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rizumary · 3 years

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In the Garden Full of Stars

✦ Summary: In a few months since they had started dating, Iwaizumi had found something as endearing as it was a complete torture for him: his girlfriend was too clueless and innocent for her own good. Of course it wasn’t something that would hinder his affection for her. On the contrary, Iwaizumi sometimes wondered how he could possibly hold himself back if Hana kept looking at him like he was the absolute wonder of this universe. ✦ AO3 ver — nutteu ✦ Word count: 9.7k

In all his life, Hajime had always been a morning person, an early riser. Tooru had been particularly bitchy about this, but he ignored the jab and the whine at his, apparently, “gross habit”. Tooru and his sensitive ass could wake up late right into the doom’s day, for all he cared. These days, though, he found that he was tolerating someone’s habit of waking up late, and even taking the extra miles to encourage the change in habit. Besides, he got to meet his girlfriend’s groggy face early in the morning, and her sleepy smile in the process. It was honestly a win-win situation for everyone involved.

At this point, Hajime was familiar enough with her mother to be able to sit in their living room and waited for her comfortably, instead of awkwardly standing outside of her gate in the morning. The neighbors once or twice peeked from behind their fences and frowned at him. They probably thought he was a weirdo who stalked the daughter of Akeno’s family, or something. Remembering that just made heaved a deep sigh. The things he did for his clumsy girlfriend.

He didn’t mind, though. Not even a bit. Because Hana greeted him in the morning like she was the happiest person on earth, like she just woke up right into her sweetest dream. The light blush on her cheeks, the fresh scent emanating from her, the way she just stared up at him for a moment before smiling brightly again. Like she couldn’t believe he was real, like she couldn’t believe he was there to walk with her to the bus stop, hold her hand throughout the way, sit next to her in the bus, and listen to her chatters in the morning.

To be fair, Hajime couldn’t believe he was willing to do all of those as well. If someone told him a year ago that he was going to be this smitten with a clumsy, honest, heartwarming cotton candy, he’d politely say thank you, and tell them to do a double laps, regardless if they were in the team or not.

Now, though, he thought fondly, watching as Hana took the box of bento from her mom and kissed her cheek—now, there was nothing he could think of but how lucky he was, to find someone who accepted and wanted him as much as this person.

He bowed to the middle-aged lady, and was pulled out of the living room by an excited Hana. It was quite a windy morning, the scent of sweet flowers and fresh air in the early morning wafted to his nose, coupled with faint smell of food from the houses nearby. It felt like something familiar, it felt like a morning he enjoyed the most these days.

“Did you have your breakfast yet, Hajime-san?” the girl asked, peering at him with pale eyes and a small smile.

He smiled back at her and nodded. “Yeah, made some hamburgers this morning. I brought some for you too.”

She squealed, in that tiny squeak that was laced with happiness. It was so characteristically her that Hajime had to laugh for a moment. In mornings like this, Hajime usually made something to share with her at lunch. He didn’t always pick her up, only at times, as their house was essentially in a different area. When he did, he would come to her house by the earliest bus, sometimes his mom would drop him off there if she got some errands to do in the morning as well. They would walk to the bus stop together, hand in hand, and sat next to each other in the bus.

“This is my favorite thing about waking up early, you know?” Hana once said, the curve of her smile reflected from the bus’ window.

“Taking a bus?” he teased, and let out a small laugh when she whipped around and pouted, hitting lightly at his arm.

“No, Hajime-san, spending time with you,” she corrected. “I mean, every moment with you is my favorite. But sitting together with you in the bus is really comfortable you know? We can talk and be close to each other. You make me feel warm and safe, Hajime-san.”

He wasn’t prepared for the way she said those intimate words, so easily, so honest, so earnest. He was reminded of the girl who got embarrassed because she tripped, or said something way too loud. And then he was reminded of how shamelessly, unforgivingly honest and blunt Hana could be. She didn’t look like she realized that the things she said weren’t something people could usually say so easily, either. People had their own different egos, Hajime knew that. Even someone like Hana; but she was different in the sense that she perceived things differently than other people, and it resulted in her tendencies of spewing the most embarrassing, bravest thing someone could say with such a straight face.

He got used to it, later on. But it still made his heart race, nonetheless. Sometimes, he thought about the way Hana looked at him in the morning; like he was a wonder, a dream—and wondered if she saw the same thing reflected in his eyes as well.

In the instances when he didn’t pick her up, she went to school by herself like usual, and Hajime would wait for her at the bus stop near their school. They’d walk to the school together then. In the way, Hana usually chattered about her latest progress in her art, her side projects, her lessons and whined about her homework as well (she was a diligent girl, Hajime noticed. But she needed a lot of push and encouragements), some games she had started to pick up in the arcade (and the ever-strong obsession with the cranes), or showing him some new clothes that had piqued her interest up on her phone. Hajime would nod along the way, but mostly let her talk, listening to her with a small smile present on his lips, and watching out just in case she tripped or slipped because she didn’t pay attention to the sidewalk.

At times, Hana was worried that she might be bothering him with all her chatters and rants. But in all honesty, Hajime liked listening to her. He wasn’t exactly the most talkative person out there, unlike Tooru. And Hana always had the most interesting thing to talk about, anyways. It was just the way she talked, the cadence she used, the expression, the gesticulation of her hand as she told her stories. He enjoyed those, instead of getting irritated. Maybe he was biased, but Hajime was pretty sure he could just lay there and listen to her talk for hours on end.

He would drop her off at the front of her class, before going to his; waving at her and trying to ignore the curious stare from the kouhais. At times Tooru would pop his head out of the window of his class and grinned at Hajime, teasing him with, “Did you finish your job as the bodyguard?” or “Just came back from dropping the princess off, Iwa-chan?” and he either ignored it, or flicked his forehead hard enough for it to be red throughout the day.

It was a new set of habit, a new set of morning, but Hajime wasn’t complaining. It wasn’t bad at all, starting his day with Hana’s chatters and the excited smile on her lips; the small hand wrapped around his, the soft words of ‘Good morning, Hajime-san’ that felt like a douse of cotton candy in the misty morning. He liked it.

He liked it a lot.

Hana more often than not came to the gym now, every single day Hajime had practice. It came to the point of her being an unofficial manager, helping the other players with their bottles of water, chatting with them to ease them up from the tension of practices and tournament preparations, giving them their towels, helped with the presentation of tactics and formations, and overall just cheered them up from the sidelines. It was new, for Hajime. To have someone this enthusiastic with what he did, who even came and helped around, and he liked it so far.

Of course, there were nasty things going around as well. He knew Hana heard of those, knew that most of the regulars also knew.

“Did you know?” he one day asked, because there was a careless motherfucker who accidentally said disgusting things about Hana, right in the hearing range of the both of them. Hana acted like she didn’t hear it, however.

But all Hana gave to him was a reassuring smile, and a gentle caress to the side of his face. “I always did. But I never have to worry about those, Hajime-san. Because I know that you’ll protect me, that’s why I let them be, and hold on. I can show them, and show you, that I’m stronger than anything they can say about me.”

Hajime took that in, and smiled softly at the answer.

“Hana?” he called, motioning with his hand for her to come closer. They were the last ones in the gym, Tooru left earlier because he had to pick someone up. Hajime vaguely remembered the familiar voice on the other line when Tooru answered a call. A certain kouhai in his middle school—which wasn’t his business at all.

She scooted closer, eyes wide and wondering. “Yeah?”

He gently pushed away the strands of her newly cut bang, and kissed her forehead; soft, trying to convey feelings he was too dumb to explain into words.

But the way Hana stuttered and squeaked and blushed scarlet was enough to tell him that his feelings did come across. He was glad, he thought, smiling at his girlfriend, who tried futilely to hide a smile behind the curtain of her hair. He was glad that she chose him, and he chose to push through and be brave as well—to come out of his shell, and pursue her the way she had tirelessly did the same.

He was glad that life was kind enough to let her stay by his side. And he didn’t plan on letting go; not now, and not for a long time.

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have surprised him as much, but it did anyway—in a way that made his heart beat faster, and the warmth seeped into his skin like a blanket. In a way that reminded him of Tooru’s laughter and the knowing glint in his eyes, as he said, “simp.” Yeah, Hajime wouldn’t even deny it anymore. It really was hard not to be captivated by this kind of innocence, though.

Hana was… not so much innocent as she was just clueless. She was oblivious to the dirty innuendos and the nudges to divulge her love life. Being his girlfriend, it was pretty normal for her to know his friends as well, not to mention that they knew her personally from all those time she spent in the gym. They all talked and joked with each other, trying to include her as much as possible so she wouldn’t feel left out. But there were certain topics that boys caught on faster than anything else, hormone riddled brain recognizing the dirty topics faster than they could catch a serve.

“Ah, but Valentine really is the best time of the year, isn’t it?” Tooru started, looking up dreamily at the bleak ceiling. Hajime didn’t know where he got all those dramatics energy reservation inside of him. He wouldn’t want to know, either. “Chocolates, ladies shyly confessing to you, the little flutters of their laughter as they gather around and talk about the boys they’ll give the chocolate to. Ah! Youth!”

Youth my ass, Hajime wanted to say, as the laughter erupted around them. Tooru was a good captain, and a ridiculously amazing player, but he was a certified clown as well. He didn’t understand how the topic of exams, and the upcoming break for this term, just suddenly evolved into upcoming holidays, and then the argument of which holiday in a year was the best out of everything. Stupidly enough, the other just went along with Tooru’s bait and it got into a full-blown session of mooning over Valentine’s Day.

“You think so too, right, Hana-chan? I mean, you confessed on Valentine’s Day. I fully expect Iwa-chan to at least give you some good ‘ol smooches to show al the love he got in that cold, shriveled heart of his.” Tooru turned to Hana all of the sudden then—who let out a small, surprised squeak. “Hana-chan, don’t just make moony moony eyes at Iwa-chan! Come talk to us too, we’re lonely,” he complained, then fake-wailed so disgustingly that Hajime’s eyebrows just automatically went up two notches higher.

“I’m sorry, Oikawa-san!” she said, panicking and trying to soothe the big baby by patting his arm. “Um, Valentine was memorable for me, because of Hajime-san. But my favorite holiday is Christmas, actually,” she looked so earnestly apologetic that even Tooru forgot to continue his fake-crying for a moment. “We get to see and spend the day with our family, or just have it with our friends, or have the day off for ourselves. Of course, it’s so sad to think that there are people who still have to work on Christmas, but they’ll come home eventually and will have the time to rest as well—and earned extra money! It’s just a warm holiday for me, even if it’s in December, you know? Doesn’t it make you happy that you can forget about your burden and responsibilities for a moment, and just sit and enjoy some hot chocolates under the Christmas tree?”

For a moment, the whole circle was stunned into silence with her lengthy answer. Hajime stared, too; unabashed, devoted. He almost laughed with how the situation had turned. This—this girl just changed a teasing mood into an unexpectedly wholesome discussion, and powered through the jokes and nudges from Tooru beforehand. Maybe not powering through as much as dismissing it altogether, since those jokes probably went over her head anyway.

When the other boys were still recovering from the abrupt shift of mood, and Tooru was hiding his chuckles on his sleeve, Hajime caressed the top of Hana’s head and smiled down at her when she looked up with confusion and worry in her eyes. “Yeah, Christmas is pretty great. Maybe we can go out on Christmas Eve? We can see the Winter Illumination light in Johzenji.”

The pale eyes lighted up immediately, before crinkling into crescent moons as she smiled so hard it made her glow. Hajime couldn’t compete with this girl. She was too much, too lovely, too bad for his poor, cold, shriveled heart.

“Really? We can go there, Hajime-san?” she was all up on his space, and Hajime’s breath got stuck in the vicinity of his throat and lungs. It was hard to breathe properly with how close they were; close enough he could see her long lashes. “Is it really okay? I mean—I would love to go there and spend the Christmas with you, but… won’t you have any other plan for Christmas?”

He shrugged, smiling a little at her. “That is my plan, though?”

She gave him a bright grin that shot straight through his heart, and started chattering about how pretty the light shows would be, how much she was looking forward to this. As they all got excited for a holiday that was still too far away, Hajime gave small, continuous pats to her shoulders. A gesture he had found to be soothing and grounding. It became a habit, somehow, but she didn’t mind and he liked doing it as well. It worked out for the both of them. He did realize when he felt like someone was watching him, though.

When he looked from watching Hana and her excited chatter, he found that Tooru was smiling at the both of them. He didn’t look teasing, didn’t look mischievous; just a plain, sincere smile that reminded Hajime why he still stayed as his best friend for as long as he did. And then, of course, he had to ruin it by scooting closer, and whispered, “You’re so whipped, Iwa-chan.”

“Shut the fuck up you ugly, unused tinsel.”

“Waaah, Hana-chan! Iwa-chan is so mean to me!”

As Hana played along with Tooru’s stupid antics, and the conversation flowed freely around them, Hajime felt an inexplicable confusion and surprising feeling of comfort and endearment towards this discovery. How could a person, who wasn’t that much sheltered by her family; who understood the bad and the good, as clear as the sun and the moon; who had experienced bad things; who was friend with all type of people; who was present for multiple conversations regarding intimate topics—be this clueless and innocent about it? It was a big mystery to Hajime. Either Hana really was that clueless, or she just didn’t care much about this.

Or maybe, she did know, but didn’t understand the extent of it. This was also a possibility. But the fact remained that she was gullible about this sort of topic, and it gave a sense of comfort to Hajime. That Hana would always be the Hana he knew. That this kind of behavior was so her to the point that Hajime wasn’t even surprised, just a little bit confused. It was… endearing as well, to see her so oblivious and earnest in her replies about it, too. He also discovered that he was progressively getting more and more endeared by literally everything she did.

Smiling, crying, whining, chattering, sitting in silence, angry at the crane games, eating, hopping around, helping people, drawing, talking to Hajime like it was her most favorite thing to do in the world. Nearly everything, really.

“Hajime-san?” Hana inquired, peering close to his face and made Hajime’s heart suddenly climb to his throat. “What are you smiling about?”

He shook his head, opting to hold her hand tighter instead. Smiling when, instead of pushing him for answers, she just smiled and squeezed his hand back before diverting her attention to the circle of conversation at hand.

There were times like this, when Hana’s obliviousness came in spades even with all the teasings and multiple innuendos. There were also times when people tried to get her to spill about her love affair, hoping for dirty details and possibly things to embarrass Hajime about. But she just answered with a cheery smile and ran her mouth about Hajime, about their dates, about how great and caring and understanding he was to her. It was… embarrassing. But, just like this time, Hajime felt his heart fluttered like a mad dog in its cage, the enveloping warmth that felt like it was a sunny day for eternity. Like it was a nice day in a spring time; peaceful, content. Happy.

One of the things Hana was most excited about being a senpai, was meeting Kindaichi and Kunimi. She had heard a lot about them (as well as a certain Kageyama Tobio, a name that Hajime never uttered in front of her beforehand, for good reasons). Understandably, she was excited because these were Hajime’s underclassmen since he was in middle school. But to watch the determination in her eyes, how she vowed to be the bestest senpai to ever grace the earth for them, doting on them, and become a cool, reliable senpai all around—it was both funny and warming, all at once.

Of course, to no one’s surprise, she had failed at that spectacularly, and—though eventually become one of Kunimi’s and Kindaichi’s closest senpai—had instead come to rely on them whenever she tripped or slipped or forgot something (or when she got lost in tournaments, when there were too many people around and she got separated from the team). It was, again, most endearing to see her whined and cried about it, how she had failed to be the bestest senpai to ever grace the earth.

“You’re still the bestest kouhai I had ever wanted in this earth, though,” he said, nuzzling close and kissing the top of her head. “You can be assured of that.”

In an instant, she beamed at him; ultra-shiny today with her newly bought sunflower dress. “Really, Hajime-san? You really mean that?”

“Uhuh,” he nodded, smiling all the while. He found it gradually hard to not smile in the presence of this ball of sunshine and determination, as the time went by.

And then, almost like she had wanted to torture Hajime intentionally, she stepped closer into his space, and laid her head on the crook of his neck, whispering, “You’re the bestest boyfriend I had ever wanted in my life, too, Hajime-san.”

It was the moment that mark the process of Hajime’s ticking time bomb of his self-control.

Sometimes, there were happy days.

Life with Hana in it was starkly different. Hana brought something to Hajime’s life that he knew was missing before. The constant presence of someone that he knew he could anchor himself on; someone he could trust with his heart the way he had never tried before; someone that made the sky seemed a little bluer, the stars a little brighter, and time seemed to be infinitely faster each time they were together. Hajime had never been a clingy type of person, but with Hana, he found himself wanting to spend time a little longer with her, stay by her for one more minute, just enough to see her face and felt the bone-deep contentment and peace.

They dated regularly. Once a week, they’d spend their times watching movies, going on the shopping district, going from one café to another, playing on the arcades, walking around the park talking about everything and nothing. There were complicated types of romance, as was seen on mainstream media. But there was also something simpler; something that fell into place softly, unhurriedly. Like what he had with Hana right now.

They went to lunches together, and somehow got into the habit of cooking for one another. Hana’s cooking got better—especially her cakes and confectionaries—and Hajime got teased mercilessly by his mom, even with her knowing smile in place. They told each other about their day, about things they were interested about, about things that worried them. Hajime wasn’t exactly embarrassed about opening up and talking about his feelings, but people had their own burdens, and he wouldn’t want to impose even further. But Hana… she gave back as much as she gave, refusing to settle for less—both in efforts and her complete trust that Hajime would also did as she had done. And Hajime learned to trust that, to trust her, to open up and not feeling like he was less for admitting that he could be fragile, too.

Ironically enough, it started with the match between Aoba Johsai and Shiratorizawa. The match that left Hajime so raw, blistered, lost.

Hajime had had his heart broken multiple times in his life. But this time—he couldn’t even breathe from the pain of it. How could he? When everything he could have ever dreamt of, just on the tip of his fingers, were crushed beyond recognition in just a matter of a few minutes? Was the wall that high? Was Shiratorizawa that strong, or was it just Hajime? Who was too slow, too weak—a failure.

His body still trembled from the adrenaline, the shock hadn’t quite registering yet throughout every limbs. He found it hard to even bow to the other team, knew that everyone on his team felt the exact same thing. But for him, for Tooru, this might be their last chance to meet Shiratorizawa in this stage, in this very court. He choked back a sob from the back of his throat, and went to the locker room with numb legs.

There weren’t much the coach could say, and no one stayed around long enough to say anything more, either. Usually, he would stay behind and watch the rest of the match and scout other teams’ tactics. But he couldn’t even think straight right now, beyond the failure, failure, failure that kept spinning around in his head. He was too sensitive, hurt too much in too many places. Hajime had had his heart broken multiple times in his life, but this time—he felt the pain so acutely that he almost keeled over from it.

Hana was waiting for him outside of the locker room, looking worried sick and sad, so sad. Hajime could imagine the same look on his face, with a lot more desperation and numbness. Her eyes were red around the rim; she had been crying. Gods—Hajime wanted to cry too right now, more than anything. He had always expected the possibility of them losing, how painful it would be for him, for the team. But he didn’t know that it would be this crushing.

She held his hand without words as they walked back to the train station. He didn’t say anything, either. Too tired, too sad. He didn’t even know how he was still standing, walking in steady pace with Hana next to him. She was gripping his hand tight; tight enough to be painful, but Hajime was too far gone to even register another source of pain. The streets were bustling about with people, but it was almost empty nearing the station. The bright neon lights on his left and right, the bright atelier of every shop, the loud city—everything seemed muted in Hajime’s head. Oh—oh, Gods—oh Gods the tears—

“But the funniest thing is,” he suddenly said, with voice so unsteady from unshed tears. “The funniest thing is—that I failed them. I failed as their ace, you know? We were so close, so close. And we—we—“

He didn’t know when the tears started, didn’t know how and when they arrived at the station. He just followed Hana’s gentle hand, as she led him to sit on one of the benches. As she held him tight, enveloping him with warmth, holding his broken pieces with soft whispers and caresses. Hajime didn’t even care that he was crying in a public place, didn’t care that they might just miss their train. Hana was crying with him, whispering, “It’s okay, Hajime-san. Please, please, it’s going to be okay—“ over and over again as Hajime’s body was wracked with shuddering sobs.

At that moment, all Hajime felt was the overwhelming sadness. Hana was the only thing he clung onto, gripping tight and hugging her close to him as he cried on her shoulder. All this time, he tried to be a strong, immovable person in front of Hana because he knew that she expected that from him. She felt safe and protected under that assumption, and though it was part of Hajime, too, but this part was also real. The part where he could break and shatter into pieces; hurt and overwhelmed, failed and cried.

“It’s okay, Hajime-san,” she whispered, voice trembling and thick with tears. “Just let it all out, don’t ever hold back your feelings when you’re with me, okay? Even if Hajime-san is such a strong, gentle person, but Hajime-san… I—I want to protect you too. I want you to lean on me too, I want to help you when you’re sad like this, so please—“ the sob wracked her tiny body, and at this point, they were both crying so hard that it was difficult to breathe. “Please, trust me. I’m here; I’ll always be here for you.”

It was a turning point for the both of them. The moment that made Hana understood that Hajime could break and cry; the moment that made Hajime knew that he could trust Hana with his weaknesses and private moments. Like bracing himself for the journey ahead in her galaxy, knowing that no matter how far he went, he would never be lost. Safe and sound in her embrace and warmth.

The force that drove Hajime into spiraling downwards in his lapse of control wasn’t even intimate moments or physical provocations. None of those happened too often in their relationship. Sure, their intimacy were probably off the chart, with how much they made “moony moony” eyes at each other, as Tooru had dubbed. But not in the physical sense of it. Contrary to it, what actually pulled him deeper into the frustration and triggered his ticking time bomb was the mundane, simple thing that Hana did in daily life.

She didn’t even intend to push Hajime’s buttons, she was just doing things as she normally did. In her own ways, which were dangerous enough on its own for Hajime’s heart. She was just—she just—Gods, it was almost like she was intentionally being oblivious and unseeing to the way she slowly, consistently destroying Hajime’s iron strength resolve. He couldn’t even complain about it to her. What was he going to say anyway? Stop being so adorable? Or, don’t do things so endearingly? Or would it be better to just cut to the chase and hit her with stop making me fall even deeper with you? He could already imagine how both of them would just stand there and boiled themselves to death with how much they’d blush. If Tooru ever got a whiff of these thoughts, he wouldn’t live it down to the end of this universe.

There was one time she called him over as they were tidying up the gym after practice. He was putting the volleyballs into the basket, when she suddenly said, “Hajime-san, look!”

When he turned around, he nearly got a cardiac arrest. On Hana’s lips were to potato chips, positioned backwards so they’d form a duck-mouth. She looked so proud of it that Hajime wanted to hit her stupid duck-mouth. Gently. With his own mouth. Did she not understand how dangerous these kind of things were for his heart?

Apparently not, because she looked confused when he hugged her tight, rubbing the top of her head in his frustration. He faintly heard the juniors awkwardly asking Tooru, “Uh… is this normal?” and Tooru answering, “Just let them be. They’ll die if they missed even one second making us single person jealous.”

Or the other time when they went to the arcade, and Hajime won her another plushy. She hugged him tight, unabashed and so dearly happy that she looked even prettier than usual that day. And then, she pulled back, hugged the plushy next to her face, and asked to be photographed just like that. With her cute dress, and the soft plushy resting on her cheeks, and a wide smile on her blushing face. Hajime made it as his wallpaper for two weeks straight.

It wasn’t just those instances. The attentiveness, the exchanged bentos, the shy kisses on the cheeks after their dates. Then Hajime’s birthday came around, and Hana put an arrow right to his heart as they shared their first, proper kiss.

The soft, short peck than felt like an explosion of numerous fireworks behind his eyelids. The scent of her, the softness of her palms as she hold onto his arms, the way she fluttered her eyes close as they kissed. It was all so soft, so warm, so precious that Hajime felt like nothing could ever felt this whole, this complete in his life.

All of those contributed to his lapse of control. Each time, the urge to hold Hana started getting stronger. He just kept noticing how lovely she looked when she smiled, how delicately shaped her fingers were, how soft her lips were when they kissed his cheeks, how small she seemed to be in his arms. Each moment felt like another new nail on his coffin. It almost drove him mad with want; the closeness, the feel of holding Hana so intimately in his arms, the fragile expression she put on. Hajime was still a man with a lot of desires. And day by day, the desire to be closer, closer, closer to her was getting to be overwhelmingly vivid. He just didn’t know when he was going to lose it from all the love he had inside him for this oblivious, precious girl.

Months of their progressing relationship, and Hajime’s progressively diminishing self-control, came to a head on a lunch on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon.

They were having lunch with Kindaichi, Kunimi, and Tooru. All three of them quickly forgotten by Hana as she started conversing with Hajime. At this point, all of them were used to it, and only laughed unflappably as she jolted and squeaked when she realized that they were there as well.

“Don’t mind us Hana-chan, we’re just props on this telenovela,” Tooru said, waving his hand away when she repeatedly apologized. “Go on, go on. We sure love watching you two exchanging moony moony eyes.”

Hajime slapped him on the back of the head, and gave him a piece of his chicken. Their conversation went as usual; clearly, Tooru’s suffering was detrimental to an enjoyable afternoon with friends.

Hana whined that she was falling behind the lesson, and it was only a few weeks away from their exams. Hajime offered to study at his place unthinkingly. Kindaichi choked on his rice, Kunimi absentmindedly slapped him on the back. Hajime was hit with a sense of déjà vu because it looked exactly like what Hana and he did a while back. Oikawa was positively glowing—glowing with a leer, more accurately.

Hana, on the other hand, looked so happy it was almost blinding. “You’ll teach me Hajime-san? It won’t be a bother for you?”

Hajime ignored the rest of them and caressed the top of his girlfriend’s head, feeling the soft strand of hair between the tips of his fingers. “Of course it won’t. I’m glad I can help you.”

“Thank you, Hajime-san,” Hana said, soft, unthinkingly so transparent of her feelings. “And I get to go to your house, too! That will be a first for me, I’m nervous already. What should I bring for your mom?”

Hajime choked on his chicken, and awkwardly told her that not bringing anything was also fine. She insisted to bring her something, however, and finally settled on a basket of oranges. Both his mother and he were fond of those after all. They finished their lunch relatively quick as their class schedules were as tight as ever now that they were nearing exams. As usual, he walked Hana to her class, and waved her away with a smile before going back to his.

As he walked past Tooru’s, however, the trashy asshole pulled Hajime into a dip and dramatically said, “Of course it won’t, Hana-chan. I’m so glad I can help,” he drawled the last bit, putting in as many essence of extravagance as he could possibly have in his body. “My god Iwa-chan, if it wasn’t so cute I’d be grossed out already. Wait—I am grossed out already. Man, Iwa-chan, you’re so far off gone into Hana-chan that you’ll never return to the solar system.”

“Shut the fuck up shittykawa,” he growled out, pushing himself off of the dip and away from Tooru’s cursedly strong arms. “And stop with your weird metaphors, alright? You suck at it. You’re gonna scare Kindaichi and Kunimi away with them.”

“So callous, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa wailed, drawing side glances from the students milling about around them. “How can I recover from this fatal wound?”

He left Tooru and his dramatics, and thought that, maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to go back to the solar system anyways. Maybe he wanted to keep exploring the bright, unknown territory of Akeno Hana’s galaxy.

It was Sunday when Hana came to his house, and Hajime was slightly panicking because he couldn’t sleep last night from giddiness as the bags under his eyes were visible. His mom laughed at him and swatted him away when he asked for something to cover them up.

“Honey, I think by now we both know that Hana-chan and you were too far gone into each other to mind such inconvenience like eye bags. Just put on something clean and neat, and you’re good to go. When is she going to arrive, anyways? The cookies aren’t finished baking yet.”

He had cleaned his room twice yesterday, put on some air freshener, put away his trinkets and changed his bed sheets as well. He had wanted to pick her up, but Hana said that her mom would drop her off because she also had to go somewhere. So here he was, waiting with anxiety riddling his stomach on his living room.

“Hajime, seriously,” his mom said, sighing and chuckling a little. “Calm down, you look like you’re constipated. Even Hana-chan wouldn’t find that attractive.”

He scowled at her teasings, and continued checking on his phone every five damned minutes. When he heard the rumble of a car outside of his house, he nearly tripped on the sandals to open the front door.

Hana’s pretty, blushing face greeted him when he swung his door open. He paused for a second to take her in, and gulped audibly. Was she always this pretty, or was it just his frustration these last few weeks that was talking? Either way, she looked stunning in her white dress, holding a basket of homemade bread and oranges in one hand. He coughed awkwardly, and smiled at her.

“Hey,” he said, nervous, trying his hardest to be cool as cucumber. By the small laughter that left her lips, he couldn’t imagine that it was working splendidly.

