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amoveablejake · 11 months

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My Five Key Songs of May 2023

Rounding off spring.

Most months when I write these introductions to the key songs pieces I say how I can’t believe how we’re already here at the round up. For the last couple of months, they have felt very long indeed and as I look back now it does feel like my trip to Paris was a stretch ago but May, I’m not entirely sure where its gone. When I was looking over my May playlist it felt almost like I hadn’t spent much time with the songs in it at all. Ofcourse, I have spent countless hours with them but I think May have just rolled on and all the music has blended with it. There was however, a clear choice to be my song of the month but before we get there, lets take a look at what other tracks make the list.

First up, ‘Work’ by Gang Starr.

They say that first impressions are key and I suppose that is true but sometimes, what matters is the second or third take. For instance, I tried to read ‘The High Republic: Light of the Jedi’ twice without it clicking before returning to it over the past month where now it clicked so much I couldn’t put it down and I am now on book three of the series. As for Gang Starr, when I first started to listening to their music, don’t get me wrong, I liked them, but they never really made my monthly playlists. For whatever reason though I was drawn to Gang Starr one Friday a couple of weeks ago and they ended up providing the soundtrack to the day and now their work is really clicking with me so much so, I find myself wondering what I was thinking about before. But really, I kind of like when something doesn’t click right away because it means that when you do really get in sync with it, it almost feels like you have earned the connection. Whilst Gang Starr may not be the key song of the month this time around, I have a feeling that will change at some point during the year.

Second up to bat, ‘Across the Stars’ by John Williams.

As I mentioned above, I have been reading quite a few Star Wars novels over the past month or so, ever since Celebration really, and often when I am reading my novels I am listening to Star Wars soundtracks to help build the atmosphere. One song from the soundtracks however, that always leads me away from the page and to truly listen to it is ‘Across the Stars’. The love theme for Padme and Anakin is a beautiful piece of music that Williams has also made ever so heartbreaking. Its gentle melodies often give way to grand, sweeping orchestral swells that could perhaps feel out of place in a love theme. Certainly, it is a different choice and it almost suggests that there is darkness coming. Ofcourse, I have absolutely no idea about that and I’m sure it will all work out fine. Right? Right? John Williams’ orchestral work for cinema is second to none and whilst we all know the classic, iconic pieces I do think that ‘Across the Stars’ should perhaps be counted among them as the thought and care that has gone into it with the story that it tells, it is nothing short of sublime.

The third choice for May, ‘In the Meantime’ by Spacehog.

To be honest, I really wasn’t sure about including ‘In the Meantime’ and as I write this I am still not sure. There have been songs that I have listened to over the last few weeks a lot more than this but its not how much I’ve listened to a song that means it gets onto the playlist, it is the feelings that it has inspired and the impact it has had. ‘In the Meantime’ first came to my ears when a stripped back version of it was featured in the inaugural trailer for ‘Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume Three’, at the time the song struck a chord with me as I got more and more excited for the third and final installment of the Guardians of the series. In the run up to watching the film, I watched the trailer a couple more times and listened to ‘In the Meantime’ and as I did, I would think about the journey that I have been on with the ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’ films and characters. Who I have seen their cinematic entries with and how the music from them has then filtered into other memories. With ‘Star Wars’, I always know how much it means to me (the world) and that is ever present but with Guardians, before that third and final film I realised just how much their adventures have meant to me over the years and I started to get nervous about this third and final entry. I didn’t want any of the gang to go and for the story to have the ending that they all deserved. Really, I think that it did although that third final was rather emotional, perhaps none more so than when ‘In the Meantime’ started to play in the film and all of those feelings and thoughts that I had been having before came flooding in.

The penultimate choice for this last month is, ‘Hateno Village’ by Super Piano 64.

In the run up to ‘Tears of the Kingdom’ being released, I have been playing ‘Breath of the Wild’ and have fallen for its soundtrack very much. Nintendo being Nintendo means that the soundtrack is not readily available anywhere at least in an official capacity. As such, I have turned to artists’ interpretations of it and I have been all the better for it. Super Piano 64 has turned the score into a gentle, piano based album that is a beautiful take on the seminal work from Nintendo. Dare I say, at points it eclipses its source material. I have been listening to Super Piano 64′s work a great deal as I read and get ready for bed and everytime I hear ‘Hateno Village’ which is the first track on the ‘Breath of the Wild’ inspired album, I know it is time to relax, to breathe and to be calm. As I said last week, I think I know who will be my artist of the year however, I also think I know who will be second both in my heart and on Spotify. Although saying that, due to the amount that I’m listening to Super Piano 64 I wouldn’t be surprised if Spotify tells me otherwise and really, I would be a okay with that.

And, here we are, the key song for the month of May is ‘Say Something’ by Twice.

Look, I’ll be honest, every song for May could have been from Twice. That perhaps would have been the truest reflection of the last month. I didn’t do that as I wanted to share a few different pieces and to write about different subject matters but let the record show that May could have been completely about Twice. And who knows, maybe June will be, perhaps July and August and do we see where this is going something. I never cease to be amazed by the group as I work my way sporadically through their discography and ‘Say Something’ was the biggest revelation of all. It feels like it should be being played throughout ‘Cowboy Bebop’ and I mean, do I need to say anything else. How I could possibly pick my favourite Twice song, I don’t know, but certainly for the moment if I could only pick one it would be ‘Say Something’. It more than deserves to be the key song for May and I am curious to see where Spotify puts it in my wrap up of key songs. Its already on my top twelve songs for the year with its place here and really, its only going to keep climbing up the ranks as Twice do. Is it Twice year, I think it might be. Hell, it already is.

So there we have it, the five key songs for May and ‘Say Something’ making its way on to that end of year playlist. The funny thing about these key songs of the month pieces is that often on the day that I write them I do happen to stumble across some other special songs which I then hope have the staying power to stick around to the end of the next month. This morning, I potentially have found three of the next five key songs so we’ll see if they do end up sticking around. But thats later down the line, for now, its time to enjoy these last few days of May before moving into the summer and seeing what music it brings with it.

-Jake, a man hoping for a surprise winner at Monaco, 28/05/2023

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mercy-burning · 3 years

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Fake Fiancée - Part 3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader and Spencer write letters back and forth, both of them slowly starting to fall in deeper. Category: Smut (18+) Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual themes, masturbation (male and female), sexting, face sitting Word Count: 6.3k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello!! Sorry this has been so long in the making, but for a while my inspiration for this story absolutely disappeared, and then I tried to think of how to bridge the previous chapters to the final one with absolutely no luck. And then I re-read Part 2 and got stuck on the letter, thus this chapter was born! I didn’t want to drag this miniseries out any longer than 4 parts, and the letter format combined with other inner monologuing and description really allowed me to do that in an interesting way that hopefully doesn’t feel rushed!

It was so much fun and very refreshing to write. I hope you like how it turned out!

Thank you all for being so patient while I get my shit together 😅 Love you guys! Enjoy 🥰

***

We've been sending letters back and forth for about a month now.

If I'm being honest, it took me about two weeks to decide whether or not I actually wanted to send one back, but could you blame me?

Here was this guy I couldn't stop thinking about after a one-night stand, only for him to catch me—months later at the same exact bar we'd met in—flirting with his friend. And then after our sexual encounter that night, all the things we said, the connection I thought we had, all of it...

He left it all behind the next morning, only to send me a letter in the mail.

I was pissed.

Sure, it was a nice letter, but the fact that he'd reduced what we had down to a piece of paper and scribbled ink had made me angrier than I cared to admit.

In retrospect, I may have overreacted.

Over time I started re-reading his words, and the more I thought about it all, the more I started to regret my anger. And more than anything, I just wanted to see him again. I couldn't stay mad at him, not when all I could picture was his pouty face and nervous hands. His sunbeam of a smile peeked through the clouds of my anger here and there, and the longer it settled, the more it bathed me in a warm light that should have made me happy. But all it did was make me long for him.

Once I'd actually started writing that first letter back, I wondered why I hadn't jumped on the opportunity in the first place. I mean, after all the cliché shit we'd experienced in our short relationship thus far, adding love letters to the mix was just as perfect as you could get, right?

Spencer,

I'm sorry it's taken me this long to finally write you back. Truthfully I wasn't sure I wanted to write you at all, but your letter kept drawing me back in. I couldn't stop re-reading it, imagining you sitting down somewhere and contemplating every word as you wrote them down. I wondered if you'd thrown out hundreds of pieces of paper after messing up when you could have just as well typed out a letter without wasting them.

And then by that point, all I could think about was just you.

I always pictured what your living room looks like, or your kitchen table, or your office, or wherever you sit down to write. I wondered if you looked like one of those hopeless writers in the movies that have a scruffy face, coffee stains on their white tee shirts, and messy hair that hasn't been washed in days due to lack of inspiration.

But in the end, the image that won out over all the others was just you as I remember.

I'm not going to lie, that image most of the time was your body above mine while I held my hand to your throat, but for the sake of romance I guess I should probably tell you what it was every other time— the outfit you were wearing the first time we met.

When I think of you, I think of your hand nervously clutching that beer bottle for dear life and the other one occasionally pushing your glasses up your nose. I think of your eyes every time they'd look away from me, probably to keep yourself from staring too long.

But the thing that always gets me the most is your smile— even when it comes in little flashes, after you've said something you probably thought was lame. You covered it up with that perfect smile.

I've dreamt of that smile nearly every night since I met you, and I wouldn't be opposed to seeing it in person again.

I'd love to meet you for dinner some time.

But since you did manage to "more or less abandon me twice now", I think it's only fair that you make it up to me first.

Make the next letter a good one, and we'll see what happens.

Yours, Y/N

P.S. I hope my handwriting is as pretty as you hoped. I'd hate to disappoint.

***

Y/N,

I'm incredibly grateful that you've given me a chance to redeem myself. Every night since I last saw you has also been spent wondering what your house looks like on the inside... What you looked like reading my letter (perhaps at your kitchen table?)

And this might sound silly, but I've also wondered what your bedroom looks like. You may be laughing at me, because I've been in your bedroom, but in my defense I was a bit preoccupied to really take notice of my surroundings— I was simply surrounded by you.

But since I've been to your home, I figured it was only fair that I invite you to mine, possibly for dinner. I don't know how to cook much— in fact I'm pretty awful at making anything that's not a can of Spaghetti-Os... But one of my co-workers is an excellent chef, and with a recipe from him and some practice under my belt, I'm sure I can pull it off.

But by "some" practice, I mean probably weeks or months of practice. So hopefully that gives you ample time to mull it over.

Perhaps in the meantime we can get to know each other through our letters. And who's to say, it might spare us the awkward "getting to know each other" stage of a first date. Though, pretty much every stage of every date is awkward for me, so it might not help at all.

Regardless, I'm very much looking forward to hearing from you again.

I do get called away for work quite often, however. So I apologize in advance if I can't get back to you as soon as I'd like.

But in any instance, you're still welcome to text message or call me. I know it isn't as romantic or personal as handwritten letters, but it's certainly practical.

Yours, Spencer.

P.S. Your handwriting is just as beautiful as I'd imagined it would be. And you could never disappoint me.

That being said, if you somehow decide that this letter wasn't up to your standards and reject my offer, I may just find myself in the deepest despair imaginable.

***

I was definitely way too in my head about this.

It was just a text. Sure, it was a risky text to send, but I had no doubt in my mind that it would be fine in the end.

So why was my stomach churning just thinking about sending it?

Some might have chalked it up to my fat ol' crush on Spencer, but I knew it ran deeper. It had to do at least a little with my history with Patrick... The man stood me up and sent divorce papers to my place of work rather than to my face... And as much as I liked to think I was completely over it, we'd been together for years, and it really did a number on me.

I didn't want to ruin this new thing with Spencer so badly that I was overthinking everything.

So even though I could see his face opening the text, my heart doing jumps at the mere thought of it, a bigger part of me worried that it would be a step too far in the wrong direction. I didn't want him to think I was only in this for... sexual reasons. Which, don't get me wrong, have been pretty damn great so far, but I really did want to get to know him and see where this went.

In the end I decided to hold off. I settled for something a little lighter.

Spencer,

Don't feel too bad about your cooking skills. I've been through my fair share of burnt frozen pizzas to know how you're feeling. So the fact that you've given yourself the opportunity to practice and learn a recipe just for me is extremely romantic, and I appreciate the thought.

I won't stop you from following through, though I'm telling you now that no amount of slaving away in the kitchen will make me change my mind about you. We could probably eat stale crackers on the floor and I'd still find you utterly fascinating.

Maybe that's a bit too extreme, but I hope you get my point.

Anyway, I'd love to come over for dinner some time. Whenever you think you're ready to show me those improved cooking skills, you just let me know and I'll happily make my way over.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of sending more with my letters. I don't want to give away too much, but I will say that I'm very crafty. And don't feel like you need to send anything in return, though I'll let you know if I ever change my mind.

Yours,

Y/N

***

In the bottom right corner of the letter, right next to her signature, was a red lipstick stain in the shape of... well, her lips. It was common sense to know that they were hers and no one else's, not just a stamp or a drawing, and rather her actual lip stain... But even without it, I would have been able to tell by their shape.

Was that pathetic?

I could hear her, picture her in front of me, hovering above me with red-painted lips in the shape of a smirk, visibly cooing as she called me names... I could feel the ghost of her fingertips trailing up my throat and tilting my chin up to look at her as she rocked her hips teasingly into mine...

The whine I let out truly was pathetic.

You pathetic, needy little thing, I could hear her say...

My hands clutched the paper so tightly I thought I'd tear it, but it didn't matter when all I could see while staring at it was her luscious, red lips... Her voice was right there in my ear, like she was really beside me, watching me...

Oh, God, what would she do if she saw me right now? Staring at her lipstick stained paper and subconsciously grinding down into my chair...

You pathetic, needy little thing...

My hips jolted with a small, broken shout of her name, and in no time the front of my pants were flooded with warmth. I felt her eyes burning into me from the void, sparking to life with amusement as her voice crept into the deep corners of my brain and whispered praises to me.

Ohh, what a good little whore... Getting off to the thought of me... That's it, sweet boy... Come for me...

By now my eyes had squeezed shut and the letter was crumpled in my hand, the other reaching down to add much-appreciated burning friction to my crotch as I rode out my orgasm. My whole body tensed and shuddered at every sensation, from Y/N's image behind my eyes to the sweet warmth that pooled in my underwear and soaked through onto my hand.

Holy mother of—

The next time I saw her, I was screwed. I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. I'd surely go red the second I laid eyes on her, and she'd know right away what I was thinking and feeling.

Simply put, it scared and excited me at the same time.

She'd utterly and thoroughly wrecked me, and if she didn't already know it, she certainly would soon.

Y/N,

I'm not sure what you intend to send in addition to your letters, but if it's anything near the sentiment of your lip stain, then you might have to refrain in favor of my poor, fragile heart.

See, it aches for you. It's bad enough I think of you always, but the moment I saw the shape of your lips on that letter, my heart almost shot straight out of my chest. Maybe it was the familiar shape of your lips or the implications of its place next to your name, signed after the word 'yours', that sent me into a tailspin, but whatever the case...

I'm pretty sure I've completely fallen under your spell.

I suppose I should also tell you that my heart wasn't the only part of my body that came to life at your added signature. I assure you, it took no time at all for me to come undone at the thought of your lips pressing gently against the paper, imagining that they were instead pressing to my skin... I didn't even have to touch myself, really. It just happened. Because of you and you alone.

I hope that wasn't too forward, but I felt it necessary that you know just how much of an effect you have on me.

If I could see you again in a millisecond, it wouldn't be soon enough.

That being said, I am determined to spend as much time as possible to perfect this dish for our dinner. Because you deserve nothing but the best, even if you insist that you could settle for less.

It's the least I can do.

Yours, Spencer.

And a week and a half later, when I didn't get a letter back on time, I was sure I'd messed up for good.

My mind was racing a mile a minute, yelling at myself for even thinking for a second of being that detailed in a letter without any consent. Sure, she'd taken it a step up by signing off her letter with a kiss, but I'd been absolutely idiotic in telling her that I got off to it.

I was honestly well and truly prepared to show up at her house with a big bouquet of flowers and an apology so wordy and probably too long for anyone's liking, in hopes that she'd forgive me for making this huge mistake.

Thankfully, though, it wasn't needed.

My phone chimed as I was pacing, my lip near bloody with how hard I'd been chewing at it, and I saw an unknown number attached to a text message and photo attachment.

The photo wouldn't load (I would have to plug it into my laptop and transfer the image there to see it— a fact which always irked Penelope to the core), but with the sentences I saw above the file, I almost knew exactly what I'd find when I had the means to see it.

There. Now we're even... Who says text messages can't be romantic and personal? XXX, Y/N

I felt like Bambi as I scrambled to my laptop three rooms over, stumbling over weak legs with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced faster than it ever had as I started everything up and retrieved the right cord for my phone. With a few shakes and stumbles here and there, I briefly entertained the idea of upgrading my phone.

I probably would have left the apartment to do it immediately after seeing her photo attachment, but the moment it loaded up on my screen, my brain and body lost all ability to function properly.

A familiar burn coursed through the lower half of my body and tightened my chest at the sight of her, open and exposed and... wet.

My laptop screen was completely taken over by the image of Y/N's pussy, visibly glistening and aroused. A manicured hand—her hand— was in frame as well, middle finger resting snugly between the supple skin of her wet lips.

The fact that I only tasted her once felt downright cruel.

I tried to imagine it again— my face buried between the softness of her thighs. As much as I wanted to lay her down and indulge myself as long as possible, taking all the time in the world to slowly devour her and truly explore her for myself, what ran through my mind then was something more in the vein of our dynamic thus far.

My mind wandered, specifically to a place where I was the one laying down as she sat down directly onto my face and gave me what she thought I deserved. My hands were tied to the bed, maybe handcuffed. All I knew was that I couldn't touch her, and it bothered me. So I whined, and every time the sound left my mouth, she would let up, lifting further out of reach and causing me to instinctively reach my head up to chase her.

You greedy little slut... Take what I give you...

Desperately seeking her approval, I told her I'd be good and rejoiced when she lowered herself down to me again, allowing me to me completely wrapped up in her once more. My tongue lapped and lapped, gathering as much of her as I could before she'd inevitably leave again.

But she never did.

Somehow I kept my quiet, even though it was extremely difficult, and ate her out like my life depended on it. She glided smoothly over my face, coating more than just my lips in her arousal, and it thrilled me to my very core.

Every time I breathed in I could smell her, every time she groaned out my name my stomach fluttered, and it wasn't long before she was clutching my hair, shaking above me while I drank her in and repressed my whines.

My hips were uncontrollable though, bucking up into nothing and begging for any type of stimulation.

But then suddenly it was there— Her hand, firmly wrapping around my dick and gliding over it beautifully with a slickness that she must have transferred from her pussy. I could still taste her as I cried out her name, her movements quickening with every second until—

I didn't even realize I was actually alone until my eyes opened, cum coating my hand, my heartbeat heavy and loud, and the laptop screen in front of me a shade darker signaling a long period of inactivity.

I'd done it again...

And now we most certainly were not even.

I glanced over at my phone—plugged into the laptop—and then down at my lap, and my stomach knotted as my next move rang clear as day.

***

I woke up the next morning to texts from Spencer, and my heart picked up speed, a gentle warmth blooming through my chest at the sight.

I thought maybe he'd thank me for the photo I'd sent. Maybe he'd return it with an influx of messages along the lines of Oh my god, Holy fuck I miss you, and the like.

But what I wasn't expecting was to see a photo in return, of his hand that I'd dreamt of nearly nightly, wrapped firmly around his cock and all of it completely covered in cum.

Below the photo were three messages in a row, and each one gave me more butterflies than the last.

Sorry for low quality. No smartphone.

Also sorry we're not even anymore.

But I'm not sorry I did it- you're too perfect to resist.

***

Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you haven't gotten a letter from me in a while. And I know we've kept in touch through texting and calling while I was swamped at work, though now that I have some time off, I'd love to write you again. As much as I enjoy our virtual conversations, I still find sending letters to be my preferred method of communication (only second to speaking with you in person, that is).

Which brings me to the main point I'm trying to make.

I want to see you again. In person. I'm not completely confident in my cooking ability yet, but if you wouldn't mind the potential of it tasting awful, I'd love to have you over. I promise you nothing but the best, and I know that's a high promise, especially considering I probably haven't sold you on the meal, but it's true.

I'd do anything to please you.

And I really do mean 'anything', I hope you understand that.

Yours, Spencer.

***

The thought of seeing him in person again after so long made my hands way shakier than I would have liked. It made no sense the longer I thought about it, because it was obvious that we liked each other, and seeing each other in person wouldn't be a problem. Because it'd never been a problem before.

It irked me.

Still, I knocked on his door and physically shook out my hands, praying I could keep my cool when he finally opened the door.

But I should have known better.

One second I was staring at a large plank of wood, and the next I was staring into frantic eyes, golden and sparkling just as I remembered, but with an added glimmer of fear that matched the shakiness of my hands.

I don't know how long we stood there, just staring at each other, but the longer we did, the more we relaxed. His fear was gone, and the shaking in my hands turned into a dull hum that longed to reach out for him.

Still, I refrained, settling on a simple, "Hey, pen pal..."

By the way he looked at me, silent as ever, I started to wonder if that was a stupid thing to lead with. So I opened my mouth to apologize, to say anything else, but he beat me to it.

"Y/N... I... H—Hi, you look... incredible."

"O—Oh, thanks... Thank you, yeah, I um... figured I should... dress up a little. I know we're not going out anywhere, but I thought it might be nice."

He doesn't need to know that, Y/N, stop talking!

I gave him a small smile and a nervous laugh in an attempt to stop myself, hating how I was so nervous around him.

Spencer didn't seem to mind, though. He let me in and closed the door behind me as I quickly glanced around his apartment. It was littered with greens and browns, books everywhere, and I'd never felt more at home.

"Is it, uh... What you expected?"

"Hmm?" I turned to meet him, his soft voice pulling me from my wandering eyes.

"My apartment."

"Oh! Yeah, it's very you... I love it."

The compliment had his cheeks turning pink, and there was nothing I wanted to do more than kiss them over and over again.

And just like that, once again we were caught just staring at each other. I didn't know what he was thinking, and honestly, I didn't know what I was thinking either. All I knew in that moment was that Spencer Reid was standing right in front of me, close enough to touch, and I wanted to give in.

I was so wrapped up in the idea of feeling him that I almost didn't hear him speak. I wouldn't have heard him at all had it not been for his lips moving.

"I'm sorry, I haven't started dinner yet..."

"That's okay," I reassured. Or, at least I tried to. Really, though, I think it sounded more like I was uninterested in what he was saying, my voice flat and lifeless as I continued to stare at him.

Suddenly we were closer, and I had to look up higher to see his face, butterflies swarming in my stomach at the way he looked down at me.

"You're sure?"

"Mhm."

"I can start it now if you're getting hungry."

Food isn't what I'm hungry for, is what I thought. I almost said it, too, because he was even closer now, his hands coming out to touch mine. If they were humming before, they were certainly blaring with life now, growing hot under his light touch. And it took everything I had not to look down, because it had been too damn long since I'd seen his hands in person, and I wanted them on me immediately.

He could tell, too. He could sense my urgency, feel the longing radiating off my presence, and I knew this because I could feel his, too. His eyes practically dared me to say what I was thinking, and so I did.

"Don't you dare."

It was hard to tell who moved in first, but it really didn't matter.

I was here, in his apartment, feeling his lips glide over mine with reckless abandon, and that's all that mattered.

His hands gripped my waist so tightly I would have thought he was trying to hold me in place, to make sure I wasn't ever going to leave his sight again. And if that was the case, I would have let him hold me there forever.

My hands, meanwhile, clutched at his hair, forcing myself closer and closer to him with every sharp tug. I reveled in the way he whined into my mouth with every little thing I did, whether it was a tug of the hair or a roll forward of the hips, or even a swipe of my tongue over his.

He was putty in my hands yet again, and just like every time before, it turned me into a fucking goner.

Being with Spencer wasn't like anything I'd ever known. And the only other thing I'd known was Patrick. He didn't want me, not really, and even though he was good to me in the beginning, it was never like this.

I didn't come over to his apartment with shaking hands. I didn't send him fucking love letters almost weekly, and I certainly didn't get kissed like this...

Spencer was drunk on me, and I wasn't any sober myself.

"That picture you sent me..." I mumbled over his lips, still keeping myself as close as I could while I got out what I needed to say. "Where did you take that?"

We kissed for a few more seconds, unable to stay apart, before he answered, his voice just as breathy and brimming with desperation as mine. "My office. Just down the hall."

I kissed him again, hard, and then pulled back to look him in the eyes. They widened when I said, "Show me."

He dragged me through the apartment on rushed legs, and I almost laughed at the urgency, only stopped by the realization that I was just as urgent. It occurred to me that perhaps my laughing at his urgency might just be a slight turn on for him, given our history with my playful degradation, but still I pulled back— Tonight felt... different.

It didn't feel like we were headed in the direction of me calling him my dirty little whore throughout the night, and it was something I was more than okay with. In fact, I welcomed it, excited to see where this new night would take us.

We ended up in his office, which remained more or less the same aesthetic as the rest of his place. In the middle sat a small desk with a laptop and some papers scattered about on it, accompanied by a tall floor lamp and a rolling desk chair.

"Where were you exactly?" I mused, gripping his hand tightly and buzzing at the way his fingers flexed against my own.

"In the chair... I pulled the photo up on my laptop."

"Right. No smartphone."

