#he just picks & chooses what parts of himself to put out into the light. cold bastard for the cold bastards. loyal friend for loyal friends | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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CALL MY NAME AND I'LL COME RUNNING ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru can be irritating, at times. but even if you push him away, he’ll always, always be there for you when you need him.

word count; 8.7k (this was supposed to b a short drabble but i was possessed by the devil halfway through)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, reader n toru have a fight, mild swearing (a couple fucks here n there), hurt/comfort, satoru has communication issues but he’s trying his best, depictions of stalking (reader gets followed by a random creep but satoru comes to the rescue dw), uhh implied thoughts of violence? (satoru wants to Maul said dude but doesn’t), literally just me being in love with satoru gojo for 8.7k words straight

a/n; no thoughts head empty only gojo running through the streets like a wild beast looking for u <33 im normal about him yeah.

“you’re so annoying sometimes, you know that?”

satoru smiles. the sentence isn’t one he’s unaccustomed to hearing.

usually, the words are soaked in an undeniable fondness, as they spill from your lips. rich with exasperated love. one that never fails to have the corners of satoru’s lips curling up, a mellow kind of joy blossoming in his chest.

but now, that fondness is nowhere to be found.

you sound thoroughly exasperated, and a little bit fatigued. more than anything else, there’s a vague irritation behind the tilt of your voice, something almost cold. it makes all the difference in the world.

and yet, despite that, a certain someone chooses to pay no heed to the bad omen.

“aw, c’mon. you know you love me, baby.”

satoru is grinning. lighthearted, awfully sweet. there’s a certain smugness to it, though, one he couldn’t wash away even if he was aware of it; you wouldn’t do so even if you could. that smugness is a part of him, one that you’d usually find endearing.

but right now, it only seeks to further your frustration.

it was a stupid fight, truthfully. completely meaningless. satoru had forgotten to pick up after himself for, like, the fourth consecutive time, and so you grew annoyed. not by a lot, but enough that you felt the need to be firm when you reminded him not to make the same mistake over and over again.

but satoru had only grinned, in that self-satisfied fashion of his, and apologized in a way you couldn’t possibly call sincere. then he did what he usually does — promises to work on it. to not do it again. he never follows through, though.

but even that thought wasn’t anywhere near enough to make you truly angry. what really began to irk you was the fact that satoru wasn’t taking you seriously, even in the slightest.

that’s how he always is, when it comes to this kind of thing. and you try to be patient, you do. you try to be understanding. sometimes you even appreciate that he keeps the atmosphere light, but other times, you just can’t help but feel irritated by it.

and the current situation happens to fall into the latter category.

you don’t care if satoru leaves a candy wrapper or two out, every once in a while. of course you don’t. it’s a silly thing to argue about. but would it hurt for him to just listen to you? to try to put himself in your shoes, for once? it’s not about the wrappers, or the undone dishes. it’s about the way he treats you when you complain about it — like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t matter. even if it obviously does, to you.

so, gradually, the topic of your little argument began to shift, into a conversation about satoru. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to talk about the things that bother you in a serious fashion. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to take you seriously.

and he just keeps proving your point, with every word that falls from his lips.

at this point, you’re genuinely beginning to feel a little angry. but satoru doesn’t see that as the warning sign it is — he just thinks it’s cute. he’s just been cooing at you, this whole time, despite your numerous attempts to actually explain how much his behavior affects you sometimes. it feels a bit like talking to a wall. satoru keeps on teasing you, even as you try to be firm about your point, and only brushes you off with empty promises to do better and more unneeded comments about how much he wants to hug you when you pout like that.

and you falter, a little. of course you do. you’re weak to satoru. weak to his words, that sweet voice of his, that pretty grin. but that only makes everything worse, because if you let yourself look even a little bit flustered at his comments, he sees that as his cue to continue.

you don’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose, at this point. is he doing it because he knows it’ll annoy you, or does he genuinely not understand that you’re upset? you’d like to think that there’s no malicious intent behind it, but can’t he see how troubled you are? you don’t get it. you don’t get him, and that frustrates you most of all. satoru can be so goddamn convoluted, sometimes.

so you simply can’t help but feel annoyed. angry, even. how long have you been arguing for, at this point? you’re not sure. but you feel the frustration inside of you grow, as the minutes tick by, into something you know will eventually explode.

a sigh falls from your lips, deep and exasperated. a little bit exhausted. “i’m serious, satoru. you’re not even listening.”

“i am!” he protests, stubbornly. childishly. “you just look so cute when you’re all mad. not my fault you’re so distracting.”

satoru smiles, voice sugar sweet, but all you can do is frown. does he really think it’s cute that you’re upset? the thought makes you somewhat sad. but you can’t show that, can’t let that part of you win — you don’t even want to think about the possibility of you crying, because of this. yeah, no way in hell.

so instead, you channel it into anger. as the blood inside your veins comes to a boiling point, you dig your nails into the skin of your palms, gnawing at your bottom lip and shifting from one foot to another.

”satoru, i’m —” another sigh, sharp and vexed like the blade of a knife. ”i’m trying to have a serious conversation, here. can’t you see that i’m upset?”

satoru takes a moment to look at you, from behind the black glass of his shades.

he can. of course he can see that. you’re frowning, and there’s a crease between your brows, and you keep huffing and sighing every three seconds — you’re obviously, undoubtedly upset. and satoru wants to take you seriously, he does. it’s just that the part of his brain that only ever wants to coddle and tease you keeps persuading him not to.

he’s not lying, either; you do look cute. almost too cute to take seriously, when you’re pouting so sweetly, a little red in the face from all the frustration bubbling inside your chest. you look so small, glaring up at him like an angry puppy.

satoru can’t help but smile. it’d be impossible not to.

and he will listen to you, will take you seriously. he knows you’re angry, knows you’re upset, and he intends to deal with that properly. but he doesn’t need to do it right now.

just a little more teasing, before he has to stop beating around the bush. satoru dreads it, a little bit, dreads having to genuinely be serious, be open and apologetic. it always feels so strange, so discomforting.

all that stuff can wait until later. for now, he just wants to see you blush a little more, huff and puff at his limitless affection, that he knows you love deep down. where’s the harm?

(and therein lies the problem. satoru is observant, and typically good at seeing the line that he shouldn’t cross when it comes to you. but there are times when he slips up, times when he doesn’t realize that his words have begun to sting. times when the line becomes blurry, because he knows some part of you enjoys the way he babies you, and sometimes it blinds him to the part of you that doesn’t.)

satoru is smiling. it’s the same as always — big, bright, glazed over with honey-sweet adoration. smug and teasing. it’s such a satoru-like smile that it makes your breath hitch, sometimes, makes your heart race with wonder. but now all it does is annoy you. everything you love about satoru is annoying you, right now.

in your eyes, that pretty smile of his seems almost taunting. like he’s trying to pick a fight with you, trying to make you even more upset. you don’t want to blow up over something like this, you really really don’t — but for some reason, you feel dangerously close to. it’s not like you at all.

you bore into his eyes with a cold glare, even though you can’t exactly see them with his shades in the way. posture straight and rigid as you try to make yourself look bigger. you must look at least a little bit menacing, like this. right?

“i’m seriously angry with you,” you say, hoping your voice sounds as austere to his ears as it does to yours. “don’t you get that?”

satoru coos, unable to hold the sound back. he doesn’t notice the flicker of hurt in your eyes, only focusing on how the sunset rays frame your figure, kissing your skin with sun-soaked fervor. you look so pretty. and that angry look on your face is too tantalizing not to tease.

“aww,” he croons, inching closer to you. there’s a teasing glint in his eyes that you can’t see, unmistakably fond. “is my little baby that upset?”

you blink. his voice sounds even more sugar-sweet now, obviously exaggerated. there’s amusement there, too — like this is just one big joke to him. you think he must be doing it to belittle you, to embarrass you. speaking to you like you’re some kind of grumpy toddler, and not a grown adult trying to have a serious conversation with their partner. your blood boils, boils, boils.

— and so the cup overflows.

“oh, go fuck yourself.”

it’s almost in a hiss that the words fall from your lips, cold and harsh; they leave the confines of your throat before you have a chance to reconsider them, sudden and sickeningly heavy. crude, too. you’d never be so crass with him under normal circumstances.

but you’re overwhelmed, thoroughly and completely, and satoru is being particularly infuriating. you genuinely feel hurt by the way he’s disregarding your feelings, and that realization stings more than anything.

so you can’t help but say the words, louder than you meant to, before turning on your heel swiftly and walking out of the room.

you don’t even have time to register what you’re doing, legs moving on their own before your mind can catch up. brisk and heavy steps carry you to the door, all while you furiously attempt to blink away the tears of frustration that begin to form in your eyes.

it only takes a second for you to grab your jacket — then you’re out.

satoru hears the front door close, echoing off the walls of your apartment. you don’t quite slam it shut, but you close it with more force than usual, and he can’t help but inwardly wince.

a moment passes.

then, he flops down on the couch, lanky arms and legs dangling uncomfortably off the edges. the groan that slips from his lips is muffled by the soft cushion as he burrows his face into it, while replaying your interaction inside his mind.

satoru can’t help but feel uncomfortable, with this conclusion. a little bit irked. a vague something rests inside his chest, something he doesn’t quite want to admit to feeling. it makes him feel a little bit sick.

(”oh, go fuck yourself.”)

he can’t recall you ever raising your voice at him like that. when it comes to him, you’re usually so patient; soft, understanding, gentle. for you to have snapped in such a way — to have stormed out of the apartment in your anger — he must have pushed you pretty far.

satoru sighs.

he really pissed you off, huh?

(he can never quite seem to get this right, can he?)

it was never his intention to make you genuinely mad. he just lost sight of the line, for a second. that’s all.

and maybe he was also trying to avoid the issue, trying to avoid actually arguing with you. because he hates it. he hates it more than anything. satoru would much rather see you smile and blush than act all serious and sad.

he just wanted to make you laugh.

was it insensitive? yeah, probably. he just can’t help but fuck this up, it seems. now he’s gone and made you angry — and as much as the sight would usually thrill him, as cute as you look when you’re irritated, a pit of anxiety settles in his gut. everything just feels wrong.

more than anything, satoru feels restless. because, right now, there’s nothing he can do. he can’t chase after you, even if just to apologize — that’d make you even angrier.

he knows he needs to give you space. you were obviously overwhelmed; some fresh air will do you good.

it irks him, though. satoru wants to fix it. he always wants to fix everything, before it even breaks. and even now, all his mind can do is spin in circles, wondering how he could possibly cheer you up.

he’ll just have to apologize, when you get back. and hope you forgive him. maybe he can get you something sweet to munch on, or a bouquet of flowers. would that make everything okay again?

satoru doesn’t know. so he just scratches his head, and tries his damndest not to think of how defeated you looked before leaving.

your steps are heavy, dragging you forward, leading you somewhere you have no knowledge of. it’s chilly out, and the sun is already setting.

everything in the world feels so wrong. like it’s tilted slightly to the left, like the earth stopped spinning around its axis. like everything suddenly lost its saturation.

you just needed to get away from him, for a while. away from that smug smile, that patronizing tilt of his voice. you couldn’t even stand to be in the same apartment as him. it’s not often you feel that way, not often at all.

and it only increases your growing frustration.

you are beginning to calm down, though — you know you are. the crisp evening air and the pleasant mingle of people soothes your muddled senses, smoothing down the crease of your brow and the ache in your chest.

a heavy discomfort, and a growing guilt. that’s all you can feel, as the anger slowly seeps out of you, turning into vapour with every exhale of your breath.

you hate arguing with satoru. you hate it more than anything. the guilt clawing at your chest barely leaves any room for anger — you almost yelled at him. just the thought of doing that to satoru makes you want to cry.

because you love him, at the end of the day, even when he’s being absolutely insufferable. he’s a sweetheart, your sweet boy, always trying to lighten the mood and make you smile. maybe you should have been a bit more understanding; you know satoru’s bad at this stuff, bad with emotions and vulnerability. and deep down, you know he’d never hurt you, not on purpose.

he probably just didn’t realize that you were genuinely upset. it’s a mistake that anyone could make.

but it just makes you feel so frustrated. like he’s not even looking at you. always hiding behind those shades, never opening up. never letting you see him wear anything but a smile. you want him to take it slow, open up to you at his own pace, but that doesn’t make the wait sting any less.

it’s not like you were asking for a lot. first, you simply asked him to pick up after himself. the way you do, the way anyone does. then, you simply asked him to treat you with respect.

a sudden pang of bitterness runs through your chest. sure, you could’ve handled it all better — but he could have, too.

every step you take hits the pavement with an irritated kind of decision. whatever. whatever. for now, you don’t want to think about it — all you want is to walk around and take in the sights, enjoy the peace and quiet.

so that’s exactly what you do.

before you know it, the sun has set, and the moon has risen — shining down and painting the streets in a mesmerizing blue, ephemeral and tranquil. it’s enough to give you some peace of mind, as you lurk around familiar streets, soaking in all the open space. so different from that suffocating apartment, and the man inside it, with that shit-eating grin and those breathtaking eyes.

(he’s called you, a couple times. you haven’t been gone for long — an hour or so, you think, maybe two. some part of you wanted to answer, just to hear his voice through the phone, but the part of you that’s still awfully irritated shut that down immediately. so, stubbornly, you just let it ring.)

the streets are empty, and the sky is dark. the light of all the lampposts illuminate your way, along with the soft flicker of the moon and stars. an endless galaxy stretches out before your eyes, little pale dots of stardust shining like jewels.

an ever-lasting, never-changing sky, that continues on for infinity. limitless. all the space you could possibly want, and then some.

for a moment, you can only look at the glittering stars in wonder, soaking in the feeling of absolute solitude.

— it doesn’t last, though.

“you alone?”

a sudden voice calls out from behind you. close, discerningly so, enough to make you flinch. you curse yourself for not noticing anything sooner, caught up in looking at the starry sky, in angling your phone to take a picture of it.

hesitantly, you turn your gaze towards the sound — wincing under your breath when you see the man a couple steps away from you. he looks a little crazed, you think, shifting from foot to foot and hunching over.

oh fuck no.

great, just what you needed. that’s just your luck, isn’t it? your brain can only spin in circles, trying to get your body to react, to run. to do literally anything except just stand there like a deer caught in headlights.

in your nervosity, all you manage is a painfully awkward laugh, as you stutter out a halfhearted response.

“oh — no, i’m just waiting for my boyfriend!” you smile, unconvincingly. your face must be soaked in unease. whatever he wants with you, it can’t be anything good.

at least you said that one word clearly — boyfriend. you can only hope it’s enough to scare him away.

but the man only shifts a little more, emitting a gruff kind of hum, not saying anything else. your spine tingles with apprehension. every cell in your body wants you to leave. he seems a little intoxicated, you think, and the thought only stirs the anxious feeling in your chest further.

god. why does this have to happen to you? why now?

thankfully, you’ve got your phone in hand. as your mind scrambles for solutions, your fingers tap at the screen, urgently scrolling through your contacts. in such a frightened state, your acting must be positively awful, but you make a vague attempt. not like you’re getting any oscars for this, either way.

“sorry — he’s calling me now!” you stammer out, taking a step away from the man. he doesn’t make a move to follow you, so you take your chances and press your phone to your ear, feet carrying you forward with haste.

in your fear, you don’t think twice about calling satoru — but you can’t help but internally wince at the decision, as the anxious patter of your own heart resounds in your ears.

how are you supposed to talk to him, exactly? what are you supposed to say? hey, i know i just told you to go fuck yourself, but will you hear me out? i need your help.

and you do. you do need his help. all you want is for him to swoop in, to take you in his arms, your knight in shining armor.

satoru’s said it to you, before — that if you need anything, anything at all, you can come to him. that you can always, always lean on him, without exception.

you know that he likes helping you. likes it when you open up to him, when you put your trust in him. when you aren’t afraid to ask for his help.

so despite everything, you hold your phone to your ear, walking away with brisk steps and praying that he’s not petty enough to ignore your call like you did to his.

back home, satoru is still resting on the couch, tapping his feet and trying to distract himself.

he’s a little anxious. it’s dark out, and you’re not answering any of his calls. when you’re out of sight, like this, he can’t help but feel a little helpless — worried about everything that could happen to you. but it’s not like he can force you to pick up.

you’re probably at a friend’s house, or something. telling them all about what an asshole your boyfriend is. as much as the thought stings, satoru hopes it’s true; it’s all he can comfort himself with. anything is fine as long as you aren’t out walking alone, in the cold, in the dark.

entirely caught up in his spiralling thoughts, satoru almost flinches when the phone rings. laying on the table in front of him, just within arm’s reach. it only takes a second for him to react as his gaze flits to the bright screen, and he sees the contact name, the many heart emojis littering it.

with a start, satoru jumps up. his back straightens out, and his hand flies to grab the phone — he’d feel embarrassed at his own eagerness, but right now he just can’t help it. even under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t let the phone ring more than twice, always giddy to hear your voice whenever possible.

this time, however, he does falter slightly.

he takes a split second to simply stare at the phone in his hand, at the affectionate contact name. what is he supposed to say to you, exactly? how is he supposed to act?

satoru doesn’t know, but as if afraid that you’ll change your mind and stop the call, yourself, he opts to simply answer. he’ll just have to figure out what to say on the fly.

(unfortunately, satoru’s instinctual response to anything is either smugness or playfulness.)

“well, well. look who finally decided to pick up.”

you’re the one who called him, not the other way around — but satoru can’t be bothered with small details like that right now. he only hopes you don’t notice the faint nervosity in his voice, the stiffness as he tries to sound unbothered.

you don’t notice anything at all, mind far too muddled, too clouded by fear. all you can do is take a deep breath, desperately trying to grasp control over your wavering voice.

“— satoru?” you call out, voice meek and frail. the man in question notices it immediately, sitting up a little straighter, but before he can say anything you continue. “i’m sorry, i just — are — are you still at home?”

there’s an anxious tilt to your voice, one that’d be impossible for satoru to miss. your words are a little breathy, spoken in a fast tempo, and he feels a sudden dread crawl up his spine.

something is wrong, his senses alert him.

“yeah,” he hums, trying to hide the turmoil in his own voice. “why? is everything okay?”

the line is quiet, for a second. “it’s just —“ an exhale, as you once again attempt to steer your voice in a less nervous direction. “just… some creepy guy tried to talk to me. i told him i was waiting for my boyfriend and now i’m walking away from him but he’s still following me.” another exhale, as you worriedly sneak a glance over your shoulder. ”i just — i don’t know what to —”

“where are you?”

satoru cuts you off, voice eerily serious. his gaze turned cold the moment he heard creepy guy, legs moving him towards the coat rack by the front door as if on autopilot.

he’s already left the apartment by the time you answer, looking around you meekly.

“i… don’t know,” you sigh. “i’m not far. i walked past that one crêpe stand by the park but then i, like… continued up that street? and now i don’t really know where i’m going.”

you continue, a little exasperated as your gaze flits around the dark street. attempting to recall your steps, a difficult task with how on edge you feel. “i’ll try to look for a sign, or something,” you gulp. “… i’m sorry. i just wanted to get away from him.”

satoru’s voice is comforting, when he speaks, eager to console you. grounding and soft. “hey, it’s okay. i’m heading there now, alright?” he smiles, hoping you’ll hear it in his voice. “i’ll be there before you know it.”

you do hear it, and his words ease a little of the anxiety in your chest, despite your fear. “okay.”

the line grows quiet, again, and your brows furrow in worry. “can — can i keep talking to you?” you ask, uncertain. a little pitiful. ”please?”

“of course,” satoru answers, instantaneous. he’s already making his way towards the crêpe stand with decision in his steps, mentally scanning the area ahead. despite his own anxiety at the situation, he attempts to sound as secure as he can possibly manage, desperate to soothe the worry in your voice.

“try to relax for me, okay? nobody’s gonna hurt you. not while i’m here.”

his words are absolute, as he consoles you. he sounds so sure of himself, so much that you can’t help but believe in his words. so you nod, emitting a weak hum when you remember he can’t see you.

“can you tell me what you see, baby?”

“uhh…” you look around, blindly, trying to find some sort of meaningful hint around you. “there’s like… some toy shop?”

satoru only hums. “can you check your location on your phone?”

you blink.

of course. why on earth didn’t that cross your mind before?

“oh — yeah — fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i didn’t —“ you sigh, heavy. “hold on.”

following satoru’s instructions swiftly, your gaze scans over the screen. he waits, patiently, already heading past the park and up ahead. as soon as you succeed in finding the name of the street, you echo it to him.

satoru sighs, a little relieved. “okay,” he hums. “i’m not that far away. i’ll be there soon.” he only hopes his words can soothe your fear, even a little. “is he still following you?”

you glance behind you, and meet the gaze of the stranger. just like you were afraid of, he’s still following you — if anything, he seems to have gotten a little closer. with a jolt, your heartbeat picks up.

“yeah,” you gulp.

satoru’s chest tightens. he emits a low hum. “just hold on. i’ll hurry.”

focusing only on the tilt of satoru’s voice, you try to calm your breathing. you just want to see him. the thought of doing so is the only thing keeping your trembling ribcage intact, at this point.

you swallow a shaky breath.

“thanks, toru.”

a sudden pang of ache sprouts in satoru’s chest, like thorny vines curling around his ribcage. his heart hurts. you sound so scared, so very small.

this is all his fault, he thinks. all of it. he got too careless; none of this would’ve happened if he had only been more considerate. if he had just stopped you from leaving and apologized, or hadn’t upset you in the first place. then he wouldn’t have to hear that scared little voice, wouldn’t have to imagine your body shaking like a leaf in the cold night. so far away from him.

but satoru can’t beat himself up over it, not yet. there’ll be more than enough time for that later. for now, he needs to get to you — that’s the only thing on his mind.

so he lets his feet carry him forward, running towards your location with bated breath. he’s sure you can hear it, through the phone, even though he tries to contain it.

the sound consoles you, if anything. it reminds you that satoru is there, that he’s on his way. that there’s no need to be scared.

but you can’t help but freak out, a little, when you hear the man call out from behind you.

