#gasp WORDS for a background?? inconceivable!!

[organised-disaster]

I will finish this at a later date probably

Work in progress of Judy Hodiah*, the secondary main character of Copyright Free Snowbird (still no name)

@randosfandos be my cheerleader (please)

*not her surname anymore don't freak out

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

I'll be your medicine if you let me (the air in my lungs may not last very long but I'm in) (Trobed reunion)

Title is from "Deep End" by Holly Humberstone. Trobed reunion post-finale. Angst with a happy ending.

(Troy returns. It takes a little while for Abed to accept that this could be real.)

---

When the moment comes, it comes unexpected. Unprepared for. The Dreamatorium is long gone and retired, the dreams buried with it in a small city in Colorado. There were no simulations anticipating this moment, this heartbreak renewed, this impossibility come to fruition.

(Except that's a lie. When Abed Nadir is asleep, his mind enters R.E.M. and the chimerical world of dreams. Fanciful, impossible, illusory hopes. When he is asleep, the memory of bright brown eyes and a warm smile becomes a truth impossible to imagine in the daytime.)

A voice, unexpected, impossible, breaks bright and excited across the set. "I'm looking for Abed Nadir," it says, as Abed has never allowed it to say, as the world has been determined not to let it say. "Can you point me in the right direction?"

Abed's knees hit the floor. His right hand bangs against his hip, an attempt to bring the pressure to his senses that is needed to recalibrate.

This cannot be happening. This is an impossibility forbidden by the universe. He's finally having a breakdown. He's having his first psychotic break since he was born, a clone, out of the lava wreckage. His patched DNA was supposed to prevent this. He was supposed to be able to keep himself from descending to these same disastrous lows again.

Someone is keening. Someone is shrieking. Someone cannot handle this moment, this breaking of the formula, the disastrous careening of a show into spin-off territory. No one can handle the introduction of a backdoor pilot where none of the audience or the characters expected one.

There is a hand on his head, gently prying his fingers from his hair. The touch is kind, tender, something that Abed has not felt in years.

Abed cannot bear to look up. He cannot bear to see the person who is trying to help him and managing not to hurt him.

But one hand is at his hip and another is in his hair and he has no hand left to cover his ears, to block out the auditory hallucination of a long-ignored tune from reaching his ears. He doesn't need the voice to sing words to know the lyrics by heart.

Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight, the voice lies, someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight.

Lies. Slander. The person the voice belongs to disappeared on a boat, Styx playing in the background. It's been four years. They would have returned by now-

Abed cannot help the gasp that escapes his mouth as lips press soft and warm against his forehead. His head jerks up involuntarily, his face turning toward the sun, to find Troy Barnes in front of him, concern warm in his gaze, a wobbly smile on his mouth.

Reality wars with impossibility. If this was a hallucination, a psychosis, Troy would look exactly as he did the day he left. This Troy, however, has new wrinkles around his eyes, brought on by sunlight reflected off of ocean waves. A beard traces his jaw line, emphasizing the features that have always captivated Abed. There is a scar crossing his temple right above his left eye, a pale pink rope marring warm brown skin.

"Abed," Troy says, an inconceivable vision. "Honey. Breathe with me, alright?"

Abed is hopeless against his hallucination. He follows the creature's instructions, trying to piece together fact and fiction, allowing himself to be lulled out of his non-verbal state and into some semblance of communication.

"What happened?" Troy asks, voice as gentle as always, but he hasn't had to ask Abed what the matter was for years. Even before he left, he was so good at determining what was going on with Abed, what was triggering him in his environment. But now, he can't tell. And that breaks Abed's heart even further.

(In the first few months after Hickey cuffed Abed to that filing cabinet, Abed liked to imagine that if Troy had been there, he wouldn't have stood for it. He would have yelled at Hickey in that shrill, bad-at-confrontation voice of his, that no one gets to treat Abed like that. That he would have uncuffed Abed and pulled him out of there and made him butter noodles just like he did after Toby locked Abed in that phone booth at Inspecti-Con.

Soon enough, though, Abed had to accept the fact that he had no idea if Troy would still defend Abed like that. Troy left. He abandoned Abed for the wide world after promising that he'd always be there to get Abed out of the lockers he was locked in.

Maybe Abed had Troy wrong. He so rarely had anyone right.)

"You can't be here," Abed whispers, the words rasping out of his throat.

Troy's brow furrows. "This isn't a closed set. I checked with your assistant on the phone before I showed up-"

Imaginary Troy certainly is better at planning ahead than Real Troy was. "You can't be here," Abed repeats, begging the hallucination to understand. Not that he can't be on set, not that anything is stopping him from entering, but that it's impossible for Troy to be here, in person, after so long apart. Troy doesn't want him anymore, and Abed accepted that years ago. No hallucination can convince him otherwise.

"Oh," Troy breathes, his brow smoothing out and his mouth turning down just as it did at the end of the lava, right before he begged Abed to come back to him and Abed dropped into the lava so that Troy could go on his own way, unrestrained by the cuffs of Abed's friendship. "You mean I can't be here, don't you?"

Finally, the impossibility understands him. Synchronicity, the gluon photo, has finally been achieved. Abed nods. "You're gone with Levar Burton. You have your own life without me." His voice purposefully, carefully, doesn't crack on the words without me. He's had enough practice. "You're not here. It's impossible for you to be here."

"I'm back, Abed," Troy says, sinking to his knees in front of Abed. His hand, the one on top of Abed's, slowly drops downward, gently dragging Abed's slack fingers with it. "I'm here. I promise I'm not trying to wrinkle your brain. I went to Greendale to find you first, but when Jeff and Britta and Frankie told me that you'd left, I came after you."

"But why now?" bursts from Abed's lips. "Why after so long?"

"I got held up by some pirates," Troy says, and Abed's mind would jump at such a show idea at any other time, but not now. Not here. Not while it is battling all of this other new-old information, like the warmth of Troy's calloused fingers so stubbornly clinging to Abed's hand. "And a few other crazy people along the way, but I came back. I was always planning to come back. That first year was supposed to be it. Was supposed to be me finding myself outside of Greendale. But this was always the plan, I swear. Me being here." His thumb drags across Abed's knuckles as if on instinct, as practiced as he was four years ago, as if there has been no absence, no departure, no estrangement.

Abed tilts his head just slightly, looking at Troy, listening to the sincerity in his voice. Once, Troy was as hard to read as everyone else. Then, he became as easy to understand as breathing. Troy's mannerisms were not impossible, like everyone else's- they were built out of love.

At least, that's what Abed once thought. He has loved Troy as easy as breathing for so long that when it became as hard as breathing, he barely noticed the difference in the way his lungs squeezed.

"So you came back," Abed says, matter-of-fact.

"I came back for you," Troy corrects softly, and a sharp breath yanks itself through Abed's throat. He and Troy were friends in person for four and a half years and no admission was ever made- why would he make it now?

(What the world believes is roofies obscures an admission, reciprocated from both ends, that was made and forgotten. I love you, coaxed by zombies and a belief that one was about to lose the love of one's life. I know, sworn with the knowledge that death was immediate and that the only possibility of rescue was in the hands of the man that the speaker believed in more than anything else.)

Impossible, Abed wants to say, but Troy's expression is too sincere, too earnest, and his hand too steady, too warm. Abed's mouth closes over the word as a sliver of doubt, of hope, begins to seep in after four years apart.

Fact: Troy is here. Abed has to believe that it's true. And if Troy is here, if he came all the way to L.A. for Abed, then...

The variables and numbers slot themselves into the equation. The scene writes itself to its inevitable conclusion.

Abed knows how reunions scenes go. He knows how love confessions are made, grandiose, finale-worthy speeches and spectacular wedding vows and sweepstakes-promposals.

But Abed is weary. He is human. He knows his scenes, and he knows Troy's willingness to recreate them with Abed, but right now, Abed needs creation. He needs a new scene, written by the characters themselves.

He doesn't need grandiose. He needs rawness, and honesty, and reality.

"Troy," he says, "You came back for me." To anyone else, it would sound like he's just repeating Troy, but to the two of them, the meaning is so much deeper, hidden between the folds of Abed-specific inflections.

Troy's face lights up. "Of course I did, buddy!" Abed's knowledge of Troy's mannerisms has weakened over the years, but he knows Troy well enough to know that 'buddy' is not meant to be platonic in nature.

Abed has done kiss-leans for actors in the last few years, demonstrated how he wants scenes done. He's even filled in on a scene or two.

But when Abed leans forward now, it's with hesitation. It's with uncertainty. Troy is the one who completes the distance, his warm, chapped lips landing on Abed's in the answer to an nine-year question. Troy's free hand lands against the back of Abed's neck, tugging him in, and Abed is all too content to acquiesce to the non-verbal cue.

The kissing sounds that so often bother him in movies don't bother him now. Rather, he relishes in them. Because this is not sensory overload. This is not an artistic choice that needs be borne.

This is every dream he has not dared to have. This is every confession he has craved knowing he could never taste them, every hope he couldn't allow himself to have for fear that it would break him when he remembered that it wasn't true.

The kiss isn't quite happy. It is desperate and fond and hungry and soft and raw and a million other words that Abed would strike from a script for being too flowery.

But it is here. It is real.

And more importantly than any other fact that Abed has ever held true: Troy got on a boat with Lavar Burton and he came back.

[indianamoonshine]

Girl Talk | Din Djarin x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: What does a gal do when she’s just been railed by the most notorious bounty hunter in The Galaxy? Call her best friend of course.

A/N: Just something to tide you over until the next installment of Strawberry! I have anxiety and I need to busy my hands without thinking too much! This takes place after season 2!

There’s a crackling on the other end of the receiver. The telegraph service majorly bites out here on Besiana, which has been dubbed “the trench of The Galaxy”. Getting connected to Gabriele at all is a miracle in itself, though not without exploiting a few (somewhat) illegal hacks by yours truly.

Hells, not even this shitty phoning service can put you in a sour mood.

When Gabriele’s voice sounds at the other end, it gives the air that he’s just awoken from a heavy sleep or he’s suffering a hangover. Probably both. “Now what the hell are you doing all the way out in butt-fucking-nowh…” he starts.

You’re quick to cut him off. “Take a guess.”

Gabriele groans and there’s a rummaging in the background. Something sounds as though it falls off a surface - his alarm clock, probably. He must be in the inner rim somewhere.

“Miss girl, I don’t have time to play these games with you. My head is pounding. Now tell me why you’re in the catacombs of The Galaxy’s ass and…”

Behind you, a body shuffles from outside the refresher door. Your heart thuds rambunctiously in your chest as you carefully peer through a crack of the opening. Din Djarin - The Galaxy’s most notorious Mandalorian- is taking a seat with his rifle in hand. You watch as he begins to disassemble it with great technical precision. Something about watching him take apart his weapon causes your stomach to flutter.

And your knees to weaken.

“I just had sex,” you tell him in a whisper.

Gabriele is silent on the other end for a moment and then lets out a sigh of great disappointment. “Congratulations. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight.”

“The best sex of my life.”

There’s another pause. “Oh?” His interest has piqued, voice more alert at the prospect of juicy gossip. After all, what were best friends for?

You let this linger in the air for a minute, just to marinate his curiosity, and then peek at Din again. He’s taking a rag and wiping the barrel of the rifle; if it weren’t for the helmet upon his head, you’d swear he was concentrating with furrowed and ascetic brow.

“Do you remember that Mandalorian who made a giant fuss a couple of years ago?” you inquire lowly, eyes unable to leave the steadiness of Din’s deft hands.

Those hands. You have to stop yourself from moaning at the recent memories. You swear you can still feel the ghostly sear they left in their wake. The naked skin upon your hips tingles at the sheer recollection, the slick still upon your thighs all-too prevalent.

“You’re lying,” is what Gabriele gasps, absolutely scandalized. You imagine him shooting up in bed and covering his mouth in awe. He was always so dramatic but you couldn’t blame him if he did. This was the exact reaction you were hoping for.

Din grabs another piece of his rifle and starts up again. You have to tear yourself away from looking at him and instead surmise yourself in the mirror. It isn’t very big in any sense of the word but it’ll do. You take a look at your face (blushed and bright) and then your eyes (dazed and dick-drunk). Hells, this man has ruined you.

“I know you have questions,” you reply, tapping at your cheeks. They feel softer somehow.

Gabriele squeaks a bit under his breath. “Did he take off his helmet?”

You shake your head, though he can’t see it. “No. And I think it awoken something in me.”

He tsks. “Damn. I wanna know what he looks like. Okay…”

“I know he’s a brunette,” you say slyly.

Gabriele shrieks at the other end and you have to angle the receiver away with a laugh. “Is it big?”

You recall the tactical consideration- albeit brief - it took to get his dick in your mouth. You did it though, ‘ole girl. You tap yourself on the shoulder with a proud grin.

“Oh, it is. It’s…it’s very nice.”

You find yourself looking out the door again. Din’s moved onto another gun - he’s already put together the last. You grow weary at the sight of his gloved hands alone, but when your eyes trail downwards you find yourself swallowing something thick in your throat. Which in turn, of course, reminds you of the tanginess still lingering upon your tongue.

“Gabriele,” you say seriously, voice so low you can barely hear yourself. “I came eight times.”

“Shut up. You did not.” Gabriele sounds more than just excited - now he sounds jealous. You can’t help but giggle.

You raise a hand to your chest in a show of honesty. “I mean it. Eight times. He went down on me for an hour.”

“I thought you said he didn’t take off his helmet?” Gabriele asks suspiciously.

You chuckle lowly. “Oh, that’s where it gets really good.”

Gabriele - one of the biggest sluts in The goddamned Galaxy - was no stranger to sex. So when you tell him that you were blindfolded during this portion of an absolute wild ride, you’re shocked to find him screeching once more.

You’re about to continue - to confide in him about the brutal rhythm of the ordeal - until a knock startles you. You press the receiver against your chest, still flushed and naked from the previous romp.

Din calls your name from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”

You freeze, contemplating on everything you could say to this most bland of questions. “I’ll be out in a moment!” you decide, scolding yourself for being so timid. You were at the end of his dick a half-hour ago.

Din mumbles something and then departs. After he’s within a safe distance, you quickly raise the receiver and say, “I have to go. But I’ll tell you everything later.”

Gabriele gawks, “Was that him?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes. Now I really have to go.”

“Oh my gods, okay. Fine.”

You smile, clutching at the durasteel of the phone. “Promise. Love you.”

Your best friend sighs theatrically. “Love you too. Be safe, okay? I don’t even know who I’d call to go after him if something happened to you. No one would be stupid enough.”

The idea of Din doing anything to put you in harm’s way is inconceivable. You’ve only known him for a short amount of time - a couple of weeks at most - but you already trust him with your life.

“I’d die a happy woman,” you joke.

A short while later, you exit the refresher with sopping, clean hair and any traces of sex scrubbed away from between your legs. Din’s allowed you to wear one of his night shirts (an honor in itself) because your clothes had been soiled.

Din is placing his rifle upon its rack when you sneak by for the kitchen. You pour yourself a cup of Java - black, unfortunately, because of Din’s lack of sweet tooth. The liquid is steaming hot so you blow on it before bringing it to your lips.

“Do you want one?” you ask him, taking a sip. It burns. “Oof.”

Din turns, armor somehow so dexterous in its bulk. “No, thank you. But…”

In a surprising move, Din reaches for your hips and pulls you flush against him, ignoring the mug altogether. You shriek, worried it might spill, and set it upon the countertop, but he pays little to no mind.

“You took awhile,” he mumbles, hands grasping at the flesh of your hips. They’ve already been treated so roughly today, and now you were sure there’d be bruising. Good.

You chew at your bottom lip, desperate to know what his eyes might look like. You imagine he has dark eyes - like the color of the sky at nightfall. Maybe they became brighter in the light of the suns. Maybe they crinkled when he laughed - if he were capable of that, anyway. You’ve yet to hear such music.

“I didn’t realize you were waiting for me,” you confess, avoiding the steel gaze of his faceplate.

Din hums under his breath and taps your chin, lifting it just barely so that you can meet his stare. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, fluttering your lashes in a vain attempt to remain mysterious.

Din reaches for something behind you and reveals a scrap of fabric. “How about we try for nine?” The modulator of his helmet crackles a bit, causing his voice to sound more severe than what he may have liked.

But it does something to you.

You nod sweetly, a tiny grin threatening to sneak its way upon your face, before he takes you within his arms and lifts you upon the counter.

A shrieking, but playful, giggle bursts from your lips. “Din!” you chide, but tie the fabric around your eyes all the same.

The hiss of his helmet sounds, notifying you that he’s revealing himself to the elements now. You can hear his natural breath and feel the way it fans against your collarbones before he kisses you fiercely.

“Let me give you something to really talk about.”

[futurewriter2000]

Intricacy on Strings - pt. 10

XX

Pretending. That was what it was. You and him pretending that nothing more than friendship ceased to exist.

Two months... Pretending.

He pretends. He pretends that he doesn't feel more than he should or see what he doesn't.

He loves you like flowers love the sun. He's the flower, you're his sun.

He pretends he doesn't see you looking at him in class. He pretends he doesn't care when in reality he wants to grab you off that chair and just take you away and lock both of you up in a cupboard, explode like a champagne.

He feels like he will... Soon.

"Good luck pretty boys." you wrapped your arms around their shoulders and lifted yourself up, taking a swing before landing on your feet.

George let out a laugh, Fred stayed tense.

"Cheering for your boyfriend today?" George asked, looking at your blue sweater.

"How dare you judge me like this, Georgie." you gasped, taking your hoodie off and revealinga Gryffindor shirt with a red-golden tie on it.

Fred didn't even look at you until George pointed it out. "Oi, where'd you get that tie from?"

Fred finally turned to look at you, eyes focusing on the red-golden tie around your neck. His tie.

And what was it again?

Pretending?

"Why?" he snarked at you, rolling his eyes far back his head.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him but you tried to brush it off, looking at his brother. "I'm a little petty thief." you wrinkled your nose at him and George snorted, ignoring his brother as well.

"Happy to know you know your priorities." George teased as you all walked together to the field, feeling slightly uncomfortable as Fred beside you kept his body tense, his face stern.

His heart was thumping in his chest, muffled sound around him only hearing bitses of your voice in the background. It was as if you pulled a string, a red string, the forbidden string. You pulled that string in him and he started to tear apart.

He started panting from anger, from frustration he couldn't help himself but feel everything inside of him bubbling on the surface.

"George, you go on. I need to talk to, (y/n) for a while." he stopped and both, you and George exchanged a perplexed, worried look.

You swallowed it. You swallowed the whole fear and anxiety, smiling brightly at him.

He wasn't the only one pretending. If you could count the days you cried over him and then cried because you were falling in love with a different man. You were crying because this was a change that was good but not really what you wanted because it felt so foreign. It didn't feel like home no matter how many times you tried to decive yourself.

Fred was home. Perry was just there and it hurt you to feel like that because somehow, you knew you deserved Perry but at the same time Perry wasn't Fred. You still loved him.....but it started to fade. It started to fade how much you love him because Perry was so easy to love. Perry was simple.

So you pretended that you love Perry more than you love Fred.

"Take it off." he breathed out through his teeth, gritting them afterwards as if steam was leaving his ears.

Confused, you grabbed the tie and pulled it closer to yourself.

Pretend, (y/n). Pretend. - you told yourself, placing the same forced smile.

"Missing it?" you shoved him playfully but he didn't budge but glared, glared as if he was going to explode.