Spencer hummed in confirmation before dragging me along to the chair, and I fucking giggled as he plopped down and practically pulled me right on top of him, the chair rolling back a foot or two. I went down for a bright, messy kiss that ended with his hands clutching my ass over my skirt and my own cradling his face.

His growing bulge nudged right up into my inner thigh, and I groaned lightly in his mouth, my fingers dragging softly down his jaw and neck until I reached his shoulders.

"What were you thinking about?"

He raised his eyebrow, and I rocked my hips forward with a sly grin, hoping to get my point across. "When you were looking at my picture, in this very chair, what were you thinking about?"

Seeing his eyelids stutter and his tongue dart out at my movements sent a rush through me, and I moved my hips once more to emphasize my urgency.

"I... I thought about you... riding my face. You tied my hands..."

"Oh?" I sighed, rocking forward again and humming into his neck. "Well, that can definitely be arranged if you want it bad enough..."

"Please, Y/N, yes... Please..."

The need dripping from every syllable made it near impossible to breathe, and I was suddenly very inclined to give him everything he wanted. With or without the begging.

So I reluctantly peeled away from him and stood up on weak legs. Staring at Spencer as he sat there, leaning back in the chair with disheveled hair and obvious desire in his eyes, made it all the better when I took my panties off from under my skirt and motioned for him to come forward. "On your knees?"

I would have demanded it in any other situation, but I was feeling a bit more sweet this time around.

And he seemed grateful for it, sliding the chair back further and getting down in front of me. I reached out and played with his hair, trying my hardest to commit his beautiful face to memory. I wanted it burned there for the rest of time.

"Hands?"

Spencer offered his hands to me, and I hummed happily, doing my best to tie his hands together with a makeshift knot from my panties. It wasn't really tight or secure, but it was enough for him to whine as he set them in his lap.

He watched intently as I dropped my skirt—a bit redundant now, but I thought it'd be a nice way to get him more excited. Plus I wanted to see his face (or at lease what I could see of it while it was buried between my legs).

I stepped forward then, looking down at him with a smile while my hands reached out to comb through his hair. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

The look in his eyes right before I came forward and hovered over his face almost made my come on the spot.

But as fun as that would have been, I was glad for the way my body held off and settled for a beautiful, burning increase of pleasure that dragged out the longer he swiped his tongue through my folds. Actually, I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be moving, riding his face like he'd thought about.

I willed my eyes open and clutched Spencer's soft locks of hair beneath me, gently rolling my hips and grinding down further on his face. The groan he let out not only felt good against my skin, but it sounded like pure bliss, eliciting a small whimper of my own as I tightened my grip in his hair and rocked faster.

"God, I missed having your mouth on me, baby... You're... so good..."

The longer I spoke the more breathless I became, not because the words didn't come easily, but because I truly believed them to be true.

Spencer really was so fucking good, his tongue the most delicate, divine object of the universe as it drew out every ounce of delight from my body. I may have been the one above him, calling the shots and directing him where and how to please me, but he was the one who clung to my soul like static and politely guided me towards damnation.

I wasn't even sure of my surroundings to tell you the truth. As my body tensed and took me through one of the most blinding pleasures I'd experienced in weeks, My eyes were squeezed so tightly it's like I saw the universe. All I knew was Spencer's lips sucking my clit and my hands deeply rooted in his hair as I shouted incoherently, stars swirling around behind my eyelids.

Truly, for all I knew, we could have been in space. It wouldn't have made any difference.

But eventually it came to be too much. I was reaching a limit I didn't want to get to so quickly, and so I flashed my eyes open and tried to adjust to this brand new atmosphere, unweaving my fingers through pretty brown waves of hair and stepping back to assess the situation.

What I found was the most beautiful man I'd ever known, panting like he'd just ran a marathon and yet harboring the most intense joy and desire a person could hold. He was on his knees, bound hands writhing in his lap as he awaited further instruction and licked up as much of myself on his face as he could before I stopped him.

Under normal circumstances, I would have wanted to absolutely ruin him. That adoring, desperate look in his eye would have spurred me to more devious endeavors, but all I wanted in this moment was to make sure he was satisfied. I wanted to take care of him, to let him know that I longed to make him feel as worshipped and adored as he'd made me feel.

I got down to Spencer's level, quickly removing the fabric from his wrists and hauling him to his feet, where he now towered over me, still waiting for words to address and instruct him.

Instead, I leaned up with soft hands upon his cheeks and pulled him down to meet my lips in a kiss that changed the tone entirely. It was erotic still, of course, what with my arousal infiltrating my taste buds and eliciting a soft sigh from the both of us, but our urgency manifested in sweeter ways... Softer lips, gentle touches of the face, and an exchanging of breath that was so smooth and seamless it felt like we were floating on air.

I was finding it hard to breathe again, but it wasn't an issue in the slightest. In fact, there was nowhere else I'd rather have been than right there, kissing Spencer Reid like we had all the time in the world.

When the breathlessness was a little too much to bear, we pulled away, though only leaving just enough space to breathe. Our lips stayed briefly connected while we caught up, and his hands found their way to the sides of my face. The way they practically engulfed my whole head brought a brief smile to my lips as I finally gave him the words he was looking for.

"I'm so glad I met you," I whispered.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

We kissed each other again, naturally and with so much ease that I wondered how I had ever lived without him.

And then, as my hands slid gently down his chest, I felt it.

Something that felt very much like a ring attached to a necklace sat right where his heartbeat resided, and I knew exactly which ring it was.

"W—" I pulled back and circled the shape of it with my finger through the shirt, then looked up at him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Spencer looked briefly panicked, pulling away a little and fishing down the front of his shirt for the chain. "Oh... Um, yeah. I, um... I forgot to take it off, I'm sorry. I..."

"You... kept it?"

I observed the diamond as it laid flat on my palm, still attached to the chain and around his neck. Honestly, after all this time I figured he'd never found it or gotten rid of it, seeing as he never brought it up. And yet there it was, glittering in the palm of my hand as my other one presses firmly against Spencer's rapidly beating heart.

"Y—Yeah... It um... It was really the only physical thing I had to remember you—Well, at least until we started sending letters... And I guess I just... W—Wearing it has become such a habit that I forgot to take it off."

"You never take it off?"

I could tell he was nervous, and rightfully so given I wasn't really letting on how I was feeling about the whole thing.

Still, he answered my short question in such a small whisper I'd have thought he was trying not to get in trouble.

"No."

"Why?"

My words certainly weren't helping ease his anxieties, so I remained close, dropping the ring and focusing rather on his eyes. I softened the look in my own and glided my hands down to hold his. His fingers flexed against mine, squeezing them for dear life as he sighed out in relief and flashed me a soft smile.

"Because... I wanted you close to my heart."

With a smile that mirrored his eyes, full of enchantment and pure adoration for the person in front of me, I didn't use my brain and instead focused on what my heart was telling me, consequences be damned.

"I think I might love you..."

Spencer squeezed my hands tighter, that relief spreading out to all his features and brightening that beautiful smile.

"Funny... I was just thinking the same thing."

Our lips met once more, and I swear it was like nothing bad was ever going to happen for the rest of time.

I'd never felt that way. Not once with Patrick did my heart feel settled into place, even during the great parts of our relationship.

And now here I was, with a man who sent me love letters and kept every physical reminder of my existence, who kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and slowly mended my wounded heart.

He held me close the whole way to his bedroom and never let me go until the morning. Though, even then his arms outstretched towards me and his fingers flexed, needing to grab onto any part of me that he could find.

And as I was sure I always would, I welcomed him with open arms.

***

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

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h2bakugou · 3 years

Note

Hey! i just wanted to say that i love your writing. So this may be a little complicated if thats okay but i had cancer when i was younger and i would like to see if you could write about kirishima and bakugo (separately) crush being hit by a quirk that makes them younger again or something like that and them seeing their crush in a horrible state like they cant walk anymore . IM SORRY if this is complicated you dont have to do bakugo if its too much.

a/n: hi! tysm <3!! of course, i hope you're doing well hun !! if there's anything you need me to change/edit within this please let me know!!

headcanon: them reacting to their s/o being hit by a quirk that makes them the age when they were sick

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, angst

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

It’s been a tough day on the field, especially with a villain attack appearing from seemingly nowhere. It’s caused a mess, and everyone’s on edge.

Most noticeable though is Bakugou. You’re fighting one on one with this villain and he doesn’t doubt your abilities by any means, but you’re worn down and tired, your movements are slower, you’re starting to reach your limit.

And all it takes is one hit from this nameless villain’s quirk and you’re down for the count.

Bakugou’s tired of fending off goons and dashes over to you, taking down the villain to the best of his ability.

But what he doesn’t expect is when he turns back to you, instead of seeing you, he sees the pile of your clothes covering a much smaller version of you.

You’ve shrunk?

No, you’ve gotten younger.

Just barely lifting your head, you start to cough.

“Shit, hey get someone over here!” Bakugou shouts to one of the other students, hoping an adult could rush over and try and help-not that he needed it, but he was worried.

It wasn’t long before another pro hero was wrapping your younger self up in your clothes.

If Bakugou had to guess, he’d say you were around five to eight years old.

You sat in a hospital bed for a few hours before Aizawa finally arrived, noticeably worried about the state you were in. You didn’t even remember the people standing around you.

“They’re in critical condition. If this age regression quirk has sent their body back in time, we’re going to be in a bit of hurry to get them back to their normal state. They’ve had a history of medical concerns.”

Bakugou has to step out of the room, supported by Kirishima and Kaminari as he tries not to seem like he’s heavily affected by the state your in.

“They’re going to be fine, if it’s just some sort of temporary affect, they’ll be back to their healthy old self soon!” Kaminari tries to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t seem to help.

When you’re released from the hospital to return back to campus, you’re placed under surveillance.

You’re much younger now, and you can barely walk, it’s tearing everyone apart. All of your friends stop by whenever they can, trying to see if you remember them which usually never works.

Bakugou stops by often as well, normally at night when no one else comes around.

He talks about little things like All Might and always brings in his little toy figurines that he’d swore he’d never show anyone.

You laugh and smile, waving them around making all sorts of noises all while ignoring the fact that Bakugou is nearly in tears at the sight of you.

The effects last two weeks. It’s the longest two weeks of everyone’s lives, most importantly Bakugou’s.

When you wake up and see Bakugou sound asleep beside you, his head laying on the medical bed you’d been sleeping in for the past two weeks, you’re confused.

“Hey, Katsu’?” You ruffle his blonde hair and he’s up instantly.

He’s embracing you in the tightest hug known to man, surely putting All Might’s to shame.

Kissing you too, he can’t stop himself from holding you and mumbling about how worried he was about and how he’ll never let something like that happen to you again.

“I never dabbled in my past much, but I’m doing much better now, I’m sorry I gave you a scare.” You rub his cheek, wiping away a few rare tears that fall from his crimson eyes.

“I love you so fuckin’ much.” He utters, his lips pointing upward in a smile.

“I love you too.”

»»————-　★　————-««

eijiro kirishima

»»————-　★　————-««

The fight is surely rigged. There’s no way you’re going to win, not alone anyway.

Kirishima is making his way to you as fast as he can, but when he gets to you it’s far too late.

You’re cowering before him, your costume baggy on your visibly smaller and weaker frame, tears pouring from your eyes as your body strains to stand upright.

The villain is gone, but not too far gone that they don’t get captured by patrolling pros on the scene.

Rushing you to the nearest hospital to undergo some sort of evaluation, all Kirishima can do in the meantime is wait alongside Kaminari, Mina, Sero, and even a slightly less angry Bakugou.

When the nurse returns to explain your situation, Kirishima is mortified.

Refusing to leave your side until he’s forced to by Mina to take care of himself because it’s what you’d tell him to do, all he can do is wait and hope that you’ll get better.

You can’t walk without having someone help you, and the worst part is, you don’t even recognize him.

Kaminari takes the role of making you smile and laugh while Kirishima adds throws in random memories turned into stories hoping it’ll jog some part of your memory connected to how old you actually are.

But nothing seems to work and all you can do is sit in wonder as he tells you about how present-pre age regression quirk you is really super awesome.

After being scolded by Mina on day one, Kirishima manages to take care of himself, but he spends most if not all of his free time with you.

In a way it’s domestic, imagining the possible inevitability of raising a family with you, you’d always jokingly said he was great with kids.

Taking care of you is nice, he enjoys doing it now, buying you little gifts, helping you get something off a high shelf or just being a gentleman for you.

Holding the door for you, carrying your bags even when you yell at him not to and he swears a part of you has been inspired by Bakugou.

After the first week, he begins to get settled in, thinking if this is going to last a while, he wants to help however he can.

Aizawa ushers him to pay attention to studies and that you’re strong enough to power through this, and he understands, he believes wholeheartedly you are.

But part of him is sort of upset. He’d never known that you used to be like this. He hoped when it was all over you could explain.

And sure enough, after two weeks, you wake up, as if those two weeks had never happened.

You don’t seem to have much recollection of the two weeks, only a few hours on the last day seem to make it through to you.

Kirishima greets you with a hug and thousands of kisses.

He doesn’t let you go for hours, weeping into your embrace as he begs you to never scare him like that again.

You console him all while telling him about your past and the history of your medical condition and he understands. He’s thankful you’re where you are now, and he’s so happy to see back to your normal self again after those two weeks.

“I stayed with you as much as you could.” Kirishima whispers, kissing your cheek. Kaminari lifts his head up and starts laughing.

“Yeah, he was so worried about you. You’ve got yourself a keeper.” He jokes, making Kirishima’s cheeks match shades with his hair.

“I love you.” You mumble against his skin, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too.”

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

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elles-writing · 3 years

Text

Dragon Heart - III.

A/N: Another part after like weeks? Yeah! Anyways, I wasn't sure about this series, but I'm so glad I got more inspiration! I wasn't motivated to write as much, especially because my mental health condition. Anyway, I'm so happy about this chapter!

Warnings: -

Genre: -

Taglist: @guardianofrivendell @anjhope1 @legolasoftherings @kumqu4t @grunid @elvish-sky @artsywaterlily @alexloveskili

If you want to be added to tag list, send me a message or comment please.

"I thought you said that there is no more visitors," Bilbo frowned up at Gandalf. He shook his head.

"This one isn't just one another visitor." He said, and when he opened the door, curious pair of eyes with sparks in them greeted him.

"Gandalf," overheard the dwarves. Some of the younger dwarves shared a look. It was a female, young female, by the voice.

"This is Y/N. She's closely related to someone, who was studying dragons their whole lives." Y/N looked at him. This was a secret she wasn't really happy she had to tell to the old wizard, but at least the dwarves didn't knew.

"How old's the lass-ow, Fili!" Her eyes quickly found young dark-haired dwarf. She let out a chuckle.

"Older than you might think," Y/N said. His wide eyes found hers.

"Y/N? Is that-is that you?" Bilbo said, once he was able to speak again.

"Bilbo?" The girl smiled and nodded to herself, after she studied a bit of his features. She pulled him to hug.

"I missed you," she muttered and ruffled his curls. The hobbit was little embarrassed, uncomfortable and surprised, but happy, all at once.

When she pulled away, she noticed the dwarves observing her, mostly suspiciously - well, especially the older ones - from the corner of her eye.

You need to gain their trust, she thought.

She leaned on the doorway, hands crossed over her chest, when the discussion started.

"To fight a dragon, you'll need an expert,"

"He said he's an expert!"

"I'm not afraid! I'll come there and put a sword to it's jacksie!"

"Do you know how big a dragon is? It isn't the size of an orc, or a warg. Dragon wouldn't even have to open his mouth to burn you alive," Everyone went quiet after Y/N spoken. She was frowning at all them. If they all thought that slaying - she hated to think about it - a dragon - was a piece of cake, then they all would be burned alive and the beast wouldn't even blink.

"I would not suggest you to just run up to a dragon, if you are not complete fools or want to die by painful death. But who knows, the way is still long, and-"

"Wait, a, um," Bilbo nervously looked around. She noticed fear in his voice. How could she not. If she would be in his place, she would feel the same way.

"Well, imagine a flying with long and sharp teeth. It will burn you in a blink of an eye, and there will be only pile of ashes left!"

"Y-yeah, I know what dragon is," Y/N turned and shot the dwarf a look, but he ignored her.

"It will be horrible pain, but only for a second," the dwarf continued.

A dull sound near her made her turn around.

"Bilbo!" She kneeled down to the hobbit.

"Good job," She frowned at the dwarf with hat. He didn't seemed to be as guilty as confused. The girl rolled her eyes.

"Help me to get him to the armchair," she pointed over to living room.

Meantime Bilbo was uncouncious, the young dark-haired dwarf from earlier stood next to her.

"Where do you know Master Boggins from, miss Y/N?" She turned her gaze to him.

"I spended some time here, with...Bilbo's family." She pointed to the living room. The dwarf nodded.

"What's your name?" She asked as she was looking around the hobbit hole. It didn't changed much since she left the last time, Y/N noticed.

"Kili, at your service," He introduced himself with small smirk.

"Nice to meet you, Kili," She said as she flipped through one book. It was full of tales and stories. She remembered that book. The ink was paler, but she was still able to read it.

She was the one who brough it here.

"A book with tales?" He curiously looked what she was looking at. She shrugged.

"Yeah." Smirk stretched across his lips.

"I didn't knew Master Boggins was not as prude as he seems to be,"

"Well, some hobbits, especially Bilbo Baggins, can be surprising," Y/N shrugged and flipped through the pages. The two of them were in silence, until something caught Kili's attention.

"Woah, those illustrations are gorgeous," Kili said. You looked at him, as he curiously studied the drawings and paintings.

"They are, indeed." You nodded.

"The pictures look like they could speak," Kili said barely above whisper, and carefully runned the tips of his fingers across the paper.

"My father made them," Y/N said quicker than she could stop it. Kili's glittering eyes looked at her, as he wanted to say something.

"He must've been a very talented person, when he created these breath-taking pieces of art," Kili winked.

"He was a blacksmith," Y/N said, closed the book and placed it back to the shelf to other books.

#the hobbit #kili #fili #kili x reader #kili durin #thorin #fanfiction #bofur #bilbo #bilbo baggins #bilbo x reader #bilbo baggins x reader #smaug x reader #smaug #map #lonely mountain #erebor #erebor map #lonely mountain map

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deaththesyd · 3 years

Text

To The Brink Of Confession: Chapter 1, "He's not ugly"

I'd like to blame @mytanuki-kun for one of their works inspiring this side project that is now in the way of my Kisame week progress. As frustrating as this is, I'm having fun with this one and I'm excited to write my first true multi-chapter fic, even if it doesn't fit with the rest of my works and their timeline.

Summary: At first, she had shrugged it off as him simply being worn out from all the social interaction, but if that was the case, why was he only avoiding her?

At first, she had let it slide. Being super friendly and interacting with people was draining after all, and being forced to live in close quarters with such a loud group was sure to take its toll on even the most extroverted people. His avoidance lasted the entire rest of his time spent in her world, but she didn’t worry. As usual, a month passed by before she herself was teleported away into the foreign world of Jutsu, violence, and ninja. She even shook off her doubts when instead of her usual escorts, she was picked up by Kakuzu and Hidan, being told that the others were all preoccupied with important missions, ones that she would only be a distraction from. Entertaining as she found the duo and their antics, she couldn’t exactly hide her disappointment from the silver-haired loudmouth she had grown to consider a friend.

“What’s with all the moping, huh?” He said loudly, stood in front of her, face lowered to look her directly in the eyes as she had been watching the ground as she walked. Blocking her path forward, she stopped to look up at him, forcing herself to push down her thoughts and play them off as nothing. Surprising as it may be, Hidan wasn’t entirely self-absorbed and happened to be pretty talented at sensing other's emotions, a skill that he very rarely made use of. Not that it was really all that hard to see that something was up with her. Always easy to read, an open book, she was the worst liar and easily the most sincere person he had met. He seriously couldn’t stand her mood lately, it was worried and upsetting. Mixed with Kakuzu’s ongoing anger at everything and everyone, the irritating emotions were mixing and giving Hidan a headache. There were only two ways he could think of to fix this, either piss off Kakuzu to relieve his built-up stress and risk an explosive and painful response, or play concerned friend and get the woman lagging behind them to return to her normal upbeat self. Contemplating both options, the least painful option seemed the best bet.

“It’s not nothing, I can tell, so don’t bother lying, you’re shit at it anyway,” he cut her off as she tried to reply.

She tried anyway. “Really though,” she said, smiling almost convincingly, “I’m just lost in thought, we’ve been walking all day, can you blame me for tuning out?” Waving him off, she sidestepped him to follow after Kakuzu, who had not stopped for them and was quickly leaving them behind.

Knowing that the likelihood of being separated from Kakuzu was high if they didn’t keep up with the old man, he didn’t hold her back but stayed by her side to press for a proper response. “I said not to fucking lie,” he spoke casually knowing that anything truly harsh would only shut her up further, “you’ve been like this ever since you got here, it’s not just you being tired of walking.”

Sighing, she replied, “Ok, you’re right that I’m not just tired, but it’s nothing, really. I just need to manage it by myself.” No longer lying was a step forward, but she kept her lips tight on whatever it was. She was stubborn, but Hidan was persistent.

“What’s with you being all shy all of a sudden? You’re always so fucking talkative no one but Fishface can get you to be quiet,” he complained, almost missing how she reacted at the mention of the tall swordsmen. He grinned, seemed like he had a hook. “Awe, is this about your little crush on the big guy? Did you ask him out and he chickened out?” He laughed cruelly.

It wasn’t much of a secret that she had feelings for Kisame, she wasn’t very good at hiding how he caught her eye, often spacing out while watching him train, and making any excuse to get his attention. Everyone at some point had noticed the flush to her face around him, or the fond look in her eyes as she looked up at him. To most, it wasn’t anything to focus on. Kakuzu and Sasori couldn’t care less about it, as long as she wasn’t being obnoxious, Itachi seemed to keep a careful watch over her and her interactions with his partner, his reasons were unknown to Hidan who couldn’t care less about the Uchiha. Deidara and Hidan made sure to poke fun and tease her at any opportunity, making sure to keep their taunts from the man of her affections, trying to draw out their entertainment as long as they could. After months of this, she had become accustomed to the mostly friendly jeering from the two and had begun to poke fun at herself as well. It seemed she had resigned herself to watching from afar and keeping her flirting to a level that was easily mistaken for friendly conversation by the oblivious man.

Years of being acquainted with Kisame had only given Hidan a surface-level knowledge of the man, but recently he had noticed just how unconfident truly was of his looks, something he of course zeroed in on immediately. 6 foot whatever and hulking over even Kakuzu, it was hilarious to him that the member of the legendary Swordsmen of the Mist was both self-conscious over his fishy appearance, and his years of training as a ninja had not taught him to notice the obvious signs that a woman was into him. How anyone could be so unaware, yet so skilled was beyond him.

Her face saddened at his words, her brow furrowing, and her eyes cast themselves to the ground again. “I haven’t said anything, but I think he might have caught on,” she said quietly.

Despite her clearly upset confession, he grinned. “Way to go! Fishface finally figured out how to see above water, wondered if his brain was just waterlogged,” he snickered, excited that he could finally openly pick on him over the subject, but she didn’t smile and remind him to be nice like she normally did when he made digs at the sharkman. Clearly not a good sign then.

“I think he’s avoiding me,” she said, looking defeatedly at her shuffling feet. Now that made no sense.

Not long after it was clear to everyone but Kisame that she had an attraction to the tall man, it became more and more obvious that it was reciprocated. As much as she stared at him, he stared at her. Less openly, probably why it had taken everyone a while longer to see it, but it was well known that the two were complete idiots that had no clue the other was just as interested as they were. Part of Hidan had wanted to tell them immediately, embarrass them and make a scene out of it all, but another part of him had held onto their frustrations and fed off of it as a much more drawn-out entertainment source. Deidara was in on it too, saying that as much as he wanted to set off an explosive show by forcing their feelings out into the open, he also wanted there to be a build-up. In the meantime, they got to tease their fishy accomplice as much as they could get away with without pissing him off and alerting the other half of the pining duo. The fact that Kisame was avoiding her after finding out she felt the same was not what anyone had expected. For once in his life, Hidan was pissed at the drama of it. He would not admit that he was actually looking forward to the two becoming a couple.

“Bet he’s just scared that someone thinks his ugly mug is hot and is worried for your sanity,” he laughed. Her hand smacked him halfheartedly.

“He’s not ugly.” She said sternly, “Although with how forward I’ve been, he may have been creeped out,” she smiled, but there was a twinge of pain on her face that Hidan couldn’t help but notice. It pissed him off, his whole religion was about inflicting pain and death for his God, but seeing her genuinely upset gave him a feeling of frustration on her behalf.

“There’s no way he’s creeped out by your creepy staring,” he found himself attempting to reassure her, feeling as though he was betraying his and Deidara’s whole scheme. “He’s clearly just as much a creepy stalker as you are.”

Unsure that she had heard him correctly, she looked up to see Hidan avoiding eye contact, looking off the side of the road, ignoring her reaction purposely. “I don’t see how he’s the stalker,” she laughed humorlessly, “When he’s the one avoiding me.”

“Of course you don’t, you’re just as fucking blind as he is,” he muttered. Her sudden giggle made him look at her in suspicion. “The hell’s so funny?”

She brought a hand to try and stifle her laughter before she spoke, “What’s got you all grumpy now? Upset someones not crushing back on you?” She teased, eyes darting to look at the silent man trudging forward ahead of them, then back at Hidan.

The glare he shot her only made her giggles slightly louder. “What the fuck are you gettin’ at?” He spat, daring her to continue.

