#one day during library time i watched where he put his book he was returning (part of his favorite series) and then checked out that book | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bloatedandalone04 · 11 months

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➪the one where anika and chad set you up. (requested)

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff

Word Count: 2k | Ethan Masterlist

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Ethan had always thought you were pretty.

During the four years he’s known you he’s always admired your kindness, the way you always seem to turn a good day into an amazing one, and how you always put someone else’s needs before your own.

Ethan thought you were so pretty when you were young teens, but now that you were both young adults he thought you were the most breathtaking person he had ever seen.

The way your face had matured effortlessly, your features more defined and sharper, had his heart yearning to see you more often. You were by far the best person in his life, your personality one of a kind and unlike anyone else’s he knew. Your looks were just a plus.

Even now, as you turn to him, Anika and Chad with a panicked expression, he thought you looked beautiful. “What’s wrong?” He asked as you pulled your phone out and checked the time before looking down at the books in your hand.

“Shit,” you muttered and chewed on your bottom lip as you looked away and towards a building across the Quad. Ethan couldn’t help but watch as your teeth sunk into your lip as your brows furrowed. “I was supposed to return these to the library before class but I completely forgot about it until now.”

Anika sat up from her place on the bench. “When does your class start?”

You look around Ethan to meet her eye. “In, like, five minutes,” you whine, debating on whether or not you would be able to make it in time if you just started sprinting across the Quad at this very second.

“Do you have to return them before class? Can’t you just do it after?” Chad asked as he flipped through his textbook, only half paying attention to the conversation.

“No, it closes early today,”

Chad raised his head and looked at the building before looking over at you. “Damn, you’re right,” he gave you a pitiful smile. “I’m glad I returned mine yesterday.”

“Lucky you,” you tease before your brows once again furrow in worry and you stand up from the bench. “It’s fine, I’ll figure something out.”

Ethan looked down at the books wrapped tightly in your arms, before looking at the building the library was in and then finally back at you. He didn’t have any classes for the rest of the day, unlike Chad and Anika, and since they would also be off to class soon, too, he would be left alone to do whatever he wanted.

He stood up as well and gently placed his hand on your arm, making you look up at him. For just a second, it seemed as though you relaxed just a bit when you made eye contact. “I can return them for you,” he offers and watches as your brows soften and you hold back a smile.

“You don’t have to-”

“No, I want to,” he says and takes it upon himself to grab the books from you. “I was heading that way, anyway.” He wasn’t, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Are you sure?” You ask once your arm is free from the weight of the books.

“Yes,” he gave you a boyish grin. “This way you won’t be late for class and won’t have to pay the late return fee.”

Your eyes trace all over his features before you break out into a smile, standing on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around his shoulders. You pull him into a hug, a quick “Thank you,” leaving your lips.

Ethan felt his face heat up as he wrapped his free arm around your waist, his hand pressing flat against your back. “No problem,”

“Here’s my card,” you pull away all too quickly and hand him your library card. Once he took it from you, you waved to Anika and Chad before you were off in the direction of your class, which just so happened to be in the opposite direction of the library. There really was no way you would’ve made it in time, and Ethan felt pride fill him at the fact that he was the one who was helping you.

Unbeknownst to both you and Ethan, Chad and Anika had been watching the whole exchange with teasing smirks on their lips. It wasn’t until Chad cleared this throat that Ethan finally looked away from your retreating form. “What?” He asked when he saw the smirk on his roommate’s face.

“That was really nice of you to offer to take her books back for her,” Chad said as he closed his textbook.

“Yeah,” Anika agreed. “Really nice.”

Ethan gave them both a weird look, backing away slightly as they stared at him with knowing smiles. “I’m just helping her out,” he simply says. “That’s what friends are for.”

“‘Friends’,” Anika snorts. “Right.”

Ethan furrows his brows, confused at why they were both acting like they knew something he didn’t. “What?” He asked again, this time more agitated than the last. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“No reason. I wonder if Y/n knows how much you like her,” Anika questions out loud, making the poor boy even more confused. “More than friends should.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe she hasn’t caught on yet,” Chad agrees. “I mean, no offense, Ethan, but you haven’t been subtle about it at all, bro.”

Shaking his head, Ethan just backed away again when the two stood up. There was no way they had caught onto how he felt about you. He hid it so well, how could they have found out? “You’re wrong,” he said and turned around. “We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” Anika called out after him once he began walking towards the library. “Friends who are in love with each other.”

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath, his face heating up at the thought of you ever finding out how he really felt about you.

Would you laugh at him? Did you feel the same way? Would the friendship be over if you didn’t?

The last question was mainly the reason he refused to confess how he felt. He would rather be your friend than be nothing at all, no matter how hard it was.

So, it was really too bad that Anika and Chad were already coming up with a plan which would surely open your eyes to the obvious crushes you had on one another.

“Anika, the guys are here!” You called out from the entranceway of your apartment as you leaned down to tug on your shoes.

You hear footsteps approaching you and look up, your smile fading when you see how unusually pale your roommate was. Before you could ask if she was okay, she let out a few coughs before muttering, “I don’t think I can go tonight,” she said then immediately coughed again. “I’m sick.” Her voice sounded hoarse and raw, making you instantly believe her words.

“Oh, no,” your brows furrow as you stand back up. “Are you okay? I can stay home with you, if you want. I’m sure the guys won’t mind-”

“No!” Anika says quickly then clears her throat, her eyes closing in a way that makes her look tired. “I mean, no, it’s okay. Go, have fun. I want a full movie review when you get back.”

You give her a skeptical look. “Are you sure?”

She grabs your bag that was on the hook next to her and shoves it in your hands. “Yes, I’ll be fine,” she assures you, suddenly sounding a lot better than before. “Go, you’re going to be late.”

You narrow your eyes at her but allow her to push you towards the door. When you open it you become face to face with Ethan and Chad. “Hey, guys,” you greet them as you step out of the apartment. “Sorry, I was just checking on Anika. She’s not feeling well.”

“Awh, really?” Chad asks, leaning on the frame of the door as he looks at your roommate. “That’s too bad.”

“I’ll be fine,” Anika says, her voice now sounding hoarse again. “You guys just go without me.”

Ethan looked as confused as you did, the two of you quickly catching onto how weird your roommates were acting. “Are you sure?” He asked as you moved to stand next to him. “We can go another time-”

“No!” Chad and Anika say at the same time. Both you and Ethan reel back at that, your eyes widening in surprise. Chad quickly puts his hand on Ethan’s shoulder as he pushes him away from the still open door. “No, man, we’ve been talking about this movie all week. We’re going.”

“Okay,” he trailed off, giving you a concerned look.

You shrug at him before waving to Anika. “Text me if you need anything,”

“I will,” she waved back and waited until you were a good distance away before pulling out her phone to ask Mindy if she wanted to come over.

You were beginning to regret coming.

The movie the guys had picked was a horror film, one that was supposed to be the best one of the year, and you supposed it was. Two minutes in and you were uncomfortable, your body slumped in the chair as you held your bag of popcorn in front of your face.

You weren’t the biggest fan of horror movies, but having Ethan right next to you helped quite a bit. Every time a loud noise sounded throughout the big room you wanted to bury yourself into his side, but didn’t want to come off as a scared little girl who couldn’t handle a horror movie.

It was about twenty minutes in when Chad, who was sitting on the other side of Ethan, stood up and muttered something about needing to go to the bathroom. That left you alone with Ethan, who watched his friend exit the room with a suspicious look.

Before he could question it, a jump scare occurred on the screen, making you jump from your place beside. Ethan quickly forgets about Chad as he looks over at you, a small smile on his lips. He leaned over so his mouth was next to your ear. “Are you okay?”

You glance over at him and lower your bag of popcorn. “I’m great,” you replied sarcastically.

Ethan stayed close to you, his teasing tone gone when he asks, “You’re not having fun, are you?”

This makes you look over at him and you get a clear view of the poorly hidden disappointment on his face. “No, no, I’m really glad I came,” you quickly say and sit up properly, guilt lacing your words. “I’m just not big on scary movies.”

“Oh,” he nodded in understanding. A few seconds passed before he looked back over at you and asked, “So, why did you come then? If you didn’t want to see this movie?”

You refused to meet his eyes as your face heated up. Shrugging, you look back up at the screen. “Because I wanted to hang out with you,”

Ethan was sure he heard you wrong but didn’t get the chance to ask you to repeat your words when a loud noise sounded throughout the room again and caused you to jump and hide your face in his shoulder.

Your face heated up in embarrassment when you realized what you had done. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” you mutter and begin to pull away but stop when you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly and you swallow harshly before settling into his side in a more comfortable position. “Is this better?”

By now your heart was beating loudly for a completely different reason. You nod against his chest, reaching over and taking his free hand in yours. “Yes,”

Both of you were far too giddy with excitement to ever realize that Chad never came back and instead left to go spend the night with Tara.

#scream 6 ethan #scream 6 imagines #ethan landry #scream 6 #fluff #angst #scream 6 x reader #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry x reader #ethan scream 6

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ellievickstar · 1 year

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Second Place 🥈 (Xavier Thorpe x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Reader is Wednesday’s cousin and has always felt inferior to the raven haired girl.

A/N: So I watched Wednesday….please tell me I’m not the only one that thought Tyler’s voice was low key hot when he was confessing everything to Wednesday at the police station. But, I am team Xavier. So as some of you know I ran into a bit of a writer’s block, and I was reading some angst and then poof, inspiration. So enjoy my imagination that I acted out to figure out what the characters were going to say. Also, just angst. Yeah, angst. But also fluff.

Inspired? Definitely, by someone. Multiple people. Fanfiction writers that have written Wednesday fanfiction.

Masterlist? Yeah, that doesn’t exist yet. I’m working on it. Don’t judge me.

Requested? No. Uh no, I’ve disappeared for a bit so everyone forgot abt me HAHAHAHA (I have issues okay? I’m sorry T^T)

WARNINGS- I forgot warnings….uhhh: insecure reader, angst to fluff

(Side note: Xavier is a hufflepuff or slytherin, and the gif is not mine)

~*~*~*~*~

Rain patted down your windows as you listened to Fester and Wednesday talk. Fester was your dad, and though you did not mind his absence most days, you couldn’t deny that you were hurt. Why would your father visit his niece, yet not spare a minute to check in on you.

However, you were not surprised. Growing up, you noticed how Fester was more affectionate towards Wednesday compared to you. When he came back from trips he always greeted you with a pat on your head and a smile. Wednesday, on the other hand, was hugged and they joked and laughed together. They had this unspeakable bond. It made you jealous, but you didn’t require a father, and you wouldn’t in the future.

A soft knock on your door snapped you out of your thoughts. Your attention snapped to open threshold. Xavier, your childhood best friend, was leaning against the door frame.

“Hi,” he smiled. You grinned back at the tall brunette. Xavier had first met you during his godmother’s funeral. While Wednesday felt like it would be amusing for Xavier to scream until the adults found him, you had immediately sprinted for the red button that kept him from being burnt alive.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the Nightshade library?” You asked. From what you knew, Xavier intended on doing some research in the secret library about the monster.

“I am,” He confessed, “But I wanted you to help me.” You pretended to think, but you couldn’t say no to his soft, pleading, green eyes. He hummed with delight as you rose from your bed and set down the book that you had had no luck reading.

~*~*~*~*~

“Uncle Fester?” Wednesday called out as she entered the Nightshade’s library.

“Who’s Uncle Fester?” Xavier asked as he seemed to materialise from the shadows. “My father,” You replied as you scanned through the last page of the book you held before putting it back in it’s rightful place.

You watched as Wednesday and Xavier insulted each other, it reminded you of squabbling rats. You rolled your eyes when Wednesday said that he liked her. Then you paused. No, it wasn’t possible. Xavier could not like Wednesday after she kept pushing him away.

“Wow!” Fester commented. You whipped your head around to him as he came out of absolutely no where.

“How long have you been lurking?” You demanded. “Long enough to feel the tension between Wednesday and Xavier! Seriously, you could cut it with an executioner’s axe,” He smirked. Wednesday’s eyes widened. You winced at the blatant reminder that your childhood best friend clearly liked Wednesday more then you, like everyone else.

The patter of fingers distracted you. Thing showed up from behind a pillar and Fester seemed so happy to see him…until thing started to throttle him over an old mission. You rolled your eyes. This was not new to you, Thing complained to you all the time about Fester, especially after they returned from a mission together.

“Stop,” Wednesday snapped. You froze as well at her intimidating tone. Wednesday was always the scary one. You giggled as Fester turned around, Thing still held on to the side of his mouth as they both looked at Wednesday innocently. Wednesday rolled her eyes this time.

Soon after, Fester approached the picture of Iggy Itt, one of the ancestors of the Nightshades, a distant relatives of you and Wednesday, as you recalled. Behind the portrait was a safe. You were astounded as you never noticed the safe when you were poking around the old portrait.

“Can you crack this one quickly, or do I have time for a nap?” Fester remarked. Thing stretched his fingers as he begun to fiddle around with the number combinations. After a minute or two, Fester let out an exaggerated yawn before saying, “you know, this is starting to become a replay of Kalamazoo.” Just as he finished his sentenced, the safe opened with a creek and Thing turned to give a little bow.

The safe only held a diary, Nathaniel Faulkner’s old diary. You had overheard Fester and Wednesday speak about it when he was in her room. Wednesday flipped through the pages before pointing to a well sketched drawing of the monster.

Scanning the pages you absorbed the information like a sponge. The monster roaming around the school grounds was called a Hyde. The Hyde required a master in order to be unlocked or a traumatic event. You have to manipulate the Hyde into doing your bidding by using hypnosis or by other means.

“This means…” You muttered as you pointed at the sketch of the master and the bowing Hyde. “It means we’re not looking for one killer, but two,” “The Hyde and it’s master,” You agreed with your cousin. “Whoever that wants to unlock a Hyde is a next level psycho,” Fester murmured. And he was right.

~*~*~*~*~

You left the Nightshade library soon after with Fester, the both of you knew that it was best to leave Wednesday alone when she wanted to think.

“Look, YN” Fester started, “I know about what happened,” You paused. Turning back to face the tall man, you feigned ignorance. “I don’t know what your talking about,” “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” You had never seen Fester lose his cool. He always seemed to be happy and optimistic. But now, he seemed irritated.

“I’m sorry that I was absent during your childhood. Most of all because I left you with your horrible mother. I was angry at you when you told her off during the family reunion but when Gomez drove her away, I dug into what happened when I was absent,” He explained. He begun to pull out your medical records. All of it was your personal medical reports from when-

“I found this at the hospital nearest our home. Your mother kept everything under wraps because she didn’t want anyone to find out what she was doing to you. Gomez seemed to crack the case first, which was why your mother left when you were thirteen,” You remembered that day.

You had awoken to an empty house, had run all the way to Uncle Gomez’s Family estate with tears in your eyes as you begged him to find your mother. He had refuse and told you that it was for the best that your mother left.

From what you could remember, your mother was abusive from a very young age. It only began to become physical when you were nine or ten. You were often brought to the hospital because of how hard she beat you and sometimes, she grabbed the closest thing to hit you with. It varied from flame pokers to golf clubs to even a vacuum stick at one point.

Why she hit you? Well, you were the spitting image of your father and his absence made her irritable. She used you as a form of punching bag. If she wasn’t hitting you, she used her words and it hurt like blades and daggers being stabbed into your back. She most often compared you to your cousin, Wednesday. From grades to fighting skills, she critiqued and compared the both of you. You were either the best, or a failure. Your cousins perfect grades didn’t help, nor did her shaky record and habit of getting the two of you into trouble.

You began to harbour resentment against the girl. The raven haired cousin who always had the perfect the grades, the perfect family, the perfect attitude. The one who gave zero effs about what other people thought of her, the one that had Xavier pinning for her because he strongly believed that she was the one who helped him out of that casket. The one who didn’t have to dress up to be pretty, who didn’t need to try hard to get people to like her because she didn’t care.

You wanted that. You wanted a mother who didn’t criticise every little thing you did. You wanted a mother who would be by your side. You wanted a mother who didn’t care about what you wear, who only cared that you were happy. You wanted to grow up thinking that only your opinion mattered. You wanted to be first place for once. You wanted, more then anything, to be the best, to not seem so insignificant compared to your cousin.

You stared into the guilty looking eyed of the man you used to call your father before he left you, time and time again, with that horrible excuse of a mother.

“I don’t need your apologies. I’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” You deadpanned as you began to walk away. And as you did so, you could have sworn that you heard Fester say, “Then why do you not call me your father anymore?”

~*~*~*~*~

“Why so down?” Xavier asked as he dashed paint again on the canvas. You hummed as you looked down at your empty sheet again. You were usually good at biology but Fester’s words kept bothering you. It felt like you were spiralling and the nightmares. The nightmares sucked. It kept feeling like you were back in that house, that you were still scared to wake up to your mother’s yelling.

You flipped through your textbook for something to help you write your essay. Defeated, you closed the text book and stuffed the empty paper in your bag with your books. “Hey,” Xavier stopped to look at you, “You know you can talk to me, right?” You nodded, but your next train of thought was:

‘Well not really because I can’t exactly tell you about how I’m starting to spiral because I’m slowly starting to believe I’m no good compared to my cousin, who you also so happened to probably like because you are so damned interested in her. You look at her like she’s the only person in the world and I wished that you out of all people would like me for me, and not because I’ve done anything for you, or helped you, or have because I have anything to offer, but i know that’s not possible because compare too Wednesday I might as well be insignificant.’

“I’m going back to my dorm, if I’m not there then I’ll be at the library,” You said as you got up to leave. “Uh-uh, sit down,” Xavier commanded, pointing to the chair that you just got up from. He pulled a stool from the corner and sat opposite you. “What’s going on?” He asked, trying his best to look you in the eyes. You looked away, silently begging him to let this all go and to continue with his painting of…

“Is that Wednesday!?” You blurted out as you spied the unfinished painting. Xavier flushed as he stuttered, “I just, well, no- I just-” You stood up quickly and left without another word. Tears flooded your eyes. It’s not like you didn’t know that he obviously liked your cousin, it just hurt to see the confirmation. Xavier mostly painted things that either haunted him, or made him passionate. The monster was something that haunted him, and before he dated Bianca he painted her too.

Yet, even as his best friend, you have never seen him paint a single portrait of you, let alone sketch you as practice.

It felt childish, but you stormed to the library, ready to let out some steam. The library was notorious for it’s good acoustics…and the number of student who made out here. You pulled out your violin, the smaller instrument from the string instrument as compared to cello. “And apparently the ‘easier’ instrument” You murmured bitterly. You had first started violin because you found the instrument fascinating. Your mother had been extremely supportive, until Wednesday picked up the cello a few weeks later. In her words, the violin was pathetic and unimpressive compared to the low octave and precision of the cello. It wasn’t even that impressive! By far, the violin probably was the most solo pieces in history and the most impressive composers known for composing the most difficult pieces were either Rachmaninoff or Paganini! One of which played the violin and was literally nicknamed the ‘devil violinist’.

You sighed again as you tuned the violin according to memory. It’s not like you had a piano near-by. You breathed in as you began your favourite Sarasate symphony (A/N: I hate making author’s notes mid-fic but if you want to know which symphony I’m talking about it’s Sarasate Malagueña Op 21 No 1. I know it’s not technically a symphony but I didn’t know how to dumb it down. Also, I do actually play the violin so this was so fun to write but I also had to hold back from spewing more really random facts)

When you finally finished playing it over and over again four times, you heard clapping from behind you. You turned around to see Ms Thornhill.

“Well, most students usually make out here and I was so surprised to hear Sarasate! Big fan of classical music?” She smiled warmly. You gave a polite smile back as you nodded, “Sorry if I disturbed you but I just love the smell of book and I love playing,” She laughed, “I much rather catch a beautiful piece then two students making out,” You flushed. “I wouldn’t call it beautiful-” “No way! You are gifted YN, maybe even more then your cousin in terms of music,” Her sentence made you flush again. Many people seemed to always think that cello was a lot harder then violin because of it’s sheer size, they always focuse on praising Wednesday’s gifts, being shocked on how she was able to write three novels while mastering an instrument.

You thanked Ms Thornhill for her compliments before picking up your violin case, you decided to bring it back to your dorm today instead of leaving it in the library.

~*~*~*~*~

“is that a violin?” Yoko asked as she looked poked at the case. “Yes,” You replied as you jotted down the last sentence of your biology essay. “How have I not known this last few months?” “Cause you didn’t need to know,” I said.

She huffed as she exited the room. Probably to go hang out with her friends or go on a date. You opened your music score sheets as you wrote down notes at areas you constantly made mistakes.

A soft knock caught your attention. The flash of green eyes and the familiar soft smile made your heart flutter.

“Busy?” He asked, motioning to the scores on your desk. You shook your head. “It’s not like I’m gonna figure out a good fingering any time soon, it’s been driving me crazy,” “That’s what she said,” He joked as he came close, observing the score and the numbers already written. “You know that’s not what I meant,” You hit him lightly. “You should change the C to an A1 so that you’d be on second position, shifting would be easier,” You were almost going to laugh. Surely, you probably already tried that, but as you rewrote the numbers, you were shocked.

“How did you-” “I started reading into music theory, specifically string instruments after…” You stopped listening. Of course, of course he read into music theory after he found out Wednesday played the cello. You turned to him as you spied flowers being held behind his back.

“Are those for Wednesday?” You asked as you pointed to the bouquet of beautiful purple mallows. “You probably should have gotten Black dahillas, that’s her favourite colour and flower. I’m actually surprised you didn’t at least get a black flower, but purple mallows are my favourite, I keep spare Dahillas for special occasions for Wednesday so I can give you one to put in the bouquet-” “The flowers are for you,” Xavier interrupted.

You raised you eyebrows. “I don’t understand,” You began but you were quickly interrupted as Xavier suddenly pressed his lips to yours. You froze for a second. He pulled away as he kneeled before you, holding your waist after setting down the flowers on your desk.

“I know that you think you’re second place to your cousin in every way. But, not to me. I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You might think that you’re not beautiful, but you only see yourself in mirrors or photos. You don’t see yourself when your excited for lunch, or when you watch the newest marvel movie trailers, or even when you finally master a new piece on the violin. I overheard you and your father talk and I know that your mother didn’t see you for you, but I love you. Not for the achievements you have or the grades you get. I love your excitement, your sensitivity, your empathy towards others. I love how you’ve struggled and you still find a way to love the world,” Tears filled your eyes as you looked his sincere ones. His genuine words made you choke on sobs as you hugged him tightly.

“I love you, YN Addams, I have loved ever since you befriended me. I love you for your crazy ambition, your murderous plans when someone pisses you off-” “You can’t lie and say that making someone choke on their own blood isn’t a cool way to kill them,” You mumbled against the crook of his neck.

“It’s my turn to talk, Addams,” “Is that so?” You giggled. “I love you, little psycho,” You laughed again as he kissed your hair. “You stole that from one of my books,” “I’m not wrong, though,” He mumbled.

