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pennycutenice · 2 years

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Please read the tags for content warnings / trigger warnings. This is gonna be very personal.

So I find myself thinking again and again about what being excessively bullied has done to me on a creative level.

At seven years old I composed music on the pc. The next year I was making what later would be called amvs but with my favourite SpongeBob episodes and, no kidding, medieval folk rock. I would design complicated menus to navigate these works and burn them onto DVD. The year after I was learning piano, drums, and guitar, additionally to my recorder knowledge. I would also further improve my craft in editing videos by doing incredibly unfunny but technically impressive redubs of movies and started writing poems. I also loved knitting and singing my own lyrics to my own instrumentals. And I remember how I created incredibly elaborate marble runs not out of prebuilt parts but creating my own. Finally I was doing combinatorics and stochastics on the side, as a fun project on a math level not even taught at german schools. Doing all this there wasn't much time for consuming stuff like video games but that didn't matter. I had fun. And then I changed schools.

I was proud of what I did and showed it to people. Big mistake. I would be harassed for the next seven years on the daily for even having dared to do creative shit. Name calling, to taking away my shit and seldom even physical abuse. Often my bullies called me the aggressor and they would be believed by the school. Because yes, they could push me to my limit until I went violent. But as a small and weak boy that would only make them laugh more. Creating these situations was then kind of a goal: It was funny for them and speaking of physical violence I was the aggressor. Later I fled school regularly, walking home when it got too bad, got into big trouble for that and got threatened with calling the cops on me. I now know I probably was (and still am) neurodivergent and did not have the social skills to do something about all this. It was hell and I was helpless. Eventually I told myself I deserved it for creating such shameful things. Actually I was pure evil right down to the core and them destroying my life was just the righteous consequence of my misdeeds.

So what do? Well, I stopped. All of it. The single thing that remained was doing let's plays which was kinda acceptable to have as a hobby at the time and isn't really new ammunition to bullies anyway. Also I needed to do something after school since I had no real friends to do stuff with and I was too ashamed of myself to regularly meet with the few sympathetic people. At the time I thought I had some friends, today with true friends on my side I know I really didn't. To this day I struggle with friendships because of this; I simply did not really learn how to do them. I got incredibly lonely (and to this day still kinda am) and they took all the joy out of my creativity. I gained weight and an unhealthy relationship with food. I vividly remember how at one point I realized, I hadn't met or talked to anyone outside of school for a year. To that a coke and some chips, fellas! Asked out some guys to the cinema and they only agreed when I told them I'd pay for everything. I didn't enjoy it at all because I realized I needed to bribe people to spend time with me. Later on I started walking home from school - it was good for my health (and weight) and the lost time wouldn't be missed if you have nothing else to look forward to. Plus it was a good opportunity to get in some secret cry time. That is how I started playing video games - a then very hot new one called "mine craft" for example, maybe you've heard of it.

I developed some internet friendships but none of them would last. Most of them were let's play colleges and stopped interacting with me when I, the person with the most (like two thousand) subscribers, had no project to do with them. Also we were never really close. One I kicked out of my life at about fourteen because I realized an 18 y/o should not send me porn.

All this time school kind of forced me into some creative projects and I would always impress the teachers. There was a mandatory reading competition and I wasn't just the best at school, I was the best in the entire federal state. At that point I dropped out the competition because of sickness but I'm really curious about what could have been. I also was "diagnosed" as gifted because of my impressive mathematical skills and got special education opportunities. My teachers were confused about me choosing creative writing classes, but I excelled at that too and got praised at the final presentation of the entire group for my great understanding of words, wit and sarcasm. Also I was a great presenter. (Sadly the course was too far from my home so I saw none of them again and no friendship of peers could form.)

It was honestly weird. I could not do really creative stuff anymore but any time I had to and it was socially accepted, I was the best at it. Without ever doing it in my spare time I was better at programming than my first computer science teacher within a school year and impressed him by disagreeing with him regularly and being right in the end - good guy for realizing that by the way. But I still did not do anything with my "gifts," I couldn't! The fun I once had was taken from me daily on the schoolyard and classrooms and the closets they'd put me in like movie bullies. Yes, that actually happened once. I honestly confused my teachers. One said, I was by far the smartest and laziest student he ever taught. I also remember getting a pity grade on a great art project I did in class which I was so ashamed of I threw it away shortly before we were supposed to show the results to the teacher.

I tried to start a school newspaper, bought and read a whole book on the matter and in the end failed because I feared telling people about it. The few I trusted and seemed interested did not show up. Later on someone with actual social skills started one and I joined, being a primary author of the whole thing shortly, with video game reviews mainly - there was nothing else in my life left I could talk about.

Later on at the upper levels it got a bit better. People at my level realized they could use my skills for their mandatory projects and therefore open hostility stopped. Passive aggressiveness? Yeah sure. Did the other levels still bully me relentlessly? Of course they did. It once stopped for a while after I just turned around to one of them and decked him so hard he fell over, but in the end life was still hell.

Once my art class convinced my pretty cool teacher to watch some of my very rare non-lp creative projects I uploaded. I honestly could not tell you if they actually liked my stuff or if they wanted to humiliate me. So many people talked to me in this sarcastic or duplicitous tone I simply did not trust anyone to ever honestly praise my work. I left the classroom to shed a tear but at that time I was pretty much numb to all of it. Looking back on it it is really possible quite the share of people came around on me, maybe grew out of childish bullying and genuinely liked me. I couldn't tell you, I didn't really trust people anymore at that point and to this day have troubles doing so.

I got sick more and more often. Very sick. For weeks on end. Sick to the point of eating and drinking hurting. Badly. Sick to the point of losing myself and not really knowing who I really was anymore. It was the only time I was weak enough to cry later on in life. Also hunger does not hurt anymore after two days of not eating so I just stopped to end it all in a very painful way. Sadly, that was my opinion at the time and is not anymore, I always would eventually get better and feel hunger again. But physical pain was good in my mind. It was tangible. I knew why it was there and acute physical pain is usually stronger than chronic mental pain. So I started cutting myself. It is almost funny: I felt like a dramatic high school girl doing it for attention, even though I started wearing long sleeves and told not a single soul. But I liked that feeling. Would I have known what "transgender" means at the time my life could have been very different. It truly was the most fucked up gender euphoria and I didn't even know it was at the time. I was smart enough to not go so deep as to create visible scars and later changed to the thighs like a true pro. This didn't solve any of my problems so I really can't recommend it btw.

Anyway, at that point I had been at least passively suicidal for years and completely burned out of finding my own fun in creative projects. At the end of lessons I turned in "the most impressive" art project my teacher had ever gotten. Because of frequent illnesses it was too late; it wouldn't make an impact on my grade. And then soon after final exams I won my level's "biggest male bitch" award. Fuck you too. I didn't go to prom.

Studying computer science and not being forcefully surrounded by people who hated me was much better. I thought absence of hate would cure my mind in the long run. Nope. I didn't know I needed professional help to get better than a kinda sad kinda normal with monthly breakdowns and constant suicidal ideation. I tried to return to my previous creative output but I just couldn't. The youthful innocence and love of creating gone, everything had baggage now. I continued creating for a very toxic reason: To get approval from strangers on the internet via YouTube videos. I didn't know how else to get someone to like me. Content let me filter myself to be a lovable person and not the truly evil fuck I wrongly believed myself to be. Of course I wasn't a perfect person and I did do things I am not proud of and hurt people, but I wasn't nearly the irredeemable waste I thought.

I created incredible things on a technical level. It got me a contract for german state youth television. I was nominated for an award! (I didn't win it because I didn't upload enough videos. Okay?) But I created to feel loved and to overshadow my self hatred with the praise of strangers online. This runs dry. At some point the praise wasn't enough and I could not create anymore. Then I came out as trans and bi to myself and some close friends which made me find a loving community of cool queer people who actually love me. I even have enough friends to be able to choose to not spend time with someone if they're bad for me. In the end I even received depression medication and hormone replacement therapy! I'm working with a very nice neurologist who's trying to understand me better and believes I'm probably neurodivergent too and is gonna get me a therapist once he understands my needs better. My brain does not torture myself anymore and I'm working hard on breaking some self destructive patterns. I am well, comparatively.

But I haven't truly created in almost two years now. I am ashamed and don't even want to make music or write poems anymore or draw. I have no energy to edit videos. I am embarrassed of my maths and creative code solutions even though I am an A+ student with perfect grades that got a job in teaching and research because of these skills. I didn't even touch on me being a pretty good 2D animator (with given rigs, not really frame by frame)! But I cannot. The most progress I made is that in the last two years I started showing people what music I listen to - something I was especially shamed for in my youth - and with about four people on this planet I'm comfortable enough with to sing along to a song I like.

I feel like I loved creating but it was taken from me. And I don't know how to get it back. Or if I ever will. I will just have to do some healing. Some things are coming back. But I don't know what healing is to be done, how to do it and if I will ever get the opportunity to do so. I would love to be on top of my artistic game again, now that I'm happier personally. I don't know, man.

I see people around me doing amazing shit and I… am also there. Once able to do what they do. Being jealous of their joy of their own creative output and the output itself. The ones just a few years younger grew up with smartphones; having access to an accepting community at pretty much all times. Some just had people in their physical surroundings that liked, supported or even guided their creative endeavors. I do not want to say they had or have it "easy" or even think direct comparisons of suffering will result in anything except animosity. But looking at them now whatever they had could sustain their creative drive.

I didn't and still don't have it. And now that I'm able to be in touch with my emotions due to medication I'm just starting to realize and feel the scope of what I lost over a decade ago.

#cw bullying #cw trauma #cs suicidality #cw grooming mention #cw self harm #cw illness #cw medication #cw depression #trans #transfem #transgender #bisexual #my story #story time #whining a bit about my past #as if that would achieve anything ^^

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inkofamethyst · 2 years

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March 24, 2023

I have to admit that I feel a little bit bad holding on to three PhD offers knowing that there might be people on the waitlist vying for a position at one of these places. Truth be told, I wanted to know where I was going before Spring Break hit, but my Choice E didn’t invite me up until late March. Technically, I suppose I could (and, probably, should) let go of Choice F or Choice G if I really thought about which one would suit me best should my Choice E visit go poorly, but I am privileged enough that I can willfully choose not to think about that possibility at all right now. It feels a little selfish and a little immature. I suppose it brings me some comfort to know that I will (ideally) make a decision over a week before the April 15 deadline and that hopefully someone can make it off the waitlist in that time.

I spoke with an alum of my Choice E lab today and gah it’s really feeling like the place for me.

Recently, I’ve been into watching bento (and husbento lol) box videos?? They’re super aesthetically pleasing, and it’s really fun to watch people make healthy, delicious lunches with lots of variety! It might not be the most efficient, nor the most cost effective habit to maintain, but it’s calming and I enjoy the ideas!

On a similar note, I have to really start using up the food in my apartment pantry and minimize my grocery purchases. I only have half a semester left in my apartment, and I’m going to be travelling for (essentially) two of those weeks, so I’m going to need to make a concerted effort to clear out my frozen foods and canned/dry goods. I’ve got quite a bit of protein stocked up, noodles (so many kinds of noodles), rice... aside from fresh produce/dairy, I shouldn’t need to buy very much at all, really. I could probably start making more elaborate bento-like lunches myself. After break, I’ll go in, take inventory, and set out a rough meal prep schedule so I won’t have to take home too many food products, if I can help it. I really gotta get back into trying new recipes anyway. Since I’ve been home (and have mostly recovered from The Ailment) I’ve tried two new recipes in two days and am about to go for a third tomorrow, I think! Having a full spice cabinet certainly makes a difference. [edit, a day later: uh so the “Gigi Hadid Pasta” that’s been all over pinterest is actually pretty flavorless and I had to add so much extra spice... at least the color was pretty. I’d make it again but change some of the proportions and also add spinach.]

Half a semester left.

I got my first grad school related reject, so that’s fun. It was for an outside fellowship I applied for, and I’m luckily not in a position where I needed it for admission anywhere, but it still would’ve been nice to have an extra boost or to defer funding in case I needed it. The reviewer’s comments were useful, but I think it’s funny that my 3.9+ GPA in related disciplines could be considered average or even below average (upon critical thought, I believe they might have been considering my course history and were wondering how exactly orgo and biochem were going to help me pin down functional morphology, and that critique makes sense). I suppose I agree that I should have sought more awards, but ughhhhh UGH. I don’t wanna beg to be recognized and then maybe not even get it (though that’s exactly what I’ve done here with that fellowship so)?? This certainly won’t be my last outside grant/fellowship attempt because I do want to be recognized.

Of all the Lost-esque shows I’ve watched, my absolute least favorite has got to be La Brea. That show might even be one of my least favorite shows I’ve ever watched ever. The writing, plot, and logic are just so terribly bad and I might have to drop it after this season because I am simply not impressed at all. I love sci-fi and as a result am pretty good at suspending my disbelief, but this show is based around time travel and they’re not explaining any of the intricacies or limitations of the technology, so every solution works Just Because and any potential problem that is irrelevant to the central plot is not discussed does not exist and I hate it. There’s so much hand-waving that it does not feel immersive to me. I genuinely do not think very much while watching television, so the fact that I’m constantly frustrated by the holes I’m poking into the plot/solutions/logic irks me. And then any problem that does arise to occupy any characters not involved in the main plotline that episode feels gimmicky and fillery and dumb. Some of the main characters are barely compelling and others are simply not, and in this economy my attention is too valuable to be wasted on things I don’t enjoy.

Today I’m thankful for that conversation I had with the alum... I’ve heard nothing but good things about “my” lab in particular aieeee I’m so excited for next week’s trip.. literally a Spring Break Part 2 (except it’s not really a break and I’ll kind of be pretending to be an extrovert for four days straight (which I guess is okay because I’ve been a total recluse for the past week)). Since it’s probably where I’m going to attend (and because they wanna be touristy), both of my parents will be “joining me” (aka existing in the same vicinity but entirely leaving me to my own devices unless I need them) this time, and I’ve assigned them homework to check out some of the neighborhoods and apartment complexes to get an idea of the best places to live. Very thankful for supportive parents, very thankful for a financial situation that allows them to support me in this way. Also thankful for my two profs who record lectures... they’re really the unsung heroes of my semester tbh.

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lilliagradiewrites · 4 years

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go get her, kid. (peter parker)

Summary: Peter Parker is hopelessly in love with Tony Starks’ teenage daughter, and Stark encourages him to shoot his shot.

WC: 7.4k (holy shit)

Warnings: Bad language, , really nothing else. A lot of cute peter and a painful amount fluff. A tiny bit of angst too.

A/N: I found myself watching Tom Holland interview clips today and I just couldn’t help myself. Here we are: my first peter parker/ spiderman one shot! I have some Harry and Jj pieces in the works, so keep eyes out for that!

LET’S DO IT!!!

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Peter found himself in this position far too often. Staring at you shamelessly while you worked away at whatever was on your desk, usually a school assignment or some tech project. His crush had been going on for quite some time, but it was getting more and more difficult to hide.

You and Peter had been best friends ever since your dad first recruited him. Something clicked between the two of you, causing an instant friendship. As time went on, you grew closer and closer to the superhero, and he quickly became your best friend. You began surrounding yourself with his friends without even realizing it, becoming close with Ned and MJ almost instantly. They were great people, and you loved being around them, but something about Peter was just different. Your energies matched perfectly for some reason. He got your humour, liked the same things as you, plus he was a great conversationalist and an even better listener. Some of your favorite memories were made with Peter.

Despite knowing practically everything about the boy, you were completely oblivious about his huge crush on you. Ned was the only person who truly knew, though many other people had their suspicions. The Avengers had an idea about it, considering you were what he talked about 90 percent of the time. MJ could tell because of the way he looked at you. When he looked your way, his pupils enlarged, his cheeks went pink, and the look on his face was entirely lovey-dovey. It was so obvious just in the way he gazed at you when you spoke.

He was looking at you in that way now, though you weren’t aware. He was meant to be studying (it was the whole reason he came over to your house, or at least that’s the reason he told you), but he couldn’t bring himself to care about chemistry homework when you looked so damn beautiful. Your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail keeping it away from your face as you worked. Your hands flew across the keyboard on your laptop, typing out something Peter probably wouldn’t understand. He was smart, sure, but you were intelligent in a different way. You were insightful and observant, you got things other people couldn’t begin to process. Your brain understood things in a different capacity than most. Peter assumes you got this trait from your father, who was the exact same way.

“What’re you typing? Something for school?”

You nodded, your attention not wavering from the laptop screen. “Yeah, an assignment for AP Lit.”

“Oh, that one project you told me about? With the essay and the powerpoint?”

You nodded again. “Mhm.”

Peter furrowed his brows, moving off your bed to come stand near you at your desk in an attempt to get a better look at what you were working so eagerly on. “I thought that project wasn’t due for another month.

“It’s not. I had an idea for the essay, and I figured if I get started early, I have more time to edit and perfect it.”

“You’re such a perfectionist.” Peter says with a light chuckle, looking at the state of your desk. It was both chaotic and organized at the same time. Pens, highlighters, pieces of paper, a book with annotations scribbled in the margins, notebooks with neat class notes printed inside of them in your pretty handwriting. They were all scattered about the surface, but Peter knew you well enough to know that there was always a method to your madness. As you observed longer, he realized that all of the items were in different sections on your desk, based on categories and subjects. He smiled lightly, realizing that this messy but technically neat surface was probably a very accurate representation of what goes on in your mind.

You finished the paragraph you were typing with a flourish, a satisfied smile resting on your lips. “There. I have a basic outline done for the essay portion. Obviously, I’ll have to go back and add a little more and elaborate on the points, but the basics are there.”

Peter glanced up at your laptop screen. His eyes were met with a never ending sea of typed out words. He smiled; this was so you. Your ‘outline’ is another student's essay doubled.

“You’re gonna write more than that?”

You looked back at him, and he saw your face for the first time during the encounter. His cheeks went slightly pink at the sight of you, and he prayed that you didn’t notice.

You didn’t, or perhaps you just didn’t say anything. You continued on with the conversation without skipping a beat, and relief washed over Peter because of this.

“Of course I am.” You stated with furrowed brows, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This is so boring and basic, and has no detail whatsoever. Anybody who reads the summary of the book online could write this. I want my teacher to know that I thoroughly read and understood the novel, you know? I don’t want to submit some surface-level shit, I want to really pick apart the undertones of and the meaning behind the story.”

Peter nods, pretending to understand what you meant. He’d barely been paying attention to the words you were saying, too encapsulated with your beautiful eyes to do so. You turned back around towards your work, causing your best friend to snap out of his trance-like state.

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I’m bored.”

You had now picked up a pencil and a highlighter, working on the chemistry notes he was supposed to be taking. “Don’t you have work to do, Pete?”

“...No.”

You paused your writing to gaze at him skeptically.

“So you did your book report for english?”

“Yes.”

“Your worksheets for pre-calc?”

“Mhm.”

“You read the assigned chapters for Pschycology and finished the quiz you had to take on them?”

A nod was your only answer.

“What about chem? We have notes, essay questions, assigned reading, and a formulas worksheet due next tuesday. Have you done all of that?”

Peter hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I have.” It was a clear lie. “Can we watch a movie now?”

“There’s no way you did all of that. Go finish your work, and then we can watch a movie.”

A groan escapes Peters lips as he turns, resting against your desk. “But that’ll take forever. Your dad kicks me out at 11:00. We’ll never have time to watch one.” He whines.

You smile slightly, unable to fight it. Not replying to your friend, you spin around in your chair, raising your voice slightly, “FRIDAY, connect to dad please.”, the command directed to nowhere in particular.

“Connecting to Mr. Stark.” The familiar robotic voice echoes throughout your room.

“What’s up, Y/N/N?”

“Hey, Dad? Can Peter stay a bit later tonight?”

“Why?” Your dad’s voice replies through a hidden speaker, his tone almost accusatory.

“Because he wants to watch a movie but I won’t let him until we’re done with homework. We won’t have enough time to finish the movie if he leaves at normal curfew? Pleeeaseee, Dad?”

You can hear your father sigh. “Fine, but only because it’s not a school night and I’m feeling generous. He’s gotta be gone by one though, no exceptions.”

Both of you smiled widely, and you erupted in cheers. “Thanks, Dad!”

“Kid, be ready for training at eight. A later curfew doesn’t mean an exception from your early morning saturday sessions.” The statement was directed at Peter, who nodded, despite your father not being able to see him.

“Got it, Mr. Stark.”

“FRIDAY, disconnect.” You heard Tony’s voice from the other side.

“Disconnected.” The sound of the AI confirming the command filled your room, and the space fell into a brief silence once again.

You spun in your chair, turning to face Peter with a smug smile on your face. “There, now we can get our work done, and watch a movie. Satisfied?”

Peter nodded, giving a roll of his eyes and heading back over to his workspace on your bed, plopping down and continuing his assignments.

An hour and half later, Peter gave a heavy sigh, finally closing his textbook with a smile. “All done!” he announced proudly.

“With everything?”

“Yes, everything.”

You closed your notebook you’d been working in, standing up. “Great. I’ve been done for half an hour, I’ve been working on future assignments while I waited for you to finish up. Ready to watch that movie?”

Peter nodded excitedly. He loved watching movies with you, because you always cuddled up close to him on your bed while you watched. Peter loved being in close proximity to you, even though it made him a little nervous.

“What do you wanna watch?” He asked, beginning to clear his things off your bed.

“I don’t know. We can discuss while we go make popcorn.”

Peter’s eyes lit up; he loved popcorn.

“Okay!” He tossed the rest of his things in his school bag, zipping it up quickly and dropping it in the corner of your room. “Lets go!”

You chuckled at his childlike behavior, following him out of your bedroom door towards your kitchen. The entire journey down the stairs, down the hall, and to the kitchen was filled with Peter going on and on about movies he wanted to see.

You grabbed the microwave popcorn from the pantry, unwrapping it and tossing it in, starting up the machine.

You continued to listen to Peter as soft popping sounds filled your kitchen.

“Oh, you guys have Disney plus, right? What if we watched that new star wars show thingy? The mandalorian?”

You smiled at this statement. Though you didn’t see the boy in any way but a friend (at least that’s what you told yourself), you found Peter’s Star Wars obsession very cute.

“I mean, I would watch that, but I don’t think I’d understand it.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve never seen the movies.”

You watched in amusement as Peter’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening in shock. “You’ve NEVER seen the Star Wars movies? Are you kidding me, Y/N?”

You laughed at his reaction, moving to fetch the fully popped popcorn from the microwave and transfer it into a bowl. “No, I’m not kidding. I’ve been meaning to watch them forever, but I guess I never got around to it.”

“I can’t believe this!” Peter exclaims in disbelief. “We’ve been friends for a year and a half now, and you’ve never seen the Star Wars movies? This is insane! I talk about them so much… did you just never understand what I was talking about?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “Nope, I never have. I kinda just let you talk about it, because I planned on watching the movies. I figured I’d understand what you meant when I watched them.”

“Holy shit… we’re watching the first one tonight, Y/N. No arguments, we’re doing it.”

You grabbed the now prepared bowl of popcorn, smiling at your friend. “Alright, let’s do it.”

You headed back up the stairs, the sound of your footsteps accompanied with the sound of Peter murmuring in disbelief as you made your way to your room.

Once the two of you arrived at your destination, you closed the door, placing the bowl of popcorn on your still cluttered desk.

Peter climbed into your bed, while you rummaged through your drawers in search of comfy clothes. “I’m gonna change into pj’s before we start, i want to be comfy.”

Peter nodded. “FRIDAY, put Star Wars: The Phantom Menace on Y/N’s TV.” He spoke out in a slightly raised voice. The movie appeared on your screen, waiting to be started as you changed.

A few moments later, you emerged from your bathroom, now wearing a pair of Nike shorts and a slightly oversized t-shirt.

“Y/N, this is about to change your li-” Peter’s voice trailed off as he looked at you. The oversized shirt you were wearing… was his.

He choked on the piece of popcorn he’d been eating. “I-is that my shirt?”

You looked down on what you were wearing, realizing that it was, in fact, Peter's. “Oh shit. Yeah, sorry. You left it at the lab once, dad gave it to me to give to you, and I guess it just got mixed in with my clothes. I’ll wash it and give it back.

Peter shook his head, coughing again. “No, it’s okay. You can keep it. It looks better on you anyway.” his cheeks went pink as he realized what had just left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say the last part.

