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neutron-stars-collision · 3 months ago

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Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 8 - London Bridge Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 7 Summary: With preparations for the next ballet of the season at all time high, it seems like only Neil is capable of calming you down. With whatever means necessary. After all, that's what friends are for. Warnings: Swearing, explicit language, implied sexual content. Author's Notes: Well, hello. As you might've seen from my posts, this one is early and only 3/4 of what I have outlined but seeing as it already took near two months, I figured I might as well split this here. It's 10k so not bad either ✨ This way I'll be stressing less about how long it's taking me to write this. This is the first chapter of the so-called Nutcracker season, so I thought I might drop some reference videos again in case y'all wanted to see what the sequences I refer to look like. And so that the two hours of research aren't entirely wasted lol Anyways, here's Waltz of the Snowflakes and Waltz of the Flowers. Enjoy the extra education 💕 Thank you for reading and being patient as I try to wrestle my brain into obedience 💖 Let me know what you think? Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added).

For someone who usually hated the mere mention of the word routine and all that it entailed, you took a worrying amount of joy in having it established on Wednesdays. There was something to be cherished in the cold autumn breeze as you hurried down the streets, knowing that soon you could talk to him like you had been itching to since you had parted. The countless texts and occasional phone calls in between hardly mattered in that case. Not because they were not good enough at sustaining the connection, but rather because while they kept you sane, they could never replace the real thing.

The exact way Neil’s eyes shone in the sharp light of the fluorescents whenever you said something funny or scandalous. Or the curve of his smile, breaching that thin line between mere joy and smugness at being the sole object of your attention and desire. Or perhaps the different topics you cycled through within the twenty-minute-long window the shared commute allowed you. There was hardly reason nor logic to them, but every Wednesday morning, as you approached the St. John’s Wood station, you would find yourself increasingly curious about what this day would entail. What you would talk about. What you would be able to learn about him.

No matter the minutes spent wondering and debating, you could never anticipate the conversation in its entirety.

By now, you were a pro at finding Neil the moment you stepped aboard the train. Most times you would spot him before he knew the train had stopped at your station. He would raise his pretty blond head and meet your gaze, lighting up instantly and getting rid of any apprehension you could still hold over being so openly into him.

Today was not any different in that regard. Once you had successfully located him (head bowed over a book in his lap, the blonde hair tousled by the wind raging outside), you crossed the space despite the sudden movement of the carriage and unceremoniously dropped to the seat next to him with a greeting ready on your tongue:

“Hey, you” your grin widened as Neil’s head swivelled in your direction with worrying speed.

You stared as he closed the book without bothering to mark the page, letting his gaze trace its customary path over your face and body. It was always like this. His eyes would wander over your features with detailed focus, almost as if expecting something to have changed. The moment made you pause, instantly concerned whether there could be something amiss, but the uncertainty vanished the second Neil’s lips widened into a bright grin. The courage to ask what it all meant was nowhere to be found yet. If ever.

“Morning, sunshine” offering you an overeager wink, he dropped the forgotten book in the bag and focused on you.

That sort of unspoken declaration still stroked your ego like nothing else. And you were unwilling to understand why that could be.

“If there’s anyone worthy of the ‘sunshine’ title, it’s you, my dear” stifling a yawn, you reached out to further ruffle his hair, enjoying the feel of his soft locks between your fingers. If the move had an ulterior motive (it did), you did not let it show and instead chose to relish in the myriads of feelings passing through Neil’s face. Namely affection, arousal and hunger, “What with all that hair and a dazzling smile,” before you could lose the feeble illusion of control, you dropped your hand back on your lap and met his questioning look with a blank smile.

Moments like this were best not discussed. And least of all on public transport. Despite it being over a week since your late Friday night commute and the decisions it had solidified, you were yet to make any substantial changes to your relationship. You were yet to ask him for another memorable night or a fleeting moment in a private place. For now, endless flirting, occasional sexting and increasingly courageous touches had to do. But, as always, they were not discussed. They simply happened. By an accident, of course.

“The hair is dyed” arching his eyebrow at your blatant misbehaviour, Neil offered the comment flatly.

Well, duh.

“Yeah, I know. You need to give me your hairdresser’s details because they’re doing a splendid job” barely resisting the urge to bury your fingers in his hair again, you clasped your hands together and chose to stare down the impertinent woman, shooting you both dirty looks across the carriage.

Only once she looked away, visibly flustered, you could glance at Neil again. As always, you found his gaze firmly trained on you. As if looking away was not an option.

“I’ll pass on the praise” shrugging, Neil allowed his eyes to wander, tracing invisible paths down the curve of your neck and further down, forcing your blush out of hiding whether you wanted or not.

Swallowing past the heat rising in your face, you uncrossed your legs and forced your brain to behave. That would not do. Being eternally flustered was not a state you were used to or even wanted to be. But increasingly, it was a state you were finding yourself in almost daily. Something had to be done about it. And fast.

Chancing a cheeky look at Neil, you allowed your mouth to run along and do its own thing. That always worked.

“You should. Who knows, maybe they, too, have a praise kink” as soon as the words were out, you knew it was the right call.

The leverage to give you the upper hand and render Neil speechless. Even more so that he was well aware you were right. The realization was written plain on his face, in the slack jaw and wide eyes, struck dumb by your boldness. Checkmate.

“Too? Are you insinuating something?” leaning forward and into your personal space, Neil’s voice dropped a notch.

The hastily put-up mask of indifference did nothing to deter you. You knew you were right. His reaction to the things you said that Friday night was something you thought of every day. Particularly the undoubted effects your bold use of ‘good boy’ had on Neil. His gasps, the groans of pleasure, and then-

“Wouldn’t dare to” mirroring his position, you leaned further into his space until all that was left was a few mere centimetres between you, easy to breach should you want to, “Except that we both know it’s true,” you met his gaze with an unyielding smile of your own, beckoning Neil to argue.

You could see the defiance in his blue eyes, the desire to throw you off the haunch by all means necessary. But you could also find defeat there, the embarrassment stemming from the simple fact that Neil knew he had already lost. You were right. As always.

Feeling the pride of victory surge through your veins, you opened your mouth to deliver the final strike before Neil closed it with a finger against your lips. The sudden touch burned like a hot poker, inciting thousands of thoughts you would rather not entertain. Not now, at least.

“Don’t” from the command in his voice, you could ascertain that Neil knew where it was all heading. He could tell that the words on your tongue were those two that had proved his weakness before, “Not here,” the unspoken plea finishing the speech did not go unnoticed.

It was strengthened by the silent resolution in his eyes as Neil lifted his finger from your mouth and let his fingers carefully caress your chin, angling your face for a kiss that would not come. Not here, as he said. Not yet.

“Very well. Next time,” as soon as the reply fell in the space between you, Neil nodded, solidifying a promise that had not quite been voiced but was understood by the both of you, “Soon, I think,” the addition was only a formality.

You both knew it would have to be soon. As if reminded of your surroundings, Neil dropped his hand from your face and shot you a smirk. Soon, indeed. Before your brain could run away with thousands of scenarios concerning that second rendezvous and all that you wanted to do to Neil when given the chance, he spoke again, swiftly changing the subject:

“What’s your stress level, Cupid?” it was easy to discern that it was a tactical move on his side, an easy way to move the conversation to a safer zone that would not make either or both of you misbehave in public.

But still, the question made the wave of affection spread over your chest, mostly because he cared enough to ask and wanted to hear the answer. And you really wanted to talk to someone about the sleepless nights and heart palpitations growing in frequency the closer it got to the audition day.

“Through the fucking roof,” sighing against the anxiety levels steadily building up in your system, you levelled Neil with a tired look, “I’ve less than a week left” by now, the countdown felt almost like minutes left till your scheduled audience on the death row.

Or something equally dramatic. From the seriousness reflected at you in Neil’s eyes, you knew he was all too aware of it.

“I know” he reached out to squeeze your arm comfortingly and asked, “Do you have the choreography all figured out?”

The question only increased the affection you could barely contain. Ignoring the sudden desire to snuggle up to Neil like a cat to attempt to show even an ounce of your current feelings, you chose to focus on the more pressing issues. Namely, the fear coursing through your veins and talking to the only person who seemed to understand it all.

“I think?” stifling another heavy sigh, you leaned back in the chair to stare at the Jubilee line map above the window opposite “I mean that’s basically the plan today. I’m going to the studio to practice every single variation till I can’t tell my Clara from the Snow Queen” this time a pained groan was unavoidable.

As much as you were looking forward to losing yourself in dancing for the whole day, all that followed was too terrifying to name. Yet, with every word spoken on the topic, you could hardly keep the fears at bay. They multiplied and strengthened till you could feel your heart rate rise, the pulse thundering in your ears. There was so much to dread, so many unknowns. So much that you could not foresee and so much that could go wrong. Too much.

“I’m not sure I know what that means, but I know that you’ve got this” through the rising panic, you registered Neil’s reassurance but could barely process it.

The spiral must have shown on your face because the next thing you felt was his careful touch, gentle fingers running over your forearm to take your hand in his and squeeze it. Without thinking, you let Neil entangle your fingers loosely and glanced at him, judging his mood. Finding nothing but concern and steadfast belief in your abilities, you turned away again, focusing on voicing what had to be said. Who knew when would be the next time you would have a willing listener available?

“Yeah, well, I’m not convinced,” swallowing hard past the doubt and worries that Neil did not want to hear any of your bullshit, you focused on the steady caress of his thumb running over your knuckles, soothing the nerves and reminding you of his presence. It had to be enough, “Sometimes I just… Do you know that feeling when you want something very badly, but you’re also almost certain that if you do get it, then it will be taken from you?” the question came out in a rush, words melting together into one anxious mess but the understanding in Neil’s gaze kept you going “I want to do well, but I’m also terrified of what might happen if I do succeed” getting the words out after days of rotating them in your head felt almost like a relief, offering you a chance to take a deeper breath. Even if they still seemed true, accurate, “So much so that sometimes I wonder whether I should just give up. Stop trying” finishing the tirade with an exhausted sigh seemed like an apt conclusion as you turned your head back to Neil, both dreading and needing to see his reaction.

Those were some of the things you had never told anyone else. The thoughts that kept you awake during many lonely nights and those that pushed you to the limits of what was supposed to be bearable. The drive behind every anxious thought and inexplicable fear. That which none of your friends needed or wanted to hear.

No one except for Neil, that is.

If the understanding on his face was anything to go by, he wanted to listen. His hand kept the reassuring hold over yours, thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. This one time, being seen did not hurt quite so much. Maybe if Neil could peer inside your heart and soul, he would be able to make sense of it all when you could not.

“But isn’t the fear of fucking up stronger than that of having succeeded?” after a beat, Neil’s question fell with a heightened impact upon the noise from the departed station fading into the background.

Wasn’t that the clue of it all?

“I don’t know” with no answer but another pained sigh, you allowed your head to rest against Neil’s shoulder. Only then, with the pleasant warmth of his shoulder beneath your cheek and the faint certainty that you could feel him nuzzle your temple, could you speak words into existence with only Neil as your witness, “I wish I had a way of knowing what’s destined for me” once you started talking, it was difficult to stop, unburdening your heart word after word, with no fear of judgement to be found “Like a horoscope but one that truly works” feeling the itch of frustration beneath your skin, you closed your eyes to attempt anchoring in the moment.

Even if only for a second. A second spent soaking up Neil’s warmth and his solid presence. A second spent not losing your mind. For a change.

“I’m pretty sure you’d go mad if you knew what fate has in store for you” feeling Neil’s steady gaze fixed on your face, you looked up in time to see the intent behind his words there. A subtle confirmation of the fact that he knew what he was saying was true and that you knew it, too. Even if you would never admit as much, “I know I would,” shrugging lightly not to disturb you from where you still had your chin propped on his shoulder, Neil cracked a small smile.

As if willing you to see where he was going with this. And you did know. It was only that sometimes (or rather most of the time) logic was difficult to come by. In those moments, ruled by fear and worry, all you craved was certainty. A knowledge of what the future held and what steps you needed to take to abstain from fucking it all up. But that was not something you could have. And that, in turn, was fucking you up. It was embarrassing and relieving to know that Neil understood without you having the words to express it all.

That he just knew. Like he knew everything, it seemed.

“I would too, but maybe insanity is better than whatever this is” ignoring the strange thoughts, which could lead you into the temptation, you raised your head from his shoulder and offered a tired shrug.

It was better that way. Safer.

“The tragedy known as everyday life?” his mouth quirked into a familiar grin, its traces already warming up your body and soul.

It was increasingly harder to look away from him in those moments. In those pauses between words, when his gaze was all you could focus on. When his blue eyes offered solace from fears. When it seemed like Neil did not mind being your anchor, the one thing keeping you on the verge of sanity.

When all you truly wanted to do was to press your lips to his and keep kissing him until everything else faded. Until there was nothing that could scare you.

Well, maybe, except for-

“Quite” you shook your head lightly, praying to all deities the ridiculous thoughts would disperse. Stuck in a daze, you looked outside as the PA crackled to life, announcing Southwark as the next station. Without a reason you could name, your heart missed a beat. It was time to go, “Fuck, I should get up. I don’t want to leave you” the honesty was easy to voice once you were arrested by his blue gaze, having made the mistake of glancing back at Neil.

You could tell he would need no convincing about the truthfulness of your admission. Neil’s soft smile, undoubtedly influenced by what must have been a particularly pathetic look on your face, only strengthened the conviction. He squeezed your hand, remaining securely clasped in his, and nudged your shoulder with his:

“Nutcrackers await you, Cupid” the simplicity of that reassurance was enough to make you grin, especially since you could tell Neil had not yet done his reading on the ballet.

With a remorseful sigh, you rose from the seat, letting go of his hand. Your eyes did not yet get the memo, as they stayed glued to his face, roaming over the features you now knew almost as well as your own. Within his gaze, you found the missing inspiration and the courage to ask what you wanted.

“Actually… Would you want to come up to the studio tomorrow evening? To provide feedback and butter me up?” you bated your eyelashes to complete the look, fully aware it was unnecessary.

Neil never needed the vapid flirting. He only seemed to need to know you meant what you said. And this time, there was no space for doubt.

“I’d love to” mirroring your manic grin, Neil captured your hand between his palms and brushed his fingers over your knuckles in a move that was almost reverent.

It was dangerous, too. You blinked against the haze in your eyes and tugged your hand free from the loose grasp. With the lights of Southwark creeping into the carriage, you knew it was time to go. Lest stupidity persisted.

***

Inviting Neil to the studio to watch your final touches to the choreography before the Friday audition seemed like a good idea when you said it. But over 24 hours later, waiting for the man himself to arrive and pacing up and down Hatfields with increasingly torrential thoughts, you began to wonder whether it was all a mistake. An overindulgence. Because what if Neil saw what you had prepared and thought it just as lacklustre as you worried it was?

For whatever reason, sharing this crucial part of your life with him was hard. It was a daily uphill battle, torn between the innate desire to show off the only thing you were remotely sure you were good at and the fear of falling short. Almost every time, you could only reach an impasse without a resolution on the horizon.

The spiral was cut short with a gentle touch on your shoulder, stopping your pacing before you could collide with a man-sized wall. Startled, you looked straight into the familiar blue eyes, now tinted with happiness and a dose of worry. Almost as if Neil could see the depths of unease in your soul. Before he could see too much, you schooled your features into a grin and pulled him in for a hug. At least those offered the comfort of hiding your face.

For a beat. Just enough time to get over whatever this was.

“Hi” pulling back with a satisfied sigh, you met Neil’s gaze with a renewed sense of control.

For a second, you did not feel quite so close to losing your mind. Small victories.

“Hello. Shall we?” Neil took that decisive step from your hug only to take your hand in his and tilt his head towards the entrance to the ballet studio.

For a split second, that ghost of panic was back, its cold fingers digging into the fabric of your soul and making you consider bolting, leaving, using a weak excuse and calling it all off. But then Neil smiled, a reassuring, steady grin that felt like a ray of sunlight melting the ice. You could take a deeper breath and nod. It was alright.

As if in a daze, you led him through the studio. By late afternoon, the space was almost deserted, with only a handful of staff and dancers milling about in the different parts of the building. The emptiness of the space offered the comfort and privacy you were seeking. Uninterrupted, you led Neil to the room you had occupied just before leaving to greet him and set your bag back on the designated chair before retrieving your phone and connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker. You could hear Neil move in the background, undoubtedly settling on the floor like the last time. Before you could turn to confirm the assumption, he broke the silence:

“So, what have you got for me, Cupid?” the playful notes in his voice made you turn, taking note of the grin on his face as Neil sat down with his back against the mirrored wall, legs outstretched, “Mind you, I’ve done my research” shooting you a wink, he made the show of taking out a leatherbound notebook from his bag and flipping it open, seemingly at random.

You had a feeling that the pages were not empty. And that they were indeed filled with research. You could feel a grin blooming on your face as you arched an eyebrow and asked:

“YouTube videos?” twisting your mouth into a smirk, you queued up the correct Tchaikovsky tracks and took off the jumper you had thrown on before going outside.

Neil’s gaze slid over your body, lingering on the skin you had just revealed. Your smirk sharpened upon the notice with the confidence drowning out the anxieties.

“Precisely,” Neil nodded, prideful and smug, “And Wikipedia,” grinning, he glanced at the notebooks and skimmed over whatever was written inside.

You resisted the urge to join him on the floor and tug the journal from his hold to look. Instead, you chose the verbal way of getting something out of this conversation. An upper hand of sorts.

“Good boy” you waited until Neil met your calm gaze with widened eyes and broke into a satisfied grin. It still worked. As much was clear from the way his breath picked up, the fingers of his hand shaking as he tightened the grip over the notebook. It was only once that startled look turned into a glare that you chose to offer contrition, “Sorry, I had to,” you could tell there was no grudge to be held there, so you shrugged and answered the question he had asked before, “I’ve prepared Waltz of the Snowflakes and Waltz of the Flowers. I could maybe, perhaps get lead for both” even speaking the hopes into existence seemed like asking for too much.

But there was no other way. You had to try because, by now, you knew giving up was not an option. It would not work.

The nervous energy coursed in your veins as you forced your body to move, stretching lightly to prepare for the demonstration you had brought down on yourself.

“You could. There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it. Come on, show me what you got” Neil’s words acted like the necessary checkpoint, keeping you from straying too far into the land of insanity.

That, and the belief in his eyes, as if he was confident what he was saying was true. As if he needed no convincing to know you were good enough for what you set out to achieve.

It was almost too much.

“Have I mentioned that you’re bad for my ego?” straightening up after the usual stretches, you met Neil’s gaze with a fond look.

There was no point in hiding it by now. Neil knew he was important to you. He knew that you cared. You had already lost that battle where it counted.

“I’m not saying anything you don’t deserve, babe,” Neil needed no time to think about his response; its placement timed perfectly with a wink at the end.

Still, the affection spread over your skin like a disease, making it impossible to attempt scouring for a witty response. All that was left was sincerity.

“Thank you, Neil. I can’t remember anyone being this nice to me since… forever, probably” getting it out was the easiest part, immediately followed by the trickier bit, which necessitated you not to crumble in the light of compassion in his gaze.

It was a task you almost failed at. All because it hurt to be looked at like a pitiful object, but without the shame that usually came with it. No, Neil looked at you like he could not comprehend the lack of care you were handled with during your life. He saw nothing wrong with you but instead blamed everyone else for what happened. For the things he did not even know. You quivered under the warmth in his eyes and broke the eye contact, gaze darting to locate the pointe shoes. Once you spotted them, you quickly crossed the space and sat by the pair to put them on.

It always did the trick of calming you down.

All the while, you could feel Neil’s eyes on you, undoubtedly assessing your nerves and sanity. Looking for the right thing to say. Something that would not make you flee any more than you already had removed yourself from the conversation. After a beat, he must have found it, for you heard him clear his throat and break the silence with a decisive conclusion:

“That’s their loss” despite the wishes of your reason, you looked up at Neil, only to find him smiling at you softly.

No traces of pity. No traces of contempt, either. Only a friendly smile, his back pressed against the mirrors and the notebook forgotten in his lap. It was enough to make you smile back as your hands tightened the bows of your pointes, following muscle memory. Once you were assured the knots were secure enough, you stood up and flashed Neil with a bright grin, officially moving on from that conversation:

“Both variations that I’ll show you will be Pas de Deux in the production. That means-” before you could delve into an explanation, Neil raised his hand, stopping your words without a catch.

“That they’re duets, I know” the trademark smirk appeared upon his face at your slightly bewildered look, and Neil added with a self-explanatory shrug, “I told you I’ve done my reading” that spark of satisfaction in his eyes was not something you thought you could ignore.

Partially because you were surprised by the research he has done, or, more accurately, you were surprised Neil cared that much. He has put in the effort without you even having to ask.

“I’m impressed” you made no moves to hide the affection from your eyes as you let another beat of silence pass you by, locked in his gaze as always. Once the moment passed, you nodded to reassure yourself and shake off the thoughts, and continued, “Since it’s just me tonight, it’ll look a little different. That’s a disclaimer” turning back to your phone, you scrolled down the track list to find the correct variation.

That nervous energy was back, but this time, you knew that only dancing could get rid of it. Only losing yourself in the movement would do the trick. Well, that and the constant look of admiration that Neil seemed to point at you. That, too, helped with the anxiety.

“No complaints from me. If I get to watch you triumph and look beautiful while you’re at it, I’m good” as if reading your mind, Neil shot you another fond smile and seemingly settled further into his chosen spot, the back of his head lightly propped against the barre.

The pose could not be comfortable, but he did not seem to mind it. His eyes traced your every move as you put down the phone after pressing play on the music and slowly walked over to the side of the room to take up the position.

At the last second, before you had to focus on the music and the steps, you met Neil’s gaze and smiled, a simple word of gratitude ready on your tongue:

“You’re incredible” you watched as his smile widened, and the warmth spread over your chest, lightening up the nerve endings in that curious way you never quite understood.

It did not matter. You took a deep breath and started, slipping almost effortlessly into the role of Snow Queen. From then on, everything was easy. You closed your eyes against the warm studio lights and moved through the choreography without a second of doubt.

The six-minute Waltz of the Snowflakes necessitated precision and focus, with each note requiring a shift, a pirouette or an arabesque. It was not an easy piece, and you could feel sweat trickle down your temples and underneath the black bodice as your wrap skirt followed graceful air movements with a mind of its own. Yet, still, despite the exertion, something about it felt right. Like it was a role that you were meant to play. Another chance to showcase that perhaps this is what you were supposed to do.

As you froze in the final position and the first orchestra track faded, you risked opening your eyes to gauge Neil’s reaction. He stared back, seemingly transfixed with his blue eyes almost alight with something you could not name. Upon your glance, the corner of his mouth quirked, revealing another of your favourite smiles. That had to do when it came to encouragement, for before you could notice anything else, the opening notes of the second waltz rang out in the studio space. Recognition flashed in Neil’s eyes as his foot started tapping out a familiar rhythm. Despite yourself, you grinned before silently counting the beats until your grand entrance.

The second role – Dew Drop Fairy, cheerfully leading a piece of Tchaikovsky’s music almost everyone knew, even if they insisted otherwise, was a variation you did not expect to like quite so much. It used to seem too lively, fleeting and sweet for someone like you. You were not sweet. Unless one considered liquorice a sweet – particular and not everyone’s cup of tea. Yeah, that comparison made much more sense. But then, one dreary afternoon, when you rehashed the choreography for the Waltz of the Flowers from the videos and memory, you found that it could work.

Maybe. Probably. (Probably not).

After hours of practice, you were tentatively leaning towards the affirmative. Maybe. Tonight, it felt almost close to getting rid of the ‘maybe’. It felt like it was meant to be. Even with the burn in your thighs and the strain in your arms from maintaining the frame. Even with the lingering fear before tomorrow’s audition threatening to take away any remaining pleasure. The closing notes of the waltz sounded in the studio as you landed the final pirouette and opened your eyes with a gasp, caught somewhere between the striking understanding of the rightness of it all and the sudden desire to look at Neil.

To let him see you.

His eyes were there, waiting for you, always inviting you to drown within their depths at your convenience.

Suddenly, death by drowning did not seem like a bad idea.

