#i had such a wild week that returning to these boys felt like a balm | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosaliepostsstuff · 4 years

Text

Little steps (George Weasley x reader) | pt 4 - Attention

Pairing: George Weasley x reader, OC x reader

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3

Summary: Y/N and George try to figure out what the Yule Ball changed in their relationship; life gets back to normal and goes on, Y/N is a confused teenager™ and has a hard time sorting her shit out

Word count: 6897

warnings: cursing, mentions of sexual themes, mentions of alcohol, canon character death

a/n: It’s a wild ride and honestly I don’t know what else to say about it. I hope I left as little mistakes as possible, it’s long. The next part will be the last, my dears. Also, I’m not sure if drinking lemon balm tea is a thing outside of where I’m from so I’m sorry if you got confused 😅 - I drink it and I like it.

Walking up the curved steps you felt his tingling gaze, you held your breath in, until you were out of sight, and you seemed to shake more with each step you took. The door handle to your room felt colder than ever. You stepped into the room where Hermione was getting ready for a shower, picking up her cosmetics, you felt dazed as if you just stepped out of a fairy tale and you didn’t know how to function in the normal world anymore. So you closed the door behind you, your friend stopping in her tracks, trying to read you. You took a deep breath, leaning your back against the door and looked into her eyes – and that anchored you. Tonight really did happen, in the real world. Your face broke into a huge smile and you didn’t have to say anything, you just squealed and charged at her – both of you jumping grinning like fools, squeezing each other tight.

“I need to calm down, take a shower and just lay down” you started rambling after you let go of her “otherwise I’ll never fall asleep. Oh, I hope I can fall asleep normally, we both know I’m as good as dead if I don’t get enough sleep- “ you went on as you started picking up your own toiletries, kicking off your shoes in the meantime, while Hermione waited for you, chuckling at how dramatic you were. She was glad to be distracted from her own whirlwind of thoughts after that evening.

The following morning you woke up, debating whether getting up at all, was a good idea. But your rumbling stomach won. You washed up and stood in front of the mirror in your room, wondering what to wear. Why would choosing an outfit be too difficult? It was a normal morning after all. – a skirt with a button-up? no, that’s trying hard… - I mean, you never cared about how you looked- or wait, scratch that. You never questioned your judgement or had much trouble with it – maybe just some sweats? ugh, but then people would start assuming you’re in a bad mood, or hungover… - looking good just came naturally to you and you weren’t a try-hard, as you kept telling yourself. So you put on a pair of fitting jeans with a sweater and put your hair up in a high ponytail. It’s just a normal morning.

You knew Hermione left before you and you didn’t see Harry or Ron in the common room, so you stepped through the heavy wooden door leading to the great hall, alone. If your wardrobe this morning didn’t confuse you enough, now you faced another dilemma. How did you usually choose a place to sit? Why was existing and decision making so difficult that morning? Surely, you didn’t get enough sleep. That was it.

Still deep in your thoughts, your feet were awkwardly following along the Gryffindor table. I mean, normally, when you weren’t already with your friends, you would just take any empty spot. Today should be the same. Your seat at the breakfast table shouldn’t be a statement, yeah?

“Hey, Y/N,” said Hermione, shifting a bit closer to Harry, so you could sit by her other side. You didn’t realize you had walked up to them. “Hi,” you said, slowly taking your spot and unsuspiciously scanning the perimeter. “-everyone..” you added when you met George’s eyes as he was bringing a coffee mug up to his lips, smiling to you. You broke the eye contact to pick some food and get on with your breakfast and just missed how he hit his teeth with the mug, spilling a bit of the liquid and earning a snort from Fred.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛—————— January, 1995

“-have you ever noticed that?” said George staring dreamily at your confident smirk after you probably made some cheeky comment, sitting with your friends by the fire on the other side of the common room. “No, can’t say I have,” answered Fred in a bored tone with his cheek resting on his palm and elbows on the table, until he got a punch to the side. “Ugh, what do you want me to do?” he said wincing a bit and rubbing the sore spot as his twin glared at him, feeling betrayed. “-you’re absolutely smitten with her since the ball and it’s getting boring. Get over yourself!” “Could you be any louder?!” George whisper-yelled “ -wait no, don’t answer that” he quickly followed, holding his hands up as he knew the look in his brother’s eye well. “Look, all I’m saying is – that’s still Y/N we’re talking about. And this- “ Fred gestured widely at George’s position “-isn’t helping you.”

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

Much too soon for most of the students, the new term came along. You fell into a routine, very similar to the one from the previous term, only with a few slight changes. You had calmed down a bit when it came to George, who would now, along with Fred, hang out with you from time to time. He also got back to his confident self around you. His new approach was hard to get used to at first, cause it meant frequent compliments, winks, attempts to show off, distracting you when you tried to study in the common room and those damned, so hard to resist smiles you always had to return.

January was coming to an end and you were eating lunch with Hermione, boys not with you, brainstorming about the clue Harry got after opening his egg. As you stopped reaching new conclusions, the conversation topic shifted and you recalled how you got involved in one of the twins’ pranks. “-then I just told him how I was going to tutor George and Fred that afternoon and threw in a couple of insults, saying how insufferably dull they are etc, to appeal to him and avoid further questioning,” you explained how you covered for them with Snape. You were one of few if not the only, non-Slytherin student he respected didn’t despise. It was probably thanks to a mix of your character and having two older brothers that you knew where to pick your fights and weren’t afraid to swallow your pride if it ultimately meant benefits. It came very useful with Snape.

“-all that was left was for George and Fred to put some finishing touches and voila.” You said munching proudly. “George and Fred?..” asked Ginny, confused, leaning out from behind Hermione, reminding you she was there the whole time. “Yeah, I mean, it was their plan, so-“ “No, no- George and Fred?” she continued and looked at Hermione who was just as confused as you. “I mean- it’s always Fred and George.” she said looking between you two “it sounds weird the other way around” she got back to her food, “no one says that..” but she didn’t push further as Hermione was biting onto her bottom lip trying to keep a straight face and you put your fork down, suddenly not hungry anymore and -so- weirdly warm.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

February, 1995

You’ve been distracted from worrying about your schoolwork and figuring out how to help Harry with his second task, by the arrival of Valentine’s Day. After putting a bit more effort into your appearance you headed to the Great Hall for breakfast feeling excited, although just a tiny bit conflicted. You were on your way to your friends, walking between the tables of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, where your eyes found Matt who shot you a sly wink that made you bite your lip before he turned back to his friends. You never got to really celebrate Valentine’s before, but now you were sure he had something prepared for you. Your mind was taken off of it as you chattered with your friends over breakfast and then headed to your morning classes. As your Transfiguration class was about to start, you opened your bag to reach for your books, but you were surprised. On top of your books was a note, tied to a colourful box you knew well. You looked around the class and took your spot, taking out your things to avoid McGonagall’s attention. Trying to keep a poker face you opened the note:

You look beautiful, as always. Got your favourite Fizzing Whizbees because you ate like a ton at the ball, Secret Admirer

You read and in your attempts to stay quiet you made a tiny squeal mixed with a giggle, which caused confused Ron to turn around and you tried to mask it with a cough. You repeated the words a few times in your head. George thought you were beautiful.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

About a week later, it was a fine afternoon for Fred and George. They sweet-talked their way out of detention with Professor Sprout after borrowing an ingredient from one of the greenhouses and were currently on a quest for dinner, walking through one of the quiet corridors surrounding the courtyard near Transfiguration.

George thought the day was going brilliantly and his mood was great until he saw something in the corner of his eye and subconsciously turned his head slightly in that direction. Some couple snogging against a wall, not an extraordinary sight in an otherwise empty corridor. He was about to shrug it off, but then it hit him like a train – his feet got nailed to the ground, blood was draining his body and his smile quickly fell. You were the girl. Fred noticed him stop and followed his gaze. “Who’s the git?” He said with a disgusted expression. George didn’t know, but he recognised him as the Hufflepuff you danced with at the ball, whose hands were now roaming all over your body. “Come on, now.” Fred didn’t know what to say to his brother but he knew watching wouldn’t do him much good, so he grabbed his shoulder and headed to the Great Hall once more. Approaching Ron, Harry and Hermione, Fred tried to think of a way to loosen their tongues about the Hufflepuff git without showing that he or George cared. “-that’s why we’ll ask Y/N what she thinks, you know she’s better at it..” said Hermione and Fred’s opportunity came “Just saw her with her boyfriend, she looked busy..” he said lazily flipping his legs over the bench and George followed. “Boyfriend?” Harry questioned as all three of them looked over confused “Nearly sucked his face off-“ he said earning a kick in the shin under the table from George. “Who is he anyway?” “Hufflepuff, tall, dark hair..?” asked Hermione and Fred nodded still determined not to show too much emotion. “Aah, Matt?” said Ron with his mouth full and a bit of his food fell out, earning Fred’s disgusted look. “Matthew Aston. He’s in our year. But they’re not dating. He’s not her boyfriend.” said Hermione shortly, looking down at her plate. “So keeping it casual then, huh..?” Fred raised his eyebrows slightly and slowly nodded. “It started around the start of the semester, weird you haven’t noticed.” said Harry shrugging slightly “Yeah, he hangs out with us sometimes, he’s alright.” added Ron. When you arrived at the table you decided not to ask about everybody being weirdly quiet but made a mental note to bring it up later.

