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runningfrom2am · 1 year ago

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leveling the playing field IX

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.6k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there

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a/n: here we are!! 'season' two!! thanks so much for reading it and I'm SO so glad lots of people seem to love it :) if you do, please reblog it or leave your thoughts in the replies or in my inbox! i love hearing from you and talking about it so don't be a stranger !

without further adieu,, enter buzzcut coryo <3

next part

Coriolanus's stomach twisted as he could hear your screams from the hall, even though by then he was all the way on the other side of the school. He thought that was unsettling, only for them to abruptly stop just before he left. The silence that followed was so much worse. He didn't get any sleep, sitting on the roof in Grandma'ams rose garden with Tigris all night, wondering if you were dead.

He was just sick about it, even as he left the following morning, so early that the sun was yet to rise. It was a long, painful ride, and he spent the entire thing certain that you were dead. It was his fault, he had only wanted you to come with him, so he wouldn't be alone, but now he truly is alone and he won't even have you to write to back home. Regardless, he would try.

Rather than sit with the idea that it might even be pointless for him to live another day, especially with this unflattering haircut and a uniform that challenged the discomfort of the academy one, he decided to write to you on a paper he had found bunched between the train seats to ease his mind.

Y/N/N,

I hope you're reading this. I hope this gets back to you at home and finds you safe and sound, and you're sitting over your desk with a textbook open getting ready for university in the fall. That's not what's happening though, is it? You're probably dead. I probably killed you. If you are reading this in your room, or your library, or over my shoulder as I write this because you are only alive in what's left of your spirit, I hope you know that I am sorry. I did it because I wanted you with me, because in the moment I was so sure you'd be better off with me in the districts than you would be at home with your father. I think I was wrong. But I still miss you. You meant more to me than I ever told you. I guess, more than I ever told myself either until these last few weeks.

I think I heard them kill you after I left you with the Dean. If they did, boy, did you go out fighting. I always knew you would. I can't stop writing in case I never get to speak to you again. But again, maybe you're not dead, right?

Please tell me you're not dead.

Yours,

Always yours, your Coryo

He smoothes out the wrinkled sheet as he writes, hand shaking through most of it. He doesn't know if he should even bother sending it, or if he should just fold it up and throw it out the window in hopes that the message will find its way to your ghost. No, he has to send it. Otherwise he'll definitely never know, at least not for twenty years, and he couldn't bear that.

The wind hits the trees into the windows of the train as it rolls along the tracks, demanding that the branches be heard against the glass. It reminds him of you. Then again, what doesn't these days? Maybe it was just you letting him know you had read his letter, and that you forgive him. That would give him a semblance of peace for the rest of the ride.

When you woke up, it was impossible to tell what time it was. You only knew that it was dark, and your bedroom door was locked from the outside when you got up and carefully tried to open it only to be blocked by the mechanism.

"I have half the mind to agree with you on the Avox thing." You hear your dad sigh, his voice echoing from his study just down the hall. Your eyes widen and you try the knob again. Yep, still locked. "But we could always send her to Nine or Ten as a nurse. She's not staying here, that's certain."

"I don't want to push your decision, here, but she was saying she would tell everyone. She knows more than we thought, more details." Highbottom was here too, great.

"No, that's impossible. What did she say?"

"She knows we're selling, likely that you're storing it all here somewhere, and she knows it's enough to be treason. I don't know what else she knows, but it's risky business ever letting her out of that room again. The procedure might be our best option, here." You've heard enough, quickly making for your window instead. It's locked as well, but draping your old uniform over the lever gives you enough freedom to crush it with a particularly heavy, hardcover textbook without making much noise.

You change quickly, grabbing a few essentials that you could fit into your book bag, then climb out the window and slide down the back porch column before making as quiet of an escape as possible. Adrenaline carried you a few blocks away, but now, you were unsure what to do. You couldn't return, and you couldn't be seen, and you had a tragic shortage of friends at the moment. You find your feet carrying you toward the building you know Coriolanus lives in.

You're not particularly excited to see him, but with no other options, you're sure you can find it in yourself to be forgiving just this once. You could go to Sejanus's family home, but it's not far enough away, and you're not sure what his father would say. He'd probably call your dad in a second and it would all be for naught- you couldn't risk it. So, Coryo's it was.

You enter the building, walking straight for the elevator. He was in the penthouse, so you just have to hit the very top button and figure it out from there. You've never been to his home before, but he's talked about it plenty. Enough that you could find your way there, at least.

You groan when you quickly realize the elevator doesn't work, looking over at the stairs. It's a tall building, so you've got a long way to go. You wonder how he does this every day as you climb up set after set of stairs, taking note of how the walls are basically crumbling around you.

You knew he didn't have money, that he couldn't eat, but you didn't think he lived like this. No wonder he was so thin, and no wonder he still had any muscle left on his body. It was these damn stairs. That couldn't be it though, that wouldn't explain how his shoulders just seemed to go on for miles- maybe he had some kind of workout routine you never knew about.

You're drawn from your thoughts when you reach the top of the last staircase, hesitating to open the industrial looking door in front of you. Just beyond that was the front door to the Snow penthouse, and now that you're here, you're not sure what to do. Do you knock? You don't even know what time it is.

You sit by the door, deciding to think it over for a bit. It doesn't take you long to fall asleep leaning up against the wall where it meets the dusty floor.

Waking up, you're met with a gasp. "Y/N?" You blink open your eyes, seeing Tigris crouched in front of you, forehead creased with worry. "Are you okay? What are you doing here?"

"Tigris, hello." You mumble, gathering yourself to stand up as she helps you. "I, uh, I didn't know where to go, so..."

"Okay, okay. Come in for a second." She nods, holding your shoulder as she guides you back into the apartment. You squint at the sunrise through the large bay windows, she must have been on her way to work. "Can I get you anything? Some tea? You must be freezing..." She says, immediately shuffling into the kitchen.

"No, no. It's fine. Thank you, though." You insist, trying not to stare at the state the apartment has fallen into.

"Okay, well, please, take a seat. Tell me what's going on."

You nod slightly and move to sit down at their dining table where she joins you, reaching out for your hand which you gratefully take. "Did Coriolanus leave already?" You ask and she nods, giving you a sad smile.

"I must admit, I'm relieved to see you." She says, taking you by surprise. "Coryo thought you were dead. He was just so torn up about it, he said it was his fault but he wouldn't tell me why. I was expecting to see your passing in the papers this morning."

"Well, my days are numbered." You sigh, looking out the window again. The view was stunning. Maybe you would prefer a penthouse to your own large, empty feeling home. "My father and Dean Highbottom were discussing turning me into an Avox as a pity punishment, and I don't doubt that my father would rather bury me than have that on his name. I didn't stick around to hear their decision."

Tigris listens intently, squeezing your cold hands between her own. "And now, I don't know what to do. I had nowhere to go, I'm so sorry to intrude-"

"No, my goodness, please. You are always welcome here." She assured you. "But... what will you do?"

"I have to leave." You nod to yourself. "I have to leave and I can't come back, can I?"

"One day I'm sure it will be safe for you to return." She says, notably trying to put a positive spin on it. "I'll tell you what-" She stands quickly, going over to a hall closet and pulling out a large fur coat. "Take this, it can hide you and keep you warm. Take the next train to Twelve, that's where Coryo went." She places the coat in your lap. "He'll be ecstatic to have you and see that you're well."

You nod, standing up and pulling it on in a hurry. It was a beautiful coat, you could tell it was real fur. This must have belonged to one of their mothers. "Thank you, Tigris."

"There's another train headed there in about twenty minutes, if you rush you can make it. I had to check the schedule last night for him. Don't buy a ticket, just climb in a transport car from the opposite side, not the platform." She instructs you hurriedly,

You dig in your bag as you both head for the door, pulling out a handful of money and rifling through it to give some to her. You'll need some, but she will too.

"Here, Tigris. Take this." You say as she holds the door for you, and she instantly is shaking her head.

"No, no. I couldn't." She smiles awkwardly, waving a hand at you. "You'll need it more than I do, Coryo will be sending us cheques."

You smile at her understandingly, holding it out to her again. "If not for your help, then for this lovely jacket. Please take it. I insist."

Tigris sighs, taking it from your hand before pulling you into a hug which you gladly return. "Tell him we love him, okay?"

"He knows," You say, chin resting on her shoulder. "But I will."

It was dark again when your train reached its final stop, and you were curled up under the coat trying to sleep. You scramble to get up, having to bolt from the train before anyone came to unload the car.

Unfortunately, you didn't get the privilege of having a place to stay when you arrived, so once you're out of sight of the train, the best you can do is wander.

You don't have to wander long before you hear music. You didn't realize people were happy here, so the sounds of laughter and shouting and dancing coming from inside what looked to be an abandoned building made you tilt your head at the idea. Maybe you would just sit outside, around the side of the building where you won't be seen and you can listen.

You don't even get the chance to sit before you hear the singing start. It's Lucy Gray. You mentally scold yourself for not thinking of her sooner as you stand again quickly, finding yourself quite lightheaded. You must be hungry. Maybe there will be some food inside, or maybe you can find talk to Lucy Gray and maybe she'll let you stay with her. Just until you get yourself situated here.

Clutching your new coat tightly around yourself you walk in after attempting to dust off and salvage your clothes. Your favourite skirt and shoes took quite a beating throughout the day, and you're disappointed, to say the least. Hopefully Lucy Gray has a washing machine, but you doubt it. Did these people even know what a washing machine is? By the look of everyone in the room, the answer was a definite no.

Sure enough, Lucy Gray was on stage, singing her heart out. You had never seen her smile so wide, of course, and the kids surrounding her onstage were just as talented as she was at all their instruments. You've never seen live music like this before, only classical or opera where everyone sat quietly and listened until the end. This environment was entirely new to you.

Not wanting to interrupt, you wait until Lucy Gray steps offstage and her spot is replaced with a little blonde girl who couldn't have been older than ten.

"Give it up for the amazing Lucy Gray Baird!" The girl shouts into the mic, gesturing to your friend before more music started to play. "She'll be back, she's just taking a little break, but until then, you lot are stuck listenin' to me."

This is your chance. You push through the crowd and step into the hall you saw Lucy Gray go down. "Lucy Gray?" You call out hopefully, watching your step as to not roll a heel. In hindsight, these shoes were not ideal for the journey you took, but your options were limited by a time crunch.

"Lucy Gray?" You ask again, turning a corner and peeling into a large open room. It's a few moments before your eyes land on her, and she turns to face you having heard you walk in.

"Oh my days, I thought I recognized that voice!" She smiles, opening her arms and running up to you. "Y/N, my word, what are you doin' here?" Her excitement fades quickly into concern as she drops her arms from around you.

"Long story..." You chuckle nervously, pulling at your coat again as she nods for you to continue. "We got caught, for the compact. And the snakes, somehow. Coriolanus put our handkerchiefs that you used in the tank so they wouldn't attack you, I guess. I didn't know. Then they pulled us out of class the next day, he told them it was me, so then I put up a fight and they sedated me. When I woke up I was at home and they were talking about having my tongue cut out and turning me into one of those servants but I'm sure my dad would rather have me dead. So," You sigh, trying to summarize it as quickly as possible. "I ran."

Lucy Gray shook her head, mouth agape in shock at all the information she just took in. "Okay, wait... So they were going to kill you?"

You nod.

"But that teacher of yours seemed so nice."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah, he gave me some money and escorted me into the train himself."

You scoff, shaking your head. "He's never liked either of us, but that's only because I have dirt on him. I don't know what Coryo did."

"Well," Lucy Gray sighs, rubbing your shoulders gently. "I'm glad you're here. That you're safe."

"You too." You smile. "Can I just say, too, we were so proud of you. We were so lucky to be your mentors."

"I count myself the lucky one." She grins. "Let's move on, shall we? On the up and up."

"Yes, sounds lovely." You grin at her.

"Can I get you some water? Liquor? What do you need?" She asks, turning at that and going over to a bench in the middle that had a few water bottles.

"I would love some water." You breathe out, joining her and sitting down as she hands one to you.

"Lucy Gray, could I ask you for a really big favour?" You say after taking your first sip.

"Please." She nods.

"Can I stay with you?"

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#tbosas #tbosas fic #thg series #tbosas x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coryo snow #thg fanfic #thg fanfiction #thg

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seabass17 · 3 years ago

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All that’s left | Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

A/n: This is my first time writing something based on a video I found on TikTok, it’s not exactly the same, but it is kinda the idea. I hope you like it and please let me know if you might want a part two. Also, I apologize if you find some errors, im doing my best since English is not my first language. Anyway, happy reading!!

All that’s left masterlist

Pt. 2

Warnings: angst, mentions of injuries (broken ribs, cuts, dislocated shoulder)

Word count: 2.5K

Summary: She still can��t get used to the feeling of being left behind by the people she once called family. After being hurt, she decides that she will give them a chance, and when they failed, she then makes the decision to disappear and start brand new. Of course, she leaves a letter that will left the team standing in the dark, and with more questions than answers about a lot of things, while discovering that she has more of one past that she let to know.

The sound of the rain hitting against the window of my living room was the only thing that could be heard in the silence of my apartment. I looked over my desk where the paper is waiting for me to pick up the pen and get this over with, but somehow, somewhere deep inside of me, a part is waiting, holding on to the smallest of hope that maybe, just maybe, he is going to come knocking to my door asking why the i haven’t showed up to the compound for the last three days, or why i didn’t text nor call the rest of the team. I wanted to see if they would notice my absence so I left the compound on Thursday. I got the answer to my question when Sunday arrived and my inbox was clear; no one noticed. Today is Tuesday, my apartment is thirteen minutes away, fifthteen if you literally fly or speed up, but still, no one came or text.

To be honest, I'm not surprised, that doesn’t mean it hurts less though. I know i should probably think this through instead of making the impulse decision of grabbing my things and get the hell out of here, going somewhere i can start fresh, somewhere i can start over and get a chance to get over all the things that happened, find people that actually cared for me, or maybe not finding anyone at all and die alone.

I stand up from my bed and go to my desk, it’s time to get this over with. I start writing the only thing that they get to keep.

“Dear Avengers, You’re probably wondering where I am, or you just don’t care, maybe you don’t even find this. If someone from the building finds this, keep it in case they ever come looking for me; thank you. So, this is it, this is my goodbye. You should consider yourselves lucky, given the fact that none of you even deserves a goodbye because you are the ones causing it. I could tell you the reason why I'm leaving, and you know what, I will tell you. I chose to trust you. The one thing I feared the most was trusting people, but when I joined the team, I thought ‘well, maybe i can trust them, they are my team’, guess what, I was wrong. You should really look out for your teammates Stark, oh, and by the way, you might want to look deeper into why the operation that saved those 30 civilians on may 20, didn’t go south, you might even discover its the very same reason of why i didn’t showed up in the compound for a week, yeah, they were busy torturing the information out of me for a week; information that, by the way, i didn't give, hence why the operation went great. Something even more funny, is that behind every mistake, every wrong that each one of you have ever done, I’m the one that suffered the consequences. Don’t believe me? Then you might want to do your homework, because dear teammates, I’m the one you couldn’t protect. By the time you find out the things you’ve done, I will be long gone. I'm very good at disappearing, Natasha (once she figures it out) can confirm that. I wish things would be different and we could be… family, but that’s never going to happen; not anymore. As of now, there will be no record of my name ever existing, everything that once belonged to me, will be burned, and as of me, well, I am no one.”

I fold the piece of paper and put it in the envelope, once sealed, I write down the word my name in the center so they know. I take a last look at my apartment. Everything is intact, the furniture that came with it is the same as always, the only thing different is that it seems empty without all my belongings. I grabbed my luggage and exited the apartment and then went downstairs.

“Hey Richard” I say to the man that is in the reception like I always do

“Hey miss, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I'm leaving, for good. If someone comes asking for me, my friends, you tell them that you haven’t seen me. Oh, I left a letter for them upstairs, could you please make sure that it gets to them? Only if the show up, do not sent it”

He looked at me a little sad and confused.

“Oh, well, you will me missed miss, I hope you find happiness and yes, i promised i will make sure they get your letter”

“Thank you Richard, for everything, oh, and this is for you” I handed him an envelope with some cash. He looked like he was about to say something about how he couldn’t accept it but I cut him off. “Please, just take it, please”. He sighs but takes the envelope.

“Thank you miss…”

I smiled at him and then turned around to grab a cab. I'm supposed to be in the airport in 30 minutes. Once in the airport, the only thing left is to start again, be someone brand new.

*3rd person POV*

Friday morning was a little colder than usual in the avengers compound, everyone on the team was up and in the kitchen having breakfast. Everything was normal, until someone noticed that someone was missing.

“Hey guys” Bucky said right before taking a bite of the pancakes Wanda made earlier for everyone. “Have any of you seen y/n?”

The team stayed quiet, realizing that they haven’t seen her for quite a while, not until Barnes brought it up.

“Uh… maybe she took a trip?” Steve broke the silence while the rest started thinking when was the last time they had seen her.

“No, she was here when we arrived from the Jersey mission, it must have been like what, two days, maybe three?” Tony said. Bucky could feel his insides burning and twisting.

“No… that was eight days ago” Vision intervened. The avengers felt like someone just blew up the white house. Her teammate was missing for eight days and no one even noticed. Bucky was the first one to react by getting up and running to her dorm, only to find it exactly the way it was when he last saw her. He searched her dorm looking for something out of place that could tell him that maybe you were in trouble and that he has to come save you, but he is left desperate when he doesn’t find anything.

“She’s not here, everything is intact” He informs once he is back in the kitchen.

“Everyone” Steve calls out, “get dressed, we’re going to look for her. Let’s start in her apartment”

The team leaves to change their clothes and next thing they know, they are in her building. Without saying a word to the receptionist, they all made their way up to her apartment.

“Hey! wait-” he goes unnoticed because the avengers are already on her door. Wanda knocks on the door.

“Y/n? You there?” no one responds. “Y/n come on, don’t be mad at us” Natasha says.

After a few seconds they all start to worry when the door is unlocked, and they worry even more once they see the apartment completely empty.

“What the-” Bucky says

“Where are her things?” Wanda asks to no one especifically

“Where is she?” Thor says

“What the hell is going on?” Tony says a little louder

Bucky storms out of the empty apartment and goes to the man in the reception

“What the hell happened to apartment 108, where is y/n y/l/n?” he asks with worry and anxiety in his voice.

“I’m sorry, but, who are you?” the man asks the rather intimidating group of people in front of him.

“We’re the Avengers man” Peter says and the man suddenly realizes and his face changes from a confused one, to a sad one that makes the team’s stomach drop.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” he sighs, “She left me indicated to give this to you” he hands them an envelope that looks like it's been sitting there for a while. Bucky stares at the envelope like it's some kind of nuclear weapon that if you touch it, it could kill you. Wanda notices, grabs the envelope and stares at the paper in her hands.

“When did she leave this?” She asked

“Three days ago”

“And why didn’t you send it to us?” Tony asked, getting angry at the poor man.

“Because she specifically said to handed it to you, if you ever came looking for her”

Bucky could feel the tears in his eyes start to form.

“She said that? `Ever’?” Bucky asked almost to himself. The man slowly nodded. Natasha could feel how her stomach started burning from the guilt and the pain of not noticing that her friend was missing for eight days, little does she know that the entire team felt exactly the same.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y pull the records on the mission on may 20 and also show me the status of y/n on that time” Tony said to the AI and after a few seconds later, pictures of the building that that was about to be blown out by HYDRA with 30 civilians inside showed up. While the avengers were sitting in the conference room looking at the pictures, the AI started talking.

“Mission of may 20. Information was given that HYDRA kept 30 civilians inside the building with the intention of blowing it up with them inside. Source of the information unknown. The Avengers came to the building and successfully rescued the civilians safely moments before the building was blown up. Agent y/n y/l/n was on an undercover mission on a HYDRA facility at the same time, the communication was lost three days before the civilians situation, and around the same time, the information about the building was given anonymously the very same day that communication with Agent y/l/n was lost; Agent y/l/n returned a week later. Medical record found, access denied”

“Override, Tony Stark” Tony said after a good couple of seconds, the pieces starting to fall in place.

“Access complete. Medical records of Agent y/l/n on may 27th. Access restrained: Agent y/l/n. She presented with several cuts all over her body, three broken ribs, a second grade concussion, a sprained ankle and a dislocated shoulder. Patient refused treatment and was only given medication for the pain”

The seconds were passing and no one in the room would break the silence. The pieces were starting to fall in place, Tony felt nauseous. He yelled at her for being irresponsible for staying a little longer than she should have in the undercover mission, given the fact that she checked in on june 10th, meaning that she waited two weeks for her injuries to heal enough so that he could yell at her for not being good enough. He fell down to his chair, feeling like if he stayed up, he might throw up.

“She was the one that gave us the information about the building” Sam broke the silence. “She was the one that got tortured, and still managed to pass through the data so that we, could be the heroes while she was the one that got beaten up”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, where is she?” Natasha asked the AI, and it responded after a few seconds.

“No information found”

Natasha frowned, Bucky looked up to the screen to see the red sentence. It only made him want to scream more.

“What does ‘no information found’ mean?” Bucky asked on the edge of falling apart.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y” Steve called

“No information available” it said this time.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, look for y/n y/l/n” Tony said, thinking maybe he needed to check what was wrong with the AI.

“No records found for y/n y/l/n”

“Detail,” Stark said.

The AI showed what it said before, there was no record of her name, it was like it never existed. No phone number, no mail address, no nothing, just a little picture of an abandoned building or mansion somewhere in the world.

“Wait” Natasha said, “I know that building, F.R.I.D.A.Y, do a close up on that picture”

“What is it?” Wanda asked

“It was where The Red Room used to operate” tha AI responded

“Why does it appear related to her?” Bucky asked, fearing the answer

“The picture was taken when a girl escaped The Red Room in 2002, she eliminated four people on the way, the age or who it was is still unknown” the AI responded.

