#sorry i would take your ask more seriously but my brain is providing such silly scenarios. and i just. man. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cerinefalls · 3 years

Text

‎

𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝐵𝑒𝒹

An Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Summary: On the way back to UA after a weekend of field training, the bus breaks down. Luckily for classes 1A and 1B, Vlad was able to find you rooms! Unluckily for everyone, it was not a big hotel. Time to share, and your roommate was... you guessed it; Izuku Midoriya! Good thing, too, because you're not feeling too good.

Other Parts: Shoto Todoroki

Content: SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Suggestive Themes

｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ

You wandered down the halls near aimlessly as you searched for your room. It shouldn't have been so hard to find a room in a hotel, but unfortunately for you, this place had no order. Room 412 should've been right between 410 and 414, but in its place was room 416. Was your room even located on the fourth floor? You were unsure at this point.

"Four twelve... four twelve... four twelve... It should be here, but these aren't in numerical order. Maybe if I retrace my steps, I'll see that I missed something! No, these aren't in order either. Are villains trying to disorient us? Maybe I'm thinking too hard... " You overheard a familiar voice muttering down the hall. It was nearing you, but you couldn't point out exactly who it was.

As you continued down the dimly lit hallway, the voice gradually got louder. Soon, it sounded like it was right in front of you. It was right in front of you! You bumped into the source of the sound and nearly fell backward. That was an oddly soft wall you'd run into.

"I am so sorry! I didn't mean to bump into you, I swear! Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I-" Now you knew who it was. Who else went on and on that way? It had to be Deku.

"No- I'm fine, Midoriya." You brushed off whatever initial shock you'd felt and stood up straight again. "You said 412?" The room. That was your room, and if he'd seen it, you needed to know where.

"What? Oh, the woman at the desk told me to look for room 412, but I can't find it anywhere." Izuku replied to you without hesitation. His brain was running at full capacity at all times, after all.

"She did? That's my room too. Can we look together?" You'd been grouped with Midoriya? That was unexpected. You'd expected someone like him to end up with Bakugo or Todoroki, but it looked like he was stuck with you. You didn't know him too well, but he probably didn't mind.

"Yeah! This must be a test." He nodded, accepting your offer. Was he always thinking about hero work? That looked like what the hero course did to them all.

The two of you spent minute after minute hauling luggage around the fourth floor. After a while, Izuku offered to take your bags for you. You declined- but were starting to wish you hadn't. Double-checking, triple-checking- nothing provided results, and it was beginning to tire you.

"Maybe it's on another floor?" You pitched your idea to the now pacing and muttering mess of a boy. He'd hardly heard you through his thick thought bubble.

"Of course! If all of these are out of order, there's no telling how disorienting the next floors are. It must be somewhere else!" Had he seriously not considered that before? You hesitated to tell him because you thought he'd already checked the other floors. Then again, this wouldn't be the first time someone had to suggest something obvious to him.

Izuku led you to the elevator and pressed the button to move down a floor. One floor at a time, that's how you'd do it. The wait was long, and Midoriya appeared lost in thought the entire time. Soon, the quiet elevator ride lowered you to the third floor.

"Alright, let's check around here for the-"

"I found it!" Midoriya interrupted you with his outburst from slightly down the hall. Sure enough, on the 3rd floor, 412 was sat between 310 and 314. It made you wonder what happened to room 312.

Never mind any of your questions or concerns, it was time to sit! Finally, after all that time training, you got to sit on a sturdy piece of furniture. The odd circumstances didn't even cross your mind as you rushed past Izuku and onto the red couch that sat against the wall in the front of your hotel room.

"You're smart," Midoriya smiled wide as he shut the door behind you. After the click of the lock settled your arrangement, he too sat on the couch at the separate end. "So it... looks like we're going to be spending the night here. I'm glad Class B's teacher was able to find us rooms." He nodded to himself.

"Me too." You nodded, stretching out. As you finished your relieving movement and turned to Izuku, you were met with an intense stare. He stopped when he noticed you looking, though. "What?" You questioned.

"Oh- nothing! It's just... your side. It's scratched," He mentioned. Right! that cut you'd gotten during practice. You'd forgotten all about it when the bus broke down. It wasn't bleeding anymore, and the pain had gone away. "Is it bad?" Izuku sounded concerned.

"No! Just a silly surface wound. I'm sure it'll be fine once we get to recovery girl." You responded fine, but Izuku did not seem to agree with you. He looked worried, face sporting a frown.

"You should really make sure it gets cleaned and patched up." He stood up and walked towards the bathroom, opening the door and disappearing inside. For a while. you wondered why. What was he doing in there? All that rustling and banging had to mean something.

"They didn't really have bandages, so I-" Eventually, your questions were answered. Izuku exited the bathroom with a first-aid kit and... other things.

"Bandages? I'm not bleeding." You tilted your head a few times, trying to see what he'd come up with. Deku was surely one to know how to wrap wounds, so it couldn't have been anything outrageous.

"You were! It's important to keep it sealed, even if you aren't bleeding anymore." The reason this green-haired boy was panicking was unannounced to you, but in midst of his worry, he made a good point. Who knew what lurked in this hotel? An infection was the last thing you needed.

"Well... alright, Midoriya. How do you plan on helping this, though?" You asked, agreeing to let him help you. Izuku smiled wryly before pulling from behind him a... roll of toilet paper?

"The toiletries here aren't soft and crumbly. They're sort of like... paper. This can make a good temporary bandage when used correctly." His smile was unsure- almost as if he wanted you to fact-check him. You nodded to say you trusted him, but as for the quality of his information? Well, nobody knows.

"Okay... and how do you expect to get that to stick?" You could ask Sero- but, other than that, all options looked to be off the table.

"The first aid kit doesn't have gauze, but it does have some tape left! Skin-safe, of course!" His smile looked more sure now. It faded as he began to put together his makeshift bandaging. He looked focused as he wiped your skin clean with alcohol pads and waved them dry.

He seemed focussed- not on the process- but on keeping you comfortable. Izuku knew he had the ability to hurt you if he wasn't careful, because even though you'd felt fine before, you flinched each time he pressed around the cuts. They were not completely healed, after all.

"Normally, I'd tell you to go take a shower..." He spoke under his breath, tape holder securely between his teeth as he tore pieces to use. "But, because of how these are... I know it'll hurt if you do." Midoriya gently secured a large, doubled-over section of toilet paper to your side. He was right to say the texture was that of paper because you would surely hate to wipe with what he'd placed on you.

"But, shouldn't I shower anyway? We were training, and..." You tried to finish your sentence, but you couldn't quite bring yourself to when you noticed Izuku lost in thought. He was staring at your waist, your top moved with one of his hands as the other carefully ran across the 'bandaging' he'd just applied.

"Might need another layer..." He mumbled, not paying all too much attention to what you said- until you called him, that is.

"Izuku?" You leaned as close to eye level with him as you could and it startled him.

"Oh- sorry!" Whether it was his name or the sharp eye contact that drew his attention was unknown. What you did know was that he'd quickly backed away from you, unhanding your clothes and swiping your side a bit as he stumbled backward on the couch. You tried not to let him know it'd hurt, but you couldn't help the instinctual jolt away from him that followed. "Did I- oh no, I'm really sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you! I was just scared I was making you uncomfortable and then you looked at me and you said my name and I got scared and..." He... was... mumbling to himself again.

"Midoriya, it's fine. I was just-" You attempted to calm him down, but he was too far gone. It appeared his stunt of focus was interrupted by his feeling of embarrassment. Maybe you should try his first name again? "...Izuku?" It worked! His muttering paused and he looked up at you. His expression was unreadable for a moment.

"You said it again..." He sat up and paused, clearly trying to deduce something. Was that seriously all it took to calm him down?

"Said... what?" You questioned, holding a hand to the throbbing pain on your midsection. He had a harder hit than you thought he would- especially for an accident. He must've really sought to keep a light hand before.

"My... name. I'm sorry if that sounds odd! It's just..." He looked away from you, not without glancing at the hand you held to your side. "Ever since Kacchan and I got to UA... Well, I guess I didn't realize people knew my name." That was true. Bakugo had given Izuku that nickname, and it spread like a rash. Midoriya was strong to have flipped it to be his hero name. Ever since then, no one had called him by anything but Deku or Midoriya.

"I hope I'm not crossing any lines by using it- it just seemed to capture your attention." Your response was direct and apologetic.

"It's not that," Midoriya shook his head. "I have no problem with it! It's just... new." He mustered another smile and met your eyes again. You quickly moved your hand but you knew he'd seen it. Your intention wasn't to make him feel bad! It just hurt, was all.

"Well, Izuku... how about we go to sleep? It's getting late," You tested him. His smile formed more properly this time!

"Yes, but I really should add another layer or two to that. I wouldn't want it to tear in your sleep." He was calm enough to say that without flustering himself. Perhaps the same focus he had earlier had returned? No, that wasn't it.

The look in his eyes as he carefully followed the same process he had before matched the look there was during training today. He wasn't just focused on helping you- he was in a hero's mindset. It would've been endearing had you not known about his crippling hero complex.

Nevermind that.

Once Izuku had finished putting a more cushiony layer over your midriff, he backed away to view what he'd done. He seemed proud of himself. Rightfully so! Because he'd truly done his best in this endeavor.

"This doesn't hurt, does it?" He moved the hand he'd used to hold up your top down to your waist, his second hand doing the same on the opposite side. Midoriya applied a gentle amount of pressure with both hands, and shockingly, it didn't hurt at all!

"Wow... it... doesn't-" You shook your head and looked down at his hands. It was a bit interesting- looking at him. He still resembled an entirely different state of mind as he sat there tending to you. After a couple more squeezes, though, your own mind wandered.

You attempted to fight it by taking a more literal view of things. You looked first at his arms. They were freckled splotchily. It was an interesting pattern in contrast to the multitude of horizontal scars on his hands. His hands... you couldn't quite see them. The fabric of your shirt had completely fallen over top of them as he continued to pressure check. This method of literal examination only worked for as long as you could focus on it, though. Once Izuku began gently dragging his hands up and down your midsection to check for sturdiness, that strategy was less effective.

"It's not slipping... I think you're good for tonight. Let me know... if it... gets..." As Midoriya lifted his head to make proper eye contact while he spoke, he noticed an all-too-familiar expression on your face. Heat had risen to your cheeks, and you were clearly averting your eyes from his own. Had he made you... nervous? He wasn't sure, but it seemed you were timid in comparison to earlier. Izuku slowly removed his hands from under your shirt and placed them on your knees, watching you closely. "Are you alright?" He asked, voice saturated in concern.

"I'm fine! Nothing's wrong." You brushed off his concern, though you were still twiddling around. "You said it seems alright?" You aimed to change the subject. It was time for bed anyway! Midoriya had to be exhausted from today's training, after all.

"Yes... I applied about as much pressure as a mattress would and you didn't flinch. I think you'll be alright to sleep," He nodded. Would you be able to get him back to his usual mindset any time soon? It was beginning to get uncomfortable– usually, Deku was the one getting flustered, but right now he was calm and you were the one stumbling over yourself.

All you could do was nod. Eventually, Midoriya backed away from you to allow you to change. It was just the break you needed. You walked into the bedroom with your bag and pulled out your bedclothes. You were met with a shock when you turned to put them on, though.

"That can't be right..." You said that louder than you'd meant to. Who wouldn't, though? This was a room for two people, wasn't it?

"Is everything okay in here?" Midoriya was approaching, but you didn't hear him entirely. You wished he'd knocked when he entered, though. Izuku walked in on you with your shirt hanging from your neck. You rushed to put it back on, slipping it onto your arms as he stepped forward.

"Only... one?" He questioned. It seemed he hadn't noticed you. It wasn't surprising because the two of you were confused about the same thing. Be it some twist of fate, or some odd plot device– the sight in front of you was absurd. There was only one bed.

"I'm sure this is a mistake. I mean, our room was on the wrong floor," You mentioned.

"You're right... but, I don't think we can do anything about it." Midoriya was shifting from foot to foot behind you. "I should sleep on the couch! You're injured, and I don't want you to get hurt any more than you are." The way he spoke was not that of his usual self. He still sounded like he was thinking tactically as opposed to how he normally would.

"No! I mean- no. Izuku, you can stay in here." You looked at the bed once again. There may have only been one- but it was huge! No reason for him to sleep on the couch at all. "Even so, what if I do get hurt? I'd rather you be here to help me." Were you doubting his toilet paper bandages?

...You were. You were doubting his toilet paper bandages.

"I-" Had you finally choked him up? Gotten at least some Midoriya-like response? You had! For once, you managed to make him think about the situation. You didn't know why, but for some reason, you were pleased by it.

"You..?" You prodded.

"Well! I suppose you may be right..." He was looking away from you now, rocking back and forth. You'd gotten him just as nervous as he'd had you. Midoriya was clearly trying to rationalize what you'd said. You were correct- his creation was his creation. If it tore or fell off, he would have to be the one to replace it. So it was settled. Midoriya would sleep on one end, you on the other.

You attempted to change your clothes once Izuku had left but soon noticed that would be more difficult than planned. When you attempted to lift your arms over your head, you felt a painful sting around you. You could hear his pacing around come to a stop when you audibly expressed distress. You'd just gotten your shirt off fine! Why was the wound hurting now?

Things began to make sense over time, though. You'd encountered a villain with no flashy or visible quirk– but they'd hit you with something unique to them. That kitty had claws, and it was looking like they'd hit you with a concealed weapon.

"Are you okay!?" Izuku rushed in soon after you'd realized what was going on. He sounded remarkably worried. Perhaps your cry of pain was louder than you'd thought...

"I'm fine... I think." You had to sit down. The more time that passed, the more painful things became. "I don't think that villain I fought had a mutant quirk..." You huffed, eyes watery. It was only downhill from here.

"Really? Did I jot it down wrong? What's happening?" He was frantic in his efforts to gather information. Midoriya sat down on the side of you that wasn't injured to avoid hurting you.

"The more... I move..." You were slowly growing out of breath. Were you panicking yourself? It felt as though maybe the venomous scratches raked harder with the rise and fall of your chest. "I don't know... I was fine until I tried to move my arms... maybe I did it too fast?"

"Oh no this is bad... the only time I've seen a quirk like this was..." No need to type out all of his panic-filled sentences. Long story short, he felt a bit responsible for your pain. You hadn't started hurting until he tried to fix it, after all.

"Izuku, I don't care." You began to steady your breathing so that you could talk to him properly, though you still sounded strained. "I just want to go to sleep, and I won't be able to get there on my own." If he really felt he was at fault, he'd likely oblige to helping you. You at least hoped he would, because the pain you felt only got worse when you attempted to care for yourself.

"Are you sure?" He sounded worried again now; not for you, but his skills. It was much like the worry he'd harbored while bandaging you. If he was not careful now, he could really hurt you. His ceaseless trembling made his unease all the more clear, and you all the more impatient.

"Hey- just think of it how you did last time. You know... like you're being a hero?" You mentioned his earlier attitude, and almost like a lightbulb had been lit, he changed his demeanor.

"I was acting like that? I'm sorry- I didn't notice." He stood up and stepped in front of you. "But, if it helped... I guess I could do it again." Izuku was visibly trying to switch attitudes again. It did not take long. Soon, he was mumbling things he noticed about the quirk's effect on you while looking for a place to start. Now, you felt the same hands that'd helped wrap you on your sides once again. This time, though, he was focused on your clothes.

"That's your pajama shirt over there, right?" He asked, voice wary. For a second you were unsure why.

"Yes, that's the one. Could you bring it to me?" You replied simply. If you kept a work-based mindset, it would help him maintain one as well.

"Of course! But, well... I guess what I'm trying to say here is that you shouldn't put it on on your own..." Though he was attempting to remain professional, he couldn't help the tint that covered his cheeks. This was embarrassing. "I'll look away! Only one of us needs to see for me to help you, right?" He was starting to let the fear seep through his voice. You brushed it off to save his pride.

You just nodded, assuming it'd work. It did work! Though you couldn't focus the entire time. Izuku ran his hands down the sides of your top, grabbing the bottom hem gently. He did his best not to bump into you or cause you to move more than you had to, knowing it'd be painful.

It was hard to get your arms up, but you did it for as long as you could while Midoriya slid off your day clothes and neatly fixed your bed shirt atop of you. Once he'd let it down, he helped you bring your arms down and laid you on the bed.

"I promise to stay close so you can call me if you need to. Only if you want to, that is! I don't know how long the effects of that quirk will last, so..." Whatever the effects were. It was a bit hard to tell. As you laid still, the pain from before began to subside. Sure enough, you were just fine to lay on the bed. Neither side of you caused trouble–

That is until you chose to remove the bottoms you'd been wearing. It was a tad warm with another person in bed, and you were under the covers anyhow. It shouldn't have mattered! Sadly for you, though, the last bit of stretch you needed to move them past your hips was too much for your body to handle. Perhaps the bend in your midsection was what caused the quirk to activate? Every time you moved your core, venomous stings prickled throughout your body. Izuku felt the sheets rustling and turned over to check on you.

"Are you alright?" He asked, sitting up on his forearm to look over you. You stopped moving, a wise decision, and cleared your throat to respond to him.

"Well, I was trying to get comfortable, and..." Your sentence trailed as you began to think this was nothing worth troubling him with. "It's nothing, Izuku. Just a little pain."

"Well, how can I help?" He sounded once again concerned, and you could feel him sitting up behind you.

"No ways you'd want to! Don't worry about it, really." You insisted, but he insisted harder. It took quite some time, but eventually, he broke you into telling him the issue. Midoriya was clearly rattled, but he also dispensed a strange look of determination. He did tell you he would be there to help you, and he was determined to live up to his word. A hero may be put in uncomfortable situations after all.

After a long list of questions asking for consent to help you with your... specific problem, he raised enough courage to scoot behind you and begin his assistance. What happened next nearly stunned you. Izuku did his best not to move you as he gently slid his left hand beneath your hips. He felt around for a moment, and you could almost hear him panicking when he couldn't find the top seem of your pants. He decided it'd be best to find the top using his other hand, and so shortly after you found his right hand slinking fingers around your waist and traveling down to your thigh.

Your face burned as he continued to feel around for your clothes. Eventually, he found what he thought to be the hook he was looking for. As he pulled and you shifted backward into him to stop the fabric from moving, he realized he'd picked the wrong thing.

"I am so sorry! I didn't mean to- oh this is bad. I'm so so sorry, I didn't know that was there and I-" Boy was he good at talking. You shushed him quickly, though, feeling well enough to use your own hand to guid his down to where your bottoms really were. You attempted not to squirm as he carefully pulled them past your thighs and got them off of your feet.

"Thank you." You smiled, sporting a grateful expression. The both of you were thankful it was dark, because each of you had blushed faces due to what'd happened under the covers.

"You're very welcome." Deku sounded distant when he replied. He attempted to act as normal as possible, but the air in the room was thick enough to suffocate you. Today was eventful to say the very least.

"Hey, Izuku?" You called him, hoping you could surface his mind.

"Oh- yes?" He sounded attentive enough.

"Let's.. go to bed, yeah?"

"That... is a great idea."

In the stoic silence of your room you eventually found yourself drifting into sleep. Izuku hadn't moved his hands from around your waist when he brought them up from your legs. You were glad, because had he made any sudden movements in his startled state he would've done more harm than good. It wasn't like the position of his hands was uncomfortable, either. Soon enough, both of you were unconscious. It would be a shame if someone walked in that night... oh well. Not like they could find the room.

｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ *+:｡:+* ﾟ゜ﾟ

If you've made it this far, thank you! Go ahead and keep reading.

My requests are open and I encourage you to use them!

Check out my other socials!

185 notes · View notes

goddessofroyalty · 4 years

Note

For the Omega Dick week lactation prompt if you haven't got an idea already! Dick nursing his pup gets his alpha\s high. Like the pheromones, and happy baby and all the good things is just the best smell in the world. And all Dick's alphas can do is stare and sigh dreamily. Dick finds this hilarious

Fandom: DC Comics

I did a ‘four times’ style fic for it. I just couldn’t seem to get it to work with all of them in the room, but I feel like this still hits what the prompt was going for.

Pairings: Roy/Dick, Garth/Dick, Wally/Dick, Kori/Dick

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg, breast-feeding

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25647127

Dick will admit he knows what he’s doing. Not to anyone of course, but to himself he will admit the reason why he often settles into the main lounge room of the Titans Tower to feed Jake.

Jake doesn’t care. At four months old all Jake still cares about is that his belly is full, his bum is clean, and there is someone there to comfort him. So long as he gets those things he doesn’t care if his silly dam is using him for a little game of his own.

And, hey, maybe the game might get Jake another sibling – not that Dick is quiet ready to be seriously thinking about that yet.

Roy shows up this time. Which isn’t that surprising seeing he was in the kitchen when Dick settled onto the couch.

Dick does idly wonder about what lunch has been abandoned when Roy’s arms snake over his shoulders and down his sides.

“Hey pretty bird,” Roy says, although it really is more of a low rumble as he nuzzles against Dick’s neck. His hands settling on Dick’s hips. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine. And you don’t need to use pick-up lines on me – you already got what you wanted,” Dick says, keeping his voice dry.

“Oh my want for you will never be satisfied.” Roy sounds almost drunk. But Dick knows better than to think the alpha currently is.

Drunk off pheromones maybe but it has been a very long time since Roy last touched a bottle of booze.

“Really, even with my post-baby body?” Dick asks.

Roy just snorts at it.

“You can cut that crap – most omegas would be jealous of the body you got only four months after having a kid.”

Dick knows it’s true. Just as he knows he won’t be satisfied until he’s able to fit back into a Nightwing costume and swing around the rooftops of the city again.

“Although,” Roy continues, his hands slipping under the back of Dick’s track-pants. “If you’re looking for a more tangible reminder of how freaking hot you are I would be more than happy to provide.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dick says. “But don’t you have your lunch to worry about?”

“Nah, this is better than food.”

“Roy – go eat,” Dick says, pushing the alpha’s face away.

“Gonna’ take a bit more than that to convince me,” Roy says.

“How about my hands are full right now,” Dick says with a nod towards Jake who’s still happily feeding while watching the exchange – still amazed at all the sights of the world. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“I’ll be holding you to that,” Roy says as he pulls away.

He won’t.

Sure, even without the pheromones affecting his brain Roy will still be a bit of a horn-dog with sex always on mind. But he also isn’t one to trade it for anything. At least not seriously.

----------------

Dick once again settles onto the couch to feed Jake. This time though it is Garth who comes to join him.

“I thought that was what I could smell,” the alpha says.

“I’m sorry if I distracted you from what you were doing,” Dick says, not actually that sorry at all. He will admit he likes how easy it is to draw his alpha’s attention to him just by feeding their pup.

“If it was a distraction it certainly isn’t an unpleasant one,” Garth says, coming over. And while Dick wouldn’t call the movement stalking, it certainly is more consciously purposeful than Garth normally moves.

“Then what would you call it?” Dick asks.

“Fascinating,” Garth says. “It’s different than how I thought it would be.”

Different because Dick is a human and not a fellow Atlantean.

“I’m sorry it’s not what you expected.” Sometimes Dick wonders about his right to be with so many powerful people even though he reminds himself he earned his place on the team with them.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Garth says, sitting next to Dick.

He reaches over to play with Jake’s hair. The action seeming to be aimed at grounding himself if the deep, conscious breathes that joint it are any indication.

Jake doesn’t seem bothered by it. Eyes idly switching between Dick and Garth’s faces.

“It’s interesting how the same scents create difference results in the receiver,” Garth says. “To Jake your scent is calming. But for us alphas it’s… intoxicating.”

“It’s designed to keep you interesting while Jake gets the chance to grow under my complete attention.” Give the current pup the complete resources of the pack without risk of the alphas losing interest for another omega.

Garth’s face twists at it.

“To think humans needed such a biological feature to ensure that,” Garth says.

It’s Dick’s face that twists at that.

“It’s not just humans that have it.” It was a trait found in other mammal species but especially Apes. Likely a hold-over from before humans even branched off into their own evolution.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Garth says.

“I know.” Dick does. But he also finds the idea of it and what evolutionary purpose it served sitting on him uncomfortably.

“Do you want me to leave?” Garth asks.

“No.” It’s nice to have an alpha next to him and Dick can comfortably lean against Garth while feeding Jake without worrying about him getting too handsy.

“Alright.”

----------------

Dick doesn’t always intentionally position himself near his alphas when nursing Jake to get a reaction out of them. Sometimes it’s just because it’s convenient to eat his own breakfast while Jake nurses.

The fact Wally comes in from his morning run while Dick is successfully multitasking is a pure coincidence.

But, okay, maybe Dick does take a little pride in making the Speedster stop dead in his tracks.

“Morning,” Dick says between mouthfuls of food.

“Uh, are you sure you’re comfortable doing that there?” Wally asks. And Dick would have to hang up his cowl and retire if he didn’t pick up on the blush on the alpha’s cheeks.

“Sure – I mean I’ve got Jake balanced pretty well so it’s not too awkward.”

“No, I mean feeding him in the middle of the kitchen like that,” Wally says. And he doesn’t realise how he’s falling into the trap Dick decided to build after his first question.

“Sure.”

“But anyone could walk in!”

“Yes,” Dick says with a laugh because it knew it had been coming. “But most don’t get horny at it like you do.”

“What?” The blush on Wally’s cheeks rises. Probably feeling called out for being a pervert. When really it’s a bit more complicated.

“Yeah, Tim says it feels calming when he’s around when I’m nursing,” Dick says, putting his spoon down and grabbing the tea-towel he brought over to burp Jake over his shoulder. “But Tim’s not one of my alphas.”

“Right,” Wally says and Dick has a feeling it’s clicked for him.

“I’d be more worried if Roy walked in than Raven. Even then I wouldn’t call it worry.” More worried about someone walking in after Roy, seeing how the alpha seemed to get a bit handsy when Dick is nursing.

“Uh, sorry for overreacting then,” Wally says, scratching the back of his head. Because he knows he’s probably the most conservative of Dick’s alphas and Roy, at least, doesn’t miss an opportunity to rag on him for it.