Your cheeks went even pinker at the compliment, which you couldn’t deny made your stomach flutter a little bit. “Okay, thanks.” You smiled at your friend, climbing into the bed beside him. You cuddled in close to him, probably closer than need be, but Peter didn’t seem to mind.

“FRIDAY, start the movie.”

---

A few hours later, the credits were rolling, and Peter was red in the face. You had fallen asleep halfway through the movie, and had moved even closer to him in your slumber. You were now full-on cuddling the boy, and he had no idea what to do. Your leg was moved over his, your head lay on his chest. One arm thrown around his waist. He liked having you this close, but his stomach was in a constant state of butterflies, and he was worried that the sound of his heart beating loudly in his chest would wake you.

He didn’t know what time it was, but it must’ve been close to one, because a knock sounded from the other side of your bedroom door.

Without waiting for an answer, Tony entered the room. “Alright, kids, it’s almost curfew, time to wrap it up…”

His eyes landed on you and Peter, cuddled up in your bed.

“Kid, what the hell is going on here?”

“Mr. Stark! Um, Y/N fell asleep while we were watching the movie and she kinda… I don’t know.. Ended up like this? Nothing’s going on, I swear, it’s just… I didn’t want to wake her up…”

Peter’s face was the color of a tomato at this point. Stark still had his suspicions about the boy’s intentions, but had a feeling that Peter was telling the truth. “Alright, then. You’d better get your ass home and get some sleep. Like I said, you don’t get a free pass from training because you were cuddling with my daughter till one am.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “No, Mr. Stark, I- We weren’t… I Wasn’t…”

Stark chuckled at the boy’s flustered state. “I’m screwing with you, Kid. Now get the hell out of my house. I’ll see you at 8 AM sharp at the compound”

Peter nodded frantically. “Yes, sir. 8 AM. Got it.”

Tony turned and left without another word, leaving Peter slightly panicked. Did Mr. Stark think that something was going on between him and Y/N? Would he be mad if there was? Peter didn’t know what to think, but he knew that he should probably leave before Tony decided to come back.

Peter climbed carefully out from underneath Y/N, setting her head gently on her pillow. He tried his very best not to wake her as he moved out of the bed.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Love you lots.” Peter whispered to his ‘best friend’, planting a sweet kiss on her forehead. With that, he slid your window open, climbing out of it and swinging his way home.

Peter was completely oblivious to the fact that Tony had been standing quietly outside your door when Peter said his goodbyes, and Tony saw the entire encounter. The ‘goodnight’, the ‘i love you’, the sweet forehead kiss.

Tony had his suspicions, but that night it was confirmed: his newest recruit had it bad for his daughter.

Strangely, Tony didn’t find himself terribly angry over it.

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of your alarm blaring frustratingly loud. You groaned at the noise, picking up your phone to turn it off. The time on your phone screen read 7:00 AM. Groaning again, you pulled yourself reluctantly out of bed. As much as you hated getting up out of bed, you knew you had to if you ever wanted to complete your training. Your father had promised you that you’d get a spot on his team if you trained hard enough, and you were extremely determined. It had been your dream for years to become an Avenger, so you had been training your ass off for months to earn your spot.

This is how all of your Saturdays had begun for many weeks. An alarm going off at seven in the morning, waking you up to get ready for training at eight. It was a normal routine for you at this point, but for some reason the early wake up never got easier.

You moved about your regular morning routine, heading straight for your bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. Once your basic hygiene was done, you brushed through your hair, changed into some clothes (your training uniform was at the compound), grabbed your phone, and headed downstairs.

You made a beeline for the kitchen, where your father was already making his morning coffee. When he noticed your presence, he gave you a tired smile.

“Morning, Y/N/N. Sleep well?”

Still half asleep, you gave an exhausted nod. “I shouldn’t have stayed up that late last night. I’ll yell at Peter when I see him. He always manages to convince me to let him stay late.”

For some reason, your father gave a light chuckle at your words. “I bet he does, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrowed at his statement. Something about his tone of voice didn’t sit right with you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, making your way over to fix yourself a cup of coffee.

Your father smiled smugly at you, passing over the coffee pot and a mug. “Nothing, honey. Be ready in fifteen.”

Still suspicious, your eyes followed him as he placed his coffee mug in the sink and moved from the room. Why was he acting like this? Did Peter do something last night? You remembered falling asleep halfway through the movie, not being able to make it through the whole thing. Had something happened while you were sleeping?

Deciding not to let it bother you, you pushed the interaction from your mind, focusing solely on fixing your coffee. You were barely functional without it, and you knew you needed to be fully aware for training. You had to prove to your father that you could keep up with the Avengers, and that you’d be a useful asset to their team.

You downed the coffee quickly, knowing you had only a few minutes left to get ready. When your father gave you a time warning, he always meant it. And, you knew all too well, he would leave you behind if you were going to make him late.

He’d done it twice before.

Once you had finished chugging the remnants of your coffee, you placed the mug neatly in the sink, right beside where your father had left his. The drink had been an instant pick-me-up, and you automatically felt more awake. You found yourself getting more and more excited for the day ahead of you. Though waking up early on saturday mornings was a pain in the ass, you did enjoy training. You got to exercise, learn about cool technology, and screw around with your best friend. What wasn’t there to like?

Now that your best friend had crossed your mind, you pulled out your phone to text him. You sent him a message every morning, or he sent one to you. It was just a thing the two of you did. Over the past year the two of you had been close, it became some sort of routine.

Y/N/N: morning spidey. u awake?

Within moments, he was typing out a reply. He always answered your messages quickly.

Spidey: yes i am :) ready for training? I’m gonna kick ur ass in sprints today

You chuckled lightly at his response. You and Peter had always been insanely competitive towards each other, and it really jumped out during training. Unfortunately for you, Peter usually won the challenges. You always blamed it on the fact that he had more experience and super strength; he blamed it on the fact that ‘you suck’ and ‘he’s just that awesome’.

Y/N/N: u can try, but idk how that will work out. I’ve beaten u in all of the other sprints for weeks.

Spidey: doesn’t matter. I’m showing out today

Spidey: bring ur a-game, irongirl.

You smiled at the message.

Y/N/N: always do, spiderboy

He started typing back immediately, and you knew exactly why. He called you irongirl to screw with you, so you had begun calling him spiderboy to get on his nerves. It worked every time.

Spidey: Y/N!!! It’s spiderman!!!

Y/N/N: spiderboy!!! It’s nova!!!

Spidey: ugh. Ur impossible.

You grinned widely. Your playful banter with Peter has always been one of your favorite parts of the friendship.

Y/N/N: but u love me anyways :)))) see u soon

Spidey: u better be glad i do. see u soon

You reread the texts, unable to fight the smile on your face. Everytime you interact with Peter, you remember how much you truly love him. Being an avenger, and the daughter of one of the smartest and most famous men on the planet, wasn’t easy. Peter was the only one who had a taste of the madness that was your life. Having him around was having a sense of normalcy, and so were incredibly grateful for him.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your voice being called from the front door of your house.

“Y/N! Time to leave!” Without hesitation, you locked your phone, slipping it into the pocket of your sweatpants.

You hurried towards the front door, not wanting to be left behind again. When you arrived, your father was already standing there, holding the door open. You gave him a smile and a quick thank you for holding the door, then made your way out. The driver was already waiting patiently in front of your house. This was one of your dad’s six drivers.

“Morning, Bernard.” You say kindly to the driver, climbing into the back seat of the range rover. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing wonderful, Y/N. How are you?” The older man replied. You really liked Bernard, he was one of your favorite drivers. He was an older man, in his mid seventies, and you found him to be the sweetest person in the universe. Sometimes, he’d bring you your favorite candy when he used to pick you up from school, and he was always so considerate and kind.

“I’m good. Tired, but good.”

The man smiled at your reply. By this point, your dad had finished locking up the front door of the house, and he climbed in the backseat beside you.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” Bernard said professionally to his new passenger, and your dad nodded as a reply.

“Morning, bernard.”

The conversation ended there between the two men. Your father wasn’t a very social person with people he didn’t know, and Bernard was aware of this fact. He mostly talked to you when you were in the car, and Tony went on his phone and did Lord knows what.

“How is Dorothy doing? Is she feeling better?” You asked the man as he began pulling out of your driveway. Dorothy was Bernard’s wife, and she’d gotten sick the week prior. Given her age, Bernard was very worried about her.

Bernard smiled at your question. “Much, much better. They released her from the hospital yesterday, she’s back home and doing great. Thanks for asking.”

“Of course!” You grinned back. “Did you ever find out what she had?”

“Pneumonia, just a very bad case of it.”

You nodded in understanding. “Well, I’m glad she’s better! I was worried when you first told me.”

The conversation continued, talking about anything and everything as you drove to the compound. He told you about his wife, his four kids and what they’re doing. His granddaughter had a baby a few days before, and he was extremely excited about it.

After a 20 minute drive, you pulled up to the building you knew so well. Bernard went to the normal procedure of getting through the front gates, and then pulled up to the front of the compound.

“Well, here we are.” Bernard announced, parking the vehicle. You and your father began climbing out of the backseat.

“Thank you, bernard. Tell your granddaughter I said congratulations!”

He wished you a kind goodbye, and then you were gone, leaving the car and heading towards the compound.

When you walked into the main section of the building, you spotted your best friend in the kitchen. You had to admit, he looked incredible, standing near an open window in the early morning light. He was already dressed in his sleek, black training uniform. It was tight against his body, showing off his muscled body. Sometimes, you forget how beautiful Peter is.

“You’re staring…” A singsong voice came in your ear. You whipped your head towards the voice to see your father walking away from you, smirking. You stood there, feeling slightly confused. Had you really been staring at Peter?

At times, you forget that Peter is only your best friend. The two of you act like an old married sometimes. You spend all of your time together, and you know each other so well.

Strange feelings you couldn’t understand had crept up on you before, especially recently. You couldn’t deny Peter was attractive, and he was a great person, too. How could you not love him? The issue is, you found yourself loving him in a different way than before…

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. You couldn’t be thinking about this right now, it’s not the place or time. Peter was standing right in front of you, and you needed to be focused for training.

You could process your feelings and emotions at a later time.

You began walking up to Peter, who was leaning up against the counter holding a cup of coffee.

“Morning, loser.” You said teasingly, greeting your friend. His head snapped in your direction, and he smiled when his eyes found you. (You thought you could see his cheeks go pink, too, but you forced yourself to ignore it.)

“Hey! How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good.” You replied, leaning against the counter beside him. “I didn’t even notice that you left last night, I was really out. Did my Dad come in and tell you to leave?”

The pink in Peter’s cheeks darkened at your statement. Of course, this was the perfect time for your father to reenter the room. “Yeah, I did. He seemed very comfortable, but I kicked him out at one.”

Peter and your father were making direct eye contact. Your dad had that stupid smirk on his face, and peter was bright red.

You looked between the two of them, not knowing what to think. Before, you were just suspicious, but now it was confirmed: something happened last night between the two of them, and you were determined to find out what.

Hours later, you’re completely exhausted from training. You worked your ass off, and had successfully beat Peter in sprints.

“That’s right! You lost! How amazing is spiderboy now?”

Peter rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Whatever, Y/N. I let you win.”

Your jaw dropped. “You did not! I won because I’m better!”

Peter just smiled at you. You took a swig of the water bottle in your hands, turning around to look at your friend as you did.

The sight you were met with was very sweet. Peter stood there, smiling at you with a look you could only describe as adoration. You looked back at him, a small grin resting on your face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The brunette boy says cheekily.

“Why are YOU looking at ME like that, Parker?”

You took a step closer to him, his eyes widening slightly at your movement. He said nothing in response to your question (though it felt more like an accusation), and you smiled again.”Got nothing to say?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“Parker!” You jumped what felt like 20 feet in the air at the sound of Natasha’s voice, breaking up the little moment between you and Peter.

You stepped back away from him, and you couldn’t help but notice the sadness flash across his face before he turned to the other woman in the room.

“Yeah, Nat?”

“Tony needs your help in the lab. I believe his exact words were ‘he needs to be here in five or I’ll kill him.’ A few minutes have already passed, I’d start running if I were you.”

Peter’s eyes widened for the second time. “Oh, shit, okay. Thanks, Nat.” He turned his head quickly in your direction. “I’ll meet you in your room when I’m done, okay?”

You nodded with a smile. Peter planted a quick kiss on your forehead before jetting off in the direction of the lounge.

Grinning to yourself, you turned towards the sink, your back facing Natasha. You begin cleaning out your now empty water bottle, thinking over the previous interaction with Peter. You loved when he kissed your forehead.

“So, how long have you liked him?” You were so deep in thought, Natasha’s voice made you jump once again. When you’d fully processed her words, your cheeks went pink.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I know you like him.”

“Like who?” Play dumb. That’ll throw her off your trail… right?

“Peter! Come on, you’re caught. Just admit it, Y/n, you’re making things harder on yourself.”

Finally, you sighed. Drying your hands on a towel, you turned reluctantly back towards Nathasha. “Is it really that obvious?”

The woman broke out into a grin at your words. “Of course it is! You two are hopelessly in love with each other. It’s almost hard to watch.”

Your cheeks went pink at her statement. “With each other? Oh, no. You mean I’m hopelessly in love with him. It’s not mutual. I’m just his best friend.”

Nat rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, come on! ‘Just his best friend’ my ass. He loves you, Y/N. He’s even more obvious than you are.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I promise you’re wrong.”

She looked at you pointedly. “I was right about you, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, but…” Your voice trailed off. You couldn’t argue with that. Nat grinned smugly at your reaction.

“That’s what I thought. Please confess to him when he meets you in your room later. It’s painful to watch, I can’t do it any longer.” And with that, Natasha was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Was it really thought obvious? Could everyone tell how you felt about peter? You could hardly even tell how you felt about him; the line between best friend and crush had been blurred for so long. If everyone could tell that you were hopelessly in love with your best friend, you would be incredibly embarrassed.

Even worse… what if Peter could tell that your in love with him?

You shook your head, as if clearing your thoughts. No. You couldn’t think like that. Of course he didn’t know; he would’ve said something.

Right?

Sighing, you walked off towards your room to take a shower, pretending you weren’t going to think of him while you were in there.

---

While Natasha was exposing your feelings, you were completely oblivious to the fact that Tony was doing the same thing to Peter in the lab.

When the boy walked in, Peter fully expected that he was being called for one of three reasons.

One: Tony had a new mission for Peter.

Two: Tony needed help with an experiment.

Or, three (the scariest option): Tony wanted to scold him for (albeit unintentionally) cuddling with his daughter the night before.

Peter could only be described as apprehensive as he walked carefully into the lab, where Tony was hunched over a table, working on something that Peter couldn’t see.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter spoke nervously, a timid way of letting Tony know of his presence. “Nat said you needed me. Is that true, or was she just trying to get rid of me?”

“No, no, I called for you.” Tony replied. He made a few last touches on whatever he was working on, then turned around towards peter. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Okay, option two is eliminated. Now, the question at hand is: will it be option one or three?

“Oh, okay. What about?” Peter said casually (or at least, that's how he hoped it came across.)

Tony gave a pointed look to the boy before speaking again. “My daughter.”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly.

Shit, shit, shit.

Option three it is.

“Is this about last night sir? I swear I can explain-” Peter was quickly speaking.

But, before he could finish, Tony was cutting him off.

“This isn’t about last night, kid. I mean, it kind of is, but not really.”

Peter’s brow furrowed.

Unknown option number four?

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I saw what happened before you left last night. The forehead kiss, the ‘I love you,’ all of it.”

Peter was bright red in seconds. “Oh…”

“Do you love my daughter, Peter?”

The boy’s cheeks somehow managed to go a darker shade of pink.

“I-I uh.. O-of course I do, she’s, uh, she’s my best friend.” Peter stammered out.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I mean, Peter.” The man says, his tone borderline accusatory. “Do you love her, love her?”

Silence. Peter didn’t know what to say, so he opted for nothing at all.

“I already know the answer, Peter, so you might as well just come out and say it.”

Peter pondered his next move. If he played his cards wrong, this conversation could end in him losing his life. Tony Stark was not one to be messed with, especially when it comes to Y/N.

On the other hand, Tony Stark was not one to be lied to, either.

Peter sighed, accepting his fate. “How did you know?”

Much to Peter’s surprise, Tony gave a small smile. “I see the way you look at her, kid. I’ve looked at many girls like that in my day. That enamoured look. You're in love with my daughter, and I have some questions.”

“Questions?”

“Yes, questions, kid. Keep up.”

Peter nodded. “Alright.”

“How long?” Tony asked.

“How long…?” Peter didn’t understand what Tony was aking.

“How long have you been in love with Y/N! How long have you known?”

Peter looked away, breaking eye contact momentarily out of nerves.

When did he begin loving you? Now that he’s truly thinking about it, he can’t really remember.

Maybe it was the first mission that the two of you did together, back when you still known as irongirl. It was a bank robbery, an easy task that Tony had given for your very first mission.

Maybe it was that one time when you dragged him out of bed at 6 AM so that you could show him your favorite coffee shop.

Perhaps it was when you took that faithful mission to Asgard, when you gained your powers accidentally, earning your new title as Nova.

Or, it could be the time that you and him stayed up late binge watching a show he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you that night. You looked so beautiful that night, getting excited as something cool happened in the show. Your hair was tied back, wearing an oversized shirt, your face makeup free. He couldn’t help but smile as you laughed, and didn’t think he’d ever heard a more beautiful sound in the world.

Yeah, he thinks it was that night.

“Um… about ten months ago, I think? That’s when I realized, but I think I’ve loved her for longer. I just forced myself not to acknowledge it, I guess.”

Tony nodded in understanding. “I get that. What is it about her?”

Another question the boy had to think about.

“There’s a lot of things, I think. Like how excited she gets when she talks about things she’s passionate about. Oh, and the way she laughs when something’s funny in a movie or a show or something. And the way she sends me memes or videos that she thinks are funny. They’re usually not very funny, but of course I think it’s hilarious just because she sent it to me. And she always listens to me when I talk, even if I’m talking about something stupid and boring like science stuff I think is interesting. She talks back to me like she cares what I’m saying, and I know she probably doesn’t, but she acts like she does, and that’s enough. She always drags me out to go on adventures, or, at least, that’s what she calls them. Usually it’s just going to get coffee or try out some new restaurant she heard about but it’s still fun. She’s just so amazing, and I think she makes me the best version of myself.”

The rant ended, and for a moment, Peter forgot that Tony was even in the room.

“Damn. I wasn’t expecting that. I’m impressed, kid. To be honest, I expected some shallow answer like ‘she looks hot in her suit’ or something like that.”

“No, sir. Of course, she’s beautiful, but Y/N is just so much more than that.”

Tony gave another sweet smile to the boy in front of him.

“She likes you, too, you know.”

Peter’s head snapped toward Tony again.

What the hell did he just say?

“What?”

“Y/N. She likes you.”

“No way. She just sees me as her best friend. I’m probably like a brother to her. She doesn’t like me like that.”

“But she does, kid. I know my daughter better than I know myself. She is head over heels for you, spidey. Which is why you should tell her how you feel.”

“Tell her how I feel? Why would I do that?”

“Because she likes you, too, and then you two will be stupid kids in love.”

“Are you serious?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Peter paused for a moment. “I thought you’d kill me when you found out I liked your daughter, not convince me to go talk to her about it.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid. I brought you in here with the intention of killing you, or just telling you to stay away from my daughter. But after you went on that little rant about why you loved her, I just couldn’t tell you to keep away from her. You really love her, kid, I can tell. So go talk to her.”

“You’re sure you won’t be mad if I ask her out?”

Tony shook his head and smiled.

“Go get her, kid.”

-------

Freshly clean and feeling a significant amount better, you sat on your bed scrolling on your phone. Thoughts of Peter had begun to fade (mainly because you forced them out of your mind) and that helped to keep you from stressing about what’s to come.

You had decided to confess how you feel to Peter.

True, this plan could ruin everything. Today could be the day you lost your best friend, and that thought made you want to cry.

But today could also be the day you finally get to kiss the boy you’ve loved forever, and that thought also made you want to cry.

You didn't have much time to think about it further, however, because Peter was knocking on your bedroom door.

“Y/N? It’s me. Can I come in?”

You paused immediately, your heart rating speeding up.

Oh, shit. This is it. This could be the beginning or the end of you and Peter Parker.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. It was now or never.

“Yeah, Petey, come on in.”

The door opened, and the boy you loved so much walked in. His cheeks were pink, you noticed. His cheeks only went pink when he’s nervous. Why was he nervous?

You could tell by his damp hair that he had also showered before coming to your room.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He rushes out.

Oh.

“Same.” is your reply. What else are you meant to say?

“Oh, really? Well, uh, you can go first. I’ll wait.”

You shook your head frantically. “No, you first. You said it first, so it’s only right that you go.”

Peter’s hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it. Another nervous habit of his.

“Can I sit down?”

You nodded. Why was he even asking? Usually he’d just plop down whenever he pleased, no questions asked. This behavior was very out of character for the boy you knew so well.

The boy sat down on the edge of your bed, and then took a deep breath. “Okay. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I just have to. I don’t want you to hate me, and I really hope this doesn’t affect our friendship, but…”

Peter paused for a moment, and looked into your eyes. They were brimming with concern, and he just couldn’t hold it back anymore. He broke the eye contact you’d been maintaining, mustered up all the courage he could, and then blurted it out.

“I’m in love with you. I have been for I don’t know how long. I wasn’t planning on telling you, because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but it was starting to get physically painful and I just- I can’t hide it anymore. I love you and I’m sorry.”

Peter clenched his eyes shut, unable to look at your face. He waited (very anxiously) for a reaction, but it never came. Eventually, he opened his eyes, gaining the burst of bravery it took to look at you.

Your jaw was dropped, the expression on your face unreadable.

Oh, no. No no no no no. He’d fucked up. He fucked everything up and now you were never going to speak to him again. He’d lost you. Damn you, Tony Stark.

“Y/N…” He began his apology solemnly. “I’m-”

But he never got to finish his sentence.

Because you were pouncing on him before he had the chance to.

You were on him within seconds, kissing him with so much intensity that he fell back on the bed. He was taken aback for a moment, but quickly kissed you back.

For a moment, the two of you just lay there, wrapped in one another, kissing like there was no tomorrow.

A kiss that made up for all the ones both of you had longed to have in the months before.

You pulled away gently, looking into Peter’s eyes.

“I have loved you for so fucking long, Peter. I was going to tell you that I loved you today.”

“Are you serious?”

You laughed lightly. “Of course I’m serious, you dumbass.”

“Hey!” Peter feigned offense.

You pecked his lips. “You’re a cute dumbass, though.” And then you were kissing him again, and it’s all you could’ve asked for.

----

After a while, the two of you had finally tired each other out, and now you sat cuddled against each other on your bed. No movie or show was playing; it was just you and Peter, listening to each other’s breathing and the sound of your heartbeats.

You looked up at the beautiful boy you were cuddling with, only to find he was already looking down at you.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out, Parker?”

Peter’s eyes widened, and his cheeks went red (for the millionth time that day.)

“Oh, yeah, I- I just thought- nevermind, uh- Y/N, will-”

“Yes, of course I’ll be your girlfriend, Petey.” You cut him off, saving him a few extra minutes of nervous stammering.

He smiled sheepishly at you, then leaned down to bring you into a kiss.

You cuddled back down into his chest, smiling warmly.

You can confidently say that right now, in this moment, you are the happiest you’ve ever been.

#peter parker #peter parker one shot #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Note

Would you write some steamy make out session between fem!reader x a daughter of your choice? Maybe the daughter would sneak out of the castle or sneak reader in the castle into her bedroom. They can go all the way, I'd love a dominant top reader in this, but if you're not comfortable writing about that someone can interrupt them when reader is just about have their hand in the daughter's pants. Thank you in advance!

I picked Bela, cuz I've already got some nsfw with the other two planned. Not gonna lie, this had me, like, screaming in the middle of the night because I'm incredibly easily flustered, and whooooo boy this is what the folks would call "horny". Anyway, I tried, hopefully it's good. If not, please forgive me, I haven't written nsfw in ages (can you believe I used to write this stuff with a straight face?). PS: the reader probably isn't as dominant as you were going for? I just, idk, personally exude bottom energy (even as an ace) and struggle a lil with that sort of thing. If I understand terms correctly (and I do not), the reader might count as a 'service top'. What does that even mean. I'm probably not correct. Just. Just read the thing and see if it's any good, leave me to my awkward flailing.

Under read-more for horny, obvs. Also because this is, like, 1.5k words, which belongs under a read-more. Oh, also not beta read? I could not willingly make someone read this and edit it.

