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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years

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∘◦ ♪ ◦∘ Timothée Chalamet - Concerto ∘◦ ♪ ◦∘

A/N - I wrote and posted this almost a year ago on my Wattpad. My writing has evolved a lot since then, but I’m still proud of this piece, and hope you enjoy it. I do not know Tim, nor do I claim to in any way. This is a work of fiction and entirely my own.

Warnings - smut. Detailed (but protected and consensual) sex, slight BDSM, overstimulation. Cursing. Legal alcohol consumption and smoking. Also 10k words of sickening fluff though, even the smut is fluffy.

Summary - At a classical music concert, the last person you expect to meet is a young man as charming and suave as Timothée. And the last thing you expected is for him to invite you back to his flat. Turns out music really is food for the soul, and other things...

IT’S A FRIDAY EVENING IN NEW YORK CITY. The sun is setting behind the towering silhouettes of undulating buildings all across the city, the moon casting shadows all around au contraire to the luminescence of building lights, beaming all around as well as the street lamps, bringing colour and light to people’s faces in the dark.

You’re standing on the pavement outside Symphony Space Concert Hall on the Upper West Side, people watching. Nothing more or less conspicuous, just observing everyone flooding into the hall, though none of them seem to be under 50 years of age. After checking the time, you take your phone out of the pocket attached to your delicate silk jumpsuit you’re wearing for the night, the one reserved for classy parties and sophisticated concerts only (though very handy). You open the email holding your ticket for the evening, a Poulenc appreciation concert, and you show it to the bouncer who grants you entry to the auditorium.

The room looks incredible. Photos of Francis Poulenc, as well as some old parchment sheets of his music spread out delicately over the usually bare walls. The lights create a perfect ambience in the hall for what's sure to be an incredible evening. The red velvet seats are half full, dotted with people at least twice your age, except from one seat near the front where you can see merely a defined jaw and brown curls. On the stage stands two glossy black grand pianos, slotted beside one another with plush velvet stools and their lids propped up, allowing one to see the inner workings of such wonderful instruments. Behind the pianos are seats enough for an entire orchestra, creating a crescent moon shape. A couple of the seats already have instruments atop them, aching for their owners to play beautiful melodies with them. You make your way down to where your seat is, familiar with the layout of the auditorium. You’re on the right hand side of the centre stalls, third row back, but as you arrive, there’s a boy you saw earlier, not much older than yourself.

“Hi, do you mind if I squeeze past?” You ask him, watching his head jolt up from the programme to reveal a mop of beautiful dark brown curls framing his chiselled face, piercing green eyes with flecks of hazel when the light changed direction. You recognise him, an actor, you simply can’t place him.

His look of incredulity melts into a smile. “Sure.” He says, moving his legs so that you can squeeze past and take your reserved seat on his left. He turns to face you, smiling. He’s wearing a crisp navy suit with a pale blue shirt and a matching tie. He looks well presented, and by his nervous and lopsided smile, you guess that he’s rather nervous to be at the concert alone too. “Timothée.” He tells you, holding his hand out.

You return his gesture, smiling right back at him, and tell him your name. “You here alone?” You ask him, turning in your seat to get a better view. He nods.

“Thought I’d be the only under fifty here.” He laughs, “I’m 24 by the way, but I shan’t ask your name since you're a lady.” You can't help but laugh at this, just a little giggle at how sweet he is, but your interaction is cut short as the lights turn down in the auditorium but shine brighter on the stage, and a full orchestra enters the stage, accompanied by their instruments, two pianists and a conductor. Murmurs in the hall settle down to a faint hum while the musicians tune to the sound of the oboe, and then begin to play.

The music is mesmerising, starting with orchestral pieces with faint piano accompaniment, then just a nocturne for piano, split between the two lead pianists. You could listen to it all night, but an interval has to come. As the lights slowly turn back up, you see an infantile smile on Timothée’s face, as though he’s just watched the most excellent thing in the world.

“Come on,” you say to him, smiling sadly while you tap his knee, “let’s get a drink.”

He reluctantly stands up to follow you out of the auditorium and to the small bar area. You order two margarita’s without consulting him, but he seems grateful as you sit beside each other on a high table, people watching once again.

“What's your job then?” He asks you, making small talk.

“I’m a piano major at Juilliard, teaching piano on the side though.” You respond, and he seems really taken aback. His jaw falls a little slack while his eyes bulge a tad.

“Wow, you must be excellent!” You blush a little at his words, elegantly taking a sip from your drink while he eyes you carefully. You feel awkward under his gaze, though flattered nonetheless. He’s gorgeous, and he’s complimenting you and accepting drinks from you, what a night.

“What about you?” You inquire. He's an actor, you know that, but asking means that you may be able to get some more context and maybe it’ll click where you’ve seen him before. He clears his throat, and you can see some older people walking by who pull faces, judging the pair of you, but you brush them off.

“I’m an actor, mainly small films though.” He says, remaining vague. You don’t push much more, realising that he probably likes not being fawned all over for once, so you simply ask of the favourite names he’s had the honour of working alongside, which must be an uncommonly asked question because a light flickers behind his eyes.

“Selena Gomez, Steve Carell, Armie Hammer, Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Robert Pattinson, Maia Mitchell…” He begins to list, but only when he mentions Maia does it click. You aren't huge into films, but you have seen him in a film with Maia Mitchell and Maika Monroe a few years ago.

“Hot summer nights, right? You were in that?” His cheeks turn a magnificent crimson and he bows his head as though embarrassed. He mumbles something along the lines of ‘not my best performance’, but you disagree. “I think you were wonderful, and did you mention Armie Hammer?” He nods again, seeming a little brighter. You take another sip from your drink, and he follows suit, watching your poised movements.

“Call Me By Your Name.” You nod in recognition, you remember watching the film when it first came out and loving the music from it.

“You’re excellent you know, at piano I mean, and the intimate scenes aren’t half bad either, you make them better.” You say with a teasing smirk on your painted lips, making Timothée’s eyes widen again. You chuckle and grasp his hand, dragging him into the auditorium for the second half.

The second half is a whole concerto, Poulenc’s Concerto For Two Pianos And Orchestra. Ten minutes in, Timothée’s hand finds your thigh and seems very comfortable, so comfortable in fact that you don't dare move it. As the concerto flows further on, his hand slides further up your clothed leg and squeezes your upper thigh a little You tense under his touch, infatuation and lust filling every cell and exiting through your pores, just waiting for more passion to fill your body and make you drunk on the feeling.

When finally the concert ends, both of you stand to applaud the musicians for a solid few minutes, and you could swear you see a tear leaving Timothée’s mysterious eyes and rolling down his heavenly made, painfully defined cheekbones. While you clap, you surreptitiously edge closer together, millimetre by millimetre until you’re hip to hip with elbows nudging. Your head comes up to his chin, making you feel a little small, but you’ll feel even smaller once your heels come off. Once the majority of the audience have filed out, you grasp his hand and pull him through the crowds where you stand on the corner of the pavement, only metres from the venue. You’re reluctant to loosen your grip on his slim hand, as he is with yours.

“Cigarette?” He offers, holding a half full box out to you. You half smile and shake your head in refusal.

“I don’t mind if you do though.” You say, meeting his gaze. “I love the taste of smoke when I kiss someone.” You add in a whisper, leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. He goes rigid, making you smirk to yourself. This is going to be a good night.

He lights his cigarette and takes slow drag, only looking away to blow the smoke in an opposite direction to you. How respectful, you think, as your stomach fills with butterflies and bubbles with anticipation. He puts it out on top of a bin and throws it away without littering, and just that small and helpful gesture makes you crave his touch, having his fingers trace your sweaty skin and making your body tingle, your back arch with desire and pleasure.

“Wanna get a drink?” You ask, pointing to a nice bar across the road. You’re desperate to sleep with him, but not without pleasantries first. He, however, shakes his head and intricately entwines his fingers with yours.

“I’ll do you one better than a drink.” His smirk sets off a different kind of longing in you, forcing your body to follow him wherever he takes you.

As you walk, he starts conversation, but you’re so breathless from the desperation speed walking that your answers are brief. He asks you why you attended the concert, only to remember that you’re a music student and piano teacher; so in turn, you ask him the same question.

“When I was doing Call Me By Your Name, I had to learn the piano, and while I was learning classical pieces, I kind of just fell in love with classical piano music, I don’t know.”

His nervousness is sweet, making him appear far more humble than anyone of his stature would usually be.

You get to his building after a twenty minute dash in heels, and he pulls you flush against him while entering through the revolving doors, allowing you to lay your weight on him for a moment while you gather your breath. You feel his heartbeat thudding and racing against his ribs, reverberating against your own chest. You turn around to face him and place your hand on his chest.

“Breathe.” You say to him, allowing him to release a long held breathy chuckle. You leave the doors, both laughing, and fervently press the buttons to wait upon a lift. “So,” You then continue, breaking the silence where only your breaths were heard. “Favourite piano piece from the Call Me By Your Name soundtrack?”

“Hallelujah Junction!” You both answer at the same time, just as the lift doors open. You fall into the lift in a fit of giggles, clinging onto each other. You find yourself with your back pressed against the cold metal handle bar in the elevator with Timothée’s face inches away from your own. Your breath mingles together. As soon as he presses the button to his floor, he nudges his nose with your own.

“God, you're so beautiful.” he says seconds before his mouth is pressed hotly against your own, kissing you with an unrivalled passion. Your lips mould and move together like it’s second nature. His one hand holds your waist while both of yours grip his face, feeling a slight stubble.

The lift dings and he drags you out, unlocking his apartment door and leading you inside.

“Welcome to Casa del Timmy.” he says while hugging you from behind, allowing you to get a full view.

His apartment is stunning. Sleek, yet also vintage. Your eyes follow across the perimeter through a door to the left, where he has an office area containing a sleek white desk with a mac and a stack of papers and pens, next to it is a vintage white bookcase stacked as high as possible with novels of all shapes and sizes, and even an indie style rug underneath a colourful modern dining set..

The door next to the office is a kitchen, white countertops with wooden cupboards and a beautiful view of the city out of the window. To the right is a set of glass doors that open onto a small balcony where you can see the whole city, even Manhattan and Brooklyn depending which way you look and how the moon beams down. There’s a closed door right in front of you and through the entry hall and living room which you assume is his bedroom held behind a golden doorknob.

His living room, where you remain standing, holds an array of house plants with a couple of very comfortable looking plush sofas, his TV stand as well as his coffee table look like polished vintage items, refurbished from a flea market maybe, while his book shelf and rug are grand and modern. The best part of all though is a grand piano in an oak wood, matching the wood from his television table, and you become instantly entranced by the instrument that you don’t even notice the velvet stool or the perfectly organised cabinet of music, with a guitar propped up against it.

“Wow.” You breathe. Timothée grips you tighter, trailing kisses across your shoulder and up the side of your neck, inhaling every few seconds to treasure the scent of your perfume. Gardenia, rose champagne, grapefruit, davana; heavenly. You grip his hands with your own, holding them tightly where they’re settled on your tummy. You roll your head against his shoulder to give him better access to kiss you, but he stops abruptly and leads you to the piano stool. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a well loved piece of music.

“I know it’s for two pianos, but let's have some fun.” He says, grinning at you, an infectious smile that you can’t help but return. Hallelujah Junction, first movement. He puts the music out on the piano and takes a seat beside you, your thighs touching and hands overlapping as they begin to glide over the keys.

Playing this piece is second nature to you, allowing you to find your way easily, slipping your fingers between Timothée’s, and the white and black keys. You begin a harmonious melody spanning the whole of the piano, but after only a couple of pages, you realise that its not working as your notes cross over, making it very difficult to play on just one piano. You laugh together, but only for a moment before he is trailing his tongue up your neck, then your lips, and delving inside your mouth. You gasp, moaning into the passionate kiss that he’s giving you, and within seconds you find yourself straddling his lap on the piano stool. You trap his thighs between yours, moving and grinding your hips a little against his to receive more friction where you can feel how needy he is.

Within seconds, he has your legs wrapped around his waist and his teeth on your clavicle. The pleasure makes sounds escape your lips that you didn’t even realise were possible. You knot your ankles as he stands up with one hand around your waist and the other feeling his way around his apartment. After a few funny missteps and close calls of him dropping you while only walking the expanse of his living room, he pins you against his bedroom door, finding your lips again

He gently pokes at your dusty pink bottom lip with his tongue, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, exploring avidly and devouring every taste of you that he can muster. You do the same, but become too infatuated by his taste to put much more passion into it: gin, mint, bergamot and smoke. Smoke, sugar and sin, the most deadly combination of them all, and that's all you can smell on him, making you moan even louder. An erotic moan that makes Timothée twist open the handle to his bedroom door as quickly as is humanly possible.

He as good as throws you onto the bed, but undeniably, it turns you on a lot to see his dominant side this early on into the evening. He doesn't seem like the type to pin you down and boss you around, but as he shuts his bedroom door and delicately takes off his probably very expensive shoes, you can see a glint in his eye, almost as if he’s planning on doing unspeakably pleasurable things to you. Just the thought makes you wetter than before.

As he locks the door and shuts his shoes away, you take a quick look around the room. His bed is nice, comfortable and exquisitely large, like other things you hope. He has a nice colourful throw, vintage looking pillows to match his nightstand, holding only a pillbox, a glass of water, hand sanitiser, and a box of tissues. The simplicity makes you want to laugh, but you restrain yourself. He has a big dresser to match his bedside table with the drawers a little skewwhiff and clothes poking out. His wardrobe is fitted to the wall and by the looks of it, surprisingly neat too. That much cannot be said for his sofa though. A plush, light grey sofa sits on one side of his room just away from the window, and it's covered with clothes. At least he made the bed though, that's more than you can say for most 20-odd year old mans rooms that you’ve been into.

He sheds his blazer and crawls up to where he left you on the bed, needy and craving more. He looks down at you with desperation in his eyes, and you can’t help but to attack his lips, threading one hand in his beautiful dark curls while the other nimbly pulls open his tie and undoes his shirt. You shrug it off his shoulders and run your nails up and down his spine. You feel him shiver beneath his touch while your hands travel all over his body. His shoulders, his biceps, his toned stomach; he’s skinny, but has enough substance to him to be strong and sexy as hell.

“You’ll kill me if you stop.” He whispers, followed by a string of breathy curses. His eyes roll into the back of his head, giving you ample opportunity to grasp his shoulders and slip the pair of you over, pinning him beneath you. His eyes flit all over your face before kissing you again.

“You are so freaking beautiful.” He mumbles between kisses. He slips his hands up to find the zip of your jumpsuit which he slides down crazily fast, only breaking the kiss to shrug it off your shoulders. He just lies in awe, noticing that you don’t have a bra on beneath it. His tongue darts out from between his lips as he examines every undulation of your body, following the swell of your breasts right down to your hips. Your nerves return under his scrutiny, making you want to hide your face, but instead he holds your wrists behind you.

“You never have to cover up,” he says, nothing more or less than genuine love in his eyes, “not for me.”

Despite only meeting him hours ago, you know that you can trust him, so you ungracefully clamber off his lap and lie on your back to shimmy off your burden of a jumpsuit. He practically leaps at the opportunity to worship your body, before him in only your panties. He starts at your ankle, placing feather light kisses all the way from your ankle, up your leg, not minding the slight harshness of your legs, and only stops at your knee joint to switch his lips to his tongue, licking a straight line all the way up your inner thigh, stopping centimetres from where you need him the most. Not through any of this ritual does he break eye contact though. He skips over your panties and only pulls them down a little to trail kisses from your pelvic bone, up past your navel, through the valley of your breasts, and finally back to your lips. He makes you feel things that you could only dream of before meeting him.

“Timothée…” you breathe, hearing his breath hitch in his throat at the way your tongue curls around his name.

You reach between the two of you to his trousers. You undo the belt buckle with ease and push his trousers off his hips and down his thin legs, allowing him to kick them off at the bottom. He seems embarrassed, wearing Y-fronts that make more visible just how much he wants you.

“How about we strip together?” You offer, and Timothée reluctantly nods. He pushes himself off of you and stands up, giving you a hand to stand up as well. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off you since the moment you left the concert hall. “3, 2, 1…”

You both remove your underwear, pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them, only to step closer together so that your chests are flush against one another. He moves his hand up to cup your face, brushing your hair away from your face while tilting your chin up, capturing your lips in a lustful yet also sensual kiss.

He nudges you and your legs hit the bed, making you topple over and break the kiss from a giggle, but he doesn’t seem to mind and only laughs with you, moving your body further onto the mattress. He doesn't go to you again, he just lies beside you and dances his fingers absently down your pubic bone, ghosting circles around your clit.

“Jesus Christ.” You exclaim at the sudden feeling. Timothée kisses your jawline, but adds in between kisses, “Less of that, darling, I’m Jewish.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. You know he’s joking, just trying to mess with you, but as a punishment for laughing, he thrusts two fingers inside you with no warning, making you cry out in a mixture of both pain and overwhelming pleasure.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, never going deeper than the second knuckle even when you cry out for more. Only when your moans turn to gasps for breath and you’re writhing beneath him does he delve in further and add his thumb to your clit, giving you a more intense orgasm than you’ve ever had before.

You immediately feel blood rushing back to your cheeks, colouring them from embarrassment, but Timothée doesn’t mind. He removes his hand from your core, and makes sure your eyes are fixated on his every movement as he licks his hand clean of all your cum. You’re so turned on that you even reach for his own hand, interlacing all your fingers except for his index one, of which he takes the hint and slips it into your open mouth, allowing your tongue to curl around it, making him groan.

He slips further down the bed and locks his eyes onto yours, you can see different shades of green and hazel in them and a whole world locked behind those beautiful eyes. Slowly, he delves into your heat, licking up everything that his hands missed. His mouth works wonders, sending your mind into a state of mild euphoria. The tip of his nose nudges your clit and you can feel yourself involuntarily gasp, so when Timothée finishes savouring every taste of you that he can get, he harshly bites your sensitive clit for just a moment, stimulating parts of your mind and body that you didn’t know could feel pleasure, let alone pleasure that intense.

He comes back up and kisses your lips, planting his hands in your hair as you kiss him back and get lost in the moment, your tongues dance together in an exploration, an experimentation of passion.

You pull away after a minute or so, gasping for air. Timothée examines your face for a moment, and you find yourself once again losing your thoughts and sanity in his eyes, until you feel the tip of his throbbing cock brush against your bare thigh. You feel bad for how much he’s been neglecting his own levels of desire in order to pleasure you, so you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. He takes a sharp intake of breath and flutters his eyes closed, his long dark eyelashes twitching alongside his eyelids whenever you grasp harder or pump him.

He’s surprisingly big, causing you to take longer while rubbing your hand up and down his member. Half way down one thrust, you squeeze his cock a little, hearing him whimper a little. The mere sound of him drowns your core in want. You edge your way down the bed and swallow as much of his dick as you can take until his tip hits the back of your throat. He lets out the most sensual guttural groan that you’ve ever heard, his eyes still closed while placing his hand on the back of your head to keep you steady. You bring your head back up to look at him while your tongue swirls his tip, his mouth is parted a little with breathy moans of your name escaping every once in a while, his eyelids switching from being lazily half open to squeezed so tightly shut that they wrinkle a little.

You go back down slowly, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. You work your hand in the part of him that won’t fit in your mouth and continue to bob your head up and down. You lick a strip up a vein on the underside of his dick, making him near enough scream your name. With one final bob of your head where you deep throat him, you pull away with plump lips, climbing up his body to straddle his waist. He looks up at you with wide and loving eyes, pulling you down for a sensual kiss.

“Are you clean?” He asks breathlessly, kissing down the hickeys that he’s already littered your skin with.

“Yeah, i got tested after my last break up a few months ago, and I haven’t been with anyone since. Is that because I just…” He nods and you laugh a little, the vibrations from his chuckle rumble throughout your body.

“I did the same, but I’ll still…” You get what he’s saying and climb off him. He flings open the top drawer of his bedside table and after a minute or so of rooting through it he pulls out a condom packet and places it next to his glass of water. You give him a questioning look with your brows knitted together, but Timothée just smiles at you. He slips one slim arm beneath your back and the other under your knee joint before scooping you up and holding you close to his chest.

“Well hey there Timothée.” You say with a chuckle, secretly astonished at how strong he is, because with one arm still holding you, he throws away the decorative pillows and pulls the duvet back, throwing you onto the mattress and leaping on top of you. You smile into his kiss, savouring every second of the feel of his lips pressed hotly against your own, the taste of smoke driving you crazy.

He pulls away and sits up, tearing open the condom packet and grasping his hand sanitiser. He flicks the lid open and squeezes it liberally onto his hands before applying it and rubbing it into yours. “Are you sure?” He asks you, and your urgent kiss to his jawline is followed by a string of fervent reassurances that you are desperate to have him inside you, though you respect that he wants consent and that he wants to be clean. He slips the condom on, his eyes trained on your lips and the way they part from wanting every few seconds. He’s enjoying torturing you and making you wait, the same way that you edged him but denied him orgasm.

He slips the condom on and slowly enters in one smooth stroke. You gasp at the contact, especially how deep he goes with the first thrust, so deep that his pubic bone hits your own. He reaches for the duvet and he pulls it up over his shoulders, covering the pair of you since he can see that you’re shivering a little in the open. He looks for reassurance, but then begins to thrust inside you, holding his weight above you. You can see his biceps tensing while trying to hold his weight up and keep a steady rhythm.

“How about we spice this up?” He suggests, a sly smirk playing on his lips. He cocks an eyebrow, and the sun hits his face at an angelic angle, only making him more beautiful. You nod eagerly to him, only making his smirk grow wider.

“Yes Mr Timothée,” you say, triggering a dominant smirk to relight behind those stunning eyes.

“That's Mr Chalamet to you tonight, Miss.” Words cannot even explain how wet he makes you by saying that, already making your mind want to submit to his every want. You let out a whimper and remove your hands from his hips to lay above your head on the pillows. He joins his fingers around your wrist and proceeds to lay his slender hand flat against your wrists, preventing you from moving.

“Is this okay?” He asks, his movements coming to a halt. You nod and kiss him again. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He must really enjoy what he’s doing to you. “Yes Mr Chalamet.” You reply, making your eyes as doe like and innocent as possible.

Timothée’s thrusts restart, faster this time. You moan louder, ecstasy filling every inch of your spent body before you’ve even properly begun. His moans are lower, more like groans, all of your name. It sounds heavenly coming from his lips, the way his mouth moves when he says your name just makes it better. His hips hit yours with vigour, adjusting to get a better position where he hits the best spot inside of you.

“There Timothée!” You scream desperately, your back arching on the mattress while your hands fight to break free. Submitting isn’t as easy as you hoped.

“I’m close.” He warns you and frees your wrists, but he doesn’t let your hand go too far. He interlocks his fingers with yours, using one elbow to prop himself up. His thrusts turn sloppy, more fervent, and just as he’s finishing, he digs his thumb into your clit.

Your entire body turns limp, screaming his name in a state of complete euphoria like you’ve never felt before. It travels from your brain to the tips of your fingers, setting a fire in your belly and making your toes curl. Your back arches so far off the bed that your chest becomes pressed against Timothée’s, your breasts moving in time with his breathing. You feel him come to his own climax, silencing his screams by kissing you with more passion than he has before.

You ride out your highs, but the level of pleasure illuminating every nerve ending in your body means that you don’t notice Timothée pulling out and disposing of the condom, you only notice when he flops down beside you on the bed and pulls you closer to his slightly sweaty body. You rest your head on his chest that seems to be glowing in the moonlight from the sheen of sweat. He absently plaits your hair, staring off into the distance. The faint thudding of his heart within his ribs comforts you, it's a little faster than would be normal, making you smile a little.

“How was that?” His hand grips around your shoulder even tighter, pulling you closer to his body. He seems content in simply holding you, maybe he just enjoys cuddling. “Wait, don’t answer that.” He corrects himself, his pupils dilating and his excellent, angelic body going rigid. You chuckle to yourself, drawing circles on his chest with the pad of your forefinger,

“Excellent, Mr Chalamet.” You tease him.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He looks fearful, fretting, it's evident in the sudden sulk of his face, pulling his cheeks and forehead down. You shake your head again, slowly but surely moving your leg to lie over his. Ye inclines his neck to place a gentle kiss to our hairline, and you can feel him smile into it.

“Timothée?”

“Yes beautiful?” Just his simple words make you giggle and blush, such a sweet sentiment from a gorgeous and well meaning man.

“I’m hungry.” You say, feeling slightly embarrassed. He laughs, you feel his body move from it, and he proceeds to pepper your face with the softest and sweetest kisses possible.

“I’ll make us some food, grab any shirt you want and meet me in the kitchen.”

You watch him pull on a pair of grey sweat pants and walk out. His pale hips sway just a little as he walks, and he looks so lanky from where you’re laying on his bed, the covers pulled up around your chest. He kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen, what kind of a man does that on the first night? He’s a famous actor and the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, let alone a couple of years above yourself. He really knows how to please a girl, your skin rises in tiny goosebumps of pleasure while a shiver shoots down your spine and leaps across your synapses just at the mere thought of what he did to you, by far the best climax you’ve ever had.

You slowly slide out from under his warm, plush covers that smell just like him, only leaving with severe reluctance that melts away as soon as you shrug on the pale blue button down that he wore for the concert. Only a few hours ago you’d met at a concert for old people, already having a common interest that few your age have, yet he’s so eager about classical piano which is so special to you. You fiddle with the buttons, leaving the top few open in hopes of another round - he is making you an almost-midnight feast after all.

You walk out of his room and pad barefoot across his living room floor, only to have a little grey cat come and rub at your feet. You lean down to tickle behind its ears, hearing it meow, and you continue your way too where Timothée has left the kitchen door open for you. He’s standing over the stove with some ingredients laid out on the spotlessly clean countertops. You smile in spite of yourself, running a hand through your messy hair before wrapping your arms around his torso from behind. You place a couple of kisses to his shoulder blades until he turns around and picks you up in one swift movement, sitting you on the counter so that you meet his height.

“It looks better on you.” He whispers, pulling you closer by your bare thighs to plant a kiss on your lips. He’s making you feel things you’ve never experienced before, you can’t wipe the smile off your face for the first time in a while, and he's making you food in the middle of the night after cuddling you.

Dreamboat.

After watching him cook for a while, you slip out of his kitchen and take a seat at his piano. You run your fingers over the smooth wood, it’s well loved but well kept. Then you take a seat on the stool. You can feel where Timothée sits to play, your smile turning a little sad. There’s so much to him that people won’t see because he’s getting famous, but he’s still a person and that’s something that you’re able to experience first-hand.