Humming whimsically, she spoke, “I just think that maybe you’re projecting some of your own frustrations onto someone else.”

He should have chosen to piss off Kakuzu. She may have been the lesser of two evils at a first glance, but the ability she had to force him into subjects he would rather avoid was something he had forgotten to account for in his earlier decision. Unlike the completely requited yet oblivious relationship between her and Kisame, Hidan’s own feelings were something he tried to ignore whenever possible. It was just a shitty joke she had made, something about how Hidan should leave her alone since he was really just trying to make the old man jealous. Something he should have shaken off with a normal insult towards the old miser, yet he had frozen, caught off guard by the accuracy. That was the one and only time he had ever allowed himself to come out to someone and let them live. It was shameful in the church to have feelings of devotion for anyone but Jashin, yet wanting someone that couldn’t produce more followers was even more so. Adamantly, he refused his feelings towards the man, but since that day she had treated his explicit flirting as nothing more than a show.

Embarrassed as he was, his comeback held no bite, and her teasing and further avoidance of the earlier topic increased. Eventually, it turned into a loud argument that reached Kakuzu’s ears, who ended their annoying discussion by threatening them both. She was easier to scare, but whatever they had been squabbling about had made Hidan more feisty than normal.

“Fuck off you old dick! There’s plenty of politer ways to ask to be included in a conversation,” came the danger prodding taunt from the young man. It was hard to guess why, but the older man’s fuse was shorter than usual, and the woman yelped as a dark arm split off from the man's torso to grab the face of the loudmouthed man right beside her. Flailing wildly and ineffectively he was dragged along the ground, yanked by the harsh grip of the intolerant man. Green eyes surrounded by red sclera flashed at her, warning her she would be next if she didn’t follow quietly. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she did just that.

#hidan #kakuzu #kisame #kisame x reader #mild swearing #upset that im writing this instead of kisame prompts #I wrote this just to clear my head and now im writing a multichapter fic wtf #Changed the title cause I hated it

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ruzek-halstead · 3 years

Text

there’s one thing on my mind (it’s all for you)

i didn’t have a wip for jatp fanworks appreciation week, so i made one?? but i got too into it and finished it in a few hours. thanks to @ourstarscollided for sending in the incredible prompt that led to this fic!!

home didn't seem like home anymore for luke patterson, and so he was desperate to find a new place to write music. after an especially brutal fight with his mother, he finds himself in front of l.a. books. he isn't expecting to get much out of it, it was solely a last resort. but then he sees her, julie molina, and he ends up coming back every week just to keep seeing her.

bookstore au

masterlist

If three years ago, someone were to tell Luke, he would actively be spending his Friday night in a small, but cozy book store, he would have laughed in their face.

He was a rockstar. If he wasn't jamming it out at some club with his boys, he was doing something wrong.

But life didn't always work out in his favour, and it wasn't long before he decided he couldn't write out of his home anymore. Home. Sometimes the mere word made him laugh. Home was supposed to be warm, welcoming and loving, and he felt none of those things every time he walked through the front door. It was starting to take a toll on him. Not only on his mental health, but also in his creative abilities. The songs he was writing in his bedroom had taken a dark turn, so dark they felt more like a cry for help than anything else.

So, he decided it was time to find another place to write songs; somewhere that could get his creative juices flowing. When Reggie first suggested this bookstore on the corner of Madison, Luke pinched his brows, not understanding how that was a viable solution. Reggie defended his suggestion by saying bookstores were quiet and he would be surrounded by millions of words of inspiration.

Luke never took Reggie's suggestion until one brutal fight with his mom left him pulling at his hair, desperate to leave the house. He would go anywhere at this point, but his fingers were itching to grab his pencil and book; there was so much he just needed to get out onto paper. If he didn't, he would explode. So, he grabbed his song book, a few pencils and stuffed everything into his backpack before he hopped out his window. At first, he just started walking to nowhere in particular. In the back of his mind, he was intending to drop by Alex's, but instead he found himself standing in front of L.A. Books.

He walked in with the intention of taking one quick walk around and most likely walking right back out. He was pissed off at the world and he didn't think Shakespeare would solve his issue.

But then he saw her.

She was stocking a book shelf, putting up new books as far as he could tell. Her curls kept getting in way of her vision and she was continuously tucking them behind her ears. He could only see the side of her face at this point, but when she was approached by a younger girl to help locate a book, Luke quite literally forgot how to breathe. She was stunning in every which way; her soft smile to the young girl made an unconscious smile spread over his own lips. There was no specific thing about her that drew him to her, but for some reason, he was rooted to the floor. Even when she started moving in his direction, leading the girl to a new section, he couldn't even move just enough to grab a book and look like he wasn't creepily stalking her.

But she only sent him a warm smile as she walked by.

So, maybe Reggie wasn't so wrong about this place after all.

After that, Luke found himself stopping by at least once a week, maybe twice if things at home were really bad. It was a quiet establishment for the most part, and Luke found a corner table that was perfect for his writing. He knew his song writing was starting to take a hit; he knew that. But since he started writing in the bookstore, an obvious shift was clear in the words he scribbled down.

Even the boys noticed.

"What the hell is this?" Alex had demanded one late night after Luke handed him his songbook so he could filter through it. They'd mostly been playing their old originals while Luke worked on some new stuff, and he was finally starting to share.

Luke frowned, biting his lip nervously. "What? Is it that bad?"

"Reg, look at this," Alex ignored Luke, reaching over to show the other brunette. "When were you going to tell us?"

Luke merely blinked, gaze flickering between the two. Reggie, to his credit, looked just as confused, meanwhile Alex was fighting a smirk. "Dude, I'm so confused. What the hell are you talking about?"

Alex placed the book down in his lap, finally letting the smirk take over. "When were you going to tell us you were in love?"

Luke immediately started to sweat. "What?"

"If you're writing these love songs about me, I'm flattered," Alex teased, to which Luke could only roll his eyes and snatch the book back into his possession. "But you know I'm taken."

"I'm not in love," Luke muttered under his breath.

And he wasn't. He would stand by that.

But he'd be lying if he said he didn't stop by the bookstore solely to see his curly-haired goddess. Every time, he would look at her and a sudden burst of inspiration would blindside him and he would be writing into his book without even realizing. He wasn't going to tell the boys that, though.

After about a month of hidden glances and polite smiles, he figured it was about time to say something. He also figured it could only look a little strange, him being at a bookstore every week and never buying anything. To his credit, many others took advantage of their tables to work quietly; he wasn't the only one. But he was the only one who couldn't take his off the employee with kind eyes and a mega-watts smile. Sometimes she came over to organize the tables, or wipe them down, and so Luke decided it was now or never.

"Hi," he blurted one night when she came to grab a stray book someone had left on his table. Her gaze lifted to meet his. Her face broke out into a warm smile and he nearly broke his pencil from how hard he was holding it.

Luke's eyes dropped to her name tag. He'd never been close enough to read it (with the exception of the first time he saw her, but he was understandably starstruck and couldn't focus on anything).

Julie.

He debated saying something else, it almost looked like she was waiting for him too, but the words were caught in his throat. He merely sent her a pained grin as she retreated. God, that was awkward.

Over the next few months, his confidence grew some, but he was never able to hold a full conversation with her. He was working up to it, but in the meantime, he was content in his corner writing songs about the girl who had unknowingly captured his heart.

This week had been particularly gruelling. School had taken a lot out of him (every mark counted for college admissions) and his parents were on his ass about his grades. He knew he had to do well, even if he wanted to pursue music, he needed the grades to get into a good music program; he knew that. He didn't need his mom yelling at him about it every day. So, this Friday he'd spent the entire evening at L.A. Books, anything to just get away for a bit. He knew it was almost closing time; there weren't many customers left and he could see Julie cleaning up out of the corner of his eye.

He was trying not to spend all his time watching Julie, instead focused on his latest creation. So, he didn't see Julie apprehensively watching someone shove a few books into his backpack. He was young, but probably a bit older than Julie. Why he would want to steal some books, Julie had no idea, but it was the wrong day to mess with Julie Molina.

She hadn't had her best week either, and watching someone blatantly try to steal like he was, severely pissed her off. Protocol be damned, Julie stalked over to the individual and blocked his exit. Protocol insisted on not confronting the shop-lifter by any means, but Julie was too annoyed to care.

"Are you going to pay for those books you put in your backpack or can I have them back?"

Julie was impressed with how confident she sounded. Even when he met her glance head-on, she wasn't the least bit intimidated.

"What? Sorry, I think you're thinking of someone else," he replied, but after meeting her gaze the first time, he couldn't hold it as he spoke.

"Just give me the books and I won't call the police," Julie reasoned. She sounded exhausted, and that was because she was; this was honestly the last thing she needed this week, and yet, here she was.

But as soon as the man noticed her change of tone, his mouth twisted into a scowl. "I already told you, you have the wrong guy."

"I saw you put them in your backpack!" Julie argued, her anger crawling back up her throat.

"No, you didn't, because I didn't do anything!" He replied angrily. "Are you going to move, now?"

Julie stood her ground. It was probably quite comical, considering she was a full head shorter than him, but she wasn't moving. "No. Give me back the books."

The man let out a furious snarl. "Get out of my way, bitch."

His words didn't offend her in the slightest. Honestly, she felt sorry for him, that this was how he was raised to treat women, especially someone as young as her. But she was perceptive, and she could tell he was getting agitated and possibly aggressive. She didn't know this guy, she didn't know what he was capable of.

Luke had kept his eye on Julie the entire time, he always did. But as soon as he realized what she was doing, he swore under his breath. He tried to keep his distance, to let her do her thing, but the second the man called Julie a bitch, Luke was up and out of his chair, ready to throw hands.

There was a point in his life where he wouldn't even think about the consequences of his actions, but as he approached, he caught Julie's eyes and figured punching this random guy in the face probably wasn't the best course of action. So, he hung back, close enough to be noticed, but not enough to be considered a threat.

Or so he thought.

The man noticed Julie's eyes focused on something behind him, so he whirled around to see Luke. What with his height and obvious biceps (that were currently on display because what were sleeves anyway?), the man scoffed.

"Is he coming to your rescue or something? Need someone to fight your battles?"

Luke merely raised his eyebrows.

The fact that he was saying all this to a high school girl seriously baffled him.

When the man tried to step around Luke, he side-stepped to be in his way again. Luke didn't smirk, didn't show any facial emotion. It was enough to unnerve him.

With an angry huff, he reached into his backpack to pull out the two books in question. He slammed them into Luke's chest as he stormed past him, muttering, "I don't need this crap."

The moment they heard the door slam closed, Luke's eyes slid over to Julie. Her face was blank, but her eyes were stormy, angry even. He didn't blame her; that guy was a right dick. He hesitantly handed the books back to her. Her gaze flickered to the books and back to him. She probably had no idea how absolutely intimidating she looked.

But then she smiled. A proper, full smile that had Luke merely staring. "Thank you," she said, reaching forward to grab the books. He was hoping she'd say more, but instead she took the books and walked away to put them back in their place.

It was fine, because she had talked to him and he was so ridiculously happy about that. He had also helped her out in that less than stellar situation, but not overbearingly so that he treated her like a damsel in distress who couldn't handle herself. Julie definitely held her own, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to her and he was right there sitting in his corner. Pleased with himself and how the situation played out, he skipped back to his seat in the corner, feeling more inspired than ever to finish the current song he was working on.

He glanced up one more time, surprised to catch Julie's sparkling brown eyes already looking at him. She immediately averted her gaze, mouth twitching as she held back a smile.

That was when he decided, no more pining around; it was time to officially ask her out.

What was the worst that could happen? She would say no. And he'd be okay with that, because it was 2021 and respecting women and their decisions shouldn't even be questioned. He'd be disappointed, sure, but for now, he was still holding out hope that maybe she would be into him too.

It was nearing eight, and Luke could tell when he saw the remainder of customers heading for the door. He spotted Julie making her way over too, getting ready to lock the door behind the last customer. He gathered up his things and shoved them into his backpack as slowly as possible. His heart was hammering in his chest and his palms were sweaty; he was actually nervous to ask Julie out.

How couldn't he be? She was absolutely gorgeous.

Luke made it to the door, taking a deep breath before he met her eyes.

Julie stepped in front of him, blocking his exit.

He stumbled in his step, grabbing onto the door frame to keep from toppling straight into her.

"Sorry," she mumbled, tucking a curl behind her ear. For the first time literally ever, Luke observed the tell-tale signs of her shy and apprehensive behaviour. She was always so confident, so in tune with what she seemed to want, this was unusual to him. Not only because of that, but he'd never been this close to her, and he was suddenly finding it extremely hot (and he was barely even wearing a shirt).

Luke tugged on his backpack strap, because he needed to do something. He needed to focus, or else he'd end up doing something stupid, like blurt out that he was in love with her. "No, it's okay. I actually wanted to ask you something anyway."

Her sparkling brown eyes widened for a split second. "Actually, I want to ask you something — are you free to grab a coffee?"

It was safe to say Luke's brain started to short-circuit.

"Uh, what?"

He was so intensely focused on gathering the courage to ask her out, he didn't even know how to reply when she suddenly flipped the plan on him.

He started to lose his mind even more when a soft blush spread over Julie's cheeks. "I'm just closing up, and I could really use a dose of caffeine. I'd really like if you came with me."

Luke can't do more than simply stare at her; his body was failing on him. Julie held his gaze, biting her lip apprehensively with a nervous smile because he wasn't saying anything, and she really hoped she didn't misinterpret his signals. But then he finally fights for control of his body again, and a soft grin spreads onto his lips. "Yeah. I'd really like that."

She matched his grin, closed and locked the door behind her. "I only have a few more things to do. Just a few more minutes."

"No worries," he replied, shoving his hands into his front pockets. "Oh! I'm Luke, by the way."

Julie mulled over the name for a moment. "Julie," she responded.

"I know," he mumbled, eyes solely focused on hers. Even when she looked to him in surprise, he couldn't focus on anything but her eyes. God, she was so gorgeous. "Your name tag," he added, just to ease her fears about him being a stalker (I mean, he was there almost every week...).

Luke leaned against one of the tables as he waited for Julie to finish closing up. He watched her silently, unable to remove the excited smile from his lips the entire time he waited. When she told him he was ready, he diligently held open the door for her and then waited, hands dug into his front pockets, as she locked up behind them.

There was a coffeeshop right around the corner, and as they both started walking in that direction, there was an unspoken agreement, that was where they wanted to go. Luke hated himself and his weirdly awkward nature on their walk over. He couldn't find any words to say to her, none. He chanced a few glances in her direction, but she seemed content with just walking in silence, so he went with the flow.

Once again, he held the door open for her and smiled when looked at him with amused eyes. Julie headed straight for a table near the window, removing her jacket and setting it on the back of her chair. Luke followed, lingering when she didn't sit back down.

"I can go order," he offered, "What would you like?"

Julie looked up at him with a smirk, and dear God, his knees nearly buckled. "I invited you. It's my treat."

"Oh, come on," he nearly whined. "Let's not do this, please."

Julie pursed her lips. She was a very determined person, and if he didn't know that yet, he'd be quick to learn. "I invited you. It's only fair."

He ran a hand through his hair, shooting her the most charming smile he could manage. "Julie, I've been waiting to take you out for months. Please let me buy you a coffee."

All her determination died there and then on the tip of her tongue.

"Okay," she replied with a cheeky smile. She diligently took a seat. "I'll take an iced coffee, please."

Luke nodded, once again, skipping away from her for the second time that night. He ordered Julie an iced coffee (and a cookie because who doesn't like cookies) and a regular coffee for himself. He was already jittery enough but he could never say no to coffee.

"Here you go." He said softly, placing her treats in front of her.

Julie took a quick sip of her coffee and narrowed her gaze on Luke. "I want to hear more. You said you've been waiting to take me out for months."

Luke had never felt him blush so quickly before in his life. He nearly choked on the coffee he was currently drinking. "It sounds really creepy when you say it like that."

"I know you've been coming to the shop for months," she continued, breaking apart her cookie. She wasn't looking at him, and it honestly made Luke all the more nervous. She made him nervous. "And you've never bought anything, but you're always writing in a book."

"I needed a quiet place to write music and I found your shop."

Julie nodded along, humming. "I catch you looking at me a lot."

Luke scratched the back of his head. "Well, honestly, that's not entirely my fault. I can't help but stare at beautiful things."

Julie looked up at him with a smirk. "That was smooth. I feel like it's only fair I be as honest." She leaned her elbows onto the table, leaning in close. Luke started sweating again. "I always look for you during my shifts."

It was as if the air was entirely knocked out of his lungs. It was the reassurance he was looking for, the acknowledgement that his feelings weren't one-sided, but it was a lot to take in at once.

"You're the reason I come back every week," he admitted, the words flowing freely out of him now that he knew with certainty she felt something for him too.

Julie leaned back in her chair. Her eyes tracked his movements, mostly because she didn't know what to say next. Where do they go from here?

Who makes the next move?

"I'll keep dropping by. But under one condition," Luke reasoned, hiding his smirk with his coffee mug.

Julie found herself leaning in again. There was something about him that was so alluring, always drawing her in for more. "What's that?" She didn't want to give her real answer: anything.

"I'll keep coming by if you give me your number," he told her, running his finger around the rim of his mug. "Maybe go on another date with me?"

Julie didn't reply at first; she kept him waiting until he looked at her with curious eyes. She kept him on the hook, just enough that for a moment, he wavered in his confidence. "I'd love to give you my number."

He let out an obvious sigh of relief. Julie was definitely going to wreck him in the most beautiful of ways.

"And that date?"

Julie clicked her tongue, monitoring the way his eyes absentmindedly dropped to her lips. "I'll decide that after you walk me home. But your chances are looking pretty good."

A delicious smirk crawled over Luke's mouth, and now it was all Julie could focus on.

"Then I guess I should up my game," he winked, shrugging as he added, "Just in case."

When Luke walked Julie home hours later, she confidently latched onto his hand, mostly just to give him an ego boost because he acted like the perfect gentleman all night. And when he lingered at the door, unsure whether it was too soon to kiss her or not, she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss dangerously close to the corner of his lips.

"How's next Friday night?"

It took Luke a moment to form the words after that, but he was anxiously waiting for her response.

"I'm off at eight, you know where I'll be." Even with all the coy flirting, she couldn't help but shoot him an excited grin.

Luke stuffed his hands back into his front pockets and started retreating down her walkway. "I'll, uh — I'll text you."

Julie leaned against the front door. "I'll be waiting."

And somehow, after months of pining on both ends, all it took was one attempted theft to bring Luke and Julie together.

It would take a lot more than that to separate them now.

taglist: @grootsgillespie || @jayhalsteadcpd || @moreflowersthanweeds || @well-hes-just-too-cute || @echocharm17618 || @leopard-print-slippers || @jandthephantoms || @scribblingfangirl || @n0wornever || @simpformolina || @only-trust-fictional-characters || @snowmione18 || @tellurphantoms || @knitsessed || @elitharavenclaw || @wakeupfantoms || @uselessnerdnherblahg || @katie-navarro || @bookwormswillruletheworld || @lmaohuh || @thatsmyverb || @sophiphi || @kybee1497 || @lukewearingbeanies || @sapphireamethystvsco || @constantly-singing || @helloilovejatp || @your-typical-ingenue || @nonickslander || @s-h-a-d-o-w-s || @asdfghjkl-fanfics |

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #jatp fanworks appreciation week #juke #julie x luke #luke x julie #luke patterson #julie molina #alex mercer #reggie peters #juke au #jatp au #jatp fic #jatp fics #juke fic #juke fics #fics

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samanthadalton · 3 years

Text

So we meet again part 2

since a few of you guys wanted a part 2 i thought i would give it a go, hope you enjoy. I wanted to do a mix between past and present so i’ve stated which parts are the past etc also there’ll be a part 3 which will be the finale, I’ll write that soon 💜

pairings: Poppy x Bea

taglist: @cloud9in @somewillwin @alleycat97 @baexpoppy @save-me-the-last-dance @helpconfusedpersonhere @dopeyouth @iamsimpforpoppy @alexlabhont @thedaft1 @veenast @cloakanddaggerthings

wordcount: 3.4k

slightly NSFW also there might be swearing, i can’t remember tbh (it’s like 2am rn im sorry)

also part 1 is here in case you need a refresher💜

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Bea and Poppy roll around in the bed, playfully, as Bea peppers kisses all over Poppy’s body, while pressing her body into the mattress.

“Bea that tickles.”

“Really?” Bea removes her hands from Poppy’s wrists and begins tickling her sides.

“Please..stop..” Poppy says in between giggles and huffs. Eventually Bea moves her hands and is met with a pillow smashing into her face.

“OW!” Bea cries out, as she rubs her face, a hint of a smile ghosts on her face.

“I told you I hate being tickled,” Poppy huffs, expertly hiding her smile as Bea continues rubbing her face. “I’m sorry. Want me to kiss it better?” Bea pouts, nodding her head as she inches forward puckering her lips. Poppy rolls her eyes, placing a chaste kiss on Bea’s lips and just as she pulls away, Bea crashes her lips back into hers, eliciting a moan from the strawberry blonde.

“That’s a kiss,” Bea teases, in retort Poppy playfully shoves her before leaning against the headboard. Bea lays her head on the pillow, shifting her body to face her girlfriend. “Hey can I ask you something?”

“You’ll ask even if I say no,” Poppy jests.

Bea leans up on her elbows, her expression sobering, “look Pops, these last two months have been amazing but I want to take you out on a real date.”

Poppy groans, “not this again Bea.”

“Hey, hey, let me finish,” Bea says pleadingly, Poppy rubs her temples, her silence indicating for Bea to continue, “I like what we have right now, just chilling and making out and stuff but I want to take you out on a real date. Somewhere public where I can show you off and make random strangers jealous of me because I’m dating the prettiest girl ever. All of this sneaking around is just reminding me of college.”

*Flashback*

As Bea climbs through Poppy’s window, her leg gets caught in the curtains and she tumbles onto the floor, as the items on Poppy’s desk, plummet to the ground.

“God damn it Farmsville, why not alert the entire sorority of your presence?”

“Geez, it was an accident,” Bea dusts herself off, before picking up the fallen items and placing them back. “So what the hell is so urgent that you have me in your room at 1am and why couldn’t I go through the front door?”

“Ew, don’t say it like that.” Poppy scrunches her nose up in disgust, “it’s not like that.”

“So why am I here?”

“You’re number 1 at Belvoire now, think of this as my final consultation before you officially become queen.”

“I was named queen the second they gave me the award, and I certainly don’t need any advice you have to offer.”

Poppy visibly becomes irritated, her face etches into a scowl, “remember that I ruled this school for 3 years, and judging by recent events like your little plight with Kingsley, you’ve already got some enemies. Remember heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

Bea lets out a humourless laugh, “don’t worry I have a plan.” Poppy raises an eyebrow, intrigued, “I’ll do the opposite of everything you did. I won’t backstab my friends, I won’t be a bitch to everyone and I’ll treat everyone with kindness and respect.”

“Don’t forget Hughes, it was exactly that kind of subterfuge that got you in my spot in the first place.”

“No, it helped me get into the top 15 I’ll admit, but everything else was careful strategy and just being a decent human being. You would be surprised how many people were desperate for your reign of tyranny to end.”

Poppy huffs, “funny how you act like people hate me so much when they would do anything just for a fraction of my attention.” Poppy takes a step forward, a sneer expression on her face.

Bea snorts, “get off your high horse.”

“Eurgh no farm jokes.”

“I- I’m not going to even comment. So is that all you wanted or was there something else?”

“What else do you think I want?”

“I thought this was going to be about what happened at the fountain.” Poppy freezes for a split second, a blush creeping up on her cheeks, her mouth hangs open but no words come out. “Oh come on Pops, don’t act like you haven’t thought about what happened at least once or twice over the summer,” Bea flashes a smug grin which seems to bring Poppy back to reality.

“Please,” she scoffs, “you’re giving yourself too much credit, that kiss was mediocre at best.”

Bea raises an eyebrow, “liar.” Bea takes a step forward, “That kiss was mind-blowingly good. So good that on the first day back at Belvoire, you needed to make up a dumb excuse for me to sneak up to your room at 1am.” Poppy presses her lips together in a thin line, her eyes carefully roam Bea’s, waiting. Without any hesitation, Bea places her hands on Poppy’s hips, pulling her close to her as she presses her lips against Poppy’s, desire instantly building between the two of them.

Poppy feels her eyes rolling to the back of her head, as Bea peppers kisses on her neck, and has to stifle a moan when Bea runs her tongue over her jaw.

“Bea…stop with the foreplay.” Poppy feels Bea’s lips quirk up against her neck, but Bea continues kissing her neck, only frustrating Poppy more. “God Farmsville,” Poppy growls, she pushes Bea away from her and pulls her towards her bed, before straddling her lap.

“Taking charge?”

“I always take charge,” Poppy retorts, her lips ghosting around Bea’s until she playfully bites Bea’s bottom lip before sucking on it. “But I’m feeling nice today,” Poppy runs her forefinger down Bea’s body, evoking goosebumps, “so maybe I’ll let you be in control, just this once.”

“So you’re planning on doing this again?” Bea teases as her lips quirk up into a wide grin as she flips their positions, pushing the strawberry blonde deep into her mattress, already locked in a passionate embrace before Poppy can retort. Bea places her hands around Poppy’s wrists placing her above her head, her eyes piercing into Poppy’s as she does so, in an attempt to demonstrate her dominance. Just as she leans in for another kiss, a loud series of knocks breaks them apart.