It scared you... No, it petrified you to see him like this.

"Take. It. Off." he growled at you, taking a step forward.

You took a step back, holding onto that tie for dear life. "No." you croaked, feeling tears in your eyes and not really knowing why but understanding.

"Just take it off."

"Why?"

"I don't want you wearing my tie."

"Why not?"

"Becuase it's not yours."

"But I wanted to support both of you-"

"SUPPORT HIM!" the champagne finally poped and he could feel himself pouring. "SUPPORT YOUR PERFECT RAVENCLAW QUIDDITCH CAPTIAN BOYFRIEND! WEAR HIS TIE!"

You felt frightened by the tone of his voice, by the volume and the weakness it seemed to show.

"Why are you yelling at me?" you voice was small, quiet,... frightened.

It made him laugh and cry at the same time. He didn't know what was happening to him but he was here, remembering how you held him, kissed him, soothed him, hugged him, been there, been there for everything... and now you weren’t because there is another guy taking his place. He doesn’t have you anymore and it’s making him lose his mind into insanity. 

And it’s his fault. He waited! He thought he had time when he didn’t. It’s too late and it’s making him frustrated because now the things he wanted to do with you, you are doing with another person. He wanted to love you properly. He wanted to give you the love he was holding back so long. He wanted to love you the way you were supposed to be loved and instead he is frightening you.

Tears streamed down his cheeks like waterfall. 

It was the first time you saw him cry. It broke your heart. 

“Because I love you, (y/n).” his voice broke, the tightness in his throat taking away half of its strenght. “I love you so much. I love you.” his eyes continued to provide salty tears, wide traces imprinting on his cheeks. 

There it was. Everything you ever wanted to hear. 

But somehow, you weren’t happy about it. 

“It’s been you. It’s been you the whole time. You who I should have taken to the Ball, you who I can’t wait to see in the morning and spend the rest of my day with. It’s you who I want to kiss and hug and love and touch. It’s you. It’s always been you and it’s been torturing seeing someone I want to be with for the rest of life with somebody else.” 

Your limbs went numb. Your brain went into a spiral of everything. You couldn’t even feel yourself hit the ground until he was picking you back up. 

Everything. Every single word you wanted to hear from him and he finally said it... he said it and you couldn’t figure out why you weren’t happy about it. 

“I should have told you that day after the match. I should have told you before he got to you.” he said and your head snapped up at him. 

He lifted you up but as soon as your feet landed on the floor you shoved him away so hard, slamming him against the wall. “YOU- YOU- YOU-!” you stormed to him and started punching his chest. “YOU INCONCEIVABLE, DENSE- PREPOSTEROUS LITTLE FUCK1!!!” you continued to throw your fists into his chest but he caught them in his large hands and stopped you. You slapped him across the cheek quite hard and regretted it immediately but you were so furious at him. “YOU WAITED TWO BLOODY MONTHS!! I WAITED MONTHS AND MONTHS TO EVEN GET A HINT THAT YOU MIGHT LOVE ME BACK AND YOU’RE CONFESSING IT ALL TO ME TWO MONTHS INTO MY NEW RELATIONSHIP!!!!” you bellowed and pushed yourself away, facing him your back and huffing. 

He stood there, stoic, staring at you with wide eyes as if something clicked inside of him. 

“Love you back?” he repeated what you had said but you were already talking and fuming to yourself, pacing back and forward, running your hands down your face. 

“(y/n), move on. He doesn’t love you. And he has the audacity to just say it, flat out.” you continued to pace up and down, wiping him out of the scene as your thoughts came rushing in and out of your head.”When?” you turned around, glaring and clenching your jaw. 

“The button thing.” he couldn’t help himself but smile as he said that, realizing it himself. 

You, however, felt your eye twitch. Oh, how you wanted to attack him right now. Hell, you were fist first storming to him right now. 

His smile fell and his eyes widened. Before you fist could touch him first he moved away and wrapped his long arms around you, feeling you kicking and shouting. 

“Calm down, gremlin.” he lifted you up, locking your arms in a tight embrace with one arm and slapping his other hand on your lips. 

You wriggled in his arms, feeling the anger leave your body. 

He squeezed you tight, gently tight- where he pressed his body against yours just for a second of time, embracing the moment. 

You turned around with tears in your eyes. You couldn’t believe it. Your mind couldn’t process it. 

His hands framed your head, cupped your cheeks and wiped the tears. He smiled, leaning his forehead on yours and brushing his nose against the bridge of your own. He closed his eyes shut, breathing evenly as his heart filled itself with love. “I love you.” he whispered, letting it known to you that he was prepared to tell you this phrase again and again. He brushed his upper lip agaisnt the tip of your nose. “I love you so much.” he continued to speak quietly, alluring you in with his voice and embracing you with the feeling of home. 

Your hands ended wrapping themselves around his neck, your toes pushing themselves up so that your lips were less than an inch apart. He gazed down on you as you looked up into his chocolate brown, darker as the clouds covered the sun. 

His hands, on your waist, pressed you closer to him, letting your upper body lean back a bit, eyes seductive, lips inviting. 

No more pretending. 

He is not going to wait anymore; leaning forward his nose touched the tip of yours, teasing your lips with a small touch- just to intense the intimacy between the two of you until he fully pressed himself onto you, his lips in a love lock with yours. 

It spread like fire. From your lips to every inch of your body. Like poison burnt your skin, he burns your soul. Kisses, deep and lustful, differing from anything else you have experianced, they spun your head in circles. 

Your hands pulled him down, then dug themselves into his dense hair. It was as if your sould wanted to consume him whole. 

He smiled against your lips, taking a firmer grip of your hips and pulling you to close any bit of space that was left between the two of you. 

He won’t let you go. Not anymore. 

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 3

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark

rating: Explicit

warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark

Penny had sent Peter off to bed before allowing herself to cry for a solid two hours until she passed out on the couch in her work clothes. Waking up was a trial, her head was pounding and she hadn’t pulled the curtains over the living room window closed before falling asleep so it was ten times brighter than it needed to be. She hadn’t set an alarm, but she could hear Peter moving around in the bedroom so it was around 6 AM.

“Peter, you good?” She called out absently, the usual morning greeting that meant ‘are you moving fast enough to make it to school on time?’

“I’m good,” his voice was quieter than usual, dejected in a way that broke a piece of her heart.

She sat up on the couch and put her face in her hands, elbows digging sharply into her thighs. Everything felt off, like the earth had shifted on its axis but only by a few degrees. There had been several times in her life when everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Her entire world stopped spinning, first when her mom and dad died, then again with uncle Ben, and again with aunt May. Every time it had eventually started back again, but she’d always had an anchor.

She’d always had Peter, when everything went wrong. Having to start from scratch, to rebuild her entire life, was always possible because she had Peter. He was her rock, her reason for pushing forward to fix everything that went wrong. To restabilize.

When she’d been date raped in a club in Queens half a year ago, it had been traumatic. Brock had been sniffing around for ages before she finally agreed to go out with him and then he turned into a fucking monster at the drop of a hat, the piece of shit. She hadn’t meant to let Peter find out about any of it. She’d called a friend to get her from the club, to help her home. She’d been traumatized and angry, half drugged by the time they got to the apartment and screaming about the injustice.

Peter had helped her into the shower, sent her friend off for food, and held her while she screamed and cried and otherwise lost her fucking mind. By the next morning she’d gotten a note slipped under the door, essentially telling her to fuck off and keep her mouth shut or else. As if she’d even considered going to the police— what would she have said? ‘This dude I talked to for months slipped me drugs and raped me in the back of a club. No, there were no witnesses. No, I didn’t call the police. No, I didn’t go to the hospital.’ Stupid. She’d been stupid, as always.

Getting into such a stupid situation had spiraled into a rabbit hole of almost inconceivable bad luck. If she hadn’t let herself get duped in that stupid club, Peter never would’ve gone to Stark Tower. Never would’ve gotten spotted by the man himself. And now, she wouldn’t have Peter with her when she rebuilt after this most recent, life altering tragedy.

But he would be safe. There wasn’t anything else that she needed, or could hope for, other than Peter’s safety. Besides, prison might be a nice reprieve from the 108 hour work weeks she currently endured. And they had hospitals in prison, maybe they had dentists? She hadn’t been to the dentist since before aunt May died. Would she go to prison or jail? Penny didn’t know the difference between the two, honestly.

Standing up from the couch, her eyes landed on her laptop. It was sitting open on the dining room table, plugged in because it was so old it never held a charge. She should make a to-do list for the day, starting with calling into all three of her jobs and making Peter breakfast before he had to leave for school. There was a lot she had to get done before her brother got home from school today.

“Hey Pen, have you seen my biology textbook?”

“No babe, check the table by the front door,” she stretched her arms over her head and yawned, trying to work some of the kinks out of her body from sleeping on the couch, “do you have enough time to stick around for breakfast?”

Peter stopped on the other side of the couch, watching his sister act like it was a normal day, a frown on his face. They always joked that he was the smart one. Peter could recite pi to the 40th digit, explain thermodynamics, and had gotten into a super prestigious science academy on scholarship. Usually, he’d call himself the logical sibling, the one who could see the best course of action and follow it.

But looking at his sister he was realizing there was a level of maturity missing from his logical thinking. He might’ve been the smarter one, but Penny was the one who was going to get them through this hellscape. She was calm, he could see in her eyes that the wheels were turning and that she was in so much pain, but she was calm and collected and was going to work through the day to make sure her batshit crazy plan worked out so that he would be safe.

“Yeah, I’ve got time.”

“Sounds good,” she stripped her socks off clumsily while walking into the kitchen, dropping them on the floor as she went, “hey, open up all of the bills on the counter and leave them scattered around while I cook. I want it to look like I’ve been ignoring them and they’re covered in crap.”

Peter dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling blankly. Penny was pretty good at covering up her emotions but the level of dissociation she was currently displaying was impressive. He retrieved all of the bills from the basket on the kitchen counter and brought them into the living room, dropping them onto the laptop’s keyboard and kicking his feet up on the table before he began ripping them open. He tossed the empty envelopes over his shoulder absently as he went while arranging the bills into a pile to be thrown strategically around later.

“Maybe I should see if Flash will beat me up today at school,” he cringed at the $95 electric bill, knowing that was pretty high for them, “some bruises and cuts might help us when the social workers show up.”

“Don’t get yourself beat up, bud, you don’t have enough padding on your bones to keep everything from snapping under pressure.”

“Well maybe if you actually fed me sometimes, you neglectful monster.”

“Savage, Peter!” Penny’s gasp from the kitchen was full of laughter despite the painful conversation, “keep that up for the social worker.”

“So aside from trashing my things, throwing out anything edible in the kitchen, and destroying the apartment, have anything fun planned today?”

The sound of Penny cursing, followed by the loud clang of a pan hitting the floor had Peter shifting in his seat, angling around to see through the doorway to the kitchen. She hadn’t hurt herself and there was no mess, so he didn’t bother getting up to go help.

“Actually,” she made a pathetic sound upon realizing the milk in the fridge was expired, “fuck. Oh, actually I’m gonna go get my hair and nails done. So it looks like I blow our money on frivolous things instead of like, food and clothes for you.”

“Nice, you should get one of those stupid expensive coffees from those hipster places on your way back. Just for emphasis.”

Once Penny actually managed to cook, she was pretty good at it. She usually cooked what she could for all major Jewish holidays when their budget could stretch to accommodate it. Otherwise she didn’t get around to it all that often, except on her days off, so Peter considered it a treat when she made breakfast for him before school. She shoved the laptop back on the table and put a plate down in its place, revealing a heaping egg scramble and toast.

“I think we have some major issues,” Peter stated casually as they ate, avoiding the chunks of turkey bacon to save for the end, “I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t be joking about today. Or tomorrow. Or any of it.”

“I figure we’ve got two options,” Penny kicked her feet up next to his, balancing her plate in her lap, “Cry about it or laugh about it. We cried about it last night and it gave me a headache. So, might as well try laughing.”

Peter shrugged but nodded in agreement, “So I think I’m gonna become a supervillain.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I could break you out of jail, bring down Tony Stark and all his minions, steal a whole bunch of money and then we could abscond off to some private island and live the rest of our lives in peace.”

“Except for when you have to go be a supervillain?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Penny gave a barking laugh and leaned over to shuffle a hand annoyingly through his hair, letting him slap her away like usual. The casual, relaxed attitude they shared was obviously forced, their eyes were full of despair, but they could at least pretend for a while. Pretending that everything was okay would at least get them through the next few days.

“Alright you dope, head to school. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Peter stood up from the table and pulled Penny up after him, wrapping her into a tight hug. He’d grown over the last year and stood several inches taller than her now. Sometimes, hugging her now felt weird because for so long he’d been smaller than her. He vividly remembered being engulfed in her arms, being surrounded by her scent and warmth and how safe it always made him feel. He hoped that she felt the same way he used to, that his hugs made her feel warm and fuzzy.

“See you after school,” he choked out after a moment, pulling away and darting out of the room without looking at her too closely.

It would hurt too much.

***

Nobody had left the living room, other than Rhodey, in over 12 hours now. Steve and Bucky were still in the recliner together, eyes glued to the TV screen showing the Parker’s living room. Peter had left for school about 20 minutes ago and Penelope Actual Angel Parker had disappeared into the bathroom.

Clint had ordered food from the kitchens about an hour ago and was waiting by the elevator for the chefs to drop it off. They’d all lamented the fact they couldn’t eat the breakfast Penny made with the Parker siblings but had satisfied themselves by listening in on their conversation with stalkerish intensity. Usually Penny didn’t leave the laptop sitting open when she wasn’t using it, so it had been another shocking revelation into their lives.

“Peter’s face while he was opening those bills makes me wonder if she usually hides them from him,” Bruce commented absently, cheek resting in his hand as he scrolled through the files on his laptop.

Instead of the lab reports from the previous night, he was looking through Penny and Peter’s medical histories—HIPAA be damned. Peter got regular physicals each year, was up to date on all of his vaccinations, had minor asthma but no other chronic issues. Penny’s medical history stopped around when her uncle Ben died and she dropped out of high school. She had all her vaccinations and was in the 2nd year of a 3 year birth control implant, no known conditions except for possible anemia. She hadn’t gone to the hospital after the rape, so he would need to run an STD panel just in case. A diet meant to promote weight gain might also be a good idea.

“I’m sure she didn’t want them to know how dire their situation was,” Wanda stated, “If given the chance, I would’ve hidden things like that from Pietro.”

“So they’re Jewish like y’all, right?” Sam squinted at the screen, pointing to a wall decoration in the apartment, “or is that a Buddhist thing?”

“A Hamsa,” she didn’t look up from her phone, having seen the wall decoration next to the window the first time she’d watched the webcam stream nearly a month ago, “they have it because they’re Jewish but it’s used in other cultures too.”

“Do we need to make sure we have anything… particularly Jew-y for them?”

Wanda finally looked up from her phone, eyebrow raised derisively, “did you get anything particularly Jew-y for me when I moved in?”

“I’m going to learn to make Challah,” Bucky intervened in the conversation before it could become a fight, having been looking up traditional Israeli and Jewish dishes for several hours now, “do you have any recipes Wanda?”

The two devolved into a conversation about homemade breads and the nuances of kosher foods, all the while Wanda scrolled through Peter and Penny’s bank statements. She was looking for their overall spending habits, what was bought for Peter and how often and when and what Penny bought for herself. The former list included the amount of clothing one would assume necessary for a growing teenage boy, along with an above average amount of groceries. There was far less fun stuff, like video games and extensive Lego sets (which they knew Peter loved). Usually those were bought around Peter’s birthday or near Hanukkah. Penny’s spending on herself was generally relegated to work clothes and toiletries, with the occasional splurge on nail polish.

“We had a Jewish neighbor growing up, you remember Buck? Ms. Goldstein made that soup,” Steve scratched his head, trying to remember the name of it but failing.

“Matzah ball soup,” Bucky supplied, glancing at the screen of Steve’s phone from his position in the man’s lap.

He’d started going through the Parker sibling’s social media accounts early in the morning, wondering who was going to put up a fuss over their potential disappearances and how much it was going to interfere with business. Not that it mattered, business was business and home and family came first but it still would be good to have a plan for any fallout.

Peter had all the social media accounts a teenager could want; Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Snapchat, TikTok, everything. He overshared on the internet just as much as any other Gen Z kid, although he seemed to favour Twitter and Instagram over the others. Instagram was updated almost daily with pictures of his friends, from school and clubs, pictures of scenery taken around New York. It was actually pretty cute and a touch artistic. He had a decent amount of followers on it too.

Penny on the other hand only had an Instagram page and a Pinterest. The former wasn’t updated much since their aunt May passed away, the recent pictures were mostly of food she’d made or of her and Peter on holidays. He wasn’t sure if the followers on her Pinterest were friends or strangers. There were a whole slew of cute pictures on her ‘Memories’ board, several of which Bucky watched Steve save to his phone. One in particular, of Penny squeezing Peter’s face close to hers while both stuck their tongues out at the camera, was saved as his new home screen.

It would be difficult to spirit either of the siblings away without some repercussions. Peter had some very close friends, MJ and Ned in particular, and was involved in tons of extracurricular activities. If he disappeared, an AMBER alert would go out within a day. Penny wasn’t particularly close to anyone, but she did have several coworkers who would notice very quickly if she went missing. She had been working in the same three places for 3 years and was a well-established and liked staff member.

“We may need to stage some sort of accident,” Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth as he scrolled through Peter’s Snapchat memories, “Peter’s friends are very close and Penny’s barely ever missed a day of work. People are going to cause a stink if they just disappear.”

“Car accident? Fire? Carbon monoxide?”

“Something that won’t leave behind a body,” Natasha drummed her fingers against her leg, humming in thought as the elevator opened and Clint retrieved the cart of food that had been sent up, “probably a fire. Or we could stage a kidnapping and blame it on someone else.”

“Both,” Clint had half of a croissant stuffed in his mouth, spitting out pieces as he spoke, “set up a kidnapping, burn some bodies, set it up to look like Penny and Peter.”

“Who’s the kidnapper?”

“How about this dumb mother fucker.”

Rhodey’s voice came from the stairwell, the man himself emerging while shoving a heavily beaten and gagged Brock Rumlow through the door. His arms were bound from the elbow down and he lost his balance, landing with a heavy thud only to be kicked hard in the side by the very angry James Rhodes and forced back to his feet.

“He confess?” Tony’s back was to them as Rhodey pushed him farther into the room, making himself a cup of coffee from the French press that had been sent up on the cart.

“More or less.”

One of the things Tony had learned over his long career was that anticipation was almost worse than a beating. Adrenaline was a devastating drug when applied as a method of torture. He could almost feel Rumlow’s heart beating faster, the sweat dripping down his brow. He hummed quietly, taking a sip of his coffee before nodding to himself and turning around.

Rhodey had the man on his knees near the coffee table, head bowed in a mixture of panic and fear. He was bleeding from the head, from his nose, dark bruises were beginning to bloom across the bridge of his nose and around his neck. Rhodes had done a number on the man in the last couple of hours.

“Did you send a letter to Penelope Parker, threatening her younger brother if she went to the police?” His voice was low and he crossed the living room in with an unhurried stride, coming to sit on the couch just inches away from where the man knelt.

The reply was muffled but obviously not a yes or no answer. Tony was well versed in what begging sounded like through a gag, how ‘please’ and ‘don’t hurt me’ came out when one’s tongue was held down by fabric. Brock Rumlow might’ve been a big bastard, but when confronted with his own mortality he became a simpering baby just like all the rest. In all honesty, Tony had a thing for begging anyway.

