#I also just LIKE flying under the radar while also being someone who is drawn to occupying a space to speak | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys.

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable.

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party.

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that.

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now.

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought.

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!"

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening.

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?"

More cheers, more hollers.

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!"

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day.

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse.

Again—you fucking hate frat boys.

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst.

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer.

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt.

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team.

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!"

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell no!"

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike."

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving."

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed.

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?"

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly."

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer.

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little.

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?"

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along.

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though.

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?"

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer."

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers.

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in.

He does, and you let out a breath of relief.

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?"

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?"

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you."

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs.

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue.

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?"

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself."

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon.

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip.

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice.

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach.

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum.

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!"

"Ayyy, waterfall!"

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced.

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch.

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up."

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game.

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards.

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace.

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup.

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you.

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely.

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you.

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before.

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team?

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you.

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out.

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult.

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes.

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses.

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way.

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls.

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you.

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc.

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

��You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover.

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall.

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster.

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him.

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them.

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it.

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms.

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees.

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested.

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins.

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?”

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away.

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him.

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave.

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning.

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you.

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too.

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was.

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips.

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble.

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere.

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out.

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb.

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper.

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind.

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind.

“Holy—”

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs.

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass.

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately.

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress.

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan.

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you.

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it.

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed.

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to.

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door.

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias.

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again.

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot.

Is still hot.

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong.

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner.

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits.

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face.

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you.

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago.

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head.

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick.

God dammit, why is he so sexy?

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so...

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body.

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face.

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted.

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip.

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock.

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat.

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion.

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth.

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue.

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you.

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward.

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot.

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit.

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to.

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine.

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts.

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight."

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you.

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed.

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach.

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression.

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support.

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot.

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?"

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee."

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out.

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side.

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth.

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like.

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?"

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!"

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together.

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave.

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it.

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove.

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?"

And, there's that point.

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request.

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea.

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times.

But, it needs to stop.

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth.

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer.

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call.

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven.

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it.

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them.

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious.

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before.

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods.

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated.

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself.

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee.

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much.

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully.

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?"

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?"

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to.

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point.

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you.

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie.

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?"

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal."

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended.

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards.

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day."

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face.

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias."

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps.

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick.

"You have any classes?" You ask.

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place.

"Sucks," is all you can come up with.

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?"

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself.

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'.

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?"

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals.

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it.

"God dammit."

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear.

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to."

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan.

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole.

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane.

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name.

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit.

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air.

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess.

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat.

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate.

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

#miche zacharias x reader #mike zacharias x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #mels prima vista #mels frat house

422 notes · View notes

joontier · 4 years

Text

mile high memoirs | oneshot

synopsis: you and the two other rappers of the global sensation BTS make a collaboration of sorts

pairings: namgi (namjoon and yoongi) x reader

rating: R (18+)

genre: fluff, humor, smut | au: idol! au; established relationship! au

warnings: pwp basically hnngnhng; and yes sex on a private jet bc why tf not ; cunnilingus, oral sex (m and f receiving), cum swallowing, dom! Yoongi undertones, threesome, double penetration, anal sex, multiple orgasms; i have nothing else to say at this point except im dragging yall with me to thirst hours

word count: 5.9k

g/n: NAMGI NATION RISE!!!!!! anywho, this is a lovely gift for @mintseesaw for being an awesomesauce person in general and yes, we’re thirsting for the same men bUT SHE WONT SHARE HNGNNNG SO I’VE WRITTEN THIS INSTEAD (in the hopes that this might satiate my obviously unquenchable thirst for the hyung line!?/1!?!?) ALSO THIS IS HEAVILY UNEDITED KJFSKDJFSDJF please let me know what you think! x

between the lenses navi. | navi. | m.list

“_________! Please look this way!”

“How do you feel about New Day becoming the number one streamed song in more than forty countries after being released just last week?”

“Is it true that you’re in a relationship with BTS’ Suga? Or RM? Or are the three of you engaged in a polyamorous relationship?”

The last one catches you off guard and you look away from the cameras to hide the amusement on your face. The last thing you need is people speculating about your personal life once they see your reaction to their questions, so you continue on your way to immigration, face down and expressionless.

If you were being completely honest, there was always a crowd that came with you when you had schedules overseas, fans and paparazzi huddled together as they took pictures of you. But today was different, especially considering the fact that you were also at Gimpo, and not Incheon.

With Gimpo, a significantly less busier airport than Incheon, you had only anticipated a smaller crowd but you seemed to have forgotten that you were scheduled to fly with two of the rappers of BTS to Amsterdam today to film the music video for your collaboration, “New Day”.

Upon your arrival, a throng of security guards placed themselves as barricades to bar the large group of people from crowding the hallways. Your team successfully weaves your way through the massive crowd and arrives safely by the immigration.

You soon see your boyfriend lounging by the private boarding area, and Yoongi immediately stands to greet you. You place a quick peck on his lips when you meet. Namjoon stands to greet you as well and you turn to the younger man to give him a huge hug. “It’s been a while since I saw you Joonie!” The tall rapper gets shy at your nickname, dimples peeking as he looks down.

“It must have been wild out there,” Yoongi says, giving you a once over as he checks if you got hurt or injured on the way to the boarding area. You coo at your boyfriend, face crumpling at his concern even after years of being in a relationship. Nuzzling your head onto the crook of his neck, you inhale the wonderful scent of the perfume you’d gave him when you came back from your US tour.

“Yeah it was! Honestly whenever I leave Korea, the amount of people who’d send me off isn’t even half of the crowd out there – and that’s already in Incheon! Not Gimpo! I always seem to forget that you guys are worldwide superstars!” Yoongi just laughs at your observation, shaking his head at you as he offers his iced Americano.

Unbeknownst to those outside your private lives, you had initially met Yoongi pre-debut. You used to attend the same school back in Daegu and fun fact: you were the same ex-girlfriend he’d composed a letter for during high school and sent the same to a radio station to have it aired.

You had both met at a tender age, and admittedly, there were a few petty reasons for your break-up, but one of them was because you both wanted to pursue a career in music, and with the kpop industry not exactly big on the idols dating, you had decided to remain friends, for the time being.

It was Yoongi who contacted you first when you debuted in late 2012, and as you caught on with your lives, sharing similar stories during your trainee days, he’d also asked you to anticipate their debut in a few months’ time as well.

True to his word, their group debuted the following year in June, and you had sent congratulatory flowers to BigHit, praising them for their powerful stages and a very promising career. You and Yoongi had kept in touch ever since. Nothing wrong about rekindling an old flame, right?

Funny enough, dating under the radar seemed to have fallen naturally for the two of you as you both prefer staying indoors and improvising dates rather than having to go out and risk getting caught by the media. Besides, it would have been easier just in case things got a little bit heated. Which happened most of the time. In your defense though, being able to meet at least once a week was already a blessing – so occurrences like that were bound to happen…

One day while you were trying to work out this melody for a song you composed, Yoongi sat next to you and pulled you on his lap as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Why don’t I help you with that love?” He lets you rest your back on his chest as his fingers fluidly move against the piano keys. Genuinely satisfied with what he played for you, you placed a kiss on his cheek as a token of your gratitude. “Thanks, Suga PDnim.”

“Speaking of that… do you want to have a collab – you and me?” You look at him, expectantly, mouth slightly open at surprise of his proposal. Truthfully, you had thought about that even before you actually got back in to a relationship, but you could never really bring the subject up because he always seemed so busy and you didn’t want to burden him any further by asking for extra work.

And that’s what you told him, but your boyfriend only laughed at you, intertwining his hands with yours on the piano. “Baby, I would’ve dropped all the other collaborations if you had just said the word.”

You were beyond elated, and honored, and when Namjoon came in to check on Yoongi, the latter asked if he had any opinion on a collaboration between Yoongi and you. Your boyfriend even convinced the younger rapper to get involved in the track. With the blessing of Bang PDnim, you’re finally here, scheduled to travel overseas to film the music video for the track the three of you had worked on which went global in mere hours, thanks to the very talented men you got the chance to work with.

You take out your camera from your bag to film a little, just in case you’ll get to release a ‘behind-the-scenes’ vlog for your collaboration. You make an attempt to film Yoongi who’s half-awake but all to no avail. Namjoon gladly offers some screen time for your video. The younger rapper laughs shyly when you squeal in excitement asking him for a few words about your collaboration. Namjoon does so like a professional: telling the camera where you’re headed off to today, thanking the fans for their never-ending support, and wishing them to anticipate the upcoming music video.

It doesn’t take long before someone tells the lot that your plane is ready to board, so you wake a dazed Yoongi and bid goodbye to the rest of the staff who were taking a separate flight to your destination.

Ever the hardworking idol, Yoongi decides to make some revisions on a song he’s working on while you take this time to finally finish a book Namjoon himself recommended a while back. You don’t notice the hours that have passed by when you check the window, and it’s already pitch-black outside, save the occasional gray because of the clouds.

Unbuckling your seatbelt, you head over to the lavatory to relieve your bladder. On your way back to your seat, you glance Namjoon’s way and see the flesh-colored screen your eyes getting glued to the screen watching two men pound a girl into the mattress. You get drawn back to reality because of some minor turbulence and you quickly avert your eyes from the screen.

“Babe, Joonie’s watching porn,” you whisper as you get to your seat, snuggling into your warm blanket. “And who told my girlfriend it was right to snoop into other people’s preferential pastimes?”

You roll your eyes at him, “It’s not like I purposely watched what was on his screen! Just in case you needed the facts, he was seated with his back facing me, so it’s just natural that I’d get a glimpse of whatever ‘preferential pastime’ it is that you he was doing on his phone! It’s not my fault he didn’t dim the brightness if he truly wanted to watch it privately- “

“You didn’t need to go off, babe,” Yoongi laughs, placing a kiss on your head. “Should we head to bed now? I wanna sleep…and cuddle. Sleep, really, but since you’re here, I guess we could cuddle.”

“You make it sound like it’s a chore!”

Yoongi gives your indignance no attention, just tugging you up from your seat towards the bedroom. “Joon, we’re going to go to sleep now. You should go do the same soon.”

Namjoon’s lips part to reply, but Yoongi beats him to it. “And don’t even think about attempting to sleep in that seat. There are two beds back there for a reason. _______ and I will just share one. Feel free to take the other.” A small smile graces the younger man’s face in gratitude, nodding his head as he wishes you both a good night’s sleep.

Of course, life is bittersweet – so even with an insanely comfy bed and your boyfriend beside you to snuggle freely – a good night’s sleep is the last thing you get. Restlessly turning to lie on your back for what seems to be the hundredth time tonight, you heave a sigh as you stare at the jet’s ceiling. Must’ve been the iced Americano you shared with Yoongi before you boarded. Damn him and his triple-shot Americano.

Namjoon enters the room and notices your state of restlessness. “Can’t sleep?”

“Sort of.”

“There’s warm milk by the galley if you want some.”

“I’m too lazy to get up…”

Namjoon chortles, finding it’s moments like these that remind him of your likeness to Yoongi. “I can get you some if you want?” Namjoon offers, already turning to leave the room but you grab his arm, stopping him from doing so.

“No, please! You really don’t need to. I know I’ll be able to sleep in a few more minutes….”

“The average person falls asleep in twenty, and you and Yoongi hyung came here about an hour ago,” Namjoon points out. Giving him a blank stare, you reply, “Why don’t you head to bed and rest? We’ve still got a long day tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night, noona.”

“Night Joonie.”

You have proven all of Google’s methods of falling asleep faster to be false. Warm milk, the 4-7-8 breathing method, relaxing music, even counting sheep in vain. You’d even tried working on your vlog to Amsterdam (that you probably aren’t even going to release), giving up when you couldn’t make out Yoongi’s slurred speech when you tried to interview him while he was napping (you don’t know why you even bothered at this point, but you probably thought it was funny earlier this afternoon).

Nada. Nothing was working, not when you’ve still got three shots of espresso coursing through your veins.

There was only one way left and you had a feeling that this was going to definitely knock you out. You need to get exhausted, and the only idea left is sitting cross-legged at the back of your head, blowing a huge bubble with her gum as she files her nails. She looks at you with taunting eyes. You glance over to Namjoon’s bed, analyzing his features to see if he had gone to sleep already or not. A light snore that escapes his lips assures you so.

Letting out another exhale, you turn to face Yoongi on your left, studying his features. Your boyfriend wakes when your lips graze his cheek as you place a light kiss on his milky skin. One eye pries open to peer at you. “Babe, what are you doing?” His groggy voice shouldn’t have appealed to you as strongly as it did now, but your desperation to get some sleep had seemed to travel south.

“Just kissing my beautiful boyfriend,” you shrug innocently, fighting the teasing lilt in your voice when you see the corner of his lips rise at your sudden compliment. “You don’t fool me, Miss _____, Billboard’s Top Female Solo Artist of the Year, MAMA’s Best Rap Performance, Golden Disc Awards’ Best…”

“Okay, okay, you got me.” You giggle as Yoongi pulls you closer to meet your lips in a chaste kiss. “What’s wrong princess?” You state the obvious, pointing to your eyes which now probably had bags under them. “Can’t sleep,” you pout, slipping your hand underneath his shirt to give him a back rub as you snuggle to his chest.

“And what do you suppose we are to do about it?” Yoongi asks, chest rumbling as he speaks. You take your bottom lip between your teeth as you look up at him expectantly, giving him a knowing look.

Yoongi looks at you incredulously, the lack of rest still visible in his features. You instantly look away, guilt spreading across your chest. You internally scold yourself as you had to wake up your boyfriend for selfish reasons. Your boyfriend senses your sudden hesitance and places a finger under your chin, ordering you to look at him. “Hey, hey, look at me darling. Right here, right now? I’m gonna be honest with you, I don’t have the energy to-“

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll do all the work.”

“And Namjoon, who’s just a mere meter away?” His pitch lowers, voice now barely above a whisper. You nod shyly and Yoongi’s eyes darken at your unspoken offer.

“You’re a naughty little slut, aren’t you?” Yoongi hisses, placing his hands on your waist and lifting you easily to have your sit on his thighs, just below his crotch. “Wanting to fuck on a plane, while another member is sleeping right beside us?”

Placing your hands on Yoongi’s chest for support, you move your hips forward, grinding your crotch against your boyfriend’s. Yoongi pulls you forward by your arms, just enough that your face is merely centimeters away from him. Wasting no time, he presses his lips against yours, darting his tongue out to deepen the kiss. He expresses his desire to help you with your dilemma by thrusting upwards gently to join your gyrating hips.

You peek sideways to check on Namjoon and breathe a sigh of relief when he finally turns to the other side, back facing the both of you.

You hastily discard your top and your bra in desperation, hands roaming all over your torso and eventually letting them end at your chest, fondling with your breasts and tweaking your nipples between your fingers. Not satisfied with your own ministrations, you guide Yoongi’s hands to your breasts, letting him squeeze them as he pleases beneath his open palms.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Yoongi murmurs, bending his knees to push himself upwards to make himself more comfortable. Yoongi quickly attaches his moist lips to one of your breasts, sucking at the supple flesh. You grind heavier against him in response and Yoongi takes this as an opportunity to fist a handful of your hair and tug sharply, baring your neck to him.

You barely manage to hold in your whimpers when he sucks on a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, definitely leaving a purplish mark there that you’ll eventually have to cover up with foundation. Nothing you’ve never done before. “Remember that short dress you wore on stage last week with that dangerous cleavage?” You nod shakily, remembering the way Yoongi tried hard to not stare at you too long as one of his fansites might catch onto something.

“Guess what baby? It’s payback time.”

“For what?” You flutter your eyes innocently at him and you suddenly feel the temperature rise a few degrees with Yoongi’s intense stare.

“You knew exactly what you were doing that night, naughty little tease.” Okay, maybe you did, and maybe you bit your lip in front of the camera at the exact moment you knew he was looking. Needless to say, he avoided your eyes for the rest of the evening during that particular awards show.

He thrusts up harshly, his clothed hard-on grinding deliciously against your likewise covered cunt. “Mhmm, Yoongs… I- I wanna…” You don’t find the need to say anything else, just one look at the bulge inside his sweatpants was enough for him to understand.

“Yes please.” Yoongi sighs in contentment, raising his hips to help you remove his clothes. You include his boxers as you take his sweatpants off, cock slapping against his stomach as it springs free from the confines of his underwear.

Giggling excitedly, you hide beneath the covers, fitting yourself snugly between Yoongi’s legs. You take your time as you stare at his dick, long and girthy and curved just the right amount – always a tight fit inside your walls. You couldn’t wait for later when he’ll let you impale yourself on his cock as you ride him – the vivid picture makes you even wetter.

Building up his anticipation, you start placing kisses from his happy trail down to his groin, kneading his balls gently while you’re at it. Finding it difficult to communicate his feelings is one trait of Yoongi that definitely has its pros and cons. For one, people actually think Yoongi doesn’t care for others but it’s actually the complete opposite, but along with this, he gives the most genuine reactions, one which you are thankful for, especially during times like these.

Yoongi’s pretty responsive, and vocal at times when he’s really in the mood, and when you tentatively flick your tongue against his frenulum, the instantaneous quiver of Yoongi’s body has you reveling, giving yourself an imaginary pat on the back.

Momentarily leaving his red, angry shaft, you gently take his balls in your mouth, sucking on it, and gently massaging it with your tongue. “Quit the teasing, _______.” Being the good, obedient girl that you are, you comply immediately, paying attention to his dick this time.

You see his abdominals contract when you finally take him in your mouth, veiny hands grabbing at your temple to fist a handful of your hair. Inch by inch, you let his cock sink into your mouth, swallowing when he reaches the back of your throat. Yoongi hisses at the sensation, cursing to a throw pillow he’d taken from the seats.

Not wanting to agonize him any longer, you get to a pleasurable pace, bobbing your head up and down his length. Yoongi’s chest starts heaving and his grip on your hair tightens – the tell-tale signs of his impending orgasm. “Shit, baby…” Your boyfriend warns you that he’s about to cum, and you pull back a little, just to feel him release ropes of his cum inside your mouth.

Yoongi beckons you closer, weakly pulling at your arms to have you lie on his chest. He’s still panting when you get closer, “You, darling, are perfection personified.”

Slapping his chest lightly in jest, you reply, “You’re only saying that because I just gave you the best blowjob of your life.” Yoongi pulls his head back, facial features exaggeratedly contorted to fake being offended. “Okay first of all, you always do. And second, do you want me to get sappy and make a list what makes you the perfect woman ever?” He asks, letting two of his fingers dance on the bare skin of your belly, eventually leading southwards, “Or…I could just show you how much you mean to me by doing something else? Something you and I will both enjoy, hmm?”

Expressing your approval with a hum, Yoongi wastes no time, meeting your lips in a feverish kiss. Gasping at the sensation of his wet lips trailing all the way from your cheek, down to your jaw then your collarbones and onto the valley of your breasts, you squirm impatiently underneath your boyfriend.

“Patience, darling,” Yoongi chuckles, sending you a flirty wink as he gets down on you, teasingly pulling at the waistband of your shorts before removing them. His gaze darkens when he notices your underwear choice – a lacy red thong just for him. You’ve meant to have him remove it from you once you reach the hotel in Amsterdam, but doing it in a jet seems just as hot.

When he gets the thong off of you, he quickly pockets it inside his discarded sweatpants by the end of the bed. Getting back to his task at hand, you’re unable to control the gasp that escapes your lips when Yoongi brazenly flattens his tongue on your bare core.

Keeping your folds open with two fingers, he curls his tongue around your clit, thighs subconsciously squeezing his head in between because of the stimulation. With one hand, he keeps your legs spread open for him. Alternating between your clit and your entrance, Yoongi makes sure not a single region of your core is left out.

Wanting to put your limits to the test, your boyfriend tentatively slides a finger against your folds, the coldness of your couple ring on his digit making you quiver to the bone. He slowly slides a finger in, prepping your hole for what’s to come. You plead for one more, fully aware that your greedy little pussy isn’t contented with one. Yoongi complies with your request at once, pumping his digits inside of you and occasionally curling them inside. That familiar coil inside you tightens with every second, and with one particular curl of his digit and his mouth on your clit, you reach your high.

Your body trembles with the intensity of your orgasm, and Yoongi won’t stop just yet, still licking long stripes on your cunt. Your boyfriend stops abruptly and rises, resting all his weight on his arms as he crawls forward and lowers himself to whisper something in your ear. “He’s awake. You want me to do something about it?”

Legs closing subconsciously while in thought, Yoongi gives you a few choices to ponder on. “We could pretend he’s not awake and get done with this, or…” Yoongi looks at you, carefully studying your facial reaction, “we could have another collaboration of some sort…”

“It’s really up to you baby, I’m honestly okay with both.”

You raise your eyebrows at his statement, never really taking Yoongi as the type to explore your deepest sexual fantasies. But then again, Yoongi has always been one to support you in everything, even with your kinks. Maybe the idea didn't surprise you as much as it should have considering the level of trust that came with living with someone for almost ten years already.

Yoongi gently falls to your side for a moment as he lets you decide. “You know, Namjoon used to have a crush on you,” your boyfriend informs, twirling a loose strand of your hair around his finger. Now that was a surprise. “He did?”

“Mhmm. At one point, he even had you as his phone wallpaper when you released your second single.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I really don’t mind if you wanted to indulge him, you know, as an early birthday present? We actually had this kind of conversation a few years back and honestly, we’re both willing to try a threesome… what better way to do it with a person you trust right?”

The bluntness of his words catches you off guard - several trains of thoughts scattered throughout your brain. Namjoon had a crush on you? Birthday present? Threesome? How did you even get in this situation in the first place? Yoongi shifts a little as you continue contemplating, then you take notice of Yoongi’s bare lower half, cock still stiff and upright. Shit!

“You’re still hard,” you comment lamely, staring at his dick. “I know, and I’d greatly appreciate it if you tell me your decision quickly…”

You look at him again, checking if there is the slightest hint of uncertainty in his eyes. When you see none, you ask him again, “You’re really sure you’re okay with that?”

“Of course, as long as you’re comfortable with the idea. Honestly, I’m willing to have it any way because we still have a very pressing problem,” Yoongi points to his crotch, “and honestly, I think Namjoon is too. There’s nothing more that can turn a man on other than a woman’s moans,” he shrugs.

You want to laugh at Yoongi being totally nonchalant about this whole situation, but if you’d listen to your gut feeling, you’re sensing it’s Yoongi’s outstanding self-control that has him so calm and collected about this proposal.

Once you tell your boyfriend of your approval, he calls Namjoon at once. When the younger man won’t budge, you look at Yoongi who just shakes his head at you with a playful smirk on his face. He points at you then back to Namjoon, gesturing you to do the talking.

You gulp before saying a short plea to the heavens above. Surely, they’re bound to hear you better since you’re already in the sky right? “Joonie, darling, it’s okay to look. We don’t mind.” You cringe at the tone of your voice, surprised at how convincing you sounded while you were having an inner turmoil.

When you see Namjoon’s head raise a little, you subconsciously bite your lip in anticipation. Wanting nothing more than to see what he has to say about this. Yoongi probably senses his hesitation so he starts to speak, “It’s okay, she’s covered with a blanket.”

“But you’re not!” Yoongi juts his head forward, a grim look on his face. “As if you haven’t seen me naked before!”

“That’s different! T-This is a completely different situation.”

“Listen to me you kinky ass motherfucker, I just know you’re hard. I am too, and you know damn well it’s painful and uncomfortable. So, unless you want me to fuck her while you’re watching or pretending to be asleep, I suggest you take your clothes off and come here.”

“Are you both sure you’re okay with this?”

“Didn’t you just hear our conversation a while ago? I mean your bed is just a meter away.”

“I know, I heard,” Namjoon says, hands already at the hem of his hoodie, then instantaneously looks at the older one dead in the eye, “But, hyung, did you really have to call me out like that?! The whole crush thing and the wallpaper - jeez!”

Namjoon takes his phone out of his hoodie first, placing it by the window, then removing the rest of the clothes he has on quickly under your heated gaze.

“Try having a conversation while you’re hard,” Yoongi mutters, rolling his eyes. Yoongi scoots closer to you when Namjoon moves forward, standing with only his boxers left on. Your mouth waters at the outline of his straining bulge while Yoongi clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Why don't you show your Joonie what that mouth can do?”

