#feeling like trash both academically and as a human being | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years ago

Text

Let Me Get Close To You

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is my fic for my @starkerfestivals summer BINGO “wrong number” square. I sat down to write this a couple of days ago & just couldn’t stop - I hope you guys enjoy the cute little verse I created (that I’ll more than likely revisit soon!!). Here’s my bingo card - if you see something on there you might want written, shoot me a message!!! Word Count: 7K Warnings: There’s a tiny bit of smut in here, but it’s me writing, so when is that not the case? Summary:

Stuck with the worst professor for Nuclear Science, Peter tries to vent his frustrations to Ned - only to send a desperate text message to Tony Stark, instead. When an immediate spark and so many things in common make it easy for Peter to fall further for the elegant genius, what’s the worst that could really happen?

Or: the one where Peter texts the wrong number & romance ensues.

Read on AO3 here.

----

Fuming from a frustrating Nuclear Science class, Peter maturely stomped his way out of the engineering building. They were only two weeks into the semester and the old man already had Peter on edge. His major revolved around the class and his ability to get the most out of the information. The dinosaur that stood at the front of the lecture hall every day hadn’t had an original thought since the 90s and refused to see when others did. Much like every old white man, Dr. Milner’s ideas were the be all end all of a science that changed by the millisecond.

Still pretty new to campus after a late sophomore year transfer, Peter didn’t have many people to turn to that weren’t his nerdy and standoffish teammates on the Academic Decathlon team – most of those guys lived in a world a couple steps from the norm, happily keeping to themselves. Though Peter existed there eighty percent of the time, his need to be social and fill a space in the real world made it impossible to commit to that sort of isolation fully. Straddling the line made it difficult to exist on either side – Peter’s favorite pieces of himself were what kept people away, no matter the lifestyle.

With his mind so heavy with all sorts of negativity, Peter suddenly found himself homesick; he spent so much of his life trying to escape the streets of New York – so far from home now, Peter missed them desperately. Thinking about his tangible connection to his favorite urban wasteland, Peter pulled his phone out and hastily typed in Ned’s new number.

Peter Parker [1:23PM]: Hi, I hate it here. Peter Parker [1:24PM]: Dr. Milner is out to get free thinkers. I may not survive the next fourteen weeks.

Peter already felt a little better after typing the words – the mere ability to get one of his many worries off his chest did wonders. Until his phone pinged with a new text message notification, of course.

Nimble fingers pulled the phone from his pocket, his eyes carelessly looking over the screen as it unlocked. Expecting to see Ned’s name there, Peter almost threw the phone to the ground when Siri’s suggestion registered.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:26PM]: Hi stranger! I think this was meant for someone else, but I too think Dr. Milner is out to squash any new idea that doesn’t fit the mold. In his forty-year career, he hasn’t changed a bit.

Another text message was below it, but Peter forced himself to stop reading – his heart felt like it might beat out of his chest already, too much excitement at once couldn’t be good. Out of all the numbers he could’ve accidentally typed, Tony Stark, New York’s genius and resident beauty, Peter’s secret (though not so much) crush, ended up on the other side of the line. The unbelievability of the idea made Peter consider a well thought out prank. Then again, how did any of his fellow classmates know Tony Stark’s personal number?

Sucking in a deep breath, Peter made himself look at the second text message waiting unread.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:27PM]: I’m not sure how you got this number, but I sincerely hope you make it out alive. If you’re in Milner’s class, you’re on the Nuclear track, which means you must be smart. Trust me, the world needs your future contributions, whatever they might be.

Peter gripped the phone a little harder after reading through the second message over and over again. He let his eyes take in each of the words, wondering, if it really was Tony Stark, how anyone ever survived talking to him. In so few sentences, Peter already felt discombobulated, both more confident and turned around than just seconds before. Aside from his infatuation with the man, Peter understood Tony Stark’s contributions to the technology community and the world at large more than most.

It took him a few minutes to convince himself to text back – every time he tried to type something, his fingers froze just centimeters above the screen. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask to make sure he wasn’t getting catfished. Instead, Peter took the direct route, his courage obviously all or nothing in the face of something as big as an accidental interaction with Tony Stark.

Peter Parker [1:35PM]: Holy crap – excuse me for the bluntness, but is this really Tony Stark? Siri doesn’t often get things wrong, especially since I souped her up. But I’m sure you can understand the apprehension. Peter Parker [1:37PM]: Would you be up for answering a few questions just to make sure?

The tip of his finger tapped against the screen impatiently after he hit the send button, his nerves and the not-so-subtle excitement were barely contained under the surface of his skin. He couldn’t remember a time where feeling alive was so prominent.

A smile slipped across his lips when, a moment later, three consecutive texts vibrated Peter’s phone in succession.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:40PM]: You souped up Siri? Steve Jobs is probably turning over in his grave right now. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:41PM]: I think I’m the one that should be asking the questions, don’t you think? How did you even get this number, Peter Parker? It’s a private line. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:42PM]: I am, though – Tony Stark, I mean.

Peter Parker [1:45PM]: Reconfiguring tech is kind of my thing. I used to dumpster dive in high school – you’d be surprised by the cool pieces of technology people put in their trash. Peter Parker [1:46PM]: Oh, bringing out the big guns – I’m happy to see Siri without my latest addition works for others, too. Peter Parker [1:47PM]: It was an accident, sending those first texts to you. My friend in New York just started a new job that came with a paid phone. I still haven’t saved the number. You are one off from him. Peter Parker [1:48PM]: Alright, Tony Stark. Tell me what campus I’m on.

Maybe – Tony Stark [1:53PM]: I’m not surprised by anything human beings do, especially in New York City. Throwing out a perfectly good iPod is certainly not the weirdest thing I’ve heard of. Did you make anything interesting in your trash conversion adventures? Maybe – Tony Stark [1:54PM]: You talk a big game, Mr. Parker. Can you walk the walk, too? Maybe – Tony Stark [1:55PM]: He must be on my payroll, then. The bank of numbers my employees have come from my personal network. Maybe – Tony Stark [1:57PM]: That’s an easy one. You’re at MIT – Milner was there when I was a student. The only thing that’s probably different between then and now is the amount of hair the old bag has.

Peter Parker [2:01PM]: You’re not wrong, Mr. Stark. I made things that helped me be self-sufficient. I grew up really poor and couldn’t afford the things everyone else had – so I figured out how all the tech worked and made my own. I’ve been using a ten-year-old iPhone for ages. Peter Parker [2:03PM]: You bet. Are you challenging me? Peter Parker [2:04PM]: He is, actually. He started in an entry level position two weeks ago. Peter Parker [2:06PM]: It’s gross, isn’t it? I’m glad we’ve moved past projectors in the classroom – the hair on his hand would make for a distracting shadow. Peter Parker [2:07PM]: Okay, okay. I think I’m convinced. One more test, though – send me a picture.

Maybe – Tony Stark [2:14PM]: Oh boy, none of that Mr. Stark shit. As far as you’re concerned, I’m Tony. Only Tony. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:15PM]: You made your own. That’s – impressive. I’m impressed and more than a little curious. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:17PM]: Challenging you, no. Enticing you, yes. I’m visiting Cambridge to do a guest lecture series next week. Come see what Stark Industries is up to – I’d love to hear what you think. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:18PM]: It was as bad as you think. Maybe – Tony Stark [2:20PM]: Okay, Peter Parker. [IMAGE ATTACHED]

A gasp of shock left Peter’s mouth when he opened the last text to find a smirking Tony Stark looking right at him. To prove the time and date, Tony held up the New York Times, his free hand pointing to the headline Peter read on his phone earlier that morning. After the shock of actually talking to Tony Stark wore off, Peter let himself take in the picture and all of its details.

Tony’s desk was largely visible in the shot – pens and stacks of paper littered the surface, a few rogue pieces of tech ready to be fiddled with acted as paper weights and grungy aesthetic. The man himself was breath taking – his glasses were a deep violet, offset beautifully by the crisp white shirt and black waistcoat covering Tony’s upper body. A light purple tie was loosely knotted at his throat, as if he fiddled with it while working just to keep his hands busy.

Without much thought, Peter saved the photo and added Tony to his contacts before replying – there was no reason not to trust the man, the spark in his shiny hazel eyes seemed to genuine and real to even question.

Peter Parker [2:25PM]: Only Tony, got it. Peter Parker [2:26PM]: Curiosity is good – keeps you fresh and on your toes. Peter Parker [2:27PM]: Oh, I see. You want a chance to impress me. I like that. Not sure what my opinion is going to do for you, but I’ll be happy to share it. Peter Parker [2:29PM]: Gross. Peter Parker [2:30PM]: I’m – you’re… Wow. You really are Tony Stark.

Tony Stark [2:37PM]: I think you’ll have no problems keeping me on my toes, Peter. Tony Stark [2:38PM]: I have a feeling your opinion is one that I’ll be very interested in. You’ve been nothing but blunt this entire conversation, I know I’m getting the real deal stuff. Tony Stark [2:40PM]: I am. I really am Tony Stark. Tony Stark [2:41PM]: It’s your turn, Peter Parker. What face belongs to that beautiful brain of yours?

Forcing himself to breath, Peter looked around the room for the best spot to return the favor. The bed was a hard no, he didn’t want to send the wrong vibe to a person who could easily have whomever they wanted. His desk was small, but meticulously organized – his study materials open and ready for a night of reviewing the only thing obscuring the surface. It was obvious Tony appreciated his brain, it seemed pertinent to take advantage.

After a few attempts, Peter found the perfect angle to catch the light in his eyes, making them shine brightly in the camera. He thanked the clothing gods that he chose a well fitted three-button Henley in his haste to get out the door that morning. The feeling of satisfaction was new, but not unwelcome – he wanted to send Tony the photo; for once, he knew it would impress.

Peter Parker [2:55PM]: Keeping implies longevity. Are you planning on sticking around? Peter Parker [2:56PM]: My brain to mouth filter runs at less than 10% at all times. It has brought me more trouble than shutting up ever would. Peter Parker [2:27PM]: You’re gorgeous. Violet is a nice color on you. Peter Parker [2:29PM]: What do you think? [IMAGE ATTACHED]

Tony Stark [ 2:37PM]: Yes. I think that’s the answer to that question. You’ve presented a puzzle I want to solve. Tony Stark [2:38PM]: Shutting up never got anyone anywhere. The noise we create is what shapes us. Tony Stark [2:40PM]: Thank you – I have a lot of it in my wardrobe. Tony Stark [2:44PM]: & you called me gorgeous; Peter Parker, you’re a stunner.

Peter Parker [2:51PM]: You’re a scientist, you do that for a living. What makes me so different? Peter Parker [2:52PM]: That’s a refreshing opinion. I like the way you think, Only Tony. Peter Parker [2:54PM]: That honestly doesn’t surprise me. Peter Parker [2:55PM]: Do you tell the person who made you blush that you’re blushing? I don’t remember that standard operating procedure.

Tony Stark [3:01PM]: My intrigue is of a personal nature only – the puzzle you pose is of a different sort. Usually, I think and think and think until I solve whatever the problem is. With you, I want to gather all the clues and take it apart piece by piece. Tony Stark [3:02PM]: That’s a little heavy for only knowing each other a couple of hours, but when you know, you know. Tony Stark [3:03PM]: Not usually, but I have a feeling you’re an exception to a lot of things, Peter Parker.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Peter continued to exchange flirty text messages back and forth with Tony – the mood stayed open and easy as the time passed. The older man helped Peter get through Nuclear Dynamics and three hours of decathlon practice. For all the brains Tony had, Peter was surprised to find humor and a bit of insecurity, too. Tony let himself go on tangents and make dad jokes that were a step away from being obscene.

That trend continued for the rest of the week and well into the weekend. By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, Peter knew Tony’s schedule, half the newest late-night discoveries, and the way Mr. Sweet Tooth took his sugary coffee. Though a line of attraction and want existed, Peter was happy to know Tony as a person without the ability to act on the obvious tension between them. And while he appreciated the wholistic way they were coming to know each other, Peter couldn’t wait to see Tony throughout the week, either.

The older man seemed to share his sentiment – the shrill notification of a text message received pulled Peter out of his thoughts.

Tony Stark [7:30PM]: Hey, Pete! I present at 5:30 tomorrow afternoon. Want to grab something to eat afterwards? Tony Stark [7:31PM]: I’m impatient to get back to Hogan’s and thought you might appreciate his culinary prowess.

Peter Parker [7:35PM]: Tony – this is the fourth time you’ve reminded me about your presentation. I’ll be there. For dinner, too. Peter Parker [7:36PM]: Culinary prowess; if it merits that title, I’m sure it’ll be worth it.

Tony Stark [7:42PM]: I know – I just get some performance anxiety. It helps to remind myself that you’re going to be there. Tony Stark [7:43PM]: It is. Hap is an old friend of mine. He left MIT to go make his restaurant dreams happen and has been stupidly happy ever since.

Peter Parker [7:47PM]: I get it – I’ll gladly be your security blanket, Tony. Peter Parker [7:48PM]: Something tells me there’s more to that story, but I’m sure you’ll tell me one day. I’m excited to try it. Should I look up the menu beforehand, or let it be a surprise?

Tony Stark [7:55PM]: I like the sound of that. I’ve pictured having you in my arms often. Tony Stark [7:57PM]: There’s always more to the story, Pete. Let it be a surprise! In fact, I’ll order for you to make sure you get the whole newbie experience.

Peter Parker [8:05PM]: I’ll boldly say you can have me in your arms as often as you like. Peter Parker [8:06PM]: The newbie experience – there hasn’t been a time in my life where that’s been a good thing. Peter Parker [8:07PM]: Yet. Surprisingly – I trust you.

The next day went by quickly – Peter took a quiz in Nuclear Science and dug into his other two classes to keep his mind focused on anything other than Tony’s imminent presence. His last class was a core history class, so he gladly tucked into the reading the professor let them loose to do. The chime of his alarm broke through Peter’s fog a couple pages from the end of his assignment. Though he liked to be ahead, Peter gladly took the extra few minutes to get himself together before heading to MIT’s presentation hall.

Decked out in his finest pair of black jeans, a blue denim short-sleeve button down, and solid black high-top Converse on his feet, Peter walked the few minutes it took to get back onto campus from his small apartment. Unsurprisingly, a line was formed out the door of students hoping to get into the presentation last minute. Tony told him earlier in the week that they waited to advertise his appearance until the a few hours before to stop the masses from flocking. To Peter, the time restriction seemed to only make it worse.

In Tony’s excitement to have Peter there, the older man set aside a ticket for him – instead of joining the line like he might’ve without Tony’s insistence, Peter walked straight into the cool auditorium, snagging a seat at the end of a row located dead center in the auditorium. The vantage point was perfect – Peter wouldn’t have any trouble catching Tony’s eye as he spoke. Grinning at his access to such a simple pleasure, Peter relaxed back into the seat, passing the time until Tony took the stage by watching the crowd flood in around him.

It wasn’t long before the lights were dimming and a sweaty, high ranking alumnus gave Tony Stark a mediocre welcome onto the stage. The crowd broke out into a cheer that more than made up for the old man’s subpar words. Tony timed his entrance perfectly; he walked out as the energy rose, the shift in the crowd’s tension working to enhance everyone’s excitement. Peter found himself glued to the man, who until that moment, existed entirely on the other side of the phone – he didn’t want to miss a single second of full-body absorption.

A black suit coat sat snuggly on Tony’s shoulders, a singular button keeping the sides closed. His dark hair was elegantly styled, the bed-head look enhancing the easy-going style Peter knew Tony strived for. The facial hair Peter came to truly appreciate over the last few days of texting drew attention to his sharp cheekbones. Tony seemed genuinely happy to be there if the beaming smile on his face said anything at all. With a few claps and the corniest joke, the older man got the crowd under control, proceeding onto his speech with an effortless transition.

