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ahkaahshi · 4 years ago

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a parenting moment [miya atsumu x reader]

pairing: miya atsumu x fem reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): none

word count: 2.3k

overview: when yours and atsumu’s five-year-old daughter gets into trouble at school, it’s up to him to practice his good parenting skills

note: though this is a reader insert story, it focuses more on atsumu’s relationship with his daughter and sheds some light on how I think he would be as a dad :) also I wrote this months ago and am just now posting lol hope you enjoy

Atsumu’s features settle into a look of discontentment as his honey colored eyes scan his young daughter’s short figure, taking note of her dirtied shoes and the slightly disheveled appearance of the French braids he’d woven into her dark hair that morning. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and letting out a small sigh, he asks, “What happened, girly?”

She turns her (e/c) gaze towards the polished wooden flooring of the large gym and mutters, “I got in a fight at school and they made Mommy pick me up.”

Instead of towering over her, as he had inadvertently been doing before, Atsumu kneels down in front of her and places his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, look at me, (daughter’s name),” he requests, making her tilt her chin up the smallest amount so her eyes can meet his. When their gazes connect, he purses his lips before saying, “We’ll talk about it when we get home, ‘kay? Right now, Daddy’s gotta practice, so jus’ sit tight with Coach Foster for a bit ‘n hang out.”

She nods slowly and Atsumu lifts her light blue backpack off of her shoulders to carry it with him over to the bench beside the court where his team is currently running through serve-receive drills. The head coach gives him a small nod of acknowledgement and a promise that he’ll protect her from any rogue volleyballs as she takes a seat.

Knowing that his daughter’s safety is in good hands and that she’s occupied--since she had pulled out a notebook from her backpack to doodle and write in--gives Atsumu a sliver of comfort as he returns to his practice. It takes himself some time to get his thoughts off of her, however, given the situation.

Minutes earlier, you had appeared at the gym with (daughter’s name) and offered a brief explanation of the matter at hand. You’d had to pick her up from school after receiving a call that she’d gotten into trouble, but, because of your own responsibilities at work, you’d had to drop her off with your husband. According to what the teachers had explained, she had gotten into a physical altercation with another student that had ended in tears, screaming, a few scrapes, and a dropped popsicle--your daughter’s, unfortunately.

(Daughter’s name) was a well-behaved, studious girl--though she did have a bit of a wild, energetic streak in her, thanks to Atsumu--so to hear that she’d been involved in a fight was understandably shocking to both of you. Sure, she enjoyed roughhousing with her dad and her uncle, but you’d been adamant about reiterating that real fighting was not allowed.

Atsumu hated seeing his daughter so distressed. It broke his heart. Usually, she was upbeat and full of life, but, now, she looks so defeated and ashamed. In an attempt to cheer her up in any way he can, he enlists the help of Bokuto and Hinata to tell her funny stories during each water break; and while they provide her some temporary relief, the cloud of sadness casting a shadow over her still lingers.

Though she holds onto his hand and clings to his side during the commute back home, she’s unnaturally quiet, and goes straight to her room upon returning to the house. He decides it best to leave her alone for a bit, but he can’t ignore how quiet the house feels without the sound of her favorite show blaring from the television in the living room. To busy himself for some time while you’re at work and she’s in her room, Atsumu sets himself to whipping up a snack after he’s taken a shower, and icing his aching joints.

After preparing some onigiri that looks rather sloppy compared to that his brother always serves, Atsumu shuffles down the hallway towards his daughter’s room. Her door is open, so he can see her sitting on her bed with a selection of colored pencils strewn across the comforter, and one in her hand that she’s using to color in a project she has to complete for class.

“Hey, girly,” he greets her and stands in the doorway, “Wanna eat some onigiri with me?”

She doesn’t respond verbally, but nods her head without lifting it to look over at him. So, he walks into her room and plops down on the bed beside her, setting the plate down in front of him. Before he can even get so far as to offer her one of his homemade creations, he hears her sniffle loudly.

Turning his honey-colored gaze to her brings him to the realization that she's stopped coloring and, instead, has her hands pressed against her face as her body shakes with quiet sobs. His paternal instincts to protect and comfort her immediately kick in, and he pushes the plate aside so he can sling an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer to him.

“Hey, hey, li’l princess, what’s goin’ on?” he murmurs.

She leans closer to him but keeps her hands over her face. “It wasn’t my fault, Daddy,” she whimpers softly, the sound of her strained voice nearly shattering her father’s heart, “There’s a really, really mean girl in my class. She always pulls my hair, a-and takes my markers, and cuts in line so she gets the last orange popsicle--and that’s my favorite flavor--and... I hate her!”

Atsumu grabs a tissue to dab at the tears spilling down her cheeks once he gently moves her hands away from her face. He’s silent for a moment as the previous sadness he felt at his daughter’s suffering morphs into anger upon hearing that she was being bullied. “Didja hit ‘er 'cause she was bein’ mean?”

She nods and cries, “S-She pushed me during recess ‘nd I got mad and pushed her back,” before finally lifting her head to gaze up at him with watery, (e/c) eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Daddy! I-I was just scared she was gonna hurt me!”

Wrapping both of his arms around her small frame, Atsumu brings her face to his chest and holds her tightly in his embrace in an attempt to comfort her. “It’s alright, (daughter’s name). Mommy ‘nd I will make sure this gets fixed, ‘kay?” The grip she has on the back of his t-shirt tightens slightly as she presses her face into his shoulder. One of his hands rubs her back to calm her down while the other smooths down any stray hairs sticking up from her head.

After a few minutes of crying, whimpering, and venting, she’s finally relaxed enough to let her dad lead her into the living room so they can sit and watch a few episodes of her favorite show together while snacking on onigiri.

“Hey,” he calls out to her, making her tear her wide-eyed gaze away from the television screen, “I know me, Mommy, ‘n Uncle ‘Samu always say that fightin’ ain’t the right way ta go about things, but I’m proud of ya for stickin’ up for yourself, girly.”

A small smile sprouts across her lips that’s made even cuter by the fact that her cheeks are puffing out from the amount of rice she has in her mouth. The sight makes him chuckle and ruffle her hair.

“But don’t go tellin’ Mommy I said that. Instead, use yer words, find one of the teachers, ‘n let ‘em deal with whoever’s givin’ ya trouble, alright?”

When she’s finished chewing her food, she replies, “M’kay.”

“Mind tellin’ me what started the fight in the first place?” he asks, one of his thick eyebrows raising in curiosity.

She twiddles her thumbs and slowly directs her gaze back to the television. “She made me drop my popsicle when she pushed me.”

“And it was your favorite flavor, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah...”

With a hearty laugh, he comments, “Man, you really are yer mom’s daughter, ya know that? She don’t mess around when food’s involved.”

The sounds of his daughter's giggles ripple through the air, sending waves of warmth over him as he continues telling her stories about all the times he’d dealt with you getting on his case about food or treat-related issues. He made sure to include an anecdote about a time when you’d nearly knocked him over after he’d jokingly swiped your candy bar during lunch in high school.

Needless to say, he never did it again out of the fear that Osamu wouldn't let him live it down if he got destroyed by a high school girl over food. However, the passion and unrelenting desire he’d seen in your eyes that day had made him absolutely sure that you were the one for him.

By the time you step into the house a few hours later, your daughter--being the mature, young girl she was--has moved her schoolwork from her bedroom to the living room table to do her assignments while her dad snoozes on the couch. Upon noticing that she’s in a better mood than she had been when you’d dropped her off at the gym with Atsumu, your heart lifts slightly.

“Hey, honey,” you greet her as you slide off your shoes and set your purse down on a table in the entryway, “What’re you up to?”

She holds up a piece of paper with colored markings on it that vaguely resemble Atsumu’s tall figure holding what you assume to be a volleyball, along with a few, familiar faces in the background. “I have to draw a picture of what you and Daddy do at work to show my teacher.”

You smile at her and plant a kiss atop her head before commenting, “Looks good so far. You drew Bokuto-san’s hair perfectly.” She chuckles and quickly returns to her masterpiece, since your compliment seems to spur her to keep creating. “I’m gonna talk to Daddy, real quick, okay? I wanna see how you draw Omi-san’s hair when we’re done.”

With that said and your daughter on a mission to produce her version of the prickly, outside hitter on Atsumu’s team, you rouse your husband from his nap so the two of you can head into your room to talk about the situation. Once out of earshot, he explains what your daughter had told him and the two of you work together to devise a plan and time to speak with her teacher about the true story. Amazingly enough, this entire exchange occurrs without your usual, good-natured--but sometimes cumbersome--squabbling.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu,” you call out to him, reaching for his hand and wrapping your fingers around it gingerly.

He had been on his way to the bedroom door so he could head to the kitchen and start making dinner while you showered, but he stops in his tracks and turns to face you once more. When your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat, like always.

Taking a deep breath, you tell him, “Even though we may argue from time to time about parenting, and you sometimes let her have just a tad too much sugar before conveniently deciding to take a nap so you don’t have to deal with her going berserk, there's nobody else in the world that I’d rather share a kid with than you. She loves you so much, and so do I.”

His unoccupied hand finds your waist to pull you closer to him, and he leans down towards you to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. As per usual, the tender moment you shared doesn’t last long, since he always has something smart to say. “What’s gotcha all sentimental, (f/n)? Does seein’ me doin’ fatherly things give ya the hots for me, or somethin’?”

“Oh, yeah, sleeping on the couch while our self-starter of a child does homework by herself is so fatherly.”

He frowns. “I had a long practice. Bein’ a professional athlete is hard work, baby.”

With a sardonic smile on your face, you mention, “Working a nine-to-five is pretty tiring too, baby.”

“Fair,” he groans and slides his arms around your back, “But, seriously, what’s got you feelin’ all in love with me, huh?”

You snicker at his tone and the mischievous look on his face as you brush his golden hair away from his eyes before letting your hands come to rest on his cheeks. “It’s just that when I picked (daughter’s name) up from school today, she was all sad and mopey. Yet, when I come home after dropping her off with you, she’s all smiles and rainbows again. It just reminds me of how good you are to her and it makes me happy that she has you as a father.”

A genuine smile rather than a sly one appears on his lips, and you press your own against them to give him a few, affectionate kisses.

“You know I’d do anything for my favorite, li’l girl, (f/n). She’s only as good of a kid as she is 'cause of you, anyway.”

Your lips form a giddy grin, as if he’s a high school crush who’s just delivered the sweetest of compliments to you, and you allow him to pull you closer so he can shower you with more kisses. “I love you, baby,” you murmur as you plant another peck on his cheek.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a short moment of silence as he pulls you into a tight hug that seems to wash away all the stress that you didn't even realize had been building up within you at the day you’ve had. His breath fans across the tender skin of your neck when he nestles his face there and allows his hands to roam up and down your back. However, after the two of you release each other, you notice a sneaky smile playing at his lips that oftentimes makes you wary.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go see (daughter’s name)’s rendition of Omi-Omi?”

Chuckling and following him out of the bedroom, you agree, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

masterlist ⭐︎ treat me to a coffee!

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @krynnza, @yamagucji, @tendo-sxtori, @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya, @nit-sir-hc, @arixtsukki, @shinsurou, @ichorizaki, @dominikmagnus

atsumu: @pretty-setters, @misora-msby, @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @tsumue, @heyhinata

#haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#hq!!#x reader #reader insert #anime #manga #miya atsumu #fran writes hq!!

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andrea-lyn · 3 years ago

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The Recs (Less Travelled)

I’m excited to bring you the first installment of my ‘roads less travelled’ recs! I will be doing another round of this, probably once the Ted Lasso fic tag hits about 25 pages, and then I’ll also grab a couple more fandoms to collect in there!

