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illfoandillfie · 3 years ago

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A Different Kind of Education: I Is For Impact Play (Chapter 8)

ADKoE MASTERLIST

Pairing: Professor!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Series Summery: After being broken up with for not being kinky enough, Reader seeks out her professor to give her some private tutoring so she can win her boyfriend back.

Chapter Summery: A new week and a new lesson, but also a new challenge. How can you possibly find the courage to talk to your professor about your period?

Warnings: Modern AU, smut (18+), slow burn romance, dom/sub dynamics, dom!roger and sub!reader, professor x student sex, dialogue heavy, conversations about and mentions of menstrual cycles/periods, discussions of impact play including: spanking, kicking, slapping, punching, floggers, paddles, crops, whips, and canes

Words: 10,391

A/N: Better late than never, right? Big apologies for taking so long to get this one up! Once again I've had to split a single topic into multiple chapters lmao. This one is mostly the theory part of the lesson and a bit of an info dump, but the next part will focus more on the actual smut.

Taglist: @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @ilovequeenmorethanyou @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies @cherries-n-rocknroll @rogersslave @scorpiogemini

@80s-roger @libsterslobsters @okilover02 @cjand10 @dealorgirl32 @youngpastafanmug @onceuponadetectivedemigod

You knew it was something you’d have to deal with eventually, that having your period would affect your lessons with Roger. But still you felt reluctant to broach the topic with him. It wasn’t something you generally discussed with people, especially not your professor (even if you were regularly sleeping with him). And you could already hear the lecture he’d give you about why you shouldn’t be embarrassed to tell your sexual partner about your cycle, and about how he’d taught reproduction enough to not be phased by it. The problem was you weren’t really sure how you felt about having sex during it and you knew even less about whether Roger would want to. You were definitely going to have to talk to him about it, no matter how much you didn’t want to. So, wondering when the best time to bring it up would be, you checked the curriculum he’d written for you. Impact play. That was the topic for the week. Roger might consider you clueless about kink (as you’d learnt during the previous week’s munch), but you at least knew enough to know that impact play meant spanking. For a moment you were distracted from your worries about the conversation you were going to have, rather excited by what you’d just read. Spanking was one of those things you’d been expecting to try. When you thought about BDSM, spanking was the second thing to come to mind after bondage. It was one of those things Dylan had hinted at being into. A couple of times during sex he’d given your arse a slap and, though you’d never really asked for it you also hadn’t told him to stop. He never hit too hard and it added a bit of excitement so there was no harm in it. And you suspected he might be interested in pushing it further if you ever suggested as much. So, to know that Roger was going to run you through the basics of it and show you how it felt, you couldn’t help but be a bit excited. And maybe you’d be able to keep things over the clothes to start and you wouldn’t have to tell Roger about your period after all. The good thing with having an implant was that it reduced the duration of your period. It would have been nice if it stopped it entirely but at least it shortened it and made it a little lighter. So maybe you could organise a second session later in the week for the more hands on part of the lesson, and not have to explain at all. You left your apartment feeling happier and excited to see Roger that night. But you didn’t have to wait so long to see him.

You’d barely taken two steps inside when a familiar voice called out Ms Y/L/N and you found Roger walking towards you, his hand raised in a lazy wave. “Hi Professor,” you smiled, surprised but happy to see him, “I’m just on my way to class, what’s up?” “Oh, in that case,” he glanced over to a group of students ambling past you, “do you have time for a meeting before you leave this afternoon?” Your heart rate sped up at the serious way he looked at you over his glasses, “Umm sure.” “Good. I’ll see you this afternoon then. Don’t forget.” You nodded but a new worry had taken over your mind. There was only one reason he could want to talk to you. Your degree. If it was anything to do with his tutoring sessions then he would have just said it when you got to his place that evening. No, it must be to do with your class work. Maybe something had been wrong with your last exam? Possibilities were turning over in your mind as you resumed your path to your first class, each worse than the other. Maybe you’d misunderstood a question and gotten it completely wrong. Maybe he’d had to fail you. Maybe your overall grade had dropped. Maybe he was going to call the whole tutoring thing off because you’d gotten too distracted and done so badly on your recent assessment. You spent the entire day trying not to get too worked up about it, trying to tell yourself that if your work had slipped even a little he would have called to talk about it earlier, that if it really was as bad as failing his subject you’d have discussed it long before now. By the time your last class of the day ended you were somewhere between terrified about what Roger was going to say and relieved that you were about to find out.

Your hand was shaking as you knocked on Roger’s office door and pushed it open at his word. “AH, Ms Y/L/N, shut the door please and take a seat.” he said, shifting a stack of papers to the side of his desk. It was only once you were sitting that he seemed to look at you properly, “Are you alright? You look a bit pale.” “Professor I’m so sorry, I swear if something was wrong with my last exam then it wasn’t because of our lessons and I promise I’m not letting them distract me at all. I put so much time and effort into studying and if-” “Woah, woah, hang on. No one said anything was wrong.” Your breath caught in your throat and it seemed to take you twice as long as it normally would for you to understand what he’d said, “There’s not? Then....why am I here?” “It’s about tonight’s tutoring session.” “Oh?” “I wondered if you’d be okay making a small change to the plan.” “S-so nothing's wrong with my work?” Roger shook his head, “Your work is impeccable Ms Y/L/N. Sorry, I didn’t realise you’d assume the worst. I had no intention of worrying you like that. I was intending to mention it this morning but you seemed to be in a bit of a rush and I didn’t want anyone to overhear so...” he gestured vaguely towards you with his hands. You let out a relieved chuckle, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders, “What was the change you wanted to make?” “Do you know what we’ll be focusing on this week?” “Impact play, Professor.” “Very good. And do you know what that entails?” “It’s like spanking isn’t it?” “Spanking is definitely part of it, yes.” “Cool. But you’re not wanting to switch topic are you? Only I’ve been kind of looking forward to this one since it’s like proper BDSM stuff....or like, not that other things aren’t I just mean that spanking is part of what I initially imagined, y’know?” Roger held up his hand to quiet you, “I understand what you mean Ms Y/L/N. And it’s not that I want to change the topic, I just wanted to change where the lesson would take place.” “Okay...” you were a little surprised by that. Where else could he have in mind when your lessons were supposed to be secret. “I thought we might have the first lesson here.” “Here?!” “Keep your voice down, Ms Y/L/N. Not here exactly, not this office. In the first-year bio room actually.” “Why? Isn’t that kind of risky? What if someone saw?” Roger shrugged one shoulder, “It might be, but I think what I intend to show you could be covered as a biological experiment. Let me explain,” he said upon seeing your confused face, “So, as you no doubt remember, first years do a lot of dissection of various animals, working their way up to human.” You nodded, remembering hours spent bent over various carcases and cadavers. “Well, I thought it might be beneficial to show you some of the impact play tools we can use, demonstrating how they work and what effects they can have, but I don’t want to demonstrate them on you straight away. Luckily, it just so happens that one of the animals my first years are studying right now is pigs, so I thought we might use a pig carcass instead. Pig and human flesh are quite similar so you should get a decent sense of how being spanked with various tools will look and the impact they would have on your skin. We can compare being spanked by hand to flogging to a crop and so on. All without experiencing any pain at all. Of course, it is a dead pig so it won’t be exactly the same and you probably won’t see the same levels of bruising you would on a living human being, but it’s a good starting point. Plus this way you could try wielding the tools too, so you can get a sense for how they feel to use them and how much force is required to make them work.” You were taken aback by the explanation and had to stop your jaw from falling open as you listened. But Roger waited patiently for you to think it over and you quickly concluded it was a good plan. You could easily write it off as related to your dissertation if anyone saw and asked what was going on. It wasn’t at all related but Roger was about the only person who knew what topic you were researching so no one else would pick up the lie. “Okay then, let’s have the lesson here.” “Excellent. You really don’t mind hanging back?” “Not at all.” “Good. I think we should possibly wait until a little later before we start, just to let the place clear out a bit. Perhaps we could get some dinner and eat it in here before we head down to the room. You can tell me how you’re getting on with your dissertation.” “Okay, I like that idea.” “Shall I duck out and get us some food then? What would you like?”

After what could only be described as a minor argument about the merits of Mexican food, you and Roger eventually settled on a nearby Greek place. He tapped the order into Uber Eats and then went to wait for the delivery out on the street so the driver wouldn’t have to find their way through the numerous carparks and laneways on campus. You ducked out to your own car to drop off your bag full of books, though you kept your laptop to make notes on. It would also make your story seem more legitimate if anyone did stumble onto the lesson and ask what was going on. The thought of the lesson made you smile. Partly because you were keen to learn about the topic but also partly because you knew there was no way sex would be part of it. Roger would definitely draw the line at fucking his student in his classroom where anyone could catch you. And if you were going to be spanking a dead pig then you wouldn’t be asked to remove clothes or anything like that. So you wouldn’t have to discuss your menstrual cycle with Roger at all. You’d just say you were busy until later in the week when your period stopped and organise the follow-up lesson then and Roger wouldn’t be any the wiser. It was perfect. That, in addition to knowing nothing was wrong with your actual schoolwork, put you in a very good mood and you could have whistled with joy as you made your way back to Roger’s office.

By the time you’d finished eating, the sky outside the window had changed from a mix of warm pinks and yellows as the sun set and was gradually darkening the longer you watched. It was only when Roger glanced at his watch and saw that it was a quarter to seven that he decided the building would be empty enough for your lesson to start. He grabbed his own laptop as you grabbed yours and then led you along the corridor and down a set of stairs, taking you towards the back of the building where the hands-on biology lessons were held. Roger made sure the door was shut and locked before dumping his belongings onto a desk. “Can you give me a hand?” he asked, before moving to the door to a walk-in freezer at the back of the room. Together you hoisted a large pig carcass onto a cart and wheeled it out into the main room. Roger then ducked back into the freezer returning, after a little rummaging, with what looked to be a child’s toy crate. It was made of yellow plastic and seemed light enough that Roger had no trouble hoisting it onto one of the desks, but it was not full of children’s toys. You couldn’t see everything immediately but poking out of the top was a long black handle with a leather flap hanging off the end. “Is that what we’ll be using then?” You were eyeing the box warily. “Yup,” Roger began pulling the items from the box one by one, laying them out on the desk, “I brought the box in earlier and hid it down here so no one would stumble onto it. I didn’t want any awkward questions. Or to have any of them stolen since they’re mine,” he added with a chuckle. You looked over the collection with interest, some of the objects familiar to you and some only vaguely recognisable, “Is that a hair brush?” “It is,” Roger winked playfully, “Kink can be very D.I.Y and the back of a hairbrush makes for a good makeshift paddle. The front of the hairbrush can be fun too actually. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m going to go through everything individually, explain what they are and what sort of effect they have and I’ll demonstrate them on our piggy participant. There’s also a few things I don’t have which we can run through at the end, sound good?” “Sounds great.” You sank into one of the nearby seats, pulling your laptop towards you, ready to take notes. “Right well. Impact play is a BDSM practice where one partner strikes another for sexual gratification. As you rightly said earlier this includes spanking but there's a little more to it than just that. You can slap your partner, punch them, kick them, whip them or flog them. There’re numerous ways to play with impact and as with all BDSM it’s important to negotiate what you want before you start. Being struck can leave marks of course. Brusies, welts, scratches, right through to cuts that draw blood. For some people, the marking aspect is an important part of their enjoyment, and they might go so far as to intentionally make the marks more apparent. But whether or not you want visible marks might be influenced by your job or the season or your social life or any number of other things. Personally, the marks are secondary to why I enjoy the forms of impact play I partake in. But my feelings aside, the nature of our lessons and the secrecy required, means I won’t intentionally be marking you anywhere that isn’t easy to cover up. If you even want to try it out. You might see everything today and decide it’s not for you and that would be okay.” “I don’t think there’s much danger of that Roger. Dylan’s spanked me a little before and I’m interested enough to try more.” “In that case then, you should know that physical pain is part of impact play no matter what aspect you try. And it can bring up more mental pain too, depending on the individual. Which is why I want to start with testing some implements on this pig. We can go through a few things and you’ll get a sense of them and then we can talk about what you might actually want to try or if any of it seems wrong for you. I’m also going to be much more diligent with your safe word in these lessons than any before. So what is your safe word?” “Pizazz, Roger,” “Good. Remember you can use it whenever you need to, even today. If things get too much for you I want to know.” “I know. I promise I’ll use it.” You were struck by how serious Roger’s tone was but understood it, after the conversation you’d had during your previous lesson. And, for the first time, you wondered if this would be a topic Roger would find hard to teach. “Thank you. I’ll check in with you every so often, especially when we move onto the practical lesson and you’re experiencing it firsthand. So, if I ask you what your safe word is, I need you to respond as loudly and as quickly as you can. It’s a way for me to gauge how well you’re coping and to make sure you’re still capable of using it.” “That makes sense.” Having assured himself of your understanding, Roger took a deep breath and smiled again, “Well, I have a range of different implements you can use here today but we’ll start with the most basic,” he held his two hands in front of him, palms towards you, fingers wiggling, “Hands.” You smiled at his showmanship but your gaze lingered on the offered view. His hands had always seemed quite lovely, even when he was just teaching you biology. The way they moved so delicately as he demonstrated necessary scientific processes for the class, or rapidly twirled pens around his fingers to impress new students. Of course, you’d felt them too since you’re first private lesson, the way he caressed you and held you. His fist tightening in your hair and his fingers plunging into you and making you moan and the way he’d gently stroke your skin as you were both regaining your breath. You were excited to feel the power in them as he spanked you. “Spanking is entry level impact play. Everyone and their mother has heard of it. It’s a common thing to see in pornography and even in Hollywood movies when they want to show sex as kinky. And because you don’t need more than your hands it’s easy to experiment with. Do you want to see what it looks like?” You nodded and Roger stepped closer to the pig, angling himself so you could see. Suddenly there was the sound of a clap as Roger’s palm hit the pig’s flesh. “See how my hand was open and my palm was flat?” Roger demonstrated again but slower so the hit barely made a sound, “But what if I do this?” He hit the pig again but changed the position of his hand. The sound of his hand colliding with the pig was deeper the second time around, “If you cup your hand, curve it slightly, you can change the way the spank feels and sounds. Just like clapping.” You experimentally clapped your hands together, first with open palms and then with each hand cupped so that the fingers wrapped around the back of the other. “Now you give the pig a try.” Feeling a surge of nervously excited butterflies, you got out of your seat and took your place at the pig. With a breath and a swallow you quickly brought your hand down. The slapping sound seemed to echo in the quiet room but it wasn’t as crisp as the noise Roger’s hits had made. With a look to Roger for permission, you tried it again, creating a slightly more impressive sound. “Good, now cupped?” You did it again, curving your fingers in a bit and bringing it down again. It felt more awkward than the open palm hit had so you repositioned yourself to hit the pig from a slightly different angle and tried once more. “Don’t be afraid to pull your arm back further. The more your rear back, the more force will be in the spank. Like this,” he pulled his hand back past his ear and swung down hard, the spank echoing around you. “Of course, you can also spank from a nearer point too. Spanking, and a lot of impact play, is best if you mix it up a bit, don’t stay in one rhythm too long, do some spanks with your fingers spread, or change how hard or fast they are. I might give a sub two or three hard hits each with a pause between but then I’ll switch to a more rapid series of spanks that don’t have as much force behind them but come faster.” You nodded and experimented with taking your arm back further, testing out ways to change the strength of each spank, until Roger finally called you to stop. “How did that feel?” he asked as you took your seat again. “My hand tingles.” “That’s normal,” Roger laughed, “in fact it’s one thing I really enjoy about spanking by hand. The sub isn’t the only one who feels the spanks, the dom gets some of the pain in his hand too, especially if the intensity ramps up or there's a section of quick-fire spanks. And that can a) help the dom understand what the sub is feeling and work out how long the scene should go and b) brings a sort of intimacy to the scene that is harder to achieve with a tool.” You hummed as you noted down what he’d said, “Have you ever spanked someone so much you injured your wrist or anything?” “No.” Roger shook his head, amused by the question, “My wrists are pretty sturdy. But a few times I’ve been left with a stingy, tingly hand for an hour or two. Which brings me to an important note about pain. There are two main types of pain you can experience in impact play. We refer to them as thuddy and stingy.” “Thuddy and stingy? What is this, an afternoon kids show?” Roger rolled his eyes, “The names are simple but they explain exactly what they mean. Some types of impact will have a stingy sensation which is usually superficial. It won’t go deeper than the first few layers of skin and probably leaves the skin feeling warm and a little tingly or like sunburn, y’know? It’s typical of spanks and slaps. Thuddy pain is deeper, it gets into the fat and muscles and tissue and aches more. And I’ll go through which tools cause which sort of pain as I get to them. Generally though, people who enjoy impact play have a preference for one or the other.” “And your preference is what?” “Thuddy. Definitely. Although I prefer inflicting stingy.” You hummed thoughtfully. “Now, I’ll go into details about ways to actually incorporate spanking into a scene later. We can talk about it while we’re negotiating our scene. Today is just about the practicalities and sensations involved in the different types of impact play. So are you okay to move on?” “Yup, definitely.” And then, sensing Roger might ask, you added, “Pizazz.” feeling pleased when you saw him smile.

“I don’t expect us to delve too deep into them but I think I should touch on kicking, punching and slapping. Kicking and punching are things I’ve not done. They can, obviously, be quite painful. But they’re pretty self-explanatory. From what I understand about it, and what I’ve heard others who enjoy that kind of thing say, kicking and punching can both be very intimate, similar to the way spanking by hand is, but in a more primal or animalistic way. Punching is, of course, done without any accessories but kicking often includes footwear of some kind. A lot of time it’s something like a steel-toed boot or something with a bit of weight to it.” “That isn't something I want to try.” You’d learnt a lot about how far kink went so weren’t completely shocked that some people would enjoy something as forceful as kicking, but it did take you by surprise to hear Roger talking about it. “What about slapping?” “How is that different to spanking?” “Well, you’re right, they are similar. But slapping generally refers to slapping on the face whereas spanking is usually on the, uh, derriere. Of course you can slap or spank other parts too. For clarity’s sake, if I say slapping assume I mean on the face whereas spanking is anywhere else on the body.” You thought about it for a second, “I’m not sure if I’d be game to try it but I do want to know more.” “Slapping can be fun. Again, it’s not one I do a lot but I have played with it in the past. It comes in handy for particular scenes and there’s a fairly bratty sub I’ve worked with who responds really well to it. The most important thing to know is that if you are slapping someone’s face only ever aim for the cheeks. There’s a lot of fragile places around the face and it’s close to the brain so you need to be careful not to do any lasting damage. Never hit the temples because you hit them with enough force and it can kill a person. Nose and ears are off limits too, anything that is important. You knew enough about biology to know Roger wasn’t making those rules up for fun. Noses were easy to break and hitting an ear too hard could damage someone’s hearing. But face slapping did still intrigue you.

“Well, I’d say the next – let's call it the next level – of impact play is paddling.” He picked up what looked to be a wooden plank with a handle. It was an inch or two longer and wider than his hand with small holes cut out in a repeating pattern over the flat side so you could look right through it. “They don’t always look like this. Paddles come in lots of different shapes and sizes. This is a wooden one but they’re also frequently made of leather and sometimes the leather ones will have one side that’s a little more padded than the other. That gives you a bit of versatility with the pain. You can start off lightly with the padded side to get you in the zone and then during the scene switch it to the firmer side that hurts more. Or, if you don’t have access to a paddle at all, you can substitute a hairbrush.” He picked the hairbrush up and waved it back and forth. “And that-” you pointed at the hair brush, “will feel the same as that?” you pointed at the wooden paddle, not quite able to reconcile the two in your mind. “Not exactly the same but close. Honestly you can get really creative with impact play and not spend any money to get nearly the same results. I mean a plastic hairbrush might take a few extra hits or a little more force to really bruise someone but they’ll still end up sore from it. Or, if the hairbrush doesn’t do it for you, dig through your draws and see what else you can find. Wooden spoons, cutting boards, rulers, leather belts, spatulas, rolling pins, ping pong paddles, anything you can get your hands on. Just be mindful of how easily they’d break or them causing more pain than you expect.” Again, you weren’t necessarily surprised by the lengths people would go to for sexual gratification, as Roger had put it, but it was a bit astounding. Still, you noted it all down just in case. “Now a paddle generally falls under the stingy category but you do tend to get a deeper bruise than with your hand. Different factors could alter the way it feels too. If you put less force into it the pain will fall more on the thuddy side, same goes for if your hits are slower. But the pain call also be influenced by the size of the paddle, the material it’s made out of, the texture of it.” “Texture?” “Sometimes paddles have added texture, so they aren’t just a smooth, flat board. They might have metal studs that are more raised than the surface of the blade – the part you hit with – or ridging that will imprint the skin. This one has holes in it which definitely changes the feeling, makes it more intense. As you strike and the blade hits, the holes do two things. They stop any air cushions forming that would lessen the impact and they sort of push the skin into the holes which means the pain isn't completely even along where was hit. Plus it also leaves these cool circle marks behind which is fun.” You realised you’d held your breath through the explanation, eyes following the paddle as Roger waved it through the air and ran his hands over it unconsciously. You hoped he had something more beginner friendly at home, though you couldn’t pretend you weren’t turned on by the way he wielded his weapon. “Using it is quite similar to spanking but your hand isn’t hitting, it’s holding onto the paddle handle. So you just pull back,” Roger’s arm went back and the paddle swung backwards,” and then hit,” he swung his arm forward, the paddle cutting through the air and landing directly against the soft flesh of the pig. It made a satisfying thwack sound on impact and when Roger’ brought it back again you could see the circular patterns he’d talked about. He demonstrated a few more times before he handed the plank to you. It was heavier than you’d been expecting, solid wood, but the handle fit into your palm comfortably. You ran your hands over the flat part, what Roger had called the blade, and felt the holes with your fingers. The weight made it a little hard to swing but not impossible. You managed to mark the pig as well, stroking the circular imprints with your fingers. “Try the hairbrush,” Roger said, swapping it for the paddle. Its handle wasn’t quiet as long, but it was lighter and you found your hits were harder with it, without you even trying. “Something to be aware of if you use an ordinary household item, or even just a different sort of impact toy. Because it’s lighter you can pull it back further and swing harder. A dom has to be aware of how much is going into each hit and how much their sub can handle.”

“So what’s after paddles?” “Floggers.” Roger picked his up off the table, “This is a fairly typical flogger. As you can see it’s made of black leather. It has the handle which is the thickest part and then a number of smaller tails. The tails is where you get the most variation which can be a stylistic choice or just a side effect of its price and overall quality. There’s a trick for knowing if a flogger is good quality or not. It should be pretty evenly balanced between the handle and the tails, so you should be able to do this,” he held out a finger and balanced the flogger on it carefully, the handle pointing out one way and the tails dangling over the other. You thought for sure it would tip forward onto the tails and tumble to the ground but it hung there perfectly. “Sometimes there will be more tails or they'll look different but no matter what, it should be balanced.” Roger gave a practiced flick of his hand so the flogger leapt into the air and he was able to catch the handle before it fell. “From a more stylistic point of view, you could get a flogger with less tails but they’ll be made of braids of leather which makes them heavier and thicker. Braided tails are also likely to have knots in the ends which can be a bit scratchy and even draw blood. They don’t have to be made of leather either. Rubber floggers are also popular. The tails on them tend to be more rectangular in shape, still flat but they have more edges and it actually feels like you’re being hit with more tails then there really are. And if you’re looking to really fuck someone up you can get hemp floggers. Sometimes they’ll look similar to this leather one but hemp is fairly stiff material and sometimes the tails will be shaped so that they’re sort of squiggly rather than flat lines. The squiggles hurt like a bitch, especially if they have knots at the end. Definitely start off with simple leather and work up once you’re more experienced.” Roger dragged the ends of the tails over his hand as he spoke, “I’d say this falls into the more thuddy type of pain. It can cover a large area of your body since the tails spread out and each of them creates an individual pain point. And because you’re being hit six or seven or nine or however many times at once, you can build up quite a rapid movement over a short period of time.” You eyed the dancing tails as Roger moved his hand through them, “How long are the tails? Isn’t it a bit dangerous to have so many bits flying in all directions?” Roger laughed, “Well yeah, kinda. I mean, that’s BDSM for you though, it gets dangerous which is why we’re all obsessed with safety. It’s a good thing to have noticed though, well done. The tails on this one are on the shorter side but some floggers will have much longer ones which means the dom can stand further back and still inflict a lot of pain. But you’re right, you do have to be mindful of the length and where they’re flying because a longer tail can potentially wrap around to somewhere you aren’t intending to hit. For instance, if you’re standing behind a person and flogging the back of their shoulder, you don’t want one of the tails to fly past their shoulder and around their neck. That would be incredibly painful and probably not what they expected or wanted from the scene.” “So you have to take into account the length of the tails when you’re negotiating the scene then? And know where on the body to focus the hits so you don’t risk causing the wrong sort of pain and ending it early.” “Exactly. That’s why negotiating the scene is important. Then both the dom and the sub will know what they want to achieve, what they want to get out of the experience, and they can tailor things to fit better. A lot of doms who are into impact play are likely to have multiple versions of their favourite toys – I myself have a few different paddles at home, I just didn’t bring them all in with me today – so by talking through what you want they’ll be able to choose the style of toy that will best fit the scene.” “So how do you use a flogger then? Is it the same as spanking and paddling where you just swing your arm forward?” “Sort of. Floggers have a few different ways to use them. There is of course the single strike option where, yeah, you do just hit them like you would with a paddle. I find that you don’t need to bring your arm back so far though, the movement comes from your elbow more than your shoulder.” Roger bent his arm so his hand and the flogger were roughly head height and then brought it down on the pig, “And you can change the angle of your single strike so that you hit them overhand or underhand or from one of the sides.” He demonstrated each direction as he said them, first bringing the flogger down from above, then swinging it up from below, then from the right side and finally a backhanded hit from the left. “But you don’t have to just pick a side to hit from. Paddles and hands are limited in how you can swing them but floggers have more movement. One way to use them is to swing them in a circle.” He moved back towards the pig to demonstrate, standing side on so that the tails whipped around and struck the pig, “I like starting off with circles because you can keep the pressure quite light. The tails sort of brush over the sub as they pass and it can be a good way to slowly build up. And then you can move into a figure eight as you get a bit harder.” Roger shifted his circles so they made a sideways eight in the air, subtly adjusting his stance so that the tail swished over the pig’s skin on both the forward and back motion. You watched, awe-struck by how easily Roger swung the flogger, falling into a rhythm quickly. It wasn’t hard to imagine how he’d suddenly change the speed or the force of the swing when you were least expecting it.

You were brought back to the present by Roger clearing his throat as he stilled the flogger, “The figure eight is why you should practice your backhand swing as much as any other. Because the tails will hit the sub on both the forward and back swings and you want them to be as even as possible.” He flipped the flogger in his hands, holding the handle out to you. It felt smooth and cool in your hand, lighter than the paddle had been. You swished it experimentally, trying to get a sense of how it felt in motion.” “Show me your overhand hit.” Roger said, leaning back against the nearest desk to watch. You tried to imitate how he’d swung it, elbow bent, flogger raised. It must have been good enough because Roger nodded and said, “how about underhand?” He kept calling out different directions for a while, testing your reactions but you felt it helped you get a better grip on the toy and you found yourself adjusting how you held it so your movements became more fluid. Roger watched you as you tried to keep up, his eyes locked onto your hands. Had you been looking, you might have caught sight of him subtly adjusting himself in his pants. Finally, he seemed satisfied that you could successfully single strike from any direction and asked you to try the circle and figure eight motions. They were harder to start, more awkward as you tried to work out the best way to move the flogger, and you caught Roger chuckling.” “Oi, stop laughing,” “Do you want some help?” he was still smiling but his request was genuine and when you nodded he stepped towards you. One of his hands moved to your waist as the other lay over yours on the handle of the flogger. You tried not to grin too much as he did exactly why you’d hoped, and you felt him so close behind you. “Like this,” His arm gently directed yours, the flogger beginning to move in a smooth circle. “Oh, not so hard then,” you laughed, half turning to face him, “Y’know if someone walked in now this would be pretty hard to explain.” His eyes darted to your lips, “Good thing we locked the door then.” You hummed, waiting to see if Roger would close the gap. He did a few seconds later, leaning in to kiss you softly. But the movement caused you both to forget about the flogger, your hands falling out of rhythm, and the tails whacking against your outstretched arms as they fell. “Ow,” you both groaned, Roger stepping away from you. It was disappointing but the disappointment was a little confusing. Surely you weren’t hoping for your professor to kiss you when you had no intention of sleeping with him that night. Roger laughed, “Maybe that’s enough of the flogger today.” “Might be for the best. Good thing I was so bad at it, otherwise we might have been really hurt.” “You weren’t that bad. You actually looked good with it before I brought in the circles. Quite sexy really.” “Thanks,” you said softly, trying to hide how pleased you were at that praise, “What else is there then?”

“There's only one more that I can demonstrate but then there’s a few others I’ll touch on quickly too. So the last one I own is a crop.” He picked it up off the table, his fingers sliding along the length of it’s handle as he spoke, “This one I would put in the stingy category. It’s fast and sharp. Again, you can get crops in a few different styles. They will all have a handle like this, long and thin and probably with a slightly thicker point towards the end that’s easy to hold onto. The difference will be in the bit you hit with. This one is based on the sort of riding crop that's used on horses, so it’s quite plain. There’s just this loop of leather which hangs off the end. But others can be more decorative. I’ve seen crops which had ends shaped like hearts or that had studs pushed into them. Some of them are padded and some have a more rounded shape. We like our variety.” “It looks scarier than the others I think,” “Yeah, they’re quite intimidating aren’t they. And if you do it right, it’ll make a noise through the air, which just adds to how intimidating it can be.” “Can you show me how to swing it now?” “Absolutely. Now, you want to stand a bit further back with a crop because there is such a long handle. And the magic is in the wrist with these. You just flick the wrist and...” You could hear the whooshing sound of it flying through the air before it cracked against the pig. “Now some crops are more bendy and some are more stiff so, if you get one, you’ll want to practice swinging it a bit before you use it on a person, to get a feel for it. The flexibility of it might dictate how you stand or how strong the swing has to be. Give this one a go though.” You felt oddly powerful as you took the crop and tightened your fist around the end. For a moment a vision of you decked out in leather dominatrix gear popped into your head and you nearly laughed. Unfortunately, the intimidating whooshing noise Roger had achieved was not as easy for you to make as you’d hoped, and the imagined power soon dissipated as you struggled to make the weapon sing. Roger however was not disappointed. “It takes practice,” was what he said when you lamented your inability to create the sound, “And you don’t have to have the sound to make a good hit. It’s just kind of cool.” When you still seemed disappointed he sighed. “If it’s any help, I can’t always make the sound either. And besides, I wasn’t intending to use that one on you, unless you really, really want to. I mostly brought it to show you as an interesting part of your theory lessons. And so you’d have a sense of what a cane is like, even though I don’t have any of them to demonstrate.” “A cane? Like....caning? Like what Victorian kids used to have done if they misbehaved or whatever?” Roger laughed, “Kind of, yeah. It does have a history in corporal punishment. Which, might I add, wasn’t just for Victorian kids. It was still a thing when I was a kid. We didn’t get caned, more likely to be whacked over the knuckles with a ruler, but still. I don’t think it really left schools until the 80s.” “Jesus,” “Yeah. Occasionally I do wish I could bring out a ruler to shut a kid up,” he winked in jest, “Anyway, caning for BDSM is similar and uses the same sort of tool. A cane, funnily enough. Canes are long and thin like a crop but without the leather flap at the end or the more padded handle area. Traditionally they’re made from rattan which is a type of plant, but you can also get synthetic canes which are covered in leather. In my experience synthetic canes are actually harder. Not to use, I mean in the way they feel when you’re hit with them. The traditional rattan ones require a lot of maintenance though. You have to water them between uses, literally soaking them in a bath of water so they don’t dry out and break. But the benefit with a rattan cane is that if you get it home and realise you’d like something a bit shorter, you can cut it off yourself and just sandpaper down the rough edge and it’s good as new.” “So are there any different version aside from synthetic? All the other toys had lots of variety.” “Hmmm, not really. Most of the difference will be in how thick the cane is, which can effect the feel of it a lot. A thinner cane will sting when it hits and the force will make the skin hug the cane so it leaves these long marks behind. A thicker cane though might sting less but it’ll still hurt a lot, just more thuddy. And you tend to get more bruising from the thicker ones.” “And do you use it the same as a crop?” “Mostly, yes. The biggest difference is that you can use a larger section of a cane. The crop has the specific bit at the end to hit with whereas a cane doesn’t have that limit. The most important thing to remember is to try and aim a little short of where you want to hit because if you hit with a part of the cane six inches down, those top six inches are going to hit as well, and with force behind them they will wrap around the person’s side or arse or whatever until they make contact. But other than that, it’s a similar motion from the wrist and uses a similar amount of energy. And canes can make the cool whippy noise too.”

“Is that everything then?” “One last one, really quick. Whips.” “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of whipping in kink.” “Yeah, it’s one of those things that gets mentioned a lot even if comparatively fewer people are actually into it. But everyone’s heard the phrase chains and whips in relation to BDSM. There's a few different varieties of whips but I don’t really know enough about them to know the difference. They all look like whips to me. Very cowboy. But they’re one of the more intense versions of impact play. The pain they cause is quite sharp and stingy and will be very localised to a specific point because they have the one tail, as opposed to floggers which have multiple tails. Whips are very capable of breaking the skin though and feel very intensely painful. I do not recommend them unless you discover you’re a masochist and you’ve tried everything else impact play has to offer.” “No need to tell me twice, Professor. Definitely do not want to try whips any time soon.” “That’s very reasonable. And that is all of the impact play options I wanted to go through. There’s a little more to cover regarding safety before I let you go for the night, but how about we put the pig away and hope no one notices it’s been marked by crops and floggers.” You chuckled and quickly moved to help Roger push the trolley back towards the freezer, locking the dead pig away securely, and to help pack up his toys. When everything was tidy again you re-took your seat, Roger taking the one beside you. It made the end of the lesson feel less like a lesson and more of just a casual chat, the topic of which happened to be BDSM. “The most important thing to remember when trying impact play is which parts of the body are safest to hit.” He paused for a moment, considering you, “But you’ve been studying biology for a while now, Ms Y/L/N. Care to guess which parts are safe and which parts you should avoid?” You hadn’t expected to be asked so took a moment to consider your answer, “Well, the arse obviously. Ummm.... I guess I’d assume the best places to hit are the bits with more meat on them.” “Very good. Entirely correct. There’s a reason most people think about spanking on the arse and that’s because it’s one of the best places to spank. Well, that and the fact that spanking is used so frequently in punishment scenes where you bend the naughty girl over your knee. But, yes, hitting the arse is good. Hitting the thighs can also be good, though the bit just under the arse cheek where it connects to the thighs hurts a lot. Which isn’t to say don’t ever spank there, just be mindful that it’s going to hurt more than directly on the arse cheeks. The pecks or breasts can be good places to hit, even the upper back where the shoulder blade is can be good. What about places to avoid hitting? Any ideas what those might be?” You hummed in thought, “I’d imagine you wouldn’t want to hit the spine since it’s so important.” “Right again Ms Y/L/N. The spine is definitely something to avoid. I don’t like hitting on the back much at all because there's too much important stuff there but I do know some others who don’t mind using a flogger there, especially while warming up before things get too intense. There are also the kidneys to watch out for,” he moved his hand to press against the spot on his own back, “because, as you no doubt know, part of the kidneys stick out under the ribcage so aren’t fully protected. Then a little lower down, just above the arse, is the tailbone which should also be avoided. “What about the neck? That would be bad to hit too, right?” “Yup. And that’s something to watch for if you’re doing anything on the shoulder blades. The spine of course runs all the way up the back of the neck and hitting there can do some very serious and lasting damage if you’re not careful. I know some people who will only flog the shoulder blades if the sub is wearing a collar because that adds a bit of protection around the C5 and C6 vertebrae but even so, better safe than sorry in my opinion. The front of the neck is also not good to hit since that’s where the vocal cords and all that is.” “Which is why you have to be careful with a flogger’s tails, right?” “Right. But what about on the front? Is there anywhere else you’d avoid?” “Pussy,” you said with a laugh. Roger laughed too, “Actually, depending on how it’s done, spanking a pussy can be quite enjoyable.” “Wait really?” “Yeah. I prefer doing it with my hand since you can feel when it makes the sub wet but it’s not totally unusual to use paddles or crops or even floggers down there too. I’m sure some people whip as well.” You gulped at the thought. “The biggest area to avoid on a person’s front side is the diaphragm and middle of the chest. There’s a lot of important stuff in there and a lot less tissue than elsewhere.” “Do people get badly hurt doing impact play?” you glanced over the list of places Roger said to avoid. It made it seem like almost any spanking was running the risk of more than just some bad bruising. “Sometimes.” Roger said seriously. He paused for a moment, thinking, and then continued, “Things can go wrong. And when you’re playing with intentionally hurting someone, things going wrong can be very serious. I won’t pretend there aren’t stories of people trying impact play and ending up paralysed or worse. But if you’re careful, if you pay attention and only hit certain areas and are mindful of how hard you’re hitting, then you’re going to be fine. And that’s why we come up with safe words and talk through scenes before we do them. So that you can minimize those risks and have a chance to communicate any worries or concerns.” “But how can safe words help if you say them after you’ve already been hurt too much?” “Well, for one, even if you’ve been hurt badly, using your safe word can stop things from being made worse. But you don’t have to wait until you’re hurt to use the safe word. Yes, if I spank you four times in a row and the fourth one feels so bad you can’t go on, then you should use your safe word before I give you a fifth. But you could also use it after the third hit when you aren’t sure if you want the fourth. And safe words aren’t just about physical pain. If you start off excited but then feel anxious after two hits you are well within your rights to safe word. You don’t have to wait until the damage is done. And, obviously, it’s not always easy to tell if that one hit more is going to be enough to make you want to stop. You can’t always know if the next hit is going to catch your neck wrong and do serious damage. But if you feel at all worried that it might, speak up. Not just worried either. If you feel distracted or you think I’m not paying enough attention to how I’m spanking you, or if I move to spank and area you don’t want me to touch, tell me. There is no wrong reason to use a safe word, even if we’re only a few minutes into the scene. I’ve said before that I’d rather you tell me to stop than for us to go on and you not feel comfortable, and I mean it.” “I know, I guess I just never really thought about it being for mental stuff as well as physical.” “Mmm, I should have checked that.” “Well, let’s face it, you probably tried and I just didn’t pay attention. But, y’know, you’re very good at reassuring me when I start to get nervous.” “I hope that’s a good thing.” “It definitely is. I think if I didn’t have the reassurance, I’d chicken out of some things.” “As long as you’re aware of the difference between some healthy nerves and anxiety that could be a sign you should slow down. And that you keep telling me how you’re feeling.” “Of course I will.” “Good girl.”