Eyes closed, you feel for F and Ab with both of your hands. You press the keys down gently, creating the soft blend of notes that is Clair De Lune. You fall lost in the music in a new way, a new feeling washing you with all of tonight's new sensations and sitting at a piano that is neither your own nor at school, it feels somewhat ethereal.

Your fingers glide all across the keys, black to white, flats to sharps, switching between octaves like its second nature. Your mind dances along with the rhythm, your whole mind, soul and being becoming lost in the symphony that you’re creating, one that you haven’t been able to create for a while, and it’s only thanks to Timothée.

You become so absorbed in playing that you don’t notice him leaving the kitchen to listen. He just stands in the doorway, leaning against it with his head lolled a little to the side, completely mesmerised by your movements, your music, and just everything you are. Only when you play the final notes are you alerted of his presence from the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. He walks over to you with purpose, a slight grimace on his perfect lips, but he just hugs you. Timothée just holds you close to his chest, allowing you to entwine your arms around his neck and nuzzle your face in his bare chest.

“Stay the night?” He asks, such a simple request but he truly does seem anxious. You want to be genuine, kind, but it’ll be best to relieve the tension.

“You’re making me a late night post-sex feast and giving me your shirt, of course I’m staying the night.” After a moment of silence, he exhales a laugh and node, brushing a curl or two into his face. “Anyway, your cat likes me too, so it’d be a shame to disappoint the little cutie.”

After only a few minutes, you find yourself back in bed with Timothée. He’s carrying a tray full of food that looks and smells gorgeous, followed by his cat who decides to dance between his legs. He serves you a strangely shaped piece of an odd looking pizza, though it still looks excellent, and it has some perfectly cooked and seasoned vegetables next to it on a white plate.

“What is this?” You ask him as kindly as possible.

“Flammekueche with some vegetables. It’s a French pizza with crème fraiche and bacon. My dad makes it all the time and always gives me some that I just freeze and reheat. I can only make microwave meals and vegetables, so this isn’t bad for me.” The way he explains it makes him so endearing, and even makes the food seem more than enticing. “You’re not allergic to anything are you? Or vegetarian?” You shake your head with a smile, kissing him and thanking him for the meal even though he won’t let you touch it before you sanitise your hands.

You talk the whole while that you eat, learning little things about his favourite books and his family. His favourite book just happens to be Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald, a book you both know and love, and Timothee has a Jewish mother, a French father, an older sister, and he grew up in the city. You however are from out of the city with an exceptionally normal family, and your favourite book is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. He seems to be growing fond of you, wiping the pizza sauce from your lip, followed by a kiss each time.

He places your plates on the floor as soon as you finish, snatching at the speed of light for some hand sanitiser, lube and another condom. You more than happily oblige with all of his steps and strip off his shirt, kissing the living daylights out of him before he’s even slotted the condom on. He kisses you back with equal fervour nonetheless, exploring your whole mouth with the tip of his tongue. He cautiously adds some lube to the sides of the condom and slips into you while you’re still atop him. You moan at the penetration, arching your body forwards and hereby giving Timothée a full view of your breasts and the way they bounce with his every thrust inside you.

You moan pornographically at his slow and passionate movements upwards and deep inside you, finding your special spot within moments. He settles his hands upon your hips, squeezing them and guiding your every movement. You ride him just the way he wants you to, you can see it in his eyes. He looks at you like a teenage boy would at a naked supermodel, of which you are only naked and most definitely not a supermodel, despite him treating you like one, and Timothée is thankfully older than a teenage boy yearning for sex.

“You look so fucking brilliant.” He tells you, admiring the way that your face contorts with pleasure while taking every inch of him.

You rhythmically grind your hips against him, swirling them occasionally just to hear him cry out. Nothing is a hinderance from you going faster, but this sex isn’t needing to be urgent to be satisfying. He squeezes your hips harder and you decides to move up a little further, bouncing back down on him as he becomes buried to the hilt in your desperate core. You do it again, engulfing him anew and moaning his name continually from the mix of friction and pleasure that’s sending you into another euphoria, but not enough to release again just yet.

Timothée still hasn’t taken his eyes off you, namely your breasts where he’s currently focussed, eyes trained on your hardened nipples - partly from not wearing a shirt and partly from Timothée’s ministrations. He leans up and captures your left nipple in his mouth, sucking and kissing and swirling his tongue around you in the most divine way possible. He moves his hands away from your hips too, allowing you to grind your hips on his in any way that you like. His one hand moves to your other breast, tweaking and pulling at your right peak and sending sensations through your body that you’d never realised could be real before; while his other slips to the rounds of your ass, squeezing delectably.

“Mr Chalamet, p-please,” you find yourself begging, leaning down while still riding him, his torture on your breasts never ceasing, not even when he thrusts his hips up one final time, allowing your core to devour him whole and sending you into your third otherworldly climax of the night.

“Timothée!” You scream, your climax pouring out of you. You feel him come too, and you hear him cry out your name like a blessing.

He doesn’t pressure you, he just waits until you’re able to clamber off him with as minimal pain and exhaustion as possible, though you do whine at the loss of contact as you lie beside him, his arms securely around you and holding you as close to him as possible. It doesn’t matter that you’re both sweaty or spent, it just feels special.

“Look at that, done before 1am.” He chides, cuddling into you. You laugh a little at him, especially his humour, but it is rather remarkable.

“Two rounds, a meal, and a concert. Can’t speak for you, but I’m knackered.” He smiles at you sleepily, passing you the shirt that you wore earlier. You shrug it on and do it up while Timothée puts his joggers back on and draws the curtains, leaving the two of you in dark for the most part. You lie further down, still close to his thin chest, you hear his breathing rattle a little, but it's soothing.

“Night beautiful.” Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep in his arms.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The only issue about sleeping with Timothée is that you forget it's a Saturday morning, and on Saturdays, you have to work. Your phone alarm starts to go off at 7.15 precisely, which when you’re home, gives you enough chance to get ready for teaching in a calm manner so that you aren’t already angry before teaching little children how to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Today however, that is not the case.

Timothée sleeps through it somehow, but your eyes are shocked wide awake, causing you to leap from the comfort and warmth of his bed and cuddles just to crawl on the floor in search of your phone and where it fell last night. You find it next to his door somehow, and switch the alarm off immediately, propping yourself up against the door to release a long held breath and to watch the sun rise through his windows. He looks so beautiful asleep, his lips parted slightly, soft snores escaping every so often, dark eyebrows furrowed and his mop of curls haphazardly lying around him like a halo. The morning glow makes his cheekbones appear even more defined.

You want to gather your belongings without waking him, get dressed and catch a cab back to your flat, but just as you go to open his door, he stirs.

“Where do you think you’re going beautiful? Come back to bed, I’m keeping you here with me forever.” You know he’s joking, and his words melt your heart and inhibitions a little, but you can’t justify staying

“I have to work, my first student is at 9.30.” You say, walking across to stand beside his bed and brush some hair off his forehead, kissing him and your lips lingering on his sweaty skin a little longer than they probably should have.

“And? I’ll drive you home in time, if you live near Juilliard then I know a shortcut. Just come back.” He's virtually pleading, puppy eyes and quivering lip just to add to the effect, and you simply can’t say no when he looks so perfect. You place your things on the floor by the bed and slip beside him, allowing your eyes to flutter shut just a moment longer.

His finger traces your naked body beneath the shirt, focussing on the bruises he left on your hips and the marks on your neck. Just his touch is enough to take control of your body, to give you goosebumps, to electrify every feeling of love and lust held within.

“Can I use your shower please?” You ask him, and he nods, placing his chin atop your head.

“I’ll take you to my bathroom and then I’ll make you breakfast. Grab whatever clothing you want from my room, but you can’t leave this bed until you agree to dinner with me tonight.”

Your heart rate increases tenfold at his gesture, and you want to take a leap of faith and say yes straight away, but that would be playing your cards too quickly. “We’ll see.” You respond sultrily, making your way to leave, but his strong grip pulls you flush against him with no space to move. You can hear him laughing in your ear.

“Say yes to dinner and then you can leave.” He slips his hands further down your front without losing his grip and decides to toy with your clit as though it’ll get you to talk.

“Y-yes! God, Timothée, of course I’ll go to dinner with you, just don’t stop!” You find it impossible to understand the shockwaves of pleasure pulsating and electrifying your every sense from an action as simple as the pads of his fore and middle fingers twisting and pressing your sensitive clit. It’s so incredible that after the previous night, it feels like overstimulation, and you can’t get enough.

“I’ll never stop.” He murmurs gruffly into your ear, you can hear the hoarseness that smoking causes but god it sounds and tastes so good.

He pulls your body closer and rolls you over. “Hey baby.” You say as calmly as you can, but within seconds you find yourself sitting on his face, half of his stunning bone structure lost beneath you. He delves his tongue into your already dripping heat, licking as far as he can get and only pulling away to kiss and suckle at your clit.

“Let me come Mr Chalamet!” You cry out, and with one final swipe of his tongue around your core and a squeeze of your ass, you let go. Timothée licks you clean while you still chant his name, and he proceeds to pick you up in order to carry you to the bathroom. You settle your heels at the base of his spine, digging in a little, and his arms tense beneath your ass from the manner he carries you. You like being above him, able to trace every line and bit of stubble on his face with your focussed eyes that he stares so deeply into at any given chance.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll be tempted to join you.”

You slowly cross the threshold of the bathroom, winking at him as you close the door. He inaudibly groans, but you can tell from his facial expression and the tension in his joggers that make him look utterly sexy. You slowly unbutton his shirt, reluctant to take it off, but when you step under the warm jet of his shower, that reluctance washes away along with any inhibitions you may have had about Timothée. He’s an angel: clean, respectful, enjoys classical music, has a cat, isn’t a cocky dickhead, and he’s literally the most gorgeous human being that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You run your fingers through your hair, standing directly beneath his showerhead. The steam clouds your vision, but you can hear Timothée singing while he cooks, Mystery of Love. What a dork, you think, chuckling to yourself while you rinse Tim’s shower gel from your body, and you just know that after this you’ll smell like him, but he smells delectable. As the water hits the most sensitive parts of your body, you remember the previous night. Just the thought of what he did to you makes you crave his touch again.

Through the bathroom window, you can make out the New York traffic that builds every morning, accompanied by the screeching of tires and sirens and car horns. Despite it being a ruckus, it's soothing as you step out the shower and wrap yourself in one of Timothée’s fluffy towels.

“How do you look so sexy when you’re getting out of the shower? God, I can't stress it enough, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my life, even without any makeup and with your hair un-styled, just wrapped in my Goddamn towel. You’re gonna be mine, mark my words.” You feel tears come to your eyes at his kind words, watching him purposefully walk from the kitchen and all the way across his apartment just to place his hands on your waist and tell you how beautiful you are. Those words are better than a concerto to you.

Once you’ve finished getting dry in his bedroom, you ferret through his drawers until you pull out a white top with various tie dye patterns across it. It’s cute, very Timothée. You pull it on and it reaches your mid thighs, making it clock in your head just how much of a lanky lad he is. You bundle together your stuff and head out of his room, closing the door behind you and greeting him with a kiss. He sits you at the breakfast bar and serves you a proper cooked breakfast: bacon, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.

“There's ketchup and syrup in the cupboard if you’d like.” He offers, sidling up on the seat beside you, nudging the tip of your nose with his thumb. The smile hasn’t left your face since you met him.

“This is good, you’re an excellent cook.” You tell him, resting your hand on his. His cheeks glow an even brighter red in the cascading morning sunlight, dappled by his blinds, but he looks magnificent despite his embarrassment.

You take out your phone, just to take a picture of the breakfast while it’s still untouched, and of your hand held by Timothée’s, already wearing rings. You notice that he’s already wearing a silver chain too, and a couple of bracelets on the wrist away from your own, which you find unusually attractive.

“I wish you could stay all day.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours.

“Me too.” you say softly, smiling sadly and caressing his cheek.

You finish your breakfast and make your way to the living room in a strange kind of waltz orchestrated by Timothée. He insists on holding your waist and turning around a little, moving your feet in sync until you yank him down onto the sofa, catching his lips mid sigh which leads to a much more passionate make out session than you anticipated. Once that’s over, he plaits your hair beautifully, explaining how it used to calm his sister down before an audition. By the time he’s finished a very good pair of plaits, you check the time and it’s already 9, time for you to leave with NYC traffic, but Tim won’t let you go.

“Not without a photo.” He insists, but you question his reasons. Who would want a photo of you with wet hair in plaits, an oversized tee-shirt and a bare face? But his answer is too sweet to refuse. “I like taking pictures of beautiful things, and of which, you are the most beautiful.” Your cheeks flush a raging scarlet, and Timothée takes your few moments of silence as the perfect opportunity to take a picture of you, sunlight hitting your face in all the right places, and he takes another for good measure, his hand on your cheek and his lips on yours, a kiss that shuts you up for good.

He takes you down the stairs right to the garage where he keeps his car, and surprisingly, it’s an understated car, not crazily extortionate nor flashy, something which you respect highly. He sits you in the passenger side, making sure to kiss you before closing the door, and he gets in the driver's side. After starting the engine and leaving the parking lot, he lays his palm flat against your thigh and keeps it there the whole drive while you change gears for him. You tell him all about your childhood, your high school, your time in uni while he tells you his life at a performing arts high school and then his life as an actor, he truly fascinates you.

Once he pulls up outside your building, he tries to convince you to let him come in, or at least walk you to your door, but on the grounds of not scaring the life out of your neighbours and students, you say no with a promise to see him later.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight that you won’t be able to walk.” He says, pulling you in for a final passionate kiss before you step out of the car. He made you wet just before you have to work, you’ll get him back later, but the revenge melts as soon as he leans out the window to blow you a kiss and tell you how stunning you are.

You’re so lost in your trance of Timothée that you don’t notice your first student tapping you on the shoulder and excitedly saying “Was that the Timothée Chalamet?”

You chuckle to yourself, watching him drive off into traffic, all for you. “Yes it was love, yes it was.”

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wandsandwheezes · 4 years

Text

505 | G.W

WARNINGS // SMUT 18+, If you know the song, you know what’s coming. Mutual pining, kissing, a lil sadness, George being a simp,

I wanted to celebrate me reaching 500 followers (something I legit never saw happening) by writing a fic for you all!! I went back to one of my favourite songs... it seemed pretty fitting.

ps. please don’t post my work elsewhere, it breaks my heart!!

I'm going back to 505

If it's a 7 hour flight or a 45 minute drive

In my imagination you're waiting lying on your side

With your hands between your thighs

505 New Harleston St. The place where it all began, your childhood home. It had been years since George had seen you and every part of him dreaded the thought of you loving someone that wasn't him. It hadn't been easy for him to move on, when every beat of his heart was beating for you. As he turned the ignition of the car and rolled out of his driveway, the destination was set in his mind. Each road and turn was like muscle memory as he set off on the forty-five minute drive in the pouring rain to see you. He prayed you still lived with your parents and that you weren't in the arms of another man. He pictured you in your bed, back arching as you touched yourself to the thought of him. The imagery was sinful, and distracting, so distracting that he had almost veered the poor ford Anglia off the side of the road. He however couldn’t pull himself away from the soft melody that was your moans as they echoed around his brain.

Only when he was parked outside your house, looking up at your window, which was only dimly lit, did he contemplate driving back home. But he was sure he was meant to be there, after all even if it had taken a Seven hour flight, he had to be there to see you.

He stepped out of his car, the heavy rain drenching him from head to toe within a few moments. He checked his watch, it was nearly midnight and he hesitated once again. He then noticed the kitchen light flick on. 'it's now or never' he thought, his feet dragging him to your front door, ignoring the doorbell to knock gently on the painted wood.

The knock on your door caused you to spin around and look at the clock, confused at who would come knocking at this time, you assumed it could only be that your cat, Ernie, had snuck into the neighbour's house again. You quickly walked towards the door, words falling from your lips before you could even process who was in front of you. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Jame- George?"

Stop and wait a sec

Oh when you look at me like that my darling

What did you expect

The way you looked up at him with a look of pure innocence and love drove him absolutely crazy. An old oversized t-shirt was hanging against your thighs as your eyes went wide with shock. you blinked a couple of times, thinking your mind was playing tricks on you. He didn't disappear, however and something inside of you roared as you darted forward, hand sneaking up to rake your fingers through the hairs at the back of his neck as you pulled him down and into a kiss. You didn't care that his clothes were soaking wet and that the rain was gusting into the house, you had George in front of you and that was the only thought plaguing your mind.

It was as if all the time you had spent apart had never happened, your body slotting perfectly against his as soon as he had you in his arms again. The kiss you shared was passionate and needy, before you knew it, he had you trapped between him and a wall, making out like teenagers again, your hands frantically pulling off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor.

"Georgie.. I've missed you." Your eyes were wide, looking up at him innocently and full of passion, it was a look he was obsessed with. The nickname you used for him brought back so many old memories that he knew that he had to have you back and he would do anything in his power to call you his once more. His hands had slipped under the t-shirt to rest against your waist, the feeling of his large hands on your warm skin was familiar and intoxicating. "I couldn't stop thinking about you, my angel, I miss us."

His confession had you weak at the knees. Despite the fact that your break up was messy, the love you shared for each other had never left. Having both gone through the war with each other and gaining trauma that neither of you knew how to process, resulting in more frequent arguments, less affection, more ange and more more resentment until you both decided it was best for the both of you to part ways. Over the years, you had taken the time to heal but George however, grew insecure and lost confidence of his own worth. He didn't know how to move on in life without you by his side.

That's why kissing him felt so natural, his lips and arms felt like home to you. It was why you were willing to risk it all and take him back. It was also why you were sure you were sure you'd let him fuck you senseless in the hall out of desperation. You were still in love with him and a part of you had truly never stopped loving him, even after all this time.

I probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

Or I did last time I checked

You'd pulled the boy up to your room, stripping him of his damp clothes and admiring every inch of his skin, you had to pinch yourself every time because having him here felt like a dream. As you lay on your bed, your head on his chest, you listen to the in and out of his breath, letting his heartbeat remind you that he was in fact here, and not hundreds of miles away.

He didn't try to initiate anything you didn't want to do, talking into the early hours about everything you'd done since you'd last seen each other. You confessed that you would take him back if he wanted you. George's eyes went wide at that statement, his breath hitched in his own throat. He took the opportunity to kiss you again, the soft, open mouthed kisses turning quickly to a more passionate exchange as your tongues brushed against each other. He pulled you on top of him so that you were straddling his hips, his hands guiding your own to gently rock back and forth against his.

You were grinding against him, feeling the desperation for him grow inside you as you were reminded of the mind blowing sex life you used to have, you adored him even as he was fucking you relentlessly, hand wrapped around your neck. You missed being touched the way he touched you. You picked up the pace, causing a string of moans to fall from your lips, it was enough for him to buck his own hips up to meet yours. As if he could hear your thoughts, a hand moved up to grasp at your neck, a smirk plastered across his lips. "Always knew you liked that, Princess."

The string of moans that fell from your lips were pure filth but nevertheless, music to his ears. You were adults, pining over one another, in a situation not too dissimilar from one you had with him as teenagers, sneaking away from your group of friends and up to the dorms. Coincidentally, it was the same day he'd told you he loved you.

Your mind was flicking back and forth to the present and the past as George's hands trailed gently up your sides. The look in his eyes was pure lust as he pulled you in for another kiss. His kisses were intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from going in for another, and another, and another.

"We don't have to do this, not if you're not-" You cut him off with a simple kiss, before pressing your lips to his neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses down to his collarbone, slipping between his legs with a content sigh. "I want this George, I want you."

You had started by palming him through his boxers, watching as his head fell back into the pillow. There was no rush, just gentle, meaningful movements. When you finally pulled his cock from his underwear, his heart sped up, you rested your cheek against his thigh as you stroked him, his hand smoothing over your hair as warm moans fell from his lips. You looked up at him through your lashes, as amazing as George's more dominant side was, to see him completely at your will as his cock was in your hand made you feel so powerful. Your hand was perfect, small enough that when you wrapped your hand fully around, the squeeze was enough for him to feel like he was in heaven, not to mention the way you looked at him. You truly were his angel.

He had flipped you over before you could even take him in your mouth, he was gentle as he pulled your shirt over your head, kissing every part of skin he could. This moment with you was everything he was waiting for, to be with you, intimate and in love. He slipped your underwear to the side before pushing into you. It felt like everything you could've needed in that moment, he didn't make it rough or push you. He simply made love to you as the sun rose, mumbling words of pure praise against your lips. "You're doing so well, Princess, taking me so, so good."

His fingers found your clit, rubbing circles with his middle and pointer finger as he brought you close to your release. His hair was hanging messily as his hips rocked into yours. "That's it baby, cum for me, such a good girl."

When you came over him, your mind went blank except for the thought of him. It was perfect, he was perfect, he was repeating over and over that he loved you. Godric, did you love him too.

Not shy of a spark

A knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark

You and George had been back together a whole month before he offered for you to move in with him. You’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t hesitated when he asked. You were worried that perhaps since getting back together things were moving too fast again, but as soon as he’d shown you his beautiful home, all worries seemed to fade. When George bought the house, he imagined what life would be like with you sharing his home - your home together. Everywhere he looked, he imagined what your future children would be doing as they ran around the halls. Everything he seemed to do was with you in mind.

It was one particular evening where you’d come back to your now shared home to find George sat alone on the sofa, all of the lights still turned off. He hadn’t even noticed you enter, he was silently sobbing as tears rolled down his cheeks. Thoughts swimming in his head of not being good enough for you, that he fell short of being everything you needed. He didn’t know how to process these feelings, he hadn’t learned how to cope with the negative thoughts, let alone how to tell himself that they were all bullshit.

You noticed the tears glistening off his cheeks, lit only by the lamppost outside, quite literally dropping everything, not caring where it fell. You pulled the crying boy into your arms, his head resting against your chest, the salty tears transferring to your t-shirt. Once he had come to his senses, no longer lost in his own bubble, the bubble in his throat prevented him from speaking, hardly able to string a sentence together. You did your best to console him, but the pain in his chest felt like someone had stabbed him in the chest and continued to turn the knife.

“I- I know don’t fucking deserve you.” He was babbling over his words as you rocked him, playing with the hair that he had grown out especially for you, pushing the strands out of his eyes and off his forehead. George only managed to calm down by the grace of your soothing hum and gentle kisses into his hair. He still felt the pang of sadness that didn’t want to shift, as a shallow breath rattled around his lungs. “You are enough for me George, I love you and I’ll always love you.”

But I crumble completely when you cry

It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye

You were sitting together on the sofa, your head on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined as you watched a movie, something you’d insisted on bringing into your home together. You had been feeling overly emotional In the past week, breaking down into tears over nothing. Just yesterday the sight of orange peel made you tear up. You’d told Fred about it today and he simply laughed at the notion that George had ‘made the orange naked’. While Fred found it hilarious, George hated the sight of you crying. Crumbling completely into a mess to care for you at the very sight of a tear.

Fred and Lee often joked over dinner that George was ‘whipped’. He shrugged off the taunts, retorting back that at least he had a girlfriend. To which the other two boys imitated, un-phased by the younger twin’s attempt at seeming menacing. Lee told you about how they used to call him ‘Whipped Georgie’ back at Hogwarts, a nickname you knew you had heard too often in the quidditch changing rooms. You marvelled at how it was nice to have them all back, but really the group was incomplete without Alicia and Angelina here, you note that you must have them over for dinner soon, or at least another girl’s night.

More recently, however, you and George had been like passing ships in the night, It was kicking into the busiest time of year at the shop and he more often than not crawled into bed with you in the early hours of the morning, only for you to kiss his forehead goodbye as you left for work only a few hours later. The mornings didn’t get any easier, leaving his warm arms another day, to return to him not being there. You feared he would slip away again, a heavy feeling sitting in your stomach as you wake for your day, to see your boyfriend only just slip through the door. You had greeted him once again with a goodbye, your eyes hanging on to his for a pleading moment, as you considered never leaving his hold again.

I'm always just about to go and spoil a surprise

Take my hands off of your eyes too soon

George had strolled into the shop, ready for the afternoon and evening rush, his eyes deep set and tired. It was back to sleepless nights for him. Fred noticed the exhaustion in his brother’s eyes, making a quick decision to send him home. They had only just yesterday had the conversation that George had seen almost so little of you that it didn’t even feel like you were together. That feeling broke his heart.

There were so many thoughts running through his head as he walked home. The usual quick walk was slowed way down as he pondered on every running and passing thought. He was a man filled with worry, what if you had stopped loving him? He couldn’t lose you twice.

He arrived home to you, his precious girl, sat on the bed sobbing, looking down at something in your hands. His whole body ached, seeing the tears physically fall, when you smiled up at him his heart softened, perhaps it wasn’t as bad as he thought. He caught a glimpse of the small blue box in your hands and his eyes widened. George Weasley was always shit at keeping secrets.

His mind told him ‘fuck it’ as he got down on one knee next to you as you were sat on the bed. A thousand ways of saying what he wanted swirled around his brain, he wanted to say the right words and make it a special moment for you. Every moment you had shared together flew past his eyes, it was like watching a star go supernova. Every bright smile and giggle, every kiss and longing look. It was the perfect movie shared between the two of you.

“I think you already know what I’m about to say, and based on the fact that you’re still crying I hope this isn’t a bad time. But Merlin, I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you. I want you to be mine forever. I’m sorry that I still haven’t healed and I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me the most. My life is you and if I don’t have you, it’s thunderous and wet and lonely. So, my sunshine, will you marry me?

I'm going back to 505

If it's a 7 hour flight or a 45 minute drive

In my imagination you're waiting lying on your side

With your hands between your thighs

...and a smile

The red-haired boy was sitting at his desk, a dim lamp emitting only the faintest glow. Once again his mind was on the thought of you. The thought of you waiting for him at home, His gorgeous wife, her fingers desperately trying to find a release at the thought of him. He contemplated running home, in a full jog, just to devour you. He flicked back to the day he travelled to 505, how he was so desperate to see you, that he would’ve climbed every mountain just to kiss your perfect lips and see your perfect smile.

George realised that It was never 505 New Harleston St. that kept pulling him back. It was you. You were 505.

@starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @weasleysflowr @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @witch-and-a-half @wand3ringr0s3 @vogueweasley @loony-loopy-lupinn

#george weasley x reader #george weasley fic #George Weasley #fred and george #george wealsey imagine #george weasley smut #Harry potter #harry potter fic #writing #505 #arctic monkeys

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goldentournesol · 3 years

Note

hi! 7 and 23 from the general list?

hiii!! this is fem reader, trying out a new format, would love feedback cw: nose bleed

"Is that blood?” “Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” “You are literally bleeding.”