“It’s fine,” Dick says standing up to walk over. “Just change Jake to make up for it.”

It’s a bit mean to use Wally’s embarrassment to get him on diaper duty instead. Especially when Dick somewhat led Wally into the embarrassing comment. But honestly Dick doesn’t care – it means one less he has to change himself.

----------------

It’s 2AM and Dick should probably feel more tired than he does feeding Jake as he watches the Titan’s monitors. But honestly he’s probably had more sleep since Jake’s birth than he had in the years before he found out he was pregnant.

So when Kori returns from taking care of the robots attacking a cinema Dick is in no hurry to get back to bed.

He knows as soon as Kori walks in that while she may want to go to bed she’s in no hurry to go back to sleep.

“You are so attractive like this,” Kori says because she’s never been one to deny her wants. “If makes me want to take you to bed and ensure you won’t easily walk in the morning.”

“Fuck,” Dick says because how else is he supposed to respond? Even after all this time with her he still finds himself blindsided by how forward she can be.

“That to,” Kori says, leaning over so her breath tickles his face. “So long as you are up for it.”

“Let me get Jake fed and settled for the night first.” Or at least settled for the next few hours before he needs his next feed.

“I’ll be waiting for you then,” Kori says, leaning forward to press a kiss against the side of Dick’s lips before leaving the room.

It’s unfair how much Dick finds himself getting wet at it.

Or maybe it is only fair considering how much he’s enjoyed driving his other alphas insane from the pheromones he produces while nursing.

#OmegaDickweek #DC omegaverse #DC mpreg #Omegaverse #mpreg #prompt fill #prompt fic #anon prompt #dick grayson #roy harper #Garth #Wally West #koriand'r

77 notes · View notes

adhd-hyperfixations-n-stuff · 4 years

Note

Hey do you have any advice on how to support people with Avoidant Personality Disorder?

First, I’m sorry for taking a while to respond to this — I’ve been pretty busy with school and generally worn out, and wanted to wait until I could put some thought into the answer (putting it under a cut bc it got kinda long haha).

Obviously I can’t speak for everyone with AvPD (and I have a lot of overlapping disorders) so take everything with a grain of salt, but I have had it for years and it’s had a major impact on my life, so here’s what I’ve got:

Don’t try to force us out of our comfort zones. My parents did this for years, and it was awful. AvPD is not just shyness — oftentimes, we don’t even have a social “comfort zone” to begin with, and it puts us under basically constant stress. If someone with AvPD is trying to push themself outside of that anyway, absolutely support them, but never try to force it. Even if you mean well, some people’s disorder is so bad that they won’t be able to handle seemingly “little” interactions without extremely severe anxiety. (For example, I couldn’t speak in class at all, order food or buy things in a store for myself, or even leave my house without insanely terrible anxiety for years).

Avoid putting us on the spot. Forcing us to be the center of attention, even briefly or in a “low-stakes” setting can be incredibly stressful. Of course sometimes it’s necessary, but even just doing introductions in a small group or something can be really hard for us. (I once had a panic attack because my therapist was bringing in someone else who worked there to have a practice conversation with me, and that’s about as low-stakes as it gets.)

Don’t assume we’re boring. It’s common for us to be ashamed of literally every interest or personality trait we have, and try to turn ourselves into the most bland, generic copy of a person to cover that up. Until recent years, I wouldn’t even talk to my closest friends about interests we didn’t share. (This applies more to stuff like music, TV shows, movies, etc. than just general hobbies.) If someone with AvPD does share their interests with you, try not to make fun of them or anything — even if it’s not mean-spirited, it can make us regret opening up.

Don’t make jokes at our expense (unless you know the person well enough to be sure they’re okay with it). This obviously applies in general, but it’s harder to be sure with AvPD. When you constantly second-guess everything you do and are convinced you’re screwing everything up, even super lighthearted teasing or laughing at something silly you did can translate in our brains to “oh god I messed up again and they all think I’m an idiot.”

Be the one to initiate plans if you have to (and try not to take that personally). If you want to spend time with us, ask, because we pretty much can’t. I went years never asking a friend to hang out, and always waiting for someone else to initiate. It never meant I didn’t want to spend time with them, I was just worried about making them feel obligated, and didn’t feel like I was worthy of attention.

Spend time with us one-on-one sometimes. If you’re close to someone with AvPD, they may still be anxious around you, but will probably be a lot more comfortable with just you than with you and a bunch of other people. Especially since we don’t tend to have a lot of friends ourselves for obvious reasons, always being with a friend/partner and all their other friends can make us feel like we’re just there out of pity or something and don’t fit in with the group. You are definitely not obligated to give the person your attention all the time or put them above all your other friends, but spending some time with just them (and maybe one or two other people they trust) can help. If we’re clingy to one or two people, it’s often because we have no one else and it gets super lonely living like that.

Don’t assume we want to be alone. On a day-to-day basis I did, in the sense that I felt safer alone due to less anxiety, but I never wanted to be alone. Before I was even a teenager, I was terrified that I was going to die alone because I had no genuine friends and would probably never form any close relationships. I would get so jealous of people with real friends that it hurt, and I always wanted a best friend. I buried myself in reading and writing for years to fill that void (and developed maladaptive daydreaming disorder because I was so isolated irl).

Remind them you actually like them. For pretty much my whole life, I’ve felt like my friends put up with me out of pity or convenience or something, because I truly don’t understand how anyone could actually like me as a person. Of course, you don’t have to say it outright unless they literally ask (which they may be too anxious to do), but make sure they know that you actually enjoy being around them and aren’t doing it for some other reason.

Take it seriously as a disorder and provide accommodations. This one only really applies to people who have some administrative power over a person with AvPD, such as at school. In my opinion, we absolutely should be able to get exemptions/alternate assignments for things that give us heart palpitations and almost make us pass out — but I still had to do presentations before medication, and would stress about them for days in advance and then have severe panic attacks in front of everyone every time. School in general was awful and some of that was unavoidable, but it was easier with the rare teachers who would let me get out of those things.

Idk, some of these may be obvious but I’m just going off my own experience. If anyone has more questions feel free to ask them!

Also, this is more of a suggestion for people with AvPD, but I would really recommend getting on medication for it if you can find one that helps you. Therapy did absolutely nothing for my AvPD, except for eventually directing me to a psychiatrist because I was basically a hopeless case without meds.

I’m still avoidant and self-conscious and feel inferior to everyone else, but I no longer have the severe anxiety symptoms — I can now handle basic interactions (and even way more stressful ones like presentations) without constant stress and panic attacks, and I had some longterm chronic physical symptoms (digestive issues, jaw pain) clear up too. Within a week, it genuinely felt like the anxiety goggles had been pulled off and I was able to see the world more normally for the first time.

#answered ask #avpd #avoidant personality disorder #actually avpd #actually avoidant #personality disorders #social anxiety #social anxiety disorder #(avpd and sad have big overlap so tagging both)#and ive had both #though now I think it's only avpd since I started meds

27 notes · View notes

demonsonthemoon · 3 years

Text

Keep Shelter (Behind Glass About to Crack)

Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Sam Winchester/Charlie Bradbury Word Count: 7474 Rating: M Summary: ~ “Don't leave.” ~ After their encounter with the Musca, Sam and Charlie stop at a motel for a night. They share a room, a bed, and some of their deepest fears. Notes: Title is from "Monster Town" by Go! Child, a song I am quite frankly obsessed with. Notes on the pairing: Remember when Apocalypseverse!Charlie asks of OG!Charlie and Dean had a thing and then says "good for her" about OG!Charlie being a lesbian? That line gave me brainrot. It led to me starting to ship Sam/Charlie, but only ever in two specific ways, which are AV!Charlie being bisexual and/or Sam being transfem. This fic is mostly the former, with very discreet hints of the latter peppered in for taste.

Read it on AO3.

“Don't leave.”

The amount of emotion Sam puts behind those two words surprises even him. It's only after they leave his lips that he realizes how much meaning there is behind them. Don't go away. Don't leave me alone. Don't die don't die don't die-

He keeps speaking, out of instinct, out of self-preservation, doesn't know what he's saying, exactly, until he's halfway through his tirade trying to convince Charlie that to keep hunting is worth it. Trying to convinced himself, still, after so many years. (Years after Jess, years after Amelia, years after the Trials, after going to his knees in front of Dean and Death and so many other times when he had accepted his own end only to be thrown back into a hunter's life again.) He watches Charlie's face, desperate for an answer that might justify his own choices or free him from them.

“I'll think about staying,” Charlie replies and her smile isn't all real but it's not all fake either and there is something blooming in Sam's chest that threatens to make him choke on petals.

They drive in silence for a while.

Sam can't stop looking back at Charlie, and he knows she's noticed. He turns away, tries to focus on the scenery, but it's too dark to see much and his gaze settles on his companion once again.

“Do I still have fly goo on my face or something?”

Sam shakes his head, embarrassed. “No. No. You're fine.”

Charlie sighs. “I know you miss her. It's okay, you know.”

Sam runs a hand across his face. “I do miss her. But you don't have to indulge me, you know? I was kind of shitty, before, saying that stuff about her and Dean... It's not your baggage to bear. It's not fair.”

“Yeah well. Not much that's fair in this world or mine.”

More silence, broken up by Charlie this time.

“Weren't you close?”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“You and the other me. You talked about her-and-Dean, but not about her-and-you. Weren't you close?”

“I don't know,” Sam shrugged. “I mean, we were but... not as much.”

He'd always liked Charlie. He'd gotten on well with her. But Dean was the one that she had immediately clicked with, and Dean had been... She'd been good for him. He'd been freer around her than he was with almost anyone, and Sam hadn't wanted to intrude on that. He hadn't wanted to force anything, had thought that he would have more time, that he could build something with Charlie in a gradual manner.

That plan had been cut short after her death. (After he'd dragged her into his mess, because it was his fault that she-)

“It's a shame,” Charlie says, when it appears that Sam won't be providing any additional information.

Sam stares at her.

“What? I like you.”

“I like you too,” Sam replies, inanely. Still, Charlie seems pleased to hear it.

And it's true. He does like her. This Charlie, not just the memory of the old one. Her edges are more jagged, sometimes a little cruel, and she doesn't smile as carefreely as her other self, but she still shares a lot of the things that drew Sam to the other Charlie in the first place. She's smart and nerdy and more comfortable in her body than Sam thinks he ever will be, although the way she has of showing it is far more lethal than the other Charlie's. She's pretty, too. And there's another thing that hasn't changed between one Charlie and the next: Sam can't help but find himself attracted to her, and he still feels uncomfortable and ashamed about it.

He's fine with Charlie being a lesbian. Obviously. He doesn't think her being a lesbian has anything to do with him being attracted to her, because that would just be... no. So maybe the shame is irrational, but it's still there, just like his attraction. Unwieldy, an imposition.

Sam doesn't say anything else.

It starts raining. Not lightly either, but the kind of rain that would drown out the radio if they had put it on, the kind that makes Charlie's pickup truck shake slightly. The visibility becomes non-existent, and Sam can see Charlie clench her steering wheel.

“We should stop at a motel for the night. You can drop me off in Lebanon tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Charlie asks, but she's already scouring the side of the road for signs of a place to stay.

“Yeah. I'm pretty tired anyway.”

“From all the sitting around that we did?” Charlie asks with a smirk.

Sam shrugs. He's not about to say that he's worried about the fall that Charlie took when they found the Musca, fairly certain she'll shrug off his concern even more aggressively than Dean usually does.

They pull into the first motel they find, the rain still pouring down over them. It seems like a decent enough place. Sam is halfway out of the truck before he realizes that Charlie isn't moving. He sits back down.

“You okay?”

Charlie is worrying her lower lip slightly, but she smiles as she turns towards him. “Yeah. I'm fine. Got a question for you though.”

“Yeah?” He's already half-soaked from the two seconds he spent outside the vehicle, but waits for Charlie to speak anyway.

“Do you wanna share a room?”

Sam doesn't exactly know what he'd expected, but certainly not that. He searches Charlie's face, trying to decypher the exact meaning behind those words. She might just be suggesting that they share a room to save on money, or so that they'd both feel safer, or-

But she meets Sam's gaze and raises an eyebrow.

“I-” Sam starts, then stops.

“I mean, no offense taken if you're not in the mood. I did rant at you about losing the love of my life two hours ago, I know that can be a downer for some people. But I like you so... offer's there.”

Sam's brain goes to static for a second.

“I thought you were a lesbian.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wants to lay is face on the dashboard and never look up.

Charlie chuckles. “I think your Charlie was a lot stricter in her preferences than I am.”

The admonishment stings because, yes, once more Sam had just assumed. Assumed he knows the person next to him because he'd known someone who looked like her.

“Sorry.”

Charlie shrugs. “Proud bi girl with a preference for women. Trust me, you're not the first one to make the mistake.” The set of her shoulders harden, and then she's moving, pocketing the car keys and opening her door. “Come on, let's get our rooms already.”

“Charlie, wait!” They're both standing in the rain, immediately drenched. Sam feels silly and awkward and like this really isn't the right time to do this, but he had wasted time once, with the other Charlie, and he's not going to do it again. “We can share a room.”

“Yeah?” The grin that takes over her face is so warm that he immediately thinks of the other Charlie. But that isn't fair to either of them.

“We could even share a bed.”

She laughs at that. Sam finds himself grinning in return. Then Charlie offers him her hand with a flourish and he only feels half-ridiculous when he takes it.

They step into the motel room – generic but clean – and Sam drops his bag at the foot of the king-sized bed. He just stands there, clenching and unclenching his hands.

It's been a while since he's felt so nervous about sex. Despite Dean's incessant jokes about him being a virgin, he's usually pretty confident in bed. But being here with Charlie throws him off a little. Especially this Charlie, which he's constantly reminded he doesn't actually know that well.

“Heads up,” Charlie calls. He looks up, and she throws something at him.

A flask. Yeah, he can see why the old Charlie clicked so well with Dean.

He untwists the cap and takes a sip. Charlie is apparently a rhum kind of person. Another thing he didn't know.

“We don't have to do anything, you know. You look nervous.”

Sam takes another sip of alcohol, then goes to sit on the bed, close to Charlie so he can hand her the flask back.

“I guess I am.”

Charlie considers him a second. “Still hung up on the lesbian thing? Or is it because of the old Charlie?”

“The old Charlie?”

“Well, you didn't hesitate that much after my invitation, so I figure you might have thought about it. With her. Despite the lesbian thing.”

Sam blushes. Childishly, he lets himself fall backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling instead of at his friend's face.

“Come on, don't be like that. I know it's weird, but weird is our life. I can handle it.”

Sam sighs, closes his eyes. She's not wrong. Weird is their life.

“Sure, I thought about it. I liked Charlie, and you're pretty. She was too.”

Charlie tosses off her shoes and lies down on her side, looking at him.

“Never seriously, though. It wouldn't have happened, with her. I was fine with that. I guess I'm kind of weirded out that it's happening with you.”

“If you want to. It's not because we have this big bed that we have to fuck in it. We could just have a sleepover. Braid each other's hair.”

She means it, too. Sam can see it in her eyes. She'd be just as happy to spend the night chatting and sleeping. Might even be better off that way. Sam doesn't think there was a lot of time for that sort of things in the Apocalypse world.

But he's selfish, and Charlie was the one to offer so...

So he turns on his side as well, scoots over a little, and kisses her.

It's sweet, and soft, and probably not what either of them really wants, but it's what they want to want and that's enough.

They break away. There is the slightest twinkle in Charlie's eyes and Sam feels himself glow with the pride of putting it there.

“Or we can do that,” Charlie says, jokingly.

There's a question there, though. The same question that is always on Sam's lips in moments like these. Can we have this? Do we deserve it?

He closes his eyes. This isn't going to work if all they want from each other is reassurance. They're both too terrified to give it.

Charlie runs a hand through his hair.

“You know, I really don't think I'm a fly monster. The musca, he left his community because he didn't fit in, right?”

Sam makes an assenting noise, though he doesn't move.

“I could fit in in the bunker. With the other hunters.”

With you, Charlie doesn't say, although the words could have easily filled the second of silence at the end of her sentence. This isn't that kind of night, theirs isn't that kind of relationship. Sam knows that.

“I think that's why I wanted to leave. I'm scared that if I stay I'll never be more than what the war made of me.”

Sam nods in assent. He has no word of comfort to offer, too conscious of having taken that exact same path.

He used to dream of other things, after all. Used to dream with enough force that he actually attempted to change his fate, first in Stanford, then in Kermit. But that second time was already only a poor attempt, he'd felt too conscious of the fact he was lying to himself.

He's a hunter now, or a Man of Letter, or maybe something in between, the balance his mom and dad never got to strike finally established.

This is what fighting has made of him, and it is too late now to regret it.

He's also Dean's brother, first and foremost, always, and he's done pretending that that doesn't at least partly rule the shape that his life takes.

That love is tangled in the war, and too often the two are indistinguishable. Once again, Sam is tired of wasting his time regretting it.

“I'm not going to lie and say that this life doesn't change you,” Sam says. “But it's never going to be all you are.”

Charlie runs a hand through his hair again. Sam closes his eyes without meaning to.

“I know how to fight, Sam. You don't need to reassure me. You don't need to pretend you're not scared.”

He buries his face in her shoulder, smelling sweat and monster goo and not caring one bit. This is the smell of a body that has been lived-in. It is the smell of a body that is safe.

Yes, Sam is scared.

He had to be a leader to the refugees from Charlie's world, and he's trying to be some kind of role model to Jack. It doesn't leave a lot of space for vulnerability. It doesn't leave a lot of time to deal with all the people he's lost over the years, all the ones he's found again in not-quite-right ways, the multiple lives he's lived and all the deaths he's been through.

He knows that the universe can throw so much more at him still. It hasn't stopped in 33 years, after all.

Of course he's scared shitless.

Still, right now, they're safe. Right now, they're together. They're alive and the rain is still pounding on the roof of the motel, shielding them from the rest of the world for a little while.

So Sam breathes through the fear and kisses the junction of Charlie's neck.

“Sometimes things you don't need are still nice,” he whispers against her skin.

She shifts, drawing away enough that they can look at each other. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He could blame his light-headedness on the sudden changes of mood they keep going through, but he's pretty sure that it's actually Charlie. She pushes against him until he's on his back, straddling his thighs and grinning.

Sam is still wearing his shoes and socks, and he tries to kick them off without changing position before admitting defeat. Charlie laughs with him as they move to let him undress. He takes off his jeans and shirt too, feeling freer now that the wet fabric isn't clinging to his skin.

She undresses as well, until they're both standing in their underwear, the air hitting their humid skin a little too coldly to be entirely pleasurable.

“Come on, Princess, back on the bed.”

“I thought you were the queenly one,” Sam starts before wincing. “Sorry, wrong Charlie.”

She pushes him back against the bed until they fiund their position from earlier again, Charlie hovering above him. “So I was a queen, uh?”

Not you, Sam thinks, his brain running in frustrated loops as it keeps confusing the woman in front of him with that in his memory.

“Yeah, you were. In Moondoor.”

“Moondoor?”

Right. This Charlie had never run away from Roman Enterprises, so she'd never started playing Moondoor.

“Yeah. It was a LARP-game. Pretty awesome.”

“You larped?” Charlie asks with a chuckle, clearly finding the thought outrageous. Sam doesn't know how they managed to get side-tracked so easily, although he doesn't mind it much.

“I can get my nerd on. When I find the time.”

Her gaze softens at that. Sam guesses that she is very familiar with that struggle. He imagines there weren't a lot of opportunities to play role-playing games when she was fighting for her life in a militia.

Then the spark in Charlie's eyes turn to mirth.

“Well, now you can get this nerd off.”

He stares at her for a second as his brain catches up with the horrible, horrible pun. Then he wraps his arms around Charlie, pulling her on top of him so he can bury his laughter in her hair. Charlie indulges him, giggling a little herself. The vibrations in their chest echo in the other's body and it's nice. It's nice and easy and Sam is breathless with the power of it.

Once he has regained a semblance of composure, Sam puts his hands on either sides of Charlie's head and pulls her in for a kiss. He lets her set the rhythm of it, lets her drive him out of his head, lets her weight press him into the mattress so that it becomes the only place he could think of being.

Sam wishes it could be simpler than this. He wishes he could ask less of the woman on top of him.

But they both carry their trauma right behind their teeth, and Sam was pretty bad at controlling the intensity of his feelings before he even went to hell.

It's good that he's doing this with Charlie. She does her best to lighten the mood, but does not begrudge Sam for the way his hands scrabble at her skin, for how he sometimes grips just a little too tight, afraid that she might slip right between his fingers, scared that she might come too close.

Sam touches her and tries to breathe, and at some point he has his fingers between her legs and her mouth is right next to his ear, and Sam shivers as she says his name.

“Do you really think we have time for teasing?” Charlie asks before nipping at his jaw, biting at his skin like she can somehow get inside of him. Sam doesn't think he would let her. He hopes he wouldn't.

But it still feels nice to pretend, it feels nice to act like the barrier between their bodies is porous, like they are both more than the weight of their own past.

Sam lets Charlie take charge, closing her hand around Sam's fingers and guiding two of them inside her. She's wet, slick enough that he breaches the ring of her muscles without much resistance, feeling her clench around him as she gets used to the intrusion.

Sam looks up at her, staring at her openly since her eyes are closed.

He is a lot more used to being the one taking the lead in bed. For quite a few years now, most women took one look at the size of him and decided that he must enjoy taking charge. And he does, it's never been an issue, not something he felt strongly enough about to even bring it up. But there's something freeing about the way Charlie uses his fingers to get what she wants, how he doesn't have to think about anything, how he can just lie there and know that he's doing enough, because this is what she wants.

Sam moves his thumb so its rubs against Charlie's clit every time she moves her hip, and she groans appreciatively. Her hair falls over Sam like a curtain, still slightly wet from the rain, and Sam feels a sudden urge of jealousy that he hides against her mouth.

“Wanna change this up a little?” Charlie whispers.

There are many things that Sam would do without her needing to ask as sweetly. So he hooks his hands under her arms and flips their position.

Charlie giggles, gripping his shoulders. “You have no idea how much I hoped you would do that.”

Sam grins at her. The admission warms something inside him, the fact that she thought of him, that she imagined this, even if she has had a lot less time to do so than he did.

(Not that Sam let himself imagin much. It hadn't felt right to, with the other Charlie.)

Sam moves down Charlie's body, laying a kiss between her breasts before sitting up a little so he can really focus on putting his fingers back inside of her and taking his time stretching her out. Sam has a lot more control this way, but Charlie still raises her hips to deepen the angle before hooking her legs over his arms, her heels digging into his back just painfully enough to make him gasp a little.

Sam hasn't touched himself since this started, and he can definitely feel it. His arousal is a tightly-wound coil in his gut, and he is all too aware of the fact that his new position makes it much harder for him to rut against anything or get any other type of friction.

He gets another finger inside Charlie, watches her arch her back into his touch as she searches for the best position to accommodate him. She is so open in her reactions, wholly immersed in her simple search for pleasure, and Sam drinks that in like he might lap at an unexpected stream in the middle of a desert.

His body has never been an easy place to live in, even before Lucifer, before he knew he had demon blood flowing through his veins. It didn't mean he never managed to open himself up. He found a way to do it with Jess, even though it was far from perfect, too many secrets between them that she was unaware off. He tried to make it work with Amelia, patching a relationship together from broken pieces, always surprised when they found a way to fit.

But even then, there were secrets. Secrets have always been his way of life. It was what he had been taught, from childhood, when he realized that for years his father and brother had hid from him what they really meant by “business trip.” At the time, thinking about Dean hiding something from him had felt like a knife carefully sliding between his ribs. Now it fels like just a regular part of breathing.

“I'm ready, come on,” Charlie says, pushing at Sam's hand, snapping him away from his drifting thougts one more. Sam slips his fingers out, and freezes for a second as he realizes he needs a condom. He isn't used to doing this anymore, he didn't think ahead, but then he remembers that he usually has one lying around his toiletry bag, just in case, and suddenly he's glad that the reflex to take his overnight duffel wherever he goes is still ingrained so deep within his body.

He's never been able to settle into having a home, not since Jess' death, and most of the time he's not really happy about it, but in some cases it has its perks.

Like when he needs to run for his life or have sex with a beautiful woman.

“Wait a second, I need to get my bag-”

“Oh, shit, right,” Charlie says, scrabbling upright and blushing. “Didn't... think of that. It's been a while.”

“Since you had sex with a guy?” Sam asks as he rummages through his things. He can't help the note of curiosity in his voice, still isn't used to the idea of Charlie sleeping with men. He doesn't know what he can ask or not, isn't familiar with openly talking about sexual orientation at all. His family hadn't really been big on exploring anything outside of heterosexuality, and although Sam considers himself to be open-minded, he knows there are a lot of things he just doesn't understand.

“Yeah. I mean, also since I had sex period, because seeing my world get destroyed and losing my girlfriend was kind of a mood killer for a long time. Also, barrack beds really aren't that comfortable.”

“You don't say,” Sam says with a soft smile. He gets what Charlie means. H's tried to explain the exact same thing to Dean whenever he insisted that Sam needed to loosen up, to take a break, that sleeping with someone would get him out of his head, that it could only be good for him. It isn't that Dean is wrong, it's just that Sam can't really muster up the desire for sex when he's in a hypervigilant state because of whatever is threatening their lives that week. Hunting is part of who Sam is, down to his deepest core. He'd tried to deny that for a long time, tried to run away from it. But he's old enough now to accept it for what it is. Sam can't turn his fear off, even for just one night, because being afraid is what has kept him alive against all odds for so long. It doesn't mean he's letting the fear run his life. He still makes his own decisions, he still finds ways to mitigate the anxiety (by going for runs, mostly). He's still in control. The fact that that control doesn't extend to much beside his own body isn't sad. It's just how his life works.

When he's ready to climb back on the bed, feeling pretty victorious about the condom in his hand, Charlie is sitting up against the headboard, two fingers casually rubbing against her clit. It's a sight that makes Sam's insides ache with want. She holds herself so confidently, the edges of the fighter eased away by the darkness around them, and she makes it seem all so easy. Charlie – whichever one of them – has always looked like she knows herself in the way that Sam envies without clearly knowing why.