As expected, Peter found himself interested from the very beginning. Tony’s new work on energy and its uses amongst transportation and city overhaul was ingenious – when things got up and running, New York’s power grid would run completely on sustainable energy. So many thoughts flashed across the front of Peter’s mind – he wondered if Tony would let him take a look at the blueprints. He might not have much to contribute, yet Peter understood the opportunity for learning and development when it presented itself.

By the end of Tony’s presentation, Peter was overjoyed to know that he wouldn’t need to feign interest in the topics Tony brought to the table. For a while, Stark Industries went through a slump of working on weapons and junky tech Peter found in the trash more often than he ever wanted to admit. It felt good to be excited about something new coming from the company – Tony Stark was the smartest person in his field, anything less than almost perfect just didn’t do the man and his ideas justice.

After fielding a lot more questions than Peter expected, Tony headed off the stage with a roar of applause – the genius wasn’t a household name for nothing. Smiling at the thought, Peter pulled his phone out; he got to see behind the curtain more than others – he felt a sudden surge of gratefulness at the fact. Every person around him would do anything for the privilege; taking that for granted just wouldn’t do.

Peter Parker [6:45PM]: You’re an incredible public speaker, Tony. Peter Parker [6:46PM]: Thanks for making me come!

Tony Stark [6:49PM]: How inappropriate of me is it to say that this isn’t the only time I plan to make you come?

Peter Parker [6:55PM]: Very, but it’s appreciated, nonetheless. I’ll meet you over by the Engineering building whenever you’re done trying to outrun your fans.

Tony Stark [7:00PM]: You’re fucking hilarious. I’ll meet you there in five.

True to his word, Tony snuck up behind Peter a few minutes later – soft palms that gave way to well-earned callouses pressed against Peter’s cheeks as Tony covered his eyes. The mere fact that Tony was there at all was surprise enough; the touches and softly whispered “Hello, Pete,” in his ear felt like more than enough to cause a coronary.

Shaking his head to clear it, Peter turned in Tony’s arms, a huge grin playing across his lips. With the way they were standing now, Peter’s chest was pressed delightfully against Tony’s – he felt each and every one of Tony’s inhales of oxygen and exhales of carbon dioxide that brought Peter’s attention to the firm muscles pressing and pulling the man’s abdomen. His breath caught when Tony palmed his cheek, their mouths mere inches apart. Despite not actually knowing each other, Peter felt comfortable in Tony’s embrace.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter finally replied after allowing his breath to mingle with Tony’s. As they stood there pressed together, neither could decipher where one started and the other began. The thought made his grin grow a little wider, the courage inside of him pulsing a little more boldly with life. “You were amazing up there.”

Tony remained perfectly still; his limbs seemingly frozen in a clench to keep Peter close to him. His grip was firm, both the hand on Peter’s hip and his late day stubbled cheek. Like the man himself, Tony’s touch left something behind that kept Peter on the hook, always seeking more. He half expected for Tony to lean in and slot their lips together – his deepest desires and tangible wants were starting to collide in such close proximity.

Instead, Peter’s smile was returned with quirked cheeks and bright hazel eyes. “You weren’t too bored?” Tony asked, his voice soft in the small space between them. His thumb swiped constantly across Peter’s cheek, the obvious need to move apparent, even in such an intimate situation.

Chuckling lightly, Peter shook his head. “So far from bored. My thesis research is all about sustainable energy – you had me interested from the very beginning,” Peter replied almost immediately, not caring that his excitement clearly shone through in the pitch of his voice. The way he was leaning into Tony’s touch, Peter didn’t have much of a chance to disguise his truth, anyway.

“You’re so much smarter than you give yourself credit for – I can tell already.” Tony’s words were mumbled almost as if the older man was embarrassed to say them – to hand out such a compliment to someone other than himself. And yet – Tony’s hesitation made the statement mean so much more; the rarity of such kind words (despite being spoken so softly) did nothing but make Peter want to melt into Tony even further.

Before things could get too mushy or physical, Peter took a large step out of Tony’s arms – begrudgingly, the need for space was prominent if they ever wanted the night to continue. Never mind the fact that paparazzi were constantly hounding and following Tony wherever the man went. Though he was deemed an appropriate companion at the time, Peter was more than sure the public would not agree.

With that thought in mind, Peter shot Tony a shy smile – “I’m pretty famished. Want to show me what Hogan’s is all about?”

They spent the ten-minute walk talking about the presentation – Tony grilled Peter about a few of the technical parts, while Peter drooled a little bit over the projected uses of Tony’s new energy storage and production. Like two nerdy peas in a pod, neither could help themselves – geeking out and talking about something they were both interested in made the rest of the world melt away. Peter might’ve kept on his tangent if it weren’t for a tall, thickly built man clearing his throat.

Looking up at the noise, Peter realized they’d walked a few blocks already and were standing in the lobby of a well-maintained hole in the wall that radiated the most delicious smells. Grease and cheese and freshly dropped French fries hit his senses all at once – there was no doubt that whatever they were about to consume would be more than delicious.

Peter was seconds away from wiping drool from his chin when Tony broke out into action. He took the couple of steps between their current position and the hostess stand to wrap who could only be Happy in a firm, breathtaking hug. “Happy, my man. It’s so good to see you,” Tony exclaimed as he stepped away, an adorable look in his eyes. “I’ve been talking this place up to Peter here, thought I’d cash in on your good will.”

Suddenly, all eyes were on Peter – Tony looked at him like something he couldn’t wait to deconstruct, while Happy tilted his head curiously, as if the one glance would tell him all he needed to know about Peter Parker. Unwillingly to stand there like an animal on display, Peter broke through the weird with a soft laugh and a light wave.

“Nice to meet you, Happy. Tony’s been selling me on your food for days now. I can’t wait to try it,” Peter said, his shoulders rolling back to help him stand a little taller. Though he had nothing to prove to the total stranger in front of him, Peter couldn’t help but want to make a good impression – Happy obviously meant something to Tony; their comradery and easy affection said that without much effort.

There was a moment where all three guys seemed to look between each other – Peter watched with bated breath as Tony and Happy carried on a silent conversation with just a few blinks and forehead crinkles. By the time Peter understood what was happening, Happy stepped a little closer to him, his big hand reaching out for what could only be a handshake. Without hesitating, Peter took it – for whatever reason, the handshake felt monumental; like with the one touch, he beat the level boss and gained access to the next one.

“Good to meet you, too. Tony’s good about that sort of advertisement – we probably wouldn’t have made it without his ugly mug around at the beginning,” Happy replied. “You guys know what you want? I’ll get it on the grill personally.”

At that point, Tony stepped back into the spotlight and grabbed the reins – he ordered everything at rapid fire speed, like the menu existed as a hard copy in Tony’s mind. Considering the warmth of the older man’s welcome and Happy’s cryptic words, Peter didn’t doubt that Tony was a regular – more than likely a founding customer, even.

It took no time at all for their food to come out to the small table in the corner Tony led him to. The tray was piled with an abundance of food – cheese steaks, fries, burgers, even a couple of desserts littered the table as Tony unpacked their haul. Peter’s eyes were wide, his mouth watering with a want that only Zap’s Bodega could illicit before. “This – it all looks amazing,” Peter babbled, his stomach both hungry and overwhelmed by everything in front of him.

“Just wait until you taste it. Happy used to crank out these cheesesteaks on the little hot plate we had in our dorm room. They were excellent, but the addition of the flattop has made them unbeatable.”

Unable to decide what smelled the best, Peter grabbed whatever was nearest to him. His fingers wrapped around the greasy paper of the aforementioned cheesesteak, his mouth watering even more. “So, you and Happy were roommates at MIT?” Peter asked around a large bite, the food in his mouth muffling some of the words. It really was good – worth looking like a pig in front of the most beautiful man alive.

“Hap and I go way back. His father worked security at Stark Industries – he was on my dad’s personal protection team for most of my life. When Happy’s mom died and the need for babysitting became a thing, Happy started to spend the evenings with me after school. In a lot of ways, he’s the only family I’ve ever had. When he first opened up this place, I was young and just looking for some investment that would piss my dad off. I knew Happy had talent, but neither of us thought this place would blow up the way it did.” Tony looked up then, a vulnerability in his eyes. “We’ve been in business together ever since.”

Smiling encouragingly, Peter nodded in Tony’s direction – their closeness, Tony’s unwavering advertisement and protectiveness, even some of the food names he could see on the menu; it all made sense. After taking another bite of the cheesesteak, Peter chewed slowly before responding. “There’s always more to the story, right?” he questioned cheekily. “It sounds like your gamble worked out for you – I didn’t look at the menu, but I did Google Hogan’s; there’s ten locations within a 300-mile radius.”

A snort had Peter looking up, his eyebrows quirked. “I should’ve known,” Tony said through a laugh. “Your generation is all about instant gratification.”

Their eyes locked then, Tony’s words and their meaning sitting in the space between them. Peter forced himself not to blink – he wanted to memorize the rich hazel color that barely ringed a growing pupil. Hunger and want and something unrecognizable existed in Tony’s glance; when it was all over and Tony moved on, Peter desperately wanted to remember the genuine rawness he drew out of one of the world’s greatest minds.

“Or just impatience,” Peter countered. He drew his eyes away, needing to break the glance to stop himself from propelling himself across the table and tackle Tony to the ground. Though it looked as if Happy kept the place spick and span, Peter didn’t want to think about Tony’s expensive suit on any other floor aside from his own.

They attempted to pull the small talk back to something a little tamer, but the road of the rest of the evening had already been paved. It became harder to focus on anything other than the thick press of Tony’s thigh against his own under the table. As the minutes passed, Peter noticed Tony staring, and after a while, the older man just never stopped. Every time he looked up, Peter caught hazel eyes taking him in – undressing him button by button with the sheer want in his eyes. A red blush took up permanent residence on Peter’s cheeks and neck, the color following him out of the restaurant and out onto the street where Tony took his hand without hesitation.

Before his mom passed away, Peter remembered a softly mumbled conversation laying across both his parents early, early in the morning. His dad’s big fingers were wrapped so neatly around his mother’s, the embrace tight, despite the hour. Peter reached out to touch the unbreakable seam, his eyes wide with wonder. “They fit,” Peter whispered softly, his finger running reverently over their joint fingers.

His mother pulled him close then, her lips finding that special place on his cheek. “One day, Petey, you’ll find that perfect person whose hands will fit yours just the way your father’s fit mine.”

A warmth settled in Peter’s chest as he slid his hand into Tony’s, their fingers interlacing perfectly with ease. The immaculate fit of Tony’s hand pressing against his own made him snuggle in further – whatever happened between them after this, Peter would forever know how easily he and Tony Stark fit together.

Giving Tony’s fingers a squeeze at the thought, Peter looked up, breaking the silence – “Do you want to see my apartment? I’m sure it’s not nearly as fancy as the hotel you’re staying at, but I’ve got Netflix and a really comfortable couch.”

Tony took a few long strides to answer, his face a little pensive. “I’d love to see your apartment, Pete,” Tony replied easily. They came to a stop at the crosswalk – Tony used his momentum to pull Peter close to his chest while they waited out the light. “I don’t care about fancy. You’ll be there.”

While Peter had lots of things to reply, his words were cut off by slightly chapped lips eagerly pressing against his own. It took Peter a second to recognize what in the glorious hell was happening – when the reality of the situation finally registered, Peter surged forward, tilting his head to not only return the kiss, but deepen it.

Both of Peter’s hands found their way around Tony’s neck to keep him close – he felt like he might pass out from the sheer goodness of Tony surrounding him without the grounding touch. He was far from a virgin, but none of his previous encounters knocked him off his feet in such a way that made Peter feel like a fumbling newbie.

Sipping from each other’s mouths, Peter was surprised by a strange and unrecognizable voice coming from behind them – “the light’s changed, fellas.”

It took an obscene amount of effort to pull away – though the stranger’s words made his face burn with embarrassment, Peter was reluctant to step out of Tony’s embrace and the tantalizing press of warm lips against his own. Regardless of his trepidation, Peter reluctantly moved back.

He made sure to slip his hand into Tony’s before they set off again.

“I’m just another couple of blocks away,” Peter reassured, a hungry smirk on his face. Tony returned the look, their stride all of the sudden lengthening. Their walk turned from a leisurely stroll to a brisk half-run. If it weren’t for the want raging through Peter’s veins, he might’ve found the change hilarious. In all of their time together, Tony never expressed impatience – he always seemed calm, cool, and collected. Yet, in the face of heat and need and the promise of bare skin, Tony let that mask drop.

Happy to know a new something about Tony, Peter reveled in the pent-up silence that carried them back to his apartment. Snagging a ground floor unit close to the entrance, they luckily didn’t have to wait for an elevator or awkwardly pretend that they weren’t about to push the other against the wall and start ravaging whatever pieces of skin they could find. Instead, Peter impatiently pulled Tony behind him as they walked between building 1 and 2 with eager steps.

After some fumbling and a set of dropped keys, Peter finally got his door open and Tony through it. Without missing a beat, Tony pushed him back against the newly closed front door, their lips harshly joining. Groaning at the contact and suddenness of it all, Peter pulled Tony in – any space left between them was unacceptable now that they were in a private space where wandering eyes and clicking cameras couldn’t see. Their obvious passion was too much for the public eye; Peter so desperately wanted to keep Tony to himself – devouring him in a safe space was only the first step.

As Tony traced his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, Peter fumbled his hands down the older man’s chest until he could pull the crisp button-down from well-tailored pants. The second he was able, Peter shoved his hands under the soft fabric, his palms greedily pressing into Tony’s hairy chest. A groan left his mouth – the chest hair under his fingers was soft and teasing. Peter was caught between the urge to tug at the strands and lay his head gently against them just to feel the texture against his skin.

Tony made the decision for him – large hands were suddenly on Peter’s waist, his feet coming up off the ground with little effort. Unable to keep his hands where they were, Peter broke the kiss with a groan and shifted until he could wrap his legs around Tony’s hips. Peter panted for breath while his lips were still free as Tony navigated through the room blindly. Another soft moan left Peter’s lips when his back hit the pliable leather of his couch.

Where just moments before they were standing chest to chest, Peter now had the full weight of Tony against him. The older man fit seamlessly between his splayed thighs, their hips lining up in a way that made Peter’s cock pulse against the confines of his tight jeans. With a bit of shifting, their groins were matched – Tony’s thick cock felt sinful against Peter’s. If his impending orgasm was already upon him, Peter wondered what it’d be like when their clothes hit the floor and he really got to taste what Tony had to offer.

Like he was reading his mind, Tony made quick work of the buttons on Peter’s shirt. Calloused hands dragged up and down Peter’s bare chest as he pushed the navy fabric to the side – his skin was practically hairless, the only exception being a small trail of it leading down to the v of his jeans. Tony let his fingers play through that small amount of hair, his fingers teasing as they got closer to the one spot that Peter wanted him to be the most.

Deciding to take his mind off of the heat in his belly and the closeness of his orgasm, Peter returned the favor. His hands were shaky as he passed button after button through their holes. With a gasp, Peter spread the sides of Tony’s shirt to get the maximum impact of the older man’s torso. He liked what he felt before, but the view was something else – Tony’s chest was chiseled and cut, his pecs and abs straining with effort. Peter noticed throbbing veins and a few scars in his perusal; the evidence of Tony’s life and the way he lived it made Peter pull the man a little closer. Tony Stark drove him absolutely mad – every new thing he learned contributed to the insanity even more.

Before he could get lost in the thought, Tony’s lips were skating along his cheek, only to stop and caress the outer shell of Peter’s ear. “You feel amazing, Pete,” Tony babbled, his tongue peeking out to join in on the fun. “I want to taste you, feel your cock pulse against my tongue. You’re so fucking hard and I can’t fucking wait. Is that okay?”

Peter pulled back then, a soft grin pulling at his lips. In all of his sexual encounters, Peter couldn’t recall someone caring about him so thoroughly, let alone stopping to ask how he felt. Both hands came up to grip Tony’s cheeks until the older man was looking right at him. Through the haze of arousal, Peter recognized that warm spark in Tony’s eye – it was the look in that first picture that kept Peter coming back for more.

