that you stared at him for a long moment after he had finished speaking. He stared back, dark eyes intense, and you snapped back to the moment.

"Yes!" you agreed loudly, winced, and corrected yourself to a more natural volume. "Yes. Tup, I would absolutely love to go on a date with you."

Tup looked so thrilled that you forgot to apologize for shouting in his face a moment before. "That's great! I'll come get you here- oh, I don't have a speeder. I can meet you here and we'll go together? Or I could just meet you there, or-"

"Let's meet here," you offered.

"That seems easiest," Tup agreed gratefully. With a shy smile, he said, “Thank you for agreeing to go. I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”

“I would have said yes months ago,” you admitted before you could censor yourself, and felt your face grow hot.

Tup’s eyebrows shot up his forehead at that, then a wicked smile spread across his face as his eyes heated. In a voice that was a full octave lower than you were used to hearing from him, he murmured, “Sounds like we need to make up for some lost time, then.”

You nodded breathlessly. You didn’t know where that sudden wave of confidence had come from, but it was a good look on him.

“Meet you at seven?” he asked.

“How about six,” you suggested.

He grinned and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “It’s a date.”

You watched him leave your office, an unfamiliar swagger in his step. You shook your head and smiled, cheek still warm from his lips. Six couldn’t come fast enough.

---

A/N - cocky Tup is the best Tup.

#star wars the clone wars #star wars #star wars fanfiction #fic #i take requests #clone trooper tup #gender-neutral reader #no description reader #shy tup #then really confident tup #please reblog

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2manyfandoms2count · 4 years

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Friends who cook together...

I saw today's prompt for @auyeahaugust (College AU) and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to share the beginning of this fic I've been working on!

It's actually based on @e-milieeee's post, I couldn't resist the cooking trope 😬

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 (gasp)

---

Lesson 1: Ratatouille

Adrien Agreste was the perfect man. Good-looking, hard-working, charming, he was the prime example of the son-in-law every parent wanted, and the people his age who didn't want to be him wanted to date him.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng wouldn't deny she might be classified in the latter category, although less so than when she was younger. She was good friends with the model now. Voluntarily so. You didn’t fight and defeat Paris’ number one villains for years, growing from a teenager into a young adult together, without getting close. Their respective crushes on each other had faded over time, but it didn’t mean they would’ve said no if all the circumstances aligned, although they wouldn’t have admitted it out loud.

The one thing Adrien Agreste wasn’t, though, was a good cook. Not that he didn’t have everything he could possibly need in his kitchen. The apartment he now lived in, although a huge step down from the Mansion that had once been his home (but what wouldn’t be), was still a lot bigger, and a lot more comfortable than what a normal student should have been able to afford.

It was a lot better equipped, too.

Marinette had told him the contractors were abusing his trust by installing things that were way more expensive than they ought to be, knowing he wouldn’t double check, but he’d waved her concerns away. With his father’s demise, he’d just wanted to move out as quickly as possible to avoid the crowds of paparazzi, and if signing a very large cheque could provide him with the knowledge the workers wouldn’t blab, then so be it. He couldn’t bring himself to sell the Mansion despite the knowledge it had been Hawkmoth’s lair the whole time -there were too many memories associated with his mother there- but he’d had some offers to rent it out for movie settings which would definitely cover the costs of keeping it, as well as his rent. He’d looked into his finances and put all the money he’d earned as a model in a bank account, and donated the rest to a fund to help Akuma victims. There was no way he was keeping his father’s dirty money when so many people had suffered at his hands.

Since then, Adrien had fallen into a nice little routine as he moved from Lycée to University. He made the most of his freedom by exploring every nook and cranny of Paris without anyone being able to say anything about it. No curfews, no limitations, but for his own tiredness and others’ private property, of course.

It left little time for him to learn basic cooking skills. He was often too tired to make anything when he came back from his nocturnal meanderings, so he went for the easy solution: food delivery. There were so many restaurants nearby he could’ve eaten something different every night for a month and still not have gone through all of the options. It was more diverse than anything he’d ever eaten, and it suited him just fine.

Little did he know that this habit would be disrupted by his best friend moving in next door.

Marinette had been looking for a new flat. Not that she didn’t enjoy living with her parents, but she found herself wanting a little more privacy now that she was at University. The reveal that she was Ladybug had brought a lot of attention to the Tom and Sabine bakery, which was good, but a lot of it was journalists prowling around in the hopes of getting an exclusive interview with her. She was tired of being pretty much mauled anytime she left the house, and although she could easily leave via the rooftops as Ladybug, she refused to let them dictate how and when she could get in and out. Which is why, when she’d seen the words “à louer” on a window of Adrien’s building as she visited him for their weekly game night, she didn’t think twice about calling the number. Adrien had been a step ahead of her, so the owners were expecting her call. A week later, she had officially moved into the flat across from his.

She hadn’t paid much attention to his habits at first. She was too busy settling in, and with all the planned evenings with Nino and Alya, plus the ones with the Miracuclass students who remained in Paris, she didn’t see how late he came back at night, and ordering in didn’t seem out of place. What better than a pizza for poker night? Or sushi for movie night? It was easy .

As winter settled in, though, and nights out dwindled to once every fortnight, she noticed the ballet of scooters and bikes that came almost at a fixed time every night. Generally when she was about to fall asleep, doing a grand job at waking her up. Groggily stalking up to the window one evening, she’d noticed Adrien meet the delivery person as he came back from wherever he’d been, paying his due and coming up. She’d dismissed it due to midterm season approaching, but exams had come and gone and things hadn’t changed. She kept an eye out, and after two additional weeks of seeing Adrien collect a brown paper bag, knowing fully well that he ate a sandwich every midday thanks to her father’s well-meaning gossip, she’d decided to take action. She couldn’t let her partner have such a questionable diet.

“What's it going to be tonight?” She asked, leaning arms crossed against her door frame one night as he appeared on the landing.

Adrien froze at the top of the stairs and looked at her like a deer caught in headlights.

“Er…“ He raked his mind for something, anything that would sound even remotely healthy, but nothing came. He sighed defeatedly. “None pizza with left beef.” He mumbled, his head lowered guiltily. He’d seen the meme the night before, and had wanted to try it out.

“What?”

He repeated a little louder.

“Okay that’s it, you’re coming over to my place for dinner.”

He knew from her tone of voice there’d be no arguing with her, so he sheepishly followed her inside her flat, still clutching his pizza box. He wasn’t too unhappy about the outcome, if he was honest. Marinette was a good cook. He’d have a nice meal tonight.

“What about the pizza?” He asked weakly.

“We can use it as… bread, or something.” The girl suggested, crinkling her nose at the thought. For someone who came from a long line of bakers and was part Italian, calling the contents of the box pizza or even bread seemed inherently wrong.

Adrien trailed a little behind her as she walked towards her kitchen, marveling at what she’d done with the place.

Marinette’s apartment mirrored his in terms of structure, but whereas his decoration was very minimalistic, hers was a lot more eclectic, without looking cluttered. Her furniture wasn’t a set, yet fit together very well and gave the space a cozy feel. The painted walls, as well as the coloured posters, curtains, rugs and cushions made it feel very homey. He wanted nothing more than sit on her sofa and snuggle under the knitted blanket with her to watch a movie.

Platonically, of course.

Adrien walked into the kitchen and was greeted by the pastel yellow of the walls and warm lighting. Her utensils provided nice splashes of colour that brightened up the room. He particularly appreciated the Ladybug-themed colander that was drying next to the sink.

“If you look in that bottom draw,” she indicated with her foot before reaching for a jar of dried rice in a cupboard, “you should find some saucepans, if you could take two out please, Chaton.”

He obliged, resisting the temptation to lift her up to help her. He knew she wouldn't appreciate it.

“Can I put you in charge of cooking the rice?” She asked, handing him the packet. Adrien accepted it but looked at her quizzically.

“Sure!” He replied excitedly. “Do you have the instructions anywhere?”

Marinette stopped in the middle of washing vegetables she’d taken out of the fridge and squinted her eyes as she gauged whether or not he was joking. He seemed genuinely at loss for what to do.

“Have you never prepared rice before?”

“No?”

“It’s like pasta.” His clueless face made her sigh defeatedly. “You’ve never made pasta either, haven’t you.”

“Does instant ramen count? Or pasta boxes?” He flinched slightly.

“How you’re still alive and actually fit is beyond me.” She rolled her eyes. “Right, I guess we really are starting with the basics then. Consider this lesson number one: pour some water in that saucepan.”

She moved away from the sink to allow him to access it, but stayed close enough to be able to turn the tap off for him. He clearly had no idea of how much water was needed.

“Right, now put the saucepan on the hob, and turn it on.” She saw a smirk spread on his face. “And don’t even think about making a joke, I know what it sounded like!”

“You’re no fun, Buguinette.” He pouted, pressing the button she indicated.

“Add a little salt, and then we’ll just let it come to a boil.”

Next, she handed him a chopping board and tomatoes. She hesitated before giving him a knife. “Can I trust you not to cut yourself?”

“Har har.” He grabbed the knife. “Joke’s on you, because salad is actually the only thing I know how to make. How do you want these?”

She resisted making a comment on how knowing how to make salad wasn't something he really could brag about. “Sliced. We’re making ratatouille.”

“Ooh, nice!”

He listened as she talked him through the recipe, impressed by the fact she didn’t need a cookbook to remember how to prepare it. She taught him how to prepare an aubergine, which he could recognise thanks to the emoji, but could not imagine how to bring to an edible form.

“We just want to sear them in some oil with the courgettes, then we’ll let them cook gently with the rest of the vegetables and the herbs.”

He’d been quite dainty on the amount of herbes de Provence he’d added, which had prompted her taking his hand and shaking the spice pot to cover the tomatoes with it.

He looked at her concentrated expression as she stirred the pan and couldn’t help but smile, his hand still hovering above the hob.

Marinette looked at him inquisitively. “What?”

“Nothing.” She raised her eyebrows. “I just forgot how cute you are when you’re bossy.”

Marinette stammered in response, her cheeks pinking. It didn't matter how at ease she felt with Adrien now, she still couldn't take a compliment from him. He grinned and took advantage of her distraction to steal the wooden spoon from her and taste the dish.

“Authorisation to add a little salt?” He asked, refilling the spoon with ratatouille for her.

She took it, trying not to focus on the fact his lips had been just where hers were. She let the flavours flood her palet thoughtfully.

"Authorisation granted."

She smiled fondly as Adrien excitedly added missing spices to the mix.

"See? I am a competent cook!" He added with a satisfied smile.

"Please, you're barely a sous-chef." Marinette snorted. She backtracked her slightly harsh words seeing her partner's pout. "Don't worry though, you'll get the hang of it! It's just a question of practising." She rubbed his back encouragingly. "Would making the plates pretty make you feel better?"

"I think so." He mock sniffled.

Marinette made a point of taking out her Chat Noir plates, which she'd been planning on keeping for special occasions. The way Adrien's face lit up upon seeing them made the fact they were her only dishes that couldn't be dishwashed seem irrelevant. Adrien made a mental note to try and find matching Ladybug ones, although he wasn't sure if he would be gifting them to her or keeping them for himself.

Marinette busied herself with tidying up the kitchen and laying the cutlery as he worked on the presentation. Had her phone been nearby, she would've taken a picture of him as he blepped in concentration.

"Does this look good enough for Madame la Chef ?" He asked as he presented the plates to her. He'd positioned the vegetables around the rice so as to make it look like a flower.

"It's perfect, Chaton." She kissed the top of his head as she passed behind him with a packet of smoked ham. She rolled the slices into little roses and planted them in the rice.

"A table?" She asked as she finally sat down opposite him.

Adrien dug in before she could say bon appétit .

---

When Adrien came home from his morning run a couple of days later, a fresh croissant in hand, he found a conscientiously wrapped package on his doormat. The black polka dots on the field of red were a dead giveaway as to who it was from. He grinned as he picked it up and opened the door.

Breakfast and washed hands later, he sat on his couch, facing the present. He was torn between tearing the wrapping, or being civilised about it. Before he could choose, Plagg flew nearby and obeyed his cat instincts, swiftly disappearing back into his Camembert cabinet with a grin to avoid his holder's reprimands.

"Je sais cuisiner." He read the title and laughed, holding the book in front of him. It was an old edition, a yellow hardback with a picture of the author on the cover.

A post-it note stuck out from the top of the book. He opened it to get to the bookmarked recipe.

For Adrien - saw this and thought of you! Since you're so keen on instructions, this might do the trick! Feel free to use it often ;-)

Love, Marinette

P.S.: I suggest we try this recipe next!

Adrien read through the page, and felt his stomach grumble. He was very pleased at the thought that something had reminded her of him and that she'd bought it for him. The "love" and the fact she was obviously looking forward to repeating their cooking experience were added bonuses.

He himself could hardly wait.

#auyeah2020 #mlauyeahaugust #college au #miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #mlb #adrienette #cooking trope #neighbours au #miraculous fanfic #miraculous fanfiction #elle writes

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dust2dust34 · 4 years

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Kale Chips (Olicity, S4, M)

A/N: A prompt request from @novelsandnerdiness for the Fic for Food Drive! The prompt was canon Olicity and “Wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me.” I had the idea to put this in Season 3.5, but I liked it in S4 oh so much better.

Summary: Set between 4x06 and 4x07. Oliver and Felicity steal a weekend to reconnect. Leaving the loft to Donna, they book a little house on the outskirts of town where Oliver plans to make her… kale chips?

(read on AO3)

She stuck her tongue out, for concentration. And balance. And sneakiness.

This hadn’t been the plan. She had come in here to start some coffee for after her shower.

And the universe just sort of handed her the opportunity.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was still in the bedroom, Felicity climbed up onto the counter next to the bags of kale she had pulled out.

They’d run into a farmer’s market on the way to the rental house she found last minute. She had been excited, because Oliver’s best recipes came to him when they perused a market, his mind whipping out random bits and pieces of food knowledge she could not - and would not - understand. But he did. It had been hectic, to say the least, since coming back to Starling City - no, Star City. He hadn’t stopped cooking, but she missed those lazy Saturdays he spent fussing around the kitchen, trying new things, asking her to taste, and not just because he might have ruined something, but because everything he touched was culinary heaven.

It was one of the few things she missed about Ivy Town. She didn’t miss Ivy Town itself, but they had been different there. Oliver had been different. She didn’t regret coming back to Star City, and she couldn’t, not even if she tried. They needed the work they did, both of them, for different reasons.

But now they just needed to find a way to keep the them they had found in Ivy Town too.

Hence why they were at this little vacation house.

Especially after her not-so-small freakout on him. About their relationship, and her place in it.

So yes, she had really been looking forward to stopping at the farmer’s market, to watching him work, to going back to simpler times.

Up until Oliver said the words “kale chips.”

Right to her face.

“Not on my watch,” Felicity mumbled, maneuvering up onto the kitchen counter.

It was harder being totally naked. She was vividly aware of her bare ass sticking out in the air as she balanced on her knees. But it was worth it. Felicity inched to the left a bit so she could open the cupboard. There. Large bowls sat in a neat row on the top shelf, just perfect for stashing things behind. A trickle of guilt hit her as she started stuffing crinkling bags of kale behind the bowls, but then she remembered kale chips.

“Ugh.”

And she was leaving one bag behind - she wasn’t a total monster. There were oh so many better things he could make with a little bit of kale versus a metric ton of it for kale chips.

“There are just some things olive oil and spices can’t fix-”

“What are you doing?”

