#THANK YOU SO MUCH TO MY PAL for keeping pushing my spirit to finish it even if i cut down so much during the process sobs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wonjaekook · 4 years

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One Minus One Plus One

Pairing: college student!Mark x college student!reader

Description: In all of the years you’ve known Jungwoo, you should have figured out to not take his words at face value because, though you haven’t even met, Mark Lee seems to hate your guts.

Word Count: 9.9k

Genre: kind-of-enemies to lovers! fluff? angst? humor? I honestly don’t know how to categorize this

Warnings: vaguely suggestive ending, some minor swearing

A/N: This is my (late) holiday gift for a friend and to you all, I suppose. It’s an enemies-to-lovers but not really, as they’re not really enemies and it’s more passive-aggressive!Mark and very confused!Y/N. To the intended - I love and appreciate you so much; thank you for always supporting me and listening to me ramble about even the most ridiculous ideas <3 If you ever need anything, I hope you know that you can always shoot me a text or DM! Please enjoy c:

Mark Lee is always sweet. It’s the kind of sweetness that’s warm and fulfilling, leaving a pleasant feeling in the pit of the stomach, like a steaming up of hot chocolate rather than a strikingly sweet popsicle. His nature isn’t something he particularly prides himself on, as it’s partially unintentional, driven by awkwardness and politeness at times, or by the compulsion to simply make people happy. Jungwoo has told him that he’s allowed to be a little more selfish once in a while, he’s allowed to say no and take breaks sometimes. Except, he’s ever the people pleaser, ever the hard worker, ever the yes-man. Mark Lee is always sweet.

Except when he isn’t.

You’re fairly certain that Mark Lee has hated you since before you even met him. When you decide to transfer to the same university that your high school best friend Jungwoo attends, he talks your ear off about all of his great friends and all of the places he is going to take you and all of the fun you’ll have. He’s always been the descriptive type, telling you far too much about his good pals Mark, Donghyuck, Johnny, Taeil, Jaehyun, Kun, Lucas… and countless others, whose names you sometimes have a hard time keeping track of. Jungwoo has a lot of friends, something which has remained true since high school. Whenever you catch up with him, he speaks particularly fondly about Mark, who is one of his roommates and someone he considers to be one of his closest friends.

“You’ll love him,” he says, “but not too much, I hope. That would be super weird, you and Mark.” He wrinkles his nose at that and doesn’t make any more abnormal comments. You don’t think much of it.

In short, you let Jungwoo decide your opinion on Mark Lee before you ever met him. With everything else about moving to a completely different university occupying the majority of your thoughts, it’s easy enough to accept that Mark will be awkward and painfully sweet and that you will become fast friends. That’s your first mistake.

Before you even finish moving in, Jungwoo drags you over to his place to meet some of his friends, who he insists will become your own. It’s just past noon and he claims that everyone will be awake and ready to greet you once you get there. He’s half right, in the sense that only half of the apartment is awake. The early-risers, who Jungwoo didn’t even have to shake before he came over to get you, are at the table in their common area, sipping on various caffeinated beverages. These consist of Mark and Jaehyun. Donghyuck is presumably still curled up in his bed, asleep after a late night of playing games, and Johnny, who had stayed overnight and doesn’t actually live with them, is passed out on their couch, an arm slung over his face to block the light. Your friend has shown you enough pictures for you to recognize them.

Jungwoo practically deflates as soon as he walks in to see only two members of the current household conscious. “This is why we can’t have nice things,” he grumbles before striding over to Johnny and yanking off the blanket covering his long torso.

The elder groans, clearly having only been dozing and not deeply asleep, and moves his arm so he can glare at Jungwoo. “Your disrespect for my sleep schedule is why we can’t have nice things.”

“You don’t have a sleep schedule,” Jungwoo says back, glaring at his friend with the blanket in his hand. “Plus, Y/N’s here.”

Johnny lazily looks over and sees you in the entranceway, to which his response is to roll slightly so that he’s propped up against the back of the couch with one leg crossed over the other rather than just lying down. “Sup. Name’s Johnny.”

“Ew, don’t use your flirting voice!” Jungwoo whines at his friend, kicking him in the shin. In all honesty, you’re both amused and slightly flattered that Johnny is attempting to flirt with you when he’s just woken up. The messy hair is kind of a look. “Y/N’s a friend.”

“Yeah, we’ll be good friends, alright,” Johnny says, looking directly at you and wiggling his eyebrows in the most ridiculous way. That gets a giggle out of you while Jungwoo gawks, kicking Johnny again for good measure, slightly harder this time.

Jungwoo looks like he’s about to start arguing again when Jaehyun kindly interrupts, shifting the conversation. He gives you a small smile, perfectly polite and handsome, his hair straight and soft over his forehead. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Jaehyun.”

You lower your head to acknowledge him. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You look towards the other boy at the table, who you now realize hasn’t glanced up at you once. Jaehyun had been at least half watching the mock fight between Jungwoo and Johnny, but Mark had just been staring at his cup from behind circular glasses, not even drinking it. His own hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends, making him appear somewhat young. “You’re Mark, right?”

Finally, he looks at you, but looks away quickly. “Yeah.”

That’s… that’s not right.

You try again, smiling as brightly as you can, even though he won’t glance in your direction again. His side profile is full of both soft shapes and hard angles, afternoon sunlight coming in through the window falls as highlights on his cheeks and nose and chin. He appears exactly as your friend had described him to you, but his attitude proves him to be a walking contradiction. You shift on your feet, grasping for the right words to say. “Jungwoo has told me a lot about you.”

“Uh… yeah. He’s told me about you, too.”

You almost outright frown at that. Isn’t he supposed to be super nice and friendly? Instead, it sounds like Jungwoo has been spreading all sorts of nasty stories about you. Hypothetical stories that, apparently, only Mark has been listening to. Neither Jaehyun nor Johnny are acting strangely towards you at all.

All three of the other boys do seem to notice the change in behavior for Mark, though. There are a few moments of tense silence before Johnny elbows Jungwoo. The latter speaks up. “Hey, Mark, can you go resurrect Donghyuck? I think he might be dead.”

The switch is instant and very startling to you. His face loses all of its tension as he looks at Jungwoo, nodding. “Yeah, sure. If I don’t come back in ten minutes, I’m the one who’s dead.” He pushes himself up out of his chair and exits the common area.

After he’s gone, you look at Jungwoo. He stares back. You make a motion with your head towards the front door, where you retreat to and he follows. You stand somewhat stiffly, hands linked behind your back. “Did you say something to him? About me?”

Jungwoo puts his hands up defensively. “Nothing bad, I swear!” He looks back towards the common area. “He must just be having a bad day or something…”

That doesn’t explain the sudden warmth when someone else spoke to him, though. You frown. “Okay… I guess I’ll just have to try harder to get him to like me.”

Your friend seems to perk up at that. “That’s the spirit!” He proceeds to grab you by the shoulders and steer you back to the common area.

You have an amiable enough time chatting with the boys who had remained there. Eventually, Donghyuck emerges from his room, looking even more ruffled than Johnny had, and Mark shuffles out with him. Once again, he doesn’t even spare you a glance. Every so often, as you’re talking to the others or just listening to their strange, all-over-the-place conversations, your eyes flicker over to him. He contributes to the chatter, but it’s like he’s purposefully avoiding you, even though you’re literally in the room with him. It kind of hurts.

Still, you try not to let it bother you too much. An hour passes, which you realize with a start, and you remember that you’re not even nearly done unpacking. As you’re rising from your seat on the edge of the couch, Jungwoo throws a comment out to you. “You’re welcome to bust in here any time!”

He’s met with a chorus of agreement from the others, except one.

The next day, Jungwoo makes a point to introduce you to the rest of his circle. Not long after, you’re added to a group chat with a whole phonebook of unfamiliar numbers. Most of them, minus several who your friend had told you in the past do a poor job of checking their messages, send their names pretty quickly. Jungwoo tells you who the others are. With a pang of disappointment, you realize one of the missing numbers was Mark.

On your first day of classes, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that you share an economics lecture with Donghyuck, who acts both very tired and also full of energy, chatting your ear off before and after class, but looking as if he’s about to pass out when the professor gives her introduction and starts to go over course material. That day, you also learn that you have an ethics class with Jungwoo’s friend Doyoung, stoic and serious and exactly the opposite of Donghyuck, but still smiling at your lame jokes and carefully making sure you get the homework down.

The second day starts out much more slowly. You settle down for your third class, a curriculum development course, and it takes you about a solid minute to realize that Mark Lee is sitting in the room with you. He had come in while you were busily typing out a text to a friend from your previous university. The classroom is not particularly large and you had taken a seat near the middle, so there aren’t many places for him to hide. When he walks in, he takes a seat by the wall closest to the windows. You consider greeting him, walking to his desk to try and talk to see if he had a change of attitude from the last time you saw him, but then your professor enters the scene. As he passes by the far side of the room, Mark looks up from his own phone and smiles, mouth instantly opening to greet him. You stay in your seat and try to look busy as you listen to them chat amiably. Mark laughs in disbelief at something your professor says about his vacation.

At the end of the lecture, you pack up your things quickly and make the effort to take a few small, light steps to catch up to Mark, who’s already leaving. “Hi, Mark! I didn’t realize we had a class together.”

He gives you a sort of half-shrug, keeping his head pointed straight ahead. Almost imperceptibly, his pace increases. “I guess we do.”

He opens a door to a stairwell, not making any particular effort to hold the door for you. Reflexively, you grab the door and slip through after him. You try again as the two of you head down. “Are you going to be home tonight? Jungwoo invited me to have dinner with you guys.”

“No,” he says, voice edged with irritation. He reaches into his pocket, fishing out his phone and a pair of earbuds. “I’ll be out.”

“Oh.” You slow down slightly. “Well, we should hang out sometime. My next class is this way, so… see you.” By the time you’re done talking, he’s slipped both earbuds into his ears and is pushing the doors at the bottom of the stairs open. You hold back a heavy sigh and shrug your backpack higher onto your shoulders.

As he told you, he’s not in his apartment that evening. Though Jungwoo had invited you to help cook dinner, he shirks his responsibilities, slipping away to play games with Donghyuck and leaving you and Jaehyun to cook, with relatively unhelpful commentary from Johnny, who was once again on the couch when you arrived. At some point, their friend Yuta slips in, steals some noodles, and leaves.

After the cooking is done, you and Jaehyun celebrate with a firm high-five, and Jungwoo and Donghyuck un-disappear, coming out of the younger boy’s dark bedroom. The lot of you are halfway through eating when Donghyuck perks up. “Wait, where’s Mark? He said he would do calc homework with me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and hold back from saying that he told you he wouldn’t be home.

Thankfully, most of Jungwoo’s friends are nice to you and it’s easy enough for you to make friends of your own. You ease yourself into a routine of classes, homework, and hanging out with your new social circles. Mark doesn’t hide that he tries to avoid you about half of the time. At the same time, you try to split yourself between friend groups, as to not force him either to be around you or to not hang out with his own friends. There are the occasional large scale events that both of you are invited to, but there are enough people that you usually aren’t forced to interact. After a month of classes, you stop trying to start conversations, but you still greet him. He greets you back with the indifference of an overworked, tired stranger. During your class, he firmly ignores you. He does more than ignore you - he speaks to virtually every other person in your class except you. All of your friends carefully avoid the topic of his blatant dislike for you, though you know they all think it’s odd.

Finally, one of those large events comes to pass via the boy known as Zhong Chenle. He doesn’t go to your school, but is still somehow acquainted with all of Jungwoo’s friends, so he became acquainted with you as well. He’s eccentric and sarcastic and sometimes you see him playing basketball with Mark and Jaehyun in the school recreation center. So, when he rents out the local ice skating rink and invites you, you’re excited to go. It’s not often that you get onto the ice - it’s always a thrill after you re-learn how to skate, and you enjoy the feeling of the smooth gliding and wide, curving turns on the blades. You imagine that you’re painting with your feet.

Things go down smoothly, like you envisioned. After just twenty minutes, you’ve confidently found your ice legs and you’re racing around the rink with Donghyuck, playfully tipping each other off-balance with carefully or sometimes not-so-carefully timed pushes. A few minutes later, a new player enters the arena. Maybe if this new person weren’t Mark Lee, you wouldn’t have noticed their entrance, but your eyes are instinctively drawn to him.

The boy in question is clinging to one Lee Jeno, another friend of Jungwoo and Donghyuck and all the rest of them, as they both try to find their balance. Jeno seems to be having somewhat of an easier time with the skates on his feet, making slow pushes so that he glides short distances with Mark holding onto him. Mark is adorably flushed, in a way you haven’t seen before, his cheeks aflame with cold and embarrassment. His body is swallowed by an overly large hoodie, completing the cozy and cute look.

Your racing buddy has also slowed down to watch with you, staring at the scene. He suddenly nudges you with an elbow. “You should help him.”

“Jeno? I think he’s gotten the hang of it. Plus, I don’t know him that well.” It’s now a game of who can dodge implications rather than who can dodge physical pushes.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, skating lazily alongside you. “You know I’m talking about Mark. This would be a great opportunity to get on his good side.”

“Why don’t you help him? He’s your boyfriend, after all.” If you weren’t focusing on turning your skates and keeping your balance because you’ve reached the short end of the rink, you would cross your arms and huff at him more dramatically.

He clicks his tongue sharply, something you know by now that he does when he’s irritated. “Mark isn’t my boyfriend. Doyoung and Taeyong are boyfriends. Mark and I are soulmates. And he’s still painfully single.”

“So are you!” As you protest, you realize that Mark and Jeno are getting closer. Donghyuck fires something back indignantly, but you’re just thinking about what he said before. The offer to help lies in front of you as a real possibility, but how would you feel if someone you hated came up and asked if you wanted help skating? If you really hated them that much, you would just think they were being condescending. The last thing you want to do is give Mark a reason to think you’re acting that way towards him. So, as you skate closer, you pick up your pace and speed on by, not even glancing at the two boys with their arms interlinked. Luckily for you, Jungwoo is just ahead, so you hook arms with him and jerk him forward with your momentum, making him yell out in surprise.

As you’re gliding along, laughing at your friend’s reaction and attempts to push you, Mark stares at you from behind with a small frown on his face.

“Mark?” Jeno’s voice snaps him out of it and he looks towards the younger boy. “Do you need me to slow down?”

“No,” he says rather grimly, “let’s go faster.”

You don’t speak to each other at all for the entire night.

The next month and a half passes unremarkably. Then, suddenly, midterms are rolling up and you find yourself swamped with work, especially in the class you share with Mark and your new friend Yuqi. At the current moment, you’re at your place with your head buried in your arms, groaning dramatically. “I can’t do this.”

Yuqi nods, looking somewhat dead inside. “Professor Lim hates us.”

“I don’t know what chapters we even covered half of the material in. Did he just make it up?” You lift your hand to paw through the textbook in front of you lazily, so much of it seeming foreign. “It doesn’t help that the Instructional Systems Design Model is such a big part of the project.”

“Maybe that’s in Chapter 1?”

You flip through her suggestion before slamming your book shut. “Nope.”

“I know!” You perk up at your friend’s revelation, looking at her from across the table. “We can just ask Mark! He’s good at this class, he probably knows.”

You stiffen at her suggestion. There was only one time you dared to ask him for help, in which he just brushed you off and said he was busy. Since then, you’ve resigned yourself to only asking Yuqi for help, no matter how clueless she is in this class sometimes. A brief moment of panic sends your heart racing as she whips out her cellphone. “Don’t mention me.”

She turns to look at you, finger poised to press call over her phone. “What?”

You put your head back down, muffling your words. “Don’t say my name when you talk to him.” She gives you a weird look, but shrugs, pressing the call button. “Wait! And put it on speaker so I can hear the answer. Please.”

Wordlessly, she rolls her eyes, but pulls the phone away from her face, setting it on the table in front of her. The call connects after two rings and you hear Mark’s voice with the staticky phone call filter over it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mark! It’s Yuqi.”

“Oh, hi, what’s up?” He seems to brighten up, showing a pleasantness that you rarely hear from him these days.

“I just had a question about our curriculum development class. Do you know what chapter goes over the Instructional Systems Design Model? I can’t find it.”

“Oh, sure. Hold on, let me grab my notes.” From the other end, you can hear the distorted shuffling of clothes and paper for a moment. “It’s Chapter 4, I think. We didn’t really go over that chapter in class, but Prof. Lim told me when I went to his office hours.”

“Oh my god, thank you so much, Mark! You’re a literal life saver,” Yuqi gushes, about to practically kiss the phone in joy.

You press your hands together in front of you in a silent thank you. Mark laughs lightly into the phone. “No problem! If you ever need anything, let me know. I’m always happy to help.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Bye, Mark!” After receiving a goodbye from him, Yuqi presses the hang up button. She claps her hands twice in excitement. “That makes things so much easier!”

You’re stuck thinking about what Mark said before hanging up. It’s exactly in line with how Jungwoo used to talk about him - polite, helpful, friendly. An ugly part of you has to wonder what you did wrong once again. What part of you is undeserving of his kindness? An even uglier part feels the green flash of envy. “How do you have Mark’s number?”

“We had a class together like a year ago and he’s a pretty cool guy. Also useful to have around.” The image of them studying together, chatting like close friends, heads bent closely over shared notes, makes the parasite of jealousy dig deeper in your belly. The logical side of your brain knows you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but the two sides of Mark Lee make you want to throw an uncharacteristic fit. She tosses her phone to the side before flipping open her textbook to Chapter 4. “Why?”

“Were you guys ever… like…” You bite the inside of your cheek, not wanting to say it out loud.

“Me? Mark? No, we just worked on a project together. I have no idea what gave you that idea.” She wrinkles her nose at you.

“You just talk to each other so casually,” you huff, trying to expel the negativity from your system, “I don’t know.”

“He’s like that with everyone,” she says easily, leaning back in her chair. “Except you, I guess.”

“Except me. I guess.” You parrot, not feeling any better about the situation. When you proceed to ask her if you did anything weird on your first day of class that would have put him off, she denies it, telling you that you were completely normal. Resigned to forget the mystery for the night, you open up your textbook.

Midterms pass with relative success. At least, with more success than you had at your old university. You’re excited for a break, a reprieve from the pain of studying. Johnny arranges a potluck and movie night at his place, assigning everyone a dish and putting you on dessert.

In your class with Doyoung, who is often assigned as the chef of the group, you pressure him for everyone’s favorites. “Something fruity? Chocolatey?”

“We’re split there. There’s not much you can do that would appease everyone, honestly. Some of them are the pickiest guys I’ve ever met.” He continues to scribble notes as you grill him for info, not even looking up.

“What if I did something different? Like matcha cookies?” You tap your chin in thought and Doyoung lifts a hand to point at you after the suggestion leaves your mouth.

“Yes, do that one. Basically everyone likes green tea.”

“Basically everyone?”

“Not Mark.” Doyoung shakes his head disapprovingly. “He’s not arriving until after we eat, though, so I’m sure it’s fine.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. That night, you work hard making your matcha cookies, setting aside a bit of time for a side project. When you arrive at Johnny’s apartment with two dishes, one quite a bit smaller than the others and labeled with Mark’s name, safely hidden in the pantry until everyone has stepped out of the kitchen area and you can put it somewhere you hope he’ll see it. You can only hope that he at least appreciates your effort. When he arrives a bit later into the night, non-gifting you his usual non-existent glance, you can’t help but impatiently squirm a bit. Before you leave, you make a pass by the kitchen and, disappointingly, but not surprisingly, the container is in the same place as you left it, your note still affixed to the top.

The mystery continues, however, when you approach Johnny a few days later to ask about retrieving your containers.

“There was more than one? I only have that big rectangular one that you brought the matcha cookies in. They were really good, by the way - I can only wish the cookies I make turned out like that…” He scratches his head and you feel like the gesture perfectly represents how you’re feeling as well. If he doesn't have the box… who does?

A small part of you holds onto the hope that the intended person retrieved them after you weren’t looking.

The class you share with Mark is not nearly the most interesting one you have, nor is it one that is particularly memorable most of the time. There’s something so terribly tedious about it that makes you suffer a disproportionate amount whenever you do a chapter of the reading, though you think that you’re usually quite good about your work. Still, though you’re not exactly the most studious of your classmates, you can’t stand resounding silences in the classroom. So, when your professor asks a question and no one volunteers, you try to at least say something somewhat intelligent. Today is one of those days. Except, as you speak, you realize with dawning dread that your words aren’t making any sense of all, are barely related to the question, and are progressively spiraling into completely different subject matter. Still, you find it hard to stop, eventually coming to a stuttering stop with your answer. Even Professor Lim can’t hold back something of a put-off expression. You sink lower into your seat and, as your professor says something along the lines of your comments being “not quite relevant,” your cheeks burn.

You spare a glance to the side, looking for some sort of pity or reassurance from Yuqi, but you end up looking past her at Mark. You half expect him to smirking at your failure, like a villain in a high school drama, but, instead, his eyes meet yours. He offers you the barest twitch of an encouraging smile before looking away, his face neutral again. You’re almost unsure about how to interpret the look - it’s the closest thing to a positive emotion he’s ever shown you. Confused, you fix your eyes on your open notebook and keep them there, scratching random notes and doodles into the margins for the remainder of the lecture.

When you think about Mark Lee, you feel like you’re going insane. It would honestly be pretty easy for you to make one of those crazy conspiracy theorist maps with the red strings and thumbtacks attempting to connect a bunch of pictures with all the strange, fragmented experiences you’ve had with the boy. At one position, you could put all the information you supposedly knew about him before even meeting him, all of the things Jungwoo told you, all the smiling pictures from before you arrived. Somewhere else, you could put all of the times Mark has brushed you off or outright refused to acknowledge your existence. In a third location, you could put all the things you’ve actively seen or heard him do that align with the person you thought he was. Finally, you could put the most recent developments of him subtly starting to not ignore you together. The whole diagram would be circled with giant question marks all over it and one question written in capital letters: WHY?

You’re trying to do your damn curriculum development homework and all you can think about is Mark Lee and the first smile he ever gave you. And, from the way your heart is beating, pushing heat into your face and ears, making you wistful and longing to see his smile again, you think you know the direction your feelings have headed.

The next few times you head over to Jungwoo’s place, it’s hit or miss as to whether Mark appears to be actively avoiding you. Finally, one day, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder with Jungwoo, your eyes fixed on the small screen of your phone as you show him a funny video you found. You don’t notice Mark until he opens his bedroom door loudly enough that you look up and you meet his cold gaze. He’s in casual clothes, a hoodie and jeans, with earbuds hanging from his ears, his hair slightly tousled from the wind outside. The eye contact lasts for only a moment before his door acts as a barrier to your vision. You blink hard.

“Just when I thought we were getting somewhere…” You sulk, speaking lowly as to not be overheard by him.

“You and Mark?” Jungwoo asks, not even looking up. The video ends and your friend puts down your phone, folds his hands in front of him, and turns to look at you. “Did you ever figure it out?”

“Did I? How could I figure it out when he won’t even talk to me? Did you?” You lean away from him, crossing your arms. “Should we even be having this conversation over here? He’s just in his room.”

Jungwoo shrugs. “He has his headphones in, he can’t hear anything. To answer your question,” he pauses, leaning in closer to whisper like he’s telling you a secret, “I have no idea.”

“You must have some ideas at least?”