The tall man makes a sound between a cough and a groan, and you lie on your stomach, crawling a little bit closer to come face to face with Namjoon’s crotch. You just know he’s longer than Yoongi judging from what you’re seeing, but Yoongi’s definitely girthier and fuck - the thought alone is enough for you to come undone, completely untouched.

Namjoon shivers lightly when you trace a finger along the length of his boner, placing a light kiss atop his cloth boxers. Impatiently, you hook a finger on the waistband of his Versace boxers. Holy fuck - you send another prayer to their hard stans, wishing them an equally intense life inside the bedroom.

His cock springs free, and you scoot closer, wanting to have a better look at his pretty dick. You get into action quickly, hand wrapping around the base of his cock. You place a kiss on the leaking head, before licking a wet stripe along the length of his shaft.

You get more confident when Namjoon inhales sharply at the simple action. A few more licks and you decide to finally take him in his mouth, gradually moving lower until you have at least a third of him in your mouth. Namjoon sighs, fingers carding through your hair as you pull your mouth off him with a pop. Once more, you sink down, shallow and easy as you tease the younger man.

The grip on your hair eventually tightens, goading you on and encouraging you to go deeper. Namjoon becomes more vocal when you pick up the pace, and when you go down all the way to the hilt, you pause for a moment, then swallow. “Holy fuck!” Namjoon cries out, head lolling backwards in pleasure. “God, I wish I had a girlfriend too.” Yoongi chuckles from behind you and you almost forgot he was there too with Namjoon’s pretty length keeping you preoccupied.

Yoongi praises you and calls you a good girl. Beaming at your boyfriend, he tells you to continue giving Namjoon the blow of his life. Under Yoongi’s compliments, you work harder, ignoring the slight burn in your jaw. Namjoon starts bucking his hips, desperately chasing his high in your mouth. As you feel that coil slowly forming in the pit of your stomach, you gather some of the blankets between your thighs, bunching them up against your cunt so you have something to shamelessly grind your folds with.

Namjoon’s breathing gets strained, and you feel a tap on your leg, causing you to momentarily stop with Namjoon. Yoongi says nothing as he tells you to flip over. Settling your weight on your elbows, you watch Yoongi hand Namjoon a silver packet. “You really think you won’t get caught wetting the sheets babe? You’re not the only who gets to have fun here.”

He peppers a few kisses on your things before placing a hand between, spreading your legs open. “What are you waiting for, princess? Wanna leave Namjoon hanging just like that?” Unsure of what he has in mind, Namjoon helps you guide his shaft back to your mouth. As Namjoon returns to a rhythmic pace inside your mouth, you feel Yoongi settling himself between your legs. Good lord, was this really about to happen?

Your back arches when Yoongi starts with light vertical licks from the bottom to top. You feel his hand trail upwards, gently caressing your breasts. You’re mewling by the time Namjoon increases his pace, and Yoongi starts and toying with your clit mercilessly.

The feeling gets too much when Yoongi sucks on your nether bud, then proceeds to tease your rim a little, using your essence to slowly ease a ringed finger inside your hole. Namjoon hisses with your every moan, the vibrations coming from your throat an added blessing to having fucked your mouth.

From your view, you see Namjoon’s balls tighten and seconds later thick ropes of cum slide down your throat and you swallow before pulling back and licking your lips. Not wanting to be left out of the fun, Yoongi, once more, asserts his dominance, ordering you to get on your knees.

You feel your heart hammering against your ribcage in exhilaration, secretly hoping that this will finally be the day your deepest fantasies will come to life. Yoongi scoots over a little to lie horizontally on the bed. He calls you over, index finger curved like a hook to beckon you to ride him.

You move over to him in shaky legs, hooking a leg over his body to straddle his hips. “No, no, not facing me…” Yoongi waves his hand as he helps you up. “Facing him,” your boyfriend points to Namjoon whose mouth falls open in shock. Yoongi rips a packet open and rolls a condom onto his shaft.

“Hyung…” This was plain torture.

“I thought this was supposed to be an early birthday present for me?” Namjoon mumbles, scratching his neck with the small silver packaging between his fingers. “I know. But great things never came easy right?” Namjoon visibly deflates at the older rapper’s words. He had a point yes, but some points weren’t supposed to be applicable to all fields of life…

Not wanting to prolong your waiting any longer, you lower yourself onto Yoongi’s cock, inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside your warm, velvety walls. Your head falls back at the feeling of his cock inside you. Every time feels like the first.

Once you feel you’ve adjusted enough to Yoongi, you stabilize yourself on Yoongi’s thighs, sliding up until it’s only his head left inside before sliding back down. Your thighs get tired after a while, and Yoongi helps you by gripping your hips and thrusting upwards. As you move up and down and grind back and forth in circles, Yoongi calls Namjoon over just before you reach another climax.

“It’s about time you join the fun here, no? Joonie?” Yoongi playfully mocks the taller man, using your nickname for Namjoon to rile him up even further. You whine when Yoongi pulls out for a moment, closing your eyes as he places a quick kiss on your shoulder

You hear the ripping of a packaging and as you open your eyes, you see Namjoon near you until his thighs are hitting the edge of the bed. You let out a wanton moan when you feel Yoongi prodding his cock against your other hole, shallowly dipping the head in then pulling out. He repeats the action until he deems you’re ready, the slowly lowers you down onto his length.

“Namjoon…” Yoongi says breathily, having difficulty with his self-control with your rim having a vice-like grip on his cock. The other man in front of you doesn’t need to be told twice, slapping his dick against your folds. The action sends lewd sounds resonating throughout the small room, which only sends a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

Namjoon rests one of his knees on the bed, lowering himself onto your cunt. “Noona, you’re so wet. Fuck… I could just…” Namjoon finally pushes himself inside, “easily slide right in…” he lets out a deep exhale once he’s balls deep inside you.

You’re not doing any better than any of the men, thinking you could just orgasm from the fullness alone. And much to your surprise, you do. And both men keep their hands on you as you tremble like a falling leaf in autumn. “Holy shit!” Namjoon explains, staring at you with his mouth open. Once you stop quivering, they both ask you if you were still okay, and you take a breather before answering them, “I’m good. Just… nothing great ever came easy, right?”

You can practically feel Yoongi smiling from behind you. “That’s my girl.”

“Can I?” Namjoon asks, looking down to where your bodies are connected. You nod once, and Namjoon and your boyfriend start thrusting into you alternately. It doesn’t take long before you reach your climax again, with a ton of help from Namjoon who toys with your clit while snapping his hips into you.

They reach their orgasms not long afterwards. You let them ride out their highs until their cocks gradually turn softer inside you. Feeling spent and immensely satiated, you fall over to Yoongi’s side, falling asleep in mere seconds.

The two rappers collapse onto the bed, but sit abruptly sit upright when they hear a very familiar voice coming from Namjoon’s phone. “Fucking hell! That was the hottest shit ever!” Hoseok exclaims from the screen.

“You called him?!” Yoongi asks, hitting Namjoon’s forearm. “No! I- I must’ve contacted him while I put my phone there…crap.” Namjoon looked completely bewildered.

“Hyung, can I come to Amsterdam too? Please?!”

#bts smut #bangtanhq #btsguild #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #ksmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #kim namjoon #min yoongi

310 notes · View notes

marvels-writings · 4 years

Text

Angel

Soulmate AU with Wanda Maximoff

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch Masterlist)

Prompt by: @omgopalsapphire

Requested by: @ophelias-heart, @sananabdliw, @jadewestwriter, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

Word Count: 3,943

You never believed in the idea of true love.

Even though you lived in a world where everyone had a different way of finding their so-called ‘soulmate’. You never understood the idea.

Everyone told you about how special it was to be able to spend eternity with someone. You were never able to grasp the idea. Most people you knew had an easy way of finding their soulmate. Either their name is written across their skin. Or a thread connected them. Or their first words to each other is on their arms.

Your way is complicated. You felt the pain of your soulmate, you never understood why.

Throughout your childhood, you never felt pain. Until one day, you got surges of pain, it felt like you were being starved for days. Ever since you would feel a random needle in your side. The pain of knocking out, electric shocks, bruises. You pitied your soulmate, you tried to be more careful so they wouldn’t have to endure more pain.

It became harder once you’d joined the Avengers. Tony saw you fly out of a burning building. You had gorgeous white wings springing out from in the middle of your shoulder blades. You often tended to keep them under wraps. Folding them and wearing larger clothes. SHIELD helped you develop the ability to shrink their size so they were barely visible.

Every time you got injured, you murmured a silent apology to your soulmate for adding to their pain. Little did you know, Wanda apologized every night for the pain she put you through every single day.

After Ultron had manipulated the minds of the entire team, you’d gone with them to Clint’s safe house. A plan had developed. You went with Fury and Maria to get the helicarrier after everyone had been saved. You heard someone had been left behind, a girl in a red leather jacket.

You instantly flew out of the helicarrier and towards the city. Vision gave you her location, unable to get to her since he was dealing with Ultron. You eventually found her, you quickly down to get her. Wordlessly, you picked her up and flew out of there. The girl wrapped her arms around your neck to keep herself from falling, but she couldn’t help staring.

You looked stunning. You wore a black body con suit, your face smeared with dirt but she could still see your eyes sparkling. What caught her eye was your wings, they were huge and beautiful, almost angelic.

After you set her down and verified she was okay, you introduced yourself. Wanda was a little hesitant to introduce herself since she saw the Avengers symbol stitched onto your suit. But you didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, instead offering to walk her inside.

You talked about the helicarrier while you walked. Gesturing to the planes and everyone else at the flight deck. You noticed Wanda staring at your wings and you flapped them a bit, startling her. You laughed at her stunned reaction.

“How did you get them?” Wanda asked, completely awestruck by them.

“Well, they were a sort of a mutation. I accidentally got caught up in a science room where they had a serum for growing wings. They decided to make me their new test subject, and the serum worked,” You pursed your lips at the memory. “But they injected me with the serum on accident,”

“I’m sorry,” Wanda apologized, wincing when she saw the hard expression on your face.

“It’s fine now,” You waved it off casually, “It turned out well for me anyway,”

Wanda opened her mouth to say something when something silver rushed over and pulled her in for a hug. You instantly went into a defensive posture. Flaring your wings and raising your fists. Your eyes widened when you realized it was just a person.

“Woah,” The blonde man gasped, Wanda laughed and pulled away from him.

You frowned at the interaction, still in a defensive pose.

“Calm down angel,” Pietro flirted. You rolled your eyes and pulled your wings back in after noticing his staring.

“This is Pietro, my twin,” Wanda introduced, she gestured to you. “This is y/n,”

“Great to meet you,” Pietro smirked, offering you his hand.

You raised an eyebrow at him and swatted his hand away with your wing. They laughed and waved you a quick goodbye before heading off to where Steve was calling them.

The next few weeks were interesting, to say the least. You felt drawn to Wanda, you weren’t sure why you constantly found yourself trying to spend more time with her. Eventually, both of you became close friends, which surprised the entire team.

Somehow, neither of you noticed that you were each other’s soulmate. Since both of you were off of missions for almost a month, you were only attending training. You didn’t notice that the bruises on your arms from training were also on Wanda’s arms. The redhead seemed not to notice your matching injuries either.

You weren’t the most open person, but you seemed to open up to Wanda about almost everything rather quickly. The witch found herself trusting you more and more as days went by. Both of you confused about why you felt drawn to each other.

“What are you thinking about?” Wanda asked, flopping down on the couch next to you, you shrugged and turned to face her.

The redhead wore grey leggings, a scarlet t-shirt, and a dark grey cardigan. Her arms wrapped loosely around her midsection as she sat down next to you, looking at you curiously.

“Just how we first met,” You answered casually, fidgeting with your sweatshirt.

“And Pietro called you ‘angel’?” Wanda jokes, you giggled and looked up to face her.

“He’s not the first person to come up with that,” You stated, the redhead raised an eyebrow.

“When you have white wings, everyone tends to think that. Especially the people who are almost unconscious.” You shrugged.

Wanda laughed at the idea of someone dying then thinking you were an angel coming to redeem them. You found yourself entranced by her laughter, you blinked to try to stop staring.

“When we first met, I-” FRIDAY cut her off and told them they were required for a mission briefing.

Wanda sighed and got up, holding out a hand for you to take. She was going to tell you that she thought you were an angel when you first met. You took it and let her pull you up, realizing she didn’t finish her sentence.

“You didn’t finish,” You commented, Wanda, shrugged.

You noticed that Wanda still held onto your hand. You chose not to tell her, instead slowly moving to intertwine your fingers with hers. The redhead blushed at the action but squeezed your hand gently on the way to the briefing room.

It confused both of you when the squeeze seemed to resonate more than it should have.

-----------

The mission was fairly simple, it was to take down an arm’s dealer’s base a few miles north of rural New York. The team consisted of you, Wanda and Rhodey. You were to fly over and make sure nothing was wrong .Rhodey was to fly the jet and stand by as backup. You were to fly over the base and act as a bomber since you were undetectable by most radars. Wanda could use her magic to manipulate them into surrendering or blowing the entire place to bits.

Nothing you hadn’t done a thousand times before. But this time, your crush was on the mission.

-----------

“Nice suit,” You glanced at Wanda, she blushed. The redhead wore a black leather jacket, a simple, body con top underneath it, a simple black skirt, and knee-high boots.

“Not so bad yourself,” Wanda commented, stealing a glance at you.

You wore your usual body-con armor, it was simple and sleek, completely black, except for the thin lines of gold adorning it to give it a nice touch. You could’ve picked a white suit, but after you got called angel too many times, you settled for the black one.

“There was a white one too, I liked this one better,” You answered, tucking a few knives into the thigh holsters and putting a gun into your belt.

“Too angelic?” Wanda jokes, moving closer to you and leaning her back against the wall in front of you.

Your breath hitched at how close she was, you nodded and retrieved one last knife. Trying not to focus on the way Wanda was looking at you.

“If you’re done,” Rhodey gestured to both of you. “I’d like to get this mission over with”

Your eyes widened, you clenched your jaw and nodded, walking away from Wanda towards the bay doors. The redhead walked up next to you. She reached for your hand and gently intertwined your fingers together. You released a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, you smiled reassuringly at her.

Rhodey told you that you needed to take off, you winked at the witch and let go of her hand, free-falling while facing her. You extended your wings, grinning as you stretched them. Wanda had a passing thought that you were beautiful, she shut it down before it could interfere with her capabilities.

You flew through the sky with ease, closing your eyes as the wind running through your hair and every part of you. You extended your wings as far as they would reach, finally feeling free. You took in a deep breath and started throwing the bombs for the mission, a small smile on your face from the euphoria of flying.

But she couldn’t help but stare as you flew over the building, throwing bombs through the roof. Wanda went inside, easily knocking out whoever came at her. Rhodey shouted a warning to you on the comms about their advanced radar. Wanda headed outside once she got all their info on a flash drive.

You were still flying over the base, but you were trying to evade their bullets. You had been succeeding so far, Wanda looked on intently. You easily dodged them and took out the gun, but you didn’t notice one of their men on the roof with a gun.

The gunshots resonated through the air, Wanda covered her face with a mouth at the sight. The bullet hit one of your wings. You fell, blood staining your white wings as you tried to regain balance. The wind flapped past your face, you could barely see as you tumbled through the air.

Wanda felt pain pulse in the middle of her shoulder blades, she gasped and touched where it hurt.

It was the same spot where you had wings. She could feel your pain.

Wanda sprinted to where she assumed you were going to crash.

You gritted your teeth against the pain in your wings, trying to regain your balance using one wing. You narrowed your eyes as you extended your left-wing all the way to try to regain your balance. You thought it was working when you started to stabilize.

But it was Wanda using her powers to save you. Once you were safely on the ground, she ignored the pain pulsing through her back and knocked out the man who shot you. She ran over to you, turning you over so she could see your back properly.

You groaned as she did so, the pain worsening. Wanda felt it get worse, she felt the headache, your spiking heart rate, the pain in your wings. She tried to use her powers to ease the pain, she felt it lessen and she knew it was helping.

“You’re going to be okay,” She assured, you tried to nod in response. You turned your head to face her, frowning when you saw her clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

“, what’s wrong?” You murmured, reaching out your good hand to brush your fingers against her cheek.

“I feel your pain,” Wanda whispered, holding your hand against her cheek tightly. “Don’t leave me.”

Your eyes widened at her words, she was your soulmate. She was the person you’d been searching for your entire life. You needed to stay for her.

You gritted your teeth against the pain and forced yourself to get up. Wanda understood what you were trying to do and supported your weight with one hand. Your injured wing dropped behind you as you made your way inside.

“What the hell happened?” Rhodey demanded, helping you inside.

Wanda answered for you as you laid face down on the gurney, blood still seeping from your wound. The pain started to fade once Rhodey gave you an anesthetic. Wanda breathed a sigh of relief and held your hand. You turned your face to look at her, watching her.

The redhead’s heart broke at the sight of you. Your white wings stained with your blood, both of them dropped at your side. Your entire suite was dirt and blood stained.

You looked like a fallen angel.

Wanda pulled your hand closer to her lips, she kissed your knuckles softly. She used some of her magic to try to ease the pain. Thankfully, it helped ease the pain. Rhodey eventually stopped the bleeding and started flying you back to the compound.

You never tore your eyes off of Wanda the entire time, you were still shocked that you found your soulmate. You hadn’t taken the opportunity to admire her before, she was gorgeous. Her soft emerald eyes flicked to yours as you stared, her auburn hair rested on her shoulders, she was gorgeous.

“Why are you staring at me, angel?” Wanda asked softly, surprised at how easily the nickname slipped in.

You smiled at her.

“You,” You answered, taking in a deep breath. “You’re the person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”

“You’re not disappointed?” Wanda asked, insecurity seeping into her tone. Her other arm went to hug her midsection as she hunched over.

“Why would I be?” You asked, brow furrowing. Wanda’s green eyes avoided your gaze.

“I'm a monster, you deserve better.” Wanda murmured. You frowned and used your good wing to gently tilt her face upwards to look at you.

“You’re all I ever want in someone,” You whispered. You took your wing away from her face, scared it was making her uncomfortable.

Wanda almost cried at your words, she moved to sit closer to you. You smiled softly at her, stroking her knuckles with your thumb. You noticed her staring at your wing, you gently moved it closer to her.

“Can I?” She asked, hand hovering over your wing. You nodded and moved it closer to her hand.

Wanda’s fingers glide delicately over your wing, stroking the feathers gently. She was in awe of how beautiful they were. She couldn’t stop running her warm fingers through the soft feathers.

You giggled at the sensation, no one had bothered to touch your wings in fear of making you uncomfortable. Wanda noticed and gently ran her fingers along them, soothing you with her touch and her magic until you arrived at the compound.

After transferring you to the medical wing, she couldn’t see you. She sat in the waiting room outside after washing your blood off of her hands. The rest of the team waited to hear how the operation went. Scared that you might lose your flight, they knew it was something that meant the most to you.

The doctor came outside after the operation was over. After whispering some things to Tony, he told the rest of them your condition.

“We’ve never operated on wings before, but the bullet hit a lot of the tissue around her wings. It also grazed the bone. Thanks to the cradle, we were able to regenerate the bone tissue” The entire team breathed a sigh of relief. “But we didn’t know how to regenerate the muscle, so she won’t be able to fly for a few weeks, but she would be fine eventually.”

“Can we see her?” Steve asked the doctor nodded.

“She is unconscious right now, but we think she should be awake in a few hours.”

They nodded and asked FRIDAY to notify them when you were awake. Tony and Natasha sat in your room alongside Wanda, waiting for you to wake up.

You were laying on the bed, face down, your wings by your sides. Your left-wing bandaged with a few blood stains on it.

Tony was eventually forced to leave by Pepper on account of the press. But Natasha stayed and talked to Wanda about you. Eventually, Wanda told you that she was your soulmate.

Natasha’s eyes widened in shock, Wanda felt her heart constrict in fear. She knew that Natasha was like family to you, and her disapproval could mean the end of everything.

“I’m happy she finally found the person she had been searching for all these years,” Natasha smiled softly at her.

“You, you aren’t angry?” Wanda asked, confused.

“Why would I be? The entire team was making bets on when you’d finally start dating.” She gestured to both of you. “Anyone could see from a mile away you are made for each other.”

Natasha took Wanda’s hand and squeezed softly, smiling at her. She told Wanda about how you’d apologize for getting injured every single time because you were terrified of adding to her pain. Wanda laughed, her heart swooned at how caring you were. Before she could say anything, you stirred.

“Look who is finally awake,” Natasha commented. You turned around groggily to face them, cautious of your injury.

“I’m okay thanks for asking,” You retorted sleepily. They laughed at your comment. Natasha got up and leaned over your ear.

“You’ve got a good one angel, don’t you dare let her go,” She whispered, pulling away and winking at you.

“I won’t,” You laughed, Natasha nodded and left the both of you alone. Wanda looked in confusion from you to Natasha but decided not to push it when you turned to look at her.

“So, what’s the result?” You asked Wanda, she chuckled at your joke and leaned forwards on her elbows.

“You would be able to fly again,” Wanda stated, reaching for your hand and squeezing it as you smiled. “But it might take a few weeks for it to heal completely.”

You breathed a sigh of relief which surprised Wanda. Confusion written across her face, you weren’t going to be able to fly for a few weeks, why were you happy?

“Don’t look confused, I’ll be able to fly again eventually, it’s not all bad.” You laughed at her expression, fingers stroking her knuckles.

“Can I ask you something?” Wanda asked you nodded.

“Why do you like flying? I tried it a few times with my powers but it scares me.”

You considered the question, giving it some thought before answering.

“At first, it was scary, like most things in life. But after you start it, it’s amazing. It feels like freedom, it feels like no one can control you and you can do whatever you want. It’s almost euphoric,” You answered, eyes momentarily closing as you imagined it.

Wanda let your words soak in, she never got past the fear of flying or using her powers.

“I know you’re scared of your powers,” You stroked her knuckles to pull her out of her thoughts. “, but if you trust yourself, you might find something you like

“How do you know exactly what to say,” Wanda laughed, leaning back against the chair. You giggled.

“It’s a gift,” You winked.

A comfortable silence settled into the room. You continued to mindlessly stroke over her knuckles, deep in thought. Wanda stared at your joined hands before her gaze settled on your face and your wings. You were beautiful.

“Can I kiss you?” She blurted, eyes widening at what she said. Wanda tried to get up and apologize, but you chuckled and pulled her back down with your hand.

“I’m sorry, that was-”

“Yes, you can kiss me,” You cut her off with a soft smile on your face.

Wanda smiled softly at you, she leaned forwards in her chair slowly. She watched your features for any hints of hesitation. Instead, your eyes fluttered shut when you felt her breath fan across your face. She gently touched her lips to yours, melting into you instantly.

You subtly tugged her closer using your joined hands. Wanda sighed into your mouth as butterflies erupted in her stomach. Her free hand gently settled on your wing, slowly sliding up your wing and to the back of your neck. She drew gentle patterns on the back of your neck, making you break the kiss with a soft gasp.

“Wow,” You breathed, eyes fluttering open to look at Wanda, whose eyes were still closed. You smiled and kissed the tip of her nose, her eyes fluttered open at the contact.

“I think I found that feeling you were talking about,” Wanda whispered, smiling softly at you as she searched for the word.

“Euphoria?” You offered, she nodded and leaned in again.

You smiled into the kiss, wishing you could stay there forever.

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

10 years later

“Alright kiddo, time to head off to bed,” You easily lifted your daughter in your arms.

The brunette protested, you laughed and started tickling her. Thanks to Tony, you were able to give birth to your and Wanda’s child. She looked like you but had Wanda’s eyes and hair.

Wanda laughed from the couch as she saw you tickle your daughter. She tried to squirm away from your grasp, eventually succeeding. Your eyes widened when you saw she was about to fall, but Wanda used her magic to keep her upright.

“Thank you, mama!” Your daughter thanked Wanda.

“Of course moya Lyubov,” Wanda grinned, scooping daughter/name up in her arms.

“Can we fly?” She asked you and Wanda glanced at each other with a grin.

“Last time before bed, okay?” You said she nodded eagerly. You bent over so you faced the ground, you extended your wings a little.