“Hi,” she replied, shy and incredibly adorable that Hajime was overwhelmed with the urge to hug her. It wouldn’t be appropriate, however, as her mother was still waiting in her car.

Hajime stepped around Hana to wave at the older lady, and bowed a little. She waved back and said, “Have fun, Hana-chan! Just call when you want me to pick you up, okay? Say hi to your mom from me, Hajime-kun.”

She drove past the house into the office district nearby, and Hajime let out a relieved sigh. He had met Hana’s mother multiple time in the past, but his nervousness about their study session was making his circuit went all haywire and weird.

“So, uh, we should go inside. Mom made you some cookies,” he said, gesturing the hall, where his mom’s voice could be heard even from the outside.

Apparently, putting his mom and Hana in the same room proved to be his biggest mistake yet in this relationship. His mom glanced at him with a smug face as he curled on the couch, wanting to die from mortification. After the introduction, and his mom fawning over Hana, they traded recipes on the cookies and the homemade bread. She seemed to like Hana, and Hana looked comfortable enough to relax around her gradually as opposed to how stiff and awkward she was at first.

But of course. As soon as the two ladies got past the initial awkwardness with each other, they launched into a familiar pattern of conversation that Hajime wondered whether Hana was the actual child in this household. And then, the baby pictures. Kill him now—just kill him now. He didn’t think he could live with this sort of embarrassment.

(And he said that Tooru was the dramatic one. Maybe Tooru was starting to rub off him, he thought despairingly.)

When his mom finally let them go, with a wink to Hajime’s direction, he breathed out and ushered the small girl upstairs to his room.

“Your mom is really nice, Hajime-san,” she commented as he unlocked his door. Her giggles were loud and clear as she said, “and you looked so cute on your baby pictures!”

He groaned and rubbed his face. “She always does that every single time someone visits our house. I don’t even know why I bother wasting my embarrassment. She’ll show you even more outrageous pictures of my childhood the more you visit.”

Hana nudged him softly on the side, a grin plastered on her lips. They were a little bit shinier today, a little bit redder. She must have been wearing lipstick, and light make-up too, by the look of it. The make-up framed her face naturally, as if it were never there in the first place. She was pretty, and Hajime sighed internally for the hundredth time today. Every single thing Hana did these days just pushed all of his buttons, in the right places, at the wrong time. He wondered how she would react if she knew that Hajime had been battling his desires over her these past few weeks.

“Does that mean I’m invited for future visits?” she asked, innocent enough. But it still made Hajime’s heart raced through his ribs.

“Uh—“ he stumbled, not sure how to answer that. Of course he wanted her here, possibly all the time. But that’d sound creepy. In the end, he just settled with, “Only if you want to.”

She gave him a brighter smile at that answer. “Of course I’d want to, Hajime-san.”

He returned the smile as they settled on the carpeted floor. Regardless of his teenage hormones, it really would be nice to see Hana more often around here. His mom liked her too, so it wouldn’t be a big problem either.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve learned so far, and which part you’re struggling with.”

Every once in a while, they would take a break, and talked about mundane things. This was nice, he thought to himself. Spending time with Hana was always something he cherished. He really was as whipped as people claimed him to be.

He watched the way she concentrated, and started to lose focus himself. Thinking back about their relationship this far, how much she had become someone who meant a lot to him. The focal point of her charm, and the way Hajime couldn’t escape it. Like an absolute gravity, like a black hole. And he welcomed the warm embrace of her constellation, as he delved deeper into the galaxy that was Akeno Hana. This study session might be his biggest mistake yet. But then again, it could be his salvation, too.

The longer he watched, the more he felt restless. She looked very lovely today in her dress, sitting in his room like it was the most natural thing in the world. She smelled fresh, too. He recognized this perfume; she had worn the same on in their previous dates as well. Something fruity, with undertone of flower and musky earth. He found himself scooting closer to where she sat, entranced by her mere presence. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t seem to mind. Hajime took this as a clue to get even closer, settling behind her in the end.

Hana did look up this time, but it was only to smile at him and nuzzle a bit to his shoulder before continuing her work. Oh Gods, when would this girl stop driving him crazy? He heaved a deep sigh to alleviate the tension he was feeling. It was harder than he thought. Especially with Hana humming softly to herself, and every once in a while would lean back on him. It was okay, he could endure this as well. He had endured those weeks in the face of Hana’s charm, after all. Today was no different.

But of course it was different. They were in a more intimate situation and location. But to add salt to the wound, Hana looked up, face mere inches from Hajime’s and whispered, “You’re so warm, Hajime-san. It’s really nice, like this.” She drove her point by pushing further into Hajime, and he felt like the breath had been knocked out of his lungs. It really was small wonder that his resolve finally broke after so long.

It started out innocent enough, with soft caresses on her head, feeling the soft strands, combing through them with his big hand; grazing the shell of her ears, making her shudder and let out small laughs. Going back up to massage her scalp lightly, and enjoying the way she relaxed and pushed back into his hand. Her head was tiny in his grip, or maybe his hand was just that big. Hajime honestly couldn’t spare a moment to think about the precision of the statement. But she was tiny, wasn’t she? Smaller than him in every possible way.

Younger, shorter, more slender; her delicate fingers, her thin neck, her tiny face, her small hips. Hajime wondered if he could envelope her whole if he were to lie down on top of her. Wondered if his hands could meet if he held her hips with both of them. Wondered if he could easily haul her to his lap with how light, how small, how endearingly gorgeous she was.

Unintentionally, he scrapped her scalp a little bit harder than he intended, lost in thought. As he was panicking about his lapse of control however, Hana closed her eyes and leaned back to his hand even more; soft sounds coming out from her throat without her realizing it. It might be the sight, might be the way he had been thinking about it, might be the feelings of her in his arms, might be the warmth of her right next to him—looking like everything he had ever wanted, wrapped in a personality that adored and wanted him back just as much.

Maybe it was her gravitational pull. But maybe it was just Hajime, plunging himself into the uncharted territory, and reveling in the exhilaration and small wonders he found.

Or maybe, it was just Hana. Small, cheerful, clumsy Akeno Hana, with her pale, wide eyes and her soft smiles; her soft, reassuring touches and her antics and weird quirks; her honest feeling and her affection that was so readily given and showered upon Hajime. And he wanted her, all of her, so much that he almost ached with it.

His hand sled down to her cheek, thumb swiping gently over the high of her cheekbones. She fluttered her eyes open and looked at him with a confusion that warred with apparent comfort—and want. And it was the last straw for Hajime.

“Hana,” he whispered, low and soft, like he was afraid that even the walls would listen. “May I kiss you?”

Her eyes were a little bit glazed, and she bit her lips, shy and unsure. But she didn’t reject him; she was confused, he realized. Hana probably didn’t know what to do in this kind of situation, and was unfamiliar with it as well as her romantic endeavor was even less than his. Hajime waited patiently for her, didn’t move until she looked up again and nodded.

He leaned down slowly, giving her enough time to pull away or to say no. Despite everything, he cared for her deeply. He didn’t want to do something that she didn’t want. But Hana didn’t pull away, not even when Hajime was only a breadth away from her lips, when their breaths mingled with each other; not when he finally drew her in, and closed his mouth over hers.

The kiss started gentle, started with just soft slide of lips against lips; something familiar with them, something warm they could anchor themselves on. He gently guided Hana’s movement, tasting the chemical taste of lipstick and something he vaguely recognized as her, faint as it was. One of his arms wrapped around her middle, pressing her closer than ever. The other one was holding her face in place so Hajime could kiss her a little longer, a little deeper.

He bit lightly at the plush bottom lip, and felt an electric current went through his spine at Hana’s sharp intake of breath. He did it again, harder this time, sucking on her lips as well. He deepened the kiss a little, and was rewarded with a surprised gasp that sounded so lovely in his ears. At this point, Hana was already turning around, chest to chest with Hajime.

Through the clothes, he could feel the softness of her breasts, pushing up against his muscled pecs and making him groan from the back of his throat. He tightened his hold, and Hana let out those small noises that drove Hajime crazy. He kissed her harder than before, coaxing her lips to open under the touch of his tongue. When she finally understood what he was trying to do, and shyly parted her lips under his ministrations, he wasted no time in exploring her mouth—thoroughly.

There was a small ‘eep’ from Hana, as Hajime hauled her to his lap properly, all the while kissing her deep and dirty. He licked every corner of her mouth, chasing the taste of her that felt stronger inside than the door of her lips. Hana was clumsy in her movements, when she tried to tangle her own tongue with his. But even that moment of inexperience was endearing, and sent another jolt of electric current to Hajime, spreading to his every limb and making him lightheaded with want.

He pulled off for a second, and was treated with a sight that would probably haunt his dreams for months on end. Hana looked—she looked wrecked, debauched, even from a small make-out session. Her hair was no longer as neat, what with Hajime caressing and pulling at it. Her lips were bitten-red, shiny with saliva. And her face—Gods. Her cheeks were dusted with red, it looked pretty on her pale skin and Hajime wanted to nip on them to see if they would turn even redder.

The look on her face was not something that he could forget so soon. Hana looked dazed; eyes glazed over and blown wide around the ring. Her lips parted a little, and she tried to refocus on him. She still looked confused at what had just happened. But there was something else on the lines of her small face. Despite the confusion, Hana was welcoming his every approach. She looked… she looked like she wanted it, without even realizing that she was broadcasting her desires to him.

Gods—could she be even more adorable?

Hajime’s body felt hot, even with the conditioner on in his room. The heat from his skin, along with how close he was with Hana in this suggestive position made his head spin with desires that he had locked away from her innocence. He kept it tight under a lid all this time, but how could he be expected to hold himself back with such a wonderful girl right here, a warm, delicate weight on his lap?

His hand on her hips slowly moved further down, caressing the swell of her behind. He leaned in once again to capture those luscious lips, and felt a certain satisfaction when Hana enthusiastically welcomed him into her mouth this time around. She seemed more comfortable, no longer as confused with the kiss compared to the first time. This time, though, Hajime’s hands didn’t stay at one place.

He caressed the side of her face, down to her small neck, finding a specific spot under her jugular that made her moaned into his mouth. Another one behind her ear and a louder one when he scratched his nail a little on her collar bones. It felt hotter and hotter in the room.

Hana’s hands found a place on his shoulders and settled there, gripping his shirt tight when he touched a particularly sensitive place. He continued his exploration as he kept kissing her, feeling an unquenchable thirst the more he got a taste of her. She shuddered when he rubbed the side of her ribs, small caress underneath her breast. He could feel the protective padding of her bra against his knuckles, and wondered how soft it would feel if he were to unclasped it right now.

What would she look like underneath the pretty, white dress, he wondered? What would she look like, lying beneath him, on his bed, out of breath and looking thoroughly wrecked?

These thoughts made Hajime pushed forwards, hands gripping Hana’s exposed thighs tightly and reveled in her little gasps between their kisses. She felt so soft, so lovely under his fingers; he couldn’t get enough of her.

“Hajime-san—“ she moaned out, hitches in her breath when Hajime broke the kiss to mouth at her neck. She smelled incredibly good this close. “Ah—Ha—Hajime—“

He liked it, hearing her little pleases and mewls when he touched her on a certain place, pushed and knead on another. It made him bold, brave. How far he could take this, he wondered? How far would she agree to go? How long would he last under the very temptation in front of his eyes?

Hajime didn’t even realize when he started rocking his hips against her, but Hana’s grip was unrelenting on his shoulders, and the way she closed her eyes and pushed back clumsily— he held her tighter, and pushed upwards into the warm curve of her body. It felt so good, to be so close to her. To rock back and forth against her. So good, felt so warm—so—

All of the sudden, time seemed to stop. Hajime let out a shuddering breath. He let go of a piece of skin he had been sucking on, and pulled back to look at Hana’s face. She hadn’t realized what was happening yet, and Hajime reinstated his iron grip on his control when those eyes opened and he saw an obvious want in them. Hana might not understand this kind of thing, but her body certainly recognized it and went with her instincts.

Fuck, he cursed inwardly. She looked so good like that, and Hajime realized with impending horror that he was hard since a while ago. The look on Hana’s face right now wasn’t helping in the slightest. She looked like she enjoyed it, looked confused why they stopped all of the sudden. She looked like she wanted more, and Hajime prayed that he was granted strength against lovely girlfriends that broke his resolve like a butter.

He heaved a deep sigh, trying to calm himself down, and rubbed Hana’s back gently. He willed his hard-on to flag down, and peppered her face with little kisses along the way. No. He wouldn’t let himself lose control once more and did what he promised to himself he’d only do once they graduated from high school. It wouldn’t be fair to impose this kind of thing to Hana without her understanding properly about it first. Hajime liked her, so much to the point of desiring her; but he also prioritized her safety and comfort first and foremost. His desires could be controlled; it could wait just another year.

“Hajime-san?” Hana finally croaked out, looking a little bit lost, and lot more red on the face once she realized that she was essentially sitting on his lap. “Um—I’m—I’m sorry— was it that bad? Was I—“

He chuckled softly, and shook his head. “No,” he said. “You were absolutely amazing, Hana. It’s just. It’s not the time yet. I like you a lot, you know that, right? A lot. And it’s common for boys my age to get a little intense on that feeling. I want you. Want to be with you, and kiss you every morning, and hold you close with me.”

Hana burned bright red at his words, but listened attentively. She understood that he was saying something important for their relationship. She allowed him to soothe her with calming touches and small kisses on the sides of her face. “I like you a lot, too,” she replied.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling. “But you might not be ready for the intensity I’m talking about. Things I wanted to do to you, with you. We’re not ready for that yet, I think. I’ve been holding it in by myself all this time. I think it makes sense that I lost control like this. But I… I wanted to wait. For you. I want you to be familiar with my desires, and understand about it first, before we continue to the next step.”

She nodded at him, and seemed to be a little lost in thought. “Thank you for taking me and my inexperience into consideration. I’m glad, really glad that you care so much about me. That you’re willing to wait. And—even if I’m not very good at those kinds of thing, but I think—I think I understand what you’re trying to say. You’re really kind, Hajime-san.”

He hugged her close to his chest, kissing the top of her head and laughing to himself. “I can’t believe we just made out when we’re supposed to be studying.”

“Hey!” she laughed along with him, hitting him lightly on the side. “You’re the one who started it!”

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “I’m sorry for suddenly springing it up to you like that.”

She nodded, smiling a little. Her lips still looked red, even with her lipsticks swept away in-between their kisses. She still looked absolutely stunning, and Hajime’s heart ached with how much he wanted her. He would wait, no matter how long. If it was for her, he’d wait.

He leaned in to kiss her again, just because he could, and because it made her laugh into the kiss. When he pulled away, he threw her a smirk and reveled in the slight shudder that rocked her body.

“I’m serious, though,” he teased, getting close to her face just to see it reddened in pretty blush. “You better prepare yourself, okay? Because I’m not going to hold back anymore once we both graduated.”

She bit her lips at the promise, and thwacked his forehead in retaliation. “Don’t tease me so much, Hajime-san!” she complained, but she was laughing, and leaned her entire weight into his arms as she peck the place she just hit. “Okay. You better wait for me, then.”

“Always,” he said, promised, and drew her in for one last, soft kiss on her lips.

Her eyes twinkled in happiness as she basked in his affections. They looked like millions of little stars in the constellation of her irises, and he felt like he was home. Right here, in her arms, lost in the wonder of her galaxy.

#Iwaizumi hajime #akeno hana #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x oc #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi fanart #HaHa couple #iwaizumi fanfic #fanfiction

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miscellaneous-bnha · 3 years

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It’s 1 am and I can’t sleep, so here’s some miscellaneous HCs I made based on how I feel Bakugou, Denki, Kiri, Sero, and Shinsou would be like in a relationship:

——————————

Bakugou:

- Has never considered being in a relationship before

- He’s so driven towards his goals that it’s no surprise he hasn’t thought twice about it

- But now that he’s here, there’s a ton of challenges to overcome

- Pro hero Bakugou isn’t as aggressive as his younger self, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get heated

- HOWEVER

- I personally believe that Bakugou would never cheat

- He’s rough and kind of an asshole, but he’s also driven and headstrong. There’s absolutely no reason for him to cheat

- You could argue that he got hit by a powerful quirk that made him do it, but his pride would NOT settle for that

- Though he would never cheat, arguments at the start of your relationship will be fairly common

- Usually it’s about how he pushes himself too much or that he keeps missing dates because hero work piles up and he just forgets

- and though he doesn’t mean to neglect you, it’s going to happen

- He’s not used to being with another person. Making arrangements are foreign concepts to him, so he won’t really think much about it

- Fights will be heated and often painful, but give him enough time to stew on it and he’ll probably come back and agree that he needs to do better. He has pride, but he knows how to bite his tongue and pull his head out when he needs to

- But if you’re patient enough, the fights will steadily decrease until they’re just petty things that are usually just jokes

- He doesn’t forget arguments and agreements either

- He actually thinks about all the fights you used to have with each other fairly often, both to remind himself to do better and to really drive home just how lucky he is to have you by his side

- especially with how hotheaded he can be

—————

Denki:

- the poor boy lowkey has impostor syndrome

- He blatantly disregards himself and his own abilities; he even openly admits that he feels like he’s holding Bakugou and Kirishima back at one point.

- Incredibly insecure despite the flirting and playboy-ish attitude he has, so reminding him that he’s great and inflating his ego isn’t really such a bad thing

- though gently remind him to keep his feet planted on the Earth every once in a while when he gets a little too carried away

- Doesn’t like getting into arguments because it makes him anxious and jittery. He also has a bad habit of seemingly shrugging things off or acting like he doesn’t really care, but he will think about it and do his best to change

- Though it doesn’t always work out, so gently reminding him a few times will help him get into better habits

- As a Pro, his tolerance and threshold for his quirk are greatly risen, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t gone yay mode a couple of times

- The media definitely has turned it into a pretty painful joke that stabs into him, but he’ll definitely do everything possible to hide how much it hurts

- Denki is, by no means, stupid. Sure, he’s not very intelligent compared to the rest of class 1-A, but he’s still smart enough to have made it in. They went through written tests as well, and he would have ended up in 1-B if he wasn’t smarter than that

- Though we don’t really have much to compare it to since they don’t focus a whole lot on academics

-but I digress

- it exhausts him mentally and emotionally to have to smile through the mocking and laughing even if it’s just to keep his PR up, so taking the time to point out that he’s much much more than yay is a sure-fire way to make him absolutely smitten

- definitely very soft, and as he starts to really grow into your relationship, he’ll find himself doing more and more for you.

- Not that he does nothing at the start, but he finds more and more comfort in being able to take care of you

- absolutely adores when you have to rely on him for things because he feels useful— especially since he doubts his own abilities

- though there are bad days that require a lot of TLC and encouragement to get through. Sitting down with him and making him do self-love and a light self-care routine will help for sure though.

—————

Will do Kiri, Sero, and Shinsou once I wake up because sleep is starting to consume me.

#crow rambles #bnha #bakugou headcannons #denki headcanons #insomniac rambling #it’s too early in the morning for this #ahhhh sleep sounds so good

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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Mate in Three

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 2653

Summary:

It's not a matter of if Beth can seduce Benny, it's a matter of when.

The first thing Beth decides is that it doesn’t matter whether Benny knows she’s doing it on purpose. Not for a moment does she believe herself to be wilier than him, therefore her attempts to seduce him cannot go unnoticed. She’s already revealed her intentions—at the bar in Ohio—and he’s made his own position clear. Both halves of it. He wouldn’t have needed to put an unambiguous ban on sex if it weren’t at least partly for his own benefit, as a reminder to keep their relationship professional, trainer and trainee. She still smiles to herself over how he reacted when she swept the hair from his eyes. All he’s done is silently place a handicap on her play: she’ll have to accomplish it all without touching him.

The drive to New York is for revision, repetition, exercises, and, amusingly, bonding. Benny’s still Benny behind the wheel, but this is something more straightforward than playing Benny Watts for fans and the press. He’s at ease. He even unstraps the knife from his belt ahead of them setting off.

“For comfort,” he claims, explaining that he doesn’t want the sheath digging into his leg the entire trip.

“Does this mean you don’t believe you need to protect yourself from me?” Beth jokingly inquires.

He holds her teasing stare a second too long and clears his throat as he redirects his attention to the road ahead of them.

It takes her a couple of days to find her feet after arriving at Benny’s apartment. She’s never been to New York and the noises outside are as jarring as the grim interior. Her host trailing the end of that open robe around feels like the equivalent of the smug smirks some of Beth’s earliest opponents wore when they mistakenly supposed they’d made a brilliant move against her. She wiped those smiles off easily enough; proving that Benny’s no match for her shouldn’t be any tougher.

Once she adapts to the lack of natural light inside the space and having to blow up her bed every evening, Beth is ready to commence. Benny’s already training her, started the first morning, but now she shifts to playing a simultaneous. This is the game beneath the game. Sure that she can win, what she’s most curious to discover is how many moves it’ll take. Though the apartment is unelaborate and their lives within the unadorned rooms routine, she finds opportunities. Poverty, followed by the monk-like existence at Methuen—every space communal, precious few meaningful possessions scattered between nearly two dozen girls—has made her wickedly resourceful.

Taking responsibility for feeding them is straightforward. It makes sense for her to buy the groceries as a way of repaying him for letting her stay, plus her numerous pointed looks upon opening a cupboard or the refrigerator to expose the slim pickings have Benny half-convinced before Beth even asks to take over food shopping duties. The only things he’s really attached to (besides coffee) are his morning eggs. She notices. She plots before falling asleep, unfurling scenarios in her mind as she stares at the ceiling and folds her hands over the placket of her satiny pink pajamas. Then, she starts eating his eggs.

“Why do you buy all this other stuff if that’s what you want to eat?” Benny questions, standing next to her at the stove, using a greasy fork to gesture towards the egg she’s frying.

Beth shrugs, surveying as he goes back to scraping at the bacon where it’s sticking to his pan. Even now, his upper body is bare under the robe and she’s suppressing the urge to warn him about the pain of hot splatter. She transfers her weight onto the foot farthest from him and watches the bacon sizzle.

“Maybe I just like eggs,” she says.

And, truly, she doesn’t mind them. However, Beth, who has preferred her eggs scrambled since childhood (a common breakfast at the orphanage and the most tolerable meal they offered), unfailingly prepares every egg at Benny’s over easy.

They take their positions across the table and the board from each other, plates on their laps, coffee always just shy of being knocked to the ground by their propped elbows. She lets him ramble. He seems to enjoy beginning every session with a little chess history—and, of course, the Benny Watts perspective on it. Finally, he moves his first piece with a decisive tap, but Beth concentrates on her egg. She splits it with the side of her fork and quickly moves the bite to her mouth.

Confused by her failure to respond to his opening move, Benny looks up. Beth feels immense satisfaction in witnessing the impatient gaze he shoots at her eyes melt as it drops to the yellow yolk dribbling from the corner of her lips. She wipes at it with feigned embarrassment, as though she hadn’t been pressing the egg against the roof of her mouth with her tongue until she felt the gush.

He blinks and shifts in his seat.

“You going to play or what?”

“Yes.”

Benny wins the first match by too much because she was distracted, but Beth’s loss is bearable to her. She gained ground in the other game. Although he recovered promptly, what she now thinks of as the Egg Variation did get his attention.

When devising the second move of her endgame, she thinks of Harry. His love for her was as plain as the nose on his face, but she suspects that this next tactic will work just as well on someone far less blatant about their feelings. Watching a woman dance must be where concealed lust and transparent devotion meet. Just as she stripped Benny of his queen at the Ohio tournament, she aims to strip him of the persistent disinterest in her that hangs from him like one of his necklaces.

He has a small radio. She’s only ever seen him listen to it in the morning, either sitting on the steps across the room from where she sleeps (presumably trying not to wake her with the noise) or at the table while she’s frying up her provocative prop/breakfast. One night, Beth waits for Benny to turn in, then grabs the radio. She has it on low at first, swaying her head side to side. But when she starts inflating her mattress, the thump of the pump depressing drowns out the music. Well, there’s only one thing for her to do about that.

Eyes on the closed bedroom door, Beth twists the dial to increase the volume. She swiftly sets the radio on the floor and places her foot on the pump, heart fleetly beating. Benny doesn’t come out, so she finishes her task, anticipation mounting. She adjusts the volume again.

Because they left right from Ohio, she traveled with a limited wardrobe. Taking pleasure in both strategizing and dressing herself well, Beth made sure to have the correct clothes clean on the correct day—including today. Especially today. That’s why, when the music sufficiently interferes with his attempt to get to sleep, Benny storms out only to halt in his tracks at the sight of Beth dancing, the navy skirt she wore the day before she trounced him twirling around her thighs.

“Sorry,” she says when she catches him staring. She’s grinning. “We sit all day and I… needed to move.”

“Right now?” he asks, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He taps a finger against his arm and she notices he’s removed his bracelet and ring. It’s oddly intimate to view him without jewellery.

“Well, you don’t give me any other time.”

“That’s because I’m training you to be a chess champion, not a ballerina.”

Benny tilts to rest his shoulder against the wall. He’s still watching her and she’s still dancing, wiggling her shoulders and hips in place, though no longer hopping around. Just meeting his gaze has her out of breath. Do something, she dares him with her eyes.

“Relax, Benny,” she impishly commands. “I promise this won’t make me worse at chess.”

“Will it make you better?”

Beth shuns his challenging tone, swinging around to put her back to him and dancing more vigorously. She almost thinks she hears the smack of his bare feet crossing the floor to join her, but when she turns, Benny’s about to step back into his bedroom. He stops himself though, hand braced flat on the wall. She quits dancing as, slowly, he looks sideways at her. His eyes race over her faster than she can be sure of what he’s taking in. Her skirt and her plan, or just her noisy presence, keeping him awake? As he turns his head and disappears for the night, she spots the way he smiles to himself. She wants to drag him back out here. Instead, with a sigh, she shuts off the radio.

She can feel it—she can always feel a victory. Her self-assurance in this talent has never been rattled. When Benny beat her in Vegas, it didn’t surprise her. No, she watched it coming from half a dozen moves off, which was enough to lend his win the same terrifying inevitability as the oncoming truck that met Beth’s mother’s car on a bridge and killed her on impact. Beth was as incapable of escaping defeat at the US Open as she was of grabbing the wheel from the backseat and steering her mother to safety. The sense of an approaching victory is free of what-ifs and regrets. It simply is.

Following the employment of the Egg Variation and the midnight dance, she’s certain the seduction requires a single move more. And she’s US Champion Beth Harmon. She has just the thing.

The abominable dearth of privacy where the shower is concerned makes it an obvious choice. Too obvious? In her mind, no more obvious than engaging Benny in a trading of queens in Ohio after being defeated by him in that same manner in Las Vegas. His ego made him believe he was invincible, blind to the fact that Beth would never make the same mistake twice. Equally keen to avoid a blunder here, she gives the backdrop of the strike that will be her last a good test run. And tries not to enjoy it too much. (Outwardly.)

Usually, she collects her clothes for the day—or pajamas, when she showers at night—and places them next to the shower. Close enough to reach, far enough to avoid the rogue spray that makes it past the curtain. Hidden by that same curtain, Beth towels off, then sticks an arm out to snatch up her clothing and dress in everything but shoes before stepping out. During her test run, Beth forgets to bring her clothes. She dries herself like normal, then, when she hears the door to Benny’s bedroom snap open, presents herself with his threadbare towel twisted around her, the end tucked in beneath her arm. She blinks at him as though startled and laughs with modest embarrassment.

“Forgot my—”

“Oh,” he says and steps back, practically trips back, slamming the door.

Beth waltzes across the room, head held high to breathe the air of imminent conquest. She almost begins to hum. What must he be thinking as he keeps himself caged in his room? Is he frozen or pacing? Running his fingers through his hair or his palm over his mouth? Has he flung himself to the far back of his bedroom, as far from her as he can get, or does he wait just inside the door, battling every second against the compulsion to wrench it wide?

“Just you wait,” she singsongs under her breath, smiling as she wrings water from her hair and pops on a headband.

After the trial comes the play for all the marbles (as her mother would’ve said). Beth doesn’t wait, doesn’t grace Benny with any time to cool down and get a handle on his refusal to acknowledge her as a potential sexual partner. The very next time she showers, she forgets the towel.

“Benny?” she shouts.

She’s knows he’s preoccupied; he was reading a book—on chess, what else—when he retreated to his bedroom for her privacy. His belated answering shout confirms that she’s only won a piece of his attention. Beth bites her lips together to discourage herself from smiling.

“…Yeah?”

“Could you come out here? I need your help.”

Controlling her expression, Beth pokes her head around the edge of the shower curtain.

“Well,” she hears him say loudly as his door opens, “that’s the first time you’ve said—”

His eyes scan the room for her and, locating her, he sighs. She gives him a delicate wave, just a fluttering of her fingers.