Sweet Talkin' (Alt: the fic that killed j)

“Are you sure we won’t get caught?” You asked, butterflies in your stomach, equal parts nervous and excited. This date had taken weeks of planning. Every last detail was covered, from location to timing to where a certain noble would be, backed up by maidens and begrudging sisters alike. At the end of the day, you really shouldn’t be nervous. But considering just how special this was supposed to be… well, you couldn’t help your anxiety. Evidently your girlfriend feels much the same, as her reassuring smile was hardly as confident as it normally was.

“We’ve gone over this a thousand times, darling, we know it’s going to work out fine,” Bela Dimitrescu replied, before pulling you in for a quick kiss. The two of you stay in each other’s arms for a moment, gently resting your foreheads together. “It will be fine, it has to be. If my mother found out-”

“She won’t,” you interjected, quickly, trying to do for her what she had done for you. “You said it yourself, we’ve double and triple checked. As long as we finish up before dinner, as planned, your sisters will keep her distracted. Admittedly I’m still not sure how you managed to convince them to help.”

“The threat of mutually assured destruction,” Bela replied, as if it was obvious. Something about the way she was always so fast to respond, usually with something clever, made your heart skip a beat. Ooh, and the confidence she radiated? Even better. “Besides, I’ve covered for the two of them a dozen times or more, I think they owe me one. Now, let’s just enjoy this time we have together, alright?” Then she takes both of your hands in her own, giving them a soft squeeze, while looking at you lovingly.

“Is it getting a little warm in here, or is it just me?” You asked, blushing, almost overwhelmed by the heat shared between the two of you. There’s a slight lump in your throat, but you push it down as fast as you can. After all, this was exactly what the two of you had wanted, and you happened to have a little ‘surprise’ in mind. Now seemed like the perfect chance to act. “Maybe we should do something about it, hmm? Don’t want me overheating during our date, now do we?” Well, it wasn’t your smoothest moment, for sure. But you were used to Bela taking the lead in these sorts of situations. This was simply your turn to have some fun, finally show that you didn’t always need to be told what to do (not that you minded, at least not when it was Bela giving you commands).

“Oh? Do elaborate, darling, I’d love to hear what you’re suggesting,” she replied, soft smile betraying her mirth. For a second you see her gaze drift from your eyes to your lips, and you have a feeling you know exactly what she’s thinking about. Seizing the moment, you wrap an arm around her waist, then pull her in for a kiss. Soon enough you two are pressed against each other, eager in your movements, hearts racing in sync. Slowly but surely you move your hand, edging it down her back, then a little further… Bela gasps as you gently grab her ass, not having expected you to be the first to make such a move. A few moments later you have to break for air, chests heaving, but you don’t let go of her entirely.

“Less clothes, for starters. And since your skin isn’t, hmm, quite as warm as mine… I was thinking I could use that to my advantage. If your thighs need a little warming, we could kill two birds with one stone,” you said, practically purring, voice lower than usual. A blush soon rises up Bela’s cheeks as she considers your offer. It doesn’t take her long to smirk, satisfied, one hand going to cup your cheek.

“Right now, there is nothing I would love more,” she murmured. It’s all the encouragement you need to act. Without hesitation you tuck an arm behind her legs, sweeping her up and onto the desk in one smooth motion. It’s a good thing she cleaned up for our date, you think, as you position your body between her thighs. For now you focus your lips on her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along it. Meanwhile your hands find themselves on the fabric of her dress, slowly sliding it upwards, revealing more of her soft skin, ready and waiting for your touch. She lets out a quiet moan as you work, using one hand to hold your head close to her. “You’re rather eager today, dear. Worried we won’t have time for you to get a turn?” Bela asked, in between sharp breaths, teasing as ever.

Instead of replying, you just run your tongue over a particularly sensitive spot on her neck (one you’ve taken advantage of many, many times), unable to stop yourself from smiling when it draws another, louder, moan from her lips. Savoring the feeling, you give her the softest lovebite you can manage. Then you finally get the hem of her dress up to her thighs, allowing you all the access you need, and you pull back to look her in the eyes.

“The only thing I’m worried about is how loud you’re about to be. I wouldn’t want to scar the other maidens,” you said, grinning. Part of you remembers that Daniela and her girlfriend had already handed out plenty of mental scars. The rest of you, however, is content to focus on your girlfriend. So you give her one last quick peck on the lips. Seconds later you’re on your knees, looking up to admire the view. You can’t help but release a low breath at the sight. It takes you a moment to recover, blushing heavily, before you get back to work. Reaching up you take the edge of her underwear in your hands, tugging it away. Bela shifts as you do, trying to make it easier for you, and before long you’ve removed it entirely and tossed the garment over your shoulder. Normally you’d be neater, but when the two of you had all the time in the world… why bother?

Even with one hell of a prize right there, you don’t go straight for her cunt. You place a kiss against her inner thigh, then another one, taking your sweet time. It’s driving Bela crazy, and she’s squirming in place. Picking up the pace just a bit, you add in a couple nibbles, slowly climbing up her thighs, hands ensuring they stayed parted. Right as you move in for more, her fingers tangle in your hair, urging you closer, closer. On one hand you want to tease her, payback for a dozen times she’s done this exact thing to you. On the other hand… your lips can’t help themselves. You’re kissing her clit, loving the way she gasps in response, switching to using your tongue, quick licks one after another. Now her fingers are curling in your hair, pulling ever so slightly.

“Babe,” Bela gasped, struggling to keep herself from bucking too hard, free hand clenching the desk as hard as she could. Eager to please her further, you work faster, tongue rolling over her wet folds, then focusing on her clit, cycling the motions, even as she moves herself against you. You swear you can almost hear her heart racing- but it’s just your own beating in your ears, nearly drowned out by the sound of her pleasure. Every sound urges you onward, rewarding every lick or kiss with a surge of pride. You were the reason she was gasping, calling your name, shaking ever the slightest. Soon, well, soon you’ll be the reason why she was cumming. “Oh fuck,” she said, tensing up for a split second, one last lick sending her over the edge. The way she tugs on your hair hurts, but you know it’s more out of reflex than anything else.

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing a couple soft kisses to Bela’s inner thighs, letting her come down from her high without having to worry about overstimulation (at least not yet). Then you’re rising back to your feet, glad to stretch out a little. “Ready for round two?” You asked, teasing, though a hundred percent ready if she did agree. To your surprise… she nods, eagerly, sending you a familiar smirk. “Well, I’d better get to work, then.” With that said you move closer, grinning just as wide as your girlfriend, beyond glad that you had plenty of time to do whatever you wanted with each other… because the two of you were going to need every minute.

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story{23}

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Heavy Angst, Plot Heavy, Slight NSFW

Words: 4.3k

Note: Italic text signifies a past memory/conversation.

*Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. FICTION! Think twice before you come @ me.

I hope you guys enjoy this. If you enjoyed this LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG.

As always, thank you for reading!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: Q1 | Q2 | Q3 | Q4 | Q5 | Q6 | Q7 | Q8 | Q9 | Q10 | Q11 | Q12 | Q13 | Q14 | Q15 | Q16 | Q17 | Q18 | Q19 | Q20 | Q21 | Q22

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Quarantine Week Thirteen-

-Chris-

“Knock, knock, room service.”

Groaning, he lifted his head, squinting at the sun that was shining through the window.

“What the fuck?”

“Knock, knock, room service,” came the voice again.

His head was pounding, and the light was not helping. Rolling onto his back, he used his hand to shield the sun before he rubbed his face hoping to clear the haziness in his eyes and head. When he felt steady enough to stand, he walked across the room to the door. Once there, he realized he was naked. Grabbing a discarded towel off a nearby chair, he wrapped it around his waist then cracked the door enough to see who it was. No one was there, just a room service cart. Poking his head out, he looked from side to side, still not seeing anyone.

“Did I order room service?”

Not wanting someone to happen to come out of their room and see him, he quickly rolled the cart inside his room, leaving it just before the bed. As he dropped onto the bed, he took the notecard wedged between the coffee mugs.

I let you sleep in yesterday and work through whatever it was that you were going through, but today is business as usual. We have meetings.

-M

Groaning, he dropped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling before closing his eyes. As soon as he did, it was your face he saw. Memories of your last night together flooded him like always. They always came when he had more than ten minutes to himself. So nights were sleepless, showers were torture, and getting any work done was next to impossible. He’d left because there was nothing else to do. He’d been getting plenty of emails about possible work in London and meetings to take, but he’d pushed them back time and time again. One reason was the pandemic that was still ravaging the world, but the other reason was you. He wanted to be near you, learn more about you, begin building with you. That didn’t look to be what you wanted, though.

He groaned again and rubbed his face hoping to stop the onslaught. It didn’t work. Your voice echoed in his head, and he swore he could feel your hands on him. God, he wanted you here. He wanted to still be in his cabin with you still resting your head on his chest. He wanted to be breathing in your scent, coconut oil, flowers, brown sugar, and pineapples. Your scent was seared to his memory.

“Fuck!”

His shout echoed in the hotel room. He sat up and stared at the cart with the breakfast spread. He’d done everything he could.

“She just doesn’t want me.”

With that, he stood and began getting himself ready for his meetings. He had three in total, and that itself told him it would be a long day.

Sure enough, by two in the afternoon, he was still busy and hadn’t had the time even to get lunch. The first meeting went on for three hours, and now he’d taken an unplanned zoom one regarding his project with Mark and Joe. Things were always moving behind the scenes, and though the last few weeks were a nice vacation of sorts, it was time for him to get his head back into the game, no matter how difficult it was posing to be.

As two meetings turned to three, then four, he found himself running on empty, and the longer that went by without you reaching out to him in any way, the angrier and more bitter he became. Never in his life had he been in this situation. He’d pursued plenty of women, but they all were receptive. They all showed interest of some sort. They all wanted him. he may not have wanted them on the level they wanted him, but there was a minimal basic understanding. With you, he felt he was always the one chasing you. It was disconcerting.

When he got in for the night, he was exhausted and ready for a shower and sleep. The ringing of his phone said it was not to be.

“Yes, Meg.”

“Did you look over that proposal I sent earlier?”

Sighing, he sat and hung his head back. “What proposal?”

“Hear me out before you shoot it down. What do you know about Letecia Jemison?”

“Who?”

“The model turned actress,” Meg clarified.

He sighed again, then put the phone on speaker and typed in the name into his Google search. In seconds images of who Meg was talking about populated.

“She’s pretty, right.”

“Meg, what’re ya doing?”

“Nothing, just listen. Her team has been in contact with me, and I know her publicist. We've come up with a way to help both of you. With quarantine, everyone has reverted to a home-based lifestyle. This means maybe some names aren’t on tongues, and that means the roles are slowing.”

Already he didn’t like the way this was going.

“Meg--,” he began.

“It’s just a few photo ops. The press will get a few pictures, people will start talking, and the rest it easy. Plus, I think you two would hit it off; maybe this will jumpstart a relationship.”

“Oh god. Meg. I am not in the market for a relationship.”

“Chris, you’re a good looking guy. Quarantine has been going on for weeks. Not to be invasive, but when was the last time you were in the company of someone who wasn’t family?”

He scoffed and sat back while scrolling through the pictures.

“Meg. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It’s harmless. One or two dates, you get to blow off steam and maybe get something more,” Meg finished.

The picture on his screen was of this Leticia woman in a figure-hugging dress that accentuated her figure. She wasn’t bad to look at; he had to admit.

“And what does she have to say about all this?”

“According to Mike, he said she sounds open to it. If the idea of a photo op sounds deceiving, think of it as a date or spending time with a friend. You can never have too many contacts in this business.”

Meg always knew how to spin things. Her goal was to keep him relevant for as long as it was in his interest, or he decided to remain in the business.

“We have to talk first, Meg. Set up a facetime or zoom, or something,” he suggested.

“All right. I’ll text you. Get some rest.”

After ending the conversation, he stared out the window and immediately thought of you. Even a conversation for a meet up felt wrong to him. Weeks ago, he wouldn’t have cared.

“Unbelievable.”

Standing, he walked to the bathroom, determined to find some peace for the night.

~~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

Staring at the cabin, it looked the same, but it felt different. Whereas it felt warm and inviting before, now it felt cold and so far away. It had been three days, and you couldn’t believe he’d just up and left without so much as a goodbye or see you later.

“Of course he left. Why would he stay?”

“Because he’s in love with you.”

Spinning, you saw Ms. Lisa standing there. You sighed and looked back at the cabin. The last three days, her, Shanna, nor Carly brought up the elephant in the room. They didn’t treat you any differently, but you saw the questions in their eyes. You thought they would just let it be one of those things people brushed to the side and ignored, but seeing her here you knew it would not be that. When she stood beside you, you glanced at her.

“Let’s take a walk to the beach,” Lisa suggested.

You walked in silence through the wooded area from the cabin, around the guesthouse, and down the steps to the sand. Once there, you both kicked off your shoes and walked down the beach until you sat. You dug your toes into the hot on the surface but cold underneath sand and sighed out.

“How are you doing?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. What was supposed to be a quick chuckle turned into an elaborate laugh that went on for a full minute. She probably thought you were insane. You felt insane. When you stopped, you sighed then swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you as fine as Chris is?” Your eyes met, but you were the first to look away back to the waves. “I can see just how fine he is.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t plan it, and I’m sorry you found out the way you did, and I’m sorry if I broke your trust,” you rushed out. Lisa grabbed your hand and held it in her warmer ones.

“Y/N, no, no, no. You didn’t break my trust at all, and you certainly have nothing to apologize to me for. You are a grown woman, a beautiful grown woman at that. Honestly, I saw this coming years ago.”

You snapped your head to her, giving her a quizzical look. “What? How?”

Lisa smiled and rubbed the back of your hand. “I know Chris and all my children like the back of my hand. I raised them and have paid close attention throughout the years. While it’s more difficult to understand him now than it used to be, I do. He’s always been drawn to you. From day one, and against your better judgment, you’ve also been drawn to him.”

You sighed again, looking away from her kind face and back out to the ocean.

“You never understood it until these last few weeks. You saw his apprehensiveness and labeled it as hate. This quarantine has allowed you to see past that, see him on a level you probably weren’t ready for. You also weren’t prepared to like that side of him.”

She was spot on, but you were not going to admit that, not out loud at least.

“I’m here for you, Y/N. If you want to talk or not talk, I’m here. I’m not going to judge you or chastise you. It is not my place, and truly Y/N, I love you like you were part of my family.”

A tear slid down your cheek, making you roll your eyes. “Oh great,” you groaned.

Lisa put her arm around your shoulder and slide closer, but she didn’t speak again. She was letting you decide what you needed rather than her coaxing you in one direction or the other. You didn’t know how long stretched with only the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore, but she didn’t seem to care. As the sun was beginning to set, you opened up to her, letting her know about your past and its effect on you. You steered clear of recent events with Chris or even the fact that of the two of you becoming intimate. Once you began, it felt like you were letting something go that you’d been holding on to for such a long time—shame. That feeling of unburdening shifted to you, spilling your guts telling her things you probably shouldn’t have.

You told her how much you’d hated her son for the first year, then told her how much he confused you and had you doubting yourself by the first have of the second year. Then you admitted that that hate and confusion turned to you being annoyed that you thought about him and even liked seeing him when you did. Your diarrhea of the mouth went further when you admitted that you’d probably thought about sleeping with him long before it actually happened. Still, Lisa didn’t speak. She let you say all you had to, and it turned out you had a lot to say.

You expressed your remorse over lying and sneaking around the last few weeks but admitted you weren’t sorry about it. That was when you felt able to confess that you loved all the conversations you and Chris had, you loved learning new things, loved seeing the vulnerable and soft side of him that he never showed. You even felt comfortable enough to voice your fears.

“I’m afraid if I let him in like I let Thro in that he’ll destroy me worse than he ever could. I was stupid with Theo. The signs were there, but I bypassed them. I didn’t listen to my gut, and by doing that, it cost me more than I ever dreamed. I am not the same person I was then. Everywhere I go, no matter who I am with, I have this barrier between them and me, and Chris is the only one who has ever been able to get behind that barrier. There are so many things that take me away and make it impossible for me to allow him to remain behind this barrier.”

You sniffled and wiped your cheeks while trying to get a hold of yourself.

“Do you want him behind the barrier?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want. The question is, can I afford for him to be behind it, especially with everything I have going on and this new bullshit. It’s a lot.”

Lisa nodded. “That’s where you’re wrong. It matters. We have one life to live, Y/N. Tomorrow or the next is not guaranteed. This one existence is what we have. Our only purpose is to live a happy life, one that is fulfilling, rewarding, truthful, and full of love. To do that, we all have to find our truth, and we have to live in it. We have to unravel who we are, come face to face with our weaknesses, fears, strengths, and live unapologetically in all that glory. You have to do that. If you can’t, would you really want to look back on your death bed with nothing but regrets and no time to make it right?”

You hated how right she was. She wasn’t saying anything your mother hadn’t told you time and time again. She’d tried to drill this into your head after Connecticut, but you weren’t listening—you couldn’t. You still couldn’t. Everything in your life was now pointing in one direction, and you still couldn’t bask in it. Your past still gripped you and hovered over your head.

“Remember,” Lisa began drawing your attention to her. she wiped your cheek with the back of her hand the way only a mother could do. “Nothing and no one can keep two people apart who are meant to be. No matter how much time has passed, and no matter what plans are formed against them or promises are made. I guarantee when it’s the one, Y/N, you’ll have no hesitations. You might fight it, but it won’t change anything. No amount of fighting off what’s meant to be will make an ounce of difference.”

You snorted because you remembered her saying the same thing a few weeks ago on this very beach. She’d known all along. She must have known you knew because her smile was warm.

“It’s a sixth or seventh sense. You’ll see when you become a mother whenever that may be, sooner or later, or sooner.”

You busted out laughing so loud that your laughter carried in the wind and out to sea.

