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gwentoryfics · 4 years

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Hot for Teacher, Part 10.

GENRE | College Student x College Professor Smut AU

PAIRING | Reader x Hongseok x Hyunggu (Kino) x Wooseok

WORDS | 11.3k

SUMMARY | You never realized how much one drunken night could color the rest of your college experience until you discover that the handsome stranger from your cousin’s wedding is also the new professor at your university.

WARNINGS | Swearing. Phone sex. Video sex. Masturbation (male and female). Pillow humping.

PARTS | 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 5.5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • More Coming Soon

NOTE | The smut MAY have gotten a little out of hand this time... NO REGERTS. Also sorry that it took me so long to finally finish & post this. Anxiety, depression, and long work weeks really suck.

TAGS | @astralsweetness, @bearboyunho, @day6grams, @heyheydee7, @hhhongseok, @honeyutoda, @kkxn0, @precious-seungwooya, @seraplantery, @smilechannie, @the-deviant-world, @yeosang-ponytail

“Jinho?”

You’re completely frozen in place as you stare at your brother, as bright eyed as he’s ever been, standing just across the lobby. He stands on his tiptoes to wave as people pass between you both, and then he’s walking towards you.

Jinho, your big brother, is here. He’s right here.

You finally break out of your shock, vision growing blurry with tears as you rush towards him, abandoning your grip on your suitcase as soon as he pulls you into a hug.

“_____, I missed you!” Jinho squeezes you tightly, and you notice his body is much more solid than it used to be.

“Jinho…” You weakly whimper his name as the tears begin to fall, still in utter disbelief that after so long you finally get the chance to see him again. You haven’t heard a word from him since the day he disappeared.

“Come on, _____, don’t cry.” He pats your back but doesn’t make any attempt to let you go.

Even with your arms securely wrapped around him, you still can't comprehend the fact that he's here and he's alive and he's here.

Jinho waits until you finally release him, giving you all the time you need to hold him close. He gives you the warmest smile, and as much as it soothes you, it also makes you suddenly, incredibly angry.

"Where did you go?" You ask, frustration thick in your voice. "Why did you leave? Why haven't I heard anything from you?"

Jinho's smile fades, but he seems understanding of your pain. "Let's talk about it in the car, okay?"

You nod, overwhelmed by all of the emotions flooding you. Jinho grabs the handle of your bag and leads you out into the parking lot. You tightly grasp the sleeve of his coat as you walk together, afraid that he could slip away from you at any moment.

Once you’re finally on the road and headed home, he speaks up. “You know how mom and dad wanted you to be a secretary? Or a housewife? They’ve been telling you basically since you could walk that they already decided what you should do with your life and that their plan was the best plan. Right?”

You hum quietly in agreement. They had always been vocal about what they wanted for you.

“They did that to me, too, I’m sure you remember.”

“Yeah, I lost count of the number of times I heard them telling family and neighbors about how you were going to take over the farm one day.”

“It’s suffocating. It felt like I had no control over my life, like I couldn’t actually do what I wanted to do.”

“What did you want to do?”

Jinho sighs, shifting in his seat as you coast down the street, headed for the country. “I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. I still don’t. All I knew was that I wanted to make my own decision. So I joined the Army.”

Your eyes widen and you sit up a little straighter, surprised. “What?”

Jinho lets out a short laugh at your response. “Yeah, it just seemed like the right way to go. I didn’t have a plan for university or for a career, so I thought joining the Army would let me get away from home for a while, let me meet some new people.”

“Jinho, how does that make any sense? You left home because you had no freedom, so you joined the Army, where you also have no freedom?”

“I never said it was a good idea, or even the right one. But it’s the choice I made. I got to make that decision,” Jinho responds bitterly. A little softer, he says, “I didn’t have the balls you have to uproot your whole life in pursuit of a passion, to tell mom and dad that you won’t do as they say. So I just had to leave, had to disappear.”

You chew on your lip, processing everything he’s shared with you, but one question remains: “Why did you have to abandon me, too?”

“It felt like the only way. It felt like I needed full separation from my life here, and you were unfortunately part of that. I feel awful about it and I never should have removed myself from your life like that. You’re my little sister,” He looks over at you fondly, but it’s bittersweet. “And I’m your big brother. I’m supposed to be there for you but I was selfish and left you to fend for yourself. I am so, so sorry for that.”

You hate to admit it, but you understand where he’s coming from. It makes sense. You just hate that it made you feel so shitty and like you didn’t mean anything to him. But you’ve always loved your big brother, and honestly you’re so happy to have him back that it’s feeling more and more difficult to continue being upset with him. Still, you put on a pout. “Maybe if you buy me some ice cream before we get home, I’ll think about forgiving you.”

“You’ve got it. One large chocolate cone for my favorite baby sister, comin’ right up.” He heartily agrees to it, and you smile.

“How long are you home for?”

“It’s indefinite. I’m done with the Army.”

“Really? What are you going to do now?”

Jinho laughs. “No idea. But that’s kind of freeing. Like I can just decide to do anything now.”

“That’s true,” you laugh with him. “And no matter what you end up choosing, I’m proud of you for figuring it out your own way.”

With a fond smile, he says, “Thanks, _____. And I’m proud of you for following your heart and doing what you love, despite whatever bullshit mom and dad try to shove down our throats.”

Oh, if only he knew just how much you’ve been following your heart… But you’re not ready to tell him all of that right now, if at all. The two of you used to be really close growing up, but him leaving obviously drove a pretty big wedge between you. It doesn’t feel right to tell him exactly what you’ve been up to at school.

Besides, it feels really nice to just let yourself get away from the drama, to just relax in the car with your brother on your way home, with the promise of ice cream in the very near future. You want to enjoy this just a little while longer before you’re forced back into contemplating your predicament.

All of the boys in your life can wait. The only one that matters right now is Jinho.

When you finally pull into the driveway, it feels like a weight lifts up off of your shoulders. It’s so good to be home; you love the excitement of the city, but there’s something so peaceful about the small farm town where you grew up.

Your parents are both thrilled to have you home, of course, and the four of you stay up a little too late just to enjoy being a full family again. Regardless of the circumstances of Jinho’s disappearance, it doesn’t seem like your parents are holding any grudges. You’re really thankful for that.

The next day, the Thanksgiving festivities kick off with a trip to your grandparents’ house where your dad’s large family crowds around the tables in the living room, dining room, and kitchen. The food is incredible, the relatives are loud, and everything just feels right… Although you can’t help but be excited about moving on to the next house for dinner.

After a few hours of eating and visiting with your relatives, your family piles back into the car and heads to your mom’s brother’s place--more specifically, Minseo’s childhood home.

As expected, Minseo tackles you as soon as you walk in the door, smothering you with a hug and squealing about how much she missed you.

You squeeze her as tight as you can, twirling in circles with her in your arms. “I missed you too! We have so much to catch up on!”

“Oh my God, you have no idea.” Minseo puts her mouth right up against your ear and whispers, “I’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?” You practically squeak, partially from the surprise of her announcement and partially from the tickle of her breath. You release her from the hug and grip her arms. “Who? Since when? What happened?”

“I can’t get into it now because the whole family’s here and honestly my parents are not thrilled that I’ve even been hanging out with this guy. But what do you think about a good old fashioned sleepover at your place tonight?”

“Of course!” You nod excitedly.

“Yay! Okay cool.” She plants a kiss on your cheek and gives you one last hug. “I’m gonna go say hi to Jinho, since I haven’t seen him yet since he’s been back.”

You remember that she was supposed to pick you up from the train station. “When did you find out that he was home? I can’t even begin to tell you how shocked I was to see him at the train station instead of you.”

“Only a few days before you got here. He got my number from your mom and asked if he could pick you up instead. I told him yes, of course, but only if he bought me ice cream to make up for the fact that he was keeping you away from me for an additional day. I still need to cash in on that.”

With a giggle, you admit, “I made him buy me ice cream too, as an apology for disappearing in the first place.”

“What else is he good for if he isn’t supplying us with snacks?” Minseo laughs heartily. “Anyway, I love you, and I’m excited to chat more tonight.”

“Love you, too.” You give her a smile as she walks off to greet your brother.

More family members arrive, and eventually you all get settled for dinner. The food is delicious, as it always is, and you mingle with some of your aunts after the meal.

As you scan your eyes across the living room, you catch Jiyoo's gaze for what must be the fifth time already. Honestly, you're starting to wonder why she hasn't just come over to say hello yet. You excuse yourself from the conversation your aunts are having, which you weren't really a part of anyway, and slip through the room to finally greet your cousin.

"Hey, Jiyoo!" You walk right up and give her a hug. "How's the married life?"

She lightly hugs you back, but she seems a little stiff. "Oh, you know, it's going well. Hey, um, can I talk to you for a sec?"

You let go, immediately sensing that something must be wrong by the way she just dismisses . "Yeah, of course. What is it?"

"Maybe let's…" She nods her head towards the back door. "Maybe some fresh air?"

"Sure, okay." You agree, deciding to just follow her lead on this one.

The cold night air instantly hits you as soon as you step foot outside, but it's actually kind of refreshing. The house was getting a little stuffy because of all of your relatives, anyway.

Jiyoo takes a seat in one of the lawn chairs sitting out there and gestures for you to sit in the one next to her. You oblige. "Is everything okay?"

She finally confronts you, asking, “Did you really sleep with Hongseok?”

Panic strikes deep into the core of your bones. How could she know? “Sorry, what?”

“He told Hwitaek and I overheard and I just… I thought we should talk about it.”

“He? He told… Hwitaek?” You’re absolutely flabbergasted. Why would he do that? Was he just bothered by the way you ran out and needed to talk to a friend? That wouldn’t be entirely unfair of him, but you had both agreed to keep it a secret originally and you assumed that still rang true for your most recent tryst.

“Hey, it’s okay, just… just be honest. If he’s just talking shit about you, you can let me know and I’ll set the record straight.” Jiyoo searches your face for a sign of the truth, concern lining her delicate features.

You try to swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat. This is certainly not something you wanted to tackle tonight, but you suppose you don’t have much choice if she already knows about it. “...And if he’s telling the truth?”

Jiyoo’s lips press into a thin line. “Then I guess I just need to accept that my baby cousin isn’t that much of a baby anymore.”

With a frown, you apologize. “I’m really sorry… I know it was a bad idea but I just…”

“You couldn’t help it. I get it.” Jiyoo lets out a deep sigh. “Honestly, that’s how I was when I met Hwitaek.”

You look to her expectantly. “I’ve never actually heard the story.”

Jiyoo hums and crosses her legs, settling back into her chair. “We were both bio chem majors, so I saw him around quite a lot. He has sort of a distinct face, one that’s really memorable. And he used to always wear these big headphones everywhere he went. I always wondered what he would listen to.” She smiles as she fondly reminisces. “I used to work at the computer lab in the science building part-time, and one day he passed by. And just as I turned around in my chair to tell my coworker about the cute Headphones Guy, he walked right up to the desk.”

You smile, enraptured by her storytelling. “Did he ask you out?”

“Don’t rush the story!” Jiyoo chides. “No, that’s actually not why he came back. He asked me if I knew what time the building closed, and I said I wasn’t sure. And then he gave me this weird look and laughed, saying, ‘What do you mean? You work here. How do you not know what time the building closes?’ I felt like an idiot, but I just told him that I knew when the lab closed, but that I didn’t know if the building closed at the same time. I didn’t think it was that crazy, but he did, apparently.”

“Wow, that’s very romantic,” you sarcastically comment with a chuckle.

“Yeah, it might not have been a great start, but the thing is, he stayed right there at my desk and talked to me for an hour and a half until my shift was over. And then he walked me to my dorm building. And then he came upstairs, and I’m sure you can guess where this is headed.” She smiles at you deviously.

With a laugh, you respond, “Really? You gave it up that quickly? I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“_____, you’ve seen him. I took one look at him and I was enamored. Add his dorky personality on top of that and I was practically telling him I loved him that night.” Even in the darkness of the backyard, you’re positive that she’s blushing. “And now look at us. He’s the love of my life and I wouldn’t give him up for the world. So all of this to say, I absolutely understand how there are certain people that you just can’t resist.”

You just nod. “It’s definitely difficult.”

“So how have you been handling the semester?”

“I mean, I tried to keep things between us as normal as possible but obviously that didn’t really work out, as you’re apparently aware,” you laugh. But when you look over at her, she just looks at you quizzically.

“What do you mean?”

And that’s when it dawns on you that this whole time she’s just been talking about your original hookup with Hongseok. She doesn’t know about the one that happened literally two nights ago. “Oh! Oh… oh no.”

You can’t cover for yourself in time. Jiyoo’s eyes grow wide and her mouth hangs open as she realizes exactly where the misunderstanding came from. “Did you sleep with him again?”

“I thought that’s what you were talking about!”

“_____!” Even though Jiyoo is shocked, she keeps her volume low, well aware that the entire rest of your family is packed inside. “He’s your professor!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Frustration blossoms in your chest. “And what about everything you just said? I thought you understood!”

“This is different! It’s one thing to be swept off your feet by a handsome stranger, and it’s entirely another to screw your professor!”

“Are you seriously mad about this right now?”

Jiyoo just shakes her head in disbelief. “_____… What have you done?” She falls silent, and somehow that is the worst thing that you could have received from her. She takes a deep breath and then instructs you to stay put as she disappears inside. When she returns a few moments later, Hwitaek and Minseo are in tow.

She literally brought in recruits. You immediately throw up your walls, feeling the need to defend yourself. “What’s this all about?”

Jiyoo looks at you like the concerned mother hen that she’s always been whenever you’re involved. “I think we all need to talk about how you’re handling yourself.”

Minseo’s brow furrows with confusion as she looks to Jiyoo. “What happened?”

“She slept with Hongseok again.”

Both Hwitaek and Minseo are visibly shocked by the news, but more importantly, you’re shocked by the gall that Jiyoo has to spread your personal life around like that.

Minseo’s expression melts to something that looks kind of like sadness. Before she can say anything to you, though, you shoot daggers at Jiyoo. “Why don’t we all just quit being such a gossipy family and instead just mind our own business?”

“_____-” Jiyoo tries to reach out to you, but you turn and storm off, heading towards the barn just to get a second away from everyone so that you can breathe.

You slip inside the large barn, slowing your pace as you walk past the tractors and other equipment stored there. You head directly to the back of the barn and plop down onto the floor.

There’s something weirdly comforting about being in the barn. It reminds you of growing up, back when things were a little more simple. Your life working on the family farm hadn’t been particularly easy--it’s very challenging work--but at least back then you didn’t make such shitty decisions for how to live your life.

You barely get more than a minute of solitude before the barn door creaks open, and Hwitaek pops his head in. “_____?” He looks around for a second before he spots you. “Can I come in?”

“You’re not here to lecture me, are you?”

“Not going to lecture you. I promise.”

You chew your bottom lip. “Come in.”

Hwitaek closes the door behind him and makes the long walk over to where you’re seated. He joins you on the floor, and sits quietly for longer than you expected. Maybe he just doesn’t really know what to say. It’s not like the two of you have ever spent time together before. You chatted for, like, a second at the wedding, and that’s it.

Eventually he gets some words together. “I’m not going to apologize because it’s not my place to, but I’m sure you know that Jiyoo likes to make everything her business.”

“Not sure if you’ve seen any trends yet, but that’s kind of just how our family is.”

“I’ve noticed.” He chuckles. “Minseo has been spending a lot of time at our place recently and oh my God those two never run out of tea to spill.”

You have to laugh too because you know how true that is. “Yeah, they can be a lot. I’m sure it’s at least partially a small-town mindset. Everyone here is always in everyone else’s business and I’m just kind of over it. That’s half the reason why I wanted to get away and go to university.”

Hwitaek nods. “I can understand that. I’ve never lived in any major cities but it definitely seems like a change of pace compared to here.”

“It is. But I like it.”

Another silence falls between you, and you absentmindedly fiddle with your shoelaces as the cold starts to set in. It’s a bit awkward, but you just stew in it until he speaks up again.

Eventually he says, “Hongseok has talked to me about you. I know it’s not any of my business though so we don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”

“Jiyoo said he told you about… the wedding.”

“He did. And he told me how hard it has been to be around you. It sounds like he’s really been struggling with everything he’s feeling, and I shouldn’t be surprised that he caved. I even told him not to act on his impulses because clearly that introduces a lot of risk into the situation, and I didn’t think that was a good idea. He’s usually so disciplined…”

“It’s kind of my fault,” you confess. “I have zero self discipline and I just couldn’t keep myself under control.”

“Well regardless of who takes the blame, I do trust Hongseok with my life and I think he’s got a good head on his shoulders. It’s not my job to tell you two what you should or shouldn’t do, so I’m going to take a step back. He certainly doesn’t have any ulterior motives, so I don’t think it’s truly that concerning that you’re student and teacher.” He shoots you a side eye. “As long as you’re not planning to blackmail him or anything.”

You just shake your head. “I’m not like that. What happened between us has absolutely nothing to do with me wanting some sort of personal gain or anything. It’s just… he’s just attractive, that’s all.” You feel your face heat up. It feels weird to say that to Hongseok’s best friend.

“He really is. And he’s charming, too. I get why anyone would fall for him.”

You laugh awkwardly. “Who said I was falling for him?”

“Feel free to tell me you’re not, if that’s the case.” Hwitaek looks over at you, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

You frown. You know you’re definitely attracted to him, and you enjoyed spending time with him at the exhibit, but do you have any feelings? It’s hard to tell because of the way things ended. “I don’t know. I think we just need to talk when I get back. I kind of ran away last time I saw him so there’s a lot that’s unresolved.”

“Just be honest with him when you talk, and that’ll encourage him to open up, too. There’s no point in trying to have a discussion with him if he feels like he has to watch everything he says.”

“Yeah, I think some honesty would probably be good for us.”

“No matter what you two decide about where to go from here, it’s up to you two. Just know that there might be consequences, so be careful. And I’ll do my best to keep Jiyoo out of it.”

“Thanks, Hwitaek.” You give him a small smile. “I appreciate your support.”

“Of course. He’s my best friend and I want him to be happy. It’s risky, but I get it.” Hwitaek stands and holds out a hand to help you up. “Let’s head back now. It’s freezing out here and I’m dying to dig into that pumpkin pie.”

You and Minseo sit silently on the old couch in your basement, munching on gummy candies and popcorn as an old movie plays on the TV. It’s not one that either one of you is particularly enthusiastic about, but it’s just one of the many DVDs tucked into the entertainment center the TV stands on.

She’s been more quiet than usual since she came back to your house with you after the family dinner had ended, and you’re positive that it has to be because of the sudden announcement of your affair with Hongseok. You’ve been dying to bring it up with her, but you had to wait until Jinho finally went to bed so the two of you could be alone.

Now that he’s gone, it’s time for you to talk.

You’re not really sure where to start, so you just ask, “Are you mad at me?”

Minseo sighs. “We always tell each other everything. Why didn’t you tell me about Hongseok? Why did you tell Jiyoo first?”

“I was going to tell you, I swear. I was planning on telling you about it tonight. Jiyoo just accidentally figured it out first because I’m a dumbass and misunderstood what she was talking about.” You lie down across the couch, resting your head in Minseo’s lap. “I’m sorry that you didn’t get to hear about it from me first but I promise I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you. I was just saving it for a better time, kind of like how you didn’t want to talk about your boyfriend when we were at your parents’ house.”

Minseo rakes her fingers through your hair, and you close your eyes, pleased. “I get it. I’m sorry for being grumpy about it.”

“It’s okay. We all get grumpy. Do you want to hear about it now?”

“Duh,” she laughs. “I want every single detail. Spill.”

So you tell her everything. How he gave you the private tour of his exhibit, how you essentially invited yourself over to his apartment, how he made it pretty clear that he didn’t really want you to leave until he had his way with you. How you ran like the wind out of his apartment the next morning. And you even tell her about your trysts with Wooseok, and the fact that you’re supposed to be mulling over whether you want to date Kino when you get back to the city. And as you expect, she’s incredibly invested and interested in every single morsel of information you share with her.

“You’re really out there living your best life, huh?” She comments when you finally finish your stories. “What an exciting mess you’ve created.”

“It’s great, right?” By this point you’re seated upright again, and you lean heavily against the back of the couch, letting your head fall back against it. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about any of it.”

Minseo shrugs. “Just do what you’ve always done: follow your heart.”

“It’s so much more complicated than that, though.” You respond with a frown. “I can’t just do whatever I want anymore.”

“Well but you can. To an extent, at least. It’s your life, after all. And it’s up to you to make sure that you’re living in a way that makes you happy. It sounds like you enjoy spending time with all of the guys you’ve been around, but now you’re too stressed by the circumstances to keep enjoying it. Obviously hooking up with multiple guys and ignoring romantic feelings isn’t the answer anymore.”

“And my heart will tell me what to do now?”

“It’s a starting point. Take me and Hyojong, for instance. My parents don’t like him, but I do. He’s what makes me happy. So screw what other people think. Don’t worry about our family. Don’t worry about your friends back at school. This is totally your choice, and you get to decide what you want to do. If you’re just living your life based off of what other people want or expect from you, then you’re bound to have regrets.”

You have to admit that she’s right. You only get one life, and you’re the only one that gets to run it. So you can’t let yourself worry about what other people will think if you decide you’re interested in anything romantic with Hongseok, or Kino, or Wooseok… or how the three of them might feel if you choose not to pursue anything romantic with anyone. You have to choose for you.

“I have to choose for me.” You nod. “This is my life and who cares what other people think?”

“Exactly! That’s the spirit.” Minseo smiles broadly. “You’ll figure it out. And whatever is right is what will happen.”

You return her smile, and refocus the conversation on Minseo. “So Hyojong? That’s your boy?”

Giddy, she nods excitedly. “Yeah. We’ve only been together for a few weeks, but _____, he is absolutely wonderful.” She pulls out her cell phone and shows you a photo of the two of them picking apples. You immediately recognize his heavy-lidded gaze and long hair.

“Really? The bartender from the wedding? Girl!” You nudge her playfully. “I knew you thought he was cute but I didn’t know that you were, like, into him into him.”

“I didn’t know either! But I’ve been spending a lot of time with Jiyoo and Hwitaek recently and Jiyoo kind of set us up, and he’s so weird and funny and cool. He’s perfect for me.”

A warm smile touches your lips. “I’m so happy for you, Minseo. That’s exactly the kind of love you deserve.”

“Thanks,” she nearly blushes. “Now we’ve just gotta get you on the same train.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I get it figured out.” As your conversation comes to a close, you look back to the TV. “Can we please watch something else? I’m so over this movie.”

“Oh my God, I thought you’d never ask,” Minseo laughs. “Yes, please.”

Late Friday night, you find yourself digging through your closet in search of the sheet music you know you have for “Rhapsody in Blue”. You meant to bring it with you this year but you forgot about it when you made the move back up to your dorm. You’re certain it must be in here, but you keep getting distracted by old photo albums and yearbooks and all of the other nostalgia packed into the shelves of your closet.

One of the items that catches your attention is the keepsake box that your mother put together for you. It started out as a place for you to store all of the cards you got for your birthday or holidays, but you added other random items to the box like the friendship keychain Minseo made for you when you were younger, or the small piece of wood you found that broke off of the dance floor during your school’s prom.

Inevitably, whenever you revisit the keepsake box, you find something in there that you had forgotten about. This time is no different.

When you open the small box, your eyes immediately land on the dried up flowers sitting at the very top: Hongseok’s boutonniere.

You completely forgot that you decided to keep it--your night with him was just a pleasant memory by the time you departed for school. When you had put the flowers in this box, you had no idea just how much of a story would grow.

You pick up the small bundle of withered blooms, running a finger over the dried petals until you realize something that you should have noticed before--now that the flowers have shrunk, you can very easily see the piece of paper that’s tucked in the middle of the bunch.

Gently, you pick out the paper, the dramatic beating of your heart picking up rapidly. Did he leave you a note when he gave you the boutonniere? What secret message could he have snuck to you?

As you unfold the small note, you realize he didn’t leave you a message--he left you his phone number.

Ten digits, his name, and a stupid winky face.

Part of you wants to crumple it up and throw it out the window. Rid yourself of it forever so you can stop thinking about him all the goddamn time.

But another (and unfortunately much stronger) part of you tells yourself that this is special. This means that you were never just a random hookup to him. Well, maybe it was random, but the phone number at least implies that he wanted to see you again.

Hongseok quite literally asked you to reach out. He gave you everything you needed to establish a connection with him.

What would have happened if you had called? Would he have wanted to take you out on a date? Would he have asked you to get all dolled up again, just like you did that night, just so he could ruin you?

And more importantly… what would he do if you call him now?

There’s so much that was left unsaid between you and him after you ran out. You have a million questions. And for some reason, you’re feeling stupidly brave right now. (You blame it on the dumb winky face.)

You jump onto your bed and grab your phone, your hands shaking as you pull up the dialpad. Are you really about to do this?

You punch in his number.

You press the damn green button.

You hold the phone up to your ear, pulse racing at the sound of the ringing.

And then he answers.

“Hello?” His voice alone sends something terribly wonderful shooting through your veins.

“Hi.” You answer simply, not really sure what to say.

Hongseok pauses for a moment, and then he says, “Sorry, who is this?”

Idiot. He doesn’t have your number. “Oh, right, um, it’s me. _____.”

He pauses for a longer moment, and you worry he might hang up on you altogether.

“Um, so I’m home right now for Thanksgiving, and I… I found the flowers. And your number.”

“I’m not sure this is appropriate.”

A bitter frown reaches your lips at his response. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well what do you want me to say, _____? What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!” You’re starting to feel exasperated, but you remind yourself that your rushed exit could be the cause of his attitude. More calmly, you say, “I’m sorry that I left like that. I just panicked and I had to get out of there. I’ve felt so confused about everything.”

“I suppose I can’t blame you for that.” Hongseok sighs gently. “We sure have made things confusing, haven’t we?”

You nod, and then realize he can’t see the gesture. “Yeah. We really have.”

“Can you give me a minute? Just stay on the line.”

You hum in acknowledgement and the call goes completely silent. Your pulse is through the roof, equal parts excited to be speaking with him over the phone and fatally nervous to be speaking with him over the phone.

