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creative-caramel-coffee · 8 months

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A Disastrous First.

Pairings: Wanda x nat x R (platonic)

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: Reader is on a mission with the team and it’s the morning before they leave to go into the bush for a bunch of days to camp to stakeout a base and reader gets her first period. Bad timing.

TW: periods (idk if that needs a warning lol), blood, vomiting, exhaustion, cramps, embarrassment, swearing (very little tho)

A/n this is based partly off personal experience lol

“So are there any questions before we leave?” Steve asked. A chorus of mumbled no’s came from the group and Steve clapped his hands. “Alright everyone go to the bathroom and then we’ll head off. The campsite has already been setup.” He continued to talk but your weren’t really paying any attention. You felt odd.

After the meeting ended you stood and followed the team out of the room. Everyone went back to their rooms to finished packing and go to the bathroom before getting on the jet. Fury would be coming with to pilot the jet back to the compound as it drew too much attention for a week long stakeout in the woods.

Hydra had a new covert based and Steve posed all the avengers come with the camp out in the woods. It really only needed about two people for the mission but Steve insisted after all it had a been a long time since the group did anything as a team.

You finished packing a bag with basic supplies. You were the youngest on the team. About half a year younger than peter who was fifteen which left you at fourteen and a half. After all the team couldn’t not accept you after your past. Hydra had given you powers that couldn’t be ignored. Fire and magic made it hard to fit in at times but after you met Wanda you grew better control over them. Not as good as her yet but still impressive. She had much more time spent training hers than you.

You set the duffel bag on the edge of the bed and walked to the bathroom.

“Shit.” You swore. Internally panicking. You knew you were a bit late and most of the other girls in your year had gotten their first periods but you hadn’t expected it now. You had no supplies, and you were about to leave. You got lost in your own mind. Could you ask Wanda? A knock came from your bedroom door.

“Y/n? Steve needs us all at the jet now he sent me to get you.” Nat called through the door.

Dammit. You folded some toilet paper and placed it in your underwear. You could ask Wanda once you get to the camp ground.

“Y/n?” Nat called again.

“Coming.” You said. Quickly you washed you hands and finished up grabbing the duffel and slinging it over one shoulder. Nat studied you for a moment and then without a word the two of you walked down the hall.

When you got to the jet Wanda sensed you anxiety and once you were in the air she pulled you aside to ask if you were ok. You had made an agreement for her not to look into your mind as it brought back memories of not being in control like at hydra.

“Y/n? Are you ok?” Wanda said rubbing her thumb against your bicep from where she held it.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You said and Wanda frowned unconvinced.

“Y/n you can tell me anything you know that right?” She said softly.

“Well actually there is something but. Its dumb.”

“Im sure if its bothering you its not dumb.” She said and ushered you to sit with her away from the group.

“I- i- i got m-my first p-period.” You said not looking at Wanda. She smiled at you with understanding in her eyes.

“That’s ok. Do you need anything? Pads? Have you got cramps or anything?” She asked.

“I do need some pads. I don’t have anything. And i don’t think I’ve had any cramps yet. Im just tired.” You said.

“Well i can give you some pads and you can go put one in before we land. Its a tough time to get it with camping and all. Steve said there would be no real bathrooms.” Your head whipped up at that.

“W-what?” You said eyes wide.

“Oh sweetheart were you not listening again. Its kinda a pee in the woods situation.” Wanda said. You simply opened and closed you mouth and Wanda pulled you in for a hug. You felt her slip something into your pocket and pat your back.

“Thanks wands.” You said. Quietly slipping away you put in the pad before coming back to sit next to her. You rested you head on her shoulder exhausted from everything.

“You can sleep now y/n/n we still have a couple hours till we get there.” Wanda said and you curled into her and drifted off.

You woke to hands running through your hair and soft whispers in your ear.

“Y/n/n time to wake up lovely girl.” Wanda said and you opened your eyes.

“There she is.” Wanda said and patted your cheek. “We have about five minutes till we land. I though you should change again before we get off and start setting up.”

“Ok.” You mumbled and stood sleepily. Once you entered the bathroom you found another pad in your pocket and silently thanked Wanda. After changed again you went back and curled up against her again. This time with you head in her lap. Wanda traced patterns on you leg and soon you felt someone sit down on your other side. Nat picked up your legs and swung them into her lap.

“You ok y/n/n?” Nat asked. She had been observing from the other side of the jet. You mumbled and hid your head in Wanda’s thigh.

“Do you want me to tell her?” Wanda said and felt you nod against her leg. Wanda lent closer to nat and whispered to her.

“Y/n/n got her first period. Shes a bit exhausted.” Wanda said and nat nodded.

“Does she need anything?” Nat asked.

“I think she’s ok. I’ll ask.” Wanda stroked your hair again and softly asked if you needed anything. You mumbled a small no and went back to dozing.

“Yeah she’s ok for now but do a favour and keep an eye on her if I’m not with her for some reason?”

“Sure.” Nat said.

After dozing for another few minutes Wanda’s hands found your hair again and you yawned, stretching in her arms.

“Welcome back sleepy head. We just touched down, nat said she can carry your bag if you want sweets.” Wanda said. You sat up slowly.

“No I’ll be fine don’t worry.” You waved her off and grabbed you bag following Steve off the jet with nat and Wanda following behind you.

“Alright we’ll be in tents of three.” Steve started once the team was all in the clearing. “Wanda, nat and Y/n in one tent. Bucky, sam and myself in another. Bruce, tony and peter in the third. And lastly Clint and Thor in the last one.” Steve said and for once there was minimal arguing as everyone was happy with their tent groups. The team dispersed and began putting bags in tents and claiming sleeping bags.

Nat, Wanda and you were sat in the canvas tent. You had opted for the middle spot with nat on your left and Wanda on your right. But the three of you knew you would all wake up in a cuddle pile each morning.

Wanda placed her hand on your knee where you had your legs crossed under you.

“Y/n/n are you still feeling ok sweets?” She asked from where she sat on her own sleeping bag. Nat sat on your other side folding her clothes and placing them at the foot of her bed but you knew she was listening as well.

“‘M fine.” You mumbled feeling your cheeks heat. “Um. I do have a question though.”

“What is it lovely?” Wanda asked.

“Um, what do i do with the dirty pads if there are no bathrooms?” You mumbled again. Wanda slapped her forehead.

“Oh damn how could i forget.” She began rooting around in her bag. Soon she pulled out a plastic bag with four brown paper bags inside and a small container of baking soda. You looked at her confused as she handed it to you.

“Basically you put the pad inside the bag and sprinkle a bit of baking soda on it to keep … bugs away from it.” She said.

“Ew.” You said making a face and shoving the bag into your backpack.

“Yeah. Pretty much.” Wanda said chuckling.

“Thanks wands your a life saver.” You said and hugged her. She hugged back loosely worried about if you had cramps or not yet. When the two of you broke apart nat silently hugged you.

“I know i don’t have much experience in this but in want to help so i bought you this.” She said and pulled a chocolate bar from her bag. You took it with tears in your eyes and nat silently panics worried she had done something wrong. Wanda simply chuckled as you threw yourself at nat for another hug.

“There are the hormones.” Wanda said grinning.

“Oh shut up and come here sparkly hands.” You said and she raised a brow and sandwiched you between her and nat. After a few moments you pulled them down and now you all laid cuddling on your sleeping bag. After a few moments Wanda noticed the slow rise and fall of your chest as you had fallen asleep. It was at this moment the flap of the tent lifted and Clint poked his head in.

“If i knew it was cuddle time i would have come earlier. Can i join?” He joked and nat rolled her eyes from where she laid with your arm over her chest snoring softly. She lazily flipped him off and Wanda stifled a chuckle.

“What do you want Clint?” She said feigning annoyance.

“Steve wants us all to gather so he can go over what we are going to be doing for the next few days.”

Nat sighed “give us a minute and tell him Y/n’s not coming and we’ll catch her up later.” Clint grinned shooting her a thumbs up before disappearing.

Carefully the two girls extracted themselves from your grasp and slipped in a pillow for you to cuddle. You rolled over burying you face in it and breathing in deep. Wanda cooed and nat laughed softly.

“She really is just a big teddy bear.”

“Shes a cute teddy bear.” Wanda agreed.

“Alright lets go see what capsicle wants before he comes in and wakes up y/n/n” nat said and the two quietly left the tent hoping you wouldn’t wake until they got back.

Steve sat around a small campfire in the middle of the tents and was poking it with a stick. He looked up and frowned.

“Is there any good reason Miss L/n is not joining us.” Steve asked.

“Shes sleeping.” Nat said

“Not good enough go get her up.” Steve said and nat was about to argue when Wanda left to go grab you knowing Steve wouldn’t change his mind.

When she returned you were trailing behind her exhausted and rubbing your eyes. The team was all there now and watched your curiously.

Steve began talking but you weren’t really listening as you rested you head on Wanda’s shoulder.

“Are you ok?” She asked softly “your looking a bit pale sweets.” She said.

“‘M fine wands.” You mumbled shifting a bit and poorly hiding a wince. Wanda noticed and decided to bring it up after whenever this impromptu meeting finished. She shot nat a look and Wanda silently told her what was going on with her powers. Nat nodded and went back to paying attention so she could fill you in later as she could see you were half asleep and not paying attention and Wanda was more focused on you than Steve. She placed a hand on your cheek holding your head from where it sat on her shoulder. Your whole body was leaned into hers as you blinked and fought sleep.

After the meeting was over Wanda carried you back to the tent as you were still exhausted. Nat followed behind. Wanda moved carefully not to jostle you and spark any uanessacry pain as she knew the cramps had started.

She placed you down on her bed so you were more out of the way. Nat followed her into the tent.

“Are you sure she should be sleeping this much?” Nat asked a little worried.

Wanda shrugged, “I was the same on my first, it’s all new and exhausting both physically and mentally. Im expecting her to get upset at some point. When your not used to it and your hormones are out of whack, seeing that much blood can be scary and gross. Plus not having real bathrooms or anything makes that ten times worse. I feel for the kid, timing just sucks. And from what i can tell with how often she’s changing her pad poor things not got it light, i just hope its a short number of days.”

They woke you once for lunch and gave you some pain meds before the three of you relaxed but not quiet slept in the tent for the afternoon. You did some lazy doodles in your sketchbook not really paying much attention to the art. You must have fallen asleep at some point because your woke in Nat’s lap with braided hair. The three of you got up and had dinner which you ate curled into Wanda’s side. After you went to bed while Nat and Wanda stayed up for a bit with the team. And despite being an avenger tony had given both you and peter a bed time of ten. So the two of you went to bed in your own tents.

You woke to a sticky feeling between the sheets, it was still dark. And you laid annoyed at being away, huffing softly before a cramp hit hard accompanied with nausea. Knowing the feeling a little too well you hastily crawled over the sleeping lump that was Wanda, accidentally jostling her in your hurry. She sat up slightly with you laid across her lap with your hands frantically unzipping the zip. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

“Y/n? What are you doing?” She asked and froze as instead of a response she heard you gag and start to dry heave. That woke her up quickly. She looked over at Nat who had propped herself up on her elbow with her eyebrows scrunched looking slightly tired. When they heard you whimper nat scurried out of her sleeping bag to beside you were you were now on all fours. Your back arched as Nat swept your hair up to hold it just in time as you began top throw up on the grass behind the tent. You breathed heavily coughing up the last of it while Wanda rubbed between your shoulder blades. You were panting and the two women held their breath in anticipation.

“You ok you gonna-“ nat was cut off as you brought up another round.

“Ok that answers it.” She said. “Shh bubs its alright. Its ok. We’re not mad just get it all up sweets.” She said. Wanda whispered similar things as she silently thanked Thor that nobody came to investigate the gross splashing sound of you being sick on the ground. When you finished you looked up with tears in your eyes. Wanda waved her hand the sick puddle disappeared as she pulled you into her lap where you curled up and cried. Wanda shushed you softly as nat dug around in her bag for a bottle of water, mouthwash and a cracker for you to nibble on as well as two ibuprofen.

“Shhh sweets it’ll be ok. Do you want me to come with so you can change you pad sweets i think you bleed a bit on the sheets. She said and your cried harder not having noticed.

You nodded into her stomach and Wanda used her magic to clean the sheets before nat handed you the things she grabbed. You used the mouthwash and drank some water opting to eat the cracker once you had changed and felt hopefully, less sick. Worried you couldn’t handle anything in your stomach at the moment. Nat nodded and Wanda led you by the hand to the patch of trees a little way off from the camp ground. She turned her back and used here magic to light the area for you with a soft red glow. After the rustling stopped and you told her you were done she walked you back to the tent where nat was sat patiently waiting for your return. She silently handed you the cracker and you curled up on your bed nibbling on it. Two strong pairs of arms wrapped around you from both sides and once you finished the cracker you drifted off again the pain medicine working wonders for your cramps which had settled to a dull ache.

The next morning Wanda and nat let you sleep in taking turns to sit in the tent for when you woke up. Not wanting you to be alone after last night knowing you would wake with more cramps. In the morning they wanted to give you the pain meds straight away to avoid another episode like last night.

Clint shot nat a look from where he sat making coffee on a pot above the fire.

“You look like shit. Did you even sleep last night?” He asked and nat rolled her eyes and flipped him off.

“Shut up Barton. Y/n kept me awake last night.” She said and Clint laughed.

“She kicking you again in her sleep.” He asked.

“No Shes sick.” Nat said and Clint’s laughing stopped and he stilled, looking worried.

“She ok?” He asked.

“Yeah she’s sleeping. Just… keep this between us, ok?” She said and Clint nodded knowing nat would have her reasons. He went back to stirring the coffee so it didn’t burn.

“You and Wanda can have the first cup.” He said and nat blew him a kiss.

“Life saver.” She winked and went to find Steve to tell him he needed to excuse you from activities and either her or Wanda for the day.

Nat soon swapped out for Wanda and moments after the young witch had left you began yo stir. Nat was by your side in an instance and you sleepily took the medicine she held out for you. What she wasn’t expecting was for you to curl back up as small sobs shook your body. Nat carefully placed a hand on your shoulder.

“There’s so much blood natty.” You whimpered with little tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Shh shh i know love its ok.” Nat said petting your hair.

“I wanna go home.” You cried and nat pulled you into her to give you a hug. You sat there a tangle of limbs while you cried into her shoulder while she stroked your head and whispered words of comfort.

“Its ok my sweet angel your alright.” She said before humming a soft Russian lullaby that sent you back to sleep. She sat back against her pillow with you laid on top of her. Which is where Wanda found her a half hour later.

“She doing ok nat? Did you give her the meds?” Wanda asked and Nat nodded. You were still clinging to her like a koala.

“Shes emotional and tired which is a hard combo for her.” Nat said and placed a kiss to the crown of your head from where it rested below Nat’s chin.

“Poor girl.” Wanda said. “At least Steve excused the three of us from activities. All it took was one mention of that time of the month for him to look sunburnt all of a sudden and turn into a stuttering mess.” Wanda chuckled.

“Yeah Steve’s sweet and he means well its just sex ed wasn’t really a thing in his time. He’s good at helping a girl out if she needs it but he’s still a bit uncomfortable with the whole thing. He’s trying though.” Nat said and you whined as you stirred before burning your face in Nat’s armpit. Wanda pulled a face and nat laughed.

“Im clean don’t worry she’s probably just looking for warmth.”

“I should take her and let you get so me breakfast before it’s all gone.” Wanda said as she carefully pried your sleepy form from nat. You curled into yourself before Wanda pulled you close and you immediately latched onto her and settled again. Nat chuckled slightly.

“She sure is clingy like this, that gonna have to be my new favourite time of the month then if we get this may cuddles.” Nat said and Wanda laughed slightly. Her chest vibrating against your cheek as she did. You hummed in sleeping content as she did and you smiled in your sleep.

“Now shoo, go get some food and maybe bring something back for the cuddle bear here.” Wanda said and nat gave a mock salute before hopping up and getting out of the tent. Nat smirked as Steve failed to meet her eyes and she quickly dished up some food before heading back to the tent.

When Wanda woke you for breakfast you looked confused which was adorable in your sleepy state with your messed up hair. That was something nat could fix for you later.

“I thought Steve said no food in tents? Something about animals?” You asked.

“I doubt Steve is in any state to say anything and what he doesn’t know cant hurt him.” You shrugged as Wanda laughed and you began to eat the bacon and toast. You didn’t like eggs.

Nat laughed as you pushed the eggs to one side. She knew you wouldn’t eat them and simply got them so her and Wanda could have more.

“Thank you guys. I know I haven’t been very easy to deal with” you smiled at them but it was more a half grimace. Wanda set her fork down.

“Absolutely not. You will not apologise for something you can’t control sweets. Nat and I are happy to help and not just this time. If you ever need us for anything especially this you can come to us no questions asked.” She said and you nodded swallowing back tears.

“I needed to hear that today. Thanks wands.” You whispered.

“Any time L/n” Nat said and you smiled before the three of you went back to eating.

“So what do u wanna do today?” Wanda asked and you frowned.

“I thought we had to do team activities.” You said.

“We did but we got us out of it. We are all your for the day.” Wanda smiled and you blinked.

“Is it ok if we just stay here and I can draw you don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to.”

“Nonsense. You’re our get out of jail free card that’s too good to waste. Especially because I know Steve’s gonna want to go on a run at some point and will probably drag the whole team along. You have come in very useful my good friend.” Nat winked and you laughed.

That day was spent drawing the campground and anything interesting your could find in your sketchbook while Nat and Wanda relaxed. Chatting or reading. At one point Nat was sharpening her knives which she said she had been meaning to do for months and thanked you for getting them the time off.