An understanding seemed to pass between you as you sat in near silence, eyes on the other. Until Roger drew in a long breath and stood up. “Right well, I think that’s just about everything. Obviously we weren’t able to see the levels of bruising that different implements can cause but it’s kind of dependent on the individual anyway. Everything can influence the severity of bruises and other marks. Tell me what a bruise is.” “It’s broken blood vessels under the skin which cause discolouration.” “Bingo. Now, obviously being spanked with a hand will leave less obvious bruises than being hit with a crop will and usually a paddle will bruise less than....i don’t know, a leather belt. But there's lots of factors to consider. The sub’s age, diet, the colour of their skin, their hydration level, how much sun exposure they’ve had recently, stress levels, hormones. And the biggest of all is how much stimulus they receive on that part of the body. The more you hit a spot, the deeper it will bruise. So, don’t expect bruises and marks to appear exactly the same every time you make them. There are some ways to heighten or lessen marks left during BDSM, but I’ll go through those when you’re ready for our practical lessons. And we’ll also go through some ideas for popular scenes and positions before we settle on what our scene will look like.” Roger seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, “Of course, it’s not so late we have to stop. If you did want to start testing out some light impact play, or if you wanted to revisit a previous topic, you’re more than welcome to come back to mine.” “No,” you said much too fast, the suggestion catching you completely off guard. “Okay, no problem,” Roger said, his eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean...just that tonight’s not great timing.” You’d really thought you’d got out of having to talk about it but you could see Roger was going to ask what you were talking about when on a regular tutoring night you’d likely still be in his bed. All the same you couldn’t quite make eye contact as you explained, “My period started last night, that’s all. Makes things a bit awkward.” “Oh is that all?” You shrugged, “Yeah.” “Well there’s no need to feel awkward or embarrassed about that. And there’s no reason to hide it from me. Aside from the fact that I’ve been married and had kids, I’ve also been teaching biology for longer than I care to count, so I’m very familiar with the reproductive processes and the reality of the menstrual cycle.” “I knew you were going to say something like that.” “Because it’s true. And besides, periods are important to factor into our lessons because they can change how you’ll respond to various kinks. Fluctuating hormone levels can change how much you enjoy or desire sex, as well as the physical sensation of different forms of touch. A lot of women find breast stimulation uncomfortable in the lead up to their period because their breasts become tender at that stage of their cycle. It can also make vaginal sex undesirable, at least in the first couple of days if not longer, whether because of a physical discomfort or pain, or just because it makes sex messier and more annoying to clean up after. The hormonal shifts in a menstrual cycle can also effect libido too, either stopping you from feeling aroused or causing hyper arousal. And all of that is important to consider, especially when we get to other things like orgasm denial. So, don’t feel you have to hide your periods from me, okay? I want to know if something is going to effect how enjoyable these lessons are for you. And plus, I factored periods into the timeline, remember? If you want to postpone for a week we can. His little speech did put you at ease a bit, the weight of admitting the truth no longer as heavy now that he knew, but it still wasn’t an especially comfortable conversation, “Well, I should be okay to go in a few days.” “Would you be up for having sex on one of the last days of your period when your flow is a little lighter? Or would you rather wait until after it was finished?” You tried not to cringe too much upon hearing Roger talk about your flow, “After I think. I don’t know. How do you feel about it?” Roger shrugged, “If we were just having sex without the kinky stuff I’d be okay with period sex. It’s a little more effort since we’d need to put towels down and all that but I’m not completely opposed to it if we’re both in the mood. However, I think since we’re playing with BDSM it’s probably a good idea to wait.” You nodded, glad the topic was almost settled, “Yeah, that makes sense. I think I’d feel too self-conscious to enjoy any period sex but you’re definitely right about the BDSM stuff. Just makes it easier for my first time trying things out if I’m not worrying about, um, bleeding everywhere.” Roger gave you a reassuring smile which made your heart flutter, grateful he hadn’t made things too difficult or drawn out, “That’s settled then. We can put a pin in all of this for now and come back to it when you’re ready.” “Thanks. Will Friday suit? I think I should be right by then.” “Friday sounds great.” “Really? You don’t have to, like, pick up the kids or anything?” Roger shook his head, amused, “No. It is technically my weekend with them but they’re both staying at friend’s placed over night so I won’t see them until Saturday. Friday we can start testing some things and if we need to, we can come back next Monday and go through more. And I finish a bit earlier on Fridays so maybe we could start a bit earlier.” “Yeah that works for me.” “Great. I guess we should get out of here then.” Roger ushered you from the classroom and walked beside you all the way to the carpark, your footsteps echoing down the corridors. He chatted to you quietly about non-kinky topics, as if you’d merely ended up walking the same direction by accident, just in case anyone was looking. You were almost sad to reach your car, drawing the conversation to an end, “This is me.” “One last thing, Ms Y/L/M.” “Mmm?” “For homework-” “Homework?” “Yes. For homework I want you to watch some porn with impact play in it. You’ll find a few examples linked in a document I’ve dropped in our folder but feel free to find your own too. It can be spanking by hand or flogging or any other form of impact we discussed today, whatever turns you on most. Because I want you horny when I see you on Friday. I want you to spend all week thinking about naughty sluts who get spanks, knowing you’ll soon be one of them. I want you excited to be hit and wet at the thought of me spanking your arse and cunt while I fill your holes with cock. Is that clear?” Roger had leant closer as he talked and your stomach did a backflip as he stood up. All you could do was nod, completely lost for words as Roger chuckled and walked into the dark towards his own car.

#my writing #my fics #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine #gonna try and get the next one written a bit quicker lmao

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authorialarcanist · 3 years ago

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It Seems I'll Never Understand (Kagerou Project)

Genre: Angst

Rating: Mature

Pairing(s): Tateyama Ayano x Kisaragi Shintaro

Summary: "...Hey, Shintaro. Why'd you do it? I mean... You could have stayed out of it. It wasn't your fight."

In a world where Shintaro Kisaragi was the one who killed himself on that fateful august day two years prior, Ayano isn't sure what she can do with her life. Living in fear of the Snake of Clearing Eyes, all she can do is think back on the past, and wonder - why it was that her best friend took her place when she's sure he must have hated her, and when was it that it all went wrong.

Shinaya roleswap with a focus on making it work with as few changes to canon as possible.

---

It’s late - late enough that it’s gotten truly dark out. I’m walking along the road to my home, a boy next to me. The bridge we’re crossing seems to stretch out endlessly into the distance, illuminated only by the moon and the street-lamps we’re passing by.

I fiddle with my scarf absentmindedly as I steal a glance at his face. I’m so glad… I was finally able to become friends with him. Or, well… maybe ‘friends’ isn’t the right word just yet. To him, I’m sure I’m still just that stupid girl who made him tutor her for hours after class.

Still… I tell myself that this is the most important first step. Mm-hm. Now that I’ve introduced myself, I’m sure that we’ll be friends - real friends - in no time at all.

“You really saved my life! I never would’ve been able to finish that problem set on my own.” I grin weakly as my babbling inevitably turns to self-deprecation. Ah, well… after my terrible performance back there, trying to act cool for my new friend was a lost cause already. Well, if this was a manga, at least this might be the part where the aloof genius breaks character to reassure me that I can do it?

“Even with my help, it took you way too long…” He sighs. “Geez. I only came here to get my wallet, too. I must be really unlucky.”

—Yeah, right. I’ve only known this guy for a few hours now, but it’s pretty obvious that tender support isn’t his strong suit.

“I really am sorry…” I shrink a little under his criticism. “But! I promise, I won’t forget about today!”

“What are you saying? Didn’t you just say you forget things no matter how much you study?” Ow… I guess I did say that, but… he really has no faith in me at all, huh?

But he just doesn’t get it! Not quite panicking, I redouble my efforts to explain myself. “Today’s special! I’m going to try extra hard not to forget, so it’ll be okay!”

He hums in contemplation and stares away into the distance. And then—

—“Liar.”

I recoil from the sudden accusation. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve broken your promise already, haven’t you? You can’t even remember my name.”

He picks up his pace, and though I try to follow, I can’t seem to move forward.

“Huh? Of course I can!”

“Really? Then why haven’t you said it?”

“Why are you so focused on that all of a sudden?”

“Say it, Ayano.”

“Stop it!”

“Say my name.”

“I— You’re—“ Tears spill from my eyes. I’m trying to say it. Why — why is this happening? Why couldn’t we just keep walking together, chatting about nothing important, like friends do?

“…Yeah. I thought so.” He stops walking, and for some reason, I freeze as well. I have no choice but to watch his back as he speaks. “I guess it’s not your fault, though. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “But… Try to remember, okay?”

He turns to face me again.

His eyes are red.

“If you can’t remember soon, then—“

——

Knock. Knock. Knock. Three hesitant raps on my door.

The sound wakes me from my dream. Already, it’s growing too hazy to remember. All I can say for certain is that hewas there.

He’s always there in my dreams. Maybe it’s some cruel balance for the fact that he’ll never be there again in real life.

“Ayano?”

At the sound of the voice calling for me, I turn over in my bed and bury my face in my pillow, trying not to make any sound to indicate that I’m awake.

“Ayano, please, I know you’re in there. I just want to talk.”

I don’t respond. My father is dead. That’s the best way to think of it. The safest way to think of it. Even when the snake lets him out, it’s only in the hopes of getting me to snap.

“Ayano, I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been the best father to you, since your mother died. But please, I just want to know what happened. What happened to Shuuya and Tsubomi and Kousuke. Why you won’t talk to me. Ayano, please.”

My hands clench against the pillow. I force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

“Ayano…”

In.

Out.

“…Just… think about it, okay? I’m here, if you’re ever ready to talk. Even if you need another two years, I’ll still be here.”

A lie. Dad won’t be here. Just the snake.

“…I love you.”

I stay silent, waiting until the sound of footsteps fades from my hearing. No matter how many times I go through this, it never gets any easier. But… I can’t talk to him.

Even if the snake wasn’t privy to his every thought, I can’t bring myself to speak with the man who sold my world.

“…Is… he gone?” A tinny voice whispers from my computer’s speaker.

I listen for a moment. When nothing happens, I nod. “Yeah.”

My computer monitor lights up as it exits sleep mode, and a girl in blue peeks out from her hiding place behind a browser window. “…I still don’t understand why you don’t leave here, Ayano-chan…”

I shake my head. “I… I just can’t. I’m sorry, Ene.” Ene… that’s what this girl calls herself. About a year ago, she popped out of an email and decided to stick around. She tried to put on this sassy, hyper front at first, but it fell apart pretty quickly.

I’m pretty sure I know who she really is, after all. And she knows I know. I just haven’t been cruel enough to push the topic.

It’s not like she has much of anywhere else to go, after all.

“…Okay. I get it.” She looks down at the taskbar and pokes her index fingers together. “Just… hang in there, okay, Ayano-chan? Do your best.”

“Like my best has ever mattered,” I mumble, and sit down at my computer chair. To be honest, my activities since dropping out of school two years ago have been nothing, nothing, and a heaping dessert of nothing. It’s not like I have any sort of online life to speak of, even. It’s just that… ultimately, there’s nothing else to do when I’m living under the same roof as my father. I can’t risk going outside at the wrong time and having to face him. At least he respects the boundaries of my room; and the snake finds it convenient to leave me a sanctuary under his supervision for as long as he doesn’t have any need of me.

“…So, um… Ayano-chan?” Ene glances up at me, a little shyly. “Can I ask about whether…”

Ah. That. I shake my head. “…I’m sorry. I’ve tried talking to him while my father was away, but Konoha really doesn’t seem to remember anything about us.” Konoha… the white-haired boy the Clearing Eyes took in really is just another reminder of my failures. Still, I know that’s not hisfault, and I can’t really blame Ene for being too scared to check up on him herself. Talking to him hurts badly enough for me, and I still hadn’t been quite as close to Haruka as she was. Honestly though, whenever I’d felt safe enough to slip out and check on him, Konoha had seemed pretty nonresponsive. Forget remembering me and Ene; he didn’t seem to remember anything, not even basic things like rain.

“I see…” Ene droops. This happens every time she brings up Konoha; as much as she’s tried to be around for me, I don’t have the first idea how to comfort her when this topic comes up.

Well, honestly, I don’t think I’m in a place to be comforting much of anyone. Back when I tried all those years ago, it only ended in pain.

In the end, I go with the tried and true method of pretending I didn’t see anything. When there’s nothing you can do, acknowledging the problem only ends in more tears, after all. I pass the day mindlessly browsing the web and making more paper cranes for the army that chokes every available surface in my room. Occasionally, I can’t help but fantasize about what things might be like if I had Paper-Animating Eyes. Sending an army of little origami birds to get revenge on the Clearing Eyes… it’d definitely be a more efficient way of getting a wish granted.

Ah well.

At least my father has work during the day and the snake has better things to do than waste time in this lonely house during the nighttime, so I’m able to check on Konoha and grab something from the kitchen for lunch on most days. That’s particularly important, because dinner can be much more spotty, depending on whether my father is in a “bury his problems in work” mood or a “try desperately to be present to make up for selling his soul to an evil snake” one. Well, okay, I really don’t know how much he’s able to retain about what the Clearing Eyes does when in control of his body, but if he really is oblivious about everything that might actually be worse.

Unfortunately he seems to be in a “try to atone” cycle right now, so I’m running off of a single meal when the knocks return once again.

“Ayano.”

Ene hides behind the browser window again, and I click off of the tab showing a video of a mongoose taking down a snake.

…What? Look, I have to deal with the spite somehow.

“I know you’re in there.”

I stay silent.

“I’ve got another mission for you, Ayano. You know the deal by now.”

I freeze. This isn’t dad.

“I trust I don’t need to spell it out for you?”

It’s the other one.

“I’m waiting.Or is this some pathetic attempt at rebellion? If so, I have to applaud. It’s the most pointless one yet.”

I finally find my voice. “I-I understand.”

“Heh. Good.” The snake chuckles. “Two children are coming to stay in this house soon. Your father’s sister-in-law, and some hanger-on. When they’re here, you’re going to be the model of a big sister, understand? Get them to trust you, and then make sure they’re in a certain place on August fifteenth.”

I shrink in on myself. Children? Please, no…

“I said, understand?You know what’ll happen to your family if you refuse…”

“N-no!” I shoot to my feet in panic. “No… I understand…”

“Good.” What should be my father’s voice drips with malice. “See? Wasn’t that easy? Goodbye, Ayano.” Saying the last two words in an odd sing-song voice, the snake leaves. I collapse back into my chair, hugging myself.

“A-ayano-chan…” Ene peeks back out from her hiding spot.

I turn to her with wide eyes.

“Ayano-chan, you don’t have to do this. Please, we can fight back. I’ll help you.”

…If only. But no, I know it’s hopeless.

I can’t fight the snake. All I can do is delay the inevitable.

I shake my head, and start disconnecting the speakers from my computer. If Ene tried to do something brave, and the Clearing Eyes found out…

“…Ayano, please…”

I pull the plug on my monitor. Ene may still have access to the inside of my computer, but the most she’ll be able to do in the house is open and close the CD drive.

“…sorry…” I whisper quietly to myself, even though I know she can’t hear me.

God, how did things turn out this way?

——

I have many precious memories, moments I’ve spent these past two years trying desperately not to forget. Reading storybooks at bedtime with my mom. Meeting my little siblings for the first time. The way my dad’s face used to look when he’d play with us, long before everything happened.

If you were to look through those treasured days, flipping from one to another as though they were files secreted away in a lockbox, one might still stand out from the rest. Perhaps it’s laminated, or hidden behind a false back. Not because it’s more precious than the others - I wouldn’t trade my family for anything - but because it’s unique nonetheless. A moment elevated in its rarity, and in the pain it brings me - not the dull ache of my mom’s face, nor the stabbing betrayal of my father’s failures and mine, but a gaping void of ‘what if’s.

The first time I ever got to see Shintaro smile.

It was during our second year of middle school, a couple months after the day I finally introduced myself. The last test I’d gotten back had been my lowest score yet, and with exams rushing to meet me, I was honestly in a panic.

But then, Shintaro’d spoken up. For the very first time, he gave me a totally unprompted offer to help me study.

“Thank you so much,” I’d sobbed. “I don’t know what I was gonna do…”

“Ugh, don’t be annoying about it!” He’d refused to meet my eyes as he grumbled. “I just know that if you failed your exams I’d somehow get dragged into helping you catch back up. It’s just easier to get this over with this early, alright?”

Whatever his stated reasons, I still felt like I’d been saved when he stuck around to help me pound the latest lessons into my skull. And I don’t know if we finished faster than usual, if something good had happened to him at home, or if his guard was just down that day for some other reason, but one way or another, he decided to stick around and chat for a bit afterwards.

I can still picture it clearly. That sunny classroom, me perched on my desk to bask in the light from the window, him leaning his chair back as we killed time… and the glint of light that drew my eye to the spine of a book just peeking out of his bag.

“Hm? Hey, Shintaro?”

“What?” He glanced lazily back at me.

I tilted my head to read what I could from the spine. It rung a bell; I’d overheard some of the other girls in our class talking about it from time to time. “Isn’t that ‘Let’s Fall In Love’?”

“HUH?” I winced at the sudden crash as Shintaro lost his balance and fell in a heap.

“Ah! Are you okay? I’m sorry!�� I rushed to help him up, but he just scrambled back until he was pressed against the wall.

“W-w-w-what are you talking about? I-I don’t, I mean, that’s not—“ Shintaro grabbed suddenly for his bag, but his hand missed its mark and sent the contents spilling out as it toppled over instead. The book landed face up, its cover proudly displaying a drawing of a boy and a girl standing together in a very shoujo-esque artstyle. Emblazoned above the picture was ‘Let’s Fall in Love ~ by Yumeno Sakiko.’

“Umm…”

“I mean! It’s Momo’s! Yeah! My little sister wouldn’t stop pestering me, so I picked up her copy for her, uh-huh! I definitely don’t read shoujo manga!” His stuttering picked up pace as he scrambled for excuses, and I couldn’t help it - some part of me kinda wanted to watch him squirm for a little longer.

So, I grinned slyly and searched my memory of my classmates’ conversations. “Uh-huh? You know, with how Mamiko and Oze were talking in the latest chapter, don’t you think there might be a chance they’ll—“

“THAT’S HERESY!” Shintaro slammed his hands down on the ground, and I winced at the sudden spike in volume. “Mamiko and Suzuki are meantto be together!” He clenched his fist and held it to his chest. “I can’t imagine how anyone would think otherwise after that moment in volume 7! And anyways, Oze and Waka may be having a fight right now, but everyone… knows…” He trailed off as my control failed me and I started to giggle. “…Fine. You caught me. Happy now?”

At the sight of him forcing down a pout and struggling to regain a serious expression, I laughed even harder.

“…So I like shoujo manga. Is it really that funny to you?”

“No, no! I’m sorry!” I did my best to get myself under control. “It’s not that, honestly. You just looked so earnest, and then you kept trying to hide it… If reading that sort of thing makes you happy, then I think that’s a goodthing! It’s actually kinda c—“ I suddenly realized what I was about to say, and blushed heavily. “—I mean, it’s kinda cool! Yeah! You shouldn’t worry what other people will think about your interests, you know?” Oh yeah, that was an absolutely stellarsave, Ayano. Absolutely nobody was gonna suspect that you almost called your classmate ‘cute’ without thinking. Aside from, I dunno, people with eyes.

Thankfully, all of that intelligence must have come out of Shintaro’s perceptiveness instead, because he let it pass without comment. “So…” Shintaro seemed to be looking anywhere in the room other than my face, which might have helped the whole ‘not noticing my face doing a bonfire impression’ thing. “Do… you also read it, then?”

“Huh?”

“Y, you know! ‘Let’s Fall in Love’!”

“A, ah! Right!” I snapped out of my thoughts. Right, let’s just pretend that slip never happened for now, and I can unpack whatever the heck it meant on my own time, when I won’t make my one school friend think I’m even more of a weirdo than he already does. “Ehehe… Not really, actually.” I scratched the back of my head and grinned sheepishly. “I was just parroting something I overheard. I’m more into the shounen stuff, you know? Hot-blooded super sentai fighting to save the world, and all that.”

“Really? But they’re so formulaic. You can see everything coming from a mile away. And how do those guys get through posing dressed like that and not die of embarrassment?”

Well, I couldn’t just sit there and take that. “What? Hold on a moment, like your mushy stuff is any better! Aren’t they all just ‘boy meets girl, cue nothing happening for the rest of their school lives’?”

“Wh— they are not!There’s nuanceand relationship growth and everything!” Woah. Shintaro was looking about the most fired up I’d ever seen him! At that thought, an idea clicked in my head.

“Hmm… Alright, then!” I grinned at him and gave a sharply enunciated chuckle, heh-heh-heh. “Why don’t you tell me more about this series, and if you manage to change my mind I’ll give reading it a try? And then, in return, you’ll watch an episode of Engine Sentai Go-Onger with me, and we’ll see how you feel about heroes after that!”

Shintaro rose to the challenge. “Fine! Come on then, I’ll teach you about why Yumeno-sensei is a master! I mean, her portrayal of Mamiko’s inner struggles alone touches the heart, even for a boy like me! There’s this moment in chapter 12 when she…” He lit up as he talked, gesturing wildly with the plot points. I’m a little ashamed to say that I actually stopped paying attention after a few moments, because my focus suddenly seemed drawn to his face. He was grinning - actually grinning, the first genuine smile I’d seen from him in, well, ever- as he opened up about his interest.

I can only remember thinking two things as we walked home that day.

The first was, ‘What a pretty smile.’

The second was, ‘…oh. Crap.’

…So, yeah. It looked like I maybe had a teeny little crush. That was okay! It was fine! It meant I was finally starting to grow up, right? Anyways, whatever Shintaro’s romance manga said, I was pretty sure that people were supposed to get a lot of those with time. They didn’t have to mean anything, or, y’know, gamble their only real non-family friendships on the chance that someone who was really smart and cute would still want to hang out with a dumb girl they barely tolerated helping out if she asked.

Not a problem! I’d just go about my life as normal, and it’d fade in time. Eventually, I’d probably look back on this day and laugh.

…And if in the meantime, I wanted to see him smiling like that again? Well, that could be my little secret.

——

Of course, let nobody accuse me of being a good planner. Obviously, the darn thing only seemed to get stronger with time. Wanting to see Shintaro smile because I wanted him to be happy slowly morphed into wanting to be the reasonhe was smiling like that. Hoping that maybe, if I could be the one to make this lonely boy smile, that’d mean I was actually worth somethingreally the hero I pretended to be.

Mom died, and I had to be the strength for the whole family as dad seemed like half his world had gone missing, but no matter how much I needed comfort of my own, I wasn’t ready to tell him.

We met Takane and Haruka, and one friend turned into three, but even though I’d only be gambling 33% instead of 100, I was still too scared to tell him.

And then I found out that dad had changed, what the thing in his body had planned for Haruka and Takane and my siblings, and suddenly my stupid little feelings didn’t seem so important. I had to research the read eyes, and I needed Shuuya to cover for me, and in the end I didn’t have the attention to spare for my friend my crush my…

…for Shintaro. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice our growing distant. Why I didn’t notice things growing strained.

Why I didn’t notice that I really was just burdening him with my own expectations.

Didn’t notice until a hill at sunset, a hand snatched away, his back receding into the distance while I stood alone.

After that, I wondered about a lot of things. How much had been genuine, and how much really had just been putting up with me. How much of my motives had been pure, and how much had been that dark little thrill of seeing him down and feeling like I was still needed.

How cruel it must have been, to plan what I was planning and still try to hold onto his hand until the last minute.

So I didn’t try again. I delegated as much school time as I could to Shuuya (and carefully didn’t wonder why his face was growing more stressed, why his own time seemed to draw thin.) I withdrew further, and dedicated everything I had to my lonely mission. August fifteenth came all too soon at last, and I shoved my responsibilities onto Takane, told her to be honest with her feelings even as I swore that my own were better ignored. I wrapped my scarf around my neck, the colour of a hero, I steeled myself and turned to mount the stairs, and I was interrupted.

“Shuuya? What are you doing?” My little brother had arrived in front of me, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath.

“N, neechan, please!” Panting, Shuuya raised his eyes to meet mine. They glistened with tears. “You have to— you have to stop Shintaro-kun! He’s about to do something really stupid!”

“Huh?” I was taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s already gone to the roof! I couldn’t do anything! Neechan, please!”

“The roof?” I still didn’t understand, but I burst into a run anyways, leaving my brother behind. Why was Shintaro even here today, when he didn’t need summer school? Why did Shuuya know about it? What could he be doing on the roof, other than…?

He wasn’t involved. God, please, he wasn’t involved, why was he here?

I took the steps two at a time, ignoring the pain shooting through my lungs, and had no choice but to stop for breath and lean against the wall for a moment when I finally reached the door leading outside.

My father’s voice filtered in from outside. No - not my father. The thingwearing his skin. “Honestly, kid.” He sounded mildly exasperated, like my dad did whenever a student had turned in a particularly baffling answer on a quiz. “You think that you’re gonna be the big damn hero? You really think there’s a single thing you can do here to beat me?”

“No.” Shintaro, this time. “Honestly, it’s a stupid plan. Totally useless in every way. But hey.” A dark chuckle. “Objectively speaking, the life of a rotten boy like me is just worthless enough to make it worth trying.”

I’d finally caught my breath, but at that it caught in my throat. Did he mean—

I burst through the door, screaming, “Shintaro, NO!” The roof was empty except for two people. My father, standing on solid ground looking mildly vexed. And Shintaro, clad in that red jersey I’d said I liked, the color of a hero, sitting perched half-on the fence around the edge of the roof and half dangling over open air.

His eyes met mine, and no matter how hard I try I know I’ll never forget the way his face clouded over, the way his eyes darkened, or the words he said to me at that moment.

“…Oh.

“Ayano.

“The very last person I wanted to see.”

His final curse delivered, he leaned back. The world distorted around him, horrible discordant red tearing open fangs in the sky.

And he fell.

I must have screamed, but it’s a blur. I just know that by the time I came to, I’d fallen on my knees, and the thing that took my father was laughing.

Laughing.

“Ha! You kids never fail to surprise me, you know that? I never once would have expected that depressing little thing to get up off his ass and do something like this!” He paused. “Well okay, I guess I would, but the part where he tried to stand up to me was still new.”

Before I even knew what I was doing, I’d jumped to my feet and was tackling him. “SHUT UP!”

“Whoops!” Somehow, my father’s body stepped out of the way before I could react. I found myself impacting concrete and rolling on the roof, scrapes all over my body where I’d fallen. “Come on, brat. You’re a big girl now, you should be used to hearing swear words by now. Or wait, are you angry about the boy?”

With a wordless scream, I threw myself at him again, but this time he casually stuck out a leg and tripped me.

“You might still have time to save him, you know. Throw yourself off the roof after him, and maybe you could convince him to come on out and bring me that snake he stole.” He sneered. “Of course, it’d mean making this whole little sacrifice play all for nothing. And this guy” he tapped the side of my father’s head, “might even willingly help me kill the brat if you did! Oh, now thatdespair would be delicious to see.”

I swallowed the pain as my fists clenched, scraped raw though they were. “…Shut up. You… you’re just trying to convince me because you know your plan’s finished. You can’t gather the snakes now. There’s no… no more reason to kill Takane and Haruka, or the others.”

*snrk.* The monster covered his mouth with a hand.

“What’s supposed to be so funny?”

“Ha! Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just… you think this kid managed to save your friends? Please.” He rolled his eyes. “He was too late. They’re already dead.” He shrugged and continued in a sing-song voice. “And anyways, the boy was a goner already. You should be thankingme; this way, at least he has a chanceof living for another year or two.”

“W…what…?” I slumped, the fight draining from my veins. No. It couldn’t be. Takane and Haruka… they were gone, too?

My “father” walked up to me and rested a hand on my shoulder. To anyone watching, it might have just looked like a father comforting his daughter; but I could feel his fingers dig into my flesh in a vice grip. “Still, working this all back out from the top is going to be a pain. And that’s not even counting all of the cleanup I have to do! It’s one thing for those other two kids; I’d made preparations for them. But spinning the sudden disappearance of this brat, too? No, that’s far too much work.” He crouched down until he was level with me, a too-wide smile on his face. A shiver ran down my spine. “So, Ayano.I’m going to have you do me a little favor, alright? And before you consider trying to do something brave, consider just who it is that has your family’s life in his hands, hmm? Don’t say anything; just nod.” I nodded, stricken. Everything I’d planned had come to nothing in a few short minutes. “You’re going to find Shuuya for me, and you’re going to have him go make himself look like this guy -“ he waved vaguely at the empty edge of the roof - “’s body for me. A suicide should be easy enough to explain away. Especially when the victim was as gloomy-looking as this asshole here. Honestly, people’re gonna think it was a miracle he lasted as long as he did.” My fists clenched again at relentless slander, but there was nothing I could do. I was totally and utterly defeated. “You got it, Ayano? Do this, and I’ll let the people you care about live a little longer.” He chuckled. “…Well, what’s left of them, at least. Hahahaha!”

How could I have ever thought I could be a hero? All I’d managed to do was arrive too late to save either of the snake’s intended victims, and drag a bystander to his death in the process.

In the end, tears streaming down my face, all I could do was nod.

——

“Neechan!” Shuuya rushed up to me the minute I exited the school. He grabbed my hands - I didn’t resist - and gasped at the scrapes all over them. “What happened to you? Where’s Shintaro-kun?”

“Shintaro— He’s—“ My voice caught.

“Nee…chan…?” I could see the exact moment Shuuya caught on. His eyes widened and his face fell, all in one motion. “Dammit! And just when the guy starts to convince me he’s not all bad, he has to go and do something like this…” His hands tightened involuntarily around mine, but I couldn’t even find the energy to wince.

I spoke in a flat voice, forcing myself to put one word in front of the next. “Shuuya. There’s something very important I need you to do.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“You need to use your power to turn into Shintaro. Let somebody discover ‘his’ body, so there’ll be a record. If you don’t, then… then he’ll…” My voice caught again, but I forced myself to continue before Shuuya could ask any questions. “And then there’s one more thing you need to do. I need you to take Tsubomi and Kousuke, and go away. Go somewhere far away from here, and don’t— don’t tell me anything about where you’re going. You can’t contact me at all, okay? I can’t have any way to find out more about you.”

“W—what?”

“It’s the only way that you’re going to be safe. I… we can’t stop the Clearing Eyes. He can have you all killed in a moment.”

Shuuya must have been able to see the seriousness in my eyes, because he didn’t try to debate the point. “Okay, but… Why can’t you come with us? We can all run, that’ll be safer!”

I just shook my head. “…No. He… he’ll find me, somehow. He knew how to respond to everything that I tried. Anything I do… no matter what, I’m sure he’ll…” I hugged myself and started slowly walking towards the path home. It was clear to me now. I was nothing more than a puppet dancing on the Clearing Eyes’ strings.

“W-wait, Neechan! Come back!”

“Goodbye, Shuuya. Please don’t forget to do what I told you. Consider it… My final request as your sister.”

“NEECHAN!”

——

“…Hey, Shintaro. Why’d you do it?”

I lie on my back, staring at the empty ceiling as I talk to the air.

“I mean… You could have stayed out of it. It wasn’t your fight.”

The cranes crowding every surface above me seem to swirl and distort, like a heat haze.

My head keeps playing his final moments on repeat. Even as the happy days grow dimmer and dimmer, I can’t seem to forget his last words no matter how hard I try.

‘The very last person I wanted to see.’

“If… if you hated me so much, why didn’t you just let me be the one to jump? Why take my place?”

I wonder… if I’d been the one to jump that day, would he have been able to do what I couldn’t? I indulge in a brief fantasy of Shintaro, red jacket flapping behind him, standing tall with my siblings as they face down the Clearing Eyes together.

…Somehow, I just can’t see it. Sorry, Shintaro.

‘The life of a rotten boy like me is worthless’

“…Did you hate yourselfthat much? Were you so sick of life that you grabbed the first excuse you could find?”

…Maybe. But… somehow, as much as he tried to shut the world out, I can’t help but see Shintaro as someone who was brimming with life underneath it all. At the very least, whenever he talked about his sister, he didn’t seem like he’d want to leave her.

The thought of Momo-chan makes me wince. Another memory, this time of her crying and screaming at me when I’d tried to comfort her.

When I’d broken down and sobbed that it was all my fault.

I can’t blame her for hating me. To be honest, I wonder if it wasn’t what I was secretly hoping for.

Just another case where Ayano’s self-satisfaction came before actually doing her job.

My alarm clock rings. I’d set it instead of my phone, to make sure Ene couldn’t try and be a hero. (I can’t help but hope that she’s given up on me, and found her way to somebody who’ll be a better friend.) It means that the children…

…my victims…

…should be arriving soon.

I push myself to my feet. In the end, even blaming myself is just pointless self-satisfaction. I’ve made the choice to play this role; I made the decision that these two children were worth less than the family I know and care about.

It doesn’t take too long to get myself presentable. I choose an outfit that looks like its owner hasn’t been in hiding for the last two years, and glance at my scarf, hanging wrinkled and dusty on a hook.

My hands shake.

And I turn away without touching it. I don’t deserve to wear that color.

Not when red is the color of blood.

“Sorry, Shintaro. Guess you made the wrong trade, in the end. Even a genius like you makes mistakes, huh?”

With that snide remark, I turn my back on his sacrifice and walk out into the house.

…Still, a thought flits across my mind.

—Ah, I would have liked to see that smile, just one more time.

The doorbell rings. It’s time.

I hide my feelings behind a smile, painting it from ear to ear.

And I open the front door.

#kagerou project #tateyama ayano #kisaragi shintaro #fanfiction #shinaya #suicide cw #angst #i promise future fics for this series will be happier once i'm ready to write them #happy kagepro day!

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yan-twst · 4 years ago

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CYOYA - part II

and finally it’s here! chapter ii of the cyoa fic! last time you all voted on what our protagonist should do, and the winning choice was to ask malleus to study with you! so the story will be picking up from there!

“Hmm, I’m sure Silver would enjoy sharing his cookies with a friend, especially after a hard day of studying...” hummed Lilia, and it was at that moment you knew that you had to get away from the short fae as soon as possible, lest you fall victim of what would probably be the world’s most horrid food poisoning.

It’d be rude to just run away all of a sudden; Lilia was still your superior in terms of authority, and he didn’t seem to have any ill will. You nervously glanced around, eyes settling on Malleus’ imposing figure; how you had forgotten he was there for a second was beyond you. Tall, imposing, with green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dark, you could understand why so many people feared the dorm leader just based off looks alone, but in this sort of situation...

“Um, I was actually, uh... Hoping I could ask our Dorm Leader here for help with studying.” you hoped the anxiety in your voice didn’t show through. It was uncharacteristic of anyone to get close to Malleus, be it out of respect or fear- and usually you’d keep your distance too, not wanting to annoy the fae prince (and also being admittedly intimidated by him, but you figured everyone was).

Despite your odd request, Lilia didn’t seem confused. He merely grinned and nodded, almost as if he’d been expecting this outcome. Malleus, on the other hand, did not look nearly as knowing as Lilia. His eyes opened wide and his posture stiffened for a second, telltale signs of him being shocked, as he opened his mouth soundlessly. You prepared yourself to get roasted by his fire breath or something for your request; surely you’d crossed a line or something by so carelessly asking for his time. He wasn’t just your dorm leader, he was also a prince and one of the most powerful mages, surely you shouldn’t have just-

“Is that truly what you wish for?” no green fire left Malleus’ mouth, instead a simple question to answer your request. You blinked a couple of times, releasing tension you’d gathered in the seconds of arduous wait.

“Y... Yes?” you repeated, a bit taken aback by the response. Malleus had composed himself quickly, back to his usual way of standing and his eyes no longer wide open; but there was just something about his body language and tone that was off. It wasn’t annoyance or anger (thank gods, because he could probably wipe you off the planet without much effort), but rather something akin to... bashfulness? “Oh, um- only if you have time, of course! And if you want! I don’t want to impose...”

“Ufufu, don’t worry little one, I can assure you he doesn’t mind.” said Lilia with a smirk so wide you had to wonder if he really had intended for this ordeal to go down like this. “Now, Malleus, it’s no time to be shy, one of your dorm members has come to ask you for help! Go on, show them what you know.”

“Don’t you have to deliver those... Cookies before they cool?” Malleus’ tone didn’t change much, but the faint tint of pink in his cheeks told you Lilia’s words had definitely made him flustered. It was an odd sight, to see him acting in such a way- after all, the image you had of him was shaped by watching his imposing figure walk around campus surrounded by his guards, by rumours and whispers, and the occasional viewing of him ruthlessly winning at magift. Nothing could have prepared you to see such a humane side to him; but maybe this was just how he acted when he was with people he trusted...? Lilia did seem to have a deep connection to him, after all.

“Oh, you’re right!” Lilia’s attention was immediately driven back to the plate of charcoal black masses resting on the table. He picked it up and began to walk away, not before turning around and saying goodbye. “Well you two, have a nice study session! Don’t go to sleep too late, (name)!”

“We will!” you replied, waving goodbye to him. In all honesty, you were just relieved you weren’t going to get peer pressured into eating one of those toxic looking cookies- but now that Lilia was gone, you were suddenly left alone in the common room.

“... You’re quite daring, to ask me for help.” mused Malleus, although his tone didn’t seem to hold malice. He looked more curious than anything, as he gazed down on you, as if he were trying to understand your actions. It was nerve racking, sure, but on the very least he didn’t seem upset.

“Should I have not done that?” you said, almost biting your tongue once the words were out. Were you being too casual? He was a prince and he was powerful, and you were just a normal student- but... The only person you’d seen advocate to treating Malleus like absolute royalty was Sebek, and even Malleus seemed to get tired of the first year’s antics from time to time.

“I never said that.” he replied, an amused twinkle in his eyes as he smiled. He uncrossed his arms from his chest, a small action, but one that made you feel just so much more comfortable in his presence. Surely if you stepped out of line, he’d let you know, right? So far he didn’t seem like the type of guy who’d just zap you to death for a mistake. “I’m simply... Surprised you did so. Most students would be too scared to do so.”

“Well, that’s...” what the hell were you even supposed to say to that?! As powerful as he was, it seemed Malleus wasn’t a great conversationalist, with how he was pushing you into a corner in the conversation. “... I haven’t talked to you much, but you’re my dorm leader, so it’s not so shocking I’d ask for help, right? I know you’re very skilled and powerful, too, so... I guess I just didn’t think it’d be that weird.”

“Hmm...” he seemed satisfied with the answer, maybe even... Happy? He wasn’t easy to read, and you didn’t want to seem like you were staring. Still, you could have sworn you hear him whisper ‘that’s quite interesting, indeed’ under his breath, but he quickly spoke up again. “You’re right that as your dorm leader, it’s my duty to help you. Do you have your class materials with you?”

“Yes, here they are.” you said, opening your notebook to the page with the draught’s ingredients and preparation steps. “... It’s a bit dark here, sorry if it’s not very readable.”

“Is it troublesome to study here for you?” asked Malleus, raising his eyebrows. Glancing at his green eyes, the fact he’s probably got no difficulty looking in the dark- or in the not-so-well lit common room- hit you, judging by his slit pupils.

“No, no, it’s ok, I can read, it’s just a bit dark here since the torches’ fire is dimmed at night.” you said, not wanting to seem like you were causing one problem after the other. The torches lighting up the common room were lit with magical fire, and at this time of the night, they became quite dim, probably to discourage students from lingering too long and make them go to their respective rooms. It didn’t make it impossible to use it as a study room, just not an effective one; ideally, each student would do their late night cramming in their own room, but there was no way you were asking Malleus to go to your room. First of all, it was messy, and second of all, your dormmate was there snoring the night away.

“There’s no need to lie to me. You shouldn’t strain your eyes to read in the dark.” Malleus picked up your notebook before you could complain. For a second, he looked like he was thinking; you guessed he’d offer the library as a good place to study (although you didn’t want to go all the way there, if he offered so you’d accept), or maybe he’d use his magic to make the torches burn brighter. After his deliberation, he tucked the notebook under his arm carefully and motioned for you to follow him out the common room. “Follow me, (name). We’re going to my room, if that’s ok with you.”

“That’s-!” your body froze at his words. No, no, absolutely not. Even if he offered it, it felt like too much to do that- you’d already been enough of a thorn on his side asking for his help, it was getting late, and he probably had his own things to do. “I’d hate to intrude- listen, it’s ok, I can read up my notes tomorrow morning, and-”

“I would not have offered if I was not ok with it.” Malleus’ response cut you off before you could try and excuse yourself out of the situation. He was still looking at you with that odd expression, a mix between curiosity and interest, as if he were staring at some odd flower of sorts. “Follow me.”

You certainly didn’t feel like starting an argument with him, and so you did. The halls were a bit too dark for comfort at this hour, the torches dimmed here as well to deter students from wandering around at such hours. An ironic thing, really, considering most of the Diasomnia student body stayed up until odd hours studying or simply killing time. Following Malleus, you stared at his broad back and his tall form, the way his horns curled from his head and reflected the greenish glow of the fire; truly, he looked like a prince. And then you decided to resolve something nagging you at the back of your mind.

“Um, Dorm leader, just a quick question... How did you know my name?” you asked. He’d called you by your name when inviting you, hadn’t he...? You couldn’t recall presenting yourself to him- but as soon as you finished your question you realized the answer to it. “Oh, nevermind! You probably heard Lilia say it when he left, my bad.”

“It wasn’t from Lilia.” Malleus’ response was rapid, almost as if he didn’t even have to think. You furrowed your brows at this; no, you were sure you’d never formally presented yourself to him, and you weren’t in the magift team or anything like that, so why...? “Silver talks a lot about you.”

“Oooh, of course! That makes sense.” you almost wanted to slap yourself for not realizing such an obvious connection. Silver was a friend of yours, and he did spend a considerable amount of time guarding Malleus. He’d probably mentioned you a couple times or something, nothing too weird.

“... But Lilia did tell me about you in the entrance ceremony.” added Malleus. You couldn’t see his face as you followed him from behind, but the tone in his voice had softened just a little bit. You didn’t want to make any assumptions, but it almost sounded like he was thinking back on a fond memory. “Diasomnia doesn’t get as many students as other dorms. I wasn’t even invited to the sorting ceremony, but Lilia told me how only a handful of the new students got sorted here.”

“Ah, that’s right, I remember the vice dorm leader- I mean, Lilia, telling us you were missing that day.” you said, tracing back on memories. Honestly, you’d been so anxious and excited the day you’d arrived at NRC, you hadn’t even cared about what dorm you got sorted into; you considered yourself a pretty average person, without anything too surprising or any curious talents, so you didn’t know where you’d get sorted. Unlike many NRC students, you also lacked a family history in the school; most people guessed their dorm based on what dorm their siblings or parents had been in, but you’d just... Never had a family member you knew attend NRC.

“... Lilia said the mirror claimed you held great magic potential.” he seemingly skipped over the fact he wasn’t in the ceremony (he said he wasn’t invited, right? You figured he had his reasons to not want to go over that), but his comment still caught you off guard. “It’s not often the magic mirror will say that about a person.”