“Oh god…” Natasha whispered but Bucky manage it to hear it

“Natasha, what is it?” he asked

“2002, that’s three years after i managed to escape, there was a girl, we were some sort of friends, i promised that i was going to get us out of here, but i couldn’t take her with me so i left her. Two years later I contacted someone on the inside so that I could get to her and plan her escape, but she was angry at me and said that she was fine, a year later she did escape, killing four people on her way” Natasha explained. Everything makes sense now, why she looked familiar, why she had exactly the same skills as Natasha. The team noticed it too, but they assumed it was because she had trained very hard to be an avenger.

“What was her name?” Vision asked.

“Eliza” Natasha said

“Wait a minute…” Bucky said, lifting her head looking at Natasha. “Was that her real name?”

“No, she didn’t wanted to say her real one” Natasha said

“Eliza, that’s y/n’s grandmother’s name” Bucky said and the room fell into a silence where you could hear the wind outside.

“In the letter…” Steve started, “She said that you could confirm that she was good at disappearing completely once you figured it out, so, does this mean that…”

“Y/n is Eliza” Natasha concluded

“She was in The Red Room” Bucky added.

“She said in her letter that all of us did her wrong,” Sam said, “how are we supposed to know what the hell we do to her? She’s been in the team for what, two and a half years? And just now we realized that she was the one that gave us the data that saved 30 people and got her tortured, and that she was trained in The Red Room like Black Widow here. What else are we missing?” he added.

“Guess there’s only one thing we can do” Steve said, looking at Tony.

“And what’s that?” Wanda asked

“We find her”

#avengers #bucky barnes #imagines #marvel #bucky barnes angst #bucky x female reader #the red room #natasha romonova #tony stark #steve rogers #wanda maximoff #peter parker #hydra

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bratkook · 4 years ago

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eleven months. (m) myg. one.

masterlist.

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: fluff, slow burn!!!, eventual smut, warnings: none this chapter. word count: 2.8k author’s note: this chapter is on the shorter side, just diving into them meeting and giving you all a small glimpse into them as individuals! im really excited for this story so let me know what you think, feel free to scream about anything in my inbox bye ily lmao summary: it’s been years of yoongi living his routine life, accustomed to his pace of living, going with the flow and simply existing. until you come along. yoongi absolutely can not see the logic in the way you live, but he weirdly craves it. craves the feeling of not being afraid of not knowing what’s coming, being able to just let the cards fall wherever they land. and maybe you can help with that.

Yoongi loves the rain, really he does. The way the clouds gloom over the city, encompassing it in this darkness that reminds him of underexposed film. He wishes he could always see the world through this filter, always smell the scent of wet soil and tarmac as he makes his way through the streets. Something about hearing the soft patter hitting the sidewalk, bouncing off the rooftops and dripping from the gutters calms him. A soft smile spreads across his face as he exhales the smoke in his lungs, letting the stick hang loosely off his lips while his hands clutch onto his umbrella.

When he stomps his foot into a wide puddle, the cold water splashes up onto his ankle and he grimaces. He hates being caught in the middle of rain. It didn’t matter if he had his umbrella or not, or if he managed to bundle enough for the downpour, he hates stepping into puddles and getting his socks wet. Hates how some of the raindrops that slipped under his umbrella—since it was now raining sideways—have managed to make his cigarette slightly soggy.

Pulling the cigarette out of his mouth this time, he holds it in front of his face with a frown. It was halfway done but no longer burning properly due to how wet it had become.

What a waste.

As he passes a trash can, he stubs it out fully and tosses it inside, a small pout on his face at the loss of something to fidget with. But then he sees the glowing sign inching closer, the bright neon yellow standing out in the grim weather. The illuminated Rkive360 in the distance stops him from slipping out another smoke, choosing to stuff his unoccupied hand into the pocket of his jeans, moving his legs a little faster to get to his destination.

The bell at the top of the door jingles as he stumbles in, his foot tripping over the small lip of the mat by the door. That was a safety hazard he’d playfully bitch to Namjoon about later.

“Yoongi, hey!” When he balances out, closing his umbrella and giving it a good shake by the door, he looks up and grins at Taehyung. He spots him standing by a flat spread of clothes a few feet away, folding out some new items as he stares at Yoongi with a genuine smile. His curls flop over his eyes and Yoongi chuckles to himself as he wonders how a guy like him was here folding shirts when he should probably be the face of Gucci or something.

Well, that’s life.

“Hey man,” Yoongi mumbles out, his eyes catching the plastic bin beside the door that’s labeled ‘umbrellas here’ in a messy scribble he can only attribute to Taehyung. Not needing to be told twice, he sticks his dripping umbrella upside down into it and shuffles inside the shop, taking a minute to look around like he always did.

Record stores have always been his safe space, even as a teenager. The amount of time spent in one after school, loitering inside with his friends as he sorted through the racks of CDs and vinyl, exiting with his bag of new goodies that left him excited to get home and play them. It was god sent that his best friend decided to open up his own place years ago, keeping it fully stocked with anything he could imagine. Maybe Yoongi was a little biased, but this was definitely the best shop in the country.

It’s a welcoming place, pops of color in every corner, tall standing sculptures mixed in with displays of music, autographed albums and posters framed onto the wall behind the counter. It’s the full embodiment of his best friend, down to the tiny KAWS figurines perched beside the register and the music playing through the speakers. The small melody in the background fills his ears once the door is shut, recognizing the song playing as Dang! by Mac Miller and he bobs along as he approaches Taehyung.

“Quick question,” he starts, his hands coming up to shake at his gray hair that was slightly damp from the rain. Taehyung sets the shirt down, resting both of his palms on the table as he leans towards Yoongi with interest. “Any chance you guys miraculously got Seventeen Seconds in your stock this week?”

Taehyung hums in thought, his brows furrowing together as he tries to mentally sort through the massive boxes of new vinyl Namjoon had brought in a few days ago. New shipment comes once a week but every now and then Namjoon goes out of his way to find specific records, never missing with his selection.

A small flash of blurry trees crosses his mind and then he's smiling at him. “Yeah, we actually got it the other day. Pretty sure Namjoon hunted it down for you since you’ve been asking. It should be in the back.” His thumb points behind him, towards the display tables that held all the LP’s available at the store, a very familiar spot.

Yoongi mumbles out a thanks as he makes his way over, eyes already locked onto the bin that he knew would hold his prized possession. It’s not until he gets a few feet closer that he sees your crouched frame over a box, figure slightly hidden by a giant CD rack. You’re rummaging through the records, almost making him flinch when you quickly stand back up and find their proper spot in the display. You don’t notice him approaching until he’s right beside you, eyes once again glued to the bins lined in alphabetical order once the initial shock of another person subsided.

That’s when you give him a glance, sending him a soft smile as you slip the record in its rightful spot, crouching back down to grab the next bunch. His hand pauses on the edge of the bin at the glimpse of something familiar, momentarily distracted by your shirt. When you stand back up, feeling him staring at you, you slowly turn to face him once more with your eyebrows raised up in question.

He takes note of the tag clipped to your shirt, it reads Sana but he’s used to dealing with Sana and you are definitely not her. You’re new.

The smile remains on your lips as you rest your hip against the edge of the table holding up the record bins, preparing to put your best customer service voice to use. His eyes glance at the writing on your shirt again, cracking a grin when he confirms it's a New Order shirt tucked into your black jeans. “You like New Order?”

Your smile falters slightly, your arms crossing in front of you as you narrow your eyes at him in defense, not entirely sure how to take his tone. “If you’re about to ask me to name five of their songs I’ll have to walk away to avoid getting fired.”

His smile widens at that, soft and gummy, breaking his cold appearance as his arms raise up in front of him in surrender. “No, just an observation.”

Your demeanor softens again, your arms sagging back down to your sides and smiling once more. “Good, it's my first day on the job and I’d really like to keep it.”

Yoongi chuckles softly, going back to his searching for his precious album, leaning over the third bin dedicated to bands starting with the letter C. His nimble fingers flip through the LPs until he gets to the Cure, sorting through Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, passing Pornography until he reaches Wish and his brows furrow, flicking back and forth as if the album he wanted would magically appear.

“Need help finding something?” You speak up again when you take note of him sorting through the same chunk of vinyl. He grunts lightly, letting the stack slant back in a heap as he purses his lips.

“Yeah actually, Taehyung said you guys got the album Seventeen Seconds but I don’t see it.

You step back from reorganizing the bin labeled S, trying to remember if you had brought the record out or if it was still sitting in the second box ready to be unpacked. Your brain was already overwhelmed from all of the information you had been given on your first day, trying to unscramble the entire backroom and it’s countless boxes—most of which were unlabeled because Taehyung said it’s not necessary since he knows where everything is.

Much like Taehyung, you recall seeing a flash of the album cover when you sorted through the new box of records, knowing exactly where it was tucked away since you had been the one to store it. You were under strict orders to not put it out on the floor, because according to Namjoon, if someone else took this album you’d be attending his funeral.

“Oh, uh gimme a sec.” You shuffle away, leaving him behind as you approach Taehyung, still folding away. “Hey, Tae?”

He hums in question, turning to stare at you with a small smile. “Whats up?”

“That guy is asking for Seventeen Seconds but Namjoon told me he’d be murdered if I gave this out to anyone.”

Taehyung starts laughing instantly, setting the shirt down as he stares at a confused looking Yoongi still standing by the LP’s. “Yeah, he was saving it for him specifically.”

“Got it, okay. Thanks.” You make a beeline back to the tables at the back, passing Yoongi with a polite smile. “Be right back!” you exclaim, wagging your finger at him as you make your way towards the back room, clearly on a mission.

Yoongi just stands there as you enter the employee stock room, not trying to cross any professional lines and follow you since you have no idea who he is. It's only a few feet away and you left the door propped open so when a few minutes pass and he hears rustling, followed by a heavy sounding thud and some curse words, he can’t help but wander over and peak his head in.

“You okay?” he asks, leaning against the door frame with a smirk on his face when he sees the way you’re frozen, one foot on the ledge of the shelf and the other on a not so sturdy looking stool, caught in the act of a poorly made decision. Below you lay two brown boxes that carry shirts you’re meant to unpack later, definitely the cause of the loud thud he had heard.

“Yep,” you confirm as you pluck out the record you need, shoving the box back into its safe spot and hopping down haphazardly. “Here you go.”

Grabbing the record carefully, he flips it over to skim the track list and smiles widely when he looks back up at you. That familiar warmth fills his chest as he holds the new item, making him feel the same way he had as a teenager when he bought his first LP. He had been searching for this vinyl for months now. It wasn’t as if it was no longer in production, he just couldn’t seem to find it in stock anywhere he looked and buying it internationally was the last resort he would take since the shipping fees were downright illegal. “Thanks.”

You’re already hunched down on the floor as you open up one of the boxes that had fallen in your haste to scale the shelves, deciding to just unpack in now since you were here.

“Yeah, no problem. Tae can ring you up at the front.” Sending him off with a smile and a wave, he takes that as his cue to exit, making his way to the front again.

When he leaves the backroom you flop onto your butt with a huff, your legs sprawling out with the second box in between them. You were hoping your words didn’t come across as rude to him but you couldn’t take the way his sharp eyes stared at you. Had he lingered any longer you would have embarrassed yourself, it was a miracle your footing hadn’t slipped on your way down from the shelves. You can’t imagine your ego being able to recover from a tumble like that.

Taehyung spots Yoongi leaning against the front counter, setting the final shirt down and going to stand behind it with a smile. “Did you find everything okay?” he asks automatically, the general phrases they had to use coming out without a thought and Yoongi scoffs, sliding the record across the counter and nodding.

“Of course I did, you let Namjoon know that I said your customer service is unmatched.” His finger gently rubs against the first black KAWS figurine, smiling at the remaining four as he remembers how Namjoon had excitedly told him that this was their friend group, representing them all perfectly.

Taehyung grins with a roll of his eyes, scanning the album and slipping it into the brown paper bag they provided. “Wonderful. Your total is 40,000 won.”

“Wow, your customer service voice is phenomenal.”

Taehyung laughs now, his nose crinkling up at Yoongi's sarcastic tone, watching how Yoongi grins back at him, succeeding in getting him to crack. “Fuck you, man.”

“Ah, there he is.” Yoongi hums with a chuckle as he pulls out his wallet, sorting through his bills and handing them to Taehyung. “Who’s New Order girl?”

Tae raises his brows as he enters the amount into the POS, the drawer popping open against his hips. “Oh, Y/N?” Yoongi only shrugs, you had Sana’s name tag on so how the hell should he know.

Taehyung stuffs the money into the drawer and slams it shut, ripping off the receipt from the machine and slipping it into the bag. “She just started today, can’t remember where she moved from, some place far though.” He shrugs as he hands the bag over to Yoongi.

The older boy ruffles his damp hair up, accepting the bag with his right hand. “Oh, cool. Well thanks, I’ll see you guys later then?” Taehyung just waves him off with a smile, similar to the way you did and he laughs to himself when he realizes Taehyung must be the one in charge of training you.

As he approaches the front door he pulls out his pack of cigarettes once more, sliding one out and slipping it between his lips. He finds himself looking towards the back of the shop again, seeing you resuming your organization, but your head lifts up as you feel him staring at you from his spot at the door. The spark of his lighter flashes across his face when he lights up his smoke, opening his umbrella once more now that he's partially outside. When your eyes meet, he smiles around the stick, giving you a nod before turning and walking back out into the rain.

You watch as his figure disappears down the street, his dark silhouette blending in with the rest of the people roaming the city, and when you can no longer see him through the store window you turn towards Taehyung. He’s stood at the POS, fidgeting with the screen, but when you call his name he glances up at you. “Is he a regular?”

He nods in response, eyes going back to stare at the screen as he begins to print out a sheet to fulfill the online orders the store received. “Yeah, he comes in at least once a week. Buys strictly vinyl. I think Namjoon mentioned he’s a music producer, or maybe it was a DJ, I can’t remember.”

Taehyung evidently doesn’t have the best memory, that much had been made clear in the short span you’ve known him. He had forgotten your name twice during your interview, Namjoon having to subtly repeat it for him, he had also asked you three times where you were from and at first you thought he was joking but when his face remained serious you realized he had really forgotten already.

“Hey, where’d you move from again?” he asks one more, genuinely curious as if you hadn’t told him a handful of times already.

“I told you, Iceland.” It’s a lie, but when he hums in thought—pretending to suddenly remember—you chuckle at the newfound way to mess with him.

He’s quick to start questioning you about Iceland, nodding along to the lies you spill while you both go back to your tasks of sorting albums and folding shirts. It makes your first full shift eventful, passing jokes back and forth as the sky grows gloomier. As distracting as your conversations get, you can’t help but glance up through the windows whenever a dark clad figure walks by, the thought of the sharp eyed stranger lingering in your mind.

#min yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts fics #bts imagines #new #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #heartsforbts #bangtaninn #btscreatorscorner

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lilydalexf · 4 years ago

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Rachel Nobel / Rae Lynn

Rachel Nobel, aka Rae Lynn, has 2 fics at Gossamer, but she’s written many more X-Files stories than that. You can also find fics by her at AO3 and various other archives. She’s one of the rare, special authors who’s posted numerous fic during the show’s original run and again in recent years. Big thanks to Rachel for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)? Absolutely. I joined a Facebook group for fanfic writers where someone recognized my name and asked about some of my stories that have disappeared from the Internet, and I almost fell off my chair. On the other hand, I go back and read original-run fanfic all the time - the Wayback Machine is my best friend for all the late great fanfic archives. Like fine wines, they get better with age! What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? I was fairly young during the peak of the fandom - I was only 12 when I started watching the show and discovered the fandom online. A few years ago, right around the time we learned the revival was coming, I wrote an essay I called "How 'The X-Files' defined my adolescence," in which I wrote: "If you think about it, 'The X-Files' is a lot like adolescence: You start out thinking it's going to be a little hokey, NBD, and then you end up in its thrall, captivated and occasionally hugely let down. A lot of people behave strangely, and no one gets out unscathed. Mulder, in his own weird way, is the perfect mirror for an adolescent: He doesn't fit in; his life careens between being utterly consequential to the fate of the known universe and being completely pointless; he's socially awkward and can't quite nail it down with the girl of his dreams."

So for me, the fandom is inextricably bound up with adolescence, that feeling of vacillating between desperate loneliness and being on the verge of something enormously significant. Take romance: I was a bit of a late bloomer, and when all my friends were exploring their first relationships I was watching Mulder and Scully navigate this beautiful, complicated, soulful relationship without ever even kissing. That was deeply affecting for me as a teen.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)? I started out on mailing lists - there was an EMXC mailing list and one that I think was called X-Angst. [Lilydale note: There was a mailing list called XAngst Anonymous.] This was back at the dawn of the Internet when I only had 10 hours of AOL access a month, and I remember using what AOL called a "FlashSession" to log on, download all the fanfic from the mailing list and log off to read it. I vividly remember the excitement of watching all that new fanfic flood my inbox! Later on I was on atxc. During the long summer between "Gethsemane" and "Redux," it felt like fanfic was at its peak. There was a group of about a dozen women who got together (virtually) to discuss a work in progress by Lydia Bower called "Primal Sympathy." We called ourselves the "Primal Screamers," and we had our own website with fanfic recommendations and other discussions (it cracked me up to locate us as an entry on Fanlore.org). I was still in high school at the time and I was the youngest member; I felt like I had been accepted into a cool underground club. I worshipped these women, who were fanfic writers themselves. They taught me everything I knew about how to be a decent, respectful, enthusiastic consumer and writer of fanfic and fandom. [Lilydale note: I’ve talked enthusiastically about the Primal Screamers here before, including their fanfic primer.] What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general? In the '90s, I would have been embarrassed to tell anyone I read fanfic, let alone that I was writing it. Now, I look back on it and realize how talented and smart and passionate we all were. It's something to be proud of. What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show? The first episode I ever saw was "Shadows," which was on in reruns between the second and third seasons. I don't think "Shadows" is an episode that anyone today would consider thematically significant, but something about seeing those office supplies float spookily through the air - it wasn't like anything I had seen on television, and I wanted in. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic? I've always been a person who, when I am interested in something, seeks to learn more about it. So I guess I got online as a 12-year-old with this new interest and discovered fanfic. It was thrilling to find out that so many talented people were taking characters I loved and bringing them to life for me. When the screen faded to black each week and I wondered, "That's it? What next?", fanfic was always there to fill in the blanks and take Mulder and Scully to the next level. As a teenager, I was self-indulgent enough to think I had something to contribute, too. Most of what I wrote in the '90s would today make me cringe. I remember literally paging through the dictionary in search of erudite words I thought Mulder and Scully would say! But occasionally I'll feel brave enough to read an old story and I feel encouraged to see a spark: a turn of phrase or a fragment of dialogue that I still feel proud of. I write professionally now, but I've never written fiction that isn't X-Files fiction, so it's something that has really allowed me to hone my creative juices in a different way. What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? Sometimes I feel like the Statler and Waldorf of the fandom, like I'm sitting up in the balcony grousing "Back in my day...!" Because the fandom is remarkably robust, and I've gotten involved with it to an extent on Twitter and AO3, and now all these young whippersnappers idolize Mulder and Scully just as much if not more as I ever did! Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files? Not really, no. I've of course consumed a lot of media since The X-Files that I wanted to discuss with others - I'm a huge "Harry Potter" nerd, and I was outraged when Netflix canceled "The OA" - but strangely I've never had the urge to read or write fanfic about anything other than "The X-Files." Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? Every Thursday night! I watch a chosen episode with a group of fans on Twitter and tweet about it - #tbtXFiles. That's great fun. There are episodes I've seen dozens of times over the years and episodes I think I only ever watched once, and it's always enlightening to watch them again with a certain critical eye. When I was a fan during the original run, I really idolized Mulder; I loved episodes where we saw him in all his cracked genius glory. Scully was a trailblazer of a character, of course, but I think the fandom has evolved over the years to give Scully her due. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I was fairly stunned when the revival came around and I realized that people were still writing X-Files fic, and that a lot of it was so good. So yes, I do read fic on Archive of Our Own. But my heart is always with the early days of fanfic. In the revival when Mulder says "I've always wondered how this was going to end" - that felt to me almost like a love letter to fanfic authors who had been trying to answer that question for 25 years. Surprisingly, I've never had the urge to read fic in another fandom. Every time I try, it just feels like I'm cheating on Mulder and Scully. Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors? My favorite author back in the day was Kipler. Her stories were just like real episodes of the show I could vividly imagine in my mind. I adore syntax6, particularly "20" and "The Birthday Stories," because of the way she perfectly and poignantly captures vignettes that span the entire series. Another favorite is Dawn and her "Blood Ties" series - I started out as a "NoRomo," and Dawn was one of the authors who made me believe Mulder and Scully could have a romantic relationship that really worked. And I always had a soft spot for Profiler!Mulder stories, so to this day I mourn the unfinished state of the great Kronos fic "Ascent to Hell." One fic I always come back to that captures profiling Mulder really well is "Domination of Lies," by cslatton. And then there are stories that I consider classics: "Corpse" by Livengoo, "Oklahoma" by Amperage and Livengoo, the "Revelations" and "All Hallow's Eve" series by Windsinger. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise? I have a soft spot for a story I wrote called "Human Credential." I was attempting, a quarter-century after the first season of the show, to set a story in the very early days of the partnership (which these days is one of my favorite kinds of fanfic to read), and I felt like I nailed it. Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online? I have been doing both of these, as a matter of fact! Or in my case, they are oldies that made it online but vanished when Geocities went belly-up, for example, that I sometimes go back to and reshape. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work? As the swallows return to Capistrano, I seem to always return to writing fic at periods of transition in my life. The first time I "retired" from fanfic, I wasn't even in college yet! If one can be nostalgic at 21 years old for something one gave up at 17, I was nostalgic for fanfic, and I picked it back up again in grad school. Then I became a teacher and a wife and a mom and years passed, and the revival seduced me back into it again. But the vast majority of fanfic I've written is firmly planted in the first seven seasons of the show - poor Mulder and Scully never seem to get to grow up in my stories. What's the story behind your pen name? I wrote under a lot of pen names over the years! When I first started writing fanfic, no one knew anything about Internet safety and it didn't occur to me that it wasn't wise to use my real name. There was a period when I would have been mortified if anyone discovered my stories under my real name - now, at least I can write it off as a youthful indulgence! When I finally grew into a more mature writer, I started using the name Rae Lynn, which is almost-but-not-quite my real first and middle names. Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions? As far as I know, unless my friends and acquaintances have done some sleuthing, only my husband knows I still write fanfic. And he's never read it, though he's kind enough to give me a glazed-eyes indulgent smile if I ever talk about it. Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now? I am xraelynn on AO3! I have about a dozen stories there - some of them I wrote 15 years ago and some of them are brand spanking new. Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Fanfic is a true labor of love. Fanfic authors don't write fanfic for money or fame; they do it because they love it. Sites like AO3 and Tumblr have made it so much easier to show your appreciation to writers (::gruff reminiscing voice:: back in my day, you had to send them an email, and now you can just click the "kudos" button!). I can only speak for myself, but I really thrive on that feedback - otherwise I'm just Mulder in his cramped hovel of a home office waiting for Scully to nag me to shave my beard. Every so often I think about the fact that there is so much high-quality writing about these characters I've loved for decades just available on the Internet for free and it feels like a true gift.