After a little while, his voice is back. “Still there?”

“I am.”

“Thank you for not leaving this time.”

You let out a small laugh to accompany your eye roll. “Was that all a test?”

“Not exactly.” Hongseok chuckles in tune with you. “I just needed a second to get myself a drink before having this conversation.”

“Ah. You think it’s going to be that bad?”

“For my career, probably. Or my sanity, at the very least.”

It’s pleasantly surprising to you how quickly he drops his guard this time. “I drive you that crazy, huh?”

“Yeah.” He admits. “Yeah, you do.”

Now it’s your turn to be silent. You hadn’t expected him to so openly admit that.

“I have to ask…” He starts. “I thought maybe you just lost the boutonniere or that my phone number fell out, and that’s why you didn’t call. But you kept both of those things. So… why didn’t you?”

“Hongseok, you folded the paper up so small and you tucked it so far into the flowers that I had no idea it was even in there. I just saved the flowers because… I don’t know, they had a good memory attached. I didn’t even see the paper until now because the flowers finally wilted enough to expose it.”

“Was it really that small?”

“You folded it four times,” you laugh. “Once or twice would have sufficed. And you could have just handed it to me separately. I don’t know why you were so sneaky about it.”

“I thought it would be a cute gesture!” He defends himself. “I was just trying to be romantic.”

“You had the right idea. And hey, I called you eventually.”

“Yeah, just not under the circumstances I expected.”

There’s a thick pause, the silence heavy between you. You know exactly where this conversation should go, but you’re scared to be the one to bring it all up. The longer the silence goes on, though, the more you realize you just need to suck it up and ask the questions you want answers to.

“...How do you feel? About what we did?” You try to keep your voice steady to hide your nervousness. Then you tack on, “I think now would be a good time for us to start being honest with each other.”

He exhales deeply. “I’m not sure that I’ve ever felt more conflicted about something in my life. I’ve spent the last few months preaching to you about morals, and then I brought you into my home, fully aware of the Kryptonite that you are.”

You can’t let him take all of the blame for what happened. You say, “I’m the one that suggested it.”

“Yeah, why did you do that?”

“Because I thought I had something to prove. I swear I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. I genuinely thought that I just needed to one-up your car ride suggestion to show you how okay things were between us.”

“But now here we are.” Another pause, but this one isn’t as long as he willingly confesses to you, “I hate that you left. I absolutely hated it.”

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have run out like that.” You apologize, but there’s more you want to say. “But… I’m not sorry about what we did."

There. You admit it. As much as you felt the need to apologize to Jiyoo about your behavior the other night, it was empty. You don’t regret it. And if you had the chance to sleep with Hongseok again, you'd do it. It might be wrong, but you honestly couldn't care less. Especially now that you're talking to him, hearing his sweet voice and remembering the way he touched you.

Quietly, he responds, "That makes things quite complicated, doesn't it?"

"How do you feel about it?" You press him, feeling like tonight is the night he’ll actually be frank with you about what he’s thinking.

"It was careless of me to let you into my home, and even more careless of me to give in to my desires. I genuinely thought I could handle being around you, but I can't. I can't be around you, _____. You're far too much of a temptation."

"You say you can't. But you want to be," you push. You're getting him to open up one way or another.

And it works.

"Yes, _____, I want to be around you. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Only if it's the truth."

"It is." Frustration is sharp in his voice. "I've been a wreck thinking about you since you left. I've been absolutely torn up trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do now and wondering how you’ll act in class, if you’ll even show up. And now you just call me out of the blue? Do you know how badly I wanted you to call me this summer?"

You answer with your own question, keeping your voice soft. "I called you as soon as I found your number, didn't I? I swear I would have called you in a heartbeat if I had seen it sooner."

He sighs deeply. "Can you imagine how much harder this semester would have been, though? It was hard enough for us to stay apart this long, and that's after sleeping together only once this summer. We could have potentially built up a lot more… history before the semester started if things had gone differently."

"So you're saying you would have slept with me again if I had called you the next day?" A coy smile comes to your lips and you grip the comforter on your bed.

"If you called me, and that's what you wanted, then of course."

"And the day after that?"

He laughs. "As often as you wanted."

Butterflies stir deep within you. "...and what about now?"

Hongseok is quiet for what feels like a century before he responds. "What is it that you want?"

You bite your lower lip, knowing exactly what you want to say but trying to get up the courage to speak it. Eventually you just force it out. "I want to see you when I'm back from break."

"When do you get back?"

"Sunday afternoon."

"Come over then. I'll be home."

Incredible excitement pulses through you. He's done fighting it. He has given in just as much as you have.

"You'll have to text me your address," you coolly respond.

"I'll do that."

Quiet falls over the line, and you know that there's still something else you need to talk about. "What does all of this mean when it comes to class? It's too late for me to drop and honestly, you haven't done a great job of giving me unbiased grades anyway. You're too good at math for that to have been an accident every time."

"You're right about that, and I apologize again. You, on the other hand, have done a wonderful job keeping me honest."

"Why did you boost my grades, anyway?"

"Because I knew you'd come storming into my office to get it fixed."

"So what, you just wanted to see me?"

"I did."

"You know that was a terrible plan, right?"

"Yes, I'm aware."

"You've really got it bad," you joke. But there's a little bit of weight to it, just a touch of truth.

"And you don't?" He replies, and you feel the same weight in his voice.

You let yourself respond flirtatiously. "How can I not?"

Hongseok lets out a soft chuckle. "We've been screwed since the beginning, I think."

"Agreed," you murmur. "I knew the second I laid eyes on you that I was in trouble."

"It was that easy, huh?"

"It was mostly the tux," you lie. He gets a big ego far too easily.

"Mm. Then what was it the other night? Because I certainly wasn't wearing a tux."

You laugh and shamelessly divulge, "It was the glasses…"

"Really? Those old things?"

"They just looked so… you looked really handsome in them." The blatant compliment is rough on your tongue. It feels weird to so openly tell him that he's attractive.

"Mm," he hums. "I like hearing you say that."

Your already quick heartbeat picks up, but you don't know how to respond. So you just pick up your unfinished train of thought. "Wait, we're getting distracted. How are we going to finish this semester?"

"I swear on my life that I will give you a fair grade. I won't boost it in your favor just to prove my interest, and I also won't lower it if you decide you want nothing to do with me. I understand that I gravely mishandled the first part of this semester, and I just need you to trust that I'll do better this time."

You frown a little. "I want to trust you on that. It at least makes me feel a little better that you were always willing to fix my grade when I told you there was an issue."

"And if you have any further complaints about your grade, we can discuss it. That is always the truth."

"Okay. That makes me feel better." You breathe a little easier.

"And of course, it goes without saying that this should remain between just the two of us."

You sigh heavily. "Then I'm just gonna come clean right now and let you know that Jiyoo and Hwitaek already know."

"You told them?" Hongseok sounds rigid as ever, and you hope you didn’t just ruin his pleasant attitude by telling him that.

"It was an accident! Jiyoo came up to me spouting about how she knows about everything because you blabbed before, and I thought she meant everything everything, so I accidentally said more than I should have. In my defense, I'm obviously not the first one to talk to them about it so I'd appreciate it if you weren't too harsh about this."

He takes a deep breath, and you hear the clink of ice in his glass as he takes a drink. "They really are nosey--well, Jiyoo, mostly. Hwitaek just gets sucked in."

"She's always been that way," you confide.

Hongseok actually chuckles. "That doesn't surprise me."

"It's still kind of weird to me that you know them so well. And then you ended up being my professor? What are the odds?"

"Mmm… I’d say about one in twenty-seven million, nine-hundred-sixty-seven thousand, six-hundred-thirty-two or so."

You laugh in disbelief. "Don’t tell me that you legitimately just did that math in your head.”

“I mean, I can only take partial credit for that because no, I didn’t do the exact math for our situation. I don’t even know how to start calculating that. But I do know that the average probability of winning a six-number lottery is thirteen million, nine-hundred-eighty-three thousand, eight-hundred-sixteen, and I figure our situation is probably even more rare than that, so I just doubled it. That figure is probably still too low, though.”

“Oh my God,” you just shake your head, laughing. “You’re absurd. You just know the exact probability of winning the lottery? And you just did all of that multiplication in your head? Who does that?”

“I do, _____. I’m a mathematical genius.” Hongseok sounds so serious that you can’t help but laugh a little harder, and he laughs right along with you. "It really is unreal, though. I had no idea that I would cross paths with you at the university,” he continues. “Do you feel okay with all of this?"

"Yeah, I do.” You start to regain your composure. “I feel much better now that we're talking."

"Good. I want you to feel okay, especially if we both want to… move forward with any kind of relations."

You have to roll your eyes at his choice of words. "'Relations'? That's what you went with?"

"Ah, yes. 'Rendezvous' would have been better."

"Oh my God, you're an idiot," you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles quietly. "What should I say, then? What do you think is more appropriate?"

"Maybe hook-up?" You offer. "Or… bang sesh? Fuck fest?"

That elicits deeper laughter from him. "All good options, I suppose."

"Or if you wanted something a little softer… maybe… a date?"

"I like that suggestion." His voice is warm when he responds, and then more quietly he says, "I was afraid that I ruined everything because of the way you ran out. I thought I went too far and made you regret the whole thing."

Butterflies stir deep in your belly. "You didn't ruin a thing. But I was definitely surprised when you kissed me. And… you said you couldn't stop thinking about me. I had no idea."

"I've spent more time thinking about you than I'd care to admit, if I'm being honest."

You let yourself smile broadly when he says that. It's not like he can see you grinning like a fool, anyway. "What would you think about?" You prod.

"Most of the time, it's your eyes."

"Really?"

"They're so intense, and so honest. It’s unbelievably easy to feel connected to you because of that, even when you’re mad or upset." He softly muses. "And when I'm not thinking about your eyes, I'm thinking about the way you danced with me at the wedding reception. Or the incredible music you make when you sit down at the piano. Your passion is truly amazing."

You appreciate the compliment, but that's not really the type of conversation you're trying to have right now. "And what about when you're alone? What do you think about when you think of me then?"

"Are you looking for something a little more R-rated? Is that what you want?" He teases you.

You sink a little lower into your bed, humming quietly in agreement.

"Those are the times when I think about the curve of your body, your clothes on the floor, you pinned under me." He confidently responds.

"Mm… Are you alone now?"

"I am." He responds darkly. "So yes, those are the thoughts currently going through my head."

A delicious flame of pleasure licks at the space between your thighs, and you drag your fingers subconsciously across your throat. "I have very similar thoughts… like thinking about your face buried between my legs." You don't allow yourself to be embarrassed by the bold statement--you're too turned on to think critically, anyway.

“Just you wait until Sunday, _____.” The mellow timbre of his voice has taken on some edge. “I have to warn you, though. I can’t guarantee that I’ll let you leave once you get here.”

“I want you to wreck me, Hongseok. Just absolutely demolish me when I get there.” Your voice becomes increasingly breathy as your hand slides up under your shirt, pushing your bra out of the way and toying with your nipples. Christ, what you wouldn’t do to replace your hand with his right now.

“If you’re going to keep talking like that, I think that can certainly be arranged.”

Pinching your nipple, you let out a soft gasp. All rational thought is very quickly going out the window as your need for release quickly takes over.

“_____, are you touching yourself?”

You know your noises aren’t quiet enough to prevent getting caught, but you’re also not at all guilty about being caught. You let your voice be sultry. “What if I am?”

“Then I just might have to join you,” Hongseok responds, fucking cool as a cucumber like always.

Your stomach twists into a delicious knot--you’d love nothing more than to masturbate with him over the phone. But before you get too carried away, there are a few things you want to take care of first. You abandon your chest, fumbling for the headphones that lie tangled up on your nightstand, knowing that you’re going to want both of your hands free for this. You also stuff a blanket along the bottom of your bedroom door to block the light coming from your room and help muffle any sound--your family should all be asleep by now, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.

“You always get me thinking about things I shouldn’t be thinking.” His voice comes through your headphones loud and clear, and your phone buzzes in your hand with the receipt of a text message. “Check your phone.”

You quickly realize the message is from him, and as soon as you open the message, you swallow hard. Hongseok sent you a picture of himself lounging in bed, in nothing but low-slung sweatpants. At the top of the frame you can just barely make out his teeth biting into his plush lower lip, and his muscular abdomen takes up the majority of the screen. But perhaps the most important and eye-catching piece of the whole photo is the unmistakable outline of his hard cock through the fabric of his sweats, emphasized by his hand holding the base and pulling his pants tight against his erection. You have no doubt that he must have taken photos like this a thousand times before because no one is that good at taking sexy shots without some practice.

“F-fuck,” you mumble, completely caught off-guard by the photo. Every thought you have is some combination of you wanting to kiss or lick or bite or suck every inch of him, and you try your hardest to form a coherent sentence. “Oh my God, you’re such a tease.”

“You don’t like it?”

“No it’s fucking amazing but Christ, what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Well if you’re open to suggestions, you could maybe send something back.”

You pause for just a second, contemplating, and then respond. “Okay, hold on.”

You know that getting a good photo could easily take you twenty minutes, so you reserve yourself to the fact that you’re just going to have to settle for whatever you can get in the next sixty seconds. You quickly shimmy out of your sweatpants so you’re just in your blue cotton underwear and a graphic tee. You pull up the hem of the shirt to expose a little of your tummy, and then try to snap a picture similar to his. It’s not quite enough, though, so at the last second you decide to slip your fingers into your panties, pulling the band down with your thumb to show off some extra skin.

There. That’s the shot.

“Okay, I’m sending it,” you tell him quietly, your hand oddly shaky as you press Send.

He hums softly in acknowledgement, and you hear him suck in a breath as soon as he opens the picture. “Fucking hell,” Hongseok groans. “You are so hot it is unbelievable.”

A devilish grin creeps onto your lips. You love that he’s just as floored by you as you are by him. “What are you gonna do about it?”

"For starters, I'll put that rotten mouth of yours to good use. And then--what was it? I'll wreck you. Ruin you. Demolish you. I'll pin you to the wall, the bed, the floor, and I'll stuff you with my cock until you can't think straight."

Jesus Christ this man knows just what to say. You haphazardly push your panties down, kicking them off onto the floor as your fingers graze over your slick pussy. "Too bad we have to wait a whole two days for that."

"I guess I'll just have to fill the time thinking of you and stroking my cock."

His words send a delicious shiver down your spine. "Maybe you'd like to think of how wet I am right now, how easily--aahh--how easily my fingers slip right inside." You glide one finger into your pussy, delighted by the way your nerves completely light up at the sensation. Your other hand returns to your chest, making sure your whole body is tended to.

"Fuck," he chuckles playfully. "You've got me so hard, _____."

"Ugh I just wanna ride you forever." You hear him moan quietly over the line. "Are you touching yourself, too?"

"Of course I am. How can I not when you paint such a lewd picture of yourself in my head?"

"I'm fingering myself and wishing you were here, Hongseok. I wanna be strewn out, completely wasted because I'm so drunk on you."

"Tell me what you're doing, _____."

"I've got one finger pumping slowly in and out of my pussy. My palm--nggh--is pressing against my clit. And my other hand is up my shirt, pinching my nipple. It feels so good, Hongseok, oh my God…" You start to get carried away in the pleasure you create for yourself, and you struggle to keep focused.

"I want you here so badly," Hongseok groans, and you know it's because of his pleasure. "I swear I have never in my life wanted anything as much as I want you right now."

Your heart flutters uncontrollably. How does he always manage to make these moments feel romantic? You desperately want to respond, I'm all yours if you want me to be, Hongseok, but it feels too heavy. Too laden with emotion. You swallow all of that down and respond with a much safer, "Tell me what you're doing right now, Hongseok."

"I'm thrusting my cock into my fist and desperately wishing it was your pussy instead, wishing I could fill my hands with your ass and occupy my lips with yours."

You whimper at his words. Imagining him fucking his hand drives you absolutely wild, especially when accompanied with such sweet words. And you can hear his hard breathing, his deep dulcet tones as he tells you exactly what you want to hear.

Hongseok continues, "My cock is throbbing in my hand, fuck, I wanna be inside of you so bad."

"I'm dying to feel your cock again," you moan quietly, careful to keep your volume low. As you slip in another finger, you feel the deep pressure that you know precedes some of your most amazing orgasms. Oh, this is gonna be good. "Fuck, Hongseok…"

He moans softly too, murmuring your name as he pleasures himself. "I want to feel your wet pussy squeezing my cock," he groans. "What do you think, _____?"

"I want it, Hongseok, I want you to…" You're cut off by the buzzing of your phone.

"Check your phone," Hongseok breathily commands.

You release your nipple and pick up your phone with one hand, the other coming to a standstill with two fingers still pressed inside you. Electric anticipation shoots through you at the thought of receiving another dirty photo from him.

But this time, it's not a photo.

Hongseok sent you a video.

With a shaky hand you press play, and you're immediately drowning in lust. The video shows his hand tightly gripping his cock as it moves up and down the shaft, slick with spit or lube or something. You hear him hum your name in the video's sound.

"I want to feel your wet pussy squeezing my cock," he groaned, and it sounds even more filthy and amazing because he recorded it. And then the video shifts up his torso and to his stunningly handsome face. Hongseok stares right into the camera, flicks his tongue across his lower lip, and asks, "What do you think, _____?"

You watch it again, open-mouthed in shock and practically imploding. Not only is the video the single most sexy thing you've ever seen, but he was brave enough to send you his face? If you wanted to, you could use this video alone to turn him in to the school. He literally just handed you blackmail.

You would never, ever in a million years use this video for that purpose, though. It's just amazing to you that he would trust you so much to send you such incriminating content.

"Hongseok," you finally speak. "You are so unbelievably perfect."

"Hardly," he lets out a soft, low chuckle. "I'm just horny out of my mind right now."

"Me too, and fuck it feels so good."

"I want to see you, _____."

Your breath catches in your throat. You've never taken a video of yourself like that before, and it sends a dangerous thrill through you that he's asking for one. And as you pick up your phone, you see the call screen, and you notice that small little camera--the tiniest suggestion that you could change this call to a video call at any moment.

And then you dare to press it.

The phone rings again as you wait for Hongseok to answer the video call, and you're wholly unprepared to see his face when he picks up.

He looks at his phone for a moment, just looking at you, and then the most beautiful smile breaks across his face. "Hey."

Every organ in your chest is an absolute wreck. "Hey," you echo.

"This isn't quite what I expected when I said I wanted to see you, but I'll take it."

"It's convenient though, isn't it?" Your walls involuntarily clench around your fingers, reminding you of your need for release. "Let me… show you."

You lower the phone to skim down your body--although your top half is still covered by your t-shirt so you're really not showing much--and when you get down to the hand tucked between your legs, you lift one leg and wrap your arm around it to get a good shot of your pussy. Your fingers press deep into your slit, and you moan for Hongseok.

"Shit, _____, you look so good. I wish I could taste you."

You pull out your fingers and separate them, showing him the strings of your wetness that spread between your digits. "That's what you want?" And then you bring your hand and your phone up towards your face, putting on your best sultry eyes as you twirl your tongue around the tips of your fingers.

Hongseok groans, "Oh Christ," and then he shows you his cock, forcing you to plunge your fingers back inside your pussy out of sheer desperation.

"Hongseok, I wanna cum so bad," you whimper. You can feel it building deep within you, and you just need something to push you over the edge. And honestly, watching him work his cock might just be enough.

You feel absolutely depraved watching him stroke himself, curling your fingers into your pussy as you masturbate together. It's delightfully sinful and you're obsessed with the way it makes you feel.

"Hong… Hongseok…" you moan his name, forcing your eyes to stay open so that you can keep your focus on his hard length. The coil in your abdomen tightens to its limit, and you're entirely aware that the dam is about to break. You struggle to keep your pussy in frame, as you push yourself over the edge. "Watch, watch! I'm coming…"

And just like that, your whole pussy convulses and you abruptly pull out your fingers, watching as you squirt all over your bed. It's nearly impossible to prevent your moaning, so you do your best to keep the volume down as you explode.

Hongseok sounds just as pleased as you thought he might be when you hear a string of expletives come over the line. But even his words are broken up with soft grunts and almost-moans. "I didn't know… you could do that."

"Sometimes," you laugh, quite out of breath from the water show. "Do you like it?"

"Of course I do," his hand picks up its pace. "I want to make you squirt next time."

"You can do that," you acknowledge. Even after your release, you notice that your clit isn't at all sensitive and you are still pretty turned on. So you keep your hand down there, absentmindedly rubbing circles into your bud.

It's not long before you feel the need to engage your hips. You start thrusting up against your fingers, but you want something more.

"I need your cock," you moan to him, partially convinced that his body is the only thing you’re missing.

"I can't even tell you how badly I want to give it to you," he responds in a dark, sultry tone. On camera, he starts to thrust up into his hand instead of just stroking it, and you think it looks absolutely amazing. You thrust your hips in time with his, but you need more.

Less-than-gracefully, you climb up onto your hands and knees, propping your phone up against your headboard. He gets a nice tall shot of you kneeling on the bed, legs spread and strings of juices hanging from your pussy, and you hear him groan something about how he loves this view.

You grab your pillow and fold it in half for extra height before tucking it between your legs and spreading your folds so that your clit rubs directly against the pillowcase. You ruthlessly hump your pillow, eyes completely trained on your phone so you don't miss a second of Hongseok's jerking.

"Christ, you're unbelievably sexy. That is so hot, _____," Hongseok groans. His hand twists the head of his cock before plunging back down the shaft, his arm muscles bulging as he quickly jerks off. You can see his cock rapidly twitching, pulsing extra hard as he approaches orgasm.

“Think about me riding you, Hongseok,” you quietly moan, trying to encourage him to climax. “Think about burying your cock in my pussy and grabbing my hips and filling me up with your cum.”

“Is that what you want?” His breathing is ragged. “You want me to cum inside you?”

“Yes, I want it,” you confess, and you know it’s the truth. You’ve fantasized about letting him fuck you raw so he can feel every inch of you as he cums. You’re dying to know what that feels like.

“Fucking Christ…” Hongseok’s hand moves a little faster, strokes a little deeper, until it’s clear that he can’t hold back anymore. “_____…”

With just a few more pumps, Hongseok finally releases, his throaty moans accompanying each rope of cum that shoots up onto his chest. Between the sounds and the visual he provides, you simply cannot handle yourself.

“Hongseok,” you murmur his name. You continue to grind against your pillow, blissfully soaking it with your juices. The delicious tension in your abdomen is too much--it's coiled too tightly and it's going to snap any second now.

Your eyes squeeze shut so you can better imagine Hongseok lying beneath you, his calloused hands grasping your waist as you rock and grind your hips.

"_____, you're perfect. Fucking perfect. Ride me, _____." He seems to play along with the fantasy in your head, inching you closer until you finally break.

Pure, blissful pleasure rushes through you like adrenaline as you orgasm, roughly dragging your clit over the cotton of your pillowcase. It takes everything in you to keep quiet, and your thighs tremble with each powerful wave.

And when you finally open your eyes, you see Hongseok watching you with so much adoration it makes you want to cry.

"That was amazing," you pant, breathing hard from the exertion of your orgasm.

"It was amazing to watch, too." Hongseok beams. "I am so attracted to you it kills me."

You collapse onto your bed, tossing your pillow aside and picking up your phone. Hongseok genuinely appears to be glowing, and you can't help but wonder if he sees you the same way. You just smile and say, "I can't wait to see you."

"Neither can I," he responds warmly. He takes a moment to wipe the cum off of his chest with a towel, and then he settles back into his bed, lying on his side and gazing sweetly at you through his phone. "I can't tell you how badly I want to kiss you right now."

"I wish you could. Man, you're such a good kisser."

“Sunday. I’ll kiss you all I want on Sunday.”

It’s weird how much you wish you could just reach through the phone and touch him, run your fingers over his cheek, brush his hair out of his eyes. Your heart pounds as your eyes skim over his face, taking in his beautiful image. He makes you feel so warm and happy. It’s undeniable that you’ve got feelings for him. And so you don’t even think twice before the words come out of your mouth: “I like you, Hongseok. I don’t care that you’re my professor. I’m done worrying about that because I just like you and I want you and that’s all there is to it.”

It’s true. One-hundred percent.

Hongseok’s smile is small and sweet, but bursting with tenderness. “I like you too, _____. I don’t care about you being my student, either. We’ll make this work for us.”

“Mhm.” The fluttering in your chest is endless, and you know this couldn’t feel more right. “We’ll make it work.”

You both stay on the line as you turn off lights and tuck into bed. Hongseok talks to you about nothing, and your mind is finally at ease as your eyelids start to become heavy with sleep. His voice is a lullaby and when you finally fall asleep, you dream of nothing but the warmth of his arms.

POST SCRIPT | Thank you for reading! Please stay tuned for Part 11, and let me know if you want to be tagged when I post it!

#ksmutclub #uninet #universe-net #hongseok smut #yang hongseok smut #pentagon smut #pentagon hongseok smut #hongseok #yang hongseok #ptg hongseok #pentagon hongseok #pentagon fanfic #pentagon fanfics #pentagon scenarios #pentagon scenario #hongseok scenario #hongseok scenarios #hongseok fanfic #hongseok fanfics

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

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The Last Night Part XI

(Author’s Notes: Warning! Things will get slightly spicy in this section. No spicer than The Whispering Room scene (don’t get too excited), but it is definitely heating up. I missed writing the romance and I’m excited to be moving back into that-- even if it does end jarringly. Anyway, I hope you all had a lovely father’s day! Stay safe. Stay healthy! And thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this: please give it a like, reblog, comment, and hit follow for more updates. Next update will be here Sunday, 6/28)

All the other parts:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Part XI

Cordelia stood in the center of her room back at her home in London. The walls were still adorned with silver paper, decorated with old Persian artwork that her grandfather had painted himself and given to Sona to decorate their house with to remind her of home. The four poster bed was turned down; a thin white vail hung from each poster. The only light in the room came from the enchanting blue flames that burned in the grate; though, Cordelia could not feel the heat from it and she seemed to be deathly chilled.

She couldn’t recall how she’d arrived there. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember much of anything before and searching for the memories was like hitting a tall, very broad wall whenever she tried. She studied the books on the walls, drawing her index finger along the delicate gold letters stamped into the spines of the leather, but they were all written in a language she couldn’t understand. The letters were familiar, but rearranged and jumbled around.