You spent the rest of the day in your dorm, unaware of what was coming, but you couldn’t care less. You spent your life thinking you were second place. Now, you were finally, someone’s number one.

A/N: This made me cry. But it was also happy tears. I love the reader so much. Also, to the anon that made the Draco request, I’m working on it. But as I always say, procrastination is key :D (this is also a cry of desperation for more requests)

#Wednesday character’s x reader #Xavier x Reader #Xavier Thorpe x reader #Xavier Thorpe #Xavier Thorpe x you #Wednesday Addams #the addams family #Fester Addams #Uncle Fester #Reader

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sanjis-moulinrouge · 7 months

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Unplanned Rescue

Sanji x reader | Fluff

Summary: The reader goes out to explore a village but inopportune events happen and needs to be rescued.

a/n: I needed some fluff and cute interactions, hope you like it. English is not my first language, so my apologies if something sounds unnatural.

cw: mild swearing

During the first weeks you’ve built a solid friendship with Usopp and Nami, the reassurance they offer you makes you grateful to have found them under past difficult conditions. You’ve already set routines that keep your interactions balanced and fun.

Part of the routines involve going shopping every time you arrive to a new land, you help Nami to select clothes or jewelry. Usopp sometimes takes you through foreign places to assist him buying tools that might be useful to invent artifacts. He's a great inventor and storyteller, long walks and talks makes you feel at ease.

Now, you long to reach land to go out with them somewhere.

“Guys, we are getting close to an island” Usopp calls out. “Y/n, it’s exactly what you wanted”.

“AAAAH! where are weee?” Luffy shouts as he runs towards the lower deck.

“Oi, someone is desperate to put her feet in the sand” Zoro adds, staring at you.

“It’s better for Sanji not to see that shining face of yours, y/n. Otherwise he's not going to shut up about it” Nami stresses laughing.

You feel your face turning red, looking around to make sure the cheff is not there, silence was your only way to pass Nami’s comment over.

Once on solid ground, Sanji goes out to watch the landscape from the upper deck. His figure is delightful to watch from your viewpoint, you couldn't help but notice him lighting a cigarette. He is the sweetest man, but your shyness has stopped you from getting to know him as you'd would like to since the first day you saw him.

He’s been aware of your self-imposed distance, but despite that, he’s always been kind, so kind that you’d like to tell him many things stuck in your chest. You’ve been avoiding doing any task with him, even going for groceries. His beauty is crushing, it makes your body weak.

“U-hm the weather is nice… You go, I’ll stay here. It’s my turn” Sanji shouts to the crew. Gaze fixed on him, you are the last one leaving the ship.

“I’ll prepare a delicious meal and drinks for you, y/n-chaawn and Nami-swaan!” you hear Sanji's sweet voice while waving his hand.

“Ugh, he’s so loud sometimes… y/n, would you mind going ahead with Usopp? I’ll find you later” Nami says, rushing to the opposite side of the road.

As you walk next to Usopp, you see Luffy’s and Zoro’s silhouettes moving forward in the distance.

For some reason, Usopp’s stories couldn’t catch your attention this time, there was internal noise pending that couldn’t longer bear.

Sanji is in your thoughts. Somehow, you have to leave your insecurity behind to allow him to know you as the others. At the moment, you wish to return to the ship to listen to Sanji’s stories about the All Blue. You were aware he hasn’t had the best childhood, there were parts of the story of his life that were missing, you felt the need to complete the puzzle of the straw hats’ personal stories.

When Usopp entered a shop, you decided to check the other stores around, you entered a large hall and luckily got to a place you like, libraries. You have some berries specially saved for occasions like this. Books about philosophy, mythology, romance were selected, but something was missing, something special, a gift... a cookbook. You've finally decided to offer him something valuable, you are certain that he’s going to appreciate that detail.

Leaving the library you realize that Usopp isn’t around. You perceive something is going on, people murmur and disperse through the small village, agitated kids run to their houses, and there's not much time for night to set.

“Bandits have come to sack the city!!!” someone screams.

You immediately think about sightings of The Going Merry in the area, but Usopp’s disappearance was strange.

Trying to remember the way back to the ship was hard. You followed your nakama without being conscious of the path, your mind was blank.

You stare at the place trying to keep calm, after a while you decide to go down a busy street to feel safer. The locals seemed to have regained their composure after a while, but now you're the one who's confused.

“Shit, I can believe that I also lose my sense of direction...”

Night has fallen, in a single desolate part of the city, you start to feel a non-human presence behind you. Walking faster doesn’t seem to help, beasts breathing sounds down your back. In a desperate act you start running, but two wild dogs reach you, attacking one of your ankles. The pain is unbearable, they wrestle and tear part of your leg. Distressed, you begin to hit one of the creatures with the bag full of books. As they release your ankle covered in blood, you stand up as fast as you can. You take refuge in a grove, to go unnoticed. “A-gh crap, this looks awful, I need to go to the ship.”

It’s already past midnight, the full moon illuminates you completely. The pain stuns you and the area is fully swollen. You already accepted that you have to wait until dawn, you have no idea if the early commotion at the village ended, the real reasons or real bandits behind it, you can't risk showing yourself as a foreigner, as a pirate. “Damn it hurts, fuck.”

The pain was so strong that you fell asleep under the bushes.

“y/n! psss, please… wake up” you listen from afar. “Darling, darling… Ahhh, fuck… your leg, beauty... please.”

Your unconscious body feels some generous warm hands. “Aargh, Sanji? Is that y-”

As you open your eyes you see Sanji's ethereal features, he is on his knees holding you in his arms, his fingertips caressing your face and head softly, your body trembles. Bursting into tears you sob “I’m sorry!”

“No, sweetheart. I should have come with you. I-I was restless on the ship… we've been looking for you for hours”

You felt a bit embarrassed that he sees you in that condition, a new unintentional connection with the charismatic cook has been born. You’ve always wanted that but not under these circumstances.

“We have to go back. I need you to get comfortable in my arms. I'm going to get up on the count of three… two… on–”

“Sanji, wait” you interrupt. “I-I’m so sorry for my avoidant behavior these months.”

His blue eyes are filled with amusement and curiosity. He looks captivated as your eyes meet. “It’s fine, honey. We all have different things to attend” Sanji chuckled warmly.

“No, don’t you get it?”

“W-what-” his brow furrowed. “What are you trying to say, y/n?” his gaze fixed on you again and later on your lips. His face was so close to yours that despite your physical pain, it felt satisfying, time stopped… It was a moment of vulnerability for both of you, he was nervous, blushing, his body irradiated warmth.

Lost in your thoughts, as you wrap your arm around his neck to make yourself more comfortable, you push your cheek towards his and give him a small kiss on his nose. His cheeks instantly heated up and he replied with a faint kiss on your lips.

“We’ll need many days to make up for lost time, my love” he cooes.

“Oh, I have a gift for you” you whisper as he gently takes you back to the ship.

#sanji x reader #one piece #one piece sanji #one piece x reader #sanji x you #black leg sanji #opla #sanji x y/n #reader insert #sanji fluff #one piece fluff #sanjis-moulinrouge-fiction

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jaysflix · 1 year

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Unrequited (I-III)

Chapter I, Chapter II, 𖤐 Chapter III, Chapter IV

Part 1, Chapter 3 𖤐 Origins Genre: Romance, drama Pairing(s): Terzo/Reader, Copia/Reader Chapter Synopsis: Reminiscing.

Warnings: Sexual content (masturbation), mentions of death

4.3k words (9 pages)

He’d never lost anything until that night.

The night of the party, the night of your marriage, Copia had never fathomed the feeling of loss. He never wept in front of a crowd, but no one in the room seemed to regard him. Not now or ever. So he wept, quietly. He wept till his tear ducts slipped from his eyes. Until his heart could no longer mend, he became glass, brittle and thin, clear as day. Misery was prominent through the layers of his pale skin as the veins dyed black across his body.

While the drizzle transitioned into light rain, he stood in hopes that the haze would understand the pain and thunder striking in his heart. He’d gotten drunk that night too. Not at the party, but with his own shadow cast on the dark walls of his room, for he was the only one who could show empathy. The glow of the candle was keeping him company, and as the night wore on, he knew his friend too would disappear. It is for the best, he thought, licking the tips of his fingers to hear the satisfying sizzle between them once he shut it off.

Copia did not want to hate. Hate burns from within, and in this weak body, who knows what the heat will destroy. In the back of his mind, he’d hoped it would ruin his love for you. Now that it was official, you were no longer his. Copia couldn’t object. It would draw too much attention and he needed to lay low for a while. He needed to act as if it didn't affect him. But it did. Greatly.

During his first encounter with you, he disturbed your studies, seeking out a friend who’d run away from his room earlier that evening. Blueberries in hand, his tongue clicked soft and eagerly to lure out the rat. Then, a small squeal emitted across the library, and he knew where his companion was. Copia rushed over to the source of the sound, seeing you curled up on the daybed, clutching your book as the rat stood on its hind legs out of curiosity.

“Ay, sh, a cuccia!” He commanded, scooping her up before she chewed through the furniture mercilessly. Copia gave her a blueberry instead to keep her busy. His head turned to you, dipping a little before giving you a half-assed apology and returning to his room to give his friend a lesson about leaving without his permission. To be fair, Copia, unlike his rats, was unsocialized. His main priority was work and taking care of his pets, never seeking friends, and always keeping to himself.

The second encounter was the same. A rat had run away because Terzo left Copia’s room in a hurry. Copia had asked him to check up on his rats because he was too busy to return for lunch. Terzo agreed, got too intrigued by them, opened a cage, and left hurriedly after hearing his meal had been prepared, forgetting to lock up. Next time, he was going to ask Primo.

The rat ventured to the great beyond, filled with shelves of untouched books. It had found you too, sneaking by your side. Feeling her scratchy paws on your arm, mirroring a toddler who wanted to be held, scared you. The shriek was Copia’s beacon. He found you again, this time sitting on the bay window with a different book. He muttered something incoherent while he approached.

“You should put her on a leash.” You joked, huffing and watching as he gave her another blueberry. He said nothing to your comment, not even apologizing. Instead, he turned around with a small scoff of annoyance and walked away. What do you know about rats, he thought to himself, irritation evident in his steps. You didn't mean to offend him.

Rumors of him spread rather quick, most of which stem from poking fun at his unnatural activities and behavior. You’ve heard them all as they became popular within the abbey. Numerous reports state that he was found left for dead in a pile of debris, which explains why he is the rat whisperer. Others consist of the idea that his boosted ego made up for his smaller bits. While most are gullible to the accusations, no matter how convincing or impudent they may seem, rumors remain rumors for a reason, because no one was willing to get to know the Cardinal, so they have to live in the circulation of gossip to keep away the bore. Poor he, you thought.

His cockiness, however, was truly unbearable. No one ever dared to volunteer to help the Cardinal with his work or chores. Yet, he shooed them off when he is offered assistance rather harshly. You remembered a time when a sister came walking back from her duties, black waterfalls of mascara gushing from her eyes as she wailed on about how she’d never met a man so unbelievably inconsiderate. Another instance resulted in the same, except she was willing to tear him apart limb from limb with her bare hands. Before you could see that action, she was stopped, unfortunately.

Again the next night, you sat undisturbed in the library. Though you didn’t enjoy reading all that much, you were devoted to studying and memorizing all of what the dark lord had to offer so when the time was right, his first choice would be you. The book you held was familiar. You memorized the drawings and labels by heart and recreating them was no problem. Your real issue was remembering the words. Usually after completing the book for the hundredth time, citing the text came easy. With this one, it was such an ancient work that the words seemed to peel away each time you opened it. The language is out of date with the modern world making it too difficult to comprehend. Most of those words don’t even exist now.

A loud crack of the book slammed shut due to your frustration sent a cloud of dust to itch at your nose. In all honesty, you’d hoped for a minor distraction like the previous evenings spent here. Despite the Cardinal being perhaps the most despised worker in the church, he posed no threat to you. Opinions of a person should formulate based on your own experience and not others. The whole story of those sisters remains unknown. To you, the Cardinal is a closed-off man who made it seem that he was shy. Perhaps he doesn’t have good experience in making friends, which is why he pushes people away.

You didn’t know why you were so intrigued by him. He gives you no benefits to your work, and bothering him was out of place for you.

Returning to your room was the best idea, but your senses told you otherwise. Instead, you heard the smallest scamper on the stone floors. It was quick and trailed off into the conference room. The clicking of its claws suffocated as it made its way onto the carpet. You followed, catching a glimpse of brown hair sticking up on its back with a wire of a tail. A curious critter, sniffed the mahogany legs of a chair as you kneeled to its level. You clicked your tongue, mimicking the Cardinal’s method,

“Come here,” You coo, offering only your empty hand in hopes it will still accept the gesture. You weren’t one to keep treats in your pocket, considering you’d never really tried to lure an animal, let alone a rat. He (you assumed) was a scruffy one, hair-thin enough to see splotches of pale skin underneath. Sickness dried around his eyes in a reddish color. He could barely see, his nose twitching rapidly. A sharp, sudden pain made you retract your hand in surprise. The rat’s front teeth were stained a little red as your finger began to bleed. The bite was small but hurt like hell.

Another surprise that night crept onto Terzo’s face as he opened the door after hearing a soft knock, and seeing a ball of hair laying limp in your palms.

“Finalmente!” He exasperated, much to your confusion. He urged you inside immediately, not caring whether or not the Cardinal approved of your abrupt appearance.

It was a simple room, a lot larger than your own. To the left, hundreds of literature sat beautifully on dark stained wood, deep carvings along the sides portraying symbols of the Lord. These books were well taken care of, covering still intact and legible print on the spine, shining from the light. And in gold? You might have to borrow.

Terzo sat you down, thrilled. You remembered him being incredibly charming, eyes locked onto yours, never drifting away. He made sure you were the only subject that mattered. Terzo thought the same of you, how beautiful you were, and the way your shyness peeked through. He didn’t know then that he’d also be the one to fall under your spell.

In memory, he smiled small, “Care for a drink?” He asked, oblivious to your uncertainty. Terzo never spoke directly to you before. During confessionals, there was barely a glimpse of his personality to capture. Talking to him like this had an unusual effect on you. From the few moments with him, you’ve pieced together that he was a spirited figure, contrasting the formal act he kept up during mass or other business.

“I’m alright.” You answered, cursing at the tremble. He didn’t make you nervous; the casual conversation felt off in a way that one’s boss attempts to be friendly to a subordinate. Seeing as Terzo was your higher-up and you were merely an overshadowed character, blending in with the rest of the abbey, yes, it was quite strange for him to recognize you.

An awkward silence filled the room before you inquired, “Should we be doing this?”

He chuckled, pouring a drink for himself.

“We’re breaking no rules. Look at it this way: we are on housekeeping duty, keeping the place cozy until his grand arrival.”

“I don’t think his eminence would appreciate me here.” Your words trailed off. Peering down at your hand, the rat shifted into a more comfortable position, swiping its nose after every sneeze. Slowly the rat imprinted on your heart, looking at its pure black eyes showed more emotion than any other rodent you’ve come across. Around the room, you wondered where the Cardinal kept his pets unless he let them roam around. Chills ran down your spine just at the idea. The last thing on your list would be waking up to a rat nibbling at your nose.

From the blue, a raccoon-eyed Cardinal, wearing his usual black cassock, swooped in, halting dead in his tracks at the sight of you. His stressed expression worsened. Lots of things were on his plate; nothing could’ve prepared him for this arrival. Terzo gave it no thought.

“She comes bearing gifts! Cardinale, where can I find a partner like this?”

This being your first encounter with Terzo made the scene uncomfortable. For one, he assumed that you were going to sleep with Copia, not knowing about your deep devotion to someone of greater power (which came across as an insult to you), plus the loud announcement rippling down the corridors for everyone to hear.

The Cardinal grunted, making his way to the other side in his more private chambers.

“Vattene.”

“Ah-ah, where are your manners? We treat our guests with hospitality.” Copia ignored his calls, hastily searching around his office for something you had no knowledge of.

Before being given the chance to speak, Terzo leans down beside your ear and whispers, “He’s a shy one. I’m glad to know he has the charm to invite such a beaut. Do not worry, he won’t bite unless you ask him to.”

He leaned back with the smallest of smiles as he watched your mouth gape.

“That’s not what I’m here for.” You respond. Unconvinced, he quirked a brow. Nevertheless, he confronted his mistake.

“Apologies. He’s not one for visitors.”

The Cardinal was very private about his space. His preference is easy to understand, after all, it is his room, a sanctuary. Terzo, along with the other emeritus brothers, was the exception. However, lately, Terzo has been worried for the Cardinal, seeing as he’s always alone in his private thoughts and kept busy with unnecessary mountains of work, collecting dust on his desk until more is balanced on top.

Copia never had his fair share of partners, unlike the three brothers. His rats were all he needed to get him through the days. Terzo pleads with him to put himself out there to experience, at least once, sexual pleasure. He denies it every time. It just wasn’t possible for a man like him to leave room aside for someone else to give him a sense of euphoria. Plus, he defends, there was no point if he could just do it himself.

“It’s different.” Terzo would say.

Looking at you at his door gave him a sense of hope. So, he gives a thumbs up of encouragement before walking off without a goodbye to his dear friend.

Further inside, through the opened arch, a console table leaned against the wall with lightened candles and a tapestry draped above. An open book sat atop, lightly written words in the best cursive you’ve ever seen. You leaned over, trying your best to read in the dark. It was interesting to see a glimpse of him from his room. Simple, clean, and most of all, comforting.

A gloved hand snapped it shut, making you cringe in surprise. The Cardinal stood to your side, annoyance emitting from his eyes. You backed away as he stepped closer to you, looming over your figure to assert himself in hopes you’d turn away.

“Lasciami in pace.” A command, rough and straightforward and equally as chilling as the look in his eyes. He pushed past you, collecting things from the floor into a collective pile. You hadn’t even noticed the mattress without a frame, unmade by the window.

“Your Eminence, I’ve come in need of-“

“Feh! I said leave, sister.” His hand waved you off in the air as he came back up, pushing the papers against his body to straighten them out. He barely gave you any eye contact at all, again grazing past you toward his desk on the other side, the hem of his black cassock swaying back and forth with each step. You followed hurriedly, keeping a short distance, your hand still cupped with the rat inside.

“Please Cardinal, will you hear me?”

“No. I don’t care how Terzo is paying you, I have nessuna voglia di fotterti.” Just after he finished, something burned within your hand, like raw flesh being exposed to salt and ice. They created a sound you didn’t know they could; the sound of lightning striking away at the first thing it could land on. And the thunder, loud in which they come, leaving an imprint on your fingertips just below his eye. Copia’s head snapped to its side from the force, eyes widened in pure anger and shock.

“Puttana!” He seethed, then gripped at your wrist with the guilty hand, which earned a small yelp, “You will not disrespect me.”

“They were right about you.” You snapped, the same amount of anger pulsating through you. He was taken aback by your retort, allowing you to shake free. To think for a second that maybe, just maybe, he was going to give you a chance. To help you. The rumors may not be true, but now you know that he was the most unlikable being for a reason. Just as cocky and insufferable as they say. You were humiliated. Curiosity got the best of you, but really all you wanted from him, was help so the little one could live a long and, hopefully, fulfilling life.

Now it was your turn to dart past, heading toward the door to take your leave. You should’ve been in your bedroom in the first place. None of this would’ve happened.

Something inside him that night switched on. He thought about all those poems he’d written. The time spent in his office reading books about hopeless relationships between friends, lovers, and family. They all had one thing in common, something he desperately wanted to have with someone new. A connection. Deep down, the Cardinal knew the spreading disease and horrible words thrown at him were hurtful, and the other siblings gave him little to no attention or interest in his adoration. He tried his best to not care, yet it still put him down. Then there was you, which came to confront him willingly, which isn’t seen very often.

“Aspetta.” You had just crossed the line that separated his sanctuary from the darkness of the hallways. The words were coated with such sadness, you couldn’t help the sympathy tighten in your chest. You debated whether or not to turn around and accept his plea. Maybe, just for tonight, you’d give him a chance. So you turned, seeing him rub his gloved knuckles in a fidget. Holding out your hand, you revealed the reason for your coming,

“I believe he is sick.”

Now, standing above the various cages, he stared down at the lump of fur on its back, still with life hollowed out. He saved him once and could’ve saved him again if it weren’t for the selfish desire to drink and throw away the pent-up anger through the walls. This wasn’t like him. Not at all.

He’s always been attentive to his furry friends, taking time to check on their health between his working hours. It’s been weeks since he’d given them proper care. If you were here, the smack he would’ve gotten would be much worse than the first. He didn’t even notice his hand on his cheek, reminding him of the stinging sensation that lasted about an hour.

“Forgive me.” He choked, dropping to a knee as the floodgates burst again. Why is it that the mere life of a rat meant so little, but so much at the same time? Could this be an omen speaking to him? Love is gone, and so is the connection he formed all those years ago, the rat being a representation of a triumphant success they’d both managed. You and he saved the little fellow together. Now, togetherness was no longer, and the tug of this realization pulled down hard until his heart was no longer connected to his soul.

Unlocking the cage, he took the stiffness on his palm, remembering how attentive you were when he told you all about the symptoms the poor rat was showing, and how he could teach you all the things there was to know about them without being judged or given a strange look. He let you meet the others, picking them up one by one to let you hold. When he saw your smile and the way you babied them despite your established fear, he knew the distinction between wanting you as a friend and a lover. The thought appeared as a whisper, but he knew it wouldn’t dissipate within his lifetime. For months you visited his place, most of the time uninvited. He didn’t care. He wanted you there with him and would make excuses to return just so he could spend quality time with you. Soon, after a few years, he will marry you. And as he suspected, the thought never vanished. It coursed to a much heavier feeling he couldn’t shake off.

Death always meant change.

“I think I know why you understand them so much.” You told him once, a finger stroking gently across a fuzzy back. Copia sighed, leaning back in his chair, quill tickling his temple in thought as he watched you kneeling in front of the many enclosures.

“Is that right?” You nodded.

“The misunderstood often find each other.” You answered.

He thought about that for a while, piecing little by little a puzzle to better comprehend. He never thought of himself as misunderstood, just silent and dedicated to his work more than other things. Yes, there were weird things he had connections with that weren’t human, but it’s what makes him perceive the world as interconnected. He didn’t need the human population to be his friend when other species could provide him with the same amount of affection and loyalty he craved his whole life. They didn’t understand him, and they still loved him dearly. Then there was you, his priority among other deals.

You’d searched for him in the night for his help.

He wondered then if you were like him.

･ﾟ:*𖤐*:･ﾟ

Terzo found himself thinking about the painfulness of drowning, and if he in this very moment were to drown, would he survive such a fatal accident? The thoughts were getting out of hand, he knew it. Laying bare in the depths of his bathtub often calls for dangerous thinking as a pastime. There was no hurry, so he relaxed in the iciness of lavender-infused water, marinating until his hands were pruned. The weight of his head dragged him further, eventually sinking into the depths of silence. He closed his eyes, feeling the cold rush renew his body. His hands ran across his face, palms skimming his cheeks to rid of the black. Rubbing away at the paint began to color any clean water that remained.