“Is that so...? Haha, I’m not so sure about that. I mean, I don’t think I’m too amazing at anything.” you said, chuckling. You’d simply thought the mirror said some cheesy stuff to everyone who got sorted, as some sort of ego boost to the first years or something. “Well, I am glad I got sorted here, though. I like Diasomnia.”

“You shouldn’t say that about yourself.” Malleus didn’t turn around when he said this, but you just knew he’d narrowed his eyes as he said that. “... Just the fact you even dared ask me for help, and followed me to my room like this goes to show you’re quite different. I have no doubt your skills in magic will flourish in time.”

“I- um, thank you...!” you truly hoped your voice didn’t sound like a squeak, but it was hard to keep cool when Malleus Draconia spoke to you like that. “It means a lot to me, um, coming from you.”

A comfortable silence fell between you two. The sound of Malleus’ heeled uniform shoes against the stone floor echoed in the halls, mixing with the noise of rain outside- soon, you were faced with stairs. Being constructed like a castle from the Valley of Thorns, there were plenty of towers; of course the dorm leader’s room would be on top of one.

“We’re here.”

You were a bit surprised at how much you walked to get to his dorm- the amount of stairs you’d gone up was enough to leave you breathless, although Malleus looked fine. The door to his room was made of a beautifully dark wood, with intricate carvings and a metal doorknob. He opened the door and walked in, holding it open for you (you wondered if the door had a lock and key and he just kept it unlocked knowing nobody would dare come snooping, or if it was some sort of magic door that only opened for him).

“Come on in,” he said, and not wanting to make him just stand there holding the door open, you quickly walked in despite feeling like someone as common and unimportant as you shouldn’t just be waltzing into his room.

As he closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but wonder at the sight of his room. It was big- dorm leader benefits, you guessed, because this one-person dorm was about twice the size of the dorm you shared with your roommate. The floor was tiled in white with black accents, and the thing that caught your eye first was the huge canopy bed. The way the canopy was built almost reminded you of the very building of the dorm. Immediately your eyes flew to the giant dragon statue next to the dresser- why was that there you had no clue, but it certainly looked cool. It was probably related to Diasomnia’s origins and its logo, since the Witch of Thorns could turn into a dragon.

The more you looked, the more details you picked up. The loveseat in front of his bed was currently occupied by books and trinkets, as if he’d been cleaning and put them all there while he found a space for them. There were many magift team banners in the wall above his desk, and you couldn’t tell why, but you found that adorable. Besides the loveseat, there wasn’t much clutter in the dorm- it was quite clean, actually, almost as if he didn’t spend much time there. His desk was probably the most well-loved spot, the chair still ajar as if he’d stood up and not put it back in place, papers crowding the surface of the desk.

“This should be well-lit enough.” he said, and with a flourish of his hand, lit the candelabra on the desk. That much was overkill, really, considering the giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling, but you appreciated the gesture- and also admired how easily and precisely he’d just cast fire magic. “Take a seat wherever it’s comfortable for you, and we can begin studying.”

Upon being presented with that choice, you blanked. Picking where to sit down should be the easy part of this whole ordeal; asking your intimidating dorm leader for help and accepting to go in his room was the ‘hard’ part, sitting down was the easy part, but in that very moment you weren’t so sure. The loveseat was occupied by his stuff, and you’d really rather die than start moving around his belongings for a seat. That left the floor, the desk, and the bed; of course you wouldn’t just sit on the floor, because then he’d also have to sit on the floor to explain, and that didn’t feel right at all.

The desk should have been the logical choice, but as you glanced at it, it was very clear that having only one chair would pose a problem. Sure, he probably wouldn’t mind- in fact he most likely expected you to take a seat there- but... Then he’d probably have to stand behind you to explain, hovering over your shoulders the whole time. He’d have to lean down to your level to check your notes, and- gods, if it were some random student you wouldn’t have cared this much, but... Something about having Malleus stand behind you, rest his hands on the back of the chair where you sat, and to have him lean down and be so close to you just to read the notes made your stomach flip. But that was your problem; you were the one making a big deal out of just sitting in a desk, of all things.

Then there was the bed- honestly you mostly studied sat in your bed, with your notebooks spread out around you. But that was in the privacy of your own dorm. Sure, if a friend was over you wouldn’t hesitate to tell them to sit on your bed with you to chat or just chill, and you’d even helped your roommate study before while you both sat down on his bed to review and exchange class notes. But this- this was Malleus’ bed. Was it too out of line to sit down on the bed to study...? It was just sitting down; he probably wouldn’t even give it a second thought...

— time to make a choice! vote in the poll linked below to choose how to advance in the story! choosing where to sit may seem innocent enough, but this particular choice is the one that may begin some interesting developments

poll: https://www.strawpoll.me/21192129

#cyoa #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #choose your own adventure

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ashengro-tto · 4 years ago

Note

hello! hope it's okay to ask for more than one? otherwise you can answer the ones you'd prefer to! ♥️♠️🦑👑🐱

Hi! It is more than okay to ask for more than one hehe

[ the rest are under the cut ]

[ also I’m bad at summarizing my thoughts so if the jumps between points feel weird, that’s why ]

[ ALSO also I’m sorry this took so long to be finished (lol) ]

Marlowe & Ace ♥️

Best Friend / Headache #1

Their first meeting was not the best (yes, it’s the same as our canon first meeting with Ace)

Marlowe felt very offended that he would even think of saying stuff like that to their face. “Ignorant”? “Go back to kindergarten”? They don’t like being looked down on, especially when it comes to things like intellect

...Okay, maybe those insults were directed primarily at Grim, but Marlowe felt hurt too!

They’ve had to deal with a great number of terrible personalities in the past, and so, they were able to keep their cool. Grim, however...well, you know how it goes

After a while though, his asshole-ness simply turned into annoying-ness, and Marlowe was able to just brush it off as Typical Ace Behavior

When Ace isn’t being a dick, they get along great! Marlowe’s pretty playful, and a bit of a trickster as well, so the two like to play harmless pranks on the other first years from time to time

And by other first years I mean mostly Deuce. Marlowe apologizes afterwards. Ace does not

Ace likes to tease Marlowe about how badly they’re adjusting to NRC school life (and also their abysmal history and PE grades) but it’s okay because they tease him back about how they’re better at alchemy than him

Hanging out with a guy like Ace who just screams Typical Teenage Boy feels really refreshing to Marlowe

Ace asks a lot of questions, partially because he’s genuinely curious about where Marlowe’s from, but mostly because they told him not to and he knows it annoys them. Marlowe knows he’s doing it to be annoying, so it’s more bearable

Marlowe admires Ace’s bravery (though some might call it recklessness). It was during chapter one, when he stood up to Riddle, that they really felt that “oh, this guy is really cool” feeling. Ace’s willingness to stand up for what he believes in inspires Marlowe to do the same

Marlowe & Deuce ♠️

Best Friend / Headache #2

Their first meeting was also the same as the one in-game

After Deuce summoned the cauldron and dropped it on Ace’s head, Marlowe actually screamed “WHAT THE FUCK” out loud. They don’t swear often, which goes to show how shocked they were

They gave him a very stern lecture about how dangerous that was, how he could have shattered Ace’s skull, how other people could have been injured as well...Deuce felt like he was being scolded by his mother

Don’t even get them started on the heart attack they had when Deuce flung Ace onto the chandelier

After getting to know him a bit better, Marlowe starts liking him a lot more

They adore his decision to leave his delinquent past behind! Marlowe greatly values learning and education, so they’re willing to support him every step of the way

Study buddies!

Their study sessions often turn into tutoring sessions, though, with Marlowe having to explain the lesson to him, but they don’t mind. They’re very patient, and also good at simplifying terms without taking away from their meaning, so Deuce learns pretty quickly with them

They feel a small sense of pride whenever he comes to them showing off his test scores (still low, but certainly an improvement)

The headache part mostly comes from when his Bad Boy Mode activates

Marlowe doesn’t like violence. They recognize that progress isn’t linear, and of course Deuce is going to...go back to the way he was at times, but they urge him to keep his calm and remember that “violence is never the solution”

Ohh, Marlowe was so disappointed when they found out he, Ace, and Grim went to Azul in chapter three. They didn’t even need to scold the three of them, their eyes said it all

Deuce felt the guiltiest, since Marlowe was always the one telling him not to cut corners. He felt extra guilty knowing how much Marlowe hated Azul. They take so much time out of their schedule to help him study, and he goes and asks for help from the one they hate most...!

What Marlowe loves most about Deuce is his willingness to learn and change. He was able to realize that his past actions were hurting his mother, and grew as a person because of it. He’s still growing, and learning to be someone his mother can be proud of, which is something Marlowe greatly respects and admires

Marlowe & Azul 🦑

Answered here!

Marlowe & Vil 👑

They’re actually pretty close!

They’re in the same club, so they interact quite frequently

Vil originally wanted them to try acting in one of the films he was in the process of making. He handed them the script, gave them some props, and the cameras started rolling

Marlowe’s attempts at acting were not good. The delivery of the lines was stilted, their movements stiff. Multiple times they had accidentally dropped the props. They had no clue why they did so terribly, they’re usually good at this kind of stuff. Maybe it was because there were cameras on them?

Vil eventually moved them to the costume department, just so they could contribute even a little bit

Marlowe’s very interested in magical pharmaceuticals. They love learning about how magic intertwines with medicine, and Vil is more than happy to teach them

Vil often scolds Marlowe for not following the skincare routine he’s provided for them, but Marlowe’s not used to such fancy products and strict routines...they really can’t keep up, no matter how hard they try

There’s a lot he nags them for, actually. Their fashion sense (he’s the one who styled their uniform), their diet (it’s not their fault Crowley doesn’t give them enough money for good food), and their sleeping habits (they’re not used to sleeping early, or sleeping a lot) just to name a few

Marlowe likes a lot of things about Vil. He’s hardworking and confident, but most importantly, he helps the people around him

Vil pushes people to work hard so they can reach their full potential and go from a dirty potato to a shining red apple. He isn’t just concerned with his own self-improvement, but the growth and development of others as well. Even if others don’t put in the effort, he still keeps pushing because he never gives up

Marlowe originally thought he’d be a selfish, crab-mentality kind of person, so finding out that he actually wants to see others around him prosper was a surprise, but a welcomed one nonetheless

What they dislike is his method of doing so. Marlowe is very much a kind, gentle person who believes real change shouldn’t come from brute force. They always feel a little annoyed when he acts so harsh towards others

Marlowe & Grim 🐱

Best Friend / Headache SUPREME (yes, he surpasses numbers)

Marlowe called him a “disease-ridden raccoon” when they first saw him, which Grim did not take kindly to

Imagine the Prologue, but all the player choices have an “insult Grim” option

When they found out that they would have to be two halves of one student in order to attend NRC, Marlowe groaned internally. They did not like the little troublemaking furball one bit

All he did was bring misfortune! Their first NRC experience could have gone a lot smoother if he hadn’t caused so much trouble! Disturbing the entrance ceremony, burning an important statue, the chandelier fiasco...randomly waking up in a new world was stressful enough, all that just made things even worse

Honestly, their first few weeks together were terrible. It was all bickering, arguing, snide comments...the ghosts in Ramshackle seriously considered relocating

As time went on, however, the two slowly grew on each other

Marlowe is Grim’s henchman! They buy him food, help him study, and scratch that one part behind his ears to help him fall asleep (which he totally doesn’t like, absolutely not)

Grim is Marlowe’s familiar! He protects them from danger, helps clean around the dorm (if bribed with enough tuna), and looks so cute when he’s sprawled out snoring on the makeshift cat bed they made him

Eventually the arguments turned into playful banter. Marlowe would nag him for not doing his homework, Grim would complain about it, then Marlowe would nag him for complaining, so on so forth

What Marlowe appreciates most about Grim is...his company. He was the first one they met in this strange new world. They both have no place to call home, no family to call their own. All they have is each other, so Marlowe’s really thankful for his company, even if he can be a little annoying at times

Marlowe would never admit it, but they’ve grown so attached to the little monster. They can’t imagine life in Twisted Wonderland without him...but don’t tell him they think that! He’ll never shut up about it!

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #heartslabyul #ace trappola #twst ace #deuce spade #twst deuce #pomefiore #vil schoenheit #twst vil #twst grim #marlowe (twst)#twst oc #PLS DON’T DRAG ME FOR HOW OOC THIS IS (2)#i tried :’] and that’s what matters #did you notice the change in writing style halfway through. pls say no.#relationship ask game

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spiderman-homecomeme · 4 years ago

Text

day two - i found

SOULMATE AU

A/N: Here we are!! day 2!! I have been having so much fun looking at what everyone’s created! our fandom is so talented!! now, i have made it no secret how i feel about soulmate aus (lmao) but I found myself really enjoying working on this one! the title is based off of the song by Amber Run!

Again thank you so much @spideychelleweek for organizing this!!

And a HUGE thank you to @machiavelien for creating such a beautiful work of art to go with this story!!! You are amazing!! Find it here.

So, without further ado, here is an 8.6k (phew) colorblind soulmate au filled with fluff, angst, and love!

Read here or on AO3

The words of the textbook melt and warp together, his brain unable to focus on the convoluted phrase structure long enough to take in any of the information.

So far, studying for that first decathlon meet in Philly has been going… not too well.

Peter tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie—the one May so graciously marked with a label that reads “blue”—before pulling the hood down over his eyes. He takes a deep breath, a moment to try and reset, before pulling it back, the brightness of the gray and white room almost blinding.

At the beginning of the spring semester, he’d figured he could get a good change of pace by going to the library for his free seventh period everyday instead of his usual, the empty band room. Maybe studying in a place that specifically promotes concentration and learning would prove to be much more helpful.

For the most part, it’s worked for him. He’s able to at least get half a page in until recently.

Now, his mind starts to drift to the girl in black and gray sitting at the table across from him.

He knows Michelle, mostly from Acadec. Sometimes he passes her in the hallway on the way to Advanced Physics, and she’s been in a handful of the same classes as him since the beginning of high school. Sometimes she makes funny comments—usually under her breath—during lectures, and he has to either keep himself from snickering, or take a moment to try and understand whatever she just said. When he greets to her in between decathlon practice and meets, she most of the time only offers a tight-lipped smile and nod in return.

But while he knows who she is, and while he certainly sees her a lot, he still doesn’t know her.

This—both of them sitting in the library during 7th period right before practice—has happened a lot more often since the beginning of the new semester. Michelle’s always sitting in that same spot, nose stuck in what seems like a different book every other day. Peter’s not sure if he’s really coming here every day because it’s a good study spot, because he always somehow gets distracted by the fact that he has the best opportunity to make a brand new friend. His own thought process here becomes a bit too distracting.

So, he decides that he needs to make a change.

Peter wants to get to know Michelle. Maybe get a laugh or two out of her. Be her friend.

The next day, at the same free period during seventh hour, he pushes the doors open to the library. His eyes fall on the same sight; the same students sitting in their same places, Michelle included.

He moves to her table, yet his pace slows the closer he gets as his nerves get the best of him. He hasn’t really thought of what he wants to say, or even how he wants to go about this. It isn’t like this is all that difficult in theory. Michelle is just a person; not someone that he should be afraid to talk to.

In his internal monologue, Peter hasn’t realized he’s made it to her table. She clears her throat, knocking him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, Michelle,” he says, startled, still trying to get his bearings.

“Uh… hey. Peter,” she offers, thumb tapping against the pages of her book as she glances from side to side. “What’s up?”

“Can…” Peter breathes, still not sure where this question is going. “Is anyone sitting here?” He asks dumbly.

MJ’s expression remains impassive, though her eyes narrow the slightest bit. “Yeah.”

Peter’s mouth forms into a small ‘o’ as he rocks back in his heels, now unsure as to what he should be doing. “Uh, cool. Nevermind.”

But quickly, MJ shakes her head, seeming to be just as ansty as he is. “I’m kidding. Just—Just messing with you.” She gives a faint, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it grin before looking down at her book again.

“Oh.” Peter lets out a breathy chuckle. “So…” He points to the chair. “I—I can sit here?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

Peter slowly pulls out the chair across from her, his movements deafeningly loud in the quiet of the library. He throws a sheepish grin over his shoulder as he sits, gently dropping his things on the ground beside him.

For a moment, they sit in silence, Michelle reading and Peter… well, Peter not knowing what to do with himself. He pulls out his physics book, ready to study again, mulling over some possible conversation topics in his head as he cracks it open. He doesn’t want to seem too nosey, so he refrains from thinking of anything too personal.

He returns to his bag, grabbing his notebook, seeing the bag of pretzels he had packed this morning for an afternoon snack. Peter pulls that out too, setting it on the table and opening it.

They sit in silence for a while longer, Peter quietly munching on his salty snacks. He can feel Michelle glance up at him every so often, and he immediately feels himself warm under her fleeting gaze.

He looks up at her, mumbling a ‘sorry’ as he tries to quiet his chewing, still struggling to come up with something—anything—to talk about.

She waves him off, the corners of her mouth quirking downward into a slight, unbothered frown.

“You want some?” He asks after another beat, holding out his ziploc bag.

And again, Michelle’s gaze shifts to his for the briefest of moments, her cheek resting against her knuckles. At first, she doesn’t say anything, only lowering her book the slightest bit. But then, she reaches out, taking a pretzel.

“Thanks,” she mumbles.

“You’re welcome,” Peter says almost as quietly.

And they sit like that for the rest of seventh period, reading and munching on pretzel sticks in an awkward, yet not entirely uncomfortable silence. It’s not much, but Peter can’t help but feel that it’s a step forward in their friendship.

They’re both so content in their sharing that they don’t notice when they reach at the same time for the same piece. His hand brushes hers, a fleeting touch before they both pull back immediately, both of them apologizing. Yet, as quickly as it had ended, Peter swears he can still feel the warmth of her fingertips.

And when he looks up to meet her gaze, he’s sure she can still feel the coolness of his.

He clears his throat in an effort to mask his nervous chuckle. When the final bell rings, he’s unsure of whether or not he considers himself saved. Sure, from further embarrassment yes, but he finds himself wanting the hour to keep going.

Still, as much as he wants to get to know Michelle, he can’t help but feel that they’ll be just fine.

ii.

“MJ?” Peter asks through a mouthful of popcorn as they lay on the living room floor of his aunt’s apartment, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yeah?” She asks, not fully tilting her head towards him, curiosity piqued.

“What’s your favorite color?”

She just manages to muffle the snort of laughter that escapes her, quickly glancing at at a sleeping Ned on the couch, making sure her sudden outburst didn’t wake him. Turning her attention back to Peter, her face is scrunched. “What?”

She almost thinks that he’s joking. He has to be.

“What’s your favorite color?” He repeats earnestly.

“Dude, you remember that neither of us has a soulmate yet, right? The only colors we can actually see are gray, white, and black. That’s only three options.”

“Yeah, I know, but—” Peter sits up on his elbows. “—Like… what do you think your favorite color is?”

MJ follows, staring at him incredulously.

“Okay okay okay,” he relents before a pause, his expression calculating as he tries to find a way to better explain himself. He sits upright, arms rested on his knees as he takes another moment’s contemplation. “Like—we know about certain colors, right? Because there are other people we know who have found their soulmates. May and Ben, your sister and her husband, and now… Ned and Betty. And they—they know what everything looks like. They see every single color. So, I dunno, we’ve heard a lot about them. We may not be able to see them, but…”

He looks up to find MJ still staring at him, though it’s a softer look, not as harsh and confused. “We can try to understand them,” she nods.

“Exactly!” Peter says, smile returning. “So, like—I think my favorite color would be red.”

“Red?” MJ asks.

“Yeah. May’s always talked about how it was her and Ben’s favorite color. And when she tells me about it, I dunno, I’m just kinda drawn to it, I guess.” He shrugs. “I think it’s because it’s a color that’s attached to a lot of really intense emotions? Like, yeah, anger’s one of them, but it’s also love and—and… passion, and... It’s just bold. Ned says it’s like a really warm, really hot color.”

“You’ve really thought a lot about this, huh?” MJ watches him, the corner of her mouth turning upward.

“Yeah…” Peter’s smile turns timid, sheepish even, as he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s—It’s weird I know. Forget I asked—”

“—No.” MJ stops him. “No, it’s fine.”

Peter nods in understanding.

A beat passes.

“I think blue would be mine.” MJ says softly.

“How come?” Peter asks in a barely audible voice.

She sits in silence for a moment before speaking again. “Well, everyone always says that the ocean’s blue, the sky’s blue… that it’s a really calming color. This one website I read said that it represented calmness and tranquility. Wisdom, too.”

“You’ve thought about it, too?” Peter asks hopefully.

MJ gives a single, slow nod. “I’ve done some googling in my spare time.”

“Cool,” Peter grins. “What do you think it’s like when you kiss your soulmate?”

The faint scoff that comes out of his friend causes his stomach to do a tiny flip. “You haven’t heard Ned talk about it enough?” MJ cracks a smile, shaking her head.

“Well, I mean, yeah…” Peter lets out a breathy chuckle. “But, like… I feel like it’s different for everyone, you know?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Another moment of true quiet passes as they both think. MJ sits up fully now, mirroring Peter’s seated position.

“What do you think it’s like?” MJ throws the question back at him.

Peter glances away, suddenly finding the skin on his thumb very interesting. “I dunno…” He mumbles with a shy shrug as he starts to play with the edge of the throw blanket. But he can feel MJ’s eyes on him, waiting and expecting, but still holding a certain gentleness to them. He sighs, letting his hands fall onto his knees again. “You know when you’re listening to this really amazing song, maybe a symphony or something, and it like—swells and crescendos to this beautiful chord—maybe with some dissonance and resolution in there? And you just get goosebumps, and you feel so warm and—”

“Like Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet?” MJ teases, just lightly. “The one that always plays in movies and TV shows?”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess you could say that one.” He’s quiet again, lips twisting in thought before his face lights up again. “Or like, when you’re reading a really good book, and you’re at the end, it’s happy, and everything’s working out and that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy? Maybe there was some bad stuff in the middle, but when you get to that point in the story, you know that everything’s gonna be okay, even if you don’t quite understand why? And then… when you open your eyes… the world just looks so different?”

“Wow, aren’t you a romantic,” MJ deadpans, though when Peter glances up at her, he can see the faint smirk tugging at her lips. She nudges him gently with her shoulder. “I’m kidding. Kind of. Still cheesy, but—” she pauses, shrugging. “It’s sweet. It sounds… It sounds nice,” she decides.

And once again, for the umpteenth time that night, Peter can only grin at her. “It does,” he agrees. “Do you think you’ll ever meet your soulmate?”

“Better question: do I even want to meet my soulmate?” MJ counters.

“What do you mean?”

It’s MJ’s turn to feel the spotlight, and she does almost the exact same thing to distract herself. She picks at stray threads on the gray blanket. “I don’t know, I mean… I feel like this whole soulmate thing… I feel like it takes the choice out of it, if that makes sense?”

Peter tilts his head in confusion.

“We’re supposed to have free will, right? As humans. I mean, we can debate on whether or not we actually have free will, but that’s not the point. But—” She pauses, tilting her head from side to side, weighing her words. “What if I never meet my soulmate? Do I just… wait for them until I’m dead? What if my soulmate doesn’t want to be with me? What if my soulmate is a terrible person? Do I have to be with them because they’re who fate, or the gods, or whatever higher power picked for me?”

“I don’t think your soulmate would be a terrible person, MJ.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” she reasons.

“Your soulmate’s supposed to be perfect for you.”

“But what if I don’t want perfect?” She asks. “And what if… what if my soulmate dies in some tragic accident? Am I just doomed to never love again? Is my soulmate my one chance at true, controlled, measured happiness?”

Peter goes silent for a moment, brows pinched together, lips twisted in thought. “I guess I… I guess I never really thought about it that way.” He sighs. “But don’t you… Don’t you ever want to see what the world looks like not in black and white?”

“I mean, if I found the right person, I don’t think it’d matter what colors the world was or what I could or couldn’t see… as long as I had them, right?”

A small, teasing smile tugs at Peter’s lips. “Now who’s the romantic?”

“Shut up, loser.” MJ rolls her eyes.

“It’s so cute.”

“I swear to God—”

“—no really. Adorable.”

“I’m going to murder you—”

“—awww. Love you too, MJ.”

She lets out a long exasperated sigh, falling back onto the carpet, rubbing her eyes with her hands. The entire time, that same stupid, smug, teasing grin stays on Peter’s face; and honestly, he can’t help it.

He also can’t help but feel that MJ has a point about this whole soulmate thing. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s not something that he should be striving for, not something he should really be all that worried about.

With the right person, whoever they are, the world around them doesn’t matter.

But still, there’s a part of him that knows he’ll always be curious about it. Who did the universe consider to be his ultimate match, his equal in every possible way? Would he ever meet them? What were they doing right this very moment? He also wonders if he’s already met this person, if he’s seen them in passing on the street.

He thinks of all the chances he might have met this person, and he’s filled with this strange sense of anxiety.

But again, maybe that’s why MJ was right about this; the very idea of the perfect person being out there for you proved only to be debilitating knowledge. In a way, he could see that it might keep someone from living their life to the fullest. They might miss out on meaningful, true relationships and friendships in order to make room for someone they might never have the chance of meeting, all to see the world in bright, vivid color.

Besides, it’s really not something he needs to worry too much about. He’s got his friends and family; May, Mr. Stark even… Ned…

And MJ.

iii.

“Wanna hear something cool?” Ned asks MJ as they wait for the first five minute warning bell to ring before school starts.

She looks up at him from behind her book, one brow quirked in his direction. “What?”

“Your sweater—” He looks down at her outfit. He pauses for dramatic effect. “It’s red.”

Her expression falls, and she stares at him, unimpressed. “Wow.”

It’s not like that trick’s getting old or anything.

“—And your shirt’s—”

“—Ned.”

Ned immediately shuts his mouth, though it’s easy to see the smile hiding. “My bad.”

“All good,” she says slowly, throwing a warning glare, though her eyes quickly soften—consciously or not, it’s not clear—when she sees they’re friend Peter enter the library.

Ned and MJ exchange a knowing glance, understanding that today of all days is one where they have to really embrace this whole Peter Parker Protection Squad™ thing. They both know this day well; the anniversary of his Uncle Ben’s death is always hard. And every year, they are there for Peter. There to comfort him, to talk to him, to listen to him, or even just to be in the same room as him. Whatever he needs, they are more than happy to provide.

So, when he acts completely normal, as if nothing’s wrong at all, they’re confused.

He moves quickly and quietly, plopping his stuff down at the table with them wordlessly. He seems to notice the two pairs of eyes glued to him; he looks up, brow furrowed as he eyes them both carefully. “Uh, hey guys.”

Ned’s the first to speak. “Hey, man. How’re you doing?”

Peter’s gaze shifts left and right as he lets out a light scoff. “...Good?”

“Pete,” MJ cuts in, faint concern disguised under a veil of nonchalance. “You okay?”

Peter only seems to get more weirded out. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Again, Ned and MJ exchange looks, neither of them really wanting to explicitly say it, lest they ruin his mood.

Ned clears his throat, nudging MJ under the table.

She wants to slap him, but she doesn’t, and instead turns again to Peter. “It’s just… we know that… today is usually… kind of a hard day.”

“Oh, uh… Yeah.” Peter’s expression falls for a split-second, before returning back to normal. He shakes his head. “No. Yeah. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Ned asks, unsure himself.

MJ isn’t too convinced either.

Peter gives a short, resolute sigh, pressing his lips together into a thin line. “Yeah. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

But both Ned and MJ continue to worry throughout the rest of the school day. Peter just doesn’t seem himself. Yes, he’s acting positive, smiling and joking like he normally does, but they can both tell that something’s not quite right. There’s tension behind his eyes in every smile, like it pains him—even though he hides it well—to force such an expression. To anyone else, he might seem fine, just like he’d claimed to be this morning, but Ned and MJ—they know him better than anyone else.

The two of them text back and forth throughout the day, making sure they’re both following the same set of rules they gave themselves. But Peter never gives them a reason to implement any of those rules.

Finally, as the last bell rings, Ned and MJ talk at his locker.

“I think you should try to go to Peter’s tonight.” He tries to say quietly, but just loud enough so that she can hear over the chatter of students. “I gotta work, but I’m gonna try to switch shifts with someone so I can show up later.”

MJ nods solemnly. “Got it.”

“I think May has to work late tonight, so he might be by himself,” Ned adds. “Not that anything bad’s gonna happen, but I dunno… He might like to have the company, you know?”

“I know,” MJ gives another understanding nod. “I’ll text you.”

Ned gives a single thumbs up, and they part ways.

MJ only gives it about an hour and a half after school’s out to head over to Peter’s. She doesn’t text him or anything—as per usual—but she does debate on giving him some kind of heads-up. Before five, she’s at his apartment, climbing up to the seventh floor, her feet feeling as if they’re made of lead with every step she takes.

She raps lightly on the door, three gentle knocks, and is met with radio silence. She knocks again, a little more insistent this time, the sound echoing hollowly in the building, and still no response. It’s then that she takes liberty, opening the door, surprised to find it unlocked.

The apartment is quiet, save for the gentle hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen. MJ steps in, her footsteps leading her to the open living room. Her heart nearly snaps in half seeing Peter just sitting there, curled up by himself, staring into the cold fireplace.

She stands there a moment, waiting to see if he’ll acknowledge her, to see if he’ll invite her to sit with him.

But he stays silent, his lips pressing together tightly.

“Hey,” She offers softly with a weak wave of her hand.

Finally, Peter spares her a look, his eyes red-rimmed, his hair disheveled. The corners of his mouth twitch upward into another forced, anaemic smile. “Hi.”

She doesn’t ask how he’s doing, knowing that it’s not a very smart question at the moment. Instead, she asks, “Can I sit?”

Wordlessly, he scoots over for her, pulling the blanket wrapped around his shoulders with him.

She lowers herself onto the couch, slowly, and for a long time, they only sit in silence.

Eventually, Peter lets out a long, tired sigh. He leans forward. “I guess…” His voice is rough and raw from lack of use. He clears his throat. “I guess I just thought it would get easier, you know? And then… when it didn’t… I thought… well, maybe if I just fake it, if I pretend… then I can convince myself that it is, right?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “And clearly, it kinda backfired on me.”

MJ only nods, still listening.

“And some days… it is easier. Most days, I’m fine. But then… everything just kinda… piles on all at once.” With a shake of his head, he sits back. “I don’t know, I guess… I guess I was thinking—or I guess trying to tell myself—that I was better, or that—that I was done? I don’t know. I mean, I know that it’s not going to be easy. At all.” He huffs, voice beginning to tremble. “I don’t even know if I’m making sense right now, I’m sorry—”

“—Peter, it’s okay,” MJ says, shifting so that she can face him on the couch. “It’s okay,” she repeats. “It’s—It’s okay to grieve. You don’t have to convince yourself that you’re done; that after a certain point, you have to stop. There’s no timeline for it.” MJ insists. “Believe me, I know it never gets easier, but it’s okay to allow yourself to miss him.” She grabs his hand. “It’s okay.”

Peter looks up at her, eyes brimming with unshed tears. His mouth twitches, his chin trembling violently as he gives her hand a hard squeeze.

She squeezes his hand back.

iv.

It’s a really dumb excuse, and Peter knows it.

MJ definitely knows it.

But it’s probably the only one he could even think of in the moment. There wasn’t a lot of time between the distant crashing, the loud wail of sirens, the police cars zooming by, and the panicked screams for him to come up with something a bit more believable.

No, “Uh… I have to go… Call my… aunt…” was probably in his top ten most piss-poor excuses to date.

Really, nearly four years of being Spider-Man and he still doesn’t have this whole thing down.

Which is why MJ figured it out approximately less than four months into their friendship.

But now, as she watches him lamely run away in the opposite direction of her, she can’t help but feel the slightest bit frustrated that he hasn’t figured out that she knows already. Sure, she doesn’t really need him to tell her, mostly because one, she already knows, and two, it’s his business. If he never wanted to tell her, fine. It wasn’t going to end their friendship.

Honestly, though, she could do without the bad lies.

At least try harder, dude.

And then, there’s also the small part of her that always gets annoyingly worried at the idea that this idiot—her best friend—is constantly putting himself in danger. There’s this thought, this fear, every time he says his bullshit, every time he runs away to fight some bad guys, that he’s not going to come back at all. That she’s going to lose him.

And that’s why, right then and there, she decides to follow him into the fire.

It might be just as stupid for her to do it as it is for him—given she doesn’t even have powers—she knows this… But again, it doesn’t stop her.

It doesn’t take long to find the scene; all she has to do is follow the sound of lies and other bullshit, and maybe some of the shouting and what not.

As it turns out, a small group of men had broken into a Jewelry store, but in their attempt to infiltrate the security system, one of the breakers had exploded, alerting absolutely everyone nearby.

Spider-Man, of course, now in his gray and black suit, is there in no time. He webs up the leader first, blasting him in the face with a quick click of his webshooter. Two others try to sneak up on him, but Spidey leaps out of the way, webbing both goons before they can even find him again.

The fourth guy sees his ever so slim chances of winning, weighing his options, before bolting for the door, but that masked vigilante’s faster.

Once he’s got four out of five of the guys webbed up, he can see that the last one—the tech guy, he’s guessing—is nowhere to be found.

MJ sees all of this, of course, from just outside the police perimeter, when out of the corner of her eye, she sees the last goon getting away. She makes a break for it, taking a shortcut through the alley to meet him at the next street. Something in her forces her to run faster, and she’s not sure what, but she knows that this has to work.

She waits behind a corner, the fast approaching footsteps falling with the erratic hammering of her heart. Slowing her breath in an effort to calm herself, she waits. Along with the criminal, she can hear the thwip-thwip of Peter following, swinging from the rooftops above. He seems to have caught on as well.

The man gets closer and closer, and quickly, MJ acts, sticking her leg out, tripping the runaway effectively. It’s an old, borderline cartoon-y trick, and honestly, she’s a little surprised it works so well. The man falls, groaning as he face plants into the asphalt below.

Spidey drops down in front of him, instantly blasting him into a web cocoon.

The masked hero turns. “Hey, great job, citizen—” His mechanical eyes widen when he looks up to see just who helped him out. “What are you doing here? I mean—” He at first demands, but then he remembers himself, clearing his throat. “What—Uh, what are you doing here, ma’am?”

“Was in the neighborhood. Hanging with a friend.” She replies, looking at her nails, the very essence of feigned nonchalance. “Then he ditched me, saying some dumb, bullshit excuse about how he had to go call his aunt. Have you seen him?”

She looks pointedly at him.

His white, wide eyes narrow slightly. He brings a finger up to the side of his head. “Yeah. Yeah I got it.”

MJ rolls her eyes, knowing he’s probably talking to one of his superhero besties.

Spider-Man continues to stare at her, and she stares right back.

“M—Uh, ma’am.” He coughs. “Do you need a lift home?”

MJ glances from left to right, her arms folding defensively across her chest. “Uh, no—”

Before she can add any sort of retort to the response, he’s scooping her up, leaping into the air and swinging the both of them away.

“What the hell—” MJ shouts. “You’re just gonna leave that guy there?”

“Ms. Marvel’s got it,” He answers before letting go of the first web.

Her piercing screams go right into his ear as she clings for dear life to him. She doesn’t dare look at the ground below, instead burying her face into his shoulder, her eyes screwed shut as she waits for it all to just be over. No part of her even considers the idea of watching the world pass, of looking at the twinkling white city lights over blocks of dark gray and black. The wind whips around her violently with each swing, her hair flying in all directions as she begs Peter to put her down.

She’s just about gotten her bearings when he lands them on the rooftop of some nearby building.

“You—You can’t just—! Do that!” She shouts at him, her voice shaky from all the screaming.

He doesn’t waste any time as he rips off his mask. “What the hell were you thinking, MJ?”

She’s not even shocked seeing his face underneath, but she does take a step back when he moves to her. “What do you mean?” She shoots back defensively, arms folded across her chest.

“You know what I mean!”

“I don’t see the problem here.”

“Are you crazy?” He groans in exasperation. “Putting yourself in danger like that? You could have been hurt!”

“Would you calm down?” She can feel the rising, white hot anger bubbling up in her chest, her throat feeling as if it’s been coated in barbed wire. “It’s not like it was one of your dumb Avengers-level bad guys. It was just some random guy.”

“That ‘random guy’ had a gun, MJ. What would you have done if he didn’t fall, or if I wasn’t there? Huh? You don’t have powers to keep you from getting hurt. What would you have done?”

Michelle stares back at him, mouth setting into a tight line.“I’m not a damsel in distress, Peter.”

“God, I know you’re not, but—”

“You can’t control me, alright? And—” She groans in frustration, flexing her fingers. “If—if you don’t want me following you into stupid shit, then—then stop doing stupid shit!”

Her words give him pause. His gaze falls to the concrete, his jaw clenching as he releases a sharp exhale.

Another heavy silence falls.

When he finally speaks again, he struggles to bring his gaze to meet hers.

“MJ, please.” He roughly cards a hand through his hair. He takes a deep, shaky breath. When he looks up again, she can see the raw emotion in his face, the angry, pleading unshed tears threatening to fall. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad… But—but you can’t just… you can’t do that. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you… It… It happened with… with… I can’t… I—God… if something happened to you...”

She sucks in a sharp breath, holding it, mouth parted slightly as she stands there, finding herself unable to speak.

“I can’t lose you, too.” He adds, his voice breaking.

Instantly, she moves to him, and he crumples into her arms, his tears falling silently onto her black jacket. She wraps herself around him, holding him close.

They stand there in silence, just holding each other.

MJ squeezes him, pulling him even closer, as if he’d disappear if she let him go for even just a moment. “Pete, you’re not gonna lose me,” she murmurs into his neck.

He clings onto her even tighter in response, saying nothing.

She shuts her eyes as she breathes with him, feeling her own tears falling down her cheek. Releasing a shaky sigh, she burrows herself into his shoulder, whispering, “You’ll never lose me.”

Peter watches as the black liquid in his coffee slowly swirls into a much lighter gray.

He adds more creamer when MJ’s not looking from her place at the tea bar, hoping that she doesn’t notice. Last time they’d gotten coffee together, she’d roasted him endlessly for how he took his international delight with a hint of actual coffee.

She comes back to the table moments later, her own tea in one hand, her Italian notebook in the other. “Are you drinking milk?”

Damn.

“Shut up,” he pouts.

“It’s okay,” she waves him off. “Coffee’s bad for children anyway. You’re just being smart.”

“Hey!” Peter sits back, mouth hanging open in offense. “I thought we were having a friendly, no nonsense study date.”

He tries not to stumble on that last word, and he succeeds (for the most part). Heat still rises to his face, burning his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

She shrugs, taking a sip of her hot tea. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop messing with you.”

He’s not sure if he ever wants her to stop.

“I should’ve known…” He trails off, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Okay!” MJ sets her mug down. “If you’re done complaining, we should get started on chapter six.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he laughs.

“Cool, so—”

Her words are cut off by the abrupt vibrating of her phone next to her on the table.

She picks it up, brow furrowing as she reads the text message.

Peter pretends not to notice, though he can’t help the way his eyes strain just the slightest bit. Of course, it would be a complete accident if he happened to see her screen.

There’s a minor twitch in her face, a cringe almost, when she finishes reading. Before he can even ask, she’s back to normal, putting her phone face down on the table. “Sorry,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“No, you’re good,” Peter says softly. He toys with the pencil in his hand, every so often glancing up at her to gauge her expression.

His eyes ask the question he’s too scared to.

“Harry,” she answers for him. “Wanting to… talk, I guess.”

“Oh.” Peter’s voice is barely audible. “Are you… Are you going to?”

MJ leans forward, bracing herself on her elbows. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s just… I’m… Tired.” She lets out a half-hearted laugh.

Peter nods quietly, immediately understanding.

After years of friendship, of the both of them constantly seeing other people, they had both thought Harry was the one for her.

But, after a single kiss, nothing had changed, and he left.

And now, he wanted to talk again?

Peter could see her frustration, her weariness.

“He’s done this before… once. And he changed his mind. Just like the first time. I’m not dealing with that shit again,” she says, folding her arms and pulling them to her chest.

“No, I totally get it.”

She cracks a small, yet genuine smile. “I know you do.”

And he did know. In fact, the same had happened to him. He’d thought he’d found the one with Gwen, only for her to bail months into their relationship. After their first kiss, after the black and white stayed, she swore up and down that it didn’t bother her.

But all along, all those months after, Peter knew that it did, deep down.

Sure, Gwen didn’t give him the run around Harry was giving MJ, but it was still painful.

And with his understanding, there’s this strange sense of… he’s not sure, relief? Relief that none of the people MJ’s dated in the past few years have been her “soulmate.” No one’s been deemed her complete match yet. There was always this knot in his stomach when she’d go out with someone like Brad or Felicia, and then he’d find himself feeling as if the weight was lifted when she’d come home, still seeing in shades of black and white.

He wondered if she ever felt the same.

He tries not to think about that particular feeling throughout the rest of their study-date. Of course, that proves to be extremely difficult, given what she means to him.