“Hey P, you up?” Veronica’s voice rings through the room.

Poppy silently motions for Bea to leave as she erratically flaps her arms towards the window. Bea wordlessly runs to the window and just as she’s about to climb out Poppy whispers, “don’t tell anyone about this, now hurry up.”

*Present*

Poppy averts her gaze from Bea, a guilty look on her face, “I’m sorry but college was different. I wasn’t ready for the world to know about us, I mean I barely understood what I felt for you.”

Bea stares at Poppy with a hopeful look in her eyes, “but now you do.” She takes one of Poppy’s hands in hers, “look there’s no expectation to be super fancy, we can do something lowkey, just so we get a feel of being out together in public.”

Poppy sighs, “fine.” Bea’s face lights up and Poppy can’t help but feel the butterflies in her stomach, “so where were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we would go to my restaurant.”

“Digne d'une reine? That’s kinda high maintenance no?”

“No, I meant Farmsville. I think it’s time for you to see the restaurant which you inspired.”

Poppy bites her bottom lip, unable to stop herself from smiling, “okay.”

……

A few weeks later, Poppy and Bea finally find the time out of their busy schedules to have their first date. As Bea leads Poppy into the small diner, Poppy stands awkwardly to the side as Bea leads her into one of the booths in the back. Poppy’s gaze darts around the room, wondering why the restaurant is so busy on a Sunday evening.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Bea calls out to Poppy who looks lost in her own thoughts.

“Yeah, great,” Poppy gives her girlfriend a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, as she nervously darts her gaze around the room, feeling as if all eyes are of them.

Bea senses Poppy’s discomfort and reaches over the table, taking Poppy’s hand in hers, “hey if you wanna go…”

Poppy violently shakes her head no, “no, I said it’s fine Bea.” She pulls her hand out of Bea’s and sits in silence until the waitress approaches the table handing the girls’ a menu each.

“Hey Bea,” the waitress flashes the girl a bright smile, as she stands with a notebook in her hand.

“Hey Cecila, how’s it going today?”

“Not bad, it’s been kinda busy, but we miss seeing your face around here.”

Bea lets out a small chuckle, “Don’t worry I’ll be back next week for a bit. I’m just glad we have you looking out for this place here otherwise it would’ve gone down in flames, literally. Jerry would’ve accidentally set fire to the kitchen if it wasn’t for you.”

The waitress lets out a boisterous laugh, causing Poppy to furrow her brows as she reaches over, possessively interlacing her hand with Bea’s. “Hmm, funny.” The women stop laughing and look over to see Poppy’s unimpressed face. Bea expertly hides her smirk as she realises what’s going on.

“Cecila,” Bea clears her throat, “this is Poppy-”

“The girlfriend,” Poppy interjects.

Cecilia gives Poppy a bright smile, “I was wondering when I was going to meet you! Bea would not stop talking our ears off about you.” Cecile playfully pushes Bea shoulder with her hand, “and she told me you were gorgeous but you are even more beautiful in person.”

“Thanks,” Poppy bluntly replies, twirling a strand of her hair.

“Well I’ll come back in a few minutes so y’all can look over the menu in the meantime.” Cecile gives a polite smile before moving to the next table. Once she’s gone, Poppy slips her hand out of Bea’s, but just as she lets go, Bea grabs her wrist pulling it back, a wide grin plastered on her face.

“You’re jealous,” she says matter of factly.

Poppy scoffs, “I don’t do jealousy, shut up.”

Bea smiles, clearly enjoying herself, “yeah you are.” Poppy stares daggers at Bea, a scowl appearing on her face, “you don’t have to worry, I don’t think Cecile’s husband and kid would appreciate her leaving them for me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she’s super straight, and married.”

“Oh,” a blush appears on Poppy’s face as she looks away embarrassed. The strawberry blonde pulls away her hand as Bea loosens her grip on her wrist.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been jealous.”

Poppy raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her girlfriend, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“Come on, the Christmas party? Don’t tell me you don’t tell me you don’t remember.”

*Flashback*

As the months went on, Bea and Poppy would meet up a couple of times a week for casual sex. They had set some ground rules, they can only meet up in Poppy’s bedroom, no cuddling afterwards, Bea would either have to sneak out through Poppy’s window or through the back door of the sorority if everyone else was asleep, and no feelings could be involved. Poppy had been adamant to Bea about how sex was only a release for her frustrations and for the girl not to read too much into it because it meant nothing. But the Christmas party was just the beginning of the lines starting to blur.

Just as Bea enters the frat house, she takes in the spirited atmosphere of the party, the loud thumping bass music, drumming in her ears as she makes her way over to the drinks station, pouring a drink for her and Zoey.

“It’s really loud!” Bea shouts over the music.

“What?” Zoey replies, as she takes one of the cups from Bea’s hands.

“What?”

“Yeah totally. Hey I’ll catch up with you soon, there’s a super cute girl over there.” Zoey lumbers over to the other side of the room, leaving the girl on her own. For a while she mingles with a few different groups, an obligation for the queen of Belvoire, but when Veronica begins not so subtly flirting with Bea, she can’t help but flirt back, especially when Veronica looks this good.

They standing in the corner of the living room, as Veronica begins whispering into Bea’s ear about the party and how idiotic the football team look while playing strip pong but when Poppy walks through the living room in a skin tight pink dress, all rational thoughts are thrown out of the window for Bea.

As if she can feel the girl’s eyes on her, Poppy swings her hips slightly as she walks past, a glimmer of a smile of her face, as Bea’s eyes follow her until Veronica breaks her out of her reverie.

“You okay?”

Bea deftly glances at Poppy to see her casually talking with Chloe, paying no attention to her, “yeah I’m good. Dance with me?” She holds out her hand which Veronica accepts as Bea leads her into the makeshift dance floor. Veronica presses her body against Bea’s, her hips grinding into Bea’s front, Bea places her hands on Veronica’s hips, only enhancing the friction between them.

Poppy looks over to see Bea and Veronica dancing together as feels a burning sensation in her chest, it wasn’t jealousy, she wouldn’t admit to that but she did not enjoy seeing Veronica rubbing herself all over Bea. She leaves the house pulling up Bea’s contact info and texting the girl to meet her in her room asap.

“I’ll grab us some drinks.” Bea nods as Veronica stalks off towards the drinks table and when she feels her phone buzzing in her pocket, she pulls it out to see a bunch of messages from Poppy saying it’s an emergency. Bea makes her way to the door but Veronica steps in front of her, 2 cups in her hands.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I just have to be somewhere,” Bea darts out of the house, leaving an abandoned Veronica who stands near the front door, confused.

“What’s the emergency?” Bea pants as she runs into Poppy’s room, not bothering to knock, while Poppy is standing near the door and is almost rammed over by Bea. Without a word, Poppy pulls Bea in for a kiss, her hands eagerly hooking around Bea’s neck.

“Hey, wait,” Bea pulls away, anger written in her face, “what the hell Pops, just stop for a second.” Bea slightly pushes the strawberry blonde back, as she looks down on her.

“Just please Farmsville, no talking, just kiss me,” Poppy replies, her tone almost begging, almost.

Bea hesitates slightly, she’s not used to seeing Poppy so desperate, but she gives in. Poppy kisses Bea with urgency, her tongue already tangling with Bea’s, as she moans softly into Bea’s mouth. Bea guides Poppy to the bed, still locked in a kiss as she runs her hands down Poppy’s body, before she moves her hands to her back and begins unzipping her.

“In a hurry Farmsville?”

“As sexy as you look in this dress, you look even hotter without it.” Poppy doesn’t say anything but she gives Bea a smile as Bea’s hands continue wandering all over her body. Bea’s fingers ghost around Poppy’s inner thigh, causing the strawberry blonde to squirm slightly, as her hips rise off the bed.

“Hughes please,” captivated by her pleading, Bea gives her, her thumb begins circling around Poppy’s button as her fingers just tease her entrance.

“Say my name,” Bea whispers in a low gruff voice and unhesitantly, Poppy moans out Bea’s name. Bea pumps her fingers into Poppy, as she kisses her intensely, even after she feels Poppy’s juices all over her fingers, she continues moving against her, letting her ride out her orgasm. Once Poppy slumps down on the bed, Bea places her fingers in her mouth, tasting Poppy’s desire before pulling the strawberry blonde in for one more kiss. Bea remembers the rules and slides off the bed looking for her clothes before Poppy’s soft voice calls out to her.

“Stay.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter? Stay, it’s late so you might as well stay.”

“That’s not in the rules.”

Poppy becomes irritated as she frowns at Bea, “I was just trying to be nice but whatever, leave if you want.”

Bea knits her eyebrows together, unsure of what to do but against her better instincts she slides back under the covers, while maintaining a safe and wide gap between her and Poppy. “Thanks,” she mumbles out as Poppy just hums in response.

The atmosphere becomes dense with awkwardness, as they lay in the bed together, unfamiliar with this territory. It isn’t until Bea speaks out that the silence is broken.

“Hey can I ask you something?”

Poppy sighs heavily, “even if I say no you’ll still probably ask.”

“Probably.” The girls slip back into silence until Bea turns on her side, facing the strawberry blonde. “Why did you pull me away from the party?”

Poppy shrugs, “I was sexually frustrated and our agreement consists of us letting out those frustrations.”

“But you seemed pretty okay to me, I mean I saw you talking with Chloe and then I was dancing with Veronica and-” Bea falls silent, realisation dawning on her. “You’re jealous.”

“You know what, I changed my mind, get out.”

“Come on, I was just dancing with Veronica, I wasn’t going to sleep with her.”

Poppy glares at Bea as she narrows her eyes, “whatever. I don’t care what you do with her anyway.”

“Sure.”

The girls fall back into an awkward silence until Bea feels sleep creeping up on her. Just as she closes her eyes, she hears Poppy’s voice.

“Bea, you awake?”

“Hmm?” Bea humans quietly.

“You awake?” Poppy whispers.

“Yeah, I am,” she replies, fighting back a yawn, “what’s up?”

“What do you wanna do once college is over?”

Bea purses her lips in thought, “it’s kinda stupid, you’ll laugh.”

“I probably will but tell me anyways.”

Bea lets out a short laugh, “I've always wanted to own a restaurant.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Bea turns over to face Poppy, she can only make out a few of her features in the dark, but she sees Poppy’s big brown doe eyes staring straight into hers, “I’ve found food as my comfort. My family loved to cook, and growing up on a farm meant we were surrounded by fresh ingredients everywhere. My mom actually taught me how to cook and I’ve been using them as guinea pigs to test out new recipes ever since.” Bea can see a smile appearing on Poppy’s face and can’t help but smile back as she reminisces about the past. “So what about you?”

“My fate has already been written out for me. Take over the Min Sinclair business and rule the world basically.”

“Is that it? You’ve never had any other dream?” Poppy shrugs. “Come on, there must be something.”

Poppy sighs, “I like to draw.”

“Really? Do you have anything you can show me?”

“As if Farmsville, it’s private.”

“Fine, it was worth a try.”

The girls fall back into silence, only this time it isn’t awkward, it’s almost refreshing. After that night, their nights weren’t always physical, sometimes they would sit there and talk about everything and nothing, and they shared things even their closest friends didn’t even know about each other.

*Present*

“I was not jealous.”

“Fine, whatever you say.”

As the date continues, Poppy visibly relaxes, enjoying the atmosphere of the restaurant as well as the company, as soon she forgets all her earlier doubts and begins truly enjoying herself as she laughs along to Bea’s stupid jokes while telling a few stories and jokes herself. Once Bea pays the bill, after fighting with Poppy for five minutes about wanting to be the perfect gentlewoman, Bea takes Poppy’s hand in hers and leads her to the exit of the restaurant.

“I have a surprise for you.” She gestures to the huge blank wall at the entrance of Farmsville. “Surprise!”

Poppy raises an eyebrow confused, “it’s a blank wall wow,” she says her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Well it is for now until,” she twists Poppy around, pulling her back to her front, as she whispers against her neck, “you work your magical artist skills and turn it into something beautiful.”

Poppy gasps as she turns to face Bea, “wait you’re letting me paint it?”

“Yep, even though you didn’t show me any of your work, I know you’ll do something amazing here, I’ll even pay you if you want.”

Poppy shakes her head, pulling Bea in for a long kiss, “you’re the best you know that.”

“Yeah I am pretty awesome.” Poppy grins pulling Bea in for another kiss.

#playchoices #queen b #poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #i hope i've done it justice

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blueskrugs · 4 years

Text

That Don’t Sound Like You | Brock Boeser

title and inspiration come from the Lee Brice song of the same name. I like country music, okay? takes place roughly September 2015-August 2019. all games and other teammates are accurate.

because @captainkreider said “what if you write this for Brock” and I immediately had to rethink my priorities on who I will and will not write for. and then this happened.

length: 4.7 words

Girl, I’m glad you called

You met Brock early in your freshman year at University of North Dakota. He was always surrounded by people, popular and charismatic, even as a slightly awkward 18-year-old, but it seemed like he could, and would, talk to anyone who would listen.

You found that out for yourself when he plopped down a couple seats from you in some 100 level English lecture before leaning across the empty desk between you to introduce himself.

“I’m Brock,” he said with a grin.

You took a moment to assess him. His blond hair was tucked beneath a backwards snapback, looking every bit like a douche college athlete, but his blue eyes were kind, and his smile seemed genuine. You shot him a quick smile of your own before turning back to your notes.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered. Brock was still watching you closely; you flipped the page of your notebook.

Any further conversation was cut short by your professor coming in, his typical five minutes late. It was already the third week of class, and Brock had never sat near you before, usually choosing to sit more near the back, but you buried your confusion in favor of focusing on the lecture.

Brock kept sitting next to you, though, would start a conversation with you most days. It was a week and a half before he asked for your phone number, another week before he actually texted you to complain about how he didn’t understand an assigned reading. In the meantime, you’d learned that you hadn’t grown up far from each other in Minnesota– just a couple towns away from each other outside Minneapolis, his favorite color– blue, but only one highly specific shade, and how he’d been drafted by the Canucks but was still trying out the whole college thing.

“So,” Brock started one day in October. You hummed in response, not looking up from your notes– you were trying to review for the test you had after this lecture was over. Brock nudged your elbow, but you still didn’t look up at him. “Hey. Y/N.” Brock was starting to whine now, so you glanced up at him. “So, uh, we have our first home game this Saturday.”

You raised an eyebrow at Brock. He looked nervous, fidgeting with a hoodie string and chewing on his bottom lip. You poked him in the arm with your pen.

“Got something you wanna say, Boes?”

“Would you, y’know?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, Brock, I don’t know. Spit it out.”

“Do you wanna come to the game?” he finally managed.

Now, UND took hockey as seriously as some colleges took football, and you’d spent more than one conversation with Brock discussing hockey, so he knew you liked it. Of course you’d be at the game on Saturday. But Brock wasn’t asking if you were going as a hockey fan. He was asking if you’d come to see him play.

You grinned, and Brock ducked his head and refused to look at you. His cheeks looked a little pink. You poked him with your pen again, this time just below his ribs, and he squirmed and snatched the pen from your hand.

“Yeah, Brock, I’ll be there,” you assured him.

He threw your pen at you.

Brock scored a hat trick in front of the sold-out crowd and swept you up in his arms outside the arena.

That became the new normal for you two. You went to every home game to watch as Brock tore up the league as one of the best freshmen anyone had ever seen. He’d meet you outside the arena, and you’d end up at a diner with the rest of the team with Brock’s arm draped around your shoulder. The team accepted you into their fold easily enough, teasing and chirping you just as they would any other player. There was time spent alone with Brock, too, or as alone as you could get in a dorm building. It had started under the pretense of studying together, but over time, it usually ended under a pile of blankets and Grey’s Anatomy playing on one of your laptops.

Brock kissed you for the first time in early December, after the team swept the weekend against Denver. It was cold, and his breath brushed across your face in a white cloud when he leaned in, but his lips were warm against yours.

Not much changed after that, not really, except for the fact that Brock got much less shy about always wanting to be near you or touching you in some way, whether it was your knees pressed against each other beneath a table on a date, or a hand on your hip or linked with yours when you were hanging out with others.

He did trip over his own feet the first time he saw you wearing one of his hoodies, though.

You surprised Brock in Tampa in April for the Frozen Four finals, where he had the game winning goal, and three more assists to boot. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him smile as big as when you jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist after the game, Stretch and Drake and everyone else still screaming somewhere behind you.

Truck tires on a gravel road Laughing at the world, blasting my radio Cannonballs splashing in the water

Brock called you one afternoon in June, after life had settled down into the lazy days of summer. “What’s up, babe?” you asked, absently throwing a tennis ball for your dog out in the yard.

Brock hesitated. “Do you still wanna come out to the lake with us?”

You had talked about it, a little, back when it was still ungodly cold in North Dakota, and Brock had mentioned that his family was going to try and rent a place on a lake for a week or two in July. It had seemed so far away then, as distant future as graduating or Brock heading off to Vancouver, which feels foolish now, with July creeping closer every day.

“Yeah, of course,” you said.

The two of you talked about the future for the first time that week at Minnetonka, between bets of who could make the biggest splash, or turning up Brock’s playlists as loud as you could, yelling the words to country songs up to the clouds.

Brock wanted to stay at UND another year, use it to develop his game, but he whispered in the dark one night that he was scared of making it all the way to the NHL and not living up to expectations, no longer a bright star, but a supernova, left to fade into nothing.

You had dreams of your own, too. Graduating and getting a job in a big city, getting away from Minnesota and small towns where everyone knew everyone. California, maybe, or somewhere on the East Coast like D.C.

(Brock had made a face at you for that.)

You realized for the first time, too, that you just might be in love with Brock. You weren’t sure what to do with that realization, though, just tucked your face a little tighter into Brock’s shoulder, tried not to think about what you would do if Brock ever asked you to follow him to Vancouver. You weren’t sure you could give up your life plans for anyone.

July passed with days in the sun and nights near a bonfire, drowning in one of Brock’s hoodies as you sat in his lap under a blanket. You wished you could live in moments like those forever.

Sophomore year was different for both of you. You were busier with classes, and Brock was more focused on hockey than ever, determined not to let his freshman season be a fluke.

Not that anyone thought it would be.

Brock became an alternate captain. Continued to dominate on the ice, came back stronger after a couple of injuries. Brock Boeser was making a name for himself, and it was only a matter of time before everyone started paying attention.

The day after the team lost to Boston University in double overtime, the defending champs going out on their very first game of the tournament, Brock was home in Minnesota, signing an entry-level contract, and playing his first game as a Vancouver Canuck.

He had kissed you goodbye on Thursday before the team left for Fargo, with an “I love you,” murmured against your lips, his hands tangled in your hair, the promise of “see you soon” unspoken but understood between you.

But you sat on your couch and watched as Brock took to the ice for the team that believed in him against the team he grew up watching, you started to wonder just how soon that would be, and if you’d ever get your Brock back, or if you’d lost his love to the city of Vancouver.

Brock scored a goal that night. You’d always known he would fit right in in Vancouver.

Brock broke up with you that summer. You had seen it coming, maybe since last July, when you realized that your lives were heading in different directions, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. You were supposed to go up to Minnetonka again, but you never made it that far before he was standing on your doorstep, hands shoved deep in your pockets.

Part of you wanted to insist that you could make the distance work, and maybe you could, maybe Brock thought it, too, but you couldn’t think of the words.

“I love you,” you said instead.

You dropped a Target bag full of Brock’s things on his parents’ front porch, hoodies and beanies and other things that were too hard to keep, before you headed back to UND for the fall.

You kept in touch some, congratulatory texts (you) or pictures of the weather (him). You received dozens of Snapchats during All-Star Weekend in 2018, especially of the adorable dog he ended up adopting– you had vetoed changing his name from Cider– but you were pretty sure he was sending them to everyone.

Until you got one simply captioned “would be better with you here.” You stared at the picture�� the view of Tampa outside his hotel room window– until the time ran out, and it disappeared. Then another came in, and you opened it quickly, unthinkingly. “Not quite like the last time we were in Tampa together tho.”

The only time you’d been to Tampa had been nearly two years before for the Frozen Four.

The picture disappeared again, and you didn’t know how to respond. So you didn’t.

You graduated a semester early and made plans to move to the East Coast and get a job, start your life for real. No one commented on how you were about as far away from Brock and Vancouver as you could get.

You were doing laundry at your parents’ house, packing most of what you owned in your car to move, when you came across a green UND hockey T-shirt. It still smelled a little like Brock, even though it had been buried in your room for years. You spared half a thought to wonder if Brock ever even missed it before you throw it in the washing machine.

You were surprised, then, when you got a text– a real one, too, not a Snapchat message– from Brock later that summer. You had never responded to those messages he had sent during the All-Star Game, and he had stopped sending things after a while. That had been over a year ago.

Brock’s message was simple, just a “hey, how have you been?” You wondered if he even knew you moved, and you were immediately suspicious of ulterior motives.

You left him on read for a couple of hours, before responding, and your message was short, curt. Your suspicions were proved right when he responded within half an hour.

“so” “Some of the guys from UND are coming up north for a couple days” “and they’ve been making some noise about seeing you”

You sighed. You were too tired for playing games, talking coyly, pretending like you were anything more than a couple of exes, practically strangers at this point. You pressed the call button below Brock’s name, realized for the first time that you’d never removed the green heart emoji from his contact.

“Y/N?” Brock sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t been the one to text you first.

“Why now, Brock?” you asked. Why do you still care, is what you didn’t.

“Stetch won’t shut up about wanting to see you, and some of the other guys picked up the chorus,” Brock said. He sounded as tired as you felt. It may have been years since you had last seen some of his teammates from UND, it certainly sounded like they haven’t changed much.

You went quiet, chewing on your bottom lip. Brock rushed to fill the silence.

“You don’t have to come. I just- I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have texted, I’m sorry.” His voice faded slightly, like he’d pulled the phone away from his ear to hang up.

And, well, you were going to blame what you said next on the fact that it was well after midnight and that you’d been awake for too many consecutive hours.

“When is everyone coming up?”

Brock was silent, not even the sound of his breathing coming over the line. You checked to make sure he hadn’t, in fact, ended the call.

“Uh, second week of August,” he finally said.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Brock echoed. You could picture the crease between his eyebrows.

“Yeah, ‘okay.’ I’ll think about it,” you said.

You didn’t know why you said that.

You didn’t know why you booked a flight to Minneapolis, or why you were actually looking forward to it. Even when Brock texted to warn you that some of his Canucks teammates would be there with the old faces from UND.

You didn’t know what you were doing as you stood in the entryway of a lake house in Minnesota. Out on the deck, you could see some familiar faces, but you had never felt so out of place in your life.

This was a bad idea. No, it was a terrible idea. You weren’t in college anymore. These weren’t your friends, your people. They had all moved on with their lives, and so had you. A weekend on a lake in Minnesota would only bring back the memories and the regrets of years gone by.

You were just debating turning around and pretending that you had never even come when Brock stepped in and saw you standing there, looking like a fool. He looks surprised to see you. You take another step into the house.

“Hey, Y/N!” The surprise is gone nearly as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with what looks like genuine happiness. “C’mon, everyone’s outside.”

You follow silently, taking in Brock’s bare, tanned shoulders, the way his hair looks blonder from hours spent out on the lake. For a moment, you’re both 19 again.

Stetch yells when he sees you first, and then you’re being mobbed by hockey players. You only know a couple from UND– Stetch, Drake, and Josty, to start– and the rest are from Vancouver, introductions blurring together in a mess of faces and nicknames– Tuna, Petey, and Chris, who had definitely been called Dad by at least three different people.

You finally manage to break away and head for a drink, but Brock follows you.

“I’m glad you came,” he says, and you believe him, look into his eyes, painfully earnest and real and blue like the reflection of the sky on the lake. You offer a weak smile in return, not sure if you can say the same, not yet. Brock steps closer and opens the lid of the cooler you’re standing next to. “Jess says you ended up in D.C. after all. How is that? You happy?”

His question catches you off-guard, and you hesitate, too long. “Yeah,” you say finally. “Yeah, it’s great.” Everything I’ve ever wanted, except you’re not there, is what you don’t say. You wonder briefly if he can still see right through you.

Brock’s head is buried in the cooler as he digs through the ice, but you can still see the way his shoulders go up like they always do when he’s frowning. That’s a yes, then.

“What’s the difference between a White Claw and a Truly, anyway?” he muses instead of calling you out, before surfacing with one of each in his hands. He offers them both to you, and you take the Truly– wild berry, your favorite, not that Brock would have any reason to know that– and leave him the White Claw. He cracks it open and takes a long drink. You tear your eyes away from the line of his throat as he swallows.

“Boyfriend couldn’t make it?” Brock asks pointedly. Damn, he still follows you on Instagram.

You take a drink yourself instead of answering right away. “Couldn’t get off work,” you say. Which isn’t a lie, not really, but you hadn’t even asked, just told him you would be visiting home for the week. You didn’t think he’d love the idea of spending a weekend with a bunch of hockey players, especially when the one who’d invited you happened to be your ex-boyfriend.

Brock just blinks at you for a moment. “Well, I’m glad you could make it,” he says again, just as honest as before.

When the next person asks if you’re happy in D.C., you’re not quite as off-guard, and you manage to smile when you answer this time. Brock is watching you from across the deck, though, and you wonder if the smile looked as fake as it felt to everyone else, or if it was just Brock.

You’re arguing with Josty about something ridiculous, when Emma, Troy’s girlfriend, sees you for the first time.

“Oh my God, you cut your hair! It’s so cute!” she said before wrapping you up in a hug.

