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triggerhappyimagines · 4 years ago

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How about the V3 boys, (the ones who died) with a s/o whos the Ultimate Spirit Medium/Necromancer and they call the spirit of the dead character? I just wanna see some scenarios/hc's of that, if u could do it that'd be gr8! If not thats okay, i understand ^^

hey everyone, long time no see! sorry for sort of vanishing for a while, i’ve been super busy with school and my job and kind of lost interest in danganronpa for a little bit,,,, but i’m back and i’m gonna try my best to get through the requests in our inbox and maybe even try and finish a few more of the october prompts (if you guys would still be interested in seeing those!!).

anyways, sorry for the long wait on your request, anon! this was one i had started a few months ago back when i was writing regularly and i finally buckled down and finished it!! i decided to do all the v3 boys (except kiibo because uhhh hes a robot) instead of just the ones who died in canon to avoid spoilers for anyone who hasn’t finished the game yet!! i apologize if some of these seem repetitive i sorta started running out of ideas by the end lmao. i hope you enjoy, anon!

warnings: mentions of death/dying (obviously), general angst

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

Shuichi Saihara

— to say the least, Shuichi is a little shaken up now that he’s gone and you’re... well, not.

— he always told you he’d stay by your side forever, and he feels guilty. he feels like he broke a promise

— but... you talk to him again that first night. you say his name and look straight at him. can you see him? no, it couldn’t be... right?

— of course, once he puts all the pieces together, it all makes sense

— you’re the ultimate spirit medium, for goodness sakes! of course you can see him and speak to him the same way you would any other living person

— after a while, Shuichi stops feeling so guilty for leaving you. partially because it doesn’t feel quite like he’s abandoned you, and also because you reassure him that he didn’t do anything wrong by dying

— i mean, come on, it’s not his fault he got killed! how could you ever hold that against him?

— still, it takes him some time to come to terms with everything.

— though he loves you, he still finds it sad that he can never speak to anyone else ever again. at least, not without your aid.

— but as long as he has you by his side to help him cope... he knows he’ll be alright

— after all, he loves you, and you love him. and that’s enough to give him the strength he needs to keep from falling apart.

Rantaro Amami

— he's still very protective of you, despite the fact he’s merely a spirit now

— he’s always right by your side, no matter what.

— even when you aren’t able to take a moment to talk to him, or even look in his direction, Rantaro is right there

— if he were still alive, the way he now follows you around all the time may seem obsessive and creepy, but you actually appreciate it

— nobody else can see or speak to him but you, which makes his constant presence comforting, in a way

— Rantaro isn’t able to touch you in the same way he could when he was alive, but nonetheless, he still tries

— he’ll try to place his hand atop yours, or wrap his arms around your figure, but he always just passes straight through you

— you find the chill that blossoms on your skin where he touched you comforting; it’s a reminder that even though he’s gone, he’s still there with you

— it breaks his heart that he can’t truly be with you, but he tries not to focus on his own problems too much

— after all, your happiness is much more important to him than his own; you are his priority

— you’ll have to remind him that it’s okay for him to be sad, and that he shouldn’t bottle up his own emotions to be there for you

— he’ll want to keep being the person to take care of you, and watch out for you, but he needs you to be that person for him

Kokichi Ouma

— you didn’t really think Kokichi would start behaving himself just because he’s dead, did you?

— honestly he uses the fact only you can see and speak to him to his advantage

— good luck trying to keep your cool around other people while he’s off being a clown right in front of you

— but of course, he’s not all fun and games

— i mean... he’s dead. and that sucks

— he probably won’t show it, at least not right away, but he doesn’t like the feeling of separation between you two

— sure, he’s still around, but not like before. before, he could surprise you with a kiss or a suffocating hug, but he just can’t do that anymore

— it hurts. really bad.

— but he knows he’ll be okay. he know’s he’ll get used to it someday, as long as he has you with him to cheer him up when he gets especially sad

— you’re his sunshine, and he may not show it, but he needs you. so don’t leave him all alone, okay?

Gonta Gokuhara

— lets be honest... Gonta has the hardest time of the bunch adjusting to being nothing more than a spirit

— you’ll likely have to give him a lot of comfort. he’s confused, and he misses being able to be with you for real :(

— the hardest part for him is no longer being able to touch you

— he longs to feel your lips press gently against his cheek, to lay in your lap as your hands comb through his hair... he’d give anything to hold you in his arms again...

— unlike Rantaro, he’s not content with merely passing through your body when he makes contact with you

— it just... upsets him. it’s a cruel reminder that his life ended, and that he will never get to hold you, kiss you, and just love you the way he could before his life ended

— be patient with him, please... he’ll adapt eventually... but it could take a while

— just make sure to remind him how much you love him, he’ll need a lot of reassurance and comfort from you

Kaito Momota

— surprisingly, Kaito adapts to the situation pretty well

— if he is struggling with any sort of major emotions, he’s doing a stellar job of hiding it from you. and you hate that

— you don’t totally believe him when he says he’s okay, or when he tells you not to worry about him

— you know him better than that. it doesn’t make sense to you. he just died for crying out loud! he can never follow his dreams, never have the future he always wanted with you

— and you don’t understand how he can just shrug all that off and continue being your boyfriend like normal

— you confront him about it one night. he’s laying on his back, hovering beside you as you read (Kaito loves being able to float around in midair. perks of being a ghost, right?)

— "how can you be okay?" you blurt out suddenly. he looks at you, confused.

— you continue, asking all the questions that had been gnawing at you for days, and when you finally finish, he just laughs

— "of course i’m upset. but it’s a man’s job to protect the ones he loves! and being there for you is much more important than staying upset about this." he explains

— you can’t help but feel a little stupid. he’d always put you first, always prioritized your needs over anyone else’s, even his own. and he wasn’t about to stop just because he died

— fortunately for you, he isn’t upset with you sort of asking him why the hell he wasn’t a huge, depressed mess.

— in fact, he thinks it’s really sweet that, despite the fact you should be worried about yourself so you don’t end up joining him in the afterlife, you spent your energy fussing over him

Korekiyo Shinguji

— with Kiyo, not much changes. at least, not on his end.

— he’s very fascinated by the mere notion of being a spirit and has the time of his life unlife getting used to his new body

— at first you’re happy for him. i mean, it’s good that he’s not struggling, right? shouldn’t you want him to feel okay? you wouldn’t want him to suffer in sadness like you, right?

— but he’s so enthralled with his new state of being he... almost forgets to check up on you

— and even when he does spend time with you, it almost feels like all he does is talk about himself and the new things he’s discovered about being a spirit

— it’s frustrating, to say the least. you know you didn’t truly lose him, but it feels like you did

— when you finally tell him that you feel like he’s changed, he’s confused

— when Kiyo hears you say how much you miss him, how you feel like he’s so different now, he’s kinda just like ???????

— how could he be different? it’s still him, don’t you know that?

— after a long night of reflecting while you sleep (not needing rest is one of the many perks of being a spirit), Kiyo realizes what he’s been doing wrong

— you used to love when he’d talk to you endlessly about his work, his research, etc.

— but now, when he’d ramble on for hours about new things he’d learned thanks to being a mere spirit, it was just another painful reminder to you that he was dead. that he was gone.

— the moment he gets a chance, he apologizes to you. it’s a bit of an emotional moment for both of you, being the first time either of you have confronted the end of Kiyo’s life head on

— he tries to hold you, but all you feel is an icy chill where his flesh would have met yours, but oddly enough... it doesn’t make you feel worse

— you’d anticipated another tsunami of your own tears after Kiyo’s body passed through yours, but it’s comforting, albeit in a morbid way

— he’s gone, but you haven’t lost him. and you’ll never lose him; he’ll remind you of that every day if he has to

Ryoma Hoshi

— man, if you thought ryoma’s attitude and general outlook on life was depressing before, you’ve got a big storm coming

— for a long time after his death, he’s very... cold. to everyone and everything

— he’s upset. but not because he’s dead, but because he can’t protect you anymore

— being there for you, to defend you and keep you safe, had become his raison d’être, so to speak

— he knows you can still see him and talk to him. he’s not stupid. but he pretends he doesn’t hear you at first. part of him thinks that if he shuts you out long enough, you’ll come to your senses and realize you should be upset with him

— but you never do. despite what he thinks he deserves, you never turn on him, never give up on him, never stop loving him

— with time, he’ll come around and start learning to cope with his own death, and the fact you outlived him

— and you’ll be there with him every step of the way (whether he likes it or not)

#mod nagito #danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 imagines #korekiyo shinguji x reader #kokichi ouma x reader #gonta gokuhara x reader #ryoma hoshi x reader #shuichi saihara x reader #rantaro amami x reader #kaito momota x reader #drv3 x reader #danganronpa x reader #drv3

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hb-writes · 4 years ago

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Tidy Sums

Summary: Sophie Mason (OC) was John Shelby’s first friend and his first kiss. They’d never been in love, not in the way he’d been in love with Martha. Their relationship wasn’t quite so tidy, but that had never stopped them from loving one another in their own way and finding their own happiness in the mayhem.

Characters: John Shelby and Sophie (OC)

Warnings: canon-content, mention of a sexual relationship, kissing/ touching.

If Sophie was being honest, and honest was something she usually was, the problem was quite simple.

The numbers no longer made sense.

They hadn't for some time now, the figures blurring together with the lines meant to keep each transaction separate, the columns and neat symbols representing the company's wins and losses jumbled in her mind although the tidy sums were somehow still accumulating on the bottom of every page.

Sophie had been working with the betting shop's books for years now, more familiar with the content of the ledgers than she was with any other book she’d come across—the bible or the latest popular novel she’d taken out from the central library. She supposed the only other pages she knew as well as the ledgers were those of the children’s book John’s kids begged after anytime she sat for them, refusing sleep until they heard a tale from the old, worn tome that was so well-loved it was missing the cover page. Sophie could probably recite the story from memory, but she had no ideas about its proper title, not with the kids referring to it exclusively as “daddy’s story.”

Sophie had worked for the Shelby family in a somewhat official capacity since leaving school almost a decade earlier, but she had had her nose in their books for longer than that, ever since Polly realized the girl had a penchant for numbers. And it was Sophie who encouraged John to get involved with this side of the business when they were only fourteen, convincing him easily enough that the pair of them could get up to the same amount of fun in the betting shop as they got up to out on the lane. It was Sophie who had known, despite what his school records had to say on the matter, that John Shelby was good with numbers.

But numbers were cleaner, less bloody, less exciting, and certainly more mentally taxing than playing at peaky boy, or at least mentally taxing in a different way. They had to generate their own sources of amusement within the walls of the betting shop. She and John had always been good at sourcing their own amusement though.

Sophie sat back from the books, taking a moment to rub her eyes with the heels of her palms. It was late. Scudboat and the twins had already gone, and John had locked her in when he went home to check on his lot, saying he’d be back to let her out and lock up once he got his kids down for the night.

That was their routine these days. She’d spend an extra couple of hours each night with the books while John stole an extra couple of hours with his kids before putting them down for bed and coming back to number six to wrap things up for the night.

She startled a bit when John’s hands found her arms, his rough palms pinching and rubbing against the delicate fabric of her shirt. She settled as the warmth of his hands came through her thin sleeves and sunk into her skin, finally leaning her head back to rest against his stomach, tilting her eyes up to him briefly as the left side of her mouth pulled up.

“Devils went down early tonight,” she said.

He’d been gone for less than an hour. It was usually twice that before he made his way back and his return was usually accompanied with some sort of complaint about the kids’ behavior, about their refusal to go to sleep or eat the dinner he made them, something Sophie was always quick to remind him was simple coded behavior for them wanting more time with their father and being uncertain of a better way to go about it.

“Finn’s on devil duty for the night.” John shrugged. “Says he’s saving up for something, so he’s eager for the pocket money.”

Sophie hummed, tilting her head back down to the books as she picked up her pen once more. “A little devil put on devil duty,” she mused. “I’m sure that will turn out well.”

“I think you’ll find most of us Shelbys are devils,” John said.

“I don’t...” she started, pausing both her hand and her mouth as John’s fingers traveled up her arm, fingertips slipping across the smooth skin of her exposed collarbone and then her neck as he pushed her hair aside.

She tried again. “I don’t intend...”

Sophie gulped, stilling for a moment as John’s lips found her neck. A deep breath came from her in a nearly involuntary capacity and her shoulders relaxed back. She was overcome by his slow focus, overcome by the simple way John could tease her. Despite his leisurely wandering, they both knew he was venturing towards the one spot he knew could have her entirely undone, have her forgetting her words and how to properly breathe, obliterating from memory the notion of responsibility and the company books entirely.

“Don’t intend to what?” John mumbled the words against her skin as she tilted her head, exposing her neck as his fingers wound in her hair.

“Fuck,” she breathed as his lips found her earlobe, his warm breath melting any remaining resolve as her back arched away from the chair.

“No, John, stop.”

John released her from his lips, straightening his back, and turning her face to his with the hand still entwined in her hair, the guidance gentle yet resolute.

“You really want me to stop?”

Her skin burned hot and her breaths had started to come a bit quicker, more shallow and less gratifying in meeting her need for air, her need for calm and control and the mysterious power she knew a steady cadence of breaths could hold. Sophie forced herself to deepen her inhale and pause before the exhale, forced herself to calm her racing heart and quell the more instinctual desire stirring inside of her, willing her mind and body to focus...on anything other than John.

“I want,” she started after a barely sufficient cycle of inhales and exhales, reaching up to wrap her hand around John’s forearm, “for you to let me finish these ledgers so your aunt doesn’t issue me a death warrant.”

John sighed and rolled his eyes at the protest but removed his hand from her hair at the gentle nudge.

“Or a boot. Or a smack upside the head,” Sophie continued, pulling a hair comb from her desk drawer and initiating some attempt at getting the hair out of her face, “or whatever retribution it is she’s offering us these days.”

“Pol won’t come after you like that,” John said.

“She’s done it before.”

“That woman hit you once, almost fifteen years ago, and we both deserved it that day. Scared the shit out of her playing in the Cut like that.” John rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment, thinking on the whiskey and cigars tucked away in his office before deciding to forgo both vices for now. “Anyway, we’re not kids anymore.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure Aunt Polly smacked you upside the head just last week.”

“Well, that’s me, not you,” he said. “She’s got a soft spot for you.”

“All the more reason not to chance it, then. One go around with her was more than enough for me,” she answered, finally succeeding at securing the bulk of her hair up, the loose bits falling back into her face just a few seconds after she tucked them away.

John laughed as he moved to sit against the desk, crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, what if—”

“No, John. No what-ifs…What-ifs and…” Sophie glanced up at him, regretting it even before she met his mischievous eyes, lamenting the decision as soon as she caught sight of his lips, swollen and reddened from his previous endeavors. “What-ifs and that fucking smirk are what made me fall behind to begin with.”

John chuckled. “You’re behind because you like doing me more than you like doing the books.”

She sat back in her chair, arms folding across her chest as she looked at John, his body shaking slightly with the laughter he only half-heartedly tried to contain. “You think so?”

“Seems like it. You were very diligent back when you were stepping out with that dim bloke. The one with the sweaty hands?”

Sophie leaned forward just an inch and John held up a hand. “Now, don’t you go smacking me, too. You can’t dispute it because you told me yourself.”

“This has nothing to do with Phillip’s sweaty hands,” she said, smirking back at John. “Maybe I’m behind because my boss is a hard ass who has put too much on my plate and not enough on theirs?”

John nodded like he was considering her words. “You know, I wouldn’t let Aunt Pol hear you speaking ill of her like that if I was you.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “I'm talking about you and you know it. I’m here late every night and you leave early every day to go home to those kids.”

John shrugged. “If you don’t want to be here every night with the books, you’re more than welcome to go mother my lot and make us dinner.”

She frowned as he said it, sighing as his playful demeanor didn’t quite stick, the note of his words far too hopeful and desperate and longing.

“I don’t want to be a mother, John,” she said. “And you know I’m a shit cook.”

Sophie had made that much clear to him over the last year, both the bit about the mothering and the bit about the cooking. She was good with the kids, and would gladly watch them for a few hours or so when he needed, but she had no desire to raise a hoard of children, or even one child. Not someone else’s, and not one of her own either. She had other aspirations and they didn’t involve being tied to a home and a child, or even to a man.

“I’m perfectly content being an almost auntie. I’m good with children so long as they go back to their parents when all is said and done.”

“And the cooking?”

“You really want me cooking for you?”

“No, you’re right. You’re rubbish in a kitchen,” he said before picking up the tube of lipstick set on her desk. “You’re their favorite auntie though,” John continued, fidgeting with the tube as he spoke. The thing went unused nearly every day now that she was working late, passing the bulk of her evenings at the shop with John instead of out at a pub or dance hall, but the thing still sat on her desk just in case, a gentle reminder of the types of nights she used to have.

“They’re always fucking asking after you,” he said.

Sophie pulled her eyes away from his hands to observe his face. “Well, they take after their father then because you can’t seem to get enough of me either.”

Sophie pushed some strands of hair from her face, only causing more to come loose from the hair comb. She pulled the whole thing out and began twisting her tresses up again as she continued speaking. “Constantly bothering me… keeping me from my work… never ending nonsense and devilment.”

John snorted and pushed himself off the desk, taking the hair from her hands.

“What are you doing?”

Sophie turned towards him and John planted his hands on her shoulders, twisting her so she faced away from him once again.

“Fixing your hair so you can focus on your work, so do us both a favor and sit still,” he said, combing his fingers through her hair to release the knots, the nails of his fingers grazing her scalp as he swept the hair back from her face.

“That’s not going to help me focus on my work,” she muttered as he began weaving her hair, the ritual a calming one, nostalgic even, reminding her of her youth, reminding her of when she had someone to plait her hair. Sophie hadn’t worn a braid in years. She was skilled at braiding other people’s hair, but she had never learned how to manage her own.

“No?” John asked. “You’ve got two free hands and two working eyes while I’m doing this. No reason you can’t be adding and subtracting right now.”

She shook her head and John tugged the strands between his fingers tight, eliciting a howl as she reached her hand back.

“What the hell?”

“Sit still,” John said, smiling into the words as he continued with his work.

“Don’t pull my fucking hair.”

He pulled the strands tight once again, laughter spilling from his lips before she even had a chance to react.

“I told you to sit still. You’re worse than Katie. Never have to tug on her braid more than once to get her to settle.”

Sophie huffed but followed his directive, knowing there was less than a minute left of John’s undertaking, and knowing he would have no qualms about tugging her hair again.

“Remember how we said we’d get married if we both weren’t married by the time one of us turned twenty-five?”

A part of Sophie wanted to look at him, wanted to turn her head and meet his eye, to see what kind of expression graced his face while he brought up the pact from almost fifteen years ago, a silly agreement made between two kids who knew absolutely nothing of life, but John had told her to sit still, so while she felt his hands still winding in her hair, she did just that.

“You’re turning twenty-five next month,” he said, finally tying off the braid. John stepped to the side, resuming his seat on her desk.

“You’re very good at that,” she commented.

“Good at what?”

She pulled the braid over her shoulder, admiring its neatness. “The braid. You’ve gotten good. You used to be quite abysmal with it.”

“You taught me well, I guess.” John rolled his eyes. “You had more patience with me than Martha did.”

“Well, could you really blame her? You were a horrible student, all fumbling hands and that fucking cheeky mouth running the whole time for no good reason.”

John smiled. “And you’ve gotten quite good at that,” he said.

“Good at what?” she asked.

“Changing the fucking subject.”

She sighed as she dropped the braid and looked at him. “We’re not getting married, John. Not because of some silly pact and not because your kids need a mother.”

“What if it’s because we like each other?” he asked, tugging her up to stand between his legs. “What if it’s because we love each other, eh?”

She chewed on her bottom lip and looked away, fighting only a bit when his hand caught her chin and tilted it towards his face.

“You do love me, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” she said, “but not like you’re asking. And you don’t love me like that either.”

“Love is love.”

She shook her head. “We love like friends.”

“Friends love like this?” John glanced down and Sophie’s eyes followed his gaze to see how their bodies were wrapped up together. Her hand had settled on his thigh, his on her hip, with both of their fingers idly caressing clothing seams while they were each thinking of caressing the skin beneath.

“Attraction and romantic love are different things, John.”

Sophie was always saying it, and he liked to argue with her even though he knew it was at least a bit true. John knew they were friends who happened to be physically attracted to one another, and maybe, if he’d never fallen in love with Martha, or maybe if he’d never had kids, or if Sophie had not gotten so close with Martha in the years he’d been away, things could be different, but as it was, Sophie was right and John knew it. Because he didn’t feel about her the same way he’d felt about Martha and she didn’t feel that way about him either.

Their relationship was a combination of friendly care and sexual attraction and the type of love that came from knowing someone for as long as it was possible to know another person who wasn’t truly family, but there wasn’t a true bit of romantic desire between them.

“And I don’t want to be what you need your woman to be. You and the kids deserve someone who wants that life.”

“And what happens when I find someone who wants that life?”

“What always happens,” she said with a shrug, “we stop this and I catch up on the books.”

“Is that what you want?”

Sophie was telling the truth, but she hesitated anyway. This was the longest stretch they’d done this, the longest stretch during which she’d not bothered with dates, and if nothing else, it was habit now, their ritual. It was a comfort. But if John found someone he wanted to settle down with, Sophie knew they’d put a stop to things, same as they’d done all those years ago when he fell in love with Martha and same as they’d done earlier this year when she’d decided to go on a few dates with Harvey Johnson or a few months later when she’d agreed to see Phillip Miller a few times.

It hadn’t bothered Sophie when he was with Martha, and though John had teased her about the men she’d chosen to step out with over the last year, he hadn’t seemed too bothered by it either, more concerned with expressing what he’d do to the men if she came out of it hurt. Sophie knew from experience they could simply stop.

Stop the flirting.

Stop the kissing and the sex and the nonsensical talk of being anything more than friends.

They could stop with the rest of it and still be friends.

John wrapped his hand around Sophie’s braid, giving it a small tug to pull her attention back to him.

“Quit pulling my fucking hair.”

“It’s the only thing that ever makes you listen,” he said, tightening his hold a bit. “And I know you like it.”

“And the only thing that ever makes you listen—”

John caught her hand before she could reach high enough to smack him upside the head. “I’m listening. Answer the question.”

“I already told you what I want,” she said, nodding towards the open ledger beside him. “To spare myself a lecture, hell, probably two lectures if Polly decides to let Tom know we’re behind, too. Your brother’s in a right fucking mood lately.”

“Is that what you want? The end of this?” John asked, glazing over her chastising him about pulling her hair and her concerns about lectures and the hand she’d raised to smack him upside the head.

Sophie shrugged, pulling her hand loose from his hold and absently rubbing at her wrist as she leaned against his leg.

“C’mon Soph, I’m being serious.”

She pushed her finger into the corner of John’s frowning mouth, forcing a half smile. “John Shelby doesn’t do serious.”

John moved her hand away from his face. “I’m doing serious right now.”