“Hi, Benny.”

“Yeah,” he responds heavily. “Hi.”

“I forgot my towel.”

“I bet you did.”

“And? Are you going to get it for me? I’m getting cold.”

She sees him slide his lower jaw to the side in frustration and contemplation, but, raising his eyebrows in a quick flick, he nods. The towel isn’t hard to find; she left it perfectly visible on purpose so he wouldn’t have to waste time searching. He walks towards her, shifting his gaze from her face to the floor and back. She understands the look—it’s that of a person trying to find a way out. They’ve alternated wearing it when sitting across from each other at a chessboard. He stops in front of the shower and extends the towel towards her, wearing a different expression: a man accepting that he’s been outmaneuvered.

“Thanks.”

Her arm shoots out as she takes it from him and snaps the curtain shut again. The reaction is clearly not what he was expecting because she hears him chuckle to himself.

“You’re cruel, Beth.”

She frowns, drying herself with unprecedented speed. She can see his silhouette through the curtain.

“How so?”

“You finally get me right where you want me and then you decide to toy with me.”

The sound of his feet scuffing across the floor reaches her as he walks away. Draped in the towel, she jerks the curtain open and chases him in stuttering steps. He turns and she freezes. Instinct makes her cross her arms behind her back, a habit from childhood that Mrs. Deardorff once told her to break as it made her appear secretive. Which she was.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to stretch it a moment longer. I don’t know what made me do it.”

“I do,” Benny tells her, squaring himself to face her fully. He grins. “Revenge.”

“Revenge? But I already—”

“Sure, you took the title from me, but you never got me back for discovering the flaw in your game against Beltik.”

Beth opens her mouth to argue only to close it again in a smile.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am, you know. Some of the time.”

He doesn’t disguise how his gaze rides a water droplet running down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, and into the towel after following the swell of her breast. She lets him look, then extends her hand, businesslike.

“Do you resign?”

Benny smiles and grips her hand.

“You play ruthlessly.”

“I play to win,” she corrects.

His fingers tighten around her hand and he tugs her in. Their first kiss has the force of a merciless endgame assault—true to form for them both. The noise that escapes her as the pressure of his mouth on hers tips her head back farther calls out to him. He clutches her against him and she feels the imprint of his hand distinctly through the towel. Unable to push him, she pulls instead, guiding him around until she advances on his bedroom backwards, fingers hooked in the neck of his black t-shirt.

In lieu of a king, Beth topples Benny—straight into his bed.

#my writing #The Queen's Gambit #Beth Harmon #Benny Watts #beth x benny

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dreamingofscully · 4 years

Text

Stolen Time: Quarantine

Rated: E / Scully-wasn't-abducted AU / Post-ep: Firewalker / UST to RST / Words: 2862

Summary: Scully struggles with unpartnerly thoughts during quarantine with a bored Mulder.

Read the FICLET (thanks @leiascully) of the alternate ending that I wrote to Ascension here.

Thank you to @skumflowerskullz and @ceruleanmilieu for the betas

*** Mulder is splayed out on the floor near her, flipping idly through a magazine. His hair is sticking up every which way—restless hands constantly running through them. Her fingers twitch, she longs to run them through the soft strands—just to tame it, she tells herself.

Heat rises from the base of her spine and her chest flushes at the lie. She focuses back on the book—flips to the cover to remind herself of the title. Her eyes glaze over as she attempts to concentrate.

Nothing to do but talk or read, for an entire month. Three more weeks left, and they’ve chatted about every insignificant thing they can imagine. The sparse books and magazines—in quantity as well as content, makes her cringe when she tries to find something to distract herself from her distracting partner.

My partner, she reminds herself.

The first and last time they’d been quarantined, she’d been bed-bound most of the time. Extremely dehydrated and uncomfortable, she would have loved, back then, to have the ability to read through a boring stack of books. Anything besides the beeping of the monitors, the headache that wouldn’t go away, and the guilty look in Mulder’s eyes when she caught him glancing in her direction.

Right now, she'd give anything to be bed-ridden, to have an excuse to close her eyes and shut away the world, pretend her stomach wasn't doing somersaults when he inevitably crept close, peered over her shoulder, and whispered sly comments in her ear.

The guilt is there now, but more well-hidden. His rage has a target, but he directs some of it towards her, unintentionally she hopes. When he's not teasing or poking at her with increasingly paranoid theories, an awkward silence hangs between them like a curtain. She feels him watching her, though. The warmth of his closer-than-usual presence. It was their first field case since Duane Barry, and he feels responsible; he drew her close to death, once again.

She understands, but they don’t talk about it.

Instead, Mulder rants about the injustice of their discovery being burned by those who don’t care or understand, or who don’t care to understand. Punctuates his words with disparaging comments on the ads and articles in the magazine. Complains about the bland food that arrives punctually at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Lashes out at the technicians that come take their samples. The space is filled with his words about nothing, and an occasional rebuttal from herself, but she likes to listen to him. She usually finds the endless monotone a comfort, but at the moment his voice does things to her that she certainly shouldn’t be thinking about.

Scully sighs, for the thousandth time today it seems, and is suddenly just as frustrated as him.

“Mulder, we can’t do anything about the spore. It was dangerous, they had to contain it. That's all. Would you please, please, please stop ranting about it.”

Her words are harsher than she intended. Everything in this past week has been irritating, for some reason or another.

He twists around to stare at her, mouth agape. She’s been quiet, a lot more than usual. Patient and tolerant, as if controlling the time took all of her mental effort and she could spare none for their usual back-and-forth.

So he switches from speaking to staring, which is worse. He examines her face, eyes travelling from her eyes and downwards, her lips, she thinks. She folds her fingers into fists when he lowers his gaze, hiding her torn cuticles.

“Mulder?”

“What should we talk about then. The weather? Sports? Our fine accommodations?” His eyes flash at her.

“We’ve got three more weeks. You just need some patience.”

Mulder scoffs, turns to face her, his forearm pressing against her thigh.

“You seem to have that covered enough for the both of us.”

Scully lets out yet another sigh and moves her book to the table beside her. “Look, I’m finding this difficult as well, I just…”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

Their eyes lock. And there it is.

Since Duane Barry, she’s done her usual thing - straightened her back, ploughed forward, focused on the work. She did her mandated counselling, replaced her broken windows with reinforced glass, took the stairs instead of the elevators, and started a new self-defense class at the gym. All very practical, very smart things to do. But she didn’t talk.

To the counsellor: she pretended she was fine. Needed to lie to get back to work so she could be.

To Mulder: she wouldn't let him see weakness, wouldn’t let him down, that she couldn’t be anything less than a partner who could back him up no matter the situation.

And he followed her lead, but she could see the yearning in his eyes, the unspoken words that he wanted to know what she was going through. Who was she to add to the mountain of guilt that he piled on his shoulders?

They look at each other for what feels like an eternity. The frustration he’s been lashing out at her with has been replaced with something else, something that makes her cheeks burn, her palms sweaty. Her chin set stubbornly forward, mouth in a line, she dares him to speak first.

Neither of them back down, and before she realized he’d moved, his lips are on hers.

She's too shocked to pull away, to stiffen and protest. She’d imagined this moment many times over, especially this past week, and she responds automatically, pressing her own lips against him, pulling him closer and threading her fingers through the hair at the base of his skull.

When he pulls away and she opens her eyes he's only a few inches away, his warm, sweet breath puffing against her mouth. The dim light from the cheap lamp behind her washes him in a soft glow, shadows hiding him from her.

“That’s… one way to deal with boredom.” Scully finds her voice, somehow, but it sounds like she’s dragged it over asphalt. She clears her throat, certain that, opposite his inscrutable expression she's completely revealed to him.

“Your turn to make jokes, Scully?”

“Is that what this is?”

Mulder pulls back slightly, his arms bracing her torso. His hands fidget with the cotton of her shirtsleeves, thumbs brushing against her shoulders, but he's staring at her with laser focus.

“Never,” he says, waiting.

A stab of panic pierces her chest. She needs to know. Needs answers before she jumps off this cliff. Or was it too late already?

“Do you think I’ll talk if you kiss me?”

Mulder smiles, shakes his head. “I think if you won’t talk I might as well kiss you anyway.”

As she licks her lips, Mulder’s eyes stray downwards, his hands moving up to cup her face, tangle in her hair. He leans down and kisses her again, and she takes a leap.

All of the uncertainty she'd felt vanished at the touch of his lips against hers: the embarrassment at his rejection during the Tooms case, the hurt at his indifference when the X-Files were shut down.

Thank God.

He’s above her, but hesitant. She invades his mouth with her tongue while he feathers the lightest of touches through her hair and safely along her arms.

Wrapping a leg around his waist and pulling him closer, she revels in the taste of him, the feel of his soft lips sliding against hers. An unmistakable bulge presses against her hip. When she grinds into him, Mulder moans into her mouth. His hands slide down her side and tease the skin at the hem of her shirt.

When he pulls away again and rests his forehead on hers, they're both breathing heavily, chests touching with each inhalation. He's wedged atop her, half off of the small couch that barely fits her small frame.

"Mulder, let's move somewhere more comfortable." Scully meets his gaze with steely determination; she wants this, and she knows he does too. She's not about to wait any longer.

"Your place or mine?" Mulder waggles his eyebrows, but his eyes search hers questioningly, carefully. You sure?

Scully nods at his unspoken question, pushing him away so she can move out from underneath him. Pausing before standing up, she grasps the collar of his shirt, pulls him towards her and nips at his plush lower lip.

"Mine," she says.

Mulder's eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches with the hint of a smile. When she stands and holds her hand out, he takes it and follows her.

In her bedroom, Scully whips her shirt over her head and eyes Mulder over her shoulder while she undoes the zipper on her pants. He’s standing there with a dazed expression, like he hadn’t just initiated all of this a few minutes earlier. Coming back to himself, he removes everything but his boxers and joins her on the bed.

She trails a hand along his bicep, the strong muscles of his forearm, mouthing their names under her breath. Her gaze sweeps over the defined musculature of his chest and abdomen.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, hiding behind a sweep of her hair as a moment of self-consciousness washes over her. She feels out-of-place; a plain fern among the rose bushes.

Looking back at him she sees nothing but reverence in his gaze. He brushes his thumb over her cheek. “You’re perfect, Scully.”

She huffs in disbelief, but there’s truth in his eyes.

When they kiss once more, Scully maneuvers on top. His hands are everywhere, but still gentle and hesitant. She leans into his touch for more, but his hands ghost away, trembling and unsure.

“I won’t break, Mulder.”

He blinks slowly, once, twice. Traces his finger along the curve of her nose, her swollen lips.

“I’m afraid I’m going to wake up.”

Scully bites her lip and smiles widely. Laughter bubbles up, overflows, and he’s caught up in it too. His hesitance turns to giddiness as they laugh together.

“What kind of fantasies are you having?” she says. “Thin mattress, sparse furnishings, nurses and technicians on the other side of the wall just waiting for us to sprout something so they can whisk us away.”

“In my dreams, they’re in the room,” Mulder deadpans.

Scully shakes her head and arches an eyebrow at him. She sits up, straddling his waist, and deftly unclasps her bra and shrugs out of it.

Peering at him beneath her lashes, Mulder’s cocky smile fades. His eyes are dilated, hungry. His hands twitch but he still waits.

“You can touch me.”

His eyes connect to hers and he nods.

At her encouragement, his touch matches the intensity of his gaze. Over her ribcage, along her breasts, flicking her nipples with his thumbs. Scully leans downwards and kisses him sloppily. She can’t process anything except the sensation of his hands, the warmth and smell of his skin next to hers.

“More,” she demands, arching into his touch.

He leans upward, kissing her breasts, tonguing her nipples. One of his hands slides downwards, to the apex of her thighs. His fingers brush over her through the thin cotton of her panties and she gasps and grabs his shoulders.

When he pushes the garment aside, slicks his fingers along her folds, teases her clit, she sees stars and bats him away before she loses herself too quickly. The thought that this is him, that this is them, sends her spiralling upwards far faster than she's ever experienced, and it alternately thrills and terrifies her.

“For me?” he whispers into her skin.

“Take your shorts off," she says. Her voice is breathy and soft, her hands tugging impatiently at the hem of his boxers.

Seconds later, their underwear lies twisted in some corner of the small room, and they're finally together, nothing between them except ragged breaths and unspoken words.

The inevitable glimpses of his bulge during the time they worked together didn’t prepare her for his size. He’s much larger than any partner she’s had so far and her heart speeds up thinking about him inside of her. Biting her lip to stifle a nervous giggle, she peers at him out of the corner of her eyes.

“For me?” she repeats, smiling coyly.

“All yours, Scully.”

“How generous.”

She pats him on the chest, and reaches for him, sliding her hand around his girth. Watching his face, eyes squeezed shut and lips twisted, he mutters something unintelligible, reaches for her blindly.

“Scully…” he moans. Opening his eyes, he almost seems shocked to see her there.

“I’m here, Mulder. I’m real. This isn’t a dream.”

He shakes his head, smiles and pulls her to him, his mouth devouring hers hungrily. She feels like she's finally the hot focus of his obsessiveness, his mouth sliding across her skin, down to her collarbones, over her breasts. Hands on her hips, he draws circles with his thumbs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her buttocks.

She grinds against him, scratching her short nails through the hair on his chest, over his nipples, finding the places that make him squirm and gasp. Before Mulder thinks again of stopping, of hesitating, of claiming that this is all a dream, she adjusts herself over him and sinks downwards, taking him inside of her.

When she's finally surrounding him completely, she feels full, pain-adjacent, but oh, it’s wonderful. Her heart races, thrumming wildly as she struggles to regain control. Their eyes connect, and she sees the same wonder there that she feels. So she exhales, lets go.

“Dana, this…” he starts, capturing one of her hands and kissing her palm.

“Yeah,” she agrees. Still not sure with what, not sure but taking a chance that this could be something more than raw physical desire.

Her fumbling hands grasp at his shoulders as she starts to move above him, his hands at her hips. Sighs and moans punctuate their lovemaking, so soft and quiet, holding onto each other as if it could shatter with a word or a breath. Their sweat-slicked bodies come together, their eyes lock, reassuring each other of the reality of this moment.

She can't stop running her hands over his shoulders, through his soft hair. Digging her nails into his chest as she rocks above him in an increasingly erratic rhythm.

His deft hands roam her body, no longer hesitant. Learning what she likes, noticing her response to his touch, filing it away in his labyrinthine mind. It feels good to be the subject of his powerful intellect, his intense devotion. She's electric under his touch, wanton and unashamed.

Soon she's at the edge, and a flick of his fingers at her clit has her tumbling over. He catches her, holds her tightly as she comes back to herself. Whispering her name, soothing her inflamed skin with his touch and voice.

Her first thought, damning her: she loves him, fiercely. No matter what the future holds, what this means to him, she'll hold onto that thought. It would have to be enough.

He's above her, then, shadowing her body with his own, caressing the slope of her shoulder. His lips trace a hot trail from her jaw to her neck, and he brushes his thumb along her cheek, peppering her with increasingly feverish kisses.

Her hands wander along his back, counting the vertebrae. The soft curtain of her fading orgasm lifts slightly, and she reaches lower, lower, stroking his erection and shifting herself so he's at her entrance.

This time, with him in control, he's careful, watching her. Her eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of him within her, the emotions welling up despite herself, feeling whole. When he looks at her, she can pretend he feels the same. As long as she says nothing, as long as they just touch.

So close to her first climax, Scully finds herself climbing again when he begins to thrust within her. Softer this time, less desperately. She waits for him, and as his rhythm falters and he shouts her name into the silence of this temporary home, she follows him into the oblivion of pleasure.

Afterwards, she's curled up against his side, mouth puffing into the dip between his shoulder and pectoral. Her hands play with the soft hairs on his chest, her toes glide along his calf.

"Three more weeks, huh?" Mulder kisses the top of her head, runs his hand along the arm draped across his chest. "I don't know if I can manage."

Scully leans up on an elbow and quirks an eyebrow at him. Unable to keep a straight face, Mulder grins foolishly, taps a finger along the bridge of her nose.

"I haven't seen you smile like that for a while," Scully says, watching him carefully, a pane of imperfect glass separating her from him. The words don't come easy, and she's not sure she wants them to.

"Not much to smile about lately." Mulder takes her hands and kisses her knuckles. "Dana, I—"

Her hands flexes, covers his mouth. She shakes her head. Mulder simply nods and she settles back onto him, clutching him tightly.

There's plenty of time for words and excuses later.

#my fic #xfiles fanfic #msr #mulder and scully #xfiles #the x-files #xfiles au #scully wasn't abducted #quaranitine #ust to rst #ascension au #i've been obsessed with this idea for a while #it's been the only thing going through my head for the past two months #hope you enjoy!

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Text

Dear Diary.

Ruggie is the real MVP in this entire thing.

Dear Diary,

At last, Ruggie has returned with one of my notebooks, my quill, and a fresh inkwell. I think I shall go mad in Savanaclaw without my precious writing materials.

While it is true that they provide for my basic needs, there is not much to do in these parts. I think I mildly understand why they were upset with Uncle for not accommodating to their demands. Still, I do not believe there was a need to resort to violence.

The students of Savanaclaw... I do not find myself comfortable around them. They are always making a loud racket or starting a brawl in broad daylight. I hate to be alone with them, but one way or another, they someone always has their eye on me, their “golden canary" in a cage.

Especially that Leona-san.

I have heard whispers that he is the second born prince of the Afterglow Savanna, but he is not “princely” at all. He is lazy, prideful, rude... The nicest thing he has done so far is ignore me when he is not parading me around in public.

That is just fine, because I ignore him as well. Or at least I try to. There is no point of keeping up a farce when we are in private.

I do not see why the students of Savanaclaw follow him like loyal dogs; He’s not the sort of leader I’d want to bend to.

... I say that, but... Circumstances being as they are, I have had no choice but to do as he says. For the past few days (or is it weeks? I seem to have lost track of time here) now, Leona-san has been dragging me around campus to irritate Uncle, to goad him into handing Savanaclaw the funds they were promised.

Uncle is upset. He tries to bargain with Leona-san time and time again, but is shot down every time. All the squawking has attracted the stares of the others students. They have started to whisper about “the raven and the lion”.

... That phrase makes me uneasy.

I hope Uncle is able to pick me up soon. I don’t know how long this ink will last, or when Ruggie will be willing to bring me more.

While I wait... I think I shall brainstorm up a new story to get my mind off of this sweltering savannah. Perhaps something with flowers ro liven up the place.

Dear Diary,

Somehow, it has consistently fallen to me to locate Leona-san and prod him until he agrees to attend classes. It sounds like a simple task in theory, but I assure you that it is not.

Leona-san is not only far larger than me, but also far more muscular. I can pull him and poke him all I like, but he does not readily budge. I’ve had to strategize and plan my methods of attack.

Some things I find to be effective for waking him up:

Tickling his nose with a spare feather.

Splashing his face with some cold water.

Waving a sprig of broccoli or a slice of cucumber at him.

... Did you know, diary? Leona-san drools. It gets his hair stuck to his face and plastered all over. Leona-san snores, too. Other times, he sleeps in such a state of peace and tranquility that I doubt it is the same lion.

At least when he is asleep, his arrogant mouth is shut.

A wild sleeping beauty among the dusty savanah.

Dear Diary,

I cannot even attend classes anymore without feeling a pair of eyes on me. Some Savanaclaw student herds me over to Magift Club practice as soon as lectures end.

I’m forced to sit in the stands until Leona-san finishes up and hauls me back to the dorm. Sometimes I watch, and other times I work on my latest story, The Flower Magus and the Scorned Knight.

I’m not a fan of Magift, diary. This raven can barely fly on her own in this human form. To use flight for sport... I do not entirely understand it myself, but I feel as though I have come to appreciate it a bit more from those long hours of Magift practice.

Leona-san mounts his broom in a very odd manner. You would normally straddle the broom between your legs, correct? Yet he casually stands on it as though it were a surfboard...? It looks to be rather dangerous, but he handles it with ease.

I have seen him running, too—mowing his opponents down with mighty magic. It’s strange how Leona-san can move with such grace and speed--in the mornings, he is nothing more than a lumpy sack of potatoes lazing about in bed. Who would have thought? Instead of a crown of gold and jewels, it is a crown of sweat that he wears.

... I have made it a habit to pack a small towel or a handkerchief to offer after practice. It is not that I am concerned for his health (he seems to be in a state where he is well enough to make snappy remarks and boss me around), but... I figure it is only the polite thing to do, since he is working hard for once.

Putting forth effort in something—anything—is to be admired.

I have often thought that Leona-san was nothing more than a pretty face, but this hard-working side to him is also tolerable.

If only he were like this all of the time.

Dear Diary,

I asked Ruggie if there were any interesting spots in Savanaclaw for me to sit and observe. I am in desperate need of inspiration, for I am stuck in the middle of The Flower Magus and the Scorned Knight. With a little laugh, he suggested that I spend the afternoon with Leona-san.

“You write about princes and princess or whatever, right? Leona-san call tell ya about how all that stuff’s not all it’s cracked to be, nishishishi!”

He vanished for his day of odd jobs and left me for the wolves—or should I say for the lion?

I found Leona-san lounging in his bedroom, as per usual. He was, surprisingly, not taking another 20 hour cat nap—he was fiddling with a chess board and its pieces. I didn’t take him to be the type to play such a game, and I told him as much.

Leona-san seemed wounded at the insinuation. He challenged me to a game right then and there. Chess was far from how I thought I would be spending today, but I figured it was better than nothing.

... Somehow, I lost.

Not just once, not just twice.

Countless times.

With each consecutive loss, Leona-san’s maddening smirk widened. He must take great pleasure in putting me in my place—and that thought is irksome.

I would claim he was cheating but... every move he made was effortless, done in the blink of an eye. When woud Leona-san have had time to scheme? Surely it could not be his natural ability.

Surely not.

I lost track of my losses at some point. The sun was dipping into the horizon by then. The light spilling into the room, all red and orange and yellow. How had all that time passed in the blink of an eye? How had the hours slipped away like that?

The Flower Magus and the Scorned Knight laid on the floor, princes and princesses forgotten for the day.

“Your bark is worse than your bite, canary.” Leona-san had said, claiming another checkmate. “Next time, think before you speak.”

I had no words to throw back at his smug face.

What followed was silence; awkward and long, and only disrupted by a sigh.

“Stop making that face. It’s annoying,” he had commanded, bending to retrieve my notebook and slapping it back into my hands. “You’re bad at chess, so go do something else wih your time. Write or whatever.”

... Was that his way of comforting me?

If so... if certainly didn’t seem like it. Leona-san is even more terrible at conveying his true emotions than I am.

... Ah.

It seems... that there is more to him that meets the eye.

To think that a lion so bold and brash... also boasts of beauty, brawn, and brains...

Hmm.

The perfect inspiration for the Scorned Knight’s character. Perhaps I could work with this.

I shall have to properly pen the story sometime. Once Ruggie returns from his odd jobs, I will put in another request for ink, as I am almost out.

#twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Raven Crowley #Leona Kingscholar #Ruggie Bucchi #playing with the writing raven #Cat and Corvid

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lassostark · 4 years

Link

Summary:

Jaskier has a secret. Well, he has two.

The first is that he's in love with Geralt Rivia, captain of the rugby team and his childhood best friend. Only, they're no longer best friends. His second secret is that he writes Geralt poetry and anonymously posts it at the school's Freedom Wall under the pseudonym of Dandelion. And the thing is, Dandelion has become so popular - more popular than Jaskier - that it's getting more difficult to keep his silence when it's clear that Geralt is starting to develop feelings for the mysterious lovesick poet.

How naïve was Jaskier to think that it would be so easy.

Excerpt:

Dear Heart,

You’re the moon And the world is a lonely wolf; It cries at the sight of you For you are glorious And so out of reach.

Yours, Dandelion

“Ooh, another one from Dandelion!”

“Wha— really?”

“Where?”

“Move over, let me read!”

“That’s the second time this week! They’re being productive, eh?”

“Has anybody told Rivia yet? Oh, wait there’s— Triss! Hey! Have you seen Geralt?”

“I just got in, Duny. What is it?”

“Dandelion posted another poem at the wall.”

“Bloody hell, they’re on a roll.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Piss off, Chireadan. Nobody asked you.”

“Okay, Geralt just replied ‘on my way’. Where’s the poem?”

“It’s up there, the blue circle post-it.”

“… Oh. That’s quite painful.”

“I know.”

“They’re pining so hard they could build a forest.”

There’s a collective sigh of exasperation.

“Again, Chireadan: piss off.”

Jaskier slings his bag over his shoulder and closes his locker with a soft thud before going the opposite direction where the small crowd is forming in front of The Freedom Wall.

When he was in freshman year, the bulletin first gained popularity after the student council during that year proposed it to the school as a way to encourage freedom of expression amongst its students in Morhen Academy. Since then, the school never took the bulletin off, and it gradually became a safe space for students to express their thoughts, opinions, as well as anonymously divulge their secrets and desires. For Jaskier, who’s now in his last year of high school, utilising The Freedom Wall for the past year and a half as a means to share his poetry without compromising his identity has become both a blessing and a curse.

It’s a blessing because he can write and post his poetry while his identity remains safe, having come up with the moniker of Dandelion after his favourite flower. Not that anyone would think to guess it’s him. Nobody knows that Jaskier is a lovesick poet, that he has filled out dozens and dozens of pages of writing he hasn’t shared to anyone. Until that fateful day.

It’s a curse because while he pours his heart out into his notebook with prose and verses, some carrying a tune more than others — it’s not like it’ll make the object of his (albeit secret) affections notice Jaskier. Even if he puts up a large neon sign over his head, there’s just no way Geralt Rivia, resident captain of the Morhen Wolves rugby team, would look twice at him and think that those pretty words written for him could ever come from someone like Jaskier.

There’s just no way.

He’s been setting himself up for disappointment and heartbreak from the start, he knows that. He’s more than aware of that fact. But let it not be said that Jaskier Pankratz has always had a dreadful habit of hurting himself further.

Jaskier grows up with two parents and two older siblings. One of his early memories about his parents is that they always fought, and his siblings always bullied him just because he was the youngest.

Jaskier is six when he made his first friend.

He and one Geralt Rivia became inseparable after Geralt pushed their classmate Valdo Marx on the playground after he shoved Jaskier to get to the swing first.

They played together, had recess together. Some weekends, they would sleepover at each other’s place, though Jaskier preferred staying over at Geralt’s because he was scared that if his best friend heard his parents fight, then Geralt wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore.

Jaskier is nine when his parents separated.

He and Geralt still have sleepovers, but it’s Jaskier who often stays at his best friend’s place. He also adores Geralt’s mum. Visenna Rivia being an excellent baker and never failing to indulge the young boys’ every whim.

It’s later in the week and Jaskier has sequestered himself in his usual corner at the cafeteria. His packed lunch has always been the same since freshman year. The sandwich of the week (it’s tuna this time), a pear (it varies, sometimes it’s an apple, sometimes it’s grapes), and a juice box and bottled water.

He likes the quiet. Prefers it, really. But sometimes he’ll be joined by a couple of his friends. Chireadan, Renfri, Shani, and Priscilla are the ones who frequent his table at the corner. Triss, who’s Jaskier’s lab partner this year, as well as Duny and Pavetta, join him on occasion. But most of the time, Jaskier has the table to himself. And he’s perfectly fine with it, too.

With his creative mind, all he needs is his brown leather-bound notebook and favourite pen, and it’s more than enough. It should be.

Jaskier is munching on his pear while fiddling with a torn bracelet he’s decided to use as a bookmark for his notebook when he hears boisterous laughter across the cafeteria. He looks up, only to see the rugby team on the long table they pushed together in the middle of the area to accommodate the dozen players that make up the Morhen Wolves. They’re talking animatedly, voices loud and piercing, while others throw food at each other.

And right in the middle of it is Geralt Rivia. He’s one of the only people there who’s seated calmly, although Jaskier can see that small, upwards twitch on the corner of his mouth. The only indication that the silver-haired captain finds the whole thing amusing. Jaskier’s heart aches in that moment.

Then suddenly, Geralt looks up from his conversation with Eskel to meet Jaskier’s eyes.

Shit, Jaskier curses himself. He averts his eyes and ducks his head instead, cursing himself further when he feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment at being caught.

He forces himself to focus on his leather-bound notebook, jotting down a few lines for a new song he has in mind. All the while, he continues to fiddle with the bracelet.

On Geralt’s tenth birthday, Jaskier gifted his best friend a drawing of the two of them. Before discovering his love for writing, Jaskier was a pretty decent artist, so he carefully drew a mountain with the sun rising behind it, two figures — one with chestnut hair and one with dark grey — standing beside each other on a forked road before them.

“Why is it forked?” Geralt asks Jaskier with a curious tilt of his head.