“Hey, look at me. Focus on me alright?”

T minus 1 hour and 49 minutes until the date

Spencer was going on a date. Spencer is supposed to be meeting another woman at a restaurant in less than 2 hours. It’s safe to say Y/N was freaking out. Her heart began racing the second Penelope texted her the news, Spencer hadn’t told her anything despite how close they’ve become. Why would he? It’s not like they’ve ever discussed anything of the romantic nature. She’d only joined the bureau around a year and a half ago, but she had no idea what she was getting into.

T minus 1 hour and 34 minutes

She’s been pacing around and around her little dining table for the past 15 minutes in a complete panic. It wasn’t too late, she could still tell him how she feels. She stole a glance at the clock and nodded once to herself. She put her shoes on and a coat over her pajamas then hesitated at the door.

Oh no, this is a bad idea, she repeated.

The thought of him smiling at another woman made her throat close up. Before she knew it, she had taken off running in the direction of the train station.

If she made it there in 7 minutes she’ll make the train that took approximately 20 minutes to get near Spencer’s street, then she could run the remaining 10 minutes and make it in time before he left--

BAM!

She smashed face first into a lamppost, allowing a loud expletive to slip past her lips. She scowled at the pain that reverberated throughout her face. Y/N took a minute to reorient herself before she felt the heat rise to her cheeks in embarrassment. Upon whipping her head around to see if anyone saw the accident, she felt a warm liquid slide down her upper lip and into her mouth. Touching it, she realized it was blood. Knowing she didn’t have any tissues, she wiped her nose against her sleeve once and kept it there and before taking off in a run again.

T minus 1 hour and 25 minutes

Her little accident cost her the first train. She waited impatiently for the second train, cursing her luck. Speaking of luck, however, a nice old lady noticed her bloody nose and puffy eye and offered her a bunch of tissues. Y/N almost cried at the gesture, though she blamed the few tears that fell from her left eye on the swelling.

T minus 1 hour and 5 minutes

She finally got on the second train. Hopefully she’d be able to make it in time. Knowing Spencer, he’d probably leave his apartment 20-30 minutes before the time they agreed upon, depending on how far the restaurant was. She was cutting it close.

T minus 45 minutes

She felt like an absolute maniac running through Spencer’s street with bloody tissues held up to her nose.

T minus 37 minutes

She ran up the stairs to his apartment building, completely out of breath by the time she reached his door. Knocking frantically, she tried to catch her breath.

“Y/N?” He swung open the door, buttoning the last button to his shiny charcoal gray blazer.

He looked exquisite.

“Spencer.” She said stupidly, gawking at him. She suddenly forgot what she was here for.

“Is that blood?” Spencer asked, his eyes widening in alarm.

She had also completely forgotten about her nose and puffy eye. “Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-”

“You are literally bleeding.” Spencer said, unphased by her attempts at saying anything else. He quickly guided her into his kitchen and fetched her a bag of ice. She sat at his dining table and held the bag of ice to her eye. He left her to get the first aid kit.

“Spencer, can you please forget about this? I really need to talk to you. And I’m sorry for coming here unannounced and all panicky but I couldn’t wait.” Y/N said all in one breath. He came back into the kitchen and got a cotton pad ready.

“Hey, look at me. Focus on me alright?” Spencer said, softly gripping her chin and patting away at the remaining blood. Y/N could feel her eyes well up at his tenderness.

“Does it hurt?” He said, standing so close Y/N could smell his cologne. It was her favorite and he knew. He was wearing her favorite cologne to a date with another woman. Jealousy bloomed inside of her chest.

She nodded somberly, waiting for her breath to even itself out.

“What happened?” He asked, calmly tending to her nose. She took a shuddering breath and closed her eye.

“I ran into a lamp post. Literally.” Y/N sheepishly admitted, bracing herself for his laughter, but the corners of his lips merely raised.

“Why were you in such a hurry?” Spencer threw out the cotton pad and inspected her nose, it didn’t seem to be broken, but it was likely to swell. The proximity of his face was so jarring, she could lean forward a few inches and slot her lips right over his if she wanted to.

“I-I wanted to make it here before you left for your date.” She said softly, removing the ice from her eye in order to look at him clearly. His body language shifted entirely, he took a step back and avoided her eyes.

“How did you know...about the date?” Spencer asked, busying himself with tidying up the counter.

“Penelope told me.” He only hummed in response, “Spencer, don’t go on that date.”

His eyes met hers curiously, “Why not?”

“Because...because,” She hesitated, fidgeting with the ice pack. Spencer stepped closer and laid his hands over her cold ones.

“Because what, Y/N?” He whispered hopefully.

She looked up at him again, “Because I love you.” She whispered back, a physical weight was lifted off her chest.

Spencer smiled in relief and squeezed her hands, “You do?”

“I do, so much. And I’m sure the woman you were about to meet is amazing, but she’ll never love you the way I do.” Her voice broke.

One of Spencer’s hands left hers to rest on the uninjured side of her face and she leaned into his warmth instinctively.

“I could never ask for anything else. I love you too.” He uttered, making Y/N release a wet chuckle. Spencer’s thumb caught one of her tears before resting his forehead against hers, mindful of her injuries.

T minus 5 minutes

After a short silence, Spencer’s phone rang. He detached himself from Y/N and found his date calling. Spencer picked up and politely told his date that he wouldn’t be able to make it.

Y/N should have felt guilty, but the sheer happiness in her heart left no room for any other emotion.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer x reader #steph writes blurbs

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sasarahsunshine · 3 years

Note

You want fluff?

Ok here’s fluff and smut:

Alpha Aaron comforting Omega Spencer because he’s self conscious about how he looks.

(This is another super old ask that’s been getting dusty in my inbox, so I figured it’s about time to dust it off and give it a proper answer that it deserves! Also all fluff, no smut sorry lol. Maybe I’ll do a follow-up! TW: body image issues, A/B/O, and hints at Aaron’s breeding kink lmao).

Spencer has always thought himself weak. Small. Too thin, his own mother pointed out often. Gangly and willowy, he heard Penelope say once. “Like a newborn foal,” Emily joked. Ungraceful, angular, boney.

He’s stared at himself in the mirror many mornings, trying to fix his hair, his clothes, his everything. His cheekbones made his cheeks look sunken in, his jaw was too sharp—like the rest of him. Hipbones and collarbone poking out. Clothes hung off him awkwardly, and he could never make his hair look like he wanted. Put hair products in it? No, that makes it look greasy and too straight. Too flat. It makes him look like a teachers assistant. Let it be natural and curly? No, then it looks messy and unwashed.

He hated how he looked. Weak and thin and not attractive in the slightest. Not a good choice for a mate. Not a good Omega. Good Omega’s had nice hips and strong arms for bearing pups, then being able to carry them.

Aaron deserved a good Omega. Not Spencer Reid. He’s not a good Omega. And he knows that as he watches other Omegas fawn over his Alpha. He sits still, hands wrapped tightly around his coffee cup, eyes locked on the two female Omega’s who are desperately vying for Aaron’s attention.

He’s expecting to see his Alpha take the bait. To see Aaron lean down and scent the females who are purposefully baring their necks, who are batting their eyes and spinning around to show off their assets. Beautiful bodies, wide hips, gorgeous features. They’ll make amazing mothers to his pups if he chose one or both.

(More under the cut)

Instead, he’s actually surprised to see his mate dismiss them both with a warning growl. One of them takes the hint and leaves with her metaphorical tail between her legs. The other presses herself against him, trying to wipe her scent on him, Spencer guesses, to entice him.

He’s expecting Aaron to accept her offer. She’s pushy and pretty. A good Omega.

But Aaron steps away and bares his fangs, one last warning for her to back off. Spencer can almost hear the snarl, even through the glass wall that separates him from his mate.

Finally the female takes the hint and makes a point to walk off as though he’s offender her, not the other way around.

Aaron walks straight into the conference room, closing the door behind him a little harder than necessary. Spencer flinches, watching his Alpha carefully. He can smell the frustration, the annoyance.

“Aaron?” His voice is soft as he tilts his head, releasing his own scent into the room.

Aaron visibly relaxes, the tension leaving his shoulders as his scent slowly goes back to normal, a small smile on his face. “Spencer,” he greets, walking over and wrapping his Omega up in his arms.

Which only confuses Spencer.

After a second, Aaron pulls away, brows knit together. “You’re tense. What’s wrong?”

Spencer purses his lips together, fingers tapping on the empty coffee cup he almost refuses to set down.

Aaron cups the Omega’s face between his hands, thumbs tracing over his cheekbones with care. “Omega,” he soothes, “tell me what’s on your mind.”

Spencer feels his lower lip wobble. “Those other Omegas,” he starts, pausing, hesitating.

Aaron sighs before kissing Spencer’s forehead, “I’m sorry, I tried to keep them from scenting me. I told them repeatedly that I wasn’t interested, that I was taken already. I had to snarl to get them to leave me alone. If you can smell them on me we should fix that as soon as possible,” he suggests, kissing his loves nose next, then going for his lips—but Spencer pulls away, leaving Aaron confused.

“Spencer?”

“Why are you with me?” Spencer asks, taking a step away to put distance between them, his hands now shaking as he tightens his grip on that damn coffee cup. “Why haven’t you picked a beautiful Omega to be yours? Why me? I’m not a good Omega, I won’t make good pups or, or, or be a good mother! I’m not attractive or pleasing to the eye or—“

He’s interrupted with strong arms wrapping around him, the scent of oak and spiced wine and a crackling fireplace enveloping his senses. He drops the cup and buries his face in his Alpha’s neck, inhaling that scent of warmth and safety. Of home.

“Oh, Spencer,” Aaron sighs, one hand going to the back of his loves head, his fingers threading through his hair. “I wish you could see yourself how I see you. I wish you could look in the mirror and see the most gorgeous Omega I’ve ever laid eyes on. I wish you could see you through my eyes,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the top of Spencer’s head.

“I feel so lucky every day to have you,” he continues, feeling Spencer’s shoulders shaking a little. He tightens his hold on his Omega. “You’re so kind and thoughtful, selfless, intelligent. You’re sweet and silly. I love your rambles and your mind. I love your body. I love how you feel in my arms, how you feel under me or on top of me. I love being able to hold you. And I think you’d look absolutely beautiful if you were to be pregnant with my pups,” he adds quietly, whispering in his mate’s ear.

Spencer sniffles, tilting his head to glance at Aaron from the corner of his eye. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Aaron confirms with a kiss to his temple. “God, I love you so much. I’m so lucky to have you as my Omega.”

Spencer doesn’t look convinced, his eyes still watering with unshed tears. He glances away. “You could have any Omega you want,” he tries to say, but Aaron cuts him off, “I can. And I want you.”

Spencer shakes his head, burying his face back into his Alpha’s coat, hiding his shame and embarrassment. “I shouldn’t be what you want,” he mumbles into the fabric.

Aaron sighs, his expression sad. He sits down and pulls his Omega with him, encouraging Spencer to pull his legs up, almost folding him in order for Aaron to hold him in his lap. He keeps his grip on Spencer tight, arms wrapped all the way around him, his nose pressed into Spencer’s temple as he breathes in the scent of sugar and honey and peaches. The scent of Spencer.

“My Omega,” he rumbles, soothing, “I love you so very much. I courted you for years, and in all that time I only had eyes for you. I still only have eyes for you. I refuse to look at any other Omega when I have my soulmate in my arms.”

Spencer looks at Aaron, shocked. “Soulmate?”

“Yes, that’s the only way I can explain it. I can’t imagine my life without you. I want my future with you and you alone, my Omega. My Spencer. I want you to have my pups,” he drops his voice, nosing down to Spencer’s neck, “I want to raise them alongside you. I want have a home full of laughter and little feet.” He kisses the skin bared to him, right near the mark that he left on his mate during their first shared heat and rut.

Spencer whimpers, a few tears finally racing down his face.

“I want to watch you teach our pups everything you know. I want to see your bright hazel eyes in them. I want them to have your curly hair and your adorable nose. I want to watch them grow and learn and dance with you as their mother. And I want to lay in our nest every singe night with you in my arms.”

Spencer sniffles, smiling just a little. “Really?”

Aaron kisses the mark that claims Spencer as his, then up his jaw, his cheek, and finally his lips, slotting them together like pieces of a puzzle, perfect for each other.

“Really,” he breathes, their lips gliding together as he speaks. He can taste his love’s tears and uses a hand to wipe them away, kissing Spencer again. “Only you. The most beautiful Omega I’ve ever laid eyes on. I only want you.”

Spencer’s smile grows until he lets out a soft laugh, kissing his Alpha back. How can he argue when his Alpha sounds so sure, so confident in his love and attraction for him?

He pulls away a little, wiping at his own eyes with the back of his hand. “Okay. Okay, I believe you. I love you.”

Aaron smiles and kisses his nose, “Good. I love you too.”

————

Tagging: @bau-gremlin @ris-criminal-mind @tobias-hankel @ssa-noa @foxtrot91 @dumpsiteforfics @kuolonsyoja @multixfandomwriter @marvel-ous-m @thaddeusly @spencers-renaissance @reidology @physics-magic @brillianthijinx

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future A/B/O posts!!

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bowlegsandbiceps · 3 years

Text

Suptober Day 7: Young at Heart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Teen / Death!Dean & Human!Cas / Destiel / 5,073 words

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

It was a snowy evening in the heart of winter when Death roamed the streets of Chicago. You wouldn’t have known him from any other young man, bundled as he was in a worn leather jacket, jeans and boots but there was a certain static about him that made other pedestrians give him a wide berth. He was headed to the fire station on the corner of Hope and Clairmont, humming a Billy Joel song as he avoided slush piles and other humans alike.

He posted up against a telephone pole, making sure to breathe so any passers-by would note the cloud of air passing his lips on every exhale and assure themselves that he was human. It was the least he could do. He checked his watch, an old Timex with a cracked face, and shoved his hands in his pockets. Any minute now.

Across the street, a young girl hurried into view from around the corner, her arms full of a bundle. She looked up at the sign over the fire station door, looked down at her bundle, and swallowed hard. A tiny arm rose from the bundle, naked and red. The girl took it and tucked it back inside the blanket. She sniffled, setting the bundle gingerly down on the top step before backing away slowly. One step, then another her eyes remaining on the pile of blankets before her face crumpled and she turned to run, a dry sob echoing down the empty street.

Death pushed off the telephone pole and made his way leisurely across the street. The baby had started to cry, cold now without its mother to hold it and keep its limbs covered. Death looked down at it, feeling its little heartbeat slow. He crouched down, breathing directly onto the child, and knew he was likely making its final moments worse, a wretched thing like him, even if he was trying to provide a little warmth.

Then something unexpected happened. The baby quieted and bright blue eyes opened, holding Death captive in an intense stare. Death couldn’t feel things, he mused, but if it could, surely it would have been charmed by the babe who instead of recoiling from its impending end, raised a hand toward him, beckoning.

Death raised a cautious hand, one finger hooking in that tiny fist and he was surprised at how strong it was, despite the hypothermia. The child held his gaze still, just looking not pleading or frozen in horror and Death glanced at his watch again, noting the time. He looked up at the firehouse door, the sound of laughter dulled by the heavy metal. If only the girl had knocked before she ran. Death looked back to the child, its ethereal stare snagging his again.

Death raised his hand and knocked.

Inside the firehouse, a number of men made an uneasy circle around the strange man holding a bundled infant. Death hadn’t meant to stay but since he’d already gone and messed with the strings of Fate he figured he might as well assure that the child was taken care of.

“You found him on our stoop?”

“Yeah, you know, I figured some poor kid musta left him. Safe harbor and all.”

Death looked around then down at the babe who seemed to be transfixed by Death’s face. Death wondered what he saw, why he wasn’t scared. His little soul was a speck of shining light, strong and hearty though his body was frail with the beginnings of pneumonia settling in his lungs.

“Why didn’t you take him to a hospital?”

Death blinked and the man recoiled slightly. “Well, he was left here, and don’t you have EMTs on staff.”

One of the men seemed to shake himself out of a stupor and stepped closer. He shivered as Death transferred the baby into his arms, the brush of his hand on Death’s coat giving him a sudden vision of fire and smoke and a strange sense of vertigo as if falling through the floor. He coughed, moving to lay the child on the table and it immediately started to cry. Death hovered closer moving into the child’s line of sight and it settled down though still made discontented noises as he was poked and prodded.

“Did you see who dropped him off? A firefighter asked and Death shrugged, hands back in his pockets.

“She was young. Hurried off before I could say anything.”

The firefighter narrowed his eyes but didn’t question it. “Did she say anything? Why she was dumping him? If he had a name?”

Death paused, looking down at the boy whose eyes were on him bright blue as all newborns are but there was an electricity in them. Death laid a gentle hand on the child’s head, feeling the soft down of hair, the fragile skull.

“No,” Death said finally. “But his name,” Death smiled and the child seemed to smile back. “Is Castiel.”

“Cas-tee-what?” One of the fire fighter’s whispered to another and Death turned towards him, causing both men to step back.

“Castiel. The Angel of Thursday.” Death’s thumb swiped across the child’s forehead. “The Angel of Solitude.”

Death was a busy man, lots to attend to and never in the same place for very long. He worked mostly with children, preferring to be the one to usher them to the other side but as time passed he found himself returning to one place over and over.

The child he saved had been adopted almost immediately by a couple who’d lost many children of their own. Death may have pulled a few strings with Fate but the outcome was ideal. Castiel grew up well-loved and cherished by a mother and a father who understood the great gift they’d been given. They even decided to keep his name, something that pleased Death immensely. If he gave the grandparents a few extra years because of it, well that was his business.

It was a windy day at the beginning of spring when Fate suddenly shifted and Death lighted down in Chicago once more. Castiel, climbing around on the jungle gym at the local park, his babysitter on the phone several yards away was forty-five minutes from an untimely end. Death hung back, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket as he watched the scene play out, an older man making his way over. Death eyed the babysitter as the man approached Castiel, holding a leash and collar.

“My dog got out of her leash! Can you help me find her?” The man said, his face drawn in grief but Death saw into his heart and his rage rumbled as thunder in the distance.

“Oh no!” Castiel exclaimed, jumping down and touching the leash in the man’s hand. “I’ll help you find her. I got a dog too. His name is Marshmallow.”

The man offered his hand and Castiel took it.

Death was there in an instant, one hand on the man’s shoulder. When the man looked up, his mouth opened in surprise and he gasped his last breath. Castiel cocked his head to the side at the man crumpled on the ground before he looked up at Death. Death could only stare back.

“What happened?”

Death shifted from foot to foot. “He was a bad man. He wanted to take you.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rose and he looked down at the cooling body on the wood chips. “Is he going to be okay?”

Death fought a smile, eyes flicking to the reaper nearby before waving them away with the man’s wretched soul. “He’s gone to where he belongs.”

Castiel nodded and offered his hand. “Wanna swing with me?”

Death’s neck jerked in surprise but found himself carefully slotting his hand in the child’s and allowing himself to be lead off to the swing set.

“I’m Castiel. What’s your name?”

Death paused thinking back to a time when he had a name. “Dean, I think.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel looked up at him, his face dominated by large blue eyes. “Wait, you think? Don’t you know your own name?”

Death huffed. “Well, no one has used it in… a very long time.” He cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel grabbed onto one chain of a swing and turned to sit in it. “It must be lonely, no one knowing your name.”

Death sat in the swing next to the boy and pursed his lips. “Maybe a little, but it’s not so bad. My work keeps me busy.”

Castiel kicked off with his feet and began pumping his legs, reaching higher. Death lifted his head to watch. “‘Daddy says ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’ I asked him who Jack was.” Castiel let his feet drag along the ground, grinding to a halt and Death felt a smile quirk at his lips as the child’s head tipped to the side in confusion. “But he just laughed.” Castiel’s head righted itself. “Not at me though. Sometimes I’m funny and don’t realize it.”

Death surprised himself with a laugh, the sound carrying on the wind and making the group of people gathering around the corpse by the jungle gym shiver. The babysitter was still on the phone but the commotion was stealing her attention. Death turned to look at Castiel, rocking back and forth in his swing, his eyes on the horizon.

“Hey, just so you know, for next time, any stranger comes up to you asking you to go somewhere with them you kick em in the shin and scream your head off,” Death rested his palm atop the boy’s head and Castiel looked up at him, a small smile playing across his lips. “Capiche?”

Castiel gave a deep nod. “I capiche.” His eyes had found his babysitter who was now frantically searching for him. When her eyes landed on him, Death hid himself from her. “She looks really mad.”

“She’s just scared,” Death replied and Castiel looked over at him. “You wandered off and she didn’t know where you were.” And a guy dropped dead about six feet from where you were playing.

“Castiel!” The babysitter skidded to a halt in the gravel in front of Castiel’s swing, pulling him into her arms. “You scared me.” She picked him up, hooking him on her hip. “Come on we need to go.”

The child heaved a deep sigh as if resigned to his fate. “Okay.” He twisted in her arms, looking back at Death, and gave a small smile. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Bye kiddo.”

The babysitter was already starting to walk away and she snorted, looking over her shoulder then at Castiel. “Who are you talking to.”

“Dean. He’s my new friend.”

Death sat smiling until they were out of sight.

Castiel was eight when his dog Marshmallow was going into his fifteenth year. Death generally let the new recruits handle the animals but on a scorching summer day, he found himself standing at the gate of the big craftsman on the corner where Castiel lived. He looked up at the second-story window, the one he knew to be the young boy’s who was getting bigger every day.

They’d met many times over since that first encounter in the park and to Death’s surprise, Castiel always remembered him and knew him by name. Now seemed to be no exception, the front door opening to release Castiel into the world. His dark hair was an unruly swirl beneath the baseball cap he wore, his matching t-shirt proclaiming he played for the Mustangs, sponsored by Nally Ford.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said with a small smile as he approached. Death smiled back but his eyes caught on the white ball of fluff that was attempting to make his way down the porch steps to follow the boy.

Death let himself in the gate, striding forward and they met halfway, Castiel looking up into Death’s face while Death peered down into his. There was no fear there, no anxiety. There never had been, a wonder Death never could truly comprehend. Marshmallow gave a low growl. Death glanced down at the old dog, barely any teeth left in his head but ready to bite at the smallest provocation. That was about right.

“Marshmallow. No.” Castiel looked down at the dog then back up into the face of Death. “He’s just grumpy because he doesn’t feel good.” Castiel watched as Death crouched down, hand reaching. The growl ceased as Death’s hand hovered over the dog’s head and Castiel squatted down to pet him, hands gentle around the old dog’s ears.

“Yeah, about that,” Death began softly. “This is going to be hard for you to understand, Cas, but Marshmallow is very old.” As he said it, the dog’s eyes sank closed. Castiel rubbed his ears.

“I know.”

Death swallowed hard, his hand moving to hover over the dog’s back and Marshmallow’s legs gave out, his body rolling to the side as he began to pant. Castiel rubbed his belly. “And when dogs get very old, well, they have to go.” Castiel looked up at him. “And when that happens, someone comes to get them.”

Castiel looked down at the dog who was panting, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. He ran his fingers through the curly white fur at his side. “Not the dog catcher…”

Death chuckled. “No, no not the dog catcher. Someone who helps them make the transition to their next journey.”

Castiel continued to play with Marshmallow’s fur. “Who?”

Death licked his lips, sucked in a breath he didn’t need. “They look like ordinary folks, sometimes you can see them, other times you can’t.”

“Like you?”

Death blinked and took a moment to marvel at the feeling of surprise, something he hadn’t felt in eons. “Yes, like me.”

Castiel looked up at him, blue eyes steady but solemn. “You’re here to take him, aren’t you?”

Death swallowed hard, the sorrow in the boy’s voice cutting him deeper than tears ever could. “Yeah, Cas. I’m sorry.”

Castiel sniffled a bit as he looked down, petting down Marshmallow’s side. “You’ll look after him? Wherever you take him? He won’t be alone, right?”

Death placed a hand on the back of Castiel’s neck and waited for a shiver that never came. Finally, he spoke. “Yes, of course, Cas.”

Castiel sucked in a deep breath and sat down on his butt, folding his legs so they butted up against Marshmallow’s legs. “Can I have just a few more minutes?”

Death glanced at his watch and nodded. They sat there, young boy and ancient entity as the dog’s breath became more shallow. Castiel dug his fingers into the thick curls of Marshmallow’s side and folded himself in half, pressing his face to its chest. The dog fussed attempted to lick at Castiel’s ball cap. Castiel breathed in deep and Death found himself doing the same, smelling cut grass, sweat and the musky odor of an animal nearing its end.

“It’s time, Cas,” Death murmured, his voice low and Castiel lifted his head, face tear-stained now, but he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He placed his hands on the dog’s side, looked up at Death, and nodded.

Death allowed the dog to sniff the back of his hand, accepting the feeble lick before he carded his hand through the curls at the top of his head. Castiel’s hands that had been rising and falling with the dog’s labored breath stopped. Death curled his hand and brought it to his chest, holding it there for the feeble soul to feel safe on its journey. His other hand when to the top of Castiel’s head.

“Go get your father. He’ll help you with the ritual.”

“Can’t you stay?” Castiel asked, blue eyes shining with unshed tears and if Death had a heart it would have broken.

“I’ve gotta get Marshmallow to where he belongs.” Dean knuckled away a tear that was making its way down Castiel’s cheek.

“Okay,” Castiel lowered his head, looking at the cooling body of his beloved pet. He looked back up. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Death was unprepared for the boy to wrap his arms around him in a tight squeeze before getting up and walking back towards the house.

Castiel was twenty when his fate changed again and Death nearly didn’t make it in time. In the back seat of a car, driving way too fast down a dark winding road, Death appeared next to him, his face striated in moonlight. Castiel jumped, his reflexes slower with the alcohol in his veins.

“Dean?”

“Cover your face, kid.” Death muttered as he braced his feet against the seat in front of him and threw out an arm.

When they hit the tree at 63 miles per hour Castiel’s body slammed into his arm and Death could feel the ribs break, felt the punctured lung as if it were his own. The driver was halfway through the windshield, another reaper already there to take him. Death waved them away as blood slowly filled Castiel’s lungs.

He coughed, choking on the acrid liquid, unable to get a full breath. His hand twisted in Death’s leather jacket, tugging, blue eyes wide and for the first time Death saw fear there. He couldn’t stand it. He reached past the headrest in front of him, touched the mangled face of the boy there and he immediately stopped breathing.

“You can’t do that!” A voice sharp from outside the car and Death nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned his head to look out the window and found the small blond woman standing there with her clipboard of names. “It’s the other boy’s time, Dean.”

