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aellynera · 4 years ago

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The Best Years of Your Life (Reeves x Reader)

THE BEST YEARS OF YOUR LIFE

(hey hey, this is my other submission for @wasicskosgirl and her 800 follower celebration! and yes, you read that right - it’s REEVES. i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you enjoy reading it! CONGRATS Amanda!!)

Word Count: um like 6200ish oops it was supposed to be a blurb

Summary: They say the best years of your life happen in high school, but what do they know?

Warnings: Some language. Female reader implied but no pronouns/description. Teenage angst. Adult wistfulness. Mostly fluffy tho. No promises about proofreading. Frog murder.

with the prompt - “Like what you see?”

It all started back in high school. Sometimes you wonder how often people say that, and if it’s really true or they’re just falsely remembering how things happened because high school is supposed to be the best four years of your life.

But in this case, it’s true. Because high school is when you met Reeves.

Sophomore Year. High School. A Friday.

It was the third day of sophomore year, fourth period on a Friday morning, your last before the lunch break. Biology class was maybe the one you were least looking forward to, not exclusively because of the required frog dissection, but pretty damn close. Gross. And you never understood why the school year didn’t just start on a Monday, but you were new here in San Diego. Maybe they just did things differently.

It was bad enough being the new kid. It was worse when you walked into class halfway through the lecture, even if it wasn’t your fault. The timing of the move was weird, and you’d spent most of the first two days, and this morning, doing placement tests and talking to your counselor.

And now you were being called out in front of the entire class.

“Ah, there you are,” your teacher announced as you walked in the door. “Everyone, this is our new student, please make them feel welcome. You can sit over there.”

Your eyes followed as she motioned to the empty seat at the lab table in the back of the room. Suddenly you weren’t sure if your face felt hot because of embarrassment or because of the boy in the other chair.

Dark, curly hair cut close on the sides but longer on the top. Deep brown eyes framed by long, long lashes. Full, plush lips curling up into his cheek on one side. A nose that, okay, maybe might be a bit oversized but for some reason worked on his handsome face and--

Well, shit. Definitely not the embarrassment.

You shuffled your way to your seat and slid into it with your head down. A few students watched you curiously but soon turned their attention back to the lesson. You tried your best to focus on what was going on, to not look to your left at the distraction next to you.

You weren’t very successful.

By now you thought you’d sneaked enough covert glances to know that we was wearing a leather jacket, had a small diamond stud earring in his left ear, a bunch of silver-studded brown suede wrap bracelets around both wrists, a silver ring on his right index finger, and oddly precise handwriting as he took notes. In between relevant facts the teacher was sharing, he was doodling tiny music notes in the margins of his notebook.

And he totally caught you looking.

“Like what you see?” he leaned over and whispered.

Your mouth felt drier than the Sahara but also somehow so moist you were afraid you might have actually drooled on yourself. You should have opened your mouth to respond but your brain refused to make the connection. Probably for the best.

At least, at first. When it finally caught up to you, the only response your brain could provide was, “Maybe?”

Now would be the perfect time for the floor to swallow you whole.

He just winked at you and his attention went back to the doodles around his notes.

You shifted your gaze back to your own notebook, but you don’t know if anything else of importance was said, and don’t remember writing anything down. The bell ringing sharply pulled you back to reality and you hastily shoved your books in your backpack, ready to escape.

Just as you were about to leave, a voice called out. “Hey, sorry about earlier. If I freaked you out or anything.”

You looked up. He was smiling at you, a little shyly. You bit your lip, your brain and mouth still refusing to connect.

He stuck his hand out. “I’m Reeves. You’re new here?”

“Um…” you smacked yourself internally. This was ridiculous, you weren’t really shy, you knew how to have a conversation, he was just introducing himself. You were going to have a serious conversation with your brain later about proper communication techniques.

It felt like hours had passed, but you finally pulled yourself together enough to respond. “Yeah. My- my dad got transferred for work, we moved here like a week ago. He literally dragged the family across the country. I’m originally from New York City.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, cool! I always wanted to go to New York City!”

You found yourself smiling back.

“Do you...wanna sit with me at lunch?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe you could tell me a little about the city? And...about you, since we’re gonna have to commit heinous acts of violence on an amphibian together? I’d like to know who’s wielding a scalpel next to me.”

The giggle that escaped your throat could not be contained. This boy - Reeves - was adorable. “Oh. Okay, yeah. I’d really like that.”

The Present.

Poor Lenny the Frog never stood a chance. Then again, neither did you.

To be fair, Lenny was already dead when you and Reeves got your hands on him. Well, when you got your hands on him, because for the full first half of that specific class period, Reeves refused to touch him and nearly turned as green as Lenny once was. That’s when he insisted on naming your cadaver, because somehow giving it a name made it easier to deal with.

You were pretty sure Reeves was nuts.

By the middle of sophomore year, you were dead too, but not for the same reasons.

By the middle of sophomore year, you weren’t sure how you were still alive, because every time he looked over at you and gave you a sly smile during class, gave you that look, you felt your heart go taut and you forgot how to breathe and certainly, rightfully, should have been dead.

Your friend Alexis stuck her head into your bathroom. “Hey, we’re just waiting on Vanessa, and then we’re good to go. Drinks first? The show doesn’t start until 8 so we have time.”

You glanced up from your makeup and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Alexis grinned. “Aaaaaah I’m so glad you agreed to go out tonight! It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“Oh, it’s gonna be something,” you muttered, going back to your eyeliner.

Alexis had been the first one to see the concert announcement about a week ago. A benefit show at one of the clubs down in Greenwich Village, some punk revival thing (for charity) with a bunch of different singers and musicians. Not normally your scene, but Alexis scanned through the names and suddenly remembered you’d known Reeves in high school. You said yes, he was in your class, and you’d been lab partners once. Vanessa squealed in excitement and Alexis announced you were going to the show. There was never any actual agreement.

Because of course Reeves was going to be there. And of course, you had to be too.

Junior Year. The Parking Lot. A Tuesday.

“I’m just saying, it was a ridiculous foul, and it should never have been called,” Reeves groused as you walked out of the gym.

“We also should have made like twenty more of our own foul shots,” you pointed out.

The Lake Howell Silverhawks had fallen to their arch-rivals in a somewhat glorious fashion. You didn’t even like basketball that much. But that didn’t really matter. The games were just an excuse to go out for burgers before and hang out with your friends during.

It was definitely an excuse to hang out with Reeves.

Junior year, you were both disappointed to find you didn’t have any classes together, but you still almost always ate lunch together. He’d come over to your house to study during the week and sometimes just to chill out on the weekends. Over the past year, he’d shown you all around the city and taken you to his favorite places. You told him all about New York, how you missed it and one day you’d go back, and all the famous sites and which ones were tourist traps that he was only allowed to visit the very first time and then never again.

You spent so much time together, even your mother liked to tease you about why he wasn’t your boyfriend.

It took a while for you to find the words to tell her it was because he was someone else’s.

As much as you liked to pretend she didn’t change anything, Randie Rustenberg changed everything. It was gradual, like a creeping vine of ivy, and she slowly took him over. There was no malice; it was just one of those things that happened. Reeves spent less time with you, his best friend, and more time with Randie, his girlfriend.

The girlfriend you desperately wished was you, because ever since that first biology class you’d had the biggest, stupidest crush on him.

Eventually you had a boyfriend of your own. Theo was a nice guy, he really was. Polite, friendly, had a good sense of humor, liked your family. And your family loved him. Your mother was so happy that you had a boyfriend, she seemed to forget to ask how Reeves was and if you’d seen him lately.

Of course you saw him. You saw him every day, in the cafeteria, at his locker, passing by in the halls. Sometimes you could find him playing the grand piano on the stage in the empty auditorium. Yes, if your mother bothered to ask, you saw Reeves all the time. Now it was just always with her.

Except this week. It was a break of sorts, no classes, just some sports and other school activities. Randie was on some trip with her parents for some kind of church function, and Theo was fishing with his dad on some lake up north. He’d told you where, but you honestly couldn’t be bothered to recall. So when a bunch of your friends and a bunch of his friends all said everyone was going to the basketball game, there was no debate.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

Sometime during the game, your friends wandered off to the snack bar and never ventured back. His friends started a game of hacky-sack under the bleachers. And you found yourself pretending to understand all the finer points about hoops strategy, cheering and yelling along with Reeves and having a great time, just like you used to.

“Where’d you park?” he asked as you left the gym and headed out into the sea of cars. You vaguely pointed in the direction of yours and he grinned. “Oh, good, I’m that way too. Come on, I’ll walk you.”

The faint glow emitted by the lampposts in the parking lot bounced off his curls and his eyes, when you could catch a glimpse, were bright beneath them.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

The walk wasn’t very far, but it felt like it was over in a second. You hadn’t said anything on the way, just soaked in the comfort of walking next to him as he kept commenting on the game.

He was waving his hands everywhere, looking at them as he talked as if his hand motions would make things make any more sense to you, in the middle of saying something about your center and how they needed to get better about blocking out when you finally spoke.

“Oh, shit.”

Reeves looked up at you. “What, you don’t agree?”

You dropped your bag on the ground and rolled your eyes. “No, my car is locked and I left my keys inside.” You pointed to the passenger seat. Your keys stared back at you derisively.

You both stared back at them for a moment, then he grinned. “Hang on, I got you.” He held up one finger and trotted off to his car, coming back a minute later with something in his hand. “This should take care of it.”

You took a step back. “Reeves? Um. Okay, why do you have a coat hanger in your car.”

He rolled his eyes back at you. “For emergencies, duh.” He quickly twisted the hanger into a hook shape and went to your passenger side window.

“And why do you know how to break into a car with said coat hanger?”

“Like I told you,” his tongue poked out between his teeth as he worked, “for emergencies. You think I haven’t locked my own keys in my car once or six times?”

“Did Randie teach you how to do this?” The words were out of your mouth before you could think. She probably had. She might have been churchy when required, but she was also responsible for about half of Reeves’s stints in detention (the other half just being him making the wrong joke at the wrong time and pissing a teacher off.)

Thank god he didn’t seem to hear you as he kept working at the lock. Finally you heard a *click* and he pumped a fist into the air with a little “yessss!”

And then you’re not really sure what happened. You bent down to pick up your bag and then you were standing up and Reeves’s face was literally about three inches away from yours and for the eight thousandth time since you’d know him, you forgot how to breathe.

Neither of you said anything for what felt like days. You just stared at each other under the dim halo of the parking lot lights.

“Here you go.” He took your hand and dropped your keys into it.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Like what you see?” the corners of his mouth quirked up, just the slightest little bit.

“...Maybe.”

And the staring recommenced. Were you two getting closer? Physically closer, you meant, of course you were close, you’d always been close. Well, at one time you were really close but then Randie Restenberg happened and it wasn’t fair that she got to know what those lips felt like and did he always smell this good or--

“Yo, Reeves!” A pickup truck full of guys skidded to a stop behind your car and one of his friends - Jake? Jack? you barely remembered your own name right now - stuck his head out the window. “Fight to the death ping pong tourney at Matt’s house! You in?”

Reeves bit his lip and closed his eyes for a second before he pulled back with a soft “I’m sorry” before turning to his friends. “Um, yeah, sure. Sounds brutal. I’ll meet you there.”

The pickup sped off, tires screeching out of the parking lot. Reeves turned back to you, but you’d already gotten into your now unlocked car and started the engine.

You rolled down the window a fraction and gave him a weak smile. “Hey, um. Thanks for saving my butt. Now go kick theirs at ping pong, yeah?” Your face felt so hot, and for once you were grateful for the dim lights in the lot.

“You could, um, come along if- if you want.”

“Nah, I’m...I’m tired, I’m just gonna...um, head home. But I’ll see you tomorrow maybe?”

Reeves looked like he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stepped onto the curb in front of your car, smiled, and raised his hand in a little wave as he watched you drive off.

The Present.

A series of shrieks and the slamming of the door told you Vanessa had finally arrived. It sounded like they were jumping up and down on the tile just inside your front door, which was ridiculous since you’d all just seen each other the day before. But typical.

You smoothed a pinkie under your eye, checked your makeup one final time, and went into the living room.

“Oh, you look hot,” Vanessa gushed. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and plopped down on your couch. “Who are you trying to impress tonight?”

“Reeves, of course,” Alexis laughed, leaning on the kitchen counter. She sorted anything she might need from her big purse into a little evening bag as she talked. “You know we go to all his shows. And you know they went to high school together.”

You snorted. “That was a long time ago. I’m not even sure he’d remember me.”

Vanessa waggled her eyebrows. “You’re probably right, No offense, honey, but no one was that hot back in high school.”

He was, your brain supplied. Very helpful. You smiled wanly.

Vanessa continued. “But you were friends, right? You’ve never really talked about it. God, it must be so cool now to think that you were friends with Reeves back when he was an awkward high school teenager.”

“Reeves was never awkward,” you laugh. “It was kind of unfair.”

“But you totally had a crush on him,” Alexis offered.

Had? What do you mean, had? Oh my god, shut up, brain.

A pillow flew in your direction and you ducked as Vanessa giggled and Alexis rolled her eyes. “Come on, tell us something about him,” Vanessa goaded. “Wait. Was he, like, your prom date? That’s your secret! You totally went to prom with Reeves and you never told us!”

Senior Year. Prom. A Saturday.

The night was not supposed to go this way.

It was supposed to be limousines and corsages and dinner with dates and friends. It was supposed to be endless pictures while your mother told you how gorgeous you looked and how handsome he was and your father gave a thinly-veiled shovel talk about how he knew what happens on prom night and what would really happen if that actually happened. It was supposed to be punch and cookies and balloons. It was supposed to be dancing closer than the chaperones were comfortable with and kissing with tongue when they weren’t looking.

It was supposed to be the best night of your life. It was supposed to be fun.

Nowhere in your weeks of dreaming of this night did it involve sitting on a bench in the girls’ locker room, knees pulled up to your chest, while the party carried on in the gym just beyond.

It definitely didn’t involve crying.

The bass beats of the deejay and the harmony of laughter temporarily got louder as the locker room door opened, and then faded back into a muted thumping as the door closed again a second later. You could hear footsteps headed in your direction but before you could unfold yourself and wipe your tears away, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, there you are!”

Being able to find the words to describe how he looked in his tux, his curls slightly tamed by some gel, the blue rose (of course it would be an off color, why would he pick something standard?) pinned to his lapel, his lopsided grin… Finding the words was nearly impossible.

Of course he would show up now. Because your night wasn’t already crappy enough and half the reason you were sitting there weeping instead of out there dancing was standing right in front of you.

You realized that wasn’t fair. It was probably more like, twenty-five percent of the reason, and it wasn’t his fault. But that didn’t make it any better.

“Why are you in the girls’ locker room, Reeves?” you sniffled.

He furrowed his eyebrows and his nose scrunched up in concern as he took in your mascara-streaked cheeks and puffy red eyes. “One of your friends said you came in here like half an hour ago and nobody’s seen you since. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly not.” He sat down next to you. “Wanna talk about it?”

A deep, shaky sign left your chest. You didn’t really want to talk about how, earlier in the evening, you’d excused yourself to use the restroom and come back to the gym to find Theo dancing with...you didn’t remember her name, nor did you care. You didn’t mind that he was dancing with another girl, in theory, but it was another matter entirely when his hands were on her ass and she was sucking a deep purple mark into his neck. And he was laughing.

A short, vicious argument ensued in the coat room after you’d cut in and dragged him off by the elbow. And it turned out that he’d been seeing whats-her-name for months, somehow, behind your back while pretending that everything was perfect with you. When he was supposedly visiting his grandparents? He was with her. When he had to work an extra shift? He was with her. When he got off the phone with you, saying he needed to get to bed early? He was calling her.

Prom wasn’t supposed to involve a very public break-up.

And things didn’t get any better when, deciding you needed something to drink, you went back into the gym and immediately saw Reeves and Randie, dancing cheek to cheek, arms snugly wrapped around each other as a soft, romantic song wafted through the air. Because of course he was with her. She was his girlfriend and Reeves wasn’t a detestable cheating asshole.

There was always another her.

You couldn’t handle it.

So you took off to somewhere almost guaranteed to be empty. You figured the locker room wasn’t really the kind of place kids would want to make out, and you were right. It was blessedly empty. Until now.

But you couldn’t tell him the second part, so you just went with the first. His eyes got wide as you blubbered through the sordid details of Theo being a complete and utter twat. Another quivery sob half-burst from you and Reeves got up. He grabbed a few paper towels from the dispenser and handed them to you as he sat back down.

“Thanks,” you hiccuped.

“I never liked him,” Reeves announced.

You found yourself choking on a huff of air. “What? Yes you did! Everybody loved him. That’s what makes it extra shitty.”

“Did you?”

“What?”

Reeves cocked his head and looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “Did you love him?”

Your mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. Why did you always seem to forget how to make words when Reeves asked you questions?

“What?”

He shrugged. “Everyone else loved him. Did you?”

You used every last ounce of willpower you had to not jump up on that bench and shout that of course you didn’t love Theo, you idiot, because I love you.

That would not make this night any easier.

The next thing you knew, Reeves put an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest, hugging you soundly. He rested his cheek on the top of your head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re better off without him.”

You dabbed at your eyes. Nope, still couldn’t make words.

Minutes, hours, days. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, pressed to him and feeling him breathe beneath you. You no longer had any idea how long it had even been since everything crashed around you and he’d come to try and help you pick up the pieces. You just listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady, as the muffled music and joyful shouts of classmates went on past the closed door.

Finally he spoke again. “Hey, you wanna get one of those complimentary pictures?”

“What?” Oh, great. You were finally able to answer his question but you could still only come up with that one word? Stupid brain.

“Well, I…” he sat up straight and, after the briefest look into your eyes, he glanced away. Was he blushing? You weren’t sure. “I always kind of...I kind of thought we’d have a prom picture together. I mean, I just figured, y’know, we’d go with a bunch of friends, but I always hoped I’d get a picture with my best friend.”

The sniffles were back in an instant. Damn him. “Reeves, I...you really want to get a picture now? I look horrible, I can’t get a picture taken like this!”

He took the paper towel from your hand and gently dabbed at your cheeks. “You couldn’t look horrible if you tried. Come on, it’ll be fun. And just think how excited your mom will be when she gets a copy of it.”

Despite your best efforts, you had to laugh. “Okay.”

You headed to the photo area after you washed your face, Reeves helped you wipe off the stray streaks of mascara, and you reapplied just a bit of makeup to make yourself feel better. You were never sure what Reeves said to the photographer before the shots, but he seemed quite happy to take multiples. Reeves stayed pressed against your back with his arms down around your waist, hands clasped together in front of you, for each and every one.

At some point between the second and third shot, he leaned just a little closer into you and you suddenly felt his breath against your ear. “Like what you see?”

For maybe the first time that entire night, your face broke into a genuine smile. “Maybe.”

For a few minutes, your night was absolutely perfect.

The Present.

It was the greatest date that never was.

“No, Reeves was not my prom date,” you told your friends with a shake of your head.

You left out most of the other details, partly because you didn’t want to answer eight hundred questions from Vanessa and partly because, well, you just wanted those moments for yourself.

After the pictures, Reeves had asked if you would like to dance. Until then you didn’t realize it was possible for eyebrows to shoot that far up a person’s forehead, but yours were up for the challenge. You’d mumbled something about if Randie would mind, because you were sure she absolutely would, but he brushed it off. Randie had gone off with her friends when he came to find you, and he really wanted to dance with you, just one dance with his frog murder accomplice. And he said that with a straight face and a twinkle in his eye and there was no way you could refuse.

As if there was any way you’d say no.

One dance turned into two, and then several, until the girlfriend in question finally did show back up and Reeves was pulled away, leaving you with a soft smile and a mouthed “sorry”.

Definitely the greatest never-date.

After prom, life returned to what vaguely resembled normal. Your love life sucked and Reeves still had a girlfriend that wasn’t you, and you didn’t see him much. To be fair, the end of senior year and graduation did creep up pretty fast so there wasn’t a lot of time anyway. Graduation was there before you knew it; he cheered for you and you cheered for him as you each walked across the stage. You made brief appearances at each others’ graduation parties and talked a bit and then, once again before you knew what happened next, it was time to leave for college.

You went back to New York. Reeves stayed on the west coast.

And over the years, like so many other people before you and after you, you just fell out of touch.

“And anyway,” you asserted, “we were just kind of friends. Yeah, like I told Alexis before, we were lab partners sophomore year, and we hung out sometimes, but that was it. Really.”

Alexis snorted and Vanessa narrowed her eyes. “Mmmhmm.”

You threw the pillow back at her. “Mmmhmm.”

“All right, you two,” Alexis chided. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Somehow, you managed to get down to Greenwich Village without further interrogation and minimal shenanigans.

The Present. One Hour Later. Another Saturday Night.

The bar inside the club was pretty packed. Granted, it was a Saturday night down in The Village, so it wasn’t too uncommon, but you were honestly surprised that this many people showed up for a punk retrospective.

There were a few other relatively big-name acts you recognized on the bill, and a fair number of people were wearing t-shirts with Reeves’s most recent album cover on the front. There were even a few that had shirts with his face on it, which was frankly kind of weird.

“Looks like you’re not his only number one fan,” Vanessa smirked.

“I just enjoy his music,” you said off-handedly as you tried to flag down a bartender. “But anyway, tonight isn’t even about him. We’re just here to support charity, right?”

Alexis pretended to agree with you. “Right.”

You glared at both of them before turning your attention back to the bar. Yes, you came to every one of his shows in the area. When you had time. When you could take the night off. When you could rearrange your schedule and switch shifts at the last minute and promise favors to be able to attend them. When you maybe once or twice just called out sick because nothing else worked. So what.

They were really starting to get on your nerves.

The bartender finally noticed you and took your order, and you looked around the club again while you waited.

Lots of people, ranging from just-allowed-to-buy-booze to mid-sixties businessmen. A few folks that looked to currently be in their golden years but were clearly once punks in their prime. Many people in black and chains and mohawks and neon hair and piercings, to the point where you honestly couldn’t tell who was a performer and who was a patron.

The one person you were looking for was the one that you couldn’t pick out of the crowd.

“He’s gotta be here somewhere!” Vanessa’s voice shouted from somewhere behind your shoulder.

“Vanessa, you’re getting a little weird about this,” you called back as you grabbed your drink and turned around.

“Like what you see?”

Eyes wide and mouth slightly hanging open, you almost dropped your full glass.

Vaguely, nearby, you heard the sound of glass shattering and shot a glance to your left. Alexis really had dropped her drink, and Vanessa was clutching onto her arm for dear life. She was holding her glass at a slightly odd angle and the contents were dripping onto one of her shoes.

The crowd silently pulsed backwards as one, clearing out around the four of you for a respectable distance. Several people watched curiously; surprisingly, they just stood back and stared instead of trying to get involved.

Reason Number One why you really couldn’t blame them: Reeves stood there, right in front of you. Literally less than two feet away, looking right at you. His mouth pulled up into his familiar lopsided grin, his hair still dark but shot through with strands of silver, curly on the top and shorter on the sides. His nose with the little dent, perfect on his face under those dark, luminous brown eyes and...holy shit, was he wearing eyeliner? He was wearing eyeliner.

Reason Number Two why you really couldn’t blame them: Leather pants. Under his old, faded t-shirt and black leather jacket (you were used to seeing him in brown, but you had to admit the black looked good) he was wearing leather pants.

Reason Number Three why you really couldn’t blame them: Quite simply, Reeves was standing in the middle of a bar in New York City and he was talking to you.

You blinked once, then twice. You may have blinked more times but all you could think about was the fact that, after all these years, your brain still couldn’t make words when Reeves asked you a question.

That same old question.

Suddenly you were grinning back, completely ignoring your friends and their dumbfounded squawking and sputtering next to you. You were smiling because even though your brain couldn’t make full sentences of words, it could pull one particular word out of the void and let it come out past your lips.

“Maybe.”

Reeves grinned fully now, his eyes lighting up and the crinkles at the corners deepening.

Someone - maybe Vanessa, maybe a total stranger, you couldn’t be sure - might have swooned from the sidelines.

“Always told you I wanted to come to New York,” he said.

“Always told you I’d go back.”

And the next thing you knew, the next thing that made any sense anywhere in your mind, was that Reeves had stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, and placed the softest, sweetest, most heart-achingly gentle kiss on your lips.

You pulled away in a daze, felt the heat rising in your cheeks, as you heard a muffled choking sound halfway behind you. Definitely Vanessa.

Alexis and Vanessa’s eyes, already bugging out of their faces, nearly fell out of their sockets when Reeves turned to address them.

“Hey, ladies. I’ll come talk to you after the show, but for now, I just need to borrow your friend for a few minutes, okay?”

There were somehow still more bizarre, mostly inhuman noises that came out of your friends and even later, when they’d deny ever acting like that in front of a famous rock star (and rolled their eyes at you when you corrected them that he was a musician, not a rock star), it wouldn’t matter because you weren’t paying a single bit of attention to them them anyway.

You only had eyes for one person.

He took your hand and pulled you past the bar, into a little room in the back; the office, presumably. The second you were both inside, he wrapped his arms around your waist and looked you in the eyes. He just stared for a few minutes, or maybe hours, you weren’t sure.

It really didn’t matter.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” he whispered.

“Third day of school, fourth period biology class, sophomore year?”

Reeves smiled softly. “The second you walked in that door.”

“Why didn’t you?” you tilted your head to look at him. Okay, to gaze into his eyes. You tilted your head to gaze into his eyes and your subconscious hoped to any gods that would listen that you did not have actual hearts or stars in your pupils.

Not that it really mattered.

His arms never left you but he gave a little shrug. “Never seemed to be the right time. And then I had a girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “And I ended up with that lame excuse for a boyfriend. But do you know how long I’ve wanted you to do that?”

“When you couldn’t stop staring at me when you sat down at the lab table next to me?”

“Hmmm, maybe. But definitely when you told the teacher we had to have a funeral for Lenny.”

“Hey, Lenny was a fuckin’ hero,” Reeves batted his eyes at you innocently. “He performed a brave and great service to his country.”

“I am oddly happy you’re still an idiot,” you giggled.

“I’m ecstatic that you kept coming to all my shows in the city.”

You pulled back slightly and looked at the ceiling. “You noticed?”

Reeves gave you that look. That look he always gave you, when you were teenagers, when you said something either completely ridiculous or completely profound. That look he gave you when he thought you might not be looking, even though you were always looking. That look that said he always had your back and you were his best friend. That look that you thought you’d be lucky to see one more time but probably never would.

That look.

“Of course I noticed. I thought about having security make you stay back, but that’s just...no. You always looked happy, and I don’t know...I just didn’t want to intrude, I guess? Just always wondered why you never stuck around after the shows, never stayed to talk to me, never came knocking on the dressing room door.”

You thought about that for a minute. You really did try, but you couldn’t come up with a decent answer. You were happy. Just seeing him was enough, you told yourself. Just hearing him sing was enough, just being in the same room with him, just being near. Just like it was back in high school.

