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need someone to hold me and tell me it's going to be okay tbh (thought about fave character too much and now i feel like my brain is whirring around in a blender and i can't verbalize it or else i'll get annoying)
#need to make a clone of myself with my exact brain patterns so someone can gaf when i talk about sidney prescott or random music or this#moment from a tv show i'm watching or a book i'm reading bc i'm normal about everything and can keep it to myself i never need to talk abou#anything ever#i gotta get over this cringe complex i have . like i am a fucking loser whether i like it or not it has been in my blood for generations G#OUT AND MAKE FRIENDS WITH SIMILAR INTERESTS AND STOP FEELING SELF CONSCIOUS @ ME good god#tldr losing the idgaf war w/ myself badly happy tuesday night. update just learned this is called being open w/ your friends i need a momen#my text
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SUBMISSION: Prompt 1,20,29 from the Disney song list with Harry Holland ( I’m interested to see how this goes)
DUDE i am so sorry this took SOOOOO long but i hadn't had time for it and i didn't wanna just give you something rushed so anyway i hope you like it!
1. Please don’t shut me out again, please don’t slam the door.
20. Go on and kiss the girl.
29. Barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly
---------------------------------------------
“God, that’s disgusting”, you grimaced at the newly-formed couple who was making out in the living room. The Holland’s living room, to be precise. Harry and you had been friends for a while, close enough to be invited to get-togethers and random drinking evenings. This was one of those evenings, where everyone wanted to unwind and have a good laugh to inaugurate the weekend, and Harry offered the perfect way to do that.
I mean, free booze, the guy you liked, and good music? How could you say no?
You and Harry had hit it off quite quickly after first meeting a few years ago, through mutual friends. You had a lot of similar interests, same sort of humour, and even in the things you thought differently on, you learned to like for the other. He was an absolute dream. Everyone saw it, too. They secretly hoped you’d get together soon, and already assumed something happened between the two of you but, alas, here you were. Angry at life and that innocent couple in the living room because of the stupid, lovey-dovey thoughts that just wouldn’t go away.
“Why the long face?” Harry asked with a chuckle as he entered the kitchen, stopping beside you and turning to look where your angry stare was headed.
You nodded towards the living room, and answered, “Them. Like, can you not do it in front of my face, please?”
“But you’re all the way here in the kitchen?” he said, confused.
“Shut up” you ended, giving a big swig of your cup. A silence made itself at home between you too, not necessarily uncomfortable as you would expect, but a little suffocating. You became self-conscious about every move you made, hating how the curly-headed boy could turn you into a mess with just his presence.
“I think it’s cute” he shrugged, breaking the silence.
“They’re barely even friends, then somebody bends, unexpectedly. Ha, what a joke” you challenged.
The quiet settled again and you didn’t notice, but Harry side-eyed you while a million thought ran through his mind. He remembered that one night where you found yourselves in a similar situation. Both drunk off your asses and looking at the world through a pink lens, you shared an intimate kiss just weeks after meeting each other. He also remembered how, after trying to talk about it with you, you shut him out and didn’t speak to him for an entire two weeks. It was after promising he’d never bring it up again that you ended the silent treatment, much to his delight.
As the night went on, you kept going into the kitchen for more drink refills, feeling a little tipsy. The people, getting rowdier and nastier, went on to find the darkest spots in the house for their shenanigans, and you were so distracted that you didn’t even realize when you were dragged to a circle that formed in the living room. The announcement that the classic “Spin The Bottle” game was about to be played was made and yup, cue the eye roll.
A bunch of rounds went by with no one you actually cared to remember the name of getting their turn, until the guy who looked a little to drunk to be managing the game yelled,
“Harry! My boy! Your turn to snog one of these lucky ladies here tonight” he motioned to the girls sitting around the circle, who all bit their lips or looked down in embarrassment.
“Snog? Shut up, mate,” the red-head answered and confidently spun the bottle.
You held your breath and did not tear your eyes from it, the stupid thing seeming to spin for ages until it slowly came to a stop.
Pointing at you.
Of course it’s me, you thought as you closed your eyes, damning every single power in the universe. When you opened them, Harry was intently staring at you, as if studying any movement you might make and trying to figure out what was going through your head. In response, you got on your knees and lightly slapped you hands on your thighs, showing you were ready. He didn’t move an inch, still analyzing your face. Harry knew this was thin ice he was treading on—one wrong move and everything would go to shit. He was dying to press his lips on yours, even if it was just a game, but the memories from a few weeks back flooded his mind and—
“C’mon mate! Go on and kiss the girl!” the guy from earlier encouraged.
Well, why the fuck not?, you both thought at the same time.
Harry crawled to you and you met him halfway, lips clashing with force and desire. His hand made its way to cradle your cheek and part of your neck, guiding the kiss and making you melt into a puddle instantly. Your mouth opened a little more, letting him kiss you deeper and hungrier like no one has ever before. It was absolutely everything you had ever wanted.
And it was everything you couldn’t have.
Parting your lips with your hands on his chest, you felt tears well up in your eyes, and whispered for only you and him to hear,
“This is why the fuck not”
You hurriedly got up as everyone cheered and hooted after the heated show they saw, quickly glancing at Harry but rushing towards the upstairs bathroom.
“Please! Y/N, wait!
Hearing a faint call of your name and footsteps catching up to you, you almost ran for the room you deemed safe. Before going in, however, Harry’s voice made you stop in your tracks.
“Please, please. Please don’t shut me out again, please don’t slam the door”, he begged.
You felt his presence a few feet behind you, the dark hallway only aiding in the tense atmosphere that surrounded you. Not daring to move an inch, the only thing you could do was stare ahead at the shower curtain, your mind going a thousand miles a minute on how anything that happened in the next few moments could make or break you.
A pair of warm, shaky hands found their place on your shoulders, making you tense and then relax as they carefully and lovingly caressed their way down your arms. You felt the ghost of his chest against your back, his breath fanning on your neck and you closed your eyes, savouring the moment but dreading having to face him and look him in the eye. Gently, he grabbed your elbows and turned you to him, still very close to you.
In all honesty, Harry did not have a plan. He ran after you because there was no way he was letting you get away once more, but now that he caught up to you and had you so close to him, he had no clue what to do. His mind had gone blank, the only thing filling it was the image of you. You, whom he had shared so many memories with. You, with the beautiful laugh and crinkly eyes that brought butterflies to his chest every time. You, who never failed to bring happiness into his life, even if you weren’t on the best terms. You, whom he loved so much.
Leaning his forehead against yours, he quietly pleaded one more time, “Please don’t run away from me again”.
“I’m not,” you answered with the same tone, eyes still very much closed.
“You were going to, though”
“I’m sorry”
“Why?” he furrowed his brows.
“For trying to run away”, you answered swiftly to each question, surprisingly. As if all your walls had been brought down just by his simple, loving touch.
“No, why do you keep running away?”
Not so swift anymore, huh?
You stayed silent, not knowing how to answer his question without sounding like a little girl scared of the dark.
“Y/N” he said again, waiting for your answer. His hands moved from your arms to your hands, stopping both pairs from shaking and lightly intertwining your fingers.
You knew you had to come clean. It wasn’t fair to him for you to not give him answers, and not fair to you to keep feeling this angst. So, still very quietly, you answered.
“I’m scared. I’m scared that I’m gonna get hurt if I let you in or that I may hurt you if you let me in. Or both. I care about you so much and I don’t want to ruin our relationship because what we have is great but I also really want to be with you and love you but then I’m also scared because of what I just sai—” your ramble being cut off by Harry’s chapped lips.
His hands held both sides of your face, making you feel secure in his embrace and the soft kiss radiating adoration. He poured everything he felt for you in it, only hoping you could feel it too and that it would bring you out of that fear that had you so trapped in yourself.
He broke the kiss, lightly running his thumb over your cheek and reassuring you immediately.
“With me? Darling, you don’t have to be scared with me. I promise you I feel the exact same way, I love you so much and the last thing I want or will do is hurt you, but I can’t let you get away anymore. I want to make you feel loved and make you feel happy and I want everyone to know you’re mine and that I’m yours. Please let me do that, Y/N. Let me love you the way you deserve to be and I promise you won’t—”
It was you who interrupted him this time. During his small speech, you felt safe enough to open your eyes and see him. You saw the honestly and frustration in his face, desperately wanting you to understand how he felt. It made you realize that you would rather spend a few moments loving each other than the rest of your life watching him with someone else, not knowing what could have been.
“Okay,” you said after parting ways.
“Okay?” he asked you, eyes frantically scanning your features for any sign of doubt or humour.
“Yes. Yes, let’s do it!” you giggled, him mirroring your actions and pulling you into his chest for a tight hug. He buried his face in your hair and yours in his chest, feeling relief course through him at the idea of you being taken by none other than him. Just holding each other, you were about to share another kiss until a random voice interrupted you from behind,
“...can I use the bathroom now?”.
#harry holland#harry holland x reader#harry holland imagine#harry holland blurb#harry holland x y/n#harry holland fic#harry holland fluff#harry holland angst#harry holland fanfiction#harry holland one shot#harry holland x you#harry holland imagines#harry holland blurbs#submission
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PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 3
Rating: Explicit.
‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.
Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!
A/N: Peter always unapologetically stealing all the uwus. It’s the MCU law, sorry, didn’t make it. Tony Stark can ✨rail me✨. Enjoy, deviants.
THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet
Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves THE WORLD! I’m not kidding. Please visit her and show her some love, my homegirl is stressed 💖✨
I didn’t see Bruce nor Tony for a week. The doctor was away on some science conference (he sent me one dorky selfie next to a whiteboard full of barely intelligible equations as proof), Tony was in California, having some sort of a board meeting. How do I know? Peter, out of lack of better things to do, constantly texted me updates on his science patron’s whereabouts and what-abouts.
In times like these, it took me for a loop - I was on a first name basis with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. In the beginning, I was intimidated - I avoided them both like the plague and tinkered in the lab with headphones on whenever I could, until Tony made a comment so snarky I couldn’t resist joking back. That’s not to say Bruce was a social butterfly, but even he gave into my tomfoolery after seeing me stand calmly throughout several of Tony’s hissy fits.
What amazed me even more so was that despite Tony being literally an insufferable little brat, I still longed after him. Sure, the man was hot as hell - but his physical traits were much less significant when it came to my feelings towards him than the amount of sheer drive and willpower he possessed. He was stubborn - that’s another trait we shared - and unapologetically himself in every damn situation.
I could write poetry about the million expressions in his face, about the shine in his eyes.
But I won’t. He’s a technical guru. Ever since I started hanging around the tower, I became much more conscious about what I posted online. Not to say I had a Stark fan blog or anything, but I’d stopped scrolling through the tag, even if I didn’t actually click on any articles. I dutifully reblogged pictures of Tom Ellis instead - while he was a very fine, distinguished man, he wasn’t Tony Stark. I enjoyed looking at the first and enjoyed being around the other. And even though my feed still had the occasional “I love arm” shitpost, I focused on aesthetic pictures and quotes instead - things I had an active internet presence for.
My personal life wasn’t very interesting. I didn’t have any close friends and any and all sex I’ve had was just a bunch of one night stands, fueled by alcohol, selfish lust and the occasional joint. Despite having a fair share of kind, generous lovers, the morning after left me feeling a little bit emptier every time. I thought about getting a boyfriend or something… But quickly became totally clueless as to where I could find one. Men under twenty-five could barely hold my interest long enough to have a casual chat and I wasn’t naive enough to think there were a lot of honest, well-intentioned thirty-somethings that wanted to date my high school ass.
Peter had a crush on me, I knew that. The boy developed one or another kind of feelings for anybody who showed him the tiniest bit of kindness and it alarmed me. In any other case I would have bailed on him, gently, of course, to spare him the disappointment but my selfishness got in the way. I regretted it every day. A wave of desperation rose in me every time I thought about moving on without seeing Tony or Bruce, without Peter shyly smiling at me as he explained how the things he created worked. A faint hope that one day, his schoolboy puppy love will grow into a brotherly kind of regard was the only thing that kept me afloat in my sea of guilt.
As the Fall rolled around, so did my gloomy mood. It was hard to be sad when the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside, but with clouds hanging over the city like a lead curtain, the bottled up negativity rose to the surface uninvited. Mother had returned from her business trip, adding an uncomfortable, hollow sort of chill to the house wherever she stood. I don’t know what was worse - the hours we spent in one room ignoring each other or the immaculately structured questions she asked me about my studies and extra-curriculars. Mother didn’t ask me about my friends, or my feelings or any of the other things a mother was supposed to give a damn about.
I was an asset to her company and that was that. If you would have asked her, she would tell you I’m old enough for her to mind her own business - which was technically true. Yet according to her, I’ve been old enough since seventh grade. My dad answered his messages sporadically, sometimes with a two-word answer and sometimes with a cocaine and booze fueled rant eleven texts long. I felt sorry for him. I really did.
My phone was blowing up. Party invitations, likes from people I saw once or twice (“oh my god, you’re, like, so hot, what’s your Insta”), DMs from guys looking to score an easy piece of ass. I never answered. If I wanted to party, I just sort of showed up and everybody went along with it. I took care of my appearance and it showed - never once was I turned away from a party. Everyone wanted to dance, to share their drinks, to light up and get faded together and fade into the city, into the cold air and grey sky.
Skirt swaying and top clinging to my chest, I danced. The sweaty, heated bodies around me did the same. Not one of us cared, it was a Tuesday night and the place packed way too many people. An arm snaked around my waist, startling me. I had to begrudgingly crack open an eye to see the bastard in the dimly lit room.
“I saw you at the bar, you looked bored. Maybe you need something to cheer you up?”
So not a creepy rapist. Just your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. At house parties like these, there was always The Guy. He never danced, he sipped on the same drink all night yet always looked like he was having the time of his life. I was no stranger to the occasional joint, or even something more stimulating…
“I got the good stuff, sweetums, you’ll be fine and dandy in no time.”
Eh, what the hell. I inconspicuously danced with the guy to the middle of the crowd, exchanging a few crumpled dollar notes for a baggie of two pills. In no time, I chased one down with a hastily poured Jack.
The world did become better, as the drug dealer promised. People were nicer, friendlier and I almost didn’t believe mother was a useless, stone cold bitch. I almost didn’t care that I was deeply, madly in love with a man as unreachable as Olympus. If I squinted, the guy sitting at the bar looked kind of like Tony, tan, dark hair, worn jeans and a band tee.
So I danced. I danced and I stared right at him and then we danced some more. I closed my eyes, letting his arms grab me and pull me, I let his beard scratch my neck where he sucked a mark on me, I let his rough palms choke me against a wall in one of the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. It felt good to be wanted. It felt great to be needed as he rutted inside of me, hitting that sweet spot with every twitch of his hips.
It felt lonely when he left, pressing a kiss to my forehead and saying something dumb like “Be good, kid.”. I don’t remember what exactly it was, only that I had to turn my face away from his breath that reeked like weed and vodka.
To shake off the void that made home inside of my chest, I went to the roof to get some fresh air. The house had a nice patio on it - I actually knew the owner - that hosted more plants than I’d care to count. There was an ashtray and an abandoned pack of cigarettes. I greeted the faintly blooming sunrise surrounded by a cloud of smoke, shivering in the autumn mist.
Sounds of the party became less prominent with every passing minute as people geared up to go home and get a few winks of sleep before going to work. New Yorkers weren’t really thoughtful partying on a Tuesday, but then again, neither was I. The city always was busy - even then, at the crack of dawn, the dull throb of a bassline was rudely interrupted by a blaring car alarm followed by dogs barking in aggravation.
The more I sat there, the bleaker everything became. I had enough common sense to know I was just coming off the drug but for once, I had been happy and content for several hours without a care in the world. It had been too long since I felt that way and what’s a little low after a good high?
Mother left for her early conference at five AM sharp, I entered my house at five-thirty, making a beeline in the shower and immediately dumping my alcohol and cigarette soaked clothes into the wash with the smelliest detergent I could find. I gave similar treatment to my body and my hair, using the chemically-smelling products on my body and on my hair, brushing my teeth multiple times.
By the time I was leaving for school, only a faint smell lingered in the air where I’d previously entered, so I set the air freshener to automatically spray the obnoxious mist every ten minutes. Mother gets home at twelve for lunch, that should be more than enough time for any remnants of my partying to disappear into the lilac and lavender fumes.
The Valium I’d popped to deal with the aftermath of Molly made my brain sluggish. One look in the mirror and I hastily put my sunglasses on - the ashen colour of my face and the slightly crazed look wasn’t very complimentary to my complexion. The teacher didn’t give a damn. I stared blankly ahead of me for most part of first period.
“What happened to you? You look like hell!” Peter’s exclamation, while usually would’ve alarmed me, barely made a dent in my stupor.
“I feel like shit, too,” Admit what you can’t deny. Deny what you can’t admit. “I didn’t get any sleep. Like, at all.”
Peter frowned, the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper with every passing second. I flinched when his hand tentatively touched my forehead - the pounding in my temples slowed to a dull throbbing but it was still unpleasant when someone was all up in my space.
“Jesus, you’re as cold as a corpse. Maybe you should go see the nurse,” His worry bled into me too. Like hell I was going to the school nurse! They were specifically trained to recognize the signs of substance abuse.
“I’ll head home straight after school, I think we’ll have to skip our sciencing,” No way also I’d be letting Tony and Bruce see me like this. Oh my God, I was a mess. “Mother’s home.” I added. Even the emotional frostbite I’d get from being around her was more tolerable than being a downer for Peter and Tony.
Peter’s face immediately softened in sympathy. He knew almost everything about my relationship with my family, including him actually seeing my mother that one time. He told me she gave him the creeps and I don’t blame him at all. The stoicism that was required for her work made my mother an unbearable person to exist around outside of her fancy office on the top floor of a glass high-rise building.
“Okay, but promise to text me if it gets worse. You might have caught the autumn bug that’s been going around,” He obviously said the last part to calm himself down. Sweet little Peter, naïve child. I solemnly nodded nonetheless.
When I got home, I went straight to bed. Tony was being Tony, as usual, but in a strangely kind way. I suppose it should’ve made me feel better and it kind of did, but then it went downhill from there. I couldn’t explain why I started crying. I bawled my eyes out at how unfair this god-damned world was and when the doorbell rang… Let’s say, the delivery boy hightailed it out of there once the bag of takeout was deposited into my arms. I looked and felt ghastly.
I ate as much as I could and dropped into a restless nap, drifting in and out of sleep with exhausted exasperation. There had not been a time where I felt so low after popping a pill and I was equal parts alarmed and satisfied. For one, the drug dealer didn’t lie like they usually do - the stuff was good and I still had the other pill hidden away in a bottle of painkillers, inconspicuously mixed with other white pills but shape distinctive enough for me to recognize should I have need in taking it again.
The thought of well, taking it again, was fleeting. I had school tomorrow and a missed science bender to make up for. A few buzzes of my phone later, I felt happier. Better. Not so down anymore. I meant every word that I said - Bruce was very precious, kind and gentle. And so, warm and soft. And totally kissable.
Well, fuck. What do I do now?
#bun writes#party favours#tony stark x reader#tony stark x y/n#bruce banner x y/n#bruce banner x reader#stephen strange x reader#Stephen Strange x y/n#I've already got a room in Hell y'all welcome to book one nearby
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Day 2: Roceit
@tsshipmonth2020
Day 2: There is a timer that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate
Content warning: vague neglectful/bad home life mentions, liquor store mention (no drinking), implied past parental death.
Word count: 2.6k
When they first met, they didn’t like each other. Would they go so far as to say they hated each other? Probably not. But it was no secret that Roman and Janus didn’t get along, even if they traveled in a mutual friend group. If the two interacted at all, it was in snide remarks and gripes that had everyone else in the group groaning in annoyance. They just wanted five minutes of peace, that’s all. Just five minutes.
Roman was too preppy, Janus said. He was loud and abrasive and presumptuous and arrogant, an annoying theatre boy with too much energy. Other’s feelings came second to his dramatic and overplayed grievances.
Janus was too self centered, Roman retorted. He was untrustworthy and creepy and a compulsive liar, a loner with a mysterious backstory. Everything about him was kept hidden under a mask of indifference.
These things were true to some extent, but the group still loved them both too much to reject either one. So they both stayed, bothered by the other’s presence and unwilling to admit that maybe they disliked the other because they were so similar. They were both extravagant and theatrical and burdened with concealed insecurities, points that all of the rest of the group brought up regularly and they both vehemently denied.
It all changed one morning during school, on a regular Wednesday with average weather after an uneventful English class, when Roman got overly excited at the cast list for the newest show being put up and dropped his art bag. Without a second of hesitation, Janus crouched to help him collect the supplies that had flown across the hallway. That was when Roman’s sleeve slid up, as he was reaching for a paint pen that had rolled up against a locker, and Janus nearly choked.
00:00
He blurted out his accusation before he could stop himself.
“You said you haven’t met your soulmate! And you call me secretive?”
Roman snarled almost animalistically, covering his completed timer back up and grabbing the now full bag off the ground.
“If you must know, my timer’s always been like that. I don’t know when it ran out; too young to remember. I don’t even know if it was ever counting down in the first place. Defective.” He flicked the numbers on his wrist.
“Does anyone else know?”
Roman narrowed his eyes at the uncharacteristic sympathy in Janus’ voice. “Just Remus.”
“Why haven’t you told them?”
“Why all the questions, Fibber on the Roof? Since when do you care about anything I do?”
Janus was quiet, breathing out a frustrated breath before folding down the bottom of his gloves, the same gloves that Roman taunted daily for making him look like every single Disney villain, the same gloves that made Roman turn to the rest of the group and insist that the guy was hiding something. Turns out he was right.
“My timer’s out too. I was too young to remember as well.”