“I have many ideas, many theories, and quite a few formulas. Most of which don’t particularly apply to this situation.” You grumble something under your breath about engineering majors as he continues. “For Mark? He might be letting all the negativity he’s ever felt out on you, honestly. Maybe because you’re the same major?”

You sit up slightly straighter. “We’re the same major?”

“Yeah?” Jungwoo replies, giving you a look. “He’s trying to be music education instead of history education, though.”

“I never knew the specifics,” you mumble, letting your posture fall back into a slouch. In reality, it’s more than just not knowing the specifics - there’s very little you’ve managed to learn about Mark that you haven’t actively had to pry out of your shared friends. You know about some of the foods he likes, some of his hobbies, and a bit of general information. It’s awfully hard to get to know someone when they refuse to acknowledge you.

That notion makes your developing crush feel even stupider.

You attempt to turn the subject back to where it began. “Why me, though? Why not literally anyone else?”

“You’re a pretty cool person and you’re good at a lot of things. Mark’s developing an inferiority complex?” Jungwoo taps his chin as though he’s pretending to be some great thinker.

“I’m not going to lower myself to help some man’s ego,” you huff, your nails digging into your palms as you make tight fists. “Plus, there’s nothing I’m particularly good at that he’s not also good at, if not better.”

“It’s not really about ego, I think…” Jungwoo says, trailing off. “I dunno. He’s not like that with anyone but you.”

“No one but me, huh.” Honestly, you’re kind of getting sick of that expression. This isn’t the kind of exceptional you want to be to him. Not at all. You’re honestly not sure when it stopped being a simple need to be on pleasant terms with Jungwoo’s friends and started to get romantic. Your lips press into a thin line for a moment before you exhale sharply from your nose. “Everything is a big ‘I don’t know’ and I hate it. If it’s not an ‘I don’t know,’ it’s still stuck in the ‘why?’ stage.” You lay your head down and you have to resist the urge to scream into your arms. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

“You really make no sense at all.”

“It really makes no sense that I-” You bite your tongue to stop yourself to stop yourself from admitting out loud to the feelings you’ve just recently realized. Jungwoo just gives you a sly, knowing smile that you don’t like the look of one bit.

Before you know it, finals are around the corner and, with it, one of the last organized events you’ll have with your friends until testing is over. This time, it’s a group dinner where people can come and go as they please, and a few of you have taken it upon yourselves to do all the cooking. Namely, you, Doyoung, Jaehyun, Kun, and, surprisingly, Donghyuck. Suffice to say, the kitchen is not enough space for all of you. Still, you manage to pull it off, completing a hearty Korean-style dinner that slowly disappears from their dishes as all of the others eat. By the end, you’re worn out from the sweltering heat of the stove, the occasional bickering with the other chefs (‘Donghyuck, stop eating all the radish!’), and chatting with nearly every single one of your friends. Names and faces scroll through your head and you’re honestly not sure who you’ve seen and not seen by the end of it. Except for one person.

Mark Lee is, once again, nowhere to be found.

You make sure to smack away hands going for seconds in order to wrap up a moderately sized portion of food for him anyways. When all of the food, save for what you’ve set aside for Mark, is gone, Taeyong offers himself and some of the others up to clean, which you and the rest of the cooking boys eagerly accept. Most of them have headed out by now, but the few remaining begrudgingly agree to the job at Taeyong’s call.

You lean against the wall idly, watching the work being done and listening to the rhythmic sound of the water running and the sponge scraping against metal. Finally, Jungwoo happens upon the wrapped plate you had prepared for your missing guest.

“Who’s this for?” He asks to the room, almost salivating at the sight of the food. Damn, that boy can eat.

“It’s for Mark. You can give it to him when he gets back.” Your words are half informative, half threatening. Jungwoo takes the hint and carefully replaces the foil covering the food.

It takes another minute for him to look back over at you, seeing you looking bleary-eyed, close to swaying onto the floor from fatigue. He steps over, patting you on the head. “Y/N, you can go rest on the couch if you want. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I might just do that,” you respond, not clarifying which part of his sentence you’re talking about. At his behest, you shuffle over to the couch. It only takes a moment for your eyes to flutter closed. The music of washing dishes lulls you quickly to sleep.

You’re not sure how long has passed by the time you stir to the sound of the front door closing. You recognize that water is no longer running and that there are only two voices left in the kitchen area. Lying there for a moment, unsure of if you should make your presence known yet, you determine that the voices belong to Jungwoo and Mark.

“Oh, Y/N made sure to grab this for you,” you hear Jungwoo say, followed by the faint crinkling of the foil covering the plate.

“She did?” Mark’s voice is surprisingly soft, warm, everything you’re not used to from him.

The voices drift closer towards you, accompanying the slip of socks against the wood floor. “Don’t act surprised. Also, she’s on the couch sleeping right now. I’ll probably wake her up in a minute so she can go home.”

“Oh.” You’re listening as hard as you can, trying to determine whatever Mark is feeling just by his tone. “Is she okay?”

Your heart beats faster and you want to squirm, ask questions, anything. You remain still.

“Just tired.” A beat of silence. “Why are you looking at her like that?”

“Dude, I just…” Mark has some sort of lightness to his voice that you’ve never heard. “Nothing.”

“Do you think I can’t tell? Come on, I’ve known you long enough.” Jungwoo would normally be teasing saying something like that, but right now you just hear a kind of weariness that you’re entirely familiar with.

“Not as long you’ve known her.” The sentence comes out bitter, the first negativity you’ve heard from Mark all night, and Jungwoo sighs in response.

“Do what you need to do and then I’ll wake her up.”

They walk farther away. The telltale sound of the microwave opening and shutting after the foil crinkles again, followed by the beeping of the buttons and the hum of the machine, tells you that someone is heating up the food. Under the microwave ambiance, you hear what you think is plastic against plastic. The machine is stopped before it can beep shrilly. The smell of warm, reheated food fills the air briefly. There’s shuffling as Mark presumably walks.

“Night.” Jungwoo echoes Mark’s sentiment and you hear more shuffling towards you. A touch on your shoulder. You keep your eyes closed, trying to control your breathing for a moment longer. Your friend shakes you slightly. “Y/N, wake up.”

You try your best to play up your awakening act, like you hadn’t been listening to the entirety of the last conversation. Rubbing your eyes and blinking, you look up at Jungwoo. “What time is it?”

“Almost midnight. Everyone went home to sleep and study.” You get up slowly, rolling your shoulders once you’ve sat up. “I can walk you back, if you want.”

“That’s okay, it’s not a long walk.” You get to your feet, padding to the kitchen area. There, on the table, is the plastic container you’d brought Mark’s cookies in weeks ago. “Oh, that’s my container. Did Johnny find it?”

Jungwoo reaches up to ruffle his hair, looking between you and the container. “Mark did, actually.” “Huh.” Shrugging, you pick it up and make your way to the door. “Tell him thanks for me.”

“You could tell him yourself?” Jungwoo offers, looking vaguely hopeful.

You smile, but cringe at the same time. “Yeah… you know.”

He shakes his head, seeming disappointed once more. “Fine. Text me when you get back?”

“Will do.”

As you walk home, your container clutched in your arms, you think about how more pieces are being unveiled, but nothing is really making that much more sense at all.

Finals pass as they always do. You study with Yuqi for your curriculum development class. The situation from midterms repeats itself almost exactly at one point, with her calling Mark for help and you staying quiet as he talks, and the test is no harder than any of the others you had previously in the semester. You force yourself to keep your eyes on your exam and to not glance over at Mark except when you’re walking out of the classroom at the end. All you can see of him is the back of his head, his hair slightly disheveled. Idly, you wonder if you’ll get over your baseless crush if you aren’t able to look at him and mull over the problem during class anymore. You think that’s the last you’ll see of him before you run into him at an event next semester.

On the last day of finals, your group chat receives two messages from Jungwoo.

JW: END OF THE SEMESTER PARTY TOMORROW NIGHT TO CELEBRATE FINALS BEING DONE BEFORE EVERYONE LEAVES. ATTENDANCE IS MANDATORY.

JW: I don’t care if you planned a “date” with your “girlfriend,” I expect to see all of you there :))

A minute later, your phone buzzes again with an individual message from the same boy.

JW: Y/N, my lovely best friend, you’re part of the planning committee and you’re going to help me set up. Be there an hour early xoxo

You know there’s no use fighting it so, the next day, you show up to his place as expected. Jungwoo, Lucas, Yuta, and Johnny are all milling about, trying to seem busy but, honestly, there doesn’t look like there’s much to do. Some of the furniture has been moved to the side, there’s a giant mysterious tub that is partly filled with a reddish liquid that Lucas and Yuta are leaning over, and Johnny is affixing colorful lights to a wall. As soon as your shoes are off, Jungwoo is steering you to the common area.

“Y/N, you’re late!”

“I’m like ten minutes early-” You start.

“No, no, no excuses. I have an important job for you!” It takes you a moment to realize that he’s not leading you to the kitchen, but towards someone’s bedroom. “You like crafts, right?”

“I mean, I guess? I-”

“Great!” He pushes open the bedroom door, Mark’s bedroom door, and pushes you not-so-gently inside. Mark is sitting at his desk, bent over something with a look of surprise on his face. He looks cozy, dressed in a simple red t-shirt and gray sweats with circle glasses perched on his nose. “I want to hang about one hundred paper cranes around the apartment to add a little flare to the party. You can’t leave until you’re done, Mark has the paper, bye!”

He shuts the door behind him.

You and Mark stare at each other in bewilderment as you process whatever just happened. You’re in Mark’s bedroom for the first time. You’re also being actively forced to interact with him one on one for the first time. None of your friends had ever forced you to try and work out your issues until now and you’re certain that Jungwoo’s implication was that you’re not allowed to leave until you’ve talked it through. Some part of you knew he would eventually snap and force you to interact, but you always ignored that possibility. Until now.

“Um,” you start, twisting your fingers together in front of you, “he said you have the paper?”

“Yeah…” he looks back at his desk, grabbing some of the myriad of square sheets and holding them out to you. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You carefully make sure to prevent your fingers from brushing against his as you take them from him. Stepping back, you settle cross-legged on an empty spot on his floor. After you sit, you take a moment to look around. His walls have the occasional band poster plastered on them, there’s a hoodie on the floor across the room, and some of his drawers are partly open, illustrating a pretty typical college boy’s room. A couple of books are pushed to the side on his desk as he works on folding the cranes. Remembering that’s what you’re supposed to be doing, you get to work, making careful creases. Your first crane comes to life on yellow paper slightly lopsided. Good enough, you figure.

You’re in the middle of your second crane when Mark’s chair screeches quietly against the floor and he stands up, gathering his paper. To your great surprise, he sits down a few away from you and mirrors your pose. When you meet eyes with him briefly, you look away as fast as you can, returning to your crane before you can even try and read what he’s feeling. The next three cranes pass quickly with your eyes locked firmly on your work. When you dare to look up again, you find that Mark is intently watching your hands. He startles when you see him. Realizing he’s been caught, he speaks of softly. “Do you… know how to do it?”

Even when he’s the one talking quietly, looking embarrassed, you feel so small. You look down at his own paper pile, which has a few crumpled sheets surrounding it. “I can show you.” He nods and you cautiously scoot closer so that you’re side by side. As gently as you can, you explain each fold and he copies your movements. Soon, you have a relatively even green crane and he has a somewhat lopsided pink crane, very similar to your first.

“Thanks,” he says, staring at his creation, “all of the tutorials I googled weren’t making any sense, but I think I got it now.”

“No problem.” You nod, moving back to your spot across from him. Not wanting the experience to end quite yet, you think about what Jungwoo said last weekend. “Thanks for returning my container.”

He instantly knows what you’re talking about. “Thanks for-”

Before he can say any more, he stops and his expression hardens. He proceeds to look back down at his hands, making slow, purposeful folds in the paper in front of him. You frown, but do the same. A few cranes later, you can’t stop it anymore. After months, months, of him treating you like this, you can’t go one more crane without finding the truth. You throw a half-completed crane to the floor and, though the noise isn’t loud, he looks up. “Mark, what did I do?”

He seems entirely too surprised by the question, which sparks a kind of anger that you didn’t even realize you were holding in. “What?”

“What did I do! What made you act like this to me? Did I do something? Do you just hate my face? What did I do wrong?” You squeeze your knees brutally, trying to resist doing something like tearing up the few pieces of origami you had completed.

“Nothing.” His simple, one word answer only serves to make you more upset. Though he appears initially dismissive, he sees that you’re about to start shouting and quickly continues. “You really didn’t do anything!”

“Then, why? Mark, you’re making me lose my mind!” Now, you feel like you’re on the verge of crying out of frustration. So far, you’ve managed to not cry at all about this stupid boy who has largely chosen to ignore your existence, but you can feel the telltale warming of your cheeks and the pout in your lips.

“It’s not something you did! Not really.” He takes a shaky breath, appearing almost as upset as you, though there are no tears in his eyes. “It’s about Jungwoo. Please, don’t cry.”

The initial confusion helps you swallow your building tears. “If you’re upset at him, why do you have to take it out on me? I really wanted to be friends with you, Mark. I really did.”

“I wanted to be different.” Now, he’s quiet, refusing to look at you for the months of shame he’s feeling rise to the surface.

“From Jungwoo?” You’re not quite following still. You just know that, even though he’s subtly broken your heart and led you in circles over and over for the past few months, you want to know why he’s hurting and you want to stop it. Even if he hasn’t been full of kindness to you, he has been to everyone else. And you know almost for a fact that this isn’t something he’s told anyone else.

“From you.”

Pushing aside papers, crumpled partial cranes, complete cranes, you move closer to him. You’re not sure if you’re overstepping your boundaries and you still kind of feel like one wrong move will make you cry, but the yelling has left your system and your instincts say proximity will help you understand. “Will you explain it to me?”

“There was a you-shaped hole in Jungwoo’s heart ever since he had to go to college and stop spending so much time with you.” Mark’s resignation is quiet, soft-spoken, like the boy you’d heard so much about but only now had gotten to truly meet. “Whenever he came back from breaks, he would talk about you so much and about how similar you and I are and it just made me feel… it made me feel… like… I don’t know. Like I’m just replacing you while you’re not here.”

“Mark…” You’re not sure quite what to say that he hasn’t logically figured out for himself already. Maybe it would help to say the obvious anyways? “You’re not a replacement. You’re you and I’m me and he has different places for both of us.”

He lets out a puff of air. “I know that. It’s just the type of feeling that you can’t really get to go away, even when you try really hard to believe the opposite.”

“I get the feeling.” And you do. It’s like the nagging feeling that you’ve had that you did something unforgivable to upset Mark even though you were almost certain you didn’t.

“I was mean to you because at least that would make me different enough to not be replaced, I guess. It worked because you never stooped to my level to be mean back.” Though he hasn’t quite apologized, he sounds genuinely sorry.

“It worked because you couldn’t have been replaced in the first place,” you say back. You look over and he has a small smile on his face.

“That too. Also-” He stops himself, seeming conflicted. “No, it’s a bad time. A really bad time.”

That piques your curiosity. “Huh?” He’s not smiling anymore, instead looking awkwardly to his side, away from you, and drumming his fingers on the bed. “Mark, you might as well say it. Whatever it is.”

“Okay, after a few months, I realized that you weren’t going to replace me and things were fine. But, you know that thing that kids do?” You’re confused and he’s growing red, practically steaming at the ears in embarrassment, which you can see even in the dim light of the room. “So, I kept being mean because then you kept looking at me even though whenever I thought about what I said to you later, I always felt really bad-” “Mark, you’re rambling. What are you talking about?” You ungracefully interrupt him, touching his arm to get his full attention. He seems to grow even redder at your touch and suddenly exclaims his next words.

“You’re really cute!”

Slowly, his words make more sense. You try to piece them together out loud to make sure you’re understanding him correctly. “So… the thing kids do… where they’re mean to the person they like?”

He moves his head up and down in a tiny nod. Now, your face is heating up, too. Even more than it was when you were on the verge of crying. After a moment, he groans and presses his face into his hands. “Damn, I’m such an idiot. I know this is, like, what middle schoolers do, but since the beginning of the semester I’ve just been so confused, except you’ve probably been way, way more confused than me, and I didn’t even think about it, but all of our friends are probably confused, too, and-” As he jabbers, when your thoughts and feelings had been processing slowly previously, you now feel like your whole reality is crumbling. You spent the last while beating down your feelings when he’s become a pile of mush in front of you about the same problem? At this rate, he’s never going to stop rambling either. Not that you particularly want him to. It’s the most he’s directly said to you ever. And it’s adorable. What else would be adorable? You wonder, teasing him a bit before you tell him the truth. For how long he kept you hanging, you deserve to create at least some tension of your own, you figure. Just for a moment.

“- you’re probably thinking about how dumb this is and I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me-”

You sit up straight and cross your arms over your chest. “Mark.”

He stops talking and looks at you, more panic seeming to rise in his face at the serious expression you wear. “Oh shit, I never let you talk. Y/N-”

“Mark.” He finally stops, staring at you. “I don’t forgive you.” The panic turns into sheer terror. He clearly hadn’t expected you to put it so forwardly. However, before he can say anything truly depressing, you continue. “I don’t forgive you because you haven’t actually apologized yet.”

His eyes are like tiny suns, round and bright and holding all the feeling in the universe. “I- I thought…” He looks to the side, thinking about everything he had said, and realizes that you’re right. “You’re right. Y/N…” He presses his hands together in front of him. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s probably the most succinct and straightforward he’s ever been with you, but you don’t have much time to think about that before he’s leaning forward in a full bow, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”

“Mark, stop!” As soon as you realize what he’s doing, you shuffle forward, putting both hands on his shoulders so you can attempt to yank him back upright. “I was joking, please stop!” He remains upraised, once again looking confused. Slowly, you move backwards about two feet to put some breathing room between you. “You don’t need to do that. I like you, too.”

One slow heartbeat passes. Then a second. You’re not sure how long the thick silence hangs between you, but the tension is so heavy that you don’t even hear any outside noise from the other boys who are supposedly getting ready for a party.

“You… what… wait, no, really?” Mark’s baffled face as he stutters back to you paired with the anxiety of the entire situation makes a laugh bubble out of your chest. He seems to be entirely at a loss. He continues to just stare at you wide-eyed, like he’s witnessing some incredible event instead of just ogling you in the dim light of his bedroom.

“Don’t look at me like that…” You can’t help but reflect some of his flustered behavior, eye contact becoming almost painful. He’s never met your eyes with such enormous positivity and cuteness before and it makes you want to run laps around the building or something. “Mark, I’m serious!”

“How could you like me back? When I was so mean to you? For months?” He begins to twist in place, trying to lean over and look at your head from multiple directions. “Did you fall down the stairs on the way over here and hit your head or something?”

“Mark!” You uncross your legs and shuffle closer on your knees, reaching out to still his movement by grasping his shoulders once again. “Please stop.” When you touch him, he freezes, still moon-eyed. After he stops moving, your hands slide down so that you can hold his. His hands are warm and stiff, just like the rest of his body.

He finally breaks eye contact, looking at where your hands are connected. “I just really don’t get it. There’s no way you like me.”

“You almost sound like you’re upset about it.” You tilt your head, smiling at him softly.

“I am!” He’s insistant, his hands holding onto yours firmly now. Though his grip is tighter, he visibly deflates, his shoulders sinking. “It’s so unfair to you. I was such an ass.”

“But you’re not. One ass-like behavior does not an ass make.” You almost confuse yourself saying it, but you continue. “It’s not about the times you were weird to me. It’s about the times you were nice to everyone else. Like when you helped Yuqi with our class. Or when you helped Donghyuck with his calc even though you aren’t even taking it with him. It sounds kind of dumb, but because of that, I knew you weren’t a bad person. Even if you were trying to be one to me sometimes.” Your thumbs run over his idly, making soothing strokes over his skin as you speak. “Still, you weren’t really all that mean to me, per se. More cold, if anything. Then, when you stopped doing so much of that, it got really confusing. I do have a question, though.”

“I’ll try to answer it, I guess.”

“Did Jungwoo really say we were that similar?”

He blinks. “Maybe once or twice? It just really stuck out to me, for some reason.”

“You’re cute.” He blushes furiously at that. Carefully, you untangle one of your hands from his and bring it up to his cheek, cupping his blazing face. “Do you want to try this? The being together thing?”

“I want to, but-” He presses his lips together, making his cheeks puff out slightly as he thinks. “I don’t know. I feel like I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve a chance with you.”

Silence sits between you for a moment. Your hand moves back down so you’re holding both of his again. “I know what you can do to make it up to me.”

His eager eyes on your face prompts you to continue. Slowly, a grin threatens to split your face in half.

“I guess you’ll have to kiss me at least once for every time you were mean to me. Maybe more than once.” Your brilliant smile changes form in the air between you and reappears as the stars in his eyes.

“Practice round? Just to make sure I get it right.” The subtle flirtatiousness of the idea that leaves his mouth absolutely appeals to you and you agree. You move as close as you possibly can, your knees pressed together, your breath on his lips and his on yours, his soft bangs grazing your forehead. The touch of his lips against yours is awkward at first, but transforms into something sweeter with a little time. Once you both pull away, it seems you have the same idea when you both go back in for a few quick pecks afterwards. Finally, when you’re content for the moment, he leans forward quickly to press a kiss to your cheek.

You figure that a return to the work of folding cranes will help calm down your rapid heart rate, but every time you steal a glance at Mark, the butterflies return. You know for a fact that he keeps looking at you, too. By the time the noise level outside of the room increases and music is being blasted through the apartment, you’re nowhere near being done with all one hundred cranes, but both of you are sure your mutual friend doesn’t actually care about that. Together, you emerge from his room. You don’t answer any prodding questions from your friends for most of the time you’re mingling, though you’re pretty sure that a good number of them see him sneaking kisses at least once or twice.

Some of them definitely see when you sneak off to his room again before the clock has even turned to midnight. At the same time, you could be damned if you really care.

#neowritingsnet #nct fluff #nct angst #mark lee fluff #mark lee angst #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct fanfic #nct scenario #wonjaekook #i tried a slightly new sizing for the header :) hopefully it looks better now #there are definitely things I could have done better so let me know what you think!#<<<333

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Clubbing 101

Written by @alliswell21

Prompt 144: She has a night of fun before the start of the semester. She meets this guy, they hit it off that they sleep together. But when she shows up to her class the next day, she sees the guy again. But he’s her professor and he’s way older than she originally thought. #olderPeeta [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Rating: Explicit. NSFW.

Tags and Warnings: Canon Divergence; College!AU; Age gap, older man/younger woman; The opposite to slow burn? Smut; Unprotected sex; technically impaired consent since alcohol, but their both into each other while sober too 🤷🏻‍♀️; Ethical dilemmas; Teacher/Student relationship (sort of); One Shot, with an ambiguous open ending? Almost 10K words. Unbetaed.

Notes: Thank you to the moderators once more for putting up with us, procrastinating writers. You gals are saints! Thank you to @animekpopxx for her amazing prompts that never fail to snag my attention and give me the best ideas ever! You rock! I projected this story to be a smutty short thing, but it sprouted words and a background out of nowhere and I had to forced myself to stop adding to it, to get back to my other submissions waiting in my docs. Hopefully, it’s a good read for the ones who take the chance with it.

Thank you all!

KPKPKPKPKP

It starts with a harmless ranting.