Only it wasn’t high school anymore, and now that he’d finally, finally - after years of would’ve and should’ve and maybes - kissed you, you knew enough wasn’t going to be, well, enough.

So that’s what you told him.

And Reeves pulled you close, leaned in closer, and kissed you again.

You pulled apart, breathless again, and rested your foreheads together.

After minutes, or maybe days, or maybe hours, and definitely years - it didn’t really matter - Reeves was there. You were there. And for once, you were really there together.

“Like what you see?”

“...definitely.”

The Future. Any Day. Every Day.

You always thought, and your friends always said, that the best years of your life happened in high school. And to a certain extent, that was true and you believed in that notion for a very long time.

But ever since that night, that one glorious night in a Manhattan bar, you realized you were wrong.

The best years of your life were still happening.

~end~

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years ago

Text

7x10: Death's Door

Fun Fact: Boris has only watched this episode once. It’s time to weep and watch it again.

Then:

Bobby Singer, the best father the Winchester brothers ever had.

Now:

We get a CSI look into Bobby’s brain while Sam and Dean rush, panicked, to the nearest hospital. In his own mind, Bobby’s realizing something bad has happened. He’s bleeding from his head. Sam and Dean ask what’s happened, and he tells them he was shot. They tell him they would have noticed that, but he counters, “I didn’t take one here. I took one out there, in the real world.”

The brothers are confused, and Bobby tells them there’s something they need to know, but he “can’t get at it.” He’s got to get the real Sam and Dean numbers.

The scene shifts to Bobby with his wife, Karen. They’re in their bedroom, and candles are lit all around. She has something to tell him. Bobby starts to remember this memory. He hears a distant storm, but the sky is clear outside the window. Bobby sees a boy running in the field though. He goes to leave, and flashes to working a case with Rufus.

He tells Rufus he needs his help, but Rufus ducks into a building. Bobby sees the boy again. The boy tells Bobby, “God’s going to punish you.” (Chuck, I swear to FUCKING Chuck, you make me SO mad.) Bobby turns to see a broken glass of milk. The boy is gone so he heads inside the church.

Once inside, the choir at the front of the church disappears, the lights go out, and Bobby meets his reaper.

Bobby runs.

And ends up back at his house where Sam and Dean are fighting over the better martial artist.

He opens the kitchen doors to find his mother, distressed at his dirty appearance before dinner. He slams the doors shut.

He’s with Rufus again. He, again, asks for help, but Rufus is working the case.

In the real world, Sam and Dean rush down the hospital hallway following the hospital staff who have Bobby.

Bobby decides to ditch Rufus, but is attacked by a ghost. She twists at his heart.

The brothers listen in as the hospital staff scramble to save Bobby as he crashes.

Rufus stops the ghost, and Bobby torches her bones.

Bobby’s comatose, but stable. The brothers wait.

Waiting for Rufus outside a clinic, Bobby sees the kid again. This time he remembers him. Rufus interrupts though, and Bobby asks about what he saw when he thought he was dying. Rufus explains he had flashes of his life --and he wanted out. He tells Bobby he found the right door to escape by digging deep into the things one usually doesn’t want to think about. The way out is through your worst memory.

Bobby tells Rufus that he’s dying and he needs to get some information to Sam and Dean. Rufus agrees to help, and tells him to concentrate on the worst of the worst of all his memories.

He then asks Bobby why the ghost called him a heart breaker --when Bobby’s the opposite.

The world shakes, and they’re back in Bobby’s bedroom with Karen. The mood is considerably different. She tells him she hates him. She tells him he knew she wanted kids when they married. He broke her heart, and she tells him to go away. “Just so you know, I’m sorry. I never stopped being sorry,” he tells his wife.

Bobby tells Rufus that 3 days after this fight about having children, Karen was possessed. The fight was Bobby’s biggest regret. They never got a chance to get past this moment.

(Sidenote: I feel like I’m just regurgitating plot because I REFUSE to feel.)

Bobby opens the door, and walks into the light.

And into a park in 1989. He’s still in his own brain. He’s playing ball with Dean.

For Family Science:

Bobby starts looking for another door. Rufus wants to know why Bobby didn’t want kids. “My dad was a mean drunk, I figured I’d be just like him.” (I hurt.) Rufus says he’s just a cranky drunk.

Bobby opens the door. He and Rufus address Bobby’s impending death and Bobby gets a brainstorm: he’s going to stop the reaper.

In the outside world, Dean and Sam interrogate a doctor about Bobby’s condition. He’s not doing great. A man walks in and asks Dean whether Bobby’s signed up as an organ donor. Dean surprisingly doesn’t clock him.

Dean DOES punch out a glass case, however. He storms outside and approaches a fancy car. As suspected, Dick Roman sits inside. The word “dick” is bandied about thrice, while Dean challenges him to fisticuffs. Dick doesn’t RISE to Dean’s taunts, but he is very COCKY as he sends Dean back inside to watch over the failing Bobby.

In Bobby’s head, he finds a book with a big ol’ crucifix hidden inside. He and Rufus start their anti-reaper spell.

Back at the hospital, Sam’s busy looking wistful.

Dean fills him in on Dick’s turgid presence outside. Sam fills Dean in on Bobby’s condition. It ain’t great. Bobby’s breathing on his own, but he’s still got a bullet lodged in his brain. Sam counsels Dean to prepare himself for goodbye. Dean’s...not open to that line of thinking.

Bobby stalks through his house, preparing the spell while one by one the windows grow dark. He watches a memory of himself chewing out John Winchester over the phone, defending his decision to play with Sam and Dean instead of train them to hunt. “I know I ain’t their dad,” Bobby bites out as his parting line before hanging up. BOBBY ;_;

Bobby and Rufus finish up their anti-reaper spellwork.

The reaper is UNAMUSED. He orders Bobby to examine the truth around him. Things are going dark. Photos and books are going blurry. In the real world, his brain is dying. He warns Bobby that he’s treading the short path to ghost-town.

Rufus reminds Bobby that ghosts are GRR BAD and that if he stays, he’ll go vengeful. The reaper speaks up. “You got handed a small, unremarkable life and you did something with it. Most men like you die of liver disease, watching Barney Miller reruns. You've done enough. Believe me.” Uh. Thanks?

Bobby’s not following some reaper to the afterlife, though. “Because they’re my boys.” Determined, Bobby heads back to his childhood memory of a horrible dinner. His dad starts hitting his mom and Bobby shouts at his father. He was just a kid and his father hurt him and made him so terrified that he’d be like his father that he never had kids. “Well, as fate would have it,” Bobby says, “I adopted two boys, and they grew up great. They grew up heroes. So you can go to hell!” Excuse me. I just. Love this.

In the hospital, Bobby’s starting to show signs of life. They prep him for surgery.

Young Bobby appears in the memory. As his dad assaults his mother again, young Bobby shoots him in the head with a shotgun. His father falls to the floor, a bullet wound in his head (just like Bobby).

Bobby’s mother responds by telling him that God’s going to punish him, and young Bobby heads out to dig an unmarked grave for his father.

The reaper appears again. Bobby tries to race away from him. Light surrounds him.

In his hospital room, Dean and Sam are awkwardly wishing Bobby a successful surgery. Well, Sam is talking to Bobby. Dean hovers in the background looking broken. Suddenly, Bobby wakes up! He writes something cryptic on Sam’s hand.

Bobby falls back. Smiles. Mutters, “Idjits.” And then he dies. The episode fades to the awful ringing of a flat heart monitor. Dean and Sam watch, helpless, as Bobby fails to be revived.

For YOU ARE LITERALLY KILLING ME WITH YOUR FACE Science:

Bobby heads into his mind-kitchen and grabs some beers. The reaper returns and tells him it’s all fading away now. Bobby looks towards where Sam and Dean (his BOYS) are sitting. He realizes it’s a memory but, “glad I saved the best for last.” Bobby walks away from the reaper and towards the Winchesters. Sam and Dean bicker amiably over junk food on the couch as Bobby settles himself next to them.

The Winchesters fade away mid-bicker. “Stay or go,” the reaper asks. “What’s it gonna be?” The episode closes on a ticking watch that abruptly...stops.

Don’t Fear the Quoter:

You’re either laughing because you’re scared or you’re laughing because you’re stupid

Kids ain't supposed to be grateful! They're supposed to eat your food and break your heart, you selfish dick!

You got the only genetic case of bullet in the brain I've ever seen’

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer #spn 7x10 #death's door #supernatural season 7

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magicalshitposts · 4 years ago

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The boy finds home

(If you wanna read on AO3 and avoid Tumblr’s awful text formatting Click Here)

The small outlier sat in the corner of Kohga’s throne room, ignoring the commotion in the middle.

“Look newbie, I don’t know what you want to do with the brat but he’s not my problem.” Kohga declared to the foot-soldier who stood in front of his throne.

“But Master, he’s just a chi-“

“Not. My. Problem.” Kohga shooed the man away, and the solider had no choice but to comply, “Boy, come over here.”

The boy did not. In fact, he made no movement at all, acting as if Kohga was not in the room.

“Boy.” Nothing still, “At least tell me your name then.”

The boy spoke for the first time, “Why? If you’re just gonna chuck me out.”

The man on the throne sighed, “Well I am the great Master Kohga. Now you know my name, tell me yours.”

Again, the boy did not.

“Kid, I have better things to do in life then sit around and wait for you to talk.”

The child spoke again, “Then do them, ‘cause your gonna be waiting a long time.”

“Why you aggravating little- Kohga stopped himself, this was a child after all- Keep calm Kohga, keep calm”

He stood himself up from his throne, “Fine, have it your way.”

Kohga was just leaving the room as a spark of panic flooded through the child. He didn’t want to be alone, not again. “I don’t know.”

Kohga turned his head back, “You don’t know what?”

“My name. I don’t know it.”

“Well that’s sad.”

“Yeah – the kid looked towards the man, puzzled– I know.”

The boy had stayed there that night, and the next, and the next and then for a week. It had become clear to the Clan that this boy was staying, if only for a while.

“SOOGA! COME OVER HERE!” Master Kohga’s voice shrilled through the halls surrounding his bedroom late one night and his right-hand man appeared beside the man’s desk in a such small time it made Kohga jump.

“Master Kohga, How may I be of assistance.” Sooga asked looking down to Kohga.

“Firstly by easing up a little, sheesh.” Kogha gestured to another chair in the room and took off his mask, getting Sooga to do the same, “Sit down, your gonna be here a while.”

Sooga sat but by no means looked more comfortable.

“Right then, the boy.” Annoyance dripped in Kohga’s voice. He clearly did not want to be having this conversation, which was a surprise to Sooga. Normally if the Master didn’t want to have a conversation, he just wouldn’t. Why was this different?

“What about him?” Sooga pushed for Master Kohga to finish his thoughts.

“If he’s staying here, he’s going to have to be called something other than ‘the boy’.” Kohga leaned on the back on his seat, his legs too short to touch the ground.

“He does not have a name though, Master.” Sooga watched apprehensively as Kohga swung back and forth.

“Exactly, so what am I getting at?”

“I’m… not sure.”

“C’mon Muscles, dig down in that cavern of a brain.”

Sooga was bothered at this comment. Everyone knew that he was the brains of the operation. The entire clan would be dead if it weren’t for him, especially when Master Kohga got put in charge. Now, Sooga didn’t want to take credit away from Kohga, in fact that was the last thing he wanted, but Kohga knew that Sooga was far from an unintelligent man and he would appreciate the recognition.

Sooga caught on.

“Please tell me you aren’t suggesting we name the child, Master?”

“Bingo, Big guy!”

Sooga looked bewildered by the proposal.

“Sir, with all due respect are-“

“No respect needed lackey; this is what we’re going to do.”

“Sir. Listen to me.” Kohga glanced towards his right-hand man, “by naming this child we claim a sense of responsibility for him, whether we like that or not. Are we prepared to care for a child? Is the Clan prepared to care for a child?”

“Come off it Sooga, you’re making us sound like a married couple.” Kohga laughed completely ignoring the question.

“Master Kohga.”

Kohga sighed. “I don’t know, but the kid’s staying now so it’s a bit too late to be asking that question. And anyway, ‘we’ aren’t caring for anything, I’ll still be preparing to the Great Calamity’s revival and you’ll still be assisting me or whatever, we’ll leave the boy under the Clan’s care. I’m sure with the hundreds of them there are, they’ll cope with one measly kid.”

Not the answer Sooga wanted but he must settle for what he got.

“Now, names!”

The conversation carried on for a while, discussing the different names for the child. They first threw out a few random suggestions, none of which sat properly. Sooga suggested Hayle, Kohga suggested Sooga start thinking of good names before he’s kicked out.

The ideas were just a melting snowball before Sooga stated “He’s Sheikah, isn’t he?”

Kohga tapped his chair, “I mean, yes with that hair but it’s not like he knows. Why?”

“We could name him after the Sheikah naming conventions.” Sooga suggested.

“As a Yiga Master this goes against every one of my core values.” Sooga laughed lightly at the Master’s response to his suggestion. “And who would name their kid after fruit anyway, it’s ridiculous.”

“To us maybe, but this boy isn’t Yiga. We should respect his culture Master Kohga.”

Kohga rolled his eyes all too dramatically before giving in.

“Fine. We’ll call him Apple.”

“Master, Sheikah name’s derive from fruit, they aren’t directly named after it.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Kohga jumped off his seat in his excitement, “We should name him after the mighty banana. He could be called like, Na…Bana… yeah, Bana?”

Sooga just stared towards his boss.

“Fine maybe not, but my fruit Knowledge is not too great y’know!”

Sooga looked around Master Kohga’s room, for any and all inspiration that may come his way. His eyes settled on a tiny, framed painting, one that the Master insisted he hated but had never put away. He felt like Master Kohga’s notion towards this painting may be similar to the one of the child.

“How about after strawberries?” Sooga suggested.

“Oh don’t tell me your looking at that horrible painting- Sooga smiled endiringly- What would we even call him, Strawman?”

Sooga thought about it.

“Robbie.”

“How’s that connected to Strawberries? Strawberry… straw-robbie… Oh! that’s actually nice.”

And it was decided.

The boy was no longer just ‘The boy’, but was Robbie.

He woke up early in the morning, as he normally did. It took him a minute remind himself he was safe… ish. He wasn’t in the forest preparing to go rummage in the trash for food, so it was a step up in his book. He had been told to sleep in the dungeon, in one of the cells. This didn’t make him feel all too comfortable, but the cell door stayed open so that’s nice. He walked around, with aim of going to the mess hall for food. But the Yiga Hideout was windy and treacherous for someone who didn’t know it, especially to the mind of a small boy. He got lost far too quickly for his liking, so looked for landmarks as he did in the wild. He recognised the frog statue that had a crack in its head, it was different than the rest. He was on the right track. He passed the hallway with the holes in the ground (he didn’t know what those were for, but they looked menacing) and then took a left and he was completely and utterly lost. Crap. It wasn’t his fault, all the rooms here looked the same, how was he supposed to know the difference. He was surprised that the people who lived here could tell the rooms apart. He sat down in the dark dingy hallway and waited. There were loads of people in this place, someone would pass him eventually.

While the boy waited for another person to see the light of day went to the closest room and examined. It’s what he did best. He decided to go over the room top to bottom. From the ceiling to the walls, he would know this room better than anyone who lived here by breakfast.

It was big. That felt like a good start. It was huge in fact. The boy knew it may just be his brain playing tricks on him as he was so small, but the hole in the middle of the room must have been the size of at least 20 moblins. A fact for you, the boy did not have the best idea of size.

The boy felt himself getting wrapped up in this room, wanting to know every secret it could ever hold. Why was there a hole in the middle? Why put a lantern over the hole, what if it fell in? How did they make the actual room round? Bricks are square! He had so many questions for this room, all of them he wanted to answer himself, through his own intuitiveness. But that opportunity was cut short by the huge man with kinda dumb hair.

“There you are boy. Come now, you’re needed.”

“Why?” The boy asked.

“Master Kohga needs you in his office.” The big man, who the boy remembered was called ‘Sooga’, put out his hand for the boy to take. He just looked at it.

“I can’t leave. I’m not done yet.”

“Done with what?” Sooga knelt to be on The boy’s level. Patronising.

The boy rolled his eyes at the fact Sooga didn’t know, it was pretty obvious to him what he was doing, “Examining the room. I still have questions to ask it.”

Sooga didn’t quite understand what the child meant but played along anyway. “Could you ask them after the Master talks to you?”

“No, I need to do this first. I’ll forget the questions otherwise.”

Sooga reflected. Normally people here would drop everything if Master Kohga needed to talk to them, but this boy wasn’t a Yiga. He didn’t know the importance of the Master.

“Well the Master needs to talk to you now,” The boy was about to protest before Sooga cut him off, “So how about we write down the questions you want to ask. Then you’ll remember them for after. I can help answer them too, if the Master allows it.”

The boy thought about it. He had never even considered writing his questions down, mainly due to the fact he didn’t know how to read or write, but if this Sooga guy could help him, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

“We need to write them down now though.”

“Of course.”

One wrong turn! He was one turn away from the mess hall! And sure, he was glad he made the wrong turn, otherwise he wouldn’t have found that cool room, but he was still annoyed at himself. Sooga had stopped in front of a big red door.

“Behave, okay.” He looked to the boy, who rolled his eye’s in response.

“It depends if he says something dumb or not.”

“Boy.” Sooga’s voice got stricter, “Behave.”

The boy shuffled where he stood, tears forming at the sides of his eyes. He didn’t like getting told off.

“Master, I’ve got him.” Sooga entered the room, ushering the boy to do the same.

“Boy! You’ve been a right pain in my side!” Kohga was sat at a heightened table, eating a banana. He pointed to the chair opposite. The boy made no sign to sit down so was guided to the chair.

Kohga raised an eyebrow, but the boy couldn’t see it behind the mask, “Where have you been?”

“In that cool circle room.” He answered, the thought of his questions came back to him, “Actually can this be quick, I still have questions to ask it.”

Sooga sighed and placed a hand on the child’s shoulder, prompting him to stop. The boy moved away from the touch.

“You hungry?” Kohga pointed to the bowl of bananas on the next table over. The boy shook his head, why were there so many tables if it was one guy’s room?

“Your loss, anyway. I got some news for you. After a week of you being here, I don’t think I’d be forgiven if I sent you back into Hyrule. So, welcome to your new home.”

The boy looked confused.

“What?” He said.

“What?” Was the only answer that Kohga gave back.

“What do you mean, ‘welcome to your new home’?”

“I mean, you can live here. With us and the clan,” He looked to Sooga who just shrugged in response.

“Why?” The boy asked another question.

“Well done kid, you know the 5 W’s.” Kohga paused, “What do you mean why?”

“You were talking about kicking me out only a week ago. What’s different now?”

“Kid, you only arrived a week ago. Of course I wasn’t keen on keeping you around then, but let’s say I’ve warmed to you. You aren’t half bad, and as long as your not a little… pest, you can stay.”

The boy paused. The thought of a home. In his brain he was jumping for joy, so this was home now. Home.

“Thanks.”

“Well that’s news one out of the way-“

The boy jumped in his seat, “There’s more?”

Kohga laughed a little, maybe childhood excitement was more contagious than he thought.

“Yeah, there’s more.”

The child waited in anticipation.

Kohga was really playing it up now, “So, I’m guessing your getting pretty sick of people calling you ‘the boy’”.

The child shrugged in response, “I guess I’m used to it now. It doesn’t really bother me.”

Ouch. Well if that didn’t tug on Kohga’s heart strings. “Well you definitely don’t like not having a name. I could see that from the day I met you. So, if it’s not too imposing or anything. Me and good ol’ Sooga here thought of one for you. Robbie.”

The boy and Sooga had the same look of surprise, but one was hidden by their mask. Sooga wasn’t expecting credit for the child’s name. If he didn’t feel a sense of duty before, he did now. Sooga was a loyal soul and vowed to himself right then and there to protect this child, Robbie, with his life.

robbe. robby. Robbiy. Robbie. A name all of his own. Given too him by the people who he now shares a home with. Holy Hylia. Robbie was now crying. Normally he was good at holding back emotions, tears would form but never stream down his face. He’d be over it before it mattered. This however was so entirely different. He was crying. Sobbing at the idea of having a home, of being Robbie. 7 years he’d just been ‘boy’ or ‘child’, maybe that affected him more than he once thought. Because having Sooga kneeling in front of him saying “It’s okay Robbie, you’re alright” put a band aid on his scared, damaged soul. And it would be one of many as he became a part of a family.

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

I really enjoyed writing this, It’s cute wholesome fun and I will definitely be writing more of this AU.

Also god bless This Post by 7spaceace7. I wouldn’t even know where to start about writing the hideout so this was such a help.

Anyway, have a nice day!

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years ago

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Soul || (Ezra x Reader) || Moonbeams

Title: Soul Rating: PG-13 Length: 4,300 Warnings: Mild angst Notes: Why am I always so nervous to post every chapter? Part nine of the Moonbeams series.

Taglist: @princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @pedrospunk @maybege @chews-erotically @katlikeme @lose-eels @youmeanmybrain @theindiealto @irishleesh93 @seawhisperer @hdlynn @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @theindiealto @grapemama @roxypeanut @kochamcie @kiwi-the-first @hellomothermoon @soft-fanfics @spacegayofficial @storiesofthefandomloversreblogs @kindablackenedsuperhero @goblinqueen95 @nominalnebula @wheresthewater @letmybabysleep @hayley-the-comet @corrupt-fvcker @i-ship-it-ironically Hopefully I got everyone! Please message me to be added, comments to be added get lost in my activity.

Ezra idly slid his fingers in between yours, his chest a firm presence at your back as he molded his body around yours. He had barely left your side since you came back from your brush with the guardians.

“What was it like?”

“Hmm?” You questioned, tilting your head to look back at him.

“Death.”

“Oh.” You frowned as you considered his question, watching your fingers as he played with them. “Cold and then warm.”

“Warm?” Ezra pressed his lips to the back of your shoulder.

You exhaled slowly, searching for the right words to explain all of it to him. “It was cold and dark and then there were… stars. Falling all around me.”

He hummed softly against your shoulder, “That’s unexpected.”

“And I don’t know if that was even what death was. I can’t remember which came first. If the nothingness was before I woke up… or after.” You stretched your legs out before rolling over to face him. “Do you believe me?”

Ezra’s dark eyes searched yours for a moment before answering, “I believe that it is possible that you died and were revived. I can’t deny the potential, given my own curse.”

You reached out to trace your thumb over the curved scar on his cheek. “I should go back to the Block for the next full moon. I know I’m safe with you, but I also know that Shiva is likely losing their mind with my absence.”

He chuckled, “Do you think Shiva will believe you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” You shrugged, “They’ll probably force me to see a medic. Check me for concussions.” You turned your palm over to look at the healing cut. “I’ve just got a self-inflicted stab wound and a handful of someone’s fingerprints.”

Ezra scratched at the back of his ear, “I have recently found that it is impossible to be overzealous when it comes to you-almost-died sex.”

“I think it’s more oh-shit-you-died sex.” You corrected, tapping your finger against his nose.

He caught your hand and rubbed his thumb gently over the spot just above your healing palm. “Touché.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Hmm?” Ezra’s brows knit together.

“I just remembered that when I was lost in the darkness, I recalled the way you rubbed my palm.”

“Ah.” He smiled fondly at you, “When I was wee lad, I used to be frightfully afraid when we’d leave orbit.” Ezra explained. “My mother used to take my hand like so,” He took hold of your hand. “And rub her thumb over the center of my palm to remind me that she wasn’t going anywhere.”

You smiled at him, “I like that.”

He cocked his head to the side, “I like you.”

“Read to me.” You murmured as you leaned in to kiss him.

“And force me from my comfortable position?” Ezra huffed dramatically, even as he drew back the covers and moved to get out of the bed.

You tucked your arm beneath your head and watched the muscles in his back move with him, as he went to look over your stack of books.

“I’ll bring back more honeysticks.” You told him, “And perhaps track down the nonpareils you mentioned.”

“You feed into my sweet tooth,” He taunted, looking back at you. “When the sweetest thing of all is laying tangled up in our sheets.”

“Our sheets?” You gave him a look. “I do believe I bargained these sheets out of a vendor on Phthalcol.”

Ezra smirked, looking back at the books once more. He snatched one up and flipped through the pages. “Is that so?”

“So smug.” You rolled your eyes. “I let you sleep in my bed for a handful of nights and now it’s our bed?”

“Aren’t our ships connected now?” He questioned, not looking back at you yet.

“In theory.”

“Ah-ha!” Ezra licked his thumb before turning the page, reading it as he turned back towards you. “I knew I recalled seeing Herrick in this collection. An often forgotten fellow, you know.”

“I don’t know if I’m well versed in him.”

“He was rather fond of the Greek poet Anacreon.” Ezra informed you, giving you an expectant look.

“Wine, women, and…” You racked your brain for the third attribute.

“Song.”

“Are you going to sing now?”

Ezra rolled his eyes, “Though poetry could be song, in theory.” He shrugged his shoulders, “He was a hit of a religious poet too, back when society was limited in their dieistic notions.”

“What have you picked to read?”

He stared at you for a long moment before clearing his throat and focusing on the page. “How love came in, I do not know, whether by th’ eye, or eare, or no. Or whether with the soule it came, at first, infused with the same. Whether in part ‘tis here or there, or, like the soule, whole everywhere. This troubles me, but as I well as any other, this can tell. That when from hence she does depart, the outlet then is from the heart.”

“Herrick certainly knew what he was talking about,” You said gently as you smiled back at Ezra. “I’m glad we said it, more or less, before everything happened.” You told him as you sat up, picking at the edge of your blanket. “It wasn’t said because something happened.”

Ezra nodded slowly, shutting the book closed as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside you. “Have you ever been in love before?”

“If you ask Shiva, I’m always falling in love.” You told him, lifting your gaze a little. “But twice. I think. It wasn’t like this.” You gestured between the two of you.

“I always avoided it,” Ezra admitted quietly, reaching out to brush his fingers down your bare arm. “Skirted close, but never too close. These past five years made me realize how much I missed out on — thinking only of myself.”

“Being open isn’t worth it,” You told him, shaking your head. “You usually get burnt. Bad.”

“I’m assuming you’re referring to Mars and Alia?”

“I don’t even want to get into Alia, but…” You pursed yourself lips. “Mars was very charming. Very charming.” You kept your eyes on the blanket beneath your fingers. “I fell headfirst into that dreamboat.” You snorted. “Lots of pretty words that amounted to — ‘you have a sweet connection with the head of Fiorta Corp. and that’s all this was about.’ Asshole.”

“I’m sorry.” Ezra kept skimming his fingers over your arm.

“Fortunately, I found out before I could’ve been foolish enough to get myself trapped into becoming his third wife. One and two actually warned me about his plans.”

He hummed curiously, “It sounds like you were leading quite the adventurous life.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Are you sure you want to tie yourself to me?”