Roman wasn’t able to respond, and Janus was surprisingly relieved. The silent solidarity in the other’s eyes was enough of an olive branch, just another thing they had in common. It was a pain the others didn’t understand, a frustration that couldn’t be fixed. So if from that point on, the bickering lessened and they finally allowed their shared interests to overlap, they surely wouldn’t be the ones to bring it up.
That’s how they found themselves, almost half a year later, sitting on the swings of a musty playground near Janus’ house, watching the sunset in an unspoken agreement to put off going back until absolutely necessary. It was just another thing they had in common; shitty home life. They didn’t talk about it much, because they knew how much it sucked to discuss, so they let the facts stand at the forefront and the nitty gritty emotions and smaller mental repercussions stay healthily buried. What did it matter? Their parents were awful, ‘nuff said.
“I just think it’s ridiculous, the amount of time he spent writing it.”
“He wrote and composed an entire play single handedly, J! Not a single word of it is dialogue, and it all rhymes! You try doing that in seven years.”
“I’m just saying, doesn’t it come to the point where you have to admit it’s too much work? Did he even know for a fact it would be successful?”
“He made it work, didn’t he? That’s what faith is for.”
“I wouldn’t have done it.”
“That’s what makes Lin Manuel Miranda a god, and you, a worm.”
Janus gasped and raised a mock hand to his chest, drawing a loud laugh from Roman. While the shorter of the two still wore his gloves daily, the other had slowly gained the confidence to wear short sleeves and display his empty timer, though god help the fool who asked him anything about it. The conversation with the group had gone well, though Jan hadn’t admitted that his situation was the same. They hadn’t known him as long, and they both agreed that it was a sensitive topic. Roman didn’t push him.
“The sun’s setting.”
“I had no idea,” Janus smirked, although the implications of the fast approaching darkness made a pit settle in his stomach.
“We don’t have to leave yet. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“I don’t really get in trouble that often,” The shorter murmured, kicking his feet in the dust under him, “She’s more just... forgetful. Ignorant. I’m not even sure she fully knows I exist all the time.”
Roman raised an eyebrow at the first bit of information he’d learned about Janus’ home life, besides knowing it was just ‘bad’. He was debating between quietly prodding him to continue or to just let it sit when Janus made the choice for him.
“The other day she asked me to go to the liquor store for her and literally didn’t believe me when I said I’m only eighteen. Then again, she’s forgotten my birthday for the last, what, ten years? So I guess she just lost track, got ahead of herself. I don’t know.”
“When’s your birthday?” It was the only response Roman could think of.
“August seventh,” He whispered, almost like it was a dark secret he was scared to admit.
“Wait, actually?”
Janus turned to him, eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah?”
“You’re joking. This is a joke, right?”
“I can probably find my birth certificate if you need proof. Why are you losing your shit?”
“That’s my birthday too!”
Janus matched Roman’s face splitting grin with one of his own, his worries slipping away. They’d all been irrational anyways, so good riddance. He quickly settled his face into a more neutral one, the unusual expression hurting his cheeks. A calm air settled between them as their eyes locked, almost in a trance, before Janus snapped out of it and turned his attention to the pink hues of the dimming sky.
“What are the chances?”
There was a lot Roman didn’t know about the newest member of the friend group, he realized after dropping Janus off at home and starting the walk back to his. Usually he’d pop in his earbuds, taking the longest back roads and detours to put off arriving even more, but today his head was lost in his thoughts. What else didn’t he know about the blond boy he was so infatuated with?
Two weeks later, Janus edged the front door of his house open, calling out a tentative “Mom?” before pushing it open all the way and pulling Roman in. There was no answer through the empty halls so he yanked the taller boy upstairs, praying that his mom wasn’t home instead of just ignoring his call. It wasn’t until he shut his bedroom door and leaned heavily against it did he remember to breathe, meeting Roman’s eyes shakily.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I get it. Parent’s are…”
“Yeah. It’s better if she doesn’t know you’re here.”
Roman nodded, finally looking around the room. One wall was completely adorned with old records, some cracked in places or missing pieces entirely. He found himself drawn to it, running a finger down the closest one to him as Janus collapsed on his bed, ruffling the yellow blanket beneath him. He took a moment to pull off his gloves, revealing his soulmark, a secret that only Roman had the honor of seeing. An old jukebox stood proudly in the corner, covered in a fine layer of dust.
“You definitely have an aesthetic,” Roman hummed, taking notes on the implications of the dust and not approaching the old machine. If Janus didn’t touch it, neither should he. Instead he sat down at the other’s desk, spinning himself lazily in the chair.
“It was all my dad’s old stuff. He loved music and antiques a lot. The record player was his, too.”
He followed Janus’ gaze and nodded, overly tempted to take one of the records from the wall and trying to play it, but knowing that would only end badly. The record player was covered in the same thin sheet of dust.
“Holy Hera, is that a baby picture of you?” His mind, apparently unable to stay on one topic for more than ten seconds, had decided to focus on the framed picture on the bedside table. He crossed the room and sat next to Janus on the bed, leaning closer to the photo but not daring to touch it. He inspected the woman, who could only be Janus’ mother, holding the tiny bundle and smiling weakly at the camera, her eyes tired and hair tied in a messy bun.
“Yeah,” Janus rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “That’s the only picture I have with her. She hates cameras, always said she was self conscious and shit. It sucks that the only one I have, I don’t even remember taking.”
Roman knew he should respond to the surprisingly vulnerable statement, but his eyes had zeroed onto the still slightly slimy, wrinkly baby in the photo. Its little fists were tucked against his face, eyes closed peacefully, a moment of bliss that time forgot. That’s not what caught his attention, though. He squinted, edging just that much closer to the photo.
“You were born at Jacob Banks Memorial Hospital? I thought you lived in Chicago before you moved out here.” The tiny golden embroidery in the edge of the blanket was just focused enough to make out, as if he didn’t have an identical blanket at home, stashed under his bed in a box of other memories that were too special to throw away. He’d run his finger over the stitching a hundred times, reread the words and committed the blanket to memory, just for that high of simple childhood. And now, here was Janus as a baby, swaddled in the same blanket.
From the same hospital.
From the same day.
“Yeah. My parents were visiting relatives in town when my mom went into early labor. We didn’t end up actually moving here until a couple years ago.” Janus didn’t seem to notice the gears turning in Roman’s head as he reached forward, plucking the picture off the table and bringing it closer to his face. He tapped the glass, just above baby Janus’ arms.
“Right there, my timer. It’s just a few minutes left. I met my soulmate as a baby and no one cared enough to check who it was.”
“Janus.”
“I called the hospital as soon as I was old enough to comprehend, but they said they couldn’t help me. Didn’t have a record of anything to do with soulmates. Some help, huh.”
“Janus!”
“What? I’m trying to be melodramatic, Roman.”
“That’s the same hospital I was born in.”
“Okay? It’s the only one in town, I’m not overly surprised-” The lightbulb went off, and his head jerked up. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’.”
They both were quiet for a moment, like the whole house was holding it’s breath, before Janus finally spoke, his voice a choked whisper. “Imagine with me, if you will,” he murmured, taking the picture and inspecting it closely. Not so much for sake of searching for details he wouldn’t have missed the hundreds of hours he spent inspecting the photo, more so just to avoid looking at the person beside him. “Two babies, born in the same place on the same day, put into the same small hospital nursery. They see each other, and click, their timers are out. Except both their parents don’t give a flying rat’s ass-”
“And so they never realize they met, and live their entire lives shrouded in mystery,” Roman finished quietly, suddenly terrified of the new ice they were walking on.
“Hypothetically, of course.”
His head snapped up and the spell was broken, meeting Janus’ pale eyes and jumping to his feet, flapping his hands to dispel his nervous energy. “Okay. Okay! That could… that could make sense! All signs point that way, right?” He began to pace the length of Janus’ room, head tilted towards the ceiling, “And I mean, god, I’ve liked you for how long now? So I’m definitely not upset!”
“You’ve what?”
“Alright, so we can call the hospital, or go there, or something! I’m sure they can tell us how many babies were born that day, that doesn’t seem like confidential information, right? And if it was just us three, you, me, and Remus, then that’ll settle it!”
“Wait, no, Roman, stop!”
Janus launched himself at Roman before he could click the call button on the Google search of the hospital, already dedicated to his plan. He ripped the phone from his grasp and tossed it onto the bed after pressing the power button, grabbing Roman’s hands tightly.
“Jan, what the hell? That’s the only way we’re going to know for sure if we’re-”
“But what if we’re not?!”
The two settled into silence after the outburst, searching each other’s faces intently. They both shared scared expressions, eyes wide with excitement and nervousness, the possibility of years worth of questions finally being answered. The promise that their two soulmarks weren’t dysfunctional, weren’t broken, and fate that had led them together one way or another.
But what if they weren’t?
“What if it’s a coincidence? What if you find out that your mom checked out before mine even got there, or our paths never could have crossed, or there were twenty babies born that day and there’s no sure way to know that we are each other’s soulmates? What if you find out that your soulmark said two years and mine ran out with someone else completely?”
“You’re starting to sound like Virgil,” Roman said quietly, almost fondly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.
“Roman, if you’re my soulmate, I’d be elated,” Janus’ hushed tone matched his, “But I don’t know what I’ll do if I build my hope and then find out it’s not true.” They were quiet again, and Janus was suddenly hyper aware that he was still holding Roman’s hands, a furious blush rising to his cheeks. He fought the urge to look away, look anywhere other than Roman’s bright eyes, because this was the closest they’d ever been and he was scared one flinch might break the charm they were in.
“We don’t have to check,” the taller whispered, “If you are, I’m content just… believing it.”
“You always were a cheesy romantic.” The phrase was meant to be cutting, but the uncontainable grin across his face greatly lessened its impact.
“I’m a Disney lover, what can I say?”
Janus snorted, dropping his head on to Roman’s shoulder, his heart nearly stopping altogether when the taller boy wrapped his arms around him and pulled them a step closer together. “So we’re agreeing on this? That we’re soulmates?” His voice was muffled against Roman’s shirt.
“As far as I’m concerned, yes. Fuck the system, right?”
“Overthrow the government. Commit arson in the name of anarchy. Society is a prison.”
“Dramatic, and that’s coming from me,” Roman drawled, rocking them back and forth slowly, dancing to unheard music, “Hey, Janus?”
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
#tsshipmonth2020#lywrites#roceit#roman sanders#janus sanders#virgil sanders#sanders sides#ts soulmate au#soulmate september#soulmateseptember#tw abuse#tw neglect
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After Midnight pt. 1 (Feysand)
Synopsis: After a tumultuous, heartbreaking relationship, Feyre Archeron turns to online dating for a break from normalcy. Or rather, to Velaris Nighttime Ventures, the most exclusive, high-dollar escort system around. She needs to ease back in to intimacy, so this seems like the perfect idea. But what happens when her escort turns out to be someone she can’t get out of her head? Someone who seems to understand and appreciate everything about her?
My many disclaimers: Stole a line in here from The Hating Game. And one from ACOTAR obviously. And the story line is loosely based off of The Kiss Quotient. Basically, I’m a fraud.
__________________________________________________________
~Feyre~
If I told any of my friends I’m about to hire a hooker, they’d laugh themselves silly.
And, to be honest, the idea is a little ridiculous to me, too.
I’ve never had a problem getting a date in my life. Brownish blondeish hair, blue-gray eyes, and an athletic build give me slightly above average looks. A lucrative job makes me financially sound and independent. A lifetime with two sisters gave me a sense of humor.
I’ve dated prom kings, nerds, and everything in between. I’m completely normal.
Or at least I used to be.
After everything that happened last year, I don’t know if that’s true anymore.
My therapist tells me constantly it’s okay that my last relationship changed me. And the multiple degrees on her pretty green wall tell me she knows what she’s talking about and that she’s completely correct.
Even if... even if it doesn’t feel okay.
Even if I can hardly stand looking in a mirror or being hugged or someone giving me a compliment.
Even if I haven’t felt like myself in so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize it if i did.
Because while I used to love putting makeup on, choosing a dress, and going out, the thought now fills me with so much dread it makes me nauseous.
What if I just make the same mistake as last time?
My sister's told me my whole life to guard my heart, but I always laughed it off and said she was being cynical. And what do I have to prove it? Trust issues and a standing appointment Dr. Motley.
Men don’t deserve my trust. At least not right now.
But... it’s time to move on in the physical sense.
And since running the risk of taking home the wrong man scares me shitless, I’ll start with someone who can’t reject me, can’t make me feel worthless.
Someone who won’t develop feelings for me or get attached and demanding. Someone... who won’t mind giving me control.
A hooker.
Or escort, like the Velaris Nighttime Ventures website says as I scroll through pages and pages of profiles.
Gods, this is more stressful than my first gallery opening.
All the profiles include is a picture, probably-fake name, height, an age, and a simple sentence about them.
It feels creepily similar to online shopping. And there are so, so many options. How the heck am I going to choose one?
Scrolling down further, my eyes roam over men of every skin tone, age, and height. I don’t have any real preference, but decide I need to have a few ground rules, otherwise this will take forever.
Age? I’m twenty-seven and don’t have an interest in being a cougar, so I set the range from twenty-eight to thirty-five.
Height? At 5′6, I’m not exactly tall, but I’ve always found men who were more attractive, so I shrug and put the minimum at six feet.
Pressing enter, I watch the website sort, then look at the number of men left. Thirty. Not bad.
Scrolling through slowly, I realize it’s kind of like a yearbook for an all male college or something.
A college full of really sexy men.
I pause on a few, but something about them make her keep going. I want the complete opposite of my ex, so any with features like him get eliminated.
Eventually, I get to the last row, feeling a little dejected.
But then I see him.
His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and once I see him, I can’t look away. Without another thought, I click on the profile.
The name under the picture reads Rhysand. No last name, probably for privacy purposes. He’s a few years older than me. And tall--6′3 tall. But that isn’t what draws me closer. It’s the sentence he’d written.
To the stars that listened -- and the dreams that are answered.
My fingers ignore the rational part of my brain and click the button to book an appointment, and before I know it, I’m looking at a confirmation page.
For tonight at midnight.
Oh gods.
~Rhysand~
After working at the bar for a few hours, I head back to my shitty apartment to get ready for tonight’s appointment.
Someone has booked me for an “evening of adventure and pleasure” as the confirmation email tells me.
Wonderful.
All I know is her name: Feyre. It doesn’t sound like an old-lady name, so there’s that.
Those are the worst. It feels like fucking someone’s grandmother. Not that I’d know, exactly. And I mean sure, most of my clients are older. But there’s older, and then there’s old. Fine line between the two, let me tell you.
Most of the people who hire me are in their forties, trapped in miserable marriages, and desperate for a decent lay. They’re also filthy rich, because I’m not cheap in the slightest.
It’s why I’d agreed to this shit in the first place.
Yeah, I have to psych myself up and sleep with a random lady, but the pay is killer. And the more money I make, the quicker I can stop.
So I shower and go through my pre-appointment routine, trying not to think about what’s become of my life.
There weren’t any special requests on the appointment, but the meet was set for a swanky hotel downtown, so I put on a dark suit and white dress shirt. My hair doesn’t need much work, so I leave, figuring I’ll get there early.
The drive over’s quick, and soon I’m walking inside and sitting at the bar. She has my picture, but I don’t have a clue what she looks like, so she’ll have to come find me.
After a few minutes, someone settles next to me, and I turn around with an expectant smile.
But when I see who it is, I stop. And hating myself more than I thought possible, I tell the woman, “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”
Which really fucking sucks, because she’s beautiful as hell.
Smooth skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and kiss-me lips kind of beautiful.
She gives me a strange look, then says words I’d never expect from someone like her. “I’m Feyre. I’m the... client.”
The way she cringes on the word tells me it’s her first time doing something like this, and the thought makes me a little too happy.
I know I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is... she’s definitely no grandma.
~Feyre~
He keeps staring at me for a few more moments, then smiles and says, “Sorry. You’re not what I was expecting.”
I nod, then realize I have no idea what to say. Or do. Fuck, this is weird. “Do you want a drink?”
Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “Feel free, though.”
That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. After ordering from the bartender, I turn to the man next to me and smile sheepishly. “I don’t really know how this works. It’s my first time with... this.”
“I figured.” He’s turned toward me, one arm braced on the bar. “You can have your drink, and we’ll go upstairs when you’re ready.”
A nervous laugh ebbs out of me, and I blush. “Okay.”
Gods, am I really going through with this?
I mean sure, he’s hotter than all hell, but he’s a prostitute.
Would you rather invite a random man home with you? the bitch that lives in my brain asks with a knowing smile.
I ignore her as a drink’s set in front of me, finding it helps a little. The man next to me just watches, face a mixture of confusion and amusement.
Somehow, the photo didn’t do him justice. He’s ridiculously attractive, with dark hair, almost violet eyes, and tan skin. There’s a hint of stubble on his strong jaw, surrounding the sensual mouth that’s currently smirking at me.
I’m definitely attracted to him, but this is still weird.
“So, why are you doing this?” he asks as I drink. “If you don’t mind.”
I’m sure as hell not telling him the truth, so I say, "I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”
Rhysand smiles, and it only makes him more attractive. “Fair point.”
Then he looks me up and down, raises his dark brows, and asks, “Ready?”
Not in the fucking slightest. “Sure.”
By the time we reach the elevator, I’m practically shaking. Telling myself that I can do this--that it’s what I want, for gods sake--doesn’t really help. But I don’t say a word as we glide up, then walk to the room I’ve rented for tonight.
When we get inside, I avoid looking at the bed as I turn to him.
Rhysand smoothly takes off his suit jacket, then leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. “You seem nervous.”
He certainly doesn’t. Every move he makes is smooth and easy, like he’s so comfortable in his body he doesn’t ever get nervous or self-conscious.
Must be nice.
“I do?” It’s a deflection, and we both know it.
“You’re shaking like a wet dog.” My nose wrinkles at the analogy, and he grins. “A very cute wet dog.”
I told myself I’d be alright, but now that I’m alone with him, I realize I’ve told absolutely no one where I am tonight. And if things go wrong... I start pacing. “I’m, uh... it’s just... nothing. Let’s do this thing.”
I should write sonnets.
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I sit next to him.
“Why don’t we just take things slow?”
Thank the gods. I nod.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, using manners I definitely hadn’t expected but much appreciate.
I nod again, trying to keep my hands from shaking.
Rhysand raises a hand, but I swallow and push down the flare of panic as he cups my jaw and tilts my face to his. Then he leans in--keeping his word and going very slowly--and I brace myself as his lips brush against mine.
My body doesn’t exactly know how to feel when they touch. On the one hand, a very handsome man is kissing me. On the other... a man is kissing me.
I ignore the second thought and kiss him back.
His lips are silky soft against mine, slowly urging them open, and then his tongue is in my mouth, caressing mine. Everything’s slow and sensual and practiced.
And even though it’s a picture-perfect moment, it feels like that scene in the movie where the dumb blonde goes down the dark hallway while the entire theater screams at her to run.
Oh gods oh gods oh gods.
My brain’s playing me a repeat of the last year on fast forward, and I press my eyes closed to try and block it out.
I’m fine.
Rhysand leans into me, and then I’m on my back with him hovering above me, still kissing me. His surprisingly muscled frame is heavy against me, pressing me down into the soft sheets, and his elbows are by my head.
Nothing’s wrong.
Everything’s wrong.
I take a quick moment to remind myself that if this had happened a year ago, I’d probably have wrapped myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted.
But the past twelve months weren’t just a bad dream. And the band-aid protecting the stupid, naive girl I used to be from the harsh realities of the world has been ripped off and torn to bits.
And suddenly, I can’t breathe.
His head snaps up immediately, and violet eyes gaze down at me, full of concern. A weak hand comes up to press against his chest, and he sits up immediately. “Feyre? Are you okay?”
I shake my head and practically roll off the bed onto the floor. It’s completely undignified, but I don’t care. My lungs are on fire, my throat tight with the tears I’m barely holding back.
I have to get away from him; I have to get some space.
My back hits the wall, and I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees.
Breathe, Feyre, breathe.
The silence in the room is broken only by my gasps, and I focus on the sound, letting it remind me that I’m here, that I made it out.
I don’t let myself think about the other person in the room. It’s just me, and I’m fine. I made it out.
There’s scratchy carpet under my legs, a wall behind my back, and more than enough air in the room.
Eventually, my brain catches up with the obvious, allowing oxygen to fill my chest. I’m gulping down breath after breath until my heart rate finally starts slowing down, and it’s only when my head stops feeling fuzzy do I open my eyes.
Rhysand sits on the bed, beautiful eyes wide, watching me.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Gods, he’s probably uncomfortable beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to-”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off and shaking my head. I know I should get off the floor, but my legs feel like jello, and I don’t want to crawl around again. “I, um...”
The words to explain the panic don’t come easy, but he stays silent, giving me time.
And because I’m a coward who still can’t admit what happened to me, I repeat the words my therapist suggested I try.
“I have problems with intimacy.” It’s hardly a whisper, but I know he hears it. “And, um... I thought it would be easier with someone like you.” I flinch at my own words and try to make it sound less offensive. “I didn’t mean-”
“It’s okay, Feyre. I understand.”
Tears burn the edges of my eyes, but I force them down and steady my voice. “You can go. There’s money on the desk.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this. Unless I’m the reason.”
“No, it’s not you,” I assure him. “You’re great. I just have a hard time relaxing with- I mean around-”
“Men,” he finishes quietly.
And even though I didn’t tell him, he looks like he can read the words off my face. Rhysand doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are understanding and calm.
He extends a hand, the silent invitation clear, and for some reason, it makes me smile as I slowly get to my feet, using the wall to support me.
Walking over, he takes my hand in is, and I notice how rough his palms are. Before I can wonder what he does to get such big callouses, he takes my other hand and places them on his shoulders.
