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vintage-squid · 3 years

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Threading Our Future

Summary: When up-and-coming designer Virgil Psykhe lands an interview with his favourite fashion label, he has no idea that the attention he's drawn to himself is being taken away from someone very important: the Lady of the Summer Court. Scorned and furious, she sends her son to kill the insolent human.

But when Janus lays eyes on Virgil for the first time, his breath is stolen by the fluttering of his heart and he knows he won't be able to follow through with his mother's orders.

A modern fae re-telling of the Eros and Psyche myth!

Pairing: Virgil/Janus (background Logan/Patton) Characters: Virgil, Janus, Roman, Remy, Patton, Logan, Remus Rating: T Warnings: mild violence and blood mention, nonsexual nudity, literal sleeping together Word count: 10 363

-----

Virgil Psykhe groaned as he stood from his chair, bracing both hands against the small of his back and pressing until he felt a satisfying series of pops from his hips and up his spine. He should know better by now than to spend hours on end hunched over his projects without taking proper breaks, but he honestly couldn’t help it. Once he got focused, his whole world narrowed to sketch, cut, sew, trim. It was like he was possessed by some crazy spirit who deemed his sarcastic, introverted ass worthy enough to use as a vessel for creation. At least, that’s how he described the near-frenzy he would fall into when his worried fathers questioned after his health.

Was he getting enough sleep? (No.) When was the last time he’d had something to eat? (Did the granola bar he had earlier count?) Would he be willing to drink more water if Papa cut up some citrus to add? (Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea...)

He knew their fretting came from a place of love. As the youngest of three, he was the baby of the family. Both of his older sisters had married a few years ago, now living with their husbands in a couple of larger, nearby cities. They had told their parents the distant moves were for their husband’s jobs, but Virgil knew better. His sisters had never seemed to fit with the unique … energy of their small hometown.

Virgil, however, had yet to even move out, let alone find anyone who would want to spend the rest of their life with him. Thankfully, while his dads did want him to eventually find love, they were mostly just happy to support his dreams of becoming a famous designer.

Rolling his eyes, Virgil glanced around his cluttered studio. Like he would ever actually be a big name in the fashion industry. Yeah, sure, he wanted more than anything to get his designs out there for models of all backgrounds and appearances to showcase the beauty that was in every body type, but he didn’t want his first name attached to that kind of attention. Nope. No thanks. He would much rather people enjoy his work for what it was, not just because it came from him.

Maybe a pseudonym would work? Eh, he still had time to think about it anyway. It wasn’t like he was going to be traveling far from his studio in his dads’ basement any time soon after all. Picking up his phone, Virgil glanced at the time and cursed under his breath. Shit, he was late to meet up with Remy, and he had forgotten to plug his charger in. He groaned as he shoved his phone in his pocket anyway and grabbed his wallet, headphones, and house key. That drama queen was probably going to bitch and moan about being made to wait until Virgil finally agreed to pay for his drink. Not that Virgil really minded, but he had appearances to keep up.

With one last glance around to make sure he had everything, he dashed up the stairs to head out.

-----

Jogging down the street, Virgil turned past the Spirits’ Temple, where the town’s inhabitants left offerings to the spirits of the forest on the first of every month. Tradition claimed that each month was to be dedicated to one of the twelve local spirits who held dominion over different areas of day-to-day life, and that by honouring them, the town would prosper. At the height of the monthly festivals, there would be candles lining the marble steps, fake vines and string lights wrapped around the temple’s stone columns, and a wide spread of wine and honey-sweetened foods to be served. Some of this would be up for grabs on the buffet table, but a selection was always saved to be placed in one of the twelve bronze braziers, which one depended on the month, lining the sides of the temple. Each brazier was set in front of a stone statue carved with a symbol that denoted which spirit it belonged to.

At some point during the evening, everyone in town would take a moment to approach the massive fireplace along the back wall of the temple and toss in a part of their meal with a quietly murmured prayer for luck in some strange-sounding language. To this day, Virgil wasn’t sure what exactly he was saying, but his dad had taught him the correct pronunciation, and he was too superstitious not to follow through. Besides, it wasn’t like he could look too ridiculous doing it when literally everyone else was doing the same thing.

Approaching one of the two coffee shops in town, and the only one he ever frequented, Virgil shook his head to rid himself of thoughts of weird small-town rituals. Inside, it was easy to spot Remy sitting at their usual table with his sunglasses tucked into the front of his shirt and a drink already in hand. As he slid into his side of the booth, Virgil was surprised to see his favourite order (hot chocolate with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, and a slice of banana bread) already waiting for him.

“I was gonna apologize for being late, but clearly I don’t have to,” he said, glancing up and narrowing his eyes. “What did you do?”

Remy threw both hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Hey now, why did I have to do something wrong in order to surprise my best friend with his favourite goodies?”

Virgil snorted and crossed his arms, giving his friend a Look.

“Fine, fine!” Remy blew out a sigh and dropped his hands onto the table. “So, maybe I did do something, and maybe you’re gonna be a little mad at me for it, but I promise it’s okay! It’s gonna pay off and you’re totally going to thank me for this one day!”

Virgil dropped his face into his hands with a groan and dug the heels of his palms against his eyelids. “Just spit it out, Remy. What the fuck did you do?”

“Remember that photoshoot we did a couple weeks back with the latest ‘famous-one-day’ designs you sewed up?” Virgil could hear the familiar sounds of Remy typing on his phone. “Well babe, you’ve been making ‘one days’ for too long! So I decided to make ‘one day’ into ‘today’! Ta-dah!”

Bracing himself, Virgil peeked out from the dark safety of his hands, blinking a few times to clear his blurry vision and focus on the phone screen wavering in front of him. Right there, staring back at him from within Remy’s well-manicured clutch, was an email addressed to Penelope with attached photos from their shoot.

“Please, please tell me you didn’t sen-”

“I sent our pics to your favourite fashion label! The one and only Penelope! Known for their breathtaking lines like ‘Faith’ and ‘Fidelity’ that reimagined what it meant to be fashionable! And the best part!” Remy paused for dramatic effect, all but wiggling in his seat. “They emailed me back! They want to do an interview with you next month on the first!”

There was a loud thud as Virgil’s head met the table. If they hadn’t been sitting in public, he definitely would have started screaming too. Instead, all that came out was a muttered, “I fucking hate you. Why would you do this to me? You know I suck at talking to people; they’re gonna hate me and then tell all of the other companies to never work with me and then I’ll definitely never make it.”

A hand settled on top of his head and began to run through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp at the same time. “Don’t be so dramatic, Virge. This is gonna be great for you, I promise. When have I ever led you astray?”

Virgil glared at his friend and opened his mouth, but Remy cut him off.

“Ahp-ahp! Rhetorical question, babes. You're going to thank me for this, I promise.”

When Virgil remained silent, the hand that had been petting his hair slid down to cup his cheek and lift his chin up.

“Hey,” his best friend murmured softly. “If you really, really don’t want to do this, I can email them back and cancel, but I think you should go for it, Virge. This could be your big break!” Remy’s thumb had begun running a soothingly back and forth over his cheek. Virgil didn’t even try to hide the way he relaxed into the comforting gesture, leaning more weight into his friend’s palm. “I’ll even come with you to the interview, okay? I’ll be right there the entire time - gotta make sure they meet your number one model after all,” he added with a playful wink.

Damn Remy and his extroverted influence. Virgil sighed and sat up fully, reluctantly pulling away from the comforting hold and silently relieved when Remy’s hand dropped to link their fingers instead. “I guess as long as you’re there too, then I won’t be the only one making a fool of myself.”

“That’s the spirit!” Remy cheered, ignoring the looks some of the other patrons shot their way at the noise.

Keeping their hands interlocked, Virgil picked up his hot chocolate and took a sip of the sweet ambrosia as he listened to his best friend ramble about his plans for their future.

-----

Somehow, the word got out. Everyone and their cousin’s dog knew about Virgil’s interview and had seen some of the photos that had been leaked. All of them wanted to get a glimpse of not only the representatives of the big fashion label (who may as well have been celebrities to the small community), but also the unobtrusive young man who had brought the attention onto their town.

Virgil clung to Remy’s hand as they approached the café where the interview was going to be taking place. It wasn’t their usual haunt, something Virgil was grateful for; if things went south, he didn’t want that memory attached to one of his favourite places. People were already gathering outside, gossiping amongst themselves or attempting to peer through the front windows. He longed to pull his hood up and hide his face, but Papa had spent all morning helping him make sure his hair and make-up (and everything else) looked interview ready. Not to mention he wasn’t even wearing his favourite hoodie to tuck himself away into.

At Remy’s insistence, he had donned one of the outfits he made last year. The top was made of a flowy material, tighter at the wrists and loose in the arms, wrapping comfortably around his chest to tie in the front above his navel. It was sewn from a high-quality plum linen with a black lace webbing over top. For the bottom, Virgil had pieced together different shades of grey and black fabrics until he had a pair of loose patchwork pants that sat at the hips and left a strip of his stomach visible. He had completed the look with a fresh pair of high-tops that tied the look together despite the discordant styles. With one last look to his best friend for reassurance, Virgil nodded and they waded through the crowd together, on their way to their future.

-----

Singing to herself, Roman stepped through the woods with all the ethereal grace granted to her by her station. As she made her way to the quaint little human town, Roman was accompanied by a pair of mourning doves. While one had alighted on her shoulder, the other fluttered about, and both were cooing in harmony with her otherworldly song.

Her body was draped in a sheer chiffon number, as blood-red as the wine she drank from each year at the celebration of her power and beauty. It was naught much more than a thin layer of fabric over one shoulder and wrapped about her shapely waist, exposing one breast and leaving little work for the imagination on the rest of her body. The finest embroidery coloured the lower hem with twisting rose vines, as if they had sprung from the ground she walked on and reached up for her attention. Her hair was left to tumble free, as wild and untamed as the waves she had been born from so long ago. The Lady of the Summer Court had arrived.

In no time at all, the temple the humans of the village had built for her and her compatriots so long ago came into view. Roman hurried her steps, eager to feast on the delightful offerings she knew would be awaiting her. She hoped one of them left pomegranate; it was her favourite. The plump fruit so easy to tear open to reveal the juicy flesh inside - and the crunchy seeds! Oh!

Grinning, Roman moved around the side of the temple, stepping between the columns to slip inside and make her way towards her ceremonial statue along the right with the other ruling gentry of the Seelie Court. However, when she got close enough to see into the massive dish, indignation began to boil in her blood. Before her, in her brazier, lay half as many offerings as were given to her in the years passed. She looked around, hoping to find something else had been set aside or misplaced, but there was nothing. Seething, she spun on her heel and stalked towards the front of the temple in search of answers.

Outside, two attendants were working to douse the remaining candles to be collected on the morrow after Roman had departed. Well, they were certainly going to be in for a surprise when they returned to find their pitiful offerings still there in the morning. Even with the great distance between them, as a fae, Roman’s sharp ears did not struggle to overhear the conversation between the two humans.

“-believe something like this could happen in our little town,” the one on the right was saying. “Especially from that quiet kid! What’d you say his name was again?”

“He’s the Psykhe’s youngest boy, Virgil.

“No kidding! Sam was telling me the kid showed up for the interview wearing this wild statement piece, like a full fashion runway. I bet his dads sure are proud. I heard half the town was outside Burnsen’s hoping to get a front-row seat. They certainly weren’t here, that’s for sure.”

“Damn shame,” the second human agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a turn out this small for a Spirit’s Night. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”

The pair continued their gossip as they finished with the candles and moved onto tidying some of the other nonessential decorations. Roman wasn’t interested in listening any further; she had what she needed. Turning away from the pitiful little temple those putrid humans had so desecrated on her day of honour, the Lady of the Summer Court stormed back into the forest, seething vitriol.

“How dare these humans offer this worthless boy the worship and reverence meant for me! My status is all but set in the very stars and they do nothing more than drag it through the muddy earth!” She screeched, scaring away the doves who had been lingering nearby. “So much for me, the ancient mother of this forest who feeds and fosters the very nature of this place! If nothing lusts, then nothing reproduces! Did they ever consider that before they forced me to associate my status with a mere mortal child?”

As Roman cried out, the very trees parted for her, leaning their trunks away and raising their boughs out of the path of the furious fae. She paid them little heed as she marched down a trail long familiar. “Won’t this boy, whoever he is, be glad to know he has claimed the honours that are due to me by right? Not for much longer, this I swear by my very name! He will regret this beauty to which he has no claim!”

At the climax of her tirade, Roman stopped before the ivy-woven doors of her son’s lofty domain. She would teach this Virgil what happened when you scorned the fae.

-----

Across town, still wearing the outfit and makeup from earlier, though much disheveled, Virgil ran as if his life depended on it. At this point, though, his life may as well have been over, so what was the point in struggling on? Down the street and through the park, he sprinted until he could go no further and crumbled to the ground at the top of the large hill that overlooked the fish ponds. On his hands and knees, he clutched at the damp earth and panted heavily through his heaving sobs.

It was over. Penelope didn’t want to pick him up as a designer. Sure, they liked the selection that Remy had sent them, enough to come talk to him about it, but when the representatives had taken a look through the rest of his portfolio? They hadn’t said they hated it outright, but Virgil was certain his designs were too gothic, too dark, too risky for mainstream fashion. They were going to talk with some of the higher-ups back at the designer studio, but Virgil wasn’t going to be holding his breath. He’d seen their expressions clear as day while they flipped through his work.

Collapsing forward, Virgil buried his face into the crook of his elbow and curled his knees towards his chest, sobbing even harder. He had told Remy after the interview that he needed some space, but now that he was out here alone, he wanted nothing more than a hug from his best friend. Fuck, how was he going to tell his dads about this? It would break their heart!

Virgil shook his head free of the thought; he couldn’t handle any more right now. So he lay on the ground with his cheek pressed against the cool night grass, and cried until he passed out from exhaustion.

-----

In the twilight between wakefulness and sleep, Virgil stirred when he felt a pair of arms slide under his body and hoist him up into a strong hold. His head lolled to the side until his temple dropped against a firm body. Then, a kiss was pressed to his forehead, tickling his skin with...a mustache?

“Go back to sleep, little human,” a high, scratchy-sounding voice said. “Jay doesn’t want you to see anything just yet! We don’t want to ruin the surprise, eh?”

Virgil’s face scrunched in confusion, but before he could crack his eyes open to see who was carrying him, a warm breath blew across his face and carried him off to his dreams like a gentle breeze spiraling high into the air.

-----

When Virgil woke for the second time, it was with far more peace and tranquility than he usually felt when greeting the day. His bed was extra soft and luxurious beneath the swell of his hip and he was comfortably warm, though he couldn’t feel the usual weight of his blanket. Stretching his arms far above his head, Virgil suddenly snapped his eyes open when his fingertips were greeted not with the hard wall behind his headboard, but with a damp, spongy texture instead.

Scrambled to his feet, he looked around to discover he was at the edge of a clearing, carpeted with a thick moss that his feet sank slightly into and surrounded by trees who towered so far above him their canopies seemed lost secrets of the sky. To one side a stream babbled a song, its waters bright as day and clear as glass. Breathless, he turned a slow circle, feasting on the seemingly supernatural wonders with starving eyes. The sight that greeted Virgil as he turned full around, however, could have subsisted him for a lifetime.

At the very heart of the grove, sitting in its focal point, rose what he could only describe as a palace. The trees which made up its supporting columns were an ivory birch, though much wider than any Virgil had ever seen, with leaves seemingly grown from pure gold that glittered in the dappled sunlight they let through. Framed by these otherworldly goliaths, ivy vines had been woven together to form a grand door which opened of its own accord and bid Virgil to enter. Under a spell spun from his own awe and curiosity (and probably some of whatever magic this place had to be made of), Virgil strode forward.

Inside, the palace seemed to emulate its own light, reflecting off the vaulted ceiling and highlighting the polished stone walls decorated with endless silver reliefs of animals real and imagined. Virgil trailed his fingertips along the slithering spine of a snake as he passed, admiring the lifelike detail in each scale, but before he could venture much further, a voice spoke.

��Welcome.”

Virgil jumped, spinning around to search for the source of the voice, but no one was there. When they spoke again, it sounded like they were right over his shoulder.

“You have been invited into the home of the fae as a guest of honour, Virgil.” The man in question felt a strange twinge in his chest hearing his name from the voice. “If you follow the doors to your left, you will find a dining hall in which you may eat your fill; the foods are from your home world and you need not fear consuming them. To your right lay the bathing and bed chambers. Please, make yourself at home. You are safe here, my darling.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Virgil called out into the empty room.

There was a small pause before the voice replied. “You may call me Janus for the time being. It matters not how I know your name, but you need not worry that I will give it to anyone else.”

“Not creepy at all,” Virgil murmured before raising his voice once more. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”

“Ahh, my darling, take care with your curiosity before it gets you into trouble. Fret not, I am here with you, though you cannot see me. I know it is hard, but you must trust in me, my love. I shall visit you this evening after the light of day has given way to the dark of night. So long as you promise not to look upon my face and let me remain shrouded in shadows, then I shall answer more of your questions then.”

“What? I’m supposed to trust you, but I’m not allowed to look at your face? What the fuck, dude?”

“I understand this may be a cause for alarm, but you must understand my perspective, dear one. If you were to gaze upon me uninhibited, I fear you would not fall in love with me in a manner which would be best for us both. Promise to me, Virgil.”

“Okay, okay, I promise. Why is this so important to you anyway?”

“Thank you. I wish to form a genuine bond with you, beloved, and I cannot do that if you are influenced by my appearance. That is not how I desire to court my future husband.”

“Husband? What do you mean future husband!?”

Virgil stood in place, waiting for any further response from the invisible person, but it seemed his host had vanished into the very air he spoke from. Blowing out a heavy sigh, Virgil looked from left to right and decided the faint grumbling in his abdomen was something he could ignore for the time being; he probably wouldn’t be able to stomach anything right now anyway. So, he made his way towards the baths, hoping a splash of cool water could wake him from this crazy dream.

Unfortunately, even after dunking his head under the cool water, Virgil was still stuck in the extravagant palace with an invisible host. He braced his hands on the sides of the stone bowl carved from the wall, staring blankly at the trickling waterfall that fed into the dish he had rinsed in. How the fuck did he get into this mess? The voice had mentioned something about this place belonging to the fae? What the fuck? There’s no way any of this could be real. Well, that Janus had said he would answer Virgil’s questions tonight, so there seemed little more he could do than wait.

The bedroom he had been given was grand, far larger than even his entire basement suite back home, and all of its drapings were more luxurious than Virgil had ever seen. He ran his fingers down the curtains that hung from the bedposts, marvelling at the quality and the depth of the colour. What he wouldn’t give to be able to create with fabrics of this pedigree. He fiddled with the tie of his shirt around his middle and settled onto one of the plush armchairs by the window. Now, to wait.

-----

Hours later, Virgil was startled awake from a light doze by the sound of footsteps approaching his door. He scrambled to his feet, keeping one hand braced on a bedpost to orient himself as he squinted through the darkness. It was so dark he couldn’t even make out the vague outlines of the furniture around the room.

The door opened.

Virgil tensed, gripping the bedpost tighter and raising his other arm in front of him defensively. From what he could see, backlit from the hall, the figure entering the room was about his height, maybe a little taller. It was difficult to make out in the dark, but the shadow he cast onto the floor seemed to be larger than his body mass would produce. The door closed, leaving the two of them alone in the dark.

“Janus?” Virgil asked nervously, hoping there wasn’t anyone else in the palace who would be coming into his room this late at night.

“Breathe, Virgil, it is only me.”

It was as if a spell of calm soothed over him, easing the tension from around his neck and within his chest. Virgil took a deep, relieving breath. Janus hadn’t come any further into the room, seemingly content to linger by the door.

“Um… hi?” Virgil winced at how awkward he sounded, but continued on regardless. “You said you would answer more of my questions, right?”

“That is correct, beloved. I will tell you as much as I am able to at this time.” There was the sound of shuffling in the dark. “May I join you on the bed? I think we will both be much more comfortable being seated for this conversation.”

Virgil bit his lip, looking between the bed and Janus despite not being able to see either. Eventually, he nodded, and then blushed when he realized what he’d done.

“Yeah… yeah, you can come sit over here, I guess.”

“Thank you, my darling.”

When the pair had gotten settled, Janus was seated at the foot of the bed, leaning up against the bedpost and seemingly unbothered by the strange situation. Virgil, on the other hand, had his back pressed against the headboard with his knees hugged to his chest. His feet were buried in the blankets and he was absently scrunching the soft material under his toes in a comforting, rhythmic motion. It was Janus who broke the silence first.

“What would you ask of me first, dearest?”

Virgil blew out a sigh. “Why did you bring me here? What are you going to do with me? Am I ever going to be allowed to go home? Will you-”

"Sh sh sh,” Janus crooned, “One at a time, beloved, all will be answered. In short, I do not know when you will be able to return to your home, or if you ever will, but it is for your own good!” Janus hurriedly added before Virgil could panic. “You see, there is someone very powerful who is very angry with you. Intentionally or not, you have caused her a great disrespect, and she will not rest until her dues have been met.”

“How do you know all of this?”

Janus sighed. “Because she is my mother, and she sent me to kill you.”

“What!?” Virgil screeched, throwing himself off the bed and slamming against the nearby wall. His nails scrabbled at the stone, desperate to clutch, claw, escape. No, no, no, he didn’t want to die! He snapped his head back and forth, searching for any sort of way out, but he was blinded by shadows and fear. A sharp cry escaped him when a hand suddenly wrapped around one of his own and he whimpered as it squeezed, expecting pain. Instead, a gentle crooning cut through the ringing in his ears.

“Breathe, Virgil, you are not in danger. You must calm down and listen.”

Janus’ voice was surprisingly tender for how powerfully it could be heard through Virgil’s panic. He was able to focus on it like a tether to pull himself into a more relaxed state of mind. At some point, he had begun to time his breathing with Janus’ as well, steady and even to a count known only to the fae holding him. When Virgil had relaxed enough to come back to himself, he tensed all over again, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“How can you say I’m safe, when you’re gonna kill me?”

“Because I have no intentions of killing you,” Janus replied, now cradling both of Virgil’s hands to his chest. Even this close, the darkness was so impenetrably thick that Virgil had no hope of glimpsing his face. He kept his eyes averted regardless. “I brought you here to remove you from my mother’s gaze and conceal you from her misplaced wrath.”

Virgil was silent, processing, as Janus gently tugged on his hands and guided him back onto the bed. There, the fae leaned against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him and carefully pulled Virgil to recline on his chest. Virgil resisted for only a moment before complying. Everything else about this was already way out of his depth to manage, he may as well allow himself to be comfortable wherever he could. Janus was either going to kill him or leave him alive, and there likely wasn’t anything Virgil could do to sway that decision at this point. So, Virgil settled himself against Janus’ chest with his body laying between Janus’ legs and stretching out until their legs tangled together. He was grateful now for the dark that hid a probably searing blush as his cheek pressed flush against the fae’s warm skin; Janus wasn’t wearing a shirt and his nude torso was warm to cuddle against.

“Now,” Janus murmured, shifting Virgil’s focus from his embarrassment to the situation at hand. His fingers ran over Virgil’s scalp and through his hair, carefully brushing out any tangles and soothing in the same motion. “If you will let me continue, I was going to say my mother had ordered for you to be killed, however, I do not agree with her decision. She is acting rashly over a slight you did not directly commit.”

“What did I even do to piss her off so bad?” Virgil murmured from where his face was tucked against Janus’ collar, resting more of his weight closer with each breath.

“I do not know the exact details, only that you were the cause for drawing her worshippers away from the temple on her day of adulation. The fae do not take kindly to being stolen from, especially not my mother.”

“The interview,” Virgil breathed in horror. Pushing himself upright, he clutched at Janus’ arm. “I swear, I didn’t mean for everyone to skip out on the Spirit’s Festival! If it had been up to me, none of them would have even been at the cafe! I didn’t want them there, you have to believe me!”

“Calm yourself, beloved. I believe that you did not intentionally act to anger her. However, you must understand that even a perceived slight is considered very real and serious to the fae. That is why you must remain here under my protection, until my mother’s ire cools or I can convince her to redirect her anger.”

As Janus fell silent, Virgil curled in again and pondered what he had been told, trying to remember anything he could about the fae. It wasn’t like there was one consistent guidebook he could follow, but some of the stories the older people used to tell his grade school classes at the library were starting to make a little more sense now. He had been told the forest couldn’t lie, so maybe that meant the fae were bound by the truth? A stretch, sure, but weren’t all myths rooted somehow in reality? They were also regularly told that the spirits of the forest loved beauty, especially in the form of attractive people, and could bestow gifts on those they enjoyed looking upon. Virgil had always felt so disheartened hearing that. He wasn’t anything special, just a plain-looking boy, so the forest would never favour him.

Why then had Janus?

“So,” Virgil broke into the quiet, “you supposedly brought me here to protect me from your mother, but that doesn’t explain why you called me your future husband earlier.”

Janus hummed. “When I set out to observe the human who had offended my mother, I was prepared to be faced with a disgusting example of your kind. What I found instead was the most beautiful face I had ever laid eyes on.” Virgil gasped when the hand that had been in his hair slipped down to cup his cheek and tilt his chin up. He felt a pair of lips brush so lightly against his forehead that he thought he imagined it. “You were sobbing so hard for a deeply rooted pain. I found myself desiring nothing more than to stop your tears and see how much your already breathtaking countenance would shine when lit by a smile.”

“I - you -”

Virgil was sure that he had been kissed before, because now he felt those lips curl into a smile.

“Is it so hard to believe you are so attractive?”

“Well, yeah,” Virgil huffed, his eyes closed as he leaned into Janus’ palm. “It’s not like I heard it all that often.”

“Mmm, I shall have to change that, then,” Janus whispered, resting his cheek on Virgil’s head, cradling him close once more. “Do you have any more questions, beloved? If not, it is time for you to rest, you’ve had a long day.”

The gentle petting and warm embrace were taking their toll on Virgil’s exhausted mind. He let himself rest heavily on Janus, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck and wrapping an arm around the fae’s chest. “Jus’ one,” he murmured, voice already dipping into that sleepy slur. “Wanna make sure m’dads know ‘m safe…”

“I’ll see what I can do, my love. Rest now, Virgil.”

Like a spell had been cast over him, Virgil drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

-----

When Virgil had awoken, he was alone in the massive bed. He was surprised to feel a twinge of disappointment in his chest, having hoped Janus would stay despite the fae not wanting to show his face. Sighing, he slid out of bed and got himself ready for the day, slipping into some comfortable clothes he found in a set of drawers. When he came down for breakfast, his host’s invisible voice greeted him and informed him that his dads had been told of the situation and were relieved Virgil was alive and relatively safe.

The next few days played out much the same. Virgil was left to his own devices during the day, waited on by some sort of invisible staff as he explored the palace. He never saw another soul, but whenever he needed something, he learned to simply call out for it and it would be delivered to him by magic.

Each night, Janus would arrive in his bedroom once the sun had disappeared. He never asked for more than Virgil was willing to give, but Virgil found himself cuddled close every night without fail. They would speak for hours - about Virgil’s dreams, his dads, and Remy - nothing was too simple for Janus to inquire about. The fae was fascinated by every aspect of human life, and Virgil enjoyed discovering a sense of romantic joy over the little things he had experienced. There was something about Janus that soothed away the ever-present worries that were always yelling inside Virgil’s head.

There was one worry that couldn’t be silenced, however. No matter how much Virgil was coming to trust his protector, he could not ignore the fact that he had no idea what Janus even looked like. It was eating away at him not to know, and the longer he sat alone, the Janus in his head looked more and more like a monster waiting to prey upon him. This couldn’t go on. He had to know.

-----

During the day before he was going to enact his plan, Virgil spent his time in the massive library he had discovered on the second day, scanning the shelves and making a show of selecting a couple books. He made himself comfortable in one of the oversized cushions piled near the floor-to-ceiling window and pretended to read. Between absently scanning the pages, Virgil looked up and glanced around the room, as if his mind were wandering with the tale he was apparently focused on. In reality, he was scouring the room for ideas.