“Too late.” You reached out and tousled your fingers through his hair. “I much prefer this arrangement. For so many reasons.”

“Inquiring minds would like to know.” Ezra drawled out lazily as he reclined back on the bed.

“Fishing for compliments?” You grinned as you settled back against him.

He rested his chin in your shoulder, winding his arms around your middle. “Always.”

You traced your fingertips over the back of his hand, sliding your fingers in between his. “I feel like it has to mean something that it didn’t work. They were able to wipe Sybil and Cora from Proctor’s mind, but.. they couldn’t pull you out of me.”

Ezra fanned his fingers out on your stomach, before skimming upwards to rest at the curve of your ribs. “It certainly begs the question of why.” He nuzzled at the crook of your neck. “Is that the only reason?”

You snorted, reaching back to tug at his hair. “There’s also the fact that you’re handsome, smart, and humorous. But if we’re being honest, it was the books.”

“I figured.” He chuckled, his breath warm against your shoulder. “I meant what I said, moonbeam. I’m not letting you go.”

“I would be disappointed if you did.”

Ezra pressed another kiss to your skin. “I know at first I tried to convince you to leave, but I’m glad you chose to ignore me.”

“I’m stubborn by default.” You tilted your face towards him with a cheeky grin.

His lips parted to say something, but a sudden bang at your transport door made you jump.

“What the fuck?” You questioned, climbing out of his lap to find your clothes.

“Stay here.” Ezra growled, his entire body going rigid as he snatched up his shirt and pulled it on over his head.

Someone knocked — again.

“Lock the door. Don’t open it.” He told you, turning to face you as you followed him towards the threshold.

You reached out and grabbed his hand, rubbing your thumb over the center of his palm as you held his gaze. “Please be safe.”

They knocked again.

Ezra leaned in and kissed you, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You whispered, swallowing thickly as he pulled away from you. You watched him as he walked backwards towards the knocking.

You hit the button on the wall, the door sliding closed and locking shut. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you pressed yourself against the cool durasteel and tried to listen through it. It was muffled and almost impossible to hear — but the knocking stopped.

And everything fell silent.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. The faded memory of the guardians still loomed over your thoughts. The man had reminded you of a statue — chiseled features and sharp eyes. Towering over you like a deadly beast in a man’s form.

If they were the first creatures on Lykaios, there was no knowing what skill they had beyond Ezra’s abilities.

You could barely hear the muffled sound of Ezra’s voice on the other side of the door, alongside a pair of voices that didn’t bode well for either of you.

There was a shuffle of feet against durasteel, the whirr of the exterior shutting close, a slightly raised voice, and movement drawing closer to you.

You had nowhere to go.

“Moonbeam,” Ezra called out through the door. “It’s safe. Open the door. Your friends have made an appearance.”

You pressed the release button on the wall, watching as the door unlocked and slid into the threshold. On the other side stood Ezra, flanked by Shiva and Quinn.

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Shiva shot back as they stepped forward to grab you. “I thought you were dead.”

You wrapped your arms around them, looking over their shoulder at Ezra who was sizing himself up against Quinn. Quinn had a few inches on him and it was entertaining to see him try to make himself seem more imposing.

“A lot has happened,” You told Shiva as you pulled back. “I didn’t make it back this time. Sorry for worrying you.”

“You even got me nervous,” Quinn remarked, looking between you and Ezra. “Is he always so bristly?”

Your eyes flickered towards Ezra, when you heard him growl. “Hey. No.” You glared at Quinn. “Knock it off.”

“Are you going to officially introduce us?” Shiva questioned as they took a step back, giving you a cheeky grin as they looked towards Ezra. “He just leered at us and told us we smelt like humans.”

“Jury’s out on this one.” Ezra huffed, looking at Quinn briefly before stepping through the threshold and circling towards you. You didn’t need him to say he was uncomfortable — it was perfectly clear by the way his back was rigid and his jaw was set hard.

“Ezra, this is Shiva.” You said, trailing your fingers down the back of his arm gently as you gestured towards Shiva. “You’ve already heard all of my stories about my stalwart friend.”

Shiva shook his hand with an arched brow, “I’ve heard plenty about you too.” They gave him a sweeping once over. “Trying to steal our girl.”

You rolled your eyes, “And this is Quinn.”

Quinn offered his hand, but Ezra refused to shake it in return. “I don’t like this any more than you do.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Ezra huffed, reaching down to take your hand into his, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“Why don’t we take this conversation out of our quarters.” You said, shooing them out of the room.

“Our?” Shiva arched a brow at you, before starting ahead down the corridor with Quinn.

Ezra tugged you to a stop, “Moonbeam.”

You turned back towards him, “I know this is difficult for you.” You reached out and brushed your fingers over his cheek.

He hung his head and gave a slight nod. “I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to be the most hospitable of guests. Particularly where he is involved.” Ezra sighed heavily, “Their arrival was unexpected, to say the least.”

You glanced down the corridor where you could hear the two of them laughing about something Shiva had said. “I didn’t even think that they would come here if I didn’t turn up.” You admitted, “I probably should’ve seen that coming, but it slipped my mind.”

Ezra touched your chin, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “I think that’s understandable. And they clearly care for you and your well-being.” He held your gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Your brows furrowed as you searched his eyes.

“My rabid jealousy.” Ezra’s eyes darted down the corridor. “I recognize it’s foolish.”

You leaned in and kissed him, letting your lips linger there. “It’s okay, Ezra.” You brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “Just don’t try to kill him.”

“Tempting.”

“Are you two coming to join us?” Quinn called out. “Or was that a ploy to get a little alone time?”

“We’ll be right there.” You called back, smiling at Ezra. “You’re better at being sociable than you think. You were a perfect gentleman with Sybil and Cora.”

“Entirely different scenario.” He pointed out. “Neither of them desired you.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “Point taken.”

Ezra stole another kiss, before taking ahold of your hand and starting back down the corridor towards the living area.

Quinn was sprawled out on the makeshift sofa, tossing a stress ball into the air above him. “Do you think he likes fetc— Hello.” He jerked upright into a seated position.

Shiva stifled a laugh. “Good job, Quinn.” They looked back towards Ezra. “I’ve always thought he’d go down greasy. He’s not worth eating.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ezra smirked, before gesturing for Quinn to get off the sofa who was quick to follow suit.

“I had every intention of coming back to the Block, but things got out of hand here.” You explained as you settled onto the sofa beside Ezra. “Really out of hand.”

“Well, now you’re going to have to tell us.” Shiva gave you an expectant look. “I won’t judge you if you got distracted.”

“I wish it were that simple.” You picked a bit of dirt out of your thumbnail as you kept your eyes lowered to your lap. “It’s actually rather convoluted.”

Ezra ran his hand down the length of your spine reassuringly.

You rubbed your lips together, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip as you looked up at Shiva. “You’re just going to have to trust me on this one,” You said, “Lykaios has more secrets than we were aware of. Before the full moon, I was taken by the… I guess we’ll call them the Guardians. They were the first here on Lykaios, allegedly.”

Quinn cleared his throat, “If I may interject.”

Ezra worked his jaw slowly as he glared at Quinn. “Do you know something?”

He nodded, “Shiva and I continued to do research after you left. Everything’s in my shuttle and you’re both welcome to it.” He leaned back against the wall, holding his arms across his chest. “There were three, I believe. Callisto, Dia, and Psophis. Arcadia has rivers named for each of them.”

You cocked your head to the side, “I encountered Callisto and Dio.”

“Hmm.” Quinn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The rivers were named for the children of an old god. Descendants of the nymphs of the sea, so they say.”

“I see you’re clever,” Ezra remarked with an edge of annoyance.

Quinn shrugged, “Yes, well… the common denominator between us happens to surround herself with clever friends.”

“I can’t deny that,” You leaned into Ezra’s side. “That’s more than we knew before, so thank you for that.” You offered Quinn a small smile. “They are apparently the originators of the curse and… they tried to get rid of me the same way they got rid of Proctor.”

“Which is?” Shiva questioned.

“They killed me and attempted to wipe my memories of Ezra. They didn’t succeed, clearly.”

“Back up, they killed you?” They leaned forward. “You should see a medic. You can’t just stay here when you could have something seriously wrong with you.”

“I told you.” You glanced sideways at Ezra. “Look, Shiva… I’m okay. I’ll see the medic when I go back to the Block in a few days.”

“How do you know you died?” Quinn asked skeptically.

“I just know.” You said sharply. “I know how I felt and what I saw.”

“She smells different, too.” Ezra offered, shifting beside you. “I can’t put my finger on what’s changed, but she smells like more.”

“You weren’t kidding about the smelling thing, were you?” Shiva laughed, shaking their head. “I definitely wasn’t expecting to find out that you died while you were away.”

Quinn snorted, “You were convinced she was dead.”

“Only because she didn’t show up.”

“It’s been a blur,” You admitted. “We only had a few days between my kidnapping and the full moon and with how my mind was at the time…”

Ezra cut in, “We thought it was best that she stay here. Just in case whatever they did wasn’t fully out of her system.”

Quinn frowned, “What do you mean how your mind was?”

“Is, really. Things are still spotty.” You gave an awkward laugh at that. “I would forget things. I’m still not entirely certain of things that happened that first month here.”

“You remember Ay-7?”

“Quinn.” Shiva snapped and Ezra’s hand tightened at your waist instinctively.

“Really?”

Quinn held up his hands in mock defense. “Just checking on where we stand.”

You glared at him. “Not good.”

He snapped his fingers and nodded, “I figured.”

Shiva rose from their seat, moving to sit on the cargo crate in front of the sofa, “I came with Quinn, so if you want a co-pilot back to the Block you’ve got me.”

“I might actually take you up on that.” You smiled, reaching out to give their shoulder a squeeze. “With everything you told me about people losing their minds when they leave Lykaois I’ve been nervous about leaving.”

“Just,” Ezra started, his voice wavering a little. “Send her back to me.”

Shiva tilted their head to the side as they looked at him then, “As long as you agree to send her back to me from time-to-time.”

“There’s enough of me to go around,” You assured both of them, before holding up a hand to keep Quinn from commenting. “Not enough for you though.”

“You wound me.” Quinn shot back with a wicked smirk. “There used to be more than enough for me.”

Ezra leaned forward on the sofa and Quinn shuffled an inch further away from the three of you. “That’s what I thought.”

“There’s too much testosterone in here.” You muttered and Shiva started laughing.

“I think there’s too much Quinn here.”

He scoffed, “You’re the one who dragged me along for the ride.”

“Because your shuttle’s fast.” Shiva rolled their eyes. “Don’t act like you weren’t worried for her.”

“I’ll own up to that.” Quinn shrugged.

“So, what other information did you find out about the moon?”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, “I put a few feelers out. Expressed some interest in launching my own mining team into Lykaois. Got a few bites, but they didn’t fully materialize before we disembarked.”

“What exactly do you deal in?” Ezra questioned with a slight edge to his tone.

“What do you need me to deal in?” Quinn retorted. “I’m a man of many skills. Our dear friend is aware of that.”

Ezra exhaled slowly through his nose, “I’m assuming if you call Ay-7 home, you’re not dealing in legal ventures?”

Quinn gave a short laugh, “You’re forgetting that I’ve seen your files. Quite the body count.”

“Was I casting aspersions?” He countered, keeping his eyes fixed on Quinn. “Was I?” He looked towards you then.

“It was definitely implied.” You smiled a little, nudging him in the ribs. “Quinn’s a bit of a jack-of-all-trades. His latest venture was a dust enterprise he ran into the ground. Before that he used to run fake licenses business for those that washed out of the program.”

“Some company you keep.” Ezra smirked, with a teasing tone. “Useful though.”

Quint puffed himself up, “I can be very useful.”

“Quit peacocking.” Shiva warned him, before grabbing their satchel up off the floor. “I forgot to mention I brought goodies. I figured if you’d missed coming back to the Block, you’d need supplies.”

You scooted forward to the edge of the sofa to peer into their bag, “Are those honeysticks?”

Shiva grinned, “I figured you’d need your magic beast taming treats.”

“Hilarious,” Ezra remarked wryly, holding his hand out for one.

Shiva popped the box open and passed him one of the sticks. “I don’t get the appeal, but I respect it.”

He tore off the end of the stick and sucked at it as he sank back against the sofa. “I believe they call it creature comforts.” Ezra stated.

“What else did you bring?” You questioned, grabbing the satchel away from them. “You were so worried about my well-being that you stopped by the bakery for fruli pies?”

“I can be magnanimous when I feel like it.” Shiva retorted, watching as you turned towards Ezra to show him the mini pies you loved. “I figured I should satisfy both of your sweet tooth needs.”

“What are they?” Ezra questioned, examining them curiously. “Are those berries?”

You nodded, “A sweet flaky pastry with a berry concoction in the middle. They keep for weeks.”

“She’s always been fond of stocking up and hiding them around the transport before long missions.” Shiva pointed out.

“Only because I’ll eat them all day one if I don’t.” You laughed, popping the package open to grab one. You took a bite with a satisfied moan, before passing it to Ezra. “Here.”

He took the bite from your fingers, chewing it thoughtfully before smirking, “I see why they need to be hidden around the ship.”

“Right?” You grinned. “We eat a lot of berries that grow here. There’s even some decent ones that are winter berries.”

“I haven’t been venturing out,” Ezra admitted. “So we’ve leaned on her ready-to-eat meals.”

“Cardboard and iron.” You scrunched up your nose. “I was going to bring more when I come back after the next full moon.”

“Are you not leaving the ship?” Quinn questioned.

“I don’t want to risk her being found again.” Ezra stated. “We were careful about coming back from my transport. There’s a chance the guardians will try to hurt her again.”

You snapped your fingers and shot finger guns at Ezra, “Not looking to die again this soon.”

Quinn frowned, “So you really died?”

“It was a whole ordeal.” You licked some of the berry juice off your thumb. “But I’m okay now. I think.”

“Please let the medic check you over.” He said gently. “That can’t be good for you. I am worried about you… as a friend.”

You rolled your eyes, “As long as we’re clear on that.” You looked back to Shiva then. “What else did you bring?”

“Well, I was picturing you chewed up and spit out by a beast, so I brought you new clothes.”

“I’ll take those anyways.” You took the clothes from them. “I appreciate how committed you were to rescuing me.”

They shrugged, “At rare times I’ve found I can be a good friend. Just consider all of this added on to what you owe me for cheating me out of this haul.”

“Figures.” You snorted.

“Not to run you off so soon,” Ezra started with a polite tone. “But depending on where your transport is parked, you should start back before nightfall.”

You nodded, “It’s not safe to be out there right now. We still don’t know what the guardians—“

Shiva laughed, “You just want to get back to whatever we interrupted. I saw what a mess your bed was.”

“This is so much worse than I imagined.” You grumbled, covering your face. “In all sincerity, this is out of concern. After what they did to me, I don’t want either of you dealing with it.”

Quinn pushed off the wall, “I don’t want anyone rearranging my head.” He clapped his hands together, “Come on Shiva, let’s get out of the lover bird’s hair. I’m sure you’ll get all the gossip when you head back to the Block.”

“Come by in the morning.” You smiled at them.

“Not too early.” Ezra tacked on. “I like my sleep.”

Shiva winked at him, before turning towards Quinn. “Let’s get out of here.”

You lingered in the living area as Ezra saw them out of the transport. Shiva had left their bag behind, filled with a handful of other goodies they had brought for you. Everything you would’ve needed if something had gone wrong.

Despite how often the two of you were at each other’s necks, at least they were your one true friend. Through thick and thin… and falling in love with a werewolf. They stood by you.

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #pedro pascal ezra #ezra (prospect) x reader #pedro pascal x reader

162 notes · View notes

sebloswolfstar · 3 years ago

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I did HSMTMTS season 1 commentary during a Instagram commenting war, and these are the highlights part 1

""Love is dead" Ricky, you haven't seen Seb and Carlos together yet. They revive love."

"SEB SEB SEB SEB I DIDN'T NOTICE MY CHILD COMMENTING"

"HE'S SAYING THAT /NINI/ IS TOO PURE FOR THIS WORLD"

"SEB, HAVE YOU LOOKED INTO THE MIRROR???"

"Nini and Ricky are officially breaking up and I'm talking about Seb instead."

"I bet Carlos can relate."

"Seb: agrees with anything Carlos says cause he's had a crush on him since he was 12😭"

"Everything hits harder after episode 5 of season 2 and after getting to know that the actors are actually dating"

"Ears: Nini is singing"

"My brain: SEBLOS AND RODIFNI"

"*Rodfini I'm a disgrace excuse me"

"Nini: He's not gonna ruin this for me"

"EJ: He's already ruined this for me"

"There is two kinds of people"

"SHARPAY AND CHOREOGRAPHER ARE RIGHT BY EACH OTHER AND I'M BETTING CARLOS DID THAT ON PURPOSE SO HE COULD SIT BESIDE SEB"

""You all walked in here as starngers-" "actually EJ is my cousin" I'm Ashlyn

"Yes theatre is a cult Big Red"

10.

"Instagram was rude enough to stop me just before we got Seb's first lines"

"I LOVE MY COW-LOVING CHILD"

"WHO'S GOT GRANDMA GLASSES WHEN MILKING THE COWS"

"SEB MY PRECIOUS BOY"

"JOE SERAFINI IS A SUNSHINE"

""I just wanna raise the roof" *holds up Sharpay sign* I stan a king

11.

"Re-casting? Here is an idea then Carlos. You and Seb as a couple."

12.

"Patiently waiting for episode 5 when Seblos makes me hurt with happiness"

13.

I accidently wrote mo instead of no

"*no. I'm not one of Seb's cows😂"

14.

"Btw, I love the Hedda Gabler reference to Miss Jenn"

"it's a play by an old Norwegian screenplay writer"

"And yeah, most don't know it, unless you're Norwegian"

"Cause Norwegian classes exist and they WILL teach us bout it whether we like it or not"

"Calling Hedda Gabler "very dark" is putting it lightly. I've seen it, I would know"

15.

"I love Ashlyn"

"A queen. And we love having anniying cousins"

16.

"Screw it, I'm skipping to scenes that makes my Seblos heart scream"

17.

"Start with the hardest dance yes"

"I did 25% of a musical in 9th grade cause we didn't have time for the whole thing"

18.

"Amazing piano playing. Highlight of this. The great choreo from Carlos, and great playing from Seb. Wow. Icons"

19.

"Nini, you're being a female dog rn cause you aren't listening to Ricky"

"Carlos, the only one that mattered in the whole scene"

20.

"YES CARLOS IS FAST WE STAN"

"What a king, wow"

21.

"CARLOS WATCHING DANCING VID ARE A WHOLE MOOD"

"Carlos my king 😂😂😂"

22.

"JAZZ HANDS THIS IS HSM WE WANT THE JAZZY NESS"

"MAKE RYAN AND SHARPAY PROUD"

23.

"This school, I wish I could've gone here"

24.

"Ashlyns talent 😌"

"MISS DARBUS GETTING A SONG AS SHE DESERVES"

25.

"Miss Jenn talking with her mum at work lol lol lol"

"I GOTTA SKIP FORWARD THIS IS SO AWKWARD"

#hsmtmts spoilers #hsmtmts #hsmtmts seblos #hsmtmts carlos #seb hsmtmts

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captaincravatthecapricious · 4 years ago

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No Way To Get Help

@malevon

Well... this was supposed to be about Jon, but it's about Tim instead. Under the wreckage of the wax museum, Tim isn't dead.

cw nausea, depression, mentions of suicide and suicidal ideation (canon typical levels for Tim end of season 3), ambiguous mentions of injury, hospitals

Four more fics to go, and only one more prompt to send in, so if you have something in mind, get it in quick! I hope you know the drill by now! Thanks @celosiaa for the wonderful card!

The silence is deafening. Or would be if Tim wasn’t partially deaf already. He hadn’t been wearing his hearing aids. What would have been the point? He knows the plan. Daisy and Basira are ….were? Hardly chatty. He didn’t? Doesn’t? Didn’t? Want to hear a single word that Jon had to say.

God. Tenses.

Is anyone still alive? Is it just him?

He should clarify. The silence is deafening after the explosion. After the circus music that was somehow louder, possibly because it was at least partly inside his head. There is probably the sound of rubble settling, and the groaning of burning building, and rushing emergency vehicles. But… he can’t hear a goddamn thing. Just that eternal ringing in his ears. He has never been sure if that was tinnitus or just what silence sounds like. Never thought it worth asking after he learned that people with tinnitus have higher rates of suicide. And… well… if this stupid plan was nothing else, wasn’t it just some grand suicide scheme?

One that looks to have spectacularly failed.

Just him… probably alone. In the dark.

Then again, if he’s alive, maybe the others are too? Does he want that?

If he’s honest, he would rather just be dead.

Not that that is a revelation.

Then again, he could be dead in a minute.

He can’t feel his legs. Well… he can. He wishes he couldn’t. He wishes he couldn’t feel anything. There is so much pain that it just… it’s too much for him to even register as pain anymore. He just feels… cold and crushed. Probably shock because there are actual fires burning around him. He can smell it. The burning plaster and plastic and wood and smoldering concrete… if that is even a thing? Thick air. He’s coughing. And that hurts more.

He can’t hear it, however.

He can’t hear anything but that goddamn ringing in his ears.

He thinks he might be crying.

He can’t hear his own heaving sobs.

Just that high-pitched whine of utter silence.

Do you know what that sound is, highness? Those are the shrieking eels…

That’s it.

The only words his brain can find, as he grows ever more numb. He has no doubt that darkness is eating at his vision, or would be if there was anything but darkness around him.

Not even the words from the book. Lines from the movie. Which isn’t a bad thing… He doesn’t even know his own feelings about his favorite book and his favorite movie.

(That’s not true. He was always a fan of the movie, but… he and Danny read the book to each other so often… He has the work paperback in the pocket of his bomber jacket. Wanted to die with it. Ideally buried with it, but it’s not like he left a note. Aside from that damn tape).

The whine continues. He doesn’t know how long it’s been.

Do you know what that sound is, highness? Those are the shrieking eels…

That had been the first thing he had thought of when he first heard the worms.

He curses the worms to the darkness. If it hadn’t been for them… he could have lived in blissful ignorance about the darker nature of his job… well to some degree. Sasha would still be here. Jon wouldn’t have…. FUCK. He doesn’t want to think about Jon while he’s willing himself out of existence. But….

But Jon. That little fucking moron. Who he HATES. Who he wants to hate.

Does he hate Jon?

Is Jon even still alive?

If he’s dead, does he want to keep hating a dead man? One who …wasn’t any worse than him.

Which isn’t to say blameless, or not a twat at times…. But. But not a monster. And Tim can’t really blame him for not trusting anyone.

Jon… was in the wrong, but so was Tim. They have both been utter dicks. Which has always been Tim’s least favorite plot. God back in publishing… a Lifetime ago… he always hated books that hinged on characters fighting, not talking things out, not Understanding and that rift causing endless misery. Has he really become something that he hated… still hates with every fiber of his being. The number of books that set his teeth on edge from the first misunderstanding. He actually hates most Rom Coms for that reason. Which… surprised just about everyone he’s dated.

He possibly groans. He isn’t thinking clearly.

He can’t hear himself groan.

He really should give it up, and let himself pass out. He hurts. He’s tired. If he wakes up… that’s a problem for later. If he quietly slips away… well… maybe he’ll see Danny there. Maybe he’ll see Sasha. Hell, maybe if he sees Jon there, they can work something out. If there is an afterlife… they’ll have all the time in the world. (Or rather all the time in the next world). And if not… well. Eternal rest sounds pretty damn good.

…But. But Jon. If Jon is alive down here… He should be close.

And… Tim can’t let him die alone under this building. He can’t lose someone else to the Circus while he sits idly by. And Damn it, maybe he doesn’t want to meet Jon in the afterlife just yet, maybe he wants a break? (And maybe he just loves him too much to completely give up on him… even though he knows he is far too late. Too many bridges burned. “We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.” A line from Jon’s favorite play.)

Tim tries to move his fingertips. And almost screams. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

He thinks he might scream. But he can’t hear a sound.

He braces himself and tries again. Stretching his arms out as wide as he can. Moving dust and ash and rubble. He almost passes out. Or maybe he does pass out. Time has no meaning in this place.

He finds a hand. Cold. And limp. And his heart stops, first for fear that this is another mannequin. Then for fear that this is all that is left of someone who was… could have been… is? Something to Tim. Everything to Tim.

Tim thinks he might vomit.

He feels out a little further as his head swims. He feels the stretched and puckered skin of undoubtedly Jon’s right hand. Unresponsive. Possibly dead.

Tim coughs. Choking on the soot and heat and fumes in the air. A massive weight both metaphorical and painfully tangible on all of him. Aching pain breaking him into little shards, which turn right around and skewer him.

Tim loses consciousness. Old and cracked and dry paperback of The Princess Bride in his pocket. Limp hand of his… friend? In his hand.

Tim wakes up in hospital.

His lungs hurt. And everything feels distant and fuzzy. Probably being pumped through with a lot of painkillers. Probably for the best, or he might be more upset for waking up. He wants to ask after Jon… but he can’t get his mouth to open.

And suddenly he’s thinking about Westley. Mostly dead. Revived. Head flopping around on his neck. Danny had lost his shit laughing at that… it always made Tim feel sick after… everything. The imitation of life… couldn’t quite shake the image of… that night. Christ if he was on less drugs, he would probably puke.

He would shake his head if he could move.

“You just shook your head, that doesn’t make you happy?”

He is also struck by the thought that this is Kill Bill in reverse. Nearly died getting his revenge, and then ending up in a coma. (He watched those movies on Bad days. When he downs enough whiskey to drown a horse. He can’t say he really remembers much of them, but they were always cathartic.)

He tries to look at his feet. But he can’t even lift his head.

He closes his eyes again.

When he opens them, he sees Martin. Worn and tired. Looking older than ever, more haggard than Jon.

Shit! Jon. Is Jon here? Is he dead?

He still can’t move.

He looks at Martin again. Martin is… talking? Tim can’t make out anything. Just the dull murmur of meaningless sound.

…But.

Martin is holding a book.

A sooty, singed book.

Martin sitting between two hospital beds, holding Tim’s old copy of The Princess Bride, facing Tim presumably so if Tim were to come around, Tim could read his lips.

“I said, ‘What do you mean, “Westley dies”? You mean dies?

My father nodded. ‘Prince Humperdink kills him.’

‘He’s only faking though, right?’

My father shook his head, closed the book all the way.

‘Aw shit,’ I said and I started to cry.

‘I’m sorry,’ my father said. ‘I’ll leave you alone,’ and he left me.”

Martin is also crying. Just like Billy in the book.

“’Who gets Humperdinck?’” Tim whispers. Painfully aware of how dry his throat is. It’s no more than a cracked whisper.

And then he’s coughing.

He can barely hear himself, but he swears he is coughing out a lung.

Martin has dropped the book. Staring in wide-eyed shock for a moment, before yelling something. Scrambling up. Probably getting a doctor. Tim wishes he hadn’t gone.