“Now that didn’t sound like the answer to the question I asked you.”

From his position in Steve’s lap Bucky pitched an empty wine glass at Rumlow’s face. The stem snapped off, the bowl of the glass breaking against his brow bone and leaving a jagged cut in its wake. Bruce rolled his neck at the sound of the rest of the glass hitting the ground and shattering, the sharp noise irritating his always present headache.

“You’re making us upset Brucie here, my man,” Tony stated with a flippant wave of his hand in the scientist’s direction, still taking small, satisfying sips of coffee, “which is a huge mistake. He gets pretty dangerous when you make him mad.”

The exact state of being of most of Tony’s close associates was more… fantastical, than most of the population. Mad scientists had been around for centuries and so had horrible things, like eugenics and human experimentation. He had a tendency to pick up strays at the best of times and the exciting strays, the ones who were really special, he fought to keep. It had started with Rhodey and Clint. They weren’t genetically altered, just insane at the best of times.

He’d met Rhodey in university. At the time, the man was being paid to watch Tony by his father and report back on his activities. Tony had paid better and overtime gained Rhodey’s loyalty as well as friendship. They’d been inseparable and Rhodey had been the one who thwarted Clint’s assassination attempt on Tony. It hadn’t been anything personal, of course, Clint was a world-renowned assassin and was one of the best—if you could pay him the right amount, he was willing to take out anyone. Then he’d been waylaid by a Very Angry Colonel Rhodes. Clint was easily persuaded to switch targets for the correct amount of money and soon Tony had come to see him as less of an employee and more of a friend.

Natasha and the Old Men had come next. From a situation similar to Clint’s, Natasha had been sent to off Tony. Not only had he offered her a better deal, but also protection from the Red Room, a branch of the former KGB that specialized in stealing little girls and genetically altering them. She didn’t hate the violence or the killing, she hated being controlled.  

The freezer burned boyfriends had come along looking for Howard Stark, who had apparently betrayed them (and the United States as a whole, actually) in the 40’s in a whole bunch of exciting and horrible ways. Bucky had been traumatized, a veritable murder machine and Steve hadn’t been much better off. Tony had kept them out of the public eye so they could live in relative peace and in turn had become emotionally attached. Especially upon realizing that Bucky was likely his father’s unknowing murderer, which was endearing.

Bruce had been Tony’s next acquisition and the only deliberate one. There had been reports of some sort of monster raging across the globe. It had taken ages and lots of illegal activity in the form of JARVIS hacking satellites and cameras all over the world but they’d found Bruce hiding away in India, providing illicit medical attention to the poor. He’d been attempting to copy the Super Soldier Serum used on The Olds and turned himself into a monster in the process. Tony adored the man.

Then came Thor and his adopted brother Loki, who had been experimented on by their father from a very young age. They’d lost an older sister to a process of attempted Berserker serums and they themselves were forever genetically altered. Thor was in slightly better control of his rages than Loki, but both came to Tony seeking asylum when their father had decided to end his experiments and terminate all test subjects. They were strong and brutal and Thor’s loyalty was unwavering, which was nice because Loki’s only loyalty was to his brother. It was a compromise Tony could live with.

Sam and Wanda and Pietro had been picked up by Steve and Clint respectively, the former a veteran and counselor who turned to murder for hire after being honorably discharged from service and the latter a pair of genetic experiments who’d accidentally stumbled upon Clint after escaping imprisonment. All three had been brought back to the Tower and into the fold.

Pepper and Happy had been picked up along the way of course, his right and left hands for all intents and purposes. Pepper had helped him build the legitimate face of his business and Happy had run interference in all illegal aspects, as well as literally putting himself between Tony and danger.

A short whimper of sheer terror escaped Rumlow before he seemed to almost crumple in front of them, folding in half and hitting the ground. Tony raised an eyebrow as the man landed just a few inches from his foot and groaned in annoyance before dumping the rest of his coffee on the man.

“Don’t pass out on me now, Rumlow, we’ve got— Oh, would you look at that.”

Tony drew the attention of the whole room to the TV screen, where Penelope Precious Parker had emerged from the bathroom in clean clothes. Her long hair was dripping down her back, dampening her white t-shirt just enough that Tony sent Clint a look that said Watch Yourself, Pervert. The same look was not given to Steve or Bucky, although with the way their eyes followed the woman, it should’ve been.

Rhodey bent over and hauled Rumlow back to his knees, turning him to face the TV and yanking his head back, “You see her, Rumlow? You remember her?”

Another whimper, this one with enough inflection to mean ‘yes’. Tony nodded and let out a deliberate, disappointed sigh.

“Yeah, I thought you might say that. You see, that precious little thing has just become one of the most important people in the world. In my world. Her little brother, who you threatened after hurting her in such a despicable way? He is my world,” Tony rolled his shoulders and stood up, walking around the table to get a closer look at the TV.

Penny had sat down on the couch, still well within view of the webcam, and was pulling on a pair of socks. A pair of beat up tennis shoes were on the floor next to her, having been fished out of the trunk that doubled as an end table. Bucky shifted out of the corner of his eye, watching as her shorts rode up higher on her shapely thighs as she contorted to pull on her sneakers. She continued on to gather all of her wet hair into her hands, tying it into a big messy bun on the top of her head.

“I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now,” he continued after a moment, “being confronted with your mistakes like this. You see, I go out of my way to not make mistakes. Or mistakes that could come back to haunt me, at least. I tie up my lose ends, I like pretty packages.”

“She’s a real pretty package,” Steve fucking sighed like a swooning school girl as Penny stood up and started shifting through some things on the table in front of her, bent over enough to offer an excellent view of her ass.

Tony snorted along with Sam and waved a dismissive hand in the blond’s direction. Steve and Bucky had been half infatuated with Penny when they thought she was a cruel, neglectful monster; now that they knew the truth, that Penny was precious and kind, they were falling in love just watching her through a screen.

“Now the point of this whole thing, unfortunately for you, is that you hurt Penny and you threatened Peter and by extension, you hurt and threatened me.”

There was a muffled ‘I didn’t know!’ through the gag and Tony Stark once again Did Not Roll His Eyes, because he was above that sort of thing.

“Of course not, that’s why this has to sting. You see, maybe if you just didn’t rape anyone this never would’ve happened. You never would’ve been in this situation. But instead you had to go and drug some poor girl and stick your disgusting dick in her and hurt her,” Tony rolled his head to the side and cracked his neck, “And once again, unfortunately for you, everything just kind of got more complicated from there. Because I’m not sure what to do with you at the moment.”

“Tones?” Rhodey’s eyebrows were furrowed, his hand still keeping Rumlow’s head in place.

“Right, right, let me explain to the room at large,” a flamboyant wave of Tony’s hand made everyone sit slightly straighter, “we have a couple of options going forward. The first, is take Peter and Penny, frame and kill Rumlow and be done with it,” several noises of agreement followed the sentence but Tony shook his hands again to quiet them, “Or, we could take the babies, frame Rumlow, but not kill him.”

“Why not kill him?”

“Because then we could let Peter do it. Or Penny,” Tony tapped chin and began to pace, “or, because they’re both going to be very upset in the first few months, we could use him as… incentive, to be good.”

“Hm, killing him in front of them is ballsy,” Sam stood over next to the cart of food, making himself a plate and a cup of coffee, “You want to induce Stockholm Syndrome, but the shock might be too much.”

“Are you worried about them reacting to a murder in general or like, feeling bad he was killed because of them?”

“Both, either,” Sam shrugged, “pick your favourite.”

“Why don’t we keep him around for a bit, we don’t necessarily have to make the decision today,” Steve suggested, shifting Bucky off of his lap and standing up.

The imposing man made his way towards Rumlow with his usual level of heavy swagger, natural as a result of his musculature and dimensions. Rhodey took several steps back at the approach, recognizing the glint of near ferality in the former Captain’s eyes. Getting in the blond’s way was in no one’s best interest and besides, Rhodey trusted the man implicitly. The man’s hand came down on Rumlow’s head almost gently, his fingers carding through his hair and tilting his head back to look him in the eyes. His face was swollen from Rhodey’s heavy hits already, but he could still see.

“Besides, me and Bucky are gonna need a playmate for a while. All that pent-up aggression—it’s gotta go somewhere, right, Brock?”

[halfblood-fiend]

Star Trek Bingo 2020: Vertical Prompt 3

Chess/”Board” Games

Show: Voyager

Words: 1,841

Rating: General Audiences

Warning(s): shenanigans

Dungeons and Bandwagons

When Giana attempts to organize her first D&D campaign onboard the Voyager, it turns out to be a bit more complicated than she thought.

Read it on AO3

We’d been going around and around for most of our lunch break. I did not think that introducing twenty-third century people to D&D would be so difficult.

After another explanation, Harry Kim stared at me with his hands folded beneath his chin for too long a while. “I don’t get it,” he said finally, picking his fork back up to resume playing with his food. “How is that supposed to be better than a holodeck program?”

“Uhhh… it’s interactive and adaptable?”” I offered. “Your DM makes the story up for you as you go.”

“An adept programmer could make the holodeck function in the same manner,” Vorik chimed in from my right. I had to keep from rolling my eyes.

 “Hey! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He shrugged without looking at me. “I am on the side of logic.”

I ignored this, shaking my head and insisted to Harry, “There are scenarios you just can’t plan for.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like…”

God. Like deciding to bang the first NPC you meet. Why? Eh, just ‘cause. Like deciding as a group to put on a spur-of-the-moment chili cook off to grant the deed to the town’s tavern to the winner because, obviously a chilli cook-off is the most fair way to make decisions. Or like deciding to betray your entire party for your character’s freedom, and then betraying those new allies and running off alone. Or like solving every kidnapping or murder problem by rolling the unwanted body up in a rug, and then lying to so many people about your rug selling business that your party all decide to petition the city for an actual business license, thus derailing the campaign for weeks as you all turn in your paperwork and get in touch with a real estate agent within the fantasy city in order to find a place to house your Totally-Not-Fake Rug and Carpeting Business.

But how to explain all that?

“Man… you just gotta trust me,” I sighed. “There are way too many variables to be able to make a program that will adapt to all of them. You have no way of knowing what could happen during a D&D campaign. Trust me.”

“Eh, I’m down to try,” Lyssa Campbell said. When Harry gave her a doubtful look, she shrugged. “Hey, it’s gotta be better than that poker everyone is always playing. And as long as we’re all relaxing and talking and having fun, then it sounds like it’ll be just fine.”

“Sounds like a rip off of my Grendel program,” Harry muttered. “And not even as interesting because we aren’t fighting holographic monsters. We’re just—what? —imagining everything happening?”

“Aha! I got it,” I said with a snap of my fingers, cutting off whatever he was talking about. “Dice!”

Harry raised his eyebrows and Vorik said, “Explain.”

“You can’t roll dice on the holodeck.”

“So?”

“So! Rolling the dice to try and see how well you do things is the best part!”

“If you’re telling me that’s the best part of this game, I’m really doubting how much “fun” you claim it to be.”

“Aww, come on, Harry! Let’s just try it!”

He shook his head again, but a smile started pulling at his lips. “Fine, but I’m not going to have fun and I will complain the whole time.”

“Doubt that,” I replied with a wink. “But I’ll take it for now.”

“Giana! If you can spare a moment, I have an inquiry regarding your role-playing game.”

Similar sentiments had been asked of me by most of my friends and future players, but Vorik was the last person that I had expected to have any trouble with character building. Yet here Vorik was, appearing at my shoulder before I could enter the turbolift to leave Engineering.

“An inquiry? Now is that more or less important than a plain question?”

He gave me a puzzled look as we entered the lift together and I smiled.

“Nevermind. Shoot.”

“What?”

“Ask me the question. Deck two.”

The turbolift slid into motion and Vorik began, “I was looking over the documents you sent those of us who required characters for your Dungeons and Dragons—”

I smiled at his use of the name but nodded.

“—and I noticed that ‘Human’ is among the other more fantastical races that one can play. It gave me an idea that I wished to discuss with you.”

“Oh, yeah… I mean, I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s just an old Human-made game, remember? Don’t take it too seriously. I, like, literally never actually played a Human before. That would just be like playing myself and, sure, you always kinda do that but who wants to be so obvious about it?”

Vorik blinked. “I would.”

It was my turn to ask, “What?”

“If Humans can exist in this world, then I would like to role-play as a Vulcan.”

I chewed my lip, my heart sinking because I felt like Vorik was missing the point. Here I thought he was going to do something interesting when he asked to join the party. I was excited to see what he would come up with. But, then again, it wasn’t like he role-played very much when we played Skyrim together on the holodeck either. His inflexible and aloof attitude usually confused all the Nords until I stepped in to use the “proper” language. Made him useless at price haggling.

Since he wanted to play at all, I conceded to myself, that had to be close enough. I didn’t want to totally control his play. I never liked it when my DMs had done that in the past.

He a little confused, but he got the spirit.

“Okay,” I relented, “I’ll see what I can do about homebrewing a ‘Vulcan’ stat-block for you, just…promise me one thing?”

My Vulcan companion quirked an eyebrow at me. “Yes?”

The turbolift stopped and opened its doors. I could hear the sounds of soft chatter and laughter coming from the mess hall. Whatever Neelix was cooking wafted up the corridor and smelled really promising. My stomach grumbled in response.

“Just don’t play yourself,” I said as we both stepped off the lift and the doors slid closed behind us. “If you show up with a character named ‘Vorik,’ I’m going to kick you from the game. And then, literally kick you in the shins.”

“An extreme reaction, don’t you think?”

I put up my fists as if I was gonna fight him. “Oh, I can get more extreme.”

Looking at my poor guard dubiously, he said dryly, “I’m sure. Your Human penchant for hysterics?”

“Hysterics?! Oh! Well how about your high drama, mister??”

“I do not know to what you could be referring.”

The line at Neelix’s kitchen counter was somewhat long, which gave Vorik and I plenty of time to debate the “logic” of Vulcan fashion choices back and forth. I insisted they were dramatic for no reason and Vorik tried to act like real thought went into all the high collars and zig-zagged diagonal clasps. Neelix’s pasta dish actually did look as promising as it smelled, which was a nice surprise.

“Ah, Miss Giana, I almost forgot,” Neelix gasped as I turned away, drawing me back. “Ensigns Swinn and Jurot wanted to ask you about—ah—something called a ‘character sheet’?”

I thanked him with a smile and motioned for Vorik to help me pick them out of the crowded hall at dinner hour.

The day had come to start our campaign and not a moment too soon. I was excited as all hell. I’d hardly slept at all the night before, choosing instead to expand some NPC backstories and prepare a few more monsters. Just in case.

All of my players’ character sheets were checked and filed on my PADD for reference. I couldn’t help but laugh when Vorik sent me his and I saw the name at the top of the sheet. He had listened to me and wasn’t playing himself…but I was very curious to see how Surak the monk was going to handle my adventure. I was pretty pleased with everyone’s character concepts, actually. I had a pretty balanced group.

I’d decided some time ago that a grand total of six players was all that I could conceivably handle. But that hadn’t stopped everyone else from trying to ask for a spot. Dozens of requests had flooded my inbox from all corners of the ship (Neelix’s doing, I assumed) and I had spent a good chunk of time yesterday writing personal “sorry, maybe next times.”

Even Chakotay had sent me a note! Not to, like, join or anything, but still! He mentioned that he was familiar with the old game and wanted to tell me that he thought it would be good for morale and crew unity and other things commanders cared about.

I practically sprinted away the second my shift was over, bolting to the door before Lieutenant Carey had even said goodbye.

I was the last player on duty, and my group’s attitude towards D&D had changed dramatically once they’d built their characters. They all made me promise not to keep them waiting for too long.

And speak of the devil.

The communicator badge on my chest chirped before I’d made it halfway down the corridor. Harry’s voice crackled over the comm.

“Uhhh…Giana?”

I tapped the badge to answer. “Yeah, yeah, Harry. I’m on my way as fast as I can, okay?”

“Oh… No, no. It’s not that…”

Was I hearing things, or did I detect the hum of a lot of voices in the background?

“What is it?”

He sounded uncomfortable. “I think we need to find a different venue to play. Your quarters are going to be a little cramped…” Muted voices spoke rapidly but I couldn’t catch any words. “Meet us in the Lounge instead. Vorik says he has a code and he’d grab the PADD with your notes. I made him promise not to look.”

Nervous laughter bubbled from my mouth. “Uhh…why?”

Vorik’s voice resonated over Harry’s comm. “There are thirty-six other people who would like to spectate our game. At first it did not seem inconceivable to accommodate a few of them when they asked…”

“But all of us told a couple people that they could come and now there’s thirty-six of them,” Harry finished. “Sorry, Gee…”

Thirty-six… That’s forty-two people…

My jaw actually dropped.

“Okay,” I said in a small voice. “See… S-See you all there…” I killed the line by tapping on my badge again and wobbled.

I was shaking when I boarded the turbolift.

I’d never DM-ed a game before in my life, even though I’d talked about doing so on several occasions back home. So, without experience, or my old friends to ask for tips, I was already starting out nervous.

But now?

Holy shit.

What was I gonna do??

I blinked and the turbolift doors slipped shut on me, whisking me away to an uncertain fate.

[cyberdva]

Lost Grieving- Richie Tozier X Reader {Chapter 1☆}

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ 

Summary- The reader gets stuck in strange implications and finds herself in Derry, Maine, the location of the infamous Steven King book ‘IT’. Unknowingly she stumbles across the Neibolt House, the dirty and burnt remains of a tragic fire. She remembers what horrors had happened and is hesitant to stay. What will happen when she runs into the one and only Losers Club? What will they do if the strange new girl claiming to be from another universe, tells them they’re all made up characters from a book? Will she help them ‘defeat’ the morbid Pennywise or give up and be lost in perishable hell forever, filled with lost grieving. Proceed with caution when you drive into this tale of horror, humor, and a handful of twisted romance with Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ 

Main Masterlist 

IT Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 (+)

Chapter 2

Word Count: 2k

Date Uploaded: 10/17/19

A/N: The first chapter got so much love, so I knew I had to write the next chapter ASAP!! Thank you guys so much!! Also the long italicised paragraphs is an excerpt from the book to put into perspective the problem from a background source, kind of like an example basically. 

Warnings: Cursing

 ☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

“Excuse me?” the small boy peered up at me, he picked up what seemed to be an inhaler. He didn’t have his signature cast yet, I was here before most of the catastrophe. How should I approach him, there’s no way I’m telling him directly, he wouldn’t believe me. What the hell should I tell him then? He stared at me like I was crazy, taking a step back for good measure. I mean I don’t blame him, I look like I’ve been rolling in the dirt. I panicked, it was going to happen one way or another.

 “Uh, I think I’m lost.” It was a simple explanation, he kept looking at me, like I had five heads. 

He gave me a swift look of disgust, probably since I was covered in dirt. “I’m sorry my mom told me not to talk to strangers.” Shit. He was the germaphobe, eternally clung to his mother’s side, until she dies at sixty-six. 

“I’m sorry, I need to get home.” He brushed past me and jumped at the sudden contact, his pills flooded out from his fanny pack and piled onto the ground. Some rolled forwards while most of them flew in different directions. An abundance of different pill bottles fell next, the short boy looked at the now germ infested medicine in horror. 