“How was that?” cutting the tortures of the unknown short, you pressed pause on the music and steeled your spine against his all-seeing gaze.

As if sensing your unease, Neil’s smile softened, his eyes showing nothing but the affection you had seen before. That smile was easier to breathe in. Easier to understand.

“You’re truly something else, aren’t you?” the flash of something in his face was much more difficult to understand. Your brow furrowed almost unconsciously as you tried to ignore the flush of gratitude at the open praise, “As I said, I’m no expert, but this looked effortless in a way that hours of hard work can only ensure” taking a meaningful pause to save your sanity, Neil shifted in his spot, folding his long legs and propping his chin on his knees. Adorable did not quite cover it, but it was the best word you could find, “This technique, the precision, just the way you hold yourself when you dance… I don’t know much about fate and such, but I do know that you were meant to be doing this” the glimmer in his eyes told you that was what he aimed to achieve with the speech.

That, yet again, Neil has seen through your bullshit and knew where the trouble was. What it was that you needed to hear. With your fidgeting body unable to stay still even for a second, you sat on the floor on the opposite side of the studio and tugged at the ribbons on your pointe shoes to take them off. It was better than standing stock-still in the light of his scrutiny. In the light of all things in his gaze that you did not want to acknowledge. Instead, you let your heart speak as it rarely had a chance to.

“I’d like to think so. When I’m dancing, it’s like nothing else matters. I’m free to do as I please. To be who I always wanted to be,” with the bows loose, your fingers picked at the strips of satin as more sincere words found their way out of your heart. Words you had never voiced before either, “In those moments, I want to believe that I’ve become her. That this is who I am. Maybe not perfect, but-” your second of hesitation did not go unnoticed.

Before you could find another stack of constants and vowels to put in the resounding silence, Neil interrupted you with a confident tone:

“You’re not perfect, but you’re real. I think that’s much more important” despite your desire to remain nonchalant, your head whipped up to steal a glance at him.

To understand what he could mean by such a bold statement. Instead, your attention was stolen by the fact that you did not expect Neil to start standing up from where he previously looked comfortable curled up on the floors. His intense gaze measured you up as you took off the ballet shoes and dropped the only question that seemed to make sense:

“Why?” without being able to name a reason, you stood up, following some innate sense of direction that scrambled in alarm the moment you understood Neil had something on his mind.

Something you could not foresee. It was not fear that made you move, backing away towards the barres, but rather that familiar connection that sparked in your body and soul. You were not scared of him but feared what his proximity tended to do to you.

You feared losing control. Again.

Simultaneously, there was nothing you wanted more. It must have been that reasoning that made Neil take a decisive step in your direction and close the remaining gap. You stared with mouth agape as he approached, with an almost unusual amount of certainty in every move and stilted your hands as they fidgeted at your sides. Gently, he squeezed your loose fists and let go, only to tilt your chin and force you to meet his gaze. You still did not understand what you were seeing in the depths of his eyes.

But for once, it was almost comforting. That knowledge that someone else was willing to take care of you and act in your place, and all you had to do was let them do it. It brought relief, easing burdens you had not known you had been carrying. You could see the understanding in Neil’s eyes as he gave another cursory look over your face and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, eliciting an effortless sigh. Once he pulled back, you both knew there would be no resistance no matter what he wanted to do.

Another affectionate smile was the last thing you saw before Neil turned you to face the mirrored wall and pressed his chest against your back. There was no space between your bodies as he embraced you tightly, his hands resting on your stomach and just below the collarbone. His proximity felt close to overwhelming, with the warmth of his touch burning your skin and the searing intensity of his gaze meeting yours in the mirror. You took a deep breath, needing to centre yourself somehow. If only to prolong what seemed inevitable at this point.

Tentatively, you raised your hands to cover his palm sprawled across your midsection and allowed yourself to relax, leaning into his body. That seemed to be the confirmation Neil needed to break the silence:

“Because I can do this” answering a question you did not even remember asking, Neil nuzzled the top of your head and allowed his nose to trace a path down the nape of your neck and under the ear, nosing at the pulse point, with the utter confidence of someone who has done this before.

And indeed, he has. The familiarity of where you had found yourself, enveloped in the most tempting of embraces with nothing but the mirrored walls to be your witness, did not escape you. It was a tried and checked position. One that you could not oppose because it felt too good. Too comfortable.

Yet, with your brain still not entirely overcome by the haze of arousal, there was opposition to be detected. It kicked and groused, reminding you incessantly how unlike you all this was. How dangerous, despite feeling like everything but. How outrageous to just let Neil have it. With an inward sigh, you tilted your head to offer more neck for his perusal (currently littering with tender pecks) and forced your voice to remain steady as you asked:

“Are you trying to seduce me again, Neil?” this question was an easy callback.

One that Neil instantly clocked as you saw the corner of his mouth curl up in a smirk. There was no need to add that the seduction worked the first time and did not have to be repeated. Or that he hardly had to do anything but ask to have you. He knew that already.

You stared as Neil bowed his head, the golden strands catching light, and your skin catching fire from his closeness and the gentle kisses on your neck. Breath caught in your throat as his teeth nibbled at the tender flesh.

“Not quite” raising his head to shoot you a cheeky smile, Neil gave your entwined bodies an appreciative glance before he met your gaze, the tentative touch of his wandering hands only moderately distracting, “It’s just that the last time I wasn’t brave enough to say what I really thought” the pointed look in his eyes completed the sentence with the unsaid.

With the words that hardly needed to be spoken. Especially with the fact that now that he had admitted it, Neil allowed himself to be even braver. The hand previously resting on your sternum moved lower. His firm yet gentle fingers skimmed down the neckline of your bodice to cup your breast, stoking fire in your veins. Despite yourself, you pressed your body into his hold and breathed out the only response you had the mind to conjure:

“I trust you know better now” the remains of defiance shone in your gaze as you jutted your chin out, hoping to appear unaffected.

A futile task, indeed.

Especially with the way Neil pressed another kiss to the crook of your neck, marking the skin subtly. Your fingers squeezed his palm, pressing it further against your abdomen, wishing for it too to move. To do something about the need pooling between your thighs, wetting the gusset of your panties and seeping into the fabric of your bodice. Squeezing your thighs to get even a fraction of relief, you swallowed a groan and entwined your hand with his. Neil finished a meticulous study of yet another plane of your skin between the neck and the slope of your shoulder and met your hazed gaze with confidence. It was a look you were increasingly familiar with. It sharpened his exquisite features, giving him a dangerous edge. An edge you were desperate to cut yourself open upon. The growing desperation seeped through the pores in your soul as Neil gave you another assessing glance and replied:

“Naturally. Seeing you like this, so confident and in your element, is… It’s working on me” this confession was proclaimed with much less confidence, almost as if Neil worried that it was something you could dislike hearing. An idiot, if you ever met one, “You’re so graceful, so beautiful,” you stared as his palms continued their journey. The hand pressed against your abdomen shifted southward and instantly made you gasp. The sound did not escape his attention as you saw the uncertainty fade from Neil’s gaze, replaced by the familiar hunger “I’d like to touch you,” the unspoken question in his voice hardly needed anything more than a nod.

A nod you had granted him instantly, desperate to feel his hands where you needed them.

And his thumb rubbing over your nipple through the fabric could only do so much. Read: not enough.

“You are touching me” arching your eyebrow to push Neil in the right direction, you widened your stance and propped your head on his shoulder, leaning against him with almost all your weight.

Neil did not seem to mind the move. You watched as those enthralling sparks appeared in his eyes, a foolproof sign of an idea taking shape in his mind. With agonizing slowness, his hand brushed down your mid-riff, pausing for a split second at the elastic band of your wrap skirt. He seemed to debate something for a split second before following with a settled decision and parting the tuille with careful fingers. The breath you were supposed to empty from your lungs stumbled with a gasp as you watched Neil’s hand disappear between the folds of your skirt. Before you could even think about exhaling the oxygen trapped in your lungs, you felt his hand slip between your thighs, curious fingers tracing the gusset of your bodice. Even without noticing the wolfish smirk on Neil’s face, you knew what he would encounter.

The evidence of your arousal has already dampened the fabric, only completing the pathetic picture you presented with the warmth flooding your face and an irregular breath making your chest rise and fall in an unnatural tempo. Tangled strands were plastered to your temple as you stared at the mirror, barely fighting the desire to take matters into your own hands. And get relief because Neil’s teasing touches running up and down your slit did absolutely nothing.

Nothing but get you even more frustrated.

“Not like this,” the annoyance must have shown on your face, for Neil retraced his hand from between your legs and met your gaze with something akin to resolution, “Would you like to come to mine for a drink?” there was no hesitation in the proposal.

Nothing to make you feel like Neil did not want to ask, or felt pressured to. And there was no objection you could find that would make sense because you very much wanted to go back to his place. And continue whatever this was.

Ideally, with much fewer clothes in place. Yet-

“Neil, we both know that it won’t be just a drink” meeting his gaze with a deadpan expression, you grabbed the hand he had just moved back to your stomach from between your thighs and kissed his fingers with intent.

Mostly, the intent of making Neil blush wildly, as he did. But also to show that despite your weak protest, you did not mind the course of the evening or where it would take you. It was only a matter of time until you let yourself give in for the second time. Until you had an opportunity to act out the fantasies, which multiplied in your mind since the first night.

“Is there anything wrong with that?” the hints of doubt in the question were something you would accept under any circumstances.

You hated how the worries could so quickly shade any sense of confidence or arousal from his face and body. You could feel his grip loosen, letting centimetres of space between you, which already felt out of place. Before your brain could concoct any farfetched ideas, you used the newly created gap to turn in his embrace. Strengthened by the element of surprise, you had the advantage of the time it took Neil to process the new state of things. You used it wisely, first placing your hands on his chest to gain the necessary leverage and then whispered the reply with all the determination of someone who knew what they were doing:

“Absolutely not” your gaze searched Neil’s eyes for hints of anything contrary, but you found nothing. Except the need for you to be the brave one. You were happy to comply, “I think I’d like it to be… more” slowly, you allowed your fingers to brush over the expanse of his chest, reassuring and strengthening the message.

Neil’s shy smile shone through the cracks of his uncertainty, making your heart soar. As always, being in the spotlight of his affection felt like the cosiness of sunlight on an icy winter morning. It felt right.

Neil’s hands previously hanging limply at his sides, came up to cover yours pressed against his chest. It was the only warning you got before he dropped the question with a dangerous edge to his smile:

“With ties and shit?” the lethal sparks in his eyes only completed the picture, instantly drawing you back to that moment.

To the brazen comment you made straddling his lap with an undone tie in your hand. To one of the fantasies that had been born at the same instant. For the sake of the future, you were glad to see Neil was not opposed to the idea. That concept was nowhere near gone from the growing list of your wishes and daydreams.

A sudden laugh bubbled from your throat, adding that familiar tint of madness to everything you ever said, felt or did with Neil. Madness you were willingly jumping head-first into.

“Not necessarily” your faux frown carried the suspense over till an appropriate amount of time had passed for you to drop the pretence and offer Neil another wide smile, “Although-”

Neil’s burst of laughter cut short any elaborate innuendos you could have planned. You would not have it any other way.

***

If someone asked you to envision Neil’s apartment without seeing it for the first time, you would never have imagined it to look like that. A medium-sized flat just five minutes from the Swiss Cottage Underground Station, filled with things. Posh twats would have perhaps called the space cluttered, but you preferred the adjective – lived-in. Because that is what it was. When Neil closed the door behind your back and let go of your hand for the first time since getting off the tube, you did not know where to look or which item to pick up and scrutinize. Not for the wish to judge but that same innate desire to understand him. To know everything you could about Neil.

“Welcome to my humble abode” as soon as the words were out of his mouth, along with a reassuring smile, you let go of the remaining apprehensions and leaned into the curiosity with the zeal of a scientist.

Almost reverently, you floated past the furniture lining up the corridor walls, peeking inside the wardrobe with its door left ajar. A row of jackets, including leather, denim, and a fleece, did not satisfy the desire to know, but it stoked the fire. Its sparks lit you up from within as you moved down the hallway to the living room, stopping at the threshold to take in the room. The most notable features included a bookshelf brimming with tomes of different colours and sizes, a worn-out leather sofa, shelves full of CDs and vinyl, a quality record player and… a piano. A piano. Of all things. An inconvenience.

Your eyes stopped at the sight, unable to move on from the object. It made so much sense, and yet it was not something you expected. The music sheets propped on the shelf told you it was frequently used, and, therefore, not a decorative item. Your paralysis must have shown on your face, for soon you heard Neil’s footsteps, the sound stopping just behind your back as you felt his hand touch your shoulder. Unconsciously, you leaned into his warmth, resting your back against his chest.

“Care to explain this?” you asked the question as soon as you had stifled the grin elicited by Neil pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

As if the meaning was unclear, you waved your hand at the instrument and looked up at him. From the vantage point, his hair looked like a halo, contrasting with the sharp edge of his smile and the hand he had returned to your chest.

“I’m no Chopin, but sometimes I like to play” shrugging, Neil glanced at the piano and added, “It’s very relaxing,” the thoughtfulness in his voice told you there was more to the story.

A conversation to pick up soon to know more about him, but, for now, more pressing matters directed your line of thought. Matters like the fire in your veins stoked by Neil’s touch and the persisting desire for things only he could provide.

“Mhmm. You’ve never mentioned it,” you frowned at the disappointment in your voice that you certainly did not wish to disclose.

It made no sense to have strong feelings towards an instrument. Secondly, you knew that Neil would latch onto this indescribable something and not let go until he understood the reasons. Despite being unable to see his face, you could already feel his curiosity spark. It did not take too long for him to grab at the chance and dig a little deeper:

“Didn’t think it’s relevant. Why? You’ve got an ick concerning pianists?” you did not like the hints of smugness in his tone or the way he tightened the hold over your body, fingers digging into your breast, overwhelming the senses.

You barely resisted the moan which got stuck in your throat, saving the remains of dignity. With the brain cells slowly transforming into horny idiots that could not do anything but thirst after Neil, there was not much opposition left in your system. What was the point, anyway? It was best to admit it now and have it over and done with so you could move on to more important pursuits.

You cleared your throat, buying for time (and pointedly ignoring Neil’s teasing touch drifting past your ribcage and further down your body) and closed your eyes as you admitted the truth:

“… No, no. Quite the opposite, actually” there.

And it was not something you had confessed to before, either. There was no need. No pianists to be met in Soho as you prowled the streets for another one-night stand. Or, at least, none admitted to playing the piano in the brief time together. But the fact was a fact. No matter how embarrassing or mortifying to say out loud.

Another fact was that as soon as you had noticed the piano in his apartment, the images started multiplying in your head, strengthening the undeniable truth that you did have a thing for pianists. Neil included.

“Well, that’s excellent news to me, Cupid” you could hear Neil’s smile in his voice as he placed his hands on your hips and turned you in the embrace to face him. As expected, the smirk was already there. As was the gleam in his eyes, telling you that your confession was welcomed. Before you could even consider saving face in any feasible way, he leaned in and captured your mouth in a searing kiss. One that made you cling to his shoulders, desperately seeking more. Whatever that would be. Parting way too soon, Neil gave you another infuriating grin and asked, “Would you like a vodka tonic?”

Despite the sudden desire to punch him in that annoyingly pretty face, you resisted the need and offered him a faux grimace, tinting the response with a weary sigh:

“Yep, I definitely need a drink after this” your gaze flicked over him, scanning Neil from head to toe, searching for places to strike when the time was right.

Which would be soon. Or so God help him.

From then on, it was almost too easy to let go. To fall into Neil and let him catch you. To take what you wanted from him. Unlike that first evening, this time was not slow; it was not deliberate in your mutual desire to understand and to learn. It was a tumble, fast and tasting of vodka tonic and coming back home. But you would never tell him that.

Instead, you touched him, indulging in every sigh, gasp and moan you could elicit. You kissed him, taking everything Neil was offering and demanding more. You let him touch every inch of your skin. And when you could not wait any longer, you settled atop his lap and took him, your fingers tracing the marks you had left on his chest and neck. This, too, was unforgettable.

When it was over, and you left his flat with an amicable smile and a strange ache in your chest, you took the long way home. Walking down Finchley Road, you tried to understand what it was. What made Neil different? Why was it difficult to switch off your head and heart when you were with him? Why, sometimes, when he looked at you, you felt like you mattered in the grand scheme of things? Why did all this matter so much? Why did it pain you to realise you did not remember a single detail from his bedroom? Why the fuck did you care?

But you did not know. You did not understand. With a weary sigh, you stifled the questions and glanced at the sky. The blue moon shone down at you. You smiled back and ignored the doubts.

It didn’t matter.

***

You did not want to analyze why your first thought after getting the cast list for this season’s Nutcracker was to message Neil with good news. Or why you did that before you even congratulated the other girls. Without letting yourself hesitate over the sensibility of your life choices, you took out the phone from your pocket and typed out a simple message:

/ 🏹, 12:57 pm/ Say hello to your new friend, the Snow Queen and the Dew Drop Fairy :)

You did not have to wait long for his reply.

/✝️, 12:58 pm/ So now there’s two of you? Lucky me :)

/✝️, 12:58 pm/ Congratulations, Cupid. I knew you could do it, sweetheart.

/ 🏹, 12:59 pm/ Thank you, you’ll definitely hear me yap about it for the next two months.

/✝️, 1:00 pm/ I wouldn’t have it any other way, darling. How was the audition?

/ 🏹, 1:01 pm/ It was surprisingly easy. Might even say a walk in the park��

/ 🏹, 1:01 pm/ Getting laid the night before might be the key to success.

/✝️, 1:02 pm/ You’re welcome. We can make that a tradition if you’d be so inclined.

/ 🏹, 1:02 pm/ Gladly. You should know I’ll never say no to great sex.

/✝️, 1:03 pm/ So you’re telling me it was great?

/ 🏹, 1:03 pm/ You know that it was, Neil.

/✝️, 1:04 pm/ Yeah, I know. You’re also great, btw. My darling, my sweetheart, you.

The idiotic smile on your face seemed unavoidable as you locked the screen and forced yourself to abandon the conversation for now. Even if just to preserve the remains of your sanity. But also to finally talk to the girls. Somewhere at the periphery of your attention, you could feel their gazes boring holes into your head. Always so attentive and curious, you doubted your manic grin would escape their attention. Unfortunately.

You did not have to wait long for the proverbial penny to drop.

“Who’s that smile for?” the sweetness in Jemima’s tone made you frown as you pocketed the phone and forced yourself to meet her searching gaze.

The girl was a fantastic friend, someone you and the other soloists could depend on whether to borrow an emergency pad or ask for help during rehearsals. But, as you already knew too well, she was also nosy. And ever since you introduced Neil to the squad those two weeks ago, another interrogation was hanging over your head. Now, the time has run out.

“No one particular, Jem,” forcing your angelic smile to reappear, you leaned back in the chair by your dressing table and started rummaging through the make-up bag without looking for anything.

You were not willing to make this easy. To embarrass yourself in front of the girls without a fight or even an attempt at pretending nothing was happening. Never in a million years.

“That sounds like an avoidance to me” Jemima’s voice did not lose a dose of its confidence as she arched an eyebrow and moved closer to your desk to corner you.

Verbally and physically. And your patience was running thin. Stifling a curse, you swivelled on the chair to look at the woman and replied:

“That’s your problem” aiming for a sassy rebuttal, you shot her a saccharine smile and turned back towards the mirror.

The glaring lack of arguments you could offer had to be ignored. However, you were painfully aware that it would not be. Not with them.

As if she could hear your internal crisis unfolding, Grace stood up from her chair, where she acted out the impassioned audience role and joined you on the opposite side, leaning over your shoulder like a keen angel of inconvenience. Her long blonde hair brushed over your collarbone as she met your glare through the mirror and added her part:

“Jem has a point, though. You’ve been somewhat more… cheery recently” as though driven to make you seethe with anger, Grace lifted the corner of your mouth into a caricature of a smile. You swatted her hand away and let out a groan, barely resisting the urge to storm out of there. You knew it would be pointless, only prolonging the questioning until the next opportune moment, “Is that Neil’s doing?” she innocently batted her eyelashes in the face of your ire.

There it was. A collective gasp from the other girls made you roll your eyes as you considered the options. Utter denial of Neil’s existence was now off the table. Sighing, you steeled your spine and decided to lay it all out. The official version. The one you maintained with everyone involved, including yourself.

“Well, we are still friends if that’s what you’re asking. And we might’ve fucked once or twice” the crude addition did what you needed it to as you took note of the resounding gasp, followed by giggles and knowing smiles from your ever-persistent audience.

You hoped it would be enough to stop the questions. If needed, you were willing to impart the knowledge of just how good Neil was at sex. Or how driven he was to make you come each time. That should do the trick.

But before you could even open your mouth to share the dirty details, Jemima patted your shoulder almost protectively and spoke:

“Good for you” worst of all, you could tell she meant it. She was happy you had Neil in whatever capacity you did. You forced your heart not to soften and went back to mindlessly sorting through the make-up. Soon, she proved you right, yet again, “Does that mean you’ve gotten over your little hang-up?” although the question could not have been any less straightforward, something about how she asked made your attention prick up.

Despite your wish to at least appear unbothered, you raised your head and turned towards the woman with an arched eyebrow at a ready:

“What do you mean?” the glare in your eyes was there to assure Jemima that your guard was still up.

That she had not succeeded. And never would.

You stared into her hazel-green eyes as the woman contemplated the pros and cons of risking your fury. Although you had a couple of guesses towards where it was going, you still did not anticipate the question that broke the tense silence next:

“Have you finally joined the club of losers in love?” you certainly did not like the knowing look in her eyes, paired with a soft smile, suggesting that (somehow) Jemima could see into the depths of your heart and soul.

She saw all the ugliness and the fears and was willing to address things you never even dared think of. It terrified you, and you had to look away before she saw too much. Swallowing hard, you turned back towards the mirror and scoffed, falling back on the familiar. It has not disappointed you yet.

“No, of course not” it was easy to throw the assumption back at her as if it was the most ridiculous thing you had heard. It was nonsensical, “You know me. Love doesn’t exist in my book. I’m not willing to fool myself into thinking it could be real. I’m not delusional” the edges of ire crept into your tone, making you spit out the words with more vehemence than necessary.

As soon as your tirade ended, regrets set in. They were strengthened by the sudden silence from the group, taken aback by your reaction. Covering your face with your palms, you hunched over the dressing table and sighed heavily.

“Harsh, love. But you do you” you felt the coolness of her touch as Jemima squeezed your shoulder and left your side, finally offering merciful respite.

One look at her through the mirror told you all the savage words were forgiven. You did not have to atone. But that did not mean you were not already plotting ways to make it up to them. Chocolates and coffee seemed like the best choices at present.

Before you could decide, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you took it out to look at the screen. Another text from Neil.

/✝️, 1:27 pm/ Do you want to visit the church tomorrow?

/✝️, 1:27 pm/ I figured it’s time you uncovered the greatest secret of my existence.

/ 🏹, 1:28 pm/ Oh, fuck yes.

/ 🏹, 1:28 pm/ Where do we meet?

/✝️, 1:28 pm/ Canary Wharf station. Where we kissed that one morning. Be there sharp at 9 am.

/ 🏹, 1:29 pm/ You know it, babes.

And just like that, your mood has lifted.

No, you were not willing to understand that either.

#neil tenet #tenet movie #tenet #tenet 2020 #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x you #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson imagine #deadlines & commitments

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chanswifey · 3 years ago

Text

"Is it true?"

Prompts #22, #26, and #27 | friends to lovers

Bang Chan x gn!reader

author's note: 2 prompts in 2 days??? I can't recognize myself anymore lmao 🤣 , anyways, I had fun with this one and I hope you guys like it, especially the one who requested 🥰 also quick warning ⚠ there are brief mentions of alcohol.

chanswifey©

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"Are you really blind enough not to see the sparkles in his eyes when he's staring at you?"

The words hit you like a wave, and suddenly you could not breathe, you felt yourself float like you were underwater. You looked at him, laughing and having fun with his friends, his hand on the girl's lower back. Your eyes met his for a second, and he smiled at you, but you were too immersed in your feelings to be able to return the gesture.

"Why did he never say anything?" You asked your friend.

