I was a young man, I fled my home country. I will refrain from naming
it here, because if you knew where it was, you would be able to locate
the forest and I want it to remain as it is: obscure, mythical, and
I don't know if you take fic requests but I love your writing so if you do, can you please write Cassian and Jyn in an established relationship where Cassian just casually sometimes slips into Space Spanish around Jyn? :)
Anon, I am almost positive this is not what you had in mind. And yet, this is what happened! Featuring the most functional version of them I’ve ever written, plus more bedsharing because I can’t be stopped.
Some nights as she lays in Cassian’s bed, about to be pulled under by the riptide of sleep, she hears his voice—soft, lilting—at the edge of her consciousness in a language she does not understand.
It sounds like poetry, the gentle cadence, like words made for different worlds than this one so ravaged by war. She lets the rhythm of it carry her under, into pastel dreams of peaceful, quiet places.
One night, after a mission that almost turned fatal more times than the human heart should have to bear, she finds that sleep eludes her. She presses her face to his neck, listens to the steady murmurs against her ear.
“I wish I could understand,” she whispers, then immediately wishes she hadn’t; perhaps these words aren’t meant for her. “Not that—you don’t have to explain.”
His hand drifts down her back, tenderly tracing the curve of her spine. When he speaks, his voice is gentle.
“I am reminding myself,” he says, “of the things I have to be thankful for.”
She shifts against him, wriggling closer; his skin is soft beneath her fingertips.
“Like what?” she asks.
“That we did not die today. That we are still in this fight. You.”
Warmth spreads through her chest, curls around her fingertips.
He whispers something she cannot understand. Then he bends his neck, brushing his lips against her forehead.
“Always, always you.”
Something bubbles up in her chest, some bright, fantastic feeling she can’t find the words for. It strikes her as unfair that he can express in two languages what she can’t even manage to say in one. All she can do is press a kiss his throat, just beneath the scratch of his beard.
His hand traces back up her spine to tangle in her hair, and she can feel him smile against her skin.
“I know,” he murmurs, even though she hasn’t said a word. “I know.”
Can I get a scenario with Ignis and his s/o dancing to a slow song? ❤️ btw;; you complete me, 😚
Aww, you’re so sweet.
You’ve been waiting for this little break in Lestallum. The days
and on the road, fun as they were, left you strung out and exhausted. You
adored the four blokes you travelled with but, by the Six, you needed a break.
You found what you were after in a small bar, crowded with
working women, the air thick with music and chatter. The fans were going, the
drinks were cheap and for once you looked good enough to eat. Nursing a
highball cocktail that was half ice and half something bright green, you leaned
against the bar and watched the crowd. You felt a little over dressed and
soft compared to the half-dressed power workers, definitely an outsider at a
glance, but it was like watching a water current flowing past, somehow relaxing.
The company helped.
Beside you, Ignis was noting something down in his little black
book, lips pressed into a line. He’d made a comment about the loud music when
he arrived, twenty minutes and two drinks late. Loud music was the point, you
told him, lips by his ear, breathing in the smell of his cologne, herbal and
fresh and working in tandem with the cocktails and heat. The sharp focus on his
eyes as you pulled back made it all the worse.
He bought you a drink and one
of his own and slipped into a seat beside you. During lulls in the music you
spoke heads craning close, sharing tastes of each other’s cocktails. You rocked
in time with the music, watching a crowd of dancer’s shimmy and twist.
A hand on yours pulled you
from your daze, a bare thumb and gloved fingers gliding over your skin. You
looked, meeting Ignis’ gaze. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, brows
lifting. He gave a slight nod towards the dance floor in invitation. You smiled
in reply, a little excited thrill squirming up your spine. Tangling your fingers in his, you nod and
slip off your stool.
The crowd is easy to slip through, people parting for the stranger in the room.
The music changes, slowing as you find a clear space and turn to your dancing
partner. Ignis seems to have eyes only for you. The hand holding yours gives
you a gentle squeeze before urging you closer. His other hand finds your hips,
and yours finds home against his chest.
“Did you plan that?” You asked
following his sway. It’s still crowded and hot despite the fans blowing across
the dancefloor and the goose bumps on your skin. Ignis was just as warm against
your front, a teasing smile on his lips.
