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onedaystudy · 4 years

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READING THE REPUBLIC

Why does every teacher from an introductory philosophy class to one about political theory seem to be obsessed with assigning Plato’s Republic? If you glance thought the text, it seems to be better suited to a drama class, written as it is as a dialogue instead of the more traditional academic essay or treatise. However the Republic acts a good introductory text to so many subjects precisely because the characters of the text, through the course of their conversation, ask many of the same questions that subsequent thinkers will continue to ask and try to answer, questions that are the central inquiry of Western thought.

The Republic touches on questions regarding justice, what it means to be happy and lead a good life, the role of education in a society, what the ideal form of political government is, to what it means to have knowledge of something versus simply having an opinion. Plato was an educator and a philosopher, and reading the text can help teach the reader how philosophical inquiry can be embarked on, simply through having a conversation with your peers and asking questions about the world, and seeking an answer to them to with the goal of finding the truth.

What readers have taken from the text is myriad. By some, Plato has been read as providing an outline to a political society where power was given through individual merit, while others claim that the political society that Plato outlines is a totalitarian one, similar to Hitler’s Germany or Stalin’s Russia. This shows the importance the role you, the reader, have. How you interpret the text and the arguments of the characters gives the text its meaning.

As a result, the Republic can, in some ways, be analyzed as a drama or a novel. In some accounts it is said that Plato once did have aspirations of becoming a poet. According to those accounts, when Plato showed Socrates some of his works, Socrates asked him questions about every line of the text, and as a result Plato burned all his works and never wrote again. In reading the text as students then, we should channel Socrates’ annoying inquisitive spirit, and carefully read the text line by line.

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

Plato has a reputation of being an ambiguous author, especially to the modern reader, who is not familiar with the historical events and characters present in the text in the same way that Plato’s contemporary readers would have been. To navigate these ambiguities it is important to have a bit of a background of the historical settings that the Republic was written in.

Plato was born in 427 BC (that’s around 2500 years ago!) to an influential aristocratic family at the end of the Golden Age of Athens, an age of Athenian domination and prosperity which had begun in the early fifth century with Athens’ defeat of Persia. This Golden Age would come to an end with the commencement of the Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta. Plato was born during the Peloponnesian War, and was around five years old when Athens entered into a truce with Sparta in 423 BC, called the Peace of Nicias. For some hopeful Athenians, this was a chance for Athens to rebuild its former empire and influence, free of the drain of warfare.

Unfortunately, that was not the case. Only eight years later in 415 BC, Athens’ decided to send a fleet of ships to Sicily, refered to as the Sicilian Expedition. As a result, the unthinkable happened. Athens’ fleet, which had made it a dominant naval power, was destroyed at Syracuse in 413 BC. By this point in Plato’s short lifetime (he was fourteen when the news of the failure of the Sicilian expedition broke), Athen’s had gone from being a dominant power to receiving a crippling blow in a an international conflict that it had entered into in a dominant position. Ten years later, when Plato was around twenty-four, the Peloponnesian War ended with Athen’s surrender.

The decline of Athens would have had a great part in molding Plato’s political concerns, and thoughts of reforming Athen’s to its former glory would have been heavy on his mind. While Plato was influenced by other philosophers, it is of course Socrates that had one of the greatest influences in his thinking. When Plato was twenty he started to join the other young aristocrats who hung around Socrates in the marketplace.

Some of his family members were already part of Socrate’s group, such as his uncle Charmides and his mother’s cousin Critias. These were the same relative’s of Plato who, at the end of the Peloponnesian War in 404 BC, would lead a group of conservatives to overthrow Athen’s democracy to rule as members of the Thirty Tyrants for nine corrupt and bloody months. Another infamous member of Socrates group was Alcibiades, who was the one to convince Athen’s to embark on the disastrous Sicilian Expedition, which lead to the destruction of Athen’s fleet.

So while, to Plato, Socrates represented the image of a philosopher who asked questions in the search for the truth, to the citizens of Athens Socrate’s probing questions, which he claimed to have no answer to, served only to undermine the city by questioning its traditions and established order. The democratic government which took power after the Thirty Tyrants was the one to sentence Socrates to death on the charge of corrupting the youth and, disbelieving in the gods of the city, introducing new gods into Athens. Socrates was sentenced to death and drank the hemlock in 399 BC, when Plato was twenty-eight years old.

Plato lived to be about eighty years old, but the first thirty years of his life were the most formative. The rest of his life would be spent doing what he admired most in Socrates – searching for knowledge. He became an educator in his own right, and founded the Academy, remembered historically as the first university.

This important period – the Peloponnesian War, the rise of the Thirty, their downfall to the democracy, which would execute Socrates – casts a shadow on the dialogue of the Republic through its characters, whose fates were embroiled in its events. The dialogue was set during the Peace of Nicias, meaning that many of the events that lead to the decline of Athens had not yet come to pass, and neither had the Thirty come into power – but they would have been fresh on the minds of Plato’s readers, who knew the future that was to come.

Many of the characters would be dead by the time the Republic was written. Socrates was sentenced to death for the same philosophizing he characterized in the Republic, Cephalus (the old man who opened his home to the visitors) would have his family fortune seized by the Thirty, who were relatives of the brothers Glaucon and Adeimantus. Polemarchus would also be executed by the Thirty, and his brother Lysias and father Cephalus would be sent into exile in the Piraeus, which during the time of the Thirty acted as the center of democratic opposition, and would be recognizable to us as the setting of the Republic.

For me this knowledge makes the dialogue that much more poignant. It is almost as if Plato is saying “Look, pay attention! What may seem like an idle conversation to pass the time, asking grand questions about justice and the good life, will lead to the death of these men.” It is a warning to those that think these questions aren’t important, and what should happen if we decide to stop the pursuit of knowledge regarding the truth. It is my belief that it is this message that the Republic has preserved through its study by generations of students.

BOOK I

Cephalus (328b-331d)

The Question is Introduced – What is Justice?

Techne (332e) Types of human government (338d) Violence of tyrants (344b-c) The burden/difficulty of rule (345e-346a) Comparison between the city and the individual (352a) Proper task of things (352d-353a)

Polemarchus (331d-336a)

Thrasymachus (336b-354b)

The old order, introduction of Cephalus

The first definition of justice to be introduced is through an old man named Cephalus, who is the father of Polemarchus. In ancient Greek, Cephalus means “head”, which he could be named because he is the head of the family. He is happy to see Socrates, and partly insults him by saying to him that, due to his old age, his desire for conversation has grown so he wishes that Socrates would visit him more often to talk. Either intentionally or not, Cephalus has thus regaling the philosophical conversations to which Socrates has devoted his life to idle talk to pass the time in old age.

Cephalus is a “metic” meaning is not a citizen of Athens, despite his monetary wealth. It is here, where they sit down with Cephalus that the rest of the dialogue of the Republic is going to be held.

Cephalus begins the conversation by looking back on his life, and states that while old age has given him freedom from the sex and money that ruled his younger years, in his old age he has also began to wonder if he lived a just life. Cephalus wonders, if when he dies, he will go to the afterlife peacefully. It is Cephalus who poses the question of justice, due to the fact that he is approaching the end of his life and is worried about the judgement of the gods.

We can think of justice loosely as “acting in a right way” – for an example in a way that the gods would approve of in the afterlife. The English word “justice” is how the word “dikaiosune” found in the original Greek text is translated. Dikaiosune refers to behaviour that is regular and predictable, such as law-abiding behaviour, in contexts that involve behaviour towards other people. This stands in opposition to virtues like courage and honesty, which can exist in the absence of other people.

Pause here, my dear reader, to think about what justice would look like to you. How should we treat other people?

Say you think that justice is acting towards others as you would like to be treated. If this is your conception of justice, then are there circumstances where acting according to justice is made easier? What about harder?

Think about your conception of justice and argue against it. Some standards you should see if your conception of justice can meet are (1) if it is universal, meaning you should ask if it guides everyone’s actions in the same way, no matter the circumstances (2) if it can be taught, and if so, how.

He then continues to say that the money he has is now good because he can offer sacrifices to the gods and pay back his debts to those he owns them to, and does not have to commit injustices because of a lack of money.

From this statement, Socrates asks him if that is what he thinks justice is “speaking the truth and paying back what one has borrowed” (331d).

Socrates has an argument against this definition of justice. He asks – what about if you borrowed a weapon from a friend that was not mentally sane? Under this definition of justice, which says that you must pay your debts and return what you have borrowed, you must give the weapon to this friend, even if he could hurt himself or someone else with it. This cannot be justice.

Here, Socrates has pointed out that Cephalus’ definition is deficient because it only describes an instance of what actions can be seen as just, without really telling us what justice is. There’s a famous story that once, Plato defined man to be ��a featherless biped”, only to have the philosopher Diogenes run into his villa holding a plucked chicken, exclaiming “Behold, a man!”. Socrates has done much the same to Cephalus, and through his counter example made the point that merely describing what actions are just, does not explain why they are just.

Cephalus’ definition also does not give much guidance to those, like the sword lender in Socrates example, who do not have the ability to act according to it. Cephalus’ definition is one that is very much tailored to the position in life Cephalus is in, as an older person with money and few temptations, and has little to offer to those who are not in the same position. As Socrates says, it is a definition that outlines actions that are “sometimes just, sometimes unjust” (331c).

Cephalus agrees with Socrates, and admits that Socrates had made a good point against his definition of justice, but before he can hear Socrates’s argument he leaves the conversation, tasking his heir Polemarchus with continuing the debate on his behalf. With the exit of Cephalus, who will not return, tradition and the old order has left the conversation. This leaves the remaining characters – Socrates, Glaucon, Polemarchus, Thrasymichus and Adeimantus – to converse over a new definition of justice.

This is the primary topic of dialogue for the rest of Book I of the Republic. Similar to the conversation with Cephalus, a character tries to give a definition of justice, only to have Socrates come up with examples and arguments that show inconsistencies in the definition, such as how it is applied (as he did with Cephalus) or lead to a conclusion that is extreme (as he will later do with Thrasymichus).

Polemarchus, a dead man talking

Polemarchus is the next character to give a definition of justice. Polemarchus is a name that means “war lord”. Polemarchus is concerned with honor, and to him justice is a type of loyalty to your friends, to those that you identify as belonging to the same community as you. This is a very “us versus them” view, making it a view of justice that lends itself very well to international relations.

Prompted by Socrates, Polemarchus states that, like the art of medicine is to give “drugs, food and drink to bodies” and the art of cooking is to give “seasoning to meat”, the art of justice is “the one that gives benefits and harms to friends and enemies” or in other words “Justice is doing good to friends and harm to enemies” (332d).

This is a definition that is more general than the one Cephalus had provided, and therefore harder to disprove with just a simple counter example. To argue against it, Socrates will show that if this is truly the definition of justice, it will lead to unacceptable conclusions if applied.

Remember, to say something about justice is to say something about how we should treat other people, so in saying that we “should give others what they are due”, Polemarchus is saying that to act justly is to fulfill our social obligations to the people in our community and those outside of it.

If you were Socrates, how would you argue against this definition of justice? Keep in mind what acting according to Polemarchus’ definition would entail. In 332c, the word “craft” is a translation of the Greek word techne, which to those of Plato’s time would have the same connotations as the word “science” would have to us.

So when Socrates asks “what the craft we call justice gives”, he is asking what type of knowledge is needed in order to fulfill our social obligations to those in our community and those outside of it. By treating justice as a techne, Socrates requires that Polemarchus’ definition of justice require knowledge. Look back on Polemarchus’ definition – what type of knowledge is required to “do good to friends, and bad to enemies”?

Much of the diffuculty that Polemarchus’ definition faces is that Socrates treats the type of knowledge required by justice as a techne, or a skill. This sets justice to the same standard of knowledge as the skills that the term techne encompassed in Plato’s time, such as that of a medicine or navigation. These skills usually made up a persons occupation (such as doctor or ship captain), and therefore not only require abstract, theoretical knowledge but a way to apply that knowledge, and subsequently, teach it to others.

If we are to say we have knowledge of justice, of how we should treat others, then Socrates and Plato maintain this is the standard we must aim for in our search for justice. By having Polemarchus agree that justice is a skill or a craft, Socrates traps Polemarchus into having to show that there is a specific subject that is the sole domain of justice, in the same way that we have a defined view of the purpose of medicine or navigation. So if justice is something that guides the activity of “doing good to friends and bad to enemies” is there a specific field of knowledge that belongs to justice?

Socrates argument is to show that, if we are to follow Polemarchus’ definition of justice, that no, there is not. This is because the skill to do good or bad to someone is already accounted for by other crafts. If, as Polemarchus claims, the domain of justice is in matters of war’s and alliances (332e) and in peace-time, that of contracts,

Socrates asks Polemarchus how a person can determine who their friends are. People make mistakes, so can’t a person then think someone who is their friend, whom they consider to be good, be in fact their enemy? Since this is obviously the case, and people often mistake their enemy for their friend, Polemarchus’ definition of justice can mean that it is just to treat good men unjustly. This seems like a bad definition of justice.

In response to this, Polemarchus amends his definition of justice to state that “it is just to do good to the friend, if he is good, and harm to the enemy, if he is bad” (335a). Socrates is quick in his rebuttal, and asks if it is ever just for a just man to harm anyone? When you harm a horse or a dog they become worse. So therefore, cannot it also be said that the same is true of a human being, and in respect to human virtue a person would become worse? If human virtue must be a part of justice, just as “musicians cannot make men unmusical through music”, it does not make sense that a just man can make others unjust through justice. That is the work of his opposite, an unjust man.

Through these arguments Socrates has silenced Polemarchus, but we shall see later on that his definition of justice will make a reappearance. The best city is one that is peaceful, but that might not be so between the relations of states, meaning that a warrior force that protects the polis will be needed. The fact that this definition makes a reappearance is not a surprise, since is not a sense of community central to the citizenship that makes up political life? Can a political society even survive without a sense of what it is, and what it is not?

Thrasymachus, Socrates’s evil twin

The next to take up the challenge of giving a definition of justice is Thrasymachus, who has been sitting eagerly through Socrates’s conversation with Polemarchus, barely restrained by those around him from speaking. He is describes “hunched up like a wild beast” and once Socrates finishes his conversation with Polemarchus, he flings himself at Socrates and demands that he give a definition of justice himself instead of just refuting the definitions of others. This outburst startles Socrates so much that he thinks to himself that “he was frightened when he heard [Thrasymachus], and, looking at him, he was frightened” (336d).

But Socrates had noticed Thrasymachus’ agitation while he was speaking to Polemarchus and was ready to answer him. Socrates says that if he is making any mistake, it is not intentionally, since he would not stand in the way of someone looking for something as valuable as justice. At this response Thrasymachus exclaims in humor, and accuses Socrates of engaging in his “habitual irony” in not giving an answer. Thrasymachus is a sophist, who in ancient Greece would teach rhetoric for a fee. Philosophy was defined in contrast to sophistry, which was characterized by skepticism and a reputation for making anything look like the truth, while philosophy was the search for what was true and objective.

Thrasymachus gives his definition of justice, stating “the just is nothing but the advantage of the stronger” (338c). In other words, might is right.

Thrasymachus points out that every polity makes a distinction between the rulers and the ruled, and each ruling group, no matter the form of government, sets down the laws. “A democracy sets down democratic laws; a tyranny, tyrannical laws” (338e) for their own advantage and declare these laws to be what is just for the ruled, and punish their breaking as injustice. Justice is the rules of the ruling class, which they set to their benefit.

Socrates challenges Thrasymachus in a similar way to his challenge to Polemarchus. He asks Thrasymachus is if rulers can make mistakes, and therefore make laws that are disadvantageous and harmful to them. If it is so, which Thrasymachus agrees to be true, then the ruled are made to follow rules that are a disadvantage of the stronger. This shows a flaw in Thrasymachus’s thinking. Thrasymachus’s response to this challenge is that those who make mistakes are not true rulers, since they are not the stronger in having made their mistake. The true ruler acts on their own interest, as well as knowing what is in their own interest.

Socrates argues that an art is not made for the benefit of the practitioner but for the advantage of its use. Medicine does not consider the advantage of medicine, but of the body, and horsemanship does not consider the advantage of horsemanship, but of horses. Therefore, Socrates concludes, a ruler, in practicing the craft of ruling, considers not their own advantage but, instead, that of which is ruled (342e). Thrasymachus blows up again, and insults Socrates. He says that the relationship between the rulers and the ruled is like that of a shepherd and their sheep. The shepherd does not raise the sheep looking for the good, but for their own self-interest.

The value of Injustice

In giving his speech about shepherds and sheep, Thrasymacus makes some bold statements about the value of living a just life. He says that “the just man everywhere has less than the unjust man” and injustice is to one’s benefit if it is done on a larger scale, as a ruler, since no one will call it injustice. After all “for it is not because they fear doing unjust deeds, but because they fear suffering them, that those who blame injustice do so” (344c). The just is then what is profitable for the stronger, and the unjust is what is profitable and advantageous for oneself. Here, Thrasymachus has changed the topic of debate from the question of what justice is, to if a life lived according to justice is the best one.

Thrasymachus is claiming that perfect injustice is more profitable than perfect justice (348b). In response to this Socrates asks him if he thinks if justice is a virtue, and injustice is a vice. Thrasymacus agrees that justice is a virtue and injustice a vice, but adds that injustice is more profitable, and is good and prudent. Prompted by Socrates’s questions, Thrasymachus is also made to agree that the just man will be willing to only get the better of the unjust man, while the unjust man is willing to get the better of both those that are just and unjust. Put plainly, Socrates is making the point that the unjust are the sort of people who would take advantage of other people, both those who are just and unjust,

If, as Thrasymachus is also made to agree, those that are learned are not willing to get the better of those that are like them, but the unlearned are willing to get the better of both the learned and the unlearned, the just have been revealed themselves to be good and wise, while the unjust are unlearned and bad. It is at this point that Thrasymachus is made to blush, for he realizes that instead of defending justice as a virtue, he has been defending the unjust life, and those people who would take advantage of others.

Socrates’ second point is that even those that are involved in some unjust enterprise, such as thieves, would have to act justly towards one another in order to accomplish anything. It is injustice that produces factions and fighting among those factions, and justice that produces peace and friendship (351d). If the gods are just, the unjust man will also be an enemy of the gods.

But despite all this conversation, Socrates proclaims, the importance of this discussion is to determine the question of how one should live. The point of disagreement between Socrates and Thrasymachus is not only on what justice is, but if the just life is the best life (in being the most profitable).

Socrates goes on to say that each thing has a virtue in the work that it does. For example the purpose of an eye is to see, but if instead of being governed by virtue it was ruled by its vice, that is blindness, then its work would be done poorly. The same can be said of living, which is the work of the soul, so that a soul ruled by vice does not live well. Since justice is the virtue of the soul and injustice its vice, the just soul and the just man will live a good life, and the unjust one a bad one (353e). The just man will therefore be happy, which is profitable, while the unjust one will be wretched, which is not.

This conclusion seems to be an unsatisfactory one. It seems like Socrates did not really disprove Thrasymachus’s argument, more that Thrasymachus got frustrated and gave up. Glaucon and Adeimantus agree, and are not satisfied with this conclusion, as we will see in Book II.

The main point to take away from the debate around Thrasymachus’s definition of justice is that it hinges on what type of knowledge is necessary to rule. The central concession that Thrasymachus makes to Socrates is in saying that one needs knowledge in order to determine what is in ones self-interest. So if justice is self-interest, then justice requires knowledge. If the true ruler will act unjustly in order to pursue their own interests, justice, like all knowledge, is for the purpose of self-interest. By Thrasymachus’s view the strong are better of disregarding justice, and pursuing their own self-interests directly.

Why do we read Book I?

Having been introduced to the question of justice, and having been given three diverse accounts of how to define justice, we are left at the end of Book I with little answered. This leads many frustrated students to ask why we even need to read Book I? We will move on to Book II only to have Glaucon pose the same questions, mainly (1) what is justice, and (2) is the just life the good life – questions which, unlike in Book I, Socrates actually attempts to give an answer to.

This leaves many students tempted to skip Book I, but while tempting, I would not recommend it. The reason that Book I is still read in teaching the Republic is because it introduces many of the themes of the book, and in my opinion functions as a good primer to those who are unfamiliar with the Socratic method of philosophizing, asking questions and arguing. Plus, Book I sets important groundwork in the common ways that one may approach asking the question of what justice is, and the problems that those approaches will face.

While frustrating (which is in part the point, the search for the truth is not an easy thing!) the work of Book I is rewarding. As you will see, it is likely that you will return to Book I in your essay on the Republic in order to trace Socrates’ line of argument, since after Book I Socrates does not face much opposition in laying out his definition of justice.

#plato #the republic #reading notes #political science #political philosophy #some old notes i wrote for a tutoring session #political theory has my heart #if you ever want to discuss it #leave an ask!

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efingart · 3 years

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Just What I Needed - Chapter 13

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She sat at the shared table, head bent over a workbook.

The old tutor sat with her quietly, drinking his coffee.

"Ah," He said over his teacup when she wrote in her answer.

It was wrong.

Bell looked up at him, scrunching her nose.

"I'm not going to tell you the answer," He said, keeping his voice low. He was speaking English as he always did when they were alone in the common area of their floor.

"Not fair," She responded and bit on the end of her pencil as she reviewed the answer.

"You know this one; it's easy for you."

"I can say it. I can't write it," She exhaled in frustration. Shifting anxiously in the hard wooden chair, all she could think about was being outside. Playing with her sister, who had long finished her work and immediately ran off with the neighbor kids. Occasionally, she could hear them shouting as they played in the snow. A rescue. They were playing her game, which she had invented last week when they heard the news about the little dog in space. She shouldn't have been upset about it, but it made her feel more motivated to get out there. And more frustrated with her stupid English work.

"I'm never going to get this."

"You will."

The tutor picked up the discarded workbook and flipped through it, raising an eyebrow.

"Your sister could stand to study more, herself."

Bell felt encouraged by this. When she looked back down at her workbook, she immediately knew the answer and erased the incorrect one with vigor.

"Don't rip the page!" The tutor exclaimed, trying not to laugh at her eagerness.

She filled in the answer and looked up at him for approval. His green eyes lit up.

"Good. I knew you could," He tapped the page with two crooked fingers, "Your Mama will be thrilled."

Bell beamed.

"I have something for you," He said, pulling out a notebook and passing it to her.

She flipped it open. It was full of hand-written puzzles—crosswords, word finds, and at the back some simple ciphers.

"You made this for me?"

He nodded encouragingly.

"You seemed to enjoy the puzzle book I gave you. I didn't have another one, so I thought I would make one."

___________________________________________________________

Bell's eyes fluttered open. It took a moment to get adjusted to reality again. The world around her was warped as if it were being viewed from a fish-eye lens.

Park was speaking, but the sound was distorted and distant.

In a rush, her surroundings were back into clear focus.

"More homework sessions," Hudson's frustration was apparent in his voice.

He was right. How many more days of this kids' stuff?

"I did tell you this would be a slow process," Park said as she removed the electrodes from Bell's chest, "It's much simpler to overwrite memories than to bring them back."

"No, he's right," Bell sat up and rubbed her aching head, "We need to push. It's been nearly a week now."

"Let's just take a break."

Bell swung her legs over the gurney and hopped down. The floor appeared to be miles away at first glance but then quickly reset itself.

She was getting tired of the loopy distorted effects of the drugs on her. It usually dissipated shortly after the treatments stopped, but feeling so entirely out of control of herself wasn't pleasant.

And she walked so slowly. Painfully slow. Her legs felt like they were melting into the floor. But she managed to move through it to ask Mason for a cigarette and a lighter. He seemed to know not to join her outside for the smoke, and she was grateful to him for that.

She made a mental note to get her own so she wouldn't need to keep asking Mason or Woods for theirs. Not that they ever minded. But she relied on them enough—more than she was comfortable with.

She grabbed her sweatshirt and forced her melting legs to walk outside. There she stood under the porch awning as she lit her cigarette. Her body seemed to resolidify as the cool misty air hit her skin. The cigarette was warm and comforting.

She turned her hand to look at the little white stick.

Another thing she relied on too much.

Everyone was upending their lives for her. Mason would be gone over the next week helping his wife and child move into their new apartment.

Not in the same building.

Not one full of CIA with armed security at the door.

A nice ordinary building. Which was good. Good for the kid to be separated from this at least a little bit.

Mason said he would spend part of his time at their apartment and part of his time with his family. Sacrifices.

He had assured her he was happy with the arrangement. Given how much time he spent away, he didn't see them as much as he would have liked. Bell wondered how much he missed out on. There were so many blink-and-you'll-miss-them milestones for kids. Hard for a dad who was on the road all the time.

Everyone figured this would be a long process, so they were settling in.

At least she didn't have the pressure of the CIA throwing in the towel on her right away for these childish memories.

They spent money moving everyone. They weren't going to quit too soon.

So Mason's family would be here soon, and Mason would be gone for a few days. Leaving her and Woods alone.

That would have made her happy once.

Now, well, it was hard even to make eye contact with him.

She leaned on the wall and sunk to the concrete floor of the Safehouse porch. She placed her elbow on her knee and raised the cigarette to her lips.

Her head ached.

How many times had she come out here citing headaches?

Attributing it to a too-tight ponytail, or lack of sleep or stress?

All of the above.

Nope, just your brain getting crammed full of someone else's memories.

Adler's memories.

A sudden chill shot up her spine.

She didn't want to think about Adler.

It felt too intimate having his memories up there.

A violation.

Working with him so closely.

She still couldn't shake the feeling like they were friends even though she knew it was all a lie.

Bell told herself she would love to get her hands on him. Kill him. Draw out his death.

Make him suffer too. But deep down, she really wasn't sure if she could go through with it.

She pushed him out of her mind and yanked at her hair tie. Once her hair was free, she clawed her fingers through it, allowing it to fall over and around her face.

Bell sat there staring straight ahead, letting her cigarette burn down. This was the first time she had been outside without the threat of capture or death for months.

She closed her eyes as a soft breeze rolled through.

The door to the Safehouse opened. Bell quickly straightened her hair and took a drag from what was left of her cigarette. She leaned her head against the brick wall.

It was Park.

"Bell, we're about ready to try again if you're up for it."

Bell rolled her head over to look at Park.

"We don't have to do this," Park folded her arms across her chest. A protective gesture.

Bell guessed she still made Park nervous.

Fine by her.

"Park," Bell stubbed out her cigarette, "I found your notes- back then. At first, I didn't realize they were about me, but I've had plenty of time to reflect on things."

"Oh?" Park shifted her feet, "Which notes were those?"

"Adler wanted to increase my dosages. You ignored him. You were concerned, I suppose," She shrugged, "-about how I was doing. At least as far as the success of your project."

Park stared at her but didn't deny it.

Bell gave her a small smile and stood up.

"Thanks for not lying to me there. I have no doubts about who I am to you. But yeah, I'd like to continue today," She walked into the Safehouse expecting Park to follow.