Countless candles were lit around the library, their wax melting at different stages, some newly pooling while others formed thick layers around the base of the candelabras. They were lit now, but there was no way for him to have an already burning flame in the bedroom when Janus arrived for the night. He would have to find some way to light one on his own. Maybe he could just -

“Excuse me?” He called into the air. “Could I please have more candles, and some matches for them? I want to go read in my room, but, um, the smell is really nice in here.”

Like always, the items he requested popped into existence on a low table nearby: three candles and a pair of matches. Huh, he hadn’t actually thought that was going to work.

“Thank you!”

Hugging both books to his chest, Virgil collected his new tools and jogged up to his room. There, he placed the candles onto the small table between the armchairs and lit them with a match. The second match, he carefully tucked inside the front knot of his shirt, pressing against his breast. Now prepared, he settled in to actually focus on the novel he had picked up. There was nothing but time to kill.

-----

By the time Janus arrived, Virgil had already blown out the candles and crawled into bed. He cuddled in as soon as Janus had laid down, laying his head on the fae’s chest and trying to keep his breathing steady as they fell into their usually nighttime conversation. Janus’ claws delicately traced the bumps of his spine the entire time they spoke.

Once Virgil was sure Janus had fallen asleep, he began the slow process of extracting himself from the fae’s embrace. Janus really was a cuddler, and loved to hold Virgil close while they slept, but thankfully he was also quite a deep sleeper. Virgil was able to carefully pull himself away and tuck a pillow into Janus’ arms. The fae squished it to his chest and curled onto his side, none the wiser.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Virgil went to work. He grabbed one of the candles and fished the match out from under his shirt, striking it against the table to light it. One hand held onto the base of the candle, while the other carefully cupped around the flame, protecting it as Virgil walked around to the other side of the bed where Janus lay. With a deep breath to steady himself, he pulled his hand away and gasped at the sight in front of him.

Janus never wore a shirt, which meant Virgil’s hands had felt the broad expanse of his naked back every night they had slept together. That didn’t explain why there were now a pair of gorgeous, tawny wings sprouting from between Janus’ shoulder blades. The feathers looked softer than anything Virgil could imagine and shined like spun gold in the candlelight. Virgil ached to caress the speckled feathers, to scrunch his fingers in the fluffy down near the wings’ base, but as he reached out, Janus rolled over and Virgil’s breath was punched from his lungs. The face of his protector was carved by the gods. Janus’ skin was a rich, dark brown, reflecting the candle light to accent his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. Virgil could only imagine what colour his eyes could be behind his lids, framed by perfectly shaped brows and a shapely nose. Oh! Those lips! So plump and full! What would they feel like pressed against his own?

Enraptured, Virgil tried to get a better look, but as he leaned forward, some of the melted wax from the candle spilled over and landed on Janus’ cheek. The fae yelped, startling awake and clutching at his face as he threw himself upright. Virgil jumped back in shock, falling on his ass while somehow keeping the candle lit. The clatter drew Janus’ attention and his head snapped to the side to look at Virgil, who saw the moment Janus’ eyes widened with understanding and heartbreaking betrayal.

“You promised!” Janus hissed. “You promised me you wouldn’t look! Does your word mean so little to you!?”

“N-No - I, I just, I wanted-”

“What!? What was so important that you had to break your promise?”

“I wanted to, to make sure you weren’t some sort of … monster … who had kidnapped me to… to eat me,” Virgil muttered, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish. Why did he have to give in to his anxieties so easily? The next moment, his heart crumpled with Janus’ expression.

“Get out.”

“Wait, what?”

“I said. Get. Out.” Janus growled, spreading his wings high above his head as he leaned over the edge of the bed. “Get out of my sight, and out of my home! If you cannot hold to one simple promise, then I will not protect you! You can deal with my mother’s wrath on your own!”

About to protest, Virgil cried out in fear as Janus slashed out him, narrowly missing his face with those lethal claws. He didn’t waste any more time, dropping the candle and scrambling to his feet to run out of the bedroom. The empty halls echoed with his laboured breathing and the slap of his bare feet against the tiled floor as he sprinted through the palace and out the ivy-woven doors. The moment he was out, the doors slammed shut behind him.

Panting heavily, Virgil bent over with his hands on his knees, his entire body trembling from fear and exertion. He dropped to the ground and clutched his head in both hands, curling smaller and crying as silently as he could muster. It was a long time before his breathing evened out and he was able to drag himself back to his feet.

A glance around the clearing revealed what he had known upon his first arrival: he had no idea where in the forest he was, or which way led back home. So, he did the only thing he could and picked a direction to start walking. Through the night he stumbled over roots and around tangled shrubs, not stopping until he finally tripped over his own exhausted feet and fell into the shockingly cold waters of a stream. He spluttered and gasped, miserably dragging himself back up the bank. The sun was rising overhead, the forest waking up around him; he didn’t have the time to huddle here in a ball feeling sorry for himself.

-----

As the day progressed, Virgil noticed the trees beginning to thin and the gaps between the trunks growing wider. Suddenly, the canopy overhead parted to reveal a mountain, vast and tall, that should have been visible long before this moment. Placed at irregular intervals up the cliffside were six palaces woven of different plants woven together with even more grandeur than Janus’ home. Over the edge of the mountain, the tips and edges of presumably more palaces - these ones sculpted and shaped from various stones - were visible against the pale sky.

Virgil squinted, trying to get a better look at the strangely familiar shapes carved into the rock face near each palace. He gasped. The symbols matched those carved into the statues above the bronze dishes in the Spirit’s Temple, more specifically, the dishes meant for the spirits honoured in the spring and summer. That would mean - there! On the left! Beneath a palace of myrtle trees and rose vines, was the symbol belonging to the seventh spirit. That had to be the home of Janus’ mother, the spirit - or fae, rather - who was supposed to have been honoured at the start of this month.

Biting his lip, Virgil looked back the way he came then up at the palace once more. If what Janus said was true, and he wasn’t going to be offering protection anymore, then Virgil would have to face her on his own. It was either that, or cowering away until she tracked him down and killed him. Also not a desirable option, but Virgil would rather have some form of control over the end of his life. Beginning to climb, he just wished he would have been able to say goodbye to his dads first.

While there were worn deer trails to follow, the journey was not an easy one. Virgil had to cling to the rocks, heaving himself ever upwards, trying not to slice his bare feet or palms on the uneven shale. The summer sun climbed alongside him, growing hotter and hotter, sapping his energy and strength. Still, he pushed on until he stood before the lush gates shaking with exhaustion and dizzy from the heat.

Before he could gather his wits, the thorny vines that sealed the palace from the outside world began to withdraw. Where they parted, massive sanguine roses bloomed, as if to cushion a passerby from the sharp thorns. From within the depths of the palace strode out a figure so radiant and commanding, Virgil immediately felt subservient to her will. He quickly looked away, cheeks hot, as both of her breasts were exposed and only a lightweight wrap covered her lower body. His body recoiled when her piercing laugh broke the silence.

“Finally! The wretched beast comes crawling to its master, the Lady of the Summer Court. Had enough of playing at royalty, have you? Look at me when I’m talking to you, Virgil!”

Virgil immediately snapped his head back towards her, paling when his eyes met with her seething ire, but unable to drop his gaze any lower. He gripped the sides of his pants with white knuckles. “I - I’m so, so sorry! I n-never meant-”

“Look at this!” The fae cut in, causing Virgil to flinch again. “The pathetic mortal trying to inspire pity from me with your anxiety and melancholy! I will not be made a fool and relegated to some cheap handmaiden!”

With a shriek of rage, the Lady of Summer darted forward faster than Virgil’s eyes could track. The next moment, he was sprawled on the ground, ears ringing. He brought a shaky hand up to his stinging cheek and felt his stomach drop when his fingertips came away bloody. Rolling onto his back, he choked. The Lady was looming over him, one of her hands dripping with his blood as she pinned him down with a foot on his chest.

“It seems only fair to me, mortal, that I give you some chance to win back my good graces. Therefore, you shall complete a task for me, or else I will take your life as compensation for your disrespect.” The Lady of Summer announced with a wave of her hand. Virgil looked to the side, wincing as the cuts in his cheek dug into the gravel, and watched in surprise as a pile of mixed grains appeared nearby.

“You will sort this mass and disarray of seeds - wheat, barley, millet, poppy, chickpea, and lentil - into individual piles. I will know if a single grain lays with the wrong group. You have until this evening.” With that, the Lady of Summer kicked off his ribs and spun her skirts, vanishing into thin air with a flourish and leaving only the heady scent of roses as a sign of her presence.

Virgil lay on the ground in silence for a long time after she disappeared, barely daring to breathe. When he was finally able to bring himself to move, he slowly rolled onto his hands and knees, hissing at the pain in his ribs - definitely bruised. Crawling over to the pile of seeds, he reached a hand out but hesitated before he could touch the tiny grains. How the fuck was he supposed to sort these? He could hardly begin to tell them apart! Sitting back on his ass, Virgil dropped his face into his hands and burst into tears.

Then, he heard a high-pitched giggle.

Flitting to-and-fro above him were four - five - eight, no - seven? Seven little pixies were spinning, twirling, dancing through the air above him. Their bright, insect-like wings caught the sunlight and sent out flashes of colour like a rainbow in motion. One-by-one they drifted to the ground, settling in a half circle in front of Virgil and his miserable collection of seeds. They stood only several inches tall and were dressed in leaves and petals. A pair stepped forward in front of the rest; they were holding hands.

“Hello, hello!” The one on the right chirped, waving up with his free hand. He had gorgeous light blue butterfly wings that fluttered when he spoke. “We heard you crying and came to see, to see! What happened here, here?”

Virgil sniffled, wiping away his tears and snot on his sleeve. “Well, um,” he hiccupped and took a deep breath. “It’s the Lady of the Summer Court. She wants me to sort all of these seeds by type before tonight, but I have no idea how I’m going to do that so she’s definitely going to kill me!” He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a sob, tears running down his face.

“Easy now,” a new voice murmured as two little hands pressed against his knee. Virgil blinked his eyes open to see the second pixie - this one with veiny wings like a beetle’s - rubbing his leg soothingly. “You need to take slow, deep breaths to calm yourself.”

Virgil nodded and attempted to follow suit, counting to four on each inhale and exhale until the tears had slowed and he was able to relax somewhat to continue the conversation. “Th-thank you, um, what are your names?”

“You can call me Pat, Pat!” The first pixie announced twirling himself up into the air and drifting back down again.

“Ah, so you are quite new around here,” the second pixie mused, keeping his hands on Virgil’s leg. “You may call me Lo. Names have great power to the fae and it is imperative that you do not give yours away lightly, else someone may have complete control over your will.”

“But the Lady of the Summer Court already knows my name, and so did Jan- her son.”

“At any point did you give it to them, though?”

Virgil thought back over the last few weeks. “No… no, they both just, sorta, knew it somehow. Oh, uh, I guess you can call me Vee, then?”

Lo nodded. “Then it is likely they only heard your name somewhere, but they do not own it. Do you understand? They can exert some measure of power over you, but they cannot remove your free will entirely. Now then. Why is it the Lady wants you dead?” The pixie offered a small smile, nodding his head as Virgil explained how he got into this situation, that he knew Janus (though he referred to him as Jay), and why he wasn’t with the other fae anymore. When he finished, it was Pat who puffed up angrily.

“The Lady has gone too far, too far! You didn’t mean to make those people leave, leave! And it sounds like you didn’t actually make a binding promise, so Jay is acting a bit silly, bit silly. So, we’re gonna help you sort these seeds, and get everything cleared up, up!”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Indeed. Pat, you stay here with the others to aid Vee. I am going to go have a word with our feathered friend.” With that, Lo leaned in, kissed Pat’s cheek, and flew off down the mountainside.

Virgil watched the glint of Lo’s wings until he was out of sight, then turned back to the remaining pixies to watch as their quick, tiny hands got to work on the grains. “So… how do you know Jay?

Pat grinned widely up at him. “Jay is one of the Princes of Spring, Spring!” He works with love magic, and helped Lo and I get together decades ago in exchange for our help weaving that pretty gate in front of his palace, his palace!”

While they continued to converse, the pixies worked away at the seeds to form six unique piles, sorted from darkest to lightest. Before long, the entire jumbled mass had been reorganized without a single seed out of place. Once their job was complete, the five other pixies twittered their goodbyes and flew off up the mountain. Only Pat remained, sitting on his knee and chattering away as the sun set. Virgil shivered as a chill breeze licked at his exposed skin.

A sudden snap rent the night air, spooking Virgil, who lurched forward to cradle Pat in his hands protectively. Looking over his shoulder, he felt like vomiting when he saw the Lady of Summer standing over the grain piles with her arms crossed. He internally thanked any of the spirits who may be on his side that her chest was covered this time.

“This is not your work,” she hissed. “These were not organized by your hand, but by his!” She pointed an accusing finger at Pat, who had been peeking around Virgil’s arm but quickly hid back against his chest at the attention. “How dare you attempt to deceive me, you cretin!”

With a wordless shriek, the Lady lashed out with her vicious claws, aiming for the unmarked side of Virgil’s face. He scrambled back on his hands and heels, his ass dragging on the ground while Pat clung to the front of his shirt. Before she could take a second swipe, however, the dust and grit kicked up around them, obscuring their vision.

With his eyes covered, Virgil could only hear the flapping of large wings that cut off before there was the thud of a body dropping in front of him. Opening his eyes, he gasped. There, with his back to Virgil, stood Janus, with his great wings spread wide and his claws flexed at his sides. Lo, who had been holding onto the fae’s shoulder, now zipped down to the pair on the ground, holding Pat close and ensuring he was unharmed while the pixies huddled together on Virgil’s lap.

“You will not lay another hand on him,” Janus hissed, standing over Virgil protectively. Virgil felt Pat grip his thumb, but he couldn’t look away from the pair above them.

“What are you doing? Get out of the way, my son.”

“No. You wanted your revenge on him, and you got it. Look at him; he’s terrified, injured, and exhausted. The original disrespect against you was not even intentionally caused by him; it was the doing of numerous others. I do not fault you for your affront, but you are carrying on like a tantruming toddler!”

The Lady of Summer took a step back and clutched at her bosom. “You dare to speak to me like that?”

“I do, and so does the rest of the Seelie Court.” Virgil watched as Janus rolled his shoulders back and stood straighter. The Prince of Spring then reached into a bag tied at his hip and pulled out some sort of wooden charm dangling from a hemp rope. At the sight of it the Lady of Summer gasped and covered her mouth. “I have spoken before the Queen and her retinue, and she has decreed you will leave this mortal alone. In exchange, he will return to his town and gather a proper celebration for you by the end of this month.”

Virgil held his breath, not daring to twitch a muscle as he awaited his fate. The Lady of Summer let nothing show in her expression, but the hard lines of her face had softened attractively as Janus spoke. She shifted, looking over Janus shoulder and directly at Virgil. “You. You will do as this deal demands?”

Nodding rapidly, Virgil held up his hand in oath. “I will, I promise. I’ll go back home and speak with the curator of the Spirit’s Temple. We’ll host another festival and you’ll get the offerings you were supposed to be given at the start of the month.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the Lady of the Summer Court beamed a smile and grasped her hands over her heart. “Well then! That wasn’t so hard, was it! My dear, smart son, finding a way to set things right. I’m so proud of you, my little songbird.” Looking at her son, she cooed and cupped Janus’ cheek to tilt him up to kiss his forehead, smiling at his grumbling. “I won’t linger much longer, don’t you worry. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of my future son-in-law after all! I’ll see you soon, Virgil, dear,” she called, a cool edge to her voice for a moment before she smiled brightly once more and waggled her fingers. With a dramatic wave of her hands, the Lady of Summer vanished once more.

A quiet settled over the remaining quartet, broken by a tinny clearing of a throat. Lo stood in Virgil’s lap, tugging Pat up next to him. “I believe it is time for us to depart as well. I am relieved we were able to arrive in time to prevent any harm coming to you, Vee.” The pixie looked from Janus to Virgil and smiled. “Let us know when you are in the woods, we would enjoy visiting under more ideal circumstances. Farewell, for now.”

“Goodbye, Vee, Vee!”

In a flash, the pair of pixies flew off into the night, their hands held tight together. They flew loops and circles over the others before darting off in the direction the other pixies had traveled hours ago.

On the ground, Janus helped Virgil to his feet. He cooed in sympathy, tenderly touching the tips of his fingers beneath the angry red cuts on Virgil’s cheek. “I am so sorry for what she has done to you, darling. And I am even more sorry that my own actions drove you from the safety of my side. I was meant to protect you from unearned rage, but instead I subjected you to further punishment and drove you towards your would-be killer. If I hadn’t gotten here in time-” Janus exhaled heavily, his wings sagging behind him. “I am so sorry, Virgil.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna say it’s okay, because none of this has been okay, but, I guess I can understand where you were coming from. If I were as attractive as you, I’d also be worried about people taking advantage of me.” Virgil blushed and dragged his big toe through the dirt. “So, yeah, I forgive you, or whatever.” He looked up with a fire in his eyes and jabbed his finger into the center of Janus’ chest. “But don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?”

Janus hands cupped around his own, cradling it close. “I swear, to the end of my days, I will treat you with the dignity and respect you deserve, my dearest.”

Despite the tenderness of the gesture, Virgil was unmoved. “I mean it, Janus. If you want us to work out, then I can’t be afraid that you’re going to banish me from your home every time you get upset. It’s not a relationship if you’re going to treat me like I’m disposable. I’m worth more than that. If you want more reassurance, or something, on my promises, then we can work something out, but what you put me through was terrifying, and I can’t go through it again. I won’t.”

Janus sighed, holding Virgil’s hands up to his lips and resting there a moment before slowly gathering Virgil into his arms. His embrace was loose enough to break, if Virgil wanted. “I understand, darling, and I will never be able to apologize enough for what I have done. However, it is not my words you want, but my actions, and I will do whatever you desire of me in order to make it up to you.” He cupped Virgil’s uninjured cheek. “I want us to work, too.”

There was a long pause as Virgil searched Janus’ golden eyes for any signs of deception. When he found only an earnest honesty, Virgil allowed himself to be held closer. He wasn’t sure which of them moved next, but they came together as one, lips pressing softly at first before quickly gaining heat. Then he was spun and dipped down, laughing hard as he clung to Janus’ shoulders, the fae’s wings held aloft to keep them balanced.

Maybe ‘future husband’ didn’t sound so bad after all.

#anxceit #healthy anxciet #virgil sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides #fae au #eros and psyche #squid scribbles

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

Text

Cracked

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: spn level gore, cursing, I think that’s it-

Summary: When the reader gets knocked out by a powerful witch, Dean and Sam race to find a cure before it’s too late.

A/n: my first one-shot in who knows how long! I’m so happy I finally wrote something that didn’t turn into a series! Anyways I hope you enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated! (also its hella long, ye be warned)

“Is she still out?”

“Yeah Dean, shes still out.”

Dean let out a string of curse words as he turned his attention back towards the road, his brother sitting in the back seat with a very unconscious Y/N in his arms.

“Dammit. Dammit. Dam-“

“Okay, dude you need to calm down. She still alive, she’s not dying.”

“But what if she is?!” Dean whipped his head around once more to stare at Sam, eyes full of panic. “We don’t know what that witch hit her with!”

“Well can you at least wait to freak out until we actually know what’s going on?”

Flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, Dean let out a huff before falling silent. He tried to push his worry down but as he got closer to Bobby’s house he only felt it rise. Every few seconds he brought his eyes to the rear view mirror, checking on both you and Sam. That witch had been harder than expected to kill and she had knocked you out with some sort of blast, now they were just waiting for whatever effects it brought on.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“She’s kinda getting warm. . . We need to get her back to Bobby’s.”

Clenching his jaw, Dean nodded. “I know, I know I’m trying.” Hissing through his teeth he pressed his foot further down on the gas, the impalas speedometer quickly rising right along with Deans worry.

*. *. *. *. *.

Ten minutes later Dean was practically kicking down the front door of the old hunters home, your body limp in his arms as he quickly moved over the threshold, Sam close behind.

“Bobby?!”

Normally at the sound of his name being called the man would have grumbled and whispered a what now under his breath, but the panic in Deans voice had him shooting out of his desk chair like it was on fire.

“Dean? Sam?”

Dean payed no attention to his name being called, instead moving past the startled old man so he could gently set you down on the old cot in the living room.

“Dammit, man. She’s burning up-“ Deans voice shaking as he pressed the back of his hand to your head.

“What the hell happened?! I thought you guys said the hunt was going fine?” Dropping his book back on the desk he moved across the room towards where you lay unconscious, practically having to pry Dean away from you so he could assess the situation.

“It’s was! And then the evil skank hit her with something and knocked her out cold!”

“And her temperatures been rising for the past ten minutes.” Sam added, dropping their gear bags on the already cluttered floor. “You have any idea what we can do?”

“Not really. Try and keep her fever down until we can figure out what exactly she hit her with?” Bobby shrugged with a sigh. “It’s kinda hard to help her when we don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Alright, yeah okay-“ Dena breathed, still slightly out of breath as he wiped the back of his forehead with his hand, already turning towards the kitchen and moving away.

Bobby watched him go with a confused look before turning to Sam. “Is he alright?”

The younger Winchester only shrugged. “I have no idea. He’s been acting like this ever since she went down. Full blown panic and all fidgety. It’s definitely not like him.”

“No. No it ain’t.” Bobby murmured, stepping out of the way as Dean came back, the two watching as he went straight to your bedside and took a seat next to you, putting cold compresses on your forehead and wrists.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that you and Dean weren’t particularly fond of each other. Enemies was too strong a word. . . It was more like you both just found the other to be mildly annoying. And seeing Dean so worried about you? Well that was not normal. Not normal at all.

“Dean, you doing okay?”

“Yeah, yeah why wouldn’t I be?” Quickly whipping his head around he stopped short at the facial expressions he was being given. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Shaking his head, Sam turned towards the hunter besides him. “We should probably start trying to figure out what the hell is happening.”

“I’ll stay here with Y/N, make sure her fever doesn’t spike.”

“Okay. . . We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us.” Nudging Sam forward, Bobby gave the older Winchester one last look before departing. The jade eyed hunter still seated at your side, only shifting once to wipe a loose strand of hair away from your face before slipping his hand into yours.

Not normal. Not normal at all

*. *. *. *. *. *.

When you woke up it was dark. . . And freezing. Hair rippled erect on your arms as you shivered, slowly blinking yourself into consciousness. Turning your head you quickly realized you were no longer in the witches home but instead in the messy study of one Bobby Singer, the only light either coming from the bay window next to you where a full moon shone bright or from the kitchen across the room.

A small groan escaped your lips as you tried to shift on the cot, a bolt of pain shooting through your head as you did. Falling back once more you peeled the cloth from your head, looking at it with confusion. What the hell had happened? And where was everyone?

Tossing the cloth away you took a deep breath. It was only after did you hear the hushed voices coming from the kitchen.

Up. You needed to get up.

You moved slowly this time, stretching out your body as you sat up. It felt like you were made of lead, every movement taking twice the effort that it normally did. Shrugging it off you swung your legs over the side of the cot, bracing yourself to get up. You shivered once more, this time feeling the cool perspiration on your skin, which was only cooled further when a soft breeze came through the open window.

Standing up slowly you flinched as your feet came into contact with the cold hardwood floors, the old wood squeaking ever so slightly under your weight. Other then that you crossed the room quietly, heading towards the hushed voices just around the corner. Your body felt like it was being weighed down with lead as you walked, a deep ache in your bones accompanying it.

You didn’t feel right. You felt off.

Using the wall as a somewhat support, you rounded the corner into the kitchen, halting in the doorway. Sam, Dean, and Bobby were seated at the small table, all three of their faces buried in books. It was easy to see they were working on something due to the mountains of lore scattered across the surface of the table.

“What are you guys doing?”

At the sound of your voice all work stopped, three heads looking up in unison in your direction.

“Y/N.”

“You’re up!”

Eyebrows knitting tightly together you gave the brothers a confused look. “Yeah, I’m up. What the hell happened?”

Instead of a clear answer, you watched as Sam suddenly stood up, moving across the room towards you. Once close enough he had the back of his hand pressed to your forehead.

“Her fevers gone, that’s good right?” He spoke, looking over his shoulder at his brother and the old hunter.

Swatting his hand away you took a step back. “I’m sorry, fever?”

“Y/N, you had a temperature of 104 for almost three hours.” Dean spoke up, closing the book in front of him so he could give you his attention.

“What?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

With a shrug you leaned your weight against the door frame. “We were in that house trying to find that witch.”

God, why did you feel so weird? It’s like your feet were encased in cement.

“So you don’t remember getting thrown across the room by her?”

“No. And so what if I did? What does me having a fever have to do with getting thrown by a witch?”

There was silence from the three as they looked between each other, clearly arguing silently over who should say something.

“You think she cursed me don't you?” Letting out a sigh, you pinched the bridge of your nose. You weren’t cursed. If you really had a fever that bad then that’s probably why you felt so off.

“How you feeling kid?” This time it was Bobby that spoke up, leaning back in his seat to look at you.

“A little dehydrated, but I’m fine.”

“You sure, cause I feel like you should still be in bed-“

“I’m fine, Dean!”

But clearly you weren’t fine, because not a second later you knees suddenly buckled, your hands reaching out for the door frame so you didn’t crash to the floor. There was a series of shouts and all of a sudden Dean was in front of you, and hoisting you up into his arms before you could fall to the wooden floor.

“I got ya, Sweetheart.”

“Dean! Let me go!”

“Would you just let me help you for once?! I’d rather not see you face plant on the floor.” He fired back, adjusting you in his arms as he carried you back the way you had just came, setting you back down on the cot.

A light switch was flicked on as Bobby and Sam followed behind. “What the hell was that?”

“Like I said, I’m probably just dehydrated.”

“I- I’ll go get you some water.” Dean nodded, hesitating for a moment before backing away and heading back towards the kitchen.

“That was not dehydration and you know it.”

The second he was out of earshot you looked up at the remaining people in the room, ignoring Sams comment.. “Okay, why is he being so nice to me?”

“Trust us, we’ve been asking that same question for the past several hours.” Sam sighed, looking back over his shoulder momentarily.

“No, seriously. Dean and I practically bicker 24/7. And now in the span of two minutes he’s picked me up bridal style and gone to get me water. Is he dying? Am I dying?”

��Ya ain’t dying. . . At least not yet.”

“Wow, thanks Bobby. I feel so much better.” Leaning back on the cot, you took a deep breath. It kinda felt like you were dying now that you thought about it. Your body felt heavier than normal, even your eyelids. You weren’t tired though, so that was out of the question.

“Uh here. Sorry it’s not cold.” Dean sighed, stepping back into the room before handing over a glass of water.

“It’s fine. Thank you, Dean.”

“You sure you’re feeling alright? You kinda scared us earlier.” Sinking down into the chair next to the cot, Dean crossed his arms.

You paused mid sip, lowering the glass from your lips. “I mean, I’m sore- like really, really sore but what else do you expect when you get thrown violently across a room?” Leaning down you put the glass next to the cot before resting your elbows on your knees. “But I also feel. . . God this is gonna sound so weird- I feel heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Yeah, like my bones are encased in concrete. It’s probably nothi-“ your words suddenly died on your lips as you looked down at your lap, your elbows still resting on your knees.

“Y/N?”

Slowly sitting upright, your eyes widened as you suddenly patted down your thigh. You couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t feel your leg at all.

“Uhhh-“

Changing tactics as your panic quickly increased you tried squeezing the muscle, but nothing happened. You didn’t even feel the skin dip under the sudden pressure. It felt solid. Like glass or something.

“Y/N! What the hell is going on?!” Too preoccupied to notice the panic in Deans voice you leaned over to roll up the cuff of your pants.

The trio watched as your eyes widened, unable to clearly see what had you so shocked.

“AHhh!”

“What?”

“AHhH!” You repeated, lifting your leg up and into better lighting, gesturing wildly at your limb.

“What the-“

“Oh my god.”

“Holy shit.”

It was still your leg- but at the same time it wasn’t. The light reflected off of it like it was coated in some sort of gloss, and when you lightly tapped your knuckles against it you were met with la light clink.