“Would it help if I did?” He
replied over the crooning voice of some singer, fingers pressing gently through
the fabric of your top. You smiled, helpless, unable to look away even as he
turned you both around the floor.
“Maybe?” You said, losing his
gaze as light flashed over the lenses of his glasses. The music swelled and you
shivered, heart aching. You loved this song, dreamed of dancing to it one day
in white. For a moment you could almost pretend you were anywhere but a crowded
Ignis’ hand slipped around to
your back. “Are you alright?” He asked. You nodded, shoving your thoughts away
to focus on the man in front of you.
“Nostalgia.” You leaned in
closer. He was so warm and real, arms looping around you. It was almost too
warm to be held but you leaned in closer. “I love this song.” He chuckled, the
sound vibrating against your cheek.
You disliked Conor Maynard.
Simple as that. You didn’t like the way girls threw themselves at him, you
disliked the way your friends and flatmates would obsess over him and become
beside themselves with excitement when they saw Conor leave the apartment next
to yours and he gave them a smile, you disliked how he seemed to have that
goddamn smile plastered on his face 24/7 and always seemed so happy.
Coincidentally Conor wasn’t your biggest fan either. He didn’t
like how you were a pessimist and always found the negative side of a
situation, he didn’t like how you automatically assumed he was a man hoe and he
disliked how you were convinced he was a self-centred twat regardless to the
fact you hardly knew anything about him at all.
Usually you would avoid interaction with Conor without problems
but today that was proving to be a bit difficult. Following a long story, you’d
ended up locked outside your apartment after a shower with nothing but a towel
covering you, turns out there was now someone you disliked more than Conor –
Finally giving up hope that you’d be let into your apartment you
reluctantly made your way to the door next to yours. After checking you were
fully covered you knocked the door and prayed it wouldn’t be Conor that opened
the door. As soon as the door opened you mentally cursed as you saw the Maynard
stood there, his eyes travelled up and down your basically bare body before
settling on your face and sending you a confused look. “You do realise you live
next door, right?” he asked sarcastically.
You shot him a glare, “shut up smart arse, my flatmate locked me
“And you’re telling me this because?”
“Conor don’t be a dick, can you help me?” you asked aggravated,
you’d already had a bad enough day without him teasing you.
“Doesn’t sound like the way you talk to someone when you want
help,” he smirked at you, you knew he was loving this – this was payback for
all the sly remarks you’d given him over the years.
“Conor please, I’m willing to actually beg you,” your voice had
started to become desperate and you knew Conor noticed because his face
softened slightly and he sighed.
“Right fine, don’t lose your dignity, come in and I’ll get you
some clothes to put on,” he opened the door wider to allow you to enter and
grabbed your wrist, which oddly made your skin tingle, to pull you along with
him as he went to his bedroom.
The moment he released you
from his grip the tingling feeling disappeared and this strange longing feeling
set in, craving to feel his skin against yours again. What was happening to
You stayed by the door and
watched as he rifled around in his draws to find you some clothes. While he was
distracted you allowed your eyes to scan over his body. He turned around
suddenly and snapped you out of your daze, in his hand he held out a t-shirt
and pair of jogging bottoms. You took them from him and offered a smile to
convey your appreciation, you were surprised when he turned around to face the
wall so you could get changed without you having to ask. Maybe he was more of a
gentleman than you’d assumed.
“You can look now,” you told him quietly. As soon as he turned
around you watched his eyes rake over your body once again, his gaze burned
into your skin. Since when had Conor of all people been able to make you feel
He slowly made his way closer to you until he was stood as close
as he could be without actually touching you. Your body disobeyed your brain
which was telling you to move away and you stayed routed to the spot awaiting
his next move, a sense of excitement coursing through you.
Slowly his head started to lean towards yours and you watched in
anticipation as his lips inched closer. After what felt like an eternity you
felt his soft lips touch yours sending a shiver down your spine, the kiss
wasn’t how you expected it to be. You assumed he would be one of those guys to
give rushed and sloppy kisses but this was slow and passionate. Your arms
somehow found their way around his neck and his hands grabbed your hips to tug
your body flush against his.
When your lungs felt as if they were burning due to a lack of
oxygen you broke the kiss. Conor’s lips, however, seemed unable to break
contact with your skin as they attached themselves to your jaw instead, he left
small kisses all the way from your chin to your ear.