“You’re in control. There are no expectations with me.” The words wash over me, settling in, and my heart slows down a bit. “If you want to kiss and call it a night, we can. It’s up to you.”
For some reason, hearing that he doesn’t care helps. It’s the reason why I chose this, I guess. I’m the client, and I’m in control.
Finally feeling calm, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s heavily muscled, but it’s smooth and lean, not bulky. From a physical life, not from hours spent in a gym.
I can see the faint lines of tattoos beneath the shirt, but I don’t move to unbutton it.
His eyes stay on me, and I meet them as my hands drift to his face. The stubble I’d noticed earlier is rough against my fingers as I trace his jaw, then the strong slope of his eyebrows.
It’s been a year since I touched a man. Longer since I did so this... leisurely.
My hands find their way into his dark hair, and I smile at how soft it is. His head tilts back a little and his eyes drift close. I don’t know if he’s putting on a show or actually enjoying this, but he seems calm at least.
And I think... I think this could work.
Working on my intimacy issues with him could help fix me, maybe even get me ready for a real relationship.
So I lean in slowly and press my mouth to his.
Like he said, I’m in control. While earlier had felt like being kissed, this feels like kissing. I move my mouth slowly over his, tracing the curve of his lower lip softly.
He really is a beautiful man.
And patient, too. He’s extremely patient while I take my time learning the shape of his mouth, then the angle of his jaw. He stays still, eyes closed, letting me explore.
I slowly drift back to his mouth, and when he eases his lips open, I meet his tongue with mine. It’s slow and light and just enough to make me want more.
My breath comes shorter, but it isn’t in panic.
Taking his hands from the bed beside him, I place them on my hips. His fingers flex, but they stay exactly where I put them, even as I wrap my arms around his neck and press a little closer to him.
We’re still just kissing, but I feel it in my entire body, all the way to my toes.
I pull back and take a deep breath, not knowing how to put what I want into words without embarrassing myself. Bright violet eyes meet mine as Rhysand runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Just say it.”
How can he read my face so well after just an hour of knowing me?
“Lean back,” I say, my face warm with a blush. “But don’t turn us over. I can’t... I feel trapped.”
Rhysand just nods, gripping my hips tighter, then lays down with me on top of him. My chest is against his, my legs resting in between his. It’s the closest I’ve been to someone in a long time, and I wait for the panic to set in, but none comes.
“You okay?”
A small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so damn understanding and nice. It’s making me feel so incredibly stupid, even as it warms my heart.
I nod, then put my head down against his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why?”
Looking back up, I meet his eyes hesitantly. “You’re probably so weirded out by me. Paying you just to come make out like teenagers.”
He smiles, and it makes some of the nerves untangle. “Silly woman. I could kiss you all night. You have the most delicious mouth.” He leans in and kisses me, as if to prove it, then makes a deep humming sound.
“That’s absurd,” I mutter, even though I feel a lot less anxious now.
Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “You taste like fucking candy.” His arms loosely wrap around my waist. “Tilt your head to the side and I’ll prove it.”
I do, and his mouth meets my neck, slowly but in a way that makes it feel like I’m being devoured. Tingles shoot down my body as he sweeps my hair off my neck to get better access, and a soft moan escapes me as he sucks on the spot between my shoulder and neck.
He pulls away enough to say, “You have a really sexy moan, too.”
My face goes scarlet, and he grins up at me, then we’re kissing again. Gods, the man can kiss. He’s letting me control everything, but it’s obvious he’s good at what he does.
Even though I’m almost delirious with lust--something I haven’t felt in a long, long time--I know this is enough for tonight. I’ve already had one panic attack, and I don’t want to push myself too hard.
So I pull back and tell him, “You can go. I don’t think... this is good for tonight, I think.”
“I feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth if I leave now,” he says, and if I could’ve sworn I hear a hint of sadness in his tone.
I shrug, not telling him the money for tonight was nothing to worry about. Instead, I just slide off him and stand up, straightening my shirt. “It’s was more than okay. Seriously. Thank you for being so understanding.”
Rhysand rises fluidly and grabs his jacket, then turns to me. Before he can speak, I say, “I actually wanted to talk to you about another appointment.”
After an awkward pause, he says quietly, “I don’t really do... repeats.”
“Oh.” There’s no way to hide the disappointment in my voice.
I’d thought that I’d be able to work with him slowly. Build on what we did tonight. The thought of having to find a different man and explain why I’m so emotionally stunted... shit.
What if I freak out again, in front of someone new?
Gods, no wonder he doesn’t want to come back. He’s already had to deal with an hour of my trauma. Who would ever sign up to do it again? I’m damaged goods.
“It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just had a few clients get sort of... attached. So I made a policy to not meet with women more than once.” He sounds nice and apologetic, and it grates my nerves a little.
Rejection is rejection no matter how you look at it.
And no matter how fucked up I am, I don’t need anyone’s pity.
But, like a big girl, I smile and nod. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else. Your money is on the table.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Find someone else? What do you mean?”
My eyebrows fly up at how shocked he sounds. He just saw firsthand how not okay I am, and he’s surprised?
“I mean that I’ll find someone else. I have intimacy issues, and I need to work on them. I understand completely that you’re uncomfortable with that, and I’ll find someone who isn’t.”
There’s a flicker in his jaw. “And you’re planning on using the website for this someone?”
“It’s really none of your concern.”
“Feyre, there are some not so great people on there. You shouldn’t use-”
My patience snaps. “You have absolutely no right to lecture me. You don’t want the job, I will find someone else, since it’s such a goddamn burden. Now thank you very much for tonight, but you’re community service is done. You can go.”
There are too many emotions on his face to process them all, but I definitely register shock.
“I promise it isn’t about you, okay? You’re great. Hell, I’d want to sleep with you even if I wasn’t getting paid. But I have a policy, and-”
“Like I said, I understand. You can go now.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t use the site to find another guy.”
There’s something about the command in his voice that grabs every last thread I’m hanging by and rips them free. I march over to him and jab a finger into his chest. “Do not tell me what to do. Ever.”
Rhysand eyes narrow, but it isn’t in anger. It’s like he’s looking at a puzzle, and he just figured out the piece he’d thought would fit won’t. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
I remove the finger-gun from his chest, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he catches me completely off guard by saying, “I’ll do four more appointments.”
Rolling my eyes comes a little to easy. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not your goddamn charity case.”
“No, because if you were, you’d probably be a little grateful.” Whatever retort I had planned dies in my throat. “But it’s not pity. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other guy from the site.”
There’s enough genuine concern in his voice for me to believe him. And the last thing I want is to put myself in danger.
But I still ask if he’s serious, because to be honest, it sounds perfect.
If I can fix myself in six appointments.
That’s a pretty big if.
“Yes, seriously. But I’m going to charge you more, and we can only meet here.”
I shrug because I sure as hell wasn’t about to invite him to my place. And unless he’s planning on charging enough to buy a house, it should be fine. “Okay.”
He glances at me, then down at himself, like he’s suddenly aware he’s still standing here. “Okay.”
And just like that, I’ve hired a hooker.
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Part 2 is here because I have no self-control. Let me know in the comments/my box if you want to be tagged :)
@trinitybailey2003 @zukos-simp @cursebreaker29 @sjmships @starrynightsbooks @lovemollywho @januarystears @perseusannabeth @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace
#feysand#feyre archeron#feyre#rhysand#feyre x rhys#rhys#acotar#acomaf#acowar#acofas#acotar fanfiction#a court of mist and fury#a court of thorns and roses#a court of wings and ruin#a court of frost and starlight
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TALK TO ME MORE ABOUT BODYGUARD!JAVI AND DRUMMER GIRL AND READER PLS. HOW DOES JAV GET INTO BEING A BODYGUARD? WHY DOES DRUMMER GIRL NEED ONE?? HOW FUCKIN BADASS IS READER???
do these count as hc requests? i just like talking about them and thinking about them and i love them as much as i love our tough as nails but still 100% human gorgeous wifey
AAAAAA I LOVE YOU
I know you sent this in FOREVER AGO but im answering it now because uhhhhhh im out of work for a hot minute and need something to do!!!! And i love javi, drummer babe, and reader!!!!!
this ended up MUCH longer than i expected im sorry aksksksk.
@thesadvampire @captainsamwlsn @winters-buck
SO. I like to imagine that Javi got into security work after he stopped working in the DEA. he needed something less high strung, but still in a similar field. Security work was easy enough actually, with a background like his he found jobs easily and worked on temporary contracts as a bodyguard for many famous actors and singers. In his opinion almost every single one he’d met had been a TOTAL dick. He found celebrities to be pompous self-righteous pricks, many of which would use the same drugs he spent his life arresting people for right in front of him after a show or shooting. It boiled his blood to not be able to stop it. But hey, that’s showbiz.
Now onto our sweet drummer babe. Who is a southern raised sweetheart with the hands of God that pound out music on her drum set every night like it's her one joy in the world. Her name is Gemini, but called Gem by her friends and bandmates. She’s the drummer of a new band riding the high of their newfound popularity that is just about to go on tour around the US. Javi is hired as a preventative measure. Sure they’ll have guards at each concert, but their manager thought itd be good to have one that went along with them from place to place, the entire goddamn time.
To keep them out of trouble. The manager told Javi as he stepped onto the tour bus with a fake smile.
Which meant babysitting.
Ultimately. Gem was the only one Javi got along with. The singer was a pompous prick who thought he could treat Javi more like a goddamn butler than a guard. The bassist, perhaps in an attempt to gain more popularity herself, more vocal parts other than backup, or out of her pathetic schoolgirl crush on him, agreed with every word the smarmy schmuck said. The lead guitarist didn't talk much, when he did, was it was some odd bullshit about being on the “new wave of music” and talking in a way that made Javi think of a cult leader. He chalked it up to the drugs, but did not want to find out if he was right or not. But their lead drummer? Oh, Gemini was a woman with a bite. She didn’t hesitate to call other members out on their bullshit or their flippant disrespect of javi.
“He’s here to keep us safe, not make your fucking beds. If the crowd gets too rowdy next time, dont be shocked if he leaves your ass behind.”
It didn’t take long for the pair of them to fall into bed together. It started off as just sex for Javi, because he couldn't necessarily just ditch the band and go to a bar in search of a hook up. But at some point, as Gem played with his hair while he talked about his old man and the ranch back home he felt a shift. His heart would skip a beat when his arm curled protectively around her waist while leading her through a crowd, he’d find himself smiling and even tapping his foot on beat during their rehearsals. During concerts, he’s backstage, ready to lead them off when they finish. She'll be sweating, grinning like a mad man and basking in the cheering crowd, every time she showed off her skills on the drum he couldn’t help but feel a thrum of pride in his chest.
That’s his girl.
You however, he met differently.
I'm not sure if you fall into the traditional sense of badass. As in some muscly scared woman kicking ass and taking names.
You’re a college professor, smart, articulate and intimidating in that sort of sense of walking into a classroom people suddenly feel inadequate before you. Recently divorced, you realize you never acted for you, never had crazy moments of rebellion or wild college nights. So you take a leave from work. You're in such good standing with the university they allowed it. Join some friends who somehow convince you to follow this band on tour for a goddamn year and it's already the first day in and you know this was a horrible idea oh god maybe if you call your boss you can let him know you'll be there for the fall semester and you can cancel the long term substitute they have set up? God what were you thinking? You aren’t wild or spontaneous or-
But then the lights shut off, the crowd begins to scream as the music flows, a steady beat filling your entire chest. The stage lights up and you see the drummer, the most beautiful fucking woman you've ever laid eyes on in your life, with her eyes shut as she plays and her hair swaying as she moves to the beat.
When Gemini opens her eyes she sees you watching her and feels her heart hammer. You're not looking at the band as a whole. Not screaming for the singer or lifting your top up for the lead guitarist. You're watching her. With this big excited smile and Christ you look so pretty as a friend pulls you close to dance with a laugh, but you're still looking at her. Gemini was used to being glossed over. She wasn't the singer or playing the electric guitar. She was the drummer. But you didn't look at anybody else for the rest of the night.
At the end of the show, Javi watched as Gemini jumped up from her drum set and curled a hand around his bicep before pointing you out in the crowd.
“She was watchin’ me the whole show, Javi. I think I finally got myself a fan.” Javi sees you, being tugged and pulled by your friends at the excited chatters of an afterparty. He watched your side profile with admiration that even after dancing to a 90 minute concert you looked almost regal among your friends. You turned, once more catching Gem’s eyes and extending a shaking hand in a self conscious wave.
He felt her fingers twitch nervously against his arm as she, the lead drummer in a famous band, waved back with an excited smile.
This will be interesting to watch play out. But he couldn't hide his attraction to you as well, even as he took you by the hand and led you backstage to meet Gem.
He just really hoped this wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.
#javier pena#javier pena x reader#javier pena x gemini#javier pena x gemini x reader#anywayyyysss i love thi#this idea if what got me and ash talking and became friends!!!#once more painfully self indeulgent but i need a distraction and since school doesnt start up for another two weeks or so im here lmao
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@theeyethatbinds Girl SING IT. SING IT LOUDER FOR THE GIRLS IN THE BACK, SWEAR TO GOD.
Like I’m gonna be real wit y’all I was looking forward to le Comte for a while, but I was always side-eyeing Jeanne. He’s a blunt hermit and grump and 100% mood, so I hoped his route would give me more insight into how I feel about him.
Ladies. When I tell you. It was EXCELLENT. I mean there are so many gr9 routes in the game, I don’t want to take away from them, but there was just something about his that hit me so hard???? (MY KOKORO BROKORO)
More under the cut since his route won’t be out for a little while (we still got Isaac, then Theo, then Jeanne), as a little treat. As usual, pls don’t read if you don’t want spoilers, thanks!
Okay so going into this route I was fully expecting the big sads. I mean, if history has taught us anything it was that Joan D’Arc was a badass but good lord, that doesn’t mean the people of her time were kind to her. (I need to do more thorough research on her, so if I’m getting any of her pronouns wrong or neglect something, I do apologize.)
That being sad, I was like aight DECK MY SHIT WITH TRAGEDY, JEANNE. And at the beginning it’s p fascinating. He’s very ornery and resistant to any kind of consideration or attempts at friendship MC extends. But eventually, after a good deal of persistence, he relents little by little.
I’d also like to level with y’all for a sec. Being someone who knows a great deal in regards to the kinds of mental and emotional shit Jeanne struggles through, I think they handled that part of the route so, so well. Granted, I’m not the kind of person to launch a crusade over different writing styles--but for me it just feels all the more poignant when it makes sense; when certain dispositions or trauma are conveyed with that depth. To me, it made 100% sense that Jeanne would be so against accepting other people into his life immediately.
He and Mozart vibe because they’re so similar, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s comfortable letting just anyone in--much less a complete stranger. I think it’s more that Mozart and Jeanne share a kind of indelible bond/mutual recognition through their talent, actually. They were both prodigies, absolute geniuses in their fields (military vs. music) but their social skills were shot to hell for the very same reason. To be brilliant--beyond one’s potential posthumous legacy--tends to mean being hated. Plus, they’re both principled to absolute extremes. When they’ve decided on something, they will not waver. They’re stubborn and austere, but behind those walls lies a molten core of sensitivity.
This is important to understanding him, I think, before I move forward.
While one could argue that their reaction is a result of that deficiency of emotional and social support (which I entirely concede does contribute to the matter at hand, it shouldn’t be overlooked) I think the real crux of the matter here is control. Think about it. Among the oldest residents in the mansion (let’s say that were born more than 100 years within the range of the present period of the game) are Mozart, Jeanne, Isaac, and Shakespeare. What do they all have in common?
Extremity. For Mozart, it comes in the form of a kind of OCD, as perfectionism. For Jeanne, it is generalized anxiety and PTSD. For Isaac, it is primarily social anxiety--but it’s still noticeably severe. And Shakespeare runs around with a knife, insecurity through the roof, literally unable to trust anything or anyone (psychosis? schizoaffective? I’m really not sure, these are all ballpark assessments based on the evidence I have). In order to adjust to their new surroundings, there was a cost--and in some ways their coping mechanisms become noticeably maladaptive. They were born into eras that were mercilessly unpredictable, and the only way they knew how to cope was to was to either take the blame--make it a personal failing that tragedy struck--or try to immerse themselves into their craft. They all seek to regain some kind of control (this is even visible in Vincent, to a degree--painting was an escape from his emotionally turbulent world).
Granted that’s not to say that the others don’t struggle with such issues at all, I just feel like the characters from more unstable time periods tend (as a general trend) to mirror that instability within their personalities.
All that being said, (I apologize I am a tangent-monger and love meta), Jeanne’s self-imposed isolation is only partially caused by the above dynamic. Yes, he is unwilling to let people into his heart for fear of betrayal. (It’s almost like an entire nation clamoring to watch you burn for something you didn’t do after spending your entire life and talents trying to protect them would do that to you, but I digress >:| ). But there’s another devastating and potentially less obvious reason for keeping people out.
He thinks he deserves it.
Loneliness, melancholy, aimlessness. These are all the punishments that he incurred on himself after a life of what he conceives to be considerable sin (hahaha battlefield enemies go ripppp). Whether or not he was operating purely out of a sense of duty, even if he felt sympathy for his enemy combatants, it’s not enough. And the condemnation of his king, of his entire nation, only served to magnify that self-loathing to a dangerous degree. (Don’t get me started on his parents I’m still so angry >:| they more or less disowned him since he was constitutionally weak as a young boy, and thus could not serve as an adequate farmhand. Don’t work? Don’t eat/live).
It’s hard enough living in a reserved way because you’re afraid of getting hurt, but to think that you deserve it when hurt finds you, no less? And my favorite part, that he’s so profoundly sure that it is an extension of a personal, fundamental failing? That for a person to survive, they must be strong, that there can be no other way--that there is no time or space for ruminations on fairness or unfairness, there are only those who manage to survive and those who die.
Now my friends, esteemed comrades, legendary sluts. Is that enough for us, Cybird asks, are we feeling enough pain quite yet? Fuck no.
Most of his route after we get over the hurdle of his hesitation is just him. Being. Bashful and gentle as all FUCK. Like he is the definition of “I'll kill you, but also I’m babie.” For instance, she insists on teaching him how to read and write at night when she finds him trying (and not succeeding) to read “The Ugly Duckling”. Yes I mean the children’s book. I CRIED THE FIRST TIME AND I’M CRYING NOW. So, naturally, MC buys him a notebook to practice with and he puts his name in big letters on the front. When MC sees this, she asks him about it--wondering why he would given he’s so self-conscious of his own writing (boy writes all squiggly like a little kid because he’s never done it before ;-;).
The scene goes a little something like this:
MC: Wh....whatcha go there Jeanne? Jeanne: ? My notebook? MC: I...mean that you wrote your name on it? Jeanne: Yeah? MC: Why? Jeanne: ._. It was a gift from you, and I figured it'd be hard to practice if I lost it...so I put my name on it... (HE WAS SECRETLY TOUCHED I BET AND IM--) MC: Why such big letters? Jeanne: So people can spot it quickly, obviously MC, inches from crying and laughing: Jeanne: Mademoiselle??? Why are you laughing? MC: Because you’re cute, Jeanne!
Like. They start out so rocky and Jeanne is so SIGH. I guess I’ll agree if it’ll get her to stop looking so sad and ask me to join her for stuff. But then he just can’t help but go full softe at how patient and kind she is, starts feeling comfortable just...being who he is deep down. A man that’s always hoped for better in life, a person that only ever takes up his sword to protect--that has an incredibly pure and clear heart, despite so much pain.
And good lord, they are GOD TIER romantic slow burn???? Swear to everything holy, I was BEGGING for them to make out by like chapter 10, I was just suffering for most of the route until the bangarang premium. Here’s probably my favorite moment in the entire route:
Basically Sebastian and Mozart pull out all the stops trying to bring Jeanne and MC together (once they see Jeanne show some interested in her). And so Jeanne asks her to join him in the courtyard the next morning, and they’re playing with Cherie (Jeanne’s pet baby white tiger). Besides being ungodly adorable--because Jeanne invited her for the sole purpose of hoping to see her delightfully surprised--Mozart begins to play a love song nearby. They don’t name the tune, but Jeanne canonically starts singing along (I wholeass cried, I WANT TO HEAR HIM SING????). And so she asks what the song is about, and he explains that Mozart once played it for him, but he couldn’t make out the words at first. Mozart explained that it was a love song that speaks to the difficulties of being in love (the worry, the strife) but also the beauty of the intensity and passion. He goes on to say that even when he learned the words, it never made much sense to him back then--it never resonated.
He’s singing softly with a fond look, and so she asks, does he understand it now? And he looks her dead in the eye, and says “...I think I’m starting to.” Like. AM I SUPPOSED TO NOT LOSE MY MIND AT THE TENDERNESS????? WHAT A SMOOTH MOFO????? MAN RAISED TO BE A SOLDIER, NO KNOWLEDGE OF ROMANCE OR WOMEN, AND KILLS ME IN MILLISECONDS?????? I DEMAND JUSTICE. (Or it’s just me thinking sincerity is the best aphrodisiac, but that’s beside the point.)
This has been your quarantine 2d boy meta and yelling, provided by your local mod Minnie. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to get to the things I’ve been procrastinating on while reliving/dissociating about one of my favorite rts in the entire game. Stay safe and well out there y’all, peace out!