“I’m not outgoing, or fun. I’m not even ‘cool’… hell, I don’t care what my sister says, I’m too old for this place!” I tell the handsome, bearded, guy sitting in the barstool next to me, “She’s a med student, you know, but she insists that partying is part of the college experience, especially when one’s career is so demanding… plus, is the last weekend of summer break, which apparently means you’re contractually obligated to party extra hard,” I roll my eyes, “I never saw the appeal personally, but I let her drag me out here so I can keep an eye on her. Is not like I’m gonna let her piss away her future for a night of clubbing,” I scoff, taking a long pull of my beer.

The guy chuckles, but I’m not done just yet.

I slam down my bottle and continue listing my grievances, “The thing that grinds my gears, is that she begged for a ‘girls’ night out’, and instead of drinking with me and people watch, she goes off with the first fucker that asks her to dance! I mean… did it ever occur to her, I may want to dance with her on OUR girls’ night out?!” I scowl and gulp another mouthful of beer, “then, to add insult to injury, thirty minutes later I get a text from her, saying to go on home without her ‘cause she found a ride, followed by that cursed eggplant emoji, like I needed an illustration of what kind of ride she’s getting,” I mock gag, rearranging the strap of my tiny purse across my chest.

“I guess she’s young, and beautiful, and does work very hard, but if you invite me to go clubbing with you, don’t abandon me within the first 15 minutes of arriving!”

My companion winces before sipping his drink, and smiling ruefully, “That’s harsh… sorry you’re having a shitty night,”

“Meh… little sisters, right?!” I shrug.

The guy smiles crookedly at me, and I find myself enjoying his smile, “I wouldn’t know about that. I’m the baby of three brothers, and the only thing I got away with was learning how to wrestle and spring awesome comebacks on the fly… the brutes kept me on my toes,” he chuckles.

“Three boys? Sounds chaotic. Your poor mother!”

“Yeah… life’s chaotic.” He averts his eyes for a second, his smile goes away. I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong, but he suddenly looks back at me, and confesses, “I’m not into clubbing either.” His eyes sparkle, despite the awful, dim, blue lights bathing the place.

I smile, “Look at us wallflowers, bonding over drinks and sibling shenanigans,” we clink our drinks together and sip. I’m chatty and relaxed, so unlike myself; I guess the two beers I’ve had are starting to get to me. “I’m Katniss, by the way.”

“That’s pretty,” he says, shyly; makes my chest warm up. “Nice to meet you, Katniss. I’m Peeta.”

I arch my eyebrows, “Peter?” I repeat, because I’m pretty sure I miss-heard him over the obnoxiously loud music.

The guy shakes his head, “Pee-ta… like the bread?” He chuckles. Then adds, “Family name. Everyone on my dad’s side are bakers.”

I snort-laugh, “Punny!” I say, taking another sip. Yup, beer’s getting to me, I’m not this cleverly funny. “My dad was into survivalism and botany… I’m named after a plant also known as Duck Potato, so I win the weird name competition!”

“Hey, it’s something else to bond over,”

“Cheers to that!” We clink our drinks again, and partake in our booze.

He orders another whiskey neat when he’s out… sounds both snooty and distinguished at the same time. Goes well with his put together image, though: nicely trimmed beard, nicely combed hair, nice polo shirt with what I believe is a tiny loaf of bread embroidered on the chest, and dark-wash jeans… I think. It’s hard to tell under the black lights of the club.

He offers to get me another drink, and I order an appletini.

“J.D. from Scrubs always drank one,” I explain, swirling the coctel in my hand, “I’ve always been curious to try, but didn’t wanna spend my own money experimenting on a drink I could potentially hate.”

“Makes sense,” Peeta says, “So… what’s the verdict?”

“Is pretty good, actually. But I think I’ll stick with my Miller Light,”

Peeta nods, “I honestly don’t enjoy alcohol that much.”

I giggle. “Then, what brings you to this fine establishment tonight, sir, if you’re not much for clubbing, or drinking?” I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

I like that when he smiles, his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I lost a bet against a colleague.”

“Oh,” I’m suddenly self conscious and a little uncomfortable. I give the guy a scrutinizing look, and ask suspiciously, “what was the punishment exactly?”

The man rolls his eyes. “I have to spend one whole hour in the club, without criticizing anything, like the bitter old man I am,” he grins, “My friend’s words. Not mine!” He raises both hands, claiming innocence.

I laugh at the face he pulls, “Well, you’ve just defaulted on that punishment,”

“How so?” He beams.

“With the look in your face! It spoke volumes!”

“Am I that transparent?”

“You read like a preschooler’s board book, pal!”

We both laugh, I drink my beer, and he throws back his whiskey neat.

“So…” he makes a show of looking at his watch, “I still have 33 minutes to kill before I’m allowed to run out of this place… I know I’m not a Med student, co-Ed, sister of yours, but… would you, um, like to dance with me?” He sounds adorably hopeful.

I glance at the man sideways, toying with my bottle.

He smirks, mischievously, “I promise, spirits make me more coordinated on the dance floor. I become this amazing dancer when I have a couple of drinks on… or so my brain believes. I probably look like an idiot, but I’m too goofy to know the difference. You’re welcome to be the judge it for yourself,”

I take my sweet time finishing the last dregs of my beer, and wrinkle my nose, “You sure you wanna dance to this shit, kids call music nowadays?” I smirk, pointing a finger up, motioning wide circles into the ether.

Peeta gives a full belly laugh.

I really do like his laugh!

“Isn’t it our only choice?” He ventures.

Not if you follow me home, my thirsty brain supplies; my lips on the other hand, just let through a hint of a smile, because I’m buzzed, but not drunk enough to proposition a total stranger. I’ve never been one to sleep around anyway.

“Okay,” I say, too enthused. “As long as we both agree that this isn’t music,”

“Oh no, this just barely passes as noise!” Peeta agrees readily.

He guides me to the packed dance floor, and we start moving to the booming, deafening tunes playing overhead.

I’m not sure if one could call this dancing. Everywhere I look people are writhing against each other, like a pack of zombies without grace or rhyme.

I’m not sure Peeta will get an accurate assessment of his dancing skills, compared to what I’m seeing, he’ll probably look like a professional; plus, it’s too dark and busy in here to really appreciate anything, really, but after a few minutes of just shifting in place, robotically, I snatch two bottle beers from a waitress walking by, offering one to my partner, hoping that’s enough to get us loosen up. The waitress stares at me until I rummage on my crossbody mini purse and toss a crumple ten on her tray.

The liquid boost works. Before I know it, I’m grinding my hips against his. Peeta’s just the right height for his thigh to fit between my legs and brush against my front. I get tired of undulating my arms in the air, so I drop them around his shoulders, and feel just how firm and broad he is under my touch.

Our chests are tightly pressed together, and I’m at the right angle to just stare at his plush-looking lips. I turn around before I do something brash, like kiss him in the mouth. Peeta doesn’t question it, he just places his hands on my hips, and starts moving to the music’s beat.

I bring the beer to my lips, but the bottle’s empty… oops! It doesn’t matter, I’m having the time of my life!

Peeta’s swaying guides me. I basically drape my back over his front, and bump my ass into his groin. I feel the hint of a bulge there, and press my rear into it again, just to confirm if I felt what I hope I felt.

Peeta’s fingers tighten on my hip, emboldening me to keep going until I’m practically twerking into him, and his slight bulge morphs into a full blown hard-on.

I twist in his arms to face him, my lust idled brain barely thinking rationally, “Are your 33 minutes done yet?” I yell into his ear, so he can hear me over the noise.

He doesn’t even look at his watch, “To hell with time! I‘ll stay here all night, if you want me to,” He answers loudly.

“Come on, then!” I push off his chest, and snatch up his hand before he can reply.

Leaving the dance floor is surprisingly easily, considering the crowd bouncing in place together.

I make no conscious plan on where we’re going; I’m arguably familiar with the layout of this place from my many visits since Prim turned 21; I’m only mildly surprised when we navigate across the club, all the way to the restrooms. It’s like my clit is making all the decisions tonight… good for it!

There’s a line of disgruntled women waiting to get inside the Ladies Room, but the Men’s Room is available, and Peeta lets me guide him into it, like one of those pull toys children have.

“It stinks in here,” I comment blandly, but make a beeline for the last stall with a door.

There’s one guy at the urinal, but he doesn’t even look up from his pants, so I just shrug it off and yank Peeta into the stall with me.

The space is tight, but once inside the stall, I push Peeta into the door, and attack his mouth.

He makes a startled noise at the back of his throat, but his hands and arms immediately press me into his body more fully. My own hands trek down to his belt, where I fiddle with the buckle until it’s undone, and I can access his pants’ button and fly.

He hisses when my fingers graze his warm erection, and bucks into my knuckles. I’m in the process of sticking my hand inside his boxers, when Peeta growls, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, and letting it go with a wet pop.

“Switch places,” he pants against my mouth, and hoists me up, until my back hits the door and his hands grab my hips possessively, jutting my pelvis forward, “I’m hungry, would you mind if I eat you out?”

“Okay,” I gasp.

Thank you for forcing me to wear your tiny, clubbing dress, Prim!

“You’ll allow it?” He asks, incredulous, rubbing circles on my hips with his thumbs.

“Yes… I’ll allow it!”

His smile is sexy, his stare is hypnotic. Damned my drunken ass! I can’t believe I’m willing to do this in a smelly bathroom stall!

Peeta sits on the toilet and licks his lips while staring up at me. His hands disappear under the stretchy material of my skirt, bumping my purse out of his way. He skims his fingers under the elastic of my panties, and I bite my lip, nodding eagerly.

Slowly, Peeta slides my underwear down my legs, the tips of his fingers follow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced!

Once he brings my panties to my knees, his hands rush back up my thighs, pushing the flimsy skirt around my waist. My underwear drops to my ankles on their own.

Peeta’s level eye with my crotch, and I squirm restlessly. “Beautiful… absolutely soaked,” he whispers in a daze, he inhales pulling me closer, “You smell divine!” He descends, nose first, into the thatch of dark curls between my thighs, making me moan. He ruts his face against me, and suddenly drops to his knees, grabbing my calf to pull my leg up.

But the movement gets prevented by my stupid underwear, tangled in my ankles. Without missing a beat, I toe my panties off, so Peeta can maneuver my body however he wants.

He drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me up to his ravenous mouth. He grunts, burying his face into my core, and finally, FINALLY, his tongue swipes between my folds.

“Fuck!” I squeak.

My hands fly to tangle into his soft, perfectly coiffed hair. I nearly smother him, holding his face to my pussy, but he’s doing wicked things to me with his tongue: lapping, sucking, and nipping at my labia; drawing number eight figures around my clit with the tip of his tongue, to then sinking it deep inside my core. I can’t stop bucking into his mouth over and over.

When was the last time I was given head? Fuck if I know! Darius probably, he was decent, but didn’t do it often. And Thom was so boring at it, I actually preferred he didn’t do it. But this guy is amazing! A real expert in the matter!

“I’m so close! Please… I’m so close,” I wail like a cat in heat, writhing against the door.

Peeta looks up, and despite the horrendous lighting in the room, I realize he’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen… too bad I can’t hold his gaze too long, because he starts rubbing my clit with his thumb, while fucking my hole with his tongue, and is all I can do not shout and scalp him in my delirium.

He doesn’t stop drinking my juices while I convulse above him. On the contrary, he retrieves his thumb, but keeps his mouth busy, lapping away all the slick I give him.

It’s too much.

I tug on his hair to pull him off of my sensitive privates.

Peeta takes one last lick with the flat of his tongue and looks up at me, smiling wolfishly, “Was that good?” His beard’s dripping with me, he wipes some of it off on his sleeve.

I snort, unsexy and definitely rude. “You made me cum so hard I saw stars… yeah, it was good. Better than good, really!” I smile down at him, and try to pull him off from the floor.

All the gel holding his curls in place is gone now, rubbed off on my palms. His hair is sticking up on the top and towards the back of his head. I reach up to try and smooth it back, “I’m sorry, I seem to have made a mess of your hair,” I giggle. It’s adorable, but I feel bad that I ruined it.

“You can mess my hair any time you want, Katniss.” He says, almost shyly, he places his hands on my waist, over the bunched up dress.

It’s a big turn on to me, how his words are so flirty, but he delivers them so sweetly and awed. Is unexpected and endearing… which is odd, because I don’t usually find people endearing at all!

We both chuckle.

He licks his lips, and I feel heat pool in my lower belly again.

“Come’ere!” I wrap my hand around his nape, and pull his lips to mine.

He responds immediately, licking the seam of my mouth. I suck on his tongue when he slides it against mine.

He moans.

“Fuck me, Peeta,” I rasp into the kiss, palming his dick through his jeans.

He groans, “Are you sure?” He barely holds back another groan when I squeeze his clothed erection.

“Cock. In me. Now!” I command through gritted teeth, trying to pull his cock out of his pants with one hand, while taking his hand, and splaying it on my boob.

“Okay… shit… this is… surreal! This has never happened to me before!” He kneads my tit, gently.

I’m not sure I was supposed to hear that, so I pretend I didn’t and turn, facing the door to wiggle my ass, in an attempt to convince him.

Peeta makes a noise in his throat, quickly followed by the sound of shifting clothes, and a metallic thump from his belt buckle hitting the toilet.

I whine when Peeta’s warm, heavy cock caressed my bare ass cheek. “Please don’t tease me,” I beg.

“Fuck, Katniss… do you really want this?”

“Yes, Peeta… put your cock inside my cunt, and fuck me all the way to next week! Now!”

His warm body cocoons mine, “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, and I feel the blunt head of his cock parting my folds, coating himself with my natural lubricants.

He finds my entrance, pushing inside just the tip. He gasps, “Fuck!” One big hand wraps around my hip to keep me steady, bracing his other arm on the door, above my head.

“Peeta… Please!” I wiggle my ass, making him sink another inch deep.

“Hold still,” He hisses, “I’m trying to hold back… not ramming in too roughly… embarrassing myself, cumming too fast,” His hot breath warms my nape. “You feel like heaven!” He growls, tightening his hold on me.

I’m torn, wishing he’d drill into me without mercy already, while another part of me is grateful he’s trying to stay under control… I don’t know which I want more…

When was the last time I had sex?

As if reading my thoughts, Peeta shares haltingly, “It’s been such a long time for me. I want it to last, but I’m

Not sure if I can,”

I don’t have time to second guess myself, because Peeta’s moving, and he’s massive!

“Don’t hold back!” I bleat, “I want it rough… I want it fast!” I gasp, clenching down on him. I paw at the door for purchase, trying not to face-plant on the cold, hard surface, while Peeta’s fat prick stretches me to the brink of pain! I can’t stay put for him any longer; I buck into him.

“I said to hold still!” He slaps my ass, hard. It stings, but it’s a welcomed feeling.

I moan and melt, finally relaxing enough for him to penetrate me all the way to the hilt. He stays there a moment, breathing harshly into my neck, squeezing my hip on and off.

“You’re so tight. So warm. So wet, Katniss.” He nuzzles my ear, “I’m gonna move now, I apologize beforehand in case this ends too soon for you…” He drags himself slowly out of me, just to plunge right back in with a swift, hard thrust.

I squeak; he grunts..

Peeta holds me by the waist, “You’re so pretty and sexy, Katniss. I can’t decide if you’re real, or the most vivid wet dream I’ve ever had…” he’s fucking me like a jackrabbit in rut.

I’m speechless, vaguely wondering if I didn’t dream him instead?

His cock head hits a spot deep inside me I’ve never reached before. I start babbling nonsense— mostly praising his cock and his strength— I don’t really know what I’m saying, but he seems to be enjoying it thoroughly by the increase in his speed and the volume of his grunts.

I’m joisted up and down his shaft like a rag doll; I wish I’d thought of hanging my stupid little purse somewhere before we started, because now it’s bumping on my thighs, distracting me from the great ducking I’m getting; it’s no matter… I can feel my orgasm building in my belly.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart… I want you to cum too,” He nibbles on my earlobe.

“Yes, Peeta! Please make me cum, I’m so close!”

One of his hands slides around my waist to play with my clit, while his other tweaks my nipples over my dress and bra. That, added to the sensation of my g-spot being prodded repeatedly, sends me spinning over the edge.

I must’ve screamed or something, because he clamps his hand over my mouth, and then he’s grunting, digging his forehead between my shoulder blades, and pulling me back against his unyielding body.

“Fuck…” he gasps and shivers behind me. I feel his dick pulsing, his rhythm faltering, and then he goes still.

Peeta sags a little, wedging his shoulder into the door to keep from falling. I’m surprised he still has the strength to hold me up too; I have to be dead weight at this point, since my legs feel like overcooked noodles and my arms gave out a minute ago.

We both try to catch our breaths, too spent and weak for much more, at least for a few minutes.

Peeta stirs. “Are you okay?” He breathes out, ruffling the loose wisps of my hair with his breath.

I chuckle, leaning my sweaty temple on the cool door. “I can’t feel my toes… which is excellent!”

“Good,” he sighs.

Three heart beats later, he straightens up and pulls out of me. An indecent amount of spend flows down my legs as soon as his cock dislodges from my pussy, but Peeta shoves something soft between my thighs quickly, before I have time to freak out about the mess.

I look down mildly curious, staring at an embroidery of a tiny loaf of bread. Vaguely, I wonder if that’s his uniform? He said he was a baker, right? At least he’s named after bread or something. I giggle. “Is this your shirt?” I ask, widening my stance to gracelessly wipe myself clean.

“Yeah,”

“Thank you,” I say, dazedly, turning sideways to smile at him gratefully.

He’s wearing a simple, white, cotton t-shirt when I return the polo to him, now spoiled with cum and slick. I’m caught off guard by how broad shoulder he is, and by how nice he smells… cinnamon and sweat. Weird combination, but pleasant. I wonder if he baked any bread today?

“Um… would you… would you like to put these back on?” He asks awkwardly, leaning down to pick up my discarded panties from besides the foot of the toilet bowl.

I wrinkle my nose, “Not really,” I mumble. “Who knows when was the last time that floor got cleaned. Gross.”

Peeta smiles and shakes his head, “Here,” he grabs his polo, covered in our juices, and wraps my underwear in it. “Now it’s hidden.”

My body is finally catching up with the advanced hour, the beers and the two amazing orgasms. I’m starting to feel sore everywhere, and my eyelids are getting heavy. “Wow… think I’m officially all partied out,” I chuckle weakly.

“Ditto,” Peeta agrees, his smile is shy. “So… there’s this little dinner about two blocks from here,” he starts, eyes downcast; the space seems to shrink around us, now that the frenzy of our physical activities is done with. “Would you like to grab a pancake or som—“

My phone rings, startling us both into silence. I frown, but scramble to find it in my purse, to check who could be calling me… apparently at 2 a.m.!

My frown deepens. Prim’s smiling face flashes on the screen. She was supposed to be getting some herself! “It’s my sister,” I whisper, tamping down my rising panic. I don’t ask if it’s okay to answer, I just do it. “Prim?”

“Where the hell are you?!” I have to pull the phone off, or risk eardrum rupture by my sister’s screeching. “I’ve been texting and calling you! I’ve been worried sick!”

I scowl at the wall, confused and little annoyed, “Prim… Prim, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?” I try to ask.

“What?! No. I’m home! But you aren’t, and I’ve been scared shitless trying to find you!”

I give Peeta an apologetic grimace, and blindly feel around for the lock to get out of the stall. “Um… why are you home so early? Last time I heard from you, you were getting a ride,” I’m trying to sound unaffected; It’s all I can think to say in my mortification.

“Never mind that! Why aren’t you home already? I thought you had to work in the morning and then go to sch—”

While Prim rages at me, I place a hand on the phone and turn to Peeta, still in the stall, awkwardly facing the wall, I assume to grant me some privacy. I’m sure he can hear my sister’s frantic chastisement from where he’s standing. “I’m sorry… you’d think I was a teenager instead of a grown ass adult,” I roll my eyes.

Peeta waves me off good naturedly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping you so late,”

I’m about to say something else, but Prim yells loudly, something about calling the police and checking the hospitals for me, which truly prompts a reaction from me, “Calm down! I’m still at the club, exactly where you left me!” I cover the phone with my palm again, and turn to him. “I’m… I’m gonna go? Before she threatens to send the marines in,” I try to joke, but our situation takes all the levity out of it, and my attempt dies off, lamely.

Peeta nods, smiling softly; somehow I can tell it’s not genuine.

“Little sisters, right?” I offer halfheartedly, twisting my lips.

“Can I… walk you out at least?” He asks quietly; Prim hasn’t stopped nagging this whole time.

“I… it’s not necessary, but thank you…”

Peeta nods again, looking disappointed.

I don’t get to tell him a proper goodbye, because two dude-bros come in the bathroom, letting the noise from the club filter in; one of the idiots elbows the other, and both start making some lewd comments about me, but Peeta steps in, eyes wild with anger, and tells the guys to knock it off. Prim hears the whole thing of course, and goes nuts herself asking what’s going on?

Peeta looks at me, and motions his head towards the door.

Message received, I step outside the bathroom and book it out of the club, “I’ll be home in a bit. I’m gonna call and Uber,”

“Call me as soon as you’re in it!” Prim demands.

“Fine! Now stop nagging me, will you?!”

I don’t realize I never looked back at Peeta to wave my goodbyes until I’m in the car, heading home. Regret truly is a bitch. I can’t help feeling like I just lost something important, but I have no idea what it is.

>>—————> * <————<<

It’s been a very long Monday. I’m mainly running on caffeine at the moment, and can’t wait to get home and pass out in my fluffy bed, to see if I can catch up on last nights lost hours of sleep.

I enter my last class of the day and find a seat in the middle of the third row. I pull my laptop, a writing pad and my mechanical pencil out of my bag, and watch as my classmates start filtering in one by one, greeting each other and finding their places, lazily.

I’m the oldest student in this class, which is not surprising. I’ve only just come back from my extended— 5 year— sabbatical; and did it only after I was completely sure I could handle my workload and the financial strain of both me and Prim going to college at the same time, without giving myself an early grave.

It’s been hard, but I’m glad I came back to finish my schooling, I only need a handful of credits to graduate, which is great!

I check my watch. We still have a few minutes to kill before class starts. The professor— Dr. Mellark, according to the copy of my schedule— is not here yet, so I pull up the banking app on my phone to give it another glance. The balance is still the same as the last two times I’ve seen it, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful when one is on a tight budget. I scheduled payments for the power, gas and rent to go out in the next few days, and I want to make sure there’s enough money in the bank to cover them. We’re looking fine for the month, financially speaking.

The door to the classroom swishes open, and I start signing off my app.

“Good afternoon ladies and germs; I’m doctor Mellark, and provided you’re in this room for an English class, I’ll like to welcome you to the amazing world of Classic Literature!” Says a deep, male voice I find oddly familiar. “By the way, don’t any of you dare to disagree with me on the awesomeness of classic lit… I’m a doctor, I know what I’m talking about… unless you ask me about medicine, then please be free to disregard everything I say, because I’m not ‘that’ kind of doctor!”

A murmure of little chuckles fills the room; even I smile, silencing my phone and putting it away, before looking up at the professor.

I choke on a strangled gasp when I finally set eyes on the man I assume is the teacher, dumping a worn, leather, messenger bag on the desk near the podium. He’s the last person I would’ve expected to have as a professor.

Oblivious to my predicament, Doctor Mellark— or as I know him: Peeta!— keeps introducing himself.

“I’ve been teaching this course for 14th years, but I’m always pleasantly surprised to hear the different points of views my students bring to our discussions on the classics we study, which in a nutshell, is the beauty of this class.” He pulls a ream of paper out of his bag, and gives it to a student in the front, “Please take a syllabus, and pass the rest to the next person, and so on… thank you!”