The Rules:

Each fandom/pairing was sorted on Archive of Our Own by completed works. Anything recced here was not in the first ten pages when sorted by kudos at the time of reccing. There may be some more well-known authors on this list, but the specific fics I’ve picked are ones that didn’t crack that top ten or just didn’t get much traction and I think deserve it, so hopefully I have also balanced it out with other under the radar (and still great!) works. As ever, I have a pinned post of my other recs (none have been duplicated from there), so you can also check those out! Under the cut you’ll find 10 recs in each fandom for:

Raven Cycle

Roswell New Mexico

The Old Guard

Inception

Star Trek (mainly Kirk/McCoy)

The Raven Cycle

savor all the little pieces by littlelionvanz

“Since when do you garden?”

Ronan snorted, “Since I grew up on a fucking farm, genius. Jesus who gave you permission to pursue higher education.”

the old grip of the familiar by littleseal

"There is a single black feather and a printed out picture of Gansey, Blue and Cheng standing in front of some fucking monument Ronan didn’t care enough to remember the name of. Gansey sent it to Ronan’s phone some time ago, but it sat in his messages until Adam picked it up and grinned at it so hard that, one afternoon later, Ronan cursed and kicked and glared his old printer back to life in order to print it out.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m in love with a hoarder."

Adam collects things. Ronan is in love with him.

No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin by gansey_is_our_king

Ronan Lynch has wanted to kiss Adam Parrish for a long time.

(alternately titled: four times that Ronan could have kissed Adam)

Cheers to Another Seven Years! by skyermirth

Adam left Henrietta for Harvard and never returned. Now, seven years has passed, and an unexpected work assignment has brought him back to a place and people he hardly recognizes.

Row, row, row your boat by emmerrr

“What. Why are you smiling at me,” he says suspiciously.

Adam shrugs. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not cute, I’m terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly cute,” Adam says.

and now the world is ours to take / and every single move is ours to make by thatlittleblackcat

"Adam was the scientist, Ronan was the data, and Orphan Girl was the key that explained the strange outliers that Ronan presented, his previously unexplainable actions."

Adam sorts out his feelings, Ronan helps him, Gansey is the number one dad friend, Blue is the number one mom friend and Henry tries to make Ronan smile. Otherwise known as the story of how Orphan Girl became Opal.

All These Things You Make Me Feel by SilverOpals394

It was late. Adam could feel the long day catching up to him as he left Boyd’s, all his energy exhausted. When he started his car, the tape deck whirred to life once more. He sighed and raised his hand to turn it off, but before he did a soft melody began to play.

AU in which the mixtape Ronan made for Adam only plays the murder squash song until Adam realizes he's in love with Ronan, too.

Ways to Communicate by Jalules

Blue Sargent reflects on an early memory (and gets busy with her boyfriends.)

(The two things are related, trust me.)

Hold Me Closer, I'm Safe in Your Arms by actuallyronanlynch

“You wanna tell me why I had to hear from Henry Cheng that my boyfriend was at the hospital?” Adam hissed, though his voice wasn’t as acidic as it could’ve been. Ronan took small victories where he could.

“You don’t have a cellphone,” Ronan pointed out flatly. “It’s not like I could’ve gotten a hold of you.”

arts and crafts and the inevitability of death by sunshineinthestorm

Adam comes to the public library in search of a study spot, not a boyfriend.

But it must be his lucky day—because he ends up with a bit of both.

Roswell New Mexico

a conversation between insignificant others by Bellakitse

“Hey…have you noticed that our boyfriends are madly in love with each other?"

“You noticed that too, huh,” she answers dryly, letting out a huff of reluctant amusement.

***

Forrest and Maria share a drink and a conversation and start a friendship.

Own Personal Hell by BeStillMySlashyHeart

Now that Isobel's getting the hang of her telekinesis, Michael decides to test out his telepathic abilities. It backfires. Badly. Now Michael's trapped inside his own mind and only one person can break him out.

Drop the Hammer by brightloveee

Max makes a new friend at the shooting range, who turns out to be even more bad-ass than he expected.

(Takes place mid-S1)

Boys Like You by forgadgetsandgizmos

Curly, dirty blond hair (the mere description ‘curly’ felt like an injustice) twisted in every direction off his head, a sharp contrast with the scruff darkening his strong jawline and scowl-ridden face.

Alex made a mental note to compliment Maria on her excellent taste in men.

—

Or, Alex has coffee with Maria's one-night stand, a man who he definitely does not have a crush on.

let's exchange the experience by lostin_space

Michael decides they need to quarantine.

Michael floods Alex with love and care over and over and over.

This Is Hardcore by Anonymous

Michael makes a proposal. Alex accepts. Michael wonders what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

i don't know what to think (but i think of supernovas) by Milzilla

michael discovers that the console can talk. then, he discovers it can do far more than that.

iridescence on skin by Lire_Casander

In a world where (almost) everyone has a tattoo on their right wrist with one set of coordinates that point to the place where their soulmate is born, Alex thought he wouldn't be any different. He couldn't be more mistaken.

He has two.

The Real Thing by elliebird

Max checks on Michael the morning after Michael saves Max’s ass from Wyatt Long and his dumbass buddies. He sees more than he’s supposed to.

Written for a Tumblr anon who one of their friends walking in on them or anyone of them finding out about Michael and Alex in an interesting way

Sundering by romancandles

“You know it was just an Air Force balloon, right?” says Alex.

Michael smirks. “That’s what they want you to think,” he says, with a wink.

The Old Guard

Peer Reviewed by ishandahalf

[From:] Journal of Medieval Studies ([email protected])

[Subject:] Ad-hoc note from the editor

I have noticed an uncommon level of animosity in your responses to your reviewers (or rather, one reviewer in particular). I am writing to ask if you would please do your best to keep your interactions civil. In fairness, I have also sent a similar request to the reviewer you seem to have this friction with. I trust you will both try and remain more professional in the future.

Again, thank you for submitting your work to this journal.

Sincerely,

James Copley, PhD

Editor-in-Chief

Journal of Medieval Studies

An (accidental) academic epistolary romance as (inadvertently) documented via a (theoretically) rigorously blinded peer review process.[citation needed]

third for a word and the song keeps going Macremae

It was honestly shaping up to be a pretty uneventful year before the Vatican got on Nicky’s bad side.

Or: three times in 2008 that the team genuinely thought about killing Nicky if only to get him to shut up about the changes to the Catholic English Mass and his unrelenting opinions on them, and one time Nile did.

Apex Predators In Island Ecosystems (Freeman et al., in press) by Sixthlight

Palaeobotany PhD student Nile Freeman and her supervisor Joe al-Kaysani are invited to billionaire Stephen Merrick’s new project – a theme park full of cloned dinosaurs. What could possibly go wrong?

This Rough Magic by Marivan

When Joe came to Scotland to study the sea, he did not expect to also encounter a beautiful man claiming that A. he’s a selkie and B. they’re married because Joe picked up his scarf.

It sounds like a fairy tale and that’s a problem. Because Joe’s a scientist. And selkies don’t exist.

Wars for the broken by Yuliares

Five years into his exile, Booker is joined by a companion he never expected to meet. Together, they try to work on healing.

Sometimes they go down to the sewers just so she can scream and scream. “I like to hear it echo,” she explains. “Underwater, you can’t hear anything. Here, at least I can be heard.”

“I don’t feel like a warrior anymore,” she tells him, throwing bread crumbs at pigeons. “I feel broken.”

“You’re still a warrior,” he says roughly. “This is still fighting.”

a good (eighth) impression by deanniker

Over the next few months, Joe runs into Nicky every so often at the farmer’s market. Some weekends Nicky doesn’t make it, because of his work schedule - Joe doesn’t understand it because he doesn’t ask, though he does start to recognize when one of those missing weekends is coming up because Nicky will stock up on things with longer shelf-life. When they do run into each other, they make small talk and move through the stalls together.

Joe doesn’t mention it to Lykon when he stops by, because it is kind of weird, that Lykon’s ex-boyfriend texts Joe things like - If you’re here, the apples look particularly good this week and thank you for that recipe, I did not know what I was going to do with that much couscous

Or,

Joe wouldn't usually consider starting anything with his best friend's ex, but as long as they keep it casual, it shouldn't be weird... right?

get back to where you once belonged by tenderjock

Nile takes a sip of her cappuccino and closes her eyes.

(Booker and Nile get that coffee. Life happens, along the way.)

a house; a home by mehm

“Is this a kidnapping?” Joe asks as Nicky checks both their seat belts. “Like, I don’t mind. It’s just not quite what I expected for my birthday.”

In which Joe gets a birthday surprise, because that’s the stuff you have time for when you and the love of your life become mortal at the same time.

the ties that bind by damaskrose

“There’s a story I heard many times,” Andy begins, “in the Mediterranean. Threads of fate and three sisters. One to spin, one to measure, and one to cut.”

Clutter And Croutons by flawedamythyst

Joe and Nicky have an argument, and then Nicky talks to Nile about what it really means to be in a relationship for 900 years.

Inception

My Big Fat Slightly Annoying Wedding by jibrailis

Arthur and Eames elope for ~tax reasons. Certain people in their lives are not happy at the lack of a wedding.

Remember Sydney by pathera

When Eames shambles into the safe house outside of London, he finds a red light blinking on the phone.

For the inception_kink prompt:

Arthur is on a plane which is about to crash. No way anyone is going to survive. Instead of panicking he calmly calls the team's office and gets the answering machine. He hangs up before the plane crashes.

Give me Arthur's last message to the team.

(TW: Character Death / Angst)

Of Such Deceitfulness and Suavity by delires

In which emotions manifest themselves in unusual ways.

YO, K2tog (it's like a code) by lazulisong

“Oh my God,” moans Arthur. “I’ve paid less for Somnacin. Good Somnacin.” A horrible thought strikes him. “How much is the yarn --”

“I want you to have an unguarded reaction,” Eames tells him, and pulls him up from the floor.

(They run an extraction on a knitter.)

hit the ground running by orphan_account

"I travelled halfway around the world for you. I dealt with the French for you."

Valley by wldnst

It's an old story: a knight, a prince, a kingdom in peril.

If This Is Rain Let It Fall On Me and Drown Me by Brangwen

We used to be so brave, Eames thought. Of the two of them, Arthur had always been the more fearless.

a gentle familiarity by jollypuppet

Two weeks later, Eames is on his doorstep with bad Italian takeout and a grin, and Arthur tells him he can sleep on the couch.

Your Crisis Cannot Be Completed As Dialed by sevenimpossiblethings

Arthur doesn't do snow, Ariadne is determined to be as Midwestern as possible, and blizzards make cell phone service unreliable.

Let’s Say I Do (I Do) by xsilverdreamsx

There were, perhaps some things worse that this, Arthur thinks, as he glares at the letter in his hand with his name printed clearly in bold ink, indicating his presence in two weeks for his esteemed marriage to one William H. Eames, III, at St. Catherine's Church in London, England.

Star Trek (predominantly Kirk/McCoy)

Show the World That Something Good Can Work by knune

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a personal assistant, and maybe that's why he can't stand working for Jim Kirk.

It's in the little things by winterover

Bones is bemused by a persistent secret admirer.

"Wedding" Away with It by pendrogon

One morning, Bones wakes up and he's single. By the same afternoon, he's married to Jim Kirk for Arbitrary Fic Reasons(TM).

How Long Will You Stay (For Your Whole Life) by withthepilot

Jim Kirk, deputy director of the Enterprise parks and recreation department, sees all of his hard work fall to pieces when budget specialist Leonard McCoy arrives from the state capital to cut Jim's budget and threaten the livelihoods of his colleagues. But thanks to a major parks project, Leonard finds a place in the department, as well as in Jim's life—and when all is said and done, Jim doesn't want him to leave.

All-Time Favorite by mardia

What to do when your best friend suddenly starts making new friends.

Joy Ride by Cards_Slash

While running for their lives from an alien species Kirk had accidentally enraged, they come across a car. And well, if you were to come across a car while being chased by aliens that wanted you dead, and you possessed some lingering knowledge of how to drive a car similar to said car, you would have decided to drive it toward the nearest cliff too.

Also a gunfight.

Syncytia by epistolic

He’d signed up for Starfleet on an impulse, but Starfleet meant James Tiberius Kirk: the first – and second, and third, and fourth – big mistake of Leonard McCoy’s life.

