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zoeysdamn · 2 years

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Bark, Bite & Break Bones - Tyler Galpin x Van Helsing!reader | Part.2

Summary: Your daily life at Nevermore as Tyler’s supervisor has a rocky start; between his provocative behavior and the passive-aggressive students, you could really use a cigarette break. Over a strange and unexpected complicity moment between you and Tyler, you both begin to realize that things aren’t maybe what they look like. Maybe a therapy session could help? Good luck with that, Mrs.New therapist.

Warnings: swearing, mention on bullying, underage smoking (reader is between 17 and 18)

A/N: The timeline is utterly chaotic, and you’re getting more information about who and what the reader did…not everything tho, I like to keep more for future chapters uhuhuh

[Masterlist] [Prologue] [Part.1]

To say that your school year at Nevermore had a rocky start was the understatement of the century. First, the news of yours and Tyler’s arrival had spread like wildfire and now every student looked at you with either terror or hateful eyes. If not all of them knew of the Van Helsing legacy before, everyone was aware of that…family business of yours now. Younger students ran away when they came across you in fear you’d attack them, and older ones who already knew you from before your conviction had murder in their eyes. It wasn’t unusual for some of them to purposely bump into your shoulder in corridors, or try to make you trip whenever you were around. Great mood, really.

Secondly, Tyler Galpin had set his mind to be the biggest pain in the ass to you. Even if he kept his act of the terrified redeeming good boy with everyone else, but as soon as your eyes met, he changed into a shit-eating grin immediately. Tyler was constantly trying to test your limits, to push away to see where he was breaking rules and how fast he could get on your nerves. Whether it was by starting to transform only a part of himself we no one looked at him, or burning holes at the back of one younger student’s head and cockily flicking his gaze back at you, taunting like he was about to attack them. Daring you to make a move first. He knew you couldn’t attack him without him doing something first; the familiar glimpse of your dagger was never far whenever he ever twitched the wrong muscle. But on the other hand, you also knew he wouldn’t try anything that would ruin his chances to stay at Nevermore. But he could. So these cold war games of who would break first and taunting the other, with the possibility of jumping at each other’s throat in the blink of an eye, went on since the both of you arrived at the academy. Tyler was obviously thrilled by this ongoing silent duel between the two of you, and about how he achieved to make at least some of the people believe how harmless and sorry he was. So you could only swallow the frustration you got from his behavior, and stay on high alert for any suspicious move; you knew that as soon as he'd get the occasion, he’d pick up your previous fight where it had stopped.

The days were pretty much the same: you got up early, made your morning run in the school’s woods before everyone else was up, went back to your room to take a shower, got changed in the horrendous uniform and your real day began. You picked up Tyler at his room, went to breakfast then to your first class. Logically you were both in the same class so it was easier for you to watch over him. Then lunch, which you more than often spent in a secluded part of the quad in almost silence, a few snarky comments threw at each other occasionally. Then the afternoon classes, the time usually dedicated to extra-curricular activities and clubs being used as studying time (Weems had tried to suggest that either your or Tyler could join a club, you had cackled at her). The dinner, under the glares of the other students in the dining hall, and then dropping Tyler at his room door. If Ajax wasn’t here, you’d make a patrol around the dorm after leaving Tyler. Then, lights out and you could go to bed. This wasn’t much different from your days in the detention center, same routines except you were both the convicted and the warden here.

Exiting the bathroom after your shower wrapped in a towel, you grabbed your pack of cigarettes and put one between your lips. At least here you just had to go to Jericho to grab some, and not make shady deals like you did with the inmate who smuggled some in juvie.

Passing in front of your mirror, you winced at the bruises starting to form on your forearms and thighs in different colors, from yellow to deep purple. You were used to having some of those when you were younger and your grandparents pushed the fighting training sessions until late at night. You would come home exhausted and covered in bruises and scratches, knowing the next day would begin early with the same exercises.

But now, those bruises were from hitting walls and ground when students ‘accidently’ bumped into you in the corridors or lockers room. People thought teenage boys could be violent, but teenage girls were definitely more cruel among themselves behind closed doors; and a lot of Nevermore’s female students made sure to make you pay for being here again.

Of course, you could fight back but it would only give them more reason to hate you, and the slightest misbehavior could send you back to juvie. So you shrugged it away, and swallowed your anger. It was like a patience test of sorts.

Before you could light up your cigarette, the familiar ding of a phone notification interrupted your search for your lighter. Turning up the screen of your phone, you read very anxious and apologetic text of Ajax who informed you that he had some plans for the night and that Tyler wasn’t asleep yet – you could almost picture hear his shaky and panicked voice through the text asking you if it was okay for him to leave the room while the big bad Hyde was still awake. For a moment you considered flipping him off. Your day was over after all, you were officially off-duty. But then you remembered how terrified the poor Gorgon looked every time you dropped Tyler at their room, and you took pity on him. Maybe you could do him a favor and allow him to have a night off. Swearing to yourself slightly, you quickly texted him back that you would be there in ten minutes. Sliding in some comfortable sport shorts, a tank top and an old hoodie, you grabbed your cigarettes and dagger for good measure before getting out of your room. At this time all corridors were empty, and by the time you arrived at their room Ajax was already fidgeting nervously in front of the door.

“Hey,” you greeted, “change of guard, you’re free to go.”

The beanie boy jumped, startled by your appearance, “Ah, h-hi Y/N, I’m sorry for notifying this so late but I have plans with some of my friends and you see–”

Interrupting his nervous banter with a raised hand you chuckled a little, “At ease soldier, that’s fine.”

His eyebrow rose high in surprise, “Really?”

You shrugged slightly, “It’s my job. You volunteered to be a Hyde’s roommate, I’d said you’ve given enough of yourself already. Take the night off, you deserve it.”

“Well- that’s really kind of you,” stuttered Ajax, not expecting such an act of selflessness from you. From someone who had been expelled from Nevermore for a severe fault from what he heard about, this was kind of abrupt. He didn’t know you that well when you were at Nevermore two and half years ago, and he only heard of the whole deal that got you expelled from rumors. The ferocious Van Helsing, monster hunter.

You gave him a playful but harsh enough punch on the arm “Don’t tell this to anyone, I have a reputation to maintain. Go, your friends are waiting for you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and with a final grateful nod Ajax disappeared through the corridor.

Swinging the door open you came in unannounced, “I hope you are decent in there because I didn’t bring acid to burn my eyes,” you called sarcastically.

A chuckle came from Tyler’s bed, where he was lying on his back with a book in hand. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t like what you’ll see, doll.”

You snorted, “As if. Got any more badass scars under that shirt?”

“Wanna check?” he retorted playfully.

Rolling eyes at the already familiar exchange you plopped on the edge of his desk, twirling your dagger between your fingers. You had expected some more snarky comments, but it seemed that the both of you had enough for today, and for once you fell into a comfortable silence. Tyler casually read his book while you flipped through your phone mind-absently for a while, browsing your instagram feed to kill some time. From time to time you glanced at him, making sure he was behaving himself – or so you convinced yourself. After all Tyler was a rather pleasant sight to the eye, and you did have a thing for freckled boys and scars (even if you’d rather die than admitting this out loud). No matter how much you despised being back at Nevermore and how much of a prick Tyler could be, you had to admit that this job wasn’t so unpleasant; at least the monster you were in charge of was an eye-candy, that was a first. As Tyler reached for his water bottle on the night table, you stole another glance in his direction. But instead of being silently regaled by the way his shirt slightly rose up to reveal his midsection, the glimpse of blue-ish marks made you frown. That stare didn’t go unnoticed by Tyler who smirked at you.

“No need to stare, if you wanted to see me without my shirt you just needed to ask sweetheart,” he teased with a shit-eating grin.

Normally you would have countered with a witty come-back, but the realization of what you saw was very serious, “How did you get those bruises?”

Tyler’s cocky expression turned into a scowl, closing himself – maybe in shame, “I fell during fencing practice, that’s all.”

You raised an eyebrow, “No you didn’t.”. Fencing was relatively new to Tyler, he had only been in football teams before which made him one of the worst students in practice. But you were on heightened alertness during those classes, when he had a weapon in his hands and he could be roughened up by other students – his violent tendencies could wake up. “I watched you closely during fencing practice, you didn’t fall.”

Tyler averted his gaze, trying to refocus on his book, “Must’ve escaped your vigilance then.”

“Tyler,” you pressed, narrowing your eyes at him, “who gave you those bruises?”

This wasn’t really a question now, nor a hypothesis. He wasn’t the clumsy type; it was unlikely he did that to himself. And he definitely had a couple of students hating him for last year’s events. Bullying was a logical explanation.

Tyler remained silent for a moment before muttering, “Some guys in the locker room, no big deal.”

A frustrated curse left your lips; god, those guys weren’t even brave enough to actually go against him in a fair fight. They were as bad as the girls who were doing the same to you – cowards. “Who?” you asked.

“Don’t know their names,” he shrugged before peeking from behind his book with an amused spark in his brown eyes, “Why? Do you care about my safety, my knight in shining armor?”

This made you grin a little, but it quickly was washed away by your serious expression, “If that’s what it takes to prevent you from losing control and attacking other students, then yes.”

A flash of hurt passed through his eyes; he was a job to you, that’s right. Unfortunately, you didn’t notice it.

“If that shit happens again, just say it to me,” you muttered, blood internally boiling at the thought of bullying. What a bunch of jerks. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What, because it’ll make your job easier?” he snickered under his breath.

“Yes,” you answered flatly. “And because you don’t have to deal with that; I’m here to stand between you and the school, that goes both ways.”. This admittance made Tyler’s eyebrows slightly raise in surprise; he honestly didn’t expect you to be willing to come to his defense, even if it was just for your job.

The nicotine need hit again, giving you a welcomed occasion to cut short the conversation. Getting off the desk you crossed the room to get to the window, Tyler following your every move at the corner of his eye – which you noticed of course. Putting a cigarette between your lips you waved the pack at him.

“Want one?”

“Y/N Van Helsing, are you getting soft on me?” he cackled, but still with a hint of genuine surprise in his voice.

“Don’t get any ideas,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m technically off-duty, I’m allowed to chill out.”

Tyler eyed the pack for a second but then shrugged, “Not a smoker. But thanks for the offer.”

Opening the window slightly to let the smoke out, you searched for your lighter before cursing when you realized you had forgotten it in your room.

“Shit, forgot my lighter,” you mumbled to yourself.

To your surprise, Tyler immediately got up from his bed and went to Ajax’s side of the room. He rummaged through his roommate’s things under your perplexed gaze, before digging to the socks drawer and retrieving a lighter, holding it up in your direction.

“Ajax has a hidden stash of weed,” he explained, while crossing the room back to you.

Tyler approached you slowly, lighter dangling between his long fingers. On any other occasion you would have taken a step back instinctively, to have a better balance in case of attack; but this time, you were feeling…bolder. Playful, like you were willing to see how far this could go. Tyler seemed to have sensed this too, because he lazily grinned as he stood now in front of you, merely a few inches away. His eyes raked over your legs coming out from the sport shorts, traveling up slowly until setting on your own eyes, boring deep into them. Not dropping your gaze, you were so absorbed in his deep brown eyes you didn’t even realize pulling the cigarette off your mouth; Tyler definitely did. His eyes flickered to your lips ever so slightly, attracted by your movement and then fixated on them. The soft curve of your lips were so temptful, especially as you were standing this close to each other, breaths mingling with each other. Noticing the flicker of his gaze from your eyes to lips he tried so hard to keep discreet, a smile slowly took place on your face.

“See something you like?” you teased, but your tone was softer than your usual bickering.

He hummed, “You definitely look pretty from here.”

“Close to you? You don’t look so bad yourself, tiger.”

“Under me,” he said slowly, and the deep tone of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He definitely knew how to play.

You chuckled softly, “If you want to kiss me, make sure to do it properly, lover boy,” you breathed out while unconsciously leaning closer, daring him, “or I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Tyler’s lips – so tempting too – stretched into a lazy smirk, “You wish I’d kiss you doll, but I’ve learned a few things about touching you without consent.”

The grin you gave him covered for the dash of disappointment that went briefly through your eyes, “Good boy,” you said, putting the cigarette back between your lips.

He gave you a mocking nod and held up the lighter between the two of you, flicking it open to make a flame appear. Approaching it closer to your face, you leaned in, the tip of the cigarette brushing the flickering flame. From beneath your lashes, you carefully observed him as he lit it up wordlessly, his gaze equally intensely set on you.

None of you tore their eyes away from the other until the first puff of smoke came out, which you blew out outside of the window, leaning back on the wall. The tension from the previous moment slowly faded away as you both slightly stepped aside, putting a little distance between you two – enough to not be entangled with each other’s presence again, despite your best judgment.

For a few moments, you observed Tyler silently, pulling on your cigarette and exhaling the smoke slowly. “You’re a strange man, Tyler Galpin.”

His scoff was lighter than his usual snarky ones, “How so? Because I’m polite despite being a murderous creature?”

It made you wince a little; you could tell your words had hurt him. Going from tension-filled flirting to cold professional observations was a low blow, even from you. But you had to put some distance before it could backfire at you.

“Never said you weren’t,” you countered with a shrug, “I’ve only read your files, they didn’t exactly scream ‘polite considerate boy’.”

“What, so all outcasts are evil for you Van Helsings?” he sarcastically said.

With a shake of your head, you exhaled some more smoke outside.

“Where do you think I’m coming from, the Dark Ages? If you want to talk about conservative shit, call my grandparents, they’d gladly welcome you with a pitchfork and a torch.”

Tyler let out a lighter laugh, “So there’s problematic grandparents in monster hunters’ families too, that’s reassuring.”

“All of my family is problematic,” you said with a roll of your eyes, “even my progressist parents.”. At the raise of his eyebrows, you made a vague gesture of the hand, “They had a revelation or whatever, and decided that hunting down creatures was bad overnight. And since then they've been playing the little saints, preaching their good words about pacifism.”

Crossing his arms over his chest Tyler leaned his side against the wall, giving you a perplexed look, “I don’t get it, I thought you didn’t see all outcasts as dangerous monsters who needed to be slayed?” he frowned.

With a long sigh, you averted your gaze for a moment. To be honest this wasn’t a conversation you had been prepared to have.

“I don’t,” you stated flatly, “most of my family’s only interested in carrying the legacy and killing all the living creatures because they’re supposedly evil. I’ve seen outcasts, most of them are literally just trying to get their shit together as much as humans do, they’re not necessarily a menace.”

“But?” pressed Tyler, still not quite getting your point.

Instinctively, one of your hands went to reach for your upper back, rubbing the area over your scapula. If Tyler noticed it, he didn’t say anything. “But I’m being realistic,” you said quietly but bitterly, “saying that outcasts could never represent a menace is burying heads in the sand. Humans aren’t so different, I saw what both of them could do to people like me.”

“People like you?” repeated the curly-haired boy perplexedly.

“Too weird to be a normie, too human to be an outcast,” you shrugged slightly. “I’m in-between both of those categories, and no matter what I do I’ll always make enemies on both sides.”

Your cigarette was almost over by now, so you crushed it down the edge of the window and tossed it in a trashcan before lighting another one.

“Both my parents and my grandparents are trying to use me as a pawn to promote their views, but none of them have been on the field for a long time,” you scoffed bitterly. “This isn’t about having preconceptions about outcasts or you Tyler, this is about facts and what I’ve read about you.”

He looked at you silently for a while, before nodding slightly in understanding.

"You're not half bad than I thought," he admitted, "not quite the blood-thirsty killer after all."

A small laugh escaped your lips, "I could say the same about you, but you did some time in juvie too for a reason, tiger."

He shrugged slightly, "Six months, we all made mistakes."

"Hey no judgment here," you said with an amused smile, "did my two years fair and square."

"You did?" he said, taken aback. That surprised you, you thought that he had heard about it by now. Still, even if he was curious, he didn't ask any further.

"I'm not the only one having misconceptions it seems," you said quietly. "I may have deserved that, but I’d be lying to say that my conviction had been fair. Don’t get me wrong, I won't deny I like being a hunter, but I'm not here today to slice every outcast's throat on the spot."

"No, only mine," snorted Tyler.

You shrugged before inhaling some smoke, "That depends entirely on you, pretty boy. I hunt real monsters who are actually a threat, can be you or the next asshole who decides to be cocky."

“But you have already deemed me to be a threat,” said Tyler with a surprisingly tint of hurt in his voice, and you looked up at him to find his brown eyes filled with a mix of bitterness and sadness. “So why the big ‘not all monsters, not all Van Helsing’ speech?”

You looked at him for a long time, before answering, “I told you, I’m only acting by what I saw and what I’ve read about you. If I only relied on books, I’d be more than a pain in the ass for you; Hydes without masters can be very volatile in their violence, I’d be a true stalker.”

“Like you’re not?” he scoffed, “what in my behavior gave you the impression I could be a menace again?”.

His anger was legit, but you shrugged. “So far, you can’t say you weren’t kind of a provocative asshole.”

Tyler nodded his head, “Fair enough. Still wanted to kiss me though.”

“What can I say, I must have a knack for danger.”

Crushing your second cigarette end on the edge, you caught a glimpse of a group of students outside, apparently chatting as they returned to the dorms. You recognized Ajax, the blue-eyed siren you remembered as Bianca Barclay, a blonde girl dressed in pink talking excitedly with them as a smaller pigtailed girl dressed all in black held her hand, standing still. Beside Bianca, you also noticed Yoko and another siren, talking quietly. As they felt yours and Tyler’s gazes upon them, the black-cladded girl and Bianca looked up at your window. Even from up here, you could feel their glares, almost hear their snares. You glanced at Tyler with the corner of your eyes, noticing how uncomfortable he somehow looked. Maybe he knew some of those students from before?

“Looks like you have a fanclub too,” you noted out loud. He didn’t respond. At the same time, you received a new text from Ajax saying he’d be coming back to the room soon. “It doesn’t matter what I think of you,” you finally said with a sigh, “if you want to be an asshole that’s fine. You actually want to redeem yourself? Works too, frankly I don’t care. I’m only here to put myself between you and the students until the school’s board is satisfied.”

“Am I supposed to thank you, then?” he asked with a boyish smile that actually made him look nice.

You shrugged, but it brought a smirk to your face too, “If you want. I may not be the most enjoyable person to be around, but I sure am the closest thing to a somehow friendly face you’ll find ‘round here.”

Tyler let out a small laugh, “Ah yes, the blade to the throat had given that away.”

Walking away from the window your smirk boarden, “You pulled that on yourself, pretty boy.”

Preparing to return to your own room, you collected your pack of cigarettes and checked the time on your phone. Doing that, you saw the Gorgon’s text informing you that he was entering the dorm. That was your cue.

“Oh I almost forgot,” you said, as you opened the door, “we’re going to Jericho tomorrow morning.”

“What for? Is this your way of asking me out?”

You rolled your eyes, “No dumbass, you have a required therapy session to attend to and I have to tag along.”

Tyler groaned at the thought, and you were tempted to do the same. This would be a very long and awkward morning. So before closing the door you threw him one last playful smile.

“Good night, pretty boy.”

His grin made you think that maybe this would be enough compensation for the dreadful next morning. That was totally irresponsible of you, but you were off-duty. A little flirt outside of working hours couldn’t hurt, right?

The court had required therapy sessions for Tyler – again, for what you had understood. Usually it was someone among the teachers that drove those who needed to attend the sessions, but given the situation, you were the one driving Tyler to Dr.Fern's office. The new therapist at Jericho was located on the border of the town, meaning that Tyler won’t have to face any familiar faces. Still, as you knocked on her door, you could sense his nervousness. The door swung open to a ginger curly-haired woman, around her thirties, round glasses perched on her nose and wearing a comfy yellow sweater under her jeans overalls. Her gold hoops and slightly tanned skin contrasted with her light gray-blue eyes, and her general relaxed appearance surprised you for a second.

“Ah, you must be Tyler Galpin,” she cooed in a melodic voice, “you’re right on time, come in please.”

You shared a dumbfounded look with Tyler before following her into her office. The place was rather simple but well-furnished and you had to admit, it was putting at ease.

“I’m Dr.Caitriona Fern,” she introduced herself as she sat on a purple armchair, gesturing to Tyler to do the same; you decided to stay on your feet, and took a look around the office to identify the potential exit. “I’m your new therapist, it’s a pleasure to meet you Tyler.”

“Nice to meet you too ma’am,” he said politely yet nervously.

She smiled warmly at him and turned her attention to you, “And you must be Tyler’s friend then. Principal Weems had informed me that you would be present during those sessions as well.”

“I’m not his friend,” you corrected, “I’m his babysitter, Y/N Van Helsing.”

Tyler glanced at you with undertones of hurt in his eyes; he knew you were acting so cold and distant because you were in public. But after the flirting and open-heart moment you shared the day before, it hurted slightly.

Despite your snappy tone, Dr.Fern smiled warmly at you, “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope you’ll join our sessions eventually, it could be productive.”

You snorted, “Not a chance. I’m here to make sure you don’t end up gutted on your own floor like his previous therapist, nothing more.”

Once again, she gave you a sympathetic smile through your harsh words, “Is it thought? Maybe those sessions could benefit you for all this repressed sentiment of injustice you bury under all your sarcasm.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, and Tyler gasped. “How did you do that?” he let out in surprise.

“I’m a really good therapist,” she smiled softly.

Another second passed before you realized what it was about, “You’re a fae,” you said slowly, to which she answered with a humble bow of the head.

“That’s right. I’m graced with empathic abilities, which made me indeed a good therapist. I’m surprised you identified me so quickly,” she added, still with a kind tone, “it’s hard to recognize fae, even for sharper Van Helsing minds.”

“Not that hard when you know what to look for,” you shrugged casually.

Fae had a very specific aura, like a faint glow around them that reminded of sunset. The calming aura around them was also characteristic of the species, some people would mistake it for kindness. Internally, you cursed at Weems for not having told you that the new therapist was also an outcast.

“Are you upset that I’m not human?” asked Dr.Fern, cocking her head to the side.

“No,” you said flatly, “faes aren’t usually prone to manipulate people. Can’t say the same about humans or Principal Weems.”

The therapist’s smile turned into a sorry expression, “Principal Weems must have her reasons.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, “this isn’t about me, begin your session and forget that I’m here.”

Dr.Fern gave you one last smile because refocusing solely on Tyler and the two of them began to talk. Leaning on the window’s ledge, you crossed your arms over your chest and made sure to shut down your ears. Honestly you didn’t think that those sessions would do anything to Tyler; he was a cocky asshole who tried to fool everyone with a guilty act, but you knew better. He didn’t want to change, so no matter how kind Dr.Fern was, therapy sessions would be useless. So there was no need for you to listen to all of this bullshit, and hopefully the session would come to an end before you’ll even realize it.

But a few words still caught your attention.

“Why do you want to have those sessions, Tyler?”

“I don’t think I really have a choice,” he said nervously.

“Yes, but why do you want to actually participate in them?” pressed the therapist gently.

He thought for a moment, pondering about it, “I- I want to get better. I don’t want to ever be trapped in my own body like I don’t have any control over the Hyde like before, I…I don’t want to feel helpless again, not like that.”