“All I’m saying is he can’t do any better than you,” Lisa added, making you laugh harder, a laugh she joined in on.

~~~~~~~~

-Chris-

After another sleepless night, he was in a shit mood and feeling like he was going through some form of withdrawals. He’d grown so accustomed to seeing your face every day or rolling over and bumping into your body that not doing it felt strange, incomplete sort of. When he recognized those feelings, he began to feel angry. He didn’t know what he was angry at, the fact that you’d rejected him or the fact that you hadn’t even given him a chance. He knew you felt something. You had to. Every time he looked into your eyes, he saw something there. You spoke very little about your feelings, but he remembered the words you had said that last night when he’d asked you what you were thinking.

“You. Always only you.”

Maybe he was grasping at straws, but that meant more than what it sounded like. He felt it.

“I told you that you’d like her,” Megan’s voice infiltrated his thoughts.

“Sorry, what?”

“Where are you? For the last few days, you’ve been here but not here.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, then shrugged. “I’m here.”

“Okay. Have some fun tonight. It’s not really work,” Meg advised.

He sighed and looked himself over in the mirror. After a Zoom call with Letecia that lasted about thirty minutes, he was able to get a better feel for her. She was beautiful and funny. After thirty minutes, he wasn’t rushing off the call, so he bit the bullet and suggested dinner that night, all with the ideology there was no harm in a meal in mind.

“It’s just a quick dinner, Meg. No one is putting rings on fingers.”

“Don’t rule it out,” Meg sing songed.

It still felt disingenuous, and maybe that was why he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but he’d made a commitment, and he was a man of his word if anything.

“The car will be downstairs in about ten minutes, so knock em’ dead,” Meg said, winking at him as she walked out of his room.

Once alone, he was finally able to take a breath. Hitching his hands on his hips, he hung his head low and sighed again. “Get your head in the game, ya’ clown.”

He heard the ringing of his phone, and he felt it was someone from his team or even Meg trying to pump him up. When he looked at the screen, it was a number he didn’t recognize.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

He wasn’t in the mood for some robocall. Just as he was going to hang up, he heard sniffles.

“Who is this?”

“I’m sorry.”

He’d recognize your voice anywhere. The war within him began. Part of him wanted to console you and push aside any hurt he felt to make you feel better, but the other half was what kept him quiet. He didn’t want to make this any easier. He supposed it was a little of that resentment seeping through. The silence stretched from minute to minute until neither of you had spoken for a full five. Every minute the war within him waged.

“What do you want?”

“I—I--,” you stuttered before sighing and sniffling some more. No words actually came out.

Another minute of silence passed, and it was his anger and annoyance that piqued, not his sympathy.

“Y/N, what!?”

“I fucked up,” you shouted, then immediately got silent again.

“I fucked up bad, and I’m—I’m sorry.”

He took a slow breath in and tried to get control over the part of him that wanted to yell. As a child, Mary-Go-Rounds were his least favorite carnival ride, and nothing had changed.

“Did you hear me, Chris?”

“I heard you. I’m just—what do you want from me, Y/N?”

He walked to the seat by the window and dropped his head in his hand.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I let you bring me as close as you want, then you tell me to back off and give you space. I am kind and respectful to you, and you push me away and tell me about my whorish ways. I treat you with nothing but care and love, and you tell me to shut up pretty much. I don’t—what do you want from me?”

“I have a lot going on right now. I, there’s so much you don’t know and understand about me and my life, and I--.”

“—So tell me. I don’t know where along this path you thought that all I care about is sex, but that’s wrong. It’s never been about sex with me—us. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Silence. The only thing he heard was the return of your sniffles. A few moments later, you cleared your throat.

“I care--about you.”

The hiss of his breath slipped out, but it was an accurate depiction of his frustrations.

“Care about me? Wo--Okay. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?”

“Chris,” you whispered.

“See, I don’t even need you to say the words back. A few days ago, I was wrapped up on that, but tonight it’s not—I felt that maybe I’d been rushing you, and I didn’t even mean to say them, but more and more, I just feel like a fucking idiot when it comes to you. I’ve been this—open book to you, and you’ve shown me next to nothing. So I guess I need to know once and for all, plain as day. Has the last few weeks meant anything to you?”

This time your silence was louder than anything he’d heard. After ten seconds, he should have hung up, but he sat there for a minute, then two, all the while, his heart just broke.

“They do mean something,” you whispered.

He felt like a contestant on some gut-wrenching game show, and he was on the edge of his seat and filled with so much anxiety.

“Do you want me, Y/N?”

You sighed loudly, then whispered his name.

“All you have to do is choose me like I’m choosing you,” he finished.

There was rustling and muffled voices that he couldn’t quite make out. What he could make out was your last name, and the words “case” and “update.”

“I gotta go. I can’t do this right now; I really can’t.” You were crying.

Then the call ended. He sat there for several long minutes going through so many different emotions, pain, sadness, confusion, hope, then anger. That was the emotion he left his room with, anger. Long gone were the words of his mother’s text from earlier, “Don’t make permanent decisions with temporary hurt feelings.”

At dinner, Letecia was great. She was funny, charismatic, sweet, and flirtatious. They talked about each of their experiences in the business, which led to talk about what different directors and producers were like, which led to joking about them. The conversation easily flowed from one thing to the next with little to no awkwardness. Still, his mind was distracted. He kept replaying the conversation he’d had with you barely an hour ago. When his brain couldn’t make sense of it, he moved on to comparing you to Letecia.

He compared your voices. Hers was more high pitched, yours softer. He compared your smiles, yours more genuine and bright, hers looked freer. He compared your eyes. He liked yours better. He compared your scents. They were both pleasant, yours won out, but he was not against hers. By the time dinner was finished, he knew Letecia didn’t stack up to you. He knew it with every fiber of his being, but there was something in him that had him progressing with the night. He could see her attraction to him, and he had to admit that he liked being wanted.

When they left the restaurant, they climbed into the waiting car together and laughed the entire way back to his hotel, a suggestion of hers he hadn’t objected to. Once they pulled up to the hotel and began walking to the entrance, Letecia leaned to his ear and whispered something flirty that told him where the night was headed. As soon as they’d gotten comfortable in his room, he got her a drink, and they talked a little more before she’d made a move to climb on top of him. Letecia pulled him into a flirtatious kiss, one he didn’t pull away from. She took his hand and placed it on her ass, taking the lead. It was like this was a first for him. His actions were slow and delayed. Nothing felt natural, and he hated it only felt that way with you.

As if to prove something to himself, he held Letecia’s head steady and kissed her with intent to forget your face. Her moans filled the room, and soon she was sliding odd his lap to sit on the floor between his legs. He watched as she unbuckled his pants and helped him lower his pants. Once the garment was at his ankles, Letecia wasted no time lowering her mouth onto his shaft. A groan escaped him as he watched her bob on his length, all the while slurping against his skin. It took him several minutes to get into the groove of what she was doing because his focus shifted perilously between her and you. No matter what, you resided in his head.

The feeling of doing something wrong constantly nagged him, distracting him from feeling much of anything though Letecia tried her best to draw a reaction. He dropped his head back, hoping that maybe not looking at her would help matters. It didn’t. His memories fluctuated between you doing the same things to a different reaction and the reality before him. He tried to forcibly get his head right, reminding himself that he’d done this plenty of times, and it shouldn’t have been hard. Even that didn’t help.

When Letecia stood before him to remove her burgundy dress, he skimmed her body, taking in every detail. It was underwhelming when he thought back to you, and the sight of her, while beautiful, didn’t excite him. She came closer and kissed him teasingly before walking behind him. When he looked back, he saw her crawl onto his bed then lie down to spread her legs, showing him what he could have. It was decision time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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@queenoftheworldisdead @reveviolet @pretendlifeisnormal @dragonballluver @southerngracela @fanfictionaffair @sullyosully @naturalthrone22 @kittykatlow @peggyslegion @readerforwocfics @almosttherebutnot @yourroyalthickness @beccacupcakesxo @rhyrhy462 @littlepreciousangel @queenshikongo3 @simply-heaven @chezdricks @mangos4u @cltex84 @petty-bitch-akira @buchanansebba @cevans-fics @littleheavensangel2 @niquemorris @pretendlifeisnormal @derogatorylanguage @leopardandpink @chuckbass-love @imaslutforcaptainamerica @offrostandstarlight @jillanaholland @ukmkhan @sweetst24 @musicallyinclinedthings @liquorlaughslove @toni9

@ramp-it-up @october505 @k347 @liquorlaughslove @thotti3evans @reignandrain @shar74nett @littlebabexdebby @laricebabe @est1887 @songtoyou @msblkfire84 @bforbbgirl @acciolove724 @shipatheart @captainchrisstan @ramp-it-up @brownskinafro @jhayes6984 @badbo1-evans @ak329 @msblkfire84 @jovanaprime @poshgirl2 @marvelatthis30 @cleopatra-knowles @littlepreciousangel @youremysuperstar @alookintohersoul @xsweetdellzx @cxmfort @i-just-like-fanfics @storiestoldbyjazz @jennmurawski13 @imthewarmpenguininthemiddle @helenasmirkedno @labella420 @roseasweet @6lackfiction @chezdricks @krrose3 @parkker-barrnes @lilac-tea-time @elisaboricua

@secretswiftymarvelfan @kaiya-ch4n @zeelmol @maeleeme @7soulstars @talley84 @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @kalesrebellion @msblkfire84 @queenshikongo3 @tantricevans @harrypotheadnerd @mrs-captain-evans @cevans-fics @pretendlifeisnormal @tenaciousperfectionunknown @fanfictionaffair @blackgurlkillinit @cessamjrmr

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

#quarantine: a love story fic #q23 #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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violetwolfraven · 4 years

Text

Modern!Wormsies Headcanons because I’m terrified wormsies is going to die before 2021 gets here

Tw for mild horror. I don’t think this is that bad but read at your own risk. I don’t l know why I created it I just felt compelled to but don’t read it unless you’re as insane as I am and are fully prepared to read the most cursed thing I have ever created. Seriously. This is by far the most cursed thing I have ever written. Good luck. 💜

So anyway they’re not selling to survive obviously since it’s modern au.

In my modern au they’re all theatre nerds cause why not.

So they’re backstage one day and Race finds this blue thing behind an old set that has probably been there for several years.

Lo and behold, it is a worm on a string.

And Race is kinda weirded out and wondering who left it there but he’s like aight guess I’m keeping this thing.

He ties it to a strap on his backpack and forgets about it for the rest of rehearsal.

Then Romeo (one of Race’s 3 adoptive brothers, the others being Jack and Crutchie) notices it and f l i p s o u t.

Romeo drags over Specs and Jack and Crutchie to show them the worm Race found and they’re all like omg this is the best thing we’ve ever seen.

Race is still kinda confused but like hey whatever this might as well happen and he just figures if his brothers and his little brother’s boyfriend are gonna obsess over worms, why not join in?

They all get worms somehow. Romeo gets a green one, Specs gets a purple one, Jack gets a dark blue one, and Crutchie gets a yellow one.

When they all show up to rehearsal a few days later with worms, a few others pick up on it and are like lmao let’s join in on the insanity.

So anyway Albert gets a red one, Smalls gets a green one, Mike gets a purple one, Ike gets a yellow one cause it’s the opposite of purple, and Elmer gets a green one.

All the others are all kinda just whatever do what you want don’t involve us in your insanity.

BUT THEN

Over the course of the next couple weeks, only a couple more people join in on getting worms.

Sniper gets a purple one and Finch gets an orange one.

But what’s strange is that everybody starts noticing...

The kids with worms pick up choreography...

Faster and Better...

Than the kids without worms...

They’re stretchier and more agile...

...almost like..?

Almost like...

They...

don’t...

have...

spines..?

They wiggle just like their worms wiggle wiggle wiggle.

And Specs is the most logical of the ones with worms but even he fully believes his worm gives him special powers.

They spend their snack breaks talking about this and a few more people decide to get in on it.

Jojo gets a yellow one, Mush gets a dark blue one, and Blink gets a light blue one.

Davey, Spot, and Katherine still refuse to believe in this.

Sarah got a pink worm and they were all terribly disappointed in her.

But anyway they hold out their lack of belief despite how the kids with worms continue to perform better in dance numbers than the few left without.

Kenny caves and gets a dark blue one somewhere in here.

There are now a lot more kids with worms than kids without and the holidays are rolling around.

Ike gets Hotshot a red worm and Hotshot in turn gets red worms for all his crowd on the stage crew (Bart, Rafaela, Joey, Hildy, York, and Vince).

Hell, even the crew kids perform better with worms, it turns out.

Cause they can run fast to get places they need to be and squeeze through spaces they shouldn’t be able to squeeze through.

But anyway Katherine and Davey and Spot are starting to get a little creeped out.

Cause their friends and partners are starting to act more and more like they’re in a cult, even more than the cult that they’re already in (the drama club).

They pretend their worms have fucking personalities and make tiny hats for them and stuff.

And the ones left without worms are dropping like flies and getting assimilated to the other side.

Buttons gets a light blue one, Tommy Boy gets a pink one, Henry gets an orange one, and

And Sarah gets Les a green worm.

That’s kinda the last straw for Davey.

He fucking waits until his siblings are asleep and he throws their worms in the trash.

But mysteriously

They both have their worms back in time for rehearsal.

And Davey gets home that night and there’s a light blue worm waiting on his pillow.

He throws it away but it’s tied to his backpack strap the next day.

He flushes it down the toilet and it shows up in his favorite hoodie pocket.

He tells Katherine and Spot, super freaked out, but they don’t really believe him cause there’s no such thing as magic worms... right?

Then Katherine finds a purple worm on the seat she usually sits in during breaks.

She’s moderately creeped out so she leaves it there and goes to a different seat but the next break the worm is on that seat.

She can’t remember seeing anyone move it.

Meanwhile Spot is making out with Race behind a curtain (obviously) and Race

Race fucking pulls a red worm out of his sleeve like a scarf trick and gives it to him.

Spot is super weirded out by this and wants to just throw the dumb thing away the minute he and Race are done making out, but he just...

He can’t.

He can’t get rid of the worm, so he ties it to his backpack.

Katherine and Davey are mildly horrified that Spot has given in and won’t give up his worm even though you’re encouraging their cult-like behavior, Spot, come on.

Spot insists that he could throw away his worm if he wanted to, he just... doesn’t want to. And besides, he can keep up with the others on theatre stuff now, so why would he?

So Kath and Davey are

The

Last

Ones

Left

Without worms.

Davey’s worm is still following him around but he refuses to give in and he always gets rid of it as soon as he finds it but it always pops up again.

Katherine’s shows up less frequently, but it starts getting more and more frequent and she starts getting more and more freaked out as one night, she goes into her room and that fucking purple worm is on her pillow.

None of her friends have been to her house in the last 24 hours so this development is fucking terrifying.

She calls Davey and flips out on the phone to him about it and he’s trying to calm her down but Sarah ends up stealing his phone after a few minutes because she’s my girlfriend, Davey, not yours.

When Davey gets the phone back, Katherine is significantly calmer. He asks her if she threw the worm away.

She

Didn’t

Throw the worm away.

She claims it’s fine, that they might as well give in, Davey, we’re the last ones left without worms, just out of stubbornness. And anyway our friends with worms are doing fine; look at your siblings if you need proof.

Sarah and Les are having a tea party with their worms and Davey is getting pretty scared at this point.

He’s the last one left without a worm, though that blue one still always seems to show up wherever he is.

Until

Opening night

Their

Show

Afterwards everybody’s pumped up and ready to go to Applebee’s to celebrate and Davey is relieved because no one has mentioned worms in the last 24 hours or even really looked at the ones still tied to their backpacks.

He thinks maybe the others got bored with it and this thing is finally dying, especially since that damn light blue worm hasn’t showed up today either.

But then Davey is just sharing a nice coffee alone with Jack backstage (which he hasn’t done since the worm thing started because honestly his boyfriend was creeping him out).

Jack suddenly starts crying, and Davey’s all like hey what is it? Babe look at me what’s wrong?

And Jack just goes I’m sorry love I know it hurts now but it’s better in the long run trust me.

That’s when Elmer, Specs, Sarah, and Mush burst in behind them and grab Davey, shoving a bag over his head and dragging him somewhere.

When the bag is taken off of Davey’s head, he’s tied to a chair in the middle of a choir room that all his friends have somehow squeezed into.

They’re all holding their worms.

And Davey is like guys if this is an elaborate prank it wasn’t even that funny to begin with but now it is very very much not funny.

But Sarah just goes in a sad tone it’s not a prank Davey.

Les not looking like he’s trying not to laugh is what makes Davey believe it’s not a prank.

And Davey is legitimately terrified at this point because even Spot and Katherine are looking at him with a solemn kind of pity and when he asks them for help they just shake their heads and tell him everything will be okay.

He turns to Jack and is still clinging to that last little bit of hope that one of the people he loves might not have gone off the deep end.

That last little bit of hope that the boy he loves is still the boy I fell for. I know you’re still in there so please just untie me Jackie.

Jack looks like he’s trying not to cry but he doesn’t move.

Instead he says I love you Davey. It’ll all be over soon.

Do it, Race.

Race steps forward and Davey just about has a heart attack because

He’s

Holding

That

Goddamn

Light blue

Worm

And he takes some rainbow duct tape out of his pocket and tapes it to Davey’s shirt.

And the others all start chanting one of us one of us one of us as Davey can practically feel the spine leave his body and travel to another dimension where there’s a man who collects them.

It turns out the others were right that he should just give in.

Now it’s time for them to get the rest of the school.

Edit: here is my attempt to justify myself for this. 💜

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tenspontaneite · 4 years

Text

Beyond the Moon Gardens - Extracts (1)

For lack of anything else to post today, I’m releasing some extracts from one of my non-public fanfictions – Beyond the Moon Gardens – as my participation in the @raayllum valentine’s event.

Information on and context of the story itself is below the cut. The 10k of snippets are also below the cut.

(General overview of the content of the snippets: established rayllum, fluff, domesticity, horn care, silliness, cuddling.)

Story information:

‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is a successor to ‘In the Moon Gardens’. The former was written in a month in late 2020, and has been worked on sporadically since. The latter was written in approximately three weeks between December 2019 and January 2020. Both are currently incomplete. I do not intend to publish either to the public in full, but may well post further extracts in time.

‘In the Moon Gardens’ is a story about Callum and Rayla getting married; however, the circumstances are deeply unpleasant and the experience is traumatic. ‘Beyond the Moon Gardens’ is considerably longer, and is focused on trauma recovery, hurt/comfort, relationship development, and fluff. The story is structured around a plotline involving rescue and disaster relief efforts in a Sunfire elf city called Lux Marea.

All snippets presented below take place on day 7 of the story’s timeline. They have been carefully curated for fluffiness for the purposes of Valentine’s day, and do not contain any of the hurt/comfort or post-traumatic scenes prevalent in the story at large. Some extracts have been edited to slot together and minimise empty space.

I may potentially post further snippets throughout the week if people are interested.

The extracts:

(Snippet 1: domesticity, fluff, city descriptions. Context: Callum and Rayla are staying in fancy diplomatic quarters in the city, where they arrived somewhat earlier in the day.)

Rayla turned away from her reflection and went for the door.

She glanced around, and found Callum in his own robe sat at the sofa in front of the window. Surprisingly, he wasn’t drawing. He was just staring out across the city, looking pensive.

“Not drawing?” She asked, and he startled, looking up at her in surprise.

He blinked. “Oh. I didn’t hear you.” He said sheepishly as she approached.

She snorted, and moved around the sofa’s edge to plant herself down beside him. “So I noticed.”

Callum smiled at her, looking for all the world like the best thing that had happened to him today was her sitting down next to him, eyes settling on her like he’d be perfectly happy to do nothing but look at her forever. She withstood that expression for only a single second before she had to lean in and kiss him. He made a pleased sound, reaching out to rest a hand on her back, fingers stroking reflexively over the thick wool of the robe. “You smell nice.” He said happily, turning his face sideways to tuck his nose behind her ear. He was undoubtedly getting a face full of wet hair that way, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Fruity, sort of.”

“They’ve got a lot of soaps in there.” She said, and her voice came out more soft than amused. Stars, but she loved him. “It’s nice. There’s all these soaps, and towels, and I think bath oils too.”

“You think?” He inquired, curious, still with his face in her neck. He pressed a kiss to her damp skin.

“Didn’t check them out properly or anything, but there was a drawer full of some fancy stuff. Bottles and the like. Looked like it might be bath oils.”

With a final kiss to the edge of her jaw, he pulled back to resume staring at her contentedly. “We’ll have to have a look later.” He said, and paused to give her an appreciative once-over. “That dressing gown looks nice on you.”

She rolled her eyes. “You say that about literally everything I wear.”

“That’s because you look good in everything.” He claimed staunchly, and honestly, he wasn’t looking half-bad in his dressing-gown either. The colour was familiar on him, but the casual comfortableness of it was weirdly pleasing to look at. Made him look cosy and cuddlable.

Rayla shook her head, then leaned in to kiss briefly along his jaw. It prickled a little. “You might want to see if they’ve got razors in there.” She said dryly. “You’re starting to prickle.”

He blinked, startled, and raised a hand to his jaw, feeling along it. Mercifully, he grew facial hair extremely slowly, making it less of an issue on the move, but it did still grow. He’d last made an attempt at shaving some two weeks ago, and that had sufficed up to now. “Elves don’t grow beards, though.” He said, after a moment. “I’d probably better just stick with mine.”

Once or twice, they’d made an attempt at shaving his bristles with Rayla’s swords, which had been kind of nerve-wracking, and plenty memorable. For lack of proper razors to be found in Xadia, they’d eventually ended up getting him a small knife that he claimed was alike enough to a ‘straight razor’ to work, though it periodically needed to be sharpened to an absurd degree. It was all very strange to her, even after a good half year of living with him. “Maybe.” She agreed at last, and gave him a sniff. Fresh from bathing, his state of uncleanliness was far more obvious to her nose than it had been before. “You should be getting washed up first though. You’ll make your dressing gown stink.”

He snickered. “Bet I reek to you now that you’re clean.”

“Just a tad.” She prodded him in the side until he started moving. “Off with you. Wash up.”

Evading her hands, he leaned in and planted a final kiss on her forehead before leaving, disappearing into the bathroom while she shook her head at him. She heard the water start up quite soon after, and eventually ended up staring out of the window like he had.

The city was still bright, both with sunlight and with the ongoing glory of the temple’s radiance. Settling into a sort of quiet lassitude, she watched it with eyes half-lidded, following the patterns of steaming light as though the smoke from a fire.

It was a striking city. Unlike Lux Aurea, which was so much gold it hurt to look at, Lux Marea was a thing of contrasts. The buildings were all built from the same dark stone as the bathroom had been done in, a grey that cast deep black shadows behind the gaze of the sun. And yet – every building was lined with gold. Accents on the corners, or moulding between the bricks, or running in thick channels up the walls…it gleamed, rich and distinct against the stone. Some of the largest, richest buildings had elaborate golden murals on their sides, luridly metallic and shining in the sun. All of that gold was glowing with magic now.

Rayla wasn’t much for aesthetics. But even she could appreciate the beauty in that view. She watched it for a while longer, lulled a little by the twisting patterns of glowing haze rising from the buildings, then stood and went to find something to do.

(Snippet 2: Calum and Rayla investigate the supplies their fancy bathroom is stocked with, discover bath bombs and are confused, Rayla points out various horn-care items, and Callum makes her very flustered by offering to use said items)

After that, they went through and classified each of the mysterious drawer goodies a little faster. They found more varieties of lotion, some weird nearly liquid soaps, and a pot of some mysterious mini chalky spheres whose purpose neither of them managed to guess until Callum’s hair dripped on one and it sizzled. “Is it supposed to go in water?” Rayla wondered, befuddled.

“No idea. Try it.” He suggested, and they took the rinsing pot, filled it with water, and dropped the thing in. It fizzed and foamed magnificently, releasing pleasant odours and bits of dried flower as it dissolved, and both of them stared at it with fascinated consternation.

“Is that for baths?” She asked him, befuddled. “What’s the point?”

“…Fun, maybe?” He offered, reaching out to swirl a finger in the foam. “It looked pretty cool, after all. Maybe you’re supposed to throw them in the bath for the fun of it?”

“Fun foam and nice smells?” With a huff, she put that pot aside as something to maybe experiment with if she felt like it. “Well, maybe.” She snorted, and in the last unexplored corner, found something highly important. “Oh thank god.” She said, in that way she’d absolutely picked up from Callum, and he looked over with interest.

“What did you find?”

She brandished it triumphantly. “Toothbrushes.”

“Oh thank god.” He echoed instantly, peering over. “My teeth feel disgusting.”

“You’re not the only one.” She withdrew both toothbrushes from the drawer and set them aside. “Well, at least we know what everything in there is now. Mystery solved.” She went to close it, but was stopped with a hand on her wrist.

“Wait, but what about those?” he asked, indicating the small collection of things she’d already set to one side of the drawer with the horn-scrub.

“Oh.” She’d forgotten he wouldn’t know those on sight. “Right. Well, this thing here-“ She plucked up a narrow, vaguely curved implement with a soft-smooth coating. “-is a horn buffer. For making horns smoother once you’ve already scrubbed all the rough bits out with a proper scrub.” She planted it in his hands, since he seemed fascinated by it, and withdrew a sort of soft spongey thing with a texture like felt. “Horn polisher. Same thing, kind of.” He took that as well, and she pulled out a pot of thick paste that turned out to be exactly what she thought it was when she uncapped it. This one had obviously attempted to smell as pleasant as possible, but it still had a very strong and distinctive edge to it. She wrinkled her nose. “Horn polish.” She said, closing it up again. “To be applied and used with the polisher. And lastly-“ She picked up one of the remaining bottles, “horn oil.”

He looked weirdly interested. “What’s the oil for?” He asked, leaning in. “I mean, I guess the rest of it’s to make your horns smooth and shiny, right? So what about this?”

“It’s kind of fancy and unnecessary, and expensive, so not everyone uses it, but usually you put it on after scrubbing or polishing.” She explained, withdrawing the bottles one at a time. “They smell nice, which is good after the polish, and letting it sink into the horns is supposed to make them healthier and glossier-looking. You can technically put it on multiple times a day if you’re really into your horn presentation, but pretty much no one bothers.”

“Because it’s expensive?” Callum guessed, and she made a so-so noise.