Death glared out at her, throwing open the door. “You got your soul. Get out of here.”

“You reaped the wrong-“

“The hell I did,” Death yelled and every animal in the forest quieted, the wind through the trees died down.

The two of them watched as headlights appeared down the road, slowing when the driver saw the wreckage. Death and Fate stood side by side on the shoulder of the road as the good Samaritan talked to Castiel through the back window, promising him everything would be alright.

“He’ll make it.” Death heaved a sigh, hearing the sirens in the distance.

“Just barely,” Fate muttered, consulting her clipboard. “One of these days you’re going to run out of favors.”

Death turned to look at her. “Not any time soon.”

It was three days later in his half-empty dorm room that Castiel attempted to take his own life. Death arrived just as Castiel kicked the chair out of the way, his body falling with an extension cord wrapped tight around his neck right into Death’s arms. A quick flick of his pocket knife and Death had freed Castiel, laying him gently down on the floor as he coughed and sobbed.

“No! Take me! I want to die!” Castiel twisted onto his knees, grabbing onto Death’s legs and hugging them tightly. “Please. I can’t take it. The guilt, it’s too much!”

Death ran his fingers through Castiel’s unruly hair. “It’s not your time.”

“It was my time,” Castiel wiped at his face, fury in his eyes as he glared up at the ancient entity. “I heard you and that lady talking. She said you reaped the wrong one!”

“You hit your head pretty hard, kid.”

Castiel wiped at his face furiously, getting his trembling legs under him. “I know what you are. What you do.”

Death brought himself to his full height, leveling Castiel with his most pensive stare. “Do you?”

“I’ve always known,” Castiel spit. “And I never cared. You were always my…” Castiel trailed swallowing hard. “My friend. But this, I can’t take this Dean.”

“Why can’t you just be grateful,” Death huffed holding out his arms.

Castiel’s face went slack with shock. “You kill the man I love instead of me and I’m supposed to be grateful?”

Death’s mouth popped open, surprised again, that made twice in a single decade now. “Your… the man you loved? Wow, how did I miss that?”

“You miss a lot of things,” Castiel spit, his eyes hard.

Death rubbed his mouth. “When-“

“Since I was a child,” Castiel heaved a sigh. “Look don’t try to change the subject. I was dying already, Dean!” Castiel’s fists were clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you let me go? Why’d you have to take him? He was everything to me. How could you not know that?”

Death rubbed the back of his neck, “Life isn’t really under my purview, kid.”

“What about love then?” Castiel got right in his face, nose to nose, and Death stood stock still.

“I know it when I see it.”

“Then you must have been blind that night.” Castiel spun away, running his hands through his hair. “I can’t do this. Please. Take me.”

“No.”

“Why? Why not?”

“I told you. It’s not your time.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you have some weird obsession with me?” Castiel strode right up into what a human would call their personal space. “What is it about me huh? Why me? Why don’t you latch on to some other poor bastard?”

Death swallowed hard. “I can go if you’d like.”

Castiel let out a humorless laugh. “Stay. Go. What do I care?” He let himself fall onto his bed, face buried in his pillow while Death stood watch.

Death didn’t see much of Castiel after that or more like Castiel didn’t see much of him. He’d check in every now and then, saw him graduate college, move to the east coast, fall in love and get his heart broken only to fall in love again. Through it all Death stood watch, sometimes with Fate at his side, like at Castiel’s wedding.

“I could step in,” Fate murmured, an offer she wasn’t likely to make twice but Death shook his head, watching as Castiel beamed with happiness after kissing his husband.

It wasn’t long after that they met again in a hospital just north of Chicago. It was nearing midnight and no one was around. Castiel was sitting with his mother, his husband and father had gone home hours before but Castiel insisted on staying. Neither could understand why Castiel refused to leave her side but didn’t question it. Castiel was a good son who loved his mother very much.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said as Death hovered in the doorway. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“I tried to wait for you to leave,” Death mumbled, looking down at his boots as he tapped his toe on the floor.

“Why?”

Death looked up and found Castiel’s head canted to the side, and he couldn’t help but smile. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms when we last spoke.”

Castiel looked down at his mother’s hand, so small and frail in his own. He cleared his throat. “You were right. I should have been grateful.”

“It was a callous thing to say when you were grieving.”

Castiel snorted. “That’s true.” He huffed a sigh. “But ultimately you were right. I didn’t love him. I didn’t know what love was then. Not that kind of love anyway.” Castiel ran his thumb over the thin blue veins of his mother’s hand. “How much longer does she have?”

Death checked his watch. “We’ve got a few more minutes.”

“Then sit.”

Death did, across the bed from Castiel and took in the changes, the strands of gray in his hair, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes and mouth.

“You know you look exactly the same as I remember you when I was four.”

Death grinned. “All that clean living.”

Castiel snorted, a grin pulling at his own lips before it faded. “You’ll take care of her?”

Death nodded. “Of course.”

Castiel squinted, opening his mouth then closing it again. Death heaved a sigh. “Go ahead. Ask whatever you want to ask me.”

Castiel’s cheeks bloomed a lovely pink that Death would see in every sunrise from that moment on. “How’s Marshmallow?”

Death blinked. “I give you one question to ask me whatever you want and you ask about your damn dog?”

Castiel frowned. “I loved that dog.”

Death rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Marshmallow is doing great. Has lots of doggy friends.”

A small smile tugged at Castiel’s lips. “Good. I hope Mom gets to see him.”

“I’ll make sure she does.”

“I’m ready.”

Death gave a small nod, waiting a beat to watch Castiel breath in steadily, his eyes on his mother’s face. Death reached forward, fingers brushing a white curl from her forehead before resting his palm there gently. One of the monitors began to scream. A nurse bustled in quickly, checking in and ultimately turning off the sound, standing by as the old woman took her last breaths. Death took her soul and cradled it to his chest.

“Take care of her,” Castiel whispered and Death gave him a solemn nod before he went on his way.

It wasn’t long after that Fate dealt Castiel another bad hand and Death had arrived to do his duty. Castiel’s husband laid prone on a hospice bed, his once strong body frail and hairless, ravaged by a disease Death hated almost more than he hated himself. Death came into the room unannounced, stood by Castiel’s side as silent tears ran down his face.

Death checked his watch.

“I can feel you.”

Death nearly fell over in shock. Third time in as many decades. Damn.

“Don’t hide, Dean. I’ve been expecting you.”

“I tried.” Death placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I tried but I’m out of favors.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel sniffled, his own hand coming up to cover the cool one on his shoulder and Death felt the warmth as if it were the sun. “How much time do we have?”

“Couple minutes.”

Castiel nodded, leaning forward and placing a hand on his husband’s shoulder, giving him a light shake. He gasped awake, eyes hazy with pain and medication but something in them still blazed when they landed on Castiel.

“Honey, I want you to meet someone. Can you see him? Next to me.” Castiel turned, looking up at Death, and licked his dry lips.

“Yes,” Castiel’s husband croaked. “He’s just as handsome as you said.”

Castiel let out a watery laugh, glancing up at Death who was not blushing as he reached up to rub his ear. “He’s here for you.”

Castiel’s husband nodded solemnly. “About time.”

Castiel let out a quiet sob and immediately tried to shove it back into his mouth. His husband squeezed his hand as Death squeezed his shoulder.

“Come on now. This ain’t the end. I’ll see you. Hopefully not too soon?” Castiel’s husband lifted his brows and Death gave him a small smile.

“Not if I have anything to do with it.”

Castiel was leaning over, pressing his forehead to his husband’s and breathing slow in his nose and out his mouth, barely hanging on. Death stepped forward, hand covering the one that Castiel held. One final gasp and then the room was silent. Castiel gave a soft cry, feeling warmth rush through him, love and light and something so bright it almost burned. And then it was gone.

Death pulled the soul close to his chest, his other hand lighting on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel glanced up into the face of Death but was immediately distracted by the small ball of light in his hand. Castiel looked up and Death nodded in answer to his question. Castiel let go of the hand in his and wrapped his arms around himself as the tears came hot and fast.

“Can you please stay?”

Death shifted from foot to foot. “I need to take care of him. But I can come back.”

“Please hurry.”

Death wasn’t really the type to hang around any one place too long but for years after Castiel’s husband’.s transition, he found himself irrevocably drawn to Castiel. He’d always been to a certain extent but the man’s grief had worn down all his defenses, all his excuses to stay away. For once Death was welcomed into a home with open arms.

They sat on the couch and watched bad television. Death had a strange obsession with Dr. Sexy that Castiel found hilarious. Death tolerated all of Castiel’s terrible nature documentaries. It was one night as Castiel was going up the stairs to bed that he paused, looking back at Death who was putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I love you, Dean. You know that right?”

Death stood stock still and he’d be goddamned if it hadn’t happened again. He looked up to find Castiel just standing there on the third step, gaze just as intense as it had been when he’d first laid eyes on him as an infant. He didn’t have to say it. Neither of them did so Castiel just gave him a small smile and continued his ascent up the stairs. And that night, Death followed.

It was both the worst and best day of his tenure when Castiel’s time was finally up. Fate in her fussy suit with her obnoxious clipboard arrived to stand at the end of the hospital bed where Castiel lay, Death at his side.

“No more favors. No more tricks,” Fate said softly and Death looked away from the face of his beloved, aged and creased as it was now, while his was permanently stuck as youthful and smooth.

“Can I keep him?” Death asked, staring into the eyes of Fate and daring to hope. “I know it’s not ever been done. I know this is a one-person gig but…” Death looked back upon the only face he’d ever loved, into the only eyes that had ever truly seen him. “Just this once, can I keep him?”

Fate gave him a small smile. “Yes, Dean. He’s yours to keep.”

So Death and his companion were joined at the human’s crossing, bound by Fate herself to walk through eternity together. Sure they quarreled, sometimes even spending a few decades apart but the string that tethered them was unbreakable, a fact Death loved to remind his younger counterpart of.

It’s said that when a couple dies within hours of each other they’re always accompanied by another couple, two men, handsome and young, looking more in love than any cosmic entities had a right to be.

#suptober21 #destiel #supernatural #fanfic: supernatural #deancas #character death #the dog dies sorry #writing by me

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stormcrawler75 · 3 years

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Blood of the Sea Part One

Summary: Virgil leaves his parents behind as he sets out to the one place he remembered feeling safe at. Little does he know, there’s a study going on at that sanctuary. And he just became part of it.

Notes: . . . Hey, guys! I’m still alive and posting TS. Just taken over by the MHA bug. I’ll reblog this with my taglist once I find it, promise. This is the spiritual rewrite to A New Kind of Experiment. Not a Rewrite really but definitely influenced by it. Updates will be slow but they’ll be there. Hope you like it!

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The moon was high and full on the night that Virgil crept out of his bedroom with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and his father’s car keys gripped tightly in his hand. It was a good thing that it was. It helped him walked down the hallways without tripping on anything and alerting his parents to what he was doing. It would be hard to explain what exactly he was doing at midnight with a bag full of clothes, money, and pieces of pizza stuffed into a container. It would be even harder to explain what he was doing with the keys to his father’s prized Acura.

Not that Virgil really had an explanation other than he was scared and needed to leave. He knew that after the conversation with his dad the other day that he couldn’t stay until it was time to go to College. Virgil wasn’t sure that his heart could take it.

He vividly remembered the tense, one sided conversation that had taken place just a few days earlier. Virgil had sat in the kitchen and listened with a blank stare as his father laid out exactly what would happen if he ever disrespected him again. He knew even then that he couldn’t wait the two months until College started. It was time for him to leave.

A part of Virgil thought that he might be blowing this entire thing out of proportion, but he knew that he wasn’t. His father had never made empty threats before and Virgil really doubted that he was going to start now. It was time for Virgil to leave. Unknown to his father, his college tuition was already paid for and, thanks to his Uncle Janus, he had a place to stay. He just needed a place to stay for the two weeks until his Uncle could come pick him up. Virgil couldn’t exactly bring a stolen car to his Uncle’s house. His Father would blame Uncle Janus for everything just like he always did, and Virgil would be brought right back to square one.

Virgil winced as the stairs creaked and he paused, only relaxing when he heard the sounds of his father snoring. He kept walking until he got to the front door, carefully and quietly opening it. Virgil closed the door behind him, letting out a breath that he hadn’t realized that he had been holding until just then. Hopefully things would be easy from here on out.

Virgil quietly snorted. Who the hell did he think that he was? His father? He had the blood of the sea in him, just like his Uncle, and nothing ever came easy to those with the blood of the sea.

Virgil thought back to the memory where he had learnt about the blood of the sea. His uncle Janus had taken him out for fishing when he was just a toddler and before Virgil’s parents had cut him out of their and Virgil’s, lives outside of polite Holiday phone calls. Virgil had gripped his Uncle’s best rod, Uncle Janus behind him with his hands pressed over Virgil’s and reeled in a cod. Though, Virgil thought back in amusement, it had been more of his Uncle’s catch than his. But that wasn’t what his Uncle had claimed.

“Would you look at that,” Uncle Janus had laughed, grinning down at the toddler proudly. He ruffled Virgil’s hair with one hand, holding up the cod with the other and showing it off to the family who was having a beach day. “My little nephew caught himself a cod, first try! I knew I wasn’t the only one with the blood of the sea in me, Virgil. You’ll be allowed out on the boat with me in no time, won’t he,” he asked, directing the question to Virgil’s mother who had been nursing a glass of wine.

“Oh, I think he’s a bit young for that,” she had said dismissively, offering a placid smile. She looked away from him, seemingly having given up all of her energy to care. “He doesn’t even know how to swim. And I don’t want you teaching him either,” she said firmly. “He’s not ready for that.”

Uncle Janus glanced down at Virgil and winked, like they were two men sharing a secret and not Uncle and nephew. “She doesn’t understand one bit, Virgil, my boy. She doesn’t have the blood of the sea in her. Not like you and me. Just wait until you’re older.”

“What does that mean,” Virgil asked softly, reaching up to tug at his Uncle’s sleeve. “What’s blood of the sea?”

Uncle Janus grinned, crouching down in front of him, his scar crinkling a little with the movement. “It means that we were descended from the people of Atlantis,” he stage whispered, making Virgil’s eyes go wide. He laughed and grinned. “Your father has it too but,” he rolled his eyes, “my older brother doesn’t believe in all of that.”

“The people of Atlantis drowned, Janus,” his father huffed from his place on the docks, rolling his eyes. He took a long drink of beer before calling, “You better not be filling my boy’s head with nonsense about Atlantis and mermaids.”

Virgil gasped softly, standing on his toes. “Mermaids?”

Janus smirked, calling back to his brother, “Not all of them drowned, Ajax. And they’re not all mermaids, Virgil. There are men down there too. But we share the blood of the people of Atlantis. If our ancestors didn’t leave the city in time, we’d be down there with the rest of them.”

His father sighed, waving Virgil over. “Stop listening to all of that, Virgil. Atlantis isn’t real and neither are mermaids. Come sit with me.”

“But-“

His father’s voice hardened, turning unyielding. “Now, Virgil.”

Virgil left his Uncle’s side and went to sit by his father. He smiled though when his Uncle whispered, “I’ll tell you more later.”

That was the last time that he had talked to his Uncle face to face.

Virgil didn’t believe in mermaids. He didn’t believe in any drowned city. But he did believe in good luck and knowing when it was time to leave, just like his ancestors. He wasn’t about to drown under his parents’ influence. He was the blood of the sea and it was time to swim.

Virgil opened the back door of the Acura, tossing the duffle bag into it quietly. There was two other duffle bags and a computer bag that he had snuck out there after dinner. He slipped into the front seat and winced as he slid the keys into the slot and turned on the engine. He waited for the longest moment of his life and when he didn’t see any lights turning on in the house, he slowly drove down the driveway. Within minutes, he was on the highway and driving away from his house. His former house.

Virgil let out a long breath, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He didn’t think that he was going to relax completely until he was far away from the city. He could drop the car off at a garage not too far out and then he’d catch the bus. It helped that Virgil knew exactly where he was going too. He might not have a plan, but he had a place to lay low until he thought of one.

He didn’t even turn on the radio, too afraid of drawing any attention to himself. Virgil was too anxious for that. He stayed on the right side of the speed limit, knowing that he was screwed if a police officer pulled him over for speeding. The ride to the garage was tense and quiet, Virgil gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He pulled into the parking lot of the garage, pulling his hood over his face to keep it hidden. Not that it really mattered. His parents would know exactly who had stolen the car. Whether they’d care to report it was another matter entirely. His mother would swoon at the very thought.

Imagine what the neighbours might say!

Virgil wasn’t sure if all of this secrecy was really necessary. Would his parents really care if he left? A major part of him thought that they were just going to wash their hands of him but a small part of him almost wished that they would care. That they’d come looking for him to bring him home. It was just a pipe dream though. Once his father found his baby at the garage, they’d pretend that he never existed.

That was for the best. Virgil wouldn’t be leaving in the dead of the night if it wasn’t. He grabbed all three of his duffle bags with one hand, wincing a little at the weight and grabbed his computer bag with the other. He locked the car doors, ducked his head to hide from any cameras, and hurried out of the parking lot. It was just a few blocks from the 24/7 bus station. He’d relax then.

Virgil moved from a trot to a run when he saw the bus at the station, calling out, “Hold the bus,” frantically. If he missed the bus now, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Luckily, the bus didn’t drive off, waiting for Virgil to awkwardly scramble onto the bus and dig out his free bus pass. He had been saving this pass for forever and it was time to use it.

There was only one other person on the bus besides the obviously sleep deprived bus driver. They looked like a drunk college student, staring out the window with half lidden eyes. At least Virgil wouldn’t have to worry about either of these two saying anything about seeing him.

Virgil settled into one of the front seats, dropping his bags into the seat next to him. He curled up in his seat, hugging his knees to his chest. No turning back now. It was either sink or swim from this point on and the blood of the sea didn’t sink.

“Last stop, Divergent Springs! Last Stop, Divergent Springs!”

Virgil jerked up, scrambling out of his seat. He had been dozing and nearly missed what the bus driver had said the first time. Virgil nodded to the bus driver and hurried off the bus, nearly tripping on his last step in his haste. He sighed in relief when the bus drove down the road and disappeared from sight. It felt like he could finally breathe now. He was safe.

He hitched his bags up on his shoulders and started walking. The sun was just rising, meaning that it was around five or six o’clock. There wasn’t anyone walking around the small town, but Virgil walked at a brisk pace, wanting to go to where he was going before anyone saw him. There was a lot of things that Virgil had to do now that he was on his own. And the first thing that he had to do was to find his family’s old beach house.

He didn’t remember it that much. The last time he had seen his Uncle face to face was the last time he had seen the old beach house. Virgil couldn’t really remember why they ever stopped going except his mother complaining about how the beach hair made her hair frizz. But Virgil had a very fuzzy memory of a fight Uncle Janus and his father had at beach house the last night they had spent there.

“I told you not to fill his head with all of that non-sense, Janus, I told you! There’s no such thing as this blood of the sea or mermaids or any of that! You’re sound like Ya-ya and that’s not a compliment!”

“What’s the harm in telling him stories, Ajax? He’s four, nearly five, he’s not going to run off to find mermaids just because I tell him a few stories! And what’s wrong with those stories? Do you think you’re better than the rest of us for not believing in this, Ajax? Why can’t he learn about his family?”

“Because none of it is true! Tell him stories about Pops being a Doctor or me starting up my own business! Tell him of Ya-Ya arriving to the country with only six dollars in her pocket! Stop telling him stories about something that never even happened! Atlantis wasn’t real, it never drowned! Our family lived in Greece before Ya-Ya moved to America! She told us stories about Atlantis because we were little kids but none of it was ever real! There’s no such thing as Blood of the sea, what the fuck does that even mean?”

“You know what it means, Ajax. You know what it means. And that’s exactly why you refuse to teach Virgil how to-“

“You’re insane! You’re fucking insane, Janus! You know what, don’t bother taking me and Virgil out fishing tomorrow, we’ll be gone by lunch tomorrow.”

Virgil shook his head and pushed the memory out of his mind. It didn’t matter anymore. Whatever the reason, Virgil hasn’t been to the beach house for over ten years at this point. The only person who ever used it was his Uncle, who was currently spending his summer in Greece with their distance family, which was why Virgil was here instead of calling his Uncle immediately to come help him. He’d rather live out of a beach house alone for two months then spend another two months with his family, tense and just waiting to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and have his father take away everything from him. Virgil was seventeen, eighteen in a few months, almost an adult. He could do this, he could do this. His Great-Grandmother was only sixteen when she came over here. If she could make a life for herself then so could Virgil.

Virgil let out a shaky breath when he saw a sign pointing in the direction of the beach, the words, “Lineage Beach,” faded a little from time. He could see the little beach house from the road and Virgil quickened his pace to get to it. The beach house looked just like it had when Virgil was a kid, Uncle Janus refusing to let it go to ruin. Virgil remembered Janus mentioning once that he came out here a lot, not just during summer. And just a few months ago, when Virgil had initially called his Uncle for help when things at home was getting more and more tense, Janus had mentioned off hand that he paid the bills for the beach house year round just in case he wanted to spend a weekend down there. Virgil wouldn’t have to worry about electricity, plumbing, or even WIFI.

It was a relief, one that almost matched the relief of Virgil realizing that he remembered the correct place where Janus kept the spare key. Right where it always was, and where Virgil remembered his father complaining about the stupid hiding spot, underneath the little sea serpent statue that Janus had brought and placed in front of the beach house. Virgil tilted it and grabbed the spare key taped on the bottom.

Hey, no one had broken in yet.

Virgil unlocked the door and walked in, sighing a little in relief. The beach house was a little smaller than he remembered, a little chilly from the heat not being on. But it made him relax. He was safe now. His father wouldn’t think to come here to look for him. Not at the place that Virgil hadn’t been to since he was a toddler. He’d think that Virgil wouldn’t even remember this place. Luckily, he was wrong.

He dropped his bags off by the door, closing it behind him. Virgil stretched and winced at the crick in his neck from sleeping on the bus. He quickly turned the heat up a little, not too much, just enough to get the chill out of the house. He grabbed his computer bag, pulling out his computer, charger, and the small jar packed to the brim with money. He had spent the last three years working at a local diner and saving his tips. He thought that he was going to be saving it for something for himself but this would have to do.

There was almost four hundred dollars packed inside of the jar and it was going to have to last him two months for food. Lucky for him, Virgil had done well enough in school to get a scholarship for the art school he had been accepted into and his Uncle had already said that he could live with him during College. He could spend this money without any worry for the future. But that was an issue for later.

Virgil plugged his computer in, put the jar on the coffee table, and collapsed onto the old, mustard colour couch. He was so exhausted that he drifted off to sleep immediately, the smell of the sea sending him off to a dreamless sleep.

“Patty, Darling, I love you. But if you don’t get back to base to rest soon then I’m going to lose it.”

Patton rolled his eyes from his station not too far out from the beach, staring out at the Human dwelling. He had binoculars pressed against his eyes and was watching the figure poking around the house closely. “Give me just a few more minutes, Remy. I want to see what’s this Human is doing.” He lowered the binoculars and breathed in deeply. The ocean air filled his lungs and so did the scent of the Human.

Whoever this Human was, they belonged to the same pod as the Human who was here regularly. Patton couldn’t see the Human that well from where he was treading water, but he was fairly sure that this was a hatchling. What was a hatchling doing out at this hour without a member of their pod? He knew that Humans let their Hatchling out of the pod earlier than Atlanteans did but really. At this hour?! Horrible.

Remy sighed from behind him, pushing himself closer and plucking the binoculars from Patton’s hand, tucking them into his front pocket carefully. He ignored the huff of his friend and poked at Patton’s tail gently. Patton was small, 3’6”, with pale skin, curly blond hair, dark blue eyes, and a yellow seahorse tail that curled at the end. “C’mon, Pat. The Humans are going to be up soon, and you’ve been studying this beach for the past ten hours.” He arched an eyebrow when Patton pouted. “Hey, you said when you were stationed at this post that you’d listened to Explorers first and foremost, remember? You promised.”

“. . . Five more minutes?”

“Sea snakes, you’re going to be the death of me,” Remus groaned, throwing his head back. He tilted back and floated on his back, flapping water at Patton lazily with his tail. He was tall, his long pink dolphin tail only adding his height. Compared to Patton, he was a giant. He had dark brown skin, dark brown eyes. with long almost black hair pulled into a ponytail. “Fine, just a few more minutes,” he grumbled.

Patton grinned at him, patting Remy’s tail gently and pulling out the pad from the bag slung around his shoulder. “Thank you, Rem.” He clicked his tongue and called out, “Nelly!” He grinned when he felt something nudge his tail, reaching down trustingly and grabbing the fin of the dolphin below him. The dolphin pulled him underneath the water and swam in the direction that Patton pointed to. They swam closer to the beach, watching the Human dwelling closely. The hatchling had gone inside of the dwelling at this point, hopefully waiting for their pod to return before venturing out again.

Patton wrote a few observations down on his pad, glancing up every so often. It wasn’t so often that a scientist got to observe a Human, let alone one with the Blood of the Sea in them. And now Patton got to observe a hatchling with the Blood of the sea in them too. And people said that this station would be boring.

#Storm Writes #virgil sanders #patton sanders #remy sanders #Blood of the Sea #sanders sides

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frenchbreads-writing · 4 years

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Enji’s Gratitiude {Endeavor | Enji Todoroki}

Anonymous: Hi, I was wondering if you'd be fine with doing an Endeavor x Male Reader where the reader is already engaged to Enji, but not many people know? Shouto is cool with him and greets him when he comes to be a guest teacher/sub for Class 1-A. I'm bad at explaining lol.

Hi everyone! I’m so sorry that it’s been over an entire MONTH since I last posted. I’ve been struggling finding motivation to write and with my classes starting online I have less free time which sucks ass.

So here’s one of my requests I feel like I deviated from the original idea?? Idk but anyways

I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Endeavor x Male reader

Words: 2.1k (2,112 )

Warning(s): None

Requests: 3/5 slots

(Y/H/N)= Your hero name

Masterlist

Rules

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

Ever since the incident at Camino, it was normal to see a different teacher during All Mights Foundational Hero Studies class. But the class never had the same substitute twice.

Mostly because the teachers were active pro heroes that had to do their jobs.

You were one of these substitutes today.

You were walking down the hallway to the teachers’ lounge after kissing Enji goodbye at the gate said man has been working late for a while now it was.. concerning, to say the least.

You were thinking of ways to help Enji when you spotted Shouto walking to class.

You rushed over to him and slung your arm around his shoulder.

“Hey, kiddo!”

He stiffened before relaxing when he realized it was you.