(Posted by Lilydale on May 4, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #rachel nobel #rae lynn

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notnctu · 5 years ago

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to jisung, my family friend ♡

To All The J’s I’ve Loved Before Series by notnctu ♡ park jisung x fem!reader ♡ genre - fluff ♡ wc - 2.2k ♡ warnings - none ♡ synopsis - in which you guide a lost freshman to his lecture ♡ taglist - @colpen ; @cestmoncoeur ; @hyucksberry ; @lexiluness ; @lovelycharm05 ; @dearlyminhyung ; @classic-antifood ; @pikijaemin ; @whorefortaeyong ; @jaeismytamtation ♡ a/n - let us know if you want to be on the taglist for the next ones!

Jisung,

I’m already laughing at myself writing this letter, but it has to be done. You’ve grown up so well, I think it has to be a good four years since I’ve seen you in person. I can’t tell whether or not you're a stranger to me.

Our moms are literal best friends and I think we could’ve formed the same relationship if they didn’t try to force that on us. I’m reminiscing about our many play dates we had together as I write this.

We were such awkward kids, I mean, you still kind of are. Word of advice as your upperclassman, don’t wear your freshman lanyard. It’s too much of a tell that you’re a freshie, not that you don’t already look like one being lost on campus or clumsiness bumping into people on your way to class.

Jisung, I can’t help but look at you differently. When did your shy smile light up the room? You really grew into your features, because I don’t remember you having such a sharp jawline. I questioned my thoughts for you as we laughed together even after all these years. Your personality was still the same, maybe more mature now? Like someone hurt you in the past. Like your eyes grew sadder.

But honestly, you’re the most innocence I’ve experienced being in college. You showed me a type of love that could develop beyond a kiss or devious acts. I thought I’d never come across that again.

It was like an epiphany, like my cheeks felt warm whenever you acknowledged me. Your silliness never sold itself short, I could laugh for hours with you. There were no consequential thoughts between the two of us, like a refreshing love that is so pure and full of warmth from sunshine.

There’s a lot for you to learn and experience. I won’t rob that from you, given that I’ve experienced plenty after all these years. But there is such a compelling feeling within me to shield you from any negativity, to guide you in being the best version of yourself. I want to help you find yourself and maybe, grow with you since we have been absent of that during our teenage years. Maybe this is what should’ve been of our relationship a while ago.

If I had tried to notice you sooner, we could’ve saved each other from all the pain.

-from your mom’s favorite, y/n

“Honey, do you remember Jisung? You two were best friends when you were younger?” The phone call with your mom had droned on for more than you had anticipated. It was one of her I need a favor calls that could not wait until later.

The loud chatter and background music of the store caused your lack of attention to what she had been going on about. “You mean, your best friend’s son who you tried to force me to be best friends with when I was younger? What about him? I haven’t seen him for almost four years now.”

The phone receiver buzzed before she continued hesitantly, “I gave him your number.”

The box of pasta fell from your hands at her sudden statement. The strangers around you watched as your anxious hands recovered it from the ground. “Why?” The annoyance in your cadence was nothing surprising.

“He got accepted to your college, sweetie! Isn’t that great? You can guide him around campus, help him transition to college life. No one is forcing you two to be friends anymore. But it would be an amazing favor for me and your auntie. You know, she has been saying how she wants to pitch in to buy you a new car.” Coercion. Rolling your eyes, you aggressively packed your groceries in your reusable bag.

“How could I ever say no to her when I’m her favorite person?” It was a double edge sword with your mom. She never really gave you many options to work with and expected you to follow through as her very obedient daughter.

“That’s what I like to hear!” After the strenuous call, messages from an unknown number sat patiently in your inbox.

(127)-127-1271: hi (Y/N)!! idk if you remember me, we haven’t talked in awhile but it’s jisung! I’m going to be attending ur school in fall and I was wondering if you can help me with some housing stuff????

you: hey bud, congrats! Yeah, you can ask me anything you need to know, everything is very confusing when you first start out :)

The least you could do was act friendly. Jisung never did anything wrong and if anything, you two were oftentimes in the same awkward boat during your childhoods.

Talking to him again reminded you of all the holiday barbecues spent at his house and running away from the adults to play games with his cousins. The many sleepovers where his mom made him sacrifice his bed for you and he’d end up sleeping on their blow up mattress. Fond memories that were definitely lost in your present. You no longer remember how this boy even looked like.

Summer slipped from your fingers faster than you could blink. Another school year of newer experiences, yet without the aid of being a lost freshman. Everything fell back into a schedule as classes began. The floods of college students rushing to their next lecture. Students working in study rooms or at the outside commodities. The lost freshmen with their dangling lanyards who walk too slow and bumped into people.

There was one tall, shy boy that caught your eye. He wandered outside the building, checking the lecture hall number and scanning the enormous facility. The sheer panic in his expression when he looked down at his phone in his iron grip.

His features were clearly recognizable, but Jisung had grown incredibly older. His jawline was wider and he had several inches stacked above you. As you approached him, his infamous pout appeared as he rapidly scrolled on his dark screen. His cheeks weren’t entirely slimmed out.

“Jisung?”

Jisung was quick to see who could have possibly known his name at this new institution. He tilted his head when he finally laid his tired eyes on you. He knew there was no way he could have recognized you on his own. Not that you were absolutely different, but the whole aura that surrounded you embodied a college upperclassman. You were no longer the loud, weird middle school girl who wore her hair in wacky ponytails.

“(Y/N)! Wow, it’s been so long. I almost didn’t know who you were.” The deepness of his voice took you aback. His hand retreated to the back of his neck out of shyness. His high cheekbones marveled in the autumn afternoon. The boyish charm was very prominent, but his eyes seemed a bit lifeless, a bit sad. There was no gleam, loss of fairy dust that glimmered.

“I can recognize a lost freshman anywhere. Let me walk you to class.” You offered and his cheeks turned slightly pink from embarrassment.

A small side smile appeared when Jisung handed you his phone to see what building he was struggling to find. “I was trying to not be obvious, but the campus is so big. I really haven’t gotten used to where my classes are.”

A laugh escaped your lips when you gave the boy his phone. His wide eyes grew concerned, afraid you were mocking him. “It’s already the third week and I never noticed you were in my class. Let’s go, I’ll finally have someone to sit with.”

A sense of relief washed over his entire body as he followed your lead. The curious boy remained astonished as you two walked side by side on the large campus. He was barely taking in the massive structures, long roads, and the volume of people. His whole face lit up, with tiny sound effects whenever he was amazed by something.

“How could you ever get used to a place like this? I feel like there is so much to explore.” Jisung tried his best to match your strides to avoid losing you in the stream of hurried students.

“Yeah, it loses its luster after a few months.” Looking up, you noted the drop in his smile. Guilt filled your system at lowering his spirits. “But with the right experiences, you’ll fall in love with it more.”

Just like that, his rectangular smile rested well on his small face. “Thanks for answering all my texts over the summer.” His eyes averted to the ground as he held his backpack straps.

“I’m happy to help. C’mon, Jisung. We go way back, you’ve helped me escape many horrible adult encounters during your mom’s get togethers. The least I could do is return the favor.”

“Oh, we’re bringing up the past? Are you still afraid of the dark?” He raised a snarky eyebrow and you were surprised at the random attack.

You scoffed dramatically, and pretended to seem offended. “Says the one who had the night light in his room growing up.”

His hearty laugh surrounded the air around you two and you giggled lightly at how cutely he reacted. As his melody came to a descend, he analyzed your facial expression before saying, “talking to you is so natural, like we didn’t have a long pause on our barely developing friendship. I’ve been waiting to encounter a conversation like this since I got here.”

A strange, inexplicable feeling burned across your chest. Were those the butterflies that you felt so often around a boy you found the slightest potential? Long stares at Jisung’s profile had you admiring his strikingly handsome features. You shook off the unusual thought, “what about your roommate? You two haven’t hit it off yet?”

Jisung shrugged and looked around as if expecting his roommate to be wandering around him. He relaxed and stood by your side to wait for the lecture doors to open with leaving students. “Not exactly. Chenle’s a bit loud, a little weird too. He sleeps on silk pillows with his initials embroidered on them and has fancy cutlery.”

Laughter and more laughter filled the gaps with Jisung. It was the most refreshing feeling to be around, something you never knew you missed. Everyone was too busy being adults or experiencing wild, mature adventures. There was no room for innocence or child’s play. For a brief moment, you forgot about the stress of your future and wanted to bathe in the smiles that Jisung provided.

After the long boring lecture and a whole hour of Jisung performing pen tricks, he practically begged you to walk him to his next class. Given that your schedule was a bit more free today, with the spin of your heels, you were off giving him random tips about surviving his first year.

“Make sure you avoid walking to class through the center of campus on Wednesdays, unless you want to be harassed by clubs.” You cringed remembering the fateful encounter with your orientation leader from your first year, Jeno, that happened not too long ago. And how he still managed to flyer you after catching up.

Jisung did nothing, but nod aggressively to your advice to mentally note them all. He was overwhelmed, in a good way. However, knowing that he had you by his side, it made him feel all the more better. The realization that you two could actually be friends hit him like bricks. He wanted you to be guiding him, teaching him, bettering him.

“Hey homie!” A familiar, taunting voice called after you. You both perked up and watched as your best friend, Jungwoo, danced his way over to you.

You chuckled at your silly friend, “when did you ever call me homie?”

“When I noticed you standing next to a new friend and I don’t want to be too mean by calling you a loser.” Jungwoo’s happy smile bloomed as he stuck his hand out for Jisung to shake. “I’m Jungwoo, 2nd year Chemical Engineering major.”

Jisung stared at his hand, unsure how to even begin at introducing himself to other people. His only instinct was to throw scissors to Jungwoo’s extended palm, like he was playing a game of rock, paper, scissors. Jungwoo erupted with giggles and jumped at his hand being sandwiched between Jisung’s fingers. You, also, laughed at the awkward boy’s action.

“I like him.” Jungwoo patted Jisung’s stiff shoulder, causing Jisung to smile at his statement. “First year?”

“What gave it away?” You asked, eyeing Jisung with a matter of fact attitude.

“The lanyard dangling from his back pocket.” Jungwoo crossed his arms and joined you at your side. Jisung quickly stuffed the rest of his exposed lanyard into his pocket to refrain from being a first year stereotype.

The lecture doors opened with a bustling blast of people pouring out. You gave Jisung a warm touch on his arm, which he blushed unknowingly at. “Welcome to college, Jisung. We’re hanging out tomorrow because I said so.”

It was almost difficult for Jisung to stop smiling around you. He nodded and waved goodbye to both you and Jungwoo. A small thanks was all you heard before he disappeared inside.

Sighing, you and Jungwoo began heading towards any source of food. “Jisung, first year and undeclared major. He’s a family friend of mine.”

“He’s cute. You two look great together.” He winked. You pushed at Jungwoo’s arm playfully to rid any romantic thoughts. Though, it would be an absolute lie you weren’t already having some of your own. Maybe not entirely romantic, but more in a sense that you endearingly cared for him more than you had anticipated.

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wkemeup · 5 years ago

Text

Hope Haven

inbox request: “Saw your post about BAON oneshots and a thought occurred to me. Does Reader ever recover even a little of her inheritance? Maybe she donates to women's shelters?” by @amandatar-06 ❤️ pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 2.8k warnings: bucky continues to be an angel, focus on women’s shelters and domestic violence a/n: US national domestic violence hotline 1-800-799-7233 🌹series masterlist 🌹

The bills were piling up on the kitchen table. Hidden under stacks of personnel files from the academy and a container of Thai takeout, sat dozens of unopened envelopes from the law firm you’d hired in an effort to unfreeze Brock’s accounts. You dug your fingers into your scalp, trying to find the willpower to look at the damage inside.

A year’s worth of legal battles and arrogant attorneys, only to be told that you’d never see a penny of your stolen inheritance. You’d signed it away in sound mind, they said. You knew what you were doing. It didn’t matter that you’d been drowning in grief and your husband saw an opportunity to manipulate you. The law didn’t care that Brock Rumlow took advantage of the woman he was supposed to love in order to fill his own pockets. You signed the damn forms.

So, your case was thrown out and you were thousands in debt for the trouble.

You’d been working back at Columbia for a while now, but there was no way you’d be able to cover the cost of the attorneys on your own and you weren’t about to ask Bucky for help, not after all he’d already done for you. You put so much on his shoulders and while you knew he’d carry the weight of the world for you with a goddamn smile on his face, there were just some things you wanted to do for yourself.

You didn’t miss the money. You’d been happier in this last year cramped up in a tiny one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn than you had in years living in a mansion filled with expensive artwork and a full-time staff. You wanted the inheritance back for a reason; one you though might help alleviate some of the stone that had nestled its way into your chest the day you met Brock.

A flyer was crumpled up in your work bag beside you; folded and tucked securely in the side pocket. You gently pulled it into your lap and brushed out the wrinkles. At the top it read, Hope Haven Women’s Shelter in large, purple block printed letters. Below it listed details of the address in Brooklyn, along with a 24/7 hotline, and an invitation to attend an open house this coming Saturday.

You’d kept in your bag for nearly two weeks. Not quite sure what to do with it. You hadn’t told Bucky about it either, unsure of how he would react. While Brock was in your past and you knew with absolutely certainty that Bucky would never hurt you – hell, he’d cut off his own hand before it could strike you – you still felt that pull towards the shelter. There was no money left to donate, and you didn’t know if it was for yourself or just wanting to give back in any way you could, but you wanted to go.

Inner conflict and guilt and a strange mix of belonging all rolled into one. Part of you felt like you didn’t deserve to be there, to share a space with women who bravely sought out the help they needed to escape from violent and cruel men, when you’d succumbed for so many years. You’d been part of the problem, hadn’t you? Silent and pretty as you stood next to a powerful man who spent his money and time making the city a darker, more vengeful place.

There was a voice, one screaming at you to believe that you’d been manipulated and taken advantage of and blackmailed unto submission. You did not have the choice to run or seek help when you needed it. You knew the power Brock held and what he could have done if he’d found out.

And still. The guilt, the feeling as though you don’t belong, festered.

You didn’t notice the front door unlatch as Bucky quietly made his way into the kitchen. So, as he came up behind you and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head, it startled you.

You yelped, clutching the flyer tight to your chest as Bucky jumped back, hands up defensively.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Bucky eased, sinking down to his knees beside you. He rested his hands on your thighs, watching as you slowly nodded at him, regaining your breath. “Sorry honey, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s alright,” you said with a tired smile, “been a long day.”

The crinkling of the paper in your hands seemed to draw his attention down to your lap. He narrowed his eyes, curious.

“What’s this?”

You crumpled it tight into your grip. “Nothing.”

Bucky softened, watching the tension build quickly into your shoulders; leftover panic from your time with Rumlow. It was ingrained in you and it would take more than just Bucky’s kindness and his love for you to let it go. You needed time, years maybe, to relearn how not to be afraid and he understood that.

But he’d seen the flyers posted around campus on the days he’d come up to visit you. He saw the bright purple border on the paper clutched in your fist and recognized it from the bulletin board posted outside your office. He knew what you held in your hand.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Bucky said softly, glancing up to meet your eyes. Surprised, wide, and a little nervous, but he offered a smile in response, his thumb soothing over your knee. “I just want you to know I think it’s a good idea. I mean, you don’t need my support to go but… you have it.”

Bucky cleared his throat nervously, offering a shy sort of smile as he continued. “I could, um, go with you if you want? Or we can call Nat? I know she’d go with you in a heartbeat if you asked. Whatever you want, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy.”

You were still for a moment, stunned, before you nodded. It’s not that you expected anything less from Bucky but it still surprised you most days that anyone could be as wonderful as he was. Brock had done a number on you and Bucky spent most of his time helping to undo all the damage your husband had caused. Bucky filled the shadows and the holes with flowers and light and love and slowly, all the good in him outshined all the bad in Brock.

“Thank you,” you exhaled, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Bucky nodded, a hand reaching up to brush your hair from your eyes. It rested on your neck, sweeping tenderly over your cheekbone. The most beautiful man you’d ever known.

***

Natasha picked you up ten minutes before the open house. You were pacing back and forth in the kitchen, sure to wear trenches into the tiles, while Bucky watched you from over the top of his book. Hands tugging at your shirt, eyes glancing back at the door every few paces, the anxiety was creeping its way through your entire body. Cheddar was weaving in and around your feet, daring you to trip over his tiny paws.

“You don’t have to go today,” Bucky offered but you shook your head.

“No, no. I need to do this.”

Bucky nodded, returning to his book without another word, though he still glanced up in your direction between paragraphs.

The buzzer nearly startled you out of your skin as it rang out. Cheddar scurried across the tile and sprang up onto the couch with Bucky, nestling his way onto the top cushions of the backrest.

Hand clutched at your chest, heart pounding a little faster, you quickly made your way to the door.

“Your jacket, love!” Bucky called out behind you, rushing up from his position on the couch to help wrap you up in the raincoat. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, smiling at you with a sort of pride in his eyes that made your stomach twist to knots.

“I’ll be back soon,” you told him, though he waved you off.

“Take your time. I’ll be here.” With that, Bucky returned to his place on the couch, book curled back up in his hands, blanket draped over his lap.

You paused by the door, watching him for a second longer, wondering how it was possible that you found a man so understanding and supportive after all you’d been through. It was as if he were a gift provided from the heavens for walking through hell.

As you made your way outside, locking the door behind you and descending the stairs, you found Natasha waiting patiently for you. Leaning against the exterior brick wall, arms folded over her chest, she smiled as you walked up to her.

“Ready?”

“I don’t know if that’s the right term for it, but I suppose.” You scratched at the back of your check, feeling the nerves dancing upon your skin.

“You’ll be just fine, I promise,” Nat swore, placing a gentle hand on your back and guiding you down the sidewalk. Her hand didn’t leave you until she’d distracted you enough with old stories of Sam and Bucky at the academy and the rush of your heartbeat had eased.

A few blocks and a short subway ride later, you found yourself standing outside a small, stoned building on the border of Brooklyn. It had little to identify it as a women’s shelter save for the small purple ribbon hung around the bannister. You stared up at it for a while, feeling a sudden sense of dread.

“Hey, come on,” Nat grabbed your hand, giving it a tight squeeze, “you’ve got this.”

You nodded, taking in a deep breath, though you did not release Natasha’s hand. Like an anchor keeping you afloat, she led you up the stairs and through the front door.

Inside, dozens of women were talking amongst one another. Some in lavender t-shirts identifying themselves as volunteers and employees of Hope Haven, others mingling quietly by the refreshments table or sitting awkwardly upon the couches looking around in silence. It was clear some of these women were familiar with one another, with the house itself, and the sanctuary it offered, but for many, it was their first time wandering into such a place.

You tried to avoid the startling discoloration on the neck of a woman sitting quietly on the couch by herself. Though Nat pulled you forward, you found yourself glancing back at the woman. She was stunning, beautiful in every way, but the expression on her face was one you recognized well; one of lingering panic, of the carpet sure to sweep out from under her feet, glances back at the door like she was expecting someone to come barging through.

“Oh my god, is that Y/n Rumlow?”

You froze dead in your tracks. Natasha’s hand squeezed yours again, drawing you back to the ground. You could feel the tension radiate through Natasha’s arm, as if she were already on the defensive for you, but as you met the eyes of the woman who called your name, she began to soften.

The woman stepped forward, a wide smile upon her face as she extended a hand to you; not to shake, but to hold. You gave her your free one cautiously, and she lit up.

“It is such a joy to have you here,” she said. “My name’s Shavonne. I do my best to run things around here for these ladies.”

You nodded, still unsure why she singled you out. In your experience, that usually wasn’t for anything good.

“We had the Hydra story on around here for weeks after the arrests last year,” she explained and several women around her nodded enthusiastically, smiling in your direction. “It was incredible what you did. The girls here were so enthralled, we had a watch party for the trial!”

Many of the women laughed and cheered in response. You looked around at them, stunned, as they smiled warmly back at you.