My face is burning. I think I’m gonna faint.

“But enough about me,” his voice booms, making my whole body shiver. “I don’t normally do roll calls or care about attendance, as long as you’re not missing assignments, and are here during discussions, so this is the first and last time I’ll be reading this list,” he rises a piece of paper above his head, I surmise has the students names on it, and he instructs, before reading, “I’ll call your names, and you’ll introduce yourself, briefly, that way we can all get acquainted with each other, yes?”

Ugh!

He can scratch my name off that list right now! We’re more than acquainted with each other.

Bile rises to my throat. An intrusive, bitter thought pesters me: how many of his students has he gotten ‘that’ familiar with?

But the thought dies off quickly. An even worse, more worrisome thought springs front and center in my mind: Did we use protection?!

Panic rises in my chest, a nervous queasiness settles in my belly; a distant memory of warm goo sliding down my legs comes to mind… Oh shit!

Oh shit, oh shit! We didn’t use a freaking condom? Who does that?!

Oh shit!

Would a Plan B still be effective right now? It’s been less than 24 hours…

Peeta’s reading names. People stand from their seats and talk about themselves. I haven’t heard one word they’ve said, but I’ve been watching how some of the female students bat their eyelashes and speak all breathily, smiling coyly at him… Peeta seems oblivious to the flirting, but I still feel a cocktail of unpleasant feelings in the pit of my stomach.

I realize, I’m jealous!

My ass is frozen in my sit, I’m not even breathing. I don’t think Peeta’s seen me yet, but… what will he do or say once my name comes up? I send a quick prayer to heaven, he won’t recognize me since I look nothing like I did last night at the club, with my hair down and my face all made-up. Right now and plain ol’ me… the rub is gonna be my name. Darn my dad and his awful naming whims!

Soon enough, he reads a name that makes him stutter, “Kat…Katniss? Everdeen?” He does a double take, “Katniss Everdeen…” his eyes are the size of saucers when he scans the lecture hall, swiftly. When he finds me, he looks back down at his paper, and says the name out loud again, unsure, “Katniss Everdeen?” Like he doesn’t believe what he’s reading.

I stand up woodenly, my voice cracks a little, “I’m—I’m Katniss Everdeen… hi!”

I’m about to drop back into my chair, but Peeta kinda mumbles, “You know, Arrowhead, or Katniss is a water plant? The root is edible… like a swamp potato?”

There are quiet little giggles all over the place.

Peeta clears his throat, his eyes flit away; his face’s blank of emotion, but his cheeks seem pinker than a second earlier, “I just read that online, believe it or not. Interesting facts about local flora, people. Reading is knowledge, but so is learning from one another… what can you tell us about yourself, Miss Everdeen, besides that you have a very unique first name?”

“I…” I harrumph, avoiding eye contact with Peeta at all costs, “I’m a part time student. Majoring in Botany. I took this class to fulfill my last English credits requirement for graduation. I do love books and classic literature, in particular.”

“Thank you… Miss Everdeen,” he rasps.

I sit down, clumsily, hoping this horrible, horrible moment is just a nightmare and that I’ll wake up any second now, drooling on my desk, with indentations of my notepad on my cheek, because anything would be less embarrassing than what I’m going through at this point.

Mercifully, Peeta calls a different name, and then another, and then another. I don’t look up from my notepad once.

Peeta for his part, sounds stiff and monotonous— or so I’d like to think— no more jokes or clever sayings. Maybe he’s not as affected as I am about this ordeal, and I’m just making it a bigger deal than it really is? Maybe he does have experience sleeping with students— I mean, it’s not unheard off, right?— Not that either of us had any idea we were engaging in a teacher-student affair last night…

Although, calling it an affair is generous; it was a measly one night stand. A chance encounter. Two people letting off steam before a busy week ahead.

I’m getting increasingly angry with all this thinking… and the class seems to drag on. It feels like an eternity, and my mind keeps churning up all kinds of questions: Why would he not say he was a teacher at this particular college? Did he lie about being a baker? Is his name even Peeta?

I scoffed at the thought.

To my horror, I hear him ask, “Anything to say, Miss Everdeen?”

Looking up at him requires a great deal of bravery and self admonishment, but I do my best and face him— he’s wearing glasses now, which makes my belly tightened for inexplicable reasons— “No, Doctor Mellark, nothing of consequence anyway,” I retort as venemosly as possible, without alerting anyone else there’s something weird going on between me and the professor.

Peeta grimaces slightly. Then looks away, “Very well, as I was saying, we will start with the basics: The Iliad and Moby Dick, since those are High school level works, I expect your reports to be sufficiently well researched, and your personal ideas on the text somewhat fleshed out. It doesn’t have to be in-depth. I’m just looking to determine everyone’s style and needs for the semester ahead…” he continues his spiel, and I feel free to go back to my stewing and my musings.

Before I know it, Peeta’s dismissing the class, wishing everyone a good rest of their evening.

I jump into action, packing my stuff with my head bowed, but then I hear him again.

“Miss Everdeen, a private word, please?” It’s much too quiet to have been said from his podium. I still startled when I look up and find him standing right against the first row of desks, directly in front of me.

His face is not quite stern, but he’s definitely less smiley than when we met.

I force down a gasp, because under the better lighting of the lecture hall, and close up, I can see a plethora of details I missed at the club; like the arresting blue of his eyes, the slight reddish of his neatly trimmed beard, peppered with silver whiskers all over, while his perfectly combed hair is almost all silver on the temples, and ashy blonde on the top. His shoulders are even broader than I remember.

He’s overall stockier than I originally thought, and just a smidge shorter, which is fine, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t mind climbing him like a tree—

I shake my head off the intrusive, lecheros thoughts. I’m literally lusting after my teacher, for goodness sakes! This is beyond a silly schoolgirl crush!

Peeta arches one dark blonde eyebrow at me, expectantly.

I nod curtly, because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and gesture for him to lead the way.

I shove my laptop into my bag, and hastily shoulder the straps, hugging my writing pad to my chest, following my professor like a chastened little girl.

My stupid eyes find his ass, and I blink twice, at the exquisite sight in front of me. I groan internally.

He grabs his own bag, takes off his spectacles and slides them into his shirt pocket.

How old is this man?! He said he’s been teaching this class for 14 years, when do professors start their teaching careers? How did I never see him before now roaming campus? Is his age the reason he ate pussy like a master?

I shake my head, cursing my horny brain.

Peeta opens a door I have no idea how we came across, and then stands aside, gesturing for me to go in first.

I duck my head and step into a warmly decorated office, with a small desk and two chairs in the middle of the room. Bookshelves full of tomes line the office. A handful of pictures and framed diplomas hang from the only available wall space in the room, but I don’t get to study them before he catches my undivided attention.

“Let me start by apologizing,” Peeta stars, closing the door behind himself, “I assure you, it wasn’t my intention to cause you any stress, or embarrassment out there.” He pauses, “Would you like to sit?” He offers, wincing. He doesn’t wait and steps around me, to pace on the other side of his desk, “I… um, never been in this position before,” he scowls, “I’m not sure what assurances I can offer at the moment, except, that I will start the process to recuse myself from this class immediately, to not interfere with your academic—“

“Recuse yourself?” I cut him off, “what do you mean?”

Peeta squirms a little, and sits down heavily on his chair. My bag slides off my shoulder, and I just dump it in the empty chair I was offered a moment ago.

“Well, Miss Everdeen, it’s the right thing to do, given our circumstances. We’ve breached the appropriate boundaries of our pupil and teacher positions, and staying in the same class together will put you at a disadvantage… is a power imbalance situation, that calls for action.”

“Can you stop calling me ‘Miss Everdeen’? It’s weird…”

“I’m just trying to maintain an acceptable level of decorum between us,” he says sheepishly.

“That ship has already sailed,” I say tiredly.

“Perhaps, but it’s my responsibility to still try,” he rubs his forehead. “Anyway, I’ll call my department and see what is next. Stepping down myself is the only fair solution I see so far… it would be terribly unfair to ask you to switch classes. Simply disrespectful, but we both can agree this uncomfortable situation needs to be nipped in the bud, for both our sakes, Miss Everdeen.”

“This is bullshit!” I snap, “What happened in that club, isn’t that terrible of a problem! What we really need to do is stop acting so stiffly and guilty. By the way, you sound like a walking thesaurus!” I accuse, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he called my name at the lecture hall. “Stop it!”

Peeta inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Miss Everdeen, our actions last night may have been honest, and even innocent in nature, but they still carry consequences… unexpected ones, especially in light of the facts. And the facts are, that it would be unethical for me to remain in a position of authority over you. In any case… if you feel the need to report me to the school administration, for… harassment or inappropriate behavior or anything else, I won’t dispute any claims. I promise to distance myself from you and give you space so you can continue with your education without interference, in a safe environment.”

I grunt, “I’m not going to report you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I thought you were a baker… I mean your story about your name, and that little loaf of bread embroidered into your shirt, I thought it was your uniform,” I shrug one shoulder.

“Sorry about that… I never meant to mislead you,” he says bashful.

I ignore him, “Either way, I was the one pulling you into that bathroom. I threw myself at you. I begged you to do things to me, and you just granted me my wishes…” like a sexy gentleman, “The sex is on me. I’m 26 years old, I’m not some bumbling teenager who hasn’t learned to take responsibility for her actions, so, please… stop trying to shield me, or protect me, or whatever it is you’re doing,” my arms flap around in frustration. I finally push my bag off the chair, and sink into it. “Look, Peeta—“

“Professor…” he corrects, frowning a little.

I roll my eyes, if he knew he’s just making it sound kinkier than it already is, he wouldn’t be so adamant about the freaking titles.

“Fine… Doctor Mellark,” I enunciate, pettily. “I specifically chose your class as my last English elective for two reasons. One: it’s exactly the amount of credits I need to graduate at the end of the semester. And two: it fits my schedule to a T, which is important, since I do have a full time job when I’m not a college student. So, I’m sure we can both be adults about this unfortunate situation, and simply forge on. There’s no need for you to recuse from teaching this class, and I have absolutely no intention of switching. We both can wear our big people britches, and pretend last night was a… what did you call it?” I wave my hands, as if the answer will materialize from thin air, “A vivid wet dream? And leave it at that!”

Peeta glares at me, looking aggravated for the first time since I met him. “It’ll be unethical to continue like everything is normal, Miss Everdeen.” Peeta argues, stubbornly.

“Nobody has to know about last night,” I say, exasperated, then a horrifying thought flashes in my mind, “Unless you bragged about it already!”

“No!” He straightens in his chair, looking offended, “I would never do something so vile,” He looks indignant, “plus, the fact still remains that something did happen last night, and I know about it! I can’t, in good faith, be your teacher.”

“Are you planning on showing me favoritism because you know what my pussy tastes like, Peeta?” I deadpan, “Or are you gonna blackmail me into doing it again?”

“Stop calling me Peeta!” He growls through his teeth, his very thick fingers clenching into fists on his armrests.

I blink at his reaction owlishly, realizing I’m truly pushing it this time.

“I’ve always prided myself on keeping my nose clean. Being a decent man and tutor. Never in 17 years of teaching have I slept with a co-ed, let alone a student in my own class.” He breathes deeply, then pins me to my chair, with those arresting blue eyes of his, burning with controlled anger, “I would never extort you or anyone for sexual favors, Katniss. While I don’t really want to lose my tenure or face other disciplinary actions from the school authorities, the one thing I truly don’t want to damage are my personal standards, and my self image.

“Katniss, I’m already biased when it comes to you. Being your professor won’t be exactly fair to anyone. I’m not saying I would give you A’s willy-nilly, nor that I would grade your papers any differently than I’d do your peers or that I’d be less critical of your work,”

“That’s reassuring,” I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me that if I bring you a shit essay, you might not be persuaded to let me redo it?”

He sighs, “I don’t know…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll most likely hover over your desk a disproportionate amount of time compared to your classmates. There’s also a chance I’ll call on your name more often than the rest of them?”

“I still don’t hear one unscrupulous, wrong reason, why you can’t do your job, and teach this class.”

We sit there, staring at each other, at an impasse.

“Why are you so set on keeping me in that room, Miss Everdeen?” He asks, softly.

Finally, I relent, relaxing my tense shoulders, and exhaling tiredly. I raise my hands in defeat. “I don’t know, Peeta. Because I want to protect you, the same way you’re trying to protect me. But… recuse yourself if you have to. I still believe you’re a better man than your urges.”

Peeta relaxes in his chair too, “Thank you, Katniss.You didn’t have to say that, specially because you don’t know me. It still means a lot.”

I chew the inside of my lip, calculating stuff in my head. “You’re right, I don’t know you, but I consider myself an okay judge of character.” He opened this door, it’s time for me to walk through it, “Can I ask you some stuff?” I ask innocently.

Peeta arches his eyebrows. “Shoot,” he says.

“How old are you?”

“45. I’m sorry. I knew you were young last night… I just didn’t quite grasp just how young,” his eyes shift downwards, sheepish and uncomfortable.

“I’m an adult. I’ve been the head of my family for years. At this point, age is irrelevant for me.” I state, dismissively.

“What about your family?” He asks, tilting his head sideways.

It takes me a minute to answer. I cross my arms over my stomach, and exhale, “It’s been only Primrose and I for five years now. My mother had cancer. My father passed when I was eleven.” I rock in my chair, slightly, “That’s why my sister was being such a clingy bitch last night. She can’t bear to lose anyone else. Neither can I for that matter.”

Peeta leans forward on his desk. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Katniss.”

I sit back, feeling like a huge weight just got lifted off my shoulders. “It’s okay, really. I’m back in school, about to finish my last semester, Prim is doing great in university, the only debt we have right now is Prim’s car and my Target card… we are actually okay,” I smile, meekly at him.

“That’s… that’s good, Katniss. Admirable, really.”

“Peeta?” I start cautiously, “Would you really remove yourself from the class because of me?”

He looks me right in the eye, sincerity emanating fro his eyes. “Absolutely. Without hesitation. As soon as you leave, I’ll email my Head of Department, explaining my situation. Don’t worry, I won’t mention any names or details—“

I shake my head, vehemently.

Peeta squints, studying me cautiously, measuring me.

“Please… stay with me…”

Something in my tone catches his attention, and he eyes me curiously. “I’ve already told you why I can’t,” he says, almost soothingly.

I stand up. Go around my chair, and drop back down into it. I start shaking my leg nervously. “I had this feeling in my gut since last night. Like I lost something precious, I just couldn’t put a finger on it… I still can’t, to be honest. All I know, in my loins, is that I can’t let you step down from your position, and I sure as hell won’t walk away on you without figuring out what this…” I wiggle my fingers, pointing to the mouth of my stomach, “feeling is about.”

He stares at me.

I stand up again, and this time I just pace, to the wall with the pictures, and stare at a bunch of faces, too similar to Peeta’s not to be related to him somehow.

“I know I’m not making sense, but I just needed to say that.”

He watches me for a long beat, weighing his options no doubt, before answering, “I can’t be your teacher, Katniss…” he sighs, and rubs his forehead, “because I’m afraid seeing you every week, without being able to touch you will be absolute torture.”

“Really?” I bite my lip, giving him an open once over, not feeling one iota self conscious about. “How come?”

Peeta huffs, avoiding my eyes. “I’d be wondering what your breasts look like the whole time.” He confesses, flatly. “I didn’t get a chance to see them last night, and it kept me awake an indecent amount of time.” He twists his lips, “I’m gonna be pinning the whole semester, whether you’re in the classroom or not, craving the taste of your juices in my tongue, and worse of all, I’ll probably embarrass myself, giving me involuntary hard on’s just fantasizing about you.”

I practically prowl towards him. “You poor thing,” I coo, pouting. “Would you go home to masturbate on the soiled pair of panties I left behind on that dirty, bathroom floor?” I ask… more like, purr, really.

Peeta chuffs out an incredulous laugh, covering his face with both hands. He grunts, “Aw, fuck! That sounds so… it’s probably exactly what could happen. I’d try to stay professional in the classroom, but in the privacy of my home…” he chuckles weakly, shaking his head.

“What kind of fantasies are we entertaining here?” I ask, invested, and sit on the corner of his desk.

Peeta thins out his mouth, “Katniss… that’s a slippery slope you’re trying to climb,” he warns.

“Humor me?” I cajole.

He takes a stuttering breath. “I’ll bring you into this office, same way I did today, except I’ll rip your clothes off, throw you on the desk and take you hard and fast. From behind.”

I can’t stop a small sound at the back of my throat, nor the need to rub my thighs together.

I clear my throat, “I expect you’d want to fuck me on every surface in this office?”

Peeta pulls on the collar of his shirt, his face turning crimson, “And probably the lecture hall as well,” he adds conversationally.

I nod, scooting closer to where he sits. “I’m curious too you know. I didn’t get to see ‘any’ part of you naked. But my muscles still are deliciously sore from last night. A girl has to wonder… just how big a dick has to be to cause so much wreckage?”

It doesn’t take much effort at all to work him up. Peeta’s pants are tented in what looks like the most uncomfortable erection ever; he shifts in his chair to try and hide the effect my words have on him, yet, his hands remain folded on his lap, white knuckled with the effort of keeping himself in check. He’s really committed not to touch me while I’m still his student, but he rasps a question, full of concern.

“Did I hurt you?” His eyes search me, earnestly. “I’m sorry I was too rough, really,”

My heart gives a little somersault. “No, Peeta. You were pure perfection. I loved how you handled me.”

His lips twitch, and I’m amazed at how expressive his face is, even partially hidden under his near facial hair. “You said you were hungry last night before you got on your knees…” I murmur, “I think, next time I’ll return the favor,”

“Next time?”

I slide closer to him, but we both keep our hands to ourselves.

I lick my lips, resisting the urge to drop on my knees between his legs and gobble up his cock. I didn’t lie about wanting to see him in all his naked glory, but I can show the same level of restraint he does; I respect him for trying to keep a moral and ethical compass.

I smirk at him, slyly. “Are you sure you wanna abandon your post as my professor, now that my education is on the balance? We can wait a handful of months, Doctor Mellark… I promise not to tease you,” With that, I mean, I promise not to aggravate what could potentially be the worst case of blue balls in the history of slow burns.

Peeta hisses a mirthless chuckle, “You’re too much of a temptation, even if you don’t actively try teasing me, Katniss,”

I start playing with the end of my braided, dark hair. “You know what I’m most really looking forward to, from when I’m no longer your student?” I pose, shyly, “Going to that dinner you mentioned last night.” I shrug one shoulder. “I’ll let you buy me a stack of pancakes to celebrate my graduation. I’ll probably introduce you to my sister, Primrose… and we’d go from there… if you wanted to…”

Peeta smiles, disarmingly. “I’d love that too, Miss Everdeen.” He says quietly.

I let go of my braid, and hug myself, “Stay in the class?” I practically beg one last time. “We can do it, I know we can. We can have a platonic, completely innocent teacher-student relationship until I’m done with college,”

Peeta shakes his head. “We’ll see after I talk to my head of department. Who knows, maybe all the schedules are already locked in place, and I have no other choice but to stay put. There’s no guarantee a replacement is available for me.”

“We’ll make it work!” I say enthusiastically.

“Maybe…” he sighs, not entirely convinced.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Time is running out, I gotta get to the pharmacy before my window of opportunity closes.

“Hey, Peeta… um, invasive, weird question?”

I wait for him to nod.

“Have you by any chance, have gotten a vasectomy at any point?”

“Mmm no, never had. Why?”

Aw shit!

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Hopefully no reason.” I say quickly, too nonchalant for my own good, and he catches on it, I can see the gears turning in his brain, “Okay,” I make a big show of yawning and stretching my arms, “I have to run some errands before going home and crashing for the night.”

Peeta cringes, “Are you… okay? Really, okay? You said you were sore?” His eyes rove over my face full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I smile, “nothing a long soaking in Epsom salts can’t cure.”

“Okay,” he says, unsure. “I don’t want to overstep any worse than I already have, but… I’ve been anxious, wondering if you were alright, if you got home fine to your sister since you left the club. Which, obviously you did… but, I wanted to kick myself for not asking your number, just to be able to check on you… and this is frown upon, a d completely unethical, but—“

“I’ll email you,” I say quickly. “Nothing explicit. But I’ll let you know I’m home and okay.” I’ve spoken to people in code before, this shouldn’t be a problem, and really, sending my professor an email with a time stamp and some innocuous question about the syllabus doesn’t have to be nefarious at all.

“Alright… Just let me know if there’s anything wrong, okay? I swear this won’t become a routine thing or anything, just this time, to give me peace of mind, and because it is late… and well, yesterday…”

“It’s fine, professor. I don’t mind. And… everything will work out,” I say shouldering my bag and pocketing my phone, “everything will work out, even if my Plan B doesn’t,” I smile and scurry out the door, before the puzzlement in his face has time to settle.

After all, a semester is only 15 weeks long, give or take… that’s plenty of time to figure things out.

#alliswell21 #animekpopxx #prompt 144 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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sirenascales · 3 years

Text

-> Chuuya with a Black F!Reader who's a bit insecure because of her skin.

@furrypostsoul said: Hello admin, I hope you’re having a good day! So stoked to see a fellow bisexual bsd fan! I would politely like to request a chuuya Drabble with a black fem bisexual reader where she thought that chuuya wouldnt be interested in her romantically cause of y’know, her skin. If you could also add in scenarios where she was racially harassed in public (pls dont write this is ur not comfortable, I understand if you don’t! it’s something I want people to be aware about)

note: ahhh thank you so much for your request! i immediately had an idea as soon as I saw it and I believe I came up with a good one, especially after asking some of my pals for advice on how to tackle it! Hope you like it!

warnings: colorism, mentions of racial fetishization, microaggresion, and racism [not from Chuuya] insecure reader, angst to fluff i promise,

"I still don't understand why it takes so long to do your hair... aren't you just getting braids?" The confused look on Chuuya's face was honestly super cute and hilarious and you couldn't help but laugh behind your hand.

"That's just the way it is, man. That's why I said we can go out on Saturday. I can't on Friday since I'll be strapped to the chair."

"Man, whatever," Chuuya huffed and you rolled your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Don't whatever me. Just suck it up!"

You shook your head, the hustle and bustle of the shopping district around you fading as you looked to your companion. Red hair, blue eyes, fancy clothes and a dumb hat; Chuuya was honestly too handsome, too damn fine. The scowl on his face was cute and you resisted the urge to pinch his cheeks. You knew he would literally kill you for that, and you valued your life.

You and Chuuya were in that talking stage and finally decided to go out on your first official date on Saturday. Besides his... occupation, you found yourself very much liking the man. Not just for his looks, but his fiery personality made him interesting, the way he carried himself. He was great and you were so into him.

You hoped he felt the same way. He had to, he agreed to the date in the first place! And how could he not? You were a sight, rich brown skin and he sorta, kinda, absolutely loved the cute afro puffs you had on your head. You were beautiful, a bright spirit with a bit of an edge that Chuuya definitely liked.

After talking some more, Chuuya had to go off to do his own thing, and after sharing a very tight hug, you waved him farewell, promising to see him on Saturday for your first date.

You couldn't help the huge, happy grin on your face, giddy as you made your way over to a nearby bench, sitting next to an older woman. You paid her no mind, grabbing your phone to text your friend as you giggled to yourself.