“I didn’t really do much.” You smiled shrugging.

“That’s the idea.” Wanda laughed. “Can I see your sketches?” She asked

“Umm.. sure some aren’t finished yet.” You said handing her the book. She leafed through the pages in awe.

“Y/n these are amazing I never knew you could draw like this.” She said looking at the sketches of the campground there were even some portraits of the team which Wanda traced with careful fingers. “Nat come look at this.” She said and you blushed and she turned back to you. “If that’s ok?”

“Yeah that’s fine I’m just not used to the attention Peter caught me drawing on the roof once other than that not many people bother to look through my sketchbooks.” You shrugged.

“You have more of these?” Nat asked looking up from where she was studying the art. “They are very impressive y/n/n” she said.

“Yeah that’s my twelfth sketchbook.”

“I’d love to see the others when we get back to the tower. If that’s ok?” Wanda said.

“Yeah sure they’re not as good though.” You said. After a while the handed the book back along with a few more compliments which had you blushing unused to such honest praises.

The morning went quickly and soon you were having lunch with the team again who was sweaty and gross. You laughed as Clint chased Nat around with his arms wide threatening a sweaty hug. Her face has you in stitches as Wanda reminded you to breathe through her own laughter. Peter complained about never getting time off and tony playfully whacked him saying he shouldn’t ever wish for anything like girls anatomy. Stark shuddered thinking about pepper and her rage when on her period. Sometimes she was cuddles and joy and others she was threatening to give him the company back to manage. He still loved her though and held her hair back when the cramps made her throw up.

Later the team all went off with Steve again to do some survival training while you Nat and Wanda all went back to relaxing. Nat noticed you wincing later and silently gave you more meds and you thanked her.

“No problem kid you were due another dose to anyway.” She said and Wanda passed you a glass of water she had conjured.

The afternoon went off without a hitch and soon it was evening again. Wanda made sure to give you extra strength meds before bed this time so they would last the night and hopefully you wouldn’t wake up. You slept until late morning as Nat glared at anyone who tried to wake you up. Soon all the tents were pack down but yours and Nat pulled your sleepy form from the sleeping bag and placed you in Wanda’s lap. She packed down the tent and you snuggled into her stomach as you curled into a ball on her thighs.

Soon the quinjet landed and Wanda used her magic to block the noise for you so you stayed sleeping. The next time you woke you were in Wanda’s bed still on her lap. Nat was sat by Wanda’s side reading a book propped up on her bend knees.

“Morning sweets. Guess where we are?” Wanda said and you smiled recognising the room.

“We’re home.” You cheered and Wanda nodded.

“No go take a shower stinky.” She said and you grinned. “I left you some of my clothes on the sink and a new pad for you. We’ll have a hot water bottle, chocolate, snacks and a movie marathon waiting when you’re done.” She said and you gave her an appreciative thumbs up as you shut the door. As girls you didn’t mind sharing beds or bathrooms after all the three of you were very close.

That day was spent being pampered by your two favourite women and eating a boatload of chocolate. If this was what periods were like… maybe they weren’t all bad.

MASTERLIST

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razorblade180 · 8 months

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Tourist Attractions

In the lovely glow of Fontaine night life, Aether finds himself sitting on the cold concrete steps as he watches the two beautiful pieces of mechanical engineering dance endlessly in their own little world. It had been roughly a week since arriving in the nation of hydro. Many things needed exploring, yet the allure of music and bless kept him coming back. Footsteps from behind grew closer to his location until eventually arriving to sit right next to him.

Aether:….This is the least dramatic entrance you’ve done.

Furina:That’s where your ignorance of showmanship is made clear. Dramatics aren’t always loud in volume. A fair god arriving in silence under moonlight and rushing water has its own flair, hmph!

Aether:Is this the part where you tell me what law I’m breaking to start another duel?

Furina:Fortunately for you, it’s late and you chose the stairs instead of the grass. You’ve avoided loitering.

Aether:Wow. I should’ve expected an honest answer honestly. So if I’m a law abiding individual, what brings you here?

Furina:My lovely nation has a myriad of wonders that attract a variety of tourists for multiple reasons. It’s always fascinating to learn which wonder makes them stop and take in the magnificence. So this is your taste? I’ll admit, a good choice. Definitely one of my personal favorites. Second best at least.

Aether:What is number one?

Furina:What could be more beautiful than seeing vast waters after wading through a sea of sand? Cliff side views are paintings in waiting.

Aether:Suddenly you sound like a hopeless romantic.

Furina:Said the man who spends his free time watching a waltz between robotic lovers.

Aether:Point taken.

Furina:…Can you?

Aether:Can I what?

Furina:Waltz, obviously. If not, now is your chance to learn from divine eyes who has seen it countless times.

Aether:Seen?

Furina:Well..I’ve also done it many times! Whenever time truly permits that is! As well as when someone with actual sense remembers to mind their feet. I swear it’s as if mortals never learn to walk in all their years of living.

Aether:Honestly I probably wouldn’t be much different.

Furina:Nonsense. A ballroom is no more complicated than a battlefield and if half the stories about you are indeed factual, then your footwork must be on the better side of decent.

To think she would give him such an odd compliment. Aether could tell that her “gracious offer” was a secret wish to dance. Maybe it was the casual conversation, cool night, or the murmuring emotions he always heard from the fountain in courtyard each time he drew near it; whatever the reasoning, Aether did not wish to tease or provoke Furina.

He stood up without a word and extended his hand for hers as he bowed. Amused by his theatrics, Furina sprung up to return the bow in a way more proper and practiced form as she held in a giggle. She gladly took his hand and they walked down towards the open space slowly.

Furina:And you act as if you can’t be dramatic when you want to? Ha! Make no mistake, I take the lead.

Aether:I would hope so. You’re teaching me, remember? I’m in your hands.

Furina:Naturally~

#genshin impact #gi aether #gi furina #idk I’m obsessed

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chiropteracupola · 6 months

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I really need to know more about your TI selkie AU!

oh I have not worked on this one for A While... I'm still very invested in selkie!Trelawney, but I think I need to maybe do a full rewrite of this one, since I've been thinking that the detective-y tone that I've got going at this point is really not working out. I think a round of relistening to some good selkie ballads is in order, perhaps...

“Trelawneys have been born and buried here this hundred years and more, doctor. And fine upright land-settled folk they’ve been all the while, save the last two.” The wind blew cold through the churchyard, and Livesey stifled a shiver. He drew the collar of his cloak closer about his throat, attempting to keep the warmth inside. “Whatever do you mean by that?” “Why, they’ve done as gentlemen are wont to do, of course, take stock of the farms and the forests and mind their workings, send their sons to war and daughters to marriage, have the vicar to supper of a Sunday. Now, the old squire, he went a-traveling instead, you see, and all the fisherfolk knew what would come of it when he returned with that fair pretty bride of his.” “Well, what did come of it? I cannot figure what you are at, man.” The sexton nodded, and gathered up his tools. “Ah, you’re a landsman and a soldier, and you’ve been to the city schools, have you not? I shouldn’t have thought the old stories had kept around for such as yourself. I’ll say it plainer then. Say your young man here, one who’s got a fire in his heart and luck on his side, sets out for sea with no destination in particular, and returns married already to a lady from nowhere at all. James Trelawney never married her in any church, not this one or any other, and never did we hear of whence she came nor who her people were, save that they met at sea. Now add to that her oddnesses, that she could tell when a storm was coming days before anyone else, that she had teeth sharp like a cat’s, that she spent all her time down at the shore chattering away to the seals like she was one of their own… if you’d been born by the sea, doctor, as I was, you’d know right well that the old squire married no mortal woman when he brought back his bride to Black Cove.” “That can’t be—“ “And the son, what do you make of him now, knowing that? You’re near enough to him to see. He’s got sharp teeth and selkiepaws, same as his mother had.” “Trelawney doesn’t—“ “Oh, but he does, doctor. A bit more webbing between his fingers than he ought? A little more of a fang to his smile than most men do? And I lay he’s got a bit of a flirtation for you, keeping to the shore as he has since you came to town.” Livesey’s hands clenched into fists before he realized he had moved them at all, fingernails digging into the thin leather of his gloves. In the few minutes he’d been talking in the churchyard, the sun had dipped below the horizon and left the gravestones and the steeple silhouetted in blue half-shadow. “Good— good evening, sir.” He managed to spit out the words with some semblance of politeness, but even so, the sexton merely chuckled. “And may it be a good evening, doctor. Consider what I’ve said, for I’ve told you not one falsehood.” Livesey moved to speak, but the sexton turned away, slinging his bag of tools over his shoulder, and walked off towards the church, vanishing quickly into the shadows. For a long moment, Livesey watched him go, the wind blowing chill through his coat.

#em writes stuff #treasure island blogging #this fic is a bit of a love letter to sigurd towrie's orkneyjar website (which was very influential to the young emmothy)#unfortunately at the present time the website is Somewhat Borkened... oh hey wait it works fine on wayback machine!#awright this fic is back in business then. or it is as soon as I have time for Really Really Writing :|

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whatisreggieshortfor · 11 months

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Real Sweet But I Wish You Were Sober

Kunimi x gn!reader

Finals were finally over. To most of your peers, including your best friends, it meant it was time to blow off steam.

Unfortunately for some of those friends, it also meant they would find you at a frat party two shots shy of becoming whiskey drunk- and you were pretty sure they drew straws or something to decide who to send after you.

And when you were whiskey drunk, you would become brutally honest with anyone- while still managing to be a hype man.

It was an odd combination, not one many people could walk the line of, but you always managed to do it.

Kunimi sighed as Kindaichi patted his shoulder, “You know the rules man, it’s your turn.”

“I know,” the tired man watched from a distance, grimacing as he saw you down another shot, “I hate when it’s mine turn.”

“Makes you feel better, Y/N doesn’t generally remember anything the next day.”

“That’s what make it worse.” He sighed again, dodging his way through the crowd until he managed to slide into the spot next you, “Y/N-“

“Akira!” You exclaimed, falling on him as you stumbled over a step to throw your arms around him in a hug, “Are you gonna be any fun tonight?”

“I think you’ve had enough fun for both of us.” He grumbled, catching your weight in his arms when you shifted and almost tumbled to the ground, “Come on, let’s get you some water.”

“But-“

“No buts-“ He hoped you wouldn’t notice the smile he was trying to suppress tugging at his lips when you pouted, “We need to get some into you or your hangover tomorrow will be god awful and I’m the one that’ll have to hear about it.”

Your pout shifted to a glimmering smile, and he cursed the way his heart betrayed him as it thumped at seeing it so close, “You always take such care of me, Akira.”

Do you think he could do any less? He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time since Yahaba had even broached the idea of celebrating the end of another college year to begin with, “Yeah, yeah, come on.” He slung his arm around your waist, trying to support you as he led you to the kitchen to find water.

“Are you trying to cop a feel, Akira?” He wished he could blame the flush in his cheeks on alcohol like you could, “I’m kidding!” You snorted, “We both know you don’t think of me like that. No matter what I do.”

You were already at this point?? Fuck, he’d have to get you home fast. Usually when you started gushing his praises it meant you were on the verge of passing out for the night.

Kunimi didn’t care for a lot of things. He didn’t care for wasting energy. He didn’t care for people nine times out of ten. He didn’t care for parties.

And yet here he was, wasting his own energy surrounded by people at a frat party he didn’t want to be at.

The reason for that was the same reason every time he found himself in this situation: you.

“…okay with the way things are, really I am.” He looked at you, struggling to keep your eyes open as you kept muttering more to yourself than to him as your hands clutched the water glass he managed to place in them. How were you still so ethereal to look at? “Seijoh gifted me with so many friends in the years we were there. The old captain is actually famous now and all… but I don’t think I’ll ever be half as thankful for what I got there as I am for our friendship. Even if it’s only ever friendship.”

You grinned at him, bright and happy, with eyes like you were looking at everything you could ever want in the world, “You’re always so sweet.” He sighed, practically grumbling under his breath, “I wish you could say it sober for once. I grant the wish in a heartbeat.”

The next morning you didn’t seem to remember any of it, you never did. Kunimi never let it show on his face but, as much as it hurt him, he still cherished those drunken moments from you. They gave him hope that maybe one day you could actually give him the type of love he had been waiting to give you for years.

But he tried to ignore it, tried to shove away the feelings he wanted to share.

Instead of taking the night in with you like he always did after you drank too much, he found himself at another party hoping to drown his own feelings.

He didn’t see Kindaichi and Yahaba watching him warily, didn’t see when they placed the call, but suddenly you were sitting beside him. Smiling like you always did when you saw him. Too bright to be for someone as grumpy as he was.

“There you are, Akira!” You said in lieu of greeting, “Didn’t get enough last night?”

“Didn’t.” He grunted, why were you here? You never left your dorm after a night out.

Poking his side, you laughed when he jolted, “Come on, grumpy. Thought you didn’t like going out.”

“Don’t.” He grunted again. “But do it for you.”

You blinked, your big eyes looking back at his, “You do it for me?”

“Yup. Cause I like you- someone needs to take care of you when you go out.”

The smile was softer this time, he always got lost in that one, almost didn’t hear you speak, “That’s really sweet, but I wish you’d say it sober.”

“What?” He went stock still, but you didn’t seem to notice.

Your fingers ran through his hair, you never had qualms about touching him like the others did, “It’s impossible to read your mind. Sometimes I think you feel the way I do. Sometimes I think you tolerate me at best.”

Someone called your name, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek before your presence was gone. Had he imagined you here to begin with?

When Kunimi woke up, he had no memory of getting home. But he could remember you, saying exactly what he’d said the night before. That was real, wasn’t it? Did you actually remember what he said in your drunken state?

Hangover be damned, he was throwing on the first sweats he could find, feet being stomped into his shoes.

“Whoa-“ Kindaichi jumped as he shoved his way past to get to the door, “Kunimi, what’s the hurry?”

“I need to talk to Y/N. Something they said-“

“Akira?” He spun around, in his haste to find you he hadn’t actually looked around the apartment he shared with Kindaichi, but now he found you in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee as you slid one his way, “What’s the hurry?”

“Are you sober?”

His question made you tilt your head, but he could see something like hope glimmering in your eyes. “I am.”

“I am, too.” He echoed, “At least I’m pretty sure I slept it off. But-“

“Breathe, Akira. I’m not going anywhere.”

He did so obediently, wondering how he never noticed the power you have over him in its entirety. You always had him doing things he would never let someone else talk him into.

“I like you.” He knew Kindaichi’s eyes were bugging out if his head somewhere behind him, shocked to hear him actually admit to feelings of any kind even if all their friends already knew. “I just-“

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, he had never intended to tell you to begin with, but something this morning made him feel like he had to.

“I like you, too.” And then that soft smile was back on your face, “I know you always told me that you wished I was sober, but I just never knew what you’d say. At least I could pretend that it didn’t happen before.”

“Just say yes now,” he offered, “I know I’m not… I’m not what most people would want. People want effort and optimism and stuff that I’m not known for. But I’ll try for you.”

Laughing, you took his hand, “You don’t need to try to be anything but you. I’ve known you a lot of years now, and you’re exactly what I want.”

Oikawa FaceTimed in the middle of the night- greatly offended to find the two of you answering the call from a cuddle in Kunimi’s bed- that he had to hear the news from Kindaichi.

Masterlist

#haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu kunimi #kunimi akira #kunimi x reader

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youleavethetardisbrakeson · 2 years

Note

hiii <33

i dont think this is a prompt but how about when corlys left and returned from the steptones? i always wondered how rhaenys would have reacted when he left and returned :)

Hi @anya-casablanca! Oh, it's definitely a prompt, don't you worry. I'm going to do this one in two parts since I'm a tired 28-year-old lady, but please pat yourself on the back for being the prompt catalyst for me writing for the first time again in OVER SIX YEARS.

Super duper thanks to @evebestt for sharing a single brain cell with me and helping me churn this baby out!

The Stepstones - Chapter 1: Leave-Taking

Rhaenys stirred from sleep, raising a forearm over her tired eyes to block out an offending ray of morning sunshine. She groaned. In the heat of last night’s fervor, the curtains to their chamber windows had not been drawn. Rhaenys rose slowly from bed, not even taking care to wrap her naked form in the dressing gown, which lay crumpled on the floor before her, and crossed to the window. Dawn glinted off the Gullet’s waters, and boats already filled the sea, dozens of which bore the distinct blue sails of the Velaryon fleet. The Lady of Driftmark sighed, her heart sinking at the reminder of what today would bring.

She drew the curtains and turned her back on them sullenly, her arms hugging her middle in an attempt to steel herself. Her gaze drifted back to the bed where Corlys lay, his eyes now also open, his visage bearing a forlorn smile. Silently, he held his arm out to her in invitation, and she crawled back into bed, wrapping her body around his.

Corlys stroked her hair tenderly, placing a kiss on her temple. Rhaenys could feel him exhale deeply, the weight of today’s departure clearly also on his mind.

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered into his chest, her eyes already welling with tears.

Corlys swallowed hard. “Rhaenys, you know -”

“I know it must be done, Corlys. I still would not have you leave me.”

“I do not wish to leave you either. But we will be -”

“Do not make false promises to me,” she snapped, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “The last time you left for war…”

Corlys closed his eyes, trying to banish the memories from sixteen-some-odd years ago.