Park's legs were longer than hers, so Bell had to consciously keep ahead of her without looking like she was making an effort.

"I'm not sure if it's a good idea," Park said when she caught up with her.

"What's not a good idea?" Mason's head went up. He was, predictably, by the coffee pot.

Bell placed a hand on her hip.

"Park doesn't think I should go on today."

"She's the expert," Mason gestured with his mug towards Park, "If she doesn't think it's a good idea-"

Bell ran her fingers through her hair again in frustration and walked away from both of them.

Woods was just inside the door to the lab. He looked deep in thought.

"What's going on?" He looked up first at Bell and then at Mason just outside the door.

Bell brushed past him.

"I think we're taking Bell home for the day," Mason said as he stepped into the room.

"No, we're not," Bell countered.

Bell pulled her sweatshirt off and tossed it on a chair.

She looked out at Park through the door expectantly. Then at Hudson, who was reviewing Park's notes in the corner of the room.

Does he ever take breaks?

He put the folder down and straightened up, "If she thinks she can do it, she should do it."

"Park is nervous. Or guilty. Maybe both. She's letting it cloud her decision making-"

"Bell, this isn't about guilt. The more drugs you take, the more you'll need to get into the proper mental state. I have no idea what kind of dosages they gave you in that prison. We could lose you in your mind. You could have a psychotic break-"

"I fucking knew it! The drugs-" Woods spat, "Then don't give her any. You said you would find another way if-"

"Don't start that again," Hudson cut him off.

"No!" Bell slapped her hand on the gurney bed, drawing everyone's attention, "It's my mind."

She looked around the room at each person in turn. Then pointedly at Park.

"I didn't get a choice in any of this," Bell pointed at herself, "I'm choosing now. I can take it."

___________________________________________________________

Freefall.

Her stomach dropped as nothing, but cold air caught her.

Her coat, her dress fluttered in the air as she fell.

Her black leather boots, scuffed and dirty.

She could nearly count every single mark on them.

She had time to take it all in.

The smoke swirled around everywhere.

It was in the air. It was all she could smell.

It was in her eyes, blurring her vision.

An ugly spiral of gray obscured the night sky and its stars.

Glass fragments, shattered glass, sparkling as it caught the light of the flames, fell all around her.

Bell closed her eyes.

Tiny pinpricks of pain as red lines appeared as if by magic across her skin.

Her back was hot. Covered in sweat and blood.

The blood rushing there and out. Soaking into her clothes, her coat.

She hit the ground, and all the air rushed out of her lungs.

Then she was thrown forward. Caught by a seatbelt jammed in her chest.

It was daytime now. Not night.

The air was hot. Blisteringly hot and humid, not cold and snowy.

And the fire was closer. She felt the warmth on her cheek.

Someone was shooting.

Mechanical whirring.

She was looking down at the roof of the helo.

Blood no longer rushing to her back but instead to her head.

She was upside down.

And then the air came rushing back, and it felt good, but also painful and tight.

"Bell…. Goddamn turret…."

She was in the helicopter. The rotor mast was trying to turn its broken blades, trying to go, but they weren't going anywhere.

This bird would never fly again.

The turret was in front of her. She grasped it and fired. Burning debris fell around her. Soft clouds of blood popped in the air outside as she hit enemy after enemy.

"Bell, what's on fire?" Park's voice, like the voice of god boomed in her ears.

"Helo shot down," Bell responded. Her own voice was soft and distant.

"I think she might be recalling a false memory. It's overriding the real one," Park-God's voice was speaking to someone else, and then she was back to Bell, "That memory isn't real. You were never in Vietnam."

"Not…? No, I-"

The turret vaporized in her hands. But the enemies were still coming.

Adler was shouting at her to get to the turret.

It was gone, Adler. There's no turret.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

We're gonna die.

A low rumble was followed by a bright flash and wind that rocked the helicopter. Bell shut her eyes against it, and when she opened them time had stopped. She thought she had gone deaf from the explosion, but she could hear every movement as she shifted in her seat.

Fabric rubbing against fabric.

The click of her seatbelt as she reached for it unlatched it.

The sounds amplified in her ears.

And carefully, she let herself down.

She turned to look at Adler and Sims. Adler's mouth frozen in a yell.

Sims going for a gun. A bullet had grazed his arm. The bullet itself was hanging in mid-air a few inches from Sims. And there was a frozen river of blood in the air trailing from his wound.

Bell stepped out of the helicopter, broken glass crunched and fractured further under her boot.

It was like before.

When Adler had her searching for the bunker.

Mason said he'd find out what else you put in here.

She wondered if she would encounter a red door.

Any more of those in here, Adler?

Backdoors to my brain?

She stepped around a soldier in mid-charge.

More bullets hanging in the air. Shell casings popped from his gun.

Lifting a finger, she tapped one of the shells. The air around it warped then it snapped itself back into place.

Bending time and space.

Bell thought of one of the books sitting on her nightstand. It was a children's book about a girl from whom no one expected anything- she hadn't had a chance to finish it.

She moved on.

A man caught in freefall, his eyes wide, a bullet had just penetrated his heart.

Caught between life and death.

She made her way ahead past enemy lines.

There was nothing ahead of her, but everything seemed to materialize around her as she continued forward.

You were never in Vietnam.

Isn't it possible that I was?

If Perseus was really here, maybe I was too?

If I walk far enough, will I find myself?

What would happen if the two Bells met?

What could she tell me?

"Bell-" Park-God was talking again. Her voice came to Bell's ears like someone running past her at lightspeed.

But Bell continued her march through the brush.

Everything felt so real.

Her heart was pounding in her chest.

Her breath was heavy and loud. Slightly suffocated by the oppressive humidity.

The heat of the day beat on her back.

Sweat pasted her shirt to her body.

As she walked, she dropped her equipment on the ground. She wouldn't need it.

She attempted to rush things, to will her mind to conjure up a memory, a real memory, but it would not. So she walked.

"This mission. Fracture Jaw as Adler called it," She said, wiping the sweat from her brow, "We were picking up a nuke. I left the nuke back there."

Bell laughed at the idea. Just leaving the nuke out in the open in her mind.

Go back.

Set it off.

Nuke her brain.

"I'm not sure if you can hear me, Park, or Woods…Mason… Hudson, but this nuke. We were picking it up to keep it out of the hands of the enemy," She stopped to wipe the sweat from her brow, it was all in her head, but it felt so real, "That's what Adler said. But why was there a nuke in the first place?"

Bell turned to look back at the helicopter she had long since left behind. It was no longer visible on the horizon.

"Who were they going to use it on? How many would get hurt?"

She trudged up an incline, and that's when her boot began to sink into the ground.

Grasping her boot at the ankle, she attempted to yank it back to the surface. Instead, her other boot began to sink.

What was this?

Quicksand?

Bell recalled her training and began to lean back. Redistribute the weight and float on the surface. Her legs would be free momentarily.

How can she remember her survival training but not her own name?

And how is it that quicksand can work when everything was else frozen?

Once she had that realization, she was sucked down into the ground.

"BELL!"

Somewhere above her, she could hear a muffled shout from the Park-God.

The ground released her on the other side, and she fell into suffocating darkness.

Into his arms.

He was carrying her. Perseus. He was running.

Bell tried to look back, but there was a pain in her arm that was too intense. All-consuming.

She looked and couldn't comprehend it.

An arm bent at an odd angle.

Who's arm was that?

But she couldn't worry about their arm.

She had to take care of her own.

Stop.

That was her arm.

We have to take care of my arm.

She tried to will the man to stop, but he wouldn't.

In her other hand, which she clutched to her chest, was a piece of cloth. She opened it, the fabric was a tiny flag.

"You see," He had stopped running, "This is what they do. They don't care about children. Women. They don't care about people. They only want to keep their stranglehold on this world. Anything to keep them in power."

___________________________________________________________

She opened her eyes. Park rushed to her side.

"Bell?"

There was some kind of shuffling sound to her right, chairs being pushed away.

"Wait," Park held out a hand, "Give her room."

"We're fucking done," Woods' voice, "I'm getting the van."

She heard the footfalls made by Woods as he stormed out of the room.

"Hey," Mason said. He was just at her side, looking down at her.

Bell winced and groaned in response.

"Oh, I know that feeling," He said as he surveyed her face, "Feels like shit, doesn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Look, I know-" He started again, "Let me help you down, ok?"

He held out his hand. She looked at his open palm for a moment as if she couldn't process it. Carefully she placed her hand in his. It was rough and calloused but so warm.

Comforting.

Real.

It felt real.

His arm went around her back, and he led her out of the room.

"Bell," Park stopped them, "When you feel better, try to write down what you saw."

Bell nodded, and she and Mason continued out of the room.

"Mason."

"Yeah?"

"Bathroom."

___________________________________________________________

Mason helped Bell into her room and onto her bed when they got back to the apartment. Then he stepped out to get her something to eat soothe her empty stomach. He returned with a box of crackers and some juice and placed both on her nightstand. She pulled a few crackers from the box and munched on them slowly.

"Where did you go anyway?" Mason asked, sitting on the bed facing her.

"Vietnam," Bell rolled onto her back. She draped her arm over her stomach as she stared at the ceiling.

"You think you might have really been there?"

"It's hard to say," She looked at him, "I had this idea like I could find the other me. And maybe everything would come back. She would just tell me all of it. But I couldn't get there."

"She might have killed you," Mason grinned.

"Yeah, then where would we be?" Bell chuckled. She bit into the cracker, chewed, and asked, "Did you ever do that? Go rogue?"

"Kind of. It's different for me," His grin grew wider, "I did piss off Hudson once or twice."

Bell grabbed another cracker. Mason helped himself as well.

He chewed for a moment, thinking something over.

"You had us all worried. You were out for a long time."

"How long?"

"Bout an hour and a half. You were muttering. Sounded like you were yelling at Adler."

"I'd certainly like to."

"Yeah, you and me both. And Woods," He gestured over his shoulder with the cracker, "More than that."

"I'm first in line."

"Yeah, I know. We'll be happy to take what's left."

Bell gave him a tired smile.

"All right, you should rest," He stood up and turned off her light, "If you need anything, just holler."

"For sure, Mason. Thanks."

He closed the door behind him. She was sorry that he would be gone tomorrow. He was the only one who had an idea of what she was going through. He didn't overreact. It didn't seem to freak him out.

It also felt good just talking with him.

She was glad to have Mason in her corner.

And with this thought in her mind, she drifted to sleep.

___________________________________________________________

When she woke up, the sun was just setting. It cast a warm orange across her bedroom. Groaning, she sat up. Every muscle ached. It was as if she had been physically marching through the jungle, not just in her mind.

She could hear Woods and Mason just in the other room. They were talking, laughing.

Bell couldn't help but smile to herself.

They sounded like their old selves.

She felt a strong desire to join them, to be a part of that. Throwing off the covers and ignoring the pain in her legs, she moved straight for the door.

Her hand was on the doorknob.

It seemed like they were having such a good time.

Then it hit her.

It was just them.

She wasn't there.

She put her other hand against the door and placed her forehead against the cool wood.

Woods was laughing. Really laughing. A little too loud, but it was so nice to hear.

She had only heard him laugh like that around Mason.

No walking on eggshells around the crazy woman.

She let her fingers drop from the doorknob and took a step back.

No need for her to butt in and ruin their good time.

Turning, she picked up a book from her nightstand, which she had been thinking about earlier. She carried that into the bathroom with her and sat on the tub's edge.

She scanned the products lining the tub, and an emerald green bottle caught her eye. It had pink flowers printed on it.

Apple blossoms.

She reviewed the label- some kind of bath thing. At least, that's what she gathered from all the flowery descriptive words.

Exactly what she was looking for.

She plugged up the drain and turned on the faucet.

The bathroom began to steam up.

Bell dumped the instructed amount of product under the rushing water and watched as bubbles formed in the wake.

They smelled like green apples. She could see that the water had begun to turn pink just under the bubbles.

She looked over the bottle again. There was a note about the water changing color. Then she set it back in its place on the edge of the tub.

Woods seriously picked this out?

As she waited for the tub to fill, she removed her socks and studied her toes. Gently she ran her fingers over the places where nails should have been. The skin had hardened there, at least.

How long would it take for them to grow back?

Those nights marching around the facility had done a number on her feet. She massaged her instep, resigning herself to continue to wear socks around the apartment. She knew she should let them breathe, but she didn't want the reminder.

The tub was now filled, so she turned off the water. Standing, she looked at herself in the mirror and piled her hair on top of her head, securing it with a clip.

An errant lock fell out. She jutted out her bottom lip to blow at it in annoyance.

The shorter hair still frustrated her. It wasn't bad, not too short, thank goodness, but she had liked it long.

And whoever had given her the haircut had not done it with any kind of style in mind.

No surprises there. Maybe she could get a real haircut somewhere.

Scanning her reflection, her eyes landed on her sunken cheeks. She touched the hollows of her cheeks with her fingertips, then moved up to her eyes.

The dark circles seemed to have moved in permanently.

You're beautiful, Bell.

Her ears burned at the memory.

You don't think that anymore, do you, Woods?

Not because of the sunken cheeks and the dark under eyes.

Hell, even the missing toenails.

That kind of stuff didn't seem like it would ever bother him.

No, it was her, past her. She had aligned herself with his enemies. Spent most of her life fighting against what he was fighting for.

And that truth about herself-

She curled her fingers and mimed, scraping her nails down her skin. Sick of looking at herself, she dropped her hands and took in the large bathroom.

They had purposely given her the room with the ensuite.

At first, she had thought it was so they could lock her in. But they hadn't.

At least not yet.

They let her roam free in the apartment.

She wasn't sure if they locked their rooms at night. And she wasn't about to try the doors.

But how many more accommodations would they make for her?

She couldn't understand it.

Bell slipped out of her clothes and into the hot water.

She settled into the water, the steam swirling around her, warming her skin.

Why hadn't she done this sooner?

She crossed her arms over the side of the tub and rested her chin there. Then she picked up the book and began to read.

___________________________________________________________

Fuck.

Her legs were shaking uncontrollably.

Teeth chattering.

The tip of her nose felt like ice. She flexed her fingers. They felt stiff and slow to move.

Willing her frozen brain to do anything she tried to bring her arms to her chest.

But they were strapped down.

Her toes curled over wet plastic.

There was a single light in the room on the wall just across from her.

A man strode into the beam of light, casting a shadow over her.

"Lift it, again," He directed. Unseen guards gathered the tarp around her like a flower closing up its petals. Before the plastic completely obscured her vision, she saw his face. Sunglasses.

Perfectly coiffed hair.

He was smoking a cigarette.

A long scar spidered over half of his handsome face.

___________________________________________________________

Bell jerked awake and scrambled out of the tub and onto the edge. Her feet were still in the water, and she was surprised to find that it was still hot.

Something was pounding in her head.

Reaching around the wall, she yanked a towel down from the rack.

She wrapped it around herself and clutched her arms to her chest. Her body trembled. She couldn't shake the feeling like she was freezing despite the warm steamy room.

The door flew open. Woods paused just at the threshold.

"Shit! Are you-," He gestured behind him, "I was banging on the door, and you weren't answering-"

Bell looked at him. She realized she had heard him knocking, but it had taken her mind a moment to catch up with her surroundings. Like she had been under again.

She didn't respond. She just looked around the room.

Was she actually here?

Bell held up her hand to her face. She examined the back and the front as if it held the answer for her somewhere.

What was real anymore?

Woods grabbed something from the wall and crouched next to her.

"Hey," His voice was low, gentle, the kind of voice one would use on a frightened animal.

"I'm so cold," Bell whispered to the room.

"Yeah, well," Woods looked at the tub, "Usually people get in the tub to take a bath. Hang on, is that water pink?"

She turned to look at him again, mystified.

This had to be the real Woods, right?

She reached out, just barely touching the beard hair on his chin with the tips of her fingers.

His blue eyes studied her face as her fingers ran over a section of white hair.

The little sections of white were striking against the black and only served to make him more handsome.

Then she pulled her hand back.

She had done this before. Touched him like this before.

It was too much.

He's real.

That's all she needed to do.

Confirm he was real.

Nothing else.

What was that expression on his face when she pulled away?

"Come on," He stood and held the bathrobe up for her so she could put it on.

Bell frowned.

"I'm fine, Woods," Bell held her hand out for the robe, "I got it."

After a moment, Woods handed it to her.

"You were screaming-" He started.

"Just a nightmare. Probably something to do with the drugs. I'm fine."

Bell stood up and, with her back to him, shrugged the robe on over the towel.

"And you're probably not gonna tell us what it was about?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You were screaming."

She tied the belt of the robe firmly around her waist.

"I'm sorry I made you worry."

He shook his head and walked out of the bathroom.

Bell gave him time to leave. She could hear him muttering something to Mason. Then her bedroom door opened and shut.

It was only until she was sure they had left the room that she walked out of the bathroom. She was alone again.

Isn't that what you wanted?

Bell sat on the bed, back against the wall. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged herself.

Admitting to what she had seen in her nightmare, which she wasn't sure was even real, made her feel uncomfortable and uncertain.

Adler, torturing her.

There was a voice in her head that nagged her. What if she deserved it?

What if admitting it out loud was not bombshell news for them?

What if it was a lead weight?

If she told them how he tortured her, how he had tried to kill her after Solovetsky- because she hadn't told them that- What if something started to click in their minds? If that provided the clarity, they needed to see her for who she really was?

Maybe she was worse than Adler if he had to go to those lengths with her.

Maybe it was warranted.

In the front of her mind, she knew this was unreasonable. What he had done to her was wrong. Adler did not know who she was when he picked her up half-dead on that airfield but had charged her guilty by association.

Something told her Woods and Mason wouldn't think poorly of her because of how she was treated.

But did she really know them?

She couldn't tell them and risk them thinking worse of her than they already did. Even for a second.

And, who knows, maybe it was the truth. Maybe she did deserve it.

There was a soft knock on her bedroom door.

"Come in," She called.

Mason poked his head in.

"Hey, I was thinking about ordering Chinese," He waved a tri-folded glossy paper menu, "Want something?"

___________________________________________________________

Mason called to her when the food arrived. He was unpacking the giant white containers with red writing and placing them on the coffee table when she stepped out of her room.

"Hey," He looked up from his work, "I thought maybe we could just eat here in front of the TV. Is that ok with you?"

Bell nodded and walked over to help him unpack.

"Is Woods-" She trailed off.

Mason paused, "He needed to blow off some steam, probably went for a drive or a walk."

"Mason-"

"It's his thing. Don't worry," He opened a container of steaming orange chicken, "Oh fuck this smells so good."

"This is a lot of food for just us," Bell observed as she too began opening containers. There was a particularly delicious-looking beef with broccoli she had her eye on.

"Yeah, I ordered extra," He looked at her pointedly, "I can't be one hundred percent certain, but I think he'll be back tonight and early. Or earlier than expected."

"Oh."

But he might not be back at all so he could be-

"Like I said, it's his thing. This is all pretty stressful for everyone. Not nearly as bad as it is for you, of course," He handed her a set of chopsticks, "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. It's not all about what's going on with you, and none of it is directed at you."

"Some of it is you too?"

Mason breathed in deeply through his nose and exhaled before answering, "Yeah, it's difficult to see in living color, so to speak. He's getting a double whammy of seeing you go through it and then thinking about what I went through. The tough guy has a heart. Don't tell him I said that."

"I kind of gathered."

"Oh yeah, he said you called him the nicest guy in the CIA or something. I'm a little hurt, Bell," He laughed and picked up a container, "All right, enough heavy stuff can we please eat?"

They ate until they couldn't eat anymore. The containers still sat on the coffee table. Bell moved to put the remaining food away when Mason stopped her.

"I just have a feeling he'll be here."

So she stopped and settled back in her spot.

No questioning Mason's intuition about Woods.

She hoped he was right. Woods could obviously do what he wanted, but she still hoped Mason was right.

Pulling a blanket over her legs, she tried to focus on the movie.

She propped her arm up on the back of the couch and placed her head in her hand. Next to her, Mason was slouching, feet on the edge of the coffee table, his hands in his lap.

The movie was cheesy and in black and white. Mason said it was from the 50s. In fact, he had recalled watching it on a night off while he was in Korea.

His head nodded forward. He had most certainly dozed off.

Bell felt her eyes getting heavy. She told herself she should wake Mason, put away the food, and go to bed. But all of that sounded like too much effort. Instead, she pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and rested her head on the back of the couch.

She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, the front door was opening.

Woods was back.

Bell looked at the tv. The movie was the same.

Mason had been right.

Both, now awake, watched Woods as he walked into the living room.

He sat down between them without a word and picked up a container.

"Had a feeling you'd be back," Mason said with a yawn.

Woods grunted and picked out a large helping of the orange chicken with his chopsticks.

"What is this crap you're watching?"

"It's what was on. Maybe we should call in a favor from Sims to get us a VCR and some videotapes," Mason yawned wider this time. Teardrops collected on the edges of his eyes.

"Looks like you need to get to bed, old man," Woods joked, slapping Mason's shoulder. Mason closed his eyes and gave Woods a little contented smile.

He stretched his arms over his head and then stood up.

"G'night," Mason said as he dragged himself to his room.

Bell removed the blanket and leaned forward to clean up the empty containers.

"I'll take care of it. You need to sleep."

Bell nodded and walked to her room.

As she placed her hand on the door, Woods spoke again.

"I don't need to know everything, but you don't need to be so tough," He added, "Not with us."

Bell considered responding, but after a moment of thought, she just nodded, turned the handle, and walked into her room.

___________________________________________________________

The following day Mason left early to pick up his family from the airport. He looked a bit tired to be up so early, but he had an aura of happiness around him.

Then it was she and Woods alone. They moved through the morning quietly, still unsure around each other.

The routine didn't change much. Bell made breakfast, Woods made coffee. Woods cut out the puzzles in his paper and gave them to Bell to solve.

Soon enough, it was time to go to the Safehouse and once again deep dive into her memory.

Bell was nervous. It would be the first time she did this without Mason.

She considered telling Woods this, but he seemed to have enough on his mind. And it would be fine. Nothing was all that different.

As Park readied the syringe, Bell looked to Woods. He was standing at his usual spot by the window, arms folded. He wasn't looking at the proceedings but instead scanning the Safehouse.

He could be doing anything else. More important things, but he's here.

The medicine started to take effect.

Stuck here because Mason asked him to be.

Bell lifted her hand off the gurney, she was about to reach for him, but then she was under.

___________________________________________________________

The girls waved goodbye to their grandmother and began the walk home. It was snowing. It must have started while they were inside, as there was already a thick layer on the streets.

The younger girl skipped ahead, scooped up a handful of snow, and threw it into the air. It blew back into her sister's face.

"Hey! Isn't it snowing enough for you?" Bell called out as she shook the snow out of her hair.

The girl stopped and turned, pouting at her sister for ruining her fun.

"Oh, don't give me that look. Come on" Bell squatted down so the smaller girl could get on her back. Once she had hopped on and wrapped her arms around Bell's neck, Bell broke out into a run.

But she stopped short a block away from their building.

Animals were running past them. Cats and dogs. She recognized some of them as their neighbors' pets.

One huge shaggy dog was barrelling towards them. He came to a stop at Bell's feet.

She bent down to allow her sister to get off her back.

And then she placed her hands on the dog's mane.

"What's happening?" She asked him as if he could answer. His brown eyes were pleading. He licked her face.

Bell looked to her sister.

"Take the dog and go back. I'm going to see what's happening. I'll meet you there."

The little girl began crying and clutching the dog's neck.

"Please."

The sobbing girl nodded and grasped the dog's long fur, guiding him to their grandmother's house. Bell watched them go for a moment before moving forward.

Both of their parents were home. Surely if there was something wrong, they were handling it.

Everything was fine, and she was probably overreacting.

They would just yell at her for upsetting her sister, is all.

She jogged up the street.

The window in the entryway door had been smashed open.

She went around the side to the tree she occasionally used to exit and enter the building when she didn't want her parents to know she was out.

Bell grasped at the bark and began hoisting herself up. The rough texture scratched her knees. But she was used to it. She moved carefully onto a branch that she knew could hold her weight and looked into the window of the room she and her sister shared.

It was never the cleanest room, but they hadn't left it like this. The mattresses had been tossed haphazardly against the wall. Carefully, she reached for the window frame and opened it quietly. She stepped into the room.

"Mama?" Bell whispered.

Nothing.

Her parents were not in their room. Someone had tossed this room as well.

Bell crept into the common area. It was empty, chaotic. Chairs and tables turned over. A sofa had been ripped apart, the stuffing was strewn over the floor.

She touched the white batting. That's when she heard a noise in the stairwell.

Bell made her way to the stairs. She smelled smoke.

Where were her parents?

Carefully, taking each stair one by one, she walked up.

The stairwell door slammed behind her. Startled, she turned to see her sister.

"What are you doing here?!" She hissed.

"I got scared. I followed you," The girl cried, gripping Bell's coat.

Bell looked up the stairwell again. She wanted to find her mother.

She would make it all ok.

It would be ok.

She looked back at her sister.

Smoke was rising in the stairwell as if someone had set the ground floor on fire. Soon it would be like a chimney inside.

With one last fleeting glance upstairs, she pulled her sister back into the common area. They would have to go back the way they came.

Without their mother.

She made her way towards their bedroom but froze when someone came bursting through the door.

"MAMA!" Her sister hollered and ran towards the woman, grasping at her mother's dress and burying her sobs into the fabric.

"What are you doing here?" Their mother looked frantic.

There was blood on her dress.

Bell felt a chill run through her.

Mama was here. She should feel better, but that blood on her dress-

What was happening?

"You have to get out, now," Mama picked up the younger girl and shoved her into Bell's arms.

Then pushed them all towards the window.

No, no, not this window.

The one with the tree.

Mama didn't know about the tree. That the branches were so close, they could get out safely.

Bell started to move that way but was wrangled back in by her mother.

"Pick up your sister. Don't let her go," She said. There was such urgency in her voice that Bell complied immediately.

The door to the stairwell opened.

Men dressed in black, carrying guns, entered the room.

Their mother looked over her shoulder at them, then at the window in front of them.

The men were raising her guns.

Bell's eyes met her mother's. She was crying.

Mama was crying. She never cried.

Bell tightened her grip on her sister.

Then men fired.

Mama picked them up and tossed her daughters through the window.

The glass cracked all around her. It sliced through the back of her coat. Her dress.

Something was disrupting the air around her.

She heard her sister gasp as they fell.

Then she hit the snow.

Her elbow hit the ground, and every nerve in it lit up in a crescendo of pain.

Glass sprayed all around them. With one hand, Bell pulled her coat protectively around her sister. That triggered a new pain. Sharp in her back. And her back was hot.

Was something soaking through her coat?

Snow?

No, it was warm.

She turned her head.

There was an arm. It looked so strange. Who's arm was that?

Bent at an awkward angle.

That looked bad.

Distantly she knew that was her arm. It was broken.

She tried to scream through the pain, but her dry throat produced something that sounded like a cough more than a sob.