That evening, after they told you, you took a long bath in an attempt to sort out your thoughts. It was all true. Matt didn’t like seeing you with George at the ball (or at all, frankly), so not long after, he made a move you couldn’t resist. And being with him was comfortable. He knew you well, was attractive and so very into you, eager to please. And it was all good, but not enough for you to commit. You kept thinking that maybe one day you will, but you refused to call him your boyfriend. If that wasn’t confusing enough, then there was George. He felt right, and he felt real in a way you couldn’t describe. That only made you all the more careful with him. You’ve never felt that way towards anyone so you preferred to sit back and wait where it takes you. But you couldn’t help but feel guilty. While you felt a bit stiffer around George in the next few days, he slowly came around. He still didn’t like the idea of anybody else being close to you in that way, even if not officially in a relationship, but from his interactions with you, he concluded all was not yet lost. And for now, he found an outlet for his negative emotions in subtle glares whenever he saw Matt around the school.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

As the second task of the Tournament was getting closer, it occupied your mind. Lunchtimes, afternoons and evenings spent in the library to no avail, you were getting more desperate in finding a solution for surviving an hour underwater. You had less and less time, and now you found yourself watching the last sunset through the library window, before the day of the task. You had secretly given up on finding anything in those books, Ron did not hide it anymore and Hermione felt insulted as the library had never failed her before. “Oh this is no use,” Hermione said, snapping shut Weird Wizarding Dilemmas. “Who on earth wants to make their nose hair grow into ringlets?” “I wouldn’t mind,” said Fred Weasley’s voice. “Be a talking point, wouldn’t it?” The four of you looked up. Fred and George had just emerged from behind some bookshelves. “What’re you two doing here?” Ron asked. “Looking for you,” said George, which perked up your curiosity “McGonagall wants you, Ron. And you, Hermione.” “Why?” said Hermione, looking surprised. “Hang on, why those two?” You narrowed your eyes. You got why she could’ve excluded Harry, but if she took Hermione and Ron, you’d expect her to ask for you too. “Dunno… she was looking a bit grim, though,” said Fred. “We’re supposed to take you down to her office,” said George. Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, and you shared a concerned look with him. “We’ll meet you back in the common room,” Hermione told you two as she got up to go with Ron — both of them looked very anxious. “Bring as many of these books as you can, okay?” “Right,” said harry uneasily and you just nodded. You and Harry stayed in the library a bit longer, until Madam Pince kicked you out, then made your way to the Gryffindor tower with a stack of tomes each. You waited and waited, but Ron and Hermione never came back, and so around midnight, you excused yourself to go to bed, advising Harry to do the same. The next morning you missed Harry at breakfast and headed out with the crowd to watch the second task, hoping he was already getting ready. It felt weird not having Hermione or Ron beside you on the way to the lake. By the boats, you were looking for any familiar faces to group with, when you heard two well-known voices behind you, taking bets. You walked in their direction waving, hoping they’d notice your small figure amongst the crowd. “Hello, sunshine!” George beamed at you, slamming the suitcase shut. “A beautiful morning, innit?” added Fred, as you scooted closer to them and away from the moving crowd. “The sky is literally grey,” you said looking up but he just waved his hand and rolled his eyes, mouthing ‘details’. “Shall we get a boat?” you looked at the water and back at them “or are you staying here?” “Yeah we’re coming,” said George before Fred could speak up. After George helped you out of the boat the three of you headed towards the seats higher up, where you spotted Lee. You walked up the stairs to see a few black-and-yellow scarves in the seats towards the back. “Hi, Y/N/N,” said Matt with a single wave, making Eric’s head shot up with a grin “Heey, Y/N!” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that George’s head was still turned towards you when Fred took his seat next to Lee. “Hi,” you said with a smile and a little wave, then turned to Fred and Lee and took a seat with George. After the had jumped into the water and out of sight, you decided to make yourself comfortable – you took out a blanket and some snacks you prepared in the morning. The boys had noticed as you picked up the blanket to unfold it and laughed a little “Getting cosy, huh?” Fred said with an amused grin. “We’re gonna be here for an hour and it’s not like there’s anything to watch, really” you pointed at the water surface “might as well.” You brought your legs up and sat cross-legged and given how close you were sat, your knee rested on one of George’s legs. “does that bother you?” “No, it’s alright,” George thought it was cute, really, how you were getting comfy and covered your legs, but above all, he didn’t mind that bit of physical contact. “What- you’re not gonna share?” he acted appalled and looked at your blanket, then back at you. You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile, then unfolded the blanket fully, covered his legs, earning a grin, and even threw it over Fred and Lee’s too. You picked up a bag of snacks and the four of you spent the remaining time chatting, playing some exploding snap, and you even managed to pull them into exchanging some gossip.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛—————— March, 1995

After the second task, the three of your friends were in the spotlight, which sort of affected your life, too. But the real problem was the pile of work you ignored while helping Harry prepare. That’s how you found yourself, early Saturday afternoon, at one of the smaller tables in the common room with your notes and various books in front of you as the sun rays were shyly poking through the window, asking for attention before spring officially started.

You had been sitting there for some time now and felt like you should probably take a break as the information was becoming harder to understand and took longer to assimilate. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to pause, with still so much to go over and you tried not to panic each time you glanced at the ‘to-do’ pile.

You were leaning on the table and nervously fixed your ponytail, when a mug with steaming, familiar liquid was placed in front of you. You looked up to see George as he leaned back against the table.

“Lemon balm. You drink it often in the evenings.. helps with anxiety, right?” he said with a small smile as you stared at him in shock. “Yeah- yeah I do..” You looked down at the tea again. “Is that for me?” you asked, just to make sure, but George just shook his head in disbelief and laughed softly, which you took as a yes. “thank you, then” you took a sip. “Can I join you?” “Yeah, sure, of course”

He mentally high-fived himself. He saw you earlier, slouching over the books with a worried expression and realized he wouldn’t be able to just enjoy the rest of his Saturday if he didn’t do anything about it. Tearing you away from your work was out of the question – you were no Hermione but you had a sense of responsibility, so if you had to study, you would study.

His best bet was to make it easier for you. You were often found doing homework in study groups and you found working around others to be motivating, even if you were doing completely separate things. He had a bit of trouble deciding if revealing he knows your favourite herbal tea was cute or creepy but he took his chances. When you thought about it that evening in the shower you didn’t believe he was actually studying, but he pretended to, and it worked.

It made your heart flutter, thinking of how caring George was. He seemed to genuinely care, and you couldn’t help but want more of it. You loved the idea of him caring about you. Over the last few months you were almost positive he had -some- feelings for you, and you did too. But after that act, you realized, you started falling. Seriously.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

A week later, you stepped out of the great hall after lunch, headed to the dungeons with Matt, wrapped up in a conversation. “Ugh, he just doesn’t know when to shut up..” he said with hands in his pockets and you chuckled lightly “but I guess quidditch boys just can’t help themselves” he paused, his gaze straight ahead “like the Weasleys.” Oh-ho, if he said that name then he’s definitely in a bad mood. Your expression fell a bit. “They’re just obnoxious, I really don’t know why you keep hanging out with them.” “They’re not always that obnoxious, I know them well. They’re alright” He scoffed. “Alright… but they’re not like us.” You furrowed your eyebrows. Matt has been subtly hinting dislike towards the twins, or George in particular, and suggested you didn’t spend so much time with them before, but it was unlike him to act like an elitist shit. You stopped. “I like them.” “Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it? I think you got a bit confused. One of them might be thinking you like him a little too much.” He fake-smiled. You didn’t know what to say, and he looked you straight in the eye now “Cut it out Y/N, I mean it this time. I don’t want you hanging with them anymore.” “Well you don’t have a say in that, do you?!” You knew you hit a weak point. “You know what?! This whole thing was getting boring anyway.” You kept your voice even, as you were fuming inside. “We should end it before you think I like you a little too much. You can go fuck yourself, friend.” You turned around and with shoulders straight and you walked away in quick, long steps. He didn’t go after you.

It wasn’t until you reached the grand staircase that you slowed down a bit and allowed yourself to calm down. With each step, you were more glad you did what you did. When you stepped through the portrait you immediately realized Merlin still had your back. Fred and George, right there at the table. With your mind set, you walked up.

“Hi boys. You busy?” You sat down and they turned their attention to you. “Not really, what is it?” “I just wanted to hang out, I’m in need of a good time.” You said smiling at them both and they shared a look. “Flatterer,” said Fred, flicking his hair. “D’you wanna go outside?” asked George It was quite warm, so you nodded. “I’ll just run up to my room and grab a few things.”

When you came back George was waiting, lounging on the couch and Fred nowhere in sight. When he noticed you he jumped up and beamed at you “After me.”

You walked in comfortable silence for a bit, which you broke only after you left the castle. “Fred not coming with us?” you asked in a non-suspicious tone “Not this time, had something to take care of. Why, disappointed?” he teased you and you bumped his side earning a small laugh. “So, why were you in such a desperate need of a good time?” he tried to start a conversation. You were silent for a bit, thinking things over. “Matt and I had a fight.” you opted for honesty “Oh,” he tried not to sound hopeful. “I ended things with him. “ George raised his eyebrows “Did he do something? I thought you liked him.” “He didn’t do anything. He was okay, but that was it, really. And then he liked me too much.. and that was his problem.” you said looking down at the ground.

George tried not to be selfish, he was happy you came to him at that moment. He wanted to be there for you and not think too far ahead about how that would benefit him. But something about you saying Matt liked you too much was worrying.