He looks are where Martin had been, but ends up getting a good look at the bed next to him. And sees one, very still and very pale Jonathan Sims. Very bandaged, and frighteningly still. Tim can’t see breathing.

And then he’s being poked and prodded and tested and Martin is talking to him. And everything hurts. Until it doesn’t and he’s lying still and Martin is smoothing his hair down and holding his hand and telling him that he’s been unconscious for a month. That Jon is all but brain dead. That Elias is in police custody.

By the time Jon wakes up, five months later, Tim has decided to give him another chance, he and Martin are sharing a flat, there is another room ever hopeful that Jon will want to join then if- no, when he wakes up.

Also. Jon’s hair may or may not be dyed green.

Maybe.

No, Tim has no idea what everyone is looking at him like that for.

#the magnus archives #tma #magnuspod #tim stoker #timothy stoker #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #cw suicidal ideation #cw nausea #cw injury #cw hospitals #fic #my fic #my writing #my art #my words

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

She [1]

Warnings: non-consent sex (series)

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: You meet Steve Rogers for an interview but he’s not what you expected.

Note: I’ve been trying to chill the last five days but I obviously got some writing in. It has resulted in this impromptu series and I hope you all like it. It’s looking like it will be about 10 chapters when all is said is done but that being said, I am still working on it.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Reader

Your left ankle bent as you leaned heavily on your heel. You stood before the thick walnut door, a round frosted window on its face. The townhouse stuck out on the old Brooklyn row and all knew its resident. It surprised many that he remained in the borough and he was cherished all the more for it. He was the golden boy of New York.

Well, that’s what people like to believe. You weren’t there to paint another flowery picture of the saviour. You were there to speak with the real man behind the plan. There was a story behind Steve Rogers that had yet to be told and when you were selected to tell it, you knew you had to do it right. The task was both daunting and humbling. It could be your big break.

You knocked and adjusted the bag that hung from your shoulder. You didn’t miss the group of kids at the end of the block gathered around for a glimpse of their hero. The door opened and you were greeted by the man himself. He smiled at you as his hand rested on the curled door handle.

“Hi,” He greeted you. “Thanks for coming. It saves me a lot of trouble.”

“Not at all,” You shook his hand.

You’d spoken to him briefly over the phone and negotiated the time and place for your interview. You agreed that him coming to the office would cause too much of a flurry. You were sure he was over that.

“Come in,” He stepped back and waved you through.

He closed the door as you looked around the entryway. A thick banister with the same dark wood as the walls led up to the second level and a finely carved archway peeked through to the next room. It was cozy and a lot quainter than you expected. The exposed brick above the panelling lent it a warmth.

“Shoes?” You stopped by the mat.

“Your call,” He said. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers, but I’m fine,” You assured him as you stepped out of your heels. You’d hate to scuff the hardwood. “I’m sure you're just as impatient as me to begin.”

“Steve. And yeah, I suppose. I don’t really do much more than pressers and usually, I don’t do much talking.” He confessed. “Just through here,” He pointed to the front room.

You nodded and stepped through. He directed you to the pair of armchairs before the artificial fireplace and you set your bag down as you sat. He lowered himself across from you as you reached into your bag and pulled out your phone and notebook. You swiped up and flicked your finger across the screen.

“Do you mind if I record you? It helps with editing and of course, accuracy,” You said.

He scratched his jaw and shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Great,” You hit the red dot and set the phone down on the small table with the mic facing him.

🖋️

You were a bit surprised by how it had all unfolded, but, you supposed, you were right when you said no one was ever exactly what they seemed. Steve was nice enough as he showed you the door but you could see the agitated impatience behind his eyes. You should’ve eased him into it more. Timing was everything.

Even so, you had promised your editor a story and if you didn’t deliver after being chosen for such a coveted one, well, you would never see its likes again.

So you sat at your desk in your small but comfortable city apartment. It was nothing compared to the star-spangled hero’s walk-up but it was home. If you could work the interview the right way, it might mean an upgrade, or at least a television that didn’t flicker.

You hit play on your phone for the third time that night. Steve Rogers’ voice was etched into your brain. And that tension in his forehead, the tic in his jaw. A thinly veiled wrath unexpected of the valiant soldier-turned-saviour. You shivered and paused the recording. It was almost startling how quickly he’d turned on you, but you weren’t entirely innocent.

You stretched your fingers over the keyboard and sighed as you stared at your blinking cursor. You couldn’t just sit on this forever. You had a deadline and an extension was an impossibility, if not a death warrant for your career.

So you hit play and began to type, pausing to play back snippets as you went.

🖋️

‘It’s early afternoon in the heart of Brooklyn. Amidst the old brick buildings that line the cracked sidewalks is a townhouse unlike any other. The home of a man born there over a century ago. A living ghost that haunts the block. Most would say he is a friendly spirit.

Steve Rogers answers the door as a boy lets his baseball roll under a car and his friends lower their mitts to watch. A teen on a bike, a ring in his nose, even slows to admire the hometown hero as he smiles; a beacon of the borough. A glimmer of hope for all to think that the block is not the whole world.

He greets me like an old friend. “Hi.” The same smile seen in newsprint. He thanks me for coming and ushers me inside. This is the first time I’ve met him in person. I can’t lie; I’m intimidated. I’m just another person in debt to this great veteran.

His house isn’t what you would expect from a man as prestigious as him. No medals hanging on the wall, no vainglorious cut-outs of his image, or pictures of him shaking hands with men in suits. Only framed baseball cards along freshly laid wood-panels. It’s like any other house in Brooklyn, just newer. An ancient skeleton revived.

We sit in the front room, he offers me a drink. I’m not very thirsty. I’m more anxious to start talking. I can see he is too though his facade is hard to crack. He tells me to call him Steve as my recitations of ‘Mr. Rogers’ become almost pathetic. We begin.

Interviewer: “Great.” I hit ‘record’. “I’ll start by saying you have a nice place.”

Steve: “Thanks.” He seems to relax as he leans back in the chair which is nearly too narrow for his broad shoulders. “It took a while but I think it’s coming together.”

Interviewer: “Can’t take the boy out of Brooklyn, I guess.”

Steve: “Wouldn’t leave it for the world.” He smiles again, though he never truly looks less than amiable.

I: “Only to save it,”

S: “I do what I can.

I: “More than most; New York, Sekovia, the world. You’ve done it all. Do you ever just take a break?”

S: “I try. And sometimes I get a chance to just… be here.”

He looks around, proud of himself, of his home.

I: “Any hobbies?”

S: “You know, I used to love to draw. Nothing special, you know. But I found it calming. I actually bought a bunch of pencils and a pad but I never touched them. I’m sure they're just sitting up in my closet, neglected.”

I listen intently, imagining this man bent over a notebook. It’s an absurd picture as my mind returns to the man in his cowl with shield in hand. The red, white, and blue bullseye is more suiting in my head than a pen.

I: “Anything else? Anything you actually do?”

S: “I like to run. Helps me get to know my neighbours, reconnect with my roots. I read… a little. I’m still not really into the whole internet thing but I try. I still get the newspaper just to read the strips and fill in the weekly crosswords.”

He confirms my suspicion. A man lost in time, but it seems he has found his place.

I: “A man for all times. And you work? I’m sure you get tired of talking about it but well, there’s been a lot of speculation about a possible retirement.”

He ‘s silent as he looks away and fidgets in his chair. He becomes the rehearsed hero at his podium.

S: “I’d hate to fan that fire but I think it’s only natural to consider it.”

I: “Thinking of settling down?”

S: “It’s always a thought but I’m not stupid. It’s not that simple. I’m not the type of man that gets to settle down.”

This remark might break the heart of every woman in Brooklyn and beyond but it seems to hurt him more. A grim truth for a man who many would say has the world in his hands.

I: “And if you did hang up the shield, is there anything you want to do? Anywhere you want to go?”

S: “I’d like to try fishing. I’ve heard it’s relaxing. I love the city but it’s nice to get away now and then.”

I: “Is there anything keeping you from retiring? Besides the obvious; we all know you’re a good man and a great hero. You’ve shown commitment to the city, the world, humanity.”

He looks to the artificial fireplace and shrugs. He’s thinking; perhaps censoring his response.

I: “Co-workers? The world is well aware of what you did for your old friend. And it has proven to be a point of contention, even after the pardon.”

He clears his throat and he’s no longer smiling.

S: “Bucky is an old friend and a commendable soldier. He does his job well. I wouldn’t take anything back. He has more than earned his place.”

I: “So, if you retired, you believe that he would retain his place among the team?”

He’s frowning now. He adjusts his posture so that he seems even bigger than before. A formidable opponent, if not an overwhelming one.

S: “He is not there because of me. He’s there because of himself. Because he is an asset to the world.”

His blue eyes are darker now. No longer the crystalline waves shining in the sun but those foreboding tides which crash together beneath the moonless sky. My ship has gone awry, carried by an errant wind.

I: “Well, I can’t help but point out that many wouldn’t agree. You put yourself and several of your associates on the line to save him. To bring him into your fold. To place a man who was once a national enemy beside you. I hate to say it but, frankly, even if he were pardoned on his own merit, I fail to imagine him being allowed the same access to confidential intelligence and tasked with the protection of civilian life.”

His hands are fists. I could put up a front and say I’m not nervous, but I am. I have done what I once thought impossible. I have angered Steve Rogers.

S: “He wasn’r Bucky, but he is now and he has been cleared. I’m sorry, but I thought you were here to talk about me.”

I: “Yes, I am, but the world is well aware of your friendship with Mr. Barnes and all its implications. It is hard to separate him from your life.”

S: “I agreed to talk about me.”

His tone is set in stone. I attempt to stay calm myself.

I: “We are talking about you, but we can move on. Now, even with its dissolution, there are still questions being asked about the Sokovia Accords and your opposition to it. While many can acknowledge the need for your team and their work, they can’t help but wonder at the lack of restraints placed upon it. There are regulations even for the FBI and CIA and other protective services. So why should you be exempt?”

He sniffs and stands up slowly. He retreats behind his chair and nears a table along the wall. He distracts himself with a signed baseball. I don’t have a chance to ask who scribbled along the stitches as he tosses it and finds his voice.

S: “I never disagreed with the sentiment of the Accords. As heroes, of course, we should have obligations. Our first and foremost being the protection of innocent lives. The hardest to uphold but we do it.”

He is ever the statesman but he isn’t finished and his voice gets low. Dangerous, even.

S: “At the same time, we put our own lives on the line and you come here and nag me about formalities? What is it you want? Paperwork? Reports on how I threw my shield to stop a bullet from striking an innocent bystander? How a piece of shrapnel nearly severed my tendon as I threw myself in front of a speeding vehicle?”

I: “With all due respect, I am only asking about transparency. People deserve to know more. They deserve the truth.”

S: “Is that what you’re looking for? The truth? You want to know what we don’t tell you and your readers?”

He puts the baseball down and his hand is on his hip, disapproving. I suspect his lecture will continue. He nears the chair and grips the back of it as he narrows his eyes at me. I fear he might throw it in my direction though for now, I hope it should act as my own shield against him.

S: “About how I have to lie about how many men I lose to keep this world safe. Because I can’t scare the people. Because I have to keep on this mask of the brave hero.”

His eyes go to the ceiling. He takes a breath to calm himself. I can tell he wants to continue. That he is holding back something which has brewed within him for a very long time. It is a moment before he speaks again.

S: “We’re done here. That’s it. Turn your phone off and go.”

The interview is over. What happens next will remain off the record. I leave with a mouth full of bile. My childlike wonder has been extinguished. I came to seek out the man behind the shield and I have done just that, but he is not who I expected.

I was ready for a humble man, a man like any of us; the same wants and desires. Still human despite his enhancements; despite his superhuman status. What I discovered was a man who’s exceptionality has nurtured a sense of entitlement.

And we do owe him our lives, our gratitude, we owe him the world. Yet I cannot dismiss the sense that he might regret his good deeds. That to him, it has become a thankless chore. That we are the needy children and he has been burdened with our cries for help.

So we should not be surprised or upset upon his retirement, not if, but when it comes. And we cannot fault him for his departure. It has been a long-time coming.’

🖋️

You took a breath and sat back in your chair. You rubbed your cheeks as the recording began to repeat itself. You stopped it and checked the time. You’d spend your morning editing and hope you would be ready for submission by the evening.

As you hit save, you felt an odd tremor deep inside. This could be it. Your big story. Or you could be tired and entirely up your own ass. You only hoped it was the former.

🖋️

You sat across from Poppy as she read your article through the glasses which sat low on her long nose. She was just past forty and wouldn’t look it if she didn’t wear the ridiculous half-circle spectacles. She wore a shade of red which paid homage to her name and her lipstick was just as bold. Her long lashes flicked up as she lowered the pages and her blonde hair fell behind her shoulder.

“Well…” She said carefully. “It is…interesting.”

You swallowed nervously as you teetered on the edge of the acrylic seat. Her long manicured nails played with the corner of the article.

“I had initially planned to have this in the back pages. No one really cares about the Avengers anymore.” She said. “But this is… I will discuss it with our marketing team but I know a feature when I see it.”

“A feature?” Your lips parted and you sat back as you gripped the thin arms of the chair.

“Oh, yes,” She said. “Another celebrity break-up is not exactly scandalous and to be frank, I do tire of that ridiculous narrative. But this… you will be hearing from me soon.”

“Uh,” You stood awkwardly at what you were sure was a dismissal. “Thank you.”

“For what? Doing my job? Should I thank you for doing yours?” She countered.

“N-no,” You stuttered.

“Go on then. I’m certain you have other work to do.” She tapped her long nails. “You certainly will once this is ready to print.”

You nodded and left her. She was already on her phone before the door closer behind you and you looked around the blindly bright office. It would be your first feature and it was the first article which had earned you more than a passive grumble from the woman. Perhaps you hadn’t been so foolish to think you had actually done something well.

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #she #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #fic #mcu #marvel #captain america

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madpanda75 · 4 years ago

Text

“Penance”

For @thatesqcrush’s kink bingo--I’ve been loving everyone’s contributions to the challenge so I thought I would try my hand at it!

Jonas Nightingale x Reader for the Gags square ( my first Jonas fic! Warning-- I’ve never seen “Leap of Faith so please be kind)

Double Warning: This is SUPER NSFW. There’s BDSM, ball gags, fisting, squirting, forced orgasms, and a pinch of priest kink (even though Jonas is a “reverend” not a priest)

Hold on to your butts and get your splash guards out!

Sam Nightingale sat cross-legged in front of the pulpit. A frigid blast slapped her in the face and she silently praised whoever invented air conditioning. Rather than pitching a tent and sweating her ass off in an abandoned field out in east Jesus nowhere, the local pastor had insisted that she and Jonas use his church for their revival.

With a glint in her eye, she gazed down at her lap overflowing with dollar bills. Ten. Twenties. Fifties. Even a few hundreds from the wealthier church patrons. Every dollar counted, she could hear a cash register cha-ching in her brain. Ah, the simple-minded naivety of the Midwest. It was like taking candy from a baby. “Damn, Jonas.” She shook her head in amazement. “We made bank today. Who knew Nebraskeners were so generous? I swear you wave around a Bible and the promise of redemption in front of folks and the money flows.”

Her comments were greeted with silence. “Jonas?” She glanced up to see her brother lying on the front pew, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “Hello? Earth to Jonas!” She grabbed her pack of menthols and chucked them at her brother, gaining his attention.

“Huh? Ya’ say something?”

“Uhhh, yeah.” Sam made a show of flipping through a large wad of cash. “Here I am drowning in Benjamins and you’re out in la la land. What’s with you today?”

Jonas shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You sure about that?” She walked over and knocked his feet off the pew, plopping down right next to him. “Cause you were distracted during the church service. I had to basically feed you your lines through the microphone. Please tell me you haven’t found your moral compass or something.”

He snorted a laugh. “Hell would freeze over before that happens.” Coming back to his senses, he spotted the sea of green nestled in his sister’s lap and whistled. “All that came from today?”

“Yep.”

“We should add an afternoon service if we stick around here. We’ll make twice as much.”

A dramatic sigh of relief below past Sam’s lips. “There’s the swindler I know and love. You had me worried there for a moment.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jonas grabbed the cash and began counting the bills when the door opened. “The Senior Bingo is being held around the corner in the rec room,” he said over his shoulder.

“Actually I’m looking for you,” a soft sultry voice called out. A voice that made Jonas whip his head around.

“It’s you,” he whispered and shot straight up out of the pew, the dollar bills in his lap now floating to the floor like confetti.

Sam immediately began to pick up the stray money while Jonas stood there, staring at you. You were wearing a demure, white cotton sundress that screamed virgin, but the ruby red shade of your lipstick purred vixen. His sister was right, he had been distracted and now that distraction was standing in the middle of the aisle. He could feel his pants begin to bulge at the mere sight of you biting your bottom lip.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” you said with an apologetic smile.

“Oh don’t worry about it.” Sam stood up and patted her brother on the back, noticing the way his demeanor changed the minute you walked through the door. “This guy has been out of it all day. Although I think I’m beginning to realize why.”

Jonas glared at his sister before turning back to you. “How can I help you?”

You fidgeted a bit, wringing the leather strap of your purse. “Actually, I was hoping we could speak in private, Reverend.”

“I’m gonna go check on that bingo. See if they have someone to call the numbers,” Sam said after an awkward pause. She gave Jonas a sly wink before walking out the door.

“Please have a seat.” Jonas ushered you to a pew. His heart was racing and sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. There was something about you that made him nervous. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but whatever it was, you disarmed him completely.

He took a deep breath and tried to recover. After all he was the King of Sin. If he could con people out of money under the guise of salvation, he could certainly handle talking to a beautiful woman.

“I’m glad you came in today,” he said.

“You are?”

Jonas nodded his head and took a seat next to you. “I noticed you during the service. I could sense that something was weighing heavily on your soul.”

You looked down for a moment, hesitant to speak before finally confessing. “There is.”

“Don’t be bashful.” He reached out and patted your knee in reassurance, his thumb gliding across your skin. “You can trust me. I help all those who are lost and right now you look like a little lamb that has strayed from the flock.”

“I...I... struggle with the sin of lust,” you replied in a voice barely above a whisper. Your cheeks turned bright red, nearly matching the shade of lipstick you were wearing.

Jonas felt his interest peak. “Go on,” he encouraged.

“I have certain...proclivities. I’ve tried to quell these dark desires, but I need help. My need is constant.” You let out a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering shut.

Little did you know, you were an answer to Jonas’ prayers (if in fact he ever did pray). It had been ages since he had gotten laid and you were just his type. It was as if the heavens opened and a choir of angels were singing ‘Hallelujah.’ He cleared his throat. “I think I can be of service.”

“Thank you!” Relief washed over your face before you became serious. “But I have to warn you others have tried and failed.” You leaned forward, your knees now touching his. He could smell the seductive notes of your perfume: lotus blossom and black orchid. “Do you think you are up to the challenge?” you practically purred.

Jonas licked his lips and let his eyes drink you in from head to toe. He felt smugly satisfied noticing your heaving chest, the way your nipples hardened against the fabric of your dress. “Sure, I’ll guide you on my cock,” he thought.

But rather than make this blunt point and risk you running out of the church, disgusted. He gently cupped your face and stared into your eyes with a deep sincerity. “I can assure you, I won’t stop until we tame the fire that burns deep within you. I am relentless in my dedication to saving souls.”

What happened next sent shockwaves down the wily con artist’s spine. Parting your lips, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking and gliding your tongue against the digit. Jonas gasped, feeling you bite down on the meaty flesh before pulling off with a pop.

You tucked your purse under your arm and stood up, smoothing down your dress. “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll be in touch.” You went to the door before pausing and looking over your shoulder. “By the way, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” With an innocent smile, you left Jonas sitting there, completely stunned.

*****

The old secretary glanced up as soon as you walked into the church office. “The Reverend will be with you in a moment. Why don’t you take a seat.” She motioned towards a chair.

“Thank you.” You sat down and crossed your legs, admiring your new black Louboutin heels.

The sound of an old fire and brimstone preacher played from a radio on the secretary’s desk. “Fornication is not just a sin against another person. It is a sin against ourselves. It is self destructive and we must avoid it at all costs!”

You arched a brow at the secretary, who gave you a tight smile and turned down the volume. You couldn’t help but bite back a laugh. The irony of the sermon was not lost on you.

It had been three weeks since you met Jonas. You were in town for a few months visiting your grandmother and she insisted on dragging your butt out of bed to the sunrise Sunday service at her church. Luckily for you, instead of the regular reverend (who was as old as Methuselah), there was a handsome, charismatic guest preacher in his place. Having never been an avid church-goer before, you were quite taken with the eye candy professing salvation for all sinners from the pulpit.

After the service, you dropped off your grandmother at her bingo game and decided to have a little fun by giving into your more baser instincts. How else were you supposed to entertain yourself in a dusty dried up old town? You knew how to play the game. With your chaste couture and coquettish ways, you caught Jonas Nightingale--hook, line, and sinker.

Just then Jonas walked into the office, freezing in his tracks the second he laid eyes on you. “Ms. Y/L/N.” He took off his aviator shades and smirked. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“I know we had a session yesterday, but I think I need more spiritual guidance.” You ran a delicate hand down the slope of your neck and gave him a shy smile.

Jonas ran his tongue across his teeth, a low growl emanating from his chest. “Of course, please step into my office.” You stood up and followed him. Before shutting the door, Jonas turned towards the secretary. “Why don’t you get out of here and take a long lunch.”

“Are you sure?” the secretary asked, leaning over the desk to try and peek into his office.

“Absolutely. It’s been a slow day. Go out. Live a little.” Jonas sighed in relief, watching as she grabbed her purse and needlepoint. She was on loan to him from the church. The woman was your typical nosy, uptight old bat with a stick up her ass, but she made great coffee and would bring in freshly baked cookies every week.

As soon as the secretary left, he stepped into his office and locked the door. “I thought you were supposed to come by tonight. Just couldn’t wait, could ya?” he teased and removed his shirt, leaving him in a black tank top.

You bit your bottom lip, staring at his muscular arms. “I had to come here.”

“Oh you did?”

You blushed and fidgeted with your coat. “You see, I was very, very naughty. I was thinking about you all morning and I had to touch myself. I sinned, Reverend and you told me that those who disobey God’s laws must do penance.” You made a show of unbuttoning your coat and letting it fall to the floor, revealing that you were completely naked.

Jonas stalked up to you, looking like the big bad wolf. He walked in a slow circle around you, inspecting every inch of your flesh before stopping right behind you and grabbing your hips, pulling you flush to him. His lips brushed over your pulse point and all too soon he walked away.

With the crook of his finger, he beckoned you over to the chair in front of his desk. You obliged his silent request and sat down. Sinking to his knees before you, he planted a brutal, bruising kiss on your lips, thrusting his tongue into your mouth. He pulled away and went over to his desk. “You remember the safe word?” he asked, opening a drawer.

“Bakker,” you replied.

Jonas chuckled. When you two began these escapades, you picked “Bakker” for your safe word. The last name of the infamous Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, two TV televangelists who were found guilty of fraud in the 80s. It was your subtle way of telling Jonas that you saw right through him and didn’t believe his act for a second. As long as your grandmother didn’t give him any money, his secret was safe with you. Besides, Jonas was just as much a freak as you were and he was the best sex you ever had.

Reaching into the drawer, he pulled out several items, one of them being a blindfold. “You know, I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle,” he purred as he covered your eyes.

A smile tugged at your lips. “You should know by now that I don’t want you to be gentle. Don’t hold back.”

“Challenge accepted,” Jonas thought as he grabbed some nylon ropes. He grabbed your arms and began to tie them behind the chair.

Your pulse quickened in anticipation. “Tighter,” you demanded in a breathy moan.

He yanked the ropes taut making you gasp. “Let me be the judge of that,” he growled, biting your earlobe. He spread your legs, tying each one to the leg of the chair. Your pussy glistened as you were already wet from masturbating all morning. The scent of your arousal filled his nostrils and made his cock twitch.

Tied and blindfolded, you thought Jonas would get down to business, but he had a few more surprises up his sleeves. He took out a white ball gag with a leather strap and some honey. After squirting some honey onto the ball gag, he cupped your chin and forced your mouth open. “Don’t you dare spit this out,” he threatened, fastening the leather strap behind your head.

You felt the ball wedge between your teeth. The sweet hit of the honey coating your tongue. Jonas has done his research. He knew that the combination of the honey and the ball gag would make you drool, giving you that hint of humiliation you craved.

He sat back on his haunches and admired his work: the knots of nylon binding you to the chair, the way your lips wrapped around the ball gag, the rise and fall of your flushed chest. You were a work of art. Michelangelo had the Sistine Chapel and Jonas had you.

He knelt down and kissed the top of your right foot before slowly dragging his tongue up your leg, nibbling on your inner thighs and then trailing down your left leg, planting a final kiss on your left foot.

He parted your swollen pussy lips and licked your pink, quivering flesh, reveling in the way you whimpered and squirmed. When he wrapped his mouth around your clit, you jerked forward only to remember that you were restrained. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue and lapping at your clit. Being blindfolded only heightened your senses and right now it felt like Jonas was eating you out as if you were an all you can eat pancake breakfast.

You threw your head back and moaned, trying to arch your hips to give him even more access to your core. He reached his hands up and began to massage your breasts, pinching your nipples until they swelled and ached in pleasure. Your thighs began to shake and Jonas knew you were close. One final tweak of your taut nipple and your orgasm rippled through you.

Jonas groaned and nodded his head vigorously, flicking against your nub as you rode out your ecstasy. “Jonas!” you wailed in a muffled tone, although the ball gag was preventing you from speaking much.

He hummed in contentment and smacked his lips together, tracing your entrance with a single digit. You squeaked in surprise.“Shhh,” he cooed. “Calm down, my angel. We’ve barely begun. How many fingers do you think you can take? One?”

You shook your head no.

“Two?”

You shook your head again. Jonas arched a brow, even though you couldn’t see him. He knew what you wanted. When he got up to five. You nodded.

“So fucking greedy.” He spread you even wider. “You think you can take it?”

You nodded once more and undulated your hips. He began to finger fuck you, starting with his index finger, thrusting into you hard and fast while pressing on your clit until you howled. The second finger, he scissored you, slowly stretching you out, stroking your walls, studying the way you whimpered and wailed. He slowly added a third digit, finding that secret spot within you that so few men ever find.

The buildup was unbearable as your hips stuttered forward, coming once more. Even though you were soaking wet, Jonas squirted lube onto his fourth finger firmly believing in the philosophy of, “the wetter, the better.” He slowly moved in and out of you, swiping against your clit.

With each digit he added, you came harder and harder. Tears slid down your face from underneath your blindfold. Your muscles began to spasm, your nerve endings tingled. Jonas cruelly laughed. “Look at you, creaming on my fingers like a little slut.”