“Daisy?”

Cordelia turned around and her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of James standing in the doorway. He was dressed casually in a white button up collar shirt, black trousers, and navy suspenders over each of his shoulders. The shirt hugged the shape of his arms as he clasped his hands behind his back. The twists of his willful dark curls were pushed back away from his face, but still fell carelessly around his ears and grazed his neck. He smiled at her intake of breath and took a step closer towards her.

“James,” Cordelia sighed and stepped towards him. “James, I’m afraid something terrible has happened. I can’t seem to remember how I got here.”

James reached up and brushed a curl that had fallen from her braid back behind her ear. His calloused fingers grazed around the shell of her ear and down her neck sending prickles across her skin. His eyes were nearly solid black with just a circle of gold around the blown iris.

Before she could say anything, James drew her against him. His cheek pressed against hers, the skin already burning where they were connected. His mouth was not gentle, it became possessive and devastating in a way that she had never been kissed before.

Cordelia reached out and slid her hands over his chest so she could feel the rhythm of his heart against her palms.

There was fire everywhere, because he was everywhere. His hands traced her skin, burning it. His lips tasted every inch of her face. The bookshelf slammed into her back, but there was no pain. She couldn’t feel anything beside the burning.

Her hands continued to knot in his hair, pulling him towards her as if there were any possible way for them to be closer. With his help, she wrapped her legs around his waist, the wall giving her the leverage that she needed. The sound of fabric ripping was vague in her mind as his tongue twisted with hers, and there was no part of her mind that was not invaded by the insane desire that possessed her.

He pulled his mouth free and pressed his lips to her ear. “Cordelia.” It was soft, barely a whisper. “You must come back to me. Allow me the chance to win your heart properly.”

Cordelia gasped, it’s yours.

She wasn’t sure if she just thought the words or if she had said them, but before she could, his mouth captured hers again.

Her hands fisted around the fabric of James’ t-shirt, yanking it up from the hem of his trousers. She could feel the muscles of his stomach under her palms, her hands crushed between them. James’ pulse jumped; his hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back so he could access the fragrant delicate skin of her neck.

Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue slid over the curve of her jaw.

Somewhere at the surface of her consciousness, she knew this wasn’t real. She knew it was only a memory. A way for her mind to torment her. Or maybe this was her judgement day; she was being forced to relive the most sinful moments of her past. If that were true, then the pleasure of the memory vastly outweighed the punishment.

He moved them away from the bookcase, half-carrying her, his mouth never leaving hers. He stumbled across the broad colorful rug, hands and lips frantic as he leaned over her on the bed. Cordelia arched upwards, her elbows supporting some of her weight, as James stepped away to shrug off his suspenders, letting them hang down from his hips.

When he came back to her, he picked up her bare foot and placed it on his shoulder, and began pressing light kisses to the inside of her smooth calf. Cordelia gasped, relishing in the new sensation and also terrified by it. Her empty hands clenched the thick down comforter as his lips traced a line up her inner thigh to her hip and continued over the fabric of her night dress.

All Cordelia could think to do was breath. Her mind felt cloudy as the heat and flames threatened to consume her to a point where it was almost painful. Beads of sweat formed along her brow and pooled in the dip at the base of her throat.

James continued to press sweet, delicate kisses up her stomach, over her breasts, and up her throat.

When he reached her ear, a voice that did not belong to James whispered into her ear. “It’s time to wake up, Miss Carstairs. There is still a need for you yet.”

Cordelia gasped and leaned away from James. His eyes remained wild and dark with desire but the color had changed to silver.

Cordelia screamed.

James grimaced at the sound of Cordelia’s screams coming from underneath the door. He’d been pacing the hallway for some time and was now standing outside the door with his forehead pressed against the cold wood listening to the blood curdling cries for help from the room inside. His hands tightened into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for the door handle again. He’d already failed several times and he didn’t want to risk Matthew and Thomas making good on their promise to tie him to a chair and lock him in there indefinitely.

“Why do you insist on torturing yourself like this?” asked Matthew, who sat across from Thomas on the floor. “We should all be getting some rest. None of us had any sleep last night and I believe it’s beginning to impair our judgement.”

“Go get some sleep then,” said Thomas without looking up from the spot on the floor that has held his attention for the last fifteen minutes. “No one is stopping you.”

“Tell me again, Thomas,” said Matthew accusatoryly, “what are you doing here exactly? You’re not particularly close to either of the Carstairs and yet you look about as distraught as James.”

“I’m just tired,” said Thomas.

“Precisely why we should all go get some rest.” Matthew reiterated. “We can’t do anything standing out here with little to no sleep. I suggest a quick hour nap and we reconvene in the game room with some fresh pastries and tea.”

Both James and Thomas looked to Matthew. Before either of them could say anything, the door to the infirmary opened and Brother Zachariah nearly stepped into James.

“Matthew is right,” said Jem and placed a scarred hand on James’ shoulder. “You should get some rest. Cordelia and Alastair have a long and difficult road ahead of them. There is no saying how long it might be or when the tide might change.”

“She’s in pain,” said James, his voice broke on the last word. “What are they doing to her to make her sound like that? She sounds like she’s getting worse, not getting better.”

Jem hummed in James’ mind. “She fractured two of her ribs and punctured a lung that slowly filled with her own blood that was compromised with demon venom from the tail of Diggoron demon. We have no idea how long it has been in her system, but long enough for it to spread throughout her entire body and compromise her heart.” Jem cupped James’ face with a scarred hand. “James, it is time to start preparing yourself—“

“James?” said his mother’s voice from behind him.

He looked over his shoulder to find her out of her night gown now and in a soft Oriental dress with her hair pinned back halfway. Her gloved hand held softly to Sona beside her. Their guest wore white as if she were already in mourning. The thought made James furious, but he put his head down and stepped out from in front of the door.

Sona held a handkerchief to her face. Her large round eyes, so similar to Cordelia’s, were rimmed with red. She clung to Tessa as if to keep herself straight and if she’d let go, she’d fall over instantly like a structure that has had its bottom half completely taken out from underneath it. She’d always reminded James somehow of a plastic bird, beautiful and elegant on the outside, but with even the slightest pressure she’d crumble apart. So unlike Cordelia, who appeared soft on the outside, but could withstand holding the weight of his sister for hours until help came. Who fought through the pain of a broken leg to help James escape his grandfather. Who stood up in front of their cohorts and peers and declared herself ruined to provide him with an albeit. She could not be easily crushed.

Tessa handed Sona to Jem who showed her inside. Before the door slid closed, James caught a quick glimpse of Cordelia’s hair spilling over the pillow: a shock of red against the white of the linens. Her face and body were hidden by Silent Brothers gathered around her.

“James,” said Tessa as she slid her hand over his shoulder. “Have you eaten anything? Have you had any rest?”

The door slid closed again just as Sona made it to Cordelia’s bedside.

“I’m not hungry,” said James and stepped out from underneath his mother’s hand to lean against the wall.

“You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

There was quiet and for a moment James thought that she had left which seemed so unlike his mother, but then her voice cut through the silence. “Matthew, Thomas,” she said gently, “why don’t you go to the kitchens and have some pork pies Bridget just made. I wish to speak with my son a moment.”

Matthew helped Thomas to his feet and the two left the hallway quietly.

Tessa came to lean against the wall beside her son. It had never bothered James that his mother was perpetually stuck in a certain state that made them appear almost the same age, except for the intelligence behind her gray eyes that showed to the strength of her character. Her hair retained a youthful spring as it threatened to escape from its carefully pinned rolls. Her skin remained flawless without any threat of cracking. For a while, Tessa tried to dress in a manner that she felt made her look older. She went to beauty shops and allowed the artists to paint her face in makeup to appear more aged, and no one said anything to her, because she thought that it made her somehow ‘fit in’ with the other mothers that had been touched by time. The truth was that James had always thought his mother was the most beautiful first thing in the morning. When her hair would spill down her back and her face pale and not yet painted. When she would smother Lucie and him with kisses without fear of smudging their face with lipstick.

One day, not too long ago, she threw out all of her makeup and changed her wardrobe to dresses that she liked. James wasn’t sure what had changed and he never asked, but he was grateful. Even if the snide remarks returned about his mother's appearance from his peers around him. He’d fight anyone that turned a bad word against his mother. She’d never say if someone offended her; she’d barely bat an eye, but James would fill the Thames with anyone who tried.

“I know you must feel as if this is all my fault,” she said. “Most children hate their parents for normal reasons: they are too strict, they’re controlling or absent, they won’t buy the latest things. To add to all of those things, you and Lucie must resent us terribly for having children knowing that I am the child of a monster.”

“Mam,” James reached out and took her hand. “I don’t blame you for this. I don’t resent you or Da. You are not Belial. Believe me, you are the farthest thing from him. The only ones that I blame for what happened to Cordelia and Alastair is Belial and myself.”

“You?” Tessa tightened her grip on James’ hand. “What did you do?

James felt the quickening in his chest as the memory of Cordelia standing at the top of the stairs outside of Grace’s bedroom. The way the tears fell from her eyes when she told him how he’d broken a promise to her. A promise he’d intended to keep.

He knew almost immediately what his mother would say if he were to tell her what he had done to make Cordelia flee from the Institute that night. He knew that she’d try to console him by telling him that it wasn’t his fault. He was under the bracelet’s curse. He had nothing to feel guilty about. And she would be right.

But he didn’t want to feel better. He didn’t want to be absolved of his guilt just yet. Because his guilt fueled his anger and his will for Cordelia to live, so that when she did wake up, he could beg her for forgiveness. He could make her see that he wasn’t entirely himself that night.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, there was also a level of shame.

So he lied. “I should have gotten to her sooner. I should have been the one to go into the shadow realm, not Lucie. I should have killed Belial when I had the chance. I won’t fail next time.”

Tessa took a deep breath through her nose. “I’ll tell you what I told your sister. I don’t want you children involved in this anymore. Your father and I will manage it from here. We will conduct a search and find Belial. It is our responsibility, our burden, not yours.”

And as terribly as he wanted to give into the small child within himself and allow his parents to take the anxiety away from him, he knew that he could not. Belial wanted a fight. James would bring him a fight, but this time he’d be prepared to end it.

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blouisparadise · 5 years

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Here is a list of amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of January. Between the second month of the Bottom Louis Fic Fest and all the other fics that authors posted throughout the month, it’s clear that this was a great way to start off the year of bottom Louis fics! Happy reading!

1) You Can Be The Boss Daddy | Explicit | 1641 words

This is just Louis being used and humiliated by his strong Daddy

2) Don't Pretend That I Don't Entice You | Explicit | 2086 words

“Speaking of which, he couldn't wait to get home to see him. They both worked long days and most of the time their days off didn't line up. But they made up for things like that when they could, spending hours cuddling in bed and talking about the randomest of things or ya know, having mind-blowing sex that left them sated and panting, heated limbs tangled together and breaths and scents mingling. Harry enjoyed those moments quite a bit, if he was going to be at all honest.”

3) The Sound Of Music | Explicit | 2602 words

Harry quietly makes his way down the stairs and into the large foyer, the marble floors are cold against his bare feet and he regrets not taking his slippers.

The tinkling of piano keys flirts its way to his ears and he turns his head in the direction of their living room. His mouth quirks sideways with a smile and he makes his way towards the music.

4) Letters From Boston | Explicit | 3316 words

Louis’s standing in the kitchen when he opens the first letter.

5) Starlight In Your Eyes Of Blue | Mature | 4434 words

Harry is in New York while Louis is back home at London waiting for Harry’s return. Unfortunately, Harry may be unable to come back home in time for Christmas and most importantly—Louis’ birthday. Louis can’t wait any longer to be in a bed that’s no longer empty but in the end it changes.

6) I Couldn’t Get Away From You | Mature | 5185 words

Suddenly in the heat of the moment, Harry’s eyes turned darker as he pushed Louis’ back more and more towards the wall. “Fine.” He plants his lips on Louis’ and begins to roughly kiss him, soon enough turning it into a make-out session.

“Fuck you, Styles,” Louis moans and grips onto Harry’s shoulders, hands trailing up to the taller’s hair and gripping that as well.

“We’ll see about that.”

7) My Kingdom for Your Graces | Explicit | 5257 words

Louis gets a last minute day off and Harry decides to surprise him with a visit. They proceed to do what lovers do.

8) I Think I'm In Love | Mature | 6019 words

Louis' a young man looking for love. Harry's a sugar daddy looking for a new sub. They meet through a dating app and decide to try out a relationship.

9) Daddy's Little Kitty | Mature | 7224 words

Harry Styles is a gentle master. But what happens when Louis pushes him to his limits?

10) There's More Than One Place To Call Home | Explicit | 8416 words

Harry never asked for much from his neighbors - he didn't care about barking animals during the day or loud talking during the night.

The only thing he needed was silence when he was writing. And that was the only thing his new neighbor wouldn't give him.

Deciding to confront the loud guy who lived next door, Harry found himself ringing his doorbell one night. And that decision just may be the best thing that's ever happened to Harry.

11) Cooking With Styles | Explicit | 9119 words

Anyone can cook— or so they say.

12) Watching The World Fall | Explicit | 11777 words

This segment has been going on long enough that Louis knows what’s coming before James starts in on it, trying to sell him on something he knows that Louis wouldn’t normally be buying. But there’s four cameras surrounding him, and an audience watching him expectantly, so if Louis wants to continue convincing people that he’s doing just fine, he’s going to have to go along with it.

“We have a whole host of single men backstage waiting to meet you, Louis,” James tells him. “We want to help you find love tonight, on Late Late Live Tinder. Is this okay? Do you want to play?”

It actually kind of makes sense that his first date after the break-up is going to be just as public as said break-up. Something like coming full circle.

“Alright, James,” Louis agrees, hopping down off his stool.

“Okay, come down to the stage,” James says. Louis can’t even tell whether the excitement in his voice is genuine or not. “Right now, come on down!”

13) We'll Be the Fine Line | Not Rated | 13443 words

Louis listens to Fine Line, and, drunk, he leaves a voicemail for Harry after months of not speaking. This reminds Harry of a time before everything fell apart, slowly, painfully, a time when the two of them were still in love. And he desperately wants to go back.

14) (You're Gonna See Me In A) New Light | Mature | 13631 words

A fake relationship au where everyone knows it's real but Louis.

15) Don't Know If I Could Ever Go Without | Explicit | 14140 words

“We’ve come up with a solid solution. You’re not going to like it.”

“What is it?” Louis narrows his eyes suspiciously, glancing at a visibly enthusiastic Liam.

“What if you pretended to be an Alpha?” Zayn suggests.

16) Something Wicked This Way Comes | Explicit | 16526 words

A regency murder mystery au where Louis is married to an earl and Harry is a detective. Hatchets are buried but not everyone is as they seem.

17) Keep It Sweet In Your Memory | Explicit | 17039 words

'How'd it go?' Harry pushes them into Niall's room and shuts the door behind him, so Georgia doesn't overhear.

'It was good. We just caught up, mostly... I may have done something a little stupid, though.'

And Niall's eyebrows are in his hairline at that.

'I mean. Okay, so I invited Louis out on Saturday.'

'Saturday? Your--'

'Yes, my bachelor party...' and then Harry has to explain himself, 'I just felt guilty. I think. He was like. Telling me he wanted to hook up.'

'He WHAT!?'

'No. I mean, not with me. Like. He wants to go out and meet people.'

'He'll hate that. He's too much of a romantic.'

'Yeah, well. Whatever his name was messed him up a little, it would seem.'

18) UN(RE)SOLVED | Explicit | 20873 words

The ghoul boys are back, but this time around there are some unresolved feelings involved. Harry is a skeptic, Louis is not. Watch them go on their ongoing investigation into the question: are ghosts real?

Or, BuzzFeed Unsolved AU.

19) The Way The Storms Blow | Explicit | 21649 words

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

20) Hold Onto This Heaven (Of Yours) | Explicit | 25213 words

an ode to being too young, too sad, and too in love.

(aka: a college au, harry is a frat boy, and louis wants to know all of his secrets.)

21) Weightless | Explicit | 25330 words

He hopes that Harry still thinks of him. God knows Louis thinks of him every day.

Or: Harry is the best dragon racer the world has ever seen and Louis is an almost-vet who feels like he is carrying the weight of the world.

22) Creep | Explicit | 26092 words

Harry is a wallflower, louis is a sophomore brat with a heart of gold no one seems to notice, harry, a senior, is a musician in disguise. louis finds him in the music room, Harry performing his self written song Creep on a talent show. he steals Louis' heart and begins to stalk Harry on social media, finding out the boy is gorgeous inside and out, tattoos popping against his milky skin, unashamed of his amazing body.

a story of a boy with dark thoughts finding his way through the dark with his light guiding him.

23) Blue Lotus | Explicit | 29815 words

Note: This fic is Louis/OMC.

After the Second Rebellion and the dismantling of President Cowell’s regime, Louis struggles to make sense of life.

A post-Hunger Games AU.

24) You Contain In Your Eyes The Sunset And The Dawn | Mature | 38152

Harry Styles was to spend six months at AT&T Inc. of all telecommunications companies in the world, also known as the largest one in its field. This was the biggest deal of his life; it will both improve his expertise in the domain and maybe secure the job of his dreams. There was only one problem standing in the way, and it came in the form of a stunning, irresistible and intimidating cat hybrid of the name Louis Tomlinson. In other words, his boss.words

25) We Can Go On Forever (When Everything’s Gone Forever) | Mature | 39421

Harry spent most of his adult life focused on either his studies or his books - 5 of which he has already had published before he was 30. Immediately after completing his dissertation, he was offered a lectureship at Cambridge University where he’s been for 2 years now.

This wasn’t the first time in his life that he had felt the incessant itch to know more about a subject by any means. However, this was the first time the subject had been an Omega.

26) Canyon Moon | Explicit | 40895 words

For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

27) Strangers In Love | Explicit | 42207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

28) If You're Out There (I'll Find You Somehow) | Explicit | 55916 words

Harry looks so intensely into Louis’ eyes it’s as though he’s reaching in and touching his very soul. “I never thought… I never… I’ve been searching for so long, Louis, but I never gave up. I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop trying,” Harry says, bottom lip trembling as he strokes the backs of Louis’ knuckles. “I just knew that if you were out there, I’d find you somehow.”

OR the story of how one man’s love changed the world.

29) “If I Cut Out a Heart...” | Explicit | 66225 words

Stripper au! louis is a stripper who’s known for his huge ass. he works at a club owned by harry and everyone wants to fuck him. eventually louis has sex with each of the boys, separately and perhaps eventually all together in a big gang bang. lots of focus on louis’s big bum (even twerking, jiggling, etc.)

30) You Smell Like | Explicit | 185369 words

The one where Louis is the Alpha’s mate and everyone is aware of it except for Louis and Harry. Go figure!

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #larry

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leadinglady17 · 4 years

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I Told You...

"Winwin, sit your skinny butt down," Kun cries after seeing his teammate attempting to twerk along to the Halloween remix of baby shark. You're all laughing when XiaoJun comes up behind him and knocks his knees out and he ends up sprawled on the floor. Winwin doesn't move except to crane his head back to look at who pushed him over.

"Yah, you're all just jealous of my immaculate dance moves," he says, the slight lisp to his words and light pink flush are the only giveaways that he'd been drinking tonight.

"Sure, gege. We're all definitely jealous," XiaoJun says after sitting down and setting the bottles of rice wine and soju on the floor in front of everyone. You were sitting between XiaoJun and Ten and across from Lucas, who was flanked by Yangyang and Kun, with Hendry next to him. Winwin had been sitting between Yangyang and XiaoJun. You were all relaxing after a grueling day of practice, thankful that you had the next day off to recoup. Winwin rejoins your little circle and demands shots for everyone, you throw your head back with the drink and meet Lucas’s eyes when you bring it back down. That was the third time you had caught him staring at you today, though staring might not be the right word this time. Glaring, yes glaring was more apt this time. You shrug it off and go back to playing around with the others and leaning against Ten.

6 hours earlier

“Ahhh,” you shriek as Kun spins you around over his shoulder. “Put me down!”

Kun continues to spin and laugh when you smack his back. You were taking a short break during practice, and you had been goofing off together when he tossed you over his shoulder. The others laugh at your antics and he sets you down after a few more spins. You have to grab his arm once you’re on solid ground again, feeling dizzy. That’s when he notices Lucas staring at you both.

“Come join us,” he calls out to him but Lucas just shakes his head and smiles slightly. About 10 minutes later, once everyone had returned, Ten called everyone to get back in formation to go through the routines again. Ten pushes you all hard, running through the routines 3 times each before allowing another short break before going through them again for another hour, sometimes stopping to guide another dancer if he saw them struggling, including you and if you were more flirty than usual that was nobody’s business.

During the last run through everything you were watching the mirror when you happened to catch Lucas watching you. You make a face at him trying to get him to smile but he just looks away from you and focuses on his own steps. You don’t think anything of it and finish the last few counts. Finally Kun calls for the end and announces that you all have the next day off. Everyone lets out a cheer and begins to gather their belongings. Winwin was the one to suggest everyone going out and grabbing dinner or drinks. Half the team declined claiming exhaustion but you and a few others had agreed.

4 hours earlier

You couldn’t decide on dinner or drinks so you did both. Ten chose a Korean BBQ that was open late, a regular spot for your group after a grueling practice. The owner greeted you all and quickly had the meat and sides delivered, you made sure to get a seat next to Ten. Winwin ordered the first round of soju halfway through dinner. You’re about 3 glasses in when the owner comes over to tell you all that they were closing so Hendry suggests going back to the house to continue drinking and blowing off steam. Kun grabs your hand and pulls you down the sidewalk since the house was only a few streets over. You’re tipsy enough that you just giggle and go along with him, paying no attention to others yelling behind you. Unsurprisingly you reach the house first, followed closely by Yangyang and Ten arguing loudly and the rest of the guys laughing behind them. After kicking your shoes off you throw yourself down on the couch, not expecting the sudden weight that drops on top of you.

“Oof, get off you cow.” Your voice comes out breathy due to the adult man currently crushing your lungs.

“Wow, y/n, that’s so hurtful,” Kun pouts.

“I’m sure, but seriously you’re crushing me.” You attempt to push yourself up to unbalance him but he just continues to lay on you. “Yah! I’m dying!”

Kun laughs at your struggle and then adds to it by proceeding to tickle your sides. You shriek with laughter, arms flailing trying to smack his hands away.

“Kun-gege, get off her,” Lucas tries to intervene, no amusement in his voice. The leader ignores the other man and continues his onslaught.

“Not until she apologizes,” Kun pauses for a moment to give you the opportunity to apologize. You quickly make amends and he lands a quick peck on your cheek and jumps up. You rush to get up, in case any of the others decide they want a turn at tormenting you. Kun slings his arm around you and gives you a cheeky smile while Lucas rolls his eyes and walks away.

Present

After a few more rounds of shots, someone, you think it was Yangyang, called it quits and everyone agreed.

“Y/n, you can crash in my room tonight,” Ten offers as he helps you stand.

“Thanks. We can cuddle if you want,” you tell him and send him a wink.

He chuckles at your drunk flirting, “Ah sorry, I’m going to share with Hendry,” he says, causing you to pout.

“Ooookaaaay, but you know where I’ll be if you change your mind.” You shuffle off to the bathroom to try to at least wash your face before crawling into the younger dancer’s bed. You’re about to open Ten’s door when a hand grabs your arm and pulls you into the room across the hall.

“Did you really think I’d let you go after watching everyone touch you all night?”

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

“Lucas you could have just said she was yours. You didn’t need to keep me up all night proving it.” Hendry drawls. You can feel your face heat up realizing that he had heard you.

“Oh it wasn’t just you, pretty sure the whole house heard them,” Ten says walking into the kitchen already dressed for the day.

“Well now you all know so keep your hands off,” Lucas says calmly while handing you a glass of orange juice. By now you were wishing the floor would open and swallow you.

“I’m heading out, I’ll be back before dinner. Text me if you want me to grab anything on the way home,” Ten says while walking out the door. After the longest breakfast ever, you and Lucas return to his room to cuddle and watch a movie until going out later. You find your phone under the bed and a message waiting,

I told you to leave my hoe alone… 😘

You realize immediately who Ten went to meet this morning.

#nct wayv #wayv #nct #ten #lucas #kun #hendry #xiaojun #yangyang #winwin #nct fic #wayv fic

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wolftraps · 4 years

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Nessie

I’ve been plotting something like this since I posted chapter 3 of The Reverb in These Holy Halls. Sasha asked if the Loch Ness monster existed, and Jon said “not technically” and walked away all smug. There are spoilers up through like chapter 8 and references to things that happen in the Reverb+ fic(let)s, so probably don’t read this if you haven’t read Reverb, but you do you. Warning for: fear of drowning

“L-look, I know you’ve probably got like a million statements about it, but I swear, I—”

“Mister Ziegler, please, if you—”

“I saw it! I—”

“Yes, Mr. Ziegler, but I cannot look into your statement if you don’t allow me to take it.” Jon’s trying so hard not to snap, but this feels a bit too much like he’s back in his first year as Head Archivist. His actual first year.

“R-right. Right, of course.”

“Now, if you’ll just have a seat?” The man drops into the spare chair in Jon’s office, shaky. A recorder clicks on. “Alright. Statement of K…” Jon stops himself before the name actually gets out. Full introductions haven’t been done.

“Uh… Um, Kyle. Kyle Ziegler.”

“Statement of Kyle Ziegler, regarding a sighting of…”

“It- uh… well… Nessie.”

“... Right… Regarding a sighting of the Loch Ness Monster. Statement taken direct from subject, April 23rd, 2036. Statement begins.”

“Right, so. I think first I should say, I’m not actually a believer. Or… Well, I wasn’t. The whole cryptid thing is fun, but it’s not real. They’re modern-day mythical creatures. Real things being explained by people who didn’t quite understand what they were seeing to people who are trying to picture the thing from a disjointed narrative. Is it a yeti or a bear? Almost always, it’s a bear.