The three hunters were crowding around you within seconds. Dean crouched down in front of you slowly, eyes going from your leg to your eyes. “Mind if I-“

You shook your head, allowing the hunter to gently lift your leg to get a better look.

“It looks like. . . Porcelain.” Sam mumbled, kneeling down next to his brother, eyes fixated on your leg. “Can you move it?”

“No.”

“Can you feel anything at all?” Dean tilted his head, running his palm over your solidified calf muscle. You shook your head again, eyes still transfixed on the glossy sheen of your leg.

“So I guess we figured out what kind of curse that witch put on you.”

“No shit, Bobby.”

“I’ll go through the lore, see if I can’t find something.” Sam nodded, popping back onto the heels of his feet before quickly moving back towards the kitchen table, Bobby not far behind.

“It doesn’t hurt or anything?” Dean asked quietly, gently putting your leg back down, your heel hitting the floor with a light clack.

“No.”

“We’re gonna fix this, don’t you worry.” He gave you a soft smile before rising to his feet and giving your hand a squeeze. . . Or at least he tried too. Instead his hand only felt cold porcelain, your hand stiff against his own. The two of you exchanging a worried look before looking down, your hand now the same as you leg.

“Yeah, I really don't want to turn into a fucking porcelain doll.”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Whatever curse was infecting you spread slowly, and thankfully; painlessly. The only way you could tell it was spreading was when the soreness in different parts of your body suddenly stopped. And sure enough when you looked, you skin was smooth and glossy. It was an odd thing to look at, normal skin slowly giving way to something else entirely.

In the last few hours it had completely taken both of your legs, the entirety of your left arm and most of your torso as well. Unable to move you were forced to stay on the cot, but thankfully Sam, Dean, and Bobby had moved their research into the study so they could keep an eye on you.

“This sucks ass.” You grumbled, using your one good hand to flip through the pages of one of Bobby’s books on hexs. “Please tell me one of you guys have something.”

“Nope, sorry Y/N.”

You let out another groan before slamming the book shut. “When I turn into a life size doll do me a favor and try not to turn me into some extravagant coat rack or mannequin.”

“Oh don’t worry, I was thinking more of a lawn ornament or scarecrow for you.”

“Haha. Your so funny Dean, really I’m crying from laughter.” You deadpanned, saluting him with a middle finger. “Maybe if I’m lucky and I stay like this I’ll be able to flip you off even in death.”

Turning your head away from the group, you chose to look out the window instead. Beyond the pane of glass rain was coming down in sheets, soaking every inch of the salvage yard. Every once in awhile a lightning strike would light up the sky, followed by claps of thunder that vibrated through your body. But it was really your reflection that got you.

It was beginning to spread to your face. Lucky your neck had yet to be taken by the witches curse allowing you a little mobility, but it was beginning to crawl up the side of your face, your cheeks reflecting the flash of lightning beyond the salvage yard. Using your one good hand, you delicately let your fingers dance across your face, the cool materiel beneath them unable to register the touch. Leaning forward to get a better look at your reflection you lightly pressed your cheekbone, hoping to feel something- anything.

Instead you were met with a sharp crack and you had to bite down on your tongue to keep from crying out in horror, your eyes widening as you quickly brought your hand away from your face.

No,no,no,no,no,no-

“Haha! I think I found something!” Dean exclaimed, hoisting whatever book he had in his lap up into the air, unaware of what had happened a few feet away from him.

“Good. . . Because I think you guys need to hurry.” Your voice was soft as you slowly turned your head to face the group, the tone of it catching everyone's attention.

You watched Sam’s eyes widen along with Bobby’s, Deans book dropping from his hands to loudly smack against the floor.

“Y/N, don’t move.”

“I’m trying not to.” You spoke softly, trying to minimize the movement of your face.

The only proper way to describe it was that you had cracked. Literally. Where your face was once unblemished was now a massive spider crack, the point of impact stemming from your cheekbone and spreading across your temple towards the center of your forehead, along with spreading out over the bridge of your nose and going down to meet the corner of your mouth. The cracks only stopping where porcelain ended and skin began.

Y/N, I’m gonna need you to be really still.” The caution in Deans voice adding to the tension as he slowly and very cautiously got up from his seat.

“N-no problem.” As you breathed in you swore you could feel air seeping through the cracks in your cheek. You shivered.

Slowly kneeling down in front of you, Dean allowed his hands to reach for your face, only to stop a moment later, calloused palms hovering millimeters away from your fractured skin. He was afraid that if he touched you in the slightest you would shatter.

“Sam, take a picture of the spell I found in that book. If you guys leave now you might be able to get all the ingredients in time.” Speaking over his shoulder Dean never took his eyes off you. He wanted to talk to you but he was afraid the movement might make the breakage worse. Instead he slid his hand into your good one. “One squeeze for yes, two for no. Does it hurt?”

Feeling the first tears fill your eyes you squeezed his hand twice, watching as he body relaxed slightly. You were scared. . .and deep down you knew Dean was too.

“Dean, I’ll keep an eye on her. You go with Sam.” Bobby suddenly spoke up, giving the hunters shoulder a squeeze.

“What? No! I can’t leave her here!”

“Son, I got her. You and Sam know your way around that witches house better than I would. You’ve already been there once.”

“But-“

“No buts. Get going, your brothers already out the door with the keys.” Bobby sighed, ushering the older Winchester to his feet.

He got him all the way to the doorway before Dean halted to look back at you.

You looked afraid. . . And he wasn’t used to seeing that in you. He didn’t like it. It made him feel sick.

“Look after her for me?”

“I got it, now get going! clocks a tickin.”

* * * * *

Sam and Dean has maybe been gone two hours when the old hunter finally spoke up again from his place behind his desk, looking up from whatever he was occupied with.

“That boy worries about you, you know that right?”

Letting out a light huff you rolled your eyes before looking back out the window. The curse had spread more over the past ten half hour, most of your face and neck now the same as the rest of your body.

“He does. Dean may be stubborn and hard to read at times, but it’s easy to see how much he cares about you.”

If your body would have allowed it you would have laughed. Instead you shot him an amused look. . . Or your best attempt at one.

Dean was the last person you would expect to worry about you. You had been nuances to each other for as long as you could remember.

“It took me a little while to see it.” He continued, leaning back in his seat behind his desk. “But I figured him out. You know he came busting in here like the place was on fire earlier, yelling for me with you limp in his arms. I don’t think I’ve seen that boy so afraid in awhile.”

You shook your head, unable to believe it. He was lying. There was no way Dean would be like that with you. That didn’t sound like him at all.

“At first Sam and I were confused as all get out. But like I said, I put two and two together. That idjit has fallen hard for you Y/N.”

A laugh rumbled in the back of your throat at that, you couldn’t help it. How much had that man had to drink?

“I’m serious. You know while you were unconscious he sat with you almost the entire time. Making sure your temperature stayed down, and all that. He held your hand the whole time too. . . Even if he thought Sam and I didn’t notice. That boy was worried beyond all get out.”

Titling your head you gave him an amused glare, one the clearly read old man, you’ve lost it but I find what you’re saying highly amusing.

“Fine, don’t believe an old drunk like me. Half this town thinks I’m crazy already.” He shrugged, reaching across the desk for his beer.

But that was the thing. You wanted to believe him, because deep down you knew you had feelings for the jade eyed hunter. You never found him annoying. . . If anything he was one of your favorite people.

It was maybe twenty minutes later that the front door was thrown open, a hectic Dean flying into the room with Sam hot on his heels.

“We got it! This should turn you back!” Lifting the small vial up he hurried across the room, his steps slightly faltering at the sight of you.

It had gotten worse since he left. The cracks head spread from your face to creep down your neck and collar bone and from what he could see the only parts that hadn’t turned to fine china were your eyes and part of your mouth, along with a little of your neck.

Shaking his head, he moved to sink down next to you on the mattress, unscrewing the lid of the vial. “Alright, tilt your head back, there we go.” Holding the back of you head he slowly emptied the contents of the vial into your parted lips, sending out a silent prayer that it worked.

Once empty he slowly stood up, backing away as he kept his eye on you. “Well, did it work? Is it working?” Turning towards his brother and Bobby in hopes of an answer. The two only shrugged.

“We’re gonna just have to wait and see. These things need time.”

The older Winchester let out a groan before taking his hand through his hair. “I- I can’t. I cant. I’ll be outside if you guys need me.”

Neither man interfered as they watched him turn and walk back out the way they had come. Dean was worried, and he had every right to be.

Dean only made it out the front door before sinking down onto the front steps of the porch. (Porch being way too nice a word since it was more like a few planks of wood resting on some old cinder blocks.) above him the porch light clicked off as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon to the east. It was only then that he realized he had been up all night, a yawn crawling up his throat. He needed you to be alright. If that cure didn't work-

The sky was beginning to shift to dusty shades of pink and orange when the front door clicked open behind him, the old wood wheezing as the person moved towards him.

“How’s she doing?”

“. . .I’m doing fine, thanks for asking.”

At the sound of your voice, Deans head whipped around at such a force he swore he heard his neck crack, his green eyes finding you instantly. A sigh of relief left his lips as you sunk down onto the steps besides him. The only sign that you had been cursed at all was the crack shaped bruises on your face and neck, other then that you looked unscathed.

“Y/N-“

“The bruises are fine, Dean.” You smiled, lightly tapping the purples lines on your face. “Feels like I just fell down a flight of stairs, but I am welcoming the soreness.”

Folding his hands in front of him, Dean sucked in a breath as he nodded, eyes fixed on the rising sun. “Good, good.”

There was a small band of silence before you spoke again. “Thank you for saving me. I really didn’t feel like becoming an antique.”

“It wasn’t just me. Bobby and Sam did most of the work.”

“I know, I heard you were too busy holding my hand to help go through the lore.” You grinned, watching as he tensed up besides you, eyes going wide as a deep pink the same color as the sunrise crept across his cheeks.

“Wh-what? No! Who told you that? That- that is crazy talk. I wasn’t holding your hand!”

“Well, if you were I don’t mind.” Casually looping your arm through his, you rested your head against his shoulder. “The sunrise is pretty. Glad I got to see it.”

“Yeah. We don’t watch too many of them do we?”

“No. No we don’t.” The two of you fell silent for awhile, the only sounds being the road off in the distance and birds starting to wake up. It was only then did you lift your head to look at the hunter. In that moment you swear you heart skipped several beats, because for the first time in a long time you saw a soft smile on Dean Winchesters lips, a content one. You were silent for another moment.

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Pulling his eyes away from the horizon he looked at you with surprise. “What?”

“I said-“ you leaned forward, “are you gonna kiss me or what?” you repeated with more confidence.

“You want me to kiss you?”

“Mhmm. Because here’s the thing, I’ve kinda got these feelings for you.”

“You want to kiss me?” Dean repeated, dumbfounded at what you were saying.

“Well I don’t want to kiss Sam, and I certainly don’t want to kiss Bobby.” You laughed lightly, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you looked at him. For a moment Dean thought you were joking with him, but he knew how you played, and you weren’t playing.

“I think you have terrible taste-“ he murmured, suddenly and very slowly leaning in, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. You were like a magnet, pulling him in.

“I totally agree.” You smirked, heartbeat increasing as the distance closed..

“I thought you hated me.”

“Oh I do, I despise you to my very core.”

“Oh, then I guess I should leave.” Deans grin grew as he slowly began to lean away. This was the kind of playfulness he could get behind.

“How bout you shut up?”

“Mmm, sounds like a good idea. Why don’t you make m-“ the words died on his lips the second yours connected with his. And the first thing he realized was that they were soft and molded together perfectly. As if on autopilot his hands went to your face no longer afraid of shattering you,but still holding you gently because of the bruises. He let out a sigh of relief against your lips when they found skin and not porcelain.

“You can kiss me harder if you want.” You whispered, hands finding the back of his neck.

“Don’t want to break you.” He mumbled, keeping his assault on your lips light and simple. He wanted to savor it, cherish it. It was you after all.

“You won’t.”

“Okay.”

SPN Taglist (still open)

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester imagine #spn x reader #SPN #spn fluff #dean winchester fluff #supernatural #bi-danvers writing

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preciousthingsareprecious · 3 years

Text

Finding Us Chapter 21

Alright! Here I am at last with another Tim chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it.

AO3 Link

Tim couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling up in his chest at the idea of progress in the stalker case. It fueled his desire to keep moving in other directions, while he waited on Damian to finish his sketch he dove back into work on the Alkali case.

Currently, he was trying once again not to backseat hack as Barbara was finally digging through the Alkali’s files. After their trip to the physical location, Babs had used the access gained through Stephanie to create her own back door and they’d sat on that for a little while to make sure no one found it.

It was early the morning after Damian’s encounter with the creepy man and Tim was in the belfry standing over Barbara’s shoulder because there was nothing to currently do on the stalker case. Tim hadn’t recognized Damian’s sketch of the guy he’d seen, and so they were waiting on facial recognition to grab his identity. The kid’s sketch was definitely good enough for the system to pick something up, they just had to wait.

“Have you found anything interesting yet?” he asked, trying not to bounce on his toes.

“Lots. Nothing we’re looking for. Though, there is a guy here who’s last name is Bandersnatch, which is pretty cool.”

She was teasing, but Tim could also hear the note of warning in her voice. When she found what they were looking for she’d tell him, and he shouldn’t keep pushing. He sighed, and turned to step across the room, over to a mini fridge installed for snacks.

“Want a soda?” he called.

She shook her head, “It’s too early for that, toss me a tea.” she answered.

He grabbed a bottle of tea out for Babs and a can of orange soda for himself and moved back over to the computer.

“Thanks for helping on this.” he said, handing her the tea, then cracking open his soda.

“Of course, the sooner we get these guys the better.”

Tim agreed, and sipped at his soda while he played a matching game on his phone in an attempt to both distract and stop himself from tossing advice Barbara’s way. He got stuck on a particularly difficult level and found himself totally lost in it for a while, trying again and again to win. It made the waiting a lot easier, even if he also kind of wanted to toss his phone out the window and watch it crash at the bottom of the building.

“Got something.” Babs said at last.

Tim looked up bleary eyed, blinking away red diamonds and orange squares. It took his brain a moment to register what she’d said before he stood up, the chair shaking.

“Great!” he hurried over to look at the screen again, “What’d you find?”

“Well, under the private files I found some that were locked with a password, after cracking that I found these.”

The file she’d opened was filled with unreadable text.

“It’s encrypted?” Tim asked.

“I think it’s some kind of cypher. See it follows a sort of pattern. Nothing too overt or easy like a caesar cipher. It’s got to have a key.”

Tim hummed, she was right, the text was filled with letters and numbers and broken up in a way that looked like lines of real text, if they’d been in any kind of legible order.

“Well then we’d better get to cracking it.”

They worked for a couple hours trying to figure out what cypher had been used, and testing various codes to no avail. Eventually they decided to give it some time to breathe, and their brains time to think of new ideas. Babs forwarded him the files so he could keep looking over them later and Tim left her to work on other projects.

As he was leaving, he found Cassandra waiting for him down at the base of the Belfry. She was eating a cinnamon roll like it was a doughnut.

“Hey.” she said, handing him a cup of coffee, and shaking her wrist and the plastic bag hanging off it.

Tim took the offered cup, then tugged the bag off her free hand checking inside. A second cinnamon roll sat tucked into a nest of napkins. He fished it out, careful not to spill his drink then copied Cass, taking a huge bite out of the side.

It was still warm, and the taste of cinnamon and sugar danced across his tongue in a way that made him think of home. Of early Saturday mornings with Alfred, stirring together a bowl of butter, sugar, and cinnamon so the man could carefully spread it across dough. Or of Bruce dropping off a few in his room, ruffling his hair, and telling him he should probably finish his homework before working on another case.

“Ready to head back?” she asked.

He washed down the bite of bread with some coffee and nodded, “Yeah, I think Babs and I have done all we can. How’re things back at the manor?”

Cass shrugged, “Everyone is still waiting on the results of the search, so they all split up to work on other things.”

They moved to the car Cass had brought to pick him up in, it was one of Bruce's many cars, black and not too fancy. Tim held a hand out for the keys and after an eye roll Cass dropped them in his palm.

“I drove here.” she argued.

“You drive too fast for me and my coffee.” he replied.

“Fair.” she shrugged.

As Tim pulled away from the clocktower, still munching on his cinnamon roll Cass pipped back up.

“Can we stop at the craft store?”

He glanced at her, “Sure, but why?”

“Damian wanted some more colored pencils. He sent a list and asked me to stop if I had time.” She tugged a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket and opened it to show him.

A detailed list of colors, brands, and what not to buy’s filled the page in Damian’s neat, tight, handwriting. Tim was surprised to find a little picture of a dog at the bottom of the page, it wasn’t as detailed as Damian usually did, and smiling for some reason.

“He drew it as a thank you, and promised to make me a better one with the pencils.” Cass said, catching where Tim’s eye had fallen, then she added, “Eyes on the road.”

Tim flicked the turn signal on the car to indicate he needed to go left, towards the craft store Damian frequented, “Why didn’t he come if he wanted to restock?”

Cass shrugged again, and folded the paper instead of crumpling it back up. She set it in her lap, fingers tapping on the paper with gentle tip taps.

Damian rarely missed a chance to get his own art supplies. He was as picky about them as Tim was over film or lenses for his cameras. Sure it was just a few replacement pencils, but even those Tim knew Damian would linger over for an hour if he was left to it. He wondered briefly if his mild concussion had anything to do with staying home. Maybe Alfred had told him he couldn’t leave? But no, it had been days at this point, he was probably cleared at last for most activities.

Maybe it was because he knew Cass was headed to pick up Tim.

He tried not to think too hard on that thought. They hadn’t really talked much lately. Both had been busy with their own things, and besides that, they didn’t really talk a lot to begin with. He’d thought they were doing better, but at the same time Tim knew they weren’t.

Tim reached out to snatch his coffee and take a sip from it. Now that he thought about it, maybe they were doing better after all. Damian had called him by his first name the night before. And he’d gone looking for clues as to Tim’s stalker. A queasy feeling bubbled up in Tim’s stomach. He’d been quick to dismiss Damian’s attempted apology back when they’d been at the mall, and now he was starting to wonder if he'd been really trying to mend that bridge. T im loved the idea of having a little brother, and way back when he'd first met Damian he'd been happy to have one, for all of two seconds. Still, sometimes he thought they had found that perfect spot of being siblings, and other times it felt like there was a gaping hole between them. Especially lately.

He pulled into the store’s parking lot not even realizing they’d made it there, his body on autopilot. Cass cheered as she climbed out of the car, and Tim stayed quiet.

When he looked up at the storefront he figured it out.

He might be jealous. Of the squirt.

Maybe it wasn't their past that was bothering him so much lately, but their present. Tim thought he'd shaken off those feelings in regards to Jason and Damian, but maybe he hadn't. Even in the wake of the family’s eyes turning on him Tim still couldn’t stop thinking about how Damian seemed to draw everyone in all the time. Dick, then Jason, Bruce with his fretting after they’d gotten hurt. It was--it was like he fit in a way Tim couldn’t quite imagine himself fitting again. Like they were both the same piece, and there was only one spot left on the puzzle, and Damian had swooped in just in time to fill it. Even now, he felt odd about the attention. Like the moment everything was done his family would stop looking at him again. Stop seeing Tim, because he’d messed up. He’d failed to be the one to fix everything and he no longer deserved to be seen.

“Tim?”

“Coming!” he said, locking the car door.

Inside he was hit with the smell of paint and paper. The whole place was a kaleidoscope of colors and supplies crammed together in a space that should have felt cluttered, but instead actually seemed homely. He followed Cass to the pencils and held each as she selected them, reading Damian’s list carefully, then making Tim double check “ just in case” .

He thought they’d be in and out, but once they’d found Damian’s stuff Cass insisted on browsing. Tim followed her, feeling a bit like Titus pattering after Damian as he instructed the dog on something very un-dog-like and soon his arms were full.

Cass had added extra packs of less high quality colored pencils, crayons, thin markers --not thick, because apparently those didn’t trace well-- and made him pick out a coloring book. She selected one full of animals, and Tim picked one that was more abstract. Like black and white stained glass. He and Cass locked eyes on an adult swear word coloring book and both grinned.

“For Jason?” Tim asked.

“And one for Dick.” Cass grinned.

Soon they’d selected adult coloring books for the whole family. Some simply because they knew they’d get a laugh out of them, and others from the knowledge of the recipient getting genuine delight from it.

By the time they left, Tim was feeling better. His day brightened even more when Cass hooked an arm through his at home, and dragged him into the living room.

“We are going to color and watch She-Ra.” she declared.

He could have argued and said he had work to do. But he knew Cass would tell him a break was good. And wasn’t that what he’d just told Babs? He could have fallen into other cases or dug out his 3Ds to play some Animal Crossing. But the best idea in the whole world right then was sitting on the floor and coloring with his sister, and he wasn’t going to pass it up.

He filled in two whole pages, first lined with marker --Cass had been right about the thin ones-- then colored in as dark as he could with his own box of colored pencils. At some point the sounds of She-Ra had been turned down as he and Cass chatted about everything.

She told stories of an adventure with Steph. He talked about Mindbender and how weird it was to have Jason in the house again. Then about how cool it was to have Jason in the house. Cass told him about a ballet she’d seen. All of it, whether it was little nothings or big changes, ebbed and flowed to the scritch scritch of pencil on paper, and legs folded up or kicked into the air.

At some point, Alfred brought in cocoa and water. Then sandwiches. Dick breezed through and gasped over his book, stopping to color in all of an F before getting bored and breezing back out. Jason cackled over his book, and then genuinely thanked them for thinking of him. Damian collected his pencils, didn’t complain about a single one, and stared at his own book of animals to color like it was made of gold before tucking it under an arm and scurrying away.

Bruce stayed the longest, lounging on a couch to add his own commentary between theirs, infrequent, but enough to say “I’m here, I’m listening, I love you.” before he too was called away. He planted a kiss on each of their heads before leaving.

It was Stephanie who broke up the peace. Showing up like a tornado, and stirring them from settled spaces into laughter. They traded pencils for controllers and fired up Smash Brothers for a wholly different, but still perfect, adventure.

There, surrounded in waves by his family Tim wondered if he’d been wrong earlier. If maybe the puzzle had room for all of them. And every time someone new came in, it just expanded and made room for them. He certainly felt like he fit in, and it was really nice.

#finding us #tim drake #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #other batfam are scattered in this one #fanfiction #precious posts #chapter 21 #I am flabbergasted every time I see how many chapters this fic has #it's so many #past me wrote a lot

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charlieliqueur · 4 years

Text

Bigby Wolf X Reader

Summary; Bigby is forced into going to a fair outside of the city. He expects to find Mundies and Fables, but not what he actually stumbled upon...

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It was loud.

Painfully loud. Footsteps, bell chimes, laughter, screams, so much noise. So many people. His footsteps hit the ground, grass sparse due to heavy traffic. The pathways were marked with orange cones and plastic tape.

Bigby spotted Beast at a strongman game, Holly and Grendal sitting at a table in the shade, Woody and Jack playing darts. He slowed, seeing Mundies and Fables alike crowding games and stands.

It was overwhelming.

The scents mainly. Sweet, salty, savory, natural, unnatural. All manners of deodorant, perfume, cologne, shampoo, laundry detergent. It fogged up his mind, and he instinctually reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. Sticking a lone one between his lips, Bigby brought the lighter out, and opened it. The metallic sound echoed in his head, as another scent joined the others right before he lit the cigarette.

He stalled, lifting his head up slightly. He took a breath through the nose. It was cluttered with all the other scents, but it was there.

Something so soft, a gentle pheromone of wood, rain, and untouched earth... of home.

It took his mind to memories of a place much kinder, much more pleasant. He searched for the source. A stand, an object, something...

Then a strong burst hit him, like lightning, and he saw you. You ran past, rushing after someone. Your hair a mess, with dandelions and daisies tangled in it. A temporary painting of a wolf sat against your flushed cheek, and a clutter of plastic bracelets and beads littered your wrists and neck, a collection of trophies you had won.

Your smile was a million fireflies, your eyes the sparkle of gemstones, your laughter a cascade of beautiful thunder. You were there and gone in less than a second. You disappeared into the crowds, chasing after your friend, and Bigby's eyes never left you as you ran. They still lingered long after you were out of sight.

"Bigby?"

The voice tugged him from his thoughts. He blinked a few times, slouching slightly. Bigby hadn't realized how alert he'd been, the sight of you such a shock.

He eased, and turned to where the voice came from. He saw Snow, a confused look on her face. "Someone you knew?" She asks, looking past him in the direction you rushed off into. "No... thought I recognized them, but I guess not," Bigby says, glancing back as he spoke. He looked back to Snow. Her hair neatly pulled back and braided, her wrists bare, her skin untouched. So unlike the wild, free-spirited delight that had rushed by.

"Well, Flycatcher, Beauty and I were gonna head to some rides. You in?"

"Uh, no thanks."

"Alright... just try to lay back a bit, okay Bigby?" She says, then she turns and leaves. He adjusted his tie, lit the cigarette, and continued walking.

But you still dominated his thoughts. Even in the chaotic space, you were all he could manage to think about.

Morning turned to noon, noon to evening. And as the colored lights seemed to be more at home, and the families began to leave, the thought crossed his head that he should go. Why would he stay if all he was going to do was mope over a girl he only had just glimpsed?

He slicked his hair back once more, sighing, pulling out another cigarette to try and dilute your presence. It had stuck with him all day.

Just as he lit it, he heard something.

"Oh my gosh, just do it!"

"No, I'm all awkward and it'd be weird."

"And?? Listen, either you do it, or I will. And I won't be gentle about it either."

"Okay, okay!"

It was you. Bigby wasn't sure how he knew. He just did. He pulled the lighter down, prepared to look around like a wild animal for you, but something tapped his shoulder before he had the chance. He turned around carefully, seeing you right there. A smile on your face, even more beads around your neck.

"Hey, I kinda sorta noticed you were wandering around on your own. If that was your plan, totally okay! But, if it wasn't, my friends and I were doing the same thing, hoping onto whatever rides have the shortest lines... if you wanted to maybe, I dunno, come hang out with us...?" You asked, still smiling, only a shyness had overcome you.

"Uh," he said, Bigby wasn't sure how to respond. He was still shocked that you had just strolled up to him like it was nothing. Nobody did that. No one. But here you were, smiling at him and eagerly awaiting a reply. "Its alright if you don't wanna, I figured I'd offer-"

"Nah, I'd, uh, I'd like to," he says, and suddenly your smile doubled, and you brought your arms up slightly, exclaiming "Awesome! Er-- I mean, cool." You rubbed the back of your head, your cheeked very flushed now, smiling, a touch of embarrassment added to your mix of emotions.

He couldn't help but smile slightly. "Well, shall we?" You ask, gesturing for him to follow you. He nodded, following you as you led him into the chaotic fairground full of people. "I have to warn you, some of them are a lot more... spontaneous than me. Don't take too much of what they say to heart, your best bet would be to stick with me," you offered, nudging him with your elbow. "Shouldn't be a problem," he says, pulling the cigarette out and treading it out on the ground. He wanted the whole of you in his mind right now.

He didn't want Fabletown, or being Sheriff, or his friends, or home, or Snow, or anything right now.

All he wanted was you.

"Oh, also, my names y/n! Name's are kinda important," you say, laughing to yourself. "I'm Bigby," he says, and you nodded, quickly saying "That's a rad name."

"Really think so?" He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk he couldn't help. "Oh yeah, that's the thing about me, I don't really lie. I'll phrase things weird, but usually no lying," you say, beaming.

"So what to first?" He asks, and you nearly jumped at his eagerness. "I've actually got a list," you say. But instead of pulling out a phone or paper or anything, you pull up your forearm, a list of ride names and places written on the skin, slightly blocked by all the bracelets.

"Oh, here," you quickly pulled off the biggest bracelet you had on, it being much too big for you. You held it out for him as you walked. He carefully took it, easing it onto his wrist. It fit rather well. "Oh, and some of these, before they break my neck," you joked excitedly, pulling a few of the colorful beaded necklaces off from around your neck, hopping onto your tiptoes, and putting them over his head and letting them fall around his neck.