“Fine, John. I want to be happy. And I want you and the kids to be happy,” she said, turning towards him straight on and resting both hands on his thighs. “And someday that may mean you have someone to go home to, and those babies won’t be looked after by another baby, but for now, that means we do this whenever we can.

“I have to finish this work first though.”

Sophie kissed him on the cheek then, squeezing his thighs once before she moved to sit back down, but John caught her at the elbow, holding her there in front of him.

“What about you?”

She tried to pull out of his grasp, but John only gripped tighter and drew her closer.

Sophie rolled her eyes. “What about me?”

“I didn’t hear anything about getting you your happiness.”

“I’m plenty happy, John,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You want the truth?”

John nodded, his hands slipping down her arms to hold her hands. She sighed, looking down at their hands entwined there together.

The truth was Sophie was happy. The truth was she had always been happy with what they were and what they weren’t, content with the sum of things though it was by no means tidy like the lines of the ledger books they spent their days looking over.

“The truth is I think if you don’t let me finish these books I might not know happiness ever again,” she said, slipping her hands from his and stepping out from between his legs.

John pulled her back to him before she could slip into the chair though, reaching his arms around her body and wrapping his legs around hers, trapping her against him. “Well, if that’s the case, we’d better make sure you get your fill of happiness now then, eh?”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #john shelby #john shelby fanfiction #john shelby x oc

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prose-for-hire · 4 years ago

Text

Headcanons for caring for a depressed s/o:

Request: I was wondering what would some the Buffyverse individuals do for a significant other with chronic depression Requested by: @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard

Characters: Spike; Giles; Angel: Buffy; Cordelia; Xander; Willow; Oz; Anya; Faith

Warning: Discussion of symptoms of depression (I didn’t describe in too much detail, mostly about the care/support the character would give). Mention of medication (If you do not take medication just ignore it). Hints at harm.

A/N: I don’t have an insight into the way everyone’s depression works, so I can only write what I know. If you want something else just request! Sorry it took slightly longer than I anticipated! I hope this is okay !! 💖

Spike:

Spike’s mood is always in tune to yours

So when things are getting bad, he can feel it

If you can’t get out of bed, he’ll come to you

He’ll wheel the tv over, grab some blankets and try to comfort you as much as he can

you’ll be bundled up in so many blankets, it’ll be a little nest

He’ll join you in bed, wanting to have a lot of physical contact

He’ll be worried all of the time, he feels a lot. Especially when he cares for someone

He’ll sit with you for as long as is necessary

won’t ever be bored

If you want cuddles will silently hold you or tell you what’s going on on the tv if you’re not looking and nestling into his side

If you want leaving alone, he’ll try not to hover (but the man loves deep and the way he shows it is comfort)

He will every so often suggest an activity, one he knows will require less effort on your part to try and get you out of the crypt

Will look up ways to help or ask you a lot if he’s doing the right things

Won’t want to leave you on your own when it gets real bad but if he has to he’ll make sure you can contact him immediately wherever he is

He’ll ask what he can do to help a lot. hates to see you in pain.

literally hurts him. But he never wanted to leave your side.

Will promise to support you for as long as you need if it interferes with jobs/etc (he can get money)

Giles:

at first his concern might come across a bit sharp

But when he finds you crying over something insignificant he’ll come and cradle you and sit you down while he sorts it

He’ll be very practical but incredibly soft with you

Reminders to take meds, etc

Will check with you on what you want

A lot

(which may get annoying but try not to snap he’s really trying)

He’ll have read up on everything he can concerning depression and try his best to be someone you can talk through anything with

doesn’t want you to feel alone in anything (you’ll never feel a burden)

will do tasks around the house if you’re struggling and won’t like you to thank him

he’ll see it as the least he could be doing

he’ll often set up snacks and everything around you on the sofa if that’s where you’re set up

moves all of the piles of books from in front of the tv so you can watch

will sit and watch anything. But will give you a commentary on how much drivel is pouring from the screen if its particularly low-brow

If you can’t focus on the screen or get restless he’ll think of ways to help

He’ll take out a book, pull you into him and start to read in that soothing voice

Angel:

he’d get it

You wouldn’t have to explain

He’d be able to tell if things were getting worse

He might notice your sleep schedule was almost as nocturnal as his

Or that you’re smile isn’t quite reaching your eyes half of the time

Despite you at least making the effort

but he’ll ask you to always come to him and talk about it

If you can’t that’s okay, he gets that too

But he wants to be there

And he’ll tell you so

Will give very good reassuring hugs.

especially ones in the mornings when you both know you should be leaving bed

he doesn’t eat human food, but he will always cook an evening meal

wants to make sure you’re eating decent meals

sometimes you might forget or not have the energy

but he will always make sure he’s planned an evening meal

If you can’t sleep he’ll make warm drinks and watch over you

will hold you for as long as you need (especially on a restless night)

not being able to sleep sucks, but at least you know he’s right there

If you’re feeling very low, will make sure to stay with you to make sure you’re safe

It’ll be the most important thing to him

Buffy:

this girl knows depression

She’s been there and worn the T-shirt

She’ll know that sometimes there’s literally nothing she can do to turn your mood

But it doesn’t mean she won’t be there if that’s what you want

she’ll try to bring you on patrol as much as she can, it’s a distraction at least

but if you really can’t face leaving the house, she would ask the scoobies to start taking up the slack and stay in with you

I feel like she would do all the shopping (food and extras) so you’d have a bunch of fun snacks or random treats that she hoped you might like

knows the little things can go a long way

if you appear emotionless or low, she’ll kiss you softly on the forehead and will never take it personal

if you’re trying to avoid going out she’ll gently encourage you

if you really refuse to go out in the evenings, her solution will be movie nights.

She’ll rent videos and set up the living room

so many blankets and she’ll cuddle up to you

she’ll slowly invite one or two friends over too so that you’re not cutting yourself off from everyone you care about (there’s no chance she’ll let you cut her out)

eventually, there will be regular Scooby movie nights

Cordelia:

will chat to you about anything and everything

Won’t expect you to talk back, just wants you to know she’s there

can talk non-stop for days about all of the gossip she has accumulated

If you’re struggling to motivate yourself with everyday tasks she will do as much as she can

without even mentioning it

If you haven’t washed your hair in a while she will offer to wash your hair

Will run you a bath (or shower if that’s easier)

And will very soothingly massage your scalp and wash/condition your hair

She’d set out comfy clothes and definitely brush out your hair (or comb it/style it depending on your style)

read in a magazine that sunlight is supposed to help

trying to decide if the tanning bed would be the same thing

eventually opts for natural sunlight when told by one of the Scoobies that tanning booths probably aren’t the best way to go

will set up a beach day

or the closest thing she can get to a beach day (which might just be sitting in the back garden under the sun)

you tell her she didn’t have to but she will smile wide and insist that it was the best excuse to work on her tan

Very caring and will drop everything for the right person to meet their needs

Will fight anyone that says anything judgemental or rude about you

Willow:

She’ll be very practical but try to be lowkey about it

small suggestions to make sure you’re looking after yourself

you will never ever have any doubt she cares

forgetful? Sticky notes everywhere

adjusting to new meds? Will make a list of any side effects and monitor you to be sure you’re safe

(just cos she cares)

If the days are running into each other she will wake you up telling you the day with a little kiss

I feel like she’d like meal prepping

so she’d make meals for the week so you could have something in if you weren’t feeling up to cooking anything nutritious

she’d totally be doing it anyway, so just makes a little extra for you to share

she will also bake and encourage you to join in too. She’ll say its more fun when you’re around

she will try and inject a little bit of fun into everything

e.g. making a game out of tidying your living room/bedroom

Will offer to do a few spells to help with everyday tasks if they’re overwhelming you a bit

Won’t be too upset if you say no

But will try to convince you multiple times

Xander:

if you’ve been in a slump for a while he’ll try and shake up the routine

even if its just a little something

will crack a lot of jokes to try and cheer you up

“Laughter is the best medicine” (but he will definitely check in sporadically to make sure if u take meds that you are taking them)

won’t remember himself to check all the time but will remember randomly and he’ll ask even if you’re in the middle of a different conversation

But knows when to be serious, when you really need him to be there

Will want you to lean on him 24/7

Both literally and metaphorically

If there’s a day where you’re doing a lot of crying he will be the shoulder you cry on

Wouldn’t leave even if it looked like you were trying to push him away

Knows how to talk to you (especially if you were being self-deprecating)

would 100% be the type to make breakfast in bed on multiple occasions. Wants to make sure you feel special

because you’re usually pretty hard on yourself

might get frustrated that he can’t do more to help (but would never take it out on you)

would go and vent to Buffy or someone who would tell him what you would: that you love that he’s there as much as he can be. He makes it all worth it

Oz:

he’d be very chill about it

He’d always worry, but be chill on the surface

not only because he’s literally always laid back but because he wants to show it doesn’t phase him

he loves you

he’ll just roll with whatever it is that you need

If you need to cancel plans he’d just nod and call up to cancel

Would try his best to make sure you were comfortable

He’s big on giving for a s/o so anything you needed he’d encourage you to ask

He’d probably check on you a lot, not always verbal just a gesture with his head

If you’re no longer able to enjoy stuff you’re into, he’ll try and slowly introduce small activities

bursts of fun that might or might not help

but you always appreciate the thought

Music.

Will play music as a way of distraction if your thoughts are getting heavy

Any genre. Any decade. Any mood

Will lie there with you, letting the songs wash over you both

Will want to hold your hand or something as a gesture of comfort

always wants you to know he’s there

Anya:

If you can’t move from bed or you’re unmotivated she will try her best to be understanding

Will set lots of alarms if it’s something important you need to get up for

Alarm clocks on every surface

But if you can’t face it she’ll make up a very unconvincing excuse but nobody will question her

At least her hearts in the right place

will tell you wild stories from her past to pass the time if you can’t face leaving the house

will insist you go to therapy and make sure you go

is very by the book because she has just learnt about everything

(thanks Google)

“it says here that counselling/therapy will help with your depression, so you have to go every week, y/n”

will not be open to discussion about it.

she read it therefore it’s a fact so will always make sure you go. Same with meds if you take them. Same with making sure your diet is as balanced as possible

she’ll be very by the book because she’s just learning about it as she goes

and she’ll always want the best for you

Faith:

If you’re feeling particularly bad about yourself that day she wouldnt care about appearing vulnerable she’d whisper the softest things

you’d want to tease her but you just couldn’t

she’d make you feel so loved

you’d never be a burden with her

she’d love you so fiercely

she might snap sometimes, but she knows when you’re more fragile

she’d hate seeing you cry

would make her cry

but she wouldn’t go anywhere or tell you to stop. She’d whisper and just let you cry against her

with her own tears threatening to spill

would be very protective

if anyone made you feel guilty or didn’t understand you physically couldn’t do stuff

she would not hesitate to use her slayer strength to back up her words

Will take you on trips in the car. Won’t tell you where she got the car from. Or if her license has expired or not

Mini roadtrips with no real destination

so that you can have some fresh air, some music

knows that you’ll need a change of scene if you’ve been staying in a lot

105 notes · View notes

bimboamyrose · 4 years ago

Text

Unfamiliar (Ch. 12)

Unfamiliar - A Metamy Fanfic

First two chapters

Previous (Ch.11)

Ch. 12 - Everything Has Changed

There was a long tradition of wearing white during the vernal equinox. While Amy had always celebrated on her own, not having known anyone in the occult community personally, it didn’t stop her from wearing a floaty white gown to welcome the sunrise most years. And just her luck- it was meant to be warm the next day during the festival! She had just the dress.

She pulled a gauze sundress from her wardrobe, hanging it on the back of her door in preparation. She smoothed out its long, sheer sleeves and flowing skirt, admiring its pristine appearance. It had been purchased over a year earlier for a picnic that never happened- date plans that fell through or were possibly never really finalized. It was typically how it went with Sonic.

With a sigh, Amy set out the rest of her outfit and changed into loungewear for the evening. It wasn’t late, but she also wasn’t doing anything until morning- very early morning. She had already decided to welcome the sunrise on her own, but it was going to be a long day at the festival nonetheless.

The living room was empty when she stepped out. Metal was reading on the back porch when she slid through the doorway, and he acknowledged her with a quick glance and nod. Amy had handed him the 300-page novel about an hour earlier, but the page was already turned halfway through the book. She probably shouldn’t have been as impressed as she was, Amy thought, but it was still a sight. I thought I was a quick reader.

After a few minutes of breathing in the night air and listening to the quick page-turning behind her, Amy turned to Metal’s cross-legged figure on the floor of the deck. “Are you enjoying it?”

Metal nodded without returning her gaze. Another page turned.

Amy leaned on the deck railing, listening as distant waves crashed ashore. It was a pleasantly cool night- she wasn’t shivering without her blanket as she had been for months. She also welcomed the faint scent of rosemary that sprouted from her small garden, having smelled nothing but salt and snow since last autumn. Another crisp page turn.

“You don’t have to finish it in one sitting, you know.” No response. She faced him. “Do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

Metal held up a pointy index finger, signaling to give him a minute. Amy couldn’t help but snort at this gesture, knowing he’d seen someone do it on TV not long ago and was quick to pick up communication cues. There was another brief silence before Metal closed the book, having reached the end of the chapter.

“Do you like it so far?”

Metal gave her a pronounced nod. He was intrigued, reading about the long chain of events leading a triumphant hero home after a conquest overseas. The many adventures and accomplishments described in the writing were compelling, and Metal found himself engrossed in the power fantasy.

Amy nodded. “Thought so. It’s one of my favorites.”

The first time she’d said this, Metal was surprised- but after seeing another side of her at the arcade, he understood. The book’s protagonist was powerful, clever, determined... perhaps she related. Or maybe she was just a fantasy adventure buff; He appreciated the recommendation either way.

“So, about that movie-” Amy was interrupted by a loud ringtone coming from inside. She hurried back into her room to pick up the call.

Admittedly, a movie sounded pretty mundane after everything Metal had read that evening. Most of what he’d done in the last weeks had been mundane. It was strange, being directionless, just waiting for the opportunity to recover his memory. And then what? He was getting used to experiencing unfamiliar affairs; the novelty was wearing off. He could continue waiting for something big to happen- to remember his past life, or have an encounter with his creator- but he knew it ultimately wasn’t what was keeping him there. The real reason peeked through the back door and beckoned him in.

“Tails wants to talk to you,” Amy said as she handed him her device.

“Oh- hi Metal.” Tails still found a certain degree of awkwardness in speaking to the robot directly. He had hoped for Amy to interpret. Metal raised a hand in greeting from the other end. “Hey, would you wanna come over tomorrow so I can take a look at a few things?”

“Tails...” Amy scolded gently from off-screen.

“O-oh right. Uh… how are you?” After seeing Metal look off past the screen with a confused beep, Tails continued. “There’s this chat function if you need it- here.”

A speech bubble came on screen. Tails: Hi!

Metal was less worried about how to communicate than what he would actually say. How do people usually answer that question? He tapped gingerly at the screen.

Amy: Operating normally.

“Ah, that’s good.” There was a pause. Amy had insisted Tails talk to Metal personally, emphasizing that she thought it important to let him speak for himself. Manners and pleasantries were also mentioned, but Tails had a feeling Metal didn’t have a lot of those skills going for him either. “Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better myself…”

Metal didn’t have a lot of experience with conversations, but it did seem logical to repeat the question. He made a note to do this for next time. As for answering Tails, Metal held his hand in a thumbs-up on screen. The signal seemed to him quite versatile.

“Okay. Anyway, I was wondering if you could come over tomorrow for a checkup? And, maybe we can replace your, you know.”

It had been on Metal’s mind ever since he began to remember seemingly random moments from his past. And he would be in need of recharging and refueling soon, anyway. There was, however, a conflict- he looked up at Amy.

“Are you okay with going to Tails’ by yourself after you drop me off?” she asked.

Though he’d promised her a ride, Amy would be away for the afternoon either way. It didn’t seem to interfere with her plans, so he nodded at Tails and typed a short message.

Amy: 1:25 PM

“Oh,” Tails responded, “that’s… precise. Works for me, I guess.” Another uncomfortable pause. Usually one would continue the conversation in some way, at least acknowledging the agreement, but neither Tails nor Metal really understood what the other was looking for. “Okay, well, see you then. Bye.” Tails chuckled awkwardly before hanging up.

Amy clapped her hands together enthusiastically. “Looks like you have plans for tomorrow! Great.”

Metal wasn’t sure if he considered sitting idle in a lab “plans,” since Tails deactivated him last time and it wasn’t the most pleasant feeling. It was just simple maintenance in his eyes. He shrugged casually, placing the communicator aside.

Hands innocently clasped behind her back, Amy leaned in with her usual charming grin. “Still up for a movie?”

--------

Amy’s taste in films ws, evidently, not like that of her favorite novels. She shoved popcorn into her mouth absent-mindedly as they both sat watching from her couch, Metal’s perpetually confused state causing him to shift focus from the television to Amy and back. “It’s a romantic comedy,” she’d told him. “The main characters are work rivals who really like each other but neither will admit it. It’s pretty funny!” It was no wonder neither of the characters admitted their affection for the other- they were constantly at odds, combative even. Amy swooned every time the two leads competed or argued over something petty and one became flustered.

Perhaps it was his limited understanding of relationships or romance but Metal had been under the impression that couples generally enjoyed one another’s company. But when the film’s protagonist decided to move far away and faced little opposition from the romantic interest, the duo seemed to compete over who could appear more cool and unphased. Just as Metal thought he could predict the ending, Amy chimed in. “Oh, here comes the grand gesture!” Sure enough, one of the characters stopped the other from leaving at the very last moment and feelings of affection were finally shared. “Aww,” he heard Amy sigh dreamily. Watching 86 minutes of tension between those two only to become a couple in the end was beyond vexing.

Amy stretched her arms as the credits rolled. “What did you think of the movie? Cute, right?”

Cute wasn’t the word he would have chosen. Did it really only take a single gesture for people to fall in love? No, they were hiding their affection- but why? He scratched at his forehead instead.

“Confused? Is it ‘cause they were rivals?” she chuckled. Metal bobbed his head around, thinking that was pretty obvious. “Love is complicated,” she stated as matter of fact. “Trust me…” Amy trailed off with a huff before hopping off the couch. “I’m not very sleepy, can we watch another?”

There wasn’t much point in disagreeing, so Amy quickly put on the next film and made herself a hot cup of camomile as the intro began. “This movie’s also a romance, but it’s more of a drama. It’s kind of a tear-jerker,” she giggled.

Did that mean she was going to cry? Why would she be so cheery about that? Whenever Metal thought he began to understand, some little, bewildering nuance made itself known. He would have been annoyed had Amy not plopped herself back down next to him with a flushed smile and excitement in her virescent eyes.

The leads in this film did look to be more interested in each other than the last. They’d spent some time together one spring before becoming separated, and the romantic interest then spent the rest of the movie trying to recapture the protagonists’ affections. It was incredibly long- much slower paced than the last. Amy began yawning about an hour in, and by the time the second act was wrapping up, she’d laid her head on the couch. “I’ll head to bed after this…” she started, but ended up fast asleep on a throw pillow just minutes later.

Metal couldn’t keep himself from glancing at Amy’s sleeping form every few minutes. It became increasingly difficult to concentrate on the television the more he checked on Amy- noting her breathing pattern, heart rate, temperature. A bit cold. He pulled the blanket she kept draped on the back of the couch over her body, resting his head in his hand as he observed her. U nable to focus, he wondered why he was even still watching the film at that point and was about to switch it off when the current scene caught his eye. The couple must have reconciled, as they were now sitting together on a picnic blanket, one’s head laying in the other’s lap. The love interest’s fingers were buried tenderly in the protagonist’s hair as they enjoyed the scenery together.

He gazed back at Amy. She lay with her head inches from his lap, curled up comfortably in her warm blanket. Breathing steadily. Hair splayed out over her makeshift pillow. Metal had to stop himself as he lifted a hand in her direction, shaking his head and fixing his eyes back on the TV. The last scene had apparently been a flashback, as the leads were now much older. One sat at the other’s bedside in a hospital, recounting the memory. The protagonist died moments later. That was… certainly a dark turn. It must be what Amy meant when she mentioned the sorrowful theme.

Metal laid eyes on his friend once more as he contemplated the ending. At least, he attempted to. The scene of the lovers on a picnic blanket was the only thing capable of occupying his mind at that moment. It seemed so peaceful, so quiet. Metal found himself enjoying those tranquil moments during his own day; doubly so if Amy happened to be near. It was what one could call relaxing. And she did seem incredibly comfortable around him - as he did with her. As credits rolled on the screen, he leaned in a little closer to Amy, inching his hand toward her tousled hair. It looked soft and silk-like; inviting even. Would this wake her?

As gently as possible, Metal touched the end of Amy’s quills with his fingertips. They were smoothly brushed down, tapered bluntly to be minimally prickly. He’d often noticed her combing her hair so it laid sleekly out of the way, even seeing her trim the ends once. Though her quills couldn’t scratch or prick him, the mildly wooly texture felt pleasant in his hand. Metal’s fingers crawled up the length of her short bob and towards her scalp, where he combed down any stray pieces that had slipped out of the neatly styled locks in her sleep. Amy stirred slightly and Metal swore his engine stopped functioning for the split second he thought to have awoken her. To his relief, she just nuzzled her face into the cushion a bit before laying still once more.

Her bangs covered her sleeping eyes now. Metal brushed the short wisps away from her face and gazed at her reposeful expression. This is what regular people look like when they rest- tranquil, relaxed, with small, gentle movements. Still but alive. Metal supposed his own idle body was more of a lifeless prop and tried to imagine what actual sleep felt like as he separated thin strands of her hair, letting them glide between his fingers until the ends slid out of his grip and floated back down.

After some time, he checked his clock- it was just past 2:00 AM. Metal was unsure what it meant, but he’d understood Amy wanted to “welcome” the vernal sunrise. He doubted she’d hear the alarm from inside her room. Sunrise would occur at 7:34 AM. She took about 30 minutes to get ready, on average. A few more minutes to travel to the appropriate location. Setting his internal alarm for 6:15, Metal resolved to ensure Amy awoke in time for her strange ritual. He smoothed down any quills he’d misplaced on her head and switched off the TV. It was probably time for him to “rest” as well; but something about Amy sleeping at his side kept him lucid and he sat awake with his thoughts for hours, peeking over at her when she entered his mind. He did this every few minutes.

There was still so much for him to consider. He hadn’t remembered anything new since Amy recounted their last story back on Angel Island. She’d even told him about other times they encountered each other over the years, though they didn’t interact with one another directly for some time. It was fruitless. To Metal, it sounded as if he’d been dragged along on his creator’s various schemes only to lose every time- but none of it was familiar in his mind. If he could think freely, if he could crave autonomy, then why had he stayed with Eggman for so long? How did the man manage to keep Metal on his side for nearly ten years? There must have been something in his memory that could provide an answer. He needed to understand his past perspective.

