#also i finally asked how tall he was and i can’t believe my dad matches the criteria to be an rgg character he’s fuckin 6’1 like i thought
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One of my fave jackets is this green jacket with a fur hood im wearin rn because 1.) its green 2.) my dad gave it to me 3.) it reminds me of saejima. Who also reminds me of my dad
#snap chats#p sure i talked bout this jacket before but idc read my diary#sorry that every other middle aged man i see i say reminds me of my dad its a compliment#tbh love how i clowned on ichi for being on premium copium bout arakawa but highkey i woulda done the same bout my dad.. i get it ichi..#anyway :) i legally get to talk about my day with him now :)) HE SAID THE FUNNIEST SHIT UPON SEEING ME#HE SAID ‘oh wow we dress similar :)’ and keep in mind. he was wearing a latte brown coat with a black turtleneck and pants and shoes#meanwhile. i approach With Black Pants And Shoes Admittedly but then im in this goofy old ass jacket with a red scarf#and a crane-decorated dress shirt that i got two buttons undone on like DAAD you are senile. hes so funny#so fun my dad actually recognized this was the jacket he got me- it was one of the first things he bought for me after i told My Secret 🙈#also i finally asked how tall he was and i can’t believe my dad matches the criteria to be an rgg character he’s fuckin 6’1 like i thought#AH but today was really nice- i got to hang with my sis and her husband as well as my dad’s wife :)#it was awful tho cause the second my sis saw my dad’s outfit she’s just like ‘it’s so kdramacore’ AND SHES RIIIGHT 😭😭#we later found out dad’s wife loves kpop…. and she bought him his new clothes…. so we are no longer surprised….. AWFUL.#honestly i could write a drama based off my dad’s life i really could it has elements for it. i mean ig i kinda do that already dont i#i borrow. anyways. today was fun :) even if i almost lost my mind trying to take the train the first time#this train system was weird… it wa worth tho it was great seein popop again#yeah….. ugh i have to still drive home from the station. and hope my car is still there#i get very paranoid leaving my car alone so openly i dont like it…#anyways. bye bye :) i might nap til my stop or work on a fic i started#‘snap what happened to’ dont worry about it i need to look at something else or ill scream#ok bye 👋
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talent that runs in the family ~ machine gun kelly
word count: 2128
request?: yes!
“Being rooks sister and substitute him while he recovers and slowly start to fall in love with colson”
description: she steps in to replace her brother when he is seriously injured and ends up gaining feelings for his friend
pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader
warnings: swearing
masterlist (one, two)
“Thanks so much for doing this (Y/N),” Rook said over the phone. “I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, no problem,” I said. “But does Colson know that I’m...y’know...not a seasoned vet?”
“You’ll do fine.”
I refrained from reminding him that he didn’t actually answer my question.
After Rook’s accident left him out of commission for some time, he came to me to ask if I’d fill in for him. I jumped at the opportunity. Rook had taught me how to drum when I was young and, much like my big brother, it became a passion of mine. How could I turn down working with one of the biggest artists of the year, even if it were just for a short while?
Well, my nerves were definitely telling me I should’ve said no as I walked into soundcheck that day.
“Whatever,” I said. “I’ll call you after the soundcheck.”
“Hey, don’t be nervous. You’re gonna do great.”
I said my goodbyes and hung up. I tried not to focus on how big the venue we were playing in was as I made my way to the otherwise empty stage. I thought I was the first person to arrive until I heard someone calling my name.
“(Y/N), up here!”
I looked up to see the guys sat in a booth in the balcony. Colson was all but leaning over the railing, waving for me to join them. I had no idea how to get up there on my own, but luckily a security guard showed me the way.
The guys were eating pizza and drinking from plastic cups as if they were the ones attending the concert and not performing in it.
“Pre-show ritual,” Colson told me. “Especially when we have someone new joining the band. Sit! Have a slice!”
“Shouldn’t we be practicing?” I asked, but still sat with them. I didn’t want to completely mess up my first day.
“We have hours to practice,” one of the other guys I remembered as Slim said. “And we don’t really need to. We do this every night. A soundcheck is basically just to make sure everything is working tech wise.”
I just nodded, not wanting to point out that I hadn’t been doing this every night. I hoped that I’d have some time to figure out the songs before the shows.
Colson nudged me, bringing my attention to him. “Don’t stress. You’ll do great.”
I smiled at him, wishing I’d believe him.
After our small feast of pizza and beer in plastic glasses, we finally got to our soundcheck. I was so nervous that I kept messing up during the first song. My hands were shaking and I kept hitting the wrong drum by accident. My face was burning with embarrassment as I buried it in my hands and groaned.
Colson walked up to me, a sympathetic smile on his face.
“I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I can get this, I know I can.”
“I know you can, too,” he said. “Just take a breath, relax. We’ll try again when you’re ready. And remember, it’s just drumming. Rook says you’re great at it.”
I smiled at him and nodded. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I pictured myself back in my bedroom from my childhood, playing my drums super loud until my parents had to call out for me to keep it down.
When we started practicing again, it went off without a hitch. We did most of the setlist all the way through and did quick takes on the last few songs before our time was up.
I was proud of myself as the soundcheck came to an end. I was still nervous about performing during the actual show, but I felt confident enough in myself not to make too many noticeable mistakes when we actually had an audience that night.
I was walking to my car when I heard someone calling for me. I turned to see Colson running to catch up with me. Or rather he was taking long strides to catch up with me considering he was so tall.
“I told you you would do great!” he said, putting an arm around my shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “It’s like drumming runs in your blood or something.”
I chuckled. “That’s what mom and dad always said too, but neither one of them can keep a beat to save their lives and no one else in our immediate family plays either.”
“You and Rook are the start of a long line of drummers then I guess.”
I shrugged in response. We both stood awkwardly for a moment. I wasn’t sure what else to say. His arm was still around my shoulder and I didn’t want to pull away and make it seem like I didn’t enjoy the contact because I definitely was not complaining about it.
I guess Colson also realized that he was still touching me, though, because he pulled his arm away and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.
“Do you need a run to the hotel or anything?” he asked. “We have the tour bus.”
I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks. I have my car, and besides I haven’t even checked into the hotel yet so I should probably go do that.”
“Oh, yeah you definitely should. Get some rest before the show, too. It’s a lot more physically demanding when it’s an actual show, even if you’re just sitting at a drum set the entire time. I’ll see you tonight then I guess.” He turned to walk away, but paused and turned back to add, “What were you planning on wearing tonight?”
I looked at him, confused. “Uh...this I guess.”
I was wearing a hoodie and a pair baggy jeans and my most comfortable pair of sneakers.
Colson raised an eyebrow at my outfit before looking back up at me. “I mean, it’s definitely comfy, but I would recommend something a little less...well, just less. It’s going to be hot as fuck on that stage, especially with all the lights on you and shit.”
I nodded, taking note of this as I got into my car and internally panicked a little because I didn’t know if I even had anything to wear.
~~~~~~
A few hours later, after checking into my hotel room and promptly wrecking it by throwing my clothes everywhere, I was heading back down to the lobby to meet up with the guys. We were going to the show together, which would’ve been my first tour bus ride. I couldn’t lie, I was super stoked for it.
I was the last one to the lobby. All the guys were stood around, loudly talking to one another. You’d think they were just a normal group of guys and not a group about to play a sold out show in a massive arena.
Colson spotted me first. I smiled at waved at him. His eyes widened and his jaw basically dropped, which prompted all the guys to turn. Their reactions immediately matched his as they looked me up and down.
“Rook would kill you guys if he could see you right now,” I teased.
“Damn (Y/N),” Colson dared to say first. “You look...you look hot as fuck.”
I had decided on a loose muscle shirt with a bralette underneath since the shirt showed a little more than what I was used to, a pair of ripped skinny jeans, and kept on the comfortable sneakers I had been wearing earlier that day.
I giggled. “Thanks, but again, Rook would kill you for saying that. Also, it’s not anything super attractive.”
“You got a nice body,” Baze pointed out. “Anything showing it off even a little is hot.”
I could feel my face burning as I waved their comments away. “Okay, enough with this. We have a show to get to.”
We boarded the tour bus and started towards the arena. The guys were distracted amongst one another again, completely forgetting about me and my “hot outfit”. Besides Colson, who had come to sit next to me on the couch while the rest of the guys were already drinking whatever was in the mini fridge.
“Do you guys always get drunk before your shows?” I asked.
“Not always. Usually we get high,” Colson responded.
“Now that I can get behind. I’ll probably be less afraid if I’m high.”
Colson held out the joint in his hand to me. I took it and took a quick puff, the smoke immediately burning my throat and lungs as I tried to inhale it. Colson laughed as I started to cough.
“I still say you have nothing to worry about,” he told me. “You’re gonna do great tonight. You can’t even really see or hear the audience with all the lights and the inner ear pieces.”
“That’s even worse cause then I’ll just imagine how big the audience is.”
He put a hand on my leg, something I assume was just instinct for him to do to comfort someone, but the minute he made the contact I felt a jolt of electricity run through me. Colson quickly pulled his hand away and I wondered if he had felt that too.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking,” he said.
“You can if you want,” I assured him. “I wasn’t mad about it or anything.”
Colson looked at me and I realized how blue his eyes were. Rook had always made jokes about how Colson could seduce any woman with just his eyes because they were such baby blues, but I didn’t really believe him until the moment I was looking in them myself. Now I was lost, completely forgetting everyone around me as I felt myself moving closer towards him.
The bus jerked to a stop, causing Colson and I to nearly be thrown from our seats. The guys started off the bus first, running towards the entrance to the arena as I could hear the waiting fans screaming outside.
Colson stood and offered a hand to me. “It’s showtime.”
~~~~~~
After the first song went perfectly, I stopped feeling nervous. Colson was right, I couldn’t see the audience in front of me, but I could faintly hear their screams of excitement over my inner ear piece. It was weird to have it in and not only hear all of us playing, but also the crew talking backstage. It was almost distracting, but it became easy to tune them out.
During one of Colson’s talking points in the show, I reached for my water bottle to take a sip. Colson was hyping the audience up, which made me smile a little.
“Before we continue the show,” he said into his mic, “you guys may have noticed that we do not have our regular drummer tonight.”
I immediately knew what he was about to do and I wanted to hurtle my drumstick at him before he went there.
“As you’ve probably heard, Rook was in a bit of an accident and is off recovering for the time being,” he continued. “So, we decided to get some family to fill in for him for the time being. Everyone, I want to hear y’all make some noise for Rook’s little sister, (Y/N)!”
The crowd cheered loudly. Colson turned to me and waved for me to stand. I glared at him, which I hoped he could see, before standing and awkwardly smiling and waving at the audience.
“All the cool drum shit you guys have been hearing all night has been (Y/N),” Colson said as he started to approach me. “She’s a bad ass fucking drummer, and she’s a pretty fucking cool chick, too.”
I was confused where he was going with this as he came to stand next to me, slinging an arm around my shoulder the way he had earlier that day after soundcheck.
“Which is why, (Y/N), I gotta ask: will you go on a date with me sometime?”
Slight embarrassment was swelling somewhere inside of me at being asked out in such a public way, but that embarrassment was overshadowed by the fuzzy feeling of excitement inside of me. I looked up at Colson, my eyes wide and a smile on my lips.
He lowered the mic so he could privately add, “I’m being serious. I wanna take you out on a real date. Just the two of us.”
My words were stuck in my throat, but I was able to nod in response. The smile on Colson’s face stretched so wide that I could’ve been convinced he was the one lighting the show.
“Okay,” he said, then lifted the mic to say to his audience, “Let’s get back to the show guys!”
#machine gun kelly#machine gun kelly imagine#machine gun kelly x reader#colson baker#colson baker imagine#colson baker x reader#mgk#imagine#request#one shot#fanfiction#fanfic#fandom
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Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)
(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)
Rating: Mature.
Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader
Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.
A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.
Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.
TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST
MASTERLIST
________________
Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.
A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?
There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.
Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.
The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.
You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.
________________
You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.
Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.
It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.
But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.
You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.
It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.
Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.
________________
You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.
“You get down and you stay down, understand?”
“Ez? What--”
“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.
There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.
“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.
Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job.
He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.
There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.
________________
Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.
“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”
You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul.
He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.
When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.
Until it wasn’t.
After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.
But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.
“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”
“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work.
When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.
“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”
At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”
“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”
He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”
“Second favorite?”
“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.
His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”
“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”
“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”
A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”
________________
You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.
Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.
This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.
You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.
Shake it off.
Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear.
________________
You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure.
It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted.
There was the harness dance.
While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.
And there was the harvesting dance.
On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.
It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.
These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull.
This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke.
But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.
________________
Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.
When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.
His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.
“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”
Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.
“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?”
“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”
“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”
This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”
A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”
“Partners it is.”
A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.
Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”
“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.” His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”
That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.
The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”
You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?”
“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”
“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”
His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”
_______________
“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”
Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too.
On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.
“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”
The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.
When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.
Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.
Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.
Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.
In other words, a trinket.
All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.
________________
The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.
Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”
You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”
Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.
Your first impression was wrong.
Of course, it helps that you are willing.
It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.
When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.
“How long, Ez?”
“Hm?”
“How long have you been waiting for that.”
“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”
“For real, Ez.”
He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”
“When I finally saw you as....”
“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”
How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.
After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.
“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”
“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”
“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”
“Partners it is.”
The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.
#ezra x reader#ezra/reader#ezra prospect#prospect fanfic#prospect fanfiction#pedro pascal#soft#soft ezra
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Murder, He Wrote
Part 7
Summary: Ransom makes good on his promise and your parents arrive for dinner. But then, you discover something that brings your entire world shattering down around you once more…
Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap and violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!
Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader
A/N: So here it is, the last chapter to this series! I can’t believe all this spun from @jtargaryen18‘s Halloween challenge last year, and here we are 6 months later! Of course, I’d love to thank my writing partner from the earlier chapters, but sadly she’s no longer on Tumblr. Without her none of this would have been possible. I love you SG wherever you are. Thank you to everyone who has read and engaged so far and I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing. The Epilogue will follow next week and trust me, you do NOT want to miss that!!
In this, the reader has a sister, however feel free to interpret the Y/S/N element as sibling instead, if that appeals to you.
Word Count: 8.5k (I’m sorry I don’t do short fics, really I am!!)
READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.
Part 6
“Will you relax?” Ransom drawled from where he sat, sprawled back on the sofa in the main lounge of the house, his denim clad legs crossed at the ankles, his black cashmere sweater torso melting against the cushions. “It’s just your parents, what’s the big deal?”
You weighed your reply but instead smiled, he couldn't possibly understand. He wouldn't. "Let me just have this moment, please."
He looked at you, his eyebrow arched before he scoffed, “whatever, Sweetheart. But if you’re gonna keep pacing up and down, can you do it in the hallway? The wood flooring is a lot more hardwearing.”
With a roll of your eyes you left the lounge, wringing your hands together. This was the first time in months you'd be seeing your parents and it wasn't lost on you the charade you'd have to keep up despite wanting to somehow plea for a rescue. It was also worrying how they were going to react. Especially following the call you’d made a week or so ago, just before New Year’s Eve.
When you’d dialled the number you knew off by heart, your mother had answered. And upon hearing your voice she had shrieked and then the line had gone quiet until your father had spoken your name with a trembling voice. You’d been unable to answer straight away, your own voice catching, before a sob had burst from your throat and the tears had poured down your face. You’d managed a few, choked words of apologies until Ransom had pushed himself up from the seat he had been perched in, silently observing. He curled his arm over your shoulder, giving you a squeeze as you composed yourself. Eventually, you’d managed to calm yourself down and thankfully your dad hadn’t asked too many questions but had accepted your invite to dinner.
And now, here you were, nervously awaiting their arrival.
It wasn’t lost on you that, in their eyes, the fact you had cut them off was your decision, not forced on you by the man you were now sharing a bed with. And that was your other worry, you had no idea how he was going to behave. If Ransom showed your family the same contempt he displayed to his own, your dad wasn’t the type of man who would stand for it. And then what?
But you had zero time to think on it as the doorbell rang. Your heart leapt to your throat and your stomach turned acidic. Ransom poked his head out of the lounge and looked at you expectantly, like you were to answer. Adjusting your sweater dress for the millionth time, you walked to the front door and reached for the knob with a shaky hand. You steeled your nerves and blinked hard to dissipate the tears, and opened the door.
For the first time in months you looked back into the familiar eyes of your parents. Your mom’s face was pinched, as if she was chewing the inside of her cheeks and as you glanced to your dad you already noticed the daggers he was shooting at the man behind you. To anyone else it would be enough to make them quake in their shoes, but not Ransom.
“Mom, Dad.” Your voice sounded alien as you spoke quietly, your fingers grabbing at the bottom of your sleeves as one of Ransom’s hands curled over your shoulder.
"Y/N," your dad replied, and the awkwardness officially set in.
"Aren't you going to invite them in, Sweetheart?" Ransom's voice made you jump a bit.
"Yes, please, come in," you stepped aside for them to enter. "Welcome to, erm, our home."
Calling it that felt all sorts of wrong, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. Besides, it wasn’t like you could call it what it was, your prison. Your father stepped inside followed by your mother, the foyer now feeling a little crowded. Your mother was quick to pull you in for a hug. But it was brief and not the way she used to hug you, no, this hug felt like it came from a stranger.
Your dad’s embrace, however, was everything you remembered. Safety, strength and love and you felt yourself melt into his arms, choking back a sob as you pressed your face into his chest.
"We appreciate you coming to dinner," Ransom spoke, breaking the embrace you shared with your father. "It's nice to finally meet you both. I'm Ransom."
Your dad looked at you as you nodded, wiping the tears from your eyes as he looked to Ransom. “We know who you are. With the news, the papers and Y/N's article, we've probably become more acquainted than you're aware.” He spoke calmly but cooly, gripping Ransom’s outstretched hand with a less than friendly shake, one that would make a lesser man wince. Instead, you saw what you thought was a flicker of amusement on Ransom's face before your dad released his hand and you introduced your mother.
She didn’t offer her hand. Instead she gave a sniff and took a deep breath, getting straight to the point as she always did.
“Well, this is all very nice and everything but what the hell do you think you’re playing at, Y/N? You disappeared with no trace, we thought you were dead, and then we find out you're not. Instead you’re, with him, choosing not to contact us or speak to us? Forgive me for the brash and abrupt approach, but before we sit down for dinner, we deserve some answers.”
Her voice gathered pace and volume as she continued to rail at you, telling you how worried and sick the entire family had been, how thanksgiving and Christmas without you had been awful and whatever else she had on her mind as she spewed her words at you, her face an eyes blazing with anger.
You felt sick, never had you meant for any of this to happen, clearly. And you'd secretly hoped Ransom would have seen the devastation he'd caused by his actions, however you knew that was an ill-fated hope just as well. You struggled to speak, the words jumbling around in your head and your mouth bone dry.
"I'm so sorry," Ransom sighed. "Why don't we come into the lounge and have a drink or two and we can talk all about it? I know that Y/N was looking forward to your visit and clearing the air."
He looked at you as he ushered towards the lounge, a hidden smugness to his face that only you could detect. He thought he'd just played the hero, the prince saving his distressed princess.
“Good idea,” your dad nodded, his hand gently on the base of your mother’s spine, “come on, Honey.”
“Straight down, second on your right.” Ransom informed as your parents headed off a little ahead of you.
“Now, remember, what you tell them has to match what you said to Blanc.” Ransom took your hand in his and spoke quietly as you both began to follow your parents.
“I. Know.” You grit though your teeth and jerked your hand free of his. He stopped dead and turned to face you, and for the first time ever you saw something akin to fear on his face, you were resisting that much anger.
“Y/N...” he started but you shook your head.
“You have no idea how much you’ve hurt them or me do you? That or you simply still don’t care.”
You hissed before you took a deep breath and drew yourself up tall. “But, we’ll just go in there, spin a load of more lies and that’s it, all done isn’t it?”
He blinked before his jaw set and he shook his head. “I’m warning you...”
“What else is new?” You sighed. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything and I��ll still be here when they leave.”
You stepped a pace or two in front of him and entered the lounge. Your parents were sitting on the couch you'd become very familiar with while Ransom moved straight for the drink cart.
"Mr. Y/L/N, can I interest you in a top shelf scotch?"
"Mom," you said softly as the conversation between your dad and Ransom faded out, "Ransom and I have a great white wine if you'd like or..."
"Scotch is fine," she interrupted you, a stone cold look to her disappointed face.
Ransom served the drinks, handing you your preferred wine with a kiss to your head. You watched how your parents interacted with him, the way your father watched every calculated step, the way your mother shot daggers in the two of you as you sat opposite them on the love seat.
You leaned forward so as to move a bit away from Ransom, however, he was quick to put his arm over the back of the love seat, his hand able to still touch you.
“So, erm, how’s....”
“Your sister? Nanna? Granddad? Who would you like to start with?” Your mom took a sip of her drink and you dropped your eyes, your gaze focussed on your hands as they rubbed together.
"I'm sorry, okay?” You stuttered, shaking your head. “I know you’re angry and upset and you have every right to be but... I didn’t do any of this on purpose.”
“That detective man, Blanc, and the police... they said you didn’t want us to know where you were...”
“I didn’t.” You choked on the lie a little. “My head was a mess and...” you sniffed as you felt Ransom’s fingers graze the skin on the back of your neck as you looked at your mom. “Mom, please, please don't make tonight continue with vicious jabs and vile glares. I'm sorry, to you, to everyone. I was...." you stopped and centred yourself. "I was lost and I didn't know what to do."
"Why don't we just get this out of the way then maybe we can move on with our evening?" Ransom suggested and your father nodded in shocking agreement.
"Let's let her explain, Dear. She said she made a mistake and there were good reasons she couldn't come to us, I'm sure. Let's just hear her out." Your father was always the more sensible one.
You mother took a shaky breath and looked at you and you swallowed before you started to talk, the lie you had rehearsed in your head slipping from your lips.
“I erm, I was having a bit of trouble at work and everything just got too much and... well, I don’t know what happened, a breakdown or whatever,” you took a deep breath, “I just needed to get away, from everything.”
“Including us?” Your mom asked and you shook your head.
“I wasn’t thinking straight, I just...”
"You know, it doesn’t matter what you say to explain because frankly, I won't understand but I do hope that you never have to experience what we went through. Ever." She deadpanned.
"I do believe that is my fault, Mrs. Y/L/N. I encouraged her approach and didn't discourage the fact that she wasn't contacting you or anyone she was close with." Ransom sighed, feigning concern for your parents.
You knew what he was doing, the Master Manipulator was coming out in him and you knew there was no going back, no. It was as if Ransom said 'challenge accepted' in winning your parents over. Just, so you assumed, the night would end and you'd be happy in his arms and they'd never think twice about your brief disappearance again.
“We hadn’t been seeing each other that long, and my reputation isn’t the greatest. But I should have put my own concerns aside and seen that the way we were going about things was wrong and I should have insisted she reached out. You see, me and my family aren’t close and I sometimes forget that we’re the ones that aren’t normal.”
"We hadn't known she was seeing anyone," your mum stated. She was out with her claws, not going to let Ransom nor you off so easily.
"Well, I'm not like Y/S/N, Mom. I don't just bring home whomever I'm taking to bed that month." You'd said it before you could stop it. Never had you said something like that before about your sister, nor spoken to your mother like that. And you didn't miss the twitch of a smirk to the corner of Ransom's lips, telling you he was a bit proud.
Surely, you didn't want him to be rubbing off on you in that way. "I'm sorry, that wasn't how I meant it. I just knew I had to be more careful in sharing everything. Like he said, he's not got the best rap, but, after my interview on him, well I guess I just found him intriguing and-“
“Ah, yes," your father now spoke up, cutting you off, “the smear and redact. Believe me, Ransom, we're very familiar with your reputation and our daughter's initial thoughts on you. Which is why you can see how we were a little surprised, once the initial shock of her supposed death wore off, that the two of you were... together."
“I understand.” Ransom nodded. “And I would feel the same in your shoes. But, well, I guess after the interview things just kind of spiralled from there. I don’t really know how it happened myself, to be honest, I’m just glad it did.”
As if he was sealing the deal, he leaned toward you and pressed his lips to your temple. You sighed and gave him a smile. This bastard was smug enough to start shifting the tone in the room with a metaphorical snap of his fucking fingers and you watched it work on your parents. The ice slowly melting away, the glacial peak softening around your mother.
And then the metaphorical snap became a real one as he moved his arm from round you, clicked the fingers of both hands and then slapped his left palm with the underside of his right fist with a flourish as he flashed a smile round the room. “Okay, so....who’s hungry?”
Your parents both raised their eyebrows and as your mom looked at your dad, you saw him shake his head ever so slightly and she took a deep breath, before she turned back to Ransom and you, a small smile on her face. “Dinner sounds great.”
"Sweetheart, after you," Ransom politely shifted to the side so you could rise and lead the way. He turned back to your parents, "we wanted to make sure we were able to spend as much time together without the chore of preparing and cleaning up after so we had dinner brought in. Y/N had it all set just before you arrived."
You shot him a glare as you moved by him, your mother and father behind you, Ransom pulling up the rear.
Sure enough, still warm and catered were four place settings at the table in the large dining room across and down a bit from the lounge.
Your parents sat down across the table from where you and Ransom stood, silver dome lids obscuring your eyeline as you sat. Oddly, you'd never eaten in the dining room before. It was your room in the basement, the kitchen table or the coffee table in the lounge.
Red wine and cutlery were already set along with water. Your parents and Ransom set their scotch glasses near the wine.
Your dad arched an eyebrow at the ostentatious nature of it all and you caught his gaze as he gave you a kneeling smirk. With a laugh, you realized that someone should at least remove the lids, and since you were the host, you rose from your chair and bent over the table a little, reaching for the knobs of their domes. You stacked them together and sat back down, pulling yours and Ransom's as you went.
As you settled down to eat, your parents both complimented the food before a little silence fell as you all ate, the occasional clanking of cutlery against the porcelain plates ringing out across the large room. Ransom made a few comments here and there about the food from the company you’d ordered from being good, as usual, your parents agreeing before a light conversation struck up about the holidays and various other mundane topics, all as if you were close and the conversation prior hadn't happened. Like it was a regular Sunday family dinner. All the time, you spotted your parents growing more and more comfortable with the situation, and you felt yourself relax a little, hoping and praying that things would keep amicable.
And then, after another spell of silence you heard your mother clear her throat.
"So, Ransom, what is you do? I never gathered that from…well, from…” she trailed off and Ransom took a dep breath.
“To be honest with you, Mrs. Y/L/N, not a great deal until recently. Just another way Y/N managed to help me change my life around." He looked at you with appreciation. "She made me see that living my life riding off people’s coat tails wasn’t really anything to be proud of.” He paused to take a sip of his scotch before he cut another piece of his steak. “Now I’m writing. I have a couple of things on the go and a few from my grandfather that he never finished so, hopefully, they’ll take off.”
This bastard! You could not believe the bullshit that so easily sprang from his mouth. It was fascinating and yet absolutely disgusting at once. You found yourself convinced, and not for the first time, that he actually believed the shit he talked.
"What's your book about, if you don’t mind me asking?" You father queried, after swallowing down his steak with his wine, saving his scotch for after.