The misfired bolt, meant for another man, had struck Prince Aemon in the neck. He bled out, drowning in his own blood. Corlys had insisted on escorting the body home onboard The Sea Snake as Prince Baelon and the two dragons circled above. Upon their arrival home, Lady Jocelyn grew deathly pale, nearly fainting at the sight of the shroud. And Rhaenys - she had scrambled onto the only-just docked ship and fallen to her knees in despair, clutching her pregnant belly as she wailed for her father.

Tears streamed down Rhaenys’ face. “My heart cannot bear it, Corlys. Not again.”

“I will not let that happen,” he reassured her, wiping tears away tenderly. “We have our fleet, Prince Daemon, and two grown dragons. We are more than a match for the Crabfeeder. I will be back home to you before you know it.”

Rhaenys shook her head. “Let me go with you, please. Meleys is swift and a third dragon -”

“No, my love.” He stopped her, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips. “Laenor is a fine dragonrider; you taught him well. He needs this chance to prove himself in battle. But you are needed here, with Laena, and at Driftmark. A Velaryon must stay behind, and you are the only one I would trust the Driftwood Throne to.”

Rhaenys volunteered a small, reluctant nod in recognition. As loathe as she was to admit it, she knew the parts each of them had to play.

She tightened her fingers around his, clasping them to her chest. “Come back to me,” she whispered, half-wish, half-command.

“Always,” he answered. “I came back from the ends of the earth for you, and I will again.”

#my fic #ask #rhaenys targaryen #corlys velaryon #rhaenys x corlys #house of the dragon #hotd #eve best #I will probably also upload to AO3 so watch out for that #mine #fanfiction #fire and blood

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 2 years

Text

No Need To Make A Wish

Or; Father Paul spoils you on your birthday. Requested by anonymous. Takes place sometime after More Than Sinful. I tried to write this in a way in which it would work whether your birthday is in July or December or any other month. I truly think the weather on Crockett Island can get this shitty any time of the year ;) Hope you enjoy!

No Need To Make A Wish - 3.2K

tw: suggestive themes (implied)

The weather was ghastly. Wind and rain most of the time these days. You normally had no problem staying inside and minding your own business, having many hobbies and chores, not to mention your work, but this was getting ridiculous. It’s been a week since you had a proper stroll without fighting the wind for your umbrella. You hoped the weather would get better again soon, as you were getting a little antsy and you knew so was everyone else. Sunday mass was half emptier than usual and not even Annie and Leeza showed up to the daily one.

Luckily, that meant one thing - Father Paul spent much more time with you. And despite your want to go outside and take a nice long walk, you supposed that this was much better. Not to mention the priest did a marvellous job at distracting you.

You spent this night at your home. Which was a little out of the ordinary ever since this ‘rain season’ began. Normally, you’d be at the rectory, Paul would get up and ready himself for mass without waking you, and then, after waiting in the church for twenty minutes in case somebody actually showed up, he’d go back home, take off his clothes and hide right back under the covers with you. However, yesterday he said that he’d like to spend some time in your house too, to maybe ‘watch your favourite film, you do have a better telly, after all,’ and because ‘I really need a change of surroundings, getting bit of a cabin fever in here’ . He listed a few more reasons, none of which you believed much, but didn’t want to question him. After all, the idea of cuddling with him watching your favourite film sounded way too good to pass.

And so, another morning, your bed this time. He got up and it actually woke you. Pretending to still be asleep, you watched with one eye sneakily open how he slowly dressed himself. Stepping into his boxer briefs, he soon located his socks and jeans. You couldn’t help yourself. You propped yourself on your elbow, now obviously watching him with interest. “Enjoying the show, are we?” he whispered, his bare back to you. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t I ever?” you said back cheekily. He turned around towards your bed and kneeled upon it: “I’m sorry I woke you. Get some more sleep and I’ll be back in a bit.” Sitting up, you pulled him close to feel his bare chest against yours and kissed him slowly on the mouth.

After a while of unhurried kissing and soft touching, he drew away from you. Father Paul traced your lips with his thumb and smiled: “I’ll be here soon.” You nodded and lowered yourself back onto the mattress, content to just watch him finish putting on his clothes. It was very early, still rather dark and the clouds in the sky made it seem even darker. When he was finished, he gave you one more soft kiss and left. He had a thick raincoat and boots in the hallway, just so he wouldn’t get absolutely soaked the second he stepped out of the door. Though you absolutely wouldn’t mind caring for him again, he was very much not keen on the idea of catching another stupid illness.

You dozed off again and when you woke up, more light was pouring in from your windows. It immediately struck you as odd that your bed was entirely priest-free. You looked at the alarm clock and it said half past nine. Hm . Normally, Paul would be long back by then. But then again, perhaps there actually were some attendees for the mass today, and maybe one or more of them stayed for confessions. Well, whatever it may be, you knew Paul would come back eventually. Until then, you wanted to clean the house a little; it got a little bit dusty, since you spent so much time at the rectory.

—

Meanwhile, Father Paul was standing in a classroom, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. In front of him, behind a desk, stood Bev Keane, looking sour and cold. “It’s just until the weather clears up, Bev,” tried Father Paul, his voice soft, “you know as well as I that the church is empty everyday, save for you and me, everyday except Sunday.” Beverly looked at him coldly, unrelenting: “Well, what if somebody does show up, what if someone finds themselves in need of your guidance and they’re met with a sign that says ‘Daily mass cancelled due to bad weather’?” “Then I am a phone call away,” replied the priest immediately, fishing out the basic smart phone you got for him to use. You couldn’t fathom how he managed to hold on to his old java phone for as long as he did…

“Besides,” he continued, “I’m thinking of your health, too.” His voice was warm now and it caught Bev off guard: “My health?” Paul smiled: “but of course. Annie told me Ed fell ill a few days ago with a cold. Warren too, though you already know that. Surely you can’t enjoy walking all the way to church everyday in such a downpour!” He looked at her expectantly. After a few moments, she finally spoke: “So, what now? Just cancel daily mass? What about Sunday?” ‘Got it!’ Father Paul cheered inwardly, giving Beverly a calm smile on the outside: “Sunday mass will be held as usual, of course. Daily mass will be cancelled until the weather is more favourable and if anything else needs to be done, home visits, confessions, I’ll be in the rectory or on the phone.” The woman didn’t look pleased nor angry, and just nodded her head: “Very well then. I hope you know what you’re doing. You’ll find letters for the board in the rec centre.” And with this, Paul knew it was time for him to leave.

As he left the school, he breathed a sigh of relief and finally smiled genuinely. “So, what’s the verdict?” asked a familiar voice behind him. Erin Greene stood to the side of the building, holding an umbrella and looking at him expectantly. “No mass except Sunday.” he said, turning to face her. “Wow. You actually did it, I’m impressed,” Erin chuckled, “anyway, you can come pick it up in two hours or so, I should be done by then.” And with that, she took off towards her house, leaving Paul standing there in his raincoat. He smiled again, wider this time - his plan was coming together nicely.

—

When Erin told him your birthday was coming up soon, Father Paul knew he wanted to do something special for you. A picnic, then a cinema date on the mainland, followed by a romantic dinner. Well, man plans and God laughs - he sure wasn’t planning on this weather which seemed to come out of nowhere, destroying his ideas. An outside picnic was out of the question, and a single ride on the ferry would probably mean the only thing you’d be doing in bed would be nursing a cold. But he wasn’t about to give up. Erin was more than willing to help, offering to make her famous pasta primavera for the two of you, so you could still have your romantic dinner and Paul gratefully accepted. She laughed at him, when he confessed he bribed Sturge to bring him a list of things from the mainland a day before your birthday. This resulted in a rather uncomfortable Sturge meeting him with a bag of items priests don’t usually ask for, but he didn’t say a single thing about it.

Now he had everything he needed. In his messenger’s bag was a bottle of champagne and a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with strings. The priest had a thermobag containing the still steaming hot dish in his hand. Everything well hidden under the raincoat, of course. Once he stood outside of your house, he looked around. The streets were empty and he didn’t see any prying eyes in the windows either. He knocked once. Then twice.

—

You opened the door to find him just standing there, smiling from ear to ear, his face flushed from the cool air and his raincoat dripping. “Hello! Oh, come in,” you hurriedly stepped away from the door so he could enter, “I say, what have you been up to? Don’t tell me the church was full.” He chuckled: “It wasn’t. In fact, there won’t be anyone there until Sunday. ‘Daily mass cancelled due to bad weather’.” Paul winked at you and started to shed his coat, mindful of the items in his hands. You stood closeby, looking at him with interest: “What have you got there?” The priest looked sheepish all of a sudden. He hung his coat and took off his boots. He finally went to embrace and kiss you, once he put both his bags away.

You still regarded him curiously and he looked down shyly: “Erin told me about your birthday. I wanted to do something special for you.” You made a soft ‘tsk’ sound. “Oh come here, you!” you sighed, deeply touched and held him to you once more, kissing his neck softly and slowly moving to lay a trail of kisses to his cheek, then to his mouth, then upon his chin and back again. “You know you didn’t have to do anything though, do you? Just being here with you is very special to me.”

“I know,” he said, finally looking at you, “but, well. Since Erin already prepared her pasta primavera for us, and I made Sturge get a good champagne…” He had to laugh as your eyes went wider and wider and the excitement was evident on you. You prepared the plates and cutlery while Paul fetched the glasses. He knew where you kept candles in your house and covertly lighted a few of them and brought them closer to the table. Of course, you noticed immediately and went to kiss him again. Not that he argued. Once you started eating (and making content soft noises as the food was delicious), Paul told you of the things he wanted to do with you originally, but couldn’t because of the weather. You didn’t mind at all, though, seeing as you were sitting opposite your amazing lover, eating mouth watering food and drinking sweet sparkling wine.

More than the champagne though, you were getting drunk on his attention. His eyes didn’t leave yours and his hand always lay atop your own, if you weren’t currently using it. It was dizzying in the best of ways. But then something caught your attention. His leg bumped into yours a few times under the table and then stayed there. “Do you remember that one day we were on the mainland together? The one that ended with me kissing your cheek for the first time?” you asked suddenly. Paul grinned into his plate: “I’m glad that you only talk about the day like this and not as the day I caught the flu from an another priest.” You giggled softly and grabbed his hand, caressing his fingers. “Yeah… we were sitting in that restaurant and I kept losing my train of thoughts because your legs would bump into mine just like that. Back then, I understood, you know, with your long legs and the small table, but now I’m not that sure. Was that on purpose, back then?” you asked, bumping into his leg to show what you meant. Father Paul looked a bit sheepish again: “Yes,” he said, his cheeks flushing a little, “I mean, it was an accident at first, but then once I found I could get away with it… “ “You scoundrel!” you laughed loudly and he joined you.

Soon, you were both done with your food and were engaging in flirty and loving banter, looking into each others’ eyes. “What do you say,” began Father Paul, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve, “I take care of the dishes and you run us a hot bath?” You grinned at him, tracing your fingertip along the rim of the glass: “ ‘I love you, Paul’ , that’s what I say.” And without another word you got up, grabbed both of your glasses and the bottle and ran into the bathroom. Oh, thank god for that bathtub. You and Paul got to try it together on two occasions already, and it was very comfortable and relaxing… among other things. Taking a nice soak seemed like the perfect thing to battle the cold that seemed to attack Crockett Island so unexpectedly.

Soon enough, Paul joined you in the bathroom. You smiled when you heard him and bent over a little to feel the temperature of the water, deeming it perfect. The priest came up behind you and grabbed you gently by the shoulders, pulling you back and into him, finally wrapping his arms around your torso and burying his face into your neck. You curled your arms around his own and swayed with him softly into an nonexistent rhythm. You then turned around in his arms and grabbed his face, laying your forehead against his and staring deeply into his eyes. Without another word, he gave you another soft kiss to your lips and tugged at the hem of your t-shirt. You raised your arms and let him pull it up and over your head, your hands immediately going to the buttons of his shirt once they were free of the garment.

You continued undressing each other until you were completely bare and Paul wordlessly stepped into the bathtub, made himself comfortable, then reached a hand towards you. You took it and climbed right after him. Some minor adjustments later, you were leaning into him, your back against his chest with his arms once more enveloping you in their gentleness. “I love you,” you said again, your eyes closed. Your body was absolutely relaxed, as was your mind for once, and your heart sang with bliss. Paul left a trail of kisses on your neck and shoulders. “I love you too,” he whispered into your skin, “so much.”

—

“I’ve got one more thing” he said once you were finished with your bath and got out of the tub. “Hm?” you looked over to him a bit distracted, still drying your leg into one of your fluffy towels. “I’ve got one more thing for you. But I’m going to need you to close your eyes.” said Father Paul with a smile and stepped out into the hallway, naked like the day he was born. You smiled and closed your eyes, waiting for your lover to return. You heard footsteps drawing near again: “got them closed?” You hummed in affirmation. The priest grasped your shoulders again and walked behind you. Except he continued walking, making you walk too wherever he was leading you. “Stay there and keep them closed,” he stepped away and there was some rustling. You felt his presence behind you once more and jumped a bit when something cool touched your collarbone. Still, your eyes were closed. The cool feeling now spread around your entire neck, except the very back of it, where you felt Paul’s warm hands fiddling with something.

“Open your eyes,” he said against your ear and put his hands upon your shoulder again. You did and your gaze fell immediately to the little piece of jewellery that now adorned your neck. It was a thin silver necklace, plain, and its ends met in the middle of your throat, both of them connected to a single small angel’s wing. It was simple, with no complicated decor or grand stones, but it was the most beautiful necklace you have ever owned in your entire life. Looking at it and your own reflection in the mirror brought tears into your eyes and you covered your mouth. “Do you like it?” asked Paul. He too was observing you and himself in the mirror, and he sounded a bit worried at seeing your tears. You couldn’t speak and just nodded your head frantically, turning around to fall into his embrace again. You clang to him, wanting him to feel all of your love.

“I love it,” you said once you finally found your voice again, “it’s so beautiful. Oh, Paul, it’s so beautiful, thank you.” He just held you tighter. Once you’ve calmed down a bit, he took a hold of your face to look at you. He lovingly took in every part of your face which became so very dear to him and his eyes trailed lower, towards the necklace. “I hoped you’d like it. Made me think of you. My beautiful angel.” You caught his lips in a kiss filled with love and passion, pushing your tongue into his willing mouth almost right away, and your hands found their way into his hair. You kissed him desperately, adoringly, pleadingly, absolutely devotedly and he reciprocated in the same manner. When you had to part for breath, else you lost consciousness, you once again caught yourself in an intense eye contact. “I just realised,” you said dreamily and Paul hummed in question, “it’s Friday tomorrow. And you said masses except the Sunday one were cancelled.” Paul grinned at you wolfishly and the look sent shivers down your spine, and made your blood boil and rush into all kinds of places. “Due to bad weather, yes,” he said, his voice low, lustful, “thanks to bad weather, we’ve got the entire night. Just to ourselves.” And with that, he picked you up bridal style like you weighed nothing at all and carried you out of the bathroom.

—

Later, much, much later, you were lounging around in your bed, sipping on the champagne Father Paul ever so helpfully brought from the bathroom, talking softly and in hushed tones. “So, how did I do?” he asked suddenly. Your cheeks just began to lose their flush, but it started to settle back in again immediately. “Oh,” you purred, “you know very well that you did wonderfully.” He chuckled and landed a very light slap upon your bum, making you squeal quietly, delighted and amused. “Not what I meant,” he said, smiling still, “I meant your birthday.” You tipped your head back in realisation and laughed, but then sat up and put your glass onto the bedside table. You tucked your head under his chin and curled into him like a happy tired kitten: “Best birthday ever. I mean that.” The priest smiled and ran his warm strong hand up and down your back, making you close your eyes in bliss. “I love you my angel,” he whispered then. “Love you too, dearest” you replied, your voice sincere, and huddled closer to him, as close as you could. You probably didn’t even realise it, but Paul noticed almost right away. Every so often, every few minutes even, your right hand would go to your throat, then your collarbone and lower, before finally resting against your heart with your fingers touching that little angel’s wing. And you would smile. And Father Paul, he smiled too.

I hope you enjoyed reading! As always, you can find this story and the entire series on AO3. I am always a happy little sucker for feedback!

#midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #reader insert #father paul x you #father paul x reader #father paul #father paul hill #father paul hill x reader #fluff #implied smut

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thislovintime · 2 years

Photo

Photo 1 by Bill Chadwick.