“You are exceptionally brave, Y/n,” Shavonne said and you could feel the sincerity in her words. “Thank you for coming today. We are so happy you’re here. Now, please! Enjoy the free food! Let me know if I can help you with anything at all.”

“I will,” you said, voice a little smaller than you meant, but she heard it. You supposed she must be used it by now with the amount of women in the home.

As Shavonne walked over to chat with some of the women standing by the television, you felt Nat tug you a little closer.

“You alright?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your cheeks as a petite woman by the mini sandwiches waved at you like an old friend.

“Actually, I’ll be right back,” you said, releasing your hand from Natasha’s hold. She narrowed her eyes on you, a little concerned, before she followed your gaze over to the woman on the couch you’d been eyeing as you walked in.

“I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Slowly, you crossed through the room, passing by women who whispered your name with traces of excitement rather than fear, who smiled brightly at you as you caught their eye, who giggled amongst themselves as you returned their waves. You’d never experienced anything like it.

You were used to people cowering in fear, whispering gossip under their breath, and turning their backs to you. These women welcomed you without a second thought, embraced you like their own. Whatever fears you had of not belonging, of not being enough, dissolved away.

“Is this seat taken?”

The women sitting alone upon the couch glanced up at you. She seemed a little startled by your presence, though she shook her head, and it was then you noticed the little boy sitting at her feet; tucked around her left shin, holding onto a toy plane as he weaved it through the air.

“Your son?” you asked, sitting down beside her. She nodded, brushing a hand over his head. “He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was small, a little raspy, and you didn’t dare to draw the connection to the discoloration on her neck.

“This is my first time here, too,” you said slowly, glancing around the house. It seemed to surprise her.

“Really?”

You nodded. “I never had the courage to seek out a place like this when I really needed it. It’s nice to know it’s here, though. I’m hoping I can volunteer, actually. After everything I’ve been through, to end up as happy as I am with a man who is beyond kind and exceptionally loving, it feels right to try to pass some of that onto others, you know?”

She watched you as you spoke and you could tell by the way she nodded along that she knew who you were.

“I thought you had a lot of courage,” she said after a moment, her fingers gently raking through her son’s hair. “Standing up the way you did... Working with the FBI to bring down Hydra and your own husband? It’s the kind of courage I dream of.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” You smiled warmly at her, offering your hand and waiting for her to take it. She placed it into your grasp and you gave it a light squeeze. “You have exceptional courage.”

She smiled at you, reflective tears brimming in her eyes. You pulled a small notebook from your bag, quickly ripping off the top sheet filled with notes for your next lecture, and scribbled down your number.

“I’m here for you if you need me, alright?” You handed her the paper. “Call anytime.”

She nodded, stunned, and quickly inputted the number to her phone. “Thanks. I’m Nina, by the way. This is my son, Marcos.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Nina,” you grinned, peering around her legs to her son, “and you too, Marcos.”

“Hi, honey, do you mind if I steal Y/n for a second?” Shavonne swept in from behind the couch.

Nina shook her head, a brighter smile on her face as she returned her attention to her son. You stood and followed Shavonne, glancing back to find two other women had moved in your place beside Nina and began to play with her son. She was laughing before you made it to the other side of the room.

***

“So how was it?” Bucky asked as you closed the door behind you, back safely inside the warm glow of the apartment.

Natasha had walked you back, grinning ear to ear at how excited she was to teach self defense classes once a month down at Hope Haven. She’d arranged it with Shavonne while you were talking with Nina. Shavonne had been thrilled to find out Nat was on the team that helped dismantle Hydra. It seemed many of the women had their own connections to the vile men in that organization.

You’d asked if you could volunteer on a few weekends a month and Shavonne, as warm and welcoming as she was, gave you a t-shirt on the spot and helped you fill out the forms at the kitchen table amongst the bowls of chips and mini-cupcakes.

You smiled the whole way home.

Bucky was watching you from his place on the couch, likely having barely moved since you left, though he was noticeably further along in his book. Cheddar was curled up in his lap, the soft orange hue of the lamp cast over him, waiting patiently under a starry night sky for you to return.

“Really good,” you said, shrugging off your coat and crossing the room to him. Cheddar jumped up to the top of the sofa as you crawled on top of Bucky, resting your head on his chest, arms curling around his sides. “Just really glad I found you.”

Cheddar purred softly beside you, his tail swinging down and brushing against your shoulder blades. Bucky swept your hair from your face, pulling you up to press a kiss against your lips, short and sweet, before you nestled back in against him.

“Me too, love.”

Bucky propped his book up on your back and began to read aloud. Safe and content. Warm and sound. Exceptionally and emphatically loved.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

288 notes · View notes

honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

Text

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 namjoon x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 9.7k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 desperate to finally break your masturbatory dry spell, you seek out a professional.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, sex work, masturbation (f), fingering (f), soft dom!namjoon, sub!reader, light degradation, roleplay, oral (f), use of sex toys, crying during sex woo, namjoon is a professional

---

“So; you’re having problems in the bedroom?”

You choke on your own spit and your cheeks flush a violent red. “Um, I- I guess? It’s not, uh…” You trail off uselessly, keeping your eyes firmly focused on the bland, off-white wall behind the man’s head.

He doesn’t seem fazed by your response, choosing to move past it. “Are you having problems being pleasured by a partner, or problems pleasuring yourself?”

If your cheeks could get any hotter, they do then. You let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Sorry, that’s a little… I didn’t realize this would be so…”

“So personal? This is a sex clinic, Ms. L/n, it’s why you’re here. There is nothing to be ashamed about. How about this? I’ll ask you yes-no questions, and then you don’t have to give up information yourself. Saying it is often the hardest part, I’ve found. Alright then; are you having problems bringing yourself to orgasm when masturbating?”

You bite down hard on your lip as you nod, beyond ashamed. It was good that the doctor seemed so blasé and unbothered and professional about it, but you were starting to regret coming.

Doctor Kim flashes you a reassuring smile and clicks his pen against his chest to open it, scribbling a note on his clipboard. “Okay, that’s fine. Is this a recent issue?” You nod stiffly. “Alright. You used to be able to achieve orgasm, but in recent times that’s changed, correct?” Another nod. “Would I be correct in assuming you have had a lot of stress in your life crop up?”

You let out a small huff. “Look, I wrote all this down on the application form. I don’t see why we have to go through it all again if you already have the answers.”

You jump a little in your seat as he slaps the clipboard down on his desk, fixing you a focused stare. “Y/n- may I call you Y/n? Y/n, quite frankly, if you’re not mature enough to hold a conversation about sexual activity like an adult, then I’m afraid you’re not mature enough to be using my services. This isn’t some back-end business; I’m not a prostitute, this is my profession, and I take it rather seriously, you’ll find. Sex is natural. Our bodies are natural. Now, do you want to stay and talk to me so that I can help you, or is this too much? If it is, I suggest you take your leave.”

Inexplicably, his firm tone has a heat rising deep within, something you haven’t felt in a while. When you speak, your voice is hoarse. “I’ll stay.”

And with that, his body and face relaxed, as he leans back in his chair comfortably. “Wonderful. Continuing on, then. What exactly have you tried to get an orgasm? Just your fingers, toys, what?”

“I thought…” You swallow hard. “I thought you said you’d give yes-or-no questions?”

“And I thought you said you wanted this.”

You sigh again. Fuck, why was it so hard to just say it? “Um, I use fingers and… that’s about it.” You swallow again and clear your throat.

“No, it isn’t,” he shoots back immediately with a raised brow, clicking his pen against the surface of the paper. “Honestly, Ms. L/n, I’ve worked at this clinic for six years. Nothing you could possibly say would faze me. I once had a client who confessed he had tried to reach orgasm by putting a blunted letter opener into his urethra.”

Your mouth gapes open. “He what? Wait, you’re not supposed to give details about clients. Isn’t that breaching, like, patient confidentiality?”

The doctor simply shrugs. “I asked his permission to use it as a teaching moment. I found it’s been rather helpful to assure people that there is nothing too ‘wild’ or ‘out-there’. Everyone has different tastes. As a matter of fact, that man found it incredibly effective.”

You blink. “Well, uh, mine isn’t anything like that. I just have a, you know,” you break off to gesture at your crotch in a vaguely penetrative motion.

Doctor Kim pinches his lips together, a dimple appearing on one cheek. “A dildo? Or a vibrator?”

“First one,” you admit. “Is that… That’s all the questions, right? What else could you possibly ask?”

He raises an eyebrow, taking some notes before he puts his full attention on you again. “Plenty. How fast do you penetrate yourself with the dildo? Could you indicate the speed of your hand?” You go dead pale. He holds a neutral expression for a moment longer before he cracks, laughing loudly with his eyes scrunched shut. You go limp against your chair, cheeks red for a different reason. “Sorry, I’m just playing with you. The inquisition is complete, I promise. Now, Sandra at the front desk can make you an appointment, and I’ll be sure to send you out an email with any instructions prior to our session. Thanks for coming in.”

With the session being made for that Friday, it was Thursday afternoon that the anticipated email came through. You were at work, stuck in meetings all morning and desperately trying to catch up on your personal stash of work after lunch, when a ping sounded, lighting up your screen with a notification from [email protected]. Hurriedly, you fumble to turn the screen dark, glancing around to make sure no one around your desk had somehow read it.

You stewed in nervous energy for the rest of your day, only opening the email once you were in the privacy of your own home with a freshly made hot drink to calm you down.

Expecting the instructions from the donotreply email address to be generic, you were surprised when it instead instructed you to click on a link to their database, with a random string of letters and numbers as an access code.

On the official website (which looked unbelievably slick and professional like any other business’ page), under a section titled MyHealing, you put in the code as requested, eyes widening as you saw just how organized the system was.

There was a tab for Customer Info, one for Session History, one for Calendar, and a final one with no name, just a little envelope symbol with a small, red 1 above it. You click on it and are taken to an inbox with a single message from Doctor Kim Namjoon.

Y/n,

Thank you for booking an appointment. Your session is slotted in for Friday 9th, 5:15pm. Should you need to cancel or reschedule less than 24 hours before, keep in mind the $40 fee will apply. Personalized instructions for this appointment are below. Please note that new instructions will be sent out for every appointment; these are not intended to be used for anything other than this specific session.

You take another sip from your mug as you read that line. ‘Every appointment’. How often did he think you were going to be coming back? You had booked in imagining once you got some sexual release, you’d be fine again. Perhaps it was a blanket statement he told every customer. You let it slip your mind and continue reading.

I advise you first and foremost to get a good night’s sleep on Thursday. Since your appointment is late in the day, I would also suggest a midday nap if possible. I assume you’re at work during the day. Make sure you have enough water, and if your job is at a desk, use your lunch break to go for a walk, preferably outside. When it comes to orgasms, one part is physical, one part is mental, and only a small part is the actual stimulation. So, you can understand how important it is to make sure your body is physically primed and ready for exertion.

Secondly, the mental side of things. I know it’s hard but try not to get too stressed out about the appointment during the day. It’s understandable that you might be nervous but putting too much pressure on yourself will only make reaching orgasm more difficult.

Instead, keep yourself occupied with things you enjoy as much as possible. Consider taking the afternoon off if you have enough leave.

Finally, stimulation. We didn’t cover if you’re still currently attempting masturbation regularly or not, but I would like you on the Thursday night to get yourself as aroused as you can. Watch pornography, read erotica, touch yourself. But don’t try to actually achieve an orgasm. If you simply-

You toss your phone on the couch beside you and huff. Fuck. He really wrote you a whole essay, huh? Did he do this for every customer, for every appointment? He had said he took his job seriously. You just didn’t realize it was to this degree. Hopefully he was as thorough in the practical side of his job as he was in the administration.

Later that night, you decided to treat yourself to a hot bath. Relaxing in the perfumed waters, you lazily bring a hand down to rest between your legs. As Doctor Kim said, he didn’t know whether you were still trying to get yourself off or not, but in reality, it varied greatly. Some evenings you'd spent hours, with aching wrists and tears of frustration, to no avail. Other days you gave up completely and wallowed in your sexual frustration, haplessly grinding against a pillow between your legs for the minimal relief it provided.

But you had re-read over the notice a couple of times, and it was clear that Doctor Kim didn’t want you cumming tonight. Just getting a little riled up in the hopes that your body would be more desperate to cum tomorrow.

Water always gives a weird kind of friction, so it’s somewhat of a hassle trying to rub at your clit, but once you settle into a natural rhythm, you close your eyes and lean back until the water laps over your shoulders. You hitch a leg up over the side of the tub and let out a deep breath.

It always started out nice. You’d get a false sense of hope, that the flicker of pleasure would ignite into anything more than a low smolder, but it never did. Although, this time, knowing full well that cumming isn’t a goal, you find yourself enjoying the relaxing stimulation for its face value. You knead lazily at your breast, rolling a nipple between your fingers as your other hand continues its circling motions. Gradually, your mind naturally begins to float, and a scene begins to materialize in your imagination: in your mind’s eye, your fingers are replaced by much larger and thicker ones, and instead of the grazing of your fingernail it was teeth latching around your nipple, tugging lightly to make your toes curl. Fingering yourself is generally a fruitless endeavor, but you can’t help but clench, longing to be filled by him.

Him… Whether by the context of your relationship, or genuine attraction, it’s Doctor Kim Namjoon that fills your thoughts, the way the water would stain his button-up sleeves rolled up to the elbow, but not quite high enough to avoid the sloshing of water. You hear the scribble of a ballpoint on that clipboard, like he’s taking note of your reactions, like you’re something to be studied and analyzed.

Below the water level, you grind your hips into your hand, rubbing yourself with the flats of four of your fingers know in an effort to increase the surface area. One of your nipples is flushed from being pinched and tugged at, so you clumsily cross your arm over to the other side, whining into the damp air of your bathroom once you begin repeating your ministrations. You should probably open a window. The vents aren’t great and the last thing you need is a moldy ceiling.

You grunt low in your throat, shaking your head. You can worry about that later, dammit. With added vigor, you press at your clit, biting down on your lip to try and out all your focus into going faster and harder. Only it doesn’t feel as good as before.

Where was I? Doctor Kim’s arms. Maybe he’d forgo the button-down shirt completely and decide to strip down, getting into the tub with you, wrapping his arms over your front and pulling you down onto him. You huff, furrowing your eyebrows, holding onto your breath, feeling that pleasure slip away from you. Come on, imagine him fingering you or something, what’s wrong with you, he’s hot! That smile, the thick thighs straining under pants material. Not long before you’d see him again, tomorrow night. It was strange that he worked nights, though you supposed considering his job it made sense that people might prefer-

“Fuck!” Your hands have come to a halt, too distracted to continue, and that slow burning of pleasure in your gut has been extinguished as if from the now-lukewarm water you sit in. You let out a frustrated cry and kick out with the leg that’s still in the water, splashing water up the wall in front. “Fuck off! Are you serious?” You force yourself to take a deep breath and tamp down your rising frustration. The kind doctor had told you not to cum, so it was probably for the best that you didn’t get too into it. Still, it’s irritating you that even the thought of a… a sex professional getting you off isn’t enough to actually get you off. You huff, picking up the bar of soap off its dish, and begin to lather yourself up. “Good luck, Doctor Kim,” you mutter.

Surprisingly, you sleep well and have a productive morning. Missing the morning traffic and arriving at a quiet office lifts your mood, and you have just enough work to remain mentally and physically occupied. In fact, you’re sure you would’ve spent your whole day in this calm working mentality, were it not for the phone call that comes just after midday.

Most of the office is out on their lunch break. Only a few of you hang around this time; you know others just prefer to eat earlier or later, but you actively hang around because you appreciate the chance for some peace and quiet. That tranquility is broken by the aggressive buzzing of your phone on your desk. Anticipating a call from a client later on, you figure they’re just phoning in a little early, and you answer it without checking the number.

“Y/n L/n speaking,” you rattle off automatically, “how may I help?”

A low chuckle on the other end gives you pause. It certainly doesn’t sound like the retired seamstress you were expecting to hear. “Did you give me your work phone number, little miss?”

A shot of electricity shoots up your spine and you sit bolt upright in your office chair, instinctively glancing around the five or six people milling about the office floor. “Doctor Kim,” you reply in a low voice.

“Correct. Have you suddenly entered a library or is there another reason you’ve gone all quiet?” His voice is lilting with amusement and you can almost picture him sitting back in his office chair, dimple sticking out as he grins.

Your fingers curl around your phone, and you use your other hand to cup over your mouth, leaning forward over your desk. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting you to call,” you reply honestly, “is there a problem?”

“Of course not. My clinic has a policy of always giving a reminder call the day of or before the appointment.”

You pout. “Oh.” Somehow, the fact that he calls everyone makes you feel something akin to disappointment. “Shouldn’t your receptionist do stuff like that?”

“Would you prefer I put Sandra on the phone?”

“No,” you blurt out reflexively. The doctor rewards your honesty with a breathy chuckle. You press your knees together and clench your thighs. “So, just a reminder then? Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. Thanks for the call, though.”

“You haven’t?” You can hear the teasing smile in his voice, and it affects you more than you care to admit. “You’ve been thinking about it, then? Have you been trying to guess what I have in store for you? What I’m going to do to you?”

You clear your throat awkwardly, sensing the conversation taking a decidedly sexual turn. “I’ve been trying to focus on my work, actually. Like your message said.”

“Ah, that’s good. Did you take the afternoon off like I suggest, or are you just on your lunch break?”

You barely hear him speak, your heart skipping a beat when a crowd of some of the older employees starts filing back in. Fuck. 12:32pm. People were going to start getting back to work now, you couldn’t be on the phone with a sex therapist. “Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”

He pauses for a moment. “Are you still at work?”

You clear your throat, ducking your head as one of your superiors walks past. “Uh, yes, sir. Will that be all?”

He chuckles, though it’s more a sharp exhale through his nose, slightly crackly through the receiver. “Spending company time talking to the man who will fuck your brains out tonight?” You cringe at how loud he speaks, mind going blank with shock. You can’t find your voice to reply, though you have no idea what you would even say. He listens to you splutter for a few moments, your lack of response an answer in itself. “Naughty girl,” he chastises. “What would your coworkers think if they knew who you were talking to? I bet you wish you weren’t at work right now so you could just slip a hand into your panties, isn’t that right?” You bite down hard on your lip, using the ruse of sliding your office chair further in as cover for rubbing your core against the seat for some relief. “Come on, Y/n,” Doctor Kim’s voice echoes in your ear, “what did we say about yes-no questions?”

“Yes, sir,” you make out through a tense jaw, hoping your voice sounds as bright and customer-friendly as it normally would be with anyone else, even as your thighs clench together. “My office hours are 8:30am to 4:30pm Monday to Friday.”

“Oh?” His laugh bubbles through your phone and makes you absentmindedly start scrunching up a scrap bit of paper on your desk. He was enjoying this. “So, you’re there for a while still, hm? I wonder if you can make it until 4:30pm or if you’ll have to sneak into the bathroom and get some relief. It’s a shame I can’t stay on the line; I’d have loved to hear you moan over the phone, unable to keep quiet as you touch yourself. Oh well. I’ll make you moan for me later tonight.”

You slowly slip your hand down, tucking it between your legs and shifting your hips slowly beneath your desk, grinding against the delicate bones of your wrist for some friction. “The, uh, the appointment is confirmed, sir, thank you. Is there anything else I can help you with before I go?”

You hear a pen clicking, and some hurried strokes against paper in the background. The thought that, like your fantasy last night, he was writing down notes on all your reactions and desires, brought a rush of heat between your legs. You can feel the fabric of your panties, wet through to the outside of the fabric and dampening the skin of your arm. Oh god. “That will be all, Ms. Y/n. I look forward to our appointment tonight very much. Don’t forget to drink enough water to prepare for the fluids you’ll be depleting in our session. Have a splendid day.”

All the energy leaves you the moment the line goes dead, and your top half slumps forward onto the desk. You pull your arm out from between your legs, rubbing away the slippery patch on the side of your wrist before anyone can see it. You didn’t think you were going to get much work done for the rest of the day.

“Are you nervous?”

You lift your gaze from your trembling hands to the man sitting across from you. The two of you were the only ones in the cosy waiting room you had been led to. It was something halfway between a bedroom and a spa, with a great long bed covered in cushions and blankets, a bench laden with food and drink, and several diffusers spraying gently perfumed mist into the air.

The stranger was there when you had arrived moments prior. A green silk robe loosely tied around his waist was the only thing he was wearing as he lounged on the bed, lazily scrolling through his phone, black hair curled and damp, sticking haphazardly to his temples and cheekbones. He had watched you in mild curiosity as you walked in and stiffly sat down on a cosy armchair, and didn’t take a moment before initiating conversation.

He looks at you now with an expectant glimmer. You recall the question and flick him a shy smile. “Mm. First time,” you explain with a sheepish shrug. You let your gaze linger on his attire. “Are you...waiting to go in, too?”

His brows lift in surprise, along with a toothy grin. “Oh, no! I just got out of my sesh with the doc. This is just the whole aftercare shtick. I’m Jungkook, by the way,” he adds with a jaunty wave of his hand.

His languid ease has you relaxing a little, and you crack a smile. “I’m Y/n. So, how many times have you come here exactly? I thought surely once he fixed you, you’d be fine?”

The corner of his mouth quirks. He tosses his phone carelessly onto the bedcovers and sits up a little, the robe falling open to reveal his chest, all defined muscle and tanned skin, glimmering with a sheen of sweat. "Hey, that's what I thought. But honestly? This shit's addictive. I work an extra ten hour shift every week now to afford one hour of bliss. I think I may be in love with him. Or at least, I'm definitely in love with his mouth."

Your eyes drop to the thick carpet as you flush with the mental image that provides, but you can't help but glance back up out of curiosity as his words sink in. "Wait, his mouth? I thought he was meant to just..."