You felt his heavy breathing against your ear as he panted
against it, “do you want this?” he breathed, his words and his hot breath against
your skin making pleasure shoot down your spine. You tangled your fingers
through his soft hair preventing him from moving away from you.
His question was vague but you knew exactly what he was asking.
Did you want him? You answered without hesitation “yes, I want this, I want
He wasted no time in joining your lips again, except this time
the slowness that was there before had gone and it was replaced with a
new-found sense of desperation that went straight to your core. His tongue
found its way into your mouth and tangled together with yours, triggering a low
moan to escape you.
He pulled away from the kiss and guided you towards the bed,
gently pushing you down onto the mattress. His body soon followed yours and he
was hovering over you on his knees.
His hands started to slowly push the material of your top up
your body and his lips followed the same path while his eyes remained locked
You let out a shaky breath as he pulled the top over your
breasts, his hands lightly grazing them in his path. He didn’t stop to give any
more attention to that area as you’d hoped but instead pulled the top higher and over your
Your disappointment was however short lived as his lips were
once again hovering over yours.
You bit your lip in anticipation and heard Conor groan, causing
the ache between your legs to become even more prominent. “Don’t do that,” he
whispered before taking your lip between his teeth and tugging it lightly
before letting it go.
He left slow and soft kisses down your neck, when he reached
your collarbone he halted to suck harshly against your skin. You let out a
breathy moan and tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close to you.
Once satisfied he’d left a mark he pulled away and grazed his thumb along it,
proud of his work.
His hands continued the journey his lips were previously taking
and they stopped when he reached your breasts. He took your left breast into
his hand and massaged it roughly while on the other side he circled his tongue
around the nipple and tugged on it gently.
Moans were spilling from your mouth but you were eager for his
hands to travel a little further south. Finally, your wish was fulfilled and
his hands started moving again, stopping for his fingers to trace the waistband
of your jogging bottoms. You arched your hips to assist him to remove the
material from your body but he pushed you back down as his lips replaced his
His teasing was becoming torturous but Jesus it was turning you
on. His hands moved so slowly you barely noticed him staring to remove your
last piece of clothing until his hands came close to where you wanted, no
needed him most.
You whined as his hands stroked over your thighs but avoided the
area between your legs which was aching with anticipation. Suddenly he slipped
one of his fingers through your wet folds and you lifted your hips towards him
to try and increase the pressure while moaning his name. He pushed your body
back to the bed once again and held you there with a hand on your hip.
When you felt a finger slip into you another moan was released
from your mouth and your hand grabbed onto his wrist that was pinning you down for support, “more,” you
breathed out as you clenched your eyes shut.
“What was that?” he asked, you could tell he was smirking just
by his tone of voice.
“I need more Conor,” you whined as his finger moved at a pace
that was far too slow for your liking. He fulfilled your request but instead of
adding another finger as expected he added two and drastically increased his
pace making your toes curl in pleasure.
The moment he touched your clit was the moment you lost it. Your
grip on his wrist tightened and you screamed out his name as your back arched
and you met your orgasm. God this boy was good.
After you’d come down from your high you opened your eyes to
spot Conor’s face directly above yours. Without any warning, you pulled him
down to connect your lips, your legs wrapped around his waist to pull his body
onto yours. “I want you Conor,” you whispered in his ear and then pushed your
hips into his and sucked on the spot behind his ear, successfully earning a
moan from him.
“I want you too,” he groaned and you pulled his top off before
smashing your lips together with his.
Your hands ran down his sides and when you reached the waistband
of his trousers and you slipped a hand underneath to grab his bulge through the
material of his boxers. He groaned into your mouth and pulled away to bury his
face in the crook of your neck, pressing kisses to your skin and leaving
You stopped teasing him and pushed his clothing from his hips
and he kicked them off his legs. As soon as you saw his length uncovered you
knew you needed him and quickly.
“Conor, please,” you panted out.
“What do you want Y/N?”
“I want you.”
“Come on, tell me what you want me to do gorgeous,” he breathed
into your ear then started nibbling on it. you clenched your thighs together
desperate to feel something.
“I want you to fuck me,” you whimpered.
You felt him run himself through your wetness before positioning
himself at your entrance and eventually pushing into you. You both moaned in
sync as a feeling of pure ecstasy engulfed you both.