Metal’s alarm was due to go off in another minute. It was the longest he’d sat on his own, just thinking- no, not on his own; with a friend by his side. Even separated by consciousness, Amy’s presence felt comforting and provided him some fortitude. Metal heard Amy’s alarm go off faintly from her room. He was pleased with himself for predicting just the time she planned to wake up. It didn’t seem to reach her ears, as she continued to snooze, so he tapped her on the shoulder softly until her eyes half-opened.

She grumbled groggily for a moment before shooting up unexpectedly. “Did I- is it the next day?” She looked around frantically. Metal chimed to get her attention and she whipped her head around as her face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh my gosh- did I fall asleep here? I’m so sorry!”

Metal watched her scramble out from under the blanket and grope under the couch for her missing slippers. He was waving his hands in front of him dismissively, but Amy was too panicked to notice. “I probably missed my alarm,” she thought aloud. He finally took hold of her shoulder to get her attention. Then he cocked his head in the direction of the digital clock beneath the TV. 6:17 AM. It was early.

“Oh, I still have time,” she exhaled. Wearing an apologetic smile, she turned back to her friend. “Thanks for waking me. Sorry I kinda took over your bed…” It wasn’t the most eloquent way to put it. Amy could feel her cheeks warming up again. “I should go get ready!”

Amy’s exit from the living room was never complete without tossing the blanket over the back of the couch, which she did more haphazardly than usual before slinking away into her bedroom. Metal sank back into the cushions, now staring out the back door into the predawn darkness. Well equipped to see through the night, he watched absent-mindedly as some palm trees swayed in the distance. The sunrise “woke” him daily, but he supposed this would be his first time observing it. He was sure he’d get a front row seat of the dusk horizon first…

In her room, Amy groomed her hair hastily, still red-faced and slightly shaken. Falling asleep on the couch when you live by yourself is one thing, but it was definitely rude with a roommate present. Wait, roommate? Was Metal living with her really becoming that official? She did her best to perish the thought as she combed her lashes with mascara.

Amy dug up an old wood-beaded necklace and tan belt from her wardrobe, accessorizing her otherwise monochromatic outfit. She slipped on her lightweight dress, tugging on the underskirt as she noticed it bunching in the mirror. She spent far too long adjusting the billowy sleeves and repositioning her belt, still a bit embarrassed to face her house guest. It was a quarter to seven now. Time to get outside and start the ritual before it became too late.

Pulling a small saddle bag over her head, Amy stepped out of the room quietly. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said as she scuttled toward the back door. To her surprise, Metal was waiting for her just by the exit, leaning against the wall.

Amy floated into the room, looking ethereal in the airy ensemble. Certainly a change from her usual colorful garments and the bulky outerwear she sported to keep her warm. Metal tried to hide the strange delight he felt at the sight of her and casually pointed a thumb out toward the dark outdoors, offering her a ride. She lit up.

“Oh! Did you want to come?” Amy hadn’t expected him to join her, much less after worrying about the awkward situation she found herself in that morning. Finding that Metal didn’t seem to mind was a weight off. ”Well, it’s nothing fancy since I’d have to hike pretty far to get to where you can see eastward clearly. I usually just do it from the beach,” she shrugged, not wanting to get his hopes up. “It’s still nice to watch the sky, though.”

A small miscalculation. Metal assumed Amy would ask for a ride and already knew where they were going- it was obvious to him, anyway. The taller hills on the other side of the valley gave an unobstructed view of the eastern coastline, and there was still time to fly there. He shook his head, offering Amy his outstretched palm. She understood immediately.

“You wanna fly somewhere? Is it close?” He nodded. “Well…” Amy placed a hand over his, feeling herself blush for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning, this time backed by a much more pleasant warmth.

-----

Dawn’s first light illuminated the horizon in soft gray tones as the sun got ready to emerge. Amy’s pale figure practically glowed against the dim morning. She’d adorned herself with a light shawl against the cool air and every inch of her attire trailed behind in the gentle breeze. Metal watched as she wrote in a journal and took clockwise steps around an imaginary circle before sitting on her heels to meditate. It was an unusual ritual, the point of which was lost on him; but learning about the tradition was interesting to Metal, if only because it was so to Amy. After a few minutes, she invited him to sit with her and wait for sunrise.

Metal crossed his legs as he sat by her. He looked ahead into the horizon, but was still observing her rhythmic breathing and occasional soft sigh. “Thanks for bringing me here- it’s definitely a step up from sitting a few feet from the house,” she chuckled. “I usually do this alone. It’s kinda nice having someone to share it with, though.” He nodded at this with a soft, mechanical tone. She turned to him and continued. “The point of doing this isn’t just to watch the sunrise, you know. It’s supposed to help you reflect and get in touch with your surroundings. You’re pretty attentive already- maybe you can try seeing how many sounds you can hear.”

On the surface, it sounded silly; There was hardly a moment when Metal wasn’t contemplating something or listening to his surroundings. Yet he recalled the first time Amy advised him to reflect all those years ago, when the world was new to him. He was just as directionless again now. Back then, he’d ignored all the signs, all the guidance- and from what little he could remember, it didn’t appear to land him anywhere worthwhile. Metal glanced at Amy momentarily before concentrating fully on listening to what occurred around him. Despite the overall quiet, leaves rustled and birds chirped in the distance. The ocean swayed calmly below as little animals scuttled about high in the trees behind him. And then there was Amy- her steady respiration and the light billowing of her dress in the breeze. It was grounding, somehow- Metal’s mind was clear for what felt like the first time in his life.

“It’s rising.” After spending quite some time mostly listening, there was now something to see as well. The sun inched over the horizon, warming the sky with its red and orange light.

Amy pulled out her small journal and scribbled some notes before raising her face toward the rising sun. The sunrise was beautiful, but Metal found himself watching the scene through the reflection in Amy’s shimmering eyes rather than putting much attention to the sky.

“I’ve been thinking,” she finally faced him, “it feels like everything has changed lately. Having you here has been really… different. In a good way.” She paged back and forth through the book with her index finger absently. “But, change can be scary, sometimes. I remember one time...” Amy shook her head anxiously, staring straight out into the ocean. “Well, I guess you could say... you rebelled? Against Eggman.”

Metal listened to her with intrigue. He had hoped that the next thing she’d recount would lead to answers, but so far it was only causing further confusion. If he had rebelled against his master at some point, something in her nervous eyes told him it wasn’t for the better.

The colors up ahead shifted steadily from magenta and lilac to greyish blue as the sun made its way past the horizon. A bright golden column shone in the sea and as Amy squinted in the yellow light, she lowered her eyes to its watery reflection below. Just as she parted her lips to continue, a distinct ZIP came from behind the pair. Amy jerked her body around to look over the other side of the cliff. Metal’s engine was already whirring in annoyance as he predicted what came next.

The breeze turned to a whirlwind momentarily as Sonic skidded to a halt in front of Metal and Amy. The sudden gust sent her dress billowing wildly and the shawl she wore across her shoulders floated up and away, past the eastern edge of the cliff. “Woah!” Sonic jumped for the scarf but it was out of his reach before he could catch it. “Uh, oops,” he chuckled remorsefully.

Amy was about to bemoan the loss of her silky stole when another sudden gust blew back her hair and skirt once more. Metal propelled himself off the cliffside to go after it. Amy and Sonic watched as it drifted just out of Metal’s grasp a few times. Sonic received a dirty look from her when he appeared far too amused at the sight. Metal finally managed to catch it, returning it to its owner.

“Thanks, Metal,” Amy reached out and took hold of her scarf, which, to her dismay, made a harsh ripping sound as she pulled it back toward her. She gasped slightly when she realized it had become unfortuitously caught in Metal’s claws when she attempted to take it back. A lamentful ring came from him in realization. “It’s okay! I can fix it when we get home, don’t worry.” Amy gave her friend a reassuring smile, dawning the scarf over her shoulders once more and folding the tear out of sight. “Thank you, really.”

“Ah, sorry about that,” Sonic apologized from the sideline.

“It’s fine,” Amy exhaled. She didn’t want to sour the tranquility of the morning altogether by having a tantrum. All in all, it was still a nice surprise to see him. “You’re up early.”

Sonic rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s 7:30 in the morning. You really haven’t slept all night?”

“Nope,” he snickered. “Hey, am I interrupting? I need to talk to you.”

“Well,” Amy sighed, turning back to Metal. “Let’s talk later, okay?” If Sonic was looking for her, it must have been important.

Metal looked from Sonic back to Amy with crossed arms. He would have made some sassy response if she didn’t return his gaze so pleadingly, preemptively beaming with gratitude. With a nod, he offered her a hand getting up that she graciously accepted.

Sonic cleared his throat. “Sorry, mind if we get a little privacy? I’ll walk you home so we can chat.”

Even though she knew his intent wasn’t malicious, Amy still frowned at Sonic’s request in the wake of how rude it must have sounded to her friend. “Could you meet me back home, Metal?” He simply returned with a reluctant nod which she thanked him for. Amy waved him off as her and Sonic started down the hillside.

“You’re good with walking, right?” Sonic nodded toward Amy’s open footwear, which didn’t seem the most comfortable for a hike.

“I’ll be fine! Is everything okay?”

“Well…”

Their voices drifted away before Metal could catch anything significant; not that he was looking to eavesdrop. It would be at least a 30-minute hike down, then another few minutes before they arrived at the beach. Metal stared into the horizon for the better part of that time, trying desperately to remember something- anything- about what Amy had begun recounting. He’d rebelled. It was as Metal suspected: he hadn’t remained completely loyal all those years. Wasn’t it the same as what he was doing now? Why hadn’t Amy said anything earlier? Metal raised his palm to eye-level, examining his sharp fingers and wondering uneasily what suffering came at those cold hands.

.........................................................

hi babes- thanks for reading as always. reminder i’m adding songs to the playlist each chapter and if you have a suggestion, shoot it my way

oh and someone asked if this is on a03 and it is! in case you’d like to bookmark it. i post here first though!

#metamy #metal sonic #amy rose #metal sonic x amy rose #unfamiliar #ch. 12

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percontaion-points · 3 years ago

Text

King’s Men chapter 4

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions.

Chapter 4

"If we knew what Andrew had against us, we could try to fight it," Dan said.

JFC, I don't think that three books is enough to cover all of Andrew's psychological issues in the depth that Dan is asking about.

And I say this as a casual psychology hobbyist.

"Feels like we're right back where we started in August," Matt agreed.

"If we knew what Andrew had against us, we could try to fight it," Dan said.

[…]

"I can try. But," he continued, with a glance between them, "someone needs to work on Aaron. Nicky wants to be your friend and Kevin knows the team is stronger as a whole, but Aaron's almost as dead-set against us as Andrew is.”

It's like the second book literally never happened. What was the goddamned point of it even if the second everybody comes back following the winter break, and everybody hit the “character reset” button?

That was one of the things reporters had liked harping about most when Kevin became a permanent fixture at Andrew's side: Kevin was raised at Evermore, surrounded by the best and practically born with a racquet in his hand, whereas Andrew learned Exy while he was locked up in juvie. Neil had a page-long article about it in his notebook. It was crassly titled "The Prince and the Pauper", and its focus was on how doomed their friendship was. The writer thought their attitudes toward Exy too incompatible and their backgrounds too different for them to stay together long.

Imagine getting the assignment of writing about the bromance between two college sports players.

Like looking down at what you'd just finished writing and going “Haha, I got a journalism degree.”

"I'm not a striker by choice, either," he said. "I was a backliner in little leagues. Riko remembers because I scrimmaged with him and Kevin.”

I think the weirdest thing about Neil's personality is just that... it was already established that he played literally one game of exy when he was little, on orders of the mob boss to see if he couldn't turn Neil into an exy puppet, like Kevin and Riko. And then his mom took him and they went on the run.

Like literally one game. But Neil decided to turn this singular game into a goddamned personality trait.

"Exy is the shiny object of your sad little world. You know you're being hunted and you know the hounds are closing in, but you won't let go to save yourself. You once told me you don't understand why a person would actively try to die, but here you are. I guess that was another lie."

I think that the worst goddamned part of this stupid series is how AWARE that it is.

Yet, it makes lines like this constant, about how sports isn't a personality, etc etc... BUT IT DOES NOTHING TO ACTUALLY FIX THE PROBLEMS THAT IT'S HIGHLIGHTING.

At the end of the day, the only thing that this line will be will be a throw-away line. Not a moment for self-reflection, not a reason to want to change, not a warning to the reader not to turn a hobby into your sole personality.

Nope. Just a dumb moment of being too self-aware yet not aware enough to do anything about the problem being highlighted.

“Aaron cut a deal with Andrew at juvie: if Andrew stuck with him until graduation, Aaron would stick with Andrew. No friends, no girlfriends, nothing. Aaron couldn't even socialize with his teammates."

Part of me gets it.

But most of me is just sitting there being “wow. Do you see how shitty and abusive that this is? If he was a boyfriend, we'd all be screaming for the one to get away from such a toxic situation. Why the hell is this somehow different?”

"You were right. They made a promise. Aaron and Andrew, I mean. That's what Aaron told Katelyn, anyway. Aaron cut a deal with Andrew at juvie: if Andrew stuck with him until graduation, Aaron would stick with Andrew. No friends, no girlfriends, nothing. Aaron couldn't even socialize with his teammates."

Neil combed his fingers through his hair and tested the bandage on his cheek. "Aaron would have meant high school graduation. They renewed it when they signed a contract to play here."

"Now Katelyn's in the picture, but Aaron won't fight for her."

Okay... So is Aaron just going to continue to put his life on hold for Andrew's mental illness forever? Literally none of this is remotely healthy.

"This is a joke," Dan said, grabbing Neil's chin. "Neil?"

"He told me to transfer to the Ravens," Neil said. "He said I could finish this year with the Foxes but that I'd move to Edgar Allan this fall. They inked me in preparation and I couldn't stop them. I wanted you to know in case Riko says something about it. I'm still a Fox no matter what he says. I wouldn't sign his papers."

WHY THE FUCK DID THEY NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS. THEY LITERALLY PUT MAKE-UP ON HIM EVERY DAY TO COVER HIS BRUISES.

"You never had any plans to go home for Christmas, did you? That whole mess about your uncle flying to Arizona—you made that up so we wouldn't ask too many questions or wonder why you weren't going to New York with Kevin."

Nothing quite like being a day late and a dollar short.

"Nightmares," Neil echoed. It wasn't the turn he'd thought this conversation would take but he could guess what was tearing Aaron apart. "About November, you mean."

"He doesn't want it to bother him," Katelyn said.

My usual sentiment of “THERAPY?! LOL WHAT'S THAT?!” is way too on the nose with this. Please refer back to the previous chapter commentary for my full opinion on this matter.

He got up and left, and she didn't call after him.

Chapter 4 summary: Some time passes, and Neil is given the approval to continue playing again. After practice, he talks with some of the others over how the team had been together towards the end of the fall semester, but now it's like that never happened.

Back at the dorm, Neil randomly thinks about how Andrew hates exy so much. He thinks about some of Andrew's background, of how he'd been introduced to exy while he was in juvie. Kind of the opposite of Kevin, in Neil's opinion. Andrew and Neil then have a long-ish conversation about what exy means to them, but again, the two of them are kind of polar opposites about the entire thing. Andrew keeps telling Neil not to make the game his singular personality trait, but Neil... doesn't listen. What else is new. Immediately following this, Neil leaves to return to his usual nighly practices with Kevin. Who promptly reminds both Neil as well as the reader that Kevin has exactly one personality trait, and it's exy. (Granted, there is a history of Kevin's abuse, but the book literally never goes into that. Oh no, the only one we gotta talk about is Andrew.)

The next morning, Matt tells Neil that the twins made an agreement when they were in high school to stick together. However, when they signed at the university, they basically renewed their promise. And the short of it is that Andrew is holding Aaron emotionally hostage, as well as the idea of Aaron's future (ie a wife and kids). They're positive that if Andrew found out about Aaron's secret relationship with Katelyn, Andrew would hurt her. Neil decides to play dirty and get them into the same room together to talk it out with Betsy, and Katelyn would be the leverage against Aaron.

Later, the girls randomly find out about Neil's tattoo, despite them being up close and personal with his face because of make-up. They then piece together what Neil actually did over his break, which... again... a day late and a dollar short.

Neil later meets up with Katelyn in the library to rope her in on getting Aaron the help he needs, and to get him out from under the manipulative thumb of his brother. He convinces her to stop being the victim caught in between the Aaron/Andrew situation, but she doesn't exactly give an actual answer right away.

#All For The Game #The King's Men #chapter 04 #Aaron and Andrew Minyard #Danielle Wilds #can we not #Neil Josten #okay but why #UGH JUST UGH #Kevin Day #playing sports is not a personality trait #self-aware novels #toxic relationship #shitty family is shitty #i'm done goodbye #HEADDESKING #go to therapy

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musicallisto · 4 years ago

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Hello! Could I get an HP ship? I’m short (5’0) but I’ve got a big personality to make up for it. Mid length blonde hair, Bright blue eyes, and tons of freckles. I’m very outspoken about things that I’m passionate about, and I speak before I think which lands me in trouble. I love to tend to my plants and succulents, and go exploring around my area. Otherwise I enjoy cooking, and being creative with drawing, painting or ceramics. For the prompts, either #06 or #12, I couldn’t decide at the time!

Casus Belli (Fred Weasley x Reader)

author notes: I have not explored the prank theme enough - *side eye at all the fics I have written with characters being mischievous and doing dumb stuff to annoy people they love* - nope, definitely not enough. Sorry for the wait, hope you like it!

prompt: #12. "How OLD are you?"

word count: 1k words

your song: cyndi lauper - girls just want to have fun

MOST OF THE time, the Great Hall at Hogwarts was a tranquil place. Students from all houses could reunite to brainstorm ideas for their common assignments; sometimes a heated, whispered argument would break out regarding the best way to tackle the parchment on Boggarts; and the busiest of afternoons consisted of friend groups pretending to work by passing notes around and flying. Working on your homework wasn't your favorite thing to do, but at least the environment was nice enough, with its vague odor of turkey and candles and rattling of quills, to help you concentrate.

That was, of course, until the Weasley twins decided to have a little fun by shattering the peace and quiet.

It was usual for your boyfriend and his brother to break in the Great Hall with an upteenth trick up their sleeve, with that mischievous chuckling and attitude you could see from a mile away; so in all fairness, you should've been prepared for them to do so, once again. But they usually made sure their arrival was noticed, and your studying session with Angelina had been unsuspiciously quiet until the moment they had snuck up to you.

"I don't understand - so the Salem witch trials were orchestrated by wizards to appease superstitious Muggles?" you summarized, staring in disbelief at your open book and empty History of Magic assignment.

"Seems like it, yes," Angelina muttered. She was far more productive than you, and had already blackened with ink a full page. You, on the other hand, thought nothing could be better than apparating out of there and into a sunlit greenhouse, to paint the surrounding flowers.

"Why do we even have to learn American history, anyway?" you grumbled, folding your arms and leaning back in your chair.

"It's more like Wizarding history," your friend replied without looking up from her quill. How she could be so unbothered and focus when spring was just around the corner and a million colors blossomed outside would forever remain a mystery to you.

What would also remain a mystery is how Fred Weasley managed to stand right behind you without you hearing the ancient floorboards creak under his weight.

As you were debating the policies led by the Hogwarts educative team and the Education Department of the Ministry of Magic, you felt a sudden tug at your hair from behind. Raising a hand to the back of your head, you brushed the fingers of the culprit as they retreated promptly. You turned around; right behind you stood your boyfriend Fred; a few steps back, his twin; on both their faces, the kind of smile that always makes you fear the worst.

"What are you doing?" you frowned.

"Nothing," Fred grinned, and you only then noticed that he kept his hands behind his back. "Can't I give my girlfriend an encouraging nuzzle?"

"Y/N..." Angelina murmured, her wide eyes stuck on your hair.

Overcome with a sudden rush of panic, you ran a hand through your hair.

Immediately, you knew something was wrong.

Fred and George burst out laughing and high-fived, but after a few seconds, their laughter unexpectedly died down, and their stunned silence told you something was very wrong.

"Maybe we've overdone it with the pigments," George suggested pensive, and when Fred nodded with a renewed amusement, you thought you would kill him right there.

For the moment, though, you were too preoccupied by your hair rapidly growing and changing color. Your once blond hair that barely reached your shoulders was now neon green, the brightest you'd ever seen, and you could feel your strands growing by the second like infinite ropes. You almost muffled a yell when they reached the seat of your chair, now longer than you'd ever had them, and yet still growing; you observed them until they stopped, maybe ten centimeters from the ground, and the top of your skull tingled for a few seconds as if it were swarming with ants.

Only then did you yell.

"What the bloody hell, Fred! What is this? How OLD are you to be doing that still?"

"I'm seventeen, dear. And as for the other question..."

As if they had repeated the theatrical unfolding of the entire ordeal, Fred and George triumphantly whipped out from behind their backs two brightly-colored hairbrushes, shining dimly in the artificial light.

"The Comb-a-Chameleon!" they exclaimed in unison.

"I chose the name," precised George.

"And I the design. A magical comb that can change the hairstyle of any witch and wizard."

"It's still in its early stages. It's not supposed to make a change so drastic..."

"We'll make a few adjustments."

"Thanks for being our test subject."

You were fuming. Fred, somehow, always managed to surpass himself in ingenious mischief with each new gadget he invented and prank he pulled. More than once, you had pitied the professors and students - mostly bullies or particularly insufferable Slytherins - who fell into his iron clutches, merely escaping with drenched clothes or funny hats... but to attack you! You! You, who had always been supportive of his every endeavor! You, his most loyal and trusted advisor, his rock in the storms, his girlfriend!

"That's all very pretty, but can I get my hair back now?"

Both twins exchanged a complicit glance, and your blood froze in your veins.

"Did we find a way to turn it back to normal, aside from waiting seventy-two hours?"

"I don't think so."

A growl rose in your chest, traveling all the way to your throat, until you could not contain it anymore. Bolting from your chair, you pointed an accusatory finger at Fred. Merlin, how ridiculous you must have looked with your bright green, abnormally long strands, swirling around your furious head like radioactive branches!

"Oh, this is an unforgivable affront, Fred Weasley. If it's war you want, then war you will get."

Both Weasley twins' lips curled upward ever so slightly, their eyes taking the unmistakable tint of an accepted challenge. Half of you regretted, as you usually did, speaking before thinking twice... the other half jumps in anticipation.

"This is war, then."

>> ships are closed

#ship drabble #ship request #hp #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #helloallthethingsilove #mywriting

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enchantedlokii · 4 years ago

Text

Ringing

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: language, implied/referenced terrorism

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark

Mentioned: James Rhodes, Bruce Banner

This is loosely based on a dream I had recently where my brother and I were apparently Tony’s children. Anyway, the house blew up and my brother was hurt similar to how Peter is hurt in this. My mom and I were inside and didn’t get hurt too bad. It was strange, I know.

When Peter first started to hang out with Mr. Stark, he did have worries about being caught in the crossfire of something that didn’t involve him. He knew that there were dangers of being around the man. He was old enough to remember the attack on his Malibu penthouse years ago, and he didn’t doubt that there were still people who hated his mentor enough to do something similar in the future.