"Voila! That means... actually, I dunno what it means, something in French," you say, bursting into giggles. He hadn't realized he could love a sound so much until he heard your laugh. "So first is actually, ooh, come on!" You grabbed his wrist and pulled him along, suddenly rushing.

That's how he ended up on a mess of rides with you, playing dozens of games, mostly you winning and him having to deal with your ridiculous victory dances. Your friends sometimes snuck around, yet oddly enough didn't stick around you both that much.

It was much darker now, probably nearing midnight. But you didn't have the faintest sign of tiredness. You seemed determined with your list, that Bigby had helped check off with you. "Oh, Ferris Wheel. I wonder if the line's short enough now? Let's see!" You reached back, grabbing his hand. He felt his face heat up, but you didn't react, you simply held it tightly, joyously rushing down a pathway.

He could hear his heart in his ears, thumping harshly against his ribs. He didn't know why he felt this way... and what was it he was feeling

You had brought the both of you to the line just in time to sneak into the last seats. "Want me to stop it at the top for ya?" Asked the operator as you sat across from Bigby. You both nodded.

Bigby couldn't keep his eyes off you. All of this seemed fake, almost as if a dream. He began to worry faintly that he'd wake up, finding himself in his little apartment, the atmosphere being that of his normal life. He realized how pleasing you were to the senses. Your beauty, your scent, your voice, how your hands felt against his skin. But there was still a box left unchecked, still one left on the list...

He wasn't sure if he should, or even could.

He wasn't sure if he had the courage to. It was such a funny thought, being the Sheriff, breaking up fights and hunting murderers, and yet he turned into a scared boy when faced with a girl.

You tugged him from his thoughts by quickly saying, "Look at the stars! Aren't they beautiful?"

He hesitated, still gazing at you a moment, before looking up where you were. They really were something. But they were nothing compared to how they looked reflecting in your eyes.

"Bigby?"

He suddenly realized he'd been staring. You smiled at him. "Seem more interested in me than the view," you teased, a smirk on your lips. Those lips... he felt his toes curl, not wanting to clench his fists infront of you. He was frustrated, but in a calm way. "Can't help it," he says, you noticing the touch of pink across his cheeks. Your smiled faded, but remained. A small, gentle thing.

He couldn't help but look at your lips. Then, you sat forward a little, as the ferris wheel stopped with you both at the top. You asked, "Did I tell you I can read minds?"

"No, don't think you did. Can you?"

"I can read yours."

"Really, so, what am I thinking...?" He asks, curious.

"Come closer," you urge, gesturing. He played along, sitting forward. But as soon as he did, you quickly slammed your lips against his. He was shocked at first, but soon kissed back, his hand finding your cheek, the other your neck.

But just as the moment began, it was suddenly cut short by the ferris wheel jerking into motion. You both sat back, looking at each other, both blushing madly. The ferris wheel stopped, and you both got off, smiling softly. As you walked away, back into the crowds, Bigby carefully reached, feeling his wrist brush your bracelets, before his hand wrapped around yours.

The night was soon to end, and it made him upset, not wanting this moment to ever go. "I, uh, maybe we could, um..." you couldn't find the words. But somehow he knew exactly what you meant.

"Tomorrow afternoon?" He suggests. You smile, and ask "Where?"

"I know a few restaurants here and there, but maybe something a little more lively would be your style..."

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Then, here..." he carefully wrote out the address for his apartment on her arm, along with a phone number. "The number is for my office, I basically live there," he jokes.

"Office?"

"Yeah, I'm a Sheriff," he says simply.

"SHERIFF?"

Epilogue

Bigby sat in his office, turning through another file. He had finished writing something, before opening a drawer in his desk, and he stopped. Inside were the necklaces you had given him, along with the bracelet. He smiled faintly, gently sliding the folder on top of them. He shut the drawer, just as the door burst open, and a familiar girl rushed in, immediately sitting across from him. "You will not believe what Bluebeard said to me! Now don't get upset, but this jackass-" and you went on to rant, gesturing wildly with your hands, and all he could do was sit back and smile.

"The only good thing that came out of it was Snow finally giving me the damn key!" You say, slamming it down onto the desk. You huffed, leaning back and making funny faces as you remembered the ordeal.

Bigby reached forward and grabbed the key off the desk, observing it. "This isn't 206's key," he says. "I know," you say softly, your cheeks heating up a little. "This is my apartment's key..." he added, looking at you. "Well I obviously need one, what with you working odd hours. What happens if I get locked out?" You say defensively, not wanting to admit to the other reasonings.

"Why would I lock you out?"

"Whenever you get shot or hurt and know that I'll be giving you hell about it," you say honestly. You did say that you told the truth.

"Why else would you need a key?" He asks, offering that smirk that always made you flustered. "Cause..." you say, getting up and reaching for it, but he pulled it back suddenly.

"Cause why?"

"I can take the key back-" He reached forward and grabbed your hand, stilling you as he stood up. He walked around the desk, and your face got even redder. "Why?" He asked, and you avoiding eye contact, bouncing your legs slightly, nervous. "In case I wanna... surprise you..."

"What kind of surprise?" He asks, leaning forward, lifting your chin so you'd have to look at him. "You're the detective, you tell me," you say, but your blushed face and rushing heartbeat said it all.

He chuckled, kissed you, and pressed the key back into you palm, whispering in your ear, "Then I guess you better hold onto this..."

#bigby wolf #twau bigby #bigby #bigby x reader #bigby wolf x reader #sheriff bigby #twau #the wolf among us

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maximoff-kaplan · 3 years

Text

Who: Billy Kaplan & Jay Guthrie ( @icarusjaybird )

Where: Billy’s house and District X

What: After using powerful magic to create a pocket universe, Billy trips a thread of reality on the way home and shakes someone free. Neither of them realize just how bizarre the situation is.

BILLY:

When he'd created the pocket universe with Lucifer, the sheer power and pull of the magic they'd used had been beyond anything he'd ever done before. It was creation in a way that he didn't know he was capable of. Perhaps it had been bravado, or naivete, or some mixture of the two, to think that something neither of them had done before could be managed in a vacuum and wouldn't touch anything else. The very nature of his powers had him constantly aware of the tenuous, fragile threads of reality - not only the one he existed in, but all the other possible ones - and they were frighteningly easy to touch. He should have been more careful.

Should have didn't do a lot after the fact, though. As he and Lucifer had left that little world of their own doing, Billy caught on something in a metaphorical and, unfortunately, very literal way. He touched a thread he had not meant to touch. He pulled something with him that he had not meant to pull.

An entire universe away from where he'd been, he found himself looking at a young man who couldn't have been much older or younger than him, and whom he'd never laid eyes on before. The colorful wings extending from his back immediately had Billy wondering if they'd caught the attention of Lucifer's family, somehow, but he'd been in the presence of angels. He knew what it felt like - the strange, preternatural magic of them, and that feeling wasn't there. Still, what was he looking at?

"Uh...who-?...Who are you?"

JAY:

It had been a slow and lazy Sunday morning already and Jay wasn't feeling any less lethargic even after a cup of coffee. His green eyes were a bit droopy as he stared down at the guitar in his lap, the rosewood smooth against the rough pads of his fingertips. The B string had broken last night and he had been too tired to replace it. After fishing out a packet from his dresser drawer he found a coiled-up replacement and was currently trying to get it unraveled enough to stretch out across the neck of the guitar.

He was in his little Nashville apartment and in his own bedroom, alone. His roommates were also members of his band, Lament. They were good guys-- all human, but they never treated Jay any differently for being a mutant, which he greatly appreciated. They were skilled musicians as well, and decent friends. His room was cluttered with various guitars and cases, a couple amps and cords wrapped around them. To the right of his bed was a keyboard on a stand that he played with sometimes to write down chords or for fun. Because he was alone, he didn't bother putting much clothes on, just some pajama bottoms and socks to keep his feet warm. Putting on shirts was a hassle due to his massive red wings, and he normally wore tank tops that made it easy to put on and remove.

When he suddenly was PULLED from his universe into another he didn't fully register what had happened, suddenly finding himself sitting cross-legged on the floor with his guitar still in his lap and the B-string stretched out between his hands. His wings flapped slightly as he gasped and looked up at the young man who had just spoken to him. "Huh? Well, who are you??" There was a slight Southern US drawl to his voice, his hands lowering from holding the string to clutch the guitar instead, as if thinking it would be snatched away. Without warning Jay flapped his wings so he could be lifted up into a standing position, the string falling to the floor as he moved to hold the guitar by the neck instead.

BILLY:

“I asked first,” he said quickly, as though that weren’t the most childish response in the world. As the other stood up, so did he. He could tell something was off. Magic just felt that way, sometimes, and especially with the way he’d been using it. It was like the wind had suddenly shifted a different direction before dying down. “Where did you come from?”

Part of him knew the answer already. Unless this man had somehow chosen to be there, then it was a mistake. His mistake. He’d been sloppy with something, caught up in the success of what he’d just been a part of.

JAY:

"Where'd I… ?" Jay glanced around as he asked that, trying to figure out where he was now that he'd been snatched out of his room. His wings fluttered, showing off that he was uneasy, his lips pursing before his gaze went back to the other man. He had experienced many strange things in his time at the Xavier Institute, including simulations in the Danger Room to prepare him and his fellow classmates for any type of situation involving other mutants, magic, strange powers, but he hadn't been at school for several years now and didn't think this was some kind of test… right?

"Unless we're on Mars, I'm from Earth. Name's Jay. Now you." He turned his guitar just slightly in his hand before gripping the neck with the other, holding it at his side now almost like a knight with a lowered sword, clearly about to smack the other guy with it if he tried to come near him… and he hated to do that to his beloved guitar but he knew sometimes one had to be innovative when it came to fighting people off.

BILLY:

“Billy Kaplan. Wiccan, if you want...the other name. Look-“ he held up his hands, deciding to just say what he was thinking. If it turned out to be wrong, he’d be relieved, and having some random stranger think he was out of his mind was a small price to pay for knowing he’d not tripped over a thread of reality and shaken something loose.

“I’m a witch, to use an easy word, and I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here. So if you’re...I don’t know, if you’re actually from the year 2340 or 1995 or a timeline where robots rule the planet, please tell me now.” He had to figure out if he could even fix it.

JAY:

Jay lowered the guitar from the slight fighting stance he had, his body relaxing somewhat. Witches he could deal with, at least based on the things he'd learned back at his days in the academy. He blinked and gave Billy a confused expression when he mentioned ROBOTS since that was terrifying, but then he shrugged slightly, his wings extending but then curling back up more against his back. "Nah, no robots rulin' the world that I'm aware of. Year's 2021… I'm from the United States. Currently livin' in Nashville. Where's this?"

He was very aware that he wasn't really wearing any clothes other than his plaid pj pants and gray-tipped socks, but he figured this Billy guy brought him here so he could just deal with having to talk to a half-naked person and tough if he didn't like it. There was a long nasty-looking white scar across his chest right over his heart, but it seemed old and no longer one to cause pain. His dark red hair fell just above his shoulders, unruly as if he'd just woken up, but it added to his rocker-boy charm.

BILLY:

Okay. All good things. The answers didn’t incite any further or immediate alarm in him, though something still didn’t feel right. Could it be as simple as him accidentally pulling someone over from the wrong state? That seemed so...basic. Basic would have been nice. He could fix basic.

“Star City, California. Also 2021, and also no robots. So...okay,” he pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “Do you have somebody you can call? I’d send you back home myself, but I’m zapped.” He’d spent too much energy on what he’d just been doing, and he had none left for a teleportation spell. “Or we can...there’s probably someone in District X that could get you there.”

JAY:

It was shocking to hear that he was in CALIFORNIA, since that seemed so far away to Jay, not even considering that he might be in an entirely different universe. “Yeah, sure. Um…” He bent down lazily to pick up the half-coiled B-string he’d dropped onto the floor earlier, then straightened and turned his gaze back to Billy, sizing him up a bit since there was something he needed to ask him. “Got a shirt I can borrow? And shoes…” They looked to be about the same size and height, he was maybe a bit larger than Billy in the torso and arms. He knew he might have to cut holes in any shirt that Billy lent him unless he could use his magical witch powers to conjure something up.

There were several relatives he could call but he didn’t have his cell phone on him, and it wasn’t like his mom could afford to buy him an airline ticket. He probably could fly with his own wings if he had to, but it would take several days and he really didn’t feel like exerting that much energy unless it was an absolute emergency. “Don’t have my phone. Or wallet. " He wasn't sure if he could find someone in Distrct X or not, but knew it would be much easier to get help if he at least was fully dressed. Last time he had talked to his siblings none of them had been near California, but he knew that the older ones got around a lot with their X-Men duties, so maybe someone could help him get in contact.

BILLY:

“I- yeah. Yeah, I’ve got something.” And if it didn’t fit, what was the use of magic if he couldn’t do a little tailoring with it? He stepped toward the closet and pulled out a black t-shirt with the neck cut into a deep V and a pair of boots he’d not touched in ages. “I can fix it if you need. I’ll-“ he made a gesture with his thumb toward the door and walked out into the hall to wait.

JAY:

Jay watched quietly while Billy gathered up the shirt and boots. He nodded slightly in thanks as he gently set the guitar down against a nearby wall, draping the string over it for safekeeping. Once Billy had left the room he carefully put the v-neck shirt on backwards so that he could have his wings pop out the back without having to rip the fabric… though he did stretch it just slightly. Oops. The shoes were a little tight but nothing he couldn’t live with, once dressed he picked up his guitar and dumped the string inside the soundhole to just rattle around in there for now., then went out into the hallway.

“Thanks.” It was supposedly Billy that had snatched him out of his room and dumped him here in California, but he didn’t feel anger or resentment about it. He was just confused about what step to take next and worried he would have to struggle to find someone to get him home. “Yer a mutant?” He assumed Billy had to be since he had known about a mutant-friendly area and didn’t seem scared of him, but also figured he could be a magical mutant-ally?

BILLY:

He was leaning against the wall when Jay stepped out, texting Tommy to let him know he'd be out of the house for awhile. He had no idea how long yet. Hopefully they could find...Nightcrawler or someone who could help get Jay back to Nashville and out of Star City. Barring that, Billy would just gave to rest for a little while and do it himself. He felt guilty at the idea of making him wait to go home, and it was his fault he was there in the first place, so hopefully that wouldn't be the case.

"Yeah. You?" He motioned for Jay to follow him to the front door and out. District X wasn't far. "It'll be faster if we fly." Billy had his own version of it, no wings involved, but it looked like Jay was perfectly capable of handling that part himself.

JAY:

"Mm." He nodded in agreement when Billy asked if he was a mutant, not about to hide it at this point even if the other guy had admitted to being human. He couldn't help but smile faintly when Billy suggested flying. He brought the wooden guitar closer to his torso and body before suddenly lifting up a foot or so into the air, his wings flapping as he looked down at Billy. "You can fly?" He glanced around to make sure nobody would start freaking out and yelling or something at the sight of two grown men FLYING, still wary of humans having bad opinions of Mutants even though things definitely were getting better these days… "Or were you expecting a ride?" He probably could lfit Billy up in the air for a while if he had to, but felt like that might be awkward since they just met and all, and physically it would be exhausting depending on how far they had to go…

BILLY:

“I can handle it on my own, but thanks.” Once they were outside, he wasted no time rising into the air. He was propelled by seemingly nothing, but held himself easily several feet above the ground and waited for Jay. “Just follow me. I’ll- we’ll find some help when we get there.”

He figured they’d waited long enough as things were, and set off immediately toward District X. With the ban lifted and NOVA gone, public displays of abilities were no longer forbidden. He didn’t think twice about flying, and especially not once they’d crossed over the massive gate that separated District X from the rest of the city.

“I’m going to go ask inside the school. Maybe you could have a look around?” It probably wouldn’t hurt.

JAY:

Jay smiled without being able to help himself when Billy lifted up into the air. He found it interesting and impressive that he could fly without even having wings. Holding the guitar close to his body to keep the wind from knocking it around too much, he flew up behind Billy and then around to his side, curious about the cityscape below them.

In his own world (which he assumed he was still in), there was no ban on Mutants or other non-humans flying about. He couldn't help feeling a little nervous, though, since humans still liked to be violent towards Mutants and treated them like second-class citizens when they could.

He nodded when Billy said that, also relaxing once he saw signs that indicated they were in the mutant-friendly area. "Yeah, sure. Thanks for yer help." Once Billy landed he carefully touched down next to him, not wanting to knock the other guy over with his wings, then glanced around. "I think some of my former classmates might teach here. I'll look 'round and meet you back here in a little bit. Name's Jay Guthrie." He realized earlier he hadn' t given his last name to Billy but only because he'd been wary of him, but now he seemed like a nice enough fella..

#ch: jay

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russian-romanova · 4 years

Text

enough said

title: enough said

pairing: jack kline

word count: 2K

warnings: adult language, me shaking my head at my life decisions as i write ‘lucifer was stunned’ and thinking about how normal people don’t write sentences like this.

notes: so, i had to repost this one because the text got deleted after i tried to edit a piece on my phone. guess i won’t be doing that again!

request: “Jack is dating the brother’s sister and only cas knew until sam and dean see them kiss and freak out? or lucifer as an actually good father giving jack advice on asking sam and dean’s sister on a date?”

summary: unsure of who to tell about his feelings for y/n, jack goes to his father for some advice. basically it’s a cheesy pile of wonderful shit :)

+ + +

“Hey, can you pass me that book?”

Jack looked up, met with your outstretched hand. You were focused down on the lore book in front of you, eyes gliding over words and pictures. You looked tired, Jack noted, but not in a way that made you look bad or anything. It just… was. “Which one?”

You glanced up, meeting Jack’s eyes briefly before looking down at the pile in front of you. “That one,” You pointed. “The gold and green one.” The Nephilim scanned the books closest to him before picking up what he assumed was the book you were talking about. “Thank you,” You smiled at him as he passed it to you, your hands brushing.

Jack’s gaze remained up as yours fell back to the lore, distracted by the thoughts rushing through your head. The small smile he always wore grew a little bigger as he watched you concentrate, eyes flicking between picture and paragraph, comparing previous knowledge with new information and storing that in your head.

You turned the book from a page about vampires to a page about changelings. Jack didn’t really understand why he wanted to look at you for so long. He didn’t feel this way about Sam or Dean, despite being family and Jack looking up them. Of course, there were somethings he loved watching the brothers do, like when Dean fixed a part on the impala or when Sam got so into telling a story that he would act it out. But with you, Jack would watch you stare at a wall.

He didn’t think he could tell Sam or Dean. Dean would probably laugh, and Sam would give him some sugar-coated explanation of the feeling, which was nice at times, but not when he wanted to get to the bottom of it so badly. Castiel would give him a version with condescending undertones, which was a word Jack wasn’t too familiar with yet but certainly had experience with the feeling.

His mind searched for options as your head looked up at him. Without realizing why Jack looked back down the lore he was looking through as so to avoid eye contact with you. He didn’t understand why he acted the way he did around you, and he knew that he needed a professional opinion.

So of course, Jack excused himself and turned to google.

Deciding what to search was hard. He had to words to put his feelings into, so he ended up searching ‘who do i talk to about a girl’ and clicking the magnifying glass. ‘How to talk to girls: 15 no bullshit tips’, read the first one, which was clearly not what Jack needed. He knew how to talk to girls, that was just dumb. It was just like talking to men, only Dean said you were supposed to be even nicer to women.

The second and third, ‘How to Talk to a Girl: 9 tips to Get Her HOOKED’ and ‘34 Topics To Talk About With A Girl You Like’ weren’t much more helpful, either. By the time he was on page twelve of the google results, a half-hour had passed and Jack was no closer to finding out who to talk to about his unknown feelings.

From behind him, a familiar voice spoke up. “Whatcha lookin’ at, sport?” Jack didn’t even have to turn around to know that it was Lucifer, nor was he surprised by his popping up anymore.

Jack turned around. Perhaps the answer to his question had been in front of him this whole time. He closed his laptop. “Can I… talk to you about something?”

Lucifer was stunned for a moment but quickly regained himself. “Yeah, spill.”

After examining the floor and gathering his thoughts, Jack began to speak. “I… Whenever I’m around Y/N I feel… strange.”

“Like… barf strange or good strange?”

“Good strange. Really good strange. It’s like I’m…” Jack struggled for a moment. “It’s like I can’t breathe, but in a good way. I really want to look at her always, and whenever I’m around her I feel happy.”

The words registered and Lucifer smiled. “Ooh, sounds like Jack’s got a little crush. I should have seen like goo-goo eyes from a mile away.”

“None of those words made sense,” Jack answered honestly.

“Right. Okay,” Lucifer sat down on the side of Jack’s bed, and he realized he felt more like a lecturing father than he probably ever would again. “So when you want to spend a lot of time with someone and just want to look at them and whatnot, usually it’s because you really like them. More than you like a friend, or more than you like Sam and Dean.” He furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of how to continue.

Jack thought this over. “What about… what about the feeling? Is there a word?”

Oh, that kid loved his words. “Yes, um,” Lucifer hesitated for a second. “Love.”

“Love? But I know what love is.”

“Yeah, yeah, but this is a different love. Trust me, kid, alright? This is like, Han Solo and Leia, not Luke and Leia.” A Star Wars reference. Jack could understand that, right?

The Nephilim thankfully nodded. “Okay.”

There was a moment of silence before Lucifer spoke up. “So, are you gonna tell her?”

Jack was silent.

“Do you want my opinion? Just go for it. Tell her how you feel, or maybe don’t. Girls like it when you make the first move.” Lucifer shifted. “Just lean in and kiss her. You do know how to kiss, right?”

Jack hesitated. “I’ve… seen kissing.”

“Good enough,” Lucifer stood up, walking over to Jack. “Just trust your gut. She already likes you, I’m 100% about that. Be confident, be you, and go get ‘em.”

Jack nodded, frankly surprised. He didn’t think he would ever get this from Lucifer, especially not so sincerely. “Thank you,” The Nephilim offered genuinely, and Lucifer felt his heart swell at the words. He never really cared much for being a father, but then there would be moments like this that made it suddenly worth it.

So Jack returned to find you still reading. You had added coffee and an empty plate to your stack of nearby items, so cluttered Jack wasn’t sure how you could even get to the books. “Hey, Jack,” You looked up and smiled, and Jack felt the feeling in his stomach return. “Where’ve you been?”

“In my room,” Jack answered, smiling. Thankfully, all you gave was a strange look before returning to your book. After considering his options for a moment, Jack decided to sit next to you rather than across from you.

And then the need to stare returned and Jack felt his face grow warm. Your eyes moved slower now, taking in information that was entirely new and trying your hardest to remember it. You were concentrating, he knew because he recognized the look on your face. He had seen it a hundred times before, but it was evidently much lighter than before because you looked up to meet his gaze.

“What?” You chuckled, your own face blushing a little.

Nerves took over Jack’s stomach, but he pushed through them and kept looking at you. Lucifer’s advice echoed in his ears, and he felt himself moving before he realized it.

Gracefully and curiously, Jack leaned in towards you. Without having to even think, you met him halfway, your lips touching as if you had done it a million times before. It was short and sweet, but not at all awkward as you thought it might have been.

You pulled yourself away to find Jack smiling even wider than you were. He was beaming like you had never seen him before. It was freeing and refreshing, and you almost felt like hugging him out of joy.

“What the hell just happened?” A man’s voice came from out of your vision, and you jerked your head around to see Dean, holding two grocery bags and looking flabbergasted, and Sam, smiling and looking smug.

“Dean! Hello,” Jack began, holding his hand up in a wave.

“Um, we can explain-” You interrupted, stumbling over your words and trying to speak above Jack’s voice.

Sam chuckled a little. “You don’t have to explain. It took you two long enough.”

You blinked once, twice, then looked to Dean. “Wait, really?”

Dean hesitated, still looking a little like he had walked in on his grandmother changing. “Yeah. Just- just keep it PG, okay?”

Jack gave Dean a strange look. “Like… the movies?”

“Yeah, no, we’re not gross,” You answered Dean quickly, waving your hands in denial. “Also, we have basic human decency.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Congrats, kids.” He muttered in remaining confusion, raised a grocery bag to toast the two of you, and walked through the room to the kitchen.

“How’d either of you get up the guts?” Sam asked, crossing his arms.

Jack smiled. “I asked my father.”

Sam hesitated. “You asked… Lucifer for dating advice?”

“Yes.” Jack nodded a little. “I wasn’t sure what to think at first, but I guess he was right.”

“I guess.” You shrugged.

Sam looked between the two of you, smiling a little. “Okay. I’ll let you two get back to it.” This was something rare in the hunting life, something pure and meaningful. He never really had that, and he was beyond happy that the two of you had a shot at something like that, something normal. But now Jack and you did, and Sam was glad to know it was a chance going to the right people.

#jack kline x reader #jack kline #jack #jack winchester #jack kline x y/n #jack kline x you #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam and dean #spn x reader #supernatural x reader #lucifer #lucifer x reader #:)

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illfoandillfie · 4 years

Text

Curtains Part 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Roger F!Reader

Summery: Exams, a car show, and an entirely too long wait.

Warnings: Smut (18+), nothing overly kinky, a little bit of a dom/sub dynamic, dom!rog, some light degradation, a little breast/nipple play,fingering, honestly quite tame considering the shit these two normally get up to lmao

Words: 7129

A/N: Oh my god its finally here. The last chapter. I am so sorry it's taken so long but it's been super busy around home and whenever I did get a chance to write I got very worried I was going to balls it up and ruin the whole story lmao. Anyway, I've really loved writing this series and these characters and I hope you enjoy the last part!

Also the British International Motor Show was a real thing that really was held at the Olympia. And Roger did eventually own a Ferrari and a Mercedes, although as far as I know not a Rolls Royce (that was Freddie’s).

Taglist: @laedymoon @dtfrogertaylor @ezmina98 @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie

@bohemiansweede @rogershoe @lnnuend0 @funitrog @moonlit-wilde

The exams hit you hard. Most nights were spent at the library, staying as late as possible before you dragged yourself home and collapsed on your bed, the morning alarm always coming too soon to start the whole thing over again. The biggest downside of the routine was how little you’d been able to see Roger since it started. When you had managed to catch him he looked as tired and stressed as you felt, neither of you capable of talking for too long before one of you yawned or remembered you were meant to be revising. It filled what little space in your brain that wasn’t already full of anxiety about exams with anxiety about your relationship. You still weren’t entirely sure how solid things with Roger were. They were certainly at a better, more normal, place after your two dates and a not-quite-a-date at the markets. Freddie had spent the entire first half hour you were there eyeing you suspiciously, as if you were going to bolt suddenly or tell him off. He stopped eventually though and you’d had a lovely day, helping to sell a few items when you weren’t wandering around with Roger looking at other stalls. But everything still felt so new and uncertain, especially after the rocky start you’d had, which left you not entirely positive you were officially a couple, and now you couldn’t help worry that the forced distance would make Roger lose interest in you or set you back a few steps after all the progress you’d managed. It didn’t help that you were on edge from not getting laid recently. The last time had been an age ago, in the backseat of Roger’s car. You would have slept with him again at the markets, or more likely after you’d gone home, except your period had started the day before and you couldn’t bring yourself to suggest having sex like that. So, since then you’d been on forced celibacy with only the end of exams to look forward to. Sure, you could have masturbated but between the hours spent sitting the exams and the hours spent cramming for them, you never seemed to find time for it. It all added up to a rather unpleasant desire crushed beneath a lack of sleep and a constant voice in the back of your head telling you that you were fucking something up. Unhelpful for cultivating a good mood or an opportunity to convince Roger to come over for a quickie. In fact, you barely saw him until the day after his final exam.