Jaskier shrugs. “I thought it looked nice. Why draw one road when you can draw two, right? And besides, that way you can choose which path to take!”

Geralt frowns. “But what if you don’t want to go in the same direction as me?”

“Don’t be silly, I’d follow you anywhere! You’re my best friend!”

“Well, I’d follow you, too.”

The two young boys share grins, and they only get up when Geralt’s mum calls them for dinner.

It’s the middle of November now, and since Jaskier started posting his poetry on The Freedom Wall near the end of second year, he always arrives at the school earlier than usual to put up the post-it at the bulletin.

There’s nobody in sight, the hallways void of students and teachers alike. Luckily, the bulletin is only a few feet away from his locker, which is also near the boy’s toilet. So in case he hears anyone approaching, Jaskier can make a quick escape.

Checking that the coast is clear and he can’t hear any footsteps approaching, Jaskier swiftly takes out the yellow rectangle post-it from between the pages of his notebook. Using one of the coloured thumb tacks pinned to the bulletin, Jaskier goes on his tip toes to pin the note to the upper right corner. Satisfied, he straightens with a huff of breath and takes a moment to scan the other messages posted, eyes landing on other anonymous writings pinned in the bulletin.

“My parents are getting a divorce. I might move schools next term. I don’t want to go.”

“I came out to my family last night over dinner, and for the first time I saw my dad cry. He’s a lawyer, and I can’t even remember the last time we had a heart-to-heart. But he hugged me and told me he loved me.”

“Sure, this school has a zero tolerance for bullying. But what if it’s ourselves we’re bullying? Sometimes, I’m scared of my own thoughts.”

“FUCK HOMOPHOBIA. FUCK RACISM. FUCK ISLAMOPHOBIA. FREEDOM FOR ALL!!!”

“What if one day you wake up and you find that you’re the person you’ve always wanted to be? What would you do?”

“The cafeteria needs to revamp their menu. There’s only so much baked fucking potato I can consume in a goddamn week.”

“This country isn’t for me. As an immigrant, I don’t feel like I belong. But then I remember where I came from, where my family suffered for years of poverty and oppression. And that’s when the gratitude comes. How can I be so selfish when my parents sacrificed so much for my sisters, just so we can be safe and have a bright future?”

“Anyone got any guesses who Dandelion is?”

A bubble of surprised laughter erupts from Jaskier upon reading the last one. He purses his lips and reads it a second time, eyes attentively going over the spidery scrawl of the letters. He’s half tempted to take it down, but Jaskier knows he can’t. No student is allowed to remove or discard anything that’s posted at The Freedom Wall. Nobody except the teachers and caretakers, who clear out the massive bulletin drilled into the wall every week.

Some part of Jaskier twinges in sorrow every time he sees his writing, though anonymous, be discarded so carelessly like yesterday’s leftovers. Once it’s out there, it’s never really gone, though. His words are immortalised elsewhere. What he chooses to share is only a fragment, a sliver, of the deeper parts of Jaskier’s heart.

He only ever posts at the bulletin for one person, anyway.

Dear Heart,

The universe is a brilliant writer; It wrote your name in my stars Before any of us existed So when the time comes They’ll light up your path — And lead you straight to me.

Yours, Dandelion

Like everyone, Jaskier is walking briskly to his next class, which happens to be AP English Literature. He’s adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, mumbling to himself about purchasing a new one that weekend. He’s fixing the zipper of his bag when he rounds the next corner, only to collide hard with a solid body.

“Oomf!”

Jaskier hits the ground on his arse. His bag, halfway open, spills the contents between him and the person he bumped into.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” a gruff voice says above him, sounding just as shocked.

Jaskier stiffens, belated realising that the figure he collided with didn’t even move from the spot. Slowly, he raises his head to meet Geralt’s golden eyes.

Swallowing past the dryness he suddenly finds lodged in his throat, Jaskier quickly stammers, “I-it’s fine!” He clears his throat. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t see you. Was a bit occupied wrestling with my stupid bag.”

“It’s fine,” Geralt replies in that same gruff voice, although his tone is soft.

He looks away from Geralt’s eyes, unable to hold his piercing gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. It’s akin to looking directly at the sun, and Jaskier, who’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, fears that if he stares too long that Geralt will see something he doesn’t want to see. So instead, Jaskier focuses on gathering his books, notebooks, and pens scattered on the deserted hallway.

Wait. Deserted? Since when?

Ah, fuck. It doesn’t matter.

Jaskier is shoving his History book into his bag when he feels more than sees Geralt crouch in front of him. He wordlessly passes Jaskier some of his pens, which he accepts with a mumbled “thank you”. When he catches sight of Geralt clutching a brown, leather-bound notebook in his large hands, Jaskier feels his heart stop.

His eyes drift from the notebook to the rough-looking hands, and up to the chiseled features of Geralt’s handsome face. And he is. Handsome. Breathtakingly beautiful, with his sharp jawline and the high cheekbones. Full lips that are dry but look soft at the same time, an odd juxtaposition in Jaskier’s humble opinion.

Geralt is still looking at the notebook, Jaskier notes, thick fingers slowly stroking the spine as golden eyes study the initials embossed on the front cover.

“You’re finally using it,” Geralt comments, thumb lightly stroking the thin leather cord that keeps the notebook closed.

Jaskier gulps inaudibly. Give it back, give it back. Please.

“I’ve been using it for years,” he reveals quietly. Jaskier shrugs when Geralt looks up to meet his eyes. “Took you long enough to notice.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him before he snorts softly and — thank god — finally hands it back to Jaskier. He more or less snatches it from the other man, careful not to let their fingers graze.

“It’s not like I always have my eyes on you,” Geralt eventually says.

Jaskier finally zips his bag closed, and they rise up from their crouched positions. Jaskier opens his mouth to make a sarcastic retort, but stops himself when the words register to him.

He tilts his head at Geralt. “Does this mean you sometimes have your eyes on me?”

Geralt blinks, and he looks startled for a moment that Jaskier can’t help but chuckle. It’s so easy to push his buttons, Jaskier has almost forgotten how much fun he used to have getting a rise out of Geralt.

“That’s not— I don’t—”

“Relax, Geralt. I was only teasing.”

Geralt shuts his mouth, looking nonplussed.

“Hmm.”

Oh, he’s definitely missed that, Jaskier thinks with a pang. His earlier mirth recedes, amused smile fading from his face.

They stand in front of each other in awkward silence. Jaskier fixes the strap of his bag over his shoulder as he fixes his eyes on his black Converse shoes.

Geralt clears his throat.

“Thanks, er, for the help,” Jaskier states. He chances a glance up and fights down a flinch when he sees Geralt already looking at him.

“Sure,” Geralt acknowledges with a nod, his expression pinched.

Jaskier thinks he looks a cross between constipated and freaked out. Could be a bit of both, who knows?

“So. I’m gonna go. I have AP English.”

Geralt nods again.

“AP Biology for me.”

“Okay. Er. Bye.”

“… Bye.”

It’s with an awkward wave, and a more awkward smile, that Jaskier walks past Geralt to turn the corner and get to class. Which he’s already a minute late for, fuck.

If his heart is hammering against his ribcage, and his palms happen to be sweaty and his cheeks flushed pink, Jaskier convinces himself it’s because he hightailed it across the hallway in record time to avoid getting detention from Ms. Tissaia.

Yeah. That’s why. It’s because he ran.

(Read the rest on AO3)

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #the witcher fic #jaskier #geralt of rivia #modern au #high school au #jock!geralt #nerd!jaskier #my writing

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jiangchengrights · 3 years

Text

i wake to you at dawn

also available on ao3

“Alright, I get it,” Wei Ying mumbles to herself from where she lays, half of her face shoved into the pillow beneath her head, the other half just barely illuminated by the screen on her phone, “This dog is friends with that other dog now. Whoop de-fucking-do.”

Usually, these soft animal videos on Instagram don’t annoy her that much, even when they are about dogs, but she’s seen this specific post about fourteen times tonight. She can recite by memory the posts that come after it (a celebrity laying out in the sun, the tagline only the sunflower emoji, followed by one of Wen Qing, looking stern but fond as her lap is completely covered by both Wei Ying and Wen Ning, the tagline for that being ‘Reluctant jie’, and so on and so on) because she’s been frenetically refreshing all of her social media apps in order; she now knows the current lineup of instagram posts and tweets in her feed and has seen every godforsaken not-actually-that-interesting story of all of her friends (which isn’t fair to them, really, considering all of the important ones are here trapped in this same hotel as Wei Ying).

“Oh my god,” Jiang Cheng grumbles from the other side of the room where he lays on his bed (because of course he’s a part of her bridal party. Kind of. He’s walking her down the aisle tomorrow which, okay, makes him technically not a part of her party but she wasn’t about to let him skate free the night before her wedding)(or any of her bridal functions)(not that she needed to worry: he’d taken all planning rights away from her for her bridal shower and bachelorette party, he’d only tolerated the help of shijie) and throws his extra pillow at her, “If I have to hear that fucking dog video one more time, I swear to god, I’ll break your kneecaps. Do you hear me? I’ll have to drag you down the aisle tomorrow because you won’t be able to walk.”

“I thought you liked dogs, Shidi,” she replies, shifting ever-so-slightly so that she can squint at him past her phone.

“Wei Wuxian-”

“A-Cheng, A-Ying,” Shijie hums soothingly, from the other side of the room, “Please rest, for me. Your Shijie needs sleep too.”

“And if you don’t,” Wen Qing pipes up, “I know other ways to make you shut up.”

“Okay, okay,” Wei Ying whines, locking her phone with an audible click and resting it on the pillow next to her head, “I’ll try to sleep. For Shijie.”

Wei Ying does not sleep. She tries, she really does. Turns off all the lights and all the sounds and everything shiny that could keep her just engaged enough to stay awake. She tries to listen to the steadying breathes of her bridal party around her; Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang lay on the bed to her left, Shijie and Wen Qing to her right, Wen Ning passed out on the floor (he’d been invited, truly, to sleep in the empty spot next to her, only he’d fallen asleep long before everyone else and moving him to an actual bed proved to be very difficult when all the adults in the room were half (three fourths) wine drunk and giggling, so they’d just put a pillow under his head and wrapped him in their softest blankets and left it at that). She practices all the meditation tricks Lan Zhan had taught her; tries to calm her mind and her breathing and her heart.

It doesn’t work.

God, she wishes to herself, regardless of however illogical it may be, I wish Lan Zhan was in my bridal party.

With a sigh, she spends some time reflecting. She’s made so many bad decisions in her life, ones that have resulted in no less than three broken arms (sorry A-Cheng), many school detentions, almost getting expelled from university, a car accident that had left Shijie with seatbelt burns and a black eye from the airbag and Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, had left Lan Zhan, who’d been sitting prim and proper in the back seat, with scars that still lingered across the expanse of her back in the shape of all of Wei Ying’s nightmares. She’d chosen to hide away after that for three years in a different city with different hair and a different smile on her face and pretend like she didn’t feel a bone crushing loneliness in her entire being every time she thought of her Shijie, and didi, and her Lan Zhan who wasn’t really hers anymore, and that fact that in her self imposed exile she would never seen any of them again. That was, until Lan Zhan found her and dragged her back home and made her whole again.

Wei Ying was always whole, Lan Zhan would say, has said, I just helped Wei Ying find a way back. Will always bring Wei Ying back.

But with all that behind her and mostly wrapped up, this, tonight, right here, feels like her worst idea yet. She’d been so confident too! Had fought every naysayer, including Lan Zhan herself, with a cocky smile and a wave of her hand.

Brides shouldn't see each other the night before the wedding! She had laughed, and then laughed harder when Lan Zhan’s fingers had tightened where they dug into her hip, Besides, we’re not one of those couples! We can handle one night apart!

And she had been right, for the most part. Of course she missed Lan Zhan, but a night spent apart, having fun with her little family, all of them basking in the shared excitement of her impending nuptials. What she hadn’t anticipated was trying to sleep without Lan Zhan beside her, not when she’s this nervous, hadn’t thought about how deeply she would miss Lan Zhan’s warm weight behind her, her steadying arm firm around her waist, holding Wei Ying together like she did every night. She feels the absence with every shift of her hips that press backwards into nothing, every time she throws an arm out to rest on an empty pillow and the fact that there are no warm, soft, calves to ruthlessly shove her cold toes against.

By the time she picks up her phone again, everyone in the room is peacefully asleep and the clock on her bedside table blinks 2:36, proud and red and rude, if you ask Wei Ying. She gives up on sleep and starts mentally calculating exactly how much concealer she’ll need to cover the bags under her eyes. After all, she wants to look her absolute best for Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who is so steady and warm and beautiful, Lan Zhan who could open her mouth wide and eat Wei Ying’s entire heart in one bite but doesn’t, instead offering her own heart up on a silver platter for Wei Ying.

Wei Ying opens their messages on her phone, reads through the last few, laughs at the pictures she’d sent earlier in the night of Nie Mingjue, eyes half lidded with alcohol, laying messy kisses to the side of Xichen-ge’s face, who seemed to be accepting them with grace and only slightly tinged red ears. She taps her fingers on the screen, starting a message, lan zhan i can’t slee-

She doubles back, erasing it, deciding she doesn’t need to be whiny the night before their wedding, when Lan Zhan is surely asleep anyways. Again she starts, good early morning, lan zhan! i can’t wait to see you in your-

Too much, that is utterly too much. i love you, she types, hesitates with her thumb over the send button. What if the sound of her phone wakes Lan Zhan up? What if then Lan Zhan can’t fall back asleep? What if Lan Zhan tosses and turns all night and ends up with a headache, overtired on their wedding day of all times? What if this texts absolutely ruins everythi-

Her phone sounds, the little swooping noise it makes when she receives a new message on the thread she’s already looking at. She looks down and finds a link from Lan Zhan to a video of baby bunnies playing together with a message that says, When we return from our honeymoon, I think it is time we get another bunny. Possibly two.

And well. Her decision is made for her really. If Lan Zhan is awake, laying in her own bed in a room on the other side of the hotel, fighting off insomniatic boredom with bunny videos, there’s no way Wei Ying can stay here and allow them both to suffer.

She finds herself glad that Wen Ning is on the floor, though it looks a tad uncomfortable, because she’s able to slip out of bed with ease, bare feet silent on the carpeted floor. The only thing she grabs is her phone, not even bothering to try to find her shoes in the colossal mess that is her dark bridal room, littered with take out and bottles and stripped off clothing. Her nose crinkles, amused, when she thinks of the look of reprove she’ll surely get from Lan Zhan when she realizes Wei Ying walked around barefoot.

She manages to zigzag her way to the door without stepping on anything or making any noise, a feat she will congratulate herself on later. The door opens slowly, making the barest hint of noise as yellow hotel-hallway light floods the entrance to the room. Wei Ying pumps her fist, gloating at being able to sneak out without a single one of her party-poopers (read: caring family) waking up to ruin it for her and make her climb back into her own bed.

That is, until she catches Nie Huaisang’s eyes, watching her from where he lays next to Jiang Cheng. The most dangerous opponent, really, because with one shove of his arm he’d have Jiang Cheng up and yelling, alarming the whole room before she’d even make it to the elevator. She’s not sure she knows the layout of the hotel well enough to make it safely inside Lan Zhan’s room before one of them caught her.

Silent, slow, she moves one finger up to place over her lips, keeping eye contact with Nie Huaisang the whole time. She pleads with him from across the room, imploring him to be cool. He blinks, once, twice, slow like a cat in the sun, and then closes his eyes a third time for good and raises one, slow, thumbs up to her.

Her sigh of relief is the last noise in the room before she shuts the door and power walks to the elevator at the end of the hallway. She is going to buy him the biggest fruit basket. She dances by herself once inside the elevator, suddenly feeling cold and exposed in her red silk sleep tank and shorts, goosebumps prickling her arms and thighs. If only Lan Zhan’s room wasn’t so stupidly far away.

Of course her room has to be far away! Jiang Cheng had yelled when Wei Ying whined about it, the second you start drinking all you want to do is sit in her lap! You’re lucky I’m letting her party stay in the same hotel as yours!

And well, he hadn’t been wrong, per say, she thinks to herself as she tiptoes off the elevator and down the maze-like hall to get to Lan Zhan’s room. She still didn’t appreciate the distance though. She quietly tap taps on the door with one hand, pressing send on a text with the other that reads, lan zhan let me in lan ZHAN!!!

The door opens before her hand has even fallen back to her side. And there is her Lan Zhan, in soft cloud print pajamas pants and a white t-shirt, hair drawn up into a neat bun, eyes tired but awake.

“Wei Ying,” she says, the smile in her voice all Wei Ying needs to know about her welcome. She slides closer, wrapping her arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, grinning when she feels the others arms sneak around her waist.

“Mmm, Lan Zhan,” she hums against Lan Zhan’s neck, moving up to her tiptoes so she can nuzzle her nose against the corner of Lan Zhan’s jaw, “I’m tired, let’s go to bed.”

“I thought I was not supposed to see the bride the night before the wedding,” Lan Zhan replies, but she’s already inching backwards into the room, dragging Wei Ying along with her.

“Who ever said that?” Wei Ying asks, knowing full well she was the one who said that, a smile on her face when she lets Lan Zhan drop her into bed.

“Besides,” she says, once Lan Zhan is settled beside her, reaching one hand up to pet the side of Lan Zhan’s face, thumb rubbing gentle circles across the expanse of Lan Zhan’s cheekbone, “Does it count if there’s two brides? I don’t think so, we cancel each other out, see? If anything we have to do the opposite, you know, we have to see each other extra hard tonight.”

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan hums, her lips pulling up ever so slightly on one side as she leans in to rest her forehead against Wei Ying’s, legs tangling together, one hand sliding underneath Wei Ying’s shirt to spread warm and wide and firm in the valley between her shoulder blades, “Is that so?”

“Yes, tonight we have to,” Wei Ying nods, finally allowing her eyes to close as she presses further into Lan Zhan’s embrace, sleep finally weighing on her shoulders. She lets her head drop down, lips brushing against Lan Zhan’s collarbone, breathing her words right into Lan Zhan’s chest, “And every night too. I’ll tack that on for free, Lan Zhan, every night.”

“Yes, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan sighs against her hair and melts under Wei Ying’s nimble fingers, relaxed at once with the promise of forever, “Every night.”

“I love you,” Wei Ying whispers, one final thing, around a yawn and finally, finally settles for the night. She almost misses Lan Zhan’s whispered reply, I love you too.

But she doesn’t. She never wants to miss a single thing Lan Zhan has to say.

Coda:

For all of fifteen seconds, the world is warm and bright and everything good when Wei Ying wakes up. Toned legs tangle with her own and a soft hand pets her hair away from her face, gentle and comforting again and again. She herself is pressed messily against Lan Zhan’s chest, quite possibly, embarrassingly, drooling ever so slightly. She does not have time to register this, however, before the banging starts.

“Wei Wuxian, I know you’re in there!” comes a belt from the other side of the door, that has her shooting up in an awkward half sitting position, splayed on one-fourth on the bed and three-fourths in Lan Zhan’s lap. Lan Zhan’s hands act as a steadying force, one on her hip, the other on her back, as she blinks deliriously around the room.

Nie Mingjue seems to be in a similar position, probably blinking off a hangover and propelling up from his sleeping position, glaring around the room like he might find the source of their disturbance somewhere inside. Jin Zixuan, on the other hand, groans loud and long, pressing his pillow over his ears.

“I see you are up,” Lan Xichen smiles from the little table where he sits, drinking his cup of tea peacefully, unperturbed by the pounding on their door, “I hope you rested well.”

“I did, thank you Xichen-ge,” Wei Ying tries to laugh around the blush high in her cheeks, only now really registering the fact that Lan Zhan was also sharing a room and not, in fact, alone just waiting for Wei Ying to traipse her way in.

But when she looks down at the woman laying beside her, she sees none of her own embarrassment reflected there, only a fond smile and a soft hand reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ears. Huh, she thinks, revising her earlier thoughts, maybe not alone but definitely waiting for me.

“Wei Wuxian!” comes again from outside the door, though this time it just has her laughing, pushing into Lan Zhan’s hands like a cat.

“When did you get here?” Nie Mingjue asks, rubbing at his eyes. But he stands and stumbles his way over to Xichen and the tea and doesn’t seem particularly hard pressed for an answer, so Wei Ying ignores it.

“Hi, we’re getting married today,” she says instead, meeting Lan Zhan’s smile with her own.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums while the banging on the door stops. Finally, Wei Ying sighs, leaning down to press her lips against Lan Zhan’s, chaste because they are still in front of Lan Zhan’s brother and her brother in law. She’s still there when the door pops open, revealing a quietly furious Wen Qing.

“Wei Wuxian,” she seethes, taking calculated steps closer, “You were supposed to stay in your bed.”

“I did!” Wei Ying says, smiling wide to prove her innocence, “Lan Zhan is my bed!”

“I am going to-” Jiang Cheng barges through, leaving no one to hold the door open; it swings heavily back straight towards Jiang Yanli.

Before Wei Ying can even shout a disgruntled hey! Jin Zixuan, who was already on his way to the door, catches it with his hand and leads Jiang Yanli inside with a gentle hand and a soft smile that makes Wei Ying want to puke.

But Yanli-jie smiles back, big and happy and unashamed, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, “Hello, husband.”

“Good morning, A-Li,” he says back, wistful and dopey as he leads her inside with a soft hand on the small of her back. Right in that moment, Wei Ying decides maybe she doesn’t hate him. For now.

“Sorry, Shijie,” Jiang Cheng responds, automatic when he looks back but Jiang Yanli waves him off with a forgiving smile.

“I know it wasn’t on purpose A-Cheng.”

The commotion leaves Wei Ying relaxed in a way she should have known better than to be, because all too soon she is being hoisted away from her warm spot on the bed and dragged out of the room.

“You promised, Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing snaps, but Wei Ying can already hear the forgiveness in her voice, the amusement. Wei Ying lets herself be dragged along, barefoot again, back to her own room. And then because honestly she’s a little on the edge of too-excited and too-in love she shouts over her shoulder:

“I’ll see you at the end of the aisle, Wife!” and maintains vision of the room just long enough for Lan Zhan, who’d pushed herself into an upright position, turn red and drop back down into the bed with a gasp, like all of the air had been knocked out of her.

Wei Ying’s cackles are only rivaled by the quiet, but pleased chuckles from Lan Xichen.

“Do you have to be such an annoyingly sweet couple every single day?” Wen Qing huffs, letting go of her (fake, Wei Ying is pretty sure) anger entirely, sliding her arm up so they can lock elbows, walking arm and arm back to Wei Ying’s room.

Wei Ying thinks of Lan Zhan, warm around her and ever inviting, even if it was 2AM, even if Wei Ying looked like a ragamuffin, even if, even if, and smiles wide, cheesy, deliriously with all the right decisions she’s made in this life and says, “Yes.”

#wangxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #lan xichen #wen qing #wen ning #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #jin zixuan #my writing #my fics #jiangchengrights

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crimson-snowfall · 4 years

Note

I like your HC about the drunken MC:) May I get the HC for Theo and Isaac if they were the drunken ones and find their MC in bedroom after drinking with Arthur (Theo) or Leo (Isaac) Hope you understand what I mean, english is not my mother language

Sorry this took long, I expected the first week of uni to be chill but hecc no it wasn’t ;w; Mentions of sex ahead but nothing too detailed as always

Ikevamp HC request: Drunk!Theo and Drunk!Isaac

Theo

You giggled as you heard Theo cursing from the hallway. Arthur must’ve won in their little game that night, and you could hear the flirtatious author teasing and taunting your lover, aggravating him further.

You opened the door to find Arthur about to knock, supporting a very drunk Theo on his shoulders. Usually it’s the other way round, but Arthur got particularly peeved the other day when Theo brought up about how Arthur is such a terrible drunk. Tonight’s incident must be his revenge.

Arthur was obviously drunk himself but not as drunk the angry drunk beside him. Once the two of you have finally set Theo down on his bed, Arthur tried flirting with you. He almost landed a kiss on your forehead when a pillow came flying to intercept and landed square on his face.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I KILL YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS, YOU FUCKING KLOOTZAK!” Your lover was fuming with rage, while his friend seemed to be out of sorts from the impact of the pillow.

With that, you hurriedly ushered Arthur out of the room before he does anything to further enrage angry drunk Theo. Sebastian happened to be passing by and volunteered to take Arthur to his room.

Theo has calmed down a little now that his nuisance of a friend is finally gone, but he is still evidently upset that Arthur tried to make a move on you, in front of him no less. The moment you were within his reach, Theo had you pinned down on his bed, smothering your forehead with fiery kisses.

“Hondje is mine. Won’t let that bastard’s stench cling on to you.” Theo then proceeded to kiss every inch of exposed skin on your clothed body, and when that wasn’t enough, he began taking off your clothes.

“…Theo, he didn’t even get to touch me.”

“Don’t care. I want you.” The movement of his hands as he stripped you were rather erratic, so you helped him before he gets too impatient with the buttons of your blouse and rips it off, just like last time. “How did you end up this drunk anyway, Theo?”

“Don’t know, don’t ask,” was all he said in response before his mouth crashed against the bare skin of your chest, hungry for your flesh. Soon enough you smelled of Theo and his alcohol.

After licking you all up, he switched places with you, straddling you against his hips. “Take lead, hondje.” Theo commanded in a husky voice, eyes dark with drunken lust.

Theo rarely gives you the opportunity to be in charge, so that night was a golden opportunity, and you’re not about to mess it up. This time, you’ll make him feel so good that he’ll be compelled to let you take charge more often.

You fucked Theo so good that the next morning he woke up hungover with pleasure, and he could still feel you on his skin even though you weren’t exactly next to him.

He walked over to you by the mirror where you were fixing your hair and embraced you from behind, planting a kiss on your nape.

“Who told you its acceptable to have me wake up without you in my arms after spending a night with me, hondje?”

You only turned around and kissed him good morning on the lips in response. A smug smile formed on his lips as he breathed in your scent.

As much as Theo would want to keep things that way, he figured it would be too much to have you work around smelling like him and alcohol… and the lovebites on your neck are more than enough proof of who your master is.

The two of you still have an hour before breakfast, so he took you to the thermae. “It’s a master’s job to bathe his hondje, so come with me.”

Isaac

Isaac absolutely detests drinking alcohol because of his abysmal tolerance. However, if there’s one person in the mansion aside from you that he can’t just bring himself to say no to, it has to be Leonardo since Isaac idolizes this man a lot.

Leo promised that they won’t be drinking anything hard. True to his words, the liquor didn’t emit any strong odor and the alcoholic taste was rather faint in contrast to its surprisingly sweet flavor.

Normally it would take Isaac just a couple of drinks to start feeling tipsy, so he took a few more drinks, relishing the flavor without any apparent signs of the consequences yet. Leo just watched on in mild amusement.

Isaac was enjoying the feeling of drinking and not showing any signs of intoxication that he might’ve drank too fast and eagerly for his own good. By the time the sudden intoxication kicked in, he had about twice as much as Leo had.

“A fine bottle of sweet liquor, but I’m afraid you mustn’t have too much in such little time,” Leo took the glass from the dazed Isaac’s trembling hands, before taking him up to his room.

You just finished sorting through the books Isaac left earlier when the pureblood invited him for a drink when you heard a knock on the door. You opened it to see Leo supporting your half-asleep lover on his shoulder.

Isaac is fairly lightweight so you had no trouble taking him from Leo and leading him down to the bed yourself. You sent off Leo with a few words of gratitude for looking after your lover.

You just finished tucking the sleepy drunk in his bed and were about to leave when he pulled you down next to him. He had the familiar reddish tint on his cheeks that matched his hair, and the expression he wore at that time made him look rather vulnerable.

Isaac wrapped you in a tight embrace and nuzzled against crook of your neck. “Stay…” he pleaded you with his soft voice. Of course, you obliged and voiced your agreement by returning his embrace and with a kiss on the top of his head.

The two of you stayed in that position for a while, with Isaac licking and kissing your neck and every now and then, but never biting down like he normally would when he’s giving your neck some attention.

When he finally pulled back, Isaac had a dreamy look in his eyes as he looked at you.

“You know what… I think I never told you this before… but… you’re so beautiful.”

While Isaac wasn’t very good with expressing his emotions, you were pretty sure that at least at one point he has called you beautiful. Perhaps it’s a side effect of the alcohol? This wasn’t the first time you tended to a drunk Isaac though, and the last time he basically turned into a giant blob of sex hormones and did you until he himself passed out from drunken exhaustion.

“In fact… you’re so beautiful… I had to look up on the skies to make sure that the universe is still there…”

“Why?”

“Because you’re… more beautiful… than all of the galaxies combined. Ridiculous it may seem… I thought that the universe… may have taken human form.” His speech may be sluggish, but your lover sure isn’t holding back from dishing out sweet words. Considering the sweet scent of his breath, did he perhaps turn into a giant ball of fluff this time? Or is this him being honest with his feelings as a typical consequence of drunkenness?