“What?” Charlie asks, challenging his gaze. “I wasn't just going to lie there and wait.”

“Wouldn't have even thought of suggesting such a thing,” Sam replies. He sits on the edge of the bed, feeling awkward about turning away from her, but it's just more convenient as he tears open the foil package and rolls the condom onto himself carefully.

When he turns once more, Charlie is looking at him, a small smile on her face, and there is a current coursing between their eyes that makes Sam's hair rise up on his skin, makes his mouth water, makes him hungry in a way he doesn't know whether he likes about himself.

“So, how do you wanna do this, Princess?” Charlie asks. He doesn't know where the nickname comes from, what she means by it. Part of him thinks he should be irritated by it, like he is when Dean call hims Samantha, the insinuation of something negative hiding just behind the joke. But it doesn't feel the same, the way Charlie says it. It's not meant to hurt, not meant as a jab. It's easy, like the rest of this has been. It's affectionate. There's something about the way she doesn't question her use of it that makes him wonder if she knows something he doesn't. If this is one of the things that his family has never taught him to speak about.

“However you want,” Sam says. He's not feeling like calling the shots right now, not with Charlie, not with how simple it seems for her to ask.

She thinks about it for a second, while Sam runs a hand over his cock, the touch electric as he remember that he hasn't been touched yet tonight, that the pleasure coursing through his skin is all just from touching her.

“Get down here,” Charlie replies, gesturing to the mattress, and they both shuffle to switch place, so Sam is the one against the headboard and Charlie can spread her thighs on either side of his hips and hover above him. “Been a while since I did it like this, too,” she says, and Sam puts his hands under her thighs to help support some of her weight, can't help but stare at the way his fingers splay out, under and around her.

Charlie has one hand on the headboard, right next to Sam's head, and one hand between her legs, three fingers fitting inside her easily, making sure she's still stretched out enough.

Sam holds his breath.

She lowers herself onto him, and Sam would say that it feels like a revelation except he's been trying to ban religious vocabulary from his life. He's met God and wasn't much impressed. This feels a lot better than that, profane and real and something he can both hold onto and drown in.

He's careful, so careful, letting her go slow, refraining from bucking up into her. It is delicious and agonizing, even more so when Charlie lets out a little sigh, shifting up then down again, accepting the whole of him inside her with what sounds like relief.

Sam lets out a whine, closing his eyes and flushing in embarrassment. He doesn't know how it got so intense, doesn't think he should let it go on like this, has no idea how he can let Charlie go after this. He doesn't know how he can bear the thought that she might leave forever, even after their conversation in the truck earlier.

Except this is too much, and Sam knows he will ruin the moment if he tries to cage it between his fingers. He knows his strength and how easy it has always been for him to kill everything he's ever loved. So he's not going to let this be anything like love, because it isn't. It's just two desperate people who need each other, in the absence of anyone else willing to look the cracks of their souls head on. It's two bodies finding a way to make the world more bearable, fighting to survive in it. It is two human beings that were just reminded of how easily loneliness can make a monster out of someone, and who are struggling not to let themselves fall into that trap.

It's Charlie raising herself up again, the walls of her vagina clenching and unclenching around Sam, the slow drag of her disarming in the intensity of it.

Charlie sinks back down, one hand now on Sam's shoulder, clenching unconsciously as she moves. He looks up into her eyes, notices her already staring and wonders what she sees, what she's feeling, if this is too much for her too, so much more than he'd bargained for when he had agreed to share her room.

Sam groans, and his hips rock up without him meaning too. Charlie just smirks, rotating her pelvis as she seeks out an angle she likes, and then she's moving up and down with intent, mouth falling slightly open. Sam can't bear the sight of that and so he surges up, takes her lower lip between his own and sucks, swallows a little sound of surprise, the neediness with which Charlie kisses back. He fucks up into her once more, and she presses into him, a sound rumbling in her throat almost like a purr. The hand that was on his shoulder moves to the nape of his neck, settling into his hair and pulling just enough that Sam feels his scalp tingle as he raises his chin.

“You don't have to take care of me,” Charlie whispers into his ear. There's something dark in the way she says it, a reminder that has some danger to it even though it stays away from being a threat.

Sam has many words on the tip of his tongue, wants to tell her that he doesn't have to but still wants to, wants to tell her that it's not because something will not break that you should handle it with no care, wants to show her that he can still be soft despite the calluses on his fingers from handling too many guns, wants to make sure she knows she deserves something sweet despite the scars littering her skin.

But Sam is weak. This is something that he has accepted, just like he has accepted being scared. In the face of all that the world requires of him, Sam will always be weak. It is part of what makes him human and so Sam lets the truth of it sink within his bones along with the Enochian sigils Castiel carved out so many years ago, and he lets himself be anchored by it.

So he listens to Charlie, uses the strength in his arms to push her up and bring her down, snapping his hips in the same rhythm, going deep, going hard. And Charlie keeps her hand in his hair, bites down on his lip, moves right along with him.

Maybe it's better this way. Maybe they both need tenderness too much for it to fit within this one night.

They find a rhythm and an angle that satisfy the both of them, and at that point they're not so much kissing as pouring hungry noises into one another's mouth. It's not in any way dignified, but it's good, it's mind-blowing and right in all the wrong ways.

Sam doesn't last. He's dismayed at the fact but not altogether surprised, and he brings a hand to Charlie's clit as feels his balls draw tight, hoping to bring her as close to the edge as he can while he start coming inside her, hips stuttering out of rhythm.

She laughs against his mouth, breathless and pleased instead of mocking. Sam closes his eyes as he chases the last overwhelming ripple of his orgasm, before he is forced to stop his movements, too sensitive to take any more.

Charlie is still rocking against his fingers, tiny jerks of her hips as she chases her own pleasure. So Sam slips out of her, replaces his cock with the fingers of his other hand. There is a moment when Charlie seems like she is about to fall, her muscles protesting the absence of Sam's hands to take some of her weight. Time seems to slow down as they teeter on that edge right before equilibrium is lost. But Charlie catches herself, takes control of her own body like Sam knows she had learned to do well before the Apocalypse, because her other self had acted the same way before Sam and Dean had intruded into her life.

(Sam his surprised to realize he no longer thinks of the old Charlie as his Charlie. It had never been fair, because she hadn't been his, just like the woman above him isn't, but that hadn't stopped his brain from latching onto the word. He is glad to be letting it go now, to set free the memory of a woman who died too soon, too much alone, and who did not deserve to be held down by the weight of Sam's guilt.)

Still, although Charlie has learned to rely on herself and protect herself from most threats, she shouldn't always have to. So Sam ignores her half-hearted protest when he takes his hands away and pushes her gently to her side. He ties off and discards his condom before lying back down and turning to face her. The way they're looking at each other could easily be too much if they talked about it. So Sam goes back to work, fingers slipping inside Charlie easily as she moves one leg to make more way. The angle probably isn't the best for her, and Sam couldn't keep it up very long without his wrist protesting, but with two fingers inside her, two against her clit, and Sam's mouth peppering kisses over the juncture of her neck, Charlie is shaking apart in a matter of minutes.

Sam looks at her face as she comes, watches her features tighten then go slack as her muscles give in to the wave of sensations. He waits until her pelvis twitches away from him before he gently pulls his hands away, his fingers slick from her arousal and the smell of sex hanging heavily in the air. Sam is tempted to just wipe his fingers on the bedsheet, but he knows they still have to sleep here. He grimaces and stands up, going into the tiny en-suite bathroom so he can rinse his hands at the sink, and gets a washcloth while he's at it.

“I do feel like a queen now,” Charlie says, lazily content as Sam carefully wipes away any trace of their activities from her inner thighs.

“I'm happy to be a service,” Sam replies. It's meant to be a quip, but comes out a little too honest, and something softens even more in Charlie's gaze.

Sam wonders what she thinks of him. He's used to feeling protective of her, the rookie hunter, the one he tried to protect from how brutal the world could really be. The other Charlie hadn't really warranted that attitude either, at least not after what happened to her in Oz. This one deserves it even less.

He wonders if she thinks of him as the one to be protected. After all, Sam has done and seen many things, but he has always had a world to fight for. Charlie hadn't been fighting for much more than survival, back where she came from.

She threads her hands in his hair again and, yeah, Sam can admit that this is part of the reason he keeps it long, he's not above that. She pulls carefully enough that Sam doesn't feel any real pain but is still forced to move up her body, letting the washcloth fall to the floor so he can put one hand on her cheek as he kisses her.

He's a bit surprised that she wants him to, because this once again feels like more than they had bargained for. This is just supposed to be one night of sex, just a pleasurable moment shared between their bodies. It's not supposed to mean anything.

“Stop thinking,” Charlie admonishes with a chuckle. “This is nice. Let yourself enjoy it.”

“I just...”

“We're friends, Sam. It's okay to cuddle a bit after sex.”

She uses a tone like she's talking to a four-year old, and Sam can't help but laugh at that, at this woman so much younger than him and yet who has so much to teach.

“Right.”

Sam moves away, but only so he can settle on his side and bring her close against his chest. Charlie does a little wiggle to make sure there isn't any space separating them and Sam sighs out all of the tension left in him.

They stay quiet for a long time, each lost in their thoughts.

In another life, they might have fallen asleep like this, but neither of them can find slumber that easily.

“I'm not like the fly monster,” Charlie says, cutting through the moment. It's strange how talking makes Sam a lot more aware of their respective nakedness.

He hums agreement, deep in his throat. They've already had this conversation.

“If I leave. I keep thinking about the musca and how it left its people behind. How the legends say it only happens to the bad eggs or whatever.” She moves away from his arms, and Sam lets her. Luckily, she only turns to face him, staring at him from eye level for once. “That's not what's happening here. I'm not leaving people behind because I'm bad.”

“Of course not. Charlie, if what I said made you think-”

“No, it's not you,” she shakes her head. “I know you didn't mean it like that. I mean... I mean that I've been fighting for a long time, now. I thought I had lost everything I could lose, and I kept going. And then I lost my entire damn universe, if you can believe that.” She chuckles darkly.

Sam doesn't feel like laughing. He would like for her to still be in his arms so he could just hold her tighter instead of having to find the words to comfort her.

“And I came here, and we all just kept fighting. Because it felt like all we had, like all we could do, I guess. This isn't our world. I think a part of us will always believe that we don't belong. So maybe hunting is how we find a place, is the way we earn our right to stubbornly cling to our survival.” She grimaces. “Fuck. I guess the fly monster metaphor does kind of work, in the end. Because maybe it didn't want to leave, maybe it didn't do anything to be cast out, maybe that thing just felt, in its bones or its exoskeleten or whatever, it felt that it didn't belong. So it left, and then it did everything it needed to to try and carve itself a place in a world that never felt like his.”

“Charlie...”

He tries to reach for her face, but she catches his fingers in hers, stopping him. He's bracing to be pushed away, but Charlie just lays their hands between their bodies, keeping them entwined.

“I'm not done. What I mean is, if I'm the musca, it's not for leaving. It's for getting here in the first place. It's for clinging to the fight, to the rules of that other world. I think I want to learn how to belong, Sam. I think I want to learn what it feels like to own my own life, to feel like I have something to protect.”

She looks at him, and there is something searching in her gaze, a question on the tip of her tongue.

But Sam knows Charlie, or a version of her anyway, and he knows that she isn't asking him to come with her. They don't have that kind of relationship. So he waits her out.

“You know you could still do it, right?”

And yeah, that line has been run through so many times that Sam should have expected. It certainly shouldn't have come like a slap to the face.

Sam closes his eyes and turns away, lying on his back.

He tries to tell himself that she doesn't really know him, doesn't know how many times he's tried, doesn't know how deep the hunt runs in him, how it sticks to every pore of his skin. But of course she knows him. This is why she's saying this. Because she see the places where they match, and Charlie has never looked at something broken and not given it a shot to fix it.

That is how the other version of her had started hunting, after all. That is how Sam and his brother had gotten her killed.

“Maybe,” Sam says to the ceiling. “I've tried before. It's always felt like running away to me.”

“What would be so wrong with running away from a life that's slowly killing you and everyone you love?”

There is so much bitterness in her voice. Sam hasn't been paying enough attention, if this is how she truly feels. He hasn't suspected, and how much of a leader can he call himself if something so big flies completely under his radar? He's been working himself sick trying to run the bunker and help everyone in it, trying to make a different, trying to let them be a part of something good, but if this is what they think, what result does he have to hold up to the light as he tries to fall asleep?

Sam doesn't want to feed the resentment in his friend, especially not in this moment that was meant to be sweet. He doesn't want to keep circling back to the dark thoughts he's had a thousand times before. He has made peace with his life, although it is not a peaceful one.

And this does not mean he begrudges Charlie for her desire. He could not and will not, because there is nothing more natural for him than the visceral feeling of wanting out. He does not want to see her leave. He will miss her, the other refugees will miss her, and the hunting world will miss her. But that shouldn't influence her decision.

“There's nothing wrong with it.” Sam doesn't turn to look at her, afraid that something on his features might betray his words. “There's nothing wrong with you,” he adds, because they were talking about the musca, at some point, that was the crux of the matter.

Maybe that's why she can take that decision and he can't, Sam thinks, ever unkind with himself. He doesn't say it aloud, because putting those kinds of thoughts into words give them power.

Instead, he finally shifts to his side again.

Charlie has her right arm folded under her head, bright red hair splayed over the pillow. She's still entirely naked, just like him, lying on top of the covers. It seems incongruous right now, in the context of this conversation. The motel room is warm, but they should probably still put on some clothes. There is both sweat and rain still drying on their skin.

Charlie looks beautiful and Sam knows about love and about letting go. And this isn't that kind of love, but he still cares about her. She makes that easy.

“There's nothing wrong with you,” he says, looking her in the eye, hoping that his features might reveal the depth of that truth, for once.

#Meeni writes fics #SamCharlie #Sam x charlie #Charlie Bradbury #Sam Winchester #hello I am in rarepair hell #also I am sorry for all the people looking for perks of being a wallflower content who have to deal with the likes of me #you are very brave

1 note · View note

randombtsprincessa · 5 years

Text

Bach Bencher

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Taehyung x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 7k

Genre: Fluff, Angst if you squint??, wholesome Tae!

Summary: The boy at the back of your class is an enigma.

Warning: Nothing! Just imagine Jungkook and Hobi dancing the mean girls christmad special!

A/N: Happy Birthday, Taetaebear! I hope you all enjoy this!

Jungkook’s loud question was the first thing to interrupt the peace your caffeine ravaged veins craved, early in the morning.

“Guys, guys, what are we doing for New Years?” He asked, fumbling between the benches to get to his seat – on the left of you. On your right, Jung Hoseok raised his head only to glare at your best friend.

“Dude, some people suffer from sleep deprivation, you know. Do us a favor and pipe down.” He said, before dropping his head down on his arm again.

Jungkook, unbeknownst to Hoseok, poked his tongue out at the older boy. “Spoilsport, but Y/N seriously, what are we doing?”

“Nothing, as of yet…it’s barely even New Year week?” You murmured, trying to take a sip without Jungkook interrupting the coffee ritual again.

He did, in fact manage to interrupt again. His hand shot out to grip at your wrist, halting the action of raising the travel mug to your lips to swig at the life saving elixir.

“But we have to do something big this time, I mean, we’re senior for god’s sake. We have to leave with a bang!” he said.

“Nobody cares how we go Jungkook,” Hoseok deigned to speak from beside you.

“Hyung,” Jungkook said, irritated now. “If you’re not going to join in, please keep the comments to yourself, yeah?”

“Oh I’m in alright,” Hoseok grumbled, propping up on his arm.

“How about we throw a party? The biggest new year’s party on campus; everyone in the class helps,” He said, looking around the small class of seniors who were – like you and Hoseok – practically dead in the head.

“Great idea, Mr. Jeon, how about we get off of the desk now, so class can commence?”

Jungkook turned around, cheeks reddening immediately as everyone woke up for Mrs. Shua, our teacher.

Mrs. Shua looked amused as Jungkook settled beside you. “Well, then how about it? Do we actually do as Mr. Jeon suggested?” she asked the class.

Jungkook slumped further in his seat.

“Um, you want us to do what?” A girl in the back asked.

“Organize one of the biggest parties on the campus. If it is anything good, I will give you some extra credit. Dare I say; most of you might need it in your semester?” Shua smiled again, flipping through her notes.

“Ma’am, you mean, actually organize this party?” I asked, stunned.

“Sure Miss Y/L/N; provided you all make sure to give your all for the exams shortly after. I will even sponsor the event if it gets you all above 60 percent.” She winked.

“Now then, I want to see your notes for the topic on your desks.” She turned to the board, chalk moving in hand.

Mrs. Shua’s announcement meant that by the time the class ended, each student was vibrating in their seats. Not only did the teacher sponsored event mean a night of careless partying, it also meant extra credit. No one was going to pass up that opportunity.

Since Mrs. Shua had clearly taken Jungkook’s name for the party lead, each student lined up near your bench, a pen in hand with all the names written down with all they were willing to do for the party.

“We’ll take the party spot.” Kim Seokjin, head of the frat house spoke up as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah sure, we’ll both take a look into it. The party spot needs to be finalized by us as well.”

Jungkook, Hoseok and you stared at Soojin and Seokjin, as if it was a tennis match. Finally when Seokjin agreed to let Soojin join him in the location finding, they both moved away.

“Ok, Jungkook and I will take the dancing, if you want.” Hoseok pointed to another check list and Jungkook nodded thoughtfully, marking a tick next to dance. His tongue poked in his tongue.

“So, we have food and decorations, dance and location taken care of. Y/N, will you take the music?” He asked you.

You shrugged, your eyes focusing on something else.

“Why is the number of your list less that the class roster?” I asked, pointing and running my finger down the list of student names.

“Someone didn’t take part?” Hoseok asked frowning when your eyes caught the name absent from the participants.

“Kim Taehyung,” you murmured.

Jungkook and Hoseok and you turned simultaneously, looking to the very back where the ever present but rarely present Kim Taehyung still sat, engrossed in his phone.

Kim Taehyung was the quintessential necessity to a class such as yours.

He was the boy who did the barest minimum in class to survive, pay attention only when direly needed, participating only when pointedly told to and in general be the wall flower that people basically forgot existed.

You sort of remembered seeing the boy during the early beginnings of the class, quietly huddled into himself as he looked at the teacher and jotted down notes like a regular students.

Now, of course even though he had grown in the last three years, his personality that only squinted at first, hid completely.

His head was always down, most likely in his phone and never spoke up – ever.

Mrs. Shua had given up on him somewhere around the second year.

The strangest thing was, he almost always was the one who scraped by those surprise points that made your eyebrows rise every time you saw his name on a surprising rung while you checked for yours.

The quiet reassurance that he would always pass had maybe just made him complacent, you’d decided one day. Naturally, since he never spoke to you, you returned the favor.

The boy had brains, you could tell. You just doubted if it was one you wanted to pick at a crucial point of your own education.

Nevertheless, when Hoseok refused to go speak to him, you courageously picked up the gauntlet.

Weaving your way past the benches with Hoseok and Jungkook’s curious eyes fixed to your back, you found yourself at the very back.

‘The very back’ was definitely a corner that nobody really visited. There were cobwebs, and dust bunnies collecting in the corners that the janitors ignored, some of the paint was peeling; the desks were more jumbled in this region.

You stood carefully, positioning yourself in a way that Taehyung couldn’t miss the hovering presence that you were clearly exuding. However, Taehyung managed to avoid looking up completely.

Head still bent down, he continued to scroll down scribbles that you couldn’t see from the dark display of his phone screen.

You bit your lip, finally deciding to clear your throat to attract his attention.

The small noise made him finally look up.

Maybe it was the enigma of his strange presence that had evaded every attempt of garnering interaction but your breath caught when his eyes found yours, quizzical.

“What do you want?” he asked, not unkindly.

“Um, hi Taehyung, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You introduced, using a bright voice to show open friendliness. You decided not to shake his hand, in case he thought of you too formal.

He only nodded in reply.

“Ok, well, so, you see, we’re planning a party for New Year’s. The biggest one of the campus so everyone can attend,” you told him.

He nodded again. “I heard,” he said.

Oh, so he does pay attention to what is happening in class…you thought idly before shaking yourself out of it.

“That’s great, so do you like want to work with me in the music department? We have Hoseok and Jungkook taking care of the dance, food and decorations and location was given away but if you want to work in those we can figure something out.” You proffered the signature page to him.

Taehyung looked taken fully aback for a split second before his face dropped into composure again.

“That’s all great, but no thanks. I’ll pass,” he looked down at his phone again as if the conversation was over.

What in the…?

“Excuse me,” you tapped a fingernail against the wood of his desk. “But you have to contribute if you want to attend,” you said.

Taehyung glanced at the offending finger before looking at you. Again, the same thrill ran through you when he met your gaze. “Sorry, Y/N, but I won’t be attending at all so,” he pointedly glanced at your finger.

You clutched the page in your hand. “But that’s silly,” You whispered. “Why wouldn’t you want to attend? It’s a full class party. You belong to our class, right? It will be stupid to miss New Year’s biggest bash. We’ll work hard too so it’ll be great. Come on Taehyung, come along, you always sit things out. Try attending once.” You pushed the paper across the surface towards him.

Taehyung looked positively annoyed now. His gaze had sharpened and he sighed sternly. “Fine,” he said grudgingly, lifting the pen you had put down and writing down his name last before getting to his feet.

You watched him stalk past Jungkook and Hoseok; who stared at him open mouthed.

“We can meet at the cafeteria in lunch for brainstorming.” You called loudly after him but he vanished out the door without giving any response.

Your best friends turned to gape at you.

“That’s right, boys. That’s how it’s done.” You smiled convincingly, not letting doubt bloom in you just yet.

Two hours later, doubt was running rampant through you.

You had told Jungkook and Hoseok to go ahead and use the dance room to come up with some numbers they could start with to get the party started while you waited for Taehyung to show up.

You never knew if Kim Taehyung actually showed up for lunch or not but you were now learning that perhaps that wasn’t the case. You sat in the farthest of tables, determined not to let the man slip out of your gaze but he remained a no show.

You looked down at your binder, trying not to feel angry. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing. He was probably a frightful introvert…and you had kind of forced him into this.

No, you stopped yourself from more berating. You had asked yes, you had been forward; you had tried to be nice. You wanted him to feel involved. Why was it so bad? Why was it so hard to just feel belonging once?

You shook your head, scribbling down some ideas for a Christmas – New Year mix and then looked at your phone.

You could call him, badger him some more…but you hadn’t remembered to get his number.

Maybe your incessant calling would put him off staring into the device so much. You chuckled at the thought before wrapping up, going to your next class.

The next day you showed up with a brighter and more forgiving disposition. Maybe Taehyung hadn’t heard you that day but today you made it a point to let him know that you would be expecting him at lunch. You spared no seconds, telling him the moment he walked in.

He looked at you, his glasses glinting as he passed you by to get to his seat before shrugging.

You took that as a dubious yes.

So imagine your anger when you had to sit alone – again – in lunch, your handle on your pen getting tighter and harsher until you threw it down completely and puffed out your cheeks.

This was ridiculous, you could probably do this playlist thing on your own but you had committed – hell, Taehyung had committed. How less of a self respect did you need to have to not honor that?

A saner person would’ve simply scratched Kim Taehyung from the bottom of the list, but you, well, maybe it was the caffeine, but you packed up your things, setting out to find the man of woes.

If he was set on being a hermit, you were determined to make him work.

Since Taehyung didn’t seem to be the type to eat out on the open grounds, you headed further inwards, visiting the empty lecture rooms and poking your head into the labs to see if he was cooped up in there.

Nope, zero signs of Mr. Evasive.

You wracked your brains. Where could a man who wanted to be alone in a bustling college possibly go where he would be disturbed by absolutely no one?

The light bulb that went on in your head made you bolt, rushing downstairs to head straight for the park.

Making your way through some of the overgrown shrubbery, you finally found him; sitting with his head bent over…a notebook…? – Near the small fountain that once attracted birds but now had run dry.

You slowed in your steps, watching him closely. Was it the natural lighting or did he always look like that?

Kim Taehyung was freaking beautiful.

You observed the angles of his face, soft around the jaw in muted fascination. His fingers stroked gently, the pen in his hold gliding over the page when you remembered your anger.

That beauty could wait for now.

“Hey, Kim Taehyung!” You shouted, stomping across to him.

Funnily enough, Taehyung jumped in his seat, looking around at you with his eyes wide and mouth open.

“How…how did you find me?” He asked when you reached him and you paused at the new softness in his voice, compared to the bored, sharp one he had used in class.

His glasses, the round black Harry Potter kind rested low on the bridge of his nose, making his face seem longer.

“I looked for you; that’s how. But my question is what the fuck, man?” I said my volume still loud.

Taehyung frowned, thick eyebrows furrowing before smoothening out. “You were waiting in the cafeteria.” He surmised.

“Yeah no shit Sherlock,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “Listen dude, I get that you want to stay the loner, ok? But I invited you, you got invited and you said yes to joining, to participating. If you really don’t want to just say the word and I will cut your name out but there has to be a better way of communicating than just not showing up, ok? It’s rude and I don’t appreciate you stringing me up like that.”

You finished in a huff, cheeks puffing while your chest heaved. You could feel the heat in your neck.

“Impatiens,” Taehyung said suddenly.

“Excuse me?” You asked.

The boy on the bench looked at you with small indications of a smile, tugging at his lips. “Impatiens, it is a good cure for feeling impatience with people’s slowness. It makes you patient,” He said, matter-of-factly.

The confusion created from that one sentence was so great that you dropped down beside him, shifting your bag on your knees.

“What is that even supposed to mean?” you intoned.

“It’s from Bach. He had flower remedies for various personal symptoms.” Taehyung said, looking straight ahead.

You looked at Taehyung curiously.

Bach…? Did he actually read up Bach and then give you advice? You wouldn’t have thought Kim Taehyung paid much attention to anything in life other than what was needed to keep him alive.

