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s0ftness · 4 years

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lost and found | i

Summary: In dire need of a safe place, you stumble upon a kind stranger in the middle of the woods.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Thor x Reader, Lumberjack!Thor x Hispanic!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY. Mild mentions of physical injury, oral sex, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, fluffy shit.

Word Count: 5.8k+

A/N: So, this is my first time posting my work and I’m a little nervous, so any sort of feedback is greatly appreciated. Inspiration for this came directly from @imanuglywombat‘s and @nellblazer‘s Celebration of Lumberjack Smut Challenge. There’s a whole lot I’d like to explore with this pair, so there might be more parts in the future. Please let me know what you think!

Also, find this on AO3!

The sun was slowly making its way down the sky, eager to find rest behind the mountains, tinting the firmament indigo as stars began to blink awake. The temperature was also going down but sweat coated your skin and made your clothes stick to your body as you hiked up the mountain. Unsure of where you were even heading to, you ventured deeper into the woods in search for a safe place to spend the night. Unable to recall when your last meal was, your vision began to blur and you lost your footing for a second, slipping on a loose rock and ripping open your pants, the skin of your knee and palms scraped. Great, just what you needed. You wiped at the torn skin with the back of your sleeve, but there truly wasn’t much you could do. Darkness was creeping in closer, faster than you thought it would, and the sight of heavy clouds rolling in made your empty stomach clench with dread.

The sound was faint at first. And you stood in silence then, every muscle frozen. You hadn’t crossed paths with a bear yet or anything of the sort, but you knew there were countless dangers lurking in the shadows, and were well aware of your vulnerable state. Not tripping over your own two feet and splitting your head open so far had been a feat of its own, but an ever-present possibility nonetheless. Holding your breath for as long as you could, you trekked forward as silently as possible, slowly beginning to discern the rhythmic pattern of the sound. Not an animal, then.

Not far from where you were, the trees gave way to a clearing and you realized you were now on somebody’s private property. And that somebody was chopping wood.

You shuddered at the thought of a crazy man chasing you away with an axe, but you didn’t have many options here, not to mention you were running out of time. After drawing in one deep, fortifying breath, you cautiously made your way over. The rustling of leaves and crunching branches beneath your feet gave you away, apparently, because the figure suddenly stood still. Your fingers grazed over the rough bark of the tree in front of you, and you peeked around it.

Just a few feet away from you, stood a tall man. Huge, really. Your eyesight wasn’t your most reliable sense right then, but he looked strong. And alone. Truly, you weren’t sure either of those things were good or bad, but your body was too weak to hold you up any longer and you feared you might pass out right there on the treeline.

Holding up both hands in what you hoped was an appeasing gesture, you moved forward as slowly as you could. He remained rooted to the ground, right next to the stump he used as a chopping block, his hand wrapped loosely around his axe by the handle.

“No trouble…” you croaked out in a heavily-accented voice, as you took a trembling step forward. “Not looking for trouble,” you attempted to clarify.

That seemed to amuse him, as he snorted a bit. You didn’t look like you could cause much trouble, even if you wanted to. You looked like you’d been through hell and had barely made it out. If you felt like shit, the way his face contorted into a deep frown when you stepped into the light made it clear you looked even worse. With a soft thump, he lodged the axe on the stump and made his way over to you. You cringed instantly, stumbling back a few steps when he got too close.

“You alone?” His voice was deep and rich, but he quickly glanced around to check along the treeline for good measure. You nodded, but the motion sent your head spinning and you stumbled a bit.

“I just need somewhere to be tonight. I think a storm is coming,” you murmured, the lilt of your voice barely audible at such volume. A couple of warm hands reached forward to grab you by the upper arms, steadying you. He half expected you to bolt, but you surprised him by slumping in his grip. With a low sigh, he led one of your arms to wrap around his shoulders as he held up most of your weight while walking you up the front steps of his cabin.

Once inside, he placed you on a loveseat by the fireplace. There was no fire burning, but you felt much warmer indoors. He grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the seat and laid it over you. You frowned in confusion by his kindness, but decided it was probably in your best interest to keep your mouth shut for a while. As he stood this close, tucking the fabric around your shoulders and feet until you felt like a blanket burrito, you finally got a chance to look at him. Like, really look at him.

Boy, was he beautiful.

He looked like he’d had a long day, too. His eyes were tired, but kind, and impossibly blue. His long blond hair was messy but tied at the back of his neck in a low ponytail. You faintly wondered if he’d been sculpted by gods, because that bone structure was to die for. If you had had even one ounce of energy left in your body, you probably would’ve used it to touch his cheek to make sure he was real. His beard was thick and suited him well, and you wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. His lips were full and plump, and they were… moving?

Oh. He was speaking to you.

“... in a while. I can heat up some soup for you, if you want.”

You blinked a couple times as you forced your eyesight to focus. The man let out a quiet sigh and gave your shoulder a gentle pat.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

So you did. All bundled up and warm, you battled yourself to maintain your eyes open as he headed to the kitchen. For soup, you reminded yourself. For you. That was the moment your stomach decided to growl embarrassingly loudly, and you sunk deeper into the soft, worn leather of the sofa.

A gentle shake on your shoulder awakened you, and you jolted a bit in surprise.

“Hey, it’s okay! It’s okay, you dozed off for a bit. Why don’t you eat this? It’ll make you feel better.” He then placed a large bowl of hot soup on your lap and you wrapped both hands around it. Your eyes were impossibly round and doe like, and your host had to force himself to look away.

“Thank you, er… uh…”

“Thor,” he offered as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the coffee table across from you. “My name’s Thor.”

“Thor,” you repeated softly, savouring the foreign word in your tongue. He swallowed hard. You offered your own name in return. “Thank you, Thor.”

He hummed in response and rose to his feet to kneel in front of the fireplace to set up some wood in it and get it going. The flames took on quickly and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. Thor glanced at you over his shoulder, and found you raising the bowl to your lips to gulp down the broth eagerly. A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth, but he quickly rose to his feet and walked away.

It wasn’t often that Thor had visitors. He had never had any, to be honest. Ever since he’d come back to Earth after wandering the universe senselessly, he’d been on his own. Up there, he longed for home. But home no longer existed, not to him anyway. Everybody he had ever considered to be home was gone now, so he’d decided to build one for himself out here. It got lonely sometimes, but it was peaceful, and that was much more than he thought himself worthy of.

Inside his bedroom, he rummaged through his things to find a few pieces of clothing you could wear and set them on the foot of his bed. Next, he went into the bathroom and drew you a bath with the hottest water he could offer, and threw in some bubbles for good measure. He’d always loved a good bubble bath, and you looked like you could keep a secret.

With everything set up for you to clean up, he made his way back to the living room to find you laying on your side on the floor in front of the fire. You were curled up in a little cocoon under the blanket he’d given you, and you were lazily watching the flames dance over burning wood, your eyelids getting heavier by the second. Thor bit the inside of his cheek and went to kneel next to you, one broad hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“I prepared a bath for you. There are also some clothes on the bed you can wear. Just leave your dirty ones in the bathroom and I’ll take care of it, yeah?”

You rolled onto your back and gazed up at him, brows knit together in confusion. “You really don’t have to do all this. I can just stay here and leave when the sun comes up.”

“Nonsense,” he replied with a shake of his head. He rose to his feet and held out a hand for you to take, hauling you up onto your feet and grimacing apologetically when you winced in pain. Your hand felt minuscule engulfed by his, but you relished the warmth as he led you through his home and to the bathroom. Against the far wall, was a beautiful wood bathtub and you gave in to the impulse to brush your fingertips along its smooth side before dipping them in the hot water. A wide smile spread on your face. It had been longer than you’d like to admit since you’d had a proper bath, even longer one with warm water. You turned to face your host to thank him, but the sheer emotion in your glazed-over eyes nearly knocked him off his feet.

Thor cleared his throat and walked over to hand you a washcloth and a bar of soap, but your free hand came up to trap both his ridiculously large hands between yours.

“You… you don’t have to go,” you whispered, gaze fixed on your joint hands.

Thor flushed red in an instant. He pulled both hands back like he’d been burned by you, and rubbed his sweaty palms on the front of his worn jeans. The hurt in your expression made him want to punch himself. He opened his mouth to speak, only to clamp it shut when he was unable to come up with a proper response.

You merely gave him a half smile and took a step back, closer to the tub. Without releasing his gaze, you toed off your boots and pulled your hoodie over your head. He swallowed tightly, and his pupils dilated. His eyes were dark now, a thin ring of stormy blue where there had been sparkling sea glass before. You weren’t sure what had come over you, you weren’t usually this bold, but the whole thing seemed surreal and it had been far too long since you’d felt warm and cared for. He was a ridiculously attractive man and you knew a longing stare when you saw one. Even if it was just for a moment, you both seemed like you could use the company.

Nimble fingers pulled your pants open before pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them. Your knee was scraped and bruised, but Thor could hardly focus on that when you were slowly exposing miles and miles of soft skin. You wore nothing under your long-sleeved shirt, and a pained sound ripped through him at the sight. Your velvet skin was littered with small cuts and bruises, some around the base of your throat and what he could’ve sworn were fingerprints around your arms, causing him to frown deeply. You were covered in grime and dry blood, and he felt his hands twitch into fists at his sides. He had no idea who you were or where you’d come from, but he’d known the second he laid eyes on you that you had nowhere else to go. It was a feeling he knew all too well by now. He didn’t have much to offer, he was merely the broken shell of the man he used to be; but somebody had hurt you, and you stumbled into his life because fate willed it so. He was no King, no god, no warrior. Not anymore. But you seeked no king, no riches… you seeked solace. And he felt you deep inside his soul.

Unaware of his own movements, Thor found himself standing right in front of you, hands hovering the curve of your hip bones. Yours lead them to touch you, the tips of his fingers hooking into the soft fabric of your undergarments before pulling them down your thighs and letting them fall to the ground by your feet. Despite his form towering over you, you did not feel intimidated. You felt confident and desirable, powerful even. You called the shots here, you had him wrapped around your finger, and he looked more than ready to drop to his knees to worship you.

Thor vaguely wondered if you were real at all, or if perhaps this was some fantasy his mind had created to chase away the coldness of solitude. He lifted one hand to ghost over the side of your face, and you leaned gratefully into the touch. The rough pad of his finger grazed over the apple of your cheek, down the slope of your nose and over the shape of your plush mouth. You puckered up your lips to press a soft kiss to his thumb, the tip of your tongue peeking out after to taste the salty skin. His jaw clenched and his grip tightened, said thumb pushing past your lips and into your scorching hot mouth. You opened wide for him, eyes fluttering closed, now standing on the tips of your bare toes and leaning into him as you swayed in your spot. His free hand came to rest on the small of your back, steadying you, pressing you forward against him while he watched, entranced, the way your warm wet tongue swirled around his finger. Thor withdrew his hand enough to make your lips release him with a soft pop, and he dragged the digit across your lips, wetting them with your saliva. You licked your lips together and leaned forward, blindly chasing after his touch, only to meet his mouth with your own.

The sound you made was angelic, and he was certain he couldn’t have made you up. Not you, not this perfect, not this warm. Both your arms slid up to drape over his broad shoulders, and he bent down to kiss you deeply, slowly, unwilling to let a single inch of you untouched. Carefully, he led you to take a couple steps backwards until the back of your knees hit the edge of the tub.

“Get in,” he commanded gruffly.

You felt his voice right in your core.

Lip caught between pearly whites, you kept your gaze trained on him as you carefully stepped inside the bathtub. A soft sigh escaped you then, and you let your head fall back, soaking your hair in the warm water. Thor quickly discarded his clothes, kicking them off to the side before climbing inside behind you. You pouted for a second, sulking for missing your chance to admire him in all his nudity for he’d moved in a blur. The sentiment was shortfelt, though, when he pulled you to lean back against him, his broad torso surrounding you as he encased you in his arms. He stretched comfortably, the entire tub clearly customized to fit his large form.

One wide palm lay flat on your belly, pressing you back against him until you sat on his thighs, and you swallowed a moan when you felt him settle comfortably between your cheeks. You rolled your hips back experimentally and his breathing hitched. A wicked smile curling your lips, you peered back at him through your lashes as you repeated the motion. Thor growled softly and pinched the inside of your thigh, making you squeal and attempt to squirm away. The palm on your stomach held you still while his mouth ran from the top of your shoulder, along the curve where it met your neck, and up to nibble at the shell of your ear. He then reached over to grab the bar of soap and lathered up the washcloth to begin washing you.

He rubbed your tender skin carefully until you were clean from head to toes. He’d even delved between your legs to wash you there, but his touch was much too gentle to appease your burning need. Soft mouth sounds came from him, soothing you into relaxation as he took care of you in ways you never dared imagine. Nobody in your life had touched you with such gentleness and patience, and when he started washing your hair, carefully running his fingers through your locks to detangle them, you lost it.

Crystal tears rolled down your flushed cheeks and you squeezed your eyes shut. Thor made no comment about it, and instead just kept on humming softly while massaging your scalp. After he rinsed your hair out, you wiped away at your face before carefully turning in his arms to straddle him, this time his length coming to nestle between your lower lips, and you couldn’t help grinding down on him, gliding your core along his shaft from root to tip. This time, he made no move to stop you, both his hands coming down to grab your backside tightly.

You nearly gave in, the blunt head of his cock resting right against your entrance, merely a hair’s breadth away from slipping inside you. But you were not done with him, not yet. So you scooted back to sit on his upper thighs again and grabbed the washcloth from the edge of the tub to lather it up with soap and begin repaying him in kind for his gentle treatment.

Thor couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d been with a woman, and he felt giddy and excited like a young lad. Not that it mattered really. No other woman mattered when he had you right there, in his arms: real, tangible, his. Perhaps only for a second, but his nonetheless. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, and it took a ridiculous amount of sheer willpower to break apart from his scrumptious mouth.

“Don’t distract me, I’m not done,” you mumbled between stolen kisses. Thor gave your ass a rough squeeze and you yelped softly.

“Do hurry up then, little one. Water’s running cold.”

After turning on the heater in his room, Thor walked out to lock up for the night. Seemingly unfazed by the cold weather, he strolled around the cabin barefoot, his nudity barely concealed by the towel perched precariously low on his hips. You followed him around like a lost puppy, wrapped up in the bathrobe he’d lent you, the length of it nearly dragging against the floor. Once he made sure all the doors and windows were locked, he approached the fireplace to put it out but you rapidly protested.

“You don’t have to do that! I- I meant what I said earlier. I can stay right here and leave first thing in the morning. You’ve already done so much for me.”

Your words put a furrow between his brows so he went to stand right in front of you. With two fingers tucked under your chin, he tilted up your head to gaze directly into your eyes. His voice was low, and you struggled not to look away, his grip on you tightening when you tried to. “Is that what you want?”

You shuffled your feet nervously and chewed on your lip, a nervous habit you hadn’t been able to quit. “You’ve been so kind to me, a total stranger, and I-'' Your mouth clamped shut when he grunted in protest, his frown deepening.

“That’s not what I asked. Tell me, is that what you’d prefer?”

Struggling to word a proper response, you merely opened and shut your mouth like a gaping fish. His gaze flickered down to your lips, but his own were set in a stern line. You shook your head no. He rose one thick eyebrow questioningly. You swallowed the lump in your throat and straightened your spine.

“No. I’d rather be with you.”

Thor hummed lowly in response, clearly pleased. Bending down slightly, he gave you a quick, chaste kiss before turning back and walking away to put out the fire. You merely stood there, waiting for him to finish while you rubbed your cold feet together and toyed with the long sleeves of the thick robe. Once he considered everything to be in order, he approached you again and took your hand in his to lead you back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked timidly, inching closer to him to slide both arms around his tapered waist from behind. Your cold nose pressed against the space between his shoulder blades, lips ghosting over his freckled skin. He shuddered, but it wasn’t because he was cold. He was surprisingly warm, and when he slowly spun in your embrace to face you, your cheek went to rest against his broad chest, gently rubbing against the light dusting of hair there.

The air in the bedroom was thick and warm thanks to the heater, and you could feel your muscles loosen as warmth seeped into them. After shaking his head in response to your question, he brought up one of those ridiculously large hands of his to cradle the back of your head as he leaned down to brush a kiss against the crown of your head. “Come, I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

You really were, but your blood was boiling and your skin was buzzing, and sleep couldn’t be farther from your mind. You stepped back and closer to the bed, your fingertips trailing down his torso to give his towel a gentle tug. Thor merely watched you, curiosity and desire dancing in his heated gaze. Despite his body’s pleas, he didn’t budge. You huffed out a low breath and gave the fabric another tug, more insistent, and he took one step forward, the tail of the towel tucked against his skin coming loose. If you moved your hand back, it would fall to the ground, and god, you really wished he’d make this easier on you. He wanted you and you knew that. You saw it in the ferocity of his eyes, in the flaring of his nostrils, in the clench of his jaw. Hell, you could even see it through the stupid towel he made no effort to get rid of.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched you grow impatient, but he’d be lying if he denied you made all his blood pool in his groin, his head dizzy and oxygen-deprived. He was dying to run his hands all over your body, over your impossibly soft skin, over every dip and curve of your silhouette, he wanted to kiss and taste you, and discover every beautiful sound he could coax out of you… But what he wanted didn’t matter now. Thor was aware you were a tough one, he’d known it the second he saw you, but you could still be fragile in many ways he didn’t quite know yet. If this was going to happen, it would have to happen on your terms. Because you willed it so. Because you wanted him.

One small fist still clutched the fabric against his body while your free hand reached out to grab his and place it over the knot keeping your robe together. He instinctively gave the small bow a single yank and both sides of the robe fell open. Thor drew in a deep breath and, unable to hold himself back any longer, he slid one hand over your bare stomach and around your circumference, fingertips digging into the small of your back to tug you forward. In that instant you let go of his towel and let it fall to the floor in a heap. A loud whine escaped you at the sight, and you fell to your knees.

He was instantly reaching to hoist you up, but you were already pressing your face against his muscled thigh, nuzzling the coarse hair coating it and inhaling deeply his scent. He smelled like musk and pine trees, like freshly turned ground and a brewing storm. You whimpered and pressed your face against the soft spot between his inner thigh and his hip before licking up a broad stripe there. Thor’s knees buckled, but his hands instinctively went to run through your soft hair and massage your scalp. His erection stood proudly, thick and hard as steel. You mouthed softly at the entire length, your pink tongue peeking out to kitten lick his soft skin. The fingers in your hair tightened their grip as you leisurely made your way to the tip, pressing a kiss to it before opening your mouth wide and welcoming him in.

It was unlike you, to drop to your knees for a man. Particularly one you virtually knew nothing about. But it was like your body acted on its own around him, abandoning all sense of shame or even self-preservation, driven by something deeper, wilder inside you that had laid dormant until now. He tasted both tart and sweet, and you let go of your inhibitions as you devoured him like a woman starved. His sighs and low grunts only fueled your desire, egging you on to bob your head and swallow around mouthfuls of him.

Too long. It truly had been way too long, and Thor was clinging to whatever remnants of his sanity were left when you worked him like you knew exactly what he needed. It was difficult enough to not let go the second you took him in your mouth and coat your throat with his hot spend. Unable to hold it together any longer, Thor carefully pulled you away despite his own protests, an obscene whine escaping him at the crude sight of his cock slipping out of your mouth, slick with spit and desire. He entertained the thought of shoving himself back down your throat for a split second, but the better part of him knew he needed to be inside you right then or else he would combust.

Somehow managing to keep his touch gentle, he all but shoved you back onto the bed while peeling the offending robe off your frame. You were truly exquisite. His lips latched onto your sensitive neck to lick and nibble its tender skin until faint bruises bloomed from within, hellbent on replacing the marks on your body with ones you wouldn’t recoil from when you looked at yourself in the mirror (he hoped so, at least). Repeating the motions, Thor slowly made his way down your body, refusing to neglect a single inch, to kiss and lick and suck, staking his claim over you.

You were a writhing mess beneath him, sweaty hands reaching out to hold onto him, caressing and clutching onto his shoulders, the blunt edges of your fingertips leaving crescent-shaped dents in the vast field of tan skin. “Kiss me, please,” you pleaded breathlessly, attempting to wiggle in his grasp enough to capture his mouth in yours.

Thor obliged happily. One warm hand cupped your cheek as he kissed you deep and slow, while the other reached to grab a pillow to place under your hips, propping you up at the right angle for him to slide right inside you. At first, you feared the intrusion to be too much to handle. Your lower half grew stiff as concrete but he laid his free hand on your belly, holding you in place when the rocking motion of his hips began. Despite the fire burning violently within him, Thor’s body moved in controlled, smooth waves, easing himself deeper into you, inch by inch. The tension in your muscles slowly evaporated as pleasure came to reign, the sounds emanating from you going from shaky intakes of breath to quiet whimpers and soft moans.

His thrusts were slow and shallow at first but your body soon grew hungry for more, aching to soothe the hollow pain of places so intimate you’d forgotten about.

“Thor,” you whispered breathlessly against his moving mouth. He hummed lowly in acknowledgement though he refused to break the deep kiss you shared. “Thor… please, más,” you pleaded.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he pulled back enough to look down at your flushed face. A small crease formed on his forehead out of confusion, unable to recall the meaning of such word. Your hands currently clawing at his hip bones were more straightforward. You were tugging on him, urging his body closer between your legs, deeper inside you. With one particularly deep thrust, he bottomed out and released a deep, animalistic growl in stark contrast to the loud cry of pleasure you let out.

“Más, más! Sigue, sigue así, por favor… oh dios, no pares – Thor! T-Thor!”

Thor’s chest swelled with pride when realization dawned on him. You were so out of your mind with pleasure, your brain had regressed into your native tongue as you begged him to keep on. Your back bowed off the bed, hips propped up by the pillow as you moved your body in tandem with his, meeting him halfway in every rock of his hips. His forearm slid under the back of your knee and lifted your leg higher, your knee brushing your side while he made the most of the new angle, shoving himself deep inside you. Your cries of pleasure were obscene, loud and shameless, and Thor relished every single one. He kissed you deep and hard, swallowing your moans and muffling his own while the slapping of skin against skin and wet squelching sound of your coupling reverberated through the room.

Unable to concentrate enough to continue kissing him, you merely lost yourself in his hot, dark gaze while both your hands clutched handfuls of his long, slightly damp hair. Your jaw quivered and your eyes rolled back in your head out of sheer pleasure, and Thor was certain he’d died and gone to Valhalla. You were definitely the most sublime creature he’d ever laid eyes upon, and to see you come undone beneath him in such fashion, nearly threw him over the edge. Strong-willed as he was, he refused to find his own release until he’d satisfied you thoroughly, so the calloused pad of his thumb travelled south to catch the bundle of nerves hidden between your slick folds. Your sex was tender and puffy, your clit swollen and firm like a pearl. He drew small circles on your skin then, despite your protests and attempts to ease on the overstimulation currently making your brain short-circuit. One after the other, Thor coaxed the most delicious, toe-curling orgasms out of you until you were weeping, hot streaks of tears running down your burning cheeks. With one final deep push, he found his own release, grunting through it against your throat.

You were a sweaty, trembling mess. Utterly exhausted as you were, you struggled to keep your eyes open despite the blissed out expression on your face. Taking pity on you, Thor carefully dislodged himself from you and rolled to the side to lay beside your frame. Your body curled against his side instinctively, seeking his warmth as you snuggled into a little ball beneath his arm. Thor was unable to suppress a smile as he watched you get comfortable.

He disliked denying you of your much needed sleep, but his need to provide for you was far greater. After soundlessly slipping out of bed for a quick trip to the kitchen, he nudged you awake as he brought a glass of water to your lips.

“Drink up, little one,” he cooed lowly. You blinked heavily up at him for a moment before gratefully gulping down the cool liquid, soothing the dry aching of your now-sore throat. Downing the rest of it himself, he reached over to set the empty glass on his bedside table and fetch a piece of sliced apple to offer you.

Thick fingers pressed the small piece of fruit to your lips, and you parted them obediently. It was crisp and juicy, and your sensitive tummy rumbled gratefully. Although confused by and unaccustomed to his caregiving, you basked in it. It was a brand new yet wholly pleasant experience, to say the least.

Once you’d finished your food, Thor pulled up his thick bedding to cover both your bodies, his wrapping protectively around yours. With his bare chest pressed to your back, he nuzzled his face into your hair and bent his legs to tuck them under your bum. After scooting back to mold your body against his and leading his muscled arms to embrace you, you both quickly fell into deep slumber.

For the first time in a long time, nightmares were nowhere to be found.

The following morning, you woke up warm and relaxed. Your body ached a bit, but each pang of pain sent an electric shock right to your core. For the first time, your aches were born out of passion and pleasure. Waking up to a heavy body draped over you and ocean-blue eyes watching you intently did catch you off guard at first, panic threatening to seep deep into your bones. Thor was quick to chase away the darkness creeping on the corners of your mind (and his) when he kissed you, and proceeded to claim your body again. It was slow and lazy, and everything you never knew you needed.

After breakfast, you sat on the loveseat by the fireplace with a steaming mug cradled between your hands, curiously studying your surroundings. The sound of the front door opening broke you out of your reverie, and you peeked from the back of the seat to watch Thor toeing off his heavy boots and hanging his coat near the entrance. The second his gaze landed on you, a heartfelt smile crept on his lips. You took a tentative sip from your beverage to conceal your own, attentive eyes following his every movement as he made his way over to pour himself a cup and join you on the sofa. Large hands crept under the blanket draped over your legs to grasp your ankles and lead them to rest over his knee while he sat back against the armrest, facing you.

“So,” he spoke calmly, piercing blue eyes boring into yours. “What’s your story?”

PART II

#thor x reader #thor odison x reader #thor imagine #lumberjack!thor #lumberjack!thor x reader #fic #thor fic #smut #lamb writes

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian - ch. 2

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Chapters: 2/2

Read chapter one on Tumblr.

Chapter two summary: Sam and Bucky talk after their date op in Germany.

“Four,” Bucky says.

Sam, plodding down the road beside him, turns to stare. His sidekick (and fuck him if Bucky’s thinking of Sam in the same terms) has his chin lifted, moving his gaze back and forth across the horizon in a slow sweep. With the lines of trees planted as windbreaks around the fields, they can’t see the highway from here. It could be nice, without the rushing noise of cars and trucks, if Bucky knew how to shut up. That sorta pout his mouth does when his face is in its sour resting position—that’s what Sam wants to see. Only because it means Bucky wouldn’t be talking and Sam could maybe find a few minutes of peace, some quiet in which to consider the Flag-Smashers they just fought.

“Four what?” he demands when Bucky doesn’t continue.

Can’t be hostiles. If Bucky had spotted anybody, he wouldn’t still be striding along, looking unconcerned. No, he’d be running flat-out towards their adversaries like the rash moron he’s always accusing Steve of having been. Trying to leave Sam in the dust until Sam kicked off and spread his wings.

“Four stars,” Bucky says, carefully, clearly, like that clears anything up.

“What are you doing? Rating our trip down the highway? That was a transport truck full of medicine and super-soldiers, not an Uber.”

Sam’s grinning to himself when Bucky turns his head to glare. Ah. So gratifying. Amends sound good in theory, but Bucky’s irritation is so much simpler in practice. Sam knows how to handle that. He’ll take the grouchy stewing post-mission over having to meet Bucky’s eyes across a table, the promised snapper dinner laid out in front of them. They haven’t gotten around to that yet.

“I’m not rating the ride,” Bucky says, “I’m rating our date.”

That trips Sam up, but just for a second.

“No, no, no, dates don’t end with me rescuing you from the underside of a truck.”

“You didn’t rescue me.”

“Man, those wheels would’ve turned you into ground beef,” Sam says with a snort.

“I doubt it. Fell two hundred feet without a parachute today and I’m fine.”

“You want a second opinion on that?”

Instead of watching Bucky’s scowl deepen at the joke, Sam sees his expression flatten out. It makes Sam narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“What?” he prompts.

“You’re wrong,” Bucky states plainly.

“About what those wheels would do to you? We can test it when we’re back stateside if you want. I’ll requisition a truck.”

“Not about that.”

Sam’s looking closely, so he spots the smile. A curl at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. He hopes, secretly, that Bucky is scanning the surroundings well enough for both of them, because Sam’s attention is homed in on this little sign of Bucky’s amusement.

“About the end of the date,” Bucky finally clarifies.

“Mission. The end of the mission, when I rescued you.”

“The end of the date, when I was on top of you.”

Something to throw with all his strength, that’s what Sam needs right now. Some physical outlet for how badly he wants to fling the creeping, seeking, aching things he’s feeling very far away from himself. He wonders if Steve ever just whipped the shield as hard as he could to vent his frustrations. It’s hot as hell out here under the sun and Sam can feel the dampness of his chest inside his suit, the sweat riding his spine.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, fine with the scent of manure and getting nothing but grass instead. Like inhaling the colour green. Smells like the field they landed in. Landed in and went barreling across until, yeah, Sam wound up on his back with Bucky above him, their arms fastened around each other like life preservers or umbilical cords or anything else tight and necessary for keeping people alive. Goddamn nose-to-nose. Over the phone, Sam could brush Bucky off. When he says this shit in person, Sam has nowhere to go, besides extending the wings and launching himself into the sky. But he doesn’t want to overreact (doesn’t want Bucky to see him overreact).

“You just calling it a date because you don’t have rules for those?” Sam asks, deflecting.

“My three rules, you mean?” Bucky asks. He loses the smile.

“Right.”