"Was that your boyfriend?" the woman suddenly inquired and you blinked at her in surprise. Then, your face started to heat up and you laughed lightly.

"Well, not yet. We're just dating."

"Ah..." the woman trailed off and you didn't like the tone of her voice. Suddenly feeling awkward, you turned back to your phone.

"I don't mean to be rude," the woman started and you couldn't help the sense of dread you felt. Here we go again. "But you should be careful, dear. You're a beautiful woman but... Japanese men don't really like dark skin. Not unless they are with you for... ulterior motives."

Even if you were already expecting some foolishness, the woman's words still stunned you, striking you to your core as you gave her a look that exceeded shock. You were appalled, your chest tightening in anger and hurt. You took in a slow deep breath, your fists clenching tightly. Your body had gone numb, and you tried your best to keep it cool. You couldn't make a scene.

"Wow," you laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood up. You didn't pay that stupid bitch any mind, storming away, your anger just boiling.

Not only did that woman ruin your entire day, she honestly ruined your entire week. The anger had soon subsided and you were left with the insecurities you tried to push down, especially when it came to Chuuya. Your mind ran at one hundred miles per hour, overthinking as the cruel words lingered in your mind.

Was Chuuya another one? Like your last relationship, were you just a sexual conquest for someone just wanting to try having sex with a Black girl? That was what your ex-girlfriend did to you, so was this just the same? Did he even like you?

No. Chuuya wouldn't do that.

Even so, you canceled your date with him as you sat in the stylist's chair on Friday, eyes burning with tears. You didn't want to experience that again, so you figured you give it all up before you get hurt again. Or even worse.

After spending day getting your hair done, you gotten a quick bite to eat before heading home, feeling completely dejected. Your hair looked amazing, long box braids swaying as you trudged along. But Chuuya didn't answer your text at all, and that honestly made you feel even more like shit. Did he not care at all?

You sighed deeply, coming up on your apartment, stopping when you saw a very familiar red motorcycle parked along the sidewalk. Your heart skipped a beat when you spotted Chuuya leaning against his bike, and when he finally noticed you, your heart dropped when he yelled your name.

"Oi!" he hollered, stomping over to you angrily. "What the hell do you mean our date is canceled?!"

"I-" you were at a loss for words. "Why are you here?"

"I was waiting for you! I didn't know where you were getting your hair done so I just stood here."

"Th-the whole day?! Chuuya!"

"I mean, I went and got food and stuff but-"

"That's not the point!" you interrupted. "Why would you even bother?"

Chuuya scoffed. "Are you serious? You suddenly cancel our date and you expect me not to worry about you?" As he finished talking, Chuuya is shocked to find tears pooling in your eyes, your lips trembling as you hung your head. "H-hey, what the hell happened?"

"You don't just want to fuck me, right?"

Now Chuuya was at a loss for words, his jaw hanging open as he registered your ridiculous words. You spoke again, telling him about the things that woman said to you earlier that week, as well as the horrible experience you had with your ex-girlfriend.

"... I tried not to think too much about it but... I'm used to comments about my skin and race, I mean, hello! I'm Black, but... " you trailed off, lifting your hands up to wipe your tears away. Chuuya beat you to it, and you stared at him with teary eyes as he gently wiped your tears away.

"I'm not your ex-girlfriend." Chuuya was firm as he spoke. "And that old hag needs to mind her own fucking business. I fucking like you. Not because of some weird sexual thing, I actually fucking like you. The whole you. You're beautiful and smart, you keep me on my toes. And yes, your skin and hair are amazing, I love them, but those are only parts of you that I find amazing. I'm not giving you my love and attention because I want something from you, I'm giving it because you deserve it. And I want to be the one who gives it to you."

You didn't know what to say, what to do. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, your mouth going dry. Still, after a moment you just end up punching Chuuya lightly on his chest, choking out a laugh while you cried.

"Shut up... all that sappy shit..."

Chuuya scoffed, lowkey offended. "Excuse me? I basically just confessed to you."

"Yeah..." you sniffed, looking and giving the man a watery smile. "You did. I..." Lips trembling again, you took a step forward and Chuuya wasted no time in pulling you in for a hug.

"And you better accept me or else I will kick your ass," Chuuya said, pressing his face against your hair. "You smell nice..."

"Hm."

"And you're perfect. Worth more than an experimental fuck and the words of some old bitch." There was a bite to Chuuya's words, and that made you feel so much better.

"I'm sorry for doubting you..." you whispered and Chuuya shook his head, pulling away from the hug.

"Don't be. I understand, I promise."

You smiled widely, face getting hot as he gently cupped your cheek. "Are you sure?"

Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Fine, you can make it up to me by un-cancelling our date. Let me show you off."

You giggled softly, hugging him again. "Okay. That's fair."

Send in your requests!

#chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #chuuya x black reader #bsd requests #i really hope this is okay!!!

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athenasbloodyspear · 4 years

Text

Say Something to Stop Me: Chapter 9

Writing Master List | Say Something to Stop Me Master List

(There’s a double asterisk ** at one point in the story, I recommend playing the song I mention “Every Step You Take” by The Police as you read if that’s your thing! It’s what I wrote the rest of the scene to and I think it just makes it feel like a movie.)

Dr. Cho did end up having to put a few stitches in Bucky’s eyebrow and it turns out he was hiding some nasty bruises under his shirt. He looked like he’d gone through a meat tenderizer. The bullet proof vest he wore kept most of the shots from being fatal, but the smattering of bullet shaped bruises on his chest nearly tore you in two.

You sat in a chair across the room and watched as Helen finished his stitches and felt around on his chest for any broken ribs or potential internal bleeding. You found yourself just staring at him while they ran various diagnostics. He was definitely worse for wear, but he was so unbelievably beautiful that you felt your heart squeeze in your chest.

It was funny, this dynamic between you two. A push and pull that you hadn’t experienced before. It was like when you worked together on missions. When one of you moved, the other adjusted to fill the space you had left. When he had needed your calming touch and level head, you’d been able to provide it for him.

It struck you then, how long you’d been living in a relationship that was only push, no pull. You’d let someone dictate your emotions, your reactions and responses to nearly everything. You had shoved yourself into a box for him, trying to fit exactly how he wanted you.

Bucky let you be exactly how you needed to be in each moment. He stepped in to fill holes and support you where you needed it, but stepped away and let you go when he knew you could stand on your own.

He trusted you.

You trusted him.

You loved him.

After they’d finished, Tony told him to get his ass cleaned up and to bed.

“And I mean sleep Barnes. If you rip those stitches because you can’t keep your hands off her, I won’t let anyone come close them and you’ll have to restitch them yourself.”

You let Bucky rest most of his weight on you as you helped get him back to his room. At this point you knew that there was no risk of Bucky ripping those stitches. He needed sleep badly.

You assisted as he peeled his bloodied pants and boots from his body, then held under his arms as he slowly lowered himself into the bath, being careful to keep his right arm above water. Everytime he winced in pain you felt a sting in your own chest.

He’d be fine, you knew. He healed abnormally fast. That didn’t make the moments of his pain hurt any less to watch.

After he’d finally lowered himself into the steaming water, you’d told him to lay back and relax while you rinsed and lathered his hair and scrubbed at his neck and chest to remove the layers of sweat and dried blood. Then you’d gotten him dried off and dressed in pajamas before helping him curl up in his bed.

He was asleep before you could even pull the covers up to tuck him in.

~0~

The next few weeks passed quietly. Sam was mostly bed ridden, so you and Bucky spent a lot of time in his room generally bothering him and making him wish he could heal faster just so he could get away from you both and your endless supplies of one-liners.

One night, you both helped him make the long trip to the common area under the guise of a change in scenery. Really, Peter wanted to keep watching the Fast and Furious movies and making Sam watch his least favorite movies when he didn’t have the ability to leave on his own was hilarious.

Were you terrible people? Maybe.

Sam did admit he would have done the same thing if given the chance.

Pretty much everyone joined in. Steve had helped Nat up from her room. She was in much better shape than Sam and was pretty much 100%, but Steve stayed close to her most days claiming that just because she seemed better didn’t mean something couldn’t happen to her.

Wanda and Vision came to watch the movies as well, which ended up being the best part of the experience. Vision kept pointing out the flawed logic in many of the action scenes and Wanda kept trying to patiently explain to him that the movies weren’t intended to be logical. Vision's distress nearly made Peter pee his pants laughing.

When you were taking a snack break between Fast Five and the 6th installment, Tony wandered into the kitchen slowly. Looking at his hands.

“Hey kid. Can you come chat over here a second.”

“Uh. Sure Tony.”

You stood from the couch, having to untangled yourself from Bucky’s hold, and sauntered to the kitchen island.

“How you feeling, kid?” Tony asked.

“Fine…” You murmured. “What’s going on?”

“Uh. Nothing major. Just trying to gauge how you’re doing emotionally before I say what I have to say.” Tony was looking at pretty much anywhere but you, fiddling with spoons and forks that were on the counter.

“Out with it Tony.”

“Uh…” Tony hedged. “Well I just want you to know that Elijah…” He trails off.

Saying his name is enough for everyone in the room to suddenly quiet and look in your direction.

“Just say it Tony. I’m fine. What about him?”

Bucky gets up from the couch and takes a few steps toward you before stopping a few feet from the two of you. The rest of the group stays where they’re seated, staring.

“Elijah’s dead.” Tony finally finishes.

It takes a moment to fully process that thought. You really hadn’t been prepared to hear anything about him today, let alone that he was dead.

“He’s what?” You whisper.

“I’ve had an agent tailing him since that day in Brooklyn.” Tony says softly. “I just got word that he’s dead.”

You whip your head up to look at Bucky.

“I swear to god it wasn’t me.” Bucky says, holding his hands up in surrender. “But when I do find out who it was, I will probably give them a kiss on the mouth.”

You grab a wooden spoon off the counter and whip it at Bucky’s head. Bucky ducks easily and Steve reaches up and grabs it out of the air behind Bucky before it can smack into the glass wall behind him. You also let out a small chuckle. You can’t help it.

“I’m thinking you won’t want to, Barnes.” Tony remarks. “Considering the cause of death was the dumbass getting himself good and drunk and wrapping his fancy sports car around a tree. So unless you’d like to kiss the man's corpse, you’re shit out of luck.”

Bucky huffed and crossed his arms, rolling his eyes at Tony.

You sat down abruptly at a stool at the kitchen island. Bucky took a few quick steps toward you and laid a hand on your back.

“Sweetheart, are you…?”

“I’m fine.” You whisper. “I’m fine.”

And you were, you realized. You basically felt nothing. Of course, you felt some twinge of sadness at someone you had spent so many years of your life with dying in a horrific car accident.

But you felt fine really. No shortness of breath, no panic at the thought of him. You were clear headed and calm.

There was no threat of the sea of emotions lapping at your heels. You didn’t feel like you were about to drown.

“I’m fine.” You murmured again. Looking up at Bucky. “I’m fine, Bucky. Does that make me a monster?”

Bucky stepped in to you then and wrapped you in a warm hug, kissing the crown of your head. “No. It does not make you a monster sweetheart.”

“So. Not to bring up a touchy subject or anything…” Sam piped up from his spot where you and Bucky had propped him on the couch. “But, this man was your fiance, no?”

“Yes.” You murmur back. Bucky’s arms tensed a bit around you, you felt his head shift and you assumed he was leveling Sam with a death glare.

“And, we’re totally fine with him being dead? Like don’t get me wrong, I’m on your side no matter what I just feel like I’m missing something.”

“Sam, she doesn’t have to…” Bucky started.

“No, Buck. It’s okay.” You said, placing a palm on his chest and giving him a little push so you could turn to look at Sam and the rest of your family in the living room.

“Yes. He was my fiance. I knew him for most of my life. I kept him a secret from you all because he hated SHIELD and all of you. He hated that I worked here.” You started. Bucky was watching you carefully, with a hand placed on your back. He seemed poised for attack, like if there was any indication that your heart rate picked up or you lost your breath he would snag you in his arms and run out of there like a bomb was going off.

You loved him.

But it was time for your family to know.

“We ended things when I got back from Budapest. He was abusive, to say the least, and manipulative. I was angry at myself for letting it get that far which was why I isolated myself from you all for so long.” You sighed and offered your family a small smile. “But, I’m feeling more like myself again.” You looked at Sam then. “So, no. We don’t really care that he’s gone, beyond normal human discomfort with death. Even if that makes me a little evil, I kind of don’t care.”

It was quiet for a moment. Then Sam spoke. “Well good riddance then.”

Nat spoke up next. “I am a little disappointed you didn’t take a crack at him Barnes.”

“Trust me I wanted to.” Bucky chuckled. “But my priorities were elsewhere.” He snuck a look at you with a little smile.

“Thank you for telling us.” Wanda said softly. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know. But you’re my family.”

Steve stood up then from his spot across the room and crossed to you. He wrapped you up in a big hug. The next thing you knew, Bucky, Nat, Wanda, Peter and even Vision were joining in. You teared up a bit standing in the center of all of them.

“Get in here Tony.” Steve muttered.

“Sorry pal, I don’t do group hugs.” Tony quipped from where he leaned against the kitchen island.

You peeked through the holes between arms and saw Sam sitting on the couch smiling at all of you. You pouted a bit as you looked at him, offering your apologies that he was stuck on the couch.

“I’m there in spirit, gorgeous.” Sam smiled at you. “When I can stand on my own I’ll give you a better hug than any of these assholes could dream of.”

You giggled then. The whole group devolved into arguments on who gave the best hugs.

Right as Nat and Steve were going toe to toe (arguing vehemently that the other gave the best hug) Tony spoke up. “What do you all say we go to the bar down the road and celebrate?”

“Celebrate?” You chuckled.

“Yeah kid. I think it’s about time we let loose as a family. I’ll give Sam the bottom half of a suit or something so he can walk on his own in the bar.”

“You mean to tell me these past few weeks I could have just borrowed a suit? What kind of sick bastard are you?” Sam yells incredulously from across the room.

“Don’t push your luck birdboy.” Tony looks at you again. “What do you say? Fancy a night out with your family?”

You couldn’t think if anything you’d love more. “Hell yes.”

~0~

You all piled into various vehicles at the compound and made the short trek down the road to the bar. (Not before Sam finally gave you a big hug. He wasn’t kidding, he was a really incredible hugger.)

You all made quite a scene rolling up as a unit and pushing a bunch of tables together. Luckily, most of the patrons at the bar seemed to be wise enough not to cause a scene with the entire Avengers team in one spot.

You sat and marveled briefly at everyone laughing and drinking and enjoying themselves. It was still amazing to you that all of these people, who had seen so much and suffered so much could be together here now, laughing and joking with each other.

You were proud to be one of them.

Peter was slinging spitballs through straws in Sam’s direction which Sam was artfully trying to dodge, his iron legs supporting him now. Tony, Steve and Bucky were sniping back and forth at each other. Vision and Wanda had gotten up from the table to dance to the songs playing on the jukebox.

“Hey hot stuff.” Nat said, dropping down next to you at the table. “Whatcha thinking about all quiet over here?”

“Just amazed I’m here, is all. It’s everything I always wanted, but really didn’t think I could ever have.”

“I know what you mean.” Nat said softly. “I didn’t know if I’d ever really have a family like this. I didn’t think I could.”

“I tried so hard to make it work with Elijah, nearly destroying myself in the process, because I wanted to belong somewhere. For somewhere to be home.” You muttered.

“I know.” Nat said. “Seems silly now doesn’t it? I fought for years against belonging here. It scared the hell out of me. Still does most days, especially when one of you gets hauled through those doors all messed up. Emotionally or physically.” She looks at you pointedly then. “But I’ve learned I’d rather be terrified of losing you all than never having you, you know?”

“Totally.”

You both sit in silence for a bit, sipping on your beers and just taking in the scene. Just then, “I Ran” by A Flock of Seagulls came on and you bubbled up with laughter.

“What’s that giggle for?” Nat asked.

“Nothing. I just got an idea.” You drained your beer and stood up from the table you were sitting at. “Hey, can you turn it up?” You sent the bartender a smile. He nodded and spun to turn the volume up in the bar. “Wanna join?” You tossed over your shoulder at Nat as you placed your hands on the bar and hopped up. You started moving your hips to the music, the same way you did a year ago in Budapest.

Nat glanced over to where Bucky was still mostly oblivious to you standing on the bar, his back facing you as he talked to Steve and Tony. “Hell yeah I do.”

Nat hopped up on the bar with you and sidled close to you, moving her hips with yours.

Wanda saw you and quickly hopped up on the bar. A few other women in the bar looked up and watched, and you three waved them over to have them join. The bartenders quickly moved the glasses on the bar out of the way so you all had a clear space to dance.

There were a few whoops and hollers from some of the men sitting at the bar on the other end, and you spun, ignoring your real prey and sending flirtatious smiles and giggles toward the men down the bar.

The attention of the other men finally got the attention that you had been looking for in the first place.

Steve’s head popped up from their conversation and his eyes widened at the sight before him. You, Nat and Wanda dancing tightly together, hands in the air. Without tearing his eyes from you he quickly punched Bucky in the shoulder. You could tell Bucky had probably asked what the hell Steve’s problem was when Steve just pointed in your direction. Bucky turned slowly to look.

You weren’t looking directly at him, you were still making eyes at the guys down the bar, but from your peripheral vision you saw his jaw drop open before he quickly shut it, grinding down on his jaw. He leaned back against the table, resting his elbows on the surface and spreading his legs out to assume an arrogant laid back stance. Clearly intent on enjoying your show.

It took every ounce of will not to hop down off the bar and climb him like a tree.

As the bridge of the song sped up and the electric guitar started shredding Nat, Wanda and you really turned it on. You saw Steve put his face in his hands as he released a long groan. Bucky just leveled you with an arrogant smirk. As the final tones of the song played you finally looked fully at Bucky, giving him a haughty smile as if to say What? I’m not doing anything.

Bucky just rolled his eyes at you as the song ended and the first notes of “Every Breath You Take” by the Police started**.

It was just like that first night in Budapest. You, up on a bar dancing, and Bucky staring at you from his place at the table, a dark heated look in his eyes.

Except this time, it would end differently.

Bucky stood up abruptly from the table and stalked toward you. Nat and Wanda took that as their cue to step away and off the bar, leaving you standing there alone. When Bucky reached the bar he wrapped his hands around your waist.

“C’mon babygirl. Let’s go home.” He chuckled as he lifted you up off the bar. As he stepped back he started to lower you down from where you towered over him. You slid down the front of his body as he set you back to your feet. Once you were safely on the ground, he kept his hands on your waist as you looked up at him. You smirked at him and batted your eyelashes innocently. He groaned low in his throat and leaned down so his mouth was even with your ear. “You’re killin me sweetheart.” He rose back up to his full height and looked down at you. His eyes raked over your whole body and you flushed and bit down on the corner of your bottom lip. “Fucking hell.” He growled.

He picked you up, tossed you over his shoulder and made a beeline for the door. You squealed.

He snagged your coats off the back of his chair as you passed the table that everyone was sitting at.

“Got someplace to be, Barnes?” Natasha crooned as Bucky rushed past where she now sat next to Steve.

You blushed and giggled, waving to everyone from your place on Bucky’s shoulder as he continued out the door, not slowing down for anything.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you he dropped you back on your feet and roughly grabbed both sides of your head, crashing his lips against yours. You pressed your body against his, your hands grabbing two fistfuls of his t-shirt and yanking. You wanted him closer.

He finally ripped his mouth from yours and stared down at you as his chest rose and fell rapidly, he was as out of breath as you were. “I love you.” He breathed.

You didn’t answer him. He knew.

You just launched yourself into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and your hands tangling in the ends of his hair when it curled against the back of his neck. You dragged his lips back to yours. His hands caught you around the waist, his metal arm lowering down to hold you under your hips and keep you from slipping.He started to walk you backwards toward where his bike was parked across the parking lot.

You devoured him, nipping at his bottom lip and running your hands through his hair. You had one hand gripping the back of his neck to keep him from moving too far away from you.

Suddenly you heard a voice call out from near the door of the bar. Sam, standing on his own with a pair of iron legs assisting. “Fucking nasty. Get a room!”

You heard the chorus of chuckles from your friends, your family, as they all spilled out the door of the bar.

Bucky pulled his head back just enough so that there was enough space between you that he could yell back “Trying to!” before smashing your lips back to his.

Once he reached his bike, he set you down before quickly mounting the bike and hitting the kickstand. As soon as he was stable you giggled and jumped on the back, wrapping yourself around him and burying your face into his neck.

He revved the engine twice, yelled “hold on” over his shoulder and took off.

You lifted your head to look at everyone as Bucky ripped out of the parking lot. A huge grin on your face, you lifted a hand to wave at your family. You could just make out the sound of Nat yelling “See you at home!” At the same time that Sam yelled “I’m gonna need a different floor to sleep on tonight.”

You giggled again and faced forward in the seat, squeezing Bucky again as he turned onto the asphalt and hit the gas.

You hurtled down the road toward the compound.

As you were flying down the asphalt you decided that you were going to finally just start living without fear that someone was going to take it away from you. The fresh air was pelting your face and it was so strong it wiped away any doubt. It wiped away the thought that you didn’t deserve to have moments like this.

You wanted to feel it all. The pain of the whipping wind, the sting of the air on your eyes, the smell of gasoline in your nose.

You wanted to feel every moment you could with Bucky. The good, the bad and the boring. You wanted to spend time with your family and be there for every moment in their lives and never miss a month with them again.

You wanted to be totally free.

You started to peel your arms away from Bucky’s chest. One of his hands left the handlebars and he grabbed your wrist.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I wanna feel the wind!” You yelled back. “I wanna feel everything, Bucky.”

He paused only a second before patting your wrist twice, and dropping his hand to your thigh to hold on to you. You squeezed your legs together, gripping him tighter as you released your hands from his waist, slowly lifting them so that they were above your head.

Your hair was flying wildly around your head and the only things you could hear were the sound of the engine and the wind. It was the most amazing feeling in the whole world.

You let out a loud whoop as you just let yourself go, laughing at how absolutely wonderful it was to just feel.

Against your chest you could feel Bucky’s back rumble as he laughed with you. He squeezed your knee once, put his hand back on the handlebars and pushed the bike a little faster.

You wanted this forever.

Just you, your man and the wind.

@vicmc624

@austynparksandpizza

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

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turnaboutimagines · 5 years

Note

AAAAAAA HATTIE MY DEAR I JUST FINISHED SPIRIT OF JUSTICE AND I D I E D i will be sending in a few messages to cover Everything BUT to start could i pls get smth for apollo? with the reader finally catching onto his bs that he might not be fine?? and it's ok to feel sorrow over dhurke's death??? i love the boy but imo he's pushing himself too far :( thanks! :D -❤

❤ anon, pal! I’m glad you finished it!!! That last episode is definitely an emotional roller coaster with Apollo… orz But you absolutely can get something with him along those lines! This also ended up meeting one-shot criteria by this blog’s standards bc i have no self-control.

You’re fairly certain that ‘rest’ is not something in Apollo’s dictionary at the moment, which makes you glad that you’re able to stay in Khura’in with him for the foreseeable future. Somebody has to try and keep him from working himself to the bone… His caseload would make lawyers back home burst into hives, but he merely keeps his head down and does his best to keep up, as much as he may complain about it.

Yet you’re getting the sneaking suspicion that he’s running away from something. Trying to stay busy to outrun his thoughts and feelings. He hasn’t taken any time to truly grieve Dhurke’s loss, you barely understand the complexities of what their dynamic was. But you do know that the man was the closest thing to a father he’d had and that he just lost him after being reunited.