“But my brother, Cameron, he’s real big into all of it. Has been since he was like 6, when he

says he saw a tatzelwurm when we were visiting cousins in Germany. Everyone else in our family kind of laughed at him for it, but, like I said, it’s fun to think about, even if I don’t believe. So every summer we schedule a couple weeks that we both take off work, and we go explore an area that’s had a cryptid sighting.

“We’ve been doing this for just over a decade, so you’d think we’d have been to Loch Ness by now, but it’s so well known, we didn’t want to go and have to deal with all the tourists. The ‘casual’ believers, as Cam puts it. And things usually ended up booked in the summer. But with those freak tornadoes a couple weeks ago, I guess people were a little more reluctant to make the trip, and we got a good deal.

“The first couple days of every trip we spend scouting the area. Mapping where sightings have been; what areas people are less likely to go, and more likely for a cryptid to be able to hide. It might be my favorite part of the whole thing. We spend hours talking about what sort of creature it is, what it might eat, where it might get that sort of food. What sorts of camouflage or defenses it might have. All sorts of speculation. It’s just fun.

“It also involves a lot of hiking in places that are not easy to hike in. The point is that people don’t go there, after all. Day three we rest, which I get more and more thankful for the older I get. We sit around and eat too much and make a plan of attack.

“We were in this little restaurant that looks out on the lake, laughing about I don’t even know what, when I saw it for the first time. It was distant, hazy. It caught my eye, but it was pretty easy to wave off as a trick of the light or something. When Cam looked he didn’t seem to see anything, so I told him I just got lost in thought.

“Day four we rented a boat. We figured start in the middle and sort of spiral our way out, as much as you can with a lake that’s so much longer than it is wide. A boat for the deeper water, then switch to kayaks for the shallower waters around the edge. It’s a very, very big lake, so we’d spend the rest of the first week in the same inn, renting the boat each day. We have our own kayaks, so after that we’d make as much progress as we comfortably could each day and then find the closest inn or hostel wherever we ended.

“I… might have seen it on day four. It was in the distance, again, and gone when I pointed it out to Cam. I wrote it off, like the day before. But day five it was closer. It was still hazy, a dark blur, almost exactly like it looks in those supposed photos, but there was definitely something there. Cam never saw it, and it didn’t seem like it was following us or anything. It just popped up, just too far to clearly see, a couple times.

“I still didn’t think it was Nessie. Something man-made, maybe. Or my mind playing tricks on me. When your brain doesn’t process what you see, it does its best to fill in the gaps. You see what you expect to see. And while I didn’t actually expect to see Nessie, it was what was on my mind.

“Day six, I didn’t see it at all. Day seven and eight, just flashes. A dark object in my peripheral vision, gone when I looked straight on. By the start of day nine, we’d done a few laps in the boat and made it about a quarter of the way along the shoreline by kayak. And then I saw it. Like, really saw it, for the first time. Not well enough to identify it for sure, but I could tell it was something large and alive. It moved and dove. It seemed like the pictures, like a head atop a long, snaking neck. And it was definitely following us.

“Still Cam never saw it. It disappeared any time I tried to get his attention. It didn’t matter if I yelled ‘look over there!’, or only made a subtle hand-gesture behind my back. Somehow it knew, and it would always dive. I’ll admit I was going a bit spare at that point. I kept running into rocks and nearly beaching myself because I couldn’t stop staring back, watching as it moved, trying to tell if it was actually getting a bit closer every time it dove and resurfaced or if that was my mind playing tricks on me as well.

“Cam asked me that night why I hadn’t tried to take a picture of it, and I felt like an idiot. We got those special water cameras for a reason. I’d been so caught up, I hadn’t even thought of it. Though, now that I did think of it, I was sure the thing would be able to tell when the camera was pointed toward it, same as when Cameron looked.

“The morning of day ten was rainy, but the forecast said it would clear up later in the day. So we let ourselves rest a bit. Hydrated. Once it seemed like the rain had truly stopped, sometime in the early afternoon, we set out, and it all seemed to be going well. It was still overcast, but there were hints of the sun and not a single sign of anything strange following us.

“I wasn’t entirely convinced the whole thing had been in my head, but I definitely wasn’t convinced that it wasn’t. The longer the day went on without a glimpse, the more I realized how tense I’d been, anticipating seeing the thing again.

“By all accounts, Nessie is harmless. No one claims to have been attacked, no mysterious drownings attributed to it. It’s called the Loch Ness monster, but no one’s telling horror stories about it. So, logically, I had nothing to worry about, even if it was Nessie. And yet something about it had been making me nervous.

“Now I was finally starting to relax. I started taking pictures of the scenery just because it was a good view, not because I was trying to catch a fictional creature. I actually got some really good shots of some seals. But… I got distracted, and when I turned to talk to Cam, he wasn’t there.

“It was a pretty deep area of the shoreline and there was a curve about a quarter-kilometer ahead. It didn’t seem like he should’ve been able to get that far in the time I was looking away, but maybe I’d gotten more distracted than I thought. I yelled out for him, but if I couldn’t see him, it was doubtful he’d hear me. I tucked the camera away, and grabbed the paddle, but as I did, the clouds parted, and I caught the flash of a shadow beneath me.

“I couldn’t breathe. I knew, I just knew, that it was right below me. I froze, caught between pulling the camera back out and grabbing the paddle and getting out of there, to shallower waters, as fast as I could. Like I said, there was no reason for me to think it would attack, but I was sure it would. I started seeing more flashes, and then a large shadow, swimming around me. Circling, like a shark. Now and then, part of it would break the surface, and it looked… it looked like a seal’s coat would, if seals had the coloring of a raven. Mostly black, but shifting dark, shiny blue and green and purple in the light.

“It was waiting, I think, for me to make a move. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I waited until it was as far as it seemed like it would get, and then I grabbed the paddle and moved as fast as I could toward that curve, yelling for Cam the whole while.

“It bumped the kayak, and I felt the paddle brush against something solid but giving, like flesh. I had no hopes of outrunning it, but maybe it was just toying with me. Maybe it would leave off if I could just get somewhere too shallow for it to swim. No matter how far I moved, though, it seemed like I couldn’t get any closer to the bend ahead. I yelled for Cam again, and there was this… this sound. This reverberation. I couldn’t so much hear it as I felt the vibrations in the water through the kayak.

“I wasn’t going to get away, so I changed tactics. I set down the paddle and grabbed the camera. And then it was gone. Just… disappeared without a trace. Even the ripples from its occasional surfacing were gone. I wrapped the strap of the camera around my wrist and paddled as fast as I could with it swinging and getting in the way. I was sure if I actually put it down, that thing would be back.

“I yelled for Cam again just as I reached the curve and finally heard him call back. I nearly cried. But I breathed that sigh of relief a moment too soon. Just before I rounded the bend, something rammed into my kayak from underneath, and I capsized.

“I was underwater so fast I didn’t even have time to take a breath, and then it was like the surface disappeared. I’ve never really been one of those people who can keep their eyes open underwater but I tried. I tried to look for the light of the sun, to swim toward it, but it was like it was coming from all directions, or none, at once. Every time I swam one way, it felt like I was going deeper, so I’d switch directions and still be going deeper.

“I was almost resigned to drowning, and then I felt something grab my leg. Like teeth sinking in, and I was being pulled. Deeper, it felt, like before, like the surface didn’t exist anymore. I tried to feel for the jaws clamped around my leg, but it… it felt more like claws. And when I tried to get free, that long neck swatted at me, except it seemed more like… like a tentacle, or a tail.

“Finally I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. I figured up was probably the direction opposite where I was being pulled, so I reached up. I don’t know why. I was so oxygen-deprived… it made sense to me at the time.

“And then a hand grabbed mine and the things dug into my leg were gone and I was breaching the surface of the water. Cam helped me back into my kayak and towed me to shore, to the beach just around that curve I’d been trying so hard to reach.

“He didn’t see the thing that tipped me. Still, after everything. He said I’d been distracted in rocky waters; that it seemed like I’d hit a rock and lost balance. There must have been some kind of plant or something that I got tangled in. He said it all so reasonably and never once seemed to believe me. Like suddenly he was the skeptic, and I was the one always trying to chase aliens.

“You’d think that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. Every time I looked out at the water, I could see it there in the distance. It stopped disappearing when Cam looked, but he still couldn’t see it. I refused to get back in the kayak. Our mobiles had no signal, and my leg was still torn-up and bleeding, but I refused to be left behind, so he had to support me as we hobbled our way to the nearest town. We spent a good while in the closest A&E, getting stitches in my leg.

“I saw it out in the lake before I went to bed that night, and I saw it out in the lake when I woke up the next morning. I told Cam I wanted to leave, and with my leg and all he didn’t argue. I watched that thing in the lake until I couldn’t, but right before it left my view, I swear it waved at me.”

“… Statement ends,” Jon says, already fighting the urge to sigh and rub at his eyes. “Is your leg alright?”

“It still hurts. They’re more like scratches than bite marks. The doctor said it looked like I’d been caught by a giant cat.” Kyle pulls up his pant leg and unwinds a bandage just enough to show the lowest of the wounds. It does indeed look more like a deep scratch than a bite. “But he thinks it should heal just fine with no lasting damage.”

“Good… good. Do you think you could mark on a map where you were when you capsized?”

“Yeah, I actually brought the coordinates with me…” He hesitates. “There… there is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“When I was underwater, I guess I accidentally managed to take some pictures. Most are blurry and of my arm or body, but there’s one that got my leg. The one that was caught. But it’s… well, there’s no way that’s what was actually there. It’s impossible. I brought a copy, you can keep it.”

“Thank you. Obviously I can’t promise to prove something that no one else has been able to in over a hundred years, but we will look into it. If you leave your contact information with the front desk, we’ll let you know if we find anything.”

Shay is sitting on a desk in the main archive and quickly offers to show Kyle out while very determinedly avoiding meeting Jon’s gaze. There’s a conversation to be had there, but Jon knows Shay isn’t really the one to blame. With a sigh he returns to his office and knocks on the wall beside his door, which is now a door as well. And then he sits and looks at the photo he was handed and finally gives into the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“Ooooh. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that face,” Sasha says. “What have I done right, now?”

“The Loch Ness monster, Sasha? Really?”

“It’s your fault.”

“How is this my fault?”

“You had to be all mysterious and coy when I asked if it existed! ‘Not technically’ you said, and you walked away all smug. Well, now, technically it does!”

“That was twenty years ago!”

“Was it really?” she asks, “That doesn’t sound right, but time is fake. Anyway, it required some preparation.”

“Don’t think we’re not talking about you using Shay in your plots.”

“Daisy knew.”

“Daisy…” Jon sighs yet again. “Alright, fine. How about this: you told me you didn’t know where any of Patrząc’s kittens ended up.”

Sasha shrugs. “I lied. Will you believe me if I tell you that Nessie’s the only one I know about?”

“Not now, I won’t!” Jon looks at the picture again and tries so very, very hard not to laugh.

“Oooh, is that the picture? How did it turn out? Is it good? Who am I kidding, of course it’s good. I made it. Can I see? Please?” Jon takes one last look at the image of a man’s leg, caught in the mouth of a giant, brightly-colored catfish, and poorly feigns reluctance as he hands it over.

Sasha’s laugh rings so well that Martin can hear it through his webs from the floor above. There’s the sense of a question, and then Jon can feel Martin’s laughter as well, as the image appears in his mind.

“That came out even better than I thought it would! Can I keep this? Can I?” Jon doesn’t even have to nod; she reads him too well. “Excellent! I’m getting this framed. It’s going up in my halls.” She immediately turns to her door, still staring proudly at the picture, and then seems to remember that they’re still in the middle of a conversation. “Sooooo?”

“So, what?”

“Come on, Jon! You can pretend to be put out later. Just say it.”

Sometimes Jon resents that he can’t regret a single one of his choices. “Yes, alright, it was good. Very entertaining.” He tries to make it sound sarcastic, but there’s not really any point.

“Yes!” Sasha grins her too-wide grin and kisses him on the cheek, and then literally dances through her door with her prize.

There’s a meow at his feet, and then Patrząc is jumping up to lay across his shoulders, and he quickly closes the eye on his neck. Tattoo or not, cat hair in an eye is irritating.

“This is your fault, too,” he tells her. She grooms his hair in a way that feels like a pat on the head and purrs proudly. Which, really, is about what he expected. He scratches her ear in return.

#jonathan sims #sasha james #my tma fic #my writing #reverb #patrzac #reverb ficlet #not a sad #the reverb in these holy halls #tma

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thestarkerisobvious · 5 years

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Chapter 4:

Studying Pays Off “You’re afraid to say the one thing that makes me leave and I can’t work up the gumption to ask you for anything, your eyes get angry and your nose does this little sniffle thing when you’re about to get really mad and suddenly I shut up for fear for getting kicked out the tower and never being asked back. Do you realize in all this time we’ve never had an argument, ever? We’ve never even had angrysex. You’re right, this isn’t sustainable. We need to make a decision. “

Chapter 6: Our Own 2-Man Superfriends Team

They lay panting together, Tony collapsed halfway on Peter’s body, his head laying, face down on the pillow. Peter still had one hand holding onto the headboard in a deathgrip (oh dear, did he leave marks? Again!?) and suddenly found himself, absurdly, unable to let go.

Then Tony was bringing their faces together and chuckling softly.

“Seriously, Pete. Holy shit.”

Peter breathed. Then he grinned. Then he laughed a little as well. He felt his whole body relax and, slowly, let his fingers relax too. He pulled away enough to look into Tony’s face. He felt stunned.

“So…was that…good?

“Good? Goddamn, where did you learn to talk like that Kid?”

“A03,” Peter said without thinking, but panicked a little when Tony reacted. (He had assumed Tony had no idea what A03 was.

“Wait…isn’t that the server where they are allowed to post raunchy stories about me??”

“Of course not,” Peter said with an exaggerated eyeroll (hoping to cover.)

“That’s where they post raunchy stories about Lord of the Rings.”

“Why would anyone want to…nevermind,” Tony shaking his head, and Peter tried to hide his look of relief.

“Look forget that part, so, that was good, right?” Peter asked, even as he noticed that Tony was still laying, unmoving, half on and half off his body.

“Well, you came pretty hard,” he said dismissively, the edges of his mouth beginning to lift into a smirk when Peter grabbed that face very suddenly with one hand.

“But did you like it?” he insisted.

Tony groaned and closed his eyes. His face looked peaceful (and, to be honest, very very tired) but all he said was…

“Yes…Daddy?”

Peter winced and kissed him then, hoping to avoid whatever joke was now inevitable. They kissed that way for some time. In fact they kissed so long that Tony revived, pulled himself up onto his elbows and moved his body to cover Peter’s…then worked his hands under Peter’s shoulders and suddenly rolled them oven until Tony was on his back and Peter was on top, all without breaking the kiss.

“Oh god Peter…” he moaned again, in a voice that sounded so exhausted and broken that it made Peter startle and pull back. Looking into Tony’s face he noticed dark circles under the man’s eyes. Had they been there before? Or was it just that the man looked so relaxed and unguarded in this moment? In any case he only had a moment to wonder before he was pulled down into another kiss.

“Goddamn, Peter,” Tony whispered against his mouth. “This is what I always wanted.”

“Wait…what?” Peter said, breaking the kiss. He pulled up and looked into Tony’s face in confusion. After a solid year of getting spectacularly fucked by Tony Stark surely the man hadn’t really spent the entire time wishing…

“Not that, stupid,” Tony said, reading his face. He frowned. Then he took Peter’s face in his hands and brought their foreheads together. “You fucking me is just one more card in an entire deck. I mean this, you taking over, you talking to me, you making demands. That’s what I always wanted.

“God Kid, listening to you talk – I could listen to you talk to me that way all night.

“As long as you’re talking I know it’s ok. I know I won’t say the wrong thing.”

“What!?” Tony said, looking into Peter’s confused face. He didn’t sound irritated, he looked to calm to be irritated, but he did look exhausted, and Peter wondered how long it had been since the man had slept. “Ever since you forbid me from talking I’ve been a good boy – I’ve kept my mouth shut. And that’s quite a feat for me.

“But you Kid, you can talk to me all you want.”

He moved up for a kiss but Peter pulled away, eyes wide, the gears in his head turning. “Tony I…I never told you not to talk to me during sex…I just asked you not to make jokes about it.”

“Baby, this is a joke,” Tony whispered gently.

“What…what?!” Peter sputtered as Tony pushed him off and then heaved himself off the bed. He should have been angry, but Tony looked too serene right now, too serene and…relieved? Like a man who had just survived an exhausting journey and was trying to find the energy to make it to the shower before he collapsed. He was, in fact, headed toward the shower, even as Peter tried to make sense of what he had just said.

“This…this is all…this is all a joke to you?”

“Peter, for godsakes, pay attention!” Tony said wearily. He had made it as far as the door to the washroom and was now leaning his head against the doorframe.

“Everything we’ve ever done in this bed is a joke. No matter how tender or intimate or precious it is to us, no matter how brave or precocious or shy you are, and no matter how well we’ve learned to read each other, no matter what we’ve confessed to wanting in this room someone is laughing about it.

“Right this minute, right this second, there are people in bars all across America making jokes about how their rival sports team likes to do exactly what you did to me tonight, and everything I’ve ever done to you. Yes, Peter. It is a joke.

“That’s why I joke about it.”

“Why should I give a fuck what your fucked-up generation thinks…hey!” Peter called out, following Tony left the room.

“You know I could describe everything that just happened and everything we just said to each other on tumblr. right now and I’d have 110 likes by tomorrow morning, minimum!!”

He stopped then. They were standing in Tony’s ridiculously large bathroom, a room where the shower, bath and toilet each had their own little nook, a room with such unlikely furniture including a desk and a love seat. He stopped because his voice was echoing off the walls. He closed his mouth hard. He had been shouting.

(And exaggerating. On a weekday he’d be lucky if he got 50 likes, tops.)

Tony had been standing in front of the love seat and looking at it, baffled, as if he couldn’t remember how to walk around it (or why anyone needed this much furniture in their bathroom.) But now he was looking at Peter angrily.

“Oh yeah? Well I have no idea what that means.” He walked around the love seat picked up a towel. “But what I do know is that my Gen Z boyfriend just fucked my ass twice, excuse me, made love to my ass twice, so I’m taking a shower.

“Tell me how many likes that gets.”

Peter stood, gaping, as Tony entered the shower. “Are you coming?” the tired man called from within.

Peter came.

Chapter Management

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Chapter 6

: Our Own 2-Man Superfriends TeamSummary:

"I Was Rejected By Tony Stark In An Elevator?

“Worst. Villain. Backstory. Ever.”

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Inside the shower there was little talking. Not that Tony was distant, he was just as affectionate in the shower as always. Affectionate, and exhausted. At one point he dropped the bar of soap and looked around for it, baffled, without actually looking down.

“Tony, when was the last time you slept?”

Giving up on the soap, Tony stood under the spray, looking up to think as he rinsed off. “I was pushing 20 hours when I got on the plane. I was working – I figured I’d sleep when I got home. But then I got your note.”

“But that was last night…oh god….”

Peter picked up the soap and finished lathering up the man, then rinsed him off. Then shampooed his hair and rinsed that off too. Tony allowed it all with an amused but gentle look. Finally Peter was satisfied and led him out of the shower to towel him off. Tony smiled silently, appreciative. Still, the silence worried Peter. Now they talked during sex, and that was good. But did that mean they wouldn’t talk after?

They dried off in the absurdly large bathroom, then Tony took Peter by the hand and led him back to the bed. He gently pushed Peter to lay down on his with a solid hand in the center of his chest. Then he laid beside him, hand still on his chest, and looked into his face.

“You scare the absolute shit out of me, Peter Parker,” he whispered.

“I…what? What does that mean?”

“You wanted me to keep my mouth closed during sex – so I was safe then. But then you wanted me to talk when I went down on you but mostly I couldn’t say more than yes or no because my mouth was full. But now you want me to talk when my mouth isn’t full and that’s just dangerous. Very very dangerous.”

“I don’t understand. What…what are you going to say? Where are you going?”

Tony was sitting up and looking very alarmed.

“Tony, what’s wrong?”

“Oh shit. Oh god.” His eyes were wide and he was looking around the room in horror. “I messed up, I sat up to go drink. You’re usually asleep by now. Oh god this is it, is this it? This is it, isn’t it?”

“This is…what? Tony you’re not making any sense.”

“This is when I say the thing, and you leave.”

“The thing? Tony…”

The man was sitting, completely naked, on the side of the bed, his feet on the floor, and his shoulders were beginning to rise and fall as his breath quickened. Peter scooted up to him, slipping both legs and around him and wrapping an arm around the shaking man’s body, and combing fingers through his hair.

“Your sleep deprivation is disrupting the connection between your amygdala and your medial prefrontal cortex…I appreciate that it’s making you very open right now but you’re also talking crazy. What “thing” are you going to say to me to make me leave? I know all your secrets.

“I know your Secret Identity; the whole world knows.

“And I know you like guys. And you like bottoming sometimes – so hot times for me. What do you think…hey…” But Tony was standing and walking, unsteadily out the door.

“You have got to stop saying cryptic things and leaving the room!” Peter demanded as he followed him, again, into the bathroom. There he found Tony sitting on the love seat, gripping the edge with his hands, eyes wide.

“For godssakes what is this terrible confession?? Are you seeing someone else?”

Tony looked up him suddenly, so disgusted that Peter immediately apologized. He climbed into Tony’s lap, linked his hands around the back of his neck, and spoke gently.

“Ok…ok. You… have a crazy wife hidden somewhere in the penthouse and that’s why we can’t get married…no? Your crazy first wife IS dead, but your equally-crazy MAID wants me to believe she’s still alive and in the last act she’ll burn the house down. Soylent Green is people? Come on, throw me a bone…I’m out of movies here Tony.”

Tony opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Ok, ok, ok.” Peter racked his brain, tried to think about what parts of Tony’s life he didn’t know about. “Do you have an illegitimate son my age?” he ventured.

“Oh my god are you my father? No, no, you’re right, that’s too Star Wars. Ok, I’m out. Please tell me what the thing is so we can just get some sleep.”

“How can you have dated me for a year and still not figure this out yet?” Tony shouted, or tried to shout. His voice was breathless and broken. “You want me to take off my armor and strip away the sarcasm and the humor and what’s left? There’s nothing here but me. And I’m not good enough for you! You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m going to screw it up some day and say the one thing that makes you leave and there’s nothing I can do to stop that, and I’m an utter coward and I can’t live like this much longer Pete!”

He had Peter by the waist and had lifted him up, or tried to, and was now gesturing by shaking Peter’s body, weakly, back and forth. Peter easily broke away from his grip and pulled him close, stroking his head. (Tony struggled, but what was he going to do? He was sitting naked in his bathroom with a lapful of the Strongest Avenger.)

“So…wait…the thing you’re afraid of saying is…”

“The last straw. I won’t know what it is until I say it. But I will say it, Pete, I’ll say it and you’ll walk out on me and that will be the end of me.”

“Oh god. This is just…existential angst? Oh Tony, everyone has that. Well, I imagine yours is epic…you could never do anything halfway.” He kissed Tony’s head before he let go.

“Ok, I get it,” he said as gently as possible, stroking the man’s hair away from his face. “You’re a superhero with super-sized angst. I’ll give you that. But you’re not a coward. No more than I am. I’ve spent all night trying to work up the nerve to…actually I’ve been working up the nerve for months to tell you this…”

Peter let his hands drop to his thighs. He leaned back (as far as he could, sitting on Tony’s lap) and took a deep breath.

“Tony, we’ve got to stop trying to read each other’s minds. Because we both suck at it. I mean we do it great on the training fields at the compound and, ok, we do it really well in the lab together but wow, when we try to do it in this relationship? We suck.

“You’re afraid to say the one thing that makes me leave and I can’t work up the gumption to ask you for anything, your eyes get angry and your nose does this little sniffle thing when you’re about to get really mad and suddenly I shut up for fear for getting kicked out the tower and never being asked back. Do you realize in all this time we’ve never had an argument, ever? We’ve never even had angrysex. You’re right, this isn’t sustainable. We need to make a decision.

“I had a very elaborate plan to get into your pants and it worked. But I had no plans after that. I had no idea you’d invite me back, or keep inviting me. But it’s been nearly a year, Tony. I need to know. Are we…a thing? Are you my boyfriend —partner -- significant-hero – whatever?

“Because, if we are, Tony, then we can argue. You can say ‘the thing’ that pisses me off and I’ll get mad and yell at you, and then I’ll come back. Like a couple. The way couples do.”

“But what if you don’t? No, baby, no. It’s too much to risk…”

“Excuse me?

“Anthony Stark, the very weekend I announced that I was 20 years old and Gay was the same weekend of the Capture the Flag game. Do you remember? You said my team won because I was pretending the flag was a giant dildo – in the shape of Fury’s penis.

“Do you really think you can say something that would piss me off more than that?!

“Tony, Nat told me that dating you would be hard work, and she was right. It is hard work, but it is worth it. But we need to be working on it together and we can’t do that if we don’t admit that it’s happening! If we are together, if we are a couple, if we are our own 2-Man Superfriends team…then you can say ‘the thing’ and, yes, it might piss me off but I’ll still be back.

“No, I mean it, I’ll prove it,” he said in a gentler tone. He took Tony’s face and leaned it back to look up into his. “Open your mouth right now and say the most offensive thing you can think of, and I’ll prove to you it won’t make me leave.”

Tony blinked up into his face. He looked stunned and helpless and fearful. But all he said is “Your generation is too sensitive and you make it impossible to joke about anything.”

Peter’s lifted his eyes to the ceiling as he considered the statement. Then he nodded.

“Ok. Well,”

He patted Tony’s cheeks. Then he squeezed his face a little between his hands as he said “And your generation was so homophobic you codified it so deeply into your language you don’t even realize when you’re being horrible, so I guess we’re even.

“Now that’s it – we’re official. We are a couple, and we can officially get into fights now.

“Besides – that way we can have makeup sex.”

He kissed Tony firmly on the forehead and then sat back on Tony’s lap, smiling, proud of himself and what he had said out loud.

But his pride was somewhat dampened when he saw Tony’s pained face. “I’m toasting self destruction but I have no scotch which is too bad because this is going to be legendary,” Tony whispered, and Peter’s shoulders sank.