She stopped mid-motion, the last bag in her hand. “Uh… Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Oliver repeated slowly, his voice low and rough like it always was after he just woke up. She glanced back to find him stepping up behind her, boxer briefs low on his hips, hair skewed, a crease slanting over his cheek from the pillowcase. He looked sexy and gorgeous and rumpled… and annoyed. No, not annoyed. Confused. Maybe even a tiny dash of amusement. He definitely wasn’t pleased, that was for sure. He cocked an eyebrow at the bag in her hand. “Because it looks like you’re hiding kale in the cupboard.”

“Safe-keeping,” she blurted.

“You’re safe-keeping kale in the cupboard?”

Felicity grimaced. “I’m sleepwalking?” she offered. Nope, that sounded worse. And yet… “I mean, that would definitely explain the sight of your crazy naked girlfriend on the counter hiding a bunch of kale, wouldn’t it? That sounds way more reasonable and logical and that is exactly what is happening. No? Okay, well, that’s because this is a dream.”

“A dream?”

“Yep.” She turned to finish her task. “That’s exactly what this is. You’re dreaming-”

Warm hands grasped her bare waist and then he was lifting her off the counter.

She gasped. “Oliver-”

“This feels very real to me,” he grunted and somehow he had her turned around in his arms and tossed over his shoulder. Something primal fluttered in her stomach at the blatant display of strength, but Felicity still sputtered as she found herself face-to-face with the elaborate burn scar across his lower back. He grasped one of her ass cheeks as he walked back to the bedroom. “Oh, that’s very real.”

“Oliver!”

He tossed her onto the unmade bed. The bag of kale she still held flew free, sending the leafy vegetable scattering across the sheets. He climbed on top of her, using his bulk to nail her to the mattress. She moved to touch him in a small act of placation, but he grabbed her hands before she could and pinned them next to her head.

“Oliver-”

“What were you doing, Felicity?” he asked. Slowly. Decisively.

Sexily.

“I, uh, was…”

“Felicity,” Oliver whispered with a sexy rise of his eyebrow. “Talk to me.”

She was suddenly very aware of the hard press of his body against hers. Those thin boxer briefs did nothing to hide the bulge pressing against her thigh, and the sleepy look on his face in conjunction with dragging her name out really didn’t do her any favors. In fact, all the favor was for him as she found herself melting under his interrogation.

“Hmm?” he prompted as he dipped down and nipped at her jawline.

His breath razed over the tender skin of her neck, and then his lips were there, licking, nipping, teasing, finding her pulsepoint before working up to her ear. He sucked her lobe between his lips, his teeth making her shudder. Her nipples beaded and she arched her back, the pearled buds scraping over his scarred chest. He hummed his approval and sucked harder. Sensation washed through her and all she could manage was a little inquisitive hum.

“What were you doing?” he whispered into her ear, his tongue tracing the shell.

More noises. Sounds. Grunts. Whispers. She had no idea.

“Were you hiding the kale from me?”

Something unintelligible fell out of her.

“Felicity.”

“I… was, uh…”

He kissed his way over her cheekbone, her nose, her other cheek, down her jaw. His lips grazed over the corner of her mouth and she tried to turn to capture his lips with hers, but he evaded her. Felicity frowned as he kissed down her chin, then up… She tried to kiss him again, but he moved out of the way before she could. Something akin to begging was on her lips as she tugged on her hands where he held her fastened to the bed, but he didn’t let her go. And when she tried to capture his lips again, he moved away. Again.

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

“No.”

“Oliver.”

“What were you doing?”

The question was too confusing for her brain to process just then. Instead she lifted her head up off the bed to find his lips. All she got, though, was a sloppy, wet smack of her open mouth against his chin and then he was pulling away from her.

Felicity growled. “Kiss me-”

“Nope.” He dragged his lips along her jaw. Teasing her. Just when it was getting good, when he started sucking at the sensitive spot at the base of her jaw, he pulled back. “No more kisses.”

“Wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me-”

“Then tell me what you were doing.”

“I…” Felicity huffed. “I don’t like kale chips.”

He smirked. He actually smirked. “And?”

“And? What do you mean ‘and’?”

“I know you don’t like kale chips,” he said with a grin. “I was teasing you yesterday. I was going to make that kale pesto pizza tonight and then use the rest in a parmesan casserole tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she said lamely, her face heating.

Oliver chuckled. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice all that kale missing?”

“I hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead,” Felicity admitted and he laughed. “I guess I should leave the ideas to when I’m caffeinated, huh?”

“Probably a good idea,” he replied. He let go of her to frame her head with his hands. Felicity immediately wound her arms around his shoulders, snuggling in as he pushed his fingers into her hair. “Hey.”

“Hmm?” she hummed.

“As much as I loved the view when I walked into the kitchen,” he said and she flushed, “next time, just talk to me.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, running her fingers down the side of his face.

“Whatever it is,” Oliver continued, brushing hair off her temples, “we’ll get through it.”

Felicity stared into his eyes. He wasn’t talking about the kale, and they both knew it. They had mended the rift that had inexplicably opened up between them - the rift she had sort of made herself - but she could still see the lingering hurt and confusion that he’d fallen into the more she had pushed him away. She had done some damage here… and she’d just made it worse by hiding freaking kale instead of just telling him she didn’t like kale chips. Or talking about it to discover that he already knew.

“No more hiding,” Felicity said. “No more secrets. Of the kale variety, or of the this-is-freaking-me-out-and-I-don’t-know-how-to-talk-about-it variety.”

“Or of the hiding-it-for-your-own-good variety, like pretending there wasn’t email in Bali.”

Felicity grimaced. “I’m horrible.”

Oliver dropped a kiss on her nose. “You’re not horrible. You had good intentions.”

“I promise to talk to you,” she vowed.

“And I promise to talk to you,” he replied.

They shared a soft kiss.

And then Oliver shoved his hands underneath her with a grunted, “Hold on,” before hauling her up off the bed. She let out a little squeak, her insides warming as his muscles rippled under her hands. “Let’s hope you didn’t waste all the hot water during your kale thievery.”

“Oliver.”

He paused in the bathroom doorway, holding her close as he looked up at her.

Felicity sifted her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled and he tilted his head up. She read him loud and clear and pressed her lips to his. When he pulled back, he winked at her. “Shower sex and we’re good.”

“Oh, I think I can accommodate that.”

“And then you have to eat some kale chips.”

“Ew, no!”

His laughter - that rare, beautiful, gorgeous laughter that always made her heart clench, that she vowed to do everything she could to always hear it, including facing her own demons - echoed through the bathroom as they once again found each other.

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #arrow fic #oliver queen #felicity smoak #arrow #fanfiction #my fics #my fics: season 4 #dust2dust34

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jovialyouthmusic · 4 years

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Special Delivery 2

So a while ago I posted a fic prompted by @sirbeepsalot asking what I’d do if I met my crush in RL. Here’s the link I wanted to carry it on, and here’s the next instalment. I take Fabio out on a walk in the English Lake District after we meet when he delivers pizza to my door. It’s pure fluff and total fantasy. Please note that here ‘I’ am considerably younger than in reality, and single. I also seem to have no realistic means of financial support, but hey, this is fantasy.

Word Count 3k plus (too much editing lol)

No warnings. Please note this is written entirely in British English, so here are translations for those across the Pond though I’m sure you already know them; flat/apartment, Autumn/Fall, boot/trunk wellingtons/galoshes or rubber boots, digs/accommodation (see flat) rucksack/backpack, motorway/freeway, crisps/chips, cords/corduroy pants. I hope it doesn’t spoil your enjoyment.

The location we go to is real, and somewhere I have photos of the slate towers I mention, which I will post if I find them.

Pairing - me myself and Fabio Zuno...

Chapter 2 A Walk on the Wild Side?

The day after I had met the devastatingly handsome Argentinian model Fabio Zuno – delivering pizza, of all things - he had unbelievably rung me back as promised and we had arranged to drive into the Lake District, as he wasn’t working. I had to keep pinching myself after he’d rung off. To settle the butterflies in my stomach I made a picnic lunch and got out my walking boots and waterproof coat, though it wasn’t due to rain. It was a sunny day, warm for late autumn, and it had been cool and still, so a little colour was left on the trees. It was strange to think that in Fabio’s home country of Argentina the weather was ramping up for summertime. I had chosen an easy hill to climb where we would get a good view over the fells and lakes.

I had to pick him up from his digs, as the scooter he’d used to deliver pizza the night before was in service and one of his workmates was using it. The door that lead to the flats just round the corner from the takeaway had several different bell pushes on it, but looking up from my car as I parked and got out, I saw him waving from a window on the second floor. He gestured that he was on his way down, and I waited nervously. He wore cords and sturdy looking boots,a long sleeved shirt and carried a padded jacket. He stepped close to touch my shoulder, kissing me on the cheek. I steeled myself not to swoon, and my face burned where his lips had touched it.

‘Hola, Lisa.’ he grinned. ‘We go for a drive, yes? I like to see your beautiful English countryside.’ I nodded, and pointed at his boots.

‘They look good for walking, but I’ve got some wellingtons if the path is muddy’ He looked puzzled, and I opened the boot of the car to show him ‘Rubber boots’ I explained.

‘Ah!’ he nodded ‘Te entiendo – I understand. How big are they?’ he gestured to his feet. Being tall, he must have large feet, I thought – and stopped my musings on size right there.

‘Oh, they belonged to my father – he was tall like you, so I’m sure they’ll fit’ I smiled. He nodded. He had a rucksack and put it next to the boots, and got into the car while I walked around to the driver’s side. I waited while he strapped himself in.

‘This is very good of you, Lisa.’ he said as I started the engine ‘but you must do something for me.’ My heart did a little jump and I wondered if I was safe to drive with him sitting next to me, and what he was about to ask. He smelled fantastic – the woodsy aroma I had detected the previous night when he stayed to help me eat the pizza he had delivered at the end of his shift.

‘Oh, what’s that? I asked, fiddling with the air conditioning.

‘My English – one of the reasons I came here was to make it better. You must correct me if I’m wrong, yes?’ I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Of course. You might want to say ‘please.’ You know we English are very polite. So ‘Please can you correct my English.’’ I replied, and clutched the steering wheel and took a steadying breath before I checked my mirror and pulled out onto the street. I was sitting in my car next to the devastatingly handsome Fabio Zuno. It was surreal – but it was true. I concentrated on driving until we were on the road that lead into the hills. I had decided not to take the motorway, instead opting for the smaller roads that lead up and over the fells and down into the nearest lake valley. It was slower and prettier and would show Fabricio the area at its best.

‘The Lakes are very popular this time of year, but some of the smaller hills are just as beautiful as the more well known places.’ I explained.

‘It is beautiful. Do you come out here often?’ I suppressed a giggle, and cast a sideways glance at him as we turned off onto a side road. He looked puzzled.

‘I’m sorry to laugh – that’s a popular pick up line – you know when you like someone and you want to get to know them better – you say ‘Do you come here often?’’

‘Oh!’ He laughed ‘But I do want to know you better’ I smiled and shook my head disbelievingly.

‘It’s the sort of thing you’d say in a bar or a nightclub.’ I explained, and he sighed.

‘You English, you are strange. I like you, I hope you like me too – and why should you not believe me?’ I shrugged.

‘It’s just the way we are, I suppose.’ I replied. I decided not to go down the ‘I’m not pretty’ road, it was too predictable. I resolved to take him at face value and see what happened. We carried on, I indicated various landmarks and he asked questions – and we fell into a comfortable exchange as we went higher up. I stopped at the top of the first hill where it widened out into moorland, and pointed out the hills ahead, telling him their names and where we were going. He got out his phone to take photographs, and then we went on.

Less than an hour later we pulled into a car park close to a favourite hill of mine, Castle Crag. It was a small rocky hill sporting a slate mine halfway up, and to get there we had to walk through a picturesque village. Many of the houses were built and roofed with the local slate, as grey as a wet winter day, and others were rendered and painted white or a pastel colour.

The gardens were neat and lush with splashes of colour from flowering bushes and bedding plants. As many tourists visited the area, the locals took pride in making their properties look presentable. The climate was classed as temperate rainforest, and the little valleys had high rainfall levels. In winter it was wet and windy, and all year round the weather could change rapidly. The in joke was that you could see all four seasons in one day. The higher hills often had snowy peaks in the winter, but since I had moved to the area, that was only periodic. It didn’t settle for longer than a few days.

At the top of the steep little hill we were making for there were spectacular views along the valley leading to one of the lakes. It wasn’t too high and would only take an hour of steady walking to the top, where I planned for us to eat the picnic I’d prepared.

‘Those boots are good.’ I remarked ‘You really need that sort of footwear for the hills here.I don’t think we’ll need the wellies for the hill.’

‘I have travelled to many places.’ he replied ‘Sometimes I walk in the hills. This place is a little like the Andes – but smaller.’ He rummaged in his bag and got out a woolly hat, pulling it over his glossy black hair. I hoisted my rucksack out of the car and he gestured toward it in query.

‘Food for when we get to the top.’ I explained.

‘It is heavy?’ he asked.

‘You should say ‘is it heavy?’ I explained ‘it will be lighter coming down.’

‘Ah, thankyou. Let me carry some things’ he offered, so we went through the contents and split the boxes and bottles. I got a walking pole out as well, and he looked sceptical.

‘It’s steep.’ I explained. ‘It’s safer, I don’t want to fall.’ He shrugged.

‘I will be fine.’ he said, and his eyes crinkled up as he grinned ‘I’m a model, I know how to walk’ and he laughed at his own joke. I tutted but couldn’t help giggling, and shut the car boot, pressing the remote key to lock it.

‘Come on.’ I said ‘Lunch at the top.’ We set off through the village and made our way to a footpath that skirted a stream. Sheep grazed nearby, and I pointed them out.

‘Those are Herdwick sheep.’ I explained ‘They’re native to the Lakes, and I think they’re cute. There are other mountain sheep that come from Wales, they aren’t as pretty.’

‘So the Herdwicks are models?’ he laughed, and I shook my head.

‘No more model jokes.’ I scolded, and he pouted before shrugging apologetically and flashing me his dazzling white toothed smile, making my knees go to jelly - again. I was glad of the walking pole for support, and pulled myself together. We carried on along the path toward the hill, getting into a steady rhythm until we reached a stile that went over a dry stone wall. The path got steeper and our pace slowed. We talked less as our breathing quickened, and I was glad of the walking pole. We stopped from time to time to catch our breath and look at the view as we climbed.

The path changed from a grassy slope to a narrow stony trail as it got steeper, until we came to the slate. Here thin slabs of the dark grey stone were built into walls on the steep hillside, and flakes littered the way, making it slippy as they slid across each other. Fabricio went ahead, holding onto the side from time to time as we started to scramble up higher. Our pace slowed to a crawl until at last we reached a plateau where the slate had been quarried decades ago. I was breathing a little harder than he was and stopped to get my breath. He waited, sitting on a slab of rock. Finally I waved to where the path diverged, one going upwards and the other staying on the small plateau.

‘This is worth a look.’ I explained. ‘This is where they quarried slate, and there’s lots of it still lying around.’

‘Okay.’ he smiled, and we walked along around a corner, where the open quarry came into view. It was not only littered with slabs of slate of all sizes, but walkers who had lingered had piled them up into heaps and towers. Fabio exclaimed with surprise and wonder at the sight. The summit of hills in the Lakes - like many other places - were marked by a pile of rocks, locally called a cairn, but here folk had given vent to their artistic nature, and some structures were cleverly balanced. The whole place took on a surreal atmosphere, amplified by the cawing of a lone crow which flew off as we took a few step in to the quarry.