You wailed out another orgasm in response. How long had you been sitting there? Hours? Your body experienced a rollercoaster of emotions. Every time you came, you loathed it. You craved it. You wanted him to stop. No, don’t stop! Don’t ever, ever, ever stop! You wanted more and more and more and that’s exactly what Jonas gave you.

After adding even more lube, he tucked his thumb into his palm, tapering his fingers and slowly penetrating you, pushing past the knuckles until his entire hand was deep inside you. Jonas had never fisted anyone before, but you had untapped desires within him that he had no idea even existed.

He began to rock his large hand back and forth. You sobbed in pleasure. You were stretched and filled to the brim, feeling tremendous pressure. You couldn’t catch your breath. Being tied, blindfolded, and gagged, all you could do was take it. While fisting you, Jonas leaned forward and began sucking on your clit.

Your muffled moans of “Oh fuck! Oh yes! Yes! Yes!” filled the room as he unleashed his torture on your slick, hot cunt. He crooked and wiggled his fingers, massaging your G-spot. You screamed in ecstasy. Your orgasm was earth shattering. You felt a gush of liquid and squirted all over Jonas’ face.

“That’s it, my sweet angel. Squirt for me,” he groaned, almost coming in his pants at the sensation of your sweet nectar all over his face, a puddle amassing beneath your chair.

Jonas slowly took his hand out, one finger at a time. He reached up and cupped your face, you could feel your arousal from his one hand, coating your cheek. “You’re not done yet. I want one more from you,” he commanded as he began to unbound you.

You meekly nodded your head. He gave you an open mouth kiss over your ball gag and gently lifted you up so he could sit down. You were still blindfolded. The sound of a zipper and rustling of his denim, alerted you that he had taken out his cock.

You rocked against his length, his crown rubbing against your overly sensitive clit. Moving at a snail’s pace, you sank down onto his cock. Jonas’ fingers may have been long and thick, but nothing could replace being filled by his cock. After your initial meeting, you quickly understand why the man exuded a prowess on the church stage, swinging his big dick energy at anyone with a pulse.

Jonas let out a strangled moan and grabbed your hips, encouraging you to fuck him.

You bounced up and down on his cock. He had given you so much pleasure and now you wanted to return the favor. You contracted your muscles, squeezing around him. Drool dribbled down your chin and onto your breasts from the combination of the honey and the ball gag. He lowered his head to lap it up and suck your nipples.

Smothered by your chest, he growled and gripped your hips, thrusting up into you. Your head lolled back. You loved this, being used as a sex toy. Your whole body screamed. Take me! Devour me! I’m yours!

The wooden chair creaked and was on the verge of breaking, but neither of you cared. “Fuck! Jesus! Jonas!” you mumbled, climaxing one final time, your vision fading to black while riding out your orgasm. Pain and pleasure melding together.

Jonas’ hips began to stutter. “Oh Y/N!” he moaned. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” He grunted like an animal, pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum. His body tensed, coming so much that it seeped out of you and pooled around the base of his cock, creating a mess. Not that either of you noticed, you were both already plastered in sticky sweat

You went limp and melted against him, snuggling into the crook of his neck, mewling like a kitten. Once Jonas caught his breath, he pulled you away to take off the gag and blindfold. Gazing up at you with the sunlight illuminating your face, that feeling of disarmament overpowered him once more. He was completely at your mercy, bared to you. There was no escaping your trance.

This was meant to be your penance. Your punishment. But instead, it was Jonas that choked out one final word, “Amen.”

Tag List:

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#jonas nightingale #leap of faith #raul esparza #Raúl Esparza #jonas nightingale fan fic #jonas nightingale x reader #thatesqcrush kink bingo #kinktober

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highonchocolate · 4 years ago

Text

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 12

First Previous Next Ao3

He’s a little boy again, laughing and racing through the halls of the Mansion, surrounded by the auburn warmth and love of his mother. Her green eyes, so similar to his own, sparkle down at him as she smiles. He reaches out for her, beaming hopefully, but as soon as he touches her, she crumbles, form blurring and fading. The warmth around him vanishes with her, and then he is alone. Stuck in the cold, silent, Mansion, a gilded cage for him to perform like an exhibit on display. He almost never catches a glimpse of his father, seeing more of Nathalie than him. Piano, fencing, Mandarin, photoshoots, the never ending cycle of activities goes on and on. He is a puppet, a doll. Dancing to their tune. He meets Ladybug, bounding across the rooftops, and the warmth sparks anew. It’s a different kind of heat, red, not the oranges and yellows of before, but still bright. He jokes and laughs, and keeps quiet to preserve the peace. Then, their identities are revealed and his world comes crashing down again. Chloé tells him about sexual harassment, screaming at him for being such an asshole to Mari, and he feels the familiar, numbing, cold creeping up his spine. What had he done?! He...had done… He goes to Ladybug-Marinette-and gets on his knees and apologizes. He apologizes for being too loud as Chat and too quiet as Adrien. He apologizes for not being there, for leaving her struggling in both aspects of her life, just so he could keep the warmth a little longer. But she smiles at him, and says they’ll work on it, and the fire blazes anew. He still loves her, but not in the same way. She is his sister, his sibling, someone to care for, and protect. She is not his lover, but his friend, and somehow, that's all he ever wanted.

--- He opens his eyes with a nostalgic smile on his lips. His eyes are wet, and he tastes salt on his tongue. He reaches out to his other half, his family, and she reaches back, grabbing him in a tight embrace. He hears the green hero telling him he’s not an enemy, but he ignores him, clutching Marinette like a lifeline. As Chloe steps forward, he loosens his hug, keeping his arm around her shoulders instead and turns to watch. She saw how they cried, relieving whatever horrific memories they had been subjected to. As she squeezed her eyes shut, blackness enveloping her, she couldn’t help but feel the familiar tingle of fear wrapping around her like a cloak. --- She is five again, watching as Mommy and Daddy scream at each other. Mommy’s mouth is open in a snarl, and Chloé can’t help but think she looks like a scary monster from her bedtime stories. The one that eats people. Seven years old, and every day they’re yelling at each other, screaming and shouting mean words in the other room. She hears Mommy say ‘This was all a mistake!’ And she huddles under her blankets, pulling Mr. Cuddly closer to her chest. She hears a door slam, and her Mommy is marching away to the helicopter, and there are suitcases being loaded inside. She sees her yellow suitcase is not in the pile, and Daddy is still standing on the roof, not in the helicopter. Her heart skips a beat and she clutches Mr. Cuddly even tighter as she stands beside Daddy and watches Mommy fly away. Does Mommy not love me anymore? She is eight and her Daddy is running for Mayor. He’s too busy to spend time with her, so he buys her a phone to say sorry. She takes it, but there is a weird feeling in her chest, like something is missing, and it doesn’t disappear as she sits alone in her room, playing some mindless game. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Daddy spends less and less time with her, buying more and more gifts to try and make up for his absence. The gifts fill her room, but they don’t fill the empty space in her heart. Sabrina tries, but Chloé knows she doesn’t really like her. She’s only doing it because Chloé gives her gifts too. Then Marinette comes along, and Chloé feels her hatred grow. How come her parents spend time with her?! What makes her so special? ... Why don’t my parents spend time with me? So she huffs and bullies and wraps herself in a cloak of thorns, keeping everyone at arms distance so that she won’t be let down and left alone again. She has Adrien, of course, but she knows she is using him. And he lets her use him, moving through the motions like a doll.

Then Ladybug soars through the sky, catching her as she plummets from Stoneheart’s grasp, high above. Bright blue eyes and signature red, and Chloé watches from below as she flies, wishes and dreams kept secreted away in her heart.

She finds Pollen’s comb, and suddenly her wildest dreams have sprang to life. She is a superhero! She can stand beside Ladybug and Chat Noir, and everyone will love her and her parents will be proud, and maybe now they’ll stay…But Ladybug is mad, and everyone hates her, and she knows Mommy Mother is already disappointed. So she carves a wall of ice and frost around her heart, and wraps her thorned cloak tighter around herself.

And then a Miracle happens, and Ladybug forgives her, and adds her to the team permanently. And they reveal their identities, and she apologizes to Marinette and Adrien because she knows she was wrong, and they give her a second chance.

And her heart is racing and she can’t hear properly because the only thing she can understand now is the simple thought running through her brain over and over.

Permanently? They’re staying? I’m staying? They won’t leave me..?

And they are a family now, and she is loved, and there is Kagami, looking at her with that knowing glint in those deep brown eyes, reaching over to pull her into the warmth of her arms, and finally, finally, that empty space is full again.

---

She saw the familiar darkness of her closed eyelids again, signaling the mind search was over, but she kept them shut for a moment longer, savoring the memories, the love. Only, she didn’t need to savor them, she remembered, because they were right here.

And so she opened her eyes, and saw her friends standing right there, arms already outstretched to pull her into their comforting embrace. Grinning, she let two sparkling tears roll down her cheeks. Only two, for the childhood she never fully had, and the family she finally found.

Kagami was a creature of discipline, and as she closed her eyes, she willed her breath to stay even, her heart to continue its pulse, and her hands to remain steady.

---

“Again!” Her mother’s harsh demand cracked through the air like a whip, sending ice skittering down her spine. Her face stung from where it had scraped on the concrete, it’s cold temperature soothing her scratched skin. Her arms trembled, refusing to bear her weight as she struggled to push herself up in time to block the next blow from her mother’s boken. With a grunt, she parried and thrust, only to fall flat on her back with a grunt.

“Again!”

A whirl of movement, then her knee screamed with pain-

“Again!”

She stood on shaky feet, raising her foil, only to get knocked down seconds later.

“Again!”

So she rose, and she fell, and she rose again.

Nothing she gave was ever enough. She bled, and she cried, and she worked herself to collapse, only to be rewarded with another training session, harsher criticism, and higher standards for her to meet. Nothing she did was ever enough. She was weighed down by the expectations of her mother.

And then she met Adrien, and she knew they were only forced together for their parent’s benefit, but how she longed for his love. For any love.

So she told herself she loved him, and he loved her, ignoring how she felt nothing as she looked into his eyes. She knew she was stubborn, and had a tendency to do things on her own, but even after she messed up as Ryuko Ladybug gave her a second chance.

It was...surprising to say the least. She had expected a scolding, and harsh, cutting, words, but instead she had revived another try, and words of encouragement. She felt a smile tug her lips upward, as she stood and charged into battle. And then, to her surprise, she was given a permanent place on her team. They never expected her to work herself to exhaustion, they accepted what she gave, only pushing her gently. And it was after their identity reveal, when they were talking about romance, and crushes, and that sort of thing did she realize she wasn’t messed up.

“Well, I’m totally bi,” Marinette giggled from where she lounged on a nearby chaise.

“Really? Nice. I’m lesbian as fuck.” Chloé spoke as she braided her hair.

“Ay, it’s a fellow gay!” Luka called from his seat on the floor.

“Aro and Demiace over here my people!” Adrien exclaimed, throwing up peace signs.

“Lesbian? Bi? What do those mean?” Kagami asked from her perch on the bed.

“Oh! Well bisexual is basically me liking men and women, lesbian means you’re a woman that only likes women, gay is a man that only likes men, and aromantic means you feel no romantic attraction towards someone, and demisexual means you need to form a strong emotional connection with someone before experiencing sexual attraction.” Marinette explained.

“Oh,” Kagami frowned in thought. “So it’s not..bad to like other women?”

“Of course not!” Chloé exclaimed, looking scandalized at the thought.

Her friends had taken it well.

Her mother, however, did not. Although most Japanese were okay with homosexuality, Tomoe Tsurugi wanted a biological heir to continue their bloodline.

“You’re just confused, Kagami. This is why I don’t like you spending time with those friends of yours. They talk about all these things, and suddenly you start thinking that you are like...that. Stop this foolishness at once.”

She hadn’t raised her voice, but the disdain was clear in her tone. And with those words, the fragile shell of joy she had built around herself shattered in the face of rejection.

She opened her eyes, feeling as though someone had reopened her scars and left the wounds bare and bleeding on display.

Her eyes were dry, and the salt of tears was not present on her lips, but she felt bad though she had cried for hours. With a small shudder, she grabbed Chloé’s hand and allowed herself to be pulled into a warm embrace.

And then it was Luka’s turn, and there was no hint of nervousness on his face as he closed his eyes.

---

Scenes burst to life behind his eyelids in a flash of color and sound. He was five again, creeping down the hallway on their boat in the direction of the muffled sobbing emanating from his mother’s cabin. “Maman?” He questions uncertainly, pushing open the door and allowing a thin ray of light to shine on his mother’s tear-streaked face. “Maman are you okay?”

Anarka’s head jerked up at his voice, hands coming up to wipe at her cheeks.“I’m fine, baby. Mama’s just feeling a little sad today. Why don’t you go play with Jules, huh?”

“Okay Maman. I love you!” He walks back to his room on small feet, knowing even then, that his mother’s sadness stemmed from larger problems. Six years old and he still struggles with speaking to other kids. Miss Adeline says he’s just shy, but he isn’t. It’s just hard to find the right words to use.

So he uses music to speak, and in every strum of his guitar there is a word; in every measure, a sentence; every song is an expression, an exclamation, a lament, that conveys more than words ever could.

He still struggles with the words sometimes, and he focuses on all his friends too much, so sometimes he forgets to focus on himself. But that’s okay, because everyone tells him to be empathetic, and put other people’s needs before his own, so that’s what he does.

And then Ladybug asks him to be Viperion, and he can’t say no. So he accepts, and watches time and time again as his friends and family die before his very eyes, bodies slack, eyes unseeing, blood everywhere. But he knows she can’t bear this burden alone, so he keeps marching on.

And on.

He opens his eyes to the still-haunted faces of his friends, looking at him with concern.

He gives them a smile to assure them he is fine, he is not and then turns to Martian Manhunter with a polite expression on his face. “Now that we’re all cleared, what’s next?”

---

@laurcad123, @liquid-luck-00, @toodaloo-kangaroo, @stainedglassm

#maribat #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #luka couffaine #kagami tsurugi #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #lila rossi #alya cesaire #lila salt #class salt

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years ago

Text

The Last Night Part XXII

(Author’s Notes at the end)

Parts I-XXI:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

.XXII.

“Lucie!” Her father’s voice came from the other side of the door as it cracked open inviting in a warm light that chased away the darkness from inside Lucie’s bedroom. Lucie, being only five years old should have been asleep hours ago, but was sitting up in bed with her old stuffed rabbit in her lap, and both hands firmly clamped over her ears.

Will, dressed in his white stocking pajamas, his black hair a mess of tangled curls stepped into the room. “Lucie, I heard voices-- what’s the matter?”

Lucie uncovered her ears and slowly opened her eyes as her father walked into the hazy moonlight that came in through the oval window like a dramatic spotlight. “They won’t stop whispering at me, Papa.”

“Who?” Will looked around her room. “Is someone else in here?”

Lucie nodded.

“Where?” Will demanded.

“They’re not here now,” said Lucie. “You frightened them off, but they wouldn’t stop whispering to me.”

A strange recognition filled Will’s expression. He walked over to Lucie’s side of the bed and climbed in beside her. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “They can be so loud. I think they just want someone to talk to, and I don’t mind, but I want to sleep.”

Will smiled. “As you should be. What do these visitors say?”

Lucie played with the silk ear of her rabbit. “They mostly just say my name. Whisper it over and over again, like they can’t say anything more. Are they ghosts?”

Will nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“How come I can see them?”

“Because you’re a Herondale,” said Will, proudly. “All Herondales can see ghosts.”

Lucie contemplated this for a moment to the best ability of her still developing five year old brain. “So even James and Mam?”

“Only James, not Mam,” explained Will. “Mam was a Grey before she was a Herondale. It’s hard to understand, but you will.” He tilted her chin up with his finger. “Only born Herondales have this particular talent.”

“And devilishly good looks,” parroted Lucie.

Will barked a laugh. “Exactly.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They’re nothing to be frightened of. They can’t hurt you. They’re just looking for a friend. Now, you go to sleep and if these ghosts visit you again, you remind them that your bedtime is seven-thirty and if they’d like to visit you it must be before then.”

Lucie nodded and slid down beneath the thick comforter. Will tucked Lucie in all around until she resembled a log underneath a fancy blanket. With his white slippers shuffling along the floor, Will left the room and closed the door behind him.

For a moment, her room was quiet and she thought her father might have chased the last of the voices away.

When she was almost asleep, she felt a cold breath of air against her cheek.

Lucie.

LUCIE!

The whispering could be heard even as she folded a pillow over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. They continued until finally she sat up and yelled into the void, “BE QUIET!”

The voices went out in a whoosh like a candle being snuffed. Nothing could be heard except for the grandfather clock’s ticking on the wall in the hall and the crickets chirping in the warm summer’s air outside. With a curt nod, Lucie closed her eyes and fell asleep.

“Good,” said Belial as he stood from the bed. “You received my message.”

Lucie’s eyes flickered to Grace cowering in the corner beside her mother. Tears stained Grace’s face and her chin shook with more to come as she looked apologetically at Lucie.

“What have you done?” Lucie whispered.

“I had no choice,” said Grace. “He was going to kill my Mum and he would never bring Jesse back. I wouldn’t be left alone— not again.”

Blood boiled in Lucie’s cheeks. “You really think he’ll uphold his promise? He’s about as reliable as a trained lion. He’ll get what he wants from you and then tear your face off.”

“What do you know of it?” Snapped Tatiana Blackthorn. “You’ve been handed things your whole life. Blessed. You’ve no idea what it means to lose something you love.” She turned her attention to Belial. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I killed seven innocent souls, I’ve released six demons from captivity using Shadowhunter blood, and I’ve brought you the girl. Now, return my son and we’ll be on our way. You can do what you wish with her.”

Belial blinked lazily.

Lucie hadn’t noticed before since her focus was entirely on the prince of hell lounging on Grace’s chiffon bed. The two women broke apart like curtains and resting behind them, on the bench beneath the window like he’d fallen asleep reading a book, was Jesse’s body.

Lucie gasped and took a marginal step closer to him, but stopped.

Death begets death begets death. You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.

“Grace!” Lucie reached forward.

Belial snapped his fingers and Tatiana’s body crumpled to the floor with a sickening crack. Her neck lolled to the side like a broken stick. Grace screamed and fell back against the wall behind her just as Jesse gasped from the window seat.

Limbs flailed around as if he were trying to save himself from drowning until he fell to the floor on his hands and knees gasping for breath in lungs that haven’t been used in years. Lucie thought she could hear his heart beating until she realized it was her own. He sat up and clutched his chest, his blue, green eyes darted frantically around the room.

Grace fell to the floor beside him. “Jesse, it’s alright. It’s alright!”

Jesse wouldn’t look at her. His eyes locked on Lucie. “No, what have you done.”

“I haven’t done anything,” said Lucie.

“Then why are you here?” His face turned red in the cheeks. “I told you specifically not to come. Damn it, Lucie, why didn’t you listen.”

Lucie moved back a step. “I did listen. I came here to tell Grace that I no longer wanted to be a part of our agreement. I came here to tell her that I was giving up. I thought I was honoring your wishes. How was I to know that he was waiting here for me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t believe me,” groaned Jesse. “I thought you’d think I was bluffing to keep you from trying.”

Lucie scoffed. “And look how well your dishonesty worked out.”

Grace cried over their dead mother and clutched at her thick collar in a feeble attempt to wake her up.

“Enough,” said Belial, growing bored of the exchange in front of him. “I have upheld my bargain. It’s time for us to go.”

“No!” Jesse tried to stand. Belial cocked his head and Jesse fell back against Grace.

“Another move and I’ll kill you again, this time with no chance of return.” Belial’s eyes flickered over to Lucie. “I’ve realized I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I tried to capture the Carstairs girl thinking that she would get you to join me, but she’s far too much trouble. No, there was another pawn hiding right underneath my nose. The Blackthorn boy. It didn’t occur to me until you came to visit Grace and asked for her assistance in bringing him back. She was a good pet and delivered the message to Tatiana who in turn delivered the message to me.”

Lucie glared at Grace with her arms wrapped around Jesse’s shoulders. But how could she blame her? If the tables were reversed and it was James she was trying to revive, she might have done the same. No, she was positive she would have done the same. She’d allowed Jesse to give his last breath to her brother to save his life. In the end, she had been willing to give something up for the life of someone she loved. She could not fault Grace that.

“I’m not going with you,” she said. “The entire clave will be here shortly and you’ll be banished back to whatever level of hell you came from.”

Belial grinned. Despite herself, Lucie found it quite a charming smile. “Wonderful. A family reunion. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to my daughter. I’ve wondered how she fared all these years.”

“She fared nicely without the likes of you,” said Lucie, cursing herself for not bringing a short blade or at least a couple of throwing knives. She’d left in such a rush, she didn’t find a need. Her uncle was notorious for hiding weapons about the manor. Her aunt was always cursing him about it when they were children and Christopher or Anna would somehow wander down the hallway with a curve blade in their chubby little hands.

The hallway, Lucie nearly gasped as she remembered the cross blades hanging in the hallway.

The door behind her remained open. Only a few steps back and she could make a break for it and at least have a chance at defending herself.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said Belial, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Not unless you want me to start breaking bones in their bodies starting with the smallest.” He raised on his hands and folded his fingers. The door slammed behind Lucie and she heard the faint sound of the lock. “We don’t have much time. I have a very short window back into my realm and we’ll need to be going now. That is if you want your friends to live.”

“Lucie.” Jesse fought against Grace’s hold. “Do not go with him. I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be alive.”

“How rude,” said Belial. “Do you have any idea how hard your mother and sister worked to bring you back to life. The least you could do is be more grateful.”

“If I go with you,” said Lucie. “If I agree to do what you ask, you’ll promise to leave them alone?”

“You have my word,” grinned Belial and extended his hand towards Lucie.

Every instinct drove her to pull away, to run, but then some stronger instinct took control, and of their own free will her fingers closed round Belial’s. Heat seared down and through her, swift as wildfire chased by wind, and as it moved she felt something strong and heavy wrap around her waist.

Her connection broke with Belial as she was dragged back to the center of the room. She turned her neck and looked up.

“Thomas?”

His face was contorted in rage as he yelled over his shoulder to the hallway, “Now!”

A figure dressed in Shadowhunter gear stepped into the room. Lucie didn’t recognize him at first as his face was hidden behind a curtain of black hair. A spear flew from his hand towards Belial.

Before she could even blink, it’d somehow stopped inches from Belial’s chest, and shot back at the shadow hunter with blinding speed impaling the person in the chest and pinned them to the wall like a collected insect.

It wasn’t until then that Lucie caught a glimpse of the face against the wall. Mouth open and eyes glossy as he stared down at the stick protruding from his chest was Alastair.

A/N: Hope you all are well! Good news, next update is coming in just a short seven days, Dec 13. You know the drill: hit that like, share, leave me comment, and follow along for more updates. Stay safe and stay healthy!

#thelastnight #jordelia fanfiction #james x cordelia #james and Cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #Lucie x Jesse #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #chain of gold #Chain of Iron #chain of gold fanfic #cassandra clare #the shadowhunter chronicles

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lovemeafterhrs · 4 years ago