Out of breath, he came back up again, faster than anticipated as the pounding headache never went away, only knocking at the front of his skull even harder. It’d been about an hour since what happened between you and him, and his apology was overdue. The whole situation was stupid, really. Relaying the explanation in his head over and over again made him realize how unbelievable the story sounded. There was no way for you to trust him, and he couldn’t blame you.

Violently he shuddered. It was time to leave the isolation of his porcelain pod. Being ill was exhausting. God, even the cold bath could not wake him. He thought about resting, but feeling at peace was not an option right now. There was a problem he could not postpone till tomorrow, afraid that Sister would repeat what she’d done last night. Not only that, he was afraid of himself. It was still morning, and although most of the alcohol drained out of his system, his insides were still coated lightly with the unknown intoxicant. The raging hard-on from previously was still existent, in need of release. A shuddered gasp escaped as he brushed ever so slightly against the very tip, sensitive to the touch.

He’d never felt it become this fragile like this before, the sensation was almost as euphoric as it was painful. The reason he hadn’t given in yet was that he knew the guilt that would come after. However, as time passed he was unsure if it would go away in time, so he took this opportunity, replacing his remorse with full pleasure. It’d been waiting a long while to feel his bare hands, Terzo bucked his hips unwillingly once he began to slide a fist at an agonizing pace. Heavy breaths were meant to replace his moans. The sounds were so loud that at this point, he was sure you heard him from the other side of the door.

His selfish desires traveled home from the thought of you. The heart could only carry so much, he didn’t know how long he could hold it up. If it were to fall and burst, so would he. Terzo would profess everything he’s ever felt about you. From the beginning, a few years back, to now. How lucky he is to say he is married to you. There. That was it. His confirmation that there was no remorse for the Cardinal. He is to have to all to himself, and the thought of returning you makes him sick.

He let out a low, quiet groan, frustrated with the idea. There must be a passage in which you will return these intense feelings. He began to pump vigorously, chasing the edge that beckoned. Water sloshed over the sides, slivers of black staining the tub as he gave more violent strokes than he’s ever done before. He reached for the rim, grabbing on for support once he could feel himself crossing the line to pure ecstasy.

You were beginning to feel impatient, silently hoping he didn’t fall asleep in there. You could just go out on your own, the thought of it overwhelmed you, and the moment you would see Copia, you were sure you’d break down and run away. It was scary confronting someone you loved dearly just to be chained to another. The anticipation was killing you. What was taking him so fucking long?

Right on cue, the door opened, revealing a well-groomed Terzo, with a side of distress. He didn’t acknowledge you for a minute, awkwardly stepping out and closing the door behind him. You eyed him, trying not to show your impatience. He could already sense it from where he stood.

“Everything okay?” You asked. He stiffened,

“Fine. Everything is fine.” Though he tried his best to be convincing, your stance said otherwise. Arms crossed over your chest, repeatedly tapping your foot slightly, and brows furrowed. He sighed, “I’m sorry cuore mio. There have been many things on my mind lately.”

You had to give it to him. A lot has happened in less than twenty-four hours, and your body has begged for a break. However, there was no point in resting until this mistake clears up, and you can live happily with Copia as your one true love. Terzo, you noticed, doesn’t seem to understand or even like the idea of going through more work than he has to. You couldn’t do it alone, and right now you needed him to be your supporter.

“If I may confess,”

“Go on.”

“I only wish for things to be the way they were.” You didn’t have to elaborate; Terzo understood. Sometimes, he wishes that too. Meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to him, but since it’s been costing him so much, he wishes he never had.

Translations: (sorry if they're wrong) a cuccia! - Down! Finalmente! - Finally! Vatenne. - Go away. Lasciami in pace. - Leave me alone. nessuna voglia di fotterti. - no desire to fuck you. Puttana! - Bitch! Aspetta. - Wait. cuore mio. - my heart.

Chapter I, Chapter II, 𖤐 Chapter III, Chapter IV

Notes: Sorry for the long wait, I was tweaking this chapter so much. Don't know if I'm satisfied with it so I might edit it here or there. Hope you enjoyed it!

#cardinal copia #popia copia #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader #the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost the band #papa emeritus iii terzo #terzo x reader #papa emeritus 3 #papa terzo #papa copia #papa emeritus 4

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ninjahiccups · 1 year

Text

The Songbird of Asgard

Chapter 3: Song

AO3 link here OC insert version here Previous chapters: 1, 2 Word count: 8.2k Aka the chapter that had to be split into two because it came out so long lmaoooo. So back to back postings today :) Warnings: Heimdall, as usual. Not much else in this one

------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blurb: Heimdall is free to read you as he pleases. Too bad it does nothing to prove that you are an enemy. He only finds the opposite, and it takes one encounter in a quiet, peaceful place where the only sound is your music for him to find the one thing he was looking for: what you were hiding. (Heimdall realizes people can have good AND back qualities. What a shock) --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reference for the songs reader sings: Voice of No Return and the live performance of Peaceful Sleep from Nier Automata, because Emi Evans' voice is so relaxing and I am garbage at writing lyrics. Of course you can put in whatever song you like

Heimdall was always right. Always. Why did he ever doubt?

This was what he told himself over and over as he watched you, poring over the mind you left open. With the barrier gone and having unlimited time to sift through your head, he found plenty of things you were hiding. After the last meeting Heimdall saw fit to avoid you, wanting nothing to do with whatever scheme you had in mind. You didn't pursue him, of course, and he was left to turn the events over in his mind. In the end he told himself he had to keep watching you, knowing there had to be something off. Nobody was perfect, and there were flaws in you that he had to find. Just so he knew you really weren't hiding parts of you away. After a few nights, he was back to his old routine with you. As the days stretched on he examined you from a distance. Only this time you didn't chase him off even though you knew he was nearby. It was rather convenient, giving him a hefty payout. He saw what you would rather keep under the surface.

For one, you constantly felt out of place, like you didn't belong, and found yourself always wondering if those around you approved of your actions. Which was richly hypocritical, considering you also had an appetite for rebellion and individuality over conformity. The dichotomy left you uncertain on many occasions and you felt obligated to mask yourself behind a much more "proper" exterior. He'd caught you at the library once, during one of your many visits, chatting with the head librarian about the vast collection's history. The old crone began to ramble on about anything, except topics that were related to the question. Your head filled with ways to steer things back on track, requests that would distract the librarian enough for the conversation to end, and even just flat out excuses to leave so you didn't have to be so bored. Yet you said none of them, finding it rude to interrupt. Doing so, however, could make the exchange much more meaningful for both of you, which would inspire friendship. You spent more time considering which was a more suitable way to handle the miniscule problem than actually listening to the conversation you had instigated. These were two "correct" choices, but you couldn't determine which was better. So instead of picking one, you just tuned out and waited for something else to come by and end it for you. As a result, you showed a very lukewarm version of yourself, just because you were indecisive about which side of the coin you wanted to be.

It was commonplace for you to find comfort in the imaginary and fictional, preferring books and lyrics over conversations most days, so much so that you often set aside time to avoid reality. It was a contradiction; being a people pleaser while seeming to dislike pleasing them. One day he found you at the Great Lodge, caught in between Baldur and Sif as they debated something about the Midgardians outside Gladsheim. Heimdall didn't care enough about that to recall. You weren't thrilled either, growing drained from the interaction after a time and wishing you could find a quiet place to think to yourself. You didn't, of course, not wanting to discourteously abandon two people you considered friends. But you were miserable after a while, losing more and more interest in keeping them happy but never actually getting up and leaving. You had no concept of balance in social situations, it seems. The worst part is that you knew this, but insisted you were simply overthinking things.

On top of that, he found you were rather vengeful (but he'd figured out as much by then). Very much a believer in fairness and kindness, but ready to strike back at another should they do so first. You had a hard time letting things go if you didn't have a reason to. Though, you often looked for and found one with most, making the manifestation of this trait uncommon. But it was there. Not long ago Heimdall (discreetly) followed you to the commercial district into a craftsman's store, where you were hoping to find decorations to spice up your cabin. It was run by a middle-aged mortal man who was more than happy to make small talk. A normal talk that slowly evolved into vaguely suggestive and at times downright scummy comments, clearly having no idea he was talking to a goddess. Heimdall had heard worse things before but the man was so insistent that even he would have thrown the mortal into the nearest wyvern den. You attempted to gently voice your displeasure, which was unsuccessful. So you used a little bit of your magic to make a barrier under his foot as he paced behind the counter, lifting it at the right time to make him trip. He fell and knocked over a pitcher of water, leaving him soaked. Embarrassed, he excused himself to dry off, and you were free to leave without any further disturbances.

You were flawed. You were hiding things about yourself, telling yourself lies, rejecting truths just like everyone else. So Heimdall was right about you all along.

It didn't help though.

Yes, you were hiding things, but none of those things were dangerous, selfish, or deceitful like everyone else. You were indecisive, constantly second guessing yourself, a bit of an escapist, rebellious, spiteful in usually minor ways. But all of these shortcomings were internal, having no effect on how you influenced others, only on which behaviors you showed. They were weaknesses, but not selfish manipulation.

So really, he found nothing. He had plenty of proof that you were not sealing away your deepest, darkest components and absolutely no proof that you followed the trends he had seen everywhere else.

He was right. But he was also wrong.

It drove him mad, still. He simply didn't comprehend how you broke every rule he had neatly established and ordered in his mind. Studying from afar did nothing for him anymore. He found a few chances to speak with you, thinking winding you up would bring out the more devious pieces you may have buried somewhere, but their interactions were different now.

You were speaking with Magni and Modi. The pair were being the same bumbling idiots as always, but you found them entertaining enough to tolerate their antics. Odin needed them to take care of a pest that had sprung up near New Midgard and Heimdall was to deliver the message. He sent the morons on their way, and turned to you. You seemed surprised that he didn't give you the evil eye and walk away. "Are you done avoiding me?"

Heimdall sneered, "You do realize my work doesn't revolve around you, right? How self-centered of you."

"It certainly seemed that way when I got here."

"Because I had to assess how dangerous you were. And that's done, obviously. I don't need weeks to figure things out."

"So you don't think I'm threatening anymore?"

"I never said that."

Before, you would have been irritated, finding his paranoia annoying and unnecessary. There was a part of you that was still irked that he was so suspicious, but it was not nearly as strong as it used to be. Your response showed as much. "So you admit to slacking? After all, if you weren't positive that I was threatening then you would still be keeping an eye on me, right, watchman?" Said with a satisfied smirk.

Heimdall scowled, knowing you had caught him there. "I don't need to be close by to know what's going on. Especially when there's a little stray whose stench can be tracked for miles."

Again, you didn't care for the comment but the fury they used to bring was absent. "If you hate my 'stench' so much then why are you here?"

"Just taking a closer look…ensuring you aren't up to something this time."

You smirked again and walked away. "That sounds a lot like your work revolving around me." He didn’t stop you, stunned that you hadn't lost your temper and forced him to do the same as you always had. In your mind he found…understanding, despite nothing in the exchange warranting it. It was an understanding that had lasted since you last spoke, not at all faded as the days went by. Again, very out of the ordinary.

Then there was a second occasion. He was speaking with Odin and you with Sif. Odin needed to consult Sif alone for a moment, leaving both you and him waiting for your companions to return. This time Heimdall spoke first. "Are you Sif's new pet, stray? It's unsurprising that you put yourself on a leash so readily."

You chuckled.

"And why is that so funny?"

"That is rich coming from All-Father's guard dog."

An indignant sputter came from him, scandalized by the phrase. "I am not a simple guard dog! I'm a scion, one that keeps the very ground you walk on from burning!"

"...you do realize you didn't dispute my point, don't you?" You raised a brow at him, amused.

"Yes, I did."

"I'm pretty sure you didn't."

"I certainly did, you're just too dense to get it."

You sighed again, annoyed at how stubborn he was at something as frivolous as a label you used for a metaphor. "Do you have to take everything like a threat to your honor? Especially when you throw them around first?"

He scoffed, "That's because my honor doesn't deserve to be stained. Yours is in the mud already, so why should I hold back?"

The agitation was rising. But it stopped. You always pulled back, reminding yourself that you had reasons to let it go and show kindness instead of retaliation. "If you insist. For the record, you really didn't defend yourself though. You have yet to deny that you're willingly on All-Father’s leash."

"Because you're wrong."

"Oh? So you aren't unquestioningly loyal to him?"

Again, you cornered him. He was pinned between admitting something that hurt his pride or contradicting a creed he openly preached. You were clever, he had to give you that. Before he could verbally tear you to shreds for it Odin returned with Sif, and you went your separate ways. No yelling, no holding back fists, no intense debates. You really weren't taking everything he said at face value anymore, dissecting it under a more lenient lens. He didn’t know what to make of that.

What really made him step back and have to reassess his judgments was when you had a real conversation. Short, but it was simply talking, which he hadn't done with someone who wasn't Odin for some time.

You were with Sif, sitting outside the Black Thunder while Thor wrapped up whatever he was doing in there before turning in for the night. In the middle of it Heimdall carried Thrúd to you, dangling her by her wrist as she kicked and growled at him for preventing her from leaping into the Einherjar's weapon storage. Sif collected her daughter and decided to let Thor find his own way to their room, taking the girl to bed. Once more Heimdall was left with you. You had a question on your mind, which Heimdall saw and prompted you to voice it.

"Is there a reason he's always drinking?" You asked.

"Who?"

"Thor. Well, among others, really. It seems like it's more of an Asgardian custom than a passtime."

Heimdall sighed, the explanation coming out of him without thought. "It is rooted in the Aesir's reason for living, which is dying. The warriors here want to spend their last moments in battle, and since none of them know when that will be, it's encouraged that everyone enjoys themselves while they can."

You nodded, quietly thrown off. He didn't scold you for being so clueless. The dismissive tone in his voice wasn't even aimed at you. "Is that something you don't approve of? When you usually speak of Asgard you sound so proud, but now you're much more reluctant."

He shook his head. "It's a concept that everyone uses in the worst way. Instead of making the most of their time they just drink themselves into loud, unsightly, annoying pests. It's shameful, but more than that it's an enormous bother I'd rather not listen to every night," he harrumphed, not noticing he was venting.

"So you'd rather they didn't have fun?"

"They can do whatever they want, until it makes them a disgrace to the realm. Which is always."

You admired that his disapproval was rooted in wanting them to be bettering themselves with their time, instead of just hating that they were letting loose in general. Even if you didn't think their partying was necessarily disgraceful, you too hardly enjoyed the local drinking culture. "I have to agree with you. I definitely wished the Einherjar preferred painting or book clubs over stumbling face first into my cabin wall while I try to sleep."

Heimdall chuckled, very familiar with the idea. "Unfortunately, it is common. You'll have to get used to it."

"I really don't want to."

"That makes two of us." With that line it hit him. They really were just…talking. He wasn't already annoyed or feeling how stupid someone was or wondering why he was wasting his time there. It was odd, and he promptly felt the need to dispel the novelty. He excused himself, declaring he had work to do and ended the exchange there, which you didn't mind. You seemed to realize he was uncomfortable (which he wasn't, he was simply considering why the ordinary had been disturbed) and let him have his time to himself.

Something he appreciated, he noticed.

As he stared at you, back at the library and scanning the shelves with a stack of books in your hand, he continued to reassure himself that you were like everyone else. These changes you'd made, these normal conversations you started having, the lack of evidence to back up his theories, all of it left him lost. But he was right anyway. You were no different than everyone else, just…better at concealing it. That was all.

With that in mind he finally approached you, prepared to deliver the message Odin had for you. He stood next to you and leaned on the bookshelf, raising a brow at the novels in your arms. "That's quite a few pages to read, stray. Getting a bit ambitious, are we?"

You rolled your eyes, not even sparing a glance at him. "I don't think it's that many. Are you so intimidated by such a meager stack of books?"

Now Heimdall rolled his eyes, though didn't bother to bite back. At this point he knew you weren't serious, merely matching his steps. It was much more interesting than the usual responses he could get, even if it was bothersome. "I have news."

"I figured. Is All-Father ready to send us somewhere else?"

"Quite the opposite actually."

You finally took your eyes away from the leather spines before you, fixing him with an intrigued look.

"The latest mark has been disturbed recently. He needs time to do more research on where it's gone to now," Heimdall explained, disinterested. He attempted to see which books you had picked out thus far, failing to get a good look at them from their position in your arms.

You simply nodded at him, letting a finger graze the backs of the shelved books until you stopped on a specific title. "That's fine. I'll be here and ready when he needs me." Heimdall didn't add anything, nor did he leave. Instead he waited for you to pull the book off the shelf so he could snatch it from your hand, holding it high above you and out of reach. "Do you have to?" You huffed, frowning at him like he was a fly pestering you while you tried to sleep.

Heimdall snickered, bringing the book down but still out of range. "I'm only looking out for you, stray. Whatever you're picking is surely trash anyway." He smirked as he scanned the novel he had taken from you, his mischievous energy fading at the cover. It was one he knew. One of his favorites, in fact. He would have dismissed you picking it as coincidence if it weren't the final part of a series. He looked back at you incredulously. "You do realize this is the third book of a trilogy, don't you? That means there's two more before this."

You glared at him. "Why yes, I did notice. Hence why I picked it."

"You've read the others?"

"I have, and I'm interested in knowing how it ends, so give it back."

Heimdall stared at you momentarily, having nothing blocking him from seeing that you were being truthful. He was surprised. Pleasantly surprised. Very few had taken an interest in the series, finding the writing too complex and confusing. Just a way to excuse their stupidity, really. Yet you were, once again, the outlier. He relented, giving the book back to you while he begrudgingly mumbled, "Well, at least your tastes aren't completely horrid."

"You were expecting me to pick something else?"

"Obviously. All anyone ever reads are works for simpletons. I was thinking that it would be one of Kvasir's poem books. You look the type."

You twisted your face into something akin to disgust and scoffed, "Why would I read something so boring?"

Heimdall actually laughed out loud, absolutely thrilled to hear it from a mouth that wasn't his own. "Never would I have guessed that a stray like yourself would have better literary judgment than the rest of Gladsheim!"

Your perturbed expression morphed into shock, ignoring the backhanded nature of his compliment. "You mean everyone else picks his work over these?" You asked, holding up the book he had returned.

"Ughhh, yes. They're just as fooled as the other realms are, thinking the ramblings of a drunkard actually mean something. Really, his works mean less than the nonsense he spoke."

You eyed him curiously. "You knew him?"

"I met him once, long ago, when I had to handle some dwarves in Svartalfheim. The entire tavern was gathered around him as he slurred out something about beasts of steel. He even tried to act out his 'thoughts' for everyone."

"And? How did that turn out?"

"Imagine a monkey on fire."

An embarrassing snort came from you before you laughed. "Okay, I'll admit it, you might be a little funny. Don't let that go to your head." Heimdall wasn’t expecting as much, but when he sensed your honesty (even if you were less than willing to say it) he felt himself inflate with pride, like he had just effortlessly slain a beast. That and the…foreign comfort he felt made him smile, an expression that quickly fell when he realized he was doing it. He dismissed your reply, insisting you missed his point before excusing himself, unsure of what to think. He felt…at ease in the situation, like he didn't have to carefully watch you to know what you felt. And he took pride in knowing you really did seem to enjoy his humor. It was almost…nice.

He had to shake that off. Getting so relaxed was risky, he told himself. There was still a chance it was all a trick, and it was his duty to find out. He never would if he gave in so easily, the words of Odin's initial criticisms haunting him.

Even so, he felt the urge to avoid you for another day and gave in to it.

The next time he saw you was just two days after, preceded by hearing more music. This time it was a lyre, the strings being plucked from another isolated sitting area that was a ways from the bustling city's center. This time he was determined to know if it was really you. You could have been casting a hidden spell with it for all anyone knew.

When he made his way there he leaned his back against a cart that had been abandoned there, out of your sight. Yes, you were the musician responsible for the sweet melodies. Even if he knew it couldn't have been anyone else, he still wanted the confirmation. But once he had it, he found himself almost glued in place, listening. You played tunes he had never heard before, the chords having an almost melancholy feeling to them. It was peaceful, relaxing, unlike all the noise and useless chatter he heard from everyone else. In time he closed his eyes, deciding it wouldn't hurt to really concentrate on the music. Perhaps then he would notice something off about it. Though, now that he had observed your true self long enough, he was beginning to doubt it.

He lost track of how long he stood there, taking in the gentle sounds. You had paused a few times for some reason, but he paid it no mind. Just when he thought he should, you began a song that was accompanied by your humming. It was quiet, just barely audible, and he strained to hear the traces of it. He was mostly unsuccessful, to his slight disappointment. Very slight.

You stilled one more time, and after a minute of silence you called out. "...Heimdall?"

Heimdall’s shoulders seized up, rage rising in his chest. Of course you did something to find him. You really were a trickster.

He stepped into view, sneering at you from your seat on a wooden bench. You only raised a brow at him and giggled, "Is the big bad watchman hiding from me?"

Heimdall scowled, "Only to find out what you're trying to do here. Clearly you're up to something if you knew I was watching."

You sighed, whatever humor you felt giving way to annoyance. "The owner of that cart has come down the path three times to reclaim it. I can't think of another who would scare him off every time and spy on me this long."

Heimdall had to refrain from grimacing. He hadn't even noticed anyone come by. He advanced towards you, stepping away from the cart to test if the owner you claimed to see was actually nearby. "I didn't realize you were the source of this…noise," he grumbled with crossed arms, though a part of him was displeased with the hint of dishonesty concerning your music. He dealt with liars enough to do anything to avoid becoming one himself, but he wasn't willing to give you praise.

You shrugged, looking very sheepish all of a sudden. "Well, um, yes…"

Heimdall's brow furrowed, feeling the shame radiating off of you. It was suspicious, possibly even the hidden secrets he was looking for. "It seems you don't want anyone to know. That would explain your secluded spot. Which makes me believe that there is something more to what you're doing."

You exhaled sharply, laying your lyre down on your lap. The movement made Heimdall notice how shabby it was, clearly old and due for replacement. It made him doubt his assumptions. If it was magical it wouldn't be in such a sorry state. "Honestly, Heimdall, I don't know why you're back on this trope. What have I done to come across as suspicious?" You believed he was past this, hoping you finally didn't have to fight him tooth and nail constantly.

"Nothing. And that in itself is suspicious."

"That makes no sense."

"You can't fool me!" He hissed. Much to his chagrin the cart's owner had indeed scurried over to you and hurriedly tied it to his ox to haul away, making it obvious you had been truthful. "You may have the All-Father thinking you're harmless, but I am the one who sees past guises he chooses to believe." He sat down on the bench opposite of you, never taking his eyes away from yours.