"I don't know, maybe he feared you would reject him and end up ruining things with you. You are clearly very important to him if he thinks it's better to move on than lose you". The girl sitting by your side answered. "I don't think he would ever have said anything if he wasn't drunk"

You met Chan about four years ago, you worked at a coffee shop part-time and he was a regular customer there. Whenever he would come around he would wait for you to take his order and would chat with you, sometimes he would sit at one of the tables and work there until it was almost time to close but you didnt get to truly know him until one night while hanging out with friends, one of them introduced him to the rest of the group.

The two of you then got much closer, he was the first to text you every morning, and the last one you would talk to before bed but it never occurred to you it was because he was interested in you. You did have some feelings for him, but you never let it grow past friendship, especially since you heard he was going out with someone else, you also didn't want to come up between him as his job, you knew how busy he was since it was you that talked to him until the ungodly hours of the night almost every night to keep each other company when you had trouble sleeping and he happened to have a deadline to meet.

"I heard they are having problems" your friend's voice made you snap back into reality. "I don't think she realized how demanding the industry is"

"I guess..." Was all you managed to say.

"You should talk to him" your friend suggested before getting up and leaving you alone to talk to someone else.

It was your friends birthday and everyone had gathered at his house to have some drinks, the entire night you kept stealing glances at the boy, you started to notice how distant he was from the girl, and how unsatisfied she was with the whole situation, looking like she wanted to leave.

Some hours passed and you tried to have fun while trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, you had been doing a great job so far until you spotted him leaving the party following the girl, the pair didn't look like they were on good terms anymore, worried about him, you decided to follow them.

He had walked the girl outside and both of you watched as she entered the taxi, once the car left you approached him.

"Are you okay?" You asked, standing by his side.

"Yeah, I'm good, I guess..." He answered without looking at you " I guess it wasn't supposed to be... It may sound rude but... she wasn't the one I loved anyway"

He walked back as if to enter the house again, but he stopped at the steps and sat down, you decided to do the same and both of you stayed in silence for a moment. After a few seconds, you gathered enough courage to ask.

"Is it true?"

He looked a bit confused at first and you started to wonder if the confession was just something he said while drunk. He let out a smile.

"Your friend told you, I assume?" He kept gazing at the sky, his face a bit red from the alcohol.

"Is it?" You insisted.

"Sometimes I allow myself to imagine a future where we are together" he started, his eyes still looking up. "A future where I can hold your hand and bring you closer and when I'd smile at you, you'd call me 'love'... A future where I am more than a friend"

"Then why you never say anything?" You said sounding a bit angry.

"Would it have made a difference?" He asks, his eyes finally meeting yours.

You pondered for a second before leaning in for a kiss, "yes, it would" you whispered. On his face, a surprised look appears.

"Did you just..." He stutters. "Wait, you love me?"

You laugh at his response.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" He asks.

"I should have said something too."

This time, he is the one that leans in for the kiss.

prompt list | masterlist | request here | what I write

#bang chan imagine #bang chan headcanons #bang chan headcanon #bang chan imagines #bang chan #anon request #prompt request #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids headcanon #stray kids #skz imagines #skz headcanon #skz imagine #skz headcanons #skz scenarios #skz #bang chan scenarios

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cuddlepilefics · 3 years ago

Text

Migraine

Fandom: GOT7

Sickie: Mark

Caregiver: Jackson & Jinyoung

Prompt: @sicktember

No one’s POV.:

Being the quietest member certainly had its perks, Mark realized when he woke up feeling off. He didn’t know what exactly was wrong, so he didn’t want to worry his friends. Throughout breakfast, the oldest had been quiet but nobody thought much of it, as he was always quiet. What Mark didn’t know was that his roommate had noticed. Jackson knew the older very well, as you do after living together for years. He could tell his hyung wasn’t feeling himself, though he couldn’t tell exactly what was wrong or what had given it away. It was more like a gut-feeling, that something wasn’t right. Jackson was relieved that they’d spend the entire day at the studio because he couldn’t imagine Mark would be up for dancing today. They’d have a lot of recording to do, which wasn’t too stressful and consisted mainly of revising lyrics and waiting for their turn to record. Maybe the oldest could take a nap until he had to record and would be fine with just a little more rest. Going back to their room to get ready to head out, Jackson got only more worried. It was his hyung’s clothing choice that stuck out to Jackson like a red flag. Mark had that extremely old and washed-out hoodie, which he had brought from the US when he first came to Korea to train. By now, it was far from fashionable and served more as a comfort item, which the rapper usually wore when he didn’t feel well or was home-sick. Him putting it on now, confirmed the younger’s suspicions.

“Hyung, are you feeling alright?”, Jackson asked, barely stopping the older from leaving their shared room. Mark turned around and looked at him confused, muttering: “Sure, why?” – "You’re wearing that hoodie. You always wear it when you don’t feel good”, Jackson pointed out. Glancing down his outfit, the oldest realized that his dongsaeng was right. He just hadn’t expected anyone to pick up on it. Shrugging, he replied: “I feel a bit off, maybe didn’t sleep enough.” Jackson nodded, not fully buying it but following his hyung to the living room anyway. They waited for everyone else to finish up and then headed out together. During their drive to the studio, Mark started to question himself. Jackson’s comment had sparked his worry. He hadn’t put on that hoodie deliberately, it had just happened on top of already feeling weird. What was going on with him? Being so deep in thought, he didn’t even notice how they pulled up in front of the company building. “Are you coming, hyung?”, Jaebeom’s voice startled him from his thoughts and Mark nodded quickly, wincing when the fast movement caused his head to ache. He quickly climbed out of the vehicle, stumbling a bit before he was able to get his footing. Watching him stumble, Jackson linked their arms and walked him up to their studio. The older couldn’t help but be flustered. He felt fine, right? He didn’t need help to walk.

Jackson was the first one to record with Jaebeom as the producer, so Mark sat with the rest of the members, revising his lyrics and warming up his voice. The headache he had gotten from nodding his head to fast earlier was still lingering, so he decided his voice was warmed up enough and quietly sat there, reading over his lyrics. Or rather, pretending to read over his lyrics as they were blurring together in front of his eyes. The rapper winced, massaging his temples. Maybe that was why he had been feeling off. He carefully reached for his water bottle and took a few sips before going back to revising. The headache only increased the longer he looked at the small-print, so he closed his eyes for a few seconds, quickly opening them again as he felt the room spinning. It took Mark a while to put the pieces together. Every now and again, he suffered from migraines and this felt like the beginning of one. The odd feeling this morning, the ache from moving too fast and the dizziness. It all made sense now. From this point on, Mark knew it would only get worse as the day progressed but what could he do about it? They had deadlines for their new album and he didn’t want to hold them back. He had to record now because they had a too tight schedule to postpone his recording. Anxiously glancing towards the recording booth, the rapper made up his mind. As soon as Jackson would be done, he’d convince the others to let him record next. He should get it over with as soon as possible before getting too useless and miserable later.

Mark tried to speak up when Jackson exited the recording booth but for some reason, he felt frozen in his spot. Jinyoung went in to record next as the oldest sat motionlessly in his seat. “You okay?”, Jackson mouthed, sitting down next to him and nudging his shoulder to get his attention. The older nodded before realizing his mistake and scrunching his face up in pain at the movement. Jackson obviously didn’t believe him after that, pulling out his phone to text Mark that he looked awful and was acting far from okay. Knowing he couldn’t look at his bright phone screen, Mark leaned closer to his dongsaeng and whispered barely audible: “’m developing a migraine.” He could see shock and understanding flash across the younger’s face within a split second before Jackson replied as quietly: “How bad is it yet and when did it start?” – “Started when I got out of the car and it’s not too bad yet. My head hurts but it’s bearable and my stomach’s starting to churn a bit”, Mark answered truthfully, aware that the younger would immediately assume the worst if he didn’t. "Do you want some water and do you have your medicine with you?”, Jackson worried. Closing his eyes, the oldest hummed: “Already had lots of water, my meds are at home.” He knew that he was supposed to take his medication with him for situations like this but somehow, he had forgotten and didn’t find the energy to scold himself for it now. He kept his eyes closed, as Jackson wordlessly started to massage his neck, helping him to relax.

When Jinyoung exited the recording booth, Jackson was quick to speak up, announcing that Mark was going next. He had taken care of the older on similar occasions before and was well aware that his hyung would only be getting worse from, especially without his migraine medication. Mark shot him a grateful smile before forcing himself up from the couch. He swayed dangerously for a moment before making his way into the recording booth on wobbly legs. His vision blurred as the rapper stood behind the mic. Just standing on his own two feet had made the pain a lot worse, the pounding being all Mark could focus on. He knew he couldn’t put anymore pressure on his head if he didn’t want it to explode but reached for the headphones anyway. His hands shook as he put them on painfully slow. He had torn them off again in barely half the time he had needed to put them on, crying in pain as he fell to his knees. His head spun and his stomach churned. At first, he didn’t even notice the hand on his back, which later turned out to belong to Jackson, who had barged into the booth the second Mark had cried out. He had kept a closer eye on his hyung ever since he admitted to suffering from another migraine.

The members felt helpless as their oldest cried in pain on the floor of the recording booth. Jackson held him, soothingly rubbing his back, but was unable to provide enough comfort. By the way Mark clutched his head, they knew he had a migraine, having witnessed it a couple of times over the course of their career, so Jinyoung turned off the lights and quietly approached the pair with a bottle of water. “Hyung, do you think you can stomach some water?”, he asked carefully. The older replied tensely: “I-I need to be sick.” Quickly scooping him up, Jackson tried to get to the bathroom as fast as possible without jostling his sick hyung too much. Mark had already turned a few shades paler by the time they made it there and relied on the younger’s support to keep himself upright in front of the toilet. His stomach lurched, causing him to pitch forward, and he was grateful for Jackson’s strong arm steadying him. The younger couldn’t help but feel his heart break at his hyung’s pained groans in between the heaves. It didn’t help that Mark had barely eaten anything during breakfast, so after all the water was out, he struggled to bring anything up. He was surprised his head was still in one piece as it felt like exploding over and over again from the strain. After what felt like an eternity, the heaves slowly tapered and Mark weakly slumped back against Jackson’s chest, who tightened his hold on the older. The younger gently brushed his hyung’s sweaty hair out of his eyes before reaching for some toilet paper to clean him up.

“Are you ready to go home now?”, Jackson asked quietly. He only knew that Mark was still awake because his face was contorted in pain. Tearing up, the older whimpered: “I-I can’t go home. We have deadlines.” – “Hyung, you won’t be able to record like this anyway. You look like a corpse and I’m afraid you might become one if you don’t rest soon”, Jackson retorted, “I finished already, I can take you home. Doesn’t your bed sound really tempting, right now?” – “It does”, Mark had to admit hoarsely. Still shaky on his legs, he allowed his dongsaeng to pull him to his feet and onto his back. Trying to keep his steps light, Jackson carried him back to the studio, so they could inform the others about leaving. “I’ll come with you, I’m done already too”, Jinyoung announced, collecting their belongings while Jaebeom called them a driver. Mark kept his eyes closed through all of it, reminding himself that gritting his teeth would only make the pain worse. Suddenly there was a gently hand on his head, stroking his hair, and he heard Jaebeom’s voice close to his ear. “Get some rest and don’t worry about our deadlines, I’ll reschedule the recording for you”, the leader hummed softly. Mark replied with a sleepy: “Thanks.” Then he felt Jackson move and Jinyoung instructed: “Keep your eyes closed, we’re almost outside and it’s rather sunny.” It wasn’t like Mark had any motivation to open his eyes anyway, so he let his dongsaeng’s take him to the car. Jinyoung got in first and helped Mark find his seat too. While he buckled the oldest’s seatbelt, Jackson got in on the other side, buckling himself up too before adjusting the air conditioning.

They spent the ride in silence with Mark resting on Jinyoung’s shoulder and Jackson holding his hand for emotional support. The older was so out of it that he didn’t pay any attention to the other two distributing tasks as they pulled up in front of their dorm building. Jinyoung unbuckled their seatbelts before going ahead to the dorm to let the other two in and Jackson helped the dizzy Mark out of the vehicle and onto his back again. They made their way to the dorm much slower than their dongsaeng, who took off Mark’s shoes while Jackson struggled out of his. He then carried the oldest straight to their room and lowered him on his bed. “Shorts or sweatpants?”, he hummed, opening his hyung’s closet. Peeling himself out of his jeans, Mark muttered: “Shorts please.” He changed with some difficulties before laying down and pulling his pillow over his head. While Jackson closed the blinds, Jinyoung came in with a bucket, some water and his hyung’s migraine medication. “Hyung, can you sit up for a moment? I’ve got your meds”, the vocalist whispered, gently removing the pillow. Before even trying to sit up, the older warned: “I-I might need to be sick again.” – “That’s okay, I brought a bucket but try to keep the pills in as long as possible”, Jinyoung assured, helping his hyung to sit up. Mark downed the pills with only a few small sips of water, afraid they’d come right back up. Jackson had ventured into the kitchen and collected two icepacks, while his dongsaeng helped Mark get under the blanket properly. “Wait”, he hummed lowly, returning to their room, “Lay your head on my lap.” Sitting down against the wall close to the headboard, Jackson settled the older’s head on his thigh and gently slipped one icepack under his neck before placing the other on his forehead. “Alright, you can go to sleep now, hyung”, the younger rapper smiled, playing with Mark’s hair. Jinyoung sat down on Jackson’s bed, whispering: “I hope you feel better when you wake up.”

#got7 #fanfic #fanfiction #sick #sickfic #sicktember2021 #fluff #comfort #markson

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

Text

Good Day!

As I told earlier, I finished my Soap x Reader Fic and yeah here it is.

I suck at titles and that shows.

Midnight Coffee Rush

John MacTavish x Female Reader

Warnings : Smut. Read at your own Risk or whatever.

Cross-posting to AO3 later 😳

THUD!

You softly slam your head on the desk as you stare blankly at the blinking cursor on your laptop. An article is due next week and you haven't really started on anything yet. Your editor keeps on calling you earlier today on how she can't work on last minute submissions. You assured her that yours won't need that much editing and she trusts you with that, but still, a deadlines a deadline.

Scanning your empty apartment room for ideas, you decide it's best if you take this ordeal outside and look for open places to work on. Coincidentally, the local café "John's brew" happens to open for 24 hours starting today. You feel uneasy at the name of the shop but that won't stop you from your goals today.

After a chilly midnight walk across the streets of your city, you finally make it to the shop, it looks like it can compete with the local Starbucks as its outer layout gives off the same vibe.

You push open the glass doors and the bell chimes from above you, this made the barista at the counter turn his head and greet you with a friendly smile. "Welcome to John's Brew!"

You stand just across the counter as you look up to view what the store has to offer while the barista waits patiently for your order. You order some fancy named coffee, wanting to try out why it has a star next to it's name as the barista, who now you know goes by the name "Gary" based on his name tag, explains that it's their best selling and unique blend coffee. He then passionately tells you how the coffee you chose is created by the owner of the shop and judging by the tone of his voice, he's excited for you to try it for the first time.

"Thanks Gary, here's my card." you reach out for your card and he cheerfully accepts it.

"What name should this go by, Ms. L/N?" he asks readying his marker.

"Just Y/N." you say. Gary raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"Sorry, I'm sure I heard that name somewhere." he dismisses his thoughts and writes your name on the cup.

"We'll you're a barista, I'm sure you've heard a lot of names in your line of work." you jokingly reply. It made him laugh as he gives your card back and you make your way to the corner of the room.

The music is soothing and the ambience is more than enough to keep you going, you pull out your laptop as you start typing ideas for your article.

Gary took the liberty of delivering you your drink saying "You looked very focused" and "There isn't that much customers anyway" and you smiled at the service he's done. He stays for a while insisting that he wants to witness your initial reaction as soon as you taste the coffee. So you slowly blow off the heat and took your first sip.

Your eyebrows raised and your cheeks blushed as the warm beverage tickles your tastebuds a wave of nostalgia brings shivers down your spine.

***

"So, what do you think of this?" A shirtless man with a signature mohawk and scar on his left eye approaches you just as you get up of bed. You remember smiling at the view, his deep blue eyes pierce through yours as he excitedly offers a cup of coffee he claims to mix himself.

"Mmm! This tastes, well... something even I can't describe! It's good? delicious? heavenly maybe?" You giggle as he inches closer to you crawling up the bed and reaching on your face for a kiss, blindly reaching for the cup and putting in on the bedside table.

"Not even the words from your thesaurus can't describe?" He whispers as he pulls the kiss away, eyebrows wiggling. Your heart melts at the sight of him.

"I'll tell you the perfect word when I find it." You giggle as you reach for his face and pull him to yours, as he softly crashes his body on you, rolling around the bed.

***

"Maam?" Gary taps your shoulder and you immediately flinch and turn to him.

"I'm sorry." you laugh nervously.

"It felt like you had a good time going on with that drink. We're having a contest as to which word best describes it. If you want to submit your word, I'll leave this pen and sticky note on your table." he cheerfully explains as the door chimes, making him rush back to his counter.

Shit. You thought to yourself. Of course it had to taste the same, even the name of the shop checks out. Your heart starts to thump louder and louder as you put the pieces together, you convince yourself it's just the coffee, but then again the evidences never lie. John's Brew, that exact taste, no word yet to describe it.

You flinched as you turn to the heavy door slam to your left, just by the counter. A man, walks out of it wearing a very fit long sleeve tucked into business pants, you assume it's the manager. Then again, you see him scratching his head, which happens to have a rather unique haircut. A mohawk. Holy Shit.

***

'Congratulations Ms. Y/N L/N! You have been accepted on the writer program. Please report tomorrow for your orientation.'

The text read just as you wake up. Your face lit up in excitement as you squealed like a kid. Your life would change for the better.

A very wet John MacTavish popped out of the bathroom, his face was full of worry as he quickly wrapped himself with a towel.

"What's wrong?! Something out to get ya?" He asked, a bar of soap on is arms ready to throw to the intruder.

"I just got accepted!" you squealed excitedly at him, hugged him thight not minding how wet he was. He slowly wrapped his arms around you and you felt that you're the only one excited about this news.

"Congrats. But what about your life here? What about me?" he muttered, his facial expressions dropped.

"I'm sure we'll work it out? It isn't that far, right?"

"I'm sure we'll work it out"

"Not now John, I have articles due."

"I'm too exhausted for today, John"

"I'm sorry. I fell asleep."

***

The loud growl of your stomach shocked you back to reality. Come to think of it, it's already 2 in the morning and you're almost through with your article. A muffin won't be that much of a distraction. You turn to the counter and see John catering to a lady on a bright red dress. She probably came from a club and now trying to sober up with a coffee. You pretend to type on your keyboard but secretly view the event from the corner of your eye. They are laughing and he escorted her as she is walking tipsily to the sofa. They exchange some words you barely make out and can't help but feel rage bubbling inside you. But then again, you don't have the slightest audacity to do so. You slowly ignored him while focusing on your job. You left his messages on read and calls on voicemail. You feel guilt rushing through you. Out of impulsive emotions, you quickly decide to finish the article home as you grab your laptop and coffee and rush to the exit.

"Ma'am! You left your sticky note." John's voice echoes across the shop. This made the few notable customers look at the both of us in curiosity.

You slowly turn back to him leaning on the counter, his elbows resting on the counter looking at you, he knows what he's up to. You remember telling him to stop flexing his biceps in front of you in public. It's kind of an inside joke for the two of you and he seems to remember it all too well.

"Your word. For the contest." he points out to the bulletin board of sticky notes on the other side of the hall.

"I... can't think of anything yet..." you stammer as you exit the door, walking as fast as you can away from him.

"Y/N, wait!" he quickly grabs your arm. You almost expect that he'd do this even after all those times.

"John I-" you quicky turn to him, hot tears start forming on your eyes as he pulls you close to his warm embrace.

"Yeah. You've been very busy... I know." He mutters as you sniffle on his chest, smelling his musk that never changed even after all these months.

"Congratulations on your most recent award, you know. Article of the month, and the month before that and that one time you wrote about the wildlife in Africa..." he trails off while rubbing your back as more tears fell from your eyes. He'd been watching your career grow, even after all this time. It somehow feels you don't deserve him. And you believe you really don't.

Pulling away, you looked at him with a smile.

"I'm sorry..." you croak.

"Why are you sorry, Y/N? You met someone else out there?" he asks. Then again, you both didn't really have a proper conclusion to your relationship. You initially felt like you were slowly drifting away from each other as your careers grew, but here he is, having the same sparkle in his eyes as when you last saw each other.

"No... but, it's been very long and I have been ignoring you... breaking my promi-" He suddenly pulls you close and kisses your lips, you deny him at first but you slowly grip his arms and let him have access to your mouth.

Longing is the only feeling you both feel right now as you slowly kiss back and respond to his mouth. His kiss gives you assurance that even after all this time he yearns for you to come back, his assurance that you did what you had to do to get where you are now even at the cost of completely shutting him out. But of course you weren't, you also long for him every single day, but life has to keep going, and you believed that he'd found someone else after all those times. But this moment made you feel wrong about him, and it's now your chance to get things right between the two of you.

"You know, I always assumed you're still my girlfriend." he smirks. He is true though, there was neither a formal nor informal break up effort on both sides, just indifference due to many reasons.

"Well, I assumed you looked for someone else... and I'm to shy to ask how things have been..." you croak, trying not to cry again. You realize your stupidity once more, but he wipes off your tear with his thumb and lifts your chin up to look at him.

"You still owe me a word, you know." he jokes as he walks you back to the cafe, arm wrapped around your shoulder. As soon as you both enter the door, Gary greets his boss while mopping the floor.

"You were right boss, she is pretty!" The barista smiles and gives John a thumbs up to which he replies,

"Guess I'll be back in my office doing paperwork, Gary. You take charge here okay?"

"Yes, Captain!" he jokingly salutes and continues his work.

"You done with that article?" he asks, a tone of concern in his voice.

"Almost.." you reply shyly. You still can't digest everything that happened so far, but your heart keeps on thumping and your mind's been trying to scream something to you.

"You know, I could use some company while I do some paperwork..." the trails off, the tone in his voice shifted into something you felt excited about. Something along those words mixed with that accent sends flutters across your insides.

"If you'd want me to..." you reply as he opens his office door letting you in. It was a small office a sofa just beside the door, two chairs infront of a large office desk filled with scattered papers, ledgers and journals. He quickly folds his laptop and puts it in his bag as you take off your coat, admiring the view. Plaques, certificates and awards plaster across the walls, along with pictures of his staff calendar schedules and some other things scribbled across the whiteboard. He offers his hand and you give him your coat, only to be pinned to the door.

"God, I missed you so fucking much." He breathes as you stare at his cold blue eyes blazing with desire, you know full well where this is going and you have no objections. You wished for this to happen as soon as your plane touched the city.

Unable to form any words, you quickly pucker your lips, signaling him to move closer and kiss you. Now that you're both alone, his kisses felt much more intimate, needier and his tongue explored every possible area he could. You hear the door lock itself and his hand slowly caresses your ass through the tight jeans you're wearing, pressing himself so you could feel the tension growing beneath his slacks. You slowly slide your hand through it and earned yourself a chuckle from him, as he moves his lips below your ear and around your neck, hearing each smack of his lip and sniff of his nose.

You let out a soft moan as you feel overwhelmed on what he does to your body, you couldn't focus on what's going on, your hands rubbing his hard crotch, his hands softly caressing your ass or his mouth doing wonders around your neck. He continues to do this until your pants and whines become erratic and fast and stops just at the right time for you to catch your breath.

You open your eyes to him, who seems to be enjoying your reunion, a sexy smirk across his face. You let out a smile whist still panting, and he seems to like what he sees, letting a soft chuckle.

"I remember that look on you. You're up to something.." He recalls as you push him to the sofa to his side, straddling on his crotch as you unbutton his long sleeves.

He grunts as soon as he plops on the sofa and groans as soon as you slowly wiggle your ass on top of him. You could clearly see the building frustration in his face as well as in his jeans.