“Well, there’s that.” She said dryly. “But it’s just kind of a lot of hassle, you know? If you’re already washing and doing your hair and keeping your horns not-gross, it’s just extra fuss you don’t really need.” She shook her head. “It’s less effort than full on polishing, I suppose, but I’ve never been bothered about polishing my horns except on special occasions anyway. It’s a lot of work.”

“Huh.” He said, in a sort of weird tone of voice. Rayla turned to him, and found his expression similarly strange. Thoughtful, interested, and a little bit furtive.

She eyed him suspiciously, picked up an armful of the supplies they’d set aside, and stood up with them. “What’s that look for?” She asked archly, setting things onto the broad side of the bath. He followed her lead, picking up the rest of it and standing, looking a little shifty.

“What’s what look for?” he asked innocently, putting it all out in neat rows.

“I know that face.” She told him, unimpressed. “I’ve told you so many times I know that face. That’s your dumb idea face. So out with it.”

For a moment, Callum looked sheepish. Then he cleared his throat, and looked at her, and she reflexively fell silent. “I…was wondering if you’d let me do your horns.” He said at last, and she made a strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“What?”

(Snippet 3: tail end of the horn-care discussion, domesticity, Rayla bemused by the concept of room service, Callum pestering Rayla for details on how horn care works, and discussion of one of Rayla’s newer hobbies)

“That’ll be nice, then.” He said, sounding very at peace with the idea. “I can wash and comb out your hair, maybe. Give you some hornrubs.”

Her cheeks heated. “Callum.” She complained. “That’s so sappy.”

He pressed his face close alongside hers, and she could feel his smile against her cheek. “Treat you real good.” He said, very contentedly. “I’m gonna spoil you rotten.”

Rayla managed a strangled, deeply embarrassed sound in the back of her throat. A little indignant, she protested “You can’t just say things like that.”

“I can, and I did.” Callum grinned against her skin, and leaned in further to kiss her near the corner of her lips. “Love you.” He lifted a hand from around her waist, fingers settling at her jaw with a gentle suggestion of movement. Feeling near to bursting with mortification and adoration, she grumbled wordlessly but followed his hand, allowing him to lead her face around so he could kiss her on the mouth.

“You,” she muttered, into his lips, “need to get dressed.”

He paused, then huffed a surprised breath over her skin. “That’s right, I’m still just wearing a towel.” He remembered, ruefully. “At least I’m drier now.”

“It’s been ages, of course you’re drier.” Rayla shook her head at him, then nudged at his arms until he let her go, extricating herself from his embrace. She had difficulty looking him in the eye when she turned, after all of that. “…Get dressed.” She repeated, softer, and shoved the dressing gown he’d hung nearby into his arms. She leaned in, kissed him once on the lips, and then turned away to leave the bathroom.

She settled on the sofa, ensconcing herself beneath the soft blanket she’d found, and stared out at the city while her heart recovered. Sometimes, she loved Callum enough that it was a little hard to cope with, like she was afraid that the emotion in her would rupture if it built too far. He was used to her retreating a little at times like that, just long enough to breathe and feel slightly less overwhelmed.

He took long enough in the bathroom that, eventually, she guessed that he was shaving. That disappointed her, a little. She liked to watch him when he shaved. It was always so strange to her, something quintessentially human; a bizarre banal grooming ritual that reminded her again and again that he wasn’t an elf, he really was a whole different kind of being to her, and his humanity was made of so many little things. He never failed to chuckle at her for how she watched him shaving, but had grown very used to her keeping him company for it.

She sighed, and looked out on the city under the sun, and regained her emotional footing. By the time he emerged, clad once again in the dark red dressing gown, she had her equilibrium back and looked up gladly at his return.

“Where’d this blanket come from?” He asked, bemused, coming over to join her. She held one end up so he could sit down under it with her.

“One of the drawers. There’s a bunch of stuff in here.” She informed, and once he was seated she didn’t waste any time in reaching out to run her fingers along his still-damp jaw. It was so smooth. She murmured, pleased, cupping his face between both hands.

He coloured a little, looking across at her with soft eyes. “You’re so weird.” He told her, sounding utterly besotted, and she leaned in to kiss him lightly along that jawline.

“Love you.” Rayla said contentedly, and drew back just enough to nestle firmly against his side. He wove an arm around her back and turned his head to kiss her at the brow.

“Love you too.”

After a good bit of cuddling and watching the city together, Callum admitted to wanting a drink and Rayla to not knowing whether their waterskins were still filled. They were, as it happened, but-

“You know, if you wanted fresher water, or moonberry juice, we could just ask for it.” He pointed out. “All we’d have to do is open the door and ring a bell and someone would come up, and we’d ask for a drink, and they’d have it up for us just like that.”

She shook her head, utterly exasperated at the idea. “That’s so weird.” She said, and then actually considered it. “…Let’s do it.”

He laughed, and obligingly got up and went to the receiving room to fetch the bell. He mostly-closed the intervening door for her sake, so that when a servant responded to the ring she didn’t feel particularly on edge about it. They couldn’t see her. It was fine.

After a short conversation with the servant, they were off, and Callum shut the outer door before returning. “Five minutes.” He said, and true to his words, there was a knock at the door not too much later. He went to answer it and brought back an actual platter, balancing an entire jug of moonberry juice, an entire jug of water, and two glasses.

“Did you ask for a whole jug?” She asked, disbelievingly, as he set it down on the low table ahead of the sofa. “Or the water?”

“Nope. Actually, they passed along their apologies for not leaving a jug of water in here in the first place. Apparently that’s their usual thing to do, but since they were hurrying for us it got forgot.” He poured her a glass of juice, and then some for himself, and sat back.

She snorted. “What a terrible standard of service.” She said, mockingly. “I mean really, forgetting to leave us wee little glasses and chilled water, what is this place coming to?”

He snickered at an inopportune moment, very nearly making a mess with the glass he’d been in the process of drinking from. “Don’t say that around Vervain, I think she’d actually explode.”

“Right there on the spot.” Rayla agreed. “It’d make a terrible mess.”

They traded a few light-hearted quips on the subject of the accommodations while they had a drink, then they set it all aside for later. Callum, who was clearly angling for it, managed to get her onto the topic of how exactly a proper horn care-and-polish was supposed to go, and she spent pretty much the entirety of that torn between being increasingly embarrassed and increasingly amused. He was so interested, like she was sharing arcane magical knowledge instead of stupid basic grooming tips.

“I mean, I’ve seen you using your horn-scrub on the road sometimes, to file away rough or flaky bits, right?” He was saying, while she leaned over to lay against his chest. He reflexively put an arm around her even while gesturing with the other one. “You kind of go…with the sort of curvy lines in your horns? Like one at a time?”

“They’re called ridges, Callum.” She informed him, incredibly amused. “And yes. You need to file along them all one by one, and be careful to keep the shape too. If you do it badly you’ll flatten out the tops of the ridges and it looks really stupid.”

He stared down at her horns with fascination, and lowered his gesturing hand to trace the shape of – she presumed – one of her horn-ridges in detail. She made a flustered sort of murmur at him, but he seemed too busy to notice. “Right, so, hm.” He almost seemed to be speaking to himself. “Yeah, if you just file it from the top it’d all flatten out. So you have to sort of work around each one? Following the curve?”

“That’s why Moonshadow horn-scrubs are so much more complicated.” She informed him. “We need the wee fiddly parts to get between all the ridges and file it right without losing the shapes. Takes forever. Our horns are more of a pain than almost any other kind of elf’s.” She grinned up at him. “Unlucky for you.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked, incredulously. “This is great. Means I get so much longer to spend on you. You never let me spoil you enough.”

She processed that, and groaned, burrowing her face into the wool gown over his chest. “You’ll change your tune soon enough.” She muttered, but wasn’t entirely convinced. Callum really was an incredible sap when it came to doing things for her. “It takes so stupidly long.”

“I’m counting on it.” He declared happily, and she huffed.

“You’re ridiculous.” She informed him, and after nearly ten more minutes of him trying to wrangle intricately detailed horn-polishing knowledge out of her, just rolled her eyes and said with exasperation “It’s like polishing armour, Callum. Or boots. You just buff it up, then go at it with polish on the polisher for ages. There’s not much of a trick to it.” She paused, but did add “Gets kind of messy though. The filing stage puts horn dust and bits everywhere, and once you start polishing you get like…murky polish liquid all over your hands. Better put a towel down.”

Eventually, after enough sitting around that the cuddling alone wasn’t engrossing enough anymore, Callum did go and get his sketchbook and immediately sat down to begin producing what Rayla was certain would be the first of many, many drawings of the city. He drew it as seen from above first, and Rayla settled in to watch with half-lidded eyes.

She’d grown very used to spending time watching Callum draw. In large part, this was because he tended to spend a lot of his free time doing it, and she was often around when that happened. It was quite satisfying, to sit there and observe as the shapes on the page took form. But even so…

There was only so much of watching him draw that she could do before she started getting bored. Throughout their journeying, it had rarely got to that point. What with the time constraints of camp-craft and travelling, there’d been little enough spare time that Rayla hadn’t felt compelled to find anything else to do. Now, though, she found with surprise that her fingers were itching for her knives.

“Huh.” She said to herself, with interest, and Callum turned his head to peer at her.

“Hm?”

“My knives.” She said, and then realised this wasn’t especially helpful. “My carving knives. Just realised I’m hankering for them a bit. That’s never really happened before.”

“Oh.” He thought, then looked pleased. “Looks like you’re starting to make a habit of it after all. That’s really nice.”

“Less nice when I don’t actually have the knives.” She snorted, and considered her empty hands.

Rayla, on the whole, tended towards active ways of passing the time. She liked to train, and she liked to exercise, and if Callum was free she always liked to go flying with him. But inevitably, after half a year spent together, there had been plenty of afternoons and evenings in their off-time when she was too tired to go out for training, or Callum was spending time drawing and she wanted to be around him, and she ended up with nothing to do.

He’d been the one to gently pester her into taking up some sort of hobby. At first she’d just grumpily sharpened her weapons over and over again, but with enough work he’d got her to try other things. He’d suggested either knitting or whittling, on the basis that both involved the use of stabby implements, and she was a fan of those. Knitting she hadn’t taken to. But whittling…

At first, she’d just done it because he’d prodded her into it, and she didn’t hate it, and there was nothing better to do, so she might as well. But now, considering her empty hands with consternation, Rayla realised for the first time that she actually kind of wanted to be doing it. When had that happened?

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Pick up some things in the city tomorrow, maybe.” He suggested, and turned back to his drawing.

“Bit of a waste, when I’ve got a plenty good enough set of knives at home.”

“You don’t need to get a full set. But it could be nice to have a couple of the main ones around, for travelling with.” He shrugged. “You can practice on any random bits of wood, right? So it’s mainly the knives you need.”

She snorted. She’d learned enough to know that the type of wood one chose was, in fact, very important. But…yeah, for messing around like she did, random wood was usually fine. If splintery. “Maybe.” She said in the end, already thinking of the knife she used most. “It’s not a bad idea. Clothes and supplies are the priority, though. So maybe if there’s anything left after that.”

“We’ll need cold-weather gear, if we’re going through the Shiverthorns in winter.” He remarked, and huddled into the blanket like the mere thought was making him cold. “Thick cloaks and stuff.”

“Which are expensive.” She reminded. “And also heavy. It’ll slow you down.”

He shrugged. “I figure that’s okay. We won’t be in a huge hurry to get back, after all.”

(Snippet 4: Callum and Rayla discuss dinner options, watch the sunset, and investigate the light fixtures. Context: in this story, I worldbuild Sunfire elves as some weird blend of French and Roman.)

He hummed by way of agreement, and pulled her tighter in to his side. “For now, let’s try not to worry about that.” He said, determinedly. “Today our job is to relax and rest up, and that’s it.”

Rayla sighed, and shifted around to lay part-way across his front, face half into the red wool at his chest. “I can probably do that.”

They cuddled for what actually didn’t end up being that long, because there was a knock at the door. It echoed sharply through the polished wood, even with the intervening door closed. Rayla, who’d heard no footsteps of any kind due to the ostensible soundproofing, stiffened immediately.

Callum blinked, then carefully extricated himself from her. “I’ll go get it.” He said, and she didn’t object. She didn’t relish the thought of being seen by strangers when she was in her bathrobe. That was private.

He unlocked and opened the receiving room door, closed it behind him, and then unlocked and opened the outer door. There was actually a decent degree of sound loss between there and Rayla’s current spot, so she couldn’t hear what was being said beyond stray words. After a while, Callum said something in a distinctly goodbye-ish sort of voice and the encounter ended. He considerately locked both doors for her on his way in.

Over his arm, he was holding a neat stack of clothing and armour. “Already?” She asked, startled, and watched as he set it all down on the bed.

“Already.” He agreed, seemingly pleased. “I guess their drying spells really are useful. Look, they’ve cleaned your armour. And our boots.”

Rayla lifted herself from beneath the blanket to go over and look. All of their things looked fresh and new, bereft of the dull beige hues imbued by travel and sleeping in dust and dirt. It half looked like they’d re-dyed some of it, honestly, to get the clean colours back. She lifted Callum’s scarf from the pile, sniffed it, and hummed at it.

“Laundry smell?” He asked, amused, and she shrugged.

“Unsurprisingly.” She considered putting it on him, but in the end decided she was enjoying the look of him in the bathrobe, all cosy and comfy-looking. “What else were you talking about?”

“Hm?”

“With the servant.”

“Oh.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “Dinner stuff. He wanted to tell me the options they’ve got, so we can order ahead of time.”

Rayla made a thoughtful noise, and drew him by the wrist back over to the sofa again. “And?”

“You want me to list it all off?” She nodded, and obligingly he went off listing the various items on the menu, many of which were evidently examples of bizarre Sunfire ideas about cooking. Snails, really? Frog legs? Her nose wrinkled at that one, and Callum’s lips quirked. “They serve glow toad too.” He admitted ruefully. “I mean, I guess I heard they were delicious, but it’s one thing to hear it and another thing to have it on the menu, you know?”

She made a face. “Ez would never forgive us.”

“Bait would never forgive us.” He agreed, snickering.

“And besides – ew.” Rayla shook her head, and waved her hand. “What else?”

He went through all of the selections, drinks and desserts included, and then finished up by saying “He left a sort of booklet thing behind with it all written down, if you want to look over it.”

She stared at him with exasperation. “Callum. You really just stood there and said it all when you could have just handed me the bloody menu?”

“Well, you did ask.” He said, like this was reasonable, and she sighed fondly at him.

“You dumb prince.” She told him, affectionate, and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek before going to look for the menu.

By this point, it was around four in the afternoon, and the sun seemed to be making a very definite bid for descent. She retrieved the Booklet of Food Options and retreated to the sofa with it, where Callum had already planted himself to watch the city. There was a hint of yellow-green in the bright clear sky, and the angle of light from the sinking sun was casting some particularly dramatic shadows. The temple was still gleaming with light off to the side, and the golden circuitry through the city still exhaling. She stared at it for a moment, certain that tonight’s sunset really was going to be spectacular, and then opened the menu to start looking.

It had been long enough since lunch that the sight of so many food options was plenty enough to make her start considering the idea of an early dinner. In an hour or two, maybe. Some of it was too weird or too exotic to consider, but there was a lot that wasn’t.

She passed the booklet over when she was done making selections, but Callum seemed too occupied with the burgeoning sunset to want to look at it. She snorted, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and then leaned comfortably into his side to watch the city.

The sun fell over a period of around half an hour, sinking lower and lower, until the sky filled with such intense yellows and deep reds that it seemed almost to have caught fire. The grey slate of the city turned bloody red in the light, every golden trace lit up and shining in the growing dark. The few wispy clouds left in the sky were shining too, until the sun began to pass beneath the lip of the sea on the horizon, and the blue-green edges of the dusk glittered with stars.

“That,” He said, very softly, when dusk was ebbing into twilight, “was a really incredible view.”

Rayla had little artistry in her heart, but she’d appreciated that sunset. She knew that by contrast it must have touched Callum deeply. She looked at him, taking in his expression, finding it every bit as amazed and awed and happy as she could have hoped for. Her heart fluttered, happy for that he was happy, and in the warmth of that contentment she reached over to cup his cheek with her hand.

He looked at her, leaning into the hand, and offered her a small and very soft smile. Her thumb smoothed over his cheek as he lifted his hand to settle atop hers. Wordless, she leaned in to kiss him, warm and brief, and lingered there close by his face for a long while after their lips parted. He sighed very quietly, entirely happy and entirely at ease. It was peaceful in a way she’d dearly missed.

Feeling utterly suffused with warmth, Rayla nestled in beside him, fingers hooking lightly in the soft red wool of his robe. His arm came around her, and both of them sighed, and both of them settled, and it was quiet.

Neither of them felt the inclination to move or speak for quite a while. The sky was dark and full of stars by the time she shifted, and the city’s golden circuitry shining boldly through the shadow. The Moon, ascendant in the sky, was very nearly full.

“Might not be so bad after all, staying here a while.” She said, finally, and pressed her lips to his neck. “Comfy, nice bathroom, nice views…and the food options look kind of incredible, honestly.”

He chuckled, soft and fond. “Bit of a weird honeymoon.” He murmured into her hair. “But I’ll take it.”

She huffed. “Honeymoon.” She repeated, shaking her head.

Well. She supposed if they’d had to go through that whole forced marriage ordeal, they did at least deserve to get a nice holiday out of it. Even if most of that holiday was going to be spent working, the not-working parts of the day looked to be a lot fancier and more luxurious than they were back home.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Was her conclusion, in the end. “Did you decide what you’ll be eating?”

“Pretty much.” He kissed her brow. “You ready to order? It’s still kind of early.”

“Eh. It’ll do.” She shrugged, and listed off her selections. He kissed her again, then gently untangled himself from her limbs to go off and summon a servant.

The room had gone darker while the sun set, and the soft yellow glow of the fireless light fixtures along the walls had grown more prominent. Now a little curious, Rayla took the opportunity to investigate one, and on closer inspection found it to be some sort of…weird bioluminescent plant. Or maybe animal? It had long rigid tube-like structures that had plainly been cultivated into ornamental shapes, that looked almost like some sort of stone, though it had obviously been painted or dyed the usual deep red. It exuded a number of softly glowing yellow-orange tendrils from the openings at the end of the tubes, short and blunt but weirdly pretty.

She reached out cautiously to touch one, and at once the tendrils retracted inside the tube, the light dimming. Startled, she drew back to watch it, but the tendrils didn’t start to tentatively reappear again for another minute, during which she heard the light murmurs of Callum conversing with whatever servant he’d summoned.

When Moonshadow elves wanted light after dark, they just used enchantments, or glowstone, like normal people. Fancy Sunfire elves, however, apparently favoured plants. Or animals. She honestly wasn’t sure which this one was. Some sort of land-coral?

“I ordered the food.” Callum said, when he returned. “They said it’ll be about half an hour. And they’ll bring it all up at the same time so we don’t get disturbed twice.”

“Perfect.” She pronounced, with satisfaction, and then dragged him over to meet the light fixtures. Predictably, he spent a good ten fascinated minutes investigating the weird glowing polyps, and then a while longer sketching one out, and was half-way through that when the food arrived.

(Snippet 5: after dinner, Callum and Rayla engage in some silliness, then cuddle. Domesticity.)

“I’m so full I’m not going to move for a week.” Rayla announced, after staggering her way back through to their sofa, followed by an amused Callum. “It’s going to take at least that long to digest all of that.”

“That might make it tricky to get supplies.” He said, pretend-thoughtful. “But I’m sure we can work something out.”

She snorted, patted him on the shoulder, and then promptly pulled him into her side when he started looking at her in the imminent-cuddles sort of way. He hummed contentedly, turning his face into her shoulder, breath warming the wool over her collarbone.

“This bathrobe is so comfy.” He said happily, words muffled by wool. “It’s so nice.”

Having had very similar sentiments about his bathrobe earlier, she quite agreed. “Shame they didn’t include wool pyjamas, really.”

He didn’t offer any response for that, just snuggled, putting an arm around her waist. It was almost a little uncomfortable, really, what with how full she was, but she didn’t protest. She just held him close, smoothed her free hand over his hair, and looked out over the city. In the dark, watching the vaporous light rise felt very much like watching fire. It was very entrancing.

Some time later, Callum started to show signs of beginning to fall asleep on her. She looked down at him, snorted, and then nudged him until he stirred. “If you fall asleep now you’ll be up too late.” She informed him as he made plaintive noises at her. “I’m not having you exhausted and useless for your magic channelling nonsense tomorrow.”

“But you’re too comfy.” He complained, and she smirked.

“That sounds like an invitation to be less comfy.”

He opened an eye to peer at her suspiciously. “What do you mean, ‘that sounds’ – hrk!” His words cut off as, unceremoniously, she swept him up with an arm under his back and another under his knees, on her feet with a quick shift of her weight and his. She grinned down at him, finding him instantly and distinctly awake. “….Honestly this is still pretty comfy.” He said, weakly, when he’d spent enough time staring wide-eyed at her to recover his words.

Rayla pretended at thoughtfulness. “That sounds like a challenge.” She said, and he looked alarmed.

“It wasn’t! It wasn’t!” He protested, to no avail; she stepped around the sofa, judged her angle, and tossed Callum at the bed.

He wasn’t particularly aerodynamic, but her aim had been good enough anyway; he sailed neatly between the posts at the corners and impacted decadent Sunfire quilting with a muffled oof. She was laughing at him outright when he turned, staring at her with a sort of red-faced stupefaction that told her exactly what he thought of the whole experience. “Your face right now,” she managed, doubling over to snicker in his direction. Hilarious.

“You know, there’s a saying,” he began, a little dazed. “About trusting someone as far as you could throw them.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You could probably trust someone a lot, is what I’m getting at.”

“…I actually do sort of know how far I could throw you, now that I think about it.” Rayla said, thinking back. “It comes up in assassin training sometimes. Throwing teammates at walls and the like, to give them a leg up. I lobbed someone about your size around six, seven metres once.” She paused, and added “Lengthways, I mean. Throwing someone upwards is a lot harder.”

This did not make him any less wide-eyed. “That’s like, over twenty feet,” he marvelled, looking at her with plain admiration. “You’re amazing.”

She huffed, reflexively bashful at the praise, and shook her head. “Amazing at throwing people, at least.” She said dryly, and went over to stare down at him from the foot of the bed. “How’s the bed?”

“…Very nice, actually.” He said, after a pause for consideration. “You’re pretty bad at making things less comfy.”

“You’re definitely awake now though.” She pointed out smugly. “So my work here is done.”

He snorted, sitting up fully to beckon to her. Obligingly, she bent forwards to meet him with a brief kiss. “Hard not to wake up when someone throws you half-way across the room.”

She rolled her eyes. “It was not that far.” She said, and after a moment made the executive decision to fall forwards onto the bed, face impacting the plush duvet and sinking in. Her feet hung from the edge, and Callum giggled.

“Hehehe toes.” He said, and reached out to poke one. He found her four-toed feet amusingly charming every time he was reminded of them, which would have been funnier, except her feet were pretty ticklish and she twitched every time he prodded like this.

“I will kick you.” She warned, and he subsided with another snicker. Instead of messing with her any further, he shuffled over and started playing with her hair. “Mm. Better.” With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tipped her head forwards, face smooshing deeper into the bed. His fingers carded through her hair, nails trailing lightly at her scalp.

“You didn’t brush it.” He noted, carefully working out a couple of tangles, and she shrugged.

“Couldn’t be bothered. ‘Sides, it only tangles again when we cuddle, anyway.”

He hummed, and went through it again more purposefully, parting it carefully around her horns as he looked for and eliminated a few knots. He brushed around her hornbeds and she shivered. Apparently noticing the reaction, he did it again, more deliberately, chuckling at the way she murmured and pushed her head into his hand. “You look like a shadowpaw when you do that.” He said, affectionately, scritching gently around her horns. “Headbutting people’s hands when they pet you.”

“Anyone else and I’d be cutting off their hands, trust me.” She mumbled at him, already a little indistinct and fuzzy around the edges of her thoughts. Hornbed-scritches did that. “…Suppose the shadowpaw’d do that too. Except they’d bite the hand off instead, if they didn’t like you.”

“What I’m hearing is that if you were an animal you’d probably be a shadowpaw.” He sounded very fond.

“Mm. Guess so.” What would he be? Something doggish, probably. Friendly and playful and loyal, and then all teeth and fierceness when threatened. That sounded about right…

She drifted, a little. It was hard not to, when collapsed onto a comfy surface with one’s hornbeds being rubbed. He stopped after a while though, evidently noticing her drowsiness, and stroked a hand over her head between the horns as he chuckled. “Now who’s falling asleep?” He teased, and she made a half-hearted rude noise at him.

“’s your fault.” She muttered at him, indistinct around the duvet in her face.

“Uhuh.” He sounded amused, and stroked the back of her head again.

(Snippet 6: very detailed depiction of horn care, which in-setting is considered intimate)

She was suddenly very glad he’d interrogated her so persistently on the procedure earlier, because she wasn’t at all certain she’d have been able to tell him anything more sophisticated than ‘um’ when he was literally about to do her horns for her.

“You’re so cute.” He told her affectionately, obviously very aware of her current emotional state, and then finally set soapy hands onto her horns.

“Oh my god.” She muttered, cheeks flaming, feeling the weight of his hands, the subtle pull at the rest of her skull. She had never been quite so aware of her horns as when he started soaping them up and washing them, and it didn’t take long at all for the warmth of his skin to soak far enough through the keratin so that she could feel it in the living horn. A little while later, he applied the coarse-bristled-brush-side of the horn-scrub to her left horn, and she made a tiny embarrassed sound at the ceiling. “You should scrub them harder than that.” She managed after a moment, since he really was being too gentle about it. “Horns are tough, you know.”

He hummed with interest, and obliged, scrubbing hard enough that it pulled at her head a little. The towel-pillow had been a very good idea of his, really. “How much horn care do you normally do?” He asked, curious, getting the washcloth to rinse her horn before scrubbing again. “I’ve seen you file them, but…”

“…Usually just this. A good scrub to make sure they’re clean, and then filing down the rough bits.” Rayla offered a mortified noise. “But it’s been weeks and I’ve not even done that. They’re probably so dirty…”