‘Asombroso – amazing.’ He exclaimed, and we wondered around the impromptu sculptures. ‘People are paid for this?’ he questioned, and I shook my head.

‘No, folk just do it for fun. We could make something if you like.’ He considered his options for a moment.

‘Later, we eat first.’

‘Then we should go back to the path and eat at the top.’ I suggested, and we turned back and carried on up the side of the hill. It was only a couple of minutes to the flat top, a wide grassy area scattered with a few hardy trees and a big rounded outcrop of pale grey stone. The breeze was cool and the sun was reluctant to stay out due to the patchy white clouds. They drifted across the sky lazily casting their shadows across the hillside as they passed. On three sides there were higher hills, and the village we had started from was hidden. On the fourth side we looked down the valley toward one of the lakes, sparkling in the sunshine in the distance. Sheep were dotted around the fields and slopes, and hardy windswept trees straggled over the landscape. Low stone walls divided the land into fields and looped up and over the fellsides.

A family with two children nodded as they quit their vantage point at the very top of the rock, and we greeted them as we took their place. I took a deep breath of fresh air, the breeze buffeting my cheeks, hair tucked under a woolly hat similar to Fabio’s.

‘La vista es marvillosa. Marvelous.’

‘It is.’ I said proudly. ‘How does it compare to the Andes?’

‘As I said – smaller – much smaller. But beautiful.’ He replied, and turned to face me. He took each of my hands in his and leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek. ‘Gracias.’ he said as I blushed furiously. ‘I never would have seen this without you. You are very kind.’

‘And you are…’ you are Fabio Zuno and I cannot believe I’m here with you I thought before continuing ‘I’m pleased to show you. You’re welcome.’ I took off my rucksack and started to look for a sheltered spot for our lunch. We sat on the grass with our backs against the sun warmed rock and took out the boxes we had brought.

‘It’s nothing special.’ I said ‘Bread and cheese and crisps – cherry tomatoes, fruit, dates and flapjack.’

‘Simple is good.’ he said, taking a bread roll filled with strong cheddar. I took one and opened the bag of crisps, opening the bun and adding a layer of crisps. He looked at me curiously and then copied me, popping a cherry tomato in his mouth as he did so. He pointed at the pieces of flapjack I had added. ‘You made these too?’ he asked.

‘Mmm, yes.’ I finished my mouthful ‘Oats, butter and sugar with a bit of dried fruit. Very healthy.’

‘Hah. I have to be so careful what I eat when I’m getting ready for a photo shoot – go to the gym, train, get my muscles strong’ he flexed his bicep for me. I goggled, remembering the photos I had seen of his abs. He patted his stomach. ‘This is soft right now, but a few workouts and it will be flat.’ I found myself feeling a little hot, and struggled out of my coat before I carried on eating. Fabricio didn’t seem to notice, drinking in the landscape, a faint smile on his face.

‘Fantastica.’ he breathed, closing his eyes in bliss. ‘I have missed the fresh air, living in the city.’

‘It’s not such a big city.’ I replied, thinking of the terrace where his flat was located. Few buildings in the town were over four stories, and the town only held the title of city by the fact that it had an ancient cathedral within its boundaries. He laughed.

‘Yes, Buenos Aires is a real city, very crowded. There are trees on the street where I live here, but still it is small and people are close together.’ I felt a little guilty, as I was in the process of moving to a detached house just outside the city which had formally belonged to my parents, who had recently passed away. I had decided to rent out my little terraced house in order to pay off the mortgage. It was much smaller than the one where Fabio stayed, but I was the only person living there. My new residence was next to a road that was not too busy although the traffic was fast, and it sat in the midst of a large garden with mature trees.

We ate in silence and when I had finished I hugged my knees, gazing at the clouds floating high above us. Fabio stretched out on the grass beside me on his back and stared up at the sky, sighing happily.

‘How long are you staying?’ I asked.

‘Oh, I cannot stay for more than six months. I’ve been here for one’

‘I’m still curious how you ended up here. Why not London or Edinburgh?’ He rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows.

‘I put a pin in a map.’ he grinned. I stared at him.

‘Really?’ I asked, and he nodded.

‘Really’ he replied ‘I believe in fate. I was meant to come here – perhaps I was meant to meet you.’ I felt my cheeks grow hot again.

‘That doesn’t make sense.’ I replied

‘Fate doesn’t.’ he said. He came up to sitting again ‘We should go and build something in the quarry. I will put it on Instagram.’ I laughed.

‘It’ll be seen by a lot more people than on my account.’ I pointed out. ‘Particularly if you’re in it. Before you know it, folk will be coming here by the bus load’ He tapped the side of his nose and winked,

‘You can be my photographer. We keep the location a secret.’

‘Let’s go then.’ I suggested, and we packed our things away to walk back down to the quarry. It was deserted, save for a few small birds that flitted around looking for insects. It was sheltered and warm, and we put our rucksacks down before clambering around selecting rocks and building towers. Fabio made it into a race until his came tumbling down, narrowly missing him. After that we worked more slowly and tested our creations for stability. When we were happy with what we had made, we took photos of each other next to them, and he snapped a few more pictures of the location.

‘Come, let’s take one together.’ he suggested.

‘Only if you don’t put it on Instagram. I might get hate mail.’ He scoffed at my fears.

‘Only from stupid people.’ he replied. ‘I would block anyone so rude. But if you don’t want, that’s okay. I will keep it for myself.’ I smiled - he was so sweet and protective. It was real fun being with him, but I knew it wasn’t going anywhere, so I would just enjoy it while I could. In time – weeks or months – he would be off on a photo shoot or back home in Argentina, and I would be left with happy memories. I could live with that, I decided.

‘Here, I brought this.’ he said as we went back to our bags. He rummaged round and produced a chocolate bar.

‘Are you sure you should be eating that?’ I joked, pointing to his stomach ‘your next photographer might not be as pleased with a soft belly’

‘I walk it off.’ he grinned. ‘No problemo.’ We sat and shared it, looking at our creations adding to the strange aura of the quarry. We packed up, and set off back, taking a slightly longer route so that we walked completely round the little hill before looping back to the village. We chatted about places Fabio had been and where he wanted to go, and I told him about my housing situation.

‘I’ll be packing up boxes tomorrow. I’m moving to my parent’s old house, it’s bigger and has a garden.’ We had reached the car and were putting our things back in the boot.

‘Oh, is it far?’

‘Just ten minutes drive, outside town. The removal men come at the end of the week’

‘You don’t have anyone to help?’ he asked. I shrugged.

‘I thought it would be faster if I paid professionals. But it will take some time packing things away – books and clothes and so on. I can move those, but furniture is harder.’ We got into the car ready to drive back.

‘Let me help. You are kind and show me this beautiful place.’

‘Oh, but you must be busy working.’ I said as we set off.

‘I work in the evenings and go to bed late. I can come in the middle of the day if you like.’

‘That’s very – umm yes, thankyou’ I said. I felt hot again, and a little light headed at the though of spending more time with him. It was late afternoon when we got back to town and I stopped at my little terraced house to show him where it was so he could come over the next day.

‘I’m sorry, I’d invite you in for a drink or something to eat, but I’m tired.’ I explained

‘We can order food.’ he said persuasively. ‘and I can walk back to my home from here’ I stared at him, not sure if I was terrified or delighted at the prospect. ‘It’s alright’ he said soothingly ‘I pay for dinner, and I promise I’ll go home after. I won’t touch you’ He smiled ‘maybe a kiss on the cheek? Like a brother’ I looked back at him sceptically

‘Like a brother?’ He nodded, making a cross on his chest and holding his hand over his heart. The truth was, I was so tired I didn’t want to drive him home, and the thought of just sitting quietly with a cup of tea was tempting. I drew a breath and let it go slowly ‘Okay.’

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I thought to myself.

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seven-dragons · 4 years

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Drabble Challenge: Blake Friday

Happy Blake Friday everyone! @it-is-bugs gave us Blake Friday but I double dipped and did the costume prompt I meant to do a few weeks ago. All the digital gods have been against me and I am posting this with 1 bar of cell service, so either it will be 1600 words of fic, or 4 eggplant emoji. I won’t find out until I am home in a few days. Anyway, enjoy!

Lucien stood tall and imposing in his tuxedo, patiently waiting while Jean fussed over his tie and some other details only she could see. On the whole, Jean seemed more excited than he was.

"A masked ball! That's a novel idea for a charity function. I don't think I have ever heard of such a thing in Ballarat."

Jean stepped back and Lucien examined himself in the mirror.

"Well, I think Patrick and the board were trying to step things up this year, bring in more big spenders. The whole thing seems tedious to me, but as a member I need to do my bit."

"Then you'd better get going. Don't forget this."

Jean offered up a sequined mask in royal blue.

"Ah yes, wouldn't be a masked ball without it."

"You and Joy have a good time."

Lucien gave a perfunctory nod before heading out the door. He turned at the doorway to see Jean watching after him, hands clasped in front of her.

"Maybe if they do it again next year I'll see if I can get you a ticket, eh?"

"A ball?" Jean demurred, "Much too fancy for me. Go or you'll be late."

As Lucien drove away he felt a pang of guilt. It had not occurred to him for a moment to ask Jean to attend. She was his housekeeper and bringing her as a date to a social function would be laughable. But he wondered if she might have enjoyed the night out. Lucien thought of the dreary evening to come - tiring conversations, dull town dignitaries full of themselves, being polite to people he despised. It would be nice to have a friend like Jean be his side.

Joy was fine company. She was attractive, confident, and had a keen intellect that excited his mind and if he were honest, other parts of him as well. After so many years alone it was nice to have a romantic prospect. She was a good match for him, but there was a coldness to her as well, a lack of compassion beyond what was needed to get what she wanted. She would look good on his arm, and say all the right things to the right people, but he couldn't help feel like he was going to face the evening alone.

The Colonists Club was decked out in silver and blue. Rather than holding the event in a ballroom the steering committee elected to have a roving party of sorts throughout the club. There were rooms for cocktails, a room for dancing, rooms for quiet conversation. Drinks and food were on hand in each room, with musicians tucked away in every corner. Lucien could not help but be impressed.

Lucien and Joy made their way throughout the party, and after a few drinks he found he could be charming to the most self-important men and their even more self-important wives. He even managed to be cordial to Patrick Tynneman. Eventually they settled in to a quiet table in one of the lounges.

"By the way Joy, you look lovely tonight."

Joy was wearing a long white beaded dress that flared at the hips. Her mask was feathered and looked vaguely like a swan.

"Why thank you, Lucien, I had a devil of a time..."

Joy had launched into an explanation of the purchase and tailoring of her gown, but Lucien was distracted by a commotion on the other side of the room. A woman had entered, and was holding court while several men vied for her attention, offering to bring her drinks or something to eat. She was utterly striking. An elegant emerald green satin gown stretched over her lithe frame. Little buttons ran down the long sleeves like something out of an Arthurian painting. Her face was obscured be a mask of peacock feathers. Lucien could make out hints of copper-brown curls peaking out from behind the mask, but nothing more. He was mesmerized. So apparently was everyone else in the room. In a corner, Cec looked on approvingly. Lucien bolted from his seat, ignoring the exclamation from Joy as he turned away. Cec smiled as he approached.

“Are you enjoying your evening, sir?”

“Yes, thank you. Tell me, Cec. Who’s that woman over there?”

“Why my date, sir.”

“Your date?”

“Yes. All staff working tonight got a free ticket.”

“I see. Who is the lovely lady?”

Cec smiled.

“Just an old friend.”

By way of ending the conversation, Cec offered to bring Lucien another drink. He returned to his table and a frosty Joy.

“What was that about?”

“Oh nothing. I thought I saw someone I knew. My mistake.”

Lucien gulped the remainder of his drink to avoid answering any more questions.

The rest of the evening was a blur. He tried his best to entertain Joy, and to be charming company to everyone else, but he was preoccupied by the women he saw earlier. She was so familiar, yet the way she commanded attention made him sure he had never seen the likes of her in Ballarat before. He was determined to find out who she was. This was easier said than done. The Colonists Club was a warren of dark rooms filled with colorful costumes and masks that left him feeling disoriented. It was hard to tell friend from stranger let alone find a specific person.

Towards the end of the evening Joy had finally succeeded in cajoling Lucien towards the dance floor. As they entered the room Lucien stopped short. There was the woman in green, dancing gracefully with man Lucien vaguely recognized as a friend of Jean’s from the church. However the man was of no concern to him. Even while dancing she never took the mask off and he still could not see her face. He wondered if this might be his chance to introduce himself. Perhaps he could at least ask Jean’s friend what the lady’s name was.

“Lucien? Lucien!”

Lucien snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Joy with a forced smile.

“Since you clearly have other things on your mind then dancing, I’m going to powder my nose.”

Joy walked off in a huff, just as the song was ending. Lucien stood watching the woman, considering his next move. Should he cut in? Try and pull her aside? But to his relief the man and woman parted with a few words and she headed in his direction.

“Hello there!”

The woman stopped and regarded him carefully. He cursed the elaborate mask she was wearing. Was she smiling at him? Frowning? They were finally face to face and he could not muster up anything more witty than hello. The scent of jasmine wafted around her and it was distracting.

“Lovely evening.”

Lucien definitely detected crinkles around a pair of dazzling light green eyes. She was smiling at him.

“Yes, yes it is, isn’t it?”

Lucien was struck by her voice. It was high, yet warm and so very familiar. The band stuck up another tune and Lucien started to ask her dance, but was interrupted.

“There you are, my dear. I am ready for that dance now.”

The woman laughed, a rich, musical sound. She took the hand Cec offered and turned away without another word. Lucien thought to wait them out and try again, but the appearance of Joy scowling put an end to it.

“If it’s all the same to you I’d like to leave now, Lucien.”

Lucien hung his head. He’d been a boor and he knew it.

“Yes, of course.”

It was a frosty ride back to Joy’s hotel. When the evening started he had though it might end with an invite upstairs for a nightcap. Instead she all but dumped him in the car, suggesting that they might take some time to think about what they wanted from each other. Lucien know that “they” meant “him.”

By the time Lucien arrived home his head was pounding. He had behaved himself all evening and was in need of a stiff drink. He couldn’t help but think he’s lost two women that night, even though he didn't have the foggiest idea who the second one was. He wondered how Cec got so lucky. Lucien was surprised to find the house in complete silence. He had expected to find Jean in her bathrobe and hairnet waiting up for him to hear all about the ball. Instead the house felt empty. Drink in hand, Lucien sat down on his bed and slowly divested himself of his tuxedo. He was down to his slacks and vest when he heard the front door open and quickly shut, followed by the sound of feet padding carefully down the hall. Lucien wondered who was up and about at such a late hour.

Lucien stepped carefully out of his bedroom and looked around. The house was still quiet, but there was a single peacock feather laying at the base of the stairs. Lucien picked it up examined it closely. A faint hint of jasmine sent his mind reeling. It didn’t make sense, but it was the only possibility. The eyes, the voice, the feeling that they had met before, they all pointed to Jean. Yet she had said nothing. Cec had said nothing.

At the top of the stairs, Lucien could see light spilling out from Jean’s bedroom. He could make out the sound of Jean humming to herself. The mystery woman in green who had enchanted him all night might be at the top of the stairs. He might get to see her face after all. Calling out her name softly, Lucien ascended the stairs, letting the feather fall to the ground behind him.