Where was her Mama?

She should be coming downstairs now. Surely she had evaded the men and would be making her way to them.

Didn't she know? She had always seemed to know when something was wrong with her girls.

"Mama!" She shouted into the night.

Her belly felt warm.

Something hot seeping through the front of her dress.

She touched her sister's hair.

"We have to get up now," She said, her voice rasping.

Nothing.

"Come on now," She shook her little shoulder more urgently.

The girl didn't move.

Someone was moving through the snow. Coming towards them.

Mama?

No, he was dressed in all black.

A man.

He stood over them.

"Wake up," She whispered.

The man in black kicked the smaller girl, rolling her body off of Bell.

He pulled out a pistol.

Something cracked through the air. The sound reverberated in the tiny courtyard.

The man in black went down.

Another man in a long green coat walked up to them and holstered his pistol.

He bent down and ripped something off the man's clothing.

Then he went to Bell, and she recognized him.

Perseus placed something in Bell's hand and lifted her. He was about to run with her when she stopped everything.

Stop the memory.

It jumped like a poorly edited film.

No, I want to stay.

The man set her down.

She lay back down in the snow next to her sister.

Park-God's voice echoed somewhere overhead, "Bell, wake up."

The pain in her arm wasn't real. It had healed. She wrapped her arms around her sister and pulled the body closer to her.

Wake up.

I'll buy you all the milkshakes you want if you just wake up.

But she didn't move.

The snow around them began to turn red.

Snow continued to fall.

It's ok. I can stay here with you.

The snow began to bury them.

"Bell, you have to wake up now."

And Bell could feel herself slipping away, deep inside her head.

She closed her eyes.

"Please," A desperate voice whispered.

Her eyes snapped open.

That's not Park.

She sat up and peered into the darkness. The blanket of snow that had gathered over her body shifted off of her.

It had sounded like the owner of the voice was right there next to her.

But he was nowhere to be found.

"Woods?" She asked the darkness.

Snowflakes settled on her eyelashes. She blinked them away.

Just ahead, she thought she could see a figure materialize in the shadows.

Above her, she heard a whooshing sound.

She looked up. The snow swirled from a pitch-black sky above.

Something else was falling at top speed, not meandering through the air like the snowflakes.

Something red.

With a metallic thud, it embedded itself in the ground before her.

So there were more of these in her mind.

Bell, an adult again, picked up her sister's lifeless body. The flakes of snow that had blanketed her body dusted the ground covering the red.

She reached for the door.

"You can't take her through that door."

Bell stopped short.

That voice.

Not Park.

Not Woods.

"NO!" Bell backpedaled and stopped when she hit something solid.

Another door.

She turned, and a door slammed into the ground, nearly clipping her nose.

Not this again.

No, you don't have control here.

I won't let you.

A fourth door hit the ground, boxing her in.

Bell crouched down, clutching her sister's body to her chest.

"Bell, listen to me. Wake up," The new voice urged.

"No!" Bell shouted into the void.

".... you're going to fuck with her head, again…." Woods was yelling at someone.

"I don't know what else to do," Park's exhausted voice responded.

Bell sat against a door, looking up into the sky.

The new voice boomed back, "Bell, we have a job to do."

tagging: @scumbagg @shieldsbucky @sogdads @quizzyisdone @animefreak1145 @stupid-stinky

43 notes · View notes

samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

Take My Hand and Drag Me Head First

Summary: Spencer Reid is a scientists and scientists love predictability; but love isn’t predictable, it’s fearless.

Category: Fluff

Pairing: Grad School Spencer Reid x Undergrad Female Reader (both are like 22 so pre-BAU)

Content Warnings: Insecurities & One Kiss, desiring someone but in a romantic way, one use of sh!t

Word Count: 4.2K (I got carried away)

Author’s Note: So I will not be sleeping tonight! But in honor of Fearless (TV) I wrote a Fearless (the song inspired fic). I’m so excited and can’t wait for 12 AM. Happy Reading & thank you! I love reading all the wonderful comments and tags.

Take My Hand and Drag Me Head First

If there was something Spencer Reid loves more than math, it was predictability. Technically math is just predictions. It’s pure symmetry in a beautiful language that you have to be logical enough to crack. Spencer likes predictability because he knows that to expect next. It’s the unpredictability that terrifies him.

He likes to have his clothes, khaki pants if it’s above 50 degrees, but corduroy pants if it’s below 50 degrees, a button down dress shirt, and a cardigan, picked out for the next day by 7 PM. He makes his grocery list made by Saturday afternoon, and completes his grad school work by Wednesdays at 4 PM. He likes having a certain element of control over his life, it makes him feel more like an adult. Even though Spencer knew more about the world than most 50 year olds when he was 13, he still felt like he was a kid dressing up in his grandfather’s clothes.

He knows what it is. It’s imposter syndrome and it was bound to catch up to him. He recalls sitting in his first psychology class. His feet could hardly reach the ground, but the tattered laces of his Converse grazed the tile floor. The dusty chalkboard was too far too read from where Spencer sat, but it didn’t matter. He knew what the lecture was on: Imposter Syndrome, or the internal experience of believing that you’re not as competent as others perceive you to be.

Spencer knows he’s overcome this feeling of Imposter Syndrome, but that comforting predictability falls apart right before his eyes Spencer still feels his feet dangling in the cold auditorium of his Intro to Psych lecture.

Well, a genius on what he prays is his first date is certainly the 21st Century version of a fish out of water.

Soft music echoes from the restaurant. Spencer lingers on the sidewalk, seriously thinking that wearing the tie is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever done. But that’s how all the great love stories start. One person goes to all the ends of the Earth to show the other person how they feel. A childhood filled with romantic heroes in some of the greatest works of literature is enough to have set Spencer up for dreaming of sweeping someone off their feet. If he’s being honest with himself, he wouldn’t really mind being swept off his feet. Especially now, as an earthy, woody smell permeates his nostrils and sweaty hands push past him to funnel into the door.

Except Spencer’s great love story doesn’t start with him as a dashing knight fighting for his love. It started, like most of Spencer’s interactions with people his own age, through him tutoring through Georgetown’s undergraduate program.

Before Spencer met Y/N he never had someone who liked to listen to him. She looks at him like she’s genuinely hanging onto every word he says. She laughs with him and not at him. Spencer knows it sounds absurd, but he feels like he’s floating when she laughs. He thinks that it’s because when he’s with her he feels more fearless than he’s ever felt.

For weeks, Spencer chases that floaty, free feeling. He tries to hide his blush when Y/N shows up to their tutoring sessions with baked goods and herbal teas, because she thinks Spencer needs something sweet in his life. He tries to control his smile when Y/N moves her spot from across from him to next to him, because she keeps forgetting her textbook. He tries to remember to breathe when she sits so close to him he sees every freckle on her nose and every crinkle when she laughs.

There was no way he was ever going to say no to her. Gods, Y/N made all those Chaucer poems and Marlowe sonnets finally make sense. Y/N made Spencer throw predictability to the wind when she asked her fearless knight to slay a dragon.

“Spencer, can I ask you something? She says, sitting down next to him as he flips through her textbook. It was cold in the library today, so Spencer insisted that Y/N wear his cardigan. Spencer had to overt his eyes from watching her sit there in public wearing his clothes.

“Uh, yes,” Spencer tells her, not looking from the textbook. He swallows, pacing himself from just saying yes to whatever her question is.

“Well, first I have a question,” she starts, laying her hands over the textbook, obstructing Spencer’s vision and forcing him to look at her. There goes all his will, he thinks. “What’s your favorite kind of food?”

“My favorite food?” Spencer asks, thoroughly confused as to where this conversation could possibly be heading.

“Who knew this would be the question to stump my personal genius,” Y/N teases.

Spencer, feeling his cheeks heat at Y/N friendly teasing, says, “ According to a study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, researchers found that people view those who were associated with sweet foods as more agreeable, friendly, and just a pleasant person all-around. While, a study by the Institute of Food Technologists revealed that if you enjoy risk taking and intense stimulation, you likely like spicy foods as well. In the study, they assessed participants using the Arnett Inventory of Sensation Seeking (AISS), a personality test to assess if you indeed are sensation-seeking, and presumed to contribute to risk preferences.

He gestures with his hands animatedly. Y/N scoots closer to Spencer to hear him speak in his hushed tones. She waits, listening to him infodump and speak about the psychology behind food, watching his eyes dashing around excitedly.

“That’s fascinating Spence,”

“You seem like you’d like sweets the best” Spencer suggests, gesturing towards the plate of cookies that she brought for them to share this afternoon.

Y/N smiles, understanding the very compliment that he meant. She goes on to tell him that she wants to take him out to dinner tonight.

“One last hurrah before you leave for the summer,” she says, reminding Spencer that inevitable could slowly be encroaching on their very own fairytale in his head.

“You go back to Woodbridge, right?” Spencer asks.

“Yeah, you’re going back to Vegas. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you, Spencer. Who on Earth will put up with me?” Y/N jokes.

“You’re not all that bad, Y/N. You have to win them over with your treats,” Spencer says, reaching over and picking up a chocolate chip cookie from the plate that she made especially for him. He finds the idea that thinking it’s difficult to put up with her is a preposterous notion.

“Here I thought you liked my company, Spencer Reid!” Y/N fake yells.

Spencer simply shakes his head, as if to signal that he can’t help but to admit how much he truly does love her company. He probably likes it way too much than he should.

“So will you come?” Y/N asks, looking at Spencer. Screw predictability, Spencer thinks, shoving his fears down his throat. He’s thoroughly prepared to let this girl do more than wreck his plans.

Spencer looks at his watch, trying not to think that Y/N would even think of standing him up. Has it really only been ten minutes since he’s gotten here? He hasn’t even dared to go inside the restaurant. He’s so lost in his thoughts, that the light tapping against his shoulder causes him to yelp. Embarrassed at his freight, Spencer’s cheek tint pink at Y/N’s amused look. The light dusting of pink doesn’t go away when he looks her over. Frankly, Spencer couldn’t care what she wears, but his breath does hitch when he realizes that she’s still wearing his cardigan. It’s long on her, almost as long as the light blue dress she wears. The sleeves go past her arms, giving what he remembers her affectionately calling “sweater paws,”

“Woah, you alright there, Spence,” Y/N asks, putting a comforting hand on Spencer’s upper arm that he swears burns straight though to his skin. He doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if she ever touched his bare arms without the barrier of clothes in the way.

“I’m good, Y/N. This is not, uh, my element,” Spencer says terrified that she can hear how his teeth chatter in his mouth. Get a grip, Reid, he tells himself, so not wanting to mess this up.

Y/N leans in close. So close that Spencer can see the individual specks of different colors in her eyes. She is so close that Spencer wouldn’t even have to do much moving to kiss her. It would just be moving his lips against hers; if only it was that easy.

“I’ll tell you a secret, Spencer. Me too,” she says, just above a whisper, her hand still resting on his upper arm, that’s burning for her touch.

“Good,” Spencer says. His eyes don’t leave Y/N’s. He doesn’t dare to take his gaze from her’s for even a second. No, he wants to memorize the way the blazing light from the setting sun reflects in her eyes. He wants to commit the way her lips curve up into a sneaky smile and the way her fingertips never seem to want to leave his upper arm to memory.

“Do you trust me, Spencer?” Y/N asks, not blinking and holding her hand out. Spencer reaches out and when he does he knows that his fate is sealed. He knows that once he can feel her soft hand against his, he’ll never want to let go.

Spencer can’t speak. Y/N can’t know that Spencer trusts her more than anyone in the world, because that would be weird. Spencer can’t speak, so he just grabs Y/N's hand and tries not to reveal that he’s been thinking about holding her hand since she showed up at this restaurant that is way too fancy and way too expensive wearing his cardigan like it belongs to her. Which it totally does.

Le Petit Château is the fanciest restaurant Spencer has ever walked into. The white tablecloths are spotless and the champagne glasses sparkle in the low light. There’s a quiet murmur from the guests, all adults who look very put together and like they’ve dined here countless times.

“Y/L/N for two,” Y/N tells the hostess, a tall woman dressed in all black. She leads them to their table and Y/N never drops Spencer’s hand. The hostess places their menus down on their small table that’s tucked into the corner, away from foot traffic and passerby.

“Thank you,” Y/N beams, as she takes her seat at the table and Spencer takes his, across from her.

“This is really nice, Y/N,” Spencer says, he’s not too sure how to proceed. Talking to Y/N has never been this difficult. But there’s something about the way the candle light reflects in her eyes or how soft her hair looks.

“You deserve it Spence, so just let me treat you for the night,” she says, and it’s suddenly quite hard for Spencer to breathe. He settles on just smiling at Y/N, because he can’t go wrong with that.

He glances at the menu, which is mostly in French. Spencer can get by in the language, but he knows for a fact that Y/N can’t read in anything but English. In her own words, she’s terrible at foriegn languages.

“Hmmm, Spencer do you think you can read the menu to me, you know me. It’s my biggest character flaw,” Y/N jokes, her eyes not leaving Spencer’s.

Clearing his throat, Spencer begins to translate the menu for Y/N. Starting with appetizers, he says “Artichauts à la Vinaigrette, that’s uh artichoke salad with a vinaigrette dressing,”

“That sounds good,” Y/N comments, her eyes telling Spencer to continue.

“Let’s see we also have Mesclun de Salade, and that’s your mixed green salad,” Spencer translates.

“Okay enough salads, what’s the main dishes? This place must be really fancy for them to only have like 2 dishes,” Y/N deduces.

“Well, Poulet Provençal that’s um,” Spencer pauses, while he can read in couple languages other than English and Russian, he never realized how difficult it would be to translate the most romantic language sitting across from a girl who he’d imagined this scenario with countless times.

“That’s roasted chicken with herbs, and the other one, is Moules Frites, or mussels and fried potatoes,”

“Ooh the chicken sounds good, I’m not too crazy about muscles,” Y/N says slyly, almost like she’s hinting at something, like there’s a hidden layer to her joke that Spencer doesn’t understand.

“Mussels have been cultivated for almost 800 years in Europe, and have been used as a food source for more than 20,000 years. In fact, prehistoric settlements in Scotland can often be identified by the large mounds of mussel shells found nearby,” Spencer tells Y/N, who listens to him.

“20,000 years, that’s so hard to visualize, you know. We really are just a speck in the timeline,” Y/N says, carrying on the conversation with Spencer effortlessly. Spencer, even though he knows that this is coming to an end, has really just begun to realize how much he knows he’ll miss this.

“Yes, and mussels have fascinating biological properties. Actually, the byssal threads of mussels are so strong that they can cling to even a Teflon surface. Scientists are now trying to develop a mussel-based adhesive for use in eye surgery,”

Y/N chuckles to herself. Spencer watches her laugh, but he doesn’t feel like she’s making fun of him. Instead he feels his cheeks grow warm and his heart swell at the sound.

“That wasn’t the kind of mussels I was talking about, Spencer. But that’s incredible what these brilliant scientists can do, like you one day,” Y/N says, and the warm floaty feeling doesn’t disappear.

“Your confidence in me is a little too big, Y/N,”

Just as Y/N opened her mouth to comment something, their waiter appeared asking them to place their orders.

“I’ll have the uh, Poulet Provençal,” Y/N says with a smile, as if she’s proud of her decent French pronunciation.

“I’ll have the same,” Spencer says, the waiter nods and writes down their order.

“And I’ll have a glass of Sauvignon Blanc,” Y/N says, tilting her head to Spencer as if to ask him if he wants one too.

“I’ll have that too,” Spencer orders, slightly nervous about ordering alcohol out at restaurants even though it’s perfectly legal.

“I’ll need to see both of your IDs,” the waiter says, putting his hand out for Spence and Y/N to hand over their IDs. Winking at Spencer, Y/N places her ID in the waiter’s hand. He nods and looks for Spencer to give his over.

“Ah, Sin City,”

“That’s Dr. Reid for sure,” Y/N quips, sipping her water to hide the growing smirk on her face. She pushes her face behind her ear and Spencer has to hold back from reaching out and doing it for her.

“Your food will be ready shortly,” the waiter says, turning from the table to get their wine.

“So are you excited about going back home?” Y/N asks Spencer, running her finger along the rim of the glass.

“Home?” Spencer questions because even though he can’t admit it out loud, he’s found his home already, “you mean Las Vegas?” he asks. She nods, waiting for him to continue.

“I actually have this offer, to join the FBI after graduation,” Spencer tells her, he’s really not sure why he didn’t tell Y/N the minute Agent Gideon showed up at the Psychology lecture he was TA-ing. He thought about it, but something held him back. Maybe it’s the fear of her laughing at him; thinking that Spencer joining the FBI is a joke.

“The FBI? Spencer, oh my god! That’s amazing. What part?” Y/N asks him, genuine happiness and excitement written all over her face. He likes the way her being proud of him looks on her. It makes him believe in himself.

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit, they are profilers. Which means they apply principles of Abnormal Psychology and Forensic Psychology to analyze time urgent cases or cold cases,” Spencer explains. Y/N nods her head and chews on her bread, thinking about Spencer being an FBI agent.

“That’s amazing Spence, and I’m guessing this Agent Gideon fella read your dissertation,”

“Yes, you, Agent Gideon and the panel are perhaps the only people in the world who have read Identifying Non-obvious relationship factors using cluster weighted modeling and geographic regression,” Spencer says, the banter falling between them easily.

“It makes for excellent bedtime reading,” Y/N says and Spencer feigns to be hurt by her teasing.

They thank their waiter who comes in with their wine and food. In the silence, they share small smiles and attempt to hide their stolen glance between bites of chicken and sips of wine.

“So are you going to take it?” She asks, sipping on the last bit of her wine in the glass.

Spencer drags a piece of bread to sop up the wine sauce the chicken was cooked in. He sighs not meaning for Y/N to read the tension in his shoulders, but welcoming her warm hand in his that rests on the side of the table.

“I’d be able to save so many people, Y/N. I’d be putting all this work I’ve done for years to good use. I’ve never wanted to do anything but help people, especially the most helpless,”

Y/N looks him over cautiously, as if she’s really seeing him for the first time. She laces her fingers in his, putting pressure in his palm. Even though she doesn’t know it, she’s his compass that keeps on a steady path when the fear of what if can get too much. It’s a little paradoxical that his compass is his biggest what if.

“You don’t realize how much you amaze me, Spence. You can do anything with your life, yet you want to do probably one of the hardest jobs in the world. All to save the helpless,” Y/N says, her grip never loosening on Spencer’s hand. He summons the bravery to rub his thumb gently on the soft part of the back of her hand. It’s strange how the fears bubble to the surface when she’s so close, but how they dissipate all the same. Like he said, it’s a paradox.

“Y/N,” Spencer says quietly, reaching over to put his other hand on hers. But in his reaching, he knocks over his glass of water, spilling it all over his pants and down the floor.

“Oh shit!,” He yells, mopping up his pants with the white cloth napkins. In the midst of the chaos, their waiter comes to the table, conveniently with the check for their dinner. Something in his eyes tells Y/N that they should get out of Le Petit Château as quickly as possible.

Y/N smiles pleasantly at the waiter, before reaching for her wallet to pay for the meal. Spencer, who is now trying to dry the velvet chairs, attempts to stop Y/N from paying for the dinner.

“You really didn’t need to do that, Y/N,” Spencer says to Y/N, who shakes her head in disagreement.

“On the contrary, Spencer, you’ve helped me so much this semester, I wanted to treat you to a nice dinner. Besides, you’re going to be a fancy FBI agent so I’m waiting for you to take me out somewhere where you can spill water all over yourself again,” Y/N says in between laughs as the waiter sends someone over to clear their plates.

A chill runs through his body and it’s not from the ice water that spilled over his pants. The chill is from Y/N basically telling him to invite her to dinner after they graduate. It’s from her wanting to see him again, even when she doesn’t get study help from it.

“I do suppose we’ll be close then, you’ll be in Woodbridge and that’s only like 30 minutes from Quantico,” Spencer says, following Y/N out of the restaurant.

“You know, I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I’m glad you’re staying around here, Spence. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you left,” she tells him. Spencer opens the door to a downpour of rain. The cars slash dirty rainwater in the street and passerby dash to their cars, seeking the cover to avoid the storm.

“Oh jeez, I don’t have an umbrella, looks like we're going to have to make a run for it Spence,” Y/N suggests.

“I walked here, so uh--”

“I’ll drive you to your apartment, it’s no biggie,” Y/N tells him, and secretly Spencer is thrilled because he’s not ready to end this perfect, magical night.

“Ready?” Y/N asks, looking at Spencer straight in the eyes and holding out her hand for him to grab on too.

“Ready,” Spencer says, letting Y/N drag him headfirst into the rainstorm.

Running in the rain, Spencer doesn’t dare let go of Y/N’s hand. Even though he’s running from the rain, he can’t help but think he’s running towards a future, one with Y/N by his side. They’re soaked by the time they get to her car, and Spencer for once in his life doesn’t care that this is not playing out to what he thought it would be. Looking at Y/N with her wet hair, wearing his drenched cardigan, Spencer is fearless.

“Y/N,” he says, a little breathless from their sprint to the car. “Tell me if I’m wrong, tell me if I’m reading this wrong, but I can’t help but feel like this,” He stops, regretting his choice of words. Closing his eyes, Spencer continues, “I can’t help but think that this is how it’s supposed to be,”

“What do you mean, Spencer?” Y/N asks, not wanting to feed into her hope.

“Me and you, Y/N. What I mean is I can see myself falling in love with you one day,” He confesses. “I might already be in love with you, and that, it terrifies me,”

Y/N is quiet and Spencer thinks that it must be a bad sign because she’s never quiet. Instead, she places her right hand on Spencer’s cheek. Her face is contemplative, but slowly a smile begins to crack.

“I knew it,”

“Wh-what, was I that obvious?” Spencer says, sinking down slowly in the passenger’s seat.

“Only because I knew what to look for,” Y/N explains, joining her hands around Spencer’s neck and resting her arms on his shoulders. Spencer gives her a confused look, still wary if she feels the same way.

“Because I think I might love you one day very soon too, my Spencer,” Y/N tells him. She moves a little closer, signalling to him that she wants to kiss him.

“I’ve never, uh, this would my first-” Spencer stutters, the fear rising to the surface. A dark part of him thinks that Y/N’ll laugh in his unkissed, virgin face and take back all the soft touches and sweet smiles from tonight.

“I figured as much, Spence. It’s fine, least you’ll get a fantastic first kiss, much better than mine,” Y/N tells him in a comforting tone and Spencer can feel the fears melting away.

“Maybe this will be the first kiss that really counts for you,” Spencer says in a moment of bravery, leans in to bridge the gap between their lips.

Spencer can predict a lot of things, like probability of him getting hit by a car on a certain street at a specific time, or the chances of him totally bombing the physical for the FBI Academy, or even the statistics on how many mussels are in the Atlantic Ocean given the population of a sample group.

But there was no way Spencer Reid was ever able to predict his first kiss. He could never predict the way it feels when her lips brushed against his so softly that Spencer had to concentrate to feel them. Or how the warmth from her cheeks feels on his hand, that cups all the way from her jaw to her ear. She kisses him with a whole year's worth of passion and pinning bubbling to the surface. It’s not a battle for dominance, but a perfect union of breath meddling together and quiet whimpers needing more.

Y/N breaks the kiss. She blushes, suddenly a little embarrassed at the eager way she kissed Spencer with such passion and desire. Y/N rubs her thumb across Spencer’s bottom lip; it’s red and slightly bitten from her kisses. Her tender touch causes Spencer to break into a fit of giggles.

“Hmm, aren’t you a little cocky right now, Spencer,” Y/N says, kissing Spencer’s cheek because she can hardly contain herself.

“Maybe just with you, Y/N. With you, I’m fearless,”

THANK YOU FOR READING!

**Taglist** (Comment if you want to be tagged, but your age/reach out if you’re not a minor and want to be tagged in NSFW)

@calm-and-doctor

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you

372 notes · View notes

stickyy · 4 years

Note

I loved what you wrote about student! college! aizawa,if it's not too much trouble,I would like to read a second part but it contains a sub!aizawa,dom!reader,mommy kink and pegging please. I have to take advantage of the fact that you are the first blog with dark content that I see that accepts pegging,an opportunity that I will not miss,but if it gets complicated for you oh you don't like it,you can reject my request.

DISCLAIMER: always ask for consent first!

warnings: DUBCON, sub!aizawa, edging, verbal abuse, bondage, pegging, gn!reader but light mommy kink is used in reference to, praise kink if you squint?, slightly unrealistic depictions of pegging, reader is fed up but that doesnt excuse their actions :P

word count: 3489

notes: sorry for the delay, i hope u like anon! :D there should always be more pegging fic out there

part 1 here

EXAM SEASON

Finals season is quickly approaching, sending the entire campus into a frenzy, students scrambling like displaced ants trying to finish last minute assignments, novel-esque essays, merciful extra credit projects. The workload takes its toll on everyone, even the star students. You found Aizawa in even worse moods more frequently; a schedule consisting of all nighters spent studying old material followed by early classes and a job on the side, he was absolutely exhausted. You sometimes sneak a peek over at him during class to see his head bobbing slightly, bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open as he fights sleep. A small part of you feels bad for him; he’s a diligent student, and you were sympathetic to his exhaustion.

You still hate the asshole, though.

You found yourself snagged in a twisted sort of arrangement with Aizawa after midterms. There was always a half-assed attempt at tutoring you before giving up and cramming his cock down your throat or deep inside your cunt, leaving you sore and dripping with his cum, all the while spewing insults targeted at your intelligence (or lack thereof). In exchange, he’d complete your assignments and allow you to copy his answers on exam days. Ignoring the situation is where you make peace with yourself; you feel used, but you also have no other option if you want to pass this class.

What you hate the most is the way you roll over and take it. You’re more than just a hole to fuck, you know that, but you’re helpless against his searing abuse and venomous scowls. Even when you try to be nice, it only makes him crueler, your soft pleas and offers of peace an invitation to tear you down and make you cry. You want to fight, to claw and tear into him out of spite. You don’t want to feel so weak anymore.

So, you decide to do something about it.

It’s late, campus illuminated by street lamps and headlights of cars passing by as you make your way into the dorms. After your first encounter, Aizawa began inviting you back to his room instead of the library, deciding to “study” in his personal space as opposed to possibly getting caught in the library with his cock down your throat. You didn’t complain, but it’s especially convenient today, with what you have planned. Knocking on the door softly, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, anxious for what’s to come.

“Open,” he calls out from inside, prompting you to enter. You pass through the messy common room he shares with his roommate and enter his bedroom, opening the door quietly. Aizawa’s room is tidy compared to the outside, bed made, tousled only where he sits with his laptop, typing.

“You’re late,” he squints at you from behind the screen, shutting the device. “Not surprising.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, placing your book bag on the floor and taking out the very heavy law textbook (that you hadn’t bothered to open since midterms). You take your seat next to him and open to the most recent chapter you read over. He’s silent, only speaking to answer your questions as you focus on the text. You can tell he’s sleepy, his responses slurred and delayed, and you glance over to see him dozing off. Late study sessions and Aizawa’s recent exhaustion meant more often than not that he fell asleep before tormenting you. The first time was startling, but you learned that it was a regular occurrence.