“It’s perfect, Tony. I’ll take anything you want to give me,” Peter said breathlessly. He leaned up for a kiss to drive the words home.

Tony looked genuinely happy when Peter pulled away – his cheeks were flushed with obvious arousal, his lips quirked in a saucy smile. Without saying anything, Tony nodded his head and travelled slowly down the length of Peter’s body. Nimble fingers made quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans before Peter could think or even draw his next breath.

Sturdy hands didn’t hesitate to pull at the waistband of Peter’s boxers – his flushed cock was already leaking as it came to rest casually against the firm abs of Peter’s chest. Tony’s calloused fingers immediately wrapped around the length, giving a tight squeeze to the base. The sheer feeling of his crush’s hands on him was almost enough for Peter to jump straight over the edge. Catching Tony’s eyes and biting down on his bottom lip was his only saving grace – the knowing look in beautiful hazel eyes pulled a chuckle from Peter’s chest, the noise distraction enough.

“Okay?” Tony asked again, the words were spoken with his mouth hovering just inches from the pulsing flesh of Peter’s cock. He could feel Tony’s breath against his sensitive skin, everything about the situation making it hard to articulate or think or exist as anything other than a melted puddle of goo against broken-in leather.

Peter took a couple of deep breaths before nodding vigorously. He felt a red flush travel even further down his neck and torso, arousal and embarrassment mixing together to create the ultimate aphrodisiac. He finally found his voice, muttering a choked off “yes” before the motor function of speaking left him once more.

After a heartbeat and then another where neither man moved, Tony gripped the sharp bones of Peter’s hips, pushing his lower body down against the cushions. They shared another look as Tony lowered his head, his pink tongue poking out to lick lightly against the leaky head of Peter’s cock. Hazel eyes stayed on him – Tony continued to lap along his sensitive skin, all while killing Peter slowly with the heat and want reflecting back. By the time Tony had all of Peter in his mouth, Peter was seconds away from being undone.

It’d been so long, and he’d wanted Tony since he understood what attraction was. Being pinned down by the person he desired longer than some of his friendships did nothing but magnify everything that was happening. His skin felt like it was on fire under Tony’s touch – the suction around his cock felt like it was coming from all angles, everywhere, all at once. Unable to stop himself, Peter moaned, panted, and shamelessly shouted Tony’s name as the blissful seconds passed.

The telling zip of a zipper being pushed down, and Tony’s hasty shift told Peter that Tony was similarly affected. He picked up his head to watch Tony suck his cock down while his right hand moved at the same pace – while he took Peter’s cock into his throat, Tony was stroking his own erection with sure strokes. As if the heat around him wasn’t enough, the beautiful visual of Tony taking his own pleasure pushed him those last couple of steps over the edge.

Bubbling heat in his belly boiled over. Peter frantically reached down to grip Tony’s shoulder, his mouth wordlessly shaping around warning words. “I’m – I’m… fuck, Tony. I’m going to cum,” Peter finally managed to gasp out. There was just enough time for Tony to pull away, to let Peter’s pleasure splatter on the blood warm skin of Peter’s stomach. Yet, Tony held fast, instead – he redoubled his efforts, his lips tightening and throat relaxing in invitation.

Unable to stop himself, Peter let go – his hips thrust up into Tony’s enticing heat, the man’s name dripping from his lips as pulse after pulse of cum left his body. Tony moaned around him, swallowing easily without pulling his mouth away or stopping his ministrations. The suction continued until Peter was reaching down halfheartedly to push at Tony’s soft curls.

While he caught his breath, Tony crawled up Peter’s body, a self-satisfied smirk on his red cheeks. Peter grinned at him, happiness and satiation rolling off of him in waves. Without thought, Peter pulled Tony tightly to him, their lips finding each other like opposite poles of magnets drawn together by the sheer force of nature. Tony shared Peter’s taste with him, his talented tongue thrusting into Peter’s mouth with a shared groan between them. It was all so hot; Peter felt his spent cock already starting to come back to life.

With that thought in mind, Peter started to reach down to help Tony finish achieving his own pleasure; yet his hand was batted away with affectionate finesse. Peter shifted until he could meet the honey hazels he was already addicted to, a question in his eye.

“There’s no need,” Tony mumbled, his face tucking into the skin of Peter’s neck. “You’re so sexy, I couldn’t help but touch myself. The way you look in the throes of pleasure – it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“Holy shit.”

Tony chuckled at the awe in Peter’s voice. “My sentiment exactly.”

For a while, they stayed stretched out on Peter’ couch, exchanging kisses and greedy touches on all the bare skin either could reach. Without so much adrenaline coursing through his system, Peter felt himself melting even further into the comfy cushions below him. After a jaw breaking yawn, Peter reached up to cup Tony’s cheek, pulling the man’s attention towards him.

“Want to stay over?” Peter asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Though they were spent and wrapped up in each other, Peter wasn’t sure where Tony stood. There was a big difference between the type of intimacy physical touch and sleeping next to another human being required. The last few days, Peter fell asleep with Tony’s messages open on the bed next to him – actually sleeping side by side, in person, that was a whole new step for them.

Tilting his head to the side, Tony shot Peter a tender smile before nodding and leaning down to press their lips together.

“Yeah, Pete – I want to stay.”

#starker #starkerfestivalsevents #starker festivals summer bingo #bobbie writes #let me get close to #peter parker/tony stark #starker fic #sfsummerbingo21

59 notes · View notes

fatehbaz · 5 years ago

Text

Sorry. This might be annoying and excessively long. Among people interested in psychogeography, ecology, folklore, bioregionalism, urban geography (and Empire, hegemony, anti-imperialism, to a lesser extent, I guess?) there is a quote that gets circulated from time to time. I’ve seen the quote in academic articles, sure, but also on the W0rdpress blogs of, like, birders, hikers, gardeners, “bioregional animists,” and “woods aesthetic” fans. But why do both academic authors and popular/mainstream writers and bloggers and such consistently remove the end of this sentence from Michel de Certeau’s memorable statement: “There is no place that is not haunted by many different spirits hidden there in silence, spirits one can “invoke” or not. Haunted places are the only ones people can live in – and this inverts the schema of the panopticon.”

Gonna revel in the wonders of the garden, the forest, the landscape, the other-than-human lifeforms, and yet not willing to explicitly address the vulnerability, the cascading extinction, the tightening noose of imperial hegemony and carceral systems threatening it all, landscapes, lives, entire worlds? What de Certeau is referring to here is the way that imperial/dominant power structures (European modernity, Empire) try to subdue, erase, destroy smaller, alternate, and/or non-Western cosmologies, to make it seem like Empire is the only possible world that can be constructed. And so landscapes become sanitized, especially in cities, and de Certeau says that such sanitized places are “uninhabitable” because they are so cold, because Empire tries to standardize experience, rather than allowing localized connections tor regional landscape. But the alternative worldviews, the histories, have not been fully erased, and exist in the cracks and crevices of modernity, and so there are “ghosts” of alternative worlds which live on. And it is the remnants of other worlds, or the glimpses of other creatures (animals/plants/etc.) or other surviving worldviews (graffiti in the subway, which rejects order and control), or the hopes of possible better future worlds, crevices where the “failures” of modernity can be glimpsed, which make a place habitable. “Haunted geographies.”

Here’s a sentence fragment from a different author, writing about de Certeau:

“exotification and suppression, under a cloak of celebration”

This kinda thing.

This fragment comes from a criticism of early-20th-century Euro-American academia’s so-called “folklore studies” but I think it also describes much 21st-century academic interest in “ecological knowledge” and non-Western cultures. I have a feeling that this behavior is similar to what contemporary upper class careerist-academics in academic anthropology departments and those “studying the utility of traditional ecological knowledge” are doing when they superficially throw around words like “decolonial” or “Haraway’s Chthuluscene” in their article abstract for Cool Points without actually having given much through to the way they and their sponsoring institution, in their thirst for prestige or good optics or whatever, are in fact continuing to perpetuate dispossession and appropriation of Indigenous/non-Western knowledge. And on some level, it is deliberate and calculated, though not always a conscious act on the individual author/researcher’s part. Intentional power consolidation masked as passive chauvinism masked as benevolent paternalistic concern for “primitive peoples” masked as genuine respect. What’s happening is a recuperation, the subsuming of alternative cosmologies and ways of being. Hypothetical Nat/Geo article, variations of which you’ve probably seen before: “How can we utilize Indigenous knowledge? Can traditional knowledge help us battle climate change?” Empire, those in power, hegemonic institutions colonizing knowledge, thought, cosmology.

Plenty has been written, especially in recent years, of a “plurality/pluriverse of worlds in contrast to one imperial worldview/cosmology” and also the paternalistic attitudes of Euro-American anthropologists, but the mid-century work of Michel de Certeau, in my opinion, anticipated a lot of this disk horse. Here’s the fuller quote:

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

“In recent years, especially since 1960, scholarship in the service of popular culture has been of Marxist inspiration, or at least ‘populist’ in spirit,” de Certeau, Dominique Julia and Jacque Revel wrote in a 1980 essay, “but does the scientific operation it undertakes obey different laws than it did in the past? On the contrary, it seems to be dominated by the mechanisms of age-old excommunications…to conceal what it claims to show” (de Certeau 1986, 121). This opening statement encapsulates much of de Certeau’s thinking about the history of folklore studies. Tracing its development in successive stages from the late eighteenth century to the “heyday of folklore” in France’s Third Republic (1870-1940), the authors argue that the eighteenth century aristocratic vogue for “the popular” concealed a powerful movement toward the domination of the peasantry. This movement involved both exotification and suppression, under a cloak of celebration.“ The idealization of the “popular,” as they put it, “is made all the easier if it takes the form of a monologue. The people may not speak, but they can sing...The intent [of folklorists] is both to collect…and to reduce (de Certeau 1986, 122).[...] The governing ideologies driving the emergence of this obsession with the folk were not static, however, and therefore, in order to understand the development of the politics of culture in folklore studies, scholars must examine, at each point, its “subjacent postulates” (de Certeau 1986, 123). For instance, following the domination imbricated with the origins of folklore studies in the 18th century, by the mid-nineteenth century, the authors describe folklore as taking on a paternalist role vis-a-vis its subject. The collection of folklore by this time, embodied especially in the works of Charles Nisard (1808-1890), is not just a chronicle of its elimination by the elite, but a protective function executed by the elite on behalf of the incompetent peasant. In this view, de Certeau and his colleagues observe, “the people are children whose original purity it is befitting to preserve by guarding them against evil readings” (de Certeau 1986, 124, original emphasis). [...] This, then, is the basic outline of de Certeau’s historical critique of both the conceptualization of folklore and the discipline of folklore studies, as well as the core of his critique of cultural studies in the late 20th century. Interestingly, however, it is also the core of his larger understanding of the workings of modernity.

From: Anthony Bak Buccitelli. “Hybrid Tactics and Locative Legends: Re-reading de Certeau for the Future of Folkloristics.” Cultural Analysis, Volume 15.1. 2016.

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

So there is a popular quote from Michel de Certeau (French interdisciplinary scholar, 1925-1986), which seems to have been yet more popular since, like:

(1) 2010-ish with elevation of Mark Fisher’s work; “object-oriented ontology”; “dark ecology”; apparent academic elevation of ontological turn in anthropology; and the white-washed Euro-American academic language of traditional ecological knowledge, “decolonization,” etc.,

And also since (2) 2014/2015 in “popular” media, with apparent mainstream-ing or “revival” of folk horror, alongside elevation of eco-horror, Anthropocene disk horse, etc.

(In my anecdotal experience, at least, reading about geography, folklore, psychogeography, etc. in online spaces from M.S.N chatroom days onwards.)

I’m of course very wary of de Certeau’s interest in and celebration of Freud (come on, bro) and also the implications of de Certeau’s Jesuit background and early interest in missionary stuff (gross). But de Certeau did write some thoughtful and nicely-phrased stuff (in my opinion) about the importance of subverting imperialist/hegemonic cosmologies; how Euro-American academic institutionalized knowledge reinforces power; imperative for combating hegemony/carceral thinking by connecting with landscape; the “memory” of places; the “hidden” histories of landscapes, etc. And he wrote this decades before academics started stealing from Indigenous people of Latin America and getting into pluriverse stuff.

Anyway, one quote in particular seems most popular. but almost every single instance where i’ve ever seen this quote shared, it always cuts out the last few words of the statement. The quote is from what might be his most widely-read work, the “Walking in the City” chapter of his 1984 book The Practice of Everyday Life. (it’s a pretty brief chapter which is available for free online; might take 30 minutes to read, if you’re interested.) The quote as translated by Steven Rendall: “There is no place that is not haunted by many different spirits hidden there in silence, spirits one can “invoke” or not. Haunted places are the only ones people can live in – and this inverts the schema of the panopticon.”

The “inversion of the panopticon” portion is almost always left out of the quote. even in academic writing or in the writing/blogs/whatever of people who otherwise seem like they would be down with anti-imperialism or something.

So, it comes across to me as if contemporary (2005-2020) academics and activists interested in, like, folklore or local horticulture or psychogeography will like ... take the “cute” fragments of these excerpts, but don’t want to “stir the pot” by presenting these writings in their fuller context, a fuller context which calls-out knowledge appropriation and explicitly trash-talks Empire.

And de Certeau’s not just writing about folklore or geography. He’s writing about taking action, about practicing alternative ways to relate to landscape in direct contrast to imperial cosmologies, academic/institutionalized/gatekept knowledge, and carceral thinking. (He’s famous for this; he emphasized “tactics” and “action.”)

So this guy is, of course, human, and had disagreeable and/or outright problematique associations. You can argue with his writing extensively. his publications are a mix of great, cool, iffy, “meh” and “bad take bruh.” But de Certeau was ahead of the curve in anticipating the way ambitious US academics would see “the decolonial turn” happening in academic anthropology in the 1990s/2000s and then weaponize it in a way that preserved their power dynamic and institutional power while still paying lip-service to “decolonization.”

But besides dunking on the imperialist foundations of Western institutionalized knowledge systems and the cunning employment of geographic re-worlding and re-naming in creating propaganda and imperial cosmology, and besides being ahead of the curve in anticipating re-enchantment trends and folk horror ... One thing I like about de Certeau’s writing is the emphasis on action, practice, and doing things to counter dominant/powerful cosmology’s attempt to destroy folk/non-Western worldview. Encouraging something like:

Take action. Books are cool, but books are not a substitute for action. Girl, you wanna study landscape, place-based identity, folklore, and how to escape the panopticon? Gotta put the theory texts down occasionally. Please go walk around in the forest; if you’re in the major city, don’t despair, just look at the moss growing in crevices betwixt the cobblestones. Imagine the ghosts, the histories, the stories, who died, what was lost, what’s come before. Power is trying to subsume all, but Empire gets anxious and flails because they know that there are gaps in their cosmology, cracks and breakages where other worlds seep through or can be glimpsed, retrieved, renewed. They know their cosmology can’t account for the diversity of life, the plurality of experience. There is not one world, but many. Find the crevices, the cracks, in the dominant power structures, and break them further. You can help to escape the tightening noose, the planetary-scale plantation, by using your imagination, cooking a meal, taking a walk.

#whatever #sorry for all this

298 notes · View notes

lifeofroos · 4 years ago

Text

Part 49. Lets be real, things that are free taste ever so slightly better.

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, Nico tries to find Christmas gifts people he cares about with Will. The rest can be found on AO3 and FanFiction.net! And also in Tumblr tags like Dionysus, Nico di Angelo, therapy etc.

This Might Be Crazy: Chapter 49: Free chocolate milk

‘And then suddenly it’s Christmas.’ I looked around. New York looked like the Christmas elves had dropped a bag of joy over it.

Will looked at me. ‘Not to scare you, but the city has been looking like this since Halloween.’

‘I try to ignore that.’

Will sighed and laughed at the same time. ‘Sure. Come now, you needed to buy Christmas presents, we should get to buying them.’