“hey!” he slurs, stumbling towards you with unsteady steps. his voice is loud, angry, and it sends your mind reeling into panic mode.

a flinch overtakes your body, before you stumble forward, walking even faster than before. you’re almost running now, breath hitching as you gulp. satoru hears it all — your panic, the echo of the man. his own tempo picks up.

“baby, calm down, okay?” he consoles you, voice concerned and honey-sweet. “just keep walking. i’m almost there.”

“sorry —“ you squeak out, between flurry breaths. breathing uneven, laboured and anxious. but you try your best to calm down. “‘s just scary.”

it almost feels physical, the way it irks him. satoru wants to pull you close, more than anything, but he can’t. and that just makes the calamity inside his chest grow, clawing at his ribcage as if trying to escape, to go to your side.

(he never, ever wants to hear that kind of fear in your voice again.)

“i know,” he soothes. “you’re doing good, honey. listen — he’s not gonna touch you. i won’t let him. you have nothing to be scared of.”

you nod, even as you exhale a shaky breath. ”i know.”

and you do. you know there’s a truth, to satoru’s words, one that’s never failed you before.

because satoru is your safe space, at the end of the day — he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and sometimes he’s bad with emotions. but he tries, you know he does. and, more than anything else, you know that he’ll always, always be there when you need him. he’ll always be there to protect you.

and a part of you is sure that everything will be okay, as long as he’s around.

(it’s easy to forget how trustworthy satoru really is, how much he cares. how dependable he is. and how serious he can get, when he truly needs to be, despite his childishness. it’s moments like these that remind you of that.)

but it’s still scary, at the end of the day. you can’t help but feel uncomfortable, a little lost in the world. because you and satoru just fought, you just told him to go fuck himself, and yet here he is. running to your side, in the middle of the night, because you’re scared and alone and you need him.

the man continues to shout, behind you, muttering curses you can’t quite make out. you look over your shoulder nervously, steps hurried.

and satoru runs like a man possessed, through the moonlit streets, gaze scanning the area like a wild beast. his most visceral instinct is screaming at him, tugging at his flesh and bones, desperate to protect you. to comfort you. to wash all your worries away.

as he makes a sharp turn, he momentarily stops the movement, halting to look around. he thinks he must look a little crazed, with the moonlight illuminating his eyes, but he couldn’t care less.

especially not when his gaze lands on a certain person, further down the street — small and alone.

your eyes meet his.

with the darkness of the street, it’s hard to make anything out, but the light of the lamppost helps. though even without it, satoru’s sure he’d know it was you, just from the sensation that unfurls in his chest as his gaze lands on your figure.

an audible sigh of immense relief falls from his lips, and his tense shoulders relax, eyes softening just a tad. he hears a similar noise coming from the phone in his grasp, and he assumes that means you recognize him too. not bothering to end the call, he puts it in his pocket, walking over to you with brisk steps.

you stumble towards him, yourself, the worried crease between your brows now smoothed away. the closer he gets, the faster you move, until you can see the blue of his eyes. two pocket-sized moons.

satoru swoops you in for a hug before either of you can say anything.

he cradles you close, awfully close, so close you can hear his heavy breathing against your ear. it tickles your neck, along with his soft hair, and you shiver. his fragrance envelops your senses, a blend between fresh laundry, strawberries and some expensive cologne. your favorite scent in the world.

and suddenly, the world is devoid of danger. nothing can get to you while satoru’s there. all that exists is you, and him, and the soft flicker of the moon.

satoru squeezes you tightly, ensuring himself over and over again that you’re safe. he might be squeezing you a little too tight, but he can’t bring himself to think about that just yet.

finally, that growing calamity inside his chest is satiated. winding down at the feeling of you pressed up against him, the indisputable proof that you’re okay. with you in his arms, satoru feels like everything is alright, again.

the fear inside his chest, so foreign it leaves him shaken to the very core, finally begins to dissipate too. he doesn’t think there’s anything that makes him feel quite as hopeless as the thought of not being there for you when you need him. he never wants to feel that fear again. it’s suffocating. it crushes his lungs.

all he can do is hold you close, his big palm smoothing down your hair, the back of your head, your spine. warm and comforting. keeping you steady against him. he can feel your heartbeat, rapid and anxious, so fast that his heart aches. satoru is eager to soothe you, eager to make it go away.

”i’m here, baby,” he breathes, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head. ”you’re safe now.”

the words are spoken softly, right by your ear, and you exhale a shaky breath. you’re bundling up his clothing with your fists, anchoring yourself to him. after a little while, you let go, opting to wrap your arms around his midriff instead. nuzzling into his broad chest, you try to blink away your tears and contain your sniffles.

you nod against him, and satoru kisses the crown of your head.

and, finally, his gaze strays. it falls farther down the street, until it lands on a certain man — shifting from one foot to another. watching you both in silence.

the calamity inside his chest rouses from its slumber, once more.

satoru makes sure to keep his hands on you, still rubbing your back with one steady palm cradling the back of your head. keeping your face hidden in his chest, safe and secure.

then he raises his head, back straight, full height on display as his eyes meet the stranger’s. he can tell they do, even with the distance, the darkness of the street.

and satoru knows he looks menacing. he knows the light of the lamppost illuminates his figure perfectly, framing his tall stature and broad shoulders. and he knows the moonlight caressing his skin illuminates his face, his cold eyes — blue and uncanny, glowing even brighter than the moon. staring daggers into the man’s soul. if looks could kill, there wouldn’t even be any remains left to find.

the man stiffens, visibly, and satoru delights in it. he doesn’t leave, though, and for a second satoru wonders if he’s really intoxicated enough to come closer —

but, sure enough, all he does is stagger a little. then he walks away, grumbling under his breath, hands in his pockets.

and satoru isn’t satisfied, with this conclusion. not in the slightest. he wants to run up to the man, wants to hold him up by the throat, wants to tell him off. because he has the nerve to terrorize someone like that, stalk them with intentions he knows can’t be anything but revolting. the nerve to do that to you, of all the people in the world —

satoru doesn’t know if he’s hated anyone quite as much.

and a part of him wants to make him cower. make him fear for his life, just to make sure he never does anything like this again. leave him with a fear so great it’ll linger for as long as he’s alive.

(and a more animalistic side of satoru, one he doesn’t want to acknowledge, wants to do things that are much, much worse.)

— but you come first. without question, and without exception. he refuses to leave you alone, and refuses to make you look at the man for even a second more.

so he’ll focus on you, entirely.

he can tell you’re still shaken up, heartbeat pulsating against him, little flutters of life prickling his skin. there’s a desperation in the way you hug his waist, like he could disappear at any moment. like he’ll slip away if you don’t keep him close. the sight tugs at satoru’s heartstrings.

his first priority is to soothe you, always and forever. so that’s exactly what he does.

satoru smiles. it’s small, in the wake of the situation, but awfully sincere. fingers reaching down to trace over your jaw, he gently urges you to look at him; when you do so, hesitant, he cups your cheek with his palm.

your teary eyes feel like daggers to his heart, an unmistakable proof of his failure. his failure to protect you, to keep you safe and happy. but at the same time, he’s glad, from the bottom of his heart — that you’d let him see you like this. even after everything.

you look very meek, blinking the tears away as you look into his eyes. they’re bright, and comforting. you wonder if he left the shades at home, if he rushed over here so hurriedly that he didn’t think to bring them with him. you’re happy, in any case — the effect they have on you is undeniable.

you can’t bring yourself to look away, consoled by the flickers of white inside his irises, like fluffy clouds in the blue sky. ever-lasting, never-changing.

satoru tilts his head, smile sweet and understanding. ”that was scary, hm?”

his voice is tender, somehow so mature. like he’s some older, wiser being, comforting a scared child. it’s so soothing, so very grounding.

squeezing your eyes shut, you can only bring yourself to nod, as you nuzzle back into his chest.

”you’re okay now, honey,” satoru coos, smoothing down your back as you sniffle. an immense softness seeps through his whisper. ”i’ll always be here to protect you.”

there’s a truth to the statement, heavy and pious. like an oath, a pledge, something for you to believe in unquestioningly. you allow yourself to soak in the words, knowing them to be true.

you’re safe, now. there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. satoru’s here, and he’s hugging you, pressing kisses against your shoulder.

but you just can’t stop crying.

when you speak up, your voice is weak, barely above a whisper. close to breaking apart at the seams. too tired after everything to resist the guilt inside your veins, you sniffle, and part your lips.

”i’m sorry i yelled at you.”

satoru stills.

then, his gaze softens, considerably. he hears himself coo, softly, palm smoothing down the back of your head.

his sweet angel. apologizing to him, when he’s the one who started this whole mess. when you’re still so shaken up. because he let you leave the house angry, because he made you angry in the first place. because he didn’t see how important the discussion was to you.

(“you’re not even listening.”)

yeah. he wasn’t. he didn’t really want to.

an acute sense of shame. an intense guilt. that’s what he’s been trying to push down, all this time. that’s the unnamed something.

it’s hard for him. to be as sincere as you, as open with his feelings and emotions. as mature. because even in a situation like this, you can swallow your pride and frustration, and apologize. even when you aren’t in the wrong. you’re always the bigger person, always the one to give in first, because he’s too stubborn to do so himself.

next time, satoru pledges, he won’t let you. next time he’ll be the one to swallow his pride.

because, yes, being vulnerable and admitting that he was in the wrong makes him feel a little like he’s being skewered alive — but you’re important to him. he loves you. and he wants you to know how much he trusts you, how special you truly are.

if he can show you that, by being a little sincere, a little serious, then any discomfort he feels in the process is a small price to pay.

satoru’s lips meet the crown of your head, as he encircles your smaller frame, arms reaching around your neck to pull you close. he rests his jaw lightly on the top of your head, breathing in your scent. ”you have nothing to apologize for, baby.”

a pause lingers between the words he’s already said and the ones he yearns to say, but can’t seem to pull out from within his throat. it takes effort, to squeeze them out; but every time he replays your own apology in his mind, it gets a little easier. he squeezes you lightly before opening his mouth, as if to give him strenght.

“i’m sorry.”

you blink.

for once, satoru sounds sincere when he apologizes — almost painfully so. bordering on something you think may be nervosity. you try to look up, to catch a glimpse of his expression, but he keeps you hidden in the crook of his neck.

”i was being immature,” he continues, sighing. you don’t know if you’ve ever heard satoru sound so uncomfortable. ”you know how bad i am with this stuff. but i never want to — you know.”

he makes a gesture with one of his hands, as if that will say the words for him.

“— i didn’t mean to upset you. honestly.” satoru inhales the cold air, in hopes it’ll make him more honest. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you listen. intently, not missing a word, not a single tilt of his voice. it all sounds so genuine, almost foreign on his tongue. satoru seems to be trying to find the right words, grumbling a little under his breath.

he’s cute, like this. kind of awkward, but that only makes him cuter. you nuzzle closer to him, comforted by his very existence.

”… i’ll work on it,” he whispers, at last. “i’ll listen to you. i promise. i really, really will.”

you think satoru’s voice wavers, just a little, when he says his final piece.

“so please don’t cry.”

this time, satoru doesn’t stop you when you attempt to lift your gaze, loosening his arms around you and raising his head from where it rests on top of yours.

your eyes meet. satoru is smiling, weakly. he tilts his head, looking at you with something you could only ever describe as love.

”okay?”

such a lovely smile. so painfully genuine. his eyes are on full display, shining in the dark of the night, like splotches of moonlight. like someone stole the moon down to earth, and carved out little pieces to put in his irises. an ethereal hue.

he’s so gorgeous. hair just a tad messy, tousled from all the running he did to get here. cheeks a little red from the cold. when he smiles, his eyes crinkle. but he looks almost pained.

(he was so, so worried.)

blinking away the tears clinging to your lashes, you simply stare, entirely mesmerized by the sight. satoru’s thumb goes to wipe at your glassy eyes, smoothing away the drops that threaten to fall. you want to engrave his expression into your memory, so you can never forget it. but it’s just a little too much.

so you hide in his chest, once more. the word that falls from your lips is tiny. “okay.”

satoru smiles, kissing the top of your head with a relieved exhale. bathing in your presence, still reeling from his show of vulnerability. he feels a little like he just cut himself open, let you peek inside his ribcage. the night air stings his skin.

but you’re so warm, hugging him tightly, breathing and heartbeat finally relaxed.

(he doesn’t mind it, not if it’s you — having you look inside his chest. if you asked, he’d let you build a shelter there. right between his fourth and fifth ribs.)

now that the words are out of his throat, they don’t burn at all. satoru feels a little silly, for being so scared to say them out loud. he knows you’d never use them against him.

all you do is snuggle closer, as if silently conveying your forgiveness.

you stand there for just a little while longer, wallowing in the tender atmosphere. finally, satoru makes a move to leave, and you begin to walk back home.

“sure you’re okay now, baby?”

you nod, exhaling a flurry breath. it turns into vapour in the cold of the air, drifting up and dissipating in the expanding starry sky. “yeah. thanks for coming so quickly.”

“of course,” satoru only says, choking back a yawn.

your hands are intertwined, and he’s halfheartedly swinging them back and forth. it soothes your anxiety, and satoru’s protective instincts. you know neither of you will slip away, like this.

you shiver a little, subconsciously inching closer to satoru to protect you from the harsh bite of the midnight breeze. he notices, giving you a glance and a tilt of his head. “you cold?”

“just a little,” you mutter, smiling weakly as you look up at him. ”i’m fine.”

satoru huffs. did you really think he’d be dissuaded by such a weak retort? there’s no way he’s letting you walk around all cold and shivering.

so you come to a standstill, as satoru begins to shrug off his coat. he refuses to let go of your hand for even a second, making the process slower than usual — your heart flutters a little, as his fingers curl around yours, delicately.

when he finally gets it off him, he wastes no time in draping it over your shoulders. it’s big on you, warm and soft, shielding you from the chilly air. satoru can’t help but giggle sheepishly, as he always does at the sight — you look so cute.

“c’mon. let’s go home,” he grins, ruffling your hair teasingly.

satoru doesn’t feel cold, not in the slightest, as he holds your hand tightly. just your presence is enough to warm his bones to the marrow.

the silence between you is comforting and soothing, as you continue to walk. hand in hand, admiring the starry sky. you’re both too tired to speak — but satoru does so, anyway.

“i meant it, y’know.” satoru sounds sleepy, but earnest. ”i really will work on it.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it, yawning softly and stretching his free arm. gaze fixed on the morning star.

“oh.” you pause, squirming a little. sheepish. “thank you. i’m sorry that i — i mean.” a sigh. “i probably overreacted a little.”

satoru shakes his head, waving off your guilt. “nah. you’re right. i never want you to feel like i’m not taking you seriously.”

his gaze meets yours, tentatively. his eyes shine like wedding rings. “you mean a lot to me.”

the sincere words manifest themselves as a heavy pressure to your chest, closing in on your heart as if crushing it. it’s a pleasant sensation, though, overwhelming as it is. you’re a little scared that your knees will buckle if he keeps this up, but even if they do, you wouldn’t want him to stop — satoru’s love is terrifically overwhelming when there’s nothing to hide it, when it’s just love and nothing else.

but you’d never reject it. you’d let it crush you to death with a smile on your face.

all you can do is avert your gaze, afraid that you’ll fall into the blue sea of his eyes if you don’t. heavy thumps of blood resound in your ears as your heart beats, warmth spreading throughout your entire body.

“… you mean a lot to me, too.” you echo, holding his hand just a little tighter. warmth rises to your cheeks. “i just felt really frustrated, i guess. like you were looking down on me. i know you weren’t actually, though.”

satoru chews at the inside of his cheek, almost anxiously. “i know i can be a little much sometimes,” he says, tasting the words on his tongue. “and i appreciate you for putting up with that. i’m sorry i let it go too far. i’ll be more considerate.”

your heart stutters in your chest. you’re not sure what to say — the way he forms his words makes them feel so absolute. and you believe him.

“i’ll be more considerate, too,” you echo, looking down at the pavement. “i shouldn’t have blown up like that.” a pause. you mumble, quietly, a little embarrassed. “i shouldn’t have told you to go fuck yourself.”

satoru breathes out an amused huff, chuckling lightheartedly. his eyes carry a teasing glint when they meet yours. “i probably deserved that. no worries.”

“still,” you pout. satoru giggles.

“we’ll both work on it, then,” he hums, tilting his head to find your gaze. “right?”

you blink. a small smile breaks out across your face. “right.”

satoru swings your hands back and forth, looking awfully happy with himself. you’re proud of him. really.

“oh —“ he says, breaking the sleepy silence once again. “and i’ll stop leaving wrappers around, too.”

this time, you’re the one who huffs out an amused breath. “thank you,” you grin, looking up at him. he thinks the sight is terribly precious.

a yawn leaves your lips, drowsiness sneaking its way into your bloodstream. you’re not sure if it’s due to the dark, or if you’re just a tad exhausted after all the arguing and panicking.

satoru notices, and gets an idea.

“you tired, baby?” he coos, eyes teasing but soft around the edges. “d’you want a piggyback ride?”

when you give him a look, sleepy and kind of exasperated, satoru grins. you huff out an amused breath, just a tad embarrassed, but it only spurs him on.

so he crouches down, one knee meeting the pavement, letting your hand slip from his. you blink, tiredly, at the loss of contact. you can’t see his face, but you know he’s wearing that lovesick, smug little grin of his.

”c’mon. your big, strong boyfriend’ll carry you.”

satoru’s feeling playful, you can tell. that’s usually a bad sign — but you can’t deny that you’re tired. and the prospect of getting carried all the way home is eerily tempting.

your gaze falls on his back, and his broad shoulders. silently, you walk towards him, and wrap your arms around his neck. satoru holds you up by your thighs, and then stands up, jostling you a little; he does so without a hitch, and you’re reminded of how strong he really is. his grip is secure, and you trust him not to drop you, no matter what.

you let out a content sigh, basking in the chill of the midnight air as you nuzzle your cheek against his soft hair. satoru chuckles.

”my sleepy lil’ sweetheart,” he coos, voice a tad raspy. ”lucky thing you’ve got me, huh?”

there’s a softness to his voice, despite the teasing tilt obscuring it. you can only huff out a breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, and cling to him tighter.

satoru will get you home safe. he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and he can be bad with emotions — but you can always, always trust him on that.

so, with his coat shielding you from the chilly air, and his back warming you up as he carries you back to your apartment, you allow your eyes to flutter shut; enjoying the cozy feeling his presence brings you.

he’ll always be there when you need him.

#NOBODY LOOK AT MEEEEE i was having a gojo moment ok.#i just think hes. the perfect man. a silly goofy princess 98% of the time but when u need him to be there hes so comforting n secure.#i Need him.#also obsessed w the idea of gojo only calling u ’honey’ when hes being particularly sincere like that does smth to me man.#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader

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strawberriesoup · 18 days ago

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Hey hey! I’ve recently come across your blog and I just adore your writing.

I’m a sucker for Hannie catching feelings, being nervous, and flustered when he likes someone.

So I’m really interested in your take on Jisung getting ready for his first date with y/n. What’s going on in his head? Where does he take her? Is it a night in or a night out?

Does he kiss her? I really want him too. I wanna know it unfolds.

I’m just feeling so lovey dovey and warm and fuzzy over him 🥰🥰🥰

THIS IS SO CUTE???? I imagine he’s SO NERVOUS for the first date, like what if he messes up? what if he says the wrong thing?

word count: 1k

genre: han jisung x female reader, fluff fluff fluff

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Jisung holds yet another shirt in front of him, scrutinizing his appearance in the mirror. Don’t overthink this. She’s literally just coming over for dinner.

It was actually you who had suggested the date, looking much more confident than he felt. He’s positive that he scrambled up his words in his eagerness to agree, much to his embarrassment, but you seemed to have gotten the point. In his defense, it’s quite hard to form a cohesive sentence when you’re smiling at him like that.

Wiping his clammy hands on his jeans— should he have worn jeans? Would sweats be better?— Jisung finally decides on a simple black tee. (after a brief internal game of eenie meenie of course.)

Deciding on the location of the date was the easy part. Both of you are big homebodies, preferring the familiarity and sanctity of home rather than a loud, public place. The hard part was choosing whose house to have it at. After much “productive debate” it was decided that the date would take place in his apartment, and you would bring the food.

As if on cue, four sharp knocks are heard at the door right as Jisung finishes arranging his hair just so.

He restrains himself from booking it to the door, decidedly clamping down on the sudden spark of butterflies let loose in his gut.

Upon answering the door, he is immediately at a loss for words. Again. Honestly, he is much better at expressing his feelings in lyrics rather than actually saying them out loud.

You just look so… Perfect. The way your eyes crinkle up as you greet him with that smile, the slight crookedness of your jacket paired with your cheeks, rosy from the November cold. He really hopes you can’t hear the way his heart picked up just now.

“So you gonna let me in or what?” You chuckle, eyes dancing with amusement, “This takeout isn’t going to eat itself you know.”

“Oh! Yeah— right!” Jisung stumbles, “Come in, uh… make yourself at home.” The takeout bag crinkles as he takes it from you, allowing you to kick off your shoes and hang up your jacket.

His gaze jumps from the oversized tee that frames your figure just so, to the hint of a cute little pleated skirt peeking from underneath the hem. Immediately, he jerks his attention back up to your face, albeit not before you noticed him checking you out. He can feel the tips of his ears burn as you raise your eyebrows and send him a sweet little smile.

Yeah, you’re trying to kill him.

Thankfully, dinner went smoothly, as Jisung had finally managed to get his mouth and brain on the same wavelength (except when you had gotten a bit of sauce just under your lip, and instead of letting you know he kind of just stared at it.)

After the dishes had been put away and an impromptu acapella performance of “Sugar” by Maroon 5 had been performed, you two end up sat on the couch with a blanket, scrolling through Netflix for something interesting to watch.

Settling on a penguin documentary, Jisung flicks off the overhead lights before settling back down on the couch with you. He’s careful to keep a bit of space between your legs and his, not wanting to come off too strong. He wants to hold you close and run his hand through your hair. He wants to feel the pulse of your wrist flutter underneath his fingertips, the curve of your bone beneath your skin. He wants to. So badly. But he won’t, not yet. You’d probably think he’s weird.