“‘Actually, I wanted to leave the group over two years ago when the first season ended, but the guys convinced me not to. I didn’t care about all the things that were happening, all the acclaim. I hated the work! It was tough, and I didn’t like it. I just wanted to record for all my life.  Also, the pressure was awful. We were working in an incredibly new environment. Half of the crew on the show was young and had very little experience at that level of work. Many of them were getting their first big break.  Actually, after the TV show was canceled it was easier for me to leave. Doing the TV show was the worst. Then came the movie, and I couldn’t forego the movie, so I did it. You know, there were moments here and there — lots of good, funny stuff happening throughout — but the only time that I was really happy was when we were recording the ‘Headquarters’ album. The concerts were fun, but during the concert tours you are removed from your friends except for the guys. And even when we did take a few friends along it was only a mild relief. This last tour of Australia and Japan wasn’t fun because I felt hideously under-rehearsed. I was constantly pushing for rehearsals, and they were constantly saying well, like later. We couldn’t get together. Also, we didn’t play any new music this last concert tour. It was all old tunes, nothing from our newer albums, and it was a bore. But I think they suspected I was leaving anyway. For me, a lot of the pressure was off. When I felt a part of the group every time someone said something that jarred my sensibilities, I’d raise a huge ruckus and everybody thought I was out of my mind. While we were making the TV Special, knowing I was not going to be there any longer, I just thought to myself — I don’t have to worry about this thing — and I just let everything slide off my back. They must have though something was screwy. Then I finally told them, ‘Gentlemen I’m in negotiations to resign from the group.’ And they said, ‘Okay, well, there’s not much time, we’d better get to work on this Special.’ So we taped the thing and that’s the last I saw of them. The last day of the taping they gave me this little testimonial memorial watch.’ From his pocket Peter drew out a silver, antique-looking timepiece with the back side engraved, ‘To Peter Tork, from the guys down at work.’ ‘I’m free, I don’t know what I’ll be going. I’m actually a little apprehensive, because there’s no doing that there are three other incredibly talented fellows out there. They’re very talented guys.  Mike is one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. Micky is even funnier and Davy is just cute as a button. Who could ask for anything more? Davy dances so great, did you see him dance in the film? I’ve not seen dancing like that on the screen except from Fred Astaire. The only other thing is that I’m both really relieved and really, really apprehensive. I’m terribly glad and also terribly sad.’” - NME, January 25, 1969

Q: “Why did Peter leave?” Michael Nesmith: “He just finally collapsed. A lot of people asked us, ‘How did you get through the whole thing without going stark raving mad?’ Well, the point is we didn’t. He was a lot less stable than any of us — I was probably the most. I’m a street fighter, always have been. I grew up with hot rods and fists. Peter just finally went crazy and wanted to quit. He was a very tired person.” - Hit Parader, February 1972

“To tell you truth… I… I never was able in those days particularly — I’m getting better at it these days — but in those days I was almost entirely unable to fight for what I saw as quality. If I didn’t get somebody fighting on my behalf then it didn’t, just didn’t come to pass. [...] I just basically think that I wasn’t feeling a part of anymore already by that point, I’d already felt like I was odd man out, and of course I quit almost immediately thereafter.” - Peter Tork, Headquarters radio, 1989

“I’d always had deep doubts, ever since the session for ‘Last Train To Clarksville.’ I walked in there with my guitar and Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart looked at me with derision and scorn, like, ‘Guitar in your hand, you fool!’ That was the end of it for me. Right there I was done with The Monkees in large measure. I struggled against it with some success at one point. But after Headquarters nobody wanted to be a recording group anymore. I did what I could, but I didn’t feel like there was any reason for me to be there anymore. I wanted to be in a rock group.” - Peter Tork, Head 1994 liner notes

“Headquarters was by far the best album in the sense that it was us. It was honest, it was pure, and we had a great time. Peter says that the reason he quit was because after we did this album, we decided we weren’t going to be a group anymore. It broke his heart, because Headquarters was the whole reason why he’d become one of The Monkees.” - Micky Dolenz, Headquarters 1995 liner notes

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ikeromantic · 2 years

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Entwined Ch 3

Trying out some cover art for this story ^_^ Images from Pexels!

Part 3 of a multipart series. Mai has been reborn in the modern age after a full life in the Sengoku. The warlords as spirit animals find her again after 500 years of searching for her soul. Approx. 3700 words.

Part 1

Previous: Entwined Ch 2

Mai sighed at the inventory spread out on her design tables. This was her least favorite part of sewing. There were a ton of odds and ends she needed to find a use for. Buttons and beads and trim that didn’t amount to enough for a real commission. Maybe she could do something crafty with them. Mai sketched out a few quick ideas. A lampshade, an apron. Maybe a decorative pillow?

None sounded very appealing. The apron idea was the best, but did people even wear those anymore? She rubbed her temple, hoping for a burst of inspiration. Just then, her office door swung open almost like an answer to her unspoken plea. Mai leapt to her feet, ready to greet a new customer, but it was Mitsuhide on the step.

“Good morning, little mouse.” He came in and the door shut behind him.

“Good morning?” She felt incredibly pleased to see him there, followed by embarrassment for being so eager. Keep it professional, she told herself. “I must have misunderstood your email. I thought we were meeting at the address you sent in about two hours?”

His smile widened as if he could see past her words and straight into her racing heart. “We were. You did not misunderstand. But my errands this morning brought me through your neighborhood, so I thought I would offer to pick you up. But if you prefer . . .” He gestured to the door.

Mai shook her head. “Oh! No, that’s really nice of you.” She took a breath, reminding herself to calm down and speak like a human. “Just give me a moment to wrap up here.”

“Sure.” Mitsuhide sat on one of the lobby couches, lounging like an indolent cat. He looked so sure of himself, so comfortable everywhere he was, she thought.

She tried not to glance at him as she shut down her laptop. He drew her eye though. It was more than his looks, she decided, though that was plenty to like. It was the way he carried himself. As if he knew things, secrets and hidden stories, as if he carried the weight and mystery of that knowledge.

“Do I have something on my face?” Mitsuhide’s smile turned wicked.

Mai felt her cheeks heat. “Umm. Yes. A bit of fluff.” A lie, and a bad one at that but better than admitting to her thoughts.

“Oh? Could you brush it off for me? Since I can’t see it.”

“I . . .” She swallowed. “Sure.” It was just his cheek. Just his cheek. Just his - her fingertips grazed his skin and with that touch came an image, unbidden. In her mind’s eye, she was cupping his cheek in her palm, reaching through some sort of wooden cage. His face was bruised and swollen, but his eyes were the same. Mai jerked her hand back.

Mitsuhide raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Did you get it or did it get you?”

Mai gave a half-hearted laugh. What a weird thing to think of. “I got it. Sorry.”

He stood. “So are we ready to go?”

“Ready.” She grabbed her bag and shoved her notepad into it. “Will I need to take photographs of the site or anything?”

“If you want to.” Mitsuhide opened the door for her and then waited as she locked it behind them.

“Ok. So what is this place? Is it involved in your script?”

He nodded. “In a way, yes.” Mitsuhide helped her into his car.

It was, Mai noted, a very nice car. New enough to have all the bells and whistles, anyway. She wondered what he did besides theater work to afford this kind of thing, but it wasn’t polite to ask.

“It’s more a mood. Inspiration.” He shrugged and offered her a smile from his driver’s seat. “I am hoping you’ll feel it too.”

There was some unexpected earnestness in his gaze, a momentary vulnerability gone as soon as noticed. Mai wished she could have it back, just a little longer. Which was silly, of course.

He parked at a garage a few blocks from their destination. On the walk there, he was mostly quiet. Only stopping to point out a handful of historical markers. Mai tried to pay attention, making notes in her journal. She didn’t think this information would apply to costuming decisions, but you never knew what might spark inspiration.

It turned out the historical site they were heading to was barely a ruin. It sat, preserved, in a small patch of green at the edge of a lake. Just a few large stones and the bare remnant of a rock wall.

“So, what is this place? Or what was it?”

Mitsuhide pulled himself up onto one of the large stones and sat down, his legs dangling off the side. “A place with a good view.” He patted the spot next to him.

“I don’t think I can get up there.”

“I’ll help.” He gave her a playful grin at odds with the weight of his gaze. “Come on.”

Mai tucked her bag behind her and tried to clamber up beside him. There wasn’t much to get hold of, but thankfully Mitsuhide was true to his offer. He reached down and grabbed her hands, pulling her up. “Thanks.”

“All the thanks I need is you sitting here beside me.” He winked.

“You know, some people might get the wrong idea with the way you talk to me.” Mai gave him a critical look. “I’m just your costume designer. We’re like . . . co-workers at best.”

Mitsuhide put a hand to his chest. “How cruel. Merely co-workers? What if I told you that you mean more to me than that?”

His melodramatic expression made her giggle. “I would tell you that you’re an excellent actor.” He continued to make a stricken expression. “Oh come on,” Mai chided, “we barely know each other. You can’t act offended by me wanting to set this straight. I’m just your costumiere, right?”

“You aren’t just anything, Mai.” He dropped his over the top reaction and looked out at the lake. It looked like gold in the afternoon sunlight. “What if I’d like to know you better? We could be so much more to each other than co-workers.”

“I would tell you what I’ve told the guys that hit on me before you. I don’t date my customers. I’m sorry.” She felt her chest constrict as she turned him down. Some part of her screaming that this was not what she wanted. But she ignored it.

Mitsuhide chuckled. “Then it’s a good thing I’m only teasing. Come on, costumiere.” He pointed to the lake. “Feeling any design inspiration? I was hoping you could incorporate the color and look of water. That dramatic fluidity. And the sense of something being old and grounded, like the remains of this castle.”

Mai felt deflated by his admission. Only teasing. It wasn’t disappointment she felt, or so she told herself. No! This was irritation at being taunted. Taken in by his silly act. She promised herself she wouldn’t let him get the better of her again. Mai took out her little notepad and jotted down a few ideas, focusing on the project.

They sat together in an awkward silence for a few moments. Mitsuhide watching her write, and she doing her best to ignore him. She wanted to stay annoyed but the cool breeze and the gentle sound of water and birdsong smoothed over her wounded pride.

“There’s that smile.” Mitsuhide chuckled. “I was beginning to think I broke your heart.”

“In your wildest dreams. I always get serious when it’s about design.” Mai snapped her notepad shut and tucked it away. “So is this all you needed from me today?”

He leapt down from the rock and held out a hand to her. “Yes, though I’ll need you to bring the mockups for Act One to the theater next week. Will they be ready by then?”

Mai nodded. “I should be able to manage that. And it will be a good opportunity to check the fit for your cast.” She took his hand, ignoring the warmth that sent prickles up her arm from where their palms touched.

Mitsuhide squeezed her fingers gently then helped her down. He only smiled when she snatched her hand back. “You know, there is one more thing I need from you today . . .”

A short while later, Mai found herself seated comfortably at a fine restaurant. It was the kind of place people dressed up and made reservations for, but this time of day it was mostly empty. “Are you sure this is ok, Mitsuhide? I don’t need you to buy me-”

“It’s a thank you for putting up with my whims.” Mitsuhide smiled. “Besides, I know the owner here and he’s been after me to come try his new menu.”

“If you say so.” She glanced around the dining room noting the expensive decor. Even the wait staff was dressed better than she was today. “So what kind of food do they have here? I didn’t see any menu.”

Mitsuhide shrugged. “Whatever the chef is in the mood to make. But I’m told it’s always good.”

“You don’t know if it’s good or not?”

Before he could answer, a man in a chef’s apron caught their attention. He was making a beeline for their table. He had a broad, cheerful smile that lit his single blue eye. His other eye was covered by an old-fashioned eye patch, embroidered in the center with a tiny crescent moon.

Mai didn’t have much time to observe him before he was right there, pulling her into a hug.

“Kitten! It’s so good to see you!”

Normally, being hugged by strange men was not on Mai’s list of acceptable things. But there was something warm and familiar about this man. Still, she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She pushed back gently and he let go.

“This,” Mitsuhide sighed, “is my friend, Masamune. Masamune, this is Mai. Please don’t call her kitten.”

“It’s, uhm, it’s nice to meet you?” Mai felt her cheeks heating as he stared at her. The look in his sapphire eye was so intense. As if they were long lost lovers or friends separated a long time ago and now, unexpectedly, reunited.

At her words though, his smile faded a bit and he stepped back. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you too.” He looked at Mitsuhide. “I should have figured you would only stop in for her. You never eat properly on your own.”

“My nutrition is adequate,” he replied, sounding mildly annoyed. “I am just taking my co-worker out for a thank you lunch and since I can’t cook . . .”

Masamune laughed. “Fine, fine. I’ll whip up something special for the two of you. A take on my seasonal menu.” He reached for Mai’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “Thank you for coming in today.”

When he left, Mai let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Is he . . . is he always like that?”

“More or less.” Mitsuhide sat back in his seat, looking more relaxed than usual.

“You two must be very good friends. How long have you known him?”

“A long time.” He had that pensive look again, though his lips were still lifted in his familiar grin.

Mai didn’t want to pry, but when he looked like that, it made her heart feel bruised. “Are you alright, Mitsuhide? I mean, I know you’re ok, but if there’s something you want to talk about, I can listen. I don’t mind.”

He studied her expression, his fingers tapping a delicate rhythm on the tabletop. “It’s not the right time. And besides,” he smirked, “we’re just co-workers. I don’t want to cross a line.”

She could tell by his tone that he was teasing her. But he was right. She’d reinforced that boundary today and now, here she was, acting as if there were more between them. It felt like there was more between them. “Ah yeah,” she gave a half-hearted laugh. “Sorry. I just meant-”

“I know what you meant.” He reached across the table and patted her hand. “You are too kind. You really should be careful who you let see your soft heart.”

His touch was brief, light, but it still sent her heart galloping away. Mai took a deep breath, trying to settle. Her attraction to him was ridiculous. Childish. She needed to get herself under control. It was really lucky for her that despite being such a tease, he was a gentleman. Here he was again, warning her. “Thanks,” she managed.

Thankfully, Masamune appeared with their food just then, or she might have had to think of what else to say. He was carrying a tray covered in little dishes. The food was gorgeous and smelled good.

“Are those radishes shaped like bunnies? And you made little snakes out of the cucumber!” Mai’s eyes darted excitedly from dish to dish. A variety of pickled vegetables, noodles in sauce, fruit, and fusion dishes, all made to look like little woodland creatures. There was even a pepper cut to look like a hawk. It reminded her of her visitor the day before.

Masamune chuckled. “I thought you might appreciate that touch.”

“You are so talented! Ooh and look! A little kitty!” She pointed at a carrot.

“That’s a tiger, lass. See the stripes?” Masamune lifted it with her chopsticks and held it out to her.

Mai peered at it. The shape still looked more like a cute kitty to her but she nodded agreement anyway. “He is pretty stripey. You did such a good job with him!”

“And he tastes good too.” He held it to her lips. “Try it.”

Mitsuhide frowned. “You don’t need to feed her.”

“I don’t need to, but she doesn’t mind, right lass?”

Mai blushed. She didn’t want to make the chef feel bad. He seemed like such a sweet guy and he’d made all this especially for them. But it was weird being fed by someone else. She decided to get it over with quickly. The tiger-carrot was delicious. Lightly sweet and a little spicy. “Oh. My. God. Masamune . . . this is so so good.”

“I’m glad you like it. With that kind of reaction, I’d be happy to cook for you anytime.”

“You’re going to make him insufferable,” Mitsuhide sighed. He speared the rabbit-radish and stuck it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Tastes like . . . food.”

Masamune set the chopsticks down and gave Mitsuhide a withering look. “You never appreciate my cooking. But one day - one day I’m going to make something even you have to admit is tasty.”

Mai could not help but laugh at the two of them. “You guys are like an old married couple. Arguing over dinner.”

“It’s lunch. And for that comment I ought to take the whole thing back to the kitchen and let my staff eat it.” Masamune’s lips pursed in a pout.

If he looked sour, it wasn’t a patch on the face Mitsuhide made. “You should take that back. Or there will be consequences.”

“Consequences?” Mai giggled. “You are too much.”

Her laugh seemed to soothe the chef. His smile returned. “Well, I can’t stay mad at you, Mai. And hey, my offer stands. You can stop by anytime. Hell, if you come by after hours, I’ll even give you a cooking lesson, gratis.” Masamune bustled back to the kitchen to finish prep for the dinner rush.

When he was gone, Mitsuhide sighed. “I apologize for him. I forgot how he is around y- around women. I should have taken you someplace else.”

“No, no, he’s fine. A little . . . handsy? I don’t think I’ve ever been hugged and hand-fed by someone at first meeting. But he seems very nice.” She smiled. “I can tell you two have been friends awhile.”

“Yes.” Mitsuhide grew quiet, his eyes turning toward his food.

Mai didn’t want to pry. So much about him was a mystery, questions he would not answer, feelings she couldn’t square herself with, and images like memories that flitted through her mind but didn’t stick long enough for her to analyze them. It was probably just her loneliness and overactive imagination. Mitsuhide was a normal guy who just didn’t like to talk about his private life with a - a coworker.

She picked up her chopsticks and began sampling a selection of bowls. Some were so spicy it almost hurt. Some were sweet. Others had a smoky flavor, or a delicate mix of savory flavors. Masamune’s cooking made lunch an experience rather than just a meal. Mai looked up between bites to see if Mitsuhide was enjoying it as much as she was.

To her horror, he’d taken several of the bowls and dumped them into one, eating the resulting mix without any expression. He glanced up and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Did you just . . . throw everything together?”

“Yes. It’s more efficient that way. And I have vegetables, fruit, protein, and carbohydrates. A little of everything.”

Mai frowned. “But then you’re not really tasting any of it. Every dish is a little different. Like, those noodles you threw in. They have a subtle lemon flavor you won’t taste at all, mixing it with that spicy fish.”

Mitsuhide shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what it tastes like. It’s all going to get mixed together in the end, right?”

“Are you serious? But, but you’re friend is an amazing chef. Why would you eat here if - if you’re just going to do that?”

“One, because I thought you would enjoy it. And two, because Masamune likes to feed me.” He smiled. “Am I wrong about the first one?” His golden eyes lit up as he looked at her. The expression felt almost intimate, as if he’d peeled back the layers of her social mask and saw right into her mind.

She took a drink to hide her discomfort. “No. Of course not. I think I’m pretty obviously enjoying the meal.”

“Then don’t complain about how I eat it, little mouse. I am enjoying this meal in my own way.” He reached over and wiped a little smudge of sauce from her cheek, then stuck his finger in his mouth. “I think I do like that one. Which dish was it from?”

The gesture wasn’t drawn out or exaggerated, but it came across as sensual to Mai. She couldn’t even answer for a moment. It felt like her breath was stuck in her chest and her cheek, where he’d touched it, was on fire.