“Not at all,” Ransom swallowed his food. “Another area I’ve taken inspiration from, it’s based on a private detective.” He gave a chuckle. “I’ll be handing out a lot of royalties and dedications at this rate.”
"Just a private detective?" You pressed, having wondered yourself as he'd told you once before you were an inspiration.
He looked at you, smirking a little. “I’ve told you, Princess, I’ll let you read it when the first draft is done.”
Your father eyed you as Ransom spoke of pet names and inspirations. Your eyes flitted away from his gaze, entertaining Ransom's portion of the conversation but you found them quickly fluttering back to those kind eyes that matched yours. At that point, your dad shot you a sweet father-like wink before clearing his throat and speaking.
"So, let's not beat around the obvious, this is awkward." He paused to emphasize his point. "I'll just come right out with it. What could your future intentions be with my daughter?"
"Jesus Christ, Dad!" You surely hadn't seen that coming.
Ransom blinked a little before he cleared his throat. “I’ll keep her as long as I can, Sir.”
At that, his hand curled over your knee, giving a gentle squeeze and you took a deep breath, drawing your back up straight as his hand gently started to trail further up towards your thigh, fingers still hot on your skin through the layer of your thick tights. You cleared your throat, and moved a little, and Ransom removed his hand, a smirk blatantly evident on his face.
“Good to know.” Your dad reached for his wine again, a teasing smile on his face. “I mean the lease has gone on her apartment now and we turned her room into a gym the moment she moved out.”
“Oh purlease!” Your mom scoffed, “a gym. By that he means he has a rowing machine and a bunch of weights that serve as nothing more than expensive door stops.”
At that Ransom gave a full belly laugh, his head tipping back with just the right amount of humour. Not too much to appear fake, but enough to seem like the exchange had genuinely amused him. He almost had you fooled too.
Bastard.
The rest of the dinner past with fairly amicable chat, the ice well and truly broken. Ransom and your father struck up a pleasant conversation about football and then baseball, Ransom confessing that he hadn’t been following either sport much recently but also nodding when your dad suggested that perhaps they could catch a game sometime soon, in a bar. At that you had smirked into your glass, as you knew the thought of going to a place surrounded by a load of loud, drunken members of the public would be Ransom’s idea of hell. The idea that he might just have to follow through on your promise amused you, a lot.
Eventually, your parents both announced that they should be going, and the warmth and happiness that had descended on you began to slowly seep away as you hugged them both good bye. As they headed down to their car, you stifled down a sob as you waved them away, realising you had no idea when you’d be seeing them again. That was on Ransom, for him to decide when and if you deserved it.
But, you’d played his game. You’d behaved. He said he wanted you to trust him, to be content with him. Surely, he would realise that this was the happiest you’d been since he snatched you, and if you continued to behave then he would have no reason to keep you from seeing them for so long again.
With a sigh you turn away from the door and step back inside, Ransom just behind you. You stopped and waited for him to close the door and lock it. He gave you a little twitch of a smile.
“Well, that wasn’t as painful as I expected.”
You rolled your eyes.
"You were great, Sweetheart."
"Yeah, well, you won them over. I doubt they suspected anything by the time they left." Your words didn't cut him, they cut you. You cleared your throat and shook your head, "anyway, I'm going to go clean up. I'll meet you upstairs."
"What, no 'thank you'?" He piqued.
You turned back to him, "Thank you, Ransom. For allowing my parents to come over."
“That wouldn’t be sarcasm, now would it?” He arched a brow, his arms folding across his chest.
"Oh, no, not at all," you overly pouted, stepping up to him, running your hands over his chest to seal your own sarcastic ploy.
His hands were quick to grab your wrists and oddly there was an air of excitement to your eyes.
“What on earth is there to possibly be sarcastic about?” You continued and he scoffed.
“It’s a good thing I kinda like your sass.”
You simply quirk your eyebrows and give a small shrug before attempting to turn away. However, Ransom still had a hold of your wrists and he kept you rooted near by.
“Ransom, what...”
“Leave the dishes, the maid comes tomorrow. I pay her enough, she can deal with it.”
You scoffed, “you’re such an asshole.”
"Come to bed with me," he asked more than suggested.
Since your little tryst in his precious car a week ago, he'd been far more touchy-feely, needy even. And in your eyes, Ransom Drysdale didn't do needy. However, this neediness served a purpose. You were able to keep him soft in all but one place, manipulating his needs for your own.
“You want me to come to bed with you?” You playfully quipped, cocking your head to one side.
“You want me to beg or something, Y/N?” His voice lowered as he narrowed his eyes. “Because I can make it a demand not a request.”
“Not beg, no.” You ignored his threat. “But a please wouldn’t go amiss.”
His controlling hands moved your arms around his neck before they fell away to your waist. His forehead bent into yours and his nose brushed against the tip of your own. "Please, come to bed with me, baby," he whispered against you.
You were smirking inside as his lips met yours in a deep kiss, his tongue gently flicking through your lips and sliding against yours.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
It was a quick swoop, one that completely caught you off guard as he pulled you off your feet, his arm around your back while the other was hooked under your legs. His lips were on yours as he carried you to the staircase, not ever missing a beat or step, his tongue gliding over yours as he walked.
You didn't know how the two of you had made it up to your bedroom, and without incident but, the next thing you knew, you were led flat over your bed, his body caging you in.
“You said I did well.” You looked at him and he blinked, his brow furrowing a little. “How well?”
Silently as you waited, hoping he would take the bait.
And he did.
“Very well.” his eyes searched yours and you bit your lip.
“Well enough for me to see them again?”
"If you want, maybe lunch with your mother," he answered, kissing over your jaw and down your neck between each phrase.
You stilled, shock hitting your system and just how easily he had offered that up, you hadn’t even had to try. Noticing your change in body language Ransom paused and looked at you. “What? Don’t you want to?”
“No, I mean yes, of course I do. I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. I mean...” you stopped yourself short of saying what you had been about to, that you were his damned prisoner and until a week or so ago hadn’t left the grounds at all in months. You swallowed as Ransom sighed.
"Trust, remember, baby," he leaned back on his knees between your legs. "Call her in a couple of days, set up lunch."
“And you trust me to do that?” You swallowed. “No stupid tricks or mind games?”
"I won't be far behind." There it was, the stipulation. That silent warning heeding a tone left unsaid. “That said, I’m kinda hoping we’re past the point of me having to remind you about certain things to make you come back.”
"I understand."
Ransom shook his head, licking his lips. “No, I don’t think you do.”
There was a tone of sadness almost to his voice and you watched him, his eyes locked onto yours and then you understood.
This went right back to the core of all this. He wanted you to want to come back. Not to simply do it because you have to. It was the ever present chink in his armour, the one thing you’d been able to exploit.
And, if you were being totally honest, could more than likely learn to live with the situation if you could have some kind of grasp and control, because that’s what this was about. That ever present power struggle and desperation he has within him to be more than people simply assumed him to be.
In a twisted way, you were almost proud to see the difference in his behaviour over the last few months was insurmountable. Whether that was directly down to you or not, you couldn’t be sure, but something had made him tap into that part of himself that could show reasonableness, rationality and, dare you suggest it, compassion.
Whilst you knew you’d never forget how he had taken you, against your will, or the pain and violence he had inflicted upon your body, maybe, in time, you could forgive.
Because he simply hadn’t known any better.
"I'm not going anywhere," you spoke softly, sitting up to caress his cheek. His evening stubble scratched at your palm.
His eyes squinted shut, holding back an emotional response to her promise. There was so much he wanted to say but he couldn't. He physically could not bring the words out from his throat. So he did what he had always done, or thought he could, and that was to show her. Show her what he wanted to say. His lips pressed into the palm of her hand and as her fingers rubbed along his ear and behind his head, his lips travelled the length of the soft skin of her forearm until he pressed a delicate kiss to the crook of her elbow.
Turning his head, he caught her lips in a soft kiss which grew deeper as he pressed his body into hers, grinding his hardness against her groin. He felt the exhale from her nose against his cheek as his tongue muted the groan from her throat. His free hand skated up her thigh, to the hem of her sweater dress, bunching it in his fist. At that point, her hand gently wrapped around his wrist and he stopped, pulling away to look at her, his brow creased in puzzlement.
“Let me.” She whispered.
He swallowed hard and gave a short nod. She sat up and he leant back as she did, her hand against his chest, guiding him how she wanted him. As her hands fiddled with his flies, his eyes never left hers. When she tugged on the waistband of his jeans, he raised his hips slightly to allow her to pull them down, taking his boxers with them and he gave a slight sigh at the relief his rock hard dick was now free from it’s constraints.
“Feel good?” She smirked at the sound he made.
He nodded, “yes”, his voice gruff and gravelly.
No sooner had she said it, she’d taken him in her mouth. Instinctively, he bucked upwards, his hands settling in her hair, head falling back against the pillow as he hissed.
When his hips rutted upwards a second time, she moved back, releasing him with a pop and he glanced down at her, his face full of frustration but she simply smirked at him.
“Stop moving."
The control of the situation wasn't his, it was hers and he was fully aware of it as she changed her pace, quick-quick-slow and if he squirmed she stopped.
A roll of his balls between her hand made him shudder. “Jesus Christ,” he groaned, “fuck, Y/N!”
She responded by taking him to the back of her throat, and the noise that came from his was halfway between a growl and a whimper as it stumbled from his mouth.
On and on this went, and every time she brought him to the edge and he couldn’t control his movements she stopped. It was a delicious torture, but one he was fast reaching his limit with.
“Fuck, baby, I…” his hands raked through her hair as she bobbed up and down on his shaft, her tongue pressing against the thick vein on the underside of his cock. He moaned loudly, “I gotta…”
"No," she purred, kitten licking the slit in his head, the precum dripping onto her tongue. Her lips enclosed over him again, short bobs until she was making long strides at deep throating him.
She squealed as his hands tightened around her hair, squeezing at the strands to pull her back but she kept her pace, his hips giving way to a violent thrust to the back of her throat as he came hard, his spend shooting deep, coating her inside. His chest heaved as he came down from his high, not letting up on his grip until he was done trembling in euphoria.
Then in a beat he flipped her to her back and hand his hands over the waistband of her tights, "that wasn't smart, Sweetheart," he growled.
His eyes flashed in challenge as she giggled and whispered, "I thought it was."
The force of him tearing her tights as he pulled them away from her legs bothered neither of them, her thin panties soaked and leaving a wet trail down her leg as he removed them, had him salivating.
"You think it's funny? I'm gonna see how you like it," he challenged.
Ransom wasted no time in taking a fast swipe at her leaking cunt with his tongue and Y/N cried out as he flicked the tip of his tongue over her swollen and throbbing clit. Her hands went straight to his hair, her knees practically boxing his ears as she curled her body towards his ample assault.
His long arm slid up her body, over her tummy between her beasts as his splayed his fingers open across her skin, trying to press her back into the mattress. As she complied, she gave a gripping tug to his longer locks and Ransom emitted an elicit growl against her pussy.
"Jesus Christ," she cried out, the sound sweet in his ears.
"You taste so fucking good, baby," he spoke against just above her mounded flesh, whilst his fingers sought a wet refuge. He wasted no time in sliding two in, middle and ring fingers, slipping in a first, then second knuckle deep then scissoring inside her until they were all the way in.
His lips curled around her clit as hers had done to his head, humming over the bud of pleasure, a pressure she nearly exploded over.
"Oh, no, you don't get to do that yet," he stated firmly. The command made her twitch under him, her breath audibly hitching in her chest. "You're gonna cum on my cock as I fill that pussy up."
"Fuck, Ransom, please," she begged.
"It's not funny now is it?" He slipped away from her body, sitting back on his heels and removed his own sweater. "Get naked, Princess."
He watched as she struggled to strip of the heavy sweater dress she wore, a stark difference to the fearful prize he had to himself months ago. Now she was his and he loved every single moment of it. From her sassy, smart mouth to the way she took his dick on demand. Ransom slipped his pants away, the two of them both naked and awaiting what was next. He wanted to flip her onto her tummy, rail her from behind while she took it on her hands and knees, keening at him as he thrust into her.
But instead, he spread her legs wide and slotted his thick cock between her legs, her ankles locking around his narrow hips as he thrust in and gave a naughty twist of his hips. Slow, deep, nasty ruts into her core bounced her tits just a little and he found the wanton cries of her need to be enticing enough to lap at her nipples and breasts, licking and nipping at her skin. Grinding into her as he licked and kissed his way up her neck to that spot that made her cave in at the base of her jaw, jointed just below her ear.
Her hands wound their way into his hair again and she gripped the strands, giving a pull back, restraining his neck a bit before she let up, allowing his head to drop a pinch.
Chills covered his sweat sheened skin as she whispered, "harder" into his ear. His body quivered and his stomach fluttered.
"Fuck, yes." He pulled out and flipped her to her tummy, like he'd wanted to do before. "On your knees, baby. Let me see that pussy."
She positioned like he demanded, a little sway of her hips telling him she was ready. A swift spank to her rounded ass and she cried out as he slammed home.
"Oh, baby," she mewled as he filled her from behind, bruising fingertips pressing into her hips.
Her lips praising him, using his nickname for her on him ignited a fire in his belly, his hips snapping harshly against her, his balls slapping against her clit. But it wasn't his pace and the pressure building in his body that was causing him to bury deep inside her, his head rubbing that g-spot that was making her moan filthy words. No, it was the look she gave as she turned her head to just peer over her should the same minute he was throbbing to cum inside her.
"I'm...fuck, fucking cum, baby girl," he whimpered, desperately holding back so she could cream over his cock.
And cum she did, her pulsating walls gripping him in a tight squeeze as she pulled him in with a force, literally crying out his name as she came. Her body practically convulsing in pleasure as he filled her up with his seed. The two of them collapsing against the expensive sheets, his body led over hers, still sheathed inside her as they both sagged and panted.
As if high on the throws of their ecstasy, Ransom kissed along her back with heavy lips and hooded eyes. He could taste the saltiness of her skin, the dampness of sweet sweat a leaving a wet coating over his lips. And when he could feel the blood return to his extremities, he ever so gently pulled out of her, his body sore and tired. She whined at the feeling of his weight escaping her body, but he was quick to fill that void, replacing it with the heat of his frame as he pulled her close, allowing her head to rest against his bare and sculpted chest. He pressed his lips onto the crown of her head.
"Sleep, baby," he whispered. "Just relax and sleep."
*****
For weeks things were good, maybe even really good. Ransom was giving you more freedom, not yet unattended, but you weren't locked away. He'd made do on his promise.
You had a great lunch with your mother, at the Country Club, in which he'd set up. He'd driven you there, waited in the bar but could easily keep an eye on you. Whilst he might have had ulterior motives that were slightly more sinister than merely being there to keep an eye on you in case you had a panic attack (the excuse you gave to your mother), all in all you didn’t mind. You, too, didn't doubt he paid the waiter a hefty tip to stay nearby as he'd checked on your table more often than most or necessary, again, you didn't mind.
But despite his hovering, a point you'd made when you'd returned, he promised he trusted you so to save the pains of an argument, you let it go. You'd kept your own promise, never to drop a hint to your mother or anyone else that you weren't less than a free woman.
As the days neared Valentine's Day, Ransom seemed to be more touchy than usual and more than once you'd caught him softly staring at you. His eyes conveying more emotion than they did. Not unlike the first few nights when things had drastically changed between you in November. And when the day arrived, you both exchanged gifts after an early morning wakeup call that you most certainly did not mind. Ransom seemed genuinely pleased with the new silk scarf you’d ordered, having thought it would be a nice replacement for the one he had left at the mansion and point blank refused to return to collect.
For your gift, he handed you a small white envelope. Giving him a puzzled look, you opened it and pulled out a small card.
‘In our favourite room you'll find, your gift my beautiful Valentine.’
Instantly you felt an uncomfortable cold feeling in the pit of your stomach and you swallowed a little. It was a clue, exactly like the ones he had set for you all that time ago on Halloween the previous year. But, as you blinked and looked at him, you saw the expectation on his face and had to remind yourself that this was different.
This was not the same man.
"Is it at least wrapped in a bow, so I know it's mine?" You asked and he smirked a little, leaning back against the headboard of the bed.
"Trust me, you'll know when you see it."
With a final look at him, you climbed out of bed and pulled on your silk slip before you headed down the stairs. As soon as you’d read the clue, you knew he meant the study. But, when you opened the door, you started to wonder if you’d made a mistake as there was nothing there jumping out at you, at all.
You started rummaging through the stack of things on the desk, looking for anything that resembled a gift. In your haste, you accidentally knocked small stack of notebooks over the edge of the desk. You rushed to get them and straighten them up, hoping not to mess up the order of things he'd had piled together. The moment the leather-bound journal like book touched your fingers, a jolt of curiosity ran through you.
You opened the cover and ran your fingertips over the dried ink that sat engraved on the pages, a bold and all capitalized print to the handwriting. Not a surprise from a man who's harsh overture played constantly on the surface. Your eyes scanned and scanned the scroll, a frown creased your brow as you registered the meaning of all his notes.
These weren't just any sort of notes, these were his footnotes for his book. And that now disorganized stack of papers that moments ago littered the floor, you looked at them again and realized there among the typed and printed pieces of paper, was his manuscript.
Hesitating, you picked it up. The front page was plain bar the words. ‘Murder, He Wrote’ and you scoffed at the fact that was the title of the article that had gotten you into this situation in the first place. Mind you, he had said you were a muse of sorts so maybe that was his way of tribute.
You flipped through, skimming the pages, finding yourself strangely proud if you will, that he’d actually finished it, well what appeared to be the first draft anyway. It was indeed about a private detective, by the name of Arnie Bronze, who was hot on the tale of a missing woman called Lucy Roberts who had vanished in mysterious circumstances.
You skipped on a few pages, the narrative shifted to that of focussing on the so called killer, a man named Riley, and you realised that Lucy wasn’t dead as anticipated, she was being held captive.
In Riley’s basement.
You felt your stomach clench as you focussed in on a small snippet of dialogue, one that was extremely familiar.
‘I like this,’ Riley toyed with the straps to the bra Lucy was wearing, his middle finger tracing the outline of the strap against her skin before his lips followed the same path.
‘You should, you chose it,’ her voice was quiet, but still there it was, that unmistakable undercurrent of disdain she carried for him visibly present, as always.
Riley merely chuckled, ‘like I chose you, huh.’ At that, she blinked and looked at him, and he flashed her a smile. Oh, if only she understood exactly why…
What. The. Fuck?
Was he writing about you? Or had he already written this and was merely acting out his sick fucking fantasy. The answer to that became apparent when you tossed the manuscript down and reached for his book of notes.
It was littered with note after note, graphic accounts of the things he’d done to you, along with little questions and observations, how he could turn that into passages for his book. Your breath began to quicken and you turned the pages faster and faster, not needing to read his notes in the slightest as you could remember every sordid little detail for yourself.
Eventually you found the last page. This one contained two simple lines, the first from the night of Harlan’s memorial when he’d arrived home completely soaked.
Memorial was a shit show, as anything is when the fucking Thrombey’s are involved. Y/N made hot chocolate. Held a conversation I actually enjoyed.
This contained no side note as to how this could be used within his book, almost as if it was simply a journal entry, but you didn’t really have time to dwell on that, as your eyes flicked to the line underneath which carried no date.
Original plan changed, no longer going to get rid of when purpose served. Storyline of book will diverge at this point.
'When purpose served'. Well, it didn’t take a genius to work that out.
You threw the book down onto the desk, the room swimming around you as both your hands covered your mouth in shock and horror. You were sick to your stomach, the bile acid in your stomach turning acrid, and you wanted to wretch.
He’d meant to kill you.
“So, do you like my gift?”
The voice made you scream and you jumped, turning to face the doorway where Ransom was stood, his sweats hung low on his hips, arms folded over his bare chest as he leaned against the frame.
“What?” you blinked, swallowing, the word nothing more than a trembling whisper. “You mean you wanted me to find this?”
“You asked me about being my muse.” He shrugged. “As you can see, you were much more than that. Happy Valentine’s Day, Sweetheart.”
You couldn't hold back the gag in your throat and you quickly turned into the waste bin by the desk, spewing your empty stomach into it. The bile burned your throat as it came up. With a shaky back of your hand, you wiped away the remnants of your episode and leaned forward on the desk, your free hand palm flat against the mahogany.
You were disgusted, that much was painfully true, but you were now terribly afraid for your life. A feeling that hadn't come over you in four months. You felt just as you had that very night, terrified, alone, and fighting a sense of chill that crept through your body and deep into your bones. Your eyes, big and brimming with tears looked up at him and your mind went numb in processing the situation. No quicker than you had just vomited, you felt a pang of hurt, your heart ripping from your chest as everything settled within you. You had accepted this, this fate that had been laid out for you. You were accepting him and the life you were being forced to live. You accepted the beast that had begun to care. But he was merely a wolf in sheep's clothing, the true monster you'd always known to lie in wait just under the surface.
Your brows creased and your heart raced. You felt the bubbling of a scream start deep in your churning belly, your own monster vying to climb its up your chest and out of your throat. You were angrily screaming on the inside long before your voice sounded to the outside, piercing the room in a shattering, blood-curdling banshee cry of anger.
“This…” you picked up the notebook in your right hand, throwing it at him violently, “this is the reason you took me?”
“Yes.” He didn't even dodge the thickly bound object as it hit him square in the chest before falling to the ground.
“You...fucking asshole.” You spat, angrily swiping your arm across the desk. The neatly stacked piles of papers scattered like leaves falling from a tree as they fluttered to the floor. “And to think, I actually started to believe myself that there was more to you than everyone said, that underneath all of that bravado and narcissistic, downright nasty bastard exterior there was something or someone that maybe, just maybe was worthy of caring for! ” Your voice was loud, echoing off the wall of his study as you screamed at him. “But you kidnapped and raped and hurt me in ways I never thought possible for what? So you could write a goddamned book?”
Hot tears coursed down your face as you trembled, staring back at the utter monster who stood before you, his face stony as you wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand. “And then you planned to kill me once I no longer served a purpose? Well, tell me, how long have I got?”
“It’s not like that anymore.” Ransom took a deep breath as he stepped forward. He was calm, too calm and instantly you took a step back. “That was my initial plan, yeah, but what I wasn’t banking on was how being around you would make me feel.” He swallowed as he licked his lips. “I couldn’t get rid of you like I originally planned once you served your purpose. Because I love you.”
Your mouth dropped open at his confession, utter horror coursing through your veins as you realised what he was saying. The chances of you getting out of this were depleting by the second. He really was completely fucked in the head.
“No, no you don’t!” You shook your head, “this...is not love, Ransom, this is obsession, it’s...”
He cut you off as he surged forward, his lips pressing to yours. You placed your hands on his chest, shoving hard as you turned your face away, screaming loudly at him to leave you alone.
In an easy movement he spun you round, his arms clamping around yours pulling them behind you as he held you in place, your back pressed to his chest as he pressed his lips to your neck.
“I know deep down you love me too...” his breath was hot on your neck, voice still eerily calm as his hips pushed forward and you could feel his erection digging into the curve of your spine. “Fuck, this is what you’ve done to me, feel that, Sweetheart? You wrecked me, and now I need you. It’s that simple.”
At that he pushed you forward, harshly bending you over his desk, one large hand securing both of yours being your back, your body twisted in a warped recreation of that time he’d used your sweater to restrain you all those months ago. You struggled but he simply twisted your arm further, causing you to cry out in pain and desperation as his other hand roughly hoisted up your night-dress.
“You’ll say it eventually.” He stated calmly as you heard that tell-tale rustle of fabric as he pushed down his sweats. “It might take another spell in the basement to make you realise, but you’ll come round.”
“It doesn’t work like that.” You sobbed, your voice cracking as his hand let go of your arms and slid up to your neck, reaching round your throat. His fingers curled round your neck as he pulled your head back, his mouth nipping at your neck before he pulled back, his face inches from yours as his icy blues stared locked onto your eyes. They were cold, dangerous and you shook your head, tears pouring down your face. Your lip trembled as you closer your eyes, taking a deep breath before you opened them again, resigning yourself to the fact that this next line might just seal your fate and wind up with you losing your life. But right now, that would be a blessed way out. “I can’t love you simply because that’s what you want.”
“Oh Sweetheart,” he chuckled, his lips ghosting over yours, “I know that. I know I can’t force you to feel something you don’t, but the only person you’re fooling is yourself. I just want you to admit it.”
“I won’t.” You stuttered, “never, Ransom.”
“Oh, Y/N. Haven’t you learned by now? I always get what I want, including this, you’ll see.”
With a harsh thrust forward he pushed inside you, making you scream at the burn thanks to the fact you weren’t ready for him, at all. He gave a groan as he grabbed at your hips, your pelvis jolting painfully into the edge of the hard wooden desk you were bent over.
“As my granddad used to quote,” he pulled back before delivering another deep thrust harshly into you, his fingers digging into your flesh as you closed your eyes, scrunching them shut as your cheek rest against the desk, tears leaking from your eyes, “we all become stories in the end.”
He gave another deep rut forward as he ground into you, his breathing deep.
“Now it’s time to rewrite ours, Princess.”
*****
Epilogue
#murder he wrote#dark ransom drysdale#dark ransom x reader#dark ransom drysdale x reader#dark ransom#ransom drysdale#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale x you#chris evans#chris evans characters#knives out
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Easier Said Than Done- M. Tkachuk
Part 1
Part 2- Can’t stay away from you
summary: Matt knows this is a bad idea but he can’t help himself when the universe keeps bringing you into his life.
a/n: part 2 is here y’all! i hope you enjoy it. let me know what you think!
warnings: cursing
You’ve been settled into a table at a coffee shop for a couple hours with your “time to study” playlist blaring through your headphones and you don’t notice a tall blue-eyed man approach you. When he taps your shoulder unexpectedly you practically jump out of your chair, causing your hand that was writing your beautifully organized notes to knock your cup of coffee off the table, shattering on impact as it hits the floor. The man has quick reflexes though, and is able to jump back and out of the way of the falling cup.
“Fuck! Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!” The man blurts out as you try to take in what just happened.
You take your headphones out of your ears so you can hear what he’s saying, “Sorry what? I- I couldn’t hear you.” You stutter a bit when you look up at him and realize who he is. You don’t know him, but you do recognize him.
He was at the Giordano’s about a week ago for their son’s birthday party. You remember seeing him there, his curly mop of hair and broad shoulders had caught your eye, but you also recognized him from somewhere else. You recognized him from the pictures that Lauren has framed around their home, from the advertisements plastered across the city, and from the TV when you get a chance to watch a Flames game. Matthew Tkachuk just scared the shit out of you and you almost spilt a coffee all over him.
An employee comes over to help you clean up the mess that has been made and sweeps the broke glass away. You and Matthew do your best to help but end up awkwardly apologizing to the employee and then thanking them when they’ve finished cleaning up.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Probably would have gone for a different approach had I known that was going to happen,” Matthew says.
“Oh, it’s fine. I was just taking—” You look down at the table and you notice that your once beautifully crafted notes are now splotched with coffee. You can’t help it, you try to control it, but the tears start to pierce the corners of your eyes without your approval. It’s completely embarrassing but your stress over law school is winning over your pride and composure. Matthew can see your chin start to tremble and even though you’re trying to hide it, the look on your face says it all.