So, when you scoot your butt towards him so your hips touch and lean your head to rest on his shoulder, it’s safe to say Jisung was a bit surprised. So much so that in fact instead of reciprocating the motion at all, he freezes in place. He scarcely dares to breathe, in fear that the slightest movement from him might cause you to move off him like a skittish cat.

Upon realizing you don’t have any plans of moving any time soon, he takes a deep breath before wrapping his arm around you, pulling you to lean on his chest rather than his shoulder.

He can feel your smile as you sigh and snuggle into him, and he thinks his heart might burst. The nervousness of earlier, the jumbled thoughts, the need to act just right, all dissipates now that you’re here in his arms. Your physical presence against him is like a cup of hot cocoa while a snowstorm rages outside. A sudden lull in the throes of chaos that ever-consume his actions.

It was 1:00 am by the time you needed to head home. Passionate discussions on the gender roles of penguins can sometimes take a while alright?

As he accompanies you to the door, he momentarily pouts to himself that you can’t stay over. Woah, Jeez. Slow down. It’s the first date.

Before he could hug you goodbye, you’re tugging on his shirt collar dragging him down to plant a kiss on his cheek. Pulling away, you giggle at the shocked look he gives you. Jisung’s face feels hot, and without thinking, he hooks an arm around your waist, drawing you flush against him. Looking into your eyes for permission, he dips down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss.

It’s brief, but those three seconds feel like a lifetime to Jisung. You’re so soft, so perfect, so you. Everything falls right into place, a perfect puzzle woven from the strings of the tapestry called life.

You pull away and boop him on the nose.

“Next time, it’ll be at my place.”

@jisunggy

#writing #answered asks #ask #anonymous #request #han jisung x you #han jisung x reader #stray kids #han jisung fluff #drabble #han jisung comfort #cute #fluff #fanfic #stray kids fanfic #han jisung fanfic

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winchester-24 · 3 months ago

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Holy crap! I'm addicted to your Sam choosing Ruby over us series! I need the next part please and thank you!! 🙏🙏

Here is the final part of the Ruby series! Thank you to everyone who has supported this series <3 I had a lot of fun writing it! You guys are amazing :)

Imagine Sam having to choose between you and Ruby (Final Part)

Sam improved significantly over the next two weeks. You would bring down food, you two would talk, and occasionally, he would complement you. He would say you looked beautiful that day or that you looked pretty. Your heart would flutter, but your mind would think it was a trick.

One morning, Dean was sipping his coffee when you came downstairs. It was unusual for the older brother to be up before you. He didn’t say anything when you walked in, so you made yourself a cup and sat across from him.

“I wanted to give you a heads up; I plan on letting Sammy out today.” You look up at Dean, who is already watching you. You slowly nod, thinking of things you have been pushing off for the last two weeks. Whether you will stay or go. “Whatever you decide,” Dean says, already knowing what you are thinking about, “You need to tell him.” You nod your head again, and Dean stands up; he walks past you and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“I know what kind of monster my brother was, but I know whatever he was- he isn’t anymore. I know that addiction messed him up in a lot of ways, but I know he still loves you.” Dean walked away, and a tear slipped past your eye and down your cheek.

You walked down the stairs. Sam was already standing by the door when you reached the last step. Bobby’s old house didn’t exactly make it easy to be quiet. He saw you and smiled as you walked towards the door.

“We are letting you out today,” you started. You saw his eyes light up, and a more extensive smile appeared.

“What? That’s great, I’m ready to,” You interrupted him.

“I’m leaving today.” You said as firmly as you could muster up. Sam stopped talking and gave you his famous broken puppy dog look.

“Why? I thought we were doing better; I thought I was making things right.” You sigh.

“Sammy, I just need more time, okay? What you did and what you put me through hurt and angered me, and I’m not ready to forget all that. I understand now that the blood (you still cringed every time you said it) made you think differently and made you do things you wouldn’t normally do, but it still hurt; I still have dreams about you with her. I still have this fear that I’m going to walk down here one day, and you are going to start yelling at me again about her. I need time.” You watch Sam, waiting for him to say something, but he nods in understanding. You give him a small smile, turn around, and start walking back up the stairs. He watches you, not blinking, because he doesn’t want to miss a moment of you still being around, even if you are walking away.

“I love you.” He says to himself, knowing that’s what he wanted to tell you but didn’t get the chance to.

Three years have gone by. You would see the brothers from time to time on cases. You would smile at them and talk about what you know, and then either they would take the case or you would. You never worked on it together. Before you left, you hugged each brother. You would tell Sammy it was good to see him, and he would say the same, but that was it.

That night, you would go to a bar and find someone to be with.

With the brothers back on the road, much more chatter was picked up at the roadhouse. You ignored it for the most part, but if a hunter asked you about Sam and why he wasn’t here with you, you would handle things a little too physically. It's not the best way to handle conflict, but these hunters are too nosey for their own good. Whatever unlucky hunter met your fist that night, you heard mutters afterward from others.

“Still a cold bitch.” Ellen would grab you another shot of whiskey on the house.

You felt better coming around the three-year mark. In between your cases, you casually would find someone and see them for a few weeks, but it never felt the same as it did with the boy you fell in love with so many years ago, so you would end it. You would do the one-night stands, and it was a nice quick fix, but it was never really your scene. You did a lot of self-care that a hunter could do. You did baths, wrote in journals, and even took up stretching in the morning. Every morning, you would giggle about how stupid you probably looked, just like Sam looked when he did it, but you must admit you felt better after stretching out all your muscles. It reached a point where you only wanted to see the man you fell in love with. To at least reconnect. You didn’t know if he found someone else then; you told yourself that you would be happy for him if he did. He never said he would wait for you; you honestly didn’t expect him to. You called him.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Y/N?” He asked, not believing the caller ID.

“Hey, Sammy.” You said softly, a little more nervous than you were 10 seconds ago.

“Hey.” He said back; you could hear the little smile through his voice.

“Where are you guys at right now?” You chewed your bottom lip.

“Uh, some little town right outside of Bermingham, Alabama.” He responded. That was a day trip for you.

“I want to see you,” you said. He was quiet on the other end of the phone. You were about to apologize and hang up when he responded.

“I’ll send you the address.” You said okay and started packing. Two minutes later, an address came through on your phone. You put your stuff in your car and started your trip to see Sam.

You got there the next day after taking cat naps throughout the trip, gas, food, and all the essentials. It was right around lunchtime. To your surprise, the address was a restaurant, not a motel like you had expected. You pulled into a spot and turned the car off, seeing Sam sitting by the door with your favorite flowers. He still remembered. The restaurant was nothing fancy; it reminded you of O’Charley’s or Chili’s, where they serve everything. It isn’t too fancy, but it is not fast food either. You got out and started walking towards him. When he noticed you, he stood up and met you. He held the flowers out.

“If I remember correctly, you mentioned these being your favorite back in Illinois when we had to visit that Foral shop.” You took them and smiled down at them.

“Yeah, they are. That was five years ago, Sammy.” You look up at him, giving him a small smile. He stares at you and then clears his throat.

“I knew you would take a while to get here based on your road trip habits, so I figured you would be hungry for lunch when you arrived.” Damn, he was good. You nodded, and he led you into the restaurant, holding the door open for you.

The hostess sat you and you two silently, looking at the menu. After you two ordered your drink and Sam ordered you an appetizer, you noticed he was looking at you from above his menu.

“What?” You asked. He smiled and said softly.

“I’m just happy you’re here.”

“Don’t get all cheesy and cliché on me, Winchester.” You joke at him. When you decide what to eat for lunch, set the menu down and wait for Sam to finish selecting. Your drinks come, you order your entrees, and now you two are just looking at each other. Sam starts,

“So, what have you been up to since that last nest six months ago?” You tell him about your other hunts, trips to the roadhouse, trips to see Bobby, and your new hobby of journaling and stretching.

“Stretching?” Sam laughed. “I thought that was stupid.”

“It is stupid! I feel like an idiot when I do it, but it feels so nice afterward!” You giggle, defending the arguments you used to have with him. Throughout the date, because that is Sam’s intention with this lunch, you start to feel relaxed. Your nerves about seeing him go away, the anxiety of how you would react being around him is gone, and it is just happiness. You felt like you did all those years ago before Ruby came in and set your world upside down. You and Sam’s conversations are light and happy, with giggles and teasing, just like they used to be, but you must be honest.

“Sammy, I need to tell you something.” You say, becoming serious, unlike the conversation you were having with him. His face becomes serious, and worry etches onto every aspect of it. He doesn’t respond, so you just come out with it.

“These past few years, I tried dating other people. I tried to get over you and build a life with someone else. I had one-night stands on the days I would see you to try to stop thinking about you. I dated a guy for six weeks, trying to see if I could be with anyone else and erase you from my life. I couldn’t. I would always end up breaking up with the guy or leaving before the sun was up the next morning from a fling. That’s why I started journaling, stretching, and trying all these self-help things. I knew I needed to heal for myself, and I couldn’t find it in a guy. I just thought you should know.” You spoke. Sam nodded, and you could tell he was thinking about what he wanted to say next.

“I understand Y/N. I know I hurt you, and I put you through things that I would have never thought I would. You deserved to go out, find yourself, explore, and see if anyone else was out there for you. I was a jerk, a piece of shit, and the worst boyfriend anyone could have asked for during that time.” He looks down and then back up at you.

“I never knew if you would come back to me; hell, I still don’t know if you are. This could be a permanent goodbye date for all I know, but I want you to know that I waited for you and will continue to wait for you. I still haven’t forgiven myself for what I put you through, and that is something I will live with for the rest of my life, but these past three years, I have missed you every single day, and I was also so happy when we ran into each other, and I got to see you, even if it was just for ten minutes. I knew you were still alive, and there could be another chance I would see you again.” Your eyes were tearing up, dammit, Sammy. He continued his speech, and you can tell he rehearsed repeatedly.

“There is no one else for me. I don’t want anyone else but you. If you want to be done with me, I respect it, and I don’t blame you, but I want you to know what I wanted you to know three years ago when you left Bobby’s: I love you. I will always love you and never stop proving it to you if you give me another chance.” When he finished his monologue, you two looked at each other, not knowing what to do next. You had many thoughts running through your head, and he was too scared to ask what you thought. The waitress came by, dropping off the check, pulling you two out of your trance. He threw cash on the table, enough for lunch plus tip, and stood up. He offered his hand to help you out of your seat, which you accepted, but he didn’t let go after you stood up. You didn’t pull away, either.

He walked you to your car, the overcast hiding the sun with a little breeze setting in. You turned to look at him with your back against the driver's door.

“Thank you for lunch.” You said softly. Sam looks over your face. His eyes flicker to your lips and then your eyes. You hear him take a breath, and then he leans down and kisses you. His hands grip on your waist as he pushes into you, making you lean against the car door. You kiss back, your hands on his chest, and then slide up to his hair, which you intertwine into your fingers. He deepens the kiss as both of you fight for dominance, Sam winning. When you can no longer breathe, you pull apart from him, resting your forehead against his, breathing heavily. Sam looks into your eyes, hands still gripping your waist. His shoulders move a little as he breathes heavily. After a few moments, he whispers, eye contact never leaving yours,

“Was that a goodbye kiss or an I love you kiss?” You give him a small smile,

“I love you.” He has the biggest smile you have ever seen on him in years, and his eyes light up with joy before he leans in for another kiss, which you gladly return.

You’re finally home.

#supernatural #dean winchester #reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #sam x reader #sam winchester x reader #angst

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themaladaptivewriter12 · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Bad Luck Crush

Part 1 of my “The Lion's Den” series!

Parings: None

Summary:

Mirai's crush on the Savanaclaw Housewrden, Leona Kingscholar, leads to a series of unfortunate events, and now on Leona's bad side, his chances with the Lion Beastman are good as gone.

cw: light angst, misunderstandings, light angst, bloody noses mentioned (not too graphic), fist fights (again, nothing too graphic), unrequited crushes (Maybe, who knows)

a/n: This is not a "Bullies to lovers" fic. Just putting that out there. This is more of me just playing around the the fact that Leona didn't like Yuu too much in the beginning, and let's face it he didn't, he tried to fight us after all.

Reblogs are appreciated, just use my custom tag, #TheMaladaptiveWriter12, if you do! (─‿‿─)♡

Cross posted from my Ao3: TheMaladaptiveWriter12

Mirai could remember the first time he really met the dorm head of Savanaclaw, Leona Kingscholar. It was in the Botanical Gardens. Grim and he had been looking for the Groundskeeper when he had accidentally stepped on Leona Kingscholar’s tail, mistaking it for a twig. And when Leona emerged from the bright green foliage, the golden hour painting his skin in the likeness of copper, his piercing green eyes cold like a predator's, and his long silky chocolate tresses messy from sleep, Mirai was smitten. And the most surprising Mirai the most were the fluffy lion ears and tail that adorned the man’s body. He had only seen that type of thing in Anime or in video games, and Mirai immediately wondered what they felt like. Then he spoke with that deep gravelly voice, threatening him in every inch of his life, and Mirai went weak at the knees. Luckily Ruggie Bucchi came along, defusing the situation, letting Mirai and Grim get away without a scratch on them. Mirai wouldn’t have minded taking on the hunk of a dorm head, but they had other matters to attend to.

Mirai chuckled at the memory, his walk through the Botanical Gardens reminding him of the sleepy Upperclassmen. He was currently in Potionology and for the day's lesson, Professor Crewel wanted the Freshman to write a short informational report on two plants from the Botanical Gardens, to familiarize the students of where their potion ingredients came from. There were so many plants they could choose from, so many worth writing about, and since Mirai couldn’t decide, he just picked two that looked the most interesting.

Mirai was the last one left to fetch his samples, Grim, Ace, and Deuce having long left to start their reports in the library, but Mirai didn’t mind, that meant he now had a quiet moment to himself. So now here he was, looking for Hummingbird Mint and Blazing Star, by himself, but luckily for him, both plants were located on the warmer side of gardens, making his search easier.

Mirai found the Blazing Star plant first, it was pretty, and it reminded him of cheerleading pom poms. Mirai got his sample bag and plucked off a flower, dropping it to the bag.

“Okay,” Mirai muttered to himself, “now the Hummingbird Mint.

Mirai made his way down the rows, enjoying the little walk he was taking. It was warm in the region he was in, little butterflies fluttering about. Mirai hummed to himself as he looked, but with all of them being sorted alphabetically, it wasn’t long until Mirai made his way to the “H’s”.

“Hummingbird, Hummingbird, ah, there it is, Hummingbird Mint,” Mirai chirped.

And just as he did the previous flower, Mirai got his sample bag and plucked off and dropped it in the little bag, sealing it up.

“It really does smell like mint,” Mirai hummed quietly, checking off the plant on his clipboard.

Mirai took a leisurely pace as he made his way back to the Alchemy Labs, sightseeing. He never really had time to look at the pretty flowers in the gardens outside of class, since there was always something on his plate. From keeping up with classes and homework, to helping his friends out of tricky situations, and working to be able to survive in a world he knew nothing about, Mirai was fully booked. But surprisingly, Mirai didn’t mind it, it was, dare he say fun. Back at home he would have killed just to get a break or a day off, but here, Mirai didn’t mind his busy schedule.

As Mirai made his way out, he checked the time, he hadn’t realized how long he’d been in the gardens, and now he was borderline late. Switching from his leisurely pace, Mirai started a light jog, speeding across the stone pathway. As he turned the corner, Mirai saw a huge mass in the middle of the path, but it was too late, he was already tripping over it, sending himself and all his things flying into the path ahead of him. Mirai hit the ground with a grunt, the wind knocked out of him.

“Do you runts really enjoy stepping on me?!”

“Wha-”

Mirai gasped as he was yanked up but the back of his lab coat, and thrown onto his back in the grass. Mirai looked up, staring into menacing green eyes.

“W-Wait Leona, I’m, I’m sorry, I didn’t m-mean it,” Mirai rambled, scooting away from the angry lion.

“Uh, huh,” Leona said sarcastically with a sneer, “that’s what you said the last time.”

Mirai scrambled, and dove into the foliage as Leona lunged at him. Mirai wove through the thick leaves, dodging branches, jumping over rocks and sticks, and Leona chased after him, hot on his heels. Suddenly Mirai choked out a grunt as he was slammed into the ground, not even getting a chance to breathe as Leona turned him around and punched him in the face. Mirai grunted upon the impact, pain blooming on his face. Leona punched him twice more before getting up off the Ramshackle Prefect, storming off.

Mirai lay there, staring wide-eyed through leaves at the glass ceiling above. Mirai didn’t know how long he lay there, heart pounding, face hot as he slowly reached up, tenderly touching his swelling cheek, fingers coming back red from the blood that smeared from his dripping nose. Mirai cackled loudly, smiling even though it hurt to do so. Yeah, he was absolutely smitten.

Friday evening rolled around, and that meant sorting out Professor Crewel’s potions and storage closet. Mirai’s thoughts, no matter how much he tried to revert them, were on the Savanaclaw dorm head. He thought about those sharp green eyes that looked at him like he was a mouse, those long brown waves that Mirai wanted nothing more than to brush his fingers through, and his pretty rich skin. He thought about the scar that went down the left side of his face, his deep voice, his sly smiles, his mirthful laughter, and his sloppy way of dress. But it wasn’t just his looks he was attracted to, it was his strong will, his cleverness, his strength, his confidence, and his lazy demeanor that he found endearing, Mirai couldn’t get enough.

“That’s Cumin, not Cinnamon,” Crewel gruffed.

Mirai jumped from his thoughts, face flushing red, “A-Ah, my mistake sir, sorry sir.”

“You’re not doing your best today, Little Papillon,” Professor Crewel scolded. “Bad boy!”

Mirai flushed again, shoulder shooting up to his ears, “S-Sorry sir-I-I mean, Professor Crewel.”

“Come sit, pup.” Professor Crewel led Mirai to his desk and gestured for him to sit down in the chair next to his. “Speak.”

“I, uh, is it wrong to crush on someone for punching you in the face?” Mirai vomited out in one breath.

“W-What?!”

“That answered my question.”

“You told me you tripped into a tree,” Professor Crewel shouted.

Mirai’s face was still badly bruised a dark purple against his pale skin, even though it happened three days ago. So anytime anyone asked, he just told them he tripped over something in the Botanical Gardens, and smashed his face into a tree.

“And get myself and get the guy I’m crushing on in trouble? Hard pass,” Mirai scoffed.

“Who punched you?” Professor Crewel grit out angrily.

“But is it wrong? That’s the question.”

“Yuhara, why in Twisted Wonderland would you fall in love with someone who punched you?”

“Because he’s strong, and he looked pretty doing it,” Mirai flushed.

Crewel just looked lost, and a little concerned.

“Okay, okay, so I had a crush on him before then, but then we got into a semi fight over a misunderstanding, then he punched me, and for some reason the look of pure rage etched on his face and the fierce look in his eyes made my heart skip a beat?” Mirai said, the end of his rant sounding more like a question.

Crewel sighed, exasperated, shoving his face into his hands.

Mirai laughed loudly.

“Why, why, why,” Professor Crewel muttered to himself.

Mirai giggled.

“Who was it?” Professor Crewel sighed, looking at Mirai, head resting in his hands.

“Will you get him in trouble?” Mirai asked, giggling.

“It happened three days ago, so technically I can’t do anything.”

“Leona.”

Crewel groaned loudly, turning his face back into his hands.

Mirai cackled.

“Why did he punch you?”

“Technically he punched me three times, b-”

“He punched you three times?!”

“Details, details. But yeah, but in his defense I accidentally stepped on him.”

“But didn’t you just say it was an accident?!”

“Technically this would be the second time I’ve accidentally stepped on him.”

Professor Crewel groaned into his hands, “What is wrong with you people?”

Mirai laughed again.

“Should I be concerned?” Professor Crewel asked.

“About what? Me or about Leona?” Mirai asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes, and no,” Mirai laughed, “I don’t see Leona going out his way to punch me again, since he got even last time. But me? I’m a lost cause.”

“You’re lucky I like you, Little Papillon.”

Mirai giggled.

“Does this talk mean I can count you to finish the closet, and not to mix the Chamomile with the Pineapple Weed?” Professor Crewel deadpanned.

Mirai laughed with a nod, standing to get back to organizing and taking inventory of the storage closet.

It was Saturday morning, and Mirai was sitting behind the counter at Mr. S’s Mysterious Shop, mindlessly playing with the scale, trying to get it to balance out perfectly. Sam was in the back for now doing inventory, so that meant Mirai was in charge of the front.

There was a chime at the door and Mirai straightened up quickly, business smile suddenly faltering as the object of his desire walked through the shop door with Ruggie in tow.

“Hey, Prefect,” Ruggie greeted, smile falling when he saw the big purple bruise on his face. “What happened?”

“Heyaz,” Mirai waved. “I tripped over something in the Botanical Gardens and smashed my face into a tree.”

Ruggie looked stunned and so did Leona.

“Go on, you can laugh. Ace sure did.”

Ruggie burst out laughing, clutching his stomach, “H-How do you m-manage to, to do that?!”

“Natural talent,” Mirai said with a wink. “So what can I help you with?”

Ruggie ordered a large amount of meat, some bread, cheese, some drinks, and a box of donuts. Mirai was ringing the stuff up when he found the price for the steak in the system and the price for the steak on the packaging didn’t match.

“On sec,” Mirai said, turning around, shouting, “Hey Sam?”

“Yes, Little Imp?” Sam called back.

“I’ve run into an issue with pricing, it doesn’t match!”

After a couple of seconds, Sam came out from the back room, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Now let’s see if we can figure this out,” Sam said looking at the pricing.

Mirai listened intently as Sam explained what had happened, a simple misprint, but he also explained how Mirai could find the right pricing if he ever got stuck in a situation like that or similar. As Sam explained Mirai could feel those cold piercing eyes on him again. Subtly, Mirai darted his gaze to the little desk mirror on the counter. Leona was looking at him. From this angle, Leona couldn't see himself, nor the Prefect in the mirror, but Mirai could see Leona. His deep green eyes were narrow, staring bullets into his skull, and Mirai couldn’t help but wonder if he actually was still mad.

“Here you go Little Imps, sorry for the wait,” Sam said apologetically, voice startling Mirai from his thoughts. “The donuts are on the house.”