Wanda gently set her down on your back in the middle of your wings. Your daughter held on tightly to each wing as you sprinted into her room, making whooshing noises as you did so. Your wife laughed at your antics to try to put your daughter to bed.

“Careful angel,” She shouted as both of you went into her bedroom. The redhead smiled to herself and followed you in.

Eventually, you tucked her into bed and placed a kiss on her forehead as Wanda sat down on the opposite side of the bed. It was usually her job to tell her a story to fall asleep to.

“So, what’s the story for tonight?” She asked, gesturing to the large bookshelf in the corner of the room filled with storybooks.

“Tell me a different story,” Your daughter answered. You brushed the hair out of her face gently and glanced at Wanda who was as confused as you.

“About who?” Wanda asked, sitting down so she could see you and your daughter.

“About you and mommy!” She grinned, looking hopefully towards you and your wife.

“Should we tell her the story of how we met?” You asked, turning to face Wanda.

“Why not angel?” Wanda joked you laughed.

Your daughter squealed in excitement. You laughed and moved so you were lying down next to her. Your daughter’s weight supported on one wing as your other wing covered Wanda. You smiled as you watched Wanda weave together your story, the story of your family. You felt like you were flying, like euphoria.

A/N: I need to stop creating my own soulmate AUs, what do you think tho?

Tag List: @justarandomhumanhere, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @5aftermidnight, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @ophelias-heart , @never-didbefore , @justarandomhumanhere, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn , @lesbian-x-blackwidow , @marvelbbyx , @wlw-imaginesss , @hcartbyheart , @summergeezburr let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

433 notes · View notes

gra-sonas · 4 years

Photo

This article was written by Alison D, Ellys Cartin, and Jamie Coudeville. The article was edited by Donna Cromeans (DJRiter). The open and close of the article were written by Ellys Cartin. Prepared for publishing by Aimee Hicks.

Roswell, New Mexico may fly just under the radar, but the show has quickly accumulated fans who are drawn to the courageous characters. The development of Tyler Blackburn’s Alex Manes has particularly gripped our readers, who have rooted for Alex to overcome his family’s traumatic legacy and navigate the risks of letting himself be vulnerable around the people he loves. Season 2 was a journey full of heartbreak and discoveries, especially for Alex. He reunited with one of his brothers, took a risk on a new romance, and discovered unexpected betrayals and love in his family tree. This journey led to a desperate last-minute attempt to protect the people he loves most from his father, a journey that concluded with a gunshot that punctuated the most painful storyline of Alex’s life. In the season finale, Blackburn delivered a quiet, eloquent performance, providing a fitting coda for his character’s search for resolution, a search that was a flight to freedom. For his performance, he was selected SpoilerTV’s Readers’ Choice Performer of the Month for June.

Season 2 of Roswell, New Mexico concludes with Tyler Blackburn performing in character as Alex Manes. How did Would You Come Home reflect Alex’s journey thus far and echo Can’t You Love Me, the Tyler Blackburn and Novi song that played in the penultimate episode of Season 1?

Alison: Would You Come Home really reflects the turning point in Alex’s journey. It’s him breaking free of his father’s “Manes Man” mantra, unmasking the trauma in his life, and publicly declaring that he’s in love with Michael (Micheal Vlamis). The performance in the Wild Pony is his loud and proud moment, a public coming out in a town that never felt like home. The exception being when he was 17 and he and Michael kissed. Not that coming out requires grand public gestures. It doesn’t. Alex and Michael are in a different place than they were at Caulfield. From the moment right before the prison exploded until Michael walked out during Alex’s song, I’m reminded that these two are idiots but look how they’ve grown. They’ve grown together, but more importantly, they’ve done so while apart. Would You Come Home and Can’t You Love Me are competing echoes, the former now drowning out the latter. The show, hopefully, is at a point where the pain of the past has been drowned out by hope for the future, at least, where Michael and Alex’s journey is concerned. Would You Come Home is their way forward, loving in the present tense. Can’t You Love Me was them mired in the past, the shed, familial legacy, walking away, and looking away. With Would You Come Home and Michael’s definitive “I think so,” it seems these two star-crossed lovers may finally be cosmically aligned.

Ellys: The scene with Alex singing forms a beautiful duology with that earlier scene where Alex tries to save Michael by telling the latter that Alex sees him as his family. The moment he states that truth is as emotionally cataclysmic as anything can get, with Michael being forced to leave behind the family he has searched for his entire life. It seems their love story can’t survive under the weight of the reality that Alex’s father and earlier Manes generations brutally imprisoned and slowly killed Michael’s mother. Worse still, even knowing this, Alex can’t break free from his father’s abuse. In Season 2, Alex discovers the truth about his family’s legacy may be more complicated. Blackburn becomes the emotional core of the series as Alex painstakingly digs up the Manes family skeletons, finding horror and hope for his own future along the way. There is a wonderful symbolism in how the show goes from having Blackburn telling Alex’s story at a distance through Can’t You Love Me to Blackburn performing as Alex sharing his story and taking power over his wounds in Would You Come Home.

Jamie: In this finale, we finally got the result of what’s been building since the start of the show, Alex is finally breaking free from his family and all the prejudice and expectations they laid on him. Alex and his father had an extremely complicated and destructive relationship. No matter what he did, he was never good enough. Throughout this season we’ve seen Alex break free from his father, which is something he had previously been unable to do. While in Season 1, his father’s opinion still mattered to him, now he’s finally focusing on what he wants and needs.

Confronting familial legacy is a recurring theme on the show. What stands out to you from Blackburn’s performances that brings authenticity to Alex’s struggles in this area?

Alison: Going from an Alex Manes that incapacitates his violent, xenophobic father in Season 1 to an Alex Manes who believes his abuser can change in Season 2 was a heavy ask. Not because it was an unrealistic turn, but time wasn’t built into the story to make the transformation anything but jarring. To his credit, Blackburn made the viewer believe. Alex has a desperate desire to believe in the people he loves even when they constantly provide evidence to the contrary. It wasn’t until late in Season 2 that he articulated the thought, but his actions told the story. Consider episode 9, Alex tries to convince his father, Jesse Manes (Trevor St. John), that perhaps drinking isn’t the best idea for someone recovering from a recent hospitalization. There is warmth in the way he speaks and in the slight upturn of his mouth. He genuinely cares. In response to Alex’s overture’s, Jesse slams the whiskey bottle down on the table, Alex retreats, not in fear, but as a soldier reminded of the enemy before him. Softness is replaced by someone alert and prepared for what usually comes next. Blackburn’s quick turn from hopeful son to cautious soldier shows the struggle between a son clutching at acceptance from his father and a man remembering that he never was nor wanted to be a “Manes Man.” The audience also witnesses the pull away from legacy when in the same scene he gets a message from Michael. There is the fastest of smiles, and he quickly leaves his father behind. In the season finale, once again Blackburn moves between emotions as his father holds a gun on Michael, but in this instance, there is no question about the sacrifice he’s willing to make. Alex’s season ends with him finally dismantling his familial legacy, literally. As he destroys the shed, the place where his love story with Michael took a sharp turn, Blackburn lets out a yell that encapsulates the torment and the hurt and the fear that kept Alex running and hidden. He emerges a new man, on the other side of legacy, when he sings at the Wild Pony.

Ellys: Of all the Roswell, New Mexico characters, Alex is the most often shown to have a near bottomless capacity for love and forgiveness. Blackburn illustrates this repeatedly through the compassionate frankness that Alex brings into every interaction with his friends and family. He doesn’t merely wear his heart on his sleeve; he displays it constantly. Blackburn’s face establishes this reality for Alex. His character is always absorbing every emotion that others throw at him, yet he only tosses the good emotions back. Alex’s heart is his strength and weakness. He believes that there’s a way to be everything that everyone needs or wants him to be, often placing blame on himself when these relationships aren’t what they should be, which results in him offering people multiple second chances they don’t deserve. In this episode, we see Alex finally hit a brick wall with one of these relationships, and heartbreak gives way to relief in a moving journey to acceptance that Blackburn approaches with respect and sincerity.

Jamie: Blackburn really shows just how painful this all is for Alex. When it comes to toxic relationships we always say “Oh, just leave them.” or “Why do you care what he thinks?” but it’s not that simple and Blackburn shows that in pretty much every scene. Whenever Alex is in a scene with Michael or Forrest (Christian Antidormi), until recently you could see that there was always a little bit of himself that Alex held back. I hope that in future seasons we get to see Alex be able to fully give himself to someone.

Blackburn shares a key scene in the finale with Michael Vlamis. What character interactions involving Alex have stood out to you this season and which ones are on your wish list?

Alison: Without a doubt, Vlamis and Blackburn are extremely magical when they share scenes, so many of Alex’s best moments involve Michael, but not all. A few of Alex’s interactions with other characters stand out for terrible, horrible, no good, awfully bad reasons, but we’ll focus on two that brought joy. Alex’s relationship with Kyle (Michael Trevino) was a highlight in the first season, and while fans hoped for more of the same in Season 2, the friendship was unfortunately sidelined. Though they shared a few scenes, one of their best interactions came near the end of I’ll Stand By You (2x5). It’s a quiet moment easily overlooked in what was a packed episode, but it’s especially poignant considering earlier Alex commented to Maria (Heather Hemmens) that Kyle wasn’t his friend. Oh, the irony. Michael’s voiceover plays as Kyle sits above the surgery room. He’s risked everything for his friends, but as they scatter, he sits alone and forgotten, his purpose served. When Alex arrives, he quietly passes a flask, Kyle takes a drink and passes it back to Alex who takes a drink of his own. The smile on Blackburn’s face tells a simple story about Kyle Valenti—this is a good man and a good friend.

In American Woman (2x10), Blackburn and Tanner Novlan who plays Gregory Manes shared a heartfelt scene. For a long time, Alex has felt like this show’s favorite punching bag, like his feelings don’t matter, so it was beautiful to see a character acknowledge not just Alex’s trauma but how they failed him. Novlan’s speech was heart-wrenching, but Blackburn’s expressions and subtle movements convey how overwhelmed Alex is, as well as his relief. It’s in the way he looks away or down, clears his throat, and allows tears to slowly well in his eyes. He is overcome by this outpouring of love and doesn’t know how to react. Blackburn affects the innocent and bashful gesture of shoving his hands into his pockets when talking about his father. Alex wants to believe that an abusive, homophobic, monster of a man could be better, but there is also fear that he is being played the fool.

I have just a few wishes for Alex Manes. I’m ready for Isobel (Lily Cowles) and Alex to take Roswell by storm, for Alex and Kyle to grow their repaired friendship, and I’m more than ready for Malex to rise. For its part, the show has rooted their queerness and their love in violence and trauma. Enough. Time to tell another story. It’s time to stop treating Alex Manes like a “Very Special Episode”. Michael and Alex together and happy is real rebellion, so let them kiss, get a dog, make waffles on Sunday morning, stay in bed all day, do crimes to ensure the good aliens survive, fight about the superiority of Star Trek over Star Wars, be emotionally articulate, and love one another in the present tense. Blackburn and Vlamis’ preternatural chemistry is the absolute highlight of this reboot, but it was mostly squandered in a messy and disjointed Season 2, so let’s make sure that never happens again. And on a final superficial note, Blackburn is very pretty, so let Alex Manes be pretty.

Ellys: One of my favorite characteristics that Blackburn gives Alex is his ability to snap out a quick retort. The use of humor to deflect and defuse is a subtle form of self-protection that gently reminds us that Alex is a survivor. How often Alex uses it when he’s around someone else helps us gauge the importance of that person to him. He also uses it less successfully in situations where there are high emotional stakes. Blackburn turns in some of his best work in the tense scenes Alex shares with his father Jesse, although nothing can hold a candle to how Vlamis and Blackburn carry years and years of conflicted longing into every look and word their characters share. My wish list would include more scenes between Alex and Kyle Valenti, as they are uniquely situated to understand each other’s family legacies and present-day responsibilities.

Jamie: Any scene with Michael has always been emotionally charged. The same goes for the scenes with his father but in an entirely different way. Since we won’t be getting those anymore, I’m hoping for more interactions with his brothers. And not just Flint (Kiowa Gordon) but also Gregory, who has accomplished what Alex is trying to do now, break free of his family. Overall, Alex has been mostly separated from the other characters. Only recently have we seen him interact more with others like Isobel, but I’d like to see him interact more with Liz (Jeanine Mason), and maybe even Rosa (Amber Midthunder). Including this episode, what are some of your favorite Alex scenes from this season?

Alison: Stay (I Missed You) (2x1) – Alex and Kyle being partners in crime when trying to retrieve Noah (Karan Oberoi)’s body from the morgue. Bonus points for Kyle’s face when Alex gets rough with the lab tech. I think we both enjoyed the moment. What If God Was One of Us (2x4) – Alex and Michael in the barn on the Long farm. Alex’s sass when commenting on Michael smelling like rain beneath the grease and bourbon to then comforting him about his mom not releasing him from the pod. Alex and Michael sitting on the fallen tree talking about how he knows Forrest. Alex realizes there are layers to Michael Guerin. Sex and Candy (2x6) – Michael cleaning Alex’s wound. It was a great way to end the episode. That’s where the episode ended, right? Say it Ain’t So (2x8) – Alex and Forrest on their paintball date. I’m not a fan of keeping two people apart by needlessly pairing them with other people; there is something to be said for working on yourself by yourself, but it was wonderful to see Alex so happy, smiling, and free. The Diner (2x9) – it’s a short exchange between Alex and Michael, but it encapsulates their journey. Michael is surprised—but not really—that Alex came when asked. Alex, who has always wanted to be asked to stay, says it’s because Michael asked. Bonus points for Michael’s cowboy lean during that scene.

Ellys: The introduction of Alex’s brother Gregory Manes added another dimension to Blackburn’s performance. Meeting a sibling who had successfully made it out from under Jesse’s control clarified how severe Alex’s predicament was concerning his father. Blackburn’s scenes with Novlan underscored how forgiving Alex is and how he would never be able to give up hope that Jesse would finally accept him. The scenes between Alex and Gregory were brief, but they had to set up the season finale, not only to sell the turn of events but to make Alex’s final scene this season carry that cathartic gut punch.

Jamie: I really enjoyed the paintball scene with Forrest. It was nice to see Alex have some fun for a change. And the scene in the finale where he and Michael take a hammer to that cabin, I think that might’ve helped Alex release some tension. The song he sang in the finale was probably my favorite. The amount of tension conveyed by Michael and Alex without them interacting was insane.

Give us a one paragraph pitch for Roswell, New Mexico to explain the show to TV fans who haven’t discovered it yet.

Alison: Ten years ago, Liz Ortecho left Roswell, New Mexico in the wake of a tragedy, leaving behind her family and friends. When she returns to her small town, she uncovers hidden truths, but those answers come with unexpected dangers. She returns to a town divided between those sympathetic to immigrants and violent xenophobes. The unwelcoming nature of the town takes on a new meaning when she discovers that the 1947 UFO crash wasn’t a hoax. Lines are crossed, secrets are revealed, friendships are tested, and love is messy. What happens when aliens walk among us?

Ellys: Years after surviving the crash of their spaceship, three adult siblings may not be able to conceal their alien origins much longer when their past and present collide. A serial killer, a brilliant scientist, and a forbidden love complicate their lives; the darkest secrets about Roswell’s oldest tragedies are beyond the reach of mind-reading, telekinesis, and supernatural healing. Foes become friends. The hunted become the hunters. Humans and aliens, alike, confront their inner demons and reckon with the threat of extinction. Jamie: Even if you don’t know the show, you’ve undoubtedly heard the term “Roswell”. Basically, aliens live amongst us and none of them are straight Max (Nathan Parsons) did not seem that opposed to riding a cowboy). We have a badass Latina main character who is almost too good at science, a psychic bartender, a doctor who does way too much for his ex, and an ex-military gay man who’s performance was so good he won Performer of the Month. And if that does not do it for you, there are weekly reviews by me where I call everyone idiots.

Alison: This reboot has flaws, but some of the best choices it has made center around Blackburn as Alex Manes. He simply feels like Alex Manes, disappearing into the role and becoming an abused boy turned Air Force Captain and a gay man who finally realizes that what he wants does matter. Blackburn always strikes the right note as Alex. Whether he is clasping his hands and trembling as his father wields a hammer, crackling with confidence as he apologizes by sliding into the bed of a pickup truck, commanding the room as a no-nonsense military man whose men don’t ask questions, breaking into the softest of smiles when Michael charms him with the sweetest kiss, being wide-eyed and eager when a cute blue-haired boy pays attention to him or lighting up when his song is heard by the person he loves most. It all works so well. Kudos to you, Tyler Blackburn.

Ellys: It’s still rare on TV shows, particularly dramas, to have a male character who is gay and not there to solely exist as the quirky dramatic one or the placid, supportive best friend to one of the leading ladies. Alex Manes has backstories, traumas, hopes, and victories that are just as complex as the other main characters on the show. I appreciate how much Blackburn has championed all sides of his character, including who Alex loves, and I look forward to the show breaking more ground in the third season now that Alex and the Manes skeletons are out of the closet.

Jamie: This honor is totally deserved. Blackburn has been a standout performer since the very first episode and I’m glad to see it rewarded. Let’s face it, he was one half of the reason for this show’s initial popularity. And let’s not forget that it’s no easy feat stepping into an already beloved character and making it your own. I fully expect that it will not be the last time he wins POTM.

As Tyler Blackburn sings in Would You Come Home, throughout Season 2 we see him break down Alex Manes’ walls stone by stone. Alex measures himself against his father, grandfather, uncle, and brothers, but he isn’t trying to measure up. He is looking for where he came from, why his values and heart aren’t what he’s told they are supposed to be. When Alex first hears about Tripp Manes (Jason Behr) and Nora Truman (Kayla Ewell), he immediately rejects his father’s interpretation of that relationship, choosing to hope that they had a love story. Blackburn paints Alex as hopeful and romantic, fiercely loyal, and sacrificially brave; most importantly, as a survivor, Alex finds and receives the strength to stand alone and choose his own family. Blackburn plays this role with compassionate dignity, giving us a hero whose emotional battles grip us as strongly as his physical ones. For all the reasons discussed in this article and the many more they have shared, our readers voted Tyler Blackburn as SpoilerTV’s Performer of the Month for June.

#tyler blackburn #alex manes #spoiler tv's performer of the month #malex #rnm press #tjb press #i love this so much #he deserves all the praise #rnm 2x13 #♥#long post is long

196 notes · View notes

prouvaireafterdark · 4 years

Text

All I See is You

Written for the Joe/Nicky prompt: Naz (Urdu) - assurance/pride in knowing that the other’s love is unconditional and unshakable.

“Come on, it’ll be easy—like Bruges, ’68,” Andy says.

Nicky and Joe share a look. Neither of them has to remind Andy that Bruges, ’68 was considerably different: For one, the seduction was a distraction tactic, not meant for intel gathering, and for another, it was Booker who did the seducing.

***

Joe is asked to seduce someone during a mission, and after nine hundred years of commitment, Nicky isn't even a little bit worried about it.

Also on AO3!

***

Nicky is reading at the kitchen table while Joe chops parsley beside him when Andy walks through the door of their safe house and drops a thick manilla envelope on the wood in front of them.

“What’s this?” Nicky asks, placing a worn leather bookmark between the pages before he sets the book aside.

“A gift from Copley,” she says, plucking an overripe plum out of the fruit basket at the table’s center. Joe sighs when she takes a bite. “What?” she asks, mouth still full.

“You’ll spoil your dinner,” Joe scolds her lightly, pointing his knife in her direction.

Nicky misses the exchange that passes between them, the echo of banter they’ve had a thousand times before grabbing his attention less than the envelope sitting before him. The time they’ve spent lying low in Bergamo since their last job has been wonderful, but he cannot deny that the chance to get back out there and do some good is a welcome one.

“What’s the job?” Nicky asks.

“Human trafficking ring,” Andy answers before taking another bite. Juice runs down her arm, so Nicky reaches for a napkin and hands it to her. She thanks him as she takes it before she looks around and asks, “Where’s Nile?”

“Studying Russian, I think,” Nicky says, looking to Joe for confirmation.

Joe nods before adding, “On the patio.”

When he looks back to Andy, he catches her grinning, though why he cannot say.

“I’ll get her,” she says, already walking toward the back of the house. “We should get started.”

“Can it wait an hour?” Joe interrupts, setting his knife down on the cutting board before he wipes his hands off on the kitchen towel he has thrown over his shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Andy shakes her head, not looking back as she answers, “We’ll talk while we eat.”

Joe lets out a soft sigh as the back door closes, his hopes of a nice family dinner dashed. Nicky reaches across the table for his hand, the earthy scent of fresh herbs hitting his nose when he presses his lips to his skin.

Joe smiles at him, a soft and tender thing, and Nicky feels a surge of love for him so strong he can’t help but lean forward in his chair to kiss him. Joe meets him eagerly, his hand rising from Nicky’s grip to brush his fingertips along the edge of his jaw.

“Would you like me to set the table?” Nicky asks when they part, his eyes still closed as Joe rests their foreheads together.

He feels the curve of Joe’s smile as he presses his lips to the corner of his mouth.

“Per favore, amore mio,” Joe tells him.

Nicky steals one final kiss before he stands and sets off in search of utensils.

“You want me to do what?” Joe asks, twenty minutes later with a spoonful of tajine halfway to his lips.

Nicky hides his grin in his own steaming bowl. This is going to be an interesting job.

According to Copley’s intelligence, the trafficking operation is run by a man named Victor Cross, who’s so dangerous and well-connected that most witnesses to his crimes clam up the moment the Feds come knocking, and those who don’t tend to wind up dead or vanish before they can reveal anything useful.

Well, almost.

Before an assassin claimed his life, an informant revealed to Copley’s source that Cross keeps meticulous records of all his sordid dealings at his home in Malibu. With those documents in their hands, they could expose his whole operation and save a lot of innocent people.

The catch is that these documents are, predictably, very well-guarded, and a direct assault on his home runs the risk of drawing too much attention, which would likely trigger a failsafe that would destroy the documents before they could be reached. Nicky has faith in their ability to fly under the radar, but with so many lives at stake, scattered in places they don’t yet know, he agrees they should find a safer plan.

Luckily, Copley has a suggestion. Cross appears to have one weakness: his only son Tyler, who just so happens to be throwing an extravagant party for his twenty-fifth birthday at his father’s mansion. Even better, according to his social media activity, he just so happens to be gay and have a strong attraction to older men with dark, mysterious eyes.

Which brings us to Andy telling Joe that he’s going undercover on a honey pot mission this weekend.

“Come on, it’ll be easy—like Bruges, ’68,” Andy says.

Andy seems to sense their train of thought, and adds, with a touch of exasperation, “Just look at the kid like he’s Nicky and feed him drinks until he starts talking. Even if he’s not involved, he’s got to have an idea about where exactly Cross would keep those documents and anything else we might need to know about before we try to take them.”

“How do you know he’ll even take the bait?” Joe asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, he will,” Nile pipes up from where she’s been looking over some of the papers Copley sent at the other end of the table. “According to his Twitter, he’s thirsting hard over some actor named Marwan Kenzari. Dude looks just like you.”

She holds up a paper with a screenshot of what must be Tyler’s social media profile. In it, there’s a photo of a handsome, shirtless man who does indeed bear a striking resemblance to Joe. Nicky spots the differences easily though; this man has more muscle definition than Joe does, likely won through a combination of targeted workouts and dehydration, and his beard is cropped much closer to his skin. He also has a small tattoo on his chest, but the picture is too far away from him to read it.

“Huh,” Joe says, leaning in to get a better look. Nicky is so distracted by trying to parse out the meaning of the “Hot Jafar can get itttttttttt #MarwanKenzari” written above the photo that he nearly misses Joe wondering aloud, “Should I shave?”

Nicky lets out a low, mournful sound when Joe’s words catch up with him. The weeks it would take to grow back would be a drop in the bucket of their long, long lives, but Nicky loves the feel of Joe’s beard against his skin and he isn’t prepared to give that up without a fight.

“Va bene, tesoro,” Joe assures him with a wink, sensing Nicky’s thoughts as if they were his own. “Non devo radermi.”

Nicky smiles gratefully at him.

“Anyway,” Andy interrupts. “I’ll infiltrate the catering company to do some recon before the party. Nile, unless you’ve got any objections, you’ll go in as Joe’s plus one to run interference while he pumps Tyler for information. You’ll also be his exit strategy if we need to leave unexpectedly without drawing too much attention.”