“Oh god. You’re so sleep deprived you’re incoherent. Are you even going to remember this conversation in the morning?”

“I have no idea,” Tony said quietly, looking around the room as if he had never seen it before. “Wait, c’mere. I want to tell you something.”

Tony pushed himself free of Peter’s body and stood, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the bed. This time he had Peter sit up in the bed with his back against the headboard. Tony lay himself lengthwise alongside the headboard, his head in Peter’s lap. Once he got comfortable he started to speak.

“A famous man once said, "We create our own demons.” Do you know who said that?”

“No. But let me get my phone and I’ll look it up. Or you could just ask FRIDAY.”

“Nevermind. I’m going to tell you a story. It started in Burns Switzerland in 1999, Christ were you even born yet? The good old days. I never thought they'd come back to bite me.”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

He talked for two hours. It would have been less but Peter asked many questions (but not as many as he wanted. He put aside a dozen topics he was planning on googling later.) He had heard many versions of the story, of how Dr. Killian had been the American behind the Mandarin attacks and the destruction of Tony’s house in Malibu, but he had never heard the story from Tony himself.

They changed positions many times, from the Psychiatrist-Couch position to spooning to sitting up on the bed to back to the Psychiatrist-Couch position (but reversed.) Tony was just getting to the part where War Machine had saved the life of the President when Peter stood, brought him a pair of boxer shorts, donned a pair himself, took him by the hand and led him to the kitchen.

“It’s 5 in the morning,” he announced. “Time for breakfast. If I get some food into you maybe I can get you to sleep. But not until you finish your story. I’m still trying to figure out how dissing a nerd in an elevator at a New Years Eve party made YOU to blame when he refrigerated your personal assistant.”

“Well…she was my girlfriend at the time.”

“That makes it worse, not better, Tony. We’re making omelets now.”

Tony obeyed. “What does ‘refrigerate’ mean?” he asked, his head in the fridge.

“I’ll explain later. I appreciate the connections you’re trying to make here, Tony, I do, but I don’t think this is as circular as you think it is. Lots of rich people didn’t invest in AIM’s screwed-up think tank. He didn’t torture all their girlfriends.”

“But it was…it is. Circular. I made the demons myself…”

“No, sorry, not buying it. I Was Rejected By Tony Stark In An Elevator?

“Worst. Villain. Backstory. Ever.”

“You know, I told this story, all of it, to Bruce,” Tony later admitted as they ate their omelets. “He fell asleep early on.”

“Bruce? The guy who had to be a hermit is as his main survival skill for, like, ages? Bruce is a good man, but he’s not a good friend. I just mean he has a lot of guilt and pain in his life. Not much room to invest in someone else’s.”

They discussed Bruce and the other Avengers as they moved the dishes into the sink. But before they headed back to bed Tony pulled Peter into his arms and held him close.

“You’re the only one on the planet, now, who knows this story,” he whispered.

“Well, yeah, that makes sense,” Peter said with a tired grin.

“I am your boyfriend.”

#Starker #Peter Parker/Tony Stark #Tony Stark/Peter Parker #TheWitchway writes stuff

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gerbiloftriumph · 5 years

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Captive Crown

(also on ao3)

Someone wanted the newly crowned King of Daventry and all his friends dead. Someone got close, once.

(warnings for the whole thing: kidnapping, bruising, starvation, nightmares, healthy dosage of angsty musing, sicfic, story-coherent vehicle for all my favorite ch2 headcanons)

~*~*~

3/7

(1: to steal)(2: to hide)(3: to seek)(4: to find)(5: to break)(6: to mend)(7: to heal, and to end)

~*~*~

“Your Majesty, we’re sorry about earlier,” Royal Guard Number Three called through the door. The others stood clustered behind her, looking apprehensive.

(“He’s going to throw something at us.”)

(“He isn’t.”)

(“You didn’t see the look on his face. He absolutely will.”)

“We brought hot chocolate,” she persisted, knocking again. “After walking in the rain, we thought you might need to warm up.” Still no response. “King Graham, are you in there?” She shifted the tray from one hand to both hands and bumped the door open with her hip. Everyone huddled around her, peeking through the gap.

“He’s not there,” No4 sighed, relieved.

No3 pushed the door open all the way. The throne room was littered with socks and acorns, as they’d left it. “But it’s getting dark.” She thought about the monsoon gray sky and amended, “Late. Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

“Maybe he’s staying in town. He used to do that a lot.”

“Yes, but that was before we crowned him.” No2 hesitated. “Is that allowed now?”

“It’s not like he’s a proper king, is it? I expect he can do whatever he likes.” No1 made some dismissive hand flapping gesture. “I suppose we should get this cleaned up or something. Hardly looks civilized. Doesn’t keep a very neat throne room, does he.”

“Does that mean we can drink the hot cocoa?” No2 asked hopefully.

No3 tapped her finger against the tray, not sure at all if she should—or even could—make a suggestion. She was the newest rank and file, just hired by the king. But he’d given her a job when she’d desperately wanted it, and…well, she felt wrong about all this. Like an unpleasant itch beneath her armor. Graham had looked so miserable when he’d left (fair enough—she’d heard the shouting even from the entrance hall), and he hadn’t come back hours later, and….

“What if I go to town and make sure?” she offered.

“Sure about what?” No1 said distractedly. He picked up one of the abandoned socks, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it once he had it, and he let it drop again.

“That he’s safe?”

“Safe? We’re in Daventry. It’s no Serenia or Llewdor. We haven’t had anything worse than a wedzel around for years.”

And that dragon that killed that knight, she thought, a touch rebelliously. And leprechauns and goblins and giants and…oh, never mind. “Still, sir, I think a spot of rust on the helmet will do me good. Get some practice marching in.”

“Ah, go on then. We’ll keep some cocoa warm for you.” He took the tray from her and wandered back toward the kitchens, trying to bat No2 away with his elbow without spilling anything. “Later, later. Let’s reheat it and get the rest of the lads in, make it fair.”

She looked at the empty room, remembered how distressed Graham had seemed when he pushed off into the rain alone, and she spun on her heel. She’d go to town. He’d mentioned Wente earlier; may as well start there.

No3 meandered along the road, that eternal Daventry monsoon rain drumming on her umbrella. She practiced what she might say to him, what would convince him to come back, to not give up on them, on her and her beginning career. If she could get Wente or Amaya or Muriel (not Chester) on her side, surely combined they could whip up an argument as solid as Wente’s brownie frosting.

But when she got to the town, and when she found half a broken flute, and empty houses, and a ton of churned mud, and shards of glass and splintered wood, and broken pies and cracked alchemical vials, and a complete lack of any king or villagers whatsoever, she flung the umbrella into the shattered bakery, sprinted back to the castle, and managed to completely ruin hot cocoa night in three words: “King Graham’s gone!”

*~*~*

Someone tapped on his hand, gently. “No, go ‘way,” he mumbled. “Ten more minutes.” The tapping persisted. He withdrew his hand and pulled it close under the blankets. “Five minutes,” he said, keeping his eyes firmly shut, though to his disappointment he could feel himself waking up. Something licked his nose, and he sat bolt upright. “Triumph?”

The glowing salamander on his pillow flicked its tail. Graham gaped at it for a split second before the pain hit in a horrible wave and he huddled forward, clutching the back of his head. The blanket (no, his own cloak) bunched around his waist. His probing fingers found the aching lump on the back of his head from where he’d hit it on the cobblestones yesterday. Yesterday?

Oh. Right.

He was sure he’d dreamed it. Prayed he’d dreamed it. But in the cold light of salamander glow it was undeniable. No point in pinching himself to make sure—everything already hurt.

Graham shifted, leaning against the stone wall behind him. It felt like he’d rolled down the side of a mountain (ha, again). His leg was uncomfortably stiff. Cautiously, he rolled back the fabric and found a horrible bruise on his hip, mottled purple and black and ugly in the gloomy light. The slightest pressure made him hiss. Sore, finger shaped bruises also marked the back of his legs and calves and even his arms from where they—the goblins, right—had gripped and pulled and thrown him into this cell. Stars.

Gingerly, he eased himself off the mattress, putting weight on his good leg before equalizing himself. His stiff leg shuddered, and he staggered forward, catching himself on the stone block that suited for a table. Newton chirped at him, and Graham breathed deep before pushing himself upright. Every bone seemed to creak and groan and pop as he did.

For the next undeterminable amount of time, he limped in agonized circles around the room, half hunched over for most of it, stretching out aching muscles and trying to focus, to think. His steps sloshed—much of the water from the night (or whenever—how much time had passed, anyway?) had drained away, but the lower stones puddled. He guessed it was rainwater collecting in the caves. As long as it was raining on the surface, his little prison would be damp.

The worst part about this, he decided (other than the sharp bite in his hip every few steps), was the not knowing. Not knowing why they’d taken him, and not knowing what they wanted to do with him. The goblins’ faces (masks?) revealed nothing. He couldn’t ask without an interpreter—not that there was anyone around to ask, anyway.

It wasn’t like the kingdom had enemies, at least none that he could definitively name. Or, to be fairer, there were some, but he wasn’t certain who, or if there even was a who, to blame, and guesses were just guesses. But it felt so…drastic. Unnecessary.

Sure, he’d only just been crowned and perhaps someone was upset about not being chosen (fair enough; who crowns a royal knight with no proper training or, truly, all that much warning), but so what? He upheld an open court. They could have walked in and laid out their frustration, maybe even made a claim to the crown. Stars, after that debacle in the castle earlier, he might have simply given them the throne had they asked politely enough.

It could be a ransom demand, he supposed, but the kingdom was dealing with rotten budget problems brought on by Edward’s illnesses and badly implemented addendums in his final months, and neither Graham nor any of the guards had sorted out how the unlimited treasure chest worked yet. (If, indeed, it even was unlimited. It had the mark of the Merchant of Miracles printed on the bottom, so, not much hope there.) If someone planned on getting a ransom for him, they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Hopefully send-him-home disappointed, not cut-his-throat disappointed.

Oh, shining stars. He ran his hands through his tangled hair.

To avoid losing Graham to the knife, the royal guards would have to strike up deals with the neighboring kingdoms. They’d have to relinquish the lavender fields to the highest bidder. Trade their goats and livestock. Open the King’s Forests for hunting. Daventry would be ruined economically and politically, just to scrape together a pitiful ransom for their stupid king.

It might just be best to forget the ransom, crown someone new (a King’s Tournament instead of a Knight’s Tournament? A tournament of speed could be the first to sign a ream of addendums) and forget Graham had ever existed. They hadn’t even had more than two sessions for the new royal portrait to be added to the Hall of Faces. It would be easy enough to hide him, a pathetic little footnote in the history books.

Which would make for a happy, thriving Daventry, but a not so happy pack of goblins, and, consequently, a less than thriving Graham.

He pressed his face against the barred window. No one was around. He looked down, trying to see what sort of lock held the door—a very large padlock, by the look of it. He wriggled a hand through the bars and twisted his arm until he had it in his grasp. Sturdy. Heavy. He tried to angle it to see the lock itself, but he couldn’t quite manage from here.

With a flash of delighted inspiration, he unpinned his brooch from his cowl. He flipped it over and studied it, but he felt his burst of excitement drain away again. The metal pin was far too small for the weighty lock. He’d just break the brooch off, and then the goblins would have to break down the door to let him out or just not bother to open it again.

He wandered toward the cracked mirror, to reaffix the pin straight against his chest, and stared at himself. With the dark rings under his eyes, he looked like he’d been punched in the face. Twice.

“Ahh.” Graham sank onto the mattress, the only properly dry thing in the whole cell, and wrapped his cloak tight. An opportunity would come, surely. He just had to be ready for it. Whenever it came. Whatever it looked like. He curled on his side, favoring his bruised hip, and tried to think of sunshine.

*~*~*

Graham fell into a sort of routine as time crept past on soft salamander feet. He couldn’t know how much time was passing, and he was reluctant to make a guess at it for fear of making the situation feel all the more helpless. Hopeless.

He took to reciting what addenda he could remember—he thought he might be mixing up some of the numbers (was it Addendum 78934 that was about pasta in royal guard diets, or 86752, or maybe he’d forgotten a decimal point), but he knew he had the content right. He’d been memorizing facts and sheets for weeks. It helped keep him grounded after he’d counted all Newton’s spots and every facet of every rock dozens of times over.

Every now and again, when his nauseous hunger felt overwhelming, he stumbled toward the pipes and gathered up a small amount of porridge. Stringy to the eyes, slimy to the touch, and rubbery to the teeth, he bit back on his gag reflex and swallowed handfuls of it as quick as he could with his eyes screwed shut. It didn’t seem to have much of a smell to it, but that was most likely because he’d gotten used to the wet-dog reek of his damp, lizard-infested cell.

But one day (the third day, had he been able to accurately number the hours—a proper fairy tale amount of time, which might have given him a hint as to who had done this), the horrible porridge stopped coming. Nothing oozed out of the pipes at all. Graham almost laughed. No more porridge! Ha! No more…oh, hang on. No more porridge means no more food means…his stomach snarled. Or was it the goblins outside his door snarling at each other?

Then, because the goblins didn’t want to do their own chores, he was freed. Or, at least, he wasn’t locked in his cell constantly. Every evening they unlocked the door and let him out to do their literal dirty work. This first night, they thrust an oily rag in his face and ordered him to clear spiderwebs. Well, fine. Chores would break up the monotony of his own thoughts, and anyway, it was a great excuse to explore every corner of this prison without getting tackled.

But his cleaning came to a screeching halt when he discovered, to his utter horror, that he wasn’t alone. All his friends were trapped in the shadows and the slime, too. Wente and his new wife, Bramble. Amaya. The Hobblepots. The Merchant. Even, bafflingly, Mr. Fancycakes. They were starving, bedraggled, as pathetic as he was. Worse than he was. And they were depending on him for survival.

He straightened his crown.

It’s a puzzle, Graham. Find a way out.

#King's Quest #kings quest #King Graham #fic'ing #ch2 #this post is protected by the royal guards

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 6 years

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Supernatural stars cover EW to celebrate 300 episodes (and an epic reunion)

Samantha Highfill

January 16, 2019 at 12:00 PM EST

“REUNION TIME!”

Jared Padalecki is making an announcement. It’s early December, and he and his Supernatural costar Jensen Ackles are preparing for their final two days of filming the 300th episode (Feb. 7) as demon-hunting brothers Sam and Dean Winchester, respectively. As they walk onto the Men of Letters set on a rainy Thursday, they come face-to-face with Jeffrey Dean Morgan, a personal friend and the man who brought Papa John Winchester to life in the show’s pilot (and left the show after season 2). “It’s the culmination of 300 episodes,” Padalecki says of Morgan’s return. After all, John’s disappearance kick-started the brothers’ road trip.

“DAD’S ON A HUNTING TRIP, AND HE HASN’T BEEN HOME IN A FEW DAYS.”

Standing in his little brother’s college apartment, Dean Winchester first uttered those words in the pilot, and in doing so, launched Supernatural’s — and the brothers’ — first big mystery. “I had a good feeling about the show just reading the pilot,” Ackles says. “It had grit, the characters were well-written, and the story had miles to go.” Although he couldn’t quite predict how many miles the journey would be.

Supernatural premiered on The WB in 2005 and has since become the longest-running show in The CW’s history. The idea was simple: two brothers hunting monsters from urban legends, the kinds of things you’d hear about while sitting around a campfire. Bloody Mary? They killed her. Hook Man? Yep, him too. But it didn’t take long for the writers to understand that they might have to broaden the scope of the show if they wanted to get 20-plus episodes (much less 300). “We quickly realized that [conceit] would run out in a hurry, so even early on we expanded our horizons of what the show could be,” executive producer/co-showrunner Robert Singer says. But just how far could they stretch? And would they even get the chance?

Despite surviving the 2006 WB–UPN merger that created The CW, it took years forSupernatural to land on solid ground. “Bob Singer and I were fighting for the show’s survival at the ends of the first three seasons,” says creator Eric Kripke. “We’d have a meeting with the network that we informally called the ‘explain-why-we-should-give-you-another-season’ meeting.” And yet there was something about those conditions that felt right for a show about two humans trying to save the world from superhuman forces. As Dean recently said in a season 14 episode, “Impossible odds—feels like home.” But the land of impossible odds isn’t simply where the show (and the Winchesters) lived in those early years. It’s where they thrived. “In the beginning we almost mischievously wanted to see what we could get away with,” Kripke says. “There weren’t a lot of genre shows on The CW. It was mostly Gossip Girl and 90210. We were always like the goth kid at the back of the class that no one really wanted to pay attention to. So on this little weird horror show, we really got to push some boundaries that hadn’t been attempted in TV. There was no one saying, ‘That’s too crazy.’” So they took risks. They wrote a Groundhog Day-style episode called “Mystery Spot” that saw Dean die more than 100 times in one hour. They created “Hollywood Babylon,” an episode where Sam and Dean investigated a haunted horror-movie set. They produced “Ghostfacers,” an episode shot to look like a reality show about ghost hunting. “We always felt like we were on tenterhooks a little, but it helped us in a way,” Singer says. “We said, ‘If they don’t like us, let’s be bold.’ ” And in season 4, they made perhaps their biggest, boldest decision yet: They introduced angels (and therefore a much more religious story line) into the fold, which Singer identifies as the show’s biggest turning point. “I was concerned that would be a bridge too far,” Padalecki says of the angelic decision. “I wondered, ‘Are we going to turn o a lot of the people that came here to watch a scary movie?’” Kripke himself had fought the idea for years, until a pre–season 4 epiphany came to him while he was washing his face, of all things. “I realized the supernatural world was unbalanced,” Kripke says. “There was only evil. So I walked in the writers’ room on day one of season 4 and said, ‘Okay, there’s going to be angels…but they’re dicks!’”

Thus began what Kripke, who’s since created Revolution and co-created Timeless, still believes is one of the best hours of television he’s ever written: the season 4 premiere. “Lazarus Rising” introduced Castiel, the show’s first and longest-lasting angel. “Right before my scene, [then writer] Sera [Gamble] said, ‘Your life is about to change,’” remembers Misha Collins, who plays Castiel. He adds with a laugh, “I was like, ‘You’re so full of yourself.’” But Collins’ life did just that when he shifted from being a guest star to a series regular as his character survived multiple deaths — and even a brief stint as God — to become someone Sam and Dean consider family. “Angels completed the mythology,” Kripke says, and with them, the show was able to build to what writer-turned-showrunner Gamble refers to as the “regularly scheduled apocalypse” at the end of season 5. It was good versus evil. Michael versus Lucifer. Dean versus Sam. And for a while, everyone believed it was the end of the show. But when the network gave them a renewal for season 6, the writers were left to figure out what the heck comes after an apocalypse. The answer? Anything they wanted.

“A benefit of genre is we have such a huge runway in terms of ‘anything can happen,’” then writer and current co-showrunner Andrew Dabb says. “A medical show is limited in the scope of what they can do. We’re not.” So the next few seasons saw Supernatural push even more boundaries, with alternate realities, meta episodes (“The French Mistake,” anyone?), and new villains. That’s not to say everything worked, but that’s the beauty of a long-running show with a devoted audience — everything doesn’t have to work. “Fans would forgive sins of certain episodes because they love watching Sam and Dean,” Singer says. Because saying Supernatural fans like Supernatural is like saying Dean likes pie. It’s not about liking it. It’s about loving it. “I don’t think we have casual fans,” Singer says. “They live and breathe this show.” The #SPNFamily gathers all around the country (and globe) for multiple conventions each year, and every July they ll the largest venue, Hall H, at San Diego Comic-Con. It’s those fans who are devoted to Sam and Dean, even when their Impala might take a wrong turn. “The show’s ability to evolve and adapt is what’s led to it lasting 14 years,” Dabb says, adding, “Theoretically there are still a bunch of Leviathan out there running around that we never dealt with, but we don’t talk about that.”

Limitless options and viewer forgiveness aside, there is one rule the show has to follow — outside of standards and practices, that is. “I credit Bob Singer for instilling from very early on the idea that the show can go anywhere as long as the characters stay true to themselves,” former showrunner Jeremy Carver says. “The core of the show is the bond between the brothers.” With Sam and Dean as its foundation, the show can make episodes like season 11’s “Baby,” which was shot entirely from the perspective of the Impala, or season 13’s “Scoobynatural,” an animated crossover with Scooby-Doo and the gang. “One of the fun takeaways of watching Supernatural is that if you can imagine it, there’s probably a little town somewhere in America where it’s happening,” Gamble says. “It’s unlike any other show, really, in the history of American television.” And 14 seasons in, it’s still finding ways to surprise fans by, say, bringing John Winchester back.

“DAD?”

Standing next to his little brother in the Men of Letters bunker, Dean can’t believe what he’s seeing. This time he’s not enlisting his brother to find Dad, because Dad has come to them. And he hasn’t changed much. His beard has more gray in it and his face is thinner, but it will surprise no one that John comes back with a rifle in his hand. (Sorry, Walking Dead fans; the rifle came before Lucille.) But John isn’t the only one who’s changed. Standing across from him, Sam and Dean are no longer the kids who crammed toy army men into the ashtray of the Impala, or even the young men who went looking for him in the pilot. They’ve grown up. Their lives, quite simply, have changed. The same can be said of the actors themselves. In fact, Ackles is currently two years older than Morgan was when he filmed the pilot. “That’s how full circle it all is,” Morgan says. “Like a father would be, I’m very proud of the guys. It makes me get choked up because they’ve done so well here. Episode 300? That’s unheard of.”

As for how John comes back, let’s just say things get weird — don’t they always? — and there’s an altered reality at play. “Our guys are put in a position where they essentially can have a wish granted,” Dabb says. “They’re actually expecting something else, but [John’s return] comes from a place of want by Dean. The need for closure is really what brings John back into their lives.” But John isn’t the only person who comes back into their lives. As with any altered reality, not everything changes for the good. Without getting too specific, whatever brings John back also causes the return of Zachariah (Kurt Fuller), the no-BS angel who saw Sam and Dean as nothing more than thorns in his side. (Like Kripke said, angels are dicks!) Speaking of angels, this reality also affects Castiel in… certain ways. This time the boys are dealing with a different (though not entirely unfamiliar) version of their friend.

But for Morgan, who’s been asked for years about returning, it has always been about bringing John back in the right way. “The relationships between these three men were so open, so if I was going to come back, it would be nice to have some closure, especially with Sammy,” Morgan says. And before the hour’s over, both boys will get a moment alone with Dad. “This episode gives Sam a chance to forgive,” Padalecki says. Ackles adds, “For Dean, the whole episode is a dream that he doesn’t want to wake up from. But he knows he has to.”

Back in the bunker’s kitchen where Padalecki declared “reunion time” just hours ago, Sam and Dean are sitting around a table sharing a bottle of whiskey with their father and catching him up on everything he’s missed. Yes, they’ve saved the world (more than once). Yes, Lucifer has a son. But most important, John’s late wife, Mary — the woman he spent his life trying to avenge — is alive. Right then Mary rounds the corner for the moment she never saw coming, but in a strange way has always been waiting for. “Everything’s right in the world in this bubble of time,” Samantha Smith, who plays Mary, says of the couple’s reunion. “It’s very romantic.”

But as the Winchesters know a bit too well, all good things must come to an end. And when this is said and done, Sam and Dean will return to their life, driving down crazy street next to each other. Because despite the show hitting 300 episodes, nobody’s ready to call it quits just yet. “I don’t think we’re ready to throw in the towel,” Ackles says. “We’ve still got a little gas in the tank.” Put another way, Sam and Dean still got work to do.

#long post #spn spoilers #spn 300 #spn 14x13 #entertainment weekly #spn cast #good dabb #kripke #spn

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oceanmastertrash · 6 years

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the tides know our names- 7/?

gif from @kingsorm

Summary: -takes place after the movie- Orm is working with Arthur to try to help Atlantis move forward when Elara has a vision of his death. As part of an order of Atlanteans dating back to the reign of King Atlan known as Tidewatchers, it is her duty to warn the king of her vision. Predicting and reading the future through the tides of fate has never been easy but Elara is in for the challenge of a lifetime working with her former king to save his life.

Part: 6/?

Word Count: 1,744

Warnings: none for this chapter

Read on Ao3

FRIENDLY REMINDER: This story has been remastered into and OC fic instead of a Reader fic. All chapters have been reworked to feature Elara instead of Y/N. If you've read the previous chapters, not much has changed from the story itself, just some strengthening of the prose and pronoun changing. I hope you all enjoy Elara as we continue on!

More than anything, Elara wanted him to look at her- to see what he really thought of her being the one to join him on the surface. And yet, he kept his eyes stubbornly fixed on his brother as he asked, “When will we leave?”

Arthur looked to Vulko then back to Elara and Orm. “Tomorrow.”

The next few hours were a blur. There was still much to plan and little time to do so. They’d spent a considerable amount of time debating whether such promptness was prudent or foolhardy but Arthur ultimately won out. As they had no way to discern when the vision would happen, getting Orm away from the palace as quickly was ruled the safest course.

Eventually, Elara left them to their plans. She may have needed to be in on discussions about the logistics of her upcoming departure, but discussions of how to orchestrate it and hide his absence were less in her wheelhouse.

And so, many hours after she’d first entered the palace, Elara returned to the Tidewatcher temple to prepare for her unexpected journey. Entering the temple, Elara was not surprised at all to find Calysa, the unofficial leader of the council, waiting for her. Of course, she’d been following the tides.

“You know?” Elara asked with a sigh.

Calysa, wasn’t as old as Atlanna but she had experience beyond her years. She’d seen much and helped many as well as effectively raising Elara after her mother died.

The wrinkles around her pale blue eyes crinkled as she nodded. “The patterns are still unclear on much in this matter but, for what it’s worth: I think you made the right decision.”

Elara felt a weight lift, “That helps. Walk with me?”

Calysa fell into step beside Elara, giving the younger tidewatcher space to breathe and think.

Elara had always appreciated that about Calysa. She’d done her best to guide and support Elara not only through her training and the hardest years of her life, but she’d done her best not to smother the young girl. Calysa would always be there with advice and direction but she allowed Elara to make her own decisions about things, which in hindsight, was also one of the most useful skills a tidewatcher could develop.