“This one?” He pointed with his chopstick to a sticky-sweet rice and fruit dish.

“Ummm. Ahh. Th-this-” She pointed to another one with tart cherries and bits of sweet melon.

“Thank you.” He took the bowl and added a bit of it to his food-slush. Then he took a bite. “Mmmm. Yes. Though I think the sauce on its own was sweeter.” He smiled at Mai and then frowned. “Are you alright? You’re looking a bit flushed.”

She could absolutely tell from his tone that he was teasing. Or. She was pretty sure he was. He had to know what he’d done was - was very flirtatious. How was a girl supposed to take that? Mai swallowed. “Yep. Yeah. Just fine.” He had to be teasing her again and she was not going to give him the satisfaction.

“Good. I would hate to think our outing today left you feeling badly.” His grin widened ever so slightly.

Mai tucked her flustered heart away and tried to secure her mask of professionalism. For whatever reason, Mitsuhide had a way of getting under her skin but she was going to beat him at this game. She was going to be the most competent, absolutely not interested in dating, costumiere he’d ever worked with.

She held onto that thought as she smiled back. “No, not at all. And now I have some great ideas for the lead designs and palace costumes. So thank you.”

He nodded. “I see. Then we should head back and let you get started. I don’t want to take up your whole day.”

Mai did not tell him she’d cleared her calendar for him today. That would be akin to admitting how much she enjoyed his company. No, she just agreed.

Of course, Masamune wouldn’t accept their money when it came time to leave. He pressed a dessert on her, all packed up in a gorgeous little decorative container, and ‘leftovers’ too, tied shut with pretty bows and carefully layered into a colorful bag. She promised she would be back, and she planned to do it too. Her friends Asami and Kaiya would love this place.

Mitsuhide drove her back to the office. On the way, they chatted about all sorts of inconsequential things. The songs on the radio, weather, new films coming out this month. It felt like words used to fill the silence between them. A quiet that was more honest and more frightening.

She felt it every time his gaze landed on her. She thought he only looked at her that way when he thought she was distracted, but she caught him. A weight heavier than gold in his eyes, each moment created a pressure that built in the space between them and squeezed out all the air. It made her light headed.

When the car pulled up to the curb, she almost didn’t get out. Mai wanted to ask him why - why he looked at her with so much gravity. They’d agreed today. Co-workers. Client and costumiere. Was it only her that felt there was something more beneath that? And if he felt it too, then why these teasing games? But she couldn’t find the words to ask him these questions.

“See you later,” she squeaked, embarrassed by the break in her voice as she spoke.

“Not too much later, I hope.” He took her hand and turned it palm up in his. His fingers traced the lines of her palm.

Mai snatched it away as if scalded. “Of course not. I’ll bring the mock-ups over on Monday.”

His thin, sharp smile lit up with amusement. “Absence shall make my heart grow fonder.” He looked away. “See you Monday then, at the theater.”

Next: Chapter 4

#ikemen sengoku au #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #ikesen masamune #masamune date #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

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sunflowers-and-et-cetera · 2 years

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A couple months ago I started playing Fallout 4 on a whim because I played it once years ago and never finished it.

This gal's name is Evelyn and I've got a whole writeup about her under the cut-

Evelyn "Ev" Fairchild

The youngest child of Massachusetts Senator David Fairchild and Broadway actress Ruby Holiday, it's safe to say Ev was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and a lion's share of weighty expectations on her shoulders. On her father's side, a veritable dynasty of lawmen and politicians. Her mother's side, a self-made woman who clawed her way up from obscurity, all while minimizing her immigrant experience as to not be labeled a communist.

Ev was the odd one out in her predominantly blonde and blue-eyed family, inheriting her mother's striking dark features--not that you'd know it from looking at them. Ruby was fastidious about appearances, hair always bleached, lips and lashes always made up. Expectations for her two daughters were just as high, and both buckled beneath them in different ways. Betty quit her Bostonian law firm, married the ex soldier her parents never liked, and moved to the suburbs. Evelyn buried herself deep in her studies.

Ever since her father showed her around Capitol Hill as a child, Ev had been a history buff. After visiting the Met's costume wing on a school trip, she knew exactly what she wanted to be: a fashion historian. She flourished while away at college, with things looking up in her romantic life as well. Her boyfriend Harvey Dailey proposed when she finished her undergrad, with the promise they'd get married as soon as they both got their Masters. A prospect that drew nearer and nearer when Harvey was preparing to Graduate, with Evelyn getting ready to write her thesis.

Or, at least it was.

Harvey left his wallet at Ev's place, when she knew he was heading out to a Graduation party. Thinking discreetly handing it back would be a good future wife move, she approached her fiancé as he spoke with a group of friends- And learned he was really only planning on marrying Evelyn to jumpstart his career after he got in good with the in-laws. "But hey, marrying the ugly sister isn't so bad if it makes you rich."

Evelyn didn't remember much of what happened after that. Only boarding the last bus and hobbling to her sister's house at midnight in tears. Naturally, Betty was prepared to make some heads roll on her sister's behalf. In lieu of bashing Harvey's kneecaps in, the sisters made an agreement. Evelyn needed some time away from school, and Betty could use some extra help juggling housework and a new baby even with her husband's valiant efforts. It seemed like a pretty good plan. Sure the news was starting to get concerning and the Vaulttech folks were more insistent, but that's nothing to get worked up about. In 2077, people had lived through no less than half a dozen supposed "Ends of the World".

Everything would be fine.

#Fallout 4 #fo4 #sole survivor #twilisart #twilisocs #OC: Evelyn #''everything would be fine''#narrator voice ''everything would not be fine actually''#i still haven't designed an outfit for her i like yet

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sideblogforcrimpy-plus · 2 years

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Title: Curses and Maledictions and All That

Words: 10,188

Rated: General, there's no smut but weeny suggestive hints? Idk, teen and up (rlly not expecting under-teens to be reading CM fic tho)

Summary: Polyam fic with Spencer and Derek and Luke, and they're all idiots. What more could we want for? Time skips through the years indiscriminately, and the relationship is the main focus. FLUFF.

I was gonna write a quick, three sentence idea for a fic yesterday, but like some kinda magic I realised I was able to write the start of an actual plan. And then like some sort of cursed blessing I was able to write out one third planning and the end two thirds actual fic :')

(pspspss you can find this on Ao3 instead, too)

Derek didn't know which stars agreed to align in order for him to meet Spencer, but he was grateful for them all the same.

Spencer had done some consulting with the FBI previously, and his reputation was solid by the time he was invited to consult with the BAU.

Derek heard bits here and there about the impressive Dr. Spencer Reid, and Penelope couldn’t stop raving about him when she found she was to ask him for help on a case they were thoroughly stuck on.

She and Gideon had set it up, and in her eyes, this doctor’s only downfall was his incredible aversion to the world of technology.

“I mean, can you imagine a mind like his with computer skills like mine? We’d be unstoppable if he had even half of my talent.”

“They way you keep hyping him up Penelope, I think I’m gonna get a little jealous.”

“Pish posh, my envious angel, he’s not my type.” She stopped Derek with a hand on his elbow, scrutinising him for a moment. “Not my type.”

Derek scoffed, a little confused. Penelope waggled her pen at him, but a look of dismay crossed her face that the fluffy part at the top fell off, barely bouncing when it hit the floor.

“Oh, curses and maledictions and all that.” She leaned down and picked it up, letting out a whine when it wouldn’t just fit back together. Derek covered her hands, and the broken pen in them, with his own.

“I’m sure I could scrounge up some glue around here. Leave it in my capable hands, sweet thing, and I’ll have it fixed before you know it.”

“Aw!” She beamed brightly up at him, letting him take the pen. “I don’t mind if you’re a little jealous, I think.” He laughed as her yellow heels clicked on the floor while she headed off to Hotch’s office.

He listed an impressive number of qualifications, and it eased Derek’s doubt somewhat, but not entirely.

They sat at the round table in the conference room, Gideon having rushed in a human pipecleaner before parading him in front of the group. Elle looked at him curiously, and Derek, despite Penelope’s words, looked at him with doubt.

He had an elbow on the table and pressed the end of his pen to his lips, looking over the man rattling off statistics like nobody’s business, as easy as if he was reciting the alphabet.

His hair was scruffy, like he’d been bald up until yesterday and he woke up with it suddenly there , and hadn’t had time to look into how to manage it. His clothes made Derek think of someone cosplaying as a professor, but also resembled Gideon a little.

Upon further inspection, the similarity he drew between Spencer and Gideon was a little odd, since he was inexplicably drawn to this absolute brain .

He followed the line of the man’s jaw, the shape of his lips, and realised his being drawn to this man seemed a little more explicable than he originally thought.

Unbidden, the memory of Garcia staring at him all too knowingly saying ‘not my type’ came to mind.

He snapped out of it, and glanced around the room to see if anyone had noticed his lapse in attention. Elle was looking at him with a raised brow and a mischievous, knowing quirk to her lips.

Curses and maledictions and all that.

He wasn’t there constantly, but with each case Spencer was consulted with, Derek warmed up to him more and more. Sometimes, he hung around the office, flitting from desk to desk to offer help or odd little facts. Occasionally, someone from a different department would come over and ask for him, and after confirming it with Gideon or Hotch, he would walk off beside them, spouting out whatever information he deemed relevant to their query.

Derek thought that would be the case again when a partially familiar face peered around the corner, the body following after once they confirmed Spencer was in the area.

They two came up and spoke for a little, and Spencer started looking a little confused. Derek tried a little harder to listen to the conversation then, because that expression wasn’t often on the man’s face for consults.

“Well I don’t see how that would help. If you look at the resources I showed you last time, though, you’d see how they line up.”

“I was just- Sorry, maybe I missed that bit.” The agent looked a little sheepish, and Spencer smiled.

“That’s okay, I’m happy to help. I think I need to stay present here today, so I can’t go out and meet you for it. Maybe you could bring it here and I can highlight those parts and get it back to you another day?”

“Uh, no, that’s alright.”

“Okay, is there anything else?”

“It’s wrapped up, I just, I was curious after the fact is all.” Derek noticed Elle had been listening too, and that she was suppressing a laugh. Or a scoff, knowing her. The agent walked off, quicker than Derek thought they normally did. Spencer squinted after them, muttering a quiet ‘huh’ before sitting on the far end of Derek’s desk.

“Reid are you serious?” He looked up at Elle’s question.

“Serious about what?”

“He asked you to a cafe to look over dusty old papers for a case you’ve already helped them solve.”

He nodded, then pulled up the files he’d left on Derek’s desk earlier. He didn’t have his own, not being a part of the team, so had claimed part of Derek’s.

“Yeah, but Hotch told me he might need me around for geo-profiling today, so I figured I shouldn’t be off in different departments, let alone outside of the building for who knows how long.”

Cluing in to what had happened and what Elle was asking, a pang of jealousy shot through Derek. He frowned, and Elle kept on.

“Reid, he didn’t want to spend time with you looking at crusty old papers.”

Spencer looked back up from the paper in his hands, brow furrowing in confusion.

“That’s exactly what he said he wanted to do. Excluding ‘crusty’ , obviously.”

“Yes, obviously.” Elle leaned back in her chair, casting a look to Derek. Derek shook his head, not really wanting to weigh in while he was learning how he felt about the Dr in question. Seeing he wasn’t throwing his hat in the ring, she jutted her chin out, a new way of explaining it having come to mind.

“Reid, if I want your help with something, I’m not going to ask you to a cafe. I’m going to ask you right here from my desk, like I’ve done before, and will do again.” She patted the case files that Hotch was waiting on her to turn in that she was studiously ignoring. Spencer’s handwritten notes accompanied her typed ones inside them. “He wants to take you out for coffee, and he probably wants to f-”

Derek cut her off with a laugh, tapping his desk to get Spencer’s attention.

“Man, he’s into you, he was asking you out on a date and disguising it as doing work together.”

He considered Derek’s words, tapping the folder on his lap.

“Well, he should have been straight forward, why should I know what he wants if he’s not saying it?”

“A man after my own heart.” Elle laughs, nodding.

Spencer smiles, confusion now gone in lieu of the comfort of familiar social grounds

“I’m not after your heart, and you just want me for my brain.”

Elle got up, walking over to him and bringing a hand up to his cheek.

“You’re exactly right.” They smiled at each other as she slid her hand up to mess up his hair. As she left them in favour of going to the breakroom, Spencer sat there with a please little smile on his face while he fixed his hair.

His hair looked just as messy when he was done with it, just a different kind of messy.

Derek, curious about Spencer even though he didn’t think he wanted to pursue him either, prodded.

“If I didn’t know you two well enough, I’d almost say you were flirting.” He raised a playful brow at Spencer, and he smiled in response. Derek liked the shape of it.

“I’m not her type. And uh, she’s not really mine, either.”

“Oh, and who would draw the eye of our boy wonder?” Spencer stared at him for a moment, and Derek felt like Spencer thought he was a bit slow. Though he did think they gave off a similar vibe as siblings more so than potential lovers.

“Not Elle .”

“Well, I figured. It didn’t seem like it was the agent just in here either, though.”

“No, not him either.” He paused, then looked back down at the papers on his lap as he continued. “I like my men a little more straight-forward.” Spencer’s cheeks were flushed, and Derek’s smile widened. Before he could say more, Penelope came in holding one of the things usually sitting on her desk.

“You know how I loathe other people touching my desk, Derek?” His brows raised at the use of his first name in that tone, and he spun in his chair a little to meet Penelope as she stopped in front of his chair.

“I didn’t touch your desk; what’s this about?”

She flapped a hand at him.

“I know you didn’t, but someone did, and they didn’t even have the decency to pick this little man up after they knocked him off my desk. I was about to put him on a milk carton; I didn’t expect to find him on the floor in halves.”

She thrust a little figurine at him, and as Derek took it with one hand, he took out the glue he’d pilfered from the office supplies closet from his desk for times like these.

“I’ll handle it, doll face, don’t stress your pretty little heart.” He put the broken figurine on his desk and gave Penny’s hand a squeeze.

“So you can fix it now?”

“No, I’m gonna fix it later as an excuse for you to come back and see me before you go home today.”

She beamed at him, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“I don’t need an excuse to come see you, but that doesn’t mean I’ll turn one down if it’s practically gift wrapped.”

“I’d even get you a bow for it.” They grinned at each other before she walked away, her heels a bright blue today to match her accessories.

When Derek spun back around in his chair, he noticed that Spencer was gone, and Elle was leaning against her desk facing him, fresh coffee in hand.

“You know, he’s not gonna be able to figure out you’re into him if you’re like that all the time and don’t say anything directly.”

Derek quickly looked around to double check Spencer couldn’t have heard her before waving a hand at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Haven’t you got paperwork to do for Hotch?”

“ Sure .” She shook her head at him before walking back around to sit at her desk, and before getting started on her work, was the second person to give him a look like he was a bit slow.

Derek knew full well that Elle had picked up his feelings about Spencer, but no one knew anything about Spencer’s feelings, and he didn’t want to try and start anything on unsure footing with someone he had to work with.

Derek didn’t know that he had Penelope’s lipstick mark on his cheek for a few hours, but Spencer was so very aware of it.

By the time Spencer and Derek got close enough for Derek to learn about what kind of people he was attracted to, the two were way too close to each other. Spencer wasn’t a fixed part of the team in that he was only consulting, despite Gideon’s displeasure, but he was at team outings, and in the office often enough. Even when he was there for other departments, he made time to come and say hi to the BAU when he could.

Derek felt like trying to make any sort of move now would be too risky, Especially if Spencer took Gideon up on his offer of joining the team - Derek was preemptively mortified at the idea of being turned down, likely losing the closeness they have, and then having to see him every day thereafter.

He shuddered at the thought of it, and Emily caught the movement.

“What’s got your tits in a tangle? We’re meant to be getting our minds off of things, aren’t we?” She gestured to the drink Derek had on the table in front of him, and he shrugged.

“I’m just a little preoccupied, but I’ll loosen up soon enough.”

“I bet you’d loosen up a little faster if you spoke to the girl who’s been eyeing you for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh?” Derek grinned, turning to see a woman sitting at the bar who had been facing his way. When he caught her looking, she turned away, laughing with her friends.

“Maybe I would.” He’d tried to meet a few people since realising he was interested in Spencer, but the interactions felt disingenuous, and it rubbed him the wrong way. If he was spending some one on one time with someone, they deserved his full attention. The woman looked back at him, coyly, and he grinned.

It had been a long dry spell. Could even be declared an ongoing drought at this point.

He probably could go over, and end up having a nice time with her, but it wasn’t what he really wanted. She wasn’t what he wanted. At that thought, he looked around for Spencer. It didn’t take long as he was also at the bar, and was smiling at some guy there with him.

Derek turned back to Emily.

“I think I want a quiet night after how much we’ve done recently.” Emily raised a brow at him, then looked between he and where he was looking before turning back to her. Her lips twitched and she nodded.

“Mhm, okay, and that’s why you haven’t left with anybody the last few team nights we’ve had.”

He looked at her, only partially faking the scandalised look he gave her.

“Emily Prentiss, are you saying that I normally get around?” She held up her hands, placating.

“Hey, I never said it was a bad thing. If you want to spend your nights with any number of beautiful, consenting people, then I can empathise with that.” She waggled her eyebrows at him then took a mouthful of her drink, finishing it. She stood up then, walking around the table to pause beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

“But if you’re not going to take that lovely woman up on her offer of a warm bed for the night, well, I’ll see if I can do anything to console her.” She patted his shoulder with a grin before walking over to the bar, excuse of an empty glass in hand as she struck up a conversation with the admirer.