You prefer Aizawa when he’s drowsy. His usually hard features were softened, quiet snores rumbling from his chest. His dark hair messily framing his face as he leans back against the headboard of his bed, arms folded over his chest. He’s good-looking, no doubt. If his personality matched, you could see yourself falling for him.

His eyes open, shooting you a questioning look, and you duck your head back into your textbook, embarrassed at being caught staring.

You keep quiet for another 20 or so minutes, waiting until he’s truthfully asleep and not just resting. You have to be careful not to wake him, as you aren’t keen on being reprimanded for what you're about to do.

Once you’ve deemed it safe, you stealthily open your bag and retrieve the small plastic bag stored inside. With the help of online shopping, you bought some handcuffs, lube, a dildo, and a harness. You aren’t all into pegging, but this was less about the sex and more about proving yourself, forcing him to respect you, in some perverse way. You retrieve the cuffs, gripping them carefully as to not make any sounds. This is the most crucial part; as long as you could get him restrained, you’d could dish out any revenge you desire. You slip off of the bed and tip-toe, almost comically, around the other side of the bed. You test the waters, snapping your fingers near Aizawa. He doesn’t stir, chest rising and falling with his deep breathing.

You steel yourself with a deep breath; this was your chance. You make quick work with the handcuffs, gently yet hastily clicking the metal around one wrist and looping the cuffs through the headboard before securing his other wrist. A grin spreads across your face; you’re thankful he’s such a deep sleeper.

Now that you had him where you wanted him, you were paralyzed by the sheer amount of possibilities. You climb over him apprehensively, hovering over the unconscious man, who only shifts minutely. The peaceful look on his face puts a small pit in your stomach; this was wrong… right? Technically, this was assault. You frown, a small chill running down your spine. Is this what you had become? It was almost enough to convince you to stop, but you force yourself to remember the first time Aizawa had his way with you, the way you choked and gagged and had to hide your face until you could find a bathroom to wipe off the dried cum that adhered to your skin.

This was his fault; he made you like this.

“Fuck it,” you say aloud, bracing yourself before grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking, hard. He awakes with a surprised gasp, wrenching his head away from the assault.

“The fuck?” He bites, eyes drowsily scouring the situation. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just waking you up,” you smile, releasing your grip. “It’s kind of boring watching you sleep. I thought we were supposed to be studying.”

Aizawa gives you an agitated look, disoriented as he tries to move, only to find his range of motion limited. “You fucking handcuffed me?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t wake up,” you chuckle, sliding your hands under his shirt and running your hands over his taut stomach. He keeps his eyes on you with an expectant expression, waiting for an explanation.

“You know, I like you so much more when you're asleep,” you continue, idly tracing patterns on the skin of his abdomen. “No insults, no curses, no glaring. You’re pretty handsome when you’re not being a total douchebag.”

“Let me go,” he ignores you, yanking the handcuffs. “This isn’t funny.”

“I think it’s pretty funny, actually. You’ve spent all semester treating me like shit, and for what? All I’ve done is be nice to you, even after you call me names and abuse me. It hurts my feelings, you know? It’s not like I’m trying to fail this class, I just needed a little extra help, and you take advantage of that every week. So I do think this is pretty fucking hilarious. Maybe you’ll see just how great I feel when you bully me.”

If looks could kill, your heart would have stopped right then and there. Rage burns behind his glare when he meets your eyes, still struggling to break the cuffs. You’d never seen him like this; at his worst, he seems moderately annoyed in your day to day. Despite being an insufferable asshole, he always manages to keep a cool air about him. Never giving anyone much of a reaction, he’s only nasty when he desires. Watching his face take a red tint and his eyes narrow in frustration send waves of satisfaction rippling through your chest.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he grits out, “If you let me go now, I’ll forget all about this. I promise that you don’t want what’s coming for you once I get out of these cuffs.”

He did have a point; you had no idea what you were doing. That wasn’t going to stop you, though.

“Aw, it’s not so fun now, isn’t it?” You coo at him in a demeaning tone, pouting dramatically. Your wandering hands slid to his crotch, where you could feel his length stirring curiously. You bark out a laugh.

Pulling down his sweats and boxers, your mouth waters at his hardening length. Normally, your stomach would drop at the sight in anticipation for physical abuse you were about to receive. But this? This was different; knowing that you’re the one in control is absolutely captivating. You take his cock in your hands, slowly working your hand up and down. He stays silent in defiance, steady in his glare in an attempt to intimidate you. It would work, usually, but with his hands bound there was nothing he could do to you. He’s betrayed by a pleased noise that slips from his throat.

“Don’t tell me you like this? You want to be taken advantage of, is that it?” you taunt, basking in his agitation as you speed your hand up, thumbing the pre gathering on the slit.

“Watch it,” is his only response, voice dangerously low. He keeps quiet, not willing to surrender to the reactions you’re trying to draw from him. It’s a challenge, if anything, and you weren’t going to back down..

He’s fully erect in no time- you’ve spent enough time as his cocksleeve to know exactly what he likes and responds to. His eyes fall shut as you squeeze tighter, hips canting up into your hand, chasing his own release. You keep it up until he gets a little louder, close to release, and you pull your hand away, watching his dick twitch helplessly.

“Fuck- why’d you stop?” he asks groggily, opening his eyes.

“You didn’t think that I was just going to let you cum that easily, did you? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” you shuffle off of the bed, smiling over your shoulder as you hook your thumbs in the band of your leggings. You make a show of sliding the material down over your ass, purposefully leaning over and arching your back. You hear a pleased growl from the bed, causing you to giggle as you pull your underwear down as well.

“You could still let me go,” he offers, giving you a once over as you climb back over him, “I could forget about this if you let me fuck you.”

“Nice try, but I’ll be the one doing the fucking tonight,” you grab your bag from the floor, retrieving the lube but leaving the dildo and harness obscured in the bag. You squeeze a generous amount onto your fingers, causing Aizawa to give you a puzzled look.

“You don’t need lube, you’re always so wet for me,” it’s more of a question than an observation, since your previous trysts never included anything but his spit and your own juices. You just give him a smile before nudging his thighs open with your own, trailing your hand slowly beneath his balls, settling in between his ass and your lubed fingers circle the muscle there. The look on his face is priceless, absolutely shocked at the prospect of you inside of him. He thrashes in protest but you’re steadfast, pinning his hips down with your other hand.

“You can’t be serious,” his voice is alarmed, almost erring on the side of anxious, “you’re dumber than I thought if you think you’re just going to get away with any of this shit.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you sing-song, using your dry hand to tug playfully on the cuffs, “You’re a little tied up at the moment.”

“I’m going to beat your cunt up when I get out of these,” it’s a threat, and you ignore the way your stomach flutters at the words, eyes trained on his as you push two fingers inside.

He grunts, his face scrunching up, almost cutely, at the burn of the stretch. You expected him to be tight, but given how tense he is, it’s difficult to push all the way inside. You take it slow, savoring the pained expression on his face; it’s a stark contrast to his cocky demeanor when you’re being subjugated to his abuse. His chest is heaving, a lovely red flush spreading across his skin, eyebrows knit tight, lips bitten red- you’re obsessed. You move your fingers in and out slowly, scissoring just gently enough not to seriously hurt him, but enough to watch him writhe. His dick twitches despite (or maybe due to?) the pain, still red and dripping.

“This is priceless,” you laugh, “if you wanted to get fucked so badly, all you had to do was ask, you know? Mommy would’ve taken care of it for you.”

“Mommy?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “you’re insane.”

Any further insult is cut off with a sharp gasp, eyes shooting open in shock, and you know you’ve found it.

You stroke his prostate with a heavy hand, grinding your fingers into the spongy spot inside of him as he struggles to breathe, back arching deliciously. You can’t help but smirk; you kind of get it now. If this is how tormenting you makes Aizawa feel, then you understand why he was so cruel.

“Fuck,” he chokes on a whine that sends heat down your spine, . Your wrist is beginning to strain, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s cute; he’s writhing, his hips seeking the stimulation he was previously avoiding as he moans openly, loudly. His cock is an angry purple, pre pooling on his stomach from where it’s leaking. He looks like he’s close, eyes beginning to roll back when you pull your fingers out, laughing as you ruin his orgasm for the second time.

“Please,” he’s breathless, a betrayed look on his face as his hips rock on nothing, desperate to cum.

“Begging already? We haven’t even gotten started yet!”

You reach over into the plastic bag, pulling out the dildo and harness. You can clearly see the fear on his face this time as he moves to sit up, the fog of pleasure clearing quickly.

“Wait,” panic sets in his voice yet again. If you were him, you would be scared too; the toy is thicker than the two fingers you used, something you chose purposefully. You stand and slip on the harness, ignoring his attempts to reason with you.

“What’s wrong? I thought I didn’t know what I was doing?” you ask innocently, forcing your hips between his legs and drizzling some lube on the toy, warming it up with your palm.

“That’s the fucking problem, you idiot, you don’t,” he seethes, pulling on the restraints again, “It won’t fit, and you’re not sending me to the hospital.”

“Exactly, I won’t send you to the hospital. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you,” you coo, settling between his legs.

“Just let me go,” it’s the first genuine plea you’ve heard from him, the sincerity pulling your attention to his eyes where you see a look you can’t quite place. He looks… afraid? Remorseful? It’s enough to give you pause, equal parts consideration and schadenfreude. You settle for leaning forward and placing an uncharacteristically saccharine kiss on his forehead, your humanity getting the best of you.

“All you have to do is relax, okay?” you whisper, resting the tip of the toy against his entrance. He shuts his eyes in anticipation, resigned to his fate, and you push in gently, watching his hole swallow the silicone. The way Aizawa contorts, back bowed to scoot away from the pressure of the toy is salacious, drawing a moan from deep within your chest. He can’t get far due to the restraints, and he lets out a soft sob at the stretch of the toy, face scrunched tight. You push slowly until you bottom out, your hips pressed firmly against his, grinding in small circles to alleviate your own ache. He exhales shakily, unaware that he was holding his breath.

“See, it’s not so bad right?” you soothe, rubbing your thumb against his hip soothingly. “You should be grateful; I’m so much nicer than you are.”

“Fuck you,” it comes out weaker than intended, his voice strained as he tries to adjust to the girth of the toy.

You pull out slowly, experimentally, watching his stomach clench from the sensation of silicone caressing his insides. His dick gives an interested twitch, despite his demeanor, and that’s the invitation you need to start moving. It’s a little awkward at first, but your enthusiasm combined with the size of the toy more than makes up for your inexperience. He’s breathless, still uncomfortable, but you can see his body slowly relax as he tries to make sense of the sensations coursing through his body.

“You like this, don’t you?” you dig, eyes transfixed on his face, “Is that why you're so mean to me? You strut around like an asshole, just to hide the fact that you’re just a little bitch?”

You focus on angling your hips, searching for his prostate again, and when you find it, you commit to fucking him. He’s loud, stray tears sliding down his face as his body struggles to comprehend both the pain of the stretch and pleasure of the abuse.

“Fuck, you’re cute like this,” you sigh, “you’re meant for this, aren’t you? Meant to get your ass bred by your Mommy? You’d be so much more tolerable if you were sweet like this all of the time.”

His dick jerks violently but he shakes his head with a weak ‘no’, too lost in the sensation to retort any further. You’re soaked by now, the pressure of the toy on your end combined with the power trip pushing you to the edge. It takes all of your self-control, but you suddenly stop, unwilling to let yourself finish so quickly; there’s still unfinished business here.

“Tell me I’m pretty,” it comes out before you can even really think about it, but the words hang heavily in the air.

“Huh?”

“You’re never nice to me, so if you want me to even consider letting you cum, you better start kissing up.”

He hesitates, but when you shift slightly and the blunt head of the toy rubs against his prostate, he changes his tune very quickly.

“Fuck- you’re cute, ‘s the reason why I’m mean to you. So cute when you’re about to cry-” you give him a particularly hard slap on his ass and he winces, muttering a quick apology.

“You’re pretty even when I’m not fucking you, too,” is all you get, but it’s the first genuine compliment you’ve gotten out of the asshole since you’ve met him, and your heart soars. He’s awful and mean and evil but the simple statement is enough for you.

“I’ll let you cum if you beg for it,” you grunt, rutting your hips enthusiastically. You’re close, but you refuse to finish first. He’s needy, thanks to being edged twice, and he’s unable to resist your promise.

“Please, fuck, please let me cum,” he whimpers, voice wet and eyes watery.

“Please what?”

“Mommy! Fuck, please mommy, just let me cum, it hurts, fuck, please,” he babbles, and it’s enough for you. You wrap your hand around his cock and stroke it firmly, hips speeding up as you chase your own release. It’s quick- he finishes almost embarrassingly fast, and the whorish wail that rips from his throat sends you right over the edge, your vision blurring at the corners as you stay trained on his face, obscene and submissive.

It’s quiet after you stop, both of you catching your breath. You pull out slowly, watching the way his hole flutters and you giggle, your body and ego fully satiated. You look back to his face; he looks more fucked out than you’ve ever seen him, almost like he’s about to fall back asleep.

“Can we call it a truce?” You break the silence, grinning as he cracks open an eye to give you a scalding look.

“Fuck. You.”

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

The Late Night Café ~ JJK [M] [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 4.9K

↬↬↬Genre: Prince!AU, Non!IDOL, SMUT, Fluffy

↬↬↬Pairing: Prince Jungkook x Fem!Reader

↬↬↬Warnings: Sex without contraception (wrap it before you tap It), cunnilingus,

"I don't think you understand the sincerity behind this Jungkook!" His mother slammed her hand down against the throne as her son treated this as though it was a joke to him but to him it was.

"What's the big deal? You're only going to set me up with someone I do not wish to be with so just get on with it." It was no secret that the Prince wasn't happy with the idea of an arranged marriage but if he wanted to take the throne and become King he had to marry before he turned 24 years old which was less then six months away. No time for him to find someone to fall in love with but plenty of time for his parents to force a marriage onto him where he would not be happy.

"Please Jungkook-"

"No. I don't want to talk about it anymore." He walked out of the throne room and away from his mother who was still calling out for him to stop but he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear another speech about how it was for the good of the Country and if he didn't do it there could be serious consequences, it was always the same lecture.

"Jungkook are you going to sneak out again tonight?" Taehyung - his personal guard asked him as they walked side by side through the stone castle, Jungkook chuckled at how scared Taehyung was about it but it was something Jungkook had mastered over the years. He was always sneaking out of the castle late at night, he'd dress up in normal clothes instead of the suit he always had to wear and then he'd walk around the streets acting like anyone else his age would.

"I am."

"Is there anything I can say or do to stop you?" Taehyung knew it was useless since there was nothing he could possibly do,

"Is there ever?" Jungkook teased as he reached his chambers within the castle, Taehyung sighed bowing and walking away from the doors.

Inside was a huge King sized bed with curtains around it, all draped down to cover the red silk sheets that were on the bed. The rest of the room was quite boring, books were along the walls but nothing that interested Jungkook, all of them were about his training, and royal history, he wasn't allowed anything exciting as it could distract him from his Royal duties as the Prince. Everyone thought that this life was perfect and easy but they were wrong being a prince was far from easy and far from perfect.

A rapid knocking sounded on his door and he ground lifting himself from the bed and going over to the door,

"Yes, Namjoon?" He asked the tutor that had been teaching him for the last 7 years,

"Assignments," He handed Jungkook a folder full of papers and smiled at him,

"I'll see them on my desk next week?" He nodded at the request knowing it was no good to say no to Namjoon, he took the folder into his room and threw it down onto his own desk flipping through the pages. He had no classes that afternoon so he saw no harm in starting to do some of the work he had ahead of him, it was all about the history of the palace, how his family had come into the power and then sections about the royal guards. Boring drabble that made him want to throw the folder out of the window.

Four knocks on his door meant that the guards were changing over, midnight he let out a breath of relief. Jimin - the second personal guard - would be taking over the night shift which meant he would be able to slip out easily and have Jimin cover for him while he wandered around outside of the palace walls for a while. He slipped into some jeans and a hoodie before heading out of the door to his room,

"You have ten minutes, run." Jimin handed him some cash and chuckled as Jungkook lifted up the hoodie hood and began sprinting in the direction of the guard exit within the palace, he had about ten minutes before the next one would come out of the door and see him.

Being in the town was a total bust there was nothing happening, it was a Monday night so everything was practically closed. The bars were empty and Jungkook was wondering about bored but even this was better than going back to the palace. He was about to give out on finding somewhere to sit when he saw a cafe with its lights still on, he walked up to the window to see you sitting on the counter reading from a book with a hot chocolate in your hand eyes glued onto the page you were reading from. He chuckled watching you as your eyebrows furrowed together clearly reading something you didn't like, the way you smiled as you turned over the page made Jungkook feel warm inside and before he knew it he was heading inside of the empty cafe.

The bell above the door made you jump up and look around your eyes landed on Jungkook and you almost slopped off the countertop.

"Are you open?" Even his voice sounded angelic to you but you were so lost by staring at him you hadn't been able to form a sentence yet, Jungkook felt his pulse quicken as you stared at him. For a second he thought you knew who he was - everyone did but whenever he came into down dressed down with his hair down no one seemed to be able to tell he was Prince Jungkook.

"Erm, open? Yes! Sorry!" You jumped down from the counter and left your book on the side so you could serve him without being distracted,

"Sorry, we don't get anyone at night," You laughed nervously taking out a notepad and pen,

"What can I get your sir?" He smiled walking closer to the counter, he pressed his palms against the marble and looked through the menu.

"What do you recommend?"

"My famous hot chocolate, it's not on the menu though."

"Famous?" He laughed looking at while raising his eyebrows, you nodded at him and smiled.

"I make it whenever there's no one here, it's an old recipe because between you and me..." You leant across the counter to whisper to him despite there being no one you both,

"The new machines scare me, I burnt myself once and then they put me on the night shift so I've not had to use one since." You laughed softly and Jungkook couldn't help but smile at how adorable you sounded, the way your throat made a wheezing sound as you sucked in some more air - it was too cute.

"Then I shall take a famous hot chocolate created by the amazing...Y/n." He read off your name tag and you smiled,

"My famous hot chocolate coming right up for?" He smiled at you,

"Jungkook-"

"Ah like the Prince, cute." You wrote down his order and went off to make it while making your self a fresh one at the same time. He looked down at the book you'd been reading and smiled, it was the same book his mother used to read to him as a kid,

"The little prince," He whispered picking it up and flicking through your copy of it, along the margins was small notes you'd made in pen and he read through them all. Analysing your handwriting as he went, it made him laugh that whenever you were angry about something happening inside of the book your penmanship would get a little rougher.

"You like the book too?" You asked while you waited for the milk to warm up, he jumped dropping the book down onto counter as you made him jump up in surprise.

"Sorry, I'm quiet and sneaky." You laughed it off and he chuckled along with you,

"I used to love it as a child."

"Do you read now?" You questioned going back over to the steamer and checking on the milk,

"Not as much as I'd like, I'm in a slump." He lied going over to a table in cafe and sitting himself down.

"Ah, I can give you some titles if you like?" He heard the familiar sound of whipped cream being sprayed from a can and he smiled,

"Please, if you don't mind."

"Of course," He glanced up hearing you closer to him this time and watched as you placed down a giant mug of hot chocolate in front of him, on top was a pile of whipped cream, marshmallows and a flake for a little extra taste.

"Enjoy," You went to walk away but he called out your name to stop you, he was intrigued by you and wanted to know more instead of letting you go back to your book just yet.

"Those books you recommend?" He questioned doing anything to make you stay there with him just for a few more minutes, being with you made him feel normal and not like the prince at all. It was refreshing to him to be around someone like you, someone he didn't have to worry about freaking out on him because he was the Prince.

After a week with you, Jungkook began to realise that the reason you didn't know he was the Prince was that you didn't pay close enough attention to it all, you never watched anything on the news to do with it because you would much rather be reading, doing some of your hobbies or sleeping. Over the last week, you'd lent Jungkook a lot of books - he'd explained that the job he worked he wasn't available to go out during the day so spent most of his nights awake.

"What did you think?" You asked as you slid him a hot chocolate, it had become customary every night for him to come by with the book you'd given him to read and talk to you about it.

"I don't like it, why would she fall for him? He's all types of bad for her." You'd given him twilight of all books. He'd mentioned never reading anything that wasn't factual books and you wanted to give him something on the plainer side as well as a little romance,

"Trust me, in midnight sun it all makes sense." You laughed sipping on your hot chocolate,

"Did you get around to any of the movies I suggested?" He glanced up and you and shook his head, he'd been dying to watch the movies you'd given to him but he never had the time during the day, with reading he could sneak it in between study sessions, practice and while he waited to sneak out but movies were harder.

"Not yet," You sighed scooping up some of the whipped cream from his cup on your finger and placed it into your mouth, he watched in awe the whole time. It would be a huge lie if he said he was attracted to you because he was, very attracted to you in a strong way.

"You'll have to come over one day and we can watch a series together, there's this horror...one I've been dying to show someone." He frowned as you trailed off and stared out of the window, he followed your gaze to see Jimin and Taehyung standing around they were dressed in regular clothes but he knew they were there for him but he continued to ignore them and act as though he had no idea who they were.

"Friends of yours?" You laughed looking at them as they stared at Jungkook and you together,

"Something like that." He mumbled looking down at the hot chocolate, it would be a shame to waste it now so he just held up his hand to them, signalling that he'd be two minutes.

"They don't look happy they have to wait," You whispered feeling slightly disheartened that he was going to leave again, he sighed looking at you.

"I'm not happy that I have to leave, we all have to make sacrifices sometimes." He tied to laugh it off but he was really upset about all of this he could already feel himself falling for you which was bad since he would have to be away from you very soon.

"I'll be back tomorrow, we can talk all about those movies you want to watch with me." He smiled at you taking your hand in his, you felt a jolt in your body as he touched you. Before you knew it he was leaning across the table and leaving a small and gentle kiss on your lips.

"See you tomorrow," He whispered running his thumb along your bottom lip and leaving you alone with the book he'd borrowed and the half drank hot chocolate in front of you.

The Queen tapped her foot as she looked at her son,

"You were spotted kissing her, so who is she?" Jungkook rolled his eyes, Jimin and Taehyung hadn't been there when the kiss had happened so it was evident that she'd had someone else following him for the last week.

"Assuming I'm correct you'd had us followed for a week so why don't you tell me who she is mother," His tone was coming out like a bratty teenager who was being caught in a lie and was being told off but he didn't care. He knew what his mother was about to do and he wasn't happy about it,

"You won't be seeing her anymore, I'm stepping up your security so no more sneaking out." She straightened up and watched as Jungkook scoffed her before leaving the great hall, slamming the doors behind him as he left her alone there.

"Was I too harsh?" She asked Yoongi who was standing beside her, he looked down at the floor.

"No your highness, he needs to learn the rules are there to be followed." But she couldn't help but feel bad for him, she knew what it was like to be in love with someone you could never have and she swore never to let her own child go through that and yet here she was doing the same thing her father did to her.

"Follow him, make sure he's in his chambers." She mumbled to Seokjin and Hoseok who was standing by the doors, they nodded and walked out without another word to the Queen.

Three nights in a row and Jungkook was a no show, you were starting to think he regretted kissing you and that was why he hadn't come back.

"Another night another disappointment." You whispered to yourself as you waited for the next waitress to come and take over,

"There's some dude outside for you, said he's ready for the movie marathon?" Your heart raced hearing those words,

"I cleaned, I've done everything, see you tonight!" You threw down your apron and rushed outside to the street to see Jungkook leaning against the alleyway wall, his head was hanging low as he pulled the hoodie up over his head.

"Movies?" You laughed walking up to him, he looked up at you to make sure you were you before he took your hand in his.

"Lead the way. I'm sorry I haven't been here...I was caught up at work." He lied trying to ignore the pounding in his chest as he held your hand for the first time in three days, being away from you was hurting him a lot. The idea of never seeing you again pained him so he'd slipped Seokjin and Hoseok a sleeping pill each before leaving out of his balcony door and climbing down the drainpipe.

"It's fine, I'm glad you're back." You smiled walking towards your apartment building still holding onto Jungkook's hand as you walked together, he was casually swinging your arms back and forth.

"Are they scary horror films then?" He questioned as you unlocked the front door to the apartment building, you giggled at how nervous he sounded about it.

"No Kookie, they're just a little Gorey," You promised him though that if he got scared he could hold onto you through them,

"Can I hold onto you through them anyway?" He whispered as you reached your front door, your back was against the wooden door but you nodded while staring into his eyes.

"Y-Yes."

You phoned into work that night taking a sick day so you could continue your time with Jungkook, he faked a phone call to his work and came back to you.

"So which film is next?" He questioned sitting down next to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, over the day you'd grown more and more comfortable around one another, stealing kisses and glances whenever you could and now it was as if you'd known him forever.

"I'm going to get you into the lord of the rings movies, you're going to love them," He chuckled watching as you got excited over the idea of him loving a movie with you, he stared at the side of your face as you flicked through the channels with the remote in your hand.

"What?" You laughed feeling his hand brush the hair out of your face,

"I just wanted to see your beautiful face again." He laughed leaning across and kissing your cheek softly, you put the remote down after clicking play and turned to look at him.

"Do it again," You whispered turning your head so he would kiss your cheek but at the last second, you turned your head connecting your lips. The same sparks you'd felt the first time came rushing out of you, your heart began to pound as he kissed you lovingly. His hands moving to cup either side of your face as you struggled to get into a comfortable position on the sofa.

"Come here," He chuckled lifting you up and sitting you down onto his lap so he could kiss you better, you giggled bending down to connecting your lips once again, whining out when he ran his hands down your spine.

The makeout session began to grow in heat and he pulled off his shirt revealing his toned body, you bit down on your lip running your finger down his abs as he took off your shirt next as you went to hide your body he shook his head at you.

"You're gorgeous, don't hide from me." He gently kissed you again standing up, you screamed into the kiss wrapping your legs around his waist as he began walking towards the bedroom laying you down against the sheets.

"Are you sure you want this?" You questioned when you watched him slowly begin to undo your pants,

"I've never been so sure about something in my life, are you?" You nodded your head desperately not caring about how desperate you looked. Anyone would be a fool to resist Jungkook right now.

"Need you." You whispered pulling him down into a kiss while your hands massaged his already hard member through the fabric of his jeans, he let out a low grunt as you finally came into contact with him and you smirked hearing him. You couldn't wait to hear more.

Sinking to his knees in front of you he began to kiss up to your thigh, letting his fingers run between your folds as he teased you a little wanting to get you riled up before he'd even entered you.

"J-Jungkook," You begged for him to do something, anything except this constant teasing and he chuckled blowing air onto your clit and smirking as you wiggled under his breath.