You can’t even imagine what it’d be like…

But that’s just a theory, of course. One that seems to be more like reality with each passing day, but is almost impossible to steel yourself to bring up directly to him.

Instead you dance around it, fretting over how hard he’s pushing himself or how haggard he’s looking. But you always get the same response: “I’m fine,” he says, flashing you an attempt at a comforting smile, one that falls short due to the dark bags under his eyes. And you know what he means by those two words, that he has to do this. He doesn’t have a choice.

You decide to drop by the office at the crack of dawn with some coffee in hand as a surprise, knowing that Apollo’s up and at work. What you didn’t anticipate was that he was in the middle of his Chords of Steel exercise as you quietly shut the door behind you. Initially, it puts a smile on your face and you pause to listen, waiting for him to pause before announcing you’d brought him coffee.

“I-I’M APOLLO JUSTICE AND I’M FIII—”

His voice breaks from a sob, unable to finish his mantra, and your heart along with it as your theory becomes reality.

“A-Apollo?” you ask, taking a few steps toward the office’s bathroom.

There’s some rustling from the bathroom before he exits and leans against the doorjamb, awkwardly and clearly trying way too hard to play it cool. His brown eyes were rimmed with red and darting wildly across your face, clearly trying to figure out how much you heard. “I-I didn’t expect you to be up so early, you should be sleeping…”

“You shouldn’t be up either, I know you probably only got a couple hours of sleep… but I brought coffee?” you flash him a small smile as you hold up the thermos.

“Well, you know, Justice never sleeps…?” His smile falters slightly under your concerned glare and his face flushes pink, hand pushing back his ahoge as he rubs his head nervously. “But, um, thank you.”

You pause and think for a few moments to figure out what to do. With a sigh, you move and set the thermos down on the coffee table before making your way over to your boyfriend. Without saying anything, you take his hand off the top of his head and pull him toward the sofa.

“What are you—

“—It’s fine to not be fine, Polly,” you say turning around to face him. “But you need to get some rest.”

Either he was going to lay down on the couch on his own or you were going to have to get him to lay down yourself.

“But Nahyuta—”

“—can understand what you’re going through right now better than anyone else,” he doesn’t resist as you push him down onto the sofa before joining him, dragging him down to lay on his side with you, although it’s a bit of a tight fit. “You can afford to take a few hours of rest with me…”

His brows furrow and you can practically see the doubts running through his mind as he tries to come up with a way to use his lawyerly wiles to get out of taking a break. But you’re not about to let him talk himself out of this, not when he was having a breakdown in the bathroom only a few minutes ago.

“I love you and I’m really worried about you. So, please…?”

Something in your eyes seems to convince him as he relaxes in your grasp, shifting your positions slightly in order to hide his face against the crook of your neck. You take the opportunity to run your fingers along his gelled back hair, trying to soothe him as best you can.

“I-I’m sorry…”

Those two words feel like a dagger in your heart, knowing that he likely didn’t want you to see him like this: he didn’t want to make you worry. That he’d been working harder to put on a smile after this loss, putting on a brave face this time to keep you and everyone else at ease. All while creating distance through throwing himself into his work…

“Please don’t apologize, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” You press a kiss to his temple, moving your hands down to gently rub his back. “It really is fine to not be fine, sometimes… and if you want to talk about it… you know I’ll always be here for you, right? And so is Nahyuta… You’re not alone, even if it may feel like it.”

He swallows thickly and nods against your neck, arms tightening ever so slightly around you to hold you even closer.

“Thank you… I-I love you, too.”

After several minutes of just laying in a comfortable silence you feel his breathing slow as the remaining tension evaporates from his body. Your hands gradually slow down until they come to a complete stop and you follow him into sleep not long after.

Things may not be fine right now, but you knew that they would be again… with time and plenty of support, of course.

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the-foxes-fangs · 5 years

Text

I Wish I Was the Moon: Epilogue Pt. 2

Read the main fic and interludes at a03

Tagging the lovely @otomediary, @you-mass-effect-my-dragon-age, @louveau, and @wingedtreecookiesludge

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The ride to Echigo had been pleasant, she was in buoyant spirits despite the muddy road and chilly mornings of the early spring, but he felt the anxiety in her back and shoulders as they gained on Kasugayama.

“Cold feet so soon, little mouse?” He asked teasingly, holding her close with one arm wrapped around her waist and the reins loose in his free hand.

“About you? Not one bit. About Kenshin? Well...” She answered, trailing off apprehensively. “The last time I saw him he did put his sword to my throat. I’m not completely sure he’s the best choice for a potential father-in-law. Ieyasu might have been a better option, after all.”

The sky was a mass of pewter clouds that rolled on into a bank of mist, obscuring the mountains and the horizon and threatened to soak them, but all he could feel was the warmth of her against him and some stray strands of her hair tickling his face when he kissed the top of her head.

“Let’s not be hasty my dear, could you really look Ieyasu in the eye at our wedding banquet and call him ‘father’? I think he would expire right then and there of the indignity,” He said with a low laugh that she answered with one of her own.

“Good point, there’s no way I could do that with a straight face.” She said and laughed again. “Still, Kenshin is unpredictable. I’d rather our wedding not become a war zone if we can avoid it.”

He urged the horse onward as the crested the last hill between them and the castle town, and a misty rain began to fall.

“He’s got a code of honor as rigid as his sword, whatever else you might find to say about him.” Mitsuhide answered lightly.

“Oho--” she said with a derisive snort “So that’s the game. Don’t get overconfident though, Sasuke tells me that Shingen is pretty slick, and Kenshin kept up with him all those years.”

“Ah but Shingen is a tiger! What dragon ever noticed a fox running circles around his feet?” He asked, pulling her coat tighter around her against the wet chill.

“I defer to your judgement on this one, with reservations.” She said, and blew out a soft sigh.

They made it to the castle as the rain began to beat down in earnest, tearing the new leaves off of the trees and plastering his hair to his forehead. He slid out of the saddle and caught her, blowing on her frigid fingers to warm them as the guard opened the gates for them. He ignored their prying eyes and held her tightly, kissing her deeply enough to make her breath hitch, though not nearly enough to satisfy either of them.

Kenshin was standing under the eaves looking like an ice sculpture as usual, with a disapproving Sasuke by his side.

Yoshimoto stood gracefully in a doorway and looked them over with elegant amusement on his delicate face.

“Welcome. It’s a shame that you arrive accompanied by a snake.” Kenshin said coldly, but reached out to take her hands so gently it looked as if he expected her to shatter.

“Well, it is a breath of fresh air to see you.” Sasuke said happily, with what passed for a smile as he greeted her.

“We come as a set, I’m afraid.” She said and offered him a gracious bow.

"Why, that’s no way to talk about your soon to be son-in-law.” Mitsuhide interjected airily, with a jaunty bow that earned him a scowl and snort in reply.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you? It’s like the man said-- you’d face god and walk backward into hell.” Sasuke muttered by way of greeting, shaking his head.

“You do have such a quaint way with a turn of phrase, squirrel.” Mitsuhide replied with a wink.

“I was making fun of you.” Sasuke answered and gestured at her, laughing demurely behind her sleeve.

“Enough pointless chatter.” Kenshin cut in, gesturing for them to follow as he turned toward the shadowy interior of the castle. They filed inside, Kenshin at the lead, and in spite of confidence, he stayed close to her side.

“The lady is looking a bit like a little drowned mouse, and I’d like to get dried off myself before we begin the formalities, if you don’t mind showing us to our quarters.” Mitsuhide said as they paused at the door to the audience hall.

“Someone ought to have beaten a polite tongue into your head long ago, Akechi, and when the lady is my daughter, I just might.” Kenshin snarled at him, ice in his face and tone.

“A term of endearment, I assure you.” Mitsuhide answered, palms up placatingly.

“Show her to her room.” Kenshin said to Sasuke, and then turned to look him up and down with withering contempt. “You’ll be in the house with the other single men.” He said with a flash in his sharp eyes that brooked no argument.

“Very well, my lord.” Mitsuhide said, hiding his rising irritation despite having been prepared for exactly this sort of treatment.

“Wait, I--” she began to object, only to catch his eye and the faint shake of his head, “uh, I wanted to thank you for your generous hospitality and kindness.”

She bowed again and gave him a questioning glance before she turned to follow Sasuke around a corner.

“What an absolutely lovely woman.” Yoshimoto said with a gentle wave of his fan as he watched them leave.

“Isn’t she just? A woman you’d do anything for.” Mitsuhide replied with acid in his voice.

“Is that right? But you were always capable of stooping to any low, so that’s a bit of an insult to the lady, don’t you think?” Yoshimoto said smoothly, fanning himself gracefully.

A retainer who had been summoned to show him to the barracks stood watching the scene with wide eyes.

Kenshin looked between them and curled his lip. “Settle it with your blades or shut up. You both bore me, all talk and no blood.”

“Well I’d hate to be boring, heaven knows.” Mitsuhide answered him, and bowed crisply. “If you’ll excuse me, my lords.”

He nodded at the retainer and followed him down the hall.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“So you’re absolutely sure it’s too late for me to dissuade you from marrying Mitsuhide?” Sasuke asked, handing her a cup of tea.

The room that had been prepared for her was almost stifling in its opulent beauty, books and scrolls, paintings, flowers, even an elaborately made sewing kit and bolts of conspicuously bright fabrics of the sort a young unmarried woman would wear, giving the impression of an overcrowded birdcage.

It was warm but not warm enough to chase away the chill of his absence, of the warmth of his lips on hers that she longed for to drive her fears away, his low teasing laugh that made it all seem like it wasn’t worth worrying over in the first place.

“Sasuke, you cannot be seriously asking that after you helped engineer such a beautiful reunion and proposal.” She answered, and sipped her tea, her hair wrapped in a warm towel.

“Against my will! Let the record stand that it was 99.9% against my will!” He answered, adjusting his glasses primly.

“It’s that last fraction that counts.” She answered and patted his hand soothingly. “I see you haven’t lost your taste for outdated memes.” She added with a snicker.

“Absurd situations call for absurd references.” He replied, but there was brotherly warmth in his eyes. “You do look as happy as I’ve ever seen you. I don’t know how you live with him, but you look well.”

“I could say the same for you and Kenshin. Is he still threatening to kill you three times a day?”

“It was actually up to six for awhile, but we’ve settled at an average of two, so I think he’s forgiving me.”

“I’ve got to admit, I was surprised that you suggested this to Mitsuhide. It’s not like they particularly like each other.” She said, nibbling on one of the beautiful sweets that had been prepared for her.

Sasuke’s eyes flashed behind his glasses, and he crossed his arms firmly. “I absolutely could not allow him to torture Ieyasu. Kenshin is the only one who stands any chance of keeping that man in line, the way I see it. And they both love you, so there’s some common ground.”

She nearly spat her tea, sputtering and coughing until tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry did you--” she coughed hard, “did you just say Kenshin loves me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have been more exact in my phrasing--” Sasuke said, slapping her back as she finished coughing, “he’s not in love with you, but you impressed him as much as I’ve ever seen anyone impress him that day, and I think it’s fair to say he loves you in his own specifically Kenshin way.”

“Thanks, Sasuke, psych 101 just bubbled up from the depths of my mostly drunken freshmen memories and took me on quite the ride there for a minute.” She said, waving him back to his seat across from her as she composed herself.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to cause you to revisit your brief but passionate affair with Tequila in such an unfortunate way.” He replied, deadpan.

“I forgive you, just let Mitsuhide be the one who surprises me, if possible. So you think this will all go off without a hitch?”

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and swept the hair out of his face. “I thought a hitch, as in getting hitched was the whole point.”

“That was an appalling pun. Wretched. Unforgivable.” She said and they both broke out into peals of laughter.

“Speaking seriously, I think that as long as Mitsuhide can avoid antagonizing Kenshin, everything will be fine.”

“Oh, is that all? Well when you put it that way.” She shot back with a shake of her head. “Please be a pal and tell Mitsuhide where to find me, he gets an itchy trigger finger when he sleeps alone.”

“Now that’s a euphemism.” Sasuke said with his voice caught between admiration and horror.

“Oh, good lord, Sasuke, that’s not what I meant! Seriously, though, I’m sneaking out to see him if he doesn’t get here first.” She said, drumming her fingers on the table nervously.

“As much as I’d like to be of assistance, I have to, with the greatest affection, ask you not to be as much of a reckless idiot as usual.” Sasuke shot back, and held up his finger. “No sneaking out. No creeping through the halls, and don’t even think about trying to get through the ceilings, I see what you’re looking at.”

“But--” she began, only to be stopped by a vigorous shake of his head.

“I mean it. Nothing that would alert the guards. As of now, you’re officially visiting the family, and unlike a trip to stay with cool uncle Nobunaga, someone will be disinherited of his head if you don’t exercise the utmost discretion. Mitsuhide knows it, that’s why he didn’t argue.”

“Oh, fine.” She replied moodily. “I feel like I’m shut up in a dungeon. A very nice dungeon.”

“Please don’t give Kenshin any ideas, he’s got his own very weird ways of showing his affection.” Sasuke said with a pained look. “Just try to enjoy the party tonight, and see if you can get the two of them talking... I don’t know, tactics or weapons or something.”

“I’m no diplomat, but I’ll do my best.” She answered with a sigh.

#ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku series #cybird ikemen #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen kenshin #ikesen yoshimoto #ikesen sasuke #thefoxesfic #mitsuhide x mc

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negasonicimagines · 5 years

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How to Save a Life

request: so, um hi! i love your blog and i was wondering if you could write a yukiosonic x reader fic where the reader is a medium (like they can see/communicate with the dead) and like they hate it cause its scary so reader is like always jumpy and tired cause they cant sleep and yukio and ellie help them with that. if not thats cool but thanks

notes: I based the reader’s medium abilities on Klaus from The Umbrella Academy, because I got that sort of vibe (compared to Melissa Gordon from Ghost Whisperer) from how the reader was described in the request! Also, I’ve been dying to write something using How to Save a Life by The Fray, so I’m glad I finally got the opportunity. This is probably a lot angstier than you wanted, anon… Feel free to ask me for a redo.

warnings: attempted suicide, suicidal themes, allusions to Wade’s shitty childhood, etc. overall tw.

You jolt awake from a nightmare, a bus explosion that quite a few of the students here died in, apparently. You’re not sure whether or not you’re happy to see the moon in the sky outside.

There’s a girl hanging herself from the ceiling fan over your bed.

You sob.

“Shh, babe, it’s okay,” Ellie, who’s still awake and on her phone, tightens the grip of her arm around you as you hide your face in her chest, not wanting to look at him.

“I think we need a room transfer,” you whimper.

“We haven’t even finished unpacking from the last one…” Ellie reminds you.

“There’s a girl hanging from the ceiling fan above our bed,” you inform her, refusing to look at the ghost. You know that she’ll start to talk eventually, but pretending you don’t see them usually deters them.

“Christ,” she exhales. “I’m so sorry, babe.” Ellie runs her fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp a bit as you weep.

Yukio had been spooning you, and, at your trembling, wakes up.

“Aw, honey, I’m so sorry,” she sleepily apologizes, nuzzling you gently and rubbing your back. “Everything’s alright, I promise we won’t let them hurt you.”

“Thank you,” you respond. Their touches soothe you, but you don’t fall asleep, even once they do. Her feet keep brushing over your leg as she sways with the draft that must’ve been occurring when she died.

The morning slowly comes, and she doesn’t fade away. Some do. You get up and go to the bathroom, completing your morning routine.

“Morning, Y/N,” she says, upon your return.

“Leave me alone, please,” you request.

“Don’t you want to know what drove me to this?” Her head is turned to the side and her body dangles limply from the rope. You ignore her, sickened.

You go to the nightstand next to the bed, averting your eyes. You unplug your phone, and upon lifting it up to look at it, coincidentally in the direction as her ghostly body, the hanging girl swings herself towards you with a loud shout.

You yelp, stumbling backwards and falling. She cackles at you.

“Y/N?” Ellie sleepily asks.

You don’t say anything, hoping she’ll fall back asleep, and open the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out the knife Wade got you for your last birthday. You stand on the bed, sawing at the rope. She falls to the ground, crawling towards the corner of the room before standing.

“Come on. What’s your name? What do I gotta do to get you to leave me the hell alone? ‘Cause I’m one more of you away from hanging from a ceiling fan myself, pal.”

The girl looks surprised at your outburst.

“I- I don’t know. I’m gonna just…” She phases through the bedroom door. Adrenaline rushes inside of you. You didn’t often confront the apparitions, many of them made vengeful and corrupt by their prolonged time on this spiritual plane. You didn’t have the means to help them all move on, and many of them didn’t want to.

It’s draining.

Ellie whimpers.

“Babe?” You ask, turning back to the bed. She’s sitting up, on the edge.

“You- You wanna- You’re- You’re suicidal?” She asks, brows furrowed and eyes watery as she stares at her hands in her lap.

“I- Yeah. I am,” you confess. It hurts to say. “Things have been r-really hard for a really long time, and- And even though y-you and Y-Yukio’s support makes things a lot easier, and you both are s-so important to me… I- I can’t do this anymore,” you sob, hiding your face in your hands. Ellie cries too, but not before standing and embracing you.

“You can, Y/N. You can. We need you, too. You make things easier for us, too. Shh, baby… Shh…” She rubs your back as the two of you hug. “I hope you understand that I- I’m not gonna be able to leave you alone for a while.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. Suicide watch, again.

“I just- I thought you were doing better.” She pulls away from the embrace, wiping your tears and smiling sadly. “But you’re not.”

“It’s just easier to manage sometimes,” you remind her.

Yukio stirs in her sleep before her eyes flutter open.

“What’s goin’ on?” She asks you, sleepily.

“Nothing,” you lie. “Just a bad dream, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie to her, Y/N,” Ellie scolds.

“She just woke up,” you protest.

“What’s wrong?” Yukio insists.

“Y/N’s suicidal again,” Ellie informs her, and your other girlfriend sighs. They’re so tired… Of you.

“We’ve got a mission today,” Yukio reminds. “I can text Wade.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you argue, but Ellie just shakes her head.

“You said you’re one more asshole ghost away from killing yourself. And this school is full of ‘em. So, if assigning that living asshole to keep you from doing so is what it takes to keep you safe, then we’re doing it.”

You know better than to argue. Your girlfriends get dressed and ready, and the three of you go to breakfast, meeting Wade there. You don’t say much as they discuss the situation, a lump forming in your voice at how tired they sound. You’re a leech, you know, constantly draining their energy.

You remember how you used to make them so happy, and now you’re just a burden. You stress them out with your constant problems, never taking a break from being miserable and pathetic long enough to take care of them. You don’t touch your food, avoiding Wade’s trained eyes.

There’s a rather sad-looking woman sitting next to him. A cancer patient, bald and in a hospital gown. She’s still pretty though, a natural radiance exuding from her. You watch her watch him, no malice in her gaze whatsoever.

“My beautiful boy,” she says, a hand literally ghosting across his cheek.

“Oh,” you respond, eyes filling with tears. She looks to you in surprise.

“You can see me?”

“Of course I can. I see dead people. Kind of my thing,” you tell the woman. Apparently, she wasn’t aware of you.

“I- I can’t stay for very long. I’m supposed to have passed on, but… I have to watch over him, keep him safe. I keep slipping in and out of this plane. It’s my time.” No wonder you hadn’t encountered each other yet.

“I- I could watch him for you,” you offer quietly. Wade observes your conversation, but doesn’t say anything because you don’t appear to be in too much distress.

“Would you?” the woman asks.

“Sure. Wade and I are friends, sort of.”

“We are!” Wade insists. You and the woman smile.

“I’m Hailey,” she introduces herself.

“I’m Y/N,” you offer her your hand to shake. She tentatively reaches out, and, finding that she can touch you, is ecstatic. She goes to hug Wade, but slips through. “You can touch me because I’m a medium. But, if there’s anything you want me to say…” You sigh. “I don’t know if he’d believe me.”

“I doubt he would,” Hailey admits. “But- But can I have a little bit more time? Just one more day?”

You nod.

“Wade, listen, I’m fine. I will text you every hour on the hour. I just… Need some time alone, okay? I feel awful about making Yukio and Ellie worry so much, and I want to do something special for them.”

“Yeah, if you explain to me what that all was about. Is it… Is it Vanessa?”

You look to his mother, sighing.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He doesn’t push it, and you go back to your room.

You set up a blanket fort over the bed, hanging yarn from wall to wall to support the sheets, putting a white one at the foot of the bed and finding the novelty phone projector you’d gotten Ellie for her last birthday, so that you all can watch something on Netflix together.

You lay out fluffy PJ’s (a set each of you owned in different colors) for them both to change into, knowing they’d probably want to after a long day.

Then, you go to the kitchen, making cookies for them. Sugar for Ellie, chocolate chip for Yukio.

After they cool, you put them on a plate and wrap it with saran wrap so they’ll retain some of their heat until Ellie and Yukio get back. You take the treats back to your dorm, going to the bathroom and freshening up before changing into your own set of PJ’s.

You texted Wade throughout the hours it took to prepare, informing him of your feats. You were endlessly taunted and stalked by the spirits that loved to torment you, the entire time, but you insisted upon doing it yourself, and alone.

They arrive home in the early evening.

“Honey, you were supposed to rest today,” Ellie scolds, but hugs you, lifting you off the ground a bit with excitement. When she lets you go, you speak.

“Well, I wanted to do something nice for you guys. I know that you both do a lot for me, and that this doesn’t make it all up, but I wanted to start. I need to take care of my babes, too, not just the other way around.”

Yukio shakes her head, but kisses you on the cheek, giving you a one armed hug. They both change into their PJ’s, you unwrap the cookies, and they get on the bed, hidden in the fort.

You enter the fort, placing the plate on the bed behind the projector.

Ellie and Yukio squeeze you between them, both “holders” while you’re more of a “hold-ee,” in terms of cuddling. They share you like you’re giant stuffed animal as you three munch on cookies and watch various things on YouTube and Netflix.

Every time you feel yourself nodding off, you jolt, not wanting to be the first to sleep. Wanting to watch over them, to make sure they rest.

Eventually, they fall asleep, and you take the phone out of the projector and plug it up to charge. You put the toy away, and keep an eye on them. They both look so tired, even asleep.

You realize what you have to do.

You write the letter in your notebook, tears blurring your vision as you do. You love them so much. You tear the page out, taping it to the door and leaving.

You climb up the stairs until you make it to the roof of the school. There’s a garden up there, but you don’t even stop to admire it.

The cool air of the night is relief against your wet, burning cheeks as sobs escape your throat. You approach the edge, looking down nervously.

You hear a clang against the rock of the ledge behind you, and turn. It’s a grappling hook.

“Wait, wait!” Wade calls. “I’m a bit out of practice with this. Whew!”

As he climbs up, you know it’s now or never. If Wade gets up there, he can stop you for sure.

It’s gonna hurt, you’re aware, staring over the edge once more. You’re not sure if you should step off or jump. Stepping off is a little easier, but it doesn’t put you at a far enough distance from the building.

You decide to dive, but Wade grabs your arm before you can complete the action.

“She was- My mom was-“ his breathing is shaky, and you continue to cry, hiding your face in your unrestricted hand. He takes you in his arms. “She was in my dream tonight. She told me to stop you, and then she said good- Good- Goodbye… You promised her you’d watch me.”