Renovation by canistakahari

Jim has a whammy put on him by an alien death ray and he suddenly craves domesticity. He's crazy with longing to shop at space!Ikea and get potted bamboo and he starts looking into adopting AND HE HATES HIMSELF AND CANNOT CONTROL THE SHIT. Luckily, McCoy is drunk all the time and plays house.

17:08 by butterflycell

She'd watched the news holos with a sick feeling, searching for information that was completely obvious in its absence. Amidst the reports of the the Enterprise's miraculous recovery and the damages sustained, there had been next to nothing about the crew or her captain. Jim had been mentioned only in passing, his name shied away from as his first officer limited interaction to the bare essentials.

The Honey of Hybla by shrift

"Bones, prepare to be my date."

#recs #fic recs #recs project #star trek recs #inception recs #the raven cycle recs #the old guard recs #roswell new mexico recs

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mazzy-moon · 3 years ago

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A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 1

Title: Chapter 1 ~ Captive

Word Count: 1650

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping and brief descriptions of violence. Allusions to rape. Overall this story has some pretty heavy subject matter.

Pairing: Javier Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary: Isabel is captured by the cartel and seeks to find a way out.

Notes: This chapter is not explicit, but things may get spicy in later chapters. Go to my blog for more chapters. I will post chapters every few days as I finish writing them. If you take the time to read this, thank you so much! Would love feedback if you are so inclined.

I wake up to my hands tied above my head. The thin cord of rope gnaws against the tender skin of my wrist, immobilizing me. A numbing ache runs through my head as I tilt my eyes back to find the binding. The skin of my wrists are rubbed practically raw and every tiny movement of my hand is torture. I force movement anyway, pushing through the pain. My numb arms start to wake up also, and with it comes stinging soreness. I've been trapped like this for quite a while. I start to panic. Where am I? How will I get out of here? I have to get out. I have to. I wriggle my wrists against the binding desperately, immediately regretting it. The pain travels down from arms into my shoulders. I groan, not being able to keep quiet. I wish for the oblivion of sleep to relieve me once again.

Through tears, I look down at my scantily clad body. Bruises. I'm covered in them. A canvas of blueish purple splotches appear on my chest, and my upper thighs. One larger area, darker than the others covers the skin underneath my breasts. I take a sharp breath in and muffle a scream at the pain. I'd broken a rib, at least one anyway. I do my best to shove the pain away to a place at the far reach of my mind. I can't let it distract me. I have to get out of here. For a few minutes I just sit, taking soft breaths, willing myself to be strong. My memory slowly but surely comes back into focus.

I remember fighting. Kicking, screaming, punching until I was completely devoid of the energy to do anything at all. I remember rough hands shoving me onto the threadbare mattress, pinning my arms down. The same mattress I am on now in this dark, cement walled room. I try to remember the time before this black hole of a room. How the hell did I get here? Pieces of my memory come to me as images flash through my head like a scrapbook.

I'm driving along an empty country road. Where was I going? Two men in workers uniforms stand before me. A rusted vehicle. An accident. Did they hit me or did I hit them? Squirming between two sets of iron hands forcing me in the back of the van. Pushing. Shoving. Both from me and him. Hands. Hands on me while I'm in a half daze. Waking up in a room similar to this one, only there's no mattress just a cold concrete floor. I can still feel it chilling my exposed skin. A man is there above me. Forcing myself to stand, to fight. Blinding pain as he throws me back on the ground. A punch to the temple. Darkness.

I will myself to focus on something else, anything else. I can't force the unrelenting memories away, but if I don't forget them for now I won't be able to figure out how to get out of this nightmare that has become my reality. I survey the small space as my eyes start to adjust to the dim lighting. A small wooden desk placed near the pallet I'm on holds a lamp. There's concrete floors here, too. No windows though, and I realize the faint light illuminating the room comes from a crack beneath the door.

I freeze. Noises come from somewhere outside. I make out a hoarse male voice, speaking harshly in Spanish to someone. I try to decipher what's being said but my Spanish is limited to a few a phrases. A few seconds pass and loud grunting noises intensify as I realize what must be taking place somewhere not far from me. Is a there a room beside me? Is there another girl here? How long before someone comes in my room? I'm terrified to find out. I hear feminine cries and lose some of my hope.

What if I die here? I will never see my mother again. She can't lose me and my father. I won't let it happen. She must be worried sick. How long has it been that she hasn't known where I am? With no siblings, and no other family left we are all each other has. I left my apartment in the states after my father was killed to stay with her here in Columbia. Now she will be all alone.

I continue to breathe slowly in and out to keep from trembling.

"Focus, Isabel," I whisper to myself.

I attempt to inch up into a sitting position. It's tortuous. Everything hurts. It seems as if every muscle in my body has been pulled, and I catch an achy feeling between my legs that I choose to ignore. My shoulders introduce me to a new kind of agony as I shift them and the rest of my torso upright. My sense of time is nonexistent, but from the suffocating ache spreading from my shoulders, down my arms, and through my back I realize I must have been contorted like this for many hours. Once my rear is almost flush with the wall, I allow myself a break. Tears cascade down my face at the pain from my ribs. Determined, I peer over at my bound wrists. They're tied to a metal rod protruding from the wall on my right side. Immediately, I start rubbing my hands back and forth against the rod, hoping the friction will disintegrate the cord. I keep at it for what seems like an eternity, but must have only been around five minutes. The rope doesn't budge.

I search for an alternative solution. My eyes hunt for something sharp enough to cut through the ties. That's when I spot something purple lying on the ground. Flung a few feet from the desk is a pair of underwear I recognize as my own. A wave of nausea cascades through me, and I almost throw up. The realization of what's been done to me sinks me into a fury of grief and anger. A silent sob escapes me and I can't breathe. My throat threatens to close up, and the air in the room feels sticky against my skin. I brace myself for some violent memory, but it doesn't come. Maybe I was knocked into unconsciousness. Maybe that's why I can't remember. I suddenly feel the urge to escape my body, to be somewhere else. I want to scrub layers off of my skin until I'm clean again. I float off for a second and force myself back into reality. I have to stop. There's no time to process what I'm feeling right now, and I have to get out of here. The new wave of anger makes me even more determined and I take advantage of it. There's nothing sharp that I can tell, nothing to cut through the rope that is nearly cutting off my circulation. I'll have to be more creative. I glance at the desk lamp to my right. There's no lampshade, just an exposed bulb. My right wrist is within inches from it. I lift my feet from the mattress and onto the cold floor. I stand up, hands still bound to the wall.

I mutter a curse as my ribs scream at me again from the movement. I position my arm in order to attempt to use the force of my elbow to crack the glass bulb against the brick wall. It doesn't work. I try again, and again, and again. The fourth time I gather strength from a place I can't comprehend, and manage to crush the glass bulb. Now there's nothing protecting the exposed filament from it's surroundings. I hunch myself over so that the base of the lamp is between my shoulder and the side of my face. The position of my body is awkward and painful, but I'm able to angle the lamp so that the lit filament comes in contact with the rope. It's working. The rope is turning to ash against the heat. I cry in relief as the scorching wire sizzles at my skin and the rope breaks free.

The victory gives me a rush of adrenaline, but I still have to figure out how to get out of this hell hole. I look down and see that I'm still in the outfit from the day the van hit me. My pale orange sundress is filthy and ripped nearly to my hip. I remember having my denim jacket on that day, but it is nowhere to be found. I look around for shoes to cover my bare feet, those are missing also. Okay, so I was going to have to do this barefoot and barely clothed.

Male voices approach outside my door and I scoot to the small space behind the door. There's no place to hide in here, and I don't know what I'll do if one of them comes in.

The footsteps grow louder and then fainter as they pass by my room. I wait until I can't hear them anymore, then let go of a nervous breath. Carefully, I try at the door knob. It twists underneath my hand. The idiots actually left it unlocked. I let go of the knob and scan the room once more, this time looking for some kind of protection to take with me. I know my options are limited, but I can't go out there with nothing. Who knows who or what I'll run into. I run over to the desk and quickly open the small drawer. Nothing. I swallow hard. My eyes fall to the ground and settle on the shattered glass from the lightbulb. One jagged piece is larger than the others. I pick it up and head back to the door. I listen for voices or footsteps once more. Nothing. I ease the door open and step outside.

#javier pena #javier pena fic #narcos #javier pena imagine #javier pena fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #a lone butterfly series #javier peña

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bao3bei4 · 4 years ago

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i have basically covered the material in this post several times on my twitter. but this is, in my opinion, the only s*xy t*mes with w*ngxian take you need.

(cw transphobia, transphobic slurs, antiblack racism, mentions of csa and bestiality in fiction)

edit 6/10/21: hi! i’m realizing people are still reading this! this was written in response to aja romano’s vox article on the fic that was published in late february of this year. i had been frustrated with how their article seemed to miss the point in many ways, because they never talked about the substance of the fic. which, i mean, fair. i wouldn’t want to read a 1million word fic either.

but i already had, so i thought i’d write about some things that i believed needed to be part of the conversation. namely, that its author wasn’t a harmless troll, but a person i genuinely disliked who i believed should be deplatformed.

i think virtual1979 is a bad person.

i think a lot of people mainly know about sexy times the phenomenon more than they do sexy times the fic itself. i have the dubious honor of being one of the few people who has actually read large portions of the million word fic, and that’s why i wanted to write this meanspirited hit piece.

the fic is down right now and the author’s notes and comments have both been deleted, which is why i cannot provide screenshots. however, these are all quotes i have saved from when the fic was online, and i’m happy to talk with anyone if you feel any of these quotes are mischaracterizations of the fic.

i also want to be clear this is not a “callout post” and i’m not trying to “cancel” them or whatever. i am just explaining why i don’t like them, why i don’t feel bad they’re being harassed, and why i do not find them sympathetic at all, and perhaps why you should also adopt these stances.

let’s start with transphobia.

sexy times with wangxian is transphobic. this much is apparent from the tags. virtual1979 tagged the following: F*tanari, d*ckgirl, Sh*male. they use this language in the chapters that include a character with both a vagina and a penis.

they refer to this character (wei wuxian) with the pronouns “he-she.” the following excerpt is a fair representation of how this wei wuxian is referred to in the chapters where wei wuxian has a vagina and a penis.