“Not to whine, but I came to you hoping I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore” you looked up at him and brought him out of his thoughts. “Ugh- of course, erm..” he scratched the back of his head “There’s something I wanted to show you.”

You walked along the shore of the lake for a bit and took a turn to walk between some trees and found a steep pathway leading up a bit and back towards the lake. In the end, you found an opening between the thick trees and bushes, its edge a few meters above the edge of the lake. You took in your surroundings and found the spot cosy, you could also see the castle in the distance, though you could’ve sworn you had never seen this place from there.

“Like it?” George asked from behind you, standing with his hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched a bit. You turned around and met his warm eyes, your amazement etched into your expression. “Love it,” you said and immediately cringed a bit. But it warmed his heart to hear that, he hadn’t brought anyone there before.

“Yeah, I like it here.” He said walking up to the edge to look over it. “I don’t think many people know about this place, which makes it even better.” he turned back to you making the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. He took a seat on the ground near the edge and patted the spot next to him, which you took.

“Soo.. what do you wanna do?” He asked leaning back on his arms. Your mind went to a few possible options, none of them appropriate. “or we could just talk” he tried to take some pressure off of you. At that moment you remembered something and started looking through your bag. You took a deck of cards out and held them up

“You ever played ‘treachery’?” you smirked and wiggled your eyebrows a bit and he shook his head after a bit of thought. “We face away from each other,” you said as you shifted in your spot and he reluctantly followed. “Lean back.” “Like that?” he said pushing his back onto yours and in result folding you in half, earning half-groan half-laugh from you, before he sat normally. Feeling the warmth of his back on yours and the vibration of his voice made the experience surprisingly intimate. You were so close, but you didn’t see each other’s faces, which made both of you feel a little less self-conscious. You explained the rules of the game to him. He caught up pretty quickly and you played a few rounds before getting bored with it. Then you talked, about everything, and nothing really.

You sat on the edge with one of your legs dangling over, a wide smile plastered on your face. The early spring sun was slowly setting and your stomach started to remind you it was almost dinner time. Just a few more minutes, you thought to yourself.

On your way back, the steep path proved more difficult and you gladly accepted when George offered you his hand to take. However, when you reached the bottom, neither one of you let go. He slowly intertwined your fingers and the two of you continued to walk in silence along the lake. You had done things that would seem much more intimate before, but nothing felt quite like it. It was exciting and calming at the same time, it felt completely new but so natural and right.

As you approached the castle, the clocktower courtyard in sight and you could see other students walking about, you both, mutually, loosened the grip until you let go.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

April, 1995

Ever since George took you to your spot by the lake, you spent more time with him. He always took a moment to ask about your day and little things when he saw you around the school, and you felt more comfortable to just walk up to him to chat.

April Fools’ or twins’ birthday came on Saturday. You didn’t see them at breakfast and they sat far away during lunch. You still haven’t got the chance to wish him a happy birthday – a simple act you were quite looking forward to, to show that you cared and see his reaction. Mother Nature was being very generous with the weather, the early afternoon was quite warm and sunny and you took that opportunity to set up a blanket for yourself under one of the trees near the training grounds and read a bit.

You don’t turn seventeen every day and Fred and George took it very seriously. That’s why they had just stashed with Lee all the necessary party supplies in the boathouse to celebrate that night and were now headed back to the castle. George saw you lounging on the blanket, he noticed you from afar as if it became his seventh sense. He gazed at you for just a moment, his hands in the pockets of his shorts and felt a jab at his side.

“The fuck was that for?!” he grimaced at his snickering twin. “If you ask me, she looks as if she’s about to run away. You’d better catch her before she realizes you’re coming.” Fred said with fake seriousness, earning an eye-roll. However, George’s mind was too preoccupied for a witty comeback. “I’ll see you.. later.” “Just don’t embarrass me even more!” Fred shouted after him. When he walked up you closed the book on your finger and seeing his bright smile, you couldn’t not smile back.

“Hello,” you said enthusiastically. “Hi” he did a little wave, standing on the edge of your blanket. “Happy birthday” “Thank you,” you put a bookmark in your book and put it away, then sat up. You were silent for a bit and George shifted on his feet. “You’re just gonna stand there?” George’s mind went blank and you saw his shocked face as he opened and closed his mouth a few times “I mean that you can sit down if you want.” “Ooh,” he replied with a slight relief and quickly made himself comfortable on the soft blanket, the two of you now sat cross-legged, facing each other.

“So how is it being a responsible adult?” you asked making him snort “That’s likely.” You giggled, biting on your bottom lip, something George has grown to love. “What’re you reading?” he asked nudging your thigh with his foot lightly. “You really wanna know?” you asked, with a slight doubt, but you were excited to tell him a little bit about your interests. “I really wanna know.” He said, lying down on the blanket and looking up at the tree above. You started with telling him about the book you were currently reading, then you talked about what the two of you generally enjoy reading and then it just continued like it always did with him.

You quickly found yourself on the blanket next to him, looking up at the leaves swaying with the gentle wind and eventually his hand found yours, tracing patterns on your palm and playing with your fingers absentmindedly.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛—————— May, 1995

You and the three of your friends crept out of your dormitories at daybreak near the end of May. It was really important for you to send an owl to Sirius. You were still debating the events of the previous night, what happened with Victor Krum and Mr Crouch when Hermione shushed you all. You heard footsteps going up to the owlery and two arguing voices.

The Owlery door banged open. Fred and George came over the threshold, then froze at the sight of you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “What’re you doing here?” Ron and Fred said at the same time. “Sending a letter,” said Harry and George in unison. “What, at this time?” said Hermione and Fred. At this point, you were looking all over everyone with narrowed eyes. Fred grinned. “Fine — we won’t ask you what you’re doing if you don’t ask us,” he said. He was holding a sealed envelope in his hands. Harry glanced at it, but Fred, whether accidentally or on purpose, shifted his hand so that the name on it was covered. “Well, don’t let us hold you up,” Fred said, making a mock bow and pointing at the door. Ron didn’t move. “Who’re you blackmailing?” he said. The grin vanished from Fred’s face. Harry saw George half glance at Fred, before smiling at Ron. “Don’t be stupid, I was only joking,” he said easily. You furrowed your eyebrows and kept listening. “Didn’t sound like that,” said Ron. Fred and George looked at each other. Then Fred said abruptly, “I’ve told you before, Ron, keep your nose out if you like it the shape it is. Can’t see why you would, but —” “It’s my business if you’re blackmailing someone,” said Ron. “George’s right, you could end up in serious trouble for that.” You agreed with it and was concerned about what they got themselves into. “Told you, I was joking,” said George. You felt disappointed. He walked over to Fred, pulled the letter out of his hands, and began attaching it to the leg of the nearest barn owl. “You’re starting to sound a bit like our dear older brother, you are, Ron. Carry on like this and you’ll be made a prefect.” “No, I won’t!” said Ron hotly. George carried the barn owl over to the window and it took off. George turned around and grinned at Ron “Well, stop telling people what to do then. See you later.”

You took one last look at him and it was like looking at a stranger, you’ve never seen his eyes this cold, then he and Fred left the Owlery. Harry, Ron, you and Hermione stared at one another.

“You don’t think they know something about all this, do you?” Hermione whispered. “About Crouch and everything?” “No,” said Harry. “If it was something that serious, they’d tell someone. They’d tell Dumbledore.” Ron, however, was looking uncomfortable. “What’s the matter?” Hermione asked him. “Well…” said Ron slowly, “I dunno if they would. They’re… they’re obsessed with making money lately, I noticed it when I was hanging around with them — when — you know —” “We weren’t talking.” Harry finished the sentence for him. “Yeah, but blackmail…” “It’s this joke shop idea they’ve got,” said Ron. “I thought they were only saying it to annoy Mum, but they really mean it, they want to start one. They’ve only got a year left at Hogwarts, they keep going on about how it’s time to think about their future, and Dad can’t help them, and they need gold to get started.” You and Hermione were looking uncomfortable now. “Yes, but… they wouldn’t do anything against the law to get gold.” “Wouldn’t they?” said Ron, looking sceptical. “I dunno… they don’t exactly mind breaking rules, do they?” You felt slightly sick. “Yeah but not that kind of rules.” “This is the law,” said Hermione, looking scared. “This isn’t some silly school rule… They’ll get a lot more than detention for blackmail! Ron… maybe you’d better tell Percy…” “And what would that change?” you said. “Are you mad?” said Ron. “Tell Percy? He’d probably do a Crouch and turn them in.” He stared at the window through which Fred and George’s owl had departed, then said, “Come on, let’s get some breakfast.”

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛—————— June, 1995

After the encounter in the owlery, you barely saw George or talked to him. It was the day of the third task. When you saw that the empty spot left for you was next to George you panicked a bit and felt stiff at first.

When Harry came out of the labyrinth with the Cup, the orchestra started playing and people cheered. But you felt something was wrong and felt a chill down your back – you noticed Harry’s face first and leaned forward to see what was on the ground next to him.

You felt faint and all the noise around you was muted. You stepped back without looking and stumbled a bit but George grabbed you. “He-he's dead…” you whispered still looking at Cedric’s body.

“What?..” George’s expression fell immediately as he brought you a bit closer and looked over the crowd to see for himself. “Ced’s dead..” said facing George. He took you in his arms and you hid your face in his chest, your hands clinging to his shirt tightly. He couldn’t get a word out, just held you tight and placed his chin on top of your head. The moment was interrupted as all the Weasleys started ushering out of the stands, Y/N and Hermione with them.