When she lets you go, you sweep your hair over one shoulder, an old habit from when it hung halfway down your back; it barely brushed your shoulders now.

“Thought it was time for a change,” you say, “and my boyfriend really likes it this way.”

Next to you, Tyson frowns and mumbles something about finding Brock. You and Emma both watch him go, a little confused.

I know it’s been a while, I don’t mean to pry But when I asked you if you’re happy, I didn’t hear a smile, and that don’t sound like you

You’re sitting on the dock with your feet in the water that night when Brock settles next to you. Up at the house, everyone is either asleep or on their way to it. You’re both quiet for a moment, just the sound of crickets and the water lapping against the dock.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Brock says lowly.

You breathe out a laugh. “I wasn’t either, not until I was actually here,” you admit.

“Why did you come?”

“Why did you invite me?” you counter. It was the thing that kept bothering you about all this. Why had Brock decided to reach out now, after so long, after you’d moved on?

Brock sighs. “Hadn’t heard from you in a while.” It’s almost defensive, the way he says it.

“Not like you tried very hard to catch up ever,” you say, and it’s mean, because you had stopped responding first, but you hadn’t known what else to do, how else to handle the heartbreak you had to relive with every text.

“You fucking stopped talking to me!” Brock says, and, yeah, you deserve that, deserve the anger in his voice. You don’t expect to hear sadness, too, but you do.

“What else was I supposed to do, Brock? Keep torturing myself with every text I sent?” You can’t bring yourself to be mad. You tilt your chin to look up at the stars instead, pretend you can’t feel Brock’s eyes on you. The stars are so much brighter out here, back home. “You were off chasing your dream, so it was time I went after mine.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, “Why’d you come here, Y/N?”

“I don’t know. One last hurrah for when we were all in college? For freshman year when the future seemed so bright? For when I still thought having a good job in a good city with a guy who loves me would make me happy, but sometimes I feel like I’m in the wrong city with the wrong guy?”

You get up before Brock can answer and leave him sitting on the dock in the dark.

Morning comes, and you’re not sure the conversation with Brock even happened, except for the fact that Brock is alternating between watching you intently and refusing to make eye contact. Chris makes everyone breakfast, and you now understand why everyone was calling him Dad. You settle next to Troy, lean your head on his shoulder.

“Did I somehow do something to make Petey not like me?” you ask, watching him talk quietly to Brock at the other end of the table.

“Nah,” Stetch says, taking a bite of bacon. “His English still isn’t great, and his default resting face makes it look like he hates everyone.” He pauses, takes another bite. “Well, and the fact that you broke our boy Brock’s heart. He’s sensitive, don’t ya know?” His tone is light, teasing, but his words make you freeze.

You gasp, too loud for the morning air. A couple people glance over at you, but you’re turning to Stetch, who at least looks like he realizes his mistake.

“Brock broke up with me,” you hiss.

Troy barely glances down the table at Brock, but you still catch it. For a split second, you consider just getting up and leaving, but settle for glaring at Brock, who doesn’t look up. His cheeks still flush like he can feel your eyes on him.

“I no longer want to be a part of this conversation,” Stetch says, making a move to get up, but you grab his wrist. He winces but stays sitting. “Look, he came back for his rookie year and was always kinda quiet-” You scoff. “-but none of us asked any questions, and then after All-Star he said you’d stopped responding to his texts.” Stetch finishes with a shrug.

“I stopped answering because I was still in love with him and stuck in North Dakota after he broke up with me that summer, dumbass. What the hell else was I supposed to do after he told me he wished I were at the All-Star Game with him? I was never going to be able to follow Brock to Vancouver, and he made it pretty clear he never really wanted me to, anyway.”

You didn’t realize that most of the conversations around the table had gone quiet until it was too late. Brock had gone pale. You had never wanted a confrontation, not here, but it was looking inevitable. Everyone else seemed to sense this, too, because soon the table was cleared, and it was just you and Brock.

“Why do you stay if you’re not happy?” is what Brock says first.

“I- what?”

Brock smiles at you, but it’s sad. “Do you think I can’t tell?”

“I am happy,” you say, defensive. And you are, or you will be one day, once you can finally stop thinking about Brock, about all the what-ifs, the possibilities that are long gone. You were getting there, too, before you came back to Minnesota for this weekend and everything came crashing down around your ears. Still, maybe this is the closure you needed.

“Oh yeah?” Brock says in return, and it's a taunt, really, mean in a way that he’s never been with you.

“Since when do you have any right to my happiness? What do you want me to say, Brock? That I always knew we were never meant to work out, but I fell in love with you anyway? That I went to D.C. and got everything I wanted, but once I had it, it didn’t seem right anymore? They say you never forget your first love, and, dammit, it’s really hard when yours is living his dream and tearing it up in the NHL. Is that what you want to hear, Brock? That I’ll never really get over you, even as I fall in love again, resign myself to the fact that someone else is going to fall in love with you someday, and be everything for you I couldn’t?”

Brock is frozen at the other end of the table. You want to jump in the lake, stay underwater until your lungs burn and your tears are hidden. You want to get in your rental car and drive, drive all the way to Minneapolis and keep going until you’re out of Minnesota and never look back. You want to kiss Brock, for old time’s sake, and you never want to see his face again.

He still hasn’t said anything, so you turn and go inside, past everyone pretending like they hadn’t just been watching everything. You’re throwing everything back in your bag when Brock stumbles up the stairs. You pause, cross your arms, and raise an eyebrow at him.

“Shit, wait,” he pants.

You can’t hold back the smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professional athlete?” you say, almost without thinking.

Brock flips you off as he leans against the doorframe, but it’s half-hearted.

“You can’t just say shit like that and then fucking walk away,” he says, and it comes out more like a whine. “I just- I had no idea. Should’ve probably, yeah, but-” he stops, collects his thoughts. “What did you mean when you said you could never follow me to Vancouver?”

“Would you even have asked,” you say, which isn’t an answer at all.

“I don’t know, you were always talking about all of your plans, and I never wanted to stop you. I didn’t know if you’d ever want to follow me.” And, finally, for the first time in years, it seems like you two understand each other.

“Of course I did,” you say softly, and Brock looks up at you, surprised. “I just didn’t know that then. And then I didn’t think you wanted me, not when I was just some girl from college.”

“You were never just some girl from college,” Brock says quickly. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna know why I asked if you were happy? You cut your hair.” Brock sounds pained, and you remember all the times he would play with your hair while you cuddled on the couch or in bed. “Since when do you change something like that for a guy?”

“And I wouldn’t have had to change for you? After I’d graduated, if you wanted me to come to Vancouver for you?”

Brock’s recoils, your words like a slap to the face, but it’s not as vindicating as you thought it would be. “It’s not just the hair. It’s the way you talk, the way you smile. What happened to the girl I knew?”

And that’s the problem. You’re not the girl he knew, not anymore. You’ve both grown up, lived life a little more. You might still love Brock, but you love the Brock from North Dakota, not the one who’s been in Vancouver for two years. You don’t know that Brock, and maybe you could love him, but that’s not for you to find out. It’s not fair to anyone. It just took you coming out to the lake to realize that.

So you smile at Brock and say, “She got her heart broken and left North Dakota behind.” But you follow Brock back downstairs, spend the day out on the water, feeling settled for the first time since you got there, maybe since you had last spoken to Brock way back in 2018.

That town, that job, that guy You can leave them behind, girl, you know you’re better than that

The boys build a bonfire after dinner, as the sun sets over the lake, and someone breaks out the ingredients for s’mores.

“Y’know,” Brock says, resting his hand on your knee after you’ve settled into a chair. His hand is warm through the blanket draped over your lap. “For what it’s worth, there would always be a place for you in Vancouver.”

Maybe there would be, but you weren’t sure that that place was somewhere you belonged. You don’t say that, though, just settle your feet in Brock’s lap and take the marshmallow that’s being offered to you.

There’s a life waiting for you on the other side of the continent, and it just might be the one you were always meant to have.

#cait writes things #brock boeser #brock boeser fic #brock boeser imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #brock boeser fanfic #vancouver canucks fanfic

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draqcnheartstrinq · 3 years

Text

Hate That I Want You (Part 6)

Sirius Black x Pure-blood!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: At first it’s hate, then it’s confusion. It grows into a healthy amount of curiosity until it turns into hate once more. But not towards each other, more towards the idea of wanting what you’ve tried to avoid all your life.

Words: 2.1k

Warnings: Angst, emotions, anger.

Note: It's been a long wait but suddenly got a lot of inspiration and got back into my Hogwarts feels! I miss this magical world so badly.

Feedback is always greatly appreciated!

HTIWY Masterpost

You weren’t used to visiting the Headmaster’s Office and yet that’s exactly where you were called to as soon as you entered Hogwarts Grounds. You imagined Dumbledore wanted to talk to you about your leave, how you will continue classes now you’re back and maybe about how you experienced the funeral.

Maybe Professor Dumbledore would be the kind listening ear you so desperately needed, no one else had ever bothered being that person for you… Except for Grandma.

But you knew that was wishful thinking, besides it would probably be highly unprofessional for a headmaster to get involved in pupils’ private business.

Seeing the big gargoyle statue, that was supposed to be the entrance to his office, extremely intimidated you and as no one was there to guide you inside you waited whilst taking deep breaths. Five minutes must have gone by before you heard stone moving against stone and the spinning of the gargoyle caught your attention. A staircase appeared from the ground up.

Knowing no better you placed yourself on one of the moving steps and let yourself be carried upwards.

“I see you made it back to school, Miss (Y/L/N)”, you heard an old deep voice say as soon as you reached the top, the stairs underneath you locked into place. The big wooden door was already opened and through it you could see a beautifully decorated desk, Dumbledore partially leaning against it.

You walked inside, looking around like a tourist in London and finally answered after taking in the grandeur of the interior. “Yes I did, Professor. I hope nothing important took place whilst I was gone?”

The old man smirked at you, looking over his glasses as if your question sounded funny to him. Nonetheless, he seemed friendly about it all.

“No, nothing too important and certainly not as eventful as before you left.”

That statement made you look up, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. You could’ve been mistaken for a deer in headlights.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t think I understand…”

“Miss (Y/L/N), I know about everything that goes on in this school’s hallways and I know about everyone that resides here. You’re not going to tell me you thought I was going to do nothing about what happened between you and Mr. Black.”

Your mouth now fell open and your eyes widened until you almost believed they would fall out of your skull. Great, The Headmaster knew about the howler and probably every word that your mother had written inside of it. Everyone would be stamping you as a follower of The Dark Lord, a Mudblood killer, a believer of purity. Now even your headmaster knew about the dark family you were born in.

He probably knew about them for a long time but now? There was no doubting he would judge you too…

“Miss, how did the funeral affect you? Was your grandmother very dear to you?”

This question threw you even more, surely he wouldn’t actually be asking you if you were okay. The confusion must’ve been evident on your features as Dumbledore started smiling again.

“I loved my grandmother, more than I loved anyone else probably.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss then. I hope you can find some comfort between these walls.”

More than I could ever get at home, you thought.

The funeral was very small, your parents and other relatives didn’t want to catch a lot of attention from outsiders and most probably didn’t want to pay for someone as ‘not important’ as your grandma. You were the only one to buy a bouquet of white and yellow flowers for her, the ones she always said she loved so much.

The look on your face must have screamed all the things you were feeling for the headmaster took it upon himself to talk some confidence into you. It was nothing but unexpected, the way he seemed to care for one of his students, let alone you.

“Miss (Y/L/N), I doubt anyone in Hogwarts is left to wonder what your intentions are. The most wonderful and strong souls hold the most painful secrets after all.”

It’s those words, spoken by a man you barely knew, that have brought you the most comfort in the past five days. He said it softly but with determination, it made you believe what he said, no matter the words he spoke. It made you wonder.

A silence fell over the room. Whilst you were fighting through thoughts in your head, thinking about yourself, your grandmother, what was to come your way here at Hogwarts, Dumbledore walked to the other side of his desk and sat himself down on his big almost golden chair. It could resemble a throne if you didn’t know any better.

The man intertwined his hands and sat there for a little while, looking at you over his glasses like a grandfather would at his grandchild.

“You must be a little lost right now but don’t worry, everything will fall back onto its feet. In the meantime I’m sure young Mr. Black will do everything in his power to make things right.”

“I’m sorry headmaster, but I highly doubt that”, you answered, genuinely convinced Sirius couldn’t care any less about what happened to you.

“I guess you will have to take my word for it then.” And once again Dumbledore spoke with such confidence in his words that you couldn’t help but doubt your own opinions. Maybe all the rumors were true, maybe this man in front of you really had a third eye seeing everything all at once. Even in the magical world you lived in this was something to be admired.

“Please close the door on your way out, Miss (Y/LN), and give my regards to your dormmates. Also say hello to Sirius downstairs.”

Your eyes went wide because just like that the conversation was over. A little overwhelmed and at the same time underwhelmed you made your way back down the winding staircase. Out of all the things the headmaster could’ve said, he stayed vague, didn’t say a word about the classes you missed and what in the bloody Merlin’s beard did he mean by Say hello to Sirius downstairs.

You couldn’t even finish that last thought before you saw two exhausted grey eyes looking back at you. Two lips parted, panting away as if the guy had run his lungs out of his chest. After a few seconds the rustling of paper caught your attention as you looked down towards his hands. They held a bundle of parchment, tightly almost like a lifeline.

When you looked back up at his face Sirius started talking, no, more like rambling. With every word your anger grew.

“I talked to your friends, well, the girls talked to your friends and I stood there listening, but they said you would need detailed summaries of the lessons you missed this week and I thought maybe some more from me would help. Maybe your roommates missed out on some stuff so I wanted to make sure to give my notes on top of theirs because maybe you would need them… And I know it’s not much, but I- I really hope you’ll take them because I don’t want you to lack behind because of this situation you’re in and… I’m sorr-”

“Save it, Black.”

Your hard and unforgiving tone made him look up from the ground he was rambling towards. He finally met your eyes and saw the anger you held in them. He didn’t blame you, he understood, he was prepared for it because of the thousands of times he played this moment in his head the last few days.

He was prepared for the frown he saw, he had imagined it to be so much worse than it was. But he wasn’t prepared for the other emotions he also read on your features.

Sorrow, grief, fatigue, exhaustion, loneliness,...

The list could go on but none of the emotions were anything positive.

He could probably write an essay about all the things he saw by just looking at your face. Sirius wondered how long you had been dragging these feelings along without ever giving them a voice, without ever breaking your front. The first time he saw you break was in The Great Hall after receiving your howler but your act was quickly regained, the second time was in the hallway when you looked at him like he broke your entire world, after the news of your grandma had been revealed to the whole school. And now a third time.

It took him more than six years to see what others had long before him. It took him six years to see an ounce of humanity in you. Now that he did see, he saw more than he could bear. More than anyone should have to carry.

“Please, I- I just want you to take my notes. It’ll help you, it’ll give me a peace of mind.”

“And where is my peace of mind?” you questioned him, less angry and more disappointed this time. Another emotion Sirius didn’t like to see.

Your voice quivered just enough to reveal a whole new load of feelings. Your eyes searched his for something he couldn’t decipher, they looked pleadingly before closing and your chest rising with a deep shaking breath.

When they opened again your whole demeanor was as unreadable as all those years before. Not a single sign of any emotion left. You looked just… indifferent like always.

Sirius didn’t know which of these states of yours he disliked the most. The one where you let go of everything, showing all the things you feel in one single look at your eyes or the one where you show absolutely nothing at all.

“I don’t want your notes, give them to one of your latest conquests.”

With those words you took off towards the dungeons, steady pace, the sound of your shoes echoing.

The guy you left standing there nothing more than a boy watching his hopes walk away from him, papers still crumbling in his grip, regrets still twirling in his mind.

*~*~*~*~*~*

A long while later Sirius finally entered the Gryffindor Common Room again. He sat himself on one of the couches away from the hearth, throwing the papers onto a nearby table to rest his head in his hands.

He had expected this to go so different from the way it actually went. He had hoped for an acceptance of the notes he took, maybe a loud argument or a back and forth of shouted words. That way he would’ve at least known you had your energy back, he would’ve seen that burning fire like every time you would normally cross him in the halls.

Instead he got the ashes of a fire that lost its last substance to burn. A wood that had been exhausted, burned to the ground, wet with rain from a storm. Nothing left to give.

“I take it she didn’t want the summary”, Remus came to sit next to him on the red cushions. A quiet chatter finally reached Sirius’ ears as he realised they weren’t the only ones still awake. He looked around him, before turning his attention on Remus and his face back to the floor with his elbows on his thighs, supporting himself.

“No, and honestly I don’t blame her.” It came out as a whisper, not enough energy left in the boy’s body to speak any louder. “I’m mentally exhausted and that doesn’t even begin to describe how she is feeling, Remus, she looked so… so… I don’t even know if there are words to say how she looked.”

“You’ve finally seen what we’ve seen for a few months now, some of us years.”

“I think even a blind person would’ve seen it before I did.”

“Most probably”, Remus chuckled and threw his arms over the back of the couch. “She’ll come around, she’ll forgive you if you keep it obvious how sorry you are.”

“Will she?” Sirius let that question linger between them for a little, he let it sink in. “Because I sure wouldn’t forgive me.”

It was Remus’ turn to sigh. He too had his doubts but wanted to keep his friends’ hopes high.

“No, You’re right, I wouldn’t forgive you either.”

They looked at each other, Sirius slumping his shoulders. Remus then watches the stars outside of the window and the deep blue sky visible from the inside of the common room.

“Let’s hope she’s a better person than we are.”

HTIWY Masterpost

Thanks for reading! Taglist will follow in a reblog. Want to be added or removed? Send me an ask xxx

#sirius black #x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #imagine #fanfiction #hp #the marauders #marauders #marauders era #sirius black x pure-blood!reader #sirius black x slitherin reader #sirius black x slitherin!reader #my writing #fan writing #hate that i want you

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suituuup · 3 years

Photo

pieces - chapter three

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

rated: E for drug use and sex scenes

AO3 LINK

“Bec?”

Beca hummed absentmindedly, blinking out of her daze and twisting her head in the direction of the voice.

Sarah smiled gently as she leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. She cocked an eyebrow, giving a pointed look towards the sink. “I think the pan is clean.”

Beca glanced down, stilling her movements. She had been scrubbing that pan for probably ten minutes now, her thoughts completely consumed by Chloe and what she was supposed to do next.

Chloe clearly didn’t want to see her, and Beca wasn’t going to wait by the phone when it was clear that Chloe was far from okay. She was thinner than Beca remembered, and the look in her eye, the lack of light in those once bright blues, chilled Beca to the bone.

She looked… broken. As though her spirit had repeatedly been battered until all that was left were mere pieces of her old self.

If there were any left at all.

Beca couldn’t stand the thought of not doing anything, and she needed to come up with a plan to help Chloe without driving her into a corner and risk losing her forever.

“What’s going on?” Sarah questioned, pushing off the doorframe and padding over. She rested her hand between Beca’s shoulder blades, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “You’ve seemed off today.”

Beca released a sigh, setting the pan down into the sink and reaching for the dishtowel laying next to her on the counter to dry her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m just… worried about a friend.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sarah was unexpected, to say the least. Beca was a workaholic, and her career was too time-consuming for her to get into the whole dating thing. But Sarah, who happened to work as a barista in Beca’s favorite independent coffee shop, had somehow managed to convince Beca to go out with her. One dinner surprisingly turned into a second date, then a third, and it just like that, it had been almost a year since they officially got together.

Sarah was gentle, patient, understanding, overflowing with positivity, but most of all, incredibly kind. She reminded Beca of Chloe, sometimes. And maybe it was those similar personality traits that drew Beca to her in the first place.

They didn’t live together. Beca could feel that it was the next expected step on her girlfriend’s end, but she didn’t feel ready to commit, yet. She liked her own space, her solitude. So Sarah spent a few nights a week at Beca’s place, like tonight, and Beca was fine with that.

“Not really,” she replied, casting Sarah an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just-- complicated right now.”

“You need to stop apologizing,” Sarah murmured, her expression soft and loving. Beca let her shoulders sag, ready to apologize again. “I understand. But if you do change your mind and need to let something off your chest, I’m here.”

Beca nodded. “Thanks.”

“Are you coming to bed?”

“Not yet, I wanna get some work done, first.” She leaned in to peck Sarah’s lips. “You go ahead, I’ll join you soon.”

Walking across the living room and past the huge floor to ceiling windows looking over Central Park, Beca made her way to her home office, her happy place. She had bought the Manhattan condo two years ago, making it a requirement during her house-hunt to have a large room with plenty of light and enough space to store all her records and her music equipment. It was also where she kept her Grammys and other prizes, away from the attention as nobody really stepped into her office.

She usually popped a blues album on the record player, enjoying the soothing instrumentals while she replied to various emails, but not tonight. Tonight, she grabbed a yellow legal notepad and her headphones from her desk and curled up on the leather couch tucked in the far corner, then scrolled to her Spotify playlists until she found the one she was looking for.

she is magic

Beca couldn’t remember the last time she had listened to her Chloe playlist, one she had made back in Barden when she was hopelessly in love with her best friend. They were songs that reminded her of Chloe, or songs that Chloe liked. Or used to like, at least.

As lyrics she knew so well poured into her headphones, blocking out the rest of the world, different ones flowed out of Beca’s heart, materializing on the paper in front of her in black ink as she scribbled across the page. Lyrics about friendship, unrequited love, and regrets for listening to her brain and not her heart all these years ago.

It was pushing on two am by the time Beca called it a night. Her eyes burned, her mind felt mushy, but her soul felt a tiny bit lighter. Music had always been her therapy, and writing songs had always proved more efficient than paying a licensed professional, even though it had been years since Beca had last finished one, for lack of inspiration.

Or rather, because of the absence of her muse.

She woke up five hours later to a stiff neck and sore back, the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows lining one of her office walls drawing her from her sleep. She had meant to go to bed, before deciding to close her eyes for five minutes right on the couch.

Straightening with a groan, she grabbed her phone and turned it over, hoping to see a text from an unknown number on her screen.

Aubrey Posen [6:23am]

Any news?

Aubrey Posen [6:37am]

Should I come to New York?

Aubrey practiced family law up in Boston. She and Beca saw each other a few times a year, whenever Aubrey was in the city. Bella reunions were a bit more scarce now, with the girls being scattered all around the country. Their last one dated back to a year and a half ago, on the Fourth of July.

Beca ran a hand over her face and heaved out a sigh, swiping her thumb across the screen to unlock it.

Beca [7:16am]

No news yet. I think I’m gonna wait a few days before I head back to the club, if she doesn’t call in the meantime that is. The manager gave me serious sleazy vibes and I’m sure he could blacklist me if I’m too insistent. I don’t think there’s any need for you to come down for now. I’ll keep you posted.

Hitting send, Beca pushed to her feet and shuffled out of her office, hanging a left down the hall towards the kitchen. A note next to her coffee thermos sat on the island.

Missed you last night, but I hope you got whatever you needed done. I had to leave for my shift, you’re welcome to swing by for your second coffee of the day and your morning kiss ;) have a good day!

Sarah xx

Guilt swooped in over picking old feelings about an ex-almost over her girlfriend, and Beca let her head hang forward, releasing a grown. She was far from an expert at this relationship thing, but she cared about Sarah a lot and didn’t want to mess that up.

Beca shook off the sleepiness lingering in her bones and the stiffness in her muscles with a long, hot shower, then got ready for her day. She usually got to the office at 8 sharp, but it was already 7:54 by the time she was out the door, and her commute lasted about twenty minutes, so she wouldn’t get the chance to stop by Sarah’s workplace.

To: Sarah

I’m sorry, I got caught up in work last night and ended up falling asleep on the couch around 2. Come over tonight? I’ll cook dinner. Have a good shift.

Her morning was spent in the studio canning vocals for girl in red’s new album, a project Beca was stocked about as she was BMLJ’s most promising artist for this year’s Grammy Awards.

“That was awesome, Marie,” Beca spoke into the microphone, giving her a thumbs-up through the glass. “Let’s take a lunch break and resume in an hour?”

“Sounds good,” the younger woman agreed with a smile as she took off her headphones.

Beca headed back to her office down the hall and checked her phone for any new messages (finding none important), before shrugging on her thick winter coat and screwing her beanie over her head.

“I’ll be back in an hour, Gina!” She told her assistant on route to the elevator.

As Sarah’s workplace was just five blocks south from the label, Beca figured she would eat lunch there as she wasn’t able to stop by that morning. She stopped in the convenience store across the street from the coffee shop to buy Sarah her favorite magazine as she knew her break was coming up soon and she’d have something to read.

Beca was scanning the press stand for that specific magazine, not paying attention to the person walking into the store until they spoke.

“A pack of Marlboro, please.”

Beca would recognize that voice anywhere. Her head snapped up so fast she felt something in her neck pull, and she was rounding the stand before she even registered giving her feet the order to move. “Chloe?”

Chloe glanced over to her right and froze for a second, before fishing for a twenty in her jacket pocket and handing it to the cashier. “Are you following me or something?”

Given their last encounter, Beca wasn’t surprised by Chloe’s snark, so she gave as good as she got. “You came in after I did, so maybe I should ask you that question.”

Chloe stuffed the cigarette pack and the change into her pocket. “What do you want, Beca?”

“To talk,” she replied, softly. “One coffee, that’s it. And if you decide you really don’t want me in your life, then I won’t bother you again. I promise.”

Chloe seemed to ponder on that for a few beats. “One coffee.”

“There’s a shop right across the street.”

Taking her to the place her girlfriend worked at? Probably not the brightest idea, but she was afraid Chloe might go back on her decision if they spent too long finding someplace else.