You glanced at him from the window ledge, an eyebrow slowly rising in surprise. Such an open confession wasn’t what you had expected, even less so in the first session.

“Does the lack of control over the Hyde frighten you?”. Tyler nodded.

“A bit yeah. I mean- I know what I did, and I can’t lie about how violent I still can be – like to be even. But…I want to have some closure to be over with Jericho. I want to put all of this behind me, if that makes sense?”

The therapist smiled softly and nodded, “It does.”

Yeah, you thought internally, it does.

About twenty minutes later, the session finally ended and you couldn’t help but release a relieved sigh. God, an hour had never felt so long.

“It was a good start,” deemed Dr.Fern as she got up from her seat, “I’m glad we had this session Tyler.”

“Me too Dr.Fern,” he said while shaking her hand – under your watchful eyes, you had completely refocused the second the therapist had moved. “See you at the next session.”

“Goodbye Tyler,” she said as he crossed the door; when you followed him, Dr.Fern stopped you an instant, “Don’t be so stubborn about him,” she whispered to you, “he’s genuinely relieved to have those sessions.”

For a brief moment, you were tempted to snap at her. But faes weren’t liars. Instead, you bid her goodbye and caught up with Tyler without a word. Maybe she was right, and there was more of Tyler Galpin that you had thought.

[Part.3]

A/N: writing flirty and cocky reader and Tyler is EVERYTHING AHHHHHH they’re feral babies I love them omg

Also if I manage to get back to drawing again, maybe I’ll draw Dr.Fern and scared!Enid and Tyler uhuhuh 👀

The next chapter should be posted soon, because most of it is already written! (was supposed to be in this one but I have cut things differently)

Thanks everyone for reading, I hope you enjoyed this part ♥ Hope you’re all doing okay, take care of you ♥

Taglist:

@igotanidea @officerrrfriendly @beggingforxavierthorpe @aliciahlewis @stresseyzesty @katiemrty @leightonsteele @black-swan-blog27

Usernames unfound by Tumblr:

@spiceyhotsherbet

Plz tell me if I’ve forgotten you in the taglist (or if you wanna join!)

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x you #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin fanfic #tyler galpin angst #wednesday #wednesday series #wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #Van Helsing! Reader #no beta we die like men

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brattylikestoeat · 11 months

Note

In reference to your post about older bw being haters. There’s a black woman at my job and she is extremely cold towards me and there aren’t much black folk in general and even my supervisor noticed that and said that the bw is like that to a lot of ppl. I’ve noticed that a lot of self-hating Middle Aged bw clash with me.

I have a theory. And it just seems like 1) they are so rooted in traditional misogyny that they don’t see any other way. 2) they are jealous that most modern BW are living a life they could have never dreamed of.

I want to see younger bw live a better life than me. I’m not no hater, I’m rooting for them all. But we are getting a freedom they never got. We have more say in our life than they did. And most are angry about it.

#ask

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ombrathefurry · 8 months

Note

Im curious about the sides/aus

infodump time

firstly, the b side universe is basically just a whole different universe than thadrofinica where I can explore different concepts with my characters in a more modern context

B side sf is a homeless kid that travels across the world, experiencing it first hand and not ever having a home to return to (not that it bothers him)

He mostly travels by foot or by hitching rides on trains, and is a very laid back version of sf if he wasn’t as traumatized

B side loading is a gigantic terrifying behemoth that lives in the woods as a hunter. He’s very food oriented and spends most of his time cooking offerings for draven (who’s now a weather spirit, but still his love interest)

b side loading is significantly more terrifying because he actually takes his job seriously while still letting his unhingedness slip through every now and then, resulting in clean but not necessarily quick kills.

He’s also significantly more mature and optimized for hunting, possessing his projectile gloves which shoot bullets much like cuphead and some actual patience and self control

Pheonix is a biomechanical terror rampaging the land, nothing new other than the fact she now has some upgrades

Reena is a genie that travels around via client to client - one of her rules for her wishes is that you need to pass the bottle on to someone new in order for her wishes to properly come true. She doesn’t really mind being a genie, and also isn’t a very malicious one. Mischievous, yes, but not malicious

The medical crew also has b sides, all of them being in a band that travels around and either plays for free or for charity for those in need

Okay so thats all for the b sides

the c sides live in a universe I describe as the dream realm, so everything is very abstract and strange

every one of these character designs are supposed to explore the abstract and unrealistic versions of my characters where I can just go crazy and not need to have an explanation for it

C side sf is meant to represent the dreams I have where I just. Fly around and explore. He’s like sf if he weren’t traumatized and also older (around 16-17)

C side Reena is a zombie and she is very chill and nice. She wears a mask to not infect others (and she also maintained her intelligence and doesn’t try to eat everyone) she’s meant to vaguely represent the apocalypse dreams I have sometimes

C side Phoenix is a perpetual gory gutsy mess with a whole bunch of things wrong with her and she’s meant to represent my gore dreams (don’t ask unless you really want to know) im quite proud of her design and how visceral and over the top it is and she’s just there to terrorize

C side draven is a swamp monster and he’s meant to be a nod to the character that inspired draven in the first place, Sigurd from Hilda

he doesn’t. Really do much. And doesn’t represent any dreams at the moment so moving on

C side loading is a cyborg who’s built for mobility, representing my rare but absolutely sensational parkour dreams

c side loading mood can be controlled and monitored by the dial and indicator on his chest so it’s easy to keep him under control

C side Andy and Cedric are healers as always, with cedric being a spirit of healing and Andy being his mortal supervisor/guide

but yeah there’s a bunch of other characters in the c side universe that aren’t necessarily aus like sovanna and Alaska

one day I might develop these worlds more but thadrofinica comes first

#answered #art #oc #worldbuilding #b sides #c sides #polished post

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paldean-ranger-brandy · 1 year

Note

📀

Send me a 📀 for a recent(ish) memory from my muse

“Ahem, excuse me, I need to speak with one, ah, ‘tree mommy,’ please?” A woman dressed head-to-toe in the brightest orange Brandy had ever seen leaned over the desk Brandy had set herself up at. Brandy threw a pencil at her.

“Fuck outta here Mark, I’m on lunch,” Brandy said to the woman who served as Tagtree Thicket’s operator, and whose name was definitely ‘Maryk’ and not ‘Mark’.

“Wha- ow! Meanie! This is workplace harassment.” Maryk flinched as the pencil hit her, accidentally knocking it into her hair where it immediately got stuck in her dark curls. “Oooooo, now it’s all stuckies. I’m telling Joel.”

“Go for it, tell Joel. I’ll stick a pencil in his hair too. I’m unstoppable.”

Maryk huffed at this, trying to work the pencil out of her hair without teasing out too much frizz. “Fine. I guess I’ll tell him that your little Rox has been late starting patrol 3 days running too. Since you apparently don’t care.”

“Uggggh.” Brandy leaned back in her chair, a hand placed dramatically over her eyes. “Maryk no, I really don’t feel like arguing with Rox right now.”

Rox was one of the newer rangers on Brandy’s team of area rangers that helped her take care of Tagtree Thicket. She was also the most contrarian person Brandy had ever met. Every order, every rule, every piece of advice was always and immediately questioned. Which was something that Brandy liked, hell it was a quality Brandy was quite proud to have in common with Rox. But being questioned day in and day out on every little thing did, as it turned out, get exhausting.

“I mean like girl. I get it. Question authority, absolutely. But every time she’s questioned me on something I’ve given her a good reason for it. I don’t tell them to do anything if there isn’t a good reason for it. I tell them when the reason is just ‘because Joel will get mad’ and I tell them why ‘Joel getting mad’ is something they want to avoid. I have been so open and honest every single day - have I not earned any trust from this girl?”

Maryk just shrugged, still attempting to gently twist the pencil out of her hair. “I don’t know. Has Joel earned any trust from you?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Maryk raised an eyebrow. “Or have you just run out of things to question him on?”

“I- hm.” Brandy paused to consider this. “I guess you’re right. I just know everything now.”

The operator rolled her eyes, finally freeing the pencil from her hair and tossing it back. “Uh huh. Well, you are a field ranger supervisor. It’s literally your job to share that knowledge. Rox is just being extra efficient about it.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it.” Brandy sighed, and pushed herself up from the desk. “Guess I’ll go talk to her. Thanks for the tip, narc.”

“You are so welcome, tree mommy.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Oi, Rox. It’s 10:15. Pretty sure you were supposed to be out in the bush 15 minutes ago.” Rox was sitting in the staff area, feet curled up onto the brown, leather couch and phone in hand. She looked to be no older than 17, with dark hair and eyes and a misdreavus floating beside her. Brandy limped over to the young ranger in question. They noted, with slight amusement, that Rox was in fact fully in uniform and geared up, suggesting that her tardiness was just her latest way to test boundaries.

Rox’s stubborn glare and crossed arms seemed to confirm this. “So? It’s a few minutes, what difference does it make?”

“It makes a difference in two ways, newbie.” Brandy lowered themself into a nearby chair. “One, if something happens in that forest while you’re on patrol and you aren’t there to fix it, that becomes your mistake. From the time patrol starts to the time it ends, that forest is your responsibility, and you’re culpable for anything that happens in it for that time. If you’re an area ranger and you aren’t ranging your area during your designated range time, and something goes down, it’s gonna be your ass on the line.”

“Well, that’s my risk to take.” She responded, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Yeah, but I can’t imagine you took this job to take risks. I can tell you for sure that we didn’t hire you to take risks. Personally, I’m gonna be pretty peeved with you if some nutjob with a lighter pulls some shit while you’re supposed to be out there guarding that forest.”

Rox tilted her head, acquiescing the point. “Still-”

“Hold that thought for a mo’, there’s a second point here.” Brandy cut off whatever argument Rox was about to muster. “When you start your patrol late, it screws up everyone else’s shifts. It should take the full two hours to patrol the entire forest properly, and whoever is scheduled after you can’t start their patrol until you come back and give your patrol summary. If you start late, you’re gonna end late. And if you end late, the person after you is gonna also start late. And that’s rude as hell to your teammates. You don’t know what kind of plans or appointments they have scheduled after their shift.”

Rox pursed her lips at this. As combative as she was, Brandy would not have agreed to put Rox on her team if she wasn’t the kind of person who cared about her teammates. “Well, what if I’m on the last shift of the day?”

Brandy shrugged at this. “If you’re on the last shift and you start a few minutes late, I honestly won’t give a shit. 15 minutes is pushing it though, a lot can happen in 15 minutes.” Brandy paused, a thought occurring to her. “Joel might be annoyed though, for the first reason I gave you. And he’ll know when your patrol starts, he memorizes the shifts when we send them in for approval.”

“Alright, I guess that makes sense.”

“Girl, everything I tell you to do makes sense.”

“Yeah, once you explain it.” Rox pushed up from the couch, giving Brandy a lazy two finger salute. “Well, I’m off then. Thanks for the talk.”

“No problem, Rox,” Brandy said, leaning back into the sofa. “Always a pleasure convincing you to do your job.”

#ask game #ooc post

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 2 years

Text

I can’t write anything remotely specific about what’s happened at the co-op job I’m doing. It’s working at an autism centre, and confidentiality rules are strict, for good reason. I say lots of shit on this blog that I wouldn’t say if it weren’t anonymous, but I say stuff about myself. I know I’m taking a certain amount of risk with my own personal information, putting an amount of it on the internet that is calculated to be enough for this blog to be a nice therapeutic outlet, but hopefully not so much that anyone who knows me ever comes across it. I know it’s very unlikely that anyone would be able to identify me on here, but there’s never zero risk, and I can’t take that risk with other people’s confidential information about what happens in their medical setting. Take note, people I’ve only heard about from stories and have never actually checked to see if they exist but they probably do exist – nurses who film Tik-Toks at work.

However, I would like to say that it is really fucking sucks to be in a room full of stim toys and not be allowed to use any of them. Whole room geared toward supports for kids who have autistic needs, and I’m sitting there trying desperately not to look or sound or seem too autistic because I’m hoping these people will give me a real job someday. I spent yesterday constantly checking every part of my body to make sure I was keeping it still and doing something normal with my gaze, while watching clients in a playground of items that were made for people who have difficulty with this. I have an evaluation sheet to be filled out by my supervisor in which one of the criteria on which she judges me is my ability to present professionally and speak with a natural tone of voice. So basically... to be allowed to work with autistic people, you have to not appear autistic. It’s a strange situation.

Also, I would just like to say, in my Autistic Opinion, I hate that the use of functioning labels has stopped being okay. There are many contexts when those labels aren’t appropriate, and there are many ways in which they’ve been used badly, and that should stop. But sometimes, it’s useful to have a quick way to explain that I can understand language, speak clearly enough to be understood, use the bathroom and get dressed without help, read, and write, and those skills make it much easier for me to navigate the world than it is for people who can’t do those things. But then, the use of functioning labels can make it too easy for me to think of myself as a completely different type of autistic person than the clients I see who can’t do a variety of those things, and I have to remind myself that that isn’t always the case. When I was a kid, I was higher functioning than a lot of the clients at the centre where I work, but not by nearly as much and you’d think based on who I am now. I can watch a kid walk around a therapy room talking to themselves in nonsensical language and not taking notice of anyone or anything around them, and the use of functioning labels can make me think I don’t relate to that, but then I remember that’s exactly what I used to do as a kid and that’s why I had teachers telling my parents I’d never graduate school through the regular system. I had some things change as I got older, but if I try, I can remember how it felt.

When I got diagnosed I was 14 and already much “higher functioning” for my age than I’d been in elementary or middle school, and it was called Asperger’s Syndrome when they applied it to me. Asperger’s Syndrome is no longer an official condition; they took it out of the DSM a few years ago and it all got rolled into autism spectrum disorder, so officially now I’m just high-functioning autistic, rather than officially being Asperger’s, since no one’s officially Asperger’s anymore. Also, the term Asperger’s has Nazi connections and it’s probably best to just stop using it. But I’ll sometimes still call myself Asperger’s just because if I call myself autistic, people are confused because I can talk and read and write and use the bathroom and dress myself unassisted, so how can I be autistic? I sometimes say “mildly autistic”, which has the same problematic connotations as “high functioning”, but it does work as something to make people understand.

Anyway, those are some thoughts. Can’t get more specific than that, but those are some thoughts I have as I work with people who are on other parts of the spectrum than I am. It’s a weird experience. But I’m glad it’s the field I chose to study. I hope I can do good things in it.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

JC adopts stray/rouge cultivators after the war au to cope with the destruction of lotus pier. also i love your writing so much!!

Gratuitously Acquired - ao3

At first, he took anyone who would join, needing numbers – needing people. There were plenty of cultivators that wanted to be associated with a great sect. Plenty, too, that were barely more than criminals, wanting to use the smoke and ash of war to obscure the past, to cover up old crimes and wash themselves clean.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t in any position to refuse them. Soldiers were soldiers.

After the war ended, though…

Some he cast out. Others, even more despicable, he slaughtered for what they’d done.

A few –

“Yan Qiao.”

The female cultivator in question, who had been sneaking out of the still mostly ruined Lotus Pier at night in flagrant violation of curfew, froze in her tracks.

“Uh,” she said. “Sect Leader Jiang. Fancy finding you…here…now…at this time…”

Jiang Cheng looked at the basket of buns in her hands. “You’re stealing leftovers from our kitchens to feed orphans among the common people,” he said. “Again.”

She blushed. “No one wants them now that there’s better available, Sect Leader! Really, they’ll only go stale, and then rot – and I never stole when it was the army eating them!”

“That’s not the point,” Jiang Cheng said irritably. “Tell me, how in the name of heavens did you really get branded as a criminal? Distributed too many alms? Did too much charity?”

Yan Qiao coughed, turning red. “I told you before, Sect Leader. I killed a man.”

“He must have done something particularly heinous, then. You’re shitat killing.”

“Now I am. Sect Leader, if you don’t mind…”

“You’re one of the ones who wants my surname, right?” he interrupted. “Consider it granted.”

Yan Qiao – no, he supposed he’d better start thinking of her as Jiang Qiao – gaped at him. “But…Sect Leader!”

“I’ve barely granted it to anyone, so you’d better live up to it, you hear me?” Jiang Cheng said in his best threatening voice. He’d been assured by several people that it was really quite threatening, anyway. “I don’t want any excuses. Now go feed your damn orphans, and in the morning I want a report on how you think we can do it in a more structured manner. I can’t have you sneaking off every night anymore! Now that you’re a Jiang, you’re going to have work.”

When they were done with war and started firmly on rebuilding, the Jiang sect’s name was firmly reestablished as a Great Sect once more, it was the opportunists that came.

Smiling faces, sycophantic voices, cowards one and all – like beetles crawling out of the woodwork, not willing to risk their lives, but willing enough to beg for scraps and advantages later on when it seemed safe enough to do so.

Jiang Cheng wanted to chase them all away, but his sect was still weaker than he wanted to admit, still rebuilding, still more army than civilian operation. They had valiant soldiers by the dozen, but they needed more than that. They needed administrators, supervisors, artisans, smiths, merchants, laundry-women…

They needed workers. The ones they got – well, cowards they might be, but skills they had.

He still rejected most of the worst of them.

Most.

“Bo Zhou,” he said, inspecting the surprisingly flush list of taxes they’d collected that quarter, and the man in question turned to grin unrepentantly at him. “You’d tell me if you were a con artist in a previous life, right?”

“A previous life, Sect Leader?” Bo Zhou said. He was still grinning, but then, he was always grinning. He had a crooked leg and an even more crooked heart, and he’d probably steal candy from little children if he happened to have a hankering, but he was amazing at getting people to do what he wanted. Too amazing, really. “Why limit yourself? What about thislife?”

“…Bo Zhou. Tell me you aren’t a former con artist.”

“I may or may not have had a sideline selling snake oil and protective talismans before I became a cultivator,” Bo Zhou admitted cheerfully, and Jiang Cheng pinched the bridge of his nose – less out of actual irritation and more to keep from actually laughing. The only person he knew that was more shameless than Bo Zhou was Wei Wuxian; he couldn’t wait to introduce them once Wei Wuxian stopped skulking around in wine shops long enough to get back to doing his job as Jiang Cheng’s head disciple and right hand. “Who would’ve known that making all those fake talismans ended up making me pretty good at making actual talismans when I became a cultivator? Really, who could have called that?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Who taught you how to cultivate, anyway? Can I – I don’t know – seek vengeance on behalf of the rest of the world or something?”

Bo Zhou rolled his eyes right back at him. Shameless! “Is this about the taxes? Just be happy I got them all!”

“I can’t just be happy! What if this money is stolen property?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sect Leader. They’re what we shouldbe getting, and from all the right people. You told me this was the right amount yourself!”

“Yes, but no one ever actually pays the full amount!” Jiang Cheng enjoyed the way Bo Zhou’s jaw dropped. “I just wanted to see if you could actually do it.”

“I’m hurt at your lack of trust.” Bo Zhou paused, considering. “Also a little impressed at you for keeping a straight enough face to trick me. Well done, Sect Leader.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said. “You too, Jiang Zhou.”

“It’s Bo…” He trailed off, comprehension arriving and speech departing, and this time he didn’t have a quick retort. He’d been nagging Jiang Cheng on and off for the Jiang surname for the last few weeks, more joking than anything else – he knew that Jiang Cheng hadn’t given his surname to the vast majority of the new people in his sect, only the very few he thought were worth it.

Jiang Cheng enjoyed the newly dubbed Jiang Zhou’s moment of speechlessness thoroughly, since he was moderately sure he wasn’t going to get another one anytime in the next – ever, possibly.

“You proved your worth and your trustworthiness,” he said, patting Jiang Zhou on the shoulder. It occurred to him that he should probably come up with a courtesy name for the man, although he wasn’t sure the man would want one. “Also, congratulations, you’re now the person in charge of tax collection. See if you can think up some new thoughts about supplementing our income, will you? We have so many costs, and I don’t want to rely on Lanling Jin more than I can help it, not like Gusu Lan…”

“Oh, really?” Jiang Zhou interrupted, abruptly excited. “I have so many ideas! How ethical do you want to be about this?”

Jiang Cheng paused. “…very?”

“Be reasonable, Sect Leader!”

“…moderately?” he tried, a little more desperately.

“I can work with moderately. I don’t suppose you’d accept ‘thin and barely plausible veneer’?”

“No.”

“Oh well. Moderately ethical it is!”

Most of the Jiang sect was slaughtered during the attack on the Lotus Pier. Disciples Jiang Cheng had grown up with his whole life, had expected to see by his side in the future, his friends, his family, even his petty childhood enemies – all gone.

Well, not all gone. There were some Jiang disciples that had been away from Lotus Pier at the time, whether on some errand or a night-hunt or other reasons; they rushed back to his side as soon as they could, of course, and formed the core of Jiang Cheng’s new Jiang sect. When he’d felt utterly alone, when even Wei Wuxian was missing, they had been there for him. They’d preserved their lives and then they’d promised them to him, and it wasn’t until they knelt before him that he really felt like a Sect Leader.

There was no way he could give any of them up now.

“Jiang Meimei, you can’t go,” he said, having completely abandoned all shame in favor of clutching at her robes as if he were a child. “I need you!”

“I’m not even a proper Jiang disciple!” she exclaimed, exasperated – or possibly just annoyed that her grand plan to sneak out in the middle of the night had been stymied by his ambush. “Just because my surname is still Jiang doesn’t mean I didn’t get kicked out, remember?”

“I thought you just left,” Jiang Cheng said, temporarily distracted. “No one ever really talked much about it, actually, but to the extent anyone did, they said that you’d decided that your inclinations were more suited to being a rogue cultivator. That you didn’t want to be weighed down by sect expectations –”

“Hah!” Jiang Meimei tossed her head. “As if it wouldn’t be better to be a roving sect cultivator than a rogue cultivator! I won’t deny that I had a fair bit of wanderlust in my youth –”

“You’re only ten years older than me, you’re not that old.”

“Shut up, brat.”

“You can’t tell me to shut up, I’m your sect leader.”

“You’re my baby cousin is what you are, and, again, I’m actually not part of the Jiang sect!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng argued. “You’ve been at my side during the entire Sunshot Campaign.”

“I wasn’t going to let my baby cousin get himself murdered, now was I?” Jiang Meimei sniffed. “But I’m still a rogue cultivator. They kicked me out when I wouldn’t accept a marriage, and I’m still firm on that.”

Jiang Cheng blinked. “Wait, you don’t want to be married? Really?” he asked, concerned. “But what about poor Liu Lingling? You shouldn’t be sleeping with her if you don’t intend to be serious about it! I’m pretty sure she’s just waiting for the current project you’re working on to finish to find a matchmaker to exchange birth characters –”

“They wanted me to marry a man,” Jiang Meimei clarified, but her habitual frown had eased considerably; she looked almost on the verge of a smile. “A-Cheng, you’re being dense again. You’re the Sect Leader of a Great Sect now. You know that that means you need to have alliances, marriage contacts with other sects, and that means using your subsidiary branches.”

“Jiang Meimei, you’re the one being dense,” Jiang Cheng said. “You think I’d force you into a marriage? I don’t have subsidiary branches. I barely have a sect, even after all this time. I’m not Wen Ruohan, handing out my surname to anyone who wants it – I only give it to the ones that matter, the ones I want to keep, and those of you that actually share my blood are even rarer, even more precious. How could I give you away?”