“They’re for… everything. Supposed to be a blanket rollout, not doing anything illegal or that’ll hurt anybody in any aspect of my life. I’m sure the rules go for dating too, though Dr. Raynor and I didn’t really talk about those specific circumstances.”

“I think you might’ve mostly stuck to those rules today. I don’t think we hurt those guys.”

“Maybe you didn’t—”

“Get over yourself.”

“You’re a rude date,” Bucky notes. He’s looking straight ahead. No, not looking, staring. Like he does.

“I didn’t even invite you,” Sam says, refusing to correct this bonehead again about what kind of outing this was. “You walked onto that plane.”

“You wanted me to come.”

“Didn’t need you.”

“Oh really?” Bucky challenges. Sam clenches his jaw as he avoids meeting Bucky’s gaze.

“Hey, I was still in the air while you were clinging to that truck like a toddler to their dad’s leg.”

“You were in the air, but for how long?” Bucky asks, halting and grabbing Sam’s arm. Sam shakes him off in annoyance but stops too. “Until the Flag-Smashers knocked you out or broke your wings like they broke Redwing. They were mopping the floor with you.”

“And it was so damn useful to have you there to be the other mop,” Sam says sarcastically.

“If you’d put me back on the truck instead of in the field, we mighta had a shot at them.”

Bucky’s hands go to his hips, his Vibranium arm gleaming in the sun. He’s going to have to say more about that White Wolf thing. Wondering where the hell Bucky’s sleeve went and refusing to ask, Sam crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“We had no shot. Not today, not without more information.”

“Information takes too long.”

“That’s what a successful op is,” Sam stresses, chopping the side of one hand into his opposite palm. “Intelligence gathering, corroboration, planning, execution. Information is what tells you to hang back instead of throwing yourself into a fight you’re not prepared enough to win.”

“We were already here. We couldn’t just let them leave.”

“Don’t worry about the hypotheticals now; them leaving is exactly what happened.”

“Unless Captain America has ’em on the ropes,” Bucky says deadpan.

“I hope they pushed him off the back of one of those trucks.”

“Were you thinking about that while we were up there with him?”

“At the time, I was thinking about pushing you off the back of the truck for getting us into that situation,” Sam explains, “that’s why I can picture it so clearly. See, Buck? I always have a plan.”

“Just like Steve.”

“No, not just like Steve.”

Sam pushes past Bucky to start walking again. After a couple steps, Bucky’s back at his side.

“You think the new guy had a plan?” he asks. “I don’t.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Sure you do.”

“Are you trying to get me to talk now? Mr. ‘I’m not a words guy’? Fine,” Sam huffs, tired from everything inside him that’s pushing to get out rather than their leisurely walk down a country road. Even so, he walks faster, almost stomping, and Bucky has to lope up next to him to stay in step. “I don’t think he had a plan. I don’t think he could fasten that dumb helmet on his head without a direct order. I don’t think he and his partner found us on their own initiative.”

“They work pretty smoothly as a team though,” Bucky tosses out.

“That looked like familiarity, not the result of inspiring leadership on the part of the Captain.”

“And not as good as us.”

Sam sends Bucky poisonous side-eye.

“I’m not trying to lead you.”

“I don’t wanna be led,” Bucky replies. “We fight together better than they do and that’s with you pretending you hate me.”

“Oh, I don’t need to pretend.” The comment is habit.

“All I’m saying is that it’s better. The two of us being out here doing this stuff together.”

“Especially with that dick waiting in the wings.”

Bucky stares at him long enough that Sam turns his head to stare back. When he does, Bucky glances away, but Sam knows where he was looking—at his back, where his wings are folded away.

“Waiting in the wings is a figure of speech,” he tells Bucky angrily.

“It’s perfect though. I always think of you as that dick in the wings.”

Sam exhales hard through his nose.

“I hope you don’t always think of me as anything.”

“I do. I always think of you.”

Freefall doesn’t jar Sam, no more than what he can remember it feeling like when he was a little kid and his dad would toss him into the air before catching him again. But what Bucky says changes the physics of his insides, the gravity all wrong with his organs. Heart plummeting then trying to sail straight up his throat like a balloon somebody just let go of.

Then Bucky adds, “You and that shield.”

“Drop it.”

He could just fly to the airport, leave Bucky here with plenty of time to think his stupid, shield-related thoughts. Maybe this smartass would have all the answers by the time he reached the plane, or Munich, if they went wheels-up without him. The truth is that the shield—and the Captain America persona—are on Sam’s mind just as much as they’re on Bucky’s, only he manages to keep those thoughts locked up tight. He has to make sure that shit’s contained, particularly if the new poster boy’s going to turn up like this. Sam doesn’t need that in his face.

As they walk, he glances at Bucky, who’s probably as aware of it as Sam is when Bucky gives him that stare. Blue as the sky overhead and heavy as a boulder. The realization that, although he didn’t mean to lead, Bucky followed him here, and continues to stick with him, is staggering. The pages of his mental photo album flip and he sees Steve crack a grin. It’s not like that, Sam tells that blond do-gooder, young in his memories. The only blond do-gooder who ever has or ever will look right with his arm threaded through the straps of the shield.

Maybe, maybe, this thing could work. Him and Bucky running ops, doing better at not getting their asses kicked in front of the government’s hand-picked hero. But Bucky’s gotta let that shit go. Since the Blip, Sam’s been trying to fly under the radar and that’s what he wants to continue doing. He doesn’t need to be showy, just effective; he doesn’t want to get dragged into some Cap vs. Cap contest, the inheritor against the upstart. If Bucky would take the time to think and listen, they could figure this out and be good. And do good. Understanding each other the way Sam wanted when he called Bucky up and they talked about Tunisia and rules and fish dinners. Bucky could make his jokes and, the next time, Sam could call his bluff. Show that gruff, rusty motherfucker what a real date looks like. What kind of team could they be? All kinds.

“Are we even going the right way?” Bucky asks after a half-hour of silence.

“Yes,” Sam says firmly.

He actually hasn’t checked. After they untangled themselves in that field, he just started walking, too keyed up to establish their position. He wonders if the grass still shows their path, crushed where they rolled to a stop.

“You sure?”

“Uh huh.”

“Got any thoughts you wanna share?” Bucky asks. Sam frowns and steals a glance at him. “What? I told you I’ve been going to therapy. I know the importance of a healthy dialogue.”

Sam tries to force his mouth to keep curving down, but he really wants to smile. Bucky’s not the worst company and he is obviously capable of growth.

“A question,” he says.

“If it’s sarcastic, I’m not—”

“Four outta what?”

“What?”

“You said four stars,” Sam reminds him. “Is that four outta five or four outta ten?”

Bucky’s smile spreads slowly, smugly, and Sam rolls his eyes hard. He’s no more aggravated by Bucky than he is by his own need to know. ‘Four stars’ was an incomplete assessment! Typical.

“I hate you,” he says.

Still smiling away, Bucky sways into Sam as he walks, their arms brushing. Could be an accident.

But probably not.

#my writing #story update #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #sambucky #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

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midnightmoonkiss · 4 years

Text

How To Train A Demon

An adorable visual of Demon!Deku by @birds-have-teeth !!💙

Demon!Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader

Summary: Who knew you’d be teaching a man from the underworld your way of life, and who knew you’d slowly start to fall in love with the very being you were taught to fear?

WARNINGS! None!

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 12k

A/N: Day 12 of the Izumonth collab!

I had to split it into two parts due to limited time with editing, so the second part will be posted shortly after the collab ends!

I also want to thank @1a-imagines for helping me edit and find a good stopping point with this fic! I would not have finished it in time if it werent for her and her amazing talents!

Just To Clarify:

Takes place in early-ish Japan during the summer!

I did not do my history homework..

Reader does not have a job, and lives alone on the side of a mountain.

They say dark and stormy nights always bring chaos and misfortune.

That the scariest of tales are bred from the harsh splatter of rain on parched ground, the crackle of lightning in the sky illuminating the monsters that lurk deep in the shadows.

They always warn to fear those nights, to keep a lantern on and a knife under your pillow, for you never know what nefarious being is waiting to strike during your most vulnerable state.

And for the most part, it was true. Believable.

Of course, how could you not believe in such stories?

They were what you grew up with, what you were lectured with, a lesson repeatedly bashed into your skull from the minute you could understand them.

Everyone feared those nights.

Everyone feared the darkness.

It was always something so easy to be afraid of without even really being given a viable reason as to why other than tales passed on for generations.

You fear what you do not understand.

Especially those who lived alone, people like you.

People who needed fear to keep them alive more than the next person.

A small house on the mountainside, surrounded by thick forests and shrines to gods of ancient times. Lands protected and blessed by predecessors, symbols carved into trees and painted on rocks to banish the evil.

But alone you lived, alone your fears manifested into a ball of terror-filled paranoia, regardless of anyone’s true sense of reason.

Could you always rely on a symbol to keep you safe?

This particular night would unknowingly bring those fears to life.

But then again, it’s impossible to expect the unexpected, regardless of what others may say or encourage.

Thunder clapped loudly in the sky as rain assaulted your wooden rooftop, something usually so peaceful amplified by the altitude and sounding like a million dancers stomping on the old wood, dragging you into a restless sleep as stray drops drip from your ceiling, echoing in a metal pan at the far side of your room from a leak you had yet to repair.

Body curled into a ball, you gasped involuntarily when a bright flash illuminated your room, followed immediately by the raging roar of the sky as it split in two once again.

It was safe to say you would suffer through another sleepless night, fingers digging into the meaty flesh of your poor pillow as you fought to maintain a steady breath as the violent storm raged on outside, howling winds only adding to the dreadful abundance of creepy noises.

Nights like these you wished you weren’t alone.

Perhaps you would have been less afraid if your deceased family didn’t decide to live on the mountain instead of in the valley.

Though you desired to move down there where lanterns illuminated the sky at night, you couldnt abandoned what little you had left of your kin.

Instead, you sucked it up, like you always managed to do.

You were an adult, after all, one that theoretically should have been married already, but alas.

You craved freedom more than you craved to be tied down by a ring of false promises. That, and the fact that typically parents were the ones who set up marriages.

As another bang of thunder rang out in the night, you squeezed your tired eyes closed, imagining someone was there with you, wrapped securely in their embrace, even if just for a moment. Someone there to calm your breath down, to protect you from the loneliness that stabbed at your weeping heart.

Whimpering, your legs rubbed together as a cold chill filtered into the room, creeping up your spine as goosebumps ran down your skin, the garment you wore doing next to nothing at keeping you warm.

Perhaps you should have kept the fireplace going.. An old, rusty oil lantern with a small flame could only do so much. Then again, it was more of a light source than a heat source, so you couldn’t really complain.

With a huff, you dragged the thick covers over your head, sealing in what little warmth you had.

It was like a warm cocoon, almost. A little bundle of protection. You could barely even see the flashes anymore, but that just meant the thunder would swoop down on you like a hawk, startling you every time.

But what else is one to do other than to wait out the storm?

The sun would rise eventually, just as it always has and just as it always will.

Since the beginning of time, the sun blessed the lands with a golden glow, shrouding its children in warmth and love. The moon was like it’s bitter sister, cold and cruel, taking away the light that led her people through her darkness.

Some nights she was merciful, and others- gone from the sky completely.

This night just happened to be one of those nights.

So not only was it violent, rainy, and cold, this night was also one without any true lights.

Stars were a blessing in disguise, their brightness concerningly dim.

At least you had your lantern and that dirty old katana your father left behind.

You were safe.

At least you thought you were, but a sudden cry bellowing through the night tore the thick atmosphere apart, sending chills down your spine and making the grip on your blanket as tight as ever.

What.. was that?

It sounded almost like..

Like a wounded animal..

Just then, a flash of light blinded your vision, a sickening roar accompanying it. The ground shook as you whimpered, eyes wide with fear.

A bolt must have struck close to home..

It’s okay.

Everything is okay.

Breath heavy and body shaking, you comforted yourself with logic- an old friend you abandoned.

An animal just got hurt, was all. Perhaps a tree fell on it, or maybe it got attacked by another animal!?

It might even have been that howling wind that acted up sometimes!

Everything was okay.

It’s okay.

Nothing to fear.

It’s just a storm.

Just a storm.

You’re safe.

You’re inside.

The light guides you, the charms protect you, the shrines embrace you.

You’re okay.

It’s just a storm.

It’s just a

SCRSSSSHHHHH!!

CRASH!

“AHHH!”

A blood-curdling scream tore from your throat as something suddenly crashed through your window, the loud sound of wood tearing apart and clanging to the floor was followed by a heavy thud and the splash of rain on your padded floor at the gaping hole given to it.

Screaming in terror, your frantic hand grabbed the blade at your side, shaking body scrambling backwards to the other side of the wall, pulling it from its sheath.

You were trapped, you had no exit!

The only exit you had was where whatever the fuck that is just crashed!

Oh gods!

You’re going to die!

This was it!

A fucking storm!

A fucking goddamn storm!

God, you were a fool!

Hyperventilation crept up on you like a venomous snake, its cold body constricting tightly around your chest and throat, cutting off your oxygen supply and freezing your numb fingers.

You were scared shitless, that was for sure, and all you could do was helplessly stare with wavering eyes at a large, haunting silhouette in the corner of the room. The small light, now seemingly miles away, providing next to no coverage of this massive figure, only gifting the room more horrific shadows.

You wanted this to be a dream, that what the elders warned wasn’t true.

This was just a nightmare.

A scary nightmare your mind conjured up like it always did.

Rain splattered against your sickly pale face, the droplets mixing with the burning hot tears that poured down your cheeks as you fought to keep a steady hand and to slide up the wall to stand.

Old, dull blade pointing forward, you couldn’t help by cry out as the dark figure moves ever so slightly.

A crash of light drowns out your sobs, swallowing the room in a dull white glow for a mere moment, enough of a moment to give you a glimpse of this creature.

You wish you hadn’t seen it, that you indulged in your ignorance for a moment, that you didn’t see the way large, black wings sprouted from the back of a human.

Horns glistened with water atop its head, long tail thrashing wildly as its body moved to get up.

Your breathing stopped the minute it opened its eyes, a vicious, glowing green staring off at the destruction it caused.

Heart roaring in your ears, you did nothing but stare.

It was as if your blood had ran as cold, for all you could think to do was to silently pray to the gods that everything would be okay.

That your life would not end.

That you would still have a chance to become what you were supposed to be, and not die a lonely child by the hands of a beast.

Suddenly, its eyes snapped to your own, wide pupils turning into menacing slits as it gazed at you with malice, an animalistic growl rumbling in its chest, sharp teeth that could easy rip your throat out on full display.

Blade slipping from your numb hands, black dots spotted your vision as you promptly fainted from fear, accepting death in its imminent wake as your knees crash against the floor.

‘So this truly was the end’.. You thought to yourself as you body drifted lifelessly in a void of black, fingers outstretched as if reaching for something that would never be there.

Death was always something to think about, the burning question always attacking your mind as to how exactly you would die. You figured you’d be mawed to death by a wild boar of sorts, tusks tearing through the ligaments in your legs, praying you’d die from bleeding out before its teeth dug into your skin, eating you alive.

Or perhaps you’d die as most women do these days, walking alone before you’re kidnapped by an enemy.

Death by what could only be described as a demon never truly crossed your mind despite you being warned by it.

It seemed impossible.

Why would a demon want you of all people?

Though, you were.. an easy prey.

‘I’m sorry..’ you whispered to yourself, hoping your words of sincerity would cross the plains of existence and comfort those you would ultimately leave behind, which wasn’t many, and those you were soon to visit. You let your eyes slip shut to close off the suffocating abyss, embracing death.

“Ugh!” you groaned uncomfortably as a bright light assaulted your closed eyes, dragging you from your sleep.

No.. was this sleep?

You couldn’t be too optimistic..

Turning over, your back promptly blocked out the headache-inducing light, bare arm coming up to rub the drowsiness from your eyes as you blinked in your surroundings.

Well.

There wasn’t really anything to look at since you were facing a wall.

More specifically, your bedroom wall. A simple, faded, dark wood design.

Humming, your fingers tap against the tatami floor, chewing on your lip as you struggled to comprehend the beating of your own heart.

Were you alive?

It was hard to tell, you didn’t exactly have an accurate depiction of the afterlife.

Oh boy.

If you were dead, your family would kill you again no doubt for dying so early.

Of course, you can never please your ancestors, especially if you don’t leave something behind to continue your family’s lineage.

Maybe it was a good thing that you were dead, actually.

It didn’t take but a moment to notice the unusually loud sounds of nature attacking your ears and the wet, earthy scent flooding your nose.

The rain had ceased, and the morning birds were singing their usual cheerful tune.

The delicate jingle of your wind chime could be heard as it swayed ever so gently in the wind, having previously been frantically dinging all night long.

At least you were welcomed with open arms to your afterlife, after promptly being murdered by some weird fucking overgrown bat demon.

Who knows, maybe it wasn’t a demon.

Demons didn’t look like that? No, they were much creepier, but it wasn’t like you had anything real to compare it to.

Grumbling to yourself, you ran a hand through your messy hair, finding the oily, tangled mess utterly disgusting.

You really should take a bath soon.

Does the afterlife have baths?

You would throw a fit if not, you need your weekly soak, even if the water wasn’t that warm.

You’d be damned if you didn’t get a minute to relax and destress.

But then again, is there even stress here?

You’d have to find out later, for now, you should stop staring at your dirty old wall like some sort of lunatic, give this whole afterlife a go.

Slapping your bare thighs, eyes sparkling with determination you go to turn around before promptly screaming your heart out as fright squeezed the life out of you once more.

Large, snake-like green eyes bore into your own, only a hair length away.

Throat dry, you flung yourself back against the wall as you fought to scramble away, only for this creature to follow your every movement as you pushed yourself into a corner.

All you could see was green.

Green.

The type of green that reminded you of toxic flames erupting from an innocents body as it succumbs to possession.

You swore you were dead, but perhaps you have yet to meet your untimely end.

“Please!”

You cried, tears pouring down your raw cheeks as your arms wrapped protectively around your head, “Please don’t hurt me!” sobbing, you squeezed your eyes shut, waiting.

Waiting was always a horrifying game, you never knew when the waiting would stop and when you could breathe again.

But death never greeted you.

It was odd in a way.

It was as if you were expecting so much, that to not be given it was even more confusing.

Lips wobbling, you slowly peaked your eye open, breathless as you noticed this human-like creature suddenly at the other end of the room, clawed fingers tapping together at it shifted nervously from bare foot to foot.

…

What the-?

“I-i’m so sorry! I, I must’ve scared you so much… I’m really sorry!”

You stared in shock as this… man fell to his knees, thumping his forehead onto the floor in an apologetic bow, wings bent and folded at his sides.

You were speechless.

Truly, what the hell?

Was this even real?

You couldn’t tell anymore.

This all seemed so questionable.

It was certainly what crashed through your home- of fuck!

Gasping, you finally got a good luck at the true destruction.

Oh, your window was completely ruined! Broken wood stuck out everywhere, even looking at it made you feel like you were going to get a splinter!

How are you supposed to fix that when you haven’t a coin to your name?

Fuck.

Wait.

Oh, right!

There was!

This creature!

What the hell.

Breathing heavily, you fought to calm yourself down as you got a good look at this thing.

Its hair was messy, mud, twigs, and leaves entangling itself in its thick, dark green curls. It was hard to ignore the two large black horns atop its head, locks wrapping almost possessively around them.

Pointy ears caught your attention, a strange earpiece dangling from one with an upside-down, obsidian Christian cross.

Of course, what mostly caught your attention were the two large black wings sprouting from its scarred back, a thin black tail idly swaying back and forth.

His cream-colored skin was wet with water, dotted with freckles, and littered with scars varying in sizes.

All and all, you were dumbfounded.

Eyes bouncing around the room, you looked for your sword, desperate for some sort of protection, something you could say you tried to fight it off with if worse came to inevitable worse.

Oh!

There!

It was only a few feet away from you, and do as you must, you slowly crept forward, crawling on your hands and knees, sneaking around in hopes it wouldn’t lift its head and pounce on you.

Unfortunately, you pressed on a particularly creaky floorboard, and its head snapped up, fear causing you to jump for the sword before shakily aiming it at the demon once more.

“S-stay back!” you warned with a wavering voice, though you knew for a fact you looked like a crying child who could do no real harm.

Eyes stared into each other once more, this time from a safer distance. You were just about to speak again when it spoke up, its voice a calmer and not as frantic, “You’re holding that wrong.”

“Excuse me?” you answered without a beat, astonishment lacing your words as curiosity rose onto your face, how on earth did this thing know that?

“You’re holding the katana wrong,” it pointed at your hands on its handle, sharp black fingernail catching your ultimate attention, “You shouldn’t hold it just at the bottom, you need to space your hands out more. You would not be a threat to anyone if you hold it like that.”

Was… was it seriously lecturing you right now?

Eye twitching with annoyance, you slid your hands into the position described, “Just like that! Perfect!” it smiled brightly at you, green eyes slipping closed as it praised you like a teacher to a student who did good.

“Shut up!” you shouted, scrambling to your feet, flames of anger igniting within your body as you took a step forward.

With an inhuman screech, its wings folded protectively around its body, “Ack! I’m sorry! I just wanted to help you!”

What is going on?!

This, this wasn’t! This wasn’t supposed to be happening right now, right?? It was just about to kill you!

Could you even call it an "it", it looks like a man!

Is it a man? How do demons work!

Why is this happening right now!

You couldn’t wrap your head around it, and it was beyond infuriating!

“Who and what are you!” you snarled out, surprise blossoming in your eyes at the sheer ferocity you just displayed, but annoyance sure is a force to be reckoned with.

Wings cracking open ever so slightly, and you can just barely see an innocent green eye peaking out.

“M-My name is Midoriya.. Midoriya Izuku.. I’m.. I am a.. I know it sounds weird, but I’m a demon..”

So you were right.

This is a demon, just not one you were used to.

Yokai was what they’re called here, red, devilish creatures that sought destruction.

This certainly wasn’t a yokai, surely, despite his cheeks being a subtle red.

“I mean you no harm..” he meekly whispered, unfolding his large wings just to put his hands in the air, defenseless.

You weren’t convinced.

But then again, what were you supposed to do?

It wasnt as if you were taught how to handle a situation where an animal crashes into your house in the middle of a thunderstorm just to be there the next morning watching you sleep like some sort of creepy stalker.

When life gives you lemons, though, right?

Well, you hated lemons.

Or, at least these lemons.

No, that doesn’t apply here surely. This is a man, not a lemon.

Regardless, you were stuck on what action you should take.

Caution was definitely one. Though it hadn't harmed you in any way and was looking pretty beat up itself, you couldn’t run the risk of being too trusting too early only to end up with your throat ripped out.

There, of course, is still the question as to how it was able to enter holy lands such as these, lands protected from such devilish creatures.

They were supposed to combust into flames upon entering, right?

Closing your eyes for a moment, you took a deep breath, letting a scowl settle onto your face as you glared at this ‘Midoriya,’ “Why are you h-”

“Wait, wait wait!” he suddenly shouted out, arms waving frantically in front of his burning red face, “B-before uh! You do whatever you’re going to do, c-can you..” words were whispered under his breath as his arms wrapped childishly around his head, averting his gaze to the side, “Can you fix.. your garments…? Please?”

Stunned, you gaped at him, confused as to what he meant. Fix your garments? They were perfectly fine!

Only, they werent.

To your utter horror, your loose robe had begun to slip, completely exposing your left shoulder and the top of your breast.

It probably would have been more embarrassing if you didn’t still have a bit of adrenaline coursing through your veins, so naturally, you nonchalantly fixed up your robe.

Izuku sighed in relief, arms unraveling from his head.

“Now, what was your ques-”

“Why are you here.” You repeated, wanting definite answers as to what the fuck a demon was doing in these parts, and why it crashed into your beautiful house.

Hell, a bird just flew in! It’s going to be unimaginably cold in here tonight!

“Thats a uh,” he chuckled nervously, eyes drifting to look out into the forest covered in morning dew as he lightly scratched at his cheek with that sharp nail. He shifted so that he was sitting with his legs crossed over one another, tail flopping onto his lap to no doubt keep his decency.

He was clearly naked. How had you not noticed this before?

Where you too caught up in your head to realize this entire time he was bare?

And yet he had the gall to tell you to fix yourself up? It was hard to tell if he was being a gentleman or a fool.

Regardless, you ‘d never seen a naked man before. Perhaps muscular arms at most as village men helped their wives and older folk about.

But completely in the nude? Bare chest, legs out? Never.

You’d have to swallow down that bubble of nervousness, ignoring the heat on your cheeks, too eager to hear his answer rather than get wrapped up in ‘oh god he’s hot’ thoughts.

“A long story..”

“Everyone always says its a long story. Stop avoiding the question, and answer it before I cut your head off!” You bravely declared, only for his viridescent eyes flashing with mischief to flicker over to you with a momentary smirk on his lips.

It was almost as if his face turned into the personification of ‘is that so?’ and honestly, you do not blame him for reacting in such a way. You didn’t even know how to hold this old katana until a few minutes ago when told you how.

He was obviously trying to hide that display of cockiness as he coughed into his tattooed fist, “Well, if you’ve got the time-”

“I do.”

“H-how much?”

Eye twitching with aggravation, you promptly sat down on your knees, the sun-warmed tatami mat beneath you offering some comfort to your chilled bones.

“As long as you need.”

It didn’t take long for him to spit out his story, having no real choice in the matter.

Apparently, he was an exiled demon.

Who knew demons of all things could be banished from the underworld?

According to him, demons were the incarnation of evil, bred from human hatred and misery, taught to become a monster who wreaks havoc on the innocent and guilty, but he was different.

Since birth, or his ‘manifestation’ as he strangely called it, he was much kinder than those around him. Pure and sweet, hiding it behind a mask of cruelty in fear of the banishment now bestowed upon him.

So here he is in all his glory, a permanent seal of banishment printed in black ink onto his left pectoral in the form of broken kanji and crescent moons.

It was quite a lovely mark, really, but to him, it meant lonely freedom.

But, who knew demons can’t fly for shit in the rain? Certainly not him. Salty water splattered in his eyes, blinding him after a loud crack of lightning tore a scream from his throat - which explained the cries of an animal in pain.

And so he crashed through your home, a scared animal.

It was hard to tell if you were lucky or not, considering the charms didnt work at all.

At least you had a reason now, the mark he was branded with took away his demonic possession.

He was more of a human now than a demon, powers stripped away, not that he used them.

The only problem was, he looked like a demon.

Horns? Check. Reptillian eyes? Check. Lare, bat-like wings? Check. A tail that looks like it could easily stab someone? Check.

Not to mention the strange tattoos under his eyes and on his left arm, something he was supposedly born with and which was unique to himself only.

To you, the intricate tattoo looked like a bunny ensnared in thorny vines on his arm, but he was quick to take offense before laughing boyishly.

You were absolutely stuck on what you should do with him.

Tossing him to the snakes and boars would surely be too cruel, but keeping a demon in your house?

How maddening! You were lucky no one came around these parts to snoop in on whats inside.

Though, despite it being absolutely ludicrous, you allowed it. That is, because of his promise that he’d fix your window. Heavens know you certainly cant do it yourself.

He was insistent that you should sleep in the dusty guest bedroom, a smaller room with a mere futon and window, lacking the furniture you had, as he stood guard at the opening at night.

Demons apparently didnt sleep much?

Lucky you.

And so now, by events you never could have seen coming, you have a giant cat looming over your shoulder.

It was hard not to let your guard down so fast around him when he was so.. innocent. So open and kind, always willing to help around the house, and always quick to jump away if he began to do something wrong.

His curiosity was truly adorable, though.

Most days he’d stare in wonder at something new with an awestruck expression, eyes sparkling as he’d take a brush and ink, scribbling down notes about it in a foreign language on a piece of parchment, even attempting to draw it. He would always ask you about it later, showing you what he had written down, and if you could answer, you would. He’d always thank you profusely before writing down what you’d said.

You couldn’t understand what he wrote, it’d always be a mystery, but it certainly was an intricate language.

The only problem was he was so used to being naked all the time that it was an embarrassing struggle to get him to not only get into clothes but to also wear them. The most he was willing to wear was a sash from as robe wrapped around his waist. He disliked the constricting feeling of fabric clinging to his body, slipping out of it whenever you got him dressed.

It really did give you the chance to actually know what a man looked like, that, as well as study him. He was littered with scars ranging from small, faded, fresh, large, it truly was a painful sight the days you decided to dwell on them.

He had told you a few stories already about how he had gotten certain ones, and most stories were ones filled with pride and determination, winning fights or protecting others.

Each scar held an interesting story, except the one on his neck, which was gained from forgetting he had sharp nails in a fit of frustration.

As you found out later that first day of knowing him, his wings and horns had the ability to shrink, not only giving him more mobility inside the house, but also taking away that spike of anxiety whenever you’d see them near a fragile object. Besides, their tiny selves were oh so cute, not that you’d ever openly say that.

And so, two weeks had passed, and there was still that dreadful broken window. Izuku had been kind enough to clean up the mess he made, insisting to do so after your intense interrogation, so it truly was an out of place marker of destruction now.

Its stay was to be expected, considering you didn’t have a replacement. No, you’d need to buy one.

Oh, buying. A poor man’s nightmare.

But as it turns out, demons are quite good at finding valuable things in the wilderness.

Or at least, that’s what he explained to you when he showed up one morning covered in dirt and mud, twigs all in his hair, boring an appearance similar to his first arrival, showing off a handful of silver and copper coins, as well as two golden ones.

In short, you were too busy drooling at the sight to care about how exactly he got it.