#tdbm drabbles #the doctor blake mysteries #tdbm #lucien x jean

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knightowl725 · 4 years

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Healing in a Graveyard, Ch. 4

Fandom: Critical Role

A continuation of my work for Fjorclay Week 2020′s modern au prompt. I make some important notes about really the whole fic on the ao3 post. Short version: Landlords dating tenants is not cool, at all. I’ve been writing this with the knowledge that Caduceus wouldn’t abuse that power dynamic. But in the real world? Everyone should make their own choices, but I, personally, do not condone it.

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828932/chapters/57397261

Chapter Four: Pink Blossoms

He awoke in the morning to the sound of metallic clanging.

“It’s breakfast ti~ime,” Jester’s cheery voice sang from outside his door as she banged - what? Pots and pans? - together. “It’s time to wake u~up!”

He heard distant, high-pitched cursing from the direction of Nott’s room, followed by a giggle from Jester and her thudding back down the stairs.

Fjord threw himself out of bed, slinking into the bathroom for just a few moments to wake himself up. He’d slept like shit. Hadn’t he set an alarm to wake up early? Caduceus had said he could help out later in the day so he could sleep in, but he’d still wanted to be up for meditation.

So much for that.

Fjord made his way downstairs and through the kitchen into the dining room, where everyone but Nott was settling around a wide array of breakfast foods. There were tall stacks of pancakes, waffles, piles of fruit, syrup in different flavors, breakfast sandwiches, bagels, and more laid out, all in their vegan varieties. Fjord wasn’t sure about the vegan version of some of these items, but after everything else he’d eaten that week, he was willing to try.

Caduceus stood nearby, having just set down the final plate of food. He looked rather pleased with himself in his purple apron. A bit of light from the window was falling on his face just so, and Fjord thought that he looked rather handsome in that image.

Which was a weird thought, and one he squashed back down. He didn’t need to get into that weird admiration-crush area right now. In fact, it might be the exact last thing he needed.

Fjord took his seat, Nott following shortly after. They all tore into the food, shockingly quiet for a few moments as everyone was lost to the joys of breakfast. What had seemed to Fjord like a ridiculous amount of food turned out not to be, as the Nein neatly polished it off.

“That was so good Caduceus,” Beau said, slouching a bit with a hand on her stomach.

The others echoed their thanks to a pleased Caduceus. Fjord couldn’t help the thought that Caduceus was the kind who needed people to fret over. He supposed the Nein was about as perfect a match as any.

Fjord considered spending his day studying, maybe trying to look at job postings. The thought reminded him of his rough night, of regretting ever leaving The Champions’ house even temporarily. But now, in the light of day and with a stomach full of pastries, he wondered if maybe it wasn’t the right choice. Maybe, if there was such a thing as fate, he was meant to be here now. Surrounded by friends, with the only stranger becoming a fast friend as well, in a beautiful nature escape, under the eye of a goddess that asks you to protect and preserve rather than consume and destroy.

Any of his plans for the day were dashed by his friends, who coaxed him into joining them at a pop up carnaval. It was a day full of Jester-levels of chaos, spurred on by Nott that he gave up trying to contain after about an hour. At one point, Caleb had gone off to read, Beau was trying to impress Jester by winning her a giant unicorn plush at a game, Nott was on top of a popcorn stand, and Yasha was showing a juggler how to actually perform.

He took a deep sigh, pulled out his phone, and recorded a clip of all of his friends in their shenanigans to send to Molly. Then, on a whim, he sent it to Caduceus as well. He was kinda part of the group now, right? That was the impression Fjord got, even if Caduceus couldn’t join them today. Visiting his sister, he’d said.

By the time they made it back to the Xhorhaus, everyone still laughing and jostling one another, it was nearly sunset.

Caduceus was sitting in his rocking chair, wearing an endearing straw hat that made Fjord smile instinctively.

“Caduceus~!” Jester called out. “The carnival was so much fun. Look what Beau won me!”

She raised the over-stuffed unicorn plush high overhead with pride.

“You should join us next time,” Fjord said.

He smiled wide, eyes crinkling. “I’d like that.”

He stood up, a little slowly as though he’d been sitting for a while. “Would you all mind very much if we fended for ourselves for dinner? I’m rather tired today.”

There was a chorus of, “of course!” and “no problem!” from the group as they poured inside.

“Ah, Fjord? Could I speak with you for a moment?” Caduceus asked. Fjord paused, then stepped out of the way of the others. Had he done something wrong?

Ah, shit. He’d forgotten.

“Right. I still need to earn my keep for today,” he said with a little laugh. “What should I work on?”

“It’s not that,” he said, distracted and gazing off across the Grove. “Actually, I’d like to skip our project work today, if you don’t mind. We can call it even.”

“Caduceus, are you alright? I mean, it’s not that I’m not grateful for a break, but you seem...tired.”

He met Fjord’s eyes to smile. “I am a bit worn out today, I’m afraid. But just tired. Calliope’s gym is very busy on the weekends. Too many people.”

Ah, that made sense. Fjord wasn’t bothered by crowds too much most days, but it was obvious that Caduceus, while sociable and friendly, was a more introverted man. In fact, it was a little strange to imagine the towering pink firbolg anywhere other than in the Grove.

“Of course. Is there anything I could do to help?” Fjord asked. “I could try making you something to eat? I’m, uh, not familiar with much vegan cooking, but I’m sure I could put together some of those sandwiches you left out the other day? The moss ones?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t impose--”

“I insist. We could call it my work for the day, if need be.”

Caduceus considered it. “Well, alright. I would appreciate it, Fjord.”

Fjord stepped towards the door. “You get settled again. I’ll bring out some food and tea, and then we can talk.”

“Right, thank you.”

Fjord disappeared indoors, suddenly daunted by the idea of cooking anything for Caduceus. And he offered to make tea? Caduceus was the type to make tea properly, to brew it at the perfect temperature for the exact amount of time that particular tea required.

He ventured into the kitchen, carefully sifting through the shelves so as not to upset Caduceus’s inscrutable system. He found the sandwich ingredients easily enough - it was the kind of recipe you could piece together just by looking at the meal. The tea he relied on the Internet for. A search told him honey lemon tea might be an easy one to make. He watched a quick tutorial and made himself meticulous notes.

After a bit of time, he had two plates of sandwiches, neatly cut in half, and two cups of tea. He placed them strategically on a large tray with a little saucer of honey, a tiny spoon, and a sliced lemon. He’d noticed Caduceus often added them to his teas, so hopefully that would be enough if he hadn’t gotten the flavor right.

Caduceus was still outside, his empty tea cup on the little rounded table, slightly unbalanced. Fjord set down the tray, shifting it so Caduceus’s half was closest to him, then sitting on the bench.

“Thank you, Fjord,” Caduceus said.

“I hope I did it justice.”

“I’m certain you did. You’re a quick learner.”

They enjoyed a quiet moment, the warmth of the day beginning its shift into a cool night.

“Did you enjoy the carnival?” Caduceus asked after a few moments, his sandwiches gone and tea between his hands. He always held it up to his chest like that, especially when he was sitting idly. It was a little cute.

“Yes, though it was tiring in its own way,” Fjord said. “You may have seen the video I sent.”

Caduceus chuckled. “I showed Calliope, and she got a good laugh out of that. Still can’t puzzle out why Nott was up on the popcorn stand.”

“I think the vendor said something that offended her? I don’t know.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” Caduceus said, straightening a bit. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Right.” Fjord felt the pit in his stomach return.

“Calliope runs a gym, and she has a few people she’s brought on staff,” he said. “She’s very proud, we all are. She normally spends her time between all the tasks, training, running the business, working reception, and the like. But she’s gotten a bit overwhelmed with the gym’s success.”

“Understandable,” Fjord said.

Caduceus nodded. “She told me she’s been having a hard time finding people she likes to help her out more. She really wants to find a part-time receptionist. I think she had one already, but she needs another. I mentioned I knew someone looking for work, and how you’d been helping me all week.”

“Oh,” Fjord said, unable to form any words beyond that.

Caduceus tilted his head thoughtfully. “She asked a lot of questions, most I couldn’t really answer, but she wanted to know if you’d like to speak with her about the job.”

“Oh, wow. Okay.”

“I told her I would ask, but that you might have other things planned. I don’t want to assume or push anything on you, but I do think you would like working at the gym. And it’s important to Calliope that her employees be, at least, accepting of the Wildmother, and I know you’ve been respectful of Her.”

“Of-of course.” Fjord took a deep breath. A job? The pay couldn’t be worse than it was at the cafe, so as long as he got the same minimum hours...Which it sounded like the gym was doing well enough to need him around a bit...And wasn’t it close by?

“I, um, I’d certainly like to talk to her more about it,” Fjord finally said. “I can’t promise anything, but I am interested.”

Caduceus brightened. “Good! I know it’s far from decided, but wouldn’t it work out just so nicely? I’d like for Calliope to have trustworthy folks around her, and she could use someone who is good with people on her staff. She’s a little rough, but she’d be much better to you than some of these other folks have.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Fjord had always had some level of charm, even in his more awkward moments. It wasn’t a surprise to hear, but somehow hearing it from Caduceus made him flush.

“Here, let me get you her number.”

Fjord entered Calliope into his phone after a few attempts at getting her name right.

“I’ll send her a text tonight. Unless you think I should call her?”

“I think a text is fine. I’m the technology-challenged one of the family, not her.”

Caduceus smiled at Fjord’s laughter. They finished up their tea, talking a little more about their day. Soon it was dark, with speckled stars overhead and invisible crickets chirping away. They said their good nights, and Fjord breezed through his nightly routine. Wash his clothes, brush his teeth, file at his tusks, check that his assignments were all in order, plan what he might need to study tomorrow, finish laundry, then crawl into bed.

Lying in the dark of his room, he pulled out his phone and stared at the new contact.

It didn’t hurt to ask about the job, right?

In the dark of night, all alone, he felt those familiar hooks dig into his chest, like something weighed him down. Avantika would be so angry if he took another job. It was as good as saying he wasn’t coming back. He might lose all his other things. All that time invested. All the comfort in having someone else to make his decisions.

But it was so damned warm here. The Blooming Grove, the Xhohaus, it was like a dream. Was it even possible that it would stay? If he reached for it, would it just vanish?

Mind shifting between possibilities, the cold comfort of pain well-known versus the warm but terrifying unknown, Fjord fell asleep with his phone on his chest and a single text message he didn’t quite remember sending.

Hey Calliope, this is Fjord, the guy Caduceus mentioned. He said you might have an opening for a front desk role at your gym, and that I should contact you. I’ve got a few years of experience in customer service, and I spent years on various ships doing all kinds of odd jobs. If you still have that opening, I can send you over my full resume if you’d like to talk more.

He dreamt of the ocean. He was standing on the edge of a rocky outcropping, staring out into the softly turning waves. They stretched out before him, intimidating. Awe-inspiring. Eternal. Powerful.

He looked up into a bright blue sky, watching as it shifted. A cloud, or a face? A face made of a cloud, maternal, grew to encompass the sky.

When Fjord awoke his mind raced with the...conversation he’d had with the cloud, the promise he’d made. His heart raced with his mind, and he took a moment just to breathe. Process.

The sun was just beginning to fill the room. Fjord looked around. It was the same room he’d woken in, what, six times now. It was his seventh day in the Xhorhaus. It was his last day in the Xhorhaus.

He planted his feet on the wooden floor, seeing his phone discarded face-down on the floor. He ignored it for now, facing himself in the mirror as he had done merely days ago. Days and yet a lifetime.

He looked disheveled. His hair was still too long, too gray for his age. His face was clean, fuller. His eyes were clear, his slouch more natural and less burdened. He looked...stronger. Somehow. Maybe not physically. Those kinds of changes didn’t happen overnight, after all, but still.

A flash of pink caught his eye, and he looked to the houseplant sitting on the dresser. It had flowered overnight, from nothing to a vibrant pink, pointed sort of flower. He stood and approached the plant, barely grazing the flower with his fingertips. He knew that shade of pink.

It was surreal. He didn’t know if he was still dreaming or experiencing a mental break, but some deep, certain part of him knew it was neither. He dressed and went through his morning routine with a strange calmness over him. When he returned to his room, another shock awaited.

He turned back to his bed, intending on gathering his phone and making his bed, but more color caught his eye. Outside his window, that large, beautiful tree he’d come to admire had burst into color. It’s usually vibrant green leaves were now overwhelmed by bright pink flowers.

Caduceus stood beneath the petals, dressed in the long teal-pink robe-esque coat he’d worn earlier in the week. His back was to Fjord, a staff in one hand while the other extended out to catch a falling petal.

Fjord pried open the old window and leaned out. “Caduceus!”

Caduceus turned at the shout of his name. “Fjord? Look at this! I’ve never seen--”

“It’s amazing! Wait a minute, I’m-I’m coming downstairs.”

Fjord hurried from his room, leaving his window and door open in his haste. He tore out the front door, leaping down the porch steps to jog to the tree.

Caduceus was waiting, smiling with childlike delight as he was gently showered in pink. Petals had caught in his hair, a near-matching color. He laughed.

“I’ve never seen this happen, never heard of it happening,” Caduceus said. “I… I should take a picture. At some point. For my family.”

“I think I--” Fjord caught himself. Who was he to act as if he might be the cause of this? A minor miracle amidst another family’s home for centuries, where they had all worshipped a goddess he stumbled across in a dream, and he was going to try and claim it was about him?

“Do you know something, Fjord?” Caduceus asked in sincere curiosity.

“No, I couldn’t possibly. I just…”

Caduceus watched him expectantly, wise eyes waiting for him to come clean.

“I… I had a dream last night. About the Wildmother.”

Caduceus straightened, leaning towards him in intense interest.

“She asked me… To serve her, I think. Like you do, but different?” Fjord relayed the dream, the vision of the ocean, all that the Wildmother had told him, the promise he made, even the flower on his houseplant.

Caduceus’s smile slowly widened until it looked like it might split his face in his joy. “This is wonderful, Fjord!”

“Is it?” Fjord said. “I’m a bit nervous, if I’m honest.”

“You’ve been lost to this darkness for some time, I understand. Something drew you to it.”

Fjord looked down for a moment. “I...wanted guidance, I suppose. Purpose. Not to figure it out alone.”

“The Wildmother can give you those things, if you’d like for her to. And from what you’ve shared, I think some part of you might.”

“I’m sorry,” Fjord said. “I don’t mean to make this about me, I’m sure--”

“It is about you,” Caduceus said, almost confused. “She has chosen you to join her following, to take under her wing and her protection. There are no coincidences Fjord. This tree did not burst into flower for the first time in my life the night after you accepted its goddess by chance. She gave you a sign, several of them. First, when you were brought to her temple here, then when you met me, and more this morning.”

Fjord didn’t know what to say. He looked up at Caduceus. The man was smiling down at him, brimming with joy and pride. Was Caduceus proud of him?

He felt something push at his eyes.

Caduceus looked up into the tree. “This is a blessing, Fjord. I sensed you were meant for greater things than serving destruction, but it seems She has surprised me once again.”

Fjord managed a laugh. “She is certainly surprising.”

“Today is a special day,” Caduceus said, still smiling. “Would you help me finish breakfast? I think I’d like to bring it out here.”

“Of course.”

#my writing #fjorclay #critical role #teahaw #multi-chapter

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gra-sonas · 5 years

Text

There Was Only One Bed

Pairing: Malex, Alex Manes/Michael Guerin

Words: 3.3K | Rating: PG | On AO3

This fic’s been written for my dearest @insidious-intent as a gift for the Cosmic Love Exchange 2019 over at @goodvibesinroswell.