“Hello, (Y/N) good morning.”

You rolled your eyes ‘Always so serious’

“How’s life been treating you lately?”

You hugged him closer to you as you pulled him along the hallway.

“I’ve needed help with homework lately and my b-friend Midoriya has been helping me.”

A splash of pink appeared on his cheeks.

“So I guess other than that it’s been fine. How about you?”

You noticed his slip up but didn’t comment on it. He’ll tell you about it when he’s ready.

“It’s been fine but your father has been hounding me about being ‘more professional’ in his agency.”

“I don’t want to act all buddy-buddy with some stuck up interns.”

You sighed.

“But I guess it’s still kind of my job.”

You saw the teachers’ lounge coming up ahead so you pulled away from Shouto.

“This is my stop you should get going to class.”

Shouto nodded as he waved goodbye.

Walking through the door you were immediately wrapped up in cloth.

“You’re late.”

You looked up to meet a pair of tired eyes staring back at you.

“Sorry about that Shouta, I got held up on the way here.”

He sighed as he unraveled the cloth and handed you a folder.

“Here’s your lesson plan and I also assume you memorized the student roster?”

You nodded and grabbed the folder but couldn’t take it from his grasp.

“Dude I can’t study the lesson if you don’t give it to me.”

“I forgot to mention something.”

You looked at him expectantly.

“The bell rings in 5 minutes.”

You paused processing what he said.

“W-what?!”

“If you run you could probably make it in time.”

you cursed and immediately bolted out of the room.

Present Mic leaned over to Aizawa.

“Wait, class doesn’t start for another 20 minutes.”

A grin spread on Aizawa’s face.

“I know.”

You had just made it to the door when you felt your phone vibrate. Pulling it out revealed that you received a message from Enji telling you to pick up some stuff from the market before heading home. But what caught your eye was the time.

15 minutes left until the bell.

You groaned and bumped your head on the door. You had to meet the students anyway and you were already there so you might as well do it now.

Stepping into the room all of the talking ceased and the students’ eyes were on you.

“Hello, I’m (Y/H/N) I’m going to be your Foundational Hero Studies substitute for this week. If any of you have any questions for me don’t hesitate to ask I won’t bite… Much.”

Several students shouted their questions at once.

“Woah! Calm down you guys one at a time please!”

But it seemed that your plea fell on deaf ears.

Iida jumped from his seat to the front of the class arms up frantically chopping the air.

“Everyone settle down the teacher is trying to gain your attention!”

That did the trick now they’re back to looking at you.

“Thank you, Iida.”

He nodded and went back to his seat.

“Now you can ask me a few questions but please raise your hands first and I’ll choose one of you.”

The class was quiet for a moment before several hands were raised.

You pointed towards the blonde with a black lightning bolt printed in his hair.

“Where are you from?”

“Tokyo, it’s really nice there.”

A girl with pink skin and horns jumped up.

“What do you like to do for a hobby?”

“I like to cook, spicy pork dumplings are my favorite.”

Shouto raised his hand, what could he possibly want to know?

You pointed to him.

“Can you make cold soba for dinner tonight?”

You hummed.

“You got it, oh and also, your dad asked me to pick up some stuff from the store on the way home do you want to come?”

He nodded.

The rest of the class was in confused silence.

“Wait, are you.. dating his dad?!”

Kaminari yelled.

“No actually, he’s my husband.”

The class erupted into shouting.

“How long have you and Todoroki’s dad been married!?”

You thought for a moment.

“Our 1 year anniversary was about a month ago.”

Everyone looked at Shouto and he nodded.

And once again the class began shouting.

You sighed, this was going to be a long week.

You groaned as you pushed the front door to your home closed it with your foot, slipping off your shoes at the door and walking into the kitchen placing the groceries on the counter.

You went into your room and slipped off your hero suit replacing it with comfortable baggy clothes.

Shouto had changed his mind about going shopping to stay after school with Midoriya so you had gone shopping alone. He promised to be there by the time dinner was ready and nighttime patrol was more troublesome than usual.

“I can handle dinner.”

Hearing Fuyumi’s voice caused you to turn and face her.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded

“Dad’s in his office.”

You thanked her and walked past her.

Knocking on the office door you waited until you heard a gruff “Come in.” Before quietly sliding the door open.

You were met with Enji slumped over his desk writing away on what must be reports from his hero agency.

You simply watched him from the doorway before walking up behind him and wrapping your arms gently around his neck placing a soft kiss on the base of his skull.

He stopped his writing to sigh and lean into your touch.

Enji pulled away to spin his chair around.

Now that you were able to see his face he had dark circles beginning to form underneath his eyes. He had always worked hard but now that All Might has officially retired and he is now the number 1 hero he’s been pushing himself even harder so he can fill the space All Might left.

You placed a hand on his cheek, caressing the scar that marked the left side of his face. He leaned into your hand placing his hands your waist gently pulling you onto his lap.

Leaning forward you pressed soft kisses on his scar slowly moving lower kissing the corner of his mouth before pressing a deep gentle kiss on his lips.

Enji sighed through his nose as he pulled you closer.

You pulled away from the kiss and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“You should take a break, Fuyumi and I will make dinner and Shouto will be here in a while.”

You were about to stand up when he pulled you closer burying his face into your chest breaths uneven and hands shaky.

“Just, a few more moments.. please?”

You didn’t answer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and holding him tight.

He may have been a brave, strong hero. But even he needed comfort.

You hugged him until his breathing came out slow and even and his hold around your waist loosened.

“Thank you, (Y/N)”

He looked up at you and you met his gaze.

You smiled and patted his cheek.

“I’m always here if you need me, now.”

You pulled away from him.

“I need to help Fuyumi with dinner. Go rest I’ll come get you when we’re done.”

Enji watched your form retreated through the door and sighed.

He stood up and made his way to yours and his shared room and laid down sinking into the soft mattress.

His gaze drifted to a framed picture resting on the nightstand.

You had smirked with your middle finger up while Enji simply glared at the camera.

That was the first real picture you had taken together that wasn’t an awkward angled photo taken by the paparazzi.

‘I don’t deserve him.’

He thought to himself.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

You had just finished dinner when you decided to check on Enji.

He was out like a light on the bed.

You smiled and sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

You ran your fingers through his hair massaging as you went.

You wished he didn’t push himself so hard but he was a stubborn man but then again you were just as stubborn when you’re passionate about something you care about.

And right now, you just want to help Enji as much as you could.

You stared as his features before gently shaking him awake.

He groaned and peeled his eyes open.

“Dinner’s ready, Shouto and Fuyumi are waiting for us at the table.”

He nodded and moved to stand up.

The two of you made your way to the dining table Where Shouto and Fuyumi were quietly chatting and sat down.

You immediately joined them in conversation while Enji quietly began eating.

Having dinner alone with his children always lead to silence and a tense atmosphere but with you there, you bridged the gap between them allowing them to connect. Even just a little.

No one mentioned it but they were all grateful.

You were the reason their relationship has been improving slowly but surely.

The only one who has been reluctant to repair the relationship had been Natsuo.

But you made it clear that he didn’t have to forgive his father if he didn’t want to. You merely encouraged him to be civil and recognize the change Enji had gone through.

And when he inevitably started crying from frustration and anger. You held him even when he began sobbing out loud saying how much he hated him.

You simply told him that’s fine and it’s his choice to do what he wanted.

Since then you and Natsuo talked over the phone sometimes and when he visits he sits near you or his siblings.

It seemed that you were a missing piece in the Todoroki family.

Dinner went smoothly, Enji even had a few decent moments with Shouto and Fuyumi before conversation died down and dinner was finished and everyone cleaned up and went to their rooms.

Enji slipped out of his shirt as soon as the door closed while you plopped down in the middle of the bed.

You held out your arms beckoning him.

He quietly slid into the bed lying on his stomach and placing his head on your chest.

The two of you sat in silence with nothing but the sound of breathing and your heartbeat in Enji’s ear.

“Thank you.”

You simply smiled and asked:

“For what?”

He thought for a moment.

“For being here and helping me even though I don’t deserve it.”

Enji turned his head to face you.

“You make me want to be a better person I had made such a terrible mistake and I wouldn’t blame you if you had decided to turn the other way. But you stayed and you push me to become a better person every day. And for that I’m grateful.”

You were at a loss for words.

The most emotionally vulnerable he’s been was when he confessed his deeds to you.

But right now he was being so earnest and looking at you with so much love in his eyes, It was a bit overwhelming.

You felt tears prickle in your eyes but you wiped them and hugged Enji closer to your chest.

You were glad to have made a positive change in his life.

“I’ll always be here for you.”

You laid your head back and felt Enji resume placing his head on your chest.

The two of you laid there basking in each others’ warmth.

It was when you were on the verge of unconsciousness when you heard Enji speak.

“I love you so much.”

It was just a whisper obviously not meant to be heard by you. But it melted your heart nonetheless.

“I love you too, Enji.”

The two of you fell asleep, content, and at peace, knowing the two of you meant the world to each other.

#frenchbread's writing #enji todoroki #todoroki enji #enji x male reader #todoroki enji x male reader #bnha x male reader #mha x male reader #endeavor x male reader #endeavor x reader #enji x reader #enji todoroki x reader #todoroki enji x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #FBW Enji’s Gratitude

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slashbitch2 · 3 years

Text

Wavelength

slight nsfw warning ;)

Eve had always felt that she stood out from those around her. That in every situation, in every group and at every point in her life, she was walking round on an entirely different wavelength. Although, living this way wasn't as direly lonely as it sounded, rather she learnt to appreciate the few and far apart moments with company. When someone would, for just a split second, understand her.

The first person to ever make her feel this way, and regrettably the only for a very long time, was Ted. He'd swept her off her feet and into a less isolated world, a concept so unfamiliar at the time that she'd allowed herself be dragged out to sea. Then there was Brandon, who she was told would change her whole world. And he did, for a while.

Brandon was her life preserver until his priorities changed; until Mother's day cards became Valentines day cards, movie nights were exchanged for house parties and homework for alcohol. But Eve wasn't the kind of mom to act as though this behaviour was unwarranted and abhorrent, so she let him wedge the door shut and clear his search history. She could cope with a little more distance.

Then along came Ted's affair, their crumbling marriage and eventual divorce. Before she knew it, she was drowning.

The all too familiar feeling of solitude reappeared, completely devastating for her when Brandon left for college. However, this time she swore that she wouldn't let it overwhelm her, and did everything possible to prevent herself from sinking. Which initially started with a class at a community college, and ended with her lying in the arms of both her colleague Amanda, and classmate Julian. And yet, after they'd hurriedly packed up their things and left, she felt no better.

Brandon was sitting on the porch when she found him later. His back was turned to her, but the hunched up posture and awkward shuffling said more than enough. In that moment, Eve reverted back to her old way of thinking. She came to the conclusion that she'd failed as a mother, that her mistake was unforgivable despite the years of morose behaviour and selfish demeanour Brandon had subjected her to.

For retribution, she removed Julian's number from her contacts, predicting that he wouldn't be able cope with remaining friends. He too immature, still in that irrational sulky stage of adolescence. Next, she specified to Amanda that what happened was a one time thing, though she was already way ahead of Eve, chatting casually like nothing had taken place that weekend. Her easy-going reaction was a nice break from the prevailing tension with Brandon, which she then mentioned to her friend.

She tried to casually bring the subject up in the same manner that she imagined Amanda would if the roles were reversed, acting like the issue was nothing to do with her.

"As much as I hate to use such an outdated phrase," Her friend said. "boys will be boys. "

Eve chuckled, though the general concern weighing down on her shoulders meant it came out as more of a scoff. "You can say that again."

There's a brief lull in conversation as Eve disinterestedly taps away at her phone while Amanda sips thoughtfully at her coffee. The silence is only invoked by an awareness of social standards, since there's much Eve wants to talk to her friend about, but feels would be inappropriate in public.

Eventually, Amanda's the one to break the silence. "Are you still looking for someone to fill in for Sarah?"

Eve's attention flickered back to the woman sitting opposite. "I am." She replied hesitantly, knowing that she ought to have posted the job advertisement weeks ago, but had forgotten.

"I know someone who'd be good." Amanda was sliding her phone across the table before Eve got the chance to respond.

The screen displayed what she could only assume was a job application, though the font was too small to actually read. Squinting, she picked up the device to try and glean some information about the potential applicant.

Amanda continued as Eve scrolled. "She hasn't worked with seniors before, but has managerial experience."

"Are you sure she'd want this job?" Eve asked apprehensively as she set the phone down. "Seems a little over-qualified to me."

"Yeah, she's serious about it." Amanda's expression grew more determined. "Y/N just moved here. Mentioned she was looking for a more lowkey kind of job."

Eve remained doubtful.

"She's travelled a lot. Had a lot of different jobs." Amanda took another sip of her drink. "But she said she wants to settle down somewhere. Get a job that'll take her to retirement- which was an exaggeration, but you get the gist."

"Well." Eve sighed. "You can't get much closer to retirement than working at a nursing home."

"Exactly. So can I pass on her contact details then?"

"Sure." She shrugged. Assuming that her friend's recommendation was genuinely helpful, then she would be saved from suffering through the tedious interview process, which was worth taking a risk for.

---

As Eve sat at her desk, the world around her faded into obscurity. Without Sarah as the assistant manager, she'd been suffocating under piles of neglected paperwork, only now forcing her way through it. The main thought motivating her was that you were due to arrive any minute, for what she'd described as a first informal interview. The idea of conducting anything more formal this late into the evening was unappealing. So, based on the unusual circumstance by which you'd applied, and the strange time slot reserved, the interview would be more casual.

Finding that her eyes were starting to strain, she granted herself a quick break to look round the office. Eventually she settled on looking out the window, content watching the world pass by. The day had been unexpectedly hot, and some of that humidity still lingered, but judging by the gentle breeze filtering in through a crack in the window, the evening must've started to cool. A soft pink colour filled the sky, darkening to orange where the sun had just set over the horizon. From the other direction, a deep blue had begun to filter into view, the only indication that night was approaching.

When her gaze drifted back to the room, she realised that the pink light was cast around the room, bathing every surface in a delicate glow. How the simple beauty of the evening had previously escaped her attention was a mystery. One that prompted Eve to take a break to admire it.

The break was short-lived, however, as a sharp knock at the door quickly stole her attention away.

"Come in." She called out but found her voice hoarse from disuse. She frantically cleared her throat as the guest entered.

Eve looked up at you and smiled politely, then down at her desk, then did a double take. Although she hadn't given enough thought to form any preconceived image of what you might look like, she certainly hadn't expected someone quite so attractive.

As soon as the label crossed her mind, she was already berating herself for it. You'd barely entered the room and were here for business, she couldn't let herself think of you in that way. It was wrong. Both professionally and morally.

"Evening." Your voice was deep, smooth and with an accent she couldn't distinguish.

Eve tried her best to smile amiably, though she was sure the emotion wasn't reflected in her eyes. Instead she scanned your body from top to bottom, lingering on your neck, and then your hands. The action was automatic. An unintentional response to her attraction- and there it was again. She'd allowed herself to get distracted barely ten seconds later.

"Hi." Eve was too quiet, her tone lacking the necessary command. She swallowed. "Please, take a seat." And smiled, this time more genuinely.

"Thank you."

She watched you stiffly slide into the seat, effortlessly demanding the attention of the entire room. Although Eve had known you for less than a minute, she'd already decided that there was something hypnotic about the way you moved. From the slight twitch in the corner of your lips, to the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Every movement, regardless of it being barely perceptible, had her mesmerized, however she was mostly fixated on your hands. How they couldn't quite settle in your lap, rather were wrung about anxiously until abruptly stilling.

Your hands falling limp dragged Eve back into reality as it dawned on her that she'd been staring for a little longer than appropriate. She literally had to shake herself out of the senseless state and clear her throat once more before she was ready to continue.

"It's nice to meet you." Jolted into reality, she outstretched her hand, which you eagerly met. Your grip was firm, matched with a confident yet humble smile that looked well practiced.

"And you."

Eve already understood how you'd succeeded at accumulating such an impressive employment history, as every second of the interview so far, you'd acted perfectly. Like you'd written the book on 'How to Handle Job Interviews.'

"Just call me Eve." Separating from the handshake, she dismissively waved her hand, unable to hold the eye contact for any longer. There was an inquisitive manner to the way you were watching her, as though you were trying to ascertain the most information possible from appearance alone. Being exposed to your scrutinising glare caused Eve to shift in her seat, though not from discomfort or uneasiness, rather from inadmissible lust.

As the interview progressed, her eyes continued to occasionally stray toward your hands. Despite how hard she was trying to stay focused, she kept catching herself unintentionally imagining how they'd look gripping her waist, pushing apart her thighs. And if she blocked out this particular fantasy, then her attention would shift to your neck, and how she'd love to bite down on the supple skin presented to her.

She'd hoped that her fling with Amanda and Julian would've suppressed her incorrigible longing for pleasure, yet still found her thighs pressing together as her imagination overpowered reason. All the scandalous scenarios flashing through her mind only grew more vivid, more frequent. An incessant stream of borderline pornographic images, which worsened her guilt as she struggled to focus on what you were saying.

The cool breeze from earlier seemed to have vanished, replaced by unbearable humidity. She could feel herself sweating bucket loads, and only flushed more upon realising that she must've looked a mess; with stray hairs framing her face, an inability to sit still and a layer of perspiration covering her entire body. You'd probably noticed by now.

"God it's been hot recently." You commented, playing with the neckline of your shirt.

Had Eve not been observing you so closely, she would've guessed this was general small-talk. But judging on how you'd acted so far, this was a strategically placed act of mercy, a way of excusing her, no doubt, dishevelled appearance.

"Yeah." Eve chuckled, twirling a strand of hair round her finger. "We could move outside." She suggested, then quickly added. "If you wanted to, that is." Her desperation to please you came as a surprise. The roles should've been reversed. You should've been trying to impress her.

Eve had undeniably lost all authority in the situation, which simply excited her further.

---

When Eve laughed, she scrunched up her face and closed her eyes, which was inconvenient even at the best of times. Right now, however, she'd never despised the quirk quite so much.

As inconsequential as the current circumstances would look to any passer-by, she wanted to commit every detail to memory. From the lingering pink hue of dusk, to the way you threw your head back as you laughed. In fact, she wanted to memorise everything about you. Since leaving behind her stuffy office, conversation had flown easily between the two of you, the matter of employment seemingly dropped in place of getting to know one another. You'd indisputably gotten the job. Eve knew it. You knew it. So both were happy to indulge in a lighter tone of conversation.

The topic had turned to worst first date experiences, so she had very few to share with you, though that didn't stop her from enjoying listening to your little anecdotes.

"What about you?" Taking a calming breath after an outburst of laughter, you paused to ask her the dreaded question.

In comparison to your story, her worst date was relatively tame. "Well." She scratched at the corner of her eye, considering whether she could exaggerate in some way. "I went on a date recently that I had to walk out of."

"Really?" You folded your arms, leaning back against the brick wall. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I guess it just didn't feel right." She shook her head, hoping to deter any more questioning.

"Fair enough. Sometimes you just know- right?"

Eve drew her eyes away from being locked on the ground, finally summoning the resolve to look directly back at you. She bit her lip, compelling herself to nod.

There was something about you that was pure ecstasy to her. While looking at you, she could feel herself falling deeper into the hypnotic state she'd been in earlier, unable to tear her eyes away and unwilling to try. In spite of the normality of the situation, it felt meaningful. Eve didn't feel so alone, so out of place. Which made no sense to her as she'd known you for barely over an hour.

"What did you do after?" Your voice was somehow deeper, eyes lidded and posture relaxed. "After the date." You clarified.

The inquiry was personal, even without context that could be inferred. Eve hummed, delaying her response long enough to consider how much she was willing to divulge. "I-" She laughed nervously, suddenly embarrassed to confess. "I went swimming."

"Swimming?" Your eyebrows shot up, amused by the many connotations of her vagueness. "Where?"

Eve scuffed the heel of her shoe against the concrete ground, shamefully incapable of returning the eye contact. "Here." She admitted quietly, grinning as if in disbelief that she'd actually done it.

"Wow. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that." You took a deep breath, rendered speechless for a second. "So, you have access to the pool?"

Eve shifted restlessly, hesitant to pursue the topic any further. She knew where this was going, and that she shouldn't endorse this type of behaviour. But the heat wasn't helping, and neither was her overactive imagination. She was supposed to be responsible, but then again, so were you.

Inevitably the possibilities of what could be overpowered her better judgement. "Yes." She reached into her pocket, producing the coveted key ring and hanging it on her pointer finger.

Upon glancing up, she discovered you were watching her intently, indisputable lust reflected in your eyes. Eve found herself in one of those rare moments where she felt understood, on the same wavelength as someone else. The logical part of her brain argued that you were basically a stranger. That if she followed through on your shared idea, then your hiring and subsequent job experience would be forever tainted. But the possibilities were too tempting to ignore.

So when you asked. "Want to go swimming?"

She couldn't refuse.

---

You'd held her hand as she'd lead, the reasoning being that most the facility was shrouded in darkness. Though Eve liked the weight of your hand in hers, so she didn't bother to turn the lights on until reaching the pool. Only then did you separate, crouching down to check the temperature. You beamed with childlike joy as you waved your hand around in the water, skimming the surface then diving deeper down.

Eve grinned. Your pure happiness was infectious, the effect it had on her similar to being drunk. She was intoxicated from exhilaration. She would've been content watching you relish in the feeling of water running through your fingers for eternity, though to her dismay, you soon grew bored. And then to her surprise, you unabashedly began to strip. Her eyes were glued to the expanse of your back as you pulled your shirt over your head, and to the revealed skin as you tugged your trousers down.

She had to stop herself from stumbling back as the strange reality of the situation suddenly dawned on her. Instead, she reacted by comically clutching at her heart, clawing the fabric of her own shirt.

You turned to the side, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. "You coming?"

She chewed on her lip, pondering the two words in greater detail. This was you asking for consent, giving a final warning. You were both aware that this was an incredibly outlandish idea, an extremely irresponsible one that should've discouraged Eve. Yet it had the opposite effect.

Before she could overthink the consequences, her shaking hands were clumsily unbuttoning her blouse. At the unspoken confirmation, you smirked back at her, then without warning, threw yourself into the pool. The splash echoed round the room, proceeded by carefree laughter as you resurfaced and began leisurely swimming away from her. While you were busy, Eve took the chance to continue undressing without interference.

Her insecurities didn't emerge until it was too late, resolved moments later as she dove into the pool. The water was colder than she'd anticipated, but her burning desire dulled the intensity. Breaking through the water's surface, she inhaled deeply, grateful for the supply of oxygen. However, her breath was soon stolen from her as she noticed you were treading water directly in front.

Somehow, you looked even more beautiful now. With the wave's reflections dancing across your skin, your hair drenched and dripping. She wanted to chase after the droplets with her tongue, despite knowing she'd likely be met with the bitter taste of chlorine. But what really flustered Eve was the way you were staring at her; the hunger in your eyes that hinted at your intentions.

Your stillness was teasing her, the water practically stagnant around you both. Eve was becoming increasingly irritated, the heat between her legs only growing. So it didn't take long for her to snap. She lunged forward in an attempt to grab hold of you, though her hands couldn't quite clutch onto your slippery skin. She stumbled to the left, floundering around until you grabbed hold of her.

Upon securing her grip, she froze, due to both the sensation of your body pressed up against hers, and her embarrassment. She couldn't bare to look up, to face her awkward failure. After a beat of silence, she heard you laugh lightly. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant or mocking, but she insisted on keeping her eyes locked on the wall. That was, until your lips gently brushed against her ear.

"Were you trying to kiss me or drown me?"

She snorted, the tension leaving her body, then turned to rest her forehead on your shoulder. "The former. Definitely."

You laughed again. This time Eve joined in, happy to ignore what'd just occurred.

"Want to try that again, then?" You kissed just behind her ear, causing a shiver to suffuse across Eve's body. She waited a minute, expecting more before realising you intended for her to make the next move.

She glanced up at your face, fixating on your lips. You were so close. All she had to do was lean forward ever so slightly. One final glance to your lidded eyes confirmed you wanted the same- all she had to do was close the distance.

Taking a shaky breath, Eve shifted a hand up to cup your cheek, her thumb softly stroking your skin. There was no rush; you both wanted the same thing and were eager to revel in the experience. So, when her lips finally grazed against yours, there was no deep sigh or sudden change in pace, rather a blooming warmth in her chest. She was floating, both literally and metaphorically in a sea affection.

She kissed you again, this time with more conviction. Then fell backwards, her feet now comfortably resting on the bottom of the pool, her back hitting the wall as your grip on her waist tightened. You dragged a hand across her chest, causing her to gasp. Your touch was scolding compared to the cool water. A perfect balance between lustful heat and a mind-numbing, all-encompassing chill.

She raised her arms, flinging them around you and exhaling as her impatience reappeared. Though thankfully, you didn't make her wait long. Soon enough, your mouth had latched onto her neck, leaving messy kisses from behind her ear, to down by her shoulders. The feeling was pure bliss, encouraging her to lean into you and press your bodies closer together.

She didn't need to say anything. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Like you had her body memorised: every caress was perfectly placed, each touch just what she needed. It didn't take long for Eve to reach her pleasure, although she did spend a while in a dazed state of satisfaction, simply drifting in your arms. Eventually, she regained awareness to feel you tenderly nibbling on her lower lip, and eagerly reciprocated the kiss.

Motivated by the sudden fervour, she switched the positions, pushing you up to the wall.

"Get on the ledge." Eve murmured against your lips. She looped her arms under your thighs, ready to lift once you'd agreed.

Surprised by her abrupt confidence, you quirked an eyebrow, but obeyed nonetheless.

With you sat before her, she knew the evening was only just beginning, and judging by your breathless expression you felt exactly the same. This was one of those rare moments where Eve felt completely understood.

#eve fletcher x reader #mrs fletcher #eve fletcher

120 notes · View notes

escapewriter · 4 years

Text

Lover

pairing : vernon x reader

synopsis : love makes you do crazy things, except this wasn’t really crazy for him. he’s just a man in love who’s willing to do it all for you.

genre : fluff, like a lot of fluff, humor

word count : 3.6k

warnings : none

posted : 2/17/21

a/n : ty ty to @woozisnoots for beta reading. i really needed it or it would’ve sounded so awkward so tysm alex <3 and HAPPY VERNON AND SEOKMIN DAYYYY. tell me why this took me almost a month to write even though its like... eh. neway, I HOPE YALL ENJOY, it has that princess and the frog vibe.