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friends w benefits | k. kenma (end)

chapter 19: you can fall in love with anyone

fun fact: bro this is the last one.. my heart cant handle it but i just want to thank all of you for all of your support with the series. you all are SO important to me and im so glad that you guys came along with me on the fwb! kenma rollercoaster. see yall in the next one! (or when i post a new smau at the end of the week lmao)

~~~~

the night had started out relatively tame. light hearted games had turned much more heated as bokuto carried nora away in his arms to keep her away from killing kenma.

in the corner sat miyuki, typing out his obituary as kuroo tried to convince him to talk to the girl he’d been avoiding the whole night.

at that current moment, said girl was sitting on kuroo’s balcony as loud vibrations from the music boomed behind her.

tetsurou sent a sharp look to a petrified kenma, who was busy wondering if he could disappear from the situation without anyone noticing.

he’d admitted his feelings many times, and sat stone cold as he awaited her rejection. he didn’t want to say the words again. he didn’t want to lose the connection they had.

as much as he hated just being friends, he didn’t want to ruin the dynamic that he found himself becoming more and more fond of. he just wanted to be in her presence, even if that meant drowning the butterflies in his chest just to see her smile.

he didn’t know what answer he was seeking, or how the events would play out when they existed outside of his mind.

his mind began to lose track of the daydreams, and the possibilities left him with more questions than answers.

by the time he convinced himself to step onto the balcony, everyone in the room had already gathered around the window to witness his confession.

“uh.. can i sit here?” he cursed himself for being so nervous, but the light nod from her was enough to get him to sit next to her on the dark wood bench.

he’d never known her to be so quiet, but they sat together in silence and enjoyed the muffled slow song that echoed behind them. it was something out of a movie, but he feared that it wouldn’t have the ending that he’d been dreaming of.

“hey kenma?” she asked, and her voice was so hushed that he almost didn’t hear her. when he replied, she moved to wrap her arms around her legs, her head resting on her knees as she looked out to the dark blue skyline.

“do you believe in love? like the stupid, illogical, makes no sense kind of love that leaves you wondering what life’s really like?”

“i think i do..” he paused, and she looked up at him with a look in her eyes that gifted him with the urge to pass out on the spot. “why, are you in love or something?”

“i don’t think so.” she watched his demeanor drop as she turned away from him, facing the dark sky once again. “i think i could be though, eventually. i still have a lot to work on, but i wouldn’t mind being in love again. it’s only moderately inconvenient.”

“moderately inconvenient? how so?” they were laughing now, and the stress that pressed itself firmly onto his shoulders lifted as soon as he heard her small giggle.

“i don’t know.. admitting feelings is kinda stupid. being that open with someone who could just tell you to fuck off is absolutely terrifying.” her choice of words cut through him like a knife as he observed the cloud of guilt forming over her.

“you know, i’m really glad that you didn’t tell me to fuck off.” she laughed at his joke lightly as she rushed to wipe her eyes. “i’m really relieved that we’re talking again. i got used to our dynamic sooner than i thought, and animal crossing just didn’t hit the same.”

“i don’t think that’s gonna be a problem again anytime soon.” one smile was all that it took to revive the butterflies deep in his chest that he’d been stomping on for the last few weeks.

he was confused now, throwing out a soft “what do you mean?” she rolled her eyes at him, and she watched his lips form into a pout from the corner of her eye.

“i don’t know.. that maybe i want to be more than whatever this is? but who knows honestly, could mean a lot of things.” she was fucking with him now, and he knew it. “you still haven’t taken me on that date.”

“was getting coffee not a date?”

“i was in my pajamas. not a date.” he stuck his tongue out at her in response and was met with a playful glare in his direction.

“what do you want to do then?” he asked, and she looked at him like he’d just burned through his last two functioning brain cells.

“i don’t know kenma, you’re the boyfriend.”

“i’m the boyfriend?” surprise displayed against his normally quiet exterior and his smile was contagious

“..uh.. duh, i thought we went over this?”

“we didn’t but.. does that mean i can kiss you whenever now?” her cheeks scorched under the pressure of her hands as she nodded and covered her face. “you’re never this flustered, did i say something?”

“no, i just want you to kiss me idiot.”

and he did, standing on his balcony in front of all of their friends. gagging sounds could be heard from behind the glass panels, but he didn’t care as he pulled her closer.

why dont we go somewhere only we know?

masterlist:

taglist: @bby-bokuto @jazzofmine @beanst0ck @jaegersblogh @cuddlesslut @deimmortales99 @neomuxuxi @ladymartiini @kathya420 @paripedia a @sugassimp @moonlightaangel @momoinot @mochahyuck @idiot-juice-enthusiast @jiminscarmex @teenlife1599 @fourelementskal @breaking-ur-kneecaps @intohobiverse @aizawasthotty @badbyeyoongi @animeanxiety @stfucanunot @inuroku @animefan7420 @matamiskookie @neouihobi @iixyia @iloveanime691 @dancing-in-the-rain54 @kageyamasbabygorl @peachymochimochi @todobruhski @flrtykawas @krxstynnn @jiminifiess

#haikyuu x reader #kenma kozume #kenma smau #kenma x reader #haikyuu smau #fwb! kenma #fwb finale

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cashtonwildflower · 5 years ago

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Pas de Trois: I

NOTE: Here is the first part to my Bi!Poly!Cashton Fic. This is an intro of sorts. The next part will be more eventful, and angsty. Maybe even some smut? Please let me know what you think!

She was agitated.

She imagined that once she got her Masters and her license in counseling, she would have her own place with maybe a roommate. No, she was 24 and after 6 years of schooling and freedom, she was back where it all started her childhood home with her slightly, well excessively overbearing parents. Every single time her phone made the tiniest sound her mom was asking who was texting her and if it was a boy or not.

She also imagined that at 24 she would have a somewhat stable relationship, not a bunch of random strangers on apps like Bumble and Hinge ghosting her (or vice versa) after the conversation had gone stale and no one cared enough to revive it. She just wanted someone consistent, and someone who actually cared for conversation and not just wanted her Snap to see private images she only shared out of sheer boredom, and admittedly filled the void she so longed to have filled.

But that is not exactly why she was agitated at this very moment in time. No, she was agitated because she had an extremely strenuous day at work. She loved her job, but listening to other people’s problems and trying to think of ways to solve them simultaneously was exhausting. All she wanted to do was go home, take off her pants that began to fill entirely too restricting on her thicker thighs, and take a nice warm bath. A glass of wine and some Leon Bridges in the background also sounded like a well-deserved plan to her.

But as always her plans didn’t always, well never seemed to totally work out in her favor. As soon as he crossed the threshold of her home, she was greeted by the sound of her mother’s laugh, which she knew to be fake because no one’s laugh was that shrill, and an unfamiliar man’s laugh. This laugh was deep, warm, and a hint of sultriness to it. It took her no less than 10 seconds to know that she loved the sound of this laugh.

Her thoughts were cut short when felt her dad place his arms around her shoulders and whisper, “Mom, is entertaining the new neighbors. They’re a newlywed couple from Australia.” Her dad said with an eye roll and a tilt of head towards the kitchen. She would be a liar if she said she didn’t feel a little deflated to know that the owner of one of the most beautiful laughs she has ever heard was married.

She felt a twinge of jealousy.

She Imagined the couple to be this perfect, fit, successful couple in their early 30’s. She imagined Mr. Beautiful Laugh to be tall, a little muscular, but also a little soft, with sunkissed Australian skin. She imagined the wife to be the exact opposite of her. Tall, blonde, tan, with a great sense of style, and a knack for making her husband laugh.

She shook her head quickly to dismiss those unwelcome and quite honestly, toxic thoughts out of her mind. Why was she so jealous of a woman she never met? All because of a laugh? Or because she wanted to make someone laugh. She wanted a relationship. She wanted a partner. She wanted someone to share her intellect, and random world views and thoughts with. Yes, that’s it!

Just as she was finishing her war with her mind she heard her mother’s voice call her name from the kitchen.

She took a deep breath, cleared her thoughts, and closed her eyes. As she walked into the kitchen she was extremely shocked to see two gorgeous men sitting in the barstools parked at the kitchen island.

As soon as her eyes land on them she feels ashamed for assuming that her new neighbors were a stereotypical, suburban straight couple. This is 2020 for fuck’s sake.

“Hello, lovely to meet you,” the longer, dark-haired man says extending his hand to offer a handshake.

She smiles and returns his friendly gesture. His large, masculine hand envelopes her small feminine one. “I’m Ashton and this is my husband Calum,” He nods his head to where Calum is standing.

She tears her eyes away from Ashton to glance at Calum. He has buzzed hair, but he is smiling warmly at her. He walks over and takes the hand that his husband just let go of and mutters a friendly greeting.

Despite the fact that their greeting felt like ages, it was barely 30 seconds, and her mother is already announcing that dinner is ready.

As they eat dinner she learns that they just moved to her hometown from Sydney. They have been married for about a year before Ashton got his job at one of the local universities as a Chair of the Photography department. She discovered that Ashton and Calum met in college when they were both 18, but didn’t start dating until they were 21. Then 9 years later they got married and moved across the globe to continue their journey together.

As they are talking, she can’t help but analyze them. Individually and as a couple. She can tell that they love one another, but she also senses that there is some tension. The way Calum sort of shrugs off Ashton’s subtle embraces. The way that Ashton stares her down every time Calum is speaking to her. She also noticed how they both would roll their eyes when the other would crack a joke.

She picks up on them quickly. Reading people as well as she does is good, hell even great when it’s in a professional setting, but detrimental when it’s in her new neighbors that she just met.

Ashton and Calum stay until the third bottle of wine are finished and both of her parents retired for the evening. She did find it strange that they stayed to drink on the patio with her, when the host of the evening, her mother decided to call it a night. But she wasn’t complaining. She liked them. She was comfortable with them.

Maybe it was the wine, or that they seemed pretty genuine but she thought it pretty laughable that the therapist was becoming the patient as she vented about her life and lack of romance to two men she just met 4 hours ago.

“It’s just, my best friend is having a baby, and I can’t even remember the last time I was fucked good enough to actually cum.” The words were already out of her mouth when she realized what she had said.

Her mouth was always faster than her brain when she was tipsy, but this was the worst. Right before she was about to apologize, Ashton must’ve known what was going to come out of her mouth when he assured her everything was okay, and then he and his husband both laughed and thought it was pretty funny. Calum also noted how liked her honesty.

The three continued to chat when Calum asked her about her job. This question then turned into both, Ashton and Calum quizzing her on what she liked and disliked about counseling, what her thesis was, did she prefer treating adults, adolescents or children. Then Calum asked her if she ever treated couples.

It took her a little off guard, but she played it cool and answered yes.

Then Ashton asked the next question. A question that stunned both her and Calum:

“Would you ever consider counseling Calum and me?”

#5sos #5sos smut #5sos writing #5sos one shot #5sos preferences #calum hood smut #calum hood one shot #calum hood wrting #cashton #cashton smut #cashton one shot #ashton irwin #ashton fic #ashton irwin smut #ashton iriwn one shot #poly!sos

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fuyupeach · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! I heard you were looking for requests of Zuko x water bender reader, and I’ve always been thinking of an AU where Zuko was hurt and they bright in a water healer prisoner they’ve been holding hostage. At first Zuko hates her and is disgusted by the thought, but slowly he starts to like her more and more. I totally understand if you can’t, this was just a thought!

I absolutely love this anon!! Your brain is so big, this is a great AU! Thank you for this, I got to typing it almost right away!! I’ll be continuing this later!

(i just love this gif okay)

You were tired, cold, and just wanted to go home. The cold usually brought you comfort, but as long as you were on this ship, all you could feel was hollow, empty, tears staining your face almost every night. You were the best healer in your village, torn away from your family to become the banished prince’s healer.

You no longer knew how long you had been held captive, the endless ocean beyond you through the window your only view as you lost your sense of time. You were kept underneath the top deck of the ship, metal and smoke all you smelled as footsteps were heard above you throughout the day. The small window was all you had to keep you company, as you cried, as you waited for the day to end.

The prince—you were to refer to him as—did not make things any easier, refusing your touch, let alone to be in your presence.

“I’d rather go out and get hurt worse than be healed by her.” Prince Zuko had sneered the first time he saw you, only sitting stubbornly after a lecture from Lord Iroh when his wounds had almost gotten infected days later.

“Make it fast.” Was all he said, your hands shaking as you did your best to focus on healing him.

“Prince Zuko,” You say quietly, not ignoring the frown on his face as you spoke. “You have a wound on your face. Would you like me to heal that as well?”

Zuko is quiet as he nods, staring at the ship wall away from you. You bend fresh water to your hands, moving them to his face tentatively. Your hands begin to glow, making his face look almost ethereal. You can’t help but notice his eyelashes are a little longer than you usually saw at the Northern village, his eyes a beautiful golden.

Zuko makes eye contact with you, making you almost drop the water. You bend it out the window, gaze downwards as you scoot back. Zuko touches his face, clearly intrigued by how fast you were able to heal him.

“There shouldn’t be any scarring.” You say quietly again, eyes on your hands.

Zuko gets up to leave silently, sparing you no other glance as he walks out the door.

Iroh had begun to come around more often after this, sharing tea and talks with you in the mean time. Though you had no clue how to play the games he liked, the company was well appreciated.

“Don’t mind my nephew,” Iroh sips his tea. “He is still going through a lot, but he will come around. I have faith he will.”

You don’t know what to say, taking your cup of tea in your hands.

It is only when Zhao has landed in the Northern water village that Zuko gives you thanks.

You were usually held captive on the ship, but after the events unfolding at the Northern water tribe, you were sent alone to find Prince Zuko amidst the chaos, dead and revived moon and all. It could have been your chance to escape, but despite the way the other soldiers had treated you, you remember the kindness Iroh had shown you, even more so the few kind and quiet moments as you healed the prince. You ran down the streets, ignoring the pain in your chest at the missed opportunity to see your family instead.

You’re looking around near the end of an alley, ready to turn around as you hear sizzling. You see the interior floor of a long pipe glow bright orange before hands emerge, Zuko appearing from the hole he made. You gasp, immediately running over and helping him out.

“Are you okay, my prince?” You ask, panicked, bending as much water as you could off and out of him.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” He mutters, pausing before he speaks again. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Sorry,” You say, glancing over him out of habit. “I’ll heal your wounds.”

Your heart can’t help but race at the close proximity as you take the water from the canteen at your side to heal him, eyes focused on his lips. His face was quite bruised. Even so, you still found him beautiful, the glow of your healing illuminating his face in the dark. Your eyes meet his, yours widening before moving to focus on his injuries again. You stand as you finish, hands flowing to take the used water to the nearby ocean. You bend the salt out of the new water, carrying it into your canteen.

“Thanks.” Zuko says, already moving to leave. “I must find the avatar.”

“Wait!” Your hand reaches out to him, palm open. “I was sent here to find you. We must leave.”

His response is expected. “I need to find the avatar. You can’t stop me.”

Zuko goes to move before stopping, making eye contact with you. “Stay begins me.”

Your eyes widen before you sigh, heart rate still increasing despite the fear you felt at running into the unknown. You were in no agreement about his pursual for the avatar. He didn’t need his father’s honor. He was honorable enough to you, to Iroh. But alas he would not listen, unsatisfied until the avatar was his. You follow him down the street anyways, nervous for what could come.

#zuko x reader #prince zuko x reader #zuko fanfiction #avatar the last airbender x reader #peach writes

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boymeetsweevil · 5 years ago

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(Welcome to) Camp Lonely Heart

Grouping: Camp Counselor!Reader x Camp Counselor!Taehyung

Word Count: ~15.6k lmao

Warnings/Themes: walkie talkie sex + masturbation, graphic public sex in a field, descriptions throughout of breast play, 69ing, riding, fingering, creampie sorta, some bullying, some angst, concerned older brother Minho, OC is kinda flaky

Summary: It’s possible to find love in all sorts of places: In bars, in school, on apps. But what about through a walkie talkie?

Part of the Masterlist for Group 2 of the @btssmutclub Summer Project

A/N: sorry its late! tagging @classickei and @chimchurro

A noogie from his older brother is the first thing to welcome Taehyung when he arrives at the admin building for the first weekly counselor meeting. He sits through it patiently because he knows Minho means well and it’s better than those times where he just cups Taehyung’s face tenderly and says absolutely nothing. But this is why he insisted they arrive separately.

With Minho’s arm tossed over his shoulder, Taehyung makes his way into the familiar conference room. Despite the fact that this is his 3rd year as a junior counselor, the fact that the conference hasn’t changed since it was built in the 80’s still surprises him every time. The people inside it change fairly frequently, though. There’s always a steady rotation of counselors for both the boys’ and the girls’ camps on their respective sides of Lake Lonely Heart.

A smattering of people are already seated and chatting amongst themselves before the introductory meeting starts. As more people trickle in, Taehyung acknowledges them from his corner seat. Some veteran staff from the boys’ camp naturally come to his and Minho’s side of the table, greeting Minho mostly.

“How was your trip up, son,” asks one of the senior staff, Cref.

“It was good,” Minho gives a genuine smile up at Cref before giving a pointed look in Taehyung’s direction.

“Oh,” Cref’s eyes dim noticeably, “And how was your trip, Tae?”

“It was fine,” Taehyung’s answer matches Cref’s in its lack of warmth.

“I see you kept that little ponytail thing you had last summer.”

“Yeah.”

“Shame,” Cref huffs before turning to some of the other boys’ staff that arrived while he was talking and gesturing to Taehyung.

“Cref can you really talk when you’ve still got that comb-over?” The comment sends the other boys’ staff who’d been listening into a tizzy and Cref scoffs before turning on them to compensate. Meanwhile, Minho gives Taehyung a covert pat on the back.

None of the girls’ staff seemed to be watching the exchange with the exception of one girl who must be a new hire. Taehyung doesn’t recognize her face from last summer and though she’d been snoring softly when Taehyung first arrived, she looks at some of the jeering boys’ staff with a bit of muted disapproval. The look is brief because almost instantly another one of the counselors near her pulls her into another conversation. The sour tinge her features had disappears and leaves a gentle and open expression on her face as she listens to someone tell her about what to expect with her sleeper cabin.

There’s something nice about her face even though nothing specific jumps out at him as super beautiful or sexy. The soft way she smiles is subtle, almost like the turn of lips could have been a trick of the light. He wants to know what a full-blown smile would look like. Taehyung likes to think that he would have gotten up to talk to her. Eventually. If it weren’t for the camp leader entering the room with the dreaded Talking Stick.

“Alright everyone,” the camp leader shouts energetically, halting all conversations. “Veterans don’t spoil anything. Newbies, one of you raise your hand and tell me what you think this is,” she grins and wiggles the bedazzled stick in a wide circle.

Taehyung sighs and settles back further into his chair, ready to endure yet another round of icebreakers and name learning games.

“Here’s your humble abode for the next few months,” Moe grunts as she pushes the door of the cabin in. She smiles shakily before mumbling something about the paint job being so new that the door wouldn’t budge. A few hits to the door with her shoulder help it swing open.

The cabin looks nearly identical to that of Moe and Moe’s roommates. A pair of bunkbeds sit across the main room from one another. There’s some simple wooden furniture and a nice view of forest on the girls’ side of the lake in the front window by the door. The bathroom has two shower stalls and two sinks. The cabin is clearly made to hold four occupants.

“Are my roommates on their way?”

You walk in and admire the posters on the wall. They must have been left by some other counselor some number of summers ago.

“So, uh, you actually get this whole cabin to yourself.”

“Huh? Like I’ll be sleeping here by myself?”

“Yeah. I know its weird, but it’s not on purpose. The rooming system isn’t the most efficient. People fill the first cabin and then we fill the second one and on and on. When we got your answer, it was late and we’d perfectly filled 3 other cabins before this one. And since your position was the last one we filled before closing the apps, there weren’t any other people after you who could have been placed here.”

You try your hardest not to look too dismayed at your lonesome living situation. But, truthfully, one of the things that made you consider taking the position was the friends you were hoping to make on he job. The job testimonies on the Camp Lonely Hearts website mentioned that some of the best times of being a counselor were the times had in the cabin with coworkers after dark. With you being new to the city and this being the first summer in a long while where you weren’t forcing yourself into a boring 9-to-5, you wanted to take a chance on something inspiring instead. And you really wanted to make friends because city life alone was taking a toll on you. The chance to be a ‘youth leader for the young women and men of Camp Lonely Heart’ seemed like just the right thing.

Now, though, it looked like you would have to work a little harder to make the lasting connections you were expecting to fall into your lap the first night on the grounds.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” Moe says when some of the bouncy pluck in your shoulders seems to leave you with the sigh you let out. “You’re welcome to bring a sleeping bag and sleepover in cabin 3 any time.”

“Thanks, Moe.” She leaves you to unpack with the slow setting sun.

Everything seems clean enough under your quick inspection. You take over the bathroom with your toiletries and towels. The bunk bed is less uncomfortable than you thought it would be, and there’s an outlet near your little writing desk, so you’re able to plug in and set up your boombox. There’s no wifi at the camp, and while it’s an experience you’re looking forward to, you can’t live in total silence. You did, however, bid all your friends a temporary goodbye on Facebook after explaining where you’d be for the summer.

You switch the boombox onto radio mode and extend the boosted antennae. It picks up a classics station that you unpack to. The job is over quickly given that you only had to pack a few undergarments and pairs of shorts to rotate with the t-shirts that they give to counselors so people don’t confuse some of you with campers.

When boredom starts clawing at the edges of your brain, you snoop through all the little corners and crannies you ignored when you first arrived and were busy with settling in. You don’t find much. You find a shoebox with a bunch of office supplies under the other bunk bed, a supremely large beetle carcass on your window sill, and a solar powered walkie talkie in the bottom drawer of the writing desk.

The walkie talkie obviously is the most intriguing find out of all of your finds, but you don’t see its mate in the cabin. Surprisingly enough, it powers up, but it has a low battery. You fiddle with the channels and mumble a wimpy little ‘anyone there’ into the first one. Figuring that no one is there, you lower it from your ear and move to go make your bed when the device sounds.

“Hello?”

The voice is deep and smooth. You’re so spooked by the response that the walkie talkie slips from your hand and clatters to the floor with a loud clunk. You let out a curse and bend down to pick it up only to find that the transmission was cut off from the impact. With the hopes that you can revive the device, you stick it in the bathroom window where you know it will get the most sun during the day and pray it's not broken.

Before you head to bed early, you go over your schedule and how you’re going to present yourself to the kids the next morning. It takes a while for you to memorize your schedule because your mind is slightly preoccupied, wondering what the person on the other end must be thinking of your sudden departure.

You were worried that it would take a while to adjust to your position and that the kids would be intimidating, but quickly you realize there was nothing to worry about.

You love your girls more than you could have predicted. They took to you instantly since you were the youngest among the counselors. Even the 17-year-olds, who are the oldest campers there, flocked to you too during parts of the daily schedule that you weren’t leading. Many of the girls in high school would drag you to their table in the mess hall during dinner or the free period before lights out to ask you for school advice and questions about the more mysterious parts of life. It instills in you a strong sense of responsibility that you didn’t think was possible. You didn’t think you’d ever find teenagers endearing.

The camp itself is kind of like a hazy afternoon dream. The nature around you is beautiful and the air is crisp. If you take a 20 minute trek away from the main grounds, you stumble into the camp’s medium sized lavender field. It’s your favorite place to be at any time of the day because the air is thick with the scent of the purple flower. The first time you see it, you’re joining one of the other junior counselors, Jade, to grab some plants for craft time.

“You’re gonna trap flies like that,” Jade gestures to your slack mouth.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just that we barely even get grass on the sidewalks at my new apartment. And this is...so beautiful.”

You can’t help it really. The sweet scent that had been coating your nose and throat since you were halfway up the trail just increased ten-fold and has stolen the place of your breath.

“Yeah, it has that effect on people. But you get used to it after working here long enough and the smell starts to fade. You might even get a little sick of it.”

You shake your head to clear it and try to fathom the idea of being sick of lavender. The rows of plants are lush, huge, and neat. You walk through the small plowed paths between each bush looking for the most fragrant patch you can find. There’s what looks like a few other counselors from the other side of the lake wandering through some nearby rows, looking for the same thing you are. You tap Jade’s shoulder when their backs are turned to you and whisper.

“They’re from the boys’ camp, right? Do you know those guys? ” Jade turns and squints into the distance before straightening up immediately.

“Oh my god, yeah, that’s Minho. He’s the yoga instructor for the boys.” Her tone takes on a wispy, dreamy quality. “He’s so nice and so cool. And, like, really funny.”

The man in question has on a shockingly bright Tiffany blue t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to beat the heat. And perhaps showcase his sculpted arms. He looks tall and broad from your vantage point, but he doesn’t seem extraordinary at first glance. Maybe he’s really great once you get to know him.

“What about the other one?” The slightly shorter man with the tiny ponytail and coke-bottle glasses catches your attention more. Even though he’s fairly far away, you can tell he has a nice profile. Jade squints again and hums in thought.

“Mm, I don’t know. I think he’s one of the newer guys. I don’t really remember his spiel from the intro meeting. Do you know him?”

“No,” you give him one last look before squatting down and getting to work. “Just curious.”

***

“—and then move this finger here,” Taehyung nudges one of the camper’s fingers until it’s sure to make the guitar in his hands sing that way he wants. “That’s the last part of the chord. So from there you can play that song we went over in musical hour. Did you take notes?”

“Yeah.” The kid in front of him is probably no more than 16, maybe a baby-faced 17. He looks too nervous for an impromptu guitar review during free time.

“Kook, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook hangs his head a little in embarrassment. “Just...what if I suck at guitar?”

“Then you suck at guitar,” Taehyung shrugs. “It’s okay to not be good at things. Especially if you’re just learning them for the first time.”

“I know, but I really need to be good at this. I have to be able to learn a song in less than a week by the time camp ends.”

“That can be kind of fast depending on the song. Why do you need to learn songs so quick?”

Jungkook’s round cheeks heat up and he eyes his peers who are playing jacks at one of the dinner tables. “There’s this girl...”

Taehyung hums knowingly and smiles down at the kid. “I see. Did you tell her you could play guitar?”

“How did you know?” Jungkook’s are wide as he eyes Taehyung like he read his mind.

“Just a guess.”

The camper nods. “I told her I’d learn her favorite song and play it for her when she gets back from vacationing with her parents. But I obviously don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Well, I can’t promise you that you’ll become a prodigy before the end of camp, but I’ll let you borrow my guitar every day as long as you promise to practice like you mean it every time.”

“If I do that, do you think I’ll at least be able to learn her song?”

“I’ll personally help you learn the song.” Jungkook’s shoulder relax instantly once he realizes he’s in good hands.

***

“Star, it’ll be fine. Really,” you try your hardest to get the tiny middle schooler to stop shaking without drawing attention to her as you bring her into the admin building. “Once your mom picks up, I’m sure she’ll understand and she’ll bring your hormones over.”

“I know,” Star’s frame shivers with the force of her hiccups, her eyes pink and watery. “But I can’t believe I forgot them at all. She didn’t even wanna let me go because she was worried I’d lose them.”

“But you didn’t lose them, sweetpea. You forgot them. Kinda different.” The little sobs, now intermittent at best, halt as she processes your logic.

You show Star to the telephone used for emergency contact or extreme cases of homesickness before stepping away to let her have some privacy with her mother. In the meantime, you let the borrowed keys of Moe’s truck swing from your fingers while you explore the halls of the admin building.

It feels odd roaming the various wings of the building when you’re not there for your Wednesday morning staff check-ins. The layout isn’t any different from those days, but you rarely get to see the other parts since you usually just make a beeline for the conference room.

The white painted cinder block walls and the linoleum tiles give you flashbacks to your own adolescent days in school. As does the un-ironic use of retro inspirational posters—though you suppose they weren’t retro when they were first put up. A few doors leading to utility closets or other, smaller conference rooms. While hunting for the staff lounge, you find a counselor you recognize from your side of the lake talking covertly with a counselor presumably from the boys’ side. Your roll your eyes when they give a disdainful stare for breaking their private moment and keep snooping.

At the end of the hall is the communal laundry room. The lines for it are usually awful on Wednesdays. You peer in just to see what it is you don’t have to deal with since you have your own unit in your little cabin. In that moment, you catch someone holding up boxers. You recognize them as that Minho guy that all the counselors seemed to have fallen for.