Dear Inigo, the day you reblogged this screenshot of a recent CNN headline, was the day you were assigned to me as my Cosmic Love Buddy. I squealed, ngl. Not only because you basically delivered the perfect prompt to my doorstep, but because you are one of my closest friends I was lucky enough to meet through RNM, and now I got to make a gift for you. Lucky me!

You are a delight, darling, an invaluable beta reader not only for myself, but also many other writers, you’re the queen of sass, a thirstyfirst order Malex and Vlamburn enthusiast, and a wonderful friend. ILU! This is for you, bb. ♥

••••••••••••••••••••

“Professor Guerin, Sir, I’m very sorry, but the last flight back to Albuquerque has departed half an hour ago, there won’t be another flight until tomorrow around noon.”

Michael nearly drops his head on the desk and sighs. He’s tired and hungry and wants nothing more than a warm meal and a bed.

“Okay, is there a hotel where I can stay for the night?”

“There’s a hotel close to the airport. I’ll see what I can do, but due to delays and some cancelled flights, we had to organize overnight stays for several passengers. Please take a seat, Professor, I’ll let you know when I have more details.”

Michael runs a hand through his hair, messing up his mop of curls further.

“Thanks, Susan. I’ll sit down over there and wait.”

Michael gestures at the seating area near the check-in desk, grabs the handle of his trolley and walks over. Only one other passenger is sitting there, a black backpack placed between his feet. The man looks equally tired and disheveled as Michael feels, the strands of his dark hair sticking up every which way, like he’s run his fingers through his hair repeatedly. There's a dried coffee stain prominent on his vanilla-colored hoodie, as if he's spilled the contents of an entire cup all over himself. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and brown boots, and a crutch is leaning against the empty seat to his right.

Michael slowly approaches the man.

“Uhm, hi. Are you also here to wait for hotel information?”

The stranger looks up and Michael feels a pang of something deep down. The man could easily be a model and grace the cover of GQ magazine, he’s that level of gorgeous. When the stranger smiles at him, Michael’s stomach drops even further. He knows he’s in trouble the second he locks eyes with the man.

“Yeah, apparently there are no flights back to Albuquerque until tomorrow. I’m just so lucky.”

The stranger looks down at himself to inspect the coffee stain. Then he looks back up at Michael, rubs at his eyes and dishevels his hair even further by running his hands through them. He's clearly tired and his clothes are rumpled, but he still looks absolutely stunning.

“Long day?” Michael asks.

The stranger scoffs.

“The longest day of my life. And I’ve served three tours.”

“Thank you for your service, Private.”

Michael bites his lip when he realizes that what he said might offend the veteran. He’s also sure that his remark came out a lot more flirty than intended, curse his tired brain. When the stranger laughs, he’s relieved.

“I’m Air Force actually, that would make me an Airman. And it’s Captain, if you don’t mind.”

“Captain, of course. Please forgive my ignorance, I’m not overly familiar with military ranks and stuff. So, you’re Top Gun, that sounds cool.”

The man laughs again, and Michael can’t take his eyes off of him.

“That’s usually the assumption. And while I know my way around military airplanes, I’m more of a desk criminal these days. I’m no longer fit for combat duty.”

He bends down and knocks against his right lower leg. It makes a sound as if the man’s knocked on metal and the crutch makes a lot more sense all of a sudden. Michael tries his best not to blush, even though he’s mortified and worried that he may not only have offended a veteran, but a disabled veteran. He likes the man, why won't his brain let him hold a normal conversation without blurting out inappropriate remarks? When the man smiles at him, Michael feels a little less like an ass.

“Captain...?”

“Manes, Alex Manes. Please, call me Alex.”

Michael grabs the outstretched hand of Captain Alex Manes and shakes it.

“Guerin, Michael. Well, Professor Guerin actually. But please, call me Michael.”

They smile at each other and there’s a spark. A spark of recognition, of longing, of belonging even, Michael almost gasps. Then he sees that Alex’s pupils are blown wide, like he can feel it too. Michael swallows around an invisible lump in his throat, his and Alex’s hands still clasping at each other.

He lets go of Alex’s hand reluctantly, instantly missing the warmth and comforting firmness of it.

Michael takes a seat beside Alex.

“So, Professor Guerin. What are you teaching?”

Michael smiles.

“Quantum mechanics and astrophysics.”

“Nice! So, if my career makes me Maverick, what does that make you? Bruce Banner?”

Michael laughs.

“I don’t have the bulk to pull off Bruce, at least not when he’s hulked out. I’m probably more like Mork.”

“Meaning you're a little awkward, a little inappropriate, yet very funny, and telekinetic?”

Alex raises a questioning brow at Michael.

Michael’s stomach twists. If only the gorgeous man across from him knew that he is indeed telekinetic. And an alien. Just like Mork. Oddly enough Michael doesn’t want to lie. He winks at Alex.

“Well, I can’t spill all my secrets on our first date, Captain.”

Alex’s brow climbs impossibly higher on his forehead.

“I wasn’t aware that this is a date, Professor.”

Michael blushes and drops his head into his open hands.

“I’m sorry, my brain-to-mouth filter seems to be defective when I’m tired.”

“Oh, don’t apologize, we can make it a date if you want. Let's see, I have half a bottle of water and a dry cheese sandwich. And I’ve downloaded season three of Stranger Things to my phone. You up for Netflix and Chill?”

Michael snorts.

“You do know what the chill actually means, right?”

Alex smirks.

“Well, I can’t spill all my secrets on our first date either.”

Michael laughs out loud at this. Then he opens the front compartment of his trolley and rummages around in it.

“Oh, I like you, Captain. I like you a lot. Let’s see. I have a bottle of lukewarm ice tea, an apple and a bag of nuts. I haven’t had a chance to watch season three of Stranger Things yet, so I’m up for it. After dinner?”

They look at each other and grin so hard, it almost hurts.

They eat half a sandwich and a handful of nuts each, then they take turns taking bites from the apple while handing the water bottle back and forth. Neither of them's in the mood for lukewarm ice tea and Michael puts it back into his trolley.

They skip the chill part of their ‘date’ and keep a conversation going instead, sharing random facts about themselves, talking about their jobs, and for all that Michael understands, they are flirting as if they were on a real date. He’s never felt so at ease with another person, so relaxed and calm. At the same time, he’s on edge, feeling a pull towards Alex, an indescribable urge to plaster himself all over the man.

Unconsciously, he’s been edging closer throughout their conversation, reducing the distance between himself and Alex inch by inch.

When he’s close enough to catch a whiff of Alex’s cologne, he almost moans, it smells so good. He must be so tired that he feels like he can barely control himself anymore, wanting nothing more than to drop his head on Alex’s shoulder and snuggle up to him. He wants to bury his nose in the crook of Alex's neck and stay there forever, surrounded and soothed by Alex's steady pulse and irresistible scent.

Alex seems oblivious to Michael’s inner turmoil, animatedly telling an anecdote from a time at base camp when he was just 18 years old. Michael tries his best to follow the story, but all he can focus on is the way Alex’s eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his elegant hands gesticulate (Alex is wearing a silver ring on his right middle finger, whenever he gestures, it catches the light from the ceiling lights and it’s mesmerizing).

Alex is also wearing an earring - a simple silver hoop – in his left ear. Michael wants to lean over and catch it between his lips. His cock twitches at the idea.

When a young man heads over from the service desk, Michael tries to focus on what he has to say.

“Captain Manes, Professor Guerin?”

“That would be us,” Alex replies and gestures between them.

“My name is Thomas and I’d like to apologize that it took so long. Susan’s told me that you were hoping we could book accommodation at the airport hotel for you, and I’m happy to inform you, that we were able to secure a room for you. There’s a taxi waiting outside in front of the terminal, it will bring you right over.”

Alex and Michael look at each other in relief. As entertaining as their conversation’s been, they are both tired. Michael gets up first and nods at Thomas.

“Thanks for your help, Thomas, we really appreciate it.”

He turns around to Alex and gestures at his backpack.

“Do you have any more luggage?”

Alex shakes his head.

“Only this one.”

“Good, let’s head over to our carriage then, my Lord.”

He bows down in a mock curtsy, offering Alex his hand in the process. Alex blinks for a second, then laughs and grabs the offered hand and slowly pulls himself into a standing position.

“Thanks, Professor, you are too kind.”

Thomas clears his throat.

“Goodnight, gentlemen. Please be back at the airport around ten tomorrow morning.”

Alex and Michael bid their goodbyes to the man, grab their luggage and Alex also his crutch, then they walk over to the exit. Alex leans on his crutch heavily, like he's tired and in pain. Michael closes his eyes for a moment and wishes he had Max’s healing abilities. His telekinesis is fun and often helpful, but right now he’d rather be able to take away Alex's pain.

When they exit the terminal, their taxi driver is waiting for them. They put their luggage in the trunk and without being prompted, Michael takes Alex’s crutch once Alex sits in the passenger seat. Alex smiles at him warmly.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“My pleasure, Captain.”

He places the crutch in the trunk and takes a seat behind Alex. The drive over to the hotel is short, yet they tip the taxi driver generously. Michael gets their belongings out of the trunk and they enter the hotel.

A young woman behind the reception desk smiles at them.

“Good evening, gentlemen, my name’s Natalie, and you must be Professor Manes and Captain Guerin?”

“It’s the other way around, but yes, this is Captain Manes, and I’m Professor Guerin.”

The woman blushes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I got things mixed up.”

Michael smiles at her.

“No problem. If you could please just lead us to our rooms, we’re both tired and would like to get some sleep.”

Natalie nods and walks around the desk.

“My pleasure, gentlemen, please follow me.”

By unspoken agreement, Michael takes Alex’s backpack and hoists it over one shoulder, then grabs the handle of his trolley.

“After you, Captain.”

Alex smiles at him thankfully and follows the woman to an elevator with slow, measured steps, leaning on his crutch. When the doors open, they all step inside and Natalie pushes the button for the third floor. When they arrive, the doors open and they step into a hallway. Natalie turns left and they follow her down a corridor until she stops in front of a door with the number 345.

She turns to them.

“You are lucky, we are fully booked and this is our last free room.”

Alex and Michael look at each other, then they look at her.

“Uhm, there must be a mistake. We are not together. I mean, we don’t travel together. I mean, we didn’t even know each other until an hour ago. We need a second room.”

Michael looks at her with wide eyes. She shakes her head.

“I’m so sorry, gentlemen, but there are no other free rooms. This is the last one.”

She opens the door with a keycard and turns the lights on.

They step into the room behind her. It’s a small room. A wardrobe and small desk with a flatscreen TV mounted on the wall above to the left, a bathroom and a bed to the right. One bed. It’s a king size but, but still, just one bed. Michael sighs.

Natalie looks flustered.

“I’m terribly sorry, I wish I could offer you something else, but this is all we have.”

Alex and Michael look at each other for a moment, searching for something in each other’s eyes. When they both seem to find what they were looking for in the other man's eyes, they nod at each other with a tilt of their heads and turn back to Natalie. It’s Alex who speaks for them.

“It’s okay, Natalie. We’ll take the room. It’s only one night, a couple of hours in fact. I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Michael chimes in.

“Natalie, would you have another blanket, though? More towels would also be great. And is there a vending machine somewhere. And ice?”

Natalie nods.

“Yes, of course, Sir. I can bring the extra blanket and towels to you. The vending and ice machines are at the other end of the corridor.”

“You know what? Why don’t I come with you and spare you the way back up here? It'd give Captain Manes some space and time to get ready for bed.”

Alex smiles at Michael, a huge THANKS written across his face.

The young woman nods.

“Of course, Sir, please follow me. Good night, Captain Manes.”

“Good night, Natalie. And thank you, Michael.”

Michael grabs Alex’s shoulder and squeezes it for a moment.

“It’s okay. I’ll be back in about 15 minutes. Hope you won’t be asleep by then, Captain.”

Alex winks at Michael, then his voice drops an octave.

“I’ll eagerly await your return, Professor.”

Liquid hot desire runs down Michael’s spine. He licks his lips and when Alex smirks, he knows that Alex has noticed his reaction. He shakes his head and turns to leave the room.

“I’ll be back in a few.”

Michael follows Natalie out into the corridor where she hands him the keycard to the room. He closes the door behind him.

When he returns to the room about 20 minutes later, he’s carrying an extra blanket, towels and a cushion under his left arm, he's also holding two water bottles in his left hand. In his other hand he carries an insulated bucket with a lid. It's filled with ice. He’s holding the keycard between his fingers and hopes that he won’t drop everything in his attempt to open the door.

He holds the card close to the magnetic field and enters the room with all items still in his hands.

Alex is already in bed, occupying the right side. His head is propped up on a cushion and he’s holding a tablet in his left hand. He looks up at Michael and Michael nearly drops everything there and then, because Alex is wearing glasses and no shirt.

Michael can't help himself.

“Holy shit, did GQ call? I’m sure they want their cover model back.”

Alex laughs and a questioning eyebrow becomes visible above the thick rim of his black framed glasses.

“Didn't take you for someone who's reading GQ, Professor.”

Michael doesn’t know how to react to that. To any of it. Alex looks insanely attractive, and he keeps calling Michael Professor, which does things to Michael. He’s definitely too tired to handle the situation with dignity, so he quickly places the water bottles and the ice bucket on the desk, takes the towels in his now empty right hand and drops the blanket and cushion in a pile on the left side of the bed.

“I... I’ll better go and take a shower. A cold one. Jesus Fucking Christ.”

He all but flees into the bathroom and only dares to breathe, when the door is closed behind him. Then he remembers the ice bucket and why he brought it. Shit! He looks at himself in the mirror and moans. He looks like a mad man, his curls a messy halo around his head, his pupils blown impossibly wide. He turns on the cold water, washes his hands and splashes some water on his face. Then he grabs a towel and rubs at his face. He takes a deep steadying breath, then takes a clean towel, opens the door behind him and returns to the bed room.

Alex looks up at him, questioningly. Michael grabs the ice bucket and pulls a ziploc bag out of the pocket of his dress pants. He holds both items up.

“Uhm, I’m not sure if this is ok, but I noticed that you were in pain earlier, and I thought that maybe you’d like to put ice on your leg?”

He feels terribly shy all of a sudden, his face probably tomato red from blushing so hard. He closes his eyes, the ice bucket and ziploc still clutched in his outstretched hands. What if Alex finally takes offense at something he says? What if he gets angry? Michael tries not to panic but breathing seems impossibly hard all of a sudden.

“Michael, please look at me.”

Alex’s voice is quiet and soft. Michael blinks his eyes open.

Alex looks at him with kind eyes, puts his tablet away and shuffles over further into the middle of the bed. Then he pats the empty space beside him. When Michael steps closer, he notices the prosthetic leg leaning against the nightstand. He quickly averts his gaze and looks at Alex instead, then he sits down on the bed.

“You are right, I’m in pain, have been all afternoon. You noticed and now you’re bringing me ice. It's remarkable, really. I’ve... I’ve never met someone quite like you. You're one of a kind, Michael Guerin.”

Alex’s voice sounds amused, a smile plays on his lips. Michael blinks at Alex’s words, and once again, he can’t help himself, he doesn’t want to lie.

“Well, technically there are at least two others of my kind.”

Alex tilts his head in surprise.

“Are you telling me you’re a triplet, Professor?”

Michael smiles and winks at Alex.

“I guess you could say that, yes.”

“Do the other two look as gorgeous as you?”

Michael snorts.

“Oh, they wish. But no, we’re not identical triplets, maybe not even biological triplets. I.. It’s a longer story. Too long and complicated to tell tonight.”