Elara felt like she’d just walked through a flood with all that had happened that day. Part of her wanted to lay down right there and sleep for a week but, of course, that wasn’t an option right now.

So, forging ahead, she asked, “Is there anything you can tell me about what I’m getting into?”

Calysa sighed sadly, “You know I would tell you if there was.”

Elara knew that but rarely had her gift ever felt so useless. Other than the vision, trying to see her way through this situation was like trying to gaze through a solid rock wall.

“Why is it so difficult this time?” Elara asked.

Calysa took her former charge’s arm and began leading them to Elara’s room, “You’re a gifted Watcher, Elara, what do you think the block is?”

Elara felt like she was a tidewatcher novice again, still being taught through questions. Calysa had taught Elara so much but she believed in giving Elara the tools to divine the answers for herself rather than just giving her own opinion and passing it as fact. It wasn’t until Elara had done the work and divining herself that Calysa would share her thoughts.

Elara had already begun to suspect what the problem was but just wanted some confirmation from someone else.

“It’s Prince Orm, isn’t it?”

Calysa nodded. “Our prince has come to a grand sort of crossroads in the tides. After all that has happened, there are too many options before him. Too many forks in the river for him to choose from, each one twisting back on itself and crossing with others in complicated ways. He is in a unique position. Many of these paths lead to greatness but just as many lead to devastating ruin and until he decides which direction he will take, his tides will remain unreadable to us.”

“If there are so many conflicting possibilities for him, how do we know for sure that he’ll take the path that leads to what I saw?” Elara asked, trying to piece it all together. “My vision could be in a completely different direction than where’s he headed now.”

Rather than answering, Calysa looked at her calmly. “Do you feel like it’s in a different direction?”

Elara hung her head. No, no she did not. This didn't feel like a possible obstacle on one path amongst a multitude of streams, it felt like a waterfall- inevitable as the pull of gravity. The thought scared Elara, it felt like a challenge too big for her to tackle.

“No, I don’t. I don’t even know if I can stop it at this point,” Elara admitted.

Calysa clucked fondly, “Now I know you know that’s not true. The tides may shift and change as they will but nothing is set in stone. The ocean shouted this at you Elara. It chose you to see this and I believe that’s because you are the one who was meant to see it.”

Elara smiled weakly, “You’re talking in circles again.”

“That’s because time is a circle!” Calysa said excitedly, rehashing an old discussion of theirs. She then shook her head and waved her hand in front of them. “Forget that for now though. Just remember Elara. Remember that the tides wouldn’t have shown this to you if all you were meant to do was tell the King to begin making funeral arrangements. The tides are a thing of water- not of stone. And I have never heard of a vision as strong as yours ever ending in an unchanged dead end. You may not be meant to save him but you were meant to do something with this knowledge.”

Having arrived at Elara’s chambers they entered and sat down on the side of her bed.

Elara was silent, still trying to make sense of the tangled mess that was Orm’s tides when Calysa spoke again, almost hesitantly.

“I saw this possibility once.”

Elara looked to her. “I thought you said you couldn’t reach any of the tides around my vision.”

Calysa nodded, “And I can’t. I haven’t seen any patterns of his death. That’s not the possibility I saw. What I saw was you and Orm on the surface together.”

Elara jolted as she faced her mentor dead on. “You saw what ? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Calysa laughed at Elara’s expression. “Because, as I’ve always said, reading the tides is a matter of timing and the time was never right. It was such a small thread, such a faint possibility at the time. Yet, it was still vibrant and I did not want to disturb it.”

Elara knew Calysa had a point, as she often did, but such an idea was so foreign to her.

“Besides,” the older woman continued, “you were hardly in the mood at the time to receive it well.”

Elara squinted suspiciously, “What kind of mood was I in?”

Calysa’s eyes twinkled in mirth, “I believe you were of the mood to call your king a ‘big-headed, close-minded lout who had no respect for the tides or women who were smarter than him’.”

Elara froze, remembering those words and the anger that had gone with them.

“ Then ?! You saw us going to the surface together that long ago?”

Calysa smiled, “Indeed. The timing amused me then nearly as much as it does now.”

“But I hated him then,” Elara reminded her.

“Oh I know,” Calysa said.

Elara remembered it all too well. It had been ten years ago that she’d first seen Orm in the tides. She’d been an apprentice perhaps a year or two then, no longer a novice or a teenager but a young woman still. King Orvax had been dead for less than a year and his son had been working hard to master to the daunting task of ruling his people.

This climate probably was not the best time for Elara to see a pattern of Orm making a mistake. And yet, the tides had spoken to her. Elara, having just returned from training on the surface, was brimming with confidence. But, even with the self-assurance that is so often found in youth this had given her pause. She was young enough in the craft that she could still have interpreted it wrong and didn’t want to alienate the young king over a misinterpretation.

Unlike any other pattern she’d seen before, she sat on it for a few days before even bringing it to Calysa. She tried searching the tides for any other part of the pattern she might have missed and yet the message remained clear. Calysa had lightly chided her apprentice for keeping it to herself when Elara finally presented it to her; but, through her own searchings, she found the same pattern that Elara had.

After that, Calysa had encouraged Elara to tell the king what she’d seen. Elara was mortified at the idea but Calysa reminded her this was her duty as a tidewatcher. As long as there had been tidewatchers, there had been unpleasant patterns but it was their responsibility to help the affected parties either prepare for what was to come or to help them learn from and avoid it. Just because Elara was still an apprentice didn’t make this any different.

Orm, new to the throne, was dubious at the idea of tidewatchers but, as he sought to uphold the tradition their service to Atlantis had always been, he had granted Elara, accompanied by Calysa, an audience to discuss the young tidewatcher’s portents.

To say it did not go well was putting it mildly.

King Orm had been prepared to listen but make up his own mind about the nature of tidewatching in its entirety. He considered the whole thing more of a courtesy than an obligation at the time. His father had not been fond of the trade but it wasn’t in him to disband a centuries-long tradition. He’d just always paid them little mind and put little faith in the tidewatchers and their patterns. Under his father’s example Orm was not a believer in the tides to begin with.

And yet, despite all this, here was this young woman, with scraggly hair and little experience in her gift telling him that she foresaw him making a deal with a surface dweller that would lead to death and pain for his people. King Orm was outraged and prepared to call the whole thing a useless art. He was insulted, and so, tactless or not, he insulted back.

What he’d thought most strange was that the girl refused to be cowed or belittled, even by her king. She stood toe-to-toe with him, utter confidence blazing in her amber eyes as she defended her craft. She was probably a foot shorter than him and really had nowhere near the authority he held and yet she didn’t let it stop her.

Orm had wanted to dismiss it out of hand as preposterous. Ever since losing his mother because of it, Orm had hated the surface dwellers and the idea that he would make any sort of deal with them rankled at him. To think that this apprentice in an uncertain craft could be so certain that he would betray or hurt his people in anyway, especially with a surface dweller was beyond absurd. He’d dismissed her and the idea of tidewatching and focused instead on his reign, as if trying to prove Elara wrong. And yet, he couldn’t dismiss the look on her face as she defended what she knew would happen.

As time had gone on, other more provable and positive tide patterns had at least won the Tidewatchers more credibility with the King. It was several years before Elara had been part of any presentation of tides to King Orm again, and yet, anytime an audience was requested by the Tidewatchers, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would be that audacious young woman who’d challenged him so thoroughly.

For Elara’s part, she’d tried to put the whole episode behind her. Though she knew what she saw was still likely to happen, she tried her best to distance herself from the King both physically and in her tidewatching. And yet, even back then, Calysa had seen their paths entwining in the most unusual way.

In the present, Elara was burning with curiosity at such a vision.

“What did exactly did you see?” Elara asked.

Calysa sighed, almost considering keeping it to herself but thought it could do little harm to the pattern to tell Elara now. “You were in a forest. It was dark but a light I couldn’t see the source of seemed to shine around the two of you. Your hair was as long as it is now. And remember that when I’d seen this you’d had that short crop you’d gotten on the surface that made it look like you had a dirty mop on your head.”

Elara scrunched her nose at Calysa’s teasing. It wasn’t that bad of a haircut but it had made much more sense on the surface than when she’d returned underwater. Now her golden brown hair was down to her waist- a good foot and a half longer than it had been when she’d met Orm.

“So you knew it was much farther down the line from that?”

“That and your Tidestone,” Calysa said indicating the gem Elara wore around her neck.

Tidestones had been handed down through generations of Tidewatchers since the time of King Atlan. Made from stones found in the ocean they were said to be imbued with a kind of magic that helped watchers connect with the tides. While that strengthening could be proven, there had long been rumors of some Tidestones possessing other skills like healing or even control over animals. As far as Elara knew though, those were just myths.

It had long been tradition that as tidewatchers entered new stages of growth in their path as a tidewatcher, they were given a different stone. When Elara had her first vision that led her to cross paths with Orm, she’d been wearing the swirling patterned agate stone of an apprentice but the one she had worn the last 4 years was one of vibrant jasper that signified she was now a master tidewatcher.

Elara smiled as she touched it, “Did you think of your vision when you gave this to me?”

“Yes, but it still didn’t feel like the right time to tell you.”

“What else did you see?” Elara asked. She knew it was unlikely there was anything truly pertinent to learn from it but the whole idea of going with Orm to the surface, which until a few moments ago had seemed so thrown together, having been foreseen fascinated her.

Calysa almost seemed to speak slower, as if she didn’t want to startle Elara, “The two of you were looking at each other and he said something to make you laugh. I didn’t hear what it was but it didn’t seem to be the point.”

The whole image seemed almost too foreign to believe. “What was the point then?”

“You were happy,” Calysa said simply.

Elara put her head in her hands, mumbling. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

“I don’t think this is the kind of sight that requires anything to be done, I think the point of it was just to be seen and known.” Calysa said simply.

Elara kept her face in her hands, bone tired and confused.

“I’ll leave you to pack,” Calysa said before Elara could think of any reply.

Part of Elara wanted her to stay, to comfort her in the face of such a baffling future, to say the right thing to help Elara figure out how she felt about all this. But Elara knew she needed to work through and absorb some things on her own and could use some time alone to take in the events of the day. Calysa knew this so she stood and squeezed Elara’s shoulder once and then left.

Elara should have gotten up immediately to get ready for tomorrow but instead she just lay back on her bed, staring up at the barnacle ceiling, asking for answers from the silent tides.

A/N: I know this chapter didn't have much Orm in it but I felt it was one we needed to not only set up the Tidewatchers some more but to help you get to know Elara better. and we get some history between her and Orm which has been fun to tease before now. I just love this story so much and I'm so happy to get to share this with you all. I would love to hear what y'all think of Elara and the story so far! remember, feedback is love! thank you for reading!

#king orm x oc #orm x oc #king orm #orm marius #ocean master #the tides know our names #tidewatcher fic #oceanmastertrash

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diinofayce · 6 years

Text

Shadows on the Horizon - 6

Pairing: Winter Soldier! Bucky Barnes x OFC! Layne Hardin | Word Count: 2.3k | Warnings: Mild Language, what I imagine is fluff for WS | A/N: This is a sequel to my story Like a Whisper in the Night | Shadows on the Horizon Masterlist

Layne woke up the next morning to a still prevalent headache which was only exacerbated by the slamming open of her apartment door. Groaning she rolled over and attempted to pull her pillow over her head but it was unceremoniously ripped from out of her hand.

“No,” Sue barked angrily. “Up, right now.”

Spandex and lycra smacked Layne in the face as she blinked wearily up at her best friend. Sue stood over her bed with a frown on her face and her arms crossed in front of her chest. She was already in work out gear and Layne reached for whatever had been thrown at her, recognizing her sports bra and a pair of yoga pants.

“No, fuck. Sue, not this morning, okay?” Layne whined and pulled her comforter over herself before freezing as she remembered last night. Throwing back her comforter she sat up and looked past Sue to her now empty couch, the pillow and comforter having been returned to her bed.

Sue cocked an eyebrow and leaned into Layne’s line of sight. “No. I heard about your dumb fucking stunt. Captain Self Righteous wants to have a team intervention, I told him I would handle it. So either you get to sit in a fun little circle and talk about your feelings to a group of emotionally damaged superheroes or we go punch each other.”

Layne groaned and dramatically rolled out of bed, getting undressed and redressed while making obnoxious whining noises and laying on the ground like a five-year-old. Susanna watched her totally unimpressed and finally grabbed Layne’s upper arm and hauled her to her feet.

Susanna had given Layne a lot of emotional space over the last year or so. What with the emotional roller coaster of being kidnapped by your brother and experimented on, watching your brother die, finding out that your brother was actually an undercover good guy and had that information withheld by your boyfriend all while trying to get sober put Layne in a very sensitive position. But Susanna knew her better, Layne was tough and sometimes she needed a kick in the ass to remember that. So yeah, Layne fell last night, she took a step back and tumbled off the wagon, but that was nothing that a little tough love couldn’t get her through. Layne wasn’t spun sugar and Sue was done treating her as such.

“Have you heard any word on Bucky?” Layne asked hesitantly as the two women stood in the elevator.

“Apparently Steve ended up falling asleep last night, but surprisingly Barnes didn’t try to leave. Stark said something about the AI being a bit wigged out this morning so I can only imagine what went down when the Captain passed out,” Susanna cast Layne a knowing look and Layne just smiled slightly and shrugged.

“He’s in there, Sue. I don’t think the Winter Soldier is the bad guy. He was a victim, just like Bucky was, he did what he had to do to keep them alive.”

“I’m not arguing against him, Layne, you know him better than anyone. I just want you to be careful. Barnes has a whole host of his own issues and you take on a lot of them, I’m sure there were plenty that were suppressed before you came along,” Sue reassured.

Both women quieted as the elevator doors opened to the gym. Natasha and Clint were sparring off in a side corner, both spies giving the women slight nods of acknowledgment without breaking stride.

Sue held the ropes split for Layne to climb in and followed. The women wrapped their hands in silence and Layne watched Sue with trepidation.

“You’re not going to go full force are you?” Layne asked warily and Sue scoffed in amusement.

“I’d kill you. No, I just want you to get some that negative crap out of your system. Plus, how long has it been since you worked on your hand to hand?” Sue asked getting into her ready stance.

Layne shrugged and raised her hands to her cheekbones and tucked her elbows in tight like Bucky taught her.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Sue said before rushing forward, right arm pulled back to deliver a punch to the side of Layne’s head.

Layne sidestepped and threw a leg out, kicking Sue round the middle before sliding behind the redhead and bouncing on the balls of her toes. She neurotically chewed on her bottom lip in concentration as her wide eyes examined Sue’s stance, trying to guess what the next move was going to be.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Clint’s voice broke through and Layne looked down to see Clint and Natasha sitting just below the ring doing their after workout stretches.

Susanna took advantage of Layne’s distraction and moved in, catching the unaware girl behind the knees and sweeping her legs out from under her. Layne landed hard on her ass with an oof and a glare.

“Cheater,” Layne hissed, standing and rubbing her backside.

Susanna just laughed and rocked onto the balls of her feet. “No, you’re the one who looked away from your opponent.”

Layne cracked her neck on each side and rolled her shoulders before getting back into stance. This time Layne dashed forward. Jab, cross, uppercut, hook. Blocked, blocked, blocked, blocked. Sue responded by rocking back on her heels and delivering a front kick to Layne’s sternum knocking the smaller girl back, but Layne pushed Sue’s leg down throwing the other woman’s balance at the ground so she could deliver a sharp elbow to the back of the head.

“Ah, dammit woman! Do we need to break out headgear?” Sue grumbled rubbing the sore spot on the back of her head.

“Sorry,” Layne mumbled but suddenly had her feet swept out from under her again.

“Fucking hell, Sue!” Layne bitched rolling over onto her knees while Sue and Clint laughed and Natasha merely rolled her eyes.

“Layne, you’re projecting your movements,” Natasha said, springing up to her feet and gracefully pulling herself into the ring.

Layne clambered to her feet as Natasha took stance next to her. “Your face is bad. You’re looking where you’re going to strike. And you’re pivoting too early, it’s giving away what side you’re going to attack with you need to pivot and punch at the same time.”

“I love being told my face is bad,” Layne grumbled feeling defeated and demoralized but taking up a ready stance anyway.

“Well, make it better and we won't have to tell you.” Natasha barked and Clint cleared his throat to signal Natasha to tone it down.

Natasha rolled her eyes and sighed. “But, your shoulders were in a good line and you’re getting quicker in your follow through. Using your opponents balance against them was smart. Good job.” Natasha looked over her shoulder at Clint who gave a thumbs up with an ecstatic and encouraging grin.

The corners of Layne’s mouth quirked upwards in a small prideful smile. Susanna made her offensive approach and Layne shifted her footing, remembering to slide not step, as she working on blocking increasingly difficult strikes. Natasha occasionally pointing out missteps or giving praise when Layne did something particularly well.

Layne was sweaty and out of breath when the doors to the gym opened again. Clint was handing Layne a bottle of water as her brown eyes lifted to see who was coming in when they locked with the cold ice of the Soldier’s. Steve paused briefly, assessing the room, but the Soldier didn’t look surprised or perturbed in the slightest.

“Steve?” Natasha called over, the question evident in just his name.

“We were feeling restless. Thought a spar might help?” Steve sounded unsure. “I also wanted to check in with Hardin.”

“Sweating it all out, Captain,” Layne responded weakly. “Thank you,” she added as an afterthought.

Steve simply nodded, smiling softly with a fondness for his best friend’s girl.

None of them had noticed that the Soldier had approached the ring until he was suddenly standing right next to Clint, who tried very hard to not suddenly jump out of his own skin. The air around the ring thickened with unspoken tension until the Soldier nodded his chin at Layne and Susanna.

“Go on,” he commanded softly, but with a firm tone that left little room for argument. When Natasha moved to take her place at the center of the ring to supervise the Soldier sent her a look. “Come off your web, маленький паук.” His eyes flashed with a fondness for a moment and Natasha looked taken aback before nodding and hopping out of the ring. Her normally graceful and fluid movement stiffened by surprise and for the first time that Layne’s ever witnessed, fear.

Layne tried to not let a fit of boiling jealousy erupt in her gut. She knew of Natasha and the Soldier, Bucky had told her what he could remember. It had been the Soldier that had trained her and protected her, the first person to love her and she was probably the first person to love the Soldier. She knew Natasha wasn’t a threat to Layne’s relationship with Bucky, she loved Steve, but the fact that the Soldier looked at Natasha with warmth when all she ever received was indifference was gut-wrenching.

“Begin,” the Soldier commanded and Layne refocused on Sue in front of her.

Layne and Susanna fell into a rhythm as they traded blows, almost like a dance, and thanks to Natasha and Clint’s help it took almost a solid two minutes before Layne ended up on her back staring up at the high gym ceiling. Layne let out a frustrated huff of air and rolled over to her knees with a groan.

“I gotta tap, guys. There’s only so many times I can stand back up in an hour,” Layne grumbled, stretching the sore muscles in her back.

“No. Get up,” the Soldier said harshly as he joined them in the ring. His movement was silent and fluid, no matter how many times Layne watched her large boyfriend silently take out targets and move around the tower, it was nothing compared to how the Soldier shifted almost like a ghost.

Everyone in the gym watched the Soldier reproachfully with held breath as he wrapped his flesh hand around Layne’s upper arm and hauled the small girl to her feet. The grip was hard but not enough to bruise, simply firm enough to show her that he wasn’t amused by her being so ready to throw in the towel. When Layne took up her stance again he shifted to stand in front of her. Using the toes of his boots he kicked her feet a little wider and tilted her front foot so her toes were angled slightly inward instead of straight on. Holding out his pointer finger he used the side of his knuckle to gently push her nose down and tuck her chin further into her chest and then raised and pushed in her elbows.

“Knuckles on the corners of your eyes,” he said softly, his expression focused but more open than it has been yet.

Layne could see her Bucky in the back of his eyes and in the gentle way he repositioned her body. She always knew that he was an effective trainer because of his experience as a weapon for Hydra, but maybe it was the weapon that had been training her this whole time.

“Imagine a rope,” he spoke suddenly. “One end is attached to your wrists the other end is attached to your heels. When your hand moves it must pull the rope and move your heel. One motion, one body, understood?”

Layne nodded, her eyes roving his face almost hungrily as she took in the dark locks brushing his freshly shaved cheekbones. Bucky had told her once that the Soldier had always kept his face shaved, even if he had to use his hunting knife because the stubble of beard would cause chaffing with the mask. So now that Bucky didn’t have to wear the mask he let that five o’clock shadow hang around on the regular. It took everything in Layne’s power to not reach out and brush her fingers over the smooth skin of his jaw and cheeks.

The Soldier nodded and moved to slide out of the ring. “Agent Sweet, switch back to your strong side. You’re doing nobody any favors by leading with your off hand,” he said over his shoulder and a look of guilt at being caught flashed across Sue’s face before she switched stances.

This time as the ladies fought it was much more fluid, Layne finding herself in position to block easier with the counter-attack laying in front of her so obvious that she didn’t even have to go through the catalog of attacks in her head to pick what would be the most effective. Her body flowed and this time it was Sue that found herself on her ass on the mat. Layne raised her hands up in the air victorious, a brilliant smile on her face and when she turned with pride to beam at her boyfriend she faltered a little to see that the cool and indifferent mask of the Soldier was still in place. He simply nodded in approval before turning and leading Steve over to the far end of the gym with the bags that were weighted specially for the super soldiers.

Natasha and Clint watched Layne with trepidation, but the dark-haired woman merely shook herself and turned on Sue, her own emotional mask falling over her face to hide the hurt in her eyes.

“Kicked your ass, Sweet!” Layne teased.

“Yeah, yeah you did. Wanna get lunch now?” Sue asked rubbing her back.

“Now that I’ve just figured out what I’m doing? No way, let’s go again.”

#winter soldier x layne hardin #bucky barnes x layne hardin #bucky barnes #winter soldier #shadows on the horizon #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter soldier fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

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blkmxrvel · 6 years

Text

Everybody Wants to Spook The World.

Pairing: Winn Schott x Platonic!Female!Reader

Words: 1, 451

Request: Heyo, I was wondering if you would do a Winn x reader where’s Halloween time. Where reader and Winn are such close friends that he has a key to her apartment so he walks in one day to see it all decked out for Halloween. He couldn’t find reader till he walks into the kitchen and sees reader dancing to Halloween music and baking cookies. Then they do fluffy stuff and Winn admits his feels. Gaaahh. I love this idea. I hope you can write it and I can’t wait to read it.

Warnings: Spooky Fluff!

A/N: This is super late, it’s not even October anymore. I know, and I’m so sorry for it. I just have been going through some things so my brain has been drawing a blank every time I go to write. And I know I’m a wlw blog but this request was just too good to pass up! I did it as a platonic reader, but the concept and fluffiness of the story are still very much intact. Sorry! I hope you like it!

It was safe to say that Halloween was definitely Winn's favorite time of the year. Not the part about the demons and the ghouls and the ghosts, (that terrified him), but the because it was the start of the time of the year where all of his friends got together.

All of his friends led busy lives, whether it was fighting aliens, protecting the city, reinventing technology or running a social media mecca. There wasn't much time to have game nights or to just sit down and talk. But on October 1st, everything about that changed.

Game nights became a staple in their schedules, and everyone was starting to talk about Halloween costumes and Christmas gatherings. It was like there was a sudden shift for the better in their circle.

Halloween is all about the parties, whose tricks warrants the best blood-curdling scream, and who's got all the right connections to give everyone a heart attack.

Which is where you came in.

You threw the best parties, that was common knowledge. Every single year, friends and family would gather in your apartment, ready to have the times of their lives. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, you were the one to go to.

The music rang out as you danced around the kitchen, singing along to all the lyrics while tossing around the cookie dough.

Your hips swayed and your head bobbed, you were more excited than you were willing to admit. Halloween wasn’t your favorite holidays, but it was enough to make you restless.

You were so immersed in the task at hand that you didn’t hear your apartment door apartment, Winn coming in with bags of chips. He wasn’t sure if he had stepped into the right house at first. Your house was decked out in the most amazing decorations Winn had ever seen before. Fake cobwebs and skeletons galore. You wouldn’t be able to tell that a normal person lived here. You were that good.

It didn’t help that terrifying music was being blasted. As soon as Thriller turned off, a song that was exclusively screams and groans came on. Chills ran down Winn’s spine, making it quickly speed walk to the kitchen.

As soon as he laid his eyes on you, a smile spread across his face. You were standing by a counter, headphones in your ears, body swaying to whatever music was playing. The movements your were making definitely were not human, Winn laughed at the irony.

He placed the bags on the counter, astonished that you still hadn’t noticed he was there. Creeping up slowly, he crouched down walking stealthily around the island before popping up and grabbing you from behind.

You inhaled a deep breath, obviously startled, before yelling your loudest and elbowing Winn behind you. You stepped on his foot, making him yelp and pull away from you. You ripped the headphones out of your ears and turned around. Your eyes widened and a hand came up to your mouth when you realized it was Winn.

“Winn? What the fuck, dude?” You went over to him, helping him off of the ground. “What were you doing?”

He groaned, taking your hand while holding his side. “Well, I was trying to get into the Halloween spirit, seems like I chose the wrong person.”

You nodded your head in agreement, heart still racing. “Obviously! It’s Halloween, you don’t think my senses are heightened.”

“Didn’t realize you were Supergirl for Halloween.” He retorted. You hit him on the head. “Ow! It’s the day before Halloween, not ‘Beat Up on Winn’ Day.”

You shrugged before going back over to the counter, beginning on a cake next. “Tomato, tomato. What are you doing here, anyway? Party’s not for another 6 hours.”

“I came to help. I brought stuff for the party, I texted so that you wouldn’t be alarmed, but-” he waved at his middle.

You laughed lightly, getting the batter under your mixer. “Yeah. Well if you still want to help, I have a few more decorations upstairs that need to be set up. Could you do that?”

“Yeah, sure.” He started to walk upstairs before you called out his name. “What?”

“Um, be careful if up there, I set a few things up already and I don’t need you peeing your pants.” You smiled smugly at him, before returning to your station.

Winn scoffed like he usually does, going upstairs. “Oh please! You won’t have to worry about that. I can a few- AH!” A few tumbles were heard and you nodded your head, knowing that you were right.