Well, seems like you were wrong…

You looked down to where his fingers still gripped the notebook. Surreptitiously, you slid it out of his hands. Taehyung started, turning to you and making as if he was going to snatch it back but you were already reading through it, holding it tightly.

Notes upon notes…nothing related to your subjects, instead focusing on ancient horticulture, about architecture, simple remedies and cures, music, fashion…

“Taehyung,” you said quietly, watching his hands drop back resigned into his lap out of the corner of your eye, “these are fantastic.” You said.

“Right, sure,” he snorted.

“No…you have so much knowledge…you know so many things. Why don’t you apply them?” I asked.

Taehyung sighed, finally looking up at you in that way, which has your heart irrationally skip a beat. His eyes, you now noticed were a warm mahogany reflected a bitterness not usually seen in the rest of your classmates.

“I can’t apply my knowledge, Y/N. I can’t do it because in the real world…it is absolutely useless.” He said or rather spat out.

You shouldn’t have, but you snorted anyway. “Surely you can’t believe that. You wouldn’t be writing these things down otherwise.”

Taehyung finally snatched the book back. “I write them down because it’s my passion to know things, to understand, to see them in a new way. Of course, nobody cares about how someone views anything differently. The world wants money makers, Y/N. That’s the truth and I am living it the best I can. This keeps me sane, so I do it while I study for a degree I could care less about.”

“What do you want to do then?” you asked softly.

Taehyung didn’t answer.

Instead, he shoves the book in his satchel and stands up. “It’s late, come on I’ll walk you home.” He said in a monotone.

You scrambled after him, his pace slowing so you could lead him to your small apartment complex right at the edge of the campus. The trip was silent, with both of you mulling over what you had said and in your case what you had learned about him.

“Y/N,” Taehyung called as you absent mindedly fetched your keys to the building door.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll help you with the party.”

You spun on your feet, mouth opening to ejaculate incoherent joy but he was long gone.

Taehyung kept his word.

The next day, he showed up with almost no ceremony, much to your surprise. It took him a few moments to get to you, keeping his head down before he was sliding into the chair across from you.

“Hi,” You said carefully, hoping to convey your genuine appreciation of him showing up.

Taehyung nodded. “Hi, shall we get started?” he asked.

You shoved the binder you’d been keeping notes in. You had named almost a hundred songs, enough to keep up for most of the night. People might request some songs to be repeated so it took care of that.

Taehyung sat with his arms in his lap, leaning forward as he let his eyes run down the listings.

“You already did the work?” he said, almost questioningly when his eyes spotted the bottom number. He looked confused for some reason.

“Well, yeah, you know you weren’t showing up so I just…did something around the first 50 songs. I did the rest last night.” You admitted.

He settled back into the seat. “I don’t understand; if you were going to just do the work yourself, why are you still waiting here?” he asked.

You blinked. “You said you’d come.” You said.

“Yes but,” he tapped the page, “You’re already done. Why wait for me?”

You shrugged, slurping at the straw of your chocolate milk. “It would’ve been rude to stand you up.”

Taehyung’s lips twitched. “Yeah, I can understand why you yelled at me last night.” He crossed his arms, still fighting a smile.

You couldn’t help but grin, placated that he was actually interacting with you. “Well, why did you show up then? I mean, you probably were just going to let me figure out the playlist while you sat there. Or did you actually have suggestions? We should add them.”

Taehyung grinned back now, a full rectangular smile stretching out his face adorably. “Well, it would’ve been rude to stand you up. Also, no, I think you pretty much got down all the popular hits. The most you could add are carols or classical covers and I doubt twenty something year olds care for that.”

“Uh, no…? Everyone loves carols, and I love piano covers.”

Your partner’s face was unreadable as he continued to stare at you silently. He looked away finally, “Then you’re probably one of the rare ones.” He said quietly.

Before you could argue he was standing. “Um, so if you don’t need me anymore, is it ok if I go?” he asked politely.

You nodded at him and he smiled quickly before walking away again, leaving you behind just as confused as you were when you first noticed him.

You didn’t see Taehyung again, not even on the last day before the party. You didn’t mind it this time. You had your songs; you submitted them to Hoseok and Jungkook promptly and glanced back at Taehyung’s empty seat.

Strange, you never knew Taehyung to ever miss a class.

Ok, so maybe you were much too curious about the boy. He was enigmatic, appeared mysterious yes, but he had done nothing to lead you on and you supposed you should cut your weird zeal to connect to him while it was in the bud.

Happily, the location was decided so everything was ready to go. Seokjin and Soojin’s war ended with the victory going to the sorority. The lavish party was going to be set in their mansion and you sighed in relief.

That takes care of at least the problem of having clean bathrooms. You decided not to think about what would contaminate those bathrooms surely.

“Taehyung didn’t come today?” Jungkook asked next to you.

You hummed, non-committal, focusing on the notes you were taking for Shua.

Jungkook shrugged, chewing his pen as he looked into you notebook to see a word. “Maybe he’s out celebrating his birthday. God knows he needs to get out.” He muttered – more to himself than you but your attention was quickly snatched.

“It’s his birthday?” You asked, your head whipping towards the boy.

“Uh huh, it’s on the student roster, remember?” Jungkook said.

You returned slowly to your notes but gave up your concentration.

It was Taehyung’s birthday, the 30th of December. He was only absent because he was probably doing that loner thing he always did on his birthday. Maybe he is out with what friends he did have?

You wanted to groan. Why did you care so much? What did it matter how Kim Taehyung was doing…on his birthday.

Although you shook yourself back to the course of the class, you knew you were going to pick up a gift and find him…no matter how much your rationale bemoaned the decision.

Keeping with your decision, you picked up the gift you’d already decided on in your mind and began the trek to his house. You hoped he wouldn’t think of you as unhealthily attached or just plain insane.

Of course, that didn’t stop you from knowing that there was something wrong with you.

Taehyung apparently lived with his family. It was easy to find his house in the small suburb sections. Your expectations of the house being simple were veered off course though.

It was a beautiful house. The outside was painted a sunny yellow, the door a simple white. Fencing lined the garden and innumerable flowers and plants lined the entire perimeter. The lawn was perfect and you knew would feel soft under your bare feet.

Carefully, you walked up the cobblestone path and raised your fist to knock before you could lose your nerve. It would be stupid to leave before giving him the purchase but you wondered if it would be less embarrassing if he laughed at you in the privacy of his home rather than in front of everyone at the university.

Before you could knock however, you were stopped by another sound. It was one you knew and loved dearly.

The tinkle of piano keys…

You listened as the soft tune played out before fading out again, the eruption of a child’s laughter interrupting the lull of the music.

“You brat; I’m not going to play for you ever again!” A louder, deeper voice yelled followed by more giggling, now from both males.

That was…Taehyung? The Taehyung who hunched and cooped himself into a shell…?

You couldn’t help it. You knocked.

The laughter slowed before stopping, the soft padding of feet on wood audible behind the door before it opened, revealing a very tall, very casual looking Taehyung, sporting an easy smile. The pretty smile faded immediately at the sight of, his eyes widening behind his Harry Potter glasses, mouth dropping open.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” he asked.

You looked down to where a small boy poked his head through the gap of Taehyung’s arm.

“Uh…hi,” you said.

Taehyung didn’t reply, waiting for an explanation.

“I just…learned that it was your birthday.” You offered before fumbling in your bag, pulling out the wrapped gift. “I thought you’d like this.” You said.

Taehyung was slow to reach out, his fingers hesitant in taking the gift.

“Why?” he asked, still suspiciously staring at you.

“Uh, everyone should get presents on their birthday.” You said. The sentence sounded more a question to you than an answer.

“Hyung, is she your girlfriend?” the boy piped up, looking between his brother likely and you.

“No, kiddo, I’m just a friend.” You answered for him, smiling widely and fluffing his hair. He was cute, and had the same smile as his brother.

The boy giggled before rushing to hide inside.

“Well, thanks, I guess. Do you want to come inside?” Taehyung asked.

It was obvious he was being awkward. You hadn’t taken his family into consideration before showing up and wondered if he was worried about his brother saying something.

“No, I think I’m going to go actually. I heard you play though, it was beautiful.” You said, already backing away from his door.

Taehyung didn’t look surprised at that, smiling and looking down at his feet.

“Yeah, I love playing. Makes you look differently at things, you know?” he said softly, not looking at you.

Your feet stopped as you stared at him, framed in the white door with the shy blushing smile.

“Yes, it does.” You said finally.

The party started at 8, the four hours before New Year celebrated with drinking, eating, having sex with whomever you could find and in general being young before real life crushed you again.

You grinned when you saw the decorations, red, white and silver tastefully decorating the outside space while the inside was an explosion of confetti, glitter and balloons. The frat and sorority went all out, it seemed.

Hoseok and Jungkook accompanied you; suits on which you knew would disappear as soon as they could manage it. You had deigned to put on simpler attire, the long asymmetrical dress, being practical and fun at the same time.

Of course, as soon as you crossed the threshold, the three of you were separated quickly. Jungkook and Hoseok took off to prepare for their dance performance while your girl friends grabbed you to get at least one drinks in you – complimentary before they were all on your head.

And even though…even though you knew…absolutely knew that there were slim chances of Taehyung showing up at the party, you looked.

However, when you found not even a sign that Taehyung was there, you returned to the party. You’d worked hard and so had everyone in the room to put this together. It would be unfair to everyone, especially your friends to mourn over the absence of the man who’d already told you not to expect anything from him from the very beginning.

It was enough to say the party rocked. You were sure Shua would be proud and that she would be giving everyone extra credit for the work they put in.

Hoseok and Jungkook began the dance routine with Michael Jackson numbers before ending it with the Mean Girls sequence. By the time it ended, everyone was clutching their stitches, laughing hard enough that two girls had to leave to avoid vomiting.

They exited the stage, back in their suits, minus the jackets – red and flushed.

“Well, then, ladies, I suppose you need these.” You handed them two large solo cups.

Jungkook grabbed his, downing it one. “I didn’t think that’d be so embarrassing.”

“It was gold.” You argued.

Hoseok rolled his eyes, much better at handling humiliation as he glanced over your head. “I can’t believe this. Kim Taehyung actually came.”

Your head whipped around so fast, you almost gave yourself whiplash.

Sure enough, it was Taehyung.

Sleek in a brownish suit, he seemed to be having some difficulty maneuvering through the throngs of the people. His glasses perched nearly at the tip of his nose as he peered about for a way to escape.

“Excuse me,” You mumbled, leaving your friends to help the poor boy.

Was it you or did he actually look taller in the suit? Maybe he was just not hunching.

“Tae,” you called; the nickname slipping off your tongue with staggering ease.

Taehyung looked up at the sound of your voice, slipping into a bashful smile at the way you reached for him. Your hand clasped around his – large and warm – tugging him over to a clearer space.

“Hello,” he said softly, looking about as if someone was going to catch him and scream.

“Hi,” you replied, much amused.

Both of you stopped to gaze around each other. However, there was nothing reluctant about the vibe he had around you anymore. If anything, he seemed…shy.

“I thought you’d said you wouldn’t be coming.” You said, striking the conversation first.

Taehyung nodded quickly. “I did but…well; I had to change my mind. It was boring back home.” He explained.

“Understandable, but didn’t you have family over?”

“Yes, but my aunt has a bad habit of drinking and getting…annoying.” He lowered a full register to his voice and you had to stop yourself from fanning your face.

“That’s great Taehyung; I’m glad you’re here.” You said.

“Are you here with someone?” He asked suddenly.

Your smile faltered. “What, no; why do you ask?” You asked.

Now it was obvious he was flushing. “Just curious, I didn’t recall anyone saying anything about bringing dates.” He said.

You stared at him in contemplation. Was it possible he was hinting that he wanted to ask you? Why were you nervous about that?

“Ok, um…enjoy the party,” you murmured, waiting to see if he’d ask you to stay with him.

With the same unreadable face that you’d learned of Taehyung the first day, he watched you back away without another word.

When would he come to you of his own accord?

As it happened, it wasn’t you who approached him again. As you skulked around the back where Jungkook was having a beer pong competition, you felt a familiar presence appear at your elbow.

You turned to smile up at him. “Bored, already? Want to go home?” you asked.

Taehyung didn’t answer immediately, watching Jungkook closely as he shot the ball and it flew right into a cup. Jungkook raised his hand up in victory.

“Not yet; I was looking for you. I don’t talk…to anyone actually.” He said.

“Well, you should’ve said something when I was leaving you back there.” You muttered audibly and Taehyung turned, giving you a close look.

“Y/N,”

“Why don’t you play for us?” You interrupted.

“…what…?”

“Play, Taehyung, play for us, anything, the folks would love some Christmas carols if you want to play those.” You said.

But Taehyung had gone stiff. “No,” he said, harsh and final.

“Oh come on, you’re a brilliant musician. People would love it.” You cajoled.

“I have never played for anyone but my family. You just heard me on accident.”

“Or maybe it was meant to be, it wouldn’t hurt to try Tae,” You attempted to put a hand on his arm but he pulled away – gently but the repulsion was clear in his stance.

“No, thank you. I had a good time; I think I should go now.” He said his stoic face melting back into that unbreakable mask.

“Taehyung,”

He didn’t turn around, leaving you to stare behind him. This time you didn’t go after him.

The next few moments were tumultuous. You felt hurt, rejected by the way Taehyung repeatedly shunned your attempts to get him to follow his passions. Irritation and anger raced through you at the thought of being embarrassed time and again and having your friendship left behind…along with your feelings.

Of course, that soon faded as horror at what you’d done followed soon after. You had been so blind in trying to make Taehyung accept himself so that he might accept you that you had continually tried to force the very same notion on him. That he needed to be something he didn’t want to be to feel belonging.

If you could, you would kick yourself as you began the slow search of trying to find him.

“Seokjin,” you gasped, clutching the taller man’s shoulders; that he probably jumped a mile, at your rough appearance in front of him. “Have you seen Taehyung?” you asked.

“Taehyung…? Yeah, Kim Taehyung; he actually showed up, I was shocked man. He just went through the backstage.” He threw a thumb direction behind him and you let him go, cautiously making your way to the back.

Didn’t he want to leave? Did he just want to be away from you? Would he let you apologize?

You had just stretched out a hand for the handle to the back room when a familiar tinkle of piano keys erupted again. You froze, mid step.

The Bach tune continued to flow, uninterrupted when you realized. Soojin had probably left the microphone set near the small upright in the backroom where the stage was set.

Taehyung was playing right into the mike.

Everyone could hear him play.

And sure enough, people began to slow then stop in their conversation, focusing on the complicated jangle of beautiful piano playing.

Even Jungkook stopped his game, looking into the direction of the backroom, eyes wide.

“Dude, who is that…? That was genius.” Seokjin broke out.

You couldn’t stop it. He reached around, grabbing the door handle and turned it, throwing the doors open for everyone to see the maestro who had played.

The music abruptly stopped as the pianist started, fingers falling jarring on the ivory.

Taehyung looked like a deer in headlights. His glasses were back on the bridge of his nose, emphasizing his big, wide eyes. His mouth worded unknown into space as he stared haplessly at Seokjin who looked equally freaked at startling the other boy.

Then…his eyes fell on you.

You couldn’t explain the feeling, the emotion that churned behind those warm brown eyes but then it was gone as he got to his feet, almost stumbling on his shoes as he pushed past you and Seokjin into the main room.

The crowd erupted, cheering for him.

Taehyung didn’t stand around to receive any compliments, ignoring the claps on his back and praise as he dived headlong for the stairs and vanished – with you hot on his heels.

You followed Taehyung into the first empty bedroom he could find.

He ignored your presence completely, flopping onto the bed with his head in his hands.

You paused at the doorstep, taking in his slouching figure, feeling worse than when you’d run him off. You shut the door gently behind him, lingering far away, trying not to spook him.

“Taehyung,” you sighed finally.

“Did you plan that?” He asked, quietly, without removing his head from his hands.

Before, you might have been affronted, but you said nothing, choosing to sign a soft ‘no.’

Taehyung looked up, his face haggard as he examined you. “I believe you.” He said.

“You do?” You asked, surprised.

“Yes, you might be overly persistent but I don’t think you’re cruel.” He said volume still low.

You blinked. “But I wanted you to play; I pressed you – against your wishes.”

“Yeah, I did say you’re persistent.” He leaned back, the mask of disdain back on his face that you now realized he donned to run away.

“Why don’t you just spit out what you really feel?” You asked, feeling snappish.

Taehyung didn’t answer for a full minute, “I don’t like to play because it’s putting a part of me on display to a world that doesn’t care. It will mock a major like me doing something like that and I’m insecure enough to know that I would rather eat chalk than listen to people who don’t appreciate truly beautiful things berate me.”

You walked over, sitting down beside him; mulling his answer.

“I don’t know if you were too panicked to notice but the people downstairs were not laughing at you. If anything they loved what you did. I was there, right out the door and you know I wouldn’t lie to you about this. You mesmerized everyone in that room. I mean, even Jungkook looked away from his beer game and he looked shell shocked. You were fantastic and people were cheering you for it.”

You smiled wryly.

“Try getting people to leave you alone after today.”

“I don’t care about the rest. There’s only one person I don’t want leaving me alone.”

You looked at him to find him diligently staring at the floor, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He looked like he was about to faint.

“Bet that took a lot for you to say,” You smiled, attempting to lighten his temperament. There was no telling; he might try jumping out the window.

“You have no idea. I think I might throw up. Run if I gag.” He muttered, glancing at you quickly when you snickered.

You waited till he was back to looking down before saying, “You know I meant it. They really loved it and were cheering you on. Nobody thinks you’re a freak or less than anything than who you are. I don’t either and I hope you know I really am telling the truth.”

“I know you are. I’m not that cut off from emotions, Y/N. They all sounded like my brother; I could tell they were screaming for me, not at me.”

You looked to the door.

“Oh god, we should go down! We’ll miss the ball drop.” You said, starting to stand when you felt something land on the edge of your mouth.

It took you a second to realize it was Taehyung – or rather Taehyung’s lips.

Your brain shifted to overdrive, hedging into faulty territory.

Turning to him, you allowed him to properly access your lips. You kept your eyes open, watching his being screwed tightly shut and brow furrowing. He pulled back after a few seconds of pressure.

He fluttered his eyes open, wide and slightly hazy as he focused on you. You stared back.

“Um, did I cross a line?” He asked, lowering his head like a reprimanded child. You had to smile at him.

“No, I’d be lying if I said I hated it.” You told him.

“But you didn’t like it, either,”

“I didn’t say that.”

Taehyung frowned at you in confusion.

“Would you believe me if I said that I might have been the one who actually wanted to do that?” You enquired quietly. Taehyung’s frown deepened.

“I wouldn’t, actually. What could’ve made you look at me like that? I’m not much special. I’m just struggling in existence.”

“You’re perfect to me, though. You have a beautiful mind and you drown me in it.” You stopped him.

His breath rushed out. “You really mean that,” He said in awe.

Deep brown orbs blew open behind his glasses as he stared at you as if you were the special one, not him. For many moments, you were trapped in that moment, in his gaze, he in yours as you both contemplated what this stretch of time could mean for the future. He dropped his eyes yet again, mask back on as he looked at the wall across. You yearned to reach out, to take his face in your palms, feel the texture of his skin against yours but you refrained.

He was fragile glass in this moment, one wrong move; one wrong touch could shatter what he was trying to build up.

“I…” Taehyung started, fading soon. You waited patiently.

“I really want to try…being with you…like a boyfriend but,” He gave you an agonized look. “I don’t know anything about it. I’m being honest; I have nothing much to offer to you. I can’t just change overnight – you know that. So I guess the choice lies with you. If you want to be with me, if you don’t…it’s up to you. I’m just saying, if you do choose me over everything then…just please, be patient with me. It’ll take me a while but eventually I think I can take you to a party and stuff.” He tried a smile that looked like he was in pain but to you he was still beautiful.

You nodded, both of you looking around when a large ticking and countdowns from ten started downstairs.

“So, what do you choose?” Taehyung asked, drawing your attention back to him.

You waited right until the crowd below screamed one before you let him know.

You kissed him.

The house exploded with cheers while the space between you and Taehyung slowed till nothing moved; the moment stretching on as your lips landed full on his mouth, coaxing him to move. He was frozen against you, a statue that had oddly burning lips which you relished in, tugging at the petals till he was groaning something unintelligible.

You pushed away from him, keeping your hands to yourself and a smile on your face, watching his own open after two seconds. He was fully red, flushed to his hair line.

“Happy New Year, boyfriend,” you teased, watching his eyes glimmer before looking down at your lips again.

“That felt nice. Better than I imagined,” He teased right back.

You grinned at him, heady. “With that attitude, you’ll be the life of the party you take me to.”

Taehyung shook his head at you, smiling as he leaned in again, gently placing his forehead against you, still unsure of his actions. “Happy New Year, girlfriend,” He pulled you back in for a kiss and this time, it felt like everyone was cheering for you two.

#taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #bts fanfic #bts fluff #taehyung scenarios #bts scenarios #kim taehyung #taehyung #bts #bach bencher

55 notes · View notes

undergroundkid · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Adios to tomorrow

You worked here long enough, so you should be used to it by now – people being total asses.

Especially the rich, spoiled asses.

You were already worn by explaining the old lady how the hotel restaurant works (it could be easier if she would just listen to you instead of interrupting all the time) and it was only 8PM. By the looks of it, the night would be long.

- Family from the 215 is in! – Yoonho announced to you with surprising cheerfulness; somehow he didn’t even sweat moving all the suitcases to the second floor. As always, spotless face and full smile.

- Great – you answered, your voice in opposing manner to his:- The granny from the couch needs help to 220.

He giggled like schoolboy; he was like one for you, most of the time.

- Shh, Y/N, what if she will hear you?

- She didn’t hear me first three times when I told her that kitchen closes at 11PM, so I assume she won’t – you grumbled, giving him the room card.

- Don’t be a meanie, it doesn’t suit you – he smiled in your direction:- I’ll be back in a minute! We will make it, Y/N!

Sometimes you were really thankful for Yoonho – he was a sweet boy. His optimism was infecting for sure, which was helping your everyday routine. Cracking jokes all the time, being reliable, giving you compliments on random occasions.. sunshine in a cloudy life.

But you can’t deny, on days like this – with hall full of people giving you shit just because they can – you wanted to punch this smile off his face. Which you won’t, cause you know it’s taking your silly frustrations on him. You’re grateful he’s gone, though.

Loud laughter from the group next to the door caught your attention; wonderful. Not even a second for yourself, you’re doomed to listening about Bali’s marvelous apartments. That’s real shit, not the ones here, you know? Who the hell even rent those? Pathetic.

You tried to swallow your irritation, remembering how the lads desperately tried to book the apartments not even an hour ago. Dicks, you almost wrote in registration documents.

Still, when the door opened once again, you smiled sweetly.

- Good evening!

The man who entered was wearing all black; shiny coat, some t-shirt and leather pants. Black hair was a little disheveled, thanks to the weather outside. His strode was confident and his presence intimidating. He slung valise over his shoulder and leaned against reception’s counter, looking around.

- Good evening – you repeated with less politeness. You scolded yourself, but couldn’t make your tone any better:- How can I help you, sir?

He finally looked at you, silver earrings dangling around his neck stopping its movement.

- Good evening, lovely madam – you were strong enough to stop your eyes from rolling, but he recognized the annoyed shift of your feet and smirked a little.

Great. Another overconfident jerk.

- Do you want to book some room for tonight? – you clutched to your stoic, work expression.

He dropped his valise, keeping his eyes on you and you couldn’t deny; it gave you shivers, not quite sure why. Guest usually treated you poorly or ignored you. Such attention is something you’re not really used to.

Right. It must be it.

- Actually, I already have a reservation here.. just a moment – he searched in his coat, but didn’t find what he was looking for. Quiet groan fell from his lips and before you could ask, he shrugged the coat off and started digging in his back pockets.

On his arms were multiple, dark colored tattoos. Some traditional asian work and few random pieces. It suited him well, looking as a natural part of his body. He surely wasn’t a typical client of your hotel; but his confidence didn’t make anyone question him.

He handed you his ID and dark card; oh. You know this.

- Hyungwon supposed to book the whole floor for us.. – he started to explain, but upon seeing the look on your face, he chuckled:- Looks like you know all the jazz, Miss.

You took the documents hesitantly. Well, the management booked the reservation from mysterious Mr Chae because he paid already (and paid good price), but you were unsure about whole ordeal. Why nobody question these people seriously?

This time you had the document, at least.

- So, Mr Lee..

- Just Jooheon – he leaned in, again looking straight into your eyes:- Please, I hate receiving such cold attitude from pretty girls.

Your body was faster than your brain and you didn’t stop yourself from giving him an upset look quick enough. Surprisingly, he laughed – a very natural, full laugh, showing off his deep dimples.

You casted your eyes downward in sudden embarrassment, feeling the slight burn in your cheeks.

- Just a second sir and I will open your reservation. Please wait.

- Take all the time you need, Miss. I am in no hurry.

Night shifts are definitely calmer than the day ones, but everything has its disadvantages. During day, the hotel is full of staff. At night? You’re almost alone. Yoonho stays late when there’s such a need only – big reservations or problematic guests. Sometimes he does it to provide you company because he’s such a cutie, but when management found out he’s not really working, his long hours were cut immediately.

Gotta think positive; you’re not stuck to the chair all night. When parents from 305 need new bedding, thanks to their wonderful kids, you’re the one who comes at their door with fresh bedclothes. A little walk will stretch your legs at least.

Looks like it won’t be the last route tonight. You’re surprised to find a a tray with lid left on your desk when you arrive back on the reception.

- Ah, the kitchen left it here – the security man answered your silent question. He was sitting at the lobby with today’s newspapers, taking care of possible guests coming while you were away.

You looked at the clock; right, it was slightly after 11PM.

You sighed and informed your coworker you will be back in a few minutes. With heavy tray in the hands and steps in the direction of the elevator, you couldn’t help the irritation that started to bubble inside you slowly. Seriously, the kitchen could fulfill the last request for tonight, it wasn’t that late – and now you’re stuck with it. The old lady from 220, no doubts.