"So cute when you're needy Y/n." He slowly pushed two of his fingers into you knuckles deep holding them in place so you could feel him just below your g-spot, you began rocking yourself on his fingers but he pinned your hips down to the bed.

"No baby, let me do the work." The nickname sent shivers down your spine, he hadn't called you anything except for your name yet and that nickname made you needier for him.

"Then do the work," You hissed at him, frantic for him to move his fingers in and out of you. Once he did your head rolled back against the mattress making you cry out his name feeling him spreading his fingers a little each time he thrust them into you, curling them whenever he heard you moan in a way he liked.

"So sensitive," He whispered kissing your clit slowly sending your brain into a fog,

"I wonder-" He cut himself off by licking stripes up and down your clit as he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, increasing your moans as if you were an instrument he was playing.

"F-Fuck!" You whimpered hands going out to either side of you on the bed and clutching onto the sheets around you, you clenched around his fingers as he began to suck on your clit, occasionally removing his fingers from your core and dipping his tongue into you.

"S-Shit! Jungkook please!" You begged for him to keep going, your eyes rolling back as you could feel your orgasm beginning to build the more he ate you out like that on the bed.

"You wanna cum Princess? You wanna cum on my fingers?" You nodded frantically and he chuckled returning his mouth to your over-sensitive clit and hummed on you edging you all the more.

"Cum." He ordered darkly continuing the rough movement of his fingers, your eyes screwed shut as you cried out his name loud enough for the neighbours to hear you coming down from your first high of the night.

As you went to sink down onto your knees he brought you back up, kissing you softly,

"No baby, if you suck me off I'll blow right here, j-just lay down okay?" You nodded at him and kissed him again, kissing down his jawline and sucking on the exposed skin and he groaned laying you down against the bed and lining himself up at your entrance.

"P-Please," You whimpered looking him in the eyes, he smiled taking your hand in his as he slowly eased himself into you groaning out at how tight you were around him. He stayed still for a moment, letting you both adjust to the new feeling, if he were to move now he wouldn't last long at all.

"S-Shit you're so fucking tight." He mumbled against your lips kissing you as he slowly began to move in and out of you,

"S-So big." You mumbled back to him making him chuckle as you wrapped your legs around his waist begging him to move faster which he gladly accepted, moving your left leg around his shoulder and angling himself deeper into you.

Heavy grunting and loud moaning filled the room as he pushed in and out of you at a ruthless pace looking into your eyes as you cried out his name,

"Don't stop!" You begged, holding onto his face as you kissed him roughly begging for him not to stop. He was filling you up in ways you'd never felt before and you didn't ever want it to finish,

"I won't baby I won't." He chuckled moving his hand down between you and rubbing your clit, you throbbed around his length making him groan as you got tighter around him. You were letting out loud whines and whimpers that were bringing him closer to his release, he'd imagined you like this beneath him all week, imagining the way you would sound when you called out his name and moaned it loudly for everyone to hear.

"Jungkook!" You ran your fingernails down his back as he pushed himself deeper into you, it was as if something took over him then. He began to get rougher with his hip movements, snapping into you relentlessly as he felt his high drawing closer to him.

"C-Close." You whimpered to him looking into his eyes,

"M-Me too," He added glad that you were close, he didn't want to be the guy to cum without making you cum first, he let out a shaky breath as he pushed you further onto the bed and put your leg around his waist again.

"F-Fuck...Squeeze me-ugh- like that again babe." He begged you as you wrapped your legs around him pulling him deeper into you, he groaned loudly feeling you do that whenever he thrust into you.

"Jungkook I-I can't hold it a-anymore." You whispered to him and he chuckled leaning down to kiss you, kissing from your lips up to your ears.

"Cum around me baby, cum all over me like a good girl." At the mention of you being a good girl you lost control, your hips bucked up and your legs shook as white took over your vision. Sending you over the edge as you cried out his name, a warmth spreading through you as you came around him.

"S-Shit! J-Jungkook I love you!" You cried out loudly hips bucking wildly as you felt him twitch inside of you pulling out and spilling onto your stomach with a few pumps of his hand,

"I love you too." He whispered looking into your eyes as you both laid there panting heavily to one another.

You screamed as the door to your bedroom was kicked open and guns were aimed at you, Jungkook wrapped his arms around you covering you with the sheets. You were panicked while he looked calm about all of this happening around him,

"Mother," You stared at Jungkook as he watched the Queen walking into your room, you knew she was the Queen because of the crown she had on her head and the way she carried herself as she walked into the room.

"M-Mother?!" Your voice cracked as you asked him that, your eyes danced around to each of the guards who were now putting their guns away and standing to attention. Two of them were the boys who had been outside the cafe the last night Jungkook had come to see you.

"At ease, Jimin and Tae stay, the rest of you out." She ordered and all of them left without questioning it, Jungkook was still holding you close to keep you clothed.

"Can you give us a moment?" He questioned looking from his mother to you, you hadn't spoken a word yet and you wouldn't meet his gaze, you just stared at the bed waiting for them to leave you both alone.

"You have five minutes."

When you both emerged from the bedroom the Queen was sitting on your sofa, Jungkook had tried talking to you but you couldn't reply back to him. You hadn't been able to think of a single thing to say to him yet,

"Would you like some tea?" You asked the Queen, bowing a little as she made eye contact with you.

"No thank you, I heard you make a nice hot chocolate but it is neither the time nor the place for that." She stated, looking at you up and down trying to determine if you were good for her son or not but she could already tell that you were, you stopped bowing and stared at the floor.

"I wanted to come and see who was making my son so happy, over the last week he's smiled a lot, it's the first time I've seen him like this since his father died so it's rather refreshing." You looked at Jungkook who was nervously staring at you already, he was trying to figure out if you were okay with everything happening around you.

"I didn't know he was a Prince, your highness-"

"That's okay, he should have told you." She raised herself from the sofa and walked closer to Jungkook.

"I expect to see you home tonight and at dinner, bring her along." She told him looking over at you and smiling brightly,

"We'll figure out a way around the arrangement, I'll speak to Yoongi and the council." She meant the Royal council that had been the ones to decide he needed to marry royalty before becoming King, seeing the way he was with you really made her change her mind on this. Deciding that he needed to be happy,

"I see that you would give it up for her...I'll see what I can do." He thanked her and bowed as she left your apartment.

"Prince Huh?" You asked nervously and he laughed softly at your reaction, he was nervous that now you knew the truth you would start to treat him differently but you seemed okay.

"Do I have to call you your highness now?" You whispered as you walked over to him wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, Taehyung and Jimin were still in the apartment with you watching your every move.

"Only in the bedroom," He winked bending down to kiss you but you groaned pushing him away and looking at his personal guards.

"Do you want hot chocolate?" Jungkook acted offended as you offered them the famous hot chocolate that he'd come to you for.

"That's my hot chocolate," He mumbled watching as you walked into your kitchen getting ready to make everyone a cup he was just thrilled your feelings towards him didn't change when you found out he was the Prince.

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @snowy-meowl @jooniesdarlingdimples @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @fan-ati--c @callingmyangel @rjsmochii @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie

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marshmallow-phd · 4 years

Text

Nine Little Letters

Genre: College AU, Fake Dating AU, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before AU

Inspired By: This graphic made by @rcse-tvler

Pairing: EXO x Reader

Summary: Just when you thought life was done shoving you down, it got much, much worse. After finding out that your latest crush was already in a relationship, you did what you always did when emotions ran high: you wrote a letter. Signed and sealed, you put it away with the eight other letters you’d written to past one-sided loves, never to be seen again. That is, until a mix up accidentally sends those letters out to their respective recipients and you find yourself in the middle of one confusing web of love. With fake relationships, insecurities, and revelations swirling around, things are bound to get a little messy.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11

This was the worst kind of humiliation. Standing there on the sidewalk staring open-mouthed at the one person you were excited to see today, you were crumbling into a million pieces. And no one even noticed. That was what made this humiliation so bad; there was no one to witness it. You were breaking and no one cared.

You should have known better, really. This morning was going too well. You had woken up on time, had a delicious, filling breakfast, and had managed to put an outfit together worthy of any Pinterest board. Your confidence was through the roof and you were going to do the one thing in your life you swore you would never do.

You were going to confess to your crush.

Signing up for math tutoring was the last thing you wanted to do. Who in the world wanted to spend their valuable free time learning more about equations and algorithms? But you needed to pass this class. It was the second time you’d taken college algebra and the thought of taking it a third time made you want to crawl under your bed. So, you buckled down and took the walk of shame into the math lab. (Yes, that was an exaggeration. Everyone knows there is no shame in getting help. Didn’t mean you had to like it.) When you got the call from your assigned tutor, you ignored it. You didn’t like talking on the phone to anyone let alone a number you didn’t recognize. No voicemail was left. Then a text came through.

Hi, (y/n)! This Kim Junmyeon! I’ve been assigned as your math tutor. When you get a chance, let me know when you’re free so we can create a schedule that works for you. Have a great day!

You waited an appropriate amount of time before replying. So, an hour and half later, you texted him your schedule and made a plan to meet up in the library the following Thursday. You marked that day on your calendar with exactly zero enthusiasm. In your head, this Kim Junmyeon was the cliché nerd from movies: dorky glasses, snort-like laugh, and clothes that looked better on a grandfather. Oh, boy were you so happy to be wrong.

Sitting down at one of the tables by the large, ceiling high windows, Junmyeon was nothing like you’d imagined. He had a sophisticated aura about him. He dressed nicely, a thin long-sleeved shirt over a patterned button down, the collar laid nicely over the top of the shirt, and was blessed with sharp, handsome features. You knew you were in trouble. But you didn’t care. You sat down at that table eagerly, ready to… learn.

For the past month and a half, you’d met Junmyeon twice a week to go over the lessons and work on the assignments. By some miracle, your grade was actually going up in the class. Somehow you were able to better comprehend the material and secretly fawn over your tutor simultaneously. At this point, you were sort of feigning how much you weren’t understanding to keep the tutoring sessions going. The nice thing about algebra, once you understood the basics, everything else built on top of it.

But today – today you had decided that you were going to step over the line from tutor and student into the realm of perhaps something more.

You liked Junmyeon. You liked his math puns and the way he scrunched his face when he thought hard about something. His lips would pucker whenever he lifted the sheet of paper to check over your work. Each time you met up with him your heart acted like it was in the middle of a NASCAR race and it was determined to win. You had it bad. This wasn’t the first time you’d had a crush like this, but you had set your mind on making this one different. This time, you wouldn’t hold it inside. You were going to be the brave one, the bold one. The fact that birds were tweeting as you rode your bike onto campus should have been a sign that things would only be downhill from there. Unfortunately, like the optimistic idiot, you took it as a positive instead.

After locking your bike up, you headed straight for the courtyard near the pond. Junmyeon had told you that he often spent his mornings there to finish up homework or to read a book (the fact that he read so much was another factor in your liking of him). In your head, he was all alone, flipping through a novel as he leaned against the trunk of a tree, looking like a prince taking a rest in the shade on a warm summer’s day. The water would be glistening in the background as a lovely, lighthearted melody played softly through the air. He would see you approach and smile that wide, brilliant smile. Your heart would skip as you sat down in the grass next to him and poured out your feelings. The daydream turned into a nightmare the second he came into view.

Junmyeon was not alone nor was he sitting under a tree with a book. He was on one of the benches, splayed out on the wooden beams with his head resting in the lap of a very pretty, more his league type of girl. She laughed as Junmyeon told a story. A delicate hand ran through his soft brown hair. Your heart fell to the ground, forming a crater at your feet.

Shoulders slumped and day ruined, you turned and headed for the student union. If today was going to suck like this, then you were going to sprinkle it with an overly sugary coffee drink. Preferably with extra chocolate drizzle. It helped - a little bit.

Your morning classes went by in a blur. You were certain you took notes, but none of the information sank in. Later you would have to transcribe your quick scribbles to a word document to help you study. You would learn the information then. By lunch, you were starting to peel yourself off the sidewalk of humiliation. Especially when the one person you could always rely on joined you for lunch.

“How did it go?”

You remained silent, continuously munching on the sandwich in your hands as your best friend sat down across from you at the small, two-person table near the middle of the cafeteria.

Baekhyun laughed his signature, SpongeBob-like laugh. “That bad, huh? I told you not to do it.”

“Technically, I didn’t do it,” you corrected. “He already has a girlfriend.”

“Ouch.”

You nodded. How could you not see this before? Did he mention having a girlfriend and you just blocked it out? Junmyeon and you talked casually between math problems, about your friends and fun things you liked to do on the weekends. He’d failed to mention one very important detail.

“Well,” Baekhyun reached over and plucked a potato chip off your plate and plopped it in his mouth, “at least you found out before you said something. I told you he wasn’t worth it.”

“Just because he has a girlfriend doesn’t mean he isn’t worth crushing on.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re so much help.”

Ignoring your quip, Baekhyun snatched another chip. You smacked his hand, but all that managed to do was break off a few pieces, the crumbs falling to the table. Smiling proudly, Baekhyun popped the half-chip into his mouth. “So, are you just going to go home and write a letter?”

“Are you just going to go home and write a letter?” you mocked with a scrunched face.

Byun Baekhyun had been your best friend since the two of you had met in the first grade. He’d stolen your popsicle that your mother had packed as a special treat for your first full day of school. When he saw you start to cry, he broke off the piece he’d been sucking on and handed the rest back to you. There was a bit of a disagreement on the level of nice-ness that act achieved since it was your popsicle to begin with, but somehow it caused the two of you to be inseparable ever since. Being your best friend meant that he was privy to the more private parts of your life.

Like the letters.

Starting as young as ten years old, you’d developed a bit of a tradition when it came to your crushes. Emotions were hard to process, but you found them easier to work through if you thought about them and translated them into words. Those words would fly across the paper, transferring the feelings that made you both laugh and cry into the graphite that formed them. Not to mention, the act made you feel like the heroine in a rom-com. Certainly it was something that Meg Ryan or Rachel McAdams would do once they realized how they felt about the male lead.

The first letter you ever wrote was during your final year of ballet class. Dancing had been a part of your life since you were three, but a new passion had been discovered so you’d decided to quit after this last cluster of classes. A terrible decision, really. Because right after your mind was already made up, a new boy had joined the class.

Kim Jongin.

He had just moved into town after his father was promoted to a new position and had to transfer to headquarters. You’d never seen him at the park or the grocery store before. He was completely new. And beautiful.

He was blessed golden skin that glistened, shining brighter the longer he danced. And, oh, the way he danced. It was well beyond what anyone else could do. His movements were fluid, water-like, as if the very beat of the music were pulling and manipulating his limbs to convey what the notes had to say. Each move was a word and when he formed them together, they could make you smile or cry. And when he smiled… oh, his smile was like starlight. The kind of brightness that stayed in the sky even as the city lights flickered on. To this day, you’d never found one that could rival it. He was a dream that every composer coveted. So, what was your young heart to do?

Well, the movies told you to confess. But there was no way you could find the courage to do so, especially since you only saw him in class and you couldn’t confess in front of everyone. The only other option was to write it out; to write it out like Jane Austen pouring her heart out for Tom Lefroy.

Dear Jongin,

I’m not sure how to start this. Do I compliment you on your dancing? It’s nothing like I’ve seen before. Prima Donnas in the Russian Ballet would be jealous of you! But you probably hear that all the time. And about how handsome you are, even under all that hair. I can’t help but watch when you pull it back for class so you can see yourself in the mirror. Why can’t I look like that? I somehow ended up looking like a frizzy wet cat that just climbed out of the tub.

I guess what I’m trying to avoid saying is that… I like you. A lot. I like your laugh and your wide smile. I like how much you love music and how you interpret the melody with your moves. No one can freestyle like you! My heart does a dance of its own whenever I see you. I hope you don’t have anyone that you like, just so I can stand a chance. Would you ever think of me like that? If not, it’s okay. I just needed to tell you. Someday, you’ll be on stage dancing to an audience of thousands and I’ll be right there in the front row, cheering you on! Until then, I hope you always find happiness in what you love.

Love,

(y/n).

That sentence about watching him on stage made you cringe in hindsight. Cute for a ten-year-old, but a bit stalkerish. Luckily, though, you never gave it to him. You chickened out every time up until the last class. The idea of him opening it and reading right there in front of you was mortifying. So, then, you decided to mail it. The teacher gave you his address after you told her you wanted to invite him to your birthday party (it should be a little worrisome that a teacher was willing to pass on private information like that… perhaps it was because you were a kid). Three times you went to the mailbox to send the letter out and three times you ran back inside to hide it under your mattress.

That was the beginning of your weird little tradition. Though you never sent the letter to Jongin, you felt better having somewhat confessed your feelings and worked through them without the humiliation of actually… doing it. So, the next time you had a crush so overwhelming that you needed to get the feelings out, you wrote a letter. You even went all the way each time to address the envelope, giving the confession a sense of finality. There was no fear in them ever going out. Baekhyun was the only other one in the world who knew of their existence. At the current moment, eight were hidden in a drawer in your vanity. The way your fingers were itching, a ninth one was on the way.

“I might,” you finally replied.

Baekhyun leaned forward eagerly. “Can I read it when you’re done?”

“No!”

He snapped his fingers as he sat back in his chair. “Darn.”

“Why am I even friends with you?”

“Because I’m charming.”

There was no question in his voice. He one-hundred percent believed it. And… to be honest, he did have his moments. But that was all in the past. “Like a plank of wood.”

Shaking his head, Baekhyun rapped his hands on the table before standing up. “Alright, I’m going to class. Have fun with your pencil and imagination.” For emphasis on his stupid remark, he stole one last chip before walking off.

You finished off your sandwich in a bit of a rage. By the time you were finished, your mouth muscles were aching as if you’d spent several hours at the gym and it was jaw day.

You only had one class left for the afternoon. But it was algebra. How were you supposed to concentrate on functions when your sad attempt at getting into a relationship with your tutor failed so epically? Somehow you managed, though, and you packed up at the end of class with a new sort of determination. As you hopped on your bike and rode home, you thought over what you were going to write. You were so lost in your head that you hadn’t notice the car pulling out of your neighbor’s driveway, nearly hitting you before the driver hit their brakes.

“Shoot!”

You back peddled to break. Your heart thumped in your chest. No life memories flashed before your eyes, but you were sure you almost died. Slowly, you moved forward to get out of the way of the car.

“I’m sorry!” you yelled over your shoulder.

The driver leaned out the window.

Oh, great.

It was your neighbor. Or, at least, your neighbor’s son. Do Kyungsoo. He stared at you with an expression that could be blank but could also be a glare. It was hard to tell with him. Shaking his head, he pulled back inside the car and drove away.

Fighting off embarrassment for the second time this day - albeit this situation was much lower on the scale and it happened a bit more often than you’d like to admit - you put your bike up in the backyard and headed up to your room. Your mother, a literary history professor, and your father, a doctor at the local hospital, were both at work and wouldn’t be home until well after dinner. You were used to it. Besides, you were an adult and you liked being able to decide to have pizza for dinner and not worry about what other people wanted for toppings. Once you put your order in, you sat down at your vanity and got to work.

Dear Junmyeon,

Has anyone told you how your hair looks in the sunlight? The dark brown hues seem so warm and inviting, like an ebony chair that was warmed by the unfiltered rays. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to run my finger through it. Would the strands be as soft as they look? Would you wear the same smile on your face that you do during our sessions? But I guess I might not be meant to feel them. Today, I intended to tell you how I felt. I woke up with a determination, a goal to say how much I like you to your face. I was so nervous riding my bike to the university, but it was the good kind of nervous; the kind that makes you keep going. It seemed, however, that I was too late. Or maybe I simply never had a chance at all. I’d missed any signs that said you were already someone else’s.

I hope she knows how lucky she is. I hope she makes you laugh and listens to you when you’re having a bad day. Your laugh is like a symphony. Does she tell you how light and lovely it is? Or how infectious it is? When you laugh, I can’t help but laugh along. It’ll be sad not to hear it anymore. Or have our talks filled with random subject changes. But I think I’ll miss your smile most of all. The way it crinkles your eyes yet still lets them shine. The way it spreads across your face and the way your cheeks grow. It is truly a sight to behold. I hope wherever you go, you are always smiling. You always let your light shine even on the cloudiest of days. That’s what’s so special about you and what made me fall for you. Even when I was frustrated or couldn’t understand, you were patient, taking my mind off of the negative and turning me so I could face the positive. That’s a rare kind of person. You are a rare kind of person. Please always be happy, Kim Junmyeon.

Love,

(y/n)

With a sigh you sat back in your chair. The letter had done its job. Though you were still sad about the way things turned out, you no longer felt defeated. The words you needed to say were now out there without being “out there”. Okay, so he had a girlfriend. Big deal. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were more potential love interests out there that you could find. He was only one and obviously wasn’t the one.

Beginning to smile again, you folded the letter and put it in an envelope. You didn’t have Junmyeon’s address, so you wrote out the address for the math lab. Opening the top drawer of the vanity, you placed the latest addition to your collection under the first envelope. The doorbell rang right as you closed it up again. Oh, thank goodness. Food.

Practically skipping down the steps, you hurried to the front door.

“Hi-” You stopped as soon as you’d opened it. The person waiting on the other side was not the pizza delivery guy - it was Baekhyun. The boxes holding the pizza and cheese sticks you’d order for no one but yourself were in his hands. Over his shoulder, you barely caught sight of the delivery man driving away. “Really?”

“What? I was bored. And hungry.” He flipped open the lid to show you the hot, melted cheese of the appetizer. “Cheese stick?”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped aside so he could come inside.

Baekhyun had been to your home plenty of times in the past so it was easy for him to make himself at home. He didn’t wait for you before pulling plates out of the cabinet and pouring a drink. He even went as far as getting you glass as well. “Thirsty?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The two of you ate at the kitchen table as your mother had a “no meals in the living room” policy. Small snacks like nuts and popcorn were okay, as long as you didn’t spill any on the couches.

“So… how did the writing go?” Baekhyun asked cheekily between bites.

You shrugged. “Fine. I’m deciding that I’m getting over it.”

Now it was Baekhyun’s turn to roll his eyes. “You always get over them fast.”

“What’s the point of dwelling on the things you can’t change?”

That was always your answer. Yes, the hurt was immediate and painful, but Baekhyun was right, you tended to push it aside rather quickly. That was the whole point of your letters, anyway. Get the feelings out of the way so you could move on. What was the point of clinging on to something like that? You would only end up worse if you stayed in that spot. So, you pushed yourself to move on. And eight times out of nine, it had worked. There was only that one nagging letter that failed to do its job. That particular set of feelings refused to go away even as you looked to other crushes, as you found other boys to like. It was the one you would always wonder about, the one that was completely off limits. The dull ache still crept up every once in a while. If moving on was what you had to do, you would do it. Because you would prefer if you never had to go through something like that ever again.

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etherealluminescence · 4 years

Note

Shdjdjjddjjs okay but, more buff cat hcs when ?? But seriously, i know it probably counts as crack hc but i enjoyed it way to much i cant get it out of my head anymore, i havent laught so much in a while now sjdjchdj. I sure hope the buff cat saga will continue !!

You know what? I’ll give you some buff cat content now. 😤 my school work can wait. And trust me, the buff cat saga WILL continue. I just tend to work on requests first rather than my own wants haha.

I’m really happy you like buff cat! Buff cat is my life now. Constantly haunted by buff cat. Maybe one day I’ll introduce a girlfriend or friends for buff cat too 🤔

Maybe I’ll do a background about buff cat and how they met MC?? And why buff cat is so attached to MC? I don’t know. 👉👈 maybe if someone requests, otherwise I’ll just do whatever I feel like in the moment.

Anyone can also feel free to request any buff cat scenarios!! If not I’ll think of some up. THIS IS SO LONG IM SORRY. I WROTE THIS LIKE 1 HOUR OR SOMETHING STRAIGHT AHA.

The boys react to buff cat teaching you

Lucifer

Lucifer had noticed your grades were improving recently, and wanted to take you out to eat for working so hard to both keep up with your class.

When he came to your room, he saw a scene that honestly shouldn’t of surprised him, but did anyways.

You were sitting at your desk, books sprawled across the entire surface area of it. On top of a book pile was buff cat, wearing a pair of glasses, and he was using a pointer to show you important parts you should remember.

He watched in awe as you two never exchanged any words, but you were scribbling down definitions and important notes, while buff cat turned the pages and reviewed your work.

He’s gotten fairly use to buff cat cooking, cleaning, intimidating others, but he has never seen buff cat act like a teacher before, it was sort of new, and he even had a teacher outfit.

He swears that he never sees you buying these outfits, or that people in the devildom actually sell muscular cat clothing.

Buff Cat is the first to break the silence, looking over at Lucifer and positioning his pointer at Lucifer’s head, and then to in front of your desk.

You were still focused on your studying, knowing that you were steadily improving. Buff Cat got out a notepad from one of your desk drawers, and wrote “Leave what you require on this note, I am instructing MC right now, and when we are done tutoring I will give this note to them.”

Lucifer ended up having to take a rain check on taking you out to eat, and learned that your cat has really advanced vocabulary.

Mammon

He was failing the majority of his classes, and ended up asking you for help. You were his best shot, and you seemed to be passing all of your classes with flying colours.

You said you were happy to help him! Except that someone else was actually helping you study. They were a very efficient teacher.

He was relieved to hear that you’d introduce your teacher to him, until he found out it was that fucking demon spawn from hell.

He screeched so hard and ran out of the room, crying like a girl. “aAAAAaaaaAAAH”

Mammon is terrified of buff cat, and now you’re telling him this cat has the intelligence of a genius? You came to the devildom like a few months ago how is this cat tutoring you and making you pass your classes with ease??

He swears your cat is trying to plot for world domination or something. Will NEVER ask you to study with him again.

Leviathan

You walked into Levi’s room trying to find buff cat. It was a Sunday, which was typically a boys night out between them, but it was getting pretty late and you need to study.

There was a test tomorrow on devildom history, and you wanted to review one more time with buff cat, as to make sure you’ll do well on it.

“Mr. Kitty, are you here?” You called out, as soon as you said that Buff Cat paused the game and ran up to you. Levi was slightly annoyed as Buff Cat was beating a hard level for him, but he is your cat above all else.

You smiled as Buff Cat greeted you, and apologised for interrupting them. You explained to Levi how you wanted to review for the test, and if it wasn’t an issue could he spare around 20 minutes?

Levi huffed and agreed and called you a normie, and was about to pick up his switch when your words finally set in.

You put down the book you were carrying and got out a pencil, and took a piece of paper out of the book. You began writing down all of the important stuff on the paper while Buff Cat watched over your shoulder.

When you were finished, he went into the book with you and showed you a couple things you’ve missed or had forgotten, and then got you to write it down three times each as to remember. He even wrote a few essay questions for you which you got.

Levi was impressed. Not only did Buff Cat seem to know the whole devildom history by heart, he knew the exact pages and lines, and even how to write.

He didn’t really care as long as Buff Cat beats the hard level for him. He just considers it to be cool.