“What the fuck was that!? A demon!?” Winn stomped his way into the kitchen, out of breath and eyes bulging. You turned towards him, smirking with a spoon in your hand.

“Thought you could handle it?”

Two hours had passed and you were still in the kitchen, taking the last few cakes and cookies out to chill. They had to be iced and decorated still. You bounced up and down a few times, ecstatic at the fact that this party would be like no other.

Winn was upstairs still. He was managing pretty well, a few screams of terror here and there. But what would Halloween be without terrors?

Your playlist had gotten to the upbeat music, Women Like Me blasting throughout your speakers. Winn descended the steps only to find you bouncing around, hair going any which way. It brought a smile upon his face. He leaned against the railing, just staring at you and chuckling.

He let his mind wander through all the memories of you and him. You were his longest friend, and him, yours. You had been through almost everything together: alien invasions, broken homes, multiple threats of extinction, but here you were, still best friends.

You were the one that sat with him night and night when he was terrified of becoming his father. It was you who convinced him that he was a much better person than his father and that he was smart, amazing and would be the one to save the world. (After the whole encounter with Brainy, you weren’t wrong about that last one.)

“Are you going to help me or are you going to stand there staring at me like an idiot?” You chuckled as you kept your focus on the cake batter in front of you. Winn shook his head to get himself out of his daze.

“Shut up.” He mumbled before walking to the sink and washing his hands.

“What were you daydreaming about?” You asked while mixed icing colors together. “You can’t go mute on me now.”

Winn shook his head dismissively. “Nothing, really. I was just thinking about us. Everything that’s happened, and how yet after all these years, I couldn’t think of having another person as my best friend.”

You smiled fondly, before hitting him on the arm. “That was so sappy, Schott. Never do it again.” You both laughed, you handing him an icing spatula. “But you’re right. Remember the time your dad tried to move you away in the 11th grade? I was truly a hero at that time.”

“If by hero you mean, committed a felony then, yeah. You were basically Wonder Woman.” You pointed your spoon at him.

“Hey! I slashed his tires and called the police. He was taken to jail and you got to live with me and my family. Don’t complain, man.” You began decorating the cooking again while he focused on the cake.

“Could you imagine what would life would be like if he actually got away with it?” Winn spoke after a solid 5 minutes of silence. You squeezed your eyes and sighed heavily.

“I can’t. And I really don’t want to. You’ve always been there for me when I needed you the most. You’ve stuck by side through every job, profession, and failed relationship. You’re my toughest critic but my number one supporter. You’re the only family I’ve ever had, Y/N.” Tears sprang to Winn’s eyes. “I love you, man. I don’t know what I would ever do if I lost my best friend.” His voice cracked and you immediately ran to action. You wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“I love you too, Winn. But don’t ever think like that. You’ll never lose me. I’m here for the long run. Nobody who we end up marrying in the future, or how far away we may end up living, you will always be my top priority and favorite person in the world.” You hugged him tighter, smiling when you felt him ruffle your hair like the used to when you were kids.

“Thank you, Y/N. Really.”

“What are friends for?”

#winn schott #winn schott x reader #supergirl imagine #supergirl #superman #winn schott imagine #supergirl x reader #supergirl au #iconicwlw #dc #dc imagines

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stickballl · 6 years

Text

This was based on a beautiful piece of art by @llstarcasterll

also on ao3

He hadn’t been sleeping. A week since the last good night’s sleep. A grand total of seven hours of sleep since then. He’d started running when he’d get up at 3 am, at 6 am, whenever the itch became too strong to ignore. He returned exhausted enough to pass out right as his head hit the pillow, legs turned to mush, lungs stretched too far, mind blissfully blank. Yet when he got to bed, his mind began a race of its own, spanning from insecurities to the deal that kept him alive. He lay there, completely still, until he felt his heart threaten to burst out of his chest and his mind melt out his eyes. So, he got up and ran again.

When asked for a reason why it was happening, Neil shrugged and muttered a simple I don’t know. It had to be the stress of championships.

But Neil knew and each glance at the calendar made the anxiety worse. He’d ignored the anniversary for as long as he could. He thought he’d be fine with it. The past two years hadn’t bothered him, but it was like his body was finely attuned to it and made it a mission to make sure Neil remembered.

Baltimore had been a blessing disguised as a curse. Those few hours Neil had desperately wanted it to just end. He never saw the appeal in prolonging the inevitable, but each look at the demented smile on Lola’s lips showed him just how wrong he was. As the day drew closer, he started to feel her hands on him all over again. He’d dreamt of that car ride during those few blissful hours of sleep he’d get. Sometimes it’d been Lola. Sometimes his father or his mother. Sometimes Andrew. It never really got easier depending on who’d done it. Just a different hurdle to get over.

He woke up with bags under his eyes every day, drank as much coffee as he could, focused every ounce of attention he had left onto finishing his last season with the Foxes as he’d finished his first. He occupied every second of his day, refusing his subconscious the right to sidetrack him with useless memories.

Jack was the first to notice the change in Neil’s demeanor, the lethargy, the dark circles, the already almost nonexistent patience he had cut in have, and was quick to take advantage of it. He picked at Neil’s past. Back talked at practice. Got physical whenever he could.

Wymack helped when he could, but Jack only fired back by pointing out his favoritism.

Neil ignored the majority of it and ran off the rest. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before from news stations or Edgar Allen fans.

Neil thought he had a decent hold on his splintering life.

But when one thing fell, the rest followed.

It started with an off-hand comment, the kind that wouldn’t have bothered him any other time of the year.

“Why do you think he changes in the showers?” a freshman asked. Diaz, he thought. Neil kept his eyes on his locker in front of him as he tied his shoes. At the beginning, he’d found it amusing to hear all the freshman’s guessing at his scars. Now, not so much.

“He’s probably a battered wife. Wasn’t he dating one of the twins. Terrifying bastards both of them,” someone else said. Neil clenched his jaw as his fingers tightened around his laces. There was no point in starting a fight with someone who had no idea what they were talking about.

“Maybe he’s just self-conscious.”

“Maybe you should all shut up and mind your own damn business,” Robin said a little too loud. Neil shot her a grateful smile.

“Oh, please. He’s a narcissistic asshole who wants everyone to think he’s so fucking mysterious. He exaggerates the fact that he had a slightly tough childhood. Isn’t that right, Junior?” Jack announced.

Neil’s senses blurred in and out, rage building in his chest, spreading through his veins. Jack’s voice echoed in his head, joined by many others all taunting the same nickname.

Just smile for me. Please, Junior.

What did I say about keeping quiet, Junior?

Junior, do you remember me?

Junior’s all grown up.

Hello, Junior.

Neil launched himself off the bench, deadly gaze set straight at Jack. Within seconds, Neil had Jack pinned against the lockers, forearm pressed into his throat. His grin bordered on manic, all teeth and no mirth.

“Give me a reason, Jack. Please, give me a reason,” Neil begged. Jack’s eyes blew wide, surprise and fear mirrored in his body. His hands hovered over Neil’s shoulders. “You’re all so obsessed with my past and my secrets? Then fucking google me. Don’t bring this shit into the locker room.”

He shoved away from Jack, his skin still prickling with untapped panic, with the need to run. He ignored it though, trudging toward the court to remind him why he was still there. Exy distracted him until he forgot who Neil was, who Nathaniel was, who Abram was. He became just a body whose sole mission was to get the ball into the goal. No one needed a solid identity to do that.

On court, he broke himself down until he was just muscle, bone, sinew, only parts of a whole. A machine.

“Stop it.”

“Stop me,” a rough voice whispered in his ear. A knife dragged down his thumb, tears welled in his eyes, a scream begged to be let loose. Nathaniel stayed silent, squeezing his eyes shut until that tension distracted him. He stayed remarkably still while Lola made slow work of the rest of his fingers before setting her sights on the tattoo on his cheekbone. The knife made shallow cuts around the four, but Lola’s smile hinted at something more sinister. She held an empty hand out. Nathaniel turned and saw his mother hand Lola the dashboard lighter.

“I told you how dangerous this was. I thought you were smarter than this,” she said, hands gripped firm on the steering wheel until her knuckles were white. Her brown eyes flickered with a rage he’d seen so often when he was younger. “What did I tell you? don’t look back, don’t slow down, and don’t trust anyone.”

“Be anyone but yourself, and never be anyone for too long,” Nathaniel finished for her. Her expression changed at once, melting into a soft, almost proud smile. She reached one hand out and ran it along his jaw.

“Oh, Abram,” she said a second before the car burst into flames.

He woke up in the basement. The air around him already smelled putrid, metallic. He saw the outline of a figure standing over him, but he couldn’t make out any detail other than the bloody axe he held in one hand and the thin delicate knife in the other.

“Hello, Junior,” his father said, but his voice was too far. He was by the wall, next to a smiling, rotting Riko. Nathaniel scrambled back until he hit the wall, bristling at the dirt that dug into the fresh cuts on his hands. “I brought some friends along.”

Nathaniel looked back to the figure that loomed over him and choked back a scream. Andrew was smiling wide, trickles of blood falling from the side of his head, the same expression he’d worn after Drake. Everything in Nathaniel’s body recoiled.

“It’s really a cruel world, isn’t it, Nathaniel? You came so far, salvaged the unsalvageable, crafted yourself a real identity, and yet we all end up here, don’t we?” Andrew said, advancing with each word. He knelt in front of Nathaniel, swinging his knife around in graceful arcs around their heads. “I’d planned this so many times, but now I’m not sure where to start.”

“The legs,” Nathan supplied behind him. Andrew’s smile widened as his hand circled around Nathaniel’s ankle. He stood, dragging him across the gravel. Nathaniel couldn’t help the scream that tore through his lips.

“No, Drew, no don’t do this,” Nathaniel begged. He tried to find purchase as he was dragged, but it only ruined his hands further. He tried to kick at Andrew’s grip, fought with every inch of energy in his body. Nothing helped. “Drew, look at me. Please don’t do this.”

Andrew froze. He stared down at Nathaniel, untampered violence burning in his eyes. The manic smile dropped, replaced by the twisted lip of anger.

“I don’t like that word,” Andrew growled, throwing Nathaniel’s leg down. He followed it with a swing of the axe, imbedding it deep in Nathaniel’s shin. He screamed and writhed on the floor, pinned by his father’s axe and his boyfriend’s hand. His cries brought the smile back onto Andrew’s face and he continued hacking away at Nathaniel’s legs before moving onto his arms. His screams filled the room, brought smiles to everyone else’s faces, and drowned Nathaniel into unconsciousness.

Neil woke with a start in a sweat drenched bed. He struggled against the blankets wrapped around his legs, throwing them off to the side. His breath was trying to escape him, coming out in rough, uneven spurts. The clock next to his bed said 3:52, March 9. A weight settled heavy on his chest.

Immediately, his body set into motion, tugging on shoes, grabbing the nearest sweatshirt he could find, stuffing his phone and keys into his pockets, and running as fast as he could out of that dorm and away from Palmetto.

Each step was a shock to his system, reminding him that he was awake, he was alive. He’d beaten them.

He entertained the thought of calling Andrew, of hearing his voice for just a second, but it seemed ridiculous. Nightmares were a mundane occurrence for both of them. Nothing to get worked up over. He was fine. He had to be fine.

He pushed himself as hard as he possibly could, ignoring the throbbing in his ankles or the burn in his lungs. As long as he could hear his father’s voice, the echoes of his scream, the desperate edge of his voice as he begged, he ran. Until he could shed the feeling of Nathaniel, feel comfortable in his own skin, he ran. Until he could forget the image of Andrew, drugged and frantic, smiling over him as he carved into him, he ran.

It felt like he would never stop running.

He eventually made it back to Fox Tower, unharmed and exhausted, at 6 am. His feet dragged on the floor as he made his way to the room. He fell into bed, expecting sleep to come easy. When he closed his eyes, he felt the pain all over again.

They’d lost. They’d lost to the fucking Bearcats by one point. They weren’t out of championships yet, their last two-point totals saving their pathetic performance, but it should’ve been easy. They’d beaten better teams before. Their game was fucked up, and Neil knew exactly why.

He couldn’t get out of his head the entire game. Each person he faced was his father, each voice he heard was Lola, each check was his mother. There was nowhere else for his brain to go. He’d benched himself during the first half, but his subs hadn’t fared much better. It’d been four fucking years. Why couldn’t he be done with this?

He sat on the bench, hands digging through his sweaty hair, pulling at each strand. Exy was supposed to be the one thing he was good at and he couldn’t even do that right. He couldn’t even muster the energy to shower. He was useless.

Footsteps echoed off the empty locker room, each step spiking Neil’s irritation. He kept his head in his hands, bent over in half.

“I don’t have the fucking patience right now,” he growled.

“What the fuck is going on?” Andrew asked. Neil’s head snapped up, his breath leaving him in one sigh. The weight of Andrew’s hand on the back of Neil’s neck silenced the world and left just the two of them. Neil’s mind quieted, the endless critiques ended. He closed his eyes.

“It’s been four years,” Neil said, rubbing the heel of his hands against his eyes until he saw stars. Andrew’s hand tightened on his neck and forced Neil to look at him with a hand under his chin. They studied each other in silence, Neil filled with exhausted relief, Andrew with cold determination. He kneeled down on the tiles, eyebrow cocked, perplexed.

“You were fine the past two years,” he noted. Neil scoffed, running his hands over the raised scars over his forearms and knuckles.

“You were here.” The words passed through his lips and Neil registered just how true they were. He hadn’t had to go through the convoluted process of grieving over nothing and the continuous nightmares alone yet. This had been the first year since his Foxes had graduated, and though the faces on his team were familiar, it felt all too much like his life before he’d become a real person.

“You haven’t slept.” It wasn’t a question, but Neil shook his head anyway. Andrew stood and stepped away. Any semblance of energy he’d amounted fled with Andrew’s touch. A selfish whine pushed through his lips. “Get up. You stink.”

Neil did as he was told with a huff, following as Andrew directed him, hand fisted in the back of Neil’s jersey. Even with just a hand at his back, he felt supported enough to fully breathe. He would be caught if he fell, an insurance he’d needed for too long. He pressed the slightest bit back into Andrew’s hand.

Andrew pushed him into a stall, sending a pointed look at Neil’s uniform, and turned the water on. Neil slowly peeled his layers off, tossing them onto dry tile, until he was naked and shaking. His muscles couldn’t relax, buzzed from the game, from the anniversary, from Andrew. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to stop anymore.

He walked into the warm spray, allowed himself to become engulfed by the water. Droplets ran down his skin in small waves of minute bliss, the first pleasant thing Neil had felt all day. He breathed in as deeply as the steam would allow. His hands ran lightly over his chest and shoulders, massaging the tender and bruising spots. His muscles relaxed with each passing second until he felt like he could do another ten games.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked behind him. Neil automatically said yes, sighing as Andrew’s fingers slid into his hair. He leaned into the touch, humming his approval. The longer Andrew washed his hair, the more Neil leaned on him. He wasn’t particularly gentle, but his touch was soothing each of Neil’s open wounds. A salve on the frayed nerves stressed by years of torture, of running, of forcing himself to be everything he was not. He could breathe around Andrew without the immense sense of dread he used to deal with after each decision, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Andrew made quick work of the rest of Neil’s body, then set him against the wall as he washed and rinsed himself. He’d shut the water off when Neil moved, stepping in front of Andrew and framing his face with his hands.

“Yes or no?” he asked, the beginnings of a smile flickering on his lips. Andrew’s eyes betrayed him slightly, darting down to catch on Neil’s mouth.

His hands rested on Neil’s hips as he breathed out his yes, meeting him in the middle. The kiss was slow, unhurried, something so unlike the rhythm they’d built up for themselves: desperate, hands grabbing wherever they could get purchase, exploring each other as if it was the first and last time they’d touch each other. This was a slow rainfall on a cloudy day, soft, inviting, undeniably necessary after such a long time.

Neil’s hands thread through Andrew’s hair, pressing closer to him until he could feel every inch of their bodies touching. He didn’t have the usual burn of desire coursing through his veins, but a simpler need for comfort. Neil pulled back and rested his head on Andrew’s shoulder.

“Get dressed. I don’t want to spend the weekend in this locker room,” Andrew said, squeezing slightly on Neil’s hips. He nodded, but took a second longer than he needed to before stepping back.

Despite the numbness tingling in Neil’s toes, he grabbed his dirty clothes and trekked back to his locker. He pulled his spare clothes on, only getting halfway before his arms gave out. His shirt fell around his neck as he huffed a sigh of defeat. His upper body wasn’t working at all. It seemed the most he could do was keep himself upright on the bench.

“You’re pathetic,” Andrew mused, shoving his arms through his shirt. Neil shrugged, eyes still trained on the floor. The struggle of the last few weeks, the high of playing the game, the low of losing to such an easy opponent, the buzz of having Andrew within reach, all mixed together to make an effective cocktail of bone deep fatigue. He couldn’t argue with him. Not when his entire existence seemed to beg otherwise.

“Thank you so much,” he drawled. Even out of the corner of his eye, Neil could see Andrew’s exaggerated eye roll as he stepped forward. He aided Neil’s arms through each sleeve, taking a step back. His thumb flicked across the burn scars on Neil’s cheek. Neil couldn’t stifle the wince as if Andrew had touched raw skin. His hand ripped back within a second. “No, Drew, you didn’t-”

“Yes or no, Abram?”

Neil’s mouth snapped shut. The sound of that name elicited a contradiction of reactions. Andrew’s voice, the soft way he’d said the name, spread a contented warmth through his stomach. The sound of his mother’s voice layered on top rose bile in his throat.

“Yes,” he bit out because Andrew’s presence was stronger. Andrew set his hands on his shoulders, swinging a leg behind the bench, effectively placing himself mostly in Neil’s lap. The other leg swung over and Neil’s hands darted toward Andrew’s waist. He caught himself at the last minute as his hands hovered an inch above his skin. After Andrew nodded, Neil’s arms tightened around him like a lifeline.

“You’re at Palmetto State, inside the Foxes locker room.” Andrew pressed a kiss to the base of the knife scars across Neil’s jaw. “You’re Neil Josten, number 10, starting striker.” Andrew trailed up the thin lines, lips dragging against hypersensitive skin. “Nathaniel is dead. You’re never going back to Baltimore.” He turned to Neil’s other cheek, letting the kiss linger just a second longer than the others. “You’re staying here.” He punctuated it with a kiss to his lips. No longer than a heart beat but more than enough to steady Neil.

Andrew’s hands dipped into the sides of his shirt, fingers playing idly with the puckered skin of old scars. His nails scraped against some, sending sharp tingles throughout his body. He couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his lips.

He buried his face into Andrew’s chest. The smell of stale cigarettes and after shave wiped away the rest of the lingering doubts, solidifying him in the present. Andrew pressed his face into Neil’s wet hair, the feeling of a phantom kiss ghosting across his skin. It only deepened his smile.

“Thank you.”

“374%.”

#aftg fic #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #tfc #some angst with some comfort #i always appreciate messages with your thoughts!!

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mishellejones · 6 years

Text

To Build a Home ch. 6

AO3

Start from the beginning

Four months earlier…

There was something so interesting, Clarke had found, about the fragility of human life. Not just in terms of death, though that was a large part of it,… but in the instability of a mind. In the way that if enough pressure was put onto it, it would splinter like an old rotted tree branch. Sometimes it didn’t even take a buildup. It only required one seemingly innocuous moment in time to fracture in disarray and then suddenly… suddenly it was all over. The human consciousness couldn’t handle it. And it would collapse into itself and lay, festering in the wounds made from the shards of the once perfectly proficient mind.

The fragility didn’t only expand to human consciousness… Oh no, the universe wouldn’t allow life to be so “easy”. Sometimes the foundation of a family a person once believed to be so solid would crumble beneath them – leaving them in the desolate loneliness of their own brittle mind.

Clarke had become all too familiar with these facts. Ones she would not wish upon even her worst enemy… But it happened to her. And she had to find a way to live with it.

If her state could even be considered “living” at all.

She sat in the plush chair of her therapist’s office, looking down silently upon her motionless hands in her lap. Her hair was thrown carelessly into a ponytail and the bags under her eyes gave way to the knowledge of the many nights she spent tossing and turning, incapable of finding sleep. It had been the same look she donned for many months now, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

The door clicked open, signifying the arrival of her therapist Emily. Clarke made no move to acknowledge her.

The middle-aged woman moved across to sit in front of her and greeted her the same way she did every time they had a meeting, “Hello Clarke, how are we feeling this afternoon?”

Clarke was sure that Emily was a nice woman, really. But given that she had to endure a full hour of small talk with her every week, she learned that the cheeriness in her voice was quite false. It made her think that maybe it was the therapists that needed therapy after all.

“The same,” Clarke replied quietly, continuing to gaze down at her hands.

Emily cleared her throat and scribbled on her paper. Clarke hated that goddamned paper.

“It was your birthday a few days ago right? Did you do anything special?”

Indeed, it had been her birthday. Her seventeenth to be exact. But considering she could hardly find it in herself to smile anymore, she didn’t celebrate it. Unless the hastily thrown together cake her mother had made from a box counted.

“No.”

“That’s alright, celebrating isn’t for everybody.”

Clarke’s heart seemed to seize in her chest. Her dad loved celebrating birthdays. Had loved celebrating birthdays. She bit her cheek to keep from revealing any emotion, drawing blood. The metallic taste brought her back to reality.

It had been three months. Shouldn’t she be okay by now?

“It’s okay Clarke. It’s okay to not be okay…” Emily’s voice was soft. Sympathetic.

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want her sympathy.

There was more scribbling, and then, “How has your sleep been? Are you still having nightmares?”

She swallowed thickly, “Yes.” Too many.

“And the panic attacks… Have you had one since we last met?”

Besides school, she hadn’t really been out of the house. Less opportunity to run into things that would trigger her anxiety.

“No.”

“Good,” Emily sighed, “I know that you don’t want to be here Clarke. Believe me, I do. But you need to know that it’s for your own health. And that in order for you to get better… You have to want to.”

Clarke made no move to answer, just continued to stare blankly down at her lap. As cliché as it was, she wasn’t entirely sure that there was a reason to get better. Her life just seemed so… desolate… now. Even when she was surrounded by people she still felt utterly alone.

“Clarke. Do you want to get better?”

She did look up then, into the inquisitive eyes of her therapist. She wanted to give Emily the answer that she knew she wanted, but her mind pulled her back to that night. The terror. The helplessness. The vision of her father collapsing lifeless right in front of her… She flinched and looked away from Emily, fighting to display the devastation she felt.

But when Clarke replied, her voice cracked. “I don’t know.”

+++

Present Day…

Clarke was never particularly one for dressing up. Whether it be formal wear or costumes for parties, she had always found it to be a bit trivial. There didn’t seem to be a point in parading around in a fancy get-up when she knew that she would really rather be in her normal clothes. She never wanted to portray herself as something she knew she wasn’t. Not to mention the fact that she was always much too busy anyway. School work had the better portion of her attention.

Yet, looking into the mirror hanging on the back of Raven’s bathroom door, Clarke had to admit that it was fascinating… To look upon herself and not see what she normally saw.

It was about an hour or so before the party, and the two girls were getting ready together. Raven had done an amazing job of twisting Clarke’s blonde curls into an intricate updo of loose braids. Though her makeup was still natural, it was a bit more than she was used to. Golden eyeshadow covered her lids, making her look regal and elegant. She donned a draped, flowy white dress synched at the waist by a golden rope belt, and metal ringlets circled her biceps.

The normal teenage Clarke didn’t stand before her… but a regal Greek goddess. One who certainly held more beauty than she thought she had the ability to.

There was a knock on the door then, startling Clarke from her thoughts.

“You can come in,” she called to the person on the other side – whom of which she was certain was just Raven checking on her.

As the door began to swing open, Raven was saying, “Did the dress fit you -,” upon seeing Clarke, her eye’s widened, “Chica! Daaaamn, that looks amazing on you!”

Clarke flushed slightly, “Thanks.”

The door pushed open further as Raven entered the bathroom. She was dressed as a 1920’s flapper. Complete with the short chin length wig, bedazzled headband, and tasseled dress.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Clarke commented as Raven spun in a little circle to show off her costume.

“Girl, we look hot. I know you don’t want to draw too much attention but no way that’ll be happening. Not with the way your boobs and legs are shown off in that dress.”

Clarke glanced again at herself in the mirror. It was true, the slit in the dress went up mid-thigh, showing off quite a bit of leg. And the neck line… well, it was a bit lower than she would normally wear.

Clarke shrugged at her friend, “I guess it’s time for me to live a little and have fun.”

Raven snorted, “You? Have fun?”

She crossed her arms, “I can have fun.”

Raven laughed as she took Clarke’s arm in her hand and began pulling her out of the bathroom. “We’ll see about that,” she said.

+++

Even from where they had parked, the music could be heard. The field was crowded with cars and random costumed people heading in the direction of the barn. Clarke hadn’t even been aware that there were a large enough number of people in Ark to allow for there to be so many people attending the party.

“Drinking game idea,” Raven said to her as they made their way towards the flashing lights and the bumping music, “Take a shot every time you see a girl dressed as Harley Quinn.”

Clarke laughed, “We’d be dead by the end of the night.”

When they entered through the doors of the barn, Clarke was surprised to see the number of teenagers that had managed to cram themselves into it. Though it was a spacious structure, it was teeming with more life than it probably had ever seen before. The music was three times as loud as it had been by the car, a DJ set up in the corner. Halloween decorations were strewn haphazardly on the walls and ceiling, and there were orange spot lights dancing all over the room. The crowds of people were dancing on each other to the music, paying no attention to anybody around them.

Clarke found it funny how similar it seemed to a club. Whoever put this party on, must have a lot of money to waste.

“Jasper and Monty are supposed to meet us here,” Raven yelled over the music. Again, she took her arm and tugged her into one of the more secluded corners where one of the garbage cans stood. Along the same wall was a table full of Halloween themed snacks and a punch bowl that had a high probability of being spiked. A keg sat on the opposite end of the table.

Raven jerked her head toward the keg, “I’m gonna get us a drink really quick. Be right back.” And before Clarke could protest, she sauntered off.