His hips moved quickly as you both neared your highs, his face
was pushed into your neck and his heavy breathing against your skin was making
you feel even more turned on. His hands were tightly gripping your hips and
you were clinging onto him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging
into the skin slightly as you tried to control the overwhelming pleasure
coursing through your body.
“Conor,” you screamed out, your body shaking as you reached your
orgasm. He kept thrusting into you at a fast past which became increasingly sloppier
as he too reached a state of euphoria.
“Y/N,” he groaned into your skin and everything tingled as you
realised you were the one that was able to make him feel as good as he made you
His body collapsed onto yours and you both led there panting
while still clinging onto each other. As you led there the feelings of anger
you usually felt when around Conor had disappeared, instead there was something
else there – something that was making you skin tingle and heart beat a bit faster.
He rolled over and pulled your body with his, you looked up to
see him already looking at you. He had that smile on his face which you usually
despised but this time it bought butterflies out in your stomach.
His warm arms wrapped around
your waist made you feel safe and his body heat seemed to be radiating to make you
feel warm inside.
“You know, you’re not as bad as I thought you were,” Conor
murmured looking down at you and resting his hand on your cheek while his thumb
ran tenderly over your lips.
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” you replied with a coy
smile and kissed his thumb.
In your mind, you started to thank your flatmate for locking you
out in the first place and now to be truly honest you couldn’t care less if she
never let you back in again because you’d happily stay here with Conor getting
to know the real Conor Maynard forever and falling for him as you did so.
Character/Pairing: Sam x Reader Quote: “Control what you can. Confront what you can’t.” Requested by: anonymous A/N: Hahaha yassssss
“What are you doing?” Sam asked. You only cast a sideways glance up at him, the bruise glaring on his face, his arm tucked into a sling.
“What’s it look like?” you asked, loading a bullet into the chamber of your pistol.
“You’re not going back out there,” Sam said, a little flabbergasted.
“Mmmmm… yeah. I am.”
Sam scoffed. “You can’t. You need back-up,” he said. “Look what happened to me and–”
“Sam–” you interrupted. “I don’t care. This fucker messed with the wrong family.” You stowed your gun and dug around in your duffel bag for your knife.
“Y/N…” Sam was suddenly close to you and you had no choice but to turn at look at him. The concern on his face wavered your resolve. “You can’t go out there. I’m not–” he looked at his arm in the sling. “I can’t even go with you. Please…” His eyes were begging you, but you couldn’t just leave it be–the anger boiled in you every time you looked at Sam and saw that shadow of a bruise on his face.
“I have to,” you said, turning away again before those hazel eyes could convince you to stay. “Control what you can. Confront what you can’t. Isn’t that what Dean would say?”
Sam hesitated, searching for the right words. “But–”
You put a gentle hand on his uninjured arm. “Sam. I need to do this.”
There was a long moment where the eye contact between the two of you stretched. In the next instant, Sam had pressed his uninjured hand to the small of your back and before you knew it his lips were pressed again yours, kissing you with a hunger that you had no idea had existed. And before you knew it, you were kissing him back and your gun and the fight and the anger was all forgotten. You got lost in that kiss for longer than you knew, Sam’s fingers tracing up your spine, tangling in your hair, clasping your face… and you thought maybe you would just stay that way forever… you could stay that way forever.
Summary: Sirius gets jealous when he sees another boy making you laugh
Despite the cool breeze the courtyard was warm and bathed in golden light, filled with students that had the same idea of sitting outside. I clutched my textbook closer to my chest as I weaved through a couple of groups, smiling broadly when I found the perfect place to sit.
There was just enough shade under the tree, I could still feel the sunshine soaking into my skin while not having to squint my eyes to read. I looked up when there was a roar of laughter, my gaze sweeping over Sirius along with James, Remus and Peter; I waved over at them before turning back to my page. The five of us had been friends for a couple of years now; I’d been crushing on Sirius for just as long, however I’d never had the guts to tell him.
A/N: This is an anon request for a Spencer x Reader where Spencer is having dilauded cravings because his mother his getting worse (season 11/12 storyline), so she takes him away for a couple of days in order to help him through it. This turned way fluffier than I had intended :D
Spencer had just walked into your apartment after a long day at work and dropped onto your couch. Without saying a word, he picked up the pillow and started hitting it slightly, fidgeting with his fingers and sighing over and over again. “No,” he said honestly, turning around to face you with a look of sorrow. “My mom just keeps getting worse and worse and to top that off I’m having dilauded cravings again.”