You shook your head. "If you were so loyal to him then wouldn't you listen to his judgments?"

"He always wants to see the best in people. I see what they really are and inform him accordingly. It's a monumental duty that I will not fail!" He growled, not even realizing he was voicing his frustrations to you.

Your shoulders fell, looking a touch sad. "It sounds like you're trying to meet expectations that aren't even there."

Heimdall blinked at you. That was the last response he expected. He felt your emotions too; the same ones you felt when he ranted about how false everyone naturally is, when you claimed you understood. It was the very same empathy you possessed then. A part of him wanted to scold you for pitying him again, but this time your words had him wondering.

All his life he'd envied the All-Father, his ability to see the best in everyone and believe they were really doing what they could to serve him. He was so envious that Odin was able to look past everyone's shortcomings when they were always right in Heimdall's face. Yet here he was, with someone who he saw flaws in but could still recognize their redeeming qualities, all because his foresight couldn't see past them at first. There was finally someone that proved to be genuine and truly selfless and he saw fit to deny it. He rejected it like it wasn't true, like he couldn't see past the superficial details. He finally sees what Odin sees in people, something he's wanted for decades. So…why was he so convinced he was wrong? Why did he deny himself the privilege no other was capable of providing? Was he really failing his sole duty if it wasn't possible to?

It was overwhelming, all the questions he was asking himself. He had to take a moment to grouse about how much you forced him to think about things he never had before, how irritating it was that you could stir up his reality with a few simple sentences.

Never would he tell you as much, of course. After a long silence that you patiently waited through he growled, "You really are totally ignorant, aren't you?"

You gave another sigh, though you didn't fight back, feeling how half-hearted his jab was. You felt like you had crossed a different kind of line this time, one that made him discomfited. A distraction would do him good, you thought. "I'm surprised you liked it, by the way."

Heimdall just stared briefly. "What are you on about?"

"The book. I thought the ending was far too hopeful for someone as crabby as you."

Heimdall tsked, truly disappointed you hadn't actually read the book that he caught you with the other day. He should have known better, really. The ending was too intricate for the common idiot to enjoy. "There's no way you finished it already. If you gave up on it so soon then at least don't pretend you know what happens."

You smirked, like you had just accepted an easy challenge. "I did finish it. The mother chooses to leave her family behind to serve a greater purpose despite knowing she would never return, and the father has to raise their children to follow in her footsteps. It's the beginning of the children's story, from what I see."

"Hm…so you did finish it", Heimdall said, mildly impressed that you read such a lengthy tale so quickly. His disappointment remained, however. "But clearly you didn't understand it. There's no hope in that sort of conclusion."

"Really? It's intentionally vague, leaving the outcome of the scenario up to interpretation. I think the father figured out how to handle his children well."

Heimdall scoffed, "You're completely wrong. The father is a hopeless man who has proven he can't change his worst habits. He obviously doesn't meet his wife's expectations and invalidates all her efforts."

You chuckled, "I don't think you know what interpretation means."

"Yes, it's open to interpretation but there's obvious signs that prove my view," came his exasperated reply. He went off about all the painfully clear ways the father was beyond redemption and would forever repeat his past mistakes. You ended up smiling to yourself, noting how he became so invigorated about something as trivial as a story. You began to enjoy his counterpoints, even if he was so insistent that you were wrong. In turn, you offered your own perspective on the story, making the one-sided tirade into a real debate. To your surprise Heimdall listened to your ideas, and he was equally caught off guard by how intelligent your responses were. So much so that he couldn’t prove that most of what you said was wrong. It was actually…interesting to hear your rebuttals, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying having a conversation about something he actually cared about.

The sun had started to set by the time Heimdall gave in, sighing. "Your points are valid, even if they are misguided."

"I'd hardly say they could be both of those things," you sniggered. "Are you just unwilling to say you're learning what interpretation is?"

Heimdall scoffed and rolled his eyes, not dignifying that with a reply. You shook your head, choosing to pick your lyre back up and play another song.

He should have left. He had no reason to stay. There was work to be done and he had no evidence that your instruments had any clandestine properties.

Yet he stayed. He just listened for a while. And you let him.

For the next three days he would hear you playing your flute or lyre in a place that was away from the public eye. Each time he took a moment to stand out of sight to listen, though he was much more attentive to his surroundings to ensure he wouldn't be caught again. It was just to keep an eye on you. It was still his responsibility to do so. That was what he said to himself.

Then came a morning when he had to go after Thor's numbskull sons after they screwed up a simple task. All they had to do was get rid of a pack of Wulvers that had made a home too close to the wall for Odin’s comfort. Sure, they couldn't possibly do any damage, but he preferred keeping any potential dings and scratches to a minimum. All Magni and Modi had to do was clear them out, but somehow they managed to trigger a landslide that disturbed all the wildlife in the area, and left many creatures rampaging. The Midgardians outside the wall were far from danger, but still begged for Sif to have Odin send someone to protect them. It took both Heimdall and Thor to help the younger gods find and get rid of everything that had spooked the mortals.

The chore itself wasn't even the worst part. No, what sapped away all of Heimdall’s energy was Magni and Modi themselves, and how cutthroat they were to each other. They were brothers. They referred to each other as such, spent time together, trained together. Generally they appeared to see each other as all brothers do. Heimdall was the only one who could see deeper. They boasted the familial bond they had only to drop it all as soon as their father arrived. From there they would have committed fratricide if it meant impressing their drunken role model. They shoved each other out of the way, pushed one another into danger, cursed the other when they performed better, all because they wanted an electric hunk of metal to swing around someday. It was the exact kind of nature Heimdall absolutely despised. The perfect performance to prove how utterly hopeless and untrustworthy all of humanity was, how worthless nearly every individual alive was when they were needed the most. It made Heimdall sick the entire time he had to watch them, and worse yet he couldn't even express it, knowing Odin wouldn't take kindly to any further setbacks. All he could do was do his part (which was too much compared to the other three) and remind himself that they weren't worth the agonizing disgust they battered into his gut.

It had taken two whole days to locate everything — including the wulvers that were supposed to be the only problem — and get the mortals to shut up. The sun was setting as he trudged across the top of the wall. Thor and his sons may have dusted themselves off and called it a job well done, but Heimdall was better than them. He wouldn't rest until he was certain that he had fulfilled the All-Father’s orders. Even if he was pissed off and irritated and exhausted and just done with everything.

He reached one end of the wall and gazed over the plains, catching nothing of note. With that, he was satisfied, and he could get cleaned up and sleep in his own time. His feet remained planted there, refusing to move when he heard it.

Singing.

It was far, and very faint, but based on his location he was almost certain of where it was coming from. He shook his head, dismissing it. It wasn't the time for more exploring.

Yet once he reached the bottom his aching legs carried him to the interior edge of the wall, following the sound. There was a gathering spot with a fire pit on a hill, the path up to it zigzagging along the side of the stone. It was an unpopular place, being much too far from any food or drink for anyone to have any desire to go to. At the base of the hill he could hear the singing again, still faint, coming from beyond the wooden fence that bordered the gathering area, to keep anyone from meeting a steep drop.

Without thinking he went up the path, the song becoming clearer and louder as the loose cobblestones crunched under his boots. The voice, it was beautiful. Nothing like the scratchy bar performers or screeching banshees that joined them in their songs. No, this was soft, gentle, serene. Calming and welcoming, like it could wash away any hardship that weighed upon his shoulders. The higher pitched voice was rich and resonated with the listener. It was almost like it was cradling him, hushing his worries and assuring him that nothing could ever go wrong. So sweet, so comforting, so delicate, so captivating, so…euphoric, even.

He knew who it was. It was the same person who always defied the musical trends he ignored so often. Even so, he hugged the wall as he made it to the edge of the field, hiding behind a jagged rock jutting out just enough to hide him and peered over at the singer.

You. It was you, eyes closed, fingers plucking at the strings of your lyre, the notes perfectly complimenting your ethereal words. Heimdall tore his gaze away and leaned back against the stone, sighing and letting his head rest against the rock. His eyelids fell as he listened and let his limbs go limp. Nothing else crossed his mind, nothing else could draw his attention away. He just listened and relaxed.

He started to take in the lyrics. They were in a different language, it seemed, but he couldn't place what it was. If anything it sounded like gibberish. Soothing, silvery gibberish. He wanted to know what they meant.

Your song came to a close, the lyre's final notes echoing into silence. Heimdall released a deep breath. He felt better than before. Almost like he hadn't spent two days babysitting three awful gods.

You didn’t play anything for a moment. And then…

"I know you're there."

Heimdall swore under his breath. He played it off like it didn't matter, coming out from the stone with his expression schooled into nonchalant boredom. "And how did you know this time? There’s no one around to give you hints."

You gave him a concerned smile. "No, but cobblestones are rather loud. You must be as exhausted as you look if you didn't notice."

Heimdall grunted bumptiously, "I always notice. I was expecting you to be the oblivious one." He didn’t take kindly to being reminded of how disheveled he was. The dirt on his tunic was bothering him enough without it being pointed out.

You rolled your eyes, choosing not to comment. You didn't feel like verbally jousting with him. He would likely be very short with you in this mood. "Why are you even here in the first place?"

For the first time Heimdall didn't have an answer. He didn't even know exactly why he felt the need to see this for himself. "I sometimes use this spot for my patrols. It's a useful vantage point."

"...and the giant wall isn't?"

"Not when I want a closer look." He wasn't lying, per se. He had been there to keep an eye on things nearby on some occasions, but none of them recent. "Did you think you had this all to yourself?"

You looked away, focusing on the lyre's strings to adjust its tuning. "No, this is a public place. I'm just here because it's quiet."

Heimdall raised an eyebrow, casually wandering over to the fence at the field's edge and watching the farmers tend to their crops below. "And why so far away? You don't want anyone to hear?"

You blanched. Irises flitted about as you thought. "I just…didn't want to be in anyone's way."

A lie, he didn't need foresight to know that. You were a terrible liar judging by that line. "Are you practicing one of your funny tricks? Making sure you can use them when the time is right?" You only eyed him in bewilderment, prompting him to clarify, "Those were odd lyrics. Part of some magic?"

You shook your head. "No. They aren't really lyrics either. They don't mean anything."

"You mean you just sing nonsense?"

You looked down and Heimdall felt a hefty sorrow settle over you. "My father used to sing his own songs to me when I was a child. I don’t remember the words, just the melodies. So I focus on that instead of any meaning the song may have. It's much more…emotional that way."

Heimdall had nothing to say in return. In a way he understood what you meant. Words were only the surface of meaning, that much he knew from experience.

"Is there any reason you're asking?"

Heimdall was quiet for a moment, for once unsure of how to articulate his thoughts. "It's a decent sound compared to the other musicians in Asgard."

You leaned back like you had been blown away. "Was that…a compliment?"

"You consider 'decent' a compliment? That's sad, really."

"It's certainly the closest you've ever gotten to one."

Your gaze met his. He stared at you, taking a deeper look into your thoughts. You knew he was reading you, and you allowed it. As usual you didn't even try to deceive him. There was nothing there but patience as you gave him time to do whatever he needed to accept there was nothing in you that he should be wary of. He eventually looked away. It still boggled his mind that you were so…pure.

"Aaaare you just going to stand there?"

He shook off his thoughts to say with austerity, "I'm not just standing here. And I won't leave until I'm finished with my routine."

You shrugged. "Okay. I'll just keep playing then."

Heimdall turned his back on you and placed his hands on the fence. He could feel you hesitate. You were reluctant to keep singing in front of him. Strange, considering you weren't earlier. "You sure you don't get stage fright?" He snarked at you. "You're welcome to leave."

You huffed at him. "I will when I want to."

"Even if I'm here?"

A beat of silence. "Yes. Unless you keep talking. In that case I will leave."

Heimdall smirked at your petulant reply. You weren't sure if you should do one thing or the other. You declined giving up on the activity but didn't plan on having an audience. In a few moments you decided to ignore him, your lyre coming back to life.

You sang again. More words that meant nothing, but hummed with the same divine voice. This one was slower, almost sounding like a lullaby. Heimdall only managed to keep his eyes open for a mere thirty seconds, the tension in his body fading. His heartbeat evened out and his breathing decreased in tempo. He refused to say it out loud, but he wished you would sing more often. Asgard, as much as he adored the realm, was full of noise and bickering, most of it annoying. A break from it all was exactly what he needed on some days. A chance to ignore all the little things his foresight screamed at him and let go for a bit.

He blinked at the thought. Never before had he felt secure enough to ignore his surroundings. Then again, no one had been as open as you.

As your singing stopped to give the lyre a solo, Heimdall turned around, leaning his lower back in the fence with crossed arms.

You just didn't make any sense. He knew you weren't perfect. He knew you had qualities that were far from ideal, but it felt like they didn't matter. Like you countered every one of them. Like they were balanced. You were spiteful and vindictive when wronged, but you had enough patience to rarely ever feel wronged, and if you did act on your feelings you took responsibility for them.

You were nosy, concerned with others all the time. However, you respected boundaries when they were there, and only insisted on getting involved if you felt you needed to help. You used the meddlesome trait not to gather gossip, but to benefit others.

Uncertain and indecisive were there as well. Again, you knew this about yourself, not at all blind to that shortfall like so many others would be. With that knowledge you were able to trust your sharp instincts, thus outdoing your own doubts to come out on top when it was crucial. Really, you only let it dominate you when it was about trivial interactions. Still a poor trait, but one that could be changed.

Fear overwhelmed you often. But you had the bravery to face those fears. You chose not to hide and avoid everything that scared you, instead approaching it cautiously. You favored doing something rather than nothing at all.

Introverted and less than willing to deal with prolonged social encounters, even if they were necessary. Maturity was your solution to that, understanding that your own desires didn't compare to the collective needs of those around you. You didn't mind sacrificing some of your time for them so long as you had a few moments to yourself. Selfless enough for your kindness to overcome your preference for quiet time.

That was it.

That was why you felt so different to Heimdall. He had been forced to see both your worst and best qualities without his foresight giving everything to him at once. When it finally could give him everything it only affirmed what he already knew. You weren't scheming or looking for profit. You were just…genuine.

In all his years of life he hadn't met another who was genuine through and through. Not a single Asgardian had done the same. Aside from Odin, who he had never been able to read, and even if he could he had no reason to.

If not a single soul in Asgard, not a single Aesir, the most supreme and noble beings to grace the realms, were filthy in their own ways…what did that make you?

Better. It made you better.

Heimdall's eyes bore holes into your head with an intense stare as you repeated the chorus. It didn't make sense. You didn't make sense. It wasn't possible.

Then you hit a note just right. So gorgeous that he had to close his eyes to enjoy it. A wholesome sound that stroked his very soul and whispered sweet nothings to him. He lost the will to keep thinking, to keep wondering why all of this was so new. He opened them again with a sigh, catching you closing your own as you sang. You were still nervous, trying to forget he was there while your voice carried on.

Then it hit him. He was right. You had been hiding something all along. And he finally found it.

Yourself.

You felt the need to hide everything about you. Everything that sets you apart. Your fiery temperament, swallowing it to show respect and decorum, even if it wasn't necessary. Your humor, constantly telling yourself that any sarcasm or jokes were uncalled for and unwanted. Your music. That baffled him the most. You felt obligated to hide something so unique and wonderful. You were afraid to show it, afraid of coming across as too lax, distracted, frivolous. You thought your music was a bad thing, like an addiction that brought you shame.

There was a fire in you, one that you snuffed out every day. The elves, he concluded quickly, must have convinced you that all of these things were flaws, imperfections that only sullied your character. You only found it safe to show yourself when you were alone, far from anyone you didn't trust.

Heimdall realized something: he hated that.

Finally, someone was innately honest, but you had been led to believe you needed to lie. It was despicable. A shame. Someone who was actually bearable on the inside, and all the indecent people made you think you were the problem. The perfect example of how lowly and monstrous everyone was.

He didn't voice any of it. Why would he? No one needed to know that he lost all reason to be suspicious of you, and that judgment didn't excuse him from the duties you were involved in. Still, he wondered what you would be like if you showed yourself, as you were now, all the time.

Maybe you would be the only person in all the realms who was remarkable.

With a few more taps on the lyre's strings you were finished. The peace hung in the air while Heimdall continued gazing at you. You had started caressing the lyre, discomfort setting in. "If you wanted this place to yourself, the intense staring will make me leave too."

Heimdall tutted, "So presumptuous. I did say I came here for specific reasons, didn't I?"

You raised an incredulous brow at him. "Heimdall. Your eyes glow. It's not hard to notice when you're really focusing on something."

"I am focusing. On my patrol."

"That's a very poor use of the 'vantage point' you needed for your patrol," you smirked, gesturing to his back facing the rest of Gladsheim.

"I am well aware of what's around me, no need to watch everything constantly. It is my job, after all," he replied patronizingly.

"And yet you seem to watch me wherever I go. I can't tell if you're very good or very bad at this job of yours."

Normally such a remark would have irritated him, wondering why someone would so stupidly question his impeccable skills. Not this time. This time it felt like…a challenge.

"And Asgard is still safe and under my control despite my divided attention. Care to tell me what, exactly, you are doing that's just as helpful?"

"Recovering a relic that will protect the realms when Ragnarok comes. Has your divided attention made you forget already?"

Heimdall felt himself smile. Not a haughty smirk, a real smile. "And how busy you look, sitting here without a care in the world."

"Perhaps I've done so well that I have time to spare. An accomplishment you can't claim for yourself." Your lips curled upward too, finding the much less hostile back and forth more amusing than annoying.

Heimdall scowled at you, solely because he didn't have a counter to your remark. The venom that it usually carried was absent, however. Merely an expression of mild annoyance than real hatred, much like siblings poking fun at each other without tarnishing the bond between them.

Challenge is good for you, you know. You said that to him once. He was starting to actually believe it. It had been a long time since someone was anywhere near witty enough to keep up with him. This was almost…fun.

He didn't have to fight you like everyone else. He could just give up on convincing himself that you were no better than any other and use you to his advantage.

"Your duties are so temporary," he drawled, sounding unimpressed. "Mine are never ending, but I still manage them. Do you think your little chores even compare to commitment to an entire realm?"

You rolled your eyes again. He really was unbelievably pompous. But he did have a point. You had admitted that you didn't want his job already. With a sigh you relented, "Fine, you win this round."

A triumphant (and arrogant) smile overcame Heimdall, one you met with a light-hearted chuckle.

Maybe meeting his match in you wasn't a sign he was lacking, but a symbol of one that was a worthy means to staying sharp.

He could let go.

Yes, he didn't have to be so weary of you.

It felt so…

…liberating.

Yes, even Heimdall will nerd out when he finds someone who likes what he likes XD Thanks for stopping by!

#heimdall #god of war heimdall #gow heimdall #god of war #heimdall x reader #heimdall x oc #songbird of asgard

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sfflady-blog · 1 year

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Jonathan Frid in Abingdon

One rarely gets to meet one’s teenage idol, much less be instrumental in getting them work. For me, it was Jonathan Frid, the reluctant vampire Barnabas Collins of Dark Shadows. Like so many others, I was drawn to his passionate delivery of Barnabas’ lines and the emotions from love to fury to despair he could put into those deep brown eyes.

I first met him in 1986 at a Dark Shadows Festival, quaking in my boots at the autograph line. Later, I started attending Jonathan’s Readers’ Theater in the public libraries in New York City. I went so often, he started noticing me, and Mary O’Leary, his manager and co-producer, asked if I wanted to help send out flyers to locations that might want to book his show.

While in Mary’s apartment stuffing envelopes, I got an idea. I had come from a small town in Virginia, a place where no one I would have ever wanted to see would come for a public appearance. An occasional country singer or third-rate TV actor might show up, but that was it. I thought it would be amazing if Jonathan Frid actually appeared there.

The little town of Abingdon wasn’t without its merits. It was the county seat of Washington County (whee!) and also housed the State Theater of Virginia, the Barter Theatre, founded during the Great Depression to hire out-of-work actors. So, my idea was simple – get Jonathan Frid to appear in Abingdon. Not only would my impossible dream come true, but I would get a chance to see my mother. So, I took an envelope and handwrote, “Barter Theatre, Main St., Abingdon, VA 24210” and hoped for the best.

Time went on and eventually I heard that Jonathan had been booked for his Shakespearean show, “Jonathan Frid’s Shakespearean Odyssey,” in my little town. I could barely believe it! My little plan had worked. I flew down and upon arrival, bought a ticket and sent a plant to his room to enjoy for his weeklong stay.

Jonathan was booked not in the main theater, but a smaller theater-in-the-round where experimental and children’s plays were often done. It was a nice venue, very intimate, which was great. However, after taking my seat, I realized there was only one other person in the audience. How embarrassing – for me and for Jonathan! I at least expected the neighbor I had watched DS with back in the day to show up, though come to think of it, she had a pretty good excuse – she’d just had a baby. But Jonathan, a real professional, did his show the same as he would have if he had had a packed house.

I waited for him after the show, of course, and asked the other attendee if she’d like to join me. I have to admit, I didn’t even think about how he might be feeling at that moment. I was just excited to see him and welcome him to my town. I didn’t even wonder if he would be surprised to see me. Even though I had sent a gift to his room, he had no way of knowing I came from Abingdon. In any case, the meeting was wonderful. We talked to him for a while, and I got a picture of him in front of the theater. He was very gracious and didn’t seem at all put out at the small audience. A lovely man indeed.

I did two more things before leaving Abingdon. I hunted down the Barter Theatre producing director to thank him for the booking, and I got a copy of Jonathan’s review from the local paper. Unfortunately, the review was not very good. I was mad at my little town and sorry that Jonathan had to put up with this, when he’d gotten such good reviews elsewhere. Still, I gave a copy to Mary O’Leary when I was back in New York, explaining sheepishly that it was a bad review. She told me not to worry, that Jonathan read all his reviews, good and bad, which placated me some. But I can’t say I was upset when I returned to Abingdon some years later and found that the paper had closed.

The next time I saw Jonathan was when I was helping to set up for his show at a Dark Shadows Festival. He walked in, saying, “Is Jane here?” My head popped up. Jonathan Frid knows my name! My heart pounded in my chest. What could he want? I was still embarrassed at the small audience and bad review he had gotten and hoped that he wasn’t upset. But I need not have worried. He was as kind and gracious as always. He thanked me for the plant I had given him, then proceeded to tell me how much he liked my little town and had enjoyed his stay there. It was much later that I thought, no matter what had happened in Abingdon, I had gotten a booking for Jonathan Frid. That, and his perfect response, has kept me smiling for a long time.

#jonathan frid #dark shadows

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berriesandjunnie · 2 years

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❝ negative friends / negative lifestyle ❞

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° synopsis she’s convinced he needs new friends, he’s convinced she’s bad for his health. ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° genre & tags fluff / rebel!chan / innocent!reader / student!au / mentions of cigarettes/smoking, alcohol, suggestive conversation topics ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° pairing chan x afab!reader ┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° w.c 2.3k words

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ ° author’s note THE TEASER THAT DROPPED TODAY?? BAD BOY CHAN??

˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ now loading… enjoy! ꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄

Rain danced down the classroom windows accompanied by the soft pitter-patter, rhythmically creating a song of April showers. This didn’t bother you however as you stayed sat at your assigned desk during the lunch period, where you stayed during even past the permitted classroom hours. In your mouth was a strawberry lollipop and your head in some fantasy novel you’d plucked from the library. You’d only occasionally stretch your legs to wander across the classroom to see how well your best friend Seungkwan was studying for your upcoming finals - usually it wasn’t well, as he was most likely yet again daydreaming about another boy who’d noticed his existence.

You basked in the silence of the empty classroom, enjoying the music the rain made effortlessly on the window while the rest of your classmates were away enjoying their lunch period elsewhere. You were no study-obsessed student like some students in your class, although to the unknown eye you would definitely appear to be one. You simply followed your intuition to remain in a small friendship circle whilst you were in education, which contained Boo Seungkwan and occasionally the foreign exchange student Joshua Hong. You were merely a girl who everyone knew and spoke to, yet nobody was friends with. You liked it that way, no drama.

The classroom door slid open, interrupting the silence you were happily bathing in. No one really came back to the classroom unless they forgot something, making your eyes move from the pages in front of you to the intruder of your silence. When your eyes landed on the reddish brown hair of the male, you rolled your eyes. You watched as he searched his bag in a panic, swearing under his breath. With a stressed groan, he stood up straight and put his hands on his hips. What on earth was he looking for that was so important? His eyes suddenly fell on you. He gave an almost weak smile as he laughed nervously.

“Do you sit here all day?” He scoffed, his eyes glancing you over momentarily as he debated if he even knew your name. You swirled your tongue around your lollipop before you pulled it out of your mouth to speak.

“Typically, yes,” you hummed, leaning back in your chair as you eyed him in return. His white school shirt was half untucked, his tie loose around his neck and he had a few shirt buttons undone. It was a completely different look than you saw him in previously during the day, when he rocked up in the car park looking incredibly smart. You furrowed your brows at the thought, “aren’t you supposed to be looking for something?”

“Yeah,” he didn’t scoff this time, his voice a little lower as he looked down at his bag with a confounded expression, “I either forgot them or my mom searched my backpack before I left and confiscated them.”

You eyed him once more, admiring the glittering silver ring on his pinky finger as he ran a hand through his tussle of hair. Humming, you slid a bookmark into your page and closed the book gently.

“You don’t even like cigarettes, why do you try so hard to?” You asked quietly and Chan didn’t respond. A blinding flash of lightning outlined his face, a mix of confused and defensive. You sighed, putting the lollipop back in your mouth when he didn’t respond, turning your attention to the rainstorm outside.

“You don’t know me,” Chan sneered, looking away suddenly as you glanced back at his standing figure, “what makes you think you know whether I like cigarettes or not?”

“Because I vividly remember seeing you grimace and cough your lungs up this morning when you took a drag in the car park,” you stated boldly, not afraid to hold eye contact, “and it wasn’t the first time either. Damaging your body for some disposable friends? Not worth it.”

Chan let out a defeated grunt, pulling his chair out harshly and slinging his body into it like a child throwing a tantrum. You rolled your eyes once more as you looked back out the window. You were almost bewildered with your own behaviour, you’d never spoken to Chan a day in your life prior this moment and yet, unlike everyone else, you didn’t cower and hide in his presence like he wanted you to. He didn’t intimidate you - you just saw another student pushing himself into an unhealthy lifestyle all for some friends and it upset you.

“I’d have no one else if I didn’t blend in with them.” Chan finally mumbled from where he sat at his desk like a hunched figure. One of your brows raised at this as your gaze kept moving back to him.

“You don’t know that,” you sighed out, rubbing your temple, “here, Seungkwan and I are planning to go to the park this weekend. Come join us.”

Chan looked over at your form with a baffled expression. You simply shot a smile his way, continuing to play with your lollipop before lunch ended.

As you sat on the outer wall of the park, an almost melting ice lolly in your hand, you would yet again roll your eyes at Seungkwan’s complaints.

“I still can’t believe you would even invite him,” he whined with a pout of his full lips you were ultimately jealous of, “what makes you think he’ll show up? I wanna go sit on the grass already.”

You merely took a lick of the tropical lolly in your hand as it began to drip a sticky substance onto your skin. You grimaced at the feeling, admiring the bustle of Seoul’s street on this warm April day. The weather had finally picked up after the storm, bringing blue skies with no clouds and hotter temperatures. You attempted to hide your frown regarding Seungkwan’s words. You didn’t know why part of you thought he’d turn up and you always didn’t know why part of you was hoping he’d turn up in the first place. You wanted to prove him a point, that he didn’t need to do excessive things like breaking the law all for some friends to hang out with.

A sigh escaped your parted lips as you looked down at your converse, admittedly a little defeated at the thought that you could hope that hope in Chan. As you raised your head again, about to announce to Seungkwan that you could finally go find a patch of grass to sit on comfortably, your eyes landed that familiar reddish brown hair and your eyes lit up, slapping Seungkwan’s arm excitedly as he approached.

“Hey,” Chan mumbled awkwardly, sending a wave to Seungkwan who didn’t quite know how to respond yet before turning to you, “I thought you would have ditched me by now, sorry I was late.”

You shook your head, sending him a warm smile as you took another lick of ice lolly - that you should hurriedly eat at this point, “no need to apologise. C’mon, let’s go find somewhere to sit.”

Chan walked by your side, Seungkwan on your other side as the three of you headed through the bustling park. You were not a fan of overly crowded places, causing you to wince and grimace every time someone touched you. Chan was beginning to notice, a little more eager to find a clearing on the grass. Suddenly without thought, his hand reached for yours and began to pull you to a spot. Your spare hand automatically grabbed Seungkwan’s wrist, pulling him along in a train of sweaty teenagers.

The three of you sat on Seungkwan’s plaid picnic blanket that he laid out. You ultimately thought he would have been joking when he said he’d bring a picnic but as you laid eyes on chocolate dipped strawberries and flower shaped mango pieces, you wish you’d believed him sooner. You let out a hum, rolling onto your front as you popped a piece of mango into your mouth before looking over at Chan. He’d opted for a sleeveless tank top and khaki shorts, something you’d have not expected to see him in with how his appearance looked sometimes at school. He was leaning back on his arms, his head tilted back where you could see the pale skin of his neck in the sun’s bright glow. His jawline was sharper than you expected and for some reason with the angle you had of him, you could picture him taking a drag from one of his friends’ poorly rolled cigarettes, tilting his head back and blowing the smoke out in a dimly lit room. You shook your head, reaching for another mango piece. Who would bother to think so stupidly? You’d only spoken to him for the first time a few days ago - talk about rushing it.

“You know...” Seungkwan spoke up, taking a delicate bite of a chocolate dipped strawberry as he acquired the attention of Chan and yourself, “Chan I have to ask, are you still a virgin?”

You choked on your own breath, reaching to slap Seungkwan’s leg as he looked at you with an innocent expression.

“What the fuck, Kwan!” You huffed, hiding your face in your hands. How could he ask that so nonchalantly? You exhaled, hoping Chan wouldn’t be angered by the pressing question when they’d barely spoke a word to each other.

“Yeah.” Chan mumbled and you slowly turned your head to look at him. He was angling his face, hiding it slightly in shadows so the sun couldn’t illuminate the red of his cheeks as he embarrassedly opened up to two people who were borderline strangers to him.

“But-” Seungkwan opened his mouth to ask more presumably, and you bit your tongue to stop you from getting defensive on behalf of Chan however he opened his own mouth to interject.

“But Taeyong isn’t a virgin? I presume that’s what you’re going to say,” Chan moved his head to analyse Seungkwan’s expression and how his lips yet again formed a pout, “they planned a whole party tonight just to try get me to lose it. They don’t exactly care who they lost it to - I do.”

“They planned a whole party just to lose your virginity?” You choked the words, bewildered that that was the type of people he was hanging out with as he nodded.

“Alcohol and all.” He sighed, grabbing a piece of mango and popping it into his mouth to signal he was done talking. You frowned, glancing back at Seungkwan to see him equally as concerned for him.

Chan began spending a lot of lunches in the classroom with you. He didn’t mind if you had your head stuck in some novel since he’d practise dances. He’d admitted to you once before that he wanted to be an idol dancer. You admired his motivation and encouraged him daily about it. He was still off with you and as much as you wanted to press him on it, you wanted him to take his time with realising you and Seungkwan were not enemies - and were most likely a lot better than his current ‘friends.’

He threw himself into his chair, panting heavily as he chugged a bottle of water. Shakily he reached up, running a hand through his messy hair as it stuck to his shining forehead. You hummed, looking back down at your book.

“I don’t know how you can keep dancing in this heat, maybe you should stop for a while.” You advised quietly as you turned a page, uninterested in watching his facial expressions as you reached into your bag, pulling out a strawberry lollipop.

Chan was quiet for some time. He still roughened his uniform up - you suspected because he’d meet with his friends at some point and didn’t want to seem too prim and proper for their liking.

“Why do you care about me so much?” He suddenly asked and you raised your head, lollipop in mouth as you stared at him in surprise.

“You mean, why am I not letting you fall into a trap of negative lifestyles all for some friends you could not be speaking to in about a year?” You rose a brow, lollipop in the corner of your lips as you spoke. Chan blinked, looking away.

“It’s just causing me issues when you didn’t exist in my life a week or so ago,” he admitted softly, taking another drink of water as he turned to face the front of the classroom, “you care so much y/n, when no one else does and it’s becoming addictive to be around all the time. Almost like you’re an unhealthy lifestyle for me. I’ve built my entire high school livelihood around being in that friend group for the sake of a reputation and then some girl comes along and just... I don’t know.”

You stood from your desk, holding your lollipop in your hand as you walked to the front of the classroom, standing before Chan’s desk.

“Say it to my face.” You mused as you locked eyes with Chan. His cheeks flushed and you smiled a little awkwardly, not sure if this would go the way you expected it.

“Y/n, I think I like you.”

The words came out soft and timid, reflecting the exact opposite of how Chan had been when you finally spoke to each other. The curl of your lips widened more proudly as you leaned forward onto his desk, letting his hand cup your cheek as he reached up and pressed his lips to yours. The taste of strawberry lollipop melted back and forth between lips as you pressed your hands to his desk to stabilise yourself.

“Good,” you breathed in between kisses, as his hand held your chin so carefully, “I think I like you too.”

#lee chan #svt fanfic #svt #svt imagines #svt fluff #seventeen #seventeen fluff #svt dino #student!au #slight rebel/bad boy!au #reader isnt as bashful as i usually make them holy-#yeah no that teaser MMMM #screaming they all look HOT #cafeshuaaa

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20k-leagues-speedrun · 1 year

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-START OF PART TWO-

CHAPTER I THE INDIAN OCEAN

We now come to the second part of our journey under the sea. The first ended with the moving scene in the coral cemetery which left such a deep impression on my mind. Thus, in the midst of this great sea, Captain Nemo’s life was passing, even to his grave, which he had prepared in one of its deepest abysses. There, not one of the ocean’s monsters could trouble the last sleep of the crew of the Nautilus, of those friends riveted to each other in death as in life. “Nor any man, either,” had added the Captain. Still the same fierce, implacable defiance towards human society!

I could no longer content myself with the theory which satisfied Conseil.

That worthy fellow persisted in seeing in the Commander of the Nautilus one of those unknown savants who return mankind contempt for indifference. For him, he was a misunderstood genius who, tired of earth’s deceptions, had taken refuge in this inaccessible medium, where he might follow his instincts freely. To my mind, this explains but one side of Captain Nemo’s character. Indeed, the mystery of that last night during which we had been chained in prison, the sleep, and the precaution so violently taken by the Captain of snatching from my eyes the glass I had raised to sweep the horizon, the mortal wound of the man, due to an unaccountable shock of the Nautilus, all put me on a new track. No; Captain Nemo was not satisfied with shunning man. His formidable apparatus not only suited his instinct of freedom, but perhaps also the design of some terrible retaliation.

At this moment nothing is clear to me; I catch but a glimpse of light amidst all the darkness, and I must confine myself to writing as events shall dictate.

That day, the 24th of January, 1868, at noon, the second officer came to take the altitude of the sun. I mounted the platform, lit a cigar, and watched the operation. It seemed to me that the man did not understand French; for several times I made remarks in a loud voice, which must have drawn from him some involuntary sign of attention, if he had understood them; but he remained undisturbed and dumb.

As he was taking observations with the sextant, one of the sailors of the Nautilus (the strong man who had accompanied us on our first submarine excursion to the Island of Crespo) came to clean the glasses of the lantern. I examined the fittings of the apparatus, the strength of which was increased a hundredfold by lenticular rings, placed similar to those in a lighthouse, and which projected their brilliance in a horizontal plane. The electric lamp was combined in such a way as to give its most powerful light. Indeed, it was produced in vacuo, which insured both its steadiness and its intensity. This vacuum economised the graphite points between which the luminous arc was developed—an important point of economy for Captain Nemo, who could not easily have replaced them; and under these conditions their waste was imperceptible. When the Nautilus was ready to continue its submarine journey, I went down to the saloon. The panel was closed, and the course marked direct west.

We were furrowing the waters of the Indian Ocean, a vast liquid plain, with a surface of 1,200,000,000 of acres, and whose waters are so clear and transparent that any one leaning over them would turn giddy. The Nautilus usually floated between fifty and a hundred fathoms deep. We went on so for some days. To anyone but myself, who had a great love for the sea, the hours would have seemed long and monotonous; but the daily walks on the platform, when I steeped myself in the reviving air of the ocean, the sight of the rich waters through the windows of the saloon, the books in the library, the compiling of my memoirs, took up all my time, and left me not a moment of ennui or weariness.

For some days we saw a great number of aquatic birds, sea-mews or gulls. Some were cleverly killed and, prepared in a certain way, made very acceptable water-game. Amongst large-winged birds, carried a long distance from all lands and resting upon the waves from the fatigue of their flight, I saw some magnificent albatrosses, uttering discordant cries like the braying of an ass, and birds belonging to the family of the long-wings.

As to the fish, they always provoked our admiration when we surprised the secrets of their aquatic life through the open panels. I saw many kinds which I never before had a chance of observing.

I shall notice chiefly ostracions peculiar to the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean, and that part which washes the coast of tropical America. These fishes, like the tortoise, the armadillo, the sea-hedgehog, and the Crustacea, are protected by a breastplate which is neither chalky nor stony, but real bone. In some it takes the form of a solid triangle, in others of a solid quadrangle. Amongst the triangular I saw some an inch and a half in length, with wholesome flesh and a delicious flavour; they are brown at the tail, and yellow at the fins, and I recommend their introduction into fresh water, to which a certain number of sea-fish easily accustom themselves. I would also mention quadrangular ostracions, having on the back four large tubercles; some dotted over with white spots on the lower part of the body, and which may be tamed like birds; trigons provided with spikes formed by the lengthening of their bony shell, and which, from their strange gruntings, are called “seapigs”; also dromedaries with large humps in the shape of a cone, whose flesh is very tough and leathery.

I now borrow from the daily notes of Master Conseil. “Certain fish of the genus petrodon peculiar to those seas, with red backs and white chests, which are distinguished by three rows of longitudinal filaments; and some electrical, seven inches long, decked in the liveliest colours. Then, as specimens of other kinds, some ovoides, resembling an egg of a dark brown colour, marked with white bands, and without tails; diodons, real sea-porcupines, furnished with spikes, and capable of swelling in such a way as to look like cushions bristling with darts; hippocampi, common to every ocean; some pegasi with lengthened snouts, which their pectoral fins, being much elongated and formed in the shape of wings, allow, if not to fly, at least to shoot into the air; pigeon spatulae, with tails covered with many rings of shell; macrognathi with long jaws, an excellent fish, nine inches long, and bright with most agreeable colours; pale-coloured calliomores, with rugged heads; and plenty of chaetpdons, with long and tubular muzzles, which kill insects by shooting them, as from an air-gun, with a single drop of water. These we may call the flycatchers of the seas.

“In the eighty-ninth genus of fishes, classed by Lacepede, belonging to the second lower class of bony, characterised by opercules and bronchial membranes, I remarked the scorpaena, the head of which is furnished with spikes, and which has but one dorsal fin; these creatures are covered, or not, with little shells, according to the sub-class to which they belong. The second sub-class gives us specimens of didactyles fourteen or fifteen inches in length, with yellow rays, and heads of a most fantastic appearance. As to the first sub-class, it gives several specimens of that singular looking fish appropriately called a ‘seafrog,’ with large head, sometimes pierced with holes, sometimes swollen with protuberances, bristling with spikes, and covered with tubercles; it has irregular and hideous horns; its body and tail are covered with callosities; its sting makes a dangerous wound; it is both repugnant and horrible to look at.”

From the 21st to the 23rd of January the Nautilus went at the rate of two hundred and fifty leagues in twenty-four hours, being five hundred and forty miles, or twenty-two miles an hour. If we recognised so many different varieties of fish, it was because, attracted by the electric light, they tried to follow us; the greater part, however, were soon distanced by our speed, though some kept their place in the waters of the Nautilus for a time. The morning of the 24th, in 12° 5′ S. lat., and 94° 33′ long., we observed Keeling Island, a coral formation, planted with magnificent cocos, and which had been visited by Mr. Darwin and Captain Fitzroy. The Nautilus skirted the shores of this desert island for a little distance. Its nets brought up numerous specimens of polypi and curious shells of mollusca. Some precious productions of the species of delphinulae enriched the treasures of Captain Nemo, to which I added an astraea punctifera, a kind of parasite polypus often found fixed to a shell.

Soon Keeling Island disappeared from the horizon, and our course was directed to the north-west in the direction of the Indian Peninsula.

From Keeling Island our course was slower and more variable, often taking us into great depths. Several times they made use of the inclined planes, which certain internal levers placed obliquely to the waterline. In that way we went about two miles, but without ever obtaining the greatest depths of the Indian Sea, which soundings of seven thousand fathoms have never reached. As to the temperature of the lower strata, the thermometer invariably indicated 4° above zero. I only observed that in the upper regions the water was always colder in the high levels than at the surface of the sea.

On the 25th of January the ocean was entirely deserted; the Nautilus passed the day on the surface, beating the waves with its powerful screw and making them rebound to a great height. Who under such circumstances would not have taken it for a gigantic cetacean? Three parts of this day I spent on the platform. I watched the sea. Nothing on the horizon, till about four o’clock a steamer running west on our counter. Her masts were visible for an instant, but she could not see the Nautilus, being too low in the water. I fancied this steamboat belonged to the P.O. Company, which runs from Ceylon to Sydney, touching at King George’s Point and Melbourne.

At five o’clock in the evening, before that fleeting twilight which binds night to day in tropical zones, Conseil and I were astonished by a curious spectacle.

It was a shoal of argonauts travelling along on the surface of the ocean. We could count several hundreds. They belonged to the tubercle kind which are peculiar to the Indian seas.

These graceful molluscs moved backwards by means of their locomotive tube, through which they propelled the water already drawn in. Of their eight tentacles, six were elongated, and stretched out floating on the water, whilst the other two, rolled up flat, were spread to the wing like a light sail. I saw their spiral-shaped and fluted shells, which Cuvier justly compares to an elegant skiff. A boat indeed! It bears the creature which secretes it without its adhering to it.

For nearly an hour the Nautilus floated in the midst of this shoal of molluscs. Then I know not what sudden fright they took. But as if at a signal every sail was furled, the arms folded, the body drawn in, the shells turned over, changing their centre of gravity, and the whole fleet disappeared under the waves. Never did the ships of a squadron manœuvre with more unity.

At that moment night fell suddenly, and the reeds, scarcely raised by the breeze, lay peaceably under the sides of the Nautilus.

The next day, 26th of January, we cut the equator at the eighty-second meridian and entered the northern hemisphere. During the day a formidable troop of sharks accompanied us, terrible creatures, which multiply in these seas and make them very dangerous. They were “cestracio philippi” sharks, with brown backs and whitish bellies, armed with eleven rows of teeth—eyed sharks—their throat being marked with a large black spot surrounded with white like an eye. There were also some Isabella sharks, with rounded snouts marked with dark spots. These powerful creatures often hurled themselves at the windows of the saloon with such violence as to make us feel very insecure. At such times Ned Land was no longer master of himself. He wanted to go to the surface and harpoon the monsters, particularly certain smooth-hound sharks, whose mouth is studded with teeth like a mosaic; and large tiger-sharks nearly six yards long, the last named of which seemed to excite him more particularly. But the Nautilus, accelerating her speed, easily left the most rapid of them behind.

The 27th of January, at the entrance of the vast Bay of Bengal, we met repeatedly a forbidding spectacle, dead bodies floating on the surface of the water. They were the dead of the Indian villages, carried by the Ganges to the level of the sea, and which the vultures, the only undertakers of the country, had not been able to devour. But the sharks did not fail to help them at their funeral work.

About seven o’clock in the evening, the Nautilus, half-immersed, was sailing in a sea of milk. At first sight the ocean seemed lactified. Was it the effect of the lunar rays? No; for the moon, scarcely two days old, was still lying hidden under the horizon in the rays of the sun. The whole sky, though lit by the sidereal rays, seemed black by contrast with the whiteness of the waters.

Conseil could not believe his eyes, and questioned me as to the cause of this strange phenomenon. Happily I was able to answer him.

“It is called a milk sea,” I explained. “A large extent of white wavelets often to be seen on the coasts of Amboyna, and in these parts of the sea.”

“But, sir,” said Conseil, “can you tell me what causes such an effect? for I suppose the water is not really turned into milk.”

“No, my boy; and the whiteness which surprises you is caused only by the presence of myriads of infusoria, a sort of luminous little worm, gelatinous and without colour, of the thickness of a hair, and whose length is not more than seven-thousandths of an inch. These insects adhere to one another sometimes for several leagues.”

“Several leagues!” exclaimed Conseil.

“Yes, my boy; and you need not try to compute the number of these infusoria. You will not be able, for, if I am not mistaken, ships have floated on these milk seas for more than forty miles.”

Towards midnight the sea suddenly resumed its usual colour; but behind us, even to the limits of the horizon, the sky reflected the whitened waves, and for a long time seemed impregnated with the vague glimmerings of an aurora borealis.

#20k leagues speedrun #20000 leagues under the sea #part 2 chapter 1

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rallis-fatalis · 10 months

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The Price of Freedom - Chapter 6

Summoning, it turned out, was far easier than the other aspects of linguistics.

Months passed since Silenthe’s offer to teach Astrath reading and writing, and during those months Astrath became quite the accomplished dragon. On the summoning front, they breezed through medium-class familiars, mastering the taming of cockatrices, minotaurs, terrorbirds, bunyips, and dozens more. Their latest successful summon had been a rather surly talon beast, a creature the dragon would likely not summon often given its propensity to scream so loudly it would cause others to faint.