When Chloe nodded, Beca took the lead and stepped outside, forgetting all about that magazine as she racked her brain about what she should say. Tactfulness wasn’t her greatest suit; Aubrey would be so much better at this.

They stepped inside Devocion and Beca picked a table in the corner, shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of her chair. Chloe kept her jacket and beanie on, a bit hunched on herself as she sat down in the chair opposite Beca’s.

“Beca?”

Beca glanced towards Sarah as she approached, wearing a waist apron with the café logo on it. Her dark blonde hair was woven back in a French braid, a few strands escaping, and curiosity swirled in her green eyes as they flickered to Chloe.

Okay, in hindsight, bringing Chloe here was a terrible idea.

“Hey, um, Sarah, this is Chloe, a friend from college.” She cleared her throat. “Chloe, this is my girlfriend, Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah replied brightly, her smile fading a little when all Chloe offered was a distant nod. Sarah met Beca’s gaze briefly, clearing her throat. “What can I get you guys?”

“My usual. You want anything to eat, Chlo?”

The nickname rolled off her tongue so naturally, Beca didn’t even catch it.

Chloe shook her head. “Just a black coffee.”

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks,” Beca said as Sarah spun around on her heels, her focus shifting to Chloe. “So um, I wanted to apologize for the other day and putting you on the spot at the club. I just… wasn’t sure how else to talk to you.”

“I can give you some of the money back if you need it.”

Beca furrowed her brow, not having expected that. “No, no. I… it’s fine. I don’t care about money.”

Something flashed in Chloe’s eyes at that, something Beca couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Sarah came back with two coffees before she could analyze it further, setting the mugs down on the table. “Your club sandwich will be here in a few, babe.”

Beca nodded, casting her a small, appreciative smile.

Chloe straightened a bit in her seat, cradling the mug with both hands. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say or do, Beca.”

Beca licked her lips. “I was hoping we could… hang out from time to time. I’ve missed you, Chlo. So has Aubrey.”

The mention of Aubrey made Chloe lookup. “Does she live in New York, too?”

“Um no, in Boston. She’s a lawyer. But she’d come down to have coffee, or lunch, or whatever you feel like doing. In a heartbeat.”

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

What little hope flared in the pit of Beca’s belly upon Chloe showing interest in Aubrey’s life vanished. “Why not?”

“I told you. I’m not the same person anymore. I’m-- I’m not…”

Beca tilted her head to the side. “You’re not what?” She pressed gently.

Chloe’s gaze fleeted out the window as her rather calm demeanor now radiated agitation. Her knee started bouncing and her fingers tightened around the mug, and it was as though Chloe was battling against her own thoughts.

She was itching to reach across the table to rest her hand over her wrist in a sort of grounding gesture, but something told her that would have the opposite effect.

“Chloe?” Beca attempted once more, her voice as soft as she could muster, as it seemed like Chloe was on the brink of bolting.

The tear slipping out of Chloe’s eye tore her heart into two. “I-I have to go.”

Her chair screeched as she pushed it back roughly, and she was nearly out the door by the time Beca scrambled to her feet.

It was lunch-hour rush in one of the busiest avenues in Manhattan, and Chloe had already disappeared in the crowd when she reached the exit, leaving Beca to helplessly wonder how someone like Chloe, once the epitome of sunshine, got herself trapped in so much darkness.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pieces

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seriouslyhooked · 3 years

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The Best Bad Idea

Three-part CS AU where Emma and Killian are doctors working at the same hospital (world without pandemic). They’ve yet to meet, but Emma has definitely seen the sexy Dr. Jones in her travels at Mist Haven Medical. It’s generally a bad idea to get involved with a colleague, but a little fantasizing never hurt… right? Inspired by the song ‘Bad Idea’ by Ariana Grande and a TV couple who set the bar for true love stories.

Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey all! Here is a little something I made instead of being a responsible writer and finishing my other projects. I’ll be back to my other WIPs soon (God willing), but in the meantime here’s my 1000th attempt at writing a Captain Swan meet cute. I needed to get some words on the page, and this is the result. Hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading!

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, Thump. Steady, sure, and even. A solid pulsing sound with no inconsistencies and no delays or false starts.

In this particular patient, that fourth set of beats was the most important. Prior to his recent operation, Earl MacDonald’s heart had been weak and skipping needed pulses, then constricting far too harshly on every fourth measure. That type of arrhythmia had potentially disastrous consequences, but those worrying beats were seemingly behind them. The rhythm Emma heard through the stethoscope was a regularly circulating drumline, the tell-tale song of a heart that was working, and working well. Her surgical intervention had been successful.

She gently released the breath she was holding, a sign of the stress that she carried while waiting for patients to recuperate. Emma never let the patients see her sweat, but she had been worried on multiple levels in this case. Earl was going on 80, and not a logical contender for intensive cardiac mediation, but Emma’s gut had told her he could handle it, and she was rarely ever wrong. Earl forged through the surgery like a much younger man, and his outputs post-operation had all been extremely encouraging. It was shaping up to be another win, another life saved thanks to the power of medicine, and that filled Emma with real joy. She always did her absolute best to create good outcomes, and this time there was so much more on the line than one life. This was a man who was loved and cherished by the people closest to him, and who would be sorely missed if something were to happen.

“Anything you want me to note for the chart, Doctor Swan?”

Emma bit back a witty retort at the pointed use of the word ‘Doctor.’ She was one of the few surgeons in this hospital who didn’t care what people called her, as long as they called on her early enough to actually save the patient’s life. But with Belle, a person Emma considered a dear and true friend, there was an added lilt of sass when using her title. Her friend was one of the nurse practitioners that Emma had been working with for years, since the day she landed here as a medical intern, but despite their differences in degrees, Belle was easily the most well-read and brilliant resource when it came to medical literature in this hospital.

“Just that Mr. MacDonald is healing nicely.”

“Did you hear that Lorraine?” Earl asked, with a Cheshire cat smile on his face, and the glint of true pride in his eyes. “Doctor Emma says I’m healing nicely.”

“Hard not to hear, seeing as I’m right beside you,” Loraine quipped, but she squeezed his hand affectionately, and offered a warm smile to her husband all the same.

“You know, usually being dubbed ‘nice’ is the kiss of death for a man.”

“Earl!” Loraine chastised, clearly not liking his word choice. Earl smiled wider, looking almost boyish in his delight.

“Well, so to speak. But I was going to say that I think we can make an exception this time. I’ve never been so happy to be referred to as ‘nice’ in my life.”

“Technically Doctor Swan was referring to your vital signs, Earl,” Belle taunted from across the room, holding back a smile Emma knew she was bound to let loose soon enough.

“Aw come on, you both know I am your favorite patient. I mean I’m not exactly pressed for competition. Have you seen the people on this floor? Good grief.”

“Ignore him, ladies. He’s all talk. He hasn’t left this room since we got here,” Loraine said, rolling her eyes, as if these antics were a constant occurrence. Based on her small window of experience with Earl, Emma would believe it. “Every meal, every visit, every moment has been within these four walls. Even his PT has been in here.”

“His PT has been here?” Emma asked, surprised that Mary Margaret, their head Occupational Therapist, had allowed for that. She was normally a by-the-book professional, and Emma never knew her friend to provide rehab consults outside of her studio.

“Yup. I told Miss Mary Margaret that I had a wife to keep an eye on and she relented.”

“No, actually what you said was, ‘Excuse me, Ms. Blanchard? You probably heard I just had heart surgery. Well, the thing is, my heart is sitting in this room. I’d like to be with her. Doesn’t seem right to be separated so soon, given what we’ve been through.’ Then you pointed at me, and used your puppy dog eyes on her. Next thing I knew, she had lugged enough equipment to fill the room here. No questions, just action.”

“I bet she ate that right up,” Belle said with a wink. “Mary Margaret loves nothing more than love itself.”

Belle and Mrs. MacDonald discussed Mary Margaret’s love of love, and Earl’s improved mobility, for a few more minutes while Emma continued checking his stats, but ultimately Earl’s patience was wearing thin. He really only had one thing on his mind, and he was now determined to ask about it. Emma was honestly shocked that he managed to wait this long. She knew it was only a matter of time and she was ready for the showdown.

“So, what do you think, Doc? Am I making it home in time for the party?”

“The one for your grandson on Sunday?” she asked, noting the three-day window between now and then. She had heard about this party non-stop, since the moment Earl woke up from the procedure. It was a central fixation for the old man, a celebration that would host his entire family, and a goal he had been carrying for over a week. Earl nodded and Emma hesitated for a few seconds, before smiling and giving the good news away. “Yes, I am confident that Jayden’s ‘Pop Pops’ will be in attendance when he turns four. But you know the rules…”

“I know, I know: no good food, no strenuous exercise, no having fun.”

“Earl.” Just the utterance of the old man’s name from his wife was enough to have him looking like a kid with his hand caught in the candy jar. Emma and Belle both chuckled at that child-like expression. It was hard not to; the old married couple was just too sweet.

“I’m sorry. I know this is serious, but what is life if you can’t have a little fun?”

“Fun comes in all shapes and sizes, Mr. MacDonald, and despite what you may think about your prescribed lifestyle changes, you’re forgetting two things. First, most of these less-alluring prescriptions will be temporary, and second, you’re a man who clearly loves a challenge.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you know that, Doc?”

“Well for one thing, you somehow landed a lady as remarkable as Loraine. There’s no way she came easy with these corny jokes of yours. You must have worked harder than you ever worked in your life to persuade her to give you a chance.”

The laughter from the older couple was boisterous and heartwarming, and Emma knew she was right on the money. At this point, she had the ability to sniff out true affection, and these two had it in spades. Many couples she saw facing emergency room disasters together didn’t have the same good luck.

“You got that right, Doc. You know the first time we met was at the -,”

Earl’s story was unceremoniously interrupted by the crackling of the PA system specific to this room. It buzzed for a few moments before a message was delivered in a saccharine sweet voice that sounded nothing like the announcer’s normal tone.

“Paging Doctor Swan to the Nurse’s station. Doctor Swan to the Nurse’s station, code 741.”

Emma waited for the feed to cut off and began to tell Earl to please go on with the story, but the call came out again.

“Paging Doctor Swan to the Nurse’s station. Doctor Swan, code 741.”

“You know she’s just going to keep doing that until she gets her way,” Belle murmured. Emma nodded. It was no use. What Ruby Lucas wanted, Ruby Lucas got. That just seemed to be the way of the world.

“Belle, would you mind telling Ruby I’m with a patient at the moment? I will be there when I can. She can always proceed without me.”

Belle snorted out a laugh, knowing that last part would never happen, but gave a swift affirmation that she would relay the message before waving goodbye to the MacDonald’s and promising to see them soon. As her friend headed out, Emma sighed, knowing there was no way Ruby was going to give things up that easily. She had a matter of moments before some new tactic would be deployed.

“I’m sorry about that. You were saying?”

“Eh it’s kind of a long story, and you’ve got places to be, Doc. Just know, true love won out in the end with me and my Loraine. It always does.”

Emma couldn’t deny that their love appeared true even after their fifty plus years together. She personally had never experienced a love like that, but she was wondering more and more if maybe it was out there, somewhere in the later chapters of her story. For years she thought herself above that kind of need. She found validation in herself and in her work. She dedicated herself to helping others, and that had always been enough. But the loneliness that became a constant when she was growing up in foster care still lingered, and she wondered if someone might ever come along who could inspire her to take a chance and risk her heart.

“You know, I actually worked as a nurse before my kids were born,” Loraine commented easily. Emma nodded and smiled as she checked the last of Mr. MacDonald’s IV drips. Emma was aware of the older woman’s solid medical understanding. Loraine had continued to demonstrate it the entire time her husband was admitted in this ward. “I’m trying to remember if I ever ran into a code 741.”

“Oh, uh, I think – well, erm, I mean you probably didn’t,” Emma said, hoping she didn’t turn beet red at the passing comment from the older woman. She was already stuttering, which was completely out of character and eighty shades of embarrassing. Loraine’s words feigned ignorance, but her eyes told a different story. Still Emma tried to play it off. “It’s really not a big deal. Just a non-emergent protocol.”

Another alert sounded, but this time it came through the ceiling unit reserved for announcements to the wider reaches of the hospital. “Attention to all surgical ward personnel. We are paging Doctor Swan to the nurse’s station. Doctor Swan, you are needed at the nurse’s station immediately for a code 741.” The talking stopped, but the air crackled signaling that the line was still live. “Immediately.”

“Sounds pretty urgent to me,” Loraine replied. The curiosity in her gaze told Emma that the older woman was onto them, but it was Earl’s comment that cut too close for comfort.

“When I was in the war, all of our numeric codes corresponded to letters. So 7 was H, 4 was D, 1 was A. H – D – A. HDA, now what could that be….?” Uh oh. Now Emma really had to get out of here before she accidentally admitted Ruby’s code’s meaning – Hot Doctor Alert. That would be the cherry on top of a full-blown mortification sundae.

“All righty, well like I told Belle, all your scans look good. Doctor Whale is on shift this evening during the next series of rounds, so I’ll make sure your file is ready for him.”

“Of course, dear, and good luck with your doctor, er – I mean – code.”

Emma stammered out something like an ‘okay thanks,’ while leaving. She tried to get her bearings once she was out of sight of the room, but she had nowhere to go. Everyone on this floor had just heard her page, and there were bound to be at least a few who understood the meaning. She was so embarrassed, and more than a little ticked at Ruby. She was supposed to be her best friend, but she was always pulling these crazy stunts. They were mostly harmless, but for Emma, who hated being the subject of hospital gossip, it was anxiety inducing to say the least.

“Please tell me that you did not just broadcast that to the entire hospital,” Emma said, arriving at the nurse’s station with a sense of urgency, and watching some of the other nurses scurry off to avoid the confrontation. Ruby, however, was unfazed. Actually, the nurse manager just rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag and phone from her cubby, as if Emma was the one who was annoying and not the other way around.

“And here I was thinking we were the best of friends. Soul sisters, kindred spirits, friends for life. But no, ye of little faith, you actually believe I would broadcast the hot doc alert to all of Mist Haven? What kind of friend would do that?”

“But if you didn’t… then how did you…?” Emma’s questions trailed off, but her arms flailed towards the ceiling and the look on her face spoke for itself – how had Ruby used the hospital wide PA system without actually broadcasting to the entire hospital?

“You know Tink up in nuero?” Emma nodded, well acquainted with the nurse manager who had Ruby’s job on the fifth floor but with a specialization of the brain and nervous system. She was a tiny woman, but she ruled that ward with more than capable hands. “She and I bribed the IT guys to make the nurse managers an override. Now we can circumvent the PA software whenever we want. Bring some of you more stubborn Doctors to heal when it comes to answering our pages.”

“That’s… well, actually that’s genius,” Emma admitted.

“I like to think so,” Ruby teased, offering a genuine smile. The two friends laughed at all of this, and Emma felt so much better knowing that their secret was still relatively secure. The last thing she wanted was everyone knowing how she was spending her lunch breaks these days.

“Gus, you’re holding down the fort while I’m gone, right?” Ruby asked, her smile turning slightly wicked with the purposeful jest aimed at the new nursing aid sitting behind the desk.

“Me?” The new hire replied, suddenly white as a sheet. Emma had never seen the man so stricken, and as a new nurse he had plenty of high-stress moments to look alarmed during. “I – uh – well – I -,”

“It’s called comedic relief, Gus. Commonly referred to as joking. Do me a favor, learn about it by the end of shift, kay?” Ruby pivoted to the person she actually trusted to man the fort. “Thirty minutes work for you, Belle?”

“I’ve got it handled.”

“Excellent. We’ll return with a full report,” Ruby said, grabbing Emma’s arm and moving them down the hallway before Emma could even say goodbye. “Newbies – can’t live with them, can’t pawn off scut work without them.”

“You are terrible. And yet… the look on his face just now…? Priceless,” Emma acquiesced. “But seriously, Ruby, can we PLEASE find another way to page me for this? My patients are not stupid, and the code isn’t exactly original. It’s kind of…” Ruby’s grin was so big that it stopped Emma in her tracks. She was currently trying to hold her friend to account, but Ruby looked like she’d won the lottery. “What?”

“You are so totally into him! I mean listen to you right now.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Emma said, feeling her cheeks flush against her will.

“Exactly,” Ruby said. “You’re telling me to be more discreet when I send the bat signal, but you still want me to send it. Do you realize how unlike you that is?”

“Despite what you may think, Ruby. I’m a doctor, I’m not dead. I can appreciate a hot guy now and again.”

“Doubtful. Remember last month when all those pro hockey players were here after Ocheski collapsed on the ice? You had a room full of crazy sexy men. Like virile, hot, muscled men who get paid big money to beat each other up on the ice. Most women would die for that chance, and to make it even better, most of them were hitting on you. And what did you do? Nothing. You didn’t even blink.”

“They were not hitting on me,” Emma affirmed, but the words were hollow. They had been trying to flirt with her. A few had even attempted to get her number.

“They were hitting on you,” Ruby said adamantly.

“He was a patient, and the rest of them were essentially his family. You know I’d never cross that line. Doesn’t count.”

“Fine, then what about Dr. King? When he came for that conjoined twins case last year, you had no interest. Zero. Zilch.”

“King was an asshole, you know that,” Emma said, belatedly catching her use of profanity and checking that no patients were around. Luckily the coast was clear.

“So? You didn’t have to marry the guy. Hot is hot, honey. That’s just how things are.”

Emma barked out a laugh at even the thought of marrying someone like that. Arthur King was just about the worst person she could fathom to spend a life with. He was narcissistic and carrying around one of the biggest god-complexes she’d ever seen, and she was a surgeon, so she was an expert on god-complexes.

“Your face really says it all, Emma. I mean honestly, poker would be a terrible game for you to take up. Your contempt for King is obvious, but, meanwhile, as soon as I mention Doctor Jones… aha! See, totally shifted.”

Emma didn’t know what to say to that. She could try and protest, but her friend knew her too well for that. The best thing to do was say nothing, and she was saved by their arrival at their destination. The coffee cart in the center of the action, near the entrance of Mist Haven. Here was where the wards crossed paths. Her surgical wing met up with the specialties departments, the ER, the community clinic, and more. It was also swarmed with both hospital workers and visitors. Typically, this was the last place she wanted to be, but recently it had become a highlight of her day.

“Emma? Ruby? What’s brought you out here?” a voice asked. It was Mary Margaret, and given her street clothes and jacket, Emma would guess she was just starting her shift.

“Haven’t you heard? There’s fresh meat from the ER. Two showings a day, but we favor the afternoon delight.”

“Oh right,” Mary Margaret said, nodding, like Ruby’s words were totally normal, and for Ruby they were. “I heard about the new ER Chief. Doctor Nolan? I meant to get down there and bring him something to welcome him, but I’ve been so swamped this week. My caseload is crazy at the moment. I hope he won’t think too badly of me for being a bit late.”

“Mary Margaret, literally no one in a hospital brings people cupcakes as a welcome gift, especially not new guys in other departments.” Ruby was not wrong. Hospitals were hardly the most happy-go-lucky of places. At least not usually. “Believe me, the man will be grateful whenever they come. If he even eats them. He’s fit – like fit, fit. Keto diet and a personal trainer fit. The kind of fit that makes you -,”

“Careful, Ruby,” Emma teased. “What if Graham heard you saying that?”

“God, I wish. You know how worked up he gets, and how he works out his frustrations.” Ruby’s tone was dripping in suggestion. “It’s one of the many reasons I live to drive him crazy.”

Emma and Mary Margaret laughed at Ruby’s apt assessment of her relationship with her boyfriend. Ruby had been dating the fireman for almost a year now, since he came in on one of the ambulance bays with a victim he’d rescued from a fire, but Ruby was hardly the predictable type, and Graham seemed to love that about her. They were still going strong despite her willful, wild child nature, and Emma suspected they may be built to last.

“Doctor Nolan must really be something to get you out here, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, moving forward in the line, inching ever closer to the mediocre coffee the cart promised.

“Ha! Hardly. Emma’s not here for Nolan. She’s here for Jones.”

“Jones?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Girl, where have you been? Doctor Killian Jones, trauma surgeon extraordinaire. Chief Mills brought him here for a ‘collaboration’ with the ER, but she’s totally trying to recruit him for head of his own department. Turns out he and David Nolan are old friends. Same medical school maybe? I don’t know, no one’s gotten me those details yet. Anyway, Regina hardly leaves him alone. She only misses this little window because she’s hooking up with Doctor Locksley in the supply room on the 2nd floor.”

“She’s WHAT?!” Emma and Mary Margaret yelled at the same time and Ruby looked aghast for the first time today. Some other hospital staff in the area glanced over, but no one paid much mind beyond a head nod. Everyone was absorbed in their own need for caffeine, and no one was the wiser of the bombshell Ruby had just dropped.

“Oh shoot, I wasn’t supposed to say that. I promised Ella, damn it!”

“Ella, her assistant? I thought she quit,” Mary Margaret stage whispered.

“Oh she did. Made it a whole two months, which, you know, makes sense given the fact that Regina is a nightmare. But the last week she was here, she learned a crucial secret regarding her Majesty. She spilled last week at The White Rabbit, but I promised her I wouldn’t tell until she’s settled at her new job at GMH. So you did not hear this from me, and I did not hear this from her, capische?”

“I can’t believe the Evil Queen is dating someone,” Mary Margaret said, deeply disturbed by the idea. She shuddered at the thought, and this was someone who loved love. But love and Regina Mills didn’t really feel like concepts that belonged in the same sentence. Scratch that, they didn’t really even belong in the same book. “She’s just so…”

“Evil?” Emma responded. The nickname worked for a reason, after all. The hospital Chief was downright tyrannical.

“Exactly.”

“Well dating is a stretch. She’s screwing someone. But then again, who knows. Ella said she actually saw her smiling in those final days. And not that evil one she’s famous for. Like a real, genuine, I have a heart, smile.”

“No way,” Emma said at the same time Mary Margaret murmured, “Well would you look at that.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on the case. The temp is a totally easy mark – Sydney something. I’m buying him lunch tomorrow. I’ll have the whole story before you know it.”

“Won’t Graham be proud,” Emma chuckled, but her joke fell on deaf ears as something caught Ruby’s attention across the way. Her friend’s countenance changed immediately, putting Emma on alert.

“Ooh, they’re coming! Act normal.”

Normally, Emma would have laughed at that command, but she was too busy feeling the spike of adrenaline at the impending arrival of one Doctor Killian Jones. He really was a world-renowned trauma surgeon, who was working on a number of cutting-edge techniques that saved lives and gave critical care patients better chances to recover. She had actually heard of him a few years ago when reading about a new procedure to treat arrhythmia in patients with traumatic injury. He engineered it in the field, while serving in the British naval forces, and his paper had been circulating in cardiac wings around the country, but she never saw the man before last week when he arrived in Boston. Suffice it to say she could not have imagined that this marvel of modern medicine would also be so roguishly handsome.

Spotting him today across the great hall, Emma was struck again by just how attractive this man was. She couldn’t even comprehend it really. All she knew was that she had yet to find a fault in him. Every day she’d stolen secret glances, and every time he proved better than her memory. It was crazy, and very reminiscent of schoolgirl crushes and teenage day dreams, but she couldn’t help the way she felt. It was intoxicating, and despite her best efforts, she was powerless to turn Ruby’s invites to the show down when she could witness this each and every day.

The first thing that she’d noticed about him was his general presence. His posture was strong and straight and assured. He looked ready for anything, but somehow laid back, like he was totally in control. People naturally parted when he walked by, as if he silently willed the flow of the hospital traffic. Ruby called it swagger. Emma called it… well something not quite safe for work. Couple that general aura of authority with the classically gorgeous features of his face, and Emma was lost. On that first day (and okay, maybe on the others as well), she actually felt her knees get weak. She always thought that was a bogus cliché, but nope, it was real, and she was the proof of it. From there she was hooked, and over time she’d chronicled more and more things to like about him.

Yesterday it had been his hair. As she watched him across the atrium, she noticed that the shade shone bright in the sun, but that it was nearer to midnight than any color brown. It was slightly longer than most of the other male doctors wore theirs, but not so long that it looked unkempt or unprofessional, at least not yet. She knew for a fact that the military never would allow for such a style, and it felt like a bit of rebellion, or maybe a lack of care for what others thought. Both sent a delicious thrill through Emma, even though she had no real confirmation one way or another. Maybe he was just lazy, but that wasn’t how she imagined him…

And oh boy did she imagine him. At first she hadn’t meant to. She just had these flashbacks to seeing him that she carried through the day. These visceral visions always started the same: he would walk by, looking downright delicious and impossible to resist, then he would turn his eyes her way here in the middle of the hospital hustle and bustle. She’d feel caught in his stare, sense the hunger even from the distance, and her heart would quicken to a maddening crescendo as he walked her way. The rest of the world would fade from view, and it would feel like they were the only two people alive. Her gaze would stay transfixed on his almost cocky composure and the hard line of his bearded jaw. The attraction in his blue eyes would light a fire in her, and then, without so much as a word like ‘hello’ or ‘nice to meet you,’ he’d pull her into his embrace and kiss her senseless. She could practically taste him on her tongue, and yet she’d never even heard him speak. People who had, who were later interrogated by Ruby, mentioned that he had an accent. British or Irish, or something along those lines. That tidbit had played oh so sweetly in Emma’s mind this week. God, she’d love to hear him say her name -,

“Emma,” a voice beside her said, but it didn’t pull her out of the fog. “Oh my God, Emma, he’s looking right at you.”