“Are you okay?” Matthew asks cautiously.
“Y-yeah” you choke out. “mfine. It’s fine.” Your cheeks are lightly stained with tears and you’re sniffling between words, trying to get a grip and steady your breath as you start to gather your notes. You try to make yourself busy without looking up, not wanting to make eye contact, and praying that he might just leave you be. Instead, he gently wraps a hand around your forearm to get you to look at him.
“Hey hey. It’s okay. I’m sure we can fix it.” He says with concern in his eyes. He’s trying to be gentle with you because the look in your eyes says you might just crack again as you shake your head no, looking at your notes. Matt doesn’t really know what to do in this situation but he does know that he hates seeing you upset and will do anything to try to help. “Here, how about we start by sitting down.” He motions for you to sit in the chair you jumped from moments ago, “And I’ll get you another coffee, okay?” He asks, still looking at you with caution. You can’t say anything because you’re afraid you might cry again so you just shake your head telling him okay before he leaves to go order you another coffee.
While he’s gone, you’re able to calm yourself down, taking some deep breathes as you tell yourself it will be okay. You know it will be and you know that your stress is causing you to over dramatize the events that have unfolded. You also know that you have another set of the same notes at home and that you were just redoing them to help you study. A few minutes later Matthew returns with the coffee cup he held earlier in one hand and a new one in his other. He sits the other cup down in front of you and to your surprise he takes the seat across form yours.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” You thank your voice for not giving out on you and for sounding somewhat normal as you speak. Embarrassment doesn’t exactly cover what you’re feeling, and you’re surprised that Matthew has stuck around this long in general, but now he’s sitting down in front of you and doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere any time soon.
“I think it’s the least I could do considering I scared the hell out of you, broke a glass… and then made you cry...” He looks down sheepishly as he says the last one. He feels horrible and quite frankly, very out of his league in this situation. Not only did he ignore his promise to Gio to stay away from you, but he’s also managed to get you to hate him in about five seconds. What makes him feel even worse is that you’re still being so nice to him. This is only adding to his growing infatuation with you, and he curses himself for not having the will power to walk away the moment he saw you.
You blush out of embarrassment, “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you, and they’re just notes, it’s fine. I actually have a copy at home. I’m just stressed, and I freaked out but I promise you it’s totally fine.” You try to reassure him and the concern he’s showing, and instinctively letting your hand rest on top of his. A simple comforting gesture that wouldn’t mean anything to most people, lit a fire in Matthew that he wasn’t prepared for. His eyes are glued to your hand and when you notice you quickly pull it back, but not without noticing how large and warm it was. But before you get a chance to apologize Matt is asking you what you’re studying for and trying to cover up the blush that has settled across his cheeks.
“It’s for the exam at the end of the semester, so not for a few months but I—“
“You’re already studying for a test that’s months away?” He looks at you like you’re crazy, and you laugh because when you broke down crying a few minutes ago he seemed pretty collected but now he’s downright flabbergasted, “I’m Matt by the way,” he adds quickly, realizing that you might not know who he is and that it would be polite to formally introduce himself.
You let out a little laugh, “Yeah, most of my grade is based off of the one exam so you have to study for it all semester.” You explain to him as he nods but still looks confused. “…I’m y/n, you were at Gio’s the other day for Jack’s birthday party, right?” you ask him, and Matt is astonished that you even noticed he was there. Every time he looked at you, you were either entertaining the kids around you or having what looked to be very mature conversations with the adults that made Matt feel incredibly of place.
“Yeah I was. I uh- that’s actually why I came over here in the first place. I recognized you.” Matthew says trying not to sound too creepy, and you can’t help but smile because you can’t believe he even noticed you. Being noticed by any cute guy is one thing, but Matthew Tkachuk had that kind of bad boy vibe that made him that much more irresistible.
“Oh. Well, it’s nice to finally meet you. The kids talk about you all the time.” You say.
The Giordano kids loved Matt and when you babysat on game nights the three of you would sit together on the couch in matching jerseys, all with the number 5 on the back, but whenever number 19 would get into a scrum the kids would go wild. Reese used to get upset every time it would happen, but her brother has taught her to cheer instead now. Jack really admires Matt and sometimes during mini sticks, instead of pretending to be his dad he’ll pretend to be Matt. (You just try to keep the pretend scrums to a minimum.) It was adorable and he is obviously attractive, but you aren’t immune to the rumors that float around town. He’s a playboy who can take a different girl home every time he goes out. Even Mark and Lauren have even made comments about his bachelor lifestyle.
Despite those rumors and the comments, you’re genuinely surprised by Matt. He stays with you at your table for over an hour as the two of you talk. You expected him to be pompous and cocky and just like all those douche bags that you met in college. He was cocky, but you didn’t expect him to be so nice or sweet, or even funny. You definitely didn’t expect him to flirt with you. It wasn’t anything too over the top, but subtle things in the tone in which he would speak made you think he was trying to flirt.
Over the hour that you spent together he asked you about your relationship with the Giordano’s and he had plenty of questions about law school. It was actually really sweet. Matt hadn’t gone to college, skipping that step, and opting to go to the OHL before signing with the Flames. Most of his knowledge of the university experience came from his brother Brady’s short stint at Boston College, or a few stories he heard from his friends back home. He didn’t know a lick about law school, and he’s fascinated listening to you explain things that are surely going right over his head.
He gets so caught up in you that he doesn’t realize how much time has passed and when he looks down at his phone, he realizes that he’s going to be late for a meeting and can’t help but feel a little sad. He doesn’t want this conversation to end and if it does, he doesn’t want it to be a singular occurrence, which is what has him asking if he can have your number.
And despite the little voices in your head telling you no, you end up saying yes. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” You reply not able to hide your smile. He’s charming and handsome and completely out of your league, but you figure it won’t hurt to give him your number anyway. He might not even use it, right?
*
A few days later you find yourself sitting in a fancy chair in a boutique that sells $50 scrunchies as you watch Lauren try on a dress that probably costs as much as your rent. She insisted that the two of you go shopping before lunch— on her of course, and no matter how many times you told her that you couldn’t let her do that, she stood her ground and insisted it was her treat. It’s been a couple hours of shopping and you don’t know how Lauren can do this for so long. If shopping was a sport Lauren would be winning gold at the Olympics, you however wouldn’t even qualify.
You let her buy you a new blouse that you’ll probably get more use out of when you get a job at a law firm and a swanky dress that was probably only appropriate for a fancy party. You’re not sure when you’ll ever get to wear it, and would never have spent that much money on something that you would get so little use out of, but Lauren really hyped you up and when she offered to buy it you couldn’t say no.
“So,” she says as she sits down in the chair next to yours, “What’s been going on in your life that isn’t school?”
You laugh at that. All you really do is go to class and study right now. It’s pretty hard to keep a job in law school so you’re basically just a full time student. You don’t really have a social life unless it’s studying with your friends or maybe an occasional lunch or dinner out. There’s really nothing new on the ‘not school’ front and you tell her that, getting a lack luster facial expression from her in return.
“You work too much! You’re young! This is the time in your life to go out and have fun!” She exclaims. Lauren completely admires your work ethic and she’s incredibly proud of you but the mom in her wants to make sure that you’re not missing out on some of the best years of your life because you’re too busy studying. She means well and she has a point, you probably could be a little more active in your social life and this in turn makes you remember who you saw a few days earlier.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into the other day.” You say as you wait for Lauren to change back into her clothes.
“Oh!? Who was it? Is he cute?” She asks from behind the curtain of the dressing room, and without even knowing if it was a guy, but not so secretly hoping it is.
“It was Matthew Tkachuk. And yeah, I guess he is kinda cute.” you joke.
You can see the surprise on her face as she pops her head out from behind the curtain, “Where in the world did you run into him?” She asks in reply, but you make her finish changing and check out of the store before you answer her. Lauren may be able to shop until she drops but you’re ready for lunch and if you have to hang this over her head to get there, then that’s what you’ll do.
The two of you leave the store, Lauren with another bag in her hand, and walk around the corner to the restaurant for lunch. “So, where the hell did you run into Chucky” She asks as you settle into your seat and pick up the sleek menu sitting in front of you.
“Well, if you must know, I was studying at that coffee shop by my apartment, and he came up behind me and scared the shit out of me. I knocked my coffee on the floor and everything.” You tell her in a little bit of a mocking tone, knowing that she’s a sucker for gossip. “He felt really bad though, and bought me another coffee after he made me cry—“
“He did WHAT!?”
“Well, the coffee got on my notes and I was just really stressed about school so I kind of started crying...”
“So he wasn’t mean to you? He didn’t do anything rude, did he?” She asks in her best mom voice. It makes you chuckle, and you tell her no, explaining that it was just an accident. You also tell her about how he stayed and talked to you for a while. “He actually surprised me. He’s not as... I don’t know... dick-ish?” That probably wasn’t the best way to describe it, but it probably got the message across but when you look up you can see something brewing on Lauren’s face and it resembles worry.
“Listen, I’m just going to be straightforward with you. He’s a good guy, but he lacks... Well, he lacks some maturity on the relationship side of his life. I know he can be very charming, but I can’t promise that he won’t hurt you. The stats aren’t good, and I don’t want to see you get hurt by him.” You haven’t even told her about him asking for your number, and because of this, you choose not to. Instead, you tell her not to worry about it, and that you don’t think that door will be opening anytime soon anyway. There might be a very small part of you that is a little let down because he hasn’t called or texted since you gave him your number, but you push that thought to the side. Lauren had a point too, there isn’t any guarantee that you wouldn’t get hurt and right now you need to be focusing on school, and not on a hypothetical relationship.
*
The next time that Matt sees you it’s not by his doing. He’s tried his best to keep away from you and has resisted using the number that sits heavy in his cellphone. Instead, he stalks your Instagram and goes through your Twitter likes. He feels like he’s back in middle school again as he begins to pick apart pieces of your life. You apparently read. A lot. And most of your liked tweets are from the Sparknotes account or niche memes that Matt doesn’t understand. He may not understand them, but it doesn’t keep him from reading every single one of them in hopes of gaining some sort of insight into your life.
On more than one occasion he has sat up at night thinking about texting you, asking what you were up to and hoping you would come over. He never did because he knew that one night wouldn’t be enough. Night after night he could have a different girl come and go from his bed, but for the first time in a long time he didn’t want a girl for just one night. But he couldn’t even let himself pick up the phone to ask you out on a proper date because his captain asked him explicitly to stay away. He couldn’t disobey a direct order. And who knows, maybe he wouldn’t be any good at any of this relationship stuff anyway. Unfortunately, that didn’t keep him from wanting to try. All these factors only added to the list of reasons why he couldn’t let himself pick up the phone and call you. He couldn’t justify it and so he pushed the thought to the side.
The world works in mysterious ways though, and sometimes it will continue to bring two people together no matter how much they fight it. That’s exactly what happened as Matthew came by to pick up Mark on his way to the arena and you were on your way into the house to babysit for the game. You were just getting out of your car when Matthew pulled up in the driveway beside you.
You can see that it’s him and you try to rush around his car and into the house before you can experience anymore embarrassment. He asked for your number weeks ago and clearly hasn’t used it. There wasn’t any obligation to do so, but you figure you can assume that asking for someone’s number implies that they are going to use it, except he never did. So maybe he just asked out of pity or maybe he asked and changed his mind.
“Y/N!” You hear him call out your name following the sound of his car door shutting, stopping you in your tracks as you slowly turn to face him.
“Matt! Hey!” you say a bit too enthusiastically and like you hadn’t seen it was him in the car.
The two of you are at a standstill, neither one knowing what to say or how to act with the looming fact that Matt has your number in his pocket but hasn’t chosen to use it. He knows that he shouldn’t have even asked for the number in the first place and that he’s gotten himself into this mess but now doesn’t know how to get himself out.
“Um. So I-“
“It’s totall-“
You both start to talk at the same time but you insist that he finish his statement first, “I’m uh- I’m sorry about not calling. I know that’s a dick move-”
You cut him off, feeling a twinge of confidence arise, “So why didn’t you?” You ask innocently but knowing that you’ve caught the hotshot off guard.
“Um- I just I don’t know if this is a good idea.” He replies.
“Well how can you know if you don’t try? Isn’t that the whole point of going on a date?” You say and then realize that maybe he didn’t want your number to ask you out. Maybe he just wanted to see if you would be willing to crawl into his be one night and out the next morning.
You don’t get a chance to answer. Gio is coming out the front door and doesn’t seem to even notice that the two of you are in the middle of a conversation. He simply waves goodbye to you and ushers Matt back to his car as he starts to talk about something to do with Johnny. Matt does his best to play it off cool, hoping to god Gio hasn’t noticed, and thankfully he doesn’t mention you at all on the drive to the rink.
Spending time with the kids was just what you needed as a break from your classes, and you let the kids stay up until Lauren gets home from the game. The Flames won 3-1 and the kids couldn’t have been better for you. You’re in such a great mood that when Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody comes on the radio, you turned it up full blast so that you can sing at the top of your lungs. The earlier encounter with Matthew is long forgotten as you sing and dance to the radio on your way home. With the radio turned up you don’t hear a text come through. You don’t even see until you’re snuggled up in bed, ready to set your alarm for the next morning, and when you click on the unknown number you’re more than surprised when you read what the message says.
Maybe: Matt: Hey it’s Matt. I think you might be right about the dating thing. Are you free Thursday night?
#matthew tkachuk#matthew tkachuk imagine#matthew tkachuk fic#calgary flames#flames#hockey fic#hockey fanfic#hockey imagine#hockey fanfiction#nhl fanfic#nhl fic#nhl fanfiction#estd
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Perhaps #5 (Hold my Hand) with Papyton for the fic ask game if you are still doing it?
(I hope you're okay with me writing this as a sequel to one of my other papyton fics! This could still be read on its own, but it will make more sense if you read the first chapter. If you don't want to, just know that the part in italics at the beginning is from a fanfic that Alphys wrote.)
The Greatest Fanfiction of All: The Sequel
Rating: T
Word Count: 1687
Read on AO3: here
---
Papyrus’s hands are warm. Of course they are. Theyre always covered in gloves. Not even Mettaton, his boyfriend of one month and thirteen days, knows what his bony phalanges look like beneath the plush red fabric.
But tonight, that's going to change.
xxx
Exactly one month and thirteen days had passed since Mettaton had read the beginning of Alphys’s “papyton” fanfiction. It also happened to be one month and thirteen days since Papyrus had agreed to be his boyfriend, sending him on a magical journey of love and romance.
That journey had given him plenty of new perspectives and discoveries. Yet the mystery of what lie under Papryus’s gloves was not one of them.
He sat next to Mettaton on their usual bench at the center of the hedge maze. The sky was dark with stormclouds, which kept any stray spectators away from the park. Papyrus was prepared, as usual; a tall MTT-Brand Umbrella leaned against his femur. Nothing and no one would ruin this moment.
Now Mettaton just needed to have the moment. Preferably without resorting to calling Alphys and Frisk again.
“METTATON? IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?” Papyrus asked, his browbone furrowing in concern.
Mettaton’s fingers were already laced through his; Mettaton rubbed his thumb against the back of Papyrus’s glove.
“Well. It is a very special day, darling.” Special enough that Mettaton had worn the outfit Papyrus loved most—a cropped shirt that said COOL ROBOT and galaxy-print leggings that hugged his metallic thighs. Papyrus himself had worn a bright Tetris shirt and shorts that exposed his gleaming femurs.
“IT IS?” Papyrus blinked. “IS THERE A SALE ON RIGATONI? BECAUSE I THOUGHT THAT STARTED NEXT WEEK.”
“Hm? Oh—not that I know of, but I will keep that in mind.” He imagined creating a pasta bouquet for Papyrus, and a smile graced his lips. “Today is the one month and thirteen day anniversary of our glamorous romance.”
“WOWIE! TIME FLIES WHEN YOU’RE DATING A HOT ROBOT!” Papyrus grinned, pressing his teeth to Mettaton’s cheek in a close approximation of a kiss. “HAPPY ONE MONTH AND THIRTEEN DAYS, METTATON! IS THERE A SPECIAL WAY YOU WANT TO CELEBRATE?”
It was perfect. Mettaton couldn’t have set it up better if he tried.
“Actually…” He turned Papyrus’s hand over, examining every seam and stitch in his crimson glove. “I was hoping to see your hands. I know they’re just as handsome as the rest of you.”
He winked, and a light blush spread across Papyrus’s cheekbones.
“MY HANDS? I’D GLOVE TO! BUT, ERM…” His fingers disentangled from Mettatons, instead fidgeting nervously with the hem of his right glove. “I DON’T KNOW THAT YOU WOULD FIND THEM AS UNBEARABLY ATTRACTIVE AS THE REST OF ME.”
Coming from Papyrus, that was practically a statement of self-loathing. Guilt bubbled in Mettaton’s soul-tank.
“Beautiful.” He grasped the top of his boyfriend’s arms and squeezed them gently. “There is not a bone in your body that I would not find attractive. Of course, I will not ask you to perform if you are suffering stage fright, but I do think you shine so much brighter in the light.”
Papyrus smiled a little, though his browbone was still turned upward with worry.
"IF YOU'RE SURE…"
"Positive as my ratings, darling."
Papyrus nodded slowly. "I TRUST YOU, METTATON."
Those words were like ambrosia to Mettaton's soul. He would do anything to remain worthy of his boyfriend's trust.
"PLEASE, JUST… DON'T BE FRIGHTENED, ALRIGHT?"
Mettaton couldn't imagine anything about Papyrus being frightening.
Then, with agonizing care, Papyrus peeled off his gloves. And Mettaton understood.
The bones of his hands were scorched an ashen gray, nearly black. Hairline cracks laced through them like spiderwebs. Mettaton was half afraid that if he touched them, they would crumble to dust.
"I'M FINE, REALLY!" Papyrus must have noticed the look on his face, no matter how quickly Mettaton had schooled his expression. "THESE BURNS ARE SO OLD, I BARELY NOTICE THEY'RE THERE!"
His grin was strained. Mettaton wanted nothing more than to reach out and squeeze his hand, but he didn't dare.
"They don't hurt?" Mettaton asked, then winced. He could've phrased that more tactfully. It was probably better than asking how on earth the injury had happened, at least.
"WELL… THEY ARE A BIT SENSITIVE WITHOUT MY GLOVES. THEY HAVE HEALING MAGIC, YOU SEE." Papyrus held out one of his red gloves, his expression turning to one of pride. "SANS DID THE SEWING, AND I DID THE ENCHANTMENT."
"No wonder you love them so much." Mettaton smiled. It was adorable how much Papyrus loved his brother. Their love had inspired Mettaton to finally patch up his relationship with Blooky and Mew Mew.
Papyrus smiled back, running a charred fingertip fondly over the fabric. "WOULD YOU… LIKE TO TRY ONE ON?"
"Me?" Mettaton blinked.
"OF COURSE! WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO EXPERIENCE THE GREAT PAPYRUS'S LEGENDARY HEALING MAGIC FIRSTHAND?"
Mettaton chuckled at the pun. "How could I possibly refuse?"
He slipped off his white gloves, revealing the unsightly bolts in his own fingers. He hardly felt self-conscious about that after seeing Papyrus's hands, though.
Papyrus's glove fit like a dream. Like holding his hand, only from the inside. Warmth seeped from the fabric into his metal joints, slipping through his cracks like sweet oil.
"This is… quite the enchantment," he breathed.
Papyrus couldn’t be in pain with that much healing magic caressing his bones. But on the other hand, even the constant healing magic had failed to permanently erase the scars. Mettaton still wasn’t too familiar with physical injuries, but surely that wasn’t normal, right?
Papyrus’s wink sounded like magical glitter."WHAT CAN I SAY? I'M VERY ENCHANTING."
He looked just as bright as ever. Just as energetic, as full of life.
Just as beautiful, inside and out.
"That you are, darling." Mettaton kissed his cheek.
Papyrus pulled his left glove back onto his hand, then twined his fingers with Mettaton's. Red on red, warmth on warmth Their hands matched perfectly.
"YOU PROBABLY HAVE SOME QUESTIONS," Papyrus said quietly.
Mettaton's eye flickered to Papyrus's bare right hand before returning to his eyesockets.
"You don't have to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable with, darling."
Mettaton was curious of course. If this injury had been caused by another monster, they would face the wrath of a true killer robot. Knowing Papyrus, though, he had probably forgiven whoever was responsible.
"I ALWAYS FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH YOU." He smiled. "AND IT IS… NICE. TO HAVE SOMEONE BESIDES SANS KNOW THIS."
"No one else knows?" Mettaton’s eyes widened. He'd thought Undyne would have found out, whether Papyrus told her on purpose or she burned off his gloves during one of their cooking lessons.
"I AM A SKELETON OF MANY SECRETS." Papyrus winked again. This time it sounded like tinkling bells. "IT HELPS THAT NO ONE ELSE REMEMBERS THE ACCIDENT, THOUGH."
An accident. No one had hurt Papyrus on purpose.
Mettaton sighed in relief, powering down his killer robot protocols.
"I WAS HELPING MY DAD WITH HIS WORK ON THE CORE. I ALWAYS CALIBRATED THE PUZZLES WHILE HE CALIBRATED THE GEOTHERMAL POWER LEVELS."
Papyrus looked down at their tangled hands, his expression distant.
"I STILL DON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. ON THE DAYS SANS REMEMBERS, HE PROMISES THAT IT WASN'T MY FAULT. THAT DAD WAS TOO CARELESS. BUT THERE WAS AN EXPLOSION, AND DAD, HE… HE FELL…"
Something in Mettaton crushed as Papyrus's voice cracked.
"I WAS LUCKIER. THE BLAST ONLY GOT MY HANDS." The smile returned.
"Papyrus…"
Mettaton didn't know what to say. What could he say? Ghosts didn't have parents. His cousins were his family, but he couldn't imagine them dying, either. Blooky physically couldn't.
But this wasn't about him! It was about Papyrus, who had lost his father and scarred his hands and still counted himself lucky.
"DON'T BE SAD, METTATON. IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO. LONGER THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE."
Papyrus looked into his eyes, and for a moment, Mettaton saw something old. Mettaton had been alive—albeit as a ghost—for nearly two centuries. Right now, though, Mettaton wondered if Papyrus was even older than that.
"I suppose so,” he reluctantly admitted. “I don't even remember an explosion at the CORE."
"OH, THAT'S NORMAL. APPARENTLY DAD WAS RATHER FORGETTABLE." His smile was sad. "EVEN SANS DOESN'T ALWAYS REMEMBER HIM. BUT I… WELL."
He closed his blackened fist.
"IT WOULD BE DIFFICULT TO FORGET."
Mettaton opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Luckily, it didn’t seem like Papyrus was looking for a response.
“WHEW! ALL THIS HONESTY IS EXHAUSTING!!” Sweat beaded on his skull. “DO YOU WANT TO GO GET NICE CREAMS?”
“Of course, darling, but—are you sure that you’re okay?” Mettaton couldn’t help the concern in his voice. It wasn’t every day that he unlocked his boyfriend’s tragic backstory.
And here he’d been so concerned about something as trivial as holding hands. He truly was as selfish as everyone believed.
“PLEASE, DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME,” Papyrus said firmly. His hand gave Mettaton’s a tight squeeze. “I MEANT IT WHEN I SAID IT WAS LONG AGO. PRACTICALLY A DIFFERENT LIFETIME. I ONLY TOLD YOU SO THAT YOU WOULD KNOW HOW MUCH I TRUST YOU.”
Trust. Mettaton trusted Papyrus, too. Trusted that he didn’t need Mettaton to coddle him. Trusted that if he wanted Mettaton’s help, he would ask for it.
“I… thank you, darling.” Ghostly tears welled in his eyes. “Your trust means everything to me.”
“WELL THEN!” Papyrus’s grin turned mischievous. “I TRUST YOU TO KISS ME UNTIL I CAN’T BREATHE!”
Mettaton’s fans whirred and whirred. The sound was quickly drowned out by the raindrops that began to fall and fizzle on his shoulder pads.
“Darling, you’re a skeleton. You don’t have lungs.”
“NEITHER DO YOU.” Papyrus twirled the umbrella before popping it open, protecting Mettaton from the threat of short-circuiting.
(From the rain, at least.)
“You truly know how to give me a challenge, darling.” Mettaton cuddled closer, reaching up to brush his red-gloved hand against Papyrus’s cheekbone.
“ONLY BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’LL RISE TO IT!”
Mettaton grinned back, and that was exactly what he did.
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a wish come true | oikawa t.
pairing: oikawa tooru x f!reader
wc: 1.6k words, fluff. domestic husband and wife relationship with my fave pretty setter <3
summary: Oikawa loves Christmas. And what better way to celebrate his favorite season than with his avorite person in the world?
this is part of the winter wonderland collab! masterlist here
Oikawa honestly believes that Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. Ever since he was young, he has looked forward to waking up to snowy mornings and the sounds of Christmas carols playing in the house.
The holidays made him feel happy, warm, and blessed. More so now that he will be spending his first Christmas married to you.
Always the first one to wake up, Oikawa opened his eyes with a content smile on his face. A glance to the window on his right side and he sees the tiny snowflakes falling down, he can already imagine how they have painted the streets in white.
His eyes then land on the picture frame sitting on the bedside table. Stretching a hand to grab it, he admires the joyous moment where he has you engulfed in his arms, the two of you looking at each other with so much affection. It's like he traveled back in time as his body remembers the overwhelming feeling of joy from your wedding day. He recalls how he teared up seeing you walk down the aisle, smiling from ear to ear and looking gorgeous in your dress. He thought that you were an angel that descended from the heavens. Most of all, he still feels emotional, his heart beating twice as fast when he thinks back to the first kiss the two of you shared as husband and wife. It was a gesture that sealed a promise of a lifetime, the beginning of forever with the one and only person that completes his life.
He returns the photo in its place when he hears the rustling of the blanket and quiet groans as you slowly come awake. Oikawa shifts and admires your sleeping face, bringing a finger to gently trace the outline of your features starting from your eyebrows to the bridge of your nose and hovering over the shape of your lips.
You murmur softly, opening one eye to look at him. It never failed to make you warm when you are greeted with Oikawa's smile first thing in the morning. Groggily, you cup his face and tenderly stroke his cheek, "Good morning, love."
"Merry Christmas." He hums and leans closer, showering you with morning kisses. He has you trapped in his embrace as he continues to pepper you with love, and just like that the first few minutes of the Christmas Day are spent tangled in the sheets and enjoying each other's warmth.
While this was your first Christmas as a married couple, Oikawa didn't have that much expectations as how the day would go by. As long as he had you by his side, any activity became extra special - whether it's watching classic holiday movies, making a snowman on the park, or sipping on hot chocolates by the fireplace together. But there is one thing that he would like to make as a tradition for the Christmases to come.
"A Christmas market?" You ask when he shows you the event poster on his phone. Oikawa enthusiastically proposed the idea of heading down to the city and spend the evening in the annual Christmas market. Back when you were still dating, weekend bazaars and community fairs were events that you and Oikawa enjoyed. While these places were often crowded, the two of you managed to have fun and act lovey-dovey in your own little world, much to the envy of the people around you.