“Really?” Nile perks up.

Nicky smiles at her eagerness. “Makes sense,” he tells her. “You’re their age, you’ll fit right in.”

“And Nicolò?” Joe asks.

“Well, Copley can hack into Cross’ CCTV to guide us through the halls when we’re inside, but we’ll need someone keeping an eye on what’s going on outside. You up for it, Nicky?“

He shares a look with Joe, his eyes drawn to the subtle, downward quirk of his lips that tells him he doesn’t love the idea of Nicky being on his own out there. Nicky isn’t surprised to see it—he knows Joe has grown accustomed to being in the sniper’s nest with him to watch his six while Nicky has his attention trained on his scope—but there’s little that can be done about that now, so he nods, dragging his eyes back to Andromache.

“Si. I can set up my rifle here,” Nicky says, pointing to the best vantage point he can see on the satellite photos. “I’ll have a view of the front of the house and the backyard. If anyone suspicious enters or exits the property, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Hey, speaking of cameras: should we be worried about that?” Nile asks. “I’m sure people will be posting pics of everything if the scale of this party is as big as it sounds.”

“With Copley covering our tracks, I think it’s a risk we can afford to take,” Andy says.

“Alright,” Joe says. “When do we leave?”

Before they pack up and head to California, Joe and Nile need new clothes. The next morning, Nicky wakes up extra early to make them coffee before they take a train into Milan.

“Where’s Joe?” Nile croaks, her eyes still weighed down by sleep as she stumbles into the kitchen.

“In the shower,” Nicky answers. “Andy?”

“Still sleeping,” Nile explains.

Nicky nods, recalling that she took the first watch last night. He’ll wake her up in an hour or so, once he finishes packing their belongings for the flight to California.

In the mean time, he pours Nile a cup of coffee from the Moka pot on the stove, the sugar bowl and a small carafe of milk already on the table waiting for her. The moment the smell hits her nose a grateful smile breaks out on her face.

“Bless you,” Nile says, accepting the cup and sliding into a seat at the table.

“Prego,” Nicky says in response before pouring himself one and joining her.

They sip their coffee in silence, until Nile asks suddenly, “Hey, how are you feeling about the plan?”

“Good,” Nicky answers over his cup. “Why, are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” Nile says quickly. “I just thought maybe part of it might bother you.”

“Which part?”

“You know,” she says, like it’s obvious.

Nicky looks at her blankly.

“The part where Joe has to seduce someone and I apparently have to be his wingman?” she says expectantly.

Nicky laughs as understanding sets in, which only seems to confuse Nile further.

“No, I’m not bothered by that,” Nicky answers honestly.

“Really?” Nile asks, sounding surprised. “Why not?”

“Because if there is one thing I can be certain of after a millennium of sharing a life with Yusuf, it is that his heart is mine and mine alone,” Nicky says, feeling the truth of those words as they leave his mouth. “He will do what he must to get the information we need, and afterward he will come to bed with me like he has every night since we first cast our swords aside and allowed ourselves to love each other.”

Nile blinks at him in stunned silence. Nicky smiles as he takes another sip of coffee.

“Damn,” Nile says at last. “You two really invented love, huh?”

“I like to think so,” Joe says as he wanders into the kitchen, his curls still damp from his shower. He looks more alert than he did when Nicky left him in bed, but soft around the edges like he always gets whenever Nicky talks about how much they love each other.

“All lovers do,” Nicky agrees.

That’s certainly what it had felt like that first time they surrendered to their passions, when Nicky was Nicolò di Genova and Joe was Yusuf al-Kaysani and they’d spent the whole night mapping each others bodies with hands and lips and tongues. Each kiss was a revelation, every gasp, moan, and sigh, a shining new discovery, and in that moment, as Yusuf took him into his mouth with the vault of heaven twinkling above them, Nicolò could not have fathomed that anyone else in the history of the world had ever felt so worshipped by another—save perhaps God himself. After nine hundred years of loving this man, of bleeding and dying and living beside him, Nicky is as happy as he is unsurprised to report that he still feels exactly the same way.

Returning Joe’s soft smile, Nicky gets up from his seat to fix him a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. He hears Joe’s footsteps approaching from behind and sighs contentedly when he feels Joe’s hands settle on his waist and his lips brush the back of his neck.

“So I will have no jealousy from you this weekend?” Joe asks, sounding a touch disappointed.

Nicky’s smile grows. “You are a very beautiful man, Yusuf,” he answers, turning in Joe’s arms to hand him his coffee. Joe accepts it and takes a sip as Nicky adds, “If I got angry every time you caught the eye of another, madness would have consumed me centuries ago.”

Joe laughs softly at Nicky’s words and sets his cup back down on the counter.

“Do you hear this?” Joe asks incredulously, throwing a look at Nile over his shoulder. “My Nicolò flatters me too much.”

“No,” Nicky disagrees with a fond smile. “I speak only the truth.”

Joe’s eyes soften before he leans in to kiss him, slow and wet and so very distracting. Nicky sighs into the kiss when he feels the warmth of Joe’s palm against the side of his neck, keeping him still as he licks into his mouth, bitter notes of coffee on his tongue.

“Oh my god,” he hears Nile mutter to herself before her chair scrapes against the broken tile. “Y’all are too much. I’m gonna grab my shoes and then we have a train to catch, Joe.”

Joe hums in acknowledgement, but only presses Nicky back into the counter more firmly once Nile’s footsteps fade. Nicky gasps as tendrils of heat stoke low in his belly, but he manages to find the will to put his hands flat against Joe’s chest and ease him back. Joe looks betrayed when he does it, but there’s a brightness in his eyes that tells Nicky he’s only teasing.

“As much as I want to keep kissing you, Nile is right,” Nicky says, knocking their noses together. “You have a train to catch.”

“I know,” Joe says, raking his fingers through Nicky’s sleep-tousled hair, “but you are just so tempting first thing in the morning, I don’t know how you expect me to resist you.”

Heat sparks inside Nicky once more as Joe’s nails scrape gently against his scalp, and his eyes slip closed, his own self-control dangling by a thread. They’d been too tired to have sex last night and Nicky curses their former selves for not taking advantage of each other while they had the time.

Nicky’s eyes flit back down toward the smug curve of Joe’s mouth, but before he can make a questionable decision, the door to Nile’s bedroom creaks open.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a sec,” Joe says, and for a moment, Nicky thinks Joe is going to kiss him again, but instead he reaches for the cup of coffee he left on the counter. He drains it in one go before he steps aside to place it in the sink, leaving Nicky unpleasantly cold without the heat of his body to warm him.

“Thank you for the coffee, habibi,” he says, dropping a kiss on Nicky’s cheek as he passes him. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Of course,” Nicky says, offering Joe a smile as he folds his arms across his chest. “Have fun in Milano.”

“Without you?” Joe asks, shooting him a look over his shoulder. “Never.”

The next night finds them at a hotel in Malibu, not far from Cross’ mansion. Nicky reclines on the bed he’ll share with Joe tonight if all goes well, dressed head to toe in black, while Joe gets ready for the party in their ensuite.

Nicky is resting his eyes when the bathroom door swings open.

“How do I look?” Joe asks as he steps into the room. Nicky pushes himself up onto his elbows to see, swallowing as his eyes travel the length of him.

Joe’s suit is of Italian make and exceptional quality, its rich burgundy hue eye-catching without being garish. The button down beneath is crisp and white, in stark contrast to the plain black bowtie that circles his neck. As he adjusts his cufflinks, Nicky’s eyes catch on the silver rings glinting on his fingers and the expensive watch on his wrist—a gift Nicky picked up for him the last time they were in Geneva. He looks like sin standing there, the well-tailored fabric clinging to his waist and thighs in a way that would have sent Nicky to his knees were he not already lying down.

“Bellissimo,” Nicky answers, and when Joe smiles brightly in response, Nicky beckons him closer with a gesture, unable to stop himself from playfully adding, “Tyler will not be able to resist.”

Joe scoffs and continues his approach toward the bed.

“And you?” he asks, eyes darkening as he pushes Nicky gently back until he’s lying against the mattress again. “Could you resist me?”

Nicky lets his thighs fall open in answer as Joe moves to settle in the cradle of his hips. The moment Nicky feels the solid weight of him rest between his thighs, Joe rolls his hips forward, a tease that pulls a soft moan from Nicky’s lips. Joe stifles the sound with his mouth as he moves in for a greedy kiss, nipping Nicky’s bottom lip between his teeth before soothing the bite with his tongue.

It never ceases to amaze Nicky that, after all the lifetimes they’ve lived, Joe’s kisses still have the power to steal his breath and make his heart pound against his ribs, that they still feel so fucking good. Nicky melts against him, any coherent thoughts that remain slipping away with every press of Joe’s mouth against his, leaving him dizzy and warm and utterly lost in the feel of Joe’s tongue delving into his mouth and his beard brushing against his skin.

It’s not until Joe snakes a hand between them to rub against Nicky’s rapidly hardening cock through the thick fabric of his tactical pants that Nicky remembers they have a job to do.

Nicky pulls away from Joe’s mouth with a soft gasp, but Joe just fits his mouth against the side of his neck instead as he continues to palm him through his clothes.

“We will be late,” Nicky pants, reaching down to cover Joe’s hand with his own—to stop him or urge him on, he isn’t quite sure.

“It’s a party,” Joe mumbles before tugging the neckline of Nicky’s shirt down with his free hand to suck a fleeting mark onto his collarbone. “We’re meant to be late.”

“You’re going to wrinkle your suit,” he tries weakly.

“I don’t mind,” Joe counters, unbuckling Nicky’s belt. Nicky makes no move to stop him as he unzips his pants and gets a hand on his cock, his thumb swiping through the pre-come gathering at the tip. It occurs to Nicky that Joe better be careful if he doesn’t want a stain on his new suit. He opens his mouth to say so, but Joe must sense his thoughts because before he can speak, he adds, “Don’t worry. I’ll finish you off with my mouth so you don’t make a mess.”

“Oh?” Nicky asks, flushing at the thought even as he teases, “Do you think Tyler will be able to tell where your mouth has been when he kisses you?”

Joe groans and sinks his teeth into Nicky’s skin, making him gasp as a heady mix of pleasure and pain washes over him. He moves up toward Nicky’s ear then, tracing the path up his neck with his tongue.

“Would you like that?” Joe asks in a low whisper before he nips his earlobe between his teeth, his hand still working Nicky’s cock in steady strokes. “For him to taste you on my tongue and know that I am yours, body and soul?”

Nicky lets out a shuddering breath and rolls his hips into Joe’s touch.

“Would you?” Nicky asks.

Before Joe can answer, there’s a sudden, harsh knock at the door, startling them both.

“Joe? Nicky? We’ve gotta leave in like ten minutes so make yourselves decent,” Nile calls from behind the wood before her footsteps quickly retreat.

Joe huffs in disappointment.

Nicky cannot help but share the feeling when Joe releases his cock, leaving it hard and aching against his belly. Just as he’s resigning himself to jerking off while Joe finishes getting ready, he feels Joe start to pull his pants down his thighs.

“Joe?” Nicky asks, the question obvious on his lips.

“We still have nine minutes,” Joe explains, shuffling down his body until Nicky can feel his breath on the tip of his cock.

“That’s not much time,” Nicky comments, reaching down to cup Joe’s cheek.

“It’s enough,” Joe says, pressing a kiss to his palm, and before Nicky can even think to argue, he leans down to lick a long stripe up his shaft, from base to tip.

Joe seals his lips over the leaking head of Nicky’s cock when he reaches it, sucking at it softly in that way that drives Nicky mad. He hums at the taste before taking him deeper, eager to make the most of their time. Nicky has to bite down on his lower lip to stifle a cry, his hips twitching forward to push himself deeper into the welcoming, wet heat of Joe’s mouth.

Nicky’s eyes stay fixed on those plush pink lips, watching his thick cock disappear between them again and again and again, the tip edging closer to the back of Joe’s throat with every bob of his head over Nicky’s lap. It’s a sight he’s seen countless times before, but it never fails to make the liquid heat pooling in his belly simmer to a boil, and Nicky is writhing against the mattress in no time at all.

Joe anchors his arm across Nicky’s hips to keep him from moving too much, and the confining pressure somehow turns Nicky on even more. Nicky squirms in Joe’s hold as he keeps working his cock just the way he likes it, the movements second nature after nearly a millennium of practice—Joe knows just when to take Nicky deep into his throat, when to slide his fist up and down his length while he gives the flushed head a little more attention, and, finally, when to slip his hand between Nicky’s thighs to rub slow, agonizing circles into his perineum until Nicky doesn’t have a prayer of keeping quiet anymore.

Nicky moans high in his throat at every pass of Joe’s fingers against his prostate, the pleasure mounting inside of him making his thighs tremble. His orgasm is so close he can taste it, and Joe must sense it too because when Nicky locks eyes with him again, he slides his cock deeper into his throat and presses his fingers more firmly into his perineum.

Nicky cries out as his orgasm hits, his cock pulsing between Joe’s lips as he fills his mouth with come. Joe swallows every drop, humming as his hand continues pumping his shaft, wringing every drop of pleasure from him that he can.

He lies there boneless as he comes back down, his chest heaving with every breath. His eyes slip closed as Joe tucks him away in his tactical pants, and a moment later he feels it when Joe climbs up the bed to seek out Nicky’s mouth with his own.

Joe crowds him even closer against the bed, and Nicky offers no resistance as Joe deepens the kiss, relishing the taste of himself on his tongue with a quiet moan. The weight of Joe on top of him is more than welcome, and when Joe’s hips roll instinctively against his stomach, he can feel how hard he still is. Without a second thought, Nicky reaches between them and unzips Joe’s pants.

“Do we have time?” Joe asks as Nicky pulls him out through his underwear and licks his palm.

“Ti importa?” Nicky asks, rucking his own t-shirt up to expose his stomach.

Joe huffs a laugh against his lips. “Credo di no,” he says before Nicky feels his lips on his once more.

Nicky swallows the precious sounds Joe makes as he jerks him off, fast and rough. Between how worked up he got sucking Nicky off and the adrenaline coursing through him as Nile’s ten minutes wear thin, it doesn’t take long—it must be barely three minutes before Joe grunts and spills over Nicky’s fist, painting the pale skin of his belly with streaks of white.

As soon as he comes, Nicky pushes him gently to the side so he won’t collapse right into the mess he’s made and reaches for a tissue on the bedside table. Joe pants beside him in a post-orgasm daze while Nicky cleans himself up with practiced efficiency before putting Joe’s cock back in his trousers.

“I didn’t get any on me, right?” Joe asks a moment later, still sounding winded.

“No, tesoro,” Nicky answers after he gives him a once-over. “Your suit is clean for now.”

“Good,” Joe sighs in relief, and then raises his head to look at Nicky as he asks, “Wait, ‘for now’?”

Nicky only raises an eyebrow coyly in response. Joe laughs and rolls onto his side to kiss him.

By the time they pull themselves out of bed and into their hotel suite’s living room, their ten minutes are long over.

They find Nile waiting on the couch, dressed head to toe in a sparkling gold gown and playing a game on her phone. She looks surprised to see them when she glances up.

Nicky is about to apologize for their tardiness and unprofessionalism when she says, “Huh. Thought you’d be in there at least another ten minutes.”

“We can come back later if you like,” Joe quips, but Nicky’s still stuck on his confusion.

“I thought you said we had to leave in ten minutes,” he says, head tilting to one side.

“I lied,” she answers simply.

The thought that their sweet, innocent Nile would lie is somewhat scandalizing, and Joe and Nicky share a look.

“Oh, come on, don’t be so surprised,” Nile says, sounding amused as she stands up and brushes the fabric of her dress down her thighs. “Joe looks stupid hot in that suit and you two are the most predictable people I’ve ever met, immortal or not. If I told you thirty minutes, I’d be sitting here for an hour.”

“That’s fair, I suppose,” Nicky says at the same time Joe asks, “You think I’m hot?”

Nicky laughs and nudges Joe with his shoulder. “Save your flirting for the mark, Joe,” he says.

“If you insist,” Joe sighs. “Though I’d rather save it for you.”

Nicky smiles, ignoring Nile’s dramatic sigh in the background.

“Can we go now?” she asks. “This guy’s burn book isn’t gonna steal itself.”

“Si,” Nicky says, and goes to grab the rifle case he left sitting on the table.

“I just have one question,” Joe asks.

“Yeah, okay, what’s up?” Nile asks, pausing by the door.

“What’s a burn book?”

#the old guard #the old guard fic #joe x nicky #yusuf x nicolo #my fic #post attempt 3 lmao #not my usual post format but i'm getting desperate lol

131 notes · View notes

felicia-cat-hardy · 3 years

Text

20 Asian American Musicians To Add To Your Playlist Now

Over the past several years, the K-pop industry in the U.S. has grown exponentially. The fan enthusiasm behind bands like BTS has drawn parallels to The Beatles, and so many K-pop groups have received the same passionate reception. The attention is well-deserved, but Asian artists represent a multitude of musical genres (even just within the K-pop industry) — a fact that should not be overlooked. Whether you're a fan of indie rock, R&B, hip-hop, or dance music, you won't want to sleep on these Asian American musicians.

Asian artists have recently received some long-deserved recognition in the entertainment industry, primarily in film. In 2020, Bong Joon-ho's Parasite won big at the Oscars. The following year, Youn Yuh-Jung won the award for Best Supporting Actress for her work in Minari, which also scored The Walking Dead alum Steven Yeun a nomination for Best Actor. However, there's still plenty of work to be done within the music landscape to ensure equal representation is achieved.

BTS, most notably, has seen unprecedented success in the U.S. Still, despite being invited to attend the last three Grammys, they've yet to take home an award, highlighting the discrepancy between their immense success and the Recording Academy's willingness to acknowledge it. Additionally, Asian artists have a harder time landing record deals. As American Idol alumni Paul Kim explained to The New York Times, he was blatantly told by industry execs he would have been signed to a label faster had he not been Asian.

By streaming these artists, you're not only supporting them and their art, but you're subsequently showing industry insiders just how valuable they are. Consider this list sonic proof Asian artists are making exceptional, diverse music that can't be boxed into one genre or sound. Each of these artists prides themselves on breaking boundaries and creating their own rules. You may have heard of a few, but many have been flying under the radar for far too long. Your ears will thank you soon enough.

Melissa Polinar

Polinar got her start in the late 2000s when viral YouTube covers paved the way for success. While artists like Justin Bieber and Lennon & Maisy were sharing music covers, Polinar focused on posting her original music — and her soulful vocals were a hit. In 2019, the Filipino-American songwriter actually re-recorded one of the songs that propelled her career forward, "Try," on its 10-year anniversary.

Eric Nam

Born and raised in Atlanta, Nam moved to Korea to pursue music because he felt he had a better chance of succeeding there. “Even if you look at American Idol, or X-Factor, or The Voice or anything, it was always difficult to see an Asian or an Asian-American make it to a certain point,” Nam told TIME in November 2019. Today, Nam is a highly visible and respected name in the K-pop industry. While he's very proud of his K-pop success, he considers himself a pop singer first. He hopes to grow his success stateside and told TIME, "I want people to hear my music and say, 'I don’t know who this person is,' and I could be Black, white, Latino, Asian — it doesn’t matter, but it’s just a great pop song."

Clinton Kane

Kane's got every making of a great singer-songwriter, and his lyricism will make a fan out of loyal Ed Sheeran or Sam Smith listeners. The Filipino-American singer's impressive vocal range captivates, and his emotion-driven lyrics will melt your heart. One of his more popular tracks, "Chicken Tendies," has upwards of 2 million views and is a must-add to your heartbreak playlist.

Jhené Aiko

As a mixed-race Japanese, Creole, Dominican, and European woman, Aiko has proudly championed her diverse roots throughout her accomplished career. The R&B singer is a six-time Grammy-nominated artist and is well respected within the industry for her philanthropic endeavors. She launched the WAYS foundation in 2017, an organization dedicated to helping cancer patients and their families.

Steve Aoki

Steve Aoki is hardly a newcomer to the EDM scene, but as one of the most prominent DJs in the industry, and one of the biggest Japanese DJs ever, it would be a crime to leave him off this list. Aoki even has his own record label and, in 2016, Netflix released I'll Sleep When I'm Dead, a documentary about his career.

Karen O

As the lead singer for the rock band Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Karen O has solidified her spot as a rock music legend. Not only is the Korean-American singer's discography with the band a must-listen for any rock music fan, but her 2019 album with Danger Mouse, Lux Prima, earned her a Grammy nomination for Best Rock Performance.

H.E.R.

Hailing from the San Francisco Bay Area, H.E.R. (aka Gabi Wilson) has become one of the most prominent names in R&B. At just 23 years old, the singer-songwriter already has four Grammy wins and 13 nominations. Along the way, she's never shied away from praising her Filipino mother and Black father, Agnes and Kenny Wilson, for giving her the unique perspectives that propelled her musical success.

Toro Y Moi

Toro Y Moi is actually one person (Chaz Bear) and he's become the unofficial king of chillwave. Born to a Filipino mother, the South Carolina native later relocated to California to further his music career. If you need some chill vibes on your playlist, Bear's got you covered.

Ruby Ibarra

Ibarra is a Filipino-American rapper from San Lorenzo, California who also dabbles in spoken word poetry. Her music is meaningful in more ways than one. A number of her songs touch upon her experience as an Asian American woman. In April 2021, she released a powerful song and video called "Gold" with Ella Jay Basco, which exposed the harmful effects of the skin whitening industry.

Ella Jay Basco

You may recognize Basco from her appearance in Birds of Prey, but her music is not to be slept on because it's making major waves. Her song "Gold" with Ruby Ibarra highlights her Filipino heritage. As she told People, "From top to bottom, we wanted to make sure that our Asian-American community was represented with this project."

Mitski

Meet your new favorite alt-rock queen. Mitski's dreamy melodies appeal to the indie-rock crowd more than anything, and, if you're a sucker for a sad bop, this Japanese-American songstress has plenty of those stacked up.

Yaeji

Yaeji was born in Flushing, Queens in 1993 and grew up between the U.S. and Korea. Since she moved around so much as a kid, she found friendship on the internet, where she first connected with the bossa nova, jazz, and Korean indie music that drove much of the Korean DIY scene. She soon returned to the States to attend college, where she discovered a love for producing and DJing. Now, she meticulously blends hip-hop elements with her house-driven sound for a listening experience that is unlike anything else.

Hayley Kiyoko

Kiyoko has been given the nickname Lesbian Jesus since she’s so outspoken about LGBTQ+ representation in the music industry. The Japanese-American singer is a true trailblazer and her pop music genius has landed her hits with Kehlani, MAX, and AJR.

Jay Park

Park is an industry heavyweight. The Seattle native got his start in the K-pop industry as part of the band 2PM, but he went solo in 2009. Today, not only does the star have dozens of hits under his belt, but he has two record labels of his own that specialize in R&B and hip-hop music: AOMG and H1ghr. Park uses his superstar status to give others the spotlight, and he's put his support behind other artists like GOT7's JAY B and Yugyeom, and Raz Simone. Whether you're a self-proclaimed K-pop stan, or you're just recently getting acquainted with the genre, Park's discography is required listening.

Jin Au-Yeung

Born and raised in North Miami Beach, Florida, the Chinese-American rapper, aka MC Jin, has some seriously impressive accolades under his belt. After becoming popular among his musical peers for his epic freestyles, he was signed to Ruff Ryders in 2002 at just 19 years old, becoming the first Asian American solo rapper to be signed to a major record label in the U.S. He's since parted ways with the label and now travels back and forth between the U.S. and Hong Kong, seeing success in both places. In May 2021, the rapper released a single called "Stop the Hatred" with Wyclef Jean to raise awareness about hate crimes toward Asian Americans amid the coronavirus pandemic.

Olivia Rodrigo

Rodrigo needs no introduction, but I'll do it anyway: This Filipino-American actress-turned-singer-songwriter's mega-hit debut single "drivers license" was unavoidable in January 2021. Its heartbreakingly relatable lyrics about a crush moving on with someone else struck listeners to their core and immediately soared to No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100. It also went viral on TikTok, before making its way into a Saturday Night Live sketch. Rodrigo's songwriting skills have fans likening her to industry heavyweights like Taylor Swift, so it's no surprise her debut album, Sour, is one of the most highly-anticipated albums of summer 2021.