TAGLIST : @vibecheckvernon @beomiebear5 @lightoflife @skylions-den @noniesgirl @woozisnoots

won’t let me tag : @pandora1834

send me an ask/dm if you would like to be on the taglist

pieces of love masterlist // playlist // main masterlist

‘Letter 355’ was written in big letters on the front of the envelope. You sat on the bed as you tore the sealed flap open. Vernon has been writing you small notes ever since your 6th year anniversary. This is the first real letter you’ve gotten because before, it was simple post-it notes, and as your 7th year together approaches, you can’t help but wonder what he has planned this time.

You took out the paper, unfolded it and scanned his messy handwriting. You smiled as your fingertips touched the ink on the paper. You began to read:

Ma Belle,

I hope you will have a wonderful day today. Are you surprised you’re getting a letter instead of a post-it note? You probably are lol. Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for the messy handwriting, I had to leave early this morning and didn’t have time to write neatly, or spell correctly so if you see some typos, you didn’t (cue the clown emoji).

Also, a heads up, I may be returning home late due to the guys wanting to hang out, so if you need me, call me. And yes, I’ll text you if I have to stay at one of their apartments and I’ll text you when I leave. I know the drill ;)

Please be safe today, and you know MY drill don’t you? It’s the exact same thing I said above, HA! So, text me when you leave the house and when you arrive at work. I can’t wait to see you again (even though we live together). I love you Ma Belle. Just 10 more days!

Love, Vernon

You smiled at the nickname he had given you as you felt the familiar rush of fireworks erupt in your stomach, hugging the letter close to your chest. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have a man like Vernon. He took time out of his day for almost a year just to write you a letter every morning so you could wake up happy. He is an absolute crazy man for doing this.

You folded up the letter and carefully placed it back in the envelope. You went to your desk, grabbing the photobook on the shelf and opened it, seeing where you kept all his notes for the past year. You flipped to a page and inserted the letter in an empty slot. You closed the book and placed it on the shelf once more, looking at it as you thought about how he was capable of doing something like this for a whole year, who knows what he has planned for your anniversary.

Vernon has a lot planned actually. He is going to keep writing you letters every morning before he goes to work, but on the day of your anniversary, it’s going to be a little different and he couldn’t wait for that day to come.

He walked alone, glancing into the stores that he passed as he waited for the call. He turned around and began to head back to where he came from before, feeling the buzzing of his phone. He looked at the screen and answered.

“Hey Shua, are you guys done?” He bit his lower lip a bit, hoping they got what he had asked for. He heard his friend sigh on the other end of the line.

“Hell yeah we got it.” Letting out a breath of relief, he nodded as he listened to Joshua tell him to return back to the car so they could go and eat. Hanging up, he walked quickly back to meet up with his friends.

He could not wait for the day to come.

You saw ‘Letter 360’ taped to the refrigerator when you reached the kitchen to prepare yourself breakfast. You had only received small notes like before ever since ‘Letter 355’, so you were a bit taken aback because you simply thought that he wrote a long letter due to his busy schedule that day. You weren’t sure what to expect of this though as he told you the night prior that he would be home before dinner.

You tore the flap of the envelope and took out the paper, quickly unfolding it as you began to read his messy handwriting:

Ma Belle,

Did you sleep well last night? I hope so because then I’ll feel bad for not being able to be there with you to make you feel better :( But!!! I hope this will make your morning a bit brighter if it wasn’t already. Inside the microwave are some pancakes that I made Mingyu bring for me because I would’ve burnt them. But they’re probably cold so you have to heat it up. There were 4 in total but I was hungry and ate one hehe.

Anyway, I’ll see you in a few hours, Ma Belle. Stay safe at work and text me! I love you!

Love, Vernon

You felt the warmth creep up in your chest as you grinned, rereading the letter again. Although this made you incredibly happy, you couldn’t help but think about what you could do better for Vernon in this relationship. You never want him to feel as if he was the only one putting effort.

After making a quick decision, you put the letter back in the envelope and brought it to your room, placing it in an empty slot of the photobook. You went back out to the kitchen and heated up the pancakes Vernon had mentioned, deciding that you will make a small trip to the store after having breakfast.

Unknowingly, you walked down the same path Vernon had the day he went out with his friends secretly without telling you. You passed multiple stores as you racked your brain for some sort of idea on what to get him. You already had your anniversary gift planned out for him, but that’s a secret that you have been keeping from him since day one. You just hope he doesn’t go searching for the photobook.

You walked slowly, glancing into stores to get some sort of idea before stopping in front of a jewelry store. You hesitated knowing that Vernon never wanted you to spend so much money on him, but look at where you are. You decide to tell him it’s an anniversary gift instead of just giving it to him tonight so that way he wouldn’t get mad at you. Yeah, that’s a better plan.

As you enter the store, your eyes immediately go to the locked glass cases of beautiful jewelry. Maybe you should’ve thought this through because you had no idea what to get him. Looks like guessing is the best bet for you.

You made it home from work just before Vernon got home. Quickly, you went to your room and took the box out of the bag and placed it behind the photobook. You disposed of the bag, making sure that Vernon wouldn’t spot any evidence of the fact that you spent a lot of money on him.

You were now in the kitchen, looking to prepare something for dinner before the front door opened with your boyfriend coming in with bags in his hand. You smiled and quickly met him at the door, grabbing a few bags before kissing his cheek.

“You bought dinner? I was planning to make something for you.” He smiled warmly and led you to the dining room, placing the bags on the table. He quickly kissed your cheek before holding one of your hands.

“Ma Belle~” The teasing sound of his voice echoed in your ears as you smiled widely, shying away a bit before you felt the tips of his fingers move your head to face his again, “You don’t have to cook for me tonight. Let’s just relax and enjoy the food I bought, how does that sound?” You stared into his hypnotizing eyes, the warmth in your chest rising as you nodded your head with a smile.

“Okay! Let's get some plates!”

You woke up to an empty bed, confused as to why Vernon wasn’t next to you. Sitting up straight, you looked at your night stand, searching for the familiar post-it note or envelope. You thought that maybe it was something similar to the letter 5 days ago where you found it taped to the fridge.

You stretched out your arms, yawning in the process as you heard your phone buzz on the table. Unplugging it, you opened your messages and spotted a familiar name. Boo Seungkwan.

‘You home?’ You didn’t know why he was texting you at this time, he was usually asleep. And he knows that it’s your anniversary with Vernon today, so you were confused as to why he was asking if you were home.

‘No. I’m with Vernon.’ Obviously you lied to try and get out of any sort of event he may have planned just so you can eat a small breakfast and get ready for the day. You just have to find Vernon’s note.

‘Bullshit. I’m with Vernon right now.’ Your eyes widened, a scowl appearing on your face as you questioned why Vernon was with Seungkwan instead of you. ‘Why are you with Vernon? Where are you guys?’

On the other side of the phone, Seungkwan was panicking. He knew that you weren’t with Vernon because Vernon was with Joshua setting up everything for your anniversary.

He looked around the room, thinking of an answer to come up with before Chan walked in, “Seungkwan? What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be distracting them for Vernon?” He tossed his phone to the younger, eyes filled with fear and uneasiness. Chan read the messages and laughed, “Vernon will kill you if you don’t pull this off. Good luck!” Seungkwan groaned as he decided to just show up at your home and keep you occupied.

You stared at the messages, expecting him to answer but received nothing. You sighed and just locked your phone, mind now set on looking for the letter. Every step you took to look into a room, your fingers were crossed in hopes that you would find any sort of evidence that Vernon has left for you. Plopping onto the couch, you thought that maybe he just forgot to write today, but it didn’t make sense since he wrote everyday for a whole year without forgetting. Even in previous letters, he would count down the days until it was your anniversary. It just didn’t make any sense.

You heard the doorbell ring, an ounce of hope in your heart as you thought that it could be Vernon. He has a key to the house. You sighed and got up from the couch as you went to the front door, unlocking it with a click and opening it.

Your eyes met Seungkwan’s and it immediately turned into a glare. “I thought you were with Vernon, hm?” He grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck.

“I lied.”

“I can see that.” You stepped to the side, making way for him to enter your house. You watched him sit on the couch as you closed the door and locked it. “What are you doing here, Seungkwan?”

“Uhm— Did you eat breakfast?” You saw his hands wipe down against his jeans, a nervous habit he had that you picked up on throughout your years of friendship.

“No I didn’t. And you avoided my question—”

“You haven’t eaten?” He stood up abruptly, determined to keep you distracted until lunch time, “Come on, lets cook some breakfast for you!” He turned towards the kitchen with you following closely after him after rolling your eyes and just letting it slide, thinking that maybe Vernon put him up to this.

Seungkwan sighed in content after finishing up his food, his eyes moving to meet your hard ones. “Seungkwan,” His eyes went to look around the room, just as long as they weren’t at you, “Seungkwan, stop avoiding eye contact.” He looked back at you, his lips pursed and throat feeling dry. “I have so many questions, but I won’t even bother at this point.” You shook your head and took your plate and his, bringing it to the sink and began to wash them.

As you were washing, you heard your name fall from his lips, “I can wash them, you have to go get ready.” Your head shot up, eyes looking to the side but your head staying in place.

“Get ready how? Where are we going?”

Seungkwan got up from his seat and stood next to you, “Don’t play dumb. Do you want your letter or not?” Your eyes lit up, nodding as you turned off the water and quickly went into your room to wash up and get ready.

“Thank you Seungkwan!”

You sat in the car with the radio gently playing in the background. A comfortable silence fell upon you and Seungkwan, who was in the driver's seat. You remembered to bring your gift as you looked at the large bag sitting on the floor between your legs. You checked the time on your phone, seeing that it was almost lunch.

“Wow, if Vernon planned a lunch, I’m glad you ate most of the breakfast food.” You out the window, giggling with Seungkwan.

“That was the whole point of me eating all the food. I had to keep you busy for a few more hours.”

You sighed and nodded your head in understanding, turning your head to look at the side of his face, “Where are we headed to anyway?”

He glanced away from the road to look at you for a split second before lifting up his hand, his pointer finger placed on his lips as he made a ‘shh’ sound. “It’s a secret.”

“Well can you tell me if it’s far? I kind of want to take a nap.”

“Go for it, but don’t get mad when I wake you up.”

Your eyes fluttered, feeling the cool breeze against your skin as goosebumps rose. You opened your eyes, seeing your boyfriend standing next to you with the car door open. He flashed his gummy smile, holding his hand out for you to take, “Ma Belle~”

You looked down at the floor as you placed your hand in his, stepping out of the car with your bag and present in hand. “Where have you been Vernon Chwe?”

You smiled cheekily at him to which he shrugged with a teasing smile, “I’ve been doing things.”

You began to smile, looking at your interlocked fingers as he led you to a familiar area. You scanned the place, seeing the light of the sun reflect off the little lake that you knew all too well. Your hand tightened in his grasp causing him to stop walking and to turn to look at you, “What’s wrong?” You pouted, puppy eyes boring into his as he smiled softly.

“You took me here? I thought this place became private property and people weren’t allowed to be here.” He laughed softly and brought up his hand, placing his pointer finger against his lips.

“Shhh, we’re not.” Your eyes widened as you hit him with your bag and he laughed, “I’m kidding, I talked to the owner and they were fine with it, come on, let’s go.”

He brought you over to a picnic setup, the tall tree providing you shade that can cool your down from the scorching sun. You both sat down on the blanket, looking out to the lake with the mini table in between. You sighed in content, your eyes never leaving the shining lake, “Vernon this is incredible. I’m so happy you were able to get us in here.” You looked over at your boyfriend, a smirk on his face as he held up the missing letter.

“I know you’ve been wondering where the final letter was but I don’t know if I want to give it to you just yet.” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “You have to eat with me first and then I’ll give you the letter, okay?” You smiled and nodded your head happily, the thought of what could possibly be in the letter consumes your mind.

You finished your food with a toss of your napkin to the plate, your eyes immediately going to Vernon who was laughing softly. “I know what you’re going to ask, but first let me open my gift, please?” He pouted in which you rolled your eyes in response.

“Fine.”

You handed over the bag, biting your lip out of a nervous habit, watching him take out the tissue paper and spotting the box and photobook. He took out the photobook, looking at you with an unsure expression before opening it. Raising his eyebrows, he found every note he has written to you, and next to it is a note you have written in response.

He took a deep breath, flipping through all the pages, trying to be as slow as possible just to tease you, but no luck, “Vernon you can read it at home.” You whined next to him as he slightly glared at you,

“Hey, I just want to appreciate you.” Still, he listened and put the photobook back in the bag and then took out the box. He opened the top carefully and stared at the piece of jewelry laying inside.

He head lolled to look at you, another pout on his lips, “I told you not to buy me anything expensive.”

You giggled and nodded your head towards the bracelet, “Dig a little deeper Vernon,” He rolled his eyes at your remark of quoting the song before taking out the chain. He turned the small heart-shaped charm over and found your name next to the words ‘Your Evangeline’ engraved in it.

His grip on the chain loosened as he handed it to you, holding out his arm, “Put it on for me?” Quickly you wrapped it around his wrist and locked it in place, beaming with happiness. “I love this, I just— it’s beautiful.”

“Can I read the letter now?” He sighed in defeat as he failed to stall everything a little while longer.

“Way to ruin the sentimental mood.” He handed you the letter, watching you bounce in excitement as you prepared to rip it open.

“Wait! Read it up there, next to the lake. Pretend I’m not here, like how you would read any letter in the morning, okay?” You nodded standing up and scurried over to the lake, thinking about how weird it was that he asked you to read it at this spot. The thought left your mind the second your eyes scanned ‘Letter 365’. Your heart pounded in your ears as you ripped the flap open and pulled out the paper. You began to read:

Ma Belle,

Happy 7th year Anniversary! Can you believe it has been seven years we’ve been together? It feels so amazing. I’m sorry you had to read this through a letter, but I feel like writing it out conveyed my feelings better than when I just wing it. So, I hope you prepare yourself because this is going to be a ride full of cheese and cringe.

I remember our first date here. It was very cheesy and seemed too extravagant for a first date, but we have known each other for a few months before I asked you out, so I call it a success. Anyway, I’ll never forget the look on your face when you saw the little fairy lights light up just at the snap of my finger. You said it looked like fireflies and reminded you of Princess and the Frog. Anyway, getting back to the point, the point is, this little lake holds a place in my heart because it was all those months of me silently pining after you to finally be able to take you here, it made me realize that I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

Oh! Which reminds me of our first here, when we danced to the soundtrack of the movie. It’s random, I know but I don’t think you remember that. You probably won’t remember me proposing to you either, would you? Turn around Ma Belle :)

You slowly turned around, the blanket and picnic table gone, all that’s left in front of you is Vernon down on one knee holding up a small box displaying a beautiful ring. The arm holding the letter drops, your free hand coming up to slightly cover your mouth now agape. From his shaky hands to his beaming smile, the love you had for the man in front of you intensified.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, “So, do you remember now?” The water in your eyes that have been threatening to spill finally let go as you nodded your head, “Ma Belle~” That damn grin on his face made your knees shake, “Will you be my Evangeline and marry me?” Your legs collapsed, your knees hitting the grass as you hugged Vernon tightly, whispering ‘Yes’ into his ear.

The amount of love you felt in your heart took over as you cried silently against him. He pulled away, laughing softly as he wiped your tears and brought your hand up, slipping the ring onto your ring finger. “Hansol Vernon Chwe, no wonder you wanted to open my gift first.”

He shrugged, looking into your eyes with that same teary smile before leaning in and placing a soft yet meaningful kiss on your lips. In that magical moment, you knew that this is all for you; he is all for you and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#caratwritersclub #newskynet #seventeen #seventeen oneshot #seventeen imagines #seventeen drabbles #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen au #vernon #vernon chwe #svt vernon #pieces of love #HAPPY VERNON DAY #HAPPY SEOKMIN DAY

133 notes · View notes

taentedmess · 3 years

Text

sleepless nights

summary: a year is a long time, isn’t it? you’ve spent yours stuck in an eternal, monochrome winter. a surprise encounter derails all of your plans: feelings fade… or do they, really?

pairing: taehyung x reader

word count: 5.4k

warnings: swearing, terrible terrible angst (im sorry!), heartbreak, implied smut, angsty flashbacks :(

a/n: hi everyone! this is my very first fic on tumblr and i really hope you enjoy! please listen to spring day and scenery to really get into the feels - i hope you lose yourself in this little slice of a seoul winter :’) also i do have a storyline planned if you enjoy this little piece and could potentially even make this a series aah! please leave comments and constructive criticism - i’d love to grow as a writer! (@chateautae i finally did it!!!!!!)

[ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ]

09:17am, december 17, 2020

It’s been a year since you last saw him. A year of emptiness, hollowness, blankness. A year since you turned your back, leaving without a goodbye. It’s been a year since you’ve walked out his front door, the same one that you’d find yourself visiting and revisiting when you knew he wasn’t home.

It’s been a year since you last felt some semblance of happiness, a year since you’ve let out a genuine laugh, smiled from cheek-to-cheek. It’s been a year devoid of warmth: you shivered under the embrace of the summer sun, no longer noticed the blooming flowers that you had once loved so much. The world lost all its color. Fading into a bleak grayscale so far away, unreachable. No longer did you walk with a spring in your step, no longer did your eyes glimmer with galaxies that you’d once built with him. You were empty, a ship lost in the depths of the dark oceans. Floating, barely surviving, with no set destination. All you saw were never-ending, infinite oceans in all directions. No escape, no lighthouse. Just you. Alone. Pointless.

Your heart aches for him, the echo of a honeyed baritone, the ghost of his warm, muscular arms wrapped around your shoulders.

It’s for the best, you had thought. It’s for the best.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the thoughts out of your mind. There was too much, too many feelings, pent-up emotions. You weren’t a woman of emotions, never were, swore to never be, until you had met him. And he had changed everything.

Stop. This is getting ridiculous.

You needed to get on with your life, you think. There are too many things to think about, so many better thoughts requiring your attention. What were you doing, wasting your energy on him? It was time, you had decided, to end things once and for all.

The ticket machine snaps you out of your reverie, demanding it get paid. How much did the trip cost? You’ve forced yourself to forget, holed up all the memories too far into the shadows of your mind in your sheer desperation to evade the pain. You slot in a W10,000 bill, way too much, but better than having to remember. The machine happily eats up the cash, returning your card and sending you on your way.

You navigate the platforms, seeing the brightly-lit signs: Incheon line, Suin line, Bundang line. Then you see it, Platform 6, Gyeongwon line. South-bound to Soyosan, stopping at Iryeong. Your heart thumps, stomach twists, and you feel like throwing up. How many times had you once ascended these very steps with him, hand-in-hand, smiling to one another? How many times had you raced up these stairs, trying to get to the platform first? It’s too much, and you want to run. Run away from this place, from the thoughts and feelings.

No. You need this.

The winter air roughly brushes against your cheeks, hurrying you along.

What are you so afraid of?

Everything, you think. Everything. You’ve bound your heart in chains and locks, plastered it with thousands of bandages, one on top of the other. You’ve holed it away, willed it out of existence. You’re afraid of the memories, the emotions. You’re afraid of yourself.

Go. Just go. Get it over with.

You force your feet to move, one after another. You don’t think, you just move. Move onto the platform, move onto the train. You don’t realize that you’ve boarded the machine until you hear an all-too-familiar voice on the loudspeaker.

“This is the Special Rapid Train, on the Gyeongwon line, headed for Sosoyan. We will be stopping at Seokgye, Wolgye, Dobong and Iryeong. Please stay clear of the sliding doors!”

You vaguely see the blinking of lights and hear the shutting of the doors. The train picks up speed, clicking against the railroads. You are blank, a passenger on an endless journey. You sway when the train sways, stop when it stops. You don’t know how many stops have passed, having lost yourself in the familiar nothingness that had hollowed you out for the past year, until the speakers announce something about the next station being Dobong. You’re near, you realize. Too near.

Too soon does the train halt, birthing out and collecting new passengers as seats empty and taken once more in a matter of seconds. You watch this interchange with a bitter smile: how quickly he must have replaced you after you’d left, how he must’ve taken in another in your place.

Stop it.

Too engrossed in your thoughts, you don’t notice the closing of the doors and the blinking of the lights until you hear the loud system once more as the train starts to accelerate.

“Iryeong, Iryeong. Our next stop is Iryeong, please get off on the right side of the train.”

You are left suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, watching as snow paints the ground white. The houses blur into trees and back into villages as you stare out the window, and you start to remember. You remember your hands intertwined, dancing in the snow, the click of a camera as the melodies of your laughs twirling in the air. You remember the snugness of his embrace, his earthy cologne, his smile, his lips pressed against yours…

Stop.

You tear your gaze away from the glass, staring down at your gloved hands fiddling in your lap. It’s been a year. It’s laughable how much and how little has changed. You’re different, yes, but yet so painfully similar to the girl who ran away. It’s funny how much of a difference, or lack thereof, a year can make, you think. It’s certainly been hard on you, and you find yourself wondering about him, about how maybe the year has changed him, how he’s doing, if he’s eating well, if…

Stop.

You’re hopeless, aren’t you?

You sigh and shut your eyes. You’re going crazy. Or maybe you’ve always been crazy. Your thoughts are feverish, a maelstrom in your mind. Involuntarily, you notice your feet rapidly tapping the metal bar to your side, vibrating against the pole. You feel the ghost of a touch on your thigh, hear the empty shell of his words, breathe, Y/N, breathe. What’s got you all worked up? And for a moment, just a moment, you feel his presence to your side, capture the warmth radiating off of his figure, and smile. Because it’s all okay when he’s here.

But he’s not.

You decide to focus on the sound of the railroads, staring down at the speckled floor of the train as the carriage undulates gently, side to side. You ride along, the train’s movements easing your own and you begin to lose yourself once again in the clacks of the rails, mind going blank, until you start to notice the slowing of the sounds. The train’s dance comes to a slow, inviting people to start getting up and shuffle towards the doors. Your heart sinks to your stomach. Not yet, not yet. It can’t be. It’s too soon.

The loudspeaker crackles to life, confirming your worst fears. “Arriving at Iryeong, please stay clear of the doors and exit on the right side of the train.”

Your legs move on their own accord, pulling you to a standing position as you grip the metal post with your life. The train continues to slow, eventually, painstakingly coming to a halt. You wish it never will, that it will continue on with its journey ahead. But it’s too late. The doors slide open, the sounds of the outside world whistle for you, calling you, urging you out of the comfort of the train. You don’t dare move, standing still as passengers trickle out, as the flashing lights start to appear, as the minute at the station starts to come to an end. The doors are closing in five. Four.

You twitch.

Three. Two.

“Wait!”

You rush out the doors, barely escaping the iron clasp of the metals that would’ve devoured you had you been a second too late. Behind you, the steel hisses as the vehicle exits the station, leaving you alone. So utterly alone.

You’re blessed with a moment of solitude, feeling nothing but the cold air chilling your face, until you realize where you are and why you’re here.

The bliss of being alone rapidly evaporates, and you’re hit with a speeding truck. The memories flood in; you’re winded, gasping for breath as you’re stormed with images, short clips of him, you, the pair of you. His smile, his laugh, his cheeks, eyes, nose. His breath tickling yours before he leans in for a kiss, his gentle, large hands cupping your face as you close your eyes…

Stop. Get a fucking grip, will you?

You force the color out of your mind as you make your way around the platform, empty now that everyone has gone. Your eyes graze against the pathetic, run-down station: the signs are only partially lit, the electricity having worn out. Your fingers run against the peeling, dirtied paint of the walls, dust bunnies catching onto your gloves. You scoff. This is pathetic. The floor is littered with plastics and old soda bottles, as if nobody’s been here to clean in too long. Graffiti smiles sadly back at you as you scan the fading walls, losing their life by the second. The bricks have faded into a musty brown, drab and uninteresting. Everything is so run down, so tired. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you make your way to the minimart to your right, wanting a beverage to help warm your insides up.

The doors slide open with a gentle clink, altering the store of your presence. The cashier at the counter looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, barely acknowledging you, before returning to the drama playing on his cracked phone. The shelves are well-stocked, however, in stark contrast to the beaten-down appearance of this whole ordeal. You glide along the aisles, and everything is the same. Your favorite tea is still on the same shelf as it was all those months ago, his favorite gimbap in the bottom left corner of the chiller. Beef and sesame, he’d get, while you’d get a tuna for yourself, clinking your drinks and hearing the hiss of his cola opening, laughing as you made a mess of yourselves, two young fools madly in love. You’d talk, drink, eat for hours, whispering, dreaming and wishing, wondering what was going to come in the future, what you’d name your first puppy, whether you wanted a girl or a boy for your first child. Never would you have ever imagined that it would all end this way.

Stop it.

You grab your bottle of tea violently, almost knocking it over in your hurry to leave. You could no longer stay, not here, suffocating in your memories of him. You erased the gimbap out of your vision, ignoring it as you made your way to the counter, paying for your drink as the half-hearted employee handed you with your change. You mutter a thank you, unsure if he had even heard, and mindlessly make your way out of the store, too focused on keeping someone out of your head. You nearly bang into the glass doors in your haste, looking down and walking as fast as you can. Until your heart stops, that is.

You don’t dare look up, not now. The whole world slows to a stand-still, your gaze sharpening on nothing. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest, your lungs stop working. Electricity charges through the air and you’re left reeling, not knowing what to do.

Slowly, painfully, your neck raises, muscles straining with all their might. You already know what you’re going to see, who you’re going to see, but the sight of him still shocks you all the same. You nearly spill your drink all over yourself when you finally look up, and your brain goes into overdrive. You’re sure that your mouth is hanging open, jaw slack, but you can’t do anything about it. Your knees buckle, you can’t breathe, suffocating, wanting the ground to swallow you up at this very moment. You want to fall, tumble into an eternal tunnel. You are dizzy, light-headed, going crazy, you swear. You’re going crazy, aren’t you? This can’t be real, can it?

You can’t believe it. You’re drowning, drowning in those chocolate eyes, sinking into his pupils, losing yourself in his gorgeous features. You drink him all in, his own face mirroring yours, in no doubt absolute shock or maybe even despair, his deadly stare making your breath hitch as it once did so long ago. He’d never lost his power over you, after all. The world is suspended around you, all operations ceased as you both continue to stare into each other’s eyes, the tension so palpable that it threatens to devour you whole. Your larynx seems to be glued shut, your tongue a stone in your mouth. There are no words, no way to express this feeling that washes over you upon seeing him again.

“Y/N…”

His voice. Your ears ring with his deep baritone, honey to your ears. You can’t help it: you quite literally swoon, despite the circumstances. His voice: it ignites a fire within you, warm tendrils of heat rising up from your stomach. Vibrations send throughout your core, making you lightheaded and sure that you’re about to fall. You remember his timber next to you in the dead of light, comforting you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, it’s okay, it’s okay, breathe, it’s okay, you’re here with me.