"Jerk people off? I mean, sure, he can do that, but the doc tends to mix it up. With how packed his schedule is, he'd probably get fucking carpal tunnel or some shit if he just jacked his patients off all day. He's a pretty creative dude when it comes to this, you know?" He breaks off with a faraway smile. "Actually, I consider myself a bit of an innovator, too. One time I had this letter opener, right, and-"

"Mister Jeon," an unimpressed voice drawls from behind you, "please refrain from accosting my clients with your sexual history. I am sure they don't find it as enlightening as you do."

You whirl around, heart immediately returning to its aggressive thudding, palms dampening in moments. Standing in the doorway, in a three-piece suit, is Doctor Kim Namjoon, one leg crossed over the other as he tucks a hand into his pants pocket. It's a vast difference from the simple shirt and pants combo he had on when you last saw him, and it seems he takes note of your startled reaction.

"It's casual Friday," he jokes with an easygoing grin, and it only strikes you then, as his eyes lock with yours, that you're about to have sex with this man. Maybe not in the traditional sense, but you'd be leaving this building feeling fully fucked out if all went well. Your nerves return with a vengeance, and his face softens. "Come on inside, Y/n."

A scoff tears your attention from the doctor. "Oh, so I'm Mister Jeon, but she's Y/n?"

Doctor Kim's jaw ticks, though it's bemusement rather than anger on his face. "Would you like me to call you Y/n?"

Jungkook pouts, picking at a loose thread on his robe petulantly. "No." He pouts deeply, looking up at the older man reproachfully. "If you keep being mean to me I won't come back anymore."

The doctor nods patiently like he's heard it a thousand times. "I'll see you next Friday, Jungkook. Do well on your bio exam next week and I might just show you how mean I can really be."

Jungkook's face clears and his eyes gleam. Without speaking, he simply gets up and jogs over to the little set of lockers by the exit, gathering his belongings. Doctor Kim doesn't spare him any more attention, and simply gestures for you to follow him.

You make your way down a dimly-lit corridor with wobbly legs, trying not to stare at the way his pants strained around his behind with every stride he took. Although there’s a distant wisp of relaxing piano emanating from the waiting room, the silence is unbearable.

“So,” you blurt, cringing at how loud your voice sounds in the stillness of the corridor, “what do you have planned?”

“Well, if Jungkook inspired you, I did bring along a letter opener,” the doctor calls out pleasantly, tilting his head, though he doesn’t turn to look at you.

Your step falters uncertainly. “Oh, I don’t…” You watch in dawning realization as he stops in front of a closed door and swivels, face scrunched up with delight as his shoulders shake silently. Although it was a dig at your naivety, you can’t help but crack a smile at him. “Aren’t doctors meant to be nice to their patients?”

He fumbles in his pockets, producing a keycard to scan at the entrance. Once it’s opened, he holds it there and turns to you expectantly. As you catch up to him and slip through the opened door, you can’t help but brush past his chest with your shoulder, breathing in his soothing scent of raspberry and vanilla. You hadn’t expected him to smell so...sweet.

You hear the door click shut behind you, self-locking, and that layer of security reassures you. Your attention, however, is quickly caught by the contents of the room itself.

It’s this disconcerting mix of a massage room, a doctor’s office, and a sex dungeon, and your head whirls as Doctor Kim preoccupies himself with messing with the heatpump settings on the far wall.

In the centre of the room is a traditional massage table, lowered to around the height of his hips, covered in a lush-looking slate grey towel. You figured the usual white wouldn’t fare so well with his line of work. Two of the walls make great use of shelves and cabinets, and you can’t help but be bewildered at the strange way they’re organised. A man like him surely had a system to keep everything in track, but dildos were beside bottles of massage oil and ropes, and a collection of gags and leashes hanging from hooks dangled above a little pyramid of neatly rolled towels and a steaming metal bowl of warm water.

“Please, take a seat anywhere you feel comfortable.”

You jerk out of your gaping stare and clear your throat awkwardly, moving to take a seat on a little wooden stool that sat in the corner of the room in front of a small dresser covered in props like handcuffs, some blindfolds and, strangely, a black ski mask with eye and mouth holes cut out. The image of the friendly doctor fucking someone in a full burglar outfit makes you snort out a laugh before you have the time to clap your hand over your mouth.

You press your lips together with a muffled giggle as the man himself flattens a stare.

“Is my job funny to you?”

Your smile drops as you recognise the change in his tone. Gone is the somewhat clumsy, joke-cracking doctor. Now he’s in his role. The session has begun. “No,” you deny weakly.

His deft fingers gravitate to the buttons holding his suit jacket together, and you feel the room become hotter as he walks the perimeter of the room slowly, eying up all the offerings he has to play with while he slips off the expensive material. Hanging the jacket on a coat rack beside the black cape and what looks like priests’ robes that already reside there, he turns on a heel to face you. His eyebrows are low, narrowing his eyes, but you can see the dark heat that radiates off him. You tuck your knees together. God, he’s good and he hasn’t even done anything. “My profession isn’t something to be laughed at,” he chastises lowly. “We had this problem the other day, didn’t we? With you not taking this seriously. It’s disappointing, Y/n.”

Your heart thuds uncertainly in your chest. The natural instinct to get upset from being told off mixes with the warmth building between your legs. “Sorry,” you offer up, voice lifting at the end like it’s a question.

He’s on the other side of the room to you. You wish he were closer, though now that he’s unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and beginning to roll the sleeves, eyes locked on your hunched-over form with an unreadable look, you don’t know that you could handle it. “No, you aren’t,” he brushes off, “and it’s very important that in this next 90 minutes, you only say things you absolutely mean. Understand?”

You take a steadying breath, feeling it expand your chest. “Yeah. I understand. It’s just… a lot. I’ve never done this, and I don’t know what’s going to happen, and-”

The tension disappears from his jaw and his eyes soften. In mere moments, he’s crossed the room in strides to crouch in front of you, catching your lowered gaze. “Woah, settle. First of all, everyone starts somewhere, so don’t feel anxious. Secondly, how many times have you had sex and known exactly what was going to happen in advance?”

His palms are warm and grounding as they gently rest, wrapped around your calves. You breath deeply again, appreciating this break in character. “I… But we’re not having sex though, right? This is, I don’t know,” you shrug futilely, “different.”

He returns your shrug, but with a far more carefree attitude. “It doesn’t have to be.” As he talks, his grip tightens a little on your calves, gently pressing into the tensed muscle. You find yourself relaxing without noticing, going lax in his touch, as non-sexual as it may be. “But, for the most part, people that come here do want it to be different. More exciting, more taboo, more intense. You need to communicate with me now. Do you want me to go easy on you, or do you want me to be thorough?”

Your mouth goes dry. With his hands on you, with the room you’re in, with the way his eyes linger heavy on yours, the word makes your toes curl. “Thorough,” you croak out.

He searches your face once more, then a slow grin spreads across his. “Excellent. Then get up on the massage table.”

He stands up; the lack of his touch on your legs makes you shiver. You follow him over, feeling your palms damp with nervous sweat. “On my front, or…?”

“Just sit on it for now, baby.” His eyes are alight with mirth when you blush at the petname, but he’s quickly snapping back into that dominant role, jaw muscles popping out as he watches you get up, facing him as your legs dangle in the air, not quite reaching the ground. You wait for him to get closer to you, but he ticks an eyebrow in affirmation and turns abruptly, stalking across the room to a tall, thin cupboard. He reaches in without speaking, and when he turns, in his hands he carries a vibrator in his hand, a relatively friendly-looking, gold bullet that looks rather small in his hand.

You think you recognise the brand, and if you’re right, it’s unbelievably high end. As he makes his way over to you, his gaze drops to your legs, which you’ve begun absentmindedly swinging back and forth. “Cute,” he remarks with a small sneer, and you abruptly stop, embarrassed at the childish action. “Don’t be so shy,” he advises, “I plan on hearing you scream for me tonight at some point or another. These walls are soundproof, you know. Every little sound you make will only be heard by me. Now spread those pretty legs.”

Suddenly, even though arousal steadily rocks through you, your legs lock up and you go stiff. The room is being pumped with warm air and yet your skin breaks out in goosebumps.

The doctor notices this, of course he does, and fiddles with the bullet, flipping it over and over in his palm as he makes his way back to you, stopping when his upper thighs brush against your knees. “What’s wrong? Second thoughts?”

You shake your head hastily, though you’re no less tense. “Just- just really nervous.”

His eyes warm in sympathy. “Hm, that’s no good. I can’t get you to cum with your legs shut tighter than a vice.” A quirk of a smile. “Well, I could, but we don’t have time for that today. So, let’s help you relax.” His free hand reaches up to brush against your shoulder. Even though he’s fully clothed as well, you still feel strange still wearing the large sweater and leggings you had arrived in. The fabric feels itchy on your skin, and you yearn for his palm to warm your skin instead of your sweater.

He lets out a breathy laugh as his hand rubs slowly up and down your upper arm. “God, look at you,” he marvels, “I’ve never seen someone so stressed still look so beautiful.” You manage to crack a reluctant smile, cheeks heating. He places the golden bullet vibe on the towel beside you, and pats your knee warmly. “Would it help if I kissed you?”

Your mouth drops open a little. You have to swallow away the dryness. With eyes unable to leave his perfect lips, you nod.

“Good, I can do that,” he soothes, “can you part your legs for me so I can get a little closer?”

The moment you shakily do as he asks, his hips are pressing against your thighs, pushing them wider still. You hastily dart your lips out to wet them, but he’s in no rush. The doctor slips a hand into your hair, brushing it off your face with fondly gleaming eyes.

It’s an expression you’ve never seen someone look at you with before, and you let yourself sit in the fantasy that it’s anything more than acting.

“C’mere,” he murmurs softly, before pressing lightly on the back of your head so that you straightened up to meet him halfway. You sigh into him when your lips touch, unbelievably soft yet insistent as they move against you.

He’s clearly experienced; you quiver inside with every movement, and he barely moves at all, drawing out the languid embrace. Your jaw falls slack, and you let yourself be guided by him, following his patient lead.

The room itself is quiet, and you can hear the way he lets out the smallest of grunts, delicate sounds of affirmation as you part your lips and feel the very tip of his tongue swipe against your lips, sucking the bottom one into his mouth and tugging it lightly, chuckling when you let out a throaty whimper.

“Do you feel better now? Hm?”

He pulls away but your eyes stay shut, your whole body stretched up towards him. You nod, licking over your slightly swollen lips, humming in agreement. You smile dopily when he caresses your face, leaning into his touch, as his silken voice reaches your ears. “Are you ready to play?”

Your breath leaves you in one shuddering gasp. “Yeah,” you whine pleafully, eyes slowly slipping back open.

He’s standing over you, closer than you realised. Only a mere few centimetres rest between his crotch and your spread legs. Still, he uses that space to dip his hand down, brushing the back of it between your thighs, knuckles pressing teasingly lightly over your clothed core. “I bet you want these pants off, huh? You wanna take ‘em off for me?”

You nod obediently, kicking off your shoes before you wiggle your leggings and underwear off your hips awkwardly, lifting your legs up onto the bench to tug them off your ankles. Doctor Kim takes them and places them in the corner of the room by the door, and by the time he comes back, you’ve crossed your legs, leaning forward so that your sweater hem covers your naked center.

His eyes fall down to that dip in the hem, darkening. His fingers come up to lazily tug at his tie, loosening it and undoing his top shirt button so that the white pressed fabric parts, revealing a golden upper chest. “You sure seem to like that, don’t you?”

You frown. “Like what?”

“Acting innocent like that.” He’s in front of you again, hands immediately wrapping around your thighs, and the touch is electric, making you more aware of how naked you are. “There won’t be any of that innocence left when I’m done with you,” he promises lowly, before bending down to capture your lips again.

You let yourself be taken over by him, drunk on the arousal that glows warm within you. The heat your own body is enough that you don’t notice the missing presence of a palm resting on your inner thigh, until your sweater is shifting and something ice cold is slipping between your folds.

You hiss in a breath and jerk in his grasp, causing him to shush you, lips still firmly attached to you, though they leave your mouth and migrate southward, nibbling along your jawline up to your ear. “The vibrator,” he explains gruffly, “I’m going to turn it on. Just relax.”

Your legs shift, ankles uncrossing slightly so that you’re more open to him, though you can’t bear to open your eyes, trying to stop the nerves from getting to you.

The moment he turns it on your back arches from the immediate shockwave of pleasure that radiates from that tiny yet strong vibe held directly against your clit. You swallow your moan, breathing heavily through your nose as you fight to keep quiet, letting the mechanic buzz fill the silence instead.

“Is it good?” the doctor questions, making you tremble as his lips dip lower, brushing over the column of your neck with just the slightest hint of tongue. You nod feverishingly, attempting to push your pelvis forward for more of it, rocking your hips in small circles to increase the surface area. The hand still on your thigh tightens, and you open your eyes blearily at the grip. Doctor Kim’s eyes are hard. “It doesn’t sound like it,” he comments flatly, turning up the vibe to a higher setting, making your mouth drop silently open.

“It is good,” you force out, beginning to pant.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. I know you want to moan for me, baby. Let me hear you lose control.”

You whine through a closed mouth, eyes screwing shut again in focus as he lets you chase your own please. How could he seriously expect you to moan in front of him? He was basically a stranger, and although the way he pinned your thigh spread for him, holding a sex toy to you as you got off on it was hot, you were still in a room alone with him on a Friday evening, paying for him to bring you to orgasm. He was probably just staring at you, waiting for you to hurry up and come already.

“Stop thinking, Y/n,” he chastises, “stay in the room.” You shake your head, wishing you could, but it’s too late. The weirdness of the situation hits you, and you open your eyes, searching for a clock on the wall.

The price of this 90-hour appointment was practically highway robbery, and all he was doing was something you could’ve done yourself at home. And as your eyes coast around the room and the curve of your spine settles, you realize that what’s worst of all is that he won’t even be able to do it. You’ve lost that thread, the one that leads you over the edge, and he won’t have time to get it back before-

You shoot up straight when a stinging slap lands on your thigh. You gape at the man in front of you in shock, hand instinctively going to the pinkened flesh to soothe it. “Ow!”

You realize belatedly he’d turned off the vibe, now holding it between two fingers and a thumb. It’s shining with your slick, but less than you’d have expected by this point, and he sighs in disappointment and tosses it onto the towel beside you.

You suddenly feel, as he cocks an unimpressed eyebrow and tenses his jaw, like you’re a child being scolded for breaking a vase or skipping class. Your legs tighten up together, and you gather a fistful of sweater fabric in your hand, pushing it down to cover yourself.

“You know why I stopped?”

You nod shamefully, eyes dropping to the carpet below. “You couldn’t do it. There’s something wrong with me, I guess. Sorry for wasting your time.”

He pauses for a long moment. You almost glance up out of curiosity but can’t stand to see the look of disapproval that no doubt resides in his eyes. “No, Y/n,” he explains tiredly, “I can see clearly now that your problem is that you’re too in your own head, and no amount of stimulation can break through an unwilling mind. So, like any good doctor, if something isn’t working for one of my patients then I stop and reassess. What was on your mind?”

You breathe out heavily, not wanting to have to sit and talk about feelings, but he’s not satisfied when you shrug, simply pulling up a stool and waiting for your answer.

Your mouth tightens and you stare at the ceiling. “I just feel stupid,” you admit finally, “like… you’re just standing there waiting for me to cum and I’m just… not. I don’t know.”

Out of your peripheral, you see him nod slowly, processing your words. “Well, no wonder it wasn’t working. You feel pressured to cum.”

You furrow your eyebrows and look back over to him. “Well, yeah, that’s the whole point of this session.”

He just opens his palms out in a shrug. “Of course, we had booked it in for that, but that’s not my only job as a sex therapist. I have clients that come to learn how to better pleasure a partner, clients that want to explore their kinkier sides without judgement, clients that perhaps are wanting to indulge in something that could potentially be dangerous and want a professional to spot them. I’ve had couples come in and have sex with my supervision because they’re trying something new and are concerned about injury. My point is, not everybody comes here for me to simply bring them to orgasm and go.”

You shake your head quickly. “Oh, I wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to say that your job was just-”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, “I just want you to know that sessions with me aren’t a complete failure if the client doesn’t orgasm. Perhaps you need a little more trust and we can work up to it.”

You bite your lip, uncertain. “I can’t really afford a bunch of sessions like that other dude. If you can’t do it today, I’ll just go-”

“How about this?” The doctor rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together. With the nearly see-through white shirt rolled up to the elbows, a slackened tie, and straining pants, he strikes a powerful image. “If you promise me to come back, I’ll give you the next session for free. Since you came here expecting to be brought to orgasm, we can call it fair compensation. Today you won’t orgasm. Sound fair?”

You relax a little as you perch on the massage bed. “Okay… But what would we even do then?”

“Like I said, orgasming isn’t the only thing I offer. You mentioned earlier you felt uncomfortable with me waiting for you to come, is that right?” You nod slowly. “Well, perhaps if you didn’t feel that I was expecting anything from you, you could relax more.”

“I don’t understand,” you admit, trailing off.

“Stand up, I have something for you.”

You do so immediately, needing to use the massage bed for support as your knees buckle slightly. The doctor slips a hand under his waistband slightly, drawing your gaze lower to his crotch, where a bulge strains against the fabric.

“I think you would benefit from focussing on yourself a little less,” you hear him say as his hands pop open his pants, dipping into his underwear to pull his straining cock loose, “and focus on me a little more. Do you see how horny you made me, grinding on that vibrator?”

Your eyes widen. You watch his hand, defined by thick veins and delicate bones, stroke himself, a thumb dragging over the slit to spread the beads of precum that were produced. “Is this what you have for me?” you question in confusion.

He laughs. “No, although I do love the way you’re looking at it like a three-course meal. Eyes up,” he commands with a bite of humor in his voice. You hastily obey, and his warm eyes crinkle as he jerks his head to the side. “Let’s go; we’re changing location.”

You frown. “Sorry, what? Changing to where?”

You watch in wonder as he casually strides over to a bookshelf near the far corner of the room, clothes disheveled and leaking cock still in hand. What you had failed to notice when entering the room was a sliding door just past it, the same unassuming wood finish as the shelves. He slides it open, removing the hand from around his dick to wave you through.

Tugging on the hem of your baggy sweater to attempt to cover yourself - though you weren’t sure there was anything of you left to hide - you let him lead you through the small opening into a far darker room. You squint, eyes adjusting, and slowly the gentle light of several flickering candles is enough to see by. They’re scattered around the room, and you notice soon enough that they’re all electric.

“Safety hazard,” the doctor explains. “Me, not the candles.” The rest of the room, in a hazy warm glow, is outfitted in a very different vibe from the previous one. Instead of containing all the erotic bells and whistles, this room could be easily mistaken for a honeymoon suite. On the outskirts are a bar fridge, a few armchairs, and a coffee table, but the main event is the gigantuan bed that takes up almost all the floor space, even more lushly covered with blankets and pillows than the one you had seen in the waiting room.

“Far out,” you breathe, “this is impressive.”

With a rakish grin, he remarks, “what? The purpose-built sex room didn’t do it for you?” Doctor Kim gently slides the door shut behind the two of you, making his way over to a small bluetooth speaker resting on the coffee table. “I had suspected when you responded so well to that kiss that you might be the type to need a comforting environment to keep you in the moment.” He fiddles with the settings, slipping a phone out from his back trouser pocket to select some gentle instrumental song with a muted beat and hypnotic melody. “I’d like to propose a roleplay scenario.”

You bite your lip. “Don’t we… There can’t be much time left of my appointment now, right?”

“Don’t worry about that.” You’re not convinced. He gives you a warm smile, leaning against the arm of the chair. “My next slot is empty. How about we let you book out that one as your compensated session? As far as that pretty little head of yours is concerned, we have all the time in the world. Now: roleplay. Have you done it before?”

You shrug awkwardly. “Not really. I’m not a good actor or anything.”

He shakes his head. You appreciate the way the flickering lights play with shadows over the planes of his face, his neck. “This isn’t the Oscars. And it’s not going to be anything difficult. I was thinking perhaps an anniversary date night. We rented out a fancy hotel room to celebrate. We’ve hand some drinks from the mini fridge,” he waves a hand towards the aforementioned appliance, “and now that the evening is drawing to a close, we’re going to share each other’s company on a more… intimate level.”

You take a deep breath and nod slowly. “Okay, that sounds good. Thank you, Doctor Kim, I appreciate your-”

“Shh, baby,” he soothes, pushing off from the armchair to stroll over to you. He waits until he’s in front of you, hands cupping your face tenderly and looking deeply into your eyes, before he continues. “We’re married; this is our anniversary night, remember? I want you to call me Namjoon.”

“Namjoon,” you repeat dreamily, blinking up at him. In the dim lighting, he looks even softer than before. There’s no tension in his face, and his rumpled clothing looks awfully… domestic.

His eyes turn up at the edges with his smile. You feel safe yet weirdly vulnerable with your face in his hands and his gaze deeply focused on you. “Do you want me to kiss you again?”

You nod eagerly, just about pushing his hands off you, and his lips quirk up. Without any further words needed, he ducks his head down and slants his mouth across yours, reigniting that flush of want inside you. One of his hands slides around into your hair, playing with it lightly, and the other presses on your jaw, tilting your head back so that he can deepen the kiss. You whimper when you feel his tongue make contact with yours, teasingly swirling inside your mouth, and your hand flies up to curl around his wrist, needing to anchor yourself to him as much as possible.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs against your lips, pressing his body against yours. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me?”

You pause, feeling his lips keep moving against you, nibbling at your bottom lip when you don’t answer. “Y-yeah.”