Run River North

Run River North is not just one musician, but three. The band formerly known as Monsters Calling Home is an indie rock band from Los Angeles. The group has an eclectic sound that draws inspiration from each member: Daniel Chae, Alex Hwang, and Sally Kang.

ZHU

When ZHU first entered the electronic music scene, he used an alias and remained anonymous. By 2014, the artist also known as Steven Zhu was ready to share his identity with the world. ZHU got his start in San Francisco, California, but has made his mark on the EDM scene globally.

Darren Criss

Criss rose to fame starring on the television series Glee and he's since proven himself to be a true triple threat. His work can be seen across TV, film, and music. In September of 2018, Criss became the first Filipino-American to win an Emmy in the lead actor category for his portrayal of Andrew Cunanan in FX's The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story. He’s also got several full-fledged EPs under his belt.

Amber Liu

Amber Liu (also known mononymously as Amber) is of Taiwanese descent and grew up in Los Angeles. She made a big splash when debuting as a member of the K-pop girl group f(x) in September 2009, but has since gone solo. Her 2019 solo track "Other People" racked up millions of streams, and she’s gearing up to drop her first album of 2021, called y?, very soon. In the meantime, she’s continuing to grow her superstar following on social media, where she has 5 million Instagram followers and over 2.3 million on Twitter.

Get Relationship Advice Here

4 notes · View notes

kneipho · 4 years

Text

Submission: @mantrabay

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea’s ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn’t yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea’s job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer’s block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea’s voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it’s sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren’t you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it’s on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I’ll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That’s when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don’t want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That’s when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She’s going to call over one of these days I’m sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea brown leaves shredded on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I’m fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma …you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn’t believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven’t seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn’t want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There’s been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I’ll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story mantrabay copyright protected

#mantrabay #submission sunday #writers on tumblr #photographers on tumblr #written word #photography #submission #other #short story #fiction #original photography #a little known shortcut

15 notes · View notes

butiaintgonnaloveem · 4 years

Text

Presents and Prizes and Sweets and Surprises

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader, Jack Kline, Mrs. Butters

Word Count: approx 1600

Warnings: Spoilers for episode “Last Holiday” and language

A/N: This is just my way of venting my frustration with the episode. I was going to do a kind of fix-it fic, but this turned more into a reader insert as concerned spectator kind of thing. No one edited this, so sorry for any errors. This is frustration and crack.

Poking holes, making fun, wishing they were doing better things with the last few episodes - you know, the fangirl business.

“There’s a what living here? And what does it have to do with your underwear?”

Dean rolls his eyes, “A wood nymph. She was folding them for me.”

“Since when do you fold your underwear?”

“Since Mrs. B. started doing it for me,” he shrugs.

Speak of the devil, or nymph - she scurries in from the hall.

Her eyes are wide as she looks you over, a disapproving scowl on her face.

“Dean, we do not bring lady guests into the Men of Letters bunker. Ms. Sands was an exception, but it should not be the rule.”

“Lady guests? I live here,” you glare as you over-enunciate each word.

Clearly caught off-guard, she splutters, unable to reply more than a few cut-off words as she looks helplessly at Dean. “A-a woman? IN the Men of Letters bunker?”

“Times have changed, lady. And I don’t know if you’re aware, but you are also a female.”

“I am a wood nymph,” she says haughtily, “Friend of the goddess Artemis, and not subject to the problems a woman may bring to this bunker.”

You start to move on her, but Dean steps in, gently keeping you back with a hand on your shoulder, “Okay, I think this could be going better. Mrs. B., she does live here. We don’t really subscribe to the whole ‘fairer sex’ thing. I was just getting ready to find you for introductions when you walked in. Now, I think we can all get along, right?”

He looks between you with a shit-eating grin as though he just solved the easiest riddle, even though he didn’t do shit. Mrs. B. stands there wringing her hands and staring at you with trepidation, while you eye her up, looking for any signs of malice.

“I know!” Dean says with all the excitement of a ten year-old, “Mrs. B. how about you bring out some of those butter cookies you whipped up earlier and we kick this off right?”

She turns to fulfill his request just as you answer, “No, thanks. I don’t mind fending for myself. In fact, I prefer it. Dean, can I speak with you? Alone?”

He shakes his head and looks at her apologetically. She just waves him off and leaves.

“What the hell?”

“Yeah!” you throw your hands up, “What the hell?! You need to tell me everything that happened since she showed up.”

Days pass. Once Dean had told you what happened to make Mrs. Doubtfire appear, you went to Sam, hoping for some reason unfortunately, it seemed to be a lost cause. Once she highlighted the monster radar, they were constantly on the run. A quick vampire nest here, a coven there. In between Dean nestled himself in his purple huggy nightgown and drowned himself not in alcohol, but in mashed potatoes and pie. She even had Jack drawn out of his new soul-based depression thanks to her smoothies.

_____

“Won’t you join us, dear?” her sickly sweet voice invites you as the guys line up pumpkins for carving. She wears a forced smile as she clasps her hands in front of her, still uncomfortable with your presence.

“Nope,” you pop with an obnoxious ‘p’ sound, “I’m super right here.” You wave your deli-bought sandwich in the air and look back to your laptop.

“C’mon!” Dean groans. He looks up from the face he’s drawing on the huge, out-of-season monstrosity. “Relax a little, Mrs. B is even gonna roast up some pumpkin seeds - salty and sweet!” He looks at her with an excited and expectant nod.

She looks back like a proud grandmother, “Of course, dear!” As though there were no other option, making your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Like I said, I’m good. You guys enjoy your...whatever over there.”

They shrug and ignore you, laughing like children and throwing pumpkin goop at each other until she scolds them. Until now, Halloween was despised by Sam, and only an excuse for slutty costumes for Dean. Not that it hadn’t been tried. There were attempts at parties, birthdays, Christmas; Jody invited you all over plenty, especially after the mess with Mary. But no. Suddenly Stepford Granny appears and it’s all hands on deck for celebrations. Something wasn’t right, and for some stupid reason, the guys didn’t notice or care.

_____

Your research on wood nymphs doesn’t offer a whole lot, they are pretty rare. More kindly disposed toward men according to a source, which explains her reaction to you, and summoned to attend the gods on Olympus, which also explains her service kink apparently. Other than that, it was a whole lot of crap.

On occasion you find her in the library, staring wistfully at the photo of the Men of Letters who previously occupied the bunker, but once she notices your presence, she shakes herself from her reverie and starts puttering about, lamenting the state of things around her.

Dean is blissful. Sam had been reluctant, but even he seems to be walking around without his usual dark cloud. You want them to be happy, to have the memories others take for granted, but the way she side-eyes Jack, the way she passive-aggressively speaks about you even when you are in the room, it won’t stop nagging at you.

“What do you miss most about them?” you ask her one day after she sends the boys off with their crustless sandwiches.

“Oh, well, it’s hard to miss them much when they’ve just left,” she laughs, stiff with discomfort.

“Not Sam and Dean, I mean them,” you tip your head in the direction of the photo on the wall.

“Oh.” She takes a half step toward it, but stops. “It’s - they gave me purpose, a home, and a family.”

“What about your real family? The other nymphs?”

She straightens out her stupid, festive apron then, looking at you dead on, “Mr. Sinclair and those gentlemen were no less a real family to me than my natural brethren,” she pauses for a deep breath, then for a moment longer until a tight smile pulls across her lips. “Now, have you eaten? Are you sure I can’t get you...”

“No,” you cut her off for the millionth time she’s asked.

“Well then, I best get back to work,” she mutters and wanders off.

_____

When you finally get the chance to corner Sam, he’s rushing while getting ready for his date and really only half-listening.

“And I just think that it’s really telling that Cuthbert Sinclair was the one to bring her on, I mean, he wasn’t always on the level with his magic and acquisitions and what the hell are you wearing?”

He turns around, smoothing down the brown sweater vest, “What? Mrs. Butters set it out for me. Said it makes me look dashing.” He smiles and shyly tips his head to the side, the way he does before giving his puppy eyes. All lost on you.

“You look like a sitcom dad. You’re just going out with Eileen, right?”

“Nothing wrong with looking your best.”

“Sure,” you agree with uncertainty, “But Sam, didn’t you look into this?”

“She was right about the first vamp case, she’s powered up the radar, and the bunker is on full blast, what’s wrong with that?”

“Because Sam! Magic also comes with a price, and when has a monster ever really been so thrilled to live in servitude? Or anyone for that matter? You think this is all out of the goodness of her heart?”

He looks at you, confused, “Yes?”

You throw your hands up, just as Sam checks his watch and curses under his breath before hastily leaving the room.

“What the fuck. Fine, you guys don’t care? I don’t care. I am fucking out of here.” No one stops you.

_____

Two days later, you’re called back to the bunker and very apologetic Winchesters, and cake.

“So she was a Nazi murder monster who also liked serving milk and cookies? Cool. Cool, cool. And Jack found this out? Jack?! I mean, no offense buddy, but Sam! You’re the lore genius! You’ve got this place set up with your own fucking Sammy decimal system, and you missed this!”

“I mean, if she was doping up all our food, like she was doing to Jack - “

“And you wondered why I didn’t want to eat her turkish delights! She had you guys running around with sack lunches like fricken four year-olds, all dopey smiles and rice krispy treats. I mean, I can’t believe you even knew how to spell ‘happy birthday’ all on your own and didn’t pull a Hagrid with how high you were flying on her nymph edibles!” You throw your hands up, nearly throwing your slice of birthday cake right off the plate, as Sam laughs.

“And you,” you point to him, “Mjolnir! Where did she pull that from? You weren’t thrown off with that? And don’t think I am letting you live down that sweater vest or birthday tiara. If all it took to make you guys so docile were a few parties and home-cooked meals and giving in to some praise kinks you seem to hae, then someone would have locked you both down already, it’s not like they haven’t tried. I cringed, you guys, cringed. My shoulders are still sore from it. In fact, I think you guys really owe me for having to put up with watching all that crap go down. For being so right, right from the start.”

They both roll their eyes, Jack for his part just sits and smiles while eating his own birthday cake. Dean flicks his fingers in a ‘bring it on’ motion while pursing his lips in displeasure.

“I want a party. With drinks and store-bought cake with that really good frosting, and a banner that says ‘you were so right and we were so stupid and we’re sorry and we will do better next tim-’”

“Alright, Veruca we get it,” Dean groans.

“Just do better, and don’t forget my golden goose,” you smirk.

#spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn s15 #spn crack #spn last holiday #dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #my writing #in case you can't tell #i hated the episode

25 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Paper Man.”

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED: GORE, VIOLENCE, MORAL AMBIGUITY

Ok guys, I am giving this a rated R for violence specifically. I wanted to play around with some extreme moral issues, and I ended up doing just that. So if you didn’t read the horror chapter, then I suggest very much not reading this one.

It is the third and last installment to my little prison series, so you can imagine what might be in here. I leave it up to you to decide if you can handle it or not. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. :)

I designed this specifically to expose Adam’s character to an extreme situation hes probably not emotionally equipped for.

Commander Vir wiped a smear of excess inc from the man’s skin and sat back to view his handiwork. He had to admit that he was definitely getting better now that he had figured out how to use the damned machine. Not to mention that he spent most of his free time drawing for fear that he was going to screw up and get his ass kicked.

In all honesty, he could have been a pretty talented artist if he had ever bothered to practice, but he hadn’t drawn, conventionally, since he was in middle school and, as a result, his drawing had suffered . However, now that he was in prison, he had a surprising amount of free time to work on extracurricular skills. If he wasn’t pumping iron with the others, he was working on a new tattoo design or applying the inc.

While it sucked pretty hard core to be here, he had found a relatively safe middle ground. Being able to do inc gave him certain privileges among the other humans, not to mention his personal connection to krill, who was invaluable as the crew’s medic. Having worked at the biggest trauma center in the galaxy, the kind of wounds they generally received was a cakewalk to the little alien.

The problem…..well, that was the Drev, and the fact that every human and their dog had, at one point, boasted to the larger, scarier aliens about having a member of operation steel-eye in their ranks. They did pretty much everything but directly mention his name, but they may as well have been dancing a naked jig around him with signs directed at his chest saying “Here I am come shank me.”

He wasn’t sure how well the goading would work with Drev. He had learned from Sunny, that a good Drev considered war to be impersonal, and those who beat you in battle were supposed to be treated with respect, but this was also coming from the Drev whose mother had gone off the deep end and plotted to destroy humanity, so he had a feeling he couldn’t rely on Drev honor to keep him from getting eviscerated.

He cleaned his tools off in the best way he knew how and allowed the man to finally take a look. He held his breath.

The man examined the tattoo for a very long moment, and for this horrible second, Adam feared he was about to be pounded into the concrete, “Good work Steel!” Instead, he got a heavy slap on the back, which probably would have slammed him into the pavement anyway for his trouble, but it simply sent him into a stagger, and the other man walked away flexing his arm. Adam grimaced. He wasn’t entirely sure had to do proper, post-art care was going to work down here, and just had to hope that the man wouldn’t end up with some sort of nasty infection.

His hopes were not particularly high.

At least Krill would be there to clean up the aftermath.

The rest of the humans were outside again today, but technically, all the facilities were open, still he preferred to go back upstairs to his cell for some privacy. He tucked the little case of tools into his single pocket and made his way into the building and towards the stairs. The Drev had taken the TV today and was watching some horrible remake of a classic 2000 movie. There were a lot of explosions and 0 practical effects.

Seemed like a drev thing to do, and he tried to remain unseen as he moved up the stairs and towards his cell. He made it there safely enough, got some privacy and, stupidly, stepped out just in time to meet a group of drev walking down the catwalk.

He froze just outside his room staring at them. They paused to look at him. No one moved for the longest time. Multiple arms flexed, and the large female at the front dropped her head aggressively over her throat. It didn’t take a genius to know what that meant, and before he knew it, his heart was hammering in his throat, his vision had tunneled, and his feet hammered against the catwalk as he bolted for the stairs.

A drev war cry rose behind him, and feet thundered against metal sending terrible vibrations up through his shins and knees. He made it to the stairs and nearly tripped. He caught himself with one hand watching as a life a paralysis flashed before his eyes. The thundering behind him grew stronger, so in a moment of panic, he flung himself over the side of the railing and dropped to the ground almost fifteen feet below. He took the entire impact through the inferior metal of his prosthetic leg collapsing onto the concrete with a sharp thud. Pain blossomed from that same same hip rocketing up his side and into his chest.

Something in the prosthetic snapped and splintered, but he didn’t have time to think about that, dragging himself to his feet and limping pst the tables, shoving other prisoners aside, and ducking past confused drev now being galvanized into action by the war cries of their leaders.

“RUN STEEL, RUN!” There was a thunderous roar, and a wave of humans came crashing into the tables stopping the Drev in their tracks as they tried to follow after Adam.

One prisoner wrenched a chair form the floor and clobbered a Drev in the head with it. Lights and sirens exploded around them as the guards came pouring onto the catwalks screaming for everyone to get down. The riot continued behind him as he scrambled on his busted prosthetic. He looked over his shoulder just in time to duck under the angry swing of an approaching Drev.

He hit the floor on hands and toes for a moment scrambling under a table before racing forward into one of the auxiliary hallways. A table collapsed behind him as the Drev leaped atop it. Cells flashed by him and footsteps gained.

More lights flashed, and the cell doors began to close slowly.

Footsteps were gaining, and were almost upon him as a hand shot out form one of the cells and bodily dragged him through the door, just as it was shutting. He collapsed to the concrete floor just as the Drev slammed into the bars reaching through for him with all four limbs, which it immediately regretted as a metal pipe was rammed into it’s outstretched hands. It cursed in it’s guttural language and drew back angrily.

Adam looked up to find a man standing just to his side. He was an unassuming thin man with little circular glasses, and a slightly soft physique, but he was grinning and stuck out his tongue out at the Drev who then stepped back growling and walked away knowing that he could not make it through the bars. The man dropped the pipe on the bed and turned to look at Adam.

“Close call there, Commander.”

Adam blinked in confusion and shock, “You, you know who I am?”

The man smiled, “Know who you are, I’d have to be living under a rock not to know. I have been following your career for a very long time. A big fan actually.” He held out a hand and hauled Adam to his feet, “Surprised the other's haven't figured it out yet, your disappearance has been all over the news.”

Adam limped over to the bed and sat down pulling up his pant leg to examine the damaged prosthetic. The plastic casing had been completely cracked up one side, and a few of the shock-absorbent springs had been popped from their sockets. The inside of the casing rattled. He frowned.

“I…. thanks for saving my life.”

The man just grinned, “happy to help an intergalactic hero.”

Adam awkwardly waved a hand, but inside he was more than relieved to have found someone who actually believed him. The man seemed pretty trustworthy compared to the others, and he wondered what kind of crime the man could have commuted to get himself into this sort of mess. He didn’t exactly seem like the type to be involved in overtly violent crime. Perhaps he was here on accident, just like Adam himself.

“I had actually been meaning to approach you earlier, but you got snagged up by the guys in the yard so fast, I didn’t really have the time.”

“And you weren't?” he wondered

The man shook his head, “No, I was a late night transfer. No one was here when I showed up, so I was able to fly under the radar. I don’t leave my cell all that much accept for meals, and they generally tend to ignore me.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is, but it is also nice to have a little company every now and again. And the company of someone like you is even better. Someone who isn’t actually a violent criminal.”

“Than what are you here for if not violent crime.”

The man waved a hand, “Just something stupid. More of a misunderstanding really. Personally I think it was no big deal, but it really bothered some important people,and I ended up here. I Think they hope that I am going to rot here and be forgotten, but I don’t plan on that happening. I plan on serving my time, getting out and going back to my old life as it was.”

“That sounds nice, I would give pretty much anything to be back to my ship.” he sighed and leaned back against the concrete wall, “if I am being honest, It is nice to be around someone who isn’t totally nuts.”

“Personally, I think we should make this a habit.”

“Alright, I can agree to that…. What’s your name by the way?”

“Ted, Ted Gacey.” The two men shook hands, a pleasure to meet you.

The days turned into weeks and the weeks were dangerously close to turning into months. He had narrowly dodged a few more conflicts with the Drev, and the Boss had taken to sending him around with bodyguards as a show of force. That made slipping away to have privacy kind of difficult, but he had managed it meeting with his new friend on occasion to play cards in the other man’s single-bed cramped cell. It seemed as if the two of them had a lot in common, or at least enough. They had the same idea with current intergalactic politics, they had some of the same hobbies, and tended to agree with each other on more social issues.

It was a nice breath of fresh air.

Adam had even introduced krill to his new friend. Krill had been wary of the man from the beginning, but to be fair he was wary of pretty much everyone, and the Commander could hardly blame him. This was a prison after all, and most of the people who were here, were here for a reason, reasons they tended to make plainly obvious through their actions.

Despite being safeguarded from the Drev by other humans, he still wasn’t safe. On more than one occasion he had narrowly dodged some sort of altercation with one of the humans in the party. Generally it was over the asking price of a tattoo, which was based on yard currency in cigarettes and pills. Generally he ended up just handing them over to avoid an altercation. The issue with that is it meant some people knew they could squeeze him for his cash, and often came back to do so. He didn’t want to tell the boss for fear of being labeled a snitch, which was a pretty big insult in the yard, so he made sure to keep his earnings off his person at all times, and often lied to the guys when they came looking telling them that he had lost his currency to another guy with the same idea.

He wasnt looking forward to the day when the lying would catch up with him, but so was his current life. Of course there was also the occasional issue regarding his issue in holding his tongue, and he had ended up accidentally insulting someone on more than one occasion. He had been punched at least twice in the intervening months, but he supposed it could have been worse. He hadn’t broken his nose and both eye sockets were still in tact, so it could have been worse.

His third Issue came from Krill himself. While the little alien was mostly to fearful to do anything other than what he was ordered to do, he had an unfortunate sarcastic streak, which got him into trouble on occasion. Adam was forced to either talk the guys down, or turn the wrath away from his friend often resulting in a drop in pay, some sort of bargain or taking a hit. He was getting pretty sick and tired of it.

If he was being totally honest with himself, he had a relatively low pain threshold. He didn’t like getting kicked around. He wanted out of this place so badly, but the longer the days dragged on, the less hope he had. It was only a matter of time until something truly horrible happened, and there would be no way for him to stop it. How much was he willing to deal with?

He woke up as the hand clamped over his mouth. His eyes shot open, but his scream was muffled as the heavy, slick palm pressed into his face. He trashed against hands that held him down, but they were too strong. In groggy horror and fear he realized this was it, this was the end.

The event he had been waiting for.

The hand tightened, “Stop struggling, and shut up for a minute.” The voice hissed.

He grew very still breathing heavy, ragged breaths through his nose heart hammering eyes prickling with moisture brought on by total fear.

“It’s just me Steel, the boss. Now, I am going to remove my hand, and you are going to be silent.” A hint of relief, and he nodded his head as the hand was removed. He took a clear cleansing air of the musty cell and sat up.

The boss knelt next to his bed with krill hovering nervously behind him.

He rubbed his eyes, “What’s going on?” Adam asked groggily

The man held a finger to his lips “The boys and I just got word of someone on this block that has a less than stellar record.” Adam didn’t bother to point out the irony as the man continued, “This will be your chance to prove your loyalty to the yard kid. In the morning, we are going to fuck this son of a bitch up.”

Adam rubbed the back of his head nervously, “What…. What did he do.”

“Why don’t you take a look for yourself.” the man whispered, passing over a tiny screen showing the man’s incarceration records. As he read, Adam’s stomach twisted and hisirst reaction was one of visceral anger and an incomprehensible burning hatred. He tried to choke it back disgusted with his own feelings, but they kept coming back…. Images of his fists bloody with someone else’s blood.

The Boss chuckled darkly, “Thought you might have that reaction. You know how I feel about people who hurt kids.”

Adam wiped his mouth feeling nauseous pushing the screen back towards the boss

“So when you say, fuck him up.”

“I mean, we’re gonna kill him.”

Adam was suddenly struck with the most uncomfortable sensation in his entire life, a horrible sinking twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach negated and confused by the ravenous anger and glee that he felt at the idea. The feeling was horrible wrenching him in two different directions. One spoke with the voice of his mother and urged him to take the high road. It wasn’t his job to take care of these sort of problems, it was never okay to hurt people that is what the law was for, but another part of him disagreed. This was a lawless planet, and the law was broken besides it didn’t matter after reading that report he knew for certain that the an deserved worse than death, so really killing him was a mercy.

The nausea grew worse the more he thought. He was stuck inside a living nightmare. He couldn’t make a decision like this. Either way he would never be able to live with himself. If he chose to go along with he prisoners, he would be partially responsible for a murder, but if he didn’t he would, in essence, be siding with a monster.

The boss glowered at him with his dark, beady eyes, “You aren't going to chicken out on us are you? You know what this guy did. Not going to side with him are you because if you don’t help us ...”

He let the threat hang on the dark air of the cell. Adam felt his heart sinking even further, and now if he didn’t help murder someone he would be taking the side of the monster, and everyone would blame him for it. Who knows what would happen to him after that. He glanced over at Krill who could only look on at him in pity. He probably had no idea the internal struggle he was having right now, but it hardly mattered. Krill knew that this wasn’t going to be good.

“Who is this guy….” Adam wondered, “Someone we know?”

The man scrolled down on the report, “The guy’s name is Ted, seems to have managed to fly under the radar since getting here.”

Adam felt his heart go cold.

No no no no please no.

The screen turned to face him, and his stomach dropped into the very void itself. He knew that face, he knew that face as a friend, someone he liked, someone he had confided in, someone he had respected, someone he assumed had been innocent. He had played cards with him bemoaned their current living situation. The man had told him his crime was ‘no big deal. He felt nauseous and angry all over again. How could he help kill someone he had liked. How could he even feel remorse for a lying sack of shit that DESERVED to die. Why did he feel bad for WANTING to choke the life out of that man.

The competing emotions made him sick for real. His stomach churned.

The boss patted him on the back, “I know as a matter of course that the guy comes out once a day to eat. Tomorrow at noon, we strike. Made a truce with the bats and the beetles to get in the way of the guards so we can finish the job.”

“But… you hate the Drev.” he whispered his voice choked.