Travelers were often dropping coins anyway, so it surely doesn’t matter. Besides, his accomplished smile was far too sweet to tarnish with questions.

“You’re dirty, again.” you bluntly pointed out after thanking him for his find, pouring the coins into a small, worn pouch containing only two copper. Tying it up, you were quick to place it back on the shelf, hiding it behind a book of heroic tales.

“O-oh.. I didn’t notice..” he laughed awkwardly in that boyish manner he seemed to always have, large hands immediately going to brush off the caked mud on his legs and arms.

“Absolutely not, mister! I just cleaned!” Scolding him, you grabbed his wrist before he had the chance, glaring up into his surprised, foresty green snake-like eyes.

“If you’re going to shake your dirty little self off, go do it outside!”

At times, you acted more like a mother than you did anything else with him. But to be fair, he did come to this practical new world without any true knowledge of its customs, what you can and cannot do. Surely not making the house someone let you graciously stay in dirty was a universal thing.

He openly stared at you, innocent eyes glistening and wobbly lips reminding you of a kicked puppy.

Ouch.

“S-sorry,” he promptly apologized, attention snapping to your smaller hand still gripping his wrist, pink dusting over his chubby, freckled cheeks.

Sighing, you patted his large arm, picking up on the way it made his wings flutter, “It’s alright. Just go pat yourself off outside. I’ll set up a bath for you. I don’t need dirt everywhere in here again.”

Nodding eagerly, a bright smile overtook his face, showing off his unusually sharp canines.

Perhaps you would’ve been afraid had he shown them off in a vicious way again, but he was far too excited at the prospect of submerging his body in heated water to seem at all threatening.

You watched for a split second as he ran off, head instantly whipping to the side when he suddenly threw off the measly piece of fabric wrapped around his thin waist, tail curling around his muscular leg that you definitely haven’t been staring at throughout all this time.

You would have yelled after him for stripping if you weren’t so flustered.

You’d doubt you’d ever get used to it, seeing him nearly naked all the time. Artists were right to draw demons naked it seems, they truly didnt have any shame.

A blessing and a curse.

Grumbling, you began the long process of filling the metal tub with buckets of water from the well out back, igniting a small flame beneath it so the water would be warm upon his arrival.

Speaking of which, he was taking an unusual amount of time.

Surely you didn’t have to be worried, but it had been at least half an hour at this point, right? It doesn’t take that long to brush yourself down, does it?

Unease built in your gut, and you began pacing around the house, chewing anxiously at your fingernails as the old boards creaked beneath your feet.

He was very capable of handling himself, he was a fairly strong and intimidating soul, but what if he ran into someone? Your house wasn’t too far from the village, it was very plausible that he could’ve run into a hunter!

What if he was dead!

Oh gods, was he dead?!

And you had just put so much effort into running a bath for him!

Should you look for him?

What if he doesnt come home?

Maybe he’s lost?

Or stuck in a trap!

There were so many different possibilities, that your feet began to move on their own, the long sleeves of your kimono flapping behind you as you rushed towards the door where he had jumped out of, only to slam into a much larger and sturdier frame the minute you were about to exit.

“Hyah!” you cried out from surprise, being knocked backward.

Two hands quickly caught your flailing arms before you had the chance to land flat on your ass.

Looking up in a panic, you were relieved to see the familiar, warm green gaze of Izuku.

“Careful!” he was now the one to scold, playfully pouting his reddened lips. Breathless from worry and slamming into him, you jumped to your feet, taking a moment to catch your breath.

“D-don’t tell me to b-be careful!” whining, embarrassed at the fact that you had been pressed so close to him, you adjusted your oversized kimono that had slipped ever-so-slightly at the rough collision.

“Mmm~ Be careful?” he teased, leaning down just to purr beside your flushed face his cold, dangling earring tickling the skin at your neck.

Smacking his shoulder, you let out an annoyed huff, only to screech a second after, blood burning your cheeks as you turned away so quickly you could hear the sleeves slap against his body, “Put some clothes on, damnit!!”

“I thought I had to be naked for a bath?” It was annoying how you could tell he was pulling your strings, no doubt his head was tilting as he batted his lashes at your smaller frame, like he always did when given the chance to be a tease.

Growling to yourself, you pointed off to the direction where the bath was prepared, desperate to escape from this trap you had set yourself in, “Then go bathe, you dirty, dirty boy!” At this point, you were on the verge of flat out shoving him into the bathroom, wanting to escape from his nude self.

You’d clearly have to start forcing him to wear clothes more, putting your foot down if he was to stay in this house.

You did not need a heart attack every morning at seeing a naked man waiting eagerly for you to awake, only for a wide smile to blossom on his face, tail thumping loudly on the ground and wings flapping like a bird when he noticed you blink your eyes open.

Of course, a pillow was always thrown at him, the plea for him to wear some clothes always on your tongue, but alas, you were lucky if he wore his piece of fabric, that flimsy sash you had half as mind at throwing away just so he would be forced to wear something else.

“O-okay..” his shy self seeped back in, his fingers visibly poking together, an anxious habit you presumed. Feet thumping against the floor, he traveled down the hall and to the bath, a loud gasp echoing down the corridor when he noisily jumped in, water sloshing. “So warm!”

“Please clean up your mess-!”

It was almost like dealing with a child, except this child was hundreds of years older than you and a grown-ass man, if that was a positive or negative- you’d never know.

It wasn’t until the next day you got him to fully wear a kimono, an old one your father had left behind. It fitted him, truly, black with green vines snaking down the sides and wrapping around the cuffs. It was a nightmare to get him in it, though.

Not that he wasn’t obedient, no, he truly did try his best to please you, but perhaps it just wasn’t something he could easily comprehend just yet, not to mention you had to somehow squeeze his wings into the outfit.

His tail was easy to hide due to the kimono reaching the floor, but thank god for hats because truly it was impossible to hide his horns any other way.

But the poor man was clearly unhappy, lips pouty and eyes droopy as he shifted from one foot to the other.

“They.. feel weird..” he tried to explain, pulling at the neckline, only for you to swat his hand away. “You’ll get used to it.” you reassured.

Grabbing the coin pouch you had placed on the shelf, you made him carry a sack over his shoulder, something to not only hide his lumpy wing covered back but to also carry the supplies you’d be purchasing soon.

It would be impossible to hide his facial markings, so you didn’t attempt. The thought of smearing mud on his cheeks did cross your mind, but alas, that would look suspicious. If only tattoos weren’t so taboo, and if only he didn’t have such suspicious ones.

Everyone in the village knew you, knew your story, and they knew you were alone. You had no doubts they’d ask who this mysterious stranger was, or at least openly gawk at him. You could avoid certain nosey fuckers, but at times it was unavoidable

Grabbing his sleeve, you led him out the front door, quick to slide it shut before walking down the dirt trail.

Perhaps you could say he was a distant relative? You didn’t have any distant relatives, so that would, unfortunately, be a bust. You placed your finger on your chin, thinking as you allowed your body to walk down the familiar path on autopilot, head in the clouds as you thought.

Curse these nosy ass people, already knowing everything about you!

Perhaps he was a traveler you found lost in the storm? Or he found you?

No.. that wouldn't explain the markings..

You needed to come up with something!

Grrr!

Oh! Oh! Wait!

“Midoriya..” you began, tilting your head curiously towards him.

His lips pressed into a thin line, already recognizing that mischievous glint in your mesmerizing (e/c) eyes.

Was that even a way he should describe them? Perhaps not, but he would be a fool to disagree with the statement formed in his head.

Gulping, he stuttered out nervously, focus shifting from you to the path in front of his wooden sandal-clad feet, shoes he wasnt too happy with, “Y-yes..?”

“Do you know what ninja’s are?”

You’re a genius.

“I, uhm, I’ve heard about them..why?”

“Mmm.. what have you heard?”

“Just that they’re skilled with a blade and sneaking around..” He looked at you dumbly, eyebrow arched as you only smiled back at him, adding to his own confusion.

“You’re gonna be a ninja, then.” You boldly declared out, catching his arm as he suddenly stumbled over a rock as he sputtered.

“W-wha?! B-but I- I’m n-not a ninja!”

“I know that, but listen! The people at the village don’t! I have no doubts they’re going to poke and prod at you, wondering who you are.. A ninja that stumbled upon my house in the middle of a storm would explain your sudden appearance and your facial tattoos, and Hell, even your eyes!”

Filled with a sense of victory, you grinned ear to ear, amazed at how you had come up with such a solution on the spot.

You truly were creative.

A gift, maybe.

Oh, man! All the village women are going to be so jealous! Always quick to say you’d end up alone, but boy were they wrong! Here you have it, a ninja demon following you around! Suck on that, widows!

Wanting to gauge his reaction, seeing as he went oddly silent, you looked over at him, only to stop in your tracks and have your arms go limp by your sides.

“W-wha…” face scrunching up, you stared at him, bewildered. He was pointing at his cheek, smirking at you, showing off the fact that not only had his eyes gained a human-like pupil, which now looked odd on him, but the fact that the markings now looked like smudged paint.

It was dumbfounding.

“What the hell happened to your face..” trailing off, you couldnt help but scratch at your head, running possibilities through your mind but coming up with no true solution.

“Demons have the ability to switch from eyes that can see well in the dark to eyes that cannot! I forgot about it until you pointed them out, to be honest! So thank you for that!”

He was smiling boyishly again, only to flush deeply as you grabbed his face, soft, small hands on his cheeks, pulling him down to your height as you examined his features.

“(Y-Y/N).?!” he squeaked, breath catching in his throat as you peered deeply into his surprised green orbs, face so close he could feel your nose brushing against his, and all he could do was stand still.

His hot breath was ragged as it fanned across your face, and though he knew you were examining the sudden change in appearance, he couldn’t help the way his heart hammered in his chest. You were so, so close!! He swore if he just.. leaned forward ever so slightly, he could.. Catch your lips in a sweet kiss. He glanced down, focus going hazy as he zeroed in the way your lips shined in the sunlight trickling just barely through the gaps of leaves above him, forcing his own lips to twitch in anticipation.

Would it be so bad if he, hypothetically speaking, kissed you right now?

Oh, what a thought!

He couldnt tell. Hell, he couldnt even think.

Your scent was so intoxicating at this moment, flooding his senses, and it left his devilish desires to want more, fingers inching towards your waist.

He was knocked out of his strangely lustful thoughts when you repeatedly papped his cheek to catch his attention.

Body going stiff, his hands flung back to his own sides before jerking his head up to look at you once more. Had you been talking to him? Did you say something? He didnt know, his attention hyperfocused on… something else at the time.

Your aggravated tone cut through his body like a freshly sharpened steel blade, noticing the way your face scrunched up once more at finding he hadnt heard you the first time.

“I said, what did you do to your eye markings?”

“H-huh?!” he stuttered out, only to internally slap himself as he took a moment to process the question, “I- I just.. smeared some mushed up black berries on m-my cheek..”

It was embarrassing to admit such a thing, especially considering his right hand is still sticky with its pigmented juice, droplets dripping from his fingers. He had half a mind to lick them up, sucking on the digits just to gauge your reaction as you watched him so intensely. No! Bad, bad Izuku! Stop that!

“I-I thought it could be.. like some sort of ink.. b-but I didn’t have any ink on me so- so I grabbed some berries..”

“Is that why you smell so sweet? I was tempted to lick your cheek for a minute there.” Confessing that, you ended the conversation by spinning around and walking on. Delays were never good, especially since you didn’t have all day, and you definitely wanted to sleep in your own room tonight. The guest one was.. a bit too stuffy for your liking.

He followed you, huffily licking at the juice covering his hand and ignoring the stickiness coating his lips and cheeks.

Next time, he would be sure to use a sort of paint or something. At least then it could be marked off as some sort of fashion trend and not actual tattoos. After all, what innocent man had tattoos?

Of course, for his kind, they were common and apart of your identity, but here? It was a symbol of bad luck it seemed. Impurity. Not that he wasnt impure.

“Walk faster!” You called back to him, alerting the green-haired man lost in his thoughts that he had been walking too slow.

“C-coming!”

It wasnt too long before you had finally reached the entrance to the village, taking a moment to look over the old wooden arch covered in vines before walking past. Your sandals, as well as his own, clopped against the cobblestone road.

Though it was early morning, and the sun was barely even awake, townsfolk were already bustling through the place. Kids were running around barefoot, doing chores or having fun, farmers were wheeling in their goods in squeaky carts, calling out for business, and shops were being opened.

Distantly, you could hear the crackle of a fire and smell the pungent scent of meat being cooked sweets being baked in the air, only making you drool at the thought of consuming something so tasty after eating home-grown vegetables for so long.

The village was dead silent at night but in the morning? It was warm and welcoming, filled with friendly, smiling faces and gossiping mothers as they hung clothes out to dry.

You swore you could even hear the light picking at an instrument and the barking of dogs far off on the other side of town.

Birds chirped happily in the sky, singing their age-old songs as they searched for someone to love.

It truly was a breath of fresh air, the friendly atmosphere far different than the much quieter one in the mountain.

You missed it.

You were convinced for a while the reason you stayed away so long was to quite literally teach a demon manners, but you were quick to regret your mistake upon reentering this world. The energy of the place stabbed at your heart, and your fingers itched with the desire to stay here for as long as possible. Perhaps even buy some bread while youre here. Heaven knows you need more ingredients, and with the jingle of the pouch you carried ringing in your ear with every step, you were reminded you could actually afford it for once.

Sure, cooking and chopping vegetables was alright, a fun pass time that brought you comfort and worth, but damn did you miss being lazy for a change.

Besides, you now had the manpower to carry quite a lot, right?

Speaking of, that same demon was currently hiding behind you, hands clutching at your kimono sleeve as his shy face barely peeked out from behind your head.

“Are.. you alright?” you asked hesitantly, worried that perhaps he was scared or something set off some sort of weird sixth scent.

“I-i’m okay..! T-there's just so many people around.. I’m.. a bit..” he trailed off, looking down at his feet once more.

“Shy.” you concluded, nodding your head in understanding.

This was the first time he would be around other humans besides yourself, so it made sense why he was a bit timid.

In all honesty, it just made him even cuter and less threatening, not that he ever truly was as you came to realize the more you got to know this fluffy boy.

That's not to say it didn't also fill you with a motherly need to protect him, or perhaps it was pride. Either way, your cheeks couldn't help but flush with him being so close, a reaction you still were trying to get used to, despite being up close and personal not ten minutes ago. Then again, that was on your terms, wasn’t it? This? This was certainly out of the blue. So it made sense.

Walking along, you waved to the occasional person, a plethora of “good morning!”’s and “I’m alright, how are you?” fleeing from your person with each minimal interaction. It was a blessing no one has yet to question who the mysterious stranger with dripping berry juice on his face was, but it certainly made a lot of people stop in their tracks and look your way.

How flustering… you thought to yourself as you pushed on, eventually grabbing Izuku’s wrist and pulling him along with you.

“The shop is just down here.” you told him, to which he nodded his head, far too shy to speak. Hell, you were sure he was close to chewing his own clothes from nerves at this point with that look of hesitation, fear, and child-like curiosity in his eyes.

It wasn't hard to miss the way his head whipped around, taking in the new environments with near open arms, visually studying each and every object he saw, but never asking a question about it, almost as if he was afraid speaking with glee and wonder would cause too much of a ruckus, attracting even more attention.

You had no doubts he would drown you in them once you got back home, or maybe even in a few minutes if something utterly mind-blowing caught his attention, but for now, you had to focus on gathering things.

You had eventually made it to the repair shop, full intentions on buying the wood needed to replace the frame, as well as a new window covering. It was old and damn near rotting off the wall anyway, it truly was needed.

Though it certainly was unusual to have such a thing in a bedroom where someone could easily break-in. But it was the mountains, so there wasn’t much to fear. After all, who in their right minds would wander a forest in the middle of the night just to break into a poor woman’s home?

Leaving Izuku to stay outside to collect himself as he shook like a leaf in the wind, you stepped inside the open shop, immediately greeted with the smell of freshly chopped wood and burning embers, a fire burning in the back no doubt. This was a supply shop for home repair, after all.

“Ah! Little Miss (L/N)! I haven't seen you in a while, my dear. Where have you been?” An elderly grandfather emerged from the back, hand pressed to the wall to lean against it. For his age, he was surprisingly in stable conditions, no doubt from the strenuous work he’d done all his life.

It was hard to forget that the elders here always had an eye open, so naturally, he would be the first to question your sudden disappearance when given a true chance. So far you’d only seen people your age and children out and about doing deeds for the older folk and earning their dinner.

Just as you were about to answer, you were cut off, “Oh? Who’s this?”

Not bothering to glance back, already knowing full well it was the curious Izuku who finally manage to swallow his anxieties and peak in, “He’s-”

“A ninja!” he exclaimed, jumping to your side excitedly as you huffed in irritation at being cut off two times in a row.

It certainly was odd that he spoke out so enthusiastically, considering he had been nothing but reluctant to speak the entire time you were in the village, but what was even more shocking was how he continued the plan of referring to him as a ninja.

A stupid plan you now came to realize, sounding out of place. You should’ve gone with a better idea and not have acted so cockily when you came up with it on the spot.

Oh, the familiar feeling of regret.

It was strange though, especially since you were sure he was against the idea in the first place, so why had he gone along with it?

Truly, you couldn't exactly care less. This was his mess now.

“A.. ninja.?” Furukawa, the old man, questioned, giving the both of you a perplexed look. “We haven't seen one around these parts since I was a but boy. What is a ninja doing here of all places? A meek little village like this?”

Oh. That’s right.

You had forgotten they didn't thrive out here in the country, but in the city and for generals leading wars.

What was a ninja doing out here indeed. Boy were you not bright when it came to thinking on the spot.

Leaning back and crossing your arms, you decided to let the excited demon explain for you, since you certainly hadn't a clue what to say.

“I’m here for no particular reason, sir! I had gotten lost in the mountains during that thunderstorm a few weeks back, and I just so happened to stumble upon the (L/N)’s home. I was lucky she was willing to take me in, for I had injured myself and needed time to heal. I truly owe her my life, for I doubt I would have been able to find a safe place to rest and recover that night if not for her generosity. I vowed to return the favor, and you know ninjas, never one to break a promise, and so I am here to help gather things to repair something I had broken. Though I’m sure we have bad rep around these parts nowadays, I assure you I have no intention of harming anyone. I vowed to protect the innocent, and that is what I will do! I’ll fight the evil of these lands with my own two-!”

You snapped him out of his rambling by gripping at his arm, surprised at how he had managed to come up with what to say so quickly. Hell, his eyes were even hardened with determination. He was very convincing.

It definitely made you suspicious of what his true intentions were, if he actually wanted to be a ninja of all things or if he was playing a part and not realizing the potential consequences.

Oh well?

What was even more surprising was how the old man wept, dramatically wiping his aged, teary eyes. “Oh, you good man! We need more men like you around here! My son is a lazy lump of bricks who won’t even help out around here”

“I am here now! Allow me to assist whenever!” Izuku stated righteously, fist raised high and mighty.

At this point, you were just a background character in some sort of weird show as these two practically danced around each other with declarations and tears.

Shaking your head, you quickly cut them off, needing to get things done today and not mess around any longer, “I was wondering if you had the material for a new window?”

“Oh! A window!”

“Yes.. I need a replacement for the one he had broken.”

“You youngsters are always breaking windows these days..” he complained, wiping at his brow before hobbling to the back again.”One moment please.”

Nodding, despite him not even seeing, you waited patiently in near awkward silence, teetering back and forth on your wooden heels.

“Did I uh..” the green-haired man's apprehensive whisper barely caught your ear, “did I go overboard, you think?”

That question was enough to bring giggles bubbling out over your throat, only for him to frantically wave his arms about in front of you, “I-i’m serious!”

Your giggles soon turned into laughs, only making his cheeks redden from embarrassment before he wrapped his arms around his head.

“Just,” you wheezed, “Just a bit, Midoriya.”

You weren’t used to being near people so passionate and enthusiastic about things, especially things made up. It was peculiar and yet it still brought a grin to your face.

Groaning, he looked off to the side, waiting patiently for the old man to return and to end his suffering as you continuously poked at his rosy cheek.

“I think you’d make a great ninja.” you whispered in his ear, breath tickling his skin and making baby hairs stand on end as you leaned over his crouched form, his hands resting on his knees as if to calm himself, unknowingly leaving him wide open for teases he deserved after what had happened the day before.

Gulping down the lump of nervousness in his throat, ridding himself of thoughts he shouldnt be having again, his head whipped back to look at you, eyes glimmering with excitement, “Ah, really?!”

You were unsure of how he would become one, but, “Yes.” you smiled gently, knowing full well already that he could do anything he set his mind to, a stubborn yet determined man he was.

“No kanoodlin in my shop!” Furukawa had suddenly appeared, damn near hitting the two of you upside the head with a stick.

You were quick to pay him for the materials, nearly tripping over yourself with giggles as Izuku looks nothing short of terrified with how the elderly man glared at him, no doubt piercing through his meek soul. Once you finished loading and securing the supplies in the shoulder bag, you grabbed two of his fingers before pulling him out of the shop with a friendly wave towards the grouchy old man who begrudgingly waved back.

A horse trotted in front of the both of you as you walked out, a loud wagon filled with hay creaking behind it as you continued on down the road in the opposite direction.

“That was.. nerve wracking..” Izuku sighed, one hand clutching the strap to the bag tightly whilst the other goes back to holding your sleeve, no longer cowering behind you as he openly gawks at the abundance of people strolling through the area, as well as eyeing up all the animals wandering about and making all sorts of noises.

“It was a pretty typical interaction to me,” you confessed, shrugging nonchalantly as he groans heavily.

“Are we heading back now?” he questioned, itching to beg you to let him stay if just for a bit longer. He was excited about being out like this, reading many stories revolving around normalities such as these. He had never experienced such a thing before, and it was thrilling, to say the least.

He felt as if he was on cloud nine, observing so many new things and being up close to other things he thought he would never get to see or touch, or, well, smell.

It was as if he himself was in one of the many books he’d read, skipping happily through each page as his wings twitched beneath the fabric with excitement, luckily covered up by the large sack of supplies.

He didn’t want to leave, but he would if you didn't like the idea of staying.

He could always come back with you another time, after all.

But damn did the prospect of going home at this moment dampen his cheery mood. Hell, he could even feel his wings pressed against him droop from inside the kimono at the prospect of doing so.

He was really hoping you wouldn't say yes.

He’d cross his fingers if he could.

“No.”

“Ah, well alright.. we can come back another time right?" It was as if he didn't hear you, too used to being put down and denied that happiness swelling inside his chest.

He continued to walk forward, head bowed down as he stared sadly at the rocks only to be yanked back as your hand slapped onto his wrist for the third time that day. He could get used to that if he was being honest.

He looked back at you, staring blankly as he tried to figure out why you had stopped and why you were giving him such a baffled look.

Had he done something wrong?

Said something wrong?

Or maybe his mere presence had annoyed you.

He hadn't the slightest clue, and he could only helplessly stare at you as he awaited a reason as to why you stopped, heartbeat hammering in his chest and fear squeezing his lungs, rendering him unable to speak.

You raised your eyebrow in question, and that's when it hit him like a rock.

You had said no, not yes!

Oh geez!

That sounds so backwards honestly!

“A-ah! I’m sorry! Oh, I thought y-you said yes!” he screeched, fumbling over his words and inwardly fighting himself at being so stupid.

He was about to go on and ramble out an apology, his nerves strangling him alive, but you had easily cut him off, “It’s alright, don’t worry about it, okay? We’re going to stay out and about for a bit longer. I wanted to show you some things, and get some ingredients if you don’t mind?"

Not that you would really give him the option to mind, besides- you knew that far off look in his eyes too well, it was the same look of wonder in your own eyes when you were a child.

It truly was endearing, you couldn't help but want to indulge in it for a bit, even if you were going to be doing other things anyway.

To hell with putting the window up this evening, perhaps the next. For now, you just wanted a break from having to train a demon by- well. Informing one instead.

“Really!” he exclaims, face immediately lighting up, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he smiled. He's suddenly jumping for joy, shoes making a loud clacking noise that catches the attention of village-folk once again, much to your introverted horror. “Y-you have places you want to show me!? O-oh gosh! Can we go see them now? Oh, there are so many things I want to see here! So many things I’ve read about!”

“Midoriya..” you called out to him hopelessly, wanting to calm him down.

“I want to see a bakery!! To- to smell the freshly baked bread and pastries! I can smell them right now,” he sniffed at the air, eyes slipping closed for a second, tongue poking out as he drooled, “they- they smell so good! I’ve always wondered how they mix ingredients together and fire them to make something so delicious.. How do they know what ingredients to use? How did they find those ingredients? I want to know! Do they memorize how to do it, you think??! And, and a blacksmiths shop! Swords are forged from fire, it sounds so magical, but there must be logic of some kind behind it! Logic I don’t quite understand yet but want to! I want to see it in action, know how they’re made in the first place. It’s from melting rocks right? Or, or metal?! How do they shape the swords? Which material and technique is best to use for the best result? Is that loud banging the making of swords right now? Or something else?”

“Midoriya…”

“Is there a library around here? No, no I guess there wouldn't be one here.. books? I want to know all about the culture of these lands, in more detail! I, I want to see how people's minds work, how they write their feelings or facts down on pages. You can learn a lot from a person based on how they tell a story, you know! Oh! And I also-!”

He excitedly jabbered on, drawing laughter and gleeful smiles from the people as they passed, only fueling to the heat on your cheeks as they whispered about the cute, excited man rambling on about different aspects of regular life. It was almost too much to understand or even comprehend, let alone answer all in one go. His words were flying over your head from how fast he was speaking.

And so, you simply stood there, off to the side of the road, wringing your hands together as you let him express his pure delight with an abundance of words.

He was a curious person like you’d thought to yourself before, that was for sure.

It got to the point where you were sure nearly five or so minutes had passed, and you didn't want to see how long this could go on for.

Because you knew it could go on for a long while, having been with him for a few weeks now.

It was a loveable habit of his, one that he always was quick to shut himself up for and apologize profusely, which always pulled at your heartstrings. He had clearly been put down in his past for being so wild, curious, and excited, and that was nothing short of saddening.

You didn't want him to feel like he couldn't talk, or ask questions, hell, even be enthusiastic like he always was. It brought a hint of sugar and spice to your plain life.

So, perhaps another time, but in front of a multitude of onlookers, ready to prod into your lives from how hard they were staring? Absolutely not, unfortunately.

Grabbing his sleeve, you yanked at his, successfully pulling him from his thoughts as his focus snapped over to where your hand was, “Huh?” he asked obliviously, turning to look at you with a tilted head but still cheery smile, green bangs brushing over his eyebrows, making you want nothing more than to sweep them away from his face.

Physical contact, as you learned, was always a better way to get him to focus rather than to snap him from his thoughts with words of your own. Words always made him flinch back and shut himself off, but soft touches somehow never did, keeping the same energy he started with even as he looked at you with wonder. It would often make you wonder why he flinched, or reacted in such a heartbreaking way whenever you’d cut him off with your own words, perhaps an untold story from his past waiting to be unraveled or kept under lock and key. Some things were best not to remember, after all.

Though he told you he was happy to be gone from the place he never truly considered home, you still held some minor doubts.

It was always the kind ones who smiled the brightest like a star in the sky that had the most to hide.

“Do you want to go and experience some of those things that you mentioned? I’m pretty hungry myself, so we could try a bakery right now if you would like? The one here is owned by a nice family, recipes passed down for generations. They got a pretty good grasp of things”

His brows quickly flew up, momentary shock flashing in his eyes before being covered by embarrassment, he had just now realized he rambled on. A momentary delay it seemed.

“S-sure.. eheh..” he chuckled nervously, hand squeezing the bags strap tightly once again as he used his other hand to wrap around his torso. He certainly was bashful for someone who was ‘bred from darkness’, if that red on his cheeks and how he avoided eye contact were anything to go by.

“Let’s go, then.” placing your hand on the much larger one glued to his side, you slowly peeled it away before gingerly holding it, ignoring the stuttered gibberish that trickled from his mouth at the action as you led him to the place that made saliva drip from his mouth.

At the end of the day, you were walking home on sore feet, arms clutching at a flimsy woven basket someone graciously gave you for free containing foods you needed to stock up on.

Izuku, on the other hand, was practically skipping, words flowing from his lips like a waterfall as he reviewed what he learned today, occasionally looking over at your tired form to make sure you were alright. He had offered multiple times to carry the basket, even going as far as trying to grab it, but you refused, wanting to do so yourself since he was now carrying a basket and a bag of his own.

Stubborn, ironically, was the way he described you with a pouty lip, and you had to agree.

It truly was a shame you weren't able to put the new window today, considering you wanted to sleep in your own room, but there was always tomorrow. For now? You were exhausted.

So much so you weren't even sure you could cook dinner.

Demons sure did have a lot of unrelenting energy. You were being dragged around all day, only leading a few times to the places you wished to show him- you didn't even get to show him everything due to his mind moving faster than either one of you could keep up.

Once making it back to the house, you managed to convince the energetic guy to at least continue wearing his hakama after he threw off his hat and the top of his kimono, successfully freeing his wings.

Things on the floor, he gets on his hands and knees, stretching his arms and back out like a cat, his wings flapping out like a birds as he flexed the poor things.

It was horrible how he had to stuff them in his clothing all day, and it truly did make you feel bad, knowing he must have held a form of discomfort all day, hiding it seamlessly.

Perhaps you could buy more clothes for him next time, or even fabric to weave together a kimono made solely for him.

That would take a long while, but it would be cute, right?

You didn't want him to be uncomfortable in his own home.