Feeling slightly better rested since you were free from needing to regurgitate months of class notes, you walked up next door’s driveway and knocked on Roger’s door. “Y/N, what a pleasant surprise, come on in,” Freddie said as he opened the door, “all done then? Exams I mean,” “Yes, thank god. You?” “Yeah, I finished earlier in the week. Never been more relieved in my life, although the day Rog finished was a close second,” he led you through the cluttered living room, your eyes slipping from the old, worn couch to the record player by the phone, into the kitchen where Roger stood, a bowl of cereal in his hands, eyes out of focus as he stared off into space, “Rog, wake up darling, the girl you’ve been whining about is here to see you.” Roger blinked, tired eyes falling to you and pulling a smile onto his face, “Y/N,” “Hey Rog,” He hastily put down the bowl and pulled you into a hug. You sighed into him, mind already more at ease than it had been when you arrived. “How were your exams?” He asked when he finally let you go. “Oh y’know, okay I guess. Probably failed one of them but I’m beyond caring right now, you?” “Yeah, yeah, all good I think. I’m just glad to be able to sleep normally again. Kept having this dream about turning up to an exam naked and then realising it was the wrong subject anyway.” “Jesus, Rog, if you’re going to sit here dissecting your dreams again I’m going to have to leave.” “You call yourself my friend,” “And aren’t you lucky for it. Just remember to wash out your bowl this time,” Freddie grabbed the cup of tea he’d been making and exited with a wave that you returned. “Was that because of me? Does he still not like me?” “He likes you fine, I promise,” Roger grabbed your hand and led you out to the living room, “I’ve just been driving him nuts these last few days.” He dropped onto the couch with a creak and pulled you down onto his lap. “Nuts how?” “Oh y’know, exam stuff mostly. Weird little rituals I started doing to make sure I passed, like, um, I had to wear a particular pair of shoes to every exam, my sparkly silver ones, otherwise I was convinced I would fail. Nearly had a breakdown when I couldn’t find them one morning. Stuff like that.” “Would the other stuff be related to his girl you’ve been whining about comment?” “Maybe,” Roger looked away, as if slightly embarrassed to admit it, “I might have kept bugging him with questions about whether he’d seen you around. He went right off at me the other night, told me to pull my head in and just go see you but it was one in the morning so,” he shrugged as he trailed off, still focused on the other side of the room. “You really thought about me that much?” “Yeah, course,” he finally looked at your properly, “I missed… hanging out with you,” “Me too,” you smiled shyly, trying to work out if hanging out was a good sign or not. You decided to continue with the plan that had brought you to his door that morning, just in case, “But, if you’re up for it, I have an idea of something we could do tomorrow.” “Oh yeah? Does it involve making out a lot?” “I guess it could,” “Consider me there,” You laughed as he took hold of your chin and pulled you into a kiss. Maybe it was a good sign after all.

If Roger hadn’t broken off the kiss to yawn three different times, apologising after each one, you would have been hard pressed not to end up in his bed. He wasn’t quite as worked up as you were, admitting he’d developed the habit of wanking on the morning of every exam he had, but he was still eager for more than just making out, encouraging you to roll your hips and grind against him. But he was clearly too exhausted. “Where’re you going?” he asked as you wriggled off his lap and stood up. “You’re dead on your feet Rog, you should go catch up on some sleep,” “I’m not, come on come ba-“ he was cut off by another yawn. “See?” “Okay, fine. Maybe you have a point. But you don’t have to leave, you could come nap with me and then when I wake up in a couple of hours we can continue this, but tucked up in bed.” You laughed, “Nice try, Rog, but I’m gonna go home, let you rest properly. We’ll have all of tomorrow though. I’ll come by at tenish okay?” “Tenish it is. Can you give me a hint about what you have planned?” “No but I promise you’ll enjoy it.” “That could be anything,” he said as he walked you to the door, tilting his head and resting it against the frame. “Exactly. Don’t want to spoil it. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you made to leave but Roger caught your hand and pulled you back against him, leaving you slightly breathless, lips tingling with the kiss. “One for the road,” he shrugged, trying not to grin too much. “Go get some rest Rog,” you laughed, “Oh! And wear comfortable walking shoes tomorrow,” “Walking? That doesn’t sound like making out.”

You only had to knock once the next morning before Roger was opening the door, looking excited and better rested, though there were still heavy bags under his eyes. You’d seen the same bags on your own face but, thankfully, makeup covered a multitude of sins. “So, will you finally tell me where we’re going?” “No but if you don’t mind driving, I’ll instruct you where to go,” “You’re kidding me! You aren’t going to tell me anything but you want me to drive?” he narrowed his eyes and stared at you but you just smiled sweetly back until he relented, “good thing I like you so much or I woulda told you to shove it up your arse.” “You’re the best Rog,” you giggled, swooping in to kiss his cheek, “promise it’ll be worth it.” “Yeah yeah, get in the bloody car,” he shook his head but you caught him smiling to himself as he got into the drivers seat. “Your gonna need go left out of the driveway,” “I am, am I?” he said before following your instruction and turning left. You directed him there with only one minor detour when Roger managed to get stuck in the wrong lane and missed his turn. A few streets away from your destination he saw a sign directing passers-by to visit the British International Motor Show, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, but he said nothing, just let you tell him where to go. You could tell he was getting more excited with each street you directed him down, trying not to get his hopes up as you seemed to creep closer to the show. The dam burst when you told him to pull up in the carpark of the Olympia. “No fucking way,” he said softly, trying to concentrate on not hitting any other cars as he pulled into a spot, even as his eyes darted around the crowd of people entering the venue, “You got us tickets to the motor show?” “Mmhmm,” you nodded, digging around in your bag for your pre-purchased tickets, “you mentioned on our last date that you were a bit of a rev head so I thought you might like it.” The way he looked at you made your whole body feel like it was infested with a swarm of butterflies. It was a look of barely contained glee and adoration that had you beaming right back at him. Once he was out of the car he hurried round to your side, pulling you into a hug and spinning you around in a circle as he squeezed you tight. “Christ, Y/N,” “I guess that means you like it?” you laughed as he put you back on solid ground. “Like it? This is the sweetest thing a girl as ever done for me. Might actually be the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. As if I needed more reasons to fall for you.” Your breath caught in your throat and the swarm under your skin went haywire but Roger barely seemed to realise what he said, too excited and impatient to see the show. He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the entrance.

Most of the day was spent wandering around the show, Roger almost bouncing from one car to the next. There were all sorts to see, some brand new and unveiled that morning, some the kind your parents had driven around in as teenagers. There were more economic models, aimed at families or young adults looking for their first car and some were high end, luxury models with sleek designs and shiny finishes. Those were the sort that caught Roger’s eye most, never mind the outrageous prices you couldn’t even dream of affording. It was while standing in front of one of them, a gorgeous black Rolls-Royce from the mid-60s, that you nudged Roger with your elbow. “Y’know how when I first saw your Morris I said it wasn’t the type of car I imagined you in?” “Yeah,” “This is the sort of car I was picturing.” “Really? I’ve always loved a Rolls. Them and Ferraris. As a kid I used to have pictures of them ripped out of magazines and stuck up on my bedroom walls. Well, them and about a hundred other cars,” he chuckled at the memory and then fell silent for a bit, lost in thought, absentmindedly squeezing your hand. You were about to ask what he was thinking when he spoke again. “One day I’m going to own one.” “Are you now?” “Yup. One day Queen’s gonna hit it real fucking big. I’m not just saying that either, I mean it. We’ve really fucking got something the four of us, and one day we’ll have the number one song in the country and sell so many albums I’ll be able to buy one of each, a Rolls and a Ferrari. Maybe a Mercedes too. And I’ll take you out in them, wherever you want to go. We could drive down the coast, spend the weekend in our beach house. Or maybe out to the countryside, nice and peaceful and quiet. And if we stay at home I’ll take you out shopping. We’ll go to all the high-end stores and buy everything we want. Shoes and jewels and fur coats and everything." You leaned your head on his shoulder as he spoke, “That sounds wonderful,” “You haven’t heard the best part though,” “Oh?” He dropped his head down, lowering his voice so only you could hear him, “Haven’t even mentioned how I’ll fuck you in the change rooms of all those fancy shops. A hand over your mouth to keep you quiet because we both know how loud you get.” It was a mark of how long it had been that you began panting just from feeling his breath against your ear, “Looks like this car has enough room in the backseat. Just in case the shops are closed.” He stood up straight again, laughing, “Maybe we’ll sneak in there later. Shame I’m not rich already, could’ve just paid off the security so he’d give us a few moments alone with the car.” You knew he was joking about sneaking into the car but it didn’t help you calm down at all. Roger must have sensed your need, had probably been able to feel it seeping out of your skin, because he spent the rest of the day teasing you with small touches and whispered comments. He may have given up the teasing and just fucked you except that the number of people and the amount of security hired kept you from finding anywhere even remotely appropriate. The bathrooms were too crowded, extra portaloos hired and placed around the side of the building to accommodate everyone, and the back of the building faced the carpark and had a constant stream of people passing by or standing around directing traffic and loiterers. You considered suggesting the backseat of his car again but your head and thighs ached at the thought. After a final quick look around inside you decided to call it a day and head home where there was plenty of space and a big comfortable bed waiting.

By the time you arrived home it was early evening, your feet sore despite wearing your most comfortable pair of shoes. Roger’s stomach grumbled as he walked you to your front door, a loud reminder that neither of you had eaten more than a few snacks vendors had been selling at the show. “I had so much fun today,” he said, valiantly ignoring his stomach, “like an unbelievable amount of fun.” “Me too. Didn’t realise a car show could be quite that good,” you teased, “You wanna come in? Keep the fun going? We could get dinner, watch some TV,” “You’ve spent all day with me, sure you aren’t sick of me yet?” “Course not. Come on you sound like your starving and I’ve got a coupon for pizza stuck to my fridge,” “Well who am I to say no to that?” he said as he followed you inside, “where’s the coupon, I’ll call the order in.” “You don’t have to do that,” “No, no, let me. Least I can do to thank you for today. Any preferences?” “Uh, pepperoni if you don’t mind,” you called from the kitchen, returning with the coupon and handing it to Roger. “I definitely don’t mind, pepperoni is obviously the best,” Roger laughed and picked up the phone, as you quickly ducked into your room and made sure it was tidy. He followed you when he was done, peering into the living room and the kitchen as he searched for you. “Don’t have to clean up on my account,” You jumped a little at the sound of his voice behind you. “I’ve been in your room before, you’re much neater than me.” “Surprised you noticed the room enough to make that judgement,” “True, was always much more interested in you and how little you were wearing,” “Exactly,” you said, trying not to let on how fast your heart was racing at just the mention of the previous nights you’d spent together. “But I’m very messy,” Roger shot you a grin as he walked over to your desk, fingers brushing lightly over a few of the knickknacks you kept there before he moved to your modest bookshelf. You weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself as you watched him investigate your belongings, perching on the end of your bed, hoping he liked what he found. For the most part he just brushed his fingers lightly over your belongings, smiling softly and occasionally pausing to make a comment. He picked up the candle from your desk to smell it, complementing the scent as he put it back in its place. A few of the books on your shelf were pulled off and held up as he asked your opinions of them. He found a pair of your sunglasses and pushed them into his own face, checking himself out in your mirror before taking them off again, and then turned his attention to your record collection, spending much longer examining it than anything else. When he was done shuffling through the stack, making impressed hums when he found ones he particularly liked, he turned back to you. “Well I’m sorry to say but you have fantastic taste in music and I really have no other choice but to steal half of them,” “Is that so?” you asked, releasing a relieved breath, “Doesn’t seem fair,” “Well,” he walked the few steps towards where you still sat, leaning down until his lips were mere centimetres from yours, “it’s either that or you keep them and I fall madly in love with you.” The butterfly feeling returned, “Oh?” It was all you could manage to say. A loud knock from the front of the house interrupted you. “That’ll be the pizza,” you said quietly, torn between answering the door and closing the space between you. The decision was made when Roger’s stomach growled again. He dropped a quick kiss to your lips and then stood up with a small sigh.

If it had been up to you the night would have been spent snuggled up on the couch, eating pizza, drinking wine, and goofing around, until you retired to the bedroom and let the street hear you screaming Roger’s name. And you were pretty sure Roger’s mind was running along the same tracks. The only obstruction to your plan was the lack of sleep you’d both been suffering from, causing both of you to nod off before you could move from the couch. You woke in the morning, the TV no longer playing the comedy it had been left on but a test pattern card with odd organ music behind it. You blinked the sleep from your eyes as you tried to remember why you were on the couch and not in your bed, the night coming back to you as you sat up and realised you’d been curled up with your head on Roger’s thigh. He woke with a start when you stood up to stretch and turn off the TV. “Y/N?” he voice was still thick with sleep, eyes bleary and hair all over the place as he lifted his head from what must have been an uncomfortable position. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. We fell asleep on the couch.” “Oh, right,” “You can go back to sleep if you want,” “Nah, ‘m up now. Bathroom?” “Just through that doorway over there.” Roger nodded his thanks as he yawned and, rubbing his eyes, headed off. You grabbed the last of the, now cold, pizza and the wine glasses and followed him towards the kitchen, dropping the leftovers on the bench before turning to stick the kettle on. When he returned to the kitchen he looked marginally more alert, hair not quite the bird’s nest it had been when he woke. He dropped a kiss to your temple. “D’you want breakfast?” you asked, peering into the fridge, “I can do eggs on toast.” “Only if it’s no trouble,” “Not at all,” you grabbed the carton of eggs and the butter before you closed the fridge, “if you make the tea.” “I can do tea. Make a pretty good cuppa if I do say so myself.” “So you’re a tea connoisseur now?” “Never said that, where do your mugs live?” “Cupboard on the left,” “Ah ha,” there was a tinkling as he pulled out two, “All I’m saying is I’m good at making tea.” “Rog it’s adding boiling water to bagged leaves, not sure you can be bad at it,” “Well tell that to John. He’s a fantastic bassist but Jesus every cuppa he’s ever made me has tasted like shit.” You laughed, glancing away from the stovetop to watch Roger move about your kitchen like he belonged there. True, that might have been to do with how similar your kitchen was to his, most of the student accommodation in the area having the same basic layout, but it was nice all the same. “How do you take it?” “Uh,” your first thought was something entirely too inappropriate for so early in the morning, “dash of milk, two sugars,” “Coming right up.”

“So,” you said, dragging the word out as you brought your plates down to the table, Roger already there with the mugs of tea. “So, what?” Roger imitated your lengthened word, an amused lilt to his voice. “Dunno, you got any plans for today?” “Meeting the boys a bit later, band stuff. Might try and squeeze in a nap at some point. No offence but your couch isn’t overly comfortable to sleep on, although the cute girl using me as a pillow did help,” You giggled as he nudged your foot with his, it really was unfair how attractive he looked even when ruffled from a night on the couch. “What about you? Any plans?” “Oh, uhhh,” you didn’t have anything specific but couldn’t very well tell Roger you’d kept the day open in case he’d wanted to stay in bed with you for the better part of it, “Think my friends said something about going out for coffee, so I’ll see if they’re still keen for it.” “Oh yeah? Do these friends know about me?” “They know I’ve kind of had a thing going on and they know I was avoiding a particular guy for a while, but I haven’t, like, actually told them about you yet. Wanted to wait until I knew we were going to be okay, y’know?” “Yeah, I get that.” There was a moment of almost silence, the only sounds those of your knives and forks scraping across your plates. Your brain was suddenly much louder than it had been a second before, full of thoughts about whether or not you should tell your friends about Roger when you saw them, nerves about theoretically introducing them to him and then, oh god, introducing him to your family, having to meet his, all the stuff that a proper relationship would mean, all the stuff you’d been trying to run from when you’d cancelled that date. But there wasn’t really any way to go back now without everyone getting even more hurt than last time, he’d twice now said he was falling for you and, though you hadn’t vocalised it, you thought maybe you were falling for him too. But of all the thoughts jumbled in your head, the loudest by far was the realisation you’d be going another day without getting laid. It was torture. You’d got so close last night and god you wanted it so much. You had a brief vision of sweeping everything off the table, plates and cutlery hitting the floor, and Roger instantly pushing down your pants and lifting you onto the clear surface, his fingers slipping into your underwear and - Roger broke the silence and pulled you from the fantasy, “If you wanted you could come over tonight. I’ll make you dinner,” You shook your head to clear it, “really? “Yeah, really. I’ll even let you rummage through all my junk like I went through yours,” “Sounds fun, I’ll be there,” “Cool, uh, I think I should get home around three-thirty, so any time after that.”

Roger helped you tidy up the dishes before he left, another lingering kiss your souvenir, in addition to the desperate need to get off. You attempted to kill some time doing just that, but nothing seemed to be enough. It wasn’t Roger. You wanted Roger. And as lovely and terrifying a sentiment as that was, it did mean you had to go to meet your friends completely worked up and wet. When you told Roger later, sleepily blurting it out while curled up in his arms that night, he chuckled and, though it was dark, you could tell he was grinning. The same grin he’d been wearing when you knocked on his door that afternoon. “Is Freddie here?” you asked as he led you towards the couch. “No, just us. I’ve kicked the others out for the night. Freddie’ll end up staying with Bri or John, they were still arguing about it when I left them.” “Arguing?” you fell into the seat beside Roger, toeing off your shoes and curling your legs up under you, angling your body to face where he was leaning against the arm of the couch, one leg bent in front of him, one touching the floor. “Something about John’s girlfriend, I think, or maybe it was Brian’s roommate? I don’t know, I didn’t hang around to listen, they’ll sort it out,” he waved his hand dismissively, “But that means more food for us.” “So what are you making me then?” “Well, actually,” he glanced away, hand slipping into his shirt to rub his shoulder, “was thinking I’d order some takeout. There’s really nothing to cook with in the fridge and I’m a terrible chef anyway. I could offer you toast but the chance of it being edible is about fifty fifty. But there’s the chippy a few streets away or, um, an alright curry place, whichever you prefer.” “Fish and chips sounds good. I’ve eaten nothing but cake and coffee today so anything savoury would be brilliant really.” “So your friends were free then? How’d it go?” “Yeah, really fun. You might have been mentioned once or twice,” “Only once or twice?” “Once or twice is practically unstoppable gushing for me. They’re both insisting on meeting you, by the way, so that’s something to look forward to I guess,” you scrunched your nose up in discomfort. “I’d love to meet them,” he said, taking your hand leaning towards you, “And you’ve got nothing to worry about, they’ll love me. I’m very loveable.” You let yourself relax as you laughed, Roger joining in as he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trailing down your jaw, kissing you softly.

It should have come as no surprise that you’d end up making out within minutes of arriving. The weeks since you’d last slept together plus the unfulfilled tension from the previous night all boiled down to a neediness you couldn’t remember feeling with anyone else, the soft kiss fast becoming firmer as you found yourself underneath Roger, fingertips digging into his back. He was grinding against you rhythmically, your skirt pushed further up your thighs, trying to pull you tighter against him, breathing getting more ragged with each passing moment. It felt good but there were too many clothes in your way, you needed more. A whine fell from your lips unexpectedly. “Someone’s a bit desperate,” Roger said, tone vaguely mocking, giving you just a hint of the teasing control he usually showed you, “should we move this to my room?” “God yes,” He grinned and planted another kiss against your lips before he pushed himself to his feet, pulling you up by your hand, not letting go until you were standing in the doorway of his room. It was similar to your own room in that it faced the back yard, a big glass door leading outside. The biggest difference was the curtain, open to let the sun in but no doubt it actually existed. Roger dropped your hand to cross the room and you turned your attention to the rest of it, tempted to rummage through his belongings the way he’d examined yours. If you hadn’t been so worked up you would have but instead you stepped into the room and glanced around, killing time until Roger was back against you. It wasn’t neat but it wasn’t as messy as you’d been led to believe it would be and you wondered how long he’d spent tidying it. The bookshelf wasn’t full and yet not all the books were lined up, some of them stacked in uneven piles, some leaning against others, no discernible order to them, though you could spot a few titles you recognised from your own collection. His desk held a stack of textbooks and a few loose pages of handwritten notes, and you could easily imagine him hunched over as he studied, scribbling down things he recognised as important even if his tired eyes and brain couldn’t fully comprehend them. Your gaze had just fallen on the neatest part of the room, his collection of records all meticulously lined up and just begging to be rifled through, when a noise drew your attention. Roger checked the back door was locked and drew the curtain over it, blocking out the view of the back garden and the natural afternoon light. Your stomach did a flip. “We, uh, we’ve never had so much privacy,” you tried to make it sound like a joke, though you weren’t sure you succeeded, suddenly feeling too nervous to speak properly. “Yeah, s’pose that’s true,” he gave a small half shrug and took the few steps towards you, stopping just in front of you, “but that’s okay. We’ll make it work,” and then his lips were on yours, the rough neediness almost forgotten as he held your face, reassuringly rubbing his thumb over your jaw. It helped you relax again, stoking your desire though you couldn’t help thinking things would be vastly different with an empty house and closed curtains. Your fingers fell to his belt, blindly struggling to unbuckle it, but Roger grabbed your wrist. “Hey, there’s no rush, okay?” “I know but it’s been so long,” it wasn’t a lie, it had been far too long, but that wasn’t the only reason you wanted to speed things up. You didn’t mention that you were nervous about your dynamic changing with the privacy, worried it wouldn’t be as good if you weren’t being controlled or degraded or performing for someone. “So you won’t mind waiting a little longer then,” You whined as his lips brushed over your neck, his hands still holding your wrists, “Please, I need you,” “Patience, love. First time I’ve had my slut all to myself, can’t blame me for wanting to take my time.” Your breath hitched at the name and the casual way it was said, not expecting to hear it when you were so closed off from the world and he was being so deliberately, infuriatingly, slow. It made your head spin. He let your wrists go, moving his hands to your shirt and pulling it up over your head, fingers trailing softly down your sides to toy with the waistband of your skirt. “Good girl for wearing this, you’re learning.” The praise made you shiver but it was nothing compared to his touch. Every light brush of his fingers made you want him more, had you almost vibrating with need, but he refused to speed up or even touch you where you most wanted him. And you melted into it, hovering on the edge of begging, surprised at how easily he could play you but not really surprised at all. Yes, it was just you and Roger with no one to see or overhear, none of that tension you loved so much that came with the possibility of being walked in on or caught out. But you didn’t miss it.

Your hands once again slipped to his belt and this time he let you undo it, taking the chance to tug his own shirt off as he kicked the discarded pants across the floor, before he slipped your skirt down your legs, kneeling as he did so, leaving a single big bruise on the inside of your thigh. He leaned back to admire the mark and you stepped out of the material pooled around your feet. For a fraction of a second you thought he was finally going to give you something real, his breath ghosting over the front of your underwear as he leaned towards you, still looking up at you, blue eyes glinting. “Hop on the bed, love,” He chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet, listening to you whine and curse even as you did exactly what he told you to. You didn’t stop complaining until his weight was over yours again, your legs trying to wrap around him and pull him against your throbbing cunt. He just held your legs down and laughed softly, “You’re still just a desperate slut aren’t you. Little bit pathetic how much you want me after a couple of weeks without. But no, you don’t get my cock that quickly. I told you I want to take my time.” “You want me too,” you whined, sounding nowhere near as convincing as you’d hoped, “I can feel how hard you are.” “Yes, I want you. Of course I do, love, been thinking about it since you came over the other morning.” Roger resumed the grinding he’d started out on the couch, dragging his cock along your folds, still too many layers between for you to be satisfied. It was torture, but no matter what you tried he wouldn’t give you more, “But there’s this little thing called delayed gratification, you might have heard of it.” “You’re such an arsehole,” you half whined, half laughed as he chuckled into your neck, doing his best to leave you with another mark. “Well, yeah. That’s not news. Maybe I’ll let you have my fingers though, since you have waited such a long time,” “Please, I need something, anything,” “Add ‘begs easily’ to the list of things I love about you,” he left a kiss against your neck and then shuffled backwards. He paused, glancing down to your underpants and then back to your chest. “What?” “You’re still wearing a bra. Can’t have that.” “Oh,” you giggled, “easily fixed,” you sat up and quickly unhooked the clasp behind your back, shrugging it from your shoulders and adding it to the clothing that littered the once clean floor. “Thank god for easy fixes,” Roger said softly, pushing his fingertips against your shoulder until you leaned back far enough for him to drag his tongue over one nipple. “Hey, you said fingers,” you whined. “You said anything,” he grinned back at you, “but I guess fingers could work too.” You hissed when he pinched your other nipple and pulled on it, gently biting on the first, “Rog, please,” He ignored you in favour of dipping his lips to the inside of one breast, sucking at the skin until another purple bruise formed.

Roger shuffled back further and you squirmed at the thought of finally, finally getting what you needed. Just the motion of him hooking his fingers into your underpants to pull them down had your stomach tightening with anticipation. As soon as they were free of your legs he held them up, “soaked,” was all he said before they too were discarded and he was settling into place between your legs. You could feel his warm breath against your pussy as he dragged a single finger between your folds, a whine escaping you as your frustration grew. And then the finger was slipping inside you, so easily it made Roger whine himself. “God you really are soaked. I was just teasing before but Jesus,” “M-more,” was all you could think to say, stuttering it out as you bucked your hips. “Patience, love,” he reminded you but added a second finger, pumping them into you slowly, still not enough. Your back arched as you tried to readjust your position so he’d hit the spots you knew he could but he just placed his other hand on your thigh, stroking you softly until you relaxed again. “Tell me what you want, love,” “More, please,” “More of the same? Just my fingers?” “N-no no,” “Then tell me,” “Your cock, please, want you to fuck me now,” the sentence devolved into a whine as he pulled his fingers from you, pausing to push off his underwear, and crawled back up the bed, hovering over you. Once again you tried to wrap your legs around him, arms around his neck to pull him closer, but this time he didn’t stop you. Instead Roger lined himself up and sunk into you, as easily as his fingers had, his hands slipping up to your sides. He dropped his mouth to your neck and then your jaw and then your lips as he slid his arms under your back to hold you tight. “My good, patient, girl. Fuck your cunt feels so good.” he said softly, quickly finding your lips again as he fucked you steadily. You whimpered at the praise, finally getting what you’d so badly wanted as you clawed at Roger’s back, making sure he wouldn’t pull away too far. Though he’d started off intentionally slowly, deliberately working you up before he’d even finished undressing you, now that he was finally inside you, finally where you both wanted him to be, he’d lost all of his methodical pace. His hands were on your back and then one was on your arse and then your breasts, unsure where he wanted to touch you most. He was kissing you passionately one moment and the next he was whispering filth into your ear, praise and degrading names alike, thoughts broken up by small hickeys sucked into your skin. The second it occurred to him that something might drive you wild he was doing it.

It didn’t take long for you to cum, so much pent-up desire coursing through your bloodstream that you fell over the edge easily when he hitched your leg higher on his hip. It changed the angle he was hitting you just enough to have him rub against your wall, a jolt running through you and stealing your breath. “So pretty when you cum, can you show me again?” You nodded, unsure you’d be able to form words if you tried. Small aftershocks were still making you whimper into Roger’s shoulder and yet you could feel the same tingly warmth building again already. “Oh,” the sharp sound escaped you when Roger’s thumb brushed over your clit, his breath hitching as you clenched around him, “Rog, god, ke- keep doing that,” He brushed your clit again and smiled as your head fell back, a low moan tumbling from you when he began rubbing it properly. All you could hear was rough uneven breaths, not sure they were yours or Roger’s, the sound dulled under your heart beating in your ears. And then suddenly you were there again, moans getting louder as you crept closer to the edge and fell over it. Roger’s eyes were squeezed shut as he thrust into you a few more times, extending the ecstasy you felt until he hit his own climax, coating your walls and gasping in your ear.