‘Yes, of course... hey!’ He grabbed my arm and pulled me along, further into the heart of New York.

‘They really were just too lazy to name these streets.’

Will sighed. ‘No.’ He looked at his phone. ‘It is way easier to find out where the streets are. You just follow the number.’

‘I guess. Which street are we on now?’ I looked around, but I didn’t see a number anywhere. Will narrowed his eyes, while still looking at his phone. ‘If I am correct, we are on thirty-third.’

‘Ah.’ I took a step back when two screaming children ran past me, followed by a tired looking mother. ‘We need to go to Jackson village, too. I don’t mean Sally Jacksons’ place, but the actual, physical part of town.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Free drinks at Denny’s.’

Will grinned. ‘Those are always welcome. Also, Google Maps gave me the directions I asked for. Let’s go.’

I had to give Will some credit, he chose his boring chocolates rather quickly. Why he had to go to all the way to New York for them was beyond me, though.

Will handed me a tiny felt box. ‘Alright. We should go with the subway, then maybe we can actually reach Jackson village before Christmas. Here, eat.’ I opened the box. It had two heart-shaped chocolates in them.

‘Will, that is kinda sappy.’ I put the bonbon into my mouth. ‘And I like sappy sometimes. Alright. Can we get out of the subway a few stops earlier than necessary? I am not entirely sure what to get people, so I want to see a few shops.’

‘I mean, I was thinking of going to a dollar store to buy things for the Camp gift exchange, and we could go to an outlet if you wanted something for Reyna, Hazel or Percy…’

‘Hm. For camp a dollar store is good, and maybe I can even find some fun things for my friends as well. For Hazel I already bought a knitted raccoon hat, though. And I will not buy your present while you are standing right next to me.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Alright. Come, I see a subway station over there.’

Even though they are probably the grossest and busiest places in New York, I kind of liked the undergrounds. Kind of stupid, but well, they were under the ground.

We got out and went up to street level again. Lo and behold, there was a dollar store right across the street.

‘I always wonder how they can stuff even more garbage into stores like those then they can into IKEA,’ I thought out loud, while we crossed the street. Will shrugged.

‘Talent, I guess.’

‘Talent? Oh, what. At least I will be able to find something Percy will go absolutely insane for that costs me nothing more than a measly dollar.’

‘Last time I was in the dollar store, they had dolphin shaped candy boxes.’

‘If they have those again, I’ll take two. Otherwise Percy will complain that his dolphin-shaped candy box is lonely.’

Maybe it was all trash, but it was easy trash. Packed with presents for almost everyone we cared a little or slightly more than a little about, we got out of the dollar store.

‘So, that was quite productive,’ Will mentioned. He was carrying the plastic bag with our stuff.

‘Yes.’ I looked around, at the other stores. Somewhere, they were bound to have something.

‘What I did not say before is that I am actually looking for something for Dionysus. I do not know if he celebrates Christmas, but I do know it is his birthday.’

‘The 25th of December?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, basically, Jesus just took over his birthday?’

‘Yes. I don’t know how he feels about it.’ Maybe I’ll ask.

Will hummed. ‘I think it is pretty difficult to find something for a god, though. That being said, I do think Dionysus will be happy no matter what.’

‘Maybe...’

‘Oh, here is a thrift store!’ Will pointed . We stopped walking. ‘Do you mind if we go there for a second? I need something they might have there.’

‘Are you entirely sure what that thing is?’

‘You never do with thrift-stores.’ I sighed.

‘Yeah, true.’ I wrapped my arm around his waist while we went in.

It was a pretty big thrift store and it clearly didn’t just sell regular mortal junk. I wandered off, while Will searched through the old books.

I ended up in the jewelry section. It looked as if both an old grandma and her six year old granddaughter had just given away all of their jewelry. All I saw was ancient-looking pearl necklaces and pink fairy rings.

I looked in a few drawers of an old cupboard. It was all clearly not worth much, otherwise it would not be laying out in the open, but it sure looked shiny.

In one of the drawers, I found an earring. I could not find its better half, but it did look a lot like something Will had shown me that he wanted to buy but could not find anywhere.

I let it roll from one hand into the other. Was it dangerous to gift your boyfriend jewelry from a thrift store that radiated weird energy? Maybe. But the earring itself did not do so.

I dug slightly deeper, looking around for more stuff the people who were worth more than dollar store gifts would appreciate. Now that I took a good look at it, the jewelry cabinet was kind of a goldmine, no pun intended. I even found a small, gold necklace for Reyna (Probably fake-golden, otherwise it would not be lying around in a random cabinet-drawer, but still).

Eventually, I looked up and saw a small glass cabinet. There was a brooch on display that made me unable to stop looking at it. I did not recognise the gemstone they used, if it was even a real gemstone, but it was a deep purple. The brooch was shaped like, vines running past and over each other.

The thing cost only five dollars. It was as if the universe was pushing me to get it (But I could have imagined that).

In the background, I heard Will say something to the seller (Who did not sound entirely like human to me). Slowly, I walked past the shelves, hoping I could somehow buy what I wanted without Will noticing.

After a few seconds, I felt a tap on my shoulders. I turned around. There was a second not-entirely-human seller standing behind me.

‘You want what you are currently holding and the purple brooch without your boyfriend over there noticing , is that right?’ He asked, in a coarse voice.

‘Eh, yes,’ I whispered.

The seller grinned. ‘I get it, youngling. You saw the prices. Twenty dollars and it is all yours.’

I had no idea whether those were the actual prices, but twenty dollars was not super expensive, so I handed it to him. He unlocked the glass cabinet, got out the brooch, I put everything into the pocket of my coat and joined Will again.

The seller, who Will was just done with, looked exactly like the seller I had spoken to had. Will grabbed my hand and we walked out. I looked over my shoulder as Will opened the door. The seller winked at me.

‘Sad that you did not find anything ,’ Will said, while we made our way over to Denny’s.

‘Oh well,’ I answered, while I squeezed his hand.

‘Nico!’ Mary smiled widely when she looked at us. ‘Is that your boyfriend?’

‘Yes!’

‘Well, he is adorable.’ She winked and gave us two free hot chocolates. ‘As promised.’

I was not above getting free hot chocolate, so I thanked her and we sat down one booth further from the booth I usually sat with Dionysus. The Denny’s was busier around this time.

Will looked around. ‘There is a Dionysus-vibe here.’

I nodded and took a sip. ‘Oh yes. There always is.’

Will smiled and pulled his legs onto the couch. ‘I think that was a productive day, Nico. I think I’ve got almost everything I need. ’

‘Me too.’ I grinned, which left Will eyeing me suspiciously.

A/N: Fun Fact: there are barely any subways in the Netherlands. We have busses, trains and trams (In some cities), but no subways.

It has never been academically proven that the 25th is Dionysus birthday. There is no proof whatsover. Don’t go around quoting me on that, because it is a Tumblr thing, NOT PROVEN!

Aside from maybe a little general magic, the jewelry is not cursed. Just calming you down there.

Tell me how do you all see Dionysus? Because during writing I have constantly had the young, mythological version in my head. Long black hair, purple eyes, frail, basically not what Rick Riordan described. That is why I have been calling him Dionysus and not Mr. D, because that ain’t him to me.

This isn't really a therapy chapter but shhh it shows Nico is healing.

11 notes · View notes

gummyvitamin · 5 years ago

Text

𝑸𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆 + 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝑽 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔: 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒂𝒔

♡ 𝒌𝒖𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒙𝒊𝒂𝒐𝒋𝒖𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒈

next door neighbor!lucas x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff; college au; neighbor au

words: 981

*disclaimer: this post is not at all meant to undermine the severity of the pandemic; this is meant to help cheer up those who are bored or in low spirits because of quarantine. it is so so important to be mindful and do what we can to stop the spread. stay safe, please please wash your hands frequently, and help protect others by avoiding public spaces, wearing a mask and maintaining social distancing :)

so ur university had officially announced they were shutting down all in-person classes for the rest of the semester

and this meant u were stuck in ur apartment, continuing ur classes online

and tbh online lectures were just not ideal

like nothing was stopping u from skipping today’s zoom lecture and just watching the recorded version later even tho u definitely wont watch it

and so u were going to do just that

u figured u deserved some time to rest anyways

i mean u were very exhausted from staying up last night trying to complete ur essay on time

and so u decided to get some food delivered to the apartment

and u were fully prepared to just crash on the couch and do some snacking & anime binging

but as soon as u sat down and made urself comfy there was this horrendously loud *banging* noise coming from out in the hall

and ur like >:((( how dare someone interrupt u trying to peacefully ignore all of ur academic responsibilities

so u get up to go get a look thru the peephole, fully ready to yell at whoever was being so loud

and ur met with the sight of several boxes splayed across the floor in front of the unit across from u

and picking up one of those boxes is the most fine and delectable gentleman u had ever seen

like this guy was tall, had icy silver hair, and his skin was literally *glowing*

and ur brain is just like *ERROR 404* bc that unit has been vacant for a while now

which means this full course meal was about to be ur new neighbor omgomgomg

u thought about sticking ur head out and saying hi but then u remembered that a) ur not wearing pants and b) You Are Not Wearing Pants

and so u just flop back onto the couch, only getting up to grab the bag of food u got delivered (but w pants on lol)

and after u had finished eating u decided to go take out the trash

so u put on ur mask bc #wearadamnmask and headed out to the trash bin

and u just FREEZE bc what the hecK why is that guy there too

ur about to turn around and book it back to ur place bc u were looking far from presentable

but he sees u before u get the chance

and he just smiles real big in ur direction and waves excitedly at u like some giant puppy aw

and he’s like “hi !! do u live here?? i just moved into suite 306 :D”

and ur just like “oH i ThiNk uR my nEighBor aHa” as if u werent literally staring at him thru ur peephole earlier today fdsfjkd

he introduces himself as Lucas and explains that he had just transferred to the university nearby and was going to be a student there next semester

which ur like “thats where i go too!” and hes just like “:D !!!”

and u two start having some small talk and he’s asking u about ur classes and what the apartments here are like

and u tell him that uve enjoyed living here so far but ur air conditioning unit broke and wont turn off so its always super cold in ur room ;(

and then u two start talking about ur interests and u find out that u both have the same music taste and like the same shows !! and overall yall just vibe rly well :’))

and yea hes cute but u realize that he’s also got such a wonderful personality

like he looks super intimidating and tall but he’s actually really softhearted and just a lil bit clumsy

hes just got this puppy-like aura about him 🥺

eventually u both decide its probably time to go back but before u shut ur door Lucas is like “I hope that I’ll be able to see u again :))”

and ur just like “YES PLEASE me too :D !!”

u sleep rly well that night because wow u finally had some human interaction after weeks of isolation

and Lucas seems like such a great person to be around like his positive energy is so contagious and talking to him made u feel so much better despite the current stressful situation

the next morning u start ur day by gathering up ur clothes to go do ur laundry in the machines downstairs

but when u step outside u see a paper bag sat in front of ur door with a sticky note taped to it

so u pick it up and take a closer look at the note

and it’s got ur name written on it along with a message that says “hey its Lucas! i remember u saying ur room was always cold sooo i thought this might help! dont worry about having to return it,,but do give me a call sometime okay?:))”

and at the bottom of the note is his phone number ahhhhh

and then u peek inside the bag and its deadass one of his freaking hoodies

ur honestly a bit overwhelmed like how is he so hot AND respectful fdhsjfk

u immediately put it on and it goes all the way down to ur knees (bc goddamn this dude is tall) and then make ur way to the laundry room

ur about to go inside but then u see Lucas about to head out with a basket in his hands

and he glances in ur direction and notices that u had put on his hoodie

and ur standing there blushing like CRazy bc omg thats so embarrassinggg 😔

but he just smiles at u and lets out the most adorable lil giggle as he makes his way back out into the hall

and ur like wow maybe quarantine won’t be so bad after all :’))

84 notes · View notes

soliverse · 5 years ago

Text

SAY YOU LOVE ME - PART 1

rockstar!taeyong x journalist!reader

genre: angst, suggestive, romance

warnings: alcohol, partying, kissing? (there’s two of ‘em), lots of self deprecation

1 ⭒ 2 ⭒ 3 ⭒ 4 ⭒ 5 ⭒ finale pt 1

Length: 1.5k

It’s just five o’clock in the morning but you’re frantically getting ready for your work. Your schedule is always hectic and you always have to be on your feet. Despite doing this for years now, you still want to punch yourself every time you wake up late and unprepared for the shoot that day. Just yesterday, your thoughts are so occupied by deadlines that you forgot to wear socks. While trying to fix your disheveled hair, you made your way to the kitchen to grab any parcel that you can stuff on your mouth in the shortest amount of time.

To your credit, you always slept late. Not only do you cover some field work, you also write news articles and does a bit of producing on the side. As much as you want to just calm down, you get paid per commission as opposed to the hourly rate that regular employees enjoy on a daily basis. You’re just grateful that you can still afford to pay your bills and still save a bit of money for the future.

When you were finally convinced that you had everything you might need for that day, you noticed that your roommate, Lee Taeyong, came home last night and is passed out snoring on your living room couch.

“Hey, Taeyong-ah!”

You patted his shoulders to wake him up. He just grunted as a response.

“I’m leaving for work. You can sleep on the bed so you’re more comfortable”

There was once again more grunting. He grabbed one of the throw pillows and hid his face from you in an effort to block out sounds coming from you.

“If you’re hungry, there’s food on the fridge. And please don’t forget to feed Felice...”

“Nae, eomma…”

Despite being half-asleep, he still managed you tease you. You can sense him grinning from underneath the pillow. You were about to respond, but you don’t have the time to argue. Your camera guy is blowing up your phone already. You said bye one last time before taking off.

////

A few hours after you left for work, Taeyong was awakened by his stomach violently growling. As much as he wanted to just sleep the day away, his body protested. He’s human after all. He stood up to go to the bathroom to get rid of last night’s clothing, which was some designer ripped jeans, a body fit white tank top, in which he topped off with a leather jacket that you bought him. The band was doing better than what it used to be before. They weren’t some bigtime rockstars, but they were gaining more tractions and the gigs are getting even more frequent. You’ve also told him before, slow progress is still progress. He also freshened up, only wearing his boxers underneath his white bathrobe while he slicked his wet hair up to get it out of his face.

Feeling a little less sleepy, he made his way to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing he saw from the fridge, which was an energy bar. Not a very healthy choice, but he was too tired to eat something filling. He tore a pack open and then grabbed a few more stuff to bring into the living room. Just as he was about to leave, a fluffy a gray figure watched him intently. It’s as if she was glaring at you for forgetting about her existence.

“Ah yes, of course. There’s plenty of food for you too Felicity.” He opened one of the kitchen cabinets to grab Felice a can of cat food. Grabbing his food and Felice’s now full food bowl, he made his way to the living room with little paws following his footsteps.

He rested himself on the couch and turned on the TV. He was met with your smiling face, trying to explain to the viewers the history and the significance of the event you were featuring. He’s always noticed how different you seem to the outside world. You’ve always had this snarky look in you, with the collared blouses, pencil skirts and kitten heels. You always tied your hair neatly in a bun and wore that sickly-sweet smile. It’s as if you’ve completely wiped off your real existence everytime you are on air. But everyone who really knows you also know that that is far from the truth. If only those people who knew you professionally could’ve seen you on the day the two of you met.

////

Taeyong was drinking alone in a bar one night. He looked incredibly distressed and is definitely downing glass after glass of liquor to drown his emotions away. The music boomed and people were active in the dancefloor but he was out of touch. He hasn't had a proper sleep ever since one of his band members quit, stating that they were going nowhere and is just wasting everyone's time. The mere fact that he didn't even need a disguise in a public place speaks volumes to him. He had also gotten himself kicked out from his apartment and is couchsurfing to which place is available, It was a downward spiral and he can’t seem to get himself out of it.

He was downing his nth glass of bitter alcohol when someone softly tilted his head to the side and gave him a slow, sweet kiss.