The next few days weren’t easy but you came to terms with the reality – Voldemort was back, he killed Cedric Diggory and you were certain the future of you and your friends would be challenging.

——————⁛⁙⁘◊⁘⁙⁛——————

With a few days left before you’d all leave for the summer, you and Hermione decided to enjoy the warm, sunny afternoon and lounged on the grass in one of the courtyards. The exams were done with and you forgot about all the danger for just a day.

You were soaking in the sun, your eyes closed, when suddenly you felt a shadow cast over your face. You opened your eyes to see George crouching beside you.

“Fancy taking a walk?” “Oooh but Hermione and I were having our gal pal time. Weren’t we, Miney?” You said with an exaggerated pout. She chuckled at you. “I think we went over every boy in the school,” she started getting up, “I’ll see you later.” “Bye, bye, girlfriend!” you waved to her and George helped you get off the ground.

“Was there something, in particular, you wanted to talk about?” you asked after you started walking. George bit his lip and looked straight ahead, “There is, but let’s go to the lake.” “Ok,” you said with a small voice, wondering where this was going.

“Were you avoiding me?” He asked once you got to the lake and kept walking along the shore. Were you? – you thought. “Something changed. You didn’t talk to me, you wouldn’t smile like you did before.” He said with genuine hurt in his voice. “I missed that.” he paused for a bit, “was it about the blackmail thing?”

You didn’t know what to say.

“because I didn’t tell you anything?” “Look, I know it was kinda stupid of me. You don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to tell me anything. And I didn’t avoid you.. on purpose.” you stopped and faced the lake, “I guess I just- I kinda hoped you would want to tell me, you know..?”

A few seconds passed and you turned back to see him looking at you. He looked at his shoes and took a deep breath, then held out his hand with a serious expression. You took the few steps towards him and took the hand you missed so much. You started slowly walking again. “Remember when we went to the World Cup?” he started. “Of course.” “And how Fred and I placed that bet?” You hopped up and walked along one of the larger rocks “…Ireland wins but the Bulgarians get the snitch – I remember. Brilliant by the way, I still can’t believe you got it.” you hopped down. George smirked for a second. “Brilliant indeed. You may or may not remember that we asked for our money right after the match ended. Old Ludo wasn’t happy with it, but eventually, he paid up.” you nodded “The catch is, he gave us leprechaun gold.” “Noo... What a dick!” you said in genuine disbelief. “I know,” he replied grimly. “Bagman seemed fishy, I think I heard my dad rant about him once, but that… “ “Yup. We tried getting him to pay up multiple times – nice at first, but he wouldn’t. And now he apparently up and vanished, so it’s over - a lost cause.” You were speechless for a second. “George, I’m so sorry. You gave him all your savings..” you moved even closer to him. “It’s alright.” He let go of your hand to wrap an arm around your shoulder, “we’ll just have to work even harder. But we’ll get there. Still got a year left in here.” “That’s right… You know I forget you’re older sometimes. But I’ll still be here for 2 more years after you graduate.” You looked up at the castle across the lake, in the distance. “It’s gonna be weird.” “How? Boring?” he asked, expecting a snarky response. “Yeah” you gave him an honest one instead. “Don’t worry, love, we’ve still got a year.” he squeezed you closer, making you chuckle. “Will you write to me this summer?” He asked. “Only if you write first.” “Have you got any parchment on you?”

With your moods significantly better, you headed to the Great Hall for dinner, the future suddenly not so scary anymore.

Part 5

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #x reader

170 notes · View notes

dothwrites · 4 years

Text

15.13 coda--the price we pay

So it’s true, when all is said and done--grief is the price we pay for love.--E.A. Bucchianeri

---

Jack’s door closes with a small snick. Castiel watches it close. The thin barrier of wood separates him from his boy, but it doesn’t keep away the muffled sounds of sobs and sniffles.

The moment had lasted an eternity, Jack looking at Dean through tear-bright eyes, begging for forgiveness, Dean staring back down at Jack, his jaw set and eyes gimlet hard. Dean feels things more deeply than anyone else, Castiel had told Jack. He’d meant it. Joy, anger, guilt...Dean feels, so much all of the time, that it spills out onto anyone else who gets in his way.

What he hadn’t told Jack was that that was the reason that he loved Dean. Was because he felt. As an angel, a being who was never intended for emotion, the sight of a human soul, writhing with emotion so bright that it managed to shine through hell, was enough to captivate him. He’d been drawn towards Dean, helpless as a moth towards flame, and there he’d stayed, caught in Dean’s orbit. There he weathers the tempest of Dean’s anger as well as the brightness of his joy.

And he’s had time, firsthand, to experience to balm of Dean’s forgiveness.

Dean’s hand had descended towards Jack and Castiel had hated Jack’s flinch. Hated it for Jack, hated it for Dean. He knew that that flinch hurt Dean, reinforced what Dean had suspected all along--that he was nothing but a brute, nothing but a monster.

But Dean’s hand had landed on Jack’s shoulder, just a moment before Dean was on his knees, pulling Jack into a fierce embrace. “It’s ok kid,” he said, voice thick and gravel-rough. “You’re ok.”

Sam had knelt alongside them, his long arms wrapping up Jack and Dean alike, and Castiel...His work was done, in a sense. He’d facilitated Jack’s return to the Winchesters, seen his soul restored. Gotten one step closer to the ultimate goal. So Castiel had taken a few small steps out of the room, silently. No one had seen him go, no one had noticed his presence, until Dean and Sam walked out. Sam’s eyes were glassy, his face flushed. Dean’s mouth was flat, but there was something calm and peaceful in his eyes, something that had been missing for long weeks.

Anger takes a toll on the soul.

And then they’d walked away, leaving Jack’s door to close behind them. And Castiel watches--Watches his boy deal with the pain of his actions, watches the Winchesters walk away. After a moment, Castiel follows.

Dean glances up when he enters the room. Something hard glints at him. It reminds Castiel of the pain of the word idiot when it comes from Dean’s lips, the curling realization that no matter his contribution, he’ll never be valued.

Castiel is still a soldier, first and foremost. He understands the necessity of sacrifice, knows that in chess, sometimes you have to lose pieces in order to win.

He just wishes that Dean would care a little more when he’s finally taken off the board.

---

Cas looks at him with wide eyes and Dean knows that they’re going to have to talk. Probably sooner than later, judging by the stubborn little purse to his mouth. Dean takes another sip from his beer (those bastards drank them down to almost nothing, greedy little sons of bitches) and luxuriates in the swallow. He’ll put off this conversation as long as he can.

He still doesn’t know, how to put all the concern that he feels, the worry that continuously scrabbles at the inside of his skull, into words that don’t spit and fizzle like poison. He’d seen the minute little flinch in Cas’ face when he said idiot, just like he’d seen the Jack’s flinch when he reached out towards him. He’s doing better, he’s trying, but what the hell does it say about him that the people that he loves best in the world literally draw back from him?

“I’m going to bed,” Sam says, his voice still scratchy and rough. Dean knows that the deal with Jack hit him hard, but there’s something else there too. Sam’s continuous glances at his phone tell a fairly convincing story. No doubt there’s a series of texts from Eileen waiting for him.

Which would be fine, Dean’s all aboard the good ship Saileen, except that Sam’s departure leaves him alone with Cas. And Cas isn’t leaving or starting the conversation, which means that he’s going to leave Dean to deal with this whole mess.

The silence between them takes on a distinctly stony feel the longer they sit in it. It’s so damned uncomfortable sitting in it, yet breaking it would somehow be worse. Dean will give it to Cas--he’s a passive-aggressive little shit when he wants to be.

After the quiet becomes so uncomfortable that Dean’s teeth are itching, he finally decides to rip the band-aid off in one, vicious tug.

“It was a damn stupid thing, what you did.”

He didn’t mean it to sound like that, he really didn’t. But his intentions are worthless--the words fall harsh and flat between them, like little loaded weapons. Whatever softness might have been lurking in Cas is gone.

“It was the only way to get what we needed.” Cas’ voice is tight with repressed emotion, but the words are enough to spark a wildfire in Dean.

“It was the only--what the fuck man?” he spits. He stands up, his chair skittering backwards across the floor. Its feet scrape against the wood, loud enough to send the hairs rising on Dean’s arms, but he ignores that in favor of focusing on Cas.

“The only way was to go and get yourself killed? Again?”

Try as he might, he can’t erase the image--Cas, slumped motionless in the chair, face gone that particular shade of pale and waxy that Dean knows and wishes that he didn’t. How many times has he been forced to watch Cas die, right in front of him? How many times has he said goodbye? And they’ve been lucky--for every goodbye, there’s always been a Hello Dean waiting, but Winchesters aren’t known for their luck. How long before it runs out? How long before Cas does something so monumentally reckless that there’s no coming back from it?

How long before Dean has to say goodbye permanently?

“It wasn’t like that--”

“It was exactly like that!” Dean’s anxiety and worry spills out of him in a vicious tirade. “Sam and I come back, find you--”

“So you’re the only one who can take pointless risks?” Castiel is standing now, and there’s a dangerous, sharp edge in his voice that Dean should probably heed, but he’s too far gone for that.