Alex smiles at Michael seductively, his voice smooth and inviting when he speaks.

“Good thing that I’m not in the mood for a bedtime story then. I have something more chill in mind, if you’re up for it?”

Alex slowly takes the ice bucket and the ziploc bag from Michael's hands and places them on the nightstand. Then he takes Michael’s head between his hands and pulls him closer in slow increments, giving Michael plenty of time and opportunity to indicate that he's not up for chill. But Michael doesn't want an out, he wants the opposite. He twists around further to face Alex properly. Alex slides his hands into Michael's curls and pulls him in until their lips meet in a kiss.

It’s tender at first, just a press of lips. Then Michael opens his mouth, then Alex does too, and then they’re not coming up for air for a long, long time, their tongues and lips too eager to explore and conquer. Michael never makes it back into the bathroom for a cold shower...

They're up for hours and when they finally fall asleep in the wee hours of the next morning, utterly sated and wrapped around each other, they sleep so deep, they miss the flight to Albuquerque at noon.

When they wake up, they extend their stay in room 345 for another night.

#malex #malex fic #goodvibesinroswell #cosmic love exchange 2019 #cosmicloveexchange #alex guerin #michael guerin #there was only one bed #for inigo with love #roswell new mexico #rnm fic #my fic

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deathofmissjackson · 5 years

Text

What would I do without you?

This is my entry for @keepingupwiththeparkers 4K celebration and for @the–sad–hatter fic writing challenge. (Even though I went over the word limit, whoops)

The prompts I used were “what would I do without you?” and “no one in the history of torture has been tortured with the torture like the torture that you’ll be tortured with”

Summary: You have been assigned to look after the new avenger, Spider-man. Peter makes you feel welcome on your first day at Midtown High, while he is making sure that you get home safe he discovers that you may be more than you seem.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem! Enhanced! Reader

Warning(s): Swearing and people being idiots

Word Count: 2679

Key: (F/N)- First Name, (L/N)- Last Name, (F/F/N)- Fake First Name, (F/L/N)- Fake Last Name

A/N: So, as I said this is my first fic so be gentle with me guys, I’d appreciate feedback and if you didn’t like it tell me why so I can improve. My memory’s a tad foggy so if I have messed up the canon timelines you can correct me in the comments or just accept that these are the series of events that happened in order for my story to take place. Oh, and I am not American so I had to do some research on American schools, I apologise if I got anything wrong. This takes place at the beginning of Homecoming but in this Ned already knows the truth about the ‘Stark Internship’. Also, your powers are a mix of Wanda’s and Loki’s with the added benefit of being half angel (hence the long-life span and the ability to shapeshift) :)

Prompts are in italics and bold

You’d been around for almost 2,000 years and Fury had you babysitting a kid. You’d agreed to join S.H.E.I.L.D after you saw how well they had handled the attack on New York a few years ago. You were there when the aliens attacked the city and had been present when Loki was taken away, not that they had seen you, only the shadow of your wings as you flew away, confident that they were able to handle the situation without you. That’s when you got the moniker ‘Angel of Death.’ You thought it suited you and you were happy to let them call you what they want as long as they left you alone.

When the fight broke out in Germany between the Avengers you stepped in, you wanted to leave Earth again and go and help another world, but you couldn’t do that if Earths best defenders weren’t defending it because they were too busy fighting each other. You found Fury and demanded to be put on the team. When the fighting was finally over you were introduced to the team minus Peter, (he had to go back to school) as Agent (L/N). Your wings only appeared when you wanted them to so no one would ever know who you truly were. They didn’t know your first name, they didn’t need to, it’s not like you existed in any databases anyway, such things didn’t exist when you were born.

Fury had taken your insistence on being recruited and you saying that you wanted to help the Avengers, as you meaning that you wanted to protect the newest Avenger. That’s how you had ended up here, walking into Midtown High with a backpack of your shoulder. You’d stopped ageing physically at 24 but you’d used your abilities to appear slightly younger so you didn’t look out of place in the school full of kids. Fury had created you an alias, you were now, (F/F/N) (F/L/N) a 16 year old, British, science nerd, You had transferred here when your Dad had got a new job in Queens. You walked into your first class of the day receiving a few strange stares as people tried to place you. One benefit of not being an actual avenger was no one had seen your face before. The outfit that you normally wore sported a large hood, kind of like the grim reapers, adding to the fear struck in people when they realised who you were. Yes, ‘Angel of Death’ definitely fitted you, not that the kids in the Chemistry class in front of you would cower in fear, more likely check you out, wondering if you are competition for the upcoming quiz, the winner had 5 points added to their overall score at the end of the year. You weren’t bothered, you knew everything you needed to know, being alive for 2,000 years meant that you had a lot of free time to research and read up on as many subjects that existed. Not that it really mattered if you passed or not, you were only there to make sure the kid didn’t get himself in any unnecessary trouble.

That’s when you spotted him, your target with his fluffy brown hair flopping over his eyes and the crinkle in the corner of his mouth as he laughed at something the guy in front of him said. You knew that it was Ned from the file Fury had given you. You liked to be prepared about these kinds of things, even though it was probably one of the easiest missions you had ever been on in your long life, you were gonna complete it to the best of your ability. You were not one to half-arse things. You sat in the empty seat next to him and gave him an award-winning smile. “Hi, I’m (F/F/N) (F/L/N).”

He smiled up at you, “Hi, I’m Peter Parker, this is Ned Leeds. I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t sound like you’re from around here?” Ned was now also looking at you, obviously intrigued to see what your answer would be.

“Nope, I’m from London, I’m here now because my dad got a new job, an international accountant, he works for some business around here. To be honest I’m not 100% sure but it means that we live here now. So, anything fun to do in Queens?”

The conversation flowed between you three and by the time the teacher finally called for silence Ned had invited you to help him and Peter build his new LEGO Death Star. When Peter had scoffed at Ned and said there was no way you’d want to hang out with their nerdy asses to build LEGO, you’d surprised him and said you’d love to. You would even bring snacks. The day went by quickly after that. You were in all Peter’s classes to his surprise, though not your own, he was the only reason you were there after all. He had told you all about his Aunt May and his ‘Stark Internship’ and how he wanted to work for Stark when he finished school. You, of course, knew exactly what the ‘Stark Internship’ truly was but he didn’t need to know that. It had surprised you how much he had warmed up to you in the space of a day, he told you a lot more about himself than you had thought he would, some of it wasn’t even in the file you had been given. He, of course, knew nothing about you except the name you had given him, and that you were there because your dad had a new job, both of these being a lie. You found yourself actually looking forward to spending the evening with him and Ned. You’d also met MJ at lunch and Ned had invited her too, but she turned him down, she needed to practise for a test she had the next day, you wished her luck and went to your last class of the day. That also went by in a flash and when the bell rang to signify the end of the day you and Peter headed to your lockers to meet Ned. Your locker was mysteriously right next to Peters and you gave him a slight smirk when he raised his eyebrows in surprise as you fiddled with the lock and it sprang open. “Lucky coincidences? you offered. He just beamed at you, turning suddenly when he heard Ned call your names. He was carrying a large bag, you assumed it contained the model you would be building.

The bus ride to Peters apartment was filled with light conversation and playful remarks as you got to know the other two better, only offering pieces of information about yourself when asked, even then trying to avoid those kinds of questions. You didn’t want to lie to them, finding it easier to just avoid the topic of you at all costs. It was easier when you reached the apartment. Your earlier suspicions had been correct, Ned’s bag did contain the Death Star and you were sitting on the edge of Peters bunk bed reading the instructions to Ned as Peter was in charge of finding all the pieces that were needed. It took hours, not that any of you noticed as you munched your way through the snacks you had brought. Packets of chips and bars of chocolate were sufficient nutrition for all of you until May had come home, calling out to Peter that she had brought Chinese takeout home for him and Ned. She walked into Peters room still mumbling about the queue in the restaurant and did a double take when she saw you sitting there. Her shocked expression quickly transformed into a warm, welcoming one. The very same smile that her nephew had given you at the beginning of the day. “Pete, are you going to introduce me to the girl sitting on your bed?” She smirked, keeping eye contact with you. You smiled back warmly as Peter sputtered out a reply. “OH, oh, um Aunt May, she’s new to Midtown, her and her father just moved here. She didn’t know anyone so Ned invited her to build th- “

“Peter.” Your voice cut across his, giving him a look then turning back to May. “While your nephew here managed to give you my life story, he neglected to give you my name. I’m (F/F/N) (F/L/N) its lovely to meet you, Peters told me so much about you.” Her smile widened, “I like her Pete, but I’m afraid I didn’t know she’d be here, or I would have brought more food.”

“Oh no, it's okay thank you, I really should get going.” You didn’t really have anywhere to go but you’d placed a protective barrier around the apartment so you knew it would be safe. You’d forgotten how tiring it could be to interact with people all day, having been on your own for so long. You felt secure enough in your own magic that you knew if something was to try and get through the barrier you would know and would be able to get there quickly. Out the corner of your eye, you saw Ned and Peter exchange a look. Ned seemingly remembers an assignment that he was supposed to do and makes his excuse to leave as well. As coincidental timing as it was, you didn’t question it too much, well at least you didn’t until Peter offered to walk you home. “I'm fine honestly, I don’t live that far away.” You reassured him, if he walked you home, he’d know you lived at Stark Tower and that was not ideal. So, you turned him down, despite his protests. You gathered your things, said your goodbyes to Aunt May and walked out the door with Ned, thanking Peter for having you and making your first day bearable. Now Peter had told you that he would let you go by yourself, but he had said nothing about the other guy. Telling May that he was going to go after you to hand you a book that you’d left in his room, he shoved his suit into his backpack and ran out the door, pausing briefly to change once on the roof of his building. He webbed his bag to the corner of the roof and pulled on his mask, asking Karen to track your whereabouts.

Peter’s Point of View

Although you’d promised (F/F/N) that you would let her go home alone you hadn’t mentioned what Spider-man would do. He was going to make sure that she was fine. You had felt an undeniable connection to her, all you wanted to do was protect her and make sure that she was safe. Little did you know that she could protect herself.

Your Point of View

Since you’d left Peters building you could feel someone watching you, you were on high alert, fingers brushing over the small knife that was hidden in the pocket of your jacket. You stopped as the feeling of eyes on you intensified, slowly turning around and observing your surroundings, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. A hand clamped over your mouth and a cold metal object was pushed into your back. “Don’t scream or we will make it worse” a gravelly voice threatened you in your ear. Peter was aware of what was happening, he had been one of the pairs of eyes on you, but before he could react you were already in action. You slammed your heel into your attacker's foot, he yelped out in pain, you twisted around and grabbed at the gun he was holding, he had been too surprised by your movements to pull the trigger. With your knife in one hand and his gun in the other, you kicked the man hopping in pain so that he was on his knees in front of you. His partner was just standing and watching the events taking place, it wasn’t until you rested the knife against his friend’s throat and trained the gun on him that he seemed to become animated again. With a completely straight face and a menacing look in your eyes to delivered your favourite line, “If either of you two ever try to hurt another person, I will find you, and I will personally see to it that no one in the history of torture has been tortured with the torture like the torture that you’ll be tortured with. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am” They both whimpered at the same time. For added effect you dug your knife in just enough to draw a trickle of blood then shoved your foot in between the shoulder blades of the guy on the flood, effectively pushing him to the ground where he immediately scampered up and ran, his partner hot on his heels. Until then Peter had been watching in awe of the events taking place before him. Only when you were alone did he dare to swing down onto the street next to you. “Miss are you okay, do you need some help?” Peter cringed at how he sounded, of course, you didn’t need help, you're a badass. “I think I have it handled, thanks though Spidey. But God imagine if you hadn’t been here, what would I have done without you?” Peter couldn’t do anything but sputter as you walked away. The girl he had met today was not at all who he thought she was, of course, he didn’t know that he was exactly who you thought he was. He made mental notes to get to know you even better than he was already planning to, and to somehow ask you if you had had any self-defence training, without sounding like a weirdo.

School had suddenly got a lot more interesting now he knew that you would be there.

A/N: Okay so I know that this ending sucked, but I really struggled with how to finish it off. I've had that encounter with the attackers and the prompts swimming around in my head for so long that I just had to put them on paper, well on a screen I guess. If anyone has a better way to finish this off I’d love to hear it and if this gets a good response I might carry it on as a series possibly? Maybe with Peter seeing Agent (L/N) getting up to stuff and trying to figure out how she does it until he finally sees her in the Tower joking around with the Black Widow one night, leading to months of questions being answered? I don’t know, I'm just playing around with ideas. Oh well, thanks for reading, I hope it wasn’t too crappy :)

A hint of what could come or just a well placed GIF?

#kuwtp4kwc #hattersficparty #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you

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ajax-b1ue · 6 years

Text

Suspension of Disbelief: Ch 9

2018 Big Bang Fic Challenge Submission Amazing Artist, Big Bang Partner, and Header Creator: @ahoardofsides TW: Villainous Deceit, angst, manipulation, gaslighting, self-deprecation, self-harm, anxiety attack, violence, blood, attempted murder Pairings: Platonic LAMP WC: 2911

( Master | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | Chapter 9: The Taming of the Serpent )

They rose up in the sides’ common area.

Thomas turned in a circle until his eyes landed on their couch, and— Virgil and Roman, who were curled up on it with their arms wrapped around each other. Roman was passed out against Virgil’s side, good arm tucked behind the anxious side’s back and head resting against his shoulder.

Virgil, however, was one hundred percent awake, and clearly as startled by their appearance as Thomas and the other two were to find them like this.

Virgil immediately began turning beet red. He tensed up, his eyes flicking back and forth between the other three who continued to stare; Patton was clearly trying very hard not to say anything, both hands clamped over his mouth.

Thomas’s face split into a wide smile, only for Virgil to growl, “If you say one thing, I’m going to haunt you for a month.”

Thomas couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh at that, shaking his head, blinking at the stinging in his eyes. “I don’t even mind if you do— I’m just happy you two are okay.”

Virgil relented a little at that, his glare easing, though he still shot the other two sides warning looks. Patton was still covering his mouth in an attempt to not say anything and embarrass Virgil further, but from the way his eyes crinkled he was clearly smiling.

Logan was reluctant to break up this much needed moment of lightness, but knew he needed to get Thomas and Patton back on track. He tried to at least nudge gently, saying, “I don’t wish to be the one to say this, but— we can’t forget the other reason that Thomas is here. The sooner we deal with Deceit, the better.”

Virgil’s eyes snapped to Logan, questioning, but Logan made a small ‘wait’ gesture with his hand. He didn’t want to have this discussion here, where Roman might be woken up by them talking. Virgil frowned, but seemed to follow Logan’s line of thought, as he didn’t raise any protest.

Thomas straightened his back. He took a few more breaths before turning back to Logan and Patton. “What do I do?”

Patton only reluctantly dragged his gaze away from Virgil and Roman, clearly not wanting to leave them again. Still, he looked to Logan and nodded.

The logical side let out a breath, then gestured to the hall leading further into the mindscape. “This way.”

They walked in silence until they were out of earshot from the living room. Once Thomas was sure they were far enough away, he prompted them again. “So, how do I help with Deceit?”

The other two hesitated, before Logan explained, “It’s clear that Deceit cannot be trusted to be left unchecked anymore—”

“Okay, not like I was going to trust someone whose name is literally ‘Deceit’,” Thomas mumbled. “But— how are we supposed to stop him from doing something like this again?”

Patton and Logan shared another look.