You stopped dead in your tracks. “You are?”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yea, that’s why I’m so twitchy. I’m trying to keep my mind off of things. But nothing is working.”
Putting the pan you were carrying back in the sink, you walked over and sat next to him, enveloping him in a tight hug. He loved his mother so much, and she wasn’t doing well. But the diluaded cravings were new - you were glad he told you about them. The last thing he needed was to face that kind of thing alone.
“You have a few days off right?” you asked, wondering if you might be able to get him away from the city for a few days and keep his mind off things.
“Just tomorrow and Monday - four-day weekend,” he muttered. When you came to sit on the couch, he had grabbed your hand and was now hitting his thumb against your palm. You crawled into his lap, facing him as you gave him a short kiss.
“Do you want to go away for a few days?” you asked. “There’s this place about three hours away where you can rent cabins. We could get away from the city and I could keep you distracted for a few days. I realize none of this will go away, but if you’re craving dilauded, then it’s starting to be overwhelming.”
“I don’t know…” he said, his mind moving a thousand miles a minute. “What is there to do out there?”
“Well, they have a river nearby you can kayak down. There’s quite a few hiking paths. We could even just sit outside and watch the sunset sometimes. And I’m sure I can find other ways to distract you,” you winked.
Chuckling, he brought his hand to your face, bringing your foreheads together. His tongue danced around yours as he pulled you into him. “I think I could do that,” he said, furrowing his brow in frustration. “I have to do something. The cravings are really bad the past couple of days.”
Standing up from the couch, you walked in the kitchen to grab your cell. “I’m going to make a reservation right now. Go ahead and pack whatever you’ll need.”
After booking four days at a secluded cabin three hours away, you and Spencer made the three hour drive out. Once you arrived, you woke him up from the nap he’d been taking for the last two hours. “This is beautiful,” he said, stepping out of the car and looking out onto the horizon.
Behind the cabin was a field of flowers in a rainbow of different colors. The light from the sun reflected off of the pinks, reds, oranges, yellows and whites of the vast field before you. There was a porch on the cabin where you could just sit and look. “Why don’t we just sit here for a while before we even go inside?” you suggested, grabbing his hand and leading him to the porch. You had him sit on the floor next to the door and placed yourself in his lap, slipping your hand into the top few buttons on his shirt. “Just breathe,” you whispered, placing your hand over his heart. “Focus on each breath and hopefully the cravings will subside some. “I’m right here.”
Closing his eyes, he took his first deep breath in and slowly released it, and hopefully the negative thoughts, out of his mind. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, kissing you on the top of the head, “and thank you for doing this.”
Nearly two hours after you sat down on the porch, you got up and unpacked a bit, getting changed into some comfortable clothes for kayaking, which was only a short way away. It was a mild day outside, so any indigenous animals in the area were out. Both of you had a blast taking pictures and kayaking down the river, splashing each other along the way.
“You look so beautiful when you’re angry,” he laughed, when you cut your eyes at him for getting your hair wet. Even if you were a stickler for your hair (you weren’t), you couldn’t ever stay mad at him, especially now. Away from all the hustle and bustle of work and his mother’s diagnosis, his smile was as beautiful as the field of flowers near your cabin. You’d do anything to keep it there.
During the next couple of days, you and Spencer got into a comfortable routine. In the morning, you’d wake up at your leisure and you’d make breakfast for him. Then you’d grab the kayak and go out on the river again, before either hiking in the woods or sitting on the porch and reading together. He loved to read aloud, so you told him to pick whatever book he wanted and read it to you; he’d only brought a few books with him, one of which was Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman.
As the sun set on your third day at the cabin, you both looked out among the field of flowers as he began. He’d read “A Song of Myself” so many times, that he’d memorized the beginning:
I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you…
Honing in on the sound of his voice, you allowed yourself to fall asleep on his chest - the mixture of his voice and his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.
The next morning, you found yourself in bed with Spencer at your back, grasping you tightly by the waist; he tended to hold on tighter whenever he was having a nightmare. You wondered if he’d had one that you’d slept through. He normally woke up screaming if the nightmare was bad enough to warrant holding you tight.