His worries started fading after a few months, however. He had his Spider-Sense. He knew when he was in danger. He never felt like he was in danger around Mr. Stark except when they were in the middle of a battle.

After the Battle of Earth, that fear was completely gone. The man had retired. He wasn’t a threat to anyone; villains or business tycoons. Peter didn’t think that anyone would target him now. They had no reason to. So when he felt the tingling in the back of his neck, he brushed it off. He thought it must be something small. He didn’t think he needed to warn Tony. They would be fine.

“Morgan found some new videos and has been talking about you nonstop all week. Fair warning, she’s probably going to ask half a million questions within the next hour.”

Peter grinned. He loved the little girl. “I can handle it,” he chuckled, jumping up the porch steps ahead of him. “I—”

Peter flinched as the tingling grew stronger. He started to tell Tony when he saw the worried look he gave him, but that’s when it happened. There was a loud noise, a flash of light. He vaguely noticed Tony running towards him before his vision went white.

That’s when the ringing started. Peter groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut at the light. He was numb at first, the pain coming slowly. He gasped as a shooting pain shot through his right arm. He blinked his eyes open and turned his head slowly, seeing that there was something pinning him to the ground.

“Pete!”

Peter blinked. That was Tony. He sounded panicked, and Peter guessed he must have been calling for him before his hearing returned. There was pain there too, but for the moment he was just glad he was alive. He could handle injuries. As long as he was awake and talking, he would be okay. “Mr. Stark?”

Peter winced at the shakiness in his voice. It sounded weak, he realized. It hurt, too. It hurt to speak. It hurt to breathe, actually, but he tried not to focus on that. Panicking would only make things worse.

“Thank God,” he heard Tony mutter. He probably wasn’t supposed to hear it, but now that his senses were back they were dialed up more than ever. “Are you hurt, Kid?”

“I’m okay,” Peter lied. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve had worse.” Peter heard shuffling. As the man got closer, he could hear his fast heartbeat. He peeked through the mess of rubble and caught sight of him. “Okay. Okay. Talk to me, Pete. Help me find you.”

“I’m right here,” he told him. He let himself close his eyes and focus on his hearing. He could hear other voices a bit farther away. Pepper and Morgan. They were okay. They were alive. “G-go check on them.”

“Let me get this off of you first,” Tony countered. “The house is mostly fine, okay? They may be a bit scratched up, but I’m confident that they’re not trapped under a pile of wood.”

“I hear them,” Peter mumbled. “Around the back, I think.”

“Good, that’s good. They’re okay, Kid.” The wood started to shift around him a bit. He hated thinking it, but he was surprised that the man had the strength to move it. Especially if he was hurt. He guessed it must be adrenaline. “Tell me if anything hurts you.”

It did hurt. Everything hurt, but he didn’t complain. Finally, he saw light and let himself smile when he saw Tony in front of him. He was beaten up, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, but overall okay. He had been a bit farther back, and Peter guessed he was the one who took the brunt of the explosion. He was glad, too. “H-hey.”

“Hey, Pete,” Tony murmured, reaching down and combing through his dirty hair as he looked over him. He noticed his pinned arm and immediately moved to try to lift the beam off of it. “Sh*t.”

“It’s broken, isn’t it?” Peter groaned. The pain in his arm was growing every second, and it took all his will to not cry. He had been in a lot of pain before, but this had to be near the top of his list. On top of everything, it was still getting harder to breathe and he was struggling to keep his panic at bay.

“I think so, Kiddo,” Tony sighed. “Are you hurt anywhere else? I know you said you weren’t before, but I can see the pain in your eyes, Pete. So tell me if anything else hurts, alright?” He paused, looking over his shoulders. “Pep! Over here!”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut again. He could hear two sets of footprints. Morgan was running, he noticed, and collided with Tony. She was crying and he hoped it was out of fear rather than pain.

“Peter? Hey, look at me.” Peter blinked up and saw Pepper was over him now. Her face was dirty and a she was a bit scratched up, but her eyes were clear. She wasn’t hurt. “Where are you hurt, Kid?”

Peter ignored her question, looking over at where Tony was stroking Morgan’s hair, whispering to her that it was okay. He looked back at Pepper after a moment. “Mo?”

“She’s just scared, Peter,” Pepper assured her. “She was upstairs in her room. She wasn’t hurt at all. I promise. So let me know where you’re hurt, okay?”

Peter raised his left arm, the one that wasn’t injured, and held his chest. He didn’t want to say. Not when Morgan was right there. He saw Pepper’s eyes widen and she looked over at Tony. He followed her gaze and saw that he saw too. “Morgan, let’s go wait on Uncle Rhodey, okay?”

Morgan looked up at Pepper. She looked like she wanted to protest, but she nodded. She squeezed Tony one more time before walking over to her mom and taking her hand. As soon as they were out of earshot, Tony moved closer and put a hand on Peter’s chest. “You’re going to be okay,” he promised. “Just keep breathing.”

“It hurts,” Peter admitted.

“I know. I know it does,” Tony murmured. “Just. . . Just don’t panic, alright? I know it’s hard right now, but you need to keep your breathing steady right now. Don’t push yourself.”

Peter nodded, but in reality he could feel his heart pounding even harder now. He could tell that Tony was struggling not to panic right now himself. His own heart had started pounding faster again now that he realized Peter was hurt. It was easy to tell he knew something was wrong. “You’re hurt too,” he found himself mumbling. Because he knew that he would push himself to his limits if anyone else was hurt and ignore his own injuries.

“I know, Pete. It’s not that bad, I promise,” he replied, putting a hand in his hair again. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Always do,” Peter grunted, closing his eyes again. His body wanted him to sleep, but he knew he shouldn’t. He had to wait for Rhodey to get there with help. Then he could rest.

He huffed and tried to push himself up, hissing at the pain in his chest. He was sure he felt his ribs shifting as he was gently pushed back to the ground. “No, stop,” Tony said sternly. “The last thing you need to do is puncture a lung. I’m already afraid one’s collapsed, Kiddo. You have to stay still.”

“I can’t go to the hospital,” Peter told him, opening his eyes again. He knew he needed to, but he also knew that his identity would be in jeopardy. “I-I gotta just deal with it.”

“You are not going to just deal with it. You’re going to the compound. It’s not finished yet, but Rhodey said the medbay was finished,” he explained. “You trust Bruce, yeah?”

Peter nodded weakly. He liked Dr. Banner, and knew that he would never do anything to hurt anyone if he could help it. They weren’t exactly close, but they had talked a few times since the battle. He knew he could trust him.

“Good.” Tony smiled at him and then looked up. Peter heard a new wave of noises and realized that help had finally made it. “Hold on just a bit longer, Kiddo.”

Peter wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he woke up later. He was a bit confused at first, missing details of what had happened and how he had gotten to the medbay. He could hear a steady beeping noise that lined up with his heartbeat. Then he felt the cannula under his nose helping him breathe and the IV in his arm. His other arm was wrapped up close to his side. It hurt, but not as bad as it had before.

“Hey, Pete.” Peter felt a hand squeeze his. He smiled a bit and turned his head, finally opening his eyes. He was a bit surprised that Tony was with him, but he could tell that he had been looked over too. His face was cleaned up and one knee was wrapped up similar to how his arm was. He looked tired, but the pain had cleared from his expression. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Peter murmured. “Like I’ve been drugged.”

“That’s pretty accurate,” he replied, pointing a finger at the needle in Peter’s arm. “Super soldier painkiller. Not a very high dose, but you’ll be groggy for awhile.”

Peter just hummed in reply. He closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts. He remembered Morgan has been crying. Where was Morgan. “Mo?”

“She’s okay,” Tony promised him. “She’s sleeping now, but I’m sure she’ll be in here when she wakes up. She was worried about you. We all were there for a bit.”

“‘M ‘kay,” Peter told him. He didn’t want to worry anyone. Especially not when he wasn’t the only one hurt. “Jus’ tired.”

“I know, Kiddo. I know,” he replied. “Get some rest, alright? I’ll be right here.”

“You rest too,” Peter countered, glaring at him. He was sure that Tony hadn’t slept any since they got there, and he wasn’t sure how many hours that had been. He had to be exhausted.

“I will,” Tony promised, raising a hand and combing it through Peter’s hair. “I’ll sleep here on the couch, okay? I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Peter smiled and closed his eyes again. “Mmkay,” he hummed. The strokes were killing him to sleep more than the drugs in his bloodstream. He felt safe.

“Love you, Kiddo,” he heard Tony murmur as he started to drift off. He thought he felt something on his forehead; a kiss, but he couldn’t be sure. Either way, he smiled. He was too far away to respond in any other way, but he knew that he would understand.

Love you too.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #irondad #spiderson #tw terrorism #peter parker #tony stark #pepper potts #morgan stark #spider man #iron man #rescue #post endgame

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stillchaoticlogic · 5 years ago

Text

Such a Tease: Chapter 1

Pairing: (Aged) Gary/Blue Oak x Reader

Summary: After a tragedy, you make the decision to quit your career as a trainer and focus on breeding Pokemon for the general population. You are one of the best in the region. You aren’t expecting the have to deal with your childhood rival and crush suddenly popping back into your life. After all, Gary Oak broke your heart and now you are determined to break his… or are you?

NOTES:*This is my very first pokemon story written many many years ago. I’ve decided to revamp it and see what happens! I hope you enjoy a little Gary / Blue love! I will kinda be combing the anime and game versions and I may or may not have just bought the manga to read… It will kinda be my take on these characters. Ash may become more like Red, but I haven’t really decided yet… I’m just having fun with this!*

Getting Started The alarm sounds much too soon for anyone’s liking and groggily you roll over and hit snooze. Too bad that doesn’t work. The annoying jingling in your ear continues much to your half-asleep dismay, finally opening your eyes you see the source of the noise at such a forsaken time of the morning it’s coming from Jingle Bells your Chimecho. You sigh in exasperation at her before hauling yourself up out of bed making her promptly stop. You roll your eyes as she merely floats in front of you staring up at you with devious innocence; you swear she has been hanging around Missy, your Mismagius for far too long. You yawn as you make your way past her into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

You had spent all of last night moving into your new center and you were dead. Jingle has been your faithful companion and alarm clock for years at this point, but perhaps she is a little overzealous at times. Especially when it’s five o’clock in the morning and the world isn’t even awake yet.

After you have prepared yourself for a day of decorating, arranging, unpacking and sorting, you head down the stairs to the oversized kitchen, which you soon realize has yet to be stocked. Upon this realization, your tummy comes to the conclusion that it needs something and now; so to alert you to such feelings it lets out a rather large growl. You sigh for the umpteenth time this morning and grab your purse and keys as you head out the door. Lady saunters after you, since she isn’t ever too far behind, taking her sweet time to meander out the door at her dignified pace. You merely chuckle at her and close the door behind her when she finally reaches the outside. As you begin your walk to the town she matches her pace with yours easily.

Looking down at her you say, “Alright Lady dear, how about we stop at that café I saw in town for breakfast then over to the store? We’ll do some shopping to get us in the mood for decorating!”

“Espi!” she exclaims in agreement as the two of you continue through the gardens toward the forest.

You love the location of your breeding center you must admit. It is rather beautiful and so private. A decent size of the forest had been cleared to make room for it, but you made sure that all the wood that was cleared went to building something. Even a natural spring ran through your property down to a pond that was surrounded by trees and flowers. Flower gardens add to the picturesque front of the house which is at least 3 stories high with a basement as well. Of course, your house will also be housing your staff and several of your Pokémon so you had to have a large house.

The back of the house wasn’t anything less breathtaking with herb and vegetable gardens for cooking purposes as well as medical. Off to the right side, a massive barn looking structure would be the home of the Pokémon that you would be breeding and training. The entire grounds were enclosed with a high-security system, invisible to the naked eye and impossible to enter or leave except at the designated locations. Oh yes, it is quite a sight to behold and it better be for what you have invested in it. This is your one shot at your dream. You hope that it works considering all of your earnings, winnings, and savings had gone into this sucker.

The sun played through the canopy of the trees as you and Lady make your way to town. Neither of you cares about the time or the distance, after all, the two of you have been travelers for so long that such things have merely become irrelevant. The relaxing silence is what you need considering the hustle and bustle of the past few days. Getting moved in has been an experience all in itself one you don’t need for quite some time.

The tunnel of trees ends and you are greeted with the sight of Route one and merely ten feet away, Viridian City. The city has grown since your departure several years prior and you rather like the changes made. You allow your memory to lead you to the café you saw while walking through town a few days ago. It’s a cozy place full of big comfy couches and armchairs as well as outdoor tables and chairs under a gazebo. The lighting was bright from the rays coming in through the various windows and skylights. You could see various plants and such growing in the flower beds that surround it giving it a cheery vibe. Upon entering you make your way up to the counter and begin to look up at the drinks posted up on the sign as well as the array of sweet cakes and such that line the pastry case before you.

“Hi! How are you today?” chirps the girl behind the counter, how she chirps at six in the morning you will never know, but appreciate the sentiment anyway.

“I’m good, thanks,” You answer with a pleasant smile.

“So, what can I get for you?”

After you have placed your order and gotten something for Lady as well you make your way over to a table in the corner by a window. You begin to people watch as you sit in a more or less daze just taking in the town.

“Are you new to town?” interrupts a voice beside you.

“Huh?” you question turning to see the girl from behind the counter cleaning a nearby table. She smiles pleasantly and repeats the question.

“Oh, I’m from Pallet town originally, but have been traveling for the past fifteen years. I’ve just recently decided to move back to start my own breeding center.”

“OH!!! So you’re the owner of that new breeding center on Route One! That is sooo cool!!! I’ve always wanted to be a Pokémon breeder just like my brother. And one day I will, but right now I don’t even have a Pokémon.” You frown at how her excitement became disappointment so quickly.

“Well, I do own a breeding center…. And I do need help… And I do have plenty of Pokémon….”

She turns to you her eyes getting very wide with each statement you make.

“Really!? Do you really mean what I think you mean?!?!”

“Well do you have any experience at all with Pokémon?”

“Yeah! My brother taught me a lot!! He’s a great breeder, but he has been traveling for a while trying to get more rare Pokémon to breed. So, I haven’t really got to see him a lot.”

“That’s ok, stop by sometime tomorrow and we’ll see about getting you a job. I’m going to see how you do with some of the Pokémon before I do though ok?”

“Ok!! That sounds great!! Oh! I need to get back to work. Bye, see you tomorrow!!”

You smile and nod at the enthusiastic girl as she runs off behind the counter to serve the next customer. You are a little surprised to find a guy already sitting on the other side of the café sipping his coffee and reading the morning paper with an Umbreon sitting to his right eyeing your Espeon with interest. Lady merely ignores him as she continues to eat the bit of pastry you had given her for breakfast.

“You’re such a heartbreaker Lady,” you chuckle as you glance back over to the Umbreon only to see who his trainer is.

One: Gary Oak.

At the mere sight of him, you are quite sure that every ounce of maturity, intelligence, grace, and confidence that you had collected over the past fifteen years dissolves in a vat of childish hopes and dreams that were crushed beneath his foot. You swallow hard at the feelings swirling around inside of you at the sight of him. Fighting hard against them, you make it a point to get up and leave, slipping your sunglasses on in the process to avoid any unnecessary conflict. Lady sensing your discomfort leaps upon your shoulder and glares both the male and his Umbreon down the whole way out the door. You sigh in relief, letting out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, the moment you are out of sight of the café, your shoulders relax allowing you to calm yourself down. Lady looks up at you questioningly, concern and confusion laced in the waves she is sending you. You look down and smile in reassurance at your best friend, knowing that no matter what happens she will always be there for you.

Shaking off the surprise from seeing the boy who broke your fifteen-year-old heart you continue your day as planned. Lady helps you pick out the decor, sheet sets, and curtains. Thankfully you have already picked out appliances and you don’t need to worry about them. You head to the store to stock up on groceries and giggle when Lady levitates snacks she likes into the cart. You roll your eyes at her antics but allow her to indulge all the same.

A very sincere part of you can’t get Gary out of your head though. You had adored him when you were younger, definitely against your better judgment. He was arrogant and stuck up, but he was smart, cool and confident as well. As he gained success as a trainer you had just fallen for him even more. Five years after setting out on your journey you ran into him at a competition and worked up the nerve to ask him out. Not only had he rejected you but he had laughed in your face. To this day you recall the embarrassment you felt as you ran from his jeers.

Despite the passage of time, you still felt like that fifteen-year-old today when you saw him in the cafe. You groan as you roll your eyes at yourself.

“What is wrong with you?! You went on to be one of the strongest trainers in the region! You are considered one of the best in the business. You don’t care about some stupid boy.”

With a final nod of your head indicating that this internal conversation is over you focus on getting Gary Oak out of your head onto the task at hand. You have a lot to do and you don’t have time to worry about him.

Notes: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I’m pretty excited about revamping this story. Please like reblog and comment to show some love!

#pokemon #pokemon fanfiction #pokemon scenarios #pokemon imagines #blue oak #green oak #gary oak #gary oak x reader #blue oak x reader #blue oak x you #blue x you #blue x reader #green x reader #green oak x reader #green oak x you

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staticscreenwriting · 5 years ago

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12 Days of Christmas - [Day 4]

A/N: Day number 4 for the Christmas coundown with @mattysheelies. This one’s almost 6k words. I loved writing this and I hope you like it too. It’s cheesy and cutesy and maybe cliché but it’s Christmas so idgaf. ENJOY ♥

Prompt: Snowed in together.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

“I felt so lonesome, all of a sudden. I almost wished I was dead.”

It happens, every once in a while, that you read a sentence in a book that you’ve read a hundred, maybe a million times before and it suddenly hits you like a punch straight to your gut. Because it’s different now. The book has stayed the same all through the seasons but you realize, you’re a whole new person who’s been through a whole new set of trials and tribulations. And all of a sudden you understand.

I slump back into the cold, sticky plastic of the bright blue seat and clutch my beat up copy of Catcher in the Rye closer to me. I face the huge windows, looking out into the black of the night and the airplanes, firmly rooted on the ground. There’s a heavy downfall of snow and no sign of it stopping anytime soon.

Maybe, I realize, this is my reckoning. Isn’t this what I’ve been wishing for ? A white Christmas like the one from the songs and the movies ?

Well merry fucking Christmas, (Y/N).

Every snowflake is a sick reminder of what could have been. Of what isn’t.

I let my eyes travel around the area. Rows and rows of blue plastic seats. There’s not a lot of people waiting around here. I assume most people have flown home a few days ago to make it in time for Christmas and the few that weren’t smart enough to do that, have resorted to some bar or a restaurant or something.

In theory, I could do that too. The thing is, spending Christmas eve by myself in an airport restaurant, would just seal the deal for this being the most depressing and downright sad Christmas of my whole life.

So I stay seated and lose myself in Holden Caulfield's delightful pretentiousness.

They’re playing Christmas music from a nearby speaker. I wonder if they want to taunt me. Me and everyone else stuck in a fucking snowstorm on Christmas Eve in god damn Indianapolis. They even have a tree set up and where it should make people happy, it only makes me even more sad. I wanna be home with my family, decorating my own tree with all the weird and quirky ornaments we’ve collected over the years. They all come with their own stories and it fills my heart with bittersweet nostalgia.

I’ve never known what being homesick feels like until tonight.

Again my eyes move along the rows of plastic seats. There’s a man in a sharp suit a few rows down. He’s got neatly combed hair and a red tie and shiny shoes and a face that says “ My name is Michael and I don’t allow anyone to call me by a nickname and I have an important job and I drive an expensive car and I probably fuck my secretary. “

It’s not a face you particularly want to look at. Except maybe if you’re said secretary.

A family of 3 sits by the end of the row. They seem — at peace. And for a moment I wish I could be them. I guess it’s different being stuck if you’re stuck with the people you love.

It makes me bitter to think about it so I avert my eyes and let them travel down the other side of rows. Which turns out to be no better for my mental state because there’s a couple there and they do not seem to care that an airport terminal is not the ideal place for some serious tongue action.

Across from them sits a guy, he’s got a mean mullet. Strands and strands of golden curls. He’s wearing a leather jacket and big black boots and there’s a deep scowl permanently edged onto his face. If he’s aiming for the whole bad boy vibe, he’s really nailing it.

I can see him shaking his head, as he too notices the couple getting awfully touchy, and I can’t suppress a laugh.

He notices and he looks at me and even across two whole rows of plastic seats I can see just how gorgeously blue his eyes are.

He doesn’t laugh or smirk or does anything to give me any indication of his feelings. Maybe I’m grateful for it. Maybe I wish he would. It would be quite nice to make a connection with someone right now. Just to make being alone feel a little less lonely.

“ the snow's comin' down

(Christmas) I'm watchin' it fall

(Christmas) lots of people around

(Christmas) baby, please come home”

It’s quite ironic, really,that they would chose this damn song. Of all the Christmas songs in all of the world.

Mullet boy seems to be a kindred spirit in this regard, I can see him sigh and murmur a “for fucks sake” into to collar of his jacket, as he sinks deeper into the chair.

“They’re singing deck the halls, but it’s not like Christmas at all. “

Yeah it really fucking isn’t.

A smacking of lips catches my attention and I focus back on the couple just to witness the guy’s hand travel straight under the sweater of his girlfriend. It’s a sight I don’t particularly want to see.

A sight that apparently makes my face screw up in aversion. And as it does, old blue eyes looks back at me and this time, I see a smirk. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared but I know for a fact that it was there. Maybe I don’t have to be all that lonely after all.

I close the bruised and battered orange book that, at this point, is hardly orange anymore, and place it in my backpack. If my life was a John Hughes movie or maybe any other romantic comedy, I’d get off my seat and walk over. There’d be some cheesy some playing in the background, maybe by the Smiths. I would throw him a smile and he’d look at me, an angel’s choir singing wonderous melodies. And tonight would change both our lives forever.

Alas my life is not a movie that Morrissey wrote any songs about. I am a coward and my heart already lies in several little pieces at my feet. So I don’t walk over just like that with no idea what to say, no incentive.

Instead I grab my backpack and walk past him, down a long corridor and end up at a vending machine that sells both, coffee and soup and I secretly pray that they don't come from the same jet.

The last coffee I had, I think as the warm liquid fills the paper cup, I bought at the little cart by Kelvin’s dorm room. It was a good coffee, had Hazelnut sirup in it. I remember the warmth of it in my hand. I remember the taste on my tongue. I vividly remember the sound of the cup hitting the floor and the stains on my pants and the feeling of my heart as it broke in two.

I don’t want to remember that though, so I will myself to ignore it. To push the thoughts away. I fill the second cup, grab it, put lids on them and then carry them back towards the row of seats.

Mullet boy doesn’t as much as glance at me as I drop down in the seat next to him. Only shows me that he notices me as I hold one of the coffee cups out to him.

“ Sorry it’s not booze. I know that would make looking at these two a little more entertaining. “

For a second he just looks at me in confusion, contemplates whether or not to trust me. In the end he takes the drink so I take that for a good sign.