Mirai helped bag, passing it off to Ruggie, who happily took the box of free donuts. And as he did so, he still felt those eyes on him until the pair left.

Monday rolled around, and that meant gym class with Coach Vargas. Mirai didn’t like gym class, he never liked it. It was too much work, too humiliating for a dumb grade, but today, Coach Vargas decided on bringing out the soccer balls, which meant they got to choose who they wanted to play with, what they played and how they played. So Mirai, Ace, Deuce, and Grim all decided on a simple game of passing the ball back and forth. It was almost therapeutic passing the ball to each other while they joked around with each other, talking about anything or anyone. And the best part of it was that they were getting a passing class grade for the day just for fooling around.

Mirai laughed as a group of guys, along with Coach Vargas, ran by playing a serious game of soccer. They were all sweaty and red in the face, and Mirai couldn’t understand why they would pass up such an opportunity to not do anything and get graded for it.

“You wanna play, Deuce?” Ace asked.

Mirai looked back at Deuce who was staring intently at the game.

“A-Ah, no, well, k-kinda,” Deuce stuttered.

“Aw, then go play,” Mirai said, feeling a little guilty. “Don’t let us ruin your fun.”

“Nah. And besides, it wouldn’t be fun without you guys.”

Mirai’s heart warmed at his words.

Ace laughed loudly, “Ew! Enough with the sappy stuff! Gross!”

“Hey,” Deuce shouted, “Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

Mirai laughed as the two bickered back and forth.

“Okay, okay. How about this,” Mirai said, breaking the two up, “We got ten minutes of class, so how about a game of keep-away until the bell rings?”

“Two on Two?” Ace asked.

“Mn, but to make it fair, Deuce, you gotta take Grim.”

“What?!” Deuce shouted.

“Mrah?!” Grim yelled.

“Deucey, your athletic ability is enough for two people, and I can’t play well, to even the playing field, me and Ace will take you and Grim on,” Mirai explained.

“I guess it does seem fair,” Deuce muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

“And besides, Grim plays very well, for a cat. It’s his inability to work with others you gotta watch for.”

Ace cackled and Grim and Deuce balked at Mirai’s words.

“Ready, set, go,” Mirai said in one breath, taking a head start, kicking the ball away from the group.

“Hey,” Deuce and Grim shouted.

Ace laughed, running after the group.

Before they knew it, Coach Vargas blew the whistle, signaling the end of class, and Mirai offered to put the ball away.

“You sure?” Deuce asked.

“I’m just putting it in the shed,” Mirai said, waving Deuce off, “Be back in a minute.”

Mirai jogged across the field to the equipment shed. It wasn’t far from the locker rooms, so it wasn’t a problem really. Mirai pulled open the shed door, and of course there were soccer balls everywhere.

“Can’t they just put them on the rack?” Mirai muttered angrily. With a tired sigh, he got to work.

It didn’t take too long, but Mirai managed to put all twenty-six balls on the rack. As Mirai pushed the rack in place, a volleyball from another rack fell from where it was precariously stacked against the wall. Mirai glared at the ball, just wanting to change out. Maybe he could chuck it back up there, then call it a day? Mirai grabbed the ball, taking a step back and then shot the ball up onto the rack. The ball, in fact, did not make it on top of the rack. Mirai flinched as it bounced off the rack, sending the ball back his way, and the rack toppling over and falling into the corner. As the rack fell, clattering into the back wall, there was a shout. Mirai stopped dead in his tracks because volleyballs were not supposed to talk.

“What in-Ima kill whoever did that!”

“Uh oh,” Mirai winced. He really was becoming more and more familiar with that voice.

A mop of brown hair shot up from the corner, a pair of lion ears stood upright with alert, and with a growl, Leona shoved the rack, sending it flying across the shed. Mirai flinched, ducking with a shout, as the rack flew by, smashing into the back wall, volleyballs flying and bouncing every which way. When Mirai cracked an eye open, Leona was fuming, green eyes glaring his way.

“H-Hey, Leona,” Mirai stuttered, “H-How’s it going?”

Leona growled deeply, baring his teeth. “You,” Leona shouted, climbing from his spot in the corner.

“Gotta go,” Mirai shouted quickly, chucking the ball in his hands, and just his rotten luck, it collided into Leona’s face. Leona groaned with a curse, falling backwards into the corner, holding his nose.

Mirai sprinted out of the shed, and back to the locker rooms where he quickly shucked off his gym uniform, pulling his school one on.

“What’s the hurry man?” Ace asked as he lounged on the bench, scrolling through his phone. Grim and Deuce stared curiously at Mirai.

“It seems the universe hates me and I really don’t wanna die today, so Ima get a head start,” Mirai rambled, getting his things.

“What are you-”

There was a bang on the far side of the locker room, before a furious voice roared, “Herbivore!”

Mirai jumped out of his skin, “See ya!”

Mirai opened one of the windows and jumped through, sprinting as far away as he could from the locker room.

Twisted Wonderland seemed to have it out for Mirai, testing his limits by putting him on a rigorous trial that consisted of Mirai being in horrible situations with the Savanaclaw dorm head, Leona Kingscholar. First there was the lunch mishap where Mirai accidentally bumped the third year, causing Leona to drop his grilled cheese sandwich, and it was the very last one. Then there was the mishap in the hall where Mirai dropped a stack of Professor Trein’s textbooks on Leona’s foot, then there was the time where Mirai dropped a can of soda, causing it to explode, sending it flying down the hall in right onto the ground at Leona’s feet, where it then spat sticky purple liquid all over his vest and shirt. Mirai felt horrible about all of it, it all probably taking a toll on the Beastman as much as it was him.

Mirai was currently in Potionology, and Professor Crewel was explaining the day’s lesson plan, and unfortunately, Mirai was lost in thought. He felt horrible about his streak of bad luck with him and Leona, and to top it all off, he was still crushing on the lion. Mirai supposed his chances, assuming even if had a chance to begin with, were gone. Mirai sighed tiredly, heart in his stomach.

“Oi! Are you gonna start already or are we just gonna sit here all class?”

Mirai jumped, slipping a bit, but never falling. Of course the object of his desire, which was also the source of his suffering, was standing in front of him, lab coat and all.

“W-What, what are you-”

“You weren’t listening were you?” Leona deadpanned.

Mirai flushed, shaking his head guiltily.

Leaon threw his head back, groaning exasperatedly, muttering curses to himself. “Ya’know, I could just let you fail right here?” Leona gruffed.

“Sorry,” Mirai muttered, eyes downcast.

“But I need this grade too, so Ima only explain this once. Listen carefully.”

The lesson was simple really. They were paired with an Upperclassman to make a simple swamp potion. Leona kept the pint sized cauldron warm as Mirai fetched the ingredients, Frog’s Breath, Mucus of a Forest Lizard, Toadstool Mushrooms, Algae, Toad Venom, and Mandrake Root.

First they added some water and waited for it to boil, after that it was time to add the ingredients.

“Lizard Mucus,” Leona droned, “add it.”

Mirai nodded, pouring in the viscous mucus, scraping it out with a spoon.

“Toadstool.”

“How many?” Mirai asked.

“Three.”

Mirai used forceps as he dropped in three mushrooms

“Toad Venom.”

Mirai poured in the milky white liquid, the contents of the pot taking on a white color, the liquid becoming thicker.

“Frog’s breath,” Leona sighed.

Mirai picked up the beaker filled with foggy smoke, its contents swirling around as Mirai turned about the beaker. He didn’t know how that was even in there, or how he was supposed to even add it to a liquid, but Mirai stopped questioning things around here a long time ago. Pulling the cork off the beaker, Mirai quickly tipped the glass, and as if it was a liquid, the fog poured from the beaker into the cauldron. Mirai stared wide eyed as the smoke cascaded down into the potion.

“That actually worked,” Mirai whispered in awe.

Leona snorted a laugh, “Why wouldn’t it?”

“This definitely isn’t possible where I’m from.”

Leona went silent, a look on his face that Mirai couldn’t decipher.

“So,” Mirai said, “what’s next?”

As Leona instructed, Mirai added the Algae, and the Mandrake Root, and now their potion was done, judging how it matched the color, which was a dark green, the texture, which was slimy, and the consistency, which as a thick viscous one, just like how textbook described.

Mirai got sad at the last ingredient, the Mandrake Root, knowing that those roots were previously alive at some point, with little faces, and running legs.

“What’s the matter? Got some in your eye?” Leona gruffed as he poured potion into a beaker.

Mirai shocked his head, keeping his head down, eyes glaring at the potion.

“Ya tired?”

Mirai shook his head.

“Then what’s up?!”

Mirai was quiet before he sighed, “I-It’s not fair.”

“What? You poutin’ because you wanted mix?!” Leona asked befuddled.

“No! It’s not fair that those poor Mandrakes had to die,” Mirai cried, eyes welling up with tears.

Leona stood there dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say or do. The Prefect was actually upset over the Mandrake Root.

“Good boy,” Professor Crewel praised, “You two did well-wh-what’s wrong, pup?”

Mirai shook his head.

“Kingscholar,” Professor Crewel growled.

“Can it, Crewel,” Leona huffed, “He’s cryin’ over the Mandrake Roots.”

Professor Crewel’s angered expression dropped into a sympathetic one. “Little Papillon, we’ve been over this before.”

“I-I know,” Mirai whimpered.

Professor Crewel sighed, placing a hand on Mirai’s head, “Since you two passed, would you like to hold one until class ends?”

Mirai looked up at Professor Crewel hopefully.

“Speak.”

“C-Can I?” Mirai asked.

“Yes you can,” Professor Crewel said walking off.

There was a loud screeching from the back room, and the lab went silent, multiple students jumping in their seats, and not long after, Crewel returned, red pumps clicking on the stone floors, as he made his way back to Mirai and Leona with a small Mandrake squirming in his hands.

“Here,” Professor Crewel said, slowly handing over the living plant.

“Thanks, Professor Crewel,” Mirai mumbled, taking the root.

As Professor Crewel handed it over, its distressed squirming calmed down as Mirai held it, its screaming calming down to little chirps. Crewel scoffed at its behavior, leaving Mirai so he could check on the rest of the class.

Mirai held the Mandrake with a hand under its arms and his other under its legs, and it continued to chirp as Mirai sat down at the lab table, setting the Mandrake down. The root stood up from its sitting position, slipping over its long root-like feet as it tried to walk on the smooth surface. Mirai chuckled as he lay on his arms, resting on the table. Leona sat down on the other side of the table, eyes transfixed on the walking root.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Mandrake act like that,” Leona gruffed as the Mandrake chirped, playing with the Prefect’s hand.

“You just gotta be nice, is all,” Mirai muttered, voice sounding stuffy from crying.

“That really bothered you?” Leona asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

“Yeah,” Mirai whispered, “There’s just something about knowing that the Mandrake here is just like the one I had to use in a potion. I don’t know, it's just…”

Mirai sighed, running a finger across the leafy top of the root, listening to it croon at the petting.

“But it’s just like our food, ya know,” Leona said, “Chicken, bacon, hamburgers, fish, it all was living.”

“I-I know, but I just, It’s just, I don’t know,” Mirai sighed, “It just feels wrong to me, like, it’s not fair.”

Leona hummed quietly.

The mandrake tottered around the table, slipping and teetering back and forth. Mirai stuck out a finger, brushing against the root, and Leona stuck out his hand as well, reaching for the Mandrakes head. The Mandrake jumped at his presence, slipping and scurrying to hide behind Mirai’s arm. Leona growled, his expression something close to a pout.

Mirai breathed a laugh, moving his arm, “It’s okay. The big bad lion won’t hurt you.”

“Oi,” Leona shouted.

Mirai held the Mandrake up to Leona. The Mandrake wasn’t too happy about it, but it didn’t protest as Leona ran a clawed finger across the root’s tufted head. The Mandrake chirped at the touch, nuzzling the lion’s finger.

The bell rang, signaling the classes end, and Mirai sighed.

“I’ll clean up,” Leona said, “you can put the plant back.”

Mirai nodded, a small smile in thanks as he got up to give the root to Crewel.

Somehow, there was a horrible mishap on the second level exterior hallway causing it to now need extensive cleaning. Mirai volunteered, and Ace, per Riddle’s demand, did as well, to help clean up after classes. Professor Trein even went as far as bribing the students by telling them that the first several students who volunteered got a reward dished out by the Headmage himself. So here Mirai was, mopping the stone floors, humming to himself, while Ace wiped down the columns, grumbling, muttering curses under his breath.

“Why do I gotta do this?!” Ace huffed, chucking the sodden dishrag down onto the floor, the cloth making a wet splat sound.

“Would you rather be cleaning at your dorm?” Mirai asked, “Wasn’t Riddle in a bad mood today?”

Ace cringed, picking up the rag again, “Still doesn't mean I wanna spend my time cleaning.”

Mirai chuckled, shaking his head and went back to mopping.

It got hot after a while, and Mirai tossed his blazer off, setting it on one of the clean railings, and Ace did the same, rolling up his sleeves, getting back to work. One of the third years called for a break, leaving to go get a soda, and Mirai, Ace, and a couple of others raced to the archways, sticking their heads out like dogs in a car, enjoying the weather.

“Man, this is nice,” Ace sighed.

“Yeah,” Mirai sighed.

The pair sat side by side, looking out at the courtyard below. It was relatively empty, but the lack of people made it so serene and peaceful. Many students around this time were either in a club activity, eating, studying, or just enjoying life. The wind blew the leaves on the trees, creating a calming sound that relaxed the Ramshackle Prefect. It made him a little homesick. He missed the summers in his world. He missed the Summer Fairs in America, eating cotton candy, candy apples, corn dogs, popcorn, hot dogs, and drinking blue raspberry slushies. He missed betting with his friends on who’d throw up first after eating a load of greasy fair food and going on a number of fast rides together. Maybe he’d get some ice cream later?

“Okay, let’s finish this up,” Mirai sighed, stretching.

Mirai went back to mopping the floors, making sure to get up whatever it was that exploded all over the hallway. Ace scrubbed the doors with a coarse hand brush, and there were a couple of other students washing the walls, and others washing the carpets. But with their group effort, they were able to get the exterior hallway cleaned in under two hours.

“Nice job everyone,” a Pomefiore student with long platinum hair gushed, “Such beautiful team effort!”

“What should we do with the water?” a brunette asked, ignoring him.

“I don’t know,” a blonde third year student said, “toss it out the window.”

Everyone looked skeptical, but when the blonde picked up the bucket and dumped the dirty water off the side, and nothing happened, everyone else grabbed a bucket. Going down the line, the brunette dumped his bucket, then a strawberry blonde, then a short freshman with cat ears, then the Pomefiore student, then Ace, and lastly Mirai.

With a grunt, Mirai sat his bucket on the ledge and tilted it, dumping the dirty sudsy water out. As he poured, there suddenly there was a startled screech from below, and everyone sped to the edge, sticking their heads out to see what happened. Stories below Mirai’s archway was Leona, soaked to the bone, and seething with rage. Mirai gasped as their eyes met, his hands slipping, spilling the rest of the water, the bucket falling right on the lion’s head with a loud thunk.

Mirai and the rest of the students were speechless as they stared down at Leona who was growling, baring his teeth at everyone, mostly Mirai, up above.

“I’m gonna kill you, Herbivore,” Leona screamed, “Ya hear me?! Ima kill you!”

“Shoot,” someone whispered.

And like that, everyone dispersed, sprinting from the exterior hallway.

“You’re gonna die man,” Ace hissed.

“I know,” Mirai hissed back.

“I wasn’t here, I wasn’t here, you guys don’t know me, I don’t know you,” the short cat student babbled, terrified.

There was a bang and the doors at the end of the hall flew open, revealing a sopping wet, fuming Leona, and the group stopped in their tracks, frozen in fear.

“You,” Leona seethed.

“Run,” the blonde hissed.

You didn’t have to tell Mirai twice and he booked it in the other direction. Leona passed everyone out, hunting the Prefect down.

“He’s fast,” the strawberry blonde said.

“He’s dead,” Ace deadpanned.

“Let us pray to the great seven that he’ll make it to see the sun again,” the Pomefiore student said, bowing his head, clasping his hands together.

Mirai weaved down the halls, pushing through doors, slides on the corners to make it out of the building. And to make matters worse, he could hear the aggravated haggard breathing coming from Leona getting closer and closer to him, his loud footsteps getting louder and louder. Mirai found an open classroom as he turned a corner, slipping inside, driving behind a row of desks. Leona wasn’t stupid enough to fall for it, entering the classroom after him, and Mirai knew that, but he also knew if he played his cards right, he could slip out while Leona looked for him.

Suddenly, the sound of the door shutting, the lock snapping in place had Mira frozen, his heart sinking into his stomach, the sound echoing in his ears. He was dead meat, wasn’t he?

“You’re not getting out of this one,” Leona growled.

Ice cold with fear, Mirai crouched down, crawling down the steps away from the sound of Leona ragged breathing. As Leona went right, Mirai went left, making his way down the lecture hall. Mirai made it to the middle of the room, and peaked from behind the desk. Leona was on the other side, looking behind the desks. Mirai took the chance to scurry across the room. Mirai continued, crawling on his hands and knees. He passed another row, and didn’t see Leona, and the same outcome for the next three rows. Mirai made it to the bottom of the lecture hall, crawling out from behind the front row of desks when he saw a pair of green eyes staring back at him.

“Get over here,” Leona yelled, running towards him.

Mirai screamed, sprinting back up the stairs, but didn’t get far as Leona dove after him, sending the two of them rolling down the stairs. Leona ended up on top, wringing the Prefect up by the collar, and Mirai threw his arms up, shielding his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mirai chanted over and over, breathing haggardly.

“You ain’t sorry,” Leona growled, “You’ve been doin’ this all week.”

“I’m sorry,” Mirai gasped, “I-I-, It, It was an-an accident.”

“You expect me to believe all of that was an accident?!”

“Y-Yes, yes! It was an accident,” Mirai gasped out.

Leona growled, throwing Mirai down on the floor.

“Whaddya gonna do to make up for it?” Leona growled.

“Wh-What?”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rearrange your face right now.”

“I-, a-anything, anything,” Mirai gasped out, arms still crossed over his face, “Anything in the realm of reasonability.”

Truth be told, Mirai wasn’t guarding his face for protection, not anymore, he really was covering the deep blush that colored his cheek, too deep to be from running for his life. His heart was pounding for many different reasons, as was the cause of his heavy breathing.

“Whaddaya mean?”

“L-like I’m not being your doormat,” Mirai huffed, moving his hands, “or your foot rest. You might as well get it over with and punch me.”

Leona stopped to think for a second before speaking, “This weekend, you’ll be my assistant. You’ll do anything I tell ya to do, and Ion want any lip from you.”

“Why would you want that?” Mirai scoffed, “Ruggie not enough for you?”

“Nah, I just wanna see how long it takes until someone like you breaks.”

Mirai sneered at him, his teeth grinding behind curled lips.

“Take it or leave it, Herbivore.”

“On my hours,” Mirai spoke again, standing to look the Beastman dead in the eyes.

“Huh?” Leona asked, looking a bit taken aback.

“I don’t have the liberty like Ruggie to come to you at your beck and call. I can’t afford to skip classes, and I can’t afford to miss my shift with Sam. I don’t have the liberties like the rest of you.”

Leona looked surprised at Mirai’s confession. Not many besides Ruggie were brave enough to make demands like that, but what also surprised him was the Prefect's determination.

“Deal or no deal?” Mirai asked.

“Fine,” Leona gruffed, “But don’t think you’re gonna have it easy, Herbivore. I’m not letting you off the hook until I see fit. The moment you mess up, you’re gonna have more than a black eye to worry about.”

“Give me your best shot,” Mirai smirked.

13 notes · View notes

gabriellerudessa · 5 months ago

Text

Compass (Norm Maclean x OC) - Part XVI

"Norm stopped under the doorway, his stomach sinking: would Marigold ask why Vault 4 was open to contact with the surface and his not? If he mentioned the experiments there, by Vault-Tec, it would lead to questions about his own Vault… Damn it.

Maybe it was time he found some courage and told her everything he had learned about his own Vault."

PLAYLIST ON YOUTUBE

Words: 4.605

Warnings: None

XVI

That terminal gave him trouble. It was the highest level of security he had ever encountered, and after ten minutes breaking his head against it, Norm forced himself to take a pause.

Just then he noticed his can of food above the desk, lying forgotten, unfinished.

“For God’s sake…” He mumbled, taking it and eating while squinting at the screen, the sound of the rad-storm outside not as muffled as on the ground floor, which just worsened his mood.

It wasn’t just a matter of “Marigold asked” anymore, he was genuinely curious and pissed off at the thing.

He tapped his foot on the ground, thinking, and threw a look at the desk. It was clear that hacking it would be way slower than he could deal with at the moment, so maybe figuring out the password would be better.

So, Norm started opening the drawers; maybe they would have some clue or even the damn password noted.

The first had a bunch of different chems, some that he didn’t even recognize, and a roll of white tape; he left it as it was, mentally noting to show it all to Marigold before deciding what to do.

The second had two shoeboxes crammed in together, dried plants in them, properly identified; all of them were described in Goose’s notes. He also left it as it was, hoping to get a chance of actually using the lab equipment.

The third drawer had an assortment of empty flasks, empty syringes and empty stimpaks. The fourth drawer was empty, and he almost gave up, but a tinkling sound echoed when he closed the drawer. Norm opened it again, and a golden ring glimmered inside.

He picked it up carefully, immediately felling the weight and coldness of the piece. A lump blocked his throat as he recognized it as a wedding ring. Norm swallowed, carefully looking it in the light and seeing words engraved inside the band: “Forever 01.19.2074”. Pre-war. A Ghoul, or someone that had used it after, not caring about the date? He wasn’t sure if it mattered, but he still wondered.

Norm blinked, looked at the terminal again, and typed the words and date engraved, exactly as they were.

The terminal unlocked, and he carefully put the ring back in the same drawer before looking at the screen. Even if the owner never came back… It seemed wrong to take it away.