Satan

Satan was impressed with your high grades. It must be hard for a human to suddenly learn about a whole new realm, right? So if you had Cs he would understand, but you were getting 97s and 94s.

He understood everything when he started to notice what kind of books Buff Cat had been reading in his room, recently.

You all were having a test on curses soon, and Buff Cat came by his room and began looking for books about curses, and similar ones to what you all had been learning about.

Satan ended up chuckling to himself and found it amusing. It was amazing how your cat even spent his free time coming to someone’s room, finding books for your tests, and reads them before going back to you to help you understand the content.

He likes to get coffee with Buff Cat and talk about the stuff you’re learning in classes, he never directly said it to you, but he helps Buff Cat find specific books when Buff Cat comes over.

Asmodeous

Lucifer decided to punish the house of lamentations by taking away all of their electronics after they did something stupid again. The only way to earn it back, was through getting an 80% or higher on their next test.

You and Asmo suffered because you would normally look up answer during your test, and Asmo had no social media or contact with any of his friends with benefits.

You two weren’t ashamed to beg Buff Cat for help to pass your next test. He was probably the smartest in the house. He goes to Satan’s room almost every day and purchased books when he goes out. Your cat even tutored you when you were in elementary school.

You and Asmo barely needed to convince Buff Cat, as he was ecstatic to help you again. He’d do anything to help you, and was even willing to help Asmo out as well.

Asmo thought that Buff Cat looked REALLY adorable in his teacher’s outfit. A suit, tie, glasses, and his claws were so shiny from their manicure earlier.

Buff cat even slicked his fur back to look like he gel’d his hair. He was a literal fashion icon. Asmo could do some sewing, but nothing to the degree Buff Cat did.

Buff Cat had so many outfits he made himself, and he even did them so quickly. They all turned out perfect. Oh right, this was about studying wasn’t it?

Asmo never really asked questions about why your cat could just be so smart, and more so focused on how cool your cat looked. Priorities.

Beelzebub

Beel and Buff Cat are gym buddies, so naturally they’d walk home together from the gym. Everything was fine until Buff Cat’s MC senses were tingling, and began to walk towards you, crouching down in a store trying to figure out which notebooks to buy.

Beel thought it was pretty cool Buff Cat knew where you were, like how he and Belphie were that close to each other.

Brel asked you what you were doing, and you explained that you wanted to get some new notebooks because your old one is messy and confusing. You just scribbled whatever you could down, and were having a bit of a hard time in class.

Buff Cat immediately perked up, and you two seemed to have a conversation. He meowed and you happily said “I’d love that!”

Apparently, Buff Cat had offered to tutor you. Beel wasn’t so sure how well your cat could teach, though, considering he still is a cat, and offered to help you as well, since he wouldn’t like to see you sad from overworking yourself.

He was scribbling notes alongside with you five minutes into your first session together. Buff Cat wrote such simple explanations, and even prepared notecards ahead of time, Beel forgot he was supposed to teach you.

He is pretty fine with Buff Cat teaching you both, and once again forgets that Buff Cat is a “normal”? cat and not some weird creature that knows the answer to life.

Belphegor

Is really fucking terrified of your buff cat. Like TERRIFIED. So when he sees your cat in a teacher’s outfit sitting at the dinning room table, teaching you math, he was frozen.

He came down to get a glass of milk but what is this. Do you- do you have to do it in the living room?

There is no other reaction than physical fear coursing through his body his adrenaline is at the highest and his fight or flight instincts kick in.

He’s already fought once and that caused Buff Cat to exist in constant Buff form around him, so you can bet he is running.

Probably has a group chat with Mammon and Luke. “Buff Cat Conspiracy”. They talk about how scary buff cat is.

Diavolo

Buff Cat told Diavolo he was the one who helped you study. They were having conversation (buff cat used a notebook) and the topic of your studies came up. He mentioned how he had been helping you study, and understand the terminology in the Devildom better.

He was happy to hear that you understood it, and that it wasn’t too complicated for either of you too.

He actually asks if he can watch your study sessions, to see if he needs to lighten your workload just in case you’re pushing yourself too much.

You two allow him to watch, and he’s giving soft claps and smiles as the two of you give it your best.

Is honestly very happy with how much you two get along, and how you say it’s very simple since Buff Cat explains(meows) it in a very efficient manner.

He already knew Buff Cat was smart, but haha. Maybe he should hire Buff Cat to be a teacher or support class teacher for RAD?

Barbatos

You had grown accustomed to the devildom these past few months, and with Buff Cat with you, you were allowed to freely explore it when you want.

Buff Cat also happens to have a spare key to open the castle when he wishes.

Exam/testing season was coming up, and you knew you couldn’t study at the house of lamentation.

It was very distracting, and so you decided to go to the castle. No one will be screaming there, or trying to convince you your cat is a weird entity trying to plot world domination.

Barbatos was sort of used to seeing Buff Cat come and go as he pleases, but why were you here? Before he could say anything, you told him that you were visiting to study! And that you hope he didn’t mind that Buff Cat was going to tutor you.

Alright, so you’re studying, but why at the castle? You had to explain that it was very distracting at the house of lamentations, and Mammon was trying to convince you to get rid of your cat 24/7.

Ah, he could see that. Your cat isn’t exactly normal, and Mammon does occasionally scream like a girl. I promise I love Mammon. But it’s not like he minded, so long as you two were quiet and actually studied.

He left to clean for a bit, and when he returned to the guest room he saw you wearing a headband, violently writing down and muttering definitions at an insane pace. Buff Cat was in a teacher’s outfit, and holding out flash cards.

He’s slightly taken aback, but doesn’t show it anywhere on his face. He has never seen you so serious before, and neither has he seen Buff Cat so focused on you, as well.

He’s quite proud of you two for your hard work and dedication. He doesn’t interrupt but instead pours you three cups of tea, Buff Cat thanks him, and watches over you two.

Solomon

Solomon invited you over for a study session. He may be a little shady, but he does care for you, as a fellow human.

He was ecstatic to see Buff Cat come with you, because he still wants to dissect your cat.

He was about to talk to you about letting him research you cat, but you made yourself comfortable on his bed, and Buff Cat began to put on glasses and take out a pointer.

He didn’t have anytime to talk beforehand, as you were highlighting certain areas of your book, your cat pointing to certain parts, and you patted the bed beside you for Solomon to join.

Solomon’s plans to dissect your cat are set back another day, but he takes great interest in the way he teaches. Your cat is very methodical about how to remember things, and explains(meows) it rather simply.

He swears that your cat is not a normal human cat, but why can he sense literally zero magic power from it? If only Buff Cat could teach him that.

Solomon also gets 100% on the next test by remembering everything the way Buff Cat had taught you two.

Simeon

Absolutely chaotic man, when he sees you and Buff Cat in a classroom when school was over, he approached you two, and said hello.

You greeted him, and so did Buff Cat. He asked what you were doing after school so late, and that it was dangerous for the two of you. Buff Cat not so much but could still be in danger.

You told him you were studying for the upcoming test, and that Buff Cat was helping you.

Simeon was like!!! 💖👉👈💖💖💖💖🥰🥰🥺🥺 could I join?? This sounds so fun!! Buff Cat is so smart!!

He does not question the fact he’s studying with a cat, learning from a cat, or just how nice your cat can write on paper, like perfect handwriting.

He has such chaotic energy that he’s just like you, what a cute cat!

Luke

no.

just no.

he’s fine with your cat but does your cat have to be in buff form when you’re being taught?

he is happy you are getting good grades but please get him away from buff form buff cat.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me hc #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanon #buff cat

75 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Attached - Bonus

Words Read After the Lights-Out

Type: (mini)-series, college AU, professor AU (technically)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 5500

Summary: Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Time apart is usually unpleasant and this time wasn’t as exception. With messed-up sleep schedule, Steve helps himself with one of your writing he knows you finished. Will it help him fall asleep?

Warnings: smut, 18+, nsfw, semi-public masturbation, oral (fem receiving), PIV, hints of dom/sub, and fluff… and language (always)

A/N: @donutloverxo is ‘bad’ influence on me. Hopefully it will make up for me still not participating in the wonderful weekly challenge.

So here. Have a tiny bit more of smut and then I’m done with it. I am not a smut writer, no, no, no, no… but yeah, I had plenty of fun with this. It’s smut in a fluffy wrapping, because of course it is. I’m me. So, enjoy?

(Also, I copied the start of reader’s fic from the epilogue, so just you’re not surprised)

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve knew he had permission – a half-heartedly mumbled one, somewhere between consciousness and drifting to sleep, but still a permission –, yet he felt a bit dirty.

He had printed the pages few days ago before he left, knowing you finished the story for now named ‘the second encounter with Professor R’, morbidly curious, but hesitant to dive in. These were still your writings, your imaginations and they might have concerned him, but they were still very intimate. And he wasn’t just thinking sexual intimacy – it was simply something coming from the very depth of your mind and Steve honest to god didn’t want to invade your privacy.

However, he had asked if you’d mind if he read what you had written, and you said no. He had asked if he could read it then – and you said yeah.

Here. Permission. Clear as day. And you had left your laptop open, still logged in, as if in invitation. So he had downloaded it and printed it out.

And now he was watching you lying on your stomach, hugging the pillow that was very much on his side of the bed as if you wished you were cuddling him instead and Steve didn’t crave anything but sliding beside you and pulling you to his side.

The problem was that he had been to a conference on the other side of the country and he nodded off on the plane and not even the long shower made him relax properly. And the last thing he wanted was to wake you up, because the last time you Facetimed, you looked like you could sleep for a year.

Steve knew that the fact he had left you alone for the first time since the rumours started that you two were together and it was no surprise that facing the vultures without the possibility to find solace in each other’s arms was taking its toll on you – he wouldn’t like it either. You wouldn’t admit it to him; you kept the distress about it to yourself, not wanting to burden him. The bed was lonely without him, you had said instead, a claim no doubt true as well – and boy, could Steve relate to that.

So now he fished out the few pages and settled at the desk, only the dim light revealing your words to him, as if they were something that indeed should remain a secret.

Steve spent one more glance at your sleeping form, serene, your lips parted as you softly breathed into the pillow, eyes closed, eyelashes casting weak shadows over your cheeks with the little lamp on and Steve couldn’t stop the corners of his lips rising. You were beautiful and his, lying in his bed, practically begging for him to come and take you to his arms.

Steve promised himself that once he would finish reading, hopefully tire his eyes for a bit, he would do exactly that – falling into a blissful sleep with you in his embrace.

He should have known better, really. He should have known that your story would do everything but lull him to sleep.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Your pen was half-heartedly scribbling on the paper, your brain not quite registering the words coming from his mouth.

You weren’t prepared for a damn history lecture; mostly because when you knocked on the door of the professor’s office, you did not expected to find him not alone; his colleague, the grumpy old idiot, was sitting at his desk, making nots from a book which you probably wouldn’t even be able to lift with how thick it was.

Speaking of thick things… one was meant to be between your legs now, but no, the other prof just had to sit there third-wheeling and cock-blocking—dammit.

Now here you were, sitting opposite to Professor Rogers at his desk, pretending to be taking notes while he kindly filled in your missing knowledge, talking about god knew what.

His voice was a balm to your ears, deep timbre echoing in your ribcage, stirring heat in your abdomen. His voice did things to you no matter what words he spoke and from what distance, but you much rather had him whispering filthy suggestions to your ear, teeth grazing your skin, praises for all the things you allowed him to do to you, with his fingers, with his tongue, with his-

“Miss Clark!” Professor Rogers snapped all of sudden, voice stern and minutely louder than before. Your head snapped to him at instant, meeting his intense glare and a raised eyebrow. “Do I need to remind you that you were the one who expressed a supposedly genuine endeavour to earn your credit? If you could take notes instead of…” he eyed your wannabe notes with the scepticism they deserved “-doodling, that would be splendid.”

The smirk on his lips gave him away as he met your gaze, rising from his seat pointedly.

“Yes, Professor Rogers,” you said meekly, speeding up the circles and other random motions with your hand. “I’m sorry. My mind wandered off, I got lost in your narrative. It won’t happen again.”

You were so full of shit, because the only thing you got lost in was your own imagination, unholy pictures filling your impatient brain. Professor Rogers certainly knew that too – but he kept the front up for his colleague who just couldn’t seem to leave the damn room if even for a minute.

“It better not,” Professor Roberts commented gruffly, circling the hardwood desk slowly, fingers tracing the top of what he was meant to be fucking you against shall your fantasy come true any time soon. You shifted in your seat, feeling slickness gathering between your lower lips in anticipation. “As I was saying, the battle of Stalingrad…”

A sudden thought struck you when he stood beside you; for the first time in the past hour, you actually wrote something down instead of drawing random patterns.

Professor Rogers looked over your shoulder, reading the line about Professor Banks being a pain in your ass and you going crazy with need for your tutor’s cock. Peripherally, you saw Professor Rogers’ hand curl up in a fist, one corner of your lips rising in a smirk.

If you were to suffer, then so could he. It was a bold move, bratty even, one he might punish you for, but you were willing to take the risk, even feeling a tingle in your abdomen at the premise. Would he punish you? How? Were you in for some impatient manhandling today?

Caught up in your musings, you nearly jumped when his hot breath caressed your ear, a whispered promise causing air to get stuck in your throat, your heart speeding up insanely in your chest.

“Patience. Once he’s gone I’m gonna bend you over this desk…”

Your eyes fluttered shut, your mind supplying you with a helpful visual. You could almost feel his hand stroking the back of your thighs, the curve of your ass over your skin-tight dress, your lower back, and roughly pushing between your shoulder blades to trap you against the desk.

“…the German offensive to capture Stalingrad began in August 1942, using the 6th Army and elements of the 4th Panzer Army. The attack was supported by intense Luftwaffe bombing that reduced much of the city to rubble,” he continued the lecture as he straightened again, as if he hadn’t just vowed to get freaky with you.

His hand grazed the back of your chair, painfully close and still so far, moving to your other side, the heat of his body once again teasing you, his mouth an inch from your skin.

“…and fuck you ‘till you can’t walk…”

Your breathing picked up, your mouth suddenly feeling dry, the urge to lick your lips stronger than you. You glanced in Professor Banks’ direction, but there was no way he could hear what his colleague was whispering to your ear, the filthy promises made in between lecturing you about one of the biggest and most important battles of WW II. How could Professor Rogers even focus-

“You certainly have to write this down, Miss Clark—November 19, the Red Army launched Operation Uranus, a two-pronged attack targeting the weaker Romanian and Hungarian armies protecting the 6th Army's flanks.”

“… and ‘till the only thing you remember from this session is my name...”

You couldn’t even make out the words he spoke on normal volume anymore. Your fingers gripped the pen, the echo of sensations from the last week that had haunted you for days ghosting over your skin, your lips, your-

“…and how good my cock feels in your cunt.”

As if on command, your core clenched around nothing, the desperate craving to relieve some of the gradually building desire causing your thighs to rub together on instinct, hoping to create some friction at least. You could imagine Professor Rogers’ pupils dilating at that, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as one simple sentence of yours backfired unexpectedly.

His lips actually brushed over the shell of your ear with his next words, making you suck in air in a sharp inhale.

“You better get yourself ready, ‘cause I won’t waste any time with that.”

You blinked furiously at the statement, your head once again snapping to the other man in the room, who could turn to you any moment, catching you red-handed if you actually went through with it.

No way, no fucking w-

“Did I stutter, Miss Clark?” Professor Rogers hissed irritably and you dared to look at him, shocked to see a wolfish smile, a hungry glint in his eye that filled your stomach with butterflies, causing you to practically drip into the fabric of your dress.

“No, Professor Rogers,” you whispered obediently, your mind racing as you couldn’t make yourself to slip your hand under and just… listen to the command. “I understood.”

He held your gaze as he stepped to your right to partly shield you from view.

Be a good girl, he mouthed, sending a pleasant shudder down your spine, your pussy weeping for him, something inside you begging for you to obey just so you could hear him say it out loud later.

“Then we shall continue. At the beginning of February 1943, the Axis forces in Stalingrad…”

You inhaled shakily, your hand trembling a little as you let it fall from the top of the table, landing on your leg instead, your thumb grazing the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh.

Professor Rogers’ eyebrows jumped a fraction, his chin motioning for you to go on, his eyes dark and lustful like a night.

Not daring to cast a single glance at the other man, because he would only make you lose your nerve, you moved your hand under the hem of your dress which was slightly below your mid-thigh, fingers trailing up until they reached the very high thigh-highs you were wearing.

“You seem to be forgetting to take notes, Miss Clark, my patience is truly wearing thin. Let’s move to another battle which was critical for the development of the war, the battle of Bulge…”

The words fell on deaf ears. All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart as your fingers slid right into the slickness pooled at your core; just like he had asked a week ago, there was nothing in the way, no underwear. You nearly whimpered when the tips of your fingers touched your opening, the barely-there contact blissful and yet torturous as you craved so much more.

You could feel his gaze on you, studying every quickened rise and fall of your chest, every single motion of the tendons in your forearm and thighs, flexing when your thumb circled your aching swollen clit, your eyes sliding shut at the tingle that ran through your nerve endings, your forefinger dipping into your cunt. You bit on your lip to stop yourself from releasing the whimper threatening to spill from your lips.

His stupid talk, momentarily empty promises, his voice on your ear, his lips brushing your skin, the light pressure on your clit, the finger moving slowly inside you— it all felt amazing, way too good considering that you knew you weren’t alone, but by God, did it add a tiny bit of a thrill, causing your heart to flutter, your core to burn.

You could still hear Professor Rogers talking, not one of his words registering until his fingertip grazed your collarbone, a breath of ‘such a good girl’ caressing your ear. You gulped, feeling your pussy clench, a shudder running down your spine.

“Go on, make yourself feel good. Add another.”

You had no idea how he knew what you were doing under the fabric, but he retreated again, to talk armies and bloodshed and all you could think off was being the good girl he had proclaimed you, worrying your teeth over your lips strongly enough to draw blood almost, third finger slipping into your heat. Your eyes fluttered open at the sensation, gaze stubbornly fixing on Professor Rogers’ chair, your breathing shallow and quick as you felt the pressure building.

Your mind was turning hazy as you tried to comprehend whether you liked the presence of the unsuspecting professor or were ashamed doing this while he was right there. You massaged your inner walls slowly, carefully despite how much you needed the release at this point, barely moving in or out in the fright of making noise. Your head spun, your thighs trembling softly with your climax nearing, the pleasure on horizon setting your blood on fire.

And then there was a pinch to your shoulder, nearly making you yelp in surprise—but somehow, even in the fog your brain was in, you understood that it was an order to stop and your hand instantly disappeared, curling into a fist on your thigh.

You tried your best to stop the shaking, to ignore the slickness on your fingers, now hopefully hidden in your palm and not on display – and peripherally, you could see Professor Banks rise to his feet, picking up items from his desk.

Your heart was beating its way out of your chest, air caught in your lungs as you attempted to calm yourself just in case he would look at you. As if your sex wasn’t practically pulsing because of the abrupt neglect, so so close to the release you craved.

In a sudden clarity of mind, you swiftly took fresh paper and set in on top of your ‘notes’ and gripped the pen again, seemingly ready to continue writing down important dates and names. You heard Banks steps nearing and you instinctively looked up. You had no idea what face you made, because you had zero control over your mimic muscles, too busy trying not to spontaneously combust.

Whatever he read from your expression, it made him eye his colleague.

“Don’t keep her for much longer, Steven. I’m sure she deserves some fun today too,” the older professor remarked, shooting you an uncharacteristic smile and walked out of the office, his old-fashioned leather case swinging. Professor Rogers’ ‘Don’t worry, Bradley,’ followed him and finally, the door clicked shut behind him, allowing you to release an exhale.

“He has no fucking idea,” you muttered, tossing the damn pen aside, running a hand down your face, while your other one remained curled up in a tight fist.

“Shut you dirty mouth, babygirl,” Professor Rogers hissed, crossing the distance to the door in few long strides, glancing at Banks’ desk to make sure that the man hadn’t forgotten anything he could come back for, and only then locked.

The next thing you knew, you were on your feet, the edge of the hardwood desk digging into your ass, your wrists pinned by his hands.

Your breath was stolen by his mouth, lips taking yours, warm, sweet, soft and demanding, a hungry kiss that had no end, one of your wrists suddenly free as his fingers curled around your nape, tangling in your hair, pushing and pulling, just to get more of you. You submitted easily, gratefully even, blissed out at the feeling of his tongue exploring your mouth, taking everything he wanted.

You gasped for air when he withdrew, his forehead resting against yours for a split moment, his touch on you almost tender now, more so when he brought your wrist to his mouth and left a brief kiss on your knuckles, inhaling deeply, causing your face heat up.

“So obedient, such good girl,” he whispered in a husky voice, thick with arousal, and you could swear you were about to burst. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

You were caught between embarrassed and aroused when he pried your fingers open, his tongue tasting your drying juices. Your core clenched in need and as if he could feel it, his hips rutted into yours, his own excitement evident as his cock poked your lower stomach, his mouth once again on yours, your hand trapped between your bodies, his fingers gripping your sides tightly.

“I promised you something, didn’t I?” he mumbled to your mouth.

Recalling just what a vow he had made you with the other man still present, you gladly let him spin you around, manoeuvre you to press your front to his desk with no regard for the notes scattered over it. You instantly missed the warmth of his body, but his hands went to knead the flash of your ass, one sliding to your lower back, the other hiking up your dress.

A groan escaped him at the sight of you bared for him, his foot nudging yours apart, his grip on you tightening, fingers digging into your flesh enough to bruise before they slid lower, dipping into your slickness. His fingertips spread it, circling your clit, nearly causing your knees to buckle at the shot of bliss sent through your veins. A pathetic mewl fell from your lips and you could only imagine the indulgent smile on his face.

“God, look at you, so pretty, so ready for me,” he praised, fingers tracing the lace of your thigh-highs. “I really like these. Good choice…. Hold on tight, babygirl.”

You wasted no time and listened to him, grabbing the edge of the desk as his touch disappeared. You closed your eyes, anticipation building when you heard the tell-tale of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

You couldn’t wait to feel him inside you again and as wrong or right as it was, you couldn’t help yourself, missing him. You knew things weren’t as simple as they could be seen – you noticed the little things, unnecessary tenderness peeking through, showing you that you were more than just a mindless fuck.

His warm palms spread your cheeks almost lovingly, slightly guiding you up so you stood on your tiptoes, bracing on the hardwood desk, so close to beg for him to finally fill you up, so con-

“Oh my-“ you cried out, your thighs clenching when instead of his hard cock nudging your slit, a velvety-soft warmth licked at your opening, eager and hungry, wasting no time and opening you further, the tip of his tongue pushing in, his lips sucking every drop you offered. Blood rushed to your head and to your centre, fingertips tingling, your most sensitive parts feeling like on fire. His beard was a stark contrast to the softness of his tongue, rough sensation making you dizzy. “Prof-“

His fingers applied pressure on your clit again, the circling motions making your head spin, your thighs shake again with the intensity of the approaching orgasm as professor Rogers fucked you with his tongue relentlessly, reaching even deeper, flicking his tongue and driving you absolutely crazy with pleasure.

A cry ripped from your throat as your climax shook your whole world, knees giving out, your fingers weakly clutching at the edge of the desk, your body slack against the wood. And he didn’t stop. He helped you ride it out with vigour, humming against your cunt, sending aftershocks through your veins. Only when he stopped, you felt you could finally breathe— his mouth moved just a fraction, a sting on your inner thigh as he sucked a mark of possession, one he kissed afterwards; even in your haze, a soft warmth enveloped your heart. Not a mindless fuck.

“Sorry sweetheart, I couldn’t help myself…” he muttered to your skin, stroking, squeezing, kissing, moving up and whispering to your hair. Did he just apologize…? “You’re even sweeter than I hoped.”

Your heart fluttered, your hand blindly finding his as it still clutched on your waist. He didn’t retreat, gently squeezing back, knocking the breath out of you when he simultaneously entered you, his whole length in one swift motion, sinking so easily into your weeping cunt.

Professor Rogers moaned as you gasped, your core instinctively clenching around him.

“So tight… so good-“

His hands moved to your hips, his cock driving in and out, slowly at first, letting you feel every inch, his thick member stretching you pleasantly after such delicious preparation.

“Professor Rogers,” you gasped when he hit the right spot, his grip tightening.

“That it, babygirl?” he teased, purposely changing the angle, barely brushing your g-spot with his next thrust. You couldn’t help the mewl of frustration, attempting to shift and help yourself, only to meet with the steely hold he had on you. “Ah-ah, none of that, babygirl… you want more? Want me to make good on my promise?”

You really wanted to sneer at him, to snap, but—God, he moved so right the next moment, giving you another taste of the delicious sensation and you nodded fiercely, only for him to still in his movements, thumbs drawing a circle on your skin.

“Yes,” you voiced your request then, earning a satisfied hum and a tap of his fingers. Words are good, now do better, you almost heard him say and you clenched your jaw in frustration. For God’s sake- “Yes, please.”

“Please what?” he urged you as he rolled his hips lazily, dragging his cock alongside your walls so painfully slow.

You sighed, rocking yours hips just a bit – vainly, again.

“Please, fuck me against the desk… Professor Rogers.”

It worked like a charm, a kiss landing between your clothed shoulder blades.

“Good girl,” he hummed, the praise giving you as much joy as it did to him, apparently. “Brace yourself, sweetheart, I’m not holding back on you. I waited long enough…”

And that he did; the lecture had been a torture until it changed into a different kind of-

The half-unpleasant memory vanished from your mind, quickly replaced by the sensation of his length filling you up again, and again, again, speeding up, angling his hips so he finally hit the spot you craved to have stimulated, driving in and out with force that made you see stars, sharp gasps escaping your lips with each thrust.

You clutched at the table, unable to hold still, trying to meet him halfway, adding to the pleasure that had tears gathering behind your closed eyelids.

“Shit, I’m gonna-“ he groaned and freed one of his hands in favour to take you with him, playing with your clit and making you moan his name as the coil in your abdomen snapped again, causing you clench around him. It tipped him over the edge and you felt him spill into you, some of his seed tickling your opening as he rode his climax out.

You were both breathing heavily as his body laid over yours, the sweat gathering on your forehead and back be damned. You melted into the comfort his weight offered, pleasantly surprised when one of his hands found yours, still on the edge of the desk, fingers interlacing, a wet sloppy kiss landing on the side of your neck.

You could feel him soften inside you, a new sensation that felt strangely intimate, and yet he stayed a little longer.

“Stay right here, babygirl,” he rasped out, the warmth of him disappearing as he stood up fully and pulled out.

You obeyed despite not being sure what was about to happen… your first thought was a photo and you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

However, your first thought was wrong.

You heard rustle as he pulled out a wet-wipe, a sharp exhale following – warming it up, you realized later – and then he carefully cleaned you up, soft and wary of how sensitive you were, his mission ending with a brief kiss on the spot where the bitemark was probably already blooming.