Derek, now with no one left at the table late at night at a bar, decided it was time to go home. Before he did, he stopped on his way to the door to look at Spencer. He and the handsome stranger had gotten a little cosier since Derek had last seen them, and that familiar pang in his heart pulsed. Spencer looked over to him then, like he’d sensed Derek’s eyes on him. Derek couldn’t look away until someone walked in front of him, breaking the contact. He used the break given to him and left, not wanting to wait around and see how much cosier the two would get.

Spencer is in the office again today, but he’s doing the final paperwork for the case they’ve been able to close. It had been a gruelling, and largely sleepless last few nights on the case, but the relief of finally catching their unsub made doing the paperwork seem less of a bureaucratic chore and more a recording of a victory hard-won.

Spencer had gone off to the kitchen minutes ago, and was yet to come out. Gulping down the rest of his now cold coffee, Derek figured he could go for a fresh one.

He walked in in more of a rush than he should have, and made quick work of running into Spencer. The man’s coffee, thankfully cooled a little since it was made, spilled onto his shirt. Derek was mortified.

“I’m so, so sorry, are you okay?” He reached for the paper towel dispenser, pulling a few free to pat them on Spencer’s now wet sweater.

“ Curses and maledictions and all that .” Penelope’s phrase was spreading, Derek realised, and he chuckled a little.

“You’re not burnt, are you?”

“No, I got distracted. Really glad I didn’t end up microwaving the coffee, now.” Derek smiled, looking up from Spencer’s definitely stained clothes to see his face. Spencer was already looking at him, and Derek paused when he became aware of their sudden closeness

Spencer wet his lips before pressing them together, stuttering a few times before being able to say what he wanted.

“As much as I’d love to stand here silently with coffee soaking through my clothes, I think I’m going to look around for spare clothes instead.”

It surprised a laugh out of Derek, who shook his head.

“No, that’s alright, I got you covered. My go-bag is here with some clean clothes, I could get you them now if you want?”

“Some of your clothes?” Derek didn’t know if he should be offended at the surprise in Spencer’s voice - they’d known each other for a decent amount of time now, so it shouldn’t seem too strange he thought.

“It seems only fair considering I ruined yours.”

“I think that was a joint effort. But, okay, y-yeah. I’ll um, borrow them, if that’s okay.”

When Derek got his clothes back in a bag Spencer dropped off a couple days later, he tried so hard not to inhale the scent of Spencer from them.

He was not always successful.

Spencer had been consulting less and less with the team, as there was pressure from higher up for him to either actually join the unit or bugger off. He didn’t want to commit fully to either, so instead, worked with them just little enough to fly under the radar.

As a result of spending less time together at work, the two made more plans outside of it.

Spencer was getting more tolerant of Clooney, and had even slept in the guestroom with the door open for Clooney the last few times he’d stayed the night.

Derek was going a little more crazy at the thought of Clooney waltzing into Spencer’s room at night and the fact that it meant he was even a little jealous of his dog.

When work got harder and the unsub more vindictive, they ended up bringing in a new agent who was already familiar with the unsub’s ‘ handiwork’ .

Derek was immediately smitten.

Luke Alvez felt like a monkey’s paw wish; he was perfect, and sweet, and so incredibly attractive, and so incredibly off-limits as a member of the team. Not only that, but he’d just moved interstate to a new job with an entirely new team - he didn’t need Derek asking him out, he needed a support network of friends.

Derek was now tormented with unrequired, unactionable feelings with Luke at work as well as outside of it when he and Spencer found time to make plans.

Derek was forced to blend both worlds of torment, because he couldn’t think of a reason not to include Luke in their intermittent team outings, but he wasn’t going to uninvite Spencer either.

Even if he wanted to follow through on one of those -which he certainly didn’t-, the rest of the team would shoot the idea down unflinchingly. Spencer and Luke were treasured romantically by Derek to be sure, but that didn’t devalue the relationships between the rest of the team and those two.

Making matters worse, Spencer’s style had become more refined with time. With each new bit of self-confidence Spencer seemed to gain, he dipped his toes in some new thing that caught his eye.

Derek was his least smooth and flirty when Spencer had combined suspenders and sleeve garters for the first time.

“It feels too odd, to be without long sleeves. But they fall down during the day.” He’d said. And of course they would; despite Spencer not going on the field with them, and being fairly stationary for his other work, he as a person was a constant flurry of movement.

“But then Penelope showed me these, and how neat are they?” He had smiled wide at Derek, holding up his arm to show the leather strap and brass buckle holding his folded up sleeve in place.

As he rambled on about the different ways of wearing them, and what kinds of people usually wore them in the past, Derek nodded along. But as he did, he was making a herculean effort to keep his godless thoughts in check. Derek was struggling.

Spencer, as if the fates knew how best to torment Derek, strolled up to their table wearing those blasted sleeve garters again for their team gathering. Devolving further, he watched as Spencer and Luke were introduced, and Luke admired Spencer’s favourite fashion statement in a way that was entirely too tactile.

Spencer’s cheeks were flushed under Luke’s attention, and Derek couldn’t decide who’s place he wanted to take more in the interaction.

Curses and maledictions and all that

Spencer knew his cheeks would start hurting soon, the constant smile on his face bright and radiant as he spoke with Luke.

He watched as Emily lifted her drink, and she copped a laugh from the team when her coaster stuck to the bottom of it. She’d started to complain when Spencer excitedly spoke up.

“Did you know that in the 1700s, when coasters were first thought to be in use, they were made of wood, silver, or even paper mache, in the shape of trays and dishes?” Emily rolled her eyes with a friendly, teasing grin and a loose wave of her hand at him.

“Now I’ve set him off.” Tara lightly smacked her arm, mumbling a ‘hush’ before turning back to Spencer.

“Silver and wood match for the time, I guess, but they sound like they would have been unnecessarily heavy. Now that I’m thinking about it, I thought they’d use cloth.”

“Well see, we use them solely for preventing watermarks and the like from forming on tables. Or companies use them as advertisements, I guess.”

Tara cut in, “That’s capitalism, baby.”

Spencer, with a small laugh, continued almost like he hadn’t stopped.

“But back then it was so that drinks could easily be slid around the table after the servants had retired. Or,” he leaned in and gently touched Luke’s arm, the curly haired man smiling wider, “ coasted , if you will.”

Luke’s laugh was the loudest, and Spencer sensed a similar amount of pride for being the cause of it as he usually did with Derek.

His stomach gave a lurch when he realised, so he quickly finished the rest of his drink to excuse himself to the bar.

He regretted it almost immediately, it was too much alcohol at once for such an infrequent lightweight. So, he hovered at the bar like he was deciding on a drink before ordering to give himself time to feel a bit better before returning to the group.

If it also meant he had time to try and calm his heart a little before being around Luke again, well, that was just a coincidence.

Spencer felt the warmth of a body step up close behind him, and he turned to smile at -he expected- Derek. When instead it was a stranger, he recoiled a little, but tried to keep his expression kind.

“You’re looking a little lonely over here, are you waiting for somebody?” The man had an admittedly nice voice, but Spencer was relieved he didn’t feel anything towards the handsome stranger - he had enough going on with his thoughts about Luke and Derek that he didn’t think he could handle it if he felt even a tiny spark of interest.

“No I uh, I’m with a group.” Vaguely, he gestured towards what Luke, Tara, and Penelope had dubbed ‘the Federal Bar-table of Instigation’. He bit back a smile at the thought.

As the stranger spoke with Spencer, Spencer felt more and more hemmed in. The bar was pressing into his back as he slowly moved back, but he couldn’t find a way to say that he was getting uncomfortable that didn’t feel rude. There wasn’t anything wrong with the interaction, and Spencer was fully aware that were it one of two specific people, he would feel substantially better about it.

All the same, he was grateful to notice Luke walking towards him, eyes moving between Spencer’s face and the person talking to him.

“Hey, man, I was wondering what’s keeping you. Is the line a little long?” Luke lifted a hand in greeting to the person who’d approached Spencer, a friendly corner to his lips.

“N-no, uh, I just hadn’t decided what I wanted.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what I want either.” Spencer nodded, then narrowed his eyes looking at Luke’s empty seat at the table.

“Clearly now what you had last time, you didn’t even finish it.”

Luke’s mouth opened, possibly to disagree, until he saw what Spencer had noticed. He laughed, looking a little red-handed.

“Ha, yeah. I uh, wanted to try something new.” His eyes caught the way Spencer seemed to fidget nervously, even after he waved off the person who’d approached him before. Almost without thinking, he moved to twist around a ring he had on his finger, considering.

“Hey Spencer,” At the younger’s open expression, he continued, “you seem to have nothing to do with your hands. You ever seen one of these?” He held up his right hand, the spinner ring on display for Spencer.

Spencer seemed interested, leaning closer. Luke tried to reign in his smile a little when Spencer was close enough for puffs of breath to his Luke’s wrist.

“No, what is it?”

“Well they’re called a couple things, but usually meditation rings from what I’ve seen. I use it to help me direct my focus sometimes. With how busy your big brain must be, I figure you’d get a lotta mileage from one.” His tone was friendly, and Spencer marvelled at how Luke had hardly met him but had already picked out this ring as something Spencer may like.

“I figure I might, too. May I?” He asked it without thinking, and only when Luke nodded in the affirmative did he realise what he’d asked for.

Awkwardly, and a little hesitant, he brought his hand up to spin the outer band of the ring between his thumb and index finger. He laughed a little, pleasant surprise painting his features.

“This is really cool, how did you find out about them?” Shyness forgotten, he lifted Luke’s hand in his to hold the ring up in better light. He’d not wanted to bother with contacts today, but also couldn’t find his glasses before he needed to leave the house. After examining the ring for a little, he tilted his head back up to talk to Luke again, but stopped when he realised how close he’d gotten. Luke hadn’t managed an answer yet, either.

Just like he’d predicted when he was approached at the bar, he didn’t feel hemmed in at all, but he did feel tingly and embarrassed.

“Ah, sorry.” He let Luke’s hand go, and that the expression on the other man’s face showed no discomfort was a small reassurance Spencer hadn’t crossed any lines.

“It’s no trouble. Say, you want to borrow it for a little?” When Spencer looked like he was about to refuse, Luke spoke again. “Like a try before you buy sort of deal.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t accept.” Spencer was a little disbelieving Luke had even offered, but felt it was genuine.

“But not like you want to turn it down, right?” Luke grinned when it seemed Spencer was hiding something akin to excitement about it. He slid the ring off his finger, holding his hand out for Spencer to take it.

When Spencer brought his hand up under Luke’s, instead of dropping the ring on Spencer’s palm, he pressed it there before curling Spencer’s fingers over it, his own warm hands then covering Spencer’s closed one.

“Wouldn’t wanna drop it in here, huh? We’d never find it.”

He winked at Spencer, and Spencer thought his knees felt a little weak. Quietly, but with a warmth blossoming in his chest like a newly started campfire, he fit the ring onto his own finger and followed Luke back to the table.

It wasn’t until someone commented that they’d both been gone ages and came back empty handed that Spencer even realised he didn’t have anything to drink in front of him.

When he was getting ready to leave, Spencer approached Luke again. He waited until Luke could step back from his conversation with Matt and Derek before lifting his hand up to show off the ring.

“I think I know already that I’ll keep an eye out for my own one of these.” Luke cocked his head, surprised.

“You’re giving it back already?” Confused, Spencer nodded, moving to take the ring off.

“Yeah. I mean, the team doesn’t get to do this too often, and I can’t always come along. Who knows how long it’ll be before you get it back, if not now.”

Luke hummed, but shook his head in the end.

“Keep it. For now at least. What if you change your mind? If you’re concerned about when you could return it, well, I could give you my number?”

Luke would have felt a bit too brazen considering how reserved it seemed Spencer could be, but at the light colour rushing to his face and the smile poorly hidden by the tight press of lips, Luke thought he’d made the right move.

“Yeah, okay.” Spencer nodded. “I’d like that.”

“You sure you’re comfortable with it? Keeping the ring for now, and getting my number, I mean.” Spencer felt a rush of affection for Luke’s consideration, making sure he was actually comfortable, and nodded again.

“I’m sure.” He smiles, meaning it, but already feeling the weight of another unrequited interest settle onto his shoulders.

Curses and maledictions and all that.

Derek has been nursing feelings for Spencer for a long time. Longer than he cares to think about, truthfully. The man’s just so likeable. You wanna smack him upside the head for his smart mouth, but you might also want to kiss said smart mouth.

Well, he certainly wants to. But he’s in too deep with this friendship - they’ve known each other for so long, and shared so much of each other, yet they’ve never shared romantic feelings. Derek feels like he’s losing his mind spending time with Spencer, getting closer and closer without actually making the jump to something more amorous, but he feels even worse spending so much time away from him on cases regardless of the nature of their relationship.

He texts Spencer at all hours while on cases. While they’re leaving for early flights, late at night when they’re getting back to their hotel after what feels like another fruitless day of work. In that time when the sky seems torn between night and day, and the dark is losing the battle to daylight that’s hungrily outshining the stars. Spencer answers more than he should when Derek considers what must be a terrible sleeping schedule, and mentions this regularly. But he’s also thankful that Spencer is there to distract him from the terrible things he has to think about all day in order to do a job well done.

He thinks about being in this perpetual ‘will they won’t they’ situation like they’re in a sitcom, but knows they won’t because it’s Spencer and they’re best friends and he feels Spencer doesn’t want someone who is always gone and in danger. He deserves someone who’ll be present.

Curses and maledictions and all that.

Spencer’s words echo in his head and he clutches his phone tight in his hands that are resting on his chest, the phone chiming with Spencer’s goodnight text that just adds another bittersweet barb into Derek’s already bleeding heart.

Luke immediately felt something upon meeting Derek. The more time he spent with the man, the stronger that feeling got. He was trying to push it further down - he was in a new town, with a new job, and was trying to make new friends with the team. He didn’t need to add complications of romantic feelings to the mix, it sounded like a catastrophe waiting to happen.

His efforts of shoving those feelings down felt like trying to push an incredibly buoyant ball beneath the waves, tiring and without reward.

Try as he might, though, those feelings made themselves known in the warmth that filled his chest when Derek took no time at all to learn how he liked his coffee. In the smile he couldn’t help when he noticed Derek had changed his normal sandwich order to the same thing as Luke’s, going halves in the food when Luke had declined the offer to go out and eat when he wanted to focus on his work instead. They unfurled large and lingering when Derek’s hand clasped his shoulder, a smile on the man’s face as he commended Luke on good work. Derek was so physical in his interactions, and Luke was suffering to his heart’s content and limits over it.

Curses and maledictions and all that.

Penelope’s phrase came through his mind, she’d used it when he wished her a good day and asked what she wished him in return. He figured he’d incorporate it into his vocabulary, even use it on her when given the chance. He felt resigned in the fact that it was much more applicable to his life that he originally thought it might be.

Derek, Emily, and Luke were all sitting in the hotel lobby, trying to wind down from the case they just finished work on before laying down in bed. Though unspoken, they all knew that if they couldn’t take their minds off of the lives lost before they could catch their killer, thoughts about them would plague their sleep.

Or lack thereof.

Emily was talking about something Tara had said before abandoning them for her own room, and had laid back in the recliner at some point in her uncomfortable looking armchair. She’d subtly rushed to it after seeing the limited array of seating, leaving Derek and Luke to take the two-seater couch angled toward her. Their knees were touching, and the electricity crackling up their legs and into their chests as a result of it, while nearly intolerable, was deliciously addictive for them both. Derek suppressed a sigh when he thought of this same feeling hanging around him when he was with Spencer. He was in deep for his two best friends, and felt terribly trapped for it. He was distracted by Luke’s phone chiming, and couldn’t help but smile at the quiet laugh pulled from the curly haired man beside him.

“What, you got somebody sweet texting you from home?” Emily had a teasing smile on, using her legs to push on the leg-rest of the recliner and bringing the back of her chair back up to a sitting position, invested in potential gossip to share with Penelope.

“Nah, nothing like that. It’s just Spencer.” While the words themselves were harmless, the tone and softness of the expression Luke had lead Derek to believe there was more to it than ‘ just Spencer ’ for him. He felt a confusing spasm in his chest, was he jealous at Luke getting texts from Spencer instead of him, or jealous that it was Spencer giving cause for the puppy-in-love look Luke currently had and not him?

Emily had huffed and pushed the chair back so she could lay down, less interested in the topic, but still listening intently.

He didn’t take part in the conversation Luke and Emily were having then, too distracted with the possibility that maybe he wasn’t the only one struggling with feelings for Spencer.

Where did it leave him, that both he and Luke may be in love with Spencer? His heart wrenched at the thought of seeing the two of them without him, and suddenly all those bittersweet barbs digging in seemed definitively more bitter than sweet.

Troubled, yet successfully distracted from the day’s work, he excused himself to his room. Emily looked at him, too scrutinising and knowing for his comfort. He was too scared that his thoughts might show through if he and Luke looked at each other, so he didn’t look -if he had though, he would have seen equal parts concern and curiosity on Luke’s face.

Derek was caught yet again staring up at the ceiling of his room, fingers laced behind his head as he laid back on the bed.

If he and Luke both liked Spencer, that didn’t automatically mean that Spencer would choose one of them. Spencer might not like either of them, and if that were the case, well, it wouldn’t be too bad a thing to offer up a shoulder for Luke to cry on, would it? An ear to listen. Arms to hold… Or something more.

It was wishful thinking.

But thinking of Luke and not Spencer like that caused an uncomfortable twist in his chest, like he was cheating on a partner. But he didn’t have Spencer, or Luke, and he freed a hand to rub at his uncomfortable chest.