Jiang Meimei pursed her lips.

“I really do need you,” Jiang Cheng said quietly. “You weren’t part of the Jiang sect at all, not really, but you still came to help me – you were there from the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign, and you’ve never strayed, never left. You’re my right hand. I can’t do without you.”

Jiang Meimei turned her head away. “It’s not that I want to leave you,” she said. “But becoming a rogue cultivator was hard enough the first time. I couldn’t rely on any of the things that I had always had, everything always changing. I was young and angry then, I could handle it, but things are different now. I’m less flexible, less compromising, older, more tired – I can’t just walk out on a whim and just rough it anymore. I have a girl who, yes, I want to eventually marry; I want to have children. I need certainty. Are you going to give it to me?”

Jiang Cheng looked down at his hands. He’d known it was going to have to come to this, but he’d been dragging his feet, not wanting to succumb to a reality that already existed. Had existed for longer than he wanted to admit, as if simply denying it would mean that it wasn’t the truth.

Like a child.

“Yes,” he said, though it tore his heart out of his chest to do it. “I will. Jiang Meimei…will you take the position of Head Disciple?”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t coming back. Jiang Cheng had already cast him out of the sect, just like Jiang Meimei had been, except in Wei Wuxian’s case it had been something that Wei Wuxian himself had demanded. He was living in Yiling now, and by all reports was quite happy there with his little Wen sect family that he’d picked over Jiang Cheng and all his family.

He was never coming back.

It was time to move on.

“Yes,” she said, and shoved her pack into his chest. “Now go unpack that for me. Consider it payment for driving me to extreme measures!”

“I’m your sect leader, you know,” he grumbled. “Officially, now. You could show me some respect.”

“Would you rather pay for my wedding down the line?”

“I’m going, I’m going!” And then, as he scurried over away, he shouted over his shoulder: “As if I wouldn’t be paying for it anyway! You think my Head Disciple’s going to be married in anything other than top style? Better start planning…”

“Don’t rush me! Brat!”

Jin Ling wasn’t surnamed Jiang, but he was the most important person in all of the Lotus Pier – and Jiang Cheng wanted to make sure everyone knew it. It hadn’t been easy for him to get the chance to help care for Jin Ling, especially here, so far away from home; Jiang Cheng had expected to barely be allowed to visit, to have to cool his heels outside of Lanling City begging just for a glimpse of him. Being able to take him home to raise for half the year, even if it was due to the dangerous infighting amongst Lanling Jin, was more than he’d ever dreamed.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t clear that Jin Ling himself agreed.

“He’s still crying,” Jiang Cheng muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Surely he’s got to stop sometime? I mean, just – physically?”

“They say a boy resembles his mother’s brother,” Jiang Meimei said, echoing the gesture. “If he’s got your lungs and stamina, Sect Leader, we’re doomed.”

“I’m rethinking the whole having children thing,” Liu Lingling said blearily, having fallen asleep on her soon-to-be wife’s shoulder several times, only to be woken up by the next round of crying. “I need sleep.”

“Go get some, both of you,” Jiang Cheng ordered. When his cousin scowled at him, he scowled back. “I’m serious. If he keeps this up, we’re going to need to go into shifts. I can last a bit longer.”

“That’s a filthy lie.”

“It is not. Your sect leader has given you an order – get to it!”

It was a filthy lie.

Jiang Cheng opened his eyes when the crink in his neck grew too irritating to ignore, at which point he realized he’d been asleep – and, more importantly, that Jin Ling was somehow not crying.

He sat up with a start, suddenly terrified: had something happened to him? Had he been silenced forever? Had Jiang Cheng failed this one last duty he had to his sister?

“Shhh, little one,” someone was whispering, not far away. “Let me tell you the one about the Weaver Girl and the Cowherd, yeah? You seem like someone who’d appreciate stars. It all started –”

Jiang Cheng went to go look.

A teenage girl was rocking Jin Ling in her arms and telling him a story in murmured tones, and Jin Ling was yawning and trying to gnaw on her shirt. She wasn’t even a cultivator, as far as Jiang Cheng could tell. Her clothing suggested some level of poverty, her accent the countryside – how’d she even end up here?

He wasn’t sure he cared.

Jiang Cheng didn’t want to disturb her, but he did anyway; a shift of his weight, a scuffling of his feet, and the floor creaked. The girl jumped, startled, but luckily Jin Ling was already most of the way asleep and just grumbled a little instead of starting to screech.

“How’d you do that?” Jiang Cheng asked, nodding at Jin Ling. “Make him stop crying.”

“My mother had seven kids after me,” the girl said, answering automatically. “And her sister had six. Someone had to learn to deal with all those babies, and it ended up being me. Think it’s just habit after this long.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t handle one baby. He couldn’t even imagine.

That’s when the girl seemed to remember herself, and bit her lip. “Uh, sorry,” she said, hanging her head. “I heard him crying and I couldn’t resist...I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be here. It was an accident.”

“How did you get here?” Jiang Cheng asked, because accidental or not, a security breach was still a security breach. “And who are you, anyway?”

“My name’s A-Hua. I’m here to work in the kitchens, just got hired this morning; the fourth cook is my uncle’s wife’s cousin, she got me a job, said it was a good place to start – I was trying to find my way out so I could go to the servant’s quarters to get some sleep, but then I got lost…”

More likely she’d decided it was better to try to stay somewhere indoors than go out in the pouring rain to try to find her way to the right set of quarters, Jiang Cheng thought to himself. “Give me your hand.”

“Uh. What?”

He ignored her stare, took her hand and felt her pulse. There was a little bit of natural talent there, though not much; she might, if she tried hard enough, become a cultivator, but she’d never be more than a servant.

Unless, of course, she did something unusual to impress someone.

“Forget the kitchens,” Jiang Cheng told her. “You’re hired on a provisional basis to keep an eye on Jin Ling.”

The girl nodded, eyes wide as saucers. “Can you – do that?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can. What’s your surname? You can’t go around being called A-Hua, we have at least seven people that I know of that go by that name.”

The girl looked distressed.

She probably didn’t have a proper surname. Some people in the countryside didn’t.

But they really couldn’t go around shouting “A-Hua” every time Jin Ling was crying, which was basically all the time.

“Fine,” he said, giving in. “Do well, and I’ll consider letting you use mine. But only if you do well!”

Jiang Cheng was covered in mud thanks to a successful-but-at-what-cost night hunt and angry about it, stomping around the lotus pools on his way back to town, when he heard the familiar sounds of someone having a panic attack.

He slowed, involuntarily, and took a look: it was some teenager dressed in black, heaving miserably by a tree.

Jiang Meimei had once said that Jiang Cheng was a bit weak when it came to teenagers.

Jiang Cheng said that was nonsense.

Jiang Hua chimed in, quite loyally (if perhaps not with the best timing), and said he wasn’t.

Jiang Cheng yielded the argument at once to keep Jiang Meimei from laughing herself sick.

In view of that, he was better off ignoring the kid. After all, what was it to him that some kid was having a fit of anxiety right next the same old lotus pool that he used to have his own teenage fits of anxiety next to, under the shade of the same old tree that had sheltered him – one of the few places that remained untouched by the Wen sect’s aggression, one of the few places that was exactly the same?

Jiang Cheng groaned and walked over. “Okay, fine. What’s your problem?”

The kid looked up at him. He had dark circles under his eyes. “I think my heart’s about to explode.”

“That’s just the anxiety,” Jiang Cheng said, and sat down next to him. “What’s causing the anxiety? Don’t say that someone is better than you and your parents are disappointed in you.”

“What?” the kid blinked. “No, it’s not – it’s not that. I’m about to screw up the very first job I ever got.”

Jiang Cheng considered that. It was just different enough from his own issues that he didn’t suspect a plot, and yet close enough that he might actually be able to offer some expertise.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked reluctantly.

“Not to some mud-man,” the kid said, and – hey! It wasn’t that bad. He thought, anyway. Actually, it probably was that bad. “I just…I’m the only one left. I have to make something of myself!”

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched. “What do you mean, you’re the only one left?”

The kid stuttered through his story. It wasn’t as bad as Jiang Cheng had initially feared, but it was still pretty bad – his small village had had bad harvests, and there had been starvation, a bad winter; the kid had been sent out to get help, but it had taken too long and he’d arrived back to find them all already gone. He’d been lost, but some traveling cultivator had agreed to take him on as a disciple provided he proved himself, had taught him all sorts of skills, cultivation and talisman-writing and music –

“Music?” Jiang Cheng asked. “Not the sword?”

“There was only the one,” the kid explained. “Obviously he kept it for himself.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t think much of that – surely this cultivator, whoever he ws, could have shared, just long enough to teach? – but he didn’t comment. It seemed fairly clear that the kid didn’t actually think very highly of his teacher, although he was very earnestly trying to be appropriately filial.

It was a little cute.

“…and I was supposed to wait here for someone when they came by here, some fancy rich person, and then get them to follow me, but it’s been ages and no one’s come by at all!” the kid wailed. “I’m such a screw up!”

“You don’t even know who you’re waiting for?” Jiang Cheng asked, and the kid shook his head. “How were you supposed to get them to follow you, then?”

The kid scratched his nose. “My master said that if I showed off some of my cultivation, they’d follow me right away.”

Jiang Cheng suppressed a smirk. “It must be very impressive cultivation, then.”

“…not really. I only know one trick,” the kid admitted. “But it’s not that hard, and it looks impressive – here, see, wait; give me a second, I just need to whistle –”

Zidian crackled to life on Jiang Cheng’s finger before the kid finished the first stanza.

“Stop that!” he cried out, leaping to his feet, and – startled – the kid stopped, blinking owlishly at him. “Is that what your master taught you?!”

“Yes?” the kid said. “Did I do it wrong?”

Jiang Cheng gnashed his teeth. “That’s demonic cultivation. Never do that, okay? Ever.”

“But then how am I supposed to get the fancy rich person to follow me, assuming he ever showed?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed. If he hadn’t tripped over that branch and fallen into the mud – if he hadn’t taken an extra half-shichen to struggle out of the mire – if he’d walked by in all his usual finery, rich person that he was, and seen some kid practicing demonic cultivation…

He’d have given chase in a heartbeat.

More to the point, everyone knew he would. His reputation had been pretty much set in stone by this point.

“Let’s go find that master of yours,” he said. “Right now.”

Of course, that ended up leading Jiang Cheng straight into the bastard’s trap, which would have been a problem except that he’d taken the time to send someone to tell Jiang Qiao, who’d been waiting for him back in town, that he’d be a bit late and not to worry, just wait where she was.

She’d ignored his instructions and arrived just in time to knife the demonic cultivator – a human trafficker whose operations Jiang Cheng had shut down with extreme viciousness only a few months before – right in the belly, gutting him like a fish in a swift easy motion.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it again,” she said, smiling at the knife, and Jiang Cheng made a mental note to ask exactly how manymen she’d killed to get that criminal brand of hers, except the poor kid was sinking down to his knees with a horrified look and, shit, that horrible bastard, evil as he might have been, was probably the last person the kid had in this whole rotten world, wasn’t he?

“Does Jiang Hua still have those beginner manuals we dug up for her?” Jiang Cheng asked, and Jiang Qiao nodded. “Good. Tell her that starting today, Jiang Jianwen here’s her little brother. She’s been pining over raising someone ever since Jin Ling got to be too old to snuggle.”

The kid looked up with wide eyes.

“No, you don’t get a choice on the name,” Jiang Cheng told him. “Whatever name this piece of crap gave you, just forget it, you hear me? You can do better than him. But no more demonic cultivation!”

“I wish I could visit the Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian mumbled, looking wistfully downriver. They were very close by, but he still didn’t dare, even though Jiang Cheng had grumpily extended an invitation through Jin Ling. So much had happened – he just didn’t know where to even start.

He didn’t want to get into all that messy history with Jiang Cheng.

He just wanted to visit, that’s all.

He missed Jiang Cheng, but he missed the Lotus Pier, too. The food, the places, the air…

“I just need a secret way in that even the sect leader doesn’t know about,” he sighed. He’d once known them all – but there was a different sect leader now, and a different Lotus Pier. He couldn’t risk it: Jiang Cheng might find out that he’d snuck in and feel hurt, thinking that Wei Wuxian was avoiding him, when he was just avoiding the conversation; that would just make everything worse.

Lan Wangji would have distracted him, but Lan Wangji himself had been distracted – some man in Jiang sect colors with a heavy limp and an excited sort of air had rushed over, shouting something about wanting to talk about tax policy and possibly also games of chance, and Lan Wangji had all but fled. It had been so funny that Wei Wuxian had nearly laughed himself sick.

“I know one,” someone said, and Wei Wuxian glanced over: it was a young man in Jiang sect disciple robes, little more than a teenager – only a few years older than Jin Ling, if he had to guess. He was smiling, ducking his head a little; he looked proud of himself. “I mean, if you really want. But only if you don’t mean any harm!”

How adorable, Wei Wuxian thought, and grinned at him. “I just want something spicy without having to go through the whole process of greeting people, is that a crime?”

“Not at all!” the kid exclaimed, beaming, and Wei Wuxian almost felt bad for conning him. Almost.

“Do you really know a secret way in?” he asked, pretending to be doubtful. “Really?”

Sure enough, the kid – Jiang Jianwen, apparently, he must be the kid of one of the ones that survived the massacre – was easily lured into insisting that he did know, and then to agreeing to act as guide.

And, moreover, it turned out he really did know his way inside, which made this the easiest infiltration ever.

Or so Wei Wuxian thought right up until he felt a knife point touch his ribs.

“Well done, Jianwen!” a young woman – also in Jiang colors – said, reaching out and ruffling Jiang Jianwen’s hair.

“Aw, it was nothing,” he said, just as bashful as he was when he’d been talking to Wei Wuxian. “I couldn’t have done it without shixiong luring off Lan-er-gongzi.”

Wait, that’d been part of this, too?

That was worrisome.

“Hardly nothing,” the older woman standing behind Wei Wuxian said. She had a certain sort of rock-hard steadiness that was more worrying than the knife she was holding on him – she was a powerful cultivator, familiar with killing and scarred with a criminal’s brand, and yet she seemed entirely at ease in a way that suggested a strong sense of righteousness, with no guilt or weak points he might exploit to make an easy out. “You successfully conned the Yiling Patriarch into following you right into a trap.”

Wei Wuxian wondered if he could deny it.

“I don’t know, shijie, that doesn’t seem that hard,” the first woman said. “Isn’t he the kind of person to run head-first into danger at the first instance?”

“Head-first into danger, and like his tail’s on fire away from dogs,” the older woman agreed, and – damnit. There was clearly no denying it; they actually knew him. Though from where, he had no idea. “A-Hua, Jiangwen, let’s go – we don’t want to be late for our meeting.”

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to tell me who we’re going to go see?” Wei Wuxian tried, putting on his most charming smile. “Or, perhaps, who you are, and what you have against me…?”

“Jiang Jianwen you know,” the woman said, rather unexpectedly. “I’m Jiang Qiao, and this is Jiang Hua. Our shixiong is Jiang Zhou – he’s the one that makes Lan-er-gongzi lose his wallet every time he’s forced to visit Yunmeng.”

Wei Wuxian was almost distracted with the tantalizing prospects of stories about Lan Wangji. Almost.

“You’re all surnamed Jiang?” he asked, surprised: he might have believed it for Jiang Jianwen, maybe, he was young enough to be the son of someone in the last generation. But Jiang Hua and Jiang Qiao looked absolutely nothing alike either to each other or to Jiang Cheng, and at least Jiang Qiao was old enough that he should’ve recognized her if she’d been a Jiang. There’d been a lot of people in the old Jiang sect, even if you limited it to those surnamed Jiang, but he’d been Head Disciple back then – he’d known almost all of them.

“We’re adopted,” Jiang Jianwen said. He looked very proud. “Sect Leader Jiang took us into the family as part of the branch lines.”

Wei Wuxian had never once in his life wanted to have the surname Jiang, not even when he’d been mocked for not having it. He’d never even thought about it. Not ever.

He felt a stab of envy at the word family, though.

“He gave you his surname?” he asked, and tried not to feel jealous when they all nodded. “Oh.”

It made sense, he tried to tell himself as they walked through the back streets of the Lotus Pier. The Jiang sect had been demolished, and Jiang Cheng practically the only survivor but for whoever happened by coincidence to not be at home – the Jiang sect would need branch family members, and adoption made sense. There was no reason to resent the idea of Jiang Cheng giving the name he had always treated as being so precious to a branded former criminal, to a con man, to a commoner from the countryside, to a –

“You were a what?” Wei Wuxian exclaimed.

“A demonic cultivator,” Jiang Jianwen said bashfully. “Not a very a good one, though.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to say something to that. He didn’t know what, but something.

“Enough chatter,” Jiang Qiao said. “We’re here.”

Jiang Hua opened the door and Wei Wuxian stepped inside.

Then he tried to step back out, only to be crowded in by the others.

“No, no, no,” he said. “No, I was willing to play along until now, but this is a step too far. You don’t understand! She’s going to eviscerate me!”

Jiang Meimei – older than the teenager he remembered her being when she left the sect, but still unmistakable – grinned with her teeth bared.

“Oh good,” she said. “At least your brain is still working. Now come on and have a seat, and we’re going to talk about how you’ve been treating my baby cousin recently…”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #original characters #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #gratuitously acquired

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queenshelby · 3 years

Text

The Last Semester - Part Three

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut

Words: 3,345

Original Blog:

@queenshelby

Previous Parts: Part One; Part Two

***************************

The Blind Date

It was 7 o’clock when you walked into the local Irish pub, looking for your date Patrick in a crowded room. Luckily, Emma had shown you Patrick’s Facebook profile and he certainly was handsome and easily recognisable.

Unsurprisingly, when you saw him standing at the bar with a pint of Guinness, he had already caught the waitresses’ attention and she tried her best to flirt with him until you approached.

‘Hi, Patrick?’ you asked and he nodded before shaking your hand and suggesting that you find somewhere else to sit.

Eventually, you located one of the high-top tables on the other side of the pub and sat down with your beers and began talking.

Patrick was a doctor at the university campus who had graduated medical school as little as two years ago. But, whilst he clearly was smart, you quickly realised that he was somewhat arrogant and lacked a good sense of humour.

Regardless, you tried to make the most of the night until, eventually, Patrick sought some reassurance from you that you would be going home with him that night. According to him, he didn’t like wasting his time if there was nothing in it for him.

His comments caught you by surprise and you quickly advised him that you were not that kind of woman and you certainly wouldn’t go home with someone you barely knew.

Patrick was disappointed and the conversation escalated quickly when he called you a prude and referred to you as being a woman who simply uses men to get free drinks.

You were speechless and, at half time, you put $10 pounds onto the table for your drinks and excused yourself quickly, grabbing your bag and headed for the bathroom.

There was no way you would be putting up with a man like this and you couldn’t believe that Emma thought that you would like him. Did she really think as little of you, you wondered?

Later that Evening

‘Cillian, hey’ you said as, after spending ten minutes in the bathroom collecting your thoughts, you walked out towards the entrance of the pub.

‘Are you alright Y/N?’ Cillian asked as he immediately noticed your red and somewhat teary eyes.

‘Well, let’s just say that my roommate set me up on a blind date with a total wanker’ you laughed but, really, you weren’t sure whether you should laugh or cry after what he had said to you. It certainly didn’t help your self-esteem and that was something you struggled with.

What you were, however, sure about was that you were ready to leave even if that meant that you would miss the second part of the game.

‘Do you want to get out of here?’ Cillian asked, his hand resting on your shoulder and his eyes giving you a concerning but yet reassuring look.

You quickly nodded and Cillian responded with a simple ‘common then’ before dumping his half full pint of beer and walking outside with you.

Once you made it out of the door unnoticed, you inhaled deeply. ‘Damn and I really wanted to see the game. Ireland is so close this time’ you pouted slightly disappointed.

‘I am going to watch the rest at my place. You are welcome to come along’ Cillian offered and you took a moment to think about his offer. You knew that your flatmates were having a party and the game was only available on pay tv and you would much rather sit on the lounge with Cillian and watch the Ireland beat France than clean up vomit and empty bottles of booze at home.

‘Uhm yes, why not. Thanks’ you said shyly and followed Cillian to his apartment which was only a five-minute stroll from the pub.

Finally some Privacy

‘Wine or beer?’ Cillian asked after you took off your shoes and sat down on the lounge in his living room.

‘Whatever you are having’ you responded and Cillian was quick to open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

‘Thank you’ you said as he handed you a glass and sat down next to you. You really weren’t much of a red wine drinker but pretended to enjoy it.

There was an awkward silence between you as you watched the second half of the game but you enjoyed it nonetheless.

You struggled paying attention to the commentators as your mind focused on the man sitting next to you instead. The smell of his aftershave mixed with detergence he had used to wash his clothes drove you absolutely crazy. And then there were his hands, which you watched every time he reached for his glass of wine.

But it wasn’t just you watching Cillian. He watched you as well and often gazed over to you, focusing on your soft facial features.

Eventually, after about twenty minutes into the second half, you couldn’t bare the silence any longer and started a conversation.

‘So, you wanted to ask me something yesterday when I came to your office. But then you didn’t. I am curious though. What was it?’ you said shyly, slightly encouraged by the wine in your system.

‘I was actually going to ask you whether you wanted to watch the game tonight’ Cillian murmured, looking somewhat embarrassed when he looked over to you.

‘So why didn’t you?’ you went on to ask, causing Cillian to chuckle.

‘Because I realised how inappropriate that would have been’ he admitted and you smiled, cheeks flushing red.

‘Well, here we are’ you said nervously, looking into Cillian’s deep blue eyes for a moment before trying to look away shyly.

But, Cillian wouldn’t let you, reaching for your face with one of his hands.

‘Hey’ he said quietly as his thumb ran over your chin gently. ‘I like when you look at me’ he then went on to say and, just like that, you leaned forward and pressed your lips onto his once again.

The kiss you shared was gentle and tentative, not rushed and not forced in any way. It was a simple kiss, brief but exciting.

‘I am sorry’ you said after your lips drifted apart, but this time, you didn’t look away and your eyes got lost in his.

Cillian shook his head briefly before drawing your face closer towards his again for yet another kiss. Again, it was tentative but, this time, you parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to enter your mouth and explore.

‘I shouldn’t be pursuing this Y/N’ Cillian said quietly as, eventually your lips drifted apart. ‘It’s not right on so many levels’ he went on to say but you quietened his lips with a third kiss, a passionate kiss which drew your body even closer towards his until you found your way onto his lap, facing him, pressing your body against his as your tongues moved with each other in sync.

‘I am a grown woman Cillian. I can’t see anything wrong with this and I certainly don’t want you to stop kissing me’ you said as your lips drifted apart again, a shy smile escaping you as you did.

‘I am also twenty years older than you and supervising your drama project’ he then went on to say somewhat concerned.

‘I don’t care about the difference in age and, technically, you aren’t my supervisor anymore, Aidan is’ you reassured Cillian, smirking at him as you did.

‘Still, not a good look getting involved with one of the students from the project’ Cillian said reluctantly but without making any attempt to push you away.