#ikemen vampire#ikevamp#ikevamp spoilers#ikevamp jeanne#ikevamp mozart#yall like#this reply just launched me right back into my jeanne feels#i dont have words for how much i love him#he's just such a good dude????? such a good dude#he really is trying his best pls give him love for me if you can#i binged his route almost as hard as sg's bc it was just t h a t sweet and compelling#i also cried like a baby#he deserves better and he deserves love#i will protect him forever#does that mean that in every single route i am acutely aware of the fact that I can't help him?#:))))))))))))))))))))))))))) life is pain. life is a party and jeanne and i are the pinatas.#and no i dont wanna talk abt it there will be no more questions LDKJH#just kidding around if anyone has any questions yall are free to send em! I'll answer to the best of my ability~#anyhoot ty @theeyethatbinds for bringing all those good feels back#you are a legend and you have wonderful taste we stan **cheers**
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Title Pending Olivia x MC Fic, Chapter two
Hellooo! I’d like to start off with a quick apology. I had a bunch of family drama this week, so I’m aware that this chapter is a bit lackluster. I swear that it’s not just a lack of talent! That’s only like ten percent of the problem! Anyways, here it is!
Warnings: Sexual language, cursing.
Story Tags: (Eventual) lemon, slow burn, enemies to lovers, angst.
Taglist: @kingliam2019 , @kamilahsayeet2063
“Woah.”
Maxwell was craning his neck to inspect Paige’s outfit from where she stood on the steps. It felt strangely like a grown-up prom, gliding down the stairwell with all eyes on her (well, Maxwell’s eyes). She gave a little twirl, showing off her devastatingly expensive gown. The gown she’d had to buy herself. You’d think that riding with a noble would mean that they’d be willing to shell out a dime or two, but alas, she’d spent her own damn money on this. Not that she was bitter or anything.
She’d gone with the angel outfit. A glittery, cold shouldered bodice gave way to heavy skirts of layered tulle and silk. A delicate lacey mask fit over her eyes, and a fluffy little halo floated above her head. She felt genuinely angelic, like she could float right around the room.
“Man, you look amazing! You’ll definitely get the ladies in court talking.”
It was the night of the first ball of the season. Just a day ago, Paige had hopped on a plane and flown out to Cordonia. She was staying in the palace with all the other nobles until the tour started up. They were set to move all around the country to the various duchies of the various suitors. In the meantime, Paige was staying in a fabulous room in the back of the palace she’d spent all last night marveling at. Now, she was marching down to the introductory ball with Maxwell by her side. It was a masquerade event, hence the angel outfit. She was set to make an excellent first impression, something that was crucial to building the flawless reputation she was determined to possess. According to Drake, she was about to walk into a room full of bloodthirsty snobs, so it was important to look the part of a future queen. Her wardrobe was her armour, Hana had said.
Hana. That was the name of the girl Paige had met in the dressing room, who happened to be the fourth of those five people who would one day change her life. The two had gotten dressed and acquainted, and Paige was hoping to run into her at the ball. She had been sweet, helpful, informative, and gorgeous. What was it with the people there? She had never seen such a consistent concentration of ridiculously hot people in her life.
“Okay. It’s time.” They stopped in front of the ornate golden doors. Maxwell turned to her, adjusting his mask. “Before we get into the actual ball, you’ll need to give the herald your full name when we go in. Since you’re with my family, you could technically be considered a Lady. You’ll give him your name, and he’ll announce you as Lady Paige…?”
“Langley. Lady Paige Langley.”
“Hm. Not exactly traditional, but regal enough.”
With that, he pushed open the doors, and they strolled in. Paige gave her name to the herald, and stood as straight as she could on the steps. Maxwell gave her a quick, reassuring smile, and she felt slightly better. He was good at that.
“LORD MAXWELL PERCIVAL BEAUMONT, AND LADY PAIGE LANGLEY!” The herald’s voice boomed through the enormous room. At the sound of an unfamiliar name, heads turned to watch Paige strut down the stairs. Little gasps and murmurs rippled through the room as they stared at her. She resisted the urge to tug at her hair or adjust her halo. Any move that betrayed how self conscious she was feeling would definitely get her noticed. People like those could sniff out an insecurity like blood in the water. The second a confident exterior faltered, they went in for the kill. Paige kept her back straight and her eyes ahead.
“Okay. I gotta go talk to my brother. You stay here. Mingle. You can do that, right? Just mingle.” Before she could respond, Maxwell was gone.
Paige turned, looking around desperately for someone she knew. She spotted Drake, looking vaguely angsty and annoyed in a corner, still in his basic denim. She decided she might as well try her luck with him. She walked over, trying her best to step slowly and gracefully.
“Well, well, well, aren’t you looking pretty.” He sized her up. “You fit right in.”
“Well, you’re charming as ever.”
“Ha! Compared to most of the nobles here, I’m your best friend.”
“God, Drake.” she rolled her eyes. “Everyone here’s been perfectly nice so far.”
“Sure, to your face. What do you think goes on the second you leave the room? The people here will jump at the chance to shove you as far down the totem pole as they can.”
“Well, let’s take a look at some examples of their behavior, shall we? They’re letting you attend an extremely high-brow event for free, in your day clothes. You have access to expensive foods, interesting conversation and a bar full of fancy foreign cocktails. And instead of being grateful, you choose to badmouth these people whenever you can, complain, and act like you’re being some big hero by being here. You’re not even wearing a mask!” She hadn’t realized how annoyed she was, but she found herself surprisingly worked up on this. At the sight of her pissed-off expression, Drake softened slightly.
“Look. I swear I’m not trying to be a dick, just trying to be honest. It may look glamorous here, but these people are completely two faced. You’re the newbie, and without someone like me looking out for you, you’ll get clobbered.”
His explanation didn’t exactly soften her up. “If your way of helping is to stand in the corner and bitch about this place, then I’d say you’re doing an excellent job.”
Drake looked like he was going to respond, but he stopped suddenly. He went stiff as a board and completely pale, his eyes fixed right over Paige’s shoulder. Before she could ask what was wrong, she felt a warm hand on her arm.
“Pardon me, but I must steal her away.” The voice was warm, seductive, completely unfamiliar. Based on the alarmed look on Drake’s face, it must not have been a friendly one.
“Um, I’ll just…” He all but sprinted for the opposite end of the room. Paige turned to face the intruder.
Oh. The tiniest of gasps escaped her lips as she gazed into a pair of emerald-green eyes.
If you were to take the moment she first saw Liam, and multiply it by about a thousand or so, you’d have some idea of how Paige felt. Her heart threatened to beat right out of her body as her stomach swooped dramatically.
The woman before her was like no noble Paige had seen before. Where some, like Hana, chose to present themselves as a sweet, soft sort of beautiful, this woman was more sexy. An edgy, almost dangerous sort of drop-dead gorgeous that made heat pool in Paige’s core.
She realized, dazedly, that the woman was wearing the devil costume Paige had almost bought. Little horns peaked out from her pile of crimson hair. The red velvet of her gown clung to her rounded hips, and the neck of it fell as far down her chest as courtly etiquette would allow. She gazed down at Paige, her lips slightly parted. She seemed surprised, as though the other woman had caught her off guard somehow, and Paige wondered distantly what that meant.
“I am Lady Olivia Vanderwall Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos,” she murmured. Paige fought to keep her eyes from flickering to the duchess’s candy-painted lips.
“I’m-”
“Lady Paige Langley. Yes, I heard the herald announce you. That’s why I’m here.” She shook her head slightly. Her gaze became sharper as she smiled at the other woman. “I make it my business to know every name at court, and I’ve never heard yours before. Perhaps you’re from one of the humbler duchies?” She didn’t give Paige a chance to respond. “In any case, since you’re the new girl at court, I thought I might give you a bit of advice. You’re not from here, I take it? Cordonia, I mean.” Paige could only nod.
“Well then, let me give you a little tip.” She leaned in with a conspiratory smile, and Paige could feel Olivia’s warm breath on her skin. Her legs grew unstable beneath her, as though she were about to faint.
“When you go up to see the king, bow and kiss his right shoe. It’s a sign of ultimate respect here.”
Could that be true? Unlikely as it seemed, Paige did recall reading about a similar custom from somewhere else in Europe. She frowned. “Really?” She made a mental note to ask Maxwell about that later.
“Oh, of course! It’s lucky I was able to tell you, otherwise you would’ve looked like a complete fool!” She gave a light laugh. As soon as she heard it, the waitress wanted to do whatever she could to hear that sound again.
“Paige!” Maxwell ran up from out of nowhere. Paige did her best not to be annoyed with him for cutting her time with Olivia short. “Liam’s-” he cut himself off as he noticed the Nevrakis. “Um, I mean, Prince Liam, whose title I am always sure to use, because of my deep respect and admiration for him, is coming out to see everyone.” Olivia rolled her eyes and walked off to join a small cluster of ladies.
“Are you ready to see him again?”
Paige tried to paste on a convincing smile. “Totally. I’m totally ready for this.”
“Cool. Let’s go!”
The pair ran off to join a gathering of people at the side of the room, Paige resisting the urge to check over her shoulder for Olivia.
“There he is!” Maxwell pointed. And there he was, the prince himself. Liam stood at the end of the room, making conversation with a star-struck young woman clearly trying very hard to keep cool.
“Do you think he’ll be happy to see me?” Paige whispered.
“Only one way to find out, I guess. But first, you gotta meet the king.”
“Wait, what? You didn’t tell me that I’m meeting the king first thing! What do I say to him?
“Calm down. It’s easy. Just follow what the other ladies do, and you’ll be fine.”
“Wait, wha-”
“LADIES OF THE COURT!” An announcer’s voice boomed across the room. “LINE UP TO GREET THE KING!”
The women rushed to form a line leading towards the front of the room. Paige caught a glimpse of an older man taking a seat upon one of the gilded thrones at the front of the room, flanked by two guards. Hitching up her skirts, she hurried over to take her spot in the growing queue. She watched as each woman made her way up to the king, curtseying and-
And nothing. The bulk of heavy skirts and the towers of gelled-up hair completely blocked her view. It was impossible to tell if any shoe kissing had taken place. She tried her best to steal a glance, but the women in line seemed to take her rustling for attempted line-cutting. She received multiple dirty looks as well as one quick jab to the ribs.
The line was shortening quickly, and Paige was beginning to get panicky. She was already a commoner. She couldn’t afford to broadcast the fact that she also knew pretty much nothing of Cordonian culture. She’d be laughed right out of the court, right out of the country. She leaned to the side again, trying desperately to see what was going on. Nothing.
Finally, there were only two women left in front of Paige. She had given up on trying to see what they were doing, and was instead just trying to not let her nerves show. Elegant smile, straight back. She caught a glimpse of Liam standing across the room, making polite conversation with those who had already met the king. Out of his sweater and into his official suit, he looked so much more… official. That air of nobility that had seemed out of place at the bar suited him perfectly here. He looked so quintessentially prince charming, the poster boy for all that was good and wholesome. It was easy to see why so many ladies were here. In addition to the many gold diggers that Paige was sure were lurking about, many of these women probably actually liked Liam. She watched as a dark-haired young woman laughed a little too hard at a joke of his, slapping his arm lightly. Her eyes sparkled as she stepped closer to him. Her lips parted, as she pre-
“Shitshitshit!” She hissed under breath, before praying that nobody heard her. It was her turn to greet the king.
“Good evening, milady.” The king smiled kindly at her as she took a step closer. He was clearly expecting something.
“Good evening, your majesty. I am Lady Paige Langley, of House Beaumont.”
She dropped into a low curtsey. Her face was inches from the king’s shoe.
She risked a glance back at Olivia. The duchess was watching with not a look of hope, or excitement, or malice. She was looking on with a very clear expression of guilt on her face.
Paige stood from her curtsey, smiled once more, and left the line.
* * *
“Hey! Where'd you go? I was looking all over for you!” Do you know how hard it is to find a pretty girl in a nice dress in a ballroom choked with pretty girls in nice dresses?”
“Sorry. I got caught up talking to Hana.”
After the thing with the king, Paige had felt strangely paralyzed with anxiety. Well, maybe it wasn’t so strange. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that a total stranger had tried to humiliate her like a schoolyard bully. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that said stranger was gorgeous and intimidating and sexy and Paige had wanted for her to like her so, so badly. She knew that a trick like this alone wasn’t a big deal, but it hurt that much more coming from someone whom she had so desperately wanted to be some angel. So, instead of joining the growing crowd of women mobbing Liam, she had gone out to the balcony for a moment to breathe. That was where she had found Hana, and the two spent the next half hour talking. It had been nice to just talk to someone, with no expectations or rules. Hana was quickly becoming one of her favorite people at court.
“Wait, you know Hana? Actually, nevermind, we’ll talk on that later. In the meantime, you have to get in there with Liam. You��re one of the only people he hasn’t talked to yet.”
“You think he’ll be freaked out? We only knew each other for like a night before I decided to come out here, and now I’m trying to marry him? Isn’t that weird?”
“Ha! You think a night is too weird? That’s practically a year in royal time. He’s meeting some of these women for the first time tonight. If anything, you’ve got a leg up. He both knows and likes you.”
“If you say so.”
“And I do. Look, I think he’s free. Go, go, go!”
Maxwell nudged her forward, and she strode across the room to meet Liam. He was finishing up a conversation with someone, and he turned to look at Paige as the woman walked away.
“Hello, Lady-” He stopped short, his eyes going wide. “It’s you! Paige!”
“It’s me.” She smiled at him, hoping this was a pleasant surprise. Her hopes were confirmed when he broke out in a huge grin.
“Oh, Paige, I thought I’d never see you again! How are you even here?”
“The morning after I met you, Maxwell found me. He offered to take me here so I could represent House Beaumont and… become queen.” Though it was the truth, the thought of saying “marry you” out loud turned her stomach.
“That’s amazing! I’m afraid we don’t have too much time to talk, but that’s incredible news. For the first time all night, I’m actually enjoying a conversation.”
“Does this mean that you’re happy to see me?”
“Happy? I’m ecstatic. I truly like you Paige. I think we have something, and I’m glad we’re getting the chance to explore that together.”
Guilt stabbed at her insides. Liam looked so happy to see her, and yet she couldn’t say the same. She kept thinking back to the moment she saw Olivia. They had barely spoken, and still she had sensed more chemistry in those few minutes than she had after a whole night with Liam. He wasn’t the one she wanted, not even close. But he had deep, personal feelings for her. If she nailed those challenges, she had a real shot at being Liam’s wife. It was a thought that would have made so many of those courtly ladies cry tears of joy, but succeeded only in filling Paige with dread. He actually liked her. He wanted this.
“It’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it? All this, I mean. How are you holding up?” She hoped he wouldn’t notice how she changed the subject.
“I’ve known this was going to happen for some time now. It’s certainly not ideal, but perhaps it won’t be quite so terrible with you here.”
God, he really wasn’t making this easy on her, was he?
“Are the ladies here really that bad? Most of the people I’ve spoken to have been nice enough.”
“It’s not that the ladies themselves are bad, not at all. It’s the process I don’t enjoy. The whole thing is ridiculous and exhausting to all those involved. I know most of the women here, and they’re all incredibly smart and accomplished. And yet they’re being lined up like members of...of…” He paused. “What’s that american dating show? The one with the roses?”
“The Bachelor?”
“Yes! That’s it! This whole thing is one big episode of the bachelor.”
“I’m sorry you have to go through all of it.”
“Don’t be. It is my duty to serve my country however I can. If this is what I must do, so be it.”
Before Paige could respond, the guard behind Liam stepped forward to clear his throat. The prince winced apologetically at Paige.
“I’m afraid we’ve got less than a minute now. Before you go, can I give you a warning?” She nodded.
“This place, these people, are different. We’re not in New York anymore. There are codes, rules, that you’ll have to learn but never be taught. You’ll make friends and alliances, but be careful. Someone like you, here, can’t be too trusting. I don’t mean to scare you, but I care about you. I couldn’t stand to watch you get hurt.”
“Liam, I-”
“Ahem.” The guard coughed. “I believe it is time to move on, your grace.”
“Thank you, Bastien.” The prince turned back, looking regretful. “I’m so sorry, but I must move on. Shall we speak later?”
“Let’s.” She shot him what she could only hope to be a reassuring smile, curtseyed, and strode off, spotting a familiar figure by the drinks.
“Hey, Paige! It looked like that went well.”
“I’d say it did. He seemed happy to see me.”
“Of course he was! I told you he would be.”
“He was weirdly cryptic, though. He kept talking about how much of a drag this whole thing is, and how I need to make allies, and gather people I can trust, and watch my back-the list goes on.”
“Huh. That doesn’t sound like him. Are you sure you weren’t talking to Drake?”
“Unless Drake suddenly owns a body guard and a non-denim item of clothing, then no.”
“Hm. I’ll talk to him later. It’s probably just the pressure of everything getting to him. He’s not wrong, though. It’s good to form alliances with the other ladies. Most of them are outside right now. Go join them, grab a drink, socialize. Make some friends.”
“Got it. Any tips before I go? Who’s nice, who’s boring, who’s a snobby-ass bitch, et cetera.”
“Well, first off, save the cursing for later. One F bomb in here can and will get you kicked out. But to answer your question, Hana’s probably one of the nicest that you’ll meet. Friendly, not a known schemer. Penelope Ebrim is probably one of the more boring ones here, but she’s nice enough. Easily manipulated, but you didn’t hear that from me. Kiara Theron’s pretty interesting, but she can be sort of condescending, snobby. And if you want to talk about-” He paused.
“If you’re looking for witches with a b, then watch out for Olivia Nevrakis. She would kill, and I mean that literally, to become queen. She’s ruthless, cruel, and a known saboteur. Be on the lookout for her.”
“Oh. Good to know.”
“You’re welcome. Now get out there!”
Hiking up her skirts, Paige strode out into a moonlit garden. The women were talking amongst themselves as they grabbed flutes of champagne. She was scanning the crowd when she felt someone come up behind her.
Turning, she found Olivia glowering at her, her friendly smile from before replaced with a pissy sneer.
“You seemed awfully friendly with the prince earlier, hm? You didn’t say you knew him personally.”
“It’s none of your business how I know Liam.” Paige savored the way the duchess blanched at the way the other woman skipped Liam’s title. “And can we get back to the way you lied to me about the shoe-kissing thing?”
“Yes, yes. Come on, even you have to admit that was funny.You’re the new girl, you’re going to get tricked.” Perhaps this would have been more bothersome if Olivia had been able to look the other woman in the eye, or stop fidgeting with her gown.
“Well, it’s done. You’ve gotten in your dumb little joke, and now it’s over.” At this, the duchess’s head snapped up, her mopey exterior suddenly vanished.
“It’s over when I say it’s over.” She took a step closer, her eyes blazing. Her voice had gone low and dangerous, and Paige hated the way it made her shiver. She tilted her chin, trying to look unfazed.
“Listen to me. I know you’re used to getting whatever you want from people, but that’s not how this is going to go. I’m not your servant, I’m not your follower. Whatever you may believe, you’re not entitled to Liam’s hand, and you’re certainly not entitled to my respect, fear, or loyalty.”
Olivia stepped back, surprised. Some of the women actually gasped as they watched the whole thing unfold.
“Excuse me? Clearly, you’re delusional. I grew up with Liam. I know him better than you ever will. Maybe you made for a fun distraction, but you’re nowhere near wife, or queen, material. The women here have been trained since birth to marry a prince, and if you think that you can just waltz in here and steal that from us, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Not a threat.” She was close, too close, and Paige wanted desperately to grab her even closer.
“A promise.”
#enemies to lovers#slowburn#eventual sex#angsty#choices stories you play#olivia nevrakis#trr mc#maxwell beaumont#liam rys#liam rhys#hana lee#drake walker
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june 2020
hi sociopath boy has disappeared off the face of earth but if there's any new serial killers in texas or around texas, we know where he went... anyways!
i'm gonna write scenarios and finally include those pictures i mentioned so much!
he's so mean to me, but i love him. i love the way his he calls people out. i love the way he knows his way around just about everyone's brain. i love the way he puts his hand on my chin to lift it up so i can look him in the eyes as he berates me. he's so perfect. the way his hair looks pushed back. the way he's able to make my knees weak whenever he wants. he's just so perfect, and i love him.
he say me on the bed before he walked away to close the door. i sat there, staring at him. am i scared of him? i think i might be. he locks the door, and turns around. he doesn't look at me, but he does come towards me. he starts to take off his tie, opening his suit jacket. the veins in his hands showing up more prominently. his dark hair covering his face as he looks down. then up. at me. he makes his way towards me and pushes me down while pulling my legs off the bed in one swift movement. he pressed his body onto me and i felt my body to start overheating.
update: sociopathic boy came back for a bit and i can't tell if he was flirting with me during that time or not, he would call me cute as usual but he'd talk more than usual? a few days ago he was in my state and mentioned how he could've kidnapped me, which just did something for me. he was really only like 20-30 minutes away from me. yesterday he complimented my art and showed me a bunch of his, which i must say is very very good. earlier today he mentioned one of my new favorite artists and said he's been listening to him since 2018 and he even tried to make music similar to his while he was in college. which just got me thinking about how pretty his voice would be, god! i just wanna talk to him, but i'm such a wreck jeez! i really hope he's doing okay. he mentioned how he was feeling down and i told one of our mutual friends and she was saying he's most likely okay and i just really hope shes right. he left me on read earlier and i don't know if it's just me having abandonment issues or daddy issues, but it just worried me so fucking much! he just means so much to me.
anyways before i get too sappy, back to the aesthetic !