He heard his phone, a quiet noise that still managed to startle him like a bang in the dark quiet of the room.

You awake?

He sighed, and deeply, knowing that though he didn’t want to face Luke in any way while feeling this raw, he couldn’t resist.

Yeah, you alright? It’s pretty late

He licked his lips, his finger nervously tapping at the side of his phone in a way that made him think of Spencer and god, his mind was a mess.

Yeah, I was actually concerned about you. Can I come see you for a moment?

When he tapped out a positive response, he was surprised by the almost immediate reply of a knock at his door. His heart clenched at the thought of Luke outside his door, debating whether or not to knock, wondering if he was asleep already or not, and then texting for permission instead of knocking. He wouldn’t want to risk waking Derek up. Derek knew he probably would have just knocked were their roles reversed.

He got up off the bed and padded over to the door. While the night wasn’t cold, the floor was mean to his bare feet, and he felt a light chill make its way up his body. When he pulled the door open, one of Luke’s arms were up, fingers carding through his hair in a show of what could be nerves, Derek thought.

Luke’s eyebrows rose, his eyes at chest height when Derek opened the door, and they weren’t quick to drag up to eye-level, either. Derek felt the warmth of uncommon shyness, self-consciousness over his half-dressed state being a new and odd sensation for him. He stepped back, ushering Luke into the room.

“What’s up, man?” His voice was quiet as he led Luke to sit on the edge of his bed, there wasn’t much else in the way of furniture in the room. The man sat beside him, silent as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, lifting one hand to prop up his chin.

Derek’s eyes traced the curve of his back, over the ruffled hair at the top of his head. Luke must have been in bed for a little while before coming to his room. Derek was glad he didn’t have hair to give away the fact he’d been tossing and turning, too.

By the time he looked to Luke’s face, thoughts of bringing his hand up to Luke’s head and running his fingers through the dark hair there still clouding his mind, Luke was already looking at him. There was a small smile on Luke’s face, and gosh darn it he wanted to kiss it.

“Something caught your eye?”

Derek was thrown off by the hushed, flirty comment. There was a shaky kind of confidence to Luke’s profile, and it brought the sudden heat in Derek’s chest down to a simmer. Still, he didn’t know how to respond, so he sent a sly little smile Luke’s way and shrugged. Maybe so.

“Well something’s caught my eye.” He continued. He was rubbing at his chin, and Derek wanted to see what it felt like - wanted to smooth his fingers over Luke’s short beard, run his thumb over Luke’s lips, and maybe even follow it up with his own. He realised Luke was staring at him and again forced that boil back down to a simmer once more; Luke was here for something.

“Yeah?” Luke seemed to grin when Derek replied, and Derek was concerned the man would pick up on more than he was willing to share.

“Actually, two somethings.”

“Two? Getting greedy.” Derek certainly felt that way, but he was surprised by the seriousness Luke’s voice took on.

“Don’t I know it.” He straightened his back, letting his hands come to rest on his lap. “I’ve been thinking I might have noticed something that could be incredible, but I’ve also been thinking I might be imagining seeing something incredible and could ruin things by mentioning it.”

Derek sucked in a breath, eyes widening a bit. He kept his eyes on Luke’s hands, not wanting to give away anything in case what was on his mind was different to what Luke was talking about. God, he hoped it was the same, but it felt impossible.

“Derek, you like Spencer, don’t you?” There was a tight grip on his chest now, hope and anxiety like a vice. But he couldn’t keep the fondness from his voice. Luke saw the positively lovesick look about the man as he nodded.

“Yeah, the kid’s pretty likeably, huh?”

“You don’t say.” After a beat of silence, both men seemingly thinking about Spencer, Luke looked like most of the weight had been taken off of his chest.

“So,” Derek mused, “you like him as well, huh?” Luke nodded, patting a quick little pattern onto his lap with his palms. Derek noticed the ring he’d seen being passed between Luke and Spencer over and over was again adorning Luke’s finger. “I thought you might.”

Try as he might to not sound dejected at the silent agreement, Derek accepted the fact he was selfish, greedy with his feelings. If Luke asked Derek if it was okay for him to pursue Spencer, Derek would say yes, and smile at the two of them with a tattered heart hidden from them both as he watched from the sidelines. His heart seemed to start aching in an anticipatory way, but he couldn’t dare imagine himself denying Luke that happiness.

“Yeah, but like I said. Two somethings.” Already metaphorically hanging the bunting for a pity party, Derek lifted his head to catch Luke’s eyes, the man must have been watching him this whole time. Derek felt and tried to conceal a little shame, because Luke was an excellent profiler.

“Two, huh?”

And Derek, sometimes, might be a pretty bad profiler.

Luke swallowed, his eyes seemed fierce and determined, and filled with desire.

Desire?

When Luke’s eyes slowly, pointedly, lowered from Derek’s eyes to his lips, Derek’s hand twitched a little closer to Luke from where it rested on the mattress. Luke lifted his gaze back up, intentions clear as he leaned in closer to Derek.

Their lips fit together so perfectly it was like a puzzle piece, designed expressly for this purpose. They were soft, and vanilla chapstick mostly covered Derek’s lips by the time they parted.

“Holy shit.” Derek was quiet, and Luke laughed.

“Yeah, ‘holy shit’. Don’t I know it.” Derek laughed in response then, and Luke moved to bump his shoulder to Derek’s.

Derek felt this wild elation, and it lifted his chest like a deep breath after coming up for air. A tingle, like when he hugged Spencer or threw an arm over Luke’s shoulders, seemed to start at his lips, and it spread throughout the rest of his body with startling intensity.

“Derek, I like Spencer, but I also like you. I was stumbling over you the minute I stepped foot in Virginia, then I tripped when I met Spencer. I feel like I haven’t been able to get back up since meeting you both.” He had his hands in his lap again, spinning the ring around on his finger the same way Derek saw Spencer do when he needed to reign in a tangle of thoughts.

Luke was staring down at his hands as he continued.

“I thought that I shouldn’t feel the way I did about you. We’d only just met, and we have a turbulent job to say the least,” Derek nodded.

“‘Turbulent’ is underselling it.”

“And don’t I know it.” Derek chuckled at the repeated words, holding his hand out for Luke’s. Luke gave up on the ring, and gave Derek’s hand a light squeeze instead. “Then while I was there, trying not to moon over you, you introduced me to Spencer.” He shook his head, a look of disbelief taking over his face. “And I find out that while you two are so perfect for each other, you’re not together? You’re just the closest friends I’ve ever seen, and I so desperately wanted you both. ”

Derek rubbed his thumb back and forth on the side of Luke’s hand, nodding along with his mouth curved in a smile he couldn’t keep away. He was sheepish at Luke’s words, and he felt so exposed, but not unpleasantly so. Luke’s voice was just above a murmur, but heavy with feeling.

“I felt greedy, unable to decide which of you I liked, which of you I ‘wanted more’. Felt a little stupid when I realised there was no ‘more’, and it wasn’t a matter of who I liked more. Just a realisation that I liked you both. I couldn’t help it. But I’ve been thinking lately, it’s not something I want to ‘help’. Y’know?”

“I think I do. I think I really do.” Derek brought their joined hands up to his mouth so he could kiss Luke’s. It was so freeing to be able to just do that that he couldn’t resist it when he thought about it. It was obvious how pleased Luke was about it, because it showed in his voice when he spoke.

“I understand, if you’re hesitant. If you don’t want to now, or even in future. But I think I’d like to tell Spencer. If I don’t try, I think I’ll actually, eventually lose my mind over that man.”

Derek let out a sound like a laugh, but it was strangled and emotional.

“I’ve been losing my mind for years over that man, Luke.” Luke chuckled in response, nodding.

“I thought as much.”

When they were headed home the next morning, they were told they could go home after debriefing and the standard paperwork, and additionally have a guaranteed day off. There might be another two days off after since they were due a break, but those weren't a sure thing.

Derek and Luke could hear the rest of the team discussing plans for their newfound freedom, and just quietly held each other's gazes before getting back to what they were doing.

Derek was getting started on his filing already - the sooner he did that, the sooner he could see Spencer. Luke, after a moment, seemed to come to the same conclusion, and pulled out his own files.

"Boy, you two just can't get enough of it, can you?" Tara broke their conversation as she sat down nearby, having noticed their silence in contrast to the chatter on the jet.

Derek gave a smile and a shrug, not really looking up.

"If I get this outta the way, I only have to drop it off then and I'm free the whole day. If you wanna spend extra time in the office before a guaranteed day off? Be my guest." He did look up at the end, grinning when he saw her seriously considering it.

She seemed disappointed when she nodded. "I wanted some kind of break before jumping back into it, but you're right." She paused, shaking her head as she got up. "Emily was right, it sucks when you’re right.”

True to plan, Derek and Luke dropped off their work before rushing out. They both ended up sitting in Derek's car, the engine idling as they remembered to stop and think before running blindly into what was likely an awkward conversation. Derek had messaged Spencer, confirming he was free for a visit.

"Look, I don't know how you did it, but I can't imagine things going so smoothly with three people in the room." Derek was running a hand over his head, worried.

"Do you think just one of us should talk to him to start with?"

Derek shook his head. "No, if we're maybe going to start something between the three of us, I think we should go into it as the three of us."

Luke nodded, laying a comforting hand on Derek's shoulder.

"I mean, you and I got a head start, but I know what you're getting at." Derek chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeah, okay, we did." He took in a deep breath, letting it out in a huff as he let his head fall back against the headrest.

"I don't want to overwhelm him, any ideas on how to go about this?"

"Me?" Luke laughed. "I was running on hopes and dreams coming to your room, I think it's your turn."

Derek laughed, grabbing Luke's hand so he could bring it to his mouth, kissing the back of it.

"Yeah, okay. Alright, I'll see what I can do. Buckle up, sweetness, we gotta go before I back out, because I do not want to not do this."

"Double negative." Derek feigned offence.

"I didn't know I was already talking to Spencer." Luke laughed, clicking in his seatbelt at Derek’s words.

"I thought you wanted to go already, come on." Derek pushed his shoulder as he muttered under his breath, beaming.

"Oh, you're both here?" Spencer didn't know why he was surprised, the two were friends before he’d even met Luke, but they'd also never been to his house together.

Spencer led them inside as Luke answered.

"Yeah, is that okay?"

"Of course. But uh, I wasn't expecting this much traffic in the house today." He gestured at the mostly free couch before picking up books and knick knacks and stacking them on the armchair nearby.

Done, he seemed to dust his hands off, then turned to look at his guests. They were both smiling at him, then Spencer realised he had made the chair unusable instead of piling the things on the floor or in his room.

"Ah, sorry, just a moment." He moved to start cleaning the armchair, but Derek clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, Pretty Boy, it's fine. This thing is built for three, isn't it?"

"Well, I mean, yeah. But it's a- it'd be a little cramped, wouldn’t it?”

Derek and Luke seemed to share a look before Derek steered Spencer to sit in the middle of the couch.

“I don’t think we’ll mind.” Luke nodded at Derek’s words as he sat down on Spencer’s left side, angling himself to face Spencer a little, their knees knocking together.

Spencer was a little caught off-guard that Derek sat down the same way on his right, and found himself leaning back properly to see them both better instead of perching on the couch like he might normally. That way, he didn’t have to turn his head quite as much to look between the two.

“So, how was the case?” It’d been quiet for a beat, and Spencer felt the need to fill it before he said something stupid. He felt like his IQ dropped when he was near just one of the two, his thoughts becoming messy as his heart seemed to be these days. Sitting here now, between the two of them like he was one of his books between bookends on the shelf, he felt like he’d blurt out something all too revealing.

“Eye-opening.” Was Luke’s amused response, and Spencer turned to see him with a smile that seemed to hold more meaning to it than he could guess at.

“That’s one way to put it.” Spencer turned to Derek then, surprised to see the same expression mirrored on his face.

“What happened?” Almost at the same time, Derek and Luke put their hands on Spencer’s thighs, just above his knees, and his mind almost short-circuited. He wet his lips nervously, and looking at Derek, he saw Derek’s eyes trailing the movement.

Spencer’s lips were parted, some question he was going to ask halted before he started it as Derek’s gaze lifted to Spencer’s eyes, unabashed. Spencer felt a warm, embarrassed flush from his neck to the tips of his ears. Unsure of how to respond but knowing he’d do something stupid and irreversible if he kept looking at Derek, he turned to see Luke instead.

Luke had a small graze on his cheek, and Spencer lifted his left hand to touch it without thinking. Luke leaned into it, and Spencer’s heart fluttered.

“How’d this happen?” His voice was quiet. The moment felt intimate, and he felt like he should be whispering. Like if he spoke loud enough to break the spell over them, the distance he despised and was used to would suddenly lurch back into place between he and the two men either side of him.

“No biggie,” Luke turned his face a little, so his lips brushed Spencer’s palm as he continued. “I just fell while in the field.”

Spencer was thrumming with something he didn’t want to name, and the way Luke’s eyes tilted up at him from where his face rested in Spencer’s palm was surely sinful.

“If I’d’ve known I could get special treatment for a lousy fall, I would have tripped over my own feet as well.” Luke tried to look offended, and his almost pout just meant his lips were more pressed against Spencer’s palm. Spencer couldn’t help but wish Luke would just actually kiss him instead and end this torture. He turned to face Derek again, and his hand would have dropped from Luke’s cheek if Luke’s hand hadn’t come up to keep Spencer’s in place.

He would have turned back to Luke, too, to see what kind of expression he held, but when he’d looked back at Derek, Derek’s face was closer than he’d expected. Derek had leaned closer, and a little forward, as if he’d moved to see Spencer and Luke better while they were talking. Because of it, their noses were almost touching when Spencer moved to face him.

“Oh.” It was as quiet as his words to Luke, and the responding curve to Derek’s lips was wicked.

Spencer was at a loss for words. One of Luke’s hands was cupping his on Luke’s own cheek, and his other was still resting on Spencer’s leg. Luke’s thumb was rubbing back and forth. It was initially in time with his breathing, Spencer had noticed, but his breathing had quickened quite a bit since then, making them out of sync.

Derek’s hand was also still on Spencer’s other leg, and his breath was on Spencer’s lips now, too. He was caught, and the two were staring at each other. So painfully close, Spencer was thinking, and he couldn’t help but look at those lips, close to his as they were. He thought about them way too much, and oh god, was Derek moving closer?

Without thinking further about it, Spencer closed the space between them, tilting his head slightly as he did. Derek’s lips were warm, and a slight vanilla smell reminded him of Luke’s chapstick.

Luke’s chapstick on Derek’s lips and they’re both so so close and I’m kissing Derek.

A thrill of excitement rippled through him, and he pulled back slightly to see that same wicked grin of Derek’s. He whipped his head around to see an answering one on Luke’s face.

Luke did then, while looking up at Spencer through his lashes, press a kiss to his palm. Spencer shivered, his mouth trying to form words before instead, he leaned in to Luke.

Like he’d been waiting for that exactly, Luke lifted his head enough to meet Spencer’s kiss, and Spencer felt both Derek’s and Luke’s hands tighten their hold just above his knees.

All of the pent up feelings, guilt, and confusion rushed out of Spencer, leaving room for the thrill of excitement and an incredible burst of joy to take up their place.

He smiled into the kiss, and when he was smiling too much and it got inconvenient, he pulled back.

“What? How did you two-”

“I don’t know.” Was Luke’s grinning response. Spencer turned to Derek again, bringing his right hand up to rest on the man’s chest, glad of the freedom to just touch him now like he couldn’t before.

“I think we’ve been close to something for too long without doing anything about it.”

Spencer still wasn’t sure what to say first, and kept starting sentences that he abandoned for new ones without finishing any of them.

Derek kissed him again, laughing before, during, and after it.

“Slow down that big brain, Pretty Boy, and say one thing at a time.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you too, and I-I’m a little, it’s a lot. A good a lot! But there’s a lot. You know what I mean?”

Luke snorted, but it wasn’t at Spencer. He lifted a hand to run his fingers through Spencer’s hair.

“Spencer, if you’re okay with it, we’d like to try something between the three of us. We’ll take it as slow as any of us would like.”

Spencer nodded emphatically, a disbelieving and wide smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

With some shuffling they did all try to lay down on the couch together to watch a movie. But when they seemed to take turns shifting every few minutes to try and get comfortable, Derek gave up.

“Alright, this isn’t happening. Up, come on.” He stood and then pulled Spencer up by the hand, following it up with a smack to Luke’s arse when he stood up last. Luke laughed and pushed at Derek’s chest. Before they could question his plan, Derek pushed them all towards Spencer’s room.

Not too long later, Derek had moved in the TV and a small table to set it on into Spencer’s room, positioning them up at the end of the bed. While he was moving things, Luke whistled.

“Just look at Mr Muscles setting us up for a throuple movie night, Spence. I think he just wanted to show off his muscles, right?”

“Throuple?” Derek mouthed, turning to Luke with a weird look.

“Yeah, he’s just showing off now.” Spencer agreed, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “You know, he once made Garcia and I do a fitness test we didn’t need to do? He did that just to show off, too. I’m sure of it”

“You didn’t!” Luke laughed, raising a brow at Derek. Derek laughed, holding his hands up.

“Hey, you guys had a good time, right? We had fun together, releasing endorphins together. It was a team bonding experience.”

“Spencer,” Luke leaned in close to him, looking at Derek as he stage-whispered, “I think you and I should get to work on releasing some endorphins together. A bonding experience, if you will, but just with me since you’ve already done that with Derek.”