‘Well, I could leave now and you can ask me out again in three weeks when you finish up your volunteering position’ you then suggested all while you started to grind against him, feeling his erection strain against his jeans beneath you.

Your suggestion fell on deaf ears as Cillian already struggled to contain his emotions and needs with you on top of him and, just as you finished your sentence, he affirmed what he wanted with another passionate kiss.

The kiss you were sharing soon became heated and desperate and Cillian’s hands started to roam over your warm skin beneath your thin jumper.

His touch instantly sent shivers over you skin and down your spine and sent you into overdrive when his hands began to cup your small breasts.

You moaned into his mouth and, just after you did, you pulled back slightly, allowing him to pull your jumper over your head.

As he did, you suddenly felt a little nervous and self-conscious but it was obvious. He wanted you and his lips soon met yours again.

‘Cill…’ you said in between kisses and he looked at you, responding with a quiet ‘hmm’ as his eyes were questioning what you wanted to say.

‘It’s been two years since I have been with anyone and I don’t really do one night stands’ you murmured quietly and Cillian simply smiled, caressing your face with one of his hands before responding to your comment.

‘Good’ he said before giving you a quick peck. ‘Neither do I’ he reassured you without telling you that it had been six months for him too, which is when he broke up with his last long term girlfriend Nadine.

After another minute or two of more passionate kisses, Cillian picked you up and, before you could really prepare yourself for what was about to happen, you were in his bed.

Nervously but eager at the same time, you looked up at him with what you hoped were bedroom eyes.

He got the message and hoovered over you, kissing you gently before continuing to undress you, gentle but a little hurried.

You had already lost your jumper in the living room earlier and now he was pulling on your jeans, getting rid of them in a haste and leaving you exposed in your grey cotton underwear.

‘I didn’t quite plan for this’ you said nervously as you weren’t really dressed to impressed, your underwear simple and not sexy at all.

‘You look beautiful just the way you are Y/N’ Cillian reassured you before leaving a trail of kisses on your warm skin.

The anticipation was already killing you. With each passing second, his lips trailing over your bare shoulders and up your neck, you felt yourself shiver, the heat traveling right down to the taut muscles inside you, right between your legs. It was slick there, the result of your growing arousal.

It wasn’t long until Cillian unclipped your bra, exposing your small and perky breasts. You were impressed that he had immediately noticed the clasp of the bra at the front. He certainly paid attention to detail.

By now, your nervousness had sat in and your cheeks began to flush as his eyes gazed over your body.

Cillian noticed and simply responded with a warm smile before nudging your nose with his.

‘We can stop if you want to’ Cillian began to say but you immediately interrupted him.

‘I want you Cillian, please’ you whispered and he responded with a gentle nod.

‘Relax’ he then whispered before kissing you again and you took a deep breath and closed your eyes.

‘Cillian’ you eventually moaned as he nipped your throat with his teeth before sitting back.

You opened your eyes again and watched as Cillian grabbed his shirt from the back, and pulled it down over his head. Next off were his jeans, and then his briefs.

You couldn’t help but stare at him. His body was perfect, his chest was only lightly covered with some hair and his skin was covered in freckles.

But, when you lowered your eyes, your sense of shyness returned and seeing him completely naked in front of you caused you to flush.

He was clearly aroused by you, hard and ready, even though you only just started.

As you nervously looked at him, Cillian leaned forward and began to gently run his hands over your stomach, leaning down to kiss it, before hooking his index fingers into the hem of your panties and pulling them down your legs.

You inhaled sharply, almost forgetting to breath out again as he exposed your soaking wet mound.

What now, you wondered? Like the two men you’ve been with in the past, would he proceed directly to the main event?

‘You are so sexy, you know that?’ Cillian went on to say and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘Sure’ you said nervously as he spread your legs before bending down and pressing his hot mouth right against your sopping wet slit.

You didn’t expect that and immediately let out a sharp gasp.

‘Oh god’ you moaned in pleasure as you put one of your hands in his hair and gripped the sheets beneath you with the other.

Cillian’s tongue ran through your slit several times before it swirled around over your clit gently.

‘Fuck’ you cried out, throwing your head back as he began to eat you out, his tongue working wonders on your sex-deprived pussy.

His hands were on your thighs, pushing them farther apart, fingers digging into your skin.

‘Please’ you eventually said, not even sure what you were pleading for. You just knew that he couldn't stop or you would scream.

Your pussy was sensitive, and it had been so long since you had sex and even then, you never quite experienced any sensation like this.

‘Cillian, oh god’ you moaned even louder as he sped up the movements of his tongue.

Within bare seconds, you came with a cry and a shudder. Unable to hold back, you let go, shutting your eyes to ride out your orgasm.

Involuntarily, you were grinding up on him, your hips lifting off the bed, toes curling.

‘That was quick’ Cillian chuckled after you came down from your high and before giving your inner thigh another quick kiss.

‘I am sorry, I don’t know what just happened’ you said somewhat embarrassed as you never had orgasmed before when being with someone else. In fact, you never even gotten close to climaxing when someone else pleasured you orally.

‘Don’t ever be sorry’ Cillian said, kissing you gently before sitting back again and reaching for the bedside table draw to his right.

You couldn’t wait to feel him inside of you and, shamelessly but also somewhat nervously, you watched him pull out a silver condom wrapper from the draw.

You bit your lip in anticipation was you watched him open the wrapper with his teeth before rolling the condom onto his hard shaft.

Cillian then leaned forward again, spreading your legs further apart with a nudge from his knees. He looked powerful above you, his body trained, stomach flat, waist trim, looking at you with such lust that you forgot for a moment that, just days ago, you were trying to forget all about him. He leaned down, kissing you, tasting you, making the heat spread all over your body as he slipped two of his fingers inside of you, curving inward.

‘Still so sensitive’ he chuckled while you gasped at the sensation.

‘Cillian, please’ you begged. But he didn't seem to hear you and put pressure down, jerking his hand and thrusting his fingers right against your previously unexplored g-spot.

‘Oh my fucking god, no no no’ you cried out, bucking your hips again almost instantly, this time squirting right into his hand. Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, your pussy still clenching on his fingers, desperate and needy.

‘Cillian, oh fuck’ you whimpered, not realising that you left a wet puddle on the sheets.

‘Wow’ Cillian grinned. He looked pretty pleased with himself as you sat up somewhat shocked, which is when you noticed what had just happened.

‘Oh my god. This is so fucking embarrassing’ you said when you noticed that you squirted for the first time.

‘Shh, it's okay’ Cillian murmured, calming you down and kissing you.

‘In fact, I think its fucking sexy and I hope I can make you do this again’ he smirked before guiding your back onto the mattress again.

‘I think you might’ you chuckled as you held out your arms and he melted into them, supporting himself with his arms.

‘I want to feel you so badly Cillian’ you moaned as his cock finally slid between your legs, making you squirm and buck your hips.

‘Patience’ Cillian said softly, and planted a kiss on the tip of your nose.

‘How can you restrain yourself?’ you asked, surprising you both.

Cillian raised an eyebrow, impossibly amused.

‘I’ve been restraining myself from wanting this for weeks’ Cillian said, and pressed his lips to your neck, kissing, nipping, biting and sucking. You closed your eyes, toes curling again, and gave into the pleasure. You did your best to wrap your legs around him, and he began to grind his cock down between your legs, right along the slit of your wet pussy.

When he finally entered you, you both let out a hiss of satisfaction, clutching at one another. The friction slow, drawn out, was enough to numb your mind. Your fingers dug into his back, his hands gripped the sheets, and he made love to you, driving inside of you with careful, deliberate movements.

‘Cillian’ you moaned as you felt him thrust in and out of you over and over again. But, hearing his groans and moans was exciting you just as much as the pleasure he gave you with his cock.

Cillian and you adjusted, getting familiar with one another, your bodies moving in slow grinds as he snapped his hips, making you shift yours off the bed. His pace quickened, and so did your breathing, and in one swift motion, you were a shuddering mess, feeling his cock hit that spot again, making you shatter.

At this point, Cillian was relentless, pounding into you, making you cry out in pleasure. You gripped his shoulders, fingernails leaving crescent marks behind, little slivers of moons, leaving your mark. He was yours and you were his.

You writhed under him, your pussy clenching around his thickness. His hands visibly shook, his breath wild as he moved in you, kissing you almost roughly, smashing his lips against yours, and in seconds, his tongue was sliding against yours as you tasted each other.

You anticipated each movement, feeling the bulge of his cock hard inside of you, filling you. Just when you thought you would come again, he withdrew and helped you to your knees, and when he entered you from behind, it was a whole other experience. He was deeper, and you seemed to drift together. You could smell his spicy aftershave, could smell your coupling in the air, thick and hazy, making you dizzy with desire.

Your bones seemed to ache from the feeling of his stomach muscles clenching hard against your back as he rutted into you. You pushed your ass back against his cock, and you found your rhythm, bodies slapping, panting and grunting in the dim light of his bedroom.

He was thrusting into you and with each passing second, you came closer and closer. You were whimpering, your entire body a mess of tightened muscles. An all-encompassing moan left your lips as his fingers found your clit, and as he rubbed, circling it, you came again, hard and fast.

Blinding gratification. Earth-shattering spasms. A delicious high, an overdose of emotions your body began to shake and your walls began to contract tightly around his thrusting cock.

‘Fuck Y/N’ Cillian groaned into your ear as he reached his high shortly after you did and you could feel his cock jerking inside of you.

His name was on your lips, but you couldn't say it; you couldn't say anything. You could feel every pulse inside of you, could feel every grunt and groan slip underneath your skin, could feel his taut muscles flush against your body. This wasn't just sex. It was heaven.

Just as you both finally came down from your high and while Cillian was kissing the back of your neck gently, he carefully pulled out of you and, just as he did, you could hear him swear.

‘Fuck’ he said in a trance as he pulled back, away from your body.

‘What is it?’ you asked and turned around immediately, looking down, noticing his cum leaking from you and down your inner thigh.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine

189 notes · View notes

snowywrites · 3 years

Text

Yuri x popular Fem!reader

summary: fluffy fic in which the reader sees Yuri while working at a coffee shop and intends to be closer friends with her.

word count: 2.1k

"Y/N!"

You stop in your tracks, turning to scan the tables around you for the source of the voice; it was kind of familiar, and your eyes fall on a customer that's a regular here at the coffee shop. A young man around your age, usually here with his friends but alone today.

You had been about to go make another coffee for a different customer, but you force a service smile onto your face and hurry over to his table. "Hello!" You wrack your brain for a second to bring a name to this man- it wasn't easy keeping track of so many different people, and not just at your job! You also tried to keep tabs on the majority of your peers from school, too. Fortunately, it clicks a moment later. "Hatsumi, was everything alright?" You ask, noting he's already finished his pastry and drink.

Hatsumi grins, clearly pleased you had remembered him. Customers tended to get really happy over little things like that... if only they knew you did this with all of them. It was no secret you were one of the favorites here at the little shop, consistently getting better tips than many of your coworkers. "It was great!" He answers you brightly.

You nod and inquire politely, "Would you like me to go ahead and bring the bill out now?"

A moment of hesitation, and then, "Oh- uh, yes, thanks." He seems a bit disappointed, but you don't have time to dwell on it right now, not with how busy today's rush hour is. The only good thing is you're hopefully going to be getting off in about a half hour.

You assure him you'll be right back and then flit off to the counter to ring up the items he'd ordered and print the bill. As you're doing so, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

Glancing up, you see your favorite coworker, a girl several years older than you. "Y/N," she begins, a bit of a pleading look in her eyes that means she's about to ask you for a favor.

Biting back a sigh, you push down whatever annoyance you have at being interrupted to look expectantly at her. "What's up?"

"Can we please switch tables really quickly?" She practically begs you.

Switching tables wasn't too terribly uncommon- sometimes when guests came in, the baristas would know them outside of work and might ask a coworker to deal with the order and anything else.

"Sure," you giggle, ever the people-pleaser. You had a reputation to keep, after all! You don't like to brag, but you do enjoy the fact that you have many different friends and are well-liked by just about everyone you know. "Who?"

She gives a hop of delight. "Can I take the bill to Hatsumi?"

You can't help but smirk mischievously. "Ohhhhh, I see."

She lightly smacks you on the arm, instantly blushing. "Nono, I just-"

You cut her off before she can defend herself, knowing the two of you don't really have the time to waste playing around. "It's no worries. And who's that order for?" You question as you point at the circular silver tray in her hands which is holding a cute polka-dotted cup of tea.

"Ah, this goes to table three, the girl with the purple hair."

You nod, exchanging the bill for the tray. You want to watch and see what will happen between your friend and Hatsumi, if anything, but when you look towards the designated table, already heading for it, you realize you recognize the girl sitting there.

You have no trouble recalling her name. One of the members of your Literature Club, Yuri...

You haven't actually been in the club all that long at all, maybe a week-ish, and you feel like you haven't had any time at all to get properly acquainted with Yuri. Part of you feels that it's a shame, because you get the sense she's a very interesting and sweet person beneath her quiet and distant shell. It's just hard when she's always reading, and even in the rare moments she's not, she doubts herself so much during conversations with you that it just ends up being a bit weird.

But not today! No, you're suddenly filled with a sense of determination to get closer to Yuri.

You consider playfully scaring her when you walk up, but ultimately decide against it; aside from being naturally timid anyway, she's also, as usual, reading, and doesn't seem aware of anything going on in the shop around her. So, yeah, best to use a more gentle approach.

"Hey, you," you say, putting all the friendliness in your voice as possible, stopping beside the table to greet her.

In spite of everything, Yuri still jumps a bit in her seat, violet gaze flashing up to you in alarm.

'So much for trying not to scare her,' you think unhappily. Pushing that thought away, you give her a reassuring smile. "Sorry, it's just me! Y/N. We're in the Literature Club together," you try to remind her, wondering with a pang of horror if she's actually forgotten who you are. That would be a first for you.

A second of silence, but at last Yuri's tense grip on her book loosens, and she glances down at it, avoiding making eye contact. "O-Oh, I'm sorry."

Another awkward beat of silence. This was what you meant!! It always went like this with Yuri, and you wished more than anything that you knew how to make her more comfortable around you. Hoping to carry the burden of saving this interaction, you laugh nervously, "It's no worries! But, you didn't forget me, did you?" As much as you're just trying to joke around, there really is a slight feeling of hurt that that may very well have been the case.

Yuri stiffens, quickly answering, "No, I- I didn't!" It's a rushed response, louder than you've ever heard her speak and yet still quieter than most people's normal speaking voice. As if embarrassed by her small outburst, she ducks her head to add quietly, "Uhm, that is- I just meant that... I wouldn't ever forget you, Y/N."

Oh. Talk about giving someone butterflies. You never knew what to expect with Yuri- sometimes she could never get her words out, but then other times she'd say something with such a deep meaning that it would catch you entirely off guard. What's odd though is you know for a fact how truly sincere she is; Yuri is the type of person that's much deeper than most people, and she wouldn't say something if she didn't really think or believe it.

"Thank you, Yuri," you say warmly, setting her tea down near her on the table. "Here you go! I like this kind, too." Truthfully, since you hadn't taken the order yourself or even made the drink, you weren't 100% sure what kind of tea this was, but you were willing to try anything to make Yuri more at ease. It also wasn't unheard of for you to make conversation with customers, even if it was busier than usual right now- for once though, you weren't aiming to make a good tip or secure a regular customer. You genuinely wanted to talk with her. "Hey, is that the same book you're reading at the club?" You question after catching a glimpse of the cover art.

She shakes her head, causing some of her bangs to fall into her face. Brushing them out of the way, she frowns and then nods. "W-Well, kind of. I finished that one yesterday... this is the sequel," she explains.

"It must be pretty good if you want to read the next part already," you comment. "What's it about?"

As predicted, Yuri noticeably perks up. "Oh, I think you would really enjoy it, Y/N. It's about-"

"Y/N!"

You flinch at the stern voice of your shift supervisor, who apparently hadn't realized Yuri was speaking when he cut her off.

You glance back to see him gesturing at you in clear annoyance, motioning to the line of guests waiting for their drinks to be made. You nod, signaling you'll be right over.

Focusing back on Yuri, you're unable to mask your disappointment. "I'm sorry, I've gotta get back to work. I'm supposed to be off in a little bit though."

Yuri seems to also be discouraged, apologizing for keeping you, even though you're the one who had intentionally kept the talk going. She bites her lip, and then, probably overtaken by a brief moment of courage, suggests, "When you get off, maybe then I could tell you about the books?"

You're stunned, but at the same time, this was precisely what you'd been hoping for! "Yes, sure! That sounds great. I'll see you then!" You chirp, hurrying away.

The last of your shift passes by rather quickly, and when it comes time to clock out, you actually have to tell your supervisor no, you can't stay another extra hour even if they are busy, because you have plans! Normally you would have, but not today.

You meet Yuri at the door and the two of you leave the coffee shop together. The sun is close to setting, but not quite there yet. "Thank you again, Yuri! I like spending time with you, I've just been a little busy lately," you say.

Yuri mumbles something you can't quite hear, but then adds more clearly, "I-I'm glad..."

"So," you begin, clasping your hands behind you and beaming at her. "About those books!"

That's all it takes for Yuri to dive into an explanation of the main plot points as the two of you walk side by side towards your home.

You're more than a bit tired from work and standing on your feet for so long, but it's nice to have company on the walk back, especially someone like Yuri. You hum and comment every so often, honestly thinking that they did sound like the sort of books you would enjoy. Full of fantasy and mystery and thrills... and of course, romance.

"So, the main character ditches his friend, who's been with him the whole time, for the new girl? And she's from the enemy's group?" You surmise.

Yuri hesitates. "I don't want to spoil anything for you if you're wanting to read them for yourself..."

"Such a tease," you sigh, pretending to be betrayed. "Oh, we're here- this is my house."

The two of you stop at the gate leading to the front yard of your home, and you're positive you aren't imagining the plaintive expression on Yuri's face. You didn't really want your time together to end either, but alas, you both have classes tomorrow.

"If- If you really would like, you can borrow the first book from me," offers Yuri. "And then... you'll see for yourself how it all goes."

You nod enthusiastically. "Yes, please! Thank you, that's really sweet of you! We can discuss it too after I'm finished reading it. I think I already know who my favorite character is going to be, though."

Yuri tilts her head curiously. "Who would that be?"

"Nope! It's a secret, for now." You pause, glancing up at the darkening sky. "Will you be okay walking home by yourself?"

Her violet eyes soften at your concern. "Yes, I don't live very far from here."

You find yourself unsure of how to say goodbye to Yuri, an uncertain quiet settling over the two of you, but she doesn't seem to find it awkward. "Okay, if you're sure. Do you mind giving me your phone number, though?"

She starts in surprise, a dusting of pink covering her cheeks. "U-Uhm- I- you-?"

"So you can text me when you get home," you quickly defend your reasoning, feeling a bit shy yourself at Yuri's reaction. She really was unique- most people tried to play it cool when asking for or giving numbers.

"R-Right," she stammers, reciting it off for you, and her phone buzzes at the quick text message you sent her so she would have your number.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, at the Literature Club," you finally say, already looking forward to it. "And don't forget to bring the book, please!"

Yuri steps back, her gaze on the ground but you still see her smile to herself. "Yes, I will. Bye, Y/N." She seems like she has something else she wants to say, but then she gives herself a shake and quickly turns away, her long hair twirling to follow her.

You watch her go until you can't see her anymore, partly due to wanting to make sure she was safe.

You couldn't help but admire her for her intelligence and beauty, even if she seemed to admire your social skills in return. Hopefully this was the start of a very deep relationship with Yuri.

#yuri #yuri x reader #ddlc x reader #doki doki literature club #reader insert #scenario #imagine #fem reader #ddlc reader insert #preference

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bqstqnbruin · 3 years

Text

Always be my plus one

Here we go, y'all. We're ignoring that it's 3:30 in the morning but I'm just yeeting the first part of this into the wild and hoping it goes well. Ignore typos, we all know that everything I post is a first draft.

I need to thank @hockeywocs, @chara-hugs, and @zinka8 (WHY CAN't I TAG YOU) and all the anons who have come into my ask box to help me with this! ily all!

WARNING: some description of child birth

Hope you like it!

Series masterlist

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

Part 1: Christmas Day and the day after Christmas

The name for Christmas comes from the shortening of “Christ’s Mass,” a traditionally Christian holiday that celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ to the Virgin Mary and Joseph in a manger in Bethlehem. Although the exact date of his birthday is unknown, around the fourth century the Catholic church fixed the date of this celebration to be December 25th. Other religions and belief systems have similar celebrations around the same time, such as the Winter Solstice, or Midwinter. Celebrations include a mixture of pre-Christian, Christian, and non-secular traditions, such as gift giving, completing an Advent Calendar or Advent Wreath, Christmas music, church services, a special meal with family and loved ones, Christmas trees, lights, nativity scenes, and Santa Claus to name a few.

The day after Christmas, known as Boxing Day in some European countries, is traditionally known as a shopping holiday. In America, this is typically the day when people start to return any unwanted Christmas gifts, stock up for next Christmas on items that are marked down on sale, or see friends that they hadn’t been able to see before Christmas.

=============

December 21, 2021

“One fifteen means fifteen minutes before I have to clock in. Fifteen minutes before a twelve-hour shift that I’m not ready for and don’t have enough caffeine for,” Anne muttered to herself, staring at her reflection through her car's rearview mirror. “But, fifteen minutes before getting to do something that I thankfully love, something that I enjoy doing.” No matter how long the shift in front of her, Anne had developed a habit of giving herself a pep talk before she got out of her car. “Whatever happens, you’ve helped someone.”

The last part wasn’t always true, knowing that there was the possibility that something could go wrong that she and the other nurses and doctors wouldn’t be able to fix. Lying to herself that everything was going to be ok was the only want to convince herself to go into the hospital every day. Finally mustering up enough courage to get out of her car, she grabs her bag from the backseat, heading in for yet another long day right before the Christmas holiday.

The maternity ward where Anne worked never ceased to be hectic, the miracle of life happening at least once an hour. No matter how much Anne had studied in nursing school, nothing could have prepared her for the stress that could come from the job, the long hours, the potential for something so right to turn so wrong in a minute, the way nothing can go planned since the baby dictated all, the mess that comes with every birth, or the joy that results from a former patient sending her the occasional picture of a baby she helped deliver as they’re growing up.

“Hey, Tyson, come on!” comes from inside the open doors of the building, Anne not paying attention to who it was coming from, causing her to collide with a stranger, spilling her much-needed coffee all over the both of them.

“Shit,” she says, not looking up from the brown splatter on what should be mint green scrubs. “I am so sorry.”

Standing in front of her was a curly-haired boy, about her age, wearing what she was sure was a Colorado hockey jersey. Beyond that, she had no idea. “No, no, it’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Let me buy you another,” he offers, ignoring the persistent calls from his friends to hurry up.

Anne checks her watch: 1:19. “It’s ok. I don’t really have the time, I have to clock in in eleven minutes, and knowing the cafeteria or the vending machines, it would take a lot longer,” she says, trying to get by him. Before he can protest, she gets to the elevator that would bring her to her floor, thankful that it was ready to get her there without her having to wait. The doors start to close, only to be stopped by a hand stuck through them, the curly-haired boy with the coffee stain down the front of him getting on the elevator with her. Anne gives him a confused look, begging him to explain why he was trying to make her late for her shift.