He’d be an idiot and a liar if he said he hadn’t had some form of crush on MJ throughout their friendship. That was all it was to him. A dumb, silly crush on his best friend. One that would go away as time went on.

But the more he thinks about it, sitting here, the more he realizes how they just… make sense. What, with their long, close history, the intimate secrets and moments shared between them, all of it. He honestly, truly, cannot picture any sort of life without her.

And then there had been all those times that Ned would joke about Peter and MJ being soulmates, calling them “PJ,” poking fun at their close friendship. To all of that, the both of them had vehemently denied any sort of romance between them.

It didn’t make sense.

But now, years later, both of them older and a little wiser...

It made sense.

All of those people they’d dated, and nothing ever working out. It had to be. All these years they’ve been searching and waiting—even though neither or them would admit that this soulmate stuff even mattered to them at this point—and all along, it was right in front of them.

And here he is, sitting across from her in a gray scale coffee shop, not able to hear her drilling questions over the sound of himself thinking about how much he likes being with her.

MJ’s right in front of him.

And it hits him then as she gently smacks his arm, telling him to pay attention, to stop staring, and she calls him loser...

He’s stupidly in love with Michelle Jones.

MJ.

His best friend.

Suddenly, after such a revelation, he finds that speaking is damn near impossible. He sputters, apologizing (somewhat, he can’t really get coherent words out), and she gives him this funny look that he can’t quite identify, and it brings about this fluttering in his heart that he can’t quite explain.

It’s a moment he wants painted forever in his mind.

But then, they go back to studying, the moment is gone just as quickly as it had appeared, and Peter is forced to sit on this new information he’d just gathered only ten seconds before.

That night, Peter paces the carpeted floor of his apartment, beating himself up for not realizing any of this—any of his feelings for MJ—sooner. His first thought is that he’s too late. She couldn’t have felt anything for him now, at this point in their friendship, right? They couldn’t have both been so stupid and blind to each other’s feelings.

If there was any chance for them to become more than friends, it was certainly gone by now.

Sleep doesn’t come that night. He tosses and turns, haunted by the teasing, adorable toothy grins; quiet snorts of laughter or the quiet, deadpan stares whenever he does something stupid; curls falling in her face as she looks down to hide a smile.

And now, Peter’s not sure how he’s ever going to function normally around her ever again.

The next day, he finds her at the campus library, in her own little corner, legs tucked under her body as she reads quietly.

In truth, he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, what he’s about to do, but he knows he has to do it.

“MJ,” He blurts out, perhaps a little too eager.

She looks up, startled, but then her expression falls into one of familiarity. She throws him a loose grin, accompanied by a strong peace sign. “Sup?”

“I uh—” He pauses, running his hands over his dark gray jeans in an effort to wipe the sweat off. “I had a question.”

Her eyes flit left and right before she sits forward, intrigued. “Okay?” There’s a hint of nervousness to her tone, one that he doesn’t recognize.

“Well, I guess, um…” Peter can look anywhere but directly at her. The air feels thick, his breathing doesn’t come easily.

God, he doesn’t know how to get this out.

“First, uh—” His voice shakes, and he disguises it under a cough. “I should start by… by saying that—” Oh, God here we go. “I really like you.”

MJ stiffens, again glancing around. “I… like you, too.”

He huffs out a short puff of air, growing frustrated at himself for not being able to get his feelings across well, even as a grown-ass college student. “No, no. I mean…” He finally looks up at her, eyes earnest and warm, yet anxious. “Like, in a romantic… way.”

She definitely seems taken aback by that, but there’s the minuscule, upward twitch of her lip that gives Peter a glimmer of hope to cling onto.

“Oh?” She asks.

“Y—Yeah,” He breathes.

MJ looks down at her book, biting at her lip to keep herself calm. She raises the book up a little, as if to hide the way the corners of her mouth are quirking upward. “I… really like you, too,” she mumbles, her bangs falling over her face. “In a romantic… way.”

“Oh,” Peter mimics her earlier, eloquent reaction. “That’s… that’s cool,” he laughs airily. “Did you… maybe wanna… go out with me?”

Her lips stretch into a toothy smile. “Uh… Yeah. That—That sounds cool.”

“Cool!” Peter breathes. They share a quiet, giddy chuckle. “We could… we could go tomorrow night?”

“Or we could go tonight.”

“Tonight sounds good.”

“I’ll see you tonight then. Your place.” She gives him that adorable, shy grin he loves so much.

“Cool.”

Peter has to fight the skip in his step as he makes his way back home, but once he’s out the door, he allows himself one victorious, cheesy fist-pump in the air.

He’s not sure if he’s more proud of or angry at himself in this moment.

Proud, in that he followed his gut, asked out the girl of his fucking dreams; angry, in the sense that it took him so damn long to do it, that they could have been doing this the whole time. But when he looks up at MJ as she’s eating at her mint chocolate chip ice cream cone, he doesn’t feel anything but pure, warm, giddy happiness.

Apparently, they’d both realized that these mutual crushes weren’t new, beginning as early as high school in fact, embarrassing as it was for them both to openly admit. They share a laugh at their oversight, teasing each other relentless throughout the evening for the both of them being so dumb.

“I liked you first,” Peter had insisted.

“Of course you did,” she’d teased.

And although he’s still feeling that fluttering nervousness in his stomach and his hands are still sweating, there’s an ease to being with her. He can’t help but think how lucky he is, getting to be in this park with her, just walking and talking.

He glances around, hands shoved into his pockets as they walk side-by-side, and he wonders how all of this could change; how the twinkling lights in the trees or the simple pattern of MJ’s pretty skirt might look in full, vibrant color.

He shivers in nervous, giddy anticipation, knowing that all of this could change tonight, that he could finally see the world beyond the shades of black, white, and gray he’d always known. But if there’s one thing he’s sure—absolutely sure about—it’s that no matter what the world looks like, in color or not… nothing can change the way he feels about MJ.

She finishes her cone, letting her hand fall to meet his. There’s the faintest brush of her pinky against his, and it’s all the cue he needs as he intertwines their fingers. His thumb brushes over the soft skin of her hand, and he feels his heart soar when she returns the touch.

They find a quiet bench, not far from the path, sitting together, still holding hands as they continue to talk, both of them lost in this glowing warmth.

And finally, when she looks at him, her eyes flitting between his eyes and his mouth, Peter truly feels as though he’s lost his breath.

She smiles, eyes drifting shut as she leans into him. He follows readily, though still stunned.

And out of all the kisses in his life, this one blows them all out of the water. Truly. It’s everything he’d imagined it would be. It’s that kiss all those years ago he’d told her about on the floor of his living room. It’s an opus that deserves a standing ovation. It’s the book with the ending that makes him feel incandescently happy. And they fit so well together, her soft lips moulding against his in the most perfect way.

She wraps an arm around his shoulder as his hands comes up to tenderly cradle the back of her head, pulling her into him. Her free hand rests against his forearm, squeezing gently.

When he pulls away, his eyes still closed, he can feel her smile against him as her lips chase his, kissing him again, both of them lost in the feeling of one another, finally.

He could almost live in that moment forever, just kissing her on that park bench.

But at some point, they both need to breathe.

He pulls away again, still smiling.

And when he opens his eyes, there’s a feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut. It’s ice cold, his heart cracking, the seams now worn and tearing.

The world hasn’t changed.

The trees are still dark gray.

The lights are still a blinding white.

And MJ’s skirt is still a black and white pattern.

When he finally comes to look at her face, he shatters seeing the realization dawn on her features, even as she tries to hide it.

She smiles still, and as anemic as it is, he returns the expression as she makes up some excuse about needing to turn in early. He nods, understanding completely, even though his chest feels as if it’s been filled with lead. There’s a certain, familiar stinging behind his eyes as he walks her home and a tense quiet falls over them.

And he goes home alone.

Peter can’t sleep, but it’s different than the other night. He tosses and turns, wrought with sadness and shock. Haunted by her touch, her lips against his, the feel of her soft curls under his fingertips. Then, dark trees, blinding white lights.

And he drowns in his confusion. It doesn’t make sense. Everything’s there. Every possible requirement that cruel fate has. They meet it. He doesn’t understand. Why had the universe made everything seem so right, so real, and then give them nothing? What more could it possibly want?

What MJ and Peter have—or had… it’s like nothing he’s ever experienced. It’s a closeness he’s never known. The history they have together is unmatched. MJ’s been there for all of his highs and all of his lows. All his years of relationships with other people, the dates, the nights spent together… they pale in comparison to this one evening with Michelle. Every moment with every other significant other. It’s not the same, and he can’t for the life of him fathom why they’re both still colorblind.

But then, Peter remembers what MJ had said all those years ago, warning him about this; how letting fate have too much control can only make things worse in the long run.

She had been right.

Suddenly, he sits up in bed, rushing to grab his suit.

He can’t let this go on like this, cliche as it sounds. He has to see her. He has to talk to her. She has to know how he feels.

In less than ten minutes, at nearly two in the morning he’s at her apartment, outside her fire escape, tapping frantically at her window.

And MJ answers, looking about in the same state he is. No ounce of sleep yet.

“Peter, what—”

“Can I talk to you?” He spits out before she can finish. “Please.”

For a moment, she only looks at him, her eyes distant and sorrowful. “Uh… Yeah,” She steps aside, eyeing him warily. “Sure. Come on in.”

Peter rushes in, pacing her floor as he had his own just yesterday. “Listen, I know you’re upset that… that we’re not… soulmates—”

“—I’m not upset,” she instantly denies, though her tone says otherwise. She stands in front of him, arms folded across her chest.

“You are,” He responds, then his voice lowers, and he speaks again before she can argue. “I am, too. Well, I was. But…” He huffs, running a hand through his hair. He shakes his head, not knowing how to even begin to explain his feelings. It’s funny, minutes before, in his apartment, the thoughts were running rampant, but now, here, standing in front of her, he can’t seem to find any words.

“But?” Her voice is almost a whisper, and she dares a short glance from under her lashes.

“I don’t care,” He decides, tone held strong with finality. “I don’t. Care. I wanna be with you, MJ. I don’t care what fate has to say or—”

“Peter,” She stops him, wrapping her arms around herself. “We’re not… we’re not soulmates. It’s not… It’s not going to work. We’ve seen what happens when you actually try to go against fate. It never works out. I know I said it was bullshit before… but—”

“But this feels right, MJ!” He pleads. “I said, I don’t care what fate says. I love you!”

“You said it yourself, Pete,” MJ murmurs sadly, shaking her head as she looks at him. “Your soulmate is supposed to be perfect for you.”

Peter stares at her a moment, a beat passing.

“Who says I want perfect?”

MJ immediately looks away, trying to subtly wipe at the bottom of her eyes.

“And… I don’t care if I never see what the world really looks like. I don’t.” Peter moves forward, taking one of her hands in both of his, his gloved thumbs running soothing lines over her skin. “The only thing I care about is being with you. You, MJ. As long as I get to be with you, all that other stuff doesn’t matter. I’d happily see the world in black and white for the rest of my life if it meant I got to spend it with you—”

He’s cut off by MJ crashing her lips to his in a searing, heartfelt kiss.

When she pulls back, he sees the welling tears in her eyes matching his. A stray drop falls on her cheek, and he reaches up to wipe it away. “I love you,” he repeats tenderly so that only she can hear.

She looks down, smiling timidly, letting out a tearful laugh when he pulls her into a tight embrace. “I love you,” she says back eagerly, easily, just as soft.

He takes a breath, pulling back again to capture her lips into another sweet kiss. And he feels all those same feelings from earlier, each and every time. No matter what the universe says, he chooses her, she chooses him. Nothing else matters.

And when they part, hands and hearts intertwined, they slowly open their eyes again.

#spideychelle #spideychelleweek2k20 #petermj #peter parker #michelle jones #fic #soulmate au

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schoolfullofmorons · 4 years ago

Note

petey lowkey having a crush on gary for a long time bc hes a pretty bad boy, but it takes some actual therapy and a small reunion for gary to feel some actual LONGING to have petey in his life again. he becomes surprisingly soft and supportive, in his own way, with their renewed friendship, and it takes jimmy casually promising to kick his ass if he messes up with petey for gary to realize he might actually have developed some romantic feelings for their friend. cue panic and breathing exercises

July, 2007.

Here he stood, on the threshold of hell on Earth, about to talk to Satan himself, and he still wasn't ready to run.

Well, maybe that wasn't entirely accurate. Pete Kowalski, rising junior of Bullworth Academy, was very prepared to run from the menace that had tortured him last year. Gary Smith, the mentally unstable asylum patient, waited for him just on the other side of this door.

His palms had grown hot with sweat, and he nervously wiped them off on his clean, ironed jeans. Pete hated having generalized anxiety disorder. It made him nervous even about this, even about coming here, which was literally his own choice to begin with. The thought of facing his once best friend filled him with a mounting dread that made his throat burn with the urge to cry.

But Pete wanted this. He was determined to get the answers he wanted, because Jimmy and him had been fucked over. And Jimmy might have brushed his hands of Gary, Jimmy might have decided that he was done caring, but Jimmy wasn't Pete and Pete cared way too much. He needed to know why Gary had ditched them, betrayed them, left them to rot. He wanted to know the cause of all this.

And, deep down, maybe he missed Gary, too.

He had been standing there too long, staring at the door. Pete knew if he didn't act soon, the orderly that had trailed behind him would get annoyed. Licking his lips and swallowing down his own anxiety, he pushed open the door, letting the orderly shut it behind him.

And there he was, the mastermind himself.

Gary was so... different, in here, but in reality he still looked like a Smith. All sharp jawlines and piercing stares. When Gary rose his head to look at him, hair that was growing slightly shabby due to a month of no cuts falling into his face, Pete felt his heart skip a beat.

And then a grin passed over his face, his eyes lighting up with genuine joy. He launched himself off of the small white cot all asylum patients had been provided, and sauntered over to Pete with slow, calculated steps. Too proud and too arrogant for someone who was incarcerated.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Did Petey Kowalski decide to pay lil' ol' me a visit? The big, bad, awful wolf, Gary Smith?" Gary's words cut into him, and Pete felt the urge to wipe his hands off on his jeans again. His friend's eyes bore into him.

Why'd you do it? Was the question that sat on Pete's tongue, but instead he cleared his throat and avoided Gary's eyes. "I... wanted to check up on you. Y'know, see how you were holding up."

"Oh, look at that! He cares about me!" Gary reached out to sling an arm around him, bringing Pete in close with a sharp jerk that had Pete yelping. "Did somebody miss me? Just couldn't sleep at night knowing I was away, could you?"

"No, I-"

"I already knew you weren't straight, but this is taking it to a whole new level."

The protest died away on Pete's tongue and he swallowed as the familiar burning sensation hit the back of his throat. When he didn't get an answer, Gary huffed and shoved him, hard. Pete stumbled, hitting the cell wall and sliding down it.

"God, you're pathetic." Gary spat.

"Why do you have to be an asshole all the time, Gary?" Pete snapped, and in one sudden rush, angry words bubbled up and out of him. "For once in your life, can't you just accept that you're the one in the wrong? You're in a cell, for god's sake! Don't you realize that I'm the only one left who doesn't want you to drop dead? Half the school pities you and the other half hates you! You destroyed our lives! You took away our peace! You don't get to be calling me the pathetic one!"

The room fell silent enough to hear a pen drop. The air around the two boys grew thicker, and thicker, and thicker still with tension. Pete risked a glance at the boy who stood looming in front of him. He had to swallow back fear as he noticed Gary's hands were clenched so tight that the skin was starting to turn white.

Pete pushed himself to his feet, slowly, unwilling to startle Gary. If he moved too fast he was afraid that Gary would snap. A predator in a hunting crouch, moments away from delivering the killing bite. That's what Gary was.

"You know, I used to like you. I used to want you around. I used to think you were smart, and funny, and cool. But now you just remind me of a... a walking toddler, who throws a temper tantrum when he doesn't get his way. I hope you get better, Gary. I hope you get the help you need so you can finally grow up."

Pete sidestepped Gary, who had yet to move except for his head, his eyes slowly following Pete back towards the doorway. Pete opened the cell door and looked back one more time, meeting eyes with the person he once considered his best friend.

And then he left.

September, 2008.

To the parents of Gary Alexander Smith,

I am writing to you to inform you that your son has completed rehab. According to his court order, this is the final step needed in order for him to be released back to the public.

Please note that he will still have to check in weekly with a nurse that will ensure he is still taking his medication. This will no longer be a requirement after his 100 hours of community service is over.

With this in mind, we will be releasing him on the 8th at 3 PM. We require a signature before his release in order to ensure that he is in the proper hands of his guardians.

Thank you for your time,

Happy Volts staff.

The reunion with his parents was about as happy as you'd expect with parents as terrible as his. Really, they didn't talk much through the entire thing; it was pick him up, take him home, and let him clean himself up before they had dinner.

It was the first meal that he had had in a long ass time that was actually good, instead of being almost edible. He really did have a newfound appreciation of his maids after that, though he'd never admit it to them out loud.

The thing about spending a year away from home is that it caused him to reflect on things he could have done differently. It also made him realize that a lot of the shit he had done his sophomore year simply didn't... matter. Maybe it was the medication, and the advice of actual doctors from the state after being transferred from Volts and their terrible medical department, but Gary was beginning to see things in ways he had never thought to see them in before.

For example, he was pretty sure Jimmy had never said anything all that terrible to him. Where had he gotten that idea from? Yeah, some of it was an addiction to power, but he was pretty sure the other part was perceived rejection. Learning about rejection sensitive dysphoria really did help him out in a lot of ways. He just wished it had been explained to him sooner, before, y'know, he betrayed all of his closest pals because of an inexplainable fear that they hated his guts.

(Which now they probably did. Go figure. Pete's words still ate at him when he tried to sleep at night).

That didn't matter as much now, anyway. He wanted to know what he'd be doing. He wasn't trapped anymore, with only medical professionals and other patients that had, admittedly, been really kind to him when they weren't Bullworth Branded(tm). He wanted to know what his future would be like, now that his head was much clearer.

When he asked his father, the response he got didn't surprise him much.

"We've decided to respect Crabblesnitch's decision and homeschool you. It'll be best, in order to prevent anymore... incidents."

And so began the process of sleeping, waking up, eating, being immersed into various studies by a freshly hired tutor with a bitchy voice that Gary tried very hard not to snap at, eating again, and going back to sleep. This pattern only broke on days where he had been assigned community service, or had an appointment with his psychologist.

As the days went on, he began to make the effort to expose himself to the outside world. Being locked up made him unusually skittish around people, and he was still having trouble getting used to the crowd that was his father's staff. This led to him climbing onto the roof of his father's house as he watched the sun dip steadily over the horizon after a long day of studies.

Being in high places had been a huge comfort when he was a child. He liked to watch the world, and he liked to feel in control by being able to see his surroundings. His friends would occasionally join him. He had many memories of Pete's smile catching on the sunset, or his nervous expression watching him as Gary got too close to the edge.

This was their place first, before it became his and Jimmy's. He wondered, briefly, if Jimmy still thought of their battle as often as Gary did, or if Gary just did that because it was the last substantial thing he had ever done with himself before the lock-up.

He really missed those two.

He got it, though. He couldn't have them back in his life. They had both kicked him out, and that was his own doing. He had hurt them, and he might regret it, but he had to let go.

He just didn't know how, when he didn't have anyone else.

December, 2008.

He finished his community service. Christmas break came, and since he had been working so hard on catching up with his junior year studies, his father had allowed him to take it off for himself. He was grateful at the idea of a break; he had been working tirelessly, and was nearly three quarters of a way through his junior year. He wanted to catch up to his senior year already, so that he could graduate in May like the rest of the Class of 2009.

Suddenly filled with free time that he did not want taken up by family, Gary found himself wandering into town more than he had previously. At first he didn't go far, but as the days passed he found himself going on longer strolls until he found himself deep in the heart of Bullworth Vale.

He should have known it would be easy to be spotted there, considering the gym was a hotspot for prep activity. Jimmy's lighthouse was also down here, causing Gary to avoid that spot as much as he could.

It was a smart idea, by all means. Unfortunately for Gary, however, Jimmy was king, and the preps told him everything. Especially Gord, who he'd had an on-and-off relationship with for a few years now.

That's what led to his peaceful stroll being interrupted by a massive fist slamming his head into the side of a brick wall, so hard that his ears rang.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Came a familiar voice in his ear, and his blood ran cold.

"James." Gary grunted into the brick wall. He tried to lift his head up, but was deemed unsuccessful when Jimmy's fist jerked him back down, causing him to wince. "What is it you want? I was busy."

"Busy doing what? Making the smiles of tiny children disappear?"

Gary had to remind himself that Jimmy was completely justified in this reaction, but it was hard when his cheek was beginning to fucking bleed.

"Get off."

"Not until you tell me what you're doing out of jail where you were supposed to rot."

"I got released! I finished the stupid program, okay? Let me go!" Gary hissed, and to his surprise, Jimmy did.

"What program are you talking about?" Jimmy asked, crossing his arms. Gary rubbed the grit off his face and took a moment to let his eyes wander over Jimmy's freckles.

Jesus, he forgot just how many James had. He was like a freckled forest.

"Technically a bunch of different programs... rehab was one, and I went through some community service hours." Gary shrugged. "Does it matter? I'm out now."

Jimmy's face contorted into three different expressions of confused anger, and Gary had to stop himself from laughing out loud at it.

"Like hell you're coming back to Bullworth-"

"I'm not, actually. I'm being homeschooled." Gary replied, smug at his one-up despite his best efforts not to be. It was just easy to feel smug around Hopkins.

(He wondered, briefly, why he wasn't downright pissed at Jimmy for sophomore year; but it had been a long time since then, and Gary was different, more different than he'd ever been).

"What? How long has that been going on?"

"Since September." Gary told him.

"Oh. Wow."

The two of them stood in an almost awkward silence, and Gary flicked his eyes over to watch the road as cars passed by. He had almost zoned out when Jimmy spoke again.

"So, what? Are you scheming to get back in?" When Gary turned his eyes back to Jimmy, the shorter boy was squinting at him, looking suspicious.

"No." Gary said, honest. "I'm not going to bother you, either, if that's what you're going to ask."

"Why? Not that I don't appreciate your kindness or whatever. I'm just trying to understand."

"I get it, don't worry." Gary shrugged and sighed, turning on his heel to face the road. "Honestly? I've had a lot of time to think. And... I messed up with the two of you. Bad. I don't want to pressure you into having to deal with me again, because, well... I fucked up your lives. I understand that now, I understand how bad it was back then for you. I wasn't going to seek you out, but I suppose thinking that I could hide from you forever wasn't necessarily the brightest idea."

"I can't believe this." Jimmy mumbled. "Gary Smith? Showing remorse? Who would of thought."

"Yeah." Gary said, quietly. "Wild idea, for sure."

The two boys stood looking at the cars in a slightly more comfortable silence. It had started to lightly snow, and Gary rubbed his gloved hands together to create the idea of warmth before he half-froze to death.

"I don't know if I forgive you, you know." Jimmy spoke.

"Yeah, I figured." Gary murmured. "And you don't have to."

"I think if you're putting in the effort, I'd like to forgive you." Jimmy told him, and Gary turned his head, regarding him with surprise.

"What you did was... terrible, to be frank, but I've seen worse. You weren't all that bad, back before the fight with Russell." He shrugged and Gary continued to stare. Jimmy had liked their friendship? It felt like a crazy idea.

"And I think... I think Petey really misses you, too." Jimmy shifted to glance at him. "He... told me, about your fight."

Gary didn't like thinking about it, much less talking about it. He clenched his hands into slight fists and let out a small huff. "Really? Man..."

"Its fine, really. I mean, I was pissed at the time and so was he, but I think he just misses you now." Jimmy turned his whole body towards Gary, suddenly furrowing his brow. "Hey, give me your hand."

"What?" Gary frowned. "No, get your own hand to hold."

"I'm not tryna flirt with you, dumbass. I'm gonna write Pete's number on your arm."

"Pete's - what?"

"You should apologize to him." Jimmy said, matter-of-factly. Bewildered, Gary handed Jimmy his hand. Jimmy took a pen out of his pocket and uncapped it, scribbling a hasty number on his wrist, just above his glove.

"Pete's parents had enough money to get him a cell phone. He can answer texts but texting back is a slow process so he prefers to call." Jimmy pocketed his pen. "I'm sure you two can work it out for yourselves though."

"Why are you giving this to me? I thought you hated me." Gary asked him, pulling his arm back to run his fingers over the messy digits that were gracing his skin.

"I never hated you, to be honest." Jimmy told him. "I was mad, but I never hated you. I was always rooting for you, Gary."

"I see." Gary replied. "Thank you, then, James."

"Of course." Jimmy clapped him over the back, causing him to stumble. "See ya around, crazy man."

He went home with black ink on his wrist and the words I was always rooting for you stuck in his head on repeat.

January, 2009.

Gary procrastinated all of Christmas break away thinking about calling Pete.

He didn't know why the task was bothering him so much. It hadn't been difficult to apologize to Jimmy, but then again, he knew he had been wrong about Jimmy going into it. Admitting to himself that he had no idea what Pete thought of him was a different challenge that was taking a lot of effort to push through.

There was also the part of Gary that had finally, finally let him accept that he missed Pete. And now he was getting a second chance with him, to fix things. To make things right.

He really, really didn't want to screw things up. That's why he was having so much trouble with this one, stupid, idiotic phone call.

(Rejection sensitive dysphoria, thou is a heartless bitch).

He was once again by the house phone, twirling the wire around his finger as he held it up to his ear. He chewed on his lip as he continued what had become a daily debate in his head: to call, or not to call?

Fuck it, he said, and dialed the number.

Pete picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

Gary took in a sharp breath as the static in his head got louder. Was this a good idea? Probably not. Why did he trust Jimmy? Jimmy was a moron, how would he know what Pete thought?

"Hello? Is this a prank caller?" Pete asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"No!" Gary spoke and then cleared his throat. "No, uh, its-"

"Gary? Is that you?"

"Yes! Yes."

"Holy crap, I thought you were still in-?"

"No, I got released a few months ago. I ran into Jimmy and he said you've missed me, so-"

"If this is going to be another teasing session about how 'homosexual' I am, I swear I will end this call right-"

"No no no, its the opposite actually. I wanted to apologize."

The line fell silent, and Gary shifted from foot to foot as nerves raced through him. Pointless restless energy. Only ADHD things.

"Look, I really messed up with you."

"Uh-huh. I know."

"And I wanted to say I really, really regret it. You were one of my best friends."

"And?"

"And I'm sorry. You deserved so much better than how I treated you."

Another silence. There was a noise as if someone had sat down a dish. "Listen, if you expect me to just accept, then I don't think I can do that."

Gary's finger twitched and he rested his head back on the wall. "I understand."

"But I'll give you the chance to prove that I should accept." Pete's voice was quieter now. "You just... you just have to prove it to me through actions, not say sorry and go right back to being a jerk."

"Yeah." Gary said, equally as quiet.

"Do you want to meet up sometime? To catch up?" Pete asked, and Gary had to fight to keep down the grin spreading over his face.

"I'd like that," he answered.

He might not have been forgiven yet, but he'd take what he could get.

They made plans to meet at a small cafe just outside of Bullworth Vale that following Thursday.

Pete Kowalski, senior of Bullworth Academy, sat in the quiet coffee shop that he had recommended for his and Gary's little "outing."

He had brought his laptop, as he had an essay due for his current English class and like hell was he going to pass up an opportunity to write it in a quiet space. He had actually arrived early in order to start it, since he knew Gary liked to ramble on, and he wanted to get some work done before he was interrupted.

He also wanted to think, which he had been doing between writing paragraphs analyzing the societal symbolism in The Scarlet Letter. His thoughts were turned towards the boy who he was currently meeting today, his good friend, Gary Smith.

He had missed Gary, if he were being honest. That didn't make him any less bitter about the things Gary had done to him, but it was still a cemented fact nonetheless. Gary Smith just... felt like his own addiction. Once you were around him once, he wouldn't get out of your head, and you wanted to see him again and again.

So Pete had decided to meet him here.

Of course, Pete wasn't stupid by any means. If Gary showed up acting like he had the last time they met, Pete would end all arrangements here. But Gary had shown... actual remorse. It was more than he had seen from him in a long time.

He just, really hoped it would work out well.

When the time came for him to show, the small bell over the door rang, signifying that someone had entered the coffee shop. Pete lifted his eyes and was immediately faced with the boy he had been crushing on for a good few years now.

Gary Smith, although he looked significantly less Smith(tm) now, his facial features softened but what could only be newfound maturity. Gary's brown eyes scanned the room and landed on him, and Pete swore his heart fell into his throat.

He was just so handsome. It wasn't fair, when Pete was supposed to be angry at his dumbass.

Gary approached the table, a lot less intimidating in his stride but still as confident as ever. The closer he got, the more his face cracked into a grin, sporting the gap in his teeth.

"Petey. Long time, no see!"

Pete couldn't help but smile faintly. "Hey. Go ahead and take a seat."

Gary slid into the table opposite from him and reached over to grab Pete's cup of coffee without warning. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same. That's my coffee, Gare." Pete huffed and watched as Gary froze halfway to putting the cup to his mouth. A red blush spread over his face and he grumbled, setting the cup down.

"Yeah, sure. Don't share then."

"Don't be a dick. And I'm working on my English essay, to answer your question."

"Essays aren't too hard to write as long as you can focus on them."

"Well, yeah." Pete shrugged and looked down at the computer. He knew Gary had pretty much a natural talent at anything academic. "It just takes up a lot of time."

"What's the essay on?"

"The Scarlet Letter. You ever read that book?"

"Duh? Everyone in our grade has read that stupid ass novel. Its notorious for being boring." Gary rolled his eyes and Pete cracked a smile.

"Yeah, it honestly is. Doesn't stop the teacher from assigning it, though."

"Did you get Galloway again?"

"Nah. Got an actual competent teacher who makes us do stuff."

"Oh, I bet Bullworth isn't taking that one well." Gary smirked and leaned forward. He practically radiated smugness. "How has it been, with ol' James Bitchfucker Hopkins there to rule it?"

"You know, you could be nice to him for once instead of insulting him every other sentence." Petey chastised and rolled his eyes.

"Its our dynamic, Peter. Gotta insult him before the weirdos think I'm getting soft on him." Gary laughed. "Now answer the question."

"Yeah, yeah. Bossy." Pete looked at the words on his screen and then sighed, closing his laptop. Seems his work time was over. "Things have calmed down a lot, actually... the cliques all kind of kiss up to Jimmy, and in turn he settles all their disputes for pocket cash before they can get too violent. Its honestly kind of nice?... A lot of people have, uh, come out recently, and Jimmy's been beating up people who make fun of them."

"Come out?" Gary eyed him. Pete wasn't sure if he was making up the accusation in the burning stare or not. "As in...?"

"Gay, of course." Pete's cheeks burned. He almost wished he hadn't brought it up. "Jimmy is - he's bi, you know? He's been talking to a lot of kids who have come to them about their sexuality, like, um, Mandy-"

"Mandy??? The girl who is always clinging to a guy?"

"She doesn't do that anymore. She even talks to the nerds now, sometimes. As in, like, nicely." Pete shrugged and shifted. "She, she came out as a lesbian."

"What the hell." Gary furrowed his brow. "Did Jimmy put queer shit in the water?"

"Gary, don't say that, its rude. And no, Jimmy just..." Pete chewed his bottom lip and smiled. "He's supportive."

Gary pursed his mouth into a tight frown and Pete narrowed his eyes, his smile falling. "If you say something homophobic, I will cut you."

"Jesus, Pete, I leave you alone for a year and a half and you turn into the sass master. No, I wasn't going to say anything homophobic." He scoffed and turned his head to the side, purposefully ignoring Pete. Pete felt his cheeks burn.

"Okay, well, I just - wanted to make sure. Since, you know. I'm bisexual."

Gary snapped his head around to stare at Pete, and Pete felt his cheeks grow darker. "Stop looking so surprised. You already suspected it."

"I thought - I didn't - what?"

"Weren't you the one to call out the fact that I stared at boys for too long, repeatedly, for years?"

"I never thought you'd actually admit to it."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have if I'd had stayed around you." Pete said, coming off colder than he meant to. When Gary's face fell, he blushed and put his hands up. "I- shit, I didn't mean it like that, don't get upset. I just... you weren't the most accepting, Gary. I needed someone who would be so that I could experiment without feeling dirty."

Gary stared at him and then glanced out the window, huffing and setting his face in a tight line. "Yeah, okay. I get it. You don't have to explain."

"So... are you okay with it?"

"Obviously." Gary turned a glare at him, looking annoyed at the implications, and Pete smiled softly.

"Cool."

The two boys fell into a familiar routine after that, with Gary visiting the coffee shop after class on Wednesday to talk. On weekends, when he had nothing to do, he would call up Pete or Jimmy - sometimes even both of them - and they'd walk along the train tracks, talking as they relaxed in the quiet wilderness.

It was nice.

February, 2009.

"So I was like, dude, can you shut up already and give me the dang pencil? I don't care if it has MLP on it."

Gary snorted. "Is it really that surprising that Trent was into MLP?"

"No! That's why I didn't give a shit!" Pete laughed from beside him, and Gary couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. Pete's laughter was infectious.

Their shoes made crunching noises on the gravel as they walked along the train track. They had been walking like this for a good twenty minutes as they caught up on their week.

"Valentine's Day is coming up." Gary mused. "Do you have a date?"

"Who? Me? Pete Kowalski, the quiet kid? Please." Pete chuckled softly, but it sounded sad more than anything.

"Hey, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt." Gary teased and gently shoved him. "Do you have anyone you want to date?"

"What, like a crush?"

"Yeah."

"Well..." Pete hesitated.

"You do have someone." Gary grinned as Pete returned to his side. "Who is it? Don't tell me its MLP boy."

"Trent? Ew, no. I'm not Jimmy, man."

"Is it Jimmy?"

"What?"

"Is it Hopkins?" Gary rose an eyebrow. Pete blinked, seeming caught off guard.

"No, of course not. I mean, Jimmy is cool and all, but..." Pete shrugged and glanced away. "I just, like someone else."

"Who, then?"

"Why do you want to know so bad?"

"Because I'm curious. Bite me."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Satisfaction brought it back. Just tell me, Pete, please?"

"I..." Pete stopped abruptly and Gary turned, alarmed as a frown made its way on Pete's face. "I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Well, that's not weird at all. Gary let his eyes roll up and down Pete's figure, reading his body language (which screamed I'M SAD! in all caps), and then sighed. "Okay."

"Thanks." Pete smiled softly.

Gary wondered just why it bothered him so much in the days to follow.

Gary finished his junior year assignments and started his senior year courseload, feeling a lot happier now that he was in the proper grade level, even if he was behind by a small margin.

Despite that, his thoughts were mostly on one person: Pete.

For some reason, it bothered him knowing that Pete had a crush. Especially one that he wouldn't tell Gary about.

It felt like... this strange mix of anger, worry, and sad that Gary wasn't quite able to process.

Mostly because it felt an awful lot like jealousy, and he was not going to be jealous over Pete Kowalski, especially considering that had even deeper implications such as the idea that he might not be as heterosexual as he once thought.

Not that he had ever been attracted to girls, which... honestly, confused him more. Did that mean he was gay? But it couldn't. He hadn't ever been attracted to anyone except Pete. Maybe he wasn't... anything. Maybe he was just Gary.

Did sexuality have to be as labeled as Pete and Jimmy's? And, fuck, why was he even considering this in the first place, he so totally did not have a crush on Pete because he was NOT jealous.

A loud snap brought him out of his thoughts, and he realized he had broken his pencil. Fuck.

March, 2009.

February passed with little to offer. Valentine's Day found Gary wandering Bullworth Vale - Pete said he didn't feel like leaving the house, and Jimmy had a date. Overall, it was uneventful, except for the fact that Gary couldn't stop thinking about Pete.

Spring break would be coming up, the first week of April. Jimmy had suggested that they go camping by the train tracks. Gary had agreed, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart when he thought of Pete being there, sharing a tent with him.

April, 2009.

"Tent building is hard." Gary breathed out heavily as he leaned across a nearby tree.

"Lazy ass." Jimmy passed him with some firewood in his arms, hitting Gary lightly over the head. Gary rose an arm to shove his hand away.

"Shut up. Pete's complaining too." Gary pouted.

"Pete's different." Jimmy passed said boy, who was sitting on a treestump, and gave him a friendly smile. Gary felt jealousy pulse through his veins.

Okay, so he had accepted he was jealous. But that didn't mean anything. So.

"Pete's a loser." Gary retorted and playfully smirked at the boy, who rolled his eyes.

They had spent the first hour or so setting up camp before the sun went down. It had made two out of three of them tired, with Jimmy being unable to feel exhaustion ever.

As Jimmy began to build the campfire, Gary moved from the tree he was leaning against to settle next to Pete. His heart beat hard in his chest as their knees brushed.

"So, little Petey, are you ready for a night with the creepypastas?" Gary teased and shoved him lightly.

"Shut up. Its bad enough that you've been trying to get me into them without mentioning them here." Pete huffed at him, putting one hand up to shove his face away. Gary laughed, ignoring the tingle that ran through his skin where Pete's hand made contact.

"They're fun! Come on, your gay ass can't tell me you don't find at least one of them attractive."

"They kill people!"

"So?"

Pete opened his mouth to respond, then seemed to think better of it, pouting instead. "Shut up."

Gary felt his face slip into a familiar grin. He let his eyes trail over Pete's face as the boy turned away to watch Jimmy, taking in his soft brown eyes. When he smiles he gets dimples...

He felt a burning stare pierce through him, and slowly turned his head to see Jimmy giving him a knowing look with a raised eyebrow. Gary felt panic shoot through him, but externally he kept his face in the same grin.

"Done yet, James?"

Jimmy studied him curiously and then looked back at the fire. "Yeah. Should be enough for the night."

"I brought stuff for smores." Pete smirked and moved away from Gary. He tried not to be disappointed at the distance.

"Hell yeah, we like, gotta roast marshies. That's the first fuckin' rule of camping." Jimmy smirked and sat down by the fire. The sun wasn't down yet, but it was steadily approaching the horizon - it would be sunset soon.

"Marshies?" Pete laughed. "Are you in grade school?"

"Hey, don't diss my flow. Marshies are the bomb, man."

"You're so weird." Gary rolled his eyes and Jimmy shrugged.

They spent the next few minutes unpacking the food, preparing to make dinner. The campsite they had picked out had a grill nearby, and Pete had brought burgers for them all to eat. Jimmy lit the grill and left Pete to cook as Gary stayed by the fire just a little ways off.

"Hey." Jimmy greeted, his voice quiet as he sat down next to Gary, moving to rest his hands on his knees. "I need to talk to you."

"What is it?" Gary rose an eyebrow. "Does Pete need help with something?"

"Nah, that little dude's got it all figured out. I was gonna grill but he insisted. He's had a fascination with cooking ever since his parents decided he was old enough to touch the stove." He chuckled and shrugged.

"Then what?" Gary pulled his knees to his chest, eyeing Jimmy out of the corner of his eye suspiciously.

"Look, man. I don't want to pry, since I know it isn't any of my buisness, but... I see the way you and Pete look at each other."

Gary felt his blood run cold, and he turned his head to look at his friend. "I don't know what you're-"

"Earlier you spent like fifteen seconds staring at his face man, you were practically swooning like a stupid schoolgirl. Its so blatantly obvious that you like him."

"I..." Gary was at a loss for words, panic rising up in his chest. "No, no no no I-"

"I'm not going to tell him or anything." Jimmy held his hands up. "I just want to say... if you mess up with him again, I'm gonna have to kick your ass, alright? So, don't."

"What?" Gary breathed out. No, no no, it can't be that obvious. I thought I was hiding it better than this, I can't like Pete, I can't.

"I'm rooting for the two of you. You two deserve to he happy and its obvious he likes you back, so..." Jimmy shrugged and then furrowed his brow. "Are you okay?"

Gary realised then that he was hyperventilating. "What? Yeah."

"Gary, man, take it easy." Jimmy reached out, hesitated an inch away from him, and then gently allowed his fingers to snag around Gary's wrist once he was allowed. "Look at me. Focus on my hand. Breathe in, breathe out."

Gary took in a deep breath, letting himself focused on the calloused feel of Jimmy's hand around his wrist. He released his breath, and looked at Jimmy. Breathe in, breathe out. Repeat.

When he was calm enough, Jimmy let him go and nodded awkwardly. "You good?"

"Yeah." Gary muttered, embarrassment pooling in the pit of his stomach.

"So did I assume right?..." Jimmy murmured, keeping his voice low. Gary nodded, looking into the fire. The heat coming off of it soothed him.

"Really? Does that mean you're gay?"

"I... have no idea?" He could feel his face flushing. "Look, don't tell him, okay? I've only figured it out recently-"

"Recently? You've been looking at him like he's your princess ever since you came back into our lives."

"Don't tease me Hopkins, okay? Fuck you. I was in denial about it, it isn't every day that I actually like someone, let alone like them in that way."

"Yeah, yeah, you're an emotional robot, we get it." Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I won't tell him. But you should. He likes you back, I can tell."