[Lan Zhan] would never be turned on by a female, and he would actually be turned off by a drag queen - but this… this Wei Ying, it’s Wei Ying, and he-she looks [...]

i know these words are common in porn categories, but they are also slurs. virtual1979 also uses hermaphrodite to refer to this set of anatomy, which is not strictly a slur, but definitely a stigmatizing choice of language.

they have repeatedly made clear they are not open to criticism. they have also since removed the comment section. making an intersex character for the express purpose of using transmisogynistic language towards them in your million word porn fic isn’t annoying the way their tags are, it’s actively fucked up.

fanfiction has a transphobia problem, and if we’re talking about sexy times with wangxian in any capacity, we must be clear: sexy times with wangxian is part of that problem too.

secondly, virtual1979 is also complicit in ao3’s racism problem.

i think the way they write about chinese characters and settings is annoying and racist, but they are a malaysian chinese person, so i do have some sympathy for them. i am committed to having some patience for people who are annoying if they themselves are working through the prejudice they have faced.

they’ve commented as much:

Not gonna lie, this fic has been a steep learning curve for me despite my roots being Chinese as well, but I have absolutely zero knowledge in some of these aspects!

and i’m happy on some level they can get in touch with their roots. who among us has not been cringe and diaspora. any criticisms i have of their portrayal of chinese people will stay private and be made to other people of color.

i’m going to be clear here i don’t think the actual comment they made makes them super evil or anything. but this essay IS clearly in response to That Article, which did mention racism in fandom. so.

i think we have all seen the infamous karen comment they made, in which they compared people who criticized their tagging with “Karens,” equating antiblack state violence to... mean comments on ao3? and “SJWs,” which, eye roll. no ageism but you’re 41 why the hell are you complaining about sjws

anyway. i am deeply frustrated by the co-option of the word karen. a stand-in for a particular type of racist violence white women specifically can and do inflict has become fused with that reddit-type mommy issue “can i speak to the manager” internecine white resentment.

so their trivialization of antiblack racism is another reason i don’t like them. again i KNOW it’s petty to point this out here, but this to me shows that virtual is afflicted with the same kind of fandom brainrot that aja is, where everything comes back to that same sort of self-centered bullshit.

sorry for that jab. julian told me that aja thought that cql was about callout culture and all i could think was “wow! just like virtual thinking that--” because i also have spent too much time on twitter this week.

this is just like. part of this ongoing pattern i’ve noticed with virtual, where they’re aware enough of real problems to acknowledge they exist (police violence, accessibility issues caused by their tagging) but are determined to double down on their minor relative persecution as king, shittily drawing parallels between like... real problems and fandom problems. equating the two or allowing the second to take priority over the former is like... par for the course for this type of person!

third, this is just another clarification on more parallels between ao3 discourse and sexy times that went completely unremarked on by That Article.

i would rather DIE than get into discourse. but why did they write this sentence:

Lan Zhan’s rational mind finally broke with a tsunami of pedophilic lusts [...]

by the way that is the start of a 430 word sentence. and yes this fic does contain hundreds of thousands of words of aged down wei wuxian. make of that what you will.

also why would you make wei wuxian teach baby chickens how to sexually pleasure him. do you hate these characters. what’s going on. i think mxtx should be able to sue virtual for that one.

there’s a very obvious connection between mainstream ao3 discourse and sexy times that went completely unremarked on in That Article. sexy times contains multitudes and some of those multitudes are bestiality and explicit childfucking.

this is not unrelated to fannish culture, they are not unfamiliar with fannish norms, blah blah blah. this is just normal fandom. they’re not subverting shit, they’re just a normal fan who unlike 99% of fanfiction writers on twitter, spends more time writing than posting. this has taken their fannish tendencies to cartoonish heights.

finally, they don’t care about mdzs or wangxian. they’re literally just horny and spiteful that’s it. this isn’t a question of like... “ohh they were a good faith participant in fandom until they went joker mode” and the REAL villain is society/ao3. like no they wanted to write shitty porn, and when they found out they were annoying people, they decided to double down because they could be the main character of the mdzs ao3 tag every time they found a spare hour to write.

here are some select receipts on that topic:

they do not care about canon:

MDZS has quite a complicated and expansive plot and history, and enough content that one can choose to tune out certain parts and still get to the end of the story in one piece. Also, because of its source, some fans may not fully realize the nuances, cultural aspects (ooh, cultural appropriation is another triggering topic) or the full breadth and depth of the source material, such as a person like me, who is half-baked in terms of knowing what the canon universe is all about. So I end up playing with characters and settings technically borrowed from the story, and make them do things that would otherwise run counter to the original source material - and that draws quite some flak from those opinionated people I mentioned just now. It's part of what makes the fandom toxic. It's like they're the self-appointed guardians of the source material and they act like they own the rights to question such questionble fanworks, and dare I say, try to take down those that cross certain lines too.

they are just horny:

After that giddines of extra drunken Lan Wang Ji scenes at the beginning, I'm blessed with Lan Wang Ji (Wang Yibo's, actually) fuzzy nips! Bless Bless Bless, and Amen! muahs the nips on the screen

anyway they did get nuked over wishing covid on people.

so yeah. i want to be really clear. this is my thesis: i do not feel bad for them. you should not either. i do not like them. you should not either. that’s ALL!!!!

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teenwolffanclub-me · 4 years ago

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Season 1, Episode 9: Wolf’s Bane

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

Notes: This ended up being way longer than I anticipated, but I lost all self control while writing. Someone please stop me before this turns into an entire full length novel about Teen Wolf...

P.S. Derek is resurrected just long enough to be helpful, Y/N gets a lesson in seeing the future, and we finally identify the alpha (which is, of course, groundbreaking information for us all)

————————

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag as I walked through the doors of the high school. My stomach was in knots. It had been for days, actually. It’d gotten all twisted up last Friday, after I drove Allison and Jackson home, somehow managing to only get worse with each passing day.

To say that I was dreading today would be the worlds most massive understatement.

I wasn’t looking forward to seeing anyone. Not Allison, because the guilt I felt every time I looked at her was starting to eat me alive. Not Lydia or Jackson, because they’re both way too self-absorbed to be around when you’re feeling down. And I absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent would not be talking to Scott or Stiles.

As if on cue, my eyes landed on Scott’s dejected frame as I neared my locker. He was leaning against it, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes rose from the tiled floor to meet mine, and I stopped.

Nope.

I turned on my heel and speed walked the other way. I would gladly carry my things around all day over talking to him right now. He called my name, but I continued as if I hadn’t heard him. Within seconds, he was at my side.

I let out a frustrated huff. I thought I could outrun him longer than that.

“Hey! You can’t just ignore me for an entire weekend.” He hissed the words out in a rush, as if he had any right to be angry with me.

He’d been ridiculously persistent about apologizing. I’d gotten so many texts and calls from him that I had to eventually just turn my phone off. When I did that, he showed up at my house. I was pretty sure he stayed out there for a couple hours on Saturday, but I locked myself in my room upstairs, so I wasn’t positive.

My jaw clenched as I forced my gaze to stay on the hall in front of me. He kept up with my quick pace easily, unrelenting. I felt his eyes boring into the side of my head, urging me to respond.

I had so much to say, but no idea how to get the words out. I was still furious with him. He’d ruined whatever I had with Stiles in the most spectacularly dickish way and, to top it off, nearly killed me. Like, how the fuck do you even begin talking about that?

“Will you at least tell me if you’re okay? Y/N!” At the harsh snap of my name, I spun around to face him with a glare.

He staggered back a step, an arm raising defensively, and stared at me with wide eyes.

“You want me to talk to you? Then tell me what the hell is going on.” My voice was hard with days-long built up anger.

“What do you mean?” He just blinked, trying to look innocent, and I scoffed.

“You’ve been keeping things from me.” I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows expectantly.

It was absurdly obvious at this point. He and Stiles both knew way more about well, everything, than I did. The alpha. The full moon. Jackson. I could just feel it. I was being kept out of the loop, despite them constantly roping me into their supernatural problems.

They either needed to start giving me all the information, or just leave me out of it entirely.

He looked like he was about to argue, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he thought better of it with a heavy sigh. He glanced away briefly to scan the bustling hallway before finding my eyes again. “To protect you.”

A rush of air left my lungs in a harsh scoff. Was he actually serious right now?

“I don’t need protection.” I snapped, appalled that he would even try that excuse. I didn’t need him deciding what was best for me, or what information was safe to tell me. “I need to know what’s happening!”

“I can’t...” His voice broke regretfully, his eyes rounding with sadness. There was an internal conflict raging behind them, but the wrong side was winning.

My heart tugged painfully as I blinked back a few frustrated tears. I didn’t let myself get emotional over the weekend. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t. There was still too much to process. It was like I was being forced to complete a puzzle for my life with only a third of the pieces available.

Ultimately, it felt like he didn’t trust me. After everything I’d helped him and Stiles with, I deserved to be an equal partner. Not someone they call when no one else can help because they don’t know he’s a werewolf. Not someone they keep at arms length.

“Then maybe we can’t be friends.” My voice was barely above a whisper as I choked the words out.

I didn’t want to believe that it’d already come to that. He and Stiles were the first people in all the places I’ve lived that never judged me. Our friendship had been surprisingly organic, despite the way it started. I’d never felt like an outsider.

Well, until they started keeping secrets from me.

I stuck around just long enough to catch the crestfallen look on his face before I turned and walked away.

I tugged a hand through my hair and tried to collect myself as I neared my first period class. The break from my problems was short lived, since I share it with him, Stiles, and Allison. My eyes immediately found Stiles as soon as I walked through the classroom door. He was leaning back in his seat, balancing a pencil between his two pointer fingers.

His eyes slowly rose to meet mine and he perked up with a jolt, the pencil clattering to the floor. I looked away, already feeling my resolve crumble at the sight of his big, honey eyes. I slid into my desk which was, unfortunately, right behind him.

I bent down to place my bag onto the tiles beside my feet, taking my time rummaging through its contents to find my English folder. When I eventually sat upright, I reeled back at the sight of Stiles turned around to face me.

One of his plaid covered arms was slung across the back of his chair, his fingers tapping anxiously on the corner of my desk. He looked at me with rounded, hopeful eyes. I swallowed as my heart skipped a beat at the sight. I needed to hold it together. I was mad at him.

“Can we talk?” He murmured timidly as his eyes swept over my face.

I’d gotten a handful of messages from him over the weekend, too, but he’d given me more room to breathe than Scott. Before I could even fully process his question, a harsh voice drew my attention away from him.

“Y/N, what the hell?” Allison plopped into her seat beside me, her eyes narrowed in annoyance. “You didn’t answer me all weekend. How are you doing?”

Shit. I’d honestly forgotten about the few texts she’d sent after I turned my phone off. A moment later, Scott walked into the room, eyes firmly planted on the floor. I sunk down into my chair, feeling like the walls were closing in around me. I couldn’t face them all at once right now.

Allison threw a hand up in exasperation and I chewed on my bottom lip anxiously. I had to say something.

“I’m...fine.” Yeah, that didn’t sound remotely close to believable, even to my own ears.

I was fine, though. Mostly. The pain in my leg had dissipated enough that some Advil in the morning made it bearable throughout the day. Emotionally, though? I hadn’t even began working through everything. Scott slowly sat at his desk right in front of Allison, shoulders slumped.

“Are you sure? You literally flew like twenty feet in the air.” Her eyes were wide with concern as she watched me closely. Man, I really am the worst friend in the world for ignoring her. If something like that happened to her, I’d be worried sick.

I saw Scott stiffen from the corner of my eye.

“Whoa, wait a minute. Back up. What are we talking about here?” Stiles’ eyes twitched before jumping back and forth between us.

I let my gaze flicker back to him, surprised. He didn’t know? I glanced at Scott, chest tightening at his guilt ridden expression. Well, I guess there’s my answer.

“Sorry.” Allison mouthed the word silently with a grimace before turning toward the front of the room.

“Hey. Yeah. Stiles talking. What the hell?” I rested my elbows on my desk and rubbed at my temples, letting my eyes fall closed.

It was way too early for all of this. It wasn’t my job to tell him that his best friend almost killed me. We weren’t even on speaking terms right now. Plus, I couldn’t say anything in front of Allison anyway. I was stuck, and I could feel his eyes watching me closely.

“Alright everyone, let’s get started.” Our teacher walked into the room and threw his stuff onto his desk loudly.

I peaked up through my arms, watching as Stiles’ eyes narrowed and lingered on mine for a long moment. He pursed his lips and hesitated before finally turning his back to me. I let out a relieved breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

This was going to be such a long day.

————————

I walked into the cafeteria, feeling emotionally exhausted. I’d spent the first half of the day avoiding anyone who tried talking to me. After class this morning, I was even more aware of the fact that I didn't have the mental capacity to deal with my problems right now.

My eyes instantly landed on Scott and Stiles, who were sitting by themselves. I let my gaze wander over the room until I found Allison and Lydia. They were sitting clear on the opposite end, which was a little overkill, if you ask me.

It was weird to see our friend group so separated, but Allison and Scott were still barely speaking, and Jackson was M.I.A because he decided to break up with Lydia via text this morning.

While I wasn't the least bit surprised, and honestly glad to be rid of him, she was still devastated. I headed in their direction, not looking forward to repairing another broken heart, when I heard something that made me stop.

“Scott. Can you hear me? You can, can’t you?” It was Jackson, standing in a corner by the vending machines.

My brows furrowed as I followed his intense gaze to where Scott and Stiles sat. Scott was whispering something frantically, looking panicked.

“Are you trying to pretend not to hear me?” Jackson sounded way too smug for his own good, which honestly wasn’t unusual.

Scott snapped at Stiles across the room, who just threw his hands up with a shrug.