“If you aren’t going to let me buy you one now to make up for it, at least let me see where you work so I can drop one off for you.”

Anne rolls her eyes, unamused by the man in front of her as he attempts to flirt with her. “That would be nice, but the chances of me getting it before it goes cold are slim to none, so you need to suggest something else if you really want to buy me a coffee.”

“Let me get your number so I can buy you one when you aren’t working?” he asks, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. 1:25. “I’m Tyson, by the way.”

The elevator dings, signaling that they were on Anne’s floor, opening the door to nurses and doctors running around, expectant fathers who were probably kicked out of the delivery room for making the mom too nervous pacing the halls, grandparents trying to control younger children who had little to no idea what was going on as they waited in the strange building. Anne walks to the backroom to drop her stuff off and clock in, typing her information into the stranger’s phone as he followed her like a puppy, his friend’s texts coming across the top of his screen asking where he went so they could leave.

“I’m Anne, and I’ve got to go,” she tells him, handing back his phone. There was no way he was going to text her, and it’s not like the coffee was that big of a deal to him. She could go to the vending machine down the hall and grab one during her break, or have someone else on their break do it for her if she needed it sooner.

“Can’t wait for our coffee date, Anne,” he says, winking at her before shoving his hands in his pockets and sauntering back down the hallway.

“Who is he?” her coworker, Jess asked, popping up out of nowhere. “He’s hot.”

“In more ways than one, apparently,” Anne jokes, “he’s also wearing my hot coffee on his shirt.”

“You didn’t,” Jess scolds her, turning her around to see the coffee that was spilled down Anne’s own outfit, knowing Anne’s tendency to be a little absent-minded as she gets wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Anne, you did.”

“Not on purpose!”

“DeFormicola?” Anne’s supervisor, Jackson, pops his head into the room just as she was clocking in, “We need you in room 414.”

“Saved by the bell,” Anne teases, walking down the hall to where all the noise was coming from, trying to throw on the appropriate clothing before she went into the room, struggling to get the gloves on as she entered.

“Ok, Erin, we’re going to need you to push,” one of the doctors says, Anne standing behind him as she watched the baby’s head crowning.

This was her favorite part of the job, helping the mother stay calm and trying to make sure that despite the child coming out of her, she was as comfortable as possible. Normally, she would be with the mom as soon as she came in, Erin clearly nervous as to what was going on. They had to be first-time parents, the dad going back and forth to Erin’s side and behind the doctor, looking mortified each time and clearly regretting what he was seeing.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor says, handing the new baby to a breathless Erin.

“A boy! A boy!” the dad yells, going out to the hallway, Erin clearly unamused by whatever antics he was going about.

“Don’t worry, he’s not the first one to do that,” Anne reassures her, knowing that something like that would happen at least five more times during her shift, hearing the father’s voice repeating the phrase. “I’m going to get him cleaned up and then get him right back to you, ok?” Anne asks, reaching for the baby as everyone else around her tries to clean everything else up.

“Be careful with him,” Erin warns, not meaning anything bad by it. She was definitely a first time mother.

“I will be,” Anne tells her, feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket as she does. “So you have a name picked out yet?”

“We were thinking Matthew.”

Anne turns her head, smiling at Erin. “That’s a good name. My older brother is named Matthew.”

Erin smiles at her, the father finally coming back in, clearly overjoyed by the birth of their new baby. Anne hands him back to his parents, Matthew screaming his head off as they get wheeled into another room.

Anne goes over to the desk, sitting down where she was supposed to be for the start of her shift to do paperwork, but the uncertainty in the hour by hour of the schedule was not surprising. She pulls out her phone, ‘Maybe: Tyson’ coming up across her screen.

“He’s already texting me,” she alerts Jess whose head whips away from her computer to look over Anne’s shoulder at what message the mystery man could have sent her.

“He’s horny.”

“Jessica!” she squeals, wishing she was more shocked by what her friend had said. “Why is that always your first reaction to a boy sending a message?”

She shrugs, swiveling back to her own computer, “I’m normally right. What’s he saying?”

“He wants to know when he can buy me coffee.”

“Horny.”

“Enough.”

“You should date him.”

Anne turns to her, clearly unamused by Jess’s need to continue the conversation. “I don’t have to date anyone.”

Jess lets out a long sigh, Anne knowing that she was rolling her eyes. “I’m not saying you have to, I’m saying you should.”

“Ok, I don’t want to date anyone.”

“Oh, come on Anne,” Jess says, getting up and plopping herself on the desk in front of Anne, fiddling with the wire connecting the mouse to the rest of the computer. “You work in a maternity ward where people become parents every day, and you haven’t even thought of finding a man?”

“You don’t have a point,” Anne tells her, not making eye contact with her.

“My point,” Jess says, leaning over to block Anne’s view of her computer screen, “is that you can’t be single forever.”

“Says who?”

“Didn’t you tell me that you were named after the patron saint of the town your grandmothers were from?”

Anne rolls her eyes, knowing where this was going. It was going in the same direction that this conversation always went in when she had it with her mom every single holiday. “All four of us are named after the patron saints of the towns our grandparents are from.”

“St. Anne is the patron saint of child care, grandparents and mothers.”

“She’s also that patron saint of unmarried women, so your argument is invalid, as usual.”

Jess takes in a breath to say something, cut off by Jackson calling for Jess to go into one of the delivery rooms. “Just don’t say no because you think you have to be single,” she advises as she walks away.

Anne leans back in the chair, rubbing her hands over her face. “This is how Christmas is going to go, isn’t it?” she asks herself.

=============

December 25, 2021

The number of cars lining her parent's driveway meant that she was one of the last ones there, but knowing her aunts and uncles, she wasn’t the last one there. Her parents were the ones who did Christmas Day for her dad’s family, Christmas Eve being the anniversary of her mom’s mom’s death, and, on top of that, Teresa doesn’t talk to her family over some argument and grudge being held over their parent's house.

Scanning the cars, she didn’t see the one belonging to her brother Matthew, or his wife, Stephanie. “I’ll just leave Harper’s gifts in the car,” Anne mutters to herself, trying to juggle as many gifts as she could while also balancing the box of pastries her mom asked her to pick up for dessert.

Without a free hand to open the door, Anne did everything she could to ring the doorbell with her elbow, praying that someone would come to open the door before she dropped anything.

Her younger brother, Sebastian, opens the door, a disappointed look on his face. “What the fuck is all this for?” he asks, taking some of the bags from her arms to lighten her load.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” she remarks, “Yours is still in my car if you’re wondering.”

“Did you have to get gifts for everyone?” he asks, Anne greeting her aunts and uncles on the way to the tree to put everything down for later.

“Well, it’s Hazel’s first Christmas," she explains, referencing their sister's youngest daughter, "So getting her something and not getting the other children something seemed wrong, and then Jessica took me shopping and kept saying things like ‘oh this would be perfect for Lucy,’ or ‘oh don’t have you an aunt who likes mystery novels?’ And everything went downhill from there.”

Sebby groans, walking with Anne back out to her car to retrieve the rest of the gifts, Anne still holding the box of pastries since they hadn’t made it to the kitchen yet. “Please tell me you didn’t get Aunt Lisa that Agatha Christie illustrated novel that the bookstore was selling.”

“Please tell me you didn’t get Aunt Lisa that Agatha Christie illustrated novel the bookstore was selling,” Anne laughs, Sebby nodding his head. “I got a gift receipt.”

“What did you end up getting Matthew?” he asks her. Anne had texted Sebby in panic on Black Friday, coming home from a day of shopping with Lucy that left her without a gift for Lucy’s twin brother.

Grabbing the rest of the gifts and handing them to Sebby, she closes the door to her car and starts to go back inside. “I found this ‘make your own wine’ kit that I think he would like. That way Steph doesn’t have to listen to him complaining about how the stuff she drinks is ‘too sweet.’”

“What about for me?” Sebby asks, nudging Anne with his elbow as they arrange the rest of the gifts in the already mountainous pile under the tree.

“Oh, I knew there was someone I forgot,” she says sarcastically, Sebby ripping the bow off one of her carefully wrapped presents and throwing it at her. “Ok, now I’m never getting you a gift again.”

Sebby laughs, helping his older sister off the ground. The two of them wander into the kitchen, slipping in unnoticed due to the sheer number of family members and noise that was filling the room. “Aunt Anne! Aunt Anne!” Harper and Skylar squeal in unison when her nieces spot her, hoping that either she or Sebby had grabbed Harper, Matthew, and Stephanie’s gifts. She didn’t think there was anything left in her trunk.

“Hey there, fireflies,” Anne greets them, bending down as they both kiss her on the cheek. “Guess what? Santa stopped by my place and left some gifts for you, but he made me promise that you two were really good today if you want to open them after dessert, ok?”

The two girls nod excitedly, bouncing up and down at Anne’s words. To still be young and believe in Santa, that must be nice.

“Hey, ma,” Anne finally finds her mother, putting down the box of pastries in front of her and kissing her on the cheek. “Upstairs or downstairs fridge?”

“It goes downstairs. Come on, I have someone I want you to meet,” her mother says, dragging you away from your aunts that had aggregated around her. They all had excited looks on their faces, something that instantly worried Anne as she followed her mother down the stairs with the box. She could hear Matthew and Lucy’s voices, knowing that her brother and sister’s wife and husband had to be down there with them, too. “Matthew told me about this friend of his who couldn’t make it home for Christmas,” her mother whispers before she got to the last step.

“Mom, no,” Anne says, already knowing where this was heading. “I told you: I don’t need a boyfriend.”

“But I don’t have a grandson,” her mom whines, shaking Anne’s hand in her own against her chest.

“How is that my fault?”

“If you just find a nice boy, and get married, I just know you’re going to be my child that has a boy.”

“Oh my god,” Anne groans, pushing past her to get to the fridge.

Teresa pulls Anne over to the couches where her siblings were, Lucy sitting on one with her feet in Jason’s lap, Jason’s hand lazily rubbing his wife’s shins. Matthew was on the other, Stephanie nuzzled against his shoulder, all four of them with a glass of wine and three bottles open. Next to Matthew was a guy sitting there awkwardly, straightening his back when he saw you while Sebby tried to contain his laughter as he sat on the floor. “Jeremy, this is my youngest daughter, Anne. Anne, this is Jeremy,” she introduces the two of them before running up the stairs.

“I do have a girlfriend, actually,” Jeremy says, “So I’m sorry.”

Anne and her siblings burst out laughing, Lucy pouring her sister a glass of wine. “If only this were the first time Ma tried to set Anne up with a guy who was seeing someone.”

“I even tried to tell her that but she didn’t listen,” Matthew adds. “It’s better than when she tried to set you up with Adam,” he says, referencing Lucy’s partner at their optometry practice.

“Yeah, his husband wasn’t too thrilled by that potential match,” Sebby says.

They all keep talking, Anne just sitting and listening to them reminisce about all the people their parents had tried to set her up within their desperate attempt for her to no longer be single. It didn’t help that the last time she listened to them about dating was Andy, the boy who cheated on her when they got to college. Apparently going to school half an hour from each other wasn’t enough for him to keep up their two-year relationship instead of shoving his tongue down multiple girls throats before doing god only knows what else.

“When do you think they’ll stop trying to set me up with someone?” Anne finally pips in, accidentally cutting off something Jeremy was saying as she stared at the wine she was swirling in the glass.

“When you get a boyfriend,” her siblings say in unison.

“I hate all of you for doing that,” she laughs. “But, seriously, why is it so important that I have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, you know your mother,” Jason says, putting his glass down on the floor. “She saw what Lucy and I had and then wanted that for all her children.”

Lucy playfully shoves him, kissing him as Anne and Sebby groan. “She just wants you to be happy, and to her and dad, happiness is marriage and a family.”

“Where am I going to meet someone if I go to work or here where they try to bring in non-single non-potential suitors?” she asks, looking over at Jeremy. “Sorry.”

He shrugs, not able to get a word in before Matthew starts, “What if you met someone at work like how Steph and I met?”

“Yeah because there are so many single men walking around the maternity ward,” she says, her phone buzzing in front of her. “What about you, though, Seb, how’s Collins?” Anne asks, changing the subject.

“Eh,” he shrugs, his eyes wandering to Anne’s phone screen, “I’m not sure we’re going to last to graduation.”

“What?” Lucy squeals, causing Jason to jump as she threw her legs out of his lap. “I thought you said she was ‘the one’?”

Sebby looks down at his glass, a stupid smirk on his face. “Nah, that changed. She doesn’t want me to go to law school in Boston, she wants me to stay here or move to California with her.”

“But the adventure of moving with your girlfriend to another state!” Matthew offers, Stephanie rolling her eyes.

“Matthew, not everyone needs adventure like you do, hon.”

Anne’s phone buzzes again, a reminder that she had a text waiting for her. Picking it up before Sebby can see who it is, ever the nosy little brother, she sees a message from Tyson popping up as they continue their conversation about Sebby’s love life and Anne’s lack thereof. . They had only been texting for a few days since their encounter at the hospital, but every time his name came up she couldn’t help but smile, lifting the wine glass to her lips to cover it in hopes of her siblings not noticing.

How’s your Christmas been so far?

A simple ‘eh’ as a response was all that she needed to send. It could be worse, but her mom trying to set her up with a guy with a girlfriend was definitely not something that made for a good Christmas. The only thing that could be worse is if their dad came home early from the flight he was on with a guy he picked up in whatever country he had to go to that prompted him to miss the holiday. Normal dads who had to travel would bring their kids back little trinkets or a postcard, but Anne wouldn’t put it past Tony to borderline kidnap someone from the plane he was flying and bring them home for Anne.

Tyson’s contact comes up again, an incoming call that prompted Anne to step away so she could answer it. “What’s up?”

“You said your Christmas was ‘eh.’ What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” she groans, pressing her back up against the fridge.

“Well, what if I have something that might make it better?” he flirts.

“Oh? Like what”

“What if I said I’m 100% free to buy you that coffee any time tomorrow, since I know you said you didn’t have work, and you can tell me about Christmas then?”

Anne hears her siblings laugh not ten feet away, praying that they couldn’t hear her conversation. Taking in a deep breath, she knew that her cheeks were turning pink at his words. “Sure, that sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks, walking back over to join her siblings.

“I’ll text you details,” he tells her, hanging up.

“Oh, my god,” Lucy yells, interrupting their conversation. “Anne was talking to a boy.”

“What the hell? What makes you think that?” she asks.

“Your cheeks are red," Lucy says, prompting Anne to raise her hand to feel the heat radiating from her face, "Who else would you be seeing tomorrow?” her sister eggs on, her eyebrow raised since she knew she was right.

Anne tries to find her words, unable to think of a name that wasn’t a guy's name to blurt out.

“Is it Tyson?” Sebby asks, Anne’s unlocked phone in his hand.

“You jackass!” she yells, lunging at her brother to try to get her phone back.

Teresa’s footsteps sound down the stairs, her poking her head between the gap in the stair rail and the steps themselves, Anne and Sebby looking like a deer in headlights when they see their mom. “I was coming to say that dinner was ready, but what’s going on here?”

“Anne has a boy she wasn’t telling us about,” Sebby blabs, earning an ‘I’ll kill you’ look from Anne.

“Oh! Annie!” their mom squeals, running down the stairs to pick her up off the ground and hug her. “Why didn’t you tell us about him?”

“I, uh,” Anne starts, still not sure what to say.

“You have to bring him to New Year’s Day at Uncle Vince’s house,” she tells her, the rest of the siblings following Anne being dragged back up the stairs for dinner, her mom announcing that Anne had a boyfriend when she, in fact, didn’t.

=============

December 26, 2021

“So, are you going to tell me why your Christmas was only ‘eh,’ or am I going to have to guess?” Tyson asks, setting down two cups of coffee in front of them. Tyson had asked Anne to meet him at a small coffee shop that was within walking distance of her apartment, thankful that she didn’t have to drive through Denver on the day where everyone was returning anything unwanted, like her Aunt Lisa returning one of the copies of the Agatha Christie novel that her and Sebby each got her.

Anne groans, the images of last night’s dinner flashing through her mind. “Can we talk about something else, first?”

“Fine,” Tyson says, taking a long sip of the coffee, “What did you get for gifts?”

She raises her eyebrow at him, Tyson mirroring her expression except with a goofy grin on his face. Rolling her eyes, she starts listing off the stuff she got: “My parents got me a new attachment for my KitchenAid stand mixer since my younger brother, Sebby, broke it last time he was over and a voucher for a flight anywhere in the country like they do every year, um, some gift cards from my aunts and uncles, my nieces all did their best attempts at drawing a portrait of me, Sebby told me he was going to come over and make dinner for me, which scares me because he can’t cook, Matthew and his wife got me some books they thought I would like, and Lucy and her husband got me this bracelet,” Anne tells him, extending her arm out to show him.

“I have so many questions,” Tyson starts.

“I might have answers,” Anne tells him, raising her cup to him.

“How big is your family?”

“I’m the third of four, Lucy and Matthew are twins and are about five years older than me, then Sebby is a year younger than me. Lucy has two daughters and Matthew has one. My dad has two brothers; one older, one younger. The older one has three kids, the younger has two and then three grandchildren.”

“Mom’s family?”

Anne looks down at her coffee. “I’m the only one who talks to anyone on that side of the family. My mom and her brother got into a fight when their parents died over what was left to them. My uncle has two daughters and two granddaughters.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking between the coffee and Anne.

She shrugs, not really bothered by it at this point. “It’s whatever. I talk to them because I want to, so it’s fine. What other questions do you have, though?”

“The ticket voucher?”

“Yeah,” Anne laughs, “Our dad is a pilot with Southwest Airlines, so every Christmas they give us a voucher to fly anywhere we want. They say they want to make sure that we take time for ourselves, but I think Dad gets some sort of bonus for every voucher he buys.”

Tyson throws his head back laughing. It wasn’t that funny, but seeing him so happy, Anne couldn’t help but smile back at him. “What about you, what did you get for Christmas?”

“My mom and sister flew down and basically restocked my kitchen for me.”

“Ok, that’s a great present, though,” she says. “Where was your dad?”

The smile from Tyson’s face fades, not looking up at Anne. “I never knew him. My mom and grandmother raised me.”

“Oh, Tyson,” she says, reaching out for his hand. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

He shrugs, a forced smile on his face. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything, I don’t think. My mom and my grandmother are the reason I am who I am. I wouldn’t give that up or change it.”

The two of them sit there, Anne trying to think about how many times she helped deliver a baby when the father was nowhere to be found. She normally figured they were busy or just not in the delivery room, not being there all together was something she couldn’t even begin to imagine. “But enough about me. Why was your Christmas ‘eh’?”

“My family has it in their heads that I need a boyfriend,” she admits, Tyson smirking at her words. “And my brother saw your texts coming up on my phone and being the asshole that he is, announced that I was texting a boy, so now, I need to find someone to bring with me to my uncle’s house on New Year’s Day that I can pass off as you.”

Tyson gives her a confused look. “Why wouldn’t you just bring me?”

Anne sits there, a shocked look on her face. “Because they think ‘Tyson’ is my boyfriend, and you aren’t?”

“So we pretend. They don’t need to know,” he shrugs, acting like it was no big deal.

“That would never work,” Anne dismisses him.

“Why not? You don’t think I’m a good actor?” Tyson whines, acting insulted at Anne’s words.

She scoffs, “Ok, one, hockey players are never good actors, and two, Sebby or Lucy are bound to figure out that you are not my boyfriend. Sebby wants to be a lawyer so he analyzes everything and Lucy is just this perfect anomaly of a human who would be bound to figure it out.”

“I think I can play your boyfriend for New Year’s Day,” he says, confidence dripping in his voice.

“No, I can’t have you do that.”

The maternity ward where Anne worked never ceased to be hectic, the miracle of life happening at least once an hour. No matter how much Anne had studied in nursing school, nothing could have prepared her for the stress that could come from thhe job, the long hours, the potential for something so right to turn so wrong in a minute, the way nothing can go planned since the baby dictated all, the mess that comes with every birth, or the joy that results from a former patient sending her the occasional picture of a baby she helped deliver as they’re growing up.

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagines #tyson jost fic #tyson jost oc fic #colorado avalanche #avalanche #nhl #colorado avalanche imagine #avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagines #tyson and anne

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esperantoauthor · 2 years

Note

Oh I'd love to hear about Tech Thriller? 👀

You may have seen me posting that I wanted to write something like this a while back. I wholly intend to publish this eventually so I won't say too much but basically it is a story about Kurt uncovering the hidden dangers of a new implantable technology and desperately trying to prevent it from being released to the public. It was inspired by the podcast Tomorrow's Monsters which featured the voice acting talents of Darren Criss and John Boyega.

I'm going to share the first opening I wrote for this story because I really like it but as I developed this idea I started to think it might be better if Kurt started out more naive. So if it never does again, at least for today it can see the light of day.

🌟Ask me about my WIP folder🌟

Rule number one: never trust the government.

Rule number two: no matter what you do, don’t get chipped.

—

Kurt tapped his foot impatiently against the slate tile of the coffee shop. It was one of those ultra corporate ones, the kind you can find on a the street corner of any city in the nation. It was done up in muted shades of green and brown. They probably had focus groups filled with people from all over the country so they could pick furnishing that offended no one. The walls are decorated with landscapes and the couches have fabric that is just a little bit rougher than you’d like, so no one gets tempted to linger. God forbid they make the place welcoming. Kurt hates these places but it’s a necessary evil today. He ran out of coffee and he can’t possibly start this day uncaffinated. To be fair, he can’t start any day uncaffinated. But this one is going to be particularly grueling.

He looked on with disdain as the patron in front of him dutifully swiped his left wrist over the monitor. It beeped cheerfully and then he stepped aside to wait for his order.

Kurt gritted his teeth and stepped forward.

The girl working the register couldn’t have been older than 19; barely a legal adult. And yet, as she reached her arms behind her head to adjust her hair tie, Kurt saw the pinprick of blue light pressing through the skin on the underside of her wrist. She was one of them. It should be illegal to put one in someone so young.

“Uh, sir? Aren’t you going to check-in?”

Everything inside of him wants to glare at her but instead he screws up his face into as unthreatening a smile as he can muster. “I’m unplugged.” He holds up his arm to show her.

The girl’s eyes grow wide. “Didn’t know they were still letting people.”

“Well, they are. At least for now.”

The cashier popped her gum and frowned. “I’ll have to get my supervisor. They haven’t trained me on manual orders yet.”

Kurt pressed his lips together but managed to repress a disdainful frown.

“Sure.”

After the girl has gone, Kurt mutters under his breath. “You’d think they don’t want to make money with how hard they make it.”

A gruff voice from behind him sends a chill down Kurt’s spine. “Seems to me like you’re the one making a problem. Reluctant adopters like you gum up the whole system, slow everything down. Like this line, for instance.

“I’m sorry, really. The sign outside said they take cash.”

The man scoffs but says nothing further.

The supervisor materializes, looking annoyed. “Cherlydine says you refused to swipe in?”