You stopped in your tracks as this thought crossed your mind, a perplexed expression making its way onto your tired face, when had you started referring to this house as his home as well?

Had you grown so accustomed to him already that when thinking of this place, or where he lives, this old house comes to mind?

Or did your loneliness fight your conscious to bring forth such a thought out of comfort?

For the first time in years, you weren't alone. You haven't thought much about it until this moment and in a tired state of mind no less.

It was confusing, especially considering you didn't even know when you had started picking up the habit.

Looking back at him, your mouth fell from its straight-lined self to that of awe, your eyes reflecting the same thing.

The golden rays of a honey sunset dripped in through the open door, illuminating the man covered in scars, freckles and tattoos from behind, kissing at his soft, smooth skin and wrapping him in a cocoon of ease and light as he sat there, bathing in the warmth it provided.

His eyes were closed, wings relaxed and hands resting on his thighs as he took the moment in, inhaling deeply as a breeze filtered in, making his curls sway ever so slightly in a mesmerizing way.

Despite what he was or what he used to be, only one word came to your mind as you gazed at hi, ‘angelic.’

You couldn't find it in yourself to be afraid, for all you saw at this moment was a smiling man happily enjoying himself after a long day of bouncing off the walls.

You couldn't stop staring, even if it was rude, his presence enrapturing in the sweetest of ways.

You felt your own body warming at the sight, an innocent blush dancing on your cheeks, only to deepen as his eyes fluttered open, scanning the room, just to fall on you.

His pupils were back to their familiar, snake-like state, but yet they held so much compassion and kindness as if they were just as human as yours were, despite being entirely different.

Neither of you said anything, just staring into each other’s eyes in a way that should've felt weird or awkward.

But nothing about this felt awkward, in fact, it felt natural.

Like you were meant to be entranced by those addicting pools of green, glimmering with the yellows bouncing off the walls just to show your own silhouette in them. It was like staring into a never-ending forest with vines that wanted nothing more than to wrap you in a secure hug, branches of trees filled with fresh leaves swaying in the calming wind behind you as the scent of salt from the creek not too far away made you relax in their embrace.

You weren't aware how long the both of you stared at each other, but one thing was for sure, neither of you minded it, his own smile and reassurance in his gaze is enough to wash away any concerns.

The sudden loud calling of a bird snapped you out of your trance, attention flickering to the door just to see two birds chatting with each other.

“(Y/N)?” he had called out, voice laced with concern but dripping with sugary sweetness and desperation that was all too much to handle after such an intense moment, despite it just being eye contact.

But then again, the eyes were the doorway to the soul, weren't they? And it felt like much more than just that.

Regardless, you turned, ignoring his calls as you rushed to your room, hurriedly closing the door just to slide down it.

Hand clutching at the fabric above your beating heart, you just now noticed how your breath was caught in your throat, and how your heart was hammering wildly.

You breathed heavily, running fingers through your wild hair as you fought to make sense of what just happened.

The truth was, you didn't know.

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #izuku x you #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #bnha #izumonth collab #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academi #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha deku #x reader #izuku midoriya x you #midoriya x reader #midoriya x you

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chaolie · 3 years

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Fundy Week, Day 5 - Selflessness

I am not posting this late again, I swear, the time itself is just wrong in order to spite me- Anyway, here's what I managed to write for Day 5 of @fundyfiles' Fundy Week! As always, it's also on my Ao3!

Also, for a little bit of diversity, this one actually takes place on the osmp!

Characters: Fundy, Wilbur, Scott, Philza

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: Not-described-but-still injury

Summary: Fundy's having a great night filled with planning crime, when he runs into his slightly injured neighbor. And while the two mostly joke around as they wait for healing potions, the fox doesn't hesitate to help when danger appears.

The moon was high and the stars were shining brightly through the otherwise dark night. Though frankly, Fundy didn’t care, and Wilbur seemed to share his idea. They both liked staying outside at late hours, Fundy’s eyes sometimes seemed to work better in the darkness, and Wilbur certainly enjoyed not burning as he did in sunlight. Not to mention, of course, all the small crimes they could commit together while everyone else was sleeping. After all, who was going to stop them? The only person they ever ran into was Scott, and they could always split up and evade him! And before he’d manage to wake up Phil, they’d be long gone anyway!

They were talking quietly, planning their next little heist and deciding who they could take something from, and how to make sure they wouldn’t notice. Either that or how to effectively prank someone without anyone hearing them set up a trap. They enjoyed both of the ideas, but they couldn’t seem to agree on who should they go after on this very calm, quiet night. Just then, a small firework explosion hit right next to them, making them both jump away in panic. Immediately, Wilbur was hidden somewhere in the ground in his Phantom state and Fundy was stumbling to the side, looking for its source. That wasn’t, of course, too hard to find.

“Scott! What the hell!” the fox gasped, looking towards the Starborne’s house. It didn’t take long to notice him, leaning against the wall.

“Sorry, sorry,” the man answered, and seemed to relax. Wilbur quickly resurfaced from the ground.

“Are you okay?” the phantom asked, looking at Fundy before turning to Scott as well. That’s when he realized how injured he seemed. “Both of you?” he clarified.

“Yeah… Scott?” Fundy nodded, finally noticing how weakened his neighbor looked.

“I’m fine, just… First, a creeper exploded, then I got attacked by a literal army of zombies… I thought you were another two of them,” the Starborne explained. “Though, you might want to stay away? One more hit and I’ll probably explode,” he warned them. Fundy and Wilbur exchanged looks, and both decided to put off their mischievous plots for later.

“I have some healing potions in my base, can you grab them for us, Wil?” he asked, and the phantom nodded.

“Of course,” he confirmed before disappearing. Once Scott figured out what the potions were for, he seemed to relax further.

“Thanks,” he sighed, looking in the direction of Fundy’s house.

“Hey, of course! Just remember this as a little favor!” the fox answered. The Starborne turned to look at him with an unamused look. “Relax, I’m just kidding. I don’t want you exploding your own house, I have some tunnels under it! And it’s a cool place too, I guess.”

“Thanks, I happen to like my house too,” Scott laughed quietly. Fundy nodded along.

“Yeah, yeah… How’d you get so hurt, anyway? Aren't you like, always careful and all that?” he asked. Knowing what happens if he dies, Scott always seemed to be prepared for anything.

“I am, but I ran out of iron, and my armor broke. So did my shield, actually,” the man explained. Fundy stayed quiet for a moment, wondering.

“...I didn’t take that from you,” he stated finally.

“I know you didn’t, I used it myself,” Scott sighed. “I accidentally made… ten axes, I think?” he admitted, and Fundy did his best to stifle a laugh.

“Wow, sucks to be you,” he chuckled, and Scott muttered something to himself. Just then, Fundy noticed a white silhouette creeping around the corner of his neighbor’s house with a bow. Immediately, his attitude changed. “Scott, look out!” he called out.

“For what?” the Starborne called back, looking around and quickly spotting the skeleton near him. The monster seemed to spot him as well. “Oh-” He had no shield.

Fundy didn’t think much at that moment, all he figured was that he couldn’t let Scott get more hurt. And suddenly, there he was, jumping forward and soon crushing into the wall Scott was leaning against, managing to get between his friend and the monster just in time to be the one taking the hit. And then, there was an arrow in his arm. Before the skeleton could attack again, Scott seemed to collect himself and shot a firework in its direction, quickly taking it out.

“Holy- Are you okay?” the Starborne asked. Fundy nodded swiftly.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just one hit! It does hurt, though… I hope Wilbur brings all the potions he can lift,” he admitted, looking down at his arm. Scott nodded.

“I’m sure he will. Come on, let’s get inside, it’s too dangerous to stand here,” he decided, taking a couple of steps and waiting for Fundy to follow.

“Right. Wait, let me go first,” the fox decided, taking a couple of faster steps to catch up.

They quickly made their way around the wall and took the turn to the main entrance. Seeing a creeper there, Fundy was glad that he went first. He was less glad that he left his weapons at home, but he could manage without them. And sure, being quite shorter from Scott meant that he wasn’t perfectly fit to protect him, but it didn’t matter. If he could only get closer to take the hit, everything would be fine. Well, everything but himself and Scott’s porch.

“Back, back!” he yelled, making the Starborne stumble back a bit. But before he could dramatically launch at the creeper and take the hit, something swooped by and suddenly, there was only gunpowder on the ground.

“Are you okay?!” came a worried, but tired voice, and they finally noticed Philza standing not far from them, sword drawn. “I heard yelling, what happened?”

“We almost died. Can we go inside now?” Fundy answered, stepping towards the door. Scott followed him close behind.

“We shouldn’t stay out here with all those monsters,” he agreed, and Phil could finally see how injured he was.

“Right, you shouldn’t. What happened?” he questioned again as he followed the two inside. “Do you need me to get you some healing potions?”

“Wilbur’s on that already,” Fundy answered, and just as if to confirm it, the phantom’s voice appeared somewhere outside.

“Scott? Fundy?” he called out, looking for the two.

“We’re inside!” Scott called back, and Wilbur quickly went through the wall to join them.

“I have the potions!” he announced, setting them down near Scott and quickly looking around the room. “Oh, hi Phil!” he greeted, and then finally noticed that Fundy was now injured, too. “Wait, what happened to you?”

“A skeleton? It’s good that you brought some extra potions,” the fox answered, reaching down with his good hand and taking one for himself.

“Didn’t you show off how well you can… dodge their shots just a few nights ago?” Phil asked, handing Scott a few potions.

“Well, yeah, but he can’t,” Fundy answered, pointing at the hurt Starborne before downing his potion.

“Yeah… Thank you for jumping in,” Scott thanked. Fundy set down the empty bottle and stared at him for a moment.

“...Jumping in… very funny,” he repeated. “Look, I was just thinking fast, okay?”

“And what did you think about?” Wilbur asked. Only after saying that, he realized that there were better ways of asking ‘what happened?’. Fundy stuttered briefly before sighing.

“I- I just didn’t want Scott’s house and my tunnels blown up, okay?” he answered finally. He saw the Starborne raise his eyebrows in the corner of his eye. Great. “Look, it’s been nice, but I think I should get going before Phil figures out how many petty crimes I committed tonight.”

“Before I what?!” Philza asked, but Fundy was already halfway through the door.

“I’ll come to get whatever’s left of the potions later!” he called and quickly left. Surely, that was enough of a distraction to keep them from overthinking his little sacrifice.

Only an hour later Fundy figured that they were most likely all gone from Scott’s house, and he should go back for his things. He didn’t even have to wait for the sunrise to feel safe from the monsters outside, he had his little tunnel leading straight to the Starborne’s place. Before leaving, he quickly grabbed some iron from one of his personal chests. He figured that his neighbor needed it more at that moment, and he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t accept any stolen iron.

He quickly traveled through the tunnel and climbed up into Scott’s base. He briefly wondered, would the man be asleep by now? If so, he should probably return later… as soon as his head peeked through the hole, he found himself looking directly at the Starborne, who was very much awake and heading towards the hole himself. The two stopped and stared at each other for a moment before the man took a couple more steps forward.

“Hey, I figured I should give you back the potions and bottles,” he explained, and set the two things he mentioned by the tunnel. Fundy finally managed to lift himself up from it, and quickly snatched the things into a bag he brought with himself.

“Thanks, I actually came to pick that up,” he answered as he secured the bag at his side. Then, he reached into his pocket. “And to give you this too, I guess,” he added as he pulled out the iron he grabbed. “To make sure I don’t have to get shot for you again.”

“...Thanks?” Scott answered, carefully taking the iron from him.

“It wasn’t stolen, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Fundy clarified. The Starborne nodded.

“Thanks,” he thanked again, going over to his storage to put it away. “Oh, wait for a moment!” he called before Fundy could return to his fox den. Soon enough, he returned with a very tiny bag.

“Ooh, what’s this?” the fox hummed in wonder as the man handed it to him.

“Just some berries, I figured you might want them. As a thank you for taking the shot for me. To ‘save your tunnel’,” Scott explained, making it clear that he wasn’t convinced by that explanation. And Fundy didn’t feel like he could argue with that.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be on my way now, bye!” he wished before sitting down at his tunnel again, ready to return.

“Have a good night,” Scott answered. And with that, they separated.

***

...Willing to be shot for your neighbor counts as an act of selflessness, right? Right?? I sure hope so!

#fundy #c!fundy #scott smajor #c!scott smajor #wilbur soot #c!wilbur #philza #c!philza #osmp #mcyt #my writing #fundyweek2021

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new-sandrafilter · 5 years

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True Romance: Saoirse Ronan and Timothée Chalamet on reuniting for Little Women

They may be posing in an airy lower Manhattan studio, but Timothée Chalamet and Saoirse Ronan have a way of making you feel right at home. “I made a little playlist this morning,” Chalamet announces to the room. He syncs up his cell phone to the sound system, his boyish grin widening as Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” starts blaring. He returns to the camera, which snaps him and Ronan at a furious pace.

It’s their first joint cover shoot. He’s wearing a shimmery striped shirt with high-waist trousers; she’s rocking a shirtdress, fishnet stockings, and clear stilettos. He keeps cracking her up; she musses his hair with doting affection. During a break that follows, he wanders, gripping a paper bag stuffed with assorted bagels — from Tompkins Square Bagels, which Chalamet, a lifelong New Yorker, insists are the best in the city — and offering one to anyone in his path. He sings and dances — very Elio-in-the-town-square-like — to Bob Dylan’s “Tombstone Blues.” He creeps behind a distracted Ronan before spooking her with a yelp. “I didn’t even know you were there!” she exclaims, reddening from the fright but with a smile so lovingly at ease, you sense she’s used to the prank.

They’ve known each other, after all, for some time. About three years ago, Ronan, now 25, and Chalamet, 23, met filming Lady Bird, Greta Gerwig’s solo directorial debut, in which Ronan’s irrepressible heroine (briefly) romances Chalamet’s douchey amateur musician. They reunited with Gerwig last year, on the heels of Lady Bird’s Oscar-nominated success, for a bigger undertaking: a remake of the oft-remade Little Women (Dec. 25). Ronan and Chalamet slipped into the roles of tomboyish Jo March and buoyant Theodore “Laurie” Laurence, best friends who ultimately break each other’s hearts. Their courtship ranks among American culture’s oldest tales of unrequited love — made indelible by Katharine Hepburn and Douglass Montgomery, Winona Ryder and Christian Bale, and so many others — yet finds, in the hands of two of the most compelling actors of their generation, galvanizing new life.

That goes, in fact, for the whole of Gerwig’s Little Women. Her version certainly contains the snow-globe coziness of treasured adaptations past, but also carries a fizzy emotional authenticity and attention to detail. The film is remarkably lived-in, too: This take on Louisa May Alcott’s 1868 novel, which follows Jo and her three sisters pre– and post–American Civil War, feels plucked straight from the text in the best way, with siblings fighting like siblings, love and loss and hope and pain vividly experienced on screen.

Ronan and Chalamet’s charming big sister–little brother dynamic is not unlike the one that Jo and Laurie share in Little Women. Watch the actors play off one another, and the film’s tender realism clarifies itself: Their on-camera intimacy is just as palpable behind the scenes. Indeed, after shooting Lady Bird for a few weeks, the pair hung out regularly over the next year, making the awards-circuit rounds and scoring lead-acting Oscar nominations — Ronan for Lady Bird, Chalamet for Call Me by Your Name — before swiftly signing on to Little Women. In advance of filming in Concord, Mass. (the actual setting of the book), Gerwig and producer Amy Pascal gathered the large production’s cast and crew for rehearsals at a house just outside the town. For Ronan and Chalamet, the contrast between this and their early Lady Bird days was immense. “I felt very prideful… about how big it had gotten, how many people were there,” Chalamet recounts. “On Lady Bird it was, like, 25 people hanging out in a house!”

They fell back into each other’s rhythms instantly. “He keeps me on my toes — I’m never quite sure what he’s going to do next,” Ronan says. “That only progressed more and grew more. It helped that we do have a very natural rapport with each other…. These two characters physically need to be very comfortable with one another. They’re literally intertwined for half the film.” Chalamet adds: “In the least clichéd way possible, it really doesn’t feel like [I’m] acting sometimes [with her].”

Chalamet credits Gerwig, too, for establishing a playful, comfortable atmosphere. He thinks back to his first day of rehearsal: He reunited with Ronan. He introduced himself to Emma Watson (who plays the eldest March sister, Meg). He was guided into a third-floor conference room of a “random building” where, “all of a sudden, there was a full dance class going on.” He recalls fondly: “Everyone breaks down and becomes a little kid. This job is so trippy in that regard — you want to be serious, you want to be professional, and then it’s almost best when you’re able to be 12 years old. When it’s someone you’re actually friends with, it makes it easier.”

Ronan smirks, gearing up for a jab: “We’re not friends!” Delighted, Chalamet keeps the bit going. “We’re not friends,” he says, solemnly. For once, they’re not very convincing.

Greta Gerwig doesn’t remember a time before she knew Jo March. “[Little Women] was very much part of who I always was,” the writer-director, 36, says. “It was something my mother read to me when I was growing up. It’s been with me for a very long time.”

She joined Sony Pictures’ new Little Women adaptation when she was hired to write the script in 2016. Once Lady Bird bowed the next year, she emerged as a candidate to direct the film. “Greta had a very specific, energized, kind of punk-rock, Shakespearean take on this story,” Pascal says. “She came in and had a meeting with all of us and said, ‘I know this has been done before, but nobody can do it but me.’” She got the gig.

In her approach, Gerwig drew on her lifelong relationship with Little Women; beyond childhood, she discovered new, complex layers to the novel, and in turn to Alcott’s legacy. “As a girl, my heroine was Jo March, and as a grown lady, my heroine is Louisa May Alcott,” she says. It’s perhaps why Gerwig’s Little Women feels like the most adult — and modern — version of the story that’s reached the screen to date. The movie begins with the March sisters in adulthood — typically where the narrative’s second half begins — and unfolds like a memory play, shifting back and forth between that present-day frame and extended flashbacks to the childhood scenes etched in the American literary canon.

In that, Gerwig finds fascinating, fresh areas of exploration regarding women’s lives: the choices society forces them to make, the beauty and struggles of artistic pursuit, the consequences of rebellion. Jo’s journey as a writer anchors Gerwig’s direction; tempestuous Amy (Florence Pugh) gets more of a spotlight as she matures as a painter (and Laurie’s eventual wife); and Meg is realized with newfound nuance: “We felt it was important to show Meg juggling all her roles — a mother, a wife, a sister — whilst also celebrating her dreams, despite them being different to those of her sisters,” says Watson. But Gerwig doesn’t see herself as reinventing the wheel. “A lot of the lines in the film are taken right from the book,” she explains. “When Amy says, ‘I want to be great or nothing’ — she says that in the book! I don’t think we remember that, but she does say it.” Gerwig also loves one line spoken by the sisters’ mother, Marmee (Laura Dern), also revived in this version: “I’m angry almost every single day.”

Gerwig compiled a “bible” filled with cultural references: to Whistler tableaux of family life, to David Bowie–Jean Seberg hairdos that inspire the look of Jo’s mid-film cut, to Alcott family letters. “I wanted it to be footnote-able,” Gerwig says. “I wanted to point to it and say, ‘This is where this is from.’” She considers Alcott’s text sacred: “I wanted to treat the text as something that could be made fresh by great acting.”

Beyond those charged but less quoted Little Women lines are its famous ones — throw-pillow staples like Jo’s “Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” that no adaptation is complete without. The actors rehearsed these “almost like a song,” pushing to move through them with a rapid musicality. “We [read] the book out loud,” says Dern. Gerwig expected the script’s words to be memorized precisely. “I knew I wanted them to get this cadence that felt sparkly and slightly irreverent,” she says. “I wanted to make them move at the speed of light.”

She poured the same love into iconic scenes, like Jo and Laurie’s ebullient dance that follows their first meeting. Here it goes on longer — and more vibrantly — than in any previous iteration. (Ronan says they filmed it at 3 a.m., to boot, adding, “We must have done it, like, 30 times.”) Then there’s the devastating moment when Laurie asks Jo to marry him and she rejects his proposal. Gerwig tasked the two actors to unleash here. “Emotions just bubble over,” Ronan says. “[Greta] just let us go with it, wherever it went, from take to take. What I loved about that scene is that every take would be different emotionally. It didn’t have the same trajectory.

“The two of us, it’s a relationship I have with no other director,” Ronan continues. “She makes me feel like I can try anything.”

As Ronan and Chalamet emerge from their photo-studio dressing area in impossibly chic new ensembles — she donning a form-fitting knit sweater, he a silky, ruffled top — their creative energy fills the space. They try out different poses, debating concepts and ideas with each other on the fly; at one point he wraps his arms around her waist, and she quips to no one in particular, “We’re expecting our first.” Camera snap.

They’re modeling a new brand of movie stardom — pursuing projects with a point of view, adamantly being themselves in the public eye, subverting gender norms. Their androgynous fashion performance here reflects their wardrobe shake-ups in Little Women: Gerwig and Oscar-winning costumer Jacqueline Durran (Anna Karenina) had the two actors swapping clothes throughout filming, to reinforce the masculine-feminine fluidity between Jo and Laurie. “They are two halves,” as Pascal puts it. “These are really bold characters that are really different than you’ve seen them before.”

And just as Gerwig expressed a need to direct Little Women, Ronan knew in her bones she needed to play Jo. She’d first encountered the story via the 1994 film when she was 11, and later read the book, feeling an immediate kinship with the young woman she’d come to portray. “When Louisa describes Jo, it felt like someone describing me physically: sort of gangly and stubborn and very straightforward, and went for what she wanted.” At an event for Lady Bird, she — in a very Jo kind of way — just “went at it” by approaching Gerwig. “I said, ‘So I want to be in Little Women, but only if I’m playing Jo.’” (Chalamet, for his part, was asked by Gerwig, “Hey, want to do another movie?” He responded: “Yes. Yes, please.”)

Over months of living in Concord with her castmates, Ronan discovered new depths within herself: “Jo’s ethos is ‘Everything everyone else is doing, I’m going to do the opposite.’ [I had] to try things that I’d never tried before. Be a bit messier with a performance.” Gerwig set up etiquette lessons for the cast; whatever the instructor said (“Don’t shake hands! Don’t gesticulate with your arms!”), Ronan made sure to ignore it. She speaks now of this as freeing, even transformative. “I felt like I had tapped into something I’d never gotten the opportunity to tap into before, or I just didn’t have the guts to tap into myself,” she says. “Finding that was just amazing.”

Shortly after wrapping Little Women, she filmed Wes Anderson’s next film, The French Dispatch — marking her third time costarring with Chalamet, who plays a central role. As for now? Ronan is taking a little break. “I’ll wait for the right thing to come along,” she says. “It’s lovely to be in a position at this moment where I can wait for the absolute right thing.” Same goes for Chalamet — he shot Netflix’s The King (out Oct. 11) right before Little Women and just completed production on Denis Villeneuve’s Dune adaptation. “It’s the first time in almost two years I’ve gotten a breath, so I’m savoring it.”

It’s been a long day. They’re back in comfy clothes; Ronan is taking a late lunch. It feels like both actors — as another whirlwind of acclaim and press and romance-shipping awaits — are at a kind of peace, exhausted but satisfyingly so. Little Women is the biggest movie either has done to date; more attention, as they inhabit such revered characters, is sure to follow. “I just haven’t thought about it that way,” Ronan admits. “Maybe because it’s just Greta — even though it’s on a much bigger scale, she wanted it to feel like Lady Bird.”

Ronan understands the timeless power of Little Women, of course: “It’s as important to tell Little Women right now as it would be at any point in our lifetime.” She points to this pop culture climate of “celebrating female friendships and sisterhood,” and continues, “It’s a story that’s full of love. That will always be relevant.”

She turns toward Chalamet, and you realize the love they brought to Alcott’s classic is what first blossomed between them on Lady Bird. “I love that in Lady Bird, you broke my heart,” she says to him softly. “In Little Women, I got to break your heart.” (Chalamet, ever the goofball, finds an obvious opening: “Yes, that’s true. Then I married your sister. Ha, ha, ha!”)

If this all sounds a little idyllic, well, neither actor — nor Gerwig, nor Pascal, nor the rest of the cast — can do much to convince you otherwise. Shifting back to Little Women’s timelessness, and reflecting on Ronan’s comments about it, Chalamet says, “I don’t know how to add to that.” Instead he turns back to his costar, his expression suddenly sincere, filled with gratitude. “But if I can add one little dose of information,” he says with a nervous laugh. “And not just because she’s sitting next to me.” He credits Ronan with bringing that “timeless energy.” He says “thank God” they were able to make the movie. “It’s so rare with Saoirse — I’m so f—ing grateful to get to work with her,” he says. “Whatever book I write for myself when I’m older, to look back on —” He stops himself. “Well, this is a bigger conversation.”

But Ronan, chuckling, doesn’t let him off the hook. “Will I have, like, a chapter?” And Chalamet laughs — another opening, another chance to act with his greatest scene partner, to see what journey of creation and discovery they’ll go on next. “A chapter of Saoirse,” he says.

At this rate, one chapter won’t suffice.

#timmy #timothee chalamet #saoirse ronan #little women

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jmflowers · 4 years

Note

3, 15, 17 for the fanfic ask 😊

3. Do you prefer canonverse or AUs?

I think for reading, I always lean more towards canonverse. I like those fill-in scene fics and being some place in a story that is ultimately really familiar. Canon fics are the ones I most often go back to and read again.

As for writing, I find myself much more drawn to AUs. I was always very, very driven by character development when in school and required to write my own creations, but I never really felt like I got good at world-building or plot lines. I started writing fanfiction specifically because it gave me established characters and, as such, forced me to get better at the other stuff.

15. Post the last line you wrote without context.

A lighthouse, guiding Charity home to safe harbour.

17. Describe a fic that is still in the ‘ideas’ stage.

I wish this one was more than just an idea because I love the concept so much and it was so cathartic to write the first two parts, but I’ve been stuck on it for months and I’m not sure where to go with it next.

It’s called Hell & Back, inspired by the song of the same name by Maren Morris. I wanted to write something in second person that had an actual plot, as opposed to the usual character analysis style I typically do in second person POV. So far, I have written two interactions: the first and second times Vanessa meets Charity.

I don’t know how to talk about this one without giving it all away… I’m just gonna post part one here and we’ll see what happens...

You meet Charity on a Thursday, when the sun has finally given way to the storm clouds that have been creeping closer all morning. The rain pelts down in cold, hard slaps as you bend over a sheep that looks about as miserable as you’re starting to feel, examining its hooves for what you’re certain might be the start of foot rot in the herd. Moira won’t be pleased, not in the slightest.

“Shouldn’t you be ducking for cover?” someone calls over the sound of the rain, their voice slicing through the rising crescendo to reach your ears.

You twist, startled, looking up quickly to find the source. It’s a woman, stood about four yards away, watching you with her arms crossed atop the fence. There’s a fog that seems to hover around her, rising slowly like the steam above a hot cup of tea. It’s something you should look at closer, you’ll realize later, but in the moment, it flits away from conscious thought in the passing breeze.

You shiver, the rain well and truly soaked into your coveralls now, bits of hair plastered to your forehead in such a way that you’re sure isn’t flattering. Not like in those movies Tracy keeps making you watch.

“Shouldn’t you?” you retort, already turning your attention back to the sheep struggling in your hands. Fickle creatures, them; smart enough to recognize each other but not to see that you’re only there to help. You pull it harder onto its hindquarters, rendering it unable to escape and earning a pathetic bleat in response.

“Really rather be torturing sheep than cuddled up warm and dry?” It’s the woman again, her voice suddenly closer than it’d been before. You look up just in time to see her leaning over the side of the pen you’re in, pulling a face at the animal in your arms. Your eyes flick to the gate she’d been stood beside before, the chain still wrapped securely around the fence post just as you’d left it.

“I’m not torturing it,” you murmur, eyes dragging back to her face. Did you miss the sound of her hopping the fence? Are you so tuned out that you wouldn’t be aware of someone approaching like that?

She laughs, the green of her eyes almost sparkling as she tips her chin up into the air. “Don’t know that he’d agree with that statement, babe.” She’s near enough now that you can count the freckles trailing down her neck, guiding your eyes to the dip at the top of her jacket.

“She,” you say without thinking, always just a breath from correcting. Like your mother, that; a habit you’d always hated when you were on the receiving end.

But she doesn’t scrunch up her nose like Tracy does when you do the same to her, voicing annoyance louder than her words ever could. No, Charity just tilts her head and hums out one of those noises that sounds like a question, as though she’d rather you explain further than shut right up.

“This is a ewe, not a ram,” you offer, trying to pull back that prim and proper tone that seems to appear whenever you’re clarifying something. It’s like a flashback to being sat in the front row at school, pretending you didn’t hear the girls snickering behind you. “Male sheep have horns, females don’t.” Even Rhona’s teased you for it, mimicking after she’d overheard you giving directions to a client.

“Huh,” Charity says, dropping her gaze to the animal once more, “Guess that’s why everyone always assumes the devil’s a man.”

It’s a funny thing to say, odd enough that you freeze for a moment before you manage to come up with a response. Later, you’ll understand why she did, when you know her well enough to grasp the twists and turns of her mind. But not right now. No, the first time you meet her, you just think she’s a strange one.

“Male and female goats both have horns,” you sputter when the quiet between you has stretched on for too long. You want to kick yourself the second her eyes flick back to you, her gaze so clearly telling that it is you – not her – whom she thinks is odd.

“Is that right?” she asks with a smirk, “Always did like them better.”