“That’s different--” Though it really isn’t, the difference is that Dean is just...Dean, just some schmuck who doesn’t have a trust fund, who doesn’t know any life other than that which cakes blood and dirt underneath his nails. He doesn’t matter, not in the long run. But Castiel...Castiel is made of stardust and the cosmos. It would be a sin, if Dean were left on the world while Castiel ceased to exist.

For a moment Cas is speechless with rage. Then he’s striding over to Dean, pushing an angry finger into his chest, so hard that Dean’s sure there will be small, circular bruises blooming over his skin within the next day or so.

“How dare you? How dare you assume that everyone...that I would be fine without you? How dare you think so little of yourself?”

Dean laughs, a wretched ugly sound. “Yeah? Well, right back at you pal.”

It hits him then, weights falling from the sky: how tenuous their grip on this life is. How any wrong move could be their last. How any of them could be snuffed out in the merest flicker of an instant and nothing of them would be left behind, save grief.

Dean isn’t aware of the series of events that end with him crashing into Cas. He knows that his knees buckle, that he reaches out for Cas, that Cas is there to catch him, steady as ever. He folds himself into Cas, burrowing his nose between the collar of Cas’ shirt and his neck, brushing against warm skin.

“I thought I lost you,” Dean finally says, the words dredged out of him like vomit, coming from somewhere dark and desperate that he keeps inside himself. Cas, his head lolling backward, hands limp on his stomach. Cas, light pouring out of his eyes and mouth, angel blade pierced through his chest...”I thought that I’d lost you again.”

He doesn’t cry, but it’s a near thing as his shoulders shake with the release of pent-up emotion. He tries to crawl away to lick his wounds and hide his shame, but Cas’ arms tighten like a vice around his shoulders, keeping him present.

“I can’t...don’t make me lose you again.” It’s half order, half-plea, but wholly sincere, gasped into Cas’ neck. “You think that you’re fucking expendable, that the ends justify the means, or whatever else your stupid chess metaphors say. But I need you in this with me Cas. I need you with me.”

“And how dare you assume that I don’t feel the same,” Cas answers back. “How dare you think that I could go through this earth without you with me.”

Dean draws back, just enough that he can take Cas’ face in his hands. Cas’ skin is warm against his palms. He can feel the flutter of Cas’ pulse underneath his hands, wild and thready and so very alive. “You ain’t fucking leaving me,” Dean says, before he kisses Cas.

Just before his lips meet Cas’, he thinks that he sees something flicker across Cas’ face. A hint of regret maybe, a deeper secret coiling underneath the surface of those blue eyes.

Dean pushes it aside before he kisses Cas, hard enough to bruise. Permanent.

---

“I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.”―Mark Twain

#spn spoilers #supernatural #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #coda fic #15.13 coda #15x13 coda #spn15 #spn season 15 #15.13 #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #fare thee well spn #welcome to the end #dothwrites

443 notes · View notes

lacrossepapi · 4 years

Text

It’s Too Much

Here’s 5.6k of empath!stiles, adopted!saac, abusive!sheriff, and sweet loving angst!

Warnings for Gerard Argent and Parent Abuse.

Ao3: Link

It was easier on Stiles when he was a kid surrounded by other kids. Children are loud, wild little creatures, but they are also generally happy, excited, or at the very least usually content. Stiles tried to avoid physical contact with everyone except his calm but happy friend Scott for those reasons. It was hard enough to contain his own racing thoughts and emotions, but when bounced around the other children, all bursting at the seams with energy and undiluted emotions, it became almost impossible to control his thoughts, words, or actions.

Some would think ADHD came with being an empath, but no. It was all just brain chemistry and Stiles’ horrible luck that gifted him with the ability to feel others emotions, but not the ability to sort and keep track of his own thoughts and emotions. Scott was a calm balm to that chaos in his mind, a happy anchor to ground himself when the excitement in the classroom grew so much Stiles could taste it despite not touching anyone.

But things change, kids grow up, and learn new emotions. Some unfortunately learn dark emotions before everyone else. Isaac discovered fear at an age that everyone else around him only experienced spooked or startled. Nine year olds weren’t supposed to know that type of terror. Stiles had audibly gasped the day he’d smacked into Isaac on the playground, the visceral horror lingering in Isaac was a tidal wave. The only thing that kept Stiles from releasing the scream that had bubbled up in his throat was Scott’s joy, humor, excitement that had enveloped him as the other boy crashed into the two of them. He’d yelled that Stiles was now It, but Stiles only had eyes for the blonde boy now looking at them with a guarded expression and paranoia, wearines, suspicion, hope warring in his emotions.

Scott and Stiles became Scott, Stiles, and Isaac after that. Isaac became a Stilinski a year later. Stiles soon had four buffers against the emotions of the world, Isaac giving him a soft type of content that he usually only felt on rainy days surrounded by his parents. The problem with relying on buffers was that one day they’d all eventually change so much that they no longer offered the haven they once had and Stiles would be left bereft in a chaotic world of other peoples’ emotions.

The first to change was his mom. He started to feel emotions from her that didn’t make sense, but the most common one was confusion. His mom would suddenly stop in the middle of doing something and a burst of it would engulf the room so strongly he’d scrunch his face up in a mirror image of hers. Stiles was scared to tell his dad something was wrong, until Isaac had ran up from behind him and hugged him tightly trepidation, worry, fear fill Stiles’ senses instead of the warm love that usually enveloped him when Isaac hugged him. He turned to ask the boy what was wrong, but a wave of confusion hit him as he locked eyes with his mother. She smiled and rubbed a hand down his arm, pleasant surprise this time filling him as she asked who the boy behind him was. She told Stiles he needed permission before bringing a new friend over, despite the fact that Isaac had been living with them for six months at that point. After that things had progressed too quickly. His mother was a less powerful empath than him, but at the height of her illness Stiles couldn’t be in the hospital wing she stayed in due to the emotions she couldn’t control, only project at full volume. Nurses quit or requested a different patient every few weeks, not understanding why they were so upset all the time, but knowing it had something to do with the screaming woman in 203.

It was on one of those days that his mother’s unending terror had been too much, that Stiles had stumbled into a room and immediately screamed a feral, angry thing as pain, hatred, loss, wrath slammed into him without warning. Isaac and Scott hadn’t been far behind him as he ran away from his mother’s screams and pain, but at the sound of his anguished scream they’d burst through the door and did the only thing they knew would calm their friend. They hugged him with every ounce of strength they shared in their small bodies, unaware that the love, fondness, sympathy surrounding him was what actually calmed him down. It also helped that the wall of emotion had receded at the sound of his scream, and even muted itself. Curiosity, hope, and wariness flowed between the dark emotions as Stiles took in the bleak room around him. A man was laying on the hospital bed in the corner of the room, his body eerily still for the emotions Stiles could still feel coming off him. He wanted to ask if the man was okay, but that was a stupid question. Better questions flooded his mind, but his friends were feeling more and more worry by the minute in that dark, barren room. He blanketed the room in calm and peace, the boys on either side of him relaxed instantly, and the emotions filling the room eased instead of the muted feeling they had been after his scream. He asked Scott and Isaac to get him an apple juice, the boys reluctant to leave Stiles in a room alone with a comatose stranger, but ultimately giving in to his puppy eyes.

Stiles approached the man in the bed, noting the burn scars traveling up his neck and face.

“Something horrible happened to you. I’m sorry for the pain you have felt. The screams that fill this wing are my mom’s. She doesn’t remember me anymore and it hurts, it hurts like you hurt. I’m not ready to lose my momma, but neither is daddy. I’ve got to look out for Scott and Isaac so I can’t let them see me cry. I’m gonna cry now. I’m sorry.” Stiles apologized.

He truly was deeply sorry in his very being that anyone had to go through something that made them feel the way this man did. He was sorry that the man didn’t ask for three grieving boys to stumble into his room and couldn’t even tell them to leave. He was sorry that the man had to hear his mother’s screams. He was sorry that the man had to feel his mother’s fear when she had an episode and couldn’t stop herself from projecting. But mostly he was sorry all he could do for the man was fill the room with peace and cry at his bedside. He let himself cry for just a moment before grabbing the man’s hand and covering him head to toe in calm, content, peace. He hoped it lingered on the man for as long as possible. Scott and Isaac returned with his apple juice and more hugs as they left the room with the comatose man.

In the wake of his mother’s death Stiles also lost his father. Not in the literal sense, but something was broken inside the man. He didn’t see the boys anymore. Didn’t greet them with smiles and hugs like he once had. Didn’t smile or hug at all. Isaac backed away, fear rising in him each day the newly appointed sheriff got closer and closer to the man he’d once saved Isaac from. His grip harshed on the back of Stiles’ neck, no longer the warm comfort it’d once been. Now a means to bodily move his son or reprimand him. It was in those moments that Stiles was struck still and silent by the overwhelming grief, pain, loss, hopelessness, devastation that was consuming his father. His father’s pain was not an excuse to treat his sons like the were ghosts in his home, one of whom looked too much like the woman he loved to stomach even looking at. He hurt Stiles sometimes on accident, but he didn’t even acknowledge Isaac’s presence in their home. The boys formed a bond in those months that would never break.