“Shush, they’re fine.” He huffed at her, and kept on at her left horn until he was satisfied with it, moving over to the other one. Rayla regarded the ceiling with a persistently red face the whole while, cheeks feeling nearly as warm as the half of her body that was still in bathwater. “I wonder if your face is going to be this red the whole time.” He remarked, when he’d apparently finished with the washing.

“Probably.” She muttered, self-consciously, and felt her gut squirm when she felt the first experimental scrape of the fine filing parts on her horn.

Callum laughed softly, and started setting to work with the file. “If you say so.”

For all that he’d never done this before, the muted sensory feedback Rayla gleaned from her inner-horns and her ears suggested that he seemed to be doing fine with it. He readjusted the file enough that she could be relatively sure he was respecting the curve of the ridges, and worked slowly along the shape of each one, from the hornbed to the pointed tip, over and over again.

As she’d told him, it was a long process. It took a long time. Long enough that, contrary to her words, her embarrassment did start to burn out a bit, the red of her cheeks easing until she only felt a little flushed, a little flustered.

“I see why you thought the cloak would be a good idea.” Callum said ruefully, a while in. She could only imagine how much horn-dust and flaky bits of keratin must be littering it. “This does get kind of messy.”

“Told you.”

“For now this is just making your horns go sort of…pale, and scratched-looking.” He commented, working the file around one of the ridges on the underside. “I guess it goes dark again once you start buffing it?”

She made a small despairing noise, but agreed “Yeah, basically. Honestly all you really need to do is wipe it over with a wet cloth and it’ll stop looking like that. But…”

“But I’m not stopping there.” He said, with evident satisfaction, and a little more heat rose in her cheeks.

He was slow and meticulous about the filing, but got through it a lot more quickly than she could have if she’d done it herself. It was hard to work on your own horns – the angle was bad, you couldn’t see what you were doing, and adjusting to get the undersides was a huge pain in the arms. By contrast, doing it for someone else was just…a lot easier.

Finally, he set the scrub down and went for the washcloth again, soaping up and rubbing her horns clear of dust, poring over them for any spots he’d missed. When he was finally satisfied, he said “and now I buff them?”

“Mmhm.” She confirmed, bringing her hands up to hide her face for a moment. So, at her confirmation, he started on that part next. He evidently hadn’t expected how vigorous the buffing and polishing stages of horns were, because she kept telling him to press the buffer harder, and he kept making worried noises about it, and she had to keep assuring him that no that’s how it’s supposed to be, and eventually she start started laughing helplessly at him.

“I feel like I’m going to hurt your neck,” he complained at her, when the strength of the requisite motions pulled at her head. “Or like, hurt your hornbeds, or something.”

“I’ll be fine, Callum.” She assured him, still laughing, mirth and embarrassment squirming in her chest. “This is just how it goes, you know.”

“At least I brought you a pillow.” He sighed, and obligingly kept on. A fair while later, when he was done with the buffing and had washed her horns again, he leaned back a bit to admire his work. “That really is looking a lot smoother and shinier.”

“And you’ve not even done the polishing yet.” Rayla felt very weird then, laying back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She’d been through embarrassment, and then amusement, and now…now, there was something else. She felt almost calm. Almost settled, like she’d finally started to grow used to this. Like the novelty of his hands on her horns had worn through.

Now, she felt kind of comfortable. At ease, in a way. Her mind was drifting in the way it did when Ethari or Runaan had helped her with her horns before, like this was just a normal thing. A normal thing that took ages, and that one had to daydream through to pass the time.

“I’m actually really looking forward to seeing what they look like when I’m done.” He was saying, as he put the buffing things down and went to get the bottle of polish and the polishing tool. “I’ve never seen your horns all done up before.”

“Maybe now you’ll finally understand what I mean when I say my horns have gone gross.” She pondered, and he laughed. “Finally you’ll know what well-kept horns are supposed to look like.”

“I have seen other Moonshadow elves’ horns, you know.” He informed her, obviously amused, and she heard the cap of the polish opening. A moment later, she smelled it, because there was really no mistaking that smell. “Yours still look nice no matter how long it’s been since you scrubbed them.”

Rayla made a disagreeable noise at him, and he snickered back, and then finally set about the polishing.

She’d told him, earlier, that horn-polish was pretty potent stuff, and that’s why you applied it to a sort of spongy cloth attached to a handle, rather than scrubbing with it by hand. At full strength, it actually melted the outer surface of the horn – just a little, just enough to meld it all down into a smooth, gleaming, perfect surface. Diluted polish was fine if you did it regularly, but with how long it had been for her…she’d told him to keep it undiluted. And it stank.

Her nose wrinkled, even with all the pleasant soap smells competing, and held her neck lax as Callum worked on her horns vigorously enough to pull her head back with every other movement. That was just how it went, so she wasn’t bothered. The towel was enough padding that it didn’t hurt, so she just laid there and let him work.

“Think I might actually nearly be done.” He pronounced at last, sounding genuinely a little out of breath. She’d told him it was hard work, and evidently he’d found that out for himself. He sounded very pleased, though. Like he’d done a good job and knew it, and was plenty proud about it. “Just got to wash all this polish muck off, right? Soap your horns up again.”

“That is the last stage.” She agreed, trying to glance up at him, but all she could really see was the top of his head. “Aside from oiling, I suppose.”

(Snippet 7: aftermath of horn care, domesticity)

It was then, by the sink, that Rayla finally removed the towel from her head, and Callum made a loud noise of pure joy at her. She stared at him, alarmed, and then noticed where he was actually looking. Oh.

“Shiny!” He exclaimed, gleeful, and reached out to stroke her horns. “Oh my god.”

“Callum!” She complained, but she was already laughing, because honestly she should have predicted this reaction. He practically groped at her horns, bright-faced and beaming, and she flushed all the while she stood still and let him. “Are you going to let me see them any time soon?” She asked him, dry. “Or are you just going to stand there groping them?” He subsided at that with a very high-pitched giggle.

“Hehehe,” he offered, and then “yes, go look! You need to tell me how well I did.” He took her by the shoulders and turned her to the mirror, his face lingering by her shoulder in her reflection with the enormous grin still very much in residence there. He was such a dork, honestly.

Finally, Rayla tipped her head forwards and inspected her horns. They were…shiny. Very shiny. Every ridge had been filed and buffed and polished to a gleam, and when she turned her head, the light glimmered off of them like they’d been waxed. Her eyebrows went up, and she lifted her own hand to feel along one. It was smooth. Entirely dry, but as she ran her finger along one ridge, it felt so smooth. Their dark colour was actually glossy. “…Wow.” She said, a little admiringly, and tilted her head to watch the light move. “That is shiny.”

He looked absolutely delighted by that response, as if he’d needed her go-ahead to be certain that, yes, that was definitely impressively shiny. She smiled, helpless to stop it, and turned her head to kiss him on the cheek; her reflection mirrored her.

“You did a great job, Callum.” She told him fondly, her cheeks pink at having seen exactly how great a job he’d done. Stars, but the second anyone saw her they’d know exactly who was responsible for those horns. “My horns haven’t been this shiny in years.”

Callum looked at her like she’d hung the Moon, like this praise was enough to render him utterly overjoyed. He tugged her around enough to kiss her, deep and excited and full of energy, so much so that she made a muffled noise of surprise into his lips. It caught her off-guard, and she was feeling a little breathless and a little dazed when he drew away a few moments later. “You have to let me do this again.” He told her, beaming. “I’m going to keep your horns this shiny, just you wait.”

Her cheeks flamed, and she ducked her head, suddenly flustered. “You can’t just say things like that.” She complained at him, and of course he looked utterly unrepentant. He leaned in and kissed her, then moved and kissed her on one cheek, and then on the other cheek, and his hands were already up and stroking along the wide bases of her horns again.

“Smooth,” he commented, gleefully, fingers warm around her horns. His face was very, very close to hers. “They’re so nice.”

The heat in her face decidedly didn’t abate. “Oh my god, Callum.” She mumbled, shaking her head, and he just kissed her again. Feeling increasingly dazed, she said into his lips “you know, it’s a lot faster if you’re doing it regularly. You can skip the filing and just buff and polish instead.”

He considered this excellent news, if the way he kissed her was any indication.

Finally, she summoned the force of will to reach up and peel his hands from her horns, stepping away. It was not easy, because – because when he looked like that, so elated and alive and full of delight, when he kissed her so enthusiastically, it was hard to think of pretty much anything. She looked across at him, incredibly flustered, and couldn’t see anything except how beautiful he was. “You, calm down.” She ordered him, gruffly, and led him by the shoulder to the basin. “We came in here to brush our teeth, you numpty. Not fondle Rayla’s horns.”

“But Rayla’s horns are really really pretty.” Callum pointed out cheerfully, and she made an involuntary noise half-way between embarrassment and pleasure.

“Be that as it may, Rayla and her horns want you to brush your teeth now so we can go to bed.” She said, and she shuffled over to the basin to make good on her words.

(Snippet 8: Callum and Rayla go to bed finally. Cuddling, fluff.)

It proved as magnificently soft and comfy as she might have expected, when she peeled back the covers and climbed in. Callum meanwhile was perusing the canopy with consideration.

“Curtains or no curtains?” He asked her, and she considered it.

“Curtains.” She decided, and watched with satisfaction as he reached out and unhooked the bed’s attendant drapery. She reached to the one closest to her, and he got the rest; it all fell into place, a rich dark red that blocked out the light from the room around them and cast their bed into soothing shadow. Something settled in her then, that hadn’t quite been at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings, or the openness of the room. She sighed, and burrowed down under the duvet, laying her head back on the pillows.

He joined her, lifting the covers and slipping in, closing his eyes for a second in obvious profound enjoyment. “This is so much better than hard cold floor.” He murmured happily, and she smiled, tugging him to her with a hand at his shoulder. He went gladly, and within moments they were pressed close, legs tangling, the warmth of his skin comforting against her own.

“Been a long few weeks.” She sighed, resting her forehead against his, and he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek.

“Kind of an understatement.” He murmured back. “I’m glad we’ve got a chance to rest now.” A pause. “Sort of, anyway. Aside from the work.”

She understood his meaning, though. There was something strangely safe about the idea of the time they’d spend here, whether it would be a week or longer than that. This wasn’t home, where there’d be people to explain things to, or where they’d have to adapt their old life to fit around what had happened. This was a new place – unfamiliar, but easier to cope with for that unfamiliarity, in its own way.

Here, she thought, they’d be able to find their footing a little. Settle a little more into their new normal, before the vagaries of travel and normal life needed intrude again.

“Me too.” She agreed, at last, and reached a hand across to press lightly around the back of his neck. He made a soft, pleased sound, then shuffled to give her better access, face smooshed into the pillow. She kissed him on the cheek, and he peered at her with one green eye, a smile fluttering on his lips.

“…Thanks for letting me do your horns.” He mumbled back, eventually. “I liked it.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’ll repay you sometime.” She promised, and moved her hand to smooth down along his upper back, enjoying the warmth of his skin. “Tomorrow, maybe. Give you a nice backrub or something.”

“Sounds great.” He shifted closer, tucking his face against her shoulder with a sigh. She kissed him at the top of his forehead, stroking him gently from the nape of his neck to his shoulders and back. He made quiet contented noises at her, drowsier and drowsier, and steadily began to drift off.

She lingered there, holding him, trailing fingertips over his neck as he settled into sleep. It really had been a long day for him, for all that they’d spent the latter half of it indoors and resting. Now, finally, he’d be able to sleep properly, in a bed comfortable enough to ease the ache of his overworn muscles. Now, finally, without the city’s doom hanging over them, they could rest a little.

Rayla smiled into his hair, nestled against him, and closed her eyes. She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but it took her anyway; almost between one moment and the next, she was gone.

#rayllum #rayllumvalentines #moon gardens #these snippets will probably not get posted to ao3 #i'd like to reiterate that I have no intention of posting the entire story either #but i hope you can enjoy these extracts regardless #i adore this fic tbh #it's a delight to write #which is probably how i managed to write 120k of it in one month #still proud of that #one heck of a personal record really

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pi-cat000 · 3 years

Text

BNHA: something sad (Grief)

Summary: The last time Katsuki sees Izuku alive the other boy is rushing to save him. A ‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ AU.

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo

Fandom: My Hero Academia

WARNINGS: Major Character death, swearing, heavy angst. destructive behaviour.

(Additional part here)

(Grief- Katsuki self reflects and visits Izuku’s grave)

Katsuki knows he has a volatile personality, probably inherited it from his mum, and enough attitude that he has steamrolled his way through life without much difficulty. Things annoyed him easily and he got irritable at the drop of a hat. He has enough self-awareness to recognise that as a flaw, even if he had never seen it as much of a problem.

There was a difference between irritation and anger. Deku had always made him angry, inducing a burning hot sensation that ate at his insides. Now Deku was gone and he couldn't turn any of it off. It was like the world was suck behind a filthy pane of glass that he couldn’t smash through no matter how hard he tried.

Katsuki watches the head of his Kamui Woods figurine bend at an odd angle as the plastic began to superheat, having been exposed to a string of minor blasts. He had been slowly working his way through his figurine collection as both quirk training and to take the edge off his anger. Melting this figurine was particularly cathartic.

“Perhaps we should look into getting you some new hobbies.”

Katsuki shifts his focus to glare at his father who stands at his bedroom door, an expression of worry pulling at his features. No surprises there, worry was his father’s default response to anything Katsuki did these days.

“Not interested.”

“Something to get you out of the apartment,” his father continues to which Katsuki narrows his eyes. He wouldn’t be in the apartment if he had any say in it. Both his parents know this.

“Some physical activity where you’ll be able to let loose without having to worry about property damage. I have a colleague whose brother runs a kickboxing studio. I can make arrangements for you to spend time…”

“I said, I’m not interested,” he grumbles, returning to his current distraction.

“Well, I want you to think about it,” his dad instructs, “It would do you a lot of good and it’s something you’re passionate about….”

The figurine Katsuki is holding begins to blacken, colours melting away under his tiny, controlled bursts. There is an unhappy sigh from his father and the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall. He growls and the figurine explodes with a small Bang. Melted plastic is flung across his walls and floor.

He knows what his dad is trying to do…

How many times had he begged his parents for better training opportunities, for karate or boxing lessons, only to be denied due to money restraints? Outside of a few judo lessons he had received as a birthday gift from Inko one year, any combat training he did he had been self-taught.

Now he’s no longer interested, his parents are practically threatening him with extracurricular activities.

It’s fucking annoying is what it is.

He reaches for another figurine only to find that he has none left aside from his limited edition All Might collection. He lets out an angry breath, trying to rid himself of his restless irritation. It doesn’t work, and he ends up standing so he can pace back and forth, listening to the pop, pop, focusing on his tingling skin as sparks run up and down his arms. It keeps him distracted for all of two seconds.

Usually, he would be at the library studying, or going on long runs and working on his physical conditioning. Sometimes, he would meet up with a few of the loser-extras from school and they would visit an arcade. Recently, he had taken to wandering through the streets around his neighbourhood, waiting for something to piss him off enough that his mind would white-out in pure rage and could forget reality for a few seconds. Obviously, that had become a lot harder after several run-ins with the local police had had him all but permanently grounded outside of school hours.

This is what he wanted… he remains himself. His plan to piss people off enough that he received some iota of punishment was working like a charm so, of course, it sucked. He hated it, but then, he hated all the alternatives as well so what did any of it matter.

Katsuki ends up with his ear pressed against the door, listening for activity in the living room, waiting for an opportunity to make a break for it. He needs to be careful because Aunt Inko is visiting and the last thing he wants is to see her stupid, sympathetic smile.

When it sounds like the coast is clear, he creeps out, stealing down the hall. Muffled voices from the kitchen are all the encouragement he needs to beeline for the door and slip out before anyone can spot him. He’ll be in trouble for this later. He’s counting on it.

The hot summer air is a welcome change from the chill of air conditioning. There is the loud buzz of cicadas, chirping away in the sticky heat. He picks a direction and walks, not caring that he is wearing the sweatpants and the black singlet he had slept in. If someone has a problem with his presentation, he is more than willing to throw down.

Unfortunately, the relief being out of the apartment brings is short-lived. Today, a feeling of discomfort follows after him which has nothing to do with the heat. A bubbling frustration that bites at his heels as he stalks the streets. It is that feeling he has come to associate with times when all his rage burns away, leaving him numb.

He doesn’t plan to stop at the florists, he just sort of does.

He turns suddenly into the store before he can properly process what he is doing. The chime on the glass door rings and the sickly-sweet smell of the store has his nose wrinkling. Before he can chicken out and retreat, he walks to the counter.

“How much?” He snaps at the older lady in overalls manning the register, pointing at the nearest bunch of white flowers. He has no idea what type they are but that wasn’t the point wasn't it?

“Ah,” The woman squints at him, taken back “That depends how many you want?”

“I don’t care” He smacks the few yen he has on the counter, “However many that’ll get me. Don’t rip me off.”

The woman nods slowly, “Do you just want these specifically? You don’t want to add some more colour to the bouquet? White is a bit of a dower colour.”

“Whatever is cheapest…just make it quick.” He is already regretting coming in.

The woman hums, pulling out a roll of paper, beginning to place and wrap the flowers Katsuki had pointed to.

“Who are they for if I may ask?”

“No.”

“Oh? A special friend maybe,” She begins to tease.

“He’s dead,” he snaps abruptly, “and he’s not my friend. Just give me the damn flowers.” Why did people always make this shit more difficult than it needed to be?

The old hag is silent after that, awkwardly finalising his purchase which ends up being an assortment of white flowers with a few smaller yellow and red ones scattered between. It almost looks pretty and it is sickly-sweet smelling, just like the store.

He tries no to think about his destination as he walks with renewed deliberation. He doesn’t think about it right up until he is practically walking into the low stone wall nearest the gate. The shock of seeing the place has him freezing in place, breath catching. The last time he had been here had been during the funeral.

There are lines of thin, tightly packed, gave markers, rising horizontally on sets on uneven steps. There is barely room for people to pass between them on the narrow, flagstone path. Trees are scattered throughout the space, providing patches of uneven shade. The noise of the cicadas is louder here, almost oppressive in its throbbing hum. For a moment, all he wants to do is walk up to the nearest stone and blow it all sky high. Then he would be sure to flatten every marker in the place until the land was a barren waste. That would get him arrested for sure. The thought passes quickly, and his eyes slide away from the cemetery to his flowers. They don’t look nearly as nice now he has almost strangled them with an unintentionally tight grip.

He breaths out, resisting the urge to set something on fire. Slowly, he walks up the steps, passing the small temple at the entrance. Deku is buried further in, his stone modest in size when compared to the others.

“Deku…” He grows out a greeting when he arrives and it gets caught in his throat. The stone, obviously, does not respond.

Before he can accidentally blow them up, he carefully places the flowers next to the small pile already adorning the small stone. There are more offerings than he expects to be there. He recognises a few of the names from school. One larger bunch looks especially expensive and elaborate, monopolising most of the limited surface space.

‘From Yagi Toshinori’ the card attached reads. Katsuki doesn’t recognise the name.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, he didn’t know shit about Deku other than their shared ambition to be a hero.

“Deku…” Why the fuck is he having trouble talking, “You’re...” He stops.

“You’re a fucking moron,” he manages to spit.

“I didn’t need you to save me.” The anger is burning so hot that its almost unbearable. Pop, pop, his hands fizzle. “I didn’t want your help.”

BANG! He makes sure the explosion is directed away from the stone and up into the sky. The small shock wave it produces rustles the flowers and nearby trees. All the cicadas stop chirping at once, plunging the area into an eerie quiet. His legs feel shaky and he is practically vibrating with anger.

“What did you think a quirkless idiot could have done!”

Save his pathetic life while the real Heroes watch him suffocate from the side-lines? His brain supplies an answer. It was all a big joke wasn’t it? The bastards had all watched Deku die. That was what a Hero did apparently, wait for backup while someone died because it was safer for them. Safer for the Hero.

His legs give way and he falls to his knees, curling his hands into fists, jaw locking up. Finally, the haze of anger falls away and his mind quietens. Everything was painfully clear now. People didn’t care when Katsuki yelled, swore, and hurt other kids, because his quirk was amazing, making him amazing. What a joke. If he hadn’t had his quirk, then the Slime Bastard would have had nothing to work with, and Deku might still be alive.

“I’m…I’m fucking sorry okay." He had always treated Deku like shit and he doesn’t think, if their positions had been reversed…he doesn’t think that he would have even thought about saving someone like himself.

The truth stings. He slams his fist into the flagstone next to him and he watches it crack.

"I’m sorry…”

He was lucky…that’s all he was… He wasn’t special… he was just an average human with a good work ethic and a garbage personality who just happened to have a powerful quirk.

He wasn’t a hero…well, not one like Deku had tried to be…like Deku had been…

He didn’t even want to be a hero...not anymore...He doesn’t know what he wants.

“Damnit…” the words have no heat behind them. The explosive rage that had been burning continuously in his chest for the last week simmers, snuffing out like a candle. There is a hole where his anger had eaten away at something fundamentally him, leaving empty space.

Katsuki leans forward, letting his head thump against the stone.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #boku no academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugō #major character death #Sludge Villain incident gone wrong #angst #all the angst #coarse language #swearing #anger and grief #visiting graves #katuski has a sad time #something sad au #fanfiction

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willwriteforhugs · 4 years

Text

the boy in the bookstore (part one)

in which you meet a suspiciously handsome boy in your favorite bookstore- but are not cultured enough to know his true identity.

ateez scenario

yeosang x (fem) reader

word count: 1.5k

g: fluff, angst if you’re a sensitive bitch

warnings: none really, light kissing and possible innuendo in later parts

notes:

there are a few things that may turn inconsistent for you personally (aka the POV being american, bilingual, etc. nothing major tho!)

also: if you enjoyed this, i am 100% looking for requests. can be aus, scenarios, or whatever! (atm i can write for atz, skz, bts, and itzy)

happy reading!!

part one

the morning of november 12th is a dreary one. when you wake up, you have little to no motivation to go to work. it's a downcast, rainy day, and seoul looks as sad as it's probably capable of looking.

work is slow. you work on your current project, but writing today feels like this: you write out a sentence. then you delete it. and then you rewrite the exact same sentence. you do this for eight hours, and by the end of it, the air seems thick with your desire to leave.

as you leave the building, a few coworkers try to spark conversation.

“oh, y/n-ssi, you should come have soju with us later, we-”

“hey, y/n! do you want to-”

you don't let any of them finish. today had not been not your day. actually, when was the last time any day had been “your day?” you are exhausted, burnt out. you miss your family, who are busy living halfway across the world. you miss your father, long dead after a tragic accident when you were young. you miss the fleeting friendships of your childhood. you miss what it felt like to have someone greet you as you came home after a long day. you miss being loved.

as you begin your long walk home, a thought occurs to you. when had you last visited the bookshop? it had probably been a while since you’d seen mrs. seon… maybe you should stop by. after all, a trip to the 30 year old bookshop might brighten your mood.

twenty minutes later, you shuffle awkwardly through the front doors of “bookshop”, careful not to get your dripping shoes too close to the new releases. and yes, the store was called “bookshop”. in reality, the store had simply never been named, but everyone who visited it knew it as just the bookshop. you glance around, hoping to find mrs. seon, but she was nowhere in sight. that was alright though… more time to browse. you scrape the last bits of rain off your boots and wander towards the back of the store. this was your favorite part of the whole establishment, and that was saying something. the whole shop was filled to the brim with battered books- centuries old classics, modern literature, old journals of long dead men… and many of the books were not korean, but european or american. this was possibly the most diverse bookstore in seoul. you adore it. but the back of the store was especially amazing. this was where the seon family kept the american classics. authors like john steinbeck and f. scott fitzgerald lined the shelves, their colorful spines making a bold statement about the content within. most were old, beaten up copies, but many of them were in english- something you secretly love.

letting loose a small smile, you run your fingertips along the book spines. suddenly, you see a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye. you whirl around, swiveling your body to your left. and in front of you, not even six feet away, is a boy. a...a beautiful boy. you feel your breath catch. holy shit, he was gorgeous. pale blond hair frames a sharp, tanned face- the boy has sleek, judging eyes, and higher-than-god-himself cheekbones. for a moment you just stare. you can’t help it. but the boy doesn't look up. you lower your eyes again, shifting your attention back to the books. honestly, you aren't sure why you’d reacted like that. he hadn’t said or done anything. and though he is attractive, you are relatively uninterested. this is a bookstore, after all. this is where people came when they didn’t want to talk to people.

a few minutes pass quietly, and you continue to browse the books. after finally deciding on a collector’s copy of steinbeck’s east of eden, you look up again. and there he is. looking right at you. as soon as your eyes connect with his, though, his shoot back down to the phone in his hand. you blink, wondering if he needs anything.

another beat passes. he glances up again, and this time, you force him to hold your gaze, shooting him a small smile. you see his eyes widen slightly before you turn on your heel and head towards the front of the store.

by the time you reach the checkout counter, an employee is there to assist you. she smiles and makes small talk while bagging your new treasure, then sends you on your way. no longer thinking about the blond boy, you pull up your hood and leave to head home.