I didn’t know what to do,”Do you want my help or would you prefer me not to touch?” He dropped to the ground and sorted pills by color and stuffing them back into the right tube.

“How do I know that you’re not some psychopath that could kill me?”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“Fair point, just grab the red ones. Be careful my mom will flip of she figures out what just happened.”

Ah, Mrs.Kaspbrak, a woman that completely overprotects her child to the point of isolation and creates illnesses just to keep him ‘safe.’ I thought of the book, how it showed his mom slowly incasing his youth in a small orange pill bottle.

-

Eddie gasped. He could see a foot floating inside a shole filled with green smoke. The bones in his foot! He crossed his great big toe over his second toe and the eldritch bones in the scope made an X that was not white, but goblin-green. He could see-

His mother shrieked, a rising sound of panic cut through the quiet shoe store like a runaway reaper-blade, like a firebell, like doom on horseback. He jerked his startled, dismayed face out of the viewer and saw her pelting towards him across the store in her stocking feet, her dress flying out behind her. She knocked a chair over and one of those shoe-measuring things that always tickled his feet went flying. Here bosom heaved. Her mouth was a scarlet O of horror. Faces turned to follow her progress.

“Eddie get off there!” she screamed. “Get off there!” Those machines give you cancer! Get off there! Eddie! Eddieee-!” 

-

I remember that chapter, I felt so bad for Eddie and yet I’m here ‘talking’ to him. Reality keeps straying quicker and quicker away from me. Next thing you know I’ll be fooling around with the damn Losers Club. As fun as that seems I had ongoing worry, is my mom ok? Will I be ok? Am I in a coma?

I couldn’t stop thinking about my fate, could I be dying. Is this the last moment I’ll spend until my time is up. In Derry, Maine! The ‘shittiest place on earth.’ After all these murders and that clown rampaging in the sewers I see why the town was coined the title.

Most importantly to the subject, why does Eddie have so many pills? We began to pick each up out of the sorting it didn’t take long to pick them all up. No eye contact was made, my chances were dialing, if anyone could help me with this phenomena it would be the clown-fighting teens.

Eddie looked around, “I’m missing one.” How the hell does he know that. Lurking silence was downed upon us as we glanced around a grim voice cut in.

“Do you think this will help me, Eddie?”

 We whipped our heads above us, a creature will drool castading out from its mouth crouched holding the last red pill. Its hair was knotted, ratty. Lumps and sores were plucked all over its thin and lanky body. There was no nose, horrible retching sounds came out of it as it inhaled and exhaled. Ripped cloth adorned the body, bandages came as a pair. A huge pile of them were attached to its left ‘foot.’ A moan escaped his mouth area, Eddie groaned. The two of us scattered as we ran from the monster. I remembered this from the newer movie and book, IT is here, he found us. How can I even see it, only people affected by….. Shit. The monster got up and limped towards us, we were cornered. I was racked with fear, tears filled my eyes and my vision was inconceivable. It screamed and retched as we ran towards the dirty Neibolt house. The makeshift cast banged against the ground with such force and rhythm, he was on our tails. 

 Eddie made sure to check back to see if he was dreaming or not, his nerves got the best of him and he kept tripping. A few tears escaped my eyes, I couldn’t be scared isn’t that what the clown wants? I know I couldn’t die from this, but if I see IT what will stop me from just that. We reached a fence, the screaming stopped, as did the banging. I glanced behind me. This can’t be real.

 Above all the grass and weeds was what you could only read about, what you could only dream about, something that you should never see in real life. It should’ve been a fictional character, in a book, but there it was, right in front of me. That’s when I realized I can’t go back, how can I wake up from this, it’s real. It has to be.

                              Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

 Rows of red, rubbery balloons covered his face. His white clown outfit hung in ruffles with three red pom-poms. The balloons went above his head, disappearing into oblivion. A crooked smile was slapped across his face. ‘Just Kill me now.’ I thought. It was him, down to the makeup and hair. Eddie was petrified. 

“Where ya going Eds?” His voice made a shiver go up my spine.                                         “Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

The clown looked over to me, “And you, Y/N. You can’t go home, can you?” He giggled. What does he mean, why can’t I go home. I want to be in bed, waiting for that last day of school.

“Come join the clown Eds.” Eddie looked at me. “You’ll float down here.” IT shrugged his shoulders.

“We all float down here. Yes we do!”

A shrill laugh came out of its mouth, why did this have to happen to me! Eddie screamed and I followed him as we ran through a fence parting. His breaths were choppy, the boy fell once more and the sound of a balloon popping was all that was left.

He glanced back at me, “Please tell me you saw that too.”

[harryswanderlust]

Locker Room

warnings: smut!! & cursing

requested: nope

I hope you guy enjoy 4k words of gym! shawn!!

A sigh escapes her lips as she fills the water cooler for the third time in the past hour, secretly hoping she won't have to fill it more than the eight times she usually does during her shift. She prefers it over having to pick up the dirty, sweaty towels off the gym floor to throw into the wash, but neither thing is glamorous in her opinion. Her job isn't too bad, she really doesn't have to do much, and Y/n really needs the money. It was either here or the coffee shop on the corner, and she doesn't know a thing about making coffee.

She's been working here for about two weeks, and the worst thing she's had to do is help all the clueless people understand the terms of their membership. She'd rather bang her head against a wall, but most days are relaxing for her when she doesn't have to deal with that. She mostly gets to hide in the background completely unnoticed since everyone seems to know what they're doing and goes about their business like usual.

She gets a nice view sometimes, and one of these days she knows she's going to get caught staring at the cute guys that walk in. She can't help herself, once they take their shirts off she gets a front row seat to their toned abs and back muscles and how could she look away from that? No one really pays much attention to her except to ask for a towel or for her to refill their water bottles though. Every day is basically the same routine, but today's shift was going to be a little different for her.

She makes her way back to the front desk, resting her chin on her fist as she reopens her book to continue reading it. The day has been slow so far, not a lot of people coming in, and it's relatively quiet except for the clinking of weights. She's been waiting, watching the tiny hand tick by on the clock, for her lunch break. While her job may not hard, it's certainly not invigorating and sadly her lunch break is the most exciting part of her day.

When she hears the bell on the door ring, she looks up from her book, letting it close on the counter as she gets ready to give whoever's come in the usual "Hi, welcome to Fusion Gym," greeting, but the words manage to get caught in her throat.

She's unable to do anything but blink, taking in the sight of the stranger that just walked in. She thinks she's dreaming at first as her eyes roam his entire his body, noting the heading that's pushing back chocolate brown curls and shorts that are exposing a pair of thighs that she swears are sinful. Sure she's seen some well fit, attractive looking young guys come in. She works in a gym for goodness sake, but him? He puts all of them to shame.

She jumps out of her chair, smoothing out her shirt and fixing her name tag. She rakes her fingers through hair, trying to make herself look nice or at the very least presentable. She never put much effort into how she looked for her job since she only had to interact with a handful of people and her boss didn't care. But today has made her want to try a bit harder.

He makes his way over to her and is about to say something when Jeremy, the gym's best personal trainer, comes up to him.

"Hey, Shawn. It's been a while since I've seen you, where've you been?" He asks, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him into a type of bro hug. He gives a couple pats on the back before releasing him, one hand still on his shoulder.

Shawn.

She kind of liked that name.

The kind of name she'd like to scream.

"Been busy writing that album and stuff. You know how it is," he tells him, shrugging as he pulls his gym bag off his shoulder. She watches as his biceps flexes, and she restrains herself from biting her lip. A few tattoos on his arm catch her attention, and if she didn't have a thing for them before then she sure did now.

Also, writing an album? Did that make him a singer? She's never heard of any singers named Shawn, but being away at college has really managed to take her out of the loop.

"Yeah, I no worries man. You want to make it a leg day?" Jeremy asks him, and Shawn nods in agreement. Y/n doesn't catch the words that are passed between them next because she's too busy daydreaming about the tall, amber eyed boy in front of her with the a smile like sunshine. Thoughts swirling through her mind about how someone so perfect could exist. Which she realizes is impossible because no one is truly perfect, but damn did he sure come close.

It makes her wish she'd starting working at the gym sooner.

She's fully aware that there's work she needs to do, and standing here gawking at people isn't going to help get it done. It's probably time for her to wipe down equipment or clean one of the bathrooms, but that all seems so insignificant to her right now.

"Hello? Excuse me, miss?"

Gasping, she's pulled back to reality. She blinks a few times, silently cursing at herself for appearing like a fool in front of him. He's standing right in front of her, patiently waiting for her to say something.

"Yes, I'm sorry. Hi, can I help you with something today?"

Like maybe taking off your shirt?

"Yeah, could I get a towel please?"

She nods frantically, like somehow she can no longer behave like a normal human being. She walks back to the closet where they keep the towels and has to stand on her tiptoes to get the only available ones on the top shelf.

"Sorry about that," she says sheepishly when she's back behind the front desk, "Here you go."

She hands him the neatly folded towel, their hands touching when he grabs it from her. A slight chill runs through her, and she has to close her eyes for a minute to calm herself. She doesn't know why she's getting so worked up over a guy. An inconceivably hot guy, but still a guy.

"I appreciate it," he thanks her, his face lighting up with a smile and Y/n's knees go weak at the sight. "I've never seen you here before. I'm Shawn."

He offers her his hand to shake and she takes it, her thumb tracing over the bird that is inked onto it. She ponders over it, considering what it might mean before realizing she hasn't said anything back.

"I..I'm new," she sputters, shaking his hand way too eagerly. He lets out a small laugh, one she'd find endearing if it wasn't caused by the dumb mistake she just made. "I mean, I'm Y/n. Obviously new isn't my name. That would be...that would be stupid...obviously..."

Her focus shifts to anywhere but his own, unable to handle how embarrassing she's being right now. She's word vomiting all over herself, and she'd say that it's the reason no one's ever asked her out. She can hardly say anything remotely intelligible around good looking people so it's no wonder why she can't keep anyone around.

"Cute name for an even cuter girl," he says, winking at her, and her heart almost stops beating.

Was that–did he just compliment her? She had to have imagined that right?

"Guess I'll be seeing you around more often," he waves and turns over his shoulder to join Jeremy in the workout room.

She mutters a "guess so" under her breath and jumps giddily where she stands when he's no longer facing her. She wipes her clammy palms against her jeans, trying to get of all the sweat and sits back down in her chair. Opening her book, she tries to get back into it and stop herself from watching Shawn. But it doesn't work once the weights are picked up and the shirt comes off, his entire physique on full display for her.

He could literally choke her with those thighs if he wanted.

After a while, she's still trained on him. Sweat glistens against his chest and forehead, his eyebrows drawn together as he concentrates. For Y/n, this is more entertaining than anything she could see at the movies or on tv. She'd pay to see this everyday, even if the boy never developed any interest in her.

She didn't know it yet, but her luck was about to start changing for her.

･ﾟ✧･ﾟ ✧ ･ﾟ✧ ･ﾟ✧

The low hum of music from the speakers above flows through the gym, a yawn seeping past her lips as she rests her chin further against her fist. She blinks several times, tiredness taking over her body. She's been fighting off sleep for the past three or four hours, trying to stay awake for the night shift she's been stuck on. It was the only time she was available to work this week, having to have mornings and afternoons free for her college midterms. And if she wasn't already occupied enough with all that, it sure didn't help that Shawn has been on her mind the entire time.

It would have been wise to take the whole week, but her desire to see him again was greater than her need to pass her tests. He's started coming in every day since they met, or on nights like tonight if that's when Y/n's working. She didn't know what to think of it really, or of herself for that matter. It wasn't like he was anyone special, if you take away that fact that he's a talented artist and is a walking dream, yet she's developed a crush on him in such a short amount of time. She even took her hair out of a ponytail for him, letting it fall loosely around her face and over her shoulders. She would've brushed it, but she didn't want it to seem like she was trying too hard.

Not that it mattered because Shawn definitely noticed her. He noticed her from the moment he laid eyes on her, even if she was about to fall out of her chair. It was adorable, and what's more adorable is the amount of times he's caught her staring at him while he's in the middle of working out. He'd be lying if he said he didn't love the way he's able to put on a show for her. It's an immediate confidence booster for him when she gets flustered, turning back to the towels she folding or book she's only half reading. And when she's busy and needed elsewhere, he's watching her too.

Slowly, they've both been noticing that the only attention they want is each other's. There have been plenty of girls in the gym that have taken their shot at flirting with Shawn–there being one in particular that Y/n remembers named Olivia. She works at the gym alongside her, and she had to watch the pathetic scene unfold in front of her while refraining herself from killing the girl. Everything from shoulder touching, hair twirling, and all the way to fake laughing. She thought she was going to be sick, but luckily Shawn wasn't paying any mind to her. He's used to the affection, but now he only wants Y/n's.

She releases a grunt when her head slips from her hand, hitting her forehead on the counter. Her fingers tend to the pain, rubbing tenderly to help ease it before she decides to clean the equipment in order to keep herself from nearly falling asleep again. If there's anything she's learned from this night, it's that four cups of coffee fails to do the trick.

Right now there's two things she'd love: either a nap or to be underneath Shawn while he's doing push ups in the workout room with Jeremy...or for other reasons. The way his muscles are flexing is making her hot, and the a/c in this place is always cranked up on full blast.

"How many is that?" Shawn asks, grunting as he pushes himself up from the mat. A bead of sweat slides down the side of his head, his damp curls sticking to his neck.

"That's thirty," Jeremy answers, smacking on a piece of gum. His gaze wanders the room, stopping when he sees Y/n wiping down a weight bench. "Hey, Y/n. I'm going to go fill up my water. Make sure he doesn't stop while I'm gone, would ya?"

He doesn't wait for a response, already making his way towards the water cooler. She glances at Shawn who relaxes before he stands up. The air is thick around them as he moves to stand in front of her, bringing his hand up to brush a piece of hair behind her ear. Skin tingles where he touches her, feeling electric as it runs down her spine.

She'd love for him to touch her all over.

She'd love to get to touch him all over. And his shirt's already off, making him half naked...

"You're not really going to make me do any more are you? I think I deserve a break don't you?" He asks, quirking a brow and cocking his head.

She draws in a weary breath, unsure of what to say as she grabs his hand and pulls it away from where it hovers above her cheek. She holds onto it, looking at where their hands meet and letting a second pass before she snaps herself out of whatever trance she's in.

"I...I guess?" She says questioningly.

He shakes his head. "You know what? What if you helped me instead?"

Her brows knit together, confusion gracing her features. "What do you mean?"

There's no one around except for the two of them and one or two other employees, most people having called it a night ages ago. The room is calm and quiet with it only being the two of you. That's why Shawn doesn't have a problem pulling her down gently to the mat, climbing above her and positioning himself to do more push-ups. Fear ignites behind her eyes as her back presses against it, their chests all but touching. He grasps her chin, getting her to look at him.

"For every push-up I do right I'll kiss you," he explains, and he has no idea where any of this came from but he's glad it did. He has wanted to ask her out over the past week. He's wanted to ask her out from the minute he saw her behind the front desk, but he's chickened out every time he's considered going for it.

"Wait what?"

She's hoping Jeremy doesn't come back anytime soon, not finding this situation to be one she'd enjoy explaining her way out of.

"Think of it as a reward," he persuades her, pushing himself down so his lips ghost right over her ear, "For both of us."

His locks dangle over his lashes, tickling along the side of her neck. She resists the urge twirl a curl of it around her finger. She's wondered what it feels like. Probably

"But how will I know if you do one right?" She whispers.

"I guess that's up to me to decide," he breathes, already bending down to start. His warm breath fans across her face, his nose lightly brushing hers. Her body is suddenly begging for him to kiss her, anticipating him pressing his warm lips to hers. Her head swirls and eyes flutter shut.

He's about to steal one from her. Claim the reward that's well earned for both of them, but she puts a stop to it.

"You know, I like your songs," she blurts out, dissipating the moment. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, angry that she just ruined things as the heat was turning up. Her words come out so rushed she's hoping he didn't understand a thing she said–she's not even sure she understood what she said.

"What?"

"I like your songs," she repeats, more clearly this time. "I looked you up on Spotify the other night and I think your songs are...are cool."

'I looked you up on Spotify?' 'I think your songs are cool?'. Seriously? She listened to all three of his albums and that's what she has to say about it? That's the best she could come up with? It's better than telling him she spent over two hours listening to his music instead of studying for her classes, but still.

"Oh, thanks," he says, and there he goes again with that lovable laugh that has no business making her like him so much. "Do you have a favorite?"

She shrugs, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "I guess I really enjoyed that one song...Nervous I think it was...?"

A deep shade of crimson blossoms over Shawn's cheeks, and he coughs before shaking it off. His embarrassment begins to falter, and she notices a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Is it because I make you nervous, princess?"

She freezes, her pulse racing.

Princess?

That was new. She's never been called that before, but she liked hearing it come from that mouth of his. Now she wants to know what else it can do. Kiss her lips? Or maybe the ones a little further south?

She's so lost in her mind that she's totally surprised when he finally decides to go for it. Next thing she knows his lips are on hers, moving gently. It's fervent, it's insiste. Each one deeper than the last every time he pulls away and comes back. He relaxes, his body melting into hers as she winds her arms around him. They're flush against each other now with no room to consider the possibility of someone walking in on them now.

One hand tangles in her hair, the other pinches her hip causing her to squirm and her mouth to part. Her heart beats faster and faster, body spinning as she savors the saccharin taste of honey. They're making out for the entire world to see–they're lying in front of a wall of windows–but that's the last thing either of them care about. The world has fallen around them, and the only thing left are the helpless moans they're pulling out of each other.

She tugs teasingly at his bottom lip, hissing when he grinds his hips against her own. A hand slips under her shirt, splaying over her stomach, but before he can move it any further something halts his actions.

A bottle drops to the floor, the sound of it ringing through the room alongside a string of curses. Shawn swiftly rolls off of her, the two of them sitting up as Jeremy approaches. Realizing their messy appearance, he peers unsurely at them.

He clears his throat. "Ahem, I think we should call it a night," he says, fixated on the way they're so close to one another, "It's getting late, yeah?"

Shawn nods, already halfway stood up. "Yeah, I'm gonna hit the showers."

They exchange goodbyes while Y/n drowns in a sea disbelief. Never in a million years would she have pictured herself making out with a pop star on a grime infested floor. Granted she didn't initiate it, but she made no effort to stop the situation either.

Jeremy's long gone and she chooses to follow Shawn's lead by standing up as well, but when she does she trips. He's quick to catch her as she stumbles into his chest, and he gestures towards the lockers rooms. There's a split second of misunderstanding before she picks up that he wants her to join him, which sends her into a minor panic.

Is he really going to try and hook up with her in a locker room?

Is she really finding herself okay with that?

Could he at least buy her dinner first?

Within no time they're in there and he's all over her again. Dropping his bag and towel, gripping her waist and attaching himself to her neck once more. It's no surprise he's strong, and it's no surprise that a wave of excitement rushes through her when he roughly pushes her back into the side of the lockers. He skims the hem of her shirt, working to pull it off of her.

Her pants are next, and then his own shorts. She's desperate for him when she feels his hard on poking the side of her thigh, mere inches away from leaning into the place she wants him most. Whines fill the air as they leave red and purple marks along skin. Shawn dips down, his mouth roaming her chest while his arm snakes around to work on the clasp of her bra.

He groans, taking in the beautiful sight of her. "I like this view," he says, "I could get used to this."