“Hey hey hey now, you making plans without me already?”

Spencer let out an undignified noise, pushing Luke away as he laughed.

Despite the innuendo of the jokes, they did end up watching movies together without things going too far. No one was turning down a kiss or two here and there, but at least for now, they didn’t need much more.

#Criminal Minds fanfic #CM fic #polyamorous #LukeAlvez/DerekMorgan/Spencer Reid #throuple times besties #tags from ao3:#Wow boy howdy #a throuple fic for your reading pleasure #I am once again asking you to appreciate Spencer being happy and not fully in the BAU #Spencer not in the BAU is my comfort AU #Moralvez #romance driven rather than plot/character driven #Pls pls if you liked something then comment about it!#Let me know you liked it!#Compliments encourage me to do more #and constructive criticism encourages me to do better : )

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autolovecraft · 9 months

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His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about.

The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that the narrow ventilation funnel in the top ran through several feet of earth, making this direction utterly useless to consider. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer.

As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom.

At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; so that he was wise in so doing.

He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin!

Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door.

He cried aloud once, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door.

Over the door, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made.

Another might not have relished the damp, odorous chamber with the eight carelessly placed coffins; but Birch in those days was insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not an evil man.

Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. In time the hole grew so large that he ventured to try his body in it now and then, shifting about so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste.

The moon was shining on the scattered brick fragments and marred facade, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare.

This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he planned to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin! The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. Birch decided he could get through the transom. What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon.

Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; so that he was wise in so doing. I am no practiced teller of tales.

At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. It may have been mocking.

Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, just as I thought! Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks. Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. He could not walk, it appeared, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, just as I thought! Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here.

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tree-of-life-and-death · 11 months

Text

Something About A Forest

There was something about a forest which brought out all of my wildest ecstasies.

We were traveling together, my family and I. This was enough of a well trodden path the trees were spaced with room to breathe, only the subtlest hints of wildness gathering at their trunks, or carried in on the wind. Nothing at all on our other estates was like this. It was a rare thing, these trips.

I voiced the suggestion we step out of the carriage and walk amongst the trees for a little while, which the youngest children latched onto with enthusiasm. Soon they were pulling us further and further away from our carriages. And our guards.

Our guards must not have been worried. This whole property was enclosed, patrolled, and especially recently swept out. It was the perfect place.

I gathered the little girl into my arms, skirts and all, when the novelty of this walk began to wear out for her. She pulled her fists to her mouth to subtly chew on her knuckles while my uncle followed his little boy to better hear all his delighted ramblings. I rubbed her chubby arms. She was an odd one, preferring to chat in large crowds rather than in an intimate setting like this. My aunt shaded her eyes and looked toward the sun, of a similar mind.

The party we were heading towards was nothing much. My older half-brother, Nicolo, scuffed his polished black shoes kicking in the dirt. We were all wearing black. Our mother had died on this day nineteen years ago, my birthday, conveniently in time for my uncle to inherit the throne. Nicolo hadn’t been any older than our cousins at the time. Too little to think much of it.

Or perhaps simply not ambitious enough.

I took a deep breath of the clean air and watched my uncle pause to clutch his chest. My aunt lowered her hand to do the same. The little boy sat down hard in the dirt. His dose was the lightest, since him quieting would be the most suspicious. The little girl was already dead in my arms. I kept touching her soft skin as her parents fell. She had been the hardest.

And still, it was done. Nineteen years of putting up with them at an end.

Nicolo stared at me in shock as I laid the little girl down and drew a knife.

He wasn’t a complete idiot, my older brother. He had his phone out and his father’s contact pulled up as I stalked towards him. My father would have been far more useful in this sort of emergency, except, of course, he was my father.

The phone skittered out of his hand. Nicolo had tripped on a tree root and fallen backward.

He kept crawling, anyway, but stopped as if frozen all over again when I knelt over him. We were family. We are family. The poor bastard cared enough about them that this— what was happening right in front of him, to him— was unthinkable. I felt nothing but relief for the bodies growing cold behind us. Finally, I could get to work. The work. I took his hands and slit his wrists.

Blood welled up in a slow drip down his palms. It seemed his heart was not racing.

Mine was. Everything hinged on this. The pulse of the forest fluttering around us.

I stood up and nodded to his phone.

Nicolo looked. The contact information gleamed among the detritus. One single button remained between him and the call. His father might not have been as good for this as mine, but he was still a man, and he would have come. Not before I could come at him again with the knife, but truth and justice and all that, at least someone would know what I had done.

A sudden pressure built behind my eyes. The little girl— I did not turn to look. Her beautiful, fluffy curls would never bounce as she ran through a crowd again. I would never again heft her tiny weight in my arms. I would never get to marvel at the day she’d grow too large for it. There was no one to blame but myself. I had killed her with a tea poured by my own hand.

Nicolo did not reach for the phone.

Our family had to die. No one expected me to inherit. There were no legitimate means by which to stake my claim, my mother had been a woman and everyone had sighed in relief when they didn’t have to contend with her extra years over my uncle.

I would inherit. I was set now to inherit.

Nicolo had our mother’s green eyes. My eyes.

He may have been the bastard between us, his father undiscovered until my mother’s death freed my uncle up to force a paternity test, but he was also a man. Older and more palatable to the idiotic public. The government wouldn’t stand behind him the way they would me, but they would think about it. My father would always wonder why I let them think about it.

His hands were warm and scarlet. He did not reach for the phone.

The breeze fluttered through the forest leaves with the scent of wildflowers.

“I’ll give you one chance,” I found myself saying, pressure behind my throat almost choking. “Get up. Walk. If you make it, you’re mine. I protect what is mine.”

Nicolo took my proffered hand and let me pull him to his feet.

His blood saved me from touching the little girl again. His blood soaking a scarlet trail back to the scene of the crime. Most people would miss it. It wouldn’t matter when my father’s people locked down this estate and then the capital. I left evidence everywhere as I pulled the rings from my uncle and aunt’s fingers, rifled through their pockets to find the keys and cell phones which were the real concern, even popping the necklace off the little boy’s neck ring and all.

He’d always been too loud and too definitively the Heir for me to like.

The little girl, on the other hand…

My heart lurched at the sight of her golden hair splayed out among the fallen leaves. A fluffy mushroom cap kissed her cheek already and promised more to come. Her tulle skirts fluttered in the breeze, and I knew if I touched them, if I pressed them down and felt the cold beneath…

I would leave stiff blood on her gown. I twirled the dagger in my palm and turned to follow Nicolo. Step by step he forced himself towards our mother’s memorial. Pulse after pulse joining the forest.

Closer and closer to my triumph. I was grinning by the time my father’s people swanned out to surround us. The rings balanced so well to keep my pounding heart in my chest. My father himself cleaned the blood from them, my hands, and he didn’t yet ask the question I knew would come next. I knew as I climbed the podium to give the speech everyone had expected from my uncle, my father would support me unconditionally. As for my brother…

Time would tell exactly how much family meant to him.

#my writing #original fiction #original writing #creative writing #spilled words #spilled ink #short story #flash fiction #enjoy!#um okay trigger warnings lol sorry mom #blood cw #violence tw #death mention tw

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jackrrabbit · 3 years

Text

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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wastelandlovingscenarios · 3 years

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I want this to be a short request but how would crushing!companions react to sole who holds their hand whenever they get scared and it slowly turns into a habit for them to always hold onto his hand?

omg this is literally so cute, bye. 🥺💗 i hope you enjoy, anon.

to keep it short, i’ll just write their reactions to when sole holds their hand and i will put ‘companions react to sole holding their hand as a habit’ in a separate post! <3

Danse:

it’s nothing new in his life— he’s experienced his fair share of people holding onto him during stressful and terrifying situations, so it’s something he’s used to. however, sole is an exception in this case. it’s been quite a while since he’s caught feelings for his companion, so it’s different in certain situations with them.

when they first get startled and hold his hand, he tenses up, his mind going completely blank as they wrap their fingers around his palm. though millions of people have done the same action to him in the past, this one feels different and he swears it makes him feel emotions he’s never truly felt before. before he can question what their intentions were, he noticed how they drew closer to him, eyes frantically scanning their surroundings and he realizes that there may have been an uncomfortable presence around.

so danse slowly takes a breath and squeezes their hand in return, looking down at them with red cheeks and a nervous expression. “you’re safe, don’t worry. if there appears to be any threat within our vacinity, i will neutralize it as best as i can.” when they look at him with a relieved smile, he feels his heart swell with emotions he’s never felt in his lifetime. he doesn’t dare to let go until sole feels safe enough to do so and even when they do, he fights the urge to take their hand in his once more.

instead, he impatiently waits for the next time he has the chance to hold their hand in his again, already excited though he refuses to admit it.

Deacon:

deacons not a very affection man nor has he received any affection from any other individual besides his late other half. To say this situation was terrifying for him was an understatement. he’s probably already dreading the fact that he has an unavoidable crush for his companion, not wanting to deal with that type of stress no longer.

the first time his crush rushes to hold his hand out of fear of their surroundings, he immediately pulls away out of habit and stares at them with a lump in his throat, words scrambled and refusing to leave his mouth for a moment. “i-, uh-“

with a mortified expression, sole waves it off with a flush on their face and an embarrassed tone, “shit i’m sorry. it’s just a habit, please don’t mind me.” they slowly distance themselves away from him and deacon quickly gets his act together, inwardly panicking that he may have hurt their feelings unintentionally. “no, it’s fine. i just- uh.” they tilt their head with a confused expression and instead of explaining himself, he lets out a soft apology and awkwardly goes on his way to save him the embarrassment. when he thinks about it later, he feels a pang of guilt hit him and realizes he may have been too harsh, so he tries to make an exception.

next time around, when sole does accidentally jump to grab his hand, it takes him a moment to calm himself down but does gather the courage to return the gesture. he would notice the surprised expression on soles face, and even though he’s internally losing it, he musters up the same shit eating smile he always has and cracks a joke; “charmer, i know it’s hard to stay away from me, but you could at least try.” when sole doesn’t respond and sends him a confused expression, he gives them a small smile and tugs their hand, “that’s okay though, i don’t mind. good ol’ deeks will scare the monsters away.”

when sole lets out a small chuckle, he feels himself grow agitated and immediately whips around to hide the blush on his face as he drags sole along with him. “we better get going if we wanna get outta this scary place. yknow, before you jump out of your shoes.”

Maccready:

he’s very to himself in most situations and values his personal space just as much as most people do in the commonwealth. he believes in a personal bubble and really enforces that idea, respecting his own personal space as well as others. however in this case, mac is probably just as scared as sole is, though he may be a lot better at hiding it.

when sole does grab his hand, he doesn’t give attention to it at first due to him being scared as well but when he does notice them showing signs of fear, he tries to reassure them, even though he’s flustered at the sudden contact. with a deep breath, he sucks in his negative emotions and decides to step up to bring comfort to them.

“hey, you okay?” when sole doesn’t respond, he just pulls them closer and squeezes their hand gently to grab their attention. when they do look at him, he smiles awkwardly, a inevitable blush dusting his cheeks. “earth to sole?”

when they explain their habit of doing so, he tries to lighten the mood by telling stories about his life in the capital wasteland and how he felt during his time at little lamplight, letting them know that he had similar fears and still continues to have them despite him experiencing the wasteland for years.

soon enough, their hands naturally find home in each other as they both continue exchanging similar experiences they’ve had, laughter filling the silence that sole feared just moments back.

Hancock:

hancocks a very touchy man and people do show him quite a lot of affection, so just like danse, he’s used to the constant attention others show him, only this time, the perspective is a little different. he enjoys it far more than other companions and doesn’t mind when they rush to hold his hand, though it catches him off guard.

for a moment, he processes the events occurring but once he does, he lets out a soft smile and a chuckles under his breath. he wants to let out a flirtatious comment or two, but fights the urge and instead, soothes their fear instead of embarrassing them.

“don’t worry, sunshine. you know i wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.” he’d rub his thumb against their knuckles and smiles when he sees the tenseness in their body melt away. “in fact..”

when he lets go of their hand, he sees the panic grow on their face and lets out a small chuckle. with a swift movement, he gently throws his arm over their shoulder and pulls them closer, rubbing their arm reassuringly.

“.. this might be a little more comforting. no matter what happens, i’ll always be ready to protect you this way. don’t you agree?” when they chuckle and nod at his suggestion, he pulls them closer to his body, whispering loud enough for them to hear.

“ ‘m always here for you, sunshine. you don’t ever have to be scared, especially with me around. don’t ever feel like you have to hide it from me.” sole lets out a small hum before leaning into his touch, trusting every word that left his mouth.

Nick Valentine:

nick is very understanding with a situation like this and doesn’t mind it one bit. though he does get a bit flustered, he tries to play out the scenario in a way where they won’t feel embarrassed about the events occurring. he’s aware that everyone has their fair share of fears, no matter how tough you play out to be.

“things can get pretty scary around here, i know.” when he smiles down at them, they feel a sense of ease and relax into his touch instead of having the urge to pull away. “waking up 200 years later in a completely different life will do that to you.”

sole would sigh and hold his hand tighter, their voice barely a whisper as their cheeks flush with embarrassment. “i wonder how you do it sometimes.”

nick lets out a small laugh at their reaction. “it wasn’t always like this, sweetheart. i was just as scared as you, maybe even worse.” sole looks at him with curiosity as he continues on, “theres always something new everyday but soon you’ll learn how to adapt to it.”

“you think so?”

“i know so.” his words are full of reassurance and comfort, allowing sole to let go of any negative feelings that filled their chest.

“good thing i have the best companion in the wasteland to guide me around this hellhole.” sole puts it out as a joke, but knows a part of it was the truth that she was wholeheartedly grateful for.

he proceeded to rub his thumb on their knuckles, feeling a sense of happiness in their comment, “i’ll do my best to meet your expectations, partner.”

Preston:

poor boy. he’d be a blushing mess if sole were to ever do something as simple as this. if they were to dart to grab his hand, even out of fear, he’d stutter in confusion, obviously flustered at the idea of them latching onto him. “w-what are you d-doing?”

his body would immediately freeze upon contact, stopping in his tracks despite the possibility of getting attacked at any given moment. when he catches the terror in their expression, he’s reminded that the general has their weak points too. so instead of questioning their actions any further, he tries to reassure them despite his pounding heart.

“did you wanna turn around? we can always find another route. we could even send a team of minutemen to do this for us.” when sole shakes their hand and swallows the lump in their throat, preston lets out a soft sigh and smiles at them softly.

“just leaving the suggestion out there, general. say the word and we’ll turn right back around.” sole would shake their head, their stubbornness peeking through the look of fear twisting on their face. “it’s fine. i can’t be selfish and let it get to me.”

preston would feel his heart swell at their sacrifice and the determination that they held, despite the odds going against them. gently, he squeezed their hand and looked down at them, seeing the curious expression on their face. “if that’s the case, just know i’m confident that nothing will tear you down. i have your back every step of the way,” he pauses for a moment, rubbing the nape of his neck nervously with a dorky smile, “even if it mean- uh -holding my hand. i’d be more than happy to.”

after a few moments of silence, sole processed his words and smiled at him in response, returning the squeeze. “thank you, preston.”

Sturges:

sturges is aware he isn’t the strongest man in the commonwealth nor does he have the ability to protect sole in most situations. however, if he had a choice, he would do the best he could and he knows that sole is aware of his intentions. yet, when they yelp with fear and lunge to him, taking his hand in theirs, he realizes that maybe he isn’t as weak as he sought out to be.

“you holding up ‘lright, sweetheart?” when they notice their actions, their expression slowly twists into a terrified one and they attempt to retrieve their hand as quickly as they can. sturges doesn’t stop them from doing so and instead just laughs heartily and offers his hand to them despite their reaction.

“i’m fine with it, yknow. i wasn’t complainin’ or anything, just wanted to check if you’re okay.” sole hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering from his hand to his face before replying. “are you sure it’s okay? it just gave me a little scare, you don’t have to-“

before they could continue, he moves closer, taking their hand in his with a light blush on his cheeks and a reassuring smile plastered on his face. “it’s the least i can do for you.” his actions are more than enough to reassure sole and they nod, accepting his offer. “thank you, sturges.”

Gage:

he doesn’t like crushes— gage is so used to the habit of a one night stand and constant hook ups that he absolutely forgets how loving someone feels like. as sole grips his hand in fear, he chokes up for a good second and immediately gets himself together, retreating his hand and glaring at them.

“the fuck you think you’re doing?” despite his tough demeanor, his voice becomes slightly shaky and a small tinge of pink dusts his cheek. this doesn’t go unnoticed at first, but sole knows they’re too distracted to point it out.

they would apologize with an embarrassed expression and he’d avert his eyes elsewhere before continuing on; “yer the damn overboss, some stupid shit like this shouldn’t scare you. you gotta be tougher than that if yer gonna survive in this world.”

he doesn’t realize the words that leave his mouth until his eyes fall on sole, who’s clearly embarrassed and overwhelmed with the situation and immediately feels a tinge of guilt. with a quiet groan, he slows down and averts his eyes elsewhere, waiting for them to pick up the pace. when sole lets out a confused hum, he forces the words to leave his mouth.

“hurry up and get in front of me, why don’t ya’? yer acting like i’d let the overboss get hurt on my watch.”

they would pause for a moment at his words but feel a sense of reassurance knowing that gage had their back, despite his attitude towards them. “okay.” sole would smile at him softly and he’d scoff, fighting the blush threatening to creep up on his face. this stupid love bullshit was doing nothing but holding him back.

“yeah, yeah. lets get a move on before i leave ya out here to get eaten.”

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