For a while neither of you moved, just lay there trying to clear your foggy minds. When he realised he was still laying on you, Roger carefully extracted himself and rolled onto his back, an arm stretched out, inviting you to cuddle up close. You did, humming lightly when he gently rubbed your arm. “So, was that good? Even with the closed curtains?” “Mmhmm, might go so far as to say unbelievably good.” “Any other adjectives you wanna throw out there? Mind-blowing maybe? Or Incredible? The best you’ve ever had?” When the giggles subsided, Roger continuing a little more seriously, “I really liked it too, y’know, having my girlfriend to myself and all.” You’d been expecting to feel anxious when the G word eventually got used. After all, it represented so much of what had made you nervous enough to run away, what still made you nervous about dating and what it might eventually lead to. But there wasn’t really any anxiety or worry when you actually heard it, maybe a small pang in your stomach but you barely noticed it. Instead you could have sworn your heart skipped a beat, “Girlfriend?” “Yeah,” you could hear the smile in his voice, “that okay?” You quickly flipped onto your front, bringing you face to face with Roger, “More than okay. Say it again?” “My girlfriend,” he grinned as he spoke and you felt an equally large smile stretch your own cheeks in response. “My boyfriend,” “Yeah, like the sound of that,” You kissed him hard, not quite believing how far you’d come since he’d first caught you masturbating or how much you liked being with him, dating him. “Y’know, I think we could fit in another round before we need to worry about dinner,” he traced his finger along your shoulder as if he were playing connect the dots with the hickeys he’d left you, “Two maybe. You always cum fast when I use you rough.”

#my writing #roger taylor smut #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor imagine #(lowkey have a couple ideas for blub/hc things maybe #)

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steterismylife · 4 years

Note

AU where no one knows Scott is a beserker, and Peter kills him, becoming the alpha, and the pack reluctantly becomes his. Peter carries on with courting the Stiles. Is that okay?

“Do it now!” They all screamed at him, and Peter was content in doing what he was about to do. The berserker was being held back, and he surged forward to kill the thing. Only was it then that Peter realized who it was once he felt the power rising within him. He breathed in deeply and smirked as his eyes settled from his blue into the red of the alpha. Malia, the first to see his eyes change, gasped, and looked down at the berserker that laid on the ground.

“NO!” Kira screamed out as she made it into the room with Stiles by her side. Peter turned towards her and saw her fall to her knees. “We… We were too late…” Her head dropped, and Peter didn’t feel bad for her at all.

“Oh honey, you can do better than that, McCall boy, surely,” Peter told her as he let his eyes settle to their natural blue. “I’m sorry for what I did… I didn’t know…” Peter told her and offered a hand out to her. “But it seems like you guys don’t have a pack leader anymore, and I’m here to fill those criteria.” He told her smirking.

Liam was on his knees, whispering no over and over again as he realized what had just been done. Tears slipping down his face as he screamed out Scott’s name, causing everyone to turn towards him. Malia knelt down by him and tried to comfort him and say it wasn’t his fault, but she knew it was no point.

“You knew when you charged, didn’t you?” Stiles asked as he had his hands balled up. “You knew it was Scott! Didn’t you?!” Stiles yelled.

Peter glanced at him after he had helped Kira up. “And what about it?” He asked.

Stiles glared at Peter. “You knew it was him, but you didn’t even try and save him first?! Did you want to be alpha that badly, you sick fuck?!” Stiles yelled at him.

Peter winced at the insult, and he shook his head. “Tsk tsk, Stiles. Honestly, I didn’t know it was Scott until the last moment. I saw his eyes, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry.” Peter shrugged, and Stiles began to shake with rage.

“You could’ve stopped yourself! You’ve done it before!” Stiles yelled and stomped his way over to Peter. “You stopped yourself from turning me!” He stated.

“Barely,” Peter confessed, and Stiles blinked. “That’s right. I wanted to turn you so bad, but when I saw that scared expression then… I couldn’t do it, and I don’t know why. There was something about you that I didn’t want the wolf to take away from you.” He told Stiles. “You’re fine the way you are.” He added.

Stiles went to open his mouth to try and make a comeback, but then he closed it. “You’re a horrible person.” He told him. “Can’t believe you killed him, ass.” Stiles pushed Peter away from him, then went to walk away.

“I understand you guys are mad at me, but remember you can’t all leave the pack.” Stiles froze when he heard Peter. “You need alpha, and I’m willing to be it. If you don’t have me to protect you guys, then you’ll die off faster than ants who are set on fire by a pyromaniac.” Peter said, and they turned to face him. “I’m willing to protect you all.” He added, and Malia got up to go by his side.

Liam was hesitant but ended up going to his side also.

“Any more?” Peter asked, and he made eye contact with Stiles. “What about you, pack member?” Peter asked him.

Stiles blinked to that, and he felt something there but ignored it. “Fine, but only because you seem genuine in wanting to be a good alpha,” Stiles grumbled, and he went to stand by Peter.

Peter smiled, and he went to hug Stiles close to his side. “You made the right choice!” Peter assured Stiles who bit his lip. Stiles wasn’t too sure he really did make the right choice, but he glanced at his best friend’s body. He had no choice.

—

The funeral for Scott was hard on Stiles. Having your best friend die was always hard even if he didn’t treat too well. Stiles was treated more as an equal with the pack thanks to Scott, but now he wasn’t included. So, he stayed in the house to the point that the whole pack got worried.

“What if he tries something, dad? Wouldn’t that be worse?!” Malia was arguing with Peter as the others stood by.

“I agree. Stiles being holed up in his house or let alone in his room is quite worrisome. He could have tried something. I am sure his dad isn’t checking up on him enough.” Lydia hissed and frowned deeply.

“Shouldn’t a pack leader care more about their packs anyway?” Mason cut in from next to Liam on the coach who was looking down. “McCall always sought out Liam when he knew he was upset,” Mason commented.

Peter took a deep breath then smiled at the three. “The problem is that Stiles doesn’t want to be bothered. I asked him, and he said he’d be back once he is ready. We all need to respect his wish as his fellow pack members.” Peter told them.

“It has been three months!” Malia yelled.

“And he lost his best friend, honey. I am surprised Kira even comes to meetings!” Peter snapped to Malia, who rolled her eyes. “Everyone is coping with Scott’s death differently. You can’t just expect Stiles to be able to get out of bed so fast just after his best friend’s death. That’s just rude.” Peter hissed to them all then turned. “This pack meeting is over. Everyone go home now.” Peter demanded as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d make a visit to the Stilinski house but to inform Stiles of stuff, not to get him back.

—

Peter stopped in front of the Stilinski house and stared out his car window to look up to the house. “Maybe I should send him a text…” Peter mumbled softly. He didn’t want to surprise Stiles too badly.

-Hey, I am stopping by for a visit.- Peter sent it to Stiles.

-I know. I saw you pull up. Going to sit in the car longer?-

Peter glanced up to see Stiles staring out the window when he saw the other step away from the window. Peter then looked down when his phone went off again.

-Come in, asshole.-

Peter sighed profoundly, and he went to get out of his car then went to the front door. His knuckles almost made contact with the wood, but Stiles opened the door to stare at him. “Finally, here to check up on me?” Stiles asked him as he stared at him.

Peter went to open his mouth to address the other, and Stiles arched a brow. “Sorry, it took so long. Thought you’d want some personal space after Scott’s funeral.” He told him.

“There is giving someone space than giving someone too much space, Peter,” Stiles told him, and he sat on the bed with a book he had been reading beforehand. “Though I thought you’d take a lot longer to try and get in contact with me,” Stiles told him, and Peter pursed his lips.

“Everyone expressed their concern about you just recently, but if you’d like, then I could make sure to visit you frequently to see how you’re holding up.” Peter offered as he glanced around the room. It didn’t seem too cluttered. Just dark.

“That’d be nice,” Stiles mumbled then looked up at him. “Though I am surprised you came yourself. Scott always sent a pack member.” Stiles told him, and Peter blinked.

“But the pack leader should always come with a pack member. Granted, I didn’t, but he should’ve at least. That’s peculiar.” Peter rubbed his chin as he spoke.

“He probably thought that since he dealt with me before he was a wolf, then he could just send his pack to do his work after he was the head wolf. Though I supported him a lot when he was going through his first stages of being a wolf because of you,” Stiles said.

Peter nodded to that as he remembered Stiles being around Scott all the time. It was one of the reasons he considered making Stiles into a wolf, but he didn’t since he respected the fact Stiles didn’t want it.

“I remember that. I was surprised you stayed with his friend after how he had been treating you. It seems all unfair, in my opinion.” Peter stated, and Stiles shrugged to it.

“I got used to it after a while. Scott would be stressed out, and I understood. Sure, I was left behind, but it’s not like I wasn’t used to it.” Stiles explained, and Peter sighed to that.

“Would you like me to check up on you again?” Peter asked and went to leave.

“Tomorrow is good,” Stiles told him, and Peter nodded.

“It’s a date then,” Peter told Stiles.

—

Stiles woke with his thoughts racing. They’d been that way since Peter had left the day before. Why would he call it a date when it wasn’t? He hadn’t even been appropriately asked onto a date beforehand! So, why call it a date?

Stiles rubbed his face, then got up out of bed and went to get into the shower. Maybe Peter was just playing around with him. That would make more sense.

He got out of the shower after spending some time under the stream. “He’s just pulling my leg like always. God damn it.” Stiles rubbed his face with a towel, and he slid on some pants.

He grabbed a decent shirt to slip on, then he sat on his bed for a while after he grabbed a book. He just wanted to preoccupy himself with something to take his mind off of things. He got distracted from a chapter on vampires when his phone went off.

-I’ll be over in ten minutes.-

Stiles read the text about five minutes ago. He glanced at the timestamp, and he wondered if he should finish getting ready. He got up and heard the knock on the door when he went to fix his hair.

Well, ten minutes went by faster than Stiles expected. He rushed downstairs and opened the door to reveal Peter in his usual V-neck. “Ah, so you were joking about it being a date?” Stiles asked while leaning against the door frame.

“No. This is my usual date attire. Can I not take my favorite human out for a nice lunch date?” Peter asked, and Stiles scoffed.

“Whatever, let’s get this over with.” Stiles huffed out, and he grabbed his jacket from his couch. Then he slid his shoes on.

“After you.” Peter allowed Stiles to exit his house and showed him to his car. “Did you sleep well last night?” He asked him.

“Well enough,” Stiles told him and watched Peter open the car door for him. “Though it was sort of restless since I couldn’t stop thinking about the date today,” Stiles stated.

He got into the car, and he stared ahead as Peter joined him on his right. “I would say I am flattered you thought about me so much, but it worries me that you didn’t get enough sleep,” Peter spoke as he drove. “What helps you sleep normally?” Peter asked him.

Stiles sighed then shrugged. “Normally, I just read until my mind is exhausted, and my eyes are drooping,” Stiles told him as he looked at him. “So, I just tire myself out.” He finally answered.

Peter listened and pursed his lips as he made a turn. “That’s not good, Stiles. You should find a healthier way of sleeping at night.” Peter informed him.

Stiles rolled his eyes at the statement. “Not like I will find one. No one likes to help me with my problems, Peter. Everyone just tells me to get over myself.” Stiles told him.

“That can’t be true. I am sure Scott tried and help you. He was just the wrong person.” Peter said as he parked in front of an apartment building.

Stiles looked out the window as he listened to Peter speak. “Say what you will. It doesn’t change the fact that no one really helped.” Stiles said and got out of the car. “Are we at your place for a home-cooked lunch date?” Stiles asked Peter once he was at his side.

“Yes, we are. Did you want a change in venue? I can arrange that if you truly desire that.” Peter said. “Anything to make you comfortable,” Peter added.

Stiles glanced at Peter when he heard him. “Your place is fine. Being in a crowded restaurant wouldn’t benefit me right now. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Stiles admitted.

Peter nodded then led Stiles inside to his humble abode. “Make yourself comfortable,” Peter advised. “I’ll start making us our lunch.” Peter finished as he got into the kitchen.

Stiles glanced around the apartment and felt nervous. Sure, Peter was trying to help him get out more by placing him in another house, but it just made him uncomfortable. He decided to take a step further, but he shook his head. “I’m just going to leave. Thanks for trying, though, Peter,” Stiles called out. He turned and left Peter’s apartment before the other could stop him.

Peter stopped prepping the food he got out and watched Stiles leave. He frowned some as he thought to himself about what he could do for the other. He’d have to try something else.

—

It may have taken Stiles some more time to fully accept Scott’s death, but he did. Peter helped by going over to his house every day after the whole date scenario. Instead, Peter just hung out with him in his room and kept him company as he began to read more and more on supernatural creatures. Peter would even help him with some terms and things he didn’t quite understand.

“So, could we try getting out again? You know going to an actual restaurant for a meal.” Peter suggested to him. He was laying down on Stiles’ bed while the other was reading a massive hardcover book.

“You think I can handle that?” Stiles asked Peter as he closed the book after putting a bookmark there. “I mean being there with you should settle my nerves, but I barely have been outside in the past two months,” Stiles explained.

Peter went to sit up as he listened to Stiles. “I know, but I do think you’re ready, and besides, I’ll be there with you,” Peter assured him.

Stiles sighed, then he set the book on the side dresser. “Did you want to do it today?” He asked Peter. He wished he had more warning so he could give himself a pep talk, but casual dates were okay. What could go wrong?

“Yeah, we can go out for dinner and have a little ice cream get together after,” Peter told him. He stood and stretched out his body with a groan.

“Sounds nice,” Stiles told him and watched him stretch. “I should shower before we go. Considering it has been a while since I have showered.” Stiles told him.

#mssmartian #steter #i don't remember why this was in the askbox #but here you go #my writing

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voidendron · 4 years

Text

Deep Blue Sea: Ch. 18

Chapter 18: Survivor Six Subnautica/JSE Egos Crossover

(( take three for writing this chapter :’D JJ and Henrik’s POVs didn’t cooperate, but fortunately Marv’s did! Because of it taking three attempts, I’m not gonna make you wait any longer by doing my final rewrite edit that I usually do, so apologies for errors! ))

Warnings: Swearing, Character Injury, Mentioned (Minor) Character Death Characters: Marvin the Magnificent, Dr. Schneeplestein, Jameson Jackson, Jackieboy Man, Chase Brody, Second Officer Keen POV: Marvin the Magnificent

They’d arrived back at the habitat maybe an hour or so ago, and Marvin was fiddling with his PDA when banging startled him. Turning it off, he tipped his head questioningly at Jameson. The younger man was hitting his fist against the wall to get their attention. That explained the noise.

He pointed, then, signing…something. Marvin couldn’t read the signs, but let his eyes follow Jameson’s outstretched finger toward the window.

Marvin stood with his brows furrowing; somewhere behind him, he could hear Henrik hiss between his teeth as he re-wrapped the wound in his leg after checking on it. Eyes widening, he saw exactly what the chef had been pointing at.

“There’s…three of them. Please tell me I’m not seein’ things.”

He felt Henrik move to his side to get a better look. “…Yes. Yes, see it, too.”

Three shadows approached—two with Seaglides, one without. The one without the device was keeping surprisingly good pace with the other two.

“Maybe it’s Yu or Keen?” Marvin suggested, pursing his lips. He couldn’t help feeling a little pang of guilt. He’d been so adamant about leaving the island, and now it seemed like one of them had survived? He could barely hide his cringe when there was clanging from the entrance.

The outside hatch was opened and slammed shut again, then the drainage systems activated. It was only with the sound of the pumps falling silent that the bulkhead was shoved open. One Seaglide was left in the entrance (probably Jackie’s; he was really good at leaving it in bad places).

The second was in the hands of—

There stood Second Officer Keen: Slouching, exhausted, covered in cuts and bruises, but very much alive. He looked like he could pass out right where he stood.

“Status?” he demanded instead, his cutting stare going straight for Henrik. When the doctor stood silent for apparently too long, Keen elaborated with, “Injuries? Survivor count?”

“Counting you,” he started, “is only six remaining—all in this room. Jackson—” he nodded for the chef, “—has fractured ribs and is being watched for pneumonia. Brody and Magnus both suffered minor concussions.” There was a grimace as the doctor shifted his weight to let off on his injured leg a little. “I was bitten by one of the fish—a ‘Biter.’ The rest of our injuries consist of scrapes, bruises, and cuts that will heal on their own.”

Marvin…wasn’t so sure of that last bit. Not when he took a good look at Jackie and cleared his throat to get Henrik’s attention, then gestured for the security guard.

“What the hell happened to him?!”

Scrapes, and cuts, and a torn divesuit, bloodied where the water hadn’t washed it away on the swim back to the habitat. The fabric at his thigh was ripped apart completely, revealing the filthy shredded skin beneath it that was already discolored with a nasty bruise that had Marvin grimacing. He was also walking funny, wincing with every step even as Chase kept an arm around him.

“Did you fall off the goddamn mountain?!”

“Heh… It’s really that obvious?”

Marvin had to hide his snort.

“What?”

“Can you just like. Wrap me up or somethin’, please? It hurts, and we’ve got shit to tell ya.”

The entertainer moved forward to help Chase with supporting the other man, walking him to a less-cluttered part of the habitat to sit him down. “Why?” Marvin asked. “Find more data logs?”

Chase snorted. “Yeah. That and more.”

The sound of ripping fabric filled the habitat as Henrik tore Jackie’s suite to get to the injury in his thigh. He was scowling, because of course he was. “Well? Spit it out!”

“Well…” Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s another survivor. So, seven of us I guess. But like. Not from the Aurora. It was the Antony guy from the recordings.”

Eyes widening against his will, Marvin shook his head. “But… That recording was ten years old. How is that possible?”

“He’s found a way to survive—” Keen’s voice startled Marvin; he’d about forgotten the officer was there, “—as will we.”

“Then why didn’t you bring him here? I don’t under—”

“He has been in solitude for so long that his humanity is nonexistent and he attempted to kill us,” Keen interrupted. “He already succeeded in doing so with the CTO. He called us ‘diseased’ and claimed we would poison him. The man’s gone mad. He can stay on the island.” The sharp edge to his tone was softened only by his grimacing as he sank to the floor with his back against the wall. He was still in his uniform, but one sleeve was shredded, both knees torn, and cuts ripped into the fabric throughout it revealed matching ones on the skin beneath. All in all, he was a mess.

After he was silent for a while, he added, “We must avoid that island. Sepse knows this planet far better than we do, but with any luck he remains close to it when and if he’s ever in the water. The animals here, we can learn how they act. A human? Too unpredictable.” The hundreds of quotes Marvin had heard about man being the only true monster echoed in his head at that. “A…package, was sent to the Aurora. I’m not positive what it was, but we need to get on—”

Frantic shaking of his head. “Nope. Not happening.” Marvin paused for a few moments to pull a water bottle and nutrient bar out of one of the lockers, passing them both off to the officer before continuing as Keen glared daggers at him. “I already tried, okay? Fuckin’ thing’s surrounded by radiation. If you’re up for a suicide mission, then sure, go for it, but otherwise I suggested planting your ass right here.”

“Yes,” Henrik added as he wrapped bandages around Jackie’s leg—had his already cleaned it? “It sounds like you were…otherwise occupied on the island, but we got a message shortly after returning. The ship’s drive core is damaged.”

There were an audible thunk as Keen tipped his head back to hit against the wall. A long sigh, then, “Brody. Would you know how to repair that?”

“Dependin’ on the extent of the damage, I might be able to. But I’d need a radiation suit and I’m not goin’ alone.”

“If we get the suits, I’d go,” Jackie offered.

Good, Marvin thought. He wasn’t going anywhere near the ship with that Reaper so close to it. He shuddered at the thought. “How would we even get the suits?” He pulled his PDA off his hip and waved it around to prove a point. “We don’t have the blueprint.”

“We do, actually.” Keen screwed the lid back on the nearly-empty water bottle and gestured to the PDA nearest him: Jameson’s. “The radiation suit is under a specialized lock when our devices enter Emergency Mode. Our PDAs will release the blueprint only if they deem it necessary. So as much as I hate to say it, further damage to the drive core should help trigger it.”

“Which would mean it could be beyond my ability to repair it, but we can at least get that data package.”

“Yes.”

“And…what about the radiation? Can’t just leave the drive core damaged and leaking, can we?” Marvin gestured vaguely out the window before crossing his arms. “I mean. Personally I like not being radiation poisoned, but maybe that’s just me.”

Jackie and Chase both tried to stifle laughter while Jameson bit his lip and ducked his head. Keen only sighed. “We can only hope it doesn’t reach this far, at least until we have the suits. With any luck, the damage might still be repairable to stop it entirely.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Okay, okay.” Jackie prodded at the new bandaging on his thigh, wincing, and Marvin rolled his eyes when the security guard proceeded to poke at it again. “Soooo… We can’t do anything about the ship ‘til the drive core takes a little more damage. That means we keep doing what we’ve been doing and gather supplies, right?” He hissed when Henrik moved to start cleaning the shredded soles of his feet, nearly kicking the doctor and earning a harsh glare. “But somethin’ I’ve been wondering since the island… Keen, why didn’t you just jump off the bridge into the bay? I mean. You threw your PDA from there, right? You could’a just gotten away.”

The officer’s eyes dropped to the floor. He looked…genuinely upset as he shook his head with a soft sigh—fingers picking at his remaining sleeve, shoulders slumped, head bowed low. “The CTO and I got on the island from a different beach than the center bay’s, one more on its southern side. We remained at the surface for the entire trip there—I didn’t even realize it was floating until I left with you and Brody.

“When we reached the bridge, the CTO was already wounded and we didn’t know the bay passed through the island. I thought we would be trapped if we jumped down there, so we chose not to risk it.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall. “I see now that had we jumped in the bay, Yu would still be with us.”

“Nothing we can do about now,” Marvin said. He moved back to one of the lockers to grab the officer more water, then blinked when he was met by the sight of the PDA. He’d totally forgotten Jameson had put it in a locker. With it and another water bottle in each hand, he went to kneel at the officer’s side. “Just drink and eat. And then try to sleep. Fuck, you look like you need it.”

Keen tried to glare, but it fell away as he took the items offered to him.

“For now, we should just keep doin’ what we’ve been doing.” Chase’s voice echoed slightly; he had his head in one of the lockers as he pulled supplies out. Marvin recognized them as the ones for a divesuit. “We’ll let Keen rest up—could I take your PDA quick? Thank you—while we just keep gatherin’. Once the rad suit’s unlocked, Jackie and I can head to the ship.”

When the fabricator finished the new suit, Chase gave both it and the PDA he’d taken (to make sure it got the correct sizing, if Marvin was to guess) to Keen. The accents on the new suit were a light gray. The entertainer really had to wonder if the colors were associated with sizes, or more so for ranks or positions on the ship.

“So…” Marvin ran a hand through his hair, frowning as his fingers caught tangles. “Our only plan right now is wait for the drive core to…I don’t know, blow up?”

Chase just rolled his eyes. “Dude. It’s not gonna blow up.”

#writersofjack #jacksepticeye #marvin the magnificent #dr. schneeplestein #jameson jackson #chase brody #jackieboy man #second officer keen #deep blue sea #dbs ch18 #blitz indites #subnautica crossover #swearing /#character injury /

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emospritelet · 4 years

Note

#45 — “This should warm you up.” For the continuation of the Original Sin verse, please!

It’s Christmas Eve, and Belle just gave demon!Gold the news that she’s pregnant. Please see AO3 for tags as there are weird consent issues running throughout this series, despite Gold’s honesty with Belle about what he is.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [AO3]

Belle waited for the outburst. She had expected shock, disbelief, even anger. On the journey up from New York, she had mentally run through his likely reactions to her news, and had considered the best response to each of them. She had thought she was ready for all of those emotions, and had braced herself for the onslaught. What she didn’t expect was his usual thin smile.

“Well,” he said. “It seems that you and I need to have a conversation. Would you care for some tea?”

Belle blinked.

“What?”

“Tea,” he said patiently. “I have a rather nice Earl Grey. Or there’s peppermint, if you prefer.”

She shook her head.

“Did - did you hear what I just said?”

“Of course.”

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated. “Pregnant. With your baby.”

“Yes,” he said slowly and carefully. “I heard you the first time.”

Belle felt her brow crease in confusion.

“You - you don’t seem surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“Yeah, surprised.” She gestured to her belly. “I’m having a baby. Our baby. You’re gonna be a father.”

“Yes.” He was looking as confused as she felt. “Are you telling me you were surprised?”

“Well, yeah!” Belle threw up her hands and let them drop.

“But we talked about children,” he said. “About you becoming a mother. You said it was what you wanted.”

“Yes, at some point, I meant!” she said. “At some point in the future, when I was married and settled with the love of my life! Not after a - a one-night-stand with an antique dealer!”

Gold winced.

“Ouch.” He shook his head. “Then why did you agree to go to bed with me?”

Belle put her hands on her hips.

“Seriously?” she remarked. “You’re putting this all on me?”

“I’m not putting anything on you,” he said, looking bewildered. “I’m delighted that you’re having my child.”

“So am I!” she blurted, and snapped her mouth shut with an audible click of her teeth.

Gold sighed, looking down at where his fingers were poised on the counter top.

“Belle, I have to confess I’m not entirely sure what it is you’re angry with me about.”

“I’m not angry, I’m just…” She faltered, trying to find the words. “I guess I’m confused. I thought you’d be mad.”

“Why?” he said, looking every bit as confused as she felt.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly planned, was it?” she said impatiently. “Given that I was taking birth control!”

“Birth control?”

If anything he looked even more confused, and she felt like picking up his present and hitting him over the head with it.

“Yes, Damien, birth control!” she snapped. “You know, the pills that people take to stop them getting pregnant?”

“Ah.” His fingers drummed slowly on the counter. “Well, I’ve heard of them, of course. You were taking those?”

“Yes!”

He shrugged. “They weren’t working.”

“Well, I know that now!” she said sarcastically. “Blame Roni and her cupcake supplier with his activated charcoal fixation!”

Gold closed his eyes, then shook his head before glancing at her again.

“I have no idea what you just said, but let’s get back to the matter at hand,” he said. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were - trying not to be pregnant. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” She folded her arms and leaned on the counter with a sigh. “I guess we didn’t really talk about contraception, did we? I was too desperate to get in your pants.”

Gold grinned.

“Oh, I assure you the feeling was mutual,” he said. “Now. How about that tea?”

“You’re taking this very calmly,” she remarked, and he shrugged.

“As I said, I’m delighted at the news,” he said, and gestured to the side, where a pattern curtain hung across a doorway. “Please, come on through to the back room. I’ll lock up, so we can have some privacy.”

Belle gave him a long look, wanting to shake her head. No one’s this calm. Not about stuff like this. What is his deal?

“Well, I guess it’s pretty cold out there,” she said eventually. “Tea would be great.”

The back room of the shop turned out to be a cluttered sanctuary of antiques, with shelves filled with old books, assorted glassware, and boxes of what she assumed was china wrapped in newspaper. There were two large wooden workbenches, one with pieces of what looked like a brass scientific instrument laid out on black velvet. A single bed was tucked into a corner, covered in a dark red blanket, and she wondered if he ever slept at the shop.

“Please, take a seat,” said Gold from behind her, and she set her bag on the workbench and slid onto one of the wooden stools, taking off her scarf and gloves.

She watched as he made tea, boiling water in a kettle, spooning tea into a pot and setting out two china cups and saucers. Steam rose as he poured boiling water into the pot and stirred it. She could smell the tea, a pleasant, tannin-laced bitterness in the air. A small fridge tucked behind an old painted screen held milk, and once the tea was poured, Gold added a dash to each cup, setting them in saucers and carrying them to the bench.

“Here,” he said. “This should warm you up.”

“Thank you.”

The tea was steaming gently, so she left it to cool for a moment. The cup was white, with a blue pattern on one side, the saucer rimmed in gold. She wondered if it was part of a collection that he was planning on selling, or whether it was his own.

“So many things in here,” she said, glancing around the room. “You could probably open another shop.”

“This one keeps me busy enough,” he said.

“You don’t want to expand?” asked Belle. “I’d love to, if the bookstore was more successful.”

“Oh, I know your ambitions,” he said, as he put the milk back in the fridge. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance there.”

“I think any ambitions I had will have to take a back seat for a while,” she said. “I’ll need to find someone to run the store while I’m looking after the baby, for a start. It won’t leave much spare money to think about restocking, never mind expanding.”

Gold turned to face her, leaning back against the wooden counter. His eyes were gleaming at her, hints of gold in their dark depths.

“Well, let’s talk about that,” he said. “Firstly there’s your welfare, and the child’s. Are you well?”

“I - yeah, I’m fine. We’re both fine.”

“In order to ensure that continues, please allow me to pay for any medical insurance or expenses you might need.”

“I have insurance,” she said immediately. “Of course, it doesn’t cover everything, but—”

“I’ll make sure you want for nothing,” he said. “You mentioned getting help in to run the shop? Employing someone? I can pay for that.”