You briefly took a glance at the small yellow note glued to the lid – Dinner to 401, thanks Y/N! XXX, your cooking mates

You had to read it one more time, neck stiffing suddenly; the first apartment’s guest, then. You clicked the 4th floor button and brushed fingers through your hair, making it look somehow more presentable. You were starting to get nervous, a little more with every floor, so when you get to fourth your heart was already beating loudly in your ears.

Calm down, it’s nothing new. Like the bedsheets with 305. You’ve done such stuff multiple times.

It didn’t help sadly, you noticed how sweaty your hands became while knocking at the door. The silence was almost overwhelming, starting to make you think if you should knock again or use it as an excuse and bolt the heck away; yes. Bolting away it is. You started to take a step back, when the door opened.

You were greeted with the surprised face of the man from earlier tonight.

- Huh? – with eyebrows high, making his eyes bigger than normal:- You’re working as the waitress too, Miss?

Well, almost. I am doing everything here.

- Good evening – you bowed your head and offered the tray:- Your order, Mr Lee. The kitchen closed already and asked me for help.

- And you helped, of course. Still calling me by surname, too – he shook his head. You weren’t sure if it was because of the first or second part of his answer.

You smiled politely; stay professional. That’s your way. You are in control of the situation.

- Please, come in –he opened the door wider, inviting you with his hand.

Or not, you thought.

You stepped inside the glamorous apartment. The lights were dim. Everything here were made of money and whispered thousands in all senses. Golden canopy, snow white sheets, lush carpet.. weak flowery scent, mixed with strong chemical aroma. That’s something new, what is this?

- You can put it there, the desk is stuffed as you can see..

That was true; although the apartament’s desk was big, provided for hard working clients, whole surface was full. You stole a glance at various items; random machines, some small colorful bottles, medical packages.

- I’m trying to organise a little – Jooheon explained, noticing your look and grabbed one of the bottles:- Working on the road means you carry shit with you, but I definitely have too much.

You murmured shy „sorry”, thinking you’re way too nosy, but he shrugged.

- No worries, Miss – his eyebrows wiggled teasingly:- I can see your curiosity. It started when I got here, right?

- What? – you deadpanned. Is that some weird start of his flirtation again?

- I saw how you looked at me – his answer came immediately, as if it was obvious. He took few steps in your direction, which made you freeze in your spot, but he just took the fork and digged one of the dumplings on the plate you brought:- Like a kid seeing the lion in the zoo for the first time, wasn’t it?

This is going in the wrong direction, you decided, so you shook your head.

- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Lee. I will excuse myself, hope you will..

- I also saw how you looked at boys in the lobby. Spoiled brats, I agree.

You shut your mouth quickly, feeling your thoughts spinning. What? Do I make my thoughts that clear with my face or something? Maybe I murmured some insults unwittingly?

He smiled a little at your expression, dropping the fork at the table.

- You don’t have to be so polite with me, Miss Y/N – came his sincere words:- Some people don’t deserve your respect. Especially rich bastards from the hall, who think they have it all just because they have enough cash to sleep here.

- Like you?

The question flew out of your mouth before you could think; you quickly covered your mouth, scolding yourself again. You lost control around this man and it will get you in trouble, no doubt. If he speak to your manager, you’re fired in the matter of seconds.

Surprisingly, Mr Lee laughed loudly, throwing his head back.

- Ahaha, you’re absolutely right! – he admitted:- Although, it wasn’t always like this. Makes a little difference.

He motioned to random stuff on the table.

- Thankfully, my art pays me well – his hands rummaged slightly through small machines, when it made sense to you.

- You are tattoo artist ..?

Brunet turned in your direction, just nodding. All chemicals hanging in the air were from disinfection tools, small machines actually tattoo guns. His confidence and visuals contrasting to hotel explained it perfectly. You got a feeling he was a kid raised in poor environment, but made to achieve greatness; you would like to think about yourself like that, too. Which is absolute nonsense, of course. You’re just a ordinary receptionist, who will be stuck here forever.

When you looked at him again, he smiled devilishly.

- Sit down, I will paint a little gift for you.

- I-I don’t..

- Come on, you brought the food even if you didn’t have to – it was a lie, but you didn’t have time to protest; he moved one of the chairs for you to sit on.

- You were nice, let me show you I can be too.

Jooheon started to dig in his belongings, clearly not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Hesitantly you sat on offered seat, not really understanding the situation, but not being brave enough to stop it. Even if you ran away, he still had the uppercard about your mean outburst earlier. Damn it, you seriously need to watch your mouth.

He sat opposite to you, startling you from your thoughts.

- Easy there – he chuckled, shaking some aerosol spray:- Give me your hand. Right one. And roll your sleeve a little.

You did as he asked, feeling his eyes on you all the time. You felt like a prey observed by a hawk. He took your hand in unexpected subtle manner though, switched your wrist veins upwards and sprayed the area. Strong alcoholic scent hit your nostrils immediately.

In silence, he prepared small can with black ink on a side, wore gloves and grabbed a tattoo machine; turning it on, the buzz sound echoing in luxurious apartment. It was way too harsh in such aureate space.

Wait, it meant –

- Hold on! – you took your hand back, careful to not touch the sanitized skin anyhow:- You’re gonna tattoo me? Like, for real?

You sounded stupid, that much was obvious by his face, but that were your first thoughts. Shit. Again. Talking before thinking.

- And what were you thinking?

Okay, now was a good time for honesty.

- I don’t know – came your answer, then you started to get up:- I am afraid I have to go, Mr Lee. Thank you for the offer.

- What is this? – he looked at you with furrowed brows:- You’re seriously gonna ditch me now?

- Well, it’s not like I asked you for it! – you snapped. Taking a deep breath, you tried to control your emotions; what is happening, for God’s sake? You’re usally composed, shitty guests not taking that much of a toll on you and you’re definitely more polite.

Karma comes back, you always told yourself. Treat other like you would like to be treated; hotel guests could be horrible, but they could be also pleasant. Their good nature were sometimes smashed by reality of business you will never understand. Actually, nobody knows what is in the head of other person. You know that, you lived by these values – it helped you come through everyday.

Why is this man turning you into such a mess?

- Huh, so that’s how it gonna be – he leaned back on his chair, with his equipment still in hand:- You’re gonna go back down and be a little, good girl, only dreaming to come out of her shell.

You shook your head, trying to calm the waves of coming anger. It’s ridiculous. You just came here to deliver the dinner, he’s the one with this bizzare idea of tattooing you in the middle of your shift. You don’t even know him. Is that machine safe?

- Okay – he shrugged, not getting any answer from you:- Don’t cry later about wasted chances, Miss. Looks like you don’t have balls after all.

Words still didn’t come out of your throat, disbelief almost choking you.

- Shame, really – tattooer sighed, then looked straight at you with a little smirk:- You could have it all, Miss.

Such simple words striked you straight to the pit of the stomach; he’s not talking only about this stupid tattoo. He’s talking about your whole life, Y/N.

I really could have it all.

You tasted the bitterness of regret on your tongue: the regret of breakup with your boyfriend, wasting your youth with working all the time, not having real friends, being stuck with your parents.. all these things danced in front of your eyes. Is this man pitying you? Or offering an exit of boring existence?

You wondered for a moment if there was some drugs in the air for making you feel like this. Looking at Jooheon, you decided it was his persona that must have stupefied you. His confidence, succesful lifestyle, evident good looks – maybe if things were differently, you also could achieve something.

You wanted it, the greed for a change excited you enough to send electricity through your whole body.

You sat again, offering hand to dangerous man ahead of you.

He didn’t say anything, but smiled in satisfaction. Taking a grip of your fingers, stronger than before, he started the machine again.

- So, what will you paint?

He hunched slightly, giving you a dark look. You curled your toes unconsciously, but somehow it looked like he knew. His dimples gave him a sweet vibe, in harsh opposition to his hungry eyes. For what? Scarring your skin as a first to ever do so?

Or just for your obvious innocence?

Heat started to make its way to your face by just thinking about it. Atmosphere changed to more intimate, which clearly made you flustered. Jooheon though took a comfort in it and winked at you:

- You will see, Miss.

thank you for reading

< previous

next >

#My writing #shangri-la fc #monsta x fanfic #monsta x reader #monsta x imagines #jooheon imagine #jooheon x reader

10 notes · View notes

inmyownlittlecorner5 · 5 years

Text

Moonlight Chapter 20: Magdalene

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 20/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Nineteen+

Chapter Twenty-one+ >>

Severus paused at the top of the steps leading into St. Thomas’s Church and exchanged a glare with the green copper head of a wild man that stood guard over the door. He tugged at the sleeve of his dark gray suit, agitated that it was not nearly long enough. In spite of Mr. Frost’s insistence that Muggle clothes became Severus far better than the ‘damned clerical dress’ that was his usual attire, Severus hated wearing them. They reminded him of all the days of his childhood that he had spent in clothes from Cokeworth Priory's charity bin that had neither matched nor fit. It wasn’t as though his father had been unable to afford proper clothing for his son. Tobias Snape had never paid for anything that he could get for free. And he had been very good at getting things for free. Ever since Severus had attained his majority, he had taken all of his clothing, magic and muggle alike, to Mr. Frost, Cokeworth’s venerable tailor. The man was free with his opinions about Severus’s sartorial sins, but he did good work and he was far more affordable than Madame Malkin’s or Twilfitt and Tatting's in Diagon Alley.

But the christening of the Lee child was to be held in this Muggle church, and so Muggle clothes it had to be. The brass knocker dangling from the wild man’s mouth was rough and heavy in Severus’s hand, and he was once again plagued by the indecision that had been troubling him all afternoon. A fit of good humor had addled his brains after his pleasant excursion to Romania, and he had accepted the Lees’ invitation to the event. He hated changing plans once they were made but, the closer the actual day came, the less his mind dwelt on Miranda and her smiles, and the more it dwelt on everything that could go terribly wrong. Being caught in a church with his Muggle-born lover and a slew of Muggle-loving purebloods would not do much for Severus’s precarious reputation among the Dark Lord’s minions. Not that it was terribly likely that any of those minions would cross his path today in this church or at the Embassy afterwards. He had gone to Spinner’s End to change after his classes, rather than risk leaving Hogwarts dressed as a Muggle, and had lost some time taking a circuitous route from Spinner’s End to St. Thomas’s in an attempt to ensure he was not followed. Beyond going home now and forgetting the whole thing there wasn’t much else he could do. With a sigh that was equal parts irritation and resignation, he jerked the ominous door open and took his decision.

“Bless my soul, Severus, you did come!” exclaimed Molly Weasley in a loud whisper.

She appeared from the shadows of the dimly lit church. It was late afternoon on a lethargic, cloudy day, and the flickering candles grouped around various pictures and statues provided more light than what managed to filter in through the windows. For a terrible moment he was sure that she was going to attempt to embrace him, but thankfully she stopped short and her outstretched arms dropped to her sides so that her hands might fidget with her bag. She looked a mess, her dress a clash of patterns and colors that had no business being seen in the same room, let alone on the same person. There was a reason that Severus stuck to black and gray.

“Molly,” he said shortly, barely inclining his head to her.

“It’s so good to see you somewhere outside of a meeting about You-Know-Who or a meeting about one of my children making trouble,” she went on bravely.

“Indeed.” Merlin, how long was this tête à tête going to last? “I was under the impression that Arthur would be here as well.”

“He should be along any minute once he finishes up at the Ministry. Did you have a nice day at school?”

“Not particularly.”

“That’s a shame. I hope it wasn’t one of my children’s fault.”

“No more than it is any other day.”

“Aren’t Aaron and Rachel lovely people? They’ve come by for dinner a few times and it’s so sweet to see a nice young couple right at the beginning of starting their family. Makes you nostalgic, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Her eyes widened and she started laughing. “How silly of me, of course you wouldn’t know. Yet. Arthur tells me you have a friend that you’ve been hiding from everyone and that she’s quite a catch. Maybe you will know before too long.”

Severus was starting to feel dizzy from Molly’s chattering and, worse, the back of his neck was getting hot the way it did when he was particularly embarrassed. He had a strong desire to turn up the collar of his coat and he wished that he had left his hair down instead of tying it back. All of his usual masks were gone in these wretched Muggle clothes, so he made do tugging at his sleeve and glaring at his companion.

“I hope that Arthur was not remiss in explaining to you the dangers both to Miranda and to myself if you were to repeat that nonsense anywhere, even to our allies,” he said coldly.

The effect was instantaneous. She stopped laughing, the smile fell from her face, and the intelligent woman who sometimes hid behind the facade of the doting mother revealed herself.

“I understand completely,” she said seriously, putting a hand on his arm. “And while I’m sorry that things have to be this way for you, I am happy to know that you find other things to do with your time besides disciplining students and risking your neck. Your secret is safe with us.”

She gave his arm a brief squeeze that he supposed she meant to be consoling, and released him.

“I am aware that you and Arthur are capable of keeping a secret,” he allowed.

They lapsed into a silence that lasted long enough for her to return to fidgeting with her bag and him to wonder if he would fray the hem of his sleeve with tugging on it. He would have been perfectly happy to remain silent until the others arrived, but he was concerned that Molly would not allow such a thing to happen. In an effort to avoid speaking any more about his friend, he attempted to think of some topic of conversation, but neither magical tactics nor the behavior of potions students seemed quite the thing for the occasion.

“How did you meet her?” Molly asked abruptly, returning to the unfortunate topic.

Severus could feel his eyebrow start twitching. “By the caprices of fate.”

Thankfully he was preserved from having to continue that explanation by the noise of the door opening and the arrival of the rest of their party. Both he and Molly turned at the sound, perhaps equally grateful to be rescued, and Molly was halfway across the church to meet the group before Severus could blink. Amidst the tumult of embraces, introductions, and the crying infant, Severus took the opportunity to drift up the aisle, making a show of studying the stained glass pictures in the windows as he worried the hem of his sleeve. The sun outside made a feeble attempt to break through the clouds, and the rich colors of the glass responded with a pleasing glow. Judging by the obscured, but undressed figures and the riot of animal and plant life, it depicted the Garden of Eden. He busied himself picking out the various flora in an attempt to ignore all of the doubts that were creeping to the fore of his mind.

“You look nice,” Miranda said, her light step coming to a stop next to him.

She was near enough that he could feel the warmth of her body, but she did not attempt to touch him. He looked from the window to her and, from the blush that pinked her cheeks when he did, he rather suspected that his own face was betraying how pleased he was to see her.

“And you appear to have recovered from your illness,” he replied.

“Now, I already admitted you were right. I don’t think I should have to keep stroking your ego.”

“But it makes me so agreeable when you do.” Her flaring temper amused him, as usual, and he could not deny even to himself that at that moment he didn’t give a damn if all the Death Eaters in the Dark Lord’s army burst into the church and caught him.

“I don’t think you’d know agreeable if it bit you.”

“Fortunately I have you to explain these things to me. And perhaps I merely commented on your appearance in order to admire it.”

This won him a smile, and, as the others were busy settling the child and speaking to the priest, he allowed himself the indulgence of returning it with one of his own. The sun outside the window continued its mission to break through the clouds, drawing his eyes back to the image.

“There is a fascinating mix of plants in this window,” he observed.

“Is there?”

“Yes. There are chamomile and comfry tangled together with belladonna and cicuta. I had thought that this was supposed to be a picture of paradise, but perhaps it is some other strange, Popeish thing.”

“No, it is the Garden of Eden. But it’s before the Fall.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Before the Fall, all of the plants were helpful and benevolent. It was only after that some became deadly. Or, that’s what my brother Columba used to say.”

“I see.”

“I’ve always wondered what those sorts of plants were like before. What sort of good use they might have been put to.”

“Interesting question.”

Footsteps approached and a well-dressed but obviously sleep-deprived Aaron interrupted their conversation. His face was haggard enough that Severus decided not to glare at the new father when he gave Severus’s back a friendly slap.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal Miranda for a while, Severus. Thanks for being here,” Aaron said.

“Of course,” Severus replied.

He followed the Americans to a small alcove in the back of the church where a pair of clerics and the rest of the company were waiting. Severus fell back to stand behind Molly, the other extraneous person in this business, and his height enabled him to observe the rite from that spot. A pale but lovely Rachel cradled the infant who was all but swallowed up in a voluminous gown of satin and lace, and the efficient, owlish priest began intoning Latin texts with a rapidity that bespoke his understanding. At first Severus took the trouble to translate the words to himself but, before long, the rhythm and the quiet lulled him and his mind began to wander.

During his childhood, Severus had gone to service most Sundays, morning and evening. As Tobias had refused to darken the door of Cokeworth Priory, unless it was to receive some embarrassing form of charity that the Snape family did not actually require, this had been a welcome escape for both Severus and his mother from Tobias’s mercurial temper. Severus had found the morning service to be tedious, especially when it was interrupted by overlong and circular sermons, but he had found Evensong to be much more pleasant. There had been something about the way the afternoon light would break into the run-down church. It lit up the sad, neglected space, making it seem clean and otherworldly—almost magical. Sometimes, if they were lucky, Tobias would be gone when Severus and his mother returned home, and they would spend the rest of the evening together. Those were the times when his mother had given him the most attention, and he had held those moments close during the long hours and days when she had none to give. If he were asked, he would say that he had seen too much evil in the world to believe that God and Christianity were anything other fables and fairy stories, but he did remember the peace of those Sunday afternoons with something that bordered on fondness.

That same magical afternoon light broke through the clouds now, and came slanting in through the windows of St. Thomas’s, haloing the infant, her tired parents, and Miranda in its radiance. As Miranda held the child over the font, her face displayed an open, honest joy that made Severus’s breath catch to see.

“Magdalene Tokoyo, ego te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spritus Sancti,” the priest murmured, pouring three measures of water over Magdalene’s head.

The infant blinked, as though surprised, but did not cry. Silence really was the order of the moment, and Severus found that he could recapture that fleeting feeling of peace that he had experienced during Evensong, far from his tormenting father. He could forget for a moment about the Dark Lord, and Albus, and the war, and Potter, and all the rest of it. He could just be.

*****

“Eh, you’ll be in the same boat soon enough, Severus,” Aaron observed between puffs of smoke. “It’s only a matter of time before…”

“Before what?” Miranda interrupted as she came out onto the Lee’s charmed porch. It was a nice piece of spell-work, just worn enough to seem real. Aaron, Severus, and Arthur were seated in the group of well-used chairs that looked out over the white painted wood and onto a lawn that was a replica of Aaron’s childhood home. The false sun had set, and the sky was a hazy grey as the stars started showing their faces. There was even a breeze of sorts, and it was easy to pretend that they were not far underground. Aaron’s face was jovial and pink, Severus was giving the man a narrow glare, and Arthur was staring up at the slow-turning fan on the ceiling of the porch, apparently trying very hard not to laugh. Miranda raised her eyebrows in order to give Aaron the ‘you’d better quit while you’re ahead’ warning.

“Oh nothing. Nothing at all,” Aaron hedged, offering Miranda a cigarette.

“No, thanks. I’ve been sent to collect Severus. Rachel wants to thank you for the present you gave to Maggie.”

“That would be preferable to continuing this conversation,” Severus said.

He rose silently and followed Miranda into the living room, both of them pretending not to hear the laughter that erupted from Aaron and Arthur as soon as they were off the porch. Rachel and Magdalene were snuggled together in the rocking chair and Molly was cleaning up the wrapping paper and dirty plates. Severus’s offering was currently floating above the sleeping baby; a rotating mobile of animated figures on silver strings. The figures went about a soundless play of a young woman slaying a sea serpent at a stately pace.

“Severus, thank you,” Rachel said, her tired face serene. “It was so nice of you to come and to bring this for Maggie. Wherever did you get it?”

Miranda could see the tips of Severus’s ears pinking and he cleared his throat before answering.

“I made it. You can change the scene as well, thus,” he explained.

He flicked the top of it with his long fingers, and the players transfigured into a new set. Now there was a young woman, flying up to the sky in a chariot of flowers.

“A nicely done piece of magic,” Miranda said, moved that Severus had taken so much trouble. “I had no idea that you made children’s toys.”

“It is not my habit but, as I did make one for Draco Malfoy on the occasion of his christening, I thought it would be acceptable to do as much now.”

“Draco Malfoy’s christening?” Molly asked. “What was that like?”

“Obnoxiously loud and insufferably crowded. Not at all like today.”

“I assume you didn’t put scenes from Japanese fairy tales and the Tenchi on Draco’s mobile,” Miranda said.

“No. Constellations. I thought it best not to depict the Miss Lee’s actual namesake. Rachel, I have no idea why you would choose to name your child after a woman who was murdered by being hung upside down in a vat of refuse.”

Rachel laughed. “Catholics sometimes make little sense to people who aren’t Catholic. But there are many martyrs with more gruesome deaths.”

“Besides,” Molly added, “you invoke a martyr to prevent whatever happened to them from happening to you.”

“It still seems macabre to me,” Severus insisted.

“It’s important to give expression to all sides of the human condition. And Magdalene is a lovely name,” Miranda countered.

“I never said that it wasn’t,” Severus protested.

“I’m afraid it will be a while before I’m able to finish the translations of that potions book I mentioned,” Rachel said, stifling a yawn.

“I quite understand. I look forward to when you are able to complete it, but I am aware that you have other demands on your time,” Severus said. “I do not have much reference for judging, but you appear to have produced a fine child. She has all of her limbs and seems able to eat and cry.”

“Why thank you. She cries especially well at night.” Rachel was not able to stifle the next yawn.

“So I see. I shall take my leave of you then, before those festivities start. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“And thank you for being here. I’m sure I’ll be back to normal one of these days. Maybe three years or so from now.”

He gave Rachel a short bow and Miranda accompanied him out of the room, amused by his gruff kindness to Rachel. But Rachel was a woman who made it easy to be kind. When they reached the door, his eyes darted about the room briefly. It was empty, and his kiss was surprisingly tender, but his expression when he pulled back was dark, as though he were thinking of something unpleasant.

“You are staying here tonight, correct?” he asked.

“I am. Tomorrow night too. Maggie doesn’t like to sleep unless someone is rocking her or walking with her, so I’m going to take a shift to give Aaron and Rachel a chance to rest,” Miranda replied.

“And you are meeting with Lucius tomorrow?”

“Yes. But don’t worry, Arthur will be there right on time to escort me away.”

He frowned and started tugging at the sleeve of his suit coat. “You should know that Lucius is fully aware that Black is not in Romania. He doesn’t know what you are doing there, but he is certain that whatever it is, it is not his bidding.”

Ah, that must be why Severus was acting so seriously. Miranda was touched by his concern, but she’d been handling Lucius Malfoy for the better part of a year now. She could take care of herself.

“Well, the Aurors are doing a pretty good job of watching my family. It may simply be time for me to cut ties with Malfoy. We’ve had a good run.”

His frown deepened and he traced her cheek with his finger. “Do try to be careful tomorrow. Lucius is not to be trifled with.

“I know. You warned him about me months ago.”

“I did, but sometimes warnings seem to go in one of your pretty ears and straight out the other.”

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow evening for supper? You can sit up with me while I rock the baby and we can hold hands like a pair of love-sick teenagers.”

This wrung a smile out of him, and he replied haughtily, “I have never been a love-sick teenager. I was born at the age of forty-five. But I will come, if only to hear about the afternoon’s disaster.”

“And to give me my birthday present,” Miranda reminded him.

“Yes. And to do that as well.”

*****

“Good day, gentlemen, it’s been entertaining. Papa will send over the exit papers tomorrow,” Miranda said as she sailed out the door, shutting it in her former employers’ sputtering faces.

Her heart was pounding in triumph, although she knew Papa was going to give her an earful. He’d understand though, he’d been at this long enough to know when a job was sour. Albus might be angry as well, but he’d just have to deal with it. She was doing enough for the Order in Romania that he’d better be happy with that.

The meeting had been unexpectedly short and Arthur wasn’t there waiting for her. The lift was out of the question at the moment, for she was far too jittery to be that confined. The stairway was deserted when she reached it, and her boots echoed off the ceiling as the torches flared to life and helpful signs on the walls chirped at her to watch her step. She was nearly to Arthur’s floor when she heard another set of footsteps on the stairs above her. Their rapidity and haughty sound told her they were Lucius’s. She quickened her step, but did not run, and she was not surprised to find the door leading out of the stairway locked. With a bored expression fixed on her face, she turned to watch Malfoy descend the final flight of stairs.

“A moment, Miss Rose,” he sneered.

“Mr. Malfoy, I think we’ve said everything we need to say to each other. I’m no longer in your employ, you may wash your hands of me and my behavior.”

He halted an arms length from her and his height forced her to look up at him.

“I don’t think you understand,” he continued. “You are meddling in forces that are far larger than Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry.”

“I think I understand plenty.”

“All the more reason that you should watch your step. You are still my pet to do with as I like.”

Only the knowledge that whipping out her wand and hexing Lucius within an inch of his life would bring down a host of Aurors and mountains of paperwork kept Miranda from doing so.

“Mr. Malfoy, I think we both know that I can kick your ass any time, anywhere. When you’re ready for a rematch, you just let me know and I’ll be happy to oblige you. And this time let’s say that the Unforgivables are on the table from the start. I think a nice round of Crucio followed by a quick Avada is just what you need.”

He grabbed her chin the way he had the night of his Christmas party, and Miranda decided she’d had enough. The way that his face blanched in surprise and confusion when the barrel of her pistol hit his chest was worth all the trouble of the day. He stared at it stupidly, and then let go of her chin to retreat a few steps.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now if you have anything further to say to me, why don’t you do it from right there.”

“If you think that Severus won’t hand you over when the time comes, you are sadly mistaken. And he will be the first in line to torture you when it comes to that,” he said, his voice shaking with rage.

She laughed harshly. “Do you think you’re telling me anything I don’t already know? Of course he’ll hand me over. I’m nothing but his plaything. All American women exist for the sole purpose of fulfilling the sexual fantasies of repressed Englishmen.” She cocked the gun and aimed it at his nether regions. “Go back upstairs, Mr. Malfoy. Before I get really angry.”