“I’m nothing but a burden to everyone I care about, Wade,” you tell him. Like it isn’t obvious. “They’re so tired of me. I’m so tired of me, of this horrible curse that everyone calls a goddamn gift.”

You both shake and cry, and you know he’s not letting go of you anytime soon.

“You are not a burden, Y/N.”

“I used to make them so happy… And now they’re just exhausted, all the time. No matter what I do to show my appreciation, I know that nothing will ever be enough because they’re what’s keeping me alive,” you insist.

“Then why are you up here?” Wade asks. You just shake your head.

“I need to free them.”

“They can make that decision for themselves. If they didn’t love you they wouldn’t be with you,” he attempts to convince you.

“They just don’t want blood on their hands,” you disagree, and he holds you tighter.

“That’s not true, Y/N… That’s not true,” Wade repeats it over and over again as you cry in his arms, the tears and the listening and the five other (dead) people on the roof wearing you out.

“I- I can’t go back to that dorm right now,” you tell him. “I don’t want to wake them up, for them to- To miss out on more sleep because of me.”

“You can hang out in my room,” he reassures. “I’ve got a small couch you can sleep on, if you manage to sleep.”

You nod, and he leads you down the stairs. A spirit appears. An old man with cruel blue eyes and a cigar in his mouth. His army garb, Canadian, lists his name: Wilson.

You’d heard enough about Thomas Wilson to know he was bad news. He must know Hailey is gone. Who knows how long he’s been watching, waiting? You’re disgusted, and you deck the spectral piece of shit in the face.

“Leave him the hell alone!” You demand, and the creep narrows his eyes at you, rising up from the ground and shoving you backwards. You fight back, taking out all your anger and hatred of your abilities on someone you knew deserved it.

At the end of it, the bastard flees, and you’re left with bruised knuckles and a stunned Wade Wilson.

“Who was that, Y/N?” He asks.

“Your parents are quite attached to you, Wade. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be keeping my eye on you, like I promised.”

As the two of you proceed to his dorm, you explain: “Spirits can drain people. Hence why I’m such a mess all the time. I’m a medium, the rules that apply to normal humans don’t apply to me. If a spirit has a place in your heart and is trapped on Earth, they can take energy from you.

“Other than mediums, though, kind, good people are often preyed upon because they have a place in their heart for everything. Since your mother and father have places in your heart, they were able to latch onto you and keep their place in this plane. Your mother didn’t take much, which is why she was slipping in and out of the afterlife. But Thomas… He packed quite a punch, even if he was waiting in the wings prior to Hailey’s passing on. You should start feeling a lot better soon.”

“You really are something special, Y/N L/N,” is all Wade says in response. You make it to his room and he flops onto the bed.

It’s nearly three AM, you realize upon looking at the digital clock on his nightstand. You curl up under a throw blanket on the love seat, sleeping a lot more soundly after crying, after standing up for yourself and Wade.

There’s a banging on the door. You ignore it, hiding from the sunlight under your blanket.

You hear Wade get up and stumble to the door.

“They- They’re-“ Ellie sobs, and you remember that you never retrieved the note. You also hear Yukio’s wails, both of them crying heavily. Were they really so upset you were gone?

You hear the crinkling of paper, and Wade mutter “Shit.” He walks over to you. “Kid, wake up. We didn’t think to get the damn note.”

You remove the blanket from over you, standing up, and your girlfriends cry harder, now with relief.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize weakly. They shake their heads, and Wade gestures with your head for you to go to them. The three of you embrace.

“Don’t- Why- I-“ Yukio doesn’t know how to start, still sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I’m so sorry.”

“We should’ve- We should’ve known you would feel-“ Ellie attempts, but neither of them can stop crying long enough to piece together their words.

Eventually, though, they manage to steady their breathing.

Ellie holds your face in her hands, a devastated expression still on her face.

“You are not a burden, Y/N. You are my best friend. You are caring, and smart, and funny, and beautiful. I never want to lose you. Never ever.” She kisses your forehead deeply, before releasing you.

Yukio wraps you in a tight individual hug.

“I’m never letting you go,” she whimpers, before quietly continuing: “Never ever. Ellie and I are happy to help you. You deserve to be loved, to be supported. And we both know that you love and support us back, in every way you can. We’re in a relationship, not working on a group project. Being kind to yourself if one of the best ways you can show your love for us.”

You sniffle as she lets you go, and look to Wade.

“I’m sorry,” you say to him. “Thank you. For everything.”

Wade embraces you in the same fashion as Yukio, though due to height he just smushes your face into his chest.

“Don’t thank me. Thank…” He gets choked up. “You know. And thank you.” Wade releases you, holding your hands after and inspecting your knuckles. “I won’t forget this.”

“Neither will I,” you respond, looking back into his eyes. You two now have an understanding.

He lets go of your hands. You look to your girlfriends.

“Let’s go home, honey,” Yukio suggests, and you nod tiredly. You’d only gotten four hours of fitful sleep. Your girls take your hands and lead you to the room.

The fort, the room is in shambles, still smoldering.

“Christ,” you breathe, shocked at the mess.

“The news that you were dead didn’t quite go over well,” Ellie remarks, sounding rather desolate. Her tone is that of tiredness.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again.

“It’s- It’s fine. As long as you’re doing better, as long as you’ll let us help you get better-”

“What if I’m never better? What if I’m just another ghost, sucking away the energy of good people to maintain my place here?” you lament, sniffling.

“Baby, it’s not like that, I promise,” Yukio attempts to reassure you. “We love you so much, and no sacrifice is too great-”

“You shouldn’t be making sacrifices for me! I’m worthless!” You shriek, finally truly snapping, at least verbally. “I am nothing! All I ever do is take, and take, and take, and I give nothing back except for pain and misery and exhaustion.”

“Nothing at all? Not cuddles, not music recommendations, not a confidant, not a pillow fort and cookies after a long day? Not reassurance? Not a sense of fulfillment? Nothing? Not even love?” Ellie storms off to the closet, bringing out an old Converse shoe box. She opens it, tips it over, and various little things come out. Scraps of paper, movie tickets, gum wrappers, a couple tubes of lip balm, and more.

“What is all that, Ellie?” you wonder.

“It’s something I’ve been keeping since our first date. You’ve caught me, okay? I’m a sentimental bastard. But thank god I am, so I can show you just how fucking wrong you are,” she explains. You don’t respond, and she continues: “Movie tickets to Fifty Shades of Grey, our first date. You bought those, even though I didn’t want you to. We were planning to go as friends to take the piss out of it, but I finally grew a pair and made it a date. We still mocked it to no end, but I finally fucking kissed you after. Finally.

“You gave me this piece of gum in Geometry right before the midterms. Your last piece of Extra gum, Rainbow Sherbet-flavored, before you were gonna be able to go into town that Friday. For luck, you said. And I actually fucking passed it.

“A birthday card. You were the only one who remembered my birthday, and- And-” Ellie’s smiling, and so are you, but your eyes, hers, and Yukio’s are overflowing with tears. “I don’t understand why you can’t believe that I love you. That we love you. You’ve done so much, for both of us. Yes, we support you. But what kind of partners, what kind of human beings would we be if we didn’t? And you support us in return.”

“I- I guess… I guess you’re right,” you acknowledge. You really hadn’t thought of yourself, your efforts, as equal to hers and Yukio’s.

“I don’t have a shoe box, but I promise that I treasure you, too,” Yukio says, hugging you from behind. “Let’s clean up this room,” she suggests. You nod, and the three of you get started. Dismantling what’s left of the fort, moving a rug to cover the scorch marks in the carpet, and the like.

At the end of it all, you three snuggle in bed, both of them holding you. You’re in between them as they both lay on their sides, arms around you and (partially) each other. You’re warm, safe.

“I love you both so much. I’m so sorry that I almost abandoned you.”

“We’re just glad that you’re okay, sweetheart,” Yukio replies, squeezing you a little tighter.

“We really are. Please, please tell us if you start to feel that way again. I’d be glad to go through the box with you.”

“Maybe we could get a notebook or a journal to catalogue all the items. We could pass it on to, I don’t know, someone. Maybe publish it,” Yukio suggests, and Ellie nods.

“That’d be pretty cool,” Ellie responds. “What would it be titled, you think?”

“Ingredients of Love? Nah, too cheesy. Y/N?” Yukio asks, but you don’t respond. You’ve drifted off to dreamland, in the security of their arms, knowing that they love you and that they’ll always keep you safe.

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stardreamt · 6 years

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Forbidden Love

A fanfiction about Teen Wolf featuring Stydia and friends. It’s really something I’m proud of. It’s my pride and joy. The best work of art I’ve ever written. Enjoy!

It was two in morning. Lydia didn’t know why she was in this coffee shop owned by none other than Derek and Christopher, the towns power couple. She had been fighting with herself on whether to tell Stiles. She knew he needed to know. She knew it was crucial to their relationship to stay honest, but she didn’t want to hurt him. She knew werewolves were her natural enemies and that it would cause problems with Scott and the others. She just didn’t know what to do. She was a vampire and she couldn’t tell anyone.

Stiles was tossing and turning in his bed. The pain was keeping him awake. He hadn’t told anyone but Lydia about the new gash on his side. He wasn’t going to heal from this and he knew it. That, however, he didn’t tell even Lydia. That, he kept to himself. It was too much for him. He stumbled out of bed and rushed to Scott who was sleeping over. “Scott,” he said. “Scott buddy I’m in so much pain.” Scott woke up. “What is it bro?” “My side. I can’t take it anymore.” Stiles was close to sobbing. Scott got out of bed, helping his friend sit down. Stiles was coming in and out of consciousness. “Call,” he breathed out, “call Lydia. I want her here if I… if I don’t…” He was out again. Succumbed to the deep darkness that was his void of a mind.

Lydia’s phone rang out loudly in the quiet coffee shop. She looked at the number. Scott. “Hello?” She asked. “Stiles is in trouble,” he said from the phone. “It doesn’t look good.” Lydia hung up immediately, leaving three hundred dollars on the table for a tip. The air was cold as she ran to stiles house. She had forgotten her car at home when she left her house. She ran as fast as she could until she got to his house. She pushed open the door loudly. Stiles dad was working double duty tonight. She wondered if she should call him. “Lydia, you’re here,” Scott said. He looked scared. He never looked scared, only ugly. She looked down to stiles who was sweating and shaking and half conscious. She looked to Scott. They knew what had to be done.

Stiles was barely conscious, but conscious enough to that the love of his life was here and he wouldn’t die alone with only Scott’s gross face looking down at him. Lydia looked like Jesus standing in the moonlight of his window. But she looked scared and determined. Scott, too. “Okay, pal,” Scott said, “I’m sorry. It has to be done.” And then Scott bit him. It was painful and stiles felt like Bella swan from the hit Summit Entertainment movie Twilight. Stiles was screaming in pain until all the pain was gone. He sat up abruptly. He looked up. Lydia was crying and Scott was staring in awe. Stiles looked down at himself. He studied his hands and his skin. He wasn’t a human anymore. He was a real boy. He was animated. He was a wererealboy.

“I know I’m just getting over my cocoa fudge addiction and it causes extreme hallucinations, but is this for real? Am I really seeing this?” Lydia asked. “This is no cocoa conundrum, Lydia,” stiles said. “I think I’m a wererealboy.” Scott wiped the sweat from his meaty brow. “Thank jod. I didn’t think it was going to work. I thought it would kill you.” Stiles stood up, embracing Lydia. “I’m alive. I’m a wererealboy but I’m alive. My wound is gone.” “I’m so happy for you,” Lydia said, but she was more scared than anything. She was a vampire. Were- anything’s were her enemy. Stiles was now her enemy.

The days past and stiles was feeling better than ever. He was excited for the party Alison was throwing him at his own house tonight. Everyone was invited: sheriff Stilinski, stiles, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, the power couple, and Scott’s mom. That was the guest list. The golden guest list. He was ready to partayyy. There would cool jams because Derek was going to DJ and Christopher was going to be his hype man. Stiles dad and Melissa were going to cater the party with their home baked goods. Alison and Isaac were going to do some spoken word poetry and a dance routine. And finally, stiles and Lydia were going to do a couples duet to the song Boyfriend by BTR, Stiles favorite band. This was going to be one groovy party.

The music was loud and it distracted Lydia from the horrific thought of Stiles being her enemy. They danced together to the songs Derek and Christopher DJ’d. Allison and Isaac were getting ready for their dance routine. Their poem was about darkness. Their dance routine was going to be something more excited and upbeat. It would really bring everyone’s spirits up. “Hey,” Lydia said to Stiles while they danced to the techno beats. “I have to talk to you about something.” “About what?” Stiles asked, flipping his cartoon hair out of his face. “Your… condition.” Stiles’ animated face looked sad. “Do you think I’m ugly?” “Of course, not Stiles,” Lydia said. “Only Scott is ugly.” Stiles smiled genuinely. “He’s hideous.” “It’s about me, too,” she said. “What about you?” “Well,” she started, but before she could finish, the song stopped. “Let’s get ready to DANCE PARTY PEOPLE!” Christopher called out. “Here comes my daughter and son who aren’t technically married but I love this little boi so he is my son! They are going to dance!” And so the music turned loud and hip-hoppy and Allison and Isaac did a series of turns and leaps and lifts and even some backflips. They jumped and practically flew gracefully through the air like two delicious nightingales. Their dance was really quite spiritual. Lydia and Stiles were to sing next. She was nervous.

Singing with Lydia was Stiles’ favorite thing to do. He loved singing songs from the disney channel original movie lemonade mouth especially, but BTR was his favorite band. He knew he had to go with that song. Lydia didn’t mind so long as she got to sing the riffs and harmonies. Stiles was nervous, though. Lydia said she had something to tell him. How was he going to execute a perfectly sung Boyfriend with the nerves getting to him. “Relax,” Lydia said, “I’ll tell you later.” Stiles nodded. “Okay. Let’s make this duet our best.” They took the stage which was the Stilinski living room coffee table. It barely fit both of them, let alone Allison and Isaac’s dancing. They were really wizards, Stiles guessed. Lydia took and mic and Stiles took his. “Alright are you guys ready for some rock n’ roll?!” they asked their friends. Their friends cheered, lifting their capri suns into the air in camaraderie. The music played and they sang wonderfully, angelically. “Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boy Have you ever had the feeling you're drawn to someone? (Yeah) And there isn't anything they could of said or done? And everyday I see you on your own And I can't believe that you're alone But I overheard your girls and this is what they said Looking for a Looking for a That you're looking for a boyfriend I see that Gimme time, you know I'm gonna be there Don't be scared to come put your trust in me Can't you see all I really want to be Is your boyfriend Can't fight that Knock me down you know I'm coming right back I don't care at all what you done before All I really want is to be your Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Let me take a little moment to find the right words (To find the right words) So when I kick it to you it ain't something that you've heard (Something that you've heard) I don't know what kind of guy that you prefer But I know I gotta put myself forwards See I think got the kind of love that you deserve And I heard That you're looking for a boyfriend I see that Give me time, you know I'm gonna be that Don't be scared to come put your trust in me Can't you see all I really want to be Is your boyfriend Can't fight that Knock me down you know I'm coming right back I don't care at all what you done before All I really want is to be your Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend If you tell me where, I'm waiting here Everyday like slum-dog millionaire Bigger than the twilight love affair I'll be here Girl I swear Looking for a Looking for a That your looking for a boyfriend I see that Give me time, you know I'm gonna be that Don't be scared to come put your trust in me Can't you see all I really want to be Is your boyfriend Can't fight that Knock me down you know I'm coming right back I don't care at all what you done before All I really want is to be your Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend (Your boyfriend) Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend (All I really want is to be your) (Your boyfriend) Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend (Yeah) (All I really want is to be your) Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend Your boy boy b-b-b-b-b-boyfriend All I really want is to be your” Their friends cheered. Isaac was crying into Allison’s shoulder over how amazing the song was. Melissa was on the ground sobbing. Christopher had to hold Derek because it was too emotional. They had done a good job. They were truly stars.

Lydia was still out of breath from that last high note. “Wow,” Stiles said, “that last note was so good. It was so loud, like you were screaming like a banshee.” “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” she said. “Guys, be quiet!” Melissa shouted, answering her phone. The room went silent. “Where are you mom?” everyone could hear from the phone. Oh no it was stupid Scott. “I-,” Melissa looked around at everyone. “I’m at a party.” “With who?” he asked, angrily. “With- with your friends,” she said. “MOM! HOW COULD YOU DO THI-” Melissa hung up on him. She shrugged, tossing her phone into the garbage disposal and turning it on. “Who needs that moldy rice cake of a son anyway?” Everyone laughed along, partying until the break of dawn.

It was later that night. Stiles and Lydia were in his room listening to some ABBA. “What did you need to tell me?” Stiles asked, turning down Dancing Queen. Lydia sighed. “I need you to know something about me.” “What is it?” “I’m… I’m… I’m a vampire,” she said, showing him her cup that he originally thought was filled with fruit punch capri sun. It was actually filled with blood. “I don’t know what to say,” Stiles said, close to tears. “I’m a wererealboy. We are supposed to be mortal enemies.” “I know,” Lydia said, a single tear falling down her cheek. Stiles wiped it away. “It will be okay. I will just turn back into a human.” “How?” Lydia asked, sniffling. “By making a potion of course,” he said. “I read it online.” Lydia stood up. “Are you sure about this? Do you really want to give up being a wererealboy and give up all your special powers like Irish Step Dancing and the innate ability to follow a Paula Deen cooking tutorial perfectly?” Stiles shrugged. “None of that can compare to being with you, Lydia.” Lydia smiled. “Then let’s do it.” Stiles got up, collecting the ingredients from his mini fridge in is closet. “We need three miles of butter, the blood of a virgin, a handful of cold green beans, and twelve seconds of imitation vanilla extract.” “Where’d you get the virgin blood?” “The neighbor’s newborn.” The couple stirred together the ingredients in a medium saucepan over low heat and then let it simmer for twelve to fifteen minutes. “Nice.”

Lydia was in awe. Stiles took the mixture and downed the whole thing in under three seconds. “It tastes wonderful,” he said. “That’s good,” she said. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah,” she said. His face suddenly turned confused. “I feel funny.” “Stiles,” Lydia yelled, “your skin!” Sure enough, his skin was slowly morphing from cartoon to real. He was turning back into a human. He was back to Stiles again. “I can’t believe this!” he cried in happiness.” “I’m so happy! We can be together!” They hugged eachother and kissed and then spent the rest of the night listening to ABBA full blast while everyone from the party was passed out drunk from all the capri suns.

#stydia #teen wolf #melissa mccall #christopher argent #lydia martin #stiles stilinski #derek hale #derek x argent #scott mccall #alisaac #allison argent #isaac lahey #big time rush #party au #?#werewolf #wererealboy

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letswritefanfiction · 6 years

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Pokémon Alphabet Challenge: J is for Jealousy

Pipi had green eyes.

Pipi had no fur, feathers, or scales; it was completely bald save for a little tuft of black hair on the very top of its head.

Pipi was wearing a tiny pair of pants that were doing a poor job of disguising the saggy thing on its bum and a dumb shirt with an insulting caricature of a Pikachu on it. All of that equaled one thing.

It was a baby. Pipi was a baby. Out to ruin Pikachu’s whole life.

Pikachu was not happy. More than that—he was actually pretty upset. Not jealous, though. He definitely wasn’t jealous.

Mostly, though, he was confused. He didn’t know how it had happened! It seemed like only yesterday he had been living the dream. It had been only he and Pikapi and travelling and battling and it was all about them. Then Pikachupi and come along and that had been alright. He’d always liked Pikachupi, and it was always fun to pair up with him against Pikapi. And if anything, he got more attention from Pikachupi than Pikapi sometimes. So there was no downside about having her around.

But this…this thing. This Pipi was here just to ruin everything.

And it seemed like yesterday because it had been only yesterday. Pipi had been here less than a day and already Pikachu was sure that this was the beginning of the end.

Pikapi was holding Pipi and walking around with it, which would be fine, except Pikachu had been told that he wasn’t allowed on Pikapi’s shoulder while this kind of ridiculous behavior was going on. So Pikachu was stuck sitting on the couch and glaring at Pipi like some kind of chump.

After about forever, Pikapi handed Pipi over to Pikachupi. Pikachu perked up his ears and scampered off the couch and over to Pikapi. Surely now he could just take a flying leap and…

“Sorry, Pikachu,” Pikapi said, waving Pikachu off without even looking his way. “I have to get the baby’s bottle.”

Pikachu let his ears sag like Pipi’s diaper.

This was it. From now on there would be no more travelling. No more Battles. Pikachu would be stuck babysitting Pipi, in the dead end job as a house pet for the rest of his days. It was tragic, but Pikachu had no choice but to resign to it.

Or did he?

As Pikachu trudged back to the couch where Misty was holding Pipi and bouncing Pipi on her lap, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, ears perking back up. He could choose to be the bigger Pokémon; be excited. Pikachu had always loved anything that Pikapi loved, and Pikapi obviously loved Pipi. Why was this so different?

This was the right thing to do. And Pikachu always did the right thing.

He had been spit up on.

Pikachu had only gone up to Pipi for a second, putting on his winning act of impressions and making funny faces and Pipi had spit up on him. On his face. While his mouth had been open in a perfect impression of a Wobbuffet.

Pikachupi had giggled at the “adorableness” of it and taken a handkerchief to Pikachu’s face and smeared around the spit up a bit before returning her focus to the maliciously laughing Pipi.

Slightly blinded by spit up, Pikachu wandered to the bathroom and did his best to clamber up the toilet and then the sink, before soaping up his entire body and stealing some of Pikapi’s mouthwash.

After Pikachu finally finished cleaning himself—not that he thought he thought that he would ever feel clean again—he looked like a drowned rat. He did his best to dry himself off on the plush carpet as the towels were out of reach for him on the wall.

That was it. He wasn’t jealous of the attention that Pipi was getting. No, Pikachu was way past that. Pikachu was angry and, to be honest, pretty grossed out. No Pokémon had ever done something so disgusting. Not even a Garbordor.

How could Pikapi love Pipi more than Pokémon?

Well, Pikachu didn’t understand it, but he would have to get over it. Because both Pikapi and Pikachupi seemed to be in that blissfully happy—happy enough to overlook spit up, at least—phase. And Pikachu couldn’t mess with that. So he would have to just sit back and let someone else be the new favorite. Live out the end of his days as second best.

Or did he?

As Pikachu used a little bit of static electricity to dry off the rest of the way, he was sparked with an idea.

No. Pikachu did not have to leave his life up to fate and Pipi.

He had a plan.

Pipi was asleep and Pikapi and Pikachupi were taking, what Pikachu assumed to be, a much needed break.

The plan began in the living room, where Pipi was asleep in a stroller. Pikapi and Pikachupi had just gotten back from taking Pipi on a stroll which had managed to finally bring Pipi rest. Thank goodness.

The stroller really was a lucky break, because Pikachu wasn’t sure how he would have pulled off the plan had Pipi been asleep in a crib or a bassinette. Because those were quite heavy. And didn’t have wheels.

Pikachu had already devoted a lot of energy towards propping the screen door open, not realizing until he had already tried many techniques that it had a mechanism on the bottom that could be adjusted to keep it open.

So now that that was done, all Pikachu had to do was take the stroller and push it to the mailbox and then…well, he wasn’t sure how he’d get Pipi in the mailbox, but he was sure there was a way.