“So what else can you do? Huh? Can you see better? Are you stronger? More powerful? I knew there was no way you suddenly got that good at lacrosse. Which means you’re actually a cheater, aren't you? I mean, can you even play lacrosse?”

I watched as Scott’s jaw clenched angrily, my heart dropping into my stomach at his words. His fingers tightened around the water bottle he was holding, his entire arm trembling with barely contained rage.

“I bet my new co-captain is going to score a bunch of shots tonight. Aren’t you? And while you’re pretending you’re not a lying cheat, I’m gonna ruin your life if you don't give me what I want. You know what I’m going to start with? Her.”

My eyes flickered toward Allison, who was laughing at something Lydia said, blissfully unaware of what was happening. “I’m going to destroy any chance you have left with her. And when I’m done with that, I’m going to get her alone, and get my hands all over that tight little body...”

Oh, my God. Okay. I did not need to hear anymore of that. I started walking toward Scott and Stiles briskly, my heart racing.

Jackson knows. How the hell does he know? Why didn't they tell me he knows?

A few seconds later, I stumbled to a halt in front of their table. Stiles looked up at me with wide eyes, lips parting mid-chew. I ignored him, putting a hand on the table and leaning down so there were only a few inches between Scott and I.

“Did you tell Jackson?” I hissed quietly, sounding way more freaked out than I meant to.

He sat there for a few moments, his jaw tensing repeatedly as he tried to tune him out. His eyes flickered up to mine, intense anger swirling inside them. “No. How do you even—it doesn’t matter. That’s the least of my worries right now.”

“That’s the least of your worries?” My voice rose with surprise. Just how much had they been keeping from me?

He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. I turned my head and saw that Jackson had disappeared.

“So...are you talking to me again?” His tone had lost some of it’s edge, but I could tell he was still fuming internally.

I stood up straight and squared my shoulders. I’d nearly forgotten that I was supposed to be ignoring them. “No. I just...”

“If you were...would you help me with something?” He looked hopeful, and I took a moment to consider it.

“No.” Stiles interjected before I had a chance to respond. He glared at Scott before his hard eyes moved to me. “No. You’re not getting involved.”

My mouth dropped open in surprise. Who the hell did he think he was? He had no right to tell me what to do. In fact, his dismissal only made me want to do it more.

“I’ll help.” I narrowed my eyes at Stiles angrily before moving my attention to Scott. “If you tell me everything that’s going on.”

He pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. A jolt of hope rose through my chest.

“No way. Not gonna happen.” Stiles scoffed, his tray clattering against the table as he slammed his water bottle down onto it.

My eyes jerked back to him, my jaw clenching. “Stilinski, I swear to—”

“Y/N.” Scott interrupted, his voice soft. “He’s actually right. It’s better this way.”

I stood there for a moment, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. I couldn't believe they were being so stubborn about this. It seemed like things had shifted so suddenly. One day, I was helping them with everything and the next, I’m being left out entirely.

“Fine. I’ll find out myself.” I huffed and turned on my heel, stalking away from them and right through the doors.

I didn't stop until I stomped my way out into the parking lot. I was beyond over their secrets and lies. I wanted answers, and I knew where to get them. I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to do what I was about to do, but this person said they’d help me once before.

I just hoped the offer was still good.

———————

I looked up at the house and let out a long sigh, shaking my arms at my sides to get rid of some of the nerves vibrating through me. I can do this.

It’s not scary. It’s not scary. It’s not—

I nearly jumped out of my skin as something rustled in a nearby tree, but felt my shoulders sag with relief as a squirrel ran across the ground in front of me. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to gather enough courage to get closer.

I forced myself up the rickety porch steps, one foot in front of the other. My hand came up and lightly rapped on the front door. The second my knuckles connected with the chipped wood, it swung open with a loud squeal.

I peaked my head inside, squinting through the darkness that blanketed the entrance despite it being the middle of the day. “Derek?”

It didn’t look like he was here. It didn't look like anything living had been here for awhile, actually. Almost every surface in the house was covered by a thin layer of dust, broken furniture cluttering the space. I took a tentative step inside, my heartbeat rising as I glanced around. Truthfully, I was still terrified of the guy, but he’d saved me from Scott a few days ago. I knew he couldn't be all bad.

The floorboards creaked at the top of the stairs, and my head whipped in that direction. My eyes scanned the area as best they could through the dark, but didn’t find anything. I tried to steady my breathing as I continued forward. Another sound made me whirl around, but once again, I was alone. Okay. Maybe this was a bad idea. I should just leave.

I turned toward the door, and immediately let out a startled scream at the sight of a tall figure standing right in front of me.

“Y/N.” Derek greeted, his voice entirely too level.

I put a hand on my chest and tried to catch my breath. “Goddamn. Do you always have to do that?”

His eyes wandered over my face skeptically, his lips pressed into a firm line. I took a small step back, my shoulders tensing. Even if I knew he wasn’t completely evil, he was still scary as shit.

“What exactly are you doing here?”

“You’ve been helping Scott, right?” I wheezed out, deciding to get right to business. He just stared at me blankly, so I continued. “Well he hasn't really been honest with me lately, and I want answers.”

His thick brows pulled together as he took a slow step toward me. “And you thought I would give them to you?”

I scrambled back again, watching him closely. I wasn't even sure if he was trying to be intimidating. His whole aura was just...a lot. It was the leather jacket he always wore, and the scowl that seemed permanently etched into his face. Not to mention the fact that he somehow always found a way to emerge from the shadows.

“I...I don't know.” I stammered, losing the small bit of confidence I had.

“I would say, if Scott doesn't want you involved, it’s probably for a good reason.” His hazel eyes stayed locked onto mine. They were almost impossible to read.

It was obvious he wasn't going to tell me anything. I couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. I knew it was a long shot. I figured, though, that while I was here I should bring up something else that’d been nagging at me...

“A few weeks ago, you said you could help me learn control.” I rushed the words out, my skin prickling with anxiety.

He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slowly. “So?”

“So...” I drawled, squaring my shoulders in an effort to look confident. “Help me.”

———————

“Y/N, just concentrate.”

I blew out a frustrated huff and let my eyes pop open.

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last hour?” I snapped, sagging back into the dilapidated couch we sat on.

Derek had been trying to help me “vision”, as he called it, for what felt like an eternity. I wasn’t getting anywhere despite his advice. He apparently knew a lot about almost every supernatural creature there was. Not that I fell into that category. I was more like...supernatural adjacent.

He’d made sure I knew that I was still human, but I was already well aware. There’s no super strength or heightened reflexes going on here. Just bad dreams and occasional sleepwalking.

“You need to find something that helps you get control. We call it an anchor.” He insisted from beside me, resting his elbows on his knees and gesturing with his hands.

“An anchor.” I said slowly, trying the word out for myself.

He nodded and rose to his feet suddenly. “It can be a feeling, a memory, an object...even a person. It’s just something that helps you concentrate and focus your power.”

I watched as he walked across the room and crouched down a few feet away. He inspected the floor for a few moments before picking something up and striding back to where I sat. He held his hand out, palm facing the ceiling, and my face scrunched in confusion.

“Why are you giving me a rock?” My gaze flickered back up to his face and he rolled his eyes impatiently. It was the first actual emotion—other than anger—I’d ever seen him express.

“It’s just a physical object to help you. Try to think about something that makes you feel a strong emotion.” I studied the small stone skeptically, but eventually took it from him.

I rolled it around in my palm, trying to wrack my brain for anything that could cause a reaction. I went over the past few weeks, letting my eyes fall closed.

I thought about mom, and how she’d packed up her entire life several times just so I could have a chance at a normal life. I thought about how quickly Allison and I had become friends, and how horrible it was that I was still keeping everything from her. I thought about Lydia, and wondered if she would ever stop pretending to be a moron. And Jackson, well, I was pretty sure there were no redeeming qualities beneath his superficial exterior.

Then, my mind wandered to Scott. Ever since that first night I moved into the house next to his, he’d been a constant in my life. For better or worse. I’d helped him through so many ridiculous situations. Digging up Derek’s sister, avoiding death at the hands of Allison’s family, and running from the alpha to name a few. He’d been there for me countless times, too.

And lastly...there was Stiles. My heart twisted painfully at the thought of him, my face falling into a grimace.

“There.” Derek spoke up suddenly, making me jump. My eyes fluttered open to look at him in question. “Whatever you just did was working.”

My skin exploded with heat as embarrassment rushed through me, even though he had no idea what I’d been thinking about. Great. My anchor is a spastic teenage boy who spends most of his time lying to me.

“Try again.” Derek insisted and sat back down on the other end of the couch. I let out a long sigh.

Here goes nothing.

My eyes slipped closed and I let my mind wander back to Stiles. I replayed our most significant moments together. Like all the times he protected me at the school that night we were trapped, and the way he’d kissed me out of relief when I didn't get eaten alive. Then there were the two times we’d shared a bed. Those were the only nights I’d managed to escape my vivid, and sometimes terrifying dreams since moving here.

I thought back to last week and felt my lips pull into a frown. All my recent memories of him had been tarnished by the secrets he was keeping.

My fingers clenched around the rock. It suddenly felt like my senses were dulling. My brows furrowed as I started to drift off. It didn’t feel like I was falling asleep, just that I wasn’t fully conscious in the present. My mind was going somewhere else.

My skin slowly went numb. My ears rang as the sound of Derek’s shuffling beside me drifted into nothingness. The ground shifted beneath me and my eyes jerked open.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat as shock surged through me. I was standing in the middle of a field. It was dark, the only illumination coming from the massive overhead spotlights. My head whipped from side to side as I tried to figure out exactly where I was.

It was...the lacrosse field? At school? I took a few tentative steps forward, arms wrapping around myself as the frigid air bit into my skin.

What the hell was this? I was just in Derek’s house a second ago. Was I hallucinating or something?

I let out a shuddering breath, a cloud of condensed air fanning my face. Just then, a bloodcurdling scream sounded from behind me. I spun on my heel painfully fast, but immediately stiffened at the sight on the other end of the field.

There was someone crumpled on the turf, covered in blood. I moved forward slowly, feeling a strong urge to see who it was. The only thing I could hear was the hammering of my own heart in my ears. There wasn’t a single other soul around, adding to the eerie emptiness.

It felt like it took days to reach the body. When I got close enough to see their face, though, I broke out into a sprint.

It was Lydia.

She was wearing what looked like a formal dress, blood splattered across her torso. I fell onto my knees beside her, hands shaking as they gripped her shoulders. I turned her onto her back and brushed big clumps of strawberry blonde hair away from her face.

I couldn’t tell if she was breathing. My eyes flickered down to her side and I reeled back at the sight of deep bite marks just above her hip. With a grimace, I bent over her body and placed my ear against her chest to try and hear a heartbeat.

Oh, God. Please have a heartbeat.

I froze at the sound of rustling from the tree line nearby. My gaze slowly lifted, landing on two glowing red eyes in the shadows.

Only this time, they were attached to a man.

With a harsh gasp, my eyes popped open. I sputtered out a few coughs and felt a steadying hand at my back, pulling me up into a sitting position. My eyes moved around frantically as I tried to get my bearings.

My shoulders sagged as I realized I was back in Derek’s house. Had I even left? What the hell was that? When did I lay down?

He leaned close, his eyes searching mine. “What did you see?”

I blinked, trying to process what the hell just happened. I’d never experienced anything like that in my life. It felt so real.

“Lydia.” I gasped, my chest heaving with labored breaths.

I put a hand over my heart, trying to steady it. My head jerked from side to side as I took in the dusty floors and broken walls around me. I wasn’t fully convinced that I was actually here.

“Okay, good.” Derek nodded encouragingly, and my eyes snapped back to his. “What was she doing?”

My mouth opened and closed a few times as I tried to gather my thoughts. I finally got my breathing under control, but my heart was still clattering in my chest painfully. It felt like I’d just been in a dream, but it wasn't like any dream I’d ever had before. My stomach twisted painfully. I knew exactly what it was, but that meant...

“Y/N.” He urged, eyes still studying my every move.