“ Thanks. “

His voice is deep and raspy and I really really like the way it sounds.

“ I wonder if they even realize there’s other people around “ I say, watching the dude’s hand travel down the girls back, as they dreamily blink at each other like the main characters on a romance novel. Maybe those two get the romance and the the Smith song in the background. Maybe I’m just a sad side character in their story.

Mullet boy scoffs, takes a sip of coffee then speaks up. “ Don’t even think they’d notice if we joined in “.

He smirks at that. There’s an absolute underappreciation for people who laugh at their own jokes. I think it’s charming, endearing even. If you can’t laugh at your own joke, how do you expect anyone else to do it.

“ Least they’re not alone on Christmas fucking eve “

I don’t know why I say it. I don’t necessarily want to share my sob story. Sometimes my words just move faster than my head does.

“ Christmas is overrated anyway “ blue eyes says and shrugs his shoulders in a way that’s supposed to look casual. Only you can’t say shit like “Christmas is overrated” and be casual about it. There’s always more to a statement like that.

“ You think ? “

“ I know. “

“ How come ? “

He turns to face me and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. It’s like he’s straight from the cover of one of my mom’s romance novels. I think it’s quite unfair that he gets to look like this on a day like today and I — I look just the way I feel. Sad. Exhausted.

“ It’s none of your business. “

“ Oh geez, and here I was thinking we were bonding over our shared distaste for PDA. Guess not. “

“ You guessed right. “

For a moment, we fall into silence as another song plays over the stereo that has entirely too many obnoxious jingle bells in the backing track. For a moment I feel very lonely again.

It’s then, that the universe seems to have pity on me. It sends me a sign. A gift. A little Christmas miracle if you will.

That comes in the form of the couple getting more touchy, more — obnoxious. So obnoxious that the girl leans back, presumably to lay on the seats, only that’s not what happens. It seems to happen in slow motion when really it’s probably only the blink of an eye. She leans back and back and back and suddenly tumbles off the seats and onto the cold linoleum floor, her mister holding onto her so tightly, he falls right down with her.

My mama always told me not to laugh at other people’s misfortune. But at 18 years of age, I feel it’s time to break some rules my mama set. And this is one of them.

I can’t help it. I laugh. It comes from the deepest corner of my belly and fills my entire being. Then I catch those gorgeous blue eyes looking at my and I notice he’s laughing too. A hearty laugh. I think it’s a good one. No halfway laugh. No bullshitting. It’s a proper laugh and, as we lock eyes, our laughter only seems to increase.

The magic bubble that, until now, has surrounded the couple, seems to have been popped. It’s vanished. For them at least. Because as our laughter rings in unison, a proper harmony of joy, I feel like maybe me and mullet boy have been given a tiny spark of magic ourselves.

“ I’m (Y/N), by the way “ I say, trying to hold in more chuckles.

“ Billy ”

“ No no, you got it all wrong. His name is Michael and he’s on a business trip that he tells his wife he couldn’t postpone but actually he just wanted to get away from his family for the holidays. “

“ Michael ? nah. This dude’s not a Michael. “

“ So what’s his name then, Billy ? “

He thinks for a moment, face scrunched up in a way that is absolutely adorable. It makes him look way younger than he probably is. Very boy-ish. Very cute.

“ Edward “

“ Edward ? “

“ Yes. Look at him, he looks so boring. And can you think of a more boring name than fucking Edward ? “

I have to admit, he has a point. So I shrug and nod. “ You have a point. “

The little family from earlier, passes us and, as the mom glances towards us, her eye linger on Billy just a moment too long for it to be accidental. And he notices, the cocky bastard. He notices and revels in it, letting the corner of his lips lift up in a teasing smirk.

“ What the fuck was that ? “ I asked, flattened by the sheer audacity for both of them.

“ I got that effect on women of all ages. “

“ Wow, your ego is really tiny, huh. “

When he looks at me, grin widening and eye filling with mischief, I know I just said the wrong thing. I set myself up with this one, I admit that.

“ That’s the only thing tiny about me. “

“ Aaaand that’s my cue to leave. “ I pull myself halfway out of my seat when his arm shoots out and his hand grabs onto mine. The mischief in his eyes in gone, completely replaced by a pure and unfiltered honesty.

“ Stay. Please. “

I sink back down and we fall into a silence. He knows that I saw it in his eyes, the fear of being left alone and I know that he knows and so we’re stuck in this weird limbo of whether to ignore it or spill our sorrows to one another. And maybe it’s because today is Christmas and on Christmas you tell the truth, even if it to a stranger at an airport, but he suddenly breaks the silence and starts talking.

“ I don’t wanna be alone. “

“ Yeah me neither. “

“ I uh — I was supposed to be in California, to visit my mom over Christmas. I haven’t seen her in — in years. This was supposed to be our first Christmas together since I was 8. I called her earlier, from the payphone. I thought she might be devastated. She’s not. I don’t think she cares very much if I’m there or not. I’m still debating whether or not I wanna get on the plane if it ever goes. “

“ I came to visit my boyfriend for Christmas. Surprise him, you know. He’s going to college here in Indiana. We’re both from California and we haven’t seen each other since the summer. I thought It was the ultimate proof of my love to him. Well — turns out he’s been fucking his way around campus while I’ve been busy making plans on how to rearrange my life and all my dreams, to come study with him in Indiana after I graduate High School. “

Another silence fills our hearts but this one isn’t thick with anticipation and tension. It’s one that settles deep in our bones as we realize, that sometimes there’s comfort in shared misery.

“ Merry fucking Christmas to us. “ Billy murmures.

“ Do you wanna go see if we can get a drink at the bar ? “

“ That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while. “

“ I can not believe your fake ID says you’re name’s Ricky Hardman. “

“ If you’re mocking me I can just drink this myself, you know. “

“ Oh come on. It’s just — that sounds like such a porn name. “

“ So what. “

I have to snort at his complete lack of self reflection. He knows I’m right but he’s so stubborn. Again I find myself thinking it’s endearing rather than annoying.

To come back to a statement I made earlier, I also think we don’t appreciate the people enough, that make us snort-laugh. Is it a bit embarrassing and cringy? Sure but it’s a laugh either way and I don’t think we should ever take that for granted.

“ Put the cups down so I can spice it up a little bit “ Billy instructs me and I do as he says. This is probably our 4th refill of coffee for the night, my mom would have a go at me for all the caffeine but whatever.

Billy opens the bottle of booze he just purchased at the airport store and pour us both a decent amount into our coffees. Might as well have our own little Christmas celebration if we’re stuck here with nothing else to do.

Cups clutched in our hands we roam around the airport, cheeks warming up from the alcohol. I feel more at peace now and yet my heart is ever as heavy with the longing to be home.

A sign directs us towards the visitors terrace where families usually gather to watch the planes take off and land. It’s deserted now but that’s not really a surprise. It’s cold, it’s snowing and there’s no flights going anyway. It’s just a dark, snowy night and a lonely runway illuminated by small lights that, if you believe hard enough, almost look like fairy lights in the distance.

“ I know it looks pretty, “ I say as I lean against the banister of the terrace “ but I really don’t find snow all that great.”

“ I fucking sucks, “ Billy replies. “ It’s cold and wet and turns into gray slosh in the matter of a few minutes. “

“ I always dreamed of a white Christmas, now I can’t wait to never see snow again. “

“ Me too. I hate it. Snow. Indiana. At least you get to stay in California once you make it there. I have to wait until graduation to finally move back home. “

I don’t want to pry, I really don’t but there’s something about him that intrigues me. Everything he says and does in scrowded in some kind of mystery. Some hidden meaning in all of it.

The way he looks and the way his words hold a certain softness to them, is a whole enigma in itself.

“ You wanna come back to Cali ? “

“ Fuck yes. I can’t stay here longer than I need to. I miss the sun and the beach and — my home. “

“ Oh god yes, the beach. “

“ See, and you wanted to give up on all of that for a guy called Kelvin. “

“ I — he’s nice.”

“ Oh I’m sure he is. And secure and smart. “

“ He is. We’ve been together since my sophomore year in Highschool. He was my first — everything. He studies business and is gonna take over his dad’s company one day. “

Billy blows a raspberry before turning to me with his perfect eyebrow raised in mockery.

“ That is so dull. “

“ It’s not “

“ But it is ! Tell me honestly, do you really love this guy or is it just — comfortable. Being with him ? “

And once again, something that I’ve considered so many times in my life, suddenly affects me in a completely different way than I am used to. I understand all of a sudden.

I get it.

“ I mean, maybe you have a point. What makes you the relationship expert though ? “

“ Nothing. I’m not saying I am. But I know I never plan on spending my whole life with someone because I am comfortable with them. It’s your goddamn life, you should live it for yourself. “

It hits me light a freight train. Straight in the heart. He’s right. Whether I want to admit it or not, Billy is right. I don’t let him know that though, it’s hard enough admitting it to myself. I think he knows anyway, by the way I look at him. By the way he looks at me.

“ Have you decided whether or not you wanna get on the flight ? “ I ask. It’s still not my place to ask those questions but it feels like something has shifted between us. Like tonight is ours entirely. A night of truths. Of heart opened and unguarded.

“ The alternative is spending Christmas with my dad and his wife and my stepsister. “

“ Sounds alright to me. “

“ Yeah, only my dad is the biggest asshole on the planet. He’s not a nice guy. His wife is a fucking nutcase, obeying his every will. She has the backbone of a jellyfish. And Max — Max hates me. That one’s my fault though. “

I want to hug him. It’s a strong urge that overcomes me. A sudden rush. His words are soft and sad and frustrated and I can see in his eyes just how much this hurts him. And god, it’s Christmas Eve. I just want to make him feel a little less alone.

So I do. I hug him, rest my head on his shoulder and together we look at the snow falling around us, covering the world in a thick white frosty blanket.

“ I’m sorry about that. Just so you know though, I’m glad we’re stuck here together. “

“ Well yeah, I’m hot and fun and I have great hair. “

“ Oh there we go again with the ego. “ I laugh. He makes me me laugh. Like genuinely laugh. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this around Kelvin.

“ What’s that book you’ve been reading. “ Billy asks as the laughter settles down again.

“ Catcher in the Rye. It’s one of my favorites. “

“ Uh-huh. What’s it about ?”

“ This boy, Holden. He gets kicked out of prep school and runs of to New York City and yeah it basically chronicles his days in NYC. It’s about loss of innocence and isolation. “

“ Sounds absolutely — “

“ Wonderful “

“ Boring. “

Here’s the thing about interests and hobbies. They’re a very personal, very individual experience. They’re yours. And yes, maybe it’s nice to share your passions with another person who feels the same. But let’s be honest: It doesn’t really matter. I am not hurt by Billy’s disinterest. Not even by his mocking scoff. Because it in no way lessens my love for the book. The story it tells and the nostalgia it brings me.

It also doesn’t lessen the affection growing inside me, towards Billy. An affection that both scares and excites me at the same time. By all means, it is delusional to fall for a stranger at an airport, who doesn’t even live in the same state as me. Someone I’ve only spent a few hours with.

Then again, life is never a straight path. I used to think it was but after tonight, maybe I can let myself take some backroads. Take a road less traveled. See where it leads me and if it brings me to a dead end, turn around and try again.

Maybe sometimes it needs a boy with a leather jacket and gorgeous blue eyes, to make you realize that life can be so much more if you just let yourself live it.

“ Okay sure. What are your interests then ? I’m sure there’s something you like doing, something you care about. “

“ My car. “

“ That’s such a guy answer. “

“ Pff, whatever. “

“ What else ? “

He takes a moment to answer. Contemplates. Mulls his answer over in his head. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes I haven’t seen since he talked about his mom earlier tonight.

“ Music. “

“ Music ?”

“ I really care about music. Not — not playing it but just music in itself. You can’t tell anyone this, okay ? It’s a bit ridiculous and It’s not really realistic, but I would love to work at a record label. Or maybe have my own music venue. To help discover bands and find new, awesome music. Whenever I’m sad or angry or frustrated, or even happy, there’s a specific songs for any emotion, any situation. I want everyone to be able to have that in their life. “

There’s something undeniably sexy about someone being passionate about something. He only just started but I could honestly listen to Billy talk about music for hours and hours and hours.

“ So who’s your favorite band then ? “

“ I’ll sound pretentious as fuck but my favorites are probably some local bands from my hometown in California. “

“ Maybe when you’re back home after graduation, you can take me to a gig. Show me some of those bands. “

My heart beats faster as I realize this is the first time either of us has mentioned there being a future. More than just one magical night at the airport.

It slipped out but I’m glad it did. The idea of more nights together, more time spent listening to him talk about his music. Experiencing that music with him. It doesn’t scare me. In fact, it excites me so much.

“ Yeah. Sounds like a plan. “

“ A good plan. “

“ A great plan. “

I don’t know if he notices that I notice, but his hand drops to the small of my back, so gently it’s but a whisper of a touch. It warms me up more than our boozy coffee ever managed to.

Airports have a weird energy. A specific mood that transcends through every corner in every room. It’s loaded with the arrival of change. It might be good and exciting or it might be sad. But something is about to change and you can feel it sizzling in the air.

As I stand next to Billy in the softly falling snow, I know that the girl that arrived at the airport earlier today, heartbroken and without purpose, is not the same girl that’s gonna get on that flight home. Something has changed. I think I like this new girl better.

“ They’re singing deck the halls … “

“ Oh Jesus, what is it with this fucking song ? “

“ What, you don’t like it ? “

“ Do you ? “

“ Totally “

I don’t know what hits me. Maybe it’s the fact that the future is so awfully unknown. I don’t know if after tonight I will ever see Billy again. Or maybe because it’s Christmas.

Or maybe because I’m a little drunk and half in love.

But I start to dance and sing along. With the snow falling down on me. Snowflakes dropping onto my hair and melting, leaving it wet and streaky. But it doesn’t matter right then. All that matter is the music and the night and him and I.

“ Come dance with me. “

“ I don’t dance. “

“ It’s Christmas Eve, Billy. It’s my Christmas wish. Come on. There’s no one around. “

Here’s some piece of advice from me to you: If you’ve never had a guy in a leather jacket and biker boots twirl you around while the snow is falling and Christmas songs play over the stereo, then you’re missing out.

Billy’s hand is warm, his smile is gentle. It’s all so vastly different from the way I felt when touching Kelvin. Everything that comes with Billy is an enigma, a surprise. Nothing is certain and yet I am sure that I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now.

The last chord of the song echoes through the night as Billy pulls me close to him, I can see his breath in the cold, accumulating in little clouds. I can feel his skin in mine.

“ You’re gonna get on that flight, Billy Hargrove. “ I say, my voice but a sigh. A whisper

“ I’m gonna get on the flight. I’m gonna graduate and then come back to California. Permanently this time. I’ll find you and take you to all the underground clubs and show you all my favorite bands. And I’ll even listen to you talk about your books. “

“ Even if you think they’re boring. “

“ Uh-huh. “

“ Hey Billy. “

“ Hmm ? “

“ I think I wanna write a book. I think that’s what I want to do with my life. “

He’s so close now, our noses touching, our breaths touching, our lips touching. Warm and soft and gentle.

“ Write about us, so you don’t forget me. “

I kiss him then. Or he kisses me. I don’t know for sure but really what does it matter. In the grand scheme of things it’s irrelevant who initiated the kiss. It matters that it happened. And by god I will never be able to forget this kiss or the boy that gave it to me.

“ Dear passengers, we are delighted to announce that the runway has been cleared. The sky is blue and free of any downfall. Flights will resume shortly. More information about departure times will be available shortly. Feel free to turn to our staff for guidance or additional information.

“ Billy. Hey, Billy. “ I say, and shake him awake. He looks so peaceful and boyish while sleeping, it breaks my heart a little to interrupt his sleep.

“ Hmm.. ? “

“ I think our flights are gonna go soon. Snow’s stopped. “

“ Oh. “

I don’t have to ask to know what he’s feeling. What he wants to say. “ Oh. this is it for us. “

We gather our stuff, stretch our limbs and get off the uncomfortable plastic seats. The board on the wall shows us that our flights go in just two hours. His to San Diego, mine to LA.

Our time is numbered and we finally have an expiration date. My heart breaks once again though this time I try to hold onto the fact that we both want a future of whatever it is we’re sharing. Even if it’s just a friendship, I want Billy Hargrove in my life.

“ Hey uh — “ Billy speaks up and takes my hand in his “ let’s make a deal. “

“ What deal ? “

“ To see each other again. Maybe — maybe next Christmas Eve. “

“ Where ? “

“ I don’t know. Let me — let me come to you. “

“ Santa Monica pier. “

“ Okay sure. “

“ Cool. “

He kisses me again and this one too, will stay with me forever. In my heart and in my head.

“ Here I’ll give you my phone number. Call me if anything changes. If my dad answers just ignore his stupid comments “ He says, fumbles around in his backpack and come up with a pen and — a cassette tape ?!

“ Something to remember me by “ he points out as he scribbles his number onto the little slip of paper. “ Some of my favorite songs on there. “

“ If you give me something, let me give you something too. “ I say and pull out my old worn out copy of Catcher in the Rye, scribble a message on the first page, then hand it to him.

“ There’s a bunch of notes in the margins. I never got to share them with anyone, I’ll gladly share them with you. “

Then I kiss him. Again and again and again, until it’s all I can think about and all I can feel.

“ Flight 207 to LAX boarding now. “

And that is it for us, at least for now. The magic of last night is broken. It’s Christmas Eve gone, replaced by Christmas day. No snowstorm. No magic. Just the brutal truth that real life awaits.

So we part. With more kisses and a promise.

“ Until next Christmas. “

The plane is already high up in the air when Billy Hargrove pulls the book from his pocket. It’s old and worn out and what looks like it used to be orange once upon a time is now a washed out beige.

He opens it up to the first page and can’t suppress a smile. A real one. Not one of those he fakes for his dad and susann. A real smile that reaches his eyes. One he feels in his heart.

“ Meet me at the Merry-Go-Round! “

His heart soars as he thinks about next year. A future that suddenly looks much brighter than ever before.

There’s a lot of notes and scribbles and highlighted sentences. He skims through it until one passage catches his attention.

“ Make sure you marry someone who laughs at the same things you do. “

And so he thinks back to the overly touchy couple and their magnificent tumble from the plastic seats. And he remembers her laugh and his ringing up in unison.

He understands. That Holden guy has a point. Maybe it’s worth reading the book after all.

A year later.

I’m rushing through the crowd of people, a vibrant clementine sky the backdrop for my misery. God, why can I never be on time.

My heart hammers in my chest. Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave.

His eyes meet mine across the way as he leans against the banister by the Merry-Go-Round and I feel like I am back at the airport. The magic is back.

“ Sorry I am late. I am so so sorry. “ I say and can’t help myself but pull him into a kiss. One filled with passion and longing and a promise kept.

“ Ah If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she’s late. “ He replies.

“ You read the book. “

“ I read the book and all your notes. “

“ That’s good, I uh — have something else for you to read. “

It’s a bundle of papers, no cover art or fancy pictures on the front page. All it says in big bold letters is “ A white Christmas - a story of girl meets boy. “ I hand it to Billy and he looks at me in confusion.

“What’s that ? “

“ That’s the first draft of my book. “

“ You wrote it! “

“ You believed I could so I did. “

“ What’s it about ? “

“ Oh you know, just a girl and a boy and a magical night at the airport. Lots of snow. Lots of kissing. Little bit of magic. “

“ Can’t wait to read it. So, you wanna go see a band ? “

“ They any good ? “

“ Pretty fucking good!”

Darlene Love’s voice echoes through the stereo and for the first time I have to disagree. This feels like Christmas more than any moment before ever did.

And my baby is finally home.

Taglist; [I copied this from @mattysheelies and just added a few new ones, if you wanna be added or deleted from the taglist please let me know]

@sebastiansloserclub ; @killer-queen-xo ; @william-hargroves ; @billysgodcomplex ; @daisyxbuckley ; @allabouthargrove ; @mcrmarvelloki ; @charmed-asylum ; @1998--js ; @naiomiwinchester ; @hargrovesprincess ; @mystrangerfics ; @teafrompari ; @staybruuutal ; @colourado ; @higher-further-faster-bb ; @ayybtch ; @carlaangel86 ; @baebee35

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #12dayswriting

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roses-ruby · 6 years ago

Text

Cherry Muffins and Lavender Tea

Namjoon x Female Reader

Genre: College AU, Sugary Fluff, Humor if you squint, Smut but it’s ugly, and the teeny tiniest angst

Warnings: curse words, sex, orgasms, oral (female receiving), choking kink, daddy kink, hot biker Namjoon, sex with clothes on, might make you hungry (i’m not sure about everything that’s considered a warning sorry! If there’s something you want me to add, tell me)

Word Count: 8,196

Summary: You’ve got feelings for my man Namjoon, the scary looking dork that drops by where you work. But how will you relay them?

A/N: My first story! Omfgsfkhbifb I’m nervous so please leave a kind word, I’ll love you forever. Might have mistakes cause i’m an idiot. None of this would have been possible without the great @countrysundae she’s my darling and inspiration and I love her sooooo much and you should too!!! Please appreciate her Pisces ass, and send her some love! Oof anyway, please enjoy

10:30

Originally set for 8, 10 fucking 30 is when the bells of your alarm informed you to awake for maybe the 99th time that morning. Groaning in displeasure you move your stiffened muscles to shut the damn thing off. This is a process that’s become a routine; waking up way later than originally planned, no matter how many timers set, or reminders kept. Even though you admit you are sleep deprived constantly, it doesn’t make you a heavy sleeper habitually! You wake up to the tiniest noises at night, from your roommate trying to sneak back into the shared room in ungodly hours of the night to the leaking tap in the bathtub. And yet your phone’s alarm is your placebo-it does absolutely nothing for you.

Though you do try. You keep about 5 alarms on at once, to your roommate’s expense who somehow is both a night owl and early bird all at once. Speaking of which-

“So, the witch finally sees daylight,” snickers Sana

“what the fuc--how long were you there?!” You rasped, grabbing at your erratic heart

“Just got in 5 minutes ago, that was my first alarm and trust me when I say I would’ve strangled you if I heard another.”

It’s true, she’s done it before. Your poor roommate was an occasional victim of your ruthless sleeping habits. You’d sometimes slip into conscious from slumber to hear her whine about your blaring alarms in her own sleeping state. Other times you’d wake up from a pillow landing on your face from a girl who’s had Enough.™ But you didn’t feel too bad for her, since you’ve given her the option of waking you up herself and she’s proven frivolous far too many times for such a simple task. Lowkey? She deserves it.

“Ooh another fun night, huh?” You grin in your sleepy state

Sana giggles “Mhmm, think Mark’s in love with me the poor chap,” she mocks his English accent making you both laugh at yet another fuckboi who’s become a victim to Sana’s lethal looks. Giving her a glance over, from her messy hair and smeared lipstick you conclude she indeed had a very fun night.