He was frozen in his seat and didn't manage to react until the girl increased the distance between their faces. She giggled and mouthed "sorry" before leaving him there speechless. His mind went blank for a few seconds before he was able to digest what happened. It got him out of misery for the shortest amount of time so he was adamant that he’s going to find you.

He surveyed the area for a chance to get a second look at the kiss-stealing bandit. It actually didn't take him long to see you with a group of young adults laughing and grabbing paper bills out of their wallets. You were happily collecting all of your bet money until your eyes met Taeyong's. The man just stared at you with his piercing eyes but you were unable to read his expression. He doesn’t look so bad despite his tousled hair and his unkempt clothing. However, you were worried that he’s some type of a weirdo and you’ve picked the wrong guy to do your dare with. Your friends saw your reaction and teased about you being in trouble. The guys reassured you that they have you covered just in case he causes a scene and get you in trouble.

You were ogling at him now, trying to watch out for his next move. He broke the stare between you two and looked the other way. Just when you were about to relax, he downed the drink you gave him in one swift motion, wiped his face with his cuffs, and walked towards your group. The stranger didn't look threatening, but your friends are at the edge of their seats. They are on standby just in case they need shield you and/or negotiate some type of agreement in order to deescalate the situation.

But instead of the expected fits of anger, he grabbed your arm and pulled you close. The crowd went wild. His lips had met yours again, even more passionate than the first one.

////

By the time you were enthusiastically explaining about some more historical facts among other stuff, he found himself smiling at the thought of you.

You really turned his life around that day. After the kiss, the group just went nuts and got to know the lucky guy that gets to “turn” you. Turns out, one of your friends is a music producer that was looking for the next big thing. Discussions were made and ideas were thrown out by the group that evening. He also stopped couchsurfing when you asked him to housesit and petsit for you, which eventually turned to you splitting groceries and bills for maintenance.

Everything just fell into place that night. He was almost convinced that the universe wanted the two of you to meet and be with each other.

Oh, if only you weren’t Y/N and Lee Taeyong.

Just the mere thought of you dating gives him a massive headache. Both of you confirmed that it was a bad idea and you’ll just tear each other apart. You’re both messed up from all your childhood traumas and previous relationships. You’ve seen each other’s faults and how your respective relationships before had failed. You both understood, that was what brought you closer in the first place. Besides, you probably won’t go out with a guy like him. His lifestyle isn’t your scene. You’re meant for formal dinners and academic small talks. You’re capable of doing great things with your talent and enthusiasm. He was just a worthless trash that’s unworthy of your care and charity.

Lying there idly while listening to your voice on the television, he just wishes that the warm feelings that he feels around you will go away soon...

#nct au #nct imagines #nct #nct scenarios #nct taeyong #nct lee taeyong #nct fluff #roommate au #rockstar au #journalist au #nctcreations

35 notes · View notes

blackdahliafied · 4 years ago

Text

Starter for @justwannabelikeyou:

Senior year was everything that Michelle had expected: she had a job, she was applying to scholarships left and right, and she just wanted out of high school as quickly as possible. She didn’t need to elaborate on the reasons because there were far too many to count, but it was also a little bittersweet because of the friendships she had made through her school’s academic team.

It was no secret that Michelle was always a loner, and she never minded that until she found out what affect friends could really have on someone. She still didn’t desire anyone to be with her twenty-four hours a day, but having someone to go to coffee shops with and even a football game here and there was very comforting. She still enjoyed her alone time with her books, so she ended up with the best of both worlds.

What was so weird were the patches of memories missing. She remembered the biggest details, or so she believed, but some smaller ones fled her mind. Take her first class trip after the world went crazy, for example. She could remember getting to Europe, but going to the Eiffel Tower? Coming back home? Everything seemed nonexistent. She didn’t ponder too much on this because being wiped from existence for five years was reason enough to go a little insane, so she brushed it off and continued with her normal life.

Michelle liked having a job. It gave her something to do, and a bakery was fairly quiet for occasional reading sessions behind the counter. Just like any other normal human, though, when the clock hit closing time, she was ready to leave. She would always ring out a dishrag to clean the counter, leaving it spotless for the person on morning shift the next day. Uneaten donuts were hers to take home if she wanted, but having to smell them for hours didn’t leave room for much of a craving, so they ended up in the dumpsters out back. On this particular night, before she could empty the donuts into the trash, she heard the bell over the door ring, signaling someone’s arrival. With her back facing the door, her hands worked to get the stubborn spots on the counter clean with a rag as she spoke.

“Sorry, we’re closed.”

It was then that she turned to face the person and all movements stopped. Her expression softened at the familiar face, who she had grown fairly fond of throughout the years.

Peter Parker was a friend of hers, and she even considered him to be a close one at that, or closer than the rest. That feeling when he used that smile of his that made him look like he had no lips was so foreign to her, and she really didn’t know how to decode it. She always ended up shaking it off as nothing more than a face that was far too friendly, but deep down, she knew that wasn’t it. She didn’t know how long it would take her to admit it to herself, but she felt something more for him. What did it matter anyway? They were going to go their separate ways after high school and probably never speak again, so she was saving herself from embarrassment and pointless attachment.

The thing that made it more confusing was how she felt as if they had a deeper connection already. Maybe the college applications were clouding her mind, or the constant smell of chocolate donuts flooding her nostrils was doing something to her brain cells, but either way, there was still a lingering, unexplained feeling that she just couldn’t shake.

She maybe paused a few seconds too long before straightening her posture and turning toward him fully. She wadded the dish rag up in her hand and rested her other palm on the counter.

“Hey.”

She spoke softly, eyes glued to his.

“I didn’t think you’d be out this late on a school night.”

#justwannabelikeyou #thread

12 notes · View notes

ggukcangetit · 5 years ago

Text

Namjoon-ing in the Rain

Pairing: namjoon x reader

Synopsis: You hate the rain but your best friend, Namjoon, doesn’t feel the same.

Genre/AU: fluff| best friends!au

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: PG-13 for language

Warnings: nothing really

A/N: i’ve never really written a member-centric fic for anyone other than jungkook. not sure how this worked out. just something that felt like being written. mainly because i hate the rain and i miss my friends. banner by @sushireads !!

There is something about the rain. It makes everything horribly squelchy and disgusting. Daily routine is hampered, and everyone and everything is thrown off kilter. Frankly, you hate the rain.

You do not own a car, instead having to rely on public transport for every single commute. Another reason why you cannot stand the rain. Squishing yourself into a crowded bus during rush hour, completely drenched and trying your utmost to avoid the wandering hands of well-meaning perverts, is not your idea of fun. And why are you drenched when the weather app has predicted a week’s worth of showers which should have prepared you to carry an umbrella along with you. Honestly, you have half a mind to sue every single umbrella manufacturer there is. What is the point of the umbrella if you are still soaked to the bone after holding it up in the rain for a maximum of 3 minutes?

Of course, you do not verbalize these grievances when the opportunity arises. Instead, you opt for a more succinct phrase.

“Fuck the rain.”

Your best friend doesn’t have much of a response to this, continuing to sip the americano in front of him.

“Namjoon, pay attention!” you yell, snapping your fingers in front of him to get his attention.

He looks up with a mildly amused expression. “I heard you.”

“It’s only polite to respond when someone says something.”

“Yes, but-” he shuts the book he had been reading- “when someone only ever says the one thing over and over again, responses are more likely to run out.”

“Rude.” You cross your arms across your chest, glaring out the window of the coffee shop situated opposite your place of work - the place you meet Namjoon every Friday when work gets over an hour early.

“Come on, Y/N,” Namjoon chuckles, tapping on the table to grab your attention. “You always complain about the rain, but you’ve never actually said why you hate it.”

“It’s an inconvenience,” you say simply.

“I beg to differ.”

“Why? Don’t tell me it’s some romantic bullshit like the rains make everything magical and wondrous. Or the ever popular notion that rains are cleansing - a new beginning!” You scoff and roll your eyes, fingers impatiently tucking wet strands of hair behind your ear.

“I’m sure that’s true to an extent. But that’s not what I’m talking about,” said Namjoon, tiredly rubbing his eyes. “I’ll try and explain it to you some other time. Right now, I’m too tired to think. Yoongi was up all night mixing tracks and I couldn’t fall asleep in the next room.”

“You should’ve gone home after work,” you say, feeling a little guilty.

“I should’ve,” he replies with a shrug, but doesn’t budge from his seat for another hour as you finish your latte and he makes a few notes in the book he was reading.

An entire month passes by, and you and Namjoon have missed your weekly Friday coffee meets twice. It’s nothing life-changing or particularly alarming that has caused this disruption. It’s just life. But on the fifth Friday, the weather is bright and sparkling, and Namjoon suggests sitting by the Han river instead of inside the coffee shop. Since you are breaking from your routine anyway, you decide to order an iced honey chai instead of your usual latte. Namjoon opts for two iced americanos instead of one.

You’ve only been to the river a handful of times. Each time, Namjoon has been there with you. In a way, you can’t imagine the river without him. Memory is funny in the way that it attaches permanence to the more fleeting parts of existence.

“Did you submit the report on time?” Namjoon asks, stretching his long limbs above his head.

“Just. Two minutes more and I would’ve missed the deadline.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from a fellow deadline junkie.”

You grin before sipping the iced honey chai. It doesn’t taste that great. This is why you don’t experiment with new things. They tend not to work out for you. Or maybe it’s just that you’re unwilling to give change a chance. But that thought is not something you dwell on for longer than a moment.

“Honey chai not to your liking?” Namjoon chuckles at your disgruntled expression.

“This is the last time I’m experimenting with things. Dunno why I did it in the first place. It’s all thanks to your terrible influence. Changing up our usual meeting place pressured me into changing up my choice of beverage.”

“Whatever makes sense to you.”

“I’m just glad the weather is good today! Crisp skies and warm sunshine! I’ve really missed this!” You gaze up at the sky happily, noting a single grey cloud floating by.

The weather gods have never particularly liked you as is evidenced by the fact that a torrential downpour begins mere seconds after you utter that sentence.

“Fuck!” You stand up, gathering your belongings and calculating the driest path back to the coffee shop.

“Where are you going?” Namjoon asks, not having moved from his place on the bench.

“Inside. In case you haven’t noticed, Joon, it’s raining like the fucking apocalypse!”

“You’ll be drenched by the time you manage to get to any of the shops. It’s actually better to stay here. The benches here don’t really get wet unless there’s a strong accompanying wind.”

You groan dejectedly, dropping your bag on the bench and flopping down beside him. Namjoon always looks so peaceful during rains. It’s a complete contrast to the immense irritation this particular weather phenomenon has always ignited in you.

“Why do you like the rain so much?” you ask, turning away from his handsome profile.

“I don’t like it, per se.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“I have time.”

“I always look to people to learn about life. Each person in my life has taught me something different. But I also realised that this applies to rain as well. There are so many different kinds of rain, and just like the different people in my life, each type of rain has showed me something different about life. There’s the soft shower that barely touches you as it falls from the sky which is such a contrast to the relentlessness of the rainstorms that continue for hours on end. Then you have the sudden storms that burst through without any warning, upsetting the natural rhythm of things. The cold showers in early November that indicate the incoming winter. And lastly, the first rain that hits the ground after a brutal summer. That’s my favorite one because the smell of the wet earth coming to life always reminds me of that day in our first year of college.”

Namjoon wanted to cry. He was nineteen years old, studying art history and business at the most prestigious college in the country, on his way to becoming a research assistant for one of his favorite academics. Yet, today all he really wanted to do was cry. It was the last week of the semester, the weather had been particularly oppressive, the cafeteria had run out of food by the time he had managed to get out of a meeting with his professor, and to top it off, his bicycle chain had snapped just as he was preparing to cycle home.

It was at that moment that you walked over to him. You both had become friends about a year ago, and if he was perfectly honest, Namjoon wasn’t really sure how that happened. You were calm, even slightly formidable, in the way that you handled every part of your college life. Whereas, he was a bit of a bumbling mess, misplacing lecture notes, contact lenses, and plastic utensils. He often wondered what it was that was holding your friendship together.

“You missed food,” you said to him, matter-of-factly. “It sucked. But I snagged one of Seokjin’s homemade chicken wraps for you.”

Namjoon blinked a couple of times before taking the neatly wrapped packet from you.

“Well, go on,” you said impatiently. “Eat it. What’re you waiting for?”

“R-right.”

But just as he unwrapped the foil, a crack of thunder erupted followed by a burst of rainfall. Namjoon had resigned himself to the fact that things were not going to go his way that day. What he had not expected was to hear you yell the most interesting cuss words at the top of your voice.

“FUCKING HELL! THIS WAS NOT ON THE FORECAST FOR TODAY! I DON’T HAVE A BLOODY UMBRELLA WITH ME! BASTARDS IN THE WEATHER DEPARTMENT CAN’T EVEN DO THEIR FUCKING JOBS PROPERLY! UGH!!!”

Though everything that could go wrong had gone wrong that day, he had never been able to forget the smell of the wet earth on that day. Because that was when he began seeing you as a real person and stopped questioning the mechanics of your friendship.

“I realised that day that you and I were different in many ways, but there would always be something that united us. We’re human and all humans feel despair and frustration at something or the other. The rain humanized you that day. And I’ll always be grateful to it because otherwise I would’ve never gotten to know my best friend.”

It continues pouring for a couple of hours more. But the two of you don’t move from the bench alongside the river. The iced honey chai lays neglected on the iron armrest, while the empty americano cups have long since been deposited into the nearby trash can.

There is something about the rain. It makes everything horribly squelchy and disgusting. Daily routine is hampered, and everyone and everything is thrown off kilter. But frankly, there are better things to hate than the rain.

#bts fic #btsbookclub #namjoon fic #namjoon x oc #c me write bangtan #namjoon #kim namjoon

48 notes · View notes

nope-we-are-friends-now · 6 years ago

Text

Soulmate AU

Reposted because I accidentally deleted it.

Title: Traveled the Universe Just to Meet You.

Tenth Doctor x Gender Neutral Reader, featuring Donna Noble

A/N: This fic took three weeks in total to write; the first 3,600 words took two days to write and the last 700 words took two of the three weeks. hahahaha…….why?

Also, I wanted to add more like include adventures and develop the readers and the Doctors relationship but it was already too long. Thinking about writing a part 2 but I also have a few other fics I wanna write soo…

Word count: 5070

Soulmate. Someone who understands, believes in, and inspires you. Someone once a stranger becomes a person you can’t imagine live without.

As children, a soulmate’s presence isn’t all there. A numbness resides in the Soullux, the organ that handles feeling one’s soulmate. In childhood, it isn’t mature enough to project one’s soulmate emotions. But, every so often a child would feel something like a light breeze on a hot summer day. The phenomenal sensation of stretching after waking up. The feeling one gets after cleaning out their room.

You were a bit different from other children. See, you were born with Lonely Soul syndrome, a disease that affects one out of 14,530,000 people. Now, this syndrome doesn’t mean you don’t have a soulmate. You were born with your Soullux fully formed, meaning you constantly felt your soulmate. Doctors gave it such a saddening name because of the effects. Children suffering from this often are forced to mature earlier, they struggle with emotions, and experience periods of desolation. Doctors recommend therapy and if needed, medicine.

You were five when you went to your first soul therapy session. Your family didn’t think you needed it, seeing as you were a typical child. Happy some days, moody others, but they promised you a present after the appointment, so you went.

The therapist’s room was bright. There were small toys on small shelves, posters with words you couldn’t quite read, but knew you’ve seen before. On the ground was a rug with houses and roads on it, you thought it was cool.

The therapist walks into the room and smiles at you, “Did you find a toy you like, Y/n?” She asks, she only just told you her name, yet you forgot it and didn’t want to make her feel sad, so you didn’t ask. Instead, you nod and point at the Lego box sitting on the rug.

You were building a house when she speaks again, “how are you, Y/N?”

“I’m sad.” The therapist said earlier that you could talk to her about anything that was on your mind, so you did.