The very first line said “Welcome back, Esther Greenie”; Norm assumed that was the previous inhabitant. Bellow it, there were three main entries in the terminal, the first named “Camera feed”, then “Recipes”, and he almost started by that one… Then he noticed the last one, “Vaults”, and his hands were faster than his brain in choosing it.

It opened a long list, of years followed by a Vault and its number.

He noticed a “Vault 21” – the Vault Goose told him about, in a faraway place called New Vegas –, accompanied by the year 2280, and opened it.

It was a long entry, started by a set of coordinates, then talking about how the person – Esther? – had visited it in the year mentioned, detailing about how someone called “Mr. House” had taken control of it – the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint from where –, about what experiments Vault-Tec had conducted in it.

He went back, and found “Vault 33”, the year “2291”. Just one year before the last time the metal door of that hideout had been opened. One of the most recent files too. The paragraph inside was brief, coordinates then talking about how the door had no signs of being forced.

Norm started opening file after file after file, knots inside his stomach at each one he read. Most of the Vaults that Esther-person had only heard about from faraway travelers and merchants, and only had the most general location, like “The Commonwealth” or “Capital Wasteland”. Most talked about experiments from Vault-Tec and how there were no survivors after it all went to south.

Damn it. Damn it. His Vault and the other two… If anything, were an exception, if only because they had higher-executives of Vault-Tec inside and it was in their interest to make sure they were successful, but there were so many more… How many lives had Vault-Tec wasted in those experiments?

More than ever he saw how “Reclamation Day” and everything else was a lie. One of the biggest of them all.

The very last entrance also appeared to be the oldest. 2265, Vault 4. There was a double set of coordinates, and it seemed to be constantly updated, the first paragraph mentioning it had done hybridization experiments, then stopped, each subsequent paragraph talking about a specific year and what trade with the inhabitants had occurred. As of 2291, the last time it had been updated, the Vault was still active, with Vault-Dwellers inside.

His mouth dry, he put the coordinates in his map.

It wasn’t far.

He knew Lucy. If she had noticed some giant Vault doors, she would’ve tried to get inside and make contact.

He jumped up, walking to the door; he needed to talk with Marigold, they had to at least stop by and ask if some Lucy Maclean had appeared. Maybe details about what the hell Vault-Tec had done there.

Norm stopped under the doorway, his stomach sinking: would Marigold ask why Vault 4 was open to contact with the surface and his not? If he mentioned the experiments there, by Vault-Tec, it would lead to questions about his own Vault… Damn it.

Maybe it was time he found some courage and told her everything he had learned about his own Vault.

---------

Marigold did her best to hang the pants in the towel hanger to dry out, grimacing at the sewing; she hadn’t brought any cotton thread – nor extra clothes – since she wasn’t supposed to travel so long, so she had to make do with what she had. The gloves were easier to drape over the sink, and those didn’t look about to be forever stained by blood.

She put her bracers back and left the bathroom with the medicine tin, empty can and fork in hands, hearing Norm typing at the terminal. A look at her lower half, a sigh, and she went into the bedroom, determined to search the drawer and wardrobe for something she could use to cover herself.

She was all for Norm taking an eyeful anytime he wanted, but if they had to get out into the Wasteland before her pants finished drying, Marigold very much preferred to do it without being butt-naked, offering a snack to any blood-sucking animal, thank you very much.

Marigold found a box of ammo compatible with her hunting rifle – hell fucking yes – hidden between blankets in the drawer. The blankets smelled of dust and a slight tinge of mold, and some were moth-eaten, but she still managed to find two relatively intact and not too bulky that they could fold and store in her backpack and in the Bounty Hunter’s bag – she figured Norm could use it, it would complement well his sidebag.

The wardrobe had only clothes: pants and shirts and t-shirts and even some feminine underwear. Everything she was seeing was too small for her, whoever owned them shorter and thinner. She was almost giving up and just tying one of the bedsheets around her hips when she found, in the very last drawer, a skirt, the color dark red, the fabric slightly rough to the touch.

It was big, and not as moth-eaten as everything else, and there were chalk lines in it; it seemed someone had intended to cut and reuse the fabric, but had never gotten to it.

Straightening and shrugging, Marigold tried it on; the buttons kept it tight to the waist, but it flowed loose along her hips and thighs, reaching her knees, not impeding her movements in any way.

That was a miracle and the skirt was definitely coming back with her.

Carrying everything, she peeked into the chem-lab; Norm was at the terminal, one hand holding his own can of food with the fork stabbed inside, not typing, but clearly focused on reading something on the screen. Smiling, she left him to it and descended to the first floor.

The kitchen table was clean, her backpack, hunting rifle, the bag-belt and the Bounty Hunter’s bag above it. A peek as she put the medicine tin inside, and everything of hers was clean, carefully put away, and it all made warmth spread inside her chest. Smiling, she tied one blanket to the outside of her backpack and stored the other inside the bag.

Marigold took a moment to take a better look at the shotgun. Despite the use of teeth as ammo, the gun was well made and well cared for. Either they could trade it, if they found a trader, or she could teach Norm to shoot it, if he wanted to. It didn’t need great skill to be used, and as far as weight went, she had seen heavier guns.

Satisfied, she took everything to the bedroom upstairs – she trusted he had locked the door, but she wasn’t about to just let everything of theirs lying around so close to it.

Norm was still focused on the terminal, fork dangling from his mouth, almost seeming to not be blinking. Apparently he had already learned how to tune out the sounds of the rad-storm.

Snickering in silence, she went down again, determined to search better the space they had dubbed “storage room”; it had a lot of boxes, shelves and other storage spaces she really wanted to go through.

Marigold crossed in front of the arched doorway leading into the living room, slowed to a stop, and looked inside it.

She bit her lower lip. The bookshelf was right there, not filled to the brim, but still more books together than she had ever seen in her life, looking… Not brand new, but in way better condition than she had come to expect; in their cursory recognition of the place, she hadn’t really stopped to look at the books in it. Maybe…

She threw a look at the storage room entrance, then back at that bookshelf.

“Who are you trying to fool, Marigold?” she strode towards the books, breathing deeply. That would be a hard search, but if it panned out…

---------

After she deciphered the first few books titles and authors, ignoring the headache trying to start, she easily noticed the previous inhabitant had carefully organized them by the author’s last name, and jumped to the last occupied shelf.

T… Tem… Temple. No, next one.

Tenny… Tennyson. Not yet.

Ter… Terhune.

Fuck, how many books from authors with names starting with T had survived the bombs?

To… Tol… Tolkien.

Her finger stopped on the book, her breath hitching. A cursory glance showed that she recognized the general form of the name on the three following books.

Four books. Four.

Marigold took the first out, squinting at the cover. Faded light green, a mountain range at the top, a sinuous serpentine dragon at the bottom, a green satin ribbon appearing between the pages. Slowly, she read the title: The Hobbit. She had heard about it, but hadn’t dreamed of ever putting her hands on it.

She took the next one, and immediately recognized the faded red cover, the golden title gleaming, red satin ribbon tickling her hand. The Fellowship of the Ring. Next book, same red cover, same golden title, same red ribbon: The Two Towers.

Marigold hesitated to take the fourth book, breath slow and trembling, but she finally did it.

There. Red cover, golden letters, red satin ribbon, and slowly, so painfully slowly, she confirmed the title: The Return of the King.

“Holly fucking shit. I’ll finally know how the fuck it ends. Fucking finally.” And she was definitely taking all the other books with her too. She had never read The Hobbit, and the other two were in way better condition than hers.

Marigold sat at the sofa, books in her lap, and carefully opened the third book of The Lord of the Rings.

It would be a long and painful reading.

And she could barely wait for it.

---------

The bathroom was open when he left the chem-lab, Marigold’s pants hanging from the towel hanger, her fingerless gloves wet and draped over the sink, but otherwise empty. A look into the bedroom showed her things and the Bounty Hunter’s bag above the drawer, a blanket rolled up and tied to the outside of the backpack.

Norm went down the stairs; the arched doorway to the kitchen was just to the side of it, and a look inside showed it was empty too.

In the end, he found her in the living room.

She had taken off her boots, sitting in the sofa with her side against the back, knees bent, the socks in her feet old and stained and mended multiple times. Apparently she had managed to find a skirt, her thighs and knees covered in a rich dark red fabric.

What most struck him was the pile of books neatly beside her boots in the floor, another book supported by her knees, open. Marigold was all curved, face close to the book, squinting at it, a finger slowly trailing the page, her lips mouthing letters and words. Comfortable and totally absorbed in it, in trying to decipher what he knew was hard for her.

He dry-swallowed and retreated a step, determined to let her to it, he could talk with her about Vault 4 later… But his foot stuck the doorway, a dull thud, and she raised her head, the soft pretty smile appearing one second later.

“Norm-boy.” The smile disappeared and she started to leave her position. “Did you discover anything worrying-”

“No, no!” he tranquilized her, stepping closer. “Didn’t look everything in it yet, needed a pause, but I think we’re clear.”

“That’s good.” The smile returned. “Why don’t you sit then?”

Norm closed the rest of the distance and lowered himself to the empty space, gingerly, eyes on her, and he could feel the slight frown in his eyebrows.

The furniture was old, lumpy. It still was better than all the grounds he had sat in the last days.

“Will we need to sleep in shifts? I know there’s a metal door, but…”

She shook her head, still smiling.

“With the rad-storm, we only really need to worry about ghouls and any other animal resistant to radiation. From these two, only non-feral ghouls may be able to open the door, so we should be safe enough that the both of us can sleep at the same time. Normal humans would have to either be insane or have a lot of extra supplies to deal with rads to risk travelling through it.”

The explanation made him relax more in his place, leaning against the back, hands loosely crossed between his legs.

So a full night of sleep awaited him, hopefully. He could barely wait.

“Thinking of enjoying an early night?”

He looked back at Marigold, and she just watched him, mismatched eyes calm, lips in a loose smile, not even exactly the soft one anymore. Relaxed. The most she had been since they had left the ranch.

“No.” he wetted his lips. “What are you reading?”

She raised the cover for him to read: The Return of the King.

Ah. The Lord of the Rings. They had it in the Vault’s library. Lucy had tried to make him read the trilogy, so determined to make him involved in the family book club, convinced that he just hadn’t found his genre of books yet.

He hadn’t finished the first chapter. Had barely thought of the books since then.

“That’s the third book, right?”

“Yeah. Mika gave me the first two when I made nineteen, but we never found the third, we’ve been curious for years.” She put the book back down, her smile big, caressing the pages carefully, eyes on it, shining.

How could he suddenly be jealous of a book?

“I remember what you said about reading. It must have been hard to.” He forced the words out, pass the jealousy, still watching her.

Marigold nodded, sighing.

“Hard, long, painful… But it was worth it.”

“How so?”

She looked back at him.

“It’s hard to explain, but… It’s a mix of things. There’s the characters, and how they are trying to do what’s right. And it’s hard, they are all different but they have each other, they come together for a common goal, and even when they get separated, it’s still the same goal.” The soft smile came back. “It reminds me a bit of my family, you know?”

Norm found himself smiling along. He didn’t have the barest idea of which characters or goal she was talking, but there was this… Fondness and affection in how she said all that that he got it, a little bit.

“You said a mix of things. What else?”

“The descriptions.” She breathed deeply, eyes again on the book. “Tolkien describes everything with so much detail… The only trees I’ve ever seen are the ones close to Filly. Pictures are hard to come by these days, at least around here. Before reading, I had no real idea of how big a forest could be, how grass could extend for miles and be fucking green and alive instead of dried and dead looking. I know they’re not real places, but the author must’ve seen places like these. It’s the only way he could describe it all so well.”

Norm kept smiling, but there was a lump in his throat.

The Vault had pictures. Magazines with photos. Holovideos. Damn, they farmed corn in the Vault, he knew how green plants could be, had seen them, live and in records.

He had been privileged in having so many things showing how the world had been at one point, many decades before the bombs, hadn’t he?

And beyond that… The enthusiasm she showed for the story was… Enchanting.

“I could read the book aloud for you. At least while we travel together.” The words left him faster than he could actually think about the offer, but once the words were out… He didn’t wish to take them back.

He wanted that, more moments with Marigold before they went their separated paths, maybe see the story through her eyes, a Wastelander, instead of the eyes of the Vault. It seemed more interesting.

Marigold’s eyes raised back at him, blinking, shocked.

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s a long book, and maybe you have more you want to do-”

“I am, Marigold.” He cut her, smiling as he extended a hand.

She looked at the hand, breathed deeply, and carefully put the book in it.

The book was on the fourth page, and he slowly turned back to the first. He breathed deeply, squashed the uncertainty and fear trying to make him chicken out, and started reading aloud: “Pippin looked out from the shelter of Gandalf’s cloak…”

---------

Marigold could barely believe when Norm offered to read for her. Had half-expected him to back out, but he didn’t.

The words seemed to float on his soft, low voice, the story and places and characters the most alive they had ever been to her.

No slow reading, no stuttering and going back because she had misread something and then things stopped making sense, no reading letter-by-letter-by-letter and putting it all together in her head to the best she could, no headache making her stop after just some pages.

No.

Just a flow, almost endless, no pain, just… The story and Norm.

She hugged her legs, chin on her knees, watching Norm as much as hearing his voice. At some point he had relaxed more, half-turning in the sofa, one leg up on it and the other crossed over it, foot still touching the ground, a shoulder against the backrest, long fingers splayed against the pages and accompanying his progress, eyes cast down… His hair remained as he had combed in the morning, his cheeks still marked with her lipstick, even if a little blurred at the edges – Marigold was pretty sure he hadn’t even noticed.

She wished she had a way of taking a picture of him at that moment, to keep with her the rest of her life, no matter where their paths took them.

That warmth in her chest she had noticed earlier was back with a vengeance, her heart beating faster, harder. Marigold blinked at Norm, and for one moment her brain tuned out of the story, her breath hitching.

Maybe she was wildly wrong, maybe she was being hasty in assuming what exactly she felt, but that… At that exact moment…

It felt a lot like love. Of the romantic type.

And if it wasn’t… Well. After those last days, and how Norm had just been… Norm, Marigold was pretty sure she could easily fall in love with him.

Maybe she should. A hundred times and more. It didn’t seem or sound like something she would ever regret, not at that moment.

What she would do with it was another question. It wasn’t as if she had truly dwelled on any possibility of the type once the “Black Widow troubles” started appearing.

Admit it but keep it all light and casual, pursue a relationship, don’t ever acknowledge it to him? All valid options. She didn’t know which one to favor.

Marigold was only certain that she had no problem with the feeling in itself.

Fuck. Ma had been right all along in scheming for them to travel together, hadn’t she?

---------

Norm kept reading, page after page after page, ignoring how self-conscious he felt; not only he wasn’t the best of readers, he didn’t know that world and those characters as well as he could to actually bring them to life, not the way he felt Marigold deserved.

For God’s sake, he barely understood about what the story was.

He risked looking up as one chapter ended and another began, and it struck him how focused Marigold seemed: hugging her legs, chin on her knees, eyes shining, that soft, pretty smile… Not at the book, but at him.

It was the most focused and softly anyone had ever looked at him. As if he had hung the stars and the moon in the sky.

Swallowing, he looked back at the book and started the next chapter, his heart hammering inside his chest with so much strength that he feared it would tear right off of it.

He didn’t know what to think of that look. What it meant.

It wasn’t heated. It wasn’t teasing, flirting, nothing like those. Just… Soft and focused.

And his own reaction? He didn’t know anymore what was going on with him.

Whatever it was… It was going fast, it made him a mess, it made him jealous, and he was sure it wasn’t purely sexual, because at that moment, he knew that he would read a whole library aloud for Marigold, as long as she kept looking at him like that.

---------

He lost any sense of time as he read, just a yawning sound eventually interrupting him. Using a finger to mark the place in the page, Norm looked up at Marigold, noticing her eyes dropping, even while still smiling and being focused on him. Outside, the rad-storm still raged on.

“I think we should go to sleep.”

Marigold opened her mouth, and it was clear she was about to protest… Then she closed it, breathed deeply, shoulders dropping.

“What’s the hour on your Pip-Boy?”

Norm turned his forearm enough to look at the screen, sighing.

“Almost midnight.”

“Fuck.” Marigold groaned, turning in place and landing her feet on the ground. “You’re right, we should.”

Norm pulled the satin ribbon over to mark the page and closed the book as Marigold pulled on her boots.

“Think the rad-storm will still be going on in the morning?” he asked as he got up, and Marigold stopped as she got the other books, eyebrows frowning and head leaning to the side, staying like that for a long minute.

“It’s hard to say with certainty, but it’s possible. We’ll have to wake early to be certain." Marigold finally said, a hand at the top of his back pushing him slightly towards the stairs, switching off the lights as they went.

“If it’s going on?”

“We wait, get as ready was we can, maybe sleep more. If not, we can leave, even if later in the day.”

Norm nodded, slowly going up the stairs, feeling in conflict; if it didn’t stop, it meant at least one more day of travel, which meant more delay in finding Lucy… But also one more day with Marigold, possibly with more moments like the one they just had.

Damn it. He was a mess.

He heard Marigold yawning behind him, and found himself doing the same just as he reached the doorway to the bedroom… And stopped in place, blinking.

For some reason, as he climbed up, he had totally forgotten the bedroom had only one bed. A double one, but still just one.

Marigold circled him, almost no limp in her steps, taking the last book from him and storing all of them in her backpack. He remained in place, unconsciously squirming as she took off the cape and belt with her knives, keeping the weird one she had used against the feral ghouls. She took off the boots, but the leather bracers remained… And just then she noticed he was still under the doorway, blinking and squinting at him.

“Norm-boy? Everything’s fine?”

Norm jumped in place, feet kick starting and taking him inside.

“Yeah, sure.” He could deal with that. He was an adult man, and it was just sharing a bed… No matter how beautiful he found her or all the earlier horny thoughts and all the flirting and build-up and whatever else.

It wasn’t even as if most of his sexual experience involved beds… People in the Vault usually just went at it using the nearest surface.

He took off the Pip-Boy for the first time since Nip-Nip and James, shaking his hand and forearm at the missing weight. It, his sidebag and the coat went together with everything on the drawer’s surface. If she was getting a little more comfortable, he figured he could too.

“I’ll sleep closer to the door.” He looked in time to see her storing the knife under the pillow. “The light switch is this side, I’ll wait for you.” Marigold nodded at the bed, hands on her waist.

“Sure, thanks.” He swallowed, taking off his boots and following her example, with the knife under the pillow, pulling the blanket.

He was still getting into the bed when she turned off the light, darkness swallowing them. The bed dipped, and then they were both lying down under the blanket, back to back, and he did his best to ignore a lot of things: how uncomfortable the mattress was, how close she was, the smell of dust clinging to the bedsheets and pillows, the warmth coming from her…

“Good night, Norm-boy.”

“Good night, Marigold.”

It didn’t take long for him to hear her soft snores, to feel her back relaxing against him.

That helped him, his anxious brain finally getting it was really just about sleep, and soon he was the one relaxing, barely noticing when he fell asleep.

#norm maclean #norm maclean x oc #fallout #fallout series #fallout prime #THEY ARE STARTING TO NOTICE #God I LOVED writing this chapter #the reading scene was one I was really excited for

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 5 months ago

Text

Meteor Shower (Part 2)

Sometimes frozen rivers sing. Under the moonlight they crackle and hum. A deep and chilly aquatic type of sound. Low but somehow shrill and piercing all at once. That is the voice of Icy. Crackling, cold, and eerie if you don’t know what you are listening to.

She chooses her venues wisely—usually small and terribly exclusive places; hole in the wall night clubs, underground bars in a most literal sense, and abandoned factories painstakingly repurposed by passionate but unprofessional hands. On one occasion she’d managed to craft her own makeshift venue from a cave that she’d come by on one of their potions class outings.

Stormy and Darcy insist that it is damaging their chances to pick up real crowds and top the charts. Icy is adamant that it creates demand. A certain draw and allure that can only be afforded by elusivity and exclusivity. A need for fans to have their chance to say that they’ve done it.

It is more than that though. These niche, back alley places, they have an organic ambiance that the popular venues lack. They carry sound in extraordinary and unique ways. Ways that make her voice sound hauntingly ethereal.

Sometimes she thinks that Darcy and Stormy don’t see the whole picture. Darcy in particular is fixated on the numbers. Icy only frets over those when they are related to the charts and their music video view counts.

Icy closes her eyes and finishes her last note, letting it ring around the bar like a phantom on the prowl. She lets her fingers slide down the microphone and fall at her sides. The spotlight puts a shimmer on her deep blue eyeshadow and a twinkle in her long diamond earrings before it cuts out and the crowd is left to their cheering.

“That’s always the best part.” Stormy remarks once they are backstage. “When they start screaming our names, you know?”

“Sure.” Icy mutters as Darcy agrees, “absolutely.”

It isn’t that Icy doesn’t enjoy the fame and the praise. She is, in fact, absolutely enamored with their popularity. But sometimes it gives her a headache. Sometimes she just wants quiet. It is some residue of a different time. She sighs and pours herself a drink. “Darko said that he has some news for us.” She tips the glass back and empties it. “Made it sound like the kind of news we don’t want to hear.”

“I do and I did.” Darko slinks in, Lucy in tow.

“Is the bad news that you brought her here?” Darcy quirks a brow.

“Hey! I’m your number one fan. You three ought to appreciate me more. I’m practically your one man marketing team. Two man if I can get Mirta on board.”

“You're such a dork, Lucy. Fucking pathetic.” Icy grumbles and clanks her glass onto the countertop from which she had plucked it.

Lucy lights up a cigarette and takes a drag. She holds the package out. “Anyone else want one?”

“I don’t know, Icy, she might not be so bad.” Stormy takes one of the cigarettes.

“Only because she brings you those.” Darcy pinches her nose. “Honestly, you’ve got to break that habit.” She fans the air around her. “I’ll be outside.” Icy can still hear her muttering as the door closes, “some of us actually like breathing.”

“So what’s your news, Darko?” Icy inquires as she pours herself a second glass of booze.

He clears his throat and rubs the back of his head. “Well…um…you see…”

“Spit it out, I don’t have all night.” She swirls her drink and listens to the clinking of the ice cubes.

“The Wizards and I won’t be able to tour with you this season.”

Icy pauses with the glass halfway to her lips. “Excuse me?” She asks as she slowly lowers the glass.