Sana came from a well-off background and had it all. Good-looks, smarts, the money, and a very good heart. She didn’t have to go to university, but her mom was not having it. The whole ‘be grateful for the opportunity people suffer to receive’ speech led her here. A parent’s guilt tripping wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with. You considered yourself an average person. Kinda cute, smart, headstrong and half of a pretty good character…Your parents on the other hand, were really wimpy.

“We always thought you’d go to the neighborhood community college”, your dad remarked in horror holding the prestige upper state university’s acceptance letter that arrived recently.

Your dad, who thinks jaded denim vests are cool.

“You’re too young to be living on your own, you’re still a bird who can’t use her wings correctly, not ready to leave the nest!” Said your distressed mom, who’s solution to all bad food was to put more cheese on it.

Don’t like your chicken curry? Pass on the parmesan sprinkler!

You hear the bang of hands on the table and a chair screeches, “let her go, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs”, your little brother who plays fortnite all day and is going through his ‘I hate feelings but secretly cry every night’ faze shouts before storming off towards his room.

All you do is sigh and roll your eyes, picking at your over-parmesaned chicken curry with your naan as your parents continue to nag, cause after this whole fiasco your mind was certainly convinced.

You’re going to the university.

Now that you are here, nothing was easy even for someone as headstrong as you. You were smart enough for a scholarship, but living expenses were something else entirely. Which led you to seek employment at a small café, a few miles from your university. It wasn’t the most bustling of places as it drew in a handful of consumers a day, even your fellow students chose the McDonalds right across the street. Everyone enjoyed the quick coffee and frozen fries, rather than your place’s slightly pricier fresh brews and handmade savory biscuits. Alas, you considerably appreciated the quiet composure your café provided. From the dim soft white lighting, to the 60’s slow jazz-which you routinely exchanged with a Studio Ghibli playlist from YouTube discreetly, blended well together. Gave you time to catchup on your schoolwork. Your boss was a chill 42-year-old who won the lottery a few years back, and let you clock in any time before 12, even if your morning shift began from 9. Maybe it had something to do with how the last waitress quit to work at McDonalds.

And he was always there.

Kim Namjoon. The quiet stud that had captivated your heart without even trying. Also, the fucking reason you wanted to get up earlier in the mornings damn it!

Namjoon was a psychology major who was always reading a new book. Mostly from his favorite author Haruki Murakami. And he always stopped by at the place you worked to indulged them. Parking his Harley-Davidson Softail outside and softly walking in with his old school leather jacket and gloves, ripped jeans, a book in his hand, his huge hard…helmet forgotten on the bike’s handle. He’d gently relay his familiar order of cherry muffins and lavender tea, raking his hair back with those beautiful black gloves, and striding to his usual seat in the back of the café.

He’d grace your presence 3 times a week, usually at 9:30 before his 10 am classes; another early bitch bird. All you wanted to do since then was to be able to take his order.

You had met Namjoon at the beginning of your first semester last year. But he hadn’t harbored much of your attention until that fateful day. Chilly winds and frequent rain were what you were adjusting to, as fall was in its peak with every other color on the leaves a vibrant orange, grabbing at your focus. Having arrived on time for once, you were engaged in your workspace. The co-owner and your co-worker of the small café, the boss’s niece, had taken a day’s leave, and you knew she’d beat your ass if you were late. Tray in hand, you served a bacon quiche and caffé americano to the table refuging a girl in an infinity scarf and glasses who didn’t bother to look up from her phone, when the door chimed open

It’s him again, you thought at the tall stranger you’ve seen around your campus in all black stepping towards the counter. He had small droplets of water on his leather jacket and hair from the rain. You didn’t realize you were staring until he awkwardly looked directly at you, standing with an empty round tray at the side of the table of the occupied girl, who you know is also taking a secret glance at him, and shyly smiles.

Cute.

You walk yourself behind the counter and smile, “hey there”

“Hi, um two cherr-“

“-y muffins and lavender tea, right?”

He nods

“Why don’t you just say the usual?” You laugh, wringing up his order in your old school register

“I didn’t think you’d remember me out of all the customers,” he states bashfully, dimples on display

“‘all the customers?’’ you laugh louder, “we get like 15 a day, I’m sure I’ll remember you”

“Oh, I thought I just came too early”

“You definitely do! I don’t have the energy to get up and comb my hair at 9 in the morning, much less bike to a café for cherry muffins”

“You like it?” he grins “it’s a Harley-Davidson, my dad owned one”

“It’s as pretty as you sweetie,” you don’t know where that confidence was coming from, because you’ve definitely haven’t talked to a boy like this before. Blame it on the chilly weather.

“oh, thank you,” he rakes his leather gloved hands through his hair, looking down at his shoes

Stepping towards your tea station, you grab open the bag of loose organic dried lavender buds, on the shelf above. Picking up a measuring spoon, you scoop and slide in some buds in the French press. You grab the boiling water on the electric stove, next to your station and slowly pour it onto the herbs. You close down the French Press and set a timer for 6 minutes.

Taking a breath, you look around the café. Namjoon stands there as towering as a tree, looking at his book, ‘Women who Run with the Wolves.’ Most people would go sit down if it wasn’t pickup, but he always stood right at the registrar. Strange. Unsurprisingly, you remember being intimidated as hell in the beginning. Usually people that come to the café are chill in the ‘harmless millennial hippie’ type of way, dressing themselves in mutable colors. But he looked like he would yell if you even slightly messed up his order or gave a ‘wrong look’ to his bike. You loosened up when his order was always so easy, and his book choices always so cute. You almost bust out laughing when he came in with ‘A fault in our stars;’ especially when he sat at his table with glossy eyes, trying to finish the last pages. His smile also melted all worries away.

Infinity scarf girl gets up to leave (but not before giving Namjoon a longing look), leaving you both alone in the balance of your heartbeats. There was slow piano from Kiki’s delivery service filling up your café’s background. The weather still faintly drizzling, the soft gray clouds seeping through the broad windows, making the café’s wooden brown hues a tad bit dimmer, yet the fairy lights radiant. Pedestrians with transparent umbrellas in beige coats and red hats pass by every so often, not a care in the world. Smells of fresh scones and cinnamon filled your nostrils, making you remember holiday nights at home. Though your thoughts often redirected themselves towards the handsome stranger and the harmony of the quiet fall day.

The timer dings and you get back on track, using the handle to press the floating buds down to the bottom of your French press. You head toward the counter’s display case. Below is a steel countertop with coffee/tea cups, silverware, small plates, trays and a set of tongs. You grab a cup and plate, fixing them properly you pour the tea. The steam drifts towards your face, an amazing aroma that complimented the purple complexion of your brew. Grabbing a set of tongs, you take out two large cherry muffins, placing them on a tray, along with the tea. You decide to grab a chocolate chip cookie as well from one of the clear cookie jars set on the wooden crown of the display case.

“Here ya go,” you place the tray in front of him. He places his book and gloves onto the tray and gets out his wallet from his beautifulbooty back pocket. After paying he picks up the tray and halts

“Cookie?” He holds up the chocolate chip cookie in his hand, a bit confused

“It’s on the house, they’re the best thing in the café, but I end up eating most of them, so might as well give ‘em out”

He smiles, “thank you, it looks delicious”

“No problem, anything for our loyal customers,” you both laugh, “it’s beautiful out today”

“Hm, not as much as you,” he states, walking away from you towards his usual seat. Now, he turned around very quickly after he said that, so you didn’t really get to see his face after such cheesy words, but the tips of his ears were red. Oh.

He’s cute cute.

Stunned, you stand there for a moment or two, just wide-eyed; staring at nothing, until you spin on your spot and head back into the tea vicinity of the café. You feel your heartrate rise and alarms go off in your head. But not the loud intrusive kind. The kind where a baker knows his three-layered chocolate fudge cake is ready. The ones where a mom takes freshly baked cinnamon rolls out in the morning. The ones when the apple pie is prepared to be sliced. Those kinds. Covering your extremely warm face with your hands, you muffle a squeal.

Since then, you’ve started paying close attention to Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t know what it was, his tall broad frame and long thick legs, which you wanted to be choked with. His large hands in those chunky leather gloves or when he took them off, to handle the pages of his book delicately; his long skinny fingers would graze over the soft wood, both things you wanted to be choked with. Or his keen eyes that would get larger or darker depending on what part of the book he was reading, and you imagined in which manner they would present themselves with while he’s choking y-Ok. Ok. Ok. You had a kink. Endeared was how you felt at his intimidating appearance.

You also adored how far away from intimidating he actually was. You were smitten with his gentle demeanor in dealing with people. His pacifist nature, and how much he loved tiny crabs, how he was so respectful towards everyone, younger or older, never judging anyone’s appearance or his love for characters that’re as large, and clumsy as him, like Ryan from that Kakaotalk app. And his laughed that carried large amounts of joy over cheesy, silly things ultimately making you laugh as well.

You were sure you loved Kim Namjoon, yet you barely spoke to him-

I mean who’s gonna disturb a huge scary-looking dork when he’s trying to read? Certainly not you. What you desired is a way to get close to him somehow, and for that you needed to know more about him. It wasn’t hard to pick up gossip though, when you were friends with the loudest chatter mouth on the planet.

You told Sana once about your silly crush and she shrieked so hard it sounded like a howl. The next day she had all the deets on who she referred to as ‘Hunkjoon.’ He had an IQ of 148, he hates seafood, he’s so clumsy that his friends refer to him as ‘the god of destruction,’ favorite color is black (no duh), he’s well-known, terribly smart, and to your dismay, associated with the exceedingly popular frat boys Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin.

Ugh

Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin, or who you so kindly referred to as the Seokbitches, were the schools James Dean. ‘Icon of teenage disillusionment.’ Hehe, perfect definition by google. They were notorious, for playing ghosts in their classes, throwing a party every.single.damn.day., never keeping their dick™ in their pants, and having the most obnoxious laughs on the earth…

Ok, so maybe only you knew them for that. To others they were the teenage love and rebellion dream, James Dean. They never attended classes, because they were fuckthesystem peeps, threw a party everyday so the poor souls stuck in an endless cycle of capitalist warfare aka their fellow students could enjoy the more fun things life has to offer, indulged in every part of youth-including the 24/7 horny part, and had the most beautiful laughs in the damn planet.

How were they Namjoon’s closest friends…How? Anyone with a functioning brain can tell the vast difference between the trinity. Namjoon attended all his classes (yet fate didn’t give you a class with him, the bitch), he actually read books, and he wasn’t hooking up with 2-3 girls every night, unlike certain people.

You heard from a classmate a while back that ‘bout two years ago Namjoon had a serious girlfriend. Since their breakup, he hasn’t been with anyone else. It’s good that he’s single but you’ve still only talked to him here and there. A few shy glances, a few awkward touches. Nothing more, but lord do you want more, alot more. What if a girl more daring gets him first? Do you really need angst in your life? NO! but you are still at a loss of what to do. You had one boyfriend so far, and it was one of your worst experiences.

The guy was a total creep. And the worst part? You asked him out. All your friends had relationships and he was someone who rode the bus with you, making you laugh here and there. So, being the usual teenager, you thought it’d be a good idea to date him, like a fool. Who knew he wasn’t just being charming, and making fun of people (trying to be edgy as you now know) was a hobby for him? You did. Right after you overheard him announce the fact that you look like a winged bat when you suck dick just to make his jerk-ass friends laugh. It was so humiliating, as you never did something of the sorts with him, yet his friends would stick out their teeth in a ‘vampire like manner’ whenever they passed you in the hallway, as well as your first heartbreak. You got him back by filling his locker with Limburger cheese, from your mom’s collection of cheeses. His gym clothes smelled for a month, and people called him cheeseboi for the rest of the year.

You shed your blind innocence that day and knew that men are trash. Namjoon isn’t like that though, and you’re surer of that than anything. He’s special for you and you want to be the special one for him. Sadly, you just didn’t know how to start a conversation with Namjoon, without looking like you jumped in boiling water. I mean you had hook-ups in college. Who doesn’t play around here and there? But fuck-this is definitely the first time you actually like someone. Like really like them, so you just clam up and don’t know what to do. That’s where you are today.

You bounce from your bed, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m late again,” you mumble.

Sana hears that (at this point she could have better hearing than dogs)

“Hunkjoon, huh?”

“That’s not his name Sasha”

“Listen, why do you even spend your time trying to get with him in that boring café?” Sana shouts, hopping off her bed she makes her way to the bathroom and throws her hands around you who’s brushing her teeth. “You should ask him out, maybe to a club. A little booty popping, ear sucking, mouth licking, and he’s yours”

“Please don’t ever use any of those words in that way ever again.”

“I’m serious!” Exasperated she throws her hands in the air before resting them on each of your shoulders together and squeezes you. “You just need a change of scenery, that place is no hook-up central for us modern kids. Just one party, and he’ll be all over you.” You tug her off your back and narrow your eyes-looking at her through the mirror; you continue to brush your teeth. She knows you want something far from a hookup with Namjoon, yet she-

“And then,” she smirks, “maybe your mouth would be full of his cum-not toothpaste”

You choke.

“Sana what the fuck,” you rage running after the laughing vixen with your toothbrush as a makeshift knife

“Don’t act like it’s not what you want!” She cackles as you tackle her onto the bed ready to stab her eyes out when your phone rings. Oh shit. You know exactly who that is. Picking it up, you run to the bathroom, spitting out your toothpaste

“H-h-hello?”

“Where. in. Jesus’s. name. are. you?!”

“O-oh, coming Linda, I’m in traffic” Sana proceeds to imitate a car beep sound at that-“and I’ll be there in 5 minutes!”

“If you aren’t, I’ll personally serve your head as our main dish this afternoon!” She screeches before hanging up

“Shit,” you catch your breath, “I gotta go,” scrambling around, you find something appropriate to wear in late April weather. You brush your hair in a hurry and throw on a high ponytail. Sana just watches you the whole time, staring at you up on her elbows from her bed looking deep in thought. Grabbing one of Sana’s car keys and your purse, you rush out the door with a quick bye to Sana. She doesn’t reply back but after you are out the door she flings back onto her bed, arms expanded.

“I’ll ask Hobi,” she says to herself

Parking in the small lot behind the café, you run inside the back door. You gather yourself, fixing your hair and your fast heartbeat, you wrap on an apron and head to the front.

Linda spots you right away.

“You’re late,” she grits

“Yeah, traffic sucks,” you grin awkwardly, praying she’ll believe you.

“Just get to work, the pound cakes are almost ready to take out,” she points toward the oven. You nod, heading into the vicinity of the oven in the back next to the stove.

“Hey Linda,” someone shouts making you turn, “the person at table 3 wants some sourdough starter”

Linda acknowledges, moving into the back storage where the starters where kept.

You spot a girl. A new girl. A very very pretty girl, with long light brown hair up to her waist, and a delicate body. She meets your eyes and smiles and you return the gesture before looking away like you didn’t momentarily become gay looking at her soft features.

It’s good to have her around, you conclude. Usually you worked the morning shift with Linda 3 times a week, taking afternoon classes during those days. (coincidently when Namjoon comes by) You know there’s a girl who works the afternoon shift, but you never really ran into her. And since you do come late 1 out of 3 times, Linda ends up doing most of the work herself, including making all the café’s delicacies. You’re so very thankful to Linda and her uncle for not firing you, and very glad that Linda has some actual help now.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the oven timer dings and the door chimes open.

The new girl greets the customer cheerily while you concentrate on taking an enticing whiff of the vanilla pound cakes, about to pull open the oven’s door when you stop dead in your tracks. You’d recognize that deep voice anywhere.

Turning your head so fast, you feel your neck burn from whiplash you spot your Namjoon finishing his order to your co-worker. He meets your eyes for a moment, and god you’re sure you look like a fish.

“Would you like anything else? We have really good chocolate chip cookies,” pipes the newcomer

“I know, they’re delicious,” he catches your eyes again, “but no thank you, not this time”

“Aww, well I love them a bit too much. Even though I’m new I’ve had quite a few,” she starts ringing up his order

“I thought I haven’t seen you around here”

“Moved in recently and kinda have trouble unpacking…I need a stronger body ya’know”

“Is that so,” Namjoon quirks a brow and you feel like you’ll throw up. Why is Namjoon late? Catch 22 didn’t seem like his style of book? Why the fuck is she giggling so much? Who let her steal all your cookies? And why is his hair so much messier than usual? He looks so cute omg?... What’s that burning smell?

…Shit

You gawk at the oven in horror as Linda shouts your name from a mile away.

Sana’s scrolling through her phone on her tummy when you bonk her head with your purse

“Ow, what the fuck-”

“When’s the next frat fiasco? I need to relive some stress”

She smiles, “I knew you’d come around, and that’s why I went ahead and asked Hobi to bring Hunkjoon tonight.”

You beam at the mention, “Sana you angel!” Then immediately scowl, “Wait at a seokbitch party? Just fucking great”

“Don’t be so sour,” Sana sighs, sitting up, “Namjoon doesn’t go to many parties anyway so his best friend was the only solid way to bring him.”

Giving it a thought, you beam again, jumping on Sana

“Sana you angel!”

“Whatever’s up with your hair by the way, looks like you’ve been pulling on it.”

“Don’t ask…long day.”

Arriving at the party, you grimace at the smoke of marijuana blanketing you as soon as you enter.

“Alright, Hobi should be around here somewhere,” Sana looks around,” standing on the tippy toes of her heels, trying to look past the frisky bodies, but it’s of no use with the amount of people in the room.

The room was packed with tipsy children. There was barely any elbow space even though the frat house was huge as you and Sana squeezed through hot, sweaty dancing bodies. Some unbalanced drunkards clumsily pushing into you every now and then and you wondered how anyone came to these things. It’s hot, and everyone smelled of axe and sweat. Parties would be much better with just a modest group of people you know, or maybe that’s the small-town girl in you speaking.

No! You cringed internally. You must forget about your outdated methods and passive behavior. Tonight, you will become someone completely new. Someone who takes action.

“Oh there!” Sana shouts over the music, waving furiously to someone by the stairs

Soon after you hear the jubilant voice of Jung Hoseok as he comes into view to greet Sana with a hug, and after being temporarily blinded by his smile you give him a once over or call that twice, because fuck He looked good in a simple white tee, tight blue jeans, dark brown Timberlands and his hair pushed up with what seemed like some gel and messy fingers (think back to Gayo Daejejeon 2018 mic drop)

“This is the girl I was telling you about,” Sana points at you

Hoseok joins in on your shameless gawking and grins

Embodying you was a baby pink thin strapped mini dress, and when you say mini, you mean your black Chantelle Présage lace thong is showing mini, but you’re a woman on a mission, and you didn’t care if you were naked at this point. Your hair was thoroughly straightened, and you went for a glossy cherry makeup look, courtesy of Sana. You weren’t trying to look like a cherry muffin, buuuut you didn’t mind if that’s what people thought, specifically one person.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he extends his hand, eyes duskier than a moment ago

You should wear shades in front of him or you’re sure you’ll go blind.

You shake his hand and give him one of your most forced friendly smiles, trying not to make much conversation as you just wanted one thing. Though that shiver upon your spine at his grip tells you otherwise.

Hoseok motions for you both to follow him and you pick his trail

Sana elbows you

“We talked about this! You’re supposed to be acting like a lamb, ready to be jumped on at any time, not a fox,” she whispers at your obvious display of wanting nothing to do with the Hyena

“I’m being nice! I am! This is how I’m nice!”

Sana rolls her eyes, and you sulk. It’s not your fault she is a master seductress, and you just don’t know how to be kind to the guy who’s trying to undress you with his eyes when he knows you’re here for his friend. She told you two things about seducing men, act completely incompetent and laugh at all their lame jokes. The more you feed a guy’s concocted ego, the more you feed his desire for you. And well, a way to the man’s heart is through feeding him…or something right?

But all your thoughts disappear into nothing once you lay eyes upon the man you’ve been wanting for almost a year.

Kim Namjoon, holy fuck.

Never has a loose black tee and oversized maroon velvet bomber’s jacket looked that good on anyone before. He commands your undivided attention with that low-neck line and gelled up hair. Healthy, glowing skin spread out like a canvas. His jeans ripped in all the beautiful places around the man’s thick, strong thighs, and black derby’s? Classic, yet defiant as always. He was fucking beautiful and you were awestruck. Hoseok says something to the group of 3 guys standing by the back sofa, including Namjoon, most likely about you, but you don’t hear anything once Namjoon locks eyes with you. There’s evident surprise in his eyes, which dims into concentration at the dress you’re wearing.

“So Namjoon,” Hoseok interrupts your thoughts, “I heard you both’ve met before?”

Namjoon doesn’t break away from you for a moment, smiling slightly “we’ve met, it’s nice to see you here”

He was being strangely vague. “You too,” you mutter

You could physically feel Sana scoff at the virginity act.

“Alright, I can use a drink-Ali, Jason, Sana let’s go get them”, Hoseok works fast to evade the intrusive attention on the both of you

“Why do you need 3 people to help you with drinks”, says a confused Jason

Flustered at the man’s impaired ability to read between the lines Hoseok scrambles for another excuse, “um…uh, I don’t know what you want? And uh there’s a lot of people, so uh”

Jason stubborn as ever quirks, “well I can just tell you what I wan-”

“JASON! ALI!” Sana shouts and everyone, aside from Namjoon, who won’t turn away from you, glances at her, “be a darling and pour my drink for me,” she uses her sultry voice, throws a sly smile, and they all get led away by her, even Hoseok, looking hypnotized

Watching them walk away you let out a sigh. This is it. This is your moment. You really should’ve had a shot before this. Drunk you wouldn’t clam up and clench her buttocks that sober you is doing for some reason. Clearing your throat, you start blurting out the first forms of conversation that settles in your mind.

“Nice to see you here, finally away from the café-not that I don’t like seeing you there…I mean I do, but this is nice too hehe”

You mentally slap yourself for the worst beginning. When have you ever been this quiet? Sana couldn’t get you or your alarm to shut up most of the time and this is the moment you choose to get awkward? Maybe this is it. He’ll just walk away now and you can wallow in self-pity.

“It’s great to see you too, out of that café…not that I don’t like it as well” he smiles

Your whole form relaxes, and you feel the knot of pressure in your back coming undone. You know you’re overthinking, know that your mind is self-sabotaging you, so it can get out of this hellhole back into its safe space between your bedsheets. So, you take a breath and focus on his eyes, trying to bring back the confidence of an 80’s café waitress. “You got yelled at pretty hard this morning, were you ok?” He asks

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I kinda deserved it and Linda’s the biggest sweetheart, she would never actually hurt me.” Minus where she almost tore your hair out in the backroom

“…speaking of which, why were you late this morning?” You slapped yourself again

He gave you a look. Shit. “You track me?” he grins

“No-no, nonono…n-yes. I track all my customers”, you smile awkwardly, “they keep me on my toes ya’ know the little bastards” If only you could forever tape your mouth

It was a bad joke but he lets out a chuckle where his eyes turn into little crescents and his dimples poke through his skin

“Well, I missed my alarm this morning, so I was too late to arrive on time…but I still wanted to come…”

“…Why?”