She can't believe how she's gotten here. Naked and sandwiched between Shawn and the cold metal of a row of lockers. She can't believe it when his mouth leaves her collarbone and attacks her nipple, his fingers fumbling around with the other. She can't believe the way she's shuddering when he carefully drops down to his knees. He leaves sloppy kisses on her on his way down, making her want to crumble.

There's a tingling feeling where she's aching for him when he levels with her center. She's wet. Beyond wet, and he's barely done anything to her yet. He's positioned himself between her thighs, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into them, and she wants to come undone at the sight of it alone.

Her body lurches forward when his nose nudges her clit. She becomes a whimpering mess when his fingers dance along her thighs and make their way up to her heat. They slide through her wet folds, circling her entrance before slipping one in. His tongue is on her next, eliciting a scream from her as it swirls her clit.

Groans leave him as he sucks on her bundle of nerves, causing vibrations that make her tremble. Her legs shake, and she's already beginning to drip all over his chin.

"Fuck," she whines, loving the way he's stretching her more and more with each pump.

He pulls away, muttering a "you taste so fucking good," beneath his breath, eyes glossed over with lust, before burying himself in her again. He's relentless, pushing deep inside her all the way to his knuckles and picking up his pace to bring her closer and closer to the edge. Her back arches into him, and she moans at the way he's touching every place inside her. Licking, lapping, sucking–every movement, everything more magical than the last.

He continues to mercilessly eat her out, floating from how her pussy tastes. Soft cries can be heard as she's on the brink of release. She's in awe at how goddamn amazing he is at this. There's no way he hasn't done this before, but she doesn't care because she didn't know someone could make her feel this good. Her head leans back on the lockers, her eyes hooded as she watches herself spill all over his chin.

"Such a pretty princess when you're about to cum for me," he mumbles, moving faster to finish her off. And the way he says 'for him' does things to her. She's not just cumming, she's coming for him. And he's making her.

Her hands slam to the lockers to keep her steady.

"Right there. Please right there," she begs as he brings her to her hilt. Her orgasm starts to wash over her, unraveling right in front of him. He marvels in it, refusing to slow down or let up as she succumbs to pure bliss.

He licks every drop of her, cleaning her up as she writhes. He's never been so satisfied from making a girl cum with only his mouth. He's never been more confident in his abilities, and he'll be the first to admit he wants to do it again. He plants one last kiss to her clit, listening to the way she giggles as he stands back up.

He presses another one to her lips to allow for her to taste her sweet self on him. "How was that?"

"You," she breathes, "were amazing."

Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated!! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed! :) xx

[fyeahwonderbat]

Keywords #3

Theme: Passion Rating: PG / T Word Count: 2,620 words NOTE: As this is set in the DCEU, I imagined Zatanna as Lyndsy Fonseca, but feel free to imagine whomever you choose!

“I had no idea you knew someone who was well versed in magic.” Wonder Woman remarked, lurking in the shadows of the balcony of the Bewitched Club. At her side, Batman frowned at the spectacle that was being performed on the stage down below. The audience was enamored with the floating lights and the levitating man being presented to them as some kind of inconceivable phenomenon.

In his eyes, Bruce saw magic as nothing more than child’s play.

Grumbling low enough for only the two of them to hear, he said, “There are many different kinds of people in Gotham.” He hoped that by the roughness of his tone of voice that Diana would know to leave the matter there.

Unwilling to comply with his wishes, she chose to address the matter while they witnessed the floating patron descend to the floor and the standing ovation that followed. “And you don’t trust any of them?”

“Not explicitly.” Was his blunt answer.

“Why?” Her curiosity was palpable, even as he turned away from her and walked towards the fire escape. They needed to reach the dressing rooms without being seen, meaning that exiting the club was more important to him than divulging his inner workings to her. He slipped through the open window without any intention of responding to her, which was why he wasn’t surprised that she probed the matter further the moment he felt her boots rattle the iron staircase. “You trust the people you gathered for the League.”

“Heh.” He released a single cackle, admittedly amused.

Diana, unimpressed with his behaviour, challenged him. “For a man who claims to love his solitude, you have a habit of reaching out to others more often than most.”

“I know who to contact when I need an ace up my sleeve.” Bruce explained as delicately as possible. He knew that he could run the risk of offending her again as he had on the plane trip back from Russia if he wasn’t careful with his words; she had already expressed her disdain for the way he made use of the Justice League, herself in particular, and if she thought that he considered her a tool more than a comrade, he wouldn’t have her at his side when they descended.

And he knew he’d need someone who accepted magic as a vital possibility while he groaned internally at the concept.

When Bruce reached the rooftop of the club, he apologetically turned around to offer a hand to Diana. But once again, the thundering of her boots landing behind him proved that she would forever be hot on his trail if he didn’t smarten up. Under the bleak shade of a dark and stormy night in Gotham, he stared at Wonder Woman through the lenses of his cowl, taking in the smug tilt to her grin. Proudly, she proclaimed, “From the moment I stole that flashdrive from you at Luthor’s party, I’ve never been your ace. If anything, Bruce, you’ve been mine.” 

The thundering he felt next came from the building, as it rattled when the storm overhead threatened to come crashing down on them. He quietly cleared his throat before finding his footing to say, “I’ll take that as a compliment, Wonder Woman.”

His sarcasm amused her for the first time ever. “As you should, Batman.”

“Emoc ot em, sredurtni.”

A familiar, feminine voice whispered in Bruce’s ear without warning. He witnessed the panicked look in Diana’s big brown eyes, however, he wasn’t able to warn her of what was about to happen as it all occurred too quickly. He recognized the style of the spell he heard a fraction of a second before they were snatched off of the rooftop and teleported into a compact dressing room. Lush in its decor, reminiscent of old Hollywood glamour, he knew they ended up in the right place even if he wasn’t a fan of how they arrived.

“I thought I saw you lurking in the background during my show.” 

Bruce steeled himself before he faced the magician in question. “Zatanna.” 

Standing with her arms crossed in the middle of the room was none other than the woman he’d been looking for, and then one he scowled at for using her spell to relocate him against his wishes. Still dressed in her corset and fishnets and her sparkly blazer, she looked like she stepped off the cover of a pin-up magazine from the fifties, with her top hat punctuating the look even while she held it in her left hand. It even sounded as if she was continuing her act when she faced Wonder Woman and interrogated her with her showman voice, “And what’s your name?”

“You may call me Diana. Bruce brought us here because he believes you’re the only one who can help us.” admitted Wonder Woman, offering a hearty handshake to the magician as a goodwill gesture.

Zatanna eagerly accepted the gesture the second she learned that he had put an ounce of faith in her. “Did he now?”

“I’ve been looking into a horde of monsters,” Bruce began to clarify immediately. “No matter how we analyze the sample I collected, I can’t pinpoint their origin.”

“We were hoping you might be able to tell us something about it.” Diana implored.

Despite their request, Zatanna refused to say a word while she studied the two of them. Her signature blue eyes hopped back and forth between the two of them, as if they were asking her to decipher something found in their auras or some other magical nonsense. Bruce was not amused by her scrutiny in the slightest, gritting his teeth for as long as he could in order to keep himself silent.

When that failed, he asserted, “We wouldn’t have come if--”

Zatanna cut him off with a toss of her hand through the air. “If you had any other possible option. I know you aren’t a fan of what I do, Bruce, so you’re lucky that I’m even considering this. Though I suppose the people of Gotham say cruel things about you all the time and you still keep them safe, so...” Her disinterest in his civility was made abundantly clear when she placed her top hat on her vanity’s table. Once it was out of her hands, it began to rattle ferociously in place and even started to hiss.

“What is in there, Zatanna?” Bruce demanded as he bent his knees ever so slightly in case her captive suddenly became free.

Sighing, the magician refused to reveal her secrets to them. Instead, she held out her hands and urged them both, “Give me the sample you brought, quickly.” 

With his hands already near his belt, Bruce removed the thin glass case from one of the compartments along his backside and placed it in her open palms. Bruce felt Diana move closer to him as they awaited for their own private magic show to begin. He could have sworn he felt an almost excited energy coming from her despite how foolish that seemed.

Bruce ignored his hunch so that he could lend all of his attention to Zatanna as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her brows knitted together over the bridge of her nose as she spoke her spell aloud, “Wohs em erehw uoy emoc morf.” Her voice was powerful, commanding for the cooperation of the darkened jagged rock formation he presented to her.

Then, the world went silent.

After that, there was nothing but chaos.

Zatanna returned to them when she threw her eyes open and gasped as though she had been suffocated by her astral trip. So startled by whatever it was she saw, she nearly toppled into Diana’s arms. 

“Are you all right?” Diana panicked at the sight of her evident fright.

“What did you see?” Bruce tried to remain calm for Zatanna’s sake, all while the fear inside of him grew. Every other trial had brought them nowhere near a possible answer as to who could be in control of the army of monsters, but when the source was located through magical means, it appeared to be a force strong enough to push the most powerful magician he knew off of her feet. 

“Y-You’re not going to believe me.” whimpered Zatanna. 

“Try me.” challenged Bruce, ready to face the truth of his hunt.

Diana decided to lead Zatanna to her vanity’s seat, helping her sit down as the desperation for an answer to his statement hung in the air of the dressing room. Bruce felt very much like whatever wild entity was hiding inside of her spinning hat, failing to remain patient when trapped in some way or another by magical restraints.

Thankfully, Diana’s calm composure was the key to getting the answers they needed. “So they are born from magic then?”

Zatanna nodded once, twice, then spoke firmly so they had no room to question her. “Not only are they magic-based, but they’re being created by gods.” 

An extreme case required an extreme reaction from him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

A white gloved hand slammed down on the spinning top hat before Zatanna glared at Bruce and fired her answer at him. “I’m saying that the monsters you are after are being made by the hands gods. Two, specifically, and their base of operation? The one you’re looking for that you can’t seem to find? Well, it’s hard to find what you’re looking for on Earth when you’re actually looking for hell.”

“Hell…?” Diana’s voice collapsed as she breathed the word. 

Zatanna did not show her the same amount of concern as she pushed onward, “I didn’t see them being made, but when I went looking for your answers, I encountered this woman.”

“Who was it!?” bellowed Bruce so loudly, it earned him a pair of matching leers from the two women in the room.

And a rather aggressive knock at the door.

“Miss Zatara? Is everything all right in there?” asked an inexperienced security guard from the other side of the door. Zatanna didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest. However, she did maintain her furious connection with Bruce through her gaze and quickened her retelling of what she witnessed in her search. “There was a woman being held captive in a cell deep underground. She’s very gifted in magic - she found me while I was searching and pulled me into her. Her mind guided me beyond her cell and showed me that the monsters you’re after are being made in the pits of hell, being shaped by… a higher ranking demon? Some type of evil figurehead down there?” “No,” Diana spoke with a grave tone of voice, with nothing but certainty cementing her words. “It’s Hades.”

As if their search hadn’t taken enough turns, it took all of the Batman’s strength to avoid recoiling at the mention of such a fictitious name. Despite the fact that an Amazon from the same mythos stood by his side for the past year, it was nearly impossible for him to accept that the lord of the Underworld that he read about as a child was preparing to wreak havoc on Earth. Being a founding member of a team that compiled some of the strongest people of the planet meant that he had to digest the reality of their gifts despite how improbable it would have seemed to him once upon a time. If he was forced to accept the truth about extraterrestrial life, he knew that he’d need to leap over his disbelief and accept what Zatanna was saying along with Diana’s confirmation. 

Still, he dared himself to ask, “Why him?” 

Diana seemed to reflexively reach for the hilt of her sword as she divulged her thought process. “There’s no one else it could be. Think about it, Bruce: gods in hell, making a demonic army? It has to be Hades. He must have coerced another god to help him create these creatures and he plans to unleash them on mankind for some malicious purpose. Whatever he’s planning, he’s gone so far as to invite others into his domain and most likely punished the woman in the cage for refusing to help him achieve his goal.”

Another round of banging on the dressing room door cut off Diana’s speech. A rather panicked cry from the hallway replaced her voice, “Miss Zatara?!”

“I have no idea what he plans are,” Zatanna fretted openly. “But I can do is take advantage of this blind spot I’ve found and send you to her.” 

Bruce concealed his worry behind his cowl. “If you transport us into this witch’s cell, how are we supposed to get back?”

Louder and louder the banging grew, but Diana had become so frightened by the enemy they were about to face that she had lost all interest in mortal matters. Instead of being bothered by the harsh sounds, she faced their magical messenger and said, “Contact Bruce’s butler Alfred and let him know where you’re sending us.”

“All right.” Zatanna swore to complete the task with a nod of her head. 

When she faced him then, Bruce saw Wonder Woman. He saw the heroine that he’d come to admire standing in the dressing room with him, the very same woman who saved him from Doomsday with nothing more than her brute strength. The intensity in her eyes made him believe that she had already convinced herself that the battle with the lord of the Underworld was imminent, and she would be ready for it. With an obstinacy he’d be privately yearning to see from her, Diana dictated their next step with the charge of a warrior, “Let’s go.”

He knew in that exact moment that he had no right to seek out the logistics of their situation, that he should have checked his supposedly rational hangups at the door. If Wonder Woman was certain enough to take charge of the mission, then Batman knew where he needed to be.

“You going to be okay to handle this on your own?” Bruce wondered as he tossed his thumb over his shoulder, referring to the man who was insistently assaulting the dressing room door. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Zatanna scoffed at his faux worry as she rose up out of her seat. She turned her back to him and held up her thumbs and index fingers in a square-like shape. As she pulled her hands apart, a glowing yellow rectangle materialized in the room that was filled with a dark, foreboding fog inside. “Go. That will take you right to her.”

“Thank you, Zatanna.” Diana softened her battle-ready demeanor to offer her genuine gratitude to the magician. 

“I’ll contact Alfred once I’m done here.” She informed them, materializing her wand in one hand while the other kept a firm grasp on her rowdy hat. 

Respectfully, Bruce added a quick, “Thanks.” 

“Now, go!” Zatanna shouted at the top of her lungs just as the dressing room door finally caved under the force of the punches being delivered to it. The wood splintered so hard, broken pieces of different sizes slammed into his elongated cloak. Bruce had to ignore every instinct he’d honed over the last thirty years of his life in order to charge through that portal. Whether he trusted Zatanna’s magic or not, he would never intentionally leave her to fend for herself if he could help. 

But Diana was waving him into the portal, disappearing into the fog that looked as menacing as he imagined the gates of hell possibly could be.

Leave it to the Amazon to rope him into the Underworld without any precaution, any escape route or signal to the League if needed.

[skylarri-fanfics1991]

In Another Life. The Finale: Part II Snippet.

A/N: It’s been 84 years...

There’s a quick knock on the door to let her know someone’s coming in, and then Peta is there, and she’s dragging Val by the arm in behind her. 

Zendaya sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes raking over the man she hadn’t seen in person in almost seven years. Nerves shoot through her, and she balls her fists and crosses her arms over her chest in attempt to smooth them. 

“..-getting sick of your behavior,” Peta hisses at Val, and Zendaya gulps at the turbulent expression on his face as he looks at his sister-in-law. “I didn’t invite Zendaya here just for you to give her the cold-shoulder the entire night. You’re going to listen to her and you both,” Peta looks across at Zendaya, “are going to talk things out. Are we clear?” 

Val shakes Peta’s hand off his arm. “Crystal,” he practically spits, walking away from the two women to the other side of the room. 

Zendaya watches him, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. He still hadn’t spared her even a glance. She hadn’t expected anything less but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt. 

A gentle hand suddenly covers one of her balled-up fists and she looks quickly up at Peta. 

She squeezes her hand in silent encouragement. “Be strong,” she whispers with a nod. After looking once more at Val, a tired sigh escaping her lips, she turns and exits the room. 

And she’s left alone, without the support of Peta or the safety net of blending into the background of other people, and she takes in a ragged breath, her palms beginning to sweat. 

Val looks out one of the large windows, his hands in his pockets as he stares out at the heavy downpour over the estate. 

He’s changed so much. Yet he hasn’t at all. 

Of course time aged him to the 33 year old man he is now. There might be a few more lines on his forehead and around his mouth, but otherwise, he looks the same as the last time she spoke with him. 

It’s the way he holds himself now. Watching him interact with other people all night, and...and with Jenna, it was so noticeable to her. He was more subdued, more guarded. Whereas before-...before everything...he would’ve been more emotive in such a situation with family and friends. Now... 

She hugs her arms around her middle, her heart feeling heavy. The person across the room from her was a consequence of the actions she’d taken all those years ago. This coldness? She knows that it’s of her doing. 

 “So are you just going to stare at me all night, or are you actually going to get the courage to say something?”

His question jolts her out of her thoughts abruptly, and she stares stupidly at him, figuring that she would be the first one to speak. 

“I-I-...” she trails off, mouth opening and closing. 

He turns his head and she’s skewered to the spot when those green eyes pin hers suddenly. The level of indifference, of contempt even, she notices in them are like bullets through her gut. She can only gape like a fish while he then takes quick inspection of her, as if cataloguing how she had changed over the years.

Then he looks back at her and arches an expectant brow. Realizing that he was actually wanting an answer, her cheeks flush in humiliation and she looks at her feet. 

“I-um...congratulations,” she offers lamely, glancing up beneath her lashes. 

“Thanks,” he sneers. “If that’s all, I’ll return to the party now,” and then he’s moving towards the door and Zendaya panics and races forward.

“No, wait!” she grabs his arm and they both freeze at the contact. 

Sparks shoot up her arm from her hand where it grips his bicep. Underneath her palm, his muscles are coiled like a spring, and her eyes shoot to his face, catching that tell-tale jaw clench she knows all too well. 

“Val,” she whispers, and her saying his name seems to make him even more angry. 

“Don’t touch me,” he seethes, ripping his arm out of her grasp. His eyes catch hers and he levels her with a glare that tears into her enough she takes a small step back. 

“I don’t know why you came tonight, after all these years of blocking me out of your life,” he begins, and her heart skips a beat. Here it goes. “-and to be honest, I don’t give a fuck. All I want to do is go back to my engagement party and try to forget that my sister-in-law thought it would be a great idea to bring you here. So if you could just kindly get the fuck away from me and my family-go back to whatever the hell it was that you were doing before- that would be great.” 

His viciousness hurts her, yet she’s not going to let him get away that easily. 

“Just wait! Please,” she begs, her nervousness and fear of facing him again slowly disappearing. She can’t pussy-foot around about this. If she wanted to make any lee-way she needed to have courage. Be strong. With Peta’s words encouraging her, she squares her shoulders. 

He stops at the door, but doesn’t turn around. 

“I know that this is probably the worst time to be doing this-to be having this conversation, considering everything,” she takes in a shaky breath, “-but...god, I don’t even know where to begin.”

Val turns, eyes slowly meeting hers. His expression is carefully blank, but the fact that he’s giving her his attention is as much clue as any that he’s going to let her have this chance to talk. 

“How about you start with why,” he suggests, voice giving away nothing. “Why you erased me-and my family-from your life.” 

Tears well up in her eyes, and she can’t even be upset that she’d caved so quickly. “Right. I-okay..” she nods, biting her bottom lip. “I-Val I wish I could give you a good reason, but I just-I don’t have one,” she stares down at the floor in shame. Here we go. 

“When you broke things off that night...I was so hurt and betrayed. I wanted you to fight for us to be together still, not cave to my dad.” His eyes go glassy as his mind no doubt goes back to their last moments together. “I realized later, of course, that you and my dad did the right thing. But in the moment? Right after?” she shakes her head, “I wanted to lash out.”