“Oh,” she said, shifting on the stool. “Well, that’s very kind, but you don’t have to. I didn’t come here looking for money as such, it was more…”

“More what?” he asked softly, and Belle licked her lips.

“I suppose I wanted to see whether you were interested in being a part of this child’s life,” she said. Of our lives.

“And so I am,” he said briskly. “I want to ensure this child knows where it comes from and is fully prepared for its future. And I’m prepared to compensate you very well for the sacrifice you’re making.”

“Sacrifice?” said Belle, confused. “I - I don’t understand.”

He had turned away, taking a piece of paper from the nearest workbench and a pen from the pot on the counter. She listened to him scribble briefly on the paper.

“I’m aware that bearing this child will be a burden on you, physically and emotionally,” he said. “I want to help as much as I can. So I want to give you this.”

He turned, holding out the piece of paper. There was a figure written on it, next to a dollar sign. Belle read it once, blinked, then read it again.

“Is this a joke?”

Gold’s mouth twitched.

��I never joke,” he said quietly. “It’s one aspect of human nature I never quite managed to grasp.”

“This is a fortune,” she said, and he shrugged.

“You could buy that loft apartment,” he said. “Open that chain of bookshops. It’s what you wanted, correct?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting you to buy it for me!”

“In exchange for what you’re giving me, the price seems more than fair.”

Belle stared at him, but he kept the same steady expression. After a moment she shook her head, trying to understand what was happening.

“Okay, for now let’s leave aside this - uh - offer, and talk about what we’re gonna do about the baby,” she said, and Gold pursed his lips, nodding.

“Alright.”

“You - you want to pay me a huge sum of money for looking after this child,” she said, in a flat tone. “But you also want to be a part of its life. So - what are we talking about here? Some sort of child support arrangement where you turn up once a fortnight and take it for fast food and a movie?”

Gold shook his head emphatically.

“Oh no,” he said. “I want to bond with my child, but I don’t feel that noisy human entertainment is conducive to that.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, and he took the stool across from her, knees parted and hands folded loosely in his lap.

“I’d like to share responsibility for teaching the child to read,” he added. “I want to take it out to the woods, introduce it to the natural world, teach it to identify herbs and fungi and poisonous plants. And when it gets older there are runes and crystals. Latin will be essential, of course, but there are other ancient languages which I’ve found very useful over the years.”

Belle opened her mouth, realised she had no idea how to respond, and closed it again, picking up her tea to take a drink in order to collect her thoughts.

“Of course, as soon as the child turns five, I expect you’ll want me to take it,” he added.

Belle almost choked on her tea, and set it down, wiping drops of hot liquid from her chin.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why would I want that? I want to raise this child myself! I mean if you want to be involved, that’s great, but I can’t think of any reason why I would ever hand it over to you for good!”

“Oh, it’s just that as they get older, our children tend to do better with their own kind,” he said helpfully. “That’s not a criticism of you or your parenting abilities, it’s just a fact.”

Belle shook her head, as though by doing so she could have his words make sense.

“What do you mean, ‘their own kind’?” she asked, puzzled. “Do you have some sort of hereditary condition? Why do you think that would matter to me?”

“I mean demons,” he said lightly, lifting one hand and spreading his fingers. “Incubi. Succubi. Whichever our child turns out to be. There are those that shift in between, of course, but it’s rare that one of those is produced. I’d say not in twenty years, to my knowledge. At least not that I’ve heard. Given that I’ve been tucked away in this town for decades there are probably a great many things going on that have passed me by.”

Belle stared at him.

“What?” she snapped. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Gold sat back on his stool, knees parting further in their fine wool pants, that tiny smile back on his face.

“I’m just letting you know that since the child is mine it will be different to a regular human child, that’s all,” he said patiently. “I can’t predict how those differences will manifest, and it’s possible that you may find them difficult to deal with. My own mother abandoned me in an alehouse when I was barely old enough to walk. I’ve had to make my own way in the world, and I certainly don’t want my child to do the same.”

“I - that’s terrible, but I don’t…” Belle shook her head. “Look, I realise that my hormones are doing weird things right now, but it sounded like you were saying that you’re a demon, and so is our child.”

Gold looked puzzled.

“Well, I am.”

Belle glared at him.

“Would you stop making fun of me?” she demanded. “This is serious!”

“I’m being serious!” he insisted. “I told you what I was before you went to bed with me.”

“Yeah, as a joke!”

Gold sighed heavily.

“Belle, I wasn’t joking,” he said patiently. “I told you, I don’t joke. Everything I told you was the absolute truth.”

Belle ran her hands over her face, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. I should have known it was too good to be true. No one’s that calm when they get a bombshell dropped on them.

“Look, I think maybe we should both take a little time to process this,” she said, through her fingers. “It’s clear this has been as much of a shock to you as it was to me.”

“I’m not shocked,” he said. “I told you. I look forward to meeting our child.”

“Let’s take a little time,” she repeated. “Sleep on it. Think about what this means for both of us. For all of us.”

“Thinking about it won’t change my mind.”

“You can’t know that,” she snapped. “Anyhow, I’m staying at the inn, so - uh - why don’t we both talk again after we’ve had some rest? It was kind of a long journey and I'm not convinced I didn't fall asleep on the bus and dream this whole encounter.”

He was gazing at her with an unreadable look on his face.

“Alright.”

“Great.” She pushed to her feet. “Thanks for the tea. And for not yelling about the baby. I don’t handle raised voices all that well. Especially now.”

“As I said.” His tone was almost a whisper. “I’m delighted at the news.”

“Right.”

She wound her scarf around her neck, and snatched her gloves up from the workbench, pulling them on. She could feel Gold’s eyes on her, running over her skin like spectral fingers, as though he could touch her without moving from his seat. It made her shiver, but the sensation was far from unpleasant.

“Right,” she said again. “I’ll - um - see you tomorrow.”

“Until tomorrow,” he said quietly.

Belle nodded, and took a step past him, that sensation of being touched with his eyes making her skin hum and her pulse throb in her throat. Her pace quickened as she entered the shop, and she reached the door without stopping, the bell tinkling as she wrenched it open and stepped out into the frigid night air. A plume of white billowed out into the air as she let out the breath she had been holding. Well. That’s one reaction I definitely didn’t predict.

#sprite's festive fic fest #fic: original sin verse #fic: communion #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic #jackabelle73

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haberdashing · 4 years

Text

Another Archive

The Magnus Archives fic. Jon gains an unexpected wealth of information while at the safehouse with Martin. Written for International Fanworks Day 2020.

on AO3

It was a nice enough morning in Scotland, given that the world had ended a few days beforehand.

Jon and Martin were together at the safehouse still, trying to piece together what had happened and what could be done about it. It was dangerous out there, that much was clear, and they were staying put for the time being while they developed a plan, or at least figured out what they’d need in order to develop a proper plan that wouldn’t just get them both killed.

Jon blamed himself for it, Martin knew he did, and none of Martin’s reassurances to the contrary, reassurances that the only one responsible for the hellscape that surrounded them was Jonah Magnus himself, seemed to make a difference.

Perhaps that was because Martin himself didn’t entirely believe his own words. He didn’t blame Jon, that much was true, but... but he blamed himself.

He hadn’t been there when it had happened, sure, but that was the problem. Perhaps if he had stayed there and listened to Jon record his first statement of the pile, he would have noticed that something was amiss. Perhaps Martin could have taken the action that Jon couldn’t--Jon had explained that bit, over and over again, how he couldn’t stop reading the statement even once its true nature was clear. If Martin had grabbed that piece of paper and burned it before Jon could read it to the end... well, he wasn’t sure what exactly would have happened, but it had to be better than this.

He should have been there. He should have tried.

But it was far too late for that now, of course...

But it might have been those memories, and those regrets of things left untried, that made a half-awake Martin spring into action when he woke up to see Jon frantically scribbling God-knows-what onto various pieces of paper.

“Jon?”

Jon didn’t react to Martin calling his name, or to Martin scrambling out of bed and over to near where Jon was seated at the kitchen table. Dozens of pieces of paper surrounded him, most with at least some markings on them already. Martin picked one up at random and saw that while some of it was written in regular English--and mentioned Martin’s own name, a fact that made his stomach lurch--some was in what seemed to be a shorthand Martin didn’t know how to decode, and even more was in what looked to be multiple distinct languages aside from English.

How long had Jon been doing this? How long had Martin been asleep while Jon had been up doing... whatever this was?

“Jon, what are you doing?”

Martin wasn’t terribly surprised to find that Jon didn’t respond to that question, either. Jon’s eyes had an unnatural gleam to them, one Martin knew the meaning of well enough by now, and as he started to write something more in--was that Chinese?--Martin decided that he would put an end to it.

There was no clear source for Jon’s writing, no paper to throw into the fire like he had dreamed of doing a number of times now, but Martin snatched the pen out of Jon’s hand and snapped it in two, trying not to let the plastic bits jabbing his skin or the black ink now covering his hands bother him unduly. There were more important things at hand.

Jon extended one hand towards the next nearest writing utensil, a pencil that was halfway across the table from him, but Martin pushed the pencil out of arm’s reach, making sure his face was in Jon’s line of sight as he did so.

“Jon!”

Martin’s voice was distinctly louder than before--not quite a yell, not yet, though he would get there if need be.

Further escalation proved unnecessary, though, as Jon blinked a few times in rapid succession, and that unnatural gleam faded from his eyes, leaving... well, leaving just Jon.

“Martin?”

“What is all of this?” Martin gestured towards the kitchen table, cluttered with paper, on which Jon had clearly written something.

“Right. That.” Jon let out a dark laugh without much humor in it. “It’s, uh, a bit of a long story-”

Martin sighed softly as he asked, trying to keep his voice filled more with concern than with frustration, “And is any of that long story going to get us all killed?”

“No! No, it can’t, none of it’s real...” Jon laughed again as he added, “Though I’m not sure any of this is real now, either...”

Jon made a vague, sweeping hand gesture as he finished that last statement, and Martin tried to fill in the blanks. Clearly Jon Knew something that he hadn’t before this morning, that much was clear, but... how could you Know something that wasn’t real in the first place? And while it was possible that his newfound knowledge was what was leading him to question the state of reality, there were also a number of other potential causes for such questioning, both natural and supernatural in origin...

Martin tried to sound more upbeat and confident than he felt as he said, “How about you go over what it is you’ve been writing down, and we figure out the state of reality from there, hmm?”

“Alright. Though when I said it was a long story--really it’s a lot of stories, and some of them are quite long indeed-”

“Start from the beginning, then?”

“I’m not sure there’s a beginning to start from...” Jon sighed and pressed one hand against his temple, but as Martin internally debated the pros and cons of pushing him further, Jon kept speaking.

“I’m being literal, when I call them stories, that’s the thing. Stories about us, about the Institute, the Archives... I woke up this morning with... hundreds, maybe thousands of them, all fresh in my mind, all practically begging to be written down.”

“And so you did?” Martin said, gesturing to the pile of papers.

“...and so I did, yes. But the strangest part is, some of them--most of them, really--they... they aren’t true, they aren’t real, they never happened. Office parties the Institute never held, New Years’ parties the archive staff never actually attended... and you never had a Lord of the Rings movie marathon with Tim, now, did you?”

It took Martin a moment to realize the question was being directed towards him. “Er, no. No, I didn’t.”

Martin wondered what that story was like, if he should have watched Lord of the Rings with Tim back when he had the chance, how things might have been different if he had made that one small move.

A hint of a smile appeared on Jon’s face as he asked, “I’m curious, now, do you actually know Elvish?”

Martin could feel his face heat up. “Well, Elvish isn’t actually the technical term for--yes. Yes, I taught myself Elvish.” A thought occurred to Martin, and when he next spoke, he spoke not in English but in Sindarin. (It was probably slightly rusty, but years of teaching yourself a language, fictional or not, don’t just wear off overnight.) “What about you?”

Jon blinked twice in a row, and Martin thought he spied a hint of that gleam in his eyes as he replied, also in Sindarin, “Apparently so.”

The gleam faded from Jon’s eyes once more as he looked over the papers, though not focusing on any one in particular, his voice in English once more when next he spoke.

“So perhaps there are snippets of truth in these stories, at least. Alternate universes, perhaps, worlds in which things went differently... I don’t know.”

Jon cleared his throat, clearly more to make a point than because anything was actually lodged within it.

“But what I do know is that I’ve never... been with...” Jon’s tone of voice and facial expression grew more and more uncomfortable as he kept listing off names. “Tim, Gerry, Daisy, Michael, Nikola, Peter Lukas, Elias, or... or Mr. Spider.”

Martin laughed a little before seeing the somber and disturbed expression on Jon’s face, his laughter dying in an instant.

“Is there really-”

“Yes.” Jon took a deep breath before speaking further, and Martin could see that he was shaking slightly. “Maybe it’s not alternate universes, because I refuse to believe that- that in any universe, I would-”

“What about us?”

Jon blinked with surprise, and his shaking settled down a bit. “What?”

Martin gently set his hand, still ink-stained, atop Jon’s, glad to see that Jon didn’t draw away from the contact. “Are any of these stories about the two of us being together?”

“Oh. Yes, quite a few of them.” Jon’s hand squeezed Martin’s softly as he added, “I just figured that went without saying.”

Martin shot Jon a weak smile. “It’s good to hear just the same, though.”

“Some of these stories even take place in the future--perhaps our future, but probably not, given the evidence. There’s tales of us going to London and killing Elias, or- or traveling back in time using Helen’s hallways--can she even do that?”

Martin sheepishly smiled as he said softly, “You’re asking the wrong person there.”

“But the thing is...” Jon took another deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing. “...all these stories, no matter how wrong, how far-fetched... they all feel real to me, somehow. They seem as real as... as this moment right here.”

Martin’s weak smile faded away as he processed the implications of Jon’s statement. “I... I see.”

“So does that mean none of this is real, then? Are we just a-an overwrought work of fiction? Is this just another story?”

Martin felt something wet touch his hand. He looked down to see that it was a single teardrop, its fall smudging the ink stain covering his hand, and looked up to see that Jon was quietly crying.

“And if so... then what does that make us?”

Martin wiped the tears from Jon’s eyes, stifling a snort as he saw the black mark his hand left in its wake.

“We’re all stories, in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?”

Jon’s tears slowed, though they didn’t quite stop, as he made eye contact with Martin.

“Where’s that from?”

“What, you think I couldn’t come up with that all by myself?”

“I- I didn’t mean-”

“It’s from Doctor Who, Jon.” Martin laughed a little, both at his own joke and at the look on Jon’s face when he realized Martin had been messing with him.

“Say, in all those stories, are there any where we get to meet the Doctor? Go off in the TARDIS, explore all of space and time?”

The trickle of tears down Jon’s cheek finally slowed to a stop as he considered Martin’s question.

“I’m not sure off-hand, actually. Let me think...”

#ifdrabble #international fanworks day 2020 #tma fic #tma fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #ao3 #personal #my writing #the specifics referenced here do reference specific actual fics #if you think you recognize a fic you probably do #and that list? all of those are actual slash tags on ao3 #yes including the last one #i didn't make that a relationship tag on ao3 don't blame ME

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 4 years

Text

FIC: Look Through My Eyes (kidverse)

---

"Come on now, Billyboy, time for bed." Her voice still sounded so foreign to him - a mature and calming woman's voice rather than the girlish chirp he had heard calling out her farewells to him that last morning - and watching as his little Joanna stumblingly rose from the creaking wooden chair beside him to try to talk the usually boisterous boy to bed, Bill couldn't help but smile. Watching mother and son reminded him of his wife and daughter when she was a tiny blonde bundle of waning energy, yawning as loudly and widely as his grandson was now. "Gotsta brush our teeth, and then read another chapter of Mommy's book before bed."

"I don't wantta-" "Baby boy, Mommy's tired and won't be able-" "No! I wantta stay wit' Daddy 'nd Grandda Bill!" "Billy, please don't-" "No!"

"Billy-" The other man's voice cut over the shrill cry of their child, Grey's usually loving look for the little boy was stern and firm in a way that Bill remembered from his times shutting down Jo's cries to stay up on his knee. "If you don't go with your mommy now, you won't be allowed to read your story before bed and there will be no pancakes in the morning."

The look of utter shock that spread across the little boy's face was mirrored on his mother's - Jo and Billy both staring in abject horror towards the serious look on the other's face - before Billy was up on his feet and rushing, tripping here and there on his feet, out the kitchen towards the hall. Jo's look of shock slowly melted as Bill saw Grey's look soften into an amused smile.

"Oh, that was just mean, hun." "Don't worry Jo, I wasn't going to actually take your pancakes away." "You better not've!" "Jo... You better get up there before he floods the bathroom again." "Oh shit!"

Jo's responses and the almost fluid dance of their back and forth was somewhat a soothing sound to Bill's ears as he'd leaned into his hand watching his daughter in her new life. It reminded him of home. Or perhaps that was just the drinks talking. The five Scotch's and five beers in that he'd lulled that loud, screaming voice inside that hated the time he'd missed, the time he'd been missed, and the monster that sat across the table from him filling that gaping void for his little girl in so many ways that Bill left behind.

He watched, eyes heavy and filled with that other part of him - the part that was so happy for his little girl's happiness and safety, as Jo waddled around the edge of the table to press a kiss against the other man's cheek gently before that megawatt smile was directed his way. Bill was slow responding in kind but knew from the way those chocolate brown eyes glistened slightly in the dim lighting of her kitchen that Jo saw it before she slowly made her way out the door and the heavy footfalls of her swollen, pregnancy feet upon the creaky staircase. It was something that Bill remembered from her own incubation period, how Ellen had complained ad nauseam about the swelling and how much her feet hurt and how he had rubbed them until his thumbs felt numb each evening once the bar had closed.

"She'll be back down after she's put Billy to bed." The shadow across from him broke him out of his pensive silence, drawing his attention from the empty doorway and across to that almost calm exterior that Bill could tell was put on for him. "Jo's been having more trouble sleeping at night lately-"

“Oh?” No matter how many drinks he’d had at that point, the hunter couldn’t keep the confrontational tone out of his voice as he was left alone with the monster again. It was one thing to see the soft smiles and loving stares between his daughter and the shadow, and another to spend time himself alone with the thing that should usually be on the other end of a gun barrel rather than the other side of a kitchen table. “You haven’t been botherin’ her have you? Women might get crazy, but they need rest more than anything at this point.”

The range of colors that spread across the other’s face - from a paling to bright red and back to a deep pink - were bemusing an in abstract way, as the dark haired man fiddled with his nails for a moment before it settled into a firm, blank look despite the clipped tone of his voice. “I always encourage Jo to get enough rest. She definitely needs it.”

It was a struggle to keep the desire to chuckle under wraps as he picked up and drank slowly from his beer instead. Bill tried to refrain from making a face himself as he set the beer down again. Somehow his daughter remembered his favorite brand after all these years, but the taste was something completely wrong from how it tasted before. Just another shift to how things had changed beyond recognition, Bill guessed.

“Is that alright?” Grey’s voice cut across his thoughts, and looking across at the other man with his soda and the gesture towards his own beer, Bill found himself frowning slightly. “You made a face.”

“Tastes wrong,” He grumbled the words out quietly as he toyed with the neck again. Everything tasted that little bit wrong to him - except the few home cooked meals around that very kitchen table. Everything was a little bit too sweet, too artificial, too different to how things tasted before. Bill felt himself scowling further as the intrusive thought that everything was different to before he died. “Not her fault, but it’s not quite the same.”

There was a strange noise from the other man, and glancing up, Bill felt the frown deepening to himself as he noticed the shadow nodding understandingly. “Ah, yeah. I would imagine you are going through a bit of a culture shock.”

“That’s... an interestin’ choice of words.” “Heh, that too must be one, huh?” “Perhaps.”

“Well, if it’s any comfort - you will probably adjust alright,” Grey’s look wasn’t cold or unfriendly, but there was a strangeness to his tone that the hunter struggled to identify at that moment. “It took me a few months to get a handle on things, and you’ve got the bonus of having already lived in the world before.”

His brow rose quickly as the realisation what the tone was - empathy and self-deprication - as well as the fact that the monster disguised in human clothing across from him was seemingly reminding him of that fact. Bill felt his grip tighten on the neck of his beer as he shifted his weight carefully, not enough to alert the other but enough to be ready to spring into action and defense if needed. “You mean the bonus of my bein’ human, don’t play coy.”

The other’s look swiftly shifted through a myriad of emotions and flushed pink by the end as he seemed to shrink back in his seat for a moment before the unsurprisingly squaring of his shoulders. Grey’s voice was quiet as he responded, and Bill had to refrain from smirking at the wary look in those blue eyes. “I don’t play coy or pretend I’m not what I am.”

“No?” “No, I don’t.” “Sure doesn’t seem like you don’t.” “Well, I can assure you - even if it may seem like I don’t acknowledge it, I always know what I am.”

“Does my daughter?” The words growled out, deep and low, as he pinned back those earnest and wide eyes with the cold steel of his own. “Because she’s definitely-”

“Your daughter is the closest thing this world has ever seen to perfection, Mr Harvelle,” The other man’s tone was just as low, and was somehow dripping with both acidic venom at Bill’s question and affection as he spoke about the woman upstairs helping their son through his bedtime routine. “She is kind and compassionate and sees the best in everyone and everything. That doesn’t mean she isn’t aware of what is true.”

Bill found himself staring down the other, gazes locked and battling in a way that the other man had yet to interject himself against him before now. He’d almost thought the monster was a push over, or rather, worse, that he was a snake in the grass hiding fangs behind a smile and deference. Staring him down, Bill thought that second assessment may be right after all, even if he seemed unwilling to strike. The words were sweet to hear, but there was also a danger in them, and refusing to back down from the battle engaging, he waited the other man out until the shadow finally dropped his gaze with a sigh.

“Look, I’m aware that you are not likely happy with how things appear to be, but-”

“Hey, hunny,” The cheerful voice came down the hallway, clear and loud, interrupting and silencing the other man’s words like a clap of lightening. “Billy wanted you to come up and promise he would still have his pancakes in the mornin’.”

The look of affection that crossed the shadow’s face was unsettling familiar as Bill could hear the echo of Ellen calling him back to tuck in his daughter even for a second before he left, before the other man pushed himself to his feet. Grey looked back at him from his intended path for a moment, before pausing. “Did you need anything before I go up?”

“I’m fine.” “Well, feel free to help yourself to anything you might need-” “I’m fine.”

“Right...” The blink was strange, and Bill almost felt compelled to ask why the other man looked at him so strangely right then, before a call down of the other’s name from the stairs caught his attention again and he headed out of the kitchen. Clearly the man knew better than to leave a tired, pregnant woman waiting.

Shifting in his seat and taking another sip of his beer, Bill found himself looking about the space in a way he’d not really had the chance to do so before now. It was peculiar to be in such a domestic space but know that it housed not only a monster but a hunter too. Potentially two hunters, if the somewhat hinted idea that had slipped out when his girl had mentioned how happy she was to spend time with him again.

The window above the sink had an old, faded lacey curtain that had bundles herbs that he recognised from hex bags drying tied to it. The counter tops were clearly well used and well loved, but the small amounts of clutter with a sunflower shaped ceramic vase filled with wooden utensils by the stove and a cookie jar in the other corner shaped like some kind of phone box was surrounded by a few sippy cups that Bill had seen his namesake walking about with regularly and another smaller cookie jar shaped like a dogs head that had the name ‘Nana’ written on the collar. The dishes from dinner - a risotto that Bill had enjoyed immensely even if he had chewed thoughtfully as he considered the man that had cooked it - were either soaking in the sink or drying in the drip tray with bright floral tea towels thrown over the top. The lower cabinets were covered in bright patterns of different vinyl wrapping, and the odd scratching of what looked like a crayon had once rubbed over there and the cleaning process had faded it out.

The fridge itself was a whole other matter - covered from top to bottom with different papers and magnets. There was a shopping list obviously, and another list that Bill found himself reading as he stood up to see the list of locations and hunts beside the shopping. Sipping his beer as he ran a finger over just how many were far away as well as the proportion that were barely an hours drive away seemed to divide the work for the couple. Another piece of paper Bill remembered from his own cheatsheet back in the day - a list of aliases and which government agency it connected to - that connected to the array of phones that were on the wall near the back door. The rest of the fridge was covered in coupons and take away menus, sketches that betrayed a talented hand and then large colorful drawings that were clearly made by the youngster of the house. It was the fridge of a family, and running his finger over the top of the hunting list - rugaru, Dallas Texas, Sierra Crawford, August 18th bday - Bill sculled the last of his beer as he let that thought ruminate.

Tossing the glass into the recycling bin out the back door before locking back up again, the hunter moved around to look closer at some of the drawings clearly colored in and decorated by the little boy of the house and likely drawn originally by the monster when there was a quiet cough that caught his attention.

“Uh, Billy wanted to know if you were going to come up and say goodnight.” The shadow was standing in the doorway, looking a tad uncertain. “I wasn’t-”

“Show the way,” Bill interrupted quickly, standing straight and moving around the kitchen towards the shorter man.

Following up the stairs past the worn wallpapered walls hidden behind framed artworks here and there, Bill was surprised by how cramped the space seemed to be upstairs though it shouldn’t have. Downstairs wasn’t big enough for a family of three, let alone one soon to be four, and upstairs was much the same. One doorway he could spot a bathroom in, and another must have been the master bedroom. Right by the stair landing next to the railing was a door painted bright blue with the name ‘Billy’ elegantly painted on it and through which the warm light of a bedside lamp’s glow coming out.

As he moved through the doorway, the hunter was hit with a sense of wonderment seeing the little blond boy tucked into his bed - his tiny head resting on the red and black webbed pillowcase, mouth slightly open as he seemed to breathe gently - fast asleep already. Next to him, slightly cramped but equally asleep, was the other blonde, book slumped against her stomach and her head resting beside her son’s, mouth open but brows furrowed and eyes scrunching as if plagued by some fear even in her dreams.

“Oh. I guess we’re a bit late.” Grey’s voice was quiet, and Bill gave a quick glance over his shoulder at the other man, frowning to himself at the look on his face. It was something Bill knew so well himself. “I should wake Jo-”

“Nah, let her sleep.” Shaking his head, the hunter padded quietly into the room. Kneeling down beside the bed, he gently brushed back the little boy’s hair. Billy’s eyes fluttered open for a second and he let out a confused noise as Bill held his finger to his lip quieting him. “Shh buddy, your momma’s asleep.”

“We din’t finish-” “Did she stop mid story?” “Ye-uh-up.” “Well, she’ll just have to start again tomorrow night, won’t she?” “Mommy always falls -uuh- sleep.”

Bill smiled softly at the way the boy fought through his own yawns, eyes getting heavy and his lids drooping as he struggled to stay awake. Stroking his hand through his hair still, the hunter nodded and tweaked at his grandson’s nose. “Well, you should get to sleep now and maybe I’ll read it for you tomorrow night instead, okay?”

“M’okay Grandda.” Billy’s voice was soft and trailed off as he seemed to snuggle in deeper into his pillow, curling into his mother’s warmth as Bill moved his hand back. It was so like putting his daughter to sleep with a promise of stories and her brown eyes like melted chocolate as she’d fall asleep mid word.

Moving his hand over to the other blonde’s hair, tucking a strand behind her ear gently, Bill didn’t fight the impulse to lean in to press a kiss to her forehead like he used to. Rising from his knee slowly, he clicked the bedside lamp off, and was not surprised to see tiny, glow-in-the-dark stars glowing from the ceiling in the darkened room so like the little girl’s room he’d spent hours decorating with constellations - one selection of stars spelling out the little boys name across a corner that Bill was sure the boy would only notice in a few more years.

Almost closing the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar so the light from the stairs would be viewable from inside should either wake up, Bill found the shadow was standing a few feet back and giving him plenty of space. There was a silent exchange that he found himself surprised to partake in - an eyebrow raise, a hand jerk, a shoulder shrugged and a head nod - before the pair moved downstairs and after a seconds pause from the shadow leading the way, into the front lounge room and away from where any noise of their talking may disrupt the sleeping pair upstairs.