You, too, though you don’t say. Not normal conversation, is it, to tell a stranger that you’ve always preferred that gentle knowingness hidden behind a goat’s eye? Be a vet, Vanessa, if you must, your mother had said, But, don’t be one of those people who only speaks of animals.

The prim and proper comes from her, you know, all the things you’d been poked and teased for stemming from the ideal daughter she’d tried to craft you into. Not like your father, who laughs when he shouldn’t and smiles when it’s impolite and says the sorts of things you’d never dare to. You wonder, often, how they ever got together long enough to have you.

“So, what are you doing then?” she asks, lurching her body further over the pen until you can feel her breath beside your head. It’s hot, much hotter than you’re prepared for when the cold is so busy burrowing into your bones. She keeps her eyes trained on your hands, trying to get a good look at the hoof you’re clutching – not a pretty one, either, not the sort you’d ever show anyone other than Paddy or Rhona. You tuck it a little lower, trying to hide the swelling beneath some wool.

“They’re sick,” you mutter, your brain spiralling backwards to the game plan you’d been formulating before she’d interrupted. You’ll need one, before you head up to the house to tell Moira what’s going on. It’s likely the field, you think, all this low-lying ground and the abundance of rain in the past few weeks has surely not helped the situation.

“With what?” Charity presses. Her breath feels like fire where it meets your neck, scalding the gooseflesh beneath your ponytail as she speaks.

You lean away, lowering your arm enough that the sheep squirms hard in your grasp, knocking you off balance. You fall back against the fence, hands grappling behind yourself to grab onto something sturdy. The sheep takes its opportunity, tipping to the side before scrambling to its feet and taking off towards the others. They bleat at the new arrival, corralling themselves into a bunch beneath the only tree at the far edge of the pen.

You huff, frustrated instantly and unsure where to lay the blame. You can feel your brow furrowing when you turn to meet her eye, catching the twinkle and the smirk that you assume are present at your expense. “Foot rot,” you mutter, pushing away from the fence angrily. Won’t be easy to catch that one again, now that it’s had a taste, especially not when the field’s gone slick with mud.

“Sounds gross,” she says, dropping down off the fence to follow as you stalk across the pen to your bag. The rain has sent splatters of mud up the side of it, a match to the boots on your feet. “You a farmer, then?” she asks.

The laugh comes before you can decide whether you mean to or not, a breath bursting across your lips at the notion of you in Moira’s shoes, depending on animals for your livelihood in a different sort of way than you already do. No, you’ve never quite managed to imagine a clean picture of yourself with a farm, always something just slightly off that made you shy away.

“’Fraid not,” you chuckle, “I’m a vet.”

She nods knowingly, stepping back out of the way when you open the gate to the outer laneway where she stands. “They’ll be okay, then?” she murmurs, eyes shifting over your shoulder to the herd.

You shrug, because it’s not a guarantee of course – none of these things ever are – but you’ve caught it early enough that you don’t anticipate too much damage. Some zinc sulfate baths to start, a round of vaccinations if it comes to it, and the sheep will be good as new in no time. “They’ll be fine,” you answer, “Though I might not be, when I tell Moira she’ll have to spend the next few weeks coaxing them into a few feet of solution to stave off the infection.”

Charity laughs, the sound lighting something low in your belly. The rain feels distant when you’re stood so close to her, the wet of your coveralls barely a blip in your mind though you’ll be desperate for a hot shower the second she’s gone.

“Well, best be careful, then,” she suggests, the remnants of her smile softening the edges of her words, “Wouldn’t want to miss seeing you again.”

She turns away before you can formulate an answer, strolling down the laneway toward the open fields at the back of the property. You have half a mind to call after her, to invite her inside for a cuppa and a towel, but she’s over the hill before you can find the courage to shout.

It’s not until much later, when you’re laid in bed replaying the day in your mind that you realize she hadn’t much seemed like she’d needed a towel. She hadn’t much seemed like the rain had touched her at all.

#janelle’s asks #fanfic asks #ask game #justusandlove #minefic

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fatechica · 5 years

Note

could you spare a crumb of be brave and kiss the girl?? we mere mortals are starved for content

Oh, I’ll give you more than a crumb, anon. Because all y’all have been waiting so patiently, here’s 2000 words from the next chapter!

(And, while I’m here, sorry for taking so long with this, everyone! I thought I was gonna be able to get it out last weekend, but my life refuses to calm down at all and I’m busier than ever, it feels. I’m still working on it and I’m somewhat optimistic that I’ll be able to get the next chapter out sometime within the next week, but I make no promises other than I’m still going to keep working on it.)

Hope this little snippet of Mileven being cuties as usual helps tide you guys over until I post the chapter!

----------------

El sleeps away most of the morning, only briefly waking once or twice, and the moments of consciousness don’t last long. Her phone buzzes a handful of times with text messages – most notably from Dustin and Jen, wondering where she is and, later, how she’s feeling once they find out she’s sick – but the morning goes by otherwise undisturbed.

El wakes up, actually wakes up, a little before noon with a dry mouth and dizzy head. She’s not hungry, but she knows she should probably eat something, and toast isn’t too far out of her ability right now. So El hobbles back downstairs, a few minutes later, re-enters her room with a small plate of toast and a glass of water, settling back into bed just in time to be there when her phone starts ringing.

Despite how crappy she feels, El smiles at the sight of Mike’s name flashing across the top of her phone’s screen. She grabs her phone and answers it as she leans back against the pillows, body feeling heavy with exhaustion. “Hi,” she says, voice croaking. She winces, cringing at just how gross it sounds. But she just can’t bring herself to care too much – she’s too tired.

“Wow, you sound horrible,” Mike’s voice sounds in her ear, soft and tender, the faint hint of an echo behind it.

El lets out a laugh, feeble and raspy. “Charmer. Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only you,” Mike says. He lets out a sigh. “How are you feeling? Dustin said you were sick. I wanted to call earlier, but I didn’t have a chance until now.” A low chuckle; El shivers at the sound of it. “I’m hiding in the bathroom so no one catches me calling.”

“I’m ok, I guess,” El says. “Feel like crap. Just wanna sleep all day.”

“So, I guess our ‘study session’ is cancelled for the day?” The words are light, but there’s a note of disappointment that El can’t help but hear, shallow and self-centered.

Her stomach sours at the sound of it, of that disappointment, robbing her of what little appetite she might have had. Sorry a cold’s getting in the way of making out, her mind whispers petulantly. El shakes herself free of the thought a split second later. It’s not like she isn’t disappointed, either. “Yeah, unless you want me falling asleep in the middle of it,” El says. Ooh, sleep… god, sleep sounds good and El knows she’s doing a horrible job at keeping the exhaustion out of her voice.

“Still, I miss you,” Mike says with a soft, wistful tone. “Trig isn’t the same without you and I’m scared to think of what US History is going to be like.”

“I miss you too,” El says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I wish you were here.” And it’s true. For as shitty as she feels right now, the idea of having Mike with her, next to her, right now sounds just heavenly.

“I can come by after school, if you want,” Mike says eagerly, words leaping into her with a rapid clip, like his lips can barely keep up with the force of them. “Help you get better. Like, make you tea and stuff.”

“And stuff?” El quotes back, a breathless giggle in her voice.

“Yeah, like, whatever you do for people when they’re sick,” Mike clarifies. El can hear the smile in his voice and it makes her heart hurt imagining what he must look like right now, fingers itching to trace the curve of his lips before capturing that smile with her own lips.

“Ok, you can come over after school,” El says. “I’ll make sure the door’s open in case I’m sleeping.”

“Ms. Hopper, I’m shocked,” Mike says with totally faux dramatics. “Leaving your front door open where anyone could walk through it. What would your Chief of Police dad say?”

El snorts, wincing a little at the harsh rush of air through her nostrils and the back of her throat. “It’ll be fine. This is Hawkins.”

“You won’t say that when there are strange men coming into your house in the middle of the afternoon.”

“Are you calling yourself a strange man? Should I be alarmed?” El asks, smiling. Despite how crappy she feels physically, teasing and flirting with Mike like this always makes her feel at least a little like she’s basking in sunshine on a warm spring afternoon. And her heart just unfurls even more, like there’s no end to the depths of her feelings for him. It’d be scarier if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

“I was hoping more for excited, but if alarmed’s the best I’m going to get….” Mike trails off, giving El space to giggle, before he speaks once more. “But I’ll let you go. I need to go eat lunch, anyway, and you sound like you’re about to fall asleep.”

“After I eat my toast,” El says. “Then sleep.”

“I’ll see you later,” Mike says, voice soft with a wistful sigh.

“Ok, I–” The words get stuck in her throat and El doesn’t dare try to push them through. Not whens she’s so tired. Not when she’ll say something she might regret. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

“If you’re not asleep,” Mike says.

“You’re not exactly quiet, so I think I’ll be ok,” El says with a sleepy laugh.

Mike’s laugh echoes in her ear, and whether it’s triggered by what El said or El’s own laugh, she’s not sure. “Bye, El.”

“Mmm, bye Mike.”

True to her words, after El hangs up the phone, she eats her toast, drinks some water, and promptly falls back asleep.

But, not true to her words, El’s still asleep when Mike eventually comes over after school. Partway through the afternoon, around 2 or so, El wakes up to make sure the door’s unlocked for Mike to come inside and she promises herself she’ll be awake when he comes over in a little more than an hour. Cross Country is over, so there’s no more practices after school, and it doesn’t take long to get to her house from campus (it’s Hawkins – it doesn’t take long to get anywhere).

So El doesn’t think it’ll be too hard to stay awake for when Mike gets there. Only, almost the moment she crawls back into bed, El falls asleep again.

As a result, she totally doesn’t hear the sound of the front door opening. Or the sound of her phone buzzing with an incoming text message or footsteps coming up the stairs.

And though she barely registers the sensation of her bed jostling and mattress dipping, it’s not enough to pull El from the illness-induced slumber that’s holding her in its clutches as tightly as it can.

It’s only the feel of a light touch trailing down her face – from her temple, across the apple of her cheek, ending at the edge of her jaw – that pulls her up into the land of consciousness.

El blinks blearily, vision foggy with sleep, and it takes a bit for the haziness to clear for her to recognize what, or who, she’s looking up at. “Mike?”

Mike’s smiling down at her, soft fondness in his gaze, and El’s heart feels full to the point of bursting. He’s here. “Hey, sleepy head. How’re you feeling?”

The question brings awareness back to how crappy she’s feeling. “Ugh, gross,” she says as she catalogs the way her throat feels scratchy and hear head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton and her limbs feel like they’re going to fall through the mattress beneath her. On top of it, she’s sure she looks horrible – like she’s nowhere near the top of her game right now and, embarrassingly, Mike’s here to see it. “I probably look repulsive.”

“You’re sick,” Mike says as his hand trails back up her cheek, fingers catching the hair that’s fallen over her face to tuck it behind her ears. El shivers at the tenderness of his touch, a low murmur of pleasure emanating from her throat. “But you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, no matter how sick you are.”

Oh. Oh. Her heartbeat trips over itself as it stutters and skips in her chest. Warmth, fierce and overwhelming, explodes in her veins like a supernova. The feelings that course through her are too much – way beyond too much – and El’s a breath away from drowning in them and never being able to find her way back out.

And it really, really isn’t fair that Mike’s looking so very handsome right now, on top of it – black swear with dark jeans, hair a bit windswept, smelling like clean laundry and a little bit like the outdoors– as he looks down at her with unbearable sweetness.

Honestly, how is she supposed to resist him?

“You’re such a flirt,” El says, deflecting, as she pulls herself up to a semi-sitting position, Mike mirroring her pose as they lean against her pillows.

“I learned from the best,” Mike says with a cheeky grin. His hand moves down from underneath her ear, touch trailing down her back as his fingers dance along the length of her spine. His gaze follows the same descent as his hand as it skims down her body, eyes lighting up. “So that’s where my t-shirt disappeared off to,” he says and the grin on his face turns wolfish and too please by half.

A flush creeps up her cheeks, partly from how Mike’s looking at her like he wants to devour her, and El finds herself with a teasing pout pulling at her lips. “I’m not giving it back, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Well, maybe if you wanted to give it back to me right this second,” Mike says as he waggles his eyebrows at her, hinting heavy-handedly. “But I like how you look in my clothes.”

A gasp bubbles up in her chest, shocked at just how forward Mike’s being. And El hates that she’s sick because she kind of really loves Mike like this – confident without being presumptive, sweet and hot at the same time – and how it makes her want to give him everything.

Well, this sucks.

“Ugh, I hate being sick because I really wanna kiss you right now,” El says and, this time, the pout on her face is all too real.

“That’s why you need to get better,” Mike says. “So you can kiss me for being so adorable.”

A raspy laugh escapes her and El shakes her head. “Yes, that is the only reason to get better, of course.” She scoots over to him, pleased to see him shifting to accommodate what’s about to happen. “But, in the meantime, cuddles will have to do,” El says as she latches onto him. Her arms wrap around his torso while she pillows her head against the top of his chest, and El lets out a contented moan as she feels Mike’s arm wrap around her. “Hmm, so warm,” she sighs as she burrows in deeper.

Mike’s laugh vibrates against her ear where it’s rumbling in his chest and El never wants him to be any further away from her than he is right now. “Oh, I see how this goes. You’re just using me for my warmth,” he says, teasing, but it’s undercut by a fondness in his voice that just makes El want to melt into a pile of goo.

“Warm snuggly boyfriends are the best boyfriends,” El murmurs as exhaustion begins to pull at her once more, lulled as she is by the gentle, seductive warmth of the boy she’s snuggled up against.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mike says. El feels him shift against her and, a moment later, his lips press a whisper of a kiss to the skin of her forehead. “Get some sleep, El. I’ll be here.”

Already half asleep, El mumbles her response. “Kay, good.”

And, so, safe and warm, held tight in her boyfriend’s embrace, El lets exhaustion continue pulling her under until she falls completely and totally asleep.

#stranger things #mileven #be brave and kiss the girl #i swear i'm getting close to finishing this chapter #but again #time is my mortal enemy #why does life gotta be so busy anyway?#at least i have adorable mileven fic ideas and hcs to keep my thoughts company #Anonymous

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 45)

Opening Up

This chapter focuses on reader and Charles, I really liked writing this one, I love Charles so much <3

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

I'd been following the same path in circles around the bayou for a while, crossing over to each side of the Kamassa River over and over again. I'd been out on a ride around Scarlett Meadows but when it began to get dark, I'd started heading back. I couldn't quite bring myself to return to camp, however. I thought a ride would help clear my mind, give me a chance to get my head straight and absorb what had gone on. But truthfully, I felt no different than I had when I left. It was so odd, continuously bouncing back and forth between sinking into a deep cavern of grief and dread, then reminding myself that I didn't know for sure the boat that had gone down was carrying Arthur. It was all I could think about, though, I couldn't shift my focus for more than a moment.

Bored of seeing the same path, I veered off. I headed down the familiar trails of the swamp, knowing exactly where I was headed but not quite knowing why. Rayna carried me from the denser part of the bayou, and out into the surrounding land where there were fewer trees. It was as if she remembered, and I barely had to direct her before we came upon the place.

It looked a lot different now. Someone had moved in and tore down what once was my house and rebuilt it into something smaller, yet more solid. Though, that wasn't saying a lot. Like most buildings in this area, it looked a little run down; perhaps it was the moist air taking its toll on the wood by softening it. I didn't know or particularly care. I stopped a ways away from the shack, glancing around the patch of land, recognising it despite the changes. There was a particularly tall tree over to the left, underneath which sat two crosses. I didn't look at them for long, looking down at Rayna instead; I petted the top of her head, breathing out a soothing shushing sound despite the fact she wasn't in need of soothing. It was more for my own benefit.

There was a light on inside the shack, and I knew that if I stayed too long or made too much noise, whoever was inside would likely come out and blow my brains out. That's just how the people were in these parts. I kept my distance, hoping the trees and the shadows would be enough to conceal me.

I sighed softly and leaned forwards, leaning against the horn of my saddle and pressing my forehead against the back of Rayna's neck. I closed my eyes, listening to the toads and the crickets. If I focused hard enough I could place myself back in the night Arthur and I had laid down on the deck of the shack back at Shady Belle, staring up at the stars side by side. I imagined that he was close to me and took comfort in it. If I kept my eyes closed then my brain couldn't know that it wasn't true.

In those few peaceful moments I was finally away from it all. I didn't notice the hoof beats or the huff of breath through horse nostrils as someone sidled up to me. That's why I all but shit myself when–

"Hey."

I jolted upright. Charles and Taima were by my side.

"Jesus Christ," I hissed, slamming my hand against my chest.

"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was low, all but a whisper.

"How did you find me?"

"It's a skill of mine," he shrugged.

"Just like creeping up on people?" I questioned, it came out harsher than intended. Charles didn't flinch.

"Come back to camp."

"I–"

"I don't care if you don't want to. I don't wanna have to be tracking down your corpse in the morning."

"I wasn't going to say that," I said, narrowing my eyes slightly. "I was just about to come back."

"Oh. Okay then," he murmured, softening his tone. "I'm sorry. I'm just… I'm a little worried about you. Today was not a good day."

"Don't worry about me. I'm alive and well," I shrugged.

"Physically, maybe. I'm more worried about what's happening up here," he pointed to his head.

"I'm not going mad," I frowned.

"No, you're not. But you're hurting and you're isolating yourself. When that happens, it's rarely a good outcome."

"Charles you keep to yourself more than anyone I know. I could say that you isolate yourself," I pointed out.

"No, I just don't talk much. I don't walk around in circles for hours on end– and by the way, what the hell?" He gave me an incredulous look.

"I was taking a ride," I grumbled, feeling my face get hot.

"Some ride. You're not yourself right now. What if the nightfolk jump you while you're in this mindset? Do you think you could fight them off?"

"No, probably not," I admitted with a shrug, and he stared at me, slack jawed. "And no, that's not what I'm hoping for, before you start to think I'm…" I trailed off, shaking my head.

"Speak to me," Charles sighed.

"Charles, I'm not going to sit here whining and crying to you, using you like that."

"So, if I was upset and wanted to let it all out, you'd think of it as me using you?" He asked.

"Of course not," I frowned at him. He stared at me, letting my words speak for him. When I didn't seem to respond correctly, he sighed.

"So why'd you think you'd be using me?" He asked. I didn't have an answer. Charles sighed my name, "you're my friend. At least I like to think so."

"I think so too," I clarified.

"Then let me be your friend."

I stared at the ground for a while, letting the silence drag on. Eventually, I met his eyes, then nodded.

"This is where I grew up, you know," I started, and Charles looked over at the shack ahead.

"In there?"

I shook my head. "Our house was torn down. But it was here. My parents are over there," I nodded towards the tree with the crosses underneath. Charles followed my gesture with his eyes and I found his expression hard to read.

"Do you miss them?" He asked. I pursed my lips.

"Of course, sometimes. But I don't often think about it, now, until I came back here anyway," I explained and he nodded in understanding. "Do you still have your parents, if you don't mind me asking?" I looked at him, and his brows jumped a little at the question, surprised I'd asked.

"No. I lost my mother when I was just a kid. I grew up with her tribe, then the army came and destroyed our way of life, then they took her," he told me, his voice flat and level, far calmer than I'd expect from such a story. I closed my eyes, shook my head.

"That's…" I didn't just want to say that it was a terrible thing, sound hollow, I just trailed off. "I can understand why you're so eager to help those at Wapiti."

Charles nodded, paused for a moment, then continued. "My father didn't deal well with it. He fell head first into a bottle and I didn't stick around long enough to see if he ever came out. Ran away when I was something like thirteen, fourteen," he told me. Then his eyes flickered to mine. "I thought we were talking about you. You're sly."

"I'll find it easier to open up if we're both exposed," I reasoned, and he seemed to accept that. "I know what it's like to watch a parent lose themselves to alcohol. My mother," I looked over at her grave.

"I'm sorry."

"She didn't die that way. She was sick with the flu, just like my pa. But she had a problem with it. I don't like seeing Karen how she is right now, it reminds me too much of her."

"I understand," he nodded sympathetically.

"I don't know why I came here. I guess I wanted to see how it'd changed. I thought it might change the way I was feeling somehow. I'm not… I'm not doing well, Charles. I know that's obvious. Perhaps admitting it will help," my voice was just above a whisper.

"Come on, let's dismount and find somewhere to sit down," he suggested, and we did just that.

I led Rayna over to a spot nearby, further from my old home. We found a fallen tree to sit on and we lit a lantern, placing it on the ground in front of us so we weren't sitting in complete darkness. I checked the area thoroughly for snakes and gators before sitting down next to Charles who was leaning forwards, elbows on his knees, watching a moth flying around the light.

"Can I be completely honest with you? And you won't judge or tell anyone, or think badly of Arthur or me?" I queried, so desperate to tell him the truth about what had been discussed between Arthur and I.

"Of course. That's the idea of this," he said. I nodded and looked down at my hands. I took a few moments to build my nerve up.

"Arthur and I made a plan," I began, speaking very quietly. "He was worried about me being in this gang. He was starting to feel restless too, questioning whether he needed to make different choices. After this bank job… Arthur was counting on us having enough money to go and start a life somewhere else. We weren't going to join Dutch in Tahiti."

"You weren't?" He murmured, though he didn't sound shocked.

I shook my head. "He didn't want to go to some tropical island. Neither did I. We said we'd try and head west, avoiding Blackwater. He thought we had a better chance with just the two of us."

"I see," he nodded, a crease forming between his brows.

"I guess this is just… if this hadn't happened, he and I could be somewhere completely different," I pointed out, feeling tears coming. I resisted them.

"I'm sorry," he momentarily leaned over, pressing his shoulder against mine.

"He wanted to make sure that you were all okay. That you had money and a plan, a future. He didn't want to leave before he had that peace of mind. It was difficult for him, and honestly I felt awful about it, that he was doing it for me–"

"He was doing it for himself too, don't feel bad about that. I know Arthur, he wouldn't quit the gang if he didn't want to, that's for certain," Charles interjected. "He must've really wanted to start a life with you to talk about walking away from Dutch."

"I– I suppose you're right," I squeaked. "It doesn't really– well, it's all changed now. Charles, what if he's–" I couldn't say it, my eyes welling. I blinked to try and clear them but one tear escaped down my cheek, I scrubbed it away.

"There's nothing I can say that will make this better, I know that. But it's a fact that we don't know what boat they boarded. It's not necessarily set in stone," he reminded me softly, then squeezed his hands together, fidgeting, "but of course. I wouldn't be doing you any favours trying to convince you that he was definitely okay."

"I know," I nodded. "I'm sorry Charles. Arthur's your friend, too."

"Yeah," he breathed, eyes fixed on the lantern. "I hope that we're mistaken, I truly do. That bank job," he shook his head, scrubbed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets then dragged them back over his head.

"The worst idea Dutch ever had," I sighed, then shook my head, "but I can't blame him. None of us saw this coming."

"Do you think you'll stick around if Arthur– if they don't–" Charles didn't finish and he didn't need to.

"I have no idea. What about you?"

"I don't know, either. I'm wondering if the gang will disband without Dutch. Molly's already gone," he pointed out and I looked at him.

"Yeah? I don't know. My understanding is this gang formed from people with no place in the world, and they found it here. You think it's just Dutch holding everyone together?"

"It's hard to say. Things haven't exactly been great since he and the others haven't been here," he noted and I hummed in acknowledgement, "what if he does come back, you think you two'll still leave?"

"I hope so. Especially after all this. I don't really want to tempt fate any more, I doubt I could handle him robbing any more banks, you know? I used to be able to tell myself he'd always be fine, he's been living like this for years and years, he knows exactly what he's doing. It'd be enough to calm my nerves until he came back. Now I know what it's like when he doesn't, and this is so much worse than when the O'Driscolls had him. That was a couple of days. This…" I sighed and held my head in my hands. I felt Charles' hand on my back. I could no longer prevent tears from spilling. I sniffled, pressing my hands into my eyes.

"It's okay," Charles reassured me, his hand rubbing back and forth across my shoulder blades. I broke.

"I love him so much," I sobbed, "and the worst thing is, I never told him that. I never said the words to him."

Charles' arm wrapped around my shoulders, tugged me closer, against his chest, his hand scrubbing up and down my arm briskly. I surrendered to it, leaning into him and letting the tears come as they pleased, ignoring the voice in the back of my head telling me I'd be embarrassed about it once I pulled myself together.

"Love is more than just the words. People show that they love each other in the things they do; I'm certain Arthur knows how you feel."

"Have you met the man? He barely believes that I think he's handsome," I said and despite it all, Charles released a fond chuckle. "I used to count on him just knowing but now I fear I'll never get to tell him for sure, I wish I'd told him every damn day."

Charles didn't say anything, he didn't need to, all he had to do was listen to me and give me the chance to pour my heart out as he held me. I hadn't hugged many people in my life. Just my parents, a couple of the gang members, and of course Arthur. Charles' hug was solid and steady, I felt protected in his arms, but there was a distance to it, too. He did not feel over familiar, he kept it to the tenderness of a friend. Which was why it felt so different to being held by Arthur, and though the hug comforted me, it made me miss him all the more.

"Being with Arthur felt like the first time I'd felt true happiness since my parents passed. I don't know how to deal with the fact that he might now be– that he could be gone forever. How do I begin to get over it? My heart feels like it's–" I shook my head, unable to put it into words. "It hurts."

"I wish I had answers for you," Charles said quietly. "I've– I've never really loved a person, not like that," he revealed.

I shifted and he loosened his arms, allowing me to sit up again. "You haven't?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Anyone I have gotten close to, it just hasn't–" he shrugged, "I've never felt that way in the end."

"I hadn't before meeting Arthur," I told him.

"I understand what it's like to lose someone important. Just not like that. I'm sorry, I'm not really good with advice. I'm a better listener than a talker," he said under his breath apologetically and I shook my head, patting his arm.

"I'm not looking for advice. For something like this, I don't believe there is any," I admitted, glancing off to the side, "but you've shown me a great deal of care. That means a lot."

"I promised Arthur I'd look after you when I left the docks," he told me, pressing his thumb into the palm of his hand, rubbing at a patch of scar tissue idly, "seeing you these last few weeks, looking as down as you have been; didn't feel like I was doing a good job."

I didn't know what to say to that. To think my name had been mentioned that night, amongst all that disaster, Arthur had thought of me. My chest hurt.

"It's funny. I've spoken to you more than I've spoken to some of the others, and you've been here for the shortest time. I guess I'm not particularly sociable. But when you arrived, you reminded me of myself when I first joined. You threw yourself into work, never wanting to sit idle. I'll never forget when you pleaded with me to let you go hunting," he chuckled. "I think when you're alone you get so used to doing everything yourself, you're constantly active. Joining a group where the workload is spread, it's an adjustment."

"Yeah, it is," I nodded.

"I think that may be why you and I gravitated towards Arthur," he pointed out, looking at me. "He seems to have a similar attitude. Doesn't want to let anyone down. But he's never– I may sound like a cold bastard, but I find certain members of the gang very annoying. Arthur's never that. His company is preferable to the rest of them," he waved a hand in the general direction of camp.

I nodded. His company was certainly preferable over anyone I'd ever met, but I may have been biased.

"I don't really know where I'm going with this. I guess I just wanted you to know that I feel like I relate to you in a number of ways. And you've never been annoying. Only when you lie and say you're fine, thinking I'm dumb enough to believe it," he nudged me and I exhaled a laugh through my nose.

"Thank you, Charles," I told him softly, smiling, "this may sound strange, but I've always found your company very calming."

"It's not strange. You're not the first to tell me that," he said.

"Well, maybe this is your calling. Bringing people back down to Earth, calming them down."

He chuckled to himself. "I guess I've had a lot of practice calming myself down. I used to let my emotions – usually anger – get the better of me. Years ago. I try not to let that happen anymore. It still does, sometimes, but now I feel things can usually be solved better with words, so long as people keep their heads about them."

"That's very wise," I said.

"It's what I'm trying to convince Eagle Flies of. He's the son of the chief of the tribe I've been helping. He has a lot of passion, and with that comes anger. And rightly so. Unfortunately, it's not the right solution for their problems. His father knows that."

I perked with interest, looking at him with curved brows. "What exactly are they going through right now?"

"Yet another treaty has been broken. Their people are being treated like animals, no regard for their health whatsoever. A lot of the tribe is sick, and vaccines and medicine are being withheld. The whole situation disgusts me," he explained, his voice low and resonant.

My mouth opened, but I didn't know what to say. Charles sighed, his silence lasting only a moment.

"War has weakened them. If things get worse with the army– I fear for them," he admitted.

"What those people are going through… what the army and the government are doing to them; it's shameful," I said, and I saw him nod from the corner of my eye.

"I'm doing all I can for now, to convince Eagle Flies to listen to his father. If he continues to fight with anger and violence, it will only add fuel to the flame. They like to think of our kind as savage, as reckless and uncivilised. They expect these reactions and take it as proof, never mind how much they provoke it," he said and I nodded in understanding.

"I don't know what use I would be, but if there is anything at all– please ask me," I whispered, and he met my eyes.

"I will. Thank you," he replied.

A noise came from behind us, a rustling and a snap. We both jolted and looked towards it. I couldn't see anything through the dark, our lantern only serving to light up the mist surrounding us, making everything beyond a few feet invisible. I looked at Charles, his eyes were narrowed as he scanned the area from which the noise came. Nothing happened for a few moments, but he slowly rose to his feet, taking my arm in his hand.

"We should leave," he said quietly. He didn't need to ask twice and we made for our horses.