His jaw ticks and she laughs hollowly. “You told me I should be sixteen so I became the most childish sixteen year old I could be. I got petty because I was so hurt and I wanted you to feel as hurt as I did at the time and I abandoned you-...like I felt you were doing to me.” Her vision blurs as a solitary tear escapes. His face still remains impassive, giving away nothing. The only sign she gets that he’s even listening at all are is his hands clenching tighter at his sides.

“And I am so sorry for that-” she cries, voice warbling, “I’m so sorry for ignoring you-for growing up and not doing anything when I knew better. For not just hurting you, but your family-one that I grew up calling my own. I-” her arms cross over her chest as she begins to shake. “-and I hate myself for knowing that without Peta demanding that Maks call me...I could have very well gone on doing the same thing for the rest of my life. Pretending that you don’t exist.”

She sucks in a sharp, stuttering breath as she finishes her speech, eyes searching his for any sign that she’s reaching through to him. 

He stares at the ground with half-shuttered lids, pulling the corner of his mouth in by his teeth in that familiar way that has her chest aching at the sight. 

After what feels like an eternity, he begins to move towards her in the same slow manner, his gait like a burning fuse getting closer and closer to the dynamite about to blow. 

Her breath hitches when he stops close enough that she can smell his cologne, and she criss-crosses her fingers in front of her. 

“Thank you...for your honesty,” he begins, still looking at the ground somewhere to her right. “No matter how much I might have detested your presence here tonight, I am thankful that I’ve finally gotten the closure I needed from all of this.”

Her heart drops as those emotionless eyes finally meet hers, and he stares at her for a long moment. 

“But even with your explanation I’m still left feeling....confused. Because what you said...it’s something the girl I knew would never have done.” His voice becomes more vehement as that deep-rooted anger begins to show itself and Zendaya backs up instinctively. 

He follows, cornering her into the wall by the door. 

“The girl I knew, the girl I loved-” he spits, “-would never have done something so inconceivably childish and hurtful. She never would have shunned an entire second family that’s known her since she was born, she never-” his fist suddenly slams against the side of her head and she gasps, frightened. Her heart tells her that no matter what, Val would never lay a hand on her but now? It hurt that she couldn’t be so sure anymore. 

She breathes fast as her heart pounds in her chest, staying very still. Val’s whole body was trembling. It was like he was trying to keep himself in check. 

It’s deadly silent between them. Zendaya’s stomach flips as the realization that they’ve come to this point hits her. This place of such deep hurt and resentment and regret. 

Then the most heartbreaking sound in the world comes out of Val and her eyes snap to his. She watches unbelievingly as tears well up in his eyes and then it’s like a dam breaking from within him. 

His head drops heavily on the wall over her shoulder, his hand sliding lower on the other side of her. He’s not touching her but the incredibly close proximity is overwhelming. 

“I never wanted you to leave,” he croaks out, shaking his head slowly against the wall. Her eyes widen at his broken admission. “I didn’t want to leave you. You were supposed to understand. You were supposed to-to know what I meant when I said we couldn’t be together that night. You weren’t supposed to leave me. Why, Zendaya? Why did you leave me?”

He pulls back and the breath leaves her at the devastation in his eyes and she can only gape in horror at the raw display of emotion. Obviously something he’d buried for a long time just now being released. 

“I-I-” she stutters, hiccuping as sobs crawl up her throat anew. “I was hurt and I didn’t understand at the time-” she cries, eyes darting between his, “I’m so sorry. Val, I’m sorry-” she reaches up hesitantly to place her hands on either side of his face. 

The touch burns both of them, and he grabs her wrists tightly, pushing them forcefully back and against the wall on either side of her. 

“No. Don’t-just don’t,” he bites out, still holding her arms back. 

She nods, sucking back a sharp breath in an attempt to slow down her erratic heart. 

His eyebrows pinch as he turns his head towards the side, staring almost curiously at his hand squeezing her wrist. Carefully, like he’s dealing with a wild animal, he loosens his harsh grip. He curves his hand around the back of hers, his thumb sliding up the inside of her hand in an agonizingly slow manner. 

With a jolt, it hits her what he’s doing and she sinks into herself, staying as still as possible as he explores her lost touch. 

[chickensinliterature]

From The Bill from My Father: A Memoir by Bernard Cooper

Light shot from the lens of the projector and burrowed through the room. It flickered over the furniture and gave the dark a restless depth. I watched dust motes whirl and collide in the beam, and this bright turmoil, this erosion of countless powdery grains, was proof of a fact I knew all along but hadn’t grasped until that moment: the world was being ground to bits. I was still transfixed when I heard my father tell me to snap out of it and pay attention to what was on the screen. 

In a wood-paneled office, a stout black woman sat across a desk from a white man, whose bony hands were folded atop an ink blotter. A pen holder slanted in his direction, and next to it a name plate identified him as a judge. His lips moved nonstop, but the film was silent and I couldn’t make out a word he was saying. All the while he stared into the camera with the unnatural expression of a person who’d been told to act natural and not stare into the camera. The woman paid respectful attention, leaning forward once or twice in a futile effort to interrupt. She clutched under one arm a leather-bound book that was either a Bible or a volume of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. On the desk beside her lay an overstuffed purse. 

The judge was still yammering when the purse, without so much as a twitch of forewarning, stood up, wavered on two spindly legs, and walked toward him, though “walked toward him” suggests that the purse had a particular destination, whereas its halting progress was more along the lines of two steps forward, one step back. For a moment I wondered whether it was a marionette, though I couldn’t see strings, and besides, who in their right mind would make a marionette that looked like a staggering handbag? No, the purse’s senselessness hinted at the possibility that it once possessed sense and now was trying to get along without it. This was animal motion, too reflexive with muscle and nerve to be anything inanimate. 

The judge’s mouth stopped moving when the scruffy whatever-it-was lurched into his line of vision. He gave it a wary, sidelong glance, ready to react should something unexpected occur, which, considering what had occurred already, would have to be inconceivably strange. That’s when the camera slowly zoomed in, moving as if it, too, were an animal, a predator hunting its unsuspecting prey. It slid between the woman and the judge, intent on the mound in the middle of the desk. Feathers slowly came into focus. Wings bristled as the creature breathed.

“What is it?” I whispered. 

“Watch,” said my father. 

He had been a witness to the actual event, but because I didn’t know this yet, his Watch was like a magic command that caused what happened next to happen. A stump emerged from the thing’s right side, which until that point had looked identical to its left. The stump pivoted toward the camera and paused long enough to reveal its severed end. A tunnel of tendon and pearly bone led inside the creature’s body, the sight no less gruesome in black-and-white. The woman’s fingers descended into view, holding an eyedropper by its rubber bulb. She squeezed until a bead of clear liquid glistened at its tip, then angled it toward the cavity. The stump strained upward. 

The idea of watching the creature being fed made me speechless, queasy. How much closer would the camera zoom? What kind of contractions would swallowing involve? That blind, groping, hungry stump was the neediest thing I’d ever seen. Leaving the room was out of the question; my father would view my retreat as rudeness, or worse, as proof that I was a delicate boy unworthy of paternal wisdom. I couldn’t have fled anyway; sunk in the possessive depths of the couch, I could barely move. 

The droplet wobbled. 

“Sugar water,” said my father. 

Not until later that night, after unsuccessfully begging myself to please stop thinking about the gaping wound, did I realize that sugar water referred to the solution in the eyedropper. At the time, however, my father might as well have said spoon clock or hat bell for all the sense his comment made. 

The pendulous droplet fell into the stump. Then another and another. For all that creature knew it had started to rain, and the rain tasted sweet. As the woman doled out the final drops, words scrolled up the screen: 

There is hope for you too 

when you see how divine power 

keeps Lazarus alive! 

Mrs. Martha Green’s decapitated fowl 

lives to become 

THE MIRACLE CHICKEN! 

This 20th century wonder brings a possibility

of new life and new healing 

to an army of believers. 

It’s all TRUE! 

This movie is AUTHENTIC! 

The woman’s purse was a headless chicken. I might have uttered this fact aloud since it came as such a great, if short-lived, relief. My father had used the phrase “like a chicken with its head cut off” to describe all manner of frenzied activity, applying it to bad drivers and harried salespeople and even to my mother, who cooked dinner in a state that could be described either as motherly gusto or stifled rage. Every time I heard the expression, I pictured the figurative chicken running around a barnyard in circles and spurting a geyser of blood before dropping dead in the dust. Dropping dead forever, I should add, because it never occurred to me that a chicken might survive its execution, give hope to humans, and star in a film. Wasn’t a head indispensable? 

Dad towered beside the projector, his figure awash in flickering light. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. 

“There’s your old man,” he said, pointing to the screen. 

A crowd dressed in Sunday finery milled around the front lawn of a clapboard house. People stepped aside to let my father pass, a sea of hats parting before him. Mrs. Green trailed in his wake. She cradled Lazarus in her arms, careful not to let the bird be jostled and also not to hide it from view. Making his way through the crowd, Dad cast frequent backward glances to make sure Mrs. Green and her bird were behind him. Photographers jockeyed to get a good shot. Reporters frantically scrawled on their notepads. Men and women craned their necks, some letting children straddle their shoulders to get a better look. 

Mrs. Green refuses to hand Lazarus over to the S.P.C.A. despite a court order from Judge Stanley Moffatt. Her attorney, Edward S. Cooper, claims the bird is “an act of providence for the benefit of all mankind.” 

The throng of spectators, two or three people deep, waited behind a listing picket fence as my father escorted Mrs. Green into a yard overgrown with blooming hibiscus and bougainvillea. She seemed at home there, so I supposed the yard was hers. It may have been an effect of the grainy eight-millimeter film, but this ramshackle Eden glowed with an ancient, paper-thin light, as if the screen had turned to parchment. It wouldn’t have surprised me if one of the bushes had burst into flame and spoken in a holy baritone. 

My father carried his monogrammed briefcase by his side. He and Mrs. Green walked to a small table that had been set up on a patch of grass. They glanced nervously at the camera, humbled by the expectant crowd. Black and Caucasian faces looked on, soldiers in an army of believers. Mrs. Green gazed almost sorrowfully at the bundle in her arms. Hesitant to let it go, she inhaled a bracing, duty-bound breath, then gingerly lowered the chicken onto the table. Its feet dangled like scrawny tassels, and once his legs touched the table top, they buckled without a hint of resistance. 

I’d learned over the years to heed my father’s impatience as one would a storm warning, and watching him stand there on-screen, I recognized signs of impending anger as he glared at that motionless bird. A prominent vein bulged on his forehead. His grip on the briefcase tightened. I could almost hear him thinking, Of course this would happen. What did I expect? Just when things were going my way, fate sticks out its leg and trips me. He and Mrs. Green stood side by side and I thought I saw him nudge her with a silent ultimatum: Do anything you have to do, but get that goddamn poultry to move! You want people thinking this is some kind of hoax? I felt the weight of his briefcase in my hand, his hot collar encircling my neck, his heart thumping inside my chest. “What if it doesn’t move?” I asked. Meaning if it didn’t, would we both be ashamed? 

He looked worried in the movie but not in real life. He smiled faintly and crossed his arms. 

“That bird’s as alive as I am,” he said. 

Silent concern rippled through the crowd; a few people used their hats as fans or consulted hefty, gilt-edged Bibles. Mrs. Green patted her forehead with a hankie. The twentieth-century wonder looked about as wondrous as a feather duster. 

What were my father and Mrs. Green to do? They couldn’t rouse it by snapping their fingers or waving their hands in front of its face. Maybe they could communicate to the bird through touch, the way Annie Sullivan had tapped the word water on Helen Keller’s hand. Of course, it wouldn’t look good if my father and Mrs. Green started poking at the chicken; you can’t badger a miracle to happen and then expect people to marvel when it does. 

I gasped when the chicken sprang to its feet, wings thrashing the air. Feathers bristled when it stretched its stump. The camera pulled back as if rearing in fear and astonishment. People in the background flung up their arms in a mute hallelujah. Mrs. Green’s unbounded joy caught my father off guard; he swayed in her embrace, eyeing the chicken over her shoulder. Big letters bellowed from the screen: 

Cock-A-Doodle-Do! 

My father’s high, delighted laughter rose over the sound of the projector. 

“Is that chicken something?”

“Rooster, you mean?” 

“Chicken,” he corrected, annoyed that I might have missed the big finish, might have been distracted when water turned to wine. 

“Chickens don’t crow,” I told him. 

“What?” 

Tricky business, repeating a statement that belonged, I realized too late, in the “back talk” category. I scrambled to match oinks and tweets and moos with the appropriate animal, only to discover that the correspondences were more debatable than I’d realized. My rooster remark sounded arrogant now, and possibly untrue. “Do roosters crow?” I found myself asking. 

The projector lit my father’s face from below. His chin and brow were islands of light, his eye sockets deep, unreadable. “Supposing a chicken doesn’t crow,” he said. “Then this one’s more of a miracle.” 

                                                         * * * 

Remember the headless rooster?” I asked. 

My father leaned toward the microphone.

“Chicken,” he insisted, then sat back in his chair. 

“But the chicken supposedly crowed, Dad. And chickens—I’d stake my life on this—don’t crow. They cackle. Or cluck?” 

The querulousness in my voice, and the irritation in his, had been preserved for thirty years. 

“Look,” he said, “if the client says a chicken crowed, the chicken crowed. Mrs. Green heard it. So did half the people who were at the press conference that day. Maybe they were in a religious state. That kind of thing has never happened to me personally, so I wouldn’t know. All I know is that Mrs. Green buys the chicken from a local butcher, takes it home for dinner, puts a pot of water on the stove, and when she goes to pluck the thing, it stands up and starts strutting around the kitchen like this was just another day on the farm. She’s standing there gawking when a voice comes out of nowhere and tells her to name the bird Lazarus, and she hollers, ‘Praise the Lord.’” Here my father lifted his arthritic arms as high as he was able, the jumpsuit stretching taut across his belly. “She gets on the phone to call her friends, who call their friends, and so on, and pretty soon people are showing up at Mrs. Green’s house in droves, lining up just to get a look at the thing. Being your enterprising type, she starts charging admission. Can you blame her? She sees a brass ring and she grabs it. That’s America.”

Book “The Bill from My Father: A Memoir” by Bernard Cooper

Painting” “The Cock” by Chef and Artist Jacques Pepin

[thewanderindiaus-blog]

If You Hate Travelling A Trek Is Worth It

At the point when the get-away opportunity arrives, everyone discusses excursions, enormous sightseeing plans, family excursion, companions escape trips. Nonetheless, there are some who truly need to sit back home and simply chill. They simply need to marathon watch web arrangement, get up to speed with missed motion pictures or would prefer not to miss that match regardless.

Despite what might be expected, today where everyone is looking at investigating new places, breaking the dull way of life, experience encounters, can somebody dislike to travel? There is certainly someone in your life who is that way. Who is so restrained to miss that early tea, who adores being comfortable at home or who likes the every day schedule life. Indeed, for these individuals, plainly trekking does not merit considering! We would state this is a confusion.

As of late, we got a heart contacting story of our trekker Sakshi Arjun from Pune. She alongside her family did Chopta Chandrashila trek with us. She clarifies really well her battle of persuading her family for trekking and how only one trek, altered their perspectives. She says,

I have a place with a family where I am one in particular who is constantly amped up for looking for new encounters, visiting the mountains, going on a long Himalayan walk. Rest of my family, not all that attached to voyaging. However, I can state for them, they adored trekking… regardless of whether they did it for the first and the last time!

"Truly, I was truly sulking all through the climb. Looking down the dread of falling and looking over the dread of kicking the bucket was driving me. I was gasping. I realized I ought to have not come," even today my dad discusses his first regularly climbing background, continually censuring me for a poorly conceived notion of family trekking. My Mom likewise insults me, "Precisely, for what reason would you plan such chaotic going for your maturing guardians? You realize we have to take drugs on schedule. It was our misstep we fell for the love of our youngster."

I realize that it is so difficult to get these individuals out of the house. My dad carefully pursues his order, from morning tea to supper, his timings have not changed since I was conceived. My mom however not so severe adherent, yet she doesn't care for departing the home. She gets a kick out of the chance to be the home sprinter. What's more, my more youthful sibling never leaves his PC. He is a game someone who is addicted. He would forfeit rest and sustenance to live in that phony world. Regardless of, all that I figured out how to by one way or another persuade them to go on a Tungnath trek. You talk about God and guardians will consent to do it.

More than persuading them for the trek, I accept the intense part was to keep them strolling. In spite of the fact that Chopta Chandrashila is anything but a troublesome trek, for my family it was an undertaking! I am so glad for them, they all made it to the top. Be that as it may, I was concerned. Right down they were quiet. All were occupied in their own specific manner. I realized I should be set up for some genuine chastening.

At last, toward the part of the bargain, my father stated, "You know, when I arrived at the top, before the mandir, I felt as though I really met my God. I felt tranquil. When I stayed there, looking at the mists and the mountains, my spirit was edified. I pondered what an inconceivable world God has made and I am so fortunate to observe it." I was flabbergasted by his words. My Mom likewise included, "I am so glad to be here, in the mountains. I truly missed this. When we were living in a town we had such a crude way of life. Lying under the dull sky, cool wind, greenery, twittering fowls. I wanted to remember that." adding show to it she proceeded, "Minor Shivji needed me to come and meet him. You will have a hard time believing, while at the same time climbing those stairs I could always observe him in the mists, calling me. In blowing winds I could hear Om, Om… it is all a direct result of him that we got the opportunity to live this."

I was excitedly holding on to get notification from my sibling now. "Along these lines, got some any snaps to post on Instagram?" I asked him. "Any? A lot of them. My imagination was simply streaming you know. I have caught such exhibitions that individuals will just tail me. I took astounding time-pass of dawn and moving mists. It was so serene to simply continue gazing at them. Furthermore, that scope of mountains, amazing! Gracious… there ought to be a game on climbing. In the wake of beating obstacles you arrive at the mountain. Wouldn't that be incredible?" he continued talking.

Truly, I didn't expect such a staggering response. All through the arrival adventure to our home, we were just talking about the trek. How riotous it was and how shocking it was. I could see the outright bliss according to these first-time trekkers and voyagers. I was progressively stressed over my Dad not ready to pursue his calendar and it turned out he did. Not surprisingly, he would wake up at 5, he got his tea at 6 consistently. Breakfast and lunch were on schedule. Just the supper was booked somewhat early, which he delighted in. My sibling's timetable had gone topsy turvy. He rested at 9 and woke at 6. My mother was stunned her child actually woke up before the sun. Her significant other was taking meds on schedule. Her family was immaculate without her being stressed over family errands. She was in paradise!

Incredibly, notwithstanding during the movement from main residence to base town, everyone was great. In spite of the fact that there was adjustment in their ways of life, they were tolerant about it. Truth be told, they would now and then not see it, occupied with watching the new places and new faces.

In spite of, having the most significant experience of their whole lifetime, I realize they would not go for another trek so effectively. Presumably, that isn't what gives them a kick. Yet, it has doubtlessly left a stone impression in their heart. Indeed, even today they talk about their trekking minutes in an emotional manner. I know, there is something that they all have soaked up. Something that has contacted their spirit. An experience that races their heart just by considering it. They unquestionably don't think twice about it. At any rate, presently they don't ask me "For what reason do you need to go once more?"