As for reading and writing, Astrath was surprised to see how easily reading came to them, save the odd words that simply threw all rules of the Common language out the window. Writing, however, was a chore. Holding any writing utensil was difficult to the point of being painful, their hand cramping after only a few sentences at a time. But they pushed through, determined to learn this simple skill.

By the end of those months of practice, they had skill enough to write a letter, with Silenthe’s help of course. They wrote to Marianne, telling her about their trek across the mountains and their adventures in Taverley. They wrote how they hoped she was doing well and perhaps one day she could even come visit. Silenthe addressed the letter and introduced Astrath to a friendly skeletal head named Pete who would deliver the letter personally, ensuring it could not fall into the Krawleys’ hands and lead them to the town.

Astrath found themselves thoroughly enjoying reading, especially books about the history of the world and the roles the gods played in it. They would often pester Silenthe with facts they learned from passages they read; ‘Did you know Guthix banished all other gods from Gielinor?,’ ‘Did you know most of the gods were actually once mortals or were even born from dreams?,’ ‘Did you know there was an entire land mass turned to ash because of the gods fighting?,’ and so on. Silenthe always smiled and hid a laugh, saying yes he did indeed know given the dragon was reading his own book collection. It was rather amusing to watch this scary stoic beast curl up on the rug on the floor with wide eyes reading the day away.

The dragon found themself enraptured by the god Armadyl in Silenthe’s books. Astrath was already hooked on the god’s appearance alone, more close to an animal than a human, and then reading that the god was known as the god of justice and learning about all the good and noble things the bird god had done across the centuries solidified him as an idol in Astrath’s eyes. If the gods were real they hoped to meet Armadyl one day. They bet a god like that wouldn’t stand for the injustices Astrath and their kin faced from humans.

One day, Astrath came up to the druid and very simply said “I have read all your books. Where can I get more?”

“You’ve read all of them?” Silenthe asked incredulously. “Granted, I don’t have terribly many, but there were at least twenty on my shelf!”

“27 to be exact,” Astrath corrected.

“You read 27 books in four months?!”

“Indeed. They were all so fascinating I simply could not put them down! Where can I find more to read?”

Silenthe scratched his chin in thought. “Geez, I’m not entirely sure. Varrock has a rather large public library but that’s a good distance away and they don’t usually let people take the books out anymore. Something about adventurers ‘borrowing’ them and discarding them instead of returning them properly when they’re done.”

“I’m not ready to leave Taverley for that long yet, so perhaps Varrock will be a future adventure,” Astrath nodded.

“Hm… Let me think.” Silenthe rattled off ideas in his head, muttering to himself, when he landed on a possibility. “Perhaps Port Sarim. Sometimes there are market days on the docks where trader ships from across the world all make land to trade and sell goods. There could be books for sale there.”

“When can we go?” Astrath smiled.

“Whoa there, hold your unicorns. I have no idea when the next market day is. I’d have to ask. Be patient and I’ll get back to you on it.”

Astrath’s tail twitched impatiently. Ah waiting, truly one of the most difficult endeavors in the entire world.

One week later, Silenthe informed the dragon the next market gathering in Port Sarim would be in exactly five weeks. Astrath hid a groan. Five weeks?! They would go insane before they could get their claws on more books. It only took three days for Astrath’s antsiness to start driving Silenthe insane.

“I have an idea for you,” the druid told them. “You will need money to buy anything that sparks your interest at the port. Do you have any?”

Astrath dumped the contents of the pouch Marianne gave them onto the table. In total, it still had about 300 coins in it.

“That’s not bad actually,” Silenthe said. “But it would be a good idea to get more. Let’s teach you how to get jobs and earn some gold.”

“A job? Like a servant or a guard?” Astrath certainly hoped not. They never wanted to work such demeaning positions for humans again.

“No, no, more like delivering goods or providing aid to others who need it. Burthorpe is always looking for hired help ever since the White Knights stopped providing them aid, and I believe Rimmington is currently in the market for some miners willing to help them expand their mines.”

“I assume helping Burthorpe would entail slaying trolls or other such creatures,” Astrath grimaced. “I’d rather not. I’ve never mined before. I suppose I could try it.”

“It’s definitely hard work, but the pay isn’t half bad. Why don’t I show you to Rimmington tomorrow morning?”

“I would appreciate that. Thank you.”

And so, bright and early the next morning, Astrath, Silenthe, and Rojaw left town for Rimmington. They followed a path south of town, past the Taverley Dungeon entrance and small bits of farmland, and continued on into brand new territory for the two dragons. To the east was a gigantic wall of white stone which Silenthe informed was the defensive wall for the city of Falador.

They passed a few pop-up shops, such as a photographer and potion seller, and a wide open field where wizards were practicing spells, until they reached a more nicely paved path of stone heading farther south. Rojaw sniffed the air hungrily as the trio passed by more farmland with fresh vegetables growing, and Astrath had to stop the drake from eating potatoes and onions that weren’t theirs.

Rimmington soon came into view. It was a small town, more a village really, up against the sea. The air was cold and damp, making the pair of dragons shudder. The wooden buildings warped from years of seawater in the air, and the populace had a rather dour aura about them, save one crazed drunkard screaming about sea monsters collapsed against the public well.

“If I remember correctly, the workers’ office is right over here,” Silenthe said, leading the dragons to a large building by the entrance to town. Beams of lumber and stone were neatly stacked against the far wall, much more clean and pristine than the weathered stuff currently in use. An overworked tired-looking portly man sat over a well-worn desk sorting paperwork and calculating pay. Silenthe cleared his throat.

The man jolted, started. “Ah! Hello! Can I help you?”

“Good day. I’ve come from Taverley to offer some assistance with your mining work if you’re still in need of workers.”

The man smiled. “We are! Thank you for the offer! How many workers can you provide?”

“Just one, but I know they’ll be of great help.” Silenthe stood aside to present Astrath. The man yelled and nearly fell out of his chair.

“Are you mad?! That’s a monster!”

Astrath glared, making the man squeak a scared eep.

“My companion is no monster, sir, and they would simply like to help you in return for some coin.”

“You– You want us to not only work with that thing but pay it too?! You’ve gone mad, druid!”

“Your workload is too great to be so vocally racist,” Astrath hissed. The man sucked in a gasp at the sound of the dragon speaking. “I did not come here to be belittled and insulted to my face. What a waste of time; I regret offering assistance.”

The dragon angrily turned tail and made for the door.

“W-Wait!” the man said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean– You just– Monsters, you know?” he sighed in frustration, not making himself clear. “We’ve had a fair few monster run-ins here. We don’t take kindly to them, and having one just waltz into town is a bit of a culture shock. But we need all the help we can get, no matter where it comes from, so…”

Astrath looked down their snout at the man with a scowl. “Just show me what to do and pay me and I won’t cause you any problems. Not that I intended to anyway.”

“Right… Of course. Follow me. Oh, and you can grab a pickaxe from out back.”

The man led the trio to the quarry close to town. Many empty ores veins and holes in the ground spotted its surface. Inside, a handful of workers were mining away at roped off areas in search of new ore veins.

“I’d like you over here,” the man led Astrath to the far side of the quarry that lay untouched. A rectangular rope barricade outlined a section of earth about fifteen feet long and ten feet wide. “All you need to do is dig ten feet deep into this entire area and let us know if you find any ore. You’ll know when you do; it’s shiny and differently colored. How does 250 coins for the work sound?”

Astrath glanced at Silenthe to see if that was a good deal, to which the druid nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll get to work then.” The dragon picked up the pickaxe and swung it down, immediately shattering a large rock in half.

“Good Saradomin!” the man flinched. “Don’t waste all your energy immediately; this work is hard.”

“They’re just strong,” Silenthe said. “Don’t worry about them. Astrath, do you know how to get back to Taverley from here?”

The dragon nodded. “I have the route memorized.”

“Then I’ll be heading back. But before I go,” he addressed the supervisor, “Have the monster problems still been an issue in Rimmington?”

The man sighed. “I swear it’s a different beast every other month! The mogres are gone, the jellies are dealt with, the crazed pelicans made good dinner, and the goblin raids are more half-hearted threat displays than anything serious anymore, but now we have a potentially new threat.”

“Oh dear, what now?”

“We have no idea! Some grotesque worm wriggled out of the quarry while we were digging for ore. One of the workers dug into a decent-sized chasm and found a pocket of ore, but before anyone could dig farther, this foul pale worm attacked the miner. Its drool was acidic and burned the poor man’s arm so badly he had to be rushed to the medic!”

Astrath listened in between swings. A worm that drooled acid? That was certainly new to them. No creatures like that existed in the Krawley zoo.

“That’s disturbing,” Silenthe muttered. “Do you have the body? We could be able to identify it.”

“No can do,” the man shook his head. “We didn’t manage to kill the thing. It scurried back into the hole we dug out and we sealed it before any more could come out. But the thing was huge if that helps, like nearly the size of a small bear!”

“We’ll look into it back in Taverley,” Silenthe promised. “Though do you think it’s wise to continue mining here, knowing there could be a nest of these things directly underfoot?”

The man shuddered at the thought. “Gods, don’t say such a thing! And even so, we need the ore. We’re short on the supplies we need to trade for the rest of the housing rebuild. We just have to pray no more beasties come crawling out of the stoneworks.”

Astrath swung the pickaxe and cracked a hole into the ground, revealing a pocket into a small tunnel. “Well, if they are here, I can always try speaking with them. I do have a knack for that, being a vicious monster and all.” They side-eyed the supervisor who looked away with a shameful expression.

“You’ll be safe then?” Silenthe asked the dragon.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. A toxic worm is hardly the scariest thing I’ve faced.”

With that, they bid goodbye, Silenthe heading back to Taverley and the supervisor back to his desk, leaving Astrath to dig the hole.

The work was mind-numbingly boring, leaving the black dragon alone with their thoughts as they dug dirt out of the hole they made faster than any previous miner. Rojaw at least provided some fun mental breaks, watching the drakeling help dig as well or taste the different ore scraps and rocks or chase the bugs overhead. At one point, Rojaw had run off for nearly an hour and returned with a goblin skull, which he promptly buried and proudly stood over.

After only a few hours, Astrath had finished. The supervisor was beyond surprised, but when he went to look, the dragon had indeed done the job asked of them. Sadly, there was no ore to be found. The man handed over a sack of coins and offered another plot for the dragon to dig, which they accepted. The more coins, the more things they could buy!

This time, the man led Astrath over to a much thicker rock face on the southern-facing outskirts of the quarry with the task to dig fifteen feet into its surface and report findings back. The dragon got to work. Hours passed. Rojaw came and went, doing whatever little drakes did, sometimes scratching at the rock to help Astrath. The other workers eventually finished and went home, leaving the dragon alone in the setting sun, close to finishing their second job.

As they smacked their pickaxe into the deepest part of the rockface, a sharper clinking sound resonated. Astrath brushed the loose rock and dirt away with their hand to find something made of a far different stone than the natural rock of the quarry. It was pale and smooth, as if sanded into tile. They clawed away the surrounding dirt and pried the stone out. Between their hands was a small piece of tile, broken and cracked and missing pieces. A symbol was carefully carved into one of its faces, like a piece of star melding into half of a sphere. It was fascinating to look over, and it was certainly no ore. Perhaps they could pocket the piece as their own personal trophy to investigate later.

With only a couple feet to go, Astrath gave the rock face a hefty swing, slamming the pickaxe head completely into the earth. They pulled it back and yelped as they fell back on their tail and the entire rock face crumbled with an incredible rocky roar. The section Astrath carved out had just crumbled into a cavern opening.

Unable to hold back their curiosity, Astrath poked their head into the cave. It absolutely reeked, a foul sour taste hitting the back of their throat like bile. They covered their nose and looked farther inside. Ominous pinkish purple lights glowed deeper within the cave, lighting pockets of shimmering ore and crystal clusters. They had indeed found what the people of Rimmington were looking for. But what sat before them would certainly prove to be a challenge. A massive pit of acid, vibrant yellow-green and bubbling noxiously, blocked the path, far too large to leap across or skirt around. They exited the cavern.

The sound of footsteps hurried over to Astrath, the supervisor with a panicked look on his face. “Oh my goodness! Is anyone hurt?”

“No, sir,” Astrath said. “The earth caved in as I dug. It leads to a cavern you might be interested in.”

The dragon led the man inside and pointed out the ore and gemstones glittering inside, as well as the obvious pit of acid. Despite the acid, the man grinned wide. This dragon had just found the town supplies for their trades and then some! The man took Astrath back to the office and paid them twice as much for finding such an incredible loot stash, leaving the dragon to head home 750 gold richer.

Working felt… good, for once. Sure, Astrath was exhausted and their arms ached like crazy, but they would mine an entire mountain before they cleaned another kitchen sink or made another bedroom. Funny how far a little independence and pay went to making someone not hate the idea of work.

Silenthe made the dragons a huge dinner, always delicious of course, and the two scarfed it down. Astrath hadn’t realized just how hungry they were until the smell of fresh cooking hit their nose. After dinner, they showed Silenthe the chipped stone they pocketed, asking if he had ever seen such a symbol before, but alas the druid had not. Hopefully they would find some book that explained more. The dragon went to sleep that night content and surprisingly eager for what the next day held. Yet, unbeknownst to them, and because of them, something ancient and powerful slithered deep under the surface of the Rimmington quarry, something beginning to awaken after an endless slumber… and it was hungry…

#rs3 #runescape #oc tag #my writes

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sunspray-peak · 1 year

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Ch. 18: Vitamin Sea

SUNDAY - SUMMER 7

For two more days, Achilles and Alex had continued their early morning swim lessons. The rainbow on his right arm had since been joined by a smiling blue jellyfish, an arctic fox, and a t-rex (he’d received two yesterday for an “extra good job”). A fast learner thanks to online video tutorials, Emily’s occasional guidance, and an overfilled bathtub, by the end of their lesson on Thursday, Achilles was leaving his anxiety mostly on the sand, and had been able to swim both a pretty self-respecting breakstroke and freestyle across the length of the tide pool.

The mornings with Alex had been his favorite times of the day—the Alex of it all aside, the water was refreshing, and he felt, as pathetic as it was (in his eyes) for a grown man, the teeniest, tiniest semblance of pride to be learning how to finally swim. Though any time he got too cocky during their lessons, Alex had threatened to row him into the sea and dump him overboard.

They had been unable to practice Friday and Saturday, for those were the days Alex returned to Zuzu to teach at Orange Grove, so Achilles had secretly taken it upon himself to practice right after sunrise in the tide pools alone, when the world was still quiet. Oh how quickly his preferences could change—he scarcely found himself thinking about Hyacinthia’s chaos these days.

He knew, in the back of his mind, it was stupid to venture out alone. He was still very much a novice. But while he knew Emily or even Elliott would likely be happy to watch him and make sure he didn’t drown, he still couldn’t overcome the embarrassment.

27 years old and able to drive a boat but unable to swim. Hmph.

On Sunday, however, he had had a bit of a late start, for he and Elliott had had yet another lengthy, late night dinner conversation after bumping into each other at the local “museum”—if one could really call it that. With about two tiny archeological displays and the paltriest library selection he had ever seen, Achilles, who had been looking to pursue Spooky Summer Project #2 and learn more about the local forest spirits, had spent the afternoon flipping through a tattered books on goblins by an M. Jasper. Perhaps he’d purchase a new library for the town (including copies of his own books, of course), maybe kick it off with a little survey around the community to see what folks liked… because, really, these empty shelves were just sad.

Since the sun had long risen by the time Achilles left the farm for Pelican Town, he knew the tide pools would likely be crowded, and though his swimming skills had finally reached a level where he felt ready to be perceived, he didn’t particularly think it right to hog the small space usually filled with children. Nevertheless, it was a wickedly hot day, and to spend it on the shores in the breezy beach air (which he was slowly learning to, if not love, dislike slightly less) wasn’t unwelcome. He could invite Elliott. Perhaps he could get started on putting together that book survey…

“That’s a good boy, Dusty!”

Achilles froze on the cobblestone path by Dr. Harvey’s. Alex was just ahead. He’d likely had just gotten back from a walk with Dusty, for he was unlocking the gate to the dog’s grassy pen.

“You might be the only one around here who understands me, buddy. No one else has seen the kind of stuff you and I have, huh? That’s a good boy.” Achilles could seen Alex give Dusty a good scratch behind the ears before unclipping the leash and standing to grab some treats from the box hanging from one of the fence posts. It was then that Alex caught Achilles—who had neglected to hide—staring from the clinic.

Alex waved. “Achilles! Hey, man.”

“Oh—hi!” He gave a slightly sheepish wave in return. “Didn’t see you there.”

Nothing to do but commit to the bit. Pretending he hadn’t heard that depressing little monologue, Achilles made his way over and joined Alex at the pen. He took a seat inside the fenced in yard and allowed Dusty to take a hefty seat in his lap.

“Who’s a good boy, Dusty?” Achilles murmured, rubbing the panting dog’s neck as Alex snapped a few dog biscuits in half.

Dusty’s collar jangled as he bopped around in Achilles’ lap, and in casual curiosity, Achilles took a closer look at the metal tags clacking against each other. A pink one indicated Dusty was up to date on vaccines, nice; a bright blue bone had “Dusty Mullner” engraved above Alex’s address, 1 River Road. But there was oddly a third tag—this one more worn than the others, a yellow-green heart that had an address from outside of Zuzu and a different name.

“Dusty Andrews?” Achilles asked, turning to Alex who was now squatting in front of the panting dog, feeding him the pieces of biscuit one by one.

“Ah…” For just a second, Alex’s face darkened, but when he stood back up, after wiping his slobbery, crumb-dotted hands on the grass, he seemed more weary than upset at Achilles’ query.

“My dad’s last name. My mom and I picked out the tag way back when. Honestly, I kind of forgot about it… I guess I could take it off, it’s probably confusing with the old address and stuff…” Alex took a closer look at the heart shaped tag, too, weighing it in his hand as Dusty collapsed onto the ground to take a nap.

He took a seat next to Achilles on the grass, uncharacteristically hunching over, legs criss crossed in front of him, the toe of his right sneaker an inch away from Achilles’ shoe.

“My father wasn’t a good guy… actually, no, I’ll say it, he was an asshole. He ruined everything for me and my mom.”

Alex’s fingers began shredding one of the many purple petaled sweet peas that grew wild among the Valley.

“Okay, well, maybe not everything, but he sure didn’t help. Half the time he was gone… the other half he’d drink all night, yell, throw things, tell me I’m worthless, that I’d never amount of anything, you know, that whole shebang, whatever. He never apologized and he could never admit he was wrong.

“I used to think he hated me for screwing up his life. Stuck with a dumb kid he didn’t want, or something like that. But now, I think he resented me for just being, I don’t know, young… because he’d wasted his youth doing nothing and had gotten nowhere in life. That’s my take on it now, anyway, or at least Grandma’s take on it—I mean it’s not like I’d been doing much with my life as a 10 year old… not like I’m doing much with it now… but I mean, there’s wasn’t much for him to be bitter over. But hey, who knows what was going on in his mind.”

A sudden breeze scattered the little shreds of sweet pea from his tiny pile across the pen. Alex’s eyes followed their various paths through the air for a few moments, before leaning back into the fence, his head now tipped up facing the sky.

“He left 14 years ago today. Soon after that, Mom got real sick. We moved to Pelican Town, back in with my grandparents. I never left. Changed my last name, though, when I turned 18.” He twisted Dusty’s tag between his fingers. “I don’t know. I don’t have much left from my mom, so I guess maybe I always thought Dusty deserved to keep something from her.”

A beat. Dusty took it upon himself to fill the silence, rising from the ground next to Alex with a little huff and jingling his way to stuff his moist nose back into Achilles’ lap.

“I…” Achilles was grateful for the excuse to look at something that wasn’t Alex. He dug his hands into Dusty’s fur. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Alex gave a small, sad smile and reached his arm over to join Achilles in petting Dusty on the head. Their hands brushed, but Achilles, his nerves on high alert, pulled jerkily away. Though Alex, perhaps still deep in reminiscent thought, didn’t seem to notice. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. A lot’s happened since then…

“Hey, enough about me, though.” A determined shift in tone; the cheer in Alex’s voice somewhat forced. “Where you off to?”

More grateful for the change in topic than he probably had any right to be—well, at least compared to Alex, it was his story they were leaving behind after all—Achilles gestured down at his swim trunks and the terrible pun that had been haunting him this past week stamped down the side. “Well, as the pants say, gotta get that Vitamin Sea.”

Alex gave a tilt of his head, scrunching that perfectly straight nose of his as he scrutinized the screenprinted text. “Wow. You know, I never noticed they said that, and I wish you hadn’t pointed it out. Awful. Literally the worst. You’d think rich people could afford something better—”

Achilles stood, dusted the grass off his pants, and without another word, made for the gate.

“Hey, where are you going—”

“Ho, ho, well, actually, sir, my dad used to tell me the best way to deal with bullies was to just walk away so…” Oh fuck, you idiot, why’d you mention your dad, he just told you his was an asshole.

“Oh I see, so you got bullied a lot as a kid?” Alex had also stood (Dusty had returned to his nap in the middle of the grass), and together they left the pen and began to head down towards the beach (“Ew, stop following me, you bully.”)

“I was never a victim, thank you very much, though, unpopular opinion, I do believe all children should be bullied just a little bit—“

“—that’s a terrible thing to say—”

“It builds character. No, I kid. Well, maybe. Nah, I think my parents were just trying to stay ahead of the game after I came out—they say middle school can be a ruthless place. But turns out, I was fine. Maybe not as popular as you, Mr. Prom King, but I did well enough.”

“Eh. I don’t see you walking away from a bully anyway.”

“What, you think I’d beat them up instead?”

“No, but you’d probably tell them to go eff themselves at the very least. Am I wrong?”

“Did you say eff as in fuck or off as in kill yourself?”

“I said eff, but honestly I could see you saying both.”

“Yeah, yeah, so this is what you think of me huh…”

Alex chuckled at Achilles’ dry sarcasm, and, in a gesture that sent Achilles’ stomach into a tiny barrel roll, lay a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I’ve got a shift until 2pm, but if you want to maybe head to the tide pool after if it’s not too busy, I’d be down. It’s been a few days, don’t want you forgetting all the progress we made.”

“Actually…”

Perhaps it was a bad idea, especially since Alex reacted exactly how he had anticipated Alex would react when he told the lifeguard he had been practicing by himself the past two days, whipping his hand off Achilles’ shoulder to gesticulate wildly at the beach beyond. But a part of Achilles just couldn’t help but share the initiative (however dangerous it had been) he had taken if it meant receiving even the slightest bit of praise. Although Alex didn’t seem willing to give it.