Isaac cupped your cheeks affectionately and squeezed it softly. “Beautiful. Lovely. Tasty. You’re the goddess I want to… believe in. What more… can I ask for?”

His sudden change in behavior is starting to get to you and before long you were redder than an apple, not being used to showered with such tooth-rooting sweet words.

Isaac went on for another half an hour praising you and confessing even his naughtiest thoughts about you, and halfway through you just ran out of words that you could just nod in acknowledgement of his words as you repeatedly attempt to hide your face on his chest, only to have him sabotage your attempts by capturing your lips in soft but warm kisses.

Isaac eventually fell asleep, but he kept you locked up in his embrace, and his sweet words and naughty confessions kept you up half of the night. When you asked him in the morning whether he recalls everything he said last night, he grew incredibly flustered and went silent for a whole minute, averting his gaze but still not letting you go from his embrace.

Finally, he spoke in a barely audible whisper, growing redder with each word. “Whether I was drunk or not… I think I meant most of the things I said last night.”

If I’m not mistaken, “klootzak” means “asshole” in Dutch

Last three requests to be posted within this week or until next next week, I’m still working on the last 2 fics of my fic series for this month so yup

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen series #ikevamp theo #ikevamp theodorus #ikevamp isaac #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire theodorus #ikemen vampire isaac #ikevamp headcanon #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp hc #ikevamp hcs #ikemen headcanon #ikemen headcanons #ikemen hc #ikemen hcs #ikemen vampire headcanon #ikemen vampire headcanons

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voidcat · 4 years

Text

– Nebula

“ A nebula (Latin for 'cloud' or 'fog'; pl. nebulae, nebulæ or nebulas) is an interstellar cloud of dust, hydrogen, helium and other ionized gases. “

Characters: Oikawa Tooru/Reader, Iwaizumi Hajime

Warnings: mentions of alcohol/drinking few times, few swear words

Summary & wc: Follow up for Stardust & 6.1k words

A/N: (this was supposed to be happier and not so self indulgent... ops...), here are some songs that I think fits the vibe of this (yes they’re all CSH songs, no I don’t care.) – ao3

Beast Monster Thing (Love Isn't Love Enough)

I Want You to Know That I'm Awake/i Hope That You're Asleep

Hey, Space Cadet (Beast Monster Thing in Space)

The night ceases to exist. Just they like agreed.

Not a single good morning said when they wake up, still lying on the hood of the car. Not a single word is said on your part when he drops you off. Not a word leaves his mouth when he drives away.

It gets a bit too silent at school. Iwaizumi asking both of you, a little worried, if you got sick. Mattsun cracking a joke about how the end is nigh. You ignore them, Oikawa brushes the comments off. Yet they’re right, you are never this silent around one another. A few minutes later the two of you find something to argue over, entering your usual cycle of behavior.

Each day passes in a blur.

The boys still attend practice to teach the younger players as much as they can, to play together as long as they can. Savoring each serve, receive, pass and spike…

Besides their extra curriculum matches, comes the pressing issue of tests. And the unavoidable questions about college, decisions on college, all the excitement people have, and the sadness too.

Talking things over with your friends and getting some things a little clearer, you are all back to normal. As normal as you can be. As normal as anything can be after that night honestly.

The nagging feeling of being left alone never leaves. The whispers of pity, the unwanted, the avoided and such. Everything passes in a blur that you cannot comprehend most days.

Each day feeling like two yet ending so quickly, never long enough to do the things you want to do.

Then again, what do you want to do?

One by one everyone makes plans. Plans of college, of future, of a new life. A new country, a new city, few plans of marriage; isn’t it a bit early? Ignoring the never ending chants of future and what waits ahead, you go with your mundane tasks.

Wake up, have breakfast, go to school. Attend classes, take tests, have lunch, more school work. Go home, sit alone idly, have dinner, go to bed.

Repeat.

Words start to fall on deaf ears after a while, subconsciously blocking anything you don’t want to talk about. A nod and a hum is enough, no one asks about your opinions.

It’s as normal as it can be, as usual as it can be. You’re more self-aware about a few things maybe, after a non-existent rant under the stars yet the course of action everyone takes never changes. Birds eat the same seed every day, people discuss the same things every day. Life is back to normal.

Except it isn’t.

It hasn’t been for too long to pinpoint an exact time. Too long that it has become your normal perhaps. You try not to dwell on it too much, not wanting another restless night filled with heavy thoughts.

And maybe you’re lucky because you find Oikawa Tooru under your window another night. It only takes one pebble this time.

Not a text, not a word, you go down as he waits. He drives as you play your music. You both look up, in your own worlds.

He doesn’t try to start a conversation, something you’re grateful for. As time passes and the sky changes, you find yourself falling to sleep.

You don’t have any dreams that night and find yourself awake in his arms.

He drives you home in complete silence.

This repeats.

School days after your nonexistent nights are weird to say the least. They feel different. You feel different.

No intrusive thoughts, not your brain attacking you, not blocking out anyone…

You can feel yourself see the bright lights and enjoy the world around you. Enjoying even the tiniest things happening, like a ladybug resting on a friend’s forehead completely catching them off guard. Tiny moments like polaroids, like sweet fruit flavored candy, small cakes on sticks; all waiting to be savored and enjoyed, to be seen and to be lived in. And live, you do.

Yet the tranquility never stays too long. So you hold onto it as much as you can.

Next time Oikawa arrives, you’re already waiting for him.

The escape feels refreshing, something completely yours. Another polaroid you want to keep in your pocket forever.

Maybe he notices it or maybe he just enjoys the passive company. Because he keeps coming, at least twice a week, never on the same days, never regularly. Yet as if planning before-hand, you always know when he will come next. There’s a chance he just observes you and shows up on the days you most need perhaps. For some reason Oikawa Tooru knowing you as much as you do, if not better, does not bother you in the slightest.

The first time the silence is interrupted is on him. The reason of it is absurd, if not in the slightest bit funny. You switch your classical music with Gorillaz that night. No particular reason needed, just feeling like it. And yet Oikawa almost loses his grip on the wheels when he hears the bass entrance of Feel Good Inc. He hits the breaks as he regains control.

“What the hell is this supposed to be?” He sounds exhausted, you can’t help but notice.

“Music?”

“Yes I do know the song Feel Good Inc, I’m not living in a cave.” He sounds exasperated at first but his voice softens after a huff. “It’s just completely opposite to what you’ve played this whole time.”

“I know, I just didn’t feel like classicals tonight.”

Giving a nod your direction, he drives again. It’s a different spot when you arrive.

Higher than the previous location, you feel closer to the stars.

Shining brighter, sending their messages louder, you see Oikawa walking away from the car. Laying a blanket on the ground, placing a small pillow behind him, he sits down. Maybe he’s not the only one looking a change tonight.

You walk up to join him, knees touching one another, physical contact becoming more and more familiar with each brush, on each night.

As El Mañana starts playing, you find yourself leaning back into his arms, the gesture growing on the both of you, as if natural. Each night spent with Oikawa, side by side, sometimes in completely silence, sometimes filled with low singalongs coming from either of you. Each different yet feeling the same in a way. Like entering a bakery as they take out newly baked bread, the smell of yeast filling the air and pulling you in.

It feels good to just not exist for a couple of hours at night, just to sit back and escape the current worries darkening your mind.

“Any plans of where to go next?” Oikawa breaks the silence first, it’s going to be one of these nights.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know, that’s why I’m asking. You can mutter about anything into the void here.” He sounds different when you’re both lying on the ground, when your head is close to his chest. A voice in your head suggests it’s not just the position you’re in that makes him sound different than during the day.

“Please, not tonight.”

“Fair enough. But you have to answer another question first.” You groan.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Smacking his arm and getting a little ‘yelp’ from Oikawa, you wait for his question.

“If you could go to space, given the chance, would do agree to it?”

This, you could do. “Is it guaranteed I will arrive at a habitable planet?”

“No. It’ll be with the possibilities and conditions of today’s world only. So, would you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I, for one, would like to see the stars surrounding me completely, in 3d and all.”

“It’d be a nice escape. A path with endless opportunities and surprises.” He goes quiet after that. Waiting for a while, you reach out for the can you brought along. In that moment uner the bright lights, it seems like the perfect opportunity.

Oikawa gives you a side look when he hears the hiss of the tin can. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to drink?” He almost sounds like he cares. Almost.

“It’s one can, plus you’re here and for the last time I am not an alcoholic. Lay off my back for once.” Taking a sip and letting the coldness spread over to your neck, you let out a breath.

“I thought that’s exactly what I have been doing this whole time.” He says playfully, smile becoming a common occurrence each night by his side. Weighing your opinions for a second, you hold out the can to him.

“Here, if you want to.” He takes the can without saying a thing, coughs after taking a sip and gives it back. You’re sure he won’t be asking for it ever again.

“I’ve heard somewhere, the color of space was actually a dark tone of green. I’m not sure where though.”

“You’re joking, right? You can’t have alcohol tolerance this low.”

“…No? What does it have to do with my tolerance?”

“Because I can’t think of any other reason for that dumb statement.”

“Says you, idiotkawa.” You elbow him slightly. He turns to face you fully, holding your unoccupied hand with both of his hands. Saying your name in a very serious tone, he looks at you dead in the eye.

“What, Tooru?”

“It is space. Empty. There is nothingness. No color.” He says the last two words with emphasis. As if by holding your hand, he keeps your eyes on him too. You want to look away, because he is right but you don’t have it in you to break free of his starry eyes. “Therefore black.” He finishes up.

“Alright Mr Space Cadet, we get it. I was just trying to make small talk.” You mumble to yourself. Not making any attempt to pull back your hand or to let go of your hand, you both stay like this. The only movements are of you leaning against him and taking a sip or two once in a while. The air feels buzzy after a while, as if scribbles one does in their notebook whenever they’re bored has come alive, filling the air and your head in the process.

You don’t remember falling asleep in his arms, like any other night.

You never do, it just happens. One minute you lean against him, the feeling and the warmth still unfamiliar but weirdly pleasant. The next thing you know, you’re awaken by his soft voice or the sunlight peering through your lashes.

The day resets like that.

As if your usual worries are not enough, Oikawa Tooru adds a pile of more to them. Now mixed with guilt too. Whenever Hajime is close to you, wraps an arm around you or hugs you. No matter how comfortable you are with him, it all still feels weird, strange even. It caught you off guard when he would hug you after winning a match, it still catches you off even when his hand brushes yours. So how come you can fall asleep so peacefully and easily in the arms of someone you’re never on good terms with?

Maybe it’s the dumb jokes. Or the playful insults that lost all their spite. Or maybe it’s how soft he sounds in those crystal rare moments.

A brand new day starts. Another day of ignoring problems, living as if life will not change so drastically soon, going through the day as if you didn’t spend another night doing things you’d never normally do. You blame it on the time, when you’re too worked up on it. You can be uncharacteristically cheery at nights, or productive, thinking of things you can’t even remember in the day, imagining possibilities you can’t even dream of at night. So you blame it on the late hours that you feel closer to Oikawa Tooru, blame it on the late nights and the shiny stars that you open up to him, of all people.

It develops so quietly that none of you notice it until Makki points it out one day. How you and the trash king have gotten so quiet nowadays, how the judging stares and knife like wordsd are replaced with looks of understatement and concerned nods. You just shrug and say you don’t have time for petty fights like this when the pressing matters of college approaches. He leaves it at that but his eyes show that he’s not buying it.

You don’t need him to, you just need him to stop bringing it up. Stop making it real, giving it life.

Another night and you’re waiting by the door, dressed up thicker than the last time. The breeze is harsher but he arrives shortly.

It’s him to start another conversation using space as a topic, unsurprisingly.

“So what’s the coldest temperature in space?” he says casually, as though you’ve been talking for hours. Eager to get it right this time and not make a fool of yourself, you answer a bit too quickly, your excitement noticeable in your voice.

“Oh! I know this. What was it… -267 celcius or something, right? The perfect crystal form?...” The laugh he lets out at your rambling, facing the sky, is enough to shut you up and stop, to sit back and take in the entity that is Oikawa Tooru.

The form your thoughts about Oikawa seem to take over with each night spent by his side scare you. Since when you ever saw him in that light?

“I think you meant -273 Celcius. But no that’s not the answer.” In a manner like he already knows the curious expression you have on, he goes on: “It hasn’t been measured yet.” He turns to look at you, head titled, a small smile decorating his face.

You hit his bicep and he starts laughing again, louder, brimmed with joy. For a second, you’re sure you’ve seen a supernova.

Shaking your head a little, with an invisible smile on your face, you direct your gaze back on the actual stars. Having looked up more constellations this time, you try to spot as many as you can, recall their stories and the myths, play the scenes in your mind, with your rules this time.

How small and important tragedy sounds in those stories, how vital they can be for catharsis, oh, just how easy things sound sometimes… You’d agree to fight a Minotaur than to live this life perhaps. Physical injury is a guarantee, as long as your cells are young and active, there’s always healing, always getting as good as new. I wish that was the case mentally as well, without having to reboot yourself and your entire system, or the system around you. If you can ever change the system around you. To blame it is the more convenient option, maybe.

“Have you thought about the future, decided on anything yet?” Oikawa pulls you out of your chain of thoughts.

“I am thinking of it as of now, just not about mine.”

“Whose are you thinking about? No need to tire your pretty head about mine or Iwa-chan’s!” the cheeky tone of his ringing in the air.

“I’d never give you the time of the day, thank you very much!” liar. “And to answer your question, the usual. People of the past that may have or may not have existed. Gods, heroes and such, et cetera.” Twirling your hand in the air as listing off, you start to lose your focus on the sky. Turning to face him, you can see the solemn look on his face.

“I mean it. Have you considered any fields yet? Any colleges you want to go and check out? Anything.” Since when does he care? Why does he care? What’s that to him, why is he so caring all of a sudden, when it all is coming to an end at an alarmingly fast pace?

“I haven’t thought much of it.”

“Bullshit.” He spats.

“Excuse me? Who made you the expert of me?” So much for calm nonexistent nights, I should’ve known we couldn’t go any longer without a fight.

“It doesn’t take an expert to know you overthink everything. But I also happen to be an expert and I know when you say ‘haven’t thought much’ it means ‘I’ve thought too much to the point of numbness and I’d like to ignore it altogether until it’s unavoidable.’. Go on. Tell me I am wrong.” He is not and he knows it. He always does.

“I’ve considered the fields my parents want to me major in, but they all seem… so out of reach. I suspect if I’m illiterate whenever I try to read up about them. So many options, all considered ‘respected’ are out of the question I suppose.”

“What about something in fine arts? Maybe writing? That first night, you sounded… touching.”

“Didn’t you say you weren’t listening?” Another smile appears on your face, smiling around him starting to get more and more of an instinct, a reflex. Something easy and subconscious.

“I wasn’t. Just like tonight.” You both look up, closing your senses under the influence of glistening stars.

“You have it easy.” You say after a while. Hearing the light shuffling noises, you know he’s turned to you again. You keep focusing your gaze on star after star, until the lights hurt your eyes.

“You have volleyball, will probably get a scholarship from many places, have a good career. Even if that’s not the case, you still know a shit ton about science and space so you can find something to do with engineering or space physics. While I sit here and just exist. Exist and do nothing else. I don’t even know what I like.”

You don’t realize how tense he gets, how his posture changes drastically. He doesn’t say anything. No comment, no criticism, no jokes, no advices, no insight from his side. Another rare Oikawa Tooru moment, of silence, which you’re glad to undergo.

That night ends in complete silence. Only sounds are of the engine and your music. You don’t hum once, he never grunts at the bad constriction of the road. Both tremendously careful to not shatter the fragile silence.

Another night to lock inside your mind box of “Imaginary Things” reaches its end like that. In silence, not so at ease unlike the previous times. This somehow makes the upcoming day easy to bear, already having a head start at feeling like this, has its perks it seems.

Iwaizumi tries asking you a few times when you’re one by one, if you’re alright or need someone to talk. Thanking for the offer, you try to dismiss his worry and convince him you’re fine. He knows that’s not the case, he always knows what’s going on in your head better than anyone but he doesn’t press it, afraid of driving you away. Iwaizumi Hajime seems too good to be real most of the time.

“So what do we have tonight?” Oikawa asks, eyes never leaving the road.

“Hibiscus tea.” A hum comes from your right. “But it’s over brewed, you may not like it.”

“I can always try. It can’t be worse than that awful beer.”

“I thought ‘no judgement’ was a rule for these nightly trips.”

“We’re on our way so the night hasn’t begun. And that beer deserves all the judgement it gets. To hell with the rules.”

“I bet you don’t even know the different between different types of beer, whatever”

Smiling becomes natural at night, so is being able to talk without worries. To let out all your problems, feel the weight on your shoulders dropping off… It feels like floating in the air, the sky feels baby blue, illuminated by the sunlight. It feels like a good summer that will never come.

“I don’t want to because I am afraid of what will follow.” You blurt out suddenly. It’s funny how much one can think over what to say, weaving each word to use, putting them in the best order. Then you open your mouth and they all lose their magic.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, most likely waiting for you to continue.

“When I talked that night, I mean. If I did it more and more often, I fear I will lose myself, or a part of myself. I don’t want to dissociate to the point of extinction. I mean, I do want that sometimes, but in a different way.

It’s almost funny how I know so little about myself yet live in fear of losing myself. Maybe I just want to discover myself before losing completely.” You pause to breathe, to listen. Listen to his breathing closely, to try and tell what he is thinking. You pause to focus on the dark parts of the sky. Imagine yourself getting pulled up, covered in dark matter, if that is even possible.

“If you want to elaborate…” Oikawa speaks at last. You don’t even hear him at first. He has gone quieter than usual.

Fiddling with your fingers and the empty cup you’re holding, your head falls down. Gather your thoughts or not? Form sensible sentences or speak in incoherent blabbering? Doesn’t matter much, either way, no matter wat you do, you’re convinced it all will sound absurd.

“That night, describing it was easy. I just closed my eyes in my mind and imagined myself talking about someone else. Like a character you’re analyzing in a book, or someone you’re trying to make assumptions about to understand them better. Kind of like you, when you break someone into pieces and examine each, then put it all back together in your mind to form them and gain a better perception of them.

That’s what I did, in some ways. Dissected that part of me to bits and pieces and talked in third person, so the words could flow effortlessly. If I kept doing I would only detach from myself completely and it would be too late to build a new me, because it wouldn’t even be me because I don’t even know me!” You don’t realize cradling your head with both hands, wrapping your arms around your face or pulling knees to your chest. You don’t notice the way your voice hitches, or how it gets hitch pitched. The stinging tears at the edges of your eyes feel nothing, just like the fingers wiping them away.

The rest of the night is unknown to you. You don’t remember anything else happening. Did I bury it down deep in my mind or fall asleep? No matter the answer, it doesn’t matter. You prefer not to remember.

The numbness gets worse in time, you notice that a little too late. Trapping yourself inside the gray fog for too long, you never asked Iwa what he was applying for, where he was going. All these nights spent with Oikawa, hours of rants and not even once you knew about his doubts regarding of volleyball. His plans about Argentina were worth celebrating, and celebrate you all did. You’ve never felt more selfish in your life.

That week he didn’t came over once, you didn’t expect him to. It was fine, accumulating back to loneliness was better in the longer term. A lot has happened that requires you to think over.

The days pass in a mixture of colors. You can picture the water when various watercolor brushes are dipped into the cup, all the colors lifting of and disappearing one by one.

Bright and warm colors for short lived happiness, small things that get to you, leaving just like sun light does when a cloud covers the sun suddenly. The cloud stays there for longer. Little moments that remind you you’re alive, like a jolt of electricity. The effect wearing off quickly.

The rest is usual, always tainted, blurred, covered, hidden behind a curtain.

Oikawa comes back another night. You feel like you’re on a deadline.

During the drive, you lean against the window and close your eyes, listening to the low voice of the radio. By the time you turn around a little, to rest on the car seat headrest, you’ve fallen asleep. Awoken by an unfamiliar warmth and luscious eyes, you yawn and leave the car. You must be still sleepy and more tired than you anticipated.

Lying down by his side, just like many other nights, you let yourself see the bright lights, enjoy the ones you cannot reach.

“I think I’ve found it.” You whisper to the stars.

“Found what?” They ask back, he inquires.

“Something I like.” You say matter-of-factly, as if it is that easy.

Taking in the silence as your que, you continue.

“I like the person I become when I am with you. It feels carefree. Talking is easier, the vastness of the sky is comforting. It shows how I am only human, how it’s okay just to worry sometimes. It feels good to look up and think ‘Hey all these humans, all these animals and plants, protists and mushrooms, everything alive and existing. All these living forms we are unaware of, out in the space… With too many to count out there, how can I ever be alone?’ It puts me at ease, just like you do sometimes.”

“What about Iwa-chan?”

“It’s different.”

“We have all the time.”

“With him, I am the best of me, but it’s draining. It exhaust me and I think it drains his stamina mentally. It feels I am too dependent on him sometimes. I can’t keep doing this to him or to myself.

While with you, I can just… be the fuck up I am and live like that. With you I can be many aspects of myself and not receive a single intervention. I can say whatever and you wouldn’t care to intervene. Or maybe you don’t do or say anything simply because you care.” Giving yourself a moment to breathe and gather your thoughts, you pause.

“I don’t want to suck the life out of him until we are left with nothing but dread and dust. I need to grow and improve for him, if not for me, but in my own terms and without him. I think I just like to exist with all these broken and unopened packages of myself, all scattered in a box but somehow managing to be whole.”

“Careful not to dissect yourself further.”

“Don’t worry, these are just former lab results, nothing new.”

Wrapping his arm around your figure and pulling yourself to him, he just nods his head. It’s not like you can see, still a gesture to show he is listening. The night passes away with the close proximity. Pulling you to himself and resting your head on his chest starting to develop as a habit. In the hallways you never stand on Iwaizumi’s other side anymore, always between the two. Almost instinctive and noticed by the others.

You don’t fall a victim to Morpheus’s sand so quickly that night. Still awake and examining the sea above you, you are not startled when Oikawa wraps his other arm around you as well, your breath doesn’t hitch when plants a kiss to your forehead, you heart doesn’t skip a beat when his grip tightens a little. It feels so familiar, they all do. It makes no sense, it is nothing usual. Then why aren’t you surprised?

Needless to say, you don’t sleep that night.

“Astrophysics doesn’t sound so bad actually.”

“Where did that come from?” Iwaizumi asks. He’s walking you home today, insisting the two spend as much time together as you can before graduation comes.

You shrug at him. “It’s time I start thinking about what to do about my future. And space doesn’t sound like a bad idea to discover and learn more about.”

“Aren’t you thinking ahead now? It’s not like we will graduate in a day or two and end another chapter in our lives.”

“Ha ha, very funny Haji.” Shouldering him lightly, you both keep walking. Stopping once in a while to pet a stray you see, which usually ends up with Iwaizumi getting scratched. The sun is setting down, drowning the world in hues of orange and coral. You don’t want this moment come to an end.

It becomes another polaroid you keep hidden in your front pocket, above your heart.

Not hearing it for so long, you don’t grasp what’s happening at first. The second pebble is all the explanation you need.

It’s the last night before the graduation. Last night before you begin a new chapter, before you all enter a new adventure, all on your own merry, separate ways. It may be the last night to spend with a fog stuck your head or a night of good dreamless sleep but Oikawa seems to oppose it.

He drives to the exact place you first went with him, parks in the exact spot too. You wonder if he marked it somehow or if his memory is just that good.

In a way, it’s a fitting way to end. With another non-existent night. Who am I even kidding at this point? These were the most real nights you’ve ever had in the past decade, it’d do no justice to brush them off with a snap.

Just like that first night, you both sit on the hood of the car, looking up to the night sky. So many has changed ever since. It has not even been that long. Time is a funny concept.

You have considered doing that by yourself few times, or with other people. Driving and stargazing one night, escaping civilization and all its expectations behind. Imagination was more than enough of an answer. It’d not feel the same without him, wouldn’t be as welcoming, as relaxing as it is with him. It’d be another sorrowful night spent in your room, with a new setting only. However, you still want to try and you will, when the time is right.

“So, how do you feel tonight?” Hints of something different is painted in his voice.

“Neutral, I suppose.”

“No, I mean, which color you feel tonight.” He’s looking at you again. “Still grey?”

Staring at one of the stars for a while, is it Vega?, you stay silent. “Not exactly.”

“It still has grey-ish tones but I think it is manifesting. Like a pale, pastel color, you know?”

“I think I see your point. Still, you have a weird way of explaining emotions through colors.”

“Maybe it’s because they’re emotions, subjective constructions of the self.” Maybe you shouldn’t have said that so harshly. The ‘hmph’ coming from him justifies that thought.

“But if you really want to know, it’s a soft pink. Not the bright kind, not lively like cotton candy. Champagne can match the tone I think, but it’s not as bubbly as it is either. Almost like a soft tone you can see on a rose petal, the type that seems dirty but adds contrast to the flower itself too.”

He nods his head once. You hope he leaves it at that and the rest of the night goes in silence. You know first-hand how much Oikawa Tooru loves to do against your wishes, tonight is no exception.

“Is that how you feel, about these nights? About me?”

Shrugging in response, you mumble a ‘I guess so.’

“It’s almost funny. How people use pink and red for affection and love but I don’t think these words cover what I truly feel, inside my bones. Does that even make sense? I hope it does, I need it to make sense. I don’t know.”

“Still conflicted about love, I see.”

“I’ve given it a thought, you know. On you and I.” He raises a brow at that, another gesture you fail to see.

“That first night, especially. About how maybe we could be on different terms, were the circumstances different. Maybe I would be closer with you, something similar to what I share with Haji. Or perhaps we would talk a few times and never be friends, not even on speaking terms. Or maybe we could be more. It is effortless and harmless to think about what-ifs to never come. I must’ve been doing that more than I realized on these nights.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything at first. For a minute, you’re sure you’ve lost him, drove him away for good. Could it be that you spoke so lowly and he fell asleep? That could happen, right?

You try not to think about it, or worry about it. But it’s hard when the current source of your worries lies right next to you, breathes so placid and transparent.

“We could give it a try, if that’s what you want.”

You don’t hear him the first time. Because there is no way these are the words that leave his lips. You must’ve heard him wrong or zoned out. There is no other explanation.

You want to jolt up and yell ‘Are you making fun of me? Of my emotions?’ You want to throw your hands into the air and scream, shriek, yell. ‘What is this? Luring me into a false sense of safety only to fuck with me on the last day, to get the last laugh and make it a grand thing? Were you pretending this whole time? Was it all just a lie? I know we said it would not exist but was it all just an act? Have I been living a lie this whole time?...’

You don’t say any of these. Instead, you sit up, hands in your lap, staring at your hands. You know what he would say. Oikawa has been annoying as long as you’ve known him then again, he would never do something like this. ‘Why would I go and scheme some absurd plan like this? And to what end? To hurt you? You’re already doing that yourself, I am just trying to help for once!’ You’ve been a great support lately, but how much of it did you mean?

Taking a deep breath to clear your head of the imaginary argument you just had in your mind, you turn to look at him. He looks so peaceful, stands out in the best way possible. Almost like a cut out figure, center of a collage.

“Why are you asking me this, Tooru? Why?” he rests one arm on the surface, leaning on it.

“Do you really need a reason?” Taking a look at you, he sighs.

“The same reason you and Iwa-chan became friends in the first place, the same reason I pick you up at nights, the same reason you keep coming along. The same reason we both seek company to fall asleep. The same reason we talk about space and things that make no sense when we could be addressing our real problems.”

He has a point. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He looks exhausted.

He is right. Since when you’ve needed a reason for everything you do? What is living if you seek reason and logic behind everything? Since when living has been all about reason and purpose and not just surviving the day or enjoying the moment, suffering the pain and laughing under the sun? Since when a motive is required to act as you wish?

“Don’t you agree it is a little too late to ask that question?” You say at last.

“It was never right before, it never fit the moment as much as it does now.”

“Would it even work? You know what I think of ‘love’. Can one even care for someone before caring for themselves first? Do you even see me in that light?

“We don’t have to do anything. That’s why I called it a ‘try’.” He pulls you down with him as he talks.

“Tooru, you’ll be going to Argentina soon. There’s no time for trying.”

“I know, I just want to purpose that out loud. But if you ever want to give it a go in the future, I can wait.” Before you can turn to face him, to object, he tightens his arm around you and continues.

“I am not offering to wait for you. I can simply wait until someone comes into my life. But if you show up before that someone and would like to give it a try, I wouldn’t oppose to the idea.”

You consider his words for a while. It makes sense, sounds reasonable too. What’s there to lose?

Making yourself comfortable in his arms, you wish him a good night for the first time. Reaching to hold one of his hands, you let your mind drift off to sleep. Another kiss atop your head and a chin rested against your head are the last things you remember about that night.