“You have a nightmare?” you asked as he slowly opened his eyes.
He rolled into you, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “No,” he mumbled. “I just wanted to hold you.”
Pushing him back by the shoulder, you placed your body on top of his. “I’m always up for being held by you,” you smiled against his lips. “How are you feeling the past couple of days?”
He moved his hand up the length of your spine, tangling his fingers in your hair. “The first day was pretty bad, but after that it started to go away and I’m not feeling it today. Too bad we have to go home today.”
“Don’t think about that. Just focus on me.”
Gently, he bit at your bottom lip, his arousal evident in the early hours of the morning. “That I think I can do.”
“Please, tell me you picked up a case of beer,” Bucky pleaded into the phone, “I don’t think I can stand another glass of wine.”
He stood at the end of the driveway leading away from the large estate Tony had rented out for the weekend as a getaway for the Team. Bucky couldn’t get any cell service in the house so he usually took all his calls outside, often times walking through the vineyards.
Bucky hadn’t been able to find a lick of any other type of alcohol besides champagne and copious amounts of homemade wine inside the estate. He even convinced Natasha, the biggest red wine drinker of them all, to raid the master bedroom’s minibar for anything besides the sweet-but-not-quite drinks. The search had left them empty-handed and Bucky wishing for even a cheap can of Bud Light to stave off his need for a glass of whiskey or stronger.
Steve, Sam, and himself had finally had enough of draining the wine cellar and staining their teeth maroon, so the soldiers jumped at the prospect of running to the grocery store in the nearest town fifteen miles away. Bucky could easily run that distance if he was desperate, but he promised Y/N he’d help make chicken enchiladas.
kryallaorchid said: AU where Robin’s a male escort and Raven hires him because she just to cuddle someone.
I’m sorry, I don’t remember asking you to give me prompts that make me squeal at decibels hitherto unknown to the human ear, Kry.
- - -
Raven nervously tapped her fingers against her knee, her eyes darting from the clock to the door and back again. A small spot of remorse began to blossom just under her rib cage, and she shifted uncomfortably as it twisted inside her.
This felt completely stupid. Raven was a grown woman, a strong woman, determined, smart… but clearly lonely in someway. Of course, that was something she really didn’t want to admit. Her eyes slid closed and she leaned her head back against the back of the chair, taking slow, calming breaths as she seriously contemplated what she was about to do.
She had spent her entire week’s pay on this night, from the five star dinner, to the plush hotel room over looking the bay, to the 17 year old scotch in a crystal glass dangling from her fingertips, and all of this was leading up to the… friend she had scheduled to visit her. This amount of money to be wasting on a single night was obscene, but then again…
Her thoughts trailed off as she heard the knock at her door.
April was sitting on a bench on the balcony of the church, trying to write her speech for the memorial service for her dad. She is startled as Connor suddenly appeared next to her, “Sorry, you scared me.” She let out a nervous laugh, “I was just practising my speech for later.”
April got up to leave when Connor stabbed her in the stomach. She gasps in shock and pain, covering her wound with her hand. Connor sat her down on the bench. She takes her hand away from her wound and looks at it. It’s bloody. Her hands falls to her side as blood begins to drip from her mouth.
Caroline sat in between Tyler and Stefan on a pew at the back, Elena was a few rows in front. The service had just started and the pastor had just asked if anyone wanted to say a few words before calling out for April. She didn’t come. After a few minutes of awkward waiting Elena got up and began to say a few words. Damon made his entrance, smirking as he crossed himself with holy water before taking his own seat near Elena’s empty one.
for the 5 prompts your taking, (which I was ssoo excited about! thank you for doing this :D) what about a body!guard au? they're my fvorite c:
ok so maybe this got longer than I originally planned. haha oops. this is mostly 3k of Derek’s Inner Monologue of Manpain and Sexual Frustration - because we all know he’s p much a poster boy for Angst.
When Derek first steps into the club and takes in the sheer mass of bodies - a live, thumping wave - a flower of apprehension blossoms in his chest.
Not because he’s an alien to this scene; in fact he knows it all too well. Is well accustomed to the delicate system of it all; the unspoken rules that can’t be told, but only learned. And hell, did he ever learn. Observing from behind the screen he set in place to detach himself from it all. Detach himself from the tempting, unprofessional allure that seized him whole every time Stiles slid onto the dance floor.