“i'm gonna get dirty!" i yelled at him through my laughing, "no!! my dress!!" that didn't stop him as he pushed his lips onto mine, soft.
my gallery keeps messing up so i'm gonna rant in place of the other pictures! i'm getting tired of a majority of my friends :D like it's so weird for me, but everytime i mention how happy i am in a situation they wanna say something mean about whoever i'm talking about, or change the topic and just pretend like i didn't say anything but they expect me to listen and care about whatever they want to rant about? it just doesn't make any sense to me at all! i can't seem to do anything right can i? i mentioned the boy to them by just sending a clip of him talking and saying i liked his voice and literally the first thing one of my friends says is "he sounds stupid why is he trying so hard" like damn!! no one ever talks shit about your interests. you're literally the only person getting all upset about it, just shut the fuck up!!! i'm sorry. it's just so annoying! i can't even talk to my friends about the guys i'm into without them pointing out every flaw a boy has and then saying i can do better as if anyone is into me!!! i just don't get how someone can be that dense. "you can get any guy you want! why do you want that one?" yeah it'd great if i could just have my dream boy but it's not that easy for everyone!! i hate being so self conscious, but it just makes it worse when the people you expect to understand how things are for you start to make jokes about it as if they're the ones dealing with what you're going through.
god i'm sorry that you've never been rejected; god that must be so hard. oh i'm sorry you have so many people swooning over you for literally breathing! sorry you have to deal with that!! god!!! i could just imagine a world where i didn't have to worry if my fucking race was going to change if someone was interested in me or not! i'd love living without thinking about if i'm pretty enough for a black girl. i'd be so fucking happy if i didn't have to grow up thinking i was never going to be seen as attractive because of my fucking appearance. god, that's be amazing. i wish i never had to experience any of that. i wish no one ever thought to point out my race while complimenting me. i wish things were always good. i wish i could just get anyone i liked. i wish i wasn't so shy. i wish i wasn't scared of being letdown. i wish i wasn't so scared of saying what's on my mind. i wish i wasn't so sensitive. i wish i didn't get attached as fast as i do. i wish i was good. i wish i was good. i wish i wasn't such a mess all the time. i just wish.
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Oh man so, first off: congrats to angel/dean shippers on getting your canon thing in spanish but secondly:
Man this whole thing that’s been happening with this show over the last few weeks has 100% reminded me that this show and Sherlock were the two fandoms that made be super romance repulsed because of all the internalized self-hate and trauma they caused me. Like. I was romance repulsed before but those fandoms?? Jacked it up to 100% for years in which I couldn’t interact with any romantic stories or fandoms at all.
Story time!!!
Tw for: self harm, self hatred, hypersexuality, mental health issues, child neglect.
So imagine you are me: a young person who has just graduated high school and, very suddently, went from being “single mother of your little sister” who you had essentially raised on your own for the last four years when she was 5 to 9 yo to “every day college kid that sees their sibling that they raised for the last four years maybe once a month.
Also imagine that, out of all of your high school friends, none of them are attending the same university as you and so. Well.
You’re feeling pretty lonely and depressed.
Now also imagine: you didn’t really have a chance to consume media I HS because: parent. In fact 90% of what you watched was kids cartoons for your sibling +bonus Inuyasha at 3am as a...Uh....treat.....(that’s the kind way of saying ‘setting an alarm at 3am to check to make sure the parents actually got home from wherever TF they vanished to nearly every night).
But hey! You are free now and can watch/read what you want between classes! Only, well, where to start? You go to a book store and find a Sherlock Holmes book and think “okay ya I’ve always wanted to read these!” And proceed to consume them in one week flat.
They are amazing. The relationship between Sherlock and John reminds you of your and one of your best friends/honorary cousins that you haven’t seen in a while and it brings you comfort to read, but now you are out of stories so, you do what any person this day in ages does: you find fanfiction. Now, Sherlock wasn’t a thing at this point and so nearly all the fanfics were based on the books and, of those, 80-85% you gen. No romance at all. Just relaxing stories about friends and solving mysteries.
Then Sherlock happens and, don’t get me wrong, I was definitely a fan when the show started, but suddenly fanfiction was no longer mostly gen, it was shifting, becoming more and more shipping and romance related and it became harder and harder to find non-romantic stories.
Then a person I was living with suggested supernatural. “It’s a story about brothers and it focuses on them.” They said “very little romance. You would probably like it.”
And so I watched it and, they were right, I did. And ya, that one wasn’t exactly like the early Sherlock Holmes fandom, it had a lot of shipping from the get go, but I could also really easily find gen fics that focused on siblings and familial relationships and ignore the rest since there was a pretty even 50/50 split with a slight favor on the gen side.
(Keep in mind there is a LOT of other irl trauma going on in the BG of this story which I know I’ve talked about before. A lot of which is also feeding into the romance repulsion and my avoidance of romance in fandom spaces along with my “blossoming” hypersexuality)
Anyway, the familial relationship in spn was a comfort. At the point I moved from Sherlock to SPN I was in my second year on university and was doing a bit better mentally (in the “sadness” front at least) but I was still missing seeing my sister a lot and so SPN was a comfort in that sense. It was something to relax with that didn’t have romance or anything of the sort that, at that point, was only driving me further and further into hypersexuality (I was dating my first ‘official’ partner at that point and, while I can recognize it now looking back, romance in shows and movies made me feel inadequate as a partner. Like I was failing and not doing enough. Was not romantic enough. Was not showing affection enough. But physically I also couldn’t bring myself to do those things either. What I could do was sex. And, well, when that’s all you have to offer...)
ANYWAY: spn was the one show I knew of on TV that was low to no romance and that the fandom was also decently low on romance, instead focusing mostly on family and the brothers.
Cut forward a few years, I’m back into a depression, I’ve failed at a relationship again because all I can offer is sex and that’s really not enough for people that are looking for actual romance and:
And supernatural introduces an angel character to the show. It’s interesting but I’m pretty depressed and not really all that interested in the show anyway at this point-
But then the fandom happens and it’s like a flood. The romance pours in from all corners along with the absolute hate for anyone that doesn’t see anything romantic happening. It’s like watching a wild fire go through a fandom, what was once a fandom that mostly was just about siblings all of a sudden became all about this angel character and Dean. So much so that it over shadowed everything and any attempt to just enjoy the show as a gen thing or as a family-centric show became impossible.
It was also around this point that a lot of...idk what to call it really because it wasn’t exactly hate, it was like a “this is the only way to read/be in this fandom and if you aren’t we are going to harass you non-stop until you see things our way”. If you couldn’t see the romance between these two characters it was because you were homophobic. If you preferred gen it was because you were homophobic. If you focused on just the brothers and their relationship it was because you were homophobic. If you couldn’t see that Dean was better off in a romantic relationship then with his brother who he had an ‘unhealthy’ relationship with then you were homophobic.
(Keep in mind at this point I was out as bisexual and had attempted to date a woman at this point. I say attempted because, well, again: aromantic even if I didn’t know it then)
It was intense and, from the POV of an aromantic person struggling with being unable to understand even basic romance: it was traumatizing.
I tried to see it, to understand what these shippers were seeing that I couldn’t. Yes, I could see how Sam and Dean’s relationship could be viewed as unhealthy, but as someone who had lived a similar life to theirs as a kid, and to suddenly be bombarded with this idea that the “healthy” way to cope with that is a “romantic relationship” it was a lot. And by a lot I mean a death spiral.
There was...a lot of one night stands and sex and half-attempted relationships after that, in that desperate attempt to understand. There was also panic, nausea, fear that my own relationship with my sister was unhealthy. Was causing both of us harm. That the only way I could keep from hurting her further was to find a “healthy” romantic relationship instead because siblings aren’t meant to be close, not even those where one raised the other alone for years on end.
I had no context outside of fandom about what a healthy sibling relationship looked like and, hell, most TV shows at the time painted sibling relationships as antagonist 90% of the time and with them only interacting when necessary. My parents both had siblings but my dad talked to his maybe once a month and my mom faught with Hers a lot. I had never faught with my sister. We got along perfectly, mostly because from the ages on 13 - 18 I lived for her alone and so I was used to putting her first no matter what.
But this fandom, that had been a comfort for me for a while, suddenly said that was wrong. That instead romance was the way to go and I...
Well. I am conscious of myself enough now to know that I was purposely hurting myself. A lot. Punishing myself over and over and over again, not just because I couldn’t figure out how to “feel” romance like I was supposed to do but also because I was a terrible sibling. Because I had failed my sister some how and had ended up in an “unhealthy codependent” relationship with her since, if Sam and Dean’s relationship was like that according to fans, then obviously so was ours.
(God and don’t get me started on the spiral that the new Inuyasha Sequel put me into a few months ago. I’m STILL not out of that spiral yet. These last few months have not been good for the “romance isn’t important/is unnecessary” front)
I would like to say that I soon realized how terrible the fandom was for my mental health and that it was causing me to harm myself but that isn’t how this story ends. How it ends is that I Eventually I ended up not being able to watch SPN any more. Every episode was just another dagger in my side. Another failure to press my face into. Another series of interactions where I couldn’t see. Couldn’t understand. Another episode that would let to another desperate one night stand/attempt at understanding how this was better. Healthier. How this was how things were supposed to be. Another night of not talking to my family or friend and another few days of not talking to my sister because talking to her too much was wrong.
So ya. This story doesn’t end nicely. It just slowly fades to black. To a point where I hate myself so much that I can’t bring myself to interact with the fandom or internet at all. Where everything just kind of...goes away and vanished but where the trauma still exists. Where stories that start out about family and, suddenly, introduce love interests leave me nauseous and choked. Where my romance repulsion gets so strong that I can’t sleep because I just keep remembering my failures. The fact that it’s not healthy to focus or care about your family. That there must be romance. There must There must there must. Because with out it all other relationships are bad/wrong/unhealthy and you are bad/wrong/unhealthy for only having those.
Just the endless mantra. All night long.
Bad.
Wrong.
Unhealthy.
Bad.
Wrong.
Unhealthy.
Bad
Wrong.
Unhealthy.
Over and over and over again.
#can you tell what’s been on my mind all night?#ah memories#at least I’m at a point where I can recognize this as self-harm behavior to ‘fix’ myself#and not a healthy ‘but maybe if I have more sex I’ll fall in love’ situation i had going on before
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Hello, I note with interest that you chose the Tested argument as your favorite Klaine scene, as did some others.
Kurt was assaulted in last episode, no doubt still traumatised from that. But he was unhappy long before that, look at the End of the Twerk episode; and 100: he didn’t seem to be fully engaging with Blaine then either. The relationship has issues. We don’t get to see the happy period when Blaine first moved to NY and the episode NNY. Then we get NNY when Kurt is fed up with Blaine always being there and trying to change things to make himself more comfortable. Plus he can feel Kurt is distant and pulling away, lack of privacy, and his own insecurities. So they agree he should move out, which is a shame, and not really a good omen. We see that tBlaine is spending a lot of time alone, using food to comfort him.
Thanks to the writing, as much as anything, the whole Ny arc is spent with Kurt being more concerned about Rachel and more worried about validation from her than Blaine. In every episode he’s propping her up, wanting her at his show; in Bash, the conversation when he returns home about feelings is with her, not Blaine; we never see them talk about it, yet Blaine has been through the same trauma. He stays in the loft with her, rather than get somewhere more private with his own fiancé.
Blaine has his own issues, like feeling he can no longer protect Kurt, and that Kurt doesn’t live him or want me anymore. These are all reactions that people can have in relationships, and Blaine is therefore not being a little shit. Then we gave the June fiasco, where Blaine gets chosen ahead of Kurt, and the old Tony argument comes round again. And Blaine is pretty dumb for lying.
It’s all a bit negative for Klaine. Ok, Kurt dies his I’ll always love you and choose to trust you speech - why has he decided this only now? Pompeii seems a bit depressing to end the season with. Great Blaine us back in love, getting cuddles, and then Rachek is going, so privacy.
I guess I’m rambling, but I just get the feeling through the NY arc that they’re happy, and feel that there’s going to be a break up. And Kurt’s as much to blame as Blaine, but you seem to place a lot of blame with Blaine, when he isn’t getting what he needs from Kurt, and probably hadn’t been since Kurt moved to NY in season 4? If you look back, what happens in Tested is mirrored in the previous break up, but this time Kurt’s there.
I got to be honest, a lot of this was all over the place and I can't decipher what you're getting at with this.
So, zoning in on you stating I put all the blame on Blaine - which I don't. I just do not like it when people zone in on Kurt (because on my dash a lot of people were WTF-ing @ Kurt in the episode of Tested) and obviously will dig deeper because going through trauma myself, there's always a reason and a why behind something. Doesn't make it right, no, but WTF-ing at Kurt in that episode for how he doesn't validate Blaine the whole time? Like Kurt isn't you and you aren't Blaine. Blaine's a big boy too. Blaine can make mistakes and still be an amazing and interesting character. Which, he is!
BOTH of them needed therapy for what they went through. NEITHER of them got it. Kurt deciding at the end of season 5 that he chooses to trust Blaine is a topic they probably haven't discussed because Kurt has issues opening up emotionally, but he tries his hardest with Blaine out of everyone else (maybe Rachel to an extent too as I can think of two instances where that happens n New York - out of all the other times he has to comfort her, but whatever). Blaine's trauma with Bash is not the same as Kurt's trauma. Blaine wanted to be the protector, because someone he loves got hurt and he was helpless to stop it. So he internalizes it, especially seeing Kurt build himself up on his own without Blaine's help. Again, the argument where Blaine keeps stating how he misses that feeling. Which he's allowed to miss and mourn because that's how they met and became best friends from the get go. Blaine feeling important and needed, because Kurt did need him as he was the crumbling star back in season 2.
Kurt has gone through childhood to adulthood being independent. Kurt isn't the type of person to solely rely on another person for the long haul. He lost his mother, he almost lost his father, he lost his step-brother, and he built himself from the ashes with his childhood bullying all the way to being assaulted - Blaine and Burt were there to offer hands but Kurt still pulled himself out and pushed forward because it's what he's used to doing. Because he has something to prove. He is not a person who is used to trusting his emotions alone, as when he does it bites him in the ass. He's self-preserving in that sense (Slytherin). Blaine isn't. Blaine wants to give it all, as much as he can. Some may say it's because his own abandonment issues and needing to be good enough to earn love (thanks Cooper). Some may say it's just who he is. They're not built the same. Just because they're two openly gay guys who are in a relationship doesn't mean they need to compliment each other in every aspect. Kurt's independent. Blaine struggles with that. That isn't me blaming Blaine for having his insecurities. But if you wear your heart on your sleeve and you're in love with someone who is doing their own coping from recent traumatic events that don't require you, obviously you can become self-conscious and second-guess everything about what you're doing. And he does. That isn't me pointing fingers and blaming him.
In season 4, the Break Up, Blaine cheats because he feels alone (he doesn't have any close friends at McKinley. Kurt was his anchor. Kurt's gone. He's floating. He needs to feel grounded. Kurt is pulling away first because Kurt is opening a new chapter. Blaine isn't. Blaine's still stuck in high school, surrounded by people who he only knows through Kurt. Doesn't excuse the cheating, but there's a reason behind why he does it. He wants to feel connected physically since he isn't getting it emotionally/mentally - and that's when he realizes he fucked up). Not so much that they're in a competition race to a finish line. In season 4, Kurt is building his life from the ground up. A whole new chapter. He just got a new job with an incredible team who actually appreciate him and his opinions. In season 5 he pulls away because he needs to better himself physically so he can show those who tore him down they don't control his life (one day, they'll work for him). Blaine feels left behind in both scenarios, but in season 5 he has the opportunity to make friends at NYADA, he has Sam now, he could reach out to Tina, he could reach out to Elliott even! But he doesn't. He's still co-dependent on Kurt (which is fine, I get it - new chapter, lean on the person you know best until you get your feet on the ground. Hence why he suggests he should move out after a few months of living together. That's a good stepping stone for HIM! Independent thinking! Which he then throws back in Kurt's face and just...BOY!). So the only excuse Blaine has to pulling away is that he's not talking about these issues, getting other peoples opinions. Making other friends. He's depending on Kurt 100%, and clearly he shouldn't be doing that. I understand the why - it's comfortable! He knows Kurt! So when Kurt starts focusing on himself and obsessing over his body, Blaine is going to shut down and that turns to overthinking (same), and it spirals from there. Again, not pointing fingers and saying every issue they have is Blaine's doing.
The difference between the Break Up and Tested (besides Kurt being there physically with Blaine), is that Kurt is trying to reconnect after pulling away. He is the one who wants to go out on a date because they haven't gone out on one in a while (which is 100% on Kurt, not Blaine). Which they would've gone out on if Kurt hadn't discovered the porn. They haven't had sex in a week, which is an issue for Kurt, and it's because Blaine was turning to porn because he assumed Kurt is judging him for not having a good of a body as Kurt does - which Kurt denies because Kurt loves Blaine, no matter what he looks like. Because it's Blaine. It's his best friend. Blaine, the person who KNOWS Kurt best (as Kurt has stated himself), who is self-destructing and should KNOW that Kurt isn't judging him. Except he doesn't know. Because he's talked himself into believing Kurt would judge him. He made his big boy decisions, and decides on how to construct them, and when Kurt makes his own decisions that don't involve him, it shouldn't be switched into a "oh my god, i did something wrong, shut down commencing". But instead of cheating (progress), he turns to porn to get off. It's disconnected but at least the porn people won't judge him. There's no "oh shit, I fucked up" moment from Blaine here like in the Break Up either. Even with Kurt there physically. Similar, but more like fun mirrors you find at the circus. And Blaine didn't fuck up with the porn! So again, not blaming Blaine! They BOTH were failing in communicating, but once Kurt extends the olive branch it gets retracted because Kurt struggles with emotional intimacy (season 6 quote I JUST reblogged not that long ago). It's like a Kurt reflex, something goes wrong? Walls up until HE is ready to dissect and discuss. Not the other way around. It's what he's used to - KURT needs to be ready and comfortable to talk before it can happen (I think only Burt is the one who challenges that, like in season 1&2). So it's what he does. And they do have that talk/fight because Kurt is the one to start it again. Blaine gets it all out, FINALLY, and Kurt gives him the tough love and affirmation/validation he has needed. Kurt's face when hugging Blaine says it all! He's realizing HE fucked up by letting Blaine go this long feeling like this. He strives to do better and keep communication open (and then Blaine lies to him later about June and just 🤔 Blaine Devon Anderson, your heart is gold but your brain is still so dumb).
And Kurt stating at the end of the season that he chooses to trust, is a good thing. Sometimes it doesn't become obvious that the decisions you make is a result of the choices you make along the way. Kurt does trust Blaine. Blaine lied to him (even if those intentions were so good, dear Blainers) Kurt took a moment to self-reflect before he came to that realization. It isn't always so obvious. Kurt's what, 20/21? You don't magically turn into a wise adult who understands everything about relationships and the world just because you're now over 18 and are engaged. He didn't have to go to therapy to realize this (which is probably how he keeps talking himself out of going until s6, ffs Hummel). But as we can see from THAT fight (the poor paper bag), Kurt pointedly puts space between him and Blaine and Blaine still has his pouty moments (Blaine, honey, therapy I beg you) but respects it more without collapsing in on himself (WHICH IS PROGRESS! YES! WE LOVE THAT FOR HIM!). Because Kurt needs space (he lives with Rachel Berry for the love of god - he needs it sometimes) and Blaine needs to learn Kurt needing space isn't Kurt replacing/not wanting him anymore. Kurt put the wall up, Kurt has to be the one to take it back down - which he does. In his own time. Blaine respecting it over the Tested episode. So already that's growth. That's development.
All I see during the episodes before the New York arc, is Kurt getting excited about Blaine coming to visit (Moving Out) and then Blaine last minute not coming to visit (Puppet Master) which Kurt gets disappointed and upset over because he WANTS Blaine there (damnit Blaine). End of Twerk he gets cyberlucky with Blaine, so I don't see how that's "not happy". In 100, we don't see much of him at all. It's all in the choir room, and the Rachel/Santana and Rachel/Mercedes diva off is exhausting to him. He's heard and dealt with all of this before. So his focus isn't on Blaine, it's being caught in the middle of petty diva-off's that he just wants to move on from. What's he suppose to happily engaging with Blaine about in McKinley episodes (besides his excitement about Blaine getting into NYADA, and sharing the future of him and Blaine's child ft.Quinn)? "This is the dumpster I got tossed into - you'd have to be there. And remember when we blew each other in this janitors closet? Good times." "Kurt, we're surrounded by minors. They can hear you." "...oops." This is what fanfiction is for. Fill in the blanks of what we DONT see, because clearly when we do see it, there's going to be a mix of emotion from both sides (unless filling in the blanks means turning the other into a villain - then you've lost my interest and I consider you boring to void everything to fit your agenda so you can prop your non-canon ship up instead. Multi-shipping is fine and dandy, kids, don't need the other canon love-interest to be a villain for that).
And let's not pretend that Kurt lifting Rachel up over interacting with his fiancé is not done purposefully from season 3 and onward by the writers to give Lea more screen time as Rachel is the main character (still think they thought Kurt's character could only remain relevant if they kept him tied to Rachel's hip and I will die on that hill and be bitter on that hill even on my deathbed!).
TLTR: Blaine and Kurt need therapy that isnt each other and both of them handle their problems in different ways but that doesn't excuse BOTH of them being dumbasses from time to time (theyre youngins and first loves, they gotta make the mistakes to know and grow - they aren't an actual old married couple who know all the secrets to relationships. They're just dumb dudes who work to better themselves and their relationship as time progresses).
#Blaine Anderson#klaine#Kurt Hummel#long post#answered#I don't know what prompted this anon to ramble - BUT HAVE A RAMBLE BACK ANON!!! making me overheat over here#this is a pro Blaine blog even if Kurt Hummel is my ride and die character
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Unexpected // th x fem!reader
Based on this ask: Can you do an imagine where Tom and the reader are best friends and Tom always teases her but never does anything but o w night when they are on vacation and they go to the club and do some sexy dancing and they have to share a bed after that and they end up having sex
Summary: ^^ basically that, Tom can be famous in this, he doesn’t have to be, up to you, the reader.
warnings: nsfw, lowkey soft cute smut
word count: 4.1k (yes I get carried away but the bed sharing trope and friends to lovers trope is killing me)
“Tom, stop oh my god,” you giggle as he tickles you, you’re practically in tears trying to roll out from underneath him, he’s got you pinned down on the floor, his knees on either side of your waist.