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starker-stories · 4 years

Text

The Dick Pic

Also on AO3 By @thestarkerisobvious and @starker-stories A little one-shot by us that’s not part of anything else.

Tags: Misunderstandings, Dick Pics, College Student Peter Parker, Top Tony Stark, Bottom Peter Parker, Anal Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Awkward Conversations

Rating: E, Words: 10,137

Summary: Was that really your first dick pic? I’m sorry I never thought… you were the first person to even walk AROUND with a phone in your pocket so I just didn’t think. I’m sorry. All you had to do was say you didn’t want that. Did you open it in a meeting or something?

Their trip to Paris was memorable for so many reasons. Not just because Tony set out to spoil Peter rotten with fine wine, good food, and crowded sightseeing spots closed down just for them, but because of what they did in the hotel bedroom that night.

Peter opened up to Tony that night. Told him things he hadn’t told anyone, had no plans to tell anyone. Tony had a way of surprising Peter, a way of getting Peter to surprise himself. It wasn’t just the expensive gifts, the exclusive restaurants, or the limo rides everywhere. That was Tony’s life, and he was inviting Peter to be a part of it. Peter freely accepted that invitation.

No, it was something more. Tony had invited Peter into his bed, and had invited him there to do more than just fuck. But what Tony had invited him there to do, Peter wasn’t completely sure was possible.

Tony looked over at Peter, the glow of the City of Lights behind him. Peter was already moving into position. A very comfortable position, but already a very familiar position — the only one they had made love in the few times they had — almost by habit.

The last thing that Tony wanted to be in Peter’s life was a habit.

“Pete,” he began, stroking the outside of his arm. “I brought you here because it’s the most romantic city in the world. Because it’s what I think of when I look at you. I think of how much I’m in love with you, and how much I want to make you happy.”

Tony urged them both into a different position, closer, more conversational, facing each other, unable to look away. “What do you want,” he asked.

“I don’t… what?” Peter grinned, shy and a little amused. What did he want? He was in Paris, France. He was in a luxury hotel. He had Tony Stark, the Tony Stark, saying ‘I love you’. What else could any human being want?

“Tony,” he said, stroking the man’s face. It seemed so obvious. Like in class, when the teacher asked a question so easy it was too embarrassing to answer. But, just like in class, the silence was even more embarrassing. So Peter answered. “I want you.”

Tony smiled softly. “And I want you, baby.” He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Peter’s lips. “But how do you want me?”

“Forever,” Peter said without thinking, then caught his breath a little when he realized what he had just said. He kissed Tony quickly, in hopes to cover.

It wasn’t a good cover.

“Sorry, I just meant…”

Tony interrupted Peter's objection with a kiss of his own. Deep, lasting, and relieved.

“Only that long?” Tony said. “It’s a decent start, I suppose. I don’t know if I can stop after only forever, though.”

He kissed Peter again in his own attempt at cover. He punctuated his words with kisses. “But what. Do you want. Tonight. Here. In bed. With me. Sexually,” he said when the kisses broke.

“Oh, I mean… I mean… well…” Peter blushed and ducked his head and grinned and wondered if kissing the man would be enough to get out of the question.

“‘Well’? I don’t know what that means, baby. I want you to tell me.”

“Tony I don’t… I’m not really… okay you’re going to make me talk about this, aren’t you? I’m not really much of a… talker…”

Tony knew that during the few times they’d been together, Peter struggled to say anything at all before, during, or even after. Tony never pressed the issue. He hadn’t known if they were just an itch to scratch for each other. If so, all that mattered was that they were both physically satiated.

But he’d realized that Peter wasn’t an itch for him. Even before his ‘forever’, he’d figured out that he wasn’t an itch for Peter either. That meant if this was going to last anywhere past a year, much less ‘forever’, Peter needed to be able to express his desires. So he pressed the issue. Relentlessly. Refusing to make love to the boy until he’d gotten at least something he desired out of him.

It was a long night, but it was a night Peter would never forget. He admitted to things he never thought he would admit to anyone that night. That night Peter dared himself to be honest, to be vulnerable. Dared himself, and succeeded.

He asked for things too. Asked for several different things, in the end. And everything he asked for, he received.

~~~~~

It was a beautiful morning. Peter had actually gotten a full night’s sleep. He was sleeping in his dorm room, of course, because Tony was away on business and wouldn’t be back for a few days.

He had awoken from a lovely dream. About Tony, of course. In the dream Tony was reminding him to be bold, to ask for things that he wanted. He couldn’t have what he wanted that moment, of course… but could he?

Why not? Tony had encouraged him to be bold.

So he boldly took his phone out.

Thinking of you.

He thought of several other things he could add to go along with the picture (‘Would you like to taste?’ or ‘Mostly about your mouth’) but in the end he chickened out of every one. In the end, he just hit send. That was enough bold for one day.

~~~~~

Tony looked at the picture on his phone.

Well, he had told Peter that he could ask for anything. He wanted to hear every one of Peter’s sexual desires. He didn’t know why he expected that would never be one of them. Things weren’t as neatly defined in his generation. He’d been with enough younger men before to know that.

And he’d broken up with enough of them when it became an issue.

He supposed, a few months was a good run, given his record. He stopped taking Peter’s calls and messages. Whenever he regretted his decision, he simply opened his phone to the last picture he’d saved from Peter’s messages.

He missed the kid so much that, a time or two, he considered whether he could tolerate it enough to get Peter back. He’d tried that before, though. Tolerating it once led to twice led to three times led to asks and refusals and arguments and the inevitable breakup that should’ve happened at the start of it all.

Letting Peter’s calls go to voicemail unlistened to and leaving his messages completely unread was easier. The kid would move on and find someone willing to satisfy his needs.

But that was the problem. The kid would move on. The idea of that put such a dull ache deep inside him that he found his finger hovering over the green button whenever Peter called.

That would never do. This wasn’t something that could be talked about over the phone. It was definitely something that couldn’t be talked about anywhere that there was a bed. That led to disaster. And unfortunately, his feelings for Peter weren’t going away by simply ‘ghosting’ the boy. Tony texted Peter. Dinner? 8? Marea? It was his favorite restaurant. They’d been there together before. It might seem like it was going to be nothing more than a make-up date.

~~~~~

Peter’s last two weeks had been a strange kind of slow-motion nightmare. Sometimes everything was normal. He aced his classes. He wowed his study groups. He texted his friends and his friends texted back. Then he would try to set up a date with his boyfriend. He spoke to FRIDAY. FRIDAY would be cheerful as always, explaining why Tony couldn’t talk to him right then. Then he would text ‘I miss you’ and wait to hear some response. Finally giving up and going to bed. Wake up in the morning and start the entire miserable process over again.

Sometimes he told himself he was being ridiculous. He trusted Tony. Trusted the man with his life. Trusted him enough to tell him things he had never told anyone. He was in love. He just had to remember that he was in love with an incredibly busy man. Dating Tony Stark meant sharing him with the rest of the world. “I’ll just be patient,” he told himself. “I’ll be the most patient boyfriend that ever lived.”

Sometimes he wondered why he was so utterly and thoroughly unlovable. Why would Tony want to date a kid like him, a kid with so little sexual experience, a kid who had admitted to an entire, itemized list of fears? He was unlovable, and Tony was proof.

Tony had been his first serious boyfriend (serious boyfriend? Tony had been his only boyfriend.) Sometimes he convinced himself that he would just live like a monk, a monk who fought crime and worshiped a far-off, unavailable man. It wasn’t the strangest superhero backstory in the world.

Sometimes Peter was angry. He had admitted to things, admitted to things he never thought he would tell anybody. It seemed like a good idea at the time. And what had been his reward? To be ghosted by Tony Stark, apparently.

But Tony hadn't broken up with him, that much was certain. Peter checked his email, his phone messages, every social media account he had a million times. Checked them every morning. Sometimes got up and checked them in the dead of the night. Waiting. Waiting for the explanation that would never come.

Almost two weeks to the day, he received the message. His whole body collapsed in relief. He hugged his phone to his chest tightly and did a little dance. Grinned from ear to ear. It was okay. They were going to Marea and everything was going to be okay.

~~~~~

Slowly, very slowly, Peter was getting the idea that everything was not okay.

They were seated to Tony’s usual table. Menus and orders taken, wine brought and served. During which Tony was near silent, making only the barest conversation that politeness required. Not only to the servers, but to Peter as well.

When the meal arrived, Peter realized he was going to have difficulty eating. His stomach was in knots. Something was obviously wrong.

“Pete,” Tony said casually, after he finished another bite. “What did you mean by that last picture you sent me?”

“Oh, I meant that I was going to not be late for our lab session because I whipped through my differential equations test in record time and I was actually ten minutes early? Except you weren't in the lab?”

Tony looked puzzled. “No. The last picture you sent. What were you trying to imply by that? Something you want?”

“I guess… I guess I was…” Peter dropped his eyes. “I guess I was bragging that I finished it faster than anyone in the class. The professor said it was faster than anyone he had ever seen and asked me to be his TA next year…

“I mean I wasn’t bragging… but I was. And you didn’t notice.”

“It sure looked like you were bragging. And wanting something other than an A on your exam.”

“In differential equations? We’re talking about Tuesday, right?” Peter took out his own phone and looked for the last pic he sent — which was from differential equations.

“I don’t know the date… I guess it was a Saturday or a Sunday. Maybe Sunday morning… yeah I think Sunday morning and you don’t have differential equations on a Saturday, so no, not that… Did you send me something about that too?”

“Something about… what?” Peter reached out and snatched Tony’s phone from where he set it on the corner of the table. He had prided himself on his patience this week, but his patience was coming to an end. He opened the message app, found his name, and scrolled to the end of the messages, then back to find the ones that had pictures attached. A cute squirrel in Central Park, a sunset behind Stark tower from the top of another building that he took just to text ‘I Miss You’. Finally, the finished test he’d mentioned twice. The one Tony hadn’t even acknowledged.

“There are things that haven’t come up before between us. And we haven’t exactly talked about the things that have come up between us. And that would be a pretty large thing to discuss. What exactly did you mean by sending me that picture?”

“Are we talking about the picture of the spider I sent?” Peter asked, scrolling again. “You never told me you were squicked out by spiders. I’m just a spider fan. You knew that. Everyone expected me to be an entomologist.” He shrugged, guiltily. “I just like math more.”

Finally, Tony grabbed his phone back. He scrolled through the messages until he found the one. He set his phone upside down on the table so no one else could see, then he slid it over to Peter.

Peter looked at it, started visibly, looked around to make sure no one saw it, then he grinned and ducked his head and blushed. Damn, he had felt so bold when he woke up with that in the morning. What was he thinking?

Oh yeah — he had been thinking…

“Well, you’re always telling me how pretty it is…”

“I’m into a lot of things, but there are some I’m not thrilled about.”

“I had a dream about you,” he said as quietly as he could and still be heard. “And I woke up thinking about you, and that was the result.”

“What kind of dream are we talking about? There wasn’t exactly a clear message with it.”

Peter looked confused. He started to speak then stopped. This was very hard to talk about in a restaurant. So he considered the possibilities. He grabbed his own phone and started texting quickly.

Was that really your first dick pic? I’m sorry I never thought… you were the first person to even walk AROUND with a phone in your pocket so I just didn’t think. I’m sorry. All you had to do was say you didn’t want that. Did you open it in a meeting or something?

It was ridiculous to sit there and text someone two feet away. Tony had no shame about talking about the issue in public.

“No, that’s not the first dick pic I’ve ever been sent. The angle and the way you were holding it… that is a first time without implying something by it.”

Peter put his phone down in frustration. He remembered exactly the kind of mood he had been in when he had taken that picture. Bold as brass. Fearless. Amazing. He didn't feel amazing right now. “I can’t really answer that question in a restaurant.

“But... remember when you took me to Paris? It was about Paris. Well it was sort of Paris... but yeah. That’s what it was about.” He tried not to sound hurt, but he was feeling hurt. How hard was it to say ‘don’t send me dick pics’? And why was Tony ignoring everything that came after that?

“Look, there are things I’m just not into,” Tony said firmly, irritated by the kid’s inability to comprehend. “If that’s what you're going to be needing out of this, you’re gonna have to find it elsewhere.”

Peter pulled his chair up to the table as far as he could and leaned in, whispering. “It implies you want to see it. Because you keep telling me you like to see it.”

His chest ached. It hurt to breathe. What Tony had said to him, and convinced him to say, in Paris meant so much to him. He’d never forgotten it. And he could never discuss it in a restaurant.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful. You’ve got a big, nicely shaped cock and I don’t mind seeing it. Like seeing it, actually. But that picture was… different from the dick pics I usually get.”

Tony flipped his phone face up, the picture clearly visible to anyone walking past their table. At that point, making Peter feel uncomfortable was almost part of it. The kid certainly made him uncomfortable the morning he got that. Especially after the way things had been going so well between them.

Peter tried desperately not to gape. It was instinct, not to let your opponent know when you were hurt in battle. But dammit, he was hurt. “‘Things I’m just not into’? Squirrels, sunsets and spiders? Or, more importantly, ‘the things you think about during the day, and your triumphs and proud moments’? Because once upon a time, Tony, you seemed to care about those things a great deal.”

But now words like ‘angle’ and ‘holding it’ and ‘different’ began to register. Suddenly, he found himself getting angry.

“Give me your damn phone.” He grabbed it off the table.

He scrolled through Tony’s phone wondering if someone else was sending Tony dick pics. In which case he was really going to lose his patience. But no, there it was. His cock. Huge and lovely and hard. Hard because he was remembering the incredible things Tony had done to him in Paris. Huge because he had, with his sudden surge of confidence, placed the phone directly beside it. What could he say? He had woken up feeling cocky.

He didn’t feel cocky now. He put the phone in his lap, shielding it from other eyes, and analyzed the angle.

“I haven’t exactly been answering my messages or downloading the photos attached to them lately, so forgive me if I’ve had an entirely different subject on my mind than squirrels and differential equations."

“Well, we haven't talked in two weeks, so I have no idea what’s been on your mind,” Peter hissed.

Patience. Patience patience patience. He could swallow all this hurt and pretend it wasn’t there, he was a master at that. He was good at it. (He had practice.) But right now he was looking at the picture of what he’d wanted Tony to praise (right before devouring it) and wondering if that was ever going to happen again.

“That,” Tony said when Peter had taken his phone off the table again. “That’s been on my mind. Hard to get anything else on my mind. What, exactly, did you mean by sending me that? Because, like I said, if you want to fuck my ass, you’re going to have to find somebody else’s ass to fuck.” He shrugged. “Which, I can work with, I guess. Not the first open relationship I've had to have because of differing sexual appetites.”

“It’s a right angle, Tony. 90°. It’s just… you used to say it was ‘so pretty’ and you… wanted it in your mouth. And I woke up dreaming of the things you said to me in Paris before you… before we… and I woke up. And I was thinking about you. That’s what I wrote. That’s what I meant by…

“…wait… what? Tony for god’s sake… Tony? Only you would try to have this conversation in a restaurant.”

“It’s not a problem. Guys grow up and have different tastes when they do. It’s not like I didn't have a fair number of experiences in that direction when I was younger.

“It’s just not my… not interested in that anymore. Haven’t been for a very long time. And I don't see myself particularly wanting to get fucked any time soon. Not even by you, sorry.”

“You have a fair number of experiences debating the angle of my penis over dinner in a restaurant!?” Peter laughed, overwhelmed by the surreality of the conversation. “You were right, Tony — your life was a lot different than mine.”

“Well actually, not your penis. but not the first one I’ve discussed over dinner in a restaurant. Usually as a prelude to heading to the bathroom with the other guy in said restaurant. But that’s not the point.”

“I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about!” Peter whispered angrily. Except he wasn’t exactly whispering anymore. This was the strangest conversation he had ever had in his life. He was beginning to lean into the strange.

“Oh my god. One minute I’m working up the nerve to admit that I still dream about what happened in Paris and the next minute we’re discussing why it’s wrong that I want to… I don’t even know what. This is insane.”

Tony just shook his head. He was being pretty clear, he thought. “We’re talking about whether or not you want to fuck me, that’s what we’re talking about. Because that’s just not something I’m into. But if it’s something you’re into, I’ve got no trouble with you finding it elsewhere. Well, actually I do, but I’m prepared to adjust my expectations.

“Wait…” Tony furrowed his brow. “Paris? What the fuck does this have to do with me sucking you off?”

“I’m sorry I sent you the wrong kind of dick pic and I have no idea why you think I was thinking of that, but I’m just about at the end of my rope. I’m in over my head here.”

“The only time I’ve ever gotten a picture like that was from someone who had very different ideas about my sexual tastes. It’s pretty much a ‘sit on this’ pic, don’t you think?”

There were tears behind Peter’s eyes. All of his talks to himself about ‘patience’ were drying up. He didn’t have it in him to explain what Paris had meant to him, at least not in a public place. Maybe in the dark, in Tony’s arms, maybe. But not while the man was spouting nonsense.

He took a deep breath. “No, Tony. It was a ‘you told me it was pretty’ pic. It was a ‘you told me you like to taste it’ pic. For god’s sakes Tony, you told me once you wanted me to c… to leave a wet spot on your bed for you to find when you got home. I’m sorry about your past lovers but I’m not really responsible for them. I’m only responsible for myself.” His voice broke a little. He wasn't feeling very responsible right now. He had done everything right.

He had been the proper amount of sexy and tried to hide all the shyness. He had tried to be bold when Tony wanted him to be bold. He had been patient. He had been positive. He was even attempting to have this incredibly personal conversation in a public place because Tony wanted to. He had done his best. But his best wasn’t good enough.

“Jesus Peter, how many different ways do I have to tell you this. I love you. I love what we do in bed together. There are directions I’m willing to expand into that and explore, but me getting fucked isn’t one of them. It’s not something I’m into. It wasn’t even something I was into back when I was young enough that that was all anyone wanted me to do. It’s just that’s the way it goes when you’re the age I was then. But eventually you get old enough to tell the other guy ‘no, I’d rather fuck you instead’. So, if you’re getting to that age, we’re going to have to talk in terms of how you can get what you want in that direction, because it isn’t going to be me.”

Tony had been keeping his voice calm and quiet the whole time, not even letting his exasperation come through in any way except his word choices. Peter was a smart kid, surely he understood the words that were being said.

Peter pressed his water glass against his face. He knew his skin was flushed and he felt overheated. He took the napkin from his lap and dipped it in the ice water and dabbed his forehead. It was probably a rude thing to do in this expensive restaurant, but what the hell? It couldn’t be worse than discussing the angle of the dick pic on Tony’s phone.

He took a deep breath and tried to say something that made sense. “Well, I guess I should say thank you for thinking that I’m old enough to be changing my tastes… I guess. If that’s really a thing you outgrow. But this is all coming out of left field for me.”

Taking another deep breath he thought back over what Tony had said. “And I love you too. I’m sorry people did things to you when you were young that you didn’t like. But if this is a ‘stage’ for me, a ‘stage’ I’m going to ‘grow out of’, I’d estimate you have another good ten to twenty years before that happens. I can’t see ever getting tired of it. But I guess you know better than I do… except…

“Except…” he said, looking back into Tony’s face. He could talk about science. Science was easy.

“Except it seems like you think we are both going to have the same experience, and the data doesn’t point that way. The data doesn’t point at all. You’re talking about societal expectations versus actual personal desires and there’s no reason to assume I’m going to ‘grow out’ of being… who I am.”

“It’s not a thing some people outgrow, but others do. There’s a certain expectation that the younger person bottoms, but then, as they start getting older, they find out that’s not really their thing. Or that they’d been putting up with it because they were expected to, even if they didn't like it much… or at all.

“Other guys don’t outgrow it. They’re just that way. Which is what I was hoping it would be with you. Because, if you wanted to, if it was a dealbreaker and you’d leave me over it… I guess… it’s not unendurable if it wasn’t often.”

Deep breaths and factual statements were helping incredibly. Tony’s voice was calm and that helped too. Speaking calmly and factually about these things means that things were actually okay — they could talk about more personal, painful things later. In private. Hopefully while naked.

“Well, I appreciate that your generation couldn’t exactly go to the library and do as much research as I did when I first identified as gay, so there's that…

"But, help me out, Tony. I sat down at dinner and suddenly you start talking about me ‘leaving you’ and I’ve got whiplash here. Literally the last thing I sent you was a picture of a squirrel.”

Tony raised his eyebrow. Peter was always a quick study and never this blindingly obtuse. Maybe it was the subject. He needed it explained more simply and perhaps repeatedly.

“Some guys are bent in one direction and others in the opposite. I’m pretty much bent only in one direction. I knew that the odds of you staying bent in yours weren’t great. Most guys fall in the more flexible position. I’m just saying that I’m not one of them. But if you are, as long as you didn’t have any sort of… emotional bond with whoever you hooked up with… I’d… adjust.

“This isn’t something even your generation goes to look up in the library, Because most of your generation is more flexible. It’s assumed that you both will, I don’t know, toss a coin for it, I suppose. I don't know how it works.

“The implications of what you sent kind of overrode my reaction to one of your daily messages of the sort I like getting from you.”

Peter opened his mouth but then closed it again. He looked at Tony’s face, and he stopped completely and took stock. He thought about the damn squirrel. He thought about how he aced the test that he wanted to brag about. And he thought about waking up with a raging hard-on and the need to brag about that too. And he thought about how much it hurt when Tony seemed to be ignoring him and what that meant. He took a deep breath, looked Tony in the eye, and spoke.

“I don’t want to ‘hook up’ Tony. With anybody. I don’t think you understand… it’s not that way for me. I don’t want to be with other people. I guess I should have told you that before. I don’t want to… even if there was someone else I actually wanted to… I don’t want to be with anyone else. I love you. I want…”

It would have been hard for Peter to do this in the dark, in Tony's arms. But dammit, this was Tony’s world. The world where you just have these conversations in the open. So he did it. For Tony. “I want to be yours. I want to belong to you.”

Of course, he barely got the words out. It was hard to talk without air. But his mouth formed around the words, which was something.

“I want the same thing. I love you, Peter. I love what we do in bed together. But, in bed, there are things I don’t love. Even if I do love the person who’s asking for them. That is what I’m saying.”

Being told what Tony wanted was almost as good as being held, so he held onto those words. And the words ‘I love you’. He took a deep breath, relieved, and tried to listen to the rest of what Tony was saying.

“All I need for us to be together is for you to understand…” He looked down at his phone, thinking about that doomed message that was supposed to be about Paris and wound up being about something else entirely. “…this is all very important to me, Tony. I guess I shouldn’t be ashamed of it, but I am, because I’m supposed to be all casual about some things and I can’t be. I don’t want to be with anyone else. And of course… I want to be in your life. I want that more than anything else.”

“I don’t like to share. Not you. Especially not you,” Tony said, admitting an inconvenient truth. The truth that led him to making this date instead of simply continuing to ‘ghost’ Peter until he went away.

“Which is also not in keeping with the way people of your generation approach things, I know. You’re not the first guy under thirty that I’ve been with. I know things have changed a lot. What’s expected of relationships. Inflexibility and possessiveness are definitely not the mode. But they’re where I’m at and it’s hard to see me changing that. I’m possessive. I don’t want to share the person I’m in love with, that I want in my life… for the rest of it.”

“I don’t want you to share… I don’t want to be shared! And I know I’m not normal for my generation or for my anything… and I tried so hard to… gosh maybe I should have told you sooner. Maybe I need to stop trying to be ‘normal’. I don’t see why I have to change. I just want to belong to you. I don’t want… I’m not interested in ‘hook ups’ and I’m tired of pretending that I… that I get it. I don’t. I can’t see being with someone and not… well you know. Blurting out everything I feel. I can’t really stop.”

“Baby, I am in love with you. And that doesn’t come without the possessive part. It’s worse with you though. Maybe because I’ve never really… felt this with anyone else. Not like this. Not like I feel with you.”

“Wait…” Peter stopped, the pieces suddenly falling together in his head. “Did you… did you just really volunteer to bottom for me?”

Tony sighed heavily.

“If that’s what it takes to keep you in my life. Like I said, it won’t have been the first time I’ve been fucked. I just never liked it. Not even when I was your age. It was just the way things were back then. Before a certain age, you were expected to bottom. And past a certain age, you were expected to change and to want to top.

“I wanted to be with guys and if that meant turning up my ass to get the rest of what I was looking for, I did it. But then I got to a point in age where I didn’t have to put up with it.”

"Tony, for gods’ sake I don’t want you to… why would I want you to turn up your ass when…” But he couldn’t really say more. Not here. He covered his face and whispered behind his hand. “When you do so many amazing things to me?”

“I can't stand the idea of losing you.”

Peter reached out for Tony's hand. “I love you.” It was like a dream come true, and while he wasn’t sure he had dreamed about it happening in a public place, well, here it was. “I love you and you’re never going to lose me.”

He wanted to say ‘I’ve never felt this way about anyone else’, but it was a silly thing to say. He had been in love with Tony Stark his whole life. He had felt this way about Tony forever.

Tony held Peter's hand, his thumb caressing the back of it. “You got together with me while you’re still so young. Before you have had time, really, to explore things you might find out you like or prefer better. I’ve had plenty of years to experience everything on the menu and you’ve just had one taste.

“I don’t want to hold you back, even though I don't want to let you go.”

“Tony, can we… leave? Please? I don’t want to talk about this here.”

“Okay, we can leave. It’s just… if it turned out that’s what you did mean by that picture… It felt safer here, than at home, to discuss these matters.”

“Wait… what? Now I’m really confused. Why would you want to discuss it here and not…” He didn’t want to say ‘in your arms’. It still felt very immature. “…at home?”

“Why here? No particular reason as to the venue, but some things are just safer talked about in a public place until they’re sorted and both people are on the same page. Where the bed is far away and not an option for where to discuss them.”

“Tony, I want you to teach me those other things on the menu. I don’t want to be with anyone else. We’re not talking about trying on different styles of shoe here. I… can’t do that with other people, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I know I’m supposed to want to be casual with other people because of my age but I don't. And I’m trying to tell you, I don’t want to feel ashamed of that anymore. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t have to. I can be a Tony-sexual and not apologize for that. You’re not ‘holding me back’ you’re loving me and I’m loving you and there’s nothing bad about that.”

“Since I’m rather Peter-sexual, you being me-sexual is a good thing. Because I already have enough issues struggling not to take someone apart who looks at you for too long. Having someone actually touch you? When you belong to me? That's unsustainable.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. And beam. Maybe blush a little. The idea that Tony wanted to ‘take someone apart’ just for looking?

"Okay. So we’re both very much alike in the me-sexual way. And we’re both very different about where we like to talk about private things. And we’re not going to talk about me being with someone else in bed because I hate that idea. And you’re going to stop volunteering to do something you don’t like because I really hate that idea. Is that sorted out enough? Can we go home now? I kinda need to.”

They weren’t going to just walk home hand in hand, no. Peter was going to hold Tony’s hand and use his other hand to hold into Tony’s arm too. He hoped Tony wouldn’t mind.

But Tony draped his arm over Peter’s shoulders as they walked back, holding him close, making sure that no one would possibly think that he wasn’t very much taken.

“So all this was just a case of bad lighting, poor camera angle choices, and you making yourself less than clear about the meaning of that particular picture of your, yes, very lovely, dick, hmm?” Tony asked with a sly smile.

Peter reached up and grabbed the hand draping over his shoulder. As they walked he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Tony… you’re going to have to find me an online course on ‘how to take a dick pic’ because I have no idea how that looked like anything other than a yummy snack.”

“I’ll send you a few examples, if you want,” Tony said smiling, “Because I don't want you looking at anyone else’s dick pics, not even as a course of online study.”

Peter smiled. “Deal.”

“So the way things have been with us? That’s good for you? You mentioned Paris… Those are some very good memories we made there. Apparently inspiring in your dreams, huh?” he said with a little smirk. “What parts, exactly, were so inspirational? I can’t understand unless you tell me. Explicitly. In detail.”

“Please Tony, not here…” Peter groaned and looked around them. New York City. People everywhere. But then again… wasn't talking the point? So he tried to be brave again, and spoke. He spoke almost directly into Tony's ear, but he spoke.

“You made me tell you what I wanted. You made me put it into words. And it was impossible to say those things without telling you how they made me feel. How you made me feel so safe and wanted and beautiful. And I told you that I loved you. And I could, because suddenly I wasn’t afraid anymore.

“And I told you and I couldn’t be anything but honest and that was okay. Because that’s what you wanted. And I told you about all the things I was afraid of, and you made that okay too. And when I knew it was okay to be afraid, then I wasn’t afraid anymore.