“Yeah? You don’t sound like you miss me.” He laughs breathily, taking his hands away from your face. One links up with yours, squeezing your fingers reassuringly, and the other snakes around your back to hold you even tighter against him. “I wanna show you.”

Your eyes flutter uncertainly, so overwhelmed by the sensual kisses he gave you that you only process what he says belatedly. “Huh? Show me what?”

“How much I missed you,” he replies, the arm around your back sliding lower until it’s slipping under your sweater hem to grasp at the flesh of your ass. You tremble, knees going weak. He leans down to your ear, dragging his spit-slicked lips your face like he can’t bear to part with it. His voice is like honey in your ear, whispering in between teasing nips at your earlobe. “Can I show you how much I missed you?”

“Please, show me,” you plead, not even sure what he means by that, but letting him walk you backwards until the backs of your thighs hit the bed. He lays you down gently, rubbing soothing circles over your naked flesh. You gasp with anticipation when he drops to his knees in front of your legs, pushing your knees apart to slip in between.

The bed is comfortable and the room is perfectly tiered for a romantic environment. You try and keep yourself grounded, letting yourself drink in the sensation of his hands on you.

“Can you scoot forward a little for me? Legs over my shoulders.” Namjoon’s instructions are easy to comprehend but harder than expected to execute. Your body feels a little dead, and you shuffle your butt lower, thigh muscles complaining when you lift them up. He helps you, hands on the backs of your knees to hook them up onto himself. “You look so beautiful, spread out for me. Will you let me have a little taste?”

If orgasms weren’t so hard to come by, you’re sure you would’ve come from that statement alone. You make a whined noise of agreement, shuffling your shoulders down the bed so that you can arch your back a little more, needing to feel him.

With palms sliding up to wrap around and hold down your thighs, the doctor gives you no other warning before he descends on you, slurping noisily against your center. Your mouth drops open and you clench around nothing automatically, simultaneously embarrassed by the loud sound and turned out by his enthusiasm.

He wastes no time in teasing, instead devouring you like a starved man, putting everything into it. Your brain has no time to process the sensations your nerves are being assaulted with; his tongue is inside you and his nose is bumping your clit, then he moves up to wrap his lips around that little bud with a demanding suck, slicking his chin with your wetness. He changes from place to place, never the same speed or intensity. If your lack of orgasms are like a failing heart, Namjoon going down on you is the defibrillator, the shock to your system that you needed.

Your fingers clench tightly onto his hand, moaned-out sighs and shuddering muscles the only sign your body is able to give that he’s doing well. In the back of your lust-addled mind, you feel a single finger slip between your folds, passing over your center to collect wetness before dipping inside. You clench at the intrusion, feeling him groan against you at your tightness.

He crooks that finger, slowly thrusting it in and out like he has all the time in the world, and you whine, mouth dangling open and drooling, eyes clenched tightly shut. With its proven success, it’s not long before that one finger becomes two, and he has you writhing on the bed.

You whimper when he gives your clit a final flat drag of his tongue before lifting his head up again, continuing to work his fingers inside you. “When was the last time I got to make you feel this good, huh? It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”

Your body curls in and you keen as a third finger joins the other two, beginning to provide more of a tight fit, preparing your inner muscles for what was to come. You realize he asked you a question and force your tongue to form words. “I, ah, I can’t think,” you blabber out in a slur.

“Good.” And with that, his mouth is on you again, this time with renewed vigor. When he speaks again, he doesn’t even bother removing his lips from you, lapping at your clit between words. “I want to see you fall apart on my tongue, baby,” he confesses, “gush all over my fingers.”

Like a train hitting you, you feel your nerves deep inside shortcircuit at his words, and you let out a little scream when an orgasm abruptly hits, your legs closing to tighten like a vice around his head as he works you through it, speeding up his tongue and grinding against that rough patch inside you with his fingers as your pussy locks up. Your muscles push against the intrusion, though he refuses to let up as violent tremors wrack your body and leave you shuddering hopelessly under his ministrations.

You don’t realize until wetness hits your temple and slips past your hairline that you’re crying, but when you press a shaky hand against your eyes, they’re soaked with tears. The fact that you’re crying, as well as finally achieving the orgasm that was feeling more and more impossible, just makes your lip tremble harder until you’re sobbing against your hand, beyond overwhelmed.

Your legs are taken off his shoulders without ceremony. They flop limply over the edge of the bed. “Hey, hey,” Namjoon’s voice is concerned, though not surprised or frantic, and you suppose he must deal with this often, “you did it. I’m so proud of you. Do you want me to get you some water, or stay here with you?”

“Stay,” you plead brokenly, voice breaking even on the one syllable. He acquiesces, crawling up on the bed to lie beside you, rubbing your shoulder. You feel yourself calm down slowly with his presence, letting out one shaky exhale. “Fuck.”

“You can say that again,” the doctor jibes. “I don’t mean to be crude, but the way you came like that? It was fucking hot. Shit, I’m harder than a rock right now.”

You laugh breathily, sniffing and wiping away your tears. “I can help with that if you want.”

He swears under his breath. “You can’t say stuff like that. Sex with patients is where I draw the line, and as much as I’m hating that rule right now, I need to keep at least an inch of professionalism here.”

You turn to face him, propping your head up on your hand. “I regret to inform you, Doctor Kim, but I won’t be needing your services after this session. There; now I’m not your patient anymore.”

You watch his pupils dilate, eyebrows narrowing. In mere moments, the more dominant personality from earlier has been brought out again. “Well, then. I’m not going to fuck your tired little pussy, because I’ve worn it out for the day. So if you’d like to give me a helping hand, you better get on your knees.”

#btssmutclub #thekimlinenet #smutcentralnet #knj smut #namjoon x reader smut #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #bts smut #bts x reader smut #namjoon oneshot #namjoon fic #dom namjoon

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marauder-exe · 5 years ago

Text

Christmas break- Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: 84 & 92 from the 2nd prompt list with Fred Weasley

Prompts: 84. “No, mom, don’t tell him/her I said that about him/her!”

92.”I love you in every possible way.”

Word Count: 2k

a/n: The confession scene under the stars was inspired by a fic I read a while ago where Fred proposes under the stars near the burrow! Although I cant remember the name:/

also i’d love some feedback if you guys don’t mind, you can drop it in my asks or inbox or whatever, i feel like my writing is getting a little repetitive

During Christmas break you had arranged to stay over at the Burrow with the Weasleys. Your family had decided to go on a cruise for your parents anniversary, so Mrs. Weasley gladly took you in for the break. You hadn't told Fred though, you wanted to surprise him. It was actually surprising he hasn't noticed you where keeping it a secret from him. He usually figured out your secrets within 0.2 seconds, having been best friends for the last 5 years, it wast really a surprise. So, just before your parents left for their cruise, they had driven you to Ottery St. Catchpole. Being muggle-born, they where very wary of you using magic.

So, as you pulled up to the burrow, you gave your parents a hug and a quick kiss, saying goodbye. You where far too excited to spend your Christmas break here. You had spent the previous night imagining all the scenarios that could happen over the next few weeks. It made you sad to be honest, knowing that they most likely wouldn't happen. But you could hope. You hurriedly knocked on the Weasleys door, waving a final goodbye as your parents got into the car.

Inside the burrow, Mrs Weasley was cleaning up from cooking, her family sat at the table eating, when she heard the knock on the door, she could only assume was you.

“Aww, Fred get the door please, im busy” Mrs Weasley huffed while all his siblings giggled at the table. Did he miss something? He gave his twin a confused look but brushed it off.

“Who is it, we aren't expecting anyone?” He wondered aloud.

“(Y/N)” She stated promptly, throwing a smile at him, preparing for what he would say next.

“WHAT!” He jumped from his seat. The last thing he wanted was to spend his Christmas break with her. Not in a mean way, he loved her and all but that was the problem. He was in love with her. He usually spent his Christmas fantasizing about what it would be like to be in a relationship with her, love her wholly and fully, have a life with her. He was excited, obviously to spend his Christmas with her, but Christmas meant gifts, then he had to get a gift that conveys ‘Ive been secretly in love with you since the day I lay eyes on you but I don't want to tell you in case I ruin our relationship so im going to wait for any smidgen of a hint that you like me, so I don't screw anything up and if that doesn't come then ill wait it out till you get a boyfriend, then ill cry and eat chocolate with George and try to get over it’ vibes, which was hard.

George interrupted his panicked thoughts. “Yeah! Mum invited her over to tell her all about how you drool all over her and daydream about herrrrr ”

“And how her eyes are so god damn dreamy” Ron and Harry had joined in and soon the whole table was reciting Fred's love lines.

“No! Mum don't tell her I said that about her!” He insisted. This had been going on for around 5 minutes while you where still stood outside, so you gave another quick knock on the door, as it was snowing and bloody freezing.

“Get the door!”

“Yeah, don't want to keep the love of your life waiting” Ron said dreamily, but Fred just threw a bread roll at him. He trudged towards the door, conflicted emotions but heart beating with excitement. He opened the door, there you stood, beanie on, snowflakes in your hair, basking in the moonlight, more beautiful than he had ever seen you. He was snapped from his trance by you, enthusiastically throwing your arms around him.

“Freddie! Surprise!” You hugged him and held tightly, having missed him.

“Blimey” He stumbled back from the force of your hug, but grabbed you protectively. “Its only been a week, you missed me that much?” He was right, your break from Hogwarts came about two weeks before Christmas, meaning one week to go. You subconsciously glanced at your case, wondering if he'd like your present.

“Of course I have Freddie! Couldn't live without my partner in crime!” She stated enthusiastically before they heard George shout from the kitchen. “What about me?!” You two laughed it off. You walked into the kitchen, Fred offering to carry your bags.

“How are my favourite gingers doing, and of course Harry?” They cheered as you walked into the kitchen, they all hugged you one by one, and you thanked Mrs Weasley profusely, but she just brushed it off.

“You'll be in the twins room” She smiled, Ron quietly wolf whistled in the background, causing Harry to laugh and Ginny to smack him on the shoulder, hiding a small smile. Fred nudged you.

“Wanna put your stuff upstairs?” He questioned and you nodded, he grabbed your stuff and started heading upstairs, with whoops and cheers behind you from the boys, while Mrs Weasley tried to calm them down.

When you where close to his room you asked the question that had been on your mind. “What was all the cheering about when they mentioned me sleeping in your room?” You questioned innocently.

“uh...” Fred felt a blush creeping up his neck. “its just, they know we’ll be sleeping in the bed, and you know how boys are”

It had never occurred to you that you'd be sleeping in the same bed, the thought made your heart speed up, you assumed you'd be sleeping on the floor.

“Unless of course you don't want to share a bed, id be fine sleeping on the floor” He said smiling.

“Don't be silly, of course we can sleep in the same bed, come on!” You raced him to the top of the stairs, both laughing like crazy.

The next week leading up to Christmas went crazily quickly. And the first night sleeping in Fred's bed with him was possibly a Christmas miracle, at least that's what it felt like. You guys where cuddled up, obviously George had given you the ‘no shagging while im asleep next to you two’ talk. But honestly, it felt right, being there with him. You tried to convince yourselves you where just friends, but that was never the case.

And so the day of Christmas came, and the entire Weasley family and their guests where so excited. Molly had helped Fred pick out something he knew you'd love. So the crackers where opened and candy canes eaten, and it was time to open the presents, you and Fred had waited last to give yours to each other. After everyone had finished giving gifts, they turned to you two expectantly. You ran to your suitcase, gently picking up the box, and Fred went to get his present. You'd returned to the living room, adorned In your own honorary Weasley jumper, clutching the present.

“Ill give yours first?” You asked, he nodded and you handed over the present. He carefully unwrapped it, savouring every moment. He flipped open the lid, and stared at the glinting ring.

“See, its a ring, but it has the first words you ever said to me on it” You giggled, the ring had the first words he had said to you on that train in first year. ‘Blimey, your gorgeous. Wait, what?’ The Weasleys laughed at the fond memory, and Mrs Weasley recalled all the letters she received that year, about the pretty Gryffindor that he was enchanted by.

“(Y/N), i-” He was honestly speechless.

“Oh and also!” She bounced excitedly “Its charmed to show a different picture of us and glows every time you think of mwah!” She giggled and mockingly flipped her hair. God she was perfect. He hugged her, tighter than he'd ever hugged her before. He whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ in your ear, you kissed his cheek and giggled, adding an ‘of course Freddie’. They pulled away and it was Fred's turn to give you his gift. Mr and Mrs Weasley where already tearing up at the scene in front them. Fred delicately handed you a similar box, you slowly ripped away the gold wrapping. Flipping the lid of the white box, sat a ring similar to the one you gave him, but as well as gold it had a purple stripe (your favourite colour) and a green stripe (his favourite colour). You stared at it, it was so beautiful.

“Its a promise ring” He began to explain. “i promise to always be...” He paused, breath hitched in his throat. Your faces where astonishingly close. “Your best friend” He breathed out. It honestly felt like a dagger in the chest, for both of you. You stared into each others eyes, desperately waiting, wanting, willing something to happen. Until you snapped away at the sound of Ron couching and Mrs Weasley shouting everyone for dinner.

Later that night, after dinner and the sun set, You and Fred had decided to go and watch the stars. A comforting act in itself but felt suddenly romantic with Fred. You two lay on a hill at the back of the burrow. Your head on his arm, cuddled up into him. You pointed out a star, Sirius.

“See that one?” You pointed towards the brightest star in the sky. Fred reached past your hand and pointed somewhere in the sky, that was definitely not where you where pointing.

“That one?”

You grabbed his wrist and moved to point it at the star. “See, Sirius, my uncles named after that star, ya know. Isn't it beautiful?” You questioned but Fred wasn't listening any more. Any thoughts of the stars had been discarded, he was only looking at you.

“Yeah, yeah it is beautiful” A small smile lit up his face as he stared at you in the moonlight.

You giggled as you saw Fred's ring glow brighter than any star in the sky. “Freddie, you rings glowi-” You turned to look at him but he was already staring. “What's up?” You questioned, a concerned look on your face.

“i love you in every possible way” He was still staring, a peaceful glint in his eye. Your heart stopped, your breath hitched. What did he just say? You sat up on your elbows and turned to look at him.

“What-” you whispered quietly.

“i love you (Y/N)” He matched your position on his elbows. “Ive loved you since that day I stepped foot into your carriage on the train and accidentally called you gorgeous. Ive loved you since you stood up against that Slytherin in second year. Ive loved you since you played that prank on Snape in third year. Ive loved you since you gave Hermione advice about her crush on Draco in 4th year. I love you under the sun and under the stars, in the Burrow or in Hogwarts or anywhere. I love you now and ill love you forever. I don't care if it ruins our friendship any more because I want you and only you.” You where brought to tears by his speech, and so where all the Weasleys who where watching from the kitchen windows. You threw your arms around him and kissed him. Pouring all the tears and bottled up feelings into the kiss.

“Of course I love you back Freddie, you idiot!” You jumped on top of him and he began giggling, you burst out in a fit of giggles. Mr. and Mrs Weasley watched from the kitchen, knowing his son had finally found the one. That was the most magical and memorable Christmas of your life.

#fred weasley #fred #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #dramione

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aelaer · 4 years ago

Note

Inspired by the X men ask: instead of Donna, what if Stephen's mutant powers manifest after she drowns? It's definitely writable with movie-only knowledge! (I think Stephen would have some scary strong powers).

This prompt is nearing a year and a half old and is my second to last prompt from 2019 so I wanted to try to get it out of the way as I attempt to do at least one prompt fic a month to clear my inbox of those remaining.

After being stuck on trying to figure this out for so long, I decided to approach it quite differently than I thought I would, and this is my first fic writing from this character’s POV. I made Stephen's age the same as Ben's for ease. I also prove, yet again, that my ability to write short things is very much lacking.

My interest in geography 100% leaks through, and I'm not sorry.

My thanks to nemmy for helping me decide the direction of this story.

Fate Won’t Compromise Fandom: Doctor Strange, MCU Genre: Gen, canon divergence Chars: The Ancient One, Stephen Strange, Donna Strange Word count: 5k Warnings: Minor canonical character death, near drowning

In the summer of 1995, The Ancient One felt a ripple in the fabric of reality.

Such ripples, while uncommon, were not unknown to her in her many centuries serving as Sorcerer Supreme. They happened as major events within their reality shifted from the threads found in similar realities across the multiverse. While change was inevitable between realities, commonalities often brought them back to follow the same paths, to hit the same major events, to survive the same catastrophes. Reality and time were excellent in creating situations that balanced the flow again and brought them back to their natural parallels across the majority of universes.

But sometimes, sometimes the fabric of reality and time was disturbed. It happened with a change, unexpected in its improbability and big enough that it diverted the parallel lines the majority of the multiverse followed to create a timeline that diverged, crooked and uncertain. If the ripple was small enough, the powers surrounding reality often fixed itself with countermeasures—new actors, new probabilities that helped bring time back to its parallel path. But some ripples, some ripples required intervention.

And this one? Well, this one absolutely shattered reality with its ripple effect.

Hmm. It was time to consult the Eye of Agamotto and see what changed.

— — — — —

Her time with the Eye was long in her search. With such a significant ripple, The Ancient One first looked at the immediate months coming, searching for change in the most important of events for the remainder of the year.

There was nothing different. Interesting. Then this was likely an event that changed the course of the life of an individual, an individual who was very important sometime in the future. She scanned the years following more broadly after that, coming upon the events of the new millennium, both mundane and arcane, that would change the course of Earth's future forever. They all came as expected, one after the other.

It wasn't until her search took her to 2016, the year before her own inevitable passing, that she finally came across the anomaly: Stephen Strange never made it to Kamar-Taj.

The Ancient One pursed her lips; this was not meant to happen. While her sight beyond 2017 remained veiled, her experience and intuition as well as glimpses across the multiverse gave her an insight into the likely path of Stephen Strange. And from what she had seen, he was meant to be the best of them all.

So what had diverted him from the path that was written in the course of time, so much so that its lack of manifestation caused such a ripple in reality? Surely it didn't change her death; she had accepted the inevitably of that decades ago.

(She first discovered her death after the chaos of WWII, where the Masters of the Mystic Arts fought their own war against demonic invasions looking to take advantage of the chaotic time. She looked to prevent such a thing ever occurring again, then found her death. At first she wasn't concerned, and made plans to avoid it, just as she had several times before.

But it was different this time. With the Eye of Agamotto in the past, she was always able to find a route that allowed her to survive and the world to remain intact within a dozen attempts of altering her actions. It took her over a thousand attempts over the next year to realize that, no, no matter what, she was going to die before the fourth month of 2017. She never lived further than that.

And in the course that seemed most sound to her, the most consistent, she was always by the side of the unsure, amateur, but potentially great Stephen Strange.)

The Eye confirmed for her that, yes, she still died in early 2017. However, the manner of death was completely unacceptable, as it led to Dormammu eating their reality. She had not seen that possibility since she stopped trying to find a solution to her death several decades ago.

(She wondered how Stephen Strange managed to defeat him. She did not sense the end of reality after her death, so it was with confidence that she knew he found a solution. What the solution was, however, remained unknown to her. It was most intriguing. He had such potential.)

The Ancient One finally withdrew from the encompassing powers of the Eye and allowed herself a frown. She hoped Stephen Strange was not dead. It would mean finding another like him, and quite soon so she may prevent the terrible future she just saw.

Still, the ripple she felt did but not necessarily mean death; it meant change, for good or ill.

The first thing to do was to check on what was, and what would hopefully remain, her future pupil. She directed the Eye to review the timeline of Stephen Strange, going to the moment just before the ripple in reality occurred.

As she searched for that moment, flashes of memories not belonging to her flipped through her mind's eye: the first was a pair of hands on the wheel of a car, left side, as it turned off the paved road to a bumpy gravel-filled spot of driving, then quickly smoothed out to a road less rough. A large brown sign with yellow, capital letters read "Lewis and Clark State Recreation Area", with a smaller "Nebraska State and Park Commission" underneath. "Weigand - Burbach" was spelt on a separate plank just below the main sign with the same dark brown backdrop and bright yellow lettering. In the backseats was excited chatter from two others, women. Surrounding the road were tall trees of various species, all different colors of green.

Another flash, and she was now watching a small motorboat being backed up into the water from its trailer by a young man—barely a man—into a wide lake. Beyond the water the distant shore was all but flat, with only a small ridge of hills giving the horizon any distinct shape. A shrill voice shouted behind her, "Don't crash it!" and the man in the boat shouted back, "Shut up, Melissa!" Giggles followed, and then a voice came from the soul she watched, a deep baritone that said, "But seriously, if you crash it, my dad will kill you." The young man in the boat retorted, "Fuck you, Stephen!" in return, and Stephen's body shook with soft laughter. The man successfully maneuvered the boat into the water, and a short cheer sounded behind her.

Then another memory, and she was now on the motorboat, far out on the water which shone as bright a blue as the sky above. A young woman—a teenager, as they said in English in the 20th century, now—was doing some sort of sport she was unfamiliar with, letting the motorboat drag her along as she hung on by a rope with a handle at the end. Perhaps this was surfing. The teenager completed a short jump on the waves, and from her point of view, the memory's host shouted, "Nice, Donna!"

Another flash, and she was the one at the end of the rope. She quickly passed through it to the next memory.

Time had passed; it was late afternoon, perhaps an hour or so before sunset. Her host was looking at the boat's controls. A female voice—Melissa—behind them said, "Okay, Aaron's ready to go. Start it up." As the boat motor roared to life, another voice—Donna—said over the noise, "We should get out of the water after this. It'll be dark soon." The soul behind the memories, Stephen, shouted back, "That's why we have navigation lights on this thing!"