You quickly undone seven buttons as he quickly tosses it somewhere and viewed his muscular physique as you sit on him. He became hairier and you find it very sexy, trailing your hand down his body, all while staring at him as seductive as you can. He smiles at the gesture as you slowly unbutton your shirt, never breaking eye contact, until he can't resist anymore and got up from the sofa. He lifts you down and you stand on the floor as he works your way to slide off your jeans. He quickly buried his face on your pussy as soon as he sees it and devours it like a hungry wolf. He never dissappoints as the feeling made you shudder, grabbing onto what's left of his hair in excitement. This goes on up until you softly pull his head out and move to unbuckle his belt, sliding his slacks all the way down as his cock springs free as soon as you take his boxers off.

You stare at him as you slowly jerk your hand around his cock, his eyes almost in a trance, as you teasingly kiss the tip, which was slowly oozing of precum. He grabs your hair and tucks it behind your ear as you slowly swallow his cock, giving him a blowjob that you've always imagined of giving him when you meet again. You're tongue slowly swirling around his length, feeling every vein and skin around it. You countinued mixing it up with your hand and mouth until he groans in anticipation and pulls you out of him.

He slowly gets up and shoves all his paperwork away from his desk and carries you to it, spreading your legs as he slowly pushes his tip on your opening.

You whimper at the first entrance, it felt different than usual, maybe because it's been quite a while since you to have done it, but that didn't stop the both of you from continuing. His eyes mesmerize you as he slowly picks up his rhythm, you can see his chest muscles bounce as he thrusts himself deep in you. He slowly rubs the upper area of your pussy as he thrusts, giving you a sensation that makes you wanna scream in pleasure. But given the circumstances, you only let out small gasps and whimpers. However, his grunts and moans are also getting louder, so you decide to let loose and follow his volume.

"Fuck." You whimper as he continues his fast pace as evidenced by the loud slapping noises. He quickly flips you to the desk and continues to fuck you from behind. Each thrust felt like the desk is inching closer to the wall, you didn't protest as you loved the sensation, how your walls clench as his warm cock slides in and out of you. You feel his motions change and you know full well what that means, you moan softly signaling him thay you're also almost there as he makes his final thrusts and shoots his warm load inside you, feeling the rush of his cum drip as he pulls his cock out.

He pulls you up and reaches for a kiss, a long yet intimate one as you both use the language of kiss to assure that you'll still be the same way no matter how distant it may be.

"See you after my shift?" he murmurs as he puts on his clothes, now all wrinkly and messy.

"Yes." you smile reaching for another kiss.

After preparing to go home, you quickly grab a pen and wrote the word you describe the drink, plaster it on the board and make your way out of the café.

#horRAYfic #codmw #Soap x Reader #john soap mactavish

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years ago

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to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 2/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn’t know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he’s glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he’s been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can’t figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn’t trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: blood and injury, Remus being mildly unsettling

Chapter Word Count: 5,074

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 1) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

They don’t talk about it.

Thomas would very much like to talk about it. But whenever he goes to bring it up, Janus glares at him in a way that promises a world of trouble if he so much as breathes a word, and Thomas really does not want to set back any of the progress he’s already made with him, so he shuts up about it. He’s not entirely sure why Janus is so opposed to addressing it; it can’t be that he doesn’t want the others to know, after all, because all the others are literally parts of Thomas and as such are privy to the knowledge of everything that Thomas experiences.

As best as Thomas can tell, it’s some sort of embarrassment that holds Janus back, some sort of shame, and Thomas doesn’t get it. Surely he knows that Thomas doesn’t mind at all, that Thomas enjoys the time they spend together, even if their conversations are far more one-sided than he would like. Janus seems to be under the impression that coming to him at all is in some way unseemly, while Thomas just wants him to be comfortable enough to approach him as a human.

But as more time passes, that seems less and less likely. Thomas spends far more time with snake-Janus than with human-Janus, and Janus begins to come with him even when the sun shines bright and his spot by the window is available. Thomas becomes quite familiar with carrying a weight looped around his neck, and wishes he could puzzle out why Janus is acting this way.

The worst part is that with every passing day, he feels like he understands Janus less, not more. Because the way he acts during meetings and discussions, when he pops in to offer opinions and advice masked as sarcasm and cutting quips, is entirely different to the way he acts as a snake, when he and Thomas are alone together, when he leans into all the contact Thomas has to offer, seeking warmth, and, Thomas suspects, company. It’s almost as if he’s dealing with two entirely different people, each one unwilling or unable to discuss the other, and frankly, Thomas has no idea what to do about it.

Because he’s worried that if he pushes too hard, demands one answer too many, Janus will stop approaching him at all, in any form. And that is the last thing he wants.

So, he leaves it be, and resigns himself to the idea that human-Janus may just remain incomprehensible to him, and that snake-Janus is the closest he will get to making a friend out of him. And if that turns out to be the case, then gosh darn it, he will be the best friend to snake-Janus that he possibly can be.

This has the side effect of leading him to a snake-centric fact-finding mission, which Logan appreciates, at least, because “even if the information may not be applicable to most aspects of your life, at least you’re learning something, Thomas.” Which he supposes is fair. He learns a great many things about snakes over the course of a few days, most of it interesting, if not particularly relevant. He doesn’t know how much of this actually applies to Janus, since he’s not a real snake.

Though he does find out that snakes don’t have eyelids. That would explain the whole no-blinking thing.

Other than his impromptu investigations, they fall into an equilibrium fairly easily. Janus will seek him out at all hours of the day and wrap himself around his arm or neck, sometimes staying awake and aware and sometimes drifting off into sleep. And when he’s fed up with the company, he leaves, disappearing with neither warning nor fanfare. Thomas settles into this new routine with little effort, and decides that if this is all he’s going to get from Janus, he’ll take it.

He gets used to it, so much so that he stops looking every time he feels Janus curl around him. This turns out to be a mistake.

He’s procrastinating, as per usual. His deadline is a full week away, and even Virgil has been unable to provide the urgency that Thomas needs to push through and finish his latest project. He knows that this will only end badly, that he’s going to end up staying up until the early hours of the morning in a few days if he doesn’t get started now, but he simply doesn’t feel like it. So, he’s scrolling through Amazon instead, clicking through pages of items that he neither needs nor particularly wants.

He’s been looking at a lot of frogs, lately. Cute, decorative frogs, the kinds that sit on mantles and don’t do much of anything. And plushies, too, and those are actually tempting. He’s pretty sure that it’s Patton’s influence.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding up his arm so that Janus can see the screen. Janus hisses quietly, and he laughs. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t have the money to spend on a bunch of decorative frogs, even if he had a strong inclination toward doing so, but it’s fun to look. He’s seriously considering a stuffed animal, but he’s pretty sure that Logan intends to talk him down from that, so there’s no real need to be concerned about it. Even if he ends up buying one after all, he thinks it would be worth it.

He glances down at Janus, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this at all, or if he’s just irritated. And that’s when he finally notices the blood.

He freezes up, his muscles tensing, and blinks hard, hoping that it’s a trick of the light, or that spending so many hours doing practically nothing has fried his brain at last. But no; Janus’ scales are dotted with rusty red, and Thomas traces the blood back to a long gash trailing down his side, sluggishly oozing, slowly dripping onto his arm. He stares for a long moment, his mind stalling, and he wonders if the scent of iron flooding his nose is real or imaginary. Or rather, real by a certain standard, since everything to do with his sides is technically imaginary, but oh god, why is he bleeding so much? He thought that his sides could wave off injuries, that nothing could truly affect them unless they wanted it to? Or is that just Logan? And then there’s the question of what did this to him in the first place, and how exactly he’s supposed to treat someone who’s a figment of his imagination, and whether or not any of the real medical supplies he has would work at all—

Focus, Thomas.

It’s like a whisper in his ear, gentle and firm. Logan’s voice. The world snaps into sharp clarity, mind and adrenaline working in tandem.

“Oh my god,” he says, and Janus’ head swivels to face him. The movement is slow, almost lethargic, as if he’s operating on a time delay. “You’re hurt. Okay. Well, not okay. But you’ll be okay.”

He has a first aid kit in the bathroom. He has no idea whether that will help or not, but he won’t know until he tries, as his logic helpfully points out. So the first order of business is to get to the bathroom. He stands, setting his laptop to the side, trying to jostle Janus as little as possible. Now that he’s paying attention, more and more details filter in; Janus’ grip on his arm is looser than usual, his eyes dull and glazed. His hat, usually so perfectly placed, is just slightly askew.

He makes it to the bathroom in short order, yanking the kit out from under the sink and nearly spilling its contents across the floor. He’ll need both hands for this, and he looks to Janus with no small amount of trepidation, wondering how well he’ll take being moved. He doesn’t want to cause him more pain than necessary, and he doesn’t know how aware he currently is, doesn’t know if he’ll lash out if he feels threatened. He gives him an experimental nudge, prodding at him with one finger, and Janus hisses, shifting his coils to hold on tighter.

“C’mon,” Thomas says. “You gotta let me help you, buddy.”

There is is again: buddy. He still doesn’t think it fits quite right, but it seems to slip out anyway, and now is hardly the time to worry about it, not when Janus still shows no sign of budging.

“Please, Janus,” he says, dangerously close to begging. “I promise, I’m not gonna let anything else happen to you, but you need to let me see where you’re hurt.”

Janus’ tongue flickers out, tasting the air, and his eyes seem to focus just a bit. One minute passes, and then another, and Thomas is about to try to remove him by force when finally, he lets go, slithering onto the counter, his motions hesitant and pained, softly hissing all the while. Blood begins to drip onto the sink, the sickening red smearing across the countertop.

“Thank you,” Thomas says, not bothering to hide his relief. “Okay, um, I’ve got bandages. And painkillers, if you want them… can snakes take painkillers?” He sets things out as he names them, slowing as he hits a snag. Not only does he not know if snakes can take painkillers, but he also doesn’t know if there are any other substances in here that would do more harm than good, or if there are any special steps he should take due to his scales, or the fact that he’s cold-blooded. In fact, he has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake, and the idea that he might end up making things worse is enough to send his anxiety ratcheting up a few notches.

Is he overthinking this? He might be overthinking this. But what if he’s not?

Try to remain calm. If you don’t know enough to work within this situation, change the situation.

Logan again, though he’s not sure how that’s supposed to help. He would change the situation if he could— heck, that’s what he’s trying to do— but if it were so simple as wishing this whole scenario away, he would have done it by now. He’s not sure how to—

Oh, wait. Change the situation, or change Janus’ situation?

He has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake. But Janus doesn’t have to be a snake.

He crouches down so that he’s on eye level with Janus, who is limp and unmoving on the sink counter, tracking his motions with clouded eyes. It’s not just the large gash, he realizes; that’s the worst of it, but there are several shallower cuts, all still open and bleeding, and he swallows hard.

“Okay, so, I don’t want to make things any worse,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Do you think you could turn back into a human for me? Just so that I know what I’m doing?”

Not that he knows much about treating humans either, but at least he’d know where to start. Perhaps if Janus’ injuries were less severe, he could work with them in this state, but that prominent gash looks deep and angry, probably about six inches long, wide and painful, rending scales apart and leaking dark blood and god, he is so afraid of making this worse—

Janus stares at him, and doesn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, because he is. He doesn’t know why Janus only initiates contact with him as a snake, doesn’t know why the very idea of deviating from that seems to disquiet him. Asking him to be human now, like this, almost seems wrong, like they’ll be breaking what understanding they do have between them, breaking the peace they’ve found with each other lately. But then, the peace is already broken, he thinks, has been broken since Janus showed up bleeding. “I know you probably don’t want to. But I want to make this better, and I don’t think I can if you’re uh, shaped like this. I… I guess I’m asking you to trust me.”

It’s a tall order, and he is well aware of that. Janus is Deceit, after all, and Deceit is practically the antithesis of trust. He’ll probably have to work with Janus as a snake after all, and he’s just resolving himself to do the best he can when Janus shifts in place, raising his head.

Thomas isn’t sure how to process what happens next. One part of his brain tells him that the change happens slowly, that Janus’ form stretches and morphs in impossible ways, scales fading away and features rearranging before his eyes. The other part of his brain insists that the shift is instantaneous, that it happens as quickly as blinking, that in one moment, there is a snake curled on the counter and in the next, there is a man, with no gradual transition between the two. But however it happens, Janus now sits in front of him, arms and legs all present, hunched in on himself and wheezing. One hand flies to his side, clutching at his shirt.

Thomas blinks. For a second, his mind fights with itself, trying to decide on what, exactly, he just watched. Then, he decides that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll have a crisis about it later, and that there are more important things to concentrate on.

He reaches out, placing a steadying hand on Janus’ shoulder. “Easy, easy,” he says, raising his voice to be audible over Janus’ gasps. “Are you okay?”

It takes a minute for Janus to get his breathing under control, and when he does, he looks up at Thomas, his expression pinched. “Just fine,” he rasps. “Absolutely perfect, can’t you tell?” His voice is strained, tension showing in the lines around his eyes and in the thin set of his mouth. “Really, Thomas, the fuss is hardly necessary. I—” He cuts off with a slight gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and Thomas feels his heart clench.

“Hm, yeah, no, I think I’ve got the right to fuss a little bit,” he says, hoping his voice stays level. He looks him up and down, searching for the injury, and finds nothing; his shirt appears immaculate, his whole outfit as perfectly assembled as usual, not a rip or tear in sight. If it weren’t for the pain on his face, the tremors wracking his frame, Thomas wouldn’t suspect that he was injured at all, and he frowns. “Can you, uh—” He gestures— “take off your shirt, maybe? So I can see where you’re hurt?”

Janus sighs heavily, as though the request has greatly burdened him. He waves one hand in the air, and his shirt and capelet vanish, revealing his bare torso. Under any other circumstance, Thomas might be fascinated by the scales that trail all along his chest and left arm, but right now, his attention centers on the gash bloodying his side, and the thinner scratches that cover him. They all look bigger than they were before, more serious, and he hopes that he didn’t make the wrong decision in requesting him to shift. If it had been a bad idea, he would have refused, right?

“God, Janus,” he says. “What happened?”

Janus sighs again, rolling his eyes. “A mishap in the Imagination,” he says. “Unfortunately, both Roman and Remus designed the place so that its effects stick around even after leaving.”

… Alright. That’s probably something to talk about later; he doesn’t particularly like the reminder that he has no idea how most of the mindscape works. “But I thought you could heal yourselves?” he can’t help but ask. He vividly remembers the day he met Remus, the way that none of his attacks seemed to affect Logan for more than a few seconds.

“We all can, to some degree,” Janus agrees. “It’s more difficult for some of us than it is for others.” He hesitates, and the next words come out slow and almost defensive. “I am capable of it, if I succeed in persuading myself that the problem doesn’t exist in the first place, but in order to do so, I need to sufficiently distance myself from any negative sensations that accompany the harm. I am… currently finding that difficult.” He glares. “I’ll mange perfectly well, given time. There is no need for any of this.” He waves an arm to punctuate the declaration, and it might have been somewhat convincing if it weren’t for the fact that he immediately curls in on himself, face paling, like he’s pulled something the wrong way.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Well, how about you let me help you anyway, just for my peace of mind?”

Janus stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Finally, he glances away. “Do what you wish,” he says. “If you want to waste time on this, be my guest.”

He hums noncommittally, already inspecting the wound. “I don’t think that taking care of you is a waste of time,” he says, fishing through the first aid kit. He comes up with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, looking up just in time to see what can only be an expression of shock fade from Janus’ face, and god, what must he be doing wrong if that is Janus’ reaction to being told that he cares about him? He can’t unpack that right now, or else he might cry, so he holds out the Tylenol instead. “Painkillers?”

Janus nods slightly, and takes two dry. From there, Thomas works in silence, cleaning the wounds as best he can and bandaging them. It takes longer than he expects, and he debates whether or not the long gash will need stitches. He decides not to make the attempt, trusting that what Janus says is true and that he will be able to heal before too long. So he wraps bandages around his torso, and Janus, for his part, remains perfectly still, staring straight ahead, an occasional soft hiss the only thing that betrays his discomfort.

“Okay,” he says quietly, inspecting his handiwork. “I think that’s the best I can do.”

Janus shoots him an unreadable look. “In that case,” he says, “I believe I’ll be going now.”

He hops down from the counter before Thomas can stop him, and his face crumples like a wet sheet of paper. Thomas catches him as his knees give out, hooking his hands under his arms. He is surprisingly light, his skin cool to the touch.

“How about we don’t do that, actually,” he says. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go to my room, and I can work and you can get some rest?”

Janus hisses, trying to jerk away. It’s not difficult to prevent him from doing so; he has all the strength of a floppy pool noodle. “Oh yes, because I’m in dire need of a babysitter,” he spits out, and perhaps Thomas should feel intimidated, but looking at him, at the way all the color has drained from his face, at the way his eyes have glazed over even as they dart around the bathroom, all Thomas can muster up is a deep worry.

“I’m not trying to babysit you,” he says. “Believe me, I know that you of all people don’t need babysitting. But if you try to sink out now, I’m just gonna be stressed out, so if you’d stick around for a little bit, I would really appreciate it.”

Janus stills. The silence stretches on.

“Fine,” Janus says. “Sure. Whatever.”

Thomas restrains himself from letting out a sigh of relief, instead adjusting his grip on Janus until he is only supporting part of his weight. From the look on his face, Janus wants very much to grumble about the indignity of the situation, but miraculously, he remains quiet all the way to Thomas’ room, though he begins to drag his feet when he sees what Thomas intends.

“If you want me to rest,” he says, “I am perfectly capable of doing so in my own room. There’s hardly a need for me to take up space in your bed.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, lowering him to sit on the bedsheets and doing his level best to ignore his glare, “but then I won’t know that you’re alright. Also, I don’t see what the big deal is? It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You were just, uh, snakier.”

He knows immediately that it is the wrong thing to say. Janus’ face sets into an impassive wall, and he looks away, refusing to make eye contact. Thomas can’t tell what he’s feeling, whether it’s anger or embarrassment or frustration or some stubborn combination of the three. But he settles himself against the headboard without further argument, seemingly determined not to carry on any further conversation, so Thomas resigns himself to the silent treatment and sets up with his laptop on the other side of the bed, several inches placed between them.

The atmosphere is awkward, heavy. They both know that Thomas wants to talk, and they both know that Janus will not reply, or if he does, it will be with sharp sarcasm or otherwise cutting words, an answer that will not answer anything at all. So Thomas doesn’t say anything, merely glances over every now and again to be sure that Janus is still there, is still fine, is still breathing. Every time, he is greeted with the same sight: Janus staring off into the empty space in front of him, face blank, a faint tightness around his eyes the only indication that he is still in pain. There is a wall between them, invisible yet insurmountable, and Thomas has no idea how to breach it.

Why does their relationship feel so off-kilter now? Why are things so natural between them when Janus is a snake, small and speechless and cuddly, and not when he is a human?

“I don’t mean to force you to stay,” he murmurs. “If you’re really that uncomfortable, it’s alright if you leave.”

He’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, and as such, he sees the wince, slight though it may be.

“It’s… not that,” Janus admits. “I am grateful for your concern, truly. I just… so love being in unfamiliar territory.” His voice is a quiet drawl, but laced with exhaustion, his words just shy of slurred together.

He takes a second to parse through the words, and then smiles. “Well, that makes two of us,” he says. “I’d be alright with muddling through together. And look, I know that most of the time, when we hang out, you’re a snake. And that’s fine! One hundred percent fine, if that’s what you’re most comfortable with! But uh, I really wouldn’t mind spending more time with you as, like, a person, too, if that makes sense. Not that you’re not a person when you’re a snake! Wait—” He furrows his brow, trying to untangle his words, and looks over, certain that Janus will at least be amused by his rambling.

He’s not. Because Janus is asleep, his chin resting against his chest and his hat about to fall into his lap. Thomas feels an inexorable sense of fondness sweep over him, and with a gentle movement, he reaches over to pluck the hat from Janus’ head, revealing brown hair that falls in springy waves. He places the hat on the nightstand, casting one last look at Janus before returning his attention to his laptop.

There is plenty of work to do, and he is content to do it here, sitting in bed with Janus napping by his side. So he does, his fingers clacking against the keys long into the night, and Janus sleeps on.

-----------

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he must, because he wakes, and slowly processes the fact that all is not as he left it. For one, the light is off, the room dark, and his laptop is resting on the nightstand, next to the shadow of Janus’ hat. For another, there is a heavy weight on top of his chest, pinning one of his arms against his side, and in the seconds before his eyes adjust sufficiently to the darkness, he fears the worst, fears that someone has broken into his apartment and… crawled into bed with him, and the irrationality of that idea is enough to dampen his panic. He squints, trying to will his vision into focus, and begins to make out what features he can see of the face pressed against his chest, features that very closely resemble his own, and that is when he remembers: Janus on his arm, Janus injured and bleeding, Janus on his bed, Janus asleep. Janus… still here.

Janus, snuggled up against him, his head resting on his chest, his body curled into his side, latched onto him with both… no, there’s more than two arms. At least four, maybe more; it’s difficult to determine without the light on, because all that Thomas can tell is that he is being very thoroughly hugged, and that it feels very nice.

This fact is distracting enough that it’s a full three minutes or so before he realizes that there is another figure perched on the edge of his bed. Panic roars up in him once again, his heart pounding and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but then he notices the details, notices the poof of the figure’s sleeves, the wildness of their hair silhouetted against the light that creeps around the edges of the doorframe, the unholy red gleam of their eyes. And he… well, he doesn’t relax, not exactly. But most of his fear sidesteps directly into annoyance.

“Remus,” he hisses, as quietly as he can manage. “What are you doing?”

Remus cocks his head, his eyes shining brighter. He’s crouched almost like a grotesque parody of a cat, ready to pounce. But the Duke himself is still and silent, and it’s very odd. Almost worrying. And when he finally speaks, it’s not at all what Thomas was expecting.

“DeeDee got hurt,” he says, voice a subdued whisper, and Thomas is taken aback, both by the seriousness of his tone and the evident consideration toward not waking Janus up.

“I— yeah,” Thomas replies, uncertain as to where this is going. “I, uh, patched him up as best I could. He said he’d heal soon.” A thought occurs to him, and if Janus weren’t keeping him flat on his back, he’d be sitting bolt upright, finger pointed in accusation. “Wait, he said he was hurt in the Imagination. Did you have something to do with that?”

“I can’t keep an eye on every part of La La Land at once, Thomas.” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault if Snake from Snake Farm wandered into something he shouldn’t have.” He giggles, high-pitched and a little manic, but Thomas wonders at his tone of voice. It’s as irreverent as always, but underneath that— can it be concern? He really didn’t think Remus did concern. “Snakes should know better than to let their guard down. Your mind is dark and full of terrors.” He smiles, several rows of pointed white teeth gleaming an unnatural white in the shadows.

“I don’t even watch—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, and then freezes as Janus makes a small sound. Seconds pass, and he waits with bated breath, but Janus doesn’t seem to wake. “Okay, then,” he continues, more quietly. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”

Remus blinks, and once again, Thomas is reminded of a cat. A terrible, eldritch horror of a cat, but a cat nonetheless. “DeeDee doesn’t like to be around people when he’s hurt,” he says, rocking back and forth in place. “He doesn’t like people knowing when he’s weak.” He sighs through his nose, his breath whistling more than is natural. “He holes up in his room and doesn’t come out for anything, usually. Not even when I bang on the door and put rats in his air vents.”

Thomas stares, trying to process that. “But he’s here with me,” he says dumbly. “He decided to stay here. He’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to describe what Janus is doing; surely, Remus can see it for himself, can see them engaging in what can only be labeled as cuddling. And it’s not as if this is the first time; it’s just the first time Janus has been human-shaped.

“Yes, he is,” Remus agrees, voice sharp, and he is definitely trying to convey something here, something that Thomas is missing. “Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, you’re just not getting it, are you? Well, that’s fine. Just remember that the snakes on the plane die too, if the plane crashes.”

“Is the plane crashing?” Thomas asks, voice hoarse, hesitant, and once again, Remus smiles, wide and dangerous.

“Not now, maybe,” he says. “But it still could. It always can. That’s the fun thing about airplanes. I could help with that, if you wanted.”

“No thanks,” Thomas is quick to reply.

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then pauses. “Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close, you know. So don’t fuck it up.”

It’s such an uncharacteristic statement that by the time Thomas has recovered enough to reply, Remus is gone, melting into the bedsheets in a grotesque puddle of goo, and then, even that disappears. Thomas is left in a dark, quiet room, and he has never felt more awake.