"I heard there will be a string quartet that will be performing later this evening," he suggested. "There's also an illuminations show near the square where a massive tree is located. And of course, our favorite food booths and vendors will be there." He takes your hand and looks at you expectantly, "What do you say?"
With the way Oikawa presented the idea, he seemed like a child talking about what he wants for Christmas. And how could you say no to that?
Which is how you and Oikawa currently found yourselves decked in your coats and matching red and green scarves, hand in hand and standing in front of the brightly-illuminated arch that served as the entrance to the market. From your position, you can see the park bursting with life as many people came to enjoy with their loved ones. You can already see the different booths that were lined up in the path and Oikawa excitedly tugged you to the first stall that was selling gingerbread cookies in a box.
"Love, can we take a 10 minute rest? I'm tired." You begged after spending the last 30 minutes upon your arrival, walking around and going from one booth to another to either play parlor games or stuff your stomachs with whatever food and snack you find. Of course, Oikawa didn't pass up on buying the Christmas gifts that he thought he could give to his former teammates.
Sensing your exhaustion, Oikawa relented and brought you to the nearest bench. As you sat down, he put the shopping bags by your side and bent down. He slid off one of your shoes and massaged the heels that were starting to hurt. Oikawa looked up at you inquisitively, "Is this helping? Am I doing this right?"
You chuckle, "Very much so. Thanks." He continued his ministrations for a few minutes, the joyful sound of Christmas carols filling the silence between the two of you. When he's done, he takes the space beside you and instinctively, you lean your head on his shoulders.
However, the quiet atmosphere didn't last for long as it was replaced by the loud wailing of a child who sat alone near your bench. Worried, you both stood up from your place and accompanied the little girl.
"Ssh, hey, princess, stop crying." Oikawa consoled her, gently patting the kid on the head as she continued to sob. Her frail body was shaking and you quickly brought her to your chest and embraced her,
"Where are your parents, sweetheart?"
Her answer came in a hushed tone, "I lost them. I let go of my mommy's hand. I'm scared." She was really terrified with the way her tiny hand gripped the lining of your coat. You glanced at Oikawa and he was also close to crying, his lips quivering as he was trying to stop the tears from flowing down his eyes.
Wiping away her cries, you comforted her, "Alright, don't worry. We're here for you, okay, sweetheart? Let's go find your parents. I'm sure they are looking for you right now."
You get up and offer your hand to the girl, but she surprised you when she clung on to Oikawa, hiding her face in his coat. His heart warmed at the action so he carried her in his arms all the way until she was reunited with her mom and dad.
Luckily, the search wasn't as difficult as you thought it would be. When you arrived at the customer service, a couple was already standing in wait. Their eyes widened when they saw you and Oikawa walking over with their daughter, and they couldn't be more thankful for keeping their little girl safe and returning her to their side.
Now, you and Oikawa were taking a stroll along the sidewalk, the cold evening breeze fanning over your faces and the lights decorated on the trees guiding the path. Oikawa's mind seemed to be somewhere distant as he simply looked straight ahead. You remember how he reassured the child when she hugged him tightly, and you thought that Oikawa would be a great father someday.
Oikawa suddenly stops in his tracks, turning to you with a look as if he has realized something. "Have I told you that I love you lately?"
So this was what he was thinking so seriously about. You smiled, "I don't know. You could always tell me again."
He nods and pulls you close to him, burying his face in your neck. He exhales your familiar and comforting scent, and it's like a fog clears in his head. "I'm so lucky to have you. You're everything that I have been wishing for and more."
"You're my dream come true," he murmurs. You were too stunned to say anything in response to his surprise confession. It's not like he hasn't openly declared his love for you before, but when he has outbursts like this, you were always bound to be speechless. Laughing awkwardly, you ask about what brought this on.
"I don't know," he sighs. "I just got too attached with the little girl earlier and I thought about how her parents might be feeling when she got separated from them. I realized I don't ever want to lose you." He stares at your eyes, hopeful as he says, "Or our future kid."
You blinked at his statement, mouth agape in shock as you thought about what he was implying. The gears were running in your head and when they finally clicked, that's when you found the courage to speak. "Are you saying-?
He lifts your hand and kisses it, "I know it’s too soon. We just got married seven months ago. But, I already want to start a family with you."
And as if on cue, you started tearing up uncontrollably. Probably out of happiness. Or maybe it was the raging hormones that you felt as you thought back to a morning two weeks ago, when you were sitting in the toilet and waiting for the results of your pregnancy test - two lines. Positive.
And here you were now, you couldn't think of a better time to share the good news with Oikawa. You were smiling through your tears as you looked at Oikawa, bringing his face close to yours as you whispered, "Looks like your wish came true earlier than expected."
His initial reaction was confusion, replaced by shock, then happiness as he unraveled the meaning of your words. He tackles you in an embrace, lifting and twirling you around as the snowflakes danced in the air. He already can't wait for next Christmas where there will be the three of you celebrating.
FIN. taglist - @aii-channn @peteunderoos @jungtoast @nekoclysm @our-tall-slytherin-queen @isabella5 @slippinglasses @yhyucklee @rowley-with-ackerman @lilacnoodles @ineedsomefoodpls (can’t tag those in italics!)
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu imagines#oikawa x reader#haikyuu fluff#haikyuucreations#haikyuu fics#haikyuu x you#haikyuu one shot#oikawa tooru x reader#oikawa fluff#haikyuu oikawa#hq x reader#hq x you#haikyuu!!
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Dancing with Our Hands Tied (2)
Pairing: Pierre Luc Dubois x Reader
A/N: Hello, angels!!! Here is part two... As always, let me know what you think! Part three is almost done and will be out next Sunday at 8pm.
Word Count: 2.9k
Warnings: Alcohol consumption
Previous Chapter // Masterlist // Next Chapter
“You’re practically jail bait for these men, do you understand?”
“I’m 21, not 18,” Sadie protested. It was 9 p.m. on a Friday night and you were standing outside Josh’s apartment dressed for a night out. You were reading her the riot act, knowing damn well that it was probably going in one ear and out the other.
“21 is young enough,” you argued. She rolled her eyes as you continued. “If you can’t find me while we’re out, look for Josh. Or Seth. Or Boone.”
“YN, everything’s gonna be fine.”
“I really hope so.”
The entire week leading up to Sadie’s arrival was stressful to say the least. You had to childproof your entire life just to have a problem free weekend with her, and that included childproofing the boys too.
Because Josh had met Sadie plenty of times before, he was more than happy to have everyone over his house for pre-drinks. It took a weight off your shoulders because being in an enclosed space with your closest friends meant it would be easier to keep tabs on how much alcohol she was consuming. And the more people she met before hitting the club meant there were more people keeping an eye out for her, and you need all eyes on her.
Well, almost all of them. You could do without Pierre’s.
Josh’s apartment was already loud when you arrived, which came as no surprise considering about half the Blue Jackets were inside. When you entered, Sadie gazed around at his apartment like a kid in a candy story.
“This is where Josh lives?”
“This is what a cushy job gets you in Columbus.”
“Why didn’t Mom and Dad force us to become athletes?”
You ventured into the living room and were greeted by an assortment of hoots and hollers. Josh swept Sadie up in a big hug before introducing her to the rest of the boys and some girlfriends in a pretty general introduction. Seth slipped a beer into your hand with a knowing smile that screamed, “I got you. Stop stressing.”
Pierre wasn’t there and you were naive enough to think he might’ve passed on a night out, but then the front door swung open and he was sauntering in with a rack of beers in his hand. Sadie’s eyes cut to yours as he made his rounds to say hello.
When he reached her, he came up short. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the all too familiar facial features.
“You’re YN’s sister,” he spoke. “I’m assuming you already hate me.”
“More or less.”
“I’ll have fun trying to prove you wrong tonight then.”
He stepped away from her and said hello to the remaining few before completely ignoring you and slipping into the kitchen to put his beers in the fridge.
---
The executive decision was made to leave Josh’s apartment around 9:30 p.m., so while you ran off to the bathroom to get ready to go, Sadie flitted off to the kitchen for one final drink. Pierre did the same. When he entered, she was standing in front of the liquor, studying each bottle.
She didn’t even spare him a glance, having clocked him through her peripheral vision and deciding not to engage. He opened the fridge and reached in to receive a new bottle.
“You go to Ohio State, right?” he asked after popping the cap off.
She looked uncertain of him when he asked, but responded, “Yeah, I do.”
“You’re in the,” he paused, thinking for a moment about her class placement, “third year?”
“Yep.”
“How do you like it?” he asked, cocking his hip against the counter. He watched as Sadie poured herself another drink. She sipped it for taste, then added a little more Vodka. “I always got a little jealous of my friends who got to go to school.”
“It’s great,” she answered. “But I don’t think you’re missing out. If you make anything close to what Josh does, I should be jealous of you.” He chuckled softly, lifting the mouth of the bottle to his lips for a swig. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What did you do to my sister?”
He placed the bottle on the counter beside him, fingers swiping along the condensation settling against the label.
“I didn’t make the best first impression and she never gave me the chance to right that wrong,” he answered honestly. “It’s all good, though. I don’t need her to like me.”
Sadie caught the uneasy shift of his eyes from hers to the bottle beside him and decided that he had a shit poker face.
“She’s a tough cookie sometimes,” she murmured. He nodded in agreement, eyebrows nearly raised to his hairline.
“She’s determined, I’ll give her that,” he huffed, shaking his head to himself and taking another sip of beer.
“I’m pretty sure she didn’t like me the first five years I was alive, so don’t worry, maybe you’ll win her over,” Sadie shrugged, giving Pierre a knowing look that he tried to ignore. If he was going to go around spilling secrets to anyone the last person he would choose was your little sister.
“Crazier things have happened, right?”
“Sure,” she said softly. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment like she was trying to decipher what he wasn’t saying. Pierre felt uncomfortable under her gaze, lifting his beer bottle to her and slipping out of the kitchen before she could make him sweat anymore than she already had.
---
As soon as you walked into the club, you threw an arm over Sadie’s shoulder and led her to the bar. Josh and Pierre followed a few steps behind you as the rest of the group left to grab a table. Sadie’s eyes lit up as she studied every bit of the place you all frequented, overjoyed to finally be a part of your Columbus crew.
Sadie propped herself up onto one of the barstools at the bar and you stood beside her to wave down the bartender at the other end. Behind you, Josh and Pierre waited, deep in conversation about something to do with the team.
The bartender was quick to attend to your needs, dropping your drinks off swiftly before moving on to the next group of patrons.
You were busy surveying the land for potential suitors for the evening, not exactly sure if you wanted to end up in Charlie’s bed again or not. For some reason you were finding it hard to take interest in any of the men mingling around the bar with Pierre’s cologne overwhelming your senses as he stood just a few feet behind you.
Sadie seemed to have no interest in the men that were hanging around the bar, which made you feel better at first. That is, until you realized she was eyeing up Pierre and then shifting her gaze back to you. She was up to something, that was never a good sign.
“His name matches his face,” Sadie spoke after glancing at Pierre over your shoulder.
“What does that even mean?”
“He’s fucking hot!” she exclaimed. Her voice carried and while you choked on your drink in front of her, Pierre choked on his own in front of Josh.
“You heard that?” Josh asked him with an amused smile. He nodded slowly, desperately trying to push her words out of his mind. “YN’s blood is probably boiling.”
“I have a feeling I’m going to be castrated by the end of the night.”
“It was nice knowing you, buddy,” Josh teased.
As you and Sadie stepped away from the bar, Josh grabbed your sister and pulled her into his side. Left in their wake, Pierre fell into step with you.
“You talk about me to your little sister?”
“Only to tell her how insufferable you are,” you informed him. He grinned, like he always did, like he was one step ahead of you. “Whatever she said to you, don’t believe. She’s a liar.”
“So, she was lying when she said I’m fucking hot?”
You turned to face him, standing tall even though he was basically a foot taller than you. You raised your voice just enough to beat out the music, growling, “If you try anything with my sister, I will literally--”
“Holy shit, I’m kidding,” he said gruffly, an exasperated sigh attached to the end of the sentence. He shook his head, mumbling as he brushed past you on the way back to the booth. “I don’t want your little sister, YN.”
---
Two hours later, Pierre was wandering the bar in search of someone new to occupy his time. He’d been with a group of co-eds for a bit, one of which he’d slept with once before, but they’d decided to leave for another bar. And though he’d been invited, he decided to stick with his real friends.
It had to be somewhere around midnight when he slipped past the bar and noticed Sadie at the end without any of her appointed babysitters and immediately felt worry bubbling up in his stomach. She was the youngest in the bar and seemed a little unsteady on her feet, and even though you told him to stay away, the creeps eyeing her down from the other side gave him bad vibes.
So, he stepped up beside her and leaned against the bar with a smile.
“Bonjour!”
“Hey, Sadie,” he greeted her. She hiccuped. “You good?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she slurred. “I’m getting another Tequila shot.”
“Do you need one?” he asked. His tone of voice was teasing, but the concern was clear on his face. When she turned to look at him, he saw how strikingly similar she looked to you. It was probably the glare on her face that did it.
“I want one,” she repeated. “And you’re going to take one with me.”
“Well, okay.”
Pierre had seen this one too many times before. He knew this shot was going to be the end to her night, but it didn’t matter how hard he tried to stop her, it wasn’t going to work. The bartender brought the liquor over and after some convincing on Sadie’s part, he poured a shot for himself as well.
The tequila went down easy for the two men, but the look on Sadie’s face told Pierre that she also knew that shot was going to be her night’s death sentence.
“You look pale.”
“Let’s go sit,” she murmured, grabbing his wrist and pulling him with her towards the booth with the rest of the group. Seth caught Pierre’s frantic eyes as they approached.
“She’s going to be sick,” he whispered as soon as they were standing beside each other. They both looked up at Sadie who’d taken up residence at the end of the table, knuckles white from from clutching the top. “Where’s YN?”
“I have no clue,” Seth answered. “The bathroom maybe.”
Just as Pierre started to look around the bar, hoping to find you in the crowd, Sadie lurched slightly.
“I need to get her out of here,” he said. “If she throws up here, YN would never want to come back and she loves this place.”
“Do you want me to just take her?”
It was a good question and Pierre stopped to think for a moment about the answer. Seth could take Sadie off his hands and he could go about his night normally, or he could prove to you that he wasn’t the asshole you painted him out to be. For whatever reason, he chose the latter.
“No, I got her,” he said. “Let YN know what’s going on, would you?”
---
You returned to the table not even fifteen minutes later, already pissed off because of how long the bathroom line was. Needless to say, Seth letting you know that Pierre had taken Sadie back to your place was not what you wanted to hear.
“You let her leave this bar with Pierre?”
His fingers danced nervously along the beer bottle in his hand. The 6’ 4” defenseman was utterly terrified of your wrath, and had you not been so pissed off, you would’ve thrived in the feeling. “I know you hate him, but he was just trying to help out.”
“Help out?” you repeated. “You think Pierre would do something out of the kindness of his own heart for me, Jonesy?” He nodded a bit sheepishly. “You’re delusional.”
With that, you snatched your purse off the table and stormed out of the bar in pursuit of your apartment. The walk was only about ten minutes long and, quite frankly, you didn’t give a shit that you were walking through the city at night in a short little dress. You were a woman on a mission and anyone that crossed your path with the wrong intention was going to get your wrath, and it seemed that everyone knew that because you weren’t bothered once.
You threw your door open once it was unlocked and the decorations on the wall rattled as the door hit the wall beside it. Pierre, who’d been standing outside the bathroom door, jumped out of his skin at the sound. He righted himself and stood tall as you entered the hallway unsure of what type of reaction he was going to receive from you.
You hardly looked at him as you barked, “Where is she?”
“Puking.”
He leaned forward and pushed the bathroom door open a bit wider, revealing Sadie with her head on the toilet seat. You huffed as you entered and kicked the door closed in his face before slumping down beside her.
“Sadie, what the fuck?”
“I suck.”
“How much did you have to drink?” you asked, hand rubbing comforting circles on her back.
“I was trying to keep up with your friends,” she murmured before gagging into the toilet again.
“You know that they’re all well above six feet and weigh like two hundred more pounds than you, right?” you stated. She nodded and groaned pathetically. “You should’ve known better.”
She didn’t offer a response to your chastising and instead sat up to look at you and said, “I thought I wasn’t going to like him.”
You raised your eyebrows at her.
“Pierre?”
“Yeah. He’s actually a really nice guy,” she grumbled, dropping her head back into her hand that was propped up on the toilet. “Held my hair back for me.”
With an eye roll and a grunt, you stood to leave her to fend for herself.
“Wait,” she called as soon as your hand was on the door knob. “Can you tell Pierre that I’m sorry I ruined his night?”
“Sure.”
“Be nice to him.”
“No promises,” you grunted, pulling the door open to kick the hockey player out of your house.
---
Pierre was uncomfortable in your apartment. Before you arrived, he was too worried about Sadie to even think about the fact that he was in the middle of your personal space. But now, as you sat with her in the other room and he stood in the living room lurking, he knew he didn’t belong.
There were books decorating your coffee table and plants hanging from the ceiling above him. The television stand was cluttered with picture frames of your family and friends from home. His eyes caught on a photo strip from a Blue Jackets event. Josh’s arm was slung over your shoulders, yours wrapped around his waist, both of you clearly hammered and smiling like two idiots who’d been sitting at the open bar all night.
Although he couldn’t remember much of that night, thanks to the date he was entertaining, he did remember one thing. He remembered the dress you wore.
It was this dark blue, almost navy dress, and there was a slit up your leg to your thigh that he kept finding himself gazing at. For the first time since he met you, he thought about what it would be like to feel your body against his, to slide his hand up and between your thighs in the middle of a team event just because he could.
When he got home later that night after dropping his date at home, he jumped beneath a cold stream of water in the shower. He was desperate to clear his mind of every dirty thought that included you. In the end, the only thing that could clear it was release and he ended up jerking off in the shower despite himself.
“I could’ve used a text. I was worried sick.”
You snuck up on him, leaving him with no time to pretend like he hadn’t been staring at you in each of your photos.
“I would’ve texted you but, in completely unsurprising news, I don’t have your number,” he said defensively.
It wasn’t like he was expecting you to grovel at his feet for making sure your sister didn’t vomit in the middle of your favorite club, but he would’ve appreciated a little less attitude or a simple ‘thank you’.
“Her phone was dead, too, and she started throwing up in a bush, so I was a little more concerned about holding her hair back than calling you right away.”
Your mouth snapped shut.
“Anyway, you’re welcome.”
Your mother would kill you if she saw you now. You didn’t even say thank you.
But, before your mouth could catch up to the thanks at the tip of your tongue, Pierre was pulling the apartment door open and disappearing down the hall. Not even a parting glance was sent your way.
#pierre luc dubois story#pierre luc dubois imagine#pierre luc dubois fic#hockey imagine#nhl imagine#hockey rpf#mk writes#dancing with our hands tied fic#columbus blue jackets imagine#columbus blue jackets fic#pld fic#pld imagine#hockey story#hockey fic
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prom night
synopsis: you and spence both never got your own prom, maybe this makes up for it
{a/n: i’m projecting a little bit bc i missed my prom, but i hope this isn’t too cheesy}
——-
the east coast was your home
born and raised in dc, school in new york, work in virginia
you wouldn’t have it any different
except for the fact that you lived less than 20 mins outside your childhood home
you loved being able to be close to your family, but it had its downsides
“y/n can you pick up your brother
y/n can you run to the store for me
y/n can you pick up my dry cleaning”
and it was like you were in high school all over again
on one occasion you were at home with your mom and your baby sister, delaney, she was 17, so not much of a baby anymore
“so what’s the hot gos” you said taking a bite out of your gronola bar and looking your sister down
“ew”
“dont ‘ew’ me”
“well i got asked to the prom yesterday”
your mom nearly dropped her pan
“NO WAY”
“yes way, is it so hard to believe that someone would like me? i’m not y/n for crying out loud”
you gave her a light punch on the arm
“NOT FUNNY”
she wasn’t far from wrong though, you were the classic “nerd”
15 years ago when you were in her place, at the exact same high school, you were never asked to prom, you were too busy in math olympiad or physics club to ever want to attend prom
but that was 15 years ago, now you lost the braces and the acne, got 2 degrees, and had a very lovely boyfriend of your own
“it is though, you’re lucky you found spencer, two dorks made for each other” she said taking a sip of her water
“you’re such a bitch”
15 year age gap aside, you were still very much, sisters
“y/n, do you mind chaperoning? that way we don’t have to pay for a ticket” your mom asked
your sister blurted out “oh my god NO”
you were laughing so hard, usually this is the kind of thing you’d pass on, but it torturing your sister was so so so worth it
“okay i’m game, see you prom night”
——
“spencerrrrrrr” you trailed on as you sat next to spencer on the couch, staring deep into his hazel eyes
“yes my love?”
“do you love meeeeeeee???”
spencer rolled his eyes, he knew this is how you asked him for a favors
“to the moon and back, why??????”
“okay look, my baby sister, delaney, is going to the prom and i’m chaperoning her, and she called me and you dorks so we have to get back at her by embarrassing the hell out of her at her prom”
spencer laughed
“you’re no better than a petty 17 year old”
you rolled your eyes “so can we?”
he looked at you, than his eyes trailed from the calendar to his watch to you again
“of course”
“yes!” you gave him a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek
“i love you so bad spencer reid!” you said as you ran around the apartment
“even more!” he replied
—
“incoming call from spencer reid”
“hey y/n?”
“yes love?”
“what color dress are you wearing tonight?”
“green, why?”
“no reason...”
he said before he hung up
you laughed to yourself “what a dork”
you continued to brush the mascara on your eyes, getting ready for your very first prom night
you came running down the stairs in a dark green ankle length dress, while spencer waited to pick you up
he was wearing a suit with a matching bow tie to your dress
“that’s why you asked the color! you look dashing by the by”
you said as you leaned over and gave him a cheek staining kiss
“and this” he said as he handed you a beautiful green corsage arrangement
“spencer! for me? this is gorgeous”
you said as you slipped it onto your wrist
“yeah, penelope knows a guy”
“of course she does, and thank you! i can’t believe you’d go through all of this for me on fake prom” you said as he started driving toward your parents house
“hey this prom is not fake at all to me, i’ve never been to prom before”
you shrugged “me neither, i always thought it was dumb anyway”
“this is sort of embarrassing” spencer said scratching his head
“come on spencer it’s just me”
“okay, you know i went to highschool very young, i hadn’t even gone through puberty. i was the smallest guy in the class and that wasn’t purely based on my age. i was scrawny. but i had this grand idea of going to prom with the most beautiful girl. and i’d be all tal and handsome at that point, and i’d walk into that dance and stick it to all my bullies”
“that not embarrassing! i wish i wanted to go to prom like that. i guess i was too pretentious to go, i was an all star intellectual, there was no way i’d show my face at an event like prom”
“yeah, so i guess we both get do overs. and i get to live my prom dream. now i’m tall, and i have a beatiful girl by my side” he said as he smiled at you
“have i ever told you i love you?”
“not enough” he smiled as he pulled into your parents drive way
you got out of your car to wait inside with your sister for her date to arrive
eventually a tall girl with a equally as beautiful corsage in her hand ended up nervously swaying on the front door and she rang the door bell
spencer answered
“hi!”
“h-hi, mr. y/l/n” she said in a nevrous tone
spencer laughed out loud and you went to intervene
“oh my yeah he’s just my boyfriend, hi i’m delaney’s older sister y/n. no need to be nervous, there’s no dad around here. just a lot of siblings, my mom and my boyfriend!” you said as you welcomed her into the house
delaney went to take the corsage from her date, melanie
your mom lined you spencer and your sister and melanie up for what felt like 800 pictures before you finally decided to get into spencers car to the dance
in the car you turned around to the girls
“sooooo, how’d y’all meet”
delaney burried her head into her knees in embarrassment while her date explained
“well she was in my physics class, and it all went from there”
“physics!!! i love physics, is mr. scott still there?”
“yup he’s our teacher”
“sick” you said to yourself, reminiscing about your days in high school
eventually you pulled into your highschool parking lot, hooking arms with spencer as you walked toward then gym
“god does this bring me back”
you said to him
your sister whispered to her date “god she’s so old”
“HEY DELANY I HEARD THAT”
she gave you the stink eye and whispered in your ear
“please get as far away from me as possible”
all you did was nod as you watched the two of them skip into their dance
you looked up at spencer
“god you’re so cute, i wish i had you here in high school”
“i’m sure you had your boys”
“from the physics club? right”
you walked into the fully decorated gym, wandering around from the punch bowl to the photo booth, you and spencer watching the floor of kids dance to their hearts content
“i think i know why i skipped this in highschool”
spencer laughed
“ i would have killed to be in this very position when i was in high school”
you wrapped your arms around his neck and looked him in the eyes
“killed to be in prom in the first place or to be here with me?”
“with your of course”
he said as he met your lips for a kiss
obviously bringing spencer was a bad idea for your sabotage delany plan, because you got way too distracted with spencer by your side
you spent the entire night talking to him, dancing with him to the slow songs, taking funny pictures in the photo booth
high school stuff you guess
eventually when all the kids were slow dancing, you looked up at spencer
“wanna make a break for it?”
he didn’t know what that meant, but if it was with you he’d do it, so he just nodded and followed you outside
you buried your head into his shoulder as you walked around the campus you grew up on, pointing to the points of interest
you pointed to a big oak tree with seat like roots under it
“that’s where we used have physics club meetings”
then you pointed to a hidden patch behind all the bushes
“this is where i traded homework for money”
he just nodded as you told the stories of your high school experience
you pointed to some old looking railings with a tree standing view it
“that’s where i had my first kiss”
“HUH! i thought you said you got no boys, physics club and all”
“yeah you’re right” you said as you settled on one of the bleacher, overlooking the field and the night sky, spencer joining you
your fancy dress hitting the dirt of the baseball field, the cold april night making you shiver, and spencer putting his blazer coat over you
“you’re right, i didn’t get any boys in high school” you sighed as you cuddled into his arm
“my first kiss was with dylan watson, he was mr blue eyes blonde hair, baseball and perfect social status. and you know i was, braces glasses and physics”
he laughed as you continued to tell the story
“but yeah one day he slipped me a note, i figured he just wanted homework. but he said to meet him there after school. so i did, and he confessed tht he loved me, and wanted to be my boyfriend. and of course i said yes. and the he kissed me. it was the best moment of my life up until then. but as soon as he pulled away he yelled ‘you got that?’”
“oh no” spencer said, listening intently
“oh yes, his buddies had be filming, then they put me on plays all around the entire school, showing the video to everyone. so yeah, that’s why i never want to the prom. i guess it might have been bc i was a nerd, but also because i never wanted to show my face to those kids anymore” you said as you sighed
“you know, i had a similar experience where a pretty girl told me the same thing, but instead the entire school stripped me to my underwear and tied me to a pole. it was awful”
“oh my goodness that’s terrible” you said
“well i guess high school bullying makes great profilers?” yoy laughed
“maybe. i think it also develops character well i’m general too. and hey! you got your first kiss out of it”
“yeah, but high school was the worst, i wish i could tell my 17 year old self that it would get better”
“me too” he said
he said as he tucked his chin into your head and looked up at the stars, faint music echoing from the gym and the sound of your cold shakey breath
“y/n, i’m just glad we got to spend our prom night together”
#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fluffy#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer x y/n#mgg#mgg fic#mgg fluff#mgg x fem!reader#mgg c#x#mgg x reader
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Title: Like Silver
Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.
Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then. She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet.
Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.
Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.
Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)
AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes
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Chapter 1/?: An Introduction to Electrocardiography
Sakura gazes out the window of her office, a pile of paperwork set aside for a poetic sort of procrastination, trying to indulge for once in a Konoha spring, though she's finding it arduous.
As pretty as it is this time of year, all she can manage to feel is wistful.
Hanami has come and gone already for the most part, though there are a few stubborn cherry blossom trees lingering at the tail end of their blooming. She can see one here from her window, up on the hillside that slopes towards Hokage Rock, clinging to the uneven land. She’s sure its roots have to be all twisted, a labyrinth of gnarled wood clinging to any scrap of land it can wind itself around as its branches and petals try against all odds to reach upwards into the open sky that she can’t take her eyes off of.
There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but it’s one she doesn’t care to unpack.
This year was her twentieth viewing of her namesake, though Sakura obviously doesn't remember the first few. Her parents take great pride in the retelling of tales from those first few years of her life, the ones she was too little to remember. The highlights come up annually on her birthday without fail, how she grasped at the petals like they were something precious, clutched in her sticky little hands the entire day.
A framed photograph is perched on one of the built-in shelves of her parents' living room, of her and her father on her first birthday. He was holding her up on unsteady legs, ridiculously proud and pointing towards the camera where her mother had been trying to get her to look. Her short pink hair was flying absolutely everywhere, matching the fluttering petals and in-bloom cherry blossom tree in the background, chubby hands grasping upwards. Strawberry cake and frosting were smeared all over her cheeks. They’d had a picnic for her, at the park nearest to their house.
“We came home and cleaned you up, and then your father helped you water your tree for the first time, in the little pink watering pail you unwrapped earlier. You were so cute.” That’s what her mom says every year. Sakura has the sentence memorized at this point, could recite it on cue, if she needed to.
Her parents had planted a cherry blossom sapling in their backyard a few days after they brought her home from the hospital as a newborn, so the tree is around the same age she is. She used to spend time under it often, as a kid, and some of her earliest memories involve sprawling beneath it to study the heavens while her mother gardened. She would also sneak berries from the patch when her back was turned. Sometimes her dad would join in her pilferage, and they would sit beneath the tree like a couple of bandits with stained lips, though those first few years she can remember he barely fit underneath it, as tall as he is. Many a tickle fight had been had, shaded by those branches. She would read books there on nice afternoons, when she was a little older.
The tree is fully grown now, also on the final cusp of its blooming for the year, floriferous wood expanded outwards to drape her childhood stomping grounds in a sea of soft pink. They have a picnic under it every year, in her family’s backyard, when they celebrate her birthday together. Her actual birthday has come and gone, but her birthday dinner is two days from now. Her parents swung by her apartment on Sunday afternoon for a bit with outlandishly large cupcakes, but her mom had mentioned they’d do dinner and a gift on their usual night, Thursday, since it works so well with their schedules every other week.
“We have to have your picnic, under your tree, like always. It’s a tradition! My beautiful girl. I can’t believe you’re twenty. It seems like just yesterday you were only yay high,” her dad had told her, gesturing below his knees before hugging her too tightly, ruffling the hair she'd inherited from him before they left. The cupcakes were strawberry with cream cheese frosting, one of her favorite treats. They’d left her with four extra to enjoy between then and Thursday, one for each day if she wanted it, turning her birthday into more of a week-long affair than a one-day celebration.
She and Ino had demolished two of them while watching some of the terrible movies they love to hate together, later that evening. It had been a smorgasbord of strawberries, really, because they'd washed them down with strawberry daiquiris, sugary sweetness topped with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream. They'd sat on her balcony, after, sipping a little tipsily and just looking.
"You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it," Ino had said, beckoning vaguely towards a Konoha beginning to bloom, renewed with a warm breeze, spring ushered in by a fluttering of pink petals. Ino likes to give compliments in roundabout ways, she’s learned over the course of their friendship; crass as the blonde can be, she does have her moments. Her words meant a lot to Sakura, so she’s trying to take them to heart, to stop and smell the cherry blossoms, so to speak. It won’t be long before Konoha crescendos into the sweltering heat of the summer.
She loves her parents and her friends. She really does.
But birthdays are weird, Sakura thinks.
Last year, Sasuke had sent her a letter on her birthday. She’s reread it so many times that she has it more than memorized; it’s stitched into the muscle tissue of her heart at this point, or maybe scarred into the lining of her aortic valve, sempiternal markings adorning the tunnels that sustain her, causing her breath to catch every time.
Sakura,
Hanami has come to the wilderness in the Land of Honey. Bees are awakening and foraging for the first pollen of the season, with which to begin again. Cherry blossom petals are everywhere, lining the pathways and floating on the water.
Happy birthday.
-Sasuke
It had been short, simple, and even a little poetic; she had cherished it, as she does all of his other letters. She’d cherished the pressed flower with it just as much; a cherry blossom, neatly flattened with a precision that screamed Sasuke, near exactly the same shade of pink as her hair.
Sakura had started crying when she unfolded the paper to reveal it sitting atop his words. His hawk had waited patiently at her office window for a response to be written and tied to its leg, perched atop the windowsill and watching the goings-on of the village below, absolutely no concept in its predator brain of how much she delights in seeing it fly, a graceful tether to the boy - now man - she has been in love with for ages.
Cherry blossom petals are everywhere. Is there a hidden meaning there, or is she making a mountain out of a molehill?
She’s tried not to read too much into the letters. She's not sure if he sends any to Naruto or not; she's too afraid to ask, because she'll either get a heart-pounding hope if he doesn't get them, or a soul-crushing disappointment if he does. She can't imagine him sending a yellow flower to Naruto, but he may very well have sent him a different gift for his birthday.
Maybe he just thought she would like a flower, which she did - it’s pressed for safekeeping, along with all of his other correspondence to her, sporadically and chronologically throughout a book she keeps on her nightstand, An Introduction to Electrocardiography. It is her take on an album of small things she holds close to her own heart, things she wishes she could read in his. Sakura didn’t want to buy an actual album for such a thing; that felt too formal, for something as ambiguous as her ties to Sasuke, overflowing on her end as they may be. So she’d settled on a book about deciphering the heart’s tells based on science only, electrical impulses and repolarization, the sizes and positions of the chambers, how to diagnose conditions utilizing one’s findings. It’s one she doesn’t need access to anymore, extremely familiar with EKGs after years of study. She’d wanted it to be something no-nonsense, all hard facts and data on how to read activity plotted over time.
Evidence-based. Are letters evidence, though? She’s not sure that would hold up as empirical proof in any of the scholarly journals she’s studied or submitted work to since beginning her research. She thinks wryly, though, based on what she has witnessed get published, that scientific verification doesn’t always matter if you know the right people.
She’s thought many times sifting through it that perhaps it is too optimistic, too hopeful of a book subject for such a thing. Sakura has agonized over it, frankly, wondering whether it was an inappropriate choice.
...But now that they’re in there, it might ache worse to move them somewhere else.
It’s the last day of March now, and she didn’t get a letter this month, which is unusual, because she’s gotten one near each month in the time that he’s been away. She’s paged through the book a few times over the past several days, rereading and admiring the preserved sakura blossom, frozen in suspended animation indefinitely on a page about precordial leads.
Sakura hadn’t really expected anything from him for her birthday, other than a monthly letter like he usually sends... but this year she didn’t even get that. She’s trying really hard to not be disappointed. She has so much to be thankful for, in the grand scheme of things...
...But the petals of the cherry blossom from last year have faded over time, she’d evaluated yesterday, sitting in her bedroom. It might be like her, always pressed in a book, fading whilst stuck indefinitely between the boundless teeth of academia. There is always more data to record, more evidence, with which one can prove or disprove their findings.
No letter this month, though. Nothing to record, no new evidence.
It might be time to move the letters somewhere else, she thinks pensively. Maybe a place where she’s not tempted to look at them all the time; their placement in the book, small scraps of paper that stick out in only a couple of places, makes it easy to go back and reread them. She’s pretty sure she has an empty shoebox in her closet that she could move them to, in a pile rather than catalogued between pages rife with information and a fragile sort of hope. Maybe she’ll do it tonight, put it up in the far right corner of the upper shelf, shoved towards the back so she can’t reach it without the stool, so she’s not tempted whenever the next bout of heartsickness slams into her like one of Tsunade-shishou’s fists used to. She needs to go by the library after work first, to return some things, but maybe when she gets home, she’ll do it. She could eat a cupcake, too; that might make it a little easier.
Sakura misses him so much. She misses the faint smell of woodsmoke and sage, and mismatched eyes captivating in their intensity and unfathomable depths. The Rinnegan is beautiful, soft lavender ringed by hypnotizing layers of circle and tomoe, but flecks of silver dance in his right, tiny asterisms bewitching in nature, if one gets close enough; she’d first noticed it when they were children at the Academy. She knows they're Itachi's now, a slightly different scattering of luminaries aglow in the deep pitch of obsidian, but they're still as enthralling to her as they had been back then.
She dreams of that silver sometimes, recalls it any time she sees something similar in color or reflet. There’s an extremely unique necklace in an antique shop she visits with Ino and Sai from time to time, and occasionally on her own, over on the northeast side of town. It’s a salt-and-pepper diamond, dark grey with inclusions, dainty and set in what must be a hand-fabricated setting. It hangs from a silver chain, towards the back of a display case filled with other vintage and distinctive pieces, but it’s the only one she ever finds herself drawn to. It is so similar to his right eye, dark smoke near black, speckled with beguiling silver startling in its clarity. The bevel cut reveals new flecks dependent on the angle at which you view it.
Sakura studies it closely on each visit, because it is so hauntingly breathtaking and it reminds her of him.
Ino has said it’s not her color, and that she should stick to warm tones and gold, for which she is better suited; Sakura has not confessed to her why it catches her eye so much. Sai has agreed with his girlfriend on the coloring note, sensitive as he is to such things, but the way he studies her every time she tears herself away from it makes her suspect he knows exactly why it captivates her so. It’s been sitting there for years at this point; she has to mentally talk herself out of buying it on each visit. It’s beautiful, but she would spend far too much time gawking at it, and it might hurt more with extended study than the gentle tugging at her heart she experiences when she’s in that old building throughout tiny fragments of lackadaisical afternoons.
Sasuke has been gone for a long time. She hopes he's finding the peace he's been seeking, that he's seeing the world with new eyes just as he'd imagined. She thinks of him every day, sends out little orisons like petals in the breeze in the hopes that they’ll find him, wherever he is.
I wonder where he is now.
Try as she does to enjoy the breath of spring Konoha is right now, and her namesake as Ino said, all she can seem to do is shift her vision to the sky, hoping against hope for a glimpse of a familiar bird-of-prey that will stay an ample amount of time for her to craft a response, before it abvolates away for another month.
Sakura smiles, then, close to laughing at the absurdity of it all, because she is so predictable. She loves this village despite its many flaws and challenges, despite the things about it she and Naruto and Kakashi-sensei and Ino and even Tsunade-shishou, off in the Land of Wind, are trying to change, but even after so many years, she’s still pining for something beyond it, something in the wilds of the sky just beyond her reach.
There’s always next year, she supposes, pupils drawn again towards the outstretched branches of the cherry blossom tree on the hill, before trailing her eyes along further. She can grow a little more to try to reach him. When she was little, she had wanted to grow tall so she could try to touch a star, like the branches of the tree in her backyard did when she and her father laid beneath them on balmy summer nights. He would tell her ridiculous stories about all of the constellations, things she knew had to be untrue, even at the ripe age of five. Precocious, he’d always called her, but in the loving, joking manner he had.
Her gaze follows the horizon, leisurely taking in the rest of her home. It really is a lovely day, despite her yearning. Spring is here again, and today's is a gentle sunset, one last little bit of sunlight with which to conclude March. The temperature is already spiking, unusually warm for early spring, but summers in the Land of Fire are always hot. She really should finish her paperwork, but it’s hard to find the motivation just yet.
Something possesses her, then, to turn her neck more, take in more of the skyline's continuation. She wants to see all of it.
And then Sakura’s eyes fall on an achingly familiar figure cloaked all in black, perched only a roof away and observing her, and she thinks she must have nodded off, because she has to be dreaming.
She subtly pinches herself in the millisecond of time that follows, but she is very much awake.
The words are blooming out of her throat before she can even process what’s happening, exultation sinking into her every vein. “Sasuke-kun!” She moves to crank her window open the rest of the way, and he hops from the neighboring roof down into her office, all nimble legerity that she still thinks has to be a mere mirage conjured from her memories. When he straightens to his full height, she muses that he has to have grown taller. The mere sound of his footsteps on the tile flooring, as familiar a refrain to her as if he’d just walked out of the village yesterday, are a treasure beyond price.
“Sakura.” His voice is a rich timbre that she has desperately felt the absence of; hearing him say her name almost makes her want to cry. She smiles wider instead, to the extent that it almost hurts, and her gaze latches hungrily onto the very eye she was just daydreaming about. A storm of soot and silver, beveled into countless fragments like some kind of dark, rustic diamond, and so staggeringly beautiful that she’s pretty sure she’s blushing just from beholding it. Gods, it's not fair for someone to be so handsome.
“When did you get back?” She asks, utterly overcome with joy. This is better than a letter or any birthday gift she could have received, brighter than any star she’s beheld.
“Just now.” He’s smiling, a small and subtle upturn of lips that is so characteristic of him. Then his words hit her, and her face must be getting redder.
Just now? As in…
“I’m sorry I missed your birthday,” he adds before she can simmer on that for too long, and she has to blink in bewilderment, because that is the absolute last thing she expected him to say. Sakura wonders how much heat can creep into one’s face before they spontaneously combust.
Then she realizes she should probably respond, as humans tend to do in conversations. “Oh! Um… it’s okay.” She folds her hands in front of her shyly, grinning like an idiot. “Thank you for remembering.”
There is a lengthy moment in which she just soaks him in, hoping he can read in her eyes how much she’s missed him. He is still so beautiful, prized eyes and aristocratic angles that have solidified a bit more into the face of a man in the time that’s passed. His hair is different now, covering his Rinnegan eye. His cloak is a little more threadbare, too. He’s tall.
His expression, normally unreadable, is calm. Content, even.
There’s a question nagging at her that she knows she needs to ask. She tries not to bite her lip as she asks it, braces herself for the possibility of not liking the answer.
“Are you… just back for a little while?”
Did you find what you were searching for?
He gazes at her for so long that she thinks he may be glimpsing her soul, peeking into her ventricles to see his own words immortalized there, seared into her core to be felt each time her blood pumps.
“...For more than a while.” And she smiles the biggest she ever has. Oh, this is so much better than a letter or a gift.
“Well, welcome back, Sasuke-kun. It’s… very good to see you again.” It feels as if a piece of her heart has been returned to her, something of the divine stitched back into her chest and full to bursting in omneity.
There is a pause, and then he’s reaching his hand out towards hers, initiating physical contact with a touch that is feather light, so gentle she thinks she is going to start sobbing.
She can’t help it; she pulls him into a hug, tinged with elation. She hopes he doesn’t mind too much; he stiffens for a brief moment, but then settles, wrapping his arm around her and settling his head atop of hers, and she could die happy right there, embracing him with feelings momentarily set free from where they’ve been whelved into her chest.
He smells faintly like sage and smoked cedar, just as she remembered. She can hear his heart thumping, a strong cadence, and it grounds her. Oh, she’s missed him.
“...I’m home, Sakura.” Soft words float above her head, and she can feel the vibration of them through his chest, right by her ear.
Oh, she’s crying.
Sasuke lets her embrace him for a long time, for which she is so grateful. She knows he’s not one for physical contact; it’s a privilege to be allowed into his space even for a single second, let alone for an extended period.
She draws back eventually, glancing up at him again through the tears still collecting in her eyes. Her face blazes when he reaches to wipe them away tenderly with a calloused hand, careful and with a lenity that she’s always known was there, hidden under the surface.
She could just stare at him for hours, she thinks as he lowers his hand. He’s still looking down at her with one of the softest expressions she has ever seen him wear. She really hopes she’s not dreaming.
It’s tremendously hard to get it together, but she tries, because she doesn’t want to spend the entire time crying, not when he's finally back. There are so many questions she’d like to ask him that she’s finding it a challenge to pick one with which to lead.
He surprises her by speaking first, quietly. “I… had something made for you.”
It takes a moment for the words to compute.
Made for me?
Her processing speed must be exceptionally slow, stuck in the utter mush her insides have become, because he adds, “...For your birthday.”
Sakura blinks, and furrows her brows in confusion. “Made… for me?”
He nods. “...I’m sorry it’s late.” The way he speaks it is cryptic, like the apology weighs more than one needed for a tardy gift. Doesn’t he know she doesn’t care? He could have showed up in July with something for her, and it still would have made her knees weak and her heart thump furiously in her chest.
Made for me? She’s still stuck on that sentiment as he breaks eye contact and turns to rummage through his satchel, beneath his cloak.
Sasuke pulls out a medium-sized flat box, a simple white, and she doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t that. Something that comes in a box is a lot more formal than a pressed cherry blossom, something more… permanent.
She reaches out to take it on autopilot, and is stupidly distracted by the way his hand brushes against hers, a small spark that makes something in her quake. She wonders if he felt it, too.
Sakura clutches the box with both hands like her life depends on it, murmuring softly, “Thank you, Sasuke-kun.” She’ll wait until later to open it, after he’s left; whatever it is, she doesn’t want to embarrass him, and she also isn’t sure she can tear her eyes away from him just yet, anyways.
Is it just the lighting in her office, or are his ears a little flushed? She didn’t notice that before; maybe he’s had a drawn-out journey back. She wonders how much ground he covered today, if he’s still winded. He might need to rest.
But then he mumbles, voice husky with what she assumes is disuse, “...You should open it.”
His words echo in her head again. I… had something made for you.
“Okay,” she answers in a hushed voice, so she doesn’t scare him away, shifting slightly to set the box on her desk carefully. Suddenly she is very nervous, anticipation settling into her gut.
When she lifts the lid, she swears her heart ceases beating.
The most exquisitely intricate uchiwa fan she has ever laid eyes upon is placed in the box before her.
It’s carved into a likeness of a cherry blossom tree, branches twisting lissomely into bamboo framework, impossibly fine. A different set of words is reverberating in her head now.
You should try to enjoy your namesake more this year, Forehead. You're so busy that I'm not sure you've realized, but you've really grown into it.
Made for me?
“O-oh.” Sakura is not sure what she expected, but it wasn’t this. She fights back the tears, biting her lip and wide eyes soaking it all in, enjoying her namesake in a way that is entirely unprecedented in its sheer severity. The amount of time it would have taken for someone to sculpt and bind and sew is unimaginable; every detail is finely wrought, flawless down to the silk and stitching, lacquered and carved pale wood shifting effortlessly into eighty slivers of bamboo, intricately webbing silk together with the lithe grace of gossamer. It’s a cherry blossom tree, petals and all, pearlescent thread shifting slightly, gorgeously in the light, unimaginable detail. She has stitched people back together countless times over the course of years, but even her expert dexterity would look like a child’s first embroidery stitching in comparison. The stamen within the petals are nearly more detailed and finely milled than an actual, real life cherry blossom, plexure sutured in a fashion so baronial that it’s impossible to believe human hands were even responsible for it.
The silk. Oh, the silk. The color shift bears a striking resemblance to the Uchiha insignia. This is not a gift one gives to a teammate.
Oh, she's crying.
This has to be a dream, some kind of paracosm her heart thought up to give her brain the high of a lifetime. Hope burgeons and unfolds in her chest cavity, bleeding into her extremities like the pale pink shifting into red before her eyes. She’s never, ever going to forget this, not even if she lives to be one hundred years old.
Made for me?
She picks it up with disbelieving hands, grasping it more carefully than she’s ever held anything in her entire life, as if she’s going to wake up at any moment and it will dissolve into synapse, lost in the hazy juncture of morning the way one tends to lose awareness of the contents of a dream upon coming to lucidity. To her absolute bewilderment, it stays solid in her hands, a finery made even more unbelievable by touch. The grooves of the carving are as gentle as his hand had been on hers earlier. She thinks it would have had to be commissioned at least a few months in advance, outlandishly expensive. She’s never seen silk like this. She doesn't know; she's smart, but she's no artisan. Maybe she should ask Sai. She's crying.
She adores it.
Tears won’t stop welling in her eyes; she thinks they may be escaping from a tender spot inside her chest that’s been reserved for him since she was a child, a leak in a metaphorical dam. She takes a steadying breath, blinks, almost has them conquered. Get a grip, Sakura.
Then Sasuke’s hand is on hers, gently turning the handle over.
Her name is carved into the pale wood, on the back in formal calligraphy, Sakura daintier and more perfect than she could ever write it, as if it had just been uncovered in one of the inner layers rather than whittled there manually. Sasuke presses her fingers to it before loosening his grip, and in that second it feels as though his lost hand is in the wood, caressing her from split atoms in the grooves from the other side.
The tears spill over her cheeks - she admits defeat - intricacy of the entire thing blurring out of focus but still somehow burned into her retinas for all eternity.
Made for me, made for me, made for me-
Her voice finds her after a few more tears fall. “It’s beautiful.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, overwhelmed with complete and utter awe, trying desperately to choke down a sob. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun. I… I’ll treasure it. Always.” She cradles the fan closer to her chest, her heart - maybe An Introduction to Electrocardiography wasn’t a poorly-chosen book, after all; there is much to be read from something this precious - and regards him with watery eyes. She wishes she wasn’t crying; the distortion of the tears is making it hard to see the silver she’s loved and missed so much.
His hand lifts to her face after a moment, and to her surprise, he wipes away her tears again. She barely catches the something-more in his eyes, then, through the waterworks, precious metal flashing and pouring into the words scarred into her ventricles to live there forever, fortified in silver, but he is looking at her so -
“...Always,” he agrees, voice a little breathless, sparking scintilla near hypnotizing her in their luster, and he seems so happy -
Then he leans down to press his lips gently to hers, and this is better than her heart stopping, like when she opened the box. This time, her heart soars, and she touches a star she’s been dreaming of for eons.
#naruto#sasusaku#ssfanfiction#cherry writes#like silver#fanfiction#i'm really out here with just hundreds of pages of fanfiction in my google doc drafts huh
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The Primaries: Beautiful
Adrien: September 1st, 1989. Dear Diary:
I believe I'm a good person. You know, I think that there's good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of Senior year!
And uh... I look around at these kids that I've known since I got here, and I ask myself—what happened?
Students: Freak! Liar! Burnout! Moron! Poser! Dumbass!
Adrien: We were so tiny, happy and shiny!
Playing tag, and getting chased!
Students: Bitch! Jerk! Liar! Bullies!
Adrien: Singing and clapping, laughing and napping!
Baking cookies, eating paste!
Students: Blowhard! Stuck-up! Tabloid!
Adrien: Then we got bigger, that was the trigger
Like the Huns invading Rome!
Welcome to my school, this ain't no high school:
This is the Thunderdome!
Hold your breath and count the days, we're graduating soon!
Students: White trash!
Adrien: Next year will be paradise, if I'm not dead by June!...
But I know, I know, life can be beautiful
I pray, I pray for a better way
If we changed back then, we could change again.
We can be beautiful...
*Alya trips Aurore*
Aurore: Hey!
Adrien: Just not today. *He goes to help her up* Hey, are you okay?
Aurore: *She smacks his hand away* Don’t talk to me.
Adrien: Oh, okay
Students: Jerk! Liar! Poser! Doormat! Doormat! Doormat!
Adrien: Things will get better soon as my letter
Comes from Harvard, Duke, or Brown
Wake from this coma, take my diploma
Then I can blow this town.
Dream of ivy-covered walls and smoky French cafés
Lila: Watch it!
Adrien: Fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze!
*Lila smacks Mireille’s lunch tray out of her hands*
Lila: Oops.
Adrien: Lila Rossi. Third year as an Agreste Model, and tenth year of smacking lunch trays and being a lying bitch!
Lila: Do you want me to tell your dad what you just said?
Adrien: ... Shut up, Lila.
But I know, I know... (I know, I know...)
Life can be beautiful (Beautiful)
I pray, I pray (I pray, I pray)
For a better way (For a better way)
We were kind before; (Ooh...)
We can be kind once more (Ooh...)
We can be beautiful... (Ooh... Beautiful...)
*Nino taps on his shoulder*
Adrien: Ah!... Hey Nino.
Nino: Hey!
Adrien: Nino Lahiffe. My best friend since I started this school.
Nino: We still on for movie night?
Adrien: Yeah, you're on Jiffy Pop detail.
Nino: I rented "Jurassic Park."
Adrien: Again? Wait, don't you have it memorized by now?
Nino: What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good Spielberg movie.
Alya: Nino! You can’t go to movie night; I need your help with the Ladyblog.
Adrien: Alya Ceasaire: Blogger. She is always jumping to conclusions. It often leads to trouble.
Lila: Oh! Then that means you’re free tonight, Adrien!
Adrien: No! Nino and I are having movie night! Work on the Ladyblog another time.
Lila: I'm sorry, are you actually standing up to me?
Adrien: Yes, I am! I wanna know what gives you the right to act like a high and mighty control freak. You're a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future cocktail waitress!...
Jean: Wow, Adrien! Your balls finally dropped. Congrats.
*The students laugh while Adrien blushes from embarrassment*
Adrien: Dear diary: Why...
Myléne: Why do they hate us?
Mireille: Why don't I fight back?
Marc: Why are they such creeps?
Adrien: Why...
Lila: Why won't he date me?
Kim: Why did I hit him?
Juleka/Mme. Bustier/Nino: Why do I cry myself to sleep?
Adrien: Why...
Students: Somebody hug me!
Somebody fix me!
Somebody save me!
Send me a sign, God!
Give me some hope, here!
Something to live for!
...
Students: Ah! Nathan, Chloé, and Mari...
Adrien: And then there's the Primaries. They float above it all...
Students: I love Nathan, Chloé, and Mari...
I hate Nathan, Chloé, and Mari...
Adrien: Nathaniel Kurtzberg, president of the art club. His family is dangerous—they’re the Jewish mafia.
Students: I want Nathan, Chloé, and Mari...
Adrien: Chloé Bourgeois, my sort of best friend. Her dad runs the city. No discernible personality, but her mom did pay for hair extensions.
Students: I need Nathan, Chloé, and Mari...
Adrien: And Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the Almighty... She has connections all over the world.
They’re solid Teflon—never bothered, never harassed even though they’re in my class... I would give anything to be like that.
Aurore: I'd like to be their girlfriend.
Students: That would be beautiful...
Sabrina: If I sat at their table, guys would notice me.
Students: So beautiful... Ooh...
Nino: I'd like them to be nicer.
Students: That would be beautiful... Ooh...
Lila: I'd like to kidnap a Primary and photograph them naked in an abandoned warehouse and leave them tied up for the rats.
*Cut to the Primaries in the locker room*
Marinette: And after we take down that tabloid blog, we-
Mme. Bustier: *She walks in* Ah, Marinette, Nathaniel, and Chloé. Perhaps you didn't hear the bell. You're late for class.