Sakshi's brilliant story makes us wonder, how that one outing made every one of them feel honored and fulfilled. They have something to value for a considerable length of time to come. Simply that one trek has given them huge amounts of recollections. That trek was unquestionably justified, despite all the trouble!

In this way, we really feel, everyone ought to go on a trek. In any case. At any rate once! Simply break the glass and leave that safe place just once. Come and experience the rush of the mountains. We are certain, those mountains abide in your comfortable personality for an amazing remainder.

[sarahboseman]

WHEN JEALOUSY TAKES OVER...

CHADWICK BOSEMAN X READER

Word Count: 3900

Prompt: Your relationship with Chadwick has lost some balance due to your jealousy. Will there be a way to put everything right? 

Warnings: Angs and Smut 

"Just fuck off Chad!"

"Just Fuck you! I always have to support these bullshit from you!!! every time you and I go out together?!!! Jesus!!!!”

"if only you behaved well Chadwick, you shouldn’t bear with anything!" "But what have I done? I've done nothing! Nothing at all ... FUCK, She did it all!" "Of course, naturally, she put her hand on your ... on your DICK ... and you let her do it !!!!" "No, you turned just at the wrong time, too early to see my reaction! But do you really think I would let myself be touched by the first woman I see around me??? during an evening together??? "Apparently ...."

Your evening at the club ended like this, in the usual discussion between you and him ... perhaps because of your too much jealousy. Lately everything seemed to go wrong ... After the release of Black Panther, Chadwick's popularity had increased considerably and he was always surrounded by millions of people, especially women. There were those kind, who asked for autographs and pictures, and others much more shameless having no problems touching him and making absurd, dirty proposals ... despite being in company, despite being with you.

You knew well what was the “popularity”, you worked closely with V.I.P, you know how these things work, these evenings, events ... what sometimes happens ...

And it was through your work that you met Chadwick, through your colleagues. You met him at an after party for an important Award Ceremony, you did’t accompany anyone on that occasion, you were not (just saying) in service. You were invited by your agency and you went there. You two chatted a little bit and you immediately fell in love with him, perhaps, from the moment he handed you a drink and he looked at you, mischievously, from the edge of his glass.

After a few more random meetings, he asked you for a date, for a drink ... and the magic happened.

You immediately fell in love with his soul, untouched by fame … despite when you met him at that after party, Chadwick was already famous. After “Get on Up” everybody knew who Chadwick Boseman was ... But he was the usual and simple boy of next door ...

You fell in love with each other, so deeply, and after a very short time you went to live together. Staying away from each other became something immediately unbearable, it was impossible and inconceivable not to sleep in the same bed. So you took home together and ... until recently, everything was extraordinarily good. Then, you don’t know what happened …

Your jealousy took over ... you knew it was an ugly beast. Seeing all those women around him, it was a thing that made you crazy. Not all of them, naturally, because you loved his sweet fans!

Chadwick was so extremely handsome, captivating, charming, down to earth but he also loved to be courted. 

Well, he never did something bad in front of you ... he always said sweetly: "It's my job honey, I have to be kind and gentle with everyone” ... you know that  ... of course you know, you always repeat the same thing to your clients. “Be nice to everyone, even with those you'd like to kill” At the end it was just a work attitude, you know, … let yourself be flattered and be kind to everyone ... men and women. But it was already the third time that they touched him, and it was the third time you tried to explain him how you felt, but tonight the limit has been reached. You were chatting with a former client and friends of yours, not far from him by the way. Chad was sitting at the bar with some of his old friends. He was sat with his back turned to the bar, his elbows leaning against the marble and his legs wide open. As if it were the most normal thing in the world, a beautiful girl came and placed her hand between his legs, so shamelessly, whispering something close to his ear. You turned around at that precise moment, and saw the scene. Without worrying about Chad's reaction, you took your belongings and went home by a taxi. You didn’t want to make a dramatic scene or even in front of all those people who knew you both. "You know the background, you know the business, you know what happens at these parties. You know EVEN better than me!! What the fuck can I do?”

"Nothing!! But maybe not let touch your dick by the first bitch you meet”

"But it was unexpected! I didn’t ask her! “

“I KNOW! But fuck!!!! but you didn’t even come looking for me!!!! You’ve been there with your friends!!!!”

“I know ... I'm sorry ... but they held me back”

“who held you back? your friends or one of those usual bitches? Were you so busy that you couldn’t run after your girlfriend and apologize??? maybe reassure her? No,right,… you get two hours after!!!”

"FUCK, YES! I came after two hours because I didn’t want this scene!!! I'm sick of arguing! I'm sick and tired! " “I'm also sick and tired Chad! What the hell do you think? that I like feeling this way? You think I like being sick and thinking of you with someone else?"

"But why do you think I have to be with another woman!? FUCK! You are paranoid, you're a crazy! That’s what you are ... FUCK!!!!”

His eyes were deep … he touched his hair and beard while he talked and argued with you, while you were screaming against each other at 3.am like two crazy people. And it wasn’t the first time that happened and you knew he didn’t fuck anybody else, you knew perfectly that he came back home to you after those parties, events, or whatever else. You were the fool one who thought badly and always started a fight. You were disgusted by yourself for this. He put his hands on his hips holding tight the fabric of his white T-shirt, he had pulled off his sweater as soon as this argument had begun and he had begun to stir. He was sooo damn and fucking hot even when he was angry.

The first times there were discussions between you, you remember you started laughing after few bad words, because you suddenly looked at him and told him how much sexy he was when he got angry. He approached, you burst out laughing, you kissed and apologized. But those were simple discussions, for futile reasons.

This was actually a futile reason … Jealousy darkens thought and mind. How did you become like that? How did you BOTH  become like that? Because even Chadwick wasn’t joking about being jealous. He became quite possessive as soon as some of his friend or colleague approached you, making some appreciation. You remembered what happened at the world premiere of Black Panther, during which he introduced you to some old and new colleagues. You remembered Chadwick behind you, whispering in your ear: "I do not want you to approach him again during the night ... he's a jerk, haven’t you seen how you looked inside your beautiful cleavage all the time? He has looked at your ass for hours … and this is something that is up to me and me alone. Clear? you're mine”

Nothing to say, you didn’t complain about this, it was very exciting hearing these things from your man. But often you went beyond everything, from the excitement to the discussions for uselessness … for your pride, for his ... for your ingenuity. Because you loved each other to the point of slaughtering each other. If only you could shut up your mouths and just tell you that you love each other ... and that's it. But this was not enough for the human and animal soul. Maybe that would be enough for that animal, but not for the human one. After he told you you’re crazy, you ran upstairs and slammed the bedroom door behind you starting undressing in a hurry and got into the shower. You just let the hot water flow over your body, until the pain on your skin hurts no more than the words Chad had told you… You stood under the water for a long time, crying and your tears mingled with the drops of water coming down from above. Between your sobs you didn’t even realize that Chad had entered the bathroom and had opened the door of the big shower. You turned suddenly and saw him still dressed, closing the glass door behind him coming in. He was still wearing his jeans and his white t-shirt. He was getting wet, from head to toe.

You looked at him, your eyes were too red and swollen because of the crying, they hurt. You sniffed and he moved closer to you with his eyes closed he shook his head and let the water slide on his face, on his shoulders, on his chest . Under the white shirt turned transparent thanks to the water, you could see his perfect chocolate skin and the shape of his perfect body. You rested your hands gently on his chest, closed your eyes and holding your tears back ... but your lips trembled. He said nothing, he put his hands on your shoulders looking into your eyes, slowly getting down, caressing all your body. Then he rest his strong hands on your hips and pushed you away just enough to take a look of your whole bare body. He tightened his grip and then he kissed you urgently. You let yourself be kissed in that way in which only he could kiss you. He kissed you as if to apologize. You massaged your lips with his and then his tongue with yours. He always tasted so damn good.

He knew how to make you forget everything just with a kiss ... every time. He knew how to seduce you. But this was not a kiss of seduction …It was a kiss of so many words. You stroked his face and he held you against him, his clothes were completely soaked, and while you were still kissing him you took his shirt off. He cuddled you, kissed you under the water, as if nothing had happened ...His hands on your back, on your bottom, on your breasts ... he was clutching, touching, stroking, teasing and panting ... he turned on. The kiss intensified a lot and you quickly undid his pants while his tongue licked your mouth and his lips biting yours. He moaned and gasped as you stroke his boxers on his most sensitive point. He took off his pants and his underwear tossing them into a corner of the large masonry shower to stand naked in front of you until he suddently picked you up by placing his big hands under your tights. You liked those hands, they fit perfectly on your body, they were perhaps one of the most beautiful things about him. Cured, soft, big, long fingers…. there was nothing he couldn’t do with those fingers…

"Chad … sorry, I'm so sorry" you whispered against his lips "I'm sorry too baby ... I'm sorry"  "Chadwick ...." "Forgive me baby, please ... " and with slow pace, he pushed himself inside of you, while you tied your legs to his waist for support. Your back against the wall and your hands on his toned shoulders. His hands held you close to him so as not to fall.

Yes ... you could have forgiven him everything ... always. But not for the amazing sex you did, but because you loved him so much to kill for him. you loved him so much to eclipse yourself, you loved him so much ... you loved him infinitely. You made love in the shower, under the water ... against that wall tied on him, as you usually do kind every morning ... You liked getting fucked in the shower, especially in the morning, you liked to feel his wet body against yours, while he held you up keeping your legs open while he was doing his performance. He liked it, he liked it so much. Yes ... making love with Chad was beautiful, it was beautiful in every way possible. Sweet and romantic, but also furious and wild. But your evening didn’t end there ... You dried up for good without saying a word, almost as if "it was not over there" ... as if your healing sex hadn’t healed anything. It was beautiful, magnificent as ever, but it hadn’t paid off. In silence, you dressed to go sleeping … or at least ... you got dressed to go to sleep, he didn’t come, because Chadwick sat at his desk to read his e-mails. It was very late at night and you didn’t want to start another fight when you said that fucking joke ... it was just malice ...

You started again to fight, he went furious and he scared you a lot. You said a lot of bad words to each other, crying out loudly. You told him to go away, to leave you giving him a strong slap on his cheek. You pushed him away telling him that he didn’t love you for real, and it was at that point that he stopped, shushing. He widened his eyes and took you by your wrists "never say anything like that ... never again " You looked him straight in the eyes, I was afraid to hear his words hissed like that a few inches from my face. His taken on mine wrists hurt. “Don’t you dare anymore … don’t you dare to say it. I give you my world to you, I gave you all of me " It was true ... like you to him ... and at that moment you couldn’t say anything else looking at him. You were mortified “Sorry ... sorry Chad"

He tightened his jaw and took a deep breath "Do you love me? Do you still love me Y/N? "he suddenly asked you almost shouting, still staring at you "I have always loved you, I’ve never stopped and I won’t stop." You whispered almost crying. "So why are you doing this? Why do you think I fuck all the women I meet? ... you know you’re the only one for me!!!! God! I love you so deeply, can’t you see it????” You shook your head and he shook you, yelling at you: “Stop it! Stop considering me a fucking asshole! I'm not one of those bastards you were used to date !! It's not me! You want to understand!? " He doesn’t give you time to react or to answer, he kissed you furiously and desperately ... He kissed you and talked, whispering words that you couldn’t even understand. It was an absurd situation. You really looked like two crazy to tie up. "I " kiss "LOVE " kiss on your neck "YOU" kiss on your lips "Understand???” Licked on you lips And you gasped. you nodded as he put his hands on your face, gently this time, and you stroked his cheek where you first had hit him strong. "You didn’t hurt me ... don’t be worried" You kiss again and again "But you're a fucking bitch ... woe to you, woe to you, if you still dare to pull such a slap to me" this time he laughed and kissed you again.

Your kisses were kisses of love, fervid and eager. You jumped at him and he caught you. You rubbed your hips against his when you hug him finding him excited as you had never felt him. And you were wet, soaking wet, but not for the shower

He went towards the bed, putting you on it and started to undress you, quickly. He took off your top and the pair of his boxers you used for sleeping. In a slow motion he stroked your legs and your tighs, kissing the very top of your skin becoming warmer under his touch.

You lifted you back, leaning on your elbows looking at him while he was undressing. You took the chance to get up and took him in your hand, stroking slowly all his lenght, then putting him in your mouth and licking him.

" OH ... OOOh fucking hell YES! " he cursed and moaned loudly, probably not expecting it. Finally Chad threw his t-shirt behind him and interlaced his fingers in his hair, closing his eyes and enjoying this moment of pure lust. You never get tired of seeing him naked in all his glorious beauty. He stood in front of you as you adjusted your position for sucking him better. With your mouth you sucked while one of your hand went up and down. A hand on his length and the other hand on his testicles. You licked his tip first taking away a drop of his obvious excitement. You licked it all, putting pressure on the vein that protruded behind.

"Yes … HOLY SHIT ... .you're ... you’re so good in that ... keep going ... fuck me with your mouth baby”

He was panting hard and moving his hips, coordinating the movements you was doing with your head. He was good ... so good at these things.

”Shit I’m coming baby ... fuck, fuck, fuck yes..” He slipped out of your mouth with a dirty pop, before coming and he made a mess on top of you, dripping all over your chest and breasts. He usually didn’t make any problem and you didn’t complain …"Yessss ... yes …. oh GOOOOD ..." He enjoyed and panted while you continued to massage, waiting for him to come back from Fantasy Land  . "... sorry Y/N, but If I came into that sweet and delicious mouth of you, I would faint … What the hell has gotten into you baby???!!!””And he laughed, smiled ... he liked it, a lot. You went to the bathroom to clean a little bit, then went back to him, the lights of the bedroom were off, It was all dark and you couldn’t see anything ,but you heard his voice guiding you "Here love ... I’m on the bed " You couldn’t see him, but he could see you through the light of the bathroom. You could hear him smiling as you climbed into the bed and crawled up to his side. His hands took you and pulled you towards him and then underneath him.

“can we end up fighting?” you heard him whispering on your lips . Now that your eyes had used to the darkness and to that dim light, you could see him. You could feel him, that was the important thing.

You closed your eyes and nodded putting your hands on his back and stroked down ‘till his ass ... nice, round and toned … and went up to his shoulders. He stroked your nose with yours, then came down to rub it against your lips. You kissed the tip of his nose. “Stop it love, please let's stop” he begged you, but he was right “let’s stop Chad … forgive me please” He nodded and kissed your lips "And you forgive me ... “

You returned the kiss stroking gently your face and Chad began to make love with you, slow and sensual, rocking his hips in tempting movements.  You lifted a leg, widening your entry and he pushed himself inside, over and over in a very slow pace, taking your leg on his shoulder to push himself completely deeper, as he liked the most.

You arched your back, feeling him to the core, almost touching your soul. And you were panting his name begging him to stay with you, not to leave. "Stay with me Chad ... I can’t live without you " It was true, you knew very well you couldn’t live without him. It was a thought you could not bear. "Oh babe ... say it again ... say that you love me” he asked in your ear, causing you shivers. And he pushed ... pushed ... pushed again … staying attached against you, he pushed. You spread your legs and felt his hand caressing it, going down to your ass and then to the inside of your thigh. You liked it when he touched you at that point while he was inside of you. "Yes ... yes Chad .. don’t stop” "Say you love me Y/N“ "I love you ... I love you sooo much, ooh yes … ” “Oh God, fuck ... I’m melting inside you, you so perfect for me, you fit me so good” he said all between the thrusts, every thrust a word. His voice was sensual and hoarse. Almost a whisper. He didn’t stop, you didn’t want him to stop, it was so good feeling him inside of you, after a long time you were loving each other ... not fucking. "Turn around ..." he told you ... and you did it. You laid down on your stomach and he raised your hips as he used to do to find the right angle. You felt his lips on your ass, kissing and biting a little bit while with his fingers he teased your soaking lips. He touched you in the middle then putting his perfect fingers inside. Oh God his fingers ... Then with his tongue, he traced the trail from your back to your neck, kiss after kiss until arriving to your ear. He placed one hand next to yours and with the other one he guided himself inside you again, all in one thrust, he slipped in with a hoarse groan ... straight inside your ear. He made you scream of pleasure, he filled you so damn fine. He got on all fours on you, in such a way to be able to speak to you sensually in your ear. He moved your hair behind your shoulder and kissed your lobe and just below ... pulling you mad and hungry for love . He was sending you out of mind ... as always ... he was so alcoholic ... he had the same effect on you as alcohol ... he drenched your mind and made your head spin. Clouding your sight. Your were panting and groaning with pleasure as you felt him come in and out. It was his favorite, but you were not sorry either. "Touch yourself … “ he whispered to you" touch yourself ... you know I like it baby” He didn’t need to pray, and you did as he said. while he was pushing, you touched. Then he stretched his hand over yours and he did it with you. His fingers on yours in the same rhythm. He was panting in your ear and talking to you about love. Sweet words mixed with very dirty ones. He kissed your neck and then your back ... You couldn’t take it anymore, you was about to collapse. All those feelings were unbearable. "Chad ... faster ..." He heard him chuckle, but he satisfied you. He increased his pace and you could feel his muscels stiffen. He let go your hand, you clung to the pillow as he kept pushing faster and harder. ” Love ... I can’t" he pushed hard "Live" pushed again "Without you ... TOO "and he accelerated so strong that you screamed in pleasure, you couldn’t take it anymore, you collapsed, your legs trembled, as well as your whole body underneath him. "Yes ... yes ... oh Fuck YES ... mmmm yes ... " you heard him coming a second time, this time inside you. You liked feeling his hot filling. You called his name into the pillow as he rubbed his face on your shoulder and breathed breathlessly.

Chadwick collapsed on top of you and then moved to a side, holding you close to him. You were both sweaty and still panting. You kept kissing and caressing each other as if you didn’t have enough yet.

"What should I do with you? ... tell me Y/N " he told you laughing on your lips keeping talking “You make me pissed off as few people do, indeed, like no one has ever done. And then you make me have the most amazing and divine beautiful sex in the world ... you're a such a bitch” he smiled tenderly and held you tighter. "I don’t want to piss you off anymore Chad ... sorry" "Enough to say sorry ... kiss me"

[renasrouge]

How to Fail an Identity Reveal

read on ao3

summary: Adrien stumbled forward, landing in a heap on the floor and blocking Marinette’s path to her desk.

“Ack,” he spluttered.

Marinette stared down at him. “Uh, hi?”

word count: 3467

a/n: so some background on this fic - it’s reverse crush au! essentially, adrien likes marinette and marinette likes chat noir, although their personalities remain the same as canon. also, huge thanks to @felinedragonslayer​, @match-mochi, and @momusuu​ who beta’ed this ages ago. your feedback really helped keep me going <3

Adrien set his eyes with determination. “I’m gonna do it.”

“You’re gonna do it.”

“I can do this!”

“Go, dude!” Nino clapped his friend on the back.

Adrien stood confidently in the literature classroom, his eyes locked on the doorframe. Soft footsteps echoed down the hallway — footsteps that he recognized immediately.

It was Marinette.

Here she comes—

Adrien felt something twist in his stomach, and he suddenly stiffened. “Nino, no no no, mission abort!” Adrien leaped into his desk and started frantically scribbling away at homework: something, anything to keep himself busy.

Exasperated, Nino took out his headphones and pushed Adrien to his feet. “Bro, you’re gonna tell her how you feel. As your certified wingman — well, you’ll thank me later.”

And as Marinette entered the room, Nino gave his friend a push. Adrien stumbled forward, landing in a heap on the floor and blocking Marinette’s path to her desk.