But Janus is still here, still asleep, is holding onto him for dear life and hiding his face against his chest. And it’s something precious, something intimate, something that Thomas feels privileged to see at all, and Remus’ voice rings loud in his head: Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close. Why, then, has he allowed him this? Why has he let Thomas see him at his most vulnerable, no matter how reluctant he was at the start? Why did he choose to stay, rather than leaving once Thomas nodded off?

Each question only leads to more questions, and it’s clear that he won’t receive any answers tonight. So he settles back in as best he can, though it is a long time before he manages to fall asleep again.

In the morning, Janus is gone. He wishes he could be more surprised.

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years ago

Text

EUPHORIA - Chapter 19

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: Flangst

WC: 2653

A/N: This chapter fills my ‘authority kink’ square for @spnkinkbingo. Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons <3

This series is more than two weeks ahead on patreon!

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

The next morning Y/N wakes up sore all over. It’s her own fault really. Dean had made it clear that he wasn’t going to fuck her but she had to go and beg him for it. She just can’t help it. He’s so good to her, respects her and always puts her first.

Needy little thing , he once said.

He’s not wrong. And it’s all entirely his fault. He’s the one who makes her all tingly inside. It’s not only her pussy that tingles either, it’s her heart too.

Falling for him seems like the easiest thing to do and she doesn’t know if she can catch herself on time. She doesn’t want to get hurt, she really doesn’t.

Y/N hopes that she can make time to see him today but there’s still tons of work to catch up on because she kind of set them aside, probably thinking that it’s going to dematerialize into thin air, but it seems like it fucking didn’t. Plus she’s going to have to go to Washington tomorrow either. That means two nights without seeing him.

But this morning, she notices a text from him on her phone, and she can’t stop grinning like a complete idiot.

D: I hope you’ll have a great start of the day, baby. Can you make room for me today?

D: Please?

It was sent close to 4am. He probably just got back from work. She hopes that he only worked last night. This whole concept of being with someone who owns a sex club is still hard to wrap her mind around. He can basically go down and have sex whenever he likes. How can he resist? She doesn’t get it? Would she be able to? Why does he want her when he can have anyone there?

But again, she should trust him, shouldn’t she? It’s just… she’s been burned before. Trust is still a thing she has to learn.

From the way Cas and the other employees are talking, it doesn’t seem like Dean’s ever engaged in anything there and he’s been telling her that too. And she believes him, she does. There’s just something nagging at the back of her mind, is all.

It’s almost 3pm when she types out emails to her colleagues about their inputs for the workshop. As she’s the only one there from her team, she needs some pointers on what to focus on so she can report back to them about particular hot topics.

She thinks she can go and see Dean before she has to be back at 10pm and work until the print deadline.

Gathering her phone and cash, Y/N makes her way out, informing Rufus that she’ll be in later and takes a cab to the club.

On the way there, she thinks that maybe she should have called him and said that she’s on her way, but abandons that thought quite quickly because somehow, she wants to surprise him.

When she arrives at the club some fifteen minutes later, she hears loud music from the inside, which is highly unusual. She doesn’t think that she has heard any music during the day, like ever. Not until shortly before opening time at least.

Curiously, she walks closer. There’s only one bouncer standing outside and he notices her, opens up the door for her with a courtesy nod. The bass of the music vibrates on the ground with every step she takes. The music is not really loud like it is during opening, but it’s loud enough to feel it beneath her skin.

Y/N parts the heavy curtain at the entrance, and what she sees makes her stop in her tracks. The club is basically full with strippers. There were at least four dancing on stage. About another dozen lounged around on the chairs and booth around the stage, watching the performances. Right in the middle, sitting at a table is Dean, an empty chair next to him, and there’s one stripper who she thinks is dancing exceptionally close to him while he’s sitting back, and watches the show before him. His lips curve up into that charming cocky grin he used to have in school, the crinkles around his eyes deepening and she feels something stinging at her heart.

She curses herself for not letting him know that she’s on the way. And why is she even here again? God, what she sees makes her sick to her stomach. That’s exactly a thing she doesn’t necessarily need to see, to be honest.

Fight or flight?

Oh, she wants to leave, alright? But again, if she leaves, would she be able to act like she saw fucking nothing? Would she be able to act like it doesn’t fucking matter? She’ll be upset and she’d have to explain to him why she’s upset and since she’s already here, maybe she should face it like a fucking adult. The thing with them will probably end anyway, won’t it? Why not now before she falls any harder. Right now she can still get out with minimal damage to her heart.

Her way of thinking is totally stupid, she knows. She just can’t really help the doubts in her head.

She takes a couple of breaths, wills her heart to just fucking stop beating so hard, and then she summons all her courage to walk forward to Dean.

Approaching slowly and carefully, Y/N comes to stand next to him and Dean notices her, turns his head to look up and he fucking smiles when she sees her, like the things happening here is no fucking big deal.

Maybe it isn’t to him , she reminds herself. Maybe she’s the one who overreacts.

“Hey,” Dean grins, and she’s standing close enough for him to reach out his hand for her. It catches her wrist and he pulls her down with a force that sees her landing on his lap. He quickly wraps his arms around her, kisses her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

The stripper quickly retreats. Good.

She’s irritated to say the least and pushes herself away and off his lap, frowning at him when she looks down, and then her mouth opens to speak, “Am I interrupting?”

Dean sees her distress, jumps up from his chair and takes her hand, pulls her to the back and away from the crowd, where there were more booths and love-seats that were unoccupied. She thinks it’s because he doesn’t want her causing a scene right in front of everyone, and scare away his fucking strippers, when that’s all she actually wants to do.

His grip is tight around her arm and she shakes it off, snorting loudly at the absurdity of it all.

“You’re upset,” He breathes, threads his hand through his hair before he rubs at his scruff.

From her standing point she can still see the half naked figures dancing on stage, and can see them mingling in the first seating row. Y/N’s sure that they can see them too, sees a couple of the girls craning her neck to see what’s going on. Dean’s hand reaches out, wanting to touch her again but he stops short, knowing that she’ll shrug him off.

“Wow,” She snorts, “Tell me why I shouldn’t be?”

Dean purses his lips into a thin line, and she can see that he’s smirking. Why is he fucking smirking? He reaches out a hand, lays it on her shoulder and she pats it away. Dean lets out a frustrated sound before he rubs a hand over his face again.

“Jesus, Y/N! It’s not what it fucking looks like!”

He’s a little louder. It’s making her flinch and there are eyes looking back at them.

“Oh, it fucking looks like your club is full of fucking strippers and you’re about to get a fucking lap dance,” Y/N cranes her neck to look over his shoulder dramatically. Just for good fucking measure, “Ah, look, they’re still there! So yeah, I think it is exactly what it fucking looks like!”

God, she doesn’t even know why she’s so upset. She doesn’t want to be but she can’t help it. He calls her his girl and dammit, he is hers too, isn’t he?

“Fuck’s sake,” Dean growls, “If you would just fucking listen to me for a sec—”

“—Go on, humor me!” She snaps and he groans at the interruption, lets his head drop down to breath for a moment. Probably trying to control himself because she knows herself that she’s being a fucking pain in the ass right now.

The way he just stares at her with irritation on his face almost makes her pity him. Almost. There’s something else she sees in his eyes as well. Even though the club is not well lit, there's something else in his expression. Something… fond? Like he’s irritated about her outburst but somehow he’s also very delighted about it. And that is fucking irritating.

Dean’s hand reaches out for her again and grabs her by the back of her neck, his thumb massaging circles on her skin before he lowers his face to her level, “Fucking listen to me, okay?”

Y/N crosses her arms over her chest, raises one eyebrow in challenge and Dean sighs. His grip is tighter where her shoulder meets her neck, fingertips digging into her skin.

“We’re having a Striptease Night in the VIP room, alright? It’s a fucking casting!”

“Yeah, right,” She scoffs, blows air out of her mouth, sending the strands of hair in her face flying up.

He’s smirking. The hell is he smirking for?

Dean licks his lips before he goes on, “Cas just went to the bathroom,” He turns his head to look back at the space where he was sitting, and she takes a look too, sees Cas sitting back there with a clipboard in hand, “And now he’s back and the casting can go on.”

Y/N could swear that Cas wasn’t there just a moment ago and now she feels kind of stupid because she thinks that Dean’s telling the truth. But still, it’s exactly what she was thinking earlier. He’s the fucking owner of a fucking sex club and she has issues with her insecurities and that’s not a fucking good mix!

“Baby, you have nothing to be worried about,” His voice is softer and Dean moves his face closer, kisses the top of her head to test the water. When he sees that she’s not pushing him away, he weaves an arm around her waist, pulls her closer and kisses her lips. However, he probably feels that she’s still upset and won’t kiss him back, so he parts again to thumb at them, “Y/N, I’m not a fucking idiot. All I want is you, okay? How do I get you to understand?”

“I don’t know,” She mumbles, doesn’t really look at him but instead, she stares down, “I just don’t get it. Why me? Look at what you’re missing out on!” Y/N gestures widely with both her hands.

He’s grinning before he kisses her again and this time, she can’t help but give in, kisses him rough and needy, her body melts to his and Dean lowers his body, picks her up and carries her to the next love-seat in the back, making her straddle him. The music’s still going on behind them and she hears girls laughing and talking together.

Dean parts after a while, pecks her lips, leaves his forehead on hers, “Jesus Christ, Y/N, you just don’t get that you were the first one I ever really wanted, do you? Now that I’ve found you, I would never put myself in the position to lose you.” He takes her wrist, guides it down between them to palm over his cock, “You feel that? I only want you for crying out loud!”

He’s hard. Like, really hard. Not just semi hard, it’s the real deal. He wasn’t hard before, not even semi, when he pulled her into his lap moments ago.

“And all just from fucking kissing you,” He pecks her lips again but holds her hand there where she rubs over his clothed cock, groaning a little at the friction her hand provides, “You have no fucking idea how much you affect me,”

She swallows hard, “You’re doing the same to me,” Her lips curve up into a smile, “I want you to fuck me now.”

Dean’s grins widens, “Jesus, baby,”

It turns him on hearing these dirty words from her lips, he can’t lie about that.

He kisses her once more, leaves his lips there, teeth tugging at her bottom lip, bites so hard it makes her squeal into his mouth and then he sucks at it, eases the pain.

He parts with a question, “How long do we have?”

“I have to be back by ten.”

“Good,” He nods, while he takes out his phone and texts Cas, although the man is just a couple of feet away, but Dean thinks it seems too much to ask of him to walk over there with a fucking boner in his pants.

As soon as he places the phone back in his dress pants, she takes his hand, “Come on,” She says in an authoritarian voice Dean’s never heard from her, and it makes him all kinds of fluttery inside.

She walks away, but turns around to look back at him when she sees that Dean’s not moving, still sitting there in the seat because he’s admiring her. She rolls her eyes and sighs, lifts her arms away from her body, “Follow me, Dean!”

She’s still upset, Dean can tell, because she storms off, walks swiftly and loudly up the stairs, and Dean grins like an idiot before he dashes after her.

By now, Y/N knows her way around his club, and Dean is strangely okay with that. It’s okay that his employees know that she belongs to him. They don’t even ask any questions, only opening the door for her and he almost has to run to keep up.

It’s a whole new side of her that he sees. The way she stomps along the floor of the VIP room, the way she doesn’t even look back to see if he follows because she knows that he does. How could he not? Seeing her all worked up and being all possessive and authoritarian over him, turns Dean on. Definitely can’t lie about that. He’s getting just a little harder thinking about what she might do to him.

He would let her. Of course he would.

And that is a first for him. Usually he’s the one in control, not only with her but it has always been like that. He absolutely hated the fact that someone else could have control over his life, sexually or non-sexually. But with her, Dean thinks that he feels comfortable enough to let her steer the wheel. He’d like to sit shotgun for some time, let her take over. There’s some comfort in knowing that he’s being taken care of as much as he takes care of others.

Dean watches her pausing mid-stomp, she’s about thirty feet ahead when she turns around and braces her fists on her hips, “Are you coming?”

Jesus, his dick twitches at the sight and Dean’s almost guilty for finding her distress highly arousing.

Apparently, he finds out kinks about him he never knew he had. Authority kink is one of them, and no, he’s not ashamed about that.

He clears his throat, smirks cockily, “Well, I hope I will,” Dean chuckles satisfactory at his own joke. It was a great one, alright. He walks a little faster, catching up but before he could reach her, she rolls her eyes, turns around and continues to walk on.

Fucking adorable, is what she is.

Chapter 20

#euphoria #spnkinkbingo #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester series #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fic #nathalie writes

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spookysanta · 4 years ago

Text

The TA. - one. (c.e, h.c.)

Summary: she just wants to make a good impression. clearly, she’s made more of an impression on the two of them.

Pairings: Professor!Chris Evans x Black!Reader, student!Henry Cavill x Black!Reader

WARNINGS: swearing

updates will be sporadic because it’s a wip, but here’s part one! enjoy! :)

UNEDITED

****

To Whom it May Concern:

Good morning. My name is Dr. Christopher R. Evans and I’ll be your supervising professor for section D346-0 of Chemistry class for the Fall semester. I’m sending you this e-mail to introduce myself as well as get to know you a bit before classes start next week. Would you be willing to meet me in my office (Franklin Hall, 3210) this Wednesday at around 3 p.m.? I’d like to go over the syllabus as well as your requirements as my TA.

Please let me know if that time works well for you.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Warm regards,

Dr. Christopher R. Evans, D. Sc.

(310) 555-3984

***

Professor Evans:

Good morning! It’s nice to hear from you. I was in the process of getting your contact information to introduce myself. Thank you for taking me on as your TA, also—I appreciate that you’re giving me a chance. I’ll avail myself on Wednesday to meet with you at 3 p.m., I don’t want to change your schedule on my behalf. I can also provide you with my class schedule if you’d like so that you have my availability when you need to meet with me.

I’m excited to be working with you this semester!.

Best,

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

***

“Hi, my name’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Is Dr. Evans around?” She entered the lecture hall, approaching the podium where another professor was packing up her things. “I’m his new TA.”

“Yes, his office is through that door. Go in, make a left, and it should be the first door on your right.” The professor instructed, “He should be in there.”

“Okay. Thank you, ma’am!” she hurried across the room and pushed through the door, following the professor’s instructions and finding his classroom much easier than she had initially. She knocked on the door to his office. “Dr. Evans?”

“Come in.”

She opened the door slowly. She found him at his desk, typing on a computer. He paused for a moment, looking up toward the doorway with a small smile.

“Hi. You must be (Y/N).” he stood and crossed the small room stalking over to her and offering his hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Great to meet you as well, Dr. Evans.” She shook his hand eagerly. This was her first professional job, and well…it’s helpful to have him as her boss.

Mainly to look at, but that’s beside the point.

“Oh, please. You can call me Chris.” He waved her off politely. “It’s just you and I here.”

She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

He made his way back to his seat behind the desk. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair that sat on the opposite side of the desk.

She sat down tightly with her hands flattened under her thighs—she’s a picker.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head tightly. “Nothing.”

He noticed that her face read differently than her words were saying. She looked almost uncomfortable, unsettled. “Are you sure?”

“This is just my first TA job so I’m a bit nervous,” She was almost hesitant to tell him the truth. She rushed out, “hopefully that doesn’t compromise my position.”

“Not at all! In fact, I think this is one of the easier classes to TA for, but maybe I’m biased.” He chuckled. “So, with that said, let’s go over your requirements. Hopefully I can put your mind at ease, okay?”

“Okay.” She smiled politely, trying to make herself relax but failing because Dr. Evans—Chris—was quite different that was she thought he would be. He was tall, built, and had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen.

She’d assumed that he would look like Ebenezer Scrooge from the way her friends said he ran his class. By their record, he was a strict guy—very unwavering with deadlines and course policies, sticks to his syllabus schedule, assigns a ton of work, and has an even stricter attendance policy.

But they also said he was nice, which was hard to come by with professors in this field. They could tell he was a good person deep down and liked what he taught but he was a hard ass.

And by her analyzation, that was true.

His desk was quite neat and polished; it smelled of air freshener in the room; there weren’t any papers scattered about—which she was thankful for, because she cannot work with people who were unorganized—and, most notably, there weren’t any kind of photos hanging up. It was hard for her to determine whether he was a bachelor, or a married father that just kept things private.

Not that it mattered…but she wanted to know.

“So,” he turned one of his monitors to face her so that she could see his screen. “here’s the syllabus. It seems like a lot, but I swear, it isn’t.” he chuckled.

She hummed in response, beginning to read the lengthy document in her head as he spoke.

“Basically, your job will be to help me grade quizzes, labs, exams, and other assignments. You’ll also be required to proctor exams; I have another TA, Henry—he’s a graduate student—that will come in on exam days and proctor with you.”

She thought for a moment. “So, if I may ask, what will you do?”

“Teach the class.”

“Well, I know that. I just meant…it seems like a lot for me to do, and I’ve heard about some professors on campus having their TAs run the class.”

“Oh! Definitely not. Look, you seem great, and I have a feeling we’d get on well, but there’s a specific way I want my material taught so that’s not something you’d have to worry about.” He reassured her, noticing her body begin to relax. “What I will say, is there is a lot of content in my class, but the major graded assignments are few and far between, if that makes you feel better.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“The class is mostly lab-based. You’ll be grading lab prep work, mostly—then comes the occasional homework or quiz, and exams.”

“Oh, okay. That makes more sense.”

He nodded. “Good.”

He scrolled down further into the document, showing his class policies.

“Now, these, I can’t break on.” He sighed. “I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m a strict guy.”

“What?” she replied incredulously. “No!”

He wanted to laugh. He could tell she was analyzing him, and she had to have heard something about him before the two of them met. “Well, it’s because a lot of the precautions are for the safety of us and the students.”

She scanned a random sentence on the page that read:

Students are required to be fully clothed on lab days—no t-shirts, ripped clothing, or closed-toed shoes.

10 points will be deducted for wearing clothing that does not meet the above dress requirement. More than one violation on the lab dress requirement will result in a deduction from the LAB grade.

Yikes, she thought, he’s not joking around.

She found it understandable nonetheless—she imagines it would be difficult to have a completely safe lab in a stuffy room while it’s still hot outside.

And she’s heard that a lot of the laboratories on his side of campus don’t have air conditioning, which was quite unfortunate this time of year.

“The dress policy is the most heavily enforced one.” He shrugged. “I can’t be held liable for students’ recklessness during labs.”

“Has the dress code been an issue previously?” she asked.

“Not for me, but I know it’s been one for the department, so I’m just tryin’ to keep my name off the “injury list”.”

She nodded in understanding.

“I think that’s pretty much it as far as the basics are concerned. I’ll send you a copy of my syllabus and calendar for the semester, as well as your contract.” He turned the monitor to face him again, typing quickly on his keyboard. “Oh! And I should send you Henry’s information, too.”

“Who’s Henry again?”

“Henry is a graduate TA. I’ve had him in my classes for a couple of years, and he’s a great student. I think he worked in the library over the summer, so you may know him.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, he’s a great person to know, not just for my class, but for your upper-level math and science classes.” He gushed. Clearly, he really liked having this “Henry” as an assistant.

“Okay, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Great. And if you have any questions, shoot me an e-mail or a text and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Alright.” She replied simply.

He stood, holding out his hand again. “I’m looking forward to working with you this semester, (Y/N).”

She took his hand, this time relishing in the softness of his skin and the firmness in his grip. “I am, too.”

Later that day, after she’d completed the last assignments for her summer math class, she checked her e-mail’s inbox and found two messages from Chris and another from Henry, the godsend of a grad student.

***

From: Dr. Christopher R. Evans, D. Sc.

Miss (Y/L/N)—

I hope this message finds you well.

Attached is my syllabus and class calendar, as well as your contract.

Please read through all of these. Sign the contract when you’re ready and e-mail it back to me at your earliest convenience.

Regards,

Chris

***

From: Dr. Christopher R. Evans, D. Sc

Miss (Y/L/N)—

I meant to send you Henry’s information as well:

Henry W. D. Cavill

Phone: 316-555-2015

E-mail: [email protected]

Please message him at your earliest convenience. Like I said, he’s a great person to know!

Regards,

Chris

She replied a quick “thank you” before continuing through her inbox.

***

From: Henry W. D. Cavill

Hi, (Y/N)! It’s nice to “meet” you, I’m Henry.

Chris has told me that you’re the new undergrad TA! That’s pretty impressive, honestly—you’re one of four undergraduate TAs in the entire Sciences department. Anyway, I just wanted to send you this e-mail to introduce myself and let you know that if you need anything, I’m always available. I worked in the school’s library over the summer so if you need me immediately, that’s usually where I spend my free time nowadays.

I’m excited to work with you this semester! Maybe we could grab coffee and get to know each other better before classes start next week? Let me know.

Hope to hear from you soon!

Best wishes,

Cav

“Cav?” she read aloud in disgust, “What the hell kind of a nickname is “Cav”?” She hoped that he didn’t expect her to call him that because that was stupid.

At any rate, she could tell that he was much more laid back than Chris, which she was bound to enjoy. As nice as Chris was, she could tell that he was a bit…uptight. Henry, on the other hand, seemed more laid back if she used “Cav” as a form of evidence.

She could tell that he was a bookworm, too, because no-one—no-one she knew, at least—stays in the library unless they had to, or just liked reading.

Clearly he was a different breed.

She opened a new message to send a quick reply to his.

To: Henry W.D. Cavill

Hi, Henry.

It’s nice to hear from you as well. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you!

I’m free tomorrow afternoon if you want to meet at The Bistro for coffee.

Let me know if that works for you.

Best,

(Y/N)

There. Sweet and simple.

Don’t be confused, either—she wanted this position. It would open some doors for her down the line, especially if she can get on Chris’ good side like Henry clearly has. She just hated formalities. The emails, the “talk to you soon! ”s, the “hope you’re well! ”s… it was too high-strung for her.

She is, though, determined to start everything on a good foot. So she’ll be polite, she’ll wish them well, whatever—she just wanted to ensure that her success as an undergrad student wouldn’t be hindered or jeopardized by her desire to be casual with who’s really her boss and co-worker.

The next day, she mustered up the courage to throw on clothes and meet Henry at The Bistro, a café in the main square of the campus. She decided to dress nice, not entirely sure who she was meeting and wanting to make a good impression. Because “Cav” seemed like a decent guy, but you never know.

Honestly, she wanted to cancel but she knew that wouldn’t look good.

She stepped through The Bistro’s doors, the cold air practically smacking her in the face. Normally she would despise the cold, especially on a day like this where it wasn’t too hot and not at all humid; but today, she was grateful for the cold air that enwrapped her frame that was dressed in a black blazer and matching slacks.

She sent a message to Henry letting her know that she was there and sat at a table by the window.

Then she waited.

Ten minutes, then twenty, then thirty.

After forty minutes passed, she gathered her tote, phone, and keys, and made her way to the front door.

Before she could get to the door, a figure bumped into her, her body colliding with his hard chest. “Oh, shit, sorry!” the mass of flesh exclaimed, “I’m running late for a meeting and I didn’t watch where I was going.”

Her eyes met his as she took a step back. He was tall. His long brown hair was brushed behind one ear, cheeks flushed and pale, brown eyes wide.

He was cute.

“Wait,” she replied, “are you Henry?”

“Yeah…so?”

“So?” she glared at him. “I’m (Y/N).”

His eyes widened even more, as if that were possible. “Oh! I’m so sorry I’m late. My car broke down and I ended up having to walk here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But listen, if you’re still free, I’d love to still talk with you.”

She didn’t have anywhere to be, so why not? “Sure.”

He let out a breath. “Thank you.”

The two of them sat down at the table she picked, him slugging his shoulder bag off his body and onto the floor next to him. He folded his hands on the table and looked at her, watching as she fumbled through her bag for her planner and a pen.

“So,” he started, “it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“You, too.” She replied, her eyes not looking up.

“I’m usually the only TA in Chris’ class, so it’s really cool to have someone else around. I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to be the only one proctoring an exam in a class of three-hundred people.”

“Three-hundred people?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it’s less, but that’s the average. It’s full of freshmen, too.”

She finally found her planner and a pen in the depths of her bag. “Are freshmen bad?”