“I—” I swallowed, trying to collect myself. “I think she was dead.”

———————

This plan was beyond stupid.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of Derek’s car, which was parked in front of the long term care section of the hospital. Since he’d helped me earlier, I agreed to do him a favor. Apparently that meant I’d be talking to his comatose uncle’s nurse.

He told me that Stiles had traced the weird text Allison got that night we were stuck in the school, and it came from a computer here while logged into Ms. McCall’s account. The fact that I knew nothing about any of this made me ten times angrier with him.

“And what is Scott doing again?” I sighed, unbuckling my seatbelt.

“Stealing Allison’s necklace.” Derek deadpanned, as if it should’ve been obvious.

“Right. Of course, because it has a symbol on it that your sister left as a clue for you...”

I glanced over at him and he nodded slowly, face as stoic as ever. I swear this guy has never smiled a day in his life. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

I popped the car door open and stepped outside, letting my eyes slowly scan the building. I swallowed nervously and stole one last glance at Derek over my shoulder. His eyebrows rose expectantly and I forced myself to turn back around.

I had a bad feeling deep in my gut, but tried to ignore it as I hesitantly stepped toward the door. I wrapped my fingers around the handle and let out a long breath. This was fine. Just because I was doing a favor for a slightly terrifying werewolf, didn’t mean I was going to get hurt.

I pulled the door open and took a few tentative steps inside. When I noticed a moment later that the place was completely deserted, I froze. There wasn’t a single other person around, nothing but eerie silence filling the space. It was late, yeah, but there should be someone here.

“Uh...hello?” I called, hoping the nurses were just on break nearby or something.

When I got no response, I continued forward slowly. I scanned the area quickly, trying to find any signs of life. The unusual stillness made the hairs on my arms stand up straight with apprehension. I peered through the glass above the welcome desk to my left, trying to find anything useful.

Well, as long as no one is around...

I jogged around the desk and jiggled the mouse beside the computer. The screen hummed to life and I glanced up quickly to make sure I was still alone, before clicking through the open tabs until I found the patient database.

I hastily typed Peter Hale—the name of Derek’s uncle—and quickly scanned his file. I found his room number easily and shut the computer down before going on my way.

As soon as I turned the corner, though, I ran smack into a hard chest. I let out a surprised yelp and stumbled over my own feet, the other person rearing back with a dramatic flail of their arms.

“Jesus! What are you doing here?” Stiles practically yelled, his voice a mixture of anger and shock as he looked at me with wide eyes.

Well, damn. I wasn’t expecting that.

“What are you doing here?” I leaned toward him and hissed, my voice a harsh whisper despite us being the only people around. “You’re supposed to be starting tonight.”

His eyes lit up with surprise and I felt a blush creep up my neck. I’d heard from Lydia that he’d been promoted to first line on the lacrosse team. It wasn’t like I was keeping tabs on him or anything, but he’d been hoping for this all year, so I was confused to see him here instead. The game should be starting any minute.

“I’m just...checking something out.” He stuttered, one of his hands coming up to scratch at the back of his head.

I rolled my eyes and turned on my heel, ready to walk away from him. He just couldn’t stop lying to me. It didn’t matter anyway. I had a mission to accomplish and I shouldn’t be wasting time by talking to him.

I only made it a few steps before a gentle hand gripped my elbow.

“Hey,” He called softly, and I hesitated a moment before turning to face him. “Scott told me what happened. Are you okay?”

I let my eyes trail over him slowly. He still wore the white undershirt and blue plaid button-up he’d had on at school, but had added his black jacket on top. The same one he’d let me borrow a few times before. He was studying me with his big, caramel eyes.

He looked and sounded like the same Stiles, but something felt different between us. After the events of the last few days, it was like there was a roadblock whenever we tried talking. We were more distant than we’d ever been, and it didn’t sit right in my chest.

I opened my mouth to respond, but paused when my phone started ringing loudly in my back pocket. I tugged my arm out of his hold and quickly pulled it out of my back pocket, scoffing when I saw Derek’s name on the screen.

“What?” I sighed, hoping he didn’t need me to do anything else. I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Did you find her?” He rushed the words out quickly, sounding anxious.

My eyes flickered to Stiles, who was watching me closely, his brows pinched in confusion. I just walked around him and started toward Peter’s room. I heard his quick footsteps as he trailed after me, but tried my best to ignore him.

“No one is here.” I finally made it to his room and stopped in the doorway. It was empty, too.

“What?” Derek barked, voice rising.

“What do you mean, what? His nurse isn’t here, and he’s gone too. Are you sure this—”

“Y/N, you have to get out of there. Right now. It’s him. He’s the alpha! Get out!”

I staggered back a step at his frantic yelling and let my arm fall down to my side, ending the call. My heart lurched in my chest as I heard shuffling from around the corner.

“Was that Derek?” Stiles snapped anxiously behind me. “Did he just say—”

“Well, hello there.” My head jerked to the side at the sudden voice, my eyes widening as they landed on a man who was leaning against the wall a few feet away.

He was partially cloaked in darkness, but I could make out that he was tall and had shaggy brown hair. His lips twitched up into a slow smirk and I noticed that half of his face was covered in nasty looking scars. I could only assume that it was Peter.

Stiles suddenly gripped my hand and tugged me down the hall with him as he started running away. We only made it a few steps before a nurse appeared out of nowhere, stepping into our path. We stumbled back, nearly crashing right into her.

“What are you doing here? Visiting hours are over.” She practically snarled with a sinister smile.

“You...” Stiles pointed at her with a shaky hand, looking between her and Peter frantically. “And him...you’re the one...oh my—and he’s the...oh my God, we’re gonna die.”

Just then, Derek stepped around the corner and smashed his elbow into the nurse’s face. I staggered back with a gasp, not expecting the violent move. She crumpled to the floor in a heap, passed out cold. I just stared at her body with wide eyes.

“Oh, that’s not nice...” My head whipped around as Peter drawled lazily. “That’s my nurse.”

“She’s a psychotic bitch helping you kill people.” Derek took a threatening step forward, his face a hardened mask of anger. “Get out of the way.”

He hadn’t even so much as glanced at us as he muttered the words, but it was obvious who he was talking to. Stiles wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against his chest before sliding us to the floor. I pressed my back into the wall, my body trembling with fear.

“You think I killed Laura on purpose? One of my own family?” Peter strode toward Derek quickly, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Stiles murmured, causing my eyes to snap up toward him. He had one arm wrapped around me, the other propped up against the wall caging me in safely. His eyes flickered over me quickly as if surveying for signs of damage.

Derek suddenly growled loudly, and I peered around Stiles’ shoulder just in time to see his eyes flashing bright blue as he snarled, his canines extending. He jumped up, using a wall as leverage, and pounced on Peter. He easily shook him off, spinning around to slam his back into the wall next to where we were still crouched.

A chunk of the molding snapped off, dust and drywall sprinkling down onto us. Stiles and I instantly scrambled away as fast as possible. He grabbed my hand tightly, our fingers weaving together as he hauled me to my feet. We nearly trampled over the nurse’s body, but stumbled back just in time to step around her.

Peter leaned down and gripped Derek by the throat before pulling him up off the tiled floor. He strode forward, pulling Derek along with him as he made his way down the hall toward us. Stiles and I stumbled backward with each quick step he took.

My heart was pounding in my throat as I tried to get control over my breathing. Derek’s hands came up to claw at Peter’s arm as his legs kicked wildly, looking for any leverage to escape.

“My mind, my personality, were literally burned out of me. I was acting on pure instinct.” He suddenly released his hand and Derek slammed to the floor with a pained groan.

“You want forgiveness?” Derek roared, jumping to his feet and landing a hard punch to Peter’s jaw.

He easily deflected his next attempt and headbutted Derek harshly. He stumbled back a few steps, and Peter used this to his advantage as he kicked him harshly in the chest. “I want understanding.”

Derek flew several feet in the air before crashing to the floor and sliding all the way down the hall until he lay crumpled at our feet. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and spit out a mouthful of blood. I suddenly realized we were back in the main waiting area, and pulled Stiles by his hand that was still entwined with mine. We kneeled down behind the desk as the two werewolves continued fighting in front of us.

“Do you have any idea what it was like for me during those years? Slowly healing, cell by cell, even more slowly coming back to consciousness.” Peter wandered his way forward slowly, menacingly. “Yes, becoming an alpha, taking that from Laura pushed me over a plateau in the healing process. I can’t help that.”

Derek rose to his feet and swung his arms wildly. It was obvious that Peter’s words had struck a cord in him. He easily blocked each punch before gripping Derek’s wrist tightly and effortlessly snapping the bone. He let out a pained roar and I flinched as the sound echoed through the room.

“I tried to tell you what was happening. I tried to warn you.” Peter released Derek’s arm before fisting the sides of his leather jacket and throwing him over the desk.

He smashed through the glass barrier, pointed shards raining down on us as he landed harshly on the floor beside our crouched position. Stiles spazzed out next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders frantically and tucking my head into his chest before leaning his body over mine. My chest swelled at the protective gesture.

Heavy silence blanketed the room for a long moment. I let out a shaky breath, trying to stay as still as possible. Stiles shifted over me and I peeked around him to see what was going on. Derek started crawling away from us slowly, looking seriously injured.

“We have to do something.” I gasped, heart racing painfully in my chest.

Stiles looked down at me with wide eyes, like I’d lost my mind. “Yeah. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

Before I could protest, he pulled me to my feet. Neither werewolf even spared us a glance as we bolted out the front doors. I didn’t want to leave Derek in there. It didn’t feel right. I wasn’t sure what I could do to help, but there had to be something.

Stiles dragged me all the way to his Jeep and wrenched the passenger door open. I just stood there, frozen.

“Y/N. Get in!” He yelled, his eyes wide with urgency.

“He’s gonna die in there.” My voice quivered as I looked back toward the hospital.

Stiles tilted his head up to the sky in exasperation before looking at me with narrowed eyes. “He’ll be fine. He’s surprisingly hard to kill.”

He jerked his arm forward, gesturing for me to get in, and I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. I knew there was nothing I could do, but I wanted so badly to help. I stole one last glance at the building and let out a heavy sigh, sliding into the car begrudgingly. Stiles slammed the door closed behind me and ran around the hood before jumping into the driver’s seat.

A moment later, he sped out of the parking lot. We didn’t say a single word the entire ride home.

We’d been sitting here, in front of my house, for the last several minutes. Thick tension crackled in the air between us, but we were both too stubborn to be the first one to break. I sat there for a few more seconds, indecision clawing at my insides. I wasn't exactly jumping to talk to him, but part of me didn't want to leave him, either.

Something about his presence was calming. Even as we sat here in tense silence, I knew it was better than being alone. But we couldn’t stay like this all night. With a dejected sigh, I reached for my seatbelt, but paused when he spoke up unexpectedly.

“You know, I’ve been trying my best to keep you out of this stuff.” His words were sharp as his fingers tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.

I turned toward him slowly, relaxing back into my seat. “I never asked you to do that.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve almost died in the last couple months?” His jaw clenched as his eyes swept in my direction. Their normal amber color had darkened as several intense emotions swirled inside them. Frustration, anger, worry. “Everyone who’s involved with the supernatural keeps almost dying. We aren’t going to stay this lucky.”

“Then let’s not rely on luck anymore. We can learn to take care of ourselves.” I insisted, leaning toward him slightly.

I was tired of taking a backseat in all of this. Today, for the first time, I felt like I was truly a part of the team. Even though I had to go through Derek to get here, it was so much better than being kept in the dark.

“I’m too busy worrying about you to take care of anything else.” His voice was barely above a whisper as his eyes flickered around my face before looking away.

I just stared at him in confusion. “Why would you worry about me?”

Out of all the people in his life, I should be at the bottom of the list. Hell, I shouldn't even be on the list.

“You’re joking, right? You keep showing up in places you shouldn’t be. You’re constantly almost getting hurt. You sleepwalk into the woods half the time and—and I’m terrified that one of these days I’m gonna be too late to help.”