Pikachu knew would be much easier if he just asked Bulbasaur for some help, but he didn’t want to incriminate any of Ash’s other Pokémon. He knew what he was doing was a pretty bad thing, but desperate times were desperate measures. And he couldn’t have Pipi taking over his life, he rationalized. He was not ready for this abrupt change. He hadn’t even been told about Pipi until it had just showed up randomly today. Maybe had he had some warning it would be different.

It was a slow process, but finally Pikachu made it to the mailbox. Now that he was looking at it, he wasn’t sure that Pipi would fit. Maybe he could get a stamp and just leave Pipi by the mailbox and the mail carrier would understand?

“Um, Pikachu, what are you doing?”

The fur on Pikachu’s back stood on end as he heard an unmistakable voice. He hesitantly turned around, whilst trying to slowly, subtly take his paws off the stroller—maybe Pikapi wouldn’t notice that he had been touching it. “Cha,” Pikachu said as he clasped his paws behind his back and looked up at the air nonchalantly. That was sure to keep him from looking guilty. If only he could whistle…

“Pikachu,” Pikachupi said, drawing his attention to her. Pikachu’s spirits dropped as he saw her wiggling around a walkie-talkie looking device at him. “We heard you. Baby monitor.”

Oops.

“Pikachu, were you trying to, uh, mail the baby?”

Pikachu sweat-dropped. Could he lie to Pikapi? He didn’t think so…

“Uh-huh,” Pikapi said, putting his hand on his chin. “Um, why?”

What could he say? That Pipi was gross and smelled bad and got in the way and would ruin their whole lives? And that Pipi had seemed to enjoy spitting up on him?

“Were you jealous?” Pikapi asked.

No! Definitely not jealous. Pikachu cleared up that mistake with a vigorous shake of his head.

“Well, you don’t have to worry, Pikachu,” Pikachupi said, crouching down so that she was more on his level. “Daisy and Tracey will be here to pick up the baby any second.”

What?

Pikachu tilted his head and turned to Pikapi in confusion. “Chu pika Pipi cha pi kachu pika chu?”

Suddenly Pikapi burst out laughing which, unfortunately, woke Pipi up and made it start crying.

“What did he say?” Pikachupi asked as she stood up and picked up Pipi.

After Pikapi managed to collect himself, he said, “Pikachu thought that the baby was ours!”

Pikapi instantly cracked up again doubling over in hysterics and Pikachupi quickly followed, whilst trying in vain to soothe Pipi. “Oh, Pikachu, you didn’t notice that I haven’t had a big pregnant belly for the last nine months?”

“Cha?”

“Pikachu, this isn’t our baby!” Ash finally cried, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Pipi…wasn’t theirs?”

Pikachupi was quicker to be sympathetic, taking one of Pikachu’s paws in her hand. “Pikachu, this is Daisy and Tracey’s baby. Remember? Ash and I are just babysitting. And furthermore,” she sent Ash a critical look, “Ash and I are only 18. And hardly ready to be releasing our spawn upon the world.”

Pipi wasn’t theirs. Pikachu had just been trying to mail away a random baby. Well, not exactly random, but still, this probably wasn’t his most flattering moment.

Just then a car showed up, stopping short of the mailbox. A bubbly blond with green eyes—very similar to Pipi’s—hopped out of the car and made a beeline for Misty.

“How’s my little baby doing?” she asked in a baby-voice as she took Pipi out of Pikachupi’s arms, hardly sparing her a look.

“Hi, Daisy,” Pikachupi said, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Oh, hey, Misty.”

A man with dark green, almost black hair—very similar to Pipi’s—came out of the driver’s seat, going for the stroller, taking the diaper bag out of it and expertly folding it up.

“Hey, Tracey, you need help with that?” Pikapi said, reaching to help with the stroller.

“Nope.” Somehow he managed to keep holding the stroller, the diaper bag, and open the trunk of the car. Pikachu, Pikapi, and Pikachupi all tilted their heads at him. Did humans get superpowers when they became parents?

Like a shot the parents were loaded into the car and out of there, taking Pipi with them.

Thankfully.

Pikachu couldn’t help it, but a wide smile spread on his face. Suddenly he felt himself being lifted up and placed on his familiar spot on Pikapi’s shoulder.

“Glad to see the baby gone, aren’t you, pal?”

“Chaa,” Pikachu mewled, as Pikapi scratched his head.

“I’ll let you two have a moment,” Pikachupi said as she headed back into the house.

Pikapi didn’t say anything for a minute, just kept on scratching his head and tousling his ears. “So…you were going to mail our baby away?”

Pikachu’s ears drooped, the guilt weighing heavy on him. No, it wasn’t his most heroic moment. “Chu…”

“You were that jealous?”

Well, maybe a little…

“Pika chu.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about a baby again for a long,” Pikapi furrowed his brows, “long, long time. And by that time you’ll be ready for it and excited. Right?”

Pikachu fist-bumped the air. “Pi Pikachu.”

“Not for a long, long time,” Pikapi said more to himself. “I should go talk to Misty.”

Then Pikapi placed him on the ground and darted into the house and Pikachu was left shaking his head at him.

No baby for a long time. Good.

Pikapi and Pikachupi just weren’t ready for that.

#fanfiction #pokemon #pokeshipping #aaml #ash and misty #pokemon fanfiction #oneshot #fanfic

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kmalexander · 3 years

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Gleam Upon the Soundtrack

In the past, I’ve released my book playlists before the launch of the book. These tend to be inspiration playlists, not the music I find myself writing to. (If you’re interested in a “writing playlist,” let me know in the comments! I’d be happy to assemble something. There’s very much a “type” of music I listen to when writing a Bell Forging Cycle book.) Since Gleam Upon the Waves has been out for a little over a week, I thought I’d go a step further and not only share the playlist but give a few details, why I chose particular songs, and how I felt they reflected (and inspired) aspects of the story.

First, the playlist! Jam out, roaders.

Not a Spotify fan? The playlist is also over on YouTube.

SPOILER WARNING

The following details will contain Gleam Upon the Waves spoilers. So, if you’re still reading, I’d recommend avoiding the rest of this post until after you finished the book. For the rest of you, let’s head deeper into the playlist.

Prologue

Sons and Daughters – American Spirit

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Sleep now child beneath The heavy current Dragging you along

This was the song that inspired this book. Something about life dragging you through the wringer without caring about your desires or plans cemented itself inside my head (even well before 2020.)

Chapter 1 & 2

Baltimore Blues No. 1 – Deer Tick

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Can you hear the sound of the crawling flesh Now can you smell the burning desire This place is too small to hide All the ghosts that’s kicking around inside

There’s something gritty to this Deer Tick song. I felt it was a nice pairing to Wal putting on airs and wearing suits—despite his intentions, he can’t hide who he is. His problems will not disappear. Lovat devours.

Chapter 3

Gates of Dawn – Heartless Bastards

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I have awoken The footsteps sound of thunder

While this tune more positive than Wal’s experience, I thought opening a new reality deserved a song that had a similar impact. I’m also a sucker for Erika Wennerstrom’s vocals. (Probably why Heartless Bastards make an appearance a little later.)

Chapter 1-3

How Deep Is The Ocean – Miles Davis

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Like I wouldn’t include this in an ocean-themed playlist.

Chapter 4

bury a friend – Billie Eilish

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Why aren’t you scared of me? Why do you care for me? When we all fall asleep, where do we go?

I had this chapter in my head since Red Little World. I also read it for Dead Drop Live last week. I loved the idea of Ashton being this ghost that haunts Wal—an echo of his past. One he weirdly cares about despite understanding that he’s an enemy. Eilish’s pop-minimalism just felt right for a decoupled avatar whom you may or may not want dead.

Chapter 5

Wild and Wasted Waters – Kill It Kid

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Wild and wasted waters Have come to carry me on

For something so deadly, humans have an odd fascination with water. Also, this song fits with Wal being entirely out of his element. It’s helped by the Alan Lomax sample that works too well as an undercurrent for the story happening to Wal.

Chapter 6 & 7

Blood on your Bootheel – Caroline Rose

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Think if you act like a man, you can alter this wheel; You can make it in this world without that blood on your bootheels

“Altering the wheel” is something Wal has attempting for a while (since Old Broken Road, if we’re honest,) but he can’t change his destiny. He can kick against the goads as much as he wants, but fate will drag him along whether he wants it or not.

Chapter 8

‘Round Midnight – Thelonious Monk

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No lyrics, but man what a song. (If you haven’t noticed, any of the jazz numbers I call out in the books end up in my playlists.)

Chapter 9 & 10

Glitter & Gold – Barns Courtney

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Do you ponder the manner of things In the dark The dark, the dark, the dark

Wal’s damn lucky for a guy that can’t escape his reality, eh? There’s also an element of foreshowing here. With the cult’s interest Wal can’t escape his past just like he can’t escape fate.

Chapter 11

Lovecraft in Brooklyn – The Mountains Goats

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Someday something’s coming From way out beyond the stars To kill us while we stand here It’ll store our brains in mason jars

If you’ve read the last three books, it should be obvious why I included this one. Also, John Darnielle is a national treasure and should be protected at all costs.

Chapter 12, 13, & 14

Sirens – Lola Marsh

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In a million years It’ll all be over Within a million years It’ll all be over

Yael Shoshana Cohen’s voice is incredible. There is a vastness in this song that matched the tone of the Wasteland. It also deals with time on an epic scale, and that’s something I appreciated—it’s cosmicy without being overt.

Chapter 15

Postcards From Hell – The Wood Brothers

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I got a soul that I won’t sell And I don’t read postcards from hell

I hope you caught how Gleam Upon the Waves reflects the other stories up until this point. Wal waking in a hospital and pushing himself out of bed is awfully familiar. Despite what he’s faced with, Wal tends not to stop. He’s relentless. Tell him things are bad, and he keeps going. His tenacity is admirable, if not a bit foolish.

Chapter 16 & 17

Wicked Waters – Benjamin Booker

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This must be where I lose it all, darling Throw myself into wicked waters

Again, water. Maybe our pal acted a bit too rashly?

Chapter 18

Ding Ding Dong – Waipod Petchsuphan

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For all its familiarity, Empress is a foreign place, and Wal is a stranger. This poppy Thai luk thung track from ’76 sparked similar emotions for me. It’s familiar, borrowing from common themes, but at the same time it’s different from other music of the era. It’s also a bop.

Chapter 19

Hello, Darling – Conway Twitty

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Hello darlin’, nice to see you, it’s been a long time

Should be fairly obvious.

Chapter 20

Figure It Out – Royal Blood

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Nothing better to do When I’m stuck on you And still I’m here Trying to figure it out

This is a fairly big reveal, and while the theme of the song is related to Wal’s relationship with Essie, it’s even more complicated. “Figuring it out” is kinda a thing here, see?

Chapter 21, 22, & 23

You Want it Darker – Leonard Cohen

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There’s a lullaby for suffering And a paradox to blame But it’s written in the scriptures And it’s not some idle claim You want it darker We kill the flame

Cohen’s last album deals with death and loss, there’s a heaviness to it, and it felt fitting for this section of the book.

Chapter 24, 25, 26

Mean Old World – Big Bill Broonzy

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This is a mean old world to live in, I’m just travelin’ through It’s a mean old world to live in, I’m just travelin’ through Yes, sometime I get so blue, that I don’t know what to do

Another one that should be obvious. Poor Wal. Who’s the jerk that subjects him to this?

Chapter 27 & 28

Madness – Ruelle

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Nowhere to run from all of this havoc Nowhere to hide From all of this madness, madness, madness

Eventually, you can only experience so much before it all just begins to break down.

Chapter 29 & 30

Sway – Heartless Bastards

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So, I stumble and I sway into the room and I fade I hope my darkest day are behind me I want to stay here in the sun for a while I hope my darkest days are behind me

There’s a spark of hope here, and I feel like there’s a spark of hope in these chapters as well. Yes, two Heartless Bastard songs in this playlist. You’re going to have to deal.

Chapter 31

Remains – Algiers

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While the captors boast On how they lower your costs The rich men gamble At the foot of the cross

When you make a decision, you need to be ready to deal with the outcome.

Chapter 32

Revival – Soulsavers

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Why am I so blind With my eyes wide open, oh? Trying to get my hands Clean in dirty water

A song about people doing something they feel is right even though reality clashes with that desire, and somehow, at their core, they know it. If that doesn’t fit the Deeperists, I don’t know what would.

Chapter 33 & 34

The Church Bell’s Moan – Bror Gunnar Jansson

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Don’t you hear them?

Ring the bell and eventually they’ll come.

Chapter 35 & 36

Get Loud for Me – Gizzle

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I see my goal and get cold as December when Counting our sins, I don’t have no friends I came here to win, my start is your end Now let it begin now

FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT. Also, this is such a great reflection of the previous song that I had to include it.

Chapter 37 & 38

The End – Kings of Leon

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This could be the end This could be the end This could be the end This could be the end ‘Cause I ain’t got a home

A song about change and facing that change. Felt like a fitting end to this playlist.

Chapter 37 & 38… again

I See A Darkness – Johnny Cash & Bonnie “Prince” Billy

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And did you know how much I love you Is a hope that somehow you you Can save me from this darkness?

Wait, never mind. This is even more fitting.

Chapter 37 & 38… for real this time

The Parting Glass – Hozier

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Of all the comrades that ere I had, they’re sorry for my going away, And of all the sweethearts that ere I had, they wish me one more day to stay, But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise while you should not, I will gently rise and I’ll softly call, “Goodnight and joy be with you all!”

No… this one.

So, that’s Gleam Upon the Soundtrack, a Gleam Upon the Waves playlist! I hope everyone enjoyed a glimpse into my musical inspirations. It’s really fun to assemble these things and reflect on why particular songs spoke to me over another. I totally understand why other authors do it as well. This isn’t the only playlist I’ve made for my novels, you can check out the other ones here.

Once again, thanks to everyone for picking up Gleam Upon the Waves. I’m really proud of it, and I hope you enjoyed your time back in the Territories. If you haven’t nabbed your copies yet, you can do so from any of the links below.

Buy the paperback:

Amazon – Barnes & Noble

Buy the eBook:

Kindle – Kobo – Nook – Apple Books – GooglePlay

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marisa-writes · 7 years

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My pals Natasha @wokeuptired and Naureen @wildestdreamsfics tagged me to share the nine best books I read this year. Straight up: all I read this year was romance, something I hadn’t done in many years. But after picking up K.M. Jackson’s To Me I Wed off the shelf at my local Target this summer and falling head over heels for Lily and Vin, I began discussing romance novels with my good friend RJ @boricuamermaid / @madminniefics. Turned out RJ was well-aquainted with the genre and opened my world up to some new books by authors who are women of color that write about people of color, and since the representation of POC in fiction is a passion of mine, I was over the moon about this discovery.

Below the cut, you’ll find my long-winded descriptions for each of the novels pictured (nothing too spoilery, I just…suck at writing quick little blurbs). If romance is your thing and you end up deciding to check any of these out, drop me a line once you’re finished so we can discuss!

I’m not going to tag anyone because I don’t know who hasn’t been tagged at this point, but if you’ve read books this year and you want to share, do it and tag me so I can see!

To Me I Wed by K.M. Jackson - aside from RJ, I have this book to thank for sending me plummeting back into the world of romance novels. I was at Target when I spied this book on the shelf, and after reading the description, I was intrigued. To Me I Wed is the second book in K.M. Jackson’s ‘Unconventional Brides’ series, but it was the first of the series that I read, which might contribute to why it’s my favorite. It centers around Lily Perry, an event planner who, after watching her many sisters take the plunge, reads an article about a woman who decides to marry herself, and Lily thinks it’s a splendid idea. She’s a successful woman; why should she wait for a man to define her happiness? Vincent “Vin” Caro, however, the handsome chef and restaurant owner who Lily shared a memorable series of kisses with on the beach a year prior, thinks it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard when Lily asks to use his restaurant as her venue - especially considering he hasn’t quite let go of that time on the beach, and to be honest, neither has Lily. Between Vin and Lily’s undeniable chemistry, Vin’s grief and Lily’s stubbornness, and Lily’s unforgettable grandmother, Mama Dee, I loved this book from start to finish and have read it since the first time I picked it up this summer, oh…three times now, I think?

Forbidden by Beverly Jenkins - I didn’t think I’d really be interested in historical romance, but the premise behind this book intrigued me so much, I had to give it a read. In Forbidden, Eddy Carmichael sets off to achieve her dream of opening her own restaurant, but her plans are thwarted when she’s robbed and abandoned in the middle of a desert. Fortune finds her when she’s rescued by Rhine Fontaine, a successful saloon owner whose African descent is masked by his fair skin, and he lives his life passing as a White man. This, of course, has suited Rhine just fine since leaving behind a past he’d rather not relive, but when Eddy comes into the picture, he begins to think that being truthful about who he is might be more than worth the risk.

Take the Lead by Alexis Daria - Along the vein of Dancing with the Stars, Take the Lead centers around a celebrity-meets-professional dance competition show called The Dance Off. Gina Morales is one of the series’ professional dancers, and in her fifth season with the show, she gets paired up with Stone Nielson, an Alaskan survivalist from a reality television show called Living Wild. For such a large and gruff man, Stone is quiet and reserved, but Gina is determined to turn the season into a win - despite the series’ determination to push Stone and Gina into the narrative of the season’s showmance. While faking a romance for the cameras is sure to help them with the votes, it goes against everything Gina stands for. She’s determined to win on her terms without compromising her integrity, but when Stone turns out to be more than he seems, and that old pesky thing called chemistry gets in the way, well…things get complicated.

Love On My Mind by Tracey Livesay - I read the third book in this series, Love Will Always Remember, first before realizing it was the third book in a series and backtracking to Love On My Mind, which is the first novel. In Love on My Mind, Chelsea Grant, a PR rep, is assigned to revamp the image of a reluctant tech mogul named Adam Bennett after the disaster that was his last press conference for his company, Computronix. With the announcement of Adam’s latest life-changing tech gadget on the horizon, Chelsea is hired by Computronix’s COO, Michael Black, to prepare Adam for the next press conference, but Adam’s reluctance to be “changed” by a PR rep means that Chelsea has to find a way to work herself into his life and offer him assistance without clueing him in to her profession. This, of course, presents a challenge as the pair of them grow closer and Chelsea learns more about Adam and why he is the way he is…and withholding the truth behind her sudden appearance in his life becomes harder and harder to do as it threatens to unravel everything building between them. Now, romance novels are quite well-known for their steamy sex scenes, and there’s a scene in this book between Adam and Chelsea…with windows…and…I had to text RJ and screech about it. We’re still collectively screeching about it. So. Good.

Vivid by Beverly Jenkins - after reading several of her novels this summer, I can say with great certainty that I have grown to enjoy historical romance more than I anticipated thanks to Beverly Jenkins. In Vivid, Grayson Grove mayor Nate Grayson is in for a shock when the town’s new doctor, Dr. V. Lancaster, shows up and is to his great surprise, Dr. Viveca Lancaster - a woman. Nate is stubborn and set in his thinking that men are the most fit to be doctors, and Vivid’s femininity goes against everything he believes about one’s capability to carry out the duties required. Vivid, however, well-educated and entirely fit for the position, is full of spirit and determination and has her heart set on changing Nate’s mind as well as the mind of every backwards-thinking citizen in Grayson Grove as she works to prove herself worthy of being their physician despite their misconceptions about her gender.

Along Came Love by Tracey Livesay - the second in its series, Along Came Love focuses on India Shaw, the foster sister and best friend of Chelsea Grant from Love On My Mind. Indi lands herself in jail after a stupid decision goes south and the only person she can call on for help is Michael Black, COO of Computronix and best friend to Chelsea’s beau and reigning tech mogul, Adam Bennett. The thing is, Mike’s kind of the last person Indi wants to call, considering there was a little weekend fling that happened between them and she sort of dipped out on him. Oh, yeah, and she’s pregnant with his child. As Mike learns of Indi’s pregnancy, he fights to keep her in his life while she contemplates what to do next - their unexpected reunion shaking up Mike’s long-term goals as well as Indi’s short-term ones as it becomes quite apparent to the two of them that despite how wrong they might seem for each other, the chemistry that drummed up that weekend fling hasn’t gone away, not even a little bit. Like with Love On My Mind, there was a scene in this book that just about did me in, and RJ and I are still screeching about that one, too.

Jewel by Beverly Jenkins - Jewel returns readers to Grayson Grove, this time to focus on Eli Grayson, cousin of Nate Grayson from Vivid. Still feeling the sting that has come from the closing of his newspaper, Eli is thrilled when he learns of a man who wants to help him revive it - that is, until he learns there’s a catch: this man offering his help only invests his time and money into men who are married. Eli is…friendly with women, you could say, having earned himself the title of “The Colored Casanova of Cass County,” but a married man he is not. So in order to gain the man’s trust, he begs a favor from townswoman Jewel Crowley - he asks her to pretend to be his wife, just long enough to gain approval and financial backing for his newspaper. Of course, when do these things ever go as planned? Suddenly, Eli and Jewel are swept into a marriage of convenience (or is it?) and there’s also some mystery and murder to be found as someone from Eli’s past breezes back into town, bringing a world of trouble with them. I couldn’t put this one down.

Wrong to Need You by Alisha Rai - this novel is the second in Alisha Rai’s ‘Forbidden Hearts’ series, and while the first novel did a great job of setting up the mystery and intrigue regarding the Chandler and Kane families and the hearty history surrounding their once-joined venture, a successful grocery store chain called C&O, the second book pulls readers in deeper as it sets its sights on Jackson Kane and Sadia Ahmed. Chased away by the accusatory eyes of a town convinced that he set the flagship C&O store ablaze in a fit of rage, Jackson warily returns to town to check on his recently-returned twin sister, Livvy. And…well, he also sticks around long enough to look in on Sadia, his childhood best friend, who he’s been in love with since they were young. Sadia, who is a single mother now to Jackson’s nephew, Kareem. Sadia, who is the widow of Jackson’s older brother, Paul. Jackson’s unexpected return stirs up many feelings for Sadia, especially considering she’s been sending him email messages for years and he’s never responded to a single one. But Jackson harbors culinary skills beyond her wildest dreams and his family’s diner that’s been left under her care is in desperate need of a new chef, so when he offers to help her out until she finds a replacement, she reluctantly agrees. There are more Chandler/Kane secrets to uncover in the second novel - like the truth behind that fire set at the flagship C&O - as well as a story of reconnection between two people who always should’ve been more than friends, and I really enjoyed it.

Breathless by Beverly Jenkins - all right, so nearly half of the books in my top nine are written by Beverly Jenkins, and I have absolutely no regrets. The woman has been writing romance novels for over twenty years and she’s good at it. Those are just the facts. Breathless takes place some time after Forbidden and centers around Rhine and Eddy’s eldest niece, Portia Carmichael. Portia’s making a life for herself as manager of the hotel her aunt and uncle now own in Arizona, and unlike her sister Regan, she has no plans to marry, determined to open her own bookkeeping business one day. So instead of being courted, she spends her time dodging her many suitors until Kenton Randolph, an old friend of Rhine’s, comes blowing through town. Portia’s never been too keen on men, her mother’s history with them leaving her with a sour taste in her mouth, but with the reappearance of Kent in her life and his promises of passion, there’s a good chance she might end up changing her mind.

All of these books are available to read through both iBooks and Kindle, if you’re interested. Happy reading, my friends!

#I know most of these covers are downright cheesy haha #but I thoroughly enjoyed reading all of these books #thanks for tagging me friends!#book recs

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