“Duman gave himself polyps. We told him not to be so rough on his vocal cords but he loves doing those screechy kvlt screams and those pig squeals…”

“I don’t care how he damaged his voice!” Icy slaps the table. “I care that he just fucked the rest of us over!”

Darko cringes. “Gantlos already gave him shit for it. Don’t worry. And I’m sure that Ogron and Anagan are hassling him as we speak.”

Icy rubs her hands over her face. “Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. And on such short notice too; just how do you expect us to find a new opening act a week before we’re set to go on our realm wide tour?”

Darko grimaces. “You’re one of the most intelligent people I know, you’ll…”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of this one, Darko!”

“I didn’t get me into this one!” He insists. “I was one of the main people nagging Duman to take it easy. Shit, it’s not my fault that he didn’t listen. I’m just delivering the news.”

“You’re the band leader.” Icy sneers. “I can keep my idiots in check.”

“Hey!” Stormy shouts from across the room. “I’m gonna tell Darcy that you said that.”

Icy dismisses her with a curt wave. “You should be able to keep your bandmates in line.”

“Well it’s too late now. I was going to help you find a new group to work with, in fact I already had a band in mind. But since you’ve been a überbitch about this whole thing I’m going to text them and tell them that you aren’t interested.”

“Oh, bite my ass, Darko!” Her grip on the glass tightens, she hears the ice crackling out from under her fingers and spreading over the glass.

Darko shrugs. “Look babe, you’re brilliant and sexy…” With a sly smile he adds, “we have a lot of fun together and I’d like to keep that up.” He pauses. “But I’m done being an outlet for whatever the issue of the day is, get yourself together. You’ve really gotta work out whatever is going on here…” he taps his head. “Unless you want a repeat of…”

She throws the glass at him. “Fuck you, Darko.”

He lifts his hands. From her own corner, Stormy winces at the sound of shattering glass. The same sound that lures Darcy back inside.

“Out!” She hisses.

“Icy, I shouldn't have…” he starts.

“OUT!” She roars.

“I…”

“Come on, Darko.” Darcy takes him by the shoulders. “I’ll text you later, you know how she gets when she drinks.”

Icy rolls her eyes. “I only had a glass and a half.”

“What about before the show?”

“That was hours ago.”

She swears on the names of the ancestral witches that she will throw Darcy out of their band one day. How tired she is of listening to her imply that she has a drinking problem. Oh, Icy has plenty of problems but that isn’t one of them. The only problem that she has right now is that she has to figure out what to do about their lack of an opening act.

.oOo.

He is charming.

He is charismatic.

Something of a pretty boy. Long blonde hair with pretty pale green eyes that sometimes show blue or gray that are famed by thickly and elegantly applied eyeliner. His cheekbones and jawline are expertly contoured. Kyanite likes to think that the other girls can’t fault her for falling for him.

He had found her after a show one day. Neither backstage nor on her way to the tour bus. No, he had found her, out of costume and free of glittery makeup and ankle-snapping heels, sitting by a pond. She had been watching the ducks and listening to people as they walked past.

He had said that he loves her voice and that it is ashame that the fanbase doesn’t pay her more attention.

Kyanite had insisted that she was fine with that. And that she rather liked it that way.

Valtor had insisted that she was meant for more. So much more. That he could help her reach her full potential. “You would be a phenomenal solo artist.” He had informed her. “I own my own record company.”

It was those six words that had started her end.

“What about the rest of the girls? We’re a pop group…”

“Artists work on solo projects all the time.” And that is true enough. It is even true that she has seen girl group members work on solo projects while touring with their bandmates. Valtor had promised that he would make it work.

And so she is here now.

But she is pretty sure that Ruby in particular is angry with her. And Diamond is giving her the silent treatment.

“Don’t worry about them.” Valtor says. “They’re just trying to hold you back.”

“Why would they do that? They’re my friends.”

“Because they’re jealous. That Diamond girl, what’s her real name?”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s Diamond to the world.”

“Well that Diamond girl is jealous of you. She knows that you can sing better than anyone else in…”

“MeTor.” Kyanite fills in.

“She knows that you have the best voice and that’s exactly why she likes you staying in the background. Why do you think that she let you be the band leader?”

“Because I started the band?” Kyanite tilts her head.

Valtor chuckles. “No, no my dear. It is an empty title at best and a pity title at worst.”

“She and the rest of the girls know that I don’t like attention. I’m not…”

Valtor positions his pointer and middle finger under her chin and tilts her head up so that she may stare into those seafoam eyes. “Oh but you are.” He coos. “You are meant to be more than a meteor. You are mean to be a star…a sun! You are a sun.”

“Goldstone is more of a sun. That’s why she’s Goldstone and I’m Kyanite.”

Valtor shakes his head. “Why do you think so lowly of yourself?”

This isn’t the first time that he has inquired and she has never been able to give him a good answer. Or an answer at all really. Just that she has always thought of herself as inferior. Maybe it is because Diamond is just so gorgeous and elegant and Chalcedony is so pretty and petite. Maybe it is because Topaz has had rock solid abs since they were just middle schoolers. It could be that Topaz has the nicest, most flawless skin that always smells shape and fruity or that Ruby can move her body in the most enticing and exceptional ways. Kyanite could never be that coordinated.

She can also never look the way that the others do. They are all so slim and athletic, even Chalcedony with her baby face. Kyanite is soft and is often the cause of most of the cuts during their dance practices. But she has her voice, at least according to Valtor. And apparently that is enough to make her his prodigy.

“We’ll work around your shortcomings.” He had promised. Her shortcomings being the way she dresses in her free time, the way she does her makeup, her weight, and, apparently, the shape of her nose. He loves her hair color, but it could use a different cut.

Today he refuses to acknowledge that she has any shortcomings at all. “I think that you are simply beautiful.” He coos. “You will be my star. And you will be confident.”

Kyanite doesn’t know which assertion she believes less.

.oOo.

“They are so not for real right now!” Stella bellows.

“Unfortunately I think that they are.” Bloom frowns. “Sky has to go back to Eraklyon—”

Musa cuts in to grumble, “and Riven is having one of his diva moments.” This coaxes a snorting chuckle from Layla that she tries to stifel behind her hand.

“So it looks like we need to find a new opening act.” Bloom finishes.

“Well why can’t Brandon, Timmy, Helia, and Nabu perform without them?” Techna asks. “They’re a boy band, we can have all of their instruments pre programmed. I can work a drum machine perfectly well and…”

“We know that, Tech! And we super appreciate the offer…” Musa begins.

“But?”

“But we, us and The Specialists, all want the real deal.”

“Most other bands have already found their tour buddies for the season though.” Flora points out.

“We’ll think of something, we always come through.” Bloom promises with a smile.

“We better!” Stella folds her arms across her chest. “We cannot lose to The Trix! Fairies have been at the time of the music charts for decades, we can’t be the first group to lose that streak. That would totally be so embarrassing!” She sulks into the sofa with a pout. “Witch music is terrible anyways. It’s all dark and you can’t even dance to it.”

“Come on, Stella, don’t be too hard on ‘em. Music is music, they’ve made some bangers.” Musa shrugs.

“Of course you think so. I don’t know a genre that you don’t like.” Stella sighs.

“We’ll find another band to tour with.” Bloom reassures. “We won’t let The Trix win.”

#winx #winx club #the trix #winx trix #winx icy #winx darcy #winx stormy #bloom peters #winx stella #winx flora #winx musa #winx layla #winx tecna #valtor #fanfiction

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tainted-by-skeletons · 6 months ago

Text

Reader X Sans X Grillby (Part 4)

NSFW Warning

What's getting him horny now?! Is he a sadist?! Oh God. This was a huge mistake. A sadist and a monster is a very terrifying mix!

“Haaah!~”

I wasn't wanting to get beat up that night, but Sans wasn't very powerful. If he wanted to hurt me he'd have to put in a lot of effort. So the fear wasn't overpowered by my lust.

“Hey. Grillby. I think he's had enough.” Sans told us suddenly.

No! You choose now to be a wet blanket again?!

“Ohhh…” Grillby sighed. “Do you think I'm being too hard on your friend?”

“Nah. It's not that. I just think you should take off his shirt now. And maybe we can make him sit with us like that for a while.”

“What?!”

“Ooohhh Saaans~ You're finally joining the fun. I'm so happy.” Grillby said as he slid his hands up my hips and took hold of my shirt.

“A-aah!”

He pulled up on the shirt with such force I couldn't keep my arms down. And he successfully undressed me. I was now standing in only my underwear, socks and shoes. Sans made an expression of slight interest at the sight of my naked chest, and casually put an arm on the bar and leaned over a bit. Still very obviously checking me out.

“Wha-ha-ah! W-what’s the deal with you?! Why are you- l… looking at me like that…” I asked shyly.

“What. Have a problem with it? I can stop and you can put your clothes back on. Maybe I was right. Maybe we shouldn't try to force anybody tonight.”

“Rrrr! If you think you're getting revenge or somethi- Hey!”

I forgot Grillby was behind me. He picked me up easily and sat me down on one of the bar stools.

“Now be a good boy. Maybe Sans will strip down too.” Grillby offered.

“Yeah. Tell me you want to see me naked and I'll do it.” Sans told me.

“What?! You're kidding.”

I knew he just wanted to see me squirm. And I knew I couldn't muster the courage to say it without faltering. I had to choose between my pride and my penis. The correct choice was obvious to me.

“C-can I- er. Uh… I really want to see you naked. Sa… p-please.” I whispered.

“Oooh. What was that? Were you wanting to say my name?”

“Uh!” I quickly turned back to my drink. The condensation dripping down the glass reminded me it was nice and cold. So I took a sip to cool my hot and bothered body.

“Do it. Say my name.”

“S…sans…” I murmured, eyes still fixed on my drink.

A flash of blue light appeared on my left side. Before I could figure out what it was, my chair gave out from under me somehow. I fell onto the floor.

“Look at me and say it.”

I looked up and Sans hooked his pink slipper under my chin. Forcing my head up at an uncomfortable angle.

“Sans!” I panted.

*Tszzzz*

“Fuck!”

Sans and I turned to see Grillby leaned against the counter tripping over himself doing… something. Sans looked over and I stood up to see what it was. Grillby ran to the back of the bar behind a wall. Sitting on the bar was a small blob of something orange-ish red and kinda black. I reached over to touch it and...

“Don't. That's magma. Heheh. I guess Grillby was drooling. Like… literally drooling at us.”

I snickered at that just as Grillby rushed back into the room with a large silvery towel. He put it over the magma as a small fire had started on the table.

“Rraaagghhhh.” Grillby growled.

I had never seen him so mad. Before that night I hadn't seen Grillby showing much emotion at all really.

“You're really fired up today.” I accidentally joked.

“Pftt Hahahaha! Nice one man!”

“Ah shit. Heheh. I didn't mean to make a pun.”

Sans was far from his sadistic, horny mood now. I wasn't getting anything else out of him. I sighed and turned to Grillby. He looked furious. He pointed to Sans and said,

“You. Strip. Now.” In a terrifyingly demanding voice.

Sans simply shrugged.

“Eh. I don't like to break promises. Guess this might as well happen tonight. Sorry Y/N. Hope this doesn't make things awkward.”

Sans hopped off the bar stool and slid off his jacket.

“Heheh. Don't worry. You can go back to your own place after this and drink until you forget it.” I offered.

“And what about you?” Sans asked as he pulled up his shirt. Showcasing a set of thick ivory ribs and… a blue jello-y looking torso underneath it?

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh.”

“Hey. Don't get all flustered yet. I haven't even gotten to the good part.”

“Wh- uh.”

I was shocked to hear that Sans had confidence in his package. He slid off his pants and showed me exactly why. Underneath his pants were no underwear. Which I didn't understand since he had a somewhat normal body, but he was also sporting a mostly erect penis.

Aggghhh! He's huge! That's not fair! I can't believe of all people he'd be the guy with a big dick!

Sans' member looked about five inches. Which isn't impressive, but the girth was insane. I could tell he was still not fully up yet either. So it had to be six or seven inches at most.

“Oh God…” I muttered without thinking.

Sans' penis twitched at my accidental compliment.

“Aw Jeez. You're makin’ me blush.”

“Errr uhhh. I just uhhh- I didn't know skeletons would have those.”

“Yup. You look like you don't believe it. Are you wanting to come make sure it's real?”

“Well now that you say that~ I'm almost convinced it is fake! I better check.” I said, nodding.

“You might have to get in line. I think it's only fair if Grillby checks first. You okay Grillbz?”

Grillby was standing dead still, staring at Sans. He didn't seem like he had that much alcohol before, but he was clearly plastered. I couldn't think of any other reason he would be acting so differently that night.

“Um…” Grillby shook his head and looked up at Sans’ face. “Yes. Sorry. You're just so… captivating.”

“Ah!-”

Now a compliment like that got Sans going. He stuttered nonsense and looked down to the floor. Only to quickly notice that his dick had swelled in appreciation of the compliment.

Good to know. Sans has a bit of a praise kink. I wouldn't expect such a laid back, lazy, kinda sloppy guy to be a sadist with a thing for praise. I'd expect that from Mettaton or something.

Grillby passed me and took hold of Sans' shoulders. He slowly slid his fingers down Sans' arms, down his blue jelly torso, and paused just above his dick. Knelt on the floor, Grillby started gently running his fingers up and down the thick shaft.

“I can't believe you've been hiding this from everyone. Scared you're gonna break somebody with it?”

“Mnn…Heheh. It can't be that big.”

Sans was maintaining his confidence, but it wouldn't last very long.

“Oh that's riight~ My little skeleton has never seen a pussy before.”

“Hey. Don't call me-”

“Pft. Wait, really? You've never seen one at all?” I interrupted.

“Hey! It's not like I could have just-*gasp* G-Grillby! Aaahhh~”

And Sans was interrupted once again by Grillby now putting his mouth around Sans' cock and slowly sliding forward towards his ecto-torso. Sans stumbled backwards but Grillby quickly put his arms around his ass, holding him up. Sans yelped softly as his bright blue butt was suddenly squeezed and rendered immobile. The expression on Sans' face was so passionate I could only assume he had never received a blow job before. I couldn't hold myself back anymore. I went up to the two, and moved next to Sans. He watched me with a mix of fear and embarrassment on his face. That expression only became more apparent when I put a hand on his cheek and turned his face towards mine. I wanted to see how he'd react before I did anything.

“W-w-wai- aaah!~ Y/N. Ah! Grillby!~ Haaahhh-mmn?!”

And then I leaned in and kissed him.

#undertale #fanfiction #x reader #sans x reader #sans #undertale fanfiction #grillby x reader

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carmenlire · 1 year ago

Text

Been Like This Part I

read on ao3

Alec walks into the bar and the weight on his shoulders seems to weigh a thousand tons, pressing down, and vaguely Alec wonders if he shouldn’t just go home and collapse into bed. Maybe then he’d finally feel weightless, if just for the half hour it takes to fall asleep.

But no, there’s something that’s pushing him into Hunter’s Moon tonight. Alec carries a strong dislike for most people– all those except for the precious few in his inner circle– but right now he feels a want– a need– to be around others without expectation.

He doesn’t necessarily want to talk to anyone. Really, just the very thought is exhausting, seems beyond his capabilities after a long week of talking to people constantly, ten hours a day, all the more tiresome when the conversations are nothing but impatient entitlement on their side and aggrieved irritation on his.

Distantly, he thinks that it should probably be a little worrying that his job, his dream that he's worked so hard for, is nothing but another source of annoyance and anxiety now.

It’s quiet for a Thursday evening. There’s just a smattering of people in the place. A couple plays pool on the far end, a group of friends are having a raucous time at a table in the corner. Alec smiles a little when one of them shouts something unintelligible just for them all to start laughing.

Alec can’t help but think that, from the entrance at least, it sounds so genuine.

Making his way to the bar, he has his pick of seats. There’s a woman at the end, a small collection of empty margarita glasses keeping her company. Alec figures that he’ll have his own assortment of glass soldiers standing watch by the end of the night.

The stool he chooses has scuffed leather when he pulls it out. It’s a little worn, light scratches here and there. Still, it feels wonderful to sit and to know that he doesn’t have to get up for however long he wants.

Truly, work has been exhausting this week. So many customers, requiring Alec to run in a dozen directions to put out a hundred fires. A cold is going around that’s left him short staffed the past several days. His bean supplier canceled his order without notice, leaving him in a serious lurch this morning.

The voice of the customer who yelled at him just a couple of hours ago-- because he made her plain iced americano without milk-- is still ringing in his ears.

Flipping the sign over to closed this evening had felt like nothing short of a victory. Letting the two remaining staff go home early to clean up by himself had been relaxing even if it had taken the last little bit of energy he’d managed to conserve.

There’s something soothing about being alone in his own space– Alec’s built Lightwood Coffee and Co. from the ground up. It’s his baby first, last, and everything in the middle. The couple of hours it had taken to clean up, go through inventory, and prepare for tomorrow had been the best part of his day, really.

Still, it was exhausting, the simple tasks that had once been filled with passion and excitement. Everything was so dull now, so rote.

In the back of his mind, Alec worries if it’s the coffee shop that’s lost its shine or if it’s just his life in general, color leeching out of everything he touches.

His thoughts have been maudlin all day, really for the past few months.

And now, here at Hunter’s Moon, Alec has no grand plan except to have a few drinks and try to not be so human for the rest of the night.

Something not quite a person, but not so far gone as to actually betray what he feels like– a little off center, stretched a little too thin, trying a little too hard to put on a convincing visage of responsible, perfectly functional adult.

Alec zones out for a few minutes before the bartender makes his way over to him. His overall expression is mildly standoffish, though his face is neutral as he stills in front of Alec and asks, “What can I get you?”

There’s no smile and Alec’s left with the vague feeling that nothing he could do or say would phase the bartender. Alec can relate.

There’s no offer of a menu and Alec doesn’t ask for one. “Can I just get an amaretto sour, please?”

The bartender’s brow raises imperceptible but he just nods, replies, “Sure thing,” and is turning his back before Alec can say anything else.

The drink’s placed in front of him just a moment later and at the first sip, Alec relaxes. It’s good– damned good.

Alec isn’t one to drink much and he’s never been to this particular bar before, though he passes it every day on his way to work. If the drinks are this good every time, then he might just need to become a regular on those days where he wants to blend in with everyone else and disappear for awhile in a simple pleasure.

The first drink is gone in a few efficient swallows. Maybe Alec should be concerned at how easy it’s gone down but it feels like the first time all week that something’s been able to give him an ounce of ease.

The bartender makes the few steps over to him, pauses but doesn’t say anything, just looks at Alec with that brow raised in question.

Alec nods.

The second drink is just as smooth as the first, the sweetness with the slightest bitter note hitting just the right spot.

Idly, Alec wonders if he’s going to get drunk tonight. Truth be told, he’s not much of a drinker. He enjoys the odd night out with Jace or Izzy, has been dragged into a poker night at Simon’s place a time or two where the bottles of cheap wine seemed to pour endlessly.

Still, he doesn’t make a habit of it. Well aware– too aware some might say– of how slippery of a slope these things can be, an underlying paranoia always keeping him in check. Just in case.

It’s during the third amaretto sour when someone sits a seat down from him. Alec doesn’t pay much attention, nothing more than to hear the rough scrape of a stool sliding over the floor, an impression of another man settling in after a day of work.

Briefly, Alec wonders if the other customer’s day was as grueling as his. He finds a well of sympathy at the notion.

Deciding to give the stranger the discretion he’d want, Alec’s attention shifts to other patrons. Crossing the line into tipsy, he’s an eager if apathetic people-watcher.

The group of friends in the corner have found a deck of cards somewhere and are having– what sounds like– an amazing time. Alec would like to imagine that they do this every month, in a similar way to the way he attends his poker nights, the weekly movie nights he has with Jace and Izzy.

It’s a warming thought for all that it strikes a pang of loneliness.

The movie nights have been a bit hit or miss lately. Izzy has been swamped with grad school and Jace is spending so much time with Clary that he’s rainchecked more than once.

Alec skipped a poker night a couple of months ago because one of his evening staff called off and one thing led to another and he hasn’t been to Simon’s since.

Once the streak was over, it was too easy to keep ghosting, the fatigue that’s been riding him into the ground making it too easy to beg off.

And, well, now Alec feels like something has slipped through his fingers, like he’s lost a chance, like he– well like he shouldn’t, can’t, just pick things back up.

It’s absurd, he knows. He’s been friends with Simon since college. Life happens.

Still. Alec has a deep, innate fear of being presumptuous, of overstepping bounds that he didn’t even know existed.

Simon hasn’t (re)extended an invitation and so– Alec doesn’t go over.

The coffee shop takes so much of his attention and it’s become matter of habit to simply go home at the end of the day.

It’s part of the reason that he decided to walk into this bar tonight. Alec isn’t adventurous or spontaneous. More than that, though, he had needed a diversion, felt the need for something else itching just under his skin, tickling his ribs.

Alec’s not one for flights of whimsy but the idea of breaking up the monotony had wiggled its way into his head sometime this morning, in between scalding himself on the edge of a tray of scones and getting berated for not having elderberry syrup. He needed to get away and for once, the idea of slipping into bed after a shower hot enough to burn his skin just didn’t seem like enough.

Maybe it’s the itch for diversion, a desire to not be so alone manifesting as a sad man drinking alone at a bar with nothing but strangers for company.

Alec still feels like it’s better than the alternative, though, and decides not to think about what exactly that says about him or his piss-poor excuse for living lately.

Throughout the past hour or so, Alec’s butt has grown numb and his back aches something approaching awful. These stools were not ergonomically designed and Alec’s a little too tired to keep from slouching in a way that’s a little painful and definitely damaging to his spine.

He lingers over the third drink until it’s watered down, trying to simply exist in a moment that he tells himself he wanted.

If he’s being honest, it’s not really satiating whatever inclination he’d had. Now Alec is still just as tired but the alcohol is already leaving him with a headache, leaving his head feeling the kind of fuzzy that just vaguely pisses him off.

He’s still debating between ordering a fourth drink anyway, staring into the dregs of his glass, when he hears a voice from his left.