“You wouldn’t dare! We’re in the middle of the Ministry of Magic!”

“You sure you wanna try me? I do this for a living. I can get rid of you in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and no one will know where to start looking for the pieces.”

Lucius glared at her, but continued his retreat. When he reached the landing, he turned and started stomping back the way he had come. The door behind Miranda unlocked itself, but she kept her gun in her hand until she was safely through it. Just as she was closing the door, she heard Lucius’s parting shot from above her.

“I am going to thoroughly enjoy your demise, Miss Rose. I promise you that.”

*****

“Sit down, Miranda, your pacing is making me dizzy,” Severus complained that evening. He was sitting on the sofa in the Lee’s homey living room, reading Coleridge aloud while Miranda paced with the sleeping Lee infant in her arms. The constant movement was distracting Severus from sorting the many thoughts twisting through his mind into appropriate categories in a vain attempt to pretend that he was in control of the situation. He knew he must bring up a terrifying subject this evening, before Miranda returned to Romania, and he found that he would prefer a meeting with the Dark Lord to the current situation.

“I’ll try, but I’ll probably be up again in five minutes,” Miranda agreed. She lowered herself into the rocking chair smoothly and Magdalene remained asleep. After the two of them were settled, she added, “You should have seen the looks on Malfoy’s and Fudge’s faces when I quit. I’ve never seen that particular shade of purple.”

Severus snorted. Although he would rather not deal with this new complication, part of him did wish that he had witnessed the scene in the stairwell. It was not often that Lucius met someone willing and able to stand up to him.

“I suppose it was impossible for you to continue playing that game any longer. I wish that I knew why Lucius is so sure about Black’s whereabouts. The idiot must have left cover when he well knows he is to remain indoors at all times.”

“What’s Black like? I’ve been pretending to hunt him for so long that I feel like I ought to know him.”

“He is a disgrace of a wizard and I do not wish to discuss him.”

“Sorry. We can talk about something else. I hear you have a birthday present for me.”

Yes, the present. That was by far the more comfortable topic. He was more than willing to postpone the other, even if this show of sentimentality on his part embarrassed him almost as much. He cleared his throat and pulled a small black box out of his pocket.

Eyeing Miranda’s full hands, he said, “Perhaps I should do the honors.”

“Please do.”

As uncomfortable as he was, he could not deny the warm rush of pleasure that went through him when he opened the box and saw her reaction to the tear-drop filigree necklace that waited inside of it. A lovely line of pink spread over her cheeks, her lips parted in surprise, and her eyes became the soft, calm gray of the sky after a storm.

“It’s beautiful.” She smiled up at him and added playfully, “Although Mama would say I have no business accepting jewelry from men.”

“I assure you that this is purely a practical present.” He hung the necklace lightly around her neck so as not to disturb the infant. It was a handsome piece of frippery if he did say so himself. He’d passed it in the village near Miranda’s cabin several times before finally going back to purchase it. With a few well-placed charms it had become the perfect vessel for the real gift he had made for her.

“Oh? I see, there must be a potion inside of it. Is it a new one?”

“Correct on both counts. A Stasis Potion.”

“What does it do?”

“The next time you decide to get yourself maimed, you will drink it and it should keep you alive long enough for you to find further help.

“Should keep me alive? I don’t remember volunteering to be your test subject.”

“One of the hazards of keeping company with a Potions Master. I have tested it and it shows great potential.”

“Potential?”

“Being as you should only take it in a dire emergency, you will have nothing to lose should it fail to work. Of course, if you don’t care for it, you needn’t keep it. I am certain I can put it to another use.”

“No,” she said quickly, putting a protective hand over the pendant. “I love it. All of it. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He leaned down to kiss her but, before he could make contact, the infant started fussing again, requiring Miranda to resume her pacing. Reluctantly, he reclaimed his spot on the sofa and opened the book. His agitation returned full force as he fidgeted with the pages without starting to read. Aaron’s off-handed remark from the day before had been plaguing him, as it had brought on the realization that he had been careless in the extreme. Carelessness was a trait that Severus despised and one that he could ill afford. Much as he dreaded the next topic of conversation, he knew that it was as unavoidable as it was tardy.

“You should keep reading,” Miranda said. “I think your voice was helping Maggie stay asleep.”

Best to get on with it before the infant started squalling again.

“There is something that I need to speak to you about first,” he began. It was good that he had left his hair down tonight. He could already feel his ears growing hot.

“If it’s about Malfoy, I know that you’ll hand me over to the Dark Lord if you have to. I understand.”

“That’s not at all what I was going to say. And I would not give you to the Dark Lord.”

“Yes you would. If your cover depended on it, you would do what you had to do.”

“I should think that I am clever enough to avoid doing that if at all possible.”

“I know that too. I just wanted you to know that I understand that it’s a risk.”

“Now that I have your permission to sacrifice you, would it be quite acceptable for us to discuss a more pressing difficulty?”

“More pressing? What might that be?”

“It has come to my attention that we have not been terribly cautious in our relationship.” Not his best opening.

“I’ve never been cautious in all my life. So?”

“I don’t think you take my meaning. I was referring particularly to the carnal aspect of our relationship.” She blinked and bit her lips, and he knew she wanted to laugh at him. “I mean to say…I am concerned that long term consequences may develop…or may already be developing….”

Mercifully, she interrupted him, although she couldn’t quite keep the laughter out of her voice. “Severus, are you asking me if I’m pregnant?”

He was almost pathetically grateful she’d said it for him. “Yes, I am.”

“It’s a little late to worry about that, don’t you think?”

Did that mean she was? “Be that as it may, there are plans that need to be made. I cannot think of a worse time for such an event, but that is all the more reason we should deal with it purposefully.”

“I see you have a plan.”

In an attempt to manage his discomfort, he stood and paced over to the fireplace, tapping his fingers irritably on the mantelpiece. The figures in the framed pictures perched on it were whispering and grinning at him, but his stern glare sent them back to minding their own affairs. His eyes drifted down to the merry jumping of the flames and he forced himself to continue.

“I always have a plan. There is no escaping from either your current obligation in Romania, nor can I leave my position at Hogwarts. I will explain the situation to Albus and I am certain that he can be persuaded to spare us a member of the Order to help you and to ensure your and the child’s safety. Once you are free of your blasted mission, you will return to your family in America and stay there until the problem of the Dark Lord is resolved. We should also get married sometime before the child is born, but I expect that you will have some opinions about how that is to be accomplished.”

“You’ve really thought this out, haven’t you?”

“I was remiss in not thinking of it before. I hope never to be so incautious again. It is highly unusual for me to be so careless.”

“Severus, stop. I’m not pregnant. And, before you ask, yes, I’m sure.”

“Ah.” God, he was a idiot. “Well. Good.”

“Did this have to do with whatever Aaron was teasing you about yesterday? For a diplomat, he can be pretty tactless when he’s sleep-deprived and inebriated.”

“His comments merely reminded me that I had not been cautious with regards to that aspect of our relationship. I could not recall ever seeing the necessary potions in your cabin, nor the ingredients for them. And, in any case, I would rather prepare such potions myself.”

“You didn’t see any of those potions because I don’t need them. I can’t have children.”

Her voice was light, but there was a strange undercurrent of tension in it. When he turned his gaze from the fire to glance at her, the mask of her smile reminded him of the one she’d shown him during that wretched exchange of insults at her cabin when they had first met.

“There’s no need for you to worry, you’re quite safe,” she went on. “We can be as careless as we like and there won’t be any mud-blood brats running around afterwards.”

“Don’t use that word,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“Call a spade a spade. Why else are you so relieved that I’m not knocked up?”

“I should think that it were apparent that now would be a terrible time to have a child. You are trapped by bond in a dangerous mission in Romania and I am bound to the precarious life of a spy.”

“It’s not because you don’t want to further pollute the Prince bloodlines?”

“When did I ever say that?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, her mask falling away. When she opened them, they were soft again, but with sadness, not with pleasure.

“You didn’t,” she conceded. “That was unfair of me.”

The sorrow in her eyes hurt him, and he came away from the fire that he might run his fingers over her dry cheek. She leaned into his touch, and the sweet smell of the balsam oil the priest had put on Magdalene’s head the day before filled his nose. Miranda held the infant tucked under her chin with a natural grace, the way she did everything. The pair of them made such a comfortable image that he felt irrationally disappointed he could not hope ever to see Miranda pacing by his fire, cradling a dark-haired child of their own.

“It is true that I have never desired to become a father,” he said, his eyes on Magdalene’s downy black curls, “but, if it had to happen, I would not be sorry that it was with you.”

The child began to stir and Miranda broke away to resume her pacing. He could not bring himself to look at her face after such an admission, and he was relieved that her voice was returning to its usual sanguine tone when she spoke.

“I…I could use a cup of tea, I think. Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” Relieved to have something mundane to do, he started for the kitchen. But he could not quit the room without his curiosity prompting him to say, “Miranda, I must ask why you are so certain that you cannot have children.”

“Just trust me on this. I don’t think you want to hear all the gory details.”

“No. I suppose I don’t.”

His thoughts were a tangled mess as he went into the kitchen and began the calming ritual of making tea. Methodically filling the kettle, setting it to boil by charm and measuring the tea leaves into Rachel’s white and blue teapot brought him back to earth. All the while, his instinct was pricking him, telling him that there was more to Miranda’s explanation, and he had the urge to continue digging until he uncovered what it was. He did his best to crush the urge and let whatever it was lie. Their relationship was quickly becoming confusing and more complicated than was at all prudent.

It was for the best that she would be returning to Romania tomorrow. Distance would help to put things back into their usual places. Their casual relationship was perfectly pleasing as it was. Best not to think of anything else.

Somewhere in his heart he knew this was a lie. He embraced it like a lover and poured out the kettle over the leaves.

-------------------------------------

End Notes:

Belladonna is deadly nightshade and Cicuta is water hemlock.

Magdalene Tokoyo Lee is named for St. Magdalene of Nagasaki, who was brutally martyred in 1620 and Tokoyo, a young lady who killed a sea serpent.

Newly baptized babies are the best smelling creatures in the world.

-----------------------------------

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Nineteen+

Chapter Twenty-one+ >>

#severus snape #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfic #severus snape fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #ocappreciation #snape x oc #second wizarding war #espionage #spying #adventure #romance #ilvermorny #baptism

13 notes · View notes

imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years

Text

A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 9

Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait… how does the saying go again?

Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL

A/N: In this story, Peter has Tom’s dog, Tessa.The dogs in the story play a minor but key role.

Word count: 2.5k

Part 8 <<< >>> Part 10

MASTERLIST

Come Thursday, Emmeline walked into the library, reveling in the silent early hours when it was nearly empty except for Peter and her. This was even more true now because the Christmas holidays would start in two days, and most people had already gone back home to avoid the rush at the airports the weekend before Christmas.

She looked forward to these study sessions, they became part of her life in that sneaky way that things you start doing on a regular basis do. Sometimes they didn’t even talk much, but it was nice and comforting to be with Peter. He had a good aura, one that drew her to him. Emmeline wondered if the feeling was reciprocated – she thought he liked her, but it was always hard to tell, he was a bit on the shy side. At least, he never gave her reason to think otherwise. He never cancelled their plans, never said no when she suggested something, he was always on time when they agreed to meet somewhere.

Peter was always at the library before her, waiting at their usual table. Waiting or… sleeping.

With a wicked smile, Emmeline approached, finding Peter fast asleep on his open notebook, snorting lightly. She couldn’t help it, she slammed her books on the table next to him, startling him awake.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” he exclaimed, shooting up and looking around him, panicked eyes. Emmeline laughed. “Oh, hi, Em. I was just… resting my eyes.”

“Oh, is that what they call it these days?” she asked, sitting down and placing a coffee in front of Peter.

She had stopped at Starbucks on her way here, and she was right to do so. Instead of commenting Peter’s state of dishevelment and obvious exhaustion, she let him take a sip and took a mental note to keep an eye on him.

“’m sorry,” he mumbled, pushing back his hair with a sigh after setting down the cup. “Long days, short nights.”

“I brought the notes you asked for,” she told him, pulling a pile of papers out of her bag. She had printed them for him and changed the layout to make it easier to read. “We can go through them together if you're up to the task,” she said, eyeing him carefully. He looked a total mess.

He rubbed his face without looking at her, eyes focused on the papers already.

“Of course, I'm up to the task, that's why we're here.”

Emmeline furrowed her brows but nodded nonetheless, thinking it was better not to argue. Peter made an admirable effort to stay awake and concentrated on their work, she gave him that, but there was no ignoring the way his head dipped and his eyelids fell a little as though they weighted a ton. But what pushed Emmeline to speak up was the bruise she saw on his arm, peeking out of his sleeve when he reached to grab the book to her right.

“Peter, what's this?” she worried, yanking back the sleeve to uncover the big purple bruise. It covered his entire forearm; it must hurt like a motherfucker. “How did you get this?”

He shook her hand off and pulled the sleeve down before she could take a good look at it, immediately denying that it hurt and stuttering out some lie about falling in the tub. She knew he didn't have a tub. The knot of worry forming at the back of her throat wasn’t new; she had spotted bruises before. She never said anything because Peter didn’t look in pain, and she knew some people just bruised easily – but this one was bad.

“We should take a break. You should go back to your room and get some more sleep; we can always meet up this afternoon.”

“No, I made you come here early, I can't ask you to come back tonight. And Tessa will be wide awake and think it's time for her walk.”

That last part sounded like an excuse; they both knew Tessa was a huge couch potato.

“It's not your fault if you're tired, Peter. Anyway, I offered, you didn't have to ask. I can dogsit Tessa this morning. I don't have class until noon.”

It was obvious she was going to win because Peter clearly did not have the energy to argue. He relented after another minute of protesting. The dark circles under his eyes causing lines of worry to appear on Emmeline's forehead. Something was wrong. Something has been wrong for a while but she thought he would sort it out eventually.

“You seriously look like you’re going to pass out. I’m walking with you,” she told him, not accepting no for an answer.

She put his belongings into his backpack and wrapped a hand around his elbow, the way she usually did. She knew he liked it: he always sported this look of pride whenever she walked at his arm. She liked it too.

They walked out of the building arm in arm.

“I feel so dumb for making you come here for nothing,” Peter grumbled, rubbing his eyes to stay awake.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. With Bella still at the vet, there’s not much to do at my place. I’d rather hang out with you and do nothing than stay there all alone,” she confessed, offering him a heartfelt smile.

Peter’s knees almost buckled.

“Why are you so tired though? Is something the matter?”

A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes and he looked at his feet, but Emmeline’s grip on him didn’t waver and the steadfast support she provided prompted him to open up to her. It was only fair after all, he had been trying to get her to be more honest about her feelings for months, it would be hypocrite of him to not do the same.

“I have nightmares. I wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and can’t fall back asleep.”

Not even Ned knew that. He wanted to be honest about why he had those nightmares, but she didn’t ask, probably having sensed that it was personal. Private people tended to not pry into other people’s lives, and that was a huge relief at the moment.

Truth was, he didn’t really want to talk about the fact that this time of the year reminded him of his uncle Ben. He died shortly before Christmas when Peter was 16. It was always difficult for him, this time of year. It would always be. Coming back late from his missions didn’t help either.

However, Emmeline was smart enough to figure it out on her own. He had told her about his dead parental figures and if she gave it a bit of thought, she would guess why he couldn’t sleep these days.

They finished their walk in amicable silence, and Emmeline took Peter’s keys to open the door. Tessa was still asleep, not even waking up when they walked inside.

“Looks like you won't need my services after all,” Emmeline chuckled, watching Tessa sleep quietly. Bella tended to snore, which was why she didn’t sleep in Emmeline’s bedroom.

When she turned around, Peter was already lying on his bed, arms spread open, sighing in content.

“I’m never getting up again,” he vowed, making her laugh.

Feeling playful, Emmeline dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes before lying down next to him, her head resting on his arm.

“I admit it’s pretty comfy,” she hummed. “Is that how you lure girls into your room, Parker? I’m amazed it works!”

“Shut up!” Peter scoffed and wrapped his arm around her head, trying to cover her eyes. He only succeeded in making her giggle as she wriggled away. He dropped his head on the pillow again, thinking that he liked hearing her laugh. He wanted to make her laugh more. “It only works on the really gullible ones.”

She snorted this time, and he felt her body rumble with laughter.

“Aren’t you going back?” he eventually asked, having stopped bothering her and let his arm rest on the bed again, allowing her to lie on it if she wanted.

“What for? I quite like it here,” she hummed, closing her eyes and making herself at home.

“I don’t know. Study? That’s why we meet up every week,” Peter mumbled, feeling himself slip into unconsciousness.

“Maybe I’m just using it as an excuse to spend time with you.”

Peter’s tired brain barely processed what she said before he dozed off. There were no more words exchanged between them, only peaceful silence, and the delicate touch of her fingertips on his open palm. Peter fought to stay awake just a while longer to enjoy this fleeting moment with her, but his eyelids were too heavy. He drifted off to sleep with Emmeline still lying beside him, wishing she were closer.

Emmeline was happy to have Bella back, the reunion was an emotional one. It was now the last weekend before Christmas. Columbia was empty, the shopping streets were buzzing with people. This year she bought a tree. She didn’t really know why, she wasn’t much into celebrating Christmas, but this year she wanted to try something different.

And maybe it did have something to do with Peter, maybe not.

There were only two things tainting her mood. The first one was silly, really. She hadn’t seen Spider-Man in a little while although he hadn’t said anything about not visiting anymore. Then again, perhaps he was busy this time of year, like everyone else. Everyone else except for her, it seemed.

“Do you miss him?” She turned to Bella who lifted her head when she was being talked to. Sometimes Emmeline wondered if she understood what she said. “Yeah, me too.”

The second stain on her lighthearted mood was the customary Christmas speech given by mister mayor himself, live on TV, and which required the presence of the entire family apparently. Emmeline loathed these occasions, where she had to play pretend, act like the perfect little daughter. Her parents even hired a stylist to make her look the part.

Her skin crawled just thinking about it. One of these days she would have to rebel and not come. But not this year – her father was trying to her re-elected, and if she did anything, anything at all, to jeopardize his chances, there would be hell to pay. She still hated this masquerade, and she hated herself for playing along too. There was no solution that satisfied everyone in this scenario.

She was saved from her own thoughts by her phone.

From Peter: I just finished my part of the assignment. Can I send it to you for proof reading?

She smiled, already typing out an answer when she received a follow-up message.

From Peter: and to make sure I didn’t completely bullshit it. The chapter about boundary value problems is still a bit obscure to me.

To Peter: Gotcha. I’ll send you my part too so we can both give each other feedback.

He sent her a gif of Jake Peralta saying ‘noice’ as an answer, and she shook her head, putting down her phone. Emmeline went to her room and opened her laptop to send him her work – it should be ready to send at this point, she had a fairly decent grasp of the subject and had proofread it a couple times already.

She did not want Peter Parker to think her stupid and refused to leave a single silly mistake in her work, and that was the truth. Emmeline liked Peter, more than she anticipated and perhaps more than she would like to. Her life was complicated, and she was complicated, it didn’t feel right to drag him into it.

Bella barked to get her attention then. When her eyes landed on her alarm clock, Emmeline realized it was already half past lunch time for Bella. She stood up to fill Bella’s bowl while her phone buzzed away on her bed.

From Peter: hey, what do you say we go out later? For coffee or whatever you’d like?

From Peter: Do I sound desperate? Be honest. I feel like I do. Please say yes though

Another moment later, it buzzed once more.

From Peter: It’s a date btw

“What do you want me to say?” Ned asked Peter, sighing through the phone for what felt like the hundredth time since the beginning of their conversation. It wasn’t without reason either, Peter was quite the rambler when he was anxious. “I know you’ve been friends for a while now and she’s cool, but if she hasn’t answered by now, well… you’ve got your answer dude.”

No, he refused to accept that explanation. As long as she hasn’t answered, there was still a chance, right?

“Maybe her phone died, and she didn’t see the messages,” Peter argued, full of hope and denial. He had been telling himself just that for three hours now, nearly convincing himself too.

“Get yourself together, man!” Ned shouted. “Have some pride! Chicks don’t want no sissy!”

Peter held the phone away from his ear and looked at it with a perplexed frown before putting it back to his ear.

“Did I hear correctly? Is this the way you talk now?” Peter asked, frowning to himself, amused though confused.

“Trying something new.” Peter could practically hear his friend shrug.

“Stop then. It doesn’t work for you,” Peter told him. Better to be honest, Ned would thank him later.

“Noted. But I stand by my word, girls like confidence, be confident! You’re freakin’ Spider-Man, the chicks dig it! Girls have posters of you!”

“Still not working,” Peter groaned, rubbing his face with his free hand. “But I hear you and I’ll try.”

“I’ll get it right, you’ll see,” Ned laughed. “Alright, gotta go, Noobmaster69 is back online. Got ass to kick.”

They both hung up and Peter slid his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head after this weird conversation.

“Noobmaster69?” he repeated, still a bit confused about… well, everything to be frank.

He just spent the whole afternoon trying insanely hard not to look at his phone and focus on the work she had sent him for review. It was good. Like, it was solid, they won’t have to worry about passing this class, and no thanks to him. It was too late to take back what he had sent her though, and even if it were possible, he wouldn’t know how to make it better.

If he had paid attention in class instead of alternating between sleeping and staring at her in awe, maybe he wouldn’t be in this position? He only had himself to blame. Then again, time spent looking at her wasn’t wasted in his opinion.

The second his phone buzzed in his back pocket, Peter whipped it out so quickly he almost dropped it – and wouldn’t that just be his luck?

From M: Alright, it’s a date. Nothing comes to mind but I’m not difficult. Meet me at the fountain in Central Park at 6pm?

In a bout of joy, Peter jumped to his ceiling, scaring Tessa in the process. He stayed upside down while typing his answer and wondered if it was the blood rush that made him dizzy or something else.

Reblog to save a writer

Tag list: @justanothercynicalgenzkid @of-virtuoso

25 notes · View notes

anothers-trash-my-treasure · 6 years

Text

Invited 2.1

Sooooooo this one is mostly for me because I am Mazlek trash and if I didn’t get this out I was literally going to go crazy. Anyway, the next part of this will be based more around Rami/Reader/Joe because this one is basically just Rami/Joe and I’m really not that sorry about it. Enjoy

Pairing: Rami Malek/Joe Mazzello, Brief Rami Malek/Reader

Warnings: Smuuttt, anal sex, dirty talk, swearing

Word Count: 2056

The topic had come up suddenly one night. It was just the two of us, half drunk on a bottle of wine, playing a game of never have I ever, which really turned into a “have you ever?”.The questions were mostly silly at this point, just saying things to make each other laugh. I thought I had the perfect question.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I stopped giggling and wiggled my eyebrows at him, “Have you ever been with another guy before?”

And he doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his glass to his mouth, raises an eyebrow with a tilt of his head before looking away almost bashfully. My brain short circuits, jaw drops. There’s no way. I mean, it’s not like Rami had the slightest bit of toxic masculinity in his body, being affectionate with his co-workers was just part of his personality. But to be in that vulnerable position with one of them? To have them see him like I have? There’s no way.

“No fucking way,” I breathe, ”we’ve been dating for a year and you’ve never told me this? I ask incredibly, making him laugh. “who?!” I demand excitedly.

He just shakes his head, a small smile pulling at his lips, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Is it someone I know?” He shrugs. I whine, high and child-like, “C’mon Rami, just tell me.”

He considers this, staring into his wine glass, contemplating my request while he swirls the dark liquid in the glass. And then he’s downing the rest of the liquid, and looking me dead in the eye.

“You really wanna know?” He asks lowly. I nod excitedly, leaning forward a little to get closer to him, “Promise not to tell anyone?”

I hold out my pinky, a symbol we both take incredibly seriously, despite the childish nature of it. He locks his pinky in mine, holding our hands suspended in mid-air and staring into my eyes. His eyes dart away and he leans back in his chair.

“Joe.”

My jaw drops, and I swear to god I almost faint. “Joe?! Like, our Joe? Like, Joe Mazzello?” He nods, a smirk playing at his lips at my reaction, “Oh my god, please tell me everything.” I plead.

His eyebrow raises, “I’m not drunk enough for that.” He laughs, shaking his head and going to pour himself another glass. I stop him, grabbing the wine before running to the kitchen. I search around in our liquor cabinet, desperately trying to find the bottle I know will get him to spill more of this story. When I find it, I drag it back out into the living room and show it to him excitedly.

“Y/n, I am not doing tequila shots with you.” He groans.

“Yes, you are.” I say simply, sitting down beside him, “It’s this or you tell me the whole story right now. Choose your poison, Mr.Malek.” I smile devilishly at him.

He sighs, reaching to grab the bottle out of my hand. He pops the bottle open, bringing it to his lips before taking a long swig of it. He grimaces at the harsh flavour and burn of the liquid, passing the bottle back to me. When I don’t make a move to drink it, he shakes his head stubbornly,

“Uh-uh, No way, I am not being hungover alone tomorrow. Take a fucking shot or no story.”

Pretty soon, we’re both too drunk on tequila and I’ve honestly almost forgotten why I pulled out the tequila in the first place until Rami speaks again.

“Alright,” He sighs, head leaning on the sofa, “I’ll tell you.”

I squeal excitedly, maneuvering myself so I’m sitting cross-legged on the couch beside him. It’s all I can do but sit and listen while he tells me what is quite possibly the hottest thing I could ever imagine.

“It happened when we did The Pacific...”

Neither of them are quite sure how they got here. It was a build up for sure, the lingering glances, the chemistry and their characters constantly being close to each other. It was really only a matter of time before this happened. Both of them are quite surprised that there’s not a drop of alcohol in their system. The tension had just finally boiled over.

Joe had Rami pinned up against the door of his hotel room, tongue swirling around his own as they pressed against each other, their breathing hard and heavy. Rami’s fingers find their way through the belt loops of Joe’s pants, pulling his hips closer to his own and gasping when he feels the hard line of Joe’s cock pressed against him. Joe’s hands push Rami’s shirt up his torso, letting them roam over taut muscles. A thumb brushes over Rami’s nipple lightly, causing a small breathy moan of Joe’s name to fall from his lips.