Did he? Gary pursed his lips together and stared into the fire, choosing not to comment. But why would he?

He spent the rest of the night in bewilderment as they roasted "marshies," told horror stories, and eventually went to sleep in the tent. It was weird, sleeping beside Pete with the revelation he had just been presented, and he tried very hard not to freak out.

Eventually, morning came, and Gary got up, groggy from anxious sleep. They had to pack up and then they'd be heading back.

He really, really hated the disappointment he felt because of that.

May, 2009.

Gary decided that emotions were not something he was very strongly suited for.

He had been avoiding Pete, unsure how to feel about his conversation with Jimmy. Part of him still did not want to accept that he was capable of a crush, let alone a crush on a guy. (God, his father would be so pissed). The other part of him wanted to accept it and let go, because Pete was cute and smart and kind and... well, Pete.

As the month went on, Gary found himself missing Pete more and more. It was easy to cancel plans under the guise of schoolwork, but it was becoming excessive. And, well...

Maybe it was time for him to admit to himself that yeah, he was queer. He wasn't sure of the proper term (gay? bi? who knows) but he knew he was LGBTQ+ of some origin. And...

Well, Jimmy had given him a vote of confidence. Maybe he should just go for it.

He held off for a few weeks, but Gary was never one to deny himself what he really wanted. And he wanted Petey to look at him, more than anything.

He decided that he'd have to do this. It was time. And, readying himself, he began to devise a plan.

Pete had a burning frustration for all days dedicated to couples. He had always wanted to be a part of a relationship. It wasn't that he hated being single; he just... wanted to know what that connection was like. And, well, he also wanted to like someone that was actually obtainable for once.

Because of this, he tended to lock himself in his dorms during those days. And, here he was once again, in his dorm.

It was Prom Night, and Peter Kowalski had bought a new book to read to distract himself from the painful torture that is Being Single.

A knock on the door distracted him from Pip's adventure into newfound wealth. He stood up and went to answer it, curiousity pumping through him. Jimmy was the only one who ever came to his dorm, but Jimmy had told him he had a date tonight.

He opened the door to find Gary Smith there, a grin on his face and a suit in his hand. He was dressed in formal attire of his own, making Pete's heart skip a beat.

That is, until it hit him. "Gary? What are you doing here? You aren't allowed on school property."

Gary shrugged. "It isn't like the Prefects will care anyway. Its prom, Pete."

Okay, he had a point. "Still... do you have a date or something?"

Gary's grin widened. "Yes, actually." Abruptly, he shoved the suit into Pete's hands. "Get changed, we're going out."

"What?" Pete furrowed his brow. "But... what about your date?"

"Do I need to spell it out for you? We're going out. I already bought the suit for you and everything."

It clicked in Pete's head, and he flushed a bright red. "Oh!" He squeaked. "Okay!"

He went back in his room and quickly changed. He had not been expecting this, and part of him was still sure that it was a prank? (If it was, well, he'd deal with it later).

Pete stepped out of his room in the new suit. Gary's eyes scanned down over his body, and Pete flushed red, fidgeting nervously. "Is this... okay?"

"Its perfect." Gary told him, reaching out to grab his hand. Pete could see the faintest traces of red blush on Gary's face. "Let's go."

"Wait." Pete stopped him. Gary turned to him, looking annoyed. "For clarification. Are - are we dating now? Like, um, boyfriends."

Gary narrowed his eyes. "Ugh, that's such a stupid term."

"Well?"

"I guess. If you want to be b-words then I'm here for it." Gary glanced away from him.

Pete broke into a grin. "Okay." He said, very quiet, as happiness settled in his chest.

"Are you ready now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's go."

#gary smith #pete kowalski #psychofluff #peter kowalski #petey kowalski #canis canem edit #cce #bully scholarship edition #bse #bully #long post #i tried putting a read more but tumblr hates me #ask #anon

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tooanxiousforrivers · 4 years ago

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been struggling real hard since the start of the year (2021, not academic year or whatever (although let’s be real the academic year as a whole has also been pretty bad)) and this culminated in me deciding to take a leave of absence from my research as of this week. I am already struggling to honor the things I was feeling that led me to this point, so here goes a diary post

first of all, I am increasingly convinced that I was just never really trained properly for the project I ended up working on. last year, prior to COVID shutdown, I was being trained on separatory techniques for carbon nanotubes. I was starting to independently push forward on new nanotube separations when COVID hit, and I spent all of shutdown reading papers about carbon nanotubes... But then when I came back to lab I was suddenly working on organic synthesis, which utilizes precisely zero of the skills I had been developing beforehand. There were a few reasons behind the change, and I initially gave it an ok when another grad student double-checked with me that I even wanted to do this new project, but what I didn’t realize at that time was that my in-lab mentor would not be able to help me with the majority of the work (basically she knew how to make one half of the molecule I wanted to make, but not the other half). that other half of the molecule turns out to be NOTORIOUSLY difficult to work with, and the only way to make any progress on it is to just work at such large scales that even a 5% yield is “good enough.” But no one working with me had the wherewithal (or cared enough) to tell me that, so all my newcomer enthusiasm died with months of failure trying to make that molecule.

so I’m working really long days, not really making anything other than “an earnest effort,” and then in November the most senior member of the lab who is a week away from defending his dissertation fucking loses it at me and one other second-year about how we are wasting time, etc, etc. We have since moved on from that as people, but it still sort of traumatized me and left me very very uncomfortable existing in that space. ended up feeling like I was under a microscope, any second not actively spent with my hands on something was a criminal offense, not eating/taking breaks... this was obviously not very sustainable and I ended up working even fewer hours, which made showing up at all even more agonizing, as I anticipated eventual future blowout. rinse and repeat. losing sleep and not getting anything done outside of lab with the anxiety of it all.

by January, I’m seriously losing it, and finally make a meeting with my advisor to try to explain things to him. I also disclose having ADHD and pin a lot of my struggle on “working on a treatment plan.” He is sympathetic and wants to help however he can, but I can’t think of anything he can do for me, so we leave things unfinished. A week later, he sets up a meeting with me (and two other second-years, all separately) to tell us we’re not spending enough time in lab, we are going to delay our prelim exams, and we’re now going to work one-on-one with a post-doc in the lab. While it was not very cool of him to do it the way he did, I actually did feel genuine relief at the time. Like maybe I would finally be able to fill in the gaps in my technical abilities with this change

HOWEVER, working with this post-doc was... not it. The first thing he suggested to me was to stick with one synthetic target (as opposed to the three I had in total), and just keep pushing on that front until it was done. This resulted in me making intermediate, purifying it, trying the next step in the synthesis, having it fail, and having to go back and make more intermediate OVER AND OVER AGAIN for weeks. It was about this time that I started uncontrollably weeping in the lab on a daily basis. (side note: the corner of lab I work in is pretty thinly populated, so no one ever saw me cry despite weeks of this going on! hooray isolation!) oh, and let’s not forget that the second-years are all TAing this semester, which conveniently chops of my schedule beyond the point of usefulness.

last week, I suddenly felt like this just wasn’t worth it anymore. could not even recognize what “it” was that was supposed to be worth it all along. professorship is a) extremely rare, b) very arduous to attain, with possibly a decade or more of grueling research, and c) possibly not even the dream job I thought it to be, once attained. I was thinking about how my husband is a fucking lawyer and can provide for us if needed. I was thinking about how this is the only life I get to live and I can’t justify spending over a decade of it literally tormenting myself and inhaling/pouring carcinogens on myself with no real promise of substantial payoff. spent all day Friday talking things out with senior lab members (actually the same guy who screamed at me in November, he’s an odd one), as well as the director of graduate studies. I resolved to get back on nanotube work, and just try to better manage my stress by getting support from others... by Sunday when I met with my advisor again, I had convinced myself that “I have all the resources I need to succeed, I just need to utilize them.”

Monday, I met with my psychiatrist, who literally asked me why I wanted to be in grad school at all. I floundered and said something vacuous, and she kinda nodded then prescribed me Prozac. I also spent Monday and Tuesday trying to get back into nanotube work, but by midday Tuesday I was already feeling the dread creeping in... and my threshold for adversity was just nil at that point, I guess, because I literally went and found both my the senior people I was working with and just flat out told them I quit. My friend helped me pack up my desk that day, and I was out the door by 3:30. Emailed my advisor after I got home. by the end of the day, I rationalized that the “precipitating event” was realizing that I don’t want to be on antidepressants, since I’ve been down that road before, and that this is not worth that.

so, spending the last couple of days talking to others and thinking about what to do next, I still don’t have an answer. everyone’s first piece of advice was to find some masters-level industry job, but right now I still feel too close to it to even see myself doing chemistry at all, or a 9-5 at all. like, part-time tutoring is the most I can entertain in my mind right now. but I know it’s better to keep the door open, and my advisor is still SOMEHOW my #1 fan, so this is just a leave of absence for the time being. the details of that will be hammered out once I meet with the director of my program, but right now I know I’ll continue my TA work (since I hope I’ll get to still be paid) and I’ll finish the class I’m taking since my advisor told me the whole grade is just going to be some 30 minute presentation at the end of the semester, and I am pretty sure I can pull that off rather than end with a W on my transcript.

the main things for me to figure out are: (1) do I want to pull together a non-thesis master’s defense in the next month, to secure a master’s in case I decide not to return after my leave of absence? (2) do I feel that a leave of absence will make a difference at all? Will coming back to the lab after some time away resolve the problems I’ve been having, or will it all just build up all over again? and (3) do I still want a Ph.D-dependent career? What do I even want to do?

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isitgintimeyet · 5 years ago

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Letting Go - A Christmas Ficlet

Letting Go Masterlist

AO3

So here’s an update on the Letting Go story. Whilst I suppose it can be read as a stand alone story, it does fit after the end of the epilogue in ‘Letting Go’. I never intended this story to go into a second arc, but i guess it’s nice to drop in every now and then to see how they’re doing.

Now that Jamie and Claire are together and have moved to Lallybroch, this is the story of their first Christmas there with the extended family.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge, @wickedgoodbooks, @happytoobserve for their support and advice with this story. I hope you enjoy and that you all have a wonderful holiday time.

All I want for Christmas is...

I don't want a lot for Christmas

There is just one thing I need

I don't care about the presents

Underneath the Christmas tree

Mariah Carey/ Walter Afanasieff

One year ago

“It’s been such a lovely day, Jamie but I feel guilty now, just sitting here watching the fire. Are you sure we shouldn’t be doing something? Helping someone?”

“Och no. Jocasta’s fine, supervising Da and Murtagh washing up. Jenny and Ian have their own routine putting the bairns tae bed and yer uncle seems content studying those old maps he found.”

“Ok, you win. We’ll stay here just a little bit longer. What’s that under the tree?... Are you sure everyone opened their presents this morning?”

“I dinna ken, Sassenach. What does the tag say?”

“It says ‘Sassenach.’ Don’t try and look innocent, Jamie. What have you done?”

“Well ye’d best open it and find out, then.”

“Oh. Oh, Jamie, it’s beautiful…”

“I’ve never loved anyone but ye. I never want tae be apart from ye ever again. This is it... us fer ever. Sae, Sassenach, I ask ye, will ye marry me?”

“Jamie, yes, of course I will. I love you too.”

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

“Sassenach, what do ye want fer Christmas?”

Claire rested her head against the back of the sofa and sighed. Not a deep sigh, her lack of lung capacity at present prevented that. She shifted uncomfortably, trying unsuccessfully to encourage an awkwardly positioned foot to move.

“What do I want for Christmas?” The frustration was clear in her voice. “What do I want for Christmas? Oh, just a few things. I want to be able to paint my toenails, or at least actually see my feet. I want to sleep through the night without having to pee at least three times. I want to drink a cup of coffee, full of caffeine, without the smell making me heave. Oh, and most of all, I want evolution to rethink the whole childbirth scenario. Why does the baby have to come out the way it went in?”

Jamie chuckled. Claire glared at him. He stopped abruptly.

“I mean it, pregnancy needs a whole rethink. I can’t walk properly, I can’t sleep properly. I can’t get out of the bath unaided. I feel like a beached whale. My bras are like industrial scaffolding. Every midwife takes one look at you and then tells me what an ‘awfa bonnie’ size my baby is going to be. Quick translation, I’m going to give birth to an enormous baby. God knows how I’ll manage that. And you men, you just keep getting congratulated on the fine job you’ve done with the impregnation, which was no hardship on your part in the first place and, I might add, purely incidental.”

She sniffed, fighting the overwhelming urge to cry… again. “And I’m a complete hormonal, irrational mess. Every time any of the Christmas adverts come on, that’s me… in floods.”

Jamie kissed her cheek before lifting her feet into his lap and starting to rub them. “Ye’re allowed to be irrational and hormonal. Ye’re carrying our baby around.”

He placed his hand on her stomach, relishing the feel of the little elbow -- or heel -- pushing hard against his palm.

“Our very active baby,” he continued. “And I’m sorry that she may be a fair size. I ken that’s ma fault. But every time I see ye, getting bigger and tae feel her moving around, weel, ma heart feels fit tae burst with love fer ye and fer the wee, or no’ sae wee, bairn.”

Claire burst into tears.

“Jamie,” she cried between noisy sobs. “That was so lovely. Can you get me a tissue, please? And maybe a chocolate biscuit?”

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

Claire and Jenny sat together at the kitchen table, enjoying the temporary peace and quiet. The occasional muted giggle or yell of excitement floated in from the living room where Jamie and Ian, with help from Wee Jamie, Maggie and Kitty, were busy decorating the large Christmas tree.

“Are ye no’ worried about the aesthetic quality of the decoration?” Jenny asked with a smile.

Claire took another Hobnob from the packet in front of her. “Not really, no. I don’t think I could stand for long enough to do the decoration myself, so anything that lot do will be fine for me.”

“Are ye sure ye’re up tae having us all here fer Christmas? I mean, ye’re, weel…”

“Fit to burst?” Claire rubbed her bump affectionately. “I’ll be fine. Midwife says the head’s not even engaged yet, so I don’t think he’ll be putting in an early appearance. And there’ll be so much help around here. Murtagh and Jocasta are driving up on Christmas Eve with Uncle Lamb. She’s bringing all the veg, she says. And Brian and you all will be here Christmas Day of course. I won’t have to move a muscle. And now my mat leave has started, I’m a real lady of leisure.”

Jenny snorted. “That’ll change, just ye wait.”

Right on cue, the kitchen door burst open and three giggling children rushed in, closely followed by Jamie and Ian both bedecked with tinsel and glitter.

“We done the tree.”

“We done Da and Unca”

“Dey all pwetty.”

Jamie swept Kitty up in his arms before moving to Claire’s side and stooping to plant a kiss on her curls.

“Baby.” Kitty announced, pointing excitedly at Claire’s belly.

“Aye, baby.” Jamie agreed.

“Cheesus.”

“Nah, Kitty,” Jenny laughed. “That’s no’ baby Jesus in there.”

“Cheesus,” she repeated.

“Alright, jes’ like baby Jesus. And now, c’mon ye rabble, I think it’s time we went home. Bath and bed fer the lot of ye... and fer Da too by the look of him.”

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

Claire shuffled awkwardly onto her side, bringing one of her pillows down under her belly and leant on her elbow. She kicked one leg out from under the bedclothes, relishing the fresh air cool on her permanently overheated body.

The bedroom curtains had not been fully drawn and the full moon cast an eerie mix of light and shadow around the room. As usual Jamie was asleep on his back, fingers interlaced across his chest. Claire studied his face, blanched white with the moonlight, the fine lines around his eyes smoothed with sleep, his mouth relaxed into a small lopsided smile.

The remembrance of eight years without this face beside her and all the what-ifs littering the path to their reunion made her shudder instinctively. Carefully, she reached out to touch his face, as if to reassure herself he was truly there. Her fingertips brushed the growth of ginger stubble on his chin before she ran one finger lightly around his lips.

Still asleep, he scrunched his nose as if to sneeze, then his face relaxed once more in repose.

Now sufficiently cooled, Claire returned her leg back under the covers, positioning it against Jamie’s calf.

“What? What’s matter? Is it the baby?” Startled by the unexpected cold next to his skin, Jamie immediately awoke in a state of agitation. “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

“Shh, shh,” Claire soothed. “Everything’s fine. It’s not the baby. I didn’t mean to wake you. I couldn’t sleep... I was too hot, but now my feet are cold.”

She rubbed her foot against his calf.

Jamie flinched. “Christ, woman, yer foot is like ice. I dinna understand how the rest of ye is like a furnace, but yer feet are freezing.”

She pressed her feet more firmly against his leg, ignoring his protests. “Just more of the joys of pregnancy, I guess. I would wear bedsocks, but then I’d get too hot and it’s just too much of an effort to actually get them on.”

Jamie closed his eyes. Now he knew there was no cause for alarm, he was eager to return to sleep. He tried to relax and clear his mind, forcing his breathing to a steady pace. But…

“Are ye watching me?” Even without opening his eyes, he could sense Claire’s gaze on him.

“I’m sorry. Had you gone back to sleep?”

Jamie opened his eyes and rolled onto his side to face Claire. “Not anymore. What’s the matter?”

“I can’t get to sleep. I can’t get comfortable.” She shuffled around a bit as if to prove her point.

“Och, Sassenach, I’m sorry but it’s no’ fer much longer, ye ken, and —“

“I know, I know, you’re going to say ‘it’ll be worth it.’ And you’re right, it will. But right now, all I want is an unbroken night’s sleep, which, I think, I’m not going to get for, ooh, another five years.” Claire’s voice cracked a little.

“And I keep thinking—“

“Never a good idea, Sassenach.”

“I keep thinking…” she pressed on. “...about us. What if Jocasta and Murtagh hadn’t rented Lamb’s house, what if I hadn’t bought the flat above John, what if you…”

“Shhh.” Jamie stroked Claire’s cheek, now damp from tears. “Dinna upset yerself. Life is a series of what-ifs and that’s a fact. But we’re here now, together, the soon-tae-be three of us and that’s all that matters. And I ken we were meant tae be together. Call it fate, call it karma, we would have found a way tae each other with or without Jocasta or John.”

He kissed her mouth before yawning and rolling onto his back. “Now, go back tae sleep. We’ve a busy day tomorrow.”

“Jamie, I love you.”

“I love ye too.”

Claire groaned. “And now Dalhousie is awake and I’ve got to pee… again.”

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

Claire wandered around the house, (or more appropriately ‘waddled,’ in her opinion) from room to room, checking everything was in order for the guests. Jocasta and Murtagh as well as Uncle Lamb would be staying; Brian, Jenny and family would visit just for Christmas Day.

She truly loved Lallybroch, and somehow she felt that the house knew it and loved her too. The creaks and rattles as the old building shifted and settled were a comfort -- Lallybroch welcoming her as she went about her business. She still found it hard to believe that Brian had been willing, no, more than willing, happy and relieved to pass the ownership of Lallybroch to Jamie. He now resided in a single storey cottage one mile away.

The guest bedrooms needed no attention. They were ready for the arrivals, even down to the tins of shortbread on the bedside tables, should the mass of Christmas food resting in the fridges and freezers prove to be insufficient. Claire opened a tin and removed a large piece, holding a cupped palm beneath it to avoid crumbs as she munched.

The nursery door was slightly open. Claire smiled. Jamie had obviously snuck in for a moment’s reverie before heading to the stables that morning. She perched on the edge of the rocking chair and looked around.

The decoration in this room had only been finished the week before and Claire visited several times a day, still not quite believing how it would soon be occupied. The cot, the changing station, chest of drawers and wardrobe were all now in place, a few simple babygros and cardigans in neutral colours put away inside. She was convinced the baby was a boy, Jamie equally convinced about a girl.

Bracing her arms against the chair, she pushed herself to her feet once more. As she passed the cot, she lightly tapped the mobile suspended above and stood for a moment, watching the brightly coloured animals slowly rotate before continuing her inspection of the house.

Downstairs, everything was ready for Christmas. Claire noticed Jamie had moved her hospital bag and the car seat to a prominent position by the front door. In case of a quick get away, she supposed.

The scent of pine hit her nostrils as soon as she entered the living room. Fortunately not one of the myriad of aromas that made her nauseous. The enormous Christmas tree dominated the room, extravagantly (and somewhat lopsidedly) decorated with tinsel, baubles and other glittery objects. Claire spotted two sequinned hair clips and a lilac ‘My Little Pony’ nestling in the branches near the base of the tree. It certainly wouldn’t win any design awards, but, in her eyes, it was perfect.

She wandered into the kitchen, unsure what to do with herself. Ever since she awoke, there had been a feeling of restlessness in her limbs, an air of unsettledness over her - presumably due to the anxiety of hosting her first Christmas here at Lallybroch. She knew it would pass as soon as all their guests arrived and Christmas started properly.

Jocasta’s head suddenly appeared around the back door.

“Hello, the house.” She came into the kitchen, laden down with bags and boxes. “I thought I’d come in this way, ma dear… jes’ tae drop all the food off.”

Jocasta huffed as she deposited the boxes and bags on to the kitchen table. She enveloped Claire in a warm hug before holding her at arms’ length to study her from top to toe.

“Sae, Claire, how are ye doin’? Ye’re blooming nicely.”

Claire laughed. “Which is a polite way of saying I’m huge. No, don’t worry, I’m not offended. I’m blaming those damn Fraser genes… Jamie’s a Viking throwback.”

“Och, the baby’s sure tae be bonnie, nae doubt.” Jocasta took off her coat and rolled her sleeves up. “Sae what do ye want me tae do? I left Murtagh and yer uncle tae unload the bags and take them upstairs.”

“Oh, no nothing needs doing at the moment. Jamie can take the bags upstairs when he’s back from the stables. Let’s make some tea and relax. I’m defrosting a beef casserole for dinner. Nice and simple.”

Claire reached into a cupboard for the teabags. She winced slightly as she stretched, then straightened up, rubbing her belly. Jocasta immediately rushed to her side and guided her to a chair.

“What’s the matter, Claire? Is it the bairn?”

“No, Jocasta, I’m fine. It’s just Braxton Hicks contractions. I’ve been getting them for a few weeks now. That one was a bit sharp, but nothing to worry about.”

“I bet Jamie is on tenterhooks, is he no’?”

“Well, I do have to carry my phone with me at all times, just in case. And he’s all prepared ready for the hospital… including a variety of biscuits and crisps to keep his strength up during the labour. I tell you, Jocasta, if he thinks he’s going to be eating while I’m in pain he’s sorely mistaken.”

Jocasta patted Claire’s hand. “Ye dinna have tae worry about Jamie. He’ll do whatever ye ask, ye ken.”

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

Present day, Christmas Eve 9:10pm

“Jamie, I’m in the kitchen. Either the dishwasher has sprung a major leak or my waters have broken.”

“Don’t tell anyone yet but come h”

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

Claire didn’t have time to finish the second text as Jamie burst into the kitchen, breathing heavily as if he’d run a marathon, rather than just strode across the hall.

“Sassenach,” he breathed. “Are ye in pain? What happened? What do we do?”

Claire smiled. “First you need to calm down. We can’t have you hyperventilating. Then I’m going to ring the delivery suite while you clean up the floor. Then presumably we head to the hospital.”

“Sae ye’re in labour then? Have ye been getting any pains?”

“Well, I don’t know… I’ve had some twinges today, but I thought they were just Braxton Hicks again. Then I come in here for a mince pie and suddenly whoosh.”

Claire waggled her hands expressively, mimicking the sudden release of fluid.

“Sassenach, ye’re a doctor and ye’re telling me ye dinna ken whether ye’re in labour or no’.”

“Jamie, I’m a cardiologist. Totally different bits of anatomy. Now grab that cloth, while I make the call.”

Jamie knelt down and tried to focus on his assigned task, while Claire made the phone call. He was amazed at how calm she appeared to be. Still, he was thankful one of them actually seemed to know what to do… and very relieved that he had only had the one whisky a few hours earlier, intending to save the more serious drinking for Christmas Day itself.

He listened as Claire explained the situation over the phone, clearly and succinctly, one medical professional to another. Eventually, after what seemed like an age to Jamie, Claire ended the call with “We’re on our way,” and turned to Jamie.

Her calm demeanour now slipped and her face, to him, looked as terrified as he felt. Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke. “Midwife reckons it’s definitely early stages of labour… probably been going on all day…”

“No’ Braxton Hicks then?”

Claire shook her head. “Apparently not. So, hospital it is.”

Jamie got to his feet and quickly rinsed his hands. He pulled Claire close to him, very conscious of the large, hard, bump between them. He ran one hand over the contours of her belly.

“I canna believe it’s happening. This is it, Sassenach. The last time it’s just the two of us. Are ye ready?”

He felt Claire’s head, nestled on his chest, nod in agreement. She pulled away and sniffed.

“Oh god, here come the waterworks again,” she whispered.

Gently, Jamie wiped the tears away with his thumb as the door opened and Jocasta stood there, a variety of dirty glasses in her hands.

“What is it?” She looked from one to the other. “Is it the bairn? I kent that was no’ jes’ a twinge today.”

“Aye, we’ve tae go tae the hospital now.”

“But what about Christmas lunch?” Claire felt the tears prickle her eyes once more. “I was going to do a lovely lunch for all of you.”

“Dinna fash,” Jocasta quickly took charge of the situation. “Ye canna be worrying about that at a time like this. We dinna have tae change any plans. I can do the cooking, it’s nae bother. It’ll be jes’ as if ye did it , except ye two willna be here.”

“Come on then,” Jamie was itching to get moving now. “We can ring Jenny and Da from the hospital.”

He took Claire’s hand and led her towards the hall.

“Oh and, Jocasta,” he called over his shoulder. “Make sure ye save us some dinner. I’ll be fair famished by the time we get back.”

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

Nine years ago

“Sassenach, do ye ever think about bairns?”

“Bairns? You mean children, plural? That’s some sort of forward planning there, Jamie.”

“But do ye?”

“Mmm, sometimes I suppose, yes. Why?”

“I jes’ ken we’ll have a family together. Do ye think about names?”

“Yes, Henry and Julia… after my parents. What about you?”

“Same idea… Ellen after my Mam and William, ma brother who died. Sae we could have Julia Ellen and Henry William.”

“Not Julia Ellen Fraser. That’d be ‘Jef.’ Ellen Julia has a nice ring to it.”

“Aye, Ellen Julia and Henry William it is then.”

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

Claire glanced up at the clock again. Everyone is so keen to tell you about the pain of childbirth, she thought. No one actually tells you about the sheer boredom. She’d walked up and down a bit, bounced on the big ball and now was trying to get comfortable on the bed.

A rustling sound came from Jamie’s general vicinity. Claire turned to see him rifling through the hospital bag, pulling out her toiletries bag, maternity pads, nursing bra.

“What are you looking for?” she asked, more than a bit irritated.

“I thought I’d put a couple of Crunchies in here. Jes’ fancy one.”

He stopped as she glared at him and quickly tidied everything back into the bag.

Suddenly she closed her eyes and bit her lip, her fists tightly clenching the hem of her nightgown. Jamie quickly started the timer on his phone. Gradually, Claire’s fists relaxed and she opened her eyes, panting slightly.

Jamie jotted some figures down in a notebook. “Getting closer together now, aren’t they?”

Claire nodded. “Mmm.”

“Sae, based on a scale of one tae ten, how intense was that one?” His pen was poised ready to make a note.

“How the hell do I know? I don’t know what ten feels like, so it’s all subjective at the moment,” she snapped.

“Just put down it smarts a bit,” she added sarcastically.

“I need the loo. Back in a moment.” Jamie almost bumped into the midwife, Morag, as she came into the delivery room.

“So, dear, can I jes’ check on ye?” Morag asked as she took Claire’s pulse before putting on her gloves for a further examination.

“Jamie’s made the notes you asked for. Time, duration, intensity.”

“Ah, weel,” Morag straightened up and removed the gloves. “We dinna actually need that. But yer man was sae keen tae be involved, tae feel useful, we set him a wee task tae keep him busy.”

Jamie came back into the room.

“Good job on the notes, Jamie,” Morag complimented him. “Sae Claire, ye’re progressing nicely, six centimetres dilated now—”

She paused as Claire screwed up her face. A small moan passed her lips.

“That's it, Claire. Breathe through it. Every contraction is one closer tae meeting yer baby.”

Jamie moved to Claire’s side and took her hand, wincing slightly as her nails dug into his palm.

As Claire’s breathing returned to normal, Morag made for the door.

“I’ll be back tae check on ye shortly.”

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

Claire slumped back onto the pillows, grateful for a moment’s reprieve. Sweat plastered her curls to her forehead and she could feel the dampness of her nightgown against her back. She savoured the coolness of the damp cloth which Jamie pressed against her forehead.

“Sassenach,” he whispered. “Ye’re doing grand. I am sae proud of ye.”

She smiled weakly. “How much more, Jamie?”

Morag spoke reassuringly. “Ok, Claire, another one’s on its way. Just keep pushing, as hard as ye can. Focus all yer energy on that push.”

As the contraction hit again, it seemed, to Jamie, that Claire went deep inside herself, gathering every hidden reserve of strength. She made no sound, no unnecessary movements, conserving all her energy for the push. Resting her chin against her chest, she gritted her teeth and pushed.

“Daddy… come here. Ye can see the head crowning.”

Jamie momentarily left Claire’s side for his first glimpse of their baby. Returning to her side, he bent down, his head next to hers.

“Our baby, Sassenach. Ye can see our baby.”

He made no effort to stop his tears flowing as Claire bore down for the final onslaught until, at 5:17 on Christmas morning, Ellen Julia Fraser took her first breath as she was delivered onto her mother’s chest.

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

With all the checks and cleaning up complete, the new family were left alone for the first time. Jamie slipped off his shirt and sat next to Claire on the bed. Tenderly he took his daughter from Claire’s arms and held her close to his chest, next to his heart. Blue eyes stared solemnly up at him.

“Jes’ when I think I canna love ye more, ye give me a daughter… our wee daughter.” He grabbed the baby’s hand now flailing outside the pink blanket, marvelling at the size, so tiny, and yet so perfect, against his palm.

“And she got’s red hair too.” Claire kissed the top of the baby's head.

“But not so wee.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Three weeks early and still nine pounds eleven. Every muscle in my body aches. I feel like I’ve run a marathon.”

“Ye were truly amazing, Sassenach. I canna believe what ye went through.”

Claire laughed. “Neither can I. Not sure I’m ever going to let you near me again, James Fraser.”

Jamie looked at her from the corner of his eye.

“Well, ok, you know I don’t mean it.”

The baby started fidgeting, rooting for a nipple, emitting little squawks of dissatisfaction at the lack of sustenance provided by her father.

Jamie passed the precious bundle back to Claire and watched, with pride, as his daughter quickly found what she wanted and settled down, sucking ferociously.

Jamie and Claire sat quietly for a moment, studying every detail of their baby before Claire broke the silence.

“A Christmas Day baby, then. Kitty was right. You know when you asked me a couple of weeks ago what I wanted for Christmas. Well this is it, right here.”

Tears filled her eyes as she gazed at her baby. “All I want for Christmas is you, Ellen Julia Fraser.”

She looked at Jamie, his eyes glistening too, and stroked his cheek. “... and you, James Fraser. Merry Christmas.”

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Letting Go #christmas ficlet #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #modern au #full of Christmas fluffiness

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goth-girlfriend · 4 years ago

Text

Watching You Stand Alone

Request!

I would’ve asked on tumblr but, I have strict parants so I found another way without having to download the app! iCloud can be a snitch am I right? 😅 I was wondering, can you do a one shot where a Reader has a past with the Flame Daddy Endeavor, he leaves them for his quirk marriage, but then gets divorced and she finds him when she comes back to Japan because maybe the heartbreak sent her overseas, and she sees him and she’s just still so much in love with him, and maybe now that he’s willing to give it a shot? Please if you can! 😅🙏💙💙💙 But I love your blog! It’s amazing! And I can’t wait to read more, I mean I’ll wait, but I’m excited !!😊😊

Rating: Fluff?

Notes: I imaged it and loved it and I REALLY REALLY LOVE IT AND HOPE YOU ALL LOVE IT TOO ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

💙❤️🖤❤️💙🖤💙❤️🔥❤️💙🖤💙❤️🖤❤️💙

“Enji,” the whisper left soft lips in a whisper, “Enji,” soft words were followed by cold finger tips tracing the temple of the hot headed boy sleeping in a (h/c) haired girls lap.

With a grumbled the boy started to move and look around, he looked to his leftcoming face to stomach with the girls tummy. His eyes fell into a half lidded position as he rolled over onto his left side re situating himself. The girl sitting over him let out a single laugh, she brought her left hand up to his shoulder and bicep, letting her fingers run over the skin and push a cold feeling deep into the skin and muscle.

“If you keep overworking yourself you’ll just overheat all over again, and I care about you but I also care about my grades, you might be number one in our class but I’m not to good with books.” (Y/n) scolded and ran her fingers up his neck and jaw.

“Study then idiot.” He grumbled.

“That’s great idea!” She faked shock, “Maybe if I had the free time and weren’t sitting outside in the grass cooling down a HUMAN VOLCANO I COULD.”

She sarcastically yelled the last part, the boy in her lap eyebrows furrowed and he grunted, “You’re loud.”

Silence fell and then she spoke up, “thank you. Now roll over, I need to get to your back.”

With another grunt the red head obliged and rolled to his right side and stretched his right arm across the grass the left falling across his chest and landing on his outstretched bicep.

“Were going to graduate soon.” (Y/n) spoke placing her palm flat between his shoulder taking in his excess body heat and replacing it with her cold touch.

“Yeah,” He said, his eyes now open and staring at the grass ahead of him.

“So, what do you plan on doing?” The question weighed down the atmosphere.

“Getting married.” The answer was neutral on one side, and a sting on the other.

“That’s great, is she nice?” (Y/n) felt a spike in her ice as she ran her fingers down his back.

“I haven’t met her yet.” His words blunt.

“A quirk marriage, I guess it’s for the best.” (Y/n), shrugged, her world felt like it was shattering, “I hope it’s an ice quirk, maybe your kids won’t have to face the same troubles you do. I’ve seen you give out a lot because of heat exhaustion and it scares me still honestly. So you better explain everything, and I mean everything from wanting to get rubbed down with icy touches to soaking in ice cold tubs! And you better explain what you want for your kids so the woman does fell like she’s just being used, and you’re really quick to get heated so give the woman a warning before she tries to argue with you, you have a short temper, also-”

You were cut off by the boy sitting up his back towards you, he seemed aggravated. He didn’t say a thing, but you couldn’t help but feel it was because of the things you said.

“I just worry about you Enji, I know you say you’re strong and you can handle it but I care about you, I really do and I just want the best for you, so don’t give me any of that brooding man action.” You scolded him and went to stand up and moved infornt of him bending at the hips to get level with his sitting form.

“Now, we should head in, it’s getting dark and you need a shower smelly boy.” You snickered as he rolled his eyes and got up with ease.

“Tch,” was the response you got as you both started walking.

You looked up at him through the corner of your eye, for a minute, every color looked brighter in the suns orange hue, your heart picked up its pace thinking it was going to slow for the rate your mind felt you were living. You stopped your steps feeling your phone buzz, you looked down seeing a call from your dad, you looked up to see Enji about five feet away, you got a good look of his entire side profile as he half turned expecting you to fall back into step with him, your heart fluttering at the thought that maybe he was waiting for you. Watching him stand alone, and you could help but overwrite the heart break with feeling of unmutual love. You swiped and answered the phone falling into step with Enji, “Hey dad.”

The time passed and graduation came up. You were currently rushing around grabbing peers asking the same question, “Have you seen Todoroki?”

“Yeah, I think he’s by the lockers.” A boy answered after you’d tapped his shoulder to ask.

“Thanks, I’ve been looong for him for the past hour.” You sighed and then smiled.

There in the empty space with every locker you found Enji, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, face pointed down, just like every other day, you admired his pointed hair and sharp features. You smiled as you sighed walking up to him, to anyone else law he’d look annoyed but sadly for Enji you had picked up on his body language.

“I’ve seen you wear a lot of things Todoroki,” you stepped up and dropped your weight beside him against the wall of lockers, “and well, fear doesn’t look to good on you. So what’s up?”

You, knew what was up, graduating today, tonight was everyone’s last night in the Dorms. The last time you’d be together and spend time with Enji, before he gave his complete life to a women you’ve never met and apparently he doesn’t know her all to well. It was a bit upsetting to you, if you would’ve know you had competition maybe you would’ve tried harder. I let out a few silent laughs that soon bubbled up getting louder, this causes him to give you a confused look.

“Enji, I know you don’t like to party, so I know you won’t be at the dorm party,” you smiled down at the floor again, “So, wanna watch a movie with me instead? I don’t really feel like going to the parties either, but if you change your mind and actually go that’s cool, This’s will probably be my last night of freedom and sleep for a while so I want to take advantage of it.”

“Hm, I’ll see.” Was all he mumbled before a bell rang in the halls.

“All graduates please make your way to the school entrance, the shuttle is waiting to take you to the stadium.”

“Great,” you smiled up at him, and nodded, “Let’s get this started then.”

You sat in the front row of seats, it was strange, even after all your hard work and effort you hadn’t expected to actually make it to the top ten students. Far from where Enji sat in the top five students but it was close enough to prove you weren’t just some extra face. During the live broadcast it was always the first row and top ten students that would become well known, each one going up to give a short speech, and the camera seemed to always be on them hoping to catch anything to start drama for the new hero’s. You had all be warned and took it to heart. Many were talking about great experiences with the staff, friends and how great the school was, while others talked about what they were going to accomplish. You on the other hand weren’t going to stay in Musutafu much longer actually. You’d decided it a while after learning Enji was going to be married.

You’d already collected funds for your own agency, the perks of having a wealthy father. Your mom wanted you to work under a siblings agency, but your father said it’s his job to help each of his kids get situated and ready for life, for each of his kids he either paid for an agency to be set up, or for enough college to get a doctorates degree. You’re sisters born quirkless went into medical or business, your brothers into running there own business despite having quirks. You on the other hand, youngest, and born with a quirk, you decided you didn’t want follow anyone’s steps, you’d carve your steps and name into stone and make yourself known. Here you are walking up the small stage, cameras flashing, film recording, crowds cheering, and you saw your family in the the graduate family section.

Your father nodded his head in approval, your mother holding her phone up smiling, your siblings clapping and smiling. You felt pride, you were sixth to give a speech meaning it was almost over. So you decided to just keep it short and talk about being the youngest hero to own and agency and being this close to cracking the top ten hero’s. How you were going to make history. For years to come. “I’d like to start off by Welcoming and thanking Family and friends who took the time to come support UA High and it’s graduates.” Cheers erupted, nobody had taken time to thank anyone, “Now, to start off, I’d like to say it is always great to have dreams and goals as young hero’s and students. A quote I often hear, When you drive, it’s never aimlessly, in mind you always have a destination. It’s true, just a few hours ago I watched students brimmed with tears out of fear of not knowing what they would do. Slowly talking it out they had realized the whole time they had a plan of what they want to do, of the things they want to achieve. At one point U.A. was our goal destination, arriving, we set a new destination, weather to be number one, or to start a business. Everyone had a plan to where they were going. Many will leave today, with a new drive to follow the path to that destination, others will find a destination, and others, have reached that destination and are ready to begin working where they are.”

I looked over the crowd, as they clapped I took a breath my eyes quickly drifting to Enji and back to the camera pointed at me, now is the only time.

“This day, marks the official end of my trip.”

Murmurs and gasps filled the air as I looked down at the podium, a paper was laying in front of me, a picture of my agency. Right now, he stands at six levels, one day, he’ll be so much more.

“At the age of sixteen I received a small business loan from my father, I quickly invested it into a building paying it off completely. I worked the second half of the money in investments, doubling my original loans price. I paid off my loan and at the age of seventeen, I officially opened up my own Hero Agency, Co-Operated by my father. It operates under the name First Generation Agency. It offers support and jobs to first generation hero’s, such as myself who have recently graduated and are looking for an agency. I’ve ranked higher up in hero charts falling in at 6th just like I am now. I don’t plan on falling short any other way, and for the ones who doubt I’ll do anything better then be a secretary or side kick,” I fell the confidence build up and I smirked at the camera eyes squinting slightly, Browns angled in “Just Watch Me.”

With that the crowd went wild cheering and clapping, I could hear a few sobs, and wailing. I made my way back to my seat and sat down. Four more speeches and then were done. Finally, time passed quickly and we all did the turning of tassels, not permitted to throw hates or release balloons we formed a circle, one by one, everyone was allowed to activate a part of their quirk for the camera, to show possible agencies what use they could be. With that’s, confetti went off raining down on us, the family was permitted on the field, I rushed to find my parents, I was hugged by my dad, then mom and group hug with my siblings. I sighed and smiled, a short talk and a few minutes they left saying they’ll see me tomorrow when I get home. I nodded and agreed. With another hug and applause they left, I turned around and went looking for Enji. I found him, he was alone, and walking off through the exit, I rushed to catch up with him.

“Hey Enji.” I huffed falling into step with him, “Your going to go see him right?”

I asked staring up at the sun, it was one the latest, the sun was mid sky, I don’t know why we had to die graduate stuff in the morning.