“Did you find any extra detergent, Tae?” He turns to you then and realizes you’re not who he thinks you are and you’re out of there as quickly as possible.

When you get back to the phone, Star is waiting patiently with no more tears and news that her mom will be dropping off her hormones and some homemade fudge.

***

Breakfast is served to the counselors at asscrack od dawn so that they can get the mess hall ready for the campers and complete the first things on the schedule for the day. Usually it's not so bad, but today’s early rise is hard for Taehyung because Minho brought some of the other counselors into their cabin the night before and they didn’t leave until late.

So when Taehyung stumbles into the mess hall looking for pancakes, he hasn’t given any thought to his morning appearance. He fixes his plate and sits across from his brother since the spot next to him is taken by Cref.

Taehyung’s wearing an old t-shirt that’s gone through many of his more experimental phases with clothes. The previously white t-shirt is now a soft apricot color after a night he was practicing with dyes a few years ago and the sleeves are thin in the places he took scissors to the shirt.

“Nice lingerie,” Cref sneers down his nose at Taehyung while he picks at his breakfast meat sleepily. “You know, I think I saw something at the mall a few weeks ago.”

A few of the guys sitting on the side laugh, some even dumbly repeat the joke under their breath as they chuckle into their breakfast.

“Fuck off, Cref.” Taehyung’s sigh comes out deeply tired. More tired than one could be from one night up too late from a noisy roommate’s friends. “It’s too early for this.”

“Yeah, Cref,” Minho pipes up, eyes locked on Taehyung’s sleep-puffy face and messy long hair. “We all know you don’t personally have the ass to pull off anything in a lingerie shop. And you definitely don’t have anyone’s ass to pull them off of either. You just sound sad, man.”

Cref stammers at Minho’s comment, not missing the subtle way the jab went a little deeper than it normally does when the two are just ripping on one another for fun. He admits defeat and sends a little nod in Taehyun’s direction. The same guys who were giggling earlier look on at Minho with some awe and are quick to jump on Cref for his non-existent ass as well.

When Minho kicks him under the table, Taehyung gives him a small thumbs up before taking his now half-eaten plate away to dump.

***

Dinners are normally spent at a table off to the side with the campers because they want to be able to treat you less like an authority figure and more like a wise older sister. But tonight you’re eating with the other counselors because you’re missing adult company. It’s been hard to have any of the bonding moments you were hoping for and there’s not much time during the day to have them when you’re trying to patch up skinned knees and guide macaroni projects.

Even though everyone is friendly enough and does try to make sure you feel included, you can’t help but notice how peripheral you are. After a few weeks, everyone has their designated dinner seat, so you were forced to pull up a chair to eat. Once the plates were cleared, you still felt a little left out. Apparently everyone makes a habit of staying up a little later than you so they can have time to unwind and talk about the day together in the other cabins. Apparently, people even share bunks occasionally so that they can visit non-roommate staff for the night.

You know you’re really not part of the group when the conversation becomes 80% inside jokes and you can’t recognize or understand a single one. The girl next to you attempts to explain the first few, but it slows the conversation down and you can tell that people are losing their patience when a story has to halt for you to catch up on nicknames or events. She stops explaining after the 4th one and you don’t really blame her. Maybe you should have spent dinners with them more. Or maybe you shouldn’t have gone to bed so early; even on the nights where you felt the exhaustion in your bones.

While everyone laughs about something someone said one night earlier in the summer, you construct a mental pros and cons list in your head. You could stick around and try to scrape through every single thing everyone says until you get all the jokes and can understand why random things like the brisket you’re eating is so funny. Or you can accept that you’ll probably have to forge these connections individually and not feel bad about getting well-deserved rest when you need it.

You opt for the latter and genuinely explain to everyone that while you had a nice time, you’re feeling a little fatigued. No one looks like they’ve caught on, but no one looks too upset to see you go either. The conversation continues to flow as you leave the dining hall, no need to fill the space you left because you didn’t really leave one. The walk from the mess hall to your cabin is short and brisk and you feel as though you’re not sure you made the right choice. You hope sleep will clear your head.

But before you get to the little fork in the foot trail that separates the other cabins from yours, you get struck with a current of rebellion. If you’re going to be lonely, you might as well make the solo time as fun as possible. So you sneak behind one of the cabins, searching for the cooler you know is wedged under the raised foundation. The first night there, someone showed you the booze that they brought in behind the camp leader’s back during the strict luggage inspection. If you recall correctly, you remember this girl saying that her boyfriend drives up during the weekly meetings and drops off new cases of beers for her to scoop up under the guise of a “bathroom break”.

When you open the cooler, there’s several 40s sitting in a bath of ice. It’s not your drink of choice, but beggars can’t be choosers. You take two for good measure and skip off to go drink on your porch with the radio blaring from inside the cabin.

***

“Tae, come on. You haven’t pulled your trunks out once since we got here.”

Minho whines fairly well for someone of his stature and it’s convincing enough with the pouty lips and the puppy eyes that Taehyung really does consider it. ‘It’ being swapping his pajamas for some board shorts and heading out to the lake for a night swim. Apparently the water will be refreshing in the thick and heavy heat in the night air. One of the other counselors had promised a smuggled beer, but Taehyung isn’t really interested in tempting fate.

“I don’t think I’m up for it,” Taehyung says while pushing Minho out the front door of their cabin. His biggest fans Jay and Dan are waiting outside and groan when Minho turns back again.

“You sure you don’t want to come? Maybe you’ll end up having fun. You never know.”

Jay whispers to Dan then. “I don’t know why he’s always so obsessed with bringing him around to stuff. It’s not like he adds anything to the mood, you know?”

It’s loud enough for Taehyung to hear, though he doesn’t think it was supposed to be heard. Minho instantly shoves Jay into Dan, who both go stumbling off the steps of the cabin porch. A moment later his eyes admit defeat and he pats Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Do you want company? I can stay in and you can, like, teach me the color wheel again.”

“Really, it’s fine. I’m gonna do some reading. I brought a few books that I’ve been wanting to crack open. And I’m kinda tired. Don’t worry about me.”

***

By the time you’ve finished half of your second bottle, you’ve migrated back into your cabin. Drunk-you is a little paranoid and worried that the camp leader will show up out of nowhere and see you intoxicated. Although, as you flop onto your bed, you’re not sure that’s such a bad thing. At least then you’d have company, you muse.

The bottle hangs from your lax fingers and you take a look at your surroundings. The screen door is facing out towards the lake and the view shows that the boys’ side of the camp is still awake with the lights from their own cabins shining like small beacons back at you. Then you look back and there’s the four walls of wood. You wonder briefly if its pine or oak before realizing you’re a little too drunk if you’re trying to distinguish between types of lumber. You do appreciate the wood’s warm tone and the natural striations that add some intrigue to the otherwise bland walls. If it weren’t for the abandoned Kiki’s Delivery Service poster on one wall facing your bed, you might think you were in a wooden version of solitary confinement.

Your head turns to rest more comfortably on your pillow and you gaze up at the little writing desk below the window that faces the woods behind the cabin. A little blurry shadow obscures some of the view of the forest and you sit up to see it better. It’s the little walkie talkie you discovered on the first day.

Drunkenness and boredom compel you to leave the softness of your mattress and stumble over to the window. The walkie talkie spent several weeks in the sun, so you figure it can’t be out of battery. You also figure it can’t have actually been destroyed from the meter it fell from your hand to the floor that one day. So you flip the power switch with blind hope and squeal excitedly when it turns on. Pressing the ‘talk’ button, you hop around the main room of the cabin and hum into the first channel. The song you’re singing is a broken version of a tune your grandfather used to always have floating in the air of his house from his record player. The melody sloshes together at certain points like the contents of the bottle you continue to take generous swigs from.

***

Taehyung’s reading in his bed, trying to tune out the sounds of distant splashing and shouting coming from his co-counselors by the lakeside. When he picks up the sound of sloppy singing, he wonders if Minho has come back to the cabin for a towel or to try to convince him to come back out again. But the door of the cabin doesn’t swing open. Taehyung is confused for about 5 more seconds before he’s eyeing the dark space under his bed suspiciously. There, underneath a sheet that fell down the crack between the mattress and the bed, is the walkie talkie that’s been collecting dust since the night before the camp session started.

He shifts an arm down behind the bed and disentangles the device from the sheets and dust bunnies. Sure enough, the broken lilting of the soft tune is coming from the walkie talkie. To say he’s surprised is an understatement. A few weeks prior, he’d turned on the walkie talkie by accident and a moment later someone’s voice sparked from the speaker. He was intrigued enough by the voice to leave the device on during the day, charging it often in case whoever was on the other side would want to tune in again.

Now, the fog of sleep rises to make room for this little mystery. He doesn’t try to speak just yet. Instead, he lets your voice continue your rendition of a few songs mashed into one from a famous jazz album. When your voice putters out because you forget where the rest of the tune’s trail leads, Taehyung smiles to himself.

“I really—hic—wish someone was there,” your whisper crackles through the speaker.

He worries a bit about scaring you off again, but the urge to speak outweighs the worry. He holds the device up to his mouth hesitantly. “Someone is.”

“Oh.” You don’t seem nearly as startled as you were last time he spoke up. “The void speaks.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not the void.”

“Well,” you hiccup more into the walkie talkie and the sound is funny and tiny. “I suppose you’re not if you say you’re not. But who’s to say the void isn’t just a consciousness trapped in a reality that won’t answer back.”

“Wow. Do you normally philosophize in the midnight hour while drinking?”

The sound of you taking a large swig from your 40 washes into his side. “How did you know I’ve been drinking?”

“Call it a hunch,” he grins up at the slats of the mattress above his own.

“Well, what are—what are you doing?”

“Me?” For some reason the question takes him by surprise. “I’m just reading.”

“Reading what?”

“N-nothing.” He stares down at the book he was reading. “It’s just an art book.”

“What kind of art?”

“Uh, Van Gogh,” he trails off, waiting for your reaction.”Van Gogh’s art.”

“Oh, that kid. Nice one.” You let out a burp, but otherwise sound completely serious.

Taehyung can’t help the laughter that takes over him. It’s not that your reaction was stupid, but it was so unexpected and nonchalantly ridiculous that his brain can only react with laughter. You grumble at him through the speaker, but don’t actually take offense. He laughs for so long that you’re silent on the other line when he finally calms down.

“Sorry,” he wipes at his eyes, “I didn’t mean to laugh at you like that. I just...I’ve never heard anyone do something like that.”

“‘s okay,” your shrug is practically audible.

“Hey, you’re not a camper from the girls’ side, are you?”

“Are you asking if I’m one of Camp Lonely Hearts’ young women?” Your voice takes on a strange lisp in attempt to sound hauty.

“Yes?”

“Well, sadly I’m not. I’m a counselor over there, though.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve talked with one of you guys this whole summer.”

Back in your cabin, you have the walkie talkie resting against your ear after having fallen back into bed. Your feet are at the wrong end of the mattress, but you don’t care because the sound of the deep voice on your little radio is soothing and pairs well with your beer exhaustion.

“Mmm, me too.”

Your breathing slows and evens out, lengthening in Taehyung’s ear. He lays the walkie talkie down then, realizing that you’re probably on the verge of falling asleep. From the sound of it, you probably fell asleep with the ‘talk’ button still activated. He switches his walkie talkie off after mumbling an awkward ‘goodnight’ and lays the device down on the ground near his bed. He falls asleep quickly that night.

*** After waking up slightly hungover but not hungover enough to be without memory of the night before, you panicked.

Whoever this mystery person was on the other end of the walkie talkie, you had babbled dark philosophical nonsense at them for a good five minutes before doing who knows what else. You were so embarrassed you could hardly swallow down the overlooked eggs they served you for breakfast that morning. Being on kitchen duty didn’t help the upset stomach. You felt nauseated by your dopey antics and the smells of the meat and eggs you were frying for the campers’ breakfast.

The only thing that settled your stomach was the resolute plan you made to apologize to the mystery person over your lunch break. You hoped to all that was good in the world that the other person wasn’t a camper that was so scarred by your actions that they already reported you to the camp leader. Although, something about their tone when they asked you if you were a camper the night before made you think they were a counselor like you. It was the nerves and the hint of disappointment that even drunk-you picked up on. Nerves and disappointment about what, though?

With all your musing, you’re spaced out during physical education period and get brained by a volleyball. It’s actually a blessing in disguise because it means you get sent home and don’t have to work the dinner shift. The walk back to your cabin is full of you patting the tender skin of the back of your head while you practice your explanation for why your dignity is still actually intact and why you’re not as weird as you may have seemed last night.

But when you get back to your cabin, you find that you’re more nervous of the idea that no one picks up than the idea that they do pick up to give you a piece of their mind. Still, you switch the device on because you want to explain yourself. The first channel crackles to life again and you press the ‘talk’ button.

***

“I’m telling you, if these kids would just put their phones down, their spinal alignment would be so much better. You ever looked at their little shoulders? They looks like fucking mole hills. Makes me wanna cry.”

Minho is trying as best he can to remain still despite how much the topic of young people’s posture riles him up. Taehyung appreciates the effort, though, as it makes Minho’s silhouette much easier to capture on his canvas. On nights when there isn’t much to do, Taehyung takes out his paints and sometimes gets his older brother to be his model. In exchange, Minho gets to rant to a whole person about the dangers of office chairs on the coccyx or whatever the sexy new topics are in his chiropractors' digest.

Tonight is one of those nights and Taehyung’s managed to fill the canvas with three different poses and has also learned why he shouldn’t ever cross his legs for extended periods of time or diss nursing shoes until he’s tried them. But before he can ask Minho to find another position to hold, the walkie talkie by the foot of his bed fires up; on from when he turned it on as soon as he got back into his cabin for the day.

“Hello? It’s me,” your voice calls tentatively out into the air.

“Ooooh, who’s that?” Minho’s eyes turn into little semi circles as he grins at Taehyung. The mocking coos are inaudible to you because Taehyung hasn’t pressed the ‘talk’ button and he’s glad for that too. He quickly flips Minho the bird before scooping up the little device and leaving to sit on the porch.

Time stretches thin as you wait for an answer. The seconds are long. Long enough that your face is hot with unnamed shame and you’re reaching to switch the device off when—

“Hey. Sorry about the delay.”

“Hey!” You pull back automatically before remembering you’re the one who initiated the call. No backing down now. “So, I’m—I’m sure you remember the other night.”

“I do,” he snickers and recalls the way you’d bumbled around verbally. “Are you back for a repeat performance?”

“Uh, no. I actually wanted to apologize for being so weird yesterday. I was kinda drunk and I didn’t think about the fact that I might be bothering someone by turning this thing on and talking into it.”

“You didn’t bother me.”

“I didn’t?” You were just about to venture into the next part of your prepared speech, but now that you don’t need to, you’re at a loss for words. “That’s...good to hear. Are you sure? I can be kind of a lot when I’m drunk.”

“I really didn’t mind. It was a nice change from—I mean, it was funny. And nice.”

“Nice? I can’t remember the last time someone said I was nice.” The laugh behind your voice is subtle, but it sweetens the tone of your already pleasant words until Taehyung is smiling again.

“Glad to be of service, then,” he shoves a hand in his pocket.

“You sound nice too,” you blurt out. The sound of your feet hitting the floor in a little dance of embarrassment are thankfully too soft to reach Taehyung’s ears. “I mean—”

“Thanks. So,” he clears his throat softly, “do you like jazz?”

From that night on, you and Taehyung begin talking with one another via walkie talkie. Every night, a few hours before sunset, one of you will send out a little message to the other. Nearly like clockwork. Nearly because there are some nights where the conversation gets put on the back burner. Those were unusual nights, though. On one of those nights, the older counselors wanted to host an ABBA karaoke night with some of the older campers in the dining commons and you couldn’t miss it because 1) the 17-year-olds really like you, and 2) you can completely body an ABBA song despite the fact that you were never an avid fan growing up. Another one of those nights Taehyung couldn’t make it because Minho dragged him out of the room to play flashlight tag in the woods. He didn’t even have time to change out of his paint-stained shirt, much less shoot you a quick warning about not being able to talk. Although you didn’t like being left hanging, when he explained why he was busy the following night, you completely understood. Because, really, how often does an adult flashlight tag opportunity come up?

Even still—on nights like those you both miss each other’s voices.

99% of the time, though, you both make time for talking with one another. When you both are in, you talk about anything and everything. From family and life outside the camp to joke competitions that have Minho snorting to himself from under the covers even though he’s supposed to be asleep. The number of movie and book recommendations you’ve swapped only to find out that the other person was a fan is almost too high to not make you wonder if you’re actually stuck in some cliché young adult summer novel.

These days Taehyung’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Usually he doodles what he thinks you could look like in his Moleskin while ignoring Minho’s weird soft looks or wiggly eyebrows. Sometimes he’s not up for sharing his cool new digital pal with his brother and he’ll migrate outside, to the back of the cabin, and endure the bugs so he can enjoy your voice in peace. The only downside is that Minho won’t let him live it down. The countless jokes about his new lady friend only get worse when Minho slips up one breakfast and lets all the other counselors know that Taehyung’s been avoiding the group to talk to you. The raucous applause was one thing, but Cref’s fake pride that Taehyung managed to capture female attention was enough to have him kicking Minho under the table for his indiscretion. But it wasn’t all that bad.

You’re fairly content with the way things are as well. You’ve managed to get your boombox radio to play a local ‘best of’ jazz station and it reminds you of your myste when you’re not talking with him. It's only until you catch yourself trying to recall Taehyung’s appearance that you realize what you’re missing. That is, you don’t know what he looks like and that makes you feel odd. In theory, people don’t need to know what their friends look like. Pen pals and mutuals on social media sites don’t always know what their internet friends look like and still manage to talk for years and feel a real sense of closeness. But you keep wondering. Is he tall, is he brunet, is he pretty?

The thought keeps plaguing you until one day the question just tumbles out of your mouth. It’s a Tuesday, and you’re getting ready for bed because you have to be up earlier on Wednesdays for the weekly meetings. Taehyung had just been telling you about a flip that the arts director did that morning off the pier. It was a grisly story of broken legs and nose bleeds and how Taehyung became both the arts and music counselor until further notice. You’d been trying to listen diligently but you couldn’t help drifting off. You’re trying to picture Taehyung’s face solely off the timber of his voice when that same voice blares a little louder than normal in your ear.

“Yo, did you fall asleep on something?”

“How tall are you?”

“Uh,” is all you get back from him. And it’s honestly an appropriate response to such a blunt change of subject.

“Sorry, that was kinda rude of me. It’s just that I realized that you’re probably the closest person to me in this whole camp and we’re not even on the same side of the lake...I just realized I don’t even know your name. And I definitely wouldn’t be able to pick you out in a crowd.”

“That’s—that’s true,” he gnaws thoughtfully on his lip and Minho raises his surprised and bespectacled gaze from a physical rehabilitation manual. “I’m Taehyung.”

He’s not sure how he managed to spend weeks talking with you nearly every night only to never ask for your name. When he was alert and talking with you, he felt no gaps, he didn’t even think to ask. But, Taehyung thinks, maybe the thought came to him when he was on the fuzzy border of sleep and wakefulness. When he was most open and sometimes the yearning slipped out. He doesn’t say any of that to you, of course. He just listens to you reply with your own name and repeats it to you until you’re praising him for the way it sounds on his tongue. Minho makes fun of him and whispers your name in a squeaky voice that’s supposed to be Taehyung’s.

“I like your name,” you chirp. You’re so happy to have one more piece to the puzzle that is Taehyung that you almost forget your original question. “So, Taehyung, what do you look like.”

“I’m 5’10.5,” he starts. “And I have...blond hair. All my friends tell me I have a perfect face–”

“Is that so?”

“–and a great chest-to-waist ratio. I don’t wear makeup, b-but if I did my MAC shade would be NW30.” Minho narrows his eyes at Taehyung, but the younger man simply turns away.

“That’s nice?” You sound a bit baffled by the description as well, but you try to take it in stride and picture it.

The resulting image in your mind isn’t exactly what you expected, but you guess you can’t be surprised that he looked different from how you imagined when you didn’t even know his name. You rattle off your own appearance, though not quite so awkwardly. When you’re finished, you wonder what he imagines with the description you gave. What does he think, you wonder. Do I sound nice?

Taehyung, on the other hand, realizes instantly who you are. You’re the girl that was falling asleep during the first meeting. He remembers watching your head lolling back and forth during the icebreaker and trying to contain his laughter when the camp leader shouted loud enough to wake you. He remembers your boisterous laughter at the third weekly meeting when someone thought it would be funny to round up 5 squirrels and release them into the conference room to watch the mayhem unfold. If he’s being honest, he’s actually more excited with the connection he’s made now. He’s glad it’s you. It makes sense.

“Well, I guess this will make tomorrow’s meeting a little more fun, right?”

“Huh,” he snaps out of deep thought. “Why?”

“Because now we can talk to each other in person.” Your voice is brimming with excitement and it’s easy to hear even through the half mile of distance and the static-y connection. “I’ll be able to find you now.”

“Yeah,” his voice trails off guiltily but you don’t catch onto it because you’re busy smoothing out your sheets.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Taehyung,” you bid him goodnight with extra giddy emphasis on his name now that you can actually use it. It’s cute and should probably bring a smile to his face, but as he turns off the device, he can only purse his lips in frustration.

The sounds of sheets rustling remind him of his brother’s presence and he lets out a sigh, waiting for the lecture that’s about to come.

“So,” Minho begins slowly, “How come the person you described was cousin Jin when she asked you what you looked like?”

“In my defense, I...”

“In your defense, what? I’m really curious about what your explanation is.”

“I didn’t want her to be disappointed. And no one’s ever been disappointed by Jin’s looks, so when I got nervous I just gave her his greatest hits.”

“I heard. The foundation thing was a little much.”

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“Why do you think she would be disappointed?”

“I don’t know. I guess if for some reason the appearance stuff was important to her, I thought it made sense not to leave things to chance. In case that would mess things up.”

“But what if, to her, lying is even worse than having an ‘ugly’ friend,” Minho asks with air quotes included.

“Then...I fucked up big time.” Taehyung holds his head in his hands for a few minutes before eventually looking up helplessly. “But I didn’t do it to spite her or anything.”

“Did you really just do it because you thought she would be disappointed? She doesn’t sound that shallow to me, and I don’t know her like you do.”

“Yes and no,” he groans and tosses himself onto the mattress. “I mean, I wanted to seem good in her eyes. Someone she might...like?”

“Someone she might like? She does like you.”

“Someone she might,” Taehyung eyes Minho softly, “want to be with.”

“Ah,” he nods sagely. “So it’s like that.”

“It’s like that.”

“Then you know what you need to do.”

“Yeah. I’ll tell her tomorrow. During the meeting.”

***

Taehyung figures that the idea of preserving his friendship with you being so important will make confessing his lie to you super easy. But when he lumbers into the meeting room the following morning at 6:30, the nerves take over. He grows silent. He stays silent when you come in looking too chipper for a normal morning meeting. And when you spend the majority of the meeting studying the face of every counselor from the boys’ side of the camp, looking for the man described to you on the phone yesterday and not finding him. And when the meeting officially adjourned and you’re standing around hoping for some sort of explanation. Silent when he eventually slips out while Minho is in the bathroom and someone has started chatting you up.

He knows that eventually he’ll have to face you—figuratively speaking. The floor will probably have a trench plowed into it from where he paces the area in front of his bunk anxiously. Sundown is soon and normally you’d be tuning in at this time to see what his plans are for the night and talk about each other’s days. But as the minutes tick by, his walkie talkie stays quiet. Minho pins him with an expectant look before mumbling something about going to go hang out in someone else’s cabin. Maybe he thought Taehyung would benefit from the privacy, but the empty space on the other side of the room just makes him more aware of how the ball is in his—and only his—court. He picks up the walkie talkie and presses the ‘talk’ button.

“You there?” When he gets no response at first, he presses again. This time, he just calls your name pleadingly. Surprisingly, you pick up.

“Is this Taehyung?”

“What? Yes, who else—”

“Or maybe this is Mr. tiny waist dorito face SPF 30. Can’t tell who’s who these days.”

He ducks his head. The smile in his voice is self-deprecating. “It’s me. Taehyung.”

“What can I help you with this evening?” Your voice is sharper than it normally is, but subtly so. He almost wants you to just yell at him instead.

“I just wanted to say sorry.”

“For friend-catfishing me?”

“Yes. For lying and for not coming clean at the meeting when I first saw you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything at the meeting,” your voice wavers a bit, traitorous in the way it shakes. “I was looking for you.”

“I know. I really was gonna tell you. You can ask Minho. But I just got scared all of the sudden. Like as soon as you saw me, you’d regret the decision to ever talk with me.”

“Tae, I wouldn’t do that. I really...I care for you. Something like that doesn’t just go away because what you pictured in your head isn’t 100% reality.”

Your words are simple, but he feels comfort from them. The grip he had on the plastic of the walkie talkie loosens significantly and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“I still haven’t been completely honest with you, yet.”

“What is it now. Do you even work here?”

“No, no,” he chuckles and the sound drives you to chew on your thumb. “When you asked me what I looked like that night, I described my cousin to you.”

“Yes, ok, we’ve established that you’re not really Mr. Dorito head. What else is there,Taehyung, you’re making me nervous.”

“Hear me out.” You huff but otherwise settle for tapping your foot rapidly to channel the nerves productively. “I told you that I did that because I thought you wouldn’t want to be friends with me. But that’s not the only reason.”

“Okay,” you trail off.

“I did it because I thought maybe if you thought I was handsome, it would make it easier for you to, uh, return the feelings I have for you. I...like you. In a like-like way.”

“I see.”

Now it’s your turn to stretch the pause out until Taehyung’s fisting tufts of his hair in his free hand. The walkie talkie is probably going to leave a red imprint on his face from how hard he’s pressing it to his cheek, but he doesn’t even register the discomfort.

“I really don’t like that you lied to me,” you begin. “But, since I really like-like you, you can be on probation.”

The sound of exaggerated gagging sounds from the entryway of the cabin where Minho has been eavesdropping for the last five minutes. Taehyung doesn’t even bother to chastise his older brother for getting into his business and instead lets laughter bubble passed his lips.

Not too much changed after the night you both confessed to one another. Supposedly that’s a sign that you had a good foundation for your romantic relationship. But there are little changes and they’re noticeable. Much to Minho’s chagrin.

Most notably to everyone involved, since that night, the tone of the walkie talkie conversations shifted. Now your voices have become a little more hushed and Taehyung absolutely refuses to pick up the device unless he’s alone, whining until Minho leaves the cabin or is truly asleep. If the talks go on late enough, midnight moonlight lays a forlorn, whispered feel over you both and things become a competition for who can be the mushiest. The air is made of breathy laughs that bleed into sighs and unironic use of ‘No, you hang up first’. It’s all so rosy and the happiness you feel starts to stain your cheeks and smile. The other counselors notice too. A few give you meaningful looks like they’ve caught on. Moe, especially, looks proud to see that the dour cloud that was hovering over you has dissipated some. Others don’t quite have it right. They ask you if you’ve been sneaking weed into the camp. You don’t give up your secret for either of them. Mainly because you could face disciplinary action, but also because you don’t want the next time there’s a meeting to be turned into a spectacle. It’s not lost on you that you still don’t know what Taehyung looks like. But you were being sincere when you said that you didn’t need that to care for him.

Still, the curiosity wears on the edges of your consciousness every now and then. You can’t quite ignore the idea that you guys are sort of dating—that you may have a boyfriend at the end of this summer—and you still can’t tell when you’re in a room with him. Despite this, you feel a visceral attraction to him growing from what was a gentle simmer to a boil the longer you exchange pillow talk with him. At the right moments of the night, your hands itch to feel the solid weight of him, of any part of him. To have something other than the intangible rasp of his voice when he spills his feelings to you over the walkie talkie.

***

The Sunday night before the last week of camp finds you, of course, on the walkie talkie. Unlike all the previous conversations, there’s a bittersweetness that you’re trying to swallow down. You’ll both be busy with preparations for the end of the summer festival where both sides of the camp meet—this year on the girls’ side of the lake—to celebrate a summer well spent. This means you won’t have the time or the energy to talk to one another before the big day. If it wasn’t for the fact that you still hadn’t met up properly, you wouldn’t be bemoaning the brief absence so much. But with the end of the camp session rapidly approaching, questions linger in the air. It’s not clear what happens to what you have with Taehyung once you’re not close enough to use walkie talkies to talk with one another every night. So you cherish every minute you get with the man, even if its just his voice.