“Do you know why?” She’s sitting on the rug with you. It’s odd, adults don’t sit on the ground and they certainly don’t play with Legos. You decide she wasn’t an adult, just a big kid.

You’re not sure what to say so you let your mouth run, “My soulmate,” you begin. With the blue house finished, you start to reach for the Lego people, “isn’t an animal.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she does hand you the last Lego person. With the perfect amount of people around the house, you start to work on a car. Cars have always been difficult for you to build.

“It sucks. I heard that some people have animals as their soulmates and I was hoping I would too. But I don’t.” You huffed.

“Why would you want an animal as a soulmate?”

Shocked with disbelief you dropped a Lego piece. Maybe she really was an adult? “Because animals are cool. At first, I wanted them to be a horse, ‘cause that would be awesome, but then I realized that if they were a cat or dog then I could cuddle with them every night.” Excitement washes over you. Yet, when reality hits, you feel like the car you stopped building, unfinished and misshaped.

“Well, who says you can’t cuddle with your soulmate?”

“Pets have fur. That means they’re always warm and soft. People don’t have fur.”

“Y/n,” She says softly, you like the sound of her voice. It’s not wheezy like your neighbor, Ms. Henson’s nor is it high-pitched like your babysitter. “Do you like to cuddle with from your family members?”

“Yeah,”

“So, why do you think it’s different from your soulmate?”

Well, you think, my family always acts weird when I talk about them. You’re not sure why though, your soulmate feels like blowing dandelions and eating your favorite fruit. What could be so wrong about that? You don’t tell your therapist that though. “Maybe,” you start hesitantly, when she nods her head, you’re back to being excited, “maybe we could get a pet too? Then I could cuddle with both at the same time.”

“Maybe,” She agrees with you, “Y/n, that’s a lot of people at the blue house. Do you think we should build them another house?” Looking at the blue house you see the eight people surrounding it.

“No.”

It happened after dinner. At first, you didn’t know what it was, you only knew it was something coming from your soulmate. Lately, your soulmate has been like an ocean, waves of strong emotions crash down on you. It leaves you wanting to crawl into bed and stay there all day. Every time it happens you could hear your family whispering through the door. You knew it wasn’t normal, but you couldn’t control it.

You head to your room and shut the door. Everyone always found out when you have an ‘episode’, but sometimes you could hide how long it went on. You expected it to be the same as the other times. This, however, was nothing like you ever experienced before.

It starts with a spicy taste in your mouth. A ringing in your ears. Underneath your skin, something wants liberation. You try to hold it in, but it burns.

You blink and the next thing you know your bedroom is a wreck.

On the floor near your desk was a torn paper with a smiley face. Bending down you picked up the paper to see that it was your math test. You had practice from the moment you came home until dinnertime for it. You didn’t ace it, but it was the highest grade you got so far, and you were so proud you put a smiley face on it. It was ripped up into three pieces. Really, it wasn’t a big deal. You were only seven years old and you would have many other tests this year alone, let alone for the rest of your academic life. It isn’t a big deal. So, why were you kneeling on the ground with tears blurring your vision? Why were your hands wrapped around yourself, silent snivels escaping you? Why were you pressing your face to the floor in hopes that your family wouldn’t hear? If it wasn’t a big deal, why does it hurt so much?

Someone opens up your door and gasps. They hold you as you try to remember how to breathe.

(Afterward, they help you tape up your test and you wonder if taping your heart back together will be as easy.)

They hand you a broom along with trash bags and tell you to face the consequences of your actions.

Bed overturned, clothes ripped apart, posters and old homework assignments shredded up.

The burning sensation lessens to a simmer and you’re left all alone.

With a look, around the room you think, Anger. This is what anger looks like.

Months pass by, and you grew an inch. The sun brings heat and with it comes water balloon fights and laughter. With a group of classmates, you compare birthmarks and scars. With the sun shining down on you, you think, happiness is bright.

You had finished brushing your teeth and were pulling silly faces and grinning at the mirror. That’s when you felt it. This new emotion is bitter and cold.

The you in the mirror starts to glare at you, baring their teeth like a wild animal. They mouth words that feel like ice water. “Stop it,” you say, “go away.” You glare back and mirror you smiles. “You’re my reflection. If I leave, you’ll be nothing.”

Mirror you silently laughs at you and you punch them. “I hate you.” You shout. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate-” You punch at the mirror repeatedly and mirror you starts to bleed. The glass shatters. A piece of the mirror slightly larger than your hand sits in the sink with drops of blood resting on it and you smirk. Only then do you see your fists. Bruised and bleeding, your blood stains the bathroom floor. You close your eyes in hopes that you don’t see your reflection.

When someone comes to check on the noise and see you there, they carefully drag you out and scold you. They clean your fist and check for glass, then they bandaged your hands and sigh. As they clean up, you sit in your room.

(“why are you so broken?” Mirror you shouts. “Why can’t you be normal?”)

Staring at your bandaged fists, you think, hatred is a violent emotion.

Nearly a year passes by when the next wave hits. Unlike anger, this emotion does not burn you. Instead, it lingers in everything you do, every day, every moment. It waits. It makes you silent at the moments you want to speak, and it makes you cry when you want to laugh. It waits. You can’t explain it to anyone, they don’t understand. This emotion waits until you are truly alone when it strikes.

At eight years old, you learn a hard fact.

(If anger burns, happiness shines, hatred bruises, and love heals. Then sadness takes it all, swallows it whole, leaving you to wonder if anything was there in the first place.)

The increased therapy sessions and nervous glances from family members lets you know something is up. With a little snooping around, you find out what. Hurrying back to your room you lean against your door and stare at the pamphlet. “Why choose Soullux removal?” The pamphlet shows happy people doing everyday things. You read the pamphlet three times. Each time deepens the sick feeling you have.

Soullux removal.

Doctors found out that humans don’t need a Soullux to survive. “The organ is not like the Heart,” the pamphlet reads, “one could live a healthy and even happy life without a soulmate.” It goes on and on talking about how many famous and successful people have removed their Soullux so that they can “focus on more important things.”

Seconds later, you realize your family wants you to get the surgery.

No, you think. Never.

Angry you make your way to the living room and seeing as everyone is there, you erupt.

“No. It’s not right. I won’t do it. You can’t take them away from me.,” You shout. “I won’t do it. You all have your soulmates. If you want Soullux removal, get it yourselves!” By the end of your speech, you’re panting, your vision is blurry, sniffs do nothing to help with the snot dripping out of your nose.

“Soullux removal?” One of them says, “Y/n, we would never.”

You throw the pamphlet on the table. “Yeah, right.”

“That was in my room. Y/n, you know you not allowed in there.”

“And you not allowed to steal my soulmate from me, but that’s exactly what you were planning.”

“Y/n, you-”

“-Even though it was wrong of you to sneak into their room,” a different family member interrupts, “Y/n, it’s important for you to know we would never do that without talking to you.”

After all the emotions cooled down you all talked. They handed you a different pamphlet. This one talks about pills you could take to “lessen the intense feelings your broken soulmate forces on you.”

“Broken” soulmates are soulmates with such mental and/or physical “problems” that causes their soulmates to feel the pain of their disorder. These pills eventually block you from feeling your soulmate entirely.

As you read the pamphlet, you note all the times it says broken. Three.

Broken. Like that time, you accidentally dropped a bowl and it shattered. Broken. Like when your classmate broke their arm, and everyone wanted to sign it. Broken.

They think your soulmate is broken. They want you to abandon them.

You want to throw up.

No. You think, you can’t take them from me. I won’t abandon them so please don’t take them from me. Please. Please. Don’t. They’re not broken. Please don’t take them from me. I’ll do anything, please.

“Please,” you say, “Please. Don’t. Please.” And you repeat those words over and over.

At the age of thirteen, you give up on your soulmate. You tried, honestly. You read every book, watched every video, and even posted on all kinds of forums online in hopes of finding a way to help, but nothing was working. You were useless.

Really, it was your soulmates’ fault. No one could constantly be sad, angry, and full of self-hate, right?

It makes you wonder though. What was it about your soulmate that they only felt those three emotions? Was someone doing terrible things to them? Or were they terrible people?

You didn’t know. What you did know however was that you couldn’t help them. You wanted to continue listening to music on your bed thinking sad thoughts, but you needed to clean out your room. You’ve been putting it off for weeks. And that’s what you did, for about the first fifteen minutes, but then you found an old shoebox in your closet. You couldn’t leave it, could you?

In the shoebox were tiny trinkets and a stack of letters all addressed to someone you’ve never met.

You remember when you started going on little adventures after your soulmate started to feel down. You were only seven then.

The idea was you would go on fun adventures like those happy kids on TV. You figured that your soulmate had Lonely Soul syndrome too, then they would feel your happiness. If they couldn’t be happy themselves, you would share yours. Then you thought that if you saved tiny gifts and letters when you finally meet them you could give it to them. If they knew you cared for them, maybe, just maybe, a bit of their sadness would go away.

You didn’t think about the shoebox in months. You wonder what younger you would say if they knew you gave up on your soulmate just like everyone else.

You open one of the letters.

Dear Soul Mate,

Hello, it’s me.

I’m seven now, but my birtday is in a few weeks. You’ve been sad lately and I’m here to tell you that won’t do.

That won’t do.

See ya, Y/n.

That was all the letter read. No adventure no nothing. You shoved the letter back in the envelope and grab another one.

Dear Soul Mate,

My family thinks you’re broken. I don’t know if your family thinks that about you too, and maybe that’s why you are sad all the time. But you should know that I don’t think you are. I don’t think people can break. Sometimes it might feel like it though. Sometimes it might feel like shards of who you used to be are missing and no matter how many times you try to piece yourself together again you don’t fit. You might feel defeated and completely alone. But you are not an object. You are not glass that can be shattered. Broken means that you’ve given up, and you haven’t. You’re still, living, breathing, feeling. As long as you are still alive, you are still fighting. You’re not what people define you as, you’re just you and that’s all you need to be.

I wish I could promise that I would always be there for you, but I can’t. I wish I could tell you that I believe in you, but I’m not sure you care about what a stranger thinks. I can promise you that I’m telling the truth when I say that you are the strongest person I know. Everything you feel is whole and true. Your anger, your hate, and your sadness feels like it consumes you, but underneath it all, you have pure wonder, unconditional love, and constant kindness. You amaze me. Despite never meeting you, I know you. And I am proud to have you as my soulmate.

See ya soon, Y/n.”

You don’t remember writing that. You didn’t even know you could write like that. Honestly, you were expecting all the letters to be like the first one.

It was harder these days to feel the emotions younger you talked about. These days all your soulmate felt was sadness and hate.

Maybe writing one more letter couldn’t hurt, right? Beats cleaning your room.

Why the heck were you in the park? You have an essay that’s due soon and yet here you were sitting on a park bench.

A quick look around shows an average park. Trees, benches, grass, and a playground with a group of teenagers.

They had to be older than you by a good three years.The way they were standing was weird.Four of the five teens were facing the last one, a girl. You didn’t like the smug looks on their faces.

The girl was shouting. Her back rigid and arms crossed.“We’re soulmates.” She practically shouts. “What do you mean you don’t need me?”

You should leave.

“It means I would rather get that surgery everyone talks about than have you as a soulmate. Look at you, you’re worthless.” He says. You could see his hideous smirk from where you stood. His friends holding onto one another as they laugh.

Her shoulders shake and-

“Hey,” You don’t even register the fact that you’ve spoken until everyone’s looking at you. “Don’t you think this is a private conversation between the two of you, you know, in private?”

“Who the hell are you?” Of all things, you didn’t expect the girl to shout at you full force.

“I’m just your common citizen trying to run away from my responsibilities, so if you could quiet down that would be great.”

“Kid, why don’t you mind your own business?” Jerk face asks.

By now you are standing face to face with Jerk face and his groupies. You turn to the girl who looks like she’s in complete shock. Her face is red and eyes puffy. “Normally I would. But I think you should leave.”

“Or what?”

“Run.” You tell her.

“What?” She whispers.

Jerk face is still smirking. You want nothing more than to punch him in the face, but you can’t. Instead, you kick him where it hurts and with the girl in tow you dash out of there.

After a while, you two reach a neighborhood. You didn’t recognize it, but it seemed like a good enough place to rest.

“Why did you do that?” The girl asks.

“I know, I should have punched him, but,” you hold up your dominant hand, “I need this hand to write my letters, they’re important.”

“Letters? how old are you?”

“I’m Fourteen.”

“And you write letters?”

“Yeah,”

That’s all it takes to set her off. She starts to laugh and can’t stop. Bent over, hugging herself, she laughs until she can’t breathe.

You don’t mean to ruin the moment, but you do. “Your soulmate is a jerk.”

“Lance,”

“What?”

“His name is Lance.”

“Yeah, well, Lance is a jerk, and as your friend, I suggest slapping him the next time you see him.”

“Friend?” Her laugh turns a little hollower, “you don’t even know me.”

“Well then, let’s get to know each other. Name’s Y/n.”

She looks at you, stares as if trying to decide whether or not you’re screwing with her.

She nods then, “I’m Donna,” she says, “Donna Noble.”

You decided to walk Donna home. She’s quiet; a direct contradiction to earlier. You understood what it was like to have a lot on your mind, so you tried to stay quiet as well. It was Donna who ended the silence.

“I always thought that I would find my soulmate and we would fall in love. That I would get what my parents have. My mom always told me ‘your soulmate is exactly what you deserve and everything you’ll ever need.’” Tears fall from her eyes, but with a deep breath she continues, “He is exactly what I deserve. My one and only soulmate.” She laughs bitterly.

You wish you knew what to say. You wish you could pluck the right words out of the air and weave sentences so beautiful Donna would stop laughing and start smiling.

Over the years as you watched friends and family find their soulmates you learned that just because people can feel their soulmate doesn’t mean they truly understand them or their life experiences. That takes work and commitment. It is odd to think about however; knowing someone deeply, yet at the same time not at all.

“Maybe, soul- people,” you correct yourself after Donna flinches at the s word. Yeah, there were some days where that word burned you as well, “maybe, people aren’t supposed to fill a missing hole in you. Maybe they’re just the cherry on top.”

You reach her house and she points you towards her kitchen when you ask for a glass of water.

In the kitchen, are who you assume are Donna’s parents. Music and laughter fill the air and the two of them are eating. With such soft smiles and tender touches, you could tell they were deeply in love. It was as if they were the only ones in the room.

“Here.” Donna hands you a glass of water.

You were so captivated by her parents you didn’t notice Donna slip pass you. A glance at the two eating shows they haven’t even noticed two people in the room with them.

“Thank you, Donna.” You practically shout. Everyone looks at you oddly, but at least your plan works.

The day you turned thirty, your life took an odd turn.

Technically it started six months before that.

See, Donna started a temp job at the same place Lance the Jerk works. Apparently, as Lance claimed, he was a changed man. He said he wanted to start fresh with Donna. Donna was all for forgiving him. (“Y/n, he brings me coffee every day. Me. Coffee!”)

You felt there was something odd about the whole thing though.

It wasn’t the fact that the best friend rulebook states that you have to hate him for how he hurt your best friend.

It also wasn’t because he never once apologized to Donna. (Saying “I was only a kid at the time,” is not an apology.)

The problem is you didn’t think Lance was the right person for Donna, ironically enough. Donna is full of life, she’s loud, kind, and slightly ignorant, Donna is passionate. Lance is indifferent, he’s judgmental and arrogant.

Seeing the two of them together puts a sour taste in your mouth. Aside from a few subtle comments, you haven’t really talked to Donna about it. How could you tell her you thought her soulmate wasn’t right for her? Maybe you were reading too much into it? You hope Donna sees something in him that you are overlooking, you hope Lance has a better side of him that he shows Donna.

You wanted nothing more than for Donna to be happy. If it means holding your tongue around Lance, you would duct tape your mouth shut.

Donna tells you she wants to marry him, and you play the role of the excited best friend.