It’s smooth, just a little low. “Penny for your thoughts, darling?”

The gentle tease in the words makes Alec smile while still looking down where he's tracing a scratch on the bar. Without quite being aware of it, he murmurs, “I’m not sure if they’re even worth that much.”

Sighing– with more than a little bit of drama to attest to the cup or two of amaretto he’s downed– Alec looks up just to blink, the sight before him arresting.

The man who’d asked the question is wearing an easy smile. His eyeliner is just barely smudged at the edges. His blazer is a deep maroon and the shirt is unbuttoned enough to share a tantalizing stretch of skin.

He looks friendly, Alec can’t help but think.

Waiting until Alec makes eye contact with him, the man’s smile deepens just enough to crinkle the corner of his eye.

“Well, I’m sure that’s not true.”

Warmth simmers in Alec’s chest at the quick rebuttal. He finds himself smiling, in turn. “And what makes you so sure?” Alec can’t resist asking with a raised brow.

To most anyone else, the question might come off as surly, combative. Luckily for Alec, it’s taken as it’s meant– a little too genuine with humor to cover the worst of it.

The stranger gives him an obvious once-over, lifts his own martini glass in a semblance of a cheers. “You’re too handsome for them to be worth any less,” the stranger replies, a not-so-subtle wink serving as punctuation.

Alec can’t help a laugh at that and the shyness strikes them both.

This certainly isn’t what Alec imagined when he walked in here. It’s unexpected but. . . not unwelcome, he decides after a moment of internal musing.

Choosing to blame the liquor, Alec leans a little closer to say, “Then your thoughts must be worth a fortune,” and he’s gratified to get a surprised laugh in return.

“If only everyone thought the same, darling,” the stranger. He hesitates a bare moment before reaching out a hand for Alec to shake. “My name is Magnus. Who might you be?”

Alec doesn’t hesitate to return the handshake, sliding his hand against Magnus’s.

There’s no shiver, no sharp intake of breath. No, Alec just shakes Magnus’s hand, feels the easy warmth against his own, the suggestion of a callous against the edge of his palm.

“Alec,” he offers after a long moment of the two of them just holding hands, not moving. His voice is low, hoarse around the vowels.

The bar seems quieter than it did a moment ago. Behind them, there’s still the din of conversation, the clacking of pool balls across the room. The chorus of a terrible Top 40 hit from 1997 is just barely audible.

Right here, Alec feels more in tune to the moment than he has in– perhaps longer than he’s comfortable admitting.

“Alec,” Magnus repeats. In his echo is both a statement and a question. Alec doesn’t know the answer to either so he just says nothing.

Magnus’s thumb sweeps gentle once, twice, over his knuckles before he lets go.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Alec says, latent confidence in his tone.

“Likewise, I assure you.” Magnus crosses his arms over the bar, head turned toward Alec.

His expression is hard to read for all it projects interest. The small smile at the corner of his lips has yet to fade. “What brings you here this evening, Alec?”

The question is to be expected. Alec still has to take a moment to find his answer.

He debates blatant honesty with pulling a punch or two. It might be nice to confide in a stranger, though Alec’s never quite known where the line should be drawn for appearances.

After a few moments of silence where Magnus doesn’t seem to grow annoyed or impatient or disinterested, Alec settles on being a bit more honest than he might otherwise be.

Alec is just this side of tipsy and unlikely to ever see Magnus again after tonight. Maybe giving oxygen to the tangle of weeds growing in his chest will help him. If nothing else, he supposes, it can’t hurt anything. If Magnus listens to whatever the fuck he has to say and runs for the hills, then at least Alec will be able to close out his tab and go home and forget this ever happened all the sooner.

Mirroring Magnus’s pose, Alec slumps a little more over the bar. His gaze flits from Magnus’s shoulder, to his pocket square, up to his mouth, and finally to his eyes.

Magnus’s eyes are a deep brown. Alec knows they hide more than they reveal. If he’s not mistaken though, warmth in the form of kindness lurks in them.

“I think I hate my job and everyone annoys me. I’m so tired and nothing helps. I feel– stuck, I think, but hell if I know what to do about it.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything for a moment, though his expression has shifted into something surprised but not unpleasantly so. Gently, he offers, “You and every other thirty year old, I’m sure.”

Alec grimaces. “Is it supposed to be this pervasive, though?”

Magnus laughs and this time it’s almost caustic. “Unfortunately, Alec, I don’t think it can be any other way.”

“If you tell me that’s just life, I won’t be responsible for my reaction.” Alec’s voice is dry, though he can’t keep the very real kernel of resentment out of his voice.

Now it’s Magnus’s turn to grimace. “I wouldn’t dare, darling, believe me.”

For some reason, Alec does.

He reaches for his glass, drinks the watered-down remains, places it back down and feels the sounds of glass hitting wood somewhere in the hollow of his ribcage.

Nibbling on his bottom lip, Alec wonders if he should ask the question burning the tip of his tongue. Like most of his decisions tonight, it boils down to might as well.

“Does it get better,” he asks, genuinely curious. “How?”

Magnus tilts his glass in a slow circle, seemingly captivated by the way vermouth and gin catch the light. His words are slow to come.

Alec’s torn between surprise that Magnus– who after just a few minutes introduction, had given the impression of having all the easy answers Alec’s desperate for– is taking his time to find the right words and appreciation that he would take a stranger’s question with the gravity Alec needs right now.

“I don’t know if it gets better,” Magnus admits and seems chagrined to do so. “I think it gets easier, though.” Taking a quick sip of his martini, Magnus gestures towards Alec. “Worries over something might ease just for something else altogether to take its place. You might become confident in one area just to decide to reach for something new or more or different. Once you conquer something or wrestle it into submission, the next thing grabs your attention. And thanks to past efforts, current issues won’t seem quite so dire. At least in my experience.”

Mulling over Magnus’s words, Alec finds himself nodding along. “I guess I can see that,” Alec admits. “Doesn’t really make me feel better right now, though.”

Magnus’s expression turns sympathetic. “I understand, darling. Anything particular with work and the general populace or just overall disgust at the end of a hellish week?”

Alec actually takes a minute to think about it. He’s a little surprised to realize that, “It’s really just general tiredness, I think.” He doesn't mention that the general tiredness has been his constant companion for the past few months.

Humming in commiseration, Magnus nods absently. “The end of the week does tend to make everything that much worse.”

Alec snorts a little. “Now that I know full well.”

The two sit in companionable silence for a few minutes.

Alec’s decided not to order another drink. The conversation with Magnus has him feeling more energized and awake then he was just a few minutes before and he doesn’t really want to add any more alcohol to the weird, unsettling mix of tired and maudlin that’s trying to settle in his stomach.

The abrupt sound of Magnus’s empty glass hitting the bar pulls Alec from his brief reverie. He looks over to see Magnus studying him, eyes intent but the curve of his mouth is pure invitation.

At least to Alec’s amaretto-soaked mind.

In the time it takes to blink, Alec’s meeting Magnus’s gaze. He can’t decide what he’s seeing– interest? Challenge? Pure polite humoring?

Magnus swings his chair to the side until he’s fully facing Alec. Resting his left arm on the counter, Magnus tilts his head to the side. “I don’t pretend to know everything you’ve got going on or the severity of it. What I do know is that I can offer a distraction. If you’re willing?”

Alec blames both his alcohol blood content and the way the light hits Magnus’s earring for the way he turns in his chair, too, leaning in far too close for someone of such short acquaintance.

He blames his well-established lack of any sense of self-preservation in the face of a pretty man when he replies, voice low and rough and just a touch too soft, “Do you want to fuck me, Magnus?”

He’s close enough to truly appreciate the way Magnus’s eyes widen at the words, to feel more than hear the small little intake of breath, to see the way Magnus’s eyes dip to his mouth for a second that lingers.

Magnus doesn’t pull away, though, and so Alec doesn’t either.

The space between them can be measured in heartbeats; a slow, steady pulse of temerity.

Magnus’s voice is low and rough and just as soft as he eventually replies, “I don’t think so, Alec. Not tonight, at least.”

Alec finds a world of possibilities in the curve of that smile.

Alec thinks that some part of him must feel the sting of rejection, the humiliation of presumption. It’s hard to feel any of that, though, when Magnus is still watching him with that same mix of bemusement and patience and interest, like he might not know Alec now but he doesn’t mind staying long enough to get a better understanding.

Blinking slowly, Alec allows himself to truly study Magnus.

He’s handsome and Alec likes the glint of intelligence in his eyes, even at so late an hour and after a few drinks. Magnus has been nothing but kind, a welcome respite, a breath of fresh air.

“Okay,” he breathes, his own smile growing into something tangible. “What kind of distraction did you have in mind then?”

Something in Magnus’s posture relaxes at the question, a tension easing out. He nods once, as though resolute, and stands up.

Alec moves his chair to keep Magnus in front of him until his back is to the bar. Magnus holds out a hand and Alec takes a moment to appreciate the way Magnus’s rings emphasis the slimness of his hands, complementing his dark nail polish.

“A distraction demands a change of scenery.” Magnus nods his head back towards the front door of the Hunter’s Moon. The light in his eye is one part challenge, two parts whimsy.

(Alec doesn’t know it now but it’s another part hope with the smallest streak of uncertainty.)

“What do you say, darling?”

Alec places his hand in Magnus’s without a second thought, the only thing running through his mind is the surety that he doesn’t want to let whatever this is ghost over him. He doesn’t know what it is but it feels fleeting– for once, for the first time since he maybe opened the coffee shop, Alec wants to reach out with both hands and hang on for dear life.

He’s halfway to standing, when he realizes, “Oh shit, we need to close our tabs.”

Magnus laughs, something gentle and teasing. He waves Alec’s concern away. “Don’t worry; It’s already taken care of.”

Alec frowns a little, wondering, but Magnus’s pull is irresistible.

He waits for the bartender to shout them back when he realizes that they’ve left without paying. Alec doesn’t hear anyone calling out and when he looks back, the bartender is just picking up their empty glasses with a roll of his eyes.

It’s the most expression Alec’s seen on his face all night.

Deciding not to worry about it, Alec turns back to where Magnus is leading him out of the bar.

Magnus’s hand is warm and when he looks back to make sure Alec’s still with him, his eyes shine with the same warmth that’s been directed at Alec all night.

Alec squeezes the hand still holding his. “Lead the way.”

#will i ever write part 2 it's anybody's guess #malec fic #my writing #been like this

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ronearoundblindly · 2 years ago

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The Stark Legacy (12)

Waking, beginning of Book 2: Mind (see previous or series)

Summary: After injecting herself with dermal Extremis, Samantha Stark returns to the compound on a mission no one knows about.

Warnings for slightly judgmental Bruce, mention of needles, but I think that's it. Rated Teen/Mature so 15+ only, please.

Book 2: Mind

CHAPTER TWELVE—July 2038

The bus to New York was overly air-conditioned to counteract a hot summer outside. Sam pulled down the baseball cap she’d pilfered from Cooper and Annie’s room and pulled her long sleeves over her hands. Everything was pins and needles even when she sat still. She shouldn’t have dropped the nerve dampener.

She’d woken up on the floor of her lab five days ago. While unconscious, she had vomited, but since she hadn’t eaten her penne, it was only bile. When she sat up, Sam found all her hair had fallen out into a pile underneath her head, but it was all her hair, her whole body, eyelashes and eyebrows too. The monitoring cuff was still attached to her hand, but she had ripped the cord out of Missy’s tower at some point.

That didn’t matter, however, because while Sam was out cold on the floor, Missy had found the compatible neural regeneration virus among the samples. She’d have to test her own skin and DNA later, side effects be damned.

Sam harvested enough of the virus and prepared to travel.

Then she looked in the mirror, finally. That was quite horrifying. She’d looked like a bizarre, animated mannequin. She would have to spruce up a bit, and luckily, a girly girl with a makeup fetish lived downstairs.

Sam attempted to draw on approximately fifteen sets of eyebrows, but she always looked shocked. She gave up and let Missy map her face to show her exactly where to put them and in what shape. The worst part was not touching her skin after the makeup was on. Her skin crawled, and Sam found it difficult not to scratch her face and head. There was hope the hair loss was temporary, however, because after just four days the prickles of new growth returned. Missy made note that the follicles within the dermis must not have died but simply been temporarily overwritten in function. There was so much observation that would have to wait. Sam Wilson had already waited long enough.

The bus stopped at the outskirts of Avengers’ Compound property, and Sam descended the stairs shakily. She was glad to be rid of the staring passengers, for as much as she’d tried not to look suspicious, choosing navy sweatpants, light sneakers, and a shirt, she still stood out for being covered up on a hot day. Once off the bus, Sam pulled out her Stark smart pad.

“Missy?”

“Yes, Samantha?” her AI replied in the communication earbud.

“Be ready to execute program Blindspot.”

“Sorry, Sam, Tony isn't here,” Bruce said when he saw her walk in. He did a double take at her completely buzzed head, even though most was covered by her cap. It wouldn’t be possible to hide the hair she used to have under that hat. “What did you do?!” Before she could even walk across the room, he corrected himself. “I mean, it looks… you're really making a statement. Are you?”

“No, Bruce, the bus was cold. I just tried something new, and it turns out it's not really my thing. Now I have to buy a few more hats,” Sam joked, smiling as she looked over the gear on his work table. She didn’t dare pick anything up for fear he would see her shaking. “So what are you up to?”

As Sam scanned the mirror image of his projected screen, Bruce continued to stare at the young woman’s sheared head. “Your Dad is gonna freak out.”

She didn't skip an instant. “Hopefully he will never see it. I just need you to give me a new project, and I'll be out of your hair.” She frowned, adding, “pun unintentional but pretty good…”

Bruce began to unclench. After all the pictures Nat showed him of Sam’s different hair styles and colors over the past few years, this was the most…what should he call it? Adventurous? Angst? Wrong? Just as practically terrible as it was wonderfully hilarious?

“You couldn’t have just called?”

Sam’s voice got a little deeper. “Would you have picked up?”

Dr. Banner knew he’d been distant. He now went months at a time without so much as checking in. That’s what everyone did to her eventually. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of extra time, Sam. This,” he gestured to his work, “it's complicated. I’m barely muddling through—”

Sam noticed a bit of formula that intrigued her. He was still trying to harness the energy of the infinity stones in a controlled environment, pairing them to be precise. The problem seemed to be what carrier mechanism to use.

Bruce saw how Sam studied the screen and started to tilt the monitor away from her. “That’s not…You shouldn’t have anything to do with that—”

“Ya know, if you could,” Sam interjected, looking away, fumbling with junk on the counter,, “use the mind and soul stones to recreate Vision. Aunt Wanda would love that. But he would only be a close approximation, assuming you have as much footage of his mannerisms and speech pattern. Oh, but that would be Jarvis.” Sam slipped Missy into the pile while she replaced each piece sloppily. “There is still the possibility you would generate an alternate personality, like a psychopathic robot killer, oh wait…Tony did that. Wanda may kill literally everyone if you dangled him in front of her enough.” She had to walk a fine line between irritating Bruce, but not angering him, and giving him more to think about on top of all of his current work.

“Sam, how do you know anything about,” he waved his arm into the paused screen, “this?”

She was no actress, but she had the brainpower to over-analyze most of her performance and correct herself. “That's why I'm here, Bruce, because I'm drowning in a bunch of information I already know, and I want, I need something new!” She removed her cap and rubbed the exposed stubble of hair in frustration, and demanded, “so for the love of all innovation, can you throw me a bone?” Sam saw a tiny light come on at the base of her tablet. Blindspot had started. Missy was in action. However, she hadn’t intentionally distracted the doctor with her itchy head.

Bruce blinked. Everything about Sam was a minefield for him. She was the perfect representation of what he wanted and could never have; a perfect little girl, smart as a whip, grown into a curious young woman, but she was brutally human: fragile, mortal, emotional, sensitive, cocky, and awkward. She was the more dangerous version of Tony Stark because she was genuinely likable. It made Bruce Banner all the more terrified of killing her--or rather of Hulk killing her--as he almost did once.

“Well, I could,” he started mumbling, grabbing his tablet, “give you access to some files… Sam, I don’t know.” He stopped. Years ago he could barely look at her without a cold wave of guilt pumping in place of his blood. He had been so convinced that he would never, ever hurt her, but how was Hulk supposed to know that? Sam was the closest thing he had to a daughter and felt nothing but blessed that she shared interests with him. She was a lot nicer to him than Tony, but Bruce didn't know how to work right beside her. “Can you just wait until Tony gets back and ask him?”

“Sure, I can wait another 13 years and see if he cares by then…”

“I…” Bruce removed his glasses, more stressed by the family dynamic than the galactic problem in front of him.

“Because you love me, Uncle Bruce?”

“Let me think about it—”

“I could help with…” Sam coached, but she cut in too soon. Bruce's energy changed without any physical movement, and suddenly, Sam was positive he was about to throw her out of the building. She had to get to work before Missy’s program was detected, or Hulk killed her for being annoying. “Or I could leave you with your thoughts while I get us some coffee,” she said, retreating to the exit. No stimulants, she reminded herself, especially now. “Treat you to a fizzy water with lime,” she yelled as the door shut behind her, pausing to make sure no smashing noises followed.

With any luck, Bruce had thrown himself back into research or was distracted by what he should do with Sam. He couldn’t be casually paying attention to anything else. However, there had to be footage of Sam going to get coffee and sitting down in the more private residence kitchenette for Missy to loop. There would be no one there because of the training exercises being run in the Eastern Hall and its adjacent field. Thank you organized, calendar-keeper Friday.

After Sam had remained comfortably seated, half-obscured, at the far corner of the kitchen countertop, at the edge of the security camera’s field of vision, routinely lifting her mug to her face and placing it back, she heard a small tonal signal. Missy was looping the footage. She could go to the infirmary without being seen. She rounded a corner just as the nurse left Wilson’s room. This sneaking around reminded her of plundering the medical building, and she’d studied just as hard to ensure this was successful. Nurses made rounds every half hour or so, but since Falcon’s condition had not changed in weeks, it was likely no one would be back for over an hour. Sam didn’t need that long, but it was reassuring.

This time no music playing in his room. The only sounds were his various monitors.

He looked skinnier; his cheeks sunk over the past weeks and while not visible at the moment, she was sure his arms and legs had begun to atrophy. Looking at him laying there in the hospital bed, Sam thought about the possibility that her experiment wouldn’t work. She could have done all the testing in the world, and it might still not work on Sam Wilson. Could she take that risk? She had no right to choose for him, technically alive but officially brain dead as he was. Sam Stark knew what she would choose to do, but she was not Sam Wilson.

If she was a soldier who’d seen all Falcon had, if she had a team of friends, if she had the important job of defending the world, if she had the possibility of flying and fighting again, even the possibility, would she take the risk? He had chosen, years ago, to use experimental flight equipment in combat. He had seen that equipment kill his friend Riley and still flew with EXO-7. He’d been injured in the wings before and still flown, still strapped himself back in for another mission. So his answer seemed even more obvious, but the pit in her stomach remained.

Little Sam took Big Sam’s hand once again, ignoring the pins and needles running all over her skin with the contact. Her twitching made his lax hand twitch too. She could feel the calluses on his palm. He would be mad at how ashy his knuckles had become.

“If this doesn’t work,” she whispered, “for whatever reason, or it’s not what you want…” She looked at his unmoving face with the rhythmically fogging mask. “I swear to you I will make it right, but for now, however, I need you to wake up.”

“Four minutes,” Missy’s automated signal warned in her ear.

Samantha pulled out the lipstick tube she had hollowed out to hide the vial for Wilson. Sorry, Annie, she thought, I’ll replace your Berry Kiss shade later. Sam grabbed a needle and dosed Falcon’s IV, watching for a reaction as long as possible. No immediate signs of allergy or cardiac distress. No blood pressure drops or spikes on his monitors. No rise in brain wave activity either, but she only had a few minutes to watch.

“One minute,” Missy signaled, followed by second beeps. Samantha hauled ass on her choreographed path for Missy’s visual coverage and grabbed her still-warm mug off the countertop, sitting as still as she could until the beeps stopped. She took a long, casual sip, finishing the remainder. She counted to five, looked out the window, and slowly swirled her finger around the mug’s rim. It was a move she’d planned, thinking it was a carefree gesture that would really sell how long she’d taken to drink one cup of coffee. She was very proud of her performance.

When she returned to Dr. Banner’s lab with a seltzer, he was not even there. She hadn’t seen him in the hall. She hadn’t passed anyone coming back. Sam didn’t know whether that was common during training in this facility since she hadn’t spent significant time inside it in the last decade. It was probably for the best; the fewer people to see her hair the better. You’d think there would be a better physical presence. They rely too heavily on technology. But Sam knew she couldn’t hang around to figure it all out. She could monitor Sam Wilson’s progress, if any, from Missy at her home.

She found her tablet where she’d hidden it, still face down. Sam quietly said “subset beta five ex” to unlock the phone, but nothing flashed across the screen. Instead, Missy’s calm tone promptly replied “download complete.” And they’re not even that safe with all the technology they do have. To be fair, however, both Sam and Missy were born of the Stark family and their minds; why would the Avengers need protection from them? The Avengers had no idea who they were…or what they could do.

Bucky stared down Sharon Rogers. They stood in the kitchen, unwilling to let the other do the harder task of cleaning the dishes after lunch.

“You’re our guest. If you’re going to do anything, it’s dry,” Agent 13 insisted.

“It’s your home. You do everything else, so you can let me do this one thing.” Bucky looked at Steve as if the giant blond man could help him change her mind.

“This is the most,” Steve snorted, “domestic thing I’ve ever seen, Buck. Are you even good at washing? We wouldn’t want you to rust.” Steve was confident that his seat at the table was a safe distance from his best friend’s clenched metal fist.

“Shut the hell up, jerk. I’m trying to be nice. Give me the plate, Sharon,” Bucky added forcefully.

She handed it over as if the flatware were a live weapon, backing away towards Steve. She muffled a giggle, interrupted by the phone ringing before she could sit down. Her husband enjoyed the seclusion and formality of a landline, a holdout from his youth. Sharon waved Steve to stay seated and grabbed the receiver.

“Hello,” she answered, “Bruce slow down—”

Steve instinctively tensed while Bucky dropped a cup into the sink. Sharon’s face dropped into mission concentration.