“What? You don’t like this?” He says, his fingers running up and down your sides tickling you.
“No I just, need to- need to get packed! We leave for Scotland tonight and I legit haven’t packed.”
He sighs in defeat, getting off from you and helping you up.
“Why are we driving eight hours at 4pm again?”
“Because I’m crazy and want to spend more time there dumbass.”
“Hey, you’re the one doing the driving so whatever,” Tom says, following you into your room and flopping down on your bed.
“Yeah that’s me,” you laugh pulling out your suitcase.
“You know, there’s this really cool club in Edinburgh we should check out if you’re up for it, when we get there.”
“Yeah, lemme get something sexy to wear,” you say, opening up your closet.
“You know what you should wear?”
“That plain black T-shirt that is like five years old and just that?” You joke, grabbing your favorite tight black dress.
You hear Tom suck in a breath, and you don’t turn. Logically you knew he was joking, over exaggerating his breathing to get you riled up. He knew how to push your buttons. You’ve been friends since you were kids.
“This is pretty similar,” you say turning to him and holding the dress up against you.
“It’s perfect darlin’,” he says, eyeing you up and down, making you blush.
You were almost positive he knew how you felt about him, that you’ve a stupid crush on him. That’s why he teased you all the time, because he thought it was as dumb as you thought it was. Falling for your best friend? Lame move.
You packed the rest of your clothes, leaving for dress out, while Tom sat on your bed and watched you move around the room.
“Why don’t we leave now?”
“Now?”
“Yeah, you’re packed, I’m packed, we can get there a little early, have more time at the club.”
“Sure,” you say, wondering if he only wanted more time at the club to find a pretty girl to hook up with, “I’m just gonna change into the dress so I’ll be ready when we get there.”
“Perfect,” Tom says, grabbing your suitcase, “I’ll bring our bags to your car.”
He left you be and you quickly stripped your T-shirt and sweatpants, tossing off your underwear and opting for black lace panties that matched your dress. You chose not to wear a bra, the dress making your tits look great anyways. You pulled the dress on, your hand reaching behind you and struggling to pull up the zipper. You groaned in frustration and didn’t realize Tom was back until he coughed. You blushed and turned towards him, leaning against the doorway watching you.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Just long enough to see your T-Rex arms struggle to zip up that dress, come here.”
“I do not have t-Rex arms,” you huff, stretching them even more to tug at the zipper.
“You’re gonna pull a muscle and then we can’t even drive there,” Tom says making his way over to you.
You sigh and close your eyes, turning so your back is to him. You take a deep breath as you feel the cool of the zipper move up your back as he closes it for you, his hand resting on the top of your back before you cough, moving past him and out of the room.
“All ready?” You ask, grabbing your purse with your phone and wallet and everything else you could possibly need.
“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” he says, shutting the lights off in your apartment before following you out the door.
You were about halfway to Edinburgh when some asshole cuts you off trying to enter the highway and you’re heart almost jumps out of your chest before Tom calms you down, his warm hand on your exposed lower thigh, rubbing soothing circles into your skin.
“Fucking asshole,” you mutter, calming your breathing. Your face is red, either from being angry or Tom’s hand on your thigh, you’re not quite sure yet.
You look over at him, he’s got a concentrated, interesting look on his face. You’re not quite sure what it is but he’s looking out the window so you quickly look back towards the front, ignoring the hand that was still on your thigh.
You made it to Edinburgh by 9:45, only a little traffic on the way and Tom helps you find parking for the club, his hand finally leaving your thigh.
You park and Tom pays the entrance fee for the two of you, starting a tab for the pair of you.
****
“You gonna come dance or you gonna sit there and drink another beer?” You ask, sitting down at the bar next to Tom.
“Nah, don’t feel like dancing.”
“Tom you literally said we had to go to this club and now you don’t wanna dance?”
“I’ll, I’ll dance later okay?”
You shrug, taking a sip of your dirty Shirley that Tom watched before slipping off the stool and making your way back onto the dance floor.
You danced by yourself, swaying your hips to the music. You sort of hoped that a guy would find you, ask you to dance with him, maybe you could forget about Tom. Throughout the years you found different guys, dated some, hooked up with some to forget about Tom,
You saw a cute guy making his way through the crowd to you, blond messy hair, green eyes.
“Hi,” he says, smiling down at you.
“Hey,” you grin back at him, your hips continuing to sway.
“Name’s Harry,” He says, holding his hand out to shake yours.
You smirk, taking his hand and placing it on your hip, “I’m Y/N, care to dance?”
He nods, placing his other hand on your hip as you wrap your arms around his neck.
“You’re not from around here huh?” He asks, his lips ghosting over your ear as you press your body against his, moving to the music.
“Nope, London,” you say back, giggling as his hands move down to your lower back, hesitating, you know where he wants his hands to go, you press your hips into his own, grinding against him as his hands fall to hold your ass.
“Looked so good from across the club, just had to get to know ya,” he whispers and you could feel his hard on.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” you laugh. He wasn’t a bad choice. He showed interest in you. He didn’t touch your ass until you made the first move. You’d be okay with a little distraction right now. Your mind was far away from Tom as it possibly could be in this moment.
****
Tom watched as you danced, trying to gain the courage to go and dance with you, until he saw a guy, taller than him, more muscular than him make his way to you. He felt a little self-conscious, crossing his arms in front of him. He watched as you giggled, tucking your hair behind your ear and dancing with him, grinding on him. His eyes darkened and he was bombarded with several emotions at once. Anger, at himself because he didn’t make the first move even though he’s wanted too for so fucking long. Sadness that you looked like you were enjoying yourself while he’s brooding. And jealousy, because he’s got his hands all over you, grinding against you to the music, whispering into your ear when that’s what Tom wants to do. He feels like a fucking idiot. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it but suddenly he’s standing up and pushing his way through the crowd, tapping on your shoulder.
***
You feel someone tap your shoulder and you jump in Harry’s arms. You pull away from him and turn around.
“Oh hey Tom,” you smile, wondering what was up with him.
“Think I’m ready for that dance now.” His face is stoic, you can’t tell what the fuck he’s thinking although you’re typically pretty good at reading him.
“Oh, okay,” you sigh, turning to Harry.
“What? Who’s this?” He asks, crossing his arms and looking back and forth between you and Tom.
“Friend, it was uh, nice to meet you,” you laugh, rubbing your neck, feeling a little awkward that Tom interrupted this moment.
“Uh, fucking alright,” Harry scoffs, stalking away.
“What’s his deal?” Tom asks as he pulls you close to him, leaving an honorable distance between the two of you, his hands very lightly touching your waist.
“Uhh, we were being filthy and you interrupted us, think he thought he was gonna get some, you idiot,” you roll your eyes and put your hands on Tom’s shoulders.
“Were you gonna let him get some?”
“I don’t fucking know, none of your business if I did,” you say, sticking your tongue out at your overprotective friend.
“You’re right,” Tom says, “why do I feel like a 14 year old at a school dance right now?”
“Because we’re dancing like we’re at a school dance right now, dumbass.”
“You know you should stop calling me stupid.”
“Whatcha gonna do about it?” You ask, a twinkle in your eyes, daring him to respond.
He rolls his eyes at you, pulling you closer to him, so your chest is flush with his.
“Much better,” he smiles, starting to move his body to the music, forcing you to play along.
Your hips and lower bodies never touched, your tits were pressed against his chest though and you were sort of worried he’d feel your nipples through your dress. Wasn’t much you could do about it and if he didn’t like it, you figured he stop dancing with you.
As you were going through this mini crisis Tom’s eyes never left your face, watching every thought move your brain and show on your face.
“You know, we should get back to the hotel, check in, don’t wanna make the poor hotel staff stay up all night to check us in.”
“They’ll be doing that anyway, it’s their job,” Tom says.
“Yeah but, I just drove like eight hours and I’m fucking exhausted.”
“You weren’t exhausted before when you were grinding all over that guy,” Tom huffs.
“Yeah and? All the dancing tired me out. You would feel the same if you were the one driving the eight hours and you decided to start dancing right away instead of wasting an hour being fucking grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy,” Tom frowns, his hands letting go of your hips.
“Sure,” you shake your head, letting go of his shoulders, “let’s just get outta here come on.”
****
“Wait, you’re telling me you overbooked and you’ve only got a room with one bed in it?” You ask, tired, a little tipsy, and starting to get angry.
“Yes, again, we’re so sorry, we can cover this week’s booking price for you and get you into a room with two beds once one becomes available, but for now we only have a room with one queen bed.”
“This is, I just wanna sleep, is there a couch or something in the room?”
“There’s a small couch, it’s not a pull out but you could probably fit on it,” the woman says, you knew it wasn’t her fault and you couldn’t be mad at her about it.
“Okay, that’s great thank you so much,” you say, grabbing the room key, waiting for Tom to come inside with your bags.
He meets you shortly and notices your pissed off expression, “What’s wrong darling?” He asks as you grab your suitcase from him and press the up button for the elevator a little too hard.
“Nothing, they overbooked and we’ve gotta room with one bed and a couch.”
“What? How do you overbook? Isn’t it all on the computer now?”
You shrug, too tired to try to understand what went wrong as you both step into the elevator.
You ride in silence to your floor, opening the door to your hotel room and sighing. It was a lot smaller than expected, the queen bed shoved into the corner by the bathroom, a small couch quite literally 4 foot long sitting underneath the window.
“Well, could be worse,” Tom says, setting his suitcase down.
“Don’t wanna know your idea of worse,” you mumble, grabbing your pjs from your suitcase.
“Y/N?” Tom asks, getting his own clothes.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll sleep on the couch you can have the bed.”
“Don’t be stupid you won’t fit on the couch, your legs will be completely off,” you shrug, trying to tug down your zipper.
“If the couch isn’t comfortable you can sleep on the bed, not like we haven’t shared a bed before, Here lemme help,” Tom says, you shiver as his hand rests against your own, moving it away from your back to allow himself room to tug your zipper down. You shudder as the cold zipper runs down your back, feeling his hand against your bare skin until the zipper is right above your panties.
“Thanks Tom,” you say, all but running to the bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror, hair a little messy, face bright red, the blush spreading down your neck and onto your chest. You shake your head, stripping off your dress before throwing on the oversized T-shirt on. Of course you had shared a bed, literally ages ago when you were like 10 and you slept over his house and he didn’t want you sleeping on the floor so you two would sleep in his bed. Of course, when Nicki turned the lights off on you two, you would pretend to be asleep on the floor before crawling into his large (for two kids) bed and falling asleep there.
***
One morning when you were both 14 or so, Nicki had come to see what type of pancakes you wanted and walked into the sight of the two of you sound asleep on Tom’s bed, you had normally fell asleep with your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulder. It was comforting, to feel his heartbeat underneath you, his arm a warm presence. She flipped out of course, calling your mom, screaming her lungs off at Tom, saying how you were both too young. You tried to explain to her and your mom that nothing happened you just slept there because it was more comfortable, they didn’t believe a word you said until a few months later, after you two weren’t allowed to have sleepovers anymore.
***
You shook your head, pulling on your sleep shorts before making your way back to the room.
Tom had changed into a pair of sweatpants, no shirt, that’s how he always slept, tonight was no different. He was already sitting on the bed, it did look nice, and there was no mom to walk in on the two of you if you shared it. You shook your head, the events from tonight still too fresh and too weird for you to share a bed.
You make your way to the couch, sitting down on it and grimacing at how hard it was. You tuck your legs up and try to lay down, even with how short you are you’re still squished on the very small bed. You turn and close your eyes, trying to concentrate on falling asleep but you physically can’t. You turn around, trying to find a better position to sleep in, to no avail.
“Y/N, don’t be stubborn, come here,” Tom says and you reluctantly agree, dragging your feet from the sofa to the bed.
He’s turned the lights off as you climb into the bed, which felt so much better underneath you. You crawled under the covers, resting your head on the pillow and facing away from Tom, listening to him get situated and comfortable.
You felt the rise and fall of his chest, his breath starting to steady, it sounded like he was falling asleep so you shut your eyes and hoped to do the same.
“Sorry I ruined your night,” you hear him mumble and you frown, rolling over to face him.
“What the fuck do ya mean?”
He was visibly upset, not in the way most people look when they’re upset, a slight frown trying to force a smile or watery eyes. Tom’s face, when he was upset, was a little different. His eyebrows furrowed, forehead crinkled, it honestly looked like he was concentrating and to anyone else that’s what they would’ve thought but you knew better.
“For interrupting you, with that guy.”
“Tom?”
“Yeah?”
Screw it. You were gonna tell him, tell him how you feel, how you’ve felt for so long. Either he would feel the same way, which you were weary and doubtful of, or you would die of embarrassment and he could get the bed to himself for the rest of the week. You stared at him, your hand moving to rest on his cheek.
“Kiss me.”
“What?”
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Nevermind oh god I’m a fucking idiot,” you groan, pulling your hand away.
You look down, knowing you’re blushing, feeling your eyes start to water. You fucked up.
Before you can comprehend what’s happening he’s pushing you down, straddling your hips and kissing you, hard.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he says after several soft kisses.
“You have?” You ask, feeling yourself get wet as his hips rest against yours.
“Fuck, darling, Y/N, literally since we were kids I’ve had the biggest fucking crush on you.”
“No, you’re, are you serious?”
“Yes? I just kissed you didn’t I?”
“Oh my god we’re both idiots then.”
“What?”
“I’ve had a crush on you too dumbass.”
“Then uh, what are we waiting for?” He smirks, he kisses you again, hands running up and down your sides under your shirt, much like when he was tickling you earlier that day, but these touches were different. They were soft, full of something you couldn’t quite put your name on but you loved. You moaned into the kiss as his hands grazed the sides of your tits.
“Is this okay?” He asks, hands hesitant.
“Please,” you say against his lips, pushing back against him so he sat up, tugging your shirt off.
You blush, despite having wanted this, having fantasized about this for ages you couldn’t believe it was happening.
“Hey, you’re beautiful,” he says, hands roaming up your chest, taking a breast into each hand and teasing your nipples with his fingers.
“Fuck Tom,” you groan, pulling him back down to kiss you.
He teases and tugs at your nipples while you kiss, tongues rolling against each other like they were made for this. He pulls away from your kiss and you whine until he starts kissing and sucking down your neck, leaving small marks that you’ll admire for days to come.
You’re definitely soaked through your sleep shorts by now and you want him to rip them off of you and go to town but you also wanted him to take his time. Your hips rolled against his and he groaned against your neck, hand moving from your breast to play with the hem of your shorts.
“Can these come off darling?”
“Please Tommy,” you whimper and he groans, using both hands to tug the shorts and panties off your legs, tossing them to the side.
You normally only called him Tommy when you were making fun of him or trying to get him riled up. The way you said it now though, so different from any other time had Tom twitching in his sweats.
“Can I, really wanna, may I eat you out?”
The way he asks you, hesitant, eyes staring into your fucking soul, how could you say no?
You nod eagerly, and you move until you’re sitting up against the headboard so you can watch. He kisses down your stomach, skipping over where you wanted him the most and kissing up and down your thighs, working on the outer, middle, then inner portions before he finally was situated right over your dripping pussy, staring between it and you. He licked his lips and you swore you could’ve come right there. His hands spread your thighs a little farther apart, breathing over your pussy, sending shivers down your spine.
“Please Tom,” you whine, hands grabbing at the sheets.
“Please what? What do you want me to do darling?”
“Please, oh god please eat me out, need your tongue Tommy,” you whine as his tongue licks from your hole to your clit, lapping at your wetness before sucking on your clit. He brings one finger to tease your entrance, staring at you as he does so before pushing it inside of you.
“Oh fuck, please Tom oh my god,” you cry out as he finds your g-spot pretty fast with his finger, quickly adding a second finger and hitting it again. You’ve fantasized about his fingers, much longer and a little thicker than your own.
He continues eagerly sucking and licking at your clit as he fucks you with his fingers, you feel the knot deep in your stomach start to twist and you know you’re about to come.
“Oh fuck, Tom, gonna, fuck gonna come please,” you whine as he adds another finger, nailing your g-spot with every stroke.
“Come for me darling,” he says against your clit before wrapping his lips around it again.
You clench around his fingers as you come, crying out his name, holding onto the sheets for dear life, hoping the rooms next to you can’t hear you.
He licks you through your orgasm, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean as you recover. He moves back up your body, kissing and sucking marks into your skin as he makes his way to your lips. You kiss him, hands wrapping around his neck, hips moving to find his own.
“You wanna, uhh, can I fuck you?” He asks, one hand playing with his sweatpants.
“Yeah, fuck me please, oh my god,” you groan as he pulls his sweatpants down, moving off of you.
“Where you going?”
“Grabbing a condom baby,” he says, opening his wallet. He rolls the condom onto his cock while you watch, trying not to fucking drool, you’ve imagined what his cock looks like but seeing it in person was better than you could ever dream.
He climbs back on top of the bed, kissing you softly as his hand positions his cock at your entrance. He wanted to tease you, make you beg for his cock, beg to come, but he has been waiting for this moment, waiting to fuck you for so fucking long he couldn’t wait. He slid in slowly, giving you time to adjust, one hand holding himself up, the other cupping your cheek, thumb stroking your face as you kissed. It wasn’t what you expected, for him to be so soft, so sweet, dare you say loving, but you didn’t mind it. You loved it really.
He slowly thrusts into you, kissing all over your face, you giggled a little but his thrusts quickened and turned your giggles into moans.
“Tom,” you moaned as he picked up the pace.
“Y/N, feel so good wrapped around me. You gonna come for me again baby?”
“Fuck, feel so, feel so good, fucking me so well, just need, oh fuck,” you groan as his hand moves from your face down your chest, pinching your nipples before moving down between your bodies, thumb rubbing quick circles against your clit.
“I gotcha, come on darling, come for me,” he says, mouth sucking and kissing down your neck.
“Tommy,” you whine as he makes you come again, his thumb rubbing your clit with less and less pressure as you clench around him, letting out little whimpers of his name.
The way you looked, head thrown back, whining his name, the way you were so fucking wet and dripping down your thighs had Tom twitching, his hand moving to cup your face, kissing you as he came.
He slowly pulled out of you, your hands running up and down his arms as he pulled away from your lips, rolling to the side of you.
****
“So, you’ve been wanting to do that for a long time?” He asks, you both had showered, settled back down in bed, your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulder, like you used to.
“Oh shut up you’ve wanted to too.”
“And why didn’t we do this sooner?”
“Because I’m stubborn and you’re stupid.”
“Ah that’s right that’s right,” he says, kissing your head.
“I guess we uh, don’t need that other room with two beds then eh?”
#tom holland#tom holland smut#tom holland x reader#tom holland one shot#tom holland imagine#tom holland blurb#tom holland x reader smut#my writing
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We Grow Together (8)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC
Summary: Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist. But hey, every couple has their struggles. Right?
Warning(s): some angst, some emotional and mental turmoil… some bad language words… much fluff
Chapter Summary: The world has been saved - check that off the list. Now it’s time to start planning for the future. But why does that feel so much harder than fighting a killer robot army? Luckily, Natasha’s around to talk some sense and help screw Tessa’s head on straight.
“I am not freaking out!” she shouts at the redhead before downing the shot of bourbon in front of her. She makes a pinched face as the brown liquid sets fire to her insides, then she holds out the tiny glass and shakes it, begging for a refill.
Natasha goes into the cabinet and pulls out two lowball glasses before settling in beside Tessa on the couch. She delicately folds her legs beneath her, leans forward to pour a few fingers into each glass, and hands one to Tessa. “I’m not judging,” she says slowly as she leans back.
With everything that’d been going on lately, most of the team has been pretty damn frazzled. The world didn’t end, which felt like a win. But a lot of innocent lives were lost when Sokovia was attacked. Jarvis got a body and became something… more, which everyone still seemed to be a bit on the fence about. Ultron was defeated. And all of the Avengers survived the battle, some coming out the other side in better shape than others. But the recovery and cleanup had only just begun, and man was it going to be a bitch to get through.
After Ultron and the other killer bots destroyed a good chunk of the tower, Tony had sped up the timeline on moving the Avengers’ home base upstate. Which meant that almost everyone was having to pack up their lives and slowly transition into the half-finished space. Natasha knew it was worse for Tessa because she had to move an entire lab and get to work on designing the new med floor, which Tony only just mentioned to her last week. And there was the more personal issue of deciding on living arrangements in the new compound – which apartment layout to get, what view was preferred, the types of amenities, and of course whether or not to take on a roommate.
For as long as Nat had known Tessa – and that was, what, four years now? – she had never known her to actually date anyone, not for more than a couple of months at a time anyway. But now she had a notorious assassin staying at her place nearly every night. And while they made no secret of their affair, they never actually publicly admitted to being in a relationship, let alone being in love. Even though both were painfully obvious.
“So…” Natasha starts, casually drawing out the word.
Tessa just looks at her with a confused quirk of her head. “So what?”
“Maybe you’re not freaking out, but you’re obviously upset. So…”
She takes a long, deep breath and leans back into the couch with her bourbon in hand. “I don’t know. I’m just… stressed out.”
Natasha lets loose with a small snort. “You thrive on being stressed out. You wouldn’t know how to slow down and relax if someone put you into a coma.” Tessa ducks her head and smiles a bit bashfully, knowing full well that Nat’s words describe her to a tee. “So what’s really bothering you? Because I feel like you’ve been… off for a while now.”
“Since Ultron, you mean?” she asks, sarcasm dripping.
“Yeah, since Ultron.” Natasha shifts into the couch and purses her lips as she thinks of something. “Since the thing with Wanda, really.”
Wanda. There is that. Tessa had gone along with the Avengers to Africa in large part because of the enhanced girl who had the ability to manipulate energy. From the rather limited amount of data that they had at the time, she was confident that the girl’s powers would be no match for hers. Turns out she was wrong. And Wanda was able to fry her brain just like the others.