Derek had to watch. Had to take part in whatever game Stiles felt like playing those nights. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t look away, no, it was worse than that. It was that he couldn’t.
The president had been to the point when he explained to Derek the rules of the job.
Stiles was in the room while these rules were recited: Never take your eyes off of him in public. That’s how he liked to dodge his last bodyguards. No more than an arm’s length apart. He’s more slippery than you’d think. Escort him to and from appearances. Intervene in any situation that might tarnish the Stilinski image…
The list went on and on. As did the games of chicken Stiles initiated to test Derek with these rules.
Many nights, this dance floor transformed into Derek’s own, special kind of hell.
Sometimes, Stiles wouldn’t break eye-contact with him all night. Dancing with any number of bodies that remained faceless the longer his eyes bore into Derek’s. Pointedly shifting his narrow hips, mouth dropped down, making Derek ache. Forcing him to hold his stance - the farthest away he was allowed, a distance that felt measured in breaths when sliding in against Stiles was where he was obviously welcome.
Sometimes Stiles wouldn’t look at him at all. Made the invitation a pointed sway of limbs. Knowing Derek is watching. Knowing what he’s seeing and grinding harder, exaggerated expressions of pleasure all for Derek, only for Derek.
When they met, Derek looked at Stiles and saw a past of awkward limbs, too-big-hands and ears. Can see the evidence of it sometimes, when they’re walking together or when Stiles gesticulates broadly over an exciting topic. In the way he snorts first before laughing at some joke Derek’s made, how he sometimes hesitates with movements like he’s still waiting to compensate for any awkwardness.
But when he dances, here on the floor, laid open and thriving on the energy, he’s in control. He’s graceful. He’s all consuming.
So, no. Stepping back into the club atmosphere isn’t the reason why Derek’s fists clench and unclench. Isn’t the reason he begins to scan the crowd with a tight chest.
It’s because, with nothing but black lights and an occasional, multicolored spotlight flickering over the frenetic charge of bodies, finding Stiles seems like an unrealistic task.
So of course, Derek’s eyes hone in on him near instantly.
The island is shaped like Neverland. It is protected - by water and winds, and only ferries can bring you to it. The ocean is alive with orcas, purple starfish, and glowing algae. The forest still has its wildness, it hasn’t been taken. And there is no body else - it is winter and a stillness is coating everything. The lakes are perfect mirrors, never a ripple or a drop. The trees are holding the silence; they are holding their leaves back in suspense. The only sounds for miles are my boots and my breath. And I can fall asleep on the ground and be safe where no one can wake me. And I can sing out loud and be safe because no one can hear. And I can shed my clothes and be safe because only the ravens will see me, with clumps of moss in both fists, pine needles prick on the skin, and wet fog goosebumps.
My eyelashes grow heavy with mist.
It’s dusk. I can hear the sea lions on the beach bellowing from their animal throats, and the roars are coming through the trees. I am following the deer with their tip-toeing hooves that never sink in the mud. I am sinking, down the path that is lined with white feathers. The white feathers slowly turn to bones, which lead me to the tree. The tree with spines tangled into its roots. Circled by dead maple leaves that cover teeth and claws and other things that grew out of animals…
I. I apologize if my teeth were clenched and my gums bleed. Maybe it was too much force. Maybe it was too much breaking from people knocking, on my chest, ripping my skin apart, leaving the wounds open, trying to find home in my rib cage, but how can memories forget if the wounds have healed but the pain still remains.
II. I apologize if flowers bloom on the bottom of my spine, roots tangled on my veins, buds growing out of my mouth turning me into a forest beast, but you said, it was beautiful to find words in solstice - rare occasion, isn’t it? Then, how could you call someone beautiful if all you can do is break him apart, cut timber, shave what was once preserved. Haven’t they told you, dear, to never trust directions from strangers, yes?
III. I apologize, if I have learned to love midnight rides, sometimes, on my way home, sometimes, into a stranger’s house. There’s a thin line between home and house, one morning, we were fried rice, and hot shower, and comfortable bed, birds singing from the window pane, but time does fly, isn’t it? Maybe now, we are all spider webs, shadows, the unwashed doormat waiting for a warm body to visit the cold place we have created. Sometimes, we just forget to remember, but for us, we remember to forget. Terrible.