“Alright, they’re on their way. I’ll be along later.” She hung up. “Go, boys, I’ve got those. Sam’s awake.”

Bucky didn’t even dry his hands. Steve was out the door after a peck on Sharon’s cheek.

Bucky paused in the hall to yell back, “I chipped your glass,” adding a guilty “sorry” before shutting the door with his dripping hand.

“I am not going to be pushed around in a damn wheelchair,” Sam Wilson roared at the nurse. Steve stepped closer to help his friend up. “If you put me in that chair, Rogers, I will break both of your super legs. I’m on your right, mother—”

“Ok, pal,” Steve cut in, “how about I walk with you outside for a bit.”

The nurse leaned over to Bucky. “Irritability is pretty normal for a while after a head injury,” she whispered, “but maybe the fewer people the better for a little longer. See how he does.”

Bucky nodded, and the nurse waved her colleague out of the room. “Enjoy your walk, sir. We will resume your tests later.” Falcon almost snarled at the poor woman.

Bucky stood between the newly-wakened Avenger and the staff. “Are you gonna break my legs, too?”

Wilson fumed but tossed his arm over Roger’s shoulder. “Anyone asks, you tell them I’m drunk and that’s why my ASS IS HANGING OUT,” Falcon spat at Bucky as they passed him into the hall.

“Inside voices, please,” Steve asked politely, his ear close to Sam’s potty mouth.

But Wilson didn’t stop. “Your sheets are scratchy,” he continued to yell down the corridor. “Anyone ever heard of lotion?!”

Bucky didn’t get the chance to follow. Bruce trapped him in the infirmary, mumbling something about integration failure.

“Barnes,” the doctor started, eyes flicking over his glasses, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Please, don’t make me dress him, or supervise him, or do physical therapy with him. Please.”

“What? No,” Bruce removed his glasses, finally relaxing his arm chronically bent to hold his work tablet at eye level. “Are you still going to Wakanda? I have a passenger for you.”

A/N: Yay, Big Sam is back! As always, thank you for reading, and I'm hoping to have the next several chapters formatted soon for tumblr.

[Ch 13: Deflection]

[Main Masterlist]

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flownwrong · 2 years ago

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Ten Characters, Ten Fandoms, Ten (haha no) Tags

more tag games! I was tagged by @prince-of-elsinore forever ago and just got around to it. thanks elsi!

1. gerri kellman, succession

stone cold bitch, smartest person in the room, crazy hot lady, probably the single most entertaining character for me to watch in the whole show. what can i say, she's just neat.

2. tim gutterson, justified

he don't miss MY HEART! deadpan, competent, and secretly a disaster. what more to want in a character. i love this boi, not one boring second on the screen.

3. harry du bois, disco elysium

no gifs for this one, but there's something wonderful about a character who's both been wrecked by life and poor choices to the point he completely lost sight of meaning or purpose AND is put in a clean slate position when he can experience the world and very intense events around him with childlike wonder. the way i played him was an (un)healthy combo of falling into old patterns and choosing to turn to light and open himself to it whenever he can, and he turned out to be an extremely cathartic vessel in this story and in my own processing.

4. charlie kelly, it's always sunny in philadelphia

my favourite rat boy. i appreciated how despite being the pinnacle of insanity he is also one who delivered most of the poignant, truly emotional points in the whole show for me. probably my favourite actor/part combo too. gj both charlies

5. casca, berserk

if we take the pre-eclipse arcs, she is actually one of my favourite women to be written by a man. a surprisingly deep figure that swerves away from cliches every time she approaches them, making choices when nobody expects her to choose for herself. "nobody lies their way into a body with this many scars," indeed.

6. jocelyn carter, person of interest

the counterweight of mundane in an otherwise very not mundane setting, a display of being a human with boundaries and restricted possibilities among people who move and operate on an entirely different plane, an overall bulldozer of human perseverance in the face of something incomprehensible. she's an all around good egg.

7. misato katsuragi, neon genesis evangelion

[claps misato on the back] this girl can fit so much trauma in her. her unique place in the story of cracking facades all around resonated most with me, layers and layers revealed and stripped off her persona to the point where there's a very real, struggling and lost core left that has to step up and take responsibility or perish. even as everything falls apart around her, she commits to moving further and further, and i loved watching it.

8. david ward, i am in eskew

not much of a character at all, but a magnificent device to explore the feelings of total alienation, detachment and otherness both through his place in reality and his place in unreality. he doesn't fit in either but he makes important choices in the face of the latter, patching up holes in himself even if he can't ever get whole again. a kind of alice in wonderland but horror experience.

9. francis crozier, the terror

very high on my list of extremely flawed characters you come to love not because they get rid of the flaws but because they learn to shed them in the face of harrowing experiences to uplift and help others. does not help at all that he's portrayed by king jarred harris who embodies this development perfectly. a++

10. sidney freedman, m*a*s*h

i forced myself to not cheat by picking hawkeye, but then it was no competition because sidney is by far the rarest kind of character i get to see. like how often do you get a psychiatrist/therapist on screen that doesn't cringe you out and oddly resonates with how you wish to see healing and help represented, all that despite being from a 50 year old show and using methods of its time? there's so little stigma or distance to be found around sidney, and so much acceptance and belief in people he tries to help. i want to carry this with me in my work if my becoming a therapist plan pans out.

i am Not Sure anyone in my circle escaped this, but in case someone did, i would love to see @blueniverse42's, @thegoodthebadandtheart's, @andreydaddanos's and @harpernovakaine lists!

#tag games #fandom

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geehosaphat · 14 days ago

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SwynWrimo: Character #Inspo

Or: 5 characters I've RPed as in the past that have become part of Martin's muse here in SwynRP Warning: I have mostly been in Marauders Era HP RPs!

1. Remus "Moony" Lupin (Andrew Garfield FC): Remus Lupin was one of those characters that has stuck with me over many many years. He's a character I returned to because I loved how studious yet rebellious he could be. He had this big secret about him (werewolf) and a smaller one that he didn't know how to share (gay). I think that this resonated a lot with me as a queer individual. Martin is also very studious (he had to be with the family he came from) and has to keep a vital part of his existence a secret (Mundus) and he was in the closet for the majority of his life. My Remus muse also came from a family where the father was a strict person insisting on perfection and hiding away any imperfection that Martin also holds. Thankfully, much like Remus did, Martin has been able to find a core group of people upon which he can rely and truly be himself.

2. Edward "Ted" Tonks (Brett Dalton FC): Ended up in a romance that was greatly looked down upon by their families! Family-Oriented (Hi little baby Tonks)! Liked to bake/cook/be a house husband for those he could provide for. He was also supplementary for those who were actually in the thick of the fight. Martin was brought in to play a part in the Knights plot but he was not strictly a Knight himself. No, he joined up to play a part in Merlin's legacy so he was there supplying mostly potions and his ability to research. He knew how to fight, could defend himself if need be, but he was more focused on what this was doing to keep his family (Mim) safe. And since then his focus has been on what he deems his family (Mim, Ren, Ian, Elsa, Isaac, Amity, Sorrel).

3. Dorcas "Doe" Meadowes (Chloe Bennet FC): Doe was one of those characters who was always stronger than she thought she could be. A bit of a damsel in distress until put under the wire. She eventually grew to be so strong that Voldemort himself had to find and kill her, though, so she grew into her own and I was so proud of getting her to that strength I knew she could hold. Martin isn't entirely there yet but he's grown into himself so much since I first picked him up. Between coming out, standing against his father, working with his sister to stand against the whole Coven (piece by piece), and even marrying the one he loves without fear of what that will say for them. I just adore his strength (and know Ren does 😉) and I'm proud of how far he's come.

4. Peter "Piglet" Jones (Tarjei Sandvik Moe FC): Piglet was my softest of boys. This child was always knitting, crocheting, baking, and even loved to play piano. Piglet wanted nothing more than to help take care of everyone around him. He started his own bakery to bring smiles to everyone in town's faces (and sold his knitwear/crochet pieces on the side). It wasn't always easy, many hurdles were always thrown his way, but ultimately it didn't matter how many times he was knocked down because he would pick himself back up and keep being kind. Martin has all the reason in the world to be unkind but isn't. Martin has all the reason in the world to be arrogant but isn't. Martin has had every chance for the world to turn him bitter and cold and yet he continues to choose grace and forgiveness and warmth to a world that has rarely been kind in return. He bakes because it makes people smile. He started his shoppe to help people who may not have access to the supplies they needed, to educate those around him, and make tourists' faces light up in excitement. He is soft, but not without prior pain.

5. Peter "Wormtail" Pettigrew (Jesse Eisenberg FC): Okay, this one might seem like an odd pull but hear me out! Peter was cunning in the ways he pulled people together. He didn't like to stand out in the pack but he was always calculating something. Whether that was the danger of a prank he'd pull with his friends or how to best avoid detection in the war he was so smart that it could be deadly. Peter was good with people in a way that most of my characters haven't been: he was a hustler. Playing Wormtail was always a chess game and Peter wanted to come out on top, even if that meant others would suffer for it. Now, again, this seems like it doesn't have anything to do with Martin, but listen. Martin's been taught how to lead a coven since the moment he entered the world. His head has been filled with knowledge of magic and the world around him. His father is a politician, as his was before him and so on and so forth. Martin, if he didn't care so much about those around him, could absolutely be that person. He is even willing to be so cutthroat if the situation arose that threatened those he loves. It's lucky for everyone that Martin turned out kind or he would have been Peter.

#swynwrimosammy #swynwrimo

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demy85 · 2 months ago

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Chapter 4 - Of nude models and imaginations

You'll find art from @kasper-tag here

It was the first day after Spring Break and Alec arrived at a very early hour in the room where the life drawing class was taking place.

Alec constantly wondered about who was the one who believed that it was a smart idea to start this class at eight o'clock on a Monday morning.

There were high windows in the room, which were mainly there to give the nude models some privacy. It was made of concrete walls that were painted white, and different light sources could be used to illuminate the room in different ways.

Alec loved this room. Despite the cold, he actually felt very comfortable, as if he was in his own little world. This was where he could focus solely on his art. He didn't have to worry about what others thought of him, but could just lose himself in his chosen profession and its beauty.

Throughout the semester, he and Clary had been the first to arrive there on Monday mornings to prepare their workstation, the metal drawing horses, and lay out their preferred tools so that they were ready to hand.

He was so engrossed in getting everything arranged for himself that he didn't even notice the model coming in to be welcomed by his professor and led into the small adjoining room to get ready for the class.

He also failed to notice the looks Clary directed at him. Alec was immersed in his own little world and everything around him was completely non-existent. The only thing that mattered at that moment was his drawing material.

And then, all of a sudden, Alec was torn from his thoughts by his professor's voice.

"Welcome to the class. Today we're going to focus on figure drawing with the help of our wonderful model, Magnus. He has kindly volunteered to model for us today. We'll start with some warm-up exercises, for which Magnus will position himself differently and I'll tell you when you can start and when you've to put down the charcoal," Jocelyn explained to her class and let her eyes wander over the students.

𒐣

Alec tried really hard, but he found it incredibly difficult to follow his professor's instructions while Magnus, who was a literal Adonis, sat just a few steps away from him.

He was simply unable to take his eyes off of him. He was certain that it was all a dream, it was quite unbelievable. Surely it was just a crazy dream that he was having trouble waking up from, or didn't want to wake up from at all.

Magnus looked as beautiful as ever and Alec thought to himself that he was perfect for drawing. Some people were made to be drawn, and Magnus was definitely one of them. Alec took a deep breath in and out to calm his racing heart a little.

The whole situation made him nervous, because he knew he had to look at Magnus. That he had to study his body, every part of him, if he wanted to capture his beauty in all its glory.

Alec's hand began to tremble slightly again. He took another deep breath. He wouldn't be able to draw like this. He had to concentrate. The warm-up exercises were about to begin and he had to be ready.

He went through the exercises in his head that he and Clary had memorized to counteract their nervousness.

Magnus had sat down on the chaise, one leg crossed over the other, which had been set up on the stage and then Jocelyn's voice rang out across the room, "Start!"

Alec picked up a charcoal and looked up at Magnus, memorized the pose and began to sketch it out.

He definitely didn't spend a moment eyeing him, imagining going up to him, kissing those beautiful lips, that neck, that bare chest.... Alec refocused on the sheet of paper and went to work before he could be distracted again.

𒐣

The warm-up exercises were over and Alec had outlined a few poses in his sketchbook. He was happy with most of them. However, he was afraid of the exact pose Magnus would choose for the actual drawing.

He had seen the looks Magnus had given him, of course, seen the way he had winked at him and was sure Magnus had done it on purpose.

After speaking briefly to Magnus, Jocelyn turned back to face her class, "Right, we'll start the actual drawing now, you have 30 minutes, starting from now." She stepped aside allowing Magnus to come into view.

He was reclining on his right side, stretched out on the chaise, his arms forming a frame around his face, with his right hand positioned next to his face on the cushion and his left hand resting behind his head. His legs splayed across each other and his gaze fixed on the students, looking at one in particular.

There was a warm feeling welling up inside Alec at the sight.

With that, Alec began to sketch the pose. It took him a few tries to sketch the general shape because his hand just wouldn't stop shaking.

It didn't get any better when he let his gaze wander down Magnus' body, but he knew he had to pull himself together and so he started by drawing Magnus' face, lingering on his eyes for a good amount of time. He desperately wanted to capture the sparkle in them, wanted to show the whole world how he perceived them.

𒐣

Once he was content with his first sketch, Alec began to outline Magnus' actual body shape. His strong, muscular arms that framed his head. Then his toned upper body, and how it tapered nicely into a V shape. The curve of his hips, which flowed into his long legs and ended in his almost dainty feet.

Had Alec not been so intently focused on his drawing, he would have noticed that Magnus had pulled on his black silk kimono, which barely reached his knees, in order to take a short break.

Magnus weaved his way through the students and looked at the drawings before coming to a stop just a few inches behind Alec.

"Wow, your drawing style is almost as beautiful as you are, darling," a husky voice purred in Alec's left ear.

Alec swiveled his head in the direction of the sound and was startled to discover that there was the object of his desire standing right next to him. Magnus was in such close proximity to him that Alec could feel his warm breath caressing his skin.

Alec was staring at him with only one thought buzzing through his head, "This man is sex on legs."

It almost seemed like Alec's brain was short-circuiting and then he heard Magnus chuckle.

"That's very nice of you to say, Alexander."

Alec widened his eyes and was able to tell that a flush of embarrassment was creeping up his face. He couldn't believe he had actually said this out loud.

Magnus' brown eyes twinkled in amusement and he chuckled again, the sound deep and intoxicating. Alec was incapable of uttering anything in reply, too flustered to formulate a response.

Magnus' gaze shifted from Alec to his drawn reflection. "It's really beautiful to see me through your eyes, Alec."

Usually Alec didn't like it when people looked at his art before he had finished it, but with Magnus he didn't mind, or more accurately, didn't mind it quite so much.

"I ... um... thank you..." Alec stammered under his breath, completely stunned that Magnus was standing so incredibly close to him. His alarm bells began to ring loudly and he tried desperately not to let his inner panic show. However, a panicked voice shouted in his head, "Red alert! Hot guy too close! Red alert!"

The fact that Clary was staring at the two of them and keeping her giggles only minimally hidden behind her hand did absolutely nothing to help Alec get his panic under control.

It was only when Magnus returned to the stage again and resumed his previous position that Alec was able to breathe easy once more.

𒐣

By the end of the lesson, Alec was mostly pleased with his drawing. There were just a few little things that still bothered him. He found the shading in particular not quite as well-rendered and there seemed to be something odd about the angle of the arms, but his professor dismissed his concerns.

"You really did a good job, Alec," she praised him. "You captured Magnus' pose and the subtleties of his expression really well. It's obvious you've put a lot of thought into your working process with the model."

Alec smiled shyly and nodded. "Thank you, Jocelyn. I tried to be as accurate as possible."

"It shows," she replied. "And I can also see that you've worked on your shading. It's become much deeper and more rich. You've used the movement of the light and the shadows quite beautifully in order to create a sense of depth and contour."

Alec started to notice a slight blush rising in his cheeks. It was exactly the point that he hadn't liked that much, even though he had worked really hard on his shading, so he was all the more pleased that his efforts had been recognized.

"And your lines are very well done too," she continued. "You've struck a good balance between hard and soft lines, which helps to emphasize the shapes and curves of Magnus' body."

Alec stared at her, dumbfounded. He hadn't expected to get such positive feedback. He had always been his worst critic and tended to undersell his own work.

"Don't forget, Alec," she finally said, "drawing is a constant learning process. There's always something to improve, but it's also important to recognize and celebrate your progress. You've done a really good job today and you should be proud of yourself."

Alec smiled and thanked his professor yet another time.

𒐣

He was packing up his drawing utensils and was about to get up, ready to leave the room.

However, before he made it, he heard a familiar voice coming from behind him. "Wait, Alec."

Upon turning around, however, he saw Magnus advancing towards him. He had thrown on his elegant black kimono again and now that Alec was no longer under so much pressure to deliver a good result, he allowed himself a few minutes to soak up and appreciate the sight.

The kimono looked beautiful and flattered Magnus' figure in all the right places. It was made of deep black silk with golden embroidery consisting of dragons and a floral design. His appearance was breathtaking and in some ways it captivated Alec even more than his naked body had done.

Magnus gave him an amused look, then tilted his head and began to speak in a hushed voice, "I just wanted to tell you that I think your drawing is very impressive. You sure have talent."

Alec blushed yet again and thanked Magnus. He could hardly believe that the man he had just drawn was praising him. It was the perfect end to a challenging and stressful class.

𒐣

Magnus was still barely able to believe what had happened. He had really done it. He had posed as a nude model for Alec's life drawing class and he had unashamedly flirted with him.

There was still that massive grin plastered on his face when he walked into his reserved dance room a short time later. He was surprised to find Izzy already there. Well, normally she was usually one of those who arrived late.

Izzy was beaming with delight when she saw Magnus through the mirror as he stepped through the door of the room, and turned around. If she remembered correctly, today must have been the lesson where he posed as a nude model.

"You're early," Magnus said in amazement, smiling back at her. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to stop smiling all day.

The encounter with Alec had been just too damn wonderful and he was sure that nothing would be able to dampen his good mood.

Izzy looked at him with wide eyes, waiting patiently until he would begin to tell her about his morning. She knew they probably wouldn't get to dance much, but it was worth it.

It didn't take Magnus long to succumb to her doe eyes and tell her about the morning.

"And then, then he whispered very quietly and I quote, -That man is sex on legs.- I didn't know how to handle it at first, Izzy," Magnus finished his recounting of the earlier morning.

Izzy blinked, several times, and stared at him in disbelief. She couldn't quite grasp what she'd heard, but on the other hand, it suited her brother so well to speak his thoughts aloud, even though he wanted to hide them from everyone.

She grinned like a cheshire cat, mentally going through all the questions she would pester her brother with later.

And then, all of a sudden, what Alec had said to her just before spring break popped into her head. He had to find someone to pose for him as a model and who would be more suitable than Magnus?

𒐣

At that moment, the door to the dance room opened and Professor Rollins walked in. “I thought you were practicing? This doesn't look much like training to me,” she observed.

As a matter of fact, she gave her students plenty of freedom to develop and rehearse as they pleased, but Magnus and Izzy had a big performance coming up and so she wanted to make sure the rehearsals went smoothly. Even though she knew she had nothing to worry about with these two. She certainly hadn't had the pleasure of teaching such talented students for a long time.

The two of them were an absolute joy to watch while dancing. There was very little she could find fault with. Sometimes one of them forgot to stretch their foot correctly, or their hands were not bent at the right angle.

Dot was a perfectionist and that was exactly what she demanded from her students.

At that point, Izzy stammered, “ Yeah, uh, sorry. That was my fault.” and turning to Magnus she said, ”Let's continue talking later and for now, let's practice. After all, the performance is only a few days away.”

Magnus smiled before heading over to the stereo to turn on the music.

The dulcet tones of Lenny Kravitz's “Here to love” began and Izzy and Magnus settled into position.

Watching them dance proved to be quite a treat and when they finished, Dot couldn't help but applaud. She knew at that moment that she no longer had to worry about the performance of these two students. They had been excellent and she was sure they would make her proud.

𒐣

When Alec was lying in his bed that evening, he reminisced about the day's events. He still found it hard to believe that the first nude model he had drawn was none other than Magnus.

That man simply took his breath away and Alec longed for nothing more than to express his emotions regarding Magnus.

He thought back to the words Jem had spoken to him during the gala when he had turned up with his wife and husband causing a ruckus at the event.

If you're afraid to come out to your friends and family, if you're worried about what they'll think of you, remember that there will always be people who will love and support you anyway. Also, don't live your whole life in fear of what might happen, because you owe it to yourself to truly be yourself in order to gain acceptance as the amazing and wonderful person you really are.

At least he thought to himself that he had already let the cat out of the bag and he started to smile. There was no reason to hide anymore. His parents knew he was gay and so did his siblings.

And so he thought to himself, "Fuck it. I'll just try and go for it."

𒐣

Later that very night, he was jolted out of his sleep. His heart appeared to be beating faster than normal and he was shaking his head gently to clear his head from sleep.

It was then that the memories came flooding back, hitting him as if it had been a movie he had seen.

Except it was something else, because he had been dreaming. Something about Magnus. And to top it all off, it happened to be a sex dream.

After recovering every detail of it, he noticed the wetness in his boxers and blushed. It had been quite a while since he had thought of someone in this way.

But never before had his dreams been as vivid as this one and just thinking about it made him feel himself getting hard again.

If he hadn't decided the evening before that he wanted to try to get to know Magnus better, maybe even date him, then now would have been the moment to do it.

A laugh bubbled out of him and he was filled to the brim with elation. All he had to do now was to work out a way to approach Magnus and simply hope that he wouldn't reject him outright. After all, he had been quite rude to him at the party Magnus had accompanied Izzy to.

But then he thought of how Magnus had flirted with him during the life drawing class and a glimmer of hope began to well up inside him.

#shrb2024 #Drawing you in fic #malec fic #malec fanart

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