Stiles spent his days sneaking out of the house while Isaac and Scott played video games and Melissa slept. He would sneak down to the police station and project love, hope, forgiveness, peace in alternating patterns and at varying degrees. In the end he wasn’t sure if his projecting helped his father or if the breaking point had finally changed things. The breaking point had been Isaac flinching away from Stiles’ father when the man had tried to ruffle his curls like the past few months he hadn’t been leaving bruises on his other son’s neck. Isaac had flinched, a whimper escaping him and fear bursting out of him so strong Stiles had pushed his father away from his brother and snarled at him. Melissa had come running down the stairs, sleep mussed hair and bleary eyed, Scott peeking out from behind her legs. She’d shouted his father’s name just as the man had wrenched Stiles away from Isaac by the neck. She gathered the three boys behind her and released a torrent of angry, scornful words that had hit his father like a train. Stiles had focused on his father’s emotions, reading them as they came to him in a flurry: anger, indignation, shock, pain, grief, fear, self-loathing, regret, remorse, devastation, guilt.

“I know you’re in pain. I know you miss momma. I miss her too, but I don’t like you right now dad. And you scare Isaac, and that makes me mad. You’re not allowed to scare him anymore, okay?” Stiles stared at his father, the secret of how adeptly Stiles actually did know his father’s pain bare and raw between them.

“And you can’t be mean to Stiles anymore!” Isaac demanded, though it came out much weaker than he had probably intended.

“Yeah! No more hurting him!” Scott yelled, his twelve year old fists clenched by his sides.

Stiles’ father dropped to his knees and sobbed. The sound earth shattering in Stiles’ ears when accompanied by the tidal wave of sorrow, grief, guilt, regret.

“I’m going to keep the boys at my house until you get sober and get counseling.” Melissa said, her resolve strong in the face of his tears.

While they stayed with the McCalls Stiles still sneaked out to project positive feelings to his father.

The boys moved back in with their father after his three month stint in rehab with a grief counselor. Isaac was more wary than Stiles to return, but Stiles could feel the cleanse his father’s emotional state went through. They had bunk beds, but Isaac slept with Stiles most nights when they first returned. Stiles would wake up every time the other boy had a nightmare and he would project safe emotions to his brother until he settled. He would check in on his father’s emotions through the night too. Melissa called every night before bed for the first month to make sure the boys were truly settled back home and safe. Stiles was happy to be home and happy to see his father healing and healthy again, he would never be the safe haven he’d once been. Stiles still thought that one day, maybe even one day soon, they’d be a family again.

Three years later, Stiles had his family whole again, but lost his last two buffers, Scott and Isaac. Together. All at once Stiles was alone in the ocean of emotions around him. The problem with both of your adopted brothers being werewolves when you’re an empath is that they get more tactile when you can no longer handle the emotions whirling through their minds at any given time. Supernatural creatures were louder than humans. Stiles had grown stronger over the years, but there was nothing he could do to stop the events of their sophomore year. Well perhaps he could’ve stopped the events if he hadn’t been the one to drag his sweet loyal brothers out of their beds in the middle of the night to go find the source of the overwhelming emotions coming from the preserve. They’d been heading towards the area Stiles had felt the spike of sorrow so sharp it’d brought tears to his eyes when he’d picked up on more emotions.

Pain, hatred, loss, wrath, grief was approaching fast. Too fast to even warn his brothers to run before a massive angry alpha werewolf had tackled Scott, biting his side immediately. Stiles vomited as Scott’s pain and fear throbbed through him at the same time Isaac’s horror slammed into him from behind, all mixed with the creatures emotions. It was too much. He couldn’t shut out Isaac and Scott’s emotions like he could strangers’ emotions, they were as apart of him as his own. He couldn’t fight against the strength of the alpha’s emotions either.

Stiles tried to breathe, tried to shake off everyone else’s emotions so he could focus. But the alpha reared back and snatched Isaac off the ground, its teeth sinking into his ribs. Isaac screamed. Scott cried out, too weak to scream. The alpha howled. And Stiles gathered every ounce of terror filling his brothers and himself and ROARED.

The alpha dropped Isaac, his body bounced once on the ground before laying too still for Stiles’ heart, and passed out. Stiles took a moment to breathe and gather his strength again. He blanketed his brothers in safe, love, calm, peace before calling his father.

“Stiles? Why are you calling me? We’re both home?” His father listened to his panicked, exhausted breaths for a moment before finishing, “Unless we’re not. Okay. Where are you? Why aren’t Isaac and Scott there to calm you? I’m putting on pants and coming to you kiddo, but I need you to find a way to tell me what happened and where I’m going.”

“Alpha. Bit. Boys. Preserve. Hale House close?” Stiles was hyperventilating, the adrenaline morphing into panic as he realized the ramifications of the night.

Stiles heard his father stop shuffling and gasp and was glad he couldn’t feel his father’s emotions from this far unless he tuned into them on purpose.

“Okay. Okay kiddo. We’ll deal with it. I’m coming. I need you to put pressure on the wounds and tell me if you see any black goo seeping out of them. You don’t have to speak other than that so try to focus on your breathing and on stopping the bleeding.” His father was much better in a crisis than he ever would be.

Stiles forced his wooden legs to carry him to his brothers. Isaac had rolled relatively close to Scott, which made checking them both over much easier. He dropped to his knees between their limp bodies and, putting his father on speaker first, shined his phone’s flashlight onto Isaac’s unconscious body.

“Oh god dad. His body bounced. It fucking bounced off the ground like a ball. What if he’s bleeding internally? How do I fix that? How do I save him?” He shined the light onto Scott and almost vomited again.

He whimpered his oldest and closest friend’s name as he took in the sight of his torn side.

“It bit them so violently dad. There’s more wound area than I have hand area. I can’t do anything. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t protect them. I can’t save them. Daddy please hurry. I can’t do this alone and I can’t lose them. I can’t.” Stiles muted his end of the phone and let out a sob so violent his entire body shook.

He had long ago stopped letting anyone see him cry for fear that he’d project it and make someone else sad. He couldn’t stop the torrent of tears spilling out of him. He threw his head back and screamed through his grief and sorrow. He’d always felt better after being able to release the emotions inside him that way, even if it was a rather violent coping mechanism.

He could hear his father saying his name and asking him to turn off the mute, and mechanically did so, the last of his scream still echoing around them. Then he heard a sound, a whimper he hadn’t expected to hear. His head whipped to the limp bodies of his brothers but neither stirred, and it was then that Stiles remembered he had turned his back on an unconscious alpha werewolf. The same alpha that had just violently attacked his family unprovoked. He stood as he spun around to face the creature, but there was nothing in the spot it had collapsed in. The alpha got away.

High school was hell after that night. His brothers didn’t understand why he flinched when nothing was happening, why he would dodge their touch when he used to run headlong into it, why he no longer wanted to share a room with Isaac. Stiles could’ve told them about being an empath, but things were so complicated and he didn’t want them looking guilty every time they had a strong emotion. It wasn’t their fault supernatural creatures were loud, and it wasn’t their fault Kate Argent lured Laura Hale into the preserve that night and killed her. Peter Hale had been comatose until the moment the alpha spark slammed into him full force. He followed the scent of blood to the sight of his nieces’ murder and attacked the first foreign thing he came across. It was Peter’s grief Stiles had felt so sharply he’d bolted out of bed and raced to Scott’s house, Isaac in tow, so that they could go hiking through the woods to find the source.

Scott and Isaac were the least to blame for their new found werewolf status, and the only thing Stiles felt as they had to deal with Peter Hale’s rampage and Derek Hale trying to force them under his rule was guilt.

Peter had asked him if he wanted the bite that night in the garage, but Stiles had been too busy being relaxed by his muted emotions to be properly scared of his threats. Stiles could feel the fondness, intrigue, humor rolling off the man when they interacted, but every time he saw anger flash in those sapphire eyes he didn’t feel it as strongly as he suspected. Something about Peter seemed familiar and despite everything Stiles found himself fond of the man as well. Then he tried to attack Scott, Isaac, and Allison and Stiles had to stop him. No matter how much Stiles found the man curious and charismatic he had to pay for what he did to Scott and Isaac, and Stiles would not let him lay a single claw on an innocent again. He would overwhelm the man with whatever emotion it would take to stop him. As Jackson threw the molotov cocktail Stiles felt a blast of terror so strong he stumbled, but knew it had come from the man that had already burned once. Stiles granted him the only mercy he could in that moment. Numb. Sleep. Peace. Each emotion as strong as he could project them, and Peter’s eyes snapped to his just before the cocktail exploded and Peter’s eyes closed as he passed out. Peter would not live through this sleep, but he would not have to be aware of burning alive again.

After Peter’s death, Derek became alpha and bit Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd. Gerard Argent became principal and made sure he threatened the fledgeling pack at every opportunity. Jackson somehow became a kanima just from Derek’s nail stuck in his neck, which: ew. The whole time Scott and Isaac were caught up in running and fighting, Stiles was distancing himself so that he could learn to mute their emotions. He could mute human emotions unless they were touching him, but supernatural emotions were more projected and harder to mute.

Stiles found himself going on runs through the preserve more than was probably safe, but it was the only place in Beacon Hills that there was rarely people. And he’d sense a supernatural creature before it got close enough to attack, he’d grown in power since the night Peter had bitten his brothers. He had never thought he’d have to use his empathy as a weapon, but here he was with a blunt sword he had to sharpen as fast and as safely as possible. Out in the preserve he could practise putting animals to sleep or easing their fear of him enough to pet them without worrying about anyone seeing.

He’d went for a run after Scott and Isaac’s lacrosse game, which was probably a bad idea since Jackson may or may not have died that night. There’d been so much fear and worry in the stands that Stiles had to escape to the peace of the preserve. Which is how he found himself surrounded by fifteen grown men armed to the teeth.