It happens on the day of your thirtieth birthday, two weeks before Donna’s wedding. Donna throws you a big surprise party, but halfway through she disappears. Nerys-why is she here? You don’t even know her, and Donna hates her- tells you that she vanished into golden dust, but you figured she was wasted. You ask around, but no one’s seen Donna.

Soon, the party is over, and you still don’t know where Donna is.

When you get home, you find Donna sitting in your kitchen, a cup of tea in her hands. Her hair is a mess, clothes tore and she was soaking wet. How in the world?

“Donna? I was looking everywhere for you. I almost punched like three people when they said you were-”

Donna rushes into your arms. She’s shaking, holding you as if you are the only thing in life that makes sense.

“Donna?” Sighing, you hug her back. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

After Donna is clean and in dry clothes she talks.

She tells you that Lance was lying. That he was in love? With a spider? And there was a doctor trying to help. The spiders died. Lance died. Thames flooded? Or was it drained? Honestly, you couldn’t really make out much of what she was saying with her face buried in your shoulder, tears staining your clothes. All that matter was that your best friend needed you. You held her until her sobs turned to snores.

Donna spends the next year traveling, learning, and looking for trouble.

You spend the year working, paying bills, and wishing you could do the same as Donna.

When Donna calls you to excitedly tell you that she’s speaking Latin of all things, you decided enough was enough.

Three hours later, you meet up at a small café.

You see Donna the moment you walk in the café. She’s sitting at a table for four with a man beside her. Both of them seem to be having an interesting conversation because both of them can’t seem to stop laughing.

The sight brings a smile to your face.

When someone walks into the café, Donna glances up and meets your eye. She stands, waves her hands in the air, practically shouts your name.

Before the temptation to act like you don’t know her kicks in; you rush to her. The hug she pulls you in is unexpected but nice.

“Oh, I haven’t seen you in months!”

You don’t say anything. Instead, you run your eyes over Donna. Taking a step back you notice that the Donna before you is different from the one you saw a few days ago. There’s something about this Donna that makes her shine. Maybe a new haircut?

“Did you get a tan?” You notice it then; Donna definitely got a tan but… a quick look at the window shows you that it is still pouring out just like it has for the last week.

Donna laughs and drags you to the table. She introduces you to the man whose name is the Doctor and you say hello. It’s as he’s about to reply that you feel it. A wave of happiness hits you like a smack upside the head and spins your world around. Colors are brighter and what once was gloomy rain is now the water that brings life to mother nature. Too busy looking around you miss everything the man, the Doctor, was saying.

“Sorry about that.” You give a sheepish smile. The Doctor grins. With one hand ruffling his hair, he leans towards you from across the table.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“Nothing, I think it’s just my soulmate.” The last bit of the sentence comes out as a question.

“Them again? Listen Y/n the second I meet this bloke, I tell you what, I’m gon- ”

“Donna you are not going to assault my soulmate.” Donna ‘offers’ to slap your soulmate every time they feel something other than happiness. You can’t help your smile grow though; before Donna you never really had someone who was ready to fight anyone who hurts you.

“What’s wrong with your soulmate?” The Doctor raises an eyebrow. “I think your soulmate is perfectly fine. In fact, I’d go so far as to say this is one of the greatest days of their life.”

“And why is that?” You don’t notice that you are leaning towards him.

“Well,” he drags the word out, “I think he just met his soulmate.”

It takes a moment for your brain to process what he said. When you do, you jump from your seat spinning around to search for him. “What? Where is he?” Your heart is pounding.

From a distance, you hear Donna whisper an “Oh my God.”

“If my soulmate is here why doesn’t he come up to me?”

You turn to Donna after she calls your name, “your soulmate is right in front of you.”

Looking from Donna to the Doctor to Donna again you open your mouth and- “Donna,” you sigh, “you are not my soulmate.”

Slumping down into the chair, you rest your elbow on the table with your chin in your hand.“You guys really got me excited for nothing.” You pout. Your other hand plays with the teacup in the center of the table.

“Um, if your soulmate was right in front of you what would you want him to do?” The Doctor asks.

“Anything really. A simple ‘Hello’ and their name is good enough.”

“Hello. I’m the Doctor.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve already introduced yourself.”

“You spend all this time waiting for your soulmate and now that he’s in front of you, you can’t see him? Y/n you are an idiot.”

“What are you talking about? The only people in front of me is you tw-ooh.” Looking at the Doctor, you don’t know how you feel. The best way to describe it would be dancing. It’s like back when you were a teenager listening to music in your room. The music turned on loud, your door closed, and you start to dance. Jumping around, singing, and having fun, the joy you feel from hearing your favorite song runs through your veins; nothing could ruin the moment. As you spin around, in the midst of singing your favorite verse, someone opens the door. The two of you stare at one another as you wait for them to decide if they want to embarrass you by walking away or join in on the dancing.

That is the best way you can describe how you feel.

That happiness with a side of embarrassment.

The Doctor and Donna spend the next few hours explaining who the Doctor is, what they do, and all the places they visited. They told you about the chaos, the fun, and the universe. If you were anybody else, you would have gone into shock and cancel the whole day. However, you are you and so the only thing you can do after discovering that aliens exist is laugh. Because your soulmate is an alien who travels all of time and space in a phone box and your best friend, Donna Noble-

“My best friend traveled across the universe and brought me back my soulmate.”

#Tenth Doctor #doctor who #the doctor #Donna Noble #x reader #doctor x reader #gender neutral reader #general neutral pronouns #male reader #female reader #soulmate au #soulmate #Doctor Who fanfic #doctor who x reader #10th doctor x reader #ten x reader #dw

767 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 5 years ago

Note

Hi, I'm sorry if I bother. English is not my first language, and I hope to be clear. I read that you are a historian. Here, in Mexico, I was studying history, but I discovered that after bachelor's degree, you need at least a master's degree in order to get a job that allows to live. Other factors aside, that put me off quite a bite. I wanted to ask you how that works in your country, if there are job opportunities and things like that. Thank you so much!

First off, you’re not a bother at all, your English is just fine, and I’m happy to help!

As for your questions: ..... ahaha, oof. Up front, I will say that I’ll try to be both supportive and realistic here, since I obviously feel strongly that we need more historians, I myself am a historian, and I don’t want anyone to base their decision solely on what one person on the internet tells them. There are a lot of factors for you to consider, and this is intended to just give you my perspective on how I’ve experienced them. I have answered several other asks about my academic research and career trajectory (such as it presently is....) in my school stuff tag, which you might like to consult to see what else people have asked/I have answered. But I do want to be honest with you about what you might expect, especially in the COVID world, which has turned an already-grim academic job market into... well, one thing at a time. Let’s get started!

I am American, or at least my passport says I am, and I have either studied, done research, or taught (sometimes all three) in the US, the UK, and Europe. I did my PhD at a fairly prestigious large research university in the UK, and I’m currently applying for jobs in that same general sphere (the US and the Anglophone academic world). That, therefore, is the experience that I’m speaking to, though I can imagine there are some things that are more or less the same across the world. Obviously the US is a screaming hellfire nuclear waste dump right now, teetering on the brink of permanent fascism, so.... that’s a cheerful and promising prospect for long-term academic employment in this country, by which I mean it terrifies me. Also, as I have ranted about on many occasions before, the humanities in general have been so systematically, deliberately, and extensively devalued by late-stage capitalism as not being monetarily “worthwhile” that it’s no accident that there aren’t many jobs. This isn’t to say there aren’t ANY, but.... yeah. Nobody wants to become a historian because they think they’re going to get rich for it. They’ll be lucky to get a stable job. My perusal of job boards has all been “online part time adjunct instructor!” which is frankly, brutally depressing. Everything is gig-economy, ad-hoc, temporary-term disposable labor, which is devaluing and destabilizing an entire generation of eager young academics who really WOULD like to be gainfully employed in education and just can’t be, and.... oy.

Ugh. Anyway. I promised I was going to be supportive, so we won’t get too far into the weeds of my existential despair right now. In short: yes, to teach college/university, and possibly the better kind of high school, you will need at least one graduate degree in history, and there’s no getting around that. If you want to do something history-adjacent but not academia, that requirement might be changed. There are plenty of other careers that would value a history degree and the critical thinking, reading, analytical, and big-picture skills that it teaches, assuming that any of us have jobs in the future. You may want to consider if you have enough passion for the subject to do multiple rigorous (and often expensive) advanced degrees in history; if you don’t want to do a master’s, that might be a sign that you like history as a hobby, but don’t want to commit to it professionally. And that is completely fine! it doesn’t make you a failure or mean that you’re any lesser as a person, and if you study history up to the bachelor level and decide that you don’t want to do it anymore, it’s better to know that now than before you’re stuck sinking years of money and effort into something that burns you out and isn’t where you want to be.

I have been honest about the fact of how hard a PhD is (the hardest thing I’ve done in my life) and how dispiriting the post-degree job market is (I realize I have the especial bad fortune to be job-hunting in the plague world, but hooo boy). The basic standard is that you never hear back from anybody at all. Sometimes they send a polite form-letter “your application will not be progressing to the next stage we wish you the best” rejection, but the culture has basically become that they just straight-up ignore you, and I hate it. It’s like screaming into the void over and over. Applications are often multiple pieces of labor-intensive work (CV, cover letters, teaching statement, research proposals, previous courses, contacting people to write letters of reference for you) and to constantly do that and get.... absolutely nothing in return is, again, complete trash on your mental health. Even if you recognize that it’s not really about you and there are a ton of people going through the same experience, it’s not fun. I’m about to submit yet another application, 18 months or so after I first started job hunting, and I have yet to receive even a single request for an interview. Imma be real with you chief: It sucks. You run through the whole “I’m clearly a fraud/an idiot/wildly unqualified compared to everyone else/etc” impostor syndrome highlight reel. And you just kind of have to deal with it, suck it up buttercup, and trudge your ass back to the job board anyway.

Then again: no matter how nihilistic that sounds: there are some jobs, and people do get them. There aren’t many of them, and the competition is therefore intense; every humanities/history postdoc or entry-level professorship opening will probably have a good 50-75 applicants at least, and that’s on the very low end for the more prestigious schemes. My dear @oldshrewsburyian, however, has gone through the exact same grind with early-career researcher hell and temporary visiting jobs, and she did in fact just land a tenure-track position earlier this year, which is wonderful and well-deserved. So: It can happen! I know people who have gotten real academic jobs, in other words! There is hope for the rest of us! Theoretically!

Basically, you’ll need to decide what your appetite is for future study, what kind of positions you might like to apply for and where, what your plan is if that doesn’t work out, if you would be happy doing something history-related but outside academia, if you’re willing to accept that we may not know for several years what the post-COVID job situation is, and all the other major uncertainties right now. I really wish I could give you clarity on these things, but unfortunately, I don’t know myself. Nobody does. So I mean this from the bottom of my heart: Good luck. Hang in there. Let’s hope things get better soon, or at least eventually. Until then, Ave Imperator, etcetera.

#history #school stuff #anonymous #ask

14 notes · View notes

disappointingyet · 5 years ago

Text

Da 5 Bloods

Director Spike Lee Stars Delroy Lindo, Clarke Peters, Isiah Whitlock Jr, Norm Lewis, Chadwick Boseman, Jonathan Majors USA 2020 Language English, Vietnamese, French (with English subtitles) 2hrs 34mins Colour (mostly)

Spike Lee goes up river

It’s funny to think now how adrift Spike Lee seemed a few years ago. Let’s go back only as far as 2016, when Chi-raq, after a token release in the US, took a whole year to make it to British cinemas. But then he hadn’t been big news since his triumphant 2006, when he made both a splendid mainstream thriller (Inside Man) and an epic TV documentary (When The Levees Broke). After that, though, little seemed to work, so he got equally critically trashed for a small-scale neighbourhood pic (Red Hook Summer) and unwanted English-language remake of the classic Korean revenge thriller Oldboy.

But Chi-raq turned out to the start of a revival. He updated She’s Gotta Have It as a TV show, and while it has had the odd dud moments, mostly it proved that Lee was aware of the changing times. Then came BlacKKKlansman, a good movie with a great story behind it, and Spike was truly back. And now here’s Da 5 Bloods, surfing in on great reviews and I’m feeling late to the party because I only watched it on the Sunday after its Friday release, and all my friends had already seen it and been asking me what I thought…

…and I have lots of thoughts, appropriately, because this is a long movie that is trying to do a big bunch of things at once, and one that nods to so many things, and – not least – is a movie coming out in June 2020 that features the Black Lives Matter movement. As with Chi-raq, Lee seems determined that no one could accuse him of being under-ambitious.

And yet, after the expected context-setting barrage of documentary footage, we get what could seem the start for a low-key movie: four former GIs return to Vietnam for the first time since the war. This could be an African-American (and hopefully far superior) version of Last Flag Flying, a tale of old friends gathering a final time to share jokes and reluctantly confront their psychic wounds. I think it would be fair to describe that as just one of the movies Lee is making here.

The Bloods are Paul (Delroy Lindo), Otis (Clarke Peters), Melvin (Isiah Whitlock Jr) and Eddie (Norm Lewis). Temptations fans among you will be asking: where’s David? That’s Paul’s son, played by Jonathan Majors (who was in last year’s The Last Black Man In San Francisco), who invites himself along for the ride. The fifth Blood, though, is Stormin’ Norman (Chadwick Boseman), the one who never came back, and whose remains they are hoping to retrieve.

The film hops between the present day, as the guys explore neon-drenched Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon back in the day) and then head up river, and the war, as Norman leads them on a high-risk mission. The river trip is partly played as gentle spoof on Apocalypse Now, with the gun boat replaced by a brightly painted pleasure boat. But any sense of cheery tourism is undercut by Paul’s unchecked PTSD and his tendency to treat Vietnamese people as if the war was still raging (which it is, in his head).

Which makes this a good moment to say that this is one of the least balanced ensemble movies ever. This is Paul’s show all the way: of the other Bloods, Otis gets a chunk of the story, but not much character development, and Melvin and Eddie are strictly in supporting roles. Paul has all the rage, and all the contradictions: although his obsession with Norman, who was a political radical, remains as vivid after half a century, Paul is now a Trump voter. The journey we are on is his as he is forced to deal with all the pain that’s never really left him.

It’s fortunate, then, that Delroy Lindo is up to the task, and increasingly magnetic as the film reaches crisis point deep in country. I had been wondering if the movie was going to pick up momentum as the film ambled past the hour mark, but it does, both in terms of the action but more importantly emotional kick.

Norman is also not a rounded character, but I think that’s deliberate, because what we are seeing is not a real person, but the memory of a fallen leader. The Norman his friends and comrades remember is a super-solidier, a martyr and a political visionary: he sits out in the wild in a palm version of Huey Newton’s chair.* In the battle scenes, the other four are their 2020 versions: I wasn’t entirely sure whether this was deliberate or ineffective de-ageing, but at the end of film they are shown as they would have been back in 1968.

Lee, who has always been a visually minded director, gives us a clear prompt as to which decade we’re in. The flashbacks are in the squarish 1:33:1 aspect ratio (presumably to look like a war most Americans watched on TV) and shot on 16mm film with saturated colours, while the modern day stuff in Ho Chi Minh City is in ultra-widescreen and in crisp digital, and then the jungle scenes are less letterboxy. (There’s also some Super 8). (And, as I mentioned, there’s loads of B&W archive at the start of the film, and some more along the way).

As we get to see him do both here, I’ll say this reinforces my feeling that Lee is better with dancing scenes than gunfights. (I also suspect the war scenes were done on a fairly low budget. It made me think of Werner Herzog’s Rescue Dawn). And he’s always great with solo rants, and good with guys hanging out. The individual Bloods may be underdrawn, but they work as a collective, give the sense that they have shared a lot of intense times together.

There’s a lot of talk, a lot of debate, a lot of information. For all those people who seem suddenly hungry to educate themselves via the medium of cinema, this is a three-course meal, taking in not just race relations in the US but American imperialism, French colonialism, US-French relations, and Vietnam’s capitalist boom time under Communist Party control.