“I do, but I hate this guy even more.” He stood stretching, “I will leave you to a good night’s rest, Steel. Make sure you have your strength for tomorrow.” He got up and left as silently as he had come. Krill remained floating at the side of the cell. Commander Vir remained paralyzed where he sat. Conversations flashed through his head, he remember the man’s face, and couldn’t help his imagination as he wondered how those kids felt. Then his imaginings grew violent. He felt tendons squeeze and pop below his hands as he choked the life out of that man.

He lurched violently from his bed bracing himself with one hand against the wall as he hovered over the toilet. Behind him, his cellmate shifted in his sleep. His mouth watered as it tends to right before one loses their lunch. He squeezed his eyes shut. His skin crawled as he remembered every time that man had touched him, thought about where those hands had been and what they had done.

Saliva dripped in silver strings from his mouth. His stomach clenched. He dry heaved once, but nothing came up, and it didn’t even give him the courtesy of happening fading enough so he stood back up wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Krill stood worriedly next to him as he sunk down to the floor next to the shiny silver bowl face in his hands

“What are you going to do?” krill whispered.

“I… I don’t know.” he gripped his hair in both fists still nauseous feeling sick and disgusting wishing that he could scrub off the first layer of his skin. Wishing that he had never ended up in this hell hole, “You only have one option….. You have to do it…” Krill’s voice was regretful but clearly resigned.

He dragged his fingers down his face, “I ...I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.” His stomach churned.

Krill stared at him in confusion sensing a but.

“But…. I want to…. Krill he he LIED to me, and he…. The things he’s done.” he shook his head as a flash of inhuman or perhaps superhuman anger rushed through him, “he deserves to DIE!” Krill took a step back from him in surprise. The anger faded again to a dep profound sickness, “Krill I… I don’t know what to do. Killing people it isn’t right, hurting people isn’t right, no matter how much I want to do it…… and i want to do it Krill. I've never wanted anything so bad before. I it scares me.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

Krill rested one of his appendages on the man’s shoulder face buried back in his hands, “I don’t entirely understand.”

He looked up agonized green eye caught in the dim light of the cell, “I…. he deserves to die Krill…. After reading that. I want nothing more than to kill him. That’s the most monstrous inhuman horrible thing that a person can do, and every…. Every fiber of my being want to hurt him, wants to make him suffer.” His voice hissed through his teeth with the strength of his anger before churning downwards, “But ... but I’m supposed to be better than that, Krill. Commander of the UNSC I am an upholder of the law, I i cant stoop to beating people to death. I can't do this. If I did this I would just prove I’m not worthy to hold the position, and I would disappoint everyone who has ever known me I’d disappoint myself. Id become one of them.” He glanced towards the door, “Thi issue is supposed to be something for the law.” He tugged at his hair in frustration, “But the law here is so twisted….. Krill I…. I don’t know what to do.”

Krlil Could only stand and watch helpless as the human struggled internally. Krill himself understood what was logical. The idea of a moral right and wrong was not something he could entirely comprehend. Things either made sense, or they didn’t and right now following rule of the gang was the only thing that made sense. The guy deserved it, the commander wanted too, and he would be punished if he didn’t, so there seemed to be only one logical course of action.

But then again, the man had always had a strong ‘moral compass’ and it could potentially cause some severe psychological damage if he did…. Something that other species would never have to deal with. Either way he would lose.

Krill tried to comfort his friend, but paranoia made him return to his cell for fear of retribution leaving Commander Vir alone in the dark curled in a ball head in hands wishing more than anything that he could be anywhere else than struggling with his own indecision. The gut most human part of him leading to violence while the higher part of him told him it was wrong.

He didn’t sleep that night.

The star rose on an unsuspecting landscape. The prison doors opened with a buzz and prisoners staggered rubbing their eyes groggily as they moved out into the hall. Commander Vir stepped from his room like a zombie eyes red face pale, only to be greeted by the other members of the crew who shared wolfish, knowing looks.

He didn’t have the stomach for breakfast, and sat, staring down the hall with a hammering heart. The hours ticked on bringing him closer and closer to a decision.

His heart ached.

Sitting out in the yard, head bowed face down, he still hadn’t come to a decision. He could hear the other humans muttering around him with anticipation for what was to come. He wished the guards would take notice of the strange behavior and act on it. They had to know something was up, with the prisoners sitting around doing nothing, looking hungrily towards the mess hall doors like a pack of ravening animals.

He didn’t want any part of this.

He had never thought in a million years that he would have to make this sort of decision, and what was worse, he hated how he felt. He wanted nothing more than to watch this guy get what was coming to him.

If he really was a good person, if he really cared, wouldn’t he tell someone?

There was a sharp whistle, and all the men on the yard stood eagerly from their seats and headed towards the doors. His heart sank into his chest, and he stood but had trouble making himself move. A hand clamped about hi shoulder from behind, and he was shoved towards the open doors, “Don’t chicken out on us now Steel.” Smiley whispered from behind.

He was pushed through the door sitting down at a table slightly away from the others. He had ordered Krill off to his cell for the duration of what was about to happen. He didn’t want the little alien to have to see what was about to happen. If he could have, he would have made it so that HE didn’t have to see what was going on.

He didn’t see how the guards couldn’t sense what was about to happen. The tension in the air was palpable and could have been hacked through with a dull knife. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, hoping that the man would not come through those doors. Perhaps he would stay in his cell today, and no one would be the wiser. Perhaps someone would come and find him before this was all said and done, and he wouldn’t have to hear about it.

He tried to fight back those thoughts, the thoughts of a coward. Just because he wasn’t here didn’t mean that he should ignore it. He couldn't’ just wash his hands of the situation

He SHOULD get up and tell the guards what was going to happen and consequences be damned.

But another part of him, a secret dark part of him….. Refused to bring himself to do it. That man knew what he did. He had made the decisions that brought him here, he had done something unforgivable and disgusting, and now he deserved to get what was coming to him, it was only fair after all the things he had done. It wasn’t Adam’s responsibility to go out of his way to help a man who deserved nothing better than death. In fact, death was to easy of a punishment in his opinion.

There were just some things that were unforgivable.

He felt, rather than saw when the man entered. He sensed it on the tensing of the air. Even the Drev had chosen to make themselves scarce retreating to their cells or the catwalks high above to watch what was about to happen. It seemed as if only the guards didn’t know. Or perhaps they did, and they didn’t care.

He sat hunched over his trey praying, and felt his heart tighten when a shadow darkened the seat across from him.

He couldn’t bare to look up.

“Good morning, Commander. I missed your company this morning.” The sound of the man’s voice made his skin crawl. His heart began to race and he felt a sudden overwhelming burst of white hot hatred. The feeling scared him, and he tried his best to choke it down, but it wouldn’t go. Sensing the man there, hearing his sniveling voice and thinking about the times they had made contact with each other. Handing over a card or even shaking hands.

It made him sick, and angry.

He made no noise.

“Is everything alright.” The man wondered.

Another shadow crossed over his back. He could feel them gathering behind him. The man before him went silent head tilted back to look upwards at the looming figures beginning to gather around the table.

A hand landed on the Commander’s shoulder, “Steel…. This…. A friend of yours.” the voice was cold and hard.

There was a long silence.

“I don’t want any trouble.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezed, “Steel.”

Commander Vir lifted his eyes from the table, making contact with the pleading expression of the man across the table. His watery grey eyes, his unassuming appearance, his receding mousy hairline. He looked like your average middle-aged man…. No, he was a monster wearing the skin of an average middle aged man.

Commander Vir felt as if he was watching himself in third person over his own shoulder. The boyish, wide eyed, honorable side of him was violently beaten down and dragged into a closet as something worse appeared materialized from the darkness in his head. The natural man took the controls cold and hard empty emotionless a creature of self satisfaction, the Id, the part of him that wanted nothing more than immediate reward, sadistic, hateful, envious, and carnal.

It had no mercy.

And it was as if from the opposite side of the glass he heard himself say.

“No….. he’s no friend of mine.”

And like his words had been the damn that held back hell, the hounds were released, and a moment later the room was filled with the uproar of screaming voices and cries of horrific animalistic agony.

Adam was pushed to the side, and the table at which he sat was overturned as a riot of men threw themselves past him. He hit the floor and rolled to the side coming to land in a crouch just to the right of the overturned table. The room echoed and clattered.

Screams of absolute agony cut through the air. Sirens blared red and bloody painting the walls in a hellish light.

Something cracked.

Screaming.

He crouches watching a writing mass of bodies, a horrific amalgamation of man’s worst instincts piled together in a many legged many armed creatures. Hands raised and plunged downwards violently, repeatedly. Blood painted the floor like a Jackson Pollock painting done in red. The screaming grew until it was no longer human, a guttural animalistic wale that rent the very air around them.

They were tearing him apart.

Adam felt the corner of his mouth twist in grim satisfaction, and then immediately snapped back to reality choked with disgust and horror. Rooted to the spot doing NOTHING watching a man being murdered before his eyes, and yet...

In the midst of it all, he couldn’t bring himself to intervene.

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder shoving him forward, “GET IN THERE.” The boss growled hand coming away covered in blood. A small part of himself, that animal from earlier snarled at the door to his cage.

A part of him wanted more than anything to join in.

Watched in satisfaction as he got what was coming to him. He relished the poetic justice of it all, while at the same time feeling disgust at himself. The world around him seemed to flow in slow motion. Small droplets of blood leaped into the air where they caught the light before falling back to earth. Something else cracked.

He felt his heart jumped with a sick excitement.

“No.” he whispered

The world lost all sound. The screaming faded and died. The boss cut around to look down at him, “What.”

“I said, no.” he whispered again.

A body skidded past them on the floor ragged, torn.

Eyes narrowed, anger flared in the depth of two black pupils. He rose in Adam’s vision, “You would side with the FREAK!” “I side with NO ONE .” Adam spat.

The man stared at him, a once, predatory friendliness turned to ice, “You will wish you had never been born.” but he had more immediate matters to attend to, turning and joining the climax of the fight. Adam remained rooted to the spot sick horrified as bone snapped, and the body went silent and limp.

They didn’t stop there….. They kept going on and on and on as Commander Vir stood on and watched. The tables had all been overturned, blood painted the floor in wide arcs. And there he stood doing nothing, neither joining or helping. Holding back like a coward, like some kind of sadistic animal looking on like an unfeeling king watches an execution, watches men women and children hang from a rope. The men pulled away from the bloody husk twisted and broken on the ground, and at that moment Adam Vir was hit with a sense of horror and self loathing he couldn’t have comprehended even ten minutes before. The bloodied corpse grew up in his vision until it filled his head, dead staring eyes boring into his soul, a snapshot that would remain with him forever.

A man he had condemned to death with his actions and his words.

He was a sick twisted bastard.

And he had allowed a man to die…. Had encouraged it with his innaction, had wanted it. And deep down, he had relished it in a deep sick part of his mind he felt no remorse.

He was glad the sick fuck was gone.

Perhaps that’s why he stayed, he could have run knowing what was coming, but he didn’t deserve to run. He didn’t deserve to fight back. He didn’t even close his eyes as the circle closed in around him, men covered in blood like a pack of hyenas feeding on carrion returning to finish off a wounded prey animal.

The boss stopped a few feet in front of him, body painted with the world’s most horrific body paint, “Now that we’ve gotten rid of one sick fuck, we now have to get rid of the sympathizers.”

He saw the first coming, could have dodged…. But he didn’t.

HE was hauled to his feet by smiley jerked off his feet by the front of his jumpsuit. Hoisted into the air so that his toes were dangling inches from the ground. Lights grew up in his eyes as he stared upwards watching the balconies and the surrounding Drev staring down at him like the council at his trial their expressions uncaring…. Even pleased.

“You had your orders.” The man spat. “And you stood there like a coward.”

Adam locked eyes with the man, “You;re right.” He said simply

The first punch was a kidney shot and had him on the ground writhing in agony within the first few seconds. It was hard to remember what happened next. The boot to the face, kicked in the side, the chest ribs. He was punched in the head, it was all a blur of faces all anger and malice. People who had once considered him a friend now drove their bodies against him in a frenzy that painted his blood across the floor with that of a deadman.

The latch to his prosthetic snapped. Metal was ripped away from his body.

He screamed once, was kicked in the stomach and choked on his own missing air. But he didn’t fight them, he didn’t deserve to fight them.

He curled up into a ball forearms covering his face and despite the pain and the agony, he refused to pass out. He didn't deserve that. Inside his head visions of that bloody…. Thing repeated over and over and over again

Voices swelled up around him, yelling and barking. Men cried out in pain, and with one last kick to his thigh, he was left lying in a pool of his own blood face resting against the cold concrete/ Voices rose above him, grabbing him about the arms and dragging him away. He heard the voices of the guards, watched the lights overhead pass over him in sharp streaks. Something warm trickled down the side of his face. Spilled onto the floor to be smeared into the concrete.

A door opened, and he was thrown inside.

A concrete room with no windows, a steel door, no bed and a hole in the far corner.

In tremendous pain, the man pulled himself sitting back on his knees and stared down at his hands covered in congealing blood once steady. As he watched they began to shake uncontrollably. He hunched forward hands to his chest face contorted into an expression of pain, and agony, not from the wounds, ot from the pain, but from the realization of what he had done.

A sob escaped him, and he didn’t try to fight it. His body ached with horrific pain with every racking sob. Tears tracked pathways through the blood on his face and fell to the ground a delicate pink.

What had he done?

He had sat there, and he had watched a man brutally murdered. And he had done nothing about it….. A part of him had even enjoyed it.

He watched in turmoil as the picture he had crafted of himself shattered into a million pieces and cascaded around him to the floor. The upstanding, moral man who always did what he knew was right, who was taught by loving parents to take the high road, who modeled himself after superheroes, action heroes, and his own idols. Someone who protected the innocent, upheld the weak and righted the unjust…. Was nothing more than a paper man.

A sham.

A fake.

A lie.

He sobbed into his hands which morphed into screams with the sobs were no longer enough to express his self loathing. What kind of man was he, couldn't even stand by his actions once they were made weeping like a pathetic child.

He lay, cold on the floor for hours and hours staring at the far wall listening to the distant echoes of the prison. As he calmed he took stock of himself swept up the pieces so that he was all together despite being broken.

Though he wished it had never happened, he could change nothing now. He had done what he had done. The ends didn’t justify the means, and just because he hadn’t done anything didn’t mean blood wasn’t on his hands. How could he know what was right do you save a monster because it's morally right, or stand by and watch a monster die because that’s what it really deserves. What gave him the right to make that decision.

He lay there for what must have been hours but could have been days his skin growing sticky and then crusted with drying blood. The door to his cell opened, “Get up.” When he couldn’t do it on his own, he was hauled to his feet by one of the guards. Together they walked, and hopped, back down the halls and onto the yard. The entire room was quiet as they stared at him.

He couldn't have cared less that they could see him in such a sorry state, what did it matter now. The paper man had crumbled, they might as well see it. He was left sagging on one leg in the center of the room, and he didn’t bother to move. The men got to their feet glowering down at him with a mixture of expressions. Time moved around him as if at double speed

A figure scuttled towards him from the darkness, and to his surprise, krill took his hand.

He had never done anything like that before.

He looked down.

And the alien looked up at him, though he said nothing.

The room grew tighter, men approached from all sides, “Krill, you should go.” His slurred through swollen, painful lips.

“No Commander.” krill responded

The guard withdrew, and the room shifted forward. This time he did close his eyes. It was one thing to see another man die, but to watch Krill caught up in this was to much. He tried to urge the little alien away once more, but he refused, wrapping his spidery arms around his human friend all too sure that he was going to die here.

But if that was the case, he would not let his human die alone and suffering.

Adam leaned his head against Krill eyes tight shut.

“It’s going to be ok.” The alien muttered

Adam felt a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.How very human….

Empty platitudes.

The little alien had learned a lot.

A shadow cut past them. He lowered his head.

And the room was split in half by a Drev battle cry so powerful that it rattled the walls and the floors. The man above them staggered back hands over his ears. The catwalks clattered, and the ground shook. Adam opened his eyes lifting them towards the sky, not expecting to find an angel, but getting one in bright blue.

Sunny stood on the catwalk above face contorted with a livid anger that cowed guards, drev and humans alike, “WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE.” She snarled at the human standing next to her, turning and shoving Drev two to three feet taller than her out of the way with the ease a bowling ball goes through pins.

The human scampered after her, “We… we had no idea.”

Sunny rounded on here, “DID YOU EVEN BOTHER TO FIND OUT.” Behind her, a member of the UN and the chairwoman of the GA stepped through the doors faces shocked and appalled as they looked about the room and the conditions in which the prisoners were being kept.

Sunny came to to toe with the leader of the Drev yard. At first the large female didn’t move, but a single look from sunny cowed her into groveling submission as sunny shoved past and marched down the stairs. She nearly body checked one of the prisoners over the railing and onto the floor fifteen feet beneath when he did not move fast enough.

Leaving the Chairwoman and the representative above, Sunny raced across the floor and skidding to kneel at Adam’s side. He lifted his head to look at her dried blood cracking against the movement.

A look of pain crossed her face, and a single hand gently cupped the side of his face tilting it this way and that, “Oh Adam, what have they done.” She whispered

The light above him grew very very bright filling his vision with light, “I’m a paper man,” He whispered, but that was all he could say body slumping into her arms. A murmur grew up around the room.

Sunny hugged the human against her chest.

“Commander!.” Two voices from above, and two marines came leaping down the stairs heedless of their uniforms.. Ramirez and the short, blond hair female marine ‘Maverick’.

“The hell did they do to you.” The Maverick snarled glowering at the other prisoners standing quietly back in a wide circle.

Their discussion was interrupted as the warden stepped onto the catwalk, ‘I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHO YOU ARE; YOU HAVE NO JURISDICTION HERE!” “THE HELL WE DON’T.” The UN rep snapped, “By GA law, any HUMAN allowed off earth or mars remains under the jurisdiction of the UNSC in accordance with the first intercelestial peace accord put forth by the GA in 4018. Furthermore all Tesraki Drev and Rundi subjects are bound by GA bylaw, so YES we have jurisdiction, and we have allowed this to continue long enough. FURTHERMORE.” he said speaking up over the protests of the warden, “You have violated at LEAST 50 intergalactic bylaws, and amendments. What is this 2001, we know what humanity is by now AT LEAST. Not to mention that we show up here and find one of our Commanding officers kneeling in a pool of his own blood, only to learn that you didn’t even bother to verify his identity.”

“He had no prints in the system.” The man snarled

“ONE PHONE CALL. JUST ONE PHONE CALL. And that is not even TOUCHING on his right to counsel, or a fair trial. We don’t just THROW people in prison based on circumstantial evidence. He was sent here to get down to the problem of intergalactic hormone trade only to be beaten half to death by men no better than animals in a prison, the likes of which we haven't seen since the late 2000s. You sir are a DISGRACE to the ENTIRE HUMAN RACE.” Commander Vir was only half listening idly staring at the lights as someone wiped blood from his face.

“Get him up.”

Someone ducked under one of his arms and he was hauled to his feet. He tried his best to keep one leg under him, but was finding he wasn’t a great amount of help. Maverick supported his one side, while sunny took the other. Ramirez, based on a look, made it very clear what would happen if any of them tried anything grabbing krill by the hand and pulling him along.

It all felt like a dream as the steel catwalk passed below him, and the doors slid open. The prison faded behind him into a maze of hallways.

He was out, he was free.

…. He was finally……

Free.

401 notes · View notes

mantrabay · 3 years

Text

A Little Known Shortcut.

Wandering the roads. It has me under a spell.

Even when prickly brambles

scrape my eyelids or those bony ankles are being twisted by tooth like stones. The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.

They lie in wait, in ambush.

It goes with the territory for this seasoned footman.

Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.

Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of malleable motives.

Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvest.

A restless developer pushing the limits of an urban jungle.

Fellow traveller in league with fugitives from the cockpit.

The pressure cooker of modern life.

The town dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural idyll.

Culprits one and all.

A lair from the hubbub.

Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in a matrix separated only by a minuscule space.

The more alluring aspects of tradition have been preserved.

Among these are shortcuts or bypasses.

Those sequestered passages that shave miles off for the perennial rambler or clueless hitchhiker.

The eye becomes a lense to all these

things hidden or supposedly hidden.

Human vision as sensor to magic trails.

Those tucked away secret spots beloved of local wiseacres.

They festoon the sprawling countryside at random.

My name is Eric Spring.

Anthea, my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired early at an early age.

Her withdrawal from work was never meant to be permanent.

A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.

There were several obstacles in her path but they weren’t insurmountable.

Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days haunted me.

Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with passion.

Poignant evocative heart-tugging images.

Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.

This eternally stoic woman is mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.

But she is not prone to self-hate or abuse. The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.

Anthea was groping for exits but hadn’t found the signs.

She remains housebound as I embark on those age defying treks into town.

We keep in touch by mobile phone.

A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.

Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.

The accent filters every noun and stresses every nuance.

Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.

Anthea's job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.

A budding artist’s most dreaded syndromes struck.

Writer's block. Artistic vacuum.

The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.

She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge. I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my device.

Her hypnotic voice bridges gaps.

You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.

I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.

I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and layered rock formation.

My links to the environment are almost erotic as I crave it's sensual touch.

At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.

Just myself and all those habitats.

“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.

How is anthea these days?

I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.

I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”

Fidelma speaking with that chirping red robin voice of hers.

She had this penchant for suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.

And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to scrambling to process her asides and insights before they disappeared.

Neighbour, friend, root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.

“She seems to be coping.” I said.

“Glad to hear that. Maybe I can pay a flying visit some time soon.

But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself?”

Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.

“I love walking but any tips?”

Spring enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.

“There’s a shortcut…..a little known shortcut.

People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.

Maybe I will one day.

See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.

Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.” She concluded.

Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.

I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed.

“Yes. I have one of those gadgets too.

Keeps me connected.

Took me awhile to master it.

Wish there was a shortcut for that.

But I'll best be on my way.

Take good care whatever the route.”

As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.

Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”

She could lose her balance betimes when enthusing about a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.

The feet were a little wobbly.

All this against her philosophy about how interconnected everything is.

The mind is an antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.

Even when Fidelma said very little she always had this magnetic effect on others.

Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.

Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.

It was in the tone, gestures and body language.

Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.

A cascade of images and sound bytes ensued when she left.

Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.

I heard this inner voice telling me to explore this “shortcut.”

Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane.

It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.

Off I went down this quaint country shortcut.

Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until Anthea rang.

“Gnawing feeling of sadness.

My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.”

Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.

I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly.

That's when problems arose.

Just a plain country passage with a primarily flat surface at this point.

There were houses on each side and some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate boots.

Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.

The puff and splutter of tractors in nearby fields as furrows, the epicenter of future yields were turned.

Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand hedge to ward off some menace or other.

Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.

If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.

Those barely audible inner prompts again.

“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.”

Eric paused.

It then occurred to me that I was engulfed by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow like haze.

As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by external threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.

“I feel, Eric there is a radiance trying to break through.

Just to see you … your presence is a light which I could focus on.”

Then I realised that speed was of the essence.

That's when I could have panicked.

Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more lyrical as I realised this obscure

overlooked route could have done with some restoration!

Tufts of grass oozing slime.

Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.

The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.

I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.

Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip.

But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone.

“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”

Eric said gingerly.

“Who was that ? Anthea asked.

“Fidelma. We met on the main road just a short while ago.” I responded.

“You know her a bit better than I do.”

Anthea observed. “She's going to call over one of these days I'm sure.”

By now Anthea, initially nervous was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!

She didn’t have had much to excite her over the last five years.

But I had to be careful lest those dark brooding phases returned.

But here I was almost knee deep in tangled foliage while keeping the love of my life up to speed!

The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.

Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.

I nearly sprained my leg as I fell face down on a grassy patch.

Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying but I managed to catch it.

“Eric, are you ok?

I don’t mean to be a burden.

Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”

Anthea again.

“I'm fine, Anthea.”

Eric said before slowly rising.

I kept detailing my observations and Anthea was reacting positively.

But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.

The temperatures continued to rise causing perspiration.

Peering thru the maze of entwined growths I saw … Fidelma.

“Where did you spring from?” Eric punning his own name.

“Fidelma ...you fell too.” A question that might have appeared tactless.

She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.

“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.

The shortcut.” I said.

“You are shivering.” She observed.

“I am. Spring responded.