“You can get up,” he encouraged you, standing by your side, hands hovering as if ready to catch you.

Now your head spun for a whole different reason. What the hell was happening? What was he doing? What did this mean? You weren’t about to complain in the slightest, but… what.

Professor Rogers was observing you wordlessly, intense gaze you couldn’t hope to understand and you couldn’t help the shame warming up your cheeks, knowing that even with waterproof mascara and quality lipstick, you were far from looking perfect – and still, he appeared to be feasting his eyes on you.

Before you could try and fix it, he caught your hand halfway to your face, planting a kiss on your wrist and reaching for another tissue, taking care of it himself.

You were rendered speechless, eyes wide, lips parted as his own spread in a gentle smile, gaze almost fond as his thumb caressed your cheek.

“Pretty girl,” was all he said, a kiss landing on your forehead, causing your breath to hitch, your eyelashes fluttering as you blinked several times, unable to comprehend.

You were too stunned to say a single word, frozen on spot and yet you could feel your bones melting under his gaze, still unwavering, focused, boring into yours.

Neither of you made an attempt to move – neither of your reached for your handbag so you could be on your way. You just stood there in silence, lost in how incredibly handsome, beautiful he was up-close, finally having time to fully appreciate it – and with the softness of his features, you felt yourself fall for him, caught in the safety net of his kind eyes.

Your mouth opened uselessly and the pad of thumb moved to run over your lips, ending up in the corner of your mouth, raising it in a lopsided smile.

“You called me my first name,” he whispered, effectively bursting your blissful bubble and invading it with horror.

Oh god, you had? When—oh. Oh. Now you recalled it, a tiny bit horrified that you actually called him ‘Steve’ when reaching your peak.

“I’m sor-“

He shook his head and before you could finish, he pulled you in for another kiss, slow, deep and meaningful, his arm curling around your waist as if he couldn’t get you close enough and once again, you weren’t about to complain, placing one palm on his shoulder, the other on the side of his neck instead.

“I liked it,” he breathed to your mouth, pecking your lips once more before releasing you. “I’ll see you next week, Miss Clark.”

You nodded automatically, still stunned by the whole turn of events and accepted the handbag he gently handed you.

“…thanks,” you muttered and let him lead you out of the office.

When he unlocked the door, you readjusted your dress, making sure that in any normal circumstances people could see the lack of your underwear; what a reminder of Professor Rogers – Steve – being no less kinky than the first time, no matter how his demeanour now. You glanced at his face again and lost all remnants of sanity.

You placed your hand on his broad impressive bicep and dropped a light kiss on his cheek, enjoying the tickle of his beard once more.

“I’ll see you,” you echoed his words, meeting his twinkling eyes before walking out of the door.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Steve had to blink several times as he finished reading, trying to get a grasp on reality again, the words and images still swimming in front of his eyes. He needed few moments to process what he just read for more than one reason; he certainly didn’t feel sleepy as he had naively hoped.

He found the story hot, yeah, he wasn’t kidding himself, he was rock hard and aching, but what took him aback greatly and rendered him speechless was the sentiment. The shift in the relationship, the parts of Steve you got to know that you had implemented into the story with ease, the story in which ‘Miss Clark’ was surprised by the professor’s affection.

Steve read in the words the same astonishment and tender awe he saw in your eyes when you first exchanged ‘I love you’, after he had read the very start of this story for the first time and told you that he loved your mind as well.

Even when he glanced at your form now, so tempting in his bed, practically begging for him to satiate the hunger that your words spurred, it was impossible to ignore the warmth in his chest, his heart suddenly feeling too big for his ribcage.

Delicately placing the pages down, he turned off the lamp and carefully made his way to you, the mattress dipping under his weight, the motion drawing an adorable but barely audible whimper from you. Steve smiled for himself and slid beside you, curling his arms around your form and pulling you to his chest as much as he could without poking you with his hard-on, having decided to ignore it until it went away. He just-- honestly, he wouldn’t say no, but just holding you would suffice tonight.

You melted into his body so trustingly and naturally it made his heart ache and sing at the same time—God, he loved you. Then, as your mind registered that he was technically not supposed to be there, your form stiffened before pressing into him further, curling in his embrace, allowing him to nuzzle his nose in your hair.

“Hi,” you greeted him sleepily, but no less sweetly.

Steve dropped a kiss to the back of your head, his smile widening. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m okay, I’m glad to be home and you can go back to sleep.”

“Mm-mm, thanks for the report.”

You turned your head to catch his lips in a welcome kiss, one Steve wouldn’t refuse in a million years; sleepy, a bit sloppy, but one that tasted like home. Yours. And with both of you smiling into it.

“Welcome back. I missed you.”

He brushed the strand of your hair from your face, kissing you once more at your admission.

“Missed you more.”

Your grin only widened when you rolled over to him fully, tangling your limbs with his and accidently – possibly on purpose – brushing his erection with your thigh. He hissed despite himself and he would swear he could see a glint of mischief in your eyes despite the lack of light in the room.

“Oh, I see how it is, you missed me,” you giggled adorably and Steve couldn’t bring himself to be exasperated at you breaking the magic of the moment. And he certainly didn’t feel like telling you what exactly got him into this state – at least not now.

“Not just like that,” he grumbled and you giggled once more, finding his lips with yours, your hand surprisingly moving to rest on his chest, right over his heart, rather than heading down his torso.

“I’m hopeful,” you whispered, looking up at him from under your eyelashes and even in the dark, Steve felt his heart stutter. God, you were beautiful. Breath-taking. His. “But we should take care of this.”

Your hand slid considerably lower, giving some attention to his aching hard-on, softly curling your fingers around it and stroking and his resolve was slowly – very quickly – turning non-existent.

“I didn’t want to wake you at all. You need to sleep-“ he tried out weakly and you eyed him again, kissing his sternum, still smiling.

“Don’t feel sleepy. And I missed you too. In all the ways possible. I want to feel you, Steve.”

And fuck, he was lost. To your hands, to your lips, to your voice – when did it grow so sultry? –, to the smell of your shampoo and bodywash and your skin and to your damn face he couldn’t even see properly.

“Hey,” he mumbled in a spur of the moment, catching your hand to still your delicate strokes before they clouded his mind completely.

You blinked in an understandable surprise; but he had an important thing to say, simultaneously making a mental note to emphasize it again when telling you he read the second story too.

“Wha-“

“I truly missed you, sweetheart. I love you.”

Your surprise melted into something much softer and Steve couldn’t but meet your lips again, catching a glimpse of that same awe he marvelled at when reading. Your fingers in his hair were an epitome of bliss as you kissed him back with care.

“I love you too, Steve. So much…” you vowed and then there were no more words needed.

Steve devoured your lips, your body, revelling in every soft sigh of his name. And soon worn out after you both tipped over the edge, you fell asleep, tucked under the covers in his arms, the pair of you finally sleeping soundly again after being apart.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

‘One-shot’ Hurtful Words part 1

S.R. masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading :-*

I felt like I owe it to you, to them and to myself after the story she was writing didn’t get to be read (Steve caught her writing it). I hope you enjoyed :)

I’m thinking one more one-shot, maybe, will see how it goes, I’ll be pretty busy from the next week, so...

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bitter-sweet-farmgirl · 3 years

Text

Pick Up Lines

Welp, so a special someone has a birthday today, and I took part in a writing contest that she had to celebrate it. The funny part about this is that I wrote this story literally the day after I picked out my prompt. So I've been sitting on this story for about 2(?) months just waiting in suspense to share it, XD

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @guardianofrivendell!!!

I used this quote.

And this is a pairing between Fili & Tullaina

Warnings: Well, there maybe be an innuendo in there somewhere... ;) and a swear word or two. Nothing crazy

Pick Up Lines

My eyes flickered across the yellowing parchment of the scroll I had been assigned to read. At first the words were interesting and held my attention. Then as my attention began to wander, they became dull and frankly, dare I think it? Meaningless?

The librarian--and Ori--would strangle me, no questions asked if they knew how dull I found this ancient scrap to be.

The soft rustle of paper brought my attention back to the Dwarrowdame sitting across from me; dark-haired head bowed over the pages of an absurdly large and heavy tome whose title was written in overly large, flourishing golden script: A Brief History of Durin's Line: Volume 205.

I made a mental note to add my tutor, Lorelei, to the list. If she knew that I was more interested in a certain dark-haired dame than the 'exceedingly valuable and history-filled document whose knowledge is crucial to your future role of King' scroll, then she would be madder than Uncle Thorin when Kili had accidentally, (I wasn't so sure about that part), kicked Thorin's clothes into the river as he attempted to jump into it as we camped by it during the Quest.

It probably wouldn't help that Kili had already pissed her off earlier today during his session with her when he tried--unsuccessfully-- to flirt with her. Apparently the dame couldn't tell that my baby brother was head-over-heels for her.

"Oi, Fili!" A low, feminine voice called out loudly, making me cringe and breathe a sigh of relief all at the same time.

I twisted in my wooden chair to look over at the approaching Dwarrowdame. Dark red hair bounced messily across her shoulders as she trotted towards the table Lorelei and I occupied. The bright, beaming smile on her freckled face lit up the whole room and I found myself grinning automatically as she stopped beside my chair.

"Are you still studying these dusty old scrolls? Doesn't Thorin know that the sun is shining outside and there are things," she winked meaningfully at me, "that need to be done?"

I chuckled, pushing my chair away from the table with a soft scraping sound and stood up to tower a few inches above the dame.

"Good afternoon to you too, Tullaina." I answered, hurrying to roll up the parchment I had been trying to read until thoughts about Tullaina entered by head. Lorelei took one look at how I was treating the ancient parchment and let out an indignant gasp.

"I'll handle that, Prince Fili. Just don't damage this priceless piece of knowledge!" She gasped, snatching the scroll away from me and cradling it gently.

"Sorry, Lory." I apologized sheepishly, but she only shook her head.

"Just go on, I know you are eager to go spend time with Lady Tullaina. Do not let me stand in your way, Prince Fili." She sighed, and I shot a grin at Tullaina.