Marinette: Oh, yes. It’d be a shame if we were late to a class that had us read fairytales about princes kissing princesses to break spells. Ever heard of Edgar Allen Poe? *Chloé and Nathaniel snicker*
Mme. Bustier: *Sputters* Week's detention!
Adrien: Um, actually, Mme. Bustier, all four of us are out on a hall pass. Yearbook committee *He shows her the fake hall pass*
Mme. Bustier: ...I see you're all listed. Hurry up and get where you're going. *She leaves*
Marinette: *She takes the forged note and examines it* This is an excellent forgery, Agreste. I didn’t know you had it in you.
Adrien: Thanks... I crave a boon
Marinette: What boon?
Adrien: Um. Let me sit at your table, at lunch. Just once. No talking necessary. If the others think that you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone... *They laugh* Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes-
Nathaniel: How about prescriptions?
Chloe: Shut it, Nath.
Nathaniel: You shut it.
Marinette: ... You know, for a tall, lanky nobody whose father puts him on a strict diet and trims away body fat so you look like a twig in your shitty fashion magazines... You do have good bone structure.
Nathaniel: And a symmetrical face. If I took a switchblade down the center of your skull, I'd have matching halves. That's very important.
Chloé: Of course, you could stand to gain a few pounds.
Marinette: And ya know, ya know, ya know?
This could be beautiful.
Some new clothes, brush his hair out.
And we're on our way.
Get this boy some blush;
And Chloé, I need your brush
Let's make him beautiful.
Nathaniel: Let's make him beautiful...
Chloé: Let's make him beautiful...
Marinette: Make him beautiful... Okay?
Adrien: Okay!
*The next day*
Lila: Out of my way, bitch!
Aurore: Why don’t you get bent?!
Mireille: Your class will die at 3 pm!
Marc/Jean: Don't you dare touch me! Get away, assholes!
Alix/Kim: What did we ever do to them?
Students: Who could survive this?
I can't escape this!
I think I'm dying!
Juleka: Who's that with Mari?
Students: Whoa... Nathan, Chloé, Mari...
Aurore/Mireille/Marc: And someone!
Students: Nathan, Chloé, Mari...
Lila: And a babe!
Students: Nathan, Chloé, Mari...
Nino: Adrien?!
Students: Adrien? Adrien? Adrien?!
Adrien: And you know, you know, you know
Life can be beautiful
You hope, you dream, you pray
And you get your way!
Ask me how it feels!
Lookin' like hell on wheels...
My God, it's beautiful!
I might be beautiful...
And when you're beautiful...
It's a beautiful frickin' day!
Students: Nathan! Chloé! Mari! Adrien!
Nathan! Chloé! Mari! Adrien!
Adrien! Adrien! Adrien!
Adrien!
#miraculous ladybug#heathers the musical#Heathers#HBBIC au#hbic marinette#Marinette Dupain-Cheng#Nathaniel Kurtzberg#Chloé Bourgeois#Lila salt#Alya salt
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Just Little Ventrue Things ~
I finished a Camarilla Ventrue run of VTMB. Mostly, the only thing Ventrue these days know how to do is Dominate, run screaming, eat hot chip, and lie, and [high falsetto voice] here’s a list of other nonsense I discovered:
PC’s name is Christina; she’s a Dominatrix because I’m bi. Her sire was one of her clients, and she’s actually very, very angry about his death. She doesn’t mind being a vampire. She’s Wiccan and part of a coven
In this Camarilla run, I decided I would only do quests given by Camarilla members. My justification was that, while Christina is intelligent and curious about lore, she focuses on tasks that immediately relate to her and her goals. She’s not curious about others; won’t go out of her way to talk to them. She’s not a bleeding heart, like my other PCs, and she believes in the Camarilla’s laws. She just hates LaCroix for killing her sire. Her plan during the game is to curry as much favor within the Cam as possible and cozy up to LaCroix so she can stab him.
Enough backstory
Nonsense time
Smiling Jack laughs at you if you don’t eat a rat in the tutorial. LOL. The Ventrue dialog is like “I could barely choke down the homeless man: please don’t make me eat a rat!”
The blood in the Santa Monica haven’s fridge is now blue blood. Does regular blood make Ventrue sick? I was too scared to experiment.
[spots Mercurio] I am going to steal that ghoul
Rosa: The people you’re looking for are up there. Christina, assuming Rosa is a Cam agent: Okay, thanks, bye
Never spoke to the Thin-Bloods again (sorry Lily baby ;-;)
Everyone except Julius still leaves when the PC reaches Hollywood
If you try to feed on Julius, he WILL kick you in the head and you WILL glitch into the fire, be on fire; run away screaming in Prada
You can skip the whole basement of the Ocean House Hotel if you manage to jump over the hole in the staircase???? Like?? You mean the spookiest fucking level has been optional this whole time I”M
[ghost appears] [Christina smacks it with an axe] None of that.
Club girls speak to Christina and I’m on the FLOOR
Therese “kills” Jeanette, even though I had enough oompa to make that not happen.
Therese joins the Camarilla and says she’s in good position to be the next Prince??? Hello??? Where is our Prince Voerman ending????
Went straight to LaCroix, called him “sir,” and he name-dropped Napoleon.
LaCroix tells Christina to go visit the Anarchs. She blows the Anarchs off (Nines made a growly face, Damsel dialog yowl-exited out after I asked if she wanted to join the Cam; Skelter threatened to murder me twice). When LaCroix told Christina that, while he admired her Cam loyalty, she must listen to her enemies to understand what they wanted, it felt like he was actually being a good sire and mentor.
That’s weird.
When Christina asked for his history, he very carefully explained his lineage, like the important part of Ventrue culture it is.
Overall, I found LaCroix-being-nice-to-me extremely unsettling.
Sir. Stop smiling at me, sir. Stop being impressed I don’t ask for money. STOP MAKING ME UNDERSTAND WHY PEOPLE LIKE YOU, SIR.
In contrast, LaCroix sounded genuinely betrayed at the end
Also made it more obvious when he started to lose track of his marbles
Ventrue PC seems juuuuuuust tall enough for her forehead to glitch into the ceiling of literally any confined space
The dirty Elizabeth Dane policeman didn’t psspspspsp at Christina so the whole ship was 15 white-knuckled minutes of making police dance and scuttling about
There is!!! A lot less!!! Talking in this game!!! Than I remember!!! She is only good at talking and ordering people around i am bEGGING
All EXP goes to Dominate and making Christina extremely charismatic and buff.
Ventrue himbo????
Beckett un-himbo-ifies her
She insults Beckett on their first meeting, spitting out “What do you want, wolfie?!” I thought this was appropriate because she died like, 4 times on that warehouse mission and was Extremely Stressed And Under Duress
Beckett’s response of “Oh, you’re too young to have mouthed off to the truly old ones yet.” makes his later snide remark of “the young ones are so temperamental” 900% funnier. Yeah, LaCroix! Beckett thinks I’ve grown and am now more mature than you! XD
Missions involving sex workers hit different when you’re a sex worker.
Christina was incandescent with rage at the Brotherhood
Grout’s mansion mission was a lot of “I have no interest in this nonsense.”
For the first time ever, I didn’t kill anyone during the Museum quest! This is because Christina ran very fast and Dominated every guard as quickly as possible. Every single fucking guard knew she was there, but could do nothing about it, because they were dancing. The door to the sarcophagus locked (it will do this if too many guards are agro), but locked doors are no match for noclip hack.
Entertaining image of a tall woman absolutely blasting into this museum room and Beckett tackling her to the floor like wait! I must snark at you! You are legally obligated to speak with me!
Isaac is still somehow a pretty chill guy to work with if you’re Camarilla.
Christina didn’t visit VV or Ash. Interestingly, Ash didn’t show up at the hunter monastery later. Did he just die in his club? Is he still there, waiting, deciding?
Christina @ Andrei: what the fuck is this shit
“I don’t care. It’s ugly. Clean it up.”
SEWERS.
Not as bad as I was expecting
Did take shortcut, run away from fights, ducked out in the middle for a snack, and bring 7 blue blood packs tho
Gary threatened to shred her face with a cheese grater, which I thought was Toreador only dialog?? It must be connected to the Appearance Stat. Which Christina has maxed out.
When Heather became Christina’s ghoul, I was delighted because I thought this meant Christina would always have fresh blood.
No
If you ask to feed on her too soon after the last time, Heather says she feels light headed and wants to lie down. The dialog exits out
I love you, Heather bb
Perfected the art of nudging NPCs into corners
Mitnick’s quests now feature Enforced Nap Time for all guards
Seriously, Dominate is ridiculously powerful, hooooly shit. I get why people like it. I also like it when people do things I ask them to do.
Christina can’t sneak, but she CAN strongly encourage everyone to choke on their own tongues.
Very high contrast in the beginning of the game: 2 punches would knock her over, but anyone she spoke to would obey immediately and without question
Chinatown goes by ridiculously fast if you can’t sneak and don’t do any sidequests besides Mitnick’s.
For the first time ever, Zhao survived! This is because Christina made him take a nap.
He just told her to leave
You’re welcome, my good dude
IDK if it’s a game glitch, but Christina would vocalize? In battle, she grunts with effort and pain.
Got to the point where I kept expecting Dominate dialog in every interaction and would get disappointed if it didn’t show up. What do you mean I have to actually convince people? That’s lame.
Christina was polite and charming to Ming Xiao, who also conveyed a deeper betrayal than normal at the end. ;-;
I promise to give you a Ventrue boy toy soon, Xiao
Finale arc quests went by VERY FAST because Christina can’t sneak for shit. Just run in, Dominate blazing
You can skip the outside bit of the Hallowbrook Hotel if you find the open door on the top level what the fuuuuuuuuuCK
[“A Little Party Never Killed Nobody” plays while Christina wipes out the Sabbat in 10 minutes]
Andrei disappeared mid-fight and didn’t come back until I complained that only I was allowed to run away from boss fights
I’m categorizing “triggering the interaction to save Heather” as something quite difficult to do. The timing has to be just right. I’ve missed it twice now. BUT hacking into the game to save her is easy.
I love you, Heather bb
Final Beckett talk had the vibe of “You’re a very different person than me, but you’re also High Humanity and trying to do good. You don’t deserve to die.”
Damsel threatens to kick the shit out of Christina and is extremely reluctant to tell her where Nines is
“Out of all people, they send you? All right, let’s just talk terms.” - Nines because Christina was short with him one (1) time
WEREWOLF HARD
You can just?? Walk out of your haven?? Without speaking to Jack at all???
I didn’t do that
But I could have
[”Dust in the Wind” plays while Christina kills entire Camarilla hit squad in 3 minutes]
You can visit Mercurio and Trip on your way out of Santa Monica??
Mercurio makes no comment on the blood hunt. Business as usual with him. This is fine.
Christina: I’m SO going to adopt that ghoul. And perhaps Isaac can be convinced to part with Romero...
(For the first time ever, my PC boinked Romero. Twice, to receive the break up email)
This is definitely a glitch, but Christina brushed up against Caine, and a worried voice said, “Are you all right?” It sounded like the same voice actor, but a higher pitch?
Always nice to think about Caine demonstrating care
Christina asked Caine who he is, and Caine replied that he “gets people where they’re going. [He’s] a driver,” which is a nice nod (lol) to both his literal job as a driver and as a shepherd/creator/god to Kindred. Caine creates and makes fate.
Caine triple checks with Christina that she’s sure Strauss won’t betray her. Thanks, Vampire Dad. :’D
For some reason, only other Ventrue guarded LaCroix’s tower. I wonder if this is intentional. Like all the other Camarilla Clans backed Strauss and left? So only LaCroix’s Ventrue lackeys remain? Anyway, it created some weird moments where Christina fought her double.
KILL YOUR DOUBLE
Sheriff laughed in haughty joy that he was to kill Christina. I don’t remember him laughing in other playthroughs.
Christina ruining Caine and Jack’s prank oh noes
#vampire the masquerade#vtm#vtmb#ventrue#Vampire The Masquerade Bloodlines#camarilla#smiling jack#sebastian lacroix#vtm mercurio#vtm caine#max strauss#heather poe#nines rodriguez#vtm damsel#vtm skelter#therese voerman#gary golden#vtm mitnick#vtm romero#cuthbert beckett#ming xiao#andrei the defiler#text post
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Taking a Swim - Leo x fem!reader
request? yes/no
I want a Story WITH LEO It could be also nsfw. 😅🤤🤭 i'm a long friend of April and she make a Meeting between the turtles and me.Leo fall in love with me and dont know how he should tell me that. We meet us in 4th July at first. Then its the 14.august and the turtles, April, casey and i go Swimming in a little sea... I hope you know the scenes,that i mean.. Have a good day 🤗😘 Nice wishes from germany
a/n: @tkappi I hope you don’t mind that I slightly altered it... I wanted the swimming scene to be a little more intimate ;) I’m sorry this request took so long!! Hope you like it <33
warnings: NSFW...aka smut. Read at your own risk. For the sake of this being smut, both the reader and Leo will be 18 years old in this imagine.
Finally, you thought to yourself with a smile of relief as you gripped the straps of your backpack on your walk home. It was summer–which meant you were free from school, free to do whatever you please for the next two and a half months. You couldn’t wait to spend everyday with your best friend, April O’Neil. The two of you had been best friends for as long as you could remember; you knew the redhead like the back of your hand.
Though, summer didn’t end up going according to plan. Instead, you spent it calling April every morning and afternoon, asking to hang out. At first, she’d claimed that she was spending time with her aunt or hanging out with Casey. You believed her for a while, but once her excuses turned into not answering her phone, you began to get angry. It had already been the beginning of July, and the two of you had yet to hang out once! You’d had it.
Stomping on the pavement to her apartment, your mind raced with millions of different phrases you’d say to her. ‘Why haven’t you been answering my calls?’ was one. ‘Do you not like me anymore?’ was another. As you reached her apartment door, your heart raced through your chest as you brought your knuckles to the hard, painted wood. As it begun to swing open, you froze in your spot.
“Raph, you could have just used the fire escape–”
You froze as a green figure stood in front of you, wearing an orange mask with matching nunchucks at its sides. You couldn’t move nor could you speak. You felt paralyzed.
“Uh, guys?!” It spoke.
You looked behind it, two identical creatures standing next to April and Casey. You watched April’s eyes meet yours, her blue orbs widening in fear at your frozen figure. She wasn’t sure what to do or how to alleviate this situation. Panicking, she finally decided to pull you into her bedroom and tell you what she’d been hiding.
“We need to talk,” she stated calmly, grabbing your hand and pulling you into her apartment, leading you into her bedroom.
Once she shut her bedroom door behind you, she took a seat on her bed. You couldn’t find the ability to sit, so you stood in front of her with your arms at your sides.
“I met them at the beginning of last year. My Dad and I...” she struggled for words, “we were taken by these alien robots, called the ‘Kraang’.”
You cocked an eyebrow, obviously thinking that she was making this up.
“I know it sounds ridiculous, Y/n, but you have to listen,” she begged.
With a sigh, you sat down on the bed next to her and did as you were told. She told you everything. From when they saved her, to when her father was freed and then mutated, how she'd been trained by her turtle friends’ father–a tall rat, apparently–to be a kunoichi, to their adventures saving the city from not only mutants, but their enemy named Shredder, as well. You had no choice but to believe the redhead. After all, you’d known the girl your entire life.
“So, that’s why you’ve been dodging my calls?” you asked, rerunning the story she’d just told you over again in your head.
She nodded sadly. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, Y/n. I’m so sorry,” she admitted guiltily.
You put a hand on her shoulder with a small smile. “It’s okay, April...just promise me that you won’t push me away like that again? I mean, we’ve been through everything together, you can’t get rid of me now with a few mutant turtles,” you said with a laugh.
She chuckled before pulling you into a hug.
“Actually, the turtles, Casey, and I were going to spend the rest of the summer at the farmhouse, and now since you know about them...” she trailed off before a knocking on the door interrupted her.
“Can you two, like, hurry up or somethin’? Mikey’s eatin’ all the road snacks!” a voice yelled from outside the door.
She rolled her eyes. “Coming, Raph!”
She looked at you, raising her eyebrows.
“You wanna spend your summer with a couple of mutants at a farmhouse upstate?”
After introducing you to the turtles, and quickly bringing you to your own apartment so that you could fill a suitcase with clothes and other belongings, all seven of you sat in Mr. O’Neil’s Volkswagen bus as Casey drove to April’s farmhouse. With Mikey pestering you with questions–and a certain blue-masked turtle telling him to leave you alone–the ride went by pretty fast.
The house was beautiful. It was incredibly secluded and quiet, which you preferred much more to the loud, packed city of New York.
Mikey offered to cook everyday, often switching with you whenever he was busy sparring with the others, or occupied with comic books. You didn’t mind it, cooking eased your mind. You’d offer to do the dishes afterwards as well. It wasn’t until Mikey had picked up a new compelling comic series, when you’d been picking up cooking and dish-washing duty almost daily. Leo noticed this and offered to help one night. You immediately accepted his offer with a blush.
You ordered him to dry the dishes and put them away after you washed them. It was a steady, easy system between the two of you. He’d ask you questions about your interests and hobbies, and you’d ask him about his. You noticed that he didn’t seem much interested in talking about himself–he seemed rather interested in your answers instead. Talking with Leo was easy. With him, you knew he wouldn’t judge you or make you feel uncomfortable.
He easily became closer to you than the others, always making excuses to spend time with you, and even asking you to teach him how to cook. You taught him how to make homemade pizzas, much to Mikey’s dinner request, along with some easy pasta dishes.
One night, as you slept on the twin bed in April’s old childhood bedroom, you felt a tapping on your shoulder. You sat up, peering into the deep blue eyes that still seemed so magnetic in the darkness.
“I want to show you something,” he whispered.
Butterflies swarming in your stomach, you grinned.
Quietly tip-toeing down the creeky, aged wooden stairs and out the door, he gently grabbed your hand and began leading you through the grass. Once the two of you headed toward the edge of the forest, you frowned.
“Why are you taking me into the woods?” you asked, suspicion in your voice.
He stopped, a dreamy smile on his lips. “It’s going to be good, I promise.”
You chewed your lip hesitantly, causing his invisible eyebrows to knit together.
“If I gave you one of my katanas, would you feel safer?” he asked, skillfully pulling the blade out from its sheath on his shell.
You gladly took it, gripping the wrapped hilt as he lead you deeper into the forest. The broken twigs, rocks, and rough roots weren’t gentle on the bare soles of your feet, but your excitement and nervousness distracted you from it.
At last, a large clearing with a wide pond stared back at you, entirely lit by the large moon in the sky. Your jaw nearly dropped at the beautiful sight in front of you, tossing his katana onto the ground whilst you stared in awe.
“I found it yesterday,” the blue-masked turtle explained briefly.
You hadn’t noticed that he was staring at you, wondering how the girl of his dreams would react to his discovery.
“Leo, it’s,” you struggled for words, “’incredible’ feels like too small of a word to describe it,” you admitted.
He chuckled. “I know what you mean, that’s how I felt when I first saw it too... It’s–”
“Perfect,” you finished.
He gazed at you as if you were a star–no, that’s too small. He gazed at you as if you were an entire universe; he felt like a small, floating asteroid compared to you, an entire universe. How were you so perfect? How was creation able to give you such beautiful features, a personality sculpted just for him? Dissecting your mind all this time while the two of you spent so much time together made him realize just how much he’d fallen for you and how much he adored you.
You watched him as he stared at you intently, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Leo?” you asked hesitantly.
“Can I, uhm, may I...kiss you?” he stuttered, attempting to raise his shoulders back confidently as he waited for your response.
You felt your cheeks turn crimson. With a slow nod, you moved to fill the space between the two of you, watching as he stared at you in awe. Within seconds, he pressed his lips against yours. Surprised, you nearly pulled away before melting against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and closing your eyes. He didn’t attempt to move his lips, after all, he had no experience with kissing whatsoever. You took the initiative to begin moving your lips slowly, knowing not to introduce your tongue just yet. Your lips moved gently against each other’s, and you’d never felt closer to Leo.
Pulling away to catch your breath, you turned your head toward the pond, and back at Leo. Getting your drift, he grinned, shrugging his other katana off before jumping into the pond. You looked down at your pajamas. Deciding not to get them wet, you slowly pulled your pajama top off, revealing your bra to Leonardo. He watched from the water, cheeks pinker than you’d ever seen them before, as you began to pull down your pajama bottoms. You stood in the cool, summer night air, nearly naked, before jumping into the water with him. With a shriek at the cold temperature of the pond, you attempted to swim toward him before he moved away.
“I have sort of an...issue; we should probably keep our distance,” he admitted, his cheeks still blushing profusely.
You cocked a brow in confusion. “What?”
He made a downward motion with his head, before it hit you. Your own cheeks flushed once more.
“Well,” you began, slowing making your way toward him, despite his warning, “we can...fix that, if you want.”
You watched as his blue orbs widened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped.
“A-are you sure?” he asked, looking bewildered, shocked that someone as beautiful as you would ever want to do something like that with him.
You nodded, closing the space between the two of you and forcing his lips against your own. This kiss was incredibly different than the first; it was needy, it was desperate, as if you couldn’t breathe without him in between your legs.
You didn’t waste time introducing your tongue, feeling him do the same as your lips danced sloppily against each other’s, begging for a release of tension. He leant down, grabbing your legs to wrap them around his waist. You easily leant into him, the water helping hold you up, as you felt his hardened length brush against your clothed core. You moaned against his lips, grinding your heat against it. Growling, he brought his hands to your bum, ripping the fabric of your panties off. You gasped, feeling his hands squeeze your bare ass and push you further against him.
With ease, due to how wet you were, he was able to slide his length into you. You groaned, feeling him fill you up.
“Is this okay? A-am I doing this right?” he asked, his voice breathy and raspy.
“Yes, Leo, move,” you begged, resting your forehead against his.
He thrusted hard, causing you to nearly scream. He continued to thrust, every stroke going deeper and deeper until he developed a steady rhythm. His thrusts quickened as your walls began to clench, grasping onto his plastron as you felt your climax nearing.
“Leo, please,” you groaned, shoving your head into the crook of his neck, trying to muffle your moans into his skin.
He thrusted even faster, squeezing your ass against him as your hips met his movements. Your eyes squeezed shut as your climax hit you, body spasming against him as you felt his own hips still, his cock spurting inside of you. Your body fell weak against him as you felt him gently pull out. He moved his hands to your back, stroking the soft skin whilst he held you against his chest.
The two of you rested there, basking in the moonlight, warm skin pressed against each other. It was then, that Leo knew he was in love.
#tmnt#TMNT 2012#tmnt 2k12#TMNT x reader#tmnt leo x reader#teenage mutant ninja turtles#leonardo hamato#teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader
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Pretty Gryffindor I Didn’t Know
Fred Weasley x Gryffindor!Reader
~4,900
Warnings: Talks of a rough home life (not too bad), but there is a lot of fluff!
A/N: So, I can write fics that don’t have a song as my inspiration. This one came from a dream that I had and I altered it to fit the Harry Potter Universe a little better! Enjoy the fluff and the sweet, thoughtfulness of Fred Weasley! If you enjoyed reading it, please like, reblog, comment, or even follow! <3 I love hearing what you guys think! (Also, I swear I write for more than Fred, but I just have a lot of him that I love)
*Not my GIF! Credit to owner
Y/N breathed in the London air. Her family moved around a lot and currently, they were in Greater Manchester, so they needed to stay in London a few days in order to get her new school things from Diagon Alley. Her parents were a little hands off, so most of Y/N’s life had been her raising and looking after her little brother. However, when she went to school, she was on her own.
Oh yeah, Y/N was a half-blood with who went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She would be starting her 4th year, so luckily she didn’t need to worry about the O.W.L.s just yet. She was in Gryffindor, but tended to stick with her friends from childhood, most of whom were in Ravenclaw, so she hadn’t gotten too close to her house in the past 3 years. But, it being a new year, her parents were pushing her to do this.
Y/N woke up in her bed in the Leaky Cauldron, sun shining outside and sounds of the cars from the muggle side of the hotel streaming in her window.
“Y/N! Are you ready to go to Diagon Alley for our things?” Y/N’s younger brother asked. He was beginning his first year at Hogwarts and could not wait to get started with his magical education.
“Give me 20 minutes to get ready and then I’ll be good to go,” Y/N yawned, getting out of bed after already being awake for about an hour.
Coming down the stairs, she found a breakfast plate for her with her family and noticed a loud family not too far away who seemed to be finishing up breakfast. She recognized the boy who lived, who was a year below her, and the strew of redheads. They were all in her house, but she’d never really gotten to know them.
“Y/N!? Are you ready?” Oliver asked excitedly about 10 minutes after she came down.
“Yeah, let’s go,” she smiled, ushering her brother from the Leaky Cauldron to the entrance of the magical alley. “Did you get our lists from mum and dad?”
“Yep! They’re getting us some surprises or something before we leave. You know it’s only tomorrow that we go, right?”
“Oliver, I’m very familiar with how going to school works,” Y/N laughed, tapping the brick wall to reveal an extremely crowded Diagon Alley. “You need to stay close to me, understand? Mum and dad would kill me if I lost you here. So don’t go wandering off!”
“Yes, MUM!” Oliver emphasized.
Starting at Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, Oliver got new school robes and Y/N updated her ones that were too small. They then headed to Ollivanders where Oliver was able to pick out his first wand. Y/N had never seen her brother so excited.
Next was Flourish and Botts. Y/N had never seen it so crowded. She managed to get in with her brother and find their books, but getting back to the entryway was proving difficult. Oliver had gone out before her, but when she tried to squeeze out the door, another witch was coming in and her foot caught Y/N’s.
Y/N felt her balance go completely off center. She was free falling towards the cobble stone street and down the few steps in front of the shop. Y/N braced herself for impact when she felt her momentum stop. Her fall just stopped. She turned her head to make eye contact with a tall red head. And, he was pretty handsome too.
“You alright there, love?” he asked, standing her up right on the road. “It’s pretty crowded out here, you gotta watch where you’re going.”
Y/N felt a blush creep onto her face. She knew he was a Weasley twin. He was infamous at school and she’d been around a time or two for their pranks.
“I’m Fred by the way,” he smiled as Y/N straightened up to meet his deep brown eyes.
“Uh– umm, I’m Y/N. I actually think you’re in m-my house,” she stupidly pointed out.
“A cute girl like you in Gryffindor? Ridiculous! I would’ve definitely seen you,” he flirted.
Y/N felt the blush deepen and butterflies rise in her stomach. Oh how she wished she wasn’t in such a bright and public spot.
“Freddie, who are we talking to over here?” the other Weasley twin joined.
“Apparently this pretty girl is in our house. Can you believe it?” Fred quipped.
“Blimey! How did we miss her?” George countered.
“Y/N, we told Mum and Dad that we would meet them at Florean’s soon,” he urged, pointing at his watch.
Y/N turned from the twins remembering that her little brother was with her.
“Right, sorry, Oliver.”
“Can’t keep the little man waiting, now can you?” Fred smiled widely at Y/N. “Need anyone to accompany you to make sure that you don’t fall again?” he joked.