only a few minutes had passed since you’d left the store when it happens. you feel odd, like someone is watching you...at first you think you’re imagining things, but as you turn around, you are face to face with the boy from the bookstore. a small gasp escapes your lips.

“oh,” is the first thing he says.

you take a step back. "oh-uh," you stumble to find the right words. "hello."

without a word, the boy straightens his stance and reaches towards you. instantly wary, you take another step back. but his arm stops short. resting in his slim hand is a small brown wallet. wait- your wallet. you hesitate, then begin to dig through your shoulder bag. sure enough, the wallet is absent. you look back up into his brown eyes, startled by the intensity of his gaze.

"you- you dropped this." he says quietly.

his voice also startles you. it has a low pitch, but is painfully soft. it reminds you of something, but you don't know what.

"oh, wow. thank you so much," you manage, reaching for the wallet. as you take it, his long fingers brush yours; the lightest touch. his hands are freezing.

"your hands are so cold!" you remark, surprising yourself. talking to strangers in the street. what have you become, y/n?

the young man's pride must have faltered, and his ears turn an endearing pink color.

"it's getting cold out, you really should wear some gloves or something."

he raises his eyebrows. "you aren't wearing any either."

without missing a beat, you respond: "i run hot."

a smile plays at his lips. "well then, i guess i'll wear gloves next time."

up close, you notice he is even more beautiful than you had anticipated. he wears no visible makeup, and he has a big pink birthmark near one of his eyes. it's mesmerizing. by now, you've completely forgotten about your foul mood from earlier.

"by the way," he continues, still speaking quietly. "are you a regular at that shop?"

you pause. "i guess you could say so. i know the owners pretty well, too. mrs. seon is practically my mom here..." you chuckle.

he tilts his head. "what do you mean?"

"oh, it's just that my own family doesn't live here." you pause, and decide you need to elaborate. "i'm american."

his eyes widen, just the tiniest bit. "oh, are you? i wouldn't have known. your korean is amazing."

"well, it is my first language, so i'd hope so." you laugh a little. "but yeah, my family lives in america. i moved here when i was sixteen- i wanted to be an idol." you admit.

this seems to take him by surprise.

you continue without being prompted. "i was a trainee for a few years, but... it just.. it didn't work out. but when it was over, i realized i just couldn't force myself to leave korea. i love it too much."

he nods. "i think i know what you mean."

"so i'm just a student now. turns out i probably should have planned to go to school even if i had debuted... oops."

he nods again, his face remaining neutral and distant.

realizing how much you had just revealed, your body stiffens. "anyways. um, it was nice meeting you-" you pause. he hadn't told you his name.

"yeosang." he said, reading your mind. "my name is yeosang."

"oh. well, it was nice to meet you, yeosang, but i really should be going."

he hesitates, opening his mouth as if to say something. but he closes it and gives a small smile. "okay."

you give a small bow and turn to leave, but he catches you by the arm. "but wait, i want to know your name, too."

you glance back at him, into his eyes, which are shining with hardly hidden curiosity. "y/n." you say.

"y/n," he repeats, as if committing it to memory. "okay, now you can go."

and with that, the two of you parted, going back home to two very different lives.

edit: part two is up now. thank you for reading!!

#ateez imagines #yeosang x you #yeosang x reader #yeosang #ateez #ateez fics #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #yeosang scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kang yeosang #kang yeosang x reader #self insert #fanfic #bts #ateez angst #willwriteforhugsfics

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golbrocklovely · 4 years

Text

remember me // colby brock

A/N: this is not a request, but this is something i have been thinking about for a long time, probs since i started writing. i only finally wrote this out bc i’ve seen a lot of edit on insta that are like ‘what if your fave didn’t exist?’ and i figured this was sign for me to finally write it. if you guys want me to make a sequel to this, lmk. hope you enjoy.

prompt: everyone has forgotten colby, except her. but why?

trigger warning: angst, kinda sad, ppl forgetting colby

word count: 3567

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day started out like any other day for Colby. Nothing felt out of place as he woke up and laid in bed for a couple minutes. He knew today was going to be one of the less crazier days for him and Sam. No meetings of any kind, and no filming either. He had gotten everything done earlier this week and he was excited to have a bit of a day off. The only thing he had planned for today was to go workout with Sam early. He glanced at his phone. 9:34 A.M. Perfect time for him and Sam to go down to the apartment's gym and get some work done.

Colby stretched as he stood up, stumbling over to his closet and changing into what he usually worked out in, a muscle shirt and basketball shorts. He trudged into his bathroom and brushed his teeth quickly, opting to take a shower after he got home from the gym. He slipped his sneakers on as he walked into his kitchen and got a water bottle from his fridge. Taking a big gulp, he grabbed his keys and headed straight down the hallway to Sam's apartment.

He knocked three times, calling out to Sam as he waited for the blonde-haired boy to open the door. Finally, Sam did, rubbing his eyes and staring at Colby confused.

"Hey dude, did you oversleep?" Colby smirked, "That would be a first."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Colby, his voice still tired. "Um, I'm sorry?"

“Don't you remember? We planned to work out this morning. We talked about it last night.” Colby replied, twirling his keys in his fingers.

“What are you talking about?” Sam scrunched up his face.

“Last night after we filmed your video, we said we should go workout this morning…” Colby chuckled lightly, “Are you okay, brother?”

“I'm sorry, but... do you have the wrong apartment?” Sam asked nicely.

Colby exhaled. “What?”

“You must be looking for someone else, dude. I have no idea who you are.” Sam mumbled to himself, “Or how you know my name…”

“Okay, ha-ha. Very funny. Come on, Sam. Let's go.” Colby stated, taking a step back to leave.

Sam insisted, his voice getting louder. “No seriously, I have no idea who you are.”

“Babe, who is that?” A voice called from inside the apartment.

Colby looked over Sam, seeing Kat walk around the corner in her pjs. Colby glanced above Kat and noticed something off but ignored it.

“Hey Kat, did Sam hit his head last night?” Colby joked.

Sam turned to Kat. “Do you know him?”

Kat took a step back, glancing at Colby quickly. “No, I have no idea who he is. Do you?”

“No, I don't.” Sam shook his head.

“What are you guys on about? Of course, you know me.” Colby hissed.

“Seriously, I have no idea who you are or how you know me. But you gotta leave.” Sam ordered.

“What?” Colby raised an eyebrow, his voice softening, “Is this some type of prank?”

“Leave now, or I'm gonna call security on you.” Sam grunted.

Colby started. “Dude what are you talking-”

Sam slammed the door in Colby's face, locking it loudly. Colby scoffed, staring at the door for a second.

If this is a prank, I'm so gonna get him back for this.

Colby rolled his eyes and went down to the gym. He couldn't wrap his head around what just happened. Why was Sam pranking him if they already filmed last night? Was he trying to film for next week now too? Was this for someone else's video?

I mean, this has to be a prank... right?

Colby shook his head, ignoring the strange thought. Of course, this was a prank. It was probably for Jake's video. Maybe even Kat's. Or Kevin's. Someone was doing it to him. He couldn't remember the last time he had pranked somebody. But whoever he did, they were probably trying to get him back now for it. And they were doing a pretty good job.

Colby jumped onto the treadmill, keeping the pace slow at first as he searched through Spotify to find his playlist. Where was his playlist? As cheesy as it was to listen to the playlist he made for fans, it was filled with his favorite songs, so he would actually listen to it a lot. But now... he couldn't find it.

Where the fuck is it?

He searched, even going to his profile, but it wasn't there. Gone, like it never existed.

Maybe Spotify is acting up. Let me just go to Youtube.

Colby clicked on the app, searching up a song he wanted to hear. Then he paused for a moment, deleting the text he had written and typing in 'sam and colby'.

No results found.

“What?” Colby murmured, twisting up his face.

He then typed in 'colby brock'.

No results found.

Colby's heart sped up in his chest, his breathing quickening. Did his channel get deleted? Why were there no results for his channel, or 'Sam and Colby' for that matter? He finally typed in 'sam golbach', and Sam's channel appeared.

Colby clicked on it, glancing around at the different layout. This wasn't the layout Sam had had before. The only time they change it is when they are starting a new chapter, and they always do it together. Maybe he changed it last minute?

He clicked on Sam's videos. Scrolling through the list of them, he noticed something weird.

Sam always included Colby in the thumbnail. But now... he was nowhere. Now someone different was in the thumbnail, like Jake, Kevin, or even Corey. But... Colby was nowhere.

What the fuck was going on?

Colby clicked on a video he knew he was in, 'This Is How He LOST The Game’. He watched through the first ad, waiting impatiently. Finally, when the video loaded, his eyes widened at what he saw.

He wasn't in the video.

Sam had started the video off like normal, showing all the guys sitting on the couch as he explained the name of the game. But Colby, who knew for a fact he was in this video, was no longer there. His spot empty.

It was one thing to pretend not to know him, it was one thing to remove him from the thumbnails. But to remove him from videos all together...

“It's impossible.” He uttered under his breath.

Colby rushed off the treadmill, no longer in the mood to workout. He ran up to his apartment, feeling his heart bang against his ribcage.

Maybe this is all a weird ass dream? Or an extremely elaborate prank?

Colby went into his closet, deciding he wanted to change out of his clothes into something more comfortable. He gazed over at the corner of his closet, where he kept all of his merch, along with the XPLR ones too.

It was empty.

“What the fuck?” Colby grabbed at the empty hangers, spinning around his closet. He threw open drawers to try and find his merch, but he couldn't find it.

Colby swiped open his phone, sliding to his pictures. He knew him and Sam had a recent photoshoot in the new XPLR merch, so as long as those photos were there, he knew everything's okay.

As he opened his photo album, a certain dread trickled through his body.

Colby never deleted anything off his phone. He wanted to keep as many photos as possible. Plus it was always good to have extra photos in case he didn't have anything to post on his Instagram. But now, every photo he had was different than it once was. He had many photos of him and Sam from their years of friendship. But now every photo that had him and Sam in it... was gone. It was no longer Sam and Colby. It was just... Colby.

I'm not doing this right now. This can't be real.

Colby shook his head, his nerves getting the better of him as he laid back down on his bed. He took some deep breaths, trying to relax. This must just be the most realistic dream he's ever had, and he just needs to go back to sleep and wake up to everything normal again.

Normal... Sam's neon sign was gone.

Colby groaned to himself, closing his eyes and getting comfortable in bed. No, this is not the time to think. I just need to sleep.

As Colby felt himself relax into sleep, his dreams that followed were confusing and dark. Nothing made sense, but all he knew was that he was in a panic.

Colby jolted awake suddenly. He could tell by the way the sun was peeking through his windows that it was later. He opened his phone. 1:34 P.M.

He sighed deeply. Colby was used to waking up on his days off this late. Everything already felt better.

Did I dream all of that? Or was that prank real?

As he slid out of bed to the bathroom, he decided to check twitter. If that was all real, maybe Sam had mentioned the prank to the fans.

Colby opened twitter and nothing seemed out of the usual. He looked at Sam's account, and noticed it was not following him anymore.

He's being extremely thorough, isn't he?

As he went to switch over to the Sam and Colby account, he noticed the icon wasn't there. His fingers twitched as he typed 'sam and colby' into the search bar. Everything but that account showed up. 'Sam and Colby' twitter didn't exist.

A nauseous feeling rolled through Colby's body. Colby went to his profile, looking through the people he followed, not even noticing the significant lack of followers he had. He knew he followed a couple fans, maybe they knew what was up. As he scrolled through, he noticed the usernames were different.

He knew a bunch of fans off-hand. A lot of fan accounts always stuck out to him; and it was easy to remember the username, especially if it was named after him.

But nobody's username was.

He saw a lot of 'Golbach', but no 'Brock' or even 'Golbrock', which he always thought was cute. Not a single username was related to him anymore.

Alright, that's enough.

He angrily clicked on his contacts, needing to call Sam and tell him to call off this prank. It was no longer funny and honestly, he didn't even want to be a part of it anymore. Most pranks he was fine with, but this one was going too far for him.

Colby gasped as he stared at his contacts, dropping his phone like it electrocuted him.

All his friends were missing from his contacts. The only people in his phone were his family, and that was it.

Colby began to hyperventilate, unable to stop the panic that surged through his body. He bore at himself in the mirror, staring at his stress-ridden face. He gripped the counter of his sink, trying to calm himself down.

If he couldn't turn to Sam, who could he turn to?

He picked his phone back up, leaning against his counter as he called his mom. He just needed to know that someone remembered him.

“Hello?” His mother’s voice sang through the phone.

Colby breathed, slightly relaxing against the counter. “Hey Mom, how are you?”

“Hi Cole-baby. I'm doing okay. How are you?” She asked sweetly.

Colby pouted. “Um, I'm feeling a bit... off, to say the least.”

“Oh no, what's wrong?” She responded.

“I know this is gonna sound like a weird question, but do you remember my friend Sam?” Colby questioned, tapping his hand against the counter.

She hummed, guessing. “Sam? Sam... Johnson?”

“What? No. I never knew a Sam Johnson.” Colby rolled his eyes, frustrated, “I mean Sam Golbach. Sam Golbach. Do you remember him?”

“No... should I?” She admitted.

His heart dropped at her words. “Yeah, you should. He's my best friend. We were friends all through high school. We started a literal career together, he's basically your third son at this point.”

“Woah, honey. What are you talking about?” She puzzled.

“You don't remember Sam? He's the whole reason I moved out here, Mom.” He urged, needing his mother to remember.

She paused, then spoke. “Colby, you moved out to LA alone. Last month.”

“What?” He choked.

“You worked all through high school and college and saved up money and just recently moved out there.” She informed.

His eyes widened. “Mom, I've lived in LA for almost five years now.”

Also... college?

“Maybe it feels like five years, but honey, you only moved out a month ago at max.” His mom’s voice softened, lowering slightly. “Are you okay?”

“No momma, apparently not.” He sighed, “Who was I friends with in high school if I wasn’t friends with Sam?”

“Honey, you didn’t have any… or none that you ever brought home.” She mentioned.

Colby queried. “And college?”

“You didn’t really talk about anyone. You were very focused on your schoolwork.” She explained.

That literally doesn’t sound like me at all. I couldn’t even pass math without Sam.

Colby glanced down at his tattoos for a second, pursing his lips. “Another quick question, I was allowed to live in our house with dyed hair, tattoos, and pierced ears?”

She gasped. “Wait what? You got a tattoo?!”

“Mom, I have like five.” Colby deadpanned.

“When did you find the time to get them?!” She hushed, “Cole, you know how I feel about tattoos.”

Colby grew tired. “So, you've never heard of a Sam Golbach before?”

“No, absolutely not. But don't try to change the subject on me, Cole Robert.” She scolded.

He huffed. “I'll talk to you later, momma.”

She sputtered. “What? Don't you-”

Colby clicked ‘End Call’, lowering his head to the counter, taking in a deep breath and holding it.

“What the fuck is happening right now?” He demanded out loud.

Colby jumped up, going to his closet and slipping on some clothes quickly. The only thing he knew for certain is that something wasn't right, and he needed to get out of his apartment and go somewhere else. Anywhere else.

He grabbed his keys and rushed down to the parking lot, getting into his car quickly and driving off.

He drove for a while, finally pulling into another parking lot and turning off his car. He needed to get something to eat, and then maybe he could figure things out. He glanced around and noticed the parking lot he was in was for a diner named Meyer's. He locked his car as he left, swinging the diner's door open hastily. The diner wasn't packed, but it wasn't empty either. A nice lull of conversations droned on as he sat down at the furthest booth, cracking his knuckles nervously.

He picked up the menu that was already at the table, staring at the front of it. He didn't even realize a waitress had walked up next to him.

"...Are you okay?" The soft voice said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Colby stared up at the waitress, noticing her eyes first. They were captivating and beautiful, much like herself. Her hair shined brightly in the sun that basked through the window. Her smile was wonderful to see after a day of unpleasant looks.

He stuttered. “What? Uh-I. Yeah, no, I'm fine.”

She giggled. “Okay. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Um, a water. No, a soda. Please.” Colby muttered.

“Alright. Coming right up.” She nodded.

Colby stared at the menu again, gazing over the pictures of sandwiches and wraps. He wasn't really hungry, but he felt like he should just eat something, even if it was just to pass the time.

The waitress came back over with his soda, placing it lightly down in front of him. “Are you ready to order?”

“No, not yet.” Colby answered, not looking up from the menu.

“Okay, I'll be right back.” She started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “Are you okay? I know I already asked you that but... you look really upset.”

Colby’s shoulders slumped as he gazed up at her. “I-I... don't even know how to explain it.”

“Why? Is it complicated?” She guessed.

“You could say that,” Colby glared down at the menu. “It just doesn't make any sense. It sounds fake, to be honest.”

“Well, you can tell me. I won't judge.” She smiled.

I might as well tell somebody...

“Everyone's... forgotten about me?” Even Colby was confused at his words.

“What do you mean? Like they're ignoring you?” She questioned, her hand resting on her hip.

“No. Like they literally forgot I exist. Or, I somehow don't exist in their lives anymore, when yesterday I did.” He confessed.

She shrugged. “Well, maybe they're trying to ignore you instead of talking things out.”

“No, I don't think you understand. I don't exist to them. They don't know me. Like, at all,” Colby corrected. “My best friend, my brother, the fucking dude I got arrested with, doesn't know who I am.”

“Wait, you've been arrested?” She raised an eyebrow.

“It was just breaking and entering. And having fake IDs,” He commented. “But that's not the point, the point is no one remembers me, but I remember them.”

The waitress stood there silently, awkwardly.

“I don't know what to say.” She whispered.

He gulped. “I don't know either. But if you have a solution, I'd gladly hear it.”

“Maybe it's a prank?” She speculated.

“I thought about that too. But if it is, this is extremely elaborate. And borderline impossible.” Colby disclosed.

She argued nonchalantly. “People do crazy things for social media.”

“Yeah, but even my friends wouldn't take it this far for just a dumb video.” He complained.

“Are your friends famous?” She inquired.

“I wouldn't say that. My best friend is Sam Golbach.” Colby revealed.

“Sam Golbach? Why have I heard that name before?” She asked quietly.

“He's got a lot of followers. He’s a Youtuber.” He pointed out.

“Wait, you're Sam's best friend?” Her eyes widened.

“Yeah?” He cocked his head to the side.

She gasped. “Oh! You're Colby Brock!”

“I'm what?” He stammered.

“You're Colby, right?” She doubted for a second, “Or did I get that wrong?”

Colby jumped up out of his seat. “Oh my God, you know who I am! Wait, how do you know?”

“My one friend is a huge fan of you and Sam. She showed me you guys like a month ago.” She paused for a second, smirking. “She's actually really into you... Maybe I should call her.”

“Please do. I need to know if she knows who I am.” Colby pleaded, sitting back down.

The waitress followed him, sitting across from Colby. “Of course she does, she literally has you set as her wallpaper.”

She pulled out her phone, glancing around to make sure no one was watching her. She clicked on a contact, putting the phone on the table and clicking ‘Speaker’.

“Hello?” A voice broke in through the phone.

She grinned, staring up at Colby. “Hey Sara, you need to come down to the diner real quick.”

“What why?” Sara questioned.

“Colby Brock is here.” She announced.

Sara remarked. “...Who?”

“Colby Brock, the guy you're in love with.” She repeated.

“I have no idea who you're talking about. I've never heard that name before.” Sara denied.

“He's Sam Golbach's friend.” The waitress described.

Sara exclaimed. “Oh my God, is Sam there?! Because I’ll-”

She interjected. “No, he’s not.”

“Oh... then I don't want to come.” Sara recalled, “I've never heard Sam talk about a guy named Colby before.”

Colby swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes falling off of the waitress’.

She fretted. “Okay then. I'll talk to you later.”

“Alright, bye.” Sara ended, hanging up the phone.

After a moment of silence, the waitress stated, “I'm sorry about that.”

“What's there to be sorry about?” Colby quavered.

The waitress scoffed suddenly. “Is this some kinda joke?”

“What?” He queried.

“Are you pulling a prank on me? Was Sara in on it? Because I’ll kill her if she met you and didn’t tell me.” She jeered jokingly.

Colby shook his head, deadpanning. “I haven’t met Sara, and I’m not pranking you.”

“How can I know if you’re lying or not?” She questioned, squinting her eyes.

“Google my name. Search me on any social media,” Colby suggested. “I don’t exist.”

“Okay…” She agreed.

The waitress quickly typed in his name into Google, coming up with no images that looked like him. None of his social media links came up either.

She gazed up at him slowly. “This is really weird.”

“You’re telling me.” Colby uttered, “No one remembers me.”

She blurted. “But I do.”

“Yeah… why is that?” He inquired.

“I-I don’t know.” She sputtered, confused. Then she jolted up from her seat instantly. “I-um, gotta go help out my other tables. Do you need me to give you some time to look over the menu?”

“Yes…” He continued, “But one other thing.”

“Sure.” She leaned in, her hands resting on the tabletop.

“Can you help me? Please?” Colby begged, lightly grabbing her hand.

She silently gasped, whispering, “How?”

“I don’t know. But I think you’re the only one that can.” Colby divulged.

The waitress stuttered, but no words fell from her lips.

He exhaled, staring into her eyes. “So, will you?”

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elucere · 3 years

Text

Sad Late August Quarantine Thoughts 2.0

Last year, I wrote this. Basically my thoughts on how I felt in my life up to that point and what quarantine had illuminated. It felt cathartic then, so hopefully it’ll feel cathartic now. A part of that probably had to do with the fact that the last part was complete bullshit, but we’ll get into that later.

At nearly the slightest inconvenience now, I’ll say “I’m at my limit”. Technically, that isn’t really true because if I was really at my limit, at the next inconvenience I would completely lose it. But no, I’m just simply reminding myself that while I’m constantly met with a series of unfortunate events, I haven’t broken down yet. I might feel like I’m there, but I’m not. I’m just at my limit. Things are bad, but they aren’t the worst they could be yet. So keep in mind, I am very much at my limit as I’m writing this.

Last year I talked about my struggles with my job. Yeah, I got fired in February. It was not pretty either. I knew I wasn’t doing well performance wise, and they invited me into a zoom call that they said was a project meeting a week before my year anniversary and fired me. My supervisor (or I guess, ex-supervisor) cried on call. I didn’t cry until afterwards. It was an entire year of me trying to get better, him promising that it’ll come with time, and then getting sacked because “we didn’t see improvements”. Really, really fucking sucked. And it messed with me for a long time because I kept replaying those last few weeks, trying to decipher what I could’ve done differently to prove my worth and keep my position. There was a lot. I felt really guilty.

I think the worst part is that I got a performance warning in December and realized at that point I’d become so apathetic about my job that I needed professional help. I’d been trying to go to therapy for a long time, but it never panned out. My mom forbade it when I was in high school, it was practically impossible to get an appointment at my college’s mental health facility unless you were considered a threat to yourself and others (which I most certainly did not want on my record), and after school life happened so fast with the pandemic and the fact that I live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my mom and my brother with very little privacy. Even now that I’ve convinced my mom that therapy is okay, actually, she still highly disproves and sees it as some sort of psychological failing on my part. Which is. Sure. Whatever. Why not.The reason I did not enroll in therapy that December is actually because my dad lost his job and with it, his health insurance, and with that, my health insurance. That means I had to enroll in a health plan through my employment, which became an unanticipatedly long process. I actually got my new-but-useless health insurance card in the mail a few days after I got fired. They actually fired me on the last day of the month, so my benefits wouldn’t extend beyond that month. That’s a bit of fun irony.

To quite a few of my friends, this story solidified the idea that insurance=therapy. As soon as I got insurance again, I’d be able to finally get some help. This was a couple of people’s first response to me when I got hired again (yay, I know I don’t have to worry about that anymore but I’m also afraid that I’ll just inevitably be fired again so I don’t let myself have the victory). I know my friends only want the best for me, and I can’t expect them be able to emotionally support me like a professional, but I’m afraid that they think that therapy will be some sort of magical fix of sorts. I don’t mean in the sense of just getting better mentally, but I think being a tolerable person. I know that sounds like I’m just being self-depreciating, but let me explain.

A few years ago I was at dinner with one of my friends. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but she goes “name three things you actually like” because I was probably being negative or something. I said a few things and whatever, but that comment stuck with me for a long time. I thought it was especially poignant or something. Am I so unhappy all the time because I fixate on things I don’t like? It could be connected to the attitude of social media to be outwardly negative. Casual wisdom, you know.

Well, that was the fact until I was out with that same friend and we visited Barnes and Noble. I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading this year and got more involved in the book community, so I have many Opinions. Some are good, some are bad, some are just me being annoying. After an hour of browsing the shelves, we drive home. I start talking about a series I really like in the car and she goes “It’s nice to hear you talk about a book you actually like.” Which kind of stunned me because I had just did a lot of talking about books I liked. How happy I was that kids were still reading Rangers Apprentice, going out of my way to see how many Brandon Sanderson books I could find in the Adult Fantasy section, and more reminiscing in the Young Adult section about books I liked recently or as a teen. The truth is, I talk about stuff I like all the time to people who will listen. Ask me about my favorite books! My favorite movies! My favorite musicals! I promise I will not shut up. It’s one of the few things I have that lift my spirits when I talk about it, I just don’t get the opportunity to much because it’s hard to find people who want to listen.

The thing is, I’m naturally a critical person, I think. I love tearing things apart, in good and bad ways. I also love gossip. I’m an okay gossip, but I know at this point that I’m a good critic. I’m really good at identifying faults and commenting them on an insightful or constructive way. I edit a lot of my friends’ writings for this reason. I don’t find that to be anything negative, it’s just something that’s interesting to me. Basically what I’m saying is, what if it’s not mental illness and I’m just annoying and I’ll not be able to meet the expectations of other people’s idea of progress for me and I’ll be a disappointment. I’m kind of tearing up while typing that out while listening bopping to Disturbia by Rihanna but this is the third time I’ve been on the verge of crying today so yaknow maybe it is just mental illness.At this point, I can either talk about criticism in relation to the particular way I dish it, or I could talk about how I want to receive it. I think the former will take less time to elaborate, so I’ll start with that.