“And also you made me come three times in an hour. There was that.”

~~~~~

They were making out hot and heavy in the elevator, Peter boldly pulling Tony’s shirt free from his trousers and sneaking his hands underneath. As the doors opened they stumbled out. Peter had Tony’s face in both hands, trying to kiss him and lead him into the penthouse at the same time.

“I want it to be you, Tony. Whatever it is, whatever you want to do, I want it to be you. I want you to be the first.” He’d made himself giggle, trying to kiss Tony and talk at the same time. He only had one glass of wine at dinner, but now he felt drunk.

“That’s what I want. I just thought there was another first you wanted with me, and that’s not going to be a first we can share. Unless it…” Tony sighed. It was a difficult choice. “Yes, okay. I’d rather it be me than anyone else. The thought of anyone else touching you… In any way…” Tony said fiercely.

“Oh god, say it again, tell me I’m yours, Tony. Tell me no one gets to touch me but you…”

“I don’t want anyone touching you but me. I want you entirely to myself. I’m selfish and possessive and irrational on that subject.”

Peter laughed in relief and joy. Laughing directly into Tony’s mouth seemed rude so he leaned his head back and laughed that way. He felt giddy. “Yes, please yes. Please. I want to get ‘Property Of Tony Stark’ tattooed across my back.

“Oh god no. Please no. Do you have any idea how many people did that hoping I’d be impressed and it would become true? Nope. No. No way.”

“Ah damn, then I’ll think of something else.”

“I can think of something that will make sure everyone knows you belong to me,” Tony said with a smirk. “Not telling you yet though.”

“I want you to be my first time, Tony, all my first times. I don’t know what else to have first times for, but please think of some and then be my first.”

“Oh baby, we haven’t even touched one tenth of the first times you can have. There are entire places on that beautiful body of yours that I haven’t made love to yet. Much less places we can do it in. Positions. Locations. Methods. I can be very imaginative.”

“Oh god yes locations! Locations. I’ll let you take me anywhere on the globe, anywhere, I won’t protest, I swear.” He felt too dizzy to walk. He kept his arms around Tony’s neck as they tried to move away from the elevator. It made them move slowly, but he was afraid to let go.

“Then that just makes for first times at least several hundred locations. Sixty of them owned by me. Several rented. And then there are hotels to stay at.

“All of them, Tony. Each one. We have years.”

“We happen to find ourselves in the penthouse tonight and I’m not willing to wait til the jet can fly us somewhere else. But there are many many things we’ve yet to do right here.

“Yes,” Peter said, kissing him again. “Anything.”

“Anything I want?”

“Oh… crap…” Peter pulled his head away a little and tried to clear it. He had to be honest… Being honest had been a big deal to him since Paris. And ‘anything’ was a very big word.

“Unh unh. You already agreed. No backing out now, beautiful.” Tony kissed Peter deeply.

“Okay,” he whimpered a bit against Tony’s mouth. “…but you also said I had to tell you the truth about being afraid of bedroom things so I’m trying to do both.

“All I know is, if I’ve never done it before, I want to do it with you. I need it to be you.”

“Oh you’ve done this before. It’s not a first in that way. You did say locations, though. I was listening very closely, Pete. I always listen to you.”

“Oh… oh good.” He grinned from ear to ear. Tony listening to him was all he wanted.

“Hmm. First, location. Time for other things later.” Tony took Peter’s hand and started slowly walking him away from the elevator doors, unbuttoning Peter’s shirt, dropping it on the floor, kissing him as they walked, unbuttoning his pants while he was being kissed and walked, pushing his pants and underwear down and nearly tripping the kid when they got hung up on his shoes.

Peter was too happy to think straight. He happily helped Tony get him undressed as they walked. If they were headed to the bedroom to do it on the bed, he didn’t care. Just as long as he was skin-to-skin with his lover soon.

When Peter’s shirt came off, Tony’s quickly did too. When Peter’s pants came off, Tony was a little more deft, realizing shoes were a thing and toeing his off as he stepped out of his jeans. They were naked together, Tony wrapped his arms around Peter, anything to keep him distracted from where he was walking him to.

Which wasn’t the bedroom. They were still in the living room for now.

Tony slowed their walk as they passed the console table. He opened the drawer and grabbed one of the small bottles of lube he had hidden all over the penthouse. As he wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, he kept the bottle in one hand. He started kissing Peter again, edging their progress along the large glass wall.

“Ever get fucked 96 stories in the air before?” Tony kissed him again.

“The… the window? Oh Tony…”

“Not the window, baby. I’m gonna bend you over the balcony railing, looking straight down to the ground. Where anyone over there in One Vanderbilt will be able to see you bent over, taking my cock in your ass. Watch you getting the glass messy.”

“No no no. Tony, we’re outside!”

“Um hmm. Outside where they can see how beautiful you are. You are so beautiful Peter. Stunning. You belong to me and you’re one more thing that’s beautiful and mine that they can only look at.

“But Tony… Tony… Tony…”

“But don’t worry, baby. All they’re going to see is how lucky I am to have the most handsome young man in the city all to myself.

“But Tony…”

He held Peter close and kissed along his jaw until he was whispering in his ear. “But what, baby? You know you’re beautiful. You know your mine. You know how much I want you.”

Tony gently turned Peter around, holding him by the waist, pressed up against his back, nuzzling into the nape of his neck. “The lights from all those people out there… Not one of them has anyone as beautiful as you.”

Tony kept shifting the lube bottle from hand to hand as he touched Peter, so the kid never knew it was there. Ever since Peter had noticed and remarked on it, it was a game Tony liked to play against himself. How to do the ‘magically appearing lube’ trick.

“But Tony… I… I… Tony I… ” Peter took in great gulping lungfuls of air. He had no fear of heights, never had. In fact he thought Tony’s balcony was one of the most beautiful places on earth. But he was outside, and completely naked, and that was just all kinds of wrong.

But then again, Tony was naked too. Naked, and pressed up against his back and saying the most beautiful things. Peter took another deep breath.

“Okay. I can do it,” he whispered. “If you stay close.”

“Where else would I be, Peter. I won’t let you be anywhere but close to me.” Tony’s hand wandered over his body. Up along his stomach, his chest, his neck, holding him there just a second before moving down his sides to his hip. He moved Peter’s ass back against him.

Peter gasped at the feel of Tony’s hand on his hips and moaned as he felt where Tony was moving him. He needed to make himself understood before he was beyond speech.

Reaching behind him he found the back of Tony’s head and pulled it to his own, until he had Tony’s face pressed against his face. “No, I mean stay close.”

“Baby, I’m gonna be right there kissing those pretty curls on your neck. I can’t resist them. I’ve gotta taste your skin. I’ve gotta put those beautiful marks on it. The ones I don’t even share with you. The ones that show that you’re mine.

“I love that no one else has ever touched you. No one else will ever touch you.” Tony rocked up against Peter, growing hard, frotting along the crack of his ass. His hand slid down from his waist to rest on his belly, just above his cock. He held the solid warmth of it there, then moved lower.

“I should let you have all the experiences someone your age would have. But all of those are mine too.”

“Yes, yes... yes,” he chanted, loving every word that was whispered against his ear. “Yes Tony.

“Oh… but we forgot… you forgot…” Peter stopped and blushed and looked back a little. Tony had supplies hidden all over the penthouse, making sex possible in just about every room. But there were no night tables on the balcony.

Suddenly he found himself grinning. “You’ll have to go back for the lube.”

“I will?” he asked skeptically. To be the ultimate of sneaky, he’d have to not touch Peter with either hand and Peter had asked him to stay close. He wouldn’t let go.

“Not just yet. Kiss me again… oh…”

Tony opened the bottle, giving it a squeeze, and let it run down the crack of Peter’s ass. He bent over Peter’s back a little more and set the bottle on the tile. His finger stroked through the thick lube, pushing it between Peter’s cheeks, fingertip swirling around Peter’s opening.

“Oh Tony…” Peter whispered. He couldn’t say much else. He was trying to remember to breathe. Tony had touched him like this many times, but being touched this way outside? It was somehow a completely different sensation. Still, he knew Tony liked it when he said something other than “Oh Tony.” So he tried again.

“Please keep talking to me.”

Tony was surprised that Peter could say anything, even at this early state. His voice was thin and reedy, almost carried away on the night air. He bent over the boy and kissed between his shoulder blades.

His voice was a low rumble against Peter’s back. “Do you want me to tell you how hot this beautiful place on your body makes me feel? Or perhaps how very special it is that you let me touch you here. That you let me own you here.” He paused. “Or perhaps you’d like me to tell you that there is someone on the 85th floor of One Vanderbilt watching us?”

“Stop…” Peter giggled. He didn’t really believe it, but he also didn’t care. In this moment, with Tony touching him there, no one else mattered in the world.

“Baby, you are always beautiful. But up here? Up where we fly? Where it’s just us? Beautiful doesn’t touch it.”

“Yes, it’s ours,” Peter murmured, hooking his arm behind him so he could stroke Tony’s hair. “Our sky.”

“I want to always see your skin glowing with the city lights. Like it was in Paris.” Tony pressed the head of his cock lightly where his fingers had been. Not entering. Just giving Peter exactly what they both wanted, knowing what they both liked.

“Oh Tony, what are you doing to me?” Peter murmured, eyes half-closed. He could do that, he realized. Could close his eyes and just concentrate on the sensation, on the sound of Tony’s voice, on the warm, solid presence of Tony’s body. Forget, for a moment, that they were outside. Forget that they were on display.

Tony stayed bent across Peter’s back. “I’m touching you,”

He guided the tip of his cock inside. “I’m touching you.”

He wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist and held his hand low across the boy’s belly. “I’m touching you.”

He let his cock go with his other hand, wiping it quickly on his own hip. He tangled his fingers in Peter’s hair with a slight tug. “I’m touching you.”

“Yes, please yes…” Peter moaned. He leaned back into Tony’s embrace, eyes closed, and waited. Tony would tease his opening like this for quite a while, he knew. Tony knew how much he enjoyed it.

But then again tonight was different. Two weeks ago he had done what Tony had told him to do — he had dared to request something bold. It backfired terribly, but ultimately it had paid off. Ultimately, it led them both here. To a better place. He was going to remember tonight. Tonight should be different.

Turning his head slightly, until his lips were touching Tony’s face, he kissed his lover, screwed up his courage, and whispered “Fuck me.”

Tony pressed the head of his cock in very slowly, waiting to feel that little pop as Peter closed around behind it. He held still at that point. “Is this what you want? Tell me what you want. Tell me again.”

Peter took a deep, steadying breath. It wasn’t as hard to do once Tony stopped moving. That was the beauty of this game Tony played. Knowing that Tony wouldn’t move until he was able to speak made speaking so much easier. Gave him room to breathe. He did that now.

Looking up at the sky gave him courage. Knowing that it was their playground, their territory, made him braver even though he wasn’t wearing the suit.

Keeping his eyes on it, on the sky, he knew he could do it. Firmly, he reached up and took Tony’s hand away from his head. Firmly, he took both of Tony’s hands and guided them to his hips, never taking his eyes off the sky. Firmly, he spoke.

“Fuck me,” he growled. “Don’t be gentle.”

Tony kept one hand gripping Peter’s hip. The other arm he wrapped tightly around his waist, almost completely encircling it, putting his other hand next to the first on Peter’s same hip. Holding him firm, making sure that he wouldn’t accidentally push him over the railing — not a fun way to end the evening — Tony pulled back and thrust into Peter all at once, fast, hard, not at all gentle.

“You think you can handle that, baby?” Tony asked.

“More…”

Tony reached up and grabbed Peter by the top of his hair, yanking it hard, pulling his back up against his chest so tightly he could feel the cold metal circle of the arc reactor between his shoulder blades. He fucked upwards, lifting Peter onto his toes with the force of it.

Peter let out a sharp cry of surprise. Normally he bit his mouth down hard when he heard his voice. It always sounded too loud to his own ears. But being outside, he realized very suddenly, had an advantage. Instead of biting down he opened his mouth and let it hang open. Then, whatever happened, happened.

He landed Peter onto the flat of his feet when he pulled back, then lifted him up again when he entered. Tony couldn’t get very deep in this position, but Peter’s cries were very satisfying. Not gentle, not quiet, at all. But loud. Louder than Peter ever dared in the bedroom. He knew they were carried away on the wind. Off to the skies where they both felt at home.

What Tony was doing to him was a very different sensation, and for several moments he let Tony continue. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t deep either. As soon as he was able, he caught his breath long enough to speak. “Stop… stop…” he gasped, reaching back and touching Tony’s hip.

Tony settled Peter down onto his feet again, pulling back, leaving only the head inside him. “What, baby? What do you want?”

“Back up… back up a step…” Peter managed. It wasn’t easy to talk without air, but Peter didn’t want to wait to catch his breath. He pushed Tony back a few steps until he was able to lean forward, putting himself more at a 90° angle. Then he looked back with (what he hoped was) a wicked grin. “Now do it.”

Tony kissed the grin off Peter’s lips and then figuring out what he wanted, returned that grin with a smirk. He slipped out from him and raised Peter up a few inches to where he was bent over the narrow pane of the short glass balcony wall until the boy was looking straight down at the ground, 96 floors below, bent at that 90° angle he was asking for.

“You’ve climbed the tower before, Spider-Man. Get sticky and hold yourself up.”

“Oh fuck Tony,” he gasped, but his hands found exactly what they needed instantly.

“Yes.”

“Hold on tight, Pete,” Tony said, guiding himself inside again, then giving a hard push to seat himself. When Spider-Man stayed stuck and didn’t move with the force of his thrust, he increased that force and slammed in.

Looking straight down from great heights was nothing new to Peter, nor was feeling Tony trust deep inside him. But those two things together? Peter was grateful they were outside. The noises he was making now were completely involuntary. He couldn’t have kept quiet if he wanted to.

Peter’s feet were dangling in the air, so Tony held still, buried all the way in, until the kid’s toes found purchase on the inside of the glass the same way his fingers had on the outside of it. Like that, Peter wasn’t going anywhere and Tony let himself go. Fucking hard and fast with deep long strokes.

He knew that Peter always needed a grounding touch, but the position didn’t allow for much of that. So he splayed his hand flat out on the small of his back without pressure but warmth.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, baby. All the beautiful world down there.”

“Fuck, Tony…” was all Peter could manage. He didn’t think Tony could see his face, so he didn’t try to hide his smile. Never in his life had he imagined anyone could fuck him this way.

“And my beautiful world right here so far above the other.”

The sight surrounding them both and the hot, tight sensation of Peter’s ass surrounding him was bringing him close, fast. His stroke grew shallow, his groans joining Peter’s cries on their flight through the New York skies. He let go of Peter’s hip, trusting the boy to hold himself in place, and slid his hand down underneath Peter, wrapping his fingers around the boy’s cock.

Whimpering, Peter lowered himself back to his feet and stood on shaky legs. He kept Tony inside him without effort (it was a good thing, being graceful.) He was so hard he was dizzy, but he concentrated on what Tony wanted to do next.

Back down on earth (well the earth 96 floors above the ground) Tony’s hand sought out all of Peter’s most sensitive places. His thumb sliding just below the slit as his hand stroked the boy’s shaft. He bit his lip trying to hold back his own impending orgasm.

“Oh Tony, what are you doing to me?”

“You’re gonna make my glass messy, baby. Wanna see you dripping down it.”

Peter reached backward with both arms and pressed his hands on Tony’s back. Eyes open, looking up into the sky, he leaned his head back and let it happen. If anyone was listening at that height, they would have no doubt who was fucking the twink at the balcony. Peter shouted Tony’s name endlessly into the night.

Tony watched Peter come on the railing, the sight was almost enough to send him over on its own. The strain of the boy’s body tightening around him… that was always irresistible. But when he heard Peter cry out, scream out his name… Tony hadn’t come so hard in his life.

With both hands on the rail, Peter tried to catch his breath. His head was spinning. He was pretty sure he had just been way too loud, but then again, Tony had been loud too… in fact… had he ever heard Tony be that loud? He couldn’t help but peek, looking back over his shoulder in hopes to catch a glimpse of Tony’s face before he had time to compose himself.

Tony’s mouth was still hanging open (ah, but Tony had been making some loud noises too, Peter was going to remember that) and his eyes were wide, looking up at the sky, just as Peter had done. Peter found himself grinning from ear to ear. It was a very, very rare thing to catch Tony not focusing on him. For a moment, just a moment, he had caught it. An unguarded moment. He treasured it. He wondered if there was a way to find it again.

As Tony slipped out of him he turned around and brought their heads close, draping his hands lightly behind his lover’s head.

“Property of Tony Stark,” Peter murmured, kissing his face. “You’re going to write it across my chest every morning with a sharpie.”

“Nah. Gonna make you write it on my windows with your come. Peter Parker was here. Tony Stark made him messy. Gonna let you write it on my chest when you’re riding me. Make you write it on my sheets.”

“No one will be able to read that,” Peter giggled, leaning his head back and looking up at the sky again. Their sky. His and Tony’s.

He leaned over and kissed Peter. “No one except the cleaning staff,” he said with a shrug.

“But I want everyone to know.”

Tony cupped Peter’s face and brought him into a long, deep kiss. “Baby, when you’re really ready, everyone will know.”

“I’m ready,” Peter whispered.

Anyone could get his name tattooed on their ass. People he never met had it there. He’s signed more girls’ chests with Sharpie than he ever cared to remember. But only one person would ever have something made out of gold-titanium alloy with the words ‘Property of Tony Stark’ engraved inside of it.

“No, Pete, you’re not. But when you are, I’ll be here.”

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #Von writes stuff #thewitchway writes stuff #von's moodboards

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essie-essex · 3 years

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anybody here remember night blogging??

You know thinking back on how I would do things differently, I would probably have gone to another school for college. I had assumed that you were required to write a thesis at every school to graduate, and at my school we had I.S. (Independent Study), which was kind of a final 100 page paper + project that we had to do our senior year, in addition to taking classes. But my school offered me the most money, and everyone I talked to said that it was a good school. I remember my English teacher being surprised that I got in. I wasn’t the best student, but during my senior year I started to be more engaged and pay attention in class. I think part of it was that my family (me and my mom lol) hosted a Japanese exchange student that year. She stayed for 10 months and I loved having someone at the house to do things with, and I think having her around really helped me out a lot with feeling less lonely. So, my grades improved (with the exception of math, I actually did a lot worse in math than usual despite studying every night for hours because my teacher was horrible, but that’s another story...) and for the most part I did a lot better academically. Also, I started running, lost weight, and felt generally better about myself (I thought that finally after all those years of depression, things were finally getting better, and I was stronger, and blah blah blah).

When I was accepted by a university, I was so excited, especially since my advisor told me I wouldn’t get into college (because of that awful math class--like honestly that year would have been so much better if I had had any of the other math teachers who could actually teach, and I came to my advisor meeting thinking that I was doing so much better with my grades than usual, like I literally had A’s in everything except for math, in which I had an F, and I thought she would ask me about what was happening in math and offer help, like seriously who sees a bunch of A’s and one F and thinks “this student clearly isn’t applying herself” and not “clearly this student needs some help with this one subject,” but no she said “I just don’t know what to do with you. At this rate, you’re not going to get into college.” And I just remember being so upset especially since I went in there without any emotional armor like I would have put up if I actually had really bad grades and was expecting to hear about it, but right that’s another story, so anyway... )

My problems started after I got back from Japan. Before that, while I did still have my moments of depression, especially when dealing with my boyfriend who had his own share of mood problems which tended to be a bit more high key than mine, it was a lot better than it was in high school. I loved my major, I had friends who actually appreciated my presence, and, for the first time in my life, I felt hopeful about the future. I remember when I was taking the bus back to my city after visiting my boyfriend and one of my friends, and I realized that for the first time I just felt like a normal person. I didn’t feel like some weird defective mistake that clearly didn’t belong in this world.

Then I went to Japan. And I fucking loved it, which is why I was so sad to leave. I’m usually a really quiet person, and in order to be outgoing I have to completely turn off my filter, which, I realize, can make me sort of obnoxious. It worked for me at first. I made several friends in different groups so I could have different options and be able to go out with friends more often.

My school only allowed us to study abroad for one semester. So, I had 4 months to do everything I wanted to do there. Like I’m not an energetic person at all, but basically I told myself “I’ll sleep when I’m back in the US, but right now I’m in fucking Japan and I need to do everything.” But basically everyone else was staying for the entire school year, so they weren’t in a rush to do and see things like I was. My no filter self helped me make friends, so I would have different groups to go out and do things with (like I changed my personality so much that when I told one of my dorm mates that I liked to play videogames, she said that I didn’t “seem like the type” who would do that. Like she was genuinely surprised.) Public transportation and the safety of Japan made it easier for me to be more independent than I was in the US. My college was in a small town, so while I was more independent there than at home (where if I so much as opened the front door, my mom would come rushing downstairs wondering where I was going/what I was doing/why was I going outside) I was still basically confined to one or two streets in the area. In Japan, I could just get on the train and go. Plus when you’re a foreigner you sometimes get random people talking to you on the streets and can even meet new people since you stand out. I went out to clubs at least once every weekend, and sometimes even twice (the advantage of having more than one group of friends). I didn’t sleep too much and always wanted to be out doing things since I just didn’t have a lot of time. I met guys, went out on dates and everything, had cultural experiences, and I mostly just didn’t care about any danger because I was in Japan and I basically had no plan after that and had done the one thing I really wanted to do (which was travel to Japan). The attitude was also brought on by me not giving much of shit about my studies because I was so angry and disappointed for not getting a placement in a program in which basically everyone who applied would get accepted. It was especially annoying because it allowed me to get experience in participant-observation while volunteering at a place that interested me, but most people who did the program were just doing it for fun, like there were a lot of various sciencey majors plus at least one math major, and I was just really disappointed. Luckily this attitude I adopted didn’t affect my grades too much, since most of the classes were pretty easy.

So, getting back to the point of all of this, I realize that the real problem was my shitty attitude, and I should have made the most out of my four months and then come back to “the real world,” as my mother put it, and be the same person I was before. Unfortunately, that’s not what happened. I have never been popular before, and having so many people not see my weird defective self was so exhilarating to me. For once I wasn’t the weird quiet girl. For once I could be independent. But then I was back to the small college town, and I wanted to go out and do things, I wanted to go to parties on the weekends. But my friends would mostly stay in and watch movies on the weekends. Like we went to the occasional party or did the usual hang out together and drink thing, but it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t be the same person I had been for the previous four months, and I didn’t take it well.

I had never had the kind of depression where I had brain fog. While I was still depressed in middle and high school, I could still do things like read books or write song lyrics. But brain fog made it impossible for me to get anything done. Like I could read a page and not know anything about what I read. I’d be stuck reading the same sentences over and over. When I hung out with my friends, I could muster up some energy, since I would cling to anything that brought me even a bit of joy, but mostly I just did nothing. I had this tiny room at the back of the house (we were a volunteer house and went to the local animal shelter every week) and I never even unpacked my clothes. Everything was in bags or boxes or in a clothing pile somewhere. I would have dreams of being back in Japan and wake up so disappointed. It was especially upsetting to think about all the people I knew in Japan, since they still were there. I tried checking in on people to see how they were doing, but--as is usual--they didn’t miss me nearly as much as I missed them. And I felt the same way about my friends at college too. I was back to just being tolerated instead of wanted. I always let them have their way and yielded to their decisions and just tried to keep my group of friends but I think a good number of them stopped liking me.

ANYWAY, getting to the point. I got on meds over the summer and felt kind of better. I didn’t having nearly as much brain fog. I was ready to do my IS and graduate, and then things went downhill again. My friends used to automatically include me in things, but now I always had to check in with them to see if they were doing anything. I started my IS, joined a local Pagan group to do my research, and started reading books to use as sources. My IS advisor was my favorite professor, but when I told her that I was having trouble doing everything because of my depression, she said “but you took care of that, right?” Like the meds I was on were supposed to fix everything. I just straight up never went back to her office. I stopped going to classes. I purposely avoided meal times and went to get food at times when most people were in classes. I stopped everything.

I feel like if I had gone to a different school, I might have been able to power through the year and finish my classes. Maybe. Or maybe not. I don’t know. This school truly felt like it was the best option though. They offered me the most money, and I was able to visit and write an essay while I was there to get an even better scholarship. I remember when I was offered a merit scholarship for the first time (for one of the schools I didn’t choose to go to) and I called my dad and told him they were offering me some money. He just thought it would be a few hundred dollars maybe, but when I told him $11,000 he was so surprised and was speechless. Like there was just silence for a few seconds for him to process it. The school I went to offered me $14,000 a year, and the scholarship I applied for and went there to write the essay for, brought the amount up to $18,000 (Sadly, this didn’t even cover half of the yearly tuition). It seemed like the best choice, even if they didn’t offer Japanese, I figured I could still learn on my own, and I didn’t realize that their IS program was so unique. If I had gone to any of the other schools, especially one of the bigger ones, I wonder if I would have made more friends. There would have been much more to do there. And all I would have to do was take classes and not be horribly stressed out by IS. Even if I was depressed toward the end of it, all I had to do was pass. Like even though I got good grades for the first two years, I would just need to pass the classes in the last two years to graduate. I got really off topic here I know. This is mostly just a stream of consciousness thing to get my thoughts out. And putting it here has probably stopped me from going into the kind of depressive rant that I usually go into when I write about my life.

Anyways, I’m not editing this or anything. I meant to write this while letting the Sims 4 load since it takes a while with the 938347283333 mods I have, but I forgot to actually start it, whoops!

tl;dr started writing this post meaning to talk about my college and senior IS, ended up having one of those sitcom clip episodes but in writing.

Also fuck my senior year high school math teacher, holy shit she was horrible at teaching

#essie things #i tend to put blame on myself and not other people for things #because it's my job to react in the best way even when things are difficult #but really that fuckin math teacher was just #awful

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doc-pickles · 4 years

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i won’t hesitate (for you) chapter six

Jo is happy, at least she feels like she is. When someone from her past shows up, will her and her daughter's world ever go back to normal? Or will things change for good?

The loft was dark, only one solitary light shining from the kitchen as Link let himself into the apartment. He set his keys and the groceries he had bought on the dining table, his feet moving quietly through the large room in search of Jo. When his eyes finally found her, his heart sank with a deep sigh.

Jo was curled up in the king size bed, one hand curled around a ratty grey sweatshirt and the other holding her burgeoning stomach. She had been crying, if the dimmed lights and lack of noise weren't enough of an indicator, the tear tracks and damp pillow below her were.

“Josie,” Link plopped himself on the edge of the bed next to Jo, one hand coming up to run through her brunette locks. “What’s wrong? Besides the obvious.” “They kicked,” the words were barely loud enough for Link to hear, but he knew exactly what was running through Jo’s mind. “They kicked me today and you know who reached over to feel it? Jackson, because he was eating lunch with me. Jackson felt my baby’s first kick.” As the words spilled out of her mouth, tears began pouring from Jo’s eyes again. Link kicked his shoes off quickly, climbing behind Jo on the bed and bringing her into his embrace. Her hands gripped tightly at his shirt, sobs escaping as she buried her face in his chest.

“Why wasn't I enough? What did I do,” Jo cried out, her voice breaking as she asked Link a question he didn’t have an answer to. “Why didn't he love me enough to stay? I need him, I can’t do this without him, Link. I need Alex back. I can’t raise this baby without him.”

“So I heard you put Karev on a celibacy vow following your steamy elevator rendezvous.”

Jo looked up from her phone, choking momentarily on her coffee. She gawked at Amelia Shepherd, who was now sitting beside her in the cafeteria. A bright blush spread across Jo’s cheeks as she brought one hand up to try and cover it. Leave it to her big mouthed best friend to tell his wife her dirty secrets.

“Jeez, Link really doesn’t keep his mouth shut,” Jo groaned, a smile sneaking up on her face. “Yes, I told Alex we can’t have sex again until we… settle into things? I just don’t want that to complicate things. And they’re already pretty complicated as is.”

“Better you than me, I couldn’t imagine doing that,” Amelia settled one hand onto her growing stomach, a laugh escaping her as she looked back to Jo. “I’m working with twice the hormones though, so I think it’s a bit different.”

Amelia and Jo had grown close the past three years, Jo spending a large amount of her pregnancy hanging around Link, Amelia, and Scout as she mourned the end of her marriage and tried to wrap her mind around bringing a child into the world. The older woman had been a great source of comfort for Jo, always knowing exactly what would get through her hormone ridden mind when Link fumbled his words.