“Yes.” Was all he said as I took longer strides to keep up with the titan.

“Do you mind if I tag along?” I tilted my head to look past his chest and up at him.

“Have you ever asked before.” He didn’t really ask.

“So no you don’t mind?” I smiled up at him.

“Just keep up, I need to stop by the dorms.” He said and kept striding.

After what felt like my life being drained out and my legs being tired, I stopped and took a deep breath by the cross walk flashing red. I looked up as we waited, I looked over and rushed away, “I’ll catch up just don’t go to fast.”

I rushed into the store we were at and looked around, I found something I thought looked great paid and rushed down the sidewalk to catch up. His bright hair wasn’t hard to miss. I huffed pushing myself harder and caught up with him. I kept the stores brown bag tucked into my side and fell into step trying to catch my breath.

“Alright.” Was all I could get out as we approached the dreadful stairs, “carry me?” I asked and looked up the stairs.

“Hm,” he scoffed.

“How about on the way down?” I asked with a smile.

“We’ll see.” Which usually meant if I remembered, I honestly mostly forgot when I asked these things.

Walking up the stairs and taking familiar turns, we came to a large secluded altar, Yoshino Todoroki. I looked at the little altar, Enji looks so much like his dad, I pulled the brown bag from my side and placed it on the floor, I kneeled in front of it and reached out to grab a vase that was filled with dead flowers. I liked our the dead bouquet and opened the bag I had. I had two bouquets of white roses and a twelve red star Lily’s. I placed six lilies in each bouquet, I cleaned off the vase and put the flowers in, I grabbed the bottle of water I’d bought and poured half of it into the vase. I did the same to the second vase on the other side.

“There.” I said placing the dead and browned flowers into the paper with the water bottle, “I’ll leave you two alone, I’ll go put this away.” I said and stepped back turning to find a trash bin. I found myself in the center of the whole place. It was a square building, no walls, just four posts, a trash bin, a recycling bin, and a glass cabinet. I put everything where it should go and squatted in front of the glass cabinet. On the top shelf it held a gold plate with coins, the shelf under it had a wooden box, and the bottom shelf held a smaller wooden box.

I opened it and opened the box wooden box, it held different types of incense, I closed it and looked at the smaller box, I cracked it open. It held small matches, each one had a strip tied to it. I wonder if Enji wants one or two for his dad. I chose a light colored blue one, it smelt, like the sun, if it had a smell. I chose a second one, it was black, it smelt like a campfire, summer campfire, I think these two will work. I picked up a match, and tried to find my way back to Enji and his dad. After a bit of struggle I showed up in time to watch Enji wipe away a few tears. My heart hurts for him, I can’t relate to how he lost someone, I have my parents, my family, and friends. I looked down and walked up to Enji, standing by his side looked down at the alter where the incense holder sat.

“I don’t know if you want these but, I’d brought two.” I raised my hand, the two sticks crossed over, I brought my right hand up offering the match.

“Thank you.” Was all he said and took them. I stood back and let him do the rest.

I looked at the picture of the man, and smiled, I’d only ever seen Enji smile like that a number of times. But I couldn’t help the words I whispered, hoping Enji wouldn’t hear them. ‘take care of him when I’m gone,’ the whisper, wasn’t even audible to my own ears. The rest of the day passed, after we left, a slow walk back to the campus, people packing, I’d packed everything a week ago, and the only thing left in my room now , we’re the clothes I was about to change into, my sneakers, Charger and phone, blankets, Pillows, Cap and gown, Nebula projector and a Basket of snacks

I turned the ac down in my room and pulled the curtains closed, I started to set up everything, and then just laid on my bed scrolling through my phone, reading local news. I couldn’t help but think about Enji, and the tears he wiped away, my heart breaks for him, but it also wants to love him, I sighed and sat up, it’s to hot, I stood up and shimmied off the pants I was wearing, I looked at my black underwear, and the baggy muscle shirt I was wearing. I sat on the edge of my bed, bare toes touching the floor. I sighed and laid back in my bed, arms stretched up, phone sliding out of grip, I wonder if Enji is going to come for movie night. I rolled over onto my side staring at my wall, and the ten pillows blocking my view. I threw my hand back and moved to hang over my bed and found my snacks. I fumbled around and found some gummies, I sat up and popped the bag open and started to chew on some whine I scrolled through Instagram. I didn’t become a hero to be a public figure, but boy do the followers and never ending notifications make you feel important. I smiled and scrolled through my notifications, hearting random pictures of me I’d been tagged in with kids who I took pictures with on the street. I found a video of where I was being applauded by my mentor, “Well, our Frostbite is without a doubt one of the top hero’s I’ve had the privilege of working with. A true hero in the making.”

“Open the door.” I sprang to life at Enji’s voice, he came! So he didn’t leave me! He does care about my feelings! I rushed to open the door and he entered, with a duffle bag, he dropped it in front of my door after I closed it.

“Alright, what are we watching?” He asked tilting his head and kicking off his slippers sitting on my bed propped up in the mound of pillows.

“Well! I lined up a bunch of horror films because I know you like the horror type, but I also know you like romance drama things even if you won’t admit so it’s your choice.” I said and plopped down next to him, I sat up straighter popping my back.

“Surprise me.” He grumbled and brought his arms folding them under his head, “Horror it is!”

I turned on the projector and pointed it up at the ceiling and laid down propping my head on Enji’s bicep, he didn’t move, we’ve done this ever since I convinced him the first time. I shimmed into his side, and dropped my arm across his chest and wrapped my legs around his waist and situated myself against his side. I smiled and looked up finally as the movie started, I didn’t exactly enjoy horror movies but they were alright. I watched, and shared snacks mostly listening to his heart beat through his bicep. Three movie later I yawned, and cuddled into a more comfortable position. At some point the projector rolled over so we’d been watching it on the wall, Enji’s Chet’s was to my back, I was on my right side facing the wall to watch the move, his left arm over my shoulders and weighing me down from moving. I checked my phone, it was three in the morning, I put my phone down and flinched at a jump scare, Enji let out a chuckle.

I turned in his arms burying my face in his chest, I moved my arms under his to hug his chest, “Enji.”

“Hm,” he hummed not moving from my new spot pressed against his chest.

“Can I ask you something?” Another might as well thing.

“Hm,” he grunted.

“Do you know how much I love you?” I asked staring blankly at his chest.

He took a deep breath and sighed, “If I remember, you said from the first day of our first year. So three years.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled and squeezed him in a hug, I let the silence fall for a minute before I looked up at him, “Do you love me?”

He looked down, a small smile on his lips, his hand drifted down, hot skin touching the cold exposed skin of my back, I had my answer, but I know I could never have it.

“Don’t ask questions if you’re afraid of the answer.” His voice was heavy, and I felt my eyes start to burn, I buried my face into his chest, the tears were hot, I felt my face heating up, I started to shake.

In a choked out whisper, “please, tell me.”

“(Y/n),” I don’t remember the last time he called me by my name, I don’t think he actually addresses me by any name, he just walks up and starts talking, “Knowing the truth will only cause you more pain.”

“JUST TELL ME,” I screamed into his chest clenching his black muscle shirt, “If you don’t love me it’ll make it easier. So please, just tell me.”

“If tell you I don’t love makes this easier for you, then the truth will only make this harder for you.” I cried harder into his chest, I honestly expected him to say no, but maybe for once life was going right, but life was cruel, it’d give me rewards during the worst timing.

“You bastard you never told me,” I hit his chest weakly with a balled fist, only earring light heh, “I could’ve loved you with everything I had but you never said a thing.” I hit him again.

“You’d be a disaster,” he took my wrist in his hand, “Look at you, your a mess and nothing has happened.”

I sniffled, “whatever.”

The night played over in my mind, and now here I am, standing in front of him, times stopped completely, he looks amazing in his wedding Kimono. Although I can’t help but feel he would’ve looked better in a white suit, I wanted to smile, but the tears were out weighing everything else, for a minute, all I saw was Enji, everything else turned a bright white, radiating around him, he didn’t seem happy. But he should be, it’s his day, he’s getting married, I met Rei a week ago, she’s sweet, and humble. Someone who could definitely keep a level head around this man. I smiled up at him, one last time, he paused and looked at me.

“You’re here,” he sounded shocked.

“Yeah,” I looked down, “When you gave me the invite I thought I wasn’t going to make it, but then who I would I be to miss my best friends wedding?”

“An idiot that’s what you would be.” He grumbled and looked away, just like that day, I saw it in his eyes, fear.

“Don’t be afraid, think about it, every breath, every choice, and every hour has come to this. You’re one step closer to becoming the hero you want to be. So I’ll be in the front row cheering for you!” I held my right hand out and up with a thumbs up smiling, but I was hurting, really really bad.

“Idiot.” He grumbled and dropped his hand on top of my head, I didn’t fight the pout as I pushed his hand off, “I don’t brush my hair that often anymore, so don’t ruin it, I worked hard for this look.” I scolded and tried to flatten my hair out again.

“It’s good to see you again, now go, it’s going to start soon.” He gave a low laugh closing his eyes.

“Got it, I’ll see you when you get up there.” I smiled and nodded turning to leave. Once outside the room I leaned against the closed door for a minute, a shaky breath, the tears didn’t fall, so at least I’d look good. I nodded and smiled to-myself and pushed off the door heading to where I was supposed to be, the crowd, just standing on the side watching.

The ceremony was amazing, beautiful, Rei was beautiful, I met a woman named Teka, I found out she was Enji’s mother. She showed me cute chubby baby pictures after I told her we were friends since our first year at U.A. she said she hasn’t talked to him or even met Rei, but she wanted it to change, but he won’t even talk to her. She let out her life story after I talked about Yoshino, she made sure her second husband wasn’t listening before she told me no one would ever be able to replace him. I talked a while longer with her before out conversation ended with a phone call. My agency called me about someone wanting to be recruited.

“Thank you Teka for this talk, it was definitely enlightening. Maybe our paths will cross in the future, take care of yourself.” I said and bowed to her hand up, she nodded and waved her hand, “I feel they will soon.”

Just as I straightened out to leave a light fell hot on my skin, “Looks like we have a volunteer to give a speech!”

I cringed, “No, sorry I have an agency to get back to.” I tried to leave and explain.

“How can you say no! It’s wedding! We’ve been roped you’ve known the groom for years! Any advice for the bride is always welcome! Or even just well wishes!” The woman on the speaker almost cheered.

“I really have to-“ she gave me a cold look and I nodded, “Right speech, got it.” I walked to the stage she was on, weak in the knees and to the microphone squinting at her and the bright light now on me, I looked away and saw Enji siting next to Rei at their table in the head of the room. I took a deep breath and feel silent, I don’t know what to say.

“Well, I wish I had something to say but I didn’t know I’d be giving a speech so forgive me if a ramble.” I brought my hand to my neck as a few giggles were heard, “I know for a fact though, I do wish the both of you many happy and love filled years together. Wishing that your love stand strong and the life you build together stand stronger. True love lights the path, happiness fills the heart and peace can be found in the darkest hours. Advice for the bride, I don’t have much to say actually. Just be patient with him, he’s a bit hard headed and when his determination kicks in, it’s not easy to change his mind. Bear with him in the hard times, and stand by him dark times, he may not show it but he has a big heart for the ones around him. Advice for the groom, confide in your partner, you’re a team now, team work was never dealt your strong suit, work on it together. With this, once more, from the deepest parts of my heart and soul, I wish the happy couple, years of love, peace and joy.” I bowed and claps filled the room as I handed the microphone back and booked it out of there. My heart aches, but I’ll just bury myself in work till I have time to deal with it.

“Hey! Yeah I’m on my way to the agency right now, get the meeting room ready.”

Time passed, and I moved up to fourth place just under Enji, we were ranked the day before my 18th birthday which actually set a record in the Hero world. Youngest hero to make top ten and own their own successful hero agency. I smiled and nodded, they expected us to give speeches, I passed up my turn, claiming my actions were enough to show what I needed to say. Not to long after that I learned Enji had kids, his first soon looked just like him, adorable, red hair and blue eyes, definitely a Todoroki. And I guess knowing that his marriage was finalized is what pushed me to make my next big move, that and the new pay raise I was giving myself.

“So Frostbite,” I crossed my right leg over my left knee and leaned back in my chair, elbows propped on the arm rests and fingertips pressed to make a triangle, “You’ll be leaving Japan soon for the American states, is this true?”

“Well, I’d love to say it’s true, but,” I sighed and looked down, and smiled looking back up at the interview, “Well actually it is true.”

“Well, I’d like to the first to congratulate you, is it for business or for pleasure? It’s not everyday a hero just leaves where they live.” She pushed.

“Business, I own a hero agency and well, I’ve heard there has recently been a shortage of Hero agencies in the eastern coast of America. So it’s where I plan to head out to, start up an agency and help hero’s who need somewhere to start.” I shrugged not changing my pose.

“Helping others, like a model hero should.” She smiled, “Now, that’s the biggest question we’ve had coming in, so let me read some questions fans have been dying to ask since you first graduated from UA.”

“Let’s get to it.” I answered.

“Are you single?” She asked with a smile. “Getting the good ones, out first, yes I am.”

“Well I’m sure your fans are glad to hear that,” she laughed. “What do you look for in a lover?”

“I don’t know, I kinda just always hoped, I’d know who it is when the time is right.” I smiled sheepishly.

“Cute, now, just a few more and then we’ll talk about-“

I don’t remember much after that, the interview was great, I gave out my social media and gained more followers, more love, more attention. But the more I thought about it, it all just left me empty once I was alone, I couldn’t open my heart to just anything, it was hard. I sighed and looked at new hero’s lined up before me, “28 years of my life, I spent working on Agencies globally, but I can tell you all, I love this one the most.”

The hero’s in front of me sighed and smiled, they held up in line, my original staff and first hero’s to join this agency had already bid me farewell, these were the recruit we took in this year, they’re first year almost complete, it was only five but they came as a team. So far they’ve been the best team and only team I’ve ever taken in, at least in The United States.

“Now, I now I’ve only known you all for a year, but I’ve grown to love you all just as much as my first trainees, so I want to offer to all permanent jobs here, unless you’d like to find another agency. This is my last year and I’ll be leaving back to my homeland in Japan.”

“We’d love to stay and work for you Frostbite, you gave us a chance when every other agency refused to take in a team. We stuck together as a team and by your side, it’s the least we can do to ever give you thanks.” The leader of the group spoke.

“Great, then I’ll leave you in Chizome’s hands, She will be in charge while I’m gone. Take care all of you.” I gave them all a squeeze and walked out of the building for what would be the last time I looked back over my shoulder at the door and smiled, I got into the car parked in front.

“Where to?” The question went unanswered for a bit, “The Atlanta Airport, it’s time I head home.”

I sat back, my heart racing, for the first time in who knows how long, I’d be back in Musutafu, in just a long few hours, maybe I’d see the man I’d fallen for over three hundred times, once a day, for almost four years, and then more after that. But I had to let go, and my life has been an adventure, one without love but an adventure, and I wouldn’t change anything for it. The ride was short but the airplane ride was what made me dread everything that’s was coming my way. I sighed and braced myself pacing my plane, I felt queasy, and uneasy.

“Alright, I mean we weren’t even dating so I should be so awkward, the last time I saw him wasn’t to bad, he only had a kid and Rei was with him and she looked super happy, so they must be happy, I’m happy for them, so I’m happy, so what if I’ve never fallen in love with anyone else..... I tried, I went on dates but everyone just, doesn��t meet the expectations I had, I’m lost I don’t know maybe I can find someone else this time around I just have to try! That’s it! You got this! You can find someone! You don’t have to worry about it! Just fall in love, with someone.”

I huffed and sat back down, apparently my state of panic lasted well over a few hours considering I finally stopped walking around the plane just to hear we’re landing. I took a deep breath and exhaled snowflakes leaving my mouth.

“Are you alright?” I looked up, my manager, person in charge of my personal image was staring me down as he moved to sit in front of me.

“Oh, yeah, I think I’m fine. Just,” I let out another heavy sigh more flakes falling, I looked at my thighs, the skin touching where the thigh cuts had been placed for my new costume, “Antsy.”

“Well, sleep tonight when I get you home. In the morning you’ll be apart of the hero ranking, to announce your arrival in Musutafu you were honored with the right to announcing the new ranking. Hope you’re ready, I’ve ordered a new version of your costume, it’s already waiting at your house.” He smiled and I smiled at him.

“Thank you, it means a lot to not have to worry about every little detail.”

“I’ll always be here for you (y/n).” He smiled and I felt the heat in my cheeks, maybe I could fall in love with someone else.

I thought, I thought I could fall in love again, but boy was I wrong, here I am standing, reading the updated list for the number one hero, and there, is his name. I looked at the envelope and back up at the crown I was standing in front of, everything was getting hot, so I forced a thin layer of ice into my skin.

“Finally our new number one hero,” I looked back at the card, pausing for affect, I looked to the side stage, his shadow made it obvious.

“The Flame Hero Endeavor!” I called out and turned to the other side of the stage making eyes contact with the person who had been directing me.

“Now, Do our new top hero’s have anything to say?” And cue a scene, dramatic one at that. After having my microphone stolen by some McDonald’s Chicken Nugget special I zoned out looking off stage for direction until I heard an all to familiar line, “Just Watch me.”

I swallowed and with that I took the microphone and thanked the hero’s for their words of sentiment, I continued to honorable mentions and a few other things I was directed to do before handing the microphone over to another person who was I charge of the next segment. The hero’s walked off to the right, and I to the left to get all the equipment taken off. Leaving the building I was swarmed by cameras and lights, “FROSTBITE YOUVE RETURNED TO MUSUTAFU WHY??”

“WELCOME BACK CAN YOU ELABORATE ON THE HISTORY OF YOUR WORK?” I just heard my name being called over and over with different questions, one that stuck out was “Frostbite can you elaborate on your relationship with the New Number one Flame Hero Endeavor, does your return have any connection to his recent publication of his separation?”

It stuck out but I didn’t react, “If any of you have questions please submit them to my manager, find his contact information on my agency’s website.” I was reaching my car until I felt a hand and my feet were off the ground. I was at a loss of what was happening, after relaxing I was in the air my mind went into fight or flight action. I remember swing my feet back with all that I could, I hooked my leg around something, using more forced I managing to face the chest of whoever was holding me. I kept moving to take hold of the arms holding me, the red wings gave it away as the chicken special that stole my mic.

“Well you just have a thing for stealing don’t you.” I grumbled and looked down, with a quick swing of my feet I could definitely pull us down into the closed roof top.

“I just see something I like I take it, I see a chance and I don’t leave it open.” His voice was smooth.

“Well, sadly for you I don’t either.” With that’s I grabbed his shoulders breaking his grip and throwing my weight down causing us both to tumble into a roof top. We didn’t exactly fight but I was definitely taking out emotions on him. He was fast yes, but I’ve learned a lot of things in my time and travel, I found myself torso between his legs, my back on his lap and squeezing his neck between my thighs and knees. His hands were at my thighs trying to keep them from crushing him but it’s not what I planned at all. “Alright buddy, you’ve got three minutes to tell me why you think you can just pick me up and fly.”

“I just told you, I see something I like I take it.” He smirked and did a quicker finger walk form one thigh to the other touching my personal area, I quickly sat up and smacked the top of his head, he just laughed, “Well, not everyone likes that stuff.”

“Well when you see a hot rotisserie chicken do you just leave it be or snatch it up?” He laughed and I wanted to hit him, “Anyways you’re hot, and I haven’t exactly seen you around so you must be new, so how about we go on a date? I can show you the world”

“How old are you kid? 19?” I scoffed taking his wondering hands by the wrist.

“23.” He smirked. I scoffed and let go pushing him off, “You’re barking up the wrong tree kid, I’m almost twice you’re age.”

After learning who this kid is it was easy to pick up on the type of person he was, he was very fond of Endeavor. I told him about the not so private parts of our past and he started to worship me begging to know more, I pat his head, he sat cross legged in front of me, “Some other time kid, stop by my agency with lunch I’ll tell you a couple of stories, but I gotta get going. My agency can’t run itself ya know.” I ruffled his unruly hair and his wings dropped on the floor, “first generation agency right?” He asked, I looked at him and nodded, “Thats the one.”

Time has a funny way of bringing things together, especially when I found myself in the hospital, punching Enji’s chest just like so many years ago, “You bastard!” I hit him again, an audible loss of air coming from him. The tears were falling as he took hold of my wrists with one hand, I was taking short fast breaths to fill my lungs with air. His right hands barely making it to my chin, “IM SO MAD AT YOU!” I tried to break from his grip to hit him again, but he wouldn’t let go, “The last time you did this doesn’t feel like to long ago. But this time I can tell you exactly what I couldn’t then.”

I cried and broke free hitting him one more time, “I hate you, you know that,” I brought my palms up forcefully rubbing my eyes, “I hate you, and your face, and everything about you, I hate seeing your hurt or sad and I hate that you make me cry, and I hate I hate you.” I whined and kept rubbing my eyes, “I hate you because I still love you, after all this time during all this time I still love you and I hate you for it.” I pulled my hands away from my eyes finally looking at him through semi-blurred vision. He had a faint smile on his features, his right hands stretched out to touch my chin his left hand taking my right hand.

“Let me finish before you interrupt me again,” he squinted at me but I listened to him looking him in the eye, he looked tired, but held raw emotion, “This time I can tell you, I love you.”

I spaced out, just completely stopped working, before I started crying again, “You’re lying.” “No, I really do love you,” he tried siting up pulling me closer, my forehead against his chest, I would’ve clung to his shirt if he had one, but it’s just skin and hair. “I haven’t been miserable,” His hand lifted my chin, “but I’ve had more than enough time to realize, if I had the chance, you would be the person I marry, and you would be the person I give my heart and life to. You, (y/n), took my heart, I didn’t even know, and when I did know it never registered, that I loved you, I married Rei for her quirk, it was a mistake, I loved you, the fact you have an ice quirk is great, but even if you didn’t, I would still love you the same. It’s not your body, or quirk I fell in love with. It’s you, it’s how every morning you wanted to make sure I ate, every time I skipped out on lunch to train you hunted me down and gave me your lunch or brought me lunch so I wouldn’t starve even if it meant you did. It’s every night we spent in the dorms, wether it was cooking, walking around the campus, training even when you were drop dead tired but didn’t want to leave me alone, every time the dark stepped in you were there, in the dark hours you stood by me, in the brightest moments you cheered me on. I remember when you I was laid out gasping for air, and that bad guy was coming closer, you had never hurt anyone, but in that moment, you gave up all fear to to save me without having to hurt anyone. I even enjoyed those nights where you put weird masks on my face and we just watched whatever came on. I loved holding you and squeezing your tummy rolls when you’d sit on me and eat snack and talk about the weirdest things. I only learned this when I realized I was running the chance of losing you.”

I hugged his neck and pulled back guiding his face to my chest, I hugged him and hurried my face in his hair, “You’re and idiot you know that,” I shook with a sob, “But you’re my idiot now and I love you.”

All of a sudden the words I’d listened to over and over came to reality in my heart, ‘Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years I'll love you for a thousand more’

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basicallywhiterice · 5 years ago

Text

Eight words: Han Jisung

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers, lowkey friends to lovers lmao, smidge of angst, fluff

Warnings: Cursing

Word count: 8.5 k

Summary: Sure, one could tell someone they loved them with eight letters. But eight words convey deeper, more complex meanings.

a/n: Happy birthday, Han aka J. One aka Jisung! I wish you a smooth, unhurried transition into adulthood, as do all Stays. And dear reader, I present to you this fic about my bias… enjoy!

•••

One word.

Three words and eight letters can sum up my feelings towards Han Jisung, although they’re much more intense than what eight letters can contain.

“I hate you.”

Case in point: After a long day of lectures and labs, I’m ready to throttle him.

“Jisung.”

“Y/n,” he mocks, making his voice higher to imitate mine.

No, he’s not my friend. Of course not. I wouldn’t tell a friend: “I’ve been looking for you. Thanks for responding to my text messages asking where you were. I really appreciate it.” No, Jisung’s really more like a stuck up, annoying dumbass who happens to do well on every test he takes.

“Oh, I had my phone turned off. But you missed me that much?”

I puff my cheeks up and sigh. “You wish. Do you wanna review for the Bio exam together?”

“Biology?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“The one I’m really good at?”

“Debatable, but whatever floats your boat.”

“And let me get this straight,” he says, trying—and failing—to suppress a smile. “You need my help to study for it? My help? The help of me, Han Jisung? J. One? The one for you?”

“I don’t need your fucking help-” I bite back a few colorful words when I see his barely-hidden smile expand into a smirk and he shakes his head, almost disapprovingly. “Sort of, yes.” I muster the fakest smile I can display without cringing, tilting my head for added sarcasm.

“No.”

“Why not?” I sigh, having expected this to happen.

“What’s the fun in that, darling?”

Heat creeps into my cheeks as I fume over his disgusting pet name. “Han Jisung, I’m gonna strangle you in your sleep-”

“While that sounds tempting, and I had no idea you were into that, you’re not giving me any other reasons to help you, darling.” He leans back, resting his head against his pretty soft interlaced fingers, fixing me with The Look™ that lets me know he’s messing with me and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

“We’ve studied for every test together and I’m sick of asking if you want to study every single time? Is that a good enough fucking reason for you?”

He drops one of his hands down and rests his index finger on his chin. “That’s valid…” he exhales, after a long, drawn out pause.

I nearly deck him in the face. I roll my eyes instead. “You know what, I’m leaving. Tell me your answer tomorrow if you need that long to think.” I shove my binders and textbooks into my backpack, swing it up on my shoulders, and make a beeline for the door. It’s not fair to snap at him so unexpectedly like this, but with the first semester at college rushing to a close, I don’t have enough time to play these petty games.

“Hey, hey, hey, wait up. What’s wrong?” he runs after me and pulls me back by my elbow with his right hand.

I take a deep breath, trying to rationalize my anger that’s not because of him but directed at him (at least, not today). “Nothing, I’m just really not in the mood for this kind of exchange for another twenty minutes. I have to study for more than just the science exam. I’d like it if we could just skip this elaborate negotiating for just one day.”

“Oh.” He lets go of my arm. “Yeah. Sure. Studying for exams together. Same studying schedule, texting if we change any days?” When I nod in affirmation, he sticks his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sorry for stressing you out more. You can tell me when you’re having a bad day, you know.”

Oh. “I know. Sorry for snapping at you. I didn’t mean it.” He starts to say something, but I hold up a hand. “It’s somewhat tolerable to have someone to banter with every day.” I blurt out.

Jisung glances down, then raises his gaze to meet mine. His eyes squeeze into crescents. His plump lips (ew) stretch outwards to reveal his pearly whites. I’m sure that my expression mirrors his.

“Good to know my efforts are appreciated.”

“Don’t get a big head. Well, don’t get an even bigger one.”

“You mean a big brain.”

“No, you don’t have a brain.”

He feigns a hurt expression. “Wow, princess. I thought I was tolerable.”

“You ruined the mood!” I shake my head, laughing. “You’re only somewhat tolerable. Definitely not when you call me pet names.”

“Sugar, you wound me.”

“Han Jisung!” I smack his arm half-heartedly.

“You love it though, honey.” He rests his hand on the top of my backpack, gently guiding me out the library doors and towards the parking lot.

Hm.

(Yes.)

•••

Two words.

This was supposed to be a peaceful weekend hangout.

“Felix, put that knife down! Right now! Or no Fortnite for a week!”

Somehow, all our weekend hangouts end up with Chan and Woojin babysitting. That is, until they act like kids themselves.

“Don’t challenge him to a knife fight, Chan! This isn’t Australia, where you have to fend for yourself in the desert—Kim Woojin if you join them I’ll let Minho cook dinner for a week.”

Then the rest of us babysit them until we figure out a better alternative to plastic-knife fencing (Changbin and Chan end up winning after they team up). After finally agreeing on going to the park (like in the Boxer video you know), the boys take over the swings and unintentionally terrorize children (while complaining about freezing to death) while Ryujin and I rethink our life choices and miss Tzuyu, who’s in Taiwan visiting her family.

“Why are we friends with them, again?” she asks, picking at her nails and pretending not to laugh when Seungmin throws wood chips in Hyunjin’s face.

“Yeah, y/n, why are you friends with us?” Jisung butts in after Jeongin refuses all of his hugs. I shoot him a thumbs up, and he grins behind Jisung’s back.

“I’m not friends with you. I’m friends with everyone else here because they’re cool, unlike you, stupid.”

“Ah, you were never a good liar, sweetie.”

Ryujin stifles a laugh, and I shoot her a half-hearted glare. “Not right now, Jisung. I’m still stressing over exam grades.”

“All the teachers entered them this morning, you know.” Surprisingly, there were no pet names present in that sentence. Hallelujah.

“They did?” I check my phone, and sure enough, all the exam grades are there. “What! I was reloading this page all morning! What’d you get in Bio?”

“An A. You?”

“As expected. Same.”

“As expected,” he mimics.

“Is that why you didn’t drag me on the slides?” Ryujin asks. “Because you were worried about your grades, that always end up being an A?”

“No comment.”

“You should go and have fun now that you know your GPA is safe,” she suggests. “No point in coming here if you’re just going to sit here.”

“You were the one who refused to associate with these,” I jab a thumb at the boys, “losers.”

“Oops.”

“You guys should play tag with us or something,” Jisung offers. “See who’s a loser then.”

“Challenge accepted. I’ll go round up the others,” Ryujin agrees, pushing herself off the metal bench and jogging over to the swings.

“What about you, y/n?” asks Jisung.

“Hm. Maybe.” I pretend to think, already knowing my answer is going to be yes.

“Come on! Join us?”

“How could I say no? I can’t just sit back and watch you lose without joining and winning against you.”

“... I’m going to pretend the reason is because you’re such a great friend to us.”

“Only the rest of them. Not you.” I correct him.

“Thank you. ‘preciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

•••

Three words.

The ice on the streets is frozen and so am I.

I had ducked into the quaint little cafe on campus to grab a hot drink and to regain feeling in my feet when I saw what’s causing me to stand here—frozen, like a statue.

I saw Jisung. In our cafe. The one I frequent at least twice a week with him (not voluntarily, of course. He follows me here, probably to annoy me more, and I let him so I can annoy him more.)

Under normal circumstances, I’d be disgusted, not paralyzed. But today is different.

He sits at a two-person table. Next to him, a girl leans over his shoulder, wearing the headphones connected to his computer, occasionally commenting on parts of what I assume is his latest song. Her backpack rests on one of her shoulders. When she turns her head, I can see her face clearly.

He’s with Tzuyu, one of the youngest rising stars in the arts at our university, a hardworking student, an all-around sweet person, and a good friend of ours.

Why, one might ask, did I freeze in place? Simple: I’m sick of Jisung trying to woo girls with the songs he composes.

Once I regain my senses, shuffle forward in line, and place my order, I glance over at their table again. Tzuyu takes off the headphones and starts talking while pointing to different places on his laptop. Jisung smiles sheepishly at the last thing she says. The little prick. It must be an act–after all, if he’s flirted with so many girls through his music, he should be used to the compliments.

Tzuyu walks away from him after glancing at her watch and waving goodbye. She notices me when she’s halfway to the cafe door and grins, waving at me before she shoots Jisung one last smile and leaves. I wave back.

Of course, this exchange means that Jisung notices me. He motions for me to wait, holding up one finger. He clicks around on his laptop, closes it, and slides it into his backpack, along with his headphones. He stands up right as my drink is finished and my name is called. I snag the drink and try to rush to the door as discreetly as possible. Unfortunately, I’m very conspicuous, and Jisung follows me, calling my name.

I’m outside when he catches up with me, frozen in place once again as I internally debate if I should stay and talk to him or leave him. He makes the decision for me when he steps beside me, tugging my elbow in the direction I’m facing to get me to walk so I don’t hold up foot traffic.

“I told you to wait for me in there, y/n. You usually do it, why’d you ignore me today?”

Play dumb, y/n. “Who’s y/n?” Not that dumb!

I clear my throat and try again. “You were in there?”

He raises his eyebrows. “I know you saw me.” When I don’t reply, he sighs. “Walk with me? It’s the last week before break and I won’t have the pleasure of personally annoying you every day.”

I tilt my head forward to tell him to start walking. I can only think of a (half-hearted) protest once we’ve walked a full block. “It’s going to snow soon.”

“You love the snow.”

I exhale through my mouth, forming a cloud of condensation with my breath in the crisp, chilly air. “Yeah, I do.”

A beat passes. Quietly, Jisung asks, “Are you mad?” Another beat. “At me?”

I think back to Tzuyu getting the opportunity to hear an unreleased track. “No, I’m not.” My heart pangs when I picture them leaning in so close together, even though my rational self tells me I shouldn’t be mad over something that small, especially if it concerns such a close friend and such a stupid asshole.

“I think you’re mad. You’re talking a lot less than normal.”

“Congratulations. You must think you’re so smart.”

“Thanks for finally noticing.”

“Look, what do you want?”

“I want to know why you’re mad.”

“Who said I was mad?”

He snorts in disbelief. “You literally just admitted to it.”

“When did I say that?” I stop walking.

He laughs, a dry, airy chuckle that morphs into a sigh. “I just want to know why you’re mad, and if I can help.”

I scoff. “Thanks for your concern, but I think I’ll be alright. Is there anything else-”

“No, you don’t seem like you’ll be fine! You almost never get angry!”

“Why are you so angry about me being angry? Not everything’s about you.”

I suppose it would be a great testament to anyone else’s character if they realized my insults were just my anger speaking and refused to insult me back. However, this is Jisung we’re talking about. He’s more likely to stop talking because he can’t think of a retort, not because he’s conscientious.

Sigh. Maybe he’s not that bad after all.

Just when I acknowledge the slim possibility that Jisung might not be a jerk all of the time, he reaches out and steals my phone.

“What-”

“I’m not giving this back until you tell me why.” He taps away at the lock screen, and unlocks it.

My lips part slightly and my eyebrows crease together. I’m in shock. “How-”

“I’ve seen you enter your password a lot, I just never thought about using it until today. Let’s see… should I read over the English story you refuse to send me because it’s not done yet?”

I break out of my stupor. “Stop it! There’s a reason I haven’t sent it yet. It’s horrible!” I reach out, left arm flailing uselessly, hand smacking his shoulder. He just steps back and turns away from me.

“Oops, too late.” Over his shoulder, I can see him click on the Google Docs app and open the most recently edited document. He scrolls the page down, reading as he goes, but he’s moving around so much that I can’t read the words on the screen at first. My heart nearly stops when I recognize the format of my poetry doc, a place where I word vomit all my artistic and lyrical poetry ideas.

“Jisung, stop! Right now!” I wonder how desperate I sound right now, although I try not to show it.

That’s my poetry. It’s raw, unfinished, and, quite frankly, really cringy. I’ve only trusted Ryujin, Tzuyu, and Hyunjin enough to read one poem, let alone all of them. And now Jisung is scrolling through the entire document.

My blood boils over, simultaneously turning to ice. I chuck my cup of hot chocolate into the trash can. My appetite’s been ruined. I wrestle my phone out of his grip using two hands, palms and fingers crashing against the screen, frantically checking to see if I accidentally modified my poems with my clumsy tapping. I silently sigh in relief when I’m certain nothing was edited. Then, I fix Jisung with a cold, blank stare.

“Those poems were good…” he trails off when I take a step towards him. “No, really.”

“Those were personal poems that I don’t want people to read unless I decide to share them when they’re finished. I don’t want someone who’s going to make fun of me to read it! Don’t you understand the concept of privacy?” I spit out through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry. That… kind of reminds me of my songs and how I only share them with people I trust a lot when they’re unfinished. I shouldn’t have gone through all of that.”

“It reminds you of your songs? Well, unlike you, I don’t use my creative work to flirt with others.”

He flinches, eyes wide and panicked. “How did you know about that?”

“About you flirting through songs? It’s obvious: you let them listen to your unfinished work, and then they compliment you and you pretend to be all humble and everything and-” I groan and run a hand through my hair. Be a nice person. Don’t insult him. Be a nice person. Don’t insult him. Be a nice-

“Are you mad that Tzuyu was helping me with a song earlier in the cafe? Is that why you’re mad?”

I gape at him. “The world doesn’t revolve around you and your enormous ego! Plus, don’t you remember what happened the last time you stole my phone?”

Jisung wasn’t always this annoying. When I first met him, I even thought he was cute. (I still do, but I always deny it, and any non-platonic feelings, if anyone accuses me of thinking that way.) But a few weeks after I met him, when we had become friends, he stole my phone and accidentally deleted a notes page where I kept several passwords (that I was too lazy to remember). He apologized, but the damage had already been done.

“I’ve never used my music to flirt with anyone. And for your information, I ran into Tzuyu. I didn’t invite her to flirt with her.”

Oh. “Ok, and?”

He drags a hand over his face. “Why were you mad at me when we left the cafe?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m ready to storm off and leave, but I realize that Jisung did have a point. Today is the last day before break, and even if he’s a conceited jerk, I don’t want to end things on a bad note until we see each other again.

I take a deep breath. “Let’s sit down and talk through this like civilized people. Is that ok?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do this entire time!”

I drag him over to a bench and plop down, leaving a respectable amount of distance between us. “You want to know why I’m mad? I’ve been asking to hear your unreleased tracks for who knows how long, and you won’t even let me read the lyrics. I have to wait until you and the rest of 3racha drop an album. And I understand that! You're allowed to not share your work! But you also let a ton of people listen to your songs and they just end up complimenting your talent, whereas I’ve offered to help you refine your songs. To me, that seems shallow, especially since most people you show them to are girls. And then you go through my poems without my permission. To be fair, I might be overreacting.”

“No, you’re not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

I smile tiredly. “Sure, I’ll probably share them someday, but I need a heads up. I thought you would’ve understood how much they mean to me since you’re protective of your songs.” I drag a hand over my face. “Ok, rant’s over.”

And so I spend the next half an hour understanding Jisung’s point of view. I end up accepting his apology. As we part ways, he pulls me into a hug. I don’t resist, and bury my face into his shoulder. When we pull apart, he waves before walking away. I can’t help the goofy smile that spreads onto my face once his back is turned. Suddenly, a thought washes over me.

Idiot. I’ll miss you.

•••

Four words.

Winter break is refreshing.

That is, until I realize how unproductive I’m being. Then I panic, becoming both unproductive and unhappy.

It’s almost a relief when I get back to school, until I realize how much work I’m drowning in. Then I wish I was on break again.

Sigh. The paradoxes of life.

On the bright side, at least I get to see my squad again. (And (see) roast Jisung.)

On the third week back from school, Hyunjin drags Ryujin and me to one of 3racha’s monthly shows (they have quite the fanbase on campus.) We would’ve gone anyways, but Hyunjin is a nice addition.

The first thing he says when we arrive at the venue is, “Aren’t you so excited about seeing Jisung perform? Hmm?” while wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, y/n, aren’t you going to gush about how cute he looks while performing?” Ryujin adds.

“No. And that was one time. Once.”

“No, it’s every time. You always talk about him.” Hyunjin may have a point.

“Is there something that we should know?” Ryujin asks slyly. “I am your roommate, so if you’re going to talk about him 24/7, you might as well just tell us you like him instead of being in denial.”

“No. I don’t like him. I never talk about him.” My words sound weak even to me. “Remember? He’s like my mortal enemy.”

Pause. The two of them stare at me skeptically, waiting for me to stop denying everything.

“Ok, fine. He looks so fricking attractive when he’s performing, and his eyes transform completely and it’s like looking at a sharper version of him, and he still manages to be absolutely adorable when he smiles and his nose and eyes scrunch up, and-” I envelope Ryujin in a hug, cringing in embarrassment. She tries not to laugh, but I can feel her shoulders shaking. Hyunjin fails to contain his amusement, laughing so loudly that 3racha, preparing backstage, can probably hear him.

“Not a single word to anyone,” I make them promise.

“I’m totally convinced that you don’t have a crush on him,” Hyunjin says once he’s stopped laughing (two minutes later.)

“You’re the one who’s all buddy-buddy with him when you tried to beat him up that one time in high school.”

“People change,” he shrugs. “But you’ve always seemed like you had a soft spot for him.”

“No, you’re wrong. He’s my sworn enemy. He deleted my passwords that one time and read my poems and that makes him my arch-nemesis.” I sigh. “Oh, who am I kidding?”

Luckily (or not), Jisung chooses this moment to saunter over, sparing me from all their teasing. “What’s up, my dudes? Are you ready to get wowed by us?”

“Wow is your best song yet. You’re performing that tonight, right?” I confirm.

“Yup. I’m sure you guys can get some meme-worthy material out of Changbin’s reactions.”

“Jisung, have I ever told you how attractive you look when you perform?” snickers Hyunjin, excessively batting his eyelashes and latching onto Jisung. I shoot him daggers with my eyes while trying to look not-exactly-murderous to Jisung. Ryujin stifles a laugh at my expense for the second time tonight.

“Thanks, buddy. I’m aware, but it’s nice to know that someone appreciates my hotness every once in a while.”