And, of course, the fact that it was the Vietnamese who suffered the most during the war. However, I feel while that’s the message the movie’s dialogue gives us, it’s undercut by the way that the film is shot and the story unfolds, which does (as academics say) ‘Other’ the Vietnamese. Maybe that’s because Paul is so much the centre of the movie, and he never feels safe out here, and as it happens…

Three Vietnamese characters who get more than a line or two: Vinh (Johnny Nguyen), the old men’s guide, and Tiên Luu (Lê Y Lan), a former sex worker who Otis knew back in the day and is now prosperous, and wartime North Vietnamese propaganda broadcaster Hanoi Hannah (Van Veronica Ngo). And there are a handful of other Westerners: Jean Reno (as often) barely even trying as a dodgy Frenchman and three privileged NGO types (Mélanie Thierry plays the one who actually gets to say stuff): they exist for the dual purposes of plot and debate points, rather than being anything approximating human beings.

But this is not their story, it’s Paul’s, and on those terms this is a grand, satifsying piece of cinema, filled with incident and discussion and music, one both bursting with things to say and inventively shot, and built around a towering central performance from Delroy Lindo. You won’t feel short-changed.

*’They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old…’ etc

(PS: there’s a whole bunch of films this reminded me of, but mentioning many of them would amount to spoilers, so I’m holding off. Feel free to ask).

#spike lee #da 5 bloods #delroy lindo

8 notes · View notes

therainroguefanfiction · 5 years ago

Text

⁂ Gold Cup (Jeno Lee)

Genre: Comedy, Fluff, AU, School, Crossover, Romance ☁

Word Count: 2,939 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Jeno ☁

World: NCT ft. Super Junior, F(x), Nu’est ☁

Author’s Note: I am trash for sports anime and I was so fucking passionate about writing this, I didn’t even want to play WoW, I just wanted to work on this. I should also note that I only know the basics of Football, so if I got something wrong, don’t sue me. Trust me, you won’t get anything but a bunch of grumpy cats. Also, I’ve never even THOUGHT about Jeno before (because damn you Chenle), but writing this made me so happy like you don’t understand and now I kind of like Jeno a bit more??

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You groaned as you got your math test back, receiving yet another bad grade. Academics had never been your strong suit and you honestly had no interest in it, either. Your strong point was Athletics and you were damn good at any sport you happened to be in the mood for. Throughout your school years, you had bounced from sport to sport, thoroughly enjoying each one. You didn’t find your love until you entered high school and joined the American Football team. It was just the kind of rough-and-tough adrenaline rush you craved. In middle school, you skated by on grades that just passed over the required number needed to pass and it didn’t affect your sports, but things were more strict in high school. If you didn’t start getting your grades up, you would be benched and disallowed from playing in any games. The thought made you want to slam your head against your desk.

Jaemin turned in his seat, sporting a frown. “You failed again, didn’t you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“This isn’t the USA, idiot.” He sighed, plucking the test from your hand. “Coach is gonna be pissed when he sees this.”

“I know~” You threw your head back, staring at the white ceiling above. “What am I gonna do?”

“You could always ask Mark to tutor you.”

“Yeah, right, as if that boy doesn’t have enough to do.” You rolled your eyes. “Not only is he student council president, he’s also part of the drama club, music club, taking AP classes and he’s the captain of band.”

“What about Jeno?” He smirked, “He’s the second smartest kid in our class.”

Your lips pursed at the idea and you resisted the urge to kick him. Jaemin knew about your crush on Jeno and didn’t waste an opportunity to tease you about it. You glanced to the front of the room where Jeno sat, talking to a pretty girl with a cute smile.

“You don’t have many options, Y/N.” His voice was serious now as he rested his cheek in his palm. “The tournament is right around the corner and we don’t stand a chance without you. And I know you don’t want to miss this opportunity. It’s hyung’s last chance to take the cup before he graduates.”

As much as it pained you to admit it, you knew Jaemin was right. Dongho, the team captain, was in his last year of high school. His dream has always been to win the gold cup, and this would be his last chance. He was the best captain you’ve ever had and you wanted him to reach his dream, even if it meant you had to be a bit uncomfortable to do it.

Jaemin watched you curiously as you stood up, grabbing your test before approaching Jeno. The girl was gone and he was in the middle of putting away his books.

“Hey,”

He looked up at you in surprise, his cheeks growing warm. Was he dreaming? He was sure he was dreaming. “Yes?”

“Are you tutoring?”

He nodded, re-adjusting his glasses. “Do you know someone that needs help?”

“Yeah…” you rubbed the back of your head with a sigh, showing him your failed test. “If I don’t get my grades up, I’m going to be kicked off the team. I… need your help.”

His heart was beating rapidly in his chest and he bit back a smile at your words. You, the popular athlete that every sports team wanted, was asking him for help. You, the person he’s had a crush on since grade school, said that you needed him. He was ecstatic. “Um, I have time after school. Is that good?”

“I have practice… but I can skip.” You glanced at Jaemin and he raised a brow curiously, too far away to hear the conversation.

He quickly shook his head. “No, it’s okay! I can wait until practice is over.”

“Are you sure?” You questioned, meeting his eyes. It made your heart speed up.

“I’m positive.” He wouldn’t admit that he loved watching you play and silently cheering you on.

You smiled at him, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Your body rammed into Jaehyo’s as he tried to run past you with the ball, failing as you tackled him to the ground.

“Nice tackle!” Coach Heechul cheered from the sidelines.

You gave Jaehyo a smirk as you high fived Jaemin.

“Do you have to be so rough?” Jaehyo teased, slapping your shoulder.

“What can I say? I was born strong~”

“And humble,” he stuck his tongue out at you.

“Look who’s here,”Jaemin nodded to the stands and you glanced up, seeing Jeno settling down on the metal. He chose a spot off to the side, away from the cheering boys and girls that had crushes on the team. He had pulled out his notebook. “Jeez, he even studies when school ends.”

“It’s called homework,” Jaehyo ruffled the boy’s hair. “Is he your friend?”

“Y/N has a crush on hi – ”

You jabbed him in the gut, effectively shutting him up as he glared at you.

“No way. You? Having a crush on someone? Is hell freezing over?” He chuckled, now ruffling your hair.

“Come on, I’m human too ya know.” You frowned, shoving his hand away.

“True… but you’ve only ever been focused on sports.”

“What’s this?!” Amber snuck up behind you, pinching your cheek. “Is our little Y/N growing up??”

“God, you guys are annoying.” You grumbled, now shoving her hand away.

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed. It’s a natural part of life!” She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“Then why are you blushing?” Jaemin interjected. The other two sniggered at the comment.

“Ugh!” You pushed her away and stomped away from the three, feeling annoyed at their prying. You caught Jeno’s eye and he smiled, waving shyly. You smiled despite yourself, glancing at the coach. “Coach, can I leave early?”

He scowled at you, putting his hands on his hips. “Just because you’re the ace doesn’t mean you can skip practice.”

You rolled your eyes at his attitude. “I’m not skipping practice. I’m asking if I can leave early.”

“Reason?”

“…my tutor is here.”

“Tutor?” He paused before lashing out, smacking you in the head with the papers in his hand. “Yah, you failed another test, didn’t you?!”

“Does it matter?” You rubbed your head, avoiding his next strike. “I’ve got a tutor, so I’m working on it!”

He sighed heavily, “Dismissed. You better have your grades up next test or else.”

“Yes, sir~” You sent him a mock salute before rushing away, avoiding his attack. Jeno was looking down at his notebook when you approached the stands. “Oi,”

His gaze snapped up, looking at you in surprise.

“I’m gonna go get changed and then we can study.”

“What about practice?” He looked at your team in worry.

“This is more important. Besides, I got in some practice before you got here.” When he nodded, you headed off for the locker room. Since your team was coed, there were two separate locker rooms for the boys and girls. You took a few minutes debating on if you should take a shower first but ultimately decided not to keep him waiting.

As you were heading for the door, you noticed a tree-shaped air freshener hanging against the AC unit. You glanced around before snatching it, tying it to the inside of your shirt. Hopefully, it was stronger than your sweat.

You rushed outside, purposely ignoring the smug smirk your teammates were sending your way. “Let’s go,” You spoke quickly, not stopping as you walked past. He already had his things put away, so he didn’t hesitate to follow you. “Where to?”

Jeno grasped the strap of his bag with both hands. “The library is closed. We can sit in the courtyard? It’s not too hot today.”

“Sure,” you murmured. The courtyard itself was quite large, separating the gate and the school building. Several round benches and matching tables were scattered around the area, most hidden from the sky under large oak trees. In the center sat a tall fountain with crystal clear water – the centerpiece was the school’s mascot, Paly the badger.

You chose the most shaded table, plopping down on the stone. Jeno sat beside you since the table was too wide for him to reach across to teach you.

He started to pull out his books and notes. “What is your worst subject?”

You scratched your cheek. “Er, all of them?”

He laughed softly. “Okay, what subject do you hate most? And no saying all of them!” Jeno stopped you when you opened your mouth, effectively silencing you. Your reaction made him laugh again.

“Math, I guess? I’m not good with numbers.”

“We’ll start there, then. May I have your test?”

You dug into your bag, grabbing the ball of paper and smoothing it out. You gave him a sheepish smile, “I uh, needed more room…”

Jeno bit his lip to hide his smile, nodding. Despite being crumpled and torn in a few places, he was able to see the questions and answers. For the next hour and a half, the two of you sat there going over each of your tests.

He was brilliant at explaining things in a way that you could understand and he was patient when you didn’t get something right away. He took the time to write out a fake test and had you answer the questions. You had no confidence in your answers, but you did better than normal. It was far from an A, but at least you didn’t fail.

“Damn,” you breathed out, staring at the red C- he had written on the top of the paper. “Maybe you should teach the class instead.”

His cheeks lit up at the compliment. “Ah, no, I’m not that smart.”

“Excuse me?” You scoffed, staring him down. “You just raised my grade from a D- to a C- in less than two hours. You’re a genius.”

He smiled softly, looking down at his notebook. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

“What?”

“Ah, nothing!” Jeno mentally slapped himself for saying that out loud. You sat in silence for several minutes.

“Hey, Jeno. Our first game of the tournament is in ten days.” You paused, thinking over your words. “You should come. If you want to, I mean.”

“Sure! I’d love to.” You both shared a smile as the wind lightly danced around you.

“By the way…” He shifted, thinking over his words. “You don’t have to wear air fresheners. You smell fine.”

Your face flushed. “Right…”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Jeno continued to tutor you every day after school even after the tournament began. With his help, you were maintaining a C+, B- average. In the process, the two of you had gotten a lot closer to one another.

Your team breezed through the first two rounds of the tournament, nearly losing the third round to last year’s champions, but you managed to pull it off with a score of 24 to 20. Round four was easy, but round five was evenly matched, neither team wanting to give. It went into overtime, but you managed to score the touchdown that won the game.

Your team had made it to the finals. One more game and you would take the gold cup for Dongho.

Your team gathered in the locker room on the day of the match. Jeno was standing next to you against the lockers.

“I can’t believe we did it,” Dongho looked at his teammates, eyes sparkling with tears. “We’ve worked our butts off. We didn’t get here through a fluke or by luck. We earned this! We… We…” His tears overflowed as the words caught in his throat. Amber hugged him while the coach patted his shoulder, also tearing up. “We will win the gold cup!”

“Yeah!” The team chorused, whooping and hollering in excitement.

You sniffled, cursing yourself for being so sensitive. Jeno smiled at you softly, pulling a small tissue pack from his back and handing it to you. “I’m not crying, I’m just having an allergic reaction okay.”

“I understand,” he responded softly, unable to hide his smile. You cared so much for your captain and your team – he admired you for that.

“Let’s get out there and prove that we didn’t get here on luck!” Dongho yelled. The team cheered, grabbing their helmets and filing out.

You handed the pack back, rolling your shoulders. “Jeno?”

“Hmm?”

You looked him dead in the eye, determination set in stone. “Watch me. I’ll win the gold cup for this team, for Dongho… for you.”

He couldn’t look away from your gaze, nor could he form words. Instead, he simply nodded, watching as you left the room.

The game was long, easily going into overtime. They were strong, seeming to knock you down as soon as you scored a point. Most of their players towered over your own teammates and you briefly wondered if they were on steroids because of how huge they were. Their tackles were sharp like spears, leaving your body bruised and sore, but you never gave up.

The clock ticked down.

There was less than a minute left of overtime and if you didn’t score a touchdown now, you would lose. You pushed your legs to run faster as you headed for the end zone, the ball tucked tightly against your body. You nearly tripped trying to avoid their tackles, but you stayed on your feet and kept pushing. The feeling in your legs was long gone, your body reaching its limit, but you had to keep pushing. You couldn’t let it end like this. You just couldn’t.

One of their linebackers appeared beside you and you couldn’t react in time. Your eyes snapped shut, waiting for the sharp impact but it never came.

Jaemin managed to block him, using all of his strength. “GO, Y/N!”

His scream gave you a boost of energy and surged forward, making the decision to dive. As you slid across the grass, it seemed as if time slowed down. Blood pumped in your ears and all you could hear was your heavy breathing. The screams of fans and your teammates were hazy and undistinguishable over the sound of your own heart. Why were you sliding so slow?

‘I’m slowing down. Please, just a little more!’ Time froze as you made it into the end zone. Seconds later, you felt yourself being smothered by the other team, a hoarse cry passing your lips as they knocked the air out of you. The piercing sound of the whistle greeted your ears followed by, “TOUCHDOWN!”

Time returned to normal, the screams of fans filling the air.

“Get off Y/N!”

“Move you brutes!”

“If you’re gonna cry, do it somewhere other than on our running back!”

The weight was lifted off you and you sucked in air. Jaehyo and Dongho helped you up, making sure you were alive and nothing was broken before they squished you in a tight hug.

Amber laughed at your face, “You just got your breath back and now they’re taking it again.”

“Help,” you wheezed, reaching out for Jaemin who was fighting back tears. He grabbed your hand but didn’t attempt to help.

“I’m so.. I’m so..” Dongho sobbed, squeezing you tighter.

“We did it,” Jaehyo cried.

“Break it up!” Heechul smacked the two with his papers, but it did little with their helmets on. “We need Y/N to win the cup next year!” It took some effort, but he finally managed to pry you away from the two sobbing boys, helping you towards the bench.

Your entire body was screaming, having been pushed past its limit, but you were so happy that you didn’t care.

“Y/N!” Jeno came running out of the stands, throwing his arms around your neck. His grip was warm and protective, not nearly as tight as your teammates’ had been. He didn’t care about the sweat seeping into his clothes. “I’m so proud of you. You were amazing!”

“We all were,” you breathed in his scent, a mixture of new textbook and mint. It invaded your senses. “I told you I was would win for you, Jeno.”

He pulled back, looking you in the eyes. “I… I made a promise to myself. I told myself that if you won, I would tell you…”

“Tell me what?” You had an idea of what that something was, but you wanted to hear it.

“Y/N, I – ”

“CHEERS!” Amber and Jaemin screamed, dumping the contents of the drink cooler on Jeno’s head. Jaehyo and Dongho did the same to Heechul.

Your body twitched in annoyance as you glared at the pair. “Oi, you ruined the moment you jerks!”

“Oh, were you finally going to confess?” Amber wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and you threw the closest thing at her – it was a towel and did no damage.

Muttering under your breath, you dug around in your bag to find your varsity jacket. It was a bit windy that day and you knew he didn’t have a change of clothes. He smiled at you sheepishly, cheeks turning dark as you handed it to him. You were similar in size, so it fit him snugly, filling his senses with the smell of pine and dirt.

“Jeno, I like you and want you to be my boyfriend.”

He pouted at you. “I wanted to confess first.”

You chuckled, “Just kiss me already.”

Without hesitation, Jeno’s lips found your own as his arms wrapped protectively around your body.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

4 notes · View notes