“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” Spring continued.

We both headed for my house as quickly as possible.

But it wasn’t far.

I texted Anthea and she answered by saying she had every reason to speak to me.

One wondered what that might be.

My face whitened.

Fidelma and I soon reached the house where I lived.

Eric pressed the doorbell as his heart pounded.

The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.

“Anthea, is that you?

I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”

I said.

Fidelma and I were perplexed to say the least.

“It’s early days yet but those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe dwindling.

Those creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.

But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.

I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creaking of every twig.

You set a whole cycle in train.”

Anthea then showed me two items she was working on.

“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and a short story.

There's been a sea change.” She said.

“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and that short story?

Any ideas?” Anthea enquired.

Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.

“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.

Your story included.”

A little known shortcut indeed!

Photograph and short story copyright protected

2 notes · View notes

pynkhues · 5 years

Note

I was wondering, in the c&c universe, who in Beth's kid would be the more likely to do something that could really piss off Rio? Like he seem to always remain calm and in control with the kids, I sometimes wonder how he would react if one of them did something really really bad...

Ah, this is such a fun ask! It’s such a funny thing too, because I sort of had loose thoughts in my head about the kids when I started writing C&C, but they’ve really firmed up across the course of writing it (which I hope has come across for people reading!) It’s been so fun to imagine the kids as more than just plot devices and scenery like they often are on the show (not all the time! But…. sometimes), and even more fun imagining the relationships both Beth and Rio have with them.

So, okay, for everyone reading, this is all purely Center and Circumference stuff, not canon, so just keep that in mind.

(This list is ordered least prone to being infuriating down to most, haha, not age, which I think in both canon / C&C is Kenny – Danny – Emma – Marcus – Jane).

Rio definitely finds Emma and Kenny the easiest.

Emma

Emma is someone I typically write based mostly off her s2 characterisation (and a bit off her s1 characterisation!) as being incredibly sweet and gentle. She’s a bit of a tattle tale, a bit bossy, super well-behaved, but also very bright, kind and creative. She’s hands down the easiest of all the kids for both Beth and Rio, but is also prone to being oversensitive about things and totally useless when it comes to defending herself or standing her ground. She’s not weak-willed exactly, just she doesn’t really stand up to scrutiny and she hates conflict.

With all of that, Rio’s relationship with her is very paternal and pretty protective. He genuinely likes being around her because she’s quiet and studious and thoughtful, but he also gets immensely frustrated by her – particularly as she gets older – because she’s a little too soft, and she wounds easily, and is a little prone to being taken advantage of by kids at school (which scares the shit out of both Beth and Rio, even if they won’t always admit it). Particularly in highschool, Emma’s the sort who’s desperate to fit in, and will do things out of character to get there, which totally breaks Beth’s heart and infuriates Rio to no end.

Kenny

I actually see Kenny as being someone who’s fairly sensitive as well. I think the show portrays that in the sense of him generally being pretty gentle and overly trusting, and having his anxieties manifest through his binge eating (which was a massively underdeveloped storyline, but I liked it and am running with it, haha). In C&C – which I’ve written in a few times already – I see him generally as having ‘manned up’ when Dean moved out, and made a big effort to help Beth more and to be a good big brother to his siblings, but also still being somebody who’s fairly soft at the centre of him and prone to anxiety.

During Beth and Dean’s divorce, he also got progressively more protective of Beth, and that’s something he initially struggles with in terms of her and Rio’s relationship, but as Rio and Beth become longer term and more and more stable, and Rio keeps looking out for Beth, Kenny really does come to love Rio, although he always has - - not reservations, but I think he’s the first to realise exactly what sort of work Rio does, and it worries him constantly – something that only gets worse as his relationship to Rio grows and he becomes worried for him too.

Kenny’s…not the brightest crayon in the box, and he can be a bit of a dick, particularly during adolescence (what teenager isn’t?), but he’s not really rebellious. Beth and Rio have the most issues getting him to study and getting him to have any sort of ambition or direction that isn’t fleeting (he’s a (adequate) jack of all trades and a master of none!)

In terms of the kids most capable of pissing Rio off, it’s sort of a three-way tie for different reasons, haha.

Marcus

Marcus is, of course, Rio’s son, and in that he’s charismatic, cute, a little more cunning than he pretends to be, and too smart for his own good. And Rio knows, of course he knows, but he’s a little more blind to it than he realises he is, which just entertains Beth to no end. He was a natural born troublemaker, and Beth sees it instantly, but Rio is forever convinced its Jane’s influence, and sees Marcus as more of a golden child than he is (although to be fair – he’s a pretty golden child).

Beth develops a really strong relationship with Marcus, particularly through cooking as Marcus loves doing that with her (Rio can’t cook, and despite the fact that Marcus’ mom – Laura – manages restaurants, she’s all business, not the craft of cooking really at all), and he actually kind of loves that Beth calls him on his bullshit while also being loving and fair, whereas Rio is someone who’s prone to penduluming between approval and disapproval when it comes to the kids, haha.

Marcus generally though is pretty relaxed, a voracious reader, lowkey competitive (he loves a boardgame and plays a range of sports in highschool), but he’s also someone with a bit of a wild streak – particularly in terms of pranks, partying and toying with the line of the law as he gets older (usually with Jane. Okay, always with Jane).

Jane

And ah, Jane. My favourite Boland Kid after s2, haha. She’s snarky, stubborn, is brought to life by gross things, and is about as reckless and prone to misbehaving as Emma is to, well, good behaviour (although Jane does actually listen to Beth too – just like in 2.07 – she didn’t cross the road!). Jane is a terror through and through, and sure, she has a heart of gold, but as Annie will say “At what cost?”

Jane rebels hard, but despite that, she adores both Beth and Rio, and while she exudes confidence, and is a natural born leader, she’s a lot needier than she pretends she is, and is very much the family baby. She doesn’t make friends easily, but she found another half in Marcus – who becomes basically her twin in many ways, but who she’s also sort of in constant battle around because for all the ways people gravitate to Marcus, they tend to avoid Jane (sexism and misogyny’s a bitch!) and Marcus, despite all his best traits, just doesn’t get it and assumes it’s usually because she’s pissed someone off. In no small part because Jane also is somebody who’s pretty naturally antagonistic, but she’s also fierce and kind and loyal and smarter than she pretends to be. Particularly as she gets older too, she becomes closer and closer with Emma and Beth, but also Annie and Ruby.

Jane’s probably the kid Rio finds most frustrating on a surface level – she’s the one who’s always in trouble after all – but as we all know, Rio kind of loves troublemakers, and there aren’t any smoke and mirrors with Jane. She is what she is, and Rio doesn’t have favourites (outside of his son of course), but if he did – despite himself – Jane would be it. He loves that little jerk, haha.

Danny

So the winner of the ‘kid who pisses Rio off the most’ is Danny, and I feel a bit bad for saying this here, because I haven’t actually really written much of this in yet (although it’s heavily plotted into Part 4 of C&C and very firm in my head). Danny’s definitely the kid on the show that we know the least of, but he’s also pretty consistently quiet in the scenes we’ve seen him in, and so I have rolled with that, haha.

He’s artistic and creative, albeit pretty average at non-artsy classes at school (although not a struggling student at all), but he’s also really quiet and almost private. Not secretive exactly, but he’s a kid who doesn’t like much attention drawn to him, who embarrasses easily, and who just likes to do his own thing – which proves a nightmare for both Beth and Rio for a few reasons – firstly, Rio’s SO into art, and sees so much talent in Danny, that Danny’s really just too embarrassed to show Rio (particularly early on – I think Danny’s the slowest to warm to people too), secondly, he’s prone to wandering off on his own and disappearing (I keep wanting to write this with Beth and Rio both freaking out in their own ways and somebody should prompt me, haha), thirdly, his tendency to fly under the radar means he gets away with things and can misbehave without drawing attention until he’s arrested for graffiti), and fourth, (which is a lowkey spoiler for Part 4!) that that tendency towards not drawing attention to himself means he can be genuinely sick or hurt and prone to hiding it. (I also headcanon him in this series as being very prone to getting sick generally, but that feels like a whole other thing).

And all of that really is something that pisses Rio off – both when Danny’s still a kid and when he’s older, because Danny’s surprisingly good at playing innocent and Rio doesn’t like being made a fool of – whether that be Danny pretending he doesn’t have a fever before school only to have Rio called a few hours later by the school nurse, to when he’s older, and pretending he doesn’t care if Rio comes to a tiny, low-rent artshow everyone knows he’s better than, and then being upset when Rio doesn’t figure it out, which is to say nothing of poor Beth, haha.

Anyway, clearly I need to write more Danny and his nightmare self into C&C.

But yes! The answer to your question is Danny, haha, although they are all terrible, wonderful dumpster kids in their own ways.

#the center and circumference #emma boland #kenny boland #marcus #jane boland #danny boland #my fic

29 notes · View notes

zukofenty · 4 years

Text

just my luck

➜ Summary: The one where Katara whisks away her picture-perfect life the night she kisses a stranger with the worst luck in the world.

“I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!”

“I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Journalist!Katara, Girl group manager!Zuko, Music Producer!Zuko

AO3, @zutaraweek

“I am too pretty to be punched!” Katara yelps, ducking and clenching the holding cell’s bars until her knuckles turn white.

“And I thought I was too pretty to commit tax fraud, but here we are.” Ty Lee rolls her eyes. “That’s just how the pussy crumbles.”

“First, you need a gynecologist. Second, I think the saying goes ‘that’s how the cookie—’” Nothing in life could have prepared Katara for the tiny girl to deliver a resounding punch that has her head rattling against the jail cell.

“I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!”

“I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?”

Katara sighs, still recovering from the intense nosebleed Ty Lee bestowed on her. “Where the fuck would I even find a leprechaun?” She promptly shoves wads of tissues up her nostrils. Of course, the next one she reaches for actually had a spider in it, and she thinks killing herself just might be easier on her soul at this point.

“Just say you like Megan Thee Stallion and all of a sudden all the men under 5’7” start giving you a 5’11” attitude. Easy peasy.”

She’d managed to limp her way back to Suki and Toph’s apartment from prison, after getting a call that her apartment had flooded, destroying everything in it. Only her apartment. She was barely holding on to her broken YSL pump in one hand and her pride in the other. Emphasis on limp , because while calling taxis to instantly stop for her was always her thing , now she was nothing but an ant (in head-to-toe Prada) on their radar. If they do stop, the taxi either gets snatched up by someone else, or the drivers tell her, not so kindly, to eat a dick.

Nevertheless, she’s still determined to have a positive day, walking and humming a Rihanna song to try and calm her nerves. But, because this day was sent by Satan himself (Jeff Bezos), she was drenched, face to booty to toes, in drain water by the seemingly hundreds of Uber Eats whizzing by, trying to get someone’s Buffalo Wild Wings order to them quickly.

“I can’t believe you guys actually think all that stuff’s real!” Suki scoffs, diligently painting her toenails a pretty pastel purple and not giving any mind to the conversation.

“Tell me, how would you explain this bitch’s life?” Toph points an accusatory finger in Katara’s way. “Katara has been living life as the main character. For fuck’s sake, you won prom queen five years in a row at Ba Sing Se High!”

“A lot of people win prom queen—”

“We went to Omashu High!” Toph adds with frustration. “You even won the year after you graduated!”

Toph and Suki could never quite wrap their heads around Katara’s life.

For as long as they knew her, she was always the luckiest girl in the world.

At seemingly every turn, the girl had all the luck in the world on her side. I mean, just the other day she was accidentally delivered Rihanna’s dry cleaning, because of course she lives in the same fucking building as Rihanna, the goddess herself. See, Katara was the type of person with the luck to manage to find an upscale apartment on their shitty salary in the city for nearly half of what Suki and Toph were paying to sleep next to inbred cockroaches.

“Bitch, you do not have the range for that.” Toph snatches the dress away before Suki or Katara could make a face and whimper a soft ‘gimmie gimmie’ that surprisingly always worked.

“I might not, but at least we could clone Rihanna now.”

Toph pauses. “Say what?”

“I’m getting the girls and gays that album, no matter what.”

Katara went to return the dress after getting in a helicopter with her date of the night, People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, Haru (before the mustache). On top of all that madness, she said Rihanna, in the shimmery, Fenty Beauty Body Lava coated flesh, even complimented her makeup. Suki almost shit herself when Katara was added to the Fenty Savage PR list.

Katara would walk outside and the clouds seemed to part as if on her command. She could wear all-white in the city without a bird unloading one on her shoulder, or one of those guys on the street flicking feces in a pudding cup her way. Jammed streets or congested traffic never ceased her from being ten minutes early to every meeting, event, or even accidental movie set she walked on and got cast as an extra instantly. The lead actor, Academy Award winning Bolin, is still sending her detailed DMs about the various ways he would harvest her toenails because it reminded him of her.

And you know those Airpods or laptop scams that go around on social media you have to train your grandparents not to click on? Or those princes that email you promising to marry you after you send them your banking information? Guess which bitch manages to actually win over a prince’s heart and his inheritance?

Katara had the universe wrapped around her finger, and it didn’t seem to mind bending to her will.

Fresh out of college, after much clawing and fighting and miraculously switching coats with an editor at a restaurant, Katara managed to snag a job at Nyla magazine and secured spots for her best friends, too. They’d been reading the entertainment magazine before they could even process solid food. While they were all saddled with a mailroom job, Katara’s quote unquote irresistible charm had landed her as a scribe to record meetings when their original conveniently broke a nail.

Of fucking course, the day their entire team is stuck in a broken elevator is the day the CEO of White Lotus Records was coming into the office to discuss Nyla ’s next cover star.

Their next big thing, teen singer, Song was still hesitant to work with a magazine aimed at young adults with unhealthy coping mechanisms, compared to the J14s and Tiger Beats with the foldable poster at the back you could steal if you were quick enough at Walgreens.

“ Young lady.” Ugh, why do old men always sound so fucking condescending? You know how easy it is to push an old person? “You know how much dough I make so I can regularly spend it on drugs? Every minute of my time is worth $964.” While Piandao gets up for his assistants to put on his fur coat, Katara slams her hand on the table.

“I promise you this cover story will be worth every minute of your time. I’ll even pay you $965 at the end of my presentation if you hate it.”

And who could say no to that sweet (and scary) face?

When editor-in-chief June waddles back, glazed with sweat after someone farted their entire Del Taco Thursday three chicken soft tacos for $2.49 deal in her face , their cover story was booked. The carnival themed, masquerade party to celebrate Song’s new cover was already scheduled in Google Calendar. Soon enough, Katara was handed her own office, Tesla, and platinum corporate card to start planning the entire event.

Everything was going fine . There were acrobats doing flying yoga in the sky, a fortune teller she hired at the last minute that everyone loved. Music was playing, people were dancing without a care in the world, and everyone was having a good fucking time. She even snagged her bitchy boss a date with her hot neighbor, and her Painted Lady costume was designed by Vera Wang herself. By the end of the night, her brain was scrambled from the paperwork and yelling and pen marks all on her hand. Yet, with her luck, she still managed to kiss the cute guy who asked her to dance.

Well, at least she knew he felt and smelled like a cute guy, considering half his face was covered by a mask.

He was a bumbling thing, managing to stomp on her feet a few times even when she reassures him at the end of the day. Despite being all broad shoulders and muscles, he seemed to shrink in on himself at that moment. “I’m really, really bad at dancing.” She gave him a weird look and Zuko had to remember that he had stolen a backup dancer named Lee’s gig for the night to sneak into the event.

Katara rolls her eyes. Dancing, much like nearly everything else, always came easy to her. “So what if you gave a girl a black eye and another guy a concussion?” Her laugh is so pretty and her waist between his warm fingers just felt right.

He lets himself laugh, too. Wrapped up in the girl’s spell. Forgetting any thought of trying to win over the White Lotus CEO.

She leaned in first, and he was more than happy to reciprocate. Zuko didn’t have time for impulsive decisions, not when the universe was actively always trying to kill him. For some reason, he couldn’t help but be drawn in. Her soft lips against his felt like a plush dream, and all he didn’t want to wake up to reality. Not when in that moment, there were sparks and blood rushing to his head and soft skin peeking out of her expensive dress he wanted to discover more of.

One minute, Katara was throwing back a margarita in case she had dumb bitch breath that caused her mystery man ran off. The next, she was choking to death, only spitting out the olive on Suki’s face after Toph delivers a quick punch to her sternum, right between the titties.

“Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a stupid whore by her throat!”

“Stop choking me, June!”

“No!” June screeches. How was Katara supposed to know she accidentally set her boss up with the ‘ King Kuei ’? The FBI’s most wanted illegal animal trader by day, male prostitute by night? And who knew that would land her a night in jail?

“The universe is a stupid fucking whore!” Katara sniffs, still trying to detangle the chunk of hair embedded deep into Suki’s blow dryer. Katara managed to not only break a mirror with the blow dryer in her mere ten minutes in Suki and Toph’s place, but also rip out a section of her hair after throwing said blow dryer in their bathtub which promptly caught on fire. The icing on the dog shit cake of the day was when she managed to cause the building’s power to short circuit, shutting off everyone’s lights.

The universe, for the first time in his life, was finally on Zuko’s side.

For as long as Zuko could remember, rain clouds suddenly appeared when he walked outside, even despite what Alexa told him earlier that morning.

“Alexa, what’s the weather like today?”

“Completely sunny with a chance of naive bitch,” the smart speaker might as well have said.

Zuko was sure of four things in life.

Adderall and 7 up were never a good combination

Alexa was always watching for an opportunity to strike fear in his heart

He could never catch a fucking break

Having a waterpark poncho always on hand never hurt

He heard from his Uncle Iroh his family was perpetually cursed. Something about a fame-hungry witch with the last name Kardashian in the past life, and one of his relatives eating said witch’s ass that inflicted the present day curse on his family.

Everyone he knew was impossibly clumsy. Random flooding accidents, cars always running into you, bugs trying to get their fuck on in your ear. It was like the universe said yeet! On their good fortune.

What does he wish for every year on his birthday? For it to be easy just to be him . To be easily liked, like Adele, or Dippin Dots. He wished life could be easy enough for him to take a shit without the toilet bowl accidentally caving in, or a lightbulb somehow always falling on his good eye.

Zuko had always been relatively clumsy, worse than what Iroh’s seen before. After so many years of being shit-out-of-luck, and having literal shit on you at all times, he was used to being alone.

It stopped stinging a few years ago. Besides, he had his half-sister Kiyi to keep him company these days.

Nobody wanted to be around the guy who constantly smells like dog shit because he always manages to find a shit covered dollar bill flowing down the street. No one wanted to be associated with the guy who, without fail, splits his pants open every time he bends down. Saddling him with yet another public indecency charge.

Like clockwork, at least two times a week, he was getting his face shoved into the concrete and handcuffs slapped on him. He started investing in a mouth guard about five years ago.

It was like a safety hazard, just being him. There were so many times you could get struck by lightning before you were banned by the nation from buying umbrellas.

Predictably, he has been rejected from every job he applied to. His laptop has been hacked by so many Hentai porn bots he doesn’t even bother upgrading his Dell from 2013. He even started a conversation with the guy monitoring his keystrokes. Landlords chucked his application out the window before he could even give them his soul and a deposit, and while the doctors didn’t think he’d do it, he found out that yes you can survive being hit after someone throws a piano out their window while you leave the leasing office.

Sure, he came to the city with dreams of making it big, loving music since his mom taught him the difference between a treble and bass clef. But when he’s always accidentally setting his tsungi horn on fire? Breaking his nose open trying to put resin on his violin’s bow? Somehow getting a reed stuck in his throat and his sphincter (on the same day)? No chance in hell was anyone willing to risk their lives to let him play anything on stage.

So he stuck to writing and producing, watching YouTube tutorial after tutorial to learn mixing, because he thinks it’s safer for everyone involved.

“Zuko, someone tried shoving Nutella up their ass and shat it back over the bathroom.” He looks up from his laptop to see a plunger too close for comfort near his face.

“Why?”

“Some weird sex thing! I don’t fucking know.” Jet points to the elderly couple nearby. “You ask them why!”

Zuko takes a deep breath in. “No, I’m asking ‘why?’ because my shift doesn’t start for another two hours.”

He was a janitor at the bowling alley across the street (it was the only place that would hire him, but he thinks they felt bad for him after he ugly cried and ate out their supply of shitty, frozen curly fries).

“You know I love you, Zuko! But these!” Jet cups Zuko’s chest with two, oddly gentle, hands. “Make our alley’s world go round.” He even gives them a squeeze for emphasis.

“Let go of my man titties,” Zuko glares at Jet. “ Now .”

“You’re the breast.”

Zuko’s eye twitches.

It wasn’t all bad. After all, the alley does let him make music in his free time, and the girl group he was “managing” can perform their sets on Fridays.

“We’re firing you!” Mai pokes at his chest and has him readjusting his glasses from the force.

It was a Monday and his week was starting off better than most. He was scraping green colored poop from the walls and was already being threatened at 9 a.m. without any weapons in sight.

“You don’t pay me!” He points out, which only seems to get everyone in the room angrier. His sister and her friends formed Shooters 4 Rihanna when they were pre-teens. They wanted to be a group trying to make it big in the pop scene, and quickly signed to a record label together. The girls were promised all their years of childhood training would pay off when they would debut as young adults. That was, until their CEO was broadcast on TLC’s My Strange Addiction for his habit of collecting Mark Ruffalo’s nose hairs, and confessed to killing someone for it.

Investors weren’t too happy.

While all the girls could see was repressed childhood trauma, Zuko saw that and potential star power.

Every single member already had years of dancing and singing lessons under their belt. They could play their own instruments, write their own songs, and had the stage presence. A few Twitter DMs later (from his multiple accounts, because they thought his profile picture made him look like a fucking creep and blocked him years ago) they were dumb enough to trust him with their future. He’d been trying to get them signed for months to no avail. Somehow fucking up, or electrocuting himself in the process of showing an executive their new single.

“This was a mistake!” Jin shoveled the curly fries in her face.

While Yue was always one to stay positive, her sad ‘ I miss pickled fish ,’ had the rest of the girls wanting to leave, too. Going back home, just give up seemed sensible. Why waste your prime years on a pipe dream?

He stopped them, plunger in hand. Against all logic, and partially because they could smell the desperation, the girls gave him one week .

One masquerade party later, he managed to throw Piandao out of harm’s way, taking the brunt of the taxi running into him.

“ Are you fucking stupid !” The CEO screams. The boy had blood flowing from his scalp, but looked as alive as ever handing over Shooters 4 Rihanna’s demo CD.

“A little.” Zuko admits. He could feel his bones still intact, and judging by the blood it wasn’t anything serious. Piandao gives him a call the next day after listening to the tape.

By some miracle, or Kardashian curse lifting, the girl group and him were shuffled into the city’s upscale penthouses, and their debut single was slated to be released on the radio the next day.

While he headed for lunch at a nearby cafe (one he couldn’t afford to eat at just last week) he can’t help but notice her .

“Ma’am, I have already told you our restaurant’s motto! No eat, no shit!” The waiter glares down at her. “Either pay up or get out, broke bitch.”

Katara was caked head to toe in mud, tissues shoved yet again up her nose. Haru had invited her out to his dad’s art show the night before. After insulting the literal piece of shit art, she tripped over the clump of clay on display and landed face-first in his million dollar creation.

Of course, it would land her in prison, and of course Ty Lee would be there, too. “Move bitch, I’m gay! ” When Katara was too exhausted to budge, the girl, yet again, socked the shit out of her.

Katara just wanted a plate of steaming breakfast foods, but of course all her cards declined. And of course, she has a meltdown because she was fucking tired, hungry, and was about to throw hands.

She grabbed the salt shaker. “Look, I’m just going to try one thing before I go!”

“It’s the bath salts,” she hears one woman whisper. “Those fashion bitches are always on bath salts.”

“Just smile politely. We’re witnessing mental illness.”

She didn’t expect that throwing salt over her shoulder would land in the waiter’s eye, or cause him to collapse on the table of Mormons nearby. Or something to catch on fire, or someone to get stabbed with a fork with a pancake on it.

She certainly didn’t expect a (cute) stranger to be so gentle with her, helping her escape the madness and handing over his turkey on rye. Or him following her as she tried to save face and sit on a random bench away from any nearby birds’ tiny assholes.

“You look sad.” He’s not mocking in the slightest.