He rushed the words out, his eyes wide and intense. He was giving me this look, like I was the most important person in the world. My heart tugged uncomfortably in my chest and I swallowed.

“I haven't even done that in—” My words caught in my throat at the way his head tilted incredulously and I sighed. “You don’t always have to be there, Stiles. You don’t always have to look after everyone else.”

His eyes twitched and his lips rolled into a thin line. “You’re not gonna stay out of this, are you?”

I shook my head slowly. “I know I can help somehow. I can feel it. And if I know that, and don’t...then I don’t think I can call myself one of the good guys.”

Silence fell over the car again, but this time it wasn't awkward or tense. I studied the way the streetlights illuminated his freckled face. Shadows created hard lines around his jaw that contrasted the soft gaze of his eyes as they bored into mine. My stomach fluttered with a foreign emotion and I chewed on my bottom lip as I fidgeted in my seat, suddenly feeling nervous. Something had shifted in the air between us, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Is it obvious yet how much I like you?” His gaze flickered down to my mouth quickly and my breath hitched at his words.

“Painfully.” I felt myself leaning closer to him without actually meaning to. Yes, I was still mad at him, but right now that didn’t seem to matter so much.

He met me halfway, our lips molding together instantly. My eyes slipped shut as one of his hands came up to gently tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear. His slender fingers wrapped around the side of my neck as his head tilted, his lips slanting over mine. My mouth parted against his and our tongues explored each other almost urgently.

This wasn’t anything like the kisses we’d shared before. It was intense, and rushed, like we couldn’t close the distance between us fast enough. I could practically taste everything he felt for me, all the things he wanted to say but didn’t know how. Without breaking away, I blindly undid my seatbelt and fisted the sides of his jacket to pull him against me.

One of his arms slid around my waist and my hands flattened against his chest before gliding up to rest on the sides of his head. His buzzed hair poked at my skin as he tugged me forward. I fumbled across the gearshift until I landed in his lap, my knees resting on either side of his hips.

He hummed against my lips in satisfaction as his fingers tangled themselves in the hair at the back of my head. His other hand pressed me impossibly closer, and I arched up into him. He pulled away unexpectedly, and I felt my eyes flutter open to look at him in question.

“Can—can I...?” He murmured breathlessly, his gaze flickering between my neck and eyes. I nodded a little too eagerly, but couldn’t find it within myself to feel embarrassed.

He tilted his head down cautiously and I let out a shuddering sigh as his warm breath fanned my skin. My head fell back, a quiet whimper leaving me as he began peppering delicate kisses down my throat.

A sudden, low whistle had my eyes popping open again.

Stiles didn't seem to notice—or maybe he just didn't care—as his lips maintained their slow pace against me. I squinted into the darkness, my gaze almost immediately landing on Scott as he practically hung out of his bedroom window with a teasing grin.

I pushed against Stiles’ chest with a breathy laugh. He groaned lowly in protest, but didn't put up a fight as he sagged back in his seat. His big eyes shined up at me with confusion and I jerked my head toward the houses. He looked over and scoffed in annoyance as he realized we had an audience, before his head slowly lulled back in my direction.

“Goodnight, Stiles.” I couldn't control the smile tugging at my lips as I cupped his freckled cheeks and placed a gentle kiss just beside his mouth.

I popped the door open and jumped down, straightening out my shirt with my palms. Stiles shut the door after me and leaned an elbow out the window before letting his chin rest on his forearm. He just stared at me with a small smile on his face, his eyes shining under the streetlights. My heart fluttered at his awe-struck expression and I forced myself to turn around.

If I didn’t go now, I might never be able to walk away from him.

“Night, Scott!” I called up to his room as I unlocked my front door.

His muffled reply came just before I let the door close behind me. I sagged against it, a big grin slowly taking over my face. Being with Stiles had given me a chance to forget about all the crazy shit that happened today, if only for a few minutes.

I knew our problems were really just beginning. Yeah, we identified Peter as the alpha, but something told me being exposed wouldn’t faze him. He was clearly a deranged psychopath that wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. And what he wanted was a pack. I felt like we had a chance to fight back, though. Despite the challenges that were undoubtedly ahead, I was more confident than ever before.

It finally felt like I had all the puzzle pieces.

Episode 8 Episode 10

125 notes · View notes

thedegenerateducky · 4 years ago

Text

The Ultimate Matchmaker x Hajime Hinata

WARNING: SFW at first, but will get NSFW because I, too, am thirsty for the orange juice man.

You were the Ultimate Matchmaker. You took much pride in your profession. It didn’t take much more than one conversation to understand just the right kind of match for someone. Several of your classmates at Hope’s Peak came to seek your advice. This boosted your confidence exponentially because some of your clients were...odd. Especially the one you were supposed to meet today.

This specific one left a note in your locker saying “MYSTIC WIZARD WIELDING POWERS OF EROS, MEET ME IN THE HOUSEHOLD OF OCCULT SCRIPTURES AT THE HOUR OF 4.”. It didn’t take you very long to figure out that this was Gundham Tanaka. You giggled at his exaggeration and shut your locker, suddenly meeting a familiar green-eyed gaze.

“Hajime...?”

Oh my lord, Hajime. As the Ultimate Matchmaker, you’d never really had many crushes. The ones you did barely lasted a day because once you stole a glance at them, your mind would automatically come up with a perfect match for them. And that match was always someone else. But for Hajime...he was interesting. Your mind couldn’t figure him out.

“Hey...(Y/N)...um, how have you been lately?”, he asked, clearly very nervous.

“Oh, I’ve been alright. Just life, you know? Gets tough every now and then,” you stated. Hajime always could tell when you weren’t telling the truth. You could’ve pretended you were enthusiastic, but you always felt extremely groggy after math class.

“Oh, I feel you, (Y/N). Today I got partnered with someone I really don’t like for a group project. I can’t even explain how tiring that is,” he sighed, clearly exhausted. “That’s enough about my boring day, though. My advice for you is to find ways to relax. Get a massage, go to the beach...do something for yourself, you know? You deserve it.”

“Do something for myself, huh?”, you wondered aloud. Oh you could do something alright. You could do that boy right in front of-

` “Yeah, of course. I’d be glad to help you come up with ideas. Everyone needs to unwind once in a while,” he said, softly smiling. The school bell interrupted your conversation, causing Hajime to jump. “Oh, um, I gotta go!

“See ya, Hajime!”, you exclaimed, waving energetically at him.

You were distracted the whole day. First off, you had to mentally prepare yourself to translate Gundham Tanaka, and secondly, Hajime. You could not stop thinking about him. Honestly, sometimes you creeped yourself out. But you just couldn’t help it. He was an enigma. A mystery. You had to know. Who was his match?

After your last class, you headed to the library and sat at a table, waiting for your client. “Nishishi...you tooootally fell right in to my trap!!!”, you heard a voice exclaim.

“K-Kokichi?!”, you screamed as you leapt out of your chair.

“Oh, you soooo thought it was Gundham! But that was a lie! Actually it wasn’t just a lie, no no no! It was a scheme, a plan, by a mastermind...to ask you out,” Kokichi whispered the last few words in your ear.

“Kokichi, um, I had no idea you felt that way, but...analyzing your personality, you’re a better match for-“

“Oh no no no, don’t misunderstand, Miss Matchmaker!”, Kokichi quickly interrupted. “I mean that a very very special someone asked me for advice on how to ask you out!”

“That’s a lie, Kokichi.”

“Neeheehee...that’s right! Actually, a certain Ultimate Supreme Leader was playing ‘Truth or Dare’ with some reserve course students, and...one of them likes you! And so I helped! By my own volition, of course!”, Kokichi was bouncing off the walls. “But that’s enough about that. Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time to present the man, the mystery, the mastermind, the...LOVER BOY...Hajime Hiiiiinata!!!!” Kokichi ran outside the library and proceeded to shove Hajime into the building, cackling all the way.

“Hajime!”, you exclaimed, a faint blush glowing on your cheeks. “U-um,”

“I’m so, so sorry (Y/N)! I tried to tell him not to get involved,” Hajime quickly interrupted whatever you were fixing to say.

“Hey, it’s alright, Hajime. If what Kokichi said was true...for once...then um, I like you too,” you said, looking him in the eye.

Hajime’s eyes widened. “Wh-wh-?!” Before both of you could process your feeling for each other, all of a sudden your lips met.

“KOKICHI!”

“Nee hee hee hee! I’m only trying to help- after all, Hajime is quoted as saying that a massage is a good way to relax, right? I don’t know, just an idea.”, Kokichi cackled as he strided out of the library.

To your surprise, Hajime simply looked you in the eye and says: “That’s not a half-bad idea.”

You simply grinned and took his hand. “Everyone does need to unwind once in a while.”

(NSFW AHEAD)

Before you could even assess whatever had happened with Kokichi, you were lying face down on one of the tables in the library. Hajime was gently rubbing on your shoulders and back as you got used to the feeling, waiting to really get going until you were comfortable.

You finally sighed and found a comfortable position. Almost immediately, Hajime’s thumbs were rubbing circles in the small of your back. You didn’t even realize that the old books, the long day, whatever problems you had faced...had all just melted away as he rubbed you. But. There was still something...missing.

A part of you longed to be more vulnerable. To completely open yourself up to him. But how exactly to...do that? And how exactly to ask? You stole a glance

at Hajime, god was he hot- “(Y/N)? Is there something the matter?”, he asked. This man didn’t miss a beat.

“N-no. Not really, um, it’s just-“, you blushed, trying to hide your face.

“Oh! Um, it’ll probably feel better if you take off your shirt, (Y/N),” he stated bluntly. I think he took the hint- WAIT WHAT?! Your shock was evident. “If you feel uncomfortable at all, I-I can just take mine off too.”. Oh no. If he took off his shirt I don’t know what I’ll-

“Yeah, that’s fine with me!”

What.

Whatever primal instinct had defied your logic’s attempts at keeping things PG...was strong. Like it had been waiting for centuries and centuries for someone to break down your walls- someone like Hajime Hinata. Usually you beat yourself up for just letting words fall out like that, but the moment skin touched skin any anxiety that had existed just disappeared like it was never there at all.

That was when he kissed your neck, making you gasp in surprise. That was the nail in the coffin. That was when you knew you were giving it all to Hajime- tonight. You flipped over onto your back to experience your first kiss, a passionate expedition like no trip you’d ever been on. You blushed and prepared to flip back onto your stomach, but Hajime stopped you. “Wait, (Y/N). The next place I want to massage is on this side, so...um...”. You immediately knew what he was implying.

You undid your bra clasp, throwing the uncomfortable piece of clothing into close distance to your schoolbag. Hajime immediately went to work on your breasts, gently rolling your nipple with his tongue. You let out a low moan, all inhibitions lost. You almost didn’t notice that he was playing with the zipper on your skirt. You sighed and closed your eyes, giving him the go-ahead to take it all off.

He then began to tease your thigh, slowly working his way up between your legs, driving you absolutely wild. You pulled down your undergarments, letting him tease you, barely even touching you with his fingers and still making you wetter than Niagara Falls. A tongue slowly licked you, making you moan out hais

name. As he began to speed up, you certainly let go of any reservations about being quiet in the library.

And then you noticed. “Um, Hajime;” you said, looking at the obvious arousal in his pants. You quickly sat up, palming him as you took off the rest of his clothes.

“Oh, (Y/N)...” he moaned. That was irresistible. “Next time, I’ll let you have at it all you want, but...I have just got to have you. Right now.”

Well, if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. Also...he mentioned a next time.

“Then take me,” you gasped. He quickly put a condom, and then slowly entered you, making sure you weren’t in any pain. Once he started moving, he went pretty fast, but not faster than you could handle. You matched his speed, relishing the moment until your vision started to blur and everything suddenly felt like it was taking place in the stars.

All that existed was him and you, breathing heavily as night began to fall. The last words said that night before you fell asleep in Hajime’s arms were “Hey Hajime. I have a little hunch that I’ve found the perfect match for you. On a completely unrelated note, I finally found someone who’s perfect for me.” You both giggled and fell asleep, letting calm overtake the both of you.