I mention last year how I got an unpaid gig as a critic for DiscussingFilm. Embarrassing at times, I joke with my friends that “DiscussingFilm Writer” is a slur, but it’s cool at times as well. I got a press pass to go to Sundance and gorged on an entire family sized bag of peanut M&Ms while I watched like 14 movies in one weekend. I’m trying to say positive things about this until I start ragging to prove that I’m not an overwhelmingly negative person, but I don’t think that’s working well. Whatever. The point is, if I didn’t like it I would quit, but if I did quit it wouldn’t be because I didn’t like it. It would because there was an…event. I had quite a falling out with one of the higher-ups that run the site and in response my work has taken a hit. I won’t go into too much detail, but I don’t get assigned anticipated releases anymore. My work is often delayed going out and, in turn, I feel less motivated to turn in my work on time. And then on top of that, it’s rarely promoted. I have examples on top of examples, but this stupid thing is getting long enough. To summarize the DiscussingFilm situation, I feel like shit. I have one of the lowest view counts on the site. I’m told that my work is good and it’s valued, but not enough to get reposted, I guess! Why bother. And also because the person I do not work well with is quite up in the food chain, I’ll never see a promotion. I wanted to become an editor so bad (I do editing on the side for my friends and enjoy it), but now it will never ever happen. I don’t have the opportunity to prove myself, it’s just completely off the table by nature of leadership. Ass. Complete ass. I’m doing quite a bit of work for DiscussingFilm including creating the standard for the Instagram, making graphics for the Instagram, performing interviews and writing reviews for the site, and co-hosting a DiscussingFilm branded podcast, and I will never see neither a dime for my work or recognition in any meaningful or significant way. I don’t have a say in anything, and I feel like an insignificant cog whose opinion does not mean much.

I still get insecure with my reviews, but not as much anyways. Sure, I can’t compare to the great writers at trades who do this for a living and have been doing so for years. But, I am better than a lot of writers at my level. Sometimes I try pitching to other publications, but so far I’ve only been met with rejection. It kinda stings to know that my work is not worth enough to be paid for, but I’m kinda over it. I still pitch. I try my best. That’s the thing about me, I just keep going. Rejection hurts like a bitch, but whatever. I don’t want to quit just yet, so I guess I won’t. There isn’t anyone in my corner who’s actively spurring me to keep going, I’ve just decided that I’ll get paid for my work one day and so now I will.This connects with the criticism I want to receive which unfortunately very much is not of the nonfiction variety. Ew I fucking hate talking about this but I need to get it off my chest.

After I got fired, I was slipping into quite a bit of a depression. I started a podcast at this time with my friend to try and prevent that, but I knew that I probably needed another project. I wasn’t watching movies anymore, DiscussingFilm was not publishing my shit, and all I was doing all day was reading (which I don’t anymore, I’m in a slump and it’s definitely connected to the idea I have in the next sentence). So I had the brilliant idea of “hey, I could do that. I could write a book. I should do it to do it.”You see, this has not been my only attempt at writing a proper book. I tried when I was 13, I tried when I was 15 and into online literate roleplay, I tried when I was 18 by doing NaNoWriMo in college (also, I was actually more depressed then). I also tried to get into a short story class in college that you had to submit a story to get into and didn’t even make it on the waitlist. Nothing stuck. But hey, I was unemployed and I came up with a funny premise that I wasn’t too attached to, so why not?

The book is not funny. It was supposed to, but it’s changed a lot. I’m very comfortable writing in camp. It’s difficult because I know sometimes I have my moments, but often I don’t. I also chose to write it in a genre I’m not super familiar with (Young Adult contemporary, I read Young Adult and Adult fiction primarily). I didn’t expect it to be easy, but the things I thought would come easily did not come easily. I have a lot of male friends, so I could certainly write the male characters as real people, right? Right? I’m funny, so the humor would come across well, right? Did I anticipate that after years of pretty much only analyzing films critically I’d subconsciously structure my story using dialogue-driven storytelling similar to a screenplay? No! Not at all, actually! This journey of self-discovery has been ass at every corner!

I recognize that first drafts are shit and authors hate their writing, but also I’m built different, your honor. By 15k words in, I realized I needed an outside perspective. I hated my own writing and I was afraid none of the characters were coming off right. I needed feedback, and I still do. But I hate being perceived. As long as no one reads my writing, they think that I know what I’m talking about and value my opinion on their writing, but once they figure out I’m just an Imposter then it’s game over. They’ll lose respect for me. Logically, I know this isn’t how this works, but I feel physically nauseous whenever someone reads my writing.

Anyways, back to my much-needed criticism. To make a long story short involving several English teacher that caused me to quit pursuing writing altogether in my formative years and decide to switch to a STEM track, I have very little tangible self-awareness of my own writing and how to improve it. I need the outside feedback, or at least I did. I’m 60k words into my first draft now and I’m cripplingly self aware of all my errors, but it feels too little too late. 60k words are a lot of words, and it feels not great knowing that most of them are trash. I really needed this kind of feedback earlier in the process so I could make tweaks early on. I know that writing is like a muscle and you need to work it out and practice to get stronger, but fuck man, FUCK. 60k words is a LOT of words. And I still need people to read it and give me feedback and I’m literally willingly asking people to read shit. It’s so humiliating. I guess I’m just at a point where I wish I could look at it and find something of value in what I’ve written.

I see other authors and I get so jealous. At their confidence, at their lyricism, their mastery of the art, their enthusiasm for their story, their love of their characters. I don’t have that. I’m not even talking about imposter’s syndrome. I know what that feels like. This is something else. I just wish I was the kind of person who could openly be creative without wanting to die. I’m 100% sure if I could be enthusiastic about the story I want to tell, the entire thing would be better. It’s crazy how I noticed that I’m not writing any metaphors into realizing that’s directly connected with my inability to be vulnerable and that I’m detaching myself from my work. That, and the fact that I’m fucking shite at writing metaphors apparently.

It also doesn’t help that I don’t have a writer group of friends and very little people to talk about this with, none of which are like… enthusiastic. It’s not their fault. I attract people into my life who are very much like me. They’re supportive and wonderful but I need someone who’d be excited to talk to me about it. I just feel like such a huge burden all the time. Everytime I bring it up I feel terrible, but it’s occupying so much of my brain space and I have no outlet. But also, getting that group of friends would require me to be vulnerable online and be willing to share what I have so far which I might actually throw up.I think it’s very fun that “crying and throwing up” has become a saying on Twitter considering that I’ve counted a countless amount of times this year and thrown up from stress four times since last November. It might also be connected to coffee consumption, but if that’s true I’m ready to off myself because coffee is one of my few joys. Honestly, it’s probably a mix of both. I’m very healthy, very much okay.

I don’t know. Last year, I ended my little essay on a hopeful note. Here’s the thing, this may seem like very much just stream of consciousness bullshit but there is quite a bit of structuring I do and omissions I make. I didn’t talk about my struggles reconnecting with people and subsequently taking their irregular replies, because there’s a lot to get into there. There’s a lot I could’ve talked about, but no room. There’s a very specific flow, and I feel like any story, it needs a conclusion. So last year, through tears, I wrote a hopeful ending. It was as much for me as it was to the people reading it. Unfortunately, I don’t have it in it for me to conclude in the same fashion this time around.

The truth is, I need to feel okay. I need to feel like I’m good at something, anything, and be recognized for it.

Life is suffering and I’m just constantly going through the motions. I promise you, this stupid thing is 3k words and the second I’m done I’ll go back to working on my b**k even though today I literally started crying thinking about how shit it is. I’m just a tenacious individual. I persist. I don’t feel good about it, and I’m done with being genuinely hopeful, but there’s nothing to do but keep moving. I don’t know if my writing will get better or if I’ll ever get published or if this story is worth it. I don’t fucking know anything and I feel like shit. But what else am I going to do? I’ve been holding onto this hope that I’ll feel better about things for just so long and it hasn’t happened. But I’m not giving up lmao I’m just working with what I have. I am at my limit.

#mine #bean spews

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monstersandmaw · 5 years

Text

Male shadow/room monster (Lamorak) x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

The first-prize winner of my giveaway from a little while back, @honeysugacube, requested a tentacled shadow/room monster for the 3k story, so here it is!

Content: Reader is both touch- and affection-starved, feeling distant and detached from her family who provide her with things and objects instead of the warmth of affection, equating them with love... In a version of her own fairytale, the reader gets the friend and affection she longs for. Wordcount: 3825

___

Leaving the campus and the stresses of your course behind you, you stepped onto the bus and drew out your phone to text your mother. ‘Just leaving - I’ll be home in half an hour or so.’ With that done, you slipped your earphones into your ears and turned up your music. Moments of your day replayed in a random shuffle through your mind, but always you felt always on the outside of things.

Your classmates had arrived at the lecture that morning and immediately hugged their friends, slapped each other on the back, and blurted questions and anecdotes from their weekends, while you doodled quietly on the edge of your notebook, waiting for the professor to show up. It wasn’t that you had no one, but they had different classes, and when you did share lunch together, there was nothing between you like the depth of friendship you saw with that group in particular. You didn’t really see them outside of a university context, and you’d never been all that good at making friends.

The bus jolted and you blinked, realising that you’d drifted off into your reverie, and now the bus was pulling away from your stop. It wasn’t that far to the next one, so you pushed the stop button and slouched to the front of the bus, bag slung over one shoulder.

Closing the front door behind you twenty minutes later than you’d intended, with sore shoulders from lugging your book bag all that extra way, you sighed. The hall light was off, casting odd shadows across the walls and floor, and as you kicked your shoes off and one bounced off the skirting board, you thought the shadows shifted just a little bit, drawing back, almost as if they’d tried to shrink away from the blow of your shoe.

You frowned, but paid it no more attention than that, and headed for the kitchen. Your father stood at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables while your older brother lounged nearby, nose buried in his phone. It had been a little quieter around here since your older sister had got a job about three hours’ drive from the city, and you were still getting used to that absence, like an instrument missing in a group while the others play on regardless. You were the only one who really seemed to notice the difference.

“How was class today?” your father asked without looking up.

“It was fine,” you said as you poured yourself a drink. He didn't comment that you were later than usual, and perhaps he hadn’t noticed. You’d learned not to bother trying to elaborate on the intricate details of your day to your family. It wasn’t that they didn’t care about you, so much as they just… didn’t engage. You’d spent a good five minutes with your mother telling her about the first day’s lectures last year, and once you’d finished, she’d said, “I’m glad it went ok. Would you like rice or pasta with supper?” That pretty much summed up your relationship with your family; they were good providers, but there was no warmth.

As your father finished with the vegetables, he asked, “Are you planning on going out with any friends for your birthday next week?”

You shrugged. “Maybe.” If you’d been honest, you’d half forgotten that it was your birthday anyway. You hadn’t made any plans, worried that anyone you asked would either accept only to be polite or would find somewhere better to be and leave you feeling worse than before about not doing anything.

“You’re still up for going to that Italian place round the corner though, right?” your brother butted in from the other side of the room.

“Sure?” you shrugged. He and your parents loved Italian, so that would probably make for an easy evening all around.

“Great,” he grinned and turned back to his phone.

A week later, you woke in the pre-dawn of your birthday and felt absolutely certain that there was someone in the room with you. With a gasp, you sat bolt upright and stared at the door, but nothing was out of place, and there was clearly no one else there. With your heart pounding, you sighed, feeling the ghost of a touch on your face from some lingering dream that you only half remembered. Fingers had been stroking gently down your cheek, and combing through your hair, a soft voice whispering that they were proud of you.

Sighing deeply, you flopped back into the pillows with a groan. The more you thought about it though, the sharper the details became. The fingers had not been fingers, but soft, smooth tentacles of dark grey smoke, and there had been milk-white eyes blinking in the darkness; four of them.

“What a way to start my birthday, huh?” you mused aloud. With another sigh, you rolled over and pulled the covers up around your ears.

Hours later at breakfast, your parents gave you your presents - a modest list of things that would have been useful to almost anyone your age at college, and, with a small degree of fanfare, they offered you the latest iPhone, telling you how much you deserved it for working so hard and making them proud. No one gave you a hug though. It was hard not to feel ungrateful as you cradled your new phone in your hands, and the guilt that accompanied the sentiment troubled you. They loved you, of course they did, and they showed it by providing you with everything you could want. Except what you actually needed in the truest sense of the word…

Conversation at dinner that night was mostly centred on your father’s work, but there was a bit of discussion about the progress that your brother’s favourite team had made through the league tables, and your mother even asked you about the assignment you’d been struggling with a little bit the last week. “I got an A,” you smiled and her face lightened instantly.

“Well done. I knew you’d do us proud.”

Your hand twitched on the fork, as if you’d been expecting her to reach over and squeeze it, but she didn’t. She topped up your glass and chinked hers jauntily against the rim instead, the cold glass chiming oddly in the busy restaurant.

Back at home your brother nudged you in the ribs and tilted his head curiously. “You ok? You were kind of quiet tonight…”

“I’m fine,” you said. “Just a bit tired.”

“Ok, look, I was going to give this to you earlier, but I thought I’d wait til tonight. I know you used to read all those creepy fairytales under the covers as a kid and play with all the dolls mum and dad gave you…” and with that, he handed you a badly-wrapped parcel, the selotape lifting off at one end where it had refused to stick to the brown paper. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m kind of shitty at wrapping.”

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Awkwardly, he flashed a smile at you and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway with the present he’d pulled out of his jacket pocket where it'd been hanging on a peg on the wall. From the weight of it and the shape of the package, you were certain it was a hardback book. As you swept your fingers over the cover, the light above you flickered off suddenly and you glared up at it. In the absence of light, the shadows seemed denser somehow, and you shivered, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling slightly. A heartbeat later, and it came back on. With another shiver, you left the hall and headed upstairs.

Alone in your room, you unwrapped your brother’s present.

Old, slightly cracked leather bound the book, and it had metallic corner pieces to protect the edges. It was only about as long as your hand from palm to fingertip, and there was nothing on the cover at all. Opening it carefully, your nose picked up hints of a scent like distant woodsmoke, herbs, and something akin to petrichor. Inside was written a phrase in Latin and, with the help of your new phone, you discovered that it meant, ‘In the heart there lives a shadow’. “Odd title,” you murmured aloud.

The story itself, thank goodness, was written in English, in an archaic typeface that might have looked at home with a first edition of Dickens or something.

‘In a house on the hill above town lived a young girl,’ it began in typical fairytale style, and despite the cliche, you found yourself falling further and further into the story. It spoke of the daughter of a witch who had grown up feeling isolated, her mother always working. The parallel hit you hard almost immediately and you wondered if your brother had finally noticed how your family behaved towards each other. Dismissing it as a fluke, you turned your attention back to the book.

To make up for the lack of time the spent together, the witch bought her daughter gifts, and among one of those gifts was a small chest, meant for jewellery or trinkets. When the girl opened the chest, however, she found a pool of inky liquid that stirred and rippled when she dipped her finger into it, the fluid never leaving any trace on her skin. She left the jewellery case open on a table in her bedroom, and that night when the sun went down, when there was only candlelight in her room, a small black cat crept up to her.

You smiled as you read the next bit, having spent the whole of your childhood longing for a pet that you could share some kind of connection with; a cat to curl up in the creases of your duvet, a dog to play with… frankly anything would have done, even a goldfish to swim around in circles in a tank, but your parents had said no. The dream of one just appearing one day had been a near-constant one for you. The little girl in the story discovered that her cat was not a normal cat and was in fact a creature formed from the strange darkness in the chest.

As she grew, the creature changed shape, eventually taking on the form of a young man. “You’re happy tonight,” he said as the two of them lay on a grassy hillside, gazing up at the stars.

She reached her hand across and touched his strange, smoky skin. Beneath the twisting mist that surrounded him like an aura, his body was smooth and hard, cool like leather, and as he linked his fingers with hers, she said, “I have you - I have a friend. I’m no longer alone.”

Tears rolled down your face as you finished the story, leaving the little book open in your lap. Never had you felt more alone than in the wake of finishing that strange fairytale. “I wish…” you sniffed, smearing the back of your wrist under your nose. “I wish I wasn’t so alone all the time…” you hissed bitterly, before you began to laugh softly to yourself. Your whole body ached, right down to your bones, and your chest twisted, leaving you feeling wrung-out and empty.

Heck, you’d probably even have taken a shadow monster yourself for a friend in that moment, and no sooner had you thought it than something moved across the room, startling you out of your tears. Blinking to clear your vision, you watched a shadow growing slowly in the middle of the empty floor, like a spreading puddle. A moment later, you thought your ears must be deceiving you as you heard a soft, rasping voice whisper, “Please don’t cry… I can’t bear to hear you cry.”

“What?” you breathed, sitting up and staring wide-eyed at the rippling darkness in the centre of the room. Fear clenched your heart so tightly you wanted to scream, but you weren’t sure you had enough voice.

“Please… don’t be afraid… I swear I will never hurt you,” the entity murmured, and the surface of the small pool surged and rippled before quietening down.

“What are you?” you hissed, heart thudding. “How is this happening?”

“Don’t you remember me?” came the response.

You stared blankly at the shadow. “Remember you?”

A gentle smile crept into the voice of the creature you couldn’t quite see, and you heard the voice say, “When we were both very small, we used to play together. I’ve grown up here alongside you.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered as a flood of memories you didn’t know you still had rushed across your mind. “My imaginary friend… I… called you Lamorak…”

“Indeed you did. After one of the knights of Arthur, I believe,” he said, sounding amused at that.

You paused and then swallowed nervously. “So… if you’re real, then what are you?”

“I… I’m honestly not sure. I believe that I am formed of the shadows in this place, and that I was partly conjured by you when you were young to fulfil the needs of a young child who was often overlooked.”

“But… how is that possible?”

The darkness rippled again and the voice answered, “Magic, most likely. The force of a wish can be pretty powerful, especially in someone very young.”

“Tell me you’re the only one like you that lives here,” you demanded, a twang of anxiety shooting through you at the thought of innumerable shadow beings hiding in every crevice of the house.

“To my knowledge, yes,” he replied.

“I… I think I remember you in a different shape…” you said after staring for another few seconds at the mass of ebbing shadows on the floor, breathing like an ocean on a sandy shore. It was true, though you hadn’t thought about Lamorak for years. Your mother had dismissed your talk of the shadow boy for childish fantasy, and you’d started to see and think of him less and less after that. Forgotten, he had apparently banished himself back to the shadows of the house but had never left. Something about that made your heart hurt all over again.

He chuckled and said, “I take many shapes now.”

“Do you have a favourite?” you asked shyly, realising that you were no longer afraid.

After a little pause, he asked, “Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes,” you said, breathless with excitement for the first time in a long time.

The shape began to shift and move, rising up and filling the space in the centre of the room to a height of six and half feet or so; it was difficult to be sure because the shadows that surrounded him like an aura were constantly moving. There was a part of his ill-defined silhouette that was clearly his head, and from it, four milky, silvery eyes blinked at you, all slightly out of sync. From his broad shoulders down, he got stranger and even less humanoid; his arms looked more like tentacles, writhing slightly, and as you continued to stare at him from your bed, you realised that there were more of them behind him, and the two which were most prominent were just the largest of them. His legs too were not humanoid, but were a seething mass of tentacles, some thick, others almost wispy, ending in tiny coils of mist like candle smoke.

“Wow…”

“You’re not the only one who’s changed a bit,” he chuckled and you warmed to his dry sense of humour instantly.

“Yeah, but you were supposed to be my imaginary friend… Emphasis on ‘imaginary’…! Come here,” you smiled and he obliged, if somewhat tentatively.

“Not so imaginary after all,” Lamorak breathed as he neared you, shadows frothing and roiling around his lower tentacles like waves around sea-kelp. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted as he drew to a halt in front of you.

You got slowly to your feet and stood beside your bed, dwarfed by his presence, but instead of being intimidated by him, your stomach twisted and you began to cry again.

“Hey,” he murmured, leaning down and bringing a soft-looking tentacle to your face. He drew the very tip of it across your cheek, and you watched the shape of his eyes change from almost completely round, like giant pearls, to pinched tight at the outer corners, as if worried. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I… I feel awful that I forgot you… I… I didn’t know how much I missed you too…” you sobbed, and in a heartbeat you felt his arms wrap around your body. Darkness enveloped you and you let it consume you utterly.

The peaceful thum-thum of his heartbeat was all you could hear for a moment, before a different noise rose around you. Gentle whispers, like spring leaves tickled by a soft breeze, filled your ears and mind, and when you lurched back, suddenly recalling having heard them before in moments alone in your room, he cocked his head to one side and shrank back. “Did I hug you too tightly?” he asked, half joking, half worried.

You shook your head. “You’ve always been here, haven’t you?”

He shrugged slightly, all the tentacles on his right side heaving and shifting. “I’ve mostly been dormant in the basement,” he admitted. “But I have come to see you sometimes. When you’re lonely, you call to me. I don’t think you know you’re doing it though.”

“The whispers…?” you asked.

“I think it’s these,” he said, first looking at one tentacle and then bringing more up to touch your cheek again, and you shuddered violently as sparks of inexpressible joy flashed across your whole body. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you said, another tear escaping your eye. “I… I don’t understand…”

“Understand what?”

“Why that feels so good…?” you admitted. “It’s… I… Is there something wrong with me?”

In an instant, he had picked you up in his arms and sat you down on your bed. “No,” he reassured you, even as he drew back slightly to give you a little room to breathe. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just… alone.”

“Why did you show yourself to me tonight?” you asked, hoping to distract yourself from the way your hands were trembling and your skin felt suddenly too tight all over.

Lamorak gestured at the bed beside you and said, “May I sit?”

“Sure.”

He leaned in close and nudged his side against your shoulder; it was the gesture a familiar friend might make and it brought a lightness to your chest. He was still tall and you also liked the way you had to look up at him. “You’re hurting but you’ve stopped noticing. You felt it all over again tonight when you read that story, and… well… I felt it too.”

The aching in your chest redoubled and you leaned into his welcoming darkness. “It’s like my wish came true,” you breathed.

“May I hold you?” he asked in a voice as gentle as velvet.

When you nodded and whimpered, “Please,” he drew you easily into his lap, as if you were still a child, and allowed his dark tentacles to hold you while you curled up against him.

“Lamorak,” you smiled as exhaustion washed over you and you let him stroke your cheek and your hair until you drifted off to sleep.

He came to you night after night following that first reunion on your birthday. Six months later and your grades had gone up, you’d become marginally more confident and sociable at university, and you’d been invited to three people’s birthday events.

Returning after the latest one, you shot down the corridor and into your bedroom. Going still as you reached the middle of the room, you looked around. “Lamorak?” you whispered and the darkness beside the wardrobe coalesced into his familiar, tentacled form as he stepped out to greet you. “I had so much fun tonight!” you grinned, elated and buzzing. “Thank you for encouraging me to go!”

“I can feel it,” he chuckled, approaching and lifting your chin. “You look happy.”

Easily you stepped into his arms, but something felt different that night. The bond between you and this shadow creature suddenly drew taut as a bowstring and your heart began to pound as you sensed the slight change. “Lamorak,” you gasped as his tentacles touched your neck and throat with searing affection, yet more winding around your waist and thighs. “Oh my god… that’s… that…”

“You want me to stop?” he purred in your ear.

“No!” you gasped, and a tentacle slithered up your spine, beneath your clothes.

Shaking, you tipped back into his hold and let him carry you to the bed. “I want you,” he said. “I want to show you how much I love you…”

“Please…” you hissed, throwing your head back as his shadows skimmed under your bra and brushed over your nipple. “Please…!”

Slowly, with the reverence of a pilgrim at a shrine, he undressed you, taking care to keep caressing you all the while with his many other tentacles. His four, pearlescent eyes blinked rapidly, though none of them at the same time, and as he worked you closer and closer, delving inside you and circling your clit enough to make you gasp and moan and cry out against his dark body, you caught a glimpse of his mouth for the very first time. A long, horizontal slit in the blackness of his face opened up, revealing a maw of pointed teeth, and a black tongue, long and languid.

He dragged it over your thighs and stomach, over your hips, and finally down to enjoy the taste of you. Again and again his tongue savoured you and sent waves of pleasure throughout your whole body until you almost forgot how to breathe and your skin felt aflame.

“Perfect,” he moaned against your body and you felt the echo of it in your mind. The constant whispering of the shadows around his tentacles rose to a cacophony as you bucked and heaved, heat coiling inside you.

“I’m…” you cried out just before you came.

Lamorak held you while you clenched and heaved, stroking you tenderly all the while, caressing you and kissing you until you finally fell back into the sheets beneath you. Your body was wrung out and tingling all over, and every time he moved even a little bit, you twitched again. He gave you kisses and told you in hoarse whispers how beautiful you were.

“Don’t leave me,” you whimpered as he adjusted his tentacled embrace around you, and he washed slowly back over your body in a tide of darkness.

“Shh,” he crooned. “I’m here. I’m always here for you. As long as you need me, I’m here. And I’m always yours.”

With those words echoing in your mind, you drifted quietly to sleep, naked in the safety of his arms.

—

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#shadow monster #room monster #shadow room monster #monster x reader #exophilia #shadow monster x reader #female reader #shadow monster x female reader #monster x female reader

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