“You can’t do that, it’s dangerous—hell, Ash, at the very least get Emily or someone to come with you—”

“It’s fine, the water’s like six feet deep—”

“You can drown in an inch, you know that—”

“Listen, it’s fine—I’ve convinced myself the tide pool’s like being in a bath tub, I haven’t had—”

“—look like an irresponsible lifeguard—”

“All right, all right, all right!” Achilles stopped in his tracks and held his hands up in surrender. “I won’t go without you anymore.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be me, just bring someone—”

“Okay, okay, I will.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

Alex exhaled, an audible puff through his nose. “Fine. Good.”

“I mean… come on though, I’m totally a natural right, you said so yourself.” Achilles checked Alex’s shoulder as they resumed walking. “It’s only a matter of time—”

“Oh yeah? How about we row out beyond the waves after dinner and throw you overboard, huh?”

“I’m so sorry, as exciting as that sounds, I’ve actually got plans this evening so I’m going to have to ask for a rain check—”

“Oh, plans, huh? That reminds me actually…” Alex glanced at him, brows slightly furrowed in both curiosity and concern. “How’s this week been for you? That’s week one of your Summer of Rest and Relaxation, just in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Great. No, really, I mean it,” Achilles added after catching sight of Alex’s skeptical face. “Ok, maybe not great, but it’s been… fiiiiine. I mean, sure, I still catch myself getting anxious about all this… free time—I mean, honestly, that’s probably why I kept swimming while you were out these past couple days—”

“—irresponsible—”

“But… you know. It hasn’t been terrible. Got dinner with Elliott a few nights ago, been finding some… small things to keep myself entertained, I suppose.”

Alex nodded. “Okay… doesn’t sound bad. Just remember, it’s supposed to be fun all right? Don’t go turning any of this into something bigger than it should be… just, like, do things to do them.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it Mr. Mullner…”

They had made it to the beach, and it was there, right next to a particularly thick bush of sea grass close to Elliott’s cabin, that Achilles saw a purple junimo.

“What the hell are you doing on the beach?” he called, forgetting for a second that no one else seemed to be able to see them.

“Uh oh—who are you talking to?” Alex, shielding his eyes with his hands, looked about the area for signs of an intruder of some sort.

“It’s a—oh. Um, it’s a… junimo? Like Junimo Cart, I don’t know if you’ve heard of them, but I’ve been seeing them since I moved here, remember that day—”

“Oh! A forest spirit?”

“Yes! Yes. I’ve been trying to learn more them, but it’s been a lot harder than I realized…” Thank goodness, Alex didn’t think he was crazy.

“So that’s what you were seeing this whole time? Interesting, and you’re seeing one on the beach? You know, I think my grandparents used to be able to see them… I’ve never, but if you ever have any questions, you should ask them.”

“That’d be great actually, yeah I might just do that…”

They had reached the lifeguard chair. Achilles had been prepared to say his farewells, but as they stood underneath the giant red umbrella, something between them still felt slightly off kilter from earlier and he wanted to fix it. It was likely all in Achilles’ own head, but there was something… heavy weighing in his chest. Something asking to be released.

“I’m, um, sorry about your dad. And your mom,” Achilles said, low enough that the other lifeguard couldn’t hear. He had hesitated in bringing the topic back up again, but his earlier sympathies hadn’t felt like they had adequately acknowledged the vulnerability of Alex’s admission.

A little sigh. Again, more resigned than irritated at the switchback in topic, but Alex’s green eyes were ablaze—whether in determination or anger, though, Achilles wasn’t sure.

“Hey, like I said, it was awhile ago.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Now I don’t want any sympathy. If there’s one good thing about my past, it’s that it made me strong. Or,” he looked down at his hands, nerves breaking through. “At least, that’s another one of Grandma’s takes.”

“Well… you’re the strongest guy I know, bro,” Achilles said rather lamely, awkwardly placing a firm hand on Alex’s muscular arms.

“That’s when I first got into swimming, you know. I actually used to um, swim competitively, back in the day…” Alex’s eyes now had that glazed, far off look as he surveyed the beach without seeing. Achilles had forgotten it was Emily who had told him about Alex’s pro-sports history—Alex himself hadn’t mentioned it during any of their lessons, and Achilles was grateful now that he had never brought the details up by accident.

“I ran a lot as a kid. Whenever my dad got into one of his moods, my mom would just take me out to the park and we’d play this game… well, okay, it wasn’t a really a game, it was just a way to give her a well deserved break and get me to shut up. I’d practice counting seconds while running around the playground and we’d write down the times, and she’d give me a sticker.

“When we moved here, it was during the Summer, and with the sea and everything, I just… fell into swimming. I guess all that cardio transferred over. It was easy. It was nice. Everything was so quiet under the water. You can’t hear people yelling at you under there. I mean, not that he was around to yell anymore…”

“Have you talked to him since?”

Alex blinked rapidly a few times—Achilles had never noticed how long his eyelashes were— before shrugging. “He reached out once on my 12th birthday. That was the last time. But it’s been, what, 12 years now? I don’t think about him anymore. Except on days like this…” He jaw was firmly set, fingers tense as they drummed slowly against his thighs.

“What are you up to, Alex?” The other lifeguard—the same sporty brunette Achilles had noticed earlier that week—stuck her head down from the chair. “What’s keeping you, you’ve been standing there for a hot minute, Jason’s shift ended five minutes ago.”

Her ponytail bounced behind her red baseball cap as she swiveled around, looking for whatever had been distracting Alex and catching sight of Achilles. Her brown eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hmm, you know, speaking of birthdays…” Alex said, still a little lost in thought. He hadn’t even acknowledged the girl. “Figured I’d have a get together by the beach, maybe a bonfire or something. You’ll be there?”

“I don’t know man, a week’s notice, I’ll have to check my calendar, you know I have so much going on these days…”

“I’ll call your assistant, make sure it’s penciled in,” Alex said with a laugh, his good mood returning as he took out his sunglasses and finally, in a enviably graceful climb, joined the girl up in the chair. “Now, you stay out of the water today unless you’re supervised, okay? Haley might be free—”

“Haley? Having her do your job now, huh, isn’t supervising what you’re here for?” Achilles called, jabbing a finger at the safety ring hanging from the side of the stand before dodging the sunglasses Alex proceeded to hurl at him.

#llnks #sunspraypeak #stardew fanfic #stardew valley fanfic #sdv alex #stardew alex #sdv oc #sdv fanfic

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freakwiththeknifecollection · 3 years

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Sleepover Friday what did you do to get your crush to like/notice you in elementary school

#I'll start. one crush in 3rd grade i was actually friends with and he sat next to me #one day during library time i watched where he put his book he was returning (part of his favorite series) and then checked out that book #and pretended to read it in front of him during reading time #i don't know what my endgame was cause if he talked to me about it i literally would have nothing to say #in fifth grade i remember drawing a daredevil jumping over a pool of sharks to get this boy i was sort of friends with sort of not to like #me. it was complicated. we joked around but i think i took it too far and that's why he didn't like me #my way of hiding the fact that i had a crush on him was to tease him all the time #whoops lmao #em rambles

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radiant-reid · 2 years

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Crying in my prom dress

A/n: From this request... it’s kind of not about the prom but kind of is, idk

Hi! I went to my school’s homecoming and I didn’t have a good time. To sum it up, the night basically ended in tears so I was wondering if you could write a little something about Spencer taking his girlfriend/date to homecoming/prom?

Summary: Y/n and Spencer, best friends of many years, figure out there’s something else going on.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Fluff w a little angst)

Content Warning: Bullying | slut shaming

Word Count: 2.2k

Masterlist

Most high schools are riddled with bullies, cliches of popular kids who are at their peak and want to make everyone who wasn't aware of the fact. It was even worse in an LA private school

Y/n had known Spencer for as long as she could remember, having lived next to the Reid's since she was 2. Even as a kid, Spencer was different. She always knew he was bright, but he was kind as well. While all the other boys went through their 'girls have cooties' phase, Spencer remained her best friend. He didn't understand what her gender had to do with her cleanliness. In fact, he'd read studies about The Cootie Effect and could grasp the psychology of gender differences.

He knew girls and boys were supposed to prefer their own sex, particularly in elementary school. But he never understood why. People teased them about their relationship and how Y/n would help carry his books home from the library. Unfortunately, it stopped and gave way to much harsher torment.

When Spencer's dad left, his mom's condition worsened, and Y/n was there for him. Even in the middle of the night, when he tapped on her window, and she'd sneak him in so they could fall asleep watching movies in the lounge.

It was one of those nights, at just 7 when they first kissed. They were watching Y/n's then-favorite movie. When Ferris kissed Sloane, Y/n looked over at her best friend, his glasses focused on his screen.

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" Y/n had asked, waiting as he turned to look at her.

Spencer shook his head. "I've never missed school." He figured that was the reason why.

"I haven't." She declared before an idea popped into her head. "Do you want to try? Just for practice." She offered. It didn't feel like an awkward question, just casual.

Spencer shrugged. He was never nervous around her, but his throat quickly dried, and his heart started to race. "I don't know how." He realized. "It's safer than shaking hands, though. 80 million bacteria are passed during a kiss compared with 124 million during a handshake." He informed her.

"We've shaken hands before, so it's alright?" Y/n spoke like it was a question.

Spencer nodded in reply, shuffling closer to her as his cheeks started to heat. "Where do I put my hands?" He looked for some direction, trying to replay the movie in his head so he could copy what Ferris did.

"Maybe my cheeks." Y/n offered.

Spencer complied, placing his hands on her cheeks as his palms started to sweat.

It was Y/n who surged forward, pressing her lips to his for a second before jolting back.

"Your lips taste nice," Spencer blurted out, darting his tongue out to taste the vanilla lip balm.

Y/n smiled at him, adjusting his glasses. "Thanks for kissing me."

"Thanks for kissing me." He returned. He was unsure why he'd never seen his parents kiss when feeling that warm inside was such a nice feeling.

Y/n was crushed when she had to leave at 10 years old. Her mom's advancing career meant their family had to leave Las Vegas and head to Los Angeles. She knew home wasn't good for Spencer, and school was even worse. But she didn't really have a choice, so she left with tears in her eyes as Spencer's only local friend became their favorite librarian.

She promised to write every day, and she did. Sometimes more but never less. Spencer wrote about as much as he read. The constant letters were about anything and everything.

Y/n would wash her dad's car on the weekend for extra pocket money to buy stamps to put on her letters. There were so many letters that the postman who dropped them off at Y/n's house knew about the boy in Las Vegas.

The best day of her life at that point was when Spencer came to Los Angeles at 14, set to study at Caltech. She had just started high school, and she'd heard how the cleverest girl in her private school didn't get into Caltech.

They saw each other less than when they were kids due to Spencer's intense school schedule, but he'd take the bus to her place whenever he could, even though he hated the bus.

The girls at Y/n's school got meaner as she got older. When she was chosen to become sophomore class president, the most popular girl vowed to make her remaining 3 years of high school difficult. It didn't help how connected everyone at private school was.

In her senior year, Y/n volunteered for the prom committee. She didn't care for it, but everyone told her it was necessary to put leadership roles on her college application. And there was nothing she would do to jeopardize her chance of getting into Caltech.

Unfortunately, that meant she had to attend prom.

"Spencer, would you come with me?" She asked him as they sat on the beach, looking out at the ocean. Spencer didn't enjoy the beach, particularly. It made Y/n feel like she was connected to the entire world, so he went.

Her question took him by surprise. "Why?"

"I just want someone there that actually likes me," Y/n replied honestly. Spencer squeezed her hand that was holding his. "Plus." Her tone lightened. "You've never been to prom."

It wasn't something Spencer wanted to do, but the look on Y/n's face led him to agree. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm going to wear purple," Y/n told him.

That night, as usual, Spencer wrote to his mom. Unusually, he was asking for advice. He didn't know what to wear, or what to do, or what happened at prom. Diana had the answers.

Spencer was early to Y/n's house and more nervous than ever. He didn't understand why when he had been there more than a hundred times, but he was worried. He chalked it up to having to appear like a boyfriend to Y/n. While people had teased them about it when they were younger, it didn't happen to him when they spent time in LA. The few people Y/n talked to at school teased her about him, although they'd never met him.

When Y/n answered the door, Spencer's favorite color became purple. The lilac shade of her dress. It wasn't one of those short, tight dresses he saw girls wearing at Caltech as they walked back to their dorms in the early morning with their shoes in their hands. It was floor-length, with a tight waist and delicate lace detailing.

"Y-you look...beautiful." He complimented, tapping a finger on the side of his leg. Sometimes he struggled to get his words out around other people, but it had never happened around Y/n.

Y/n smiled at him as fondly as usual. "You look nice as well, Spencer."

Spencer almost forgot the corsage in his hand as they stood in the doorway. "Oh, here." He quickly stuttered out, his hands shaking as he slid it onto her wrist. The blush on her cheeks was incredibly obvious.

"Spencer, don't you look nice!" Y/n's mom exclaimed, breaking up the tense moment they were in.

"Thank you, Y/m/n," Spencer replied politely. It had taken him years to feel comfortable calling her by her first name.

She ushered them inside, a fact Y/n was thankful for because she wasn't sure how she was meant to talk to Spencer. He was so familiar yet different in a suit. It was a three-piece suit, grey in color with a purple tie. Somehow he was youthful yet so grown up. The paradox hurt her head.

They had to take lots of pictures, both for Y/n's parents and Diana. In every letter since Spencer told her about the prom, Diana had reminded him to send photos.

Spencer felt an enormous about of pride that he was with Y/n. He couldn't believe how good the venue looked, and he knew it was because of her hard work.

Y/n got to enjoy it for a few hours. Spencer even fumbled his way around dancing, causing her to giggle. Seeing her in such a different setting stirred up some feelings he couldn't place. Something that was familiar but new.

Stacey was her name. Spencer had never met her, but the way she walked up to Y/n made him feel uneasy. He knew it must have been the girl Y/n complained about.

"You go through boys like you should be going through makeup." The girl commented, looking hateful at Y/n. Her hand tensed in Spencer's, and he watched as her smile dropped. Spencer wasn't one to hate people, but he hated anyone who could make Y/n feel bad with one comment.

"What do you mean?" She asked, voice smaller than before.

Stacey scoffed, looking her up and down judgmentally. "Marco was just telling us how you hooked up with him last week, and now you're here with this guy." She explained, looking over at Spencer with a little less hate.

"I never did that." Y/n denied, looking stunned at the allegation.

"Really?" Stacey rhetorically asked, looking just as snobbish as she sounded. "You're just saying that because he said you weren't any good."

Y/n looked as if she was going to cry, sucking in a deep breath before she answered. "He's lying."

He was lying. Y/n had never even had a boyfriend. A few times, she'd come close, but they didn't understand her. It just never felt like it was meant to be, and Y/n wasn't sure if it ever would.

"Sure. If you keep acting like a slut, no one's ever going to want you." Stacey snarled before walking off like she didn't just ruin Y/n's night.

Before Spencer could stop her, Y/n dropped his hand, dashing through the crowd towards the door.

He followed her, not even caring about the crowd of teenagers he had to push through. He almost thought he lost her when he didn't immediately see her.

But there she was, knees tucked to her chest as she sat on the step.

"Y/n." Spencer cooed, not sure of what to say. He just sat there with her, holding her hand while she cried.

"It's so stupid." She finally spoke, trying to wipe up the seemingly endless flow of tears. "I'm crying over a rumor that's not true."

Spencer wasn't sure what to say. She was usually doing the comforting, and he wasn't sure he could do a good enough job. "It's okay, Y/n. You really don't deserve to be treated like that. She's horrible."

"It's just so unfair." She cried.

It broke Spencer's heart, a crushing feeling in his chest with every tear she cried. His words didn't seem to be able to flow out of his mouth despite the fact he wanted to comfort her.

So, he told her what she always told him. "You know I love you, right?"

That stopped her tears quickly, but the look on her face told him something was wrong. He tried to read whatever expression was on her face. "Spencer, please don't sit there and tell me you love me while you look at me like that."

"Look at you like what?" Spencer questioned, not understanding what she was saying. Her tears were a better alternative for the distraught look on her face. He felt like he'd screwed up like Y/n was a much better friend.

"Like you're in love with me," Y/n stated flatly, her voice void of emotion. The words came of stern than she expected, almost harsh. She couldn't look at him after that, and she couldn't let him hold her hand. The energy changed quickly, tensing like her muscles did.

Spencer tried to get his mind to slow so he could decode what she was saying. But he spoke without thinking for one of the first times in his life. "I am."

Y/n turned back to look at his soft eyes. She let out a humorless huff as she shook her head. The fakest smile Spencer had ever seen on her lips. "Don't, just please, don't. Not tonight." She didn't need to lose him that night. All she wanted was to go back to when Spencer stood on her doorstep and act like a best friend.

"I am," Spencer affirmed more strongly. He could tell she didn't believe him. "Y/n." He pleaded, just wanting her to meet his eyes. She'd finally given him a name to the feeling inside him.

That time, she looked at him like she might believe him. Spencer lost the very few words he was going to say as he looked at her. She had always been beautiful, but, at that moment, she was the most astonishing thing he'd ever seen.

It was Spencer how surged forward that time. He held her face more firm than he had when they were 7, and he kissed her for longer. When he pulled back, his face stayed an inch away from hers.

Dejected without a reply, he pulled back, not giving himself the pleasure of touching her. Y/n held her fingers up to her tingling lips, just trying to make sure it was real.

"I think I've loved you forever," Spencer admitted before clearing his throat. It was the most uncomfortable he'd ever felt around her.

Spencer was her hand on his before he felt it. "Me too."

It was terrifying to admit, but as they sat, hand-in-hand, in silence, it was a little less scary.

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collecting-stories · 3 years

Text

Post It - JJ Maybank

Request: hi! i was wondering if i could request something where JJ leaves cute little sticky notes in the books y/n is currently reading to remind her to give him attention or something like that? i just think it’s so cute🥰

A/N: This was such a cute request, thanks for sending it!! Sorry it took so long to get posted!

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You didn’t always notice right away, your books already tabbed and annotated from multiple reads, but when you did notice it was impossible not to feel the jitter of butterflies erupting in your stomach. JJ had picked up the habit of leaving sticky notes in whatever book you had in your bag, whether it was one for school or just for fun. Little color-coded reminders to give him more attention than you already did on a daily basis. Notes about the way he liked when you bit your lip in concentration or how pretty you looked. Sometimes stupid ones that said stuff like ‘send nudes’ or ‘wyd’ that you should’ve just tossed but you kept anyway.

When you’d first figured out what he was doing you started to choose different colored post-its every time you started to read a new book. At the end you’d take them all out and put them in an envelope in a shoebox on your bookcase. Maybe it was stupidly sentimental but you couldn’t help hanging on to the little messages.

JJ had known you long enough to know the peculiar way you were able to get totally lost in a book. He’d watched you drown the entire world out because of a good chapter and he had to admit there was something entirely endearing about it. Maybe it was something about him, some destructive nature in him that wanted to ruin that perfect concentration for you or maybe he was just exceptionally needy.

The first time it happened, you’d been reading Tartuffe for school and he remembered the way that your head jerked back, confusion washing away concentration as you blinked at the page, trying to regain your facilities. “What’s this?” You asked like the very concept of a sticky note was foreign to you. “You look cute.”

It took another full minute of staring before you peeled the sticky note out of the book and held it up to JJ, sitting across from you in the library at school. When you’d told him that you needed a quiet place to read during study hall and he followed you into the library you didn’t have the heart to tell him that half the noise problem was just him.

“Did you write this?” You asked, showing him the lime green note.

“Is it my handwriting?” JJ replied, smiling smugly when you glared at him.

“I’m trying to study JJ, you said you’d be quiet.” You reminded him. JJ watched you take the sticky note and tuck it into your day planner, pressing it carefully into the front page so that nothing happened to it.

“I am being quiet.” He pointed out, “you’re the one talking.”

You shook your head, picking your book back up and opening it to the page that you’d last been on, rereading a until you had fallen back into the book enough, all your concentration returning to the text. He hadn’t been sure that the sticky notes would work but he’d seen you use them as markers and decided it was worth a shot. Any other form of distraction was a waste of time. He could’ve set a bomb off in front of you and you would’ve kept right on reading, not even hearing the blast.

JJ kept himself busy scrolling through his phone, waiting for your discovery of the next sticky note, some five pages after the first one. It was also lime green; JJ’s sloppy handwriting scrawled across the front of the page requesting that you look up. When you found it, the reaction was the same. Mild confusion as you tried to separate where you were from the book you were reading. Finally, your shoulders sagged and you looked up to meet his eyes.

“JJ...I’m trying to study.” You repeated insistently. You tucked the post-it away in your day planner again like last time and JJ nodded as if he believed your annoyance.

“You’ve been studying...almost the entire time. Study hall’s almost over.” He liked that you cared about school, he really did. He thought the absolute excitement you had over books, like a kid opening a present on Christmas day, was just slightly intoxicating. JJ would even go as far as to say that sometimes, just sitting with you while you read, was more calming than anything else in the world. But sometimes he just really wanted your attention and this was definitely one of those times.

“When did you even have time to put these in my book?” You asked, flipping through the pages and seeing a few more brightly colored sticky notes wedged in the pages. When you went to pull one out, JJ reached across the table and grabbed your arm.

“You can’t pull them out until you get to them...where’s the fun it finding them all now?”

Sometimes JJ didn’t only leave notes in your regular books. An open book math test in class, with 20 other kids in the room, and you opened your textbook to page 77 to find a bright pink sticky note that said ‘hey hot stuff’ on the front. JJ had drawn a little heart with flames and you laughed out loud despite yourself. The only thing more embarrassing than everybody staring at you when you barked out a laugh was the teacher, taking the note and reading it out loud in front of the whole class.

“You should’ve seen his face when he realized what he’d read. Oh my god...it was so funny.” By the end of the day you’d forgotten being mortified and could only tell the story through tears of laughter to JJ and Kiara. Pope had been there and backed you up with an impression of your teacher reading the note.

“Good thing he didn’t see the sticky note on chapter 12.” JJ replied.

“JJ! She could’ve gotten in trouble!” Kiara snapped, not as amused by the entire thing as her other friends were.

You might’ve been annoyed, probably, if knowing that JJ trying to get your undivided attention didn’t make your heart race. If he wanted you to think of him, it meant he was thinking of you and knowing that eased that little voice in your head that sometimes told you that you were boring. Too boring for someone like JJ Maybank.

Maybe it was goofy to want to keep every single note he left for you, documenting the most insignificant of moments in your relationship, but you couldn’t help wanting to freeze all those seconds in time. To remember the way, he looked at you when you looked up from a book and found him there watching you.

“It’s okay...” you assured, looking over at JJ and smiling, “it’s a welcomed distraction.”

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x you #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fic #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #obx fic #collecting stories imagine

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

Text

Redamancy

Redamancy (n); the act of loving one who loves you, a love returned in full

Summary: the co-op librarian at the FBI Academy has been secretly crushing on the smartest agent in the Bureau, TA, Doctor Spencer Reid, and he's been crushing on her too.

warnings: fluff, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, dates, food mentions, making out, hand jobs, cuddling

word count: 5.4K

It was a day unlike any other.