“He’s what?” Emma said, blinking back to reality before finding that Doctor Jones was looking this way. She’d been so busy fantasizing, she stopped paying attention to what was right in front of her.

In the middle of the room, the man who had intrigued her for over a week was standing totally still, disregarding the swarm of people on all sides. His entire attention had shifted from the task ahead of him, and he was looking at her, staring with a blend of intrigue and something Emma couldn’t describe. Doctor Nolan had stopped as well, but he was clearly confused as to the delay. He seemed to ask his friend what was wrong, and Emma watched spell bound, as the lips she’d envisioned kissing her moved in some kind of unheard reply. She couldn’t make out his words, but she shivered at the passion and determination etched across his being. David then looked their way, and Emma knew that Doctor Jones – Killian - had asked about them. No, forget that, he had asked about her. He was looking right at her, and that spark of heat and desire she’d always imagined was nowhere near as tantalizing as the real thing. He was looking at her with the same hunger she’d reserved for her wildest imaginings. Holy crap, what was she going to do?

“Ruby?” she asked, her voice squeaked out in alarm. She tore her gaze from the approaching object of her desire and looked to her best friend with overt confusion and mild panic.

“Took him long enough to spot you. It’s been almost a week. I thought I was going to have to hire a marching band or one of those giant arrow guys they have at outlet malls.”

Emma didn’t understand, and then it dawned on her – her friend had planned this. Emma looked at Mary Margaret, but she was still staring in the distance. Only when Emma followed her gaze did she realize that Mary Margaret wasn’t looking at Killian. She was looking at David.

“Hey, ladies, you looking to order, or what? I ain’t got all day!”

The three of them jumped at the barista’s interruption and Mary Margaret surged ahead to the line. She rattled off an order, giving way too much money to the attendant while grabbing her cup with shaky hands. Then she looked at David and back to Emma with an expression that said Mary Margaret may just bolt. Ok, what the actual hell was going on?

Before she could begin to answer that internal question, Doctor Jones and Doctor Nolan were within ear shot. Emma wracked her brain for something to say when they finally got here, but was spared when David broke the ice.

“Doctor Swan,” he said with a head nod and a polite smile. They knew each other peripherally at this point. Emma had consulted on numerous ER cases since Doctor Nolan started his new position. But she wouldn’t call them friends. They were very much acquaintances. “I heard Earl MacDonald is recovering nicely. He most definitely has you to thank for that.”

“And you too,” she said, offering credit where it was due. “A quick diagnosis makes all the difference. I’ve noticed the ER is filled with them since you started.”

“That’s kind of you. I don’t believe you’ve met my friend, Doctor Jones.”

“Killian,” Doctor Jones said immediately, before offering a heart stopping smile of his own. Emma had yet to see the man smile, and her heart skipped a beat, the rhythm of her pulse skittering in an almost blissful way. “A pleasure to meet you, Swan.”

He offered his hand to her, and Emma took it, shaking in greeting even though it was uncommon for doctors or nursing staff to do so. Chief Mills stressed that germ management was a top priority at Mist Haven, and she’d come as close to banning the practice as was legal in the state of Massachusetts. Usually Emma didn’t mind, but germs were the farthest thing from her radar when their fingers touched. Instead, Emma was filled with the zapping sense of promise and a thrill of warmth that made her head swim.

“Emma,” she whispered. A beat passed between them, and Emma lost herself for too long. Only the clearing of a throat beside them brought her back to the moment. She let go of his hand, but tracked the slight disappointment on his face when she did. It filled her with a rush of something long forgotten. A sense of peace and elation she hadn’t tasted in years. “Um these are my friends, Ruby Lucas and Mary Margaret Blanchard. Ruby’s the head nurse in the cardiac unit. And Mary Margaret runs OT for the surgical division.”

Emma tore her gaze from Killian, watching her friends make their greetings. Ruby handled her own completely, and Mary Margaret seemed to have gathered her courage, but now it was David who looked shocked and spell bound. Everyone appeared to be thrown off kilter, and it was only Ruby in control of herself. To say her friend was positively delighted with these new developments would be an understatement. That glee rang out clear as day in her invite to both the attending doctors.

“So… Doctor Nolan, Doctor Jones, any way we could convince you to join us? The coffee’s just all right, but the company’s not half bad.”

Both men agreed immediately, and Emma fought her hardest not to blush. It was hard though, and her pulse was racing in the face of this development. Killian came to stand by her, the space between them so small but still too much to bear. She tried to get her bearings as the cranky barista handed her a latte. She struggled to think of something – anything – to say, but she was tongue tied. Instead, she looked at Killian, finding an openness in his expression that said he felt the same exact way. That gave her comfort and removed some of the tension from the moment.

“The hospital’s been buzzing since you got here,” Emma offered, waiting with him while he ordered a no nonsense coffee of his own. “A lot of people are hoping you’ll stay on past the month.”

“And you, love? Have you such hopes?” his words were earnest but laced with an almost cocky easiness that sent Emma’s mind humming in delight. Still, she played it cool. At least she hoped she did.

“Jury’s still out,” she replied, smiling when he looked a little crestfallen. “Well can you blame me? I hardly even know you. Still haven’t seen what you’re capable of.”

“Only a matter of time, Swan. You can trust in that.”

His words may seem benign, but they were loaded with hidden meaning, and Emma knew he meant each one. She swallowed harshly, thinking of the things he might be capable of. Damn, was it hot in here? Or was it just the devil on her shoulder spinning another one of those dirty dreams of hers?

When they’d all gotten a coffee, the five of them moved off to the patio just outside, reserved for hospital staff. The grounds were manicured beautifully, maintaining an oasis that seemed totally disconnected from the hectic nature of the hospital. This was one of Emma’s favorite places here, and she was surprised to hear that neither David nor Killian had been here yet. They all spent a few minutes making non-threatening small talk, with mostly Ruby moving the conversations along. But despite the fluttering feeling she was grappling with, Emma couldn’t say she hated this building anticipation. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so much. She was seated next to Killian, fully aware that all of his attention was devoted to her, and she reveled in it. At one point, while the others were talking about something with the OT department, Killian whispered to her and her alone.

“This might be presumptuous of me, love, but I find I’m helpless to resist. I was wondering – that is, I was hoping that perhaps, you and I, we could…” His eyes looked from hers down to her lips, and Emma wet them absentmindedly. She heard a low growl, and realized it was coming from him. She shifted in her seat, turned on in a way she had never been before. Instinctively she moved closer, sensing the sinfully sweet current between them, like lightning just before it cracked across the summer sky.

“We could…” she continued, hoping he would elaborate and put into words what she herself was wishing for.

“That we could -,”

“Paging all staff to the ER. All staff to the ER for an incoming trauma, category 4.”

This time the PA was most definitely broadcasting a hospital wide announcement, and the irony wasn’t lost on Emma. Ruby looked positively forlorn at the interruption, but it was somewhat poetic after how they’d gotten here.

“Category four,” David repeated, standing immediately, prompting all of them to do the same. “We haven’t had a four since I started. We’re gonna need all hands on deck. Killian?”

“Aye, mate. I’m with you.” He looked back to Emma, and only had time for the swiftest goodbye. “Until next time, love.”

Emma and her friends watched them go, running towards the ER. Belatedly, they realized that if a trauma of that magnitude was coming into the hospital, there were bound to be surgical cases flooding their ward soon enough. They hustled back to their wing, focused once more on their jobs and the lives on the line that they were sworn to help heal and make better. But Emma still carried that moment with her for the rest of the day, and when the shift was over and done, and she’d done all she could to help the people in her care, she was left wondering what exactly Doctor Jones was hoping to ask, and when, oh when, he may try to do so again.

Post-Note: So there we have it. This was originally going to be a oneshot for my CS mixtape series, but alas, the muse wants what she wants, and this time that’s a three part mini-story for all of us to share. Hope that you guys have enjoyed so far and I would love to hear what you think! As always, thanks so much for reading, and I hope you are all staying well in this crazy time! xE

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan au #cs fic #cs #cs ff #cs fluff #cs smut #cs meet cute #captain swan meet cute #emma swan #killian jones #ruby lucas #snowing fic #the best bad idea #the best bad idea 1 #cs doctors au #cs medical au #once upon a time

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wwilloww · 4 years

Text

cliff diving pt. 2 | kth

CLIFF DIVING (m) | KTH 2 OF 3

genre: fluff. smut. nonidol!au. camping!au.

pairings: Taehyung | Reader

rating: 18+. NSFW. Explicit.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: cursing. talk of sex. skinny dipping. spooning. grinding. dirty talk.

summary: Every year as soon as the weather warms up, your friends haul ass out of the city to the mountains where you camp and hike in the shadow of giant rocks and ancient evergreens—and now apparently jump off of cliffs for fun. This time, an innocent round of truth or dare inspires you and Tae to play a mischievous game without getting caught by your friends.

a/n: ahh I had so much fun writing this chapter. If you liked it, please let me know! And if you want to be added to the tag list, leave a comment and you’ll be notified as soon as the finale is published!

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“Ah, shit,” Jimin curses, wiping his brow and stepping back to examine his hard work. “I think I grabbed the wrong tent on my way out. It seems too small.”

Jungkook is holding the tent bag. “It says it’s a five-person. But we know that’s never quite enough to fit daddy long legs over here.” Jungkook nods at Tae.

“We’ll squeeze,” Jin adds, unaffected, already unloading the sleeping bags from the car.

And you do. With your bellies full of s’mores and limbs tired from a long day in the sun, you’re all ready to crash. Tae and Jin each take an edge. Within ten minutes of climbing into the warm shelter, Jungkook is passed out on his back and sprawled half-in, half-out of his sleeping bag in a fashion that leaves the rest of you to sleep on your sides, squeezed like sardines. Jimin slides easily into the small space between Jungkook and Jin, throwing an arm languidly over Jungkook's snoring form.

You’re the last one to enter the tent. Taehyung smiles sleepily at you, patting the remaining spot between him and Jungkook. You smile shyly back at him, before turning away from the boys to slip out of your shirt and into an extra-large sleep shirt and shorts. You’ve done this a million times before: changing in front of them before a night out or when one of them decides to crash at your place. And yet, you find yourself covering your chest in a poor exercise of modesty and ducking your head as you crawl onto the sleeping mat in between Taehyung and Jungkook.

After the events of the day and this strange burning feeling you get every time you’re around Taehyung, you feel an uncomfortable mix of tension and excitement. You curl up into the smallest space that you can, facing away from Tae.

It seems like forever. The night drags on and snores rise up from your friends. But all you can think of is the small space of air between you and the long-limbed man behind you. There’s an unnamable energy that flows within the empty space, sending tingles down your spine.

It’s a while before you fall asleep, but as do, you can almost imagine rough fingerpads ghosting against your skin.

When you wake, there’s a crick in your neck, half of Jungkook’s body thrown over your leg, and one of Taehyung’s arms sprawled across your chest. When you try to untangle yourself from your friends, there’s a sharp pain in your scalp and you look down to find Taehyung’s fingers twisted into your hair.

“Ow.” You throw your head back on your makeshift pillow, attempting to push the two men off you. You manage to tip Jungkook off of you and he grunts, rolls over to his side, and quickly falls back asleep. Taehyung, on the other hand, is a notoriously heavy sleeper.

“Tae,” you groan, shoving your palm into his face. He groans and smacks his lips together, but doesn’t move any more than that. “Tae,” you hiss, shoving him again.

His eyes pop open and he turns to look at you. As he takes in your flustered look and his hand tangled in your hair his eyes widen.

“Oh-oh shit.” He does his best to release your hair from his grasp, in the meantime snagging several hairs. You wince. Once he’s freed, he brings the other hand up to smooth over your head. “Sorry,” he murmurs, patting your head.

“‘S okay.” You smile gently up at him.

His gaze traces your features, a little sleep-puffed, but still beautiful. Your eyelashes flutter sleepily and your cheeks and nose are reddened from the cold--and your hair, tangled, and spread out across your pillow, and perfect. He finds a smile creeping across his face.

“What are you looking at?”

“You,” he answers honestly. Your lips twitch in amusement.

“Okay.” You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as the word slips out.

Taehyung doesn’t touch you. Not all morning.

His gaze continues to flicker over to you as you hike. He helps you haul equipment in the morning and is your shadow as you prepare lunch. He doesn’t touch you, at least, not until you ask him to help spread the sunscreen onto your shoulder blades and back. His fingers linger a moment too long as he slathers your back in just a little too much of the white paste, but then his touch is gone, snatched away as if he had remembered something.

After an adventure-filled morning and a late lunch, the others head out to scope out some new climbing spots, leaving you and Tae alone at the campsite.

“There’s only one left!” you call over your shoulder. You are bent over the cooler, the ice quickly melting underneath the summer sun. “And we better eat it soon before it melts!”

Taehyung waves. “Eh, you have it. I’m still full from lunch.”

You beam at him and grab the popsicle out of the cooler, unpeeling it and carefully climbing up the boulder to where Tae is sprawled on his back, overlooking the small lake where your friends have set up camp for the week. He makes room for you as you reach the top, patting the spot beside him.

“You sure you don’t want it?” you tease, waving it under his nose. You slide a little closer to him, and he pulls away slightly, leaving a friendly distance between you two.

“I’m sure.”

“Alrighty! More for me!”

He watches you bite down on the popsicle, your lips rounding perfectly around the tip of the dessert. What would it be like if those pink, plump lips were wrapped around his—What the hell is wrong with me? He shakes his head, as if by doing so he can physically dispel the obscene images swilling through his mind. He doesn’t want to think about these kinds of things. He doesn’t want to tread over that invisible barrier between friendship and… whatever lays on the other side of that, not when he’s entirely unsure of where you stand.

Still, he can behave.

He brings himself back to you, back to your words and the way you beam and glow underneath the summer sun. He loves the way you talk when you’re excited. When you detail your most recent passion, your eyes always seem to drift somewhere far away and your hands fly around animatedly. It’s contagious. As much as he’s falling into the world you describe to him, still, god, still, his eyes are drawn to your lips where a drop of melted popsicle has collected.

“You—you have—,”

He reaches out to wipe the pink juice from your lips and before he knows it, his thumb is pressed deliciously to the corner of your lips. You stop in the middle of your sentence, eyes widening up at him.

He glides his hand away from your slack mouth and before he can consider the consequences of his actions, pops the edge of his thumb into his own mouth, sucking off the drop of sweet juice. A red flush starts to creep up your cheeks.

“God, sorry.” He runs his hand through his hair, unable to look at you. “That was weird.”

Your next inhale seems oddly loud, and the two of you are both aware that you’re both holding your breath.

“Ah,” you finally giggle, breaking out of your shock. The blush still hangs heavy on your round cheeks. “No, it’s kind of sweet.”

He sends a tight smile your way but still won’t meet your eyes.

You desperately search for anything to say to him, to break the horrible silence hanging between the two of you.

“Haveyouever beenina friends with benefits relationship?” you spurt.

Oh no, you think. Not the right question. Nope. Not after all that.

The blush on your cheeks lights anew.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I have,” he responds slowly, looking over to your shocked state. He gives you a light shove, hoping you chill out. “Didn’t last long though.”

“Why not?”

Stop. Stop asking these questions.

Despite the anxiety that rises in you, he answers your question without hesitation.

“Ah, she couldn’t withstand my ethereal beauty and got attached,” he says dramatically before laughing light-heartedly. “Nah, actually it was more than that. We were young. Things got messy, fast.” He shrugs.

You nod sagely, as if you understand—despite never having stood in his shoes.

“What about you?” Taehyung's deep voice breaks through your thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Have you ever been in a friends with benefits relationship?”

“Ah—uh, no, not really.”

“Why’s that?”

“Never really came about.” You fiddle with the popsicle stick in your hands, using it to trace random patterns on your legs.

Taehyung follows the swirls you trace, entranced by the small white trail that follows the pressure of the wood before disappearing into the soft flesh of your thigh. Is this the way your skin reacted last night, under his fingers? He gulps and pulls his gaze back to yours.

“What?” you ask.

Let me trace those patterns for you, let me press those pretty lips to my own, let me see you wrap them around my—

You search the incomprehensible look in his eyes, as he’s still not answering you. He’s just… he’s just staring at you, mouth hanging slightly open and still, fucking gorgeous.

That night in the tent, sleep teases you. It hovers at the edge of your consciousness, pushed back by the swirling thoughts of the day.

You reach up to graze over the corner of your lips where Taehyung’s thumb rested not so long ago. When you close your eyes, you can almost feel that slight pressure and the distant heat of his touch.

You nuzzle into your pillow, attempting to focus on anything but that. Anything but him. Anything but the thought of him slipping his thumb into your mouth, hooking against your lips, his face nearing and lips slightly pouted—stop.

You are split in half between the fire burning in your abdomen—the one that tells you there’s something there, there’s something to explore between the two of you—and the coldness of the knowledge that you couldn’t handle his rejection. He’s too dear, he’s too precious—the thought of losing him, of messing things up, is greater than the thrill of having him.

“Are you awake?” a low whisper brushes against the nape of your neck. You start at the sensation.

“Mhmm.”

“Are you… okay? You seem tense.”

“‘M fine,” you mumble back.

Taehyung has always been able to read you though, his sharp eyes tracking your every movement and expression. Even with your back turned to him, he knows exactly the face you’re making with your shoulders pushed all the way up to your ears.

You’re hiding from something.

“Come ‘ere.”

His arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against his body. The smallest of gasps brushes past your lips.

“Just relax,” he murmurs into your ear, his voice now dangerously low because of the proximity. “Is this about yesterday?”

You say nothing.

“Did I disappoint you?”

“What?”

“I know it isn’t ideal to be put in a position to pick between your friends, especially for something so… intimate… and I know I’m not your ideal choice, but—”

“That’s not it,” you flatline. “Not it at all.”

The two of you are quiet.

“I don’t think you could ever disappoint me,” you say softly.

Oh, Taehyung thinks. OH.

“So you’re saying… you would like to—” Taehung grins against your neck.

“Never said that.”

“But you also didn’t, not say it either.”

When you don’t reply, he brings his hand up to trace along the thin line of skin between your raggedy t-shirt and shorts, chuckling as you jump at the touch.

“Shut up,” you hiss, more in response to what you know he’s thinking than what he’s just said.

Gotcha, he smirks. Just this little touch has raised goosebumps on your skin, despite the warmth of the tent. It all makes sense. Your tenseness, your silence, your wide gaze wasn’t that of confusion or discomfort—it was one of want. But why are you holding back from me?

“You know, when I said that it could be worse, I wasn’t lying. I could do a lot worse than you.”

“Go to sleep, Tae,” you say, but he can see the blush creeping up the side of your face.

“Are you sure you want me to?” His hand sneaks under the edge of your t-shirt, palm flattening against your side. You would be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy this: Tae pressed so tightly against you, his hands wandering your body as if they belong there.

Your usual response is to pull away from this kind of pleasure. And you should. Especially from Taehyung: your friend, the cold voice in your head reprimands you.

But there’s a new voice alongside that one, the same one that whispers jump.

Something snaps in you.

You want this. There’s no denying that. You want his hands all over you, underneath your shirt, dipping underneath the band of your shorts. Wherever they go, you’ll follow.

You take a deep breath and release it, slowly. Closing your eyes, you slide your hand up your thigh until it rests atop his wrist. Without fully interlacing your fingers, you allow your fingers to slip between his, guiding his hand even further up.

He freezes.

“Tell me to stop,” you breathe, twisting your head back. It’s an invitation, an out—not an order.

He extracts his hand from yours to better trace intricate patterns against your flushing skin, knowing your face is flushing with the delicate attention. He draws his name on your skin.

With a sudden burst of confidence, you push your back against him. A small gasp slips out as you understand what’s resting against you: his hard cock.

You can feel his bulge press against your ass and when he moves to nudge away from you, you push your hips back, slowly trying to feel him against you again.

“Fuck,” he hisses when you roll your hips as if you’re readjusting. “Are you trying to kill me, woman?”

You feign innocence.

“What? What did I do?” you breathe, adding a beautifully executed note of concern to your voice. The thrill that rushes up your spine when his grip tightens around your arm makes it all worth it. “I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

You wouldn’t necessarily consider this comfortable, your ass pressed against his quickly hardening cock. The warmth and comforting presence of his body wrapped around yours, yes, you would consider that comfortable. But the growing ache in the valley of your belly—there is nothing comfortable about that.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“Hmm,” you hum.

He nudges your hair away from your neck and breathes your name against your skin. “Before, I—,”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing but go the fuck to sleep,” Jin hisses from the other side of the tent.

You clasp your hand over your mouth, holding back your gasp of embarrassment. You can feel Tae shaking against your back, holding back laughter.

“Okay,” Tae whispers back to Jin.

His grip tightens around you and in the warmth of his arms, it’s not long before both of you are drifting off into sleep.

When you wake the sun has just started to peek above the horizon, casting a pink glow over the mountains. That crisp predawn chill still threads through the air, cutting through the thin lining of the tent and reddening your nose. But you’re surprisingly warm.

Tae is wrapped around you, but you don’t want to move. His warmth pulls you somewhere safe and secure. The feeling of his arms wrapped around you paints you in a glow that you can’t quite put a finger on. It’s effortless as you allow yourself to slip into it.

As your eyes grow heavy again, you reach down and wrap your hand around his wrist, tugging weakly.

“Tae, we should move,” you whisper. “The others…”

But he just tightens his grip and nuzzles your neck and soon your eyes are fluttering shut again, drawing you back to that easy, sweet place as you try—and fail—to write a mental note that quickly dissolves into sleep.

The next thing you know, your eyes are blinking open again, foggy with sleep. When they finally focus, you find dark, deep bunny eyes staring unwaveringly at you.

Jungkook. He’s got his head propped up on his elbow and he’s grinning at you.

“Shit,” you gasp, remembering where you. Who you are. You immediately try to untangle yourself from Tae. Since you were last awake, he’s nestled his nose into your neck and has somehow wrapped both of his arms around your torso, pulling you tightly against him. As you disentangle yourself from him, he groans and tries to pull you closer.

“Tae,” you hiss. “Let me go.”

Tae’s eyes finally pop open to find Jungkook staring at the pair with a frown on his face.

“y/n is such a cuddle whore.” He pouts. “Next time, come cuddle with me. I’m not a bony noodle-like Tae is. I do it better.” He winks.

“Fuck off,” Tae groans, flopping away from you and onto his back.

Today the group splits up.

Tae and Jungkook head off to hike while you, Jimin, and Jin split off from the rest to tackle some of the bouldering routes they scouted the day before.

This height feels different to you than that of the cliff. There’s a thrill in the ache of the challenge. You love the way you are entirely in your body as you scale the rock. In a way, it quiets the ricocheting thoughts of Tae, the spiraling sensation of his body wrapped around yours all night. You’re the last to pull yourself to the top and you quickly plop yourself in the center of the boys as they cheer you on.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Jin says, passing you a bottle of water as you sit atop the rock, looking down on a slope of evergreens. “What’s going on in that big, sexy brain of yours?”

You giggle at his phrasing. “Nothing much. Just stuck in my head a little.”

Jimin watches your expression carefully.

“Someone stuck in your head?” he asks slowly.

“No?” Jimin and Jin exchange glances, but say nothing. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you smile sheepishly.

For the rest of the day, you push yourself hard, scaling the routes faster than ever, faster than either Jin or Jimin.

By the time you all return to the campsite from your separate adventures, laughing, a little sunburnt, and covered in dirt, you’re ready for a distraction. It’s getting dark and your muscles ache from pushing just a little too hard. You’re tired. Tired of the stirring in your chest. Tired of trying to unravel Taehyung’s indecipherable stares while your heart flutters endlessly. Excessively.

After you all head down to the shore to wash up after the long day, you help Jin with dinner. He’s always had a special touch in the kitchen, and even with the limitations of the great outdoors he manages to transform the campfire griddle into a Michelin star kitchen. Gratefully, you accept his instructions to stick to washing and chopping vegetables while he absent-mindedly flutters about the make-shift kitchen stirring and tasting and measuring. To him, this kind of magic is second nature.

Dinner is exquisite, as anticipated. You groan obscenely when the stew he's thrown together hits your tongue.

"Jin, you've done it again."

The chef blushes heartily from the praise, always a sucker for compliments.

You lean over to Jin, who’s sitting right beside you to pat him on the shoulder—but when you look over at Taehyung across the fire, his spoon is frozen halfway between his bowl and his mouth, jaw hanging open. As your eyes meet, he collects himself and throws a wink your way. You quickly look back down to your bowl, spooning more of the soupy goodness into your mouth.

You finish the meal in silence, a sign of a good, long day. Or sprouting, unreadable confusion.

Once the bowls are empty and the food is cleaned up and put away you return to the fire where you slump in your camp chair. The sound of the gentle lapping of lake waves and crickets stringing their song in the chilled air fills your head. Brings you some semblance of peace.

A peace which is very quickly broken by Jimin sprinting out of the tent wearing only his swim trunks.

"We're going swimming!" he commands, pulling you out of your chair and shoving you towards the tent to change. You laugh, never one to turn down a dip in the water. "Give the lady some privacy and then I expect every single one of you in your swimsuits and splashing in that divine lake.”

“But—it’s night time?” Jin says.

“All the better,” Jimin replies.

You laugh, hearing Jin's protests and Jungkook's excited chatter. Your heart swells with affection for your beautiful friends. Even with this new, uncanny twist of luck with the introduction of butterflies around Tae, you still feel a hard edge rise in your chest when you think about risking the friendships that have so unwaveringly supported you all these years. These people are your heart. They comprise the unending list of delights and joys that pepper your life.