“Have you ever...” Joe trails off, eyes darting around Rami’s face, taking in every detail of the other man's face, he wants to remember this.

Rami shakes his head, trying desperately to get his breath back but failing miserably when his hips move on their own account, “have you?”

Joe nods, capturing Rami’s lips in his once more before pulling him to the bed with him. They settle so that Rami is straddling Joe, leaning down to kiss him heatedly as his hips move to provide some fiction. When Joe's hands move to grip Rami’s ass, he’s a little blindsided with how much he wants the man underneath him. God, he wants it. He never thought he’d want this. But upon meeting Joe his thoughts had wandered. Wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of something. He’d tried to experiment on his own, but the angle was awkward and he didn’t actually have to correct supplies so he’d pretty much left it up to his imagination. But now...

“How do you wanna do this?” Joe breathes. He barely gets his question out before Rami is whining high in his throat and grinding his hips down a little harder.

“I want you to...” He takes a shaky breath in, opening his eyes to look down at Joe, who’s looking up at him with heat and lust in his eyes, “I want you to fuck me. Please.”

The younger man shivers beneath him, “Are you sure, Rami? It hurts like a bitch at first but...” His thumb begins to rub up against his hip bone absently, “We can take it slow...I’d-” he swallows nervously, “I’d make it good for you.”

Rami nods enthusiastically, biting his lip at the mere thought of finally getting what he’s been craving after all these months, “Please Joe.”

They waste no time from that moment on. Ridding themselves of their clothes, pausing each time a new section of skin is revealed so they can explore and remember every detail of their time together. When they’re both naked, writhing and grinding against each other, Joe finally reaches into the bedside table, pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube.

Flipping them over in one smooth motion, Joe situates himself in between Rami’s legs, setting his legs so they’re perched on his hips. He pops open the lube and starts to warm the liquid up between his fingers. Joe takes his time prepping the other man, checking in with him and making sure he is okay. It’s not the worst thing Rami’s felt, but definitely not comfortable either. That is until Joe crooks his fingers at a different angle and Rami sees actual stars. A gasp is ripped from his lips, followed by a low moan as Joe pokes and prods at his prostate.

“There we go,” Joe breathes, a smile evident in his voice, “Told you I’d make it good, didn’t I?”

From there on out, Rami is a begging mess. It never felt like this on his own. He feels hot all over, a twinge of desperation curling at this base of his spine. It’s not until Joe has three fingers stretching him out that Rami gets impatient.

“Joe, c’mon. I’m so ready.” And when Joe asks him if he’s sure, Rami whines, high and needy in his throat, “Oh my god yes, please. Need it.”

Joe chuckles darkly at him, mumbling under his breath as he removes his fingers to grab the condom, “So needy Ram.”

When Joe pushes the head in Rami isn’t sure what is happening. His body is conflicted, pain rippling through his lower back but yet pleasure is running through his veins. Joe’s kissing his neck and jaw line when he bottoms out, letting Rami adjust around him. Rami tangled a hand in Joe's hair, pulling the other man's face towards his own so he could capture his lips in a breathless kiss. Joe shifted to get closer to him and Rami let out a low whimper.

“I’m good,” He gasped, feeling every ridge of Joe inside of him and absolutely loving it now that his body had adjusted, “move, please.”

Joe doesn’t have to be asked twice, Rami is tight and hot around him and it’s been literal hell trying not to buck into the heat. He starts as slowly as he can, pulling out nearly all the way before sinking back into the heat, both of them letting out sounds of pleasure at the feeling.

Rami is losing his mind, he never had a doubt in his mind that Joe would make it good for him; but he never thought it’d be this good. Every time Joe sinks back inside of him his back arches further, eyes fluttering at how fucking good it feels. But he needs more. More force, more speed, more of the zaps of pleasure that shoot up his spine.

“More,” his voice is high, “Joe please, more.” His hips are pushing down onto Joe's cock relentlessly, trying to get him deeper.

Joe pulls out, flipping Rami onto his stomach and maneuvering the other man so that he’s on his knees, the upper half of his body pressed against the mattress.

When Joe thrusts into him like this it’s heavenly. His cock is so much deeper at this angle and Rami moans loudly. His hips beginning to move on their own account, meeting Joe's thrusts enthusiastically.

“Shit Rami,” Joe moans, he finds himself complete invested in the man below him, “If I would’ve known you were gonna love this so much we’d have done it a lot sooner.”

Rami whines beneath him, back arching, “Feels so good,” He moans, “God, so fucking good.” He’s panting, a hand tangled in his own hair, tugging on it in an attempt to ground himself. Pleasure clouds his vision, the only thing he can focus on is the feeling of Joe’s cock brushing against his prostate with every thrust.

Joe changes his angle slightly and suddenly Rami’s prostate is being attacked. Rami’s basically screaming at this point, mouth hung open as he pushes himself back against Joe’s thrusts.

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck Joe. Right there. Please don’t stop, fuck.” He feels his release building in his stomach, “I’m so close Joe.”

Upon hearing that, Joe doubles his efforts, leaning down to whisper in the older man's ear, “That’s it Rami, come for me. I’m right there with you. C’mon...ah shit, c’mon.” All it takes is a few more thrusts and they’re both spiralling over the edge. Rami cries out Joe's name, throwing his head back as white-hot pleasure overtakes his entire body. He’s never felt like this before. He feels like he’s floating as he comes down, vaguely aware of Joe doing the same right beside him.

I sit there with my mouth hung open. Heat has pooled between my legs and I swear to god I’ve never been so turned on. Who would’ve thought the idea of my boyfriend and one of my closest friends getting on would’ve done it for me.

“I uh,” I stutter, “Rami, that’s fucking...” I take a breath, trying to compose myself, “so fucking hot??”

He looks surprised, “so you’re not...weirded out by it?”

“By what?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, “By the fact that you like being fucked? Not at all, babe.” I climb into his lap, “In fact,” I kiss his jawline tenderly, “This gives me a few ideas.” To Be Continued...

#rami malek #rami malek x reader #rami malek/reader #Rami Malek Trash #rami malek smut #joe mazzello #rami/joe #mazlek #smut

126 notes · View notes

cjfloodauthor-blog · 5 years

Text

We Need to Talk About Alcoholism

Is it time to stop gaslighting yourself and stage your own intervention?

I’m trying to stop drinking, but alcohol won’t let me.

It recommends itself using my inner voice, the advice of my friends and family, billboards, the radio, books, TV.

One drink won’t hurt!

You can just have a couple.

YOLO! ; )

It doesn’t care how desperately I want to change my life or be able to trust myself or fill my time with other things.

Alcohol is like a charismatic bad boyfriend with a PhD in Neuro-Linguistic Programming who has taken over my mind, fooled my friends and family, and refuses to let me go.

You’ll never meet anyone who makes you feel the way I do.

I’d just turned thirty and my drinking had been out of control since I could remember, but recently I’d started to care. It used to be exciting, social, lost weekends and wild weekday nights; adventures and dancing and climbing scaffolding to look at the city stars. Now it was the same every time. Quiet nights in. Just me and a bottle of wine, sometimes a boyfriend, always the Internet.

I loved it, but I wasn’t in love. We wanted different things, but I didn’t know how to live sober.

“You don’t still stay up all night drinking, do you?” a friend asked, when I explained that I wouldn’t be able to make it out for dinner — although we hadn’t seen each other since we graduated, and she’d just travelled five hours to visit me — because I was still too hungover to be vertical.

“No!” I lied, instinctively. “It just got out of hand last night.”

She looked perplexed and I wished she’d leave. Because I loved her, but what do you do with non-drinkers? I tried my best not to know any, but this one slipped under the radar. Drinkers are wonderful because they don’t need entertaining. No plan required. You lead them to the pub and voila!

Her words echoed in my head long after she’d gone.

“You don’t still stay up all night drinking, do you?”

Was I not supposed to stay up drinking, then? Was it somehow ungainly and shameful and wrong?

The words hit a target I wasn’t aware resided within me. That sad, confused look! That was the reason I didn’t spend time with non-drinkers. Too judgey. So what if I was thirty and living the same life as when as I was twenty. I was a writer. (If only there were a key that adds a fanfare along with the italics.) So what if I lived in a shared house, with no food in the cupboards, still ‘borrowing’ money off Mum and Dad. That’s what writers did!

“But you’re a fun drunk!” a different friend told me, a year or so later, as I shared my longing for an alternate life in which I drank green juice and practiced yoga and went to the theatre; a life entirely incompatible with my current relationships, habits and behaviours.

I was thirty-two now, and there had been so many failed attempts at weeks or months of sobriety that even I couldn’t take myself seriously.

It was Friday night and this friend had agreed to accompany me to the cinema, because I was trying to avoid the pub, which meant trying to gain control of my life — though she didn’t know that, of course — and so, naturally, after the film, she suggested we go to see everyone, which meant pints in the pub, since that was where everyone was on a Friday night. lnstantly, I forgot my agreement.

We went to join the gang, just for one, or okay, if more than one, we had to stop drinking at midnight. We couldn’t stick to our drinking rules for the duration of making them, but we didn’t notice that. We made a pact to leave the bar at midnight, no matter what.

“Anyway, you don’t need to worry,” she said, conspiratorially en route to the Volunteer Tavern. “Because I’ve solved the problem of getting too drunk.”

“Really? How?”

“The trick is to drink halves.”

I nodded encouragingly, the soft part of my throat twerking at the mention of beer, and we walked from the cold, lamplit street into the warm, yeasty pub to wait for the bar man’s eye contact.

Youngish people sat at wooden tables, playing board games and laughing, checking their phones and swigging frothy pints.

“Two halves of Amstel, please,” I said, and the barman picked up two tiny thimbles of glass, leftover from what I could only assume was some kind of teddy bear’s picnic.

“Sorry, I mean a pint and a half!” I panic-shouted before I could stop myself.

The cold amber liquid ran up the glass, and I swallowed, reflexively, took a swig as soon as the barman handed the drinks to me.

“Drinking halves is daft,” I told my friend as we made our way to where our group sat, drinking pints and smoking in the beer garden. “You’ve drunk the whole thing by the time you get to your table and have to go straight back to the bar. A pint saves you a trip. And sometimes five pee too!”

She shrugged, not really listening, and I felt my last dregs of self-respect drain out the bottoms of my filthy Converse. Who was I saying this stuff for? Even I didn’t listen to me.

The lager was cold and fizzy and as it touched my tongue, I remembered that I didn’t like the taste. Strange since I’d been compelled, only seconds earlier, to buy a larger serving.

Still, I needn’t worry about that now. I needn’t worry about anything: I was drinking and all was well. I forgot my silly dream of sobriety, forgot my broader feelings of dissatisfaction, and my friend and I talked and laughed and shed secrets in our usual breathless, hurtling way. And then it was midnight and she finished her final half and hugged me goodbye — she had writing to do in the morning; a deal’s a deal! — put on her coat and headed home. I watched her walk out, then headed back to the bar to order another.

“Last night was wonderful,” she text the next morning. “Seeing you was so nourishing.”

It is beginning to dawn on me that my current network can’t provide the support I need to give up alcohol. They can’t solve this problem that lies within me because they don’t understand it.

I read books about abstinence (Blackout, Drinking: A Love Story, Lit) and pore over posts on websites (Hip Sobriety, Soberistas) about the same, and I feel so inspired, so excited and determined, until the next time, out of nowhere, a pint sounds like a good idea, and I decide to ‘just have one’ and wake with a hangover yet again. I make the same promise to myself: tonight I won’t drink, no matter what, and then I break it. Over and over and over.

Until I am so tired.

In my circles, alcohol is like water, life isn’t possible without it, and if that is wrong we didn’t want to be right. Popular culture agrees — drinking is fun! — as long as you drink responsibly, which is so easy and intuitive that only the party-pooping government offer any guidelines.

Booze solves your problems: loneliness, boredom, crap TV, aging, ugliness, death. It provides sex and adventure, increases beauty — not just yours, but everyone’s! — the world itself’s. It turns up the colours, adds a coat of hyper gloss to the matte finish of planet E.

Why would anyone give it up?

If I could only stop thinking it was a problem then the problem would vanish. Poof!

So why can’t I stop thinking it’s a problem?

Because I’m an alcoholic?

Three years sober, I’m still ambivalent.

The label is out-of-date, but since I started using it my life is strikingly on track.

Am I a ‘high-functioning alcoholic’? No. No one is. Too much of an oxymoron.

Three years sober, I regularly self-identify as an ‘alcoholic’ but when I do, it is acts as shorthand for this:

‘I have an infuriating brain-twist regarding alcohol which means I cannot remember its negative qualities at the same time as I have excellent, technicolour recall of its positive qualities; and because I hear your stories that describe the same twist, I would love your help in holding a realistic perspective on this substance which made my life painful and narrow, and yet which I often long for with a fervent and inexplicable thirst’.

Is the outdated label starting to make sense?

There is almost no evidence of how my drinking was destructive outside of my own psyche. Which is not the same as saying there is no evidence that my drinking was destructive.

My story has so little drama, and yet, weirdly, that’s why I’m compelled to share it. How many people keep drinking because they aren’t ‘bad enough’ to identify with the 12 steppers? How many keep drinking because their friends smile and tell them that they don’t have a problem?

Women, we need to stop gaslighting ourselves and learn from our experience.

There are so many tools and support networks who want to help: AA, Smart Recovery, Soberistas, Hip Sobriety, This Naked Mind, Recovery Elevator being just a few I’ve used along the way.

Most of the evidence of my drink problem came from the way my life changed after I quit. I wonder how your life would change if you did?

#alcoholism wellness gaslighting drinking

1 note · View note

theuntrendygirl · 6 years

Text

Tu me manques...

She stood waiting, patiently for once, but the nagging sensation at the nape of her neck kept her foot tapping away. Waiting. That seemed like all she was built to do these past few days. Weeks. Months. It had become the perpetual nature of her hurricane of a life.

It was funny she thought, she’d always considered her life to be a storm, one mash up of color and chaos to the next but when she had quoted something to him the other night to try and buoy his ever sinking spirits she had backpedaled. “When it rains, it pours,” had been one of her mother’s favorite quotes and thus the context had stuck with her. He’d replied with some comment like how it wasn’t just raining but had turned into a hurricane. Well, “a fucking hurricane,” she thought his words had been. And for a moment her world centered on his words lingering in her mind.

Was she silently comparing apples to oranges, or was she to much of a problem for him to handle, could he handle her? Not that she needed handling in the sense of a babysitter, but her moods varied from minute to minute. Her life often seemed more chaotic than relaxing, she loved deeply and avoided hating anyone (though she’d been tempted enough times).

“So what happened next?” His voice broke through her thoughts, saying it sounded like velvet seemed strange since velvet was tactile but when he spoke not only did his words give her a heady rush but it felt like they wrapped her in one of his hugs she so desperately craved.

She smiled and felt a laugh bubble through her lips, he was working and she felt bad for taking up so much of his time. It was selfish really, he’d said it wasn’t but her gut had yet to fail her the way so many other things had. She had merely wanted to see him for a moment, enough to sustain her, a little taste if you will.

Did she get a chip for sitting at the bar, swirling the glass, smelling the sweet amber and setting it back down untouched she wondered?

“You know honestly, I don’t remember. My mind is….elsewhere tonight, I’m sorry.” She tried for a reassuring smile but knew it didn’t reach her eyes. Instead she pointed at some random knick-knack on the counter and commented on the corny advertising designed to lure horny teenagers into buying their useless product. They chit chatted, this that and the other.

It felt good to stand there, just talking. Then again she was fairly certain just being quiet and in the same room would soothe her. She’d never admit that fact to him though. Desperately she tried to stay present in their conversation, getting distracted when she watched his interactions with his customers. While she could tell her smile never reached her eyes anymore it was clear to her, even behind his smudged lenses, that his did. Even the idle chatter from passing persons drew his smile into his eyes.

A goofy grin spread her lips, vaguely she heard him ask what but was to wrapped up in her thoughts to really respond. The passing ambulance lights outside pulled her attention away and she was thankful. She’d been staring absent mindedly at him. It was a thing, not really staring to be rude or obnoxious but staring to find out how he could keep going. How could he smile from one customer to the next, nobody was that good an actor so it had to be genuine, right? She wanted to know the secret, she wanted to tell him how his eyes glowed with each little smile or pull of his lips when he spoke. She wanted to gush about how there seemed to be a universe full of gravity surrounding him. Pulling people towards him, maybe that’s why she felt such a strong pull. Maybe, she was just insane.

She felt insane. Most people thought she was anyways, so maybe it was true. The complications surrounding her life were, exponentially getting worse by the minute. She needed less complications; not more. Not when it meant her heart was on the line, again. Not after it seemingly was finally stitched back together with frayed yarn that could snag and pull apart at any moment. But this, whatever they meant to one another, she knew it would be a hard won fight or her ultimate downfall. Putting to much hope in one person had always proved her the fool. One thought kept her fighting though, kept her trying for this… “not everyone is like your ex or the others who hurt you,” a friend had said, Liz was; undefinable, but she needed to quiet her anxiety and Liz knew how to do that with logic. The more facts she was provided, the more common sense something was, the better she felt about, well, what she was feeling.

She couldn’t tell him, not yet, for fear and stress kept her warm at night. Whispering nasty little things into her dreams, warping them into nightmares. Twisting a happy want into a forgotten need. Logic could keep her racing heart under control but it fueled the fire of her anxiety. She tried to explain, but her explanations always seemed long winded and unwanted. She would mold herself into what each person in her life wanted. The dutiful daughter, the supportive friend, the employee; the hats were to many and bountiful. Her mind raced, her heart skipped beats, her anxiety clawed at the back of her throat, tearing it open squashing her words, keeping her from speaking, but yet, when she thought of him, or replayed conversations they’d had or even stood next to him in silence, all the bad things that crawled between the sulci were quieted. Her mind was tame and pliable to her will vs. it’s own. How did she put into words all of the things she felt from one second to the next when she thought of him? How could she talk about how her nightmares turned to dreams and hopes when they spoke?

She imagined herself talking about these thoughts, made idle chatter with him as the minutes progressed past the hour mark. How could she utter the words that she had dreamt of them coming home to one another to talk about their days, or how an imagined fight over a restaurant for dinner left her heart beating faster, how she watched as they danced through the kitchen while pasta boiled on the stove to some cheesy song on the radio. She’d felt it all and somehow had grown attached to the feelings it had all created. She wanted it to come true, very much so in fact. But things were….what was the line again; she thought, feeling the words etch themselves into the skin of her lip, complicated. She ran her tongue over the newly scrawled words and winced at the pain.

She should be used to pain by now she figured. It kept her going, kept her from breaking down. One of her favorite movies and favorite actors quoted pain once and it stuck in her brain…

“Urgayle: Pain is your friend, your ally, it will tell you when you are seriously injured, it will keep you awake and angry, and remind you to finish the job and get the hell home. But you know the best thing about pain?

Jordan: Don't know!

Urgayle: It lets you know you're not dead yet!”

People doubted her knowledge of pain, what could such a young girl know of pain. Enough to cause any grown man to whimper she thought. Emotional pain aside, the physical had damn near killed her. Between migraines and pulled ribs she didn’t even need to include the previous surgeries. They’d been bad enough. Emotional and mental turmoil, in her mind were worse. How many opportunities had she been given to leave her ex while they were together? At least a dozen. There was great love there, she knew that, along with wonderful memories but as she grew through the pain she realized they hadn’t been meant for one another. And perhaps she thought, it had just been enough to sustain her till she found what she had truly been looking for. Who knew, no matter what you believe in or don’t some things always feel like fate.

Where would she be now if she had left him, 4 years ago? How different would her life look and did she want it any different because for now her path seemed clear? Well, as clear as it could get with all the, let’s call it bullshit, surrounding them now. Most days she felt the kindness drain from her fingertips leaving only bitterness on the tip of her tongue.

She looked over at him now, memorizing the shape of his jaw and fuzziness that had grown in, the curve of his nose, his to chocolate eyes...she felt silly, tracing over the details of his face as he chatted with some random person. But this was how her mind worked, she knew the details of his face simply from closing her eyes. And on the days she needed him by her side she imagined him there if only to calm her nerves. They’d had this discussion, several times, how seeing one another brings a sense of calm over each other. It hadn’t dawned on her that anyone could describe perfectly how she felt when she saw him but even then he astonished her. It was nice, knowing that someone could think and feel as deeply as she could. She’d never had that before, never really had anyone she could express her opinions too, well yeah friends listen but it wasn’t the same. To her intimacy wasn’t sex, though that was one of the finer things in life, intimacy with someone is sharing your mind, your thoughts, things you’d never find yourself sharing with anyone else. Two halves of whole and that whole cliche. She’d not even trusted her ex with some of things she thought of or about. He never knew the poetry scrawled across her heart or how deeply she felt things. He never cared too. Maybe that’s what made this so strikingly different.

Before her was a man, a man who cared. Who didn’t blow her off or try to change the subject when it’s something he’s unfamiliar with. He listened and talked and asked questions; he let her talk about work, one of the most important things in her life. And equally she gave him her attention as well. She’d never had any interest in cars; unless she was driving them. And then all that mattered was the speed of the engine and how high the volume went. Most of his car talk still boggled her mind, but she hoped it would be something that she could learn more about and so she didn’t appear as stupid as she felt.

It was nice to have someone who generally seemed interested in sharing bits of their life with her. It helped her curiosity. They could talk about anything really and after each conversation she’d be left with either more questions or satisfied for having learned something entirely new, whether it be from the conversation itself or learning more about the man she’d fallen for. Either way, it had been something she’d been looking for. Her friends were amazing and they kept her entertained, kept her mind racing and researching but it wasn’t the same. Maybe there was no right way to describe it.

If it was simply a fleeting moment perhaps the gravitational pull wouldn’t be so strong, if truth be told, it had become a craving of sorts. The snippets of conversation, the random visits, hugs and more. The more was emblazoned in her memory, every bit of it to the point it caused nervous laughter to fall from her lips.

She hoped the nervousness would eventually dissipate as she stared at the singular cause of….well could it really be called distress? Not in the traditional sense at least. Things would get easier, better...normal…was normal what she wanted? Everything thus far had been abnormal, shocking, surprising, you name it and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Well...maybe less complicated, but as she looked at him complicated became more and more appealing.

***So it’s not finished...and it’ll be a spell before I pick it back up!***

#writing #life #love #truth #need #happiness #amwriting #dreams #editing

41 notes · View notes

asherlockstudy · 6 years

Note

Pls ignore if u dont wanna discuss!I find it interesting you see link as a 'strategic thinker' when I feel like alot of ppl think the opposite(to the point of ytcomments calling him slow/an idiot/on the spectrum).Tho I think alot of his wideeyed goofiness is put on, I put part of awkward stuff said down to not considering implications before talking. Theres even an old video where he talks about how he could reveal something embarrassing at any time and it's part of his personality hes had to ow

Yeah, I know, it’s a rather unusual viewpoint but I stick sooooo hard to it! However, please note that I’m not at all confident about the way I explained my points here. What follows is:

An unnecessarily long essay on how Link Neal’s mind works that makes me worry about myself because honestly why did I even write all this and I am not at all sure I know what I’m talking about, sorry

First of all, those who think Link is an idiot need to pay more attention. Link is probably the control freak (to avoid the term “Big Boss” that would be unfair for Rhett) behind their successful corporation and this takes something more than a slow guy. He could be close to what you can call “on the spectrum”, with his systems and OCD and all, but people with Asperger’s are usually very intelligent anyway. I think Link has these systems mostly for psychological reasons though, the routine makes him feel safer.

Anyway, most of his silly moments are made up for laughs like you said and his ability to confuse the audience as to whether he ‘s trully that silly is technically another success on his part, although I feel he’s getting tired of this role lately.

When Link chooses a stupid answer in a quiz or makes a foolish choice in a game, there is usually a pattern of two explanations:

He often provides a perfect reasoning and then inexpicably goes for the wrong answer / choice, which proves he’s trying to lose in order to get punished for entertaining purposes. He sometimes is in the lead and suddenly gives bonus points to Rhett or something, so there is higher probability for him to lose or, even better, both of them to get punished. On average, if it can’t be ideally both of them, Link subtly tries to be the one getting the punishment. Perhaps he considers his own reactions more dramatic (they usually are) and therefore funnier. In short, Link prefers to get in trouble as long as he provides an entertaining product. It’s a conscious decision that he hides behind silliness. On the contrary, if Rhett can avoid a punishment, he will do so because Rhett often sets as a priority to not look like an idiot.

He genuinely made a stupid choice. Thanks to his hobbies and interests, Rhett is more well-rounded and knowledgeable than Link but if you take the occurences of explanation #1 out of the equation, the ratio of the times Link is being stupid to the times Rhett is gets significantly smaller. Of couse, being less knowledgeable has nothing to do with quick / strategic thinking.

Speaking of quick thinking, Link tends to be wittier than Rhett. Not that Rhett isn’t incredibly witty already but I think Link is as much and slightly more.

In the rare occasion of serious discussions, there are two other possibilities:

Link usually tries to make light of every single conversation (eg in Ear Biscuits), stuck to the fact that they are supposed to be a comedic duo, which isn’t always a guaranteed success and sometimes even generates awkwardness. Rhett doesn’t do that and since he also is the one who usually provides information / knowledge, he comes off as more intelligent and mature without this being necessarily the case.

When Link is 100% serious about something, he’s very different. His stature is different, his facial expressions are different, his eyes become more piercing, even his voice gets deeper. It’s not like Link is a psycho but there are some extremes in his personality and he is usually good at keeping each extremity for where it’s supposed to be. His childish side is ideal for GMM. In rare serious discussions with Rhett on GMMores etc, I find myself agreeing with Link most of the time and despite Rhett’s confidence that he knows Link like the back of his hand, I feel Link actually understands Rhett on an even deeper level than Rhett does. I also think he’s more self aware than Rhett and just knows both of themselves better than Rhett. On the other hand, Rhett is better at manipulating a conversation to his benefit and frequently oozes so much certainty on his argument that Link ends up in the losing side because he knows convincing Rhett otherwise is a challenge and he just gives up. For a long time I instictively thought Rhett was on the right because he gives off this impression of always being right. But when I started paying more attention, I started getting Link’s points more and more. In short, Link is a thoughtful guy ;) whenever he’s given the chance to show it (almost never, sadly).