“I just,” he stares at you, “did”

“I see. It’s our tea isn’t it.”

Both of you share a laugh

“You look beautiful by the way”

“This little thing?” you twirl your hips, “just found this in the back of my closet”

The brag was true because you never fucking dressed up for anything, yet always shop like you do.

When you look at him again, you see his eyes dark at the move you just did, which you’re sure exposed your ass

Gathering courage, you start walking toward and up the stairs not giving Namjoon another glance. You could feel his bewilderment through your exposed back, as he follows you like a lost puppy. You hide a smile. Heading into an open room, you find its balcony. Outside, the spring wind picks up your hair and you take in a deep breath, letting go of all your nerves that tense up once you feel the balcony door open and close and the presence of another person in the little island.

“Are you alright?” You feel his breath on you, and you barricade a shudder

“I’m fine…I just couldn’t breathe in there with all the weed,” you turn and smile at him.

“I hate it too,” He smiles back

There’s a moment before you both break eye contact and he’s stepping up beside you

Looking out from the balcony, you pander in the serenity of the dark night and silent winds. The music is still mutely conscious in both your eardrums, as well as the laughter of kids who came here to forget tomorrow. There’s always a calmness you feel with him, no matter the weather or locality. The tips of your arms are touching and the barring heat your entire left side simmers in provides you with the translation of your need to be closer with him.

“I’m sorry I’m not good at small talk”

You turn your face to him as he takes a breath before speaking again

“I’m very awkward, sorry about that”

“You aren’t the one who’s awkward, you raise a brow, I’ve been making bad jokes all night. And well, who’s good at things like small talk?”

He smiles at you, “Your jokes aren’t bad,” he says bringing his face closer to yours, “and I love hearing you talk”

“Thank you” There’s another silence before you ask, “started a new book recently?’

“I did!” He quirks, “‘Yellow Wallpaper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, it’s disturbing yet addictive. Like an Edgar Allen type you know. The increasing dread creates a form of suspense, which feels like a drug. Even though you can tell the ending won’t be good, you carry on led by a strange empathy as if you’ve become the character and it-“

Namjoon stops suddenly and stares at you smiling. “Um…sorry I got carried away, I’m probably boring you”

“Nuh-uh” you stop him immediately, “You aren’t boring at all. I love hearing you talk”

There’s a radiant blush on his cheek as red as your cherry lips, and you just want to devour him. “When I,” he begins looking away, “When I come to the café, you always seem so interested in what I’m reading. Most people don’t really care about that from me. They care that I ride bikes or about my popular friends. Not that I mind. I’m fine keeping them on a surface level. But,” He looks at you, “I want to know you better.”

“Me too” you blurt out very quickly

Your faces are so adjacent you can smell his soft mint toothpaste from his steady breathing. He’s staring at your glossy lips, your whole form is covered with his warmth, fluttering your senses leisurely

“Want a taste,” you whisper just for him to hear

“I bet it’s as delicious as it looks,” he lets out a heavy breath

“Well lucky you cause tonight I’m serving them specially for you”

You close the distance between your mouths and take in his plump lips. It wasn’t rushed, yet it wasn’t slow. It felt like the most perfect kind of kiss in the silent spring, the one that’s described in timeless romance novels. The one that you tell your children to look for, if they’re fortunate enough in their youth. That they’ll know it’s from the one.

He brings his hand upon your cheek and rubs it tenderly with his thumb. You both move back and stare in each other’s eyes.

“Well…was it delicious?”

“Better than cherry muffins,” he licks his lips to taste your cherry gloss on them

You crinkle your eyes to cringe and giggle

“You’re so cute,” he says and he’s kissing you again

This time he slips his tongue in your mouth and you hum in content, grabbing at the back of his blonde hair. Your tongues dance wildly, and Namjoon reaches for every nook and cranny of your wet cavern. Immoral sounds are escaping you both as your closed eyes burn in delight. Putting your legs on each side of his torso, he hurriedly picks you up from under your thighs and easily carries you inside the room, towards the bed.

You both break off as soon as he lands your bodies on the spring. His body still contains the heat from your thighs, and he’s pressed so close to you, you can feel your nipples against his rock-hard chest as well as the tent in his jeans. Breathing heavily, you stare in his starry eyes, filled with so much lust it feels like they’re dripping.

With a shaky breath you try to melt his lips onto yours again, just for him to shift back.

“Do you want this?” He asks, determined to move off if you refuse him

That would be a sin. “Yes.” You speak clearly, “I always wanted you, since I first saw you, Namjoon.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, before he’s on you again like the kindest, warmest deity he is.

He’s back into exploring your mouth as your hands find their home roaming his broad back. As he moves his hips up and down your wet entrance, a heat shoots up through your spine. His hands are kneading your ass, and everything is moving in slow motion for what feels like forever. Breaking off your mouth, he moves his kisses along your neck down to your cleavage, sucking hickeys on sensitive areas you moaned around. Growling at the invasive flimsy fabric surrounding your chest, he begins to tear it apart. His hands pulled down your transparent bra. You gasp at the intrusion of air surrounding your upper body.

“Mmm, fuck yes baby,” you could feel yourself soaking his cloth covered crotch as you fuck yourself upon his restricted dick.

Namjoon smirks reaching towards your back to take off your bra, letting his warm fingers tickle your skin as you lift your back to help him remove it and discard it to the side. Namjoon takes you in, caressing your face and you feel like he’s going to compliment you before he’s spitting words in your ear

“You little slut, you came here just to be fucked didn’t you”

Flustered you splutter, “Yes, ah please”

“That’s yes daddy for you baby,” he uses his large fingers to take hair off your face and removes his jacket and shirt

“Yes daddy, please,” you eye his tan muscles and broad chest. He noses your jaw and takes his mouth around your areola. You immediately run a hand through his golden locks, your mouth hangs open as he flicks your nipple with his tongue. Around his arms was sunken skin, in the form of muscles and you run your hands through every cervix.

Your breathing is labored

He moves back, moving your thong slightly to the right as he dips two fingers into you,

“Drenched and shameless muffin,” he mutters scissoring your entrance slightly, staring at you darkly

You are sprawled out for him like an unwrapped muffin. One leg hangs off the bed, while the other is desperately wrapped around his torso as if you’re scared he’ll leave. Your breasts are exposed and wet with saliva, and you’ve just handed him your cunt for the taking. You’re high off his soft sandalwood scent, as he takes your chest in his large hand, rolling your nipple in his thumb and index finger, pulling it slightly. His fingers are wet from your juices and you’re embarrassed you’re this wet. Vulnerable, you shut your eyes and look away before he grabs your cheeks with his hand and brings your face back towards him, hitting a certain spot that has you arching your back and knitting your brows.

“Don’t close your eyes baby girl, I need your focus completely on me”

“Then no more teasing,” you pout

Namjoon chuckles as he brings his fingers dripping with your silk into his mouth; looking straight into your soul he licks around his fingers in the lewdest way possible. “Sweeter than cherries” he mutters, slowly unraveling your wrapped leg and caresses the inside of your wet thigh, never letting go as if reassuring you that he’s right here. Languidly, he noses down your navel and further below until he’s lined with your aching core

“Daddy” you whimper

Giving you kitten licks around your folds, he licks a long strip before placing his tongue slightly inside your walls and suckles your juices. Your legs were on each side of his head, and you pulled at his hair out of frustration. The higher your voice went, the more he licked, bringing his tongue around your bundle of nerves and gently rolling the nub around. His hands traveled from your thighs to your waist, and slowly towards your breasts and kneaded. He flattened his tongue against your folds again, to take a finer taste of you, as he hummed knowing you were close. He took his right hand off your chest and used it to slide two fingers into your inner depths.

His mouth then went back to your clit, slowly rolling it around his tongue in a circular motion as his fingers drilled into you faster and faster. You let out a string of curses as your thighs began to shake, and the knot in your stomach becoming undone. You came with a yelp as your eyes began to see stars and vision whitened.

All your sudden adrenaline left you and your limbs limped onto the bed, fingers no longer in Namjoon’s hair. Letting out heavy breaths you saw Namjoon slowly coming out of your legs to face you. His thick lips were wet with your juices, and he licked through them and smiled.

“You’re so beautiful baby girl,” he said before kissing you again. Your tongues danced through your exhaustion, and you moved your hand towards his hard on. You felt him hiss into your mouth as you slowly rubbed him through his jeans. Backing off his mouth you smiled, it’s your turn daddy, and undid his zipper. You felt his hard dick in your hand, blessed in length. Spreading precum around his shaft, you watched him twist his expression. He reached into his back pocket and took out a condom, tearing off the wrapper with his teeth and handing it to you.

You gave him a smile as you rolled the condom onto his length and lined it with your entrance-giving him a hand job as he gradually moved into you. Once he was fully sheathed, he took a moment, before pulling out a slamming into you again

You let out a gasp at his pace, still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm. He was relentless and pounded into you over and over again, as the whole bed shook at his force.

“F-fuck dadd-y ooh” you cried as the same knot appeared inside your stomach. You grabbed his hand on the side of your head and brought it up to your face to give it a kiss. Light headed from the force of his thrusts, you could still feel him looking at you as you brought his hand upon your neck and laid it out flat

He cursed at your submission, and lightly put pressure on your neck “You’re such a good girl, daddy’s good girl, good girl fuck,” his paced faltered and you could feel your orgasm approaching with the pressure around your neck. With his other hand he stimulated your clitoris and that’s all it took to have you cuming once again.

Your mind travels back to how much you’ve wanted this-wanted him. His strong arms are no longer hidden under his bulky jacket, his fingers no longer clean with traces of paper fiber, but with your juices. How the hands you’ve wanted for so long around your neck, the eyes you waited to be filled with just you, the moans you suffered to hear from his luscious lips. It’s all happening. It’s all yours and no amount of overthinking will take this away.

With a few more thrusts he reached his own peak with a grunt, flopping down on you shortly afterward. You could feel his heavy, hot breathing on your neck and you wrapped your hands around him. You take a few more huffs before talking to him.

“I really like you” you whisper

“So I’ve heard,” he chuckles moving off you, he picks you up to move you upright in the bed with your head on the pillow and your arms still around him. He lays down next to you. “I’m not going anywhere baby. I really like you too. You didn’t really think I came for the tea did you”

Your heart soars and you meet his dimpled smile, He looks so youthful with his after sex glow, “Hey I make that tea with a lot of love and care!”

“Right, I’m sorry,” he laughs

“I didn’t know you liked me, your head is always in your books”

“Well originally, I came to chill and read. Until I found the cutest waitress that makes amazing tea-“

“-Shut up,” you jab him with a giggle

“-and I didn’t want to seem creepy, so I just payed attention to my books. But I did try to talk to you. I would stand as still as a tree next to the registrar trying to think of something to say. You tended to look intimidated of me, so I always froze up and just sat down. I asked my friends how to talk to you, and they kept giving me strange advice. I don’t think they know how to get a girl without sexual innuendos. They didn’t know how you looked, just knew you as café girl. If Hoseok found out you were café girl tonight, he’d probably try and do something stupid”

You took in the information he gave you and put the puzzle pieces together. You both were huge overthinking dorks. “I was only intimidated in the beginning,” you begin, “even if I was I still found you hot and probably would’ve jumped on your dick had you asked”

He suppresses some coughs while turning red

Smirking you lead him on, “Oh, so you’re shy now but wanted me to call you daddy just a few minutes ago”

“T-that’s” he begins, and you laugh out loud thinking this is definitely your Namjoon

“What about your choking kink? That was cute and unexpected” he gives you a sly grin

“Wait, shut u-that’s not…it’s your fault with those leather gloves, and leather jackets”

You poke his dimple out of mock anger and he tickles you. The rest of the time is spent by talking out your feelings, your dreams, favorite books, and desserts until you both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

You wake up by what you believe is your alarm. Opening your groggy eyes, you look up towards the ceiling of a room that wasn’t yours. After a minute more in conscious you realize it’s not your alarm ringing, but a pounding residing from the closed door of the stranger’s room.

“Can you guys please give me my room back now,” shouts a frustrated Hoseok

That’s when you remember the nights events and look at a sleepy Namjoon next to you. After checking the time of 7:41 shining through the digital clock on the nightstand next to what you now know as Hoseok’s bed, you smile and cuddle up to the warm body.

“Go away Hoseok,” Namjoon groans, “My baby’s trying to sleep.”

Both of you ignore Hoseok’s whines of protest as you whisper to Namjoon

“It’s fine, I’m glad he’s here so I can get to work on time for once. My alarm never wakes me up”

“Babe don’t worry, from now on I’ll be your personal alarm. As long as you can be my cherry muffin”

“I’ll do you one better and make one for you at the café”

“Those cherry muffins taste good,” he looks at you, “but you taste better,” and winks

You giggle until you hear the disturbed voice of Jung Hoseok behind the door,

“You guys are disgusting and have no idea how to whisper”

...

“GET OUT OF MY ROOM”

#Bts #Namjoon #Bts fanfiction #Bts fluff #Bts smut #Namjoon fluff #Namjoon smut #RM #Kim Namjoon #R:CMLT

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tyravenholme · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: Unfortunate Timing

Author’s Note: Okay, so this is the first time I’ve done anything like this so please understand if things seem a little rough it’s because I’m trying something out that I’ve always wanted to, but just never had the confidence to really dive head first into writing fan fiction.

Some important notes to take into consideration about this piece, it follows entirely original characters set within the universe of My Hero Academia. I may allude to or mention characters like little Easter eggs from time to time, but they won’t be the focus of these stories. I also won’t be doing any NSFW type stuff because that really isn’t the type of stuff I write so don’t expect anything like that from me right now.

With that, I hope you enjoy this first chapter into what I hope will be a long fun story.

Chapter 1: Unfortunate Timing

For me, time moved how I wanted it to.

When everyone else was standing around and staring at the fight that was happening in front of them, I was watching the fuel of the piled up cars left behind by the villain pour out onto the ground. The villain had everyone’s attention, the heroes, the public, even me, but since I had more time to see what was happening, I could see that fuel.

And the fire that grew larger nearby.

“Take this!” The villain said and waved one heavy arm towards one of the heroes. Their hands dug deep into the concrete beneath them and hurled a handful of rocks in their direction. That hero was able to take the hits like they were nothing, and another with speed rushed to deflect the pieces with a sword that would have hit civilians.

“You people, move along, quickly now, so you don’t get hurt.” The sword bearing hero said.

The pool of fuel continued to grow. The fire inched ever closer to it. None of the heroes had noticed it.

Don’t get involved, I thought. Don’t do anything you shouldn’t. It’s not your business. Leave it to the professionals. They know what they’re doing.

Sometimes though, there are moments where you just can’t stand idly by. When I saw that child's face rise up in the back of the wrecked car, eyes tearing up, face covered in scratches, I just couldn’t stand it any more.

I let my quirk do its thing and cranked up the temporal factor to it’s absolute limit. Everyone around me was still moving, it just didn’t look like it to me at that point. I moved like I normally did, walked at a steady pace through the crowd and the chaos and made sure not to touch anyone as I did as I knew all too well what would happen if I bumped into anyone or anything when I moved at those speeds.

Improving my reflexes and perception time was not the only thing I could do. I wouldn’t have gotten closer to the cars had it been my only trick. I stood by the other car, the empty one, and hovered my hands over the hood where several sparks were in mid flight, almost like they were fireflies hovering in the air. I let my body return to the normal flow of time and slammed my hands down on the hood of the car, reversing the factor and imparting it onto it and everything connected to it.

That included the fuel at my feet that had just been ignited by the nearby fire.

“What the!” A hero appeared in front of me, standing at the other side of the car, surprised by my presence. “Where did you come from?” He rushed forward and was about to leap over the car.

“Stop! Don’t touch this car, you’ll get hurt.” I shouted. And they listened to my words, which was a surprise to me, “The fuel leaking from this car has just been ignited. I’m using my quirk to slow it down. Get everyone in the nearby vicinity to safety. The people in the other car also need to be evacuated. I can’t maintain my quirk in this fashion for very long, so please, hurry.”

I could already feel it, the strain of pushing my quirk to a factor this high. I needed to maintain concentration, long enough for the heroes not in the fight with the villain to do their job. Long enough until everyone was safe.

It was strange, and a little funny I guess, when I thought about it. I so desperately wanted that moment to pass me by so quickly, yet every second felt as slow as it did when I used my quirk on myself, but I wasn’t using it on myself, I was totally focused on the car and the fuel in front of me.

The heroes got the kid and her mother from the other car to safety. The people nearby were also moved along, though they weren’t being cooperative as many wanted to see the fight that was still ongoing behind me.

Ignoring the fight was easy when there were intense flames moving slowly towards where you stood. I realized I hadn’t thought of a way to escape once everyone was safe and I could let the explosion that was going to happen happen. The instant I removed my hand, that fire was rush towards me and the car and its fuel tank. Would I be able to switch the temporal factor fast enough, would I even be able to react fast enough.

I didn’t know, I had never tried, never had a reason to, I always took things at my own pace, this was the first time I was being pushed to take things at something else’s pace.

The same hero I first to before rushed up to me, avoiding contact with the car I was still holding onto

just I said he should. I could feel beads of cold sweat run down the side of my face. My body was shaking, the strain in my head had spread to every part of me and turn into a dull pain, a constant throb like it was being slow crushed under an intense weight.

“Are you all right?” The hero asked.

“No.” I could barely speak. I looked up to him, “I need your help.” I stammered every other word, but did my best to get them out quickly and consistently, all while maintain focus. “When I remove my hands, I don’t think I’ll be able to react quickly enough to avoid the explosion. In fact, I’m pretty confident I’ll just pass out once I do release my quirk.”

The hero nodded his head and his eyes darted around and took in the scene around us, “I’ll find someone with a speed based quirk, get you out of here when you let go of the car. Can you hold on until I do?” There was a look of concern and fear in their eyes, the eyes of a true hero.

I used what strength I had to nod my head and just the once.

The temperature was starting to rise within me, but whether that was due to me reaching some kind of limit or because of the fire at my feet, I wasn’t sure.

At some point, the fight had ended, the villain had been knocked unconscious and the heroes involved in stopping them had been informed of the new situation. One of them came to me while the others made sure nobody was within the blast radius.

“I understand you’re preventing this car from exploding.” The deep booming voice came from behind, and then stepping into my view, it was the big guy, the one who had held off against the villain the longest. “I may not be incredibly fast, but I can certainly take an explosion like it’s nothing.” He stood off to the side in such a way where it would only take him one step for him to get between me and the car. It seemed like he was ready to tackle me, line a line-backer ready to charge and shove me out of the way.

“Just tell me when you’re ready and I’ll take care of everything.” He said.

I nodded again and decided a simple countdown would be enough.

“3.” My head was getting faint.

“2.” My eyes started to get weak.

“1.” My words were slurred.

The strain in my head disappeared when I let go. The pain vanished and my whole felt like I had slipped into a nice cool bath. I could feel a hand on my chest push me and then something so loud my ears popped.

Then there was darkness, a deep black that stayed with me for a very long time. I was asleep, unconscious, my worst time of the day as it was always the slowest. Most people skip through their time of sleep, but not for me, I was aware for most of it.

It felt like hours had passed before I was able to open my eyes. That was far more than I was used to

The smell of the hospital was unmistakable. Everything had that clean bleached scent to it, almost like a swimming pool, but not nearly as intense.

“They said you’d wake up in a bit.” A voice said from one corner of the room I was in, and then the face of a suit popped into my field of view. They were about as generic as a government official could possibly get, combed brown hair, grey suit, forgettable face, the only interesting thing about them was their bright pink tie.

“What happened?” I said.

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember, just not what happened after when I fell unconscious.” I said sitting up with what little strength I had. I wondered just how long I was out this time as it had been a very, very long time since I had push my quirk to those limits.

The man with the pink tie smirked, “I guess that makes sense, but I had to ask anyway, just in case. My name is Rose, last name, not first. And you are unfortunately in some serious trouble, Oscar Smith.”

#my hero academia #mha #mha fanfiction #mha oc #mha fanfic #my hero academia fanfic #fanfic #oc #original characters #original story

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runaway-horses · 5 years ago

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Wait For Me (I’m Coming) Part 1/2

Word Count: 5,363

A/N: Wowie this fic took so long. I was up till about 1am finishing it then putting the finishing touches on it, I y’all enjoy! This is going to be part of a bigger ‘verse, and once I recover from writing this I’ll be outlining the details of the AU. (The title is from Hadestown Wait For Me, it’s an amazing song please listen to it while reading this) Onto the story!

Warnings: (Buckle up oof) Kidnapping, torture, fear of death, blood, whipping, minor character death, a needle is mentioned exactly once, it sounds like a lot but none of it is super graphic, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort. Heavy on the hurt but also heavy on the comfort. Please let me know if there’s anything I need to add/remove.

Tags: @pippippippin, @a-cure-for-sentience, @stormcrawler75, @princeyssash, @quoth-the-sparrow, @theresneverenoughfandoms, @queer-guineapig (I’m so sorry if I missed anyone, please let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

Next Chapter >>

~~~

Roman dropped the map he had been studying and pressed his fingers to his forehead with a groan. The letters and colors on the page were swimming before his eyes, and he pressed harder in an attempt to stave off the headache forming behind his eyes.

He looked up when he heard his tent flap swish open, announcing the arrival of a new person. Virgil was standing in the doorway one hand loosely positioned near his sword.

“Virgil,” Roman greeted.

Virgil relaxed after being acknowledged and entered the tent fully.

“We combed the forest, no sign of anyone, sir.”

Virgil’s news wasn’t unexpected, but Roman’s heart ached anyway. He nodded and sighed tiredly.

“Thank you, captain. Get some rest, we’ll continue on in the morning.” He said, hoping his exhaustion wasn’t evident in his voice.

Virgil gave a short nod of affirmation before approaching the makeshift desk. Upon closer inspection, Virgil himself looked exhausted. Of course he was, Roman scolded himself. This ordeal had been draining on everyone involved, but Virgil was perhaps the most affected by the trauma of it all. Virgil leaned forward and squinted at the map that had been giving Roman a headache just moments before.

They had been combing the forests surrounding their kingdom for days, and every day that they came up without a lead added to the weight on Roman’s heart. Virgil knew how disheartened Roman was becoming and tried his best to keep the troops in line to ease some of his stress. He might’ve thought he was being subtle, but Roman saw it. He was filled with a sudden rush of affection for his best friend, and had to fight back tears that threatened to spill over.

He broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Patton returned about a half-hour ago. I believe he is waiting in his tent, if you’d like to see him.

Roman pretended not to notice the blush that graced Virgil’s cheekbones, and he chuckled at the soft punch to his shoulder from Virgil. But Virgil’s face quickly turned serious again.

“Promise me you’ll get some rest, Ro. You won’t do anyone any good asleep at your desk, or sick from sleep deprivation.” Virgil’s voice was stern and reminded Roman of Patton. Perhaps the fatherly figure was rubbing off on him.

“I will, Virgil.” He said. Hoped his voice sounded reassuring.

Virgil nodded once and turned to leave. He hesitated with his hand on the flap and looked over his shoulder one last time.

“And Ro?” Roman glanced up at him. “We’re going to find him. We won’t stop until we bring Logan home.”

This time, Roman couldn’t stop the tears that welled in his eyes.

“I know, Virgil. I know.”