You hug your arms around yourself, trying to keep it all in, retain the strange feeling that was now foreign to you after months of cold. It’s been too long, after all - you’ve gone too long deprived of this humanness, comfort that radiated off of him.

Things are different now, Y/N.

Yes, they are. Your mind goes berserk once more, considering all of the scenarios. Why is he here? He probably just needs to go to the minimart - no, why would he come all this way, he lives pretty far as well, or maybe he’s waiting on a friend, no, maybe he’s brought a new girlfriend, maybe she’s with him right now waiting to jump out of the shadows. Maybe they’re both exchanging looks right now when I’m not looking, laughing, taunting me, this girl from the past who doesn’t deserve to be here, maybe they all think I’m a joke now, what am I doing, why, why, why?

You’re so lost in your thoughts that when Taehyung addresses you once more, you’re violently jolted out of your mind and nearly fall backwards, body forgetting everything but the sound of his voice.

“Y/N…” he says again, forcing you to look up at him. Your name splinters through the air from his lips, cutting through the frost and straight into your chest; you notice now that his voice seems tired, that he seems tired.

You finally regain some semblance of control over your frozen tongue, lips moving in an attempt to emit a sound, any sound. Your lips wrap around the sole syllable that comes to you like muscle memory, the only one that you manage to choke out.

“T-Tae…”

Your voice cracks, unable to continue. The prolonged eye-contact has got you weak, his pupils boring into your soul. You look into his eyes, reciprocating, and you notice that maybe they’ve lost their golden sheen, that they no longer twinkle with constellations of stars. And it’s then that you realize: maybe the year has taken a toll on him too.

Look at what you’ve done to him.

“T-Tae, I, I, I…” you sputter out, guilt flooding your system like a drug. There was nothing you could say, nothing you could tell him to cheat yourself out of the situation or paint yourself in a better light like you’re so used to doing. You’re not used to feeling this powerless, this weak. Taehyung was the only one who saw through the facade, the only one who allowed you to feel vulnerable. You couldn’t lie to him, you knew you couldn’t; there was no wheedling, no bullshitting, no lying yourself out of any sticky situation, which had caused you this whole trouble in the first place. You ran because you were too much of a coward to talk to him, to confide in him. And look where that’s gotten you.

“Why are you here?” he asks, burying his head in his hands. “Y/N, why are you here?”

Why am I here? You don’t really know as well, there’s nothing that you can say to him. Why am I here? To get over him? How are you even going to tell him? He has to think that you’re over him, that it’s done. Stop torturing yourself, and stop dragging him through this mess of your life. Tell him that it’s done.

“I… I came because…”

Y/N, say something?

“I came because I… I was looking for you.”

What the fuck?

His head snaps up, his piercing stare catching your gaze once again. “You were looking for me?”

You feel your heart stop.

“Umm… well, I mean, no, but, no, well actually if I think about it now, yeah, yeah I was looking for you,” you stammer, unable to produce a single cohesive line of thought. “I was looking for you because I wanted to tell you that it’s over.”

Your own words are like a dagger twisting into your own heart and vaguely hear a choked sound breaking the awful, awful silence. Until you realize that it’s come from your own mouth, a sob that you hadn’t even realized that you were holding in.

A moment of charged silence goes by, yet louder than any noise that either of you could’ve let out. Never in your life has silence felt so utterly deafening, and you wish to cover your ears and scream it all out.

“You’re telling me this now?” Taehyung manages, features distorted in pain. “You’re telling me this now, a whole fucking year after you walk out the door without a single word to me?”

You look down at the ground, hating, blaming your traitorous mouth for saying something that you hadn’t fully thought through.

No, Y/N. You have to stop bringing everyone down.

You’ve lost all rational thought when you say, “yes, Taehyung. Yes. I had nothing to say to you then and nothing to say to you now. It’s done and it’s over.”

You couldn’t even say sorry?

The frosty wind brushes over the pair of you, causing you to shiver in your boots. You want nothing more than to curl up into a ball and disappear, pretend that this never happened, that this was all a bad dream.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a security guard watching the whole exchanged with piqued interest. It’s none of your fucking business, you want to scream. It’s none of your fucking business. And yet you’re so humiliated, embarrassed at this whole mess that you’ve made of not only yourself but the situation in its entirety that you cannot muster up any words to merely defend yourself. You want to cry, sob, yell, scream.

“Fine, Y/N, it’s okay. You know what? It’s okay, you don’t owe me an explanation, you don’t owe me anything, not an apology, not a reason, not your love. It’s okay. It’s fine. Maybe you never loved me, saw me in the same way. Maybe I just assumed, maybe it was wrong of me to assume. Maybe I was too optimistic, too in love with you that I had forced myself to believe the story that I had made up in my head, that you were in love with me too. Maybe I had wanted it, wanted you so bad that I had made myself believe it. Made myself believe that you were in love with me.”

Your heart instinctually reaches out to him, drumming feverishly against your fragile ribcage. No, you want to scream. No, Taehyung, you couldn’t be more fucking wrong. He doesn’t know the way your heart beats for him in the dead of night, how the mere thought of him sends shivers down your spine, how every cell in your body, every thread of your being aches, yearns for his presence with every hour, every minute, every second.

You feel your heart breaking, splintering into thousands, millions of tiny little fragments raining down like shards of glass. It hurts, it hurts like hell.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Don’t force yourself into anything. There’s no need to anymore. There’s no more need to lie, no more need to pretend that you’re happy.”

“Thank you for telling me the truth.”

It’s not the truth, you want to cry. It’s not. It’s the farthest from it. But you return his look, tight-lipped. You nod, despite the swell of emotions that are threatening to cut you in half at this very moment.

“You’re welcome.”

He reciprocates your nod and slowly, painfully, tears his eyes from yours. He stands up, gingerly, as if hesitating, and you want to tell him to stop, to sit back down, that you’re lying to him, that you want him, that you want him more than anything in this world. But you don’t, and he continues onto his feet, sparing you one last gaze.

“At least I get to say goodbye,” he says, wistfully. “At least I now have the chance to say goodbye.”

You’re sure that tears are streaming down your face at this point, little trails of ice making their way down your blushed cheeks. Your lips are tight, and you cannot, for the life of you, return his look.

Before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, you know he’s here, the familiar hold of his arms, your face finding itself nestled on the same spot on his chest, right above his heart. You feel it beat, gently, slowly, under your ear, a comforting rhythm that you’ve too often fallen asleep to, whispered to. Your arms instinctually wrap around his waist, and his head settles on the crook of your neck, the curve of his nose gently kissing your delicate skin. His warmth radiates from under his coat, and you soak it all in, collecting as much as you can. You are two puzzle pieces, a perfect fit, and you will this moment into eternity, searing it into your memory, wishing for the world to stop, stop right now and leave you in this moment forever. You’ve been lost, wandering, and have finally come home.

But forever doesn’t exist.

You’re struck with a blast of cold at his loss, feeling horribly empty. He steps away from you, and you’re almost certain that you see moisture in his eyes, tears threatening to break free. Every fiber of your being yearns for him, you want to reach out to him, extend the hug, shower him in kisses, make up and forget that this all even happened, but you’re too prideful. You can’t let yourself do this.

“Goodbye, Y/N. Thank you for everything.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

[ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ ]

11:42am, March 12 2021

[taehyung]

I miss you.

I miss you as the seasons come and go, I miss you as I watch the world going to shit, losing all hope. I miss you when the wind blows, taking me along like a pointless man, destined for nowhere. I’ll miss you eternally; I’ll miss you when all the ice melts into the ocean, I’ll miss you when everything’s finally disappeared and there’s utter nothing left for me.

I miss you in the brightest mornings and the darkest nights, when the sun comes out to play and the rain starts pelting down like there’s no tomorrow. I’ll miss you in the loneliest winters and the blooming springs.

Everything reminds me of you. I am stuck in this eternal frost without you here; your loss has trapped me into this winter forever. I am slowly losing feel of my limbs as they succumb to the cold around me - everything has frozen into place, trapping me into the confines of this perpetual season. The world is closing in, I have nowhere to go, nothing to do. No longer do I have you to lead me out of this snow, no longer do I have you to hold my hand and bring me warmth through it all.

Why did you have to go?

Baby, did you know how much pain I’d be in when you’d left? Did you know how much it would hurt, how you’ve trapped me into this never-ending arctic, leaving me behind to freeze?

Did you know when you chose to go?

You’ve left me in ruins, my love. I can’t continue without you. I’m struggling to breathe, suffocating, as the world collapses inwards, threatening to bury me alive. I wait for you everyday, through all of the grief, the pain. I still wait for the day that you come back, that I get to see your face again.

Or maybe I’m a dumbass. I don’t know. Have you changed? Or is it I who has? Or perhaps, us both? I’m still a lovesick fool for you, Y/N, that I can tell you for sure. I can’t stop thinking of you, as the days pass, sun and moon taking their turns in the sky. I’m left, suffering in this darkness, bleakness without you here. I wonder if you’ll still be there at the end, when all ceases to exist. I wonder if I’ll see you again; how much more do I have to wait? How many more sleepless nights will have to pass before I can lay my eyes upon you again? How many days, months, years do I have to hold back before I get to feel you, touch you, kiss you, one more time?

Or maybe I’m being optimistic. You know what, Y/N, I’ll never see you again, maybe you’re better off without me. Maybe it’s all for the best, maybe it’s time for me to move on, maybe it’s time for you to move on. Maybe it really was not meant to be, maybe you really weren’t the one for me.

Then why can’t I get you out of my head?

Y/N, I wish I could just forget you. I wish you never existed, I wish I had never gotten to know you. Then it would be so much easier for me. I wish that you had ignored me, that you had turned me down when you had the chance. It would’ve been the most pain that I’d feel at the time, but believe me, it’s nothing compared to this.

Now I can’t get rid of you, no matter how hard I try. You’re there, you’re there when I lie down and close my eyes for the night, you’re there at work, hiding behind my papers and my laptop, waiting to take me out to lunch. You’re everywhere, baby, you’re in the car, riding shotgun and racing to connect to Bluetooth first, singing at the top of your lungs as we speed down the highway like the reckless teenagers that we were. I see you, hair tangled by the wind, belting out your favorite lyrics out of the roof of my convertible. And I remember thinking, for the hundredth time that night, you’re the most beautiful girl in the world. Damnit, Y/N, you’re standing by the mirror every morning when I get ready for my meetings, dainty fingers straightening my tie and planting a kiss on my lips. You got this, lover boy.

You’re there, and then you’re not. You flicker between reality and imagination, I cannot discern whether I’m living in a fever dream or simply hallucinating. You’re slipping through my hands like grains of sand: I’m losing more of you by the second, can’t seem to hold on to you. You’re disappearing, getting further and further away as all I can do is watch helplessly as you fall through my fingers.

Where are you now, Y/N?

I worry about you, I worry whether you’ve eaten well, whether you’ve slept well, whether you’ve had a good day at the office. Have you seen your parents lately? Have you had some time to yourself over the past days, have you overworked yourself as you often tend to do? Are you taking care of yourself?

Is it selfish of me to be wishing for you, thinking of you after all this time? Tell me, Y/N, is it wrong of me to be wanting you despite it having been over for so long now? You’ve probably moved on by now, considering how long it’s already been. Maybe you’ve met someone new, maybe you’re in love with someone else, maybe I’ve already been replaced with another man in your life.

Maybe I treated you wrong, maybe you didn’t feel like I loved you enough, maybe I didn’t make you feel special enough. I wish, Y/N, I wish that I could turn back time for you, I wish I could go back and be better for you, that I could fix all of the mistakes that I’ve made, wipe all of the tears that you might’ve cried for me, swallow up all of the pain that must’ve been plaguing you, to suck up the hurt that you were feeling back then. I wish you could give me all of the pain, I wish that I could’ve carried it all for you, shielded you from it all like how I should’ve done.

But it’s too late now, isn’t it?

You’ve met someone else by now, you’re laughing, smiling, whispering with another, kissing someone else’s lips, in love with your new man. And I’m still here, trying to get over you like the pathetic loser that I am. There are so many regrets, so many things that I wish that I could still tell you, so many errors, mistakes that I made. It’s all my fault. I want nothing more than to be able to get on my knees in front of you and apologize for everything. There are so many more words, so many moments that I want nothing more than to be spending with you.

I’m still in love with you.

I think I always will be, Y/N. I know it’s selfish of me. I really can’t help it. I’m sorry.

You came into my life like a whirlwind, taking all of me along for the ride. And now that you’re gone, I don’t know what to do with myself no longer. I’ve been swept away with you and my fate will forever be left in your hands. There’s nothing left for me here, not in my work nor art. All that’s left is you. You are the only thing keeping me going now - I live another day, endure another night hoping for you, waiting for the day that I will finally see you again. I open my eyes for you in the mornings, in hopes of laying them upon your figure once more.

Maybe it’ll all be for nothing, I know. Maybe I’ll never see you again. But there’s nothing left for me, remember? I’m willing to take my chance. For when I finally do see you once more, it will all be worth it.

I miss you, Y/N. I miss you so fucking much. My heart beats for you, my lungs breathe for you. My every cell in my entire being aches so desperately for you, for you and you only. And so I’ll wait for you. I promise. I’ll be here for you, waiting for the day that I get to catch a glimpse of you, to be there when you need a shoulder to cry on, for when you need even the littlest, tiniest thing. I’m ready to give you the world, baby. I’m ready to right all my wrongs, to treat you like the fucking queen that you are. I’m going to treat you the way that you deserve.

When that time comes, my heart will be happy. When the time comes that I see you again, that I hear your voice again, your laugh again, it’ll be okay. All this pain will fade away to nothing. Don’t worry about me, darling, I’ll always be here, waiting. Waiting for you, until the end.

I promise.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

an: i hope you liked it!!!! <3 please please please leave feedback my loves!

#taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung imagine #bts imagine #bts taehyung

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otterbagel · 3 years

Text

The Reunion (Part 1) Simon x Reader

Reader makes a rash decision, one that has long lasting consequences.

(Notes: There are two parts to this! Next part should be out next week. I'll probably start spacing out my posts after this so I don't get burnt out like last time. Also, didn't get to edit this one as much as I should've; the whole thing ended up pretty long and would take a long time everytime I tried to edit it. Can't believe it took me this long to finish one about Simon!!!)

"Hey, this is quite the unusual find, you gotta admit."

Your eyebrow raised without hesitation, your eyes looking down to check your shoes. "Not really," you remarked softly, eyes going back up to meet the object of the discussion: a PL600 android.

The salesman, who had uncomfortably started hounding you for the sale after you had curiously drifted towards the humanoid, was gesturing towards it flippantly with a toothy grin. "At this price?! Tell me, no, tell me where you found one this cheap— in this good a condition?"

Your mouth automatically frowned. The arms were covered by a dark undershirt that made most of the skin unseeable— any damage not on the face and hands wouldn't be factored into the buying purchase. You had a feeling this clothing choice was intentional.

"Just three hundred bucks!" The seller's round face turned into your line of sight. You quickly looked away out of discomfort.

Your eyes landed onto the android's clear blue ones. You hadn't looked very closely at any androids before, despite walking amongst them nearly every day. Did they all look this lifelike?

Maybe you were looking way too into it.

You swallowed, aggressively fumbling for your wallet with a grunt of annoyance. "Okay, fine. Three hundred."

With a pleased noise, the seller took off with your card, waving it in the air between two of his fingers.

You crossed your arms beside the android, who didn't seem to take any notice of what had just transpired.

…

Reality had begun to hit you like a truck on the way home.

By the time you opened the door to your tiny house, you realized just how big of a rash decision you had just made.

The android stood behind you quietly and without complaint as you released the door handle, letting the door softly bang against the wall. You stared dumbly into your own house, coat hanging limply from one of your dangling arms as you searched your brain for a solution.

You frowned, shaking your head rapidly. "I have no room for this."

"Excuse me—"

You jumped at the android's sudden intrusion into your own self reprimand, a small noise of fright escaping you before you could even begin to think of holding it back.

"—would you like me to get started?"

"Uh, yeah yeah yeah, uh… do whatever you want," you waved it off awkwardly, holding a hand to your chest as you attempted to catch your breath. You hurried inside, embarrassed of the whole situation.

You sat down on the couch as the android closed the door and walked past you and into the kitchen.

Without turning it on, you stared at the TV as your fingertips rubbed against your face in nervousness.

That had been such an impulse buy. You couldn't believe you had done that.

The faucet turned on for a moment. You think you had put a cup in there, but there wasn't much else to clean.

It seemed to be working properly. The guy who sold it was certainly odd and abrasive, but all in all it was a pretty good deal. Usually they were more than twice as much; newer models so expensive that the thought of you owning one was impossible. Even if it had some cosmetic damages, that was a small issue compared to its functionality.

Trying to ignore the strange new entity in the house, you flipped on the TV. It was the news.

There was some story about a recent fire that had decimated a small apartment building on the outskirts of Detroit. The police said it likely had something to do with Red Ice, although most evidence would probably be destroyed.

The android had finished whatever it was doing in the kitchen and had quietly begun watching the TV from the archway.

You looked at it as it parted its lips in preparation to speak. "Are you a fan of the news?"

"Sort of," you chuckled, looking back to the screen. "I work at a newstation— not this one, but I like checking it out from time to time."

The android nodded, continuing to watch the screen as it held its hands politely behind its back.

You looked it over, getting that feeling of nervousness again. "W-what's your name?" You blurted out quietly and without any grace.

It blinked at you, the LED spinning blue for a second. "My previous owners named me Simon. Would you like to change my name?"

You shook your head to yourself. "Do you like your name?"

It squinted at you in confusion before returning to its natural, composed look. "It's good," it responded.

Although you tried to maintain a jovial body language, you weren't doing a good job. "Great! Si… Simon is a great name," you chirped out awkwardly.

"Thank you," Simon replied, giving a small head bow.

You turned your head away from it as you felt your face grow warm with embarrassment.

What on Earth was happening to you?

…

You had been having a strange dream about work when you heard someone calling your name.

"...huh…?" you called out groggily.

Your name again. "...I think you're going to be late for work at this rate…"

Your eyes fluttered open. Simon was fiddling with his hands as he held them in front of his chest, eyes moving between you and the clock beside the bed.

It said 8:32.

The comforter was flung nearly off the bed as you jumped up in a panic. "Oh geez, yeah I'm gonna be late…" Random clothes filled your arms that you grabbed from your drawers as you prepared to go to work. "Thanks for waking me."

Simon quietly made his way over to you as you tried finding a pair of socks. "I didn't hear you walking around this morning," he said with a chuckle. "And where you stayed up later than usual last night… I figured…"

A laugh escaped you as you headed off towards the bathroom to get ready.

He had been living here… maybe three months? It had seemed like a much longer time than that. In that amount of time, things had definitely changed between you two.

Despite it being his intended purpose, it felt strange to have someone doing all your housework for you. It became an odd ritual pretty quickly: once you got home, you would work on chores together. Not that there were many— that was one of the perks of having a small house— but it just made you feel better about the whole thing.

The whole process was a bit cathartic for you; away from the hustle and bustle of the busy, stressful life at the newstation and into a warm, domestic one.

You hurried to the front door to slip on your shoes, Simon leaving his spot on the couch to see you off.

"I think I'll make it on time," you joked as you looked up at him. "Thanks again."

"No problem…" he responded quietly, struggling to retain eye contact with you.

As you rose to your feet, he gave you a brief hug. Your face immediately began to burn bright red.

"Have… have a good day at work…" he stuttered out before walking in quick strides to the kitchen.

You were still frozen in place by the time he exited your vision. "Y-you too…" you blurted out before fumbling out the door, realizing your linguistic blunder before you had even closed the door.

As you headed down the street, you let your hands touch your heated face.

…

You had nearly run home out of excitement.

It had been such a small thing, but the prospects of your future career had your mind going nuts.

After fumbling to get the key in the door and tossing it open, you slung your coat off your arms in a fluid motion. "Simon! Simon! You won't believe it!"

He was sitting on the couch— like he usually had been over the past year— engaged in some overly dramatic show you weren't particularly fond of. His eyes were wide at your sudden entrance. "Yes?"

You let the door make its way closed before you kicked it shut behind you, holding your arms out. "They said they liked my article!"

Simon stared for a moment before his LED flashed in excitement. "THE article?" He sat up on the edge of his seat, smiling at you as he was filled with a wave of positive energy.

"Yeah!" You nodded. "Not to get you too excited, but they're showing it to some of the higher ups, but it looks like I might get my own schedule slot soon!"

"Oh wow!" He exclaimed, rising to his feet and taking you into his arms to lift you up for a split second. "I knew it would happen! I'm so proud!"

You erupted into a fit of giggles as he held you, almost enjoying his praise as much as your own success. "Thanks Simon, I couldn't have done it without you."

He released you, letting his hands rest against your sides. "That's not true," he responded quietly, his face red as he looked to the side.

With a warm smile, you nodded to him. "Yes," you drawed out for effect. "You even came up with the idea. And, not to mention, the moral support."

He stepped back a little, crossing his arms as he attempted to hide his expression of happiness. "You're too kind."

The TV played in the silence, Simon fiddling with the edge of one of his sleeves as he pulled it down.

Your mind raced as you looked at his hand, debating on bringing it up right now when the mood was so light.

"They mentioned… uh... increasing my pay," you began, watching his expression for any hint of distress. "I thought that maybe… we could finally… you know… get that fixed…"

His hands trailed along his sleeve as he nodded to himself, seemingly lost in thought. "Yeah," he responded. "That would be nice… but it would be so expensive… are you sure?"

It had taken a few weeks to first see it, and even longer for you to see the full extent of the damage, but your initial thoughts had been correct. The long sleeves had been put on him for a reason, and it had seemed as though it had gradually become a personal choice as well.

His forearms and biceps had a lot of physical damage, certainly from his previous owners.

Luckily, it had been almost purely cosmetic. Aside from a few light dents and scratches to his actual body, it was just a matter of getting the covering fixed. As of now, the white sheen of his android body was always visible underneath his sleeves.

You wrung your hands together out of nervousness. "I just know how you said that you wanted it fixed," you took in a sharp inhale. "It won't be a problem to actually do, I've already been saving for a while…"

He smiled, rushing in to hug you again. You, a bit caught off guard this time, was frozen in place.

"I'd like to put the past behind me," he said as you finally came to and hugged him back, albeit still in a bit of a shock. "I think this is the first step."

As you embraced, you couldn't help but feel a pang of excitement and anxiety.

#dbh x reader #dbh simon #dbh simon x reader

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ren-therose · 3 years

Text

It Was Always You

Dr. John Watson X F!Reader (3.9k words)

Summary: You walk into 221B, knowing full well that Sherlock, a colleague of yours, isn’t there; however, his flatmate John is. In his own jealousy and anger at Sherlock, a misunderstanding occurs, and you attempt to resolve it.

Warnings: angst, fluff, jealousy, smut 18+, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), this mans sexy hands ( dont @ me)

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to let me into 221 Baker Street, knowing that no one else would ever answer the door except her. When she opened it, she was taken aback to see me standing there, still in my work clothes with an envelope in hand.

“Oh hello dear! I thought you were Sherlock. That man always seems to lose the keys to the flat. I have had to make so many copies for him. Just the other day, I caught him trying to slip his hand through the mail slot and, oh! Anyway, that’s probably not why you are here- you must be here to see Sherlock! If you’re looking for him, he isn’t here love, but you might be able to find him-”

I cut her off, grabbing her hands and pulling her in to give her a tight hug, landing a peck on her cheek as I pulled away. I loved the boys landlady, but Mrs. Hudson had a way of going on incredibly long and irrelevant tangents. She made the best biscuits in all of London though.

“No Mrs. Hudson, I’m not here to see Sherlock....I...I-I’m actually here to see John,” I said sheepishly, looking down at the envelope in my hands. I shook my head, trying not to get caught up in my own stress, and stretched the envelope out to her. “Mrs. Hudson, before I go up, I have a present for you. Two tickets to the opera, and a handsome man waiting for you there. I know he is the one that has been bringing you those gorgeous roses,” I said, looking behind her to see the vase on the entry table. Her eyes widened as she shifts slightly, stealing a glance at the flowers, as if she was checking to see if they were still there. She turned, taking the envelope and pulled out the tickets to the Royal Opera House, only to immediately shove them back in. She tried to push the envelope into my hands again, but I declined, making a surrendering gesture and backing away. We quarreled for a few moments, pivoting around the tiny entry until I finally made it up a few of the steps, asserting my dominance to show the unwillingness I held.

“Ms. Y/N, you are quite the meddler,” she said with a shake of her head, opening the envelope once more. “...what time does the show start....my goodness! I have to change now!” Mrs. Hudson exclaims. Lucky for her, my plan was already in motion.

“You have 15 minutes until the private car will come to pick you up, ma’am, but you always look lovely,” I reply with a wink.

“Wear red!” I call back to her, as I climb the stairs to the second floor, hearing her coo as she made her way back into her flat.

The door of 221B was unlatched, and I didn’t think John would mind the intrusion. He too would probably just assume it was Sherlock waltzing in. I opened the door to see the doctor, sitting in his usual spot, typing away on a new blog post. He had today's morning paper next to him, as though he needed to cite another source about his own adventure with the famous Mr. Holmes. He didn’t look up, but instead called out, “I thought you weren’t coming back tonight. Something to do with some new case? Or was it perhaps Mycroft? I can’t keep track of you anymore, though I’m sure you care little for my location and/or well-being if it doesn’t affect a case”. He was clearly in a mood, but it was my fault Sherlock was out. He may be a genius, but he didn’t seem to realize that Molly and I had played him. He would be busy playing with cadavers all evening.

I took off my coat and hung it on the rack by the door, as well as my scarf. My work clothes were not usually something I would wear around their flat, but I had come straight from the university where I teach and research human behavior, attitude and persuasion. The button up blouse and navy blue skirt were a staple to my wardrobe of simplistic outfits. The only bits character I would add to my looks were my shoes. Today, I had settled on well-loved, leather loafers with a good sized heel that matched my tweed coat. I kicked off the shoes and walked behind him into the kitchen, looking for something to defrost the chill I had caught from walking across town. Or maybe it was the nerves.