“Ack,” Adrien spluttered.

Marinette stared down at him with a hesitant expression. “Uh, hi?”

Adrien, who had turned bright red, quickly scrambled to his feet. “Sorry! I just my balance. I mean, I lost the balance. I mean my balance. I mean—” Adrien’s eyes locked with Marinette’s — they were a glowing sky blue — and he realized that he’d never been this close to her before. Tiny freckles dotted her cheeks, and she was looking up at him so intently, her eyes wide with amusement and concern. A cuteness overload, in his opinion.

Well. Adrien had completely lost his train of thought.

Worried, he glanced to Nino — tell me what to do, bro! Unfortunately, his best buddy only sent him a finger gun and continued scrolling through his phone. Traitor .

As the silence continued, Adrien looked around at everything but Marinette, then cleared his throat. Words failed him. Come on, Adrien. You’re acting like an idiot. Think… think… be suave. Be Chat Noir.

“Er.” Swallow. Adrien continued with newfound confidence. “H–how are you feline? Cause you’re purrfect, I’m not kitten.”

Marinette stared back, her concern morphing to confusion.

Wait, what did I just say? Take back the cat puns, take back the cat puns!

“Uhh, I meant to say paw-don me for blocking your way. No, purr-don me. Wait, pardon. Gah!” Adrien desperately clawed at his hair. “Just kill me now.” Adrien buried his face in his hands, waiting for Marinette to laugh in her usual, light hearted way and move on.

To his surprise, though, there was only silence. One moment passed, then two, then three.

Adrien finally snuck a glance at Marinette. Her lips were parted, and her eyes quickly darted around his face. Soon, she took on a look of horror. “CH–CH–CHAT NOIR?” she screamed, pointing a finger at his face.

All the blood drained from Adrien’s face. How had she figured it out? “Wait no, this isn’t what it looks like! I’m not—”

“CHAT NOIR — YOU — CHAT — ADRIEN — YOU?” Marinette exclaimed.

Adrien was downright confused. “I–I’m not Chat Noir!”

Marinette took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’re Chat Noir.”

“Nope, just Adrien!”

“You’re Chat Noir ,” she stated. “Blonde, green eyes… the fencing… the puns… how did I not see it?” Marinette suddenly flushed. “Y–You’re CHAT NOIR — HUGE CRUSH — DARK CUPID — KISS — YOU — MODEL!”

“WHAT?!”

Marinette had stopped talking, though. She took short, shallow breaths: in and out, in and out. She then swung her backpack off, javelin-threw it across the room, and sprinted down the hallway with a good-natured scream.

Back in the classroom, Adrien and Nino were dead silent, waiting as Marinette’s hyperventilating breaths retreated into the distance.

Then, Adrien cast a nervous glance toward Nino. “Uh, so Marinette mentioned a crush.” He smiled. “Do you think maybe—”

Nino cut him off and narrowed his eyes. “Cat puns? Dude, you totally are Chat Noir.”

“No, totally not… ”

“I can’t believe you had a secret identity this whole time. Bro!”

Adrien relented. “Er, yeah.”

Nino grinned. “Hey, I’m not mad or anything… Okay, I’m a little worried for Mari right now. But anyway, dude, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Chat Noir sat on a Parisian rooftop, nervously swiping through the apps on his baton screen. Ladybug was supposed to show up for their twilight patrol five minutes ago, but she was running late. He almost considered watching some anime (a rerun of Naruto would calm his nerves for sure) but he heard Ladybug calling out his name.

“Chat Noir?” her voice was quiet — unsure, even, and definitely out of character — as she took a seat next to him. “I need to talk to you.”

“Same.” Chat sighed, collapsing his baton. “I have bad news, so you should probably hear it first.”

For a moment, Ladybug looked like she wanted to protest. (And was her face always that red under the mask?) But then she nodded.

“Two friends of mine found out my identity. They’re trustworthy, but I just… “ Chat cringed. “Our kwamis don’t want us to tell anyone, and I broke that rule.”

“Two friends?” Ladybug echoed. She groaned. “That second one might be my fault… ”

“Huh? No, It was an accident — totally my fault, actually.“ Chat looked uncomfortable. "I… my best friend made this stupid plan for me to ask out my crush, and I fell on the floor and made some cat puns… it was bad. Like really bad.”

But when Chat turned to Ladybug, her face was frozen in a half-cringe, half-smile. And yep, she was definitely redder than usual.

“Crush?! You like Marinette?!” she screamed.

“M–Marinette? Did I say her name?” Chat facepalmed. “Ack, I’m a failure at this whole secret identity thing. I meant Marie. Marie, not Marinette. Totally. Marie’s a common name, right?”

Ladybug took a deep, shuddering breath and promptly whisper-yelled: “CHAT — LIKES — MARINETTE — THE — WHAT — FLIRT — AND — THREE KIDS — HOW?!”

Chat buried his face in his hands. “You know, that’s exactly how Marinette reacted too.”

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug nearly screamed, her voice echoing through the adjacent streets.

She grabbed Chat by the shoulders and stared straight at his face. Ladybug opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly determined to say something. But before Chat could ask what it was, she backed away, latched her yoyo to a cell phone tower, and zipped away, screaming.

“Hey!” Chat Noir called after her. “What about patrol?”

There was no answer; Ladybug was far gone and probably still gasping and heaving.

A minute or two later, Chat Noir took out his baton and hit himself on the forehead a few times. Maybe so Plagg could feel his pain. Maybe because a facepalm just didn’t seem like enough.

Idiot.

“CHAT NOIR — ADRI — CHAT — CRUSH — ME — MARINETTE — ME!”

The passers-by stared strangely at Marinette, who was sitting on a park bench, her mouth open in a silent shriek.

Tikki sighed. “Marinette—”

But Marinette was gazing into the distance with a mixture of giddiness and shock. “Chat likes me,” she insisted.

It was too much to process. For some inconceivable reason, Adrien — sweet, kind Adrien who was also sweet, kind, brave, intelligent, perfect Chat Noir — liked her.

Come to think of it, Adrien had been blushing furiously during the Ultimate Mecha Strike competition. And both of them had stuttered grievously through all of Evillustrator.

In fact, she’d almost kissed Chat Noir for their class movie. And no, she’d actually kissed him during Dark Cupid! No wonder that the spell had broken; he liked her back!

And he’d been trying to ask her out this morning.

Nope. Marinette.exe had stopped working.

Breathe. Breathe, Marinette urged herself. Fact: Chat Noir tried to ask you out today. Okay. Fact: His face is all over your room. Okay. Everything’s normal—

“H–Hey, Marinette?”

Marinette immediately snapped up. She tensed and turned around, and there he was: Chat Noir, standing in the middle of the park with a tentative expression.

“Um, are you okay?” he spoke quietly. “I mean, you found out — well, who I am, and you screamed, so I just—” Chat cleared his throat. “Are you okay, Mari?”

Marinette froze. (The apologetic smile, the spring green eyes: this was definitely Adrien.)

Then, she realized that he’d been expecting a response.

“Yeah! Uh huh. I’m fine.” Marinette laughed nervously, hoping to cover her mistake. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting for you to be… him… ”

“It’s okay.”

“And sorry for, you know, running away.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Marinette locked eyes with Chat Noir as a soft summer breeze swept through the park. He approached the bench and took a seat next to Marinette, whose heartbeat immediately doubled.

They were quiet for a moment or two.

“Well, ah, why are you here?” Marinette broke the silence. “Shouldn’t you be on patrol?”

(Ladybug had deserted Chat Noir half an hour ago, so if he hadn’t already detransformed, he must’ve been keeping a vigil on Paris.)

“Patrol’s cancelled.” Chat sighed. He hesitantly placed a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “And… there’s something you should know, Mari. Ladybug and I are supposed to keep our identities secret, so you can’t tell anyone who I am. Not even Ladybug. Especially not Ladybug… ”

Marinette frowned. “Ladybug already knows,” she muttered.

“Huh?” Chat asked. (Ack, he’d actually heard her.) “You… you already told Ladybug who I am? You already talked to Ladybug?”

"Pfft… ” Marinette denied.

Chat’s face contorted with worry. “ Did you?”

“No!” Marinette shouted. “Well, not exactly. I… I… ”

“You what?” he pressed.

Marinette squeezed her eyes shut, and said in a whisper-shout: “I am Ladybug!”

Deafening silence passed between the two of them.

When Marinette opened her eyes, Chat’s face was dusted with pink. He was gawking at her earrings, then her face, then down at her purse, where Tikki peered up at him with a sweet smile.

Chat Noir blinked rapidly.

“You… ” he gestured to Marinette. “You! Ladybug! YOU — BLUE EYES — CUTE — DESIGNER — LADYBUG!”

Marinette flushed.

“Oh, okay,” Chat said calmly. “You’re Ladybug. I’m Adrien.”

She nodded slowly. This was going well.

Except then Chat Noir’s eyes bulged in realization, and he pointed a shaking finger at her face, and he completely and utterly paled .

“AHHHH! YOU — LADYBUG — I TOLD YOU — THE CRUSH?”

Marinette nodded again, looking away. By this point, she was red enough to rival Ladybug’s suit.

“Adrien… ” she started.

But Chat Noir was standing up and retreating from Marinette, his silver shoes grating against the concrete sidewalk. “No, no, nope—”

“Wait, Adrien, it’s okay!”

“This never happened. Nope, no, I didn’t tell you—”

Chat Noir, who was clearly avoiding looking at Marinette, promptly retreated into a steel garbage can. The lid clinked, clanked, and fell onto the sidewalk.

Chat cursed loudly, and when he looked up, Marinette held his gaze. “Adr—” she implored.

“No, no, ahhhh!” Chat Noir looked even paler than before, and now he wheezed with shallow, scratchy breaths. In and out, inhale, exhale —  and then the superhero flipped around, grabbed his baton, and vaulted away, yelling into the Parisian streets.

Back in the park, Marinette was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, hand stretched out in a confused goodbye.

“So… I’ll see you tomorrow?” she said weakly.

Tikki squeezed out from Marinette’s purse. “That… didn’t go too well,” she remarked quietly.

Marinette sighed. “No, it really didn’t.“

Ten minutes later found Adrien pacing in his room, scratching furiously at his hair. "Ladybug. Marinette is Ladybug,” he repeated. “I told her I had a crush on her. This is a disaster!”

“Chill, kid,” Plagg said boredly.

“I can’t chill!” Adrien waved his arms around wildly. “I totally weirded her out! Did you see how fast Ladybug ran away? I just had to go and say I liked Marinette.” Adrien slumped into his armchair and turned his face to the ceiling.

Plagg made a face. “Look, kid, she’s probably just a Chat Noir fangirl or something.”

“A Chat Noir fangirl,” Adrien echoed.

He pictured Marinette designing Chat-themed clothes, pinning photographs to her walls, reading his interviews, tying her hair with two green ribbons… the notion was completely ridiculous.

“Anyway,” Plagg continued, digging his fangs into a wedge of camembert, “she definitely doesn’t think you’re weird.”

Adrien shook his head. “Really? But I ran into a trash can — Plagg! Plagg, stop laughing! It’s not funny!”

The kwami brushed a tear from his eye. “That’s hilarious.”

“Gaaah,” Adrien said, hitting himself in the face with a folder.

Now seemingly concerned, Plagg distanced himself from the camembert. “Adrien, you’re overthinking this,” he said. “You know Marinette; you know Ladybug. If anything, she probably thinks you think she’s weird.”

“What?”

“You two just need to have a good heart-to-heart talk,” Plagg said flippantly. “Sort things out over some high-quality cheese… ”

“Plagg—”

“Camembert, or maybe brie… ”

But a realization was forming in Adrien’s mind. “You know, Plagg, that’s actually a good point.”

Plagg blinked. “The brie?”

“No, the talking,” Adrien said.

After all, why should he be worrying so much about Marinette when he could just talk to her? And Plagg did have a point: they’d learned each other’s identities today, so maybe Marinette was having as much of an identity crisis as he was (pun intended).

“Can we still buy the brie though?” Plagg interjected.

Adrien rolled his eyes, and without answering, snatched his phone from the table. One deep breath; then—

to Mari (8:21 pm) Hey Marinette, I’m really sorry about leaving earlier… Can we meet in the courtyard before school starts?

[Mari is typing… ]

[Mari is typing… ]

[Mari is typing… ]

from Mari (8:24 pm) see you tomorrow

The next morning, Adrien woke to the pitter-patter of rain outside. His lock screen informed him that it was 6 in the morning — far too early to meet Marinette at school — but he couldn’t fall back asleep.

Ten minutes later, Adrien was promptly clutching an ebony umbrella and sneaking out his mansion’s back doors. Bits of pink sunrise peeked over the horizon as he strolled toward Collège François-Dupont.

The entire scene was a bit surreal, he thought. The drizzling rain, the brightening sky… they reminded him of a different day. Of Marinette’s gentle laugh, an umbrella closing on her tiny frame, his coup de foudre as thunder had rumbled in the distance.

Ugh, Agreste. Adrien banged his head against the umbrella’s stem as he climbed the school steps. It’s not even daytime and you already sound like a lovesick idiot. Not to mention you’re here a whole hour early! You’ll have to mope here for who-knows-how-long until Marinette gets here.

But once the courtyard came into view, there she was, standing lonesome in the rain. Marinette was turned away from him, looking up at the library. Her hair hung in loose waves, and she stood shyly but confidently, lifting a single palm to the rain.

She looked so peaceful, not to mention beautiful.

Adrien couldn’t keep from smiling as he approached. “Hey.”

Marinette turned slowly, droplets of rain settled in her bangs. “Hey,” she echoed, smiling.

Adrien’s heart skipped a bit before his gaze settled on a floating red blob — a kwami — in the corner of his vision. Here it was: real, undeniable proof that his partner had been Marinette all along.

The kwami floated to him joyfully. “Nice to meet you, Adrien! I’m Tikki, Ladybug’s kwami, but you already know that.” She smiled cheerfully.

He couldn’t believe that Marinette had such an adorable kwami. She seemed much sweeter than Plagg, and he was ready to declare this very observation when Plagg phased out from his bag.

“Tikki. Long time no see, eh?” he remarked.

“Plagg!” Tikki cried, racing forward to crush the other kwami in an embrace. Oddly, Plagg hummed and relaxed into the hug.

At that moment, Marinette giggled quietly, and as Adrien turned to her, he remembered why there were here in the first place. (i.e. him and his stupid cat puns, but also to talk.)

Adrien and Marinette became locked in a stare.

Five seconds later, they began in sync: “So, I’m sorry—”

Adrien immediately snapped his mouth shut. “No, you first!”

“No, go ahead,” Marinette insisted.

“No, you.”

“Just start first!”

He nodded slightly, averting his eyes from Marinette’s in favor of watching the spring rain. "Sorry for running off yesterday,” he began faintly. “I know I didn’t make the most pawsome exit—”

Marinette snickered. “No kidding,” she teased. She sounded so much like Ladybug, yet so obviously Marinette.

Adrien turned to face her, immediately encouraged. “—but you have to admit, the situation was pretty mortifying! I mean, that stupid confession… anyway, I’m sor—”

Marinette’s smile fell, and he stopped abruptly. “Stupid?” she echoed softly. “So you don’t like me?”

“I, uh, w–well.” Oh, great. Adrien had flushed red to the tips of his ears. “I do, but that’s just not how… and I’m guessing you don't… ack.” He was a complete failure. “Where’s Nino when you need him?” Adrien muttered.

Marinette’s worry had given way to a smile, though. “I don’t what?” she asked. “I don’t like you?”

“Well, yeah,” he mumbled. But then again, maybe… “Unless—”

Breaking her gaze from his, Marinette continued in a near-stammer. “Um, A–Adrien, have you ever seen my wallpaper?”

What? Adrien blanched. There’s no way I heard that question right. “Uh, no?” he replied. “What does that have to do with this?”

Marinette reached into her coat, and Adrien immediately found himself face-to-face with Marinette’s phone. His eyes widened: it was him. Her entire phone wallpaper was Chat Noir — a conglomeration of candid Ladyblog shots and magazine covers, cropped and cut and layered, then dotted with pink and green hearts.

“I’ve liked you for a while,” Marinette admitted, still averting her eyes. “Your face is all over my room, actually.”

Adrien lurched back, stuttering: “Are — Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

Adrien blinked.

He must’ve actually been dreaming right now.

Finally, after seconds of silence and internal screaming, Adrien opened his mouth and let out a slow, shaky breath. “Okay, okay, okay,” he repeated. “I really wanna yell right now, but I think we’ve learned that’s a bad idea.”

Then, he couldn’t help himself: he grinned, an ear-splitting one, practically bursting with joy.

Marinette returned the gesture nervously, her face burning scarlet. “I’ve, um, liked you since Stoneheart, actually,” she admitted. “When you believed in me.”

Oh, that moment, when Ladybug had forgotten to purify the akuma and the Parisian citizens had rounded against them. He remembered trying to cheer her up. Her confidence had come back stronger than ever, and she’d brazenly led them to their first real victory.

Adrien only grinned wider. “I've… I’ve liked you since the first day of school when I gave you my umbrella. Right here.”

“I might’ve liked you a little after that,” Marinette muttered.

“Yes!” Adrien laughed triumphantly.

They fell into a silence again, although this time, it was calming instead of nervous. Adrien dragged his gaze around the courtyard where rain was pouring in light sheets, painting a pitter patter pitter patter that rang like a low hum.

Then, he looked to Marinette. And in that moment, as she twirled her black umbrella against the bleary, rain-washed landscape and fixed him with a nervous smile, he was entirely unsurprised that he’d fallen for her on day one.

He liked her. And by some miraculous miracle, she liked him.

It was now or never.

“Um, so, I was trying to do this yesterday before you ran out screaming—” he started.

“Please don’t bring that up again.”

Adrien laughed. “Right. Anyway, Marinette.” He gathered all his Chat Noir charm, then took a deep breath and smirked. “Would you paw-lease go to the mew-vies with me be-claws I really like you?”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “I — wow, that was awful.”

“You mean clawful.”

“No, I don’t,” Marinette frowned, but he could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. “Gosh, I can’t believe you blew your secret identity with cat puns, Adrien.”

But Adrien was now staring at her expectantly. “So, um, is that a yes or a no?”

“You idiot,” Marinette said, jabbing him in the arm. “Of course it’s a yes.”

“YES!” Adrien was ecstatic. “I — DATE — YES!”

“Yes,” Marinette repeated.

“Well… hey,” he began slowly. “Since school doesn’t start for a while, we probably have enough time to go to a café?”

“Let’s go!”

Without another beat, Marinette beamed at him, looking absolutely radiant. She latched her hand into his, and they dove — arms linked — into the swirling rain.

Epilogue

Alya Césaire (@ladyblogger) 4h [photo] give it up for adrienette! happy 2nd date, ayyyyy proud of u mari <3 <3 <3

Alya Césaire (@ladyblogger) 1m ladynoir is… canon?

Alya Césaire (@ladyblogger) 1m OMG ITS CANON

Alya Césaire (@ladyblogger) 29s [video] HE PLANNED FOR A FISTBUMP AND SHE WENT FOR A KISS INSTEAD I CANT ASDFGHJKL

Alya Césaire (@ladyblogger) 8s IM SCREAMING AHHHHHHHHHHHHHWERCISDFUOIWEUHSDKFKSDFOIUSDFOUICSDFWEUASDFOIJSOIDFJIUYIUEFSUDFNNDSF