Bill followed the gestured hand to sink into one of the comfy, worn leather arm chairs before the other man appeared to frown to himself.

“Did you want another beer or a scotch, Mr Harvelle?” The shadow’s voice was friendly, and the cautiously optimistic look he was received as he settled into the comfortable embrace of the couch was amusing.

Bill nodded his head, before letting out a quiet chuckle as the slightly frustrated look that cross the dark-haired man’s face. “One’a both. I figure I promised Billy I’d be ‘ere for bedtime tomorrow, and Jo suggested I stay the night.”

“Right, of course, she’s very smart like that.” Grey bobbed his head a few times before turning around and heading to the kitchen. It was barely a minute before he returned with a bottle and glass in one hand and a glass in the other. “Hopefully the scotch hasn’t changed any.”

He found himself laughing at that, shaking his head slightly as he took the drinks off the other to take a swig from the beer. “They’ve been the same for hundreds of years. Some thirty isn’t goin’ to change those at least.”

“That’s true.” Grey replied with a warmth in his own tone, smiling as he sat on the couch nearby but not too close. Always keeping a polite distance away, Bill had noticed, and swirling his drink in a deceptive way to appear intentional and to be drank but without the likelihood he would drink any significantly until Bill himself had touched his own. A move the blond hunter was familiar with when interviewing victims friends and relatives, as well as watching his wife do the same behind the bar to create a sense of security and friendship. Biting down a smirk watching the liquid swirling, he was caught off guard by the other man’s question. “Have you been settling into, well, the twenty-first century well? Other than the beers, I mean.”

“That’sa hell of a loaded question,” Bill found himself sighing as he sank back, taking a longer drink from his beer for a moment as he considered his answer. Glancing towards the door to the hallway and certain he was unlikely to be overheard by anyone else, before he let out another, heavier sigh. “It’s strange, supernatural even, to be alive now and so much changed.”

“Oh?” The curious but gentle noise was non-disruptive, and catching the other man’s eye as he let out the noise, Bill found himself tipping his head back and finishing his beer in a few quick swallows under the watchful eyes of the other. “What-”

“My Jo - my darlin’ girl - was barely as high as my hip when I saw her last before. She was all knobby knees and loose teeth, and my girl was on the cusp of growin’ up but not there yet,” He felt the words bobbing across his mind and out of his lips as he thought them, the vision of his little girl running up to hug around his legs and begging him not to go this time with her ‘Uncle’ John but he didn’t listen, before he could even think about editing them. Glancing across at the other, Bill saw a fellow father and a dark shadow of understanding growing in the other’s eyes as he spoke, and felt the heavy weight of holding these thoughts inside over the last few months deep in his bones. “That was the daughter I’ve always known, and was lookin’ forward to watchin’ grow into the amazing, beautiful and incredible woman that she seems to be now.” Leaning forward over his knees, resting his head in his hands with a shaky breath, Bill shook his head sharply as he whispered, “I was supposed ta be hunched over and handing my bike keys to her, not sharin’ them with her.”

There was a silence in the room, letting the words settle like dust but it didn’t bother Bill at all that the other didn’t speak. It wasn’t as if he’d understand the gut wrenching loss that he’d felt upon seeing that bright smile all grown up without gaps in her teeth. It wasn’t like Grey would get that Bill lost one daughter and gained a different one in so many ways, and just how little time he’d had to adjust to and adapt to that feeling when he could still wrap his arms around the new version of her.

Bill found himself sighing wornly as he looked up after the long drawn out silence between them, hazel meeting blue, and the hunter felt the weight of opening up firmly on his shoulders then. Shrugging one sharply, a jerky motion, he tried to press himself out of that melancholic thought process with a shove. “I don’t mean-”

“I understand your feelings, Mr. Harvelle. I know you wouldn’t expect it, but I do.” The other’s voice was calm and controlled, his face betraying very little other than sympathy as he took a small sip of his drink.

“Yeah right.” “I do. I understand that loss too.” “Oh?”

“I’ve lost a daughter myself.” The words were like an electric cattle prod, sharp and shooting a pained jolt along his spine as the shadow spoke, and Bill found himself jerking in his seat rather than slumping further. Grey’s eyes caught his worriedly for a second before he continued when it was clear Bill was caught listening and not about to move further. “Before we had Billy, that is. I had a daughter, she was so beautiful and my world for that time I was with her-”

“Jo los-”

“No! No, no. She wasn’t Jo’s, we weren’t together then,” Grey jerked sharply himself, eyes wide and shocked at the connection Bill had made. Bill’s heart slowed from the jerky racing at imagining his poor daughter having had to live with that loss as well, and it wasn’t until both men had let out a relieved sigh that the other continued, eyes slightly wet and glossy as he talked. “She... My daughter didn’t get to that big - she barely had any time at all, and I had barely any with her - but I can understand so truly that loss you... you must be feeling.” The shadow’s voice quivered over a few words, and if Bill had been a different man he might have pulled back at seeing the fall of tears along the other’s cheeks. But the sorrowful look in the other’s eyes wasn’t anything to pull back from, and Bill found himself swallowing thickly on the lump building in his throat. “I won’t say... I would never say you were lucky to have as long as you did with her, with your daughter, but I will say I’d give anything to be able to have any version of my... my Gwen back the way you do your Jo.”

Bill found himself nodding - in thanks, in understanding, in appreciation - at the other man’s words and the deliberacy of them. He was right, in many ways, and the hunter found himself reaching for his scotch with a shaky breath as he glanced away to give the other a fragment of privacy to compose himself. It was a shock to hear this, and he knew he’d had a lot of questions about it one day but now wasn’t the time. Now was the time to toss back his head and swallow the three fingers of liquor with a burning ache that rushed down his throat as if burning away the words he’d managed to say so far - leaving the pathway free for something else to bubble up if it did.

Setting the glass down on the coffee table with a sigh, Bill was surprised to find himself to have his other hand reach over to rest on the other man’s shoulder for a second before he with drew it. The other might be something he hated, something he hunted and killed and struggled to see past, but the moment left not room for Bill to hold that against him.

“You are right, actually, I’ma lucky man to have her in some sort of way.” Bill nodded to himself a few times as he sat back in his chair with a worn sigh. “I just.. wish I still had Ellen to help me through it. I don’t know...” He found himself tripping over the words, not sure exactly what he meant. If he meant he missed his wife, or his rock, or the grounding force that Ellen’s forthright nature had always been - even if the ground was shaking when he left and the rock was starting to crack. “It wasn’t like we were in the greatest spot, but she was always there, and always knew better how to handle the unexpected. And now I’m what?” Bill stared at the empty glass on the coffee table before him pensively, brows furrowed and eyes unfocused in the wavy patterns of the glass’ surface as if he could will it full again without having to lose his train of thought. “I ain’t no widower, I’m not’a divorcee, I’m not even a fuckin’ single man really-” He felt the cold metal of his wedding band sharply around his finger, rubbing the scratched surface unconciously with his thumb as he frowned, “-I’m just fuckin’ alone now and I don’t even know where or when the fuck I am really.”

“It’s like there’s a gaping hole in your world where someone is supposed to be, right?” Grey’s eyes were fixed on his, no longer glossy and his cheeks were dry now, but there was still that warmth of understanding that made a chill run down his spine that perhaps this monster was reading his thoughts even though both he and Jo had promised the shadow didn’t do that without permission. There was a quiet, huff of a laugh before the other continued with a sad smile. “I was away from Jo for a... bit more than a year while I had Gwen. I didn’t want us to break up, but things outside either of our control had happened and I couldn’t endanger her being with her still, or coming back to her.”

“Why not?” “The situation with my daughter was unpredictable with the mother. And I couldn’t risk both Jo and Gwen like that. I had to pick one-” “You made the right choice.”

The other man jerked as if in pain at that, and Bill caught his scared and worried eye for a moment as he held him there in that look. Sure, whatever must have happened was bad, but Bill’s daughter was safe and happy and the monster seemed to be the same for the most part. And whatever had happened, Bill would find out eventually but, had left Jo safe and living in a way that the hunter could never think another solution would have been better.

“Sometimes I wonder.” There was a hollow sound to the words, empty and echoing like they had not been given a voice before, before the shadow shook his head free of whatever mists had been passing through with those painful feelings. Grey paused for a moment before sighing quietly. “But while I was away? It felt like there was a gap beside me where Jo should’ve been - walking on the sidewalk beside the stroller, holding the basket at the supermarket, sitting on the other side of the breakfast table laughing about something-” The shadow’s eyes darted across to his own for a moment as he paused again before adding quietly, “-in my arms or in the bed beside me - it felt like there was an empty space where she was supposed to be. And I guess you must be feeling the same.”

“Only so far as Ellen was always where I cam home to, and the last I saw the Roadhouse was an empty plot of earth where my parents bar had been.” “That makes sense-”

“Nothing of this makes any sense,” Bill cut over sharply with a tired smile. That was the most honest thing he’d said in his second life, and that it was so clear to know that logic and reason had gone out the window long before his own arrival was surrealist and absurdist in the most ridiculous way. Shaking his head, he looked at his glass again with a weary sigh. He shouldn’t have another but he was damn needing one right about now at the vague feeling that perhaps he’d be accepting the idea briefly suggested by his girl and her monster for him to stay a while.

As if reading his mind, the other gestured at the glass in a questioning way before the shadow asked gently. “Another one, Mr Harvelle?”

“Sure thing, and make it Bill for now.” The hunter replied lifting and holding the glass out towards the other as Grey rose to his feet to take it and his own empty glass for a refill. The look of surprise that glossed over the man’s face got even more so as Bill leaned back and kicked his feet up onto the edge of the coffee table with a sigh, adding quietly. “Might as well get comfortable if I’m stayin’ a while, right?”

There was another awkward pause, before a slightly warm chuckle came from the other alongside a nod as he turned back towards the kitchen with both glasses in hand. “Sure thing, Bill. Might just bring the bottle back?”

“You do that.”

---

#billpov #au stories #kidverse #ca

3 notes · View notes

sunkissedpages · 5 years

Text

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Twelve || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: sjadslikjdl it’s between teaser and full chapter length but I wanted to get it out before like 3am :/

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, angst

What I listened to while writing: Pray For The Wicked by Panic! At The Disco

Word Count: 1.5k

Tom’s lips were softer than you expected.Warmer too. For a fraction of a second you let yourself get lost in the kiss, closing your eyes and tilting your head ever so slightly. You even brought your hand up to his head and nearly let your fingers graze his curls before you remembered how pissed off you were at him.

You pulled back and pushed him away with a little more force than you intended, causing him to stumble backwards. “What the fuck was that, Tom?” you demanded, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered, already turning red. “I didn’t mean-“

“You what? Thought you could just shut me up by kissing me?”

“It sort of worked.”

It took everything in you not to backhand your boss into next year. “I’m putting my resignation in tomorrow morning,” you stated flatly and started walking ahead of him, despite not knowing what direction you were supposed to be headed.

“Wait, y/n,” he called after you. “I really am sorry!” When you didn’t turn back he jogged to catch up with you. You kept your pace and refused to look at him. “Please don’t quit, I’m begging you.”

You stopped again. “Why shouldn’t I? You obviously don’t respect me. And relax, Watts isn’t going to be that pissed at you.”

“It’s not just that!” he protested. You raised your eyebrows, waiting. “No one can do this job better than you.”

“You’re the one who said you didn’t need me.”

“We both know that’s not true, though,” he admitted. “Please don’t leave.” You were surprised by how genuinely upset he looked. “Please.”

“...I’ll think about it,” you replied softly.

Tom relaxed visibly and started walking again. You trailed behind him now, lost in thought. Everything still felt fuzzy. You could still feel Tom’s lips on yours and you wondered if he could taste your rose flavored lip balm when he kissed you, if he knew you’d noticed his fingers brushing your hip, if he had sighed into it on accident, if he really wished he could take it back.

You watched him walk with his hands in his pockets and wished, for the first time ever, that you could go back to hating each other like you had a few weeks ago. Everything was easier when you couldn’t stand the sight of him. Now it was so much more complicated.

Tom really had to fuck everything up for you, didn’t he? You weren’t just thinking about quitting because he was an asshole, you were also worried that someone had seen him kiss you. If anyone found out, Marvel would make sure you never worked in the film industry ever again and you didn’t think you could handle that. You figured that at least if you quit before they fired you, maybe they wouldn’t get the chance to blacklist you.

Walking in to a mess of a hotel room only added to how overwhelmed you already were. Tom’s clothes and your dress from the night before were still on the floor in heaps. Clutter was everywhere. You stood helplessly in the middle of it all and felt tears well up in your eyes. They inevitably spilled over and began to run down your cheeks and you didn’t do anything to stop them. You’d reached a breaking point.

Tom turned his head at your sniffling, but didn’t move to comfort you. At least, not in a traditional manner. As if he could read your mind he began straightening the room up wordlessly, putting pillows back on the bed and clothes into suitcases. You joined him, stuffing things you weren’t even sure were yours into your suitcase until the floor was spotless. Once the room was clean you both sat on the floor, breathing hard, but not speaking.

Tom showered first, then you. You got ready for bed robotically, going through the motions without thinking about what you were doing. It wasn’t that late, but neither of you felt like being awake anymore. Without any discussion Tom took the armchair again while you climbed into bed alone.

The two of you hadn’t lain awake in silence for One Whole Night, but it was just as uncomfortable as it had been before, if not more. You could hear Tom’s steady breathing from beside you and wondered if he was still thinking about the kiss like you were.

Part of you wanted to tell him to stop being ridiculous and just get into bed with you, but the other part of you understood why he hadn’t already. Ironically, he was even closer to you in the chair than he would have been on the bed since they were right next to each other. You could reach out and touch him if you wanted to.

At some point Tom drifted off, but you never did. You stared at the ceiling wondering what you should do. Stay? Go? Even if that kiss had meant nothing it could ruin everything just like that. Your dreams would be snatched out of reach in the blink of an eye.

You rolled over to look at Tom who was sleeping peacefully in the chair. You wondered if he was dreaming. You were jealous he was able to sleep at all.

Morning came, but you barely noticed because you were still lying on your back consumed with doubt. Your body was exhausted, but your mind hadn't let you rest for even a moment. The sunrise had slowly filled the room with light and you were sure it had been beautiful, but you hadn’t paid attention.

When Tom’s alarm went off you rolled over and shut your eyes and hoped he’d buy that you were sleeping. You weren’t ready to talk to him yet. He got up from the chair and started moving around the room quietly. You listened as he changed and brushed his teeth, getting ready to go to the gym, going about his routine as if nothing had happened. You heard the movements stop for a few seconds and thought he might be checking to make sure you hadn’t woken up, but you couldn’t tell.

When he left, you rolled back over onto your back with a sigh. It was going to be a long day.

You were out of the room before Tom came back and made your way down to the lobby instead. You figured if you were going to avoid him you could at least take advantage of the continental breakfast. They had a waffle maker, but it didn’t work very well. It burned the edges while leaving the center gooey and under cooked. You still ate them anyway.

Nothing on twitter indicated that someone had seen you and Tom last night so you were in the clear- for now. You couldn’t even imagine what would happen if a picture of a girl in a yellow sweatshirt kissing Tom surfaced on the internet. Not only would you be fired, blacklisted, and probably sued, you would probably have to change your name and never show your face in public again.Your life would be over. Just the thought made you lose your appetite.

People had started gathering around the check-in desk, getting ready to go to set so you hurried and finished your breakfast so you wouldn’t look pathetic eating alone. You already sort of had that reputation anyway, there was no need to add to it.

Tom was early this morning and everyone tried not to act surprised as he made the rounds and said his good-mornings before ending up next to you. You handed him a copy of the day’s schedule and he traded you a cup of coffee in return.

You sipped it and were surprised when it tasted perfect. “How did you-”

“I asked Haz,” he replied before you even finished the question. “So you’re staying?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You didn’t sleep last night.”

You made a face. “Yes I did, what are you talking about?”

“You were faking this morning.”

“What are you talking about?”

“God it’s a good thing that I’m the one lying about sleeping around because you’re shit at it. And come on, you weren’t even snoring.”

You looked at him in horror. “I snore?”

Tom smirked. “Gotcha.”

“Oh fuck you!”

“I knew it!” he exclaimed, pointing a finger.

“Just because I was faking this morning doesn’t mean I didn’t sleep at all.”

“But you didn’t, did you?” he asked, smile falling away to reveal a look of concern.

You brushed him off. “Doesn’t matter.”

He looked a little hurt. “It does matter. But if you don’t want to talk about it-”

“Tom, I could get fired,” you interrupted, finally saying what was really on your mind. He blinked in confusion, caught off guard. “You’re the one who said if anyone found out we were even sharing a room I’d be fired and blacklisted, and that’s without any proof of anything happening! What do you think would happen to me if anyone saw what happened last night?”

“What happened last night?” a familiar voice asked from behind you and you and Tom both whipped around to see Harrison standing there, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched. You were fucked.

It’s been...a week to say the least, sorry again that it’s so short. Imma try and make it up to y’all before next week :) Tom is still an asshole, what’s new lol. Anyway lmk what you think, I always appreciate feedback!!

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#woko #were only kidding ourselves #marvelellies1kcellie #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tommy #tom #tom holland fan fic #tom holland fic #enemies to lovers

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nxnoire · 5 years

Text

Desiderium

Leave Me Alone

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

Part Two Part Three Part Five

my fourth prompt for @badthingshappenbingo

———

The lunch bell echoed throughout the classroom, a sound Adrien didn’t want to hear. Lunch only meant others had the freedom to come over to him and bombard with questions he wasn’t ready to answer. He knew they had good intentions, but all he needed was to be left alone. Marinette was the only one he felt comfortable sharing his story with.

He looked across the table to see Marinette and Alya engaged in a lively conversation. Below him, Nino had his headphones on, trying to figure out which song to listen to. Everyone seemed to be doing better things than save him from the stares he felt on every inch of his body. He slumped down in his seat and prayed Marinette or Nino would hurry up.

“So...ready to tell me about this morning?” Alya asked, leaning in towards her friend.

“I told you, it’s not up to me.” She glanced over at Adrien briefly. “Whenever Adrien’s ready I’ll let him explain. Until then, leave me and him alone.”

“Awww, c’mon, girl! This is big news!”

“I’ll tell you this: we’re not dating.” She crossed her arms.

“Are you sure about that?”

“I told you, it’s not romantic.” She turned to face Adrien. “Adrien lets go.”

Adrien’s face lit up a bit, happy to finally be able to leave that suffocating classroom. He stood up and walked down the stairs. Before he was able to reach the bottom, Chloe jumped in front of him.

“Adrikins!” She exclaimed. Her arms shot up to wrap themselves around his neck, but he grabbed them before they could even touch him.

“Go away,” he ordered, staring her straight in the eye.

She pulled her arms away and pouted. “But—”

“Come on Chloe, leave him alone,” Marinette chimed in, coming to save Adrien. She walked over and stood next to him, hoping to get that horrid leech off of him. “You’re the last person he needs to be talking to.”

Chloe scoffed and put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what makes you think you can just swoop in and help Adrien all of a sudden. Just because you think he’s hot doesn’t mean you have the right to manipulate his mind. Right, Adrikins?”

He shot her a cold death glare. Her nonsense was so unbearable that it hurt. All of his patience had evaporated with the joy he once had. There was so much cluttering his mind. Chloe did not need to be added to the mix.

Not moving his glare off of Chloe, he grabbed Marinette’s wrist and pulled her away from the angry blonde. He heard Chloe yelling at them but happily chose to ignore her. Once they left her sight, he let go of her. “Thanks for standing up for me back there.”

“Oh, uh, you’re w-welcome!” She smiled, happy to have helped him even if it was just a little bit. It wasn’t only helping him, though. Putting Chloe in her place benefited everyone. Recently, she had become unbearable, making everyone’s lives even more miserable. It felt nice to be able to talk back to her for once.

The teens walked outside, both caught up in their thoughts. A news crew ran for them, not even letting them get a nice breath of fresh air.

“As our suspicions confirmed, Adrien Agreste has been spotted at his school.” The reporter shoved the microphone in Adrien’s face. “Adrien, your father is worried sick about you.”

“Great,” he said coldly, backing away from the microphone.

“Shouldn’t you return home? Your father says—”

“I don’t give a damn about what that man says. He deserves to rot in hell.” He turned and began walking away, Marinette following.

The reporter was taken aback by his strong language. “We have your bodyguard and—”

“Leave him alone,” Marinette demanded. “He’s going through a lot right now, can’t you see? How would you feel if you were emotional and someone came rushing at you with a camera asking you questions?”

“Ma’am, are you the one sheltering him while he’s on the run?”

“It’s none of your business.” She continued to walk away with Adrien. Whatever good mood she had was crushed by the crazed reporter. Anger and annoyance bubbled inside her like magma getting ready to spew out of a volcano. She tried her hardest to calm herself down, trying to avoid potential akumatization. Taking a deep, calming breath, she leaned in towards Adrien. “Are you okay?”

He stopped walking, the crosswalk displaying a stop sign. “Yeah, I’m used to the paparazzi. They get on my nerves, though. Especially ones like her.”

Marinette hummed in thought, being unable to relate well. The only time she had a bad experience with cameras was when Jagged Stone came to her bakery to film a TV show. She couldn’t imagine feeling like she did back then all the time. The light turned green, so she stepped onto the street. “Let’s eat lunch at my house today. We need some peace and quiet after all that.”

“Okay,” Adrien said, void of emotion. He didn’t care where they went, as long as he wasn’t going to be bothered about the entire runaway situation. He’d be fine following the current for a while. Whatever happened, he didn’t care, so long as it didn’t evoke negative emotions. His mind was racing so fast he had no mental energy to deal with anything else but his internal struggles.

They walked into the apartment, its quietness hugging Adrien’s ears. It was what he needed: a private, quiet space where he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone, excluding Marinette, of course. She never annoyed him. In fact, she was the only person who seemed to actually care about him. She never pressed him for information, instead of respecting his sensitivity.

He watched her walk into the small kitchen and open the refrigerator. A small light flickered on inside his heart, destroying some of the dark and twisty negativity taking hold of him. For the first time, he felt something different towards her.

It was probably just him being happy that she was helping, he figured. He took a seat at the dining room table. As he thought, his eyes studied the wood patterns on the tabletop. Marinette was just a really good friend trying to help out a friend. He was feeling joy. That’s what it was. It was impossible for him to be in love with her. There was no way. He’d know if he was, right?

The thoughts came to a halt when a pale hand set a plate down in front of him. He blinked and shook his head lightly to break his thoughts. Marinette took a seat next to him, setting her own plate down in front of her. A soft smile curled on his lips. She truly cared about him. She was perhaps the only person who did. Happy to have chosen the right person to confide in, he took a bite out of his food.

Marinette also began eating her food. As she chewed, she felt anxious snakes slithering up her body. She knew she was forgetting something, she just couldn’t remember what it was. All of her homework was done. There weren’t any projects due that day. Deep in thought, trying to figure out what she had forgotten, she took another bite. Then, it came back to her: she had a lunchtime patrol that day. What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t just leave Adrien alone. What would she say, anyway? “Hey I’m Paris’s superhero and I’ve gotta go make sure your father isn’t terrorizing our city!” Something told her it wouldn’t sit too well with him.

“I’m gonna try to go back to my house and get a few things,” Adrien announced, pulling her out of her wild thoughts.

She looked at him with wide eyes and swallowed her food. “How are you gonna get there unnoticed?”

“I have a way of sneaking into my room without being seen by the security cameras.”

“I should go with you, just to be safe.”

“No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t be too long, anyway.”

“Okay...” she sighed. They were in no condition to argue, especially Adrien. “Don’t do anything stupid. I promised I’d protect you with my life. I intend to keep that promise.”

He smiled, happy she remembered what she said last night. “Okay. I shouldn’t take too long.” Slowly, he stood up, stretching on the way. He waved goodbye and left the apartment, his heart beating abnormally quickly.

Marinette sighed in relief. Well, that makes things easier. I could even watch over him as Ladybug to make sure he’s safe!

She bounced up and grabbed both plates. Tikki flew out of her bag as Marinette danced over to the sink, humming happily.

“You seem really happy,” Tikki pointed out.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Adrien is basically living with me! This is the closest I’ve been with him...ever!” She turned on the warm water and grabbed the sponge lying next to the faucet.

“Well, I’m happy that you’re happy!” Tikki smiled. “But...don’t forget why he’s here in the first place.”

Marinette looked up at her kwami as she scrubbed the plates. “I know...it’s not safe anymore. We have to be on our toes 24/7.” She looked back down to set the clean plate on the drying rack. “If it means helping Adrien, I’d put my life on the line.” She placed the other clean plate next to the one already sitting in the drying rack. “Anyway, it’s time for our patrol. Tikki spots on!”

With a bright flash of light, she turned into Ladybug. She walked up to her rooftop balcony, ready for another boring patrol. Looking out over Paris, she searched for any nearby danger, none to be seen. Satisfied, she hooked her yo-yo on a rooftop far away and flew across the rooftops, looking for Adrien.

Adrien walked closer to his house. His heart pounded faster and faster with each step. He had to look around constantly to make sure nobody was following him. It wasn’t great, but it was a small price to pay for satisfaction. The mansion appeared in eyesight once he switched streets. It felt like bad karma being there. His senses were on ultra-sensitivity mode, every single change in atmosphere, every sound, every smell setting off alarms.

An akuma appeared in his vision as it flew over the gate protecting the large house. It sent his emergency systems haywire. He froze, watching it dance closer to him. Shaking his head, he ran back around the corner and let Plagg fly out of his pocket.

“Plagg claws out!” He said with almost no emotion. Once he was Chat Noir, he felt his body disconnect from Adrien’s problems ever so slightly. It was enough to make him feel more like himself.

He pulled out his staff and opened the phone. Quickly, he called Ladybug, hoping she’d pick up soon. Relief flooded his body when he heard her pick up. “What’s up, kitty?”

“Just spotted an akuma near the Agreste Mansion.”

She gasped. “Adrien...” she whispered.

“What about him?” Just as he said that it all clicked in his head. The akuma was out for him. His father was looking for him, and he had foolishly fallen into his trap. “M’Lady, come quickly,” he ordered just as the akuma entered the staff.

An extremely powerful evil entered his mind, enhancing all of his negative emotions. He stumbled, trying his hardest to resist the mind control.

“Chat Blanc,” Hawkmoth began, his voice appearing in his mind, “I am Hawkmoth, although I’m sure you know that already. I’m giving you the power to destroy everything that brings you pain. In return, you will get me Ladybug’s Miraculous and bring me yours along with it.”

Chat Noir shook his head. “No...I won’t listen to you,” he muttered, trying his hardest to stay sane. His back hit the wall behind him. The world turned dark, Hawkmoth’s face appearing in the void. It was the last face he wanted to see. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of his disgusting face, but it was there, too.

“If you successfully get me Ladybug’s Miraculous, I will let you destroy me too.”

“No...please...I don’t...want to hurt anyone...” He tried letting go of the staff, but it wouldn’t work. It was as if his hand was super-glued to it. Something in him was holding him back from dropping it. An emotion deep down that was subconsciously telling him there was no hope.

“Oh, you don’t have to hurt anyone. All you have to do is erase the things that remind you of all the pain you so desperately need to let go. Once you let go of all your pain, you won’t have to feel so horrible anymore.”

His eyes widened, the mind control finally taking hold of the last bits of sanity he had left. All of his sanity screamed as it was overtaken by the heavy influence of the akuma. “Yes, Hawkmoth,” he muttered mindlessly, Chat Noir no longer present.

Ladybug dropped her yo-yo, having heard every single word of Chat Noir’s struggle and Hawkmoth’s successful attempt to bring him to the dark side. The one person she entrusted her life with, the person she felt closest with, had been akumatized. He had been in pain and she hadn’t known about it. Hawkmoth knew and he happily took advantage of that. She cursed herself for not knowing his pain earlier.

She looked over at the Agreste Mansion, watching a white figure jump on its rooftop.

“Chat...” she muttered sadly, the reality of her newest enemy washing over her.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous fanfic #angst fic #bad things happen bingo #its 1:40am i need sleep :(

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