“I-I don’t have one. The sign says—“

“Yeah, I know what the sign says. Those are coming down at the end of the month. New policy rolling out nationwide. No more cash orders so don’t get used to it.”

Kurt swallows. Another one bites the dust. It was nice to know there was reliable caffeine fix within half a mile of him at all times, even if the coffee was nothing special. This is fine, he will just need to be more diligent about keeping his pantry stocked. He should get in the habit anyways. You never know what can happen.

The supervisor grunts as he hauls an old-fashioned cash register off of a cart and places it on the counter, plugging it in. He glares daggers at Kurt.

“Now, what can I get you?”

“I’ll have a large Peruvian Dark Roast with just a splash of soy milk.”

The supervisor merely grunts.

“Name?”

Not likely. “Eric.”

The supervisor presses a few more buttons on the register. “That’ll be $7.50.”

Kurt considers objecting but decides it isn’t worth dealing with any more of this man’s ire than he already is. He’s encountered this type of thing before. An extra charge for the inconvenience. More like a noncompliance tax. They haven’t made the chips mandatory yet but they sure have found plenty of ways to make life without one incredibly annoying as well as expensive.

He counts out exact change and hands it to the supervisor, then goes to wait for his drink.

#tech thriller au #wip folder #asked and answered

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Danger First

Chapter 7

@pocketramblr

"Hey, Midoriya?" asked Uraraka, after Aizawa passed out a costume revision assignment and feigned passing out.

"Yes?" said Midoriya, knowing that his eyes were preturnaturally wide and fine tremors were running through his body. He was a wreck.

"Are you okay? Why did you come to class with Mr. Aizawa?"

"And what's that you're holding onto?" asked Kaminari.

"Um," said Izuku. "I was sort of... abducted by the support department? But in a nice way... And they gave me this grappling hook."

"Wow, cool! I didn't know we could get stuff like that from the support department."

"You should really read the student handbook, Kaminari," said Iida, pushing up his glasses.

"But it's so long!"

Iida tsked and adjusted his glasses more vigorously. "You're a student! You should at least be familiar with what is expected of you! Speaking of which, Midoriya, do you know how to use that?"

As much as he could learn from a ten-minute crash-course. "... yes," said Izuku, but it was clear from Iida's face that he had hesitated too long.

"Midoriya! You shouldn't have something like that in the classroom without knowing how to use it!" Iida half stood up, and Izuku clutched the grappling hook closer to his chest.

"No! Mine!" Maybe he was too attached to something he'd only had for a little over an hour, but the support department hadn't been able to give him any smoke bombs or flash grenades due to 'new school regulations regarding explosives' and he'd gone through a lot this morning.

Distress washed over Iida's face, and Izuku wondered if he'd accidentally smacked into some old trauma.

"I wasn't going to take it!" he said, earnestly waving his hands. "I just wanted to make sure you knew where the safety-"

The door to the classroom slammed open. "Is that my little brother I hear?" asked a beaming man in a track suit. Without waiting for an answer, he bounded over to where Iida was sitting and clapped him on the back. "I have come to embarrass you horribly!"

From the expression on Iida's face, this venture was doomed to failure. "I thought you were joking when you said you'd see me today!" exclaimed Iida, beaming.

"Why... why would I joke about that?"

"You joke about a lot of things. Like knowing vigila-"

"Okay! Yes, haha, funny jokester, that's me! Now why don't you introduce me to your classmates?"

"Of course! I have been remiss in my duties as vice president." He stood and executed a ninety-degree bow. "Forgive me! This is my brother, Iida Tensei! Also known as the pro hero Ingenium!"

Izuku could almost see his classmates start to put together the puzzle pieces of Chibiida and extremely tall older brother. He was more concerned about whether or not it would be rude to ask Ingenium for his autograph... and to check his analysis page on Ingenium...

"That's me! And I'll be your special guest TA today! Now, where's Aizawa? You're supposed to have him for homeroom, right?"

As one, the class pointed to the giant yellow caterpillar in the corner of the room.

"Oh my gosh, Shouta, I thought you were joking-"

Ingenium was, to put it in a single word, cool. To put it in two words, he was unbelievably cool. So cool Izuku was almost able to forget the impending field-trip-related DOOM they were all facing.

But not quite.

So Izuku slogged through his classes, still thrilled to be there and waning to do his best, but unable to truly focus past the crushing weight of what might happen. His classmates and maybe-friends hovered at the periphery of his suffering, clearly wanting to help, but just as clearly unsure how, or what lines they could or couldn't cross, leading them to resort to painfully awkward normal small talk.

Until they sat down for lunch, that is, by which time Monoma and Iida had gotten into a conversational spiral about how amazing UA was, how awesome Ingenium was, and how UA was truly superior for being able to have pro-heroes like Ingenium come in as TAs on such short notice.

"Midoriya," said Uraraka, startling him out of his fourth or fifth 'Kacchan sweep.'

(It was still possible that his bad feeling was related to Kacchan hunting him down and blowing him up. He'd be mortified about making such a big deal over it if that was the case, but it would be preferable to, say, a terrorist attack.)

(Why did he keep coming back to terrorist attacks?)

"Are you... okay? You've just seemed really down today, and-"

"Invisible hug!" shouted Hagakure before grabbing Izuku and lifting him over her head.

There was a beat of whispering near-silence. Then Uraraka stood up, slamming both hands on the table and inadvertently making it float. "You have got to tell me your work out routine!"

Izuku agreed.

("Strawberry," someone whispered.)

"I generally say what's on my mind," said Asui as the Iidas had radically different reactions to the bus seating arrangement.

"Aha," said Izuku. The swaying of the bus plus the strain of probably-Danger-Sense was making him nauseous. "What is it, Asui?'

"Call me Tsuyu."

The first time a person his age let him call them by name since kindergarten, and he couldn't properly appreciate it. Figured.

"I was watching the videos of the battle trials I missed last night," Tsuyu continued, "and I realized, I don't think any of us know what your quirk is."

Izuku's first impulse was to lie or redirect the conversation. Years of quirklessness had left their mark. But on second consideration... was there really a reason to lie? He wasn't going to talk about One for All, obviously, but the rest of it was harmless and bound to come out eventually anyway.

"Well," said Izuku, adjusting the fit of his air filter self-consciously. "That's a good question, actually."

"If you're keeping it a secret, I won't press."

"No, no, that isn't it!" Yes, it was. "It's just that, um, it's really subtle? As in, so subtle I thought I was quirkless until recently. Haha."

"Oh, wow," said Kirishima, "that must have been hard. I mean, I got teased for having a boring quirk, I can't even imagine-"

"Your quirk isn't boring! It's more than enough to be a pro!"

"But what is your quirk?" asked Monoma.

"Um," said Izuku, "well, we're not entirely sure, but... We think it lets me sense things that are dangerous? But I've also got anxiety, so..."

Monoma was frowning, but before he could speak, one of Hagakure's gloves waved frantically in front of his face.

"Is that how you knew I was there?" she asked. "In the battle trial and the entrance exam?"

"Maybe? I think so?"

"You were kind of anxious this morning," said Uraraka, concerned. "Did something bad happen to you?"

"Not- not yet," said Izuku, weakly. "It- We still don't really know how it works, so it could just be the anxiety..." He trailed off. Everyone was kind of staring at him. He pressed back against his seat, wishing there was somewhere to hide.

"Well!" said Uraraka, suddenly pumped up. "We'll just have to keep an eye out! We're hero students, aren't we?"

There was a general cheer of consensus and Izuku managed a shaky smile. So, this was what it was like to have friends.

Eventually, Mr. Aizawa told them to calm down, but there was no heat in the scolding. Maybe, Izuku thought, past the ever-increasing buzzing in his head, today would be okay after all.

"Yeah," said Hikage, "there's really no chance of that."

The Unforeseen Simulation Joint was an incredible space!

Space Hero Thirteen was about a thousand times cooler in person than on TV!

All Might, in his golden age rescue-specialized costume, looked like he'd just stepped off the pages of a comic book!

But just like Tsuyu's name, Izuku didn't have the ability to appreciate it.

As the other students marveled over the USJ, Izuku watched the adults quietly talk to one another. It seemed to be something serious.

"Did you find anything else with the safety checks?" asked Shouta.

"A few of the areas had the difficulty set too high- apparently some of the third-years decided to get some practice in and their supervisor didn't reset everything. Other than that? Nothing." Thirteen shook their head. "No signs of structural failure, no security gaps. Everything seems, well, normal."

"Well," said All Might, "whatever happens, we're prepared!"

Aizawa seriously doubted they were prepared for anything, but the most obvious, most likely things? Yeah.

"What do you think, Ingenium?" he asked.

"Everything looks fine to me," said Tensei, shrugging. "But if it was something obvious, then it wouldn't be so much of a threat, right?"

"We're still not sure how Midoriya's quirk really works," said Shouta. "It could be a threat just to him." He sighed heavily.

Tensei smiled in a way that just about guaranteed Shouta would be teased about this later.

"Well, I'm going to start my speech now!" said Thirteen giving the others a thumbs up. "Wish me luck!"

As soon as Thirteen finished their (surprisingly moving) speech, all of Izuku's attention zeroed in on the air next to the fountain. A swirl of dark mist appeared next to it.

Izuku felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Mr. Aizawa-!" But he was already looking in that direction, already watching the man made covered in emerge from the dark hole, followed by a veritable horde of villains.

And Izuku didn't use the term villain idly here. Several of the people he saw were on wanted lists.

Ironically, now that he was faced with real danger, the panicked siren in his head eased off slightly. Evidently, at least some of the strain had been fear of the unknown, and now the threat was very, very known in the worst way, that particular stressor was gone.

"There he is!" cried the man covered in hands. "All Might! The one we've all come for! Nomu! Get him!"

A large villain with an exposed brain who practically sang with danger charged All Might, who grabbed him by the wrist and flung him away, towards the landslide zone. "Ha! That's not much of a challenge! You'll have to do better than that, villains!"

"Maybe," said a villain made of the same mist as the portal that had brought the others. The large villain came charging out of the landslide zone, none the worse for wear. "Maybe not."

"You might be an elite player, but can you fight the boss and protect the noobs you're powerleveling?"

The other villains surged forwards.

This is when Mr. Aizawa and Ingenium jumped into the fray, and everything immediately got more chaotic. Izuku rapidly lost track of the multiple battles occurring around him - except, wow, Mr. Aizawa was really mowing through villains, wasn't he - that Nomu guy had to have a regeneration quirk, there was just no way - he'd have to write down that villain's monolog as soon as they got out, it might have clues - Izuku had no idea that Ingenium could fly and wow that gave him some ideas for Iida-

Speaking of Iida-

"This is no time for analysis! Hurry up and evacuate!"

Right.

"I won't allow that."

Yeah the misty villain definitely had some kind of teleportation quirk, which made this whole thing even more gutsy. Quirks like that were always monitored by the government. These guys must not care about their identities.

"Greetings," he said, a metal colar slipping into place around his neck. "We are the League of Villains. Forgive our audacity, but... today we've come to-"

A gust of air from All Might's fight pushed the mist villain back. But the move had left him partially unguarded, and Izuku watched helplessly as Nomu pounded a fist into his exposed side-

Nomu knew about All Might's injury.

Oh, no.

Izuku didn't have time to process that, however, as Kirishima and Monoma jumped forward, attacking the mist villain.

The feeling of danger spiked, and Izuku barely registered Monoma's bewildered expression.

"Only students... but the best of the best... yes he was right to say you'd be a threat." Darkness spread like an ink stain from the villain's body. Darkness... and portals.

Izuku slammed into Tsuyu and Kaminari, pushing them out of the way of forming portals. He wasn't able to do the same for himself.

"Begone," intoned the mist villain, his voice echoing all around Izuku. "Writhe in torment until you breathe your last."

The next thing Izuku knew, he was in clear light and falling. From at least two stories up, over the flood zone.

And then he stopped.

The ghosts whipped their heads around to stare at Nana. She was sitting on a stool, hiding her face in her hands, though whether it was out of embarrassment or fear for Izuku was unclear.

"Nana..." said Yoichi, softly.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry I saw him falling and pani-"

"What did you do that for!" exclaimed Banjo. "He was only fifteen, twenty meters up! Into water!"

"That's twice as high as Olympic divers go! And they screw up their bodies all the time if they hit wrong!" shot back Nana, other emotions abandoned in favor of rage.

"Uh, guys...?" said Yoichi, weakly.

"Who still watches the Olympics?" muttered En.

"If we had to give him a new quirk, it should have been a combat one!"

"You're just jealous that he has Float and not Blackwhip!"

"So what if I am?" demanded Banjo. "If he had Blackwhip, he wouldn't need that stupid grappling hook gun!"

"So, you admit Blackwhip is just a glorified grappling hook?"

"Better than a glorified- glorified-" He puffed out his cheeks. "I'm going to give him Blackwhip right now!"

"NO!" shouted the other ghosts.

"Banjo," said En, "what do you remember about people who All for One gave three quirks to?"

Banjo went pale.

"Oh, hell," said Banjo. "I'm sorry, I got carried away."

"You can say that again," grumbled Nana.

"But," continued Banjo, "doesn't this mean we can't give him the stockpile?"

They turned to Yoichi, who was far and away the expert on the stockpile quirk. He held up his hands and offered a sick, shaky smile. "We've already started the process of giving him stockpile access. There's... there's really no way to stop it."

Nana started swearing, and even Second and Third looked tense.

"But that's borrowing trouble! Maybe he'll be compatable?"

"With three quirks?"

"It's possible!" protested Yoichi. "I mean, he's- um, he's got One for All? Maybe it's more like All for One than we thought?"

"Disgusting."

"No."

"Absolutely not."

"Never say that again."

"But, again, that's a future problem, unlike the villain attack, which is a now problem."

"I see what you're saying," said En, "but we can't do anything about the villain attack, but we could theoretically do something about quirk troubles. Unless you'd rather watch helplessly while our latest-possibly-last holder is murdered?"

Yoichi sighed. "Okay, yeah, let's take a look."

Izuku's first thought was that Uraraka must have tagged him, but he had been way too far away from her for her to do that. Unless she had run at him when he dove for Tsuyu? Tsuyu had maybe sort of been between them...

But, no, this didn't feel like Uraraka's quirk. He'd only experienced it a couple of times, but it felt like falling. This felt more like floating on the surface of a pool.

This was, he realized as he drifted helplessly upwards and slightly sideways, Shimura Nana's quirk.

It would be really, really cool if the circumstances were different or if he had any control over the quirk whatsoever. As it was, he didn't appreciate the way he was getting progressively higher. Hitting the water at his previous height would have sucked, but he probably would have survived. Now? Not so much. So, if the quirk decided to stop as suddenly as it had started, he was doomed.

Beyond doomed.

He'd be dead.

Wait! The grappling hook!

He pulled it carefully out of its holster, making sure to wrap the loop around his wrist. He could get back to the ground with the grappling hook, anchor himself at a decent height and make use of this, or even attack, but if he dropped it...

Well. Doom and all that.

His best bet was the top of the downpour zone. It was the closest structure by far. He lined up his sights, fired, and watched as the hook fell several meters short.

That was less than ideal.

He rolled over and looked up. He wasn't that far from the ceiling-

Danger Sense screamed at him, and he was falling, just in time to miss getting hit by a jet of water from below. Izuku, naturally, started screaming as well and fired the grappling hook blindly. He rejoiced as a metallic thunk told him it had hit something and immediately hit the stop button, almost wrenching his shoulders out of their sockets. However, his joy quickly turned to horror as he realized he was now headed toward the hard, unforgiving side of the downpour zone at a dangerously high speed. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Float turned back on.

Izuku let out a somewhat pathetic whine in relief, and hit the retract button on the grappling hook gun, letting it pull him up to the roof.

From here, he had an acceptable view of the rest of the USJ. He shaded his eyes to look back at the main plaza and entrance. He could see Eraserhead and Ingenium fighting back to back in the central plaza. All Might and Nomu were tearing up trees in one of the forested areas, and near the entrance he could see Thirteen, Iida, Uraraka, Shouji, Sato, Sero, and Ashido facing down the mist villain. Hopefully, with those numbers, they'd be able to get past him.

Looking elsewhere, Izuku had to assume Todoroki was in the landslide zone, with the spiky ring of ice in the middle of it. He must be holding back. He could make out a fight happening in the mountain zone, but couldn't tell who was involved.

That was more than half the class unaccounted for, including Tsuyu and Kaminari, who he'd thought he'd pushed away from portals. They were probably in the other zones, but...

He took a deep breath. Focus. Where would he do the most good? Danger Sense couldn't tell him that right now, with all these bright threats all around him. He had to decide on his own.

The fight in the mountain area wasn't going well. The number of visible villains was only increasing.

Could Izuku get there? He bit his lip as he contemplated the distance, then jogged back to the opposite side of the downpour zone roof.

Then he ran.

Then he-

-jumped-

-off the roof.

Float activated at the top of the arc of his jump, and his momentum sent him tumbling forward towards the mountain zone. As he approached and began to slow (air resistance still being a thing, apparently), he was able to see Yaoyorozu and Jiro fighting for their lives. Yaoyorozu did not look good.

This wasn't a great way to be proven right about her quirk having drawbacks.

He aimed the grappling hook at one of the larger, closer villains, not really caring about how much damage it would do, and fired.

"Wow," said En. "Kid definitely has a bit of a ruthless streak."

"Imagine how much better he'd do with Blackwhip."

"He wouldn't have been able to get there in the first place without Float."

"Honestly," continued En, "I don't get why Second and Third don't like him. They never shut up about Nana and Eighth being too soft, after all."

"What? They said that stuff about me, too?"

"Yeah, I think they're just unsatsifiable at this point. It's annoying."

"I was much more violent and ruthless than Toshi, though."

"I know."

"Yoichi," said Hikage. "I'm not seeing any sign of additional stress on Ninth's body."

"That's because Izuku is the best."

"Or," said En, "it's because he's only had Nana's quirk for, like, five, ten minutes, tops."

"Or because he's the best. Just look at how he's helped his friends defeat all those villains!"

"Compelling argument," said Hikage.

"What- what now?" asked Yaoyorozu, holding herself up with one of her staffs. The mountain zone was littered with various weapons and shrapnel from Yaoyorozu's quirk use. This included a canon. Which was really cool, but seemed a bit over the top... and maybe not the most efficient thing to make, considering Yaoyorozu's limitations.

"I don't know," admitted Izuku. He'd been flung around the field as a makeshift flail/bola by the girls a few times, and was a little dizzy.

He looked back out at the battles still taking place in the plaza. "I think... Maybe we should go down, and make our way around the edge to the entrance. We could pick up Todoroki and see if there's anyone in the ruins zone who needs help-"

Then he saw the hand villain step forward, facing down Eraserhead as Ingenium was lured away in defense of Tsuyu and Kaminari, who had just run out of the wooded area, trailing villains. Danger flared in his mind's eye, and, for the second time in his life, his body moved by itself.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #danger first #danger first au #fic #fanfic

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azazelsconfessional · 3 years

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((so i was gonna open up my askbox again but I got distracted doing this and watching streams i think idr what i did the past few hours, buuut there's something I need to cover first, especially since there are so many new people around! Hello! Especially since so many of you are playing OCs/MCs.

Don't worry, it's a tip to hopefully help you along! It may get a little long, especially as I try and provide examples. . .but hopefully it'll help.

I'm gonna talk a lot about OCs but this applies to canon characters too a bit. It certainly helps.

Tl;dr, you should have a character profile page.

(also remember that tumblr mobile doesn't really have direct access to Pages made with the Pages function on desktop, so you'll have to link them manually in your pinned or description or host them on another site(I used Google Docs in the apst) or in a regular post(this makes it very easy to lose as a forewarning) for maximum accessibility!)

(rules pages are also really really handy if you have alot of resteictions.)

So, in general, OCs have a bit of a lower reception rate in rp. Idk if that'll be the case here with MCs because they're, well, the main character. Housamo is also a series that lends itself well to OCs pretty well, especially non-human ones, but I figured I'd warn for that.

BUT. That doesn't mean you shouldn't play an OC! It just means there are things you need to keep in mind!

Think of all of the OCs you've seen--you all seem to be fun and wonderful people, and your characters are surely interesting. But. . .if you don't tell anybody about them, nobody will know what's going on or where to start, which makes asking questions a little hard, right? That's easier to work around with MC characters--we've played the game, we know the story, we know the characters, so we can figure out questions fairly easily based on that alone and go from there.

But with other OCs, especially those that don't represent charactera from mythology or fiction like many other characters in housamo do, there's like. Nowhere to start. We may see a face or some dialogue, but otherwise we don't have a frame of reference.

That's where a profile comes in!

Azazel-mun, I don't want to share all of the info about my character at once!

What if I don't know everything about my OC yet and want to figure it out along thw way?

The profile doesn't have to be super detailed! At most it shoule include things like the character's name and age and probably things like their location, profession, grade in school or place of work, etc., and anything you'd notice on the surface like their apperance. It's never a bad thing to include a description of their personality too, or a small section about their history/background. Little things that even you should probably know, too.

You can also section your profile off a bit into things like "surface info," "meta info," "things you could easily figure out about them," etc. That way, no one can spoil themself. Making lists like this can help you think these things through if you haven't already as well.

Let's use Azazel, a character that you probably know already, as an example here. I don't have a profile set

Name: Azazel

Species: Fallen Angel; Capra Therian - an anthropomorphic Goat (?)

Gender(pronouns): Male(he/him)

Age: difficult to calculate; several thousand years old?

Apperance age: hard to say, he's not human. Adult.

Origins: banished from his home world of Eden, has been in the human world for several thousand years

Profession: Priest of dubious denomination, most likely Catholic or Protestant; teacher at Daikanyama Academy; de facto head of the Missionaries Non-Profit charity Organization; supervisor of the Aoyama Missionaries

Role & Rule: Watcher; Revelation - allows him to see anything within the territory of the Aoyama Missionaries and anywhere the pages of his Artifact see

Apperance: Azazel is a 5'10"(180cm) tall, anthropomorphic goat of ambiguous breed, with fawn fur all over his body and lighter fur on his head and around his neck. He has brown, riged horns which curve out and back. Though his eyes are often closed, when opened they're red. He always carried around a leather bound bible with an eye on the cover, and is never seen without several chains on his person, although only the one(s) around his neck can be seen unless he's undressed.

He wears a black priest's cassock with a maroon sash and a capelet of the same color, with the same eye as on his bible on the shoulders of the cape, and brown dress shoes. The front of the robe is always open to expose his bare chest and the chains beneath.

Personality: Azazel is kind and doting, very fitting of both a teacher and priest, although his openly flirtatious, lustful, and secretive nature causes others to distrust him. He doesn't mind this at all. He has a strong adoration for humans, and values love in all of its forms more than anything. He's a bit of a passive person, often being unmotivated but working hard regardless, and seems to prefer to watch others and the world go by, although he won't decline most invitations to take part in it. He is always aware of anything that happens within the extensive territory of the Missionaries, and seems to know and see just about everything about anyone he meets, from their surface to their soul. . . .

If you know Azazel, or take note of some of the wording or question marks, you'll note I didn't explain everything(although I may have shared more than you want to.) This is just a bare bones exampe of how I do my profiles--but it can get even more bare!