The memory shifted again, and all four were on the boat now. The sun was set behind the horizon and the sky was painted a soft yellow before it melted into blue, then black. Stars were already appearing in the sky. Surrounding her were the other three, Aaron and Melissa and Donna, and there was a strong feeling of content within the memory. "We should get back to camp," Donna said, and she heard Stephen sigh and say, "Yeah," in reply. "Your turn, Aaron," he added. Aaron said, "Dude, I'm wiped out. You do it." Stephen retorted in return, "No, you."

Then it shifted again, and she was looking up at the darkening sky when Melissa said, "That boat's going fast." Her point of view changed as Stephen straightened himself, and she saw another motorboat running straight towards them. "Stop!" Stephen shouted as he got to his feet, and a second later, Aaron called out, "Jump!" and Stephen did, hitting the water and diving just as their motorboat was hit and destroyed. He was facing down into the murky, black depths of the lake as suddenly something hit his back, and at that moment some sort of rope or netting caught his leg and its weight started dragging him down. She could feel the alarm running through the young man's head and the Ancient One wondered if she was going to be seeing his death, now. A strange pang of regret went through her at the thought.

But then a sudden glow encompassed Stephen's body, subtle but in the blackness of the water, quite, quite clear. Confusion joined his panic but before any other thoughts came to his head, he was suddenly out of the water and on the shore of the lake. He collapsed the moment he went from liquid to air, falling on his back before turning to his side to cough up water from the lake.

The Ancient One stepped back from Stephen Strange's memories and blinked again back in the normal passage of time. As the green glow of the Time Stone's powers faded from her body, she considered the last memory.

She knew, from all her viewings of the future, that it was about this time that the mutation that came to be known as the X-Gene started popping up in the population. It would eventually have an impact on the future of Earth. But Stephen Strange was not meant to have it—or perhaps, rather, it was never meant to activate. Not if the flow of reality and time considered this an anomaly in the general course of the multiverse.

His appearance within the order of the Masters of the Mystic Arts seemed to lead to the event that prevented Dormammu's entrance into their reality, so he—or someone of his caliber—was necessary to have under her tutelage. And as he was not dead, she needed to see what had to happen to work him again onto a path that was the best for the universe's survival, regardless of this unexpected development in his life.

It was time to consult the Eye once more to determine the right path.

—————

Using the Eye worked outside the flow of time, and so all the Ancient One's endeavours, though seeming to her to take several hours, in reality only took her about twenty minutes since she first felt the ripple. She had passed through various scenarios and glimpsed at various extensions of those scenarios as needed until she had an outcome that had her satisfied with her decisions and, more importantly, made it very, very unlikely that the universe would end to Dormammu in 2017.

(Her own future, strangely enough, grew blurry and uncertain the closer she got to that year, which she found quite intriguing. She would pursue the matter at a later date.)

For now, though, she had a job to do. And so she created a portal that led her to the north shore of the lake, at the beach where the small hills lay. At this point of time it was nearly dark, and so she conjured a lantern—one of the elegant ones that they used to craft in Japan, the ones she preferred—and placed a small, magical light within the illusion. It would reveal its true nature soon enough. Despite the rockiness of this part of the shoreline, her footing was sure as she made her way along the edge of the lake.

In a couple minutes, a voice, expected and now familiar, called out to her. "Hello? Is someone there? I need help!"

In all her experience of using the Eye of Agamotto, the Ancient One had gotten very good at differentiating all the viewed possibilities to the experienced reality. Reality was sharper in every way, and the auras of people's spirits shone brighter without the power of the Time Stone to stifle them. And in the night surrounding them, Stephen Strange's aura shone very, very bright.

Interesting.

When she came close enough for him to see her clearly, his eyes widened as he took her in. She knew her resemblance was considered odd by late twentieth-century standards, but the memory of centuries of lice infestations made hair still undesirable and robes were infinitely more comfortable than jeans. But she was aware of its oddness, and as he stared, the Ancient One took the time to also observe him beyond the fuzziness of the Eye of Agamotto.

The gangly boy sitting in the sand in front of her hardly resembled the arrogant, talented man she had come to know through her past use of the Eye. Just breaking the cusp of manhood, his hair was still fully dark brown, and he wore a sleeveless blue shirt with long swim shorts, all still wet despite the time out of the water. His cheeks were fuller with the last remnant of youth still remaining, and the look in his eyes was wild and unguarded. Filled with fear.

Quite different from what she was used to.

"Who are you?" Stephen Strange whispered.

"A friend," she answered. She placed the lantern on a rock before settling down in the dark sand near him, about five feet away. "I mean you no harm."

He continued to stare at her, then looked at his leg. It was bleeding sluggishly and would need stitches. "Can you please help me? I—I'm not sure how I got here, but there was a boating accident and I—I need to find my friends and my sister. It's on the lake, I swear, I don't know why we can't see it from here but the accident just happened and it can't be that far."

She let him finish before she broke the news. "You are about seven kilometers west from the site of your accident, on the north shore of the lake. I believe you call this part of your country 'South Dakota'."

Stephen's eyes somehow widened even further, then he quickly shook his head. "No, that—that's impossible. That's completely impossible."

"Just as impossible as finding yourself drowning at the bottom of a lake one moment and being on dry land in the next," she said agreeably.

The wide-eyed look seemed it would remain a permanent fixture on his face. "Wha—how—how do you know about that?"

"It is my job to know of such things," said the Ancient One. "It is also how I know that, if you are found so far from the site of the accident, you will draw unwanted attention upon yourself."

Stephen visibly swallowed and looked around them, as if the unwanted attention was already watching. "What—what do you mean?"

The Ancient One offered him a benign smile. "You are not the first to perform the impossible. When figures of authority learn such things exist, they pursue them. And your story would draw their attention. Historically, your country has been known to use extraordinary people as assets when needed. Many kingdoms and governments throughout time have."

A soft wind blew in from the south, causing Stephen to shiver in the oncoming chill of the night. Regardless of his discomfort, his wide eyes narrowed into something more calculating and thoughtful. "Why are you telling me this? What do you get out of it?"

"A future ally, hopefully," she answered truthfully. "I have no interest in taking you from your studies, Stephen Strange—yes, I know who you are," she said, the benign smile coming again as he startled. "Your name is the least I know about you."

He stared at her once more, mouth hanging partially open. As the wind blew through again, he snapped his mouth shut and rubbed his shivering arms. "And why—why should I believe you aren't part of these secret government groups, or part of something that wants to use me? Why should I trust you?"

She kept that slight smile on her face as she answered, "Because I offer my assistance and ask nothing in return. I will guide you to the shoreline just north of the accident, and show you where you may find help. I recommend a forgetful memory between the crash and you reaching shore, which is quite common in times of traumatic events. No one will suspect anything different about you, Mr Strange."

The boy fidgeted at the name, as if not used to it. He really was a young thing, wasn't he? "You can get me there? Do you have a car nearby?"

The Ancient One smiled and lifted her lantern. "Remember what I said, Mr Strange." She let the lantern disintegrate, leaving only the glowing ball of light. Stephen's mouth dropped. "You are not the only person who can do the supposedly impossible. Can you walk unaided?"

Stephen snapped his jaw shut at the question and looked down at his leg. He pressed his lips together, and then with a grunt, he slowly shifted his weight under his legs, most of it on his good leg, before he pushed himself up into a standing position.

She offered another slight smile and held her hand forward to create a portal further east along the lake. "Follow me." The Ancient One did not bother to look at his reaction to the gateway, but had the ball of light follow her through. When she turned, Stephen was limping just through the portal, and after he got through she allowed it to close.

They were on the shore again; to the south in the water, a mile or so away, she could see the distant pinpricks of shiplights at the scene of the accident. Stephen, too, stared in that direction. But she forced his focus elsewhere when she pointed to the northeast, to the pinpricks of light beyond the trees. "Do you believe you can make it to those lit buildings? It is perhaps two hundred meters away. They should have a phone."

He offered a nod. "Yeah. My leg's not so bad."

"Good," she said. "Then I recommend you go that way; it may be some hours before authorities search the shore for you." She looked back at him. "I would not tell anyone of what truly occurred to you; such tales have an unfortunate habit of getting out, no matter how private the story is meant to be."

Stephen frowned at her, and she offered him another one of her benign smiles. "I will come to see you again, after you have had some time to recover. Good luck, Mr Strange." With that, she let the glowing ball beside her fade out, and created a portal into one of the darker rooms of Kamar-Taj and left the young Stephen Strange on the shore of the lake.

——————

Two weeks later, the Ancient One created another portal to the midwestern United States, landing underneath a narrow strip of trees that bordered a small creek that made its way through wide fields of agriculture. The nearest field beside her was corn, and just beyond it was a half-harvested wheat field. The trees bordering the water were a mix of oak and pine, specific species she was not familiar with but that she could broadly identify due to the commonalities found within their relatives in the Eastern Hemisphere. It was just after midday in this place known as Nebraska, and the summer sun was pleasant in this corner of the world, with a soft breeze taking off the edge of the dry heat.

She saw no one at first, but if the sling ring brought her here, that meant Stephen Strange was also nearby. A faint trail followed the bend of the creek and she paused in consideration before her instincts led her to go southwest.

In a few minutes, she came upon him. While her step was soft, the silence of the trail around them should have alerted Stephen to her arrival. But his back remained turned to her as he sat beyond the narrow trail and on the slope that led into the creek bed. His chin was propped on his knees and, since he had not heard her approaching, the Ancient One knew his mind was quite far away.

"Mr Strange," she said in greeting.

The young man violently started out of his daze and nearly lost his seating as he twisted around to stare at her. It seemed to her that he had aged some years in the last two weeks; his eyes were dark and sunken with lack of sleep, and his entire expression appeared drawn and pinched. His lips tightened for a moment, then he said, "It's you again."

"I did say I was going to return," she reminded him. She approached the sloping hill beside the creek and sat down beside him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his expression tighten again. She remained quiet as he gathered his words. "Did you know?" Stephen asked after several passing seconds of heavy silence.

The Ancient One kept her gaze on the small creek. She knew what he was asking, and she would not play any games pretending otherwise; it wouldn't serve her purpose. "I knew that, by the time I came to you, your sister had died."

The tenseness beside her did not lift; if anything, it grew heavier. "Did you know Donna was going to die?"

An interesting question. She considered her answer; a multitude of answers would lead to an acceptable outcome, but this was reality. "We don't get to choose our time," she started. "In some probabilities, the question of death is split between a thin line that sways from one option to the other depending on the reality. In other instances, death is all but certain." She spared a glance at him; Stephen's grief was now layered with confusion. "I am sorry to say that, in the wide expansion of possibilities, your sister's death was largely unavoidable. All points led to it."

The young man's face contorted in anger. "I don't believe in fate or whatever the hell you're talking about."

"Some may call it fate," she answered, and looked back to the creek. "I call it probability. You may have been told, at some point in your life, that there are random events in life that are unpredictable. This is untrue, at least on a larger scale. Each event of consequence has a set probability in occurring, with the powers balancing reality and time ever trying to keep them as consistent as possible in the grand scheme of the multiverse. Certain people are always born. Certain events always occur. Certain items are always invented. Around people of consequence, events play out so that they may help play the part that they are meant to play."

In the corner of her eye, she saw Stephen run a hand over his face. "Look, lady, like I told you: I don't believe in that bullshit. And if you're trying to tell me that my sister was meant to—" He cut himself off and turned his head away. She saw his knuckles tighten to the point of turning white with the strain.

She slowly exhaled and closed her eyes. She had not spoken with youth who did not know her for who she was in some many years; she could not remember the last time a young person had spoken to her with such disrespect. But she had to keep in mind that Stephen was grieving, and that he was absolutely clueless.

Perhaps if he saw a small glimpse of what she saw, he would understand.

"I would like to show you something, if you would allow it," said the Ancient One as she opened her eyes and looked at Stephen.

His eyes darted to look at her with a side glance, though he did not look at her fully. "Show me what?"

"What my powers allow me to see," she said. His eyes narrowed. "It won't hurt or leave any lasting effects."

She saw the internal struggle, but one thing she knew well of Stephen Strange: his curiosity always got the better of him. And as she expected, he relented and said, "Okay, fine. How do you do that?"

A slight smile appeared on her lips. "Like this," said the Ancient One, and she placed her thumb upon his forehead and connected her third eye to his unused, undeveloped one. She picked from her memory a set of images gained by using the Eye of Agamotto in conjunction with the Cauldron of the Cosmos to explore the realities across the multiverse, the images she picked up some years ago as she looked into the man known as Stephen Strange and what he became in other realities.

And the images she chose were specifically referring to his sister's death. As she let him see various versions of himself (some with slightly different physical features, and a couple further in the past, but so very much Stephen Strange), she said, "The multiverse is a strange thing in its consistency. Donna Strange was not born only to perish at such a young age in every reality, but the probability was stacked against her. And many named Stephen Strange have experienced the grief you feel now. It is not your fault that the universe stacked probability against her survival."

She removed her thumb from his forehead and Stephen collapsed, rolling down a couple feet down the slope before catching himself. Laying on the ground now he panted heavily, trying to gain his breath.

When he finally raised his head, tears were streaming down his face. "It should've been me," he choked out. "She didn't deserve to die! None of those—" He cut himself off and shook his head, then angrily wiped at his face. "I—I don't know what the fuck you were doing—"

"I was using my powers to show you what I have seen," she interrupted, cutting him off for the first time. "After what you managed to achieve at the lake, are my abilities really so hard to come to terms with?"

Stephen shook his head again and pushed himself off the ground so he was standing. The Ancient One remained sitting and kept her expression neutral. "Okay, fine, so you have some crazy-ass powers that—that make no sense. I get it, you did physics-breaking things at the lake, too. What the hell does that have to do with me?"

She offered a benign smile. "Surely you haven't forgotten your unusual journey from the lake to the shore. Or have you been telling yourself that it was all a hallucination?"

By the look on his face, it appeared that that was exactly what he was trying to do. That would do no good.

"Unfortunately for you, your powers aren't just going to go away," the Ancient One said. "Whether they will manifest under physical or emotional stress I do not yet know, but they will return if you do not know how to control them."

"And what, you can teach me how to control them?" Stephen asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Yes," was her simple answer.

Stephen's eyes remained narrow, then he cut off his stare to run a hand through his hair and shake his head. "And what would you want out of me in return?"

"Nothing you are unwilling to give," said the Ancient One. "You can continue your studies as you wish. Go on to become a doctor."

"How did you know—" He paused, cutting himself off, then shook his head. "You know what, never mind. Go on."

She offered her smile again. "All it would require is some of your time to discover the extent of your powers and to learn ways in which you can best control them. Consider it an extracurricular activity, if you would like."

"And what do you get out of it?" he asked.

"The knowledge that those with unusual powers remain hidden from those who would exploit them," is what she answers, but in truth, it was so much more. Still, it was not yet time to tell him that; he was too young. Too green.

Stephen looked down and crossed his arms as he considered her words. His expression was stone, but she knew what he was going to answer. If there was one thing predictable about Stephen Strange, it was his curiosity and his hunger for knowledge. It was his ambition to be the best at whatever he set his mind to, and a new ability suddenly within his hands was one meant to be conquered for him.

He then nodded jerkily, just once. "Okay. Sure. When do we start?"

The Ancient One smiled and stood. "How about now?" She opened a portal to one of her private rooms in Kamar-Taj, where she was rarely disturbed. It would not do to show him everything of the compound immediately, but it would come in due time.

He hesitated. "I need to be home for dinner at six."

"That is quite doable," she answered, and waited.

A couple seconds of hesitation passed, and then Stephen Strange lifted his chin and walked directly into the portal to Kamar-Taj, over two decades earlier than expected. The Ancient One followed him and closed the gateway behind her, leaving behind the quiet creek to flow under the bright green leaves on a sunny Nebraskan summer day.

— — — — —

The big happy moment for me in writing this fic was that the town I chose for Stephen to grow up in and alluded to in another story is pretty close to this lake, so that worked out great. The most disappointing discovery, on the other hand, was that the Google Maps car only got like, the major roads in Nebraska. That does not include annnyyyyy of the roads near the Lewis and Clark State Recreation Area. And their promotional video didn't help in determining the details I wanted.

But then *the best thing* happened and on the camp's location on Google Maps, some beautiful, beautiful person took a photo of the entrance of the campgrounds, which was the exact detail I needed. So I dedicate this fic to Denis F. and their photo. (We're gonna pretend that the road and sign's 100% been like that since at least 1995). As much as I'd like to make an excuse to go to a lakeside attraction for boating fun, I'm sadly not a millionaire and cannot throw away thousands for the sake of fic accuracy. Alas. Once I win the lottery, though, 100% will commit to this. (Also, it's January and freaking freezing in Nebraska right now.)

FYI, Donna was not surfing, but wakeboarding. I just doubt that the Ancient One has bothered to learn all the new sports that popped up in the latter half of the 20th century - especially as one as young as wakeboarding was in 1995.

Hopefully the emotional roller coaster in the last bit worked. I've had conversations that just went all over the place like that before—crazy emotional subject to another crazy subject that just shook you to the point that the emotional subject was put on the back burner for processing—so hopefully people can relate.

#anonymous #stephen strange #the ancient one #doctor strange fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #donna strange #prompt fill #ask #answered #my writing #my fanfiction

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feiiizhu · 4 months ago

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⟡⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅|| WELCOME TO HALLOWEEN.TOWN;; verreprincesse asked: “See you in the afterlife!” *** Do not re.blog this post at all! or turn into a thread without asking first! ***

ㅤㅤ❝...𝓘 don't know if I'm supposed to take that as a threat, or something positive...❞ Whatever the case may be, the implication that both parties would no longer be living in the physical world, but seeing each other in the afterlife, she supposed that was the positive part. That there was a life after this one, that she would see people that she knew. But there was still some looming dread that came with it. ❝—Thanks though?❞

|| @verreprincesse

#verreprincesse #:x: we just got a letter... i wonder who its from? ( inbox )#:x: lazy postings ( queue )

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angryschnauzer · 6 years ago

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Touch of Smoke

So i got this ask from @unicornandbacon

and you all know i don’t take requests. I don’t write on demand, and honestly this ask has been sitting in my inbox for a number of weeks. BUT… it had Chase in. My sweet murder puppy. Then suddenly today inspiration hit as i had been trying to figure out how to get two magic characters into one drabble fic, and ta-da… a Harry Potter AU. Yes it was as much of a shock to me as it is you, as i’m not a HP fan, ok i watched the movies and read the books, but i don’t know anything about houses and lore etc. So Thank you to @siren-kitten-his for helping me out with houses etc. I’ve also added in a few more magic characters - Nick Gant is Chris Evan’s character in the movie Push - if you haven’t seen it i highly recommend it.

So as a change i’m going to post this on tumblr as well as AO3, a link to my AO3 is here.

Enjoy. Its just a drabble. Pairing is Female Reader x Wanda & Chase

Warnings: NSFW, Adult Themes, Magic, Fingering, Implied Consent.

Standing in the doorway to the dimly lit bar you smiled, in your Junior year at Maleficent University in Salem, and your time there was turning out to be a lot more fun than you had ever expected.

Your grades hadn’t been great in high school even though you had tried your hardest, but you had a natural aptitude for chemistry and physics, so had been pleased and a little surprised when a very traditional looking letter had arrived on your doorstep on the day of your 18th Birthday. Even more so that it had been a Sunday and you knew the mailman didn’t work on Sundays. You’d cried tears of joy when you’d read the ornate - hand written - letter, telling you that you’d been awarded a full ride, all expenses paid scholarship to a Salem college to major in Alchemy.

After just a couple of days at the university you had received a very rapid introduction to the world of Magic, from finding out you were a muggle, and that witches and wizards truly existed, to learning that things were not always what they seemed when it came to photographs, staircases, or even trees.

The entire university was separated into four houses - a wizarding world system that had recently been adopted from a private school in Scotland and you had been placed in the Hufflepuff house, although the sorting leg warmer had been unsure and had muttered a number of other houses before Headmaster Laufeyson had told it to stop ‘Fannying around and just bloody pick one you headless sock’.

Now as you entered the bar you smiled and nodded to some of your other housemates, but also recognising other classmates; it was after all a fairly small university.

Pietro Maximoff was talking to tall guy with a nice ass at the pool table, and when he saw you the blonde haired charmer waved you over. He had the ability to move super humanly fast, and as he introduced you to his friend, the other guy shook your hand;

“Hi, Nick Gant, Ravenclaw”

“Nice to meet you”

Pietro introduced the two of you further, explaining how you had both been born into the muggle world, and Nick showed you his ‘skill’; telekinesis. You laughed and joked with the two guys before Pietro asked if you wanted to play pool, having refused to play with Nick due to his ‘skill’. You always enjoyed a game, so as you chalked the cue up you watched the room, smiling when you saw two of your classmates from a different house walk into the door and head to the bar; Gryfindor Wanda - Pietro’s twin sister - and Slytherin Chase Collins.

Your heart did a double beat, both had caught your eye before but you weren’t sure if either were interested in you, plus both gave of energy that meant you couldn’t tell if they would be interested in you.

Before you could dwell on that thought any longer Pietro racked the balls up and offered you the coin toss, smiling when he won - as per usual - and took the first shot.

The game progressed you started to relax, the magic in the air almost like passive smoke, and soon you were buzzing just from being in the same room as so many purebloods. As you bent to take a sure fire shot you felt the strangest sensation around your breasts, a warm tingling as if fingers were exploring them before they pinched at your nipples. Letting out a small cry you missed your shot, the cue hitting the ball harder than you had anticipated and it flew into the air. Pietro dodged out of the way and Nick flung his hand up, the ball hovered mid air just an inch from his face before he plucked it out of the air and he set it down onto the table;

“Everything ok?”

Clearing your throat you nodded, assuring him it was. As you rechalked your cue you noticed the faintests of whisps of red magic smoke just clinging to the tails of your shirt, brushing them away and you looked up to see Wanda sitting at the bar looking at you with a smirk on her face.