“Why are we here again?” I wonder out loud, giggling at the overly dramatic look of betrayal that Jisung puts on.

“My dear, it’s obviously for me! How could you forget?”

“Oh right, it was for my favorite 3racha member, Changbin!”

Jisung shrugs Hyunjin off, coming over and embracing me playfully. “No, not allowed.”

“C’mon, let’s go say hi to my man, Changbin!” I tell the ‘jins, tilting my head towards the stage.

“Noooo. Darling, that’s so mean.”

I give up on pushing Jisung off once it’s clear that he stubbornly refuses to leave. I ruffle his hair instead as “revenge.” (“Hey! That took me a solid five seconds to style! You’re fixing that.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever floats your boat.”) Ryujin, Hyunjin, and I agree that we should go greet Chan and Changbin. As we head backstage to say hi to 2racha, Jisung reluctantly stops hugging me when it gets too difficult to walk. He still keeps a hand loosely anchored on my right shoulder. I don’t complain, nor do I shrug him off. I guess it feels nice ok when he’s a normal, chill, person.

Ok, that was an under-exaggeration. I feel like I’m on cloud nine.

Maybe Ryujin is secretly a mind reader, or maybe I’m just really transparent, because she pokes my arm, not saying anything when I ask her “what,” while trying to hide the furious blush I know is present on my face. She just raises her eyebrows and grins. I widen my eyes back.

“So, uh y/n.” starts Jisung, breaking me out of my semi-staring contest with Ryujin. “There’s an open mic at our cafe next week—you know, the one we go to at least twice a week? Anyways, there’s an open mic next Friday and I was planning on going to either test out a new song I produced or a couple of poems I wrote and would you—I was wondering if you wanted to go too? I know you’re a little hesitant about sharing your poems, but from what I saw, you had some really good works and I’m sure other people would enjoy your poetry too. And of course you don’t have to go, I just thought it would be a fun experience if you were down.”

I’m floored. Han Jisung being genuinely nice and considerate? Unheard of. But when I start thinking about all my previous encounters with him, I realize that this is not the exception—it’s the rule.

Maybe I was so intent on labeling him as a rival that I’ve been halfheartedly denying the existence of his good traits.

“Thank you for appreciating my poems. That… honestly, that means so much to me. I’d love to go and perform. As long as I have time to prepare and I get to choose what to present… it’ll be new, but doable.” I wrap both arms around his waist and squish the left side of my face against his right shoulder. “I’m excited for Friday.”

“I’m glad you’re excited.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.”

Wait. What am I doing lowkey cuddling him in public? Oh well. I don’t hate it. In fact, I might go as far as to say… I really like it.

(When we get backstage, I fist-bump Changbin and do a weird quasi-dance off with Chan before hugging them both and wishing them good luck before promising to record the entirety of Wow. Jisung pouts and pouts and pouts some more until I fix his hair, then takes my hands and pulls me around in circles like the man-child he is.

Ryujin promises to tell their embarrassing stories to all their fans after she greets 2racha.

Hyunjin forgoes any formalities and starts complaining about Seungmin.

“Chan, control your child! He’s becoming more and more savage. The world can’t contain his saltiness.”

“Maybe that’s his way of showing love.”

His face goes :o. “RYUJIN, YOU’RE A GENIUS!”)

•••

Five words.

It’s Wednesday and I am: straight-up not having a good time (bro).

After a long day filled with tests and being even more sleep-deprived than usual due to said tests, I really just want to curl up into a ball and do absolutely nothing.

Unfortunately, I need to stay awake in order to finish a creative writing story (yes, another one.) Then, I need to study for two more tests for tomorrow and do a shit ton of homework. On top of that, with the open mic two days away, I’m furiously revising and editing what I’m presenting.

To be completely honest, I’ve been playing with ways to reference Jisung in my poems. I know: crazy, right? Stupid Jisung and his stupid mole on his left cheek on his stupid face that my gaze always drifts back to. Stupid Jisung and his genuinely expressive personality. Stupid Jisung and his amazingly accurate intuition and knowledge and pair of eyes that allow him to say things like:

“You’re staring at me quite a bit, sugar.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m just thinking of all the ways I… could get you to shut up.” I finish lamely.

“Really, now.” He leans towards me in his stupid library chair. “Do any of them involve making out in the library?”

Gahhhh. “Not funny didn’t laugh.” I go back to trying to be productive, but it’s hard when my brain is spewing out thoughts faster than (Jisung) Changbin and Chan can rap.

It sucks sometimes when Jisung makes all these suggestive jokes because he’ll never see me in a romantic light. I think that might be part of the reason why I try (and routinely fail) to act so cold to him: I was aware of all the emotions beneath the way I wanted to view and portray him. (My brain: No, this is not a crush. Crushes are shallow and go away after a week. These feelings aren’t going anywhere.)

I get through editing one paragraph of my story before Jisung speaks again. “Are you considering the offer?”

“No.” Maybe. Yes. “Don’t you have a lab report to write?”

“I’d gladly give up on that for you.”

“Jisung, stop, please. Not tonight, ok? On any other day I’d go along with your banter, but I have serious shit to get done with tonight.”

“Oh, ok. Do you want me to help with anything?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks for offering.”

I give up on my story for the time being and slip an earbud into the ear facing away from Jisung. I pull out a thicc textbook and finish my Calculus homework. A page of notebook paper later, I’m done. I close the book, lean back in my seat, and rub my eyes.

“You look like you need a break,” he notes.

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, you deserve it. I’ll even play with your hair.” Darn it! Why why why does Jisung know all my weaknesses? It’s always a destresser for me when plays with my hair. Still, I’m a little hesitant to completely neglect my work for five minutes.

“I’ll give you a back rub too.” Hesitation? Productivity? Who? We don’t know them.

I fall into his outstretched arms and nuzzle my head in the crook of his neck. He laughs a little, leaning back in his chair. His soft hoodie creates a comfortable cushioning, and I sigh in contentment when he runs a hand through my hair, wrapping my arms around his waist. He shifts his legs so his knees are slightly angled toward me, and I do the same.

Then he shifts his right arm and closes the lid of my computer. And picks it up off the table. And sets it back down further away from me so I can’t reach it.

“Jisungggggg,” I whine, reluctantly lifting up my head. I extend my left arm, trying to grasp it, but he just pushes it away again. “I need that. Gotta get this bread. Flaunt that croissant. Ice that rice.” I’m not sure when I stopped talking and started babbling nonsense, but I can blame my lack of sleep for that.

‘What you need is a good night of rest.” He picks up the laptop and holds it close to him, turning away from me.

My senses kick back in. “No! I need to get all this stuff done first. Then I can sleep. Give,” my right hand grasps the edge of my computer. “It,” I give a strong yank. “Back!” We engage in a brief game of tug-of-war before I almost pull it out of his grasp. Then he snatches it back, firmly in his grip.

I huff and pull out my phone forcefully, opening the Google doc containing my poems and stories I’m planning on presenting at open mic for a few revisions and edits. “Must you always be this infuriating? Like, is there a point to stealing my computer when there’s stuff I need to do?”

A small, almost imperceptible pause. I almost don’t even notice it because it’s so brief. It goes straight to the back of my mind.

“You need to rest, y/n. I don’t think all of this stressing is good for you.”

“That doesn’t mean you can steal my computer.”

“Deal with it.”

I sigh. “I hate you right now,” I mumble tiredly. I go back to skimming over my prose and poetry, inserting and deleting a few words here and there.

I have no idea how long the silence stretches on until Jisung responds. “I know, you’ve told me.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz it’s the truth.” Is it grammatically acceptable to use the word ‘like’ in a narrative if you want to have a casual tone? Like, if you want to express a coherent train of thought without using too many words? Would that tone be acceptable? Jisung’s tone just now was off. He almost seemed hurt—oh my god what did I just say.

I come to the (belated) realization that I falsely told him I hated him—with what sounded like conviction, too!—just as he speaks.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and sometimes, you treat me like I’m you’re enemy or rival. I thought we were friends. I wrote you a song—multiple songs. I’ve tried dropping so many hints about how I see you as more than just a friend, but all this time, you saw me as less than one.”

My drowsiness has dissipated. “No, Jisung, I wasn’t thinking—have you never seen me as a rival?”

“It’s ok. You’re not obligated to feel anything for me. You don’t owe me anything. And of course not. I would never see you in such a negative way.” His entire demeanor changes. Jisung is normally very open about his emotions, whether he’s happy, stressed, excited, sad, hurt, enthusiastic, or serious. In this instance, though, his face falls into a more neutral expression that betrays next to nothing about what he’s thinking. But this expression is more than enough to tell me what he feels.

He’s hurt because of what I said. Deeply hurt.

“You could’ve just told me that you hated me,” he continues. “I don’t understand why you would make me feel like we were friends while secretly despising me.”

“Jisung, I don’t hate you.”

“Sure you don’t.” He laughs without humor. “Well, seeing as you clearly don’t want my company, I’ll leave now.” He shoves his laptop, textbook, and notebook into his backpack. He rises and starts walking off.

I rush after him.

“No, Jisung, I didn’t mean it. Please just listen to me.” I catch his left arm a few seconds after we exit the library. He stands there, stationary, neither moving towards me nor pulling away from me. The wind gently breezes past the two of us, tousling the ends of his hair. My heart threatens to get stuck in my throat. I swallow and force myself to go on. “I don’t hate you. You can hate me all you want for saying hurtful things to you, but I’ve never hated you and never will.”

“I could never hate you. And while you may not completely hate me, if you’ve always felt hostile toward me—ever since the start of our so-called ‘friendship’—I don’t really know what to think anymore.”

“No, that’s not what I think. At all. Please hear me out.”

“I think I should leave. Have fun studying without a constant annoying distraction.” He lets his arm slip out of my grip, taking a step forward. “Goodbye.”

He takes long strides away from the library, away from me. All I can think about is how wrong he is. About how wrong I am.

I hurt him, a person with one of the truest hearts and most genuine personalities I’ve ever met. Always being open and transparent with his thoughts, never failing to make me smile. He knows me so well, and I know so much about him, too. He’s been through the ups and the downs with me, and I’ve stayed by his side when he’s needed support, too. He even manages to harness raw, heavy emotions and transform it into beautiful songs such as ‘I see’ that he, Han Jisung, J. One, produces. And now he thinks I hate him.

“No,” I whisper to myself after he’s gone and no one is around to hear me. “It’s the opposite of that.”

I like him so much. Platonically, and romantically. But I’ve missed my chance to tell him, and I’ve broken our friendship that we’ve always had, even if I denied its existence.

Five words can crush someone.

•••

Six words.

Once I’m done with my self reflection about just how foolish and spiteful I acted, I call Ryujin, Hyunjin, and Tzuyu for help. We meet at the dorm Ryujin and I share.

Hyunjin silently shakes his head. Ryujin gives me a side-hug, rubbing circles into my right shoulder. Tzuyu is the first to speak after I describe the events that happened.

“He really likes you. He’s written at least five songs for you and ten songs about you. That day in the cafe, when I ran into him and saw you, he asked for my opinion on one of his songs for you. The reason why he’s never asked you two,” she glances at Hyunjin and Ryujin, “is because he thought you guys would spill the beans.” She sits down on my right side and offers me a hug. “You need to talk to him as soon as possible. He’s cares enough to write songs for you.”

“I know, but he won’t respond to any of my messages or calls.”

“Honestly,” Hyunjin starts, “I’m sorry if this sounds bad, but we were always convinced that you two were secretly dating and wouldn’t tell us.” He half-smiles awkwardly. “Don’t give up just yet.”

“I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that!” Ryujin comforts. “We all make mistakes. Don’t let this bother you and make you give up. I’d say that you’ve learned a lot from this.”

“Thanks, Ryu.” I groan, my face falling into my hands. “What the heck am I supposed to do?” I wrote you a song. I thought we were friends. I’ve dropped hints about how I see you as more than just a friend.

He cares enough to write songs for you.

I’ve been thinking of ways to reference Jisung in my poems.

“That’s it!” I exclaim. “Poetry! And maybe a short story, too.” When I see three confused faces, I elaborate. “He’s written songs about me, right? Well, writing is important to me, so what if I wrote about him in the stuff I’m reading at the open mic? And apologize and explain to him afterwards? All I need to do is make sure he goes to open mic, and you guys could help me convince him. At least, that’s the best idea I can think of right now.”

“Sure.” “We’ll help you.” “You got this, girl!”

Their encouragement lifts my mood, and I’m overly optimistic for a second. My phone buzzes, and I dare to hope that I might be able to mend my relationship with Jisung.

The message is from Jisung, and I foolishly hope for the best. Then I read what he sent.

You don’t have to pretend, y/n.

He doesn’t believe me. He doubts that I see him positively because of how hurtful I acted and the words I said to him. Honestly, I don’t even blame him. If I was in his position, I’d probably do the same.

I have screwed up. Big time.

I never meant to hurt or belittle him, even if I claimed he was my enemy. But somewhere along the way, I turned into one of the worst kinds of people and did.

I hope I can salvage this.

•••

Seven words.

Breathe in, breathe out. Calm down. Everything will turn out fine.

It’s showtime. After much persuasion, Tzuyu and Hyunjin convinced Jisung to perform at open mic (of course, they had to make him think I wouldn’t attend.) Jisung will perform first, then perform one more time after three people. I’m the person right before him.

I stand inside near the counter, far away from our regular table near the windows. He hasn’t seen me yet. I fiddle with my hands, trying to hide my face. I breathe a sigh of relief when he hops on stage to perform. He hasn’t seen me yet.

He greets the patrons of the cafe, cracking a few jokes before kicking things off with a revised version of ‘For you’. He gets halfway through it before he locks eyes with me.

I tentatively wave. He glances away.

After he finishes, he receives a warm round of applause. He grins, equally bashful and proud, and hops off the stage. He situates himself far away from me.

Two more people present. Two and a half minutes into the second person’s slam poetry performance, I work up the courage to shuffle over to him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’ve never hated you. I’ve never even disliked you. In fact, I feel the opposite way. I just never thought you’d see me as more than a friend, so I tried convincing myself that you weren’t an all-around amazing person. It didn’t work. It would never work.”

He stares at me, not speaking. I press on.

“You’re one of the most genuine people I know. I can always tell what you’re thinking, because you have nothing to hide. You’re incredibly dedicated. You’ve been a great friend to me, especially when I was rude to you and didn’t deserve it. You see the best in everyone and encourage them to showcase their strengths.” I take a fluttering breath. “I never thought that someone like you would even consider someone like me. I’m sorry for calling you annoying and saying that I hated you. You’re not annoying. I don’t think anyone who’s ever met you would hate you.” I lace my fingers together. “I am really, truly sorry for saying untrue, hurtful things to you.”

The poet onstage finishes. The people watching applaud. I’m next, but I’m frozen in place.

Jisung breaks the silence. “Good luck. We can talk later.”

I dare to smile, and walk onstage.

I’ve chosen to share a short story about the time I accidentally kicked my friend in the face when we took a dance class, saving my poems for another time. I’m really telling a story about Jisung. I take a deep breath and begin.

“This is the story of how I almost broke my friend’s nose.” This is the story of how I broke my friend’s heart.

I describe the contemporary dance class we were in and how close our friendship was. “She was one of my closest friends. I don’t know what I would have done without her.” He’s one of my closest friends. I don’t know what I would do without him.

I add details to build an image of that day, inserting humor and appealing to the audience’s senses, while making sure that my plot advances. “I wasn’t paying enough attention to my surroundings. When I kicked my leg up, my foot collided with her face.” I wasn’t being true to myself or him. When I spoke, my words attacked him.

“I felt immediate regret. I had hurt my friend on accident because I was careless.” I immediately felt horrible. I hurt him with my careless words and actions.

“For a few horrifying minutes, she couldn’t talk because of the pain. I thought our friendship was over and that she would never forgive me.” For a few terrifying days, he wouldn’t talk to me because of the pain I caused. I thought our friendship was over. I thought he would never forgive me. I still do.

“Yet in the end, she chose to forgive my mistake. Even though my actions didn’t reflect how deeply I cared about her, she knew me well enough to understand it was an accident. She knew how much she meant to me, and how I never intended to hurt her.” I hope he can find it in his heart to forgive me. I hope he knows me well enough to know that he means the world to me. I hope that all is not lost.

“It’s easy to harm someone on purpose. It’s even easier to do it on accident, because we’re not fully aware of our actions—we zone out—until we can see a concrete impact. Be self-aware. And if you want to do something fun with a friend, make sure it’s in a low-risk setting. Don’t end up like me! I might have taken the phrase “break a leg” literally if I was a little more careless. The point is, people need time to think. Forgiveness is not easy to receive. But when someone chooses to forgive because they want to, especially if that person plays a crucial role in your life, that can mean the world to someone. Thank you.”

Granted, that’s not the best narrative I could produce, but given my time limit of one-and-a-half day, I’m not too disappointed in myself.

Jisung and I pass each other when he heads toward the stage.

“This song is dedicated to someone special,” he says once he’s onstage. “I hope you guys like it!”

And it’s about me. Us. The time we stayed up until 2am studying and found this cafe because it was the only one open then. The time we wrote tons of poems, narratives, and short stories together (most of them were as a meme, barely longer than four sentences) because we bet the other person they weren’t as creative (it ended as a tie—we created the last poem together). The time he asked for help on the lyrics for a song and I ended up showing him a few of my poems willingly.

My eyes are glued to him, right up until he exits the stage and walks up to me. Then they flit towards the stage for a moment while I try to prepare myself for whatever he has to say. The world stops spinning as he opens his mouth.

“I forgive you.”

Blissfully, unexpectedly, the world starts spinning again. “You do?”

“You didn’t mean it, and while it hurt to hear, I know you don’t actually think that way. It’s not like I’m perfect, either. I’ll get annoyed and say things that aren’t true, too.” He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. “I know you, y/n. Like you said, you wouldn’t hurt someone on purpose.” He gives a gentle tug on my hand. “You want to get out of here?”

“I’d love to.” I lean up and press a brief kiss against his cheek. “Where to?”

“You know that new burger place we wanted to try out? I was thinking we could go there.” He pauses. “As a first date,” he adds, the slightest hesitance showing.

I grab his other hand and take a half step towards him. “That sounds like the perfect first date.” I blush. He blushes. He pecks my forehead, the tip of my nose, and both of my cheeks. I untangle our hands to reach up and pinch his cheeks, squishing them together. Mindful of the people in the cafe, we leave soon after, sparing them from watching our PDA. We decide on taking my car, since I drove by myself here and Hyunjin dropped him off and yeeted out of here. (Speaking of Hyunjin, he, Ryujin, and Tzuyu have been blowing up the group chat—The 3 Musketeers—asking how things went. I text them that things went well, and silence my phone.)

Before I start the car, he takes my right hand. “Don’t ever think you’re not good enough,” he states firmly. “You are good enough. 100%. Don’t doubt yourself.”

“Aw, thank you. I realize that a little more now. I was really out of it that day. I turned into a mean version of myself, but I’m working on being more aware of what I’m feeling.”

“Don’t worry about it, y/n. You’re only human. What matters the most is that you truly didn’t mean it and you’re sorry. I’m with you right now,” he starts drawing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb, “am I not?”

“You’re right. You are with me now.” I lean in to kiss his cheek, reluctantly pulling away after a few moments to start driving. “Now, Mr. Han Jisung… give me the best first date ever.”

I smile. He smiles. We’re blissfully happy.

•••

Eight words.

That night, the squad gathers at our dorm and invites Jisung in after our date to question, gush over, and tease us. I spend most of the time curled up in his arms, snuggling with him as Ryujin asks what his intentions are (“To show this wonderful lady how much I love her.” “You pass.”).

Hyunjin keeps insisting he was right all along (“I knew you would end up dating!” “Whatever cooks your bacon, buddy.” “You were right, ‘jin! You’re like a fortune-teller. Quick, tell me what I’ll get on my English story next week!” “Uh… 420.”).

Tzuyu grabs me by the shoulders and squeals about how much of a power couple we are (“You guys are so cute! You could write each other poems as gifts! Aaaaah, our y/n is growing up so fast!” “...thanks, mom.”).

While we talk, I occasionally press light kisses anywhere I can reach: his cheek, his neck, his hand, his forehead, and his lips. The reactions are either highkey shipping (Ryu and Tzu) or highkey faked disgust (Hyunjin lmao). (We don’t tell them that we made out in the car for a solid twenty minutes before coming inside.)

The topic shifts from our relationship to anything and everything. After passionately debating whether humans are inherently neutral (neither good nor evil) and if raccoons should be considered pests, it’s well past midnight, and Tzu-Hyun-Sung head home.

The next day, Saturday, we have a weekly hangout with the nine boys and us three girls. More teasing ensues (particularly from the Aussie line and Changbin), but the day is like any other until that night.

Jisung and I go on our second official date to our favorite ramen store, the one where we know the owner by name. We take a stroll outside by a river afterwards, admiring the scenery.

“Y/n, I really like you. I get so happy whenever I see you, or even think about you. You make me want to compose a million love songs and dedicate them all to you. So what I’m saying is… I’m asking you if you’ll be my girlfriend?”

“Yes! A million times yes. I would love to. I could write a million poems about you.” I lean up and kiss him, smiling as I do so. “I would love to be your girlfriend, sweetheart.”

“You finally called me a pet name, babe! Why are you so cute?” Another smooch. He presses his forehead against mine. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“You’re cute. And I’m the lucky one.” I suddenly step back and grab onto his shoulders. “The lucky J. One!”

He laughs, shaking his head, and we continue walking. “This is part of what made me fall for you.” He swoops down for another kiss, leaving me a blushing, stuttering mess.

Jisung really has a way with words. Of course, that’s a given, seeing as he’s a songwriter and poet. But combined with his actions and intentions, his strong work ethic and how much he cares about everyone, the transparency of his thoughts and emotions, he really is unique.

He has the power to make me speechless. But I’ll always have eight words to say.

You are amazing and loveable. Never forget that.

•••

Happy birthday, Han Jisung. You have the support of all us Stays.

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kilyra · 5 years ago

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You a Fangbanger Now?

Eric Northman (True Blood) One-Shot

A/N: Well, absolutely no one directly requested this, but I’m carrying on with the Eric Northman arc because I love him, I’m trash, and this is my slop offering - so this is following “You Will” and “You Did, Sweetheart”.

Defending Eric Northman to your raging roommate is the last thing you thought you’d ever find yourself doing, and Eric seems equally surprised.

Warnings: Swearing. Like the eff word on repeat. No spoilers though (I myself am only on S3 or 4, so this is an early Eric style fic…also, please don’t send me any spoilers).

If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know! (Credit for this amazing gif goes to @bonniebird. Thank you SO much!)

The shrill, echoing shriek woke you from a dead sleep. Sitting bolt upright, you were already fighting to get free from your sheets before you could understand why you were even awake.

A crash in the kitchen jolted you to your feet, sending you scrambling for your bedroom door. Adrenaline flooded your veins as you raced down the stairs, your bare feet thudding on the hardwood.

Tearing around the corner into the kitchen, you skidded to a stop, squinting at the brightly lit room. Your roommate was holding a knife but was shaking too hard to keep it still. Coming far enough into the room to see what she had cornered, your heart pounded harder.

Fear melted to a heavy feeling in your stomach as you spotted him. Eric fucking Northman.

Casually leaning against the counter, a faint grin played on his lips as he watched your roommate uselessly wave the knife his direction. Raising his eyebrow, his eyes briefly darted to yours, twinkling with amusement.

“Who the fuck are you?” She was boarding on hysterical.

Rubbing your eyes, you tried to keep the sleepy groan from your voice. “Amy...Ams, what's going on?”

“This creepy fucker broke into our house. I came into the kitchen and he was just...just...here!”

Reaching over, you squeezed her shoulder. She tilted her head towards you but kept her eyes on him. "Whoa, whoa...hey, hey. That's just Eric, he's a fr-."

His eyes found their way back to yours as you stopped short. There was hardly a shift in his bemused expression, but you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch at your sudden discomfort.

Friend? Seriously?

“He's...Eric. It's fine...”

Pulling away from you, Amy shot you an incredulous look as she backed up enough to keep on eye on you both. “Fine?! It's...it's not fine!”

The alcohol on her breath hit your nostrils, and you were suddenly very aware that she was practically waving the knife at you. Facing your palms towards her, you took a careful step back. Eric's face clouded slightly as he pushed himself from the counter, but your roommate seemed oblivious to the shift in her situation as she continued.

“Y/n! He...he appeared...like some goddam ghost or something.... T-that's not fine.”

Her wrist flicked to drive home her point when suddenly Eric was beside you. The knife clattered to the floor as Amy half-screeched and backed into the wall behind her. Ice rushed through you, but you somehow managed to stop from jumping as he rushed close.

Standing at your elbow, his low tone was steady and calm. “It's late. I was making sure you weren't an intruder.”

But why was he already in the house?

Amy's hands visibly trembled as she clamped them over her mouth. Slowly pulling them away, she looked from Eric to you. “S-so w-what? You a...a fangbanger now?”

Letting out a soft snort, Eric's lips pressed together as he gave you a sidelong glance.

You didn't see the humour. “Seriously? He's only here because of you.”

Her hands dropped lower, hovering awkwardly without her knife to grip. As you watched, her face briefly fell as though she knew exactly what you meant. But it was quickly hidden by a glare. “What's that supposed to mean?”

The fact she was drunk did nothing to stop your irritation from exploding into burning anger. “What do you think, Ams? Do you have any idea what your disappearing act did to Sookie? Strange vampires show up, there was practically a new murder each week, and you just leave without saying anything?”

Clenching her jaw, Amy crossed her arms. Her narrowed eyes flickered to Eric as he tilted his head, but they both stayed quiet.

“She thought those vampires had you. Or worse. That girl called in all the favours she had to look for you, and even got Eric to watch over me and our place, alright? None of that would have happened if you hadn't taken off with your loser boyfriend to go get high for two weeks.”

"Yeah? Well, I'm back now! And it had nothing to do with fangers or any of the other bullshit Sookie got herself into, so there's no reason for him to even be here. Besides...don't I have to invite him in or some shit? Couldn't I just revoke-”

“Watch it.”

Even Eric's eyebrows shot up as you growled.

“The whole time you were off with those assholes, he was here for me. He went above and beyond to keep track of my safety and, frankly, the only sleep I got was when I knew he was around. Sookie wasn't the only one spooked when you disappeared, you know. Have a little respect.”

In truth, you still weren’t sure why Eric gave you his blood but you were positive it wasn’t to help keep you safe. And it was next to impossible to sleep when he paid you a visit. But you were way too pissed to care that much about the truth.

Shifting between her feet, Amy's lip curled. “And I wonder what Sam'll think about all this.”

Curiously watching your argument unfold, Eric didn't seem bothered by her threats. But you were finding it hard to think over the pounding in your ears. Leaning forward, you jabbed your finger at her as she flattened against the wall. "I'm the leaseholder so go ahead and play that game...see what happens. But for fuck sakes, I'm literally the only bridge you haven't burned yet, do you really want to go there?"

Everything seemed to stand still as your final blow of words landed on your roommate. Finally, her eyes darted between you and Eric before she started blinking rapidly. A small drop of pity formed in your chest and you knew you'd be having a gentler talk with her in the morning.

Throwing back her shoulders, she stormed past you without another word. Maybe the gentler talk wouldn't exactly be in the morning...

Turning slightly, you watched her leave, making sure she didn't try anything on her way out. It was Eric's soft chuckle that drew your attention back.

“Mmm, I'm impressed.” His cool voice contrasted the fire still running through your veins. But when you turned back, his eyebrows were drawn together as his gaze swept over you.

It felt like he was taking you in for the first time since you stumbled into the room. Your skin prickled at his confused stare as it lingered over you. Memories of all your heated dreams with him edged into your mind and you realized how little space was between you.

Running your hand over your hair, you lightly scratched at your scalp before you shrugged. It took effort, but you managed to keep your tone flat. “Yeah?”

As he cocked his head to the side, you realized he wasn't wearing his usual smug expression. The former amusement had also drained away leaving a serious look in its wake. “You stood up for me.”

Taking a step back, you crossed your arms and took a moment to study him for once. The statement was simple, but you could hear the question in his tone. Pressing your lips together in a light frown, you weren't sure what to say.

His eyes stayed trained on yours and, for a moment, you were worried he was going to glamour you. Just as your stomach started to flutter, he continued. “I've never had someone do that before. Not like that, at least.”

Swallowing back the nervousness that formed a thick lump in your throat, you took a sharp breath. "Yeah? Well, you're not off the hook."

That seemed to snap him back into his usual self as he scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“What are you doing here?”

Stilling again, he lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I already told you, it's the middle of the night and I thought she was an intruder. A loud, clumsy int-”

Waving him into silence, you were mildly surprised when the gesture worked. “No, I mean why were you here? You were already in the house when she came home...Why? What were you doing here?”

The brief glimpse at the Eric you knew grew stony as his features relaxed and his lips drew into a straight line. His pale blue eyes stared at you from behind the mask of his blank expression. He stayed silent.

Your sense of power grew as the vampire seemed to quietly recede at your question. “Okay, then. Do you do this often? Because, Amy's right, you know. Now that we know what happened, you don't need to keep watch anymore.”

His throat worked as he let his focus trail to the side. He seemed to hear what you were saying, but there was no reply. It was unnerving.

“So? Are you here a lot?”

Snapping his eyes back to yours, the muscles in his jaw flexed before his glare softened. “I stop in sometimes.”

Since you woke up, your racing heart hadn't slowed, but with his admission, it tried to hammer out of your rib cage. In a rush, your cheeks grew warm. Eric Northman. In your room. While you were sleeping.

The worst part was, you weren't sure if that was upsetting or exciting.

Chewing the corner of your mouth, you noticed his eyes flash to your lips. But still, his expression was unreadable.

“Why?” You practically whispered the question.

Blinking slowly, his gaze lowered before his eyebrow arched in a quick twitch. Looking to the side again, he avoided your stare when he finally answered. “I don't...have an answer for that.”

Your lips parted in a wordless reply as you watched him. The quietness in his tone was as surprising as his answer, and you weren't sure what either meant.

Not that he gave you long to think about it.

In a sudden moment of decisiveness, his head jerked towards the door. “I should go.”

Wait.

The plea was on your lips, but with a soft breeze skimming across your skin, he was gone.

Taglist: @foreverfaeries @flower-two @getlostinyourparadise @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami @pansmexualparker @thatchampagnebitch @mysteryoflovve @edweirdoddlepot @divadinag @crazy-fandom-girl1 @givemeabite @breanime

(Guys, please let me know if you want to be removed from this taglist! I have some of you on here because you encouraged this rabbit hole a while back and this is your fault - but I can take you off the list if you want LOL)

#eric northman x reader #eric northman #true blood #true blood fanfic

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mochilici0us · 5 years ago

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One New Message | jjk (1)

➳ 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: angst, thriller, stalker!au

➳ 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀:Skye realizes she has to deal with a ruthless stalker when the messages she’s constantly receiving are getting more and more threatening. A stalker that makes her recall memories of the past she swore she would never rake up again

➳ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2,5k

prologue, part one, part two, part three, part four

January 2013

''Skye we're leaving in an hour. Please start getting ready'' I had already drifted off when my mother's voice outside the door ruined my sweet sleep. The clock next to my bed says 8 o clock. As it seems, no matter how much I tried to get away with tonight’s dinner my mother is not having it . I ignore her and just slump into my warm bed again.

''Skye I'm talking to you. Get up.'' this time she enters the room and agressively pulls the bedspread. Her voice never fails to get on my nerves.

''What happened?'' I rub my eyes pretending to be clueless

She grins humorlessly “You’re coming to the dinner whether you want it or not. I won’t tolerate your stubbornness again” her long thin arms are now crossed in front of her chest, the whole body posture appears quite aggressive.

“Again?” It’s my turn to laugh. As if she’s less stubborn....

The cocky smile falls from her face revealing a disturbed woman. She chokes back her reply and changes the subject

''I left your dress inside your closet. It's kind of tight you better fit into it'' she chuckles

''I'm not fat mum” I hiss in annoyance

''I didn't say you're fat'' she raises her hands defensively

''Whatever'' I quit trying, an argument with my mum is always lost. My hands make their way to my rumbling stomach and rub it softly ''Mum... Can you please tell Ruby to fetch me a snack? I haven't eaten since five''

''No. We're going for dinner anyway'' she denies shaking her head, her soft blonde curls moving from side to side

''But I'm hungry''

''Sounds like your problem''

Very mature answer from a 47-year-old woman. And they act like I’m the stubborn one in this family. Her words hurt me, I swallow my tears and speak my mind openly, I can’t always behave kind as my parents expect me to

''I'm going to pass out for fuck's sake''

''Watch your mouth!'' she shouts ''This dinner is important to your father, to us, we have to look flawless. I've put so much effort into finding the ideal dress for you. It would be very unfortunate if your stomach seemed bloated or even worse if you didn't fit into it.” She shoots me a threatening look “To conclude, no food till the dinner, get ready please''

After finishing her monologue she leaves my bedroom hurriedly, she has to finish her preparations as well. I'm used to her insults, I always feel hurt whatsoever but it's nothing I can't cope with. What annoys me the most right now is my poor stomach that's begging for some food.

''Hey Skye'' I hear a small voice realizing it's Ruby

''Hey'' my eyes flash when I lower my gaze and see what she's holding

''I overheard your conversation with mrs Westbrook, looks like it's your lucky day'' she smiles and hands me the bowl filled with milk and cereal

“It's light but enough to satisfy your hunger I guess''

''You're an angel'' I whisper and dive into my cereal. They taste better than I thought, when you’re hungry everything tastes better. Indeed Ruby an angel. She always appears right when I need her.

''I have to go now, your parents are probably looking for me''

''Please stay'' I extend my hand and grab her upper arm.

''I wish I could... We'll catch up tomorrow morning'' she pats my hair sympathetically and excuses herself.

Ruby is 8 years older than me. I'm sure you're wondering why a 26-year-old young girl works as a maid instead of exploring the world and living her dreams. Well let's say that life didn't go easy on her as many unfortunate events took place and forced her to leave her dreams behind and work hard. She's been working for us for 3 years and because of her young age and amazing, bubbly character we grew closer to the point I consider her as a best friend. And these small gestures make me love her even more.

8:10. I devour the rest of my cereal and run straight towards the bathroom to take a quick shower. We've got a long night ahead of us...

Present

''What do you mean they didn't agree?'' I question dryly, my eyebrows raised in blatant disbelief

The man across my desk gulps “No matter how much we tried to convice them they clarified they're not interested in cooperation''

''We need this cooperation. If we gain their shareholders trust so that they invest in our company too the success is guaranteed.'' I tap my nails against the table attempting to collect myself.

''I know. What are we doing now?''

''I'm not sure. Just tell Taehyung to get his ass over here right now''

He chuckles ''Do you need a coffee?''

''Right now I need a few tranquilizers with whiskey'' I rub my forehead exhausted

''That's easier to find than your weird coffee. Dairy free coconut milk creamer?''

I crack a smile ''You know that I'm lactose intolerant. I'm not a weird person''

''So what about your odd stevia sweetener instead of sugar?'' he remarks quickly crossing his arms across the chest

''I'm on a diet. Women have to take care of their body, you understand don't you?'' I bat my eyelashes innocently

''Yes but decaf cappucino? For God's sake Skye''

''Hoseok it's time to go now'' I act serious but hardly keep my laughter

''You have no idea how the barista looks at me every time I say all these shits you drink'' The desperate look on his face makes the situation even funnier

''You have no idea how your mother's gonna look at you when you announce you got fired''

''It's time to leave, I have so many errands to run'' he gets up pretending to study his wrist watch ''See you Skye''

''That wasn't smooth Hoseok. Let Taehyung know I want to meet him''

''Okay boss'' he gives a salute and finally exits my office.

I lean back on my chair and gently rub my temples. Last night I had nightmares that didn't leave me to rest.

It sounds weird but I've noticed that I have warning dreams, I found that out when I was 20 years old. I usually don't have dreams but when I do, they are always giving me signs.

Attempting to quench my curiosity I did a little research in order to interpret them and found something called precognitive dreaming but I'm not sure if this is what I have because I still haven't figured whether my dreams can predict the future or they just convey a subconscious message. What I know for sure is whenever I have a bad dream something unfortunate happens whereas whenever I have good dreams luck seems to be on my side. It's been so long since I last had a blissful dream, so many years... I don't believe in dreams however, I'm a business woman that depends on actual evidences and not on my sixth sense or whatever.

But last night you had a nightmare and today we didn't make the important deal with Kim Enterprises, the voice inside my head comments.

''You wanted to see me'' Taehyung interrupts my stupid thoughts

''Maybe I wouldn't dislike you that much if you knocked the door''

''Maybe you would have someone to screw with if you weren't so annoying'' he laughs and takes a seat

''You're laughing? I'm glad because after our conversation you won't''

''I suppose you're referring to the deal with Kim Enterprises right?''

''What happened Taehyung?'' I ask seriously this time

''They are not interested. I tried hard to make them agree but they weren't having it'' he grabs a pen and fiddles with it

''They weren't content with our terms?''

''No, no Skye we both know our offer is very tempting and they really appreciated that. However, they are planning a launch of a brand new product which they developed on their own that's why they're busy and not capable of following our terms''

I nod noncommittally and bite my lower lip deep in thoughts ''What kind of product?'' I finally ask Taehyung

''They didn't say. They made clear though that it's gonna be a revolutionary tool. I suspect it's a cellphone with the new mobile operating system they created last year.''

''You suspect? Based on what?''

''Let's say that some information leaked, you know how these things work. We're not 100% sure though''

''And they declined our offer? They declined an offer from a marketing company like ours? We could have increased sales dramatically. Stupid people.'' I hiss and take a sip of my strawberry infused water, the cool liquid soothing my throat

''We shouldn't push them more, we put a future cooperation at risk''

'' I know.'' I hide my face with my hands

''Hey, don't let this bring you down. We had so many beneficial projects and cooperations this year, we don't need Kim that much''

''It's just... forget it'' I shake my head and Taehyung leans forward and captures my hand.

''What?'' he mutters softly

''I don't wanna fail''

''You didn't fail sweetheart. It's something we both want so much but unfortunately things don't work out every time. Let's focus on the rest of our responsibilities'' he massages my fingers and wrist softly, with care and smiles.

''Ok''I simply reply

''You look tired''

''I didn't sleep at night. And your massage doesn't help, it makes me more sleepy'' I lean back and close my eyes

''You didn't sleep well huh?'' I'm sure he's smirking

''Taehyung shut up''

''No answer. That's suspicious''

''With Grace sleeping in the room next to mine your assumption is invalid. Sorry''

''Hm...Ok. What time are you picking her up from school?''

''In 3 hours''

''Go home, I'm taking over for you'' he stops massaging for a moment''Ugh don't stop'' I plead. A breathy laugh escapes his lips and he starts rubbing again

''I have to come back and pick her up so there's no point to leave'' Grace's school is a block away from the company so it's convenient to pick her up once I finish my work.

''I'm picking her up don't worry, you need to rest''

''You don't have to drive that much, don't worry I can stay''

''You're dead on your feet. Go home please'' he insists

''Are you sure?''

''Yes'' he places a small kiss on my hand and stands up

“Can you drive?''

''Gosh, Taehyung what has gotten into you? Don't be so kind because I may grow fond of you and that's disgusting'' I sing playfully

''I promise I'll start knocking the door from now on. Is this reason strong enough for you to like me?''

''Do it and I'll think about it. Give me my coat'' I smirk

He looks at me and hands me my pink coat, the familiar, boxy smile never leaving his lips.

''See you in 3 hours'' I greet him patting his back

''See you'' he greets me back. Once I step away he stays still, hesitantly yet intensely checking out my back figure until I reach the mirror covered elevator.

Stupid men...

''See you next week girls. Take care'' the ballet teacher says and the small ballerinas slowly make their way to the changing room. There walks the familiar tiny figure, some strands of hair fluttering in the wind although she has a sleek bun secured with a pink scrunchie matching her tutu.

She raises her eyes and when we make eye contact she waves excitedly and whispers something about me in her friend's ear. She's so proud of me, always raving about me in front of her friends and teachers. That's the main reason I always behave so well when she's present, my priority as her role model is to make sure I have a good influence on her.

A few minutes after she appears holding her bright fuchsia backpack.Pink is her favourite colour.

''Hey Skye''

''Hey sweetheart, did you have fun?''

''Yeah but I got tired, my feet hurt''

''Aw, don't worry tomorrow you'll be fine'' I zip her puffer jacket and bid her ballet teacher goodbye as we exit the studio.

''Have you been watching me dancing? I couldn't see you from the ballroom'' she asks while we're walking towards my car

''I watched the entire show''

She simply hums trying to conceal her surprise but I can see her cheeks getting flushed

''Get in darling, it's cold'' I suggest and unlock the car. She sits in the back seat, fastens her seatbelt and waits patienly for the next step.

''Here you are'' I hand her her favourite chocolate cookies along with an orange juice, it’s a part of her post work out routine. She cheers and dives into her snack right away.

It's 7pm, dark sky but the car lights illuminate the busy road

''Skye...''