I'll do two this time, a more vague version of Azazel's, and another that obscures information all together, using the same or a similar format to the above.

Name: Azazel

Species: anthropomorphic goat

Gender(pronouns): male (he/him)

Age: unquestionably an adult

Origins: Eden

Profession: Priest; teacher; head of a charity NPO; member of the Missionaries

Apperance: Horned goatman of slightly above average human height. Light brown fur, blond fur-hair, red eyes. Wears priest robes and a gold chain around his neck and chest. Carries around a bible with an eye on it?

Personality: Kind of eerie, but friendly and affectionate. A little flirtatious, especially towards humans. Seems to know everything about people for some reason?

Compare it to the one before--see how I've left even more things off or left things ambiguous while still sharing what's necessary or surface level? However, it's also not as engaging or as informative as the other one where I gave more information.

As someone who plays him, profiles like this aren't as helpful for me lol since he knows so much about everyone and everything, having a lot of details helps me play my character!

Now, as helpful as this is, this is also a character you probably know. So how about I do this with an OC? Normally I'm extremely detailed in my profiles and such, especially for OCs, sharing headcanons and ideas for relationships between characters. But, again, I'll try and show how you can show some info while leaving some up to people to ask about to later be filled in.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [this is where you would put where you get the art for any icons you use--if you draw it yourself, say so; if you use official art from a series, credit the name of the character and the series; if you use picrews, link the specific picrews. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN PERMITTED TO USE. DO NOT STEAL ART. IF YOU CAN'T FIND THE CREDIT, ASK SOMEONE TO HELP YOU, DO NOT JUST SAY THAT IT ISN'T YOURS. DO NOT USE ART YOU HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN PERMISSION TO USE OR THAT ISN'T FROM A SERIES OF SOME SORT.]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: older than she looks?

Origins: Tokyo?

Profession: Professor; Witch

Apperance: A fidgety woman who looks older than she is. She looks anxious and confused as often as she looks curious and confident. Wavy light brown hair. Often carries around schoolbooks and is never alone, always with a Rattus Therian and often with a Nyarlathotep.

Personality: seemingly anxious, but curious and exploratative nonetheless. On the awkward side, but can still keep up with the Nyarls that accompany her. Gets into trouble when she gets ahead of herself in exploring and learning about the arcane, but her Rule allows her to disappear easily.

History: Has always been curious about magic and attempted to run through a Gate when they began to open up. Performed a summon and brought a certain transients to Tokyo and recieved her familiar and the magic to use her Rule as a result. Currently teaches at a college. She stumbled into a certain someone while attempting to explore time, and became a fan ever since.

That tells you a fair amount, doesn't it? Even for someone you don't know? It may even raise some questions that you could ask. At the same time, it doesn't tell you that much, and that can be as much of a hindrance for coming up with questions as saying too much can. It's really up to you what's too much and too little. Here's a more detailed version! Some things have been left vague or confusing in such a way that they could be filled in after being revealed through asks and play. That way, people are encouraged to/given ideas of what to ask--and you can still share things in the long run.

Name: Kezia

Faceclaim/Art Source: [N/A]

Species: Human

Gender(pronouns): Female (she/her)

Age: mid 20's~early 30's?

Apperance age: somewhere in her 30's, maybe even a little older

Origins: Tokyo, with some sort of connection to at least one other world

Profession: Professor of [?] at [?] Academy; Witch

Role & Rule: [?] & [?]

Artifact, Summon, Familiar?: Always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and some sort of man-rat? She also carries around a book that's labeled as a Grimoire, but it's rare for someone to be both a summon-user and an Artifact-user. . . .

Apperance: A fidgety older woman wearing a labcoat and a witch's hat. She looks quite stressed and has trouble sitting still. Her ashy brown hair is thin and a little wavy, with some strands of gray. Although she often squints, she doesn't wear glasses. She carries around a lot of books relating to maths and sciences and one labeled 'Grimoire' decorated with arcane symbols from Gehenna and Old Ones. She's always accompanied by at least one Nyarlathotep and a very short, bearded man who can best be described as a brown rat therian with a human-like face. Sometimes there's a normal rat on her person or in her pockets.

Personality: Kezia is a fidgety and anxious magic practitioner. She's very curious about other worlds and has been since the Gates appeared in this Tokyo since she was a child, however she has been pursuing magic before then. She often appears somewhat confused about or fascenated by even her usual surroundings, but, at other times moves through the world with confidence even in unfamiliar territory. She also likes rats and other rodents, and as such will often avoid felines and birds of prey. She has a tendency to disappear, seeming to walk through walls despite assuredly being alive.

She's a little bit awkward with people, but somehow keeps up with Nyarlathoteps nonetheless. She's a good teacher, once she figures out how to explain things in ways others can understand easily, but can be a bit difficult to follow and flighty up until then. Aware of this, she's rather patient, if a little down on herself at times. However, she most often simply has her mind elsewhere. Despite this and the company she keeps, she's relatively sane. . .most of the time.

She shares a name with a witch from the world of Old Ones who made a pact with Nyarlathotep, believing him to be the Devil. . .and the ratman always at her side uses the same name as that witch's familiar as well. It's. . .probably just a coincidence. . .who would rightfully make a pact with Nyarlathotep?

History: Kezia is an adult human from this Tokyo before the apperance of the Gates and construction of the Walls. She's explored various witchcraft pursuits since she was a child, with what was originally a mere imaginative curiosity and fascination. After the arrival of the Gates when she was still young, she snuck over the fences built around one and attempted to go inside the massive pillar of light, which she attributes to the reason she often seems to struggle with her vision. Several years later, she performed a successful summon and she recieved her familiar, Brown Jenkin, transformed into a somewhat therian form from one of her pet rats, and was given some powers from Nyarlathotep. She has no discernable control over any of the chaotic creatures, however they seem to spend time around her regardless.

At present she's a professor of a subject that interests her at a certain college. She's had other dangerous run-ins due to her excitement over the arcane and "darker" arts, but doesn't seem to show any signs of stopping. However, after an incident in an attempt to explore time itself, she encountered a certain guardian of time and feels reluctant for once to explore it further. . .although she's become quite a big fan of his.

. . .i ran out of steam amd kinda lost track of where i was going. idk if that helped at all really. But maybe it did! I hope it did. You don't need to use any of those things exactly by any means, but that's the kind of thing you usually see in profile pages. Basics like someone's name and birthday and age and apperance and a little about their personality, maybe some history. Oftentimes things like powers and weapons and the like. Interests, hobbies, ways they could be intereacted with, etc. Just stuff that'd help you know the character.

I write everything in paragraph form, but everyone is more than welcome to use a more script format. I love making profiles, myself--it really helps to think about the character and details about them. Normally I make really, really detailed profiles, but maybe I'll try and be more simple about it this time around. depends on how i'm feeling.

I know this seems weirdly hypocritical given I don't have one but when I first made this blog there were like four of us including myself. I didn't see the need for a rules or profile page because I didn't anticipate that there'd be so many of us or, like, people from other fandoms or who aren't familiar with certain characters. I'll rectify that soon hopefully. But I figured I'd pass along this idea/knowledge to others.

. . .I'm gonna go reopen my askbox now. Feel free to send asks again, ask about this, etc! You can send me an IM too if you want. I'll properly close up the guest event tomorrow. I'm real tired rn lol so idk how much i'll get done, but i usually do things super late at night my time, so i have some time to pull my shit together haha))

#ooc #((anyway i'm gonna open the askbox and crawl into a hole))#((i got nothing done lol i was so engaged with something else all week))

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 4 years

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hungry eyes (pjm)

Summary: Jimin's summer job is more often than not a pain in the ass, but you seem different than the other girls who need dance instruction at the resort.

A/n: A commission for @kpopnoobsstuff!

Warnings: dirty dancing au, some prejudice given race relations for Asian Americans in the 60′s but not a lot of detail, unprotected sex, public vaginal fingering, praise, dirty talk, Jimin is a jackass like over half this fic, a serious ankle injury, angst, mention of sex work (with an age gap), alcohol, smoking

Word Count: 8767 (i have a lot of feelings about this movie)

Rating: Mature

hey, hey hey baby

Of all the things Jimin had dreamed he'd end up doing, working as a dance instructor/gigolo at an expensive resort wasn't one of them.

Julliard wasn't cheap, though, and so every summer he ended up here at Sanders resort, teaching salsa and letting old ladies put hundred dollar bills into the back pocket of his slacks as tips.

Jimin fucking hated the crowd at the resort, hated the way they smelled like new money and champagne, how they looked at him like either a side of meat (the women) or like something that they needed to scrape off the bottom of their shoe (most of the men).

It's better than before, digging ditches during the summer and shoveling snow during the winter because no one is going to hire a Korean boy for an office no matter how good his English.

His hands had cracked and bled, forming callouses where they'd been smooth before and he finds himself running his thumbs over the ones on his palms while waiting for his cue in rehearsal.

When his coworker tells him of a gig he'd done, Jimin's eyebrow raised at his friend's paycheck.

Having to go by "Jimmy" instead of Jimin because the supervisors think his given name is too hard to pronounce puts a bad taste in his mouth, but he needs the money. It isn't as if he can tell his parents he's decided to be a professional dancer instead of a doctor or lawyer like they'd dreamed, and they didn't have the funds to help with tuition anyway.

So he spends every summer rolling his hips for the hungry eyes in the crowd, smiling and pretending that them purring, "Jimmy" in his ear doesn't make him shudder. It's the third summer before anything truly interesting happens.

Jimin didn't even like salsa or ballroom dancing or the mamba or any of the stupid easily learned dances he was forced to perform. He was a classical dancer, ballet being his forte, but this pays the bills and it's a way to keep his father off his back about his choice in colleges.

The older women weren't so bad, they'd give him anything if he whispered "noona," in their diamond decorated ears, but the younger girls, the ones who came there with daddy's money, those are the ones he doesn't fuck with.

The only woman he'd fucked with outside of work, in fact, had been Sunmi, his best friend since childhood, and even that not for years. Sunmi had followed him to Julliard and to the resort but they'd gone their own way after that and it wasn't as if they were ever in love, after all.

Despite the rumors among the staff, Jimin hasn't touched Sunmi outside of dancing in going on three years. He knew they looked like a couple, moved in tune with each other's bodies, and that's why they got paid the big bonuses.

Maybe he still got a little worked up after performances, liked to work up a sweat after at the dancer's barracks, and who could blame him when he sees you slumming it, tapping your toe to the music with your nose wrinkled and a little smile on your face.

He doesn't even have to say anything, just smiles at you, quirks his finger and you bounce forward ungracefully enough to make him laugh.

Sunmi snickers at him but he waves her off, knows she makes her rounds among the male staff that work in catering so she can't judge.

You know of Jimmy before you ever see him, having several members of the staff tell you in no uncertain terms to stay away from him, that he's trouble. You're surprised by how good he is, you can't take your eyes off him during the first dance performance of the summer. Jimmy Park certainly looks like trouble, with his sly smirk and the way he’d effortlessly flipped up his partner, Sunny, her skirt flipping up to reveal a pair of boyshorts stretched across her perfect bottom, and you’d swear he’d winked at you after.

You don’t think about the dancers for a while, busy touring the resort with your sister, who’d dragged you to the resort in the first place. You’d wanted to stay home and study, but your father had insisted that you join the family for the summer.

It’s boring, more for the older crowd than someone like you, a junior in college. You’re studying business because that’s what your father wants, but you like to write poetry, and you’re usually content to stay in your room and scribble.

It’s hot, though, the air conditioning not doing much to help the humidity, so you go for a walk, hoping there’s a bit of a breeze.

While you’re out, you run into a staff member, a dancer you think, but you aren’t sure, you’d been so busy watching the instructor.

“Girl shouldn’t be out this late at night alone. Might get in trouble,” he teases.

He’s cradling bottles of alcohol and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for stealing those?”

He laughs, loud and open. He’s cute, dressed down in a white tshirt and jeans, not like the stuck up staff members that do catering and management in the resort.

“Not if you don’t tell, baby.”

You bristle, but only a little. That’s what everyone calls you, after all, Baby might as well be your name. You’re the youngest and you’ll admit you’ve always been spoiled.

He shuffles the liquor bottles around to stick out his hand. “I’m BamBam.”

You shake his hand, a bit awkwardly because of all that he’s holding. “Interesting name.”

His face falls, just a bit, but then he smiles again. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Bambam pauses for a moment, and then cocks his head. “You wanna help me with all this? I’ll show you something.”

You’d been warned about being alone with men, you’d had some experiences in college that you’d never tell your family about, it’s not as if you’re a prude, but especially here, so many staff members whispered about how “dangerous” the dance crew was, but you’ve been bored out of your mind, and Bambam seems sweet, if a little flirty.

You shrug and take a couple of bottles, giggling when he sighs dramatically in relief.

It’s such a long walk that you start to get worried, but eventually you start to hear the music, a surprising amount of bass given the attitude of the resort in general, juggling two half liters of expensive vodka likely pilfered from the resort bar.

BamBam kicks the door open, nearly dropping the liquor, and you manage not to laugh but it’s a near thing. The heat almost hits you in the face, the music louder than you’d imagined, and you find your mouth dropping open, looking around at the dancers.

You recognize a few members of the dance team, but none more than Jimmy, the dancer you’d been unable to keep your eyes from earlier that week.

His partner, she’d introduced herself as Sunny and you’d noticed she was nearly as beautiful as him, is practically riding his thigh, her head thrown back as he moves to the music, and you turn your eyes away, embarrassed.

It seems intimate in a way that makes you feel a pang of envy. You’d had flirtations here and there, even a few flings at college (which you pray your father would never catch wind of), but here? In public, in front of everyone?

You try to tell yourself the heat in your stomach is from embarrassment instead of arousal.

When you look over, Bambam is looking over at you with a sly grin. He juggles the liquor bottles.

“You wanna try it?”

You gasp out loud and hope he can’t hear you over the music.

“The dancing,” he explains, all but yelling over the beat.

“Oh!” You exclaim, and his sly grin widens.

“What did you think I meant?”

“Nothing! Nothing!” You insist, and finally find somewhere to put down your cargo on a large table next to the wall, just to have something to do rather than be embarrassed.

Bambam shrugs and moves to do the same, and you’re just standing there, looking around at everyone and how free and happy they look, so different than the way they look during performances and during instructions.

Bambam is about to say something to you, leaned in toward your ear, when Jimmy walks up to the table, and you freeze like a deer in headlights.

“Hey baby,” he says in this low but melodic tone, and you have this weird sense like you always do when someone calls you that, as if they know you somehow, know you’re the baby and daddy’s little girl and are somehow judging you for it.

To be fair, Jimmy looks like he’s judging everyone, even when he’s pasted on a smile during a rumba class or smirking during a resort wide performance. You’re not sure if it’s confidence, arrogance, or anger, but you have to admit it’s a little attractive, the way his dark eyes flash when you put out your hand for him to take.

He doesn’t just lead you out onto the dance floor, he tugs at your arm, pulls you close to his chest, looks down at you as if you’re lovers and you suppose the way the others dance, that’s just how this goes, that’s how the dance goes, but when he slides his thigh between yours you can’t help but gasp.

He laughs right at the shell of your ear and it makes goosebumps pop up on the flesh between your neck and shoulder.

“You gotta move your hips, baby. Nobody likes a dead fish.”

It takes a few moments and more of your face feeling hot but you manage to get a rhythm and it’s hotter in here than you’d expected, sweat rolling from the fine hairs at your temples to your neck, his hands on your hips and his eyes on yours and it’s intense, makes you wonder if this is what you’ve been missing out on when you refuse to go with your sister to the staff parties that she’s been trying to drag you to the whole resort stay.

His face is so close you can see the sweat on his brow, the way his full lips are parted, leaning closer and closer in and you could swear he is going to kiss you, you even tilt your chin up, part your own lips, close your eyes.

Then he spins you, instead, and you feel dizzy, open your eyes, and see him striding off toward the back of the building.

You huff out a long breath, torn between storming out into the cool night air or following him, deeper into the humid building, like descending into hell if you were to believe the way your father’s pastor preaches at your hometown church.

You look back at the open door, the breeze cooling the sweat on your body and making you shiver, before you follow him, weaving between the people on the crowded dance floor with murmured apologies.

You follow him all the way out into the night, just on the other side, and you feel a little stupid for your dramatic thinking earlier, watching him exhale smoke from his nose, leaned against he back of the barn.

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t make any indication that he knows you’re there.

“Jimmy?” You call, and you’d meant to be flirty, aggressive even, but it comes out small in the cold air.

He scoffs, takes another drag from his cigarette, glances over at you.

“What, you gonna pay for a lesson? Bet you didn’t bring daddy’s wallet with you when you followed Bam.”

“I-I didn’t-I don’t,”

He smiles then, not as much of a smirk, and it softens his face.

“Don’t worry, baby. I'm only teasing. I’m not gonna tell your daddy you’re out here slumming it.”

“I’m not-” your voice raises and he turns his head to face you, one eyebrow raised, and you lower your tone. “I’m not slumming it.”

He shrugs lazily, offers you a drag of his cigarette and you don’t smoke but you place your lips around the end anyway, wonder if you can taste his mouth on it, inhale and manage not to cough.

“Jimmy-” you continue, and he rolls his eyes and your heart races, feeling like you’d said something stupid, and maybe you have because he flicks his cigarette into the night, turns, bracing himself against the wall and when he’s closer you wonder if he’s drunk, you can smell some type of acrid liquor and the leather of his jacket.

“My name is Jimin,” he says, and there’s no slur at all around his words so maybe you’re wrong about that last part.

“Jimin,” you repeat, the name rolling around your mouth, feeling thick on your tongue like the red wine you sip at your father’s dinner parties. You find yourself tilting your chin up again as he nods sharply and your eyes keep flickering between the sharp line of his jaw and his full mouth.

“I know your kind,” he continues, and you haven’t even partaken in any of the liberally spiked punch at the party but you’re the one who feels drunk, your head light on your shoulders.

“My...kind?”

Jimin does that sharp nod again, shifts his body so that he’s standing in front of you now and your shoulders brush the back wall of the barn.

“Mmhm. Come out here on Saturday nights to see what all the fuss is about, you college girls with fur lining your purses, I swear to God I could taste the silver spoon in your mouth if I kissed you,” he breathes, his words rude and harsh but you don’t move, don’t push him away, can’t stop staring up at the flash in his eyes.

That’s what they’ve been missing, you think. That’s what all those college boys you’ve let put their hands up your skirt, grab your tit too hard in the backseat of their muscle cars, even let them fuck you over the hood of said muscle cars, hoping for some kind of thrill because it’s wrong and dirty but all you got was their cum seeping down your inner thigh and their murmured apologies and this ache between your legs. Because they didn’t have this, this energy you can feel in the air, the light in his eyes, something like anger and lust and yearning all wrapped into one.

It isn’t even for you, not really, you’re not dumb enough to believe that, but god, is it something.

“You could test that theory,” you mumble, sure that your words sound slurred, leaning into him, and his chuckle is bitter but it still sends a hint of a shiver down your spine. He traces his finger under your chin, the corners of that full mouth turning up.

“What makes you think I want to, baby?”

You’re cute, he supposes, in that way that all little rich girls are cute, with your bouncy ponytail that you almost always wear, your conservative dresses. After he’d left you outside with just the smoke from his rolled cigarette hanging in the air, he prided himself in not giving in.

He’s positive he could have fucked you, could have coaxed you to his room with a few short words, but he knows from the rest of the dance team (especially from Bambam, who’d bagged his fair share of the rich daughters of CEOs, bank owners, lawyers, doctors, and the like from the resort, considered himself a bit of an expert in the matter), that taking one of those types to your bed leads to nothing but drama.

Drama wasn’t something Jimin needed, especially since all the odds were already stacked against him in this job (in life, really, but who’s counting?) Jimin wouldn’t consider himself a bitter person, in fact throughout his childhood and most of his adolescence, he’d been positive, optimistic, always smiling. He’d gotten stellar grades, always did what his parents wanted, had even planned to work on law school after graduation. The one class he took was mind numbingly boring, and he had no aptitude for debating. He’d been naïve, foolishly thought that his father would support whatever he wanted to do, and since he felt most alive when he was with his friends, dancing, making their own choreography, he’d approached his father with an application to Julliard.

Needless to say, Jimin became less naïve day by day, after that. It was gradual, his fall from grace, as some people might say. He thought of it more as growing up, as becoming more who he should be - and if that was a bitter asshole who manipulated rich older women into his bed for extra funds, so be it.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t feel shame about it sometimes, or even guilt, especially like with Mrs. Jensen, nearing fifty but with the most beautiful green eyes and the way she called him “Jiminie,” had insisted on learning his real name, traced the line of his spine in bed before he got up to dress and murmured how he was the most beautiful boy.

“If I were twenty years younger, Jiminie. Hell, I were only ten years younger,” she’d mourn, those green eyes almost liquid, and he’d smile and tell her she didn’t look a day over thirty and she’d scoff but she’d also smile, and when she smiles sometimes Jimin thinks that if he isn’t careful, age gap or no, he might just fall in love.

In the end, though, he felt okay about what he did, it was a means to an end, and if he judged the denizens of the resort too harshly, that’s because they could take it, no skin off their teeth with their millions of dollars in the bank. They could dry their tears with hundred dollar bills.

It isn’t until daylight the next morning, when Jimin wakes up slightly hungover and chugs a glass of water, when there’s this flash of your face in his head, tilted up to his, this almost hungry look in your eyes.

He’d like to say he’d seen that look before, but he hasn’t. Not quite in the same way.

Jimin doesn’t want to think about it long, and for a while he’s able to distract himself with his morning workout and then rehearsal, but for the first time in several summers, he misses a couple of steps and Sunmi looks at him from the corner of her eye with a sly smile.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and she laughs and does a little piourette.

Jimin thinks later maybe she was hungover too, or had taken too many of those codeine pills she claimed were for her periods, but she loses her balance and goes down, too quick for Jimin to catch her, off the stage, her foot caught under her body.

She cries out but then bites her lip, hard, knowing that the supervisor was just around the corner, gorging himself on snacks and champagne while they all worked for hours to get the steps just right.

Jimin tries not to show it, but he knows as soon as he hops off the stage that Sunmi’s ankle is broken, and badly. It’s already swollen, already turning a bit purple, a bit of bone poking through, a streak of blood down her foot.

“Fuck,” Sunmi says in a pained whisper, eyes liquid when she looks up at him. “Jiminie, what am I gonna do?”

Jimin knows she doesn’t mean the ankle. He knows she means the next rehearsal and the next, the big dance they’ll be doing at a nearby resort, representing the dance troupe and the hotel. He knows she means her whole fucking life because if she loses this she can’t pay for Julliard.

“We’ll figure it out, jagiya,” he says softly, lifting her into his arms. Sunmi buries her face in his chest and Jimin makes hand signals at a wide eyed Bambam to distract the supervisor while Jimin carries her back to the barracks.

There’s nothing but nervous energy throughout your body the rest of the week, as you sit through your father gorging himself on shrimp, your mother chugging champagne, your sister flirting with the staff members at the buffet. You’re barely able to make conversation, not that anyone notices. You’re used to being ignored, as the baby of the family. All you can think of is the dance instructor’s full lips inches from yours, his finger trailing up your throat before he’s just gone and you’re all but swooning with the smell of him around you like a haze.