“You’re lucky I like you, I wouldn’t tolerate this line of questioning from anyone else you know,” Jo snagged one of Amelia’s garlic fries, turning back to her phone. “Have you and Link come to an agreement on baby names yet?” “No and I’m ready to kill him,” Amelia groaned, smacking Jo’s hand away from her fries. “You don’t even like garlic fries, keep your sticky fingers away from mine.” “Hey you can always do what I did and drive your husband away to his ex wife so you can name your baby by yourself,” Jo grinned at the shocked expression on Amelia’s face. “Oh you should see your face! Priceless!”

Both women began to laugh then, a few heads around the room turning to stare at them in confusion. Amelia tried in vain to cover her laughter, which in turn only made Jo laugh harder.

“You’re horrible,” Amelia choked out, taking a sip of her water as she lovingly shoved Jo’s shoulder. “In all seriousness, I think Link and I are both coming around on Parker.”

“Awww that’s adorable! See, I knew you guys would agree on something eventually,” Jo’s pager beeped then, prompting her to stand with a groan. “I’ve got a 911, we’ll talk later. Keep my godson safe in there!”

Jo hurried down to the ER, eyes scanning the room looking for Owen. When she finally spotted him she jogged over, entering the room that he and three nurses occupied.

“Hunt! You paged?” Jo’s eyes flitted down to the little boy on the table in front of Owen. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old, his body bruised and bleeding as he lay unconscious before Jo. His curly black hair was matted with blood, making him look years younger and even more vulnerable than he already was.

“Ethan Walker, 9 years old. He was walking home from West Seattle Middle when he was jumped by three guys. He’s beat up pretty badly,” Owen relayed the info to Jo as he continued to check out the boy. “I paged neuro and peds too, you’re the first one here. Looking like a possible spleen puncture.” Jo lifted the boy’s shirt, heart dropping as she saw the state to his chest. She wouldn’t be able to get a good idea of how extensive the damage was until they got him open, which seemed the only option at this point. Her heart sank, imagining how worried she would be if it was Harper on the table. Now that she was a mother herself, pediatric cases gripped Jo’s heart more than usual. “We need to take him into surgery, I just want to wait for Peds to confirm what I’m seeing here before we go up,” Jo relayed to Owen, one hand coming down to push some stray curls out of the little boy's face. “Poor baby, he didn’t deserve this.”

“Hey what’ve we got,” Alex walked into the room, a deep sigh leaving him as he looked at the state of their patient. “Jesus… Jo, what’re you thinking?” “That we need to move out because he was jumped in our neighborhood,” Jo looked up at Alex, a grim expression on her face. “We also need to get him up to the OR as soon as possible. There’s definitely a spleen puncture and I’m thinking that his lungs were nicked too, his O2 levels aren’t looking great. I won’t know more until we open him up.”

Alex nodded, one hand coming to grip the side of the gurney while the other found the low of Jo’s back. He could feel the tension radiating off of her, she was always upset when kids came in now. Unfortunately that meant that cases they worked together were not happy occasions, something Alex tried to combat by comforting Jo as much as possible.

“Okay let’s move team,” Owen called out, him and Alex pushing the gurney out into the hallway with Jo trailing behind them. “Jo, I think his parents are here, can you fill them in and meet us in OR 2?”

Alex looked up to the trauma bay where he saw two distraught looking women, both staring helplessly at their patient. Jo nodded quietly, rushing past Owen and Alex to speak with the women. Alex’s heart ached for her, knowing that talking to parents was not something Jo loved. But he pressed on, following Owen towards the elevator and only turning around once when he heard one of the women sobbing loudly.

Today was going to be a long day.

“Hey can you put toaster strudels down on the grocery list?”

Alex looked up from his place on the floor, staring at Jo with a confused expression. She was seated on the couch, head buried in a magazine about experimental surgeries. He was shocked that she was acting so normal given the events of the day before.

Yesterday had been brutal for him and Jo, the little boy who had been jumped coding twice in surgery and now laying in a medically induced coma in the PICU. Jo had sobbed into Alex’s arms last night, heart broken that they had to inform his parents that their son might not wake up.

“You don’t like toaster strudels,” Alex pointed out as he took the wooden block that Harper handed him. “You said cooked fruit freaks you out.”

“They’re for Harper, obviously,” Jo scoffed at Alex, but he gave her a knowing stare which prompted her to roll her eyes. “Fine, they’re for me. Shut up.”

Alex had learned a lot since returning to Seattle. He had discovered that Harper loved asparagus but hated applesauce, that she stayed with Link and Amelia every other Thursday, and that she couldn’t sleep without her green stuffed monkey Chester. He had also learned that Jo’s tastes had changed drastically, something she blamed on her outrageous pregnancy cravings permanently changing her taste buds. She now enjoyed jalapeños, sauerkraut, and toaster strudels, things she had never taken an interest in before.

“Wait, didn’t you say you were going on a diet,” Alex watched as Harper began to build her block tower on his stomach, her small hands constantly coming to press down his rising and falling chest. “Harps, I can’t stop breathing, it would upset your mother.”

“I can start that next week, we need to buy strawberry toaster strudels when we go shopping tomorrow,” Jo grabbed the highlighter tucked behind her ear and circled something on the page in front of her. “I’m thinking chicken alfredo for dinner. Thoughts?”

Both Alex and Harper turned to look at Jo, noses scrunched up in the same fashion. Jo had to hold back a laugh because the two looked absolutely identical. One thing she had loved about having Alex back was that she was able to see the similarities between him and their daughter up close. Before, if Harper would do anything even close to Alex’s mannerisms it would send Jo’s mind into a dark spot. But things were different now, a good different, but nothing like the life Jo had grown used to.

“Babe, I love you, but your taste buds should not be controlling our dinner choices,” Alex turned to Harper, a grin on his face as he began to tickle her. “Was she starving you the whole time? Force feeding you sauerkraut and chicken alfredo?” Babe, I love you.

He hadn’t said it since they had reunited, but the way Alex had slipped the confession so casually into their conversation made Jo’s heart skip a beat. He loved her. Of course she loved him too, as crazy as it made her feel she didn’t think that she had ever stopped loving him. But hearing him say it out loud confirmed everything she had hoped for the past few weeks.

Jo couldn’t help herself as she set her magazine down and crawled across the carpet to lean over Alex, a grin lighting her face up like the Fourth of July. Harper had grown tired of her father and was now distracted with a coloring book she had found in her toy box,

“You look like a psycho murderer,” Alex chuckled, one hand coming up to caress Jo’s cheek. “Why’re you grinning at me like that? Were you waiting until you lulled me into a false sense of security to murder me?” “I love you too,” Jo whispered, her lips coming down to meet Alex’s. When she pulled back, Alex was staring up at her with a look of adoration. “You said you love me, I love you too.”

“Let’s buy a house,” Alex whispered, his eyes scanning Jo’s face. “Let’s move out of this shitty neighborhood and buy a house with a backyard and a big kitchen.”

“And a few extra bedrooms,” Jo suggested, eyes meeting Alex’s with a sly grin. “You know, just in case?”

“Just in case? You wanna tell me something, Jo,” Alex laughed as he pulled Jo towards him, quickly flipping their positions so she lay sprawled out on the living room rug. “You hiding another baby from me somewhere around here?” A squeal of laughter left Jo, her eyes squeezing shut as Alex let his fingers come up to her sides to tickle her. She was happy, truly happy for the first time in… well a very long time. Her hands came up to grab Alex’s face, eyes meeting his with a sincere look in them.

“You’re staying, right? Not going anywhere again?” “Of course I am, I love you and I’ve already missed out on too much,” Alex grinned, his crooked smile lighting up his face. “I want a great big future with you and Harper and however many more babies you wanna give me.” “Easy for you to say, you didn’t have to go through 31 hours of labor,” Jo rolled her eyes, bringing Alex in for another kiss. “Next time I get to yell at you instead of Meredith. I’m still not sure she’s forgiven me for the names I called her.”

#greys anatomy #alex karev #jo karev #jo wilson #jo x alex #jolex #jolex fic #hesitate #jolex fanfic #nina writes #greys anatomy fanfic

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kindness-ricochets · 4 years

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A Measure of the Sum of Parts

My second fic for the Grishaverse Big Bang ( @grishaversebigbang )

Corporalki: the glorious @rebooka17 who kept me from writing complete gibberish (the partial gibberish is my fault!) + sensitivity reading by the wonderful @dana-willowfeather

Materialki: @battoad (artwork here — I had literally never seen this style before and I’m still not sure how to say how cool it is), @sheitha & @itsbrilliantjustlikeyou

Summary: Wylan works to improve Kerch, partly by aligning with a growing workers’ movement, even as half the Merchant Council digs in their heels. Jesper knows he should be more, but he’s afraid to become more of a disappointment. The boys love each other. It’s enough… just barely.

Then Jesper makes a terrible mistake, one that leads him to Ravka and a sojourn to the Little Palace. It’s only meant to be a short trip—but what if Wylan decides against going to Ravka? What if Jesper doesn’t want to see him?

And what if, when they see each other again, they no longer belong together?

(What you can expect from this fic: many chapters. Much angst. Special appearances by a certain pirate and bastard.)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26282656

On the nights the ghosts visited him, Wylan didn't wake up the following morning. There was no transition, no moving from one world to the next, no disorientation. No, none of that for Wylan Van Eck. Images, growing clearer with the morning light, replaced the smears of memory that filled his sleep. Seeing a thing was different from knowing it existed. Seeing the solidity of his life brought a heavy, cold feeling to his belly. It was real. The things that came to him when he slept, they had been real, too. It wasn't like sleeping. It was like taking a stroll through time and catapulting back to the present, never granted the escape of dreaming.

Useless!

Wylan slept on the side of the bed nearer the washroom and closet, with Jesper nearer the windows, sleeping soundly behind him, snoring. He claimed he didn't snore, a claim to which Wylan had once replied without thinking, Jesper, you've never slept with yourself , and Jesper nearly laughed himself sick. Wylan had blushed, but laughed, too. On good mornings, when he woke up to Jesper's arm around him, Wylan was happy. Sometimes he stayed that way. Other times, like today, it frightened him. This moment was only a moment. The next one would change. Time moved once more in its steady linear fashion. And you trust Wylan Van Eck? Wylan wanted to lie here, beside Jesper, for the rest of his life. Wylan never wanted to lie here again. How could something so wonderful be so fragile? How could anyone survive if something so deep inside them shattered? He squeezed Jesper's hand, then slipped away from him. Jesper was warm and he liked contact--he needed contact. It didn't matter how they went to sleep. Wylan often woke hugged up in Jesper's arms. And on good days, it was everything in the world Wylan never thought to dream of. Today, the cold morning felt better. It was real. The cold slid under his nightshirt and ripped the air out of his lungs. Wylan shivered as he dressed. Trousers first, buttoned under his nightshirt to limit exposure. He gasped when he removed his nightshirt, shaking into his undershirt, fumbling the buttons on his shirt. Gray waistcoat--he looked ridiculous in gray, but he looked seven years old in black. Last night they had been up late. Jesper was usually up late, but this time they were both awake. Wylan looked at the papers on the bedside table. There were a couple of books, too, one of those gruesome thrillers Jesper loved and a romance novel they had been reading together. Wylan imagined it had a thin layer of dust by now. Jesper read through facts and figures with him over and over… Over and over, because Wylan still wasn't prepared. Six months. Six months ago, shaking from nerves but trying not to let it show, Councilman Wylan Van Eck attended his first meeting. He needn't have worried. Karl Dryden, the next-youngest Councilman, was twice his age. And to the rest, Dryden seemed rather young to hold his seat. On the rare occasions Wylan added his voice to the debate, he was usually overlooked. Tolerated, perhaps. Wylan cleaned his teeth and combed his hair as quietly as he could. He had let his hair grow and now wore it tied at the nape of his neck. A few curls always broke free, but Wylan didn't mind. It was a hairstyle he had always liked, even though a man keeping his hair so long was horrifically old-fashioned. He never would have had the courage to do without Jesper encouraging him. He picked up his shoes and started for the bedroom door, walking softly as he could. He had to do better. It was why Jesper was drawing away from him, he knew it was. Why would someone like Jesper Fahey--someone so clever, so talented, so absolutely beautiful--waste his time with a milksop aye vote? Wylan had to do better for Kerch, and he had to do better for Jesper. "You're leaving me like that? Not even saying goodbye?" Wylan set down his shoes. He went to sit on the edge of the bed, scooping up Jesper's hand in his. Jesper had amazing hands. Ghezen did not do , he did not make , but if ever he did, he would have hands like Jesper's, perfectly formed, warm, strong. Wylan knew every scar on every finger, he had spent so long studying these hands. "I didn't want to wake you," he half-whispered. "What could be better than waking up to your gorgeous face?" "Mm. Sleeping until noon?" Jesper smiled. "Close call. Did you sleep okay? You look tired." Please, Papa. Pathetic, useless little-- "Yeah." Wylan brought Jesper's fingers to his lips, hiding that he wasn't smiling when he knew he should. "I'll do well today. I remember what we covered last night." The Council would debate many subjects, as they always did, but top of the list was pay rises for the bodymen. It felt small enough, yet important enough, that Wylan could start having a louder voice. "Merchers won't know what hit 'em." Jesper sat up, abandoning the safety of warmth and heavy covers to hug Wylan. Wylan held him, and it was the best feeling in the world: the two of them together. And the worst, because he would try today. He would try. But… "Saints, it's freezing out here," Jesper said. He drew away from Wylan and pulled the covers up around his shoulders. He had been doing that a lot lately. Drawing away from Wylan. "If my mother's having a bad day, will you send a runner so I know to come straight home? I might stop by Alys's." It had been ages, but he was so busy, there wasn't much time for visiting. "Of course. Now go knock their trousers off." "Thanks, Jes, now I have to picture Hiram Schenck's undergarments." Jesper laughed. "You were awfully quick to pick Schenck, do I need to be jealous?" "Never." In so many ways! Wylan knew he would never stray, that even when things were less than perfect between them, he wanted no one else but Jesper. "Good, I'd be worried if your taste in men was me and Hiram Schenck. With whom I have nothing in common, that old podge." It was true that Jesper and Schenck were different in many ways. They were both clever, but Schenck didn't have Jesper's warmth or his honesty. Wylan didn't like working with Schenck. The man was an absolute cutthroat. But he was brilliant, too, like a lesser version of Kaz. Wylan knew he could learn a lot from Schenck. He couldn't deny that Schenck was old, at least in the context of a romantic partner for Wylan, but, "Schenck's not so bad. My father didn't trust him, for one thing. And I've seen him give De Een Bevoorechte Fchuld to runners." "The… Wy, it's early." "The Favored Debt," Wylan translated, "in Old Kerch. I thought you knew, they're the best chocolatiers in the city." And thus the best in the country and probably the best in the world. Knowing Jesper had a taste for sweets and indulgence, Wylan had assumed he already knew the best chocolatier in Kerch. "And you haven't taken me there? A man could be hurt." Wylan laughed and pressed another kiss to Jesper's knuckles. "I'll make it up to you, but now I really must be going. Get some sleep. It's still early." "No mourners." "No funerals. I love you." "You too." Jesper curled up under the covers. Wylan picked up his shoes and left the room.

#grishabigbang20 #six of crows #six of crows fanfic #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #fanfiction #my writing #Grishaverse Big Bang 2020 - Gang 4

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luckyfirerabbit · 5 years

Text

Jaune Doe: Pt 2

Pyrrha is always up early. Almost every morning she's up and about before the sun with the intent of going for a jog around the block. She was part of the boxing club in high school and college, so this sort of exercise was all but second nature by now. She still goes to the local gym three to four times a week, keeping just shy of competition sharp, mostly for the relief it gives from the daily grind of her job.

She gets back home with enough to time to shower and change, and to get started on breakfast before Diana wakes up. She knows when that happens because the cat comes scrambling into the kitchen as if it's a race, one the cat always wins. It jumps onto the island, all black with a white face, and glares at Pyrrha until she reminds it that its bowl is on the floor.

"Morning, mommy." comes the little girls yawn.

"Morning, baby." Pyrrha smiles and looks down, seeing the incredible mess of jet black curls. "Ready to eat?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You want oatmeal, or do you want what mommy's having?"

"Oatmeal, please."

Pyrrha nods; so polite for five years old. "You want to watch cartoons while we eat?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Go ahead and get settled in, I'll bring it to you when it's ready."

The two of them will eat quietly, Diana engrossed in the television and Pyrrha in the copy of the case file she had brought home. She takes short breaks from the papers, because there's a lot, and because she wants to make sure Diana knows she's paying attention.

"You want to go to the park later?" She asks during a commercial.

"Okay." Diana replies, sounding a little more awake. She looks up at her mother, her eyes just like Pyrrha's. "Are you going to bring work with you?"

"No, baby, I promise."

"Okay." the little girl nods. "That's why daddy says I can't come and see you, because you work so much."

Pyrrha's expression abruptly sours, then she shrugs. "That's not true, honey."

"Then why can't I come visit that much anymore?"

"I don't know." she reaches out and strokes her daughter's cheek with the back of her hand. "I've asked your dad several times, but he still hasn't given me a straight answer. I think you being with me upsets him for some reason."

"Is it because you hit him?"

Her brow furrows. "It might be, but he won't say so, so there isn't much I can do to help him with that."

"But you only hit him because he hit you first." she says matter of factly.

"That's right." she wanted to smile, feeling a spark of triumph, but that wouldn't be right. "Because we're allowed to fight back, even if it's someone we loved."

Diana goes quiet after that, getting reabsorbed into her cartoons, and Pyrrha does the same.

There are some photos in the file, most of which she ignores because she just isn't awake enough to stomach those. Instead she keeps going back to the headshot, the wallet sized picture of a drowsy, bruised twenty something with messy blond hair and dim blue eyes. She doesn't so much see him as she feels his appearance; it makes her feel vulnerable, weary...in some empathic way she feels lost. Clearly he had been through hell, and not just that night, but for some time.

Jaune Doe.

The variation of the monicker sits awkwardly in her mind for a moment, until she reads further on that it's the man's first name; it's the only name he remembers.

Possible trauma related amnesia.

Understandable, she decides as she starts skimming the list of injuries the primary exam had found. Broken ribs, concussion, multiple lacerations and abrasions. She reads intentional scarification at the bottom of the page, turning it without a thought that a photograph might follow, and immediately jerking away and turning back.

"You okay, mommy?"

"I'm fine, baby."

Poor thing.

The blood work wasn't in the file, and all she can do is shake her head. They typically don't take more than a day, so this man must have had a pharmacy inventory in his veins for it to take this long.

There are other pictures, some that she can tolerate that she studies rather closely. They fit in with the official police report, the suspicion that Jaune Doe was an addict; multiple injection scars had been found and cataloged, most of them obvious, which made her suspect the same thing as the police. But there were more in less obvious places, places even the usual junkie didn't use and were realistically impossible to reach by yourself. For her, a seasoned lawyer, that was enough to establish reasonable doubt in the initial theory.

What happened to you? She has a theory or two, but she doesn't like either of them.

When she's had all she can take she sets the file aside, sliding them into her open briefcase on the floor at her feet, knowing there will be more to it come Monday and leaving it until then.

(--)

Pyrrha will drop Diana off at school and then head straight to the hospital from there. She doesn't mind getting in early, especially if it helps sate her gnawing curiosity of what will be waiting on her desk when she gets there. This case has been haunting the edges of her mind all weekend.

Sure enough the manilla folder is there in the middle of everything, waiting for her, and she'll scoop it up after dropping her briefcase in her chair. She leaves the office for the lounge, having been unable to wait long enough to grab her morning tea. Somehow she navigates the barely busy halls, expertly sidestepping people and equipment with her nose deep in the newest reports -the full bloodwork and police testimony, including statements from the staff during Jaune Doe's intake. It's almost the perfect stroll until she bumps into a wall of body in the lounge doorway.

Pyrrha lifts her eyes, blinking through a reflex apology, looking directly into the buttons of a pressed white shirt and security badge. Lifting her chin lets her see the tusks and freckles and curly red hair of Sahv Starborough.

"Good morning, Miss Nikos." the officer grins, seemingly unfazed by the obstacle the much smaller woman was presenting.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes again, "good morning. I didn't mean to, I was just,"

"It's okay." Sahv insists. "Got the new patient's file?"

"Yeah, thought I'd get a jump start on it." she smirks and steps aside, expecting her to go by, only to be presented with a mirrored gesture from her. Pyrrha advances with the gentle insistence of Sahv's big hand. "Is he doing any better?"

"Maybe, haven't started my rounds yet." The faunus half sits on the nearest table, arms crossed. "He had a tough weekend, though. Some of the nurses were worried we'd lose him."

"Goodness." There's that painful empathy again.

"You seen his blood sheet yet?"

"Not yet, those are hard for me to read, anyway." Pyrrha shakes her head with a breathy chuckle, fumbling briefly with the tea bag and dropping it twice.

"Oh, well, I was hoping you could tell me something. Still, whatever he had in him was making him seize Saturday morning, they stopped eventually -thank gods- but he's had round the clock observation since."

"Any idea what could do that?"

Sahv shrugs. "Saw it a few times when I was a paramedic...rohypnol overdose usually." Pyrrha pauses, half turning with a quirk to her brow. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"Ruffies is the street name."

"Oh. So...but some of those injuries...that's not an overnight thing. There's evidence of long term abuse, at least as far as I can tell."

"I don't know, really." her broad shoulders jump in resignation. "I do know they think he's a druggie but..."

"You too?"

"Yeah. I mean...I've seen bad trips before -real bad- but I've never seen one like that. He was so scared, Miss Nikos. And it wasn't over things that weren't there, like the usual, he was afraid of us. He was convinced we were going to hurt him."

Pyrrha's heart clutches hard behind her ribs, her imagination going where she knows it shouldn't.

"It's all in my portion of the intake report, so I'm not going to trouble you with the specifics." Sahv shrugs sadly, likely feeling something similar.

"I'll probably ask you anyway. Cases like these...I need it to feel personal, makes me work harder."

"Whatever helps, I guess, you know what you're doing, Miss Nikos."

There's a moment of quiet between them, the only other sound is the chime of the water heater.

"He's at the top of my rounds, you want to come with me? You're his voice right now, so I figured," her nod mimics Pyrrha's, "but I have to fetch Miss Velvet first."

Pyrrha offers her leave to do what she needs to, assuring Sahv that she would be right behind her at the risk of almost pouring hot water over her hand. She scurries out of the lounge as soon as she's able, the file tucked under her arm.

The lights in Jaune Doe's room are dimmed, but still bright enough to see by. The curtains are draw across the window to keep out the sunlight, anything to help facilitate and rest he could get. And by the looks of it, he is indeed sleeping. Finally.

Pyrrha lingers in the doorway at first, content to let Velvet and Sahv do their jobs without her possibly interfering presence. After a few seconds she doesn't even see them, really, her attention is fully fixed on the man in the bed. He's coiled up, knees near his chest and arms crossed like he's cold, likely is seeing as the blankets have been kicked down to the foot of the bed. Once the seizures began the restraints had been removed for his safety, and since there didn't seem cause enough to replace them, he had been free to toss and turn through sometimes feverish unconsciousness.

Velvet immediately pulled the blankets back up, softly talking to him as if he was listening. She's sympathetic to the possibility that he feels like he's burning up -Pyrrha can see a faint shimmer of sweat on his skin from here- but assures him that he needs to keep his temperature stable if he wants to get better. Carefully, so carefully, she moves him to lie on his back to get the pressure off his ribs. When he's mostly tucked in she goes about checking the numbers on all the machines he's hooked up to.

Sahv is here for safety's sake, just in case things go horribly wrong, but she appears to have another purpose. She quietly moves to the small table beside the bed, to the little black box sitting on it as she pulls a USB cable out of her pocket.

Pyrrha cocks her head, suddenly noticing something. "Is...there's music playing?"

"Yeah." Sahv replies just above a whisper. "I was watching him the other night, once his seizures stopped and everything, and I had my scroll playing. It seemed like it let him rest a little easier, so I leave it in here for him. I just need to plug it up so it can charge a while."

Pyrrha moves inside now, feeling like she has permission to, and approaches carefully, mindful of her footsteps. She'll pause briefly when she hears the music, mostly soft but swift guitars, then closes the gap between her and Sahv as the faunus turns around.

"Is that Caravaan?"

"It's my favorite kind of music." Sahv nods, smiling. "You know I got to see Gypsy, live, just before she retired?"

Pyrrha's face lit up a little. "No, I'm so jealous."

"As long as it lets him sleep, it could be show tunes for all I care." Velvet adds softly. "But it's awful nice of you to leave it for him, Sahv."

Now Pyrrha looks down into the bed, finding Jaune Doe's face, and feels a distinct clench in her chest. He really does look young, even with all the roughness and bruising and the patches of stubble. He seemed much too young, too soft, to look so unwell.

He's hearing voices again, sounds swimming through the lingering, heavy heat in his brain. The music was better, softer, sensible, it was something he vaguely knew. But now it's broken up with something more like static. The irritation it makes him feel pulls his consciousness a little higher, lets him feel his fingers again, and a part of him tries to wake up. He comprehends flickers of light let in through his fluttering eyelids.

They part for just a moment, long enough for most of the blurred shapes in his view to drift into focus for a second or two. There's a hand on the stainless steel rail of the bed, a woman's hand, he thinks. Without a thought his eyes flit upward, unsteady and quickly blinking again. He meets and holds the attention of brilliant green eyes.

"Hello, Jaune,"

At least that's what he thinks was said, because he didn't have the time to process it before his consciousness dipped again.

"Oh?" Sahv's attention piqued. "Is he awake?"

"I...I don't think so, not really." Pyrrha tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear, hoping there's no visible evidence of the heat she feels in her face. "His eyes were open for a second, that's all. It's a reflex, sorry."

"Well," the security guard inches her shoulders, "still, it's good to talk to them, isn't it, Velv?"

"So I've heard. Can't hurt him, I'm sure." the nurse replies, jotting down the last of her notes. "I do it all the time and haven't done any harm, as far as I know."

Pyrrha just nods, quiet for a moment, then it seems her train of thought clicks from one thing to another. "I've got to get back to the office. Thanks for letting me visit, ladies."

"Sure," Velvet smiles. "See you at lunch?"

"Probably." and the three laugh quietly and separate towards their respective obligations, leaving Jaune Doe to sleep in peace.

(--)

Blake Belladonna tucks the last of her paperwork into the drawer in her desk, locking it with the little brass key on the ring before closing her laptop. Rising from her desk she pushes the chair in, slips the strap of her messenger back over her shoulder, and strolls for her office door. Without a second thought she pulls on the nob, the door swinging open with the usual, reflexive force. Reflexive as the feline shriek she makes when she nearly walks into the person waiting much too close to the doorway on the other side.

"I'm sorry," Pyrrha gasps, shrinking at the noise Blake makes and the way her ears flatten. "I didn't mean to, I was going to knock, I swear."

"It's all right." Blake takes a few seconds to compose herself, the lift her ears back up. "What can I do for you, Pyrrha?"

"I'll be quick, I promise." Pyrrha assures her. "What can you tell me about scarification?"

For several seconds Blake just stares at her, blinking once in an exaggerated way. "You know...I had a myriad of questions in mind that you could have asked...and that was not one of them."

"I know it seems out of nowhere,"

"Nowhere isn't quite strong enough a word, but,"

"It has to do with the new Doe case."

"I see." Blake nods once. "Come on in, I have a few minutes."

Pyrrha thanks her a thousand times, or at least she tries to reach that number as she slips in behind her coworker and into the shady room.

Blake half sits against the edge of her desk, only partly settled because she hopes not to be here that long. "I haven't seen any paperwork on it yet, but I've heard a few things. So what does he have to do with your question?"

The lawyer has the file under her arm, the photograph she needed sticking out of the edge in preparation. "He's got some, clearly intentional, and I was wondering if you could tell me anything about it. Does anyone in Argus do it, what sort of significance does it have, that kind of thing."

Blake takes the picture and studies it, her ears twitching asymmetrically. "Just because I have tattoos doesn't mean I know anything about this."

"It's still body modification, right? Those things tend to run together, so I thought you might at least know someone who knows someone, you know?"

Blake blinks at her again, amused by the way her words ran together. "...Good point. Can I keep this? I can show it to the guys at the parlor, maybe they can track down the artist."

Pyrrha exhales in a relieved way, as if maybe she had expected some sort of rejection. "Thank you so much, I really appreciate it."

One sable ear cocks to the side. "Isn't this usually something the police would be doing?"

"I mean...yeah, but...I love Nora and Ren to death, but most people don't trust cops like they used to, you know? So I thought this would get better results."

"Fair enough." Blake nods.

"Plus, this poor man threw himself out of window to get away from...something, or someone, and if they're looking for him, the first thing they're going to be on the lookout for is cops canvasing the area."

"Another valid point, you've really got it all figured out, don't you, Nikos?" Blake smirks. "Diving in head first with this one."

Pyrrha returns the expression with one of her own, coupled with a sheepish chuckle. "Is that so bad?"

"Not at all, I just think you should observe a little caution. You might not like what you find."

"Good thing I don't do this for my sake, then, huh?" Pyrrha's smile widens, becomes calm and confident. "Thanks for the help, though. And tell Yang I said, hello, won't you?"

"Of course. See you tomorrow."

#Jaune Doe #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #blake belladonna #rwby au

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