We left not knowing if anyone or anything was actually there. It could've been the nightfolk, it could've been a rat, it could've been a falling twig. Neither of us felt it was worth the risk of sticking around to find out. I maintained my opinion that the bayou was creepy, especially at night. It was incredibly easy to run away with your imagination there, convincing yourself that all sorts was lurking in the mist and the foliage.

A lot of the gang was asleep by the time Charles and I returned to camp. Lenny and Miss Grimshaw were both on watch duty for the night, and they asked how I was feeling when I passed. I told them I was starting to get my head on straight, I just needed everything to sink in before I could begin to deal with it. They were kind to me and reminded me that the gang was a family, we were there for each other.

We crept into the main cabin where most people slept and went to our respective bedrolls, guided by the limited light of the two lanterns that were dotted across the space. I sat down on mine, curled up on my side, facing the wall with Mary-Beth behind me fast asleep. My satchel sat next to Arthur's in my line of sight and I reached out to touch his, running my hand over the front of it, feeling the soft, pliable aged leather interrupted by the coarseness of warn, scuffed spots as my fingers passed over it. I pulled it over to me, tracing my fingertips over the partially matted fur that made up the flap. I inhaled. If I was being honest, it didn't smell great. There was an undertone of leather and Arthur's own smell, but it was sadly overpowered by a bouquet of spoiled food, too many herbs and plants clashing with each other, blood and horse.

I had taken the liberty of throwing out the rotting meat and cheese I'd realised was in there about a week ago, when I kept catching the odor when laying in bed. I hadn't pried too much into what the contents of his bag were, but I'd noticed a mishmash of all sorts of stuff; drawings, photographs, trinkets. He carried around the world in his satchel.

Without thinking, I lifted the flap and reached inside, my knuckles immediately brushing against his journal. I paused for a moment, then retrieved it. Sitting up on my elbow I placed the book down in front of me, bracing my palm on the smooth, well-loved and broken in leather of the cover, flexible from continuous opening and closing. My thumb inched towards the strap that held the thing closed, mousing along its raw edge, dipping underneath and prying it away from the cover but not quite releasing it from its fastening just yet.

I drew a breath, long and slow through my nose, then released it, wondering how Arthur would feel about me peeking inside his journal. A sad, nasty little voice told me he would never know if he was dead, and I would end up looking at some point during the grieving process. I sighed and relinquished the strap from its slot, smoothing it out away from the cover. I fingered the edge of the page, toying with it, not quite giving myself permission to open it. Instead I slipped my hand under the front cover, running my fingers across the page, feeling the grooves and indentations where his pencil had once pressed into its surface, revealing his inner thoughts.

I was struck with this uncanny feeling at once. There was a sense of grief, longing, of course. But then a surreal sense of personal connection, feeling the marks that Arthur had made. It brought tears to my eyes in an instant and I removed my hand, closing the strap once more and concealing his journal back within the confines of his satchel where I decided it would stay for the foreseeable future. There was no way I could bring myself to read it, not while there was still a chance that he was out there, alive, tangible, of flesh and blood and with privacy that needed respecting.

I decided I would read it only when given his direct verbal permission, or when beginning to forget the sound of his voice.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fanfiction #atink #arthur morgan x female reader #reader insert #rdr2 fanfic

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writethelifeyouwant · 5 years

Text

You Got Iced - Chapter One

Pairing: Jared x Reader x Jensen

Rating: M, for language (future chapters will be explicit)

Summary: Inspired in part by the challenge prompt and in part by this convention https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAHS_RJ5Gac (which is fucking hilarious, go enjoy yourselves there). The reader is attending a Supernatural convention during a heat wave and gets her money’s worth out of her ticket that’s for sure.

Word Count: 3556

Warnings: None for this chapter

A/N: Written for @babypieandwhiskey ‘s Hot as Hell challenge. This is only chapter one of an undetermined number. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the rest of the chapters shoot me an ask! I’ll be posting them over the next couple weeks as I finish them. I’m in the process of moving to a different country so it’s taking me a little longer to write than I’d hoped :) (Also I’ve only been to cons in my dreams so sorry if things aren’t totally realistic in that respect).

The convention hall, also known as the shabby ballroom of the Hilton on Main, was clouded in an ungodly, sticky heat that had descended, seemingly from nowhere, the previous night. Even the oppressive heat hadn’t dampened the palpable excitement of the hundreds of people that were crowding into each other’s personal space, waiting for the boys. A dance, so identical it was practically choreographed, spread throughout the audience as the minutes slipped by. People’s heads nodded up and down as they checked the clocks on their phones and then checked the stage again, finding it still empty.

Then a shocking scream erupted from a corner of the room where a ripple of the curtain had announced the imminent arrival of Rob and his band of merry men. Shouts rang out as the band populated the stage and without introduction, cranked out discordant rock chords.

“How you all doing today?” Rob shouted into the microphone and answering hollers echoed back. “No one melted yet?”

An answering “No!” came back from the crowd.

“Alright well let’s get this show on the road before that happens!”

Cheers erupted as the music started, Rob introducing himself, Michael, Billy and Stephen, and Rich who had popped up from behind the curtain in the meantime.

“So hey,” Rich had grabbed his own microphone, “I saw a couple guys lurking backstage, I think you guys might know them, those two really tall motherfuckers that are on TV all the time?” The shrieks that flew out of the crowd must have made the band glad they had earplugs in. “I’m gonna assume that means you guys want them up here too?” Rich prodded with a smirk. More screams. “Yeah I thought so, everyone give it up for Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles!”

The boys, somehow dressed in flannels despite the god awful heat, jogged out on stage, waving and smiling and lapping up the outcry from the nearly hysterical audience members. Picking up the microphones that were waiting for them on the chairs in the centre of the stage, they settled themselves in, Jared flipping his chair around and earning some extra swooning screams because he somehow managed to make that simple movement incredibly seductive.

To be honest, you were glad you had a railing to lean against as you watched them. Terrified excitement gripped your chest as you stared up at them enjoying the turmoil they had engendered, and you felt sweat pooling at the base of your spine that had nothing to do with the sweltering humidity you’d been standing in all morning. You were in one of the two lines of incredibly lucky humans stood near the front of the room, with your question scribbled on a piece of paper in case you totally lost your mind when it was your turn to talk to them.

Just as the noise finally began to die down Jensen grinned into the mic and said, “Hi guys,” pulling a whole new wave of cheers from everyone.

“How are you guys doing?” Jared asked, nodding along to the answers of “great, amazing, good, boiling” that were making their way back to him. They both laughed. “Yeah, it is pretty hot in here isn’t it?”

“Sorry guys, that’s my fault,” Jensen smirked, and Jared shot him a teasing look and fanned himself wildly.

“Seriously, is this normal for here, did we just totally miss a memo?” Jared asked. The crowd shouted that this was completely not normal, it was some sort of sign of the apocalypse, curse from God, that sort of thing. “Oh good, so we’re not total morons,” he nodded, shaking the front of his shirt to encourage some airflow.

“You know what might help, man?” Jensen asked.

“What?” Jared’s face told the crowd that he genuinely didn’t know where Jensen was going with that question.

“If you took the fucking beanie off.”

Laughter rang out followed by hollers of encouragement as Jared shook his head but pulled off the wool knit cap, shaking out his hair and pushing it back out of his eyes.

“Yeah okay, the hat was a stupid move today,” Jared admitted, tossing it casually straight into Jensen’s face. “Do you guys like not know what air conditioning is or…” laughs rippled through the audience and a garbled shout you couldn’t make out made its way towards the stage.

“What was that?” Jensen asked, leaning forward as if that was gonna make it easier to hear. You heard the words repeated but you still couldn’t understand them.

“Bring back strip question?” Jared clarified. The boys chuckled as answering shrieks reached a heightened level of hysteria.

“Honestly, I don’t think we’re gonna need the prompting this time, the layers are just gonna start melting off eventually,” Jensen laughed.

“No but, on a slightly more serious note,” Jared interrupted, “Thank y’all so much for being here. We love you guys and we really appreciate it but it is hot in here so, take care of yourselves, drink water if you have some. If you have to get up and go cool off or get a drink, please, please do, don’t feel bad. We don’t want anyone collapsing out there.”

Jared’s thoughtfulness really touched something in you. He was so unendingly sweet it just showed how much he really felt everyone there was his family. You felt like you mattered and that spread warmth through your limbs that was altogether separate from the heat of the room. Lost in your thoughts briefly after Jared’s PSA you noticed that they had started to take questions from the line, and you shook yourself out in time to hear a small girl’s trembling voice ask, “What was the hardest thing you ever had to do for the show? A stunt or something emotionally difficult or scary to film?”

The panel trickled by, and you tried to absorb every second of it. The minute expressions that Jared and Jensen shared, the laughs they broke from each other, the looks of adoration on every fan’s face, the feeling of gratefulness that swelled in your chest at being anywhere near these two and surrounded by such an incredible amount of happiness. The heat was the constant companion of everyone in the room, and Jared and Jensen were frequently leaving their chairs to make trips to the jugs of iced water that had been set up by the band.

As you neared the front of the question line, Jensen got up for another water break while Jared finished answering a question about the mechanics of one of his favourite shots from last season when he was suddenly interrupted by a growl from Jensen.

“Son of a bitch!” Even without the microphone he was incredibly audible, especially since you were very close to them at this point.

Jared turned around, confused and amused, trying to figure out what the hell Jensen was doing. It quickly became apparent as Jensen pulled from a jug of ice a slim white bottle, shaking the condensation off of it. Jared burst out laughing, clapping his hands together and pointing in mocking.

Walking back to his mic, Jensen twisted the cap off the bottle. “Did you do this, man?” Jensen accused Jared.

“No, I swear,” Jared choked out still laughing. Jensen rounded on the band and Rob and Rich just shrugged, with unapologetic smirks on their faces. “Hey man, at least it’s cold,” Jared offered.

“Ugh I hate these things,” Jensen complained, but he sank to one knee to raucous applause and tipped the Smirnoff Ice back, downing it in an impressively short time. Rob and Rich grinned at each other and shared a surreptitious low-five behind Rob’s back. You were right next to their side of the stage now and they heard you laugh at them. Turning they gave you a thumbs up and Rich looked around, leaned in to whisper something to Rob, then pulled back with a pretty evil smile.

On the other side of the stage, Jared and Jensen had returned to answering questions and you tried to pay attention to the anecdote they were sharing but you kept getting distracted and glancing back at the band, because you could feel Rob’s eyes on you. Looking around you realised that Rich had ducked behind the curtain and now he was rounding the corner of the stage on the audience level, sneaking along bent over so his head wouldn’t be seen over the side of the stage. He was coming right at you.

He stopped to check something with the volunteer that stood at your side of the stage, then continued to creep back towards you. You stood there in stunned silence as he approached with a wide, conniving smile and whispered an introduction.

“Hi there, I’m Rich.”

“H-hi,” you gulped, completely stunned that you were standing so close to an actual Supernatural actor.

“So, you’re gonna have the last question,” Rich cut straight to the point, keeping his voice down so he didn’t disturb the proceedings around him. You nearly choked on your breath.

“That, that means,” you struggled to compute for a second. “I go up there?” You pointed up to the stage where Jared and Jensen were sitting, laughing, looking like giant gods.

“Yup,” Rich popped the ‘p’ on the end of the word. “That okay with you?” You could only manage to nod. “Okay, so, we play the little jingle, the volunteer will walk you up, we’ll have a chair there with a mic, all good?” Again, you only nodded, clutching your question in your hand, eternally grateful that you had thought to write it down, and hoping the sweat pooling in your hands didn’t smudge the writing.

“One more thing,” Rich ducked his body behind yours and brought his face close enough to full-on whisper. “That dress have pockets?” Completely confused by his question you squeak out an answer.

“Yeah, why?” You felt something cold at your elbow and you looked down. Rich was sneaking you another Smirnoff Ice, indicating with his head that you should put it in your pocket.

“Think you can give that to Jared for us?”

“Oh,” you breathed out, understanding now. “Yeah, sure,” you giggled.

“Thanks kiddo,” Rich clapped his hands on your shoulders and squeezed before darting forward and launching himself back onto the stage so he could situate himself with the band.

After an exchange of looks from Jared and Jensen and back to Rob the music kicked in and you were ushered forwards by the volunteer Rich had spoken to a moment ago.

There were no real words to describe what it was like to stand right in front of Jared and Jensen. You felt like your heart had stopped and like it was beating a million times a minute at the same time. Up on the stage with lights beaming down it was even hotter than it had been in the audience, and when Jared and Jensen each placed a hand on your upper arms and guided you towards your chair and mic, it felt like their hands were burning into your skin. You almost hoped you had scars a la Dean’s from Castiel.

As you sat down, the faint buzzing that had stuffed your ears started to dissipate and you realised that Jared was talking to you.

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?” You were so embarrassed that they were affecting you like this but Jared just smiled gently, practically radiating a safe, warm encouragement.

“What’s your name darlin’,” Jared asked again.

“Oh, uh, Y/N,” your name came back to you, finally.

“And Y/N,” Jensen asked now, “what is your question?”

“Okay, um, so my question is for both of you and I’d like to extend it to Rob and Rich too if that’s okay?” You glanced around at everyone’s faces and all four seemed to be nodding their heads that that would be okay. When you looked over at the band you caught Rich’s eye and he quirked a brow at you, a small reminder of your other purpose on the stage. Clearing your throat you pulled out the your question but kept your other hand in your pocket with the cold bottle.

“But, before I ask it, I’ve been asked to give something to Jared by a friend.”

“Oh cool, what is it!” Excitement took over Jared’s face like a puppy dog who heard the word ‘treat’. That joy was quickly doused when he saw what you pulled out of your pocket. “Oh, God,” Jared pulled a hand over his face, scrubbing at his cheek adorably in annoyance.

“Sorry,” you did feel a little guilty, but mostly it was funny.

“Which one of those douches was it,” Jared pointed accusingly at Rob and Rich.

“You’re welcome!” They shouted in unison, giving Jared a big thumbs up.

“You suck,” Jared shouted, but good-naturedly sank to one knee, upending the Smirnoff Ice and draining it as quickly as possible. What made you absolutely lose your breath, and nearly your mind, is that when he dropped to his knee he used you as his brace. His long fingers wrapped almost all the way around your knee, and he squeezed gently, almost teasingly, as he gulped down the icy drink. You couldn’t take your eyes off the way his neck was pulsing as he swallowed, and a small drop of sweat was running achingly slowly down past where you knew you could find his pulse if you just reached out your fingers and touched.

When he finished, he exhaled on an over-exaggerated ‘ahh’ and his eyes locked straight with yours. He maintained eye contact, his hazel irises twinkling in the bright lights beating down on the stage, and he rose slowly back to his feet, giving your knee one last squeeze before reaching out for his microphone again.

“Now, Y/N, since we’ve got that out of the way,” Jared flared back at Rob and Rich, “what is your question?”

The rest of your time on stage was an absolute blur. Jensen answered your question first, quickly followed by Rich. Jared and Rob took a few seconds each to consider before offering their best answer and then before you could process what was happening Jensen was pulling you to your feet and wrapping you in a burning hug. Jared came around the other side and stretched his arms around both you and Jensen, briefly trapping you there between them. Then all the sudden you felt a rush of air as they pulled back and you were being ushered off to the side by a volunteer.

Your eyes took a moment to adjust back to the lack of blazing spotlights, so you kept following the volunteer without giving much thought to where she was leading you. It was a shock when you found yourself being pushed through a gap between a curtain and the wall, moving back behind the stage. A little holding area was filled with everyone who had just been on stage, and a volunteer passing around water bottles.

“Why am I back here?” You whisper shrieked at the volunteer. She laughed at you.

“You want to take a picture with the guys?”

“Oh wow, you’re not serious,” you panicked, smoothing out your hair and patting over your face, hoping your makeup hadn’t sweated off too much.

“You’ll be fine,” she laughed again, good-naturedly though. She must be used to dealing with fangirling freaks, you thought to yourself.

“Hi Y/N,” Jensen called when you were just about level with the group.

“Ready for your close-up?” Jared asked, waggling his eyebrows at you.

“Um, yeah I guess,” you gulped, trying to organise your thoughts as you followed Jared and Jensen over to where a camera tripod was set up against another wall. You were walking between them, the bare skin of your arms brushing against their hands, because they were that much taller than you. “It is so nice to meet you guys, seriously, I just want to say thank you for being like, amazing and wonderful. You’ve made such an amazing family,” you stop talking and try to rein yourself in, knowing you can’t guarantee you won’t say something monumentally embarrassing very soon.

“Well, you guys are all pretty amazing too,” Jared smiled, clapping a hand on your shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze, clearly sensing you could do with a little calming down, not that having him touch you actually accomplished that. Your heart felt like it was trying to jump out through your throat.

“So, where do you want us?” Jensen smiled warmly at you, but there was something else peeking out from behind his bright green eyes. Mischief, maybe.

“Oh god, I don’t even know,” you tried not to giggle hysterically, which was your usual defence mechanism when you got nervous.

“It’s okay, just come over here,” Jared pushed you forwards slightly towards Jensen. They stood together, arms slung around the shoulders that were touching and pulled you in front of them. Stumbling a little, like a total idiot you berated yourself internally, you fell back against them. Assuming they’d want a little more space, you started to take a step forward but then you felt solid warmth pressing against your back. Jared and Jensen had both pulled you closer into them and they were pressing you back into their bodies. You felt more than heard a chuckle roll through Jensen’s body, and he slung his left arm around your body, settling his hand against your right shoulder. Jared mirrored him, crossing his arm over Jensen’s to hug you tighter to both of them.

“Okay, say ‘bacon’!” The photographer snapped a few photos of you all absolutely laughing your asses off, because who says ‘bacon’ when they take a photo? But as the laughter settled you felt a sense of incandescent calm spread through you. Jared and Jensen were still pressing you against them, and the laughter had broken the tension you’d been holding in your limbs, allowing you to settle into them without so many nerves.

When the photographer indicated that he was done the boys released you and each other, Jared ruffling his hair mostly to give his hands something to do. You felt more relaxed now, and a little more confident that you weren’t going to start babbling nonsense so you took a chance to ask for a favour.

“I’m gonna ask since I’m here and I know I’ll kill myself later if I don’t… Do you think it would be okay if I got a photo with the band?”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Jensen said, obviously having expected something much more out of left field. He waved over to the guys still milling around in the holding area. “Hey, Rob, get your guys over here!”

When they were in better earshot Jared pointed his thumb at you and said, “Your new minion wants a picture.” His voice was scathing but hid his amusement pretty poorly considering he was an actor. The band plus Rich all crowded around you for a photo, going for a giant group hug approach and pulling loads of stupid faces, helping you chill out even more.

As they released you from the crush you turned back to Jared. “Sorry, again, about that,” you said, referring to passing on Rich’s prank before, and blushing a little.

“Yeah, bullshit,” Jared laughed, his eyes crinkling and fuck, why was that so sexy.

“Well did you want to give her this for your revenge Jared or…” Jensen let his thought trail off, swinging a cloudy white bottle by the neck between his thumb and a finger.

“Jay, we cannot Ice a fan,” Jared laughed exasperatedly.

“Sure we can,” Rob grabbed the drink from Jensen and tossed it at you. You screamed a little but by some miracle you caught it clumsily, clutching it to your chest to keep it from smashing to the ground.

“Y/N you really don’t have to drink that,” Jared insisted, trying to protect you from his ridiculous friends.

“No it’s okay, fair’s fair” you laughed, twisting off the cap of the cold drink, confused as to how this was your life right now. You brought the bottle to your lips, taking a moment to shoot Jared a reassuring smile because he was still looking worriedly at you. Before you managed to actually drink any of it though you heard Jensen clear his throat, and he looked pointedly from you, to the ground at your feet.

“You forgetting something?” Jensen grinned as he watched you, arms crossed over his chest. Of course, you thought, you were supposed to take a knee when you downed it.

“Someone’s bossy,” you chided, but you let yourself fall, landing on both your knees instead of just one like the challenge technically called for. Glancing up at Jensen for permission to down your drink now you saw him exchange a fleeting look with Jared. For just a moment, something had cracked through their smiling exteriors. It was dark; hungry. The change had been infinitesimal and before you could swear it had been there to begin with, their warm, encouraging smiles were back. You tipped the bottle back, keeping your eyes locked with Jensen’s the whole time, like Jared had done with you earlier on the stage.

#babypieandwhiskey #hot as hell challenge #j2 fic #spn #j2 x reader #j2 x reader fic #Jared Padalecki #Jensen Ackles #spn family #you got iced #getting iced challenge #chapter 1

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christinefoley · 4 years

Text

How To Manage Time and Work Like A Boss

I’ve been a teacher for nearly thirty years now, and so I should be red hot at knowing how to manage time. After all, the average classroom teacher regularly has so many plates spinning on a daily basis that every limb is a whirling blur in perpetual motion. Experience has taught me that allowing even one plate to go gyrating off its axis can bring chaos and catastrophe for the whole delicately balanced collection.

Blogging

But this blogging malarkey- well, that’s different. And I’m finding the whole issue of time management more challenging than I’d anticipated, to be completely honest. I mean, thinking about the whole idea of becoming a blogger was…well- just fantastic, really. I love writing, and blogging means that I can write about stuff that really interests me, and never again have to write about things that just don’t.

Primary School Teacher

To clarify what I’m talking about, you may not know this, but the average primary school classroom teacher is obliged to take an interest in such mind-numbing subjects as: rocks and soils, units of measure ( both metric and imperial), adverbial phrases and subordinating and coordinating conjunctions. Admit it- you’re bored already! Imagine having to feign interest in that lot- and a whole host of even more boring topics besides- for nearly thirty years! I don’t know how I’ve done it!

Working From Home

So, what I thought was: become a blogger: write about interesting things, things that get my fingers positively sparking over the laptop key board: it’ll be great! Hey- and you get to do it from home, and manage your own time! Goodbye M6! Goodbye difficult parents! Ta-ta to staff meetings and professional development and tedious meetings about assessment. No more report writing- hurray!!

This will be the new pattern of my Week

Monday morning: awakened at 7am by the alarm- no more 6:30 for me anymore! Up, dressed, breakfast and ready at my laptop to report for writing duty by 8:30 am at the latest.

Straight into writing/ preparing next blog post.

Timetable

9:30 am: take first break: wee, coffee, throw the ball for the dog in the garden for around 20 minutes, then back to the keyboard to work steadily through until lunch at around 12:00.

12:00 healthy lunch put together: salad, hummus, green stuff- that sort of thing- and eaten before 1pm before returning to the laptop for another hour’s work. That hour will be spent emailing, and suchlike.

FREE TIME!

2pm-5:00 FREE TIME! Wow! The whole afternoon off!!

Obviously ,this precious time will not be frittered away on any kind of pointless activities: no, it will be utilised for exercise, dog-walking and attending classes that I’ve really wanted to attend but have always been otherwise occupied teaching PE, the Egyptians or subordinate clauses or suchlike. No, now I will spend my afternoons attending French conversation sessions, singing, creative writing workshops and book clubs. I may even join a hiking club and enjoy hiking in the nearby Lake District.

5pm: teatime. Evenings will be spent working on my blog business- no more than an hour or so- and then I’ll actually go out: live music, pubs, the theatre, meals out- whatever I want, because there are no lessons to plan for the next day- and certainly no marking. Fantastic!!

Manage Time?

It’ll be a joy! No more telling myself I’ll do an hour’s marking, then I’ll fill in those assessment tables and then I’ll spend another hour and half preparing tomorrow’s lessons, before……..NO MORE, No more for me!

So, you’re asking, has it worked out like that?

Well, the fact is that I’m still teaching at the moment, so haven’t had the chance to try out this new lifestyle which I have planned out for myself just yet; but I’m having this creeping suspicion that I’m not going to be able to live that life exactly to plan.

Deadlines

Why not? Well, I guess I kind of like deadlines- I am programmed to respond to them anyway. I was always that one who started working on my essays well before the deadline at university, so that I had plenty of time. I was never the last minute panic type-no, I kind of used the whole two weeks preparation time to get pages of notes together and then panic over the last few days about how I was going to create anything of any value out of all that stuff.

Being My Own Boss

What worries me now, is that, as a blogger, working on my own blog, I am going to have to impose my own deadlines, and I’m not convinced that I’ll be all that good at it. It’s that thing about being my own boss- in one way, it’s what we dream of, but in another way it’s kind of scary. I mean, when you’re at work and things go tits up, the boss is ultimately the one who has to take it on the chin- not you. But if you are your own boss, and things don’t go right- well……it’s all your fault.

How To Manage Time and Work Like A Boss

So, before I cut the umbilical cord of a regular job and life pattern, I’ve been researching some hints and tips from the experts about time management- I’m in my note-taking preparation stage.

Find Your Most Productive Hours

Now, there’s a great idea! Work out when you are generally at your most productive and schedule most of your heavy lifting tasks for those times. A first rate tip for time management- after all, how many people have you heard declare themselves a ‘night owl’ or ‘an early bird’? Loads, right?

Night Owl, or Early Bird?

So obviously that got me to thinking about myself: am I a night owl, or an early bird? A night owl, probably, because I’m used to working in the evenings after school. OK, so save all the deep-thinking stuff for the evenings. Yes…..possible, I guess.

Write a to-do List the Night Before

Undeniably a top idea! Apparently, only takes about five minutes and it means that the next day you can hit the ground running without any fiddling about. Hmmm, so- five minutes before bedtime…just a quick list…

You know what that would mean for me? Five minutes writing, followed by 45 minutes lying awake thinking it all through. Sleep well and up at 7:00 am to hit the ground running? Not on your nelly.

Back to the drawing board…next tip for how to manage time, please?

Start on the Most Critical Task First

Yes….now, that’s good….I get that. Get the thing that’s bothering you most out of the way first thing and you’re bound to feel better about yourself and what you can achieve.

Now that makes perfect sense! Thing is….that’s just not me. No, better for me to get a few little things ticked off my list first to get me stoked up with enough confidence to bring out the big guns and get cracking on those tasks that are going to CHANGE MY LIFE.

Sit down at my laptop and hit myself straight between the eyes with something that scares the pants off me and has probably kept me awake ever since I wrote it down on that to-do list the night before? That just ain’t happening.

Next hint, please….

The Eisenhower Matrix

What d’you mean- you’ve never heard of it? Well, I’m not a fan of tables, because they bring out all my twitches, but this one makes perfect sense- you may want to look it up. In essence, the idea is that you write down all the tasks you need to do- in one, long, terrifying list- then you categorise all the tasks. If it’s urgent, mark it ‘U’, if it’s important, mark it ‘I’, and if it’s neither of those, then cross it out.

Still following me?

Next, you evaluate how much time each of the remaining tasks on your list is likely to take and arrange a plan for yourself. Now, I must admit, I’m liking this idea of time management…especially the stuff that you can cross off the list altogether. The aim is to identify your genuine priorities: which tasks on your list are going to get you to achieve your objective the most quickly, and which, simply, are not.

Like it. Yes, this is one for me! Next tip, please…..

Use Time Constraints- Set a Timer

This tip to help you to manage your time advises using a timer to set time to achieve certain tasks, as the task will inevitably expand if there is an unrestrained time in which to do it. The idea is to beat the timer- complete the task in even less time than that which you allocated!

Hmm. Have I not escaped the 5-9 to escape exactly that- time constraints? The school timetable is gone, so I devise one of my own? Not sure I want to do that to myself, although I do understand the benefits of this time management idea, and every task does undoubtedly expand if there are no constraints in terms of time.

Hmm… I need to think this one through…….and while I’m thinking about it I might just make another cup of coffee and put a load of washing on…maybe iron those few shirts? Watch a bit of TV?

No, Christine, you’re talking about being productive, remember? Now, sit down and just get on with it.

Next hint to ace time management, please.

No Distractions

No browsing your ‘phone, checking through emails, doing odd bits of housework. Now I have struggled with this trick of how to manage time, but have actually had a breakthrough in recent weeks.

What has worked for me, is to go out of the house- no dog wanting to play, no endless possibilities for making coffee and no housework-style responsibilities. The other benefit of being out of the house-for me- is no silence.

Silence

I’m not very happy with silence- it makes me a bit edgy. Never been very productive working in libraries and such places. However, it’s no good putting on music either, because then I start listening to that instead of concentrating on the job in hand.

Coffee Shops

I’ve found that coffee shops are my perfect place for productivity. Not only is there the gorgeous aroma of freshly-ground coffee beans wafting up my nose, but there’s just the right kind of background noise- neither too loud nor too silent to distract me. Obviously, a great cup of cappuccino also enhances the whole experience.

If you would like to learn more about how to manage time, and tips that you could use to improve your own productivity, then take a look at this excellent article by Dan Silvestre: ’23 Time Management Techniques of Insanely Busy People.’

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ehstarwar · 4 years

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by chance or natures changing course (1/1)

Dating had never been an area where Rey excelled.

And it had been made unfathomably harder when she met a certain Mr. Darcy-esque man. Her beautiful, sweet, unattainable roommate, Ben.

Based on @reylo_prompts: Rey joins tinder after a long long dry spell due to her flatmate Kylo’s derision, they argue about why and in a fit of jealousy Kylo screams out ‘use me instead”.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.4K

Read on AO3

A/N: thank you to @reylo_prompts for this amazing spark of inspiration!! we stan two (2) idiot space babes who just wanna get freaky ٩(♡ε♡ )۶

The echo of her footsteps in the hallway is loud even to her. She’s not stomping, she’s sulking. Shitty Date #7 is only one in a never ending list of spectacularly awful experiences Rey has been forced to endure as of late.