Thomas frowned. “What?” His eyes widened. “…Wait, you’re not suggesting we—”

“No,” Patton quickly cut him off.

Logan also denied that possibility. “Like it or not, Deceit is a part of you, and killing him— if it’s even possible— would certainly scar you as surely as destroying any one of us. But… we can lock him away.”

Thomas glanced between the two of them, eyes lingering on Patton. “Is that… the right thing to do?”

Patton pressed his lips into a thin line, then exhaled softly. “This definitely isn’t an easy one, kiddo. You’d essentially be repressing a part of yourself.”

“And, we don’t know for sure how that would affect you,” Logan admitted quietly.

“Deceit certainly won’t appreciate it,” Patton said.

“Not too broken up over that right now, to be honest,” Thomas remarked under his breath.

Patton continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “But, you’d also be protecting other parts of yourself by doing so.”

“…The parts that make up the core of who I am,” Thomas murmured to himself.

Patton’s mouth pulled to one side. “I wish I could make it black and white for you, but… all I can do is give you the tools.” He held Thomas’s gaze. “Ultimately, the decision about whether or not you think this is right has to be yours.”

Thomas reflected on it for a moment, before deciding. “I think, we still need to do it.”

Logan suddenly halted in the middle of the hallway, causing Thomas to pull up short behind him. “…Thomas. There’s one last thing you need to know.” Logan turned to face him, expression serious. “This will not be permanent. Now, even locked away,” Logan went on, “Deceit’s influence won’t be completely gone; no one can live a life completely devoid of deception. But, eventually, Deceit is going to be able to let himself out again.”

“…What happens then?” Thomas asked softly.

Logan had no answer for him. So instead, Patton supplied, “I guess… we’ll find out when it happens.”

Unsurprisingly, Thomas didn’t look very reassured. “Do we even know how long this will last?”

“No,” Logan admitted. “But— it will last longer with your help.”

The way Thomas’s expression twisted, it was plain he had misgivings. Even so, he didn’t voice them, finally just offering a flat, “…Okay.”

They traveled the last stretch in silence, until they finally reached Deceit’s door— Thomas was again brought up short, but this time by his own instinctive reaction.

Deceit was actively trying to escape his room, clawing and yanking at the door. He couldn’t get it open more than a few inches though, as it was currently held in place by two small slide-bolt chains on the outside.

It only took a moment for him to notice the three of them; he hissed, turning his head to regard them with his yellow eye. Every hair on the back of Thomas’s neck stood up.

“Thomas… what a pleasant surprise. So kind of you to visit.”

His words were mild, but even Deceit couldn’t conceal the undercurrent of venom in his voice right then, and Thomas had to suppress a shiver.

Deceit’s gaze flicked to the others. “Logic. Morality… I want you to know— no hard feelings.”

“Speak for yourself,” Logan returned coldly.

Deceit turned his unblinking stare on Thomas again. “And who’s speaking for Thomas? I certainly don’t think it’s Logic right now.” Logan stiffened. “Anxiety, maybe? …How is—”

“Shut up,” Patton cut in, voice tight. Deceit smiled, still holding eye contact with Thomas, who couldn’t seem to look away.

“They’re afraid, Thomas. And they want you to be too. But you have nothing to fear from me.” Deceit traced his fingers up the edge of the door, halted by the chains. “I know you don’t like this. I know when you lie to yourself.” His fingers curled around the edge of the door. “You can undo what they’ve done,” he urged. “You can make it right.”

“Thomas,” Logan started, voice low. Thomas gestured at him, and the logical side fell silent, though his worry did not.

Thomas took a breath to center himself before addressing Deceit.

“…I know… your sole motivation is self-preservation. That, you do what you do to protect me, the only way you know how. But…” Thomas shook his head. “I can’t live the life that you want for me. I don’t want to. And—” Here, Thomas’s voice and expression hardened. “I can’t live without my Morality, or my Anxiety. You would ‘protect’ me at the cost of destroying half of who I am.”

“Who you are? You don’t even know who you are.”

The hissed assertion halted Thomas, and Deceit’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m the one who protects you and your precious four favorites from all the facets of yourself you don’t want to know— and with me locked away, there is nothing stopping them from surfacing. You think I’m a ‘dark side’?” Deceit didn’t bother trying to sound cool and collected anymore; this was his last ditch attempt to stay free. “There are buried pieces of yourself you don’t want to see. Things that will break you,” he spat. “Once you uncover them, there’s no going back.”

Thomas looked as though he was starting falter under Deceit’s words; he took a shaky breath. Logan opened his mouth to angrily refute the things Deceit had said, but Patton caught his arm and squeezed it silently. Logan turned a mystified look towards his fellow side, who shook his head slightly.

Then Thomas cast a glance back at the two of them. He could see that Logan was antsy, wanting to jump in. Patton simply said: “It’s your decision.” Thomas locked eyes with his morality. “And we’ll back you, either way.”

Thomas knew that Patton was entirely earnest. Logan looked like he wanted to protest, but held it back. They were leaving the choice to him. Even if it put them back in danger… and Thomas’s decision solidified.

He thought of Roman and Virgil; it wasn’t just him at stake, it was all of them. And Deceit had already hurt them.

Thomas turned back to Deceit.

“They’re my friends,” he whispered. Then, stronger, he said, “You hurt my friends.”

Deceit hissed again. “Aren’t we all friends here, Thomas?” But his eyes were angry and hate-filled, and he started clawing and tugging at the door again.

Thomas shook his head but didn’t look away. “No. I can’t deny that you’re a part of me. I won’t be able to avoid every lie or deception in my life, I know that. But, I can try to live as honestly and truthfully as I can.” Thomas straightened up to his full height. “Especially now— now that I know the stakes? I’m going to do whatever I can to keep you from having any more power over my life than I absolutely have to. And,” he went on, uncharacteristically intense, “I am never going to let you have a seat at the table.”

Deceit opened his mouth, baring pointed fangs, a loud and furious hiss tearing loose from his throat.

But despite his protesting and fighting, the door slammed shut of its own volition— and many, many more chains appeared across it, each much thicker and stronger than the two small slide bolts.

The three of them stared wordlessly. The only sound in the silence that came after the echo faded was a faint scrabbling at the other side of the door. Even as they listened, it slowed, then eventually stopped, leaving only the quiet.

It took Thomas several seconds to remember to breathe. He was surprised to feel Patton and Logan’s hands on either of his shoulders, but then slowly turned to face them.

Patton watched his face carefully. “You okay, Thomas?” Thomas didn’t answer right away.

“Thomas, the things Deceit said,” Logan started, then trailed off. “…He is, after all, Deceit. We don’t know how much, if any, of what he claimed is true.”

“I don’t know, guys,” Thomas murmured. “I get the feeling that for once, Deceit was being totally honest.”

Logan’s confidence waned, and he looked to Patton. The moral side was glancing down and conspicuously silent.

Thomas also remained silent for a beat, before quietly allowing, “I already know there are other parts of me… other ‘sides’… that Deceit kept hidden. But they’ve still always been a part of who I am; just because I don’t know them yet doesn’t mean they aren’t there. I think… the most important thing to remember, is—” He looked up. “They’re only small parts of me. Not like you guys.” Now Thomas spoke with quiet confidence. “You two, and Roman and Virgil— you’re the core of who I am. And together, we can handle… whatever other sides of me decide to pop up.”

Both Patton and Logan regarded him, expressions slowly turning into smiles of pride. “Spoken like someone possessing great maturity and wisdom,” Logan complimented.

“Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later,” Thomas joked, cracking just the hint of a smile.

Logan raised one eyebrow. “So I should expect more of the same in the future?”

“Definitely not,” Thomas confirmed. Logan smiled wryly, but there was a warmth to it that they had all been missing.

Thomas was taken abruptly off guard by a weight hitting him in the side, and it took a moment for him to realize that it was Patton, wrapping himself around Thomas’s torso in a hug.

“Oh— that’s— still weird,” Thomas remarked, still not used to the strangeness of actually being able to physically interact with his sides without their ‘central pillar’. He didn’t push away, though, and after a moment even returned Patton’s hug.

After a few seconds, Patton released Thomas, pulling back with only his hands resting on Thomas’s shoulders. “Kiddo— are you okay?” he asked again, gently.

Thomas considered the question, taking a moment to just breathe and think, before slowly starting to nod. “Yeah, actually… I am. All things considered.” And the corners of his lips turned up in a small, tired, but still genuine smile.

Patton didn’t bother to try to hide the relief on his face. Even Logan looked as though a heavy weight had been lifted from him.

Thomas’s expression faltered, however, and Patton’s heart skipped a beat. “Now that Deceit’s been taken care of, though,” he started. “…Can we go back and check on Roman and Virgil?”

The plaintive question elicited a sound that was somewhere between relief and a laugh from Patton, who quickly assured Thomas, “Of course!” He took Thomas’s hand, insisting, “Here, this will be faster—”

Then he glanced back at Logan, who nodded, before all three sunk out together.

Someone nudging his uninjured shoulder roused Roman, though he was still reluctant to wake. This time, however, had less to do with shame and guilt and more to do with the fact that he was wrapped in someone else’s comforting embrace.

“Roman… Roman, wake up.” The creative side groaned softly in protest, trying to place the low voice. “C’mon, Princey, my arm’s asleep.”

It took a second, but as soon as the nickname registered, Roman’s eyes shot open. “Virgil—” Roman flushed, hastily trying to disentangle himself from the anxious side without hurting either of them further. “I’m sorry,” he got out, heartily embarrassed. “Really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Virgil returned, sounding embarrassed himself, extracting his left arm from behind Roman. “Besides. There��s someone here to see you.”

That was when Roman turned to see that Patton and Logan had returned— and they weren’t alone.

“Thomas,” he breathed.

Thomas wore a sheepish half-smile, and rubbed at the back of his head. “Hey, Roman,” he offered quietly.

Roman was speechless at first. After a moment, Thomas carefully stepped in between the couch and coffee table, sitting himself on the edge of said table, his knees touching Roman’s. The others hung back quietly, letting Thomas do the talking.

He looked into Roman’s face, now on eye level with him. “How’re you doing, buddy?”

“Thomas… I… I don’t even…” Roman’s voice trembled, the enormity of what happened, of trying to admit all of it to Thomas, threatening to overwhelm him again.

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Thomas was quick to assure Roman, leaning forward to place his hands on Roman’s knees. “Shh, hey… I already know what happened, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

“Then you know…” How badly I messed up. Roman let out a breath, closing his eyes. “Thomas, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Thomas assured him, moving a hand to Roman’s shoulder. “I forgive you,” he said simply— more because Roman needed to hear it than because Thomas thought he was to blame— and Roman sucked in another breath that was more of a gasp this time. “And it’s okay to forgive yourself,” Thomas added softly.

Roman gulped for air again; after a moment, Thomas tugged on his shoulder.

“C’mere. C’mon, bring it in,” he coaxed, reaching his other arm out to pull Roman into a hug. Roman allowed himself to be wrapped in Thomas’s arms, burying his face into Thomas’s chest as the young man moved one hand to the back of his head.

Thomas glanced up to see Virgil watching them— a little awkwardly, since he was still sitting right next to Roman. After a second though, Virgil gave a very small smile; Thomas returned it, before extending his left arm out to him, offering to include Virgil in the hug. Virgil’s look became a flat stare, and Thomas couldn’t help but chuckle.

But then Virgil surprised Thomas, by tentatively taking his hand and gripping it. Thomas blinked, then smiled again as he squeezed it back— only to be surprised again by Patton’s arms wrapping around both him and Roman from his left side. Then Logan seated himself on the couch on Roman’s other side, carefully putting an arm around Roman’s back, hand resting on his opposite shoulder.

Still held in Thomas’s arms, surrounded on all sides by his family, Roman let out another shuddering breath. Thomas ducked his own head, so that his temple was resting against Roman’s. “Hey, Roman,” he whispered. “You’re still my hero.”

Thomas could feel wet spots soaking through his tee shirt to his chest, and Roman’s grip on his torso tightened. But when Thomas twisted his head, he could also just see Roman’s mouth pulled into a pained but real smile, before he whispered back:

“And all of you are mine.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this story! I love you!! <3

This fic actually represents something really important to me. When I was a kid, I would write fanfiction like crazy— it was my favorite hobby, and I was constantly glued to a notebook or a computer. As I’ve gotten older, staying motivated and actually sitting down and writing has gotten harder and harder, until there was a point where I hadn’t written anything more than rough outlines— or posted anything at all— for a couple years. Cut to the end of last year, when I finally took the step from fan to Fander, and decided to start participating in the fandom. I had really only been in it for a couple of months when I saw the posts about the Big Bang going around and, against all reason, decided to give it a try.

Now, here we are, 6 months and over 24,000 words later, and I cannot even express how happy I am that I accomplished something like this again, when I thought I would never get back into writing the way I used to be.

I can only hope that this story brought you all some of the same level of joy (and anguish :D) that it did for me. And, keep your eyes peeled, because there are ideas for a follow up that I hope to pursue in the future. In the mean time, I’m going to relax and give my brain a break. ;D But you’ll definitely see more from me down the road!

<3 AJ

#suspension of disbelief #ts fanfiction #sanders sides #roman sanders #deceit sanders #angst #big bang

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tristinai · 7 years

Text

Evil Magisters and Southern Barbarians

Rating: T

Pairing: Cullen/Dorian

Word Count: 1700

Summary: When Cullen is sent outside of Kinloch Hold to investigate apostate activity in Amaranthine, he gets more than he bargained for when he meets a rather handsome and obnoxious mage who only barely cooperates with his captors. (templar!Cullen/apostate!Dorian)

Warnings: Violence, blood, anti-mage ignorance

A/N: A snippet of what I have been writing for Cullen Appreciation Week. I initially began with the Day 1 Prompt Templar but given the UST nature of this fic, I think Day 7's Noodle Soup is more appropriate. This is a canon-divergent verse, pre-Blight, that still assumes the events from DAO to DAI will occur, with the following exception:

Dorian does not receive Alexius' patronage, thus forcing his father's hand significantly earlier in his life than in established canon

Other alterations in the time line occur as a result of having Dorian flee to Fereldan and living as an apostate. Since both Cullen and Dorian are younger in this, their personalities reflect their experiences (or lack of) and may differ from the characters we came to know and love in Inquisition.

I swear I will finish this at some point. And when I do, I intend on posting it as a one-shot on AO3.

9:29 Dragon The Coastlands, Fereldan

Sparks burst on the ground in front of him, forcing Cullen to come to an abrupt halt. His armor clanked loudly, sword nearly slipping from his grip as he stared at the apostate they had cornered in the forest, the mage's gray eyes narrowed and his handsome face contorted in a vicious scowl. With his back to a tree, there was no escape, yet he remained ever uncooperative, his staff held before him, ready to cast.

But as Cullen inched closer, sword kept defensively at his side, he saw a flicker of panic on the young man's face.

He's afraid, the templar realized, a sudden sting of guilt making him falter in his advance.

“Stay back!” the mage warned, his rich accent sounding clumsy as he spoke in the common Fereldan tongue. It would have made him less intimidating if the staff he held wasn't sparking with elemental magic.

With controlled calm in his voice, Cullen held up a gloved hand, indicating he meant no harm. For as much trouble as this mage had given them these past few days, as they tracked him from the dingy inn he had been staying at in Amaranthine and through the forest west of the city, he had yet to harm either of the templars pursuing him, only using his magic to escape. Now more than ever, the young templar hoped to de-escalate the situation and do what he had been trained to do: apprehend the apostate and bring him to Kinloch Hold. “Stand down and we won't hurt you.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” another man said, his voice cold. “Don't go promising it anything, Rutherford. Take it down before it gets away again!”