"Let's go and you can tell me about what things you have in mind."

~~~~~

We strolled through an abandoned corridor of Erebor together, Tullaina chatting animatedly about a prank she had conjured up when she'd accidentally set fire to one of Erebor's kitchens while attempting to assist one of the cooks with the cutting of a slab of pork.

"...and all the smoke and the blood from my finger made me think of setting up a sort of scene in one of the corridors and making a huge smoky fire and spilling berry juice everywhere. It would look like one big murder scene without a body." She finished up excitedly, and I could only smile.

"I like the idea, Tulls, but don't you think that's a bit complicated? I mean, coordinating all that and finding all those berries..." I trailed off as Tullaina's nose wrinkled up as she frowned.

Adorable.

"I guess..." She nodded, pondering my words. "Is there something else we could do for June Fools?"

I glanced over at her, making momentary eye contact with those wondrously captivating brown irises of hers.

"Well... I was considering something that is a bit more.... Criminal."

Tullaina's eyes got big.

"What?!" She hissed, stopping dead to stare at me in disbelief. "Fili, are you nuts? If your Uncle caught us doing something illegal..."

I shrugged, a smirk winding its way across my face as I took in her confusion. "You've already committed a crime, Tulls, and you made it look easy."

She let out an indignant gasp and put her hands on her hips in a gesture that warned me that she was getting angry. "Fili, I may be many things, but I am not a thief." She ground out, but I kept smirking at her. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing! I've never stolen a thing in my life!"

My smirk only grew as she denied any thieving activities. Crossing my arms across my chest, I raised an eyebrow at her in perfect seriousness. "Oh, but you have stolen something, Tulls." I murmured, making Tullaina frown up at me.

"What are you accusing me of stealing? Fili, I swear, if this is about that bloody teddy bear you had when you were thirty--"

I shook my head, holding up a hand to halt her angry spew of words. "No, you stole my heart." I murmured, holding eye contact with her.

Her mouth dropped open in an expression of complete surprise and shock and she stared mutely up at me. "I, wha-what?" She choked out, and I quickly dropped my serious approach.

Today was not the day.

Quickly plastering on a teasing grin, I nudged her with my elbow, forcing out a laugh. "Gotcha." Then I started walking again, stamping down all the doubting, questioning thoughts threatening to break through the wall I had built.

But in a moment, Tullaina was beside me again, her laughter echoing off the stone walls. "Mahal, Fili.... You really had me going there for awhile..." She giggled, raising her hand to brush her hair over her shoulder. "That's a really bad pick-up line, though...."

I grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, I thought you'd get a laugh out of it. And unfortunately there's more where that came from."

Tullaina's warm brown eyes lit up and she looked expectantly up at me. "Okay, spill." She asked excitedly, almost bouncing as we walked.

I eyed her anxiously, unsure how to proceed with this. But then she looked over at me and all my doubts were whisked away in the blink of an eye.

I was her friend, she was mine. There was nothing more here. Just treat her like you always do.

"Alright, what about this one? Do you have a sunburn or are you always this hot?"

At first, Tullaina gaped, then she snorted; eyes closing as she giggled. "That one's not bad..." She commented, and I felt a burst of encouragement.

"My friends bet me that I wouldn't be able to start a conversation with the most beautiful girl in the tavern. Wanna buy some drinks with their money?"

Tullaina shrugged at that one, tilting her hand from side to side. "That one's okay..."

To my horror, the next one that popped into my mind--and subsequently out of my mouth--was one that I never would have dreamed of saying to Tullaina. "Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?"

Instantly, Tullaina's cheeks turned beet red--likely matching mine--and she turned to look at me, the corners of her mouth twitching as if she couldn't decide if it would be appropriate to smile or not. "Ummm...."

"Mahal, I didn't think before I spoke, Tulls." I apologized, rubbing the back of my neck.

Tullaina giggled nervously. "It's alright, Fili. I just never expected that to be something you would say to a lass."

"It's not something I would say unless I'm completely off my face." I admitted, and the smile returned hesitantly to her face. "But, what do you think of this one? Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

Tullaina stuck out her tongue. "That one is awful..." She stated with a wrinkled nose. "0/10 would recommend using."

I laughed, feeling a soothing wave of relief wash over me as the previous awkward mood faded. "I thought that one wasn't half bad!" I defended the line, but Tullaina only rolled her eyes.

"You're a Dwarrow. Of course it sounds good to you. But if you were a dame... We have a different perspective on things." She explained offhandedly. "Please, continue."

"Do you have a name or can I call you mine?"

"Where in Mahal's name did you get this one?!" Tullaina exclaimed, pretending to gag. "That one is worse than the last!"

"I'll agree with you on this one. I'd never dream of using this to get a lass' name. It's just rude."

Tullaina nodded vigorously. "If you used it on me, I'd slap you so hard you'd have a permanent imprint of my hand on your face." She stated venomously, and I took a hesitant step sideways. This made her laugh as she watched me. "Not now, if you had just met me and were being weird. Only one of those things applies to you so you're safe."

I let out an affronted gasp. "I'm not weird!"

Tullaina only shrugged, smirking at me. "I'm a girl, and to girls, boys are weird."

"Fair point. And the same is true likewise."

Removing the extra space I had put between us by taking a sideways step, Tullaina looked over at me. "Okay, one last one, then we actually need to move onto serious topics. If you let me, I will procrastinate over June Fools, and that cannot happen on our first try at doing Twelve Months of Fools. I mean, we've already gotten through five months successfully! We can't stop now!"

I nodded, giving Tullaina a sly look. "Alright, unless that would be the prank all along since people are expecting it now?"

"NO!"

"Fine, fine..." I relented, extending my hand towards her. "Your hand looks heavy, can I hold it for you?"

"Sure." Tullaina placed her hand in mine; palm gentle and warm against the calloused, rough surface of mine.

The unexpected motion had my brain shutting down as I frantically tried to figure out what was supposed to happen next.

Tullaina shot me a confused look, glancing down at our hands. "Fili, you're supposed to hold my hand back, not just suddenly let it become a limp noodle."

I didn't respond, trying frantically to think of something--anything!--to say. Which, of course, led to the absolute last thing I wanted to say being the exact thing I said.

"Your lips look lonely, would they like to meet mine?"

Tullaina's lips parted; the bottom jutting out just the tiniest bit because it was slightly bigger than the top. Not that I knew this because I'd spent literal days just gazing at her perfect, sensual lips.

No, not at all.

"Fili, I, uh, yeah..." Tullaina whispered, and I stared at her in shock.

She stared back expectantly.

The silence continued on for another very long, very awkward moment until Tullaina spoke up. "You're not going to say anything? Are you serious or is this just a prank?" She asked, and I detected just the barest hint of vulnerability in her soft-spoken words.

I sucked in a deep breath, realizing that I hadn't really been breathing between my last sentence and Tullaina's. "I don't know," I breathed, staring at Tullaina in terror. "I didn't think I would get this far!"

The corner of Tullaina's mouth turned up in a smile. "Maybe we just experiment a bit, yeah?" She asked, taking one step closer to me. "Because I'm bloody scared out of my mind, Fili, but if I don't do this I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life."

I nodded silently, staring down at her as she took another slow step closer, rising up on her toes. Automatically, my hands settled on her waist, steadying her as I leaned down to meet her plush, distracting lips.

"OH DEAR MAHAL, FINALLY!!"

Tullaina and I jumped apart, looking around wildly for the terrifyingly familiar voice. I found it in the form of Kili as he peeked out from a pillar, hands clamped around his mouth and a look of absolute panic on his face.

"Oh, uh, I wasn't supposed to interrupt you... Just go back to kissing or whatever. Pretend I was never here." He faltered, looking at Tullaina and I sheepishly. "Sorry."

I took a step forward, bristling as I prepared to teach Kili a lesson he wouldn't forget. "Kili, I'm going to--"

Tullaina grabbed my sleeve, stopping me in my tracks as she finished my sentence. "Spend time with Tullaina. Come on, Fili. We have things to do and abandoned corridors to explore."

#guardian of rivendell birthday writing challenge #tulls #tullaina #fili #fili x tullaina #fili x oc #the hobbit #fanfic #fanfiction #happy birthday!!!!!#a brief history of a line of durin strikes again #kili #lorelei #kili x lorelei #fluff #pick up lines #kili is a matchmaker

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scotianostra · 3 years

Photo

On April 4th 1617 John Napier, the mathematician, died.

I hated maths with a vengeance at school, I'm not talking about counting, I can hold my own with that, but real maths. algebra, geometry, topology and worst of all logarithms, which we have Robert Napier to "thank" for, he introduced them in the early 17th century as a means to simplify calculations, aye right!

If John Napier had been born a common man he would maybe have been burnt at the stake, nothing to do with him and his maths nonsense but because he dabbled in the occult at a time when we were routinely setting such people on fire!

James VI was on the throne and his obsession with devilry consigned hundreds of unfortunates to the flames. Unless you were born of a noble family of course. A wee bit background on the Napier's his father was Sir Archibald Napier of Merchiston Castle, and his mother was Janet Bothwell, daughter of the politician and judge Francis Bothwell, Lord of Session, and a sister of Adam Bothwell who became the Bishop of Orkney. Archibald Napier was 16 years old when John Napier was born. John, as was the common practice for members of the nobility at that time, he was privately tutored and did not have formal education until he was 13, when he was sent to St Salvator's College, St Andrews. He dropped out of Uni and toured Europe for a time before returning to Scotland aged 21.

Back to his links with sorcery, several members of John Napier’s family – respected and wealthy participants of Edinburgh society - were commonly known to be wizards or sorcerers. Their necromantic power was feared by nobles as well as peasants from far and wide.

The family wizardry started with Napier's father, Sir Archibald, seventh Laird of Merchiston, who successfully predicted when Mary, then the former Queen of Scotland, would leave Lochleven Castle, where she was imprisoned. The story goes: "Claude Nan, the Queen's secretary, wrote that 'the Laird of Markyston (Sir Archibald), who had the reputation of being a great wizard, made bets with several persons to the amount of five hundred crowns, that by the 5th of May Her Majesty would be out of Lochleven." Mary escaped on 2 May 1568 – and the senior Napier was presumably wealthier for his prediction.

Sir Archibald married Janet Bothwell, sister of Adam, Bishop of Orkney, who the paper said was "a notorious necromancer", so that their son, the future mathematician, inherited "a double inclination towards the magic arts". This might explain some of John's odd behaviour. A necromancer is a wizard or magician by the way, I had to google it!

Tenants who lived on the vast Merchiston estate south-west of Edinburgh thought John to be a bit mysterious at times, Napier would be seen many evenings wearing a long gown, pacing outside his tower chamber, a private work area where he often would pass many long hours alone.

Many people thought that his pet black cockerel was a familiar – a supernatural being which assisted witches and wizards in their magical practice. However, the Napier family held the hereditary role of King’s Poulterer and Napier may have kept the cockerel on a whim but I have read he travelled not only with the bird but also with a black spider in a small box, not normal behaviour.

The Scottish writer and translator Sir Thomas Urquhart, who, told of a demonstration of devastating artillery Napier devised against the threat of invasion by Spain.

"He gave proof upon a large plaine in Scotland to the destruction of a great many herds of cattel and flocks of sheep, whereof some were distant from other half a mile on all sides and some a whole mile,"

A well as being a wizard and mathematician Napier was also a fervent Protestant, much of his writing is vehemently anti-Catholic even by the standards of the time. He was a man of contradictions though, as he is said to have had friends who were Catholic, including Alexander Seton, the Earl of Dunfermline, although the vast majority Catholics back then had to hide their faith.

The last interesting, and worrying, fact I found out about John Napier is that his cause of death according to wiki he died "from the effects of gout" at home in Merchiston tower, now I suffer from gout and it is bloody painful but I didn't know it could kill you! The pics are of John Napier, a set of Napier's calculating tables "Napiers Bones" from around 1680 and his dreaded book of Logarithms, note the Latin spelling of his name.

#Scotland #scottish #mathematician #nobleman #writer #inventor #history

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iwaisa · 4 years

Note

Hey can you do a Kuroo x reader where you failed in science and you have to ask him for help please and thank u 💓

a/n. of COURSE i can do this (i’m totally not emphasizing this because i just read kuroo angst and now i am s a d) (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

► now playing...

- pairing. kuroo tetsurou x gender neutral reader

- word count. 2.3k

- warnings. mild swearing, one (1) make out session, kuroo being an adorable dork

Two words. Chemistry sucks. More specifically, AP chemistry. You just weren’t getting it at all.

The equations were confusing as hell, and your teacher couldn’t care less if the class understood the material or not - he just kept moving on without stopping. So many questions surfaced in your head, but you were too nervous to speak up in class. So you just dealt with it, trying to juggle all of the new information with the old, while simultaneously trying to speed-write everything your teacher had on the board before he quickly erased it.

You were taking a test, and you simply admitted defeat. You gave up. Everything you were reading on this test happened to be everything you didn’t understand. Was your teacher trying to fail you? You tried to remember everything your teacher went over, but it just didn’t work. The only questions you managed to get right were some true and false questions, which only counted for one point. It was a fifty point quiz, and you would be surprised if your score came around to be a little more than ten.

You waited until the bell rang to turn in your test, slowly walking up to the teacher’s desk with your head down. Your teacher thanked everyone, and with that, you sat back down waiting for the next teacher to come in.

As the last bell rang, you couldn’t wait to get home. You made it through the day, but it was still a Tuesday, which meant you had three days of school left this week.

Hooray.

You walked out to the shoe lockers, only to be stopped by your chemistry teacher. He had asked you to meet him in the teachers’ lounge to discuss your score on your test.. “L/n, you only got five points on your test today. Is everything alright? Did you have trouble paying attention?”

Ouch. Five points out of fifty. That was ten percent. Double ouch.

“I’m sorry, I’ll do better on the next test.” Your teacher asked if you could stay in the library after school to practice some equations. You had nothing else to do, and you would just be bored when you got home. Plus, you really needed the extra practice, so why not? You trudged your way to the library, test in hand. You knew you would only get the true and false questions right. There were so many red marks that you were just embarrassed. You folded the paper and stuffed it in your pocket. As you walked into the library, you scanned the room to see if anyone else was there. You picked a table and opened your textbook. You looked around before pulling the test out of your pocket. You began working on the equations your teacher wrote down, but after about an hour you grew restless. What the hell is a mol?? You burned holes into your paper with your eyes and sighed. “This is impossible.”

“That one’s 5.098 grams,” a finger slid onto your paper. You jumped and slowly looked up to see who the finger belonged to. Your face exploded into different shades of red as you made eye contact with Kuroo Tetsurou. Volleyball captain, total nerd, and total hottie. Every time you saw the familiar bed-headed captain, you wondered how he didn’t have a girlfriend. “What?”

“This equation. ‘Convert moles to grams.’ It would be 5.098 grams since you have to divide these numbers. Can I borrow a pencil?” You just nodded and handed him your pencil without breaking your eyes away from his face. He was so attractive it should be a crime. He squatted down next to you so that your shoulders were touching and began jotting down numbers. Even his handwriting was attractive. He turned to look at you, your faces just about a foot away. “I have some time before practice starts, you want me to help you finish this?” You nodded, not wanting your words to fail you. “So is there a reason you’re still here even though school ended an hour ago?” “U-uh, my teacher told me to practice these some more,” you mumbled. “What, did you fail a test or something?”

Triple ouch. You turned to face your textbook and nodded slightly. “Wait, really? What was your score?”

“Oh you know, a just-below-average score,” you started laughing and dismissing the question with your hand. “And what was that just-below-average score?”

Shit. You would probably die on the spot from embarrassment if your crush of three years looked at your test.

Before you could explain, he reached over you grabbing said test. “Wait,” you said trying to grab the paper from his hands, but he held it out of reach. He skimmed through the test, his eyes widening a bit. “Woah,” he began.

“It was confusing, okay! The teacher was talking too fast and he didn’t even give us a chance to write the material in our notes! It was like he was talking in three times speed,” you tried to defend yourself. You watched as Kuroo chuckled. “This isn’t that bad, actually. You did the first part of the equation right, but you just got confused a little bit around here,” he pointed to the paper, setting it on the table now. “You’ll get it in no time, so don’t worry about it, alright? You got it.”

Your heart was about to explode out of your chest as he patted your head and gave you a thumbs up. “Well, I gotta get to volleyball. I’ll see you around, l/n-san!” You didn’t want him to leave yet, especially not after the way he just patted your head. Before you could think, you stood up and bowed at a perfect ninety degree angle.

“Please tutor me!” You shouted louder than you meant to, and you hoped he didn’t think you were too needy. “Sure. How about this weekend I can work on this stuff with you?” You told him yes, and you heard him step closer to you. “Now get up, will you? We’re the same age, and it’s not that big of a deal, I promise.” He smiled at you while leaving his hand on your shoulder. There was no way someone could be this attractive, smart, AND kind. You wanted to thank Kuroo’s parents. “I’ll see you this weekend, l/n-san.”

You waited for him to leave the library to squeal. Did you really just say that? And did you really just bow like that? How embarrassing. On the other hand, you just asked your crush to get together outside of school. You were excited and annoyed at the same time - excited that you got to talk to Kuroo more, and annoyed that you had to wait a whole three days until then.

Thankfully the days flew by. Your teacher asked you to stay in the library everyday until the end of the week. Kuroo kept coming by as well, so you were thankful you got to keep seeing him and his outrageous but gorgeous hair. You couldn’t help but notice that each time he came around, he kept getting closer to you. It was like he had to be touching you at any given moment. It also didn’t help that he had a ton of chemistry pickup lines. Like, too many for any normal human to memorize. The first one he wrote on your paper almost made you short-circuit.

‘Are you made of beryllium, gold, and titanium? Because you’re BeAuTi-ful’

You just laughed and shook your head at him, but you couldn’t stop smiling the whole time you stayed with him. You hoped the reason he was wearing his signature grin was because of the same reason. “Hey, l/n, I wish your name was Avogadro...then I would already know your number.” You stared at him as the corners of your lips spread into a smile. “Come on Kuroo, you’re supposed to be my tutor, not a comedian.” “Actually, I’m serious about that one.”

Oh.

“So that I know when you show up to my house tomorrow.”

Quadruple ouch.

You two exchanged numbers and Kuroo went to point to another section in your textbook. The rest of the day you stayed quiet, not wanting him to pick up on the disappointment in your voice.

You woke up the next day and dragged yourself to Kuroo’s house.

Kuroo >:O - Remember to be at my house at 10 AM sharp! And let me know when you get here :D

You - right! :}

You knocked on his door and braced yourself to come face to face with Kuroo in all his bed-headed glory. After a few minutes, the door slid open, revealing Kuroo in joggers and a large t-shirt. The tips of your ears turned a rosy color from seeing him in casual clothes instead of the school uniform. Casual clothes that looked great on him. He led you up the stairs and into his room, and you looked around as he shut the door behind you. His room was pretty normal - he had his bed in one corner, a small study table in the center, and a balcony. He sat on a cushion at the table and patted the cushion next to him. You sat down and began pulling your textbook and papers out of your backpack.

A few hours passed and you and Kuroo had abandoned the papers on his table. Now you two were just talking about school and volleyball or anything else you could think of. It was already two in the afternoon, but the time you spent together felt so short. You wanted to talk for as long as you could, but Kuroo had realized how distracted you two were. He watched as you started solving an equation for a random question he picked from the textbook. As you were writing numbers and units, Kuroo asked to see your phone. You questioned him, and you handed him your phone as he assured it was nothing bad. You watched out of the corner of your eyes as he snapped a photo of himself holding up a peace sign with a dorky grin on his face. He typed something, and placed your phone on the desk face down, telling you not to look at it until after you left his house.

Another hour passed and you were still writing. You had gotten carried away and finished the problems your teacher had assigned for the following week. This was partially because you wanted to test Kuroo to see if he would start talking to you again. Instead, all talking ceased except for the occasional “that’s right,” or “you got it.”

You also couldn’t help but notice that Kuroo couldn’t stop staring at you. You turned to him a few times asking him if something was wrong, and you swear you saw his eyes flicker down to your lips. He assured you nothing was wrong and with that, you turned to finish the rest of the page.

Kuroo reached his hand over to slip your pencil out of your grasp, and you turned to question him. Before you could say anything, he began to lean closer to you. You felt his breath fanning your face as he stopped a few inches away. Your eyes switched between his eyes and his lips until he closed the gap. Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes flickered shut. His lips were soft and warm as they collided with yours. A few seconds passed and he pulled back. “Was that okay?” He asked quietly while keeping his eyes on your lips. “That’s what you’re supposed to ask before you do that,” you retorted. “Hm. Couldn’t hold back.”

His lips crashed onto yours again, and this time he quite literally stole the air from your lungs. Your lips moved quickly and he wasted no time as he brushed his tongue against your bottom lip. You opened your mouth to let him in as you began to crawl onto his lap. He moved so he was leaning his back against his bed, and his hands rested on your hips. Your tongues explored each others’ mouths, and your hands moved to grip onto his permanently messy hair. He groaned into your mouth as you tugged on his hair, and his hands slid from your thighs to squeeze your ass. You moaned in response.

You two pulled back, needing air in your lungs. “So, um… do you like me?” He chuckled. “What do you think the answer to that is, cutie?” You shrugged bashfully, “I don’t know.” “Oh come on. I thought I made it obvious from the pickup lines,” he said while grinning. “You were confusing me, I figured that was just who you were.” “Yeah, like I would call just anyone beautiful.” You shrugged again in response.

“F/n,” he said while moving his hand to grab your chin. “I really like you.” Your heart was beating uncontrollably. Kuroo really liked you? So he wasn’t just telling you those pickup lines for the fun of it? “I like you too, Tetsurou.” He felt his own face and ears heat up at the use of his given name. He guessed that’s what he gets for calling you by yours.

You left his house half an hour later, after gathering all of your papers and books and stuffing them in your backpack. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before slipping your shoes back on. He slid open the door for you and bid you goodbye. As you walked back to your house you remembered what Kuroo said after messing with your phone. You unlocked it and were met with a photo of him with the caption, ‘I hope you’ll be my s/o! :D’ You laughed at his dorky photo. Well, your boyfriends’ dorky photo.

You - you’re such a dork! :P

Tetsu <3 - Huh?

You - but at least you’re my dork now :D

Tetsu <3 - So you saw the photo? Thank god.

You - you think i could ignore the photo you set as my home screen? lol. you’re cute.

Tetsu <3 - That’s you ;3

You - thank god i asked you to be my tutor, huh?

Tetsu <3 - That’s exactly what I was thinking. I would’ve died if I didn’t confess to you soon.

#haikyuu x you #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #anime #kuroo x y/n #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsurō

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falling-feuilles · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6

TW/CW: Major Character Death, Childbirth, Blood

The days following the letter's arrival were hard. To keep Lise from worrying, Marya and Y/N were forced to keep up appearances, made to quietly grieve during the night when the rest of the household slept. The Old Prince’s already miserable attitude was exacerbated to the point where Y/N refused to eat meals with the man, opting to dine in her own quarters instead.

One particular day, Y/N spent its first half attempting to write her letter to Pierre, to no avail. If only it had come as easy to her as it did to the employees who wrote to first inform them of his passing. After spending nearly an hour trying to write the first sentence, she dropped her head, laying her cheek upon the smooth chestnut, letting out a weary sigh.

“N/N, are you quite well?” Marya stuck her head through the door, noting Y/N’s disheveled appearance.

“Yes, I… I’m trying to write to Pierre to… to tell him about Andrei. He deserves to hear it from one of us rather than in passing at some ridiculous fete.”

Marya sighed, peering out into the hall once more before closing the door, stepping fully into the room.

“You’re right, it would be best to hear it from you as well, you and him are quite close.”

“Quite… I only wish he could just know without me having to tell him… it’s going to send him spiraling Marya, I almost fear he won’t recover…”

“I know… maybe you should put it off for a few more days; you, father, and I are the only people who know, not even Tikhon and the servants are aware. You said Pierre was traveling, yes?”

“I believe so, or he will be shortly, why do you ask?”

“If you send the letter and it arrives when he isn’t there, who do you think will open it?”

“Helene.”

“Precisely, and we both know she won’t be nearly as kind about it. Until we know for sure where he is and where Helene isn’t, I think you should bide your time.”

“You are right, as usual. Marya,” Y/N placed her hand on Marya’s shoulder, “Thank you, you are a true friend, I surely would have gone mad with worry were it not for you.”

Marya smiled, weary face breaking into uncharacteristic joy.

“I am merely returning the favor. Now, I should head to Father’s study, he has me working on a new lesson today, I barely understood the last one.”

She sighed, turning to the door.

“Supposing I were to go to your chambers at, say, eight o’clock? Would you perhaps have the time for a tutoring session?”

Marya nodded, leaving the room. Y/N, after ensuring Marya was out of earshot, slammed her fist onto the desk, causing the various bottles and trinkets placed upon it to jump in the air, clattering back down to the darkly stained surface.

“Damn it…”

The fields surrounding the Bolkonsy property were vast, colored dark emerald by the night sky. Had it been in the city, Y/N would never have risked walking at such a time. However, in the country, escorted by a large shire, she felt perfectly safe. The stars, while visible in the city, shown twice as bright in the clear skies, unclouded and free from the countless buildings decorating the streets of St Petersburg. From her perch on Emil's broad back, the rolling meadows stretched on for acres, encumbered only by the wooded groves sprinkled across the estate. The thin, winding path beneath her was neglected, unused by the members of the household. The vast property had many paths strewn throughout, only a small number remained in use. Although Prince Bolkonsky regularly walked the property, he only ever used the same trail. He was a man of habit, exact to the point of madness.

A small rustling to her left startled Emil, causing him to shuffle away, snorting indignantly.

"Easy, easy..."

Lightly, she sprung down from the saddle, landing firmly on the mottled path. Unwilling to move closer, and unable to flee her side, Emil stood perfectly still, hot air issuing from his snout.

Calmly, she moved towards the brush, noting the movement of the grasses. Carefully parting the grass, she found a small litter fox cub, rolling around in the leaves, struggling to re-orient itself. A few meters away, she noted the familiar signs of a fox burrow, tucked into the side of the small mound to her right. Kneeling next to the small creature, she heard it whimpering, calling for its mother. Gently, she scooped the small creature into her arm, creeping quietly towards the den. By the moonlight, she saw a few other small figures curled up, guarded by their mother. Her head was up, pitch black eyes fixed on Y/N, ready to pounce should the need arise.

"Don't fret, I'm just here to return this little one."

Y/N held out the small ball of fur, catching the attention of the mother. She shuffled forward, wary, but determined. Nudging her nose into the cubs fur, she bit down on the nape of its neck, lifting it from her gloved hands.

She stood to leave, but the ribs pushing through the mother's silvery fur gave her pause. Holding out a hand, hoping she would understand the gesture, Y/N hurried back to Emil; he was calmer, knowing the mysterious creature was just a fox seemed to calm his nerves, though he still watched the malnourished canine with his large, muddy eyes.

Digging through Emil's vast saddlebags, Y/N searched for the small tied bag hidden deep in its recesses. Finally, her fingers brushed the familiar canvas, drawing it out of the leather satchel.

"Here," she held out a hunk of salted meat, allowing the mother to inspect it. After a few good sniffs, she gingerly removed it from Y/N's fingers, scarfing it down. The cub was nowhere in sight, presumably hidden back in the darkness of the burrow.

Expectantly, the mother looked to Y/N again, nudging her hand. Chuckling, she held out another piece, feeling the fox's damp nose brush her fingers.

After ensuring the mother was properly fed, Y/N stood back up again, tentatively placing a hand on the fox's head, scratching the spot just behind her pointed ears.

The cubs began to whine, calling for their mother. With one last look towards Y/N, she stalked back into the den, disappearing from view. She swung her leg back over the saddle, grasping the reins with her hand.

"Come, Emil, let's head back before someone notices we've gone."

He huffed, trotting along the path, back towards the faint lights of the house.

The next morning, she made her way to the small dining room to break fast with the ladies of the household. Marya, seated primly at the head of the table, looked to her as she entered, gesturing for her to take a seat. Lise, seated to her right, looked highly uncomfortable.

"Lise, are you quite well?"

Y/N sat beside her sister, placing a hand to her forehead.

"Yes, yes... something in my breakfast must have disagreed with me-"

"Look at her. She's very pale!" Bourienne stood, looking closer at Lise's face.

She let out a sharp whimper of pain, dropping her spoon.

"Lise... I think it's time."

"We'd better send for Maria Bogdanovna," Bourienne moved forward, placing her hand on Marya's arm.

"Yes, I think you're right, I'll go and see to it." Marya sped away, muttering frantically under her breath.

"Courage, mon ange!" Bourienne pressed a kiss to Lise's cheek,

Lise was in clear distress, grasping her sister's hand. Y/N stood by her side, brushing Lise's blond locks away from her damp face.

"No! Can it be, so soon? But surely it's just a stomach ache?"

"It's best to be on the safe side, ma cherie."

With help from Bourienne and another of the maids, Y/N managed to get Lise into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed.

"Lise, look at me, you have to breathe, you'll be just fine."

The next few hours passed in a miserable tirade of screaming, stress, and no small amount of fear. Like her father, Lise had a weak heart; while not nearly as detrimental to her health, it was the main reason physicians were so insistent she rested frequently, even more than the average expectant mother would. Y/N, although she begged to be let inside the room, she was denied each time. Instead of being by her sister’s side, she waited by the window, eyes searching desperately for the carriage bearing the doctor. Marya stepped nearer, lowering herself to sit beside Y/N.

“Have you heard anything from the midwife?”

“No,” Marya placed a comforting hand on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, “But, they did say you could see her for a moment or two.”

“Truly?” Marya nodded, moving so Y/N could pass her, making a beeline straight for the room.

Inside, Lise lay sprawled on the bed, coated in sweat, face twisted into a pained grimace. Her breath came in short pants, dry and uneven. Y/N dashed to her side, nearly pushing over a nearby maid. Lise reached out her hand, grasping tightly at Y/N's as another painful contraction wracked her frail body.

"Sister... you... y..."

"Shhh, hush, my darling Lise, all will be well, you're doing wonderfully, I'm so proud of you."

The midwife moved to Y/N's side, all but shoving her away.

"My lady you must leave."

"I... yes, of course, Lise," she bent over her sister's prone form, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek, "I will see you as soon as I can, alright? I love you."

Y/N was pushed from the room before Lise could murmur a response. Down the hall, she noticed Marya jump from her seat next to the window, dashing down the stairs. Y/N followed on her heels, skirts bunched in her hands.

The night air was fresh and cool, a drastic change from the warm, stale air of Lise's room. Stepping outside, Y/N could see what drew Marya out the door, the doctor's carriage.

"Thank god, what took so-" Y/N stopped, eyes catching the face of the man exiting the carriage. "A... Andrei..."

Marya rushed forward to embrace her brother, leaping into his arms. Y/N stood back, eyes wide, open-mouthed.

How?! I thought... she said...

"Andrei, Lise is inside." Her voice was quiet. Even. But dreadfully quiet. Was it the shock? Fear, even? Regardless, the group didn't have much time to waste, the doctor hurried up the front steps, guided by Marya. Andrei followed quickly behind, leaving Y/N to take up the tail end of the chase.

"You..." Lise gasped as he entered the room, reaching for him.

"My darling..." He took her face in his hands, pressing a feverish kiss to her forehead. Before any further words could be exchanged, the doctor moved to Andrei's side, placing a hand on his arm.

"If you would wait outside, your Excellency. I must insist, it's for the best." Andrei, despite his wish to remain, left the room, wincing as Lise let out another pained yell.

Y/N, still grappling with Andrei's return, sat outside, stiff as a board. With each of Lise's cries, her fingertips dug more and more tightly into the ball of her thumb; soft flesh yielding beneath the increasing pressure. Andrei, seemingly unable to stand by any longer, made another futile attempt to enter.

He barely managed to open the door a crack before it was slammed in his face.

"No, no, you mustn't come in!"

A few more moments passed.

Another intense scream. A few seconds of silence. Then, the cry of a baby. Andrei flew into the room, Y/N hot on his trail.

The doctor stood, holding a small, damp bundle in his arms. At the sight of Andrei, he quickly transferred the swaddling to the new father's arms.

"Your son, your excellency..."

Y/N moved to Lise's side, noting the blood staining the sheets. It was everywhere. Coating her skin, pooled beneath her, leaving a sticky, scarlet film on the midwife's hands.

It was too much. Far too much.

"Lise...? Lise please..."

No response. Y/N moved closer, grabbing her hand. It was limp in her grasp, lifeless. She knew, and yet, she refused to believe it.

"I'm sorry, your excellency... she's gone..."

#bbc war and peace #pierre bezukhov #pierre #war and peace #the great comet #x reader

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hqprotectionsquad · 4 years

Text

Notice Me (Kenma x Reader)

Title: Notice Me Pairing: Kenma x F!Reader Summary: If you move in with Kenma, you save money and you get to go to your dream school in Tokyo. Just one thing: you start developing a crush on your roommate who you barely know. Word Count: 2441 A/N: This is the original fic I had planned before I lost it for a few bits. I wrote a whole HC set for this, which is very similar because I wrote down everything I could remember. This would be an extension of a sort in that case.

A few months ago, it was never like this. You were just about ready to attend a junior college because your top choice university waitlisted you for your program. You were okay with it, considering the price was significantly less than what you expected to pay at university. What are two years working on transferrable credits anyway? In the grand scheme of things, you were making the right choice.

And then you got off of the waitlist. You jumped for joy and your parents baked you a cake for your achievements. Everything was dandy, up until you remembered the tuition. It wasn’t like you’d be in crippling debt if you attended, just debt that isn’t as crippling.

Luckily, your neighbor, Kenma is also moving to Tokyo, to study something like business or management or something like that? You don’t do much of exploring his personality until you hear a plan that your mom proposes to you.

“Mom, are you serious?” You can’t believe what your ears are hearing.

“Of course! We don’t have much money to send you, let alone boarding. So while you’re in Tokyo, you can stay with Kenma! Kenma will have a large enough apartment, according to his parents when I spoke to them about this.”

“You already spoke to them about it?!”

“Yes! And you both move in two weeks.”

It’s weird, packing up your entire life is weird. Waves of nostalgia crash every time you notice an old toy you used to play with or old photos you forgot existed. Soon enough, you’ve got everything you need in boxes that will meet you in Tokyo.

Tokyo. It still feels like a fever dream. Something that is, but you aren’t sure how it happened. A few months ago, you were days away from enrolling in junior college, and now, you’re going to Tokyo.

Today, your family packs the car with all of your clothing and things that can be easily carried. Later on, you’re in the apartment, settling your items. Soon enough, your family’s back in the emptier car on their way home. Everything goes too quickly.

The process of getting to know Kenma goes too slowly. Sure, you’ve been his neighbor for your entire life, but you’ve never really spoken to him, even though you’ve gone to the same high school and boarded the train together in the mornings.

Now, if you have classes in the morning, you take the train with him to the university. Still, after a few weeks of moving in together, you haven’t spoken much to him. It’s like ebb and flow, except he’s flowing at his own pace.

On the train to classes one day, you ask, “Kenma, do you want to have dinner together? I can pick up something after my last class.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m streaming something tonight.” So that’s all the noise he makes at two in the morning, not that you could assume anything based on the yelling.

“Oh. I didn’t know you streamed. Um, what do you stream?” You don’t want this conversation to stop. From all the years you’ve known him, you were actually jealous of Kuroo for being able to know Kenma so well. This could be your chance to see what’s going on behind that pretty face of his.

“Mostly games.” He digs into his messenger bag and you assume that the conversation is over. This is it, he probably just wants to be roommates without being friends. “You forgot this earlier, by the way. On the counter.” He puts a book into your hand.

“Thank you.” And thus begins your habit of forgetting things and him retrieving them for you. For the most part, it’s not on purpose; you’re just a forgetful human being. However, one time, you checked to see if he’d actually notice if you left something. It was a bit of a gamble, but you just wanted to see. Sure enough, Kenma came right before your class began to hand off a notebook.

These drop-offs are simple, yet his attention to detail is what draws you to him. His perspective means everything when you’re asking him for his opinion on assignments or life events.

You wish there was something more, though. He’s so reserved. It’s not like he’s actively trying to hide something, but maybe, he just wants to be by himself.

That’s such a lonely life.

He has his friend Kuroo, as far as you know, who is a year older than you two. You’re at the extremes of your mind, weighing the pros and cons between your two halves. If you try to befriend Kuroo, that could be your way to knowing Kenma, but Kenma might also be confused by your friendship with his friend. If you don’t try to befriend Kuroo, then you’re essentially stuck in the same place without a stimulant to move forward.

So you do what any college student would do; decide your fate on a coin flip. Heads is get to know Kuroo, and tails is to stay stagnant and find a way through. You flick the coin off of your thumb and it sails into the air until it finds solace in your hand. You slap the coin onto your opposite hand, and what do you know, it lands on—

“Heads.”

Huh. You’re going to have quite a time. You even begin laughing to yourself because you have no idea how to start.

“You know, Kuroo’s a chemistry tutor.” Your friend informs you after she sees your brain unfolding when you go out for a literature study session. She seemed very concerned, but you reassure her that you simply had a crush on your roommate and you aren’t sure how to go about it.

“I’m taking introductory chemistry, and I’m not near failing, Mika.”

“Exactly, it could just be supplemental and you use the studying so you can get a better grade.”

“You know what, I think you’re right. I’m going to do that.” A smile graces your lips and it’s something in between a smirk and a genuine grin, but you’ll take it.

The next time you visit the library, you stop by the corkboard by the entrance. You trace your fingers to find the chemistry tutoring sign-ups and you find Kuroo’s name at the top of a page in bold font. Lines are filled left and right, and you find an opening for two days from now. Now that you’re looking at it, there aren’t too many girls who have signed up for him, just mostly boys. You suppose you’ll find out why soon.

When you approach a table on the day you’ll be tutored, your mouth gapes when you see the face of this guy. How are there more boys who sign up for him than girls? If you weren’t faithful to your mission, you’d probably be reconsidering everything.

“Hey, I’m (Y/N), you’re Kuroo, right? You’re tutoring me in intro chemistry,” you say as you take a seat and unload your notebook and textbook from your backpack. You place your items onto the table, including your trusty highlighters and pencil case.

“Hey.” He offers you a smile. “Glad you could make it.” He does one look over you before asking, “Haven’t we met before? This isn’t an attempt to pick you up, but I mean if you wanted me to, I wouldn’t object.”

You roll your eyes and grin. This guy has no shame from the get-go. “Maybe in passing. I’m Kenma’s roommate.”

“Right, right, that’s where I’ve seen you.” Kuroo nods. “So did you want to get into the parts you have trouble with or do you want to do a brief overview first?”

“Brief overview would be good.” You start to get into all of the general basics of chemistry, like the formulas and diagrams you’ll need for tests. The way Kuroo explains all of this makes so much sense, even the things you thought you knew before.

“Alright! Water break.” It’s been about an hour, but judging by Kuroo’s expression, you might be here a little longer. Even though the world has passed by around you, it feels like you just arrived and introduced yourself.

“Have you considered being a teacher? You’re really good at explaining.”

After chugging down half of his bottle, he runs some fingers through his hair and you’re surprised he can even get them out based on the messy appearance. “I’ve thought about it, but I kind of want to go into forensics or research. Something like that. But something tells me you’re not here because you want to do better on your tests.”

“Red-handed,” you say with your hands up. “What makes you think that though?”

“You’ve kind of got everything down, but I wouldn’t expect anything else from a pretty and smart girl like you.”

Your mouth hangs open just the slightest bit and you have to force yourself to press your lips into a smile. You try to look anywhere else except meet his eyes. “I,” you stop to breathe. “I’m flattered, but um, I guess I did come here with a different intention than just studying.”

“And that would be?” Kuroo clasps his hands together and leans forward. By the looks of it, he’s even tilting his head so his ear faces towards you.

Your breath can’t make a silver barrier between Kuroo and your flushed cheeks. “I, um, kind of have developed a crush on Kenma, and since you’re his friend—”

“Damn. I really thought I could get a girl from tutoring, but it looks like she’s only interested in my best friend.” He then does this thing where it looks like he’s smirking and fake crying at the same time and you can’t really tell what he’s trying to accomplish from this. Still, he bites his lip and you’re led to believe he’s actually a little upset that he’s being passed over.

“I’m sorry, Kuroo.”

“Why are you sorry?” He laughs through his question.

“I don’t know.” With your smile on your face, you peer down at your chemistry notes, the ones you’ve just written. “I’m really thankful for all your help with this. I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve taken advantage of you.”

“Believe me, it’s no big deal. You’re one of the first girls I’ve tutored and you’re pretty cool. I still don’t know why I keep getting guys to tutor, don’t know what witch cursed me with that.” Kuroo clicks his tongue before continuing, “But you’re his roommate. Shouldn’t you at least know him up to a certain extent? I just don’t get it when you could just try to seduce him.” He pauses. “Don’t actually do that, it probably won’t work, it’s Kenma.”

“Exactly. He’s been my neighbor for basically all of my life, but I don’t know him enough to try to start something. I can’t tell if he enjoys my company or not.”

“You know what, I know you’re Kenma’s roommate and you barely know him, which is understandable, because it’s Kenma. Come check out the intramural games and you’ll get to meet the team.”

You tilt your head at his statement. “Intramural games? For what?”

“For volleyball. Kenma’s the setter, I’m the captain for our team.” Kuroo nods. “Saturday at 4. I’ll invite you out for ice cream and it’ll be all cool.” He starts packing up his stuff and shoving it into his backpack.

“Alright, I’ll see you then,” you confirm while you mirror his actions. You bid him goodbye and the last thing you hear from him is mumbling that you had to, of course, like his best friend.

Saturday comes and you wish you could say it wasn’t a blur, but with all of the volleyball lingo—still unsure what some of the positions are, but at least you know Kenma’s—and the men just talking amongst themselves, it’s not hard to get stuck in the whirlwind.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

You give your head a little shake before looking to see who was speaking to you. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for asking, Kenma.”

“If you don’t want to be here, I can take us back to the apartment. I’m sure Lev’s loud voice is hurting your ears.” He casts a strained glance to the man leaning back on the counter, slurping his ice cream like it’s a soup. The rest of the lot is in the circle, speaking to teammates, and whoever happened to respond to Kuroo’s invitation. Turns out you weren’t the only one that wanted to share in the company of the team.

With your unfinished ice cream cup still in your hand, you bid goodbye to Kuroo and the other team members. Turns out there really is a whole world outside of your small circle at the university. Without them, you wouldn’t have realized how interesting life could be if you continued to hang out with them all.

You wondered if you kept this up, maybe you’d have a chance with Kenma, and so you did. They were all kind enough to allow you to tag onto their plans, even if you’ve stuck onto them like unwanted glue residue. They never grumbled when you walked into cafes with Kuroo, nor did they whisper underneath their breath when you joined them for movie nights at Tora’s apartment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were becoming very good friends with all of them, including your roommate.

Nowadays, he’ll subtly expect to have dinner together when you are both free and you’ll commute to school with him on the days that your classes start around the same time. All the while, you’re still trying to talk to him. Ask him about the weather, what can he recommend as far as video games go — anything that will get him to move his mouth. He really enjoys talking about the games he plays and it seems like that’s his life. Behind his nonchalant expression, fiery eyes dance.

One day on the train, he sits next to you. Everything takes you back to earlier in the year when you barely knew him. All it took was volleyball and the intervention of a very important person in Kenma’s life. He’s no longer just a roommate. He’s a friend, someone to talk to, someone who listens to you.

He turns his head and looks you up and down, from your eyes to your shoes. His gaze is sure but slow, and you aren’t certain of his intentions.

Finally, he asks, “(Y/N), are you flirting with me?”

Hearing this come from his lips tugs your own into a smile. “You finally noticed?”

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