''Yes sweetheart'' I check the mirror as soon as I hear her voice

''Today we're having a Looney Tunes marathon, you didn't forget did you?''

''Of course not'' I shake my head ''Maybe I have some pizza waiting for you''

''Really?''

''Only if you take your vitamins of course'' I offer and finally turn left into the familiar street. We're almost home.

''No...they taste terrible''

''They don't, they're really tasty in fact'' my eyes land on the mirror to take a look at the road behind

''If I have to do it for pizza, I will.” She nods with a pout on her lips

“You should get me a different flavor, I hate mango”

''I thought mango was your favourite fruit''

''I like it only in my shampoo''

''Okay then'' my gaze travels back in the mirror just to see what I've been afraid of. This car. This red car that has been following us for the last 5 minutes.

''Skye I'm talking to you''

''What?''I reply thinking of what I should do now

''Tomorrow our teacher said we must wear sport clothes because we're playing volley''

''Ok''

''My baby pink set is washed isn't it?''

''Yes''

''Don't lie I saw it in the dirty laundry this morning''

''Grace can you please stop talking for a second?'' She doesn't answer but I'm sure she's pouting annoyed. My house is a kilometre ahead and the red vehicle is still two cars behind.

My heart beats so fast but I can't panic now that my sister is here. I stop in the closest parking lot and wait. Grace examines the place and I'm sure she's dying to ask why we stopped but she doesn't speak.

My heart stops when the red car passes by me but instead of stopping as I thought it would, it keeps moving with the same speed. I stay and watch till it disappears.

Once I realize everything is ok I blink hard, gulping for a breath.Well, I probably have misunderstood things.

My mind is running wild, why would someone follow me? I'm such a scaredy-cat...I start my car and drive back home.

Maybe I should stop watching Criminal Minds...

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thegreenfairy13 · 5 years ago

Text

No Country For Heroes (Part 6)

A Gobblepot fic originally written for the prompt ‘beg’ by @justsimplymeagain this escalated into a full story. Contains mature content. TW for psychological torture. Dark!Oswald. You can read the full fic here on Ao3.

Plot: the GCPD turns Jim in in change for the mobster’s protection.

“I always wondered,” Oswald starts. He’s way too casual, too relaxed for Jim not to be instantly terrified. The Penguin is at his worst when he’s seemingly lackadaisical, flippant.

Jim already learned the hard way he’s most interested in the answer to his questions when playing it cool. The way he holds his head, how he seems to look at anything but his counterpart, studies the walls, the dripping tap - it all sets his teeth on edge.

The blonde holds his breath, waits for the Penguin’s interrogation, hopes he can drag it out by telling him what he wants to hear. He has long since given up on fantasizing about Harvey breaking down the door and freeing him, knows nobody in this city knows enough about his fate, and even if, wouldn’t care enough to as much as lift a finger.

He’s been given a much-needed break, has been allowed to rest for the past couple of days, floating in a blissful state of being half-conscious. For once, there have been no nightmares, no hallucinations, no excruciating pain splitting his head in half.

Jim suspects he has been drugged, and he’s thankful for it. He thinks he remembers Oswald apologizing for that and him waving it off. He needs the sleep, needs it so badly since arriving in this city.

“That was a bit much too quickly,” he informed him them, flushing a bright shade of pink that highlighted his freckles, like a little boy apologizing for eating raw dough.

Jim thinks he smiled back, unable to resist the monster’s charm. It’s why everyone always underestimates the Penguin, this inherent cuteness. Jim saw through it, though. Back in the beginning at least, when he still had his wits about him. The polished exterior, the perfect manners, the innocence, they are just scenography, a delicately crafted play, made to lull all of Gotham in. And then he’d pull back the curtain and reveal his true face.

“Strange would be very disappointed in me,” he would elaborate when Jim drifted off to sleep. “But you know me, Jim. I’m impatient. And I’ve waited for you so long already.” He chuckled, even fluffed his pillow, and made sure the blanket would cover his entire body. Jim had been grateful for that, too.

It’s hard to shake this feeling now. Even when he’s lucid again, fighting once more against the conclusions Oswald wants him to draw.

“Don’t look so scared, Jim,” he mocks. “I won’t play with you today.” He arches a curious eyebrow at the cop, walks over, pulls out a chair, and takes a seat. “I just thought, since you had the pleasure of interrogating me so often in our shared past, I should be given the same courtesy for once.”

Jim wishes he could have contained the sigh of relief escaping him, he doesn’t want to add to the Penguin’s entertainment.

Oswald chuckles, waves his finger in the air. “Ah, ah,” he tuts. “I didn’t say this is going to be an idle conversation, Jim.” He pauses. “Or well, it could be,” he says, tilting his head. “Given you answer me, for once,” he adds, looking eager and hopeful. “Our conversations have been rather one-sided in the past, haven’t they?”

Jim considers the thinly-veiled threat, debates if he should indulge the mobster. It’s true, he was never keen on talking to Oswald, always too afraid of letting the man into his head, of following his twisted way of thinking.

The thing is, Oswald’s, the Penguin’s, reasoning always made sense, Jim could never truly deny that. In his own right, he is right.

His machinations keep the citizens fed and safe, even though they are being cut off from the mainland. It had been his corrupt way of establishing a new way of organized crime that brought the city stability, it had been his mayoral reign that brought Gotham an extended time of peace.

He is right. On the surface.

Nobody talks about at which costs the Penguin’s offers come, though. It’s always a quid pro quo with him. He doesn’t leave the Gothamites alone out of the goodness of his heart. Today, he might be content with them worshipping him, tomorrow, he’ll ask for a bit more. And then some.

Oswald’s benevolence never comes cheap.

And once they’re unable to pay, the Penguin will crush them remorselessly.

Jim always saw that, fought him, even and especially when everyone around him begged him to just team up with the mobster, to just let it slide, to see the bigger picture.

That was always the problem, though. He saw the bigger picture, saw how allowing Oswald to reign freely would end in pain for the ones unlucky enough to get on his bad side. That’s why he used him, played him, without much remorse on his part either.

Would Jim have been able to guide him if he had been better? Convince him of rethinking his actions? Would a true friendship have made a difference?

Jim doesn’t know. He knows he shied away from the gangster in the past, didn’t want to come too close to his darkness, least it changed him as well.

But it’s too late for such thoughts, isn’t it?

“What do you want to know?” Jim asks, at last, rolling his shoulders defiantly. Oswald looks so pleased the cop could vomit.

The mobster takes his time again, allows for the silence to stretch between them. Maybe he’s lost in his own fantasy of them being old friends sharing time together.

“You never told me why you want specifically me,” Jim states, taking his chances.

Oswald looks up, momentarily unable to mask his surprise. “I thought I did,” he says then haughtily.

Jim shakes his head. “You said you wanted someone . Why it must be me, I don’t know. Because I’m your type? Blonde?” He scoffs. “Surely, you must have underlings tripping over themselves to get your attention, minions, ready to worship the ground you’re walking on. So why the effort of putting me through the wringer?” Jim wonders.

Oswald’s face falls before he closes off. “As if I don’t see through that charade,” he hisses. “What I want is something real, genuine.” Sucking in a deep breath, he regains his composure. “This is not about me, not right now at least,” he adds, looking sharply at the detective.

“But it is,” Jim urges. “You want me, particularly me, to love you. You’re ready to dissect my mind, as you put it. Should you succeed, how is that genuine affection on my part?”

The slap echoes through the tiny room before Jim has a chance to react, letting him instantly know he touched a sore spot.

It’s not much of a victory, though, leaves him biting back tears, and rubbing his reddened face.

“You want something genuine?” the mobster hisses through gritted teeth as he grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking him from the tiny bed.

“Follow me,” he orders harshly, pulling the weakened man to the floor.

Jim miscalculated, he realizes, thought he’d be better off at this point. In truth, he lacks the strength to put up a fight entirely. He’s on his knees, staring up at a snarling beast, all tenderness gone from the kingpin’s face.

Jim yelps in pain, can’t mask his immediate fear as he stares up at the Penguin, the apology already rolling from his tongue. He’s being pushed forward then, mercilessly, right into the arms of a henchman waiting outside the door. Sweaty hands reach for his arms, pull him forward.

“Please,” he stutters out, fear overtaking his power to think. He’s not begging, not really, but not far from it.

He ends up on all fours in the main hall.

Oswald snaps his fingers, gestures for a nameless peasant to draw back the curtains, allowing Jim a magnificent view over the city.

“This! This is something genuine,” he bursts out, pointing at the crumbling skyline.

Where once Gotham stood tall and proud, there’s now cinder and ashes. An endless landscape of grey, bleak, and unforgiving - just like the yellow hills of the desert. “This is what you brought upon my beloved home,” he screeches. “They were dying, Jim!” he accuses, and the cop can’t argue with that, knows it in his heart, it’s true, that he failed his home, her , everyone who counts.

Oswald turns his back on him, stares at the ruins of the city they would both sacrifice their lives for, head and hands pressed against the cool glass. Jim watches his shoulders rising and falling rapidly, and then the anger just drains.

He turns around, sighs at Jim’s pathetic sight, and motions for his minions to leave them alone.

Crouching down beside him, Oswald looks Jim in the eye. He’s trembling when he speaks.

“You were supposed to be different,” he chokes out, tears clouding his vision. “When you arrived in Gotham, you brought us all hope - even me. Hope, that things could be different, that finally, there could be someone to look up to.” He clutches his hand so tightly his knuckles turn white. “You saved my life, Jim. You spared even the unworthiest among us,” he confesses between sobs.

“Tell me,” he presses. “When did that change? When did you become like the rest of us? When did you become a hypocrite? When was the first time you used your fists instead of words during an interrogation? Hm?” He releases him then, almost disgusted.

Panting heavily, Jim closes his eyes, attempting to block out the truth behind those words. It’s correct, all of it. But Jim tried, didn’t he? Doesn’t that count for anything?

He stares at a building burning in the distance, looks back at Oswald, tears streaming down his pale face, smudging the mascara.

Jim reaches out, wipes the black streaks from his face.

“You know when,” he whispers.

Of course, he knows. Knows it had been him who gave his everything to seduce Jim to go out of his ways, to become a little bit more like everyone else in this rotten city.

Oswald leans into the touch, nuzzles into the palm of Jim’s hand. “But I was supposed to be your only exception,” he mumbles brokenly.

#gobblepot #fanfiction #dark!Oswald #Jim Gordon

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rikotin · 5 years ago

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I’m back with some good old, Isak-centered Evak 💛 Read it on AO3 from the link, or right here on tumblr from under the cut!

Summary:

It was the heaviness of his head and the lead-like bones in his body, that really gave away the lack of rest, every part of his body screaming in exhaustion as he lifted his torso off of the bed and reached for the phone on the nightstand. He squinted his eyes against the brightness of the phone screen, as it almost violently replaced the darkness despite the orange toned night mode he’d permanently switched on.

4:58

or: Another night of insomnia playing its tricks on Isak.

Om kvelden når det mørkner og alle går til ro

As Isak opened his eyes, he was met with darkness. Only a tiny gleam of the street lights outside made its way into the room from the side of a roll-up curtain, painting a thin sliver of the wall across him yellow. It was so quiet, the city still sleeping as the night was yet to turn to dawn, only soft and slow snuffles from his side filling the room along with his own breathing.

He didn’t really need to check the time to know it was way too early, and that he had slept way too little, but he rolled over anyway. It was the heaviness of his head and the lead-like bones in his body, that really gave away the lack of rest, every part of his body screaming in exhaustion as he lifted his torso off of the bed and reached for the phone on the nightstand. He squinted his eyes against the brightness of the phone screen, as it almost violently replaced the darkness despite the orange toned night mode he’d permanently switched on.

4:58

Isak dropped the hand holding his phone and let his upper body slump back against the bed, his head landing on his cool pillow. He sighed and nuzzled his nose against the soft pillow case, but despite feeling very much comfortable, he kept looking at the wall, following the edge of the small pillar of street lights with his gaze, and let out a frustrated sigh.

He had only managed to fall asleep under two hours ago, as the last time he checked the clock was at 02:55 and despite the tired heaviness of his body, his mind was already racing, meaning that was all the sleep he’d get tonight.

It was nothing new, really. He’d been struggling with his sleeping habits ever since he was 16, but over the years, the problems had come and gone, irregular enough for him not to pay too much mind to it, but regular enough they left him frustrated and worn out every time it happened. Not only did it mess up his routines and make his moods bounce all over the place, it also started feeding the vicious circle of worrying about the next night’s sleep, the anxiety of it making it then even harder to get a good night’s rest.

He had gone to see a doctor about it, several times, but nothing so far had been a magic remedy – the different pills would always break the cycle and help him catch some well needed sleep. And after he would finally be confident enough to slowly leave the pills out, he’d always be content for some time, several months even.

But then, after months of good sleep and no problems, something would happen that made him dive right back into the restless nights which left him exhausted - mentally and physically. So far, he’d recognized that anytime there was something big going on in his life, something that stressed him out more than usual or something that was a big change, he’d always react by… Well, not sleeping.

He’d been told that it was normal for sleep to be interrupted by things like that, by things that weighed on the mind. And that he’d fall back into the regular rhythm by talking about his worries and troubles to the people around him and maybe to a psychologist. By getting the proper medication. By writing lists of things he found troubling. By making sure he’d go to bed at the same time every evening and get up at the same time every morning. By checking whether the temperature of the room was not too warm and that the bed he was sleeping in was ergonomic. By making sure the room was dark and he wouldn’t be interrupted by noises during the night. By using lavender incense. By exercising more. By not eating too much carbs in the evening. By drinking chamomile tea to relax. By meditating. By not using his phone or computer for two hours before sleeping. By this and that and those.

Slowly, he started hating the smell of lavender and gagging at the taste of chamomile. He still got bored out of his mind by sitting down to meditate for 15 minutes everyday, but was stubborn enough to keep it up. He was able to get through four books a week after abandoning his phone in the evenings, and was still going to bed at 22 and getting up at 7 every single day. He also used a fortune on the new – extremely comfortable – bed he had been kind of dreaming about for a while, his sleeping problems only working as an excuse for him to buy it with Even.

And it wasn’t fucking helping.

Really, Isak was neither surprised that he had slipped back into having troubles with falling asleep lately, nor that he was now awake at stupid o’clock, unable to fall back asleep. He had just finished a bunch of exams and deadlines as well as applied for several promising jobs, and was now free of his responsibilities. All of his exams had gone relatively well and the ones that didn’t he wasn’t too worried about, as he was pretty sure he had managed to scramble through them well enough to still pass. All of the places he’d applied to for a job were his thing, and after taking the time to really craft applications he was happy with, he was confident he’d score at least an interview at a place or two.

Almost miraculously, during the studying and applying, he’d slept fine, and the freetime he now had on his hands was more than welcome. So it was a win-win scenario, many would say. But not for him, apparently. Instead, now that he was finally finished with what was essentially weeks worth of immense stress, his brain took the sudden shift – from being constantly on the edge of a nervous breakdown to being free as a bird – as too big of a change, which left him lying awake with barely two hours of restless sleep.

After rolling around for a good half an hour, he finally gave up and sat up, flicking on his small table lamp, the bulb casting a warm and dim light into the room. He glanced over his shoulder at Even, and turned the light a bit so he was sure to block it from shining straight into Even’s face. Isak reached into the drawer of his bedside table, and pulled out the book he’d reluctantly put down earlier that night. It had been a rather slow story so far, but as the book was a thriller, it had swallowed him whole and now, over halfway through the book, the story was sure to get its turning point very soon. He didn’t compromise his routines due to a book, of course, and did go to bed at the same time as always – but as predicted, he had gotten back up after half an hour of trying to play sleepy and continued reading. And then he repeated the process for who knows how many times before actually falling asleep, only to be awake again now.

He put his pillow behind his back for support, and as he got comfortable against it he glanced at Even again, this time looking at him long enough to register his current position, and stifled a snort: instead of his boyfriend, the other side of the bed seemed to be taken over by a huge knotted mess of limbs and bed sheets. Isak reached out to lift a corner of the duvet and there Even was, hair messily sticking out from the top of his head. Carefully, Isak pushed one loose lock away from Even’s forehead, earning a silent snuffle from his boyfriend. He smiled softly, relaxing back against his pillow and keeping his eyes on Even, examining his face.

Even looked so relaxed and peaceful that usually, Isak would have been envious – downright jealous, even – for the sleep he was able to get while Isak spent yet another night tossing and turning and doing anything but sleeping. This time though, he only felt relief, as Even had had his fair share of shitty nights over the last couple of weeks, and the dark shadows under his eyes were glaring evidence of that. Isak sighed, biting his lip and briefly wondered if he could have done something differently to help Even, the guilt making its way to the surface ever so easily when the exhaustion weighed his limbs and fogged his ability to think rationally. He was well aware of the fact that he had been rather snappy and difficult despite doing his best to contain it. Then again, Even had been sluggish and whiny despite trying his best, so it had been a doomed effort right off the bat to live like they hadn’t both had the worst week in a long time.

It was good to see that one of them finally got the sleep he deserved.

Isak sighed and reached for his book once more. He opened it from where he had closed it, the page marked with a neat, silver metal bookmark Even had proudly presented him with about a month back, after being absolutely horrified with Isak’s habit of leaving dog ears on book pages. The bookmark had a little charm dangling on it, shaped and coloured to be a red snapback. Isak didn’t really wear snapbacks anymore; however, the sentimental value they held and the fact that Even had chosen it for him because it reminded him of Isak had made him a little soft inside. Still did.

Isak placed the bookmark on the table and straightened his back a bit and continued reading. The shuffle of the pages when he turned them had become a soothing sound for him, and he felt himself relax little by little as he ran his fingers across the smooth paper, flipping page after page after page, the story – despite the suspension and twists in it – feeling like a safe haven in the middle of the deep and intimidating sea of thoughts for his tired mind.

Isak startled when the bed shifted suddenly, and turned his gaze to Even who was now blinking against the reading light, squinting and rubbing his eyes.

“You’re awake.”

Even’s voice was groggy and heavy with sleep and his hair messily pointed in all directions rather endearingly. Isak huffed softly at the sight.

“Hmm, yeah.”

“What time is it?”

Isak cringed, unable to help himself, and turned his gaze back to the pages, not really registering the words in front of him as he did.

“One should absolutely be asleep o’clock,” he mumbled, with a strain in his voice, not bothering to mask his disappointment – not sure towards what, though. Probably at himself, even if Even always had the patience to remind him it was not something he could control.

“Shit, it is huh…” Even yawned widely and snuggled a little bit closer, pressing his face against Isak’s thigh. “Have you slept at all?”

“A little.”

“Did you try falling asleep again?”

Isak shot a look at Even who grimaced immediately, reaching a hand out and pressing his palm on Isak’s bare back and making little circles with his thumb.

“Sorry, that was a dumb thing to ask.”

“Yeah, it was,” Isak sighed, giving up on the book in his hands, and picked up the bookmark from the table. He carefully placed it in between the pages before he closed the book and slid it back onto the table next to him. “It’s fine, though.”

“No, it’s not,” Even said right away. “Sorry. I know it’s difficult for you. I should’ve been more considerate.”

Even’s hand came to a halt on Isak’s back. As Isak turned back to him, the expression on Even’s face was very serious despite the obvious sleepiness, but also made him look like a kicked puppy at the same time.

“Even, it’s fi–”

“No. I’m sorry,” Even insisted again, keeping his eyes locked with Isak’s. The grogginess paired with stubborness made him sound almost childlike, and Isak couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. He reached out to gently brush his fingers over Even’s cheek, who tilted his head a bit to press his cheek against Isak’s cupped hand and then turned it a bit to give a small peck on his fingers. Isak chuckled.

“It’s okay. We can blame it on sleep talking.”

Even quirked a brow and straightened up a bit – as best as he could while still laying on his side – and an amused smile appeared on his lips. It reminded Isak all over again how much he liked that smile, and how much he had missed it in the past weeks.

“Sleep talking?” Even asked, his hand on Isak’s back dropping against the mattress with a muffled thud. Isak nodded.

“Yeah. Sometimes one can appear completely awake and talk like normal, but the words and sentences make no sense as the person is actually sleepwalking and dreaming. And, hence, sleep talking ,” he said and leaned a bit more against the pillows, letting his head fall back against the wall. “You do say nonsense while wide awake, too, though. That Gabrielle does the best pop music. That my tea tastes like wet leaves and piss.”

Isak tried to keep a straight face but his efforts crashed and burned when he burst out laughing when Even presented him with an extremely exaggerated eye roll.

“Whatever. That tea of yours really tastes like wet leaves and piss, though,” Even scoffed and laughed as well. Isak scrunched up his nose little, before he sighed, his laugh toeing the line of hysterical.

“It really fucking does, doesn’t it? It’s so bad.”

Even snickered and poked Isak’s side, making him jump with a yelp. He glared at Even, but even in the teasing look in Even’s eyes, he could also see a hint of empathy before Even rolled over to his back, yawning into his fist before rubbing his eyes.

“Can I, like... help you? In some way?” Even asked carefully as he tucked his arms under his head and turned to stare at the ceiling, a little frown forming on his face. Isak knew that face – it was the one Even wore when he was desperate to solve a dilemma that was outside of his understanding. Isak had seen it multiple times when Even was working on his school projects and got stuck, but really couldn’t figure how he felt when the face was so obviously directed at him.

Isak sighed and scratched his cheek, shrugging.

“Probably not.”

“Are you sure?” Even asked, sounding a little disappointed as he glanced at Isak with a purse of his lips. Isak could see it troubled Even that he was not being able to do anything for Isak to make it easier. And Isak really loved his boyfriend to bits as he was always ready to do anything he could to ensure Isak’s happiness, but he also felt very bad when he knew there was really nothing that Even could help. He looked down at his hands, and mumbled almost inarticulately: “Yeah. Sorry.”

It must’ve come across a little wobbly, as Even sat up immediately and pulled Isak into a bit of an awkward half hug.

“Hey, it’s okay. I just worry, that’s all.”

Isak nodded and leaned his head against Even’s shoulder despite the challenging angle, a sudden need of being close and cared for washing over him. Almost like reading his thoughts, Even let go of him, slid back down on his back and reached an arm out as an invite.

“Come here.”

Isak turned off the light on the bedside table and crawled back under the covers, making sure to plaster himself against Even, not an inch between them. Even shuffled a bit so Isak could rest his head on his shoulder. Isak felt an arm circling around his back and kiss in his hair, followed by a sound of a loud yawn.

“Sorry I woke you up,” he whispered and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth and familiar scent of his boyfriend enveloping him as he hid his nose to the curve of Even’s neck. Even hummed, and Isak could hear it in his voice that Even was well on his way back to the slumber.

“Hmm, ‘s fine. How are you feeling?”

“Not sleepy. But it’s good here.”

“What is?”

“Being here, next to you,” Isak responded, feeling a lot more comfortable and content than just a while ago. “Not alone.”

He tilted his face up and blindly placed a kiss on Even’s face, aiming at Even’s lips but only reaching far enough for the peck to reach his jaw.

“You missed by a mile,” Even mumbled, his words coming out a bit slurred with sleep. Isak huffed.

“Go to sleep, you sound drunk.”

“My aim is still better than yours,” Even hummed, startling Isak as he lazily tapped a finger on his nose in the pitch darkness. Isak brushed his hand away and scoffed, burying his face back into Even’s neck, listening to his breaths getting slower and deeper as he drifted off, his arm still securely around Isak.

This time, Isak didn’t mind staying awake all that much.

#SKAM #Skam OG #Evak #Evak fan fic #SKAM fan fic #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #insomnia #my writing

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spookytomatoetuesday · 4 years ago

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Project Wolf´s Cove

One – Tumbling towards catastrophe

The road ahead was winding, following a cliff´s edge. It was summer and therefore a bright day even though it was still early in the morning. It was definitely summer and the radio kept reminding its listeners of that fact. For the moment, however, the summer hits where too distracting. Becky turned the car radio off. She then returned to the conversation she had with her friend Rose who was sitting in the passenger seat. “The film wasn´t a period piece.”, Becky insisted. “It was set in a period in the past.”, Rose gave back. “No! The film is not on the nose about it, but it was set in the future. The future from when it was produced anyway.” Rose frowned at this just to reiterate: “Yes, and this means that it was still set ten years ago. That is the past. I cannot remember ten years ago, not with a living memory. It might as well be a chapter in a history book. Plus that it is a time ten years ago as imagined by people living 40 years ago. So this is like a page in a fictional history book from a freak dimension.” Becky laughed. She gave in: “Okay.” “Well, that is not my point anyway.”, Rose continued in a mockingly serious voice. “The man issue I wanted to raise was that the protagonist was absolutely alien to me. Not because he lived in a different time, mind you. I had issues with him because of how he acted.” “You mean how he dealt with a world full of isolated people and ravaged by a virus?”, Becky injected. “Yes! The illness is obviously transmitted from person to person. So you keep away from the next best person. Problem solved. The so-called protagonist, on the other hand, did it all wrong, sacrificing not only his life but also the one of his gal-pal.” “She was severely underdeveloped as a character. That was more scary then their fate actually.”, Becky observed. “True. There was just one reason the dude did dude around with her, mouthing about and ruining it all.”, Rose summarized. “Even if he made decisions for others that were not his to make, I think his motivations where understandable. You can’t be alone for all eternity.”, said Becky, while she turned on to the parking lot of Wolf´s Cove High School. “There needs to be a sense of community. If you can’t interact with the ones you actually spent time with, how do you know that you even exist and that you are not just an idea of a person that might be easily forgotten? Apart from that, loneliness hurts if it is not voluntary.” “Okay, fair. You raise some good points as well. I see a use for people in the plural there.”, Rose conceded. “Still, there is a danger to closeness that is not always only down to emotions.” She was quiet for a moment while she and Becky got out of the car, took their backpacks, and went towards the school entrance. “The thing is…”, Rose continued right before they climbed the four steps to the grand double doors. “You get only to take a limited number of breaths on this crummy planet. So you might as well be selective as to who you spent them with.” Becky smiled at her friend. “I thought I was.”

Biking to school always seemed like a good idea when the weather was clear and bright. That was until the last part of the road served as stark reminder that it was more sweaty than fun to bike upwards the serpentines leading to the cliff top where the school was located. John remembered that now. “This was not a good idea.”, John managed to say while slowing down despite putting all the more effort into cycling. His legs started to hurt. Neil nodded: “Fnaf.” “What?” “Fair enough.”, Neil pressed out. “Should it not be fen then?”, John wondered and had to slow down to do so. Neil shrugged and both continued their track up towards the high school in silence. Finally they made it to the big main parking lot and chained their bikes to a lantern there. They noticed Becky’s car as the only one parked here at this early hour. “Oh boy, if I’d known Becky would be here this early as well, I’d have asked her if she could pick us up on her way. Maybe next time. She’d surely do it.”, said Neil shaking his head. John just grunted and then decided to say defensively: “I do not think she is here that early regularly. No one but you is.” “And you, fellow friend and confidant. However, someone has to man the commissary and make sure that it is open when all the breakfast-skipping students arrive hungry from the long way up.”, said Neil. The two made their way to the side entrance of the main building. “I am not a fan of that name. When you say it, I can almost hear boots and trumpets.”, John commented. “The food stall then. After we’ve got rid of the old and truly awful name, we have no official title for it. I’ll still call it commissary on my CV. Universities and prospective employers like that kind of entrepreneurship and lexical knowledge. You should get an activity like this too. They expect this.” “I thought it is the point to stick out, to be so unique that others are interested in you. How does doing what everybody does the same, because that is what everybody has to do, help there?”, John asked while Neil unlocked the foods stand and went into the back where the wares were stored. Neil pointed at some packages of soft drinks. “Need to unpack those and put them into the fridge first.” While they both got to it, Neil added: “So we both understand the system. There is what they say and there is what they want. Still, I think my way to deal with that could pay off in the end. Maybe even more so than yours.” John nodded when Neil reached out for another soda can. They finished the work in silence. Afterwards, Neil put on his work apron and took up his place behind the counter. Above him on the wall painted in a fresh white there was the faint shadow of a mascot which had fallen out of time. In front of him, there was the tip jar while the cassette with the change was hidden under the counter. Neil seemed a little tired but content. John waved to him. “I will try to get some more sleep in on one of the lounge sofas before class. See you later.”, John said. “See you.” The most comfortable couches stood in the lounge of the Science Building that was still missing an S. So John went directly there after leaving the food stall. Once in the lounge, he noticed a movement coming from the astronomy room. Through the large windows in the double door he could see Becky and Rose working on something inside. He hesitated. Beyond the doors was the opportunity for a nice conversation with his friends. He should say hello. He was sure that would be nice. Still, he hesitated. For no reason and yet he still did not jump at this possibility. On the contrary, he had to push himself even though it was a push towards people he liked. For a moment, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again. This was a warm-up and a collecting of resources. Then he knocked on the window in the door. They noticed him and he had to go inside now. “Good morning.”, John greeted. Becky answered with a “Hello, how are you?”, while Rose waved and nodded. “What are you doing?”, John asked to avoid an awkward break. Becky was still looking at him. “We got permission to use the school´s telescope to track the asteroid tonight.”, Becky explained. “It has a projector and with this camera here, we will be able to record the passage of our little friend while it passes through the night sky. We just set it up now before class.” “Interesting.” John strolled closer to the telescope while being careful not to touch anything. “Yeah.”, Rose added, “I hope the asteroid breaks open and reveals a truth about the nature of nature that is so unexpected, belittling, and unsettling, that it drops us into sheer horror.” John looked at her decisively unsurprised. “Or maybe it is just a cool image of an asteroid. Astronomy rocks and space is great.”, Rose more pretended to emote than said. But then she paused and added sincerely: “There is beauty among the stars.” “With some luck…,”, Becky added, completely serious, while finishing up with some adjustments, “We will get another glimpse at the vastness that surrounds us. How could not look at the sky with curiosity.” “Tonight you say?”, John inquired. “Yes.”, Becky answered. “Around midnight, it should be dark enough and we should be able to see it even with the naked eye.” “Will you be here and watch it?” “No.”, Rose said, stretching the o maybe a bit more than it was called for. “They do not want us here at night. So we have to set this up and hope for a great recording.” “Well… hope it works out.” John smiled at Becky and nodded at Rose. Then he excused himself and headed for the couches. He did not want to sleep just outside the astronomy room. So he went to the relatively lumpy couches in the Art building, named after local celebrity Burton Art. Becky and Rose continued to set up the telescope until the doors closed behind John. Rose peeked over the telescope and through the windows in the doors. When she saw that John was beyond earshot, she nodded as if she was part of a secret ring of spies. “Nice nice.”, Becky uttered in lieu of anything more substantial to say and tried to look even more busy. “Yeah. Nice how nice you two still are with another.”, Rose probed. “Almost as if it did not hurt.” “Hm…”, Becky answered. “It still does hurt a little. But it just was not… Well, it does still hurt. There´s a scar now on the heart. Maybe it´s healing, sometimes it feels like that. So it won´t hurt in the future or only when the weather is about to change. In any case, I feel that it´ll stay in some form.” “Sounds at least like it was real.”, Rose concluded and duck back down behind the telescope. The day that had begun so early dragged on in the middle. Biology class was turned into self-study by the absence of the regular teacher and the lack of a qualified substitute. John flipped through the textbook with his right, while his head rested on his left. There were not going to be any more test or quizzes or projects this year. Knowing that, John did not pay much attention to the contents of the pages and let his thoughts wander. “Do you think you would notice it as different when you were a duck?”, he quietly asked Neil who sat next to him. “Up until now I thought this self-study was even less useful than sex ed last week.”, Neil moaned loudly instead of giving an answer. Nearby, sitting at a bench next to Becky, Rose snickered. Some other students laughed, most were indifferent and bored. The moment passed. “Like, if you woke up tomorrow and were a duck. Would you remember how it was to be a person? Would you want to remember?”, John continued. “All I can say to this is: I hope not – on the duck thing. My uncle hunts those. This would make for super awkward Thanksgivings.” Meanwhile Becky read the newspaper, searching out the reports on the asteroid. “You cannot pretend to do biology while actually doing some work on another science.”, Rose insisted as she noticed. “That is like cheating. A weird way of cheating, but still… You should at least cheat on biology with social studies, or history. English or a foreign language would work as well, I guess.” “What are you doing?”, Becky asked back, looked up from the paper and at her friend. Rose pointed to her sketch pad. “Take it in. These are the initial drawings of the cycle of Solomar. You see them here as first mortal before they conquer the world by storm.”, Rose exclaimed. “Looks great.”, Becky said, studying the drawings. “I like this lone heroine. Looks a bit like a barbarian, like as if she was about wrestle with a dragon.” “How do you know that she is a lone heroine?”, Rose asked. “She’s one of yours.”, Becky said. At some point, the time for self-study officially ended. The students packed their things quickly into their bags and were in the midst of storming out. Neil strolled over to Rose and Becky, braving the current of leaving classmates. “Rose, you have a minute? There is something we should talk about. Something important.”, Neil announced. “Important like art, or just like life and death?”, Rose inquired while stuffing her textbook in her backpack. “Or like love?”, Becky added with a side-glance at Rose. Neil hesitated, clearly thinking about a reply. “Super important. This is about the social studies project we did together.”, he explained. “The one we handed in and got a grade? I thought the circle was completed, the fate sealed.”, Rose answered. She then waved Becky a short goodbye as Becky was leaving for English less prepared than she could have been. “Yeah, let´s see about that. I don´t think that it should be sealed. We should talk to Ms. French about the grade. -See you Becky.- Fran agrees with me on that. Let´s meet her now and go to Ms. French.” “Ok. But afterwards it is lunch time. Actually, I think it is lunch time now – but if you insist, I will postpone my meal. I hope you will use this chunk of my life time gifted to you to a proper end.”, Rose stated and grabbed her bag. “Of course. Have I ever wasted my or anybody else’s time?”, Neil replied. Both they then left the classroom and made her way to the Art building and Ms. French´s office. The cafeteria was emptier than usual. Rose and Neil had no problems finding an empty table. “Told you that it would go well. We just had to highlight the amount of work that had gone into the project.”, Neil repeated. “Hm.”, Rose replied and then decided to dig into the pasta instead of expanding on that. “I mean, your contribution was obvious. The illustrations were both bloody and really good. They might have distracted Ms. French a bit. It was her fault, though, as she gave us this particular topic. Thanks for showing up with Fran and me anyway. Now we can be satisfied with the grades.”, Neil said, a fork with food hovering close to his mouth. Rose nodded. “It was a fun project. We should hang out more often. Like we used to in the golden days of our youth. Like, like we used to up until a few weeks ago.”, she added. “Yeah.”, he put down the fork again. “Only… weird without the other two and weird with them now. That was easier before.” “True.” She eyed a suspicious lump in the red sauce. “There is one group-thingy I like and now it is that… weird. I wonder if they thought about what they are doing to us when they… did what they did. Now we are like a family, divorce and all.” “Hah, true.”, Neil exclaimed and then finally took a bite. “Maye we can educate the others and reduce the awkwardness.” “There’s only so much time before everybody moves away for college next year.”, Neil said in a low voice, leaving it open if this was unclear if this was an argument for or against. “Oh.”, Rose grunted. “Maybe we should not have sought to improve our grades then. And we should find a way to drag the ones of the others down. Then we can repeat a year or two or more. Stupid maybe, but happy.” “Yeah… no. Not sure if this would even work.” Neil decided it was time to go over to the dessert. “So this remains an issue for future me an you. It is also for future Becky and John, of course.”, Rose suggested. She discovered that the lump was just an oddly shaped noodle and ate without concern. “Future me and future you, future us, and them too.”, Neil repeated. Both he and Rose lifted their heads, smiled, and listened in anticipation. Instead of music, Becky arrived with a food trey and sat down next to Rose. “Hi. How are you two?”, Becky asked. “We are doomed due to our feelings and the feelings of others.”, Rose declared. “Of course we are. But who are the others this time?”, Becky wondered. Rose sighed theatrically and Neil smirked before shaking his head. After lunch, Rose and Becky had some time before the next class that was not already assigned to any task or activity and went outside. Rose walked directly to one of the battered blue payphones and punched in a number. “Hello, I would like to talk to the Ericsons, please. Yes, whoever of them is available right now… I am their daughter. The other one. Yes… thank you Mr. nurse.” While Rose talked to the bodiless voice in a strange city, Becky settled in the corner made by the phone and the concrete wall of the main building. There was a pause as Rose waited for her parents. Becky imagined how now their names would be called out over PA, how one of them would move through the hallways of the hospital, looking for the next available phone. While she imagined this, Becky looked across the school parking lot and then beyond its chain-link fence at the town across the small straight. It was nestled on that small ragged island with curved bays and towering cliffs with sharp edges. It was a rugged place between the ocean and the mainland. It was as if the town was clinging to a rock among the waves. There were a lot of houses with great views as they were built close to the cliffs. Even greater must have been the view for the cedars. The trees filled still the spaces people had left for them. Some crept very close to the edges and others even hang out a bit over the ocean, just barely hanging on to the rock. And yet they did. They even managed to reach out to the sky. Some storms were strong enough to break them and take them away. But a number of them was still left. Becky had some favourites among these cedars. Old and brave ones she always sought out when she had a minute to look out over her home town. Faster than expected, Rose was connected. She exchanged individual words with one of her parents. By the sound of this, it was her mother. No, Becky decided after three more words, probably it was her dad. “Well but that is good… like, given the situation. Hugh her from me… if, if this is possible. …Yeah. Bye.” Rose hung up. “Well that was… yeah, good. At least she is fine. For the moment at least she is fine. That is a win.” Becky turned towards her friend and nodded, then laid an arm around her shoulders. “Yes it is, Rose. I´m glad she’s doing ok.” John stood, his bike and himself ready to leave, already on the parking lot, a few steps away from the main building. Neil, on the other hand, still fiddled with his padlock, aiming to free his bike, but as of yet unable to make that plan a reality. Then he stopped suddenly in mid-fiddling. “Shit… should take a look and check if Pete has locked the commissary. I guess I should.” Neil wavered a bit. “Yes, should do that.” He let the padlock be for the moment and sprinted back to the main entrance. “Maybe go ahead without me. We can meet at my place. One of my parents is probably home. They´ll let you in. And if it´s my dad, you might get some chocolate milk while you wait.”, Neil said to John over his shoulder. “No. It´s ok.”, replied John. “I´ll wait. Let´s go together.” Neil gesticulated vaguely but then nodded. When he passed the doors and went into the main building, he passed Rose, and both gave each other high fives in passing. Rose then made her way to John. She stopped beside him on the parking lot under the warm sun. “All done for the day?”, Rose inquired. “Yes, all done.”, he reported. “Not just for today even. There is nothing going on tomorrow, right? Besides getting on the bus, I mean.” “True. So you are good and settled for the whole year then. Great!” “You?” “I am done as well. Done and done. Except for the asteroid business, but this is more of an extra credit and in any case something I do more to give a hand to Becky.”, Rose replied. “Look at us. We got all taken care of. So if we were to die now, we leave nothing behind that can further bind us as wraiths to this plane of existence.” “Lucky us.”, John smiled. “Could be an interesting experience to be a wraith, though.” “Nah.” Rose shook her head. “Probably not. Besides, that is something that you can try in the far-away future after dying of old age.” She mustered him. “How is our story going?” “It is going well… I hope. Maybe a few more weeks of work and then it is ready to be rejected like the other ones.” Rose nodded gravely before cocking her head and smiling a bit mischievously. “Well if this is not something to live for.” She was about to add something, but in this moment, Becky drove towards the two. She stopped the car and let the passenger side door swing open for Rose to get in. “Have a good one.”, John said. “See you.”, Rose gave back. “And remember: Always create something that, if aliens from the future would find it as only surviving artefact of our civilization would understand us at least a bit. Picture mankind naked and write about it.” “Will do.”, John said and laughed. Then he and Becky exchanged a smile and a wave, before the girls got into the truck and drove off. John was not alone for long, though. Neil returned right afterwards. “Oh, should have asked her to give us a lift.”, Neil exclaimed. “She’d have done it.” “Of course Becky would have done it.”, John said flatly. “Her pickup even has space for bikes in the back. That would have been great.” “We are not really going in their direction.”, John replied. Neil just shrugged and then went to unlock and unchain his bike. “Could transport at least one caged dinosaur on that truck. God, how I miss that old rusty lady.”, Neil exclaimed. After a brief pause, he added: “I mean the truck. With old lady, I mean the vehicle.” He then finally was able to open his rusty lock and free his bike. He went over to John and both took to their saddles and started to bike down to town. “Think Becky is going to sell her car when she moves for college?”, Neil wondered aloud and very eager to move the conversation forward. “Ask her. But do not take it for free.” As everything failed, there was nothing left but drifting into the cold darkness. All that while the mind raced and tried to imagine the end. A whole world was about to lose itself in the eternal night. The end and the way there would be lonely. Soon it would end, but the time until then was still long. Too long not to fear madness before the darkness. But then there was a little blue spot shining in all the darkness. Maybe this one was hospitable enough, close enough to save a life.

#horror #spooky #monster #fiction #writing #story

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