“I hate that she’s here,” she mumbles into her glass as she finishes off the liquor.
Nat reaches over to hand her the bottle. “She’s just a kid.”
“A kid who tried to kill us and fucked with all our heads.”
“Not Clint’s.” Natasha sips at her drink as she pulls at a loose thread on her yoga pants. “I think he’s ready to adopt her.”
“Good. He can take her home with him.”
Nat gives her a questioning look. “You’d rather have her out in the world right now? With no one to help her hone her skills? She’s dangerous.”
“And we’re going to make her less dangerous?”
“You could.”
“Jesus,” Tessa sighs dramatically. “You sound like Steve.”
Natasha laughs. “Yeah, he said he was working on you.”
“Harassing me, you mean?”
“He thinks you’re the best one to help her, and honestly, he’s right. Your abilities are so similar… no one can identify better with what she’s going through.”
“What she’s going through?” She makes no attempt to hide the disdain in her voice. “She asked someone to experiment on her. She wanted powers so that she could exact revenge.”
“And now she has those powers and she doesn’t know what to do with them. Look, I’m not 100% sold on her either. But she’s here. She’s trying to make up for what she did. And she could be a huge asset to the team.”
Tessa gives a psh and downs some more of her drink.
Nat gives her an assessing look, gazing intensely at her friend for a long moment. “What did she do to you?” she finally asks.
“What do you mean?”
“That day, at the base, she really fucked you up,” she says, no question to her voice.
Tessa looks away as she replies, “She fucked all of us up.”
“Yeah, but I think the rest of us kind of got over it.” Tessa leans forward, reaching for the bourbon, and Natasha stops her, grabbing her hand when she wraps it around the bottle. “What did she show you?”
Tessa looks up into Nat’s eyes, sees that she’s truly interested in knowing, in helping. Natasha isn’t exactly a gossip. She’s usually more than content to be left out of other people’s drama. So the fact that she’s pressing her right now shows how much genuine concern the woman feels for her. “My sister,” she says simply, falling back into the couch cushions.
“Did you see her die?” she asks without preamble.
Tessa shakes her head and squints as though she’s trying to recall. “No. Not really. I just… saw her.” She takes a long pause, a confused and almost pained look on her face. “It was that night, though. The night she killed herself. But…” She shakes her head again, this time her eyes are tightly closed like they’re desperately trying to block something out.
“But what?” Natasha asks, extending her hand and slowly, softly beginning to stroke Tessa’s arm.
When she opens her eyes, they’re glassy and paler green than Nat’s ever seen them. Maybe it’s the bourbon. Maybe the lack of sleep and the abundance of stress. Maybe it’s the thought of a long-lost sister that she never talks about. “I wasn’t there.” She locks eyes with Natasha and repeats, “When she did it, I wasn’t there.”
“Okay,” she says, encouraging her to go as she maintains the delicate eye contact.
“But in the… vision… I was there. And I saw her.” She shakes her head and huffs out a breath. “But in the mirror. I saw her in the mirror.” She looks away quickly, almost seeming embarrassed by her words.
This time, when Tessa goes for a refill, Nat lets her have it. “You were twins, right?” She nods as she takes a long sip from her now half-filled glass. “Identical?” Another nod. Natasha leans back and sighs. “Well, that kind of makes sense, right? Our worst fears, our worst memories… that’s what she called to the surface. It makes sense that you’d regret not being there, and that in this… dream –”
“No,” Tessa interrupts quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that. It was… I don’t know how to explain it. I was her. I was Anna. And it didn’t feel… weird or anything. It felt… real.” A sudden shiver takes over her body. “I think…” but she can’t quite finish the thought. Instead she shakes her head again and then shakes out her arms to rid herself of the chill that suddenly overtakes her body. “Never mind. Just… forget it.” She looks up and takes note of the concerned look on Natasha’s face. “Let’s talk about something else. Can we talk about something else?”
Natasha changes her expression on a dime, going from worried frown to sly smirk. “Okay,” she starts. “Are you and the soldier gonna make it official?”
Tessa rolls her eyes. “I’m not sure what official means.” She shifts in her seat, seeming antsy and self-conscious. “I think… it sounds like we might share an apartment. I guess actually live together.”
Nat finishes the rest of her drink and sets the glass down on the coffee table. “You’re okay with that?” she asks, voice thoughtful and sincere. “That’s what you want?”
She shrugs. “It makes sense. He spends the night most nights anyway. It’d be dumb to give him his own place if he’d hardly even use it. And he doesn’t want to keep living with Steve… he deserves his own space back.”
She cocks a brow and gives a gentle mm-hmm. “And how does Steve feel about all of this?”
“Oh, mother Steve is very upset.” Tessa nods dramatically.
“Is he?” she mocks.
“He told James that if he loved me, then he’d marry me and not make me live in sin.” She takes one last sip and sets her glass down beside Nat’s. “They haven’t talked in two days.”
“Damn. I did not know that.” Natasha leans forward and takes Tessa’s hand. In a low, serious tone, she asks, “Is he making you live in sin?”
Tessa holds the eye contact for as long as she can before collapsing into a fit of hysterics. “Oh God,” she says through the laughter. “Will you save me?”
Natasha chuckles softly, which is about as emotive of a laugh as she ever allows. “Sounds like Steve’s already trying.”
“It’s dumb,” she says lightly, shaking her head as the giggles subside. “I know it is. We’re together all the time. He stays at my place all the time.”
“You’re completely in love,” Natasha supplies. Tessa gives her an incredulous side eye. “You’re not fooling anyone, golubushka. Sleeping with the man is one thing, but it’s so obviously way past that. And it has been for a long ass time.”
“I feel like I need wine to continue this conversation,” she says, hauling herself up off the couch and heading into Nat’s kitchen. She goes straight to the cupboard in the corner and pulls out two glasses before eyeballing the wine selection on the second shelf. “It’s so weird to me that the Black Widow’s taste in wine goes from sweet to practically Kool-Aid,” she mumbles, mostly to herself.
“There’s a Riesling in the fridge, you lush,” Natasha shouts from the other room.
Tessa wrinkles her nose. “Of course there is.” But her near disgust doesn’t stop her from grabbing the mostly full bottle of wine from the refrigerator and pouring two giant glasses.
“You know,” Nat starts, accepting the glass of wine as Tessa settles back onto the sofa, “Mixing bourbon and wine is rarely a good idea.”
“I’ve done worse,” she counters with a shrug.
Natasha raises a single brow as she looks at her friend with a smirk. “So… where were we?”
Tessa offers another shrug. “I love him, sure.”
“Sure? That does sound like love.”
“Feelings aren’t the problem.” She turns to face Nat, curling her leg up underneath her and throwing one arm over the back of the couch. She locks eyes with the redhead. “Relationships,” she says, a sort of fear and awe twisted into her voice. “That’s the part I suck at.”
“Don’t we all?” Natasha offers with a small smile. “We live strange lives here.”
“Even before here,” she says with a slow shake of the head. “I’ve always been… single minded.”
“You’re heading up the medical research lab for Stark Industries. You’re the official physician of the Avengers. And you’re not yet thirty. You don’t get here without being single minded.”
“A workaholic, you mean.”
“How about dedicated? Passionate?”
She shifts again, seemingly uncomfortable in her own skin. “It’s just… any other guy… I might’ve felt bad about not giving him my full attention, I should have. But I never really did.”
“You’ve never been in love before.”
“Oh no,” she says, eyes blown wide. “I’ve been in love before. And it did not go well.”
Nat cocks her head to the side. “Interesting…”
“Not today, no,” she responds to her friend’s fishing. That’s a looong story that’ll require more than a half a bottle of sugary Riesling to get out of her.
“Fine. But we will come back to this.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
“Are you afraid to live with him?” Natasha asks, taking no time at all to transition back to the topic at hand.
“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “Right now, he doesn’t really have a place of his own. It’s either he stays with me or with Steve. So even though he’s usually at my place, it’s easy enough to say that he doesn’t really live there with me. But if he does actually live there… then it’s… I mean that’s…”
“Serious?”
Tessa nods, then stops short, crinkles her nose, and begins to shake her head. “It’s not just that. Or…it’s not that simple. It’s not like I’m afraid of commitment, per se.”
“Really?” Natasha asks with a smirk.
Tess rolls her eyes. “I just mean, I don’t have a problem with intimacy. Or committing to just one man. Or being in love… even though none of that has gone well in the past.” She sips her wine and stares off into the distance, focusing on nothing. “It’s… I don’t know… reliance. Dependence?”
“Explain please.”
“I can love James. I can be in love with James, and I can be intimate with him. Maybe even stay in the same apartment with him. But that’s different from being… with him.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because… I don’t know. Because if we’re together, really together, then I depend on him and he depends on me. And we’re…”
“A team?”
“Yes. I guess so.”
“And you don’t want to be part of a team.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“That wasn’t a question.” She shifts so that she’s sitting upright, and she levels Tessa with a confident stare. “When Clint first met you, you were freelancing for Genetech. Before that you were investigating – on your own – genetic anomalies. Then Clint convinced you to help out with SHIELD, which you would only do on a temporary, contract basis. Tony hired you as an independent contractor. And I know how hesitant you were to take the position as the head of the tier 1 med team. I know how long it took Tony to wear you down.”
“So you’re saying I’m not a team player?”
“Not at all. I was with you in Africa. And in Sokovia. I was part of the debrief on Mexico. I think you’re great on a team. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve seen your SHIELD file. So I know that you were an integral part of another pretty big team for quite a while.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Did the X-Men fuck you up that bad?”
She shakes her head emphatically. “I don’t talk about that.” She pauses for a moment, takes in Natasha’s words and says, “But… maybe it left me feeling like I shouldn’t be part of a team. Yeah. Maybe.”
“Well maybe it’s time to get over that.”
“Did Tony bribe you to try and get me on the team?”
She smiles and leans forward. “Tessa, you’re already part of the team – part of the Avengers team and, I’m pretty sure, part of the Sullivan-and-Barnes team. Whether you like it or not.”
She nods gravely and takes another drink, and the two sit in silence for a long moment. “I don’t want to disappoint him,” Tessa says softly.
“You think he’ll expect something different if you live together?”
She shrugs. “Right now, we’re just… I don’t know… we’re happy together. But – God, this is going to sound so cliché – we’ve never labeled it.”
Natasha snorts out a laugh. “Labels are for children. You don’t have to put a name to a relationship to be happy in it. You’re adults. If you’re happy together, then just be together.”
“That may be the most naïve thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Nat merely shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m a genius and you’re just too threatened by my intellect to admit it.”
“Maybe. Doubtful.”
Natasha sets her mostly empty glass down on the coffee table and leans in toward Tessa. “You want to know what I think?” Tessa raises her eyebrows and nods. “I think that he knows you – gets you – in a way that no one else ever has. And I think that you, weirdly, get him too. And all of us in the tower think you both are disgustingly, adorably enamored with each other. And I don’t think that’ll go away because you work late and miss dinner a few nights a week, or because he leaves the toilet seat up, or because one or the other of you drank the last of the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, or whatever other ‘living together’ issues may come up.”
“I got yelled at for putting the empty OJ carton back in the fridge just last week.”
“See?!” She tenderly lays her hand on Tessa’s knee and levels her with an intense stare. “I think you’re nervous because you’re overthinking it. And if you just let go a little, which I know is crazy difficult for you, then you might just end up being happy despite yourself.”
Tessa drops her eyes and feels a hot blush slowly creep up her neck. She knows Natasha’s right. “I think…” she starts slowly, “that you’re a really good friend.” She looks back up at Nat and sees her eyes soften a bit. “And I think that we should go out and get you laid. Because you clearly have forgotten what it’s like to be with a man.”
“That might piss Bruce off.”
Tessa scoffs. “If he doesn’t make his move soon, he’s gonna piss me off. And he wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”
#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x oc#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes au#marvel fanfic#marvelau#bucky imagine#avengersau#avengers fanfiction#Supernova
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I think I may have the weirdest AU possible- what if Elaine had taken pity on Johnny Boi and taken him under her wing of sorts? (given her attitude to Sera after everything I don't think it's entirely impossible) Admittedly I had an AU like this a while ago but that involved john claiming to be a midtier instead of a cripple and I'm curious on your take
Let’s crack this nut boys.
So Elaine walks up to John and asks him about his ability
John replies that he’s powerless and Elaine is surprised. She feels bad for his position but before she can say anything some other classmates speak up. Her friends drag her away saying she shouldn’t talk to inferior people.
The next day John is getting harassed by a group of low tiers and gets beat pretty badly. Elaine sees this and comes to his aid. She disperses the group either by using her fighting abilities or authority. She heals him up a bit and takes him to the infirmary. While there, Elaine t alks to Dr Darren about John’s lack of powers and he warns Elaine not to get too close to John. Elaine, being the stubborn brat she is, ignores his warning.
The two become friends in secret because Elaine is too self conscious. The two frequently meet in the infirmary (because John’s always getting hurt while Elaine acts as an aid/pupil for Dr Darren) With the small chars between them, John starts to develop a crush. It’s not too subtle (well unless your name’s Elaine) so most of their grade figures it out. Most of the student body is disgusted that John thinks he has the audacity to have a crush on Elaine. Seraphina and Arlo especially are concerned about this.
When Sera and John are put together for their group project, Sera uses this time to interrogate him (it’s actually harassment but Sera doesn’t know the difference) His life is rough, doing Sera’s share of the work, getting beat up constantly, and he’s just about to break down. But the cute bluenette who talks to him with a shine in her eyes keeps him going. Eventually Sera stops beating around the bush and confronts Elaine on John.
Seraphina: You know that cripple boy in our class?
Elaine:John? Why are you bringing him up?
Seraphina:Isn’t it obvious. He has a huge crush on you. You need to shut that down
Elaine:Huh? I’m sure you’re mistaken. We’re just fri-
Seraphina:Did you just say you’re friends with a loser like that?
Elaine:So what of it? Who I hang out with is none of your business!
Seraphina:It’s definitely my buissness. You’re a respected member of the school! If anyone sees you interacting with trash like that it won’t just bring down you’re reputation. We’ll all lost respect! Even Arlo!
Elaine:Don’t bring him into this!
Seraphina:Thens top hanging out with that cripple. Or maybe you’re perfectly fine with letting Arlo think you’re willing to get with any guy who asks.
Elaine storms off in a flurry tears and locks herself in the only safe space she knows. The infirmary. Coincidentally, John is sitting in the infirmary at this moment. When he sees Elaine in tears he immediately gets up (despite his own injuries) and begins to comfort her. In his mind he vows to hurt whoever made her sad. When he learns it’s Seraphina he lets out an “Oh shit”. He’s strong, no doubt about it, but is Sera stronger? He doesn’t want to see.
Instead he decides to sabotage the project and the two of them end up with F’s. Sera yells at John about it saying he’s making a mockery of the hierarchy. John shoots back that hurting the ones under you isn’t how a hierarchy should be run ( almost like he has experience with it hmmmm)
Later that day Arlo talks to Elaine about her relationship with John.
Elaine:I was already chewed out by Seraphina. Why can’t you guys just let it be.
Arlo:We can’t. If people start thinking the hierarchy’s promoting inter-level relationships then more students will interact and more fights will break out. The weaker ones will be brutalized or taken advantage of and the mid tiers will start getting big heads.
Elaine realizes that her and Arlo could never be because of his current thoughts. She’s and elite tier and he’s a god tier. He’ll probably get with some other powerful girl maybe...Sera. The thought hurts her. Arlo tries to talk more to her but she refuses to hear anything.
Sera and Arlo talk, confused on what to do. Arlo thinks about getting Remi to talk to Elaine but he knows she won’t go for it. Sera meanwhile thinks John might be lying about his level. He has too much confidence and speaks like he has experience. Arlo gets Isen on the job (holding him at fork-point). Yada year ability found yada yada Isen shits his pants.
Sera gets a “good” idea. Why not tell Elaine that John was lying to her. Arlo is actually against this. No point in hurting her any farther. Sera grumbles.
Elaine and John spend more time together. John comforts Elaine while Elaine gives John a shoulder to lean on. As the two continue on to their second year the two of them start getting closer. When Elaine closes her eyes she sees face and she starts having weird fantasies about the two of them. Knowing she can’t talk to anyone about it, she keeps her feeling to herself.
However Remi one day asks how her friendship with John is going. Seeing just how flustered Elaine gets, Remi puts together that she also has a crush on him. She tells this info to Arlo who then tells it Sera. Sera is tired of waiting. Elaine needs to be brought back to reality. So she confronts her one day after school.
Sera tells Elaine that John is actually a God-Tier. Of course Elaine doesn’t believe this at first. Sera’s obviously just trying to get under her skin right? But then the Arlo vs John fight happens. John remembers the vow he made to protect Elaine from anyone who hurts her and Arlo is interested in seeing just how strong John is. The two fight + some Meili and Ventus backup.
Elaine gets called by Arlo to heal him and the two others. Despite not talking too often anymore Elaine still takes the job. She’s shocked at just who could have hurt Arlo. The god tier who she knew she would never have a chance with. The first boy she fell in love. He was now a bloody mess and not telling her anything. Maybe it was because they weren’t as close as they once were? She should fix their relationship. They’re still friends. But then she gets a call from John. And he sounds like a mess. She’s conflicted on what to do but Arlo tells her to go to John’s side.
She arrives at his home and is shocked. John looks just as bad as Arlo. Who could do this to him? Who could hurt him like this? The second boy she fell in love with. A boy she may finally have a chance with. Tears spill from her eyes but she starts her job. He needed healing, both physically and mentally, and she would give it to him. At least, that’s what she thought. As she’s healing him, she notices similar wounds compared to Arlo, Ventus, and Meili. Inside her head Sera’s words ring out. “He’s a god tier. He will always be above you. You are just a toy for him”
Why? Why was this happening? Elaine feels like throwing up. But there’s no way this is true. It can’t be! They’re friends right? He loves her right? Why is God so cruel?! John notices her pain. Still only half healed, he hugs her. She cries harder than she ever has. After a few hours, Elaine convinces John to be taken to the infirmary. Dr Darren (who does not get paid enough) takes care of his wounds and leaves.
The two of them are stuck in a room. What should Elaine say? What should John say? Should they even say anything? Why ruin what they already have? Elaine speaks first.
“You have an ability don’t you?”
John is shocked for a second but understands. He just busted himself by beating up Arlo. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten too close to Elaine. Maybe he shouldn’t have antagonized Seraphina. But that was all in the past. He admits it. No point in hiding it. Or at least no point in hiding it from her. She’s smart.
Elaine and John talk for what seems like hours. John wants to hide his ability and Elaine understands that.
Elaine:But should we even be talking to each other
John:What do you mean?
Elaine:You’re a god tier and I’m just-just a stupid healer
John:There wasn’t any problems with us when I was a cripple. Why now?
Elaine:Cause I don’t want to lose you to someone else
The two definitely both realize they’re in love. Might as well come out with it. As a new couple Elaine gives him a kiss on the cheek and leaves the infirmary. (Dr Darren was waiting outside the entire time. He got locked out. However he could hear everything. He definitely didn’t cry. Nope. Not one tear. Just something in his eye)
Man that was a lot. Now I want some John x Elaine art. Oh the woes of me
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[meta] What, if any, games, movies, books, tv shows, etc. have you drawn influence from for your character?
Okay so round 2, much in the same vein for Arthur there are... A lot. Possibly even more things that influence and inspire where Otto’s muse and views comes from. That said in writing this there are also a LOT of similarities between the characters I can pick out certain attributes and to be honest there’s a lot of crossover with the traits and characterisations highlighted.
Namely: playful and proactive, self-serving yet loyal to those that meet his criteria as to who is deserving of it. A grifter by nature that will approach almost any situation if he feels he’ll get something out of it while equally hoping that one day someone might actually bother to ask him (and maybe give him a true reason) to stay.
Dorian - Dragon Age: Inquisition
Uh, the heir of a famous magical dynasty? A flair of magical talent that made him the envy of his peers? Studied at one of the best colleges for the magical arts before being kicked out and privately tutored before eventually vanishing and being found by Magister Gereon Alexius who offered to take him as his apprentice eventually becoming a fully-ranked enchanter. A pariah for opposing every fault his homeland is renowned for?
It’s been years since I’ve played DA:I and Dorian always was one of my favourite characters but tbh I completely forgot his background and it’s only in revisiting it now I actually realise the similarities in the framework of their characters/development/story line. Not to mention the fact they both enjoy playful flirtation and witty banter and oppose the things they don’t fit into their view of the world. They will probably do the right thing, but that doesn’t mean they might not take their sweet ass time in actually getting into a situation.
Isabela - Dragon Age II and Inquisition
AND AGAIN. Isabela’s a great character - a pirate scourge of coastlines and nations around the world who values fun, freedom and getting ahead in life. They both value solving situations in clever and devious ways and getting ahead even if it means being somewhat selfish when they’re dealing with other people, example: Otto conning Deirdre out of $28k when she tried to cover for Regan or those plans he has to try and record a banshee scream? They’re both always down for trying to squeeze that little bit extra out of a person. If it one ups them in life and people are gullible enough to fall for it well... They really did it to themselves didn’t they?
But that doesn’t mean there aren’t depths to that hardened persona they both present. There are actual feelings and things hidden behind the wall and appearance they both present to the world. And underneath it all they’re both afraid of being left behind, but figure it’s best to push people away before they decide to leave of their own volition. At least that way they can say they have some control over the situation..
Sera - Dragon Age: Inquisition
Apparently this is a DA characters list but you know what sue me. x) So NEXT on the list is Sera, an elven archer who is incredibly impulsive and reactionary. She takes pure delight in humbling the established authority she views as arrogant and selfish. It’s less about what’s right in the grand scheme of things but more about what’s right in that very moment. She doesn’t believe in actions taken for a greater good, instead viewing it as just another excuse to hurt others undeserving of such treatment because it’s easier than making the truly hard choices in life.