The order was delivered with a cruel finality that left little room for question. Cullen knew he had to listen to his superior, Jansen, whose abrasive and detached demeanor could be unnerving, especially when the man spoke of the many maleficarum and apostates he had hunted. More often than not, when the Circle sent Jansen to investigate apostate activity, it ended with a dead mage, even if the apostate had no history of blood magic or violence. But few questioned his judgment and rumor had it that those bright eyed, idealistic recruits who crossed him often found themselves carrying out all sorts of unsavory tasks around the Hold if they so much as showed any insubordination to him.

He knew what he was being asked. Yet, when he looked at the mage, who seemed no older than himself, Cullen hesitated.

“Jansen, there's no need to—”

An odd, cold sensation washed over the templar, sword clattering loudly to the ground as he fell to his knees. His vision was swimming, the prickling that had started at the back of his head seeming to spread like wildfire through his veins. When he tried to stand, he was seized by panic, eyes widening and voice catching in his throat as spirits began to emerge from the forest floor, reaching for him, clawing at his armor. Blood chilled, heart pounding wildly in his chest, the screams of terror would not pass his lips and he clung desperately to his head, closing his eyes and willing the spirits to leave.

By the Maker, make it stop!

Distantly, he could hear someone shouting but it became white noise to the violent shrieking of the apparitions and he couldn't be sure if he was hearing it in his head or in the space around him.

A loud cry snapped him out of his panic and he remembered where he was and what he was doing.

The apostate!

The spirits around him seemed to fade, the conjured illusion clearing the air around him, like the dissipation of smoke as the embers of a once burning fire died. He blinked rapidly, struggling to regain his focus and saw where the cry had come from.

At the base of the tree lay the apostate, body shaking, curled up and clutching at his chest as if it was a struggle to breathe. And towering over him, with the mage's staff under his armored boot, was a rather smug looking Jansen, his sword raised, ready to deliver swift justice.

Shaking off the last of the horror spell that had been cast on him, Cullen threw himself forward before the templar could plunge his sword into the apostate.

“Jansen, stop!”

Jansen cursed loudly, stumbling back as he tried to redirect his swing. But the tip of the sword clipped across Cullen's upper lip, slicing up into his cheek. He grunted out in pain, the taste of copper falling thick on his tongue, but still he remained crouched by the mage on shaking legs, refusing to let Jansen kill the other man.

“Out of my way, recruit!”

Blood dripped down the young templar's chin, splattering onto his steel armor. But he remained defiant in his decision even as the older templar loomed over him, making no attempt at hiding his anger.

“He hasn't committed any offense and should be brought to the Circle,” Cullen said.

He'd like to think he sounded firm and decisive but even he could hear how his voice cracked beneath the livid expression on Jansen's face.

“Andraste's tits!” Jansen shouted at him. And Maker help him, the blasphemous curse made Cullen blush nearly as dark as the blood on his chin. “This apostate attacked you with a bloody spell! Have you gone soft in the head?!”

Cullen actually had a response to that but then recalled the last time he had naively replied to one of Jansen's rhetorical insults. The back of his head still smarted from it.

“...um...it's not like—he didn't really hurt me—it was just—” Cullen babbled.

“You really want to drag it a week's march back to the Hold?”

That also sounded rhetorical.

Jansen waited, glaring murderously down at Cullen who, he had to admit, was starting to feel rather pathetic, shielding a mage who clearly didn't want to go to the Circle while bleeding from a cut on his face because he had to do something stupid like step in front of a swinging blade.

Maybe Branson had been right when he said their mother's cooking ladle was sharper than Cullen.

Jansen still hadn't said anything.

...was Cullen supposed to answer him?

“Um...yes?”

Jansen cursed loudly, stomping down on the staff and snapping it in half. In many ways, Cullen felt that his future career as a templar now had a lot in common with that broken weapon.

He yelped in surprise when the templar flung leather bindings at his chest. “Put these on it! And so help me, if it gets away again, I'm killing it myself!”

Cullen muttered something along the lines of a 'thank you' but was too afraid to voice any gratitude loudly, not with the rage Jansen had worked himself into.

“And wipe yourself up. You look like an idiot.”

He had almost forgotten he was still bleeding.

Retrieving a cloth from his his satchel, Cullen winced as he pressed the off-white material to his face, smearing it with drops of crimson. He had no doubt that this wouldn't be his last injury in this line of duty but it will probably be the most needless, jumping recklessly in front of his superior's blade as he had. Details such as that were best omitted when he reported back to the Knight-Commander at the Circle.

The mage was still shaking from the smite that he had been struck with and offered little resistance as Cullen began binding the man's wrist. From the effect it had on the apostate, Cullen could guess that he had never been struck by it before and it didn't help that Jansen's smite, who had been with the order for more than 20 years, was known to pack quite the punch.

He tested the bindings, ensuring they were secure but not too tight. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to get a glimpse of the man they had captured but the mage refused to look at him, shoulders slumped, staring into the ground beside them.

“He could have killed you.”

It was said so quietly, Cullen almost didn't catch it.

This time, when he looked up, he was surprised to see the mage staring at him, a quizzical expression on his face.

And...by the Maker, Cullen had never seen a man more beautiful. His face was smooth, skin the color of dark sand, unmarked but for a mole near the corner of his right eye. He had high cheek bones as sharp as an assassin's blade and the type of jaw one saw chiseled in the beautiful marble statues that lined the halls of an ostentatious Orlesian mansion. But even his beauty had nothing on the depths of gray that Cullen found himself drowning in, a sea of turmoil locked in a pair of striking eyes.

His throat dry, Cullen tried to speak but it came out as a half-cough. Given his proximity to the apostate, the other man crinkled his nose distastefully.

“I, uh, a-apologies,” Cullen said, clearing his throat once more.

Maker help him, was he always this useless around a pretty face?

If Amell's constant teasing of him was any indication, he was quite certain he already knew the answer to that.

He tried to think of how to respond, of what could both convey how he felt about the unnecessary killing of apostates and how this mage would be safe while within his charge.

Unfortunately, what he said came out a lot less heroic than it sounded in his head.

“I-I d-didn't...that is, I c-couldn't, uh, let him. Hurt you, that is.”

The apostate stared at him, long and hard, scrutinizing the templar with a furrowed brow, as if trying to solve a riddle that he had mulled over for some time. Cullen shifted uncomfortably, not only feeling picked apart but also straining to remain crouched while in his heavy armor.

After a long minute, the mage made an annoyed sound. “Fasta vass, you really are an idiot, aren't you?”

Cullen stared at the man in surprise.

Whatever he had expected the mage to say, it certainly hadn't been that.

#cullen appreciation week #cullrian #cullen x dorian #dragon age fic

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deansleather · 7 years

Text

I’m Here

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Prompt: Campfire for @fandomwritingchallenge ‘s June Fandom Writing Challenge (Supernatural Fandom). Also heavily inspired by this imagine.

Summary: After a draining night out, Castiel swoops in to offer you some much needed support and assurance.

If you’d like to join any of my tag lists please message/ ask or add yourself to my google doc tag list! Whatever is easiest for you!

Word Count: 1617

Warnings: FLUFF!! Insecure and socially stressed reader, loving+protective Cas, happy times!!

A/N: A very me-infused fic. I tend to be okay socially, but I can get down about myself around others. I hope this provides some comfort and support to anyone who’s felt the same (always know that my ask/message is open). This definitely isn’t to say you need someone to come into your life to fix those things, but we all need a little support from time to time. Of course, FEEDBACK IS SOOOO APPRECIATED! EVEN A LIKE MEANS A LOT!

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“It was as if hope had appeared out of nowhere to settle beside her and it wasn't going anywhere, it wasn't going to desert her now.” ― Alice Hoffman

You watched the fire flicker to the sky mindlessly. Your face was close to the campfire, almost too close, as you rested your elbows on your knees, holding your head. You just felt so…heavy. You looked around at the smiling faces; everyone was so comfortable. How did they do it? Just communicate so seamlessly; whether it was your own insecurity or their misunderstanding, something always seemed to stand in the way of you enjoying yourself at social gatherings.

Marshmallows were brought out, it was time for smores. People were happy and laughing, all around you talking about their life and opening up to one another without hesitation. It was so much to swallow; you wanted to be a part of them, yet despised the idea of being like them. With a sigh, you grabbed a stick and a marshmallow, setting it just above the flames to brown. A friend of yours sat next to you, marshmallow and stick in hand.

“Hey, Y/n, how’re you?” they asked, entirely friendly.

“I’m doing good, yourself?”

“Good! Excited about smores.”

“Yeah, me too,” you nodded. And so it went; conversations about nothing, continuing into no friendship or deeper connection. It was exhausting, and not even for introverted reasons alone. You just wondered if you’d ever find that person who you could have real conversations with.

You ate your marshmallow, looking around at the other partygoers. They all were engaged with each other, not one person but you sitting silent. It felt wrong to be there, as though you were bringing down the harmony of the night. With a sad smile, you stood up.

“I think I’m gonna head home,” you announced softly, stretching to feign nonchalance.

“Aww, why?”

“It’s so early!”

“C’mon, Y/n, stay for a bit longer!”

You faked a laugh. “I would! But I have things to do tomorrow anyway, and I really need some sleep.”

With that, and a few more boos, you made your way home. It was hard to explain how you felt; they wanted you there, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t really be there. It was strange, but you felt best when you finally made it home. It was cold, so you turned up the heat. You put on the kettle and instantly put on some pajamas. Your hair was pulled back, your makeup off. You felt the most yourself you had all night.

Finally, you lied down in bed with some hot tea, closing your eyes in an attempt to calm yourself. You sipped your tea, reveling in the silence for a moment. Just as you set your tea on the night stand, you heard that ever-familiar whooshing sound. You looked up to discover Castiel standing there in all his glory, trench coat and all. You smiled softly.

“Hey, Cas. What’re you doing here?”

It was always good to see Cas. You had originally met when you had managed to inadvertently get yourself in the middle of a hunt. It wasn’t too traumatic, just a little shoving around by a demon that they were running after, but the black eyes still haunted you. As Sam and Dean continued after the demon, Cas stayed behind for a moment to check on you, heal all your wounds, and transport you to safety. He left once you were safe to join the boys, but checked on you continually since that day. Despite his many other distractions, he almost became your personal guardian angel, and you were always happy to see him. Though, you couldn’t say it was just for the safety that came with his presence; you weren’t shocked when he first explained his true form, he definitely looked angelic.

“I came to check on you earlier tonight,” he said gently. “I noticed you left your gathering abruptly; is everything alright?”

You nodded, curling your legs closer to your body so he had room to sit. Before he sat, he placed his coat on your vanity chair, an action you rarely saw him do. It was nice; maybe he was finally getting as comfortable around you as you were around him.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. No worries.” You smiled, but you could tell Cas saw right through it. Were you fine?

“Were the people being mean, Y/n?” Cas pressed, his tone continually gentle, as if he were afraid of breaking you. Tears came to your eyes, but you remained composed.

“No, no, no…that’s kind of the problem.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion, his eyes crinkling adorably. You shrugged, sighing softly.

“It’s hard to explain. It’s really not that big a deal, Cas,” you assured.

He shook his head. “Your comfort is always important, Y/n. Especially to me.”

You blushed at the sentiment, continuing reluctantly.

“Everyone was nice, I just get so caught up in my own head,” you expressed, looking down to your hands self-consciously. “I feel like I’m not funny enough or attractive enough or…just enough, and so I shouldn’t speak or even be there. I know it’s ridiculous. Everyone is usually so nice! That’s why I’m not asking for any sympathy, I know how silly this sounds.”

Tentatively, you looked back up at Cas after a moment of silence. He looked deep in thought as he stared at you intently. Your blush deepened. You reached up to push a piece of hair from your face, but Cas beat you to it, taking it and placing it softly behind your ear, still clearly pondering something.

“What?” you finally asked, anxiety building in your stomach at his questionable response.

“I’m trying to understand,” he admitted.

“I know, Cas, it really doesn’t make any sense-“

“Not for the reason you’ve stated.” Cas shakes his head. “If you’re feeling something, it is valid, there is no need to label it. I just can’t understand your reasoning.”

“For what?” You shook your head, now you becoming the befuddled one.

“Not funny? Not attractive? I just don’t understand how you’ve come to those conclusions. We’ve spent copious periods of time together, and not one word you’ve spoken has left me disappointed,” Cas spoke, practically to himself. You just started, feeling the pit in your stomach start to fill and ease.

“I-“ you began, but were quickly cut off once more.

“And you’re beautiful. Undeniably so. I know Sam and Dean agree.” Somehow, you managed to blush more; you doubted he was supposed to share that piece of information. “I suppose in order for me to help you, you must give me your reasoning for these feelings, because I see no evidence to lead you to these thoughts.”

Your mouth was open, forming into a large grin as you shook your head.

“Cas…I don’t know what to say.” You pushed the hair from your face once more, anything to keep your hands busy. All you wanted was to reach out to him. “Thank you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Have I helped? I still feel lost.”

You laughed, finally giving up your restraint and wrapping your arms around him.

“Oh Cas,” you murmured in his ear. “I’m so glad to have you. I needed to hear what you’ve said more than you know.”

Slowly, he lifted his arms to return the hug, resting his head in your shoulder.

“I’m just glad I could be of assistance,” he assured. “Anytime you need me Y/n, no matter how small the instance, pray for me and I will come to you. I’m here for you, and I always will be.”

You dabbed the tears from your cheek as the words came from his mouth, finally leaning back from the hug. You were surprised to find his face to be tear covered as well. He smiled sadly, wiping away some of yours with the back of his hand. He breathed deeply.

“I wish I could make you understand how wonderful I find you, how wonderful everybody finds you, but I can’t. So, you’re just going to have to trust me.” The sincerity in his voice was everything you needed; this was the conversation you had been yearning for.

“Cas?” you whispered, gathering his tear soaked hand in yours.

“Yes, Y/n?”

“Will you stay with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone; not anymore.”

He smiled softly. “I’m glad to hear that, because I don’t want to be either.”

Wordlessly, you pointed to your drawers, and Cas immediately followed your directions. He grabbed out one of your cozily large tees and stepped out of your bedroom for a moment, returning in nothing but the shirt and his underwear. You flushed, but kept your gaze always on his face. You flipped back the blankets beside you, and once more Cas obeyed your instruction. As he settled into bed, you grabbed your tea, placing one of his arms around you as you nestled your back closer to his chest. You closed your eyes, listening to the calming beat of his heart.

That night, you and Cas talked. It was the most you’d talked to someone in ages, but you couldn’t seem to stop. Being with him was addictive; it was all you’d ever wanted and more. He talked to you about history, telling stories in detail of your favorite historical figures and poets. He was gentle and kind and always loving, sometimes stroking your hair, or holding your hand, or just simply pulling you close. With Cas, talking wasn’t a struggle, but an easy flow. Your smile grew larger as the night wore on, and you talked until your tea was gone and your eyes were barely able to stay open. When you finally drifted to sleep, you were at the most peace you’d been in ages, knowing he’d be right there when you woke up.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Forever Tags, Michelle’s Cas Tags, Pond’s Cas Tags:

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#fandomwritingchallenge #cas fanfiction #castiel fanfiction #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #trashyfamilynet #sinnerfam #mattcohenssspnfam #ultravioletcasfam #princesscasfam #deathfam #jenmishfam #octospnfam #astralisfam #stardustfam #mishacollinsappreciationnet

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