“Uhhh, I should be able to stay on my feet now. Thank you,” she blushed again, not used to the attention. Y/N quickly pushed her little brother and hushed his questions about who the boys were. Although, while she was walking towards the ice cream parlor, she swore that she could feel someone’s gaze burning into the back of her head. Not wanting to look any more like a tomato, she kept her eyes forward.
_______________________________________________________________________
Pushing the short encounter with the elder Weasley twin to the back of her mind, Y/N finished packing her trunk for school. Her parents would drop her and her brother off at King’s Cross Station and she’d have to get them through the barrier. Most years it was just Y/N who had to go through the wall, but this year she got to show her brother how to do it for the first time. She’d always loved him so much that his excitement about the new experience made it seem like her first time all over again.
“Bye Mum. Bye Dad. Get home safely,” Y/N said, hugging and kissing each before leading her brother through all the muggles at the busy station.
She stood back as they gave her brother some last minute advice and then their parents retreated to a more secluded spot to apparate back home. It was just Y/N and Oliver once again.
“Common, we don’t want to be late!” Y/N smiled as she pushed her cart, urging Oliver to follow.
Once they loaded their things onto the train, Y/N asked Oliver if he wanted to share a compartment with her and her friends, but he opted against it.
“I can’t make any friends myself if I’m with you all the time, Y/N,” he rolled his eyes.
She laughed at his antics. He really was growing up and it was weird. Y/N felt as though she had always been an adult, but Oliver had stayed a little kid for as long as she could remember.
“Okay. Make sure you put on your robes before we arrive. I’ll see you at the feast after the sorting ceremony, okay?”
He nodded and ran with his trunk down the corridor of the train. Y/N headed in the opposite direction, hoping to find some of her friends.
“Oh, hello, Y/N,” a girl the year below her waved. Y/N didn’t spend much time with her, but they’d often be the last two in the Common Room at night finishing homework. Most of Y/N’s friends were Ravenclaw after all, so she refused to fall behind in school.
“Hello, Hermione. Did you have a nice holiday?”
“Wonderful! My family traveled to France. It was just brilliant! How was your summer?”
“We moved again, but I got to help my brother prepare for Hogwarts,” she smiled sweetly.
“Excellent! I have to go find Ron and Harry, but I’ll see you at Hogwarts!”
Y/N waved as the girl ran towards the end of the train. She went back to her search for her friends, but when the train lurched, she settled for the emptiest compartment. Her friends would have to find her.
Struggling to get her trunk into the compartment, she was finally in enough to shut the door. Now she had to get it up on the luggage rails. Why was this part always so difficult?
“Need a hand there, Y/N, pretty girl who I didn’t know was in Gryffindor?”
Y/N jumped as she hadn’t even noticed who was in the compartment to begin with.
Turning, she was once again face to face with that boy that had caught her from falling.
“Fred,” she smiled, “Thank you. I guess you’re just going to keep coming to my rescue, huh?”
“I could definitely get used to that. After watching you, you seem to be pretty accident prone. You could use a strong guy like me looking out for ya.”
Once again, Y/N felt the heat rise to her cheeks and those dang butterflies moving around her stomach. Not really knowing what to say, she stood there, biting her lip and looked around. It seemed that the compartment she chose held Fred, his twin, and Lee Jordan, the boy who commentated the quidditch matches.
“Sorry, the train started and I couldn’t find my friends, so I just stumbled into a compartment. I can leave if you all need the seats,” Y/N apologized.
“Nonsense!” Fred waved his hand, “We’ve always got a spot for the pretty Gryffindor girl, right Georgie?”
Y/N’s blush deepened. It did not help that boys rarely flirted with her and Fred doing so, so freely messed with her.
“Oi, Freddie. Isn’t this the girl you saved from imminent death in Diagon Alley yesterday?”
“Just the one, Georgie!” Fred replied, not breaking his focus from Y/N’s face.
“You haven’t shut up about her since we saw her last!” George burst out laughing.
Fred dove at his twin, shoving a hand over his mouth to quiet him. Y/N couldn’t help but giggle. It was amusing after all. The sound of her laugh made Fred stop immediately, taking in the angelic sound. How had he not met this girl before?
“Why don’t you have a seat,” Lee suggested, “they may be at this for a while.”
Y/N sat, enjoying the company of the boys she happened to stumble upon. It really was a happy accident. She was making friends in her house like her parents wanted her to. Eventually, her friends did find her and ask her to come join them in their compartment. Y/N didn’t want to leave Lee and the twins, but she finally gave in.
“I’ll save you a spot at the sorting ceremony,” Fred called before the compartment door slid shut.
In the other compartment, they mostly did last minute studying before arriving at school, but when the train slowed and became icy cold, Y/N lost all motivation she had. She forgot about the butterflies that Fred gave her. She forgot about the excitement she felt for her brother to be starting at Hogwarts. All she could feel was sadness. She felt as though no one in her life loved her. She felt as though her parents regretted having children. She felt alone. It was horrible.
When the lights turned back on and the train started moving, Y/N didn’t recover immediately. She sat there, immobilized, but her friends didn’t notice. It wasn’t until a familiar redhead peaked into the compartment that she could move.
“Hello ladies, just checking in on everyone after that massive mood dropper. Y/N, are you okay? Need anything?”
The special attention returned those silly butterflies and warmth to her cheeks. Her only response was a head shake with little to no eye contact. Fred wanted to say more, but George called his attention. Apparently Draco was giving Harry a hard time for fainting from the dementors.
When asked about the reappearance of Fred Weasley by her friends, Y/N just denied anything. Responding that she had only just met the boy the other day. Luckily, they didn’t think too much of it. Realizing what had just happened, Y/N rushed around in search of her brother.
“Oliver, are you alright?” she asked when she finally found him towards the front of the train.
“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me,” he spit back. That wasn’t like him, but she did see he was with a bunch of other soon to be first years, so he probably wanted to look cool.
“Okay. I’m just checking. Don’t forget to put your robes on, we’re almost to school…”
_______________________________________________________________________
The whole student body was a buzz with what happened on the Hogwarts Express. As she rode in the carriages, Y/N blocked out the conversations. Her mind was stuck on her brother’s attitude. What was wrong with him?
Everyone filed into the castle and Y/N made her way to the Gryffindor table. Meals were always the worst for her. She didn’t really have anyone to sit with at the large house table normally, so she’d read or work on homework. She wasn’t sure where’d she’d sit when her name was called.
“Oi! Y/N! Pretty Gryffindor I didn’t know, come over here.”
Y/N couldn’t stop the smile from growing across her face. She’d forgotten that Fred said he’d save her a seat. Plus, she could get used to the ‘Pretty Gryffindor’ nickname, but maybe not the ‘I didn’t know’ part.
“Have an entertaining rest of your train ride?” he asked as she sat down, George chuckling under his breath across the table. With one small glare from Fred, George turned to pick on their younger brother.
“Pretty uneventful. Just did some reading.”
“Love, we have got to get you some more entertaining friends. I think you ought to hang out with Georgie and I a bit. We could use your brains if you’re as smart as I’ve heard people say you are on the train.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. Who was talking about her intelligence? Catching her confusion, Fred stuttered on, “I mean, Hermione mentioned how you’re usually up late with her. You sometimes even go to bed after her. That shows brains.”
Y/N finally found her voice and was able to quip back, “oh, you’ve been asking about me have you?”
Even if the tops of Fred’s ears began to redden, he was quick to reply. “Seeing as you’re a fourth year and I didn’t know you, I had to do my research!”
Y/N laughed as the doors to the Great Hall opened, the first years all shuffling in nervously. She couldn’t help but point her brother out to Fred. “He’s that one. I’ve been waiting for him to come to Hogwarts. It’s so exciting to have a sibling at school,” she beamed.
“I’ve never been at Hogwarts without a sibling and I can say that it’s not that exciting, sorry to burst your bubble.”
Y/N laughed, but was quickly silenced by the entrance of the sorting hat. It sang its song and talked about the four houses. Y/N silently hoped that Oliver would be placed in Gryffindor, but she wasn’t sure if that was really his personality. But, no matter where he was placed, she’d be proud of him. Her father was a Ravenclaw and her mother a Hufflepuff, so intense house pride didn’t quite matter to the family.
The sorting ceremony went on and the last names were rolling through, once Professor McGonagall reached ‘R,’ Y/N began to listen again.
“Remington, Oliver!”
Y/N watched as her little brother climbed the stairs to the three legged stool and put the hat on. He seemed to sit there for forever. Much longer than the rest of the other first years. Thinking back to her sorting ceremony, Y/N realized that her sorting had taken a long time too. The hat rambled between three houses and read her thoughts and memories. It was very set on the fact that she was strong-willed, a leader, a caregiver, intelligent, but also resourceful. But obviously, it ultimately placed her in Gryffindor.
“and it will be…SLYTHERIN!”
Y/N’s jaw unintentionally dropped. She figured maybe he’d be placed in Hufflepuff because of his light hearted nature, but Slytherin? Loud cheers came from the table at the far end of the hall and Oliver jumped down the stairs to join his new house. This was weird.
“You okay, love?” Fred turned, looking concerned as McGonagall continued to read through the names.
She just nodded, looking down at the empty dishes in front of her. Had she missed something in her brother’s personality? She looked over to the table doused in green and silver. He sat there with a few other first years and the prefects nearby. However, he was sitting, facing the Gryffindor table. When she managed to make eye contact with him, he waved excitedly. That slowed the pounding heart beat in her chest. He would still be the same boy she knew, she was sure of it.
Still pondering how her brother was sorted into Slytherin, Y/N didn’t listen to what Dumbledore said about the dementors and she played with the food that appeared on her plate. She certainly didn’t notice Fred Weasley watching her every move.
_______________________________________________________________________
A few weeks had passed, classes began, and Y/N had settled her emotions surrounding the sorting of her brother. They’d eat meals together at least three times a week and would study together on Wednesday and Sunday evenings. Oliver had even introduced her to some of his new friends. They were all nice and a mix of kids from all the houses. She was extremely pleased that they weren’t all Slytherins who believed in blood-status hierarchy.
Another new constant was Fred and George as well, but mostly Fred. He would catch up with her in between catches, start to ask her opinion on pranks, and even study with her when she was up late. When he was around, the butterflies never went away. At this point, she was pretty sure that he didn’t know what she looked like without flushed cheeks. He still called her ‘Pretty Gryffindor I didn’t know,’ but the ‘I didn’t know’ part seemed to be dropped more and more often.
“Good evening!” Fred elongated as he sat at the same table as Y/N in the Common Room. “I noticed you weren’t at dinner this evening. Why’s that?”
“Snape assigned our class a 5 length essay and I have potions two days in a row, so I had to finish it on top of the History of Magic assignment that I have,” she sighed, pulling out a new ink bottle.
“He can’t give you so much work that you miss dinner!”
“It’s fine. Really. I had a large lunch. Plus, I’m used to not having every meal every day.” Y/N explained without thinking about what she was saying.
“Why do you say that?” He asked, now concerned.
Shit. Y/N realized she was about to open a bag of worms that she had never opened with anyone else. She normally kept her home life and her parents ‘hand off approach’ to herself.
“You can tell me, you know…” Fred encouraged gently.
Y/N bit her lip, deciding if she should or not, but it was Fred and he’d already made her school life so much more than school and studying with her friends.
“Really.” With this last bit of encouragement, he placed a hand on her arm that rested on the table and didn’t hold a quill.
Sighing once more, Y/N explained the situation simply. “Growing up, my parents have always focused on other things. Where to travel. How to continue hanging out with their friends. They had me pretty young and I don’t know if they ever grew up. My grandmother was around a lot when I was little, but then she died when I was about 5, so I didn’t have her anymore. And then I had my one year old brother to worry about too. Breakfast is easy enough for a 5 year old to handle, but it wasn’t until I was 8 that I could actually cook things, simple things. We always got lunch or dinner, but rarely both. My parents do love my brother and I, but they just may not have been cut out for parenthood…”
Fred sat there silently. Y/N had learned enough about his family to know that he never had to deal with anything like this. But what surprised Y/N the most, was that he stood up without a word. Before he left through the portrait hole, he turned and said, “don’t move, okay?”
Y/N sat confused, not entirely sure what was happening. She heard the portrait open again and spun quickly, hoping it was Fred. It wasn’t, but it was the closest thing to him.
“Hey, Y/N!” George said, making his way to her.
“Hi, George.”
“How do you know I’m George?”
“I’ve got my ways,” she smirked, “Plus, Fred just left.”
“Where’d he go? I was meant to meet him in here after he talked to–” George cut himself off quickly.
“After he talked to who? I’m the only one who’s been in here.”
Y/N watched as George sat there, hitting himself mentally. She could tell he was struggling with something.
“George?” she pushed again.
“Okay, Y/N. I’m going to tell you something and my brother might kill me. Do you really want that on your conscience?”
“What?”
“UGH! Fine. Fred may or may not fancy this girl he met this year who’s apparently a Gryffindor from the first day that he met her,” George blurted in the most roundabout way.
Before Y/N could respond, let alone process, the portrait hole opened again. In walked Fred with all types of food piled up. What was this boy doing?
“Pretty Gryffindor, I’ve brought you the dinner that you missed! Oh, Georgie,” Fred paused in front of the fire.
“What have you got there, Fred? You’ve brought a whole feast!” George exclaimed.
“Well, Y/N here didn’t make it to dinner as you noticed earlier, so I figured I’d bring her some,” he told his twin, sitting the food onto the table. It filled the whole table. Y/N even had to put her potions essay to the side.
Y/N hadn’t yet said anything, but stared in disbelief. This had to be the nicest and most thoughtful thing that anyone had ever done for her. Not to mention, George had just told her that Fred maybe or maybe not fancied someone who may or may not be her.
“See anything you’d like to eat?” Fred asked, turning his attention to her.
“Fred. This is amazing. How– how did you get all of this?”
“Georgie and I may be some favorites of the house elves in the kitchen and know how to get there. They’ll normally load us up with anything we need,” he grinned ear to ear. “You need to eat something. Hogwarts has 3 meals a day and that means that you get 3 meals a day.”
“You didn’t need to do this,” she stammered on, looking from Fred to George. George was not helping this situation. The boy had his face hidden from Fred and was winking as well as making kissy faces towards Y/N. Real mature.
“Yes, I did. I told you, you’re rolling with us now. We keep things entertaining.”
“Fred, I had nothing to do with this,” George threw his hands up, pushing his chair back and standing up from the table. He now made his way behind Y/N’s chair so that only Fred could see him. He made hand motions for his brother to talk to the girl sitting down at the table, mouthing “if you don’t do it now, you never will!”
Then, the twin spoke up. “AHHH! Man, I’m tired. I’m going to go up and catch up on some sleep,” George animated.
“Georgie, it’s only 7:30?” Y/N questioned.
“What can I say, carrying out brilliant pranks makes me bloody tired! Good night!”
Y/N waved and turned to look at the plates and plates of food in front of her.
“So, where shall we begin?” Fred asks, rubbing his hands together.
The girl could only shrug and begin eating until she was truly full. Fred also sat next to her eating despite the fact that he already had dinner. He didn’t want her to have to pig out on her own.
“Freddie, you may have fed me into a food coma,” Y/N giggled, leaning her head on the back of her chair. “How am I going to finish this potions essay now?”
“Seeing as how it's only 8:15, I’m certain you’ll be up until 2 AM anyways,” Fred smirked.
“You’re not wrong, but I could do with a nap now and that fireplace is looking super inviting.” Y/N’s mind wandering to a million things besides her potions essay as she looked at Fred for a witty response. Without thinking about it, she stood up from the table and laid on the couch in front of the fire. Fred sat on the floor so that their heads were essentially in the same place. Her mind went back to her thoughts about him. He couldn’t possibly fancy her, her. She didn’t think that any boy in Hogwarts had ever fancied her.
To fill the silence, she spoke again. “Thank you for doing this, by the way. It was really, really sweet.”
However, Fred looked nervous. A look that Y/N was not used to seeing on his face.
“Freddie? Is everything okay?” She was forgetting all about what George said to her just earlier.
“I want to ask you something…” Fred eased.
“Okay? You can ask me anything,” she smiled, hoping it would comfort him.
“So, you know how there’s the first Hogsmeade trip this Saturday? Well, I was just wondering if you would want to maybe go with me?”
“I’d love to,” Y/N beamed. “I thought you, George, and Lee told me you were going to make me come,” she chuckled, being oblivious to the fact that he was asking her in a different aspect.
“Well, yeah, but um, I was actually wondering if maybe you’d like to go with just me, not George and Lee too. Kind of like a date because well, Y/N, I kind of fancy you.” Fred paused before looking up from the table to meet Y/N’s piercing E/C eyes. Merlin’s beard, they were pretty.
Then that red color that was ever present rose into her cheeks as a wide smile formed on her mouth. “A date you say?”
Fred nodded, unintentionally holding his breath as he waited for her response.
“Of course I want to go on a date with you, Freddie,” she replied, turning on her side so that she was facing him.
Fred’s eyes lit up to his normal level with a little extra twinkle.
“Although, if I’m going on a date with you, I should probably tell you something…”
Fred waited in anticipation.
“Before you brought all of that food, George sat and had a chat with me. What were his words? He said that ‘Fred may or may not fancy this girl he met this year who’s apparently a Gryffindor from the first day that he met her.’ Please don’t kill him though, I think he was trying to help you out, but is that Gryffindor by chance me?” she asked almost timidly at the end.
Fred’s face became beet red and was illuminated by the bright fire behind his head. Honestly, it was redder than the hair on his head if that was even possible.
“Freddie?”
Her saying his name like that, softly and airy, really did him in. “Sheisdefinitelyyou. YouwerejustsocutewhenwefirstmetandIcouldn’tbelievethatIhadnevermetyouandthatmyluckhadchangedintheabsolutelybestway!” Fred spit out in one breath.
“What was that?” Y/N released a laugh from the back of her throat, coaxing him to say it slower.
“That day you fell into my arms and I caught you, there was just something in your eyes that stuck with me. I bloody well think it was love at first sight. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Then, imagine my luck when you backed into our compartment. George has used silencio on me too many times when I can’t stop talking about you. It’s really becoming a problem. You’re just so sweet and wonderful and caring and perfect!” he rambled, but slightly slower this time.
Y/N’s smile grew larger, if that was even possible as she reacted in the only way she thought would fit. She slid her head forward on the couch so that her lips met his. Sparks seemed to jump from between them in the blissful moment.
Well, it was blissful until George, a little too loudly, said, “Merlin! Finally! Took you long enough Freddie!” from the stairwell.
Fred clenched his eyes shut as he flicked his middle finger towards his brother, refusing to separate from the kiss, but Y/N couldn’t help but laugh hysterically. She rolled to her back, clutching her stomach. Only a twin would spy on a moment like this for nearly an hour after saying he was going to bed.
“Ignore that git!” Fred shot towards his brother as he got onto the couch, pulling Y/N into him. “I guess you can’t be the ‘Pretty Gryffindor I don’t know’ anymore,” he whispered in her ear.
“Well, you could just make a variation. You’re pretty good at coming up with those.”
“Alright, Pretty Gryffindor I get to date,” he beamed as he cupped her cheek to pull her in for another kiss.
#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley#fred weasley x gryffindor!reader#harry potter#harry potter x reader#george weasley x reader#gryffindor#fluff fics#fluff#kalimagik#happy reading
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The Ranch {14}
An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.
Collaboration: @snelbz x @tacmc
Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.
Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.
The Ranch Masterlist
When Cassian woke up the next morning, Nesta was gone. She was probably off doing one of the many things on her ridiculously long list, and it was probably wise that she left before he woke up because he would’ve tried to guilt her into staying again.
He’d slept well, but the meds had definitely worn off. He popped a pill into his mouth and washed it down with a water bottle before pulling himself out of bed and hauling himself into the bathroom.
He looked in the mirror and groaned. He looked like shit, which wasn’t a surprise cause he felt like shit. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, all one handed, and then came his hair.
After a couple of attempts - way more than he was willing to admit - it was tied at the back of his head, but now came the part he definitely could not do on his own. He tossed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt on the bed, followed by some socks. Getting his sweats off was no problem, but as he tried to step into his jeans, stumbling, he sighed and sat down on the bed.
“Grown ass man and I have to sit down to put my pants on,” he mumbled, doing just that. He went ahead and put the socks on, then stood and glared at the shirt, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to put that one on by himself. He grabbed it, tossing it over his shoulder. He sighed, imagining how hard Nesta was going to laugh when he had to ask her to help him get dressed. At least he’d get to see that look she gets whenever she saw his abs. Cassian whistled, slipping his phone into his pocket and heading into the living room. No sign of Beau.
Stepping into his boots, he muttered, “Damn woman even has my dog wrapped around her finger.”
He stepped out onto the porch, sun on his bare chest, and made his way up to the main house. He’d go down and get some stuff from his cabin that afternoon, and take the truck to check on the herd, but he’d take it easy. Doctor’s orders.
He climbed the back steps and entered the kitchen. Nesta wasn’t there, which he was half hoping, as he was starving, but he could hear her talking in the living room.
He walked towards the front of the house, saying, “Baby, I need you to gimme a hand.”
He entered the room and found Nesta sitting on the couch, pen and paper in hand. Her back was to him so she was turned around to stare at him, eyes wide in horror. There was a young woman with red hair sitting on the other end, mouth hanging open.
Nesta quickly got to her feet. “Maggie, this is Cassian. Cassian, this is Maggie, she’s here to talk about helping out with the B&B.”
Cassian’s ears burned. “Nice to meet you. Nesta, can we…” He trailed off and pointed to the kitchen.
She said, “Yes, absolutely. Maggie, I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back.”
He headed into the kitchen and she followed him. Cass kept his voice low as he said, “You never told me you had any inquiries, you just posted the ad yesterday.”
“I know, but Maggie called this morning, and was available to talk right away, so I told her to head on over.” Nesta paused and added, “Wait, I texted you all of this.”
Cassian pulled out his phone and looked down at the screen. Indeed, he did have a slew of notifications, with no less than four text messages from Boss. He winced. “My bad, sweetheart.”
Nesta rolled her eyes at his stupid contact name for her and said, “It’s okay.” She raised up on her toes and kissed him. “How’d you sleep?”
“Hard. I don’t remember waking up all night. Hurting this morning though. I took my meds, I wanted to run down and take a look at the herd. And I’m not gonna do anything, so get that look off of your face,” he added, seeing her eyebrows already raising. “I just won’t be able to take it easy until I see with my own two eyes that they're taken care of. But because I’m such a hero and I took a bullet for my best friend, I’m having trouble putting my shirt on. Think I can get some help?”
She let her forehead fall into her hand. “Oh my god, why do I love you?”
He laughed and said, “I love you, too.”
After he sat in one of the chairs, she helped him get the sling off. She awkwardly pulled the shirt on him, one arm at a time and then over his head. “Rhys said he’d come over after lunch to clean that for you,” Nesta said, helping him refasten the sling around his neck and Cass nodded, grateful he had a friend who was not only able to help out but also willing. “Oh, and the new ranch hand is out feeding the horses, if you want to go introduce yourself.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and started to walk back to the living room.
He was on his feet instantly. “The new- you hired a ranch hand? Without me? Shouldn’t I have been a part of this?”
She looked at him over her shoulder and said “It’s my ranch, and I think you’ll find I made a great decision.” She winked and he heard her talking with Maggie once again.
Cassian was still sitting dumbfounded in the kitchen. He was tempted to yell WHAT THE FUCK but figured Maggie was a nice, young girl who didn’t need to be corrupted with his shocked curses.
“Damn you woman,” he muttered, pulling himself to a standing position and heading out the back door. The meds were finally starting to kick in as he stumbled down the porch steps and into his truck.
After starting the engine, he headed down to the stables. Sure enough, a tall figure dressed in jeans, an old tee shirt, and a backwards ball cap was leaned up against the fence outside of the stables, watching the horses meander about in the pasture.
Cassian threw open the door and got out, slamming it behind him, but the second the man turned around, all weariness and frustration Cassian had from Nesta hiring a ranch hand without him faded away.
He halted, a few feet away from the fence. After blinking a few times, he asked, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Azriel chuckled and said, “I thought she was kidding when she said she hadn’t told you.”
Cassian was staring at his brother not knowing how to respond to that. “I have no idea what’s going on.”
Az shook his head. “I decided the dealership wasn’t a good fit. I thought I liked the mechanical side of ranching, but I was wrong. Elain was texting with Nesta last night and she mentioned y’all could use a hand around here, so.” He lifted his arms and indicated himself. “Here I am.”
“You’re the new ranch hand,” Cassian said, slowly, as if he still didn’t believe the words.
“Seem to be,” Azriel said.
“Here? At this ranch?”
“Unless I’m at the wrong one,” Azriel said, laughing.
Cassian’s mouth broke into a slow grin. “You know this means that you’re, like, my assistant, right?”
Azriel was shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Fuck yeah,” Cassian grinned. The smile on his face matched the relief he felt inside.
He and Azriel hopped in the truck and went out into the back pasture, making sure nothing looked out of the ordinary.
“So,” Cass began. “Woke up to a visit from the cops yesterday morning.”
Azriel raised his eyebrows. “They came here? They didn’t just call?”
Cassian shook his head. “Nope, damn near gave Nes a heart attack. Asked all the generic questions, tried to make this about one of us instead of about Tamlin being a jealous piece of shit with a grudge.”
“I assume you’ll be testifying, too?” Azriel asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, Monday. Are you?”
“Yeah, since I’m the one who took off after him, they need me to recreate my steps for the jury.” Azriel rolled his eyes. “As if us and everyone at that wedding didn’t hear what he said, as if there’s any defense for him.”
Cassian shrugged, wincing slightly. “If it gets him locked up for longer, I’m on board.”
Az looked at his oldest friend. “How are you?”
“Sore,” Cassian said, and when Azriel snorted, Cassian went on. “Looks worse than it is. Nesta worries too much.”
Azriel blinked. “You got a bullet half an inch from your heart, Cass.”
“That’s what I keep hearing,” he mumbled. “I can’t just sit on my ass all day, though, I’d lose my shit. I’m already losing my shit.” Az just stared at him. “Look, I’m gonna be taking it easy, but I can’t just do nothing. You know how I am. But I’m trying for Nesta and for the baby.”
“God, that’s still…insane.” Azriel took his hat off and ran a hand through it. “You’re gonna be a dad. Good luck.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cassian looked at him from the side.
Azriel raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember what we were like as children?”
Cass looked around them, at the land, the animals, the buildings on the property. “Oh gods, there’s way too many things for them to destroy.”
Azriel laughed. “You’ll be fine, man.” He gently rested his hand on Cassian’s good shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” Cass smiled. “So when the hell are you going to make an honest woman out of Elain? Or, are you gonna knock her up, too?”
Azriel groaned, covering his face. “Nesta’s not even been pregnant a week and Elain is asking when I want to have babies.”
“Elain would be a great mom,” Cassian countered.
“True,” Azriel agreed, “but I'm okay with waiting. For a while. A long time. Years.”
Cassian chuckled. “Years?”
“I haven’t even asked her to marry me yet,” Azriel said, as if that answered everything.
“But you’re going to,” Cassian said, and before Azriel could respond, he went on, “And if you don’t, I’m asking for you, because she’s a peach.”
Azriel gave him a rare, full-fledged grin. “She’s perfect.”