#7 was late, a picky eater, of the ‘forgotten his wallet’ variety, had breath that smelled suspiciously of rotten eggs, and had STILL attempted to get her to come home with him. Rey would have loved to utilize the feminine rage that had accumulated through a life of womanhood, but her kind demeanor still prevailed. A meek ‘oh, I can’t! I’ve got an early start tomorrow!’ was given and semi-accepted before shuffling off to the bus station before he could give the whole ‘we should do this again’ spiel.

It was disappointing, to say the least.

Not as disappointing as #2 who had been an excellent candidate up until she found out he was the head of the Young Republicans of Chandrilla or #5 who didn’t show up until the movie was halfway over and at the rest of her popcorn.

Dating had never been an area where Rey excelled.

And it had been made unfathomably harder when she met a certain Mr. Darcy-esque man, who liked to cook, to clean, to debate her favorite TV shows until they’re both blue in the face, went to the gym and didn’t post about it, actually tipped when ever they went out to eat, used better shampoo than any female in her life. Her beautiful, sweet, unattainable roommate, Ben.

Ben, who didn’t even flinch when she closed the front door too hard or tugged her scarf off with too much force. He just continued standing over the pot on the stove, rhythmically stirring whatever was creating a delicious aroma though the house.

“You’re back early,” He states, still not turned. Rey humphs indignantly and sits at the bar, watching him work.

“A dud,” She says, “an utter dud.” Rey can see the muscles in his back shift and she just knows he’s smirking.

“Someone probably should have warned you about that.”

Rey sighs and rolls her eyes. “Just because Kaydel suggested I go out with him does not warrant suspicion. She has impeccable taste with her boyfriends!”

Ben adds a bit of a spice she cannot pronounce before taking the pot off the stove to cool. When Ben turns around he’s wearing the smirk Rey knew he would be, and a dish cloth tossed over his shoulder like he’s the young, innovative chef at a restaurant that will gain tons of clout on instagram.

“Kaydel’s boyfriends are always top notch because she keeps the good ones for herself. If she sets you up with a guy that has even the possibility of being worthy, it will have been a missed opportunity for her. So,” He gestures, “you get the scraps she doesn’t want.”

“Kaydel is not that cold hearted.”

“She’s an opportunist; it’s different.”

Rey sighs. Ben wordlessly grabs too bowls from the cabinet and pours each of them a generous helping of what looks to be tomato soup. Rey doesn’t have to have a bite to know it’s delicious.

They eat in relative silence before making their way to the couch. Rey only kicks off her ‘fancy shoes’, still clad in her date attire, but Ben is wearing his daily uniform but still looks like he could’ve walked right out of a Ralph Lauren spread. It would be more infuriating if he weren’t so good to look at.

They watch some inane comedy that neither of them particularly enjoy the content of, but rather the vicious comments they can make on individuals lives that will in no way affect the world around them.

“That hair looks like it’s come straight from the 80’s.”

“He must have really stretched his resume when he added ‘singer’ on there.”

“I make more in a day than what they clearly spent on their entire CGI budget.”

It’s a good way to unwind and get out all the venom without actually damaging anything. On occasion, there is a seemingly bad movies that actually end up giving the small bit of joy and thoughtfulness that makes them actually enjoy it for the content, but those are less fun.

But this particular movie does give Rey a devious idea.

“I should do that,” She say, after a few minutes of silence. Ben continues to watch, but does look confused.

“Do what?” He questions.

“Get Tinder. Try to find a good lay the up-to-date way.”

Ben immediately shifts to glare at her.

“Do be unreasonable.”

Rey faces him, confused.

“Unreasonable?” She repeats.

“You don’t need Tinder.” Ben turns back to the TV and adjusts his sitting position.

“I’m not sure if you’ve been made aware, but I’ve just been on the worst dating trend I’ve ever been on since I’ve started dating! In all honesty, it’s a little unreasonable I’m not already on there!”

Ben scoffs. “Tinder is finding someone to fuck, not to date. There are too many weirdos who just assume its for hook-ups.”

“There are plenty of weirdos out there already! I’ve even been on dates with them! I can handle a few creeps on an app.”

“At least the guys you’ve gone out with have been known and recommend by friends, so they’re not total strangers. You meet a guy off a dating app and there’s no way to make sure he’s who he says he is.”

“I’m not gonna end up on Catfished, Ben. There are plenty of normal men looking for a quick romp before being on their way, and this may be the path I use to find them.”

Ben dramatically rolls his eyes before standing up and stalking into the kitchen. Rey quickly follows him, determined to get to the bottom of his reluctance of her plan for some unknown reason.

“Why don’t you think getting Tinder is a good plan, give me an honest answer,” She asks him once they’re in the kitchen together. Ben has started clearing their plates and cleaning them in the sink with more force than necessary.

“I’ve just given you my reason, I don’t think I need to repeat myself,” He scoffs, making Rey see red.

“It’s not a good reason, but whatever. If you think friend recommendations are so much better than Tinder, then tell me who you choose.” Rey all but stomps her foot as she glares at Ben who has his eyes trained on the soapy water in the sink.

“I don’t have any good recommendations,” He says through gritted teeth.

“That’s ridiculous, Benjamin. You work for First Order! It’s practically bursting with young, ambitious men who I just know would be down for a one night stand!”

“The people who work at First Order are monsters,” Ben says. A hard scrub on one of the bowls makes a splash of water drench his shirt and get soap in his hair that had fallen in his eyes.

“What about Armie? What about you? Do you really think you’re a monster?” She practically shouts at him.

Ben’s head snaps up. “Yes I am.” He says it with such conviction that part of Rey’s heart aches.

It’s clear that this conversation has devolved into something much deeper and Rey isn’t sure either of them are in the right head space to continue down the path before them. Instead, Rey opts to roll her eyes and lift her arms in defeat.

“You’re not a monster, Ben but you are a bit of a dumbass. All I want is to get fucked to relieve some of the tension that has clearly infiltrated this conversation, and you can’t even offer one measly name up to help you ‘best friend’ out. I just don’t have-”

“Just use me!”

The air in the house stills.

Rey stands in the middle of the kitchen, feeling a bit in shock, staring back at Ben who seems equally surprised. He doesn’t speak any more, not to take back or clarify or say ‘ha! made ya look!’

They stand there, in silence, letting the words hang in the balance.

“…What?” Rey finally asks, voice light and low and for a moment she’s not sure he even heard her.

“Use me. If you want,” He says, still not moving.

Rey has to avert her eyes, because looking at Ben right now is too much. Ben, who cooks her food when she comes home from a bad date. Ben, who covers her part of the rent when money is too tight and never asks her to pay him back. Ben, who is so beautiful it hurts to look at but still somehow believes he’s a monster. Ben, who just offered himself up to Rey on a silver platter after she spent the better part of the last 10 minutes yelling at him.

“For sex?” She asks redundantly.

“For sex.” he responds.

Rey picks at her finger nails, eyes still downcast.

“Rey,” The way he says her name feels different now and makes her look up, “do you want that?” Ben is good at hiding his emotions, aways shrouded behind a mask of indifference or anger. Right now, his face seems impassive as he waits for her to respond, but Rey can tell there’s fear there. It’s subtle, and Rey may be the only person in the galaxy to recognize its presence, but it’s there.

She nods. A small breath of relief escapes his lips.

Ben resumes washing the dishes, confusing Rey. She stands there, looking at him putter around the kitchen until it’s clean enough for his standsrds, then walks right past her and down the hall. Like a new puppy, she follows him, trailing him and stopping at his door that he’s walked into.

It’s open and Ben sitting on the edge of the bed removing his shoes. Rey stands awkwardly in the doorway, not trusting her voice enough to ask him what was going on.

She looks at his bed, large and imposing (much like it’s owner), and a new sensation trickles down her spine. He’s going to fuck me on this bed she thinks. It’s only then she notices how the anticipation just from the last few minutes has made her… damp.

“Rey, are you going to come in?” He asks her, standing again.

“Do you want me to?”

He smirks.

“Get on the bed.” It’s a command, not a question. She does as he says, pulling herself on her knees in the middle of the bed, still fully dressed. She stares back at Ben as he watches her climb. When she stills, he speaks again.

“What are you comfortable with?” He asks. Rey bites her lip as she tries to think of anything Ben could do to her now that she wouldn’t welcome with open arms. She comes up blank.

“Anything.”

He cocks his head as he appraises her, making Rey feel like her skin is on fire and the wetness in her underwear become significantly greater.

“Anything?” He repeats. She nods. “Then why don’t you tell me what need me to do to you.”

“I need you to fuck me,” She says without hesitation, gaining a small chuckle from him.

“That much I know. What else?” He pulls his shirt off in one swift motion, leaving his chest bare and still slight damp from where the water splashed on him. Her mouth goes dry. “Use your words, Rey,” He chides as he goes to unbuckle his belt.

“Your fingers…” She begins as she watches the digits maneuver with elegance out of the metal belt buckle.

“What about them?” He asks as his pants fall and he steps out of him. Only his underwear is left now, and Rey can see the more than impressive bulge held behind the black material.

She thinks of the dildo she invested a whole months worth of income in that she theorized was the exact size of him. She was wrong.

“I want you… to get me off. With your fingers. And your…” Her cheeks flame as she is unable to finish the sentence.

“Say it, Rey.”

“I want you to get me off with… your cock.”

Ben looks all too smug for being the least dressed in the room. She can see the thrill of satisfaction he got from hearing her words and it in turn thrills her as well. His eyes rake over her again and she’s suddenly self conscious.

“Take off your dress,” He says. She follows instantly, tossing it to the side of the room, leaving her only in a bra, panties, and stockings. They’re black and sparkly and Rey hopes it makes her look more enticing to him.

Ben’s hand grabs her by the ankle when she’s done, and gently pulls her closer to the edge of the bed, where he still stands.

“So… my fingers, my cock… what about my mouth?” He asks, using his pointer finger to trace up her leg, over her hips and stomach, around her pert nipple that sticks out through the fabric, and up to her chin.

“That too.”

“Where?” He whispers, lowering his face right in front of hers.

“Anywhere,” She breaths.

His lips connect with hers in the next breath. Soft, chaste kisses, planted neatly on her lips as her arms come up to his shoulders. She pulls him closer as he deepens the kiss, tongue slipping into her mouth with no resistance. Ben kisses her like he’s dependent on it to breathe, like his whole existence was conjured so that he could be in this exact position. There is teeth clashing and nose bumping but it only make the kiss that much hotter.

He guides her further onto the bed, pulling her up with him as he spreads out above her. Her legs have parted naturally, letting him slot between her. She feels the warm boxer fabric rub against the tension of her stocking and wishes that he’d told her to get naked. She whines into his mouth, but he swallows it up.

His hands go to the elastic of her stocking and attempt to pull them off her legs. They’re hard to get off when you’re full attention in on them, but now it seems impossible. They catch on the swells of her hips before Ben tears them off her.

Oh well, she think, they would’ve gotten a run in them anyways.

His hands run up and down her legs, palms nearly encompassing a whole thigh in one. His lips move to the column of her throat, planting wet, hot kisses down to her chest. Rey lies boneless beneath him, letting Ben do what he wills. His thumb traces the crotch of her panties suddenly, making her jump. Ben shushes her as his body comes over hers like a weighted blanket.

His fingers tease her soaked undergarments, making Rey whine for more. She arches into him when his hand falls away, and she chases his touch.

“Ben…” She cries, sounding pathetic even to her own ears.

“Hmm?” He makes a noise into her chest as his tongue traces the outline of her nipple through the scrappy material of her bra.

“Want… more… said you’d… fuck me…” She mewls. All at once, Ben pulls back from her, but keeps his hands on her torso, holding her down.

“And you greedy little thing said you wanted my fingers and my cock.”

Rey full on pouts, using everything in her arsenal for this one.

“Then why haven’t you given me one of them?” The smugness from Ben’s face drops as his lips crash on hers. Rey feels his hand go to cup her core before ripping off her underwear just like her stockings.

Well… they were impractical anyways.

Fingers trace her folds, always managing to avoid brushing over her clit with a precision that is making Rey crazed. She’s about to chide him, taunt Ben for not giving her what she’d been promised when he sticks one into her the same time his thumb pushes on her clit. Rey has to bite the inside of her cheek from screaming too loud.

“So wet for me… dripping all over yourself like a little whore…” He says. Rey could cry. How does this man know the right buttons to push? How can he say exactly the right thing that makes Rey loose it? She can’t think of how he knows she likes this because he’s pushing in a second finger just behind the first.

Ben moans against her lips. “If two is a stretch… my cock might ruin you.”

“Please,” She begs, “… want you to ruin me.”

Ben grunts as he works faster, rocking her on his fingers just like it would be if he was fucking her. Just like it would be when he’s fucking her. He’s promised, hasn’t he?

Rey feels all the tell-tale signs of an approaching orgasm, in significantly less time than it takes for her to get herself there. It would be a little humiliating if it didn’t feel so. fucking. good.

“You’re gonna be a good little whore for me… right? You’re gonna… you’re gonna come all over daddy’s hand? Hmmm?” He questions into her skin. Rey’s nails dig into the meet of his shoulder, brought to the brink of nirvana when she hears the name.

“Yes… Yes daddy… gonna be so good… good for you..” Her voice is breathless and light and her body feels like a live wire. His thumb works incessantly on her, and when the third finger breeches her opening, Rey is lost.

Her hands grip any part of Ben they can find purchase on, her chest bowing into his, head thrown back and eyes closed in ecstasy. Her body trembles beneath his, but his fingers still push into her in a rhythmic pattern. He works her through it, muttering praises and endearments like ‘so good for daddy’ or ‘take what you need sweetheart.’

Rey thinks this must be what it feels like the first time you experience a hard drug. An addiction blooms in her body with the first taste, and she hasn’t really even touched Ben yet.

Ben lays her on the bed, adjusting her so that she’s on a pillow and her hair is fanned out. Rey feels her cunt pulse, and knows that despite her organs, her body is no where near done. Ben looks like he feels the same.

His hands massage her body, running from the tips of her toes to her hair line. When his paws come up to the only piece of fabric still adorning her body, Rey places her hands on his.

“No these, please… bra’s are hard to find…” Rey tells Ben. While he seems displeased that he’s not able to display another manly bravado of ripping more clothes off her, he does resign himself to reaching under her, unhooking the fabric, and guiding her out of the bra. When he tosses it off the bed, Rey snatching his hand and brings it to her mouth, placing sloppy kisses on it in lieu of thanks.

The scratchy material of his boxers rubs agains the side of her thighs, where he’s resting between, remind them both that there’s one more thing to shed. Ben looks at her, waiting for something, but Rey keeps laving his hands with her wet kisses.

Something grows dark in his eyes when he speaks again.

“If we do this…” he starts, “it can’t be undone.” It’s a loaded statement that is able to say so much with so little. A talent of Ben’s that Rey will forever be in awe of.

“I know,” She whispers against his skin.

Whatever he was waiting for, that must have been it. Ben quickly stands, rids himself of his boxers and climbs right back between her legs, like he never left at all.

If his cock was impressive though his underwear, it was a damn knock out without them. Rey really doesn’t mean to stare, but my god, Ben is packing.

“A stretch?” She questions, eyes lifting to his. Ben nods. Rey gulps.

Her hand tentatively reaches out, fingers tracing the light dusting of a happy trail that leads to him. He’s hard, achingly so. Tip red and angry and Rey wants so badly to suck him, but she knows that’s not what tonight is. Her fingers gently tap on his head, feeling the small drops of precome gathered there, watching the tacky fluid stick between her fingertips.

Ben’s hand goes to wrap around his base, holding himself as his cock twitches beneath her touch.

“You can play with it, or I can fuck you,” Ben challenges her.

“Not both?” Rey teases.

“Not right now.”

She leans back, looking up at Ben and admiring him like he had been able to do so much. She considers herself, debating whether pulling him to orgasm with her hand the same way he did to her would be as satisfying as him doing the thing that brought them here in the first place. She decides that not right now will mean that later tonight she can have her fun, so she opts for the second option.

“You did say you’d fuck me.”

“I did.”

“I think you should do that… for now.”

Ben grins. His hands dart out to her hips and pull her around so that she’s on her stomach, ass pushed in the air. The sudden movement causes the air to be knocked out of her lungs, but it would’ve escaped anyways when his palm strikes her ass.

“That’s for making me wait,” He tells her. Rey can’t help to moan when she feels his palm go to soothe the reddened skin. She pushes her ass towards him, hoping that he’ll take the hint.

“You’re gonna be a good girl for daddy? You’re gonna let me fuck you full of my come?” He says. Rey bites a pillow as she just barely refrains spinning around, shoving him back and dropping down on his cock.

“Words, sweetheart,” Ben reminds her.

“Yes!” She squeaks out. “I’ll be a good girl for you, daddy… please just- just-”

“Tell me,” He says as she feel’s his cock trace her outer folds. Her hips angle back trying to make him enter her.

“… Please fuck me, daddy.”

Ben pushes into her as soon as the words leave her mouth. He’s slow, letting her adjust to him when he finally bottoms out. Rey bites into the pillow even harder. She can hear Ben’s pants above her and can feel the tension in his hands that now hold her hips.

“… Tell me when you’re good, baby.” Ben sounds as breathless as she’s sure she would if she had the capability of speech at the moment. Ben is deathly still within her, but Rey adjust and wiggles herself, earning choked moans and growls from him.

“Good, daddy… so good,” She finally says, earning a sigh of relief from Ben as he instantly begins to move. His hips rock into hers, shallow at first, before setting a steady pace. She mewls beneath him, trying to move her hips to meet his in time.

Ben falls forward, chest falling onto her back, and his mouth going to her shoulder. Rey snakes a hand up towards his head, fingers curing themselves though his hair. His mouth kisses and bites at her shoulder as his hip begin to move harder, making a slapping sound with every thrust.

“You’re gonna… come for me, okay? You gotta come on me, baby. I gotta know what it feels like,” He mumbles on her skin. Rey nods as her other hand goes to hold over his on her hip, and guide it to her center, just above where his cock is sliding into her. Ben instantly gets the message, finger dexterously going to circle at her clit.

Rey feels her knees shake with effort as his cock moves so deeply within her. He’s the biggest she’s ever had, ever will have, and he reaches parts inside of her Rey wasn’t sure existed. His whole body rest above her, not crushing her, but holding her. Making her feel safe within his embrace so that he could do whatever he wanted to. The feeling of being under Ben as pounds into her is delicious and exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Her head is such a mixture of emotions and ecstasy that Rey almost doesn’t recognize the orgasm as it approaches her. She gasps when she realizes that the tingling sensation starting to spark at her fingertips mean that she’s nearing the peak again.

“Daddy… Ben… I’m… I’m gonna…”

“I know, Rey. I need to feel it, please. Come on me, baby, please…” Ben begs.

Her whole body clenches when she comes, forcing Ben to make a choking sound at the sensation of her cunt squeezing the life out of his cock. He comes almost in time with her, spilling hotly within her. He grunts and holds her as tightly as possible as he pumps the last of himself within her.

Rey can feel the sweat of their bodies coating her back, but she feels his face rest on her upper back and plant kisses along her spine. It seemed almost too intimate of a moment for her brain to process, and she’s almost grateful that she wasn’t eating Ben come. Seeing that while feeling it would throw Rey off a cliff she didn’t even know she’d climbed.

They hold their positions for a moment, letting Ben give the rest of his come to her waiting cunt. Rey feels his hands move again, maneuvering them to lay on their sides, Ben still firmly planted within Rey.

His hands stroke her sides as their breathing returns to normal.

Rey can’t remember a time when she ever felt this safe after sex. Like there was no where else in the world Ben wanted to be other than right here. It was intoxicating.

After a while, she’s worried he’s fallen asleep (or that she would if she remained sedentary any longer), so she calls out for him softly.

“Ben?”

“Hm?” The vibrations from his voice reverberate down her spine.

“Are you awake?” She asks.

“… Yeah.” She can hear the small smile in his voice.

“Good… I didn’t want to wake you when I…” She trails off, trying to think of a not-gross way to phrase this.

“When you got off my dick and let my come spill out of you?” He provides. Despite what they’ve just done, Rey blushes.

“Yeah.”

Ben adjust them so that she’s back on her front, and he’s sitting on his haunches. He slowly pulls out his softening cock, and Rey clenches hard so that the mad rush of fluids don’t coat his bedspread. There’s also a small voice inside her head thats saying ‘he want’s you to keep it’ but Rey totally ignores it.

“Stay,” Ben commands, getting up from the bed. She ears the flick of a light switch, the running of water, before he comes back getting back onto the bed, and stroking her puffy core with a warm cloth.

Rey relaxes as he cleans her, stroking her cunt with such care and kindness, you almost wouldn’t believe he was the one pounding into it with abandon not so long ago.

She feels him get off the bed again to dispose of the cloth before sliding next to her and practically holding her body up to turn her. He settles them down, him lying on his back with Rey draped over one side of him, legs spread between one of his. Her head lies in the crook of his neck, hand holding onto his chest and his plays with the ends of her hair on her back.

They lay like this is what they do every night. With such normalcy and established routine that makes Rey’s chest feel fuzzy. There is a gnawing question on her mind, so she’s asks him before he actually does fall asleep.

“How did you know what I was into? I mean… some of it’s pretty common but others are… not,” She says, fingers tracing the muscles in his chest.

“You read fan fiction in public settings, including on our couch, beside me. I didn’t have to pry too hard,” Ben tells her. His voice vibrates though his whole body, making her buzz in a delicious way.

“… I didn’t know you could see that…” She mumbles. Ben laughs lightly.

“It has been very… informative.” Rey scoffs, making him laugh further. When the settle down and the silence returns, Rey can tell there’s something on the tip of his tongue.

“Ben?” She asks.

“Yeah?”

“You can ask me anything, you know.”

More silence.

“… Is this… something you wanted? You can be honest,” He tells her.

“I think I’m actually the one who asked you, if I recall correctly.”

“No, I mean… with me. I know I wasn’t exactly what you were hoping for tonight and I-”

Rey shoots up to look at Ben. It’s the first time he’s been below her all night, and Rey is able to stare down at his breathtakingly beautiful face, glowing in the moonlight. He’s beautiful to her, always is and aways will be, but there’s a vulnerability in his face right now that makes Rey realize that she’s in control right now. That this is one of those life-altering moments that will inevitably change the world in ways she can’t fathom depending on what she does.

“I may have hoped for something else in the beginning,” Rey starts, “but, Ben, you’re exactly what I wanted.”

The smile that breaks across his face melts Rey and she knows she’s made the right choice.

Brunch is never a dull affair with their friend group. They keep it interesting with gossip or life-changing announcements or the occasional group activity. This particular brunch Ben and Rey are attending is par for the course, going smoothly at the groups favorite eatery in Chandrila. Rose, Hux, and Kaydel are currently arguing over which breakfast carb is superior, pancakes or waffles. Phasma is checking emails while flawlessly being able to keep up with every conversation at the table. Poe, Finn, and Jannah are discussing if the couple two tables over is breaking up or just fighting.

It’s the normal routine for everyone.

Except, of course, Ben and Rey.

They’re sitting next to each other, which my itself isn’t totally unusual, but instead of Rey wishing she was the fork Ben grasps so tightly or the glass that gets to feel the plushness of his lips, she’s content where she it. Ben has his hand holding onto her upper thigh, just teasing at the hemline with his finger tips. His shoe knocks into hers, calves brushing together.

They’re sitting so close, she can feel the heat radiating off his body. She’ll blame that for the blush staining her cheeks.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” Kaydel suddenly squeals, making Rey stop mid bite of her waffle/pancake/french toast combination that Ben said was ‘ungodly.’ “Rey, I totally forgot, but how was your date the other night with… um, what’s his name…” She tries to think of #7’s name. It takes Rey an embarrassing amount of time to remember it herself.

“Ugh, you mean Snap? It went… alright, I guess,” She tells the table, now all eyes on her. Ben squeezes her thigh harshly for a moment.

“Oh, you poor thing!” Kaydel says. “He seemed like such a nice guy. Why didn’t it work out?” She questioned further. Rey didn’t have to look at Ben to know he was smirking.

“Um, I was… he just… not my type, ya know?” Rey deflects.

“Then what is your type? I’m sure Kaydel would like to know so she can curate her recommendations better,” Ben says. Rey slaps his stomach.

“Actually, I don’t need anymore… suggestion.” The energy at the table shifts, and Rey gets a devious idea.

“Oh my god, peanut, did you find someone?” Finn asks, garnering the attention of everyone, even Phasma who tries to stay out of this type of conversation as much as possible.

“Yeah, I did.”

Squeels of joy erupt from around the table as a barrage of questions suddenly spill from everyones lips.

“Does he live here?”

“Is he rich?”

“Do we know him?”

“What’s he do for a living?” “Tell us about him!”

Rey smiles. “Well, I really like him but there is one problem.”

“What?” Ben barks up, suddenly. She turns to look at him, giving him the sweetest expression she can muster, the one that makes him melt like butter.

“He’s got a really small dick.”

Ben chokes on his grits.

—

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weeklyfangirl · 5 years

Text

Frat Boy Pt. 13

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

HI WOW TIME HAS SERIOUSLY FLOWN BY FOR ME - enjoy your fratty frat boy in all his angsty glory ;) Let me know what you guys think I miss you!!

“Down to watch Hocus Pocus and pass out candy to wee ones? My parents invited me down.”

Renny’s eyes softened, imagining the cuteness of last year when a toddler showed up dressed as a magnet with an attached note card saying “chick.”

“Okay, usually, yes, but the-”

“DG’s,” I groaned.

Midterms were creeping up and I was slowly dying between late night grading biology tests and the stress that’d been building up wondering about what in the fuck Harry had going on in his mind. He was hot, he was cold, and I wasn’t sure if this was all a massive game to him. It’d been relatively silent on the Harry front ever since the day of island paradise. The memory of his penetrating eyes examining me on the pier, and the twinge of electricity between us had inspired my wandering fingers more than once. I wouldn’t admit that to him, hell, I could barely admit that to myself.

I’d been too stubborn to text him, but not too stubborn enough to wear his sweatshirt out this morning. If we were friends, wearing his sweatshirt wouldn’t be weird. Technically he’d just invited me to meet his dad, which I admit, stung a bit, but a part of me couldn’t give up that he wasn’t into me. Could eyes lie so easily?

The ball was technically in my court to tell him whether or not I’d be going, so…

I slurped a scalding sip of tea, cringing at the inevitable. “Welp, if you’re going to ditch me for the DGs then I might as well go to Harry’s.”

She smirked, “I know.”

I smacked her arm. “Is that why you’re ditching me?!”

“Hey, I’m not ditching you. It’s a thing for new recruits. You were invited, too.”

My ear still ringed with my mom’s shrill scream on the other end of the line when I’d told her - though I’m not sure if she’d be more excited by the fact that her daughter was going to visit the Styles residence or a sorority party.

Renny continued, “And please, as if you’d really go hang out at your parent’s alone when you have an offer to play co-host with Mr. Hunky Mystery Man. We’re sad sometimes, but we’re not that sad. Actually…”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I’m surprised Harry isn’t going to be at the frat’s party.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “He said it was a family tradition.”

Renny’s brows rose at the F word.

“Okay, but their house is also huge, I doubt it’s going to be an intimate affair.” Truthfully, I was excited to see how their house would be decorated. When I told my mother I probably wouldn’t be coming home to pass out candy, she’d told me not to worry. The neighbors were coming over and they had a couple of cheap wine bottles to drain. I’m sure not telling her I was going to the Styles's house wasn’t going to be that big of a deal.

“Are you kidding me? If Harry hands out a grand to cabana men then I can’t imagine what they’re going to spend on this party. Honestly, I’m kind of jealous.”

“Wait- what? He gave Ben a thousand dollars?”

“Is Ben the cabana man?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes. Or about a grand, I mean I didn’t count it myself but it was a thick. Stack.” Renny’s brows shot up. “You seriously didn’t see that?”

No wads of cash were in my memories. I was too busy retreating away to the golf cart to notice any grandiose money exchange. Ben’s words when he was saying goodbye to me at the golf cart suddenly flashed in my mind - tell him thank you for me.

Thank you.

I hadn’t even assumed the reason why. Probably because out of all things, I wouldn’t have guessed that.

Renny tapped on her lips, signalling to mine that I painted a nice neutral. “Like the shade. What’s it for?”

I looked to my watch. “Zayn. And I’m actually going to be late.”

“Ugh, not fair!! Why can’t I have an artist draw me?”

“Please, Felix was practically drooling over you last year, and he’s a graphic designer, right? I’m sure he has some sketches of you locked away in a cabinet somewhere.”

Something that resembled a blush spread on her cheeks.

“Oh my god. Does he?!”

“He probably got rid of it by now.”

I shook my head, scooping up my tea and 50 pound school bag with me. Leave it to Renny to have a collection of men up her sleeve at any given time. Even the beautiful brainy boy.

“Tell Niall to try drawing,” I called back. The mention of the frat star turned a few heads at the crowded campus coffee shop, and I bit my lip at the scene, skirting across campus to the art studios where people wishing to escape found their haven.

---

“A little to the left,” he murmured. His golden brown eyes peered over the white canvas, tirelessly scrupulous as they focused on each feature, and I felt my heart beat faster at the intensity of attention. “A little up.”

My head tilted to his command, my exposed neck feeling even more naked as I noticeably swallowed.

Did he hear that? Did the music need to be played louder?

“Beautiful.” He reached for another charcoal pencil in his kit. “Have you been in here before?” His voice gently rose over the Coldplay softly playing from the speaker system.