“I wish we could just keep talking forever,” you whine half into your pillow, half into the balmy night air. You’re trying your best to combat the heat with your sheets kicked down to your ankles and your lightest sleep clothes on. The tone you use is one you might normally be a little ashamed of, but you’re feeling extra needy.

“I wish we could have worked on the same side of the lake,” Taehyung counters after a quick glance toward Minho’s bed. Still unmade and empty because the man in question went to go smoke on the dock. “This whole separating the camp for the kids’ sake is dumb sometimes.”

“Yeah. I wish I could’ve seen you teaching songs to the kids on the guitar.”

“I wish I could see your face while you listen to the songs I rec’d you.”

“And I wish I could see your paintings.” Taehyung turns back to see the canvas he’d filled yesterday with paint swatches, trying to remember the exact hue of your skin from the first meeting in which he knew you were you.

“I wish we could just see each other.”

“Me too.”

“And touch each other.”

Your mouth drops open wide. He’s been flirty in his own way, but never so outright.

“Oh my god, Taehyung, are you drunk?”

“I don’t drink,” he replies simply. Your cheeks feel too warm and you have to pat you face to give yourself a semblance of control.

It’s not that you haven’t entertained the idea of being intimate with Taehyung, but it was a bit difficult when you still couldn’t match a face to his name. Perhaps that was just a ‘you’-issue, but it frustrates you and, until now, kept you from getting very far with your fantasies. But with his voice in your ear that night, you think maybe you could get there. Already your skin is taking on a feverish heat, sweat starting to prick certain areas.

“What would you do if we could. H-how would you start?”

He palms himself deftly over his shorts and lets his eyes fall shut in indulgence. “Are you in bed?”

“Yes.” Your breath is bated. A hand trails down the top you’re wearing to lift the hem up, exposing the dewy skin of your torso. You pick at the elastic waistband playfully, eager to hear what Taehyung’s plans are for you.

“What are you wearing?”

It’s a benign question, but it still speeds up your heartbeat. His voice is somehow silken in its depth while tugging raggedly at something inside you.

“Um. I’m wearing a camisole and some shorts.”

He hums appreciatively. “Well, first, I’d take off your top. I’d pull the straps off and push the rest down slowly. I’d kiss your neck and your skin all over. Until I get to your breasts.”

Your fingers slide under your shorts to find the crotch of your panties. A growing wet spot greets the searching pads of your fingers. “And then what?”

“Easy, easy.” He smirks. “I’d take my time on you. I bet they’d feel so nice in my hands. Probably soft and warm. I’d put my mouth on them, lick them, suck on them. I’d pinch your nipples until they’re hard and you’re moaning.” Sure enough, a moan floats up through the speaker on Taehyung’s end. “Then I’d kiss your stomach and your hips and then I’d get your shorts off. Are you wearing panties?”

“I am, yeah.”

“Shame,” he pouts. “I’d take those off too. I’d kiss your thighs and then I’d kneel between your legs and I’d taste you. Get you all over my tongue.” His erection throbs with the image and he has to squeeze himself at the base to keep his cool. With his words momentarily halted, you jump in.

“All that sounds nice, but I think I’d like you under me more.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I want you on your back on the bed and I want you naked. And then I want to sit on your face. I wanna grind on your mouth for a bit and then I want to get you in my mouth too.” His breath hitches sharply in your ear. From the sound of it, he’s stroking himself slowly and leaning on and off the ‘talk’ button. “I want to feel you in my throat. I want to gag around you while I stroke you.”

Taehyung’s whines are high as he fights the urge to fuck into his hand quickly and chase the high he feels pulsing under his skin. “Are you—ngh—are you touching yourself?”

“Yes, but I wish it was you. I’ve got my fingers inside, but it’s not enough when I could have you do it. I want you to stretch me out. I wanna ride you after. I’m gonna ride you one day for real.”

“Can’t wait for that day,” he sighs, tossing his head back.

Taehyung spits into his hand to aid the glide. His hand moves quickly over his length, under the fabric of his bottoms. The slick sounds show up in the background noise of your cabin, egging you on. You bring your fingers to the apex of your lips and ghost them over your swollen clit. The first touch has so much anticipation behind it and has your back bowing off the mattress. Like a feedback loop, your moans set Taehyung’s hand in action and trigger his groans, which bring trickle after trickle of arousal down to wet your hand.

“I bet you’d feel so good. You sound so wet, god. You’d probably squeeze my dick so tight and good.”

“What would you do,” you gasp into the little radio, rolling a nipple under your satiny top. “Tell me what you’d do while I sit on your face.”

“I’d fuck you with my t-tongue. And I’d give some attention to your ass. It would probably look so good from where you’d be sitting. Bouncing on me while I fuck your mouth.”

“Fuck, Tae. I want you so bad.”

“I know,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Add another finger for me and play with your clit with your other hand. I want to hear you come. Be loud for me.”

“I’m so close. I’m—”

As soon as you heed his instructions and add another finger, you’re able to re-angle your hand and hit a sensitive spot along your walls. The sudden onslaught of pleasure makes your volume increase by double. Taehyung’s erection jumps at the sound of your orgasm.

“Did you come?”

Your heaving breaths through the speaker are answer enough. He soldiers through, trying to catch up to you. So you help him along.

“If I were with you, I’d hold your dick right on my tongue so I can taste all of it when you come. Or maybe you want to come inside me. To fill me up and get me all sticky?”

“Fuck,” he grunts one, twice and then his mouth drops open as he spurts over his hand. The thick white of his orgasm leaks through the gaps of his fingers to make a mess. His body tenses with a few of the aftershocks before he flops bonelessly into his pillow. “I can’t feel my toes.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a while either.”

Taehyung pouts up at the top bunk. “If we were on the same side of the lake, we could have just done this in the same bed. Then at least we’d be immobile together.”

“How romantic.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with taking a lazy day off.”

“Maybe not normally. But with the festival coming up, I don’t think we really have that choice.”

“That’s true.”

“But,” the smile is audible in your voice, coy in its sing-song tone. “The next meeting is coming up soon. And we can maybe see each other there.”

“Yeah, we can.” Sleepiness makes his eyelids heavy, but he fights it as best we can. “I wanna see you so bad. Wanna hold you.”

“We can be really brave and hug in the parking lot outside the admin building.”

“I’d swim across the lake if it meant that was the fastest way to see you.”

“Aww. You’re such a sap when you come.”

“Only for you,” he mumbles. His cheek presses into his pillow as he loses his battle against sleep.

By the time Wednesday rolls around, you’ve been swamped with preparations for the festival. When you’re not busy avoiding paper cuts while designing decorations for the mess hall, you’re fighting off campers who want you to spoil the movie that the boys have chosen for the group as a whole to watch together. You go to bed at night without word from Taehyung, but you’re too tired and too familiar with the work he’s most likely doing to feel upset about it.

You’re so busy and your mind is so full that you don’t even realize that you should be looking for Taehyung when you go to sit down in the conference room. It’s only when you’re zoning out while the camp leader gets progress reports from the boys’ side that you realize you haven’t heard his voice in several days and you’re still not hearing it during the meeting. So you tap your fingers and wait for the meeting to adjourn. And as soon as it does, you make a beeline for Minho. Despite never having spoken with him directly, you’ve heard enough about him in and out of meetings to know what he looks like. Though, even if you hadn’t heard anything from your fellow counselors, you’d heard enough about him from Taehyung. If you listen carefully, you can almost hear similarities in the way that he and Taehyung talk. You suppose that’s what happens with siblings.

“Hi,” you greet him when there’s a lull in the conversation between him and some older counselor from the boys’ side.

“Hi, yourself.” Minho’s eyes widen as he registers your voice. It’s the only part of you he has direct experience with, but he has quite a lot of experience with it. He takes in your appearance with a grin, happy to finally meet the person who’s ensnared his baby brother’s affections.

“We’ve never met before, but my name is—”

“I know who you are. I hear Taehyung talk on the phone with you every night.”

“E-every night? Like even Sunday night?”

“Uhh,” his eyebrows raise at the sudden question. “No, actually. Not Sunday night. I was staying at someone else’s cabin. Why?”

“No reason. Listen, I just wanted to ask you if you knew where Tae was. I was planning on finally meeting with him face to face, but that...didn’t happen. And there’s not much time left.”

“I mean, there’s always after the summer. You both live in the city.”

You give him a non-committal noise that he doesn’t really like the sound of, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s not about to butt into his brother’s relationship just because he’s older. Even if it seems like you’re maybe not on the same page about what happens after camp ends.

“Well, he’s not pulling another fast one on you if that’s what you’re worried about. He told me not to tell you, but he got sick off bonfire weenies last night. So he’s probably still at home shitting his pants while he makes banners for the festival.”

“Thanks for that.” You blink away the image Minho’s words bring up and focus on the task at hand. “So I guess I probably won’t see him until the actual day of, then.”

“Probably. Since he’s covering the old art director’s tasks in addition to the musical stuff, he’s pretty swamped and this hot dog thing might set him back a bit. He definitely wants to see you, though.”

Minho tries his best again not to overstep and reveal too much. Not about the rampant diarrhea, but about the way Taehyung’s been scribbling frantically in notebooks for tasks that weren’t assigned to him for the fest. Nor does he tell you about the 3 a.m. guitar sessions. Or the tender way he sees Taehyung pick up the walkie talkie sometimes, holding it in his hand as thoughtfully as someone can when running on 5 hours of sleep.

(Festival Day)

“Come on, we’re gonna miss the concert!”

A camper pulls you by the wrist from the small station where face painting was being held to the center of the makeshift festival grounds where a stage has been set up.

People have been pulling you around since the wee hours of the morning. By now you’re used to just letting your body follow the person pulling you, but the slight twinge in your wrist is starting to worry you. You replace your wrist with your hand and the camper merely pulls you along harder. There’s already a large amount of campers and counselors from both sides of the lake surrounding the stage where some performances are about to take place. Somehow the 11-year-old holding your hand manages to weave you both through the bodies until you’re only a few feet from the platform.

After a juggling act done by two of your favorite campers, a lovely comedy routine where Moe roasted her ex-husband Cref, and a trio of high school yo-yo experts, the prep for the final performance begins. Apparently, Camp Lonely Heart had an anthem that all the campers learned in their music periods so they could all sing together during the final days of the summer. Since you were never present for the music sessions, you didn’t really know there was a song. Luckily for you, Jade gave you a sheet with the lyrics printed on them earlier that morning. You didn’t have any time to memorize them, but you got a good look and they seemed like pretty typical camp lyrics.

You spot Minho making his way to the front of the stage easily. He’s got a small glittery sign that says “That’s my little brother” and a few of the guys around him snicker when he waves it at the counselor and camper on stage. The words on the sign are slow to register with you, so it takes a moment for you to put two and two together to get Taehyung. But you do. And when you do, all you can hear is your own blood rushing in your ears and all you can see is him.

He’s seated with a guitar resting casually in his lap. His hair is long. Longer than you imagined it would be. It’s also lighter than you thought it would be based solely off Minho’s own dark chestnut locks. He’s handsome, though. With the honeyed skin and the large, expressive eyes behind vintage frames to offset the manly geometry of his other features. The young boy next to him on stage must say something nice or cute, because his whole face lights up. You marvel at the boxy shape of his mouth while he laughs.

In the background noise, you hear the camper, Jungkook, make a little speech about this summer and camaraderie and how long it took for him and Taehyung to prepare this original arrangement of the Camp Lonely Heart anthem you’re about to hear. But it all sort of washes in one ear and out the other. Instead you’re watching Taehyung bounce his foot with pre-show nerves and smile occasionally at what the other counselor says. Then he’s being handed the mic and he’s looking out into the audience. You lock eyes after a few beats, and he holds your gaze like he’s trying to see if you know who you’re looking at. Maybe it’s your awestruck expression. Or maybe it’s the stupid smile on your face when his voice comes through the mic and you’re hearing the voice you’ve grown to love pour through something other than shitty walkie talkie speakers. But either way, his back becomes a little straighter while he greets the crowd and tells them he hopes they like the song.

Everything after that is kind of a blur. You don’t sing along and instead watch Taehyung sing back up to Jungkook’s pretty tenor stylings. Minho was screaming when the song ended and threw some snipped sunflowers wrapped in cellophane onto the stage at Taehyung and Jungkook’s feet. In that chaotic moment of applause, you slip out the crowd after making sure Taehyung’s eyes are on you. The path you make is clear: a beeline straight behind the cabins on the trail that leads through the small foothills. With the festival going on and all the campers in one place, counselor supervision has to be tight. No campers allowed past these parts.

After giving him a few minutes to catch up, you can hear his footsteps are close behind you. The trek is short and you come up to step past the gates that open into the camp’s lavender field. It’s been a while since you last visited it, but the smell is just as fragrant and lovely as it was the first time. Your heart rate slows down slightly. Anticipation makes everything in you coil taut, full of sharp and tiny vibrations. You feel giddy. When his footsteps thud softly and finally behind you, you release your breath and turn around.

“It’s you.”

“Me,” he confirms with his palms open like an offering. An offering that you take immediately.

Your launch yourself into his open arms and he huffs as he takes the impact. The hug is tight like you’re worried he’ll turn into mist if you’re not careful. His arms are sturdy around you and he pulls you in even tighter so he can get closer. He runs the tip of his nose along your temple, revelling in the way the summer sun mingles with the scent of your soap and you. It’s a small detail but it’s exciting. Here you are, in the flesh, in all your glory. Your arms and bare legs are covered in small splatters of dried paint from the last minute changes you had to make to some of the decorations this morning. And your counselor’s t-shirt has a few rips and frays in the seams from all the wear and tear it got over the summer. The flyaways in your hair and the way you sway as you hold him are all catalogued. Even in this more life-worn state, he can’t stop looking at you.

You pull back after a long while with your heart still beating in your throat. There were so many things you planned on doing when you first met Taehyung for the first time, but now you’re overwhelmed. Perhaps it’s because, in the back of your mind, you’re worried about time. It feels very fairytale-like, the way you only managed to come face to face on a special occasion. Like a good dream that will come to an end at the beep of an alarm or a fantasy that collapses into tatters at the stroke of midnight. You try to remind yourself that you’re not in a fairytale. This is real life and you have more than midnight because you have the internet and public transportation. But is that enough? You shake the thoughts out of your head, trying to focus on the here and now because it may be all you have.

“I liked your song,” you finally say. Both his hands come up to cup your face.

“Thanks. I practiced a lot for you.”

“It paid off.”

He takes a deep breath and accepts your compliment robotically before letting his eyes flit back down to your upturned mouth. “Can I kiss you,” he sighs.

“Please.”

The kiss doesn’t actually start for quite a few moments. As soon as he has your permission, then he decides to take his time. Your eyes are nearly closed and he admires the pretty shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. Impatience scratches at your nerves, but you try to go with the flow. He tilts your head in his hands like he’s calculating the best angle to kiss you from, knowing he’s driving you crazy from the little frustrated huffs you let out. Chuckling, he ghosts his lips over yours once before fully pressing forward.

As soon as your lips move together for the first time, you both let out twin sighs. Instantly, like a choreographed dance, arms and hands move in tandem to bring each other closer. You experiment with the long hair that flirts with the back of his neck before following its path and dipping your fingers beneath the collar of his shirt. He responds with large hands spreading over the small of your back, fingertips digging in before lifting and then digging in again like a game of practicing restraint.

You press your chest to his in an effort to get closer to him and unwittingly tease him with the promise of more unexplored softness under your clothes. He opens your mouth up with his own and nudges a subtle rhythm against your tongue. You moan and he mirrors the sound earnestly.

“I don’t think we can make it to the cabins,” he mumbles against your mouth.

“That’s fine,” you lay both hands on his chest and enjoy the firmness you find before pushing him back towards the tall rows of lavender. “I don’t need a bed if you don’t.”

“You’re something else.” He pulls back then with a wet sound. His lips are slightly puffy and shiny from kissing you and you grapple with the urge to bite them. You lose the battle and he shivers at the feel of you nipping at him. “Fuck.”

Once he and you have stumbled far enough back amongst the fragrant bushes and you find a soft enough patch of flattened lavender, you lower yourself to your hands and knees. He scrambles to sit beside you before immediately pulling you back in. You straddle his waist and rest some of your weight on his thighs while you peel off your shirt and bra. His hands smooth over the curve of your side once the skin is exposed, noting the way you arch into his touch. With an inquiring look, your hands move to the fly of his cutoffs. He lays back and then lifts his hips, impressively with you still seated on his lap, to pull his bottoms down and off. You do the same with yours and return to your perch as fast as possible.

Taehyung’s fingers find the soaked center of your panties and you rock your hips against the heel of his palm when he wriggles a finger in experimentally. He lets out a low appreciative whistle at how wet you are. You get wetter still when he grinds up into your clit to get you to lose some of the control you’ve garnered since leading him to the field. The feeling forces you to lean your hands on his abdomen, fingers fisting in his shirt.

“I want you inside me,” your moan shudders with the rhythm of the little circles you gyrate onto his long fingers. “I wanna ride you like I promised.”

“Are you sure you’re ready? We have time until we need to go back for clean up.”

“I know, but I want you to fuck me a couple of times before that happens.”

“I don’t have a condom, though.”

“Are you clean?”

“Yeah...You?”

“Yes,” your mouth drops open when he scrubs at a particularly sensitive spot on your slick walls. “And I’m on the pill. If you want, we could...”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I want it,” you assure him.

He takes off his shirt while you massage your breasts and take in more of his body now that it’s on display. The long hair framing his face falls prettily in his eyes after the shirt displaced it. Once it’s off, he pulls your panties to the side to admire the crystalline sheen that coats your lower lips. You shoo his fingers out of the way and pull the fabric to a more ideal angle before lowering yourself onto his length. The skin of his erection is hot to the touch and parts your lips easily. Your hips move in stuttering pushes forward to bump your clit against the swollen head.

“Oh, fuck,” his hands fly up to comb through his bangs. “God, this—you’re so sexy.”

“You are too. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

With that, you raise up just enough to grip his length and line him up with your entrance. Instantly you realize his girth is a bit of a challenge, so you’re not as quick as you’d like when you take him in. But the slick aids things and your pelvises are snuggly slotted together after a few moments and some deep breaths. Taehyung’s hand flies to the slight bulge in your lower belly, enjoying the way he seems to fill you already.

You rest your hands on his ribcage again and get your bearings. With an efficient readjustment of your weight so you can freely work your thighs, you begin bouncing on him with no pretenses. His answering moan is louder than he clearly intended because as soon as it’s out, he bites down on his tongue. It’s clear he doesn’t want to make it obvious where you are and what you’re doing, but he’s having trouble containing himself. There’s sweat already starting to prickle under the surface of his skin and his hands feel restless just minutes into your ministrations.

Taehyung settles for muttering quiet curses and gripping your rapidly circling hips with bruising force. He can barely keep up with the pace you’ve set, but he does manage. He thrusts up to meet your every downstroke, though it’s not without an obscene slapping sound. The fact that he’s so visibly affected by your movements gets you wetter every second until he almost slips out a few times. You adjust your rhythm so that’s not a problem, but your thighs are burning with the effort. Taehyung sees through hooded eyes that you’re losing steam and seizes his chance.

You’ve opted for sitting and grinding with him inside you when he starts to shift. His arms come to envelope you and keep you steady as he sits up. Then you’re suddenly on your back. You want to protest about the dirt, but the ground looked clean and dry and doesn’t make your back itch, so you let it happen. Taehyung repositions himself among your splayed legs, hitching one up to wrap around his hip. He grabs the ankle of your other leg and lifts it slowly, testing your flexibility and giving you time to tell him where your limit is. When your ankle is hovering level with his shoulder, you give him a cheeky smirk at his wide eyed expression. He punishes your silent brag by sucking a rough hickey into the skin just above your ankle before resting it on his shoulder. The very fact that he’s pretzled you like this turns him on and gives him a slight energy boost. He figures you must have stolen some of his life force with the way you rode him earlier.

“Little succubus,” he spits through gritted teeth as he begins pistoning his hips against yours.

You let out a shameless laugh that quickly devolves into a low moan with the way the new angle feels. He’s not going to last much longer if you continue to squeeze around him like you’re doing, but he’s fairly certain you’ll finish first. Certain because his hand moves down between your bodies to tweak at one of your nipples. He noticed earlier how your eyes fogged over while you played with yourself in the same way. Leaning over, he continues to thrust into you while pulling the nipple between his teeth. He rakes over it lightly and your leg tenses before falling back down with a thud. You don’t seem to notice and instead your abdomen spasms with the waves of pleasure that begin lapping at you without ebbing back. The feeling merely builds until it explodes the moment he minutely clenches his jaw and bites. It’s a small amount of pain, but it takes you by surprise and pushes you over the edge.

With your walls milking him, he follows your high soon with his own. His breaths come out in deep huffs in your ear, heavy with bass. You test your limbs and the shifting makes you aware of the come he filled you with. When he pulls out, the sensation grows and you’re moaning weakly as it leaks out. He takes his lower lip in between his teeth as he watches the evidence his orgasm drip from your puffy center. He kind of wants to push it back in with his tongue or his fingers just to watch it drip out again, but he knows you might still be sensitive. So he settles for stroking your hip bone lovingly.

Grabby hands creep into his peripheral vision. It’s you silently asking for him to come lie with you, and he does. He presses sweet kisses against your lips until you sling a leg over his hip and add tongue. His dick twitches with the promise of second round, rubbing against the soft skin of your inner thigh. Normally, he’d need more time between orgasms. But you’re kissing his neck and for some reason the smell of your sweat combined with lavender is a miraculous pairing and has the blood flowing back south. A quick glance at his wrist watch tells him that there’s still a good 45 minutes and he flashes the little screen to you. Your answering grin is the rest of the motivation he needs.

The festival day ended two days ago. Following your rendezvous, you both smoothed out your clothes and shook the grass out of them before sneaking back into the campgrounds smelling suspiciously of lavender and ‘something else’ according to Moe. You managed to somehow avoid her keen nose just like Taehyung avoided his older brother’s wiggly eyebrows.

Clean up was an absolute bitch that night, so you both went to bed without hitting each other up. And the following day was for making sure all the campers were packed up and shipped off to town or picked up by their guardians. That was somehow more exhausting even though there wasn’t any cleaning or sweaty sex involved. It was probably the giant bonfire you had and the 40s you threw back that night with your co-counselors. It was probably the most fun you had with them in a while. You were up into the wee hours recounting all the chaos from the last week and the shenanigans that resulted from having the counselors from the other side of the lake involved. No one mentions you slipping away for over an hour, and for that you’re thankful.

But the headache you wake up with the next day has you silently cursing the whole camp. You don’t need to spend a long time packing, and you’re out of your cabin in record time. Hitching a ride with one of the other early risers, you find yourself at the admin building with plenty of time to kill until you have to walk to the nearest bus stop. There’s donuts and bagels and a basic fruit plate in the conference room and you stealthily sneak some food out while the camp leader interrogates other counselors about how they felt the summer went. You even resort to filling out your evaluation form in the hallway to avoid the camp leader’s hawk-like gaze. You’re still seated on the floor, counting the dots in the pattern on the linoleum tiles, when Taehyung’s characteristic sneakers appear in front of you.

“You going home?”

It’s an awkward question, but it technically shouldn’t be. The last moments in the lavender field were spent with you skirting around his questions about where in the city you lived and what your plans for the fall were. It seemed pointless to tell him all that and act as if you were guaranteed to be able to pick things up where they left off once camp closed for the summer. With your back turned that day, you missed the way Taehyung looked at you after struggling with the feeling of not knowing you. Despite the fact that he felt deep in his soul not more than 3 hours ago that he knew you.

Couple this with the fact that you did have down time after the festival ended, but you said you were busy when you weren’t and you end up where you are now. Suddenly uncomfortable in front of the guy you’d been opening yourself up to for months because you never really got to breach the subject of what would happen when the summer ended. Now you’re realizing these are probably your last moments with what you had with him at Camp Lonely Heart.

“My bus is coming at 2,” you say eventually. He tries one last time.

“That’s hours from now. I can...I could drive you instead. I’m going into the city anyway.”

Yes, your brain wants you to say. Take me home, and then come in and stay with me. You want to utter the words, but your tongue grows heavy and clumsy. So instead you say something stupid.

“The ticket’s non-refundable.”

“Oh.” His head lowers to stare at his own shoes. “Yeah, that’s...I get that. Money, right?”

“Yeah.” You stare down at your shoes. You fight to find a redeemable moment, something lighter to end the summer on. “Hey, uh, look what I brought when I cleaned out my cabin.”

Taehyung stares down at your seated form while you fish through your little backpack for something. He’s not sure why the moment he was dreading before officially meeting you is happening now. The rejection he was hoping to avoid by remaining a nameless, faceless voice is now slowly rearing its ugly head.

“Look!” Your voice is a bit too enthusiastic to come off as 100% genuine, but the sight of the walkie talkie that started it all does make Taehyung smile despite himself.

When he pulls out a matching device from the side pocket of his messenger bag, the uncomfortable atmosphere lifts a little. Minho shows up then, keys jingling in his pocket. He calls for Taehyung and looks at you curiously.

“Are you coming with?” Before you can explain, Taehyung answers for you.

“She can’t. She’s gotta catch the bus.”

“The bus that’s going into the city? Where we’re also headed,” Minho asks with an incredulous smile that’s got none of the usual sweetness in it.

He looks at you for a better answer, one that makes more sense, but you don’t volunteer one when suddenly put on the spot. The slump in Taehyung’s shoulders betray the weak smile on his face. To Minho, the whole situation positively reeks of a similar situation his baby brother got into when he was younger and much less careful with his heart. He’s not 100% surprised at you, though. He saw this coming in the last few days when there were no calls from you and Taehyung’s eyes lost their summer shine. Minho pins you with a look of disappointment that you feel deep in your bones before he gives you a second chance.

“Tae, can you go start up the car?”

There must be something in Minho’s voice that you miss because Taehyung surprises you by only hesitating for a second before taking the keys and turning on his heel. You can feel Minho’s eyes on your face the entire time you watch Taehyung leave, but you can’t bear to face him until he’s gone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “I just panicked when he asked if I was coming, so I said no.” He sighs in what you think is understanding, eyes closing momentarily before opening again. This time, his face is slightly more patient. He thinks he knows what’s going on.

“Do you want to ride home with us? With him?” There’s something else in the question, and you see it and grab at it, even though the implications scare you.

“I think so. I want to spend more time with him before I have to go for good. We didn’t really...talk about how this would end.”

“Does it have to end?”

“I mean, you know what they say about summer flings. Plus, this all happened in a really weird environment. Who knows if all of this was only possible because we just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“Mm, yeah. It sounds like you guys were lucky in that regard,” he crosses his arms. “But you can take luck and build on it with actual effort and make something solid.”

You open your mouth to protest, but you can’t think of anything to actually say because he’s right. So you pick up your backpack and zip it up and gesture for him to lead the way to the car. A tiny bit of prideful approval bleeds onto his otherwise grave expression. On the way to the parking lot, your mind swirls with thoughts about the ways that this thing could fall apart. About how a summer haze made everything possible or how the distance that can’t be covered by walkie talkies will be the end of you and Taehyung. You look up to catch Taehyung’s profile as he waits for Minho in the driver’s seat. You also catch the way his face goes from a flat mask of indifference to surprise to badly concealed joy at the sight of you trudging behind his older brother. He rolls down the window while Minho makes a beeline for the back seat.

“You’re coming?”

“If that’s okay.” And you do wonder. Is this okay? Can we really do this? Can we make it?

“Y-yeah, of course,” seems to be Taehyung’s answer to all your questions, even the ones unspoken.

While you make your way to the passenger’s side, Taehyung whips his head around to stare at his brother.

“What did you say to her?”

“I’m not telling you, but just know that you may owe me for life after this.”

“Alright,” Taehyung concedes as you get in and strap in for the ride.

Thanks for reading through these collab pieces with me. Plz also go check out the pieces @polaritae wrote on the masterlist link above!!

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