You’d seen him a few times that week, watching from far away as he twirled a few women around the dance floor, once at a resort performance, right in front and center, seen the way his nose wrinkled when they introduced him as “Jimmy Park.” He hadn’t given you a second glance, and while it stung, you weren’t one to give up easily, not after how you’d felt when he’d looked at you, really seen you.

You’re sneaking out of the resort room when it’s barely ten pm on the last Sunday, unable to wait any longer and shimmying out the back window just as you had the other night. You manage to remember the way to the barn, and even if you didn’t you can practically feel the music booming under your feet, the faint sound drawing you closer.

Your heart rate increases as you get closer and you stand near the edge of the building, a wallflower as always, but your eyes are searching the floor. You don’t see him anywhere, and after a few moments you’re sure your lip is turning into a pout. You do spot Bambam, your ambassador from the other night, and you figure he might know something about Jimin’s whereabouts.

Bambam goes uncharacteristically quiet when you bring up Jimin’s name, though, face blanching slightly.

You look at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No. Fine, everything’s fine.”

“Bambam?”

He won’t look at you, rocking back and forth on his heels, and then he freezes. “Hey. Baby.”

“Hmm?” You’re distracted, looking around at the crowd in hopes that Jimin will show.

“Didn’t you say your father was a doctor?”

It’s a whirlwind after that, your brief panic wondering what might be wrong, the internal struggle to know if you should wake up your father or not, knowing he’ll ask what you’ve been doing out and about, waking your father and having Bambam lead you both to the dancer’s barracks, where you see Jimin sitting on the coffee table, getting up when Bambam bursts in with your father, who is carrying his doctor’s bag.

“What the fuck-” he hisses in a low voice, looking right at Bambam and not even acknowledging you.

Your father, for his part, rushes to the couch, where Sunmi is bundled in blankets but still shivering, sweat on her brow, and when your father yanks back the blanket you gasp because her right foot is dark purple and swollen.

For the first time, Jimin looks at you, and there’s nothing but dark fury in her eyes. “Get her out of here,” he demands, and Bambam’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“Jimin-” you start, and he scoffs, turns away from you, toward your father, thanking him for coming and explaining what happened, ignoring you as if you were never there at all.

You wait anxiously in the living quarters, and you wince when you hear Sunmi cry out as your father works on her ankle. It takes hours, and while you wait, Bambam explains what happened and you just cock your head, confused.

“Why didn’t she just see a doctor?”

Bambam frowns, but before he can answer Jimin is stalking into the room.

“Yeah, why didn’t she just see a doctor?” Jimin mocks, staring at you with glittering eyes. “It’s that easy, princess?”

You don’t know how to answer, your face feeling hot, and you want to look away but you can’t. “Explain it to me.”

Jimin laughs, bitter and low. “You’d never understand, Baby. We can’t all call daddy and have him throw money at the situation.”

“Jimin, she brought him here to help us, we should be kind-” Bambam protests, and Jimin waves a hand at him.

Jimin turns to you, takes your hand and even though his eyes are still glittering with anger, your breath catches in your throat at his touch.

You’re perched on the arm of a chair and he leans down slightly, brushes his lips just barely over the back of your hand, all the while looking into your eyes.

“Thank you, princess, for deigning to help us peasants,” he says, voice low and charming and absolutely dripping with venom.

Anger rises in your chest, tightening in your throat but you stay quiet, jerking your hand from his and looking away.

Your father tersely gives instructions to Jimin after both Sunmi and Jimin refuse a hospital, and Jimin nods, but you see his face fall when he says something about how she is not to bear weight on her ankle for six weeks at least.

Your father is escorting you out with a blank expression but you’re looking back at Jimin and he’s watching you with those dark, glittering eyes.

It’s only a few days before your father has to go back and visit Sunmi, and he’s barely spoken a word to you, angry that you hadn’t told him about your friendships with the staff, you suppose. You can’t bring yourself to care, you’re an adult and even if he’s paying your tuition, he doesn’t have the right to tell you with whom to spend your time.

You insist on going with him to check on Sunmi, and you do sit with her for a few moments before you hear Jimin and Bambam arguing.

“Can’t someone else do it?”

You know Jimin’s scoff well by now, it seems like that’s what he’d been doing most of the few weeks you’d known him.

“No, Bam, someone else can’t do it! No one else knows the routine, it’s a special stage for Sunmi and me. Maria’s on maternity leave and Sooyoung can’t learn it in two weeks on top of the final rehearsals for the final show.”

“Do what?” You ask softly, standing in the doorway and shutting Sunmi’s door behind you.

“Can’t go a week without princess butting her head in,” Jimin mutters, and you huff out a breath.

“It’s a special dance stage,” Bambam explains. “Sunmi is expected there and so far she’s been able to get out of rehearsals but if the performance doesn’t happen, the supervisor…” he trails off, and you fill in the gaps.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Can’t fix this with daddy’s money,” Jimin snaps.

“I wasn’t trying to-” you cry out, and then lower your voice. “I wasn’t trying to fix it, I just...I wanted to help.”

Jimin laughs. “Help? How? You shivered when I so much as brushed my hand across your hip when we danced.”

Bambam raises an eyebrow at that and you keep trying to fight down anger.

“I could...I could learn,” you insist.

“You are a dance instructor,” Bambam reminds him helpfully, and although Jimin is still incredulous, that's how it happens.

That’s how you start to spend three days a week at Jimin’s small bedroom, learning the steps to the most complicated dance you’d ever heard of. That’s how you start to fall in love with him.

I wanna know, oh

This is stupid, he thinks, over and over. This is so fucking stupid and it isn’t going to work and I’ll fail and Sunmi will be fired. Hell, I might be fired.

You keep stumbling in the heels you’d be required to wear for the dance and you’re taller than Sunmi so that throws off the whole performance and you only have just a touch of rhythm and you have an attitude and the list goes on and on.

The two of you are two weeks into rehearsals when it all comes to a head. You’d huffed out a long breath or given him a withering stare before, when he’d snapped at you or corrected your steps roughly, but usually you let it go.

There’s not enough room in his tiny space, and it’s not like the two of you were exactly friends, so it’s tense, for the most part.

One day, at the last rehearsal of the week, he spins you and you miss a step, stomp down on the top of his foot with your heel and he cries out and curses.

“This is never going to work,” he mutters when you try to help and you let out an annoyed almost growl that, in other circumstances, he might find kind of cute.

“You could give me a little goddamn credit, you know!” You yell, and he stops rubbing his foot and looks up at you.

Maybe he’d been a little dramatic, it didn’t hurt as much as he’d put on, but if that happened during the performance….

“Credit for what?” He bursts out.

You put your hands on your hips and you’re wearing this barely there white croptop and a flowing skirt and (not for the first time), he notices the swell of your hip, the outline of your breast.

“For one, bringing my father to help Sunmi-”

Jimin barks out a laugh at this, his eyes returning to your face. “Takes a real saint to call daddy-”

“Second,” you continue firmly, voice raising over his, “for working three days a week for hours to try and help you and your girlfriend keep your jobs!”

He opens his mouth to correct you but your voice keeps rising, your eyes full of fury.

“And last of all but most importantly, putting up with your constant bullshit! I can’t do anything good enough for you and I really just want to punch you and leave.”

Jimin pauses, stands up straight and looks at you for a moment. As much as he hates this situation he can’t let you quit. He needs you, more importantly Sunmi needs you, and he’ll never forgive himself if he fucks things up for his best friend because he can’t control his temper.

“Do it, then.”

Your eyes widen. “Do what?”

Jimin pats the middle of his chest. “Hit me, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You look at him incredulously.

He smirks at you, makes a little come hither gesture with his hands. “C’mon, princess. You scared?”

There it is, that flash in your eyes that he’s come to know well even during such a short time, and it makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand up.

You punch him, just at his diaphragm, weakly, and he laughs.

“C’mon, Baby. You can do better than that.”

He takes a step closer and you just keep looking at him, your canine piercing your bottom lip, still breathing hard from the rehearsal.

He can’t deny it makes his dick twitch in his sweats, the fire in your eyes, the way he can see the outline of your erect nipples through that croptop.

He leans down closer to your face. “Still wonder if I could taste that silver spoon on your tongue,” he whispers, and then you slap him across the face, hard, making him stumble back with a laugh.

He nods, and you start to gasp out apologies but he holds up a hand.

“Let’s get out of here.”

It’s been hot all week, and there’s on and off summer showers that come from nowhere. The thunder rumbles as you reach the parking lot and Jimin’s car, a clean but beat up Mustang.

You dance around a bit as Jimin reaches into the pocket of his sweats for his keys but he curses instead. When you look in the window, cupping your hands, you see the keys in the ignition.

You sigh and stand up to tell Jimin but he’s removing his leather jacket and wrapping it around his fist as you watch, open mouthed.

He busts the back quarter window as if he’s reading the newspaper and unlocks the door, leaning over to pop your lock before cranking it up.

You stand there for a moment, shocked and oddly aroused.

“You coming?” He asks, looking up at you from the driver’s seat, and you scramble inside.

“You’re crazy,” you mumble as he pulls off at a speed that should have scared you but instead filled you with exhilaration.

He looks over at you, as if confused. “What?”

“I said you’re fucking crazy!” You yell, laughing, and he starts to laugh too and you’ve never heard him like that, open and loud instead of derisive and bitter and there’s rain pouring into the back window but he doesn’t care and you can’t imagine ever feeling that free.

You have that feeling again, the one you’d had standing outside the barn with him, that energy like he’s wanting and hungry all the time and just like then, you want more.

You push that out of your head, though, he’s made it clear where his thoughts lie, and that’s with Sunmi. That’s the whole reason you’re doing this, to help her, help them. It’s certainly not because you just want to be near him, because even when he’s angry at you the way you feel with him makes you feel like you never have before, not because you want to memorize the bow of his lips, the line of his jaw, how his eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles.

“Where are we?” You finally ask when he’s pulled off into a clearing in the woods.

“You’ll see.” He grabs your hand and tugs you behind him and your heart skips a beat.

You end up practicing at the river for hours, and you ask questions and he answers them, about his family, how he started dancing, Juilliard and why he’s doing this job.

You’re not surprised that he wants more, he’s too good for this place and you can see it, even though you’re no expert.

He talks a lot more than he ever has, tells you so much about himself and you have fun, laughing and talking with him, he’s barely teaching you anything at all.

Finally, he’s sitting on a high log, swinging his legs and looking down at you as you sit on the shore.

“We haven’t practiced the lift because it’s best to practice in the water,” he says, and that’s how you end up waist deep with his eyes on yours and his hands on your hips.

“Ready?” He asks, quietly, as if there isn’t only the woods and the river and the birds to hear him.

You nod, your mouth dry, but then his hands slip up to your waist and you’re not sure you’re ready at all. Of course he’s touched you during rehearsals, here and there, but not like this, not this close.

“Jump,” he commands, and you do, think you’d have done anything he told you, but he lifts you up effortlessly and you try not to stare down at him as your heels lift off the riverbed, try to look ahead like he’s taught you but it’s impossible and when he lifts you over his head, telling you to hold the position, you go straight into the water, coming up sputtering.

He laughs, pulls you close, and does it again, and this time it works, this time you hold it and he slowly lowers you back down.

Your body slides down his, your nipples brushing his chest, his breath on your throat, and surely this is too close, surely you won’t be doing this on stage in front of people.

“Baby,” he murmurs, close to your ear, like it’s your name, and you shake your head.

“Call me Y/n.”

He says your name and you watch how his lips shape it before you tilt your chin to kiss him, pressing your mouth to his without thought, your lips parted.

His tongue in your mouth is hot, hungry just like you knew it would be, and your arms tighten around his neck. You hear the water moving and gasp into his mouth when you feel his hand slide up your thigh, under your skirt, sliding along the river water soaked crotch of your panties.

“Jimin,” you moan into his mouth, and he just kisses you harder, presses his hand harder against your cunt and you want more more more.

You’d imagined it, late at night, sore and exhausted from rehearsing and you could feel his hand on your hip as he’d turned you, slid your hands down your body imagining they were his, but this is so different, so much better than you’d ever dared to dream.

Suddenly, he pulls away from you, and you whine.

“We should...we should get back,” he says, voice slightly hoarse, and he wades back to shore while you’re left wanting and aching.

would you be my girl?

You’re quiet in the car, your head spinning, and he doesn’t say a single word until he pulls back up.

“Want me to walk you back to the resort?” He asks quietly as he turns off the car.

You blink at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He doesn’t look at you, his eyes down in his lap, and you open the door and slam it when you get out.

Jimin knows he should stay put. He should stay put for so many reasons. It’s too much drama, you’re a guest of the resort, you’re a little rich girl with daddy’s money, you deserve better.

But he sees your shoulders shaking and he can’t help himself from getting out, rubbing your shoulders as he leads you inside. You’re shivering now, it’s after sundown and you’re soaking wet.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on your shoulder. “I’ll get you some tea and some warm clothes.”

He turns to go and heat the kettle but you grab his wrist, tug him back.

“Nobody makes me feel the way you do,” you say in a quiet and shaking voice. “Even when we argue I-”

“Baby. Y/n. Don’t,” he pleads. He feels like he’s right on the edge of something, like he’d fall over with just a single push from you.

All these things are flashing through his head, moments where he’d let himself notice how he felt when you’d do this little growl in frustration when you missed a step, the way your mouth turned down at the corners when you were focused, how you set your jaw when he said something to make you angry. After just a few weeks he’s all but memorized the lines of your body and he’d blamed it on being focused on the performance but he knows somewhere that it’s something else, that you mean something else to him.

“Why?” You ask, sounding almost pained and he can’t stop looking into your eyes and he can’t speak either so he kisses you first this time, one hand at the nape of your neck to pull you close.

We aren’t from the same world, he should say. It won’t work and I’ll break your heart or you’ll break mine and I don’t know if I can take it.

He should say so many things but instead he says nothing at all, just kisses you and kisses you until you jump just like you did in the water, wrap your legs around his waist this time instead and he carries you to his bed, peels off your soaked clothes while you keep kissing him in between, his mouth, his throat, his chin, and it makes him laugh.

You’re bare beneath him and he doesn’t even realize that he still has his wet clothes on until he slides over you to kiss you again and you hiss.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and smiles at you and you blink, have this expression he can’t quite pinpoint. “I’m usually better at this,” he finishes after pulling off his tshirt, and you open your thighs with this slow smile.

“We’ve got time.”

His breath hitches in his throat because that’s probably not true, after tonight you’ll probably avert your eyes when he looks at you in public, come to him late at night like all the others.

Instead of saying that, he curses under his breath and looks down at you, slips his fingers through your slick, sliding two fingers inside you as you arch your back.

You’re so wet already and he’s barely touched you and it makes him groan.

“Look at you. Such a pretty baby,” he praises, moving his fingers because he loves the way your face goes slack, your mouth parted as you writhe against his hand.

“God,” you whimper, voice a little slurred. “Please.”

Jimin feels like he might burst before he even gets out of his sweats, wants to make you come before he does but you lock your legs around his waist, surprising him and he falls forward, catching himself on his palms.

Before he can catch his bearings you drag your tongue along his throat and he groans.

“Baby, you’re full of surprises.”

You smile against his mouth and push down his sweats with your feet and it makes him laugh again, he’s found himself biting back smiles so often with you that it feels good to let it out.

Then his cock is sliding against you and you’re so hot and wet that he bites down on your lip. You cry out softly and rock your hips against his, panting out his name and then he can’t do anything else but slide inside you, burying his face against your throat.

He thinks, too late, that he should have flipped you over, focused on your ass and the line of you spine instead of like this, looking down into your face and the way your eyes focus on his. He knows better, but you’re rolling your hips up to meet his and biting your lip and you keep moaning his name and he can’t stop now.

Your nails rake down his back and he leans up to fuck you harder, hoping to focus on your breasts bouncing instead of how pretty you look beneath him.

“Baby,” he breathes. “I’m gonna-”

He doesn’t get to finish because you’re making the prettiest sounds, moving your head from side to side and your cunt clenches around him like a vice.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

It’s been fast and sloppy and he’s almost embarrassed when he comes inside you, but you lock your ankles around the small of his back and pull him down again.

After he’s made that tea he promised earlier and you’re sitting crosslegged on his twin bed, facing him, you call his name softly.

“Hmm?” He asks, distracted by how you look now, your hair mussed, skin slightly flushed.

“Does my mouth taste like silver?”

He frowns until it hits him, what he’d said to you that first night, and then he’s laughing again and tackling you to plant kisses along the side of your face.

Jimin is gone when you wake up, leaving you a note to lock up. No heart drawn there, not even his full name, just a -J at the end. You assume he must feel guilty about Sunmi, assume maybe he never meant for things to go too far and now here you are, heartbroken, and you still have to keep your promises and finish rehearsals and this dance with him.

You stay in your room at the resort for two days, until your scheduled next rehearsal with Jimin, and you feel like you’ve cried enough that when you see him, it’ll be easier.

You walk into the studio already dressed in your leotard and shorts, and he’s standing at the record player and even the set of his shoulders looks stiff, and it makes your heart ache.

You don’t speak, just start taking off your sneakers to put on the heels that you have to practice in, and it’s Jimin who says your name, softly.

Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and it seems like all the tears you’ve cried the last two days are stuck in your throat.

You take a deep breath before looking up and the words come out before you know what you’re saying.

“I know you’re going to tell me that it was a mistake. I know you’re going to tell me you love Sunmi and I understand. Let’s just not, okay? Let’s just not talk about it because I’m embarrassed and I’m sad and I feel stupid-”

Jimin sits on the floor with you, moves close and presses his forehead to yours.

“I don’t love Sunmi. I mean...I’m not in love with her.”

Your heart does a backflip. “But I’m a mistake.”

Jimin lets out a heavy sigh, shakes his head softly, looking into your eyes.

“Jimin,” you whisper, and then he kisses you and you forgot what you were going to say.

There’s two weeks until the performance and you spend all of those days irrevocably in love with Park Jimin.

“Why do you stay?” You ask him one night while you’re lying with your head on his chest after he’d bent you over the arm of the recliner in his room, rough, and you love it but you know he’s angry because they wouldn’t let him change the choreography of the final dance, wouldn’t let him do anything but teach old ladies the foxtrot.

He’s been stroking his fingers along your spine and you wonder if that was a stupid question when he freezes just for a moment.

“It’s not like it’s easy, Baby,” he says, simply.

“It should be,” you insist, and you press a kiss between his pecs, knowing it isn’t something you can understand.

You know you’re privileged, know that your father would flip his lid if he knew you were getting fucked by the dance instructor four nights a week and most days too, because your father didn’t think he could provide for you. You’re sure that if he found out, your father would disown you and you’d lose your tuition money and your apartment back home.

So when you and Jimin are walking back to the resort from the studio, holding hands and laughing and you catch sight of your father in a golf cart, you gasp, tug Jimin’s hand to hide behind a nearby building.

Jimin lets you lead him there, doesn’t protest, but his face is like stone when your father passes and you can relax.

“Jimin-” you start.

“Tell me again how it should be easy, Baby,” he says, his voice like ice, and when you try to take his hand he pulls away.

You make up, eventually, it only takes a day before Jimin gives in to your apologies, the kisses you plant along his shoulders while he’s trying to stretch before practice, but in the end, he’s right.

It’s not easy at all.

just a fool to believe

Jimin knew this thing with you wouldn’t last forever. In fact, he’d been preparing for the performance to be the last night, the last time he’d see you look at him like that. He starts to dread it, starts to stay awake later at night to watch you sleep so that he’d have more memories of your face pressed against his pillow.

He’s always known you’ll leave him, whether it’s in the middle of the night because you realize you can’t let your father find out, after the performance when you’ve done what you’ve said you would, or at the end of the summer, when you’d return home to your college and your friends. Hell, maybe even a boyfriend. He tried not to entertain that, it made his throat feel tight to wonder if you have some Ivy League jerk with a letter jacket waiting for you, but it’s crossed his mind.

He knows he’s not good enough for you, knows that if his own bosses can’t even use his real name to introduce him he’ll never have someone like you, not long term, anyway. He’s used to being someone’s dirty little secret, with this job.

He’s always thought that you’d leave him, but in the end he has to leave you.

You’re full of nerves, counting down the days to the performance, and it’s only three days away when Sunmi comes up to you, sweating on her crutches, and your eyes widen. She’d barely left her room, knows that if the supervisors find out it’s her foot instead of an illness like your father had told them, she’ll be cut from the team.

“Sumni, what-”

“Jimin’s gone,” she bursts out.

“No. No he’s not gone,” you say confidently, but you can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Sunmi is near tears and she nods her head sadly. “He’s gone, they fucking fired him!” Her voice breaks and you put out a hand to steady her. It feels like you’re moving underwater.

“He wouldn’t leave without...without telling me,” you say, less confident with every word.

Why wouldn’t he? Why would he come to you, a summer fling, someone he doesn’t even know that well?

Because he loves me, you think. But does he? He hasn’t said it. He hasn’t made you any promises.

“What about the performance?” You ask, feeling like you’re floating farther away from her as you speak.

“They replaced him,” she chokes out, crying openly now, and you hug her, comfort her so that you don’t break down yourself.

You find out from Bambam why, and it’s all your fault. Apparently one of Jimin’s so called students had caught you and Jimin in the studio, seen you through the window and in a bout of jealousy reported him for “cavorting with a guest.” It was against the resort’s rules, even though Bambam says all of them had done it, at least once and usually more.

It doesn’t matter. Jimin had been caught and he’d lost his job and probably his tuition and it was all your fault. You’re like a zombie the last three days, your mother asks if you’re okay and your father keeps ignoring you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You can’t care about anything. You don’t have any idea where he lives, you can’t even write to him, and you lie in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about how he joked that your mouth must taste like the silver spoon you were born with and how it used to make you laugh.

The night of the performance, your mother demands that you go, dresses you in this stupid pink dress you’ve never liked and rolls your hair, and you’re picking at your food when they announce that the performance is about to start. You’re sitting in the corner, against the wall, hanging your head.

Tears are welling in your eyes as you hear the familiar opening bars, but then there’s a loud feedback sound as someone kills the microphone and you look up, startled.

Jimin is standing at your family’s table, wearing a white tshirt and jeans, a leather jacket, similar to the outfit you’d first seen him in, and you wonder for a moment if you’re dreaming.

Then he says your name. Your real name, not Baby, not sweetheart, and you blink up at him, shocked.

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” he says with a smirk, and takes your hand to pull you up.

this could be love

You don’t leave him after the final dance, like he’d thought, but he was right that it wasn’t easy. Nothing worth it ever was, he supposes. You run away with him, live in his tiny college dorm on his twin bed, and he still doesn’t think he deserves you.

You still apologize for getting him fired from that shitty job and he still cops an attitude and tells you that you’re spoiled sometimes but it ends in hot and hungry kisses or an impromptu dance session around his record player.

It isn’t easy but he wants it, and so do you, and he hopes that in the end, that’s all you need.

#park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #bts imagine #pjm x reader #bangtanheadquarters #btscreatorsclub #noonasinnetwork #bts commissions

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