“No, not yet,” I admitted. “I was going to take a ceramics class, but I dropped it the first week. Not exactly the sculptor type.”

“So you’re not the artist, more the painting?”

My brows furrowed. “What?”

“I’m taking ceramics,” he said, not bothering to clarify.

“Yeah? You like it?”

He didn’t answer, sweeping his pencil across the page - the aesthetic lulling of the way it scratched along the paper making me realize that yes, he’d definitely heard me gulping earlier.

The soothing noise didn’t stop, and he didn’t answer for a time that seemed much longer than a minute. I wonder what Harry was doing right now? Was he in class? Practice? Not that I should even be thinking about him.

The little smug version of me was dancing in my brain, delighting in the fact that somebody else was paying attention to me, that there were other people who found me desirable besides Harry. Sure, this was solely for Zayn’s assignment, and yeah, Harry could easily have any number of women he merely glanced at - but me? I could get by without him just fine, and-

“Your face comes across so soft on paper. Gentle,” he said, glancing first at his work, then up to me, as if trying to see if the reality mirrored the copy.

I shifted nervously, but the swivel chair was more sensitive than I’d thought and I almost went flying off the other side. He laughed a bit, before taking his top lip between his fingers.

“Look, I’ve nearly got this one finished right. I’ve got your basic outline to finish the rest on my own, creative liberties ‘n that, but I’ll need a few more still lifes from you if that’s…”

“Yeah! That’s fine.”

“Might be a longshot with the holiday, but do you mind coming in this weekend?”

Plans of the Styles’ Halloween bash rang as a reminder, and it buzzed throughout my entire body. “I can’t, actually. I’m going to a party, I think.”

“Really!” he set down the pencil dramatically. “Am I going to see you in a plaid skirt up your bum again, missy?”

“Ouch, no! But fair. Cringeworthy, but fair.” I slid down the chair, crossing my arms. His eyes didn’t change in their intensity even if he wasn’t holding a pencil. “It’s the Styles’ Halloween bash Saturday. I’m guessing it’s a family-friendly affair so no, I will not be in anything showing any skin, anywhere. I guess they do it every year.”

Realization sunk in, but it seemed a bit of a show. “Harry, yeah, that’s right. Are you two…?”

I shook my head, thinking of what Harry must say when (or if) he got asked the same question. There was no doubt in my mind.

“No.”

It was some weird “in between” with us, but no was a much easier answer.

“Right, well, that’ll be interesting then.” He bit his cheek, mulling over something he wasn’t quite sure he should say.

“What?”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. “Nothing, it’s just… I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a part of that family. It’s got a lot of history.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Let’s just say there aren’t that many British boys that get adopted by Americans.”

I tilted my head back, put off at the slight arrogance in his tone. There was a protective side of me that wanted to rear its head and bristle whenever somebody talked down to Harry, and I wasn’t sure how to put it away.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You can look up the story, but-”

A knock at the door, and a petite black-bobbed Asian girl peered her head in.

“Hi, I have the room at 5:30.”

I glanced to the clock on the wall, just a little past.

“We’re finishing up,” he said. She nodded, not budging. A little territorial over the studio space. Which, I completely get. Once midterm season hits, the library starts to resemble a refugee posting with people camped outside cubicles and “quiet rooms,” hoping for the prior group to leave a little earlier if they didn’t have reservations of their own.

“Yeah, we’re done.” I picked up my bag, and put my beanie over my head.

“Well, I’ll be in touch then. Sometime next week?” He followed me to the door, and placed a hand to my lower back. I stopped, trying to discern if there was something else behind his eyes. Maybe this hadn’t just been for a project.

But his hand was removed just as quickly, and with a little “See ya,” he closed the door behind me.

-----------

Lines of vintage cars parked outside the Styles’s home wasn’t what I’d been expecting when Harry had shot a text that it was a masquerade gala. Maybe it should’ve, but it wasn’t. I squinted my eyes at a woman in a neon vest waving around her flashlight to the approaching cars and signalling them to available spots along the street.

How was I meant to find him in this madness?

“Here is fine,” I told the Lyft driver. I’d bit the bullet (or rather, my wallet) to get a ride. I thought I’d bypass the embarrassing “car dying” scenario again and just play it safe. Not that I was expecting to spend the night again… the toothbrush I’d stuffed in my purse screamed otherwise, and seemed to burn a hole into my thigh.

But still, totally not expecting to spend the night.

Totally …. not ….

The sound of the Uber leaving made me realize I was doing this. Again. Willingly walking into the lion’s den simultaneously with at least ten other well-dressed individuals.

Expect me tonight, I’d sent. It was a little bold. I had to refrain from sending any emojis, but I’d done it. Played it cool.

Wear a mask, he’d replied. And I felt my stomach drop a little bit. He hadn’t said-

Cool! Gee, thanks for letting me know! Wow that’s so nice to hear! You made my day!

No.

Just a simple three word request. Actually, more like demand. I bristled the same moment my phone buzzed.

Please.

I sighed. I guess it was four words.

Of all the themes to pick though… I rolled my eyes at “masquerade.” Renny had done the opposite, and flew to her dresser, opening a drawer full of toys and masks and - oh my gosh was that a leash? She handed me one, black lace over the eyes that could lift up and over the cat headpiece. I didn’t ask any questions for why she had this so readily available, because guessing from the other contents in the drawer, I already knew the answer.

“You look-” Renny kissed her fingertips- “Bellissima.”

Older, sophisticated silver foxes arm-in-arm with their wives took the time to glance at the young woman approaching the estate.

I blamed it on the deep red dress Renny stole from the theater department (or borrowed as she insisted). It fanned out with dramatic flair like an 18th century production of Shakespeare would - or how our school’s production of Much Ado About Nothing would (which was now short one costume).

The doors opened to the tinkling of a piano.

Amidst cocktail waiters weaving between the masked strangers, someone was actually playing it. He had brown curly hair and I practically raced to his side to avoid standing in the foyer alone any longer.

“I didn’t know you could play.”

The man quirked his face, his hands not stopping.

Even with the mask I could tell it wasn’t Harry.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, stumbling back.

Hands gripped my shoulders, as lips went to my ear-

“Not well.”

Twisting in his grasp, the familiar curve of his smirk appeared. His green eyes were highlighted by golden flakes etched into a black mask, and my breath quite literally caught in my throat. Somehow, each time, I forgot the magnetism they held. And somehow, each time, I forgot that I was absolute putty in his hands.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

Something flashed in his eyes and I knew it didn’t come out right. “The house looks… amazing.”

I was floundering, FLOUNDERING.

His nose crinkled the same time he placed a hand to the small of my back. “Too many cobwebs.”

And without a word, he started leading me through the crowded rooms. Cobwebs over the banister and scary paintings of haunted people replaced the usual art in their home - except for the centered family portrait, intimidatingly framed in gold. The cobwebs were a fitting touch. I wondered how many secrets these walls held, how many years things have been kept in the dark, or swept under the rug.

Every family had them, but something told me this place had enough storage in all its rooms to hold more than I could imagine.

We passed a room set-up with aisles of empty chairs and a projector screen that read “Jane Foundation.” Pamphlets and envelopes were lain on each of the chairs, but we walked too quickly for me to get a closer read.

“What’s that for?”

“Later. You don’t know?”

I shook my head. He slowed to a halt in the hallway.

“My parents put on a fundraiser every year for the children’s hospital. It’s how we end the evening.”

My mouth opened and again- floundering. He scratched behind his ear.

“Yeah, I thought.. I don’t know, I thought everyone knew. But I shouldn’t assume I guess.”

I just shrugged my shoulders, accepting that his family had the capacity to pull something like this off. That the were pulling this off. That I was even here. Clearly living ten minutes away was certifiably living under a rock.

He paused, a slight quirk in his lips. With the distraction of the music and the people, I hadn’t had the chance to really look at him. Or him, at me. If anyone ever asked, I’d call him shameless, but I wouldn’t even call it that as he drank me in. It didn’t seem as intentional as that. It was instinctive.

I drank him in as well, and even if it was just a brief moment facing each other in the hallway with masked strangers streaming through, it felt like it was just him and I. How long had we been like this? Broad shoulders in a nice suit, a tall frame that could cover and protect, brown curls that looked so soft to touch, and eyes that spoke of scary pasts and a soft heart that locked me still in place. He was walking poetry and as much as it made me sick, I didn’t want to stop. I wanted him closer, to lean in closer...

“Come on,” he murmured, but this time he was in front of me.

I followed, straight to the dining room.

“Oh, you are trying to get me to not fit into this dress,” I said. It was full of catered food from the nicest restaurants in Coast Hills. Last time I’d been in this room, it hadn’t been the most comfortable encounter. Now that the corset was digging into my ribs and I was a little short of breath, I predicted I was in for Awkward Dinner Part II.

“You aren’t hungry?” He faltered, turning to face me.

I gave a coy smile. “Well I didn’t say that…”

“Hey! So good to see you.”

Gemma burst through a small cluster of people, Charlie right behind her. His navy suit matched her slip dress, tapering off at the ends like the foam from a wave.

She embraced me, Charlie soon after. But it was the same side-hug squeeze that made me remember him. Harry noticed my grimace. Charlie noticed Harry noticing me.

“All good?” Charlie pulled back.

“My brother did that all the time,” I said. Harry handed me a glass full of champagne, and I took it, happy to have something else occupy my mouth. I hadn’t expected to say that at all.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Harry said.

“You don’t know a lot of things.”

Gemma perked up. “That’s right, put him in his place.”

“He’s not around much so, I don’t think to talk about him much.” I left it at that, a slight offering to make Harry feel less offended. His expression was impossible to read, and I wasn’t sure if my words had actually helped or hurt.

“I have a sister like that. Moved to Lisbon with her boyfriend. We see her on holidays though.” Charlie jumped with a chill. “Jiminy- it’s cold in here, isn’t it?”

“Have more wine babes, it’ll cheer you up,” Gemma said. And just like me, a champagne flute was suddenly in his hands.

“Well we were just headed to get some food,” Harry mentioned, eyes slightly widening when they locked with mine - a silent plea to take his cue.

“Wait! Let me take a picture really quickly.”

“Gemma,” he sighed.

“Just a little one! Just a quick...second...” She dug in her purse, struggling to juggle the wine and the mini plate of couscous and falafel.

I took a step to the side as soon as she pulled the camera out.

“Hello? Where do you think you’re going? Get back in there.”

Harry raised his brows to me, both in annoyance and apology. I stood next to him, and he placed an arm around me. It was just for a moment, but I still felt him. Always.

Gemma smiled at her phone. “Aww, this is perfect. I’ll send it to mom, too. She’ll like it.” She said the last bit cautiously.

Harry’s face turned unreadable, his eyes complete stone.

“One for me now,” she said, reaching down for something else.

“I swear, she can hide an elephant in that bag and the only reason someone would know is because it’d trumpet during the previews.”

She pulled out a polaroid camera. Somehow, in the past five seconds, he’d gone from mildly annoyed and embarrassed to deadpanned over it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually growled.

She held up the camera so I smiled, but as the flash went off and I looked beside me - he was gone.

“Oh! Harry,” she scolded, but he’d already walked too far away. I saw him weave his way towards the windows of the house and look out.

“You shouldn’t have mentioned her.” Charlie kicked his shoe. He saw Harry too, looking vigilantly out the window. A second longer and he turned on his heel. He stood taller as he made his way back.

“Well, at least it’ll be a good picture of you. I’m creating a little collage of the evening.” Gemma put the camera away in her big bag. She reminded me of a mom on prom night and suddenly I felt like I should send that photo to someone, too.

“That’s so cool! I’m sure it’s going to look so… cute.” Through the crowd, Harry motioned to the food. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to say brief goodbyes to his sister.

“We won’t keep you. Get the pasta pops though. To die for,” Gemma said. “Charlie and I were going to take a stroll by the pool if you want to join us after.”

“Yes! Oh, and would you mind sending me the photo, too? My mom wants proof I’m alive tonight.”

“God, of course. Here.” She gave the champagne flute to Charlie, typed in my number, and sent it off.

“We’ll see you later,” Charlie said.

“The pasta poppers!” she exclaimed, flute in the air as they weasled their way out to the patio.

Before I could wonder where Harry was, he met me by the Sprinkles cupcakes stand.

“Going for dessert first?”

“Looking for the moon?” I picked one of the mini cupcakes and plopped it in my mouth to spite him. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away for a split second before looking back. His smile grew.

“Damn it.”

My heart picked up its pace.

“You caught me.”

He held another cupcake to my lips but I shook my head. “I’m hungry for real food right now.”

He nodded, and without me saying another word, he took my elbow to bring me to his side. It was comforting to have his hand at my back as we walked through the spread of food. Even if it was lightly placed, in a crowd full of people I didn’t know, at least I had a place with him. My eyes widened when I saw them. The glorious, innovative Pasta Pops. AKA rolled up ball of pesto pasta on chopsticks… I grabbed four.

“So, when am I seeing your dad?”

“What?” He piled more food on top of the mountain already growing on his plate.

“Your dad. The reason why you invited me.” I didn’t believe it. Not anymore. The host of the party wasn’t going to sit down and talk about a potential internship at his own full-fledged party.

I put a Pasta Pop in my mouth. His attention broke and he watched my lips go over the ball, puckering as I pulled it to the tip. It’s when my lips came off with a “pop” that he sucked in a cheek, smirking.

“You won’t be talking with Lionel long. Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself in the meantime.”

But when I reached over someone’s arm to grab a slider, they stopped me.

“Hey, you.”

His eyes lit up and instantly I was drawn in for an awkward hug. Behind his back, I mouthed did you plan this?

He shrugged his shoulders and looked away with a sly look.

Lionel pulled away from our quick embrace and looked to my pile of food. It was my turn for the awkward shrug.

“No, it’s good! Keep going! We have enough food here to feed a small country. Are you still thinking about medicine?”

“Yeah, not much has changed in the past couple of weeks. Same old, same old.”

He paused, raising a finger. “I gave you my card, right?”

How could I forget the card that’s been burning a hole through my dresser…

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to call you, but I’ve been so busy studying with these midterms, and work, too...” I let my voice fade.

“What do you do for work?”

Harry slowed as he picked up a napkin, and I knew he was listening in even if he wouldn’t stop and join the conversation. I watched his eyes skirt across the table close to where my hand toyed with the serving spoon.

“Well, I’m a T.A. right now, but I’m also working in the physical therapy room on campus. It’s pretty easy for the most part, blood doesn’t scare me.”

“Good. You’ll need a strong stomach for most cases.” A man tapped him on the shoulder, stealing his attention. “Give me a call when you can, we’ll set something up at the practice.”

He leaned in behind Harry, both hands on his back. “Take care of her tonight.”

Harry stiffened. I’m not sure why. Lionel had such a warm look in his eyes, I automatically trusted him. As he left with his friend, he flashed us one white smile, and I felt loved.

What the heck was in this family. What kind of beauty steroids did they take?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The quip sounded weird coming from Harry, the Vogue Italia model, leaning against the table. But then again, I was looking after his father with a dazed look on my face that was screaming “I wish I was 40 and you weren’t married.” I snapped out of it and mimicked his pose, equally skeptical.

“If I hadn’t seen your dad here just now, I swear I wouldn’t have seen him at all. I barely recognize the place with so many…”

“People?”

I nodded.

“I promised that you’d talk to him.”

“Riiiight.”

“You don’t trust me?”

My brows rose. “That’s a loaded question.”

A spark of indignance puffed up his chest. “What? You actually have to think about that?”

“I’m just saying. Communication is usually the key to building that up. Just, you know, a friendly tip to help you with those future relationships.” I tapped his chest, and he reached for my wrist. A bold move, sober. He thought so, too, for he dropped it a second later. I was waiting for a, “You can trust me,” but instead he turned serious.

“Smart girl.”

He looked at me that way again. A little too deep, a little too long, and I cursed myself for not knowing what to do. He took a bit of his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I didn’t know you worked in the therapy room.”

“That’s because you never noticed me before.”

“Ah, ah,” he raised a finger like his father. “That’s because I’ve never been injured before.”

I let out a short laugh. “You’re an arrogant thing, aren’t you.”

“Just honest.”

Honest.

But would you answer if I asked, Harry? Would you answer if I asked you what in the heck we were doing? Did I even want to know the answer?

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he said. And it looked like there was something more swimming behind those eyes.

“I am, too,” I said. “Much better than a sorority party...” My eyes narrowed. “What in the-”

“Y/N?”

Clearly, Viv was just as surprised to see me. Mary Styles was beside her, and she raised her glass to me in a distant hello before giving Viv a kiss on the cheek, excusing herself.

“What are you doing here?” The silver blue dress she wore was glued to her skinny frame like snakeskin. Harry shifted his feet as she came closer and I wonder if he noticed how tight it was.

“I followed the noise and traffic directors and decided to hop the gates,” I said.

“You didn’t get the initiate invite?”

An almost pitiful look befell Harry. “You had somewhere else to be?” His puppy dog eyes confused me.

“Technically, yes. I just, um” - I looked to Viv - “decided to spend my evening somewhere else. You didn’t care to go either?”

“Oh, I come every year. I practically live in the guest room anyways.”

I pictured Viv laying poolside during summer barbeques, coming around for Christmas parties, and waking up in her silk pajamas to Sven handing her delicious pastries.

“Well this’ll be fun anyways. We’ll have our own little sorority party here.” She turned to Harry. “Can I speak to you for a second?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at me apologetically, then back to him. “Alone.”

His eyes narrowed just the slightest, but he didn’t even have to think about it. He placed a hand at my back. “I’ll just be a second.”

Viv gave me a half-smile as she interlinked her arm through his, and they left, abandoning me in a swarming crowd with cold sliders. Without him beside me, I fought the ever-present urge that I didn’t belong, but wandering to the glass doors, I saw the red gown in the reflection, the black lace of my mask. I didn’t look like regular ‘ol me tonight. Nobody knew me tonight. A rush of confidence ran through me.

I was somebody. With, or without Harry.

A twinkling bell carried through the halls the same time I stood a little taller. The piano music died down and everyone quieted.

“I hope everyone is enjoying their evening,” the shrill voice of Mary Styles carried higher as she placed herself atop the spiral staircase. Some people clapped a little prematurely and she smiled at them graciously. “If everyone could please begin filing into the foundation room, we are about to begin the programme.”

I stole another flute of champagne. Programme.

The twinkling sound rang again and people began handing their plates over so they could grab their wallets. Several men apologized as they bumped into me, trying to move around the cocktail waiters. Wherever Harry was, he’d just have to find me later. I followed the crowd when my blood ran cold.

There was something sweet in the air.

The air around me seemed thinner. I looked around, quickly, but all I saw were masks. Even if they didn’t have them on, their faces were starting to blur in my mind.

But that too-sweet scent would never.

It was the man from Kean’s.

I inhaled again, but it was gone, carried away and overpowered by Dior perfume and Gucci cologne. Were they here? Were they watching me? Were they waiting to get me alone?

They’d done it before. Maybe it’d be easier this time...

My mind went to horrible places, and suddenly I was running against the sea.

I scanned as I ran, but it was futile. I burst through the kitchen doors and froze. There, Mary Styles was heaving over the trashcan spitting out strands of pesto pasta.

She looked up at me with the emptiest eyes I’d seen.

“I’m-I’m sorry.” I bumped into the counter, stumbling out the way I came. Her glossy eyes were haunting. Had I just seen Mrs. Styles eject the contents of her stomach?

Alone, I shook it off, trying to calm my breathing. They couldn’t do anything to me here. Hell, Mrs. Styles was on the other side of the door. I would scream. People would hear me.

“Hey, you okay?”

And even though I recognized the voice, when his hands were placed on my shoulders I flinched.

“I smelled them,” I said, looking over my shoulder to the kitchen.

“Who?” Harry’s eyes followed my gaze. He took a step toward the kitchen.

“I wouldn’t,” I said.

He stopped, confused. “I mean, you can, but I think your mom is sick,” I continued.

My tone wasn’t convincing. He bit his cheek. “Right.”

And even though we both knew that his mom didn’t have food poisoning, that was a conversation for another time.

“They’re here, Harry.”

“What are you talking about?” He paused. His eyes saw the panic in mine and he swallowed, hard.

“They can’t be. There’s security.”

“I walked through the door, no one searched me or checked my name off a list.”

“You’re a girl, it’s different. The security has a list of faces to watch out for, and trust me, they’d stand out.”

“No- Harry,” I stammered. He wasn’t get it. “Their cologne. I haven’t smelled it since Kean’s.” The name tasted bitter on my tongue. “I was there- and your mom was talking and I was following these people but I smelled them. And it was so crowded so I ran and she was in the kitchen, and I don’t- I don’t know how, but they’re here. I didn’t imagine that. And no one else would be wearing that. No one else could smell like that.”

I gasped for air, not realizing that I was on the verge of sobbing until Harry’s arms came around me.

“Hey,” he soothed. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

I let him hold me, but I wasn’t sure if I believed him. Their living area was too empty now. Too quiet. And even in his arms, even knowing what he’d done to them before, I didn’t feel safe. What was the point of having a massive castle if you couldn’t defend it? Your wealth just made you a sitting duck. A giant target.

“Why would they be here?” I asked.

“They wouldn’t be stupid enough to come here,” he reassured me.

“You probably think I’m crazy.”

“No, don’t do that to yourself.” He pulled back just enough. “You’re not crazy.”

And with no one to see, he took my hand, leading me past the foundation room. A part of me actually wanted to see the auction, but my mounting paranoia was stronger. We passed by the bar on the way to his room. It’d been empty for my last visit, but now the caterers were taking full advantage of its liquor storage capacity.

“Let’s see,” his voice drawled as his fingers shifted through the bottles. He didn’t ask before pouring us two cocktails.

“After you,” he said, nodding towards his room. By the time I’d sat down at the foot of his bed, he shut the door behind us with both drinks, and the vodka handle in the crook of his arm.

“Is the foundation for your sister? Jane?”

Harry avoided eye contact as he set the bottle down, pushing his hair back, brows raised.

“Uh, kind of. I never knew her.” He turned to me finally, shrugging with an apathy that had taken years to perfect. “I mean it’s sad, we don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Is it ever a good time?”

He looked at me, giving me the chance to take back what I did. I didn’t.

“She died before I was adopted.”

“Oh.” My stomach dropped. There was so much I didn’t know, but I hadn’t been expecting this. His eyes didn’t hold any sadness, but guilt still pricked my heart. “I’m sorry.”

He looked out the window again, distracted.

“Again, I didn’t know her. It’s sad, but I don’t…” -he tried to find the right words, loosened his tie- “It’s not my grief.”

I nodded; that made sense. It was his parents. The Styles. But the legacy of that pain couldn’t have had zero repercussions on their second child. There was more to the story than he was sharing, but I didn’t press. I walked closer, slowly toying with my drink.

“So you find it hard to miss something you never had,” I clarified.

He took a deep breath. “Cheers.” He raised his glass to me and I mimicked him, cringing at the stiff drink.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Warm.”

He nudged me, growing serious. “You know what I mean.”

How was I feeling? The inner me cleared her throat and yelled from a soap box.

Jealous.

Scared.

Confused.

ANNOYED at how many windows this house had. I looked at Harry’s dark mask, the swirling madness in his emerald, the way the suit fit snug against his toned body… we were very much alone.

Add turned on to my emotional cocktail.

“I’m feeling a lot.”

“Hm,” he hummed. “I’m feeling a lot too.” And it was so quiet. So bizarre to hear him say something even remotely close to feelings that I stood completely still. Was his drink as strong as mine?

Our eyes were locked, but he didn’t turn away. I fought every fiber in my screaming to break the intense spell.

He leaned in closer, tilted his head lower. Our noses brushed.

Panic.

“Are you and Viv…?”

“I’m not up here with her am I.”

Relief.

But I didn’t have the courage to say she’d probably been up here before.

“You know” - he pulled me closer, waists closing in - “I’m going to need a lot of help with that midterm,” he mumbled.

Elation.

An almost laugh that just lasted for a moment, because school seemed so trivial for what was happening in this house. There seemed to be split parts of me - the one I’ve always known and the one with him. Which one was more real to me now? I wasn’t sure if I was the same person that I once was - happy alone, solely immersed in school or netflix nights in. I’d been fine. I’d been safe. Maybe a little bored, but I hadn’t known there was more. With him there was a chaos that burned off his shoulders, that simmered in his eyes, and I drank in the warmth like a person frozen from snow.

His hands squeezed my sides, and my eyes fluttered closed. “How are you feeling now?”

“Good.”

He didn’t say anything more, but our breath was now in sync. It didn’t matter what he couldn’t say. What mattered was him, and the fact that when he looked at me, I felt everything he couldn’t say.

Eyes couldn’t lie. Not like that.

So I lifted my lips, and he went in for the kiss.

It was like I’d been starved of oxygen when his soft lips encompassed my own. Oh God, I’d missed this buzz. I’d missed him.

His hands cradled my face as he backed me up to the edge of the bed, lips never parting. A greedy hand shifted lower and he gripped the curve of backside. I whimpered a little, lips parting to allow his tongue to sneak in as he marked what I was so willing to give. He wasn’t pulling away this time. He wasn’t telling me no.

I sat at the edge of the bed where he’d placed us, and leant back, his body falling atop mine. His delicious weight pinned me down, and he kissed down my neck, nibbling, biting. With a particularly hard suck, I moaned and when I looked down I saw him paused, hooded eyes looking up at me from the sound. His hands travelled down, slowly, from my waist to the ends of my dress. He was heavy but not crushing, deliberate but with respect. He waited for an answer.

I nodded.

He bit his lip in a smirk as he hitched up my dress. One hand clutching the soft skin of my hips, as the other supported him above me, Harry rolled his hips against me.

Oh.

Against the thin fabric of my underwear, I felt him harden between my folds. Gentle kisses were peppered along my chest and I pulled him closer.

“Harry,” I whispered, lifting my hips against his. He groaned into my ear, a playful bite at the lobe.

I shivered the same time his fingers travelled lower against my stomach. He stopped at the band of underwear, my breath catching when he cupped my sex.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

I nodded, hummed, as his hand slowly rubbed against me. I could feel him watch me intently, but mostly I could feel him. Up, down, up... the friction against my bundle of nerves made my lips part. Again, and again, my breathing deepened and soon I was rutting against his hand. The damp patch he created was evident as he took several fingers and ran them against it. He applied pressure at my center and I wanted him to do more.

He kissed my neck and a “please” stumbled out of my mouth. He smiled, letting out a small breath. He kissed my lips as his fingers pulled aside the lace. The cutest gesture of reassurance when there was nothing to reassure.

I’d dreamt about this too many times for me to back out. This time I wouldn’t shy away. I took his bottom lip between mine. Go.

But a glass shattering scream carried up the stairs.

The commotion from downstairs grew louder, and I didn’t need to say anything.

I’d already known.

His hand retracted, and as quickly as it started, he’d rolled off to his side, my comforting weight gone.

“What the fuck,” he muttered. He stood dead still at the edge of the bed but when he heard someone coming up the stairs, he lunged for the dresser, reached for the top drawer -

From outside, “Harry! Harry, are you up here?”

The door flew open.

His arm fell to his side.

Gemma stood at the doorway, slightly out of breath.

“You need to come downstairs. Now.”

I pulled my dress down, but Gemma wasn’t paying attention to me. There was a wild look in her eye only Harry could understand.

He didn’t look back to me as he barrelled past her, she followed suit. I sat at the edge of the bed; alone, dishevelled, disoriented. I was scared to follow.

Everything could change in a moment.

There were footsteps at the door again and I looked up just in time to see Harry striding across the floor to me.

“What are you-”

His lips crashed into mine, and my breath was suspended again. There was an urgency in the kiss that hadn’t been there before. Deep, hard, a hand tangled in my hair when another hitched up my skirt. His fingers swiped at my entrance once and before I could kiss him back he pulled away.

He let out an exasperated breath, and leant his forehead against mine.

“I have to take care of this.”

Unflinching, he drew the fingers that’d just pressed against my center up to his parted lips before swiping them against my own.

He stood tall as he walked away, broad shoulders subtly moving beneath the suit as he drew a key from his pocket and closed the door behind him.

There was no way in hell I was staying here.

I shot up, running to the door - but it was locked. I pounded against it.

“Harry? Harry let me out this isn’t funny!”

I jiggled the handle again. Nothing.

I wanted to scream, debated about screaming as I paced around the room. My eyes went to the top drawer of his dresser. I stopped. He’d reached for something there.

When I pulled it open it was just some old band t-shirts, but my hand hit something in the back. Pushing aside the shirts was a black box.

I quickly undid the clasp.

A black handgun.

I shoved the box to the back as quickly as I’d opened it.

Fuck no.

Frickity fracking fuck no.

He’d been reaching for a gun.

What kind of threats was he used to that he needed a gun?

I took a bobby pin from my hair, and with an expert skill that only growing up with a sibling could teach you, the lock was picked.

It took me at least five minutes, but the door opened. I booked it downstairs, a flounder of red dress heading into a quiet commotion.

I didn't see him when I made it down the stairs. There were too many confused bystanders huddled around their phones and switching social circles, whispering frantically about the scene before them.

I didn’t need to see anything in the crowd. For up on the wall, between collectors’ paintings was a vacant space.

The family portrait was gone.

And in its place was a snake that matched the one I’d seen tattooed on skin, the same snake that had been wrapped around my neck.

part 14

#posted a day after april 13 coiNCIDENCE I THINK NOT #harry styles #frat boy #Harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #fratboy!harry #one direction #onedirection #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #fratboy! harry #1direction #one direction imagine #one direction one shot #harry styles preference #harry styles blurb #harry fic

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