“What does that even mean?” She went from sad to affronted in just a second.

“What’s wrong?” Fuck this guy and those eyes that were so damn enchanting .

“I don’t look sad.” She says with the roll of her eyes. “I am fucking sad.” She was blackballed from every newspaper in the Four Nations, the prince she was talking to did indeed end up stealing her savings, and on top of all of that, her undereye concealer was creasing.

“You!” Katara points her finger in the fortuneteller’s face.

“Me?” Aunt Wu looks beyond irritated. “Look, I can’t predict when you’ll get a fat ass, just buy a resistance band and leave me—”

“You’re the one who told me whatever Wheel of Fortune would spin back on me! And Alex Tribek would take away my good luck or something!” Katara was crazed and running on two hours of sleep, but she had a bone to pick. “My perfect life is gone.”

“Wow, that was a lot to unpack.” Aunt Wu locks her shop’s door. “Look, can you think of anything strange that happened that night?”

“Besides someone telling me to make them toilet wine in prison, no I don’t think so!” Katara grunts out petulantly.

Aunt Wu smacks her with a stack of tarot cards. “No! Jesus! What else happened?”

“Can’t you just tell me? Childhood trauma has really fucked with my memory.”

“You kissed someone, didn’t you?” The fortuneteller scurries to her Kia Soul before Katara could retaliate. “Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!”

She tried kissing every single dancer that was working that stupid party, and came up with nothing but mono and the feeling of defeat.

“Did you know, I even fucking sharted myself today!” She smacks her forehead repeatedly. “At twenty-fucking-three! How fucking embarrassing . All I could do is run to the H&M with my cheeks out to buy a pair of sweatpants.”

“I know a job looking for someone,” he says and even when he’s staring at her with nothing but understanding, she’s still apprehensive.

“Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus you’re a colonizer.” If she had any energy she would’ve put more force into the shove. “Why are you even helping me?”

She looked like shit on a dick and he was just smiling at her. “Let’s say, I just know what it’s like to be SOL.”

“What’s the catch?” She stares at him down and pouts. He’s wearing an Armani shirt with an Off-White belt, which was already offending her senses, but on top of that he dared pair the atrocity with a pair of knock-off Converse. He couldn’t have sprung for a real pair, he just had to get the off-brand from Costco that made everyone’s ankles look like cankles.

New money . “I am not letting anyone suck my toes for money, again. Try a different girl.”

Zuko grows positively red, but at least it brings the ghost of a smile to her face. “No toe sucking. Only on Wednesdays.”

She delivers a well-aimed kick to his crotch. While she’d expect him heaving and puffing, he’s unphased. He’d put on his MMA fighter grade, groin protector out of habit, even though he’s getting kicked a lot less in the ball bags lately.

“So, you’re trying to convert me to Scientology?” Katara scoffs. “I’ll pass, Asian Tom Cruise.”

“Not that either.” He sees the defeated look in her eyes, the same one he’s seen in himself. There’s a spark there, though. A willingness to just keep going. Something he lost years ago. “Trust me.”

“No.”

“All good.” He shrugs. “Can I at least help you up?” Before she could bite back, she turned to the spot on the bench where he was pointing.

Wet paint.

He’s taking her mustard covered hands (the sandwich exploded in the foil) in his soft ones without question, and peeling her off the bench.

“Of fucking course,” she huffs.

She thinks he knows. He knows the fact that she wants him sticking around. Even with her adamant protests against it, he’s persistent.

Stopping by after long days at the studio to her shit job, handful of first aid supplies at the ready.

He’s just always there .

He’s there when she’s scraping gum from under the alley’s tables and almost swallows one that had “Live, Laugh, Love” carved into it. He quickly stops her from choking, practically an expert at the heimlich with how many times he’s almost died from drinking boba.

There when she electrocutes herself changing the alley’s light bulbs to catch her as she falls straight off the ladder. He’s not even phased, pushing a fried piece of hair sticking up the heavens and staring at her as though she squirted cupcake frosting from her nipples.

He’s there with his first-aid messenger bag, all duct taped and falling apart and it makes her want to say sorry to Alexander Wang for daring to wear it with his Spring 2019 boots after Zuko forces her to carry it around. But then he’s pulling out a tube of toothpaste from the bag while she’s cooling her burnt fingertips on a 10 year old Yerba Mate can, and she’s reminded why he’s so firm about it.

“Earth Nation trick to heal burnt skin.” He’s too concentrated on rubbing the paste into her flaming skin to notice her staring. She remembers that he included her favorite Fenty gloss in the bag after handing it off to her, and blushes.

“I don’t need your help, you know.” Katara was always the one fighting for her own dreams. She didn’t want to stick back living the life other people imagined for her. Even all the luck in the world couldn’t help her escape a sleepy town or an unsupportive family.

When they came to the city, she knew her friends let her take care of them on purpose. It was second nature, what she grew up on. She’d always been the one looking out for everyone, even if they didn’t ask, and they let her do it because they all needed a coping mechanism. Toph’s is cake cutting videos, Suki’s is practicing her crying face because she always wanted to be a pretty crier, and Katara’s is being overbearing.

She was confused. As many times as she tried drilling through his thick head that her grandma was a nurse, that she could easily wrap up every cut, bruise, and swollen toe, he never budged. For the first time in a while, someone was there, stubbornly making sure she was okay.

“I know?” He says it as though it was obvious. “I’ll make you a deal, though. Just let me help you out, just this one time?” He gently taps her fingers wrapped in Minion bandaids he got her just because he knew she hated them in public, loved them in private. “I won’t do it again.”

He’s teasing and it’s obvious he knows she’s putty in his hands. Though, his newfound look (she helped with) balancing boy-next-door with heartthrob is not working on her heart. Her pussy, sure. Not her heart, though. She swears.

“That’s what you said last time,” Katara protests, without any energy behind it.

He sends her a lopsided smile. “I know.”

Zuko wasn’t about to let any hair on her pretty head get hurt.

While Kiyi already had enough of a bad case of bad luck, considering all the Power Ranger figurines she had super glued to her face by fourth grade boys, Katara’s was just something else.

It reminded him of him . Whatever stroke of good luck he had, he knew the universe takes in ten-fold what it might give. So he’s taking advantage of every bit of luck he has for a girl without any.

While he’s been stabbed many a time walking back home at night, somehow he’s in the clear when he escorts Katara back to her apartment. Or the times he buys her Water Tribe take out because she’s still figuring out how that prince managed to spend $10,000 on Swampbender diet pills. Or when he sneaks in before her shift to do some of her tasks for the day (he still has the keys), so he doesn’t have to worry about her bruising her pubic bone with the vacuum, or breaking the ceiling with a slippery bowling ball.

He wasn’t all used to his new life. The designer shoes, the fancy parties, the attention . Girls in the past would look at him as though he wasn’t more than shit at the bottom of their Jimmy Choo, but his good luck brought this newfound female attention that was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. Especially when, all he wanted was to catch her eye.

She was his good luck charm and didn’t even know it.

Since he’s met her, everything just was going right . She brought Toph over with her guitar to string together a few verses the day they were in desperate need of new lyrics to go with the beat he’s spent the last few nights cranking out. The day after they released it on Apple Music, the song went #1 on Billboard. Piandao had even booked them to play the Hard Boulder Cafe for their first performance, and tickets were sold out.

Even when things just seemed to get better and better for him, the universe doubled down in its punishment for her.

He’s there when she’s walking back from work, drenched to the bone because she missed all trains for the day, a taxi said her face looked stupid, and she was just tired of it all and wanted to go home and eat processed frozen food and die.

Zuko’s there, though. Without fail.

He’s there with his fucking Tesla and personal driver and Chanel top and she couldn’t be any more embarassed.

“Get in!” He hesitates before approaching. “Also, maybe let’s put down the umbrella?” It was inverted anyways, and looked three seconds from whisking her away into the storm.

“No, I’m good!” Katara insists. She was afraid that falling for Zuko, going to bed and waking up thinking of him was messing with her brain and she didn’t know if she wanted it to stop.

“You could get hit by lightning.”

“That can’t—” She ponders it for a second. “You know what, fuck you.”

He throws his expensive jacket over her to quell the shivers, and when she protests, seeing as it was a Valentino Lacquered Nylon Jacket, he bundles her even deeper in the thing, buttoning it up until she’s complaining from the warmth.

“You’re laughing at me.” She pouts.

He’s covered completely in bubbles. Not her fault he decided to strip off his shirt to throw in the cycle with her wet clothes, and she got distracted by the abs and dumped the whole bottle of laundry detergent in the washing machine.

Zuko shoves her face into a pile of the suds. “I am, yeah.” She looks upset and he stops the mirth growing on his face. Reaching out to her, instead. “Katara, I’m sorry did I—”

She might’ve leaned out to accept his embrace, but then she’s flipping them over, pinning him down to the floor. Her warm, still soaking wet body, pressed against him and her arms coming out to pin his hands to the ground.

He gulps.

“This would be more fun if you let me peg you afterwards.”

Her laugh vibrates her whole body and he couldn’t help joining in, too.

He let her have her pick of his dress shirts, and she looked so much at home. Little strands of her bangs framing her face and growing curly with the addition of water. Her brow furrows when she mentions her leave-in conditioner washing away with the suds, and he takes advantage of the momentary distraction. Flipping her and placing two hands at the sides of her head.

She knows he’s covered in the bubbles, just so she wouldn’t feel anymore of a stupid bitch than she already does. He never seems to mind it, even when Katara was frustrated and just couldn’t figure out why all this was happening to her and dragging him into every single accident.

“What would you say to the universe, right now?” She’s curled up on his couch and he’s massaging the balls of her feet she presses in his lap.

“Welcome to your tape.”

“Katara, no.”

“That bridge off of Fourth Street? Looking really easy to jump off of right about now, universe.”

He lets her take his bed that night after he cooked up his famous komodo chicken and both Kiyi and her complain about having a food-baby.

“Hey, Katara.” He whispers while her eyes could barely open. He tucked her in those blankets all ethnic people have, the super fluffy ones with a tiger on them that are always wrapped in a plastic bag. “You’re cute.”

“Yeah?” She breathes out, crinkling her nose and blinking those long lashes and making his heart skip beats. “Hey, Zuko.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I like you.”

He pinches her cheek. “I think I like you, too.”

He was right. As soon as life blessed him with everything he’s wanted and more, it whisked it away just as fast.

He’d mustered up the courage to invite her to a studio session after everyone in Shooters 4 Rihanna insisted on meeting her. Their songs were getting a little too emotional and they wanted to meet his muse. It was going well, too well. He even catches all the lamps she knocks down. When she rights herself, she manages to knock down the table with their food. Double bagging existed for a reason, just like he warned her! But, of course, the bags holding the takeout she was supposed to surprise him with broke from the bottom. He’d go hungry, that day. But, anything for her, though.

She looked so into the session, asking him if she could play with the buttons, leaning into his chest when he hesitantly surrounds her space. His two lean arms coming out to steady her waist when she trips on herself and sends him a sheepish smile that has him hypnotized.

Katara normally felt lightheaded around him, but she felt absolutely faint as soon as Piandao walked in to finalize the details of the performance, and Zuko started talking about some lucky masquerade ball.

She couldn’t hear much else, body getting up before she even registered it.

Before he could fully get into his chair at the mixing console because just one little note in their new song “Rihanna Impregnate Me” just sounded off, she’s tugging him up.

“Can I kiss you?”

“W—what?” She’s holding him up by the collar of his shirt.

Katara smirks. “I really want to kiss you.”

“I mean, uh, yes! Definitely a ye—”

It’s everything he’s imagined, hoped, prayed for the last few months and more. She’s sweet and soft and tasted like lip gloss and the toothpaste he had stowed away in her bag. When he’s leaning in for more, ready to do things like give her his heart or do her taxes for her because he couldn’t think straight and his heart was guiding him through the motions, she’s gone.

Katara’s gone when Ty Lee somehow gets into, yet another, tax fraud case and can’t make their performance.

She’s gone when he needs her by his side because even though he’s not performing he still manages to feel fucking sick. He wants her holding his unnaturally sweaty palms and telling him it’s going to be okay, just like what she does during his late night writing sessions where she stays up and refuses to sleep until he does.

She’s gone when the band has to answer to an angry crowd, an angry CEO who already sees the articles lambasting the girl group’s unprofessionalism and was ten seconds away from pulling the plug on his dreams.

“Zuko!”

He hates his heart rushes, even when it was about to break because of her, too.

She's gotten her perfect life. She’d gotten the job back, her apartment back, Rihanna even sent her a secret song for fuck’s sake.

She must really love this fucker, because she was giving up a chance to stalk Rihanna so he could be happy.

“Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!” Was running through her head the entire week she avoided him.

“I don’t know what to do, Suki!”

“Why don’t you both fuck leprechauns?” She says between bites of string cheese.

Katara sighs. “Why are yours and Toph’s minds built like that?”

“I heard my mom tried punching her stomach every day, hoping that I wasn’t going to be a result of St. Patrick’s Day sex. That’s why my head’s lopsided.”

He felt nauseous. Not only did 3 of the girls just spew their lunch into whatever container they could get their hands on, of course Azula has gone missing. “Katara not now I—”

She comes to him flushed, extensions stuck to her hand after running too fast and accidentally grabbing someone’s hair. Her feet hurt, her heart hurt, but in this moment she knew. She knew he needed this more than her. He was soft and kind and took people in and cherished the moments with his half-sister because he missed all the ones with Azula. He worked so hard now because he was afraid she hated him, and even when he was on the verge of giving up, he still pushed through. He gave people chances, even when the universe was never as kind to him.

After she presses her lips to his, suddenly Azula presses a button from the underground room she was trapped in, appearing on stage in front of their very eyes. They have the best show the Hard Boulder Cafe’s seen in decades . Their contract is extended, and he opens a bottle of champagne to celebrate without taking his eye out.

He was the luckiest man in the world.

Though, when he turns, he realizes.

His girl’s missing.

“Katara!” She tried shuffling away, but accidentally slips on a few drug needles someone threw carelessly on the ground.

She’s still nursing the sore spot on her forehead, where the champagne cork hit. “Zuko, please just...go.” She waves him off with a bandaged hand.

“I know you’re going to be stuck here for the next three hours. Because trains never come on time for you no matter what.”

Even in the middle of the nearly dead station, he was right. Every stop flashed to delayed .

“Then you’ll be robbed by someone on the train, and then you might even get spit on by the guy with the imaginary dog who’s afraid of whoever gets too close to it, and then you’ll get an eye infection.”

Katara wipes the snot at her nose. “So?”

“So?” He laughs, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’ve lived a whole lifetime of bad luck, and I can’t let you do that for me.”

She lets him turn her to face him, lets him gather her up in his arms and hold her like she’s delicate and irreplaceable, and not just a girl with mascara running down her face and her heart stolen by someone she couldn’t love.

“Even in a lifetime of being shit out of luck, I still got the chance to meet you.”

“Zuko, stop.” Katara wipes at her tears. “Our luck will just get switched, and I always figure things out, I always do. But, I just want you to keep this. You put it to better use than I would’ve.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I don’t want it anymore.”

“I said that to my bladder infection, and that didn’t work. What makes you think that will work now?”

“I can live without it.” He smiles. “A few bumps and bruises are the price I’m willing to pay for you in my life.”

She’s blushing, hands coming up to bring his head closer to hers, to see every little detail of him.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” She whispers, millimeters away from his lips.

The grin splits on his face without his permission. “I am, yeah.”

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #Zutara Week 2020 #Celestial #Day 4 #atla #avatar the last airbender #Zutara Week #Zutara fanfiction

2 notes · View notes

whyisnicole · 4 years

Text

Show Me Your Darkness - Chapter 6

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged <3

Trigger Warnings:

None! Just some coffee spillage.

The relentless sounds of ringing phones, shuffling papers, and constant chatter had become white noise to Peter Parker. He'd learned many things thus far by working as an assistant. One of the top tricks instilled in him was how to focus on his lists of tasks and tune out everything that was of at least slight unimportance.

"Peter?"

The voice of his boss catches Peter's attention, causing him to glance up from his stack of files that he's been searching through all morning long.

"Yes sir?" He asks, transferring his full attention to the suit-clad man standing in the doorway of his office space.

"Why don't you take a break, go on a uh, coffee run for us? I've got a list if you're okay with that."

"Yes, sir!" Peter answers eagerly, his brain buzzing at the thought of being able to finally get a breath of fresh air.

Grabbing his coat and retrieving the paper from his boss's hand, he readies himself to head down the block to the office's hotspot for all things breakfast and break related.

"Will that be all, Mr. Murdock?" Peter asks, making sure he's all set before he leaves.

"Yeah, as far as I know," Matt responds, moving so he's out of Peter's way.

"Karen wrote everything down, so if there's anything missing just be sure to take it up with her." Matt finishes, giving the young assistant a smile as he begins to head towards his office.

After a final check, Peter heads out of the cramped yet functional space. Business had picked up fairly recently after his boss had a big case with some "King-Pin" guy, better known as Wilson Fisk, and it hadn't slowed since.

That was a while ago. There was talk between he group about finding a bigger space, but with all of the hustle and bustle as of recent there hadn't really been much time to office hunt.

While Peter may be out of the active duty superhero game, he's still in the loop of knowledge while also flying under the radar.

Spider-Man was no more. His reputation long gone, buried under the dirt of the in-factual speculation of the public and false tales of the media. Peter Parker, on the other hand, was alive and pretty well. Working for a successful law firm commonly known as "Nelson and Murdock Law Firm," Peter has a good group of people that he's grown close to. People that are closer than he may realize…

Peter covers his tracks more than well, but working for Matthew Murdock, grade A lawyer by day and crime-fighting vigilante by night, means that you're working for someone who knows their shit. And, while Peter may not realize that his boss doubles as Hell's Kitchen's famous "Daredevil," he does know that he always has to keep appearances up; double checking lies that he may have used in the past to make sure what he's saying now adds up, or even hiding from people who knew of his double life in the past.

People such as Tony Stark.

Peter is certain that the tech-savvy, brilliant Iron Man has to know where he is, but the fact that Mr. Stark hasn't shown up yet is the only reason why Peter would doubt that theory. It's been years since Peter dropped off of the radar, but the memories of times spent in Tony's lab, or the countless hours spent trying to build a "Lego Death Star" with his best friend, or trying some new recipe that Aunt May had come up with were still painful to think about.

It felt as if all of that had happened just yesterday.

Guilt ate away at Peter every day for just up and leaving the ones who he loved most - the ones that loved him most - but, anytime he would think of that, he would see the dead eyes of the man who he had killed, along with everyone he had failed to save. He was reminded of nights spend screaming and sobbing, wanting all the hurt to go away. He was reminded of sleepless nights and days that would seemingly run together for weeks at a time. Every time his mind went to that, he was reminded of why he left, and he was always left to contemplate which memory he felt guiltiest for. Peter was 21 now, and all that seemed to plague his mind when he wasn't neck-deep in paperwork or fixing the ever-jamming copy machine was wondering what all he had missed since he'd left.

Hearing the cheerful chime of the coffee shops bell, Peter is drawn back to the present as he's greeted with a wide smile and happy hello from one of the store's owners, Barbra.

"Good morning, Peter!" She calls from behind the counter, busy kneading some dough while Don emerges from the back of the shop, a white apron tied on, to-go boxes in one hand and coffee cups in another.

Apparently today's been busy for everyone so far.

"Morning, Barbra! Morning, Don!" Exclaims a smiling Peter as he gets in line behind a distracted patron, glancing at something on their phone before being called to have their order taken by Don.

Taking a look around the homey shop, Peter sees a few familiar faces but mostly new people lounging about on the couches and chairs set up. Some people are playing board games, others reading, and others either talking or messing with some sort of device.

Reaching the counter to place his order, he tells Don the usual items from the list, making sure to get Karen's, Foggy's, Matt's, and his own order out slow and clear. With a quick smile and thanks from the overworked, underpaid, yet perfectly content owner, Peter steps to the side to carry on some idle chit chat with Barbra while she works on throwing together some pastries and he waits for his order to be filled.

"Peter," Barbra voices, not even looking up from her task as she calls out his name melodically, almost as if speaking to a child who was doing something that they know is wrong.

"Barbra," Peter chides, a smirk on his face as he returns the tone. The smile left his face as quick as it appeared though, as soon as he received a side eye from the stressed woman.

"You look tired." She examines, taking a moment to study his face and meet his bright yet sunken eyes.

"So do you." Peter chastises. They share a pause and knowing look that says "pull the plank out of your own eye before worrying about the splinter in mine," before both break into a grin.

She gives Peter a quick whip of a hand towel.

"Take care of yourself, hunny."

"You do the same, Mrs. Barbra."

"Peter!" Calls Don from the pick-up section a little off to the side.

"That's me!" Peter playfully quips back, eliciting a wide smile from Don, and a small chuckle from Barbra.

"have a good day, kid," Don says, his studious brown eyes peeking over the rim of his glasses as he watches Peter collect his order, plus a free bag of goodies - which Peter makes sure to thank them for.

"You take it easy now," he finishes, playfully scolding the bustling boy while making his way back towards the register.

"Thank you, Mr. Don! And same to you," Peter calls out, throwing up his hand that’s only holding the bag of free treats.

Receiving a wave from the couple, Peter uses his back to open the glass door of the shop, and does a spin outside - but it was just a tad too quick, and Peter was just a tad too focused on the items in hand that he didn't even catch a glimpse of the person who was just about to make their way inside the shop.

Until he covered them in scalding hot coffee…

It was as if it was in slow motion - Peter saw the body connect with his own, he witnessed the steaming beverage pour onto the covered skin of said body, and he heard the yelp of pain cross their lips as the heat registered and both them and Peter fell to the concrete sidewalk.

"Oh my God," cried Peter, "Are you alright? I am so, so sorry! I totally wasn't looking a-and I just, I didn't even… I - I'm sorry." Peter rambles, not yet seeing the down-cast face of the girl he had just knocked down and, more than likely, literally burned. Grabbing the spare napkins inside one of the to-go bags, he immediately offers them to her and tries to help her clean up as best he can without making the situation impossibly worse than it already is.

"It's alright," she responds, her bright eyes now meeting his as he's able to see her in all. She looks friendly, yet troubled. Like someone you'd want to be friends with and never be on the wrong side of. Peter thinks she looks familiar, but can't quite place where he's seen her before. Perhaps she's a usual and he's passed by her in the shop before.

Feeling her gratefully take the napkins, he listens as she continues;

"I wasn't looking either, really. Not your fault, just an accident." She admits, glancing down at her coffee-covered clothes.

The familiar feeling of guilt creeps up peter's throat and begins to choke him. How can he make this better?

"Did you get burned? Do you need to go to the hospital?" Peter checks, receiving a gracious smile and laugh, followed by a shake of the young girl's head.

"No, no, thank you but I'm alright," she affirms, "I am grateful for the offer, though. Are you okay? Did you need to get another coffee?" She asks as she gets herself off the ground, brushing bits of dirt from her pants.

Peter can't help but let out a laugh at her sarcasm. He could tell it wasn't coming from a malicious place, but rather to lighten the mood; and for that Peter was grateful.

"No, that's alright," he confirms, doing exactly what she had just done by giving her a wide smile and shake of his head.

"Thank you, though. I uh, I'm sorry about your clothes," Peter mentions, now fully noticing that her once grey cardigan is not stained with splotches of brown.

"Oh, it's honestly not a problem."

"Well, if it's okay with you," Peter mumbles, reaching into his backpack and rummaging around until he finds what he needs;

"I'd like to make at least that up to you. I don't have any cash on me at the moment, but please, please give me a call as soon as you'd like, ad let me at least get that taken care of. It truly is the lease I can do." Peter is practically begging her to let him make this right, so, with just a bit of hesitation, the girl takes the notebook paper from him, and finds a phone number written across it.

Not knowing what to say or do, she gives a confirming nod. "Okay. Thank you."

"You're welcome," responds Peter, happy that she finally accepted a happy compromise.

"My name's Peter by the way," he informs, immediately holding out his hand, still sitting in the middle of the sidewalk with this girl he didn't even know, yet not giving a single care in the world. He was happy to meet someone so real for a change.

"Nice to meet you, Peter," responds the girl, extending her arm until her right hand connects with his, giving it a firm shake.

"I'm Alex."

----------

taglist:

@eridanuswave

8 notes · View notes