He shook his head, “Not really, they’re just…odd.” He shrugged. “Some of them want to learn, some don’t, and you can tell right away. The ones that want to learn don’t want help—it’s always the procrastinators, the slackers, the ones that don’t care that need you.”

“How is that odd?”

“It’s strange to me, honestly. I didn’t really care either way my freshman year. I wanted to learn but I didn’t care enough to actually try.”

“So what changed? Chris made you seem like you were some mythical being.”

He laughed. She’ll admit, she was lost in his smile for a second. The glint in his eyes and the crinkle in his nose made her smile. “A mythical being?” he repeated. “I’m far from mythical. I think he gushes about me because I take over his office hours for him most days.”

That made her laugh. “Well, he seems to be appreciative of having you around. Hopefully I can be helpful.”

“I’m sure you can be,” he waved her off, “he probably told you that his class wasn’t that bad, but he’s totally lying. My first year helping him was rough—too much shit to do, and not enough time for it to get done.”

That sounded more accurate compared to what Chris told her yesterday. “I figured.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a great professor, and an awesome mentor to have—but sometimes he downplays stuff. He’ll say it’s “no big deal”, and it’ll be like Armageddon for us.”

She nodded slowly. “Any advice for getting on his good side?”

He chuckled. “If he likes you, you’ll know. And if he likes you, he’ll help you out. He’s not at all unreasonable, either; so just tell him what’s up when you have a problem, or if you’re overwhelmed, and he’ll do what he can to help.”

“That’s not what I heard.” She mumbled.

“Well, his students from last year will say he’s a dick, but—and you can’t tell anyone I told you this—” he leaned in closer, whispering, “he went through a nasty divorce last fall.”

So he isn’t married.

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. He wasn’t in the best place, but I’ll admit he’s eased up quite a bit so you should be fine.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Anything else you want to know?”

She thought for a moment. “Not really, no.”

He smiled again, “Alright. Well it was great talking with you, and I’m sorry again for being late.”

She shrugged, “Shit happens.”

“You’re exactly right. The meter maids are probably having a field day giving me tickets.” He stood from the table, putting his bag over his shoulder that was covered in a dark green jacket, brushing his hair behind his ears and away from his face.

She stood shortly after he did. “Good luck with that.”

“Oh, trust me, it wouldn’t be anything new for me to have a ticket by now. I’ve gotten five since May.”

Her eyes widened this time. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. The parking on campus is shit, you get in where you can. Open parking spaces are scarce, especially by Franklin Hall…so sometimes I park on the street.”

Street parking is decal only. By the number of tickets he’d obtained, she deduced that he most likely had no decal. “Hence all the tickets.” She finalized.

“Yeah.”

“Criminal.” She shook her head jokingly.

“Guilty as charged.” He held out his wrists to her as if she was putting him in handcuffs. “See you around, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then he turned and left, moving quickly down the pavement.

—

Tags (dm to be removed): @lady-x-red @justtwhst @lokisbitch27 @boundtomyfate @cyberdoshee @liquorlaughslove @heroine-of-color

#The Ta #henry cavill x black reader #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x black woman #henry cavill x black woman #the ta fic

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luthien-t · 4 years ago

Text

Resurfaced Memories. Chapter Six.

Loki x Female Reader

Story Masterlist

chapter summary: With Loki busy in asgard, you were busy down here in midgard.

warning: a bit of angst here and a bit of sadness here.

1,8+K

A/N: Hello! Hello! Now that my classes are back, I’m trying my best to spend all of my free time on this but its getting hard since my professors are forcing work from now oops, anyways, I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. (ps taglists are open)

“He’s not coming.” You say to Linda after checking the time for the hundredth time today. It is currently five in the afternoon, you are three hours away from closing and disappointment was starting to wash all over you, you started to wonder if you had said something to be in this situation or that maybe Loki realised that you’re not who he hoped you were.

“We’re still open, y/n. Don’t worry, if anything I’m sure he’ll be here next Thursday with Thor.” She told you with a soft smile on her lips and you chuckle gently. After everything she has been through, she still chose to be optimistic. You on the other hand, simply gave up on this, the only reason why he even approached you was because he thought he knew you, yesterdays date was enough to confirm that you’re not who he wanted you to be.

It’s not like you were head over heels for him, but an interest towards him developed after yesterday. After all of the previous short relationships you’ve been in, Loki was the first to capture you with his words and charm, the ones before him were just for your subtle entertainment since it was obvious to you that they will be leaving this world long before you. You shouldn’t be feeling this disappointed about him not passing by today, I mean that was what you agreed on with Loki, right? One chance, and he got it. Then why were you yearning for more time with him? You said it yourself, that you were only doing this for Linda, because she insisted, why won’t this feeling go away? All you had to do now was wait for Thursday and hope for the best.

But Thursday came, and another, and another, and another. Neither Loki or Thor showed up. Even Linda started to grow disappointed, she stopped preparing Thors usual bouquet and you started to simply forget the interaction you had with the dark haired god. Two months passed and everything was simple again, you’ve been too busy with renovating the shop to think about him. Linda gave you the blue-print and the new designs she needed for the renovation. You and Linda both agreed on closing the shop for a month to do everything freely without a close deadline. Everything was hectic yet back to normal, you didn’t forget Loki but you simply learnt to get over it, eventually life goes on and you had bigger things to worry about.

The shop is now a completely different style. Linda felt the need to make it a coffee/flower shop. “This way we will have double the costumers! They already come for the tea and chill around, might as well make it more cozy!” She told you, she asked how you would feel about being the barista, which you didn’t mind but you still didn’t want to let go of being a florist, so you both agreed on having shifts and maybe one day you will expand the number of workers here.

As the days passed by quickly, the deadline for reopening the shop was over. You were more than ready to start working again and care for your flowers without things getting in the way. You wore your favourite sundress, it hugged your body perfectly and flowed gently around your thighs and down to your knees, it had a soft gold hue to it with small green leaves prints scattered all over the dress. Grabbing the new apron Linda assigned to you, you then started walking towards the shop, ready for the first day of working again.

Loki however, spent his days stranded in Asgard. The past months to him was pure agony. He was either reading in his mothers garden or in the library, and if he wasn’t in these two places, he would be in his chambers. Odin expected this kind of reaction but he was shocked when Loki started avoiding the councils meetings or the festive occasions that occurred recently, it has always been a place where Loki would be there, either for entertainment reasons or just to bump shoulders with the bigger names in the realms. It was as if Sigyn has left him all over again. But unbeknownst to Odin, Loki has spent his time trying to find the safest and stealthiest way to leave this realm.

The plan to leave the realm for a Midgard visit only started a few weeks ago when Loki was playing the argument between him and Odin in front of him. He was analysing every word Odin said, trying to find a loop hole that he can abuse without being banished from Asgard for disobeying the Allfather.

“Which is why I’m stopping it, the trips, the courting with that mortal Thor has and the all-mighty heroes” Loki watched the illusions in front of him. Reading into the emotions and body language everyone possessed in the room that day. “What am I missing?” He mumbled to himself, he was sitting down on his bed, his fingers picking at the skin on his lips.

“I have made up my mind, son. As king I am ordering you to not step foot out of Asgard unless ordered.” Loki paused the scene ahead of him and stood up, walking towards the illusions of Odin and smirked.

“There it is” He whispered to himself, his smirk grew with confidence as the mischief in him grew. He then stalked his way back to the bed, sitting on the edge and repeated the scene again.

“I have made up my mind, son. As king I am ordering you to not step foot out of Asgard unless ordered.”

And then again.

“I have made up my mind, son. As king I am ordering you to not step foot out of Asgard unless ordered.”

“Oh Odin, you fool.” He paused it again, staring at the way Odin stood with his staff pointing at his brother. “How could you make this so easy for me?” He chuckled and got up. With a flick of his wrist, the illusions started to fade and he left his chambers. He knew what he had to do now, Odin said this words to his brother, not him. A mischievous smirk was printed on his face as he took his secret tunnels under the castle. His feet guiding him to the shore under the Bifrost, he always had a secret escape that even Heimdall wouldn’t notice, but it was the way towards it that was risky.

He pushed the small wooden boat away from the sand and into the water, paddling his way to his destination, hoping that the odds were with him this time.

The smell of coffee in the morning always had you going, Linda was busy in her corner while you started making the brew for the coffee. You just opened an hour ago yet the usual costumers were here. It was like they were waiting for their favourite spot to be open again. You smiled widely at them as they complimented the new design and took their orders. Today was going to be a busy day and you were more than excited for it.

Hours passed and the costumer numbers were getting lesser and lesser, now that rush-hour was over and people had their morning coffee, you decided to take your break for the day, making your favourite tea and grabbing the book you’ve been dying to read ever since the renovation started. You were untying your apron when the doors ringing sound caught your attention, you printed a smile on your face then turned your body towards the door but the smile you had on your face soon dropped ate the person standing by the door, his head turning left and right before his eyes met yours.

There he was, Loki, and he walking towards the counter, a soft smile on his face, as if hes done nothing wrong.

“What can I get you?” You coldly said to him, your eyes glued to the machine in front of you, waiting to type his order down. “I see you’ve changed the place.” He casually said, causing your blood to boil, how could he be so normal even after ghosting you? You looked up at him and nodded, his eyes were still gentle and his aura was pulling you back to him all over again, you scolded yourself in your head for having such a silly thought.

“Do you want to order?” You pointed your finger to the menu board on the wall behind you but his eyes were still on you. You weren’t going to be the first to avert your eyes, the stubbornness in you wouldn’t allow it.

“Can I have the tea you made last time?” He asked and this time you had no choice but to look down to type in his order. “Anything else?” You asked before turning away to boil water and prepare his order. “Are you free right now?” He asked, the words came out of his mouth too quickly for you to catch immediately, so you remained silent as you poured the tea into a mug.

“When do you finish work today?” This time he asked slower, you turned around and sat the mug on the counter between you two.

“Your total is 3.99” You said firmly, all you want to do during your break is relax and read your book in peace, you weren’t going to allow this man to ruin your plans. His smile dropped at your tone and he tilted his head slightly, trying to catch your eyes.

“Y/n, I want to-“

“Cash or credit?” You interrupted him, his breath hitched lightly before pulling out money from his pockets and setting it next to the mug. This sudden coldness from you wasn’t new to him, but last time Thor helped him get to you, right now he is clueless with how to break the ice between you two again.

He was confused with himself, why is he trying so hard for you? You’re not Sigyn but yet you had him wrapped around your finger without doing anything. He wanted to leave, his pride was begging him to leave and never come back to the woman who just disrespected his request so easily, but his emotions were keeping his feet locked in place, with no will to move. His throat was going dry as he watched you print his receipt before walking away from the cash register and to the back, his eyes following you until you were out of sight, this time he sighs and grab his mug, walking towards an empty table. Whatever this is, he was determined to talk to you, he has to explain himself to you, this was his one chance.

Taglist: @jessiejunebug , @hellethil ,

#loki #loki fic #loki fanfic #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x sigyn #loki x female reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #loki layfeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson x you #loki odison x reader #loki of jotunheim #loki of asgard

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naturallytom · 5 years ago

Text

Holiday Cheer (Tom Holland x reader)

a/n: spot the christmas movie references (send me an ask if/when you find them😉)!! also i really really love this!!

warnings: angst, tom’s a dick, mentions of sex, mentions of death, then a heck ton of fluff!!

prompt: i hate the holidays more than anything in the world and you drive me nuts because you love the holidays more than anything in the world and this is why we aren’t friends (enemies to friends to lovers hello) + “You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?” + “It looks like the North Pole threw up.” + frat!boy tom/college au

please please leave feedback & reblog!!

gif not mine!

It was that time of year again. Christmas was approaching which meant lots of joy, love, and laughter for many people, including you. It was your favorite time of the year- the snow falling and littering the ground creating the perfect scenery for shopping for friends and family.

Your all time favorite thing to do was decorating your apartment and baking Christmas treats. Whether you did it alone or with friends, nothing beat hanging up stockings or putting up the tree and putting the ornaments and lights up.

Spending the Christmas season in Boston meant lots of public tree lightings to go to as well, all of them filled with cheer, music, and people who were also in the Christmas spirit.

It also meant finals. That brought on stress, panic, and many many deadlines to meet. Many students didn’t find a lot to be happy about during finals weeks, but not you. You found so much to be happy for, even during the most stressful weeks in college. Finals meant lots of stress, yes, but it also meant the end of the semester and that a break was coming your way soon. Sure, there were many deadlines to meet, but the relief that flooded through you when you were able to cross something else off your list and you felt the weight on your shoulders getting lighter and lighter was one of the best feelings. Break coming up meant more time to spend time with family and friends without worrying about what work you have to do and baking as many Christmas cookies as you wanted, decorating them with red and green frosting topped with sprinkles or candy cane bits.

Tom Holland, however, was the opposite of you. He was an exchange student from London. He was a pessimistic frat boy who found no joy in anything besides hooking up with girls, using them for sex and then discarding them the next morning. Tom hated Christmas and the Christmas season. No one really knew why, he didn’t tell anyone. It could be that his shoes were too tight. It could be his head wasn’t screwed on just right. But you thought the most likely reason was that his heart was two sizes too small.

Tom didn’t have a lot of close friends. Your friends hung around the frat he belonged to and was “friends” with one of your good friends, Liam so you saw quite a lot of Tom Holland.

The two of you did not get along. Tom would roll his eyes whenever he saw you around while you would simply try to ignore it and be your usual optimistic self, which made Tom (metaphorically) sick. He couldn’t understand how one person could be so bubbly and happy all the damn time. And you, on the other hand, couldn’t understand how one person could be so pessimistic and full of anger all the damn time. You were pretty sure he hated you. You would say you hated him too but ‘hate’ is a very strong word, so you kept it to a heavy disliking.

Tom shocked you, he really did. You went to the frat parties with your friends and they were fun, but you couldn’t understand how someone could gain all their happiness from doing this every weekend. Didn’t it get boring? All the drinking and smoking and sex?

You were busy putting up your final Christmas decorations when you heard a knock at your door. When you answered the door you weren’t surprised to see Liam there with none other than Tom Holland.

“It looks like the North Pole threw up.” Tom muttered, entering your apartment, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Thanks, Tom!” You replied through your gritted teeth as you let them in.

“Wasn’t a fucking compliment.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Looks nice, y/n! Smells nice too.” Liam complimented, genuinely making you smile.

“Thanks, Liam. ‘S the fresh balsam candle right over there.” You pointed to the forest green candle on your coffee table, your little tree standing proudly in the corner, the lights shining brightly.

“Jesus christ is all of this necessary?” Tom asked, his brown eyes scanning the decorations.

“They’re just decorations, Tom. Don’t see what the big deal is.” You shrugged.

“Little advice, tone it down. This isn’t good for throwing parties.” He said smugly, making you roll your eyes.

“Some of us have better things to do that to mindlessly party every weekend, Holland.” You told him, anger flooding through your veins.

“Just a suggestion, princess.” He winked, Liam rolling his eyes.

“Well I think they look really nice.” Liam told you.

“Thanks again, Liam. At least someone thinks so.” You replied. “So what brings you over here?”

“I knew you’d be putting up the decorations. We wanted to see if you wanted any help.” Liam smiled, making you smile.

“Thanks, Li. I’m alright, though. You guys are welcome to stay.” You offered, Tom rolling his eyes.

“Dunno if I could ever deal with this much decorations.” He nearly whispered, making you roll your eyes once again.

“No one’s begging you to stay, Holland.”

“Oh so now we’re on a last name basis, are we y/l/n?”

“Only for you since you don’t know how to keep your fucking mouth shut!”

“Feisty. Didn’t think you had it in you to say a worse word than ‘heck’ or ‘gosh darn.’” He smirked.

“Alright alright,” Liam interfered, stepping between you and Tom. “Thank you for the offer, y/n, but I think we’ll have to get going.”

“‘S fine, Li. See you around, yeah?” You smiled softly, Liam nodding in return.

“Yeah for sure. I’ll stop by later.” Liam smiled, ushering Tom out the front door.

“What was that about?” Liam asked Tom, who simply shrugged.

“She’s annoying.” He said casually.

“She’s my friend.” Liam said.

“So?”

“Whatever, man. You don’t have to be such a dick.”

You were sitting at your table later that night, scented candles set up around you with piano Christmas tracks playing softly as you went through your notes and organized them in preparation for the final next week.

You were interrupted by a knock on the door, confusion taking over your features as you went to answer the door.

“Tom?” You asked, shocked to see the British brunette leaning against your doorway. “You live on this floor?”

“Right next door, princess.” He smirked, a curl falling onto his forehead. “Anyway your music is annoying as fuck. Turn it down for me?”

“Well not when you ask like that.” You replied, crossing your arms. “Gotta ask nicely. And it’s not even that loud!”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Tom groaned. “You and your ‘gotta ask nicely shit’ can’t you just turn down your annoying music? ‘M trying to study for finals.”

“You? Studying for finals? Didn’t know that was a thing that occurred. Anyway, finals aren’t for a couple weeks.” You feigned shock while Tom rolled his eyes.

“Will you please turn your music down?” He sighed, making you smile softly.

“I’ll consider it.”

It was Friday night. All you wanted was to watch a nice Christmas movie with a cup of hot chocolate but Tom had other plans. The sound of your movie was being drowned out by the moans and grunts of Tom and whatever girl he brought home as well as the bed creaking and hitting the wall.

You groaned and rolled your eyes, waiting for the sounds to die down before you went over there. It took a lot to piss you off and somehow Tom knew how to do just that.

Knocking on his door harshly, you were taken back when you were greeted by a shirtless Tom answering the door.

“Well hi there princess. Gotta be honest ‘m surprised to see you out and about this late.” He greeted sarcastically.

“You know the funniest thing happened. I was trying to watch Home Alone and I couldn’t hear anything because all I could hear was some girl getting fucked obnoxiously into next week and the bed slamming against the wall.” You said, watching the smug look on his face take over. “I think that’s much more annoying than some piano tracks.”

“Well sorry princess,” Tom started. “Girls are always so loud when they’re in bed with me. I’m that good. Want me to prove it to you?”

“First of all, that’s disgusting.” You gagged, Tom rolling his eyes at your theatrics. “Second of all, just keep it down. Some of us are trying to sleep and actually study for finals.”

Tom shrugged. “Just gotta drown out that Christmas shit, princess.”

“Why do you hate Christmas so much anyway?” You asked, genuinely interested in his response, seeing his demeanor shift.

“None of your fucking business.”

Finals were next week. You were having a small holiday party with a couple friends to chill before you all had to face final exams and papers and you invited Tom for the sake of being nice.

Tom wasn't sure why he showed up. Maybe it was because deep down he was lonely and knew meaningless sex wouldn’t fill the void that needed to be filled. Maybe it was because he knew he would be drinking his pain away by himself on Christmas like he did every year and wanted some company this time.

Tom told you he showed up for the free booze. You sighed, letting Tom in. As much as you thought the free booze reasoning was bullshit, you couldn’t find it in you to turn him away

Tom didn’t know anyone at the party. You were talking with all the guests gathered in the kitchen and offering drinks and light snacks to them. Tom took the opportunity to grab a beer and head to the living room to be by himself.

He sat on the couch, sipping on his beer while Christmas songs played throughout the apartment. Taking out his phone, he was greeted with a lack of notifications, rather he was staring at a picture of Tessa.

“Cute dog.” You commented, taking a seat next to him.

Tom considered replying with something sarcastic, but decided against doing so.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, taking another sip.

“So why’d you show up?” You asked, earning a shrug from Tom.

“Free booze.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?” He glanced at you, his brown eyes widened.

“You have plenty of booze at your apartment. You don’t need me to supply you.” You pointed out.

“How do you know what I have my apartment, princess?” He smirked.

“You really want me to believe you don’t have booze at your place?”

“Fair.” Tom smiled smugly. “I don’t know why I showed up. Why’d you invite me?”

“Don’t know.” You shrugged. “Guess I didn’t want you to feel left out.”

“That’s really nice.” Tom told you honestly. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” You smiled. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“Why do you hate Christmas?” You asked, taking Tom by surprise.

“Why do you care?” He grumbled, playing with his beer bottle.

“Well Christmas brings me so much joy-”

“-Everything brings you joy.”

“So anyway Christmas brings me so much joy, it just makes me sad to know that it makes you sad. Or angry.” You told him gently. “You don’t have to answer if you really don’t want to.”

“I haven’t really, uh, talked about this.” Tom muttered, placing his beer bottle on the table and dropping his head to his hands.

“That’s okay, Tom. You don’t have to tell me.” You soothed, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder.

Tom didn’t know what it was but something about you made him feel like he could open up. You made him feel safe.

“A few years ago, right before I came here, my girlfriend at the time was killed in a car accident right around Christmas.” He spoke softly, his voice cracking. “We had just gotten into a fight and she was leaving my house. Someone ran a red light and crashed into her. Paramedics say she was killed instantly.”

“Oh Tom I’m so sorry.” You frowned, rubbing his shoulder softly. “I can’t even imagine what that must’ve been like.”

“I kinda uh, spiraled and used alcohol to solve my problems, lashed out against my family.” He nearly whispered. “Haven’t been back since.”

“Do you talk to them?” You asked softly.

“Only my brothers.” He responded. “They usually call me on Christmas for virtual company.”

“You’re alone on Christmas?” You gasped as he nodded. “Will..will you be alone this year?”

“Probably.” He replied, shrugging. “‘S fine, I’ll be fine.”

“Tom that’s so sad, though! Don’t you have any friend’s houses you could to?”

“All my close friends are back home in London.” He shrugged. “Seriously, y/n, I’m fine.”

“I think you could use a friend.” You smiled, Tom rolling his eyes, though he smiled.

“Why would you wanna be my friend? I’ve been a dick to you.” He chuckled, though he was serious.

“That’s true.” You smiled. “But to be fair, I’ve been trying to be a friend to you, now I’m just declaring it official.”

“You were trying to be a friend to me?” Tom asked, feeling guilt wash over him.

“Yeah.” You nodded, frowning slightly. “Jus’ thought you hated me.”

“I’m really sorry, y/n. I don’t hate you.” Tom said softly.

“You don’t?”

Tom shook his head. “Christmas time just makes me so sad and angry. I keep up the act year round ‘cause it’s easy.”

“Protecting your heart?” You asked, Tom nodding. “Well, think of it this way. You could have a pair of rollerblades that are really nice that you’re afraid to wreck. So you keep them locked away and you don’t use them for a few years. Then one day you want to use them, but they’re too small now because you outgrew this.”

“‘M sort of confused as to how this relates to me trying to protect my heart.”

“If you just keep it to yourself, maybe it'll be like the rollerblades. When you do decide to try it, it won't be any good. You should take a chance. Got nothing to lose.” You told him.

“I guess that kind of makes sense. Thanks, y/n.” He smiled.

“No problem, friend.”

You helped Tom study for finals, making his study guides colorful and organized and quizzing him with flashcards.

He even let you put up some Christmas lights in his apartment.

Finals came and went and soon it was time for students to go home for the holidays or at least for break if they didn’t celebrate Christmas.

You were done packing up to head to your family’s house for the holiday when you remembered you had one last thing to do before you left.

Knocking on Tom’s door, you smiled and showed him the two digital train tickets on your phone.

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?” You asked, shock and confusion coming over Tom’s face.

“You want me to spend Christmas with you?” He asked.

“Yup. My family said it’s fine and I’m only going there for a few days. And so are you because I don’t want you being alone on Christmas.” You told him.

“What should I pack?”

“Tom, Tom, hey! Wake up!” You whispered, shaking him awake. It was Christmas morning and you only had one bed for you and Tom so you had to share with him. Not that you minded, he was a good cuddler.

“Hm what?” He mumbled.

“It’s Christmas!” You whispered excitedly, making him smile.

“Is it now?” He mumbled, a smile on his lips.

“Come onnn, I have a present for you!”

Tom opened his eyes, smiling when he saw you sitting up and smiling.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” He told you, making you shake your head.

“Just open it.” You instructed, handing him the small gift bag.

He reached in, pulling out the London ornament.

“Do you like it?” You asked shyly.

“I love it. Thank you so much, y/n.” He replied, admiring the London sites on the ornament.

“Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

Once downstairs, you watched as your siblings opened their presents. You and Tom sat on the couch, neither of you noticing the way Tom’s arm almost instinctively went around your shoulders. Or the way you leaned into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder.

When everyone was done opening presents and your family was distracted, Tom got up and held his hand out for you to take, telling you he had something for you.

You followed him to the dining room, where you saw a gift bag, Tom softly instructing you to open it.

Inside you found a few scented candles, along with DVDs of your favorite Christmas movies, and an ornament in the shape of a pair of rollerblades.

“Tom this is, this is so much.” You whispered, tears in your eyes.

“Felt like this was the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.” He said softly. “And uh, I hope you like the rollerblade ornament.”

“I love it, Tom.”

“You know, someone I know once told me to uh, give using my heart again a chance.” He muttered, feeling his heart pound in his chest.

“Think I know who you’re talking about.” You smiled, feeling butterflies in your stomach as he came closer. “Any particular reason you’re bringing this up?”

“I think I figured out who I can let in.” He whispered.

“Yeah? Who’s that?” You asked as he took one step closer.

“You.” He mumbled, pressing his lips to yours softly.

You wrapped your hands around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him while his hands rested against your waist softly.

“Must be one special girl.” You whispered against his lips when you pulled away, making him smile and chuckle as his hands wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him.

“Yeah. She’s pretty special to me.”

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland x fem!reader #tom holland x female!reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst

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creepichan · 4 years ago

Text

El Capitano

Don’t ask, I dreamed of this last night XD But it was way too cute to not write it

Words: 1800

Characters: Roman, Logan, Patton, Some random Girls

Pairing: Logicality, mentioned Roman x unknown, (I leave it to you tho if you want to read it as additional Logincecality)

TW: Mentions of Alcohol, Curse, mentions of car accident ao3 link -----

“Go over the fire ladder! I’ll catch up to you” ,He whisper-shouted over to the pair that already made it half through the window, as they heard the headmaster approaching from the hall. There wouldn’t be enough time for Roman to follow them, he needed to hide and that fast if he didn’t want to get caught in the girls commons and risk to fly from the school. Logan and Patton were already on their way, and Roman ran out of options. Why did they think taking this shortcut was a good idea? Oh yeah, they didn't. Roman did all alone and now that’s what he would get from it. But, the deus ex machina decided to be merciful to him, and made him see that one of the room doors was ajar. So he quickly took the chance and sneaked into the girls room to hide. Thankfully it was empty so he could stay here for a bit. A sigh of relief flooted him, as he took a few steps back, running a hand through his reddish hair.

“Fuck that was close”

Tho he wished to have just climbed after Pat and Lo. Would have been easier and maybe fast enough on second thought. Oh well… too late now. He only prayed he didn’t have to wait too long here. The girls who this room belonged to could come back any minute and they already were lucky enough no one saw them. Plus: He REALLY wanted to be with the two right now. This day has already been stressful enough and today the deadline would end. Which meant Patton would be finally safe… In the past month Patton had to live with a curse. Roman and Logan had been on edge this whole time to keep him safe from all sorts of things that the universe threw at them. Don’t ask how it came to that, just don’t. It was already enough stress to calm his racing heart and get his breathing under control to not make too much noise. He put his ear to the door and- DAMMIT- she was still outside. And not only that, she talked with other teachers and a few students now.

“Good fuck, what are they even doing here anyways?!” ,Roman cursed. He couldn’t stay here. What would they think of him? Standing all dirty and with a ragged jacket in a girls room he didn’t even know? So he began to look around. Nothing. No Vents, no side doors, only a window. Wait… a window. On silent soles he stepped closer and carefully opened the window, looking out. Perfect. Just above was their room, but with no ladder. He would have to pray that the ivy on the wall could hold him. Slowly he climbed on the desk, ready to climb out of the- “Ah, so El Capitano honors us again with his visit”

If Roman had already put a leg outside the window, he might as well would have fallen out. But fortunately he was still enough inside to just let out a startled squee. Welp… there they were. Four girls that this room belonged to. Great… “uh…. ‘El Capitano’?” ,Roman asked perplex while lifting a brow. The girls didn’t seem hostile as they got in and went about their things as if Roman wasn’t even there. Like this was something normal. The redhead came closer with a confused grin. “Wait, seriously? Are you sneaking through so many windows that you already forgot?” His brows knitted together as he tried to recall. When realization hit him, a red flush filled his cheeks. “oh- oh god, yes.”

The girl let out a small chuckle, her friends joined in. “You were so drunk that you mistook our room for yours and wanted to climb up to yours through the window. And you kept throwing spanish word in while you wanted us to call you ‘El Capitano’” As embarrassing as this was, it was also kinda funny thinking back. He didn’t remember much from that night, only that he woke up with a bottle of tequila in a girls dorm with a pink shirt on. He was so paranoid that he slept with one of them, that his mind tried desperately to forget that hungover.

“From that on, always when one of us was about to do something stupid on alcohol, we call it “Don’t do a capitano”” Roman grinned a bit honored. “Well in my defense: If I hadn’t been this wasted I would have nailed that climb!”

“Suuuure” ,a girl sitting on her bed chuckled. The redhead walked to her cabinet, where they hoarded most of their food and pulled out a nearly finished bottle of tequila. “Ever since we were waiting for you to come back and finally get your trash” “You kept it? Couldn’t you have just thrown it out?”

“Is it our job to clean after the man, after he vanished that morning from our bathtub? Without even a thank you for hiding him or saving his stupid ass?” ,she smirked back. “Okay fair.” ,he rubbed his neck, “Thanks for that, but i cannot climb with a bottle in my hand”

“Well guess you’ll have to come back another time then. Now if you allow the question El Capitano-” “Actually my name is-”

“Nope.” ,she interrupted back, “El Capitano suits you. Besides, if anyone asks us whose bottle this is, it’s better if no one of us knows your name. But I’m Ella” ,she shook his hand with a smirk, which he returned. “Now then, Cap. Why are you here?” “Oh well… it’s a long story” That statement didn’t seem to bother the girls much, they leaned forward interest and Roman quickly noticed: They’d be an attentive audience. So he sat back on the table and began to tell them from the most deathly month of his life.

One and a half hours later, Roman said in a braid train that the girls spontaneously decided to form while listening to Roman’s tale. He didn’t know if they REALLY believed anything he said, but at least they were nice enough to act like it and not mock him. Outside the sun slowly came closer to the horizon and the hot summer air warmed the room together with the red light of the oncoming sunset. With Roman’s soft, yet melodic voice, it was really nice to listen to him, while he caught up to the events from today. Where they left the town library and were so close to getting hit by several cars, while trying to escort Patton back to the campus. Dodging a wild raccoon and a bicyclist who just HAD to run him over and ruin his favorite jacket.

“It was like the universe was against us. Well… it had been this whole month, but as we checked the dates again and knew we were close to the end, it was like it was giving us all it had on the home stretch. So we needed to run to the last safe place to wait out the last few hours of the curse. But we couldn’t walk over the campus-” “Why not?” ,asked Edna. Turning around, her braid finally finished by Roman, to face him. Roman’s face lit up a bit red for the second time that evening. “Because my crush was there and I embarrassed myself last thursday in front of him. So he clearly didn’t need to see me all dirty and raggedy. The group let out some soft chuckles and exchanged a few gentle grins. “You are such a himbo, I’m sure he would have found it cute.” “Well ladies, not taking that chance. YET. In this moment all that mattered was getting Patton home safe and- … oh CRAP! I totally forgot-” ,he exclaimed, getting on his feet. “Oh right where are your friends right now?” ,Helia asked. “They went to our room, I need to check on them” ,he said more quiet, putting an ear against the door and fuck- there were now multiple girls in the hallway. He had no chance. Unless… “Hey what are you doing?” ,Ella asked as Roman climbed on the desk once again. “I’m going to prove to you that I can nail this climb” ,a confident grin crept up on his face. “Well then, El Capitano must say farewell now, myladies! But we will see each other again” He received playfull eyerolls from Edna and Mina, enthusiastic clapping from Helia and even a Salut from Ella. “Yes oh Captain my Captain” ,she grinned, having learned about Roman’s love for theater in their conversation. Roman saluted back with a proud grin before he grabbed hard on the thick ivy and other plants that grew on the wall. Slowly climbing up he thanked the stars that their window was slightly opened, but the curtains were closed. Didn’t matter, because with some sweat he made it to the window without too much scratches. Shifting caruffly through the blue curtains that painted the room in calm blue light. He climbed in very carefully, as he saw that Patton and Logan were both in their separate beds, holding hands across. They didn’t seem to be asleep yet tho, since they both peaked their heads up as he climbed in. “Oh there you are, we were already getting worried” ,said Patton, as he carefully put his glasses on. “Sorry, dearest puffball. I caught up with a few… old friends” ,he smiled. Turning to Logan, who mirrored Patton with putting on his glasses, he asked: “How long?” For the first time this month Logan could manage to smile calm while looking at his clock. “It’s still two hours until the sun rises in Azerbaijan”

A bit unsure if he understood the whole concept Roman carefully fully asked “So… we did it?” And he would lie, if he said that Logan nodding smiling, whispering a small “Yes”, didn’t fill him with the biggest joy he has felt in this whole time. A bright grin planted itself on his face as he looked to Patton, who smiled back just as bright.

“What even is your arrangement here? Sleeping across like that! Come here!” ,he exclaimed, picking Patton up, who squeed and tightly grabbed around his neck. “Roman!”

He walked across and put Patton gently down next to Logan, who quickly pulled his arms around the smaller man. Just like Roman who joined on the other side. Finally having their victory cuddle after all these hardships and the fear of losing one another. Holding each other warm and comfortable, even through the summer heat. They didn’t mind. All what counted that they were finally here and finally safe.

Patton sniffed, smiling soft. “Thank you so much, you two… you saved me”

“Anytime” ,they replied in unison. ------ Again, please don’t ask what this curse is and why it’s connected to Azerbaijan. Dreams are WEIRD. But the scene in which Roman climbs back in and sees how they are holding hands across was too cute to not eternalize this moment X3

#sanders sides #fanfiction #my fic #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #logicality #logincecality #Roman is awesome

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manggojooz · 5 years ago

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Pick A Side (Part 13)

pairing: Taehyung x reader

word count: 2,244

genre: university!au; angst; romance; thriller; a lil bit of fluff

warnings: slight references to voyeuristic behaviour

taglist: @destiel1597 @mila271 @hopetookmysoul @ximaginx@honeyursosweet @coffeecupyoongs@bangtanbaesstuff@annoyingpessimist @betysotelo18 @okaysoplshelpme@igot7bangs @tahaing @mochi-and-co @somewhereinthestarss

“I don’t want this thing to get any bigger than it already is... I just hope it dies down quickly and quietly. That is all I want now. I have no answer either. But somehow the world makes me feel that as the victim, finding the culprit, seeking justice, is not my priority”, Jihyun explained and stood up to leave.

“Jihyun...”, you called out to her.

She didn’t turn around but she did stop moving towards the café’s door.

“Don’t be fooled into thinking that he’s on your side...”, you preached.

She suddenly felt a surge of irritation, she spun around and stalked back towards Taehyung and you.

“My side? Then are you on my side? Is he on my side?”, she raged as she pointed at Taehyung. “Just because he’s here with you, you think he’s on your side now? You should be the one being worried about getting fooled, Y/N. Don’t be too happy now... we may all be in the same boat in the end.”

You suddenly felt a sense of embarrassment and a tinge of guilt. Who were you to be preaching a lesson to her? Everyone faces life with a different set of lenses. We have experienced different things, we have met different people, we have walked different paths. Thus, the specifications of our lenses cannot be the same. Even when we face that same landscape, that same frame, how we capture it and how the final picture develops, will ultimately be dependent on those lenses.

You watched Jihyun walk out of the café and you thought to yourself, we always assume people share the same values and the same world view as us. That’s why it is difficult to understand when they see things differently from us. And when we don’t understand why they don’t think like us, we conclude that they stand against us, that they are on the other side.

Jihyun stalks on, her winter boots clicking against the dull pavement. She kept her eyes on the ground as she walked along. She never used to be this way. She used to enjoy seeing the view on her way, but now she just doesn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. The moment she does, she wonders whether they know about her, whether they are judging her.

Out of nowhere, you rushed out in front of her, cutting her path. She was befuddled at your persistence. But then again, maybe you are just desperate to save Taehyung from this situation. You will probably never see it from her view – that what you are asking her to do, is to believe a guy who has hurt and abandoned her, and to give up on one who had supported her through the most difficult times.

“Jihyun, I’m trying to-”, you started

“Y/N,”, Jihyun sighed and you immediately stopped talking, because you know you needed to hear her out, you needed to figure out what kind of lenses she has now. “Is it weird if I think that you must be happy this happened to me? Is it weird that I think you must also be happy to know that Taehyung never truly loved me? Even if it’s weird, that is what I think. And I have been suppressing and suppressing it, telling myself to not see you as the same petty person that I am. But here you are, making me doubt the only person that is keeping me stable now. Don’t... push me further please, I think I might really go crazy...”, Jihyun’s words were just pouring out.

“You are petty...”, her face said it all, she was shocked that you would say it so abruptly and directly, “... but so am I. All the times Taehyung took your side. Every time I saw your triumphant smile, it’s as if I was the pettiest girlfriend who ever existed. I always thought to myself, I hope one day you will be in my shoes and will realise how it felt. But I’m not happy now either, Jihyun...”, you said.

She was skeptical, she even scoffed lightly but that did not deter you from explaining, “... because I was the one who went around drawing those lines, separating myself from this person, from that person. If you are not standing on my side of the line, I get hurt. With these rules I made for myself, how can I ever expect to be happy?”

You cannot deny that it is human nature to want to be sided with, but when you start obsessing over it, when everything is either your side or not your side, that becomes counter-productive, or in some ways, it can manifest into ‘jealousy’.

“If I'm not making sense to you... what I'm really trying to say is that I was wrong to think that everything is black and white, my side or your side or whatever... what I'm getting at is that not everything is about picking a side, Jihyun. You are still my friend... I just want to help you, just like I want to help Taehyung too. There can be no other reason why I am doing this...”, you pleaded with her.

“After all that has happened, you think we are still friends?”, she asked, very incredulously.

“Why not? Even after all that has happened, you believed that I wasn’t the one who took those photos of you, right?”, you questioned.

She kept quiet and still, silently acknowledging it.

“And despite your getting together with Taehyung not long after our break up, I believe you were just friends with him while I was dating him. I just wanted to tell you that”, you said.

“I liked him”, Jihyun suddenly said. “I liked Taehyung before you guys got together. But when he was with you, I never intended to snatch him away. I was just not used to him prioritising another girl, we were best friends for a really long time you know...”, she said softly.

“I know...”, you replied.

There was a long silence, both of you not really looking at each other but still stealing glances from time to time until Jihyun broke the silence, “He really locked up you up on the rooftop? Haejoong?”

You nodded, showing her a frost bite you had gotten on the sides of your palm. “It’s not about whether you believe me, it’s about what is the truth, we need to find out...”

---

As Jihyun walks into the police station, Haejoong was sucked into his own vacuum amidst the bustling scene.

A lot ran through his mind in a matter of seconds, and he stood up from his seat, his hands still cuffed in front of him as he approaches Jihyun. You wanted to jump at him a second time, but Taehyung held onto your wrist and shook his head at you.

“Jihyun...”, she winces as he calls her name. Just as he inhaled to say something again, one police officer shouted from across the room.

“Hyung, the room’s cleared!”, he pointed towards a corridor at the same time.

Haejoong was moved into an interrogation room. Unlike the dramas it wasn’t dimly-lit, but it was shabby-looking. The police quickly got down to taking all of your statements before they will proceed to question Haejoong. Once your statements were given, Helen, Taehyung, Jihyun and you, were all told to leave. You were not allowed to watch the interrogation anyway.

Jihyun requested to speak to Haejoong for just five minutes but was rejected by the policemen. “Come back after we are done questioning him, Ms Kim”, was all they instructed her.

---

The next day you walked into class, that same one that you used to hate because of Jihyun and Taehyung, and used to find refuge in sharing the class with Haejoong.

Some of your classmates were looking at you fleetingly, curious but not wanting to make actual eye contact. You took a deep breath and intended to bulldoze through the stairs to your usual seat at the back of the room, but a voice caught you by surprise.

“Y/N”, you turned to see that it was Hyesoo, the teaching assistant who had called you. “These are mine, it’s only for your reference, don’t write on them, don’t crumple them and make sure you return it to me once the project is done”, she nagged and shoves a notebook into your face.

You looked at the book with utter confusion and then back at her.

“What? All four of you have been so caught up in producing your own little school drama that you forgot the project is due next Monday? With the number of classes you guys missed, and having one groupmate held in a police station... why do you keep looking at me like that, you don’t want my notes? Fine... give it back”, she sneered.

She almost snatches the notebook from your grasp but at the last moment your fingertips stuck onto them and tore it back from her.

“No no I just totally forgot about the deadline... thanks sunbaenim...”, you stammered.

Her haughty air doesn’t let down, and her hair flips as she turns to walk away to her seat again.

---

Taehyung and Jihyun were nowhere in sight during the class, so you messaged him asking where he was but there was no reply. You walked listlessly out of the building after the class ended, thinking whether to give Taehyung a call or to drop by the student office first.

“Y/N”, it was Taehyung’s voice and you scanned around in the crowd of students, finally spotting him standing not far from the landing of the stairs that led out from the school building. Jihyun was next to him and as you approached them you noticed how her eyes were all red and swollen.

“I called Jihyun this morning to make sure she would go for class, but she didn’t pick up and when I went to her room... she stayed up the whole night, I just couldn’t leave her there alone”, Taehyung explained.

You nodded.

“Are you feeling okay?”, you asked her.

“I want to go meet him”, Jihyun said.

---

“Why?”, she asked Haejoong who was sitting across the table from Jihyun and you. The police only allowed two people to meet him at one time, so Taehyung volunteered to wait outside, a little too willingly.

“Why?”, he wasn’t mimicking her, he was genuinely bewildered that she didn’t understand him, his choices. He continued to peer at her, his hands hidden below the table.

“I have so many questions, I don’t even know where to start”, she would pause a little between her words but she looked at him with a coldness resembling the season.

“Because I like you... I would think you would know that by now-”, Haejoong answered but a scoff from you cuts him off.

“Funny... that’s what you said to me not too long ago too...”, you spat sarcastically.

He doesn’t even so much as glance at you, he was only fixated on Jihyun.

“That was different”, he asserted without missing beat.

You pouted your lower lip and slowly bobbed your head. “It was different... hmm... I thought about it for really long. Why is it that you liked Jihyun but approached me at the start?”

He finally turns to you, his eyes rather unconcerned about your phishing attempt.

“You wanted to see if Taehyung would get jealous? You wanted to make Taehyung leave Jihyun...? You were just using me to achieve that?”, you theorised, you spoke slowly and peeked twice at Jihyun to make sure she was not too affected.

“He doesn’t love her... she deserves to know that...”, Haejoong hisses at you in response.

“Then why?! If you like me, why would you make everyone shun me like that... by taking those photos and videos?”, Jihyun bursts out at him eventually.

“I didn’t make them shun you, Jihyun... don’t you see it? None of those bastards who claim to like you will stay by your side when it really matters. After Taehyung left you, they think they stood a chance”, he mocked and they would circle you like bees circling a flower, but look how they all just fly away when you face the smallest problem”, his answer sounded like he was trying to pacify a child who didn’t know better about the horrible world.

“And you? You created the problem just to save me from it!”, Jihyun’s voice reeked with disbelief.

“No! I didn’t create the problem... I was only showing you the problem. I was showing you the truth, Jihyun-ah!”, Haejoong leaned in as he shouted his reply at Jihyun. He was taken aback; this was the first time he raised his voice at her.

“You are crazy...”, Jihyun whispered as she gripped her thighs to stop her hands from shaking.

You reached out your right hand and gently placed it over her tightening left hand.

“And it still wasn’t enough...”, Haejoong said with a dejected yet chilling expression.

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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You're the One Thing (I Can't Get Enough Of) {Branjie}- athena2

A/N: Brooke has messed up in her and Vanessa’s relationship, but she’s going to do whatever it takes to fix it. This is for @writworm 42, who requested a fic where Brooke has messed up and makes it up to Vanessa with candlelight and looking pretty and a slow dance, and Writ is awesome and I love them so I had to. I hope it’s somewhat like what you imagined, and I hope you enjoy! Please leave some feedback if you’d like! Title from “I’ve Had the Time of My Life” from Dirty Dancing.

—

Night has fallen, a dark blue sheet over the world, when Brooke finally exits the conference room massaging her temples, ears still ringing from a board member’s yelling.

She pulls out her phone on the way to her car, stomach growling with the knowledge that she’s consumed nothing but a cup of coffee all day. 15 minutes and she’ll be home, eating dinner and kissing Vanessa—

There’s 5 voicemails and almost 30 texts, all from Vanessa.

Oh no. The phone shakes in Brooke’s hand, and it’s a good thing she hasn’t eaten because her stomach lurches.

Did something happen? Is she hurt? Is she sick? Her mind is overtaken by images of Vanessa trapped and bleeding in her car, or fighting for her life in the hospital, or scared because of something at work…she forces herself to breathe and opens up the messages, heart pounding.

Brooke

Where are you?

You’re supposed to be out early today remember?

Why are you late?

Brooke are you okay? You’re an hour late and I’m scared

Brooke?

Are you okay?

You’re almost two hours late

I just called your office they said you’re in a meeting. Did you seriously forget to leave early for tonight?

Whatever. Obviously your job is more important

Oh shit. Brooke’s heart creeps into her throat and the guilt slams into her like a tractor. Somehow, in between her rushed cup of coffee for breakfast and the two morning meetings and skipping lunch to perfect her presentation and the presentation itself and this meeting, she completely forgot that she had to get out early.

It’s her and Vanessa’s third anniversary.

And Brooke forgot about it.

—

“Will you just come, Brooke? You might actually enjoy yourself, you know,” Nina argues.

“At 80’s music night at the Rainforest Bar? Do I even need to dignify that with a response?” She shoots Nina the most scathing look she can muster.

“Okay, so maybe it’s not your exact idea of a good time, but please just come? You might meet someone. You haven’t been in a relationship since undergrad. I worry about you, Brooke.” It’s a clear guilt trip, but there’s such sincerity in Nina’s expression that she finds herself agreeing.

“Fine. But if I don’t have a good time, which I won’t, I get to pick the next movie for movie night.”

“Okay. And if you do have a good time, which you will, I get to pick the movie.”

“Deal.”

—

Brooke opens the back door and enters a fog of doom and misery in the kitchen.

“Look who decided to show up.”

Vanessa sits stiffly at the kitchen table, a murderous gleam in her eyes. She’s still in her flowing gold dress that she saves for special occasions. The table is bare, and Brooke realizes with a pang that Vanessa had given up on her and put it all away, removed all traces of the night they were supposed to have, with their fancy dresses and fancy dinner and candles and champagne.

Like she could no longer bear to sit and look at the broken promise Brooke had made of their night.

There is nothing she can say that will make this better, but she has to try. Vanessa deserves that much at least.

“Vanessa, I’m so sorry. I got caught up at work–”

“You’re always caught up at work!”

She can tell from Vanessa’s rage that this has been building for a while–and not without reason. Brooke has been coming home later than usual the past few weeks, falling asleep at her home desk as she reviews graphs and charts. She’s been telling Vanessa that things will be normal again once the quarter ends, but what if–fear grips her heart–what if her and Vanessa aren’t still her and Vanessa by the time it does?

“They scheduled a late meeting and it was mandatory–”

“Of course it was! And you know what? You wouldn’t have even been there for it if you left early like you promised!” Vanessa leaps to her feet, betrayal and anger enabling her to tower over Brooke.

“I know. I’m sorry. It was a shitty thing to do and I–”

“One night I asked you to get out early. One!” She laughs bitterly. “Sometimes I think you like that job more than me.”

“Ness, I–”

“You don’t get to call me Ness right now.” Brooke detects tears chasing after the fury in Vanessa’s voice. “Why don’t you sleep at your desk tonight. You love sleeping there anyway.”