~~~

When Logan woke up, the first thing he was aware of was darkness.

He was disoriented for a moment, wondering when it had gotten so dark in his room, before his memories flooded back to him.

The blindfold, being grabbed, the needle in his neck-

He jerked and tried to move his arms, but they were securely fastened behind his back with rope. He could already feel the ache in his shoulders from the awkward position.

Unfortunately, his movement alerted whoever was in the room with him of his consciousness.

“Good, you’re awake,” He heard a voice growl. Logan tried to focus on where the voice was coming from, but it seemed to echo.

He was laying on a cold floor, and there was a blindfold over his eyes and a gag in his mouth. He tried to quelch the rising panic in his chest.

Deep breath, Logan.

He heard footsteps approaching him and tensed up in response. There was a rough hand grabbing him suddenly and yanking him up by his hair, pulling him onto his knees. Logan fought the instinct to cry out at the pain, refusing to give them the satisfaction.

“Logan Clarke, the court astrologer. A pleasure to find myself in your presence.” A cold, metallic voice to Logan’s left drawled. He couldn’t help the shiver as ice slid down his spine and froze in his veins. There was something about that voice...something familiar…

Logan gasped.

“Yes, Clarke,” The voice chuckled darkly. “We’re going to have such fun together.”

~~~

Virgil stepped out into the night, letting Roman’s tent flap swish shut behind him. The evening air was cool and carried a faint hint of orange blossoms, Spring announcing herself sooner than usual.

(Logan’s favorite time of year, but Virgil tries not to dwell on it.)

He slowly makes his way through the hastily constructed camp and, after quickly pulling off his armor and depositing it at his tent, keeps walking towards his destination. Patton’s flap is open — of course it is — and he is bent over his sheath, working oil into the leather. He looks up when he hears Virgil approaching, and the smile that graces his face lifts Virgil’s exhaustion momentarily.

Patton’s lips are warm when he presses a gentle kiss against them and Virgil can’t help but smile.

“Hello beautiful,” Patton greets, and Virgil can feel his cheeks heating up for the second time that night.

“Hey Pat,” He murmurs back. He brings a hand up to touch Patton’s cheek and allows himself a moment to admire this man.

Their relationship had gotten off to a rocky start — Virgil thought Patton was in love with Duchess Emmaline, and Patton had taken Virgil’s standoffish behavior as distaste — but they had gotten there.

(Roman will forever take credit for how it happened, and Virgil would like nothing more than to wipe that smug smirk off his best friend’s face whenever he sees the two together.)

Patton tugs on his arm and Virgil takes the hint, unbuckling his own sword, and sitting down next to him. He sat stiffly for a moment until Patton wrapped an arm around him and pulled him against his side. The warm weight of Patton’s arm coaxed Virgil into a relaxed slump against Patton.

“I’m worried, Pat.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” Patton murmured into the top of Virgil’s head.

“I’m scared for Logan, and I’m worried for Roman.”

Virgil’s voice cracked, but Patton was kind enough not to comment on it.

“Logan’s strong, Virgil, and we are going to find him. He’ll be home before you know it, and Roman isn’t going to let our astrologer out of his sight ever again.” Here he paused to hold Virgil a little tighter. “We’re going to be fine.”

Patton’s voice held no room for doubt. He spoke with such assurance that Virgil couldn’t help but feel comforted. He snuggled a little deeper and let out a sigh. Patton was right.

He had to be.

~~~

Stupid.

Logan was so stupid. How had he not connected the information? Dietrich was the most obvious culprit behind his kidnapping. Logan's position wasn't hard to fill, but taking him away from Roman's court would undermine the stability of the entire court structure.

Logan took a deep breath in through his nose and tried to calm his heartbeat as he heard the echoing thump of footsteps approaching his body. Rough hands pulled him up off the floor and dragged him across the cold stone to a hard chair. He was pushed down into the chair and tried not to wince when the position jostled his arms painfully. The blindfold that he was wearing was ripped off and he squinted at the dim light in the room, his eyes sensitive.

When his vision cleared, he saw a large man standing in front of him with a wicked scowl. Logan tried to look unaffected, even as his heart jumped in his chest at the glint of metal on the man’s belt. A hand tangled in his hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to make eye contact with the man.

“Listen here, Clarke. I know your type, I know who you think you are. You think you’re better than all of us with your star charts, and your prissy robes, and your stupid little glasses. But I can tell you that all scholars are men, and all men bleed.”

The flickering candlelight caught on the edge of his blade, and Logan let out a terror-filled breath.

“I think this will humble you a bit, Master Clarke.”

~~~

The cool Spring air brushed teasingly against Roman’s face as he moved through the forest, his horse moving at a brisk trot. He didn’t dare moving faster through the dark forest, where there were tripping hazards everywhere hidden in the twisted roots of the trees.

His mind was momentarily drawn to a memory of another time he had been on horseback

Logan’s arms around his waist as they two of them galloped through open land, Logan’s breath warm against his neck, feeling Logan’s laughter where he was pressed up against him. The pretty blush on Logan’s cheeks when Roman bowed to him and asked him for a dance, the two of them twirling through high grass, carefree and happy. Logan’s laugh, clear and loud as he threw his head back in mirth.

Roman shakes off the ghost of Logan’s arms around him and blinks away his tears. Losing himself in past memories won’t help him find Logan now. He raises a hand in signal to Virgil, and half the men separate from the group to turn left through the forest while Roman’s group moves forward, towards the mountains.

He doesn’t want memories of love, he wants the real thing.

And he’s going to find him.

~~~

Logan swims to consciousness and immediately wishes he hadn’t. He is made painfully aware of the aches in pains of his body, his left eye swollen shut and each breath brings a sharp pain in his side. He suspects a broken rib, and even if he can’t see them, he knows he’s covered in bruises. The metallic taste of blood is strong in his mouth.

Through the haze of pain, Logan has a faint sense of pride. He’s held up pretty well through everything, steadfastly remaining silent, and at times insolent.

(That had earned him the dull ache of pain on his thigh, where he can feel dried blood stuck to his skin.)

A part of him wonders why he holds out.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, time doesn't exist except in the spaces between visits from his captors and the blissful release from consciousness that comes after. The constant pain and isolation has made his brain fuzzy, and he often feels his coherency dripping away from him, like trying to hold water in cupped hands. It’s frightening, almost more-so than being held here by people who wish him harm.

In this moment, surrounded by darkness around and darkness within, he wants Roman more than ever.

He has tried to keep the Prince as far away from his thoughts as possible, and though he tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to let anything slip to Dietrich or his cronies, it’s also an act of self-defense. If Logan lets his mind wander to soft touches and kind words, he doesn’t know if he will survive.

He is still trying to pull his disobedient mind away from thoughts of Roman when the thud of a door snaps him fully back into his situation. Logan swallows down the bitter taste of fear as his blindfold is pulled off, not even wincing as it catches on his hair and yanks it hard from the roots.

(Why they keep the blindfold on is a mystery to him. It’s not as if there’s any information to glean from the four dank walls of his cell. He thinks they’re playing a mind game with him, hoping the sensory deprivation might make him break sooner.

He’s afraid to admit that they might be right.)

The person who stands before him seems angry- angrier than he thinks he’s seen any of them before. The person opens their mouth as if to speak, but instead they just walk behind Logan and attaches a chain to the ones keep his wrists together. He’s yanked up to his feet and his shoulders scream at the movement. He’s prodded forward and he takes a moment as his vision blurs and he sways dangerously. He’s barely given a moment to recover before he’s shoved hard between his shoulder blades and he stumbles forward.

Logan is pushed through the door to his cell and down a winding passage way. It’s just as dark out here as it is in his cell, and momentarily Logan wonders how his guard even knows where they’re going.

He’s steered through a doorway that opens into a larger room. There are chains hanging from the ceiling and the pit of dread in Logan’s stomach feels akin to how he imagines it would if the bottom of his stomach had suddenly fallen out. His feet freeze in their tracks without thought, and the person shoves him forward.

Logan needs to flee. He needs to run, he knows he does. This is his chance- might be the only one he has. But his brain, his damned brain, can’t grasp onto anything that’s not the ice cold fear in his veins. Besides, where would he go? He’s in no condition to run, and is surely outnumbered.

He’s still caught in the tornado of his thoughts when he’s dragged forward and his arms are pulled up, one wrist connected to the chain suspended from the ceiling. There’s a moment where his two wrists are separated for the first time since his arrival, and he knows he should struggle- rip his hand away, kick at the person, try to free his other wrist, and run.

But he doesn’t do any of those things. Doesn’t even struggle, just lets himself be secured to the cold, unforgiving metal, even as he screams at himself to do something, anything.

The person steps back and Logan has never felt more exposed despite being fully dressed. He hears footsteps behind him, but just drops his head and keeps his eyes shut. There’s two torches on the wall and even that sparse light his making his eyes ache. More footsteps, these coming closer. Logan doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch, but then there a sickening crack in the room that makes his hair stand on end. A chill passes through him and he lets out a pathetic sound.

“Please don’t,” He whispers, voice hoarse from disuse.

There a dark chuckle and Logan hears the sound of the whip trailing through his torturer’s hand.

“You know what to say to end it all, Clarke.”

Logan keeps his mouth resolutely shut even as a tremor wracks his body.

“Okay then, this’ll be more fun for me anyway.”

The pain that rips across Logan’s back tears an inhuman scream from his mouth and he swears he can taste blood.

“Scream all you like, no one’s coming for you.”

For the first time in his life, Logan prays.

~~~

Roman’s chest tightens and he shifts, uneasy. He feels antsy and filled to the brim with bad energy. They had stopped for the night, despite Roman’s desire to push forward. Virgil had pulled him aside with a kind, but firm denial.

“Roman,” he had started, voice low. “The men are exhausted, and so are you. We’ve lost the light- it’s time to stop for the night.”

Roman had pushed back the anger at the suggestion he stop- it had been seventeen days, Logan was nowhere near being found, he didn’t deserve to rest while his beloved was out there, alone and in danger-

But he knew that Virgil meant well. (And Virgil was probably getting considerably more sleep than Roman, perhaps his ideas and thinking were more watertight than Roman’s own sleep deprived hypotheses.)

So he had agreed to stop for the night, but as he was untacking his horse he was gripped with the feeling that something was wrong. Or more wrong than it had been.

He had tried to shake it off as he went through the motions of setting up his tent and his pallet, but the feeling only intensified. Finally, he gives in and goes to Virgil’s tent, fully dressed and sword in hand.

“Virgil,” He whispers, russling the tent flap. After a moment, Virgil poked his head out, looking fully awake.

“Roman? What’s going on, why are you dressed?”

“Something’s wrong, Virgil. I know it is. I’m going to press forward and check in that pass that we skipped earlier.”

Virgil frowned and ducked past the flap to stand outside with Roman.

“Princey, you can’t be serious. That'd be the height of stupidity, it’s dangerous, I mean, where’s your self-preservation?” Virgil had that look in his eyes that he got when he was exasperated, or worried. (Virgil was versatile in that he was able to be pissed off at you and protective at the same time. It’s admirable when it’s not aimed at Roman.)

“Virgil…” Roman starts, his voice trailing off as tears sprang to his eyes. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s been too long. He’s so tired, and he is so, so, scared. But he doesn’t know how to put his feelings into words. Instead, he lets tears drip down his face as he squares his shoulders and looks at Virgil. Virgil’s eyes have softened, and Roman knows that he knows.

“I’ll wake up my men and meet you there,” He says, giving Roman’s arm a squeeze before ducking back into his tent. Roman lets out a shaky breath and drags a hand through his hair. He owes Virgil at least a month off after all of this. (Patton too, of course.)

But first, they have to find Logan.

So Roman strides through tents towards where he knows his horse is and in minutes, he’s moving through the darkness of the forest with one person in mind.

~~~

Logan is jerked to awareness and he doesn’t even realize the muttering that he’s hearing is his own.

“Please, God, someone-anyone, just make it stop.”

A scream falls from his lips in a tired way, as if his body is trying to expel the pain vocally but is too tired to do it properly.

“Not quite ready to sing, little birdy?” The voice is cruel and mocking and Logan has never hated another human being more. “That’s ok, I’m a very patient person.”

Bile rises in Logan’s throat, burning his throat and he coughs, blood dribbling out. He pushes the weak and crumbling mental walls he’s built around his mind, steeling himself as best he can.

But then he hears the sickening sound of the leather whistling through the air as the person gives it a test swing; and Logan breaks.

“Stop!”

Time seems to freeze, and Logan can practically hear the malicious smile that spreads across his torturer’s face. Each breath hurts as Logan gasps and his chest heaves deeply, dread turning the air to lead.

“Do you have something you’d like to say, Clarke?”

Yes. Curse you, you bastard. Curse you and your family for generations to come.

Logan licks his lips before speaking, the words spilling from him, desperate. Anything, anything to make it stop. “There’s discord, among the western noblemen. There’s been talk of a revolution, Roman’s been keeping it under wraps to keep support away from them.”

Fingers, wrapping in his hair tightly. “Keep talking.” Their breath is rancid where it washes across his face and Logan struggles not to gag.

“The King is old and growing ill, he’s not as healthy as we have people believe. The Prince may be rising to King sooner.” Fear clogs his throat as the fingers tighten infinitesimally in his hair, prompting him to speak further.

“The royal coffers run low, food is scarce, and the Prince is attempting to restructure the court system which means it’s unstable at the moment. Suspicion is everywhere.” Logan is running out of words, for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say. A loud crack rings through the room as their hand connects with Logan’s face.

“These are breadcrumbs, Clarke. You think this isn’t information we didn’t already know, or couldn’t glean ourselves? I should kill you now for your insolence.”

Fear is a heavy thing, dark. It sinks into your lungs, fills your veins and heart with black tar. It is visceral, and terrifying. If they’re lucky, most people go their entire life without feeling this type of fear. Logan has experienced this type of fear twice before in his life, first as a child when his home burned down around him and he got trapped in the wreckage, the smoke filling his lungs and settling in next to the fear. The second time was as a teenager, when Virgil was enlisted in the King’s Guard, and then disappeared for seven months.

Logan Clarke did not believe he was afraid of dying. But in this moment, with the danger so near and terrifyingly real, he realizes he is.

Logan Clarke also did not believe he was a traitor.

But he finds that secrets spill from his lips without his intention, damn preservational instincts loosening his lips and baring secrets of the Kingdom of Allura to this person to share with whomever they desire. When the last of the words are wrung from him, he feels like a sponge that’s had all the water squeezed out of it.

Silence rings through the room (blasted silence- Logan’s thinks he’s had enough of it to last a lifetime.)

(If a world of only silence existed for him, however, that meant he wouldn’t die at the hands of this madman, then he knows he would take it in a heartbeat.)

“Thank you, Clarke, I do believe Dietrich will find this most...enlightening.”

Logan’s heart has migrated to his throat, and he has never felt more defeated. His eyes are steadfastly trained on the floor as the person speaks, a slight haze overtaking his mind.

“-I do believe it’ll just be better if I kill you now.”

Panic is fear, just a little to the left. Panic claws at Logan’s insides, a wild thing that is trying to free itself from his insides.

“No, wait, wait!” His voice does not sound his own and he thrashes in his bonds, twisting away from the person.

“Oh calm down, maybe it won’t even hurt. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never died. Think of it like a scientific adventure.”

The person tightens Logan’s chains, pulling his arms up and together and forcing him to look at them.

“I want you to look at me, and know that this is the last face you’ll see before you die.”

The person grips Logan’s jaw tight enough to bruise and brings his face right in front of them. They lick their lips and smile, wickedly, the panic has seized Logan’s chest and he wonders if dying will hurt when-

“Get your hands off him!”

Roman’s voice is loud and drenched in anger. The person lets go of Logan’s face and Logan falls, arms jerking against the chains. He drops his head down, too tired to hold it up. He wonders if he has, in fact, died, and his mind has offered up the voice of the one person he wants to see most in the world as some sort of penance for the suffering he’s endured in the last few days.

There’s noise, somewhere in front of him. Consciousness fades in and out, a haze. (He’s scared to look up, scared to lift his eyes and see blank space instead of Roman. So he lets his eyes slip shut and the sound fade away from him.)

But then.

Then gentle hands cup his face, the smell of orange and smoke fills his nostrils, and he presses into the familiar touch.

“My love? Logan, dearest, can you hear me?”

Relief washes over Logan, so strong that he loses his breath and his eyes fill with tears, spilling down his face and over Roman’s hands. His touch is real, it must be. He could never imagine a touch this gentle, words so soft, not in a lifetime.

“Logan?” The gentle murmur again, a panicked undertone barely hidden in those two syllables.

Logan nods as best he can, sucking in a gasp.

“Oh, dearest, I’m here. I’m here, love.” Roman’s hands are warm and he gently thumbs away Logan’s tears. Logan can feel his arms going numb and his shoulders are burning fiercely as he stands, suspended. He makes a sound that could be mistaken for a whimper by someone less proud than Logan as he tries to relieve the pressure on them. Roman must notice his squirming because he runs a soothing hand through his hair.

“I’ll get you down Logan, I promise.” Roman steps away from his body, leaving Logan alone. The fear returns immediately and Logan’s eyes fly open, a strangled sound coming from his throat. His vision is fuzzy but he makes out the outline of Roman in front of him.

“Shh Logan, I’m right here, dearheart.” Roman’s touch is back, a grounding presence on his skin. “I’m going to try to get your wrists out of these shackles, ok?” Roman waits for his nod of affirmation before walking around Logan to get a better look at this shackles. There’s a sudden rain of curse words behind Logan as Roman lays eyes on his flayed back.

“Oh Logan…” Roman’s voice trails off into choked silence and his despair is palpable. Logan doesn’t know what he sees, but he knows it’s quite bad, if the pain is any indication. The pain on Logan’s back is like fire, he knows. He is pushing the pain into a box, under a table, in a dark corner of his mind, because he cannot miss this, this moment with Roman. Roman is water, and Logan has been stranded in the desert for days. Fingers wrap around his wrist and Logan focuses in on that sensation. There’s some clicking as muttering as Roman fiddles with the mechanism before he swears and steps away, fingers uncurling. Logan hears him shuffling around behind him, but can’t see anything.

He hears a click and the metal around his wrist loosens, Roman’s hand gently holding his as he eases it out of the shackle. He lets out a sympathetic hiss at the sight of Logan’s chafed skin. He repeats this with the other wrist and Logan collapses like a marionette with its strings cut. Roman swears and kneels in front of him, easing him up onto his heels.

Logan is able to look right into Roman’s eyes -oh, how he’s missed those beautiful eyes- and the guilt comes rushing back. “R-ro,” He manages, and it feels like he’s been gargling glass. “I told them, I told them so much. I’m so sorry, I didn’t-I couldn’t stop myself.” Roman’s eyes are concerned as he runs a gentle hand through Logan’s hair.

“Shh, love, it’s okay. Oh dearheart, I’m not mad or upset, you’ve been through so much, I don’t care about anything you might have told them.”

“But-”

“No, no ‘but’s. There’s nothing you could say that would make me angry at you, just more upset at those bastards for harming you.”

Logan wants to object, to explain everything he said and why really, Roman should be concerned, but Roman is here. He’s here and running his fingers through his hair in that way he always did, and whatever has been keeping him going throughout all of this cuts out. He pitches forward into Roman’s arms, and his last thought before he falls unconscious is that the nightmare has finally ended.

~~~

Roman is momentarily filled with panic when Logan falls forward into his arms, but after a moment he realizes that he isn’t dead, just unconscious. He adjusts him so he’s laying in his lap without putting any pressure on his back and his heart squeezes at the sight of the bright red gashes.

When he had stumbled across the crevice in the mountain hours earlier, he had almost continued past it. Only a faint glow that resembled torchlight had him investigating the cave, and deep inside he had found a group of men, all sitting around a fire, clearly intoxicated. Only the drunken exclamation of one of the men- “That son of a bitch Clarke down there.” had Roman pulling out his sword and cornering the men, demanding an explanation. It was only once Roman had entered the cave system that it occurred to him that he should have left one of the men alive to lead him through the twisting rock. So Roman had wandered through the cavern by himself, praying that he didn’t get lost as he searched for Logan.

He had been close to giving up when his eyes caught the flicker of a torch down a cave and he followed it right to a scene straight out of his nightmares.

Logan, strung up by his arms like an animal, fear written in every line of his body, and a knife in a person’s hand, aimed straight at his beloved’s throat-

“Get your hands off him!”

They drop Logan’s head and turn to Roman, confusion and anger on their face. Roman doesn’t even think, just jumps the person, sword out. They’re talented, and if this were any other situation Roman may have met his match. But he’s fueled by a blinding cocktail of rage and fear and love, and the person is a limp body on the floor in minutes. Roman stands over them for a moment and his pulled back to the present by a slight whimper behind him. He discards his sword with a clatter and rushes to Logan, kneeling before him and cupping his face.

“My love?” Roman keeps his voice soft and his touches softer as he talks to Logan and takes stock of his injuries. When he stands to free his wrists, Logan makes a noise in the back of his throat that Roman quickly decides he never wants to hear again.

The anger washes over him again at the sight of Logan’s mangled back, and again when Logan’s eyes gaze into his own -The spark in his eyes has been snuffed out and his gaze is distant- and Logan apologizes for giving up information to the people who tortured it out of him.

Roman is still running his fingers through Logan’s hair now, and he wonders how he’ll get Logan out of here without hurting him more. His horse is tied outside the cave and he hopes that Virgil saw it and waited outside the cave for Roman’s return, but he doesn’t know how he could carry Logan out of here.

With a whispered apology to Logan, he shifts him around and lifts him up, one arm under his knees and the other cradling Logan to him as best he can without touching his back. Logan doesn’t even stir.

Satisfied that his grip is secure, Roman ducks out of the room, leaving behind his sword and a body.

The journey out is difficult with the added weight of Logan in his arms (although it can barely be considered weight, Logan feels feather light in his arms and Roman can feel his ribs pressing prominently against his hand.) There’s a moment where Roman’s foot catches on a loose stone and he slips, almost falling backwards. He steadies at the last moment, but the experience has him holding Logan tighter and moving with more care.

Finally, finally, he finds himself back in the large cave where he had encountered the men. The fire has burned down to embers, and Roman is glad that Logan isn’t awake to see the bodies strewn about. He pushes past the bodies and walks straight towards the small opening in the rock that he had entered earlier.

The night is clear and the air tastes sweet after the dirty, stale air of the caves. Roman breathes deeply and sinks down against the rocky side of the mountain. He sets Logan securely against him and presses a kiss to his dirty hair, finally able to breathe again with Logan in his arms.

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#love athena #athena rambles #logince #hurt/comfort #royal au #tw torture #tw blood #tw whipping #tw minor character death #tw death #no beta #angst with a happy ending

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