“So, you’re asking soon, then?” Cassian asked.
Azriel groaned, once more. “Is this what working with you is going to be like? You constantly butting into my personal life?”
Cassian blinked, then slowly looked over at Azriel. “It’s my job to be the center of your personal life.”
“The center?” Azriel asked, brows raised.
“Obviously,” Cassian said. “There’s Elain, and me, and Rhys. We are the center of your world, so I must know what’s going on with the other two involved, obviously.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Azriel said, shaking his head, but he was still smiling, so Cassian figured he was doing his job well.
He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of my pregnant girlfriend, it’s lunchtime, I’m starving and she’s literally a gourmet chef. So let’s go.”
Azriel laughed. “Alright, I’ll drive. You’re not supposed to and you know it.”
Cass didn’t deny it.
When they pulled up in front of the house, Nesta was on the front porch, standing on a ladder and watering a plant hanging from the ceiling. Cassian was instantly out of the cab. “Babe, be careful.”
“I swear to the Cauldron, if you spend the next seven months telling me to be careful, I’m going to lose my shit.”
“And what does that entail?” Cassian asked. “Losing your shit?”
“Kicking you in the ass,” Nesta said, “Obviously.”
Cassian scoffed. “And you would do that? To someone who's just been shot?”
Nesta rolled her eyes then looked to Azriel. “Can you control him?”
“That’s your job now,” Azriel said.
“Can’t argue with that,” she sighed, climbing down the ladder. “You guys hungry? Lunch is going to be ready soon.”
Cass winked at Az and said, “We could eat. Anything we can work on for you while you’re cooking?”
She turned and looked at him. “Are you trying to trick me into letting you work?”
Cassian raised his good hand in defense. “No, of course not, just offering.”
Nesta rolled her eyes again. “Come on.”
The men followed Nesta in and into the kitchen.
Azriel took a deep breath and groaned. “Smells so good, Nes.”
“Five cheese lasagna, salad and garlic bread.” She said it so matter-of-factly and not like it was a dish that used to be sold at a five-star restaurant.
Azriel whistled. “You made all that for lunch?”
“We eat good around here,” Cassian said, sitting in a chair at the table.
Nesta chuckled as she pulled the lasagna out of the oven, where it was keeping warm. She continued to take out a few plates and filled them for the three of them.
“No nausea today?” Cassian asked.
Nesta shrugged, cutting up the lasagna. “I was, but then the baby started craving lasagna, so here we are.”
“The baby has good taste,” Azriel muttered.
Cassian was quick to agree.
They sat down and ate. Nesta explained to the guys what she wanted done before the opening and Cass ran through his daily tasks with Az. The three of them knew there would be no issue, but it was good to go ahead and start fresh.
“So later on, when you get to the weird part of your pregnancy,” Azriel began, while Nesta loaded their plates into the dishwasher. “When you have random cravings, are you going to make crazy concoctions or just go straight for the pickles and ice cream?”
She laughed. “I don’t know, but I hope it’s easy. So far, I’ve been craving food from other regions that aren’t so easy to make. I don’t exactly want to have to ask Cassian to make me tarte tatin at three in the morning.”
Cassian was eating his second helping and with his mouth full said, “Me either, cause I have no idea what the hell that is.”
Nesta laughed, looking at him over her shoulder. “How did I end up with you?”
He shrugged, stuffing his mouth full with another bite. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Nesta just shook her head as she explained, “It’s a pastry.”
Cassian blinked, swallowing his food. “I like pastries. I could learn to make a pastry.”
Nesta closed the dishwasher and leaned back against the counter as she looked at Cassian. “The day I see you working in a kitchen is the day that the world ends.”
“Challenge accepted,” he muttered, mouth full of food, once more.
Azriel blinked, shaking his head as he watched Cassian stuff his face. “You really are a slob.”
“Fuck you,” he said, after a drink of water.
Azriel stood, ruffling his hair, and said, “No, thanks, bud. I’m gonna run into town and go pick up my pressure washer. I’m gonna take care of the stables.”
Nesta turned. “Az, no, you don’t have to do-.”
He stopped by her at the counter. “I do. You two have been through enough. Consider it my hazing so this asshole doesn’t do something worse when he’s back in action.” He hooked a thumb back at Cassian.
“Fuck you,” Cass repeated, though this time he was laughing, as he carried his plate to the sink. “I had something planned too.”
Ignoring him, Nesta said, “Thank you, Az. That means so much.”
She hugged him and he said, “That’s what family does, they help each other out. My brother and sister need me. That’s what I’m here to do.” He stepped back and looked at Cass. “I would hug you, but I genuinely don’t know how to do that without hurting you, so…” He shot him finger guns and then he was out the door.
Cass chuckled, shaking his head. “For someone so smart, he’s such a dumbass.”
Nesta laughed. Azriel was the only one of the three of them that she’d remotely remembered. He was an honors student, like she’d been, and they’d shared classes, but likewise to Nesta, Az kept to himself as well. It wasn’t until a drunken night at Rita’s, when Azriel was telling the story of the one time he’d been caught cheating, and Nesta realized it was her test he’d been cheating off of.
An almost sibling like bond was born between them that night and Nesta was glad she was getting to know him better. It let her know that Elain was in good hands.
“Alright,” Cassian sighed, looking at Nesta. “What can I do?”
“Relax,” Nesta ordered.
“I don’t want to relax,” he shot back. “I want to feel useful. Make me feel useful.”
“Be useful while relaxing,” she said, leaving the kitchen.
He followed close behind. “Babe, I need a job. Okay? Any job will do.”
“You’ve only been resting for a day,” Nesta said, laughing, making her way back out to the front porch.
“My pain meds work great,” he argued. “Let me help. Please.”
“You’re not going to give up, are you?” she asked, looking at her line up of hanging plants.
“No. I’m going to annoy the shit out of you, so you may as well let me help,” he said, staring her down.
She turned to meet his gaze, then rolled her eyes. “Fine. Hand me plants.”
Cassian blinked. “That’s my job? Handing you plants?”
“I’m going up on the ladder and it will help if you hand them to me,” Nesta shot back, arms crossed. “Or, you can go back to relaxing.”
Cassian took a deep breath. “Handing you plants, it is.”
One after one, Cassian picked the plants up and handed them to her, and she packed each into soil.
“So,” he began, doing his best not to stare at her ass. “I know you never thought you’d be in this situation, but are there any names you like?”
“Any names?” she repeated, making sure the plant was perfect before climbing back down the ladder and moving it to the next spot.
Cassian snorted. “For the baby.”
Nesta thought about it for a moment as she climbed up the ladder, once more. “I have a list.”
“A long list?” Cassian asked, handing her another hanging plant pot.
“A decent list,” she said, chuckling, taking the plant from him and hanging it up from the hook. She asked for the watering can.
“What’s your number one name?” he asked. “If it’s a boy.”
“I’ve always loved the name Jameson,” she said, watering the plant and climbing back down.
“Jameson,” Cassian mused. “I like Jameson.”
Nesta wrapped her arms around Cassian’s waist. “What about you? Any family names?”
His eyes dimmed slightly. “I don’t have anyone I would name him after.”
Nesta breathed, “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry, I- shit, I’m sorry.”
He smiled and kissed her. “I promise it’s fine. I actually do have one name I like though.”
“Yeah?” She asked. “What’s that?”
He brushed her hair back and said, “Isaac.” Nesta’s eyes welled up with tears. “Is that okay?”
She nodded, closing her eyes and carefully resting her head on his chest. “Isaac Jameson Nazari.”
Cassian blinked. “You… You want to give him my last name?”
“Of course,” Nesta said, “You’re his father.”
“I just…” Cassian began, but his words fell short. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
Nesta smiled, her hand resting softly against his cheek as she said, “We’re going to be a family, right?”
“Yes,” Cassian breathed.
“Then this baby, no matter it’s gender, or it’s name, will be a Nazari,” she whispered.
Cassian took a deep breath. “If you make me cry, I won’t feel bad about kicking your ass.”
She laughed and leaned up on her toes and kissed him softly. “I love you, more than I can explain.”
“I love you, too.” Cass wrapped his good arm around her waist and tried to lift her to set her on the porch railing. It was way more convenient to kiss her when her lips were at his level.
“No, no, no.” Nesta pushed against him. “Don’t you dare.”
“It’s fine, you’re light, babe.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I can lift you with one arm or two.”
A car door slammed and Rhys said, “Didn’t the doctor tell you two no exciting activities yet?”
Cassian smirked and said, “Sorry, man, she just can’t keep her hands off of me.”
“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, shoving him lightly and moving the ladder down. This time, she carried the carton of small plants up with her.
Rhys made his way up the steps, still in his scrubs. “Cass, really, dude, what the hell are you doing out of bed?”
He shrugged. “I’m taking it easy.”
“Taking it easy means playing Call of Duty from your bed until I say so.” Rhys was using his doctor voice, which meant he was serious. “Seriously, this is your heart we’re talking about here. You’re lucky to be alive. Do you know how easy it is to tweak something just wrong and pop a stitch, especially this early in the healing process?”
Cassian looked to Nesta for support, but she was positioning the flowers in her pot, ignoring them. He was on his own. “Uh, no?”
Rhys called over his shoulder. “I’m taking him home.”
“Then take him upstairs.” Nesta didn’t look away as she sprinkled potting soil in. “We’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future.”
Rhys and Cass spoke at the same time. “What?”
“I have a lot of work to do for the opening,” Nesta said, simply. “Which means I’ll be here all the time, anyway. The master bedroom isn’t open for guests, so we’re going to stay in there. That way, I’ll be close all day if you need me.”
“I won’t-.” Cassian began, but he was soon cut off.
“That’s a good idea,” Rhysand said, voice firm. “Seriously, Cass, you have to rest-.”
“Okay, okay, alright,” Cassian said, hating every second of this.
“Shall I carry you upstairs?” Rhysand asked.
Nesta snorted from where she was on the ladder.
“I’ll go lie on the couch,” Cassian muttered, opening the front door and slumping inside.
It was his worst nightmare: staying still for extended periods of time.
“Get a towel,” Rhys called. “This is going to be gross.”
Nesta was shaking her head. “Please don’t get blood on my brand new furniture.”
Rhys was chuckling as he went inside. “That all depends on how much of a baby he’s about to be.”
It turns out, Cassian was the biggest baby of all.
“That fucking burns, don’t touch me with with it.”
Rhys sighed again. “It’s going to burn, its peroxide. See how this is bubbling? I have to clean it.
“No, I can’t see it,” Cassian bit back. “It’s in my chest and I’m laying on the damn couch.”
Rhysand stopped what he was doing to glare at Cassian. “I’m so fucking close to sedating you, Cass. Be still.”
“I don’t wanna be still.”
“You’re acting like a child,” Rhysand muttered, continuing to clean the wound.
“Does that mean I get a sucker when we’re done?” Cassian asked. Rhysand couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d also accept a glass of whiskey. Which I should’ve had before we started this shit.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to put a nipple on it so you can have your bottle before bed.”
Cassian smirked. “The only nipples I want before bed are-.”
Nesta’s feet could be heard on the porch before she rushed in through the front door, heading for the bathroom, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slammed shut and the sound of violent retching filled the living room.
“And that’s what got you in this situation,” Rhys said, indicating the bathroom. “Don’t move, I need to cover this before you sit up.”
Cassian grumbled and Rhys moved to the door, softly knocking. “You okay, Nes?”
He heard sniffling and she said, “I’m fine. Just need a minute.”
“Want a bottled water?” He asked.
There was a short pause. “Please.”
He passed into the kitchen and returned a second later, water bottle in hand. He jiggled the doorknob, but it was locked. When it opened a few seconds later, Nesta’s hand snuck out, took the bottle from him, then the door was closed, once more.
Rhysand returned to Cassian to cover the newly cleaned wound.
“Is this a daily occurrence?” Rhysand asked, and he knew he was talking about Nesta, not Cassian’s need for whiskey and hatred of peroxide.
“Yeah, changes by the hour,” Cassian said. “She was feeling great at lunch.”
Rhysand hummed before stepping back. “There. Done. Now, I’m coming back tomorrow at this time, and if you’re not relaxing, I’m going to kick your ass. Got it?”
Cassian rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. Nesta opened the bathroom door, then, her eyes red and misty. Rhysand excused himself to the kitchen to wash his hands.
Nesta groaned, sitting on the edge of the couch next to where Cassian was lying. He rubbed her back, gently. “Feel better?”
“No,” she moaned, lying her head on the arm of the couch. “And I don’t think I’ll be eating lasagna for a while.”
Cass sat up. Without his arm in the sling, he definitely felt the pressure in his chest and shoulder, but he could actually do things for himself. He crouched in front of her and took both of her hands in his face. “Can I do anything?”
She shook her head, and her face scrunched up. He could tell she was trying her hardest not to start crying again.
“Why don’t you go lay down for a few minutes, sweetheart?” He asked, brushing her hair behind her ear.
She protested. “I can’t, I have so much to do-.”
“And a thirty minute nap won’t be the make or break on whether or not it all gets done,” Cassian said, wiping away the tear that slipped down her cheek. “You’re just going to burn yourself out and that’s no good for you or the baby.”
She sighed, but nodded. “Just for a little bit.”
He kissed her forehead and stood, helping her to her feet. She headed up the stairs and Cass sat back on the couch.
Rhys came back in the room. “Make sure you wear that sling.”
Cassian chuckled. “No promises, but I’ll try my absolute hardest.”
Rhysand stared at him for a minute before saying, “Liar.”
Then he was gone, after bringing Cassian his promised glass of whiskey.
He debated on hauling himself up the stairs after Nesta, but he figured that would only earn him a scolding, so he remained where he was, sipping on his glass of whiskey.
Two minutes went by before he was about ready to lose his shit.
He begrudgingly put the sling back on and got up, making a lap or two around the house. He needed something to do, anything, or he was going to do something that would get him trouble. Granted everything got him in trouble these days.
His phone began to buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out, seeing a repeating alarm going off.
Take your meds!
It was punctuated by a kiss emoji and Cassian sighed. That woman was too good to him.
He lumbered down to the house, finding Beau snoozing on the couch. “You seem to be enjoying our time off, huh?” He gave the dog a scratch behind the ears and made his way back to the bedroom.
He retrieved the black duffle he’d stashed under the bed and began stuffing clothes and everything else he’d need up at the main house in it. He popped one of the pills in his mouth, chasing it with a swig from the bottled water on the nightstand and tossed the pills into his bag.
He debated on packing some of Nesta’s things, but knew he’d likely grab the wrong things and decided to let her pack on her own.own.
With the bag slung over his shoulder, Cassian, Beau at his side, trailed back up to the main house.
He wanted to do something special for Nesta. She had to be overly stressed, newly pregnant, opening a B&B, her boyfriend getting shot.
With a sigh, he pulled open the back door of the main house and dropped his bag before pulling out his phone and dialing Azriel’s number.
He answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Whatcha doing?” Cassian asked.
Azriel huffed a laugh. “Bored?”
“I need to go into town and was hoping you could drive me,” he said. “Or, I could drive myself-“
“Let me finish shoveling this shit and I’ll be there,” Azriel promised. “If you get behind the wheel Nesta would never forgive me.”
Az hung up and Cassian sighed. “Sick of being treated like a misbehaving teenager.”
Thirty minutes later, Azriel’s truck pulled up behind the house. When he came inside, he found Cassian balancing dishes, condiments, silverware, cups and other things from the kitchen cabinets and drawers in a tower. Cassian glanced up. “Thank the Cauldron, lets go.”
He stood and headed for the door. Azriel hesitated. “Shouldn’t you put all that away?”
He glanced back at his creation and waved it off. “Nah, Nesta’s reaction will be funnier.”
Azriel just shook his head. “You knock her up, get shot, and now you want to give the woman a heart attack?”
“She’ll laugh,” Cassian protested, stepping out of the back door. “Eventually.”
Azriel hesitated for another second before following his friend.
They hauled themselves into the truck and pulled out onto the street, toward town.
“Where am I driving you?” Azriel asked, one arm hanging out the window.
“Flower shop,” Cassian said. “Jewelry shop.”
Azriel looked at him with a lifted brow.
“For a necklace or something,” Cassian clarified. “Something to wear to the opening celebration.”
“You sure you’re not making an honest woman out of her?” He asked, keeping an eye on the road.
He’d thought about it, but he knew what her answer would be. He also knew that he didn’t want to ask her just because she was having his baby. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but he wanted to make sure she knew he was asking her for the right reason, not the obvious one.
“Not yet.” He could have left it at that, but he knew Az would have continued to ask questions. “You know I like to do things out of order.”
Azriel chuckled and said, “Well, you’re not wrong.”
“Sex, then first date, then knocked her up��.but, marriage? That’s a bit down the road,” Cassian said.
Azriel grinned. “Fair enough.”
He pulled up on the curb in the little downtown strip and Cassian got out, heading straight to the florist shop. He picked out a giant bouquet of yellow roses and a vase that Cassian thought was fancy enough before putting it in the truck, and walking across the street, into the jewelry store.
A little old lady stood behind the counter and smiled brightly as Cassian entered. “Well, hello young man, how can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a necklace,” Cassian said, then added, “A nice one.”
The sweet little old lady chuckled and nodded, slowly walking to the opposite side of the counter she was standing behind. “Well, let’s take a look, then.”
She brought him over to a case that was filled with the most gorgeous necklaces imaginable. There were shining stones of every color glinting in the light, some with long, heavy chains, some that were fitted closer to the neck.
They were beautiful, yes, but they were so...ostentatious. He laughed at himself for even thinking of the word, knowing he’d picked it up from one of the SAT word search books Nesta had left at his cabin. And these necklaces were exactly that. They were too much.
He spied a price tag that had come out from behind the fabric covered stand it hung on and Cassian used another one of Nesta’s SAT words.
That was an egregious number of zeros.
“I think, uh…” Cassian scratched at the back of his neck and sighed. “Look, ma’am-.”
“My name is Miriam,” she said, interrupting him. “None of that, ma’am business. Makes me feel old.”
He chuckled, but smiled, warmly. “Look, Miss Miriam, I’ll be completely honest with you. I’m wanting to get a present for my girlfriend. It’s been a rough couple weeks and I’d like to cheer her up. But I don’t exactly have a lot of money, I’m a ranch hand and I’m technically out of work, thanks to my injury.”
Her kind eyes were worried as she said, “Oh no, what happened?”
He laughed and said, “To my shoulder or why has it been a rough few weeks?”
“Well, both.” Her answer was blunt, but her tone caught Cass off guard.
Her concern seemed genuine, but he chuckled and said, “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.” She smiled, warmly.
Cassian sighed. “She’s opening up a bed and breakfast she inherited from her father in a few weeks. If that wasn’t stressful enough, I just got shot by her sister’s psychotic ex at her wedding to my best friend and then we found out she’s pregnant when she passed out while I was in surgery. Now, one of my other best friends has had to quit his job to come be the ranch hand on said B&B, where I work, so yes, technically, she is my boss, to run the ranch in my place. All the while, she’s having the worst morning sickness and we were told she would never conceive, so we’re a little overwhelmed by all of this.”
Miriam blinked, speechless. “Oh, my… That was quite a long story.”
Cassian sucked on his teeth and rocked back on his heels. “Yep.”
Miriam asked, “What’s her name?”
“Nesta.” He even loves the way her name sounded from his own mouth.
She turned and was heading back behind the counter she’d first been behind when he arrived. “And your Nesta, is she more of a sweet, kind spirit or a firey lady in charge?”
He followed, and thought on the question, deciding to answer honestly. “She’s both.”
She lifted a small, locked case onto the glass top. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
She unlocked the box and opened the top.
A simple, elegant strand of pearls sat inside the velvet lining, and a lone pear-shaped diamond hung from the center. It was the single most beautiful piece of jewelry he’d ever seen.
He said, “Miriam, it’s beautiful, but I can’t afford-.”
“You’ll take it, and you won’t pay me a dime. It’s my gift to you, to give to her.”
Cassian forgot how to speak.
He forgot what the English language was.
He was actually in a coma from the gunshot and was having some sort of fever dream.
Those were the only reasons he could think of that a complete stranger would have just said that to him.
“I- Excuse me?”
She gently closed the lid and locked it again, placing the key on top and slid it across to him. “Before you try to tell me no, I need to tell you something.” She pauses and Cassian said nothing, giving her the chance. She smiled softly. “This jewelry store is all that I have left. My husband died just a few years ago. Our friends have all passed and it’s just me now. My husband and I never had the opportunity to have children, so our legacy will not live on. And I have no one to pass the things I love down to.”
Cassian could see her eyes getting misty, but he wouldn’t dare interrupt her.
“This necklace was a gift from Drakon when he returned from the war. I’ve held onto it for years, even as I’ve begun to give things away to strangers and to the missions. But I could never bring myself to sell my necklace. What price could I put on something that meant so much to me? So I want you to take this. Not only as a gift to Nesta, but as a gift to me. Pass this on to your baby, please.”
Cassian cleared his throat as his vision blurred. “I, uh, thank you.” A small laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “Truly. Thank you. I wish there was a word greater than thank you, but that’s all I can think of.”
Miriam laughed, quietly, and reached across the counter to pat his hand. “You’re so very welcome. Now, take that home to your girlfriend and have a damn happy life.”
Cassian grinned as he nodded, slowly. “Yes, ma’am.”
After telling her thank you, once more, and saying goodbye at least a dozen times, Cassian took the necklace back across the street and into the truck, where Azriel was waiting, sipping on lemonade.
He looked over at Cassian and blinked. “Are you crying?”
“No,” Cassian said, although he was pretty sure he was.
“Lair,” Azriel said. “You gonna let me see what you picked.”
Cassian looked down at the box, then unlocked it, and opened it up.
Azriel blinked, eyes going wide in surprise. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Cassian said, slowly.
Azriel opened his mouth, then shut it, then said, again, “Holy shit.”
“She just gave it to me,” Cassian said.
Azriel looked up at him as if he had lost his mind.
“I’m serious,” Cassian said, laughing quietly. “I still can’t believe it. It’s a long story.”
“Well,” Azriel said, starting up the truck. “You’re going to make us all look bad, Rhys and I.”
“That’s the plan,” Cassian grinned, then looked back down at the necklace with a soft smile, reeling in how lucky and blessed he was.
But then he got a text. What the fuck have you done in my kitchen and where the hell are you?
He cleared his throat. “Okay, time to get home, Nesta didn’t think my kitchen installation was funny.”
Azriel started laughing and said, “Oh, no, I’m gonna take the back roads.”
Cassian looked over at his friend. “Uh, no, you’re gonna haul ass home.”
“Uh, no, I’m going to slowly drive you home, then go home to Elain,” Azriel said, grinning uncontrollably.
“I hate you,” Cassian said, quietly.
Azriel shrugged. “I suggested you take it all down before we left.”
“I still think it’s pretty funny,” Cassian said, trying to keep his voice light.
“Apparently you’re the only one,” Azriel said, but he was still grinning.
~~~~~
On my way home. Don’t ruin my masterpiece.
Nesta read the text with a scowl.
A second one came in. I’m with Az. Don’t worry.
It didn’t ease her anxiety. She once again stared at the “masterpiece” he left in the kitchen.
She was in love with an overgrown child.
With no hesitation, she began unstacking her dishes, spices, and other kitchen utensils. She was bumping the silverware drawer closed with a hip when Cassian’s boots began thumping up the front steps. She leaned against the island and waited for him to make his appearance.
When he did, carrying the biggest bouquet of yellow roses she’d ever seen, she melted. “What did you- Where did- Cassian…”
He set the vase on the counter, the heavy thus indicating it was as heavy as it seemed. “I wanted to do something to make you smile.”
And he’d succeeded, the grin on her face bright enough to blind him. Though the smile faltered when she saw the velvety box still in his hand.
“And…” he continued, holding out the box.
Nesta just stared at it. “Cass..”
“Just take it,” he said, eyes bright.
“It’s too much,” she whispered.
Cassian chuckled. “You haven’t even opened it yet.”
She knew his budget, knew what he typically spent on things, and anything that came in a large, beautiful velvet box had to be highly out of his price range.
“Please,” he asked, when she had yet to take it.
Her fingers closed around the box and when she tried to open it, she found that it wouldn’t budge. “This better not be an elaborate plan to make me feel weak so I’ll ask you to do things for me.”
Cassian began to laugh and he took the box from her setting it down on the counter. He wrapped his good arm around her waist and pulled her against him, softly kissing her. “No, but that does sound like something I’d do.”
He pressed another kiss to her forehead and fished a small silver key from his pocket.
Nesta’s eyes widened as she saw that whatever was inside needed to be locked up and she decided then and there that whatever was in the box was extravagantly too much.
He unlocked the box and lifted the lid.
Nesta gasped, her body going still as she eyed the elaborate pearl necklace.
“Cassian,” she breathed, at least she thought she did, if words hadn’t completely escaped her.
“Do you like it?” He asked.
If he wasn’t injured she would slap him. Yes, she loved it, but it was way too much.
Way too much.
“I love it, Cass, but-.”
“No,” he interrupted. “Don’t protest. It’s taken care of. It’s done, and you’re keeping it.”
She opened her mouth to do just that, but he said, “I’ll explain later, I promise. It’s a gift, Nes, for you, for our daughter one day, or for our son to give to his wife. That was the condition given to me, and I intend to uphold it, but that can only happen if you agree to take it.” He kissed her again and breathed, “Please.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the hormones or the beauty of the situation, maybe it was a little bit of both, but she started to sob. Cassian tensed, surely thinking he had done something wrong, but it was quite the opposite. She had fully intended to yell at him for making such a mess in her kitchen, but instead, he had shown up with the most beautiful gift she had ever gotten.
“Thank you,” she managed to get out.
Cassian laughed, breathlessly, as he took Nesta into his arms, his good arm wrapping around her shoulder. “I assume these are happy tears, then? Because if not, I feel like a real jackass.”
She nodded, unable to speak as she cried into his chest.
He tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “I was hoping your nap helped, but now that you’re crying, I’m not so sure.”
She sniffled, taking a second to compose herself. “No, it helped. I needed it. I’m just… overwhelmed. Cass, this is amazing. I love you so much.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She looked up into his eyes, completely amazed by the complex man before her. She would never understand him, the same man that built a tower out of utensils in her kitchen while also being the same man that brought her flowers and the most beautiful necklace she had ever seen.
He was incredible.
Indescribable.
All consuming.
And she was so madly, completely in love with him.
Cassian Nazari.
Her child’s father.
Her one true love.
She prayed, hoped, begged that there would never be a day of her life that went by that didn’t have him in it.
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Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?
43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter
from winter writing prompts here
oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny
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Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.
“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”
“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”
“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.
He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.
Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.
“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”
“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”
“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”
It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?
A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.
As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.
“Oh, boy,” Newt says.
He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?
Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.
“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”
“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”
“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.
“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.
“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.
“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”
“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”
Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”
“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”
“Cool,” Newt says.
He scurries up the stairs.
The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.
He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.
Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.
Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.
Then he waves.
“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"
“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”
“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”
“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”
He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”
His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”
Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”
It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.
“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”
“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”
The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”
“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”
“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”
“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”
“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”
Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”
(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)
“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”
Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.
“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”
Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.
“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”
“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”
Hermann snorts, and nods.
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