She storms up the stairs and Brooke restrains herself from following. Vanessa’s anger is like a landmine; you might take out everything in a 5-mile radius if you approach her when she’s still seething. As much as Brooke wants to race after her and talk and apologize until she’s repaired this, she knows she’ll only create more damage if she goes when the fire of rage is still burning through her wife, and she’s caused enough destruction already.

She finds their dessert for tonight, chocolate-strawberry tarts from their favorite coffee shop–where they had their first official date and Brooke was so nervous she poured sugar all over the table instead of in her mug–in the garbage, another casualty of Brooke’s forgetfulness.

Brooke steps into her home office, her appetite suddenly gone, a hard lump in her stomach now. She drops into her desk chair, still in her stiff pantsuit, because she doesn’t deserve the release of taking it off. She watches the sky brighten as it passes from dusk to dawn, a bright pink of new possibilities and fulfilled promises, as she formulates a plan.

She’s going to make this right.

—

Nina hums along to “Africa” at the table they’re huddled around, and Brooke is flooded with guilt for making Nina stand here with her miserable self when she knows Nina would rather be on the dance floor.

“Go dance,” Brooke insists. “Have fun. Don’t worry about me.” It takes another few minutes of coaxing and reassuring Nina that she’ll be fine before Nina sprints to the dance floor, immediately drawn in with a group of women.

Brooke sighs and sips at her drink, the oversized paper umbrella almost taking her eye out. She shouldn’t be here; she should be reviewing her presentation for Monday, making sure she’s caught every mistake. Maybe she could hole up in the bathroom and go over the notes on her phone. She sighs again. Why couldn’t she ever just let go and have fun like Nina encouraged her to?

“Hey there,” a rough voice surfaces at her side. “You okay? You lookin’ kinda stressed, Mami.”

Brooke looks up at the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen, brilliant white teeth exposed in a full grin, a jungle cat on the prowl, brown eyes bright under the neon lights, hair brushed back off her soft, smooth face.

“I–I’m fine,” Brooke manages, no longer sure how to form words.

The woman winks. “You sure are.” She bats her eyelashes and Brooke has to grip the table just to stay upright.

“I’m Vanessa,” the woman says.

—

Brooke calls in sick to work and is out the door before the sun is up the next morning, before Vanessa rolls out of bed to take her shower. Brooke can’t help but smile as she pictures the nest Vanessa’s hair is in the morning, how she always tries to convince Brooke to stay in the shower with her. All she can do is hope she didn’t mess up enough to lose those things.

The grocery store is nearly deserted this early in the morning, which is good because Brooke doesn’t want to know what she looks like, in yesterday’s clothes, hair up in a ponytail, running on a rough hour of sleep and not enough coffee. She shoves through the exhaustion and focuses.

Vanessa likes Caesar salad with extra croutons, she likes potatoes fried until they crunch, and she likes steak completely well done because any pink in it freaked her out. Brooke can barely make toast without setting off the smoke detector, but as she roams down endless seas of cans and boxes, her sleep-deprived brain declares that she can make all of these things for tonight.

She is going to give Vanessa the night she deserves, because Vanessa is the greatest person Brooke has ever known. She is somehow bold and brash yet kind and thoughtful, always armed with the right words for any situation. She can loosen the threads that have Brooke wound tight with stress over work conferences, make her laugh after a long day, nestle perfectly in her arms at night. The pain in Brooke’s chest is only growing as she thinks of the absolute wreck she made of everything.

How could she have forgotten the anniversary of the day she stood under a canopy of orange leaves and slid her ring on Vanessa’s finger and vowed to love her forever? Has her love for Vanessa lessened over the years? No, she knows that isn’t true. Her heart still speeds up every time Vanessa smiles at her, their hands still fly together like lovesick teenagers. She knows, even in moments when Vanessa has steam coming out of her ears after work or is frowning at her for editing presentations in bed, that she loves Vanessa more than ever. She has to show Vanessa how much she loves her in case the message has been lost lately with all her deadlines and meetings and stress.

Her next stop is the coffee shop to get new tarts, only to be told that they make those every other day. Brooke clenches her fists so tight she nearly bends her phone in half. She has to have these tarts. They’re Vanessa’s favorite, and nothing else will do. Vanessa should get to have her favorite dessert all the time, and especially now, but Brooke walks out the door with a polite thank you, because what’s she going to do? Get down on her knees and sob and beg the bored twenty-something behind the counter to make the tarts so she can save her marriage? (The thought does cross her mind).

Brooke gets in her car, pulls up a recipe, and heads back to the store.

—

Vanessa is tiny, barely at Brooke’s shoulders even in her sleek black heels, but with a voice and personality that make her double in size. Brooke easily lets her take the lead on the conversation, and by the time she finds out Vanessa is a schoolteacher a few years younger than her, Brooke forgets to be afraid, forgets about her presentation Monday, forgets everything but Vanessa’s eyes and smile across from her.

Brooke doesn’t even notice that hours have passed listening to Vanessa’s stories of what goes on in the teachers’ lounge at school, the DJ cycling through Madonna and Cyndi Lauper and George Michael, until the bartender announces last call and the soft strains of a familiar song from one of her and Nina’s favorite movies ring out.

‘Now I’ve had the time of my life…’

Vanessa squeals. “I love this song! Dance with me?”

She lets Vanessa pull her on to the dance floor, the brunette telling her over the music about how she and her friends all watched the movie for the first time at a sleepover when they were 12, how everyone drooled over Johnny but she couldn’t take her eyes off Penny, and by the end of the sleepover she knew she had a thing for blondes and did not have a thing for men.

Brooke just listens to that gravelly voice, feels the warmth of Vanessa’s body pulsing next to her, and when the song reaches its climax, she can’t resist leaning down and whispering into Vanessa’s ear.

“I can do this, you know. The lift, I mean.” Brooke clarifies at Vanessa’s confused expression.

“You’re shitting me!”

“I’m not.” Brooke grins. “I took dance lessons for 14 years, I know how to do it.”

“You wanna come back to my place and prove it?”

—

The first thing she sees when she gets home is Vanessa’s coffee mug in the sink, peeking out at her like a ray of sunlight.

The mug Brooke got her as a joke when they started dating, with a chalkboard and an apple on it proclaiming Vanessa to be the World’s Best Teacher. The mug she had plucked a ring out of the night she proposed to Vanessa, a night filled with happy tears and kisses and breathless repeatings of we’re getting married. The mug that Vanessa insisted be the first thing they unpacked when they moved into their new house.

Vanessa leaves the mug in the sink every morning and Brooke washes it every night when she gets home from work, relishing the calm motions and the memories of late breakfasts and kisses sweet with coffee and maple syrup bursting from the mug’s surface.

If Vanessa was willing to drink out of this morning after everything that happened, maybe there’s hope, and Brooke rinses the mug with a smile.

Then she lays out her supplies and gets to work.

Brooke can’t cook. At all. And she doesn’t mean it in the modest way people do when they don’t want to call attention to their talents; she means it in the way that Vanessa reaches for the fire extinguisher anytime Brooke gets within a foot of the stove. But she has double of everything she’ll need and seven hours until Vanessa gets home, and today is as good a day as ever to be optimistic.

Brooke slices and stirs and mixes and it distracts her from the fact that it’s radio silence on her phone all day. No cat videos or pictures of Vanessa at her desk with the funniest Snapchat filter she could find or an accusatory so guess what this hoe at work did today with the promise of a wild story that she would hear at dinner. It’s what she expected and it’s what she deserves. Hell, it’s probably more than she deserves; she wouldn’t blame Vanessa for sending her angry texts and screaming voicemails.

After a long shower, a thick layer of aloe vera over the small burn on her arm, three Minnie Mouse Band-Aids on the cuts on her fingers, one batch of tarts so deformed they could be a viral Pinterest fail, a once-white T-shirt that she doubts even bleach can save, and a salad dressing incident that required cleaning the ceiling, Brooke curls her hair, applies her makeup, and slips on her elegant black dress, the one with the plunging neckline that Vanessa likes because then she can put her hands all over Brooke’s chest.

She lights candles to set the romantic mood (and also mask the odor from the first round of potatoes she burned), arranges deep red and soft white roses in a vase, and props up the portable speaker as Vanessa drives home from the after-school program she helps with, probably blasting Rihanna and singing along with the windows open.

Brooke starts the music as she hears the lock click, preparing herself for the moment of truth.

—-

Vanessa is barely in the door before she has the song cued up on her phone, pulling Brooke into the living room with a wide smile.

Vanessa slips her arms around Brooke’s waist, rocking her into a slow dance as the first verses of the song play out.

The song builds to the lift, and Vanessa bites her lip and glances up at Brooke nervously.

“You’re not gonna drop me, are you?” she questions.

“I won’t drop you, I promise. I got you.” Brooke has never made promises easy, Nina the only person to typically earn them, but it flies out so naturally she doesn’t question it, and she knows she will never break it. She’s got a good feeling in her gut about Vanessa, and Brooke wants to carve those words into stone.

Vanessa nods, taking a few steps back before running at her, heels clicking on the floor, and Brooke settles her hands on Vanessa’s hips, going with the motion and lifting her high in the air.

“Holy shit, Brooke!” Vanessa shrieks above Brooke’s head. “I’m five-nothing, I never been this high! Well, except for that time my friend Silky made her ‘special’ cookies.”

Vanessa is quaking with laughter above her, legs flailing, and Brooke laughs and lowers Vanessa to the ground, hands still sturdy on her hips, and Brooke is thinking she might just leave them there forever. What does she really need her hands for anyway?

“I bet you use that trick on all the girls,” Vanessa accuses, still breathless, a smile between her flushed cheeks.

“Never,” Brooke says truthfully. “Never met anyone I liked enough to do it with.”

And then their lips meet, and that good feeling spreads to Brooke’s entire body. She may actually burst into flame, and she lifts Vanessa once more and carries her into–no, that’s the bathroom, Brooke unable to see anything but Vanessa–the bedroom, placing her down carefully and removing Vanessa’s dress.

They nestle into a breathless tangle, and there’s that feeling in Brooke’s stomach again. This time it’s telling her that this won’t be their last night together, that she’ll get to hold Vanessa close every night and wake up with sunlight glinting off Vanessa’s back every morning, kissing and laughing and getting pancake crumbs from breakfasts in bed all over the sheets.

She lets the feeling carry her off into sleep.

Vanessa makes waffles the next morning, and Brooke leaves with another kiss and a new contact in her phone, Vanessa’s name followed by a heart and dancing woman emojis.

Brooke gets two texts that afternoon.

The first is from Vanessa asking if she wants to go for coffee tomorrow. The second is from Nina stating that they’ll be watching Mulan for their next movie night.

—-

Etta James’s voice fills the kitchen as Vanessa steps inside, Brooke strategically arranging a playlist with all Vanessa’s favorite love songs, most from their wedding, when they spun around together and neither one could do anything but smile because they were married.

“Brooke?” Vanessa asks, her work bag slipping through her fingers and crashing to the floor. “You-you look so beautiful, and the music and the flowers…and you cooked?” She looks at the table in wonder and bites her lip the way she does when Brooke knows she’s trying not to smile.

“Happy anniversary,” Brooke says. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about yesterday. I know that really hurt you, and I wanted to give you the anniversary you deserve, because you mean the world to me.”

“Brooke…” she’s not hiding her smile anymore, and her eyes are starting to tear up.

Brooke takes a deep breath, holding herself back from running to Vanessa just in case. “I love you, Vanessa. These have been the best three years of my life, and I still love you just as much as I did the first day. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m going to work harder to show you that. I won’t be late at the office anymore, and I won’t be doing work stuff when I could be with you. Because you’re the most important thing in my life.”

Vanessa is in her arms the next second, breathing soft I love you’s into Brooke’s chest.

“I forgive you,” Vanessa whispers. “I love you so much, Brooke. I was so lonely last night, and I wanted to text you so many times today, and you did all this for me…this is the best anniversary ever.”

She plants a kiss on the top of Vanessa’s head, and then Vanessa runs upstairs and comes back in her gold dress, Brooke bursting into a grin and hit with that same flutter in her stomach like she did that first night, like she did the night they said their vows.

‘Unforgettable, that’s what you are…’ Nat King Cole lulls over them as they start on dinner, Vanessa updating her on the case of the teachers’ lounge snack-stealer with today’s new evidence.

“I think the food is edible,” Brooke offers as a disclaimer.

“It’s fine, baby,” Vanessa assures her, crunching on potatoes. “Hey, was that stain on the ceiling before?” she asks suddenly. “And why do you have so many Band-Aids on?”

“Just don’t ask,” Brooke blurts around her edible, actually-not-bad steak, grateful when “I’m Stone in Love With You” picks up and Vanessa’s attention shifts to another story.

Brooke is washing the dishes from the tarts (a little crunchy around the edges, maybe, but altogether decent) when it comes on, like she timed it (which she had, stalling on the dish-scrubbing for just the right moment).

‘Now I’ve had the time of my life…’

“Brooke!” Vanessa squeals. “You didn’t!”

Brooke drops her washcloth in the sink and tugs Vanessa into the living room. “I did.”

The music sweeps around them and they join together in a slow dance, twirling around the living room laughing and smiling, that night years ago reflected in both of their eyes.

Vanessa takes a step back as the time grows near, searching Brooke’s face for the answer to an unasked question.

“I still got you,” Brooke promises.

Her hands are on Vanessa’s hips seconds later, Vanessa screeching up in the air while Brooke laughs beneath her, fingers exuding a promise she first made years ago into Vanessa’s skin, the promise that she will always be there for her wife, no matter what.

She brings Vanessa down into a kiss as the song fades out and melts into Diana Ross. Every kiss with Vanessa over the years has been special, but this one is fiery and desperate, filled with every need that went unanswered last night. Needs that Brooke won’t let be neglected again, because she isn’t going to put her job above her wife–her kind, passionate, fierce, loving wife–again.

She carries Vanessa up the stairs and this time she doesn’t have to search for a bedroom in an unfamiliar apartment because now it’s their bedroom, their home. Their life.

And she knows that tomorrow they’ll wake up and Vanessa will drink coffee out of that mug, and Brooke will wash it tomorrow night with a smile on her face, because even if the way she loves Vanessa has changed over the years, Brooke knows she has never loved her more.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #nina west #branjie #lesbian au #mild angst #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission

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she-is-tim · 6 years ago

Text

Neighbours AU part 3 Apologies

Lucas is a young, exhausted musician who just tries to relax, while Eliott is the overexcited, dubstep loving artist who lives next door.

Aka Lucas confronts his annoying neighbour who turns out to be gorgeous

Part 1, Part 2

Tuesday 16:34

Two days passed since Sunday and Lucas was still not over Eliott. He had high hopes and for that he got hit hard by the ground. He was glad, that his neighbour didn’t try to contact him since or that he haven’t seen him. It would be hard to sand face to face, knowing that he has a girlfriend, knowing that Lucas had false expectations from him. Everything was just a mess right now, he couldn’t touch the piano ever since.

His phone started buzzing like crazy on the coffee table, he was laying on the couch, his right leg touching the floor. He reached for his phone and picked up the call.

“Hello.” he mumbled. His voice was a bit cracked, not from crying, that would be a stupid thing to do, but because he just got home from work and was talking all day.

“Dude! Hey!” Basile screamed from the other side, Lucas had to keep the phone away from his ear in order to not go deaf.

“Basile... What do you want?” he asked with a tired voice, he was really not in the mood to listen to his friend’s bullshit.

“Listen here, there’s gonna be a big party tomorrow night. Yann said you’re not working on Thursday, so you should come too.” he said with a lot of excitement in his voice. “It’s gonna be fun.”

“Bas, you know that I hate going to parties.”

“You can’t just sit at home and snuggle on the couch, crying after some guy.” he said now seriously, this was unusual from Basile. “That guy doesn’t deserve you.” Lucas smiled a little hearing his silly friend being so nice to him.

“Okay, I’ll go.” he said.

“YES! Okay, we’ll be meeting at Yann’s tomorrow around 19:00, okay? We’re gonna get so wasted!” he said excitedly, speaking so fast, Lucas barely catched the time. Then Basile just hung up.

Lucas put his phone back to the coffee table and looked at the ceiling. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to go to a party. He haven’t been in any since high school,but hanging out with the gang was always a lot of fun. Besides, he has to forget Eliott, since he’s a lost case anyways.

He got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, but he noticed something on the floor, in front of the door. He walked there and picked up a carefully folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and his heart skipped a beat. It was a drawing, the paper was split in the middle by a line that was supposed to represent the wall, on the right side there was a raccoon, a sad one actually, looking at the wall nervously, while on the left side was a cute hedgehog sitting at a piano, playing some nice melodies. There were two words on the bottom of the paper. Forgive me

Lucas was staring at it for long minutes before he could move to the kitchen. He put the paper on the counter and turned on the kettle. He kept glancing over where the drawing was. He knew Eliott draws himself as a raccoon, they talked about it on saturday, but he couldn’t get over the fact that he drew him as a hedgehog. When the water got hot, he poured some in a mug, making himself a nice mint and strawberry tea. He left the kitchen, not looking at the drawing this time and flopped down on the couch, turning on his tv, watching some stupid comedy on Netflix.

Tuesday 19:17

He slipped the drawing under the door for Lucas hours ago and he still had no idea what the boy was thinking of it. He was too scared to talk to him, so he tried his best, approaching him by the ony thing he was good at: art. He was thinking about Lucas’ spirit animal since he stepped into his apartment, but this morning he just woke up to the thought that Lucas must be a grumpy hedgehog. His back is spikey, getting scared easily, but actually the most adorable animal that exists.

Lucille left on Monday, early in the morning, so he was alone ever since. He got better, but he still couldn’t touch his phone or go near his laptop. He was afraid of social interactions for a long time after his anxiety attacks. It wasn’t easy, especially since he should be working on his project. The deadline was coming closer each day. He couldn’t let this chance to slip away because of his stupid mind.

He walked around in the living room, thinking about Lucas. His smell was already gone, which made Eliott feel much more lonely than he used to be. Knowing that the person he desires is right next to you, but you can’t reach him is a really painful thing to think about. His phone dragged him out of these angsty thoughts when it pinged. He reached for it with shaking hands, just to check the message, he didn’t wanted to reply.

From Lucille: We’re going out tomorrow, 20:00, wear something nice

Fuck.

Wednesday 19:56

The party was loud, it was hosted by one of their high school friend, Alexandre. Lucas noticed a lot of familiar faces, like Emma, Daphné, Imane. The music was bursting so loud, Lucas’ chest was shaking from it, or maybe it was the booze starting to kick in. They had a couple drinks at Yann’s place before they came, just to set the mood for the party.

The living room was emptied to be a perfect dance floor, Lucas was chilling on the couch that was pushed to the wall in the corner, drinking some beer. People seem to have fun, they were yelling, dancing, kissing...

Arthur, Yann and Basile was talking to Alex, who was really happy that they boys came. This party was like a high school reunion, which kinda made Lucas feel better. He liked his high school years, even if it was hard at first. When he accepted his own sexuality, coming out to all of his friends, he got so much support that he was never expecting. It was overwhelming, making him extremely happy.

Now he was back, but felt like he didn’t belong here. He was a quiet musician, an exhausted adult who never went out to have fun, make out with someone he will never gonna meet again or have one night stands. He wanted love, a significant other by his side and his thoughts went back to saturday, when he was with Eliott. Fuck!

He shook his head and chugged his beer, going for another one in the kitchen. He’s going to get wasted and have fun, not thinking about his neighbour tonight.

Two hours later Lucas was very, very drunk, dancing in the middle of the living room like there’s no tomorrow. He took off his hoodie, leaving it on the couch like 40 minutes ago, now he was only wearing a navy blue shirt and dark grey jeans. Somewhere along the lines he started pressing his body to a really nice looking guy, he wasn’t even close to Eliott’s beauty, but he seemed to like the closeness of Lucas and that was more than enough for him. He wrapped his arms around him, rocking his hips, while rubbing their chest together.

The guy slid his arms on Lucas’ waist, pulling him closer and kissing his neck a few times. The alcohol hit his head so much, he barely could feel the lips touching his skin. His body was hot, his mind went blank and he just wanted to forget.

They didn’t needed more than ten minutes to end up making out on the couch, ignoring all the people around them. No one really gave a fuck, since basically everyone was doing the same somewhere in the house. Lucas was too drunk to think straight, so he just went with the flow, letting the guy to kiss him wildly, rubbing their crotch together.

Things escalated quickly, he didn’t remember when the guy took off his shirt, but his eyes popped open when he started to unzipp his jeans. Lucas grabbed the guy’s hand, trying to stop him, but he was too drunk and too weak.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re gonna enjoy it.” he whispered into his ears. Lucas shivered and tried to resist, but his mind was too dizzy.

He closed his eyes, when he heard a noise, a body landing on the floor. He looked into the direction and he saw Eliott, holding Lucas’ shirt he probably picked up from the floor and looking at the guy, who was sitting on the floor. Some of the guests looked at them, being interested in the drama.

“Don’t touch him!” Eliott hissed, clenching his fist so much, his veins popped out.

Lucas sat up, holding his head, cause he was still pretty drunk. He grabbed Eliott’s arm, softly squeezing it.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled, even though he didn’t actually care. It made him happy that Eliott was here and he saved him from this random guy.

Eliott now looked at him, his eyes softened and knelt down, stroking Lucas’ face. His touch was like electricity, waking up his mind from the dizziness all those beer caused.

“Let’s get you home.” he said softly, giving Lucas his shirt back.

A couple hard moments later Eliott finally reached his goal to get Lucas stand up from the couch. He wrapped his arm around his waist, gently helping him to walk out of the house. Thankfully they didn’t meet any of Lucas’ friends, so he could go out without anyone bothering them. He walked to the road, calling for a taxi, while Lucas was squatting on the sidewalk, looking like he’s gonna throw up. After he gave the address, he walked back to Lucas just in time, he was stroking his back as he threw up everything on the grass.

Long moments later Lucas seemed to be in a better condition, Eliott gave him a bottle of water. He washed his mouth first and then chugged up the rest of the bottle. They taxi arrived, so they hopped in on the backseat. Eliott told the driver their address and pulled Lucas to his side, making sure that he’s okay.

Thrusday 10:35

Lucas woke up with a terrible headache, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was in his bed, wearing only boxers, smelling like mens bathroom. He barely remembered anything that happened last night, his memories were fuzzy. He got up, putting on a hoodie he stole from Yann ages ago, that was long and cozy. He walked to the bathroom, looking into the mirror, his face looked terrible, his hair was all over the place. He sighed and washed his face, brushed his teeth. Then he heard the noise from the kitchen. He stepped out of the bathroom and walked there, shocked at the sight of a very fresh, good looking Eliott.

The tall boy was wearing white jeans, a black shirt and a black hoodie, he was making breakfast apparently, humming something. Lucas tried to slowly approach him, but Eliott heard the steps of his naked feet, looking at him with a big, bright smile. Lucas could swear that it was brighter than the sun itself.

“Good morning. I’m making breakfast.” he said happily.

“That’s really nice of you.” that is all he could say, his head was hurting too much to have a full conversation about last night. Also his heart apparently decided to beat as fast as it just could when he smelled Eliott’s cologne. It was basically torture having such a beautiful person here, in his kitchen.

He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured some fresh coffee in it. Looks like Eliott thought about everything. He put in some sugar and started drinking, while watching Eliott stading by the stove. His chest felt warm by the thought of having breakfast with Eliott.

A few minutes later the omlette was served on two plates, Eliott put it down on the table, smiling at Lucas softly. He couldn’t help, but smile back. Whatever happened last night, he was happy that it happened, otherwise Eliott wouldn’t be here, being kind, gentle, making breakfast for him.

“Take this as my apologize. I really wanted to come on Sunday, but... I had a problem.” he explained shorty, looking at Lucas, hoping for any signs of forgiveness.

This reminded Lucas of the moment when he saw that girl kissing Eliott in the doorway and then walking inside his apartment. He shook his head and put down the mug.

“I’ll take your apology.” he said softly, sitting down at the table. Trying to be friends with Eliott was still better than not having any contact with him at all. He was happy around this person, his presence just made Lucas feel like life isn’t that bad at all.

#Skam France #Elu #Eliott Demaury #Lucas Lallemant #Eliott x Lucas #fanfiction #Elu Neighbours AU

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