Clarke took in her surroundings. Many of the guys didn’t have costumes on, but the girls were in ‘sexy’ versions of every sort. Sexy nurse, sexy cop, even sexy Freddy Kruger. There were at least ten different Harley Quinns from the small portion of people that she could actually make out in the dimmed light. The boys who did dress up, well, they sported costumes of tw

o different sorts. They were either horror movie characters or dressed as absurdly large food. She saw a hotdog, a banana, a taco… the list went on.

It was after a moment that she spotted Bellamy. He was in the opposite corner of the room, wearing (unsurprisingly) no costume and talking to a slutty nurse version of Roma. Clarke rolled her eyes as she saw that Roma’s hand rest on Bellamy’s chest and her other tugged at the hem of his white t-shirt. The girl hadn’t an ounce of decency. Bellamy leaned in and whispered something into Roma’s ear, who Clarke saw giggle in return.

Momentarily, her mind took her back to school when she had witnessed the altercation between Bellamy and the mysterious man. Any remnants of his anger were no longer visible, the only emotion shown on his face being his cocky and flirtatious demeanor. How was it that a single boy could hold so much depth? To Clarke, Bellamy only grew more curious.

She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts and turned her gaze back toward the dancing teens in the center. It was best to leave the mystery that was Bellamy Blake unpondered.

Raven returned a second later with two plastic cups of beer, “Here ya go, chica.”

Clarke hesitated, fully aware that she had never been drunk before. She had never had the time or energy to attend any of the snobby parties that her fellow classmates from her private school had ever put on.

Raven cocked an eyebrow, “You can have ‘fun’, huh?” she teased.

Clarke scrunched her eyebrows together determinedly. Though it was a daunting prospect to her, she felt she needed prove to herself that she was not the same prudish and innocent young girl that her mother was so set on believing she was. The girl that she was taught to be.

“Gimme.” She grabbed the cup from Raven’s hand and then threw her head back and downed the contents. She made a face, allowing the bitter taste to sizzle down her throat. When she glanced at her friend, there was an astonished look on her face.

Raven laughed, “Well damn, consider me proven wrong.” She took a swig from her cup and made a disgusted expression, “Never was a fan of beer.”

Clarke was about to reply when she noticed two very familiar figures advancing toward them. “Jasper and Monty!” she said, grabbing hold of Raven’s wrist and tugging her along with her as she made her way to meet her friends.

“What are you even supposed to be?” she questioned an obviously high Jasper. He wore a onesie with the American flag printed on it and a sleeping mask pushed up into his disheveled hair.

He pulled the sleeping mask over his eyes, “I’m the American Dream. Get it?” A bubble of laughter escaped Clarke as she leaned in to give him a hug.

“And you?” she said after doing the same to Monty. He wore an old revolutionary style outfit with a white wig. “George Washington?”

Monty gave her a sheepish look, “Jasper wanted us to match.”

There was a moment of sudden inexplicable giddiness that built in her throat and she couldn’t tamp down on the giggle that burst from her. She wasn’t sure if it was the cup of beer she had just downed catching up to her or if she was just happy to see her friends, but she decided she liked it. Tonight was the night that she was going to let herself forget her past. And she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way.

For too long she had allowed her self to wallow in her own self-pity. It wasn’t going to be the case any longer.

After grabbing a snack from the table and a cup of punch (it was, indeed, spiked), Raven pulled her into the crowd of dancing bodies. She allowed herself to get lost to the beat of the music, dancing with Raven and the boys in ways she had never danced before. Her bones sung with the drunken bliss that was beginning to sweep its way through her body.

When her skin was sticky with sweat, and her hair had fallen a bit, loose strands hanging in her face, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning she was met with the familiar face of Octavia, dressed as a cat nonetheless. Clarke launched herself at the girl with a hug, a giggle escaping her. She wasn’t sure what caused her to do it, but she was sure that it was right.

Octavia stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the sudden bombardment. But she laughed, “Hey Clarke, I see you’ve had yourself a drink.”

A giggle escaped Clarke once more as she pulled back, “Is it that obvious already?”

Raven leaned in then, yelling over the music. “She’s never been drunk before. She’s a liiiight weight.” Clarke elbowed her at that, though she knew it was quite obviously true.

“Just wait until I get her to smoke,” chimed in Jasper, pausing in his weird jig. Clarke rolled her eyes and shooed him away. She wasn’t too drunk already not to know where a line was drawn.

The girls walked out of the crowd of dancing teens so that they could talk without being in the way of everybody.

“This is Raven by the way,” Clarke said loud enough to be heard over the music.

“I know,” Octavia replied, “I’ve seen her around.” Then she looked at Raven who offered her a smile.

“Why don’t you come dance with us!” Raven offered.

“Absolutely.”

“You guys go ahead,” said Clarke, “I’m gonna run to the bathroom.” She had been ignoring the urge ever since they had been dancing, remembering the myth of “breaking the seal”. But there was no possible way for her to hold it any longer… even if that meant she might have had to go to the out-house located just outside of the barn.

Raven shrugged and pulled Octavia with her toward the dance floor.

Outside of the barn there were still people milling about, drinking and laughing. She even passed a couple that was all but actually having sex with each other against the wooden wall of the barn. She laughed at them as she continued to make her way toward the latrine in the dark. It had to be around 10:30 already, the only light source being the flashing lights from inside the barn and the faint flicker of the lightbulb lit above the outhouse.

As she waited for the girl to finish and exit, she felt a new presence behind her.

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” She knew that deep voice. Loathed the owner of that deep voice. She turned around and crossed her arms as she faced Bellamy, a smirk settled on his face.

“Having fun,” she stated simply. In the faint light he looked almost like a fallen angel, the shadows playing tricks with his handsome features.

She felt her face redden as his gaze swept over her body. Her loosened updo, the low plunge of her neckline, the golden rings that circled her arms, the exposed skin of her leg. She shifted her weight and crossed her arms self-consciously.

“A goddess,” he observed, “Athena maybe? Goddess of wisdom and war? Though it would be an inaccurate depiction…”

Clarke harrumphed, she wasn’t drunk enough to be dealing with him yet. “And what are you?” She said, eyeing his none-costume. “An asshole?”

He snorted, “Cute.”

She gave him an innocent smile. “I try.”

He stepped forward then, leaning his head next to her ear. “Play nice with my sister. I know she invited you here. Do anything to hurt her and we’ll have a problem.”

Anger flashed through her. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “That’s what you came up to me for? To threaten me? You know I witnessed you and your gang, right? Threaten me and there is nothing that’ll stop me from going to the police. I promise you that, Blake.”

Instead of his eye’s flickering with the anger that she thought they would have, he laughed. “Gang? Is that what you think I’m a part of?”

Her fists clenched at her sides, “I don’t know what you’re a part of. But I know it’s not legal.”

Bellamy scoffed, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know enough.”

He examined her for a silent moment, seemingly unaware of what to make of her. Clarke stopped herself from fidgeting under the scrutiny of his gaze.

He cocked his head slightly. “You’re an interesting girl, Clarke Griffin.” And then he slowly backed up, keeping eye contact until he finally turned around and retreated into the crowded barn.

There had been far too many moments, in Clarke’s opinion, where she was left watching him leave.

+++

Half an hour and another beer or two later, Clarke was good and truly drunk. Laughing senselessly and gossiping with her friends and Octavia. Dancing and dancing until her feet felt like they would fall off. She felt more alive than she had ever had before. Gone was the fragile girl she had been only a few short months ago. Gone were the thoughts of her father. Of that one horrific night where everything went wrong. Gone was her constant overbearing mind, filling her with every possible thing that could ever go awry. All that was left was the weightless drunken bliss that sung through her bones and caused her to laugh at every little thing no matter if it was funny or not.

And she loved it.

Clarke, Raven, and Octavia had been attempting a game of darts when she decided that she should probably take a break. The logical part of her knew that she would be feeling her decision to drink in the morning and that she should probably drink as much water as she could. So she grabbed a water bottle and pushed her way through the crowded space toward the crisp fall night, bumping into a few people as she did so.

When she was relaxing in the grass gazing at the unlit forest that surrounded the barn, swaying happily to the beat of the music with a drunken smile plastered across her face, an unfamiliar boy approached her. His disheveled blonde hair glimmered in the moonlight as he paused before her, looking down with a soft smile. Something about him seemed out of place. Like he was a bit too old to be at a high school party. Too gruff around the edges. But in her state, Clarke only cocked her head at him and smiled.

“Hey,” he said casually, sitting down beside her in the grass.

She giggled at his lack of costume, though she wasn’t sure why it was so funny to her. “You know this is a costume party, right?” she slurred giddily, “Boys are so silly not wearing costumes to a costume party. You know Bellamy wasn’t wearing a costume? He’s silly too. Wait… You probably don’t know who Bellamy is. Who are you by the way?” The words tumbled out despite Clarke not giving any consent. She would have been more concerned that she was blabbering mindlessly to a stranger had she not been in her current state. Though she did find herself slightly confused at why she mentioned Bellamy.

The boy laughed. “I’m Dax,” he said, and then looked down at his hands sheepishly, “I’ve, uh, been kinda working up the courage to talk to you all night.” He looked up at her then, a half smile on his face.

She bit her lip to stop herself from giggling again. “Me?” She was almost positive she had never seen this boy before, but she couldn’t help but feel a little flattered.

He smiled crookedly, “Yeah you. I saw you dancing with your friends and I thought you looked really pretty in your costume.”

She screwed her face up comically, “But you don’t even know me.”

“I’d like to,” Dax said with a shrug.

Clarke pursed her lips in feigned thought. He was relatively attractive… and if tonight was the night of letting loose, then she might as well allow herself to give the guy a chance.

“I’m Clarke,” she said. And when she smiled, it felt genuine.

Dax leaned in slightly, “Hi Clarke. Nice to meet you.”

She swayed toward him drunkenly, “Nice to meet you too.”

After twenty minutes of chatting and unabashed flirting, he offered to grab her another drink. Stuffing down the part of her that protested, she accepted – the entire time reminding herself that it was her night to have fun. She had never felt so relaxed as she did with alcohol in her system then… So why should she deny the feeling of freedom that another drink would allow her to have? She would just deal with the repercussions in the morning.

When he returned, he offered one of the two plastic cups he was holding to her. He laughed when she threw her head back and gulped half of it down, accepting the burn. Looking up at him, her face split into a smile.

He offered his hand to her, chuckling to himself, “Let’s go somewhere else,” he said quietly, “somewhere private.”

Private. Clarke wasn’t too drunk to not know what offer he was laying down. She was seventeen after all, and even though she had never been involved in a hook-up, she wasn’t a virgin. Maybe he thought she was a naïve young girl, maybe this whole thing was a ruse to get into her pants, but quite frankly, Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to care. He had been charming and sweet enough. He made her laugh – though it wasn’t hard to as she found she was the giggly drunk – and asked her sincere questions.

A night of fun was what she came here for. So a night of fun was what she was going to get.

Maybe it was her intoxicated state, or maybe it was her helpless yearn for a release from the hell she had wrapped herself up in from the beginning of that night eight months ago, but she placed her hand in his. She’d be back before Raven or Octavia even noticed her absence.

When Dax waggled his eyebrows and pulled her up, she laughed, stumbling against him.

As she followed behind him into the brush of the surrounding woods, something within her began to feel… different. Not right. It was as if a veil had settled itself over her mind and she was viewing her actions as a separate being. Her mind began to go a little hazy and her legs tripped up over nothing. Dax caught her and swung her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. She rubbed a hand up his muscled arm, smiling softly. He was stronger than he looked. It made her laugh.

She enjoyed the feeling of the night air blowing against her feet, so she swung them back and forth feeling the air sweep against the bottoms. Where had her shoes gone? She didn’t remember taking them off. She must have gotten rid of them because of the blisters they had been giving her while she was dancing with her friends.

She couldn’t quite make out Dax’s face, her vision going fuzzy around the corners. Giggling, she blinked a few times and reached up and poked him to be sure that he was actually there. His only reply was a grunt. She was momentarily confused.

“Where are we going?” she asked, continuing to sway her feet. His lack of reply concerned her. The friendly nature seemed to be gone from him, and he only looked straight ahead continuing to move through the trees. The light of the party grew faint in the distance.

She squirmed in his arms, nervously. “I can walk Dax. You can put me down now,” she said. Or at least tried to - her words weren’t quite coming out the proper way anymore. And her vision was growing even more blurry. Fear began to creep its way up her throat, and she stopped kicking her legs.

“Shut up,” he hissed at her. The giddy happiness was fading from her now, replaced by a solid lump of dread in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t see much anymore, and her whole body felt tired – as if she had just run a marathon. She tried to thrash in his arms but she couldn’t move, it was as if all the energy that she had previously had drained from her completely.

“Dax…” she attempted, but it was barely audible. She lolled her head to the side in an attempt to gather her baring’s.

Suddenly they entered a clearing and she could make out a new man’s voice. Dax tossed her onto the ground where she landed on her knees. She made a weak attempt at lifting herself to stand, but her body ached and she collapsed back down.

“No.” Clarke whispered. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying no to, but she repeated it. Again and again, quietly to herself.

“Good job Dax,” she heard the new voice say, “the bitch deserves this.”

She could taste bile in her mouth. What had she even done? She was new to Ark… What had she done to deserve this? She trembled as she curled in on herself, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. Her body felt as though it was draining itself of its own energy. Her senses waning. Darkness creeping into her mind, pulling her toward it. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing for the men to leave. For the nightmare to end.

A hand ripped at her hair and her head was yanked back, forcing her to look in the face of the new man. She was only able to make out a vaguely familiar face – though she was unsure where she knew him from. The haze over her mind caused her head to loll against the man’s hand. She was losing her bearings and she had to fight to keep her eyes open.

“She’s a pretty one, you have to admit,” she could hear the deep voice rumble, “Too bad we have to teach her the consequences of involving herself in things she doesn’t understand.”

A cluck, “Maybe we can have our fun with her when she’s passed out,” she heard Dax reply with a dry laugh. Her stomach lurched, but nothing came up.

“You slipped her the sedative?” came the rumbling reply.

“Yes.”

She was thrown to her side suddenly, her aching body unable to catch herself as she collapsed against the dirt. She whimpered as she felt a pressure on her back, a body pressed flush against her.

“No!” she managed weakly.

How could this be happening again?

She was trapped, the body on top of her feeling like a million tons. The skirts of her dress twisted and ripped around her legs tying her down, unable to move. She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t see. She could hardly feel. Her breath began to slow, and she knew she was fading. Being swallowed by the darkness. Every part of her willed her to give in and fall under. Deep under. Her mind was pulling her down, down, down.

And just as she felt herself give in… there was a shout. The release of the body weight from her back. The sound of flesh hitting flesh. And then there was nothing.

+++

She awoke briefly, vaguely aware of her presence in the back seat of a truck that she was unfamiliar with. She was leaned against the car door, wrapped in something warm. In the window across from her, she could see the night sky zooming past. There was the faint sound of music, and two voices whispering to each other quietly.

“It’s all my fault,” a familiar female voice said miserably.

“Don’t say that. It is not,” a deep male voice replied, “If anybody’s, it’s mine.”

Clarke attempted to lift herself up, but failed, too weak to even move.

“We can’t take her to her house, Bell,” said the female voice.

“Then where are we supposed to take her?”

“She has to come back with us.”

“She can’t,” The male voice growled.

“Yes,” the female voice hissed back, “she can.”

“But Jaqueline –“

“Jackie doesn’t give a shit what we do and you know it.”

A sigh, “Fine! Fine.”

There’s a rustling and Clarke feels the warmth adjust around her. Her consciousness flickered, threatening to pull her back into to sleep.

“I can’t believe he’d would do something like this.”

“He’s desperate, O.”

“I’m just glad I saw Dax head towards the woods with her.”

There was a long pause, and then, “Me too.”

It quieted between them, the soft music tinkling through the car. Clarke’s lids grew heavy again, and the world around her faded once more.

#bellarke #the 100 #bellarke fanfiction #bellarkefanfiction #bellarke fic #my writing #to build a home

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ride-run-sleep-repeat · 7 years

Text

I know I’ve probably written previously about some race being the “hardest thing I’ve ever done” but they were lies. Okay, maybe not lies, but a climb up a ridiculous ladder I’m pretty sure I’ve finally reached the top of. GODZone is literally the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

It’s been 14 days since the race and i’ve only just stopped dreaming about bush bashing, my fingernails still have dirt under them (I swear i’ve showered!) but my toes have stopped feeling wet even though they are most certainly dry. So that’s a plus I guess?

Also, everyone said Fiordland is the wettest place on earth but I’m going to have to call BS because the weather was actually perfect (thank fark). The wettest place on earth was the ecosystem in my shoes – trail Mud, water, bush bashing mud, didymo cleaning stuff, water from grass not rain, swamp mud (you get the picture…).

I’ve read a lot about elite athletes envisioning their end goals and by doing so are able to push through when it gets really hard. I think it is a true testament to our team, even in the very beginning, that we were constantly talking about the last leg and that it seemed like there was no doubt we would get there eventually, even though “eventually” was in 8 days time.

But the length of the race aside, the really genius thing about it was that although there weren’t very many legs, they all could be broken down into manageable mini legs. (Doesn’t that just sound delightful?!)

This race was really long so i’m just going to acknowledge the fact that some parts were really really brutal and awful right now. But secretly, one of the reasons I keep going back is to see how I deal with the lows. I was also very much a passenger hanging on for dear life (except not as much as Wildside because training actually really works!), so don’t expect me to remember names of rivers, or roads, or anything geographically located. You can go to http://godzoneadventure.com/ for all of that or ask Tom and Paul. You’re coming on my emotional rollercoaster dear reader, buckle up.

Stage one was a packraft/hike/cheeky 150 metre abseil and another packraft (see what I mean about mini legs?) The first portage, which included climbing up a wall of dirt and vines pulling our inflated packrafts along with us was a tiny taster for what was to come (seriously, it wouldn’t even register as anything now. I might be broken). We walked down the river for some time before deciding on Option 2 of 3 bad Option options. Essentially it meant a 1000 metre vertical climb in under 3kms to the top and over some mountain that was between an even bigger mountain (Option 1) and a smaller but dodgier looking mountain (Option 3). The views were pretty good just before we passed the tree line and then the clouds rolled in and it was almost a white out up the top before the darkness descended as we started down the other side, turned on our head torches and were delighted with seeing all the other lights on various mountains around us.

There could be other stuff after this but the next thing I remember is getting to a flat rock overhang about 500 metres from where we were going to abseil and the volunteer who was camped out there saying “it’s not a hard nav to the top”. Well, look, technically she was right. What she did fail to mention though, was that it was going to be incredibly steep and slow to get there. But we did, and after harnessing up and heaving the 150 metre rope Paul thought was too impossibly long to exist back up from the bottom (it existed alright), we descended into the night. Which, thank goodness, because it probably would have been scary otherwise. You know the saying “What you don’t know can’t hurt you”? Well “What Alex can’t see won’t hurt her” was definitely a thing during the race.

Then there was another paddle and we made it to stage 2!

“A straightfoward bike” indeed. The caves were pretty cool. It took the boys a bit of time to orientate themselves but once they had, we bagged all the check points easily. In fact, I think this is one of the only times Tom and Paul weren’t certain the whole race, which is a testament to their skilful navving abilities. Lee even offered to swim the short swim for the last CP and no one complained about that. It did take us the whole two hours so we emerged from the cold depths into the surprisingly humid afternoon and made our way through to the much anticipated, but also dreaded Stage 3. Oh yeah and we decided to walk the 7kms to the lake at the start so we could have a little sleep before the first pack raft. A few things:

It is very hard to walk in a straight line while trying not to sleep.

You cannot walk that far with your eyes closed

7kms is a long way when you really just want to sleep

This is the leg shit got real. Real muddy, real wet, real blistery and real hungry. The estimated slow time was 60 hours. Well, the fastest teams did it in 60 hours. So while us mere mortals packed more food in anticipation, we didn’t anticipate we’d be out there for a solid 4 days.

Highlights include:

4 hours of grade 2/2+ wave trains

The long and strategically genius sleep after getting to the top of a ridge in the dark.

Entering pack rafts from steep bushy terrain onto the water (see photo below)

Finding DoCs (Department of Conservation) possum trap tracks instead of having to bush bash

The 2 km novelty paddle which let our feet rest, if only for an hour

Westies hut

The awesome bridges with 1 person max so someone would dibs going last to have a longer sitting break

Finishing the leg

Lowlights include:

Endless mud

Blisters (shoutout to the medic for sorting me out!)

Putting sore feet back into wet shoes

Soft but actually super prickly moss (Paul said he used some as TP and it was okay though).

After waking up from our last sleep with a big section of coastal track to finish, we hoped by some miracle it would be easier for the last “little” bit. I mean we weren’t hoping for much, even if it only had half the amount of mud from the previous section, we would have been stoked. Much to our surprise, the mud was scarce and the trail was wide! This is probably the first time in the race we got to talk to each other properly and it was amazing to realise how important that aspect of racing is. The conversation did peter out though when Tom started struggling (something i’ve never witnessed before) due to the skin around his toes deciding it didn’t need to be attached, or at the very least, loosely affiliated.

We scored a hot Back Country meal at the TA and as the medic popped all my blisters and told me my feet were better than others he’d seen (I was dubious) he showed me a horrifying photo of another teams feet who had said that he thought “it was only a bit of sand in his shoes” but in fact it was an epically horrible fungal infection and he had to get airlifted to hospital. I felt much better about my feet after that.

The Rowallan Forest looked innocent at first, but as we found ourselves at in thigh deep bog mud (with bikes in tow), it was clear that some simple bush bashing to find a derelict bridge wouldn’t be that simple. After sloshing back and forth to retrace wheel marks from previous teams we decided to head back up the ridge (not fun or easy), ride a little and attack from another angle. Until it looked impossible at night and we decided to sleep for a few hours till sunlight. To be honest, it didn’t seem very possible in light either, even less with a bike, but after 45 minutes we made it out and the rest was much easier after that. Except for when we got to Percy Saddle.

If anyone ever tells you that they’ve heard of Percy’s Saddle and that they’d like to go, laugh in their face. There was no such thing as a “grade 5 mountain bike route”. In mountain bike terms it is not a trail. It is a fire road that ends almost at the top of a steep mountain with 700 metres of markers that alludes to a trail they haven’t built yet.

I tried to channel my bad case of the farts to propel me and my bike up this barbaric route and even though that didn’t work we managed to get them all the way to the top. Although I’m really not sure how. I do know that it shouldn’t take 2 hours to travel 700 metres. It was so exhausting both physically and mentally that someone turned on the waterworks behind my eyes and I couldn’t turn it off for a good couple minutes. Paul and Tom stood awkwardly around me and cried on the inside instead.

I forgot to mention we were also racing the clock to make the 3am cut off to the kayak leg which would take us to stage 6 – the last 24km hike before Stage 7 – a measly (I say “measly” with literally no sarcasm) 8 hour paddle to the finish. We made the cut off with 10 minutes to spare and got some sleep at the most sandfly and team infested hut in the whole race.

After enduring window shaking snoring throughout the night and feeling lower than a limbo champion, I sat in silence next to Paul as we ate a Back Country and treated our feet, watching the 3 teams who’d also bunked with us leave, before mustering the courage to put on our shoes and take the tentative first steps of the 24km hike. Although I felt like death, this hike had the most beautiful terrain of the whole bloody race.

Our first goal was to get to a ginormous and extremely powerful waterfall rumoured to have made a team turn back at the sight of it. After that, it was a steep, mossy and holey slog to the novelty canoe. One of the volunteers had some boiling water on the fire (such luxury!) and I think this is where Tom created a concoction of dehydrated mash potatoes and 2-minute noodles which he claims was amazing while we laughed at the other team who had just started paddling in circles.

Enormous Waterfall

Except when we started paddle we did exactly the same. After a few spins we got used to the paddles and made our way in pitch black darkness to the other side of the lake where after an interesting attempt by Paul to light a fire with the stove, we set up tents and slept for a few hours till daylight.

Braden Currie (Multiple Coast to Coast winner) boated over to pick up our canoes in the morning and said that we should try to hit the pass before the weather got bad. We later took this as a polite “hurry the f@*k up” as the weather ended up being delightful and the view spectacular from the top. Descending into the valley towards the lake took a lot shorter than we expected, probably due to the steep terrain we either lowered ourselves down by vines/grass/whatever solid thing we could find or slid down.

View from the pass. Only 10 kms (6 more hours) down the valley following the river to the lake!

Boulder hopping, (not one of my fortes) became incredibly fun and we eventually made it to the final TA by following a trail of bright fluro markers which are every adventure racers favourite thing to hunt down. (Or at least our teams anyway). We had very low food rations at this point so it was wonderful to stuff my face while the volunteers politely but firmly tried to get us into the kayaks as fast as possible.

This is where we forgot about our feet and aching bodies, dug deep and clicked into beast mode.

Tom was in the front of our kayak as it had the steering thingos (technical term). The wind was pretty horrendous for the first couple of hours and having not done up our jackets, Tom got pounded by huge whitecaps and was not happy about it. So at the first CP we got out, rugged up and carried on.

As the darkness descended and we made it to the last CP we fully expected to have to camp there for the night, leaving us a piddly 5km from the finish. But as we approached, the volunteer radioed in and HQ said we could carry on to the finish. We had a quick team discussion and after bribing Tom with a chocolate OSM we got back into the boats and paddled our way to the finish line. To find out we’d come 3rd place in the international team category, which was just ridiculous.

So what did I learn from this epic race? Firstly, that team comradery and communication is vital to enjoying and getting through a race. Secondly, that your low points can get lower but you can and will continue through pain and tears because the competitive drive still burns and thirdly, even when you think you’ve reached your physical limit, you can keep one upping yourself.

Team goal – “Our goal is to finish the full course with our limbs intact and still be willing to speak to each other.”

Well, we finished the full course anyway.

Would I do it again? Yes. But I’m going to enjoy coffee and my day job for a little while before I sign up for another…

PS shout out to Shapes for making the greatest race food of all time – Nacho cheese flavoured shapes and La Sportiva for creating the most perfect shoe – the Akasha.

GODZone Fiordland 2018 I know I've probably written previously about some race being the "hardest thing I've ever done" but they were lies.

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