“Woah! What do you need all those for? Mr.Jones killed the mountain lion a while back now, so there’s nothing out here nearly dangerous enough for you to need all that for!”

They only stepped closer, silent in their menacing, and Stiles could feel the violence in their emotions.

“Right? Cause if you guys think there is something dangerous out here I need to get the hell out of here!” Stiles was trying to keep his panic at bay.

They were here for him, but none of them had the right combination of emotions to make him feel like they were going to kill him here. They were going to take him. Probably to Gerard.

Why would Gerard want him? He was just a human as far as anyone knew. It didn’t matter at that moment, what did matter was soothing the itch for violence in these men.

Stiles started projecting little tendrils of friendly at each man as they closed in on him. He was knocked unconscious, not by a pistol whip to the top of his head, but a punch to his temple. The last thing he thought was ‘At least my empathy softened the blow somewhat.’

Stiles didn’t stay unconscious long, the amount of hands on him as they carried him into a house and down the stairs into a basement torture chamber was enough to jolt him awake the moment they lifted him. They threw him down in a way that sent his body skidding across the harsh concrete ground and landing under two sets of bare feet. Stiles groaned as he felt not only his pain, but also the two above him’s pain and fear.

He lifted his gaze away from the men assembled in front of him and to the teenagers hanging from the ceiling above him. Erica cried out when she saw him, Boyd thrashed against his restraints in an attempt to free himself. Stiles had to mute their emotions as best he could, though it was incredibly hard when those emotions were about him. Their fear was for him. He had felt the resignation on them when he’d been thrown at them. They were ready to die, but wanted to fight for Stiles to live. Stiles hadn’t even truly considered them friends until that revelation. He’d be damned if they were going to die on his watch.

Gerard finally made his appearance, spouting racist bullshit and throwing surprisingly strong punches. Stiles could take it, would take it. He had to if he was going to get the ‘wolves behind him out of here. There was too many people and he didn’t even know where they were, but Stiles would figure it out. As Gerard picked him up by the collar of his track jersey and punched him back down onto the ground Stiles sent tendrils of wariness into the men behind Gerard. As the geriatric bastard stomped on Stiles’ ribs, Stiles sent a wave of guilt into the men. He noticed one slip out the back while Gerard was distracted by Stiles hacking up blood.

Moments later Chris Argent came striding in and Stiles felt guilt, regret, worry as he looked at the brutalized teenagers. Good. Stiles couldn’t hear what son said to father, but Gerard spit on Stiles and followed his son upstairs. Stiles had leaned so heavily into Erica and Boyd’s emotions so as to avoid feeling even an ounce of Gerard’s that he gasped when he could pull his senses off of them. Stiles sent tired at the men watching them wearily and all but one left. Stiles simply projected sleep at the three other people in the basement and waited for them to sag. Once he knew everyone in his vicinity was sleeping he cast his awareness through the house, relieved to feel nothing. They’d trusted one man to watch a beat up human and two restrained werewolves, but they didn’t know who Stiles was.

Getting Erica and Boyd down and into the car was the most physically painful hour of his life. When they woke Stiles told them the hunter left to guard them told him to take the other two and get out before he changed his mind. It was a lie, but they didn’t need to know that. What they needed at that moment was somewhere safe and somewhere comforting. Stiles could do that for them. He blanketed the car in safe, calm, peace, contentment, love and soon he could hear Erica singing along to the radio quietly from the back seat. Sometimes he really wished he could project onto himself.

After that Stiles had more people’s touch to dodge. Erica and Boyd claimed Stiles with the brand of fierce loyalty he’d claimed them. With every dodge Stiles sent love back to make sure they didn’t feel rejected, his four puppies always smiled back at him like it was a game. Perhaps it was a game, one that Stiles wouldn’t handle losing very well.

A plan was hatched to dispose of Gerard Argent, Stiles knew what Scott was like when he was planning something. After a little bit of snooping Stiles decided he needed to step in and help Scott with Not Doing That.

“But I think it’s clever.” Scott defended, his brows furrowed.

“It is clever. I’m honestly shocked you thought of something this devious, I’m usually the devious one.” Stiles laughed, his hand casually coming up to rest on Scott’s arm despite the overwhelming flow of his emotions.

Sometimes he really missed touching and being touched. Scott was his first buffer against the outside world, maybe Stiles could just take an aspirin after they touched and it’d be okay. Even if he did want to smile like an idiot and scrunch up his face in confusion, offended and cry from heartbreak and fight something.

Werewolves were a tsunami of emotions and Stiles only had a raft made of touch starvation and devotion.

Scott had to repeat his question twice before Stiles could focus on it, “So why cant I do it?”

“Well buddy the thing is you don’t know a lot about werewolf culture yet, right?”

Scott nodded.

“And you know I’ve been researching the hell out of it at lightning speed? Well something I learned was that an alpha’s bite is precious and a gift. You and Isaac are different because Peter was drowning in lost pack bonds and need new ones immediately. But think about Erica and Boyd.”

“Derek scouted them.”

“Okay meat head. I would’ve said looked for them, but sure.”

“Shut up, man. I’m telling you I understand.”

“Fuck yeah! Okay so now that we’re on the same page of ‘Operation: Force Derek to Bite Gerard to Kill Him’ being not good, let’s brainstorm what to do next.” Stiles fist bumped Scott and they fell back onto his bed together.

Isaac joined them soon after offering his own insights. Stiles called Erica and Boyd when the three of them came to another impasse about what to do.

Soon Stiles’ bedroom was full of teenage werewolves, and he was starting to freak out. He opened the window for fresh air, but Derek launched himself onto his roof at the exact moment it opened.

“Sweet Baby Yoda, you scared the hell out of me!” Stiles gasped, clutching his chest while Erica snickered.

Derek frowned at him, “Why are you having a pack meeting without me?”

“We aren’t voting you off the island, alpha mine!” Erica chirped.

“Yet.” Boyd followed gravely.

“Well that’s reassuring.” Derek deadpanned back as he approached his four betas. He scent marked each of them before reaching out and placing his hand on Stiles’ head.

Grief, self-loathing, guilt, worry, fear, pain

It slammed threw him so hard Stiles could only stumble backwards as tears welled up in his eyes. Derek’s emotions were always muted unless they were strong, but this was the first time they’d touched when Stiles was too sensitive by everyone else to dilute what he took in.

He hit the ground and dropped his head, Derek following suit to check on him.

“Stiles? What just-”

“Stiles darling, come now. Up you get.” He didn’t know where Peter came from or how he was able to lift him by his shoulders without sending a single emotion to Stiles, but Stiles didn’t care.

He let Peter guide him out of the room. He hadn’t felt anything from Peter except content, humor, interest, curiosity since the man had returned to the world of the living, but now he truly felt nothing from the man. He tried to slump back into Peter’s chest, but the man stopped him.

“Not yet, pet. I haven’t perfected the full body charms yet.”

Stiles hummed an inquisitive sound as Peter sat him on the couch.

Peter sat beside him, close but not touching more than the hand on his leg.

“It took me longer than I would’ve liked, but yes I did indeed say charm. I’m going to make full body mute charms and you’re going to gift them to the pack and your father, so that they will actually wear them. You don’t have to tell them what you are, love, but if you keep up like this you’re going to burn yourself out. I am not quite ready to say goodbye to the little boy that screamed when I could not.” Peter caressed Stiles’ cheek as he spoke, his thumb wiping away dried tears.

“You know? How? They make mute charms? Will you show me how to make them?” Stiles’ mind was starting to whirl with the possibilities, “If there are mute charms, could I make singular emotion charms? So does that mean you only have a hand mute charm on? Is it the ring? That’s new right? I don’t want to tell them what I am. They’ll feel guilty for every emotion they have if they know it impacts me. Can the charm be any material or does it have to be silver? That is silver right? I wouldn’t burn myself out. I totally got this. But the charms are so cool!” Stiles took a big breath as his rapid fire inquires petered out.

He smiled sheepishly at Peter’s calm, but amused expression.

“Sorry they got excited and I was already excited, so a feedback loop kicked up. Add in the ADHD and it’s rough. You said I screamed when you couldn’t? When?”

Peter brought his hand around and placed it on the back of Stiles’ neck, a warm comforting weight, before answering, “We’ll unpack all your charm questions later, okay? As for how I know and when you were able to express my emotions when I couldn’t, the answers are the same but slightly different.”

Stiles nodded, leaning back into Peter’s palm.

“You stumbled into my hospital room and screamed the minute the door was shut, I didn’t understand why this eleven year old was in my room or why his scream sounded like he felt every single thing I was feeling. I wasn’t very aware at that point, but the visceral emotion in that scream sounded like my own. And then you filled my room with such nice feelings I thought for a long time it was a dream.”

Stiles’ eyes are wet again as the memory of that day finally floods back in.

“And then I felt Laura die and the spark pass to me. I was blind in my fury and grief. I found her body and howled with every ounce of grief within my tattered soul. I was searching the area to figure out who did it when you three stumbled into my path. I felt your sorrow for your brothers as if it were my own and I ran.”

Stiles remembers the whimper and squeezes the hand on his thigh with his own.

“And then, my sweet sweet boy, I died. I was burned alive for the second time, but you saved me the trauma of experiencing it. I don’t know how I knew it was you who granted me the numbness that took over my body, but when I looked at you trying not to show anyone the emotion I saw in your eyes, I knew. I knew you were the little boy. I knew that once again you were here to save me from pain.”