Now that I expanded on this which wasn’t even what you exactly wanted me to discuss originally, let’s go to your ask in particular. (I just felt I needed to explain first why I don’t consider Link slow.)

As I already mentioned, Link has some extremities in his personality. He is impulsive and emotional which means his emotions drive his actions before his brain can stop him. When he’s angry or very excited or feels sarcastic or anything really, he will just blurt out whatever’s on his mind. But that doesn’t mean Link does not understand what he is talking about, it just means he doesn’t have a good filter on his mouth and at the moment he does not care to have one either.

There might be a paradox about Link - although he strikes me as an extrovert, he is actually not particularly socially skilled. But social awkwardness has little to do with intelligence as a whole (there is what we call social intelligence of course) and it is more common than not for intelligent people to be socially awkward and generate many weird moments. Then again, Link is very sensitive in awkwardness or inappropriate remarks or insults when it’s someone else doing it (not necessarily to him) which makes me think that he has a perfect understanding of what he says too at all times, only he’s usually bursting too much with enthusiasm, fury, hurt, irony or love to keep his mouth shut effectively. In occasions when he feels uncomfortable, another extremity of his is severe anxiety and he feels so much pressure to improve the situation that he will try to say anything to alleviate the moment which inevitably leads to failure quite often. I think that’s what happens in his personal awkward moments.

In GMM, in all these lovely moments when Link says something that makes us go “What on earth did he say again?”, like 85% of it, Link is perfectly super-absolutely aware of what he’s saying. Extremely aware. Like the “meat flap” to Stevie. He’s also angry in that video which explains his boldness. Or even the “Your wife can hang out with me anytime” to Rhett. I start suspecting he was even playing up a bit his shocked reaction after the Newsical kiss with Rhett. That’s how gloriously evil I consider him

The rest is because of emotions and an even looser filter since Link knows that there are no really bad implications that can occur during GMM unless, I dunno, he says something really horrible which he doesn’t really do. I mean, Rhett may say something extremely awkward more rarely but it usually can be even worse or more hurtful than whatever Link says.

Last but not least, Link is the epitome of clumsiness. This contributes to the idea of him being foolish, although they are not really correlated, if anything, it’s just a stereotype. His brain also tends to get stuck to a certain thing which makes him oblivious to anything else for the time being but I seriously doubt it is as much of a deal as Rhett makes it to be. Technically this is filtering of what matters to him, at least in his case.

But when Link is not a rollercoaster of emotions and feels relaxed or has already processed something and is confident about it, that’s when the strategic thinking comes up and I seriously think he’s unbeatable. I think Rhett has a more relatable kind of intelligence and he is clever in pretty much everything more or less whereas Link can be absolutely ignorant in what he doesn’t care about but can easily rip everyone apart in any field he shows an interest in and that is beneficial for him (management, finances, marketing, humour, entertainment, acting, psychology, yes, psychology, remember Sheena who said he has amazing empathy and he is the leader? Sheena knew what she was talking about). And probably many other fields of interest I don’t know about but all these need a good strategic brain. Link channels his intelligence in certain ways, probably for efficiency, and his way of thinking is also a bit peculiar which might estrange initially but he’s veeeeeeeeeeeeeeery clever underneath this carefully constructed persona. And underneath that soft cookie there is a much more challenging man to deal with. And underneath that divine calming smile there is a hell of emotions, good mixed with bad. I think he’s a very intense person.

I find him so fascinating that he almost scares me. There is a small chance he fascinates me so much that I straight up imagine things about him but honestly I think I may be right about at least a few of these. He’s definitely much smarter than most people think he is, let’s leave it at that XD

#link neal #randl #rhett and link #good mythical morning #ask #anon #mail #not sherlock #I had trouble posting this because I feel so unsure #perhaps nobody will see this anyway #the cringe is real #mythical #more

105 notes · View notes

trashunlimited · 6 years

Text

so...i wanted to get chapter 2 out of the way, since i finished it ahead of time. still working on chapter 3! i will post it when it’s done though. if you’re curious on the amount of chapters, the original had...17..so there you go.

chapter 1

tagging: @nightshade1994, @charmingfury, @oldblackhat, @glampyra

Later on in the day, Julie left to go get some groceries, mentioning to Rick there were some things she needed to get. She told him she’d be back soon enough, and left carrying her purse.

Rick took this time to look around the house, looking for anything suspicious. He got off the couch and limped around, searching as best as he could. But, despite the lengths he searched, he couldn’t find anything, she just seemed to be a normal girl, mundane and simple. To be honest, the worst thing he found was her collection of romance novels.

Because he couldn’t find anything off in the slightest, this made Rick think perhaps she was trustworthy. While he still wasn’t willing to open up or completely trust her yet, the chance of him doing so was certainly increased. As much as liked being around her already, he felt that once she knew the truth about him, that she would hate him.

After his search, Rick went back to the couch and decided to just kick back and relax. It was a little hot out, so he took off his lab coat and shirt, leaving him topless. He turned on the TV and began to watch it, feeling bored out his mind. He started thinking about Julie, how nice and hospitable she was towards him….how pretty she was..he tried to shrug that last part off, but it kept coming back to him and he didn’t know how to feel about it. At this point, Rick was simply attracted to her looks, and he was sure it would be nothing beyond that. As much as he was lonely and longed for company, he thought love was ridiculous, just a chemical reaction in the brain that compelled animals to breed. Despite this, he simply couldn’t stop thinking about her.

------------------

Julie returned home around noon, carrying a few bags of groceries which she set on the counter. She turned to see Rick, who was staring back at her, and her eyes widened when she saw he was topless. His body was muscular, but not overly so. He was well-built, with only a few hairs on his chest and in...another place..thankfully, he didn't seem to notice. “Are y-you g-gonna say something or..?” He asked.

“Oh right! Yes...I’m sorry..” She said, flustered and embarrassed. “Are you feeling better?”

“A little.” Rick admitted. “I mean, there’s still a bit of pain and I still have to limp around, but it’s not as bad as last night.”

“That’s good.” Julie smiled. “I think you should continue lying down though, and not move around too much, your wound still needs time to heal properly.”

Rick remembered when he had been snooping around earlier, but decided maybe it wasn’t best to bring that up. He had seen the nursing degree she had, so he knew she hadn’t been lying about going to nursing school. He was aware that she knew more about this kind of stuff than he did. He looked at the bags of groceries on the counter and thought of something to ask. “Did y-you buy wafer cookies?”

“Why yes I did! Did you want any?” She questioned.

“Yep.” He grinned. At this, Julie pulled out a box and handed it to him, watching as he opened it up and happily began munching on one. She watched him, feeling amused by how excited he was eating that wafer cookie. She was glad Rick was doing much better than he had last night. Her hope was that he would continue to improve, and maybe...they could become friends. Julie had a few friends, but she didn't have much, being very shy. She liked the prospect of making a new one, even if things had started out a bit rocky between them.

She joined him in eating cookies, and two began conversing with each other. Slowly but surely, their conversation became more relaxed. Julie found herself laughing and blushing a few times, she was really taking a liking to him, as he was with her.

After some time, Rick decided to ask her something he’d been curious about. “So, do you live by yourself?”

Julie nodded. “Yes...it’s...just me.”

“Do you actually talk to anyone? Or..what?”

She looked down nervously, before finally answering his question. ‘I have two best friends...but that’s it really..”

“No family?”

Julie didn’t like this question, Rick could tell it made her uncomfortable. ‘M-Must’ve h-hit a nerve...uh…”

She managed to regain her composure and smiled at him. “It’s okay, I guess I could ask you the same questions.”

Unlike Julie, Rick showed no problem answering those questions. “I live by myself too in a dingy apartment. I don’t talk to my family, I cut off all contact with them. As for friends...I...don’t have many either.”

That was when Julie realized they shared some very personal things in common: they both were lonely, they both lived alone, and they both didn’t talk to many people. She was curious on why he didn’t talk to his family anymore, but figured the answer was too personal, so didn’t bother to ask. But she liked they were already similar in a way, it felt nice. “Do you...want to be friends?” She asked shyly.

Rick’s eyes widened. “Really? Y-You….w-w-wanna be f-friends?”

She blushed, feeling nervous. “Yea..we..we both don’t have many people in our lives, and I really like the idea of having a new friend..I mean..um...if you’re okay with it.”

He was surprised, but also happy. Despite his trust issues, he did enjoy the prospect of making a new friend. “No! I’m...I’m fine with it. Friends?”

“F-Friends..”

-------------------

Later on, Julie began making supper for the two of them. She had asked him what he wanted to eat, and he told her he was in the mood for burgers and fries, so that’s what she made. She brought out some condiments and such, not sure what Rick liked on his burgers, and ended up helping him over to the counter so he could pick exactly what he wanted. When they put their burgers together, Julie only ended up making a simple cheeseburger with ketchup on top. Rick on the other hand, had covered his burger in condiments and dumped pickles onto it, he had even doused his fries in ketchup, making Julie laugh. Rick found he liked the sound of her laughter, it was...cute...but as soon as he thought of that, he shook it away, he was not going to be thinking things like that.

Julie also found Rick’s silliness charming, he was already able to make her laugh and smile. It was something she appreciated a lot.

They decided, since Rick still couldn’t move around much, that they should just watch a movie. So, Julie used the dial on the TV to flip through the channels, until they found a movie and started watching together, while eating. After the movie, Rick found Julie had fallen asleep. He chucked to himself, and poked her until she woke up. “Julie..you fell asleep.” He informed her, a grin on his face. “Was the movie that boring?”

“Ah..no no it wasn’t!” She said, feeling embarrassed. “I was just tired I guess.”

“Then I suppose it would be a good time to go to sleep.” Rick shrugged.

Julie seemed fine with this. “Alright, I’ll just clean up first, then we can head off to bed.” And that’s just what she did.

-----------

On a distant planet called Fyralog, the home planet of the Fyralogin Empire, their empress Pyri was talking to one of her best generals, Cyn. She had found out a piece of their empire’s fuel source was gone, and was enraged, if even just a piece was gone it jeopardized their entire empire; the fuel source was vital, providing electricity and power to the rest of their empire, they needed that piece back. The security cameras had captured the thief, well-known criminal Rick Sanchez. He was highly dangerous, so she knew this task would be difficult.

“Cyn, despite being a powerful general, and one of the best in our empire, this is still a very dangerous task, Rick Sanchez isn’t someone to be messed with, he’s not just anyone after all. By agreeing to this, you’re putting your life in danger.” Pyri warned him.

Cyn looked annoyed. “Yes, I’m well aware Your Imperial Highness, he’s one of the most wanted and dangerous criminals in the entire galaxy. You think I haven’t heard of that guy? I know fully well who he is.”

Pyri sighed. “Cyn, I hope you are taking this seriously. That man has the capacity to destroy entire worlds, he is not to be taken lightly.”

“Oh I am, but I still believe I am fully capable of apprehending that criminal myself.” Cyn boasted. “And you know what I’ll do? I’ll kill him myself, since he’s so dangerous, it’s better to kill him than to just simply lock him up.”

Pyri had heard of all the things Rick had done in his short few years as a criminal, and it made her worried for Cyn’s safety. But, he was her best option in retrieving their fuel source, she didn’t have much of a choice. “Fine. The information on him and his home planet Earth will be provided to you on your ship, go on now, I have other duties to attend to.”

Cyn grumbled, a bit annoyed at her simply dismissing him like that, but she was his empress, he had to obey her and respect her.

Once he arrived on his ship, he pressed a button, and a bunch of info on Rick popped up in front of him.

Name: Ricardo “Rick” Sanchez

Home Planet: Earth

Species: Human

D.O.B.(on respective planet’s years): ****** ** 1947 C.E.

Age: 31 years old

Gender: Male

Sex: Male

Criminal Record:

Rick has committed numerous crimes since his crime spree began a few years back. He is a murderer, a thief, has committed armed robbery and has been spotted doing illegal drugs. He is able to destroy entire worlds at the drop of a hat.

While his crime spree has too many crimes to count here, those were his most notable ones. He has also committed lesser crimes like public indecency and disturbance of the peace.

He is affiliated with two other criminals known as “Birdperson” and “Squanchy”, it is suspected they are all part of a band called “The Flesh Curtains”, but whether or not it is actually them is yet to be determined.

WARNING: HIGHLY DANGEROUS, AVOID AT ALL COSTS, ONLY APPROACH IF ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.

Cyn brushed off the warning at the end. He had already helped capture and take down other notorious criminals, Rick would be a breeze.

Next, he pulled up the info on Earth, which even managed to provide the planets coordinates.

Earth is a planet located here ************ within the Milky Way Galaxy. It should be noted Earth is a very primitive planet, with their dominant species homo sapien sapiens, better known as humans, being very backwards and barbaric.

Because of this, it is not recommended to approach this planet. Humans are noted to have very primitive space travel, only able to reach their moon. They can’t understand or comprehend the rest of us. While they can be observed from a distance, talking to them is not a good idea, they may try to kill you.

Cyn had a good chuckle out of this, humans being barbaric savages, to him, made this whole thing even easier. It would be very simple for him, not a challenge at all, Pyri was wrong to be so worried for him, he had this covered.

----------------------

A few days later, Rick’s leg had healed enough to the point where he no longer needed to limp around anymore. So, he decided now he was able to use the fuel source as he had intended to.

Using what he could find in Julie’s garage, he put together a gun, and fueled it with...the fuel source of course. He grabbed a box that was empty, and fired at it, causing it to explode, but nothing else. The loud noise from the explosion startled Julie and she ran into the garage. “Rick! What was that?”

He gave her a wicked, devious smile, and started laughing maniacally. “I did it Julie! It worked!”

“What worked?”

“The f-fuel source! I used it to power this,” He pulled up his gun. “And I fired it at an empty box, and the explosion sound is the noise y-you heard, hope y-you don’t m-mind.”

Julie breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s fine, just...warn me next time okay?”

“O-Okay.”

Julie then realized something. “If you can walk around now, um, that means...you can go now..” She didn’t sound very happy saying this.

“Yeah, I can g-go now, but don’t worry, we can still talk to each o-other.” Rick assured her. “I’ll give you my phone number, and you can give me y-yours.”

Her face lit up at this. “Really? That’s a great idea!”

So, they wrote each other’s phone numbers on slips of paper and exchanged them. Rick soon left, looking solemn. He had grown fond of her, and knew he would miss her, but at least they could still talk to each other.

He returned back to his apartment, and placed the slip of paper on the side table next to his bed, planning to call Julie tomorrow. Rick then took his “explosion” gun with him to his lab, and placed it on the table. Now, he could get back to his projects.

-------------------

Cyn had finally managed to end up at Earth, but now he was faced with the issue of finding where exactly Rick was, but with the press of a few buttons, he turned on the tracker of his ship. He would find him sooner rather than later.

so..some of you may be curious of the fyralogin empire, i made it up! i figured there had to be some great power in the galaxy before the galactic federation, and when i tried to use the federation as the enemies in the past, it didn’t work it out well...

i also used some real world empires as inspiration, namely the british empire and roman empire...make of that what you will. i am a history nerd..i guess that’s also why writing a story set in the past was so exciting to me, i did a lot of research into the 1970s, as well as the 1960s and 1950s for this story.

#my writing #rick and julie

11 notes · View notes

iammarylastar · 6 years

Photo

5. Donut, 1304. “Tell me more about Alabama, is there any family of yours left?”

We’re enjoying the sandwiches she’s made, everything is perfect, mostly the view I have of my angel, sitting on the blanket I spread on the grass near a little creek, sunbeam dancing on her beautiful features.

OK. Let’s sum up what nonsense my life has been before her.

“Alabama was wonderful, as long as my mother was still with us. The scum of the Earth that was my father owned a farm where my brother and I worked hard. He let my mom die from the flu, spending the slightest penny in alcohol. No money left for the doctor. She died the winter of my 17 years. I left without looking back after I buried her, alone in the cemetery, my bro and that dickhead too busy to celebrate the funeral getting wasted with fake booze. I did odd jobs through the state before signing up for the army which became my real family. I remember thinking… nah, it’s silly.”

Her sweet gaze encourages me to go on, as my fingers tear blades of grass and daisies up from the ground.

“I remember thinking I could be closer to her up there, I liked to picture her face in the clouds. That’s how I became a pilot.”

I chuckle, I’ve never opened up to anyone before. I don’t want to sound too whiny or childish, though I don’t feel like she’s judging me. I feel like I could spit all my sins out and she would still stay here with me.

“I’d like to go back to Alabama when the war ends, back to the farm if it still exists. You know to do something else than blowing up things. I want to build things with my bare hands, I dream of better days, a simple life, a family… Sorry, this sounds so boring…”

The truth is I’ve started dreaming about building a family since the first time we talked.

“Please, no, I like to hear you speaking of better days. I find it…”

“Cute?” I lift an eyebrow, teasing her.

“Yeah, cute.” She laughs.

“What about you? How does a beautiful angel like you end up in a military base in the middle of the Pacific?”

“I’m sorry to tell you your life doesn’t deserve the award of the saddest story of the year. My dad was a Colonel of the U.S. Army. Both my parents died 3 years ago in a car accident. As a ward of state, I was sent to a boarding school for girls, while my older sister married Gessepp who was a friend of our father. He’s 15 years older than Jessica but he used to be nice when he came home for dinner. He helped a lot after they died and when he proposed to my sister, we both thought he would take good care of us. He changed after their wedding. He turned into a disgusting pig, a drunk, racist, misogynistic asshole, who just treated Jess like shit. He stopped beating her when she was expecting their child, but it’s been twice as bad since Abigail was born. He insisted to call her Abigail "the joy of her father”, fuck me, he hates having a girl. Jess did her best to protect her but she’s been so weak after the birth, she begged me to come here and take care of the baby.“

She pauses, her eyes shining with tears, which makes me love her even more. I hate knowing her sad or upset. Or not safe.

"Does he hit you too?” I ask, figuring out the answer.

She rolls her eyes, only to prevent warm tears to spring from her eyelids. Uselessly.

Brushing quickly her cheek with the back of her hand, she looks at me straight in the eyes, begging me not to go further.

“Please, don’t waste this perfect day with unpleasant things. Let’s say Jess and I do what has to be done to keep the baby safe.”

My blood is boiling in my veins, I wish I could wrap myself around her and never let her go, keeping her safe in my arms, along with Jessica and Abigail.

“One day, Cup. One day after the war ends, when we’re back to America, Jessica, the baby and me will leave him. We will run away from him and settle down somewhere he couldn’t find us and have the peaceful life we want. I could be a teacher and provide for my family. I too dream for better days.”

Oh Angie let me save you. Let’s dream of better days together. Let’s live them together.

I have to cheer her up, I can’t stand the hint of sadness in her eyes. Let’s start a show.

I grab a home made pastry, a donut covered with icing sugar and lift it up, like a trophy.

“OK. You won hands down. Your story is the saddest I’ve ever heard. I have the great honour to give you this well deserved donut as an award for your bravery and strength. I’m proud of you and sincerely stunned by your cooking and sewing skills. I wish you the best for your future, and I hope I could be a part of it.”

“Amen!” She laughs.

I laugh with her, despite I’ve never been more serious.

I lift the donut to her lips, so she can take a bite, then I push it up on purpose, covering her nose with icing sugar.

She startles and looks at me, puzzled, for just a second, before bursting into laughter, I heartily follow.

“No, no!” She grabs another donut and hands it to my mouth.

“You ranked a close second. You deserve this one as an award for being the cutest man I’ve ever met, despite your shitty past and the disability you have to keep your shirts dry and clean. I wish this damn war could end in a couple of days, so you would fly us back home, away from this all this shit.”

“What woman wants…”

I stare at her, my need to take her lips stronger than ever, my stomach burns like hell and her eyes teasing me just fuels my desire.

I snap at the donut she holds before me, but that little devil jerks it back and I almost bite my own tongue.

Smirking mischievously, she teases me again, shaking the donut under my nose.

She fools me twice before I grab her wrist, pull her hand to my mouth and take a huge bite of the donut, like a half of it.

It’s jelly filled. Raspberries. Delicious.

She bursts into laughter again while I chew the huge piece, trying my best not to choke or spit it out as I laugh with her.

My mouth and chin are covered with jam that’s running down, she quickly swipes it with her fingers, which unwillingly end up in her mouth.

Her laugh stops as she realizes she’s licking her fingers, my own face crumbling into pieces obviously showing her the hotness of the moment.

I swallow hard as my grip on her wrist tightens, my thumb stroking gently the soft skin of its back.

She on purpose takes her time to lick each drop on her forefinger, ending with a pop that sends shivers through my spine. The way she looks at me doing that… Oh God help me!

I’m close to eating her up, my brain shouts at me “Kiss her now!”

My guts twist painfully, the drool in my mouth tastes metallic, you know that little thing just before you kiss someone for the first time.

I know that feeling, I’ve kissed a ton of chicks before. Except that I’m in love with her, like, totally.

And it freezes me, I’m paralyzed. My brain shows me billions of flashes of me kissing her lips but my body refuses to move.

I know, I feel she wants it too, as badly as me, by the way her eyes caress my lips.

She slowly raises her fingers back up to my face, brushing lightly along my jawline, wiping the rest of the jam off the corner of my lips, then letting her fingertips wandering along my bottom lip. So slowly.

God strike me down if I’ve ever lived a sexier moment in my damn whole life.

I can’t help, Jesus I try but I can’t help but opening my mouth, moving my lips to kiss the pads of her digits.

The gasp she makes finishes to undo me. Her hooded eyes are begging me for more, and I can’t seriously deceive her.

I open my lips and nip gently at her pads, before licking and sucking on them.

Holy shit I doubt I’ll survive.

Our eyes locked, lost in each others, the world stops existing around us.

Her smile vanishes, her lips slightly open in a sexy pout, I’m gonna die.

The urge to kiss her takes over, my hand lets go off her wrist and runs up her arm, goosebumps rising all the way up to her neck.

My heart is close to exploding as I comb her hair back, my fingers entangled in the jungle of her hair, tilting her head so her lips are offered to me.

She just melts into my touch and let the sexiest sigh out, closing her eyes shut, waiting for more.

My lips land on the tip of her nose, stealing the icing sugar laying there, making the drool multiply under the sweetness of the moment.

I lightly brush my nose against hers as my lips burn to meet hers, so close the air she breathes tickles my face.

Pulling her face to me, I just kiss her.

Gentle and slow.

Her lips under mines are soft and wet

and the sound of her taking small breaks for air between our kisses is a serious turn on.

Like I needed some.

I struggle hard not to use my tongue, afraid she’d think I’m going too fast or too far.

My sweet angel once again surprises me when she slips her tongue out and dares to lick my lips, parting them gently, begging me to deepen the kiss.

I gladly comply and with a grunt, open my mouth and taste her.

Jesus, she tastes like Heaven.

Beside my lips and tongue kissing her and my fingers in her hair, there’s no part of us touching, which is a torture. We’re sitting close to each other but it’s obviously not enough.

My free hand moves around her tiny waist and I effortlessly lift her up and settle her down on me. Her limbs instinctively find their way so she straddles me, her hand grips my collar before stroking the back of my neck, pulling me deeper in the kiss.

She rests on her knees, each side of me, using leverage not to sit completely on my lap.

My hands leave her waist to travel north, her dress is bareback just under her shoulder blades so I have plenty of skin to stroke.

She’s all over me, eating my mouth, I have to fight not to fall on my back. Though I appreciate her enthusiasm, I don’t think I could be able to stop if we laid on the ground. And I don’t want to take her like this.

Oh yes I want to, trust me, but not here, not for our first date.

She told me she’s never been with a man before, being her first kiss is already a blessing.

The gentleman in me knows it’s not the right time, begs me to keep control and my cock in my pants, yells at me to cool down.

I cross my arms in her lower back, just to keep our balance, but it accidentally invites her to finally sit completely on my lap.

Let’s be honest, on my fucking boner.

A loud grunt leaves my lung as she gasps and startles, but quickly melts upon me.

Holy fuck!

Still cleaning my tonsils, she pushes lightly her hips against me and the moan that escapes her mouth screams me how good it feels for her too.

Now glued against my crotch, she starts to rock her hips slowly but firmly and I’m sure this will be the end of my life.

The gentleman supposed to help me to regain control just shot himself, quickly replaced by my old demon who suggests to roll her under me and rip her garment off.

Jesus, I can feel her wetness pooling through my own pants!

“Angie…” she doesn’t hear me.

“Angie, please…”

She hums, still absorbed in kissing my soul and it kills me to end this.

I have to push her back a little to stare gently at her. She’s on fire, it breaks my heart to tell her:

“Angie, baby, we have to stop.”

Puzzled and disappointed she looks at me like to ask if she’s done something wrong.

“We have to stop now before it’s too late. I don’t want us to do something you’re not ready for…

Oh trust me I want you so bad it hurts but I don’t think we should… ahhm…I don’t think I could…

Keep kissing me like this and I won’t answer for your virtue.

She frowns and pouts at first, in a so adorable way it’s hard not to kiss her again, then realizes what I’m talking about and blushes, her cheeks already flushed by our kisses.

She sighs deeply, combs her disheveled hair back then stares at me with an indecipherable look.

"Take off your shirt”

@jaihardy @jaicourtneyseyes @kenzieam @captstefanbrandt @pathybo @jojuarez26 @tigpooh67

@onceinabillionlifetimes, @bookgirlthings href=“https://tmblr.co/m9JHX1l4S6qx4dGSAX5BJ0Q”>@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995, @oddsnendsfanfics, @sajess98 @societalfailure @red-diary @pernilleals

#morning cup #jai Courtney #angelina jolie #unbroken #fanfiction

15 notes · View notes