Felix Dawkins - Orphan Black
Look Felix is one of the many fascinating characters on Orphan Black. Don’t get me wrong there are SO many and it’s a great show. But Felix is a character whose very existence proves that you can have a very effeminate, boisterous, loud, witty gay character and not have him be limited to the perpetuation of the sassy gay friend stereotype. Why? Because he has a whole complex personality beyond just that aspect of his life. He’s got to deal with real life issues on top of all the drama clone club brings into his life and he deals and he survives and he cOPES.
Not to mention he’s a positive representation of foster children being happy, positive representation of LGBTQ+ characters and gives positive representation of sex workers. Not to mention on top of all that representation you see how he’s smart as hell, the only person who knows Sarah well enough to keep her on track. The BEST uncle to Kira and one of the most supportive characters on the show.
Sarah - Orphan Black
Felix’s foster-sister, another character that shows the positive and complex dynamic that foster families tend to have while also demonstrating the fascinating found-family dynamic with clone club. Sarah’s interesting because she’s a natural chameleon, she’s street-smart and tough, a born outsider living on the fringes by her wits while in possession of a dark sense of humour that sees her by.
Sarah and Otto have a rather morally ambiguous compass, they’re both characters who swing between being very self-serving and selfish and acting for the greater good when they decide it’s needed. Not to mention the act as if they don’t care about other people’s issues (see clone club) when actually it transpires they both might just care a little more than they actually let on.
Garcia Flynn - Timeless
Unfortunately Garcia fits the my favourite character type: tall, dark, snarky, sassy antihero motivated fiercely by love and willing to do things of questionable morality against a greater evil, self-aware and doesn’t make excuses for his behaviour, but isn’t wringing his hands over it either. A character who so dearly loves the people in his life (see revenge for his wife and daughter) so much so he’s still fighting for them 5 years later just to be alive and not even to have anything to do with him again because he knows the things he’s done are enough the he could never go back to being that person for them. The man who loved his mum and went on a trip just to make her happy and save his brother. When he truly cares for someone he does EVERYTHING for them while somehow having none of the toxic jealous possessive business, despite his well-attested Garbage Drama in other departments, and just generally being a mature adult and an essentially good person who has gone down some really dark places and is finally rediscovering what he’s buried and lost. Look man, I’m a suuuuuuuuuuuuucker for found family, enemies to lovers, and villain becomes weird family member. And he covers all of those, so yes.
There’s a lot of that I’m planning and drawing on for Otto, this weird currently antagonistic little self-serving shit who is out for his own ends but maybe along the way finds some semblence of a conscious and maybe has a fair few moral dilemmas and self-questioning moments along the way? Who maybe finds friends (and even love?) Who has to deal with FEELINGS and things he’s repressed for years because of the things he’s done just to survive the life he fell into? Uh, yes give me give me give me.
Jesse Custer - Preacher
Okay, so this one’s kind of another given. Jesse’s another character I’m fascinated with because before Genesis’ arrival he was a down upon his luck preacher. A man who was trying so hard to fit into his dad’s ideal and not let the life he had before affect his day to day. Except it all goes to hell in a handbasket because of course it does.
Jesse essentially gains the ability to make anyone do anything he says. And that power? It’s addictive, and we see the struggle he goes through to learn how to control and manipulate it to his own end. To begin with he tries to right wrongs, to tell people to stop doing the bad things they’re doing in their lives and fix them so they’re better people but with each act that power and god-complex grows. It goes to his head until we meet the moronic messiah Humperdoo and Jesse eventually agrees to take his place. The messiah-complex and power corruption is complete, and the repercussions of his choices are devastating especially with how they impact Cassidy or Tulip and the repercussions in Angelville.
Much like Otto’s own magic, the more its used the more enticing it is to carry on using it for more and more things. At first it was small deeds, little acts of good until Otto in kind started to realise that good deeds weren’t enough to make a change. They weren’t enough for other people around him and with each act it grew and grew - and it continues to grow. The question is to what level? And if it ever got out of control, would he ever know how to stop it?
Crowley - Good Omens
An overall non-threatening demon, who tries to be “evil” in his own way to fit into the role his society (other demons) expect of him. Crowley wants to save the world (for his own reasons) and can be rather self-serving in certain moments. There’s plenty of times he tried to convince Aziraphale to run away with him and let everything else forgive the irony but for lack of a better term “go to hell” but he always comes around in the end (typically to a Queen track) to help when it really counts for something.
Not to mention his flare for the dramatic, very rarely thinking things through, with many of his own plans backfiring on him.
Sound familiar?
Wrench - Watch Dogs 2
Part-hacker and full-fledged anarchist who wears a freaky mask with LED displays capable of bizarre emoticons. He's vulgar, crude, entertaining and an absolute adrenaline junkie who lives on the edge. He's jokingly called the wrench because he's the wrench you throw into somebody's gears to grind them to a halt.
The final one on the list, because it’s a side I haven’t yet played into so much but I’m curious to given means and opportunity to. Otto does have some inclination towards an anarchistic nature, if a system doesn’t seem to work he isn’t afraid to speak out or more likely act out against it. Whether it’s in the greater good or not isn’t so much relevant rather that he would happily take a torch and burn something to the ground if it meant starting again with something new and better in its place. It’s definitely something I want to explore more down the line.
I also find it interesting the whole concept of “hiding behind a mask” which is something wrench quite literally does. Both have built personas to defend themselves from people breaking through and seeing that what actually exists on the other side is a rather shy and awkward person who tries to “act out” and be “dramatic” in an attempt to get attention from a world in which there’s so much noise how could anyone ever feel like their voice mattered let alone be heard unless they started shouting “HEY, LOOK AT ME” at the top of his lungs?
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All I’ve Got To Keep Myself Sane, 4/8 (Jackie/Widow) - Juno
Chapter Summary: Night is falling in Atlantic City, and Jackie and Widow are no closer to going in separate directions. Unless it relates to Star Trek.
A/N: This chapter is almost entirely fluff with some Star Trek references thrown in for good measure. I hope you enjoy part four!
Jackie’s head swirled in memories once more. Or maybe it was swirling in alcohol. Two pina coladas? After pizza? And she was already tipsy? She almost felt ashamed of herself. Her college persona could drink more than that in a night and still walk home!
On the other side of the table, Widow had nursed her own cocktail for the evening, while Jackie was on her third. Widow mentioned she didn’t really drink very often and only wanted one, which Jackie didn’t mind; but it hadn’t stopped Jackie wanting to shove as much alcohol as she could down her own throat.
“… Jackie?”
“What? Oh. Sorry.”
It was starting to feel more comfortable. Widow was becoming less of a stranger, more of a friend; their heart-to-hearts on the beach feeling like a release of tension. They were freer to just be in each others’ company.
Jackie was enjoying watching Widow relaxing more; the ready smile which lit up her face, the cheeky glint in her brown eyes, which shone with the colourful lights on the boardwalk. She was even cracking jokes, a dry sense of humour emerging, along with a contagious laugh.
There was a fun woman under the introverted mask she wore. A fun, interesting woman.
“Hello? USS Enterprise calling Jackie Cox?” Widow laughed. “Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?”
Jackie was already regretting confessing her love for the original Star Trek after just one cocktail. She felt herself flush, and put a hand to her forehead. “Sorry. I’m just thinking. And in fact …” Jackie giggled, leaning nearer to Widow, “I just realised something.”
“Come on then, spill!” Widow leaned in too, her face alight with mischief, obviously thinking of something funny.
Jackie opened her mouth, but then closed it. More alcohol was needed for this.
She lifted the straw of the third pina colada to her mouth and drank, drank and drank until the brain freeze started to take over and she dropped the straw to pinch the bridge of her nose until it went away.
She put the now almost-empty glass down, maybe a little harder than intended, and set her hands crossed, facing Widow straight on, letting a grin spread across her face, although she didn’t know why – there was no humour in this.
“Oh, this is gonna be juicy,” Widow shuffled gleefully, mimicking Jackie’s pose. “I’m getting comfy for this!”
“Right,” Jackie chuckled, biting her lip. “It’s juicy.”
“Come on, then, tell!”
“There’s no family here in Jersey at all! No visit to grandma! There was just a dirty weekend road trip planned, for me and Jan. For me to forget about my life. And maybe, Jan would tell me why she ran away from New York, from me! Why she didn’t want to come and live with me when she left her flat, and instead went and got a transfer with her job to Pittsburgh! Except, I found out she didn’t get a transfer! She moved jobs completely within about a month!”
Jackie leaned back on the chair and tittered, the alcohol making the boardwalk and the lights blur before her eyes.
By contrast, Widow’s smile was slowly fading from her face as she watched Jackie silently.
Jackie opened her mouth again, more thoughts spilling out to fill the space between them. “It makes sense now, she was talking to that – that bitch before she even left! Oh God; that’s why she left New York, not for a fucking work transfer like she told me, for some other girl! And I never had so much as a fucking one-night stand while she was gone, and she’s been screwing some girl behind my back in Pittsburgh! I wasted nearly two years of my life on –“
But Jackie felt Widow grasp her hand tightly on the table, silencing her tittering immediately.
“Maybe you’ve had enough. You know alcohol makes you depressed, right?”
Jackie nodded, biting her lip. “I’m a loser.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m a fucking loser.”
“Jackie, stop it.” Widow was glaring at her now.
“It was all going on under my nose and I didn’t see a thing!” Jackie whispered, her hands still shivering. “I’m so naïve.”
“You didn’t deserve to be treated like that.” Widow’s eyes bored into Jackie, seeming to speak to her very soul. “You don’t deserve that.”
Jackie took a shaky breath, feeling herself calm on the exhale. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Let’s get out of here, then.”
They paid their bill and left, back onto the boardwalk. Jackie felt a little unstable on her feet, but Widow was pretty much sober, and Jackie felt her link an arm through hers to keep her steady.
Night had now fallen, the expanse of sky above them in deep indigo, with stars appearing above them as they walked. The colourful lights on the boardwalk, once entrancing and exciting, were making Jackie feel a bit nauseous, and she insisted on heading down to the beach. They traipsed down the path to the sand, the tide right out now, the sea in shades of black and coal-grey before them.
“I like the stars,” Jackie murmured to Widow, looking up wistfully, “because they’re always there. Even when you can’t see them.”
Widow laughed. “Cheesy bullshit.”
They lay on the sand on the towel again, Jackie feeling the alcohol start to fade off a little, her mouth becoming a little dry. She reached into her bag for a bottle of water, drank some, and lay back down, reaching for Widow’s hand to interlace her fingers.
“What are you doing?” Widow murmured.
“Sorry,” Jackie started to pull away, but Widow held onto her.
“It’s fine, I don’t mind; I just wasn’t sure you knew you were doing it.”
“It’s because it’s my love language. I like to be tactile with people if I like them.”
Jackie felt her face flush again as the words left her mouth. Where the hell had that come from?
But Widow just squeezed her hand back. “Oh, me too.”
“I’m a hugger. All my friends hate it,” Jackie giggled tentatively.
“Same, girl.” Widow’s laugh had a tinge of nervousness to it.
The alcohol was definitely fading, thank god. Jackie felt a bit more clarity than she had during her earlier tipsy outburst. The night air was cool and clear, the breeze stronger than in the day, and Widow’s warm skin next to hers was comforting. The stars above them started to become more and more distinct. Jackie felt her eyes chasing the stars as they started to appear above her.
“Do you know which constellations these are?”
Widow scoffed at Jackie’s question. “Of course! Astronomy is my specialist subject.”
“It is?”
“Sure.”
“How did you get into astronomy? Did you study it at college?”
“Jackie, we just spent ten minutes arguing about how many episodes of the original Star Trek there were, right, because you can’t deal with The Menagerie being two episodes, and not one?” Widow laughed. “Let’s just say that being a Trekkie got me into it. I can tell you anything you wanna know about the stars.”
“Which star is that one then?” Jackie pointed to the brightest star she could see near the Atlantic horizon.
“That’s not a star. That’s Venus. Just a planet, pretending to be a star. Shady bitch.”
Jackie snorted with laughter.
“And also, I don’t know the name of every single fucking star in the sky, Jackie. But I know a few things about the stars, and the planets and shit.”
“Alright, well, which planet has the most moons?”
“That’s easy. Saturn. Saturn has, like, forty. And one of them, Titan, has a similar atmosphere to the planet Mars. Which only has two moons, Phobos and Deimos.”
“Oh really?” Jackie asked.
Widow nodded fervently, sitting up. “In fact, which way is south? I think you can see Mars on the horizon right now.”
Jackie sat up and pointed to the sky behind the arcade on their right. Widow nodded, and pointed out a star there.
“Yeah, see that one which is a little bit red to look at? And not, like, twinkling?”
“I see it!” Jackie gasped.
“That’s Mars. Mars only appears in the sky for a couple of months, every two years. But you can see it, if you look for the one that looks red, if you know what I mean. Planets don’t twinkle, like stars do.”
“How come?”
“They don’t generate light. They just reflect it.”
“Oh.”
Jackie wasn’t sure what to say to that, but Widow’s face had lit up as she spoke about the stars, and Jackie wanted her to keep talking to see the radiant smile that had spread to her cheeks, but Widow licked her lips nervously and looked away, laying back onto the towel.
Jackie mentally kicked herself. She’d made Widow feel self-conscious about something she was evidently passionate about.
“So, what’s the best star sign?”
Jackie had meant it as a joke, and she didn’t even need to look at Widow to know she was rolling her eyes. “That’s astrology, not astronomy. Completely different. Load of bullshit.”
“Says the woman who only came to Atlantic City based on a Tarot reading!” Jackie teased, squeezing her hand.
Widow squeezed back, cackling beside her. “Alright, you win that one! One-nothing to Jacqueline Cox of the USS Enterprise!”
“Shush!” Jackie kicked at Widow’s foot, missed, and then let her bare ankle come to rest on top of Widow’s.
“Are you gonna share the whole reading with me?” Jackie asked.
“Yeah, alright, hang on.”
Jackie hadn’t expected her to do it, but now that Widow had sat up and was reaching into her bag, Jackie was more than a little curious. Jackie sat up and looked over her shoulder, shuffling a little nearer.
“Here,” Widow held open the page, and Jackie cast her eyes across it, resting her chin on Widow’s shoulder from her side. Jackie was finding she was losing herself in the floral perfume that Widow wore, blinking to keep her eyes on the page of the notebook.
“Queen of Wands – Fire – feisty woman, confidence, passion
The Tower – upheaval, disgrace, liberation
Five of Cups – Water – loss, abandonment, forgiveness.”
“Well, it’s obvious,” Jackie said, “it’s about you meeting me!”
It was Widow’s turn to aim a playful kick at Jackie, but Jackie just shuffled nearer still to her, wrapping her arm in front of her to point at each line.
“No, see? Feisty woman? All I’ve done is be angry since you’ve met me! And the upheaval, liberation bit, that’s me being freed from the cheating bitch in Pittsburgh!”
She chanced a look at Widow, her face inches from hers, but Widow wasn’t looking at her, but down at the notebook, a nervous smile playing on her lips.
The warmth of her skin, the glow of her cheeks – Jackie’s head was starting to spin a little. She let her hand come to rest on Widow’s lap.
“What about the last bit?” Widow murmured.
Was it Dutch courage? Jackie wasn’t sure. But she found herself leaning nearer still, her lips millimetres from Widow’s ear.
“That will be when we have to say goodbye tomorrow,” she whispered.
Widow just turned her head slowly to look at Jackie silently out of the corners of her eyes, the small smile still there. Jackie couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but the intensity of her stare made Jackie’s stomach twist in a knot. She suddenly felt a twinge of shyness, and moved away again, letting Widow lay back down on the towel.
Jackie followed her, not saying a word, just letting the sounds of the ocean roar around her. The alcohol was still wearing off, and she felt like she might need more water soon.
Maybe she’d been a little too brave.
But before that thought had fully formed itself, she felt Widow’s hand creep over her own, slip her fingers between Jackie’s, and Jackie’s mind sang once more with the sensation. The stars above them, the sand beneath them, was all Jackie felt she needed at this moment.
“Widow?”
“Yeah?”
“The Menagerie was definitely only one episode,” Jackie smirked.
Widow spluttered with laughter at her question, waving her free hand in protest. “No way, I’m not getting into the Star Trek debate again. Nope! I’m too sober for that!”
“Maybe we should fix that!”
An excited scream came from the arcade next to them. Jackie watched Widow turn her head to the boardwalk, to the arcade, and then back to Jackie, mischief shining in her eyes as she squeezed Jackie’s hand.
“I have a better idea.”
They packed the towel up again and walked back to the boardwalk, Jackie watching the colourful lights pass her by, suddenly full of energy rather than nauseous. Widow tugged her along, a hand linked in hers.
Once they got to the entrance, they stopped, Jackie watching Widow’s face as the bright, easy smile spread from one cheek to the other.
There was no harm in a little … competition.
Jackie leaned to Widow’s ear again. “You’re going down!”
Widow threw back her head and laughed to the heavens.
“You’re on, Jacqueline!”
And suddenly they were both running inside.
High on adrenaline, drunk on the fight for dominance, they ran after each other like teenagers round the arcade – shivering on the electric chairs, racing around the tracks in the Super Mario chases in the racing chairs, shooting up zombies in their VR headsets, jumping and shrieking as the zombies appeared right in front of their vision. Always trying to outdo the other.
When Widow won a game, Jackie felt her body pulsing, her heart racing, wanting to come out victorious next time.
When Jackie won something, Widow’s eyes would flash with a dangerous glint. One that said game on.
Jackie craved more of feeling this alive.
They finally stumbled out of the arcade, Widow clutching Jackie’s hand, both of them in fits of excited laughter. They strode along the boardwalk, heading back in the direction of the hotel, both of them still floating on the adrenaline pumping through them, slowly dissipating, leaving them shivering, each only having to glance at the other before starting to giggle again.
“I have to give it to you,” Widow said finally, smirking smugly, “you’re actually not bad.”
“Just not bad?” Jackie spluttered, “I was on fire, what are you talking about!”
Widow gave an unimpressed shrug. “You said you were the queen of that air hockey machine, and you lost to the air hockey virgin!” She cocked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call that fire. Maybe a match at best, I guess!”
Jackie put her face in her hands. “Stop! That was actually embarrassing.”
The hotel was only ten minutes’ walk from the arcade, and Jackie looked out to the sea on their right as they walked. They both swayed, Jackie’s balance still off and Widow leaning with her.
“Hey,” Jackie said, an idea coming to her mind.
“What?”
“You want a decider round?”
“What?” Widow followed Jackie’s gaze to the sea, and her eyes narrowed slightly as she realised.
“Come on! Race you in!”
Before Widow could protest, Jackie let her go and sprinted down the walkway, kicking off her shoes. She hitched up her skirt from her knees to her mid-thighs, and ran towards the rapidly-receding tide.
“Jackie!” Widow was calling after her, her voice faint, but Jackie was powered by her adrenaline once more, and before she knew it her feet were wet, then her shins, then her knees and the waves around her curled around her thighs. Hitching her purse over her shoulder, she slammed her fists into the water, sending splashes around her.
“Jackie, I’m not going in there!” Jackie heard Widow shriek at the edge of the water, pulling a bare foot from the foam and sprinting away, crying “Shit that’s cold! Oh, shit!”
“What do you expect? It’s the north!” Jackie squealed with laughter and bounced as the waves rushed to shore around her, not caring that her shirt would be likely to be soaked by now.
“I am not getting in that fucking sea! No way!”
Jackie waded back out and grabbed Widow’s hand, but Widow was far stronger than Jackie was, and she didn’t budge an inch.
“You can’t make me!”
“Come on! Just a few steps!”
“Jackie – “
“Come on!”
“Let go!” But Widow was starting to laugh now, and her strength fading as she did; Jackie tugged her reluctantly into the water and after a few more protests, managed to get her to calf-depth, where she refused to budge any further.
“Shit, shit, shit what is wrong with you Canadians? This is fucking freezing!” Widow protested, but Jackie simply gave her a gentle shove, and Widow took two steps backwards before finally defeating the pull of gravity and catching her balance without falling.
“Ha! Nice try, Jacqueline!”
Jackie responded by splashing her.
“Stop that!”
“No!”
Widow came nearer to her, grasping both her hands. “Stop splashing!”
“Make me!”
Jackie saw Widow’s eyes darken as the words left her mouth, before she pulled her forwards by her hands, until their bodies were suddenly pressed together, putting her own mouth to Jackie’s ear, the guttural words setting her mind alight –
“Do you really want me to make you?”
Before she knew what she was doing Jackie turned her face and suddenly, her lips were on Widow’s, both of them frantic with need, devouring each other. Widow’s hands snaked up to her shoulders and neck, while Jackie gripped Widow’s hips, slipping her hands to the small of her back, all her senses spinning with desire, pulling Widow close, but just never close enough –
It was Jackie who disconnected, after what must have been hours; but Jackie’s hands refused to move, seemingly fused in place; Widow also still, holding Jackie to her.
Forehead to forehead, they stood perfectly still as reality like the waves rushed back in, centimetres apart. She could see every eyelash that Widow studied her through. Could smell Widow’s vague scent of coconut and tobacco, and that light floral perfume, mingling with the salt in the sea air. Jackie was starting to lose herself, intoxicated with her lust, this current of anticipation threatening to pull her under.
“So, what’s the next round?”
Widow’s half-smile told Jackie that the games weren’t quite up yet.
The thumping of Jackie’s own heart in her chest told Jackie that she didn’t want them to be.
#rpdr fanfiction#jackie cox#widow von du#jackie x widow#fluff#lesbian au#all i’ve got to keep myself sane#aigtkms#juno#submission#s12#rare pair
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