“You better not be placing any more human remains in our fridge Sherlock. I’m tired of the disembodied heads, an-and, and, singular eyeballs! It’s like they are staring into my soul...” his words trailed off. “Y/N?” he asked with a hint of fear, as well as amusement. He knew it was me, but it was hard to tell from the outfit and position I was in. I could very well be a murderer, client, or complete stranger, rummaging through his fridge. But it was me. I was bent over in the fridge, looking for cream, and I hadn’t noticed him stand and turn back towards the kitchen. As my arse stuck out from the behind the door of the fridge, I called back to him. “Do you want a drink? I feel like a tea,” I exclaimed, standing up right to look at him with bottle of creamer in hand. I could see him relax as he looked me over, checking to make sure I wasn’t in any distress. My hair was in a French-twist of sorts, but by this time of day, it usually fell around my face and would lose its form, becoming a messy blob. I brushed the hair out of my face, giving him a smile as I set the creamer down on the meth-lab of a kitchen island. I often acted manic around them, trying to control my own obsessions and addictions, but they both looked out for me. John enjoyed caring for people, especially Sherlock and I.

He shook his head, complete with his mental examination of me. “I didn’t know you were coming over. You know that Sherlock isn’t-”

I pounded my fist on the counter, not hard enough to be angry, but enough to show my irritation. “Why does everyone think I have come to see Sherlock? Even Mrs. Hudson had assumed!” I exclaimed, walking across the kitchen. Huffily, I grabbed the kettle and began to fill it with tap water, leaning over the sink as I lifted my heels, back and forth, shifting my weight.

“Well,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, looking off to the side. “The two of you work closely together, I just assumed that you would want to pick his brain about some new theory you’re trying to publish,” he murmured.

“Jesus John, you make it sound so salacious,” I laugh, reaching up to get the mugs. “What do you think we are doing at my office, or when we are gone?” I had to go on my tip toes, especially since I had taken off my heels. As I reached, I didn’t notice that John had been looking over my stocking covered legs, taking in the tone of my calves as I struggled to grasp a mug.

“Here, let me help you Y/N,” John said, rushing over to help grab the cups. I had already grabbed them, but his hands wrapped around mine, supporting the mugs and me. He was so close, my chest mere inches from his, the drinkware between us. He looked down between us, then back at me, a look in his eyes that gave my stomach butterflies.

Before I could get ahead of myself, I stepped back to put the mugs on the island next to us. “John, Sherlock is merely a colleague with an annoyingly witty brain that can help me with my publication. I can’t stand the bastard most of the time,” I say, pouring an ungodly amount of sugar into my cup.

“Well, that makes two of us. I just thought you fancied him, especially since you come over and help take care of the place quite a bit.”

It was true. Anytime I came over to ask them about the latest case and the actions of the killer, I found myself tidying up, doing dishes, and even making meals. But it wasn’t for Sherlock.

“No John, that’s not why I help out,” I say tentatively. My body was facing the many bottles and beakers on the counter in the center of the kitchen, while he stood next to me, leaning his side against the counter, still looking down at me. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him. “John, it’s because I-”

Before I could finish, we hear the familiar owl-like call from Mrs. Hudson to vocalize her entrance. “Hoo Hoo! Y/N, thank you again for these tickets. However will I repay you?” the woman asks as she wraps her arms around me for a hug.

“Oh Mrs. Hudson, consider it an early gift!” I say, squeezing her back.

“There is no holiday coming up,” John says inquisitively.

“Sometimes, there isn’t a reason, John,” I say with a little edge to my voice. “Give my best to your handsome admirer!”

“I will love, I will. See you later tonight!” she chirped as she walked out.

“Or not,” I mumble with a small snicker.

“Heard that!” She calls out behind her. For an older woman, her hearing can be remarkable. I laugh, and John emits a slight chuckle as well. We look to each other once more, smiling with content, though I can see John’s brain trying to solve the question of why I gave her the tickets. But before he could interrogate me, the kettle begins to whistle.

“Tea’s ready. Earl Grey or Black Tea?” I ask, quickly moving past him to the tin.

“I know you know what I like,” he says, arms crossed as he watches me pick out the bags.

“I just thought I’d give you an option,” I say, bringing the bags back and dropping them in the mugs. “But I know not to ask about the sugar,” I say with a wink, a sense of my more relaxed self peeking through. I turn to grab the kettle, but John has already done so. I am standing in front of the mugs, when he comes up behind me, pouring the water from around. He is close to me, but not touching. His other hand is just barely ghosting over mine, hanging by my side.

“I’m so sorry, I could move,” I manage to say, stepping off to the side.

“No, no, you’re no bother,” he softly says. I can smell the aftershave on his skin, a smell I had often found so comforting. This new proximity, however, allowed me to better isolate the smell of pine, a hint of mint, and a spice I couldn’t name.

I stirred our drinks, pulling the teabags out now that they had steeped. Adding a dash of cream to mine, I hold it the cup up, signaling a toast.

“To knowing one another.”

“To knowing one another,” he responds.

We clink our cups, taking a sip, not breaking eye contact. I lower my mug, breaking the stare, as I look down at the light brown color of the tea. John clears his throat, moving slightly closer as he looks down at the contents of his own drink.

“Umm..should we, maybe, er, sit?” I say, sounding as though I hadn’t just barged in there several minutes before like I owned the place.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” he replies.

I was the first to move, coming around to his chair and sitting in the warm seat.

“Yeah, no, get up that’s my spot,” he says, shaking his head as he comes to stand in front of me.

“Sherlock isn’t here, why can’t you sit in his seat?” I ask, pulling my legs up into the cushion, tucking them under my bum.

“I can, but I was in the middle of writing something,” he says, hesitantly sitting down in his friends leather chair.

“I’ll proof it before you continue,” I say, picking up his laptop to put in my lap. He sighs across from me, clearly annoyed. I toss the paper at him. “Here, do the word puzzle or something. Sherlock can’t bother us “ordinary” people about it if we solve it without him around,” I say, scrolling to the beginning of his post.

He picks up the pencil next to the chair, searching the pages for the crossword. As I begin reading, I can’t help but look up to steal glances at the doctor across from me, a man who is constantly overshadowed by the genius he solves crimes with. Sherlock had once told me that while he solves crimes, Watson saves lives. I wonder if he will need to save that for a speech one day, but for now, it reminds me of what an incredible man John is. He has saved my life on many occasions, probably not even knowing, though if he did, probably never taking the credit.

“John, this might be your best entry yet,” I exclaim. Though I felt he was too humble in his writing, he did a wonderful job of painting a picture for the reader and giving us a map inside the detectives thought process.

“No no, it was all Sherlock. He is always the one who solves it,” he says without looking up.

I set the laptop down beside me, pulling my legs down to be crossed over one another at the ankles.

“John, you don’t think very highly of yourself and...well.... it breaks my heart. Truly. Sherlock can’t do these things without you,” I say, looking at the newspaper that hides his face.

“Well, it isn’t without your help around here that I don’t kill him. You’re my saving grace, Y/N,” he says softly. My breathing hitches in my throat. Now was as good a time as any. He still hasn’t moved the paper, as if afraid to see me reaction. Quietly, I slip from the chair to my knees. I move towards him and my place a hand on the top of his leg. He lowers the paper, looking into my bright eyes. As he sets the paper down beside him, John sits up a bit more, leaning in to me. I straighten up, bringing my face closer to his. My hand goes to his cheek, rubbing it softly with my thumb.

“John, it’s always been you,” I whisper.

I slide my hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him. He leans down with parted lips, grabbing my face with both of his hands and kisses me.

Years of knowing the two men, and all I could think of was this moment, the one I never knew if I could have. Our lips fit like puzzle pieces, one on top of the other, allowing for us to feel the buzz of our connection as it lingered on. My other hand had gone to his sweater and was now gripping it, the only thing left grounding me to the earth. As we pulled away, our eyes met, as they had so many times, and the look that we saw finally had a name: desire.

I pulled him back in again, this time with more passion and the need to truly feel that he was mine. His hands had moved from my face down to my waist, and pulled me up onto his lap. My skirt rode up so that I could straddle him, and I prayed it wouldn’t rip (but if it did, i wouldn’t feel too bad).The feeling of his grip around my torso brought back the butterflies, as we gave sharp, open mouthed kisses, our bodies closer than they had ever been. His mouth started to trail from my mine, down to my jaw, under to my neck, causes little hiccup-like gasps to escape me. My hands were on his neck and in his hair, scratching softly to encourage this. As he came down to my collarbone, he stopped abruptly and pulled back to look at me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, worry clouding my face. I start to get off of him when his arms pull me back, holding me in his lap.

“No no, it’s just...we are in Sherlock's chair,” he says awkwardly.

“Do you think I care whose chair it is John? Besides it’s a bit better for sitting on you and I don’t think I want to get off you anytime soon,” I say smuggly, dragging my hands down to his chest.

“Oh you like sitting in my lap,” he responds, looking quite proud of himself. In response, I rolled my hips against him, feeling him grow underneath me. I bite my lip as I lean to whisper “feels like you do too”. I lick the shell of his ear, exhaling softly.

A low groan comes from his throat and he places his hands on my waist, giving them a pull that causes my body to roll against him once more. I shiver, dropping my head back as I do so. I don’t think either of us have done something like this since we were quite young, but the friction of it, matched with our tension we had stored for years felt so good.

As he continued to roll my hips against his, I leaned back down to kiss him, this time, allowing for him to search my mouth. My hands went to his sweater as I peeled it off of him. I then started unbuttoning his shirt, dragging my nails as I did so. This caused him to buck up into me and I let out a yelp, grinding down against him.

“Here,” he said, lifting me from his lap to his knee. “I want you to ride it for me, could you love?”

How could I say no? Immediately, I rocked against him, feeling myself grow wetter. My skirt was still up around my waist, but as he undid my blouse, He could see that I had a matching set of lingerie underneath. He smirked with a low growl, wrapping his arm around me again, letting my blouse hang freely as he pulled my chest to his mouth. He left love bites on the tops of my chest, suckling and licking as he pulled my bra away from my nipples. They were already perked up from the way I was still grinding onto his knee, but the moment his mouth latched onto my right nipple, I couldn’t help but pull at his hair. He moaned against my breast, causing a vibration that ripped through my body.

“John, I’m so close, please help me,” I gasp, rocking myself in a rhythm I could barely keep. He removes his mouth from my chest, and I drop my forehead to his, as he moves his hands to take control of my waist once more. He tenses his thigh underneath me, creating a new pressure against my clit. I cry out, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck.

“Right there John, please don’t stop,” I choke, trying to breathe a little deeper for fear I might hyperventilate.

He plants a kiss on my lips, pulling my lip away from between his teeth. My legs begin to shake as my orgasm takes my body, releasing my fluids onto his thigh as he continues to roll my hips through it. I can barely sit up, as he lays me down to rest against his chest, drawing on my back with his finger.

“That was so good, Y/N, you did so good for me,” he whispers. I smile, kissing his neck. His eyes flutter closed as I continue to kiss and suck at his neck. As I swing my leg off of him so that I am once again between his legs, I slowly start kissing down to his chest, licking up, and then continuing to kiss back down.

“Jesus, love, you’re gonna be the death of me he says, a hand on his forehead as he looks down to see me biting at his pelvic bone, while my hands creep up his thighs to his belt. I can feel his hard on against my boner, and I feel bad for neglecting it during my ride, but I know how to make it up to him. Once I undid his pants, I started shimming them down him. Pulling his swollen cock out from his trousers, I can already see the beads of precum seeping from his slit. I involuntarily lick my lips, before I give his cock a slow stroke.

John groans above me, his head rolled back and to the side, looking at me with a smile. I smile back, maintaining eye contact as I lean down to plant a kiss on the tip of his dick. His mouth parts lightly as his breathing becomes more shallow, waiting to see what I will do next. I kiss my way down his shaft, all the way to his balls, holding them in one hand while I continued to slowly pump his member in my other. I sucked at them for a moment, releasing them with a pop, causing him to buck up into my hand. I open my mouth and let my tongue drag all the way up the underside of his cock, until I reach the top. I wrap my lips around him, slowly pushing my head down as far as I could take him. His hand goes for my hair, which at this point had fallen out of my usual work-do, so that he could see my face.

“Oh...you know what you’re doing. Keep going love,” he groans out, desperate for more.

I begin to bob my head up and down, taking the rest of shaft in my hand. I use my tongue as well to swipe of his dick as I messily blow the doctor above me. It was no surprise to learn that he had jerked off to this very thought many times, but to actually have it happen was a dream come true for him. As I continue to work his cock, the wetness of my vagina continues to throb at the thought that he could be inside me. I can feel him getting closer as his moans become more strained and grip on my hair tightens.

“Oh, oh, Y/N, you’re gonna have to stop love, I wanna be inside you when I finish,” he says, looking down on me, signaling our next move. I look up at him as I go down as far as I can, gagging on his dick while little tears prick at the corner of my eyes. He pulls me off of him by my hair, leaning down to kiss me sloppily. I had never seen the army doctor so disheveled before, but I loved this different side of him. I stood up to straddle him once more, and as I sat, he took his fingers and ran them through my slit. I hissed at the action, not wanting his fingers when I was ready for his cock. But he took the cum and slickness from my first orgasm and rubbed it onto his cock, preparing me for it. As I sat up, he held his tip to my entrance, looking into my eyes for the green light. I slid down onto him, my mouth gaping open with a sharp inhale as he filled me.

“Jesus Christ...” was all he could say, as I sat with him inside me, both of us half dressed in his living room.

I rolled my hips as I had when I first sat on him, shivering at the girth of his member. I found a rhythm to pace myself with, causing us to pant and groan in unison. As I bounced on him, he brushed my hair behind my ears, cupping my face while I braced myself with my hands on his chest.

He slid down a little shifting the angle of him inside me, causing him to hit my g-spot.

“Jesus, John, that’s it, right there,” I cry, rolling my hips against him. His hands move to wrap around my waist once more, as he takes control, pounding up into me. I shouted, leaning forward with one hand on the back of the chair, the other supporting his neck. Although my mouth was on his, all I could do was moan into him as he relentless hit spot that needed him most.

“Touch yourself,” he demanded. It was a voice he used when he needed to be taken seriously and I wasn’t about to go against him. I snaked my hand between us and made tight circles are my clit, rolling against him and my hand.

“John, please, I can’t, I’m gonna cu-”

He cut me off by sitting up a bit more and replacing my hand with his. I shouted as I gripped his shoulders, riding his cock as the tension broke. I began to pulse around him as I cried out his name over and over. My orgasm ripped through me, and before I could stop myself, I was squirting on top of Dr. John Watson.

He groaned out, “Y/n, Y/n, oh my god, good girl,” as he bucked up into me, coating my walls with his cum.

We rode out our high, forehead to forehead, trying to catch our breaths as our eyes remained close. After a few moments passed, we opened our eyes, looking to see if what we had done was a mistake. But there was no trace of regret in either of our faces.

“I’m yours, Dr. Watson,” I say, taking his face in my hand. He leans into me, then turning to kiss the inside of my hand. “I was always yours”.

Still inside me, we look around. Nothing had changed, except for maybe our relationship status.

“Do you think he will know?” I ask.

“There is not a doubt in my mind,” John replies.

“But do you think he will know we did it in his chair?” I laugh.

“Not if we clean it well enough,” he says, leaning in to rub his nose against mine.

We get up and begin cleaning, though it was hard to bend over, as my knees buckled nearly every time. By the time we had cleaned the room and ourselves up, it was nearly one in the morning. I moved my clothes into Johns room so that Sherlock wouldn’t notice if I slipped out the next morning. All the dishes had been dried and put away so that there was no trace of a guest.

As John and I lay in bed together, waiting for Sherlock to come home, John leans over and asks cautiously, “is this why you gave Mrs. Hudson those opera tickets?”

I freeze for a moment, knowing that I had been caught.

“I just needed her to not interrupt when I told you how I felt. I didn’t know it would lead to...well, this,” I giggle.

He laughs, pulling me towards him to kiss my forehead. “God, I love you.”

He freezes against my forehead, realizing it was the first time we had ever even said the word love to one another, even as friends.

I pull him down by the chin, to kiss him softly on the lips. “I love you too”.

---

A few hours after we had fallen asleep, we were awoken to the bedroom door being swung open and slammed against the wall.

“On my chair, John?!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

If you can’t tell, Martin Freeman rules my life and I have a deep and passionate love for him. I hope you enjoyed and look out for more of this because I am on a ROLL! xoxo

#dr. watson #dr. watson x reader #dr. watson smut #dr. watson fluff #smut #angst #jealousy #sherlock bbc #thigh riding

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Almost normal, but still weird: Jennifer Kelly’s year of venturing back out

Chris Corsano, Paul Flaherty and Joe McPhee at Long Live the Thing!

Ah, remember the hopeful days of May and June, when newly vaccinated stirred from their burrows and nosed cautiously out into the warm spring air. Beers could be quaffed at outdoor tables. Trips to elderly relatives could be considered. And concerts could be attended, if a little nervously.

I went to see E, the post-punk band that Thalia Zedek shares with guitar-tinkerer Jason Sanford, in June. It was a triumph. They were great (and also on their first live outing in several years). But it was also very strange. I had become nervous around people in ways that owed nothing to the pandemic. Also, in a pattern that would repeat, I was absolutely sure I had COVID the day after. (I did not.)

I saw Chris Brokaw reprise his barn-burning rock record Puritan a few weeks later, fronting the power trio that plays on the album but which normally travels no further than New England. It was fantastic. I was thrilled. And again, I was a little frightened. A weird rash developed, which I thought must be COVID rash. (It was not.)

Chris Brokaw Band at Arts Nova, Keene NH

The summer went on this way. I’d dash out to shows in excitement and follow up with days of dread. We spent a whole day outside in Peterborough at a September edition of the year-delayed Thing in the Spring (called Long Live the Thing! this time because it was not, duh, the spring anymore.) Joe McPhee blew me away. Sarah Louise charmed and enchanted. Bonnie Prince Billy and Matt Sweeney put on a surreal and beautiful set as Superwolves to close things out, and it was a festival, like a dozen other festivals from years past, though made strange by absence. I made another foray out to see Tobin Sprout and once, to meet up with Dusted friend Michael Rosenstein for dinner and then catch Bill Nace and the Powers/Rolin duo in Greenfield, MA.

Tobin Sprout at Arts Nova, Keene NH

And so, it was a year of returning to live venues, to eating out, to traveling in early November to Chicago again to see my son for the first time in two years. All good stuff. All welcome and celebrated. But none of it as casual, as taken for granted, as devoid of dread as it had been before. Welcome to the new normal. Just like the old normal except it scares you to death (and might kill you, though probably not, you big wuss!).

It was also a pretty good year for music though, and here’s the secret: it always is. You just have to listen to enough records to make it so.

Here are ten that I loved, described in some depth and another 40 to 50 listed. You could make a big deal out of the numbers or the placements but don’t. They’re all extremely good records.

Indeed, the list has been in a bit of flux since I first made it in October. I had flat out forgotten about Superwolves the first time around, for one thing. For another, I reviewed a string of really excellent albums from October on. NOUS/Laraaji, Michael Hurley, Endless Boogie, Bitchin Bajas, Emily Robb and Rider/Horse all came late in the year and all seemed worthy of at least a slot on the big list. It became a very big list indeed.

I’ve linked reviews and/or interviews where possible if you want to read more.

1. Cassandra Jenkins—An Overview on Phenomenal Nature (Badabing)

Cassandra Jenkins nailed the zeitgeist this year with her emotionally vulnerable, cerebrally challenging, gob-smackingly gorgeous album of not quite just singer songwriter songs celebrating life in the midst of sorrow. Everybody else is pointing to “Hard Drive,” as the hit here, and it’s very good, with its brainy museum guard sample, its sharp, driving rhythms, its blowsy dream-like sax around clear-eyed lyrics, but I like “New Bikini” best. “Let’s get you in the water/the water, cures everything,” Jenkins breathes, and amen to that.

2. Reds, Pinks and Purples—Uncommon Weather (Slumberland)

Like all the best pop songs, these lo-fi janglers smile and sigh at the same time, finding beauty in the fuzz and ambiguity of music—and human life itself. Glenn Donaldson imbues these tracks with a casual grace that recalls the best of 1980s New Zealand, but there’s a sardonic humor in the cuts about the music world. Stay right to the end for “Sing Red Roses for Me,” a song that hasn’t gotten much focus but whose chorus destroys me every time.

3. Chris Brokaw—Puritan (12XU)

Brokaw’s first unambiguously rock album in years, Puritan builds monumental sonics out of power trio basics. The title track makes you remember that Brokaw was in Come; its onslaught of guitar sound flickers and shifts in oblique post-rocking ways. “Bragging Rights” brings in Come bandmate Thalia Zedek for a mournful, acoustic interval. But it’s “Heart of Human Trafficking” that raises the stakes, with a rumble and roar that sounds great on record and even better live. Brokaw has never made a bad record, and this is a great one.

4. Mdou Moctar—Afrique Victime (Matador)

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Mdou Moctar’s 2019 album Ilana: The Creator made the case that the world’s current guitar shredding champion lived in sub-Saharan Africa, but Afrique Victime dials down the pyrotechnics to settle into hypnotic communal grooves. Not ready to give up on the double-tapping prowess? Check out opening “Chismiten” or the soul-stirring title track, both enlivened by astonishing displays of virtuosity.

5. Myriam Gendron—Ma Delire: Songs of Love Lost (Feeding Tube)

Myriam Gendron has only made one other album, a haunting re-imagination of the poems of Dorothy Parker, so I wasn’t quite prepared for how unearthly beautiful this one was. The Montrealean revisits Canadian folk songs, exploring their many lives as pre-industrial people’s music, as fodder for the 1960s folk revival and as post-modern meditations on love and sorrow. Essential, spare and adventurous, Gendron’s dream is flat-out gorgeous.

6. Sleaford Mods—Spare Ribs (Rough Trade)

Sleaford Mods’ Jason Williamson has run into a bit of flack lately for his support of Spotify, but that’s just him, with his outrageous opinions on everything. The surprising thing is how progressive he is, making a conscious effort to bring women’s voices into his laddish provocations. On Spare Ribs, like-minded punkers including Billy Nomates and Amy Taylor from Amyl and the Sniffers, spit corrosive verses to Andrew Fearn’s abstract and stuttering rhythms, while the Marxist academic Dr. Lisa McKenzie observes the historic plight of women in “Top Room.” Full of spit and bile and contrariness as always, but more inclusive.

7. Guardian Singles—S-T (Trouble In Mind)

The always great Chicago indie label Trouble In Mind had an even better than usual year in 2021, with excellent albums from Dummy, Smoke Bellow, FACs, Mountain Movers and Nightshift, but my favorite was Guardian Singles, a rambunctious Aussie punk record that recalled the best of the melodic post-punk bands—Mission of Burma, Wire, Feelies and the Clean—with a brash, fresh, idiosyncratic energy. “I’m so tired of never being alone,” rattled around my head like an antic mantra, while the fizz and pop cacophony of “Heartland” set my pulse racing.

8. Arab Strap—As Days Get Dark (Rock Action)

“I don't give a fuck about the past/Our glory days gone by/All I care about right now/Is that wee mole inside your thigh,” mutters Aidan Moffat in his scratchy Scots brogue at the outset of As Days Get Dark, but Arab Strap’s morose, sardonic, filthiness has aged surprisingly well. Still obsessed with sex, the band finds a kind of tenderness in a song about jacking off to old photos of the wife, and a strangled poetry in the way we cope with aging and loss. The writing is spot on, too, best line: “I come on strong with a limerick. She knocks me back with a villanelle.”

9. The Bevis Frond—Little Eden (Fire)

As he approaches 70, the Bevis Frond’s Nick Salomon can still rip a searing Hendrix-style guitar solo and can still construct serpentine pop melodies stick in your head. This sprawling double album was recorded entirely by Salomon, except for one track’s worth of drumming, and there’s not a slack moment in it, though you’ll swallow hard when “As I Lay Down to Die” forces you to contemplate a world without the Bevis Frond.

10. Six Organs of Admittance—The Veiled Sea (Three Lobed)

Ben Chasny makes a lot of different kinds of music—the hushed acoustic reveries from records like School of the Flower, the blistering feedback laced scrawls of the first Hexadic album, the free-ranging improv of his work with Rangda—but he seldom puts it all on one album as he did with this astonishing record on the Three Lobed label. “Somewhere in the Hexagon of Saturn” flits airily on flickering electronics, its guitar solo a rough monolith in a garden of butterflies. “Old Dawn” meditates on long washes of tone, and the semi-title track “Last Station, Veiled Sea” brings the slow-building revelations of Six Organ’s latter work on Companion Rises. But it’s the weird stuff that keeps me engaged—the boisterous electro-pop of “J’ai Mal Aux Dents” and the stinging no-wave disco of “All that They Left You.” Who knew he could do this? Who knew it would be my favorite part?

Let’s not even call them honorable mention. Here are a bunch of other records that I loved.

Pelt—Resistance Reticence (Three Lobed)

Damon & Naomi with Kurihara—A Sky Record (20/20/20)

Doran—S-T (Spinster)

Bonnie Prince Billy and Matt Sweeney—Superwolves (Drag City)

The Chills—Scatterbrain (Fire)

Mess Esque—S-T (Drag City)

Dummy—Mandatory Enjoyment (Trouble in Mind)

The Goon Sax—Mirror II (Matador)

Rosali—No Medium (Spinster)

GG King—Remain Intact (Total Punk)

The Mountain Goats—Dark in Here (Merge)

Jupiter & Okwess—Na Kazonga (Strut)

Emily Robb—How to Moonwalk (Petty Bunco)

New Bums—The Last Time I Saw Grace (Drag City)

Rose City Band—Earth Trip (Thrill Jockey)

Michael Hurley—The Time of the Foxgloves (No Quarter)

Lorkin O’Reilly—Marriage Material (Team Love)

NOUS, Laraaji and Arji OceAnanda — Circle of Celebration (Our Silent Canvas)

Ovlov—BUDS (Exploding in Sound)

Bill MacKay & Nathan Bowles—Keys (Drag City)

Bitchin Bajas—Switched on Ra! (Drag City)

Rider/Horse—Select Trials (Ever/Never)

The Colorist Orchestra with Howe Gelb—Not on the Map (Dangerbird)

Fiver with the Atlantic School of Spontaneous Composition—S-T (You’ve Changed)

Reigning Sound—A Little More Time with the Reigning Sound (Merge)

Endless Boogie—Admonitions (No Quarter)

Strapping Fieldhands—Across the Susquehanna (Petty Bunco)

Yasmin Williams—Urban Driftwood (Spinster)

#dusted magazine #jennifer kelly #yearend 2021 #cassandra jenkins #chris brokaw #reds pinks and purples #mdou moctar #myriam gendron #the sleaford mods #guardian singles #arab strap #bevis frond #six organs of admittance

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