The sound of Pietro cheering meant the connection was lost, and you saw that he had sunk the ball you had missed, but only to miss the next shot meaning it was your turn. Stalking around the table you settled for the shot you wanted to take, concentrating hard when you felt it, the curl of magic creeping under your skirt and between your legs. Scowling and wondering what the hell Wanda was up to, you glanced down for a second but saw that this magic was black smoke, with the faintest hint of gold and orange - as if it was flames - and this time when you looked up at Wanda she wasn’t the one responsible.

Instead your gaze was drawn to Chase who was next to her at the bar, sipping on a glass of Whiskey and he winked at you. You went back to trying to concentrate on the shot, but that magic crept into your panties, running through your folds and you were immediately wet.

“Having trouble there?”

Pietro taunted lightheartedly, and you shook your head, trying to concentrate on the shot. Instead of making it easier to concentrate, you felt that previous touch against your nipples, and this time when you looked up you saw Chase and Wanda smirking at each other before turning to look at you, their eyes shining with the magic’s colours.

The sensation was instantaneous, your body was overwhelmed with pleasure and your legs trembled as the two at the bar literally worked their magic on you. Within seconds you were at the precipice of an orgasm, and when Pietro urged you to take the shot, you hit the ball with all your might just as you came, screaming out a yes before you fell forwards onto the table with a happy sigh.

The game had all been forgotten after that, Pietro had taken his turn and had sunk every ball on the table, Professor Romanoff - she was an expert at transfiguration and her polyjuice recipes were groundbreaking - had wandered past and both Pietro and Nick had made their excuses to go speak to her. You in turn had turned and stalked up to the bar, a smile on your face as you nervously approached the two who had managed their mischief so well earlier.

“Hey…” you smiled, nervous at what the night could entail

“Did you enjoy your game?” Chase asked, his eyes dark

“Very much so…” you turned to Wanda; “But i wasn’t the only one playing games…” before returning to Chase; “Was i?”

Chase took your hand, his fingers brushing against it;

“We started it as a competition…”

Wanda took your other hand;

“But we realised, why fight for a prize when the prize may want two winners?”

You were pleased for one thing that night; no shared dorm rooms.

#chase collins x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #chase collins fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfic #the covenant

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theladymeera · 6 years ago

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Arya’s Visit/A Heart-to-Heart

Can’t come up with a better title at the moment, sorry. A short Arya one-shot for @aegon. Sorry it took so long. I ended up doing a little prequel to the bran/meera modern au I’m going to start publishing soonish since I love the Stark girls in it more than anything. You can read it below the cut or on AO3 when I post it there.

Edit: Here’s the AO3 link [x]

Arya popped her bubblegum loudly, a habit that had always made her mother angry but her mother couldn’t complain when she wasn’t there to watch so Arya kept blowing bubbles. It was quiet at the train station that afternoon, a benefit of leaving early. Arya kept her hands deep in her fleece-lined pockets to keep her hands warm as she’d forgotten her gloves.

The ride from Riverrun to Winterfell was long but Arya enjoyed it, she needed the quiet for a few minutes. A 24-hour shift in the chidlren’s hospital had left her feeling like a damp rag that had been rung out too much. So many children. Some of them were only there for minor surgeries, a couple stitches, a broken ankle. But there were others that had the bald heads, sallow skin, or empty eyes of someone who had been too sick for far too long. It wrenched at Arya’s heart.

Her thoughts were broken when a text came in, another one in the continuous conversation on the Stark’s group chat; currently named “Howlies” at Rickon’s suggestion. Arya had a feeling the name would not last just as the last eight names hadn’t. The addition was Sansa’s “Can’t wait to see everyone tonight!”

Arya’s phone kept buzzing with her brothers’ and Jon’s responses, with the exception of Bran who Arya figured was probably sleeping, possibly high although he swore up and down that he was clean and had been for nearly six months. While Arya was thinking of a response she received a private text from Jon “You are coming aren’t you?”

“On the 🚂 now”

“Okay I’ll pick you up when you get here.”

Arya grinned, she had missed Jon more than anyone. She spent the rest of the train ride listening to music, looking out the window, and ignoring the continuous texts of the group chat and the occasional text from a friend. Hot Pie was filling her inbox with his lengthy musings on his bread recipe. She didn’t need to comment on it and she’d benefit from it when she returned to Riverrun.

Jon was waiting for Arya as she stepped off the train at the Winterstown station. He wrapped her in a bear hug when she found him. “How was the trip little sister?”

“Fine,” she told him. Arya picked her bag up from where she’d dropped it and followed Jon to the car. “So how is everyone else?”

He waved his hand “Well enough – some better than others. You’ll find out when you get home.”

While Winterfell as a city had been officially absorbed into Winterstown centuries before it had remained the most upscale and wealthy area of the entire North, and as a result of its being much more well known that Winterstown the whole region was known in the South as Winterfell. Some things had changed Arya saw from the window of the passenger’s seat in the waning light. There was new construction near the airport and some of the shops had changed in even the older parts of town. She and Jon enjoyed having only the radio quietly playing the latest hits from Volantis and Lannisport, though Jon would have honestly preferred classical music and Arya leaned towards Braavosi styles but neither of those were available at that hour and it was easy to tune out.

Arya drew in her breath when Jon turned onto the street into her parents’ neighborhood. The fencing was imposing and the houses were particularly large and often lavish. There was a change in the front garden of her parents’ home. “Jon what happened to the tree?” she asked, a tinge of panic in her voice. The ancient ironwood that had stood sentinel over her parents’ front lawn since before her father was born was gone, an enormous black stump and some missing grass was all that was left in the area it had once been.

“It was diseased and it had to be taken down a week ago. I thought your mother would have mentioned.”

“She didn’t.”

“Well maybe this is why if you’re going to cry over it,” he said good-naturedly.

The annual flowers were different, her mother had chosen a mix of what looked like purple and white flowers from what Arya could see in the dim light of the street lights and the garden lamps. Arya noted this without the shock she’d felt at losing her favorite climbing tree. Her mother usually chose a different mix of annuals annually. It kept things fresh without cutting into the foundations of what made their home, well, their home. “Do you need a minute with the stump?” Jon asked, grabbing Arya’s bag from the trunk.

“No, I’ll have a funeral for it tomorrow.” That got her cousin to laugh and he threw an arm over her shoulders to guide her inside.

It was just the family that evening. Normally Arya would have expected to see some of her mother’s Tully relatives like her great uncle Brynden and his husband, her uncle Edmure and his wife or some family friends such as the Reeds or Baratheons but instead it was just her parents, siblings, and Jon. Which would obviously lead to some sort of girls’ activity with her mother and Sansa, the two people she was looking forward to spending time with the least. Arya bore the tight embraces, Rickon’s fist bump, and a somewhat awkward hug with Jeyne due to her swollen belly. Arya felt as if there were butterflies in her own belly.

The dinner went smoothly, the only blips being when Robb spilled wine on his dress shirt and when Rickon failed to smother a belch which earned himself and Robb sharp looks. Rickon for belching, Robb for laughing. Arya hid her own snort by pretending to choke on a sip of wine. Her mother noticed but chose to ignore it.

“It’s wonderful to have all of us together again for once,” Catelyn began when the table was being cleared.

“Here we go,” Arya thought dismally.

“– and while I adore all of my boys I think we need to have some time together as ladies. Sansa, Arya?” Catelyn’s stare seemed to bore into Arya’s head. Arya didn’t dare ignore the direction and followed her mother, sister, and sister-in-law to the theater room. Jeyne and Sansa settled down to work on giving Jeyne a pedicure, she couldn’t reach her feet after all, and Catelyn pulled her youngest aside.

“Did you get a new tattoo or a tongue piercing or whatnot?” Catelyn snapped once they were out of earshot of their companions.

“What? No.” Arya crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared up at her mother.

“Then can you explain why you’ve spent the whole evening acting guilty?”

“I have not been acting guilty.”

“Then what would you call your behavior? It is not normal for you. I appreciate your not fighting with your sister, though I will admit you haven’t done that in some time, but if something wasn’t off you would have at least spent more time talking to your brothers or Jon.”

Arya took a deep breath, “I didn’t want to have this conversation.”

“What conversation,” Catelyn put a cool hand on Arya’s shoulder.

“I –” Arya glanced at where her sister and Jeyne were seated, “can I speak to you in private?”

Catelyn’s eyebrows rose, “alright.”

They walked back to the kitchen which was deserted now that the cook had gone home. Arya ran her hand along the marble counter and listened to the dishwasher humming. Her mother set two glasses of water between them and stared her daughter down. “What is this all about? Out with it.”

Arya kept her eyes on the lines in the stone, “I quit med school.”

“You what?” Catelyn hissed.

“I couldn’t do it anymore. I – I hate the studying and I don’t like any of the doctors I know. It’s too cerebral or, or whatever. I just felt so tense all the time, I was under so much pressure to finish school and become this like, great doctor like I’d planned on and it wasn’t working and when I sent the school my withdrawal letter it felt so good and I didn’t want to tell any of you because I’ve been working towards being a doctor for so long and I felt so ashamed that I jumped ship so late when I was supposed to be smart and dependable and I always said I’d never change my mind about what I wanted to be but it just wasn’t right. I’m sorry.” Arya wiped furiously at a tear that had escaped.

Catelyn stayed quiet for a few minutes while Arya regained control. “I was afraid you were going to tell me you were pregnant,” she said at last.

Arya laughed, “Me? No. No. Never.”

Catleyn leaned back in her chair, “Never say never Arya. You just told me you quit medical school, giving up a dream you’ve had since you were nine years old.”

“I mean I don’t expect to ever come crawling home in tears as an unwed mother who doesn’t even know who the father is.” Arya took a drink of her water, “Aren’t you angry with me?”

“For dropping out of school? It is disappointing, an adjustment to be made, but it’s not the worst thing you could have done. As long as you’re happy. Speaking of which, what have you been doing since you quit?”

Arya’s shoulder’s dropped as the last bits of eternal stress fled her system. If her mother wasn’t angry that she’d quit school then there was no chance her father would be. “I’m still an RN you know so I got a job at the children’s hospital in Riverrun, since I didn’t want to go back to Braavos at all, and I’ve been taking some courses at the community college there in like languages and math. And I’ve been dancing a lot. Just, trying to figure out what I really want now that I know doctoring isn’t it.”

“So you’re not living on the streets in Essos?”

Arya shook her head, “No, of course not.”

“And you’re happy?”

Arya thought for a moment, “Yeah, it’s the happiest I’ve been since before dad went to work in King’s Landing.”

“Good,” her mother said before she stood and came around the counter to bury Arya in an embrace. “That’s all I want for you my little wolf girl,” Catelyn muttered into Arya’s hair.

#aegon #end of year celebration #asoiaf fanfiction #fanfiction #my fics #arya stark #jon snow #catelyn stark

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raphidae · 8 years ago

Text

Weep You No More

Author’s Note: So this is the scene that inspired me to write the Sense and Sensibility AU in the first place, and I’m so glad I finally wrote it down! As for what Lance is singing, the link is right here! Granted, Lance isn’t singing the song in this particular key, but the idea is there! Oh, by the way, I own neither Voltron nor Sense and Sensibility. LOL.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MhI3lWxArCU

Also, if you want to hear any more about this AU, my inbox is open and I’d love to answer any questions you might have with either headcanons or fics like this! Without further adieu, let us begin!

EDIT: AT LAST, this story has an AO3 link, as placed here!

Settling into Leonidus had proven far easier than anticipated for Allura and Lance Alforchild, not the least because of the delightful company they had found in Coran Wimbledon-Smythe, their father’s closest friend and the keeper of the house, and Henare “Hunk” Garrett, the jovial chef and servant who lived with them. Lance in particular had found Hunk’s company quite the comfort in his time of grief, and had created in the span of a single week a close enough friendship to be allowed to tease the chef with regards to letters Hunk had been writing to a certain “Pidge”.

“How’s your lovely pigeon doing today?” Lance said, sitting next to Hunk at the luncheon table (Coran, Lance and Allura had insisted that Hunk sit down to eat with them).

Hunk raised an eyebrow, his face betraying the slightest blush, and said, “She’s doing well, Lance, though I think she’d rather be out of her cage, which seems to be getting smaller for her by the day–”

Slav Gunderson, a very close, very eccentric friend of Coran’s that he simply had to introduce to his honorary niece and nephew, chimed in with a “Oh, you simply must tell me about your bird, though I do hope you’re taking full responsibility for her as well as pleasure with her!”

With that, Hunk’s face turned redder than the pomegranates Slav had managed to find and bring to Leonidus’s dining room table, and Lance simply stared at this strange man, shocked and perhaps slightly jealous that there existed a man more effortlessly opposed to propriety than himself.

“Oh, from what I hear, our chef’s not the only one with a secret paramour!” Coran said, prompting both Lance and Hunk to groan, and then continued, having not seen the sheer look of panic in Allura’s eyes, “Allura here has had quite the list of suitors trying to get her attention already, and she’s ignored all of them! She must have left her heart in Altea Park, perhaps we can get a name for the lucky suitor?”

Allura glared at Lance to keep him quiet, but when Coran and Slav persisted, she conceded, “I shall allow you each a guess as to the first letter of his surname. Lance is not allowed to help any of you, as he already knows the name of my alleged paramour.”

“Alleged my a–” Lance said before having his mouth promptly covered by a now-flustered Allura.

“Who would like to make the first guess?” Allura asked, a fake smile plastered on her face.

“X?”

Lance once again stared at Slav and wondered what must be going on in his bizarre little mind. He then sighed and said, “Slav, do you know anyone whose last name starts with X?”

“No, of course not, well, not in this universe, but in a universe merely two universes away from this one Miss Alforchild is madly in love with someone who has a surname starting with X, so I thought I’d take my chances!” Slav proclaimed loudly, but as Coran and Hunk huddled together to discuss other possible letters, Allura and Lance swore they could hear Slav mutter, “Miss Alforchild obviously doesn’t want us to know of this suitor so why not throw my shot?” With that, the Alforchilds thought to themselves that perhaps this Slav figure wouldn’t be such unpleasant company after all.

Coran sighed next and said, “This might be a long shot, but I know of a splendid man who lives around here with a last name starting with S?”

“No,” Allura said, her face relaxing into near-relief. “How about you, Hunk?”

With a smile on his face, Hunk guessed, “K!”

The bright red that graced Allura’s cheeks revealed the rightness of his guess, but before Coran and Slav could go any further as to guessing the identity of Allura’s love interest, Lance blurted out, “Want me to play for you?!”

After an exceedingly awkward silence, Slav answered, “Mr. Alforchild, I have heard from your father, before he passed of course, that is quite the tragedy, that you have quite the skill with the pianoforte, so yes, you simply must perform for us! Something cheerful to commemorate your arrival at this good house!”

Lance gulped; he hadn’t anticipated a yes in reply. “You mean you, Allura, Hunk, Coran and the beagles?”

Coran then proceeded to zealously second the idea, saying, “Absolutely, my boy, my beagles absolutely adore good music!”

“I don’t know about that,” Lance said, grimacing at the realization that he hadn’t cared to play anything but mournful tunes since his father’s passing.

“Oh Lance,” Allura said, now genuinely relieved, “It would be a great comfort to hear you play, Father always loved it.”

“You know I can never say no to you, Allura,” Lance muttered as he walked toward the pianoforte and rifled through the stack of music placed to its right. He then saw the hasty transposition he had written not so long before his father’s death and the words written on top, “Weep You No More Sad Fountains,” and knew he had found his piece.

“I think I’ll play one of my favorites. I heard Allura sing it a while back and transposed it to a key I could manage,” Lance said, whipping out the sheet music and placing it in front of him. After making sure everyone was seated and quiet, he began to play. “Weep you no more, sad fountains, what need you flow so fast?”

Lance continued, and Coran had to gently stop Slav from clapping between phrases. The beagles were for once silent, and Allura stealthily took out the handkerchief Keith had given her and made to wipe the tears flowing down her face with all the decorum she could muster. Hunk had no such discretion and openly enjoyed the performance, prompting a smile to grace Lance’s face as he played on.

As Lance sang, “Softly, softly, now softly, softly lies sleeping,” an absolutely gorgeous man with a delicately-crafted steel and brass arm at his right side and a scar across his face could be seen walking through the door. Wow, Coran sure was right about Allura already having the suitors lining up to see her, he thought pleasantly, and he figured he might as well give his potential future brother-in-law a good show.

Lance played an improvised interlude, giving the new visitor just enough time to reach the threshold of the parlour, and then continued, “Sleep is a reconciling, a rest that peace begets...”

Colonel Takashi Shirogane, or Shiro, as he preferred to be called, had heard that a new pair of faces had graced the house of Leonidus, and, being one of the premier figures of the town (how that happened he’d never know), he figured he might as well introduce himself and try to make them more comfortable with the prospect of living in this small, tightly-knit town. If perhaps he got an insider’s look at the reigning gossip of the day (Mr. Wimbleton-Smythe’s none-too-secret affection for Mr. Gunderson, that eccentric librarian that annoyed the daylights out of him, would never cease to make Shiro wonder at the mustachioed man’s sanity), that was his secret delight to be revealed to no one.

As Shiro approached Leonidus, he noticed that Ebony, who normally without fail set out to greet him by at latest ten paces away from the house, wasn’t even there by the time he reached the threshold. Before he could fret as to Ebony’s condition, however, he heard the twinkling of the pianoforte, far better than he had heard from Leonidus’s walls in years, and an animated tenor rang out in song to join it. Shiro found himself stopped just beyond the threshold and suddenly very aware of the clinking noise his boots must have made.

He held his breath, and, quietly as he could, crept toward the beautiful sound. He could hear the first verse ending and met the performer’s eyes (that he had never seen such a gorgeous shade of blue was the surprising first thought that came to mind); the performer sat up slightly more straightly than he had been, and he played an interlude, beckoning Shiro with a nod to come closer. It was almost as though the man performed the interlude purely to give him time to do so, and Shiro smiled, gladdened by the mere idea of it.

The man resumed his song as Shiro leaned into the doorway of the parlour, and Shiro had to keep himself from shivering; he sounded so much better up close.

“Doth not the sun rise smiling, when fair at even he sets?” The thought of a duet with this man crossed his mind, and Shiro’s face reddened at the prospect of it. Thank goodness all attention was on the man playing the pianoforte and not him, for Shiro doubted he could tolerate Slav asking him oddly-perceptive questions about illnesses that made the face turn red.

“Rest you then, rest sad eyes,” the man sang, and Shiro felt as though he were singing solely to him. His soul outright panted at the thrill of it, but his face revealed nothing of the sort; he would not allow for it. Perhaps he would allow himself to admit the man beautiful, yes, that he could think silently to himself without curious eyes looking his way.

“Melt not in weeping, while she lies sleeping.” For a moment, Shiro saw a small glimmer of tears in the beautiful man’s eyes, and he reconsidered the performance’s possible audience; perhaps the man was singing to himself. The glimmer disappeared not a second later, and Shiro sunk even more deeply into the song.

“Softly, softly,” the beautiful man sang, and softly the tears began to flow down Shiro’s face instead. He wiped them away with his right hand, hoping that both audience and performer were as entranced by the song being played as he found himself becoming and did not notice his tears.

“Now softly...” The beautiful man took a small gasping breath at the end of the phrase, and at that moment Shiro found that his heart was utterly lost, stolen entirely by this enchanting creature with an angel’s voice.

“Softly lies sleeping.” There was naught but peace on the beautiful man’s face as he played the final few notes of the song, and Shiro thought to himself that perhaps the spell would be lifted at song’s end.

It wasn’t.

Lance stood up to take his bows and wipe the errant tears that fell from his face as he played.

“Bravo! Bravo! Trust me when I say that in at least twenty universes, you are a celebrated pianist, and if you keep putting out performances like that, you could make it twenty-one!” Slav said, eagerly rushing to the pianoforte and vigorously shaking his hand.

“Now, now then, Slav, we needn’t pester the poor man,” Coran scolded, his tone firm but a gentle hand on the small of Slav’s back that did not escape either Allura’s nor Lance’s notice belying any genuine strictness he may have had otherwise.

“You were amazing! I’ve never seen the beagles this quiet the entire time I’ve lived here!” Hunk said, prompting a laugh to escape Lance’s lips.

Perhaps the most affecting reaction to his performance, however, was a quiet hug, a head on Lance’s shoulder, and a wavering “Thank you” whispered by Allura into Lance’s ear.

The moment did not last long, however, for Coran strolled right up to the gorgeous man that had so eagerly watched his performance (Lance figured that the man was obviously here to meet Allura, but he could dream) and said, “Colonel, it’s always a delight to see you, and I am utterly ecstatic that you came here right on time to hear our newest resident perform for us!”

“He performed quite admirably,” Shiro said, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray just how much of what he said was understatement.

Coran then turned to Lance and said, “Ah, Lance, might I be given the pleasure of introducing you to Colonel Takashi Shirogane?”

Lance turned to Shiro and said, hoping against all hope that he wasn’t too obviously ogling the man, “It’s a honor to meet you, Colonel.”

“Call me Shiro,” he said, taking Lance’s hand into his own and just barely resisting the temptation to kiss it. “And what may I call you?”

“Oh sorry, Shiro!” Lance said, his face flushed and his eyes betraying confusion, especially since Azula was happily barking, wagging her tail and running around the pair; he then composed himself (or at least he tried to do so), grinned and answered, “The name’s Lance Alforchild.”

#shance #mild hidge #implied kallura #sense and sensibility au #this scene has been haunting my head for A MONTH STRAIGHT #dodo fic #voltron: legendary defender #also strongly implied coran/slav they are my secretcrack pairing that i adore

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