Doctor Spencer Reid normally sat in the same little red chair in the back corner of the library, coffee on the table beside him and satchel sprawled out on the floor so he could easily find what he needed. He would sit criss-cross, glasses perched on his nose as he read books or classwork, occasionally chewing on his red marking pen, always handsome as ever.

And she would watch him, in the least creepy way humanly possible; she’d save up all the books for that section of the library when she did the daily re-shelving, and only travelled with the small cart when she knew he was in, giving her an excuse to be in that area with him for a little while as she tried to gain the courage to talk to him.

No one normally went over there, it was beside the VHS section of the library, there were old tapes, transcripts and records as well that the FBI thought would be interesting to put into circulation, only absolutely no one cared about them since they went digital. Spencer knew that, and so that’s where he sat every single day, from 1 to 4 pm.

It never occurred to her why there were so many books and tapes from over there always being returned every night after her shift, there were at least 10 of them in the return box every morning. Someone was blessing her with an excuse to keep returning to him, and she was incredibly thankful.

But today, he wasn’t over there, all his stuff was but he was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t at a desk with a student, he wasn’t on the phone quietly among the shelves, he must have stepped out quickly and left all his things.

She felt the need to watch over it for him, knowing how important he was to professor Gideon and how much work he put into making sure Gideon had the least amount of work during his time off. He cared for him like a father, it was really obvious to everyone who’s seen him follow Gideon around like a lost dog, searching for the praise of a job well done and a pat on the head.

Maybe today would be the day she finally talked to him, or maybe he’d talk to her first when he noticed her watching over his things. Even his cellphone was pressed between the arm and the cushion of the chair, but there was no coffee to be seen anywhere. That’s why he was gone.

Over the last month, she’s seen him drink probably a year's supply of coffee. They had a coffee maker in the library office, it wouldn’t be that hard to let him know and offer to make him a cup whenever he wanted more, he was always working so hard and he never left a mess and she just wanted to see him smile. She wondered what his voice was like, she wondered how his eyes lit up when he heard his favourite song, she wondered what he watched on his nights off and what his favourite colour was.

She was head over heels for the quiet boy in the back of the library.

She was busy straightening out his papers and thinking about him when he returned, he just stood beside the bookshelf that once hid him in that corner, and he watched her silently, for the first time ever. She picked up a pen, writing a small note before she slid it into his book.

Hi!!!

I don’t think we’ve met, but based on your choice of literature I think we would make great friends!

- Y/N, the librarian who promises she’s not staring at you every day ♥︎

She closed the book and stepped away just in time for Spencer to pretend to come back around the corner, “oh good, my stuff is still here.”

“Hi,” she stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, words trying to come out as she just shook her head lightly, “hi.”

He smiled, big and wide and just as beautiful as she expected it to be, “hello, times two.”

“Sorry,” she felt herself get more and more flustered as she heard his voice, he was so quiet she would have never known he sounded like an angel.

“I saw you weren’t here and I didn’t want anything to get taken from you,” she rushes out the sentence before she can get caught up on any of the words and fall over them as she fell for him as well.

His smile changed as she got more flustered as well, small and pressed-lipped, cheeky if she had to put a word on it, “so what did you leave instead?”

“You saw that?” She panics, eyes wide and blood rushing to her face she can feel her ears change temperature.

He nods, smile widening at the fact she likes him. He was a profiler after all, and the smartest man in the whole building at the ripe old age of 22. He was cute and shy and kind and handsome and beautiful and she just wanted to stare at him at that moment, if she wasn’t able to breathe anymore she might as well see his perfect face one last time before she died right then and there.

He moves past her then, reaching for the book and opening up to the page with her note, he keeps smiling. His beautiful, perfect teeth glistening in the light, his cute glasses slipping down his nose as he scrunches, trying to push them up without taking his attention off the note.

“I’m sure we would make great friends, but,” he stops his sentence there, she’s on the edge of her seat only she’s not sitting, she’d impulsively turning to him with fear and doubt that makes him feel like his joke isn’t going to land this time. “I think asking you to go on a date with me might jeopardize the whole friendship thing.”

“A-a date?” She stares at him like she’s never spoken nor heard a single English word before.

“I’m free Saturday night, are you in the dorms or off-campus?” He wasn’t kidding and it made her heartbeat settle a little.

“Off-campus, I’m not a student here, just doing a placement for my final semester,” like a normal person, she’s finally able to respond to him without the words just tumbling out. “I can put my address on that piece of paper too? Maybe even my number?”

He looks like he’s proud of her, “I’d really like that,” he says as he hands her the piece of paper again, watching her scribble something down and pass it back to him.

“I also thought I’d let you know I have a coffee maker in the back if you’d rather something that didn’t come from a vending machine?” Not sure where the confidence is coming from, she shoots a soft smile at him before heading back towards the front.

He waves softly, “I’ll see you later?”

“Text me,” she adds with her own small wave.

She can’t help the smile that erupts on her face as she darts down an aisle, away from Spencer so he won't hear her heels dancing on the floor as she jumps around a little, screeching inside her mind as she thinks about the idea of a date with him. She presses her back against the shelf, hand over her beating heart as she tries to calm down, overjoyed by merely talking to him.

The rest of her shift goes by fairly quickly, normally she leaves before Spencer, never able to see his cute butt walk out the front door. Today, however, he comes walking towards the front, the way he always does when she’s not around, dropping 10 books in the return bin, shooting a wink her way as he does so.

“It’s been you this whole time?” She whispers across the counter, just loud enough fr him to know she’s truly shocked.

He nods, “nothing else would bring you over there, I needed a reason to not stare at you every day either.”

Her heart feels like it’s going to explode, she never expected him to be this confident and charming. She expected awkwardness and bumping hands and stuttered sentences, but for some strange reason, he felt comfortable with her. Like he didn’t have to prove anything, and thus he was a different version of himself. Confident, proud, charming… but also like a lovesick puppy.

He knew she was going to like him regardless, and now she knew he liked her just as much.

—

Being the co-op student at the FBI academy’s library did have its perks, for one she was allowed to look into anything the library stored, even the stuff that wasn’t available to the public, and her most favourite part; getting to decorate for all the seasons.

For the last 2 years, she has worked the fall semesters in the library, keeping a small bin in the back full of all her hand-crafted and partly store bot decorations. Halloween, Thanksgiving, the winter holidays, and even Valentine's day. She loved decorating the shelves and the front display to show off the seasons. It’s not like the 3 male librarians she worked with cared enough to do it. It was the FBI after all, at a basic level they were all cops and not the most fun to be around.

She was only working there because her dad had connections and she lived close anyway, any library would have been perfect to work at. The book smell, the quiet, the air conditioning all year long, it was her own personal heaven.

The most amazing part of working in this specific library, however, he would be arriving in 10 minutes.

So she checked the clock every 2 minutes, watching it get closer and closer to 1 pm as she was sticking cobwebs to a black table cloth by the front doors. She was in the middle of sewing little spiders onto the fabric when she felt someone standing over her shoulder.

“Jesus,” she almost jumped out of her skin, “don’t do that!” She whisper-yelled at him, pushing his arm softly as he laughed.

“I take it you love Halloween?” He whispered again, looking right into her eyes like she was the only person in the world.

She could see her own reflection in his glasses, seeing the fact she was smiling like an idiot and not responding, she nodded, “Halloween is the best time for stories.”

“It really is,” he smiles. “What’s your favourite?”

“I’m really into Tim Burton movies, his art style and his storytelling is so wonderful around Halloween. Him, Neil Gaiman and Danny Elfman are the golden Halloween trio of my dreams.”

He wants to talk to her more, looking behind her and around the room to see where the other librarians were, “do you ever get any breaks in here?”

“Hold on, I’ll meet you in the corner in a few minutes,” she smiles again as he nods and heads to the back.

She skips over to the main counter to grab the return cart, full of books for Spencer’s little corner, remembering he didn’t have a coffee in his hands and so she made 2 cups and carefully sets them on top of the cart with a handful of sugar packets. Pushing it ever so gently to him.

She rolls them around the corner to see him waiting by the red chair again, “I always save all the books up so that technically I’m working when I’m over here.”

“Is that for me?” He smiles at the coffee, stepping closer to her and laying his hand on her arm gently. “Thank you.”

“Any time,” she can feel the blood rushing to her face as her cheeks and ears heat up. “So, I take it you like Halloween then, too?”

“I do,” he says before he starts shaking a sugar packet, tearing it open, he pours it into his coffee, and then another and another, he puts 5 baggies in and she can’t help but laugh.

“I think I found out why you’re so sweet,” the words are barely there but she said them out loud, making him smile as he keeps stirring the sugar in.

“I love Halloween,” he quickly changes the subject before he can get too embarrassed at her compliments. “I think the most creative stories are the ones that take the most horrific things that could happen to someone and still find a way to make it beautiful.”

“You see a lot of bad stuff, don’t you?”

He bites his lip and furrows his brow like he’s deciding whether or not to be honest with her. “Not a lot, yet. I mostly look at old case files and handle consults that have been waiting around for a while. It’s a lot different looking at events after they’ve happened when they’re on paper versus being in front of it. I haven’t been to a fresh crime scene yet, I’m not sure how I’ll be when that happens.”

“Being around dead people isn’t that scary,” she says it so matter-of-factly it makes him laugh awkwardly through his nose as his eyes go wide. “My parents own a pretty big morgue and cemetery here in Virginia, most of the fallen agents get buried there.”

“Was worried there, almost called Gideon for backup,” he is playful and charming and oh so handsome she can’t help but feel butterflies all throughout her body.

“What? Scared I could kick your ass alone?” She finally teased him back. Finding her footing and feeling comfortable out on this limb with him.

“Why did it take you so long to talk to me?” He cuts into the moment harsher than he realizes, desperately wondering where she had been all his life.

She shrugs with pressed lips as she chews the inside of her lip, “you always looked so peaceful over here and I never had the right way to say hello. I’ve been wanting to hand you a note and I’ve waited for you to come to check out a book so I could maybe slip one in the old return date flap, I have like 3 notes up there behind the desk, prepped and ready, I’ve just never done this before… I didn’t know what you’d think, I’m not a profiler you know.”

No, she was an anxious rambler and it just made him like her more, “you are so cute, you know that, right?” He tells her exactly what he would have wanted to hear if it was him rambling to a pretty girl.

She was so flustered then her breathing changed and she couldn’t stop pushing her glasses up and pushing her hair behind her ear, “thank you.”

“So, what do you like to do on the weekends? Is there a place you’d prefer to go on Saturday?” He changed the subject, thankfully giving her a chance to find the courage to speak again.

“I like to go to different art exhibits, I’ve gone all the way to New York to see different showings,” Y/N loves the way his face lights up, “I also like to see whatever movie is being reshown at the old theatre in my parent's town.”

“I really like old movies too,” his enthusiasm is palpable, “what time does it start tomorrow?”

“7:30, I can meet you somewhere for dinner around 5 and we can take my car to the theatre?” She offers without a single shred of doubt that he’d say no.

It felt incredible to know that he liked her too, that this was a mutual thing and they were seemingly each other’s first real love interest.

—

She thinks she’s early, what she doesn’t know is that Spencer was already there. The nice hostess walked her to the booth, finding Spencer with a glass of water and a beautiful red flush across his face.

He was never dressed down, no matter where he was. He always wore dress pants and a nice shirt, and he always matched it with a cardigan or sweater vest, but not today.

Today he was in a white button-up and a nice tie, he looked dashing. Sure, it was too big for him and he looked a bit uncomfortable waiting for her in silence, but he was so, so cute.

She just wore a regular dress, one she would have worn to work, and her regular leggings. An outfit he’s probably seen her in before, but she knew he liked her too, so she wasn’t overly concerned with impressing him anymore.

One thing she was learning about him was that he didn’t really make any physical contact. Unlike some men she knows, he’s never reached for her hand upon an introduction, he’s never ‘slipped’ past her with a hand on her lower back, he barely even stood that close to her. It was oddly nice, she liked not having someone just want her because she had a body that happened to be female.

Spencer treated her like a person, a smart person who he always wanted to listen to, as well. He was so unbelievably interested in her, she could have explained the dewy decimal system to him and he would have reacted like it was the first time he’s heard of it.

“So, did you ever find out what movie it is this weekend, or are we going in blind?” Spencer asks, watching her shovel a few tortellini into her mouth with a smile building on his own face.

She covers her mouth with one hand as she chews with a small laugh, “unfortunately we have the choice between Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hallow and Scooby-Doo 2; Monsters Unleashed.”

Spencer nods along like he has any idea what they are, “have you seen them?”

She nods with a soft smile, “I think you’d find Scooby-doo to be funny, but Sleepy Hollow is amazing. Johnny Depp and Christina Ricci are fantastic together, and for the year it was made, the gore and stuff actually look semi-real and not just like red corn syrup on a person.”

“I trust your review, Sleepy Hallow it is,” he smiles back, they just smile at each other for a little too long.

“I’m really glad you caught me putting that note in your book,” her voice is barely there, she stares at the table as she says it and misses the best smile Spencer’s ever displayed.

“You’re the only person I can talk to without being terrified,” Spencer admitted. “I’ve seen you looking at me for weeks, and I’ve been talking to my co-worker about you. He said I should go for it, because if you’re looking at me that often it’s not a coincidence and it’s not out of disgust. It means you really like me, and no one’s really liked me before.”

“You should have told me sooner,” she teases him, feeling the exact same as he does. “I’ve had a lot of crushes but no one’s ever reciprocated it before.”

“Me either,” he shakes his head lightly with a frown.

She reaches her hand out across the table, waiting for him to decide if he wants to hold it. He does, interlocking their fingers as their elbows resting on the table and they stare at each other's hand. Her thumb and his fighting for the outside, an involuntary thumb war unfolding as she eventually wins with a smile.

—

When they finish their meal, Y/N takes his hand once more and leads him to her car. It’s a short trip to the movie theatre, it’s old and run down but it smells like butter and it’s dark and cold and perfect for a Halloween movie.

Spencer cuddles in close to her, they share a bucket of popcorn and when it’s gone they interlock their fingers again. She wraps her arm under his and leans on his shoulder and it all feels so right. She never thought she’d get this with him, but it was surprisingly easy.

The movie ends and her heart drops a little at the realization she has to let go of him and part soon. Forgetting the fact that she is indeed an adult who can invite someone over if she pleased.

He turns to her with a smile and she says it before she can stop herself. “Do you want to come to my place for a bit?”

He’s a little surprised but he nods, “if you’re okay with that.”

“I am,” she smiles and stands with her hand still in his.

They keep their hands to themselves during the ride to her apartment, to which Spencer notices is only 3 buildings down from his own, laughing before turning to her; “that’s mighty convenient.”

“Now I don’t feel bad about how late we might be up,” she means it innocently and yet her eyes widen in horror at the other meaning, “I mean cause we’ll be talking a lot because we’re both talkers. Y’know, we can start talking about Antarctica and suddenly be on the topic of Pluto… it’s really not that hard for me to talk to you, I find you really nice and interesting and you’re really cute—“

Spencer takes her face in his hands and looks at her, effectively shutting her up with a smile. “You don’t need to justify why you want to stay up all night talking with me.”

“I don’t?” She whispers, “why are you so understanding?”

“You’re the first person to ever call me cute and mean it,” he admits with a cautious smile, his lips press together quickly before his face rests again and he looks a little sad.

“Would you like to be my first kiss?”

“Would you like to be mine?” He counters.

Her face lights up at the realization, “can we do it inside?”

He nods and lets go of her face, fingers lingering on her cheeks for just a second before he’s pulling away and getting out of the car. She follows and waits for him to rejoin her, taking her hand as she leads him up the staircase towards her apartment.

The porch light is on the outside, she stops to unlock the door but he pulls her into his space instead. She instinctively rests her hands on his shoulders as he wrapped around her waist and now she’s pressed against his chest and looking up at him with both excitement and wonder.

He was close enough that she was afraid he could read her thoughts and knew just how desperate she was to have him, while simultaneously being terrified of messing things up with him.

“I’ve had a lovely night so far,” he whispers and she can’t help but kiss him.

She leans in and presses their lips together and it’s like nothing she’s experienced before. The world slows, her mind shuts off and all she can think is; “this is it, this is where I’m supposed to be.” In his arms, pressed close with her lips on his, her hands travel to the nape of his neck as she takes a handful of his hair and he breathes her in deep into his lungs.

He’s breathing her in, captivated by how it feels, letting the moment go where it’s supposed to. She follows his lead, doing what she imagined to be right as her mouth opened and they started to make out. It was interesting, he was handsy and they were both making the most desperate little pleas for more.

“We should go inside,” she whispers against his lips, not pulling back, just flicking her eyes up to look at him.

“Okay,” he responds, losing his air of confidence and showing just how desperate he was for her.

She unlocks the door and drags him inside, they kick off their shoes and coats and she’s leading him into her living room and sitting him on the couch. She doesn’t miss a beat attaching her lips back to his as she basically sits in his lap.

His lips are so soft and his tongue is really nice to feel against her own, and his little moans and groans at how nice it was really made her stomach drop. She’s had butterflies before, she’s been horny, she knew all those feelings and yet this was something completely different. She needed him desperately and he wanted her just as bad.

She lays back against the couch and pulls him down on top of her, he rests against her side with a hand on her hip as the other steadies him over her. He’s making it very clear he doesn’t want to press his groin to her, he’s hiding what’s going on in his pants and it lights a fire in her.

“Spencer,” she whispers against his lips again, getting him to stop kissing her lips, but he just moves to kiss her cheek and down her neck. “Can we go a little further?”

“How far?” His words are barely there against her skin but she hears them.

She swallows sharply and trails her hand along his bulge, “can I touch you?”

He sputters against her with a shaky breath, “y-yeah, sure.”

She rolls onto her side so that they can still kiss while she reaches loosens his belt slowly, his hand is still on her hip as it slowly starts to trail up her waist. She unbuttons his pants and pushes the zipper open, reaching into his underwear and exposing his cock.

“Wow,” she whispers as she looks between them, she glides her hand along the shaft and his eyes squeeze shut, “you can touch me too?”

“W-h, where?”

She pulls back ever so slightly and makes sure he’s almost flat against the couch. Then she does the unthinkable and pulls her dress up and over her head, not caring about the fact she’s now just in tights and a bra, she wants him to touch her boobs.

She takes his hand and she guides him to cup her bra before taking a hold of him once more. He lunges for her throat, kissing and sucking at her skin as he palms her chest and she jerks him off faster. He’s not going to last long and she’s okay with that. This was the most exciting thing she’s ever done.

“Y/N,” he whines against her skin and it sends shivers through her bones. “I’m close.”

“Okay,” she responds just as gently.

“It’s, sweet Jesus on a bike,” he takes another sharp breath as his head falls back against the couch cushion, “it’s going to be messy.”

He starts to unbutton his shirt and push it out of the way, making room for what’s about to happen and it makes her stroke him faster, gathering the pre-cum at his lip and gliding over him just right, he’s shaking under her grasp.

He’s chanting a shortened version of her name, not able to get the whole thing out as his vision blacks and his face scrunches up. He cums with a gasp and she is so caught up with watching his face that she misses just how much of a mess he was talking about.

He’s breathing like he ran a marathon, “thank you, so much.”

She smiles, “anytime.”

He sits up just a little bit, looking at the mess on his chest and smiling back up at her, “do you want me to please you?”

The way he says it makes her legs clench with excitement, “I don’t even know how?”

“What?” He looks genuinely puzzled by her words, “have you never?”

She shakes her head lightly, embarrassed.

His hand comes up to cup her cheek again, “can I show you?”

“Do you know how?” She asks, worried he has more experience, but knowing she was her first kiss, it was confusing.

“I’ve read about it,” he blushes. “Do you want to go to your room for it?”

“We need to clean you up first,” she laughs, getting up off the couch and staring at her messy hand, “don’t move.”

She grabs a tissue from the bathroom and quickly cleans herself, grabbing some more and bringing them back to him. He carefully cleans off his chest as she stands and watches, he’s so cute and he’s with her right now.

“Can I ask you something first?” She hurries the words out, waiting for the slightest nod before continuing. “Do you want to be my boyfriend? I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing, if we’re going to do this I’d really like to be dating you.”

“I do want to be your boyfriend,” he smiles, sitting up and pulling her back into his lap.

She straddles his hips and presses their shirtless chests together, her hands cup his face before she leans in to press a quick kiss to his lips, “boyfriend.”

He kisses her next, pulling back with a smile, “girlfriend.”

Her face drops a little and he catches it, “what?”

“Is it okay if we cuddle instead? I don’t think I can yet,” she’s shy and afraid of letting him down.

“Oh, no, I mean yes. Yes, we can cuddle, no we don’t have to do anything. else I don’t want you to feel like you have to or that you had to do what you did, it was nice and I liked it but if you want me to go—“

There he is; the nervous, rambling fool that she was desperate to get to know. She cuts him off with a quick kiss, shutting him up even after she pulls back.

“I want to cuddle with my boyfriend,” she whispers. “I’ve never had a boyfriend to cuddle with before.”

He follows her into her room and she gives him a shirt that should fit and a pair of her track pants, she was a bit bigger than him but that meant he looked extra cozy. She changed into her favourite PJ’s; a star trek shirt and plaid bottoms, she takes her glasses off and sets them on the table and then she crawls into bed beside him.

He pulls her in closer, the both of them finding a spot that worked just right for them. She rested on his chest as his hands ran over her back, and she just held him. He was really comfortable and warm, he smelled nice and he kissed her forehead occasionally, “this is really nice.”

She smiles, “you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You can stay here all night.”

“Okay,” he whispers into her hair before pressing another kiss to her head. “You’re the best girlfriend in the world.”

“We’ve been dating for 20 minutes,” she replies with a smirk.

“Best girlfriend in the world,” he repeats with another kiss and she snuggles in more.

—

Sunday mornings are her sleep-in days, she normally doesn’t get out of bed until her body is screaming for food or the bathroom. This Sunday, the Sunday after her date with Spencer: she wakes up to the smell of French toast as he tiptoes back into her room with two brown paper bags.

“What are you doing?” She questions, sitting up and reaching for her glasses, she slides them on to see him in HD again.

“I bought us breakfast,” he smiles, placing the bags on her bed and then handing her her own keys. “I locked up when I left and let myself back in, I hope that’s not weird?”

“Not weird,” she smiled, “let’s go to the kitchen, I don’t want syrup in my bed.”

“Okay,” he agrees with a smile, he’s rather cute in the morning with bed hair and a well-rested expression.

She follows him to the kitchen where he sets out an assortment of foods and drinks, she gets plates and utensils and finally sit together. She is overwhelmed with choice, there are eggs and bacon, French toast, fresh fruit, sausages, hash-browns, it’s everything.

“You’re the best boyfriend in the world.”

He looks at her with the softest expression, his jaw drops and he looks at her like she’s the only woman in the whole world, “really?”

“Best boyfriend in the world.”

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