It's silly, truly, to risk that all for the tension between your legs. Or the thing fluttering in your chest.

You quickly change into your bathing suit and rush out of the tent to meet Jimin in the water. He grabs your hand as you step tentatively into the cold water.

"Shit, that's freezing," you hiss.

"It's better once you're all the way in," Jimin reassures, tugging you deeper into the sun-warmed water.

He's right. Once you've gone in deep enough to duck your head under the water, it feels as if a switch is flicked.

The water surrounds you—soft, warm, reassuring.

You've always felt most comfortable in the water. There was something about the way it lifted the tension out of your bones and soothed your mind, as if when you submerged yourself within it you became connected to something larger. Larger than just you, your individuality, your problems.

Even the burning tension in your stomach that rises at the mere thought of Taehyung seems soothed by the darkness of the lake. You take a deep breath and flop belly up to float on the surface, fascinated by the split in sensation between the sharp, arid air and soft, cradling water.

The rest of the group joins you in the water, floating and splashing around. Jungkook is the last to join you, waddling to the edge of the water will a full donut inner tube and floaties.

It’s easy to fall into them. Into their crack-head humor and constant energy and endless affection. And if it weren’t for Taehyung’s lingering gaze, you could almost imagine all the events of the past twenty-four hours never happened. That you hadn’t backed yourself against the edge of some unknowable cliff in your friendship by calling out his name, by letting him wrap himself around you last night, by letting his gaze linger like this, letting it put a fiery brush to your cheeks.

How quickly you would come undone for him.

You snap out of your thoughts only to find that your gaze has been rooted on him the whole time. And his on you.

He sends you a wink and you almost scream in frustration. As much as you want to wink back this unrooted, ungrounded worry eats at you.

“Think I can make it all the way to the other bank?” you blurt out, suddenly feeling the need to shake out the feelings that are building up in your body.

“I hope you’re not expecting us to join you,” Jimin said as he floats languidly on his back.

“Nope, just need to move. See ya on the other side.” You blow an eyebrow-raised Jin a kiss and push off into the water. The water gets a little colder as you swim further out, and the chill starts to numb you, pushing out those burning, disastrous thoughts that—

“Hey! Hold up! I’m coming!” you hear an all too lovely voice call out from behind you.

So much for an escape. Well, if he’s going to be this way, you might as well push it.

“I’ll race you!” you yell over your shoulder. You kick off into the dark water. Taehyung grins and swims after your quickly disappearing figure.

The wind has died down from earlier and there’s little resistance as you glide forward, paddling sleekly through the water. With the darkness of the night, the water looks like the darkest of inks before you, a darkness only broken by threads of glossy silver moonlight on the ripples of the surface. You could be paddling through a painting for all you know.

Unfortunately for you, the splashing from behind you is getting louder—and closer.

You throw all of your energy into your stroke, the fire of exertion burning through you, cleansing you. Just as you’re finally nearing the opposite shore, something slimy slides up your leg and wraps around your thigh.

You scream bloody murder.

You shake your leg frantically, trying to get whatever the hell it is that is trying to eat you off of your fucking leg. You continue to splash and kick—until your foot hits something hard. There’s a loud splash immediately behind you and then a sharp, “Fuck!”

You whirl around to see Taehyung, clutching his face, one hand still holding onto a long green and slimy lake plant.

“Oh no, no, no,” you quickly swim over to him, trying to pry his hands away from his face. “Tae, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!”

He peeks out between his hands, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Gotcha.”

He’s fine. Your jaw drops and your concern quickly morphs into anger as you beat against his bare chest with clenched fists.

“Kim Taehyung! How dare you scare me like that!”

“Ow, ow!” He groans as he tries to pull you to where the water is shallow enough to stand, wrestling you around in the process so that your back is pressed against his torso and he’s got his arms crossed over your chest, capturing your wrists in a makeshift straight jacket.

“You know I have an irrational fear of lake monsters and you fucking used it against me!”

“Chill! Hey… just chill.” Taehyung cackles despite trying to soothe you. “I’m sorry, but oh my god your scream! You would have thought someone was trying to murder you.”

“You, you were trying to murder me!” you snap, squirming against his hold.

He’s still laughing, his voice echoing loudly around the lake, his chest shaking against your back.

“Ah! Tae, let me go.” You try to wiggle out of his grasp by dropping your weight and swimming underneath his arms, but in the process untie the thin straps of your swim top.

You don’t even realize it until you’ve re-emerged from the water and the cold air hits your chest.

“Oh shit,” the two of you intone.

Taehyung stays cool but immediately averts his gaze and dives below the surface to retrieve your top. It seems like forever before he resurfaces, facing away from you, eyes squeezed shut for the sake of your privacy. He blindly holds out your swimsuit to you.

There’s a moment where you consider pulling his face towards you, asking him to open his eyes to you.

Instead, you mumble a hasty “Thanks,” and turn away to press the material to your chest and re-tie it. Your fingers fumble and you can’t quite keep the material from slipping down. “Ah, Tae?” you ask.

“Yes, darling?” The pet name glides so smoothly off his tongue.

“Can you help me tie this?” You hold the fabric to your chest as you look over your shoulder at him.

“‘Course.” He swims over to you and nimbly ties the strings around your neck and your back, pulling them just tight enough. His fingers linger just a second too long on that final knot. “There, all better,” he pats your shoulders and spins you back around so you’re facing him.

Once you’re facing him though, you both go quiet. He doesn’t take his hands from your waist.

Taehyung is struck by the way the moon seems to slip down your hair, glossy and heavy with lake water. Even your dripping features seem illuminated by the thin light, as if you had captured the night and held it somewhere deep inside you to radiate outwards.

Taehyung has always known you were beautiful. Always admired your strength and your passion and loved your slap-stick humor. But the way you were looking at him now, that same half-smile from earlier gracing your lip— this is a new kind of beauty. One that has nothing to do with the lighting or your features.

His gaze has been resting on your lips for a moment too long.

“Fuck it. Can I—”

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his.

For a moment you both melt into the sensation, allowing your bodies to relax against the other’s. And then his pillow-soft lips are moving against yours and everything seems to move into hyperdrive.

There is an unspoken urgency in your movements. You both press hard, desperate to release the building tension. But instead of allowing it to break and fall away from you, it seems that his lips against yours only adds to it.

He bites down on your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth.

It takes an impossible amount of strength, but you are finally able to move your lips to his cheeks to mumble, softly, “Should we stop?”

He pulls away, searching your face.

“Are you asking me to stop?”

“N-no, I’m not.”

“Good.”

You gasp as he moves his lips to your neck, biting and sucking in the most delightfully painful way.

“But the others—?”

“They can’t even imagine it,” he repeats Jungkook’s words, an edge in his voice. “They’ll be none the wiser.” He loves the thrill of a challenge, of destroying someone’s expectations. But he loves the thrill of holding you here, alone, just his, even more.

“I don’t want to mess anything up,” you say softly, even as your hands come to tangle in his hair.

He pulls back from your neck and tips your chin up so that you’re looking directly at him. “Does this feel like messing up to you?”

You chew on your lip as you think over his question.

“No. It doesn’t. It feels like something else.”

“I agree.” His eyes spark with joy as he leans down to capture your lips again. He wraps his hands around your ass, lifting you just enough so that your legs come to wrap naturally around his waist. You gasp softly as you feel his hardened bulge press against your core.

Gently, you roll your hips against his length and he grunts. Pleasure spikes as the tip of his cock slides against your clit, the thin fabric between you leaving little to the imagination. Slowly, you continue to grind up against you, egged on by the small moans slipping out from him. Hands wrapping even tighter around you,

As he continues kissing you, his hands slide down your spine, tracing each dip and bump, before pressing into the gentle valley of your lower back. Your back arches against the gentle touch. He smirks against your lips, tucking tracing into his back pocket for later.

“Does that feel good?”

“Mhmm,” you mumble, trying to chase his lips. But he pulls back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You like my cock sliding up against you? Is this what you were thinking about last night—while you were grinding with our friends sleeping right next to you?” You gasp as his teeth nip at your earlobe. “Do you know how hard you left me, that gorgeous ass pressed up against me?”

“N-no,” you gasp as he thrusts against your folds again.

“I bet there’s a part of you that wanted them to wake up and see you like that, my cock between your ass cheeks.”

“No—not like that.”

“No?” he smirks as his hips circle against you, building that singing feeling in your cunt. “Would you have stopped me if I slid those shorts to the side and just--just slipped inside you?” When you don’t answer, he pulls back and waits. “Hm?”

“No, no, I wouldn’t have.” You pull his face back to yours, kissing him fervently as he continues to thrust against you. “I wanted—,”

From the shore, you can hear Jin calling your names and you freeze. His voice sounds so distant, even though he couldn’t be more than a couple hundred feet away. You ignore it and lean into the sensation of Tae’s chilled touch, twirling your fingers into the tangles of his dark hair and pulling him closer.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want—,” But then Jin’s voice is much closer. Too close. “Shit,” you whisper against Tae’s mouth, sighing.

You ignore the frown that spreads across his face and peel his hands from your body, pushing away from him. You’ve barely just broken apart when Jin comes into view. You paddle quickly towards Jin where he stands in the shallows, still dripping, with a towel and a flashlight. You wince when he shines it directly into your eyes.

“Thank Jesus!” Jin cries. “I thought you drowned! You can’t just scream and then disappear in the dark in the lake and expect me not to b—What the hell are you doing?” he asks, suspiciously eyeing your guilty faces.

“I, uh, we—,” you stumble over your words as you emerge from the water, wrapping your arms around your chilled torso.

“YN lost her top. I was just helping her find it,” Tae flatlined.

“Ah, how very gentlemanly of you,” Jin narrows his eyes at Tae. Jin had always been protective of you, but it felt strange to have his protectiveness directed at one of the members of your own friend group.

Nonetheless, Jin wraps the towel around you and carefully escorts you back to the camp, leaving Tae slack-jawed and covering an unfortunate boner in the shallows.

tag list: @dontaskshhhhh @myimaginationsrunningwild @taehyoungmoney @taffyteffy @london-dreamer71 @satoujk @spicykoreantatertots

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#ksmutclub #btsgoldnet #btswriterscollective #bts #tae smut #v smut #kth #kim taehyung #kth smut #taehyung fic #bts fic #fluff #v #tae fluff

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pan-cakez · 4 years

Text

Last Straw

Inspired by this post: https://countingdowndays.tumblr.com/post/189602949856/prompt-lila-salt-adriens-mom

For their assignment over the weekend, the class had to write about their favorite film. The class was abuzz with excitement at the prospect of being able to write about something that they loved, and have an excuse to watch the movie again without judgement. When the class was dismissed, everyone kept on talking about the films that they chose, and some people even offered to have a showing with their classmates after the presentations. Adrien stayed silent. He knew what film he was going to pick, and even though his classmates may not appreciate it in the same way he did, he still wanted to share it with them.

When he was walking outside, Marinette called out to him. Adrien stopped and turned around to smile at her. “Hey Marinette! What’s up?” Marinette smiled at him and rubbed the back of her neck softly. “What movie are you going to write about?” Adrien chuckled. “The only movie that I ran out of my house to see. What about you?” Marinette twirled her fingers around and looked at the ground. “I’m doing a movie on the heroes of Paris that just came out. I honestly think that people need to stop seeing Ladybug as the only one, when they’re better together.” Adrien felt his cheeks heat up, and he rushed into the waiting car while yelling and quick, “Gottagobye!” leaving Marinette standing on the curb in confusion.

During the car ride, Adrien couldn’t really focus on anything. All that he could think about was how supportive Marinette was. He’s tired of being seen as lesser than Ladybug. He gets it, that he could really step up his game, but at the end of the day, he just doesn’t want anyone to feel the same misery that he does, and will try his hardest to make everyone happy. He’s glad that someone sees him as something positive, rather than a nuisance like Ladybug does.

When he arrived at home, Nathalie was there waiting there for him, tablet in hand. Adrien stood at the bottom of the staircase while looking up at Nathalie. “Does father still have a copy of mom’s movie? We’re doing a report on our favorite movies for class.” Nathalie looked down at him stone-faced. “I’ll ask your father. In the meantime, it is time for your piano practice.” Adrien sighed and walked upstairs to his room. He decided to play slow classical music. He got so lost in it, he didn’t realize his father was there until he cleared his throat. His head snapped to the doorway where he saw Gabriel standing. Adrien shot up, and stood up. Gabriel walked up to Adrien and handed him a flashdrive. “This is a copy of the film. It’s yours to keep.” Adrien smiled softly, and took the drive. “Thank you father, this means a lot to me.” Gabriel nodded and clasped his hand behind his back. “This movie means a lot to mean, and I’m glad it means a lot to you as well. I think your mother would be honored to have her movie be your favorite.” Gabriel walked away without any further comment. Adrien walked to his desk, and after loading the movie, he watched it for the first time this weekend, of many.

On the morning of the presentations, the classroom was filled with chatter. Adrien mostly kept to himself, but Marinette sat next to him, making sure that he was okay. Adrien smiled at her kindness. He knows that Marinette is the only person in the class that knows his mother stars in this piece. The fact that she could guess correctly that he would be emotionally vulnerable today really spoke to Marinette’s character, and he genuinely wanted someone as caring as her around more in her life. She made the wait for his turn much more bearable. Marinette when before him to ease him. To say that Marinette’s presentation made him feel butterflies in his stomach was an understatement. To hear that he was truly appreciated, and that his work as Chat Noir made a difference to people really warmed his heart.

When it was his turn, he took a deep breath and looked at Marinette. She gave him a smile and a thumbs up. Adrien started talking, and explaining the movie. Everyone was captivated by his presentation, and absorbed every word. He explained how rare the movie was, and how it’s fully in black and white, and how it was an artistic choice, rather than a limitation of technology in the case of older films. He explained the plot, and how the movie wasn’t a piece of media, but a piece of art. When he finished the presentation, Marinette had some tears in her eyes, and Adrien smiled softly at her, and the rest of the class just clapped. Adrien bowed and took a seat next to Marinette, who immediately hugged him. “I’m so proud of you. You did amazing!” Adrien let out a chuckle. “So did you Marinette!”

After all the presentations was done, everyone talked about the presentations. Everyone congratulated Adrien. Lila walked up to their table, and smiled. “What an amazing presentation! I didn’t know you loved this film so much.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and smiled softly. “Well there’s so many reasons behind it. The actress is also phenomenal!” Lila smiles, and sees her chance to woo Adrien. “Well, I know the actress personally, and I can definitely get you to meet her. We’re pretty good family friends.” Marinette looked at Lila in disgust. Adrien balled his fists, but kept it hidden under the desk, and tried his hardest to keep his cool. “Oh? How do you know her?” Lila smirked, fully believe she had him in her grasp. “Yeah. I see her all the time when I go to events. I actually have her number.” Adrien scoffed, knowing she was lying, and decided to finally expose her, and was going to use this to do it. He always let her slide because she never hurt anyone, but with this lie, it was too much, and his last straw. “Hey Lila, can you call her? I would very much like to meet her.” Lila didn’t expect it to get to this point, but she’s still going to pull his strings. “Definitely. I can call her and see when she’s free next week.” Adrien looked her dead in the eye and said, “Great. Tell me what my mom says.” Lila’s face dropped and the classroom went dead silent. All eyes were on Lila. “I always let you slide on every single one of your lies. I tell Marinette to leave you alone because no one is getting harmed, and they’re just little white lies. But this isn’t a little white lie. How many people have you lied about knowing to get people to like you? What about you isn’t a lie? You absolutely disgust me.” Adrien stormed out of the classroom, and Marinette ran after him. Marinette got him to stop before he walked out of the building, and pulled him into a hug. Adrien cried into Marinette’s shoulder and she just let him get it out. She rubbed his back gently and whispered comforting words. Adrien slowly fell to the floor and Marinette went down with him.

After Adrien stopped crying, Marinette and him walked back to the classroom, where the class was ganging up on a terrified Lila. “You made me ruin my friendship with one of the best people I know,” Alya yelled. “You cast Marinette out because she was the only person who saw through you! She knew that you were full of it, and warned us, and we didn’t believe her! We cast out a perfect friend for you,” Rose screamed. Madame Bustier stood in the corner, calling the principal, not knowing what to do. Marinette and Adrien started walking towards the crowd, and everyone split to let them through to Lila. Lila looked at them and Adrien almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “Your work with the Agreste brand is now done. We will make sure to communicate with further business partners to let them know about your horrible tendency to lie. You’d better start looking for a different place, because the socialites, and celebrities here will have absolutely nothing to with you.” Lila was truly shaken by Adrien’s cold words. Marinette rubbed his back softly to make it easy on him. Mr. Damocles walked inside and called for Lila. The class watched her walked out in shame. Once she had left the classroom, Marinette felt eyes on her. Marinette shook her head and let out a sharp, “I don’t want to hear a word out of any of you.” The tension was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. The bell rung shortly after, and Adrien and Marinette walked out together, and Adrien asked if Marinette would like to watch his mother’s movie together. Marinette gladly accepted and when they arrived at the Agreste mansion, Adrien explained everything, which infuriated Gabriel. Adrien invited Nathalie and his bodyguard to watch the film with them. Marinette made chouquettes for everyone, and eventually Gabriel joined although he didn’t say anything. Adrien was just happy to be sharing this with so many people who appreciate it.

@virgil-is-a-cutie thanks for reblogging the post!! Its how I found it!

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml salt #lila salt #salt fic #okay but lila really does have to stop with her lies #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

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breath-of-the-hobbies · 3 years

Text

BOTW2 - A Return to Darkness

(I’ve never written fan-fic before in my life, but all of these new BOTW theories and art inspired me to write this idea out. Special shout-out to @autumn-sweet-fae for the idea about Link’s ability reset! [x])

The series of caverns beneath Hyrule Castle seemed to be a source of boundless interest and excitement for Zelda, who stopped to document every carving and luminescent gem with the Sheikah slate no matter how small or difficult to reach. Link felt the absence of Revali’s Gale acutely whenever Zelda lamented being unable see the carvings far above their heads, but Revali and all of the other Champions had long since moved on, taking their gifts with them.

The two Hylians, displaced in time, had initially begun exploring the newly uncovered cave system as a way to escape the realities involved in rebuilding a kingdom. Soon enough, though, it became obvious that there were important secrets tucked away beneath the ground, perhaps even older than the Sheikah. Zelda hoped that uncovering these secrets could help in the rebuilding process, and so their short, escapist trips had turned into full-fledged expeditions.

They had recently discovered a steeply descending path near an entrance by the Great Plateau. Although Zelda continued to record her findings as diligently as always, they both felt a strange sense of disquiet as they descended into the darkness. Though they had been seeking answers to their questions for months, this was the first time they were afraid of the response.

When they discovered Ganon’s mummified corpse, things began happening very quickly.

Perhaps it was the presence of all three people of legend in one space that activated the chain of events. Within moments of the Hylians stepping into the final cavern, the earth began to shake and malice oozed from the floor. A glowing turquoise light leapt like lightning from Ganon’s form to Link’s arm, which he had instinctively extended to shield Zelda as stalactites and whole chunks of the ceiling rained down around them.

The shock of the light touching his skin—no, entering his skin—was nothing compared to the acidic burning of malice as the slime piled up on itself and swarmed the glowing arm, as though with a single-minded purpose.

Zelda screamed his name over the thundering of stone, knuckles white on her sword grip. Neither of them had seen anything like this, and neither knew how to combat it. Link stepped backwards, tearing at the ooze and trying to keep it away from his princess, noticing how it seemed to be exclusively targeting him. Afterwards, he would remember that small step with piercing regret. If he had only been closer, if he could have moved a little faster…. The ground collapsed beneath Zelda’s feet. Link lunged forward, desperate, reaching—their fingers brushed, and then she was gone.

Link could barely process anything. The earthquake had stopped. Ganon’s corpse had disappeared into the yawning black mouth that now filled the cavern, the same mouth that had eaten the only person who mattered to him in this world. The malice had somehow shriveled and sunk into his arm along with the strange light, and now a black rot was crawling up towards his shoulder, rendering the whole limb dead. He was unable to handle a glider or climb down into the hungry darkness, and the gnawing, unnatural pain in his arm was enough to drive him to his knees.

Slowly, painfully, and with an involuntary cry of agonized frustration, he tightened a belt around his upper bicep in an attempt to stem the creep of malice and stumbled up the debris-filled path to the surface.

When he finally emerged into the calm summer evening, his horse startled and shied at his approach, registering the scent of his arm as a corrupted enemy. Nearly delirious with pain, fatigue, and fever, Link still managed to soothe it, leaning his face against its neck and pretending that it was sweat running into its fur. He could barely stand to look at Zelda’s beautiful horse, but forced himself to clumsily fasten its lead to his own horse’s saddle.

But where to go? His champion allies were gone. The castle was still largely abandoned, the guardians erratically active and monsters as yet un-eradicated. The closest source of help was days away, and the slate had been with Zelda, so there would be no teleporting.

Purah’s not going to be happy about this. He thought nonsensically, and set his horse’s nose towards Hateno Village.

***

He did his best to cling to the horse’s mane, but as the familiar village appeared in the distance, his sense of relief overpowered the adrenaline that had kept him going for the past several days. Slowly, gently, darkness clouded his vision and he slipped from his mount’s back, falling into the ditch on the far outskirts of Hateno Village. The horses, exhausted themselves, barely registered the change in weight and continued on to the place where they knew that apples and good hay could always be found.

The children of the village, who had frequently begged rides from Link and clung to him on past visits, immediately recognized that something was wrong when they spotted the tired creatures trudging up the cobbled street. They ran to the eccentric scientist up in her tower, and joined Symin, her chief researcher, in a frantic search of the area. The sun was beginning to set when they finally found the unconscious Link. Symin scooped the small hero up in his arms, a knot of fear in his stomach, and carried him to his lady.

***

Link opened his eyes to sunshine streaming through a window, birdsong, the warm scent of hay and machine oil. The agonizing, corrupted, wrong pain in his arm had faded, but in its place was a weak and draining numbness. Remembering Zelda’s fall, he sat up with a gasp, and immediately crumpled, spots swimming in his eyes, heartbeat rushing in his ears. As he panted, head between his drawn-up knees, he heard soft steps as someone came up the ladder to this bedroom.

“I would have thought you’d slept long enough the last time, Linky.” Said Purah dryly, but not unkindly. “You’re really pushing my skills here. I had to research tech that hasn’t been used since the Zonai disappeared.” Link slowly lifted his head to look down at his arm. The rot was still there, shriveled black skin stretched over tendon and bone. Two things were different: there were engraved metal bands that clasped his arm from wrist to bicep, softly buzzing with energy, and there was a Sheikah emblem tattooed on the back of his blackened hand.

Purah remained uncharacteristically quiet, letting Link take in the changes, before starting up again to enthuse about the tech. “I’m going to keep optimizing it, of course. It’s wildly inefficient at the moment but I needed to get something on you or you’d lose the arm. Currently the runes are drawing directly from your energy just to stop the procession of the corruption, but I plan to improve that. As such I think it’s going to take you a while to get your strength back. I saw you lost your slate—“ her voice hardened in sudden anger “—but until you get it back I’ve got plans to add some capabilities to this tech in the meantime.”

Link finally found his voice. “Zelda.” he croaked, his defeated, exhausted gaze rising to meet Purah’s.

Her face softened. “We were worried why she wasn’t with you, why you were in that state. We sent some people to the tunnels, but they haven’t returned.”

The half-hoping, half-pleading look in Link’s eyes disappeared immediately, replaced with stubborn determination as he placed his feet on the floor and rose, legs visibly shaking.

Purah sighed, as though she had expected this. “You’re in no shape to go after her now. Zelda has held her own in this world for longer than you have, and she can handle herself. You, on the other hand, need to build your strength back up or you’ll be knocked over by the first bokoblin you meet. Or the first gust of wind.”

Link ignored her, taking slow and unsteady steps towards the ladder. “Link, your clothes!” She yelled after him in exasperation just as he missed the second rung and disappeared from view. A loud thud and a startled exclamation from Symin rose back up through the hole in the floor. “Hylia, why me?” She asked the air.

***

Link glared at the straw monster in front of him, sweat running into his eyes. It took all his effort to raise the stick in his right arm, the numbness of the limb and unfamiliar weight of the tech making every movement sluggish. He had been hacking at the doll for hours and yet it looked fresher than he did.

Symin watched from the window, sipping a cup of tea. “Should we stop him?” He asked. It was several weeks now since the scrawny hero had picked himself up off the floor and legged it out the door, only to collapse less than halfway down the hill. Since then, he had spent every waking moment making his best attempt at training.

Purah didn’t glance up from her book. “The man just lost everything he cares about for a second time. In many ways he’s worse off than he was when he woke from the century’s sleep. At least that time he had his strength, if not his memory. Let him work things out his own way.” Unspoken between them was the knowledge of reports from central Hyrule that the castle was once again filled with malice and making the ground tremble day and night. Link had not told them the details of his encounter, nor indeed spoken hardly at all, but his grim determination said more than enough.

Only a few days later, the morning after Purah had successfully implanted the first upgrade into Link’s arm, Symin slammed open the door to her tower study, panic and worry twisting his face. “He’s gone! Link’s gone!”

Purah turned to gaze out her window. She didn’t look surprised, but her normally boisterous personality was briefly extinguished. She shook herself and turned back to her notes with renewed vigor. “He’ll be back. Let’s be ready for him.”

Chapter 2

#botw #botw2 #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #link #zelda #purah #symin #botw fic #botw2 fanfic #breath of the wild 2

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