Stiles wiped his watery eyes viciously, mad at himself for tearing up in front of Peter.

“I vowed that if I could make it back I’d repay you. And these charms are how I plan to do that, pet.” Peter moved Stiles hand away from his eyes before slowly moving in and kissing each sensitive eyelid.

“Where do we go from here, Peter?” Stiles whispered, his throat too full of emotion, for once it was his own.

“Wherever we want, sweetheart.”

#steter #empath!stiles #empath stiles #peter hale #adopted isaac #isaac scott and stiles are the best of friends #kyla creates #kyla writes

131 notes · View notes

lupienne · 5 years

Text

Monday Calling

I got inspired by #193 and the brief glimpse of Negan we were granted. I want to think there’s more to his life than pining over a grave - even if pining over a grave might still be part of his life. This popped into my head and I went with it. It’s not award-winning prose by any means but I still like it.

He could feel the presence of Monday like a weight on his chest. Despite them not having a calendar proper, he knew when it fell, when it was coming. They carved notches into a stick and when it reached thirty-one, it became kindling. All months had thirty-one days now and those days weren't named – but still -

He knew when Monday was.

It felt like her hands had, rubbing his back, nudging his ribs in the Before, urging: “Negan, wake up. It's Monday, you're going to be late for work.”

He always forgot to set that fucking alarm on Sunday night.

He no longer lived in that world and he didn’t require alarms. But still, Lucille’s phantom hands turned the gears of his internal clock and let him know – It was Monday, and it was time to go.

He shrugged on his jacket and stepped outside to gather the wilted bouquet from the stoop. He tried to be quiet, but she heard him. He knew she didn't like him going, after all these years.

May swung open the door, her worn bathrobe sprouting more loose threads at the hem. “You're going?”

“Yeah.”

“How long are you going to do this?”

“It's... it's the day. You know. I have to.”

“Do you want me to come with you...?” She already knew his answer, because he'd never taken her along. It was his penance to do this in solitude. And maybe some part of him was afraid Lucille would be angry. He'd had the wives before, sure, but the wives were just warm bodies and distraction, and maybe a laugh or two...but they weren't May.

Of course, Lucille knew about May. She was happy for Negan, but sometimes he wondered. And that is why he went to her alone.

May nodded and went back in without a word. He saw it all in her eyes, like he did every Monday. I wish you could let this go. I wish I could lift this burden off your shoulders.

Despite his extensive vocabulary, he could never find the words to tell her – that she didn't need to lift his burden...that she was the reason this burden hadn't crushed him to the ground.

“You're the reason I can breathe,” he'd told her once, and she hadn't quite understood – thought he was talking of some time or another when she'd saved his hide from an errant walker.

Negan slipped down familiar paths. His former residence was miles away, but he always traveled on foot. He was too heavy for their little pony, Madge. And it felt better this way, anyway. Walking the miles for her. His knees always ached after the long trek. He'd rub them with a smirk. It was funny, considering what he'd done to old Grimes, that he now would suffer from knee pain himself. But of course, he was getting older, one silver hair at a time.

He stopped now and then, listening. For the dead and the living. He saw Carl in the area sometimes and though he ached to speak to the boy – no... the man - he kept hidden. Chickenshit, Negan. Yeah, he was. He knew Old Prick was dead, but somehow, hearing it would make it real. Maybe if he never heard it, he could go on pretending the old Sour Puss was still lording his prickly self all over Alexandria – and beyond.

He'd put Rick in the past. Alexandria, the Saviors, the jail – everything. Everything but her.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he started down the hill towards his former home.

Five years ago, he'd met May. A spring deluge had soaked him as he wandered the surrounding copses, checking his traps, fishing in the wide streams. He'd started to plant, hunt, trap. He'd started to thrive... survival-wise. Inside, he was a cage of bone, stripped of all life. Maybe he'd become an Undead and didn't even know it.

Then she'd appeared in the gaps between the birches. Soaked through, her teeth chattering. Her hand shaking as she aimed a pistol at him, but her eyes said she didn't want to fire. He'd told her he didn't mind if she did – but she'd be better off following him to four dry walls and a warm meal. So she had.

“There's towns around,” he told her after she'd stayed the night. “There's a city. Commonwealth. Nobody has to travel alone anymore...”

He'd thought of moving there. He'd be as non-existent as he was here. Just a body, moving from job to home, rinse and repeat. Out here the birds and mammals reminded him that he was just another animal, surviving as they did. There – the humans would remind him that he was not like them – that he had failed to be.

“I'm not a city and town type person,” she'd said, staring down at the eggs he'd made. “I've...done bad things.”

Haven't we all?

“I won't judge,” he said. “I've got no fucking right to. And neither do they.”

When she finally trusted her eyes to lock with his – he could feel that she was one like Lucille. No – she was not Lucille returning, like he'd deluded himself that the bat had been... she wasn't a spirit - she was herself. But she had that same glow, buried like ember under ash. He trembled inside when she stayed and allowed him, slowly, to coax the ember into a flame.

The first time he'd lay with a woman again after so many years... it was fumbling, like this aging man had become a teenager again. It was desperate almost, too touch-starved and he'd been too awkward, he'd come too quickly.

But she didn't judge. She stayed.

But he could not give himself fully to May with the grave of Lucille looming so near. It didn't feel fair to any of them.

So, five years ago, he'd taken May and they'd moved. They had traveled ten miles west, even deeper into farmland, bordered by wild forest. They found an abandoned house and made it a home.

He knew life again. The blood began to thaw, pulsing warm through his veins. The radiant heat from his heart drew walkers far and wide, but he and May had killed them all. They had found each other and their home – and nothing but Death would break them apart.

Until the Mondays came calling.

Negan's boots scuffed across the path to his old house. He maintained the property weekly. He pulled weeds. Made sure all the entrances were secured. He kept up the appearance that he still lived here. Why, he didn't know. Perhaps it was for Lucille. She deserved a home as lovely as the one he shared with May.

And so, he swept the stoop and wiped the windows clean. On the porch, he smiled to see Carl's latest offering. The fresh bread had a small spot of mold blooming, but he'd tear that out and it would be perfectly fine. He really should talk to the kid – the man – one of these days. For now, he filled his backpack, knowing his shoulders would ache along with his knee when he got back home.

Finally, he turned to the grave. His chest tightened. Warm blood went cold, shivers of grief plummeting from brain stem to his toes. Decades later – centuries even – the tears would still fall down his face. His penance, he supposed. May wished she could take this away from him, but he could not let her. He had to feel this – he had to keep it. His weeping heart was the only pulse Lucille had anymore – he was the life support of her memory.

Carefully, he kneeled, grunting at the discomfort. Old man Negan. Didn't they say gray made a man distinguished? He snorted a laugh through his tears. If you could see me now, babe. Even my pubes are going gray. Guess you'd say I had a real distinguished dick, huh?

He could hear her laugh at that. The tree above rustled softly as a warm breeze played over his hair. He removed the old flowers and brushed stray leaves from her grave. His fingers trailed the weathered stone.

He drew in a breath and placed the new bouquet before her. “Well, let's see. Your Monday update, Lucy. May and I are thinking of getting a dog. Crazy, huh? There's a farmer about five miles from us. Nice guy. His retriever's having a litter of fucking mutt puppies – some lucky stray got her knocked up. Scandalous shit, I know.”

Lucille gave her blessing. She'd never thought he could handle a dog before. He was too irresponsible. But now, she trusted him. Maybe one day, he could even have pups of his own? Negan shuddered at that possibility – but it brought a warm flush of pleasure all the same. He wiped his eyes, telling her of the week past, the cold melting away with each word.

When the breeze faded, he knew she had left him again, floating back to places he could never follow – maybe even after he died. Perhaps he was destined for elsewhere. He stood with another groan, brushing his knees. But it was fine. He had her memory, he had May, and he had life – for however long.

People said not to hold onto the past. He didn't.

He knew when he aimed his boots west, they aimed towards home. The now. The future. May waiting, with a smile and a warm kiss, her forgiveness a balm to all wounds.

He couldn't hold the past. But when he walked, he looked over his shoulder. The past was there – behind him – and that was where he opened his hands and left it.

He went home and he lived in the now.

Until the next Monday called.

#negan #comic negan #fanfic #193 #twd spoilers #lucille #fluff #comfort fic lol #neegs can't be alone forever :(#i won't let him! :D #lup's writing

32 notes · View notes

green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 6 years

Text

Son of the Sea

Pairing: Selkie!Steve x Female!Reader Summary: After losing your crew- your family- and waking up in a town you’ve never been to before, you find yourself going through life in a bit of haze while you recover. Your only solace is the sea, which you spend any time you can spare staring longingly at. That is until a mysterious, handsome blond makes a sudden appearance in your life. This stranger isn’t like the other townsfolk. Unlike them, he seems to understand, if the spark in his eye when he looks at the ocean is any indication. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only, smut, vaginal sex, unprotected sex Word Count: ~8,566 A/N: This is the first Monster!Character one shot for this Spooktober season! If you’d like to be tagged in other Spooktober stories, check out this post! Send me Spooktober requests for Monster!Character fics you want to see!

Masterlist // The Monster Series Collection

As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair To view the salt water and take the sea air I heard an old fisherman singing a song Won’t you take ma away girls me time is not long