#my writing #hajime hinata #sdr2 #smut #x reader #danganronpa #drv3 kokichi #dr2 hajime

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howdytherepardner · 3 years ago

Text

a tale of two fountains or maybe tributes to "great men"

spires of caverns and pits and spikes; all in aggregate seem to suggest that it could not all have been constructed with care yet each one constructed with too much care for one to bear. cascading semi-chlorinated water separated and dispersed through multitude arteries abruptly exposed to the world around it, standing alone in a vernal pool tucked between decadence and the machines driving legacies of wealth and influence. despite the drapings of grandeur and the mythos surrounding it, it is not unknowable. any outside perspective would give you something to remember it by, but the spears are not a strong enough defense to hides its insides. this unrelenting, static chaos holds an eye of stability; not precise to guarantee protection, but enough to assure that anyone brave enough to venture within will know some measure of relief from the world that surrounds it and the world that it is.

i wander down an exposed stairwell with my prox and a towel, wearing only a linting mask and old swim shorts. the paved surfaces that my journey follows range from smoother cement to asphalt jagged with berries from trees that would never realize their evolutionary purpose. it is not the first time i have decided to sit under the fountain of freedom ahead of me arriving at it, but it is the first in memory that i have been so prepared. normally, a pair of briefs would get soaked while too many things sat on the stairs anticipating the emergence of my dripping form, which would continue until i made it back to my room. but there i was. i have never been particularly good at meditation, and would only claim to have “achieved” a meditative state a few moments in my life, but media depictions of water falls as a particular source for finding some form of releasing outer thoughts; it seems to work well enough, but perhaps i just enjoy the spectacle. this night, there were only a few pairs that sat along the side of water, so not too much of an audience, but enough for me to wonder what they thought as i hung my towel and mask on “Double Sights” and sloshed my way to the tower. normally i might set myself directly under a narrow cascade or in the eye, but this session i remained at a static point in orbit: my legs soaked and my arms quickly coated by innumerable droplets, but my hair only catching the most divergent skydivers, the back of my neck losing its dryness only to sweat and humidity.

it’s a place of security, your conversations drowned out by incessant waters, and in close enough proximity, your own thoughts as well. that was the aim of my venture up campus. i’ve been struggling to fall asleep lately. my body will be exhausted from interactions and activities (walking to class? inconceivable) enough that i give up on work earlier in the night and pray that an earlier sleep will restore some greater stamina. the mind however is plagued with sensations of the time that i’m wasting THERE ARE ONLY 22 WEEKS OF SCHOOL LEFT AND YOU’RE SITTING IN YOUR FUCKING ROOM WHAT HAPPENED TO THE YOU THIS SUMMER WHO WAS READY TO SEE PEOPLE AND LIVE AGAIN, the regrets i am well beyond amending THIS IS JUST HOW YOU WERE FRESHMAN AND SOPHOMORE YEAR HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING WITH YOUR IVY LEAGUE TRANSCRIPT, and other anxieties I AM FAILING ALREADY. I AM INDEED TAKING IT ALL FOR GRANTED, WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT PRINCETON OPINION PERSON? I AM DISAPPOINTING MY FRIENDS AND EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER INVESTED CAUSE OR CONCERN IN MY SUCCESS AND WELL-BEING. of course, the mind is of body as well, and these permeate through the rest of me. i haven’t felt health for a while THOUGH I’M SURE THAT’S JUST THE COVID THAT I’VE DEFINITELY CONTRACTED AND SPREAD TO MY LOVED ONES or the scattered eating and sleeping schedule compounding into no full restoration. most of the time, this leads to a shirtless run on the towpath (if i’m not doing school work, i might as well perfect this bag of bones), but Ida has eroded many segments to the bottom of the canal, so darker nights may not be the best for it AND MY VISION SEEMS TO BE GETTING WORSE EVERY DAY, SO IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME UNTIL THE BODY SURRENDERS ANY SHRED OF WORTH ENTIRELY.

but that night was not humid, and chilly waters woke me to ensure i was fully experiencing my slate slowly being washed away. worries seem to just slip away from me, like a patagonia in any of the clubs’ coat rooms. i feel the effortless mind of my body switch on the ignition, turning all engines to ensure that i freezen’t in the water, and i can stretch each muscle individually as i am asked to confront the prospect of how this form is treated. and i can breathe again, full and deep, and i feel like i am able to get up and face the world as it comes once more.

Scudder Plaza may be the most relaxing spot on campus: you can catch the cooling spray from James FitzGerald’s monumental sculpture, Fountain of Freedom, or be soothed by the sounds of its cascading water. At twenty-three feet high, Fountain of Freedom is one of the largest cast bronze sculptures in the U.S. Inspired by the rugged beauty of the artist’s native Pacific Northwest, the grooves, channels, and spires of the six-ton sculpture—reminiscent of naturally eroded forms—are meant to symbolize Woodrow Wilson’s aspirations and frustrations. … Seven hundred gallons of water are recirculated through the fountain each minute and are sprayed through an intricate system of fifty major pressure valves and more than 1,000 pin-hold jets. (x)

but tower 4 is some distance from those 4 towers. and without jets pushing them back, many things come crawling back. i am looking down to the basement cafe with its lights out, wondering if the people coming my way were laughing at my relative under-dress, when i decide that i cannot go home yet. i complete another barefoot walk across campus, and lay my towel down as a seat at my penultimate resting place.

its silhouette a vague enough [cardioid of sorts] to prevent any association based on shape alone, your expectations may be higher than what you need. it is a piece of furniture in name and in relativity to form, something regarded briefly in the minds’ eye and then passed by just as quickly. its flows ooze at a steady rate, in synch such that it never appears to be moving at all; the only proof that it is, really, is the shading below coming from beyond the light and the drippings at its bottom hidden from view. those surface shimmers make a soft sound, but on touch simply flow between the fingertips. a single indentation on the surface has received a few stones of the many that live below its form, placed there by hands other than its creator; certainly, they gave their vision the precise amount of care and intent required to manifest it. an illusion that what it emits has eroded it over many years to a smooth shape, but with the truth that it is still very young and remains solid within.

it would not feel quite right to sit atop einstein’s table, so i sit on the concrete next to the square of rocks. even with consistent eye contact, its subtle streaming does little to shield spectators from the world outside. a car driving by listening to top hits from summers past, a few pedestrians making their pilgrimage for late night snacks; every little itch on the surface of my skin, and of course, bare exposure to every THIS and THAT in a state of overwhelming stillness. but in all, it comes to pass, and my brain is left backtracking to the overwhelming stillness i have known in recent months. i am nostalgic for my University Mandated Quarantine Walks, particularly one alone in the mountain lakes preserve after my first snow back. i am nostalgic for early autumn days looking at the sun reflected off a pond. i am nostalgic for the waiting to find out where i’d spend my junior year, the waiting to receive messages and letters from friends. restless simplicity, anticipation for better things that, well, i guess are supposed to be the present. it doesn’t really feel that way now. as SENTIMENTS have alluded to, i am struggling to make it through right now. instead of a senior year that serves as the culmination of all that came before, i feel instead trapped in shitty replays of the past 3 years. like a script composed of false cognates, it feels like i understand what is happening right now and it makes no sense.

Near the earthwork is “Einstein’s Table,” made of jet mist granite and inspired by Albert Einstein’s theory on black holes. Lin noted that the theory was validated last year during the creation of the table. Outer space and constellations were a source of inspiration for both projects, she said.

During the hourlong conversation, Lin shared details of her process from start to finish, which included many adjustments along the way. “With every artwork there might be six to eight models,” she said. “I’m always teaching myself about the site, so that I’m preparing myself for what it’s going to be like to be on site.” (x)

but i think i am mostly wondering about how similarly others are feeling. it appears to me that my peers are sliding right back into the chaos of the now, festive in the face of it all and doing everything i tell myself i should be doing right now. do i come off that way to them? does anyone really know how to express these feelings 100 leagues below the surface, or is it just me? what feels true to me, and what leads me to rise from my seat next to the table and return home, is that i must continue. there is little option now but to follow through on this all until the end of the line, whenever it may come; maybe that comes easier for some people now, but i think i’ll make it eventually. i am not entirely sad and i am not entirely happy, but i am here. i think i want to help people despite not being perfect at it, and i am here. all things for granted or not, i am here. i will continue to get cold under one monument and never deny the temptation to touch another passing by, because i know those are things i like to think. i hope you know you can talk to me always.

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didanawisgi · 3 years ago

Link

Response to attacks from dr. David Gorski

Published on TrialSite (August 25, 2021)

My name is Geert Vanden Bossche. I received my PhD in Virology at the University of Hohenheim, Germany, and I have held adjunct faculty appointments at universities in Germany and Belgium. I also have worked in R&D and vaccine development for GSK, Novartis, and Solvay Biologicals. Next I was a Senior Program Officer for the Gates Foundation’s Global Health Discovery team, and from there went to the Global Alliance for Vaccines and Immunizations (GAVI) and was the Senior Ebola Program Manager. Then I joined the German Center for Infection Research as head of the Vaccine Development Office. Currently, I work as a consultant on biotech/vaccine issues, and I also do my own research on “natural killer” cell-based vaccines. I have argued that immune escape due to the current COVID-19 vaccines is driving new variants as the virus evolves its way around the inoculation. Dr. David Gorski is a Wayne State University of Medicine (Detroit) associate professor in oncology and surgery. He is also chief of the breast surgery division. Gorski has launched several “hit pieces” about me and my views. In one article, he attacks the notion that vaccines have a part in driving variants. He also has criticized YouTuber/intellectual Brett Weinstein for supporting the use of ivermectin in our pandemic.

Lack of Expertise

In my view, Gorski is both stigmatizing honest scientists and seemingly trying to create socially-dangerous tensions between the vaxed and the unvaxed and between medical experts who hold different views on our current vaccines. Gorski creates false dichotomies wherein one is good (pro-vaccine, put faith in government) or bad (anti-vaccine, open to alternate views and arguments), and this type of discourse and rhetoric is incompatible with science.

Gorski is also largely scientifically illiterate in the fields of virology, immunology, vaccines, and evolutionary biology. He cannot see that both the vaccinated and the unvaccinated are involved in the evolutionary dynamics of the pandemic; his effort to blame the latter category is unfair and potentially dangerous. Dr. Gorski is quick to mix up unrelated topics to create parallels that don’t make sense. He unscientifically conflates or compares data about: live vaccines and inactivated vaccines; epidemics and pandemics; measles and SARS-CoV-2; herd immunity and vaccine coverage rates; efficacy with effectiveness in vaccines; and sterilizing immunity with transmission-reducing immunity.

He also unfairly lumps me in with antivaxxers when I am pro (beneficial) vaccines. Much of this is likely based on the fact that Gorski’s expertise is largely lacking. His professional expertise in breast surgery seemingly does not allow him to opine intelligently about the topics at hand. And he regularly gets tangled up in his own misunderstandings and contradicts himself. Also, he sets himself up as a maximal “pro-vaxer” despite the noted lack of expertise in the various disciplines that apply to vaccination during a pandemic.

Innate Immunity

Gorski possesses no understanding of the workings of innate immunity, i.e., innate oligospecific antibodies or natural killer cells. He does not know the difference between innate (i.e., polyreactive) and naturally-acquired (i.e., antigen-specific) antibodies. This is clearly reflected by Gorski’s list of ‘factors proposed to explain the difference in severity of COVID-19 in children and adults’. None of these factors could explain why not only children, but any young and healthy individual, could become susceptible to Covid-19 disease only a few months after they got asymptomatically infected. This can only be explained as a result of suppression of protective, innate antibodies by spike-specific antibodies (including vaccinal antibodies) as the latter outcompete innate antibodies for binding to SARSs-CoV-2. Gorski’s list, therefore, is completely irrelevant in regard of the overarching mechanism of natural immune protection against Covid-19.

He doesn’t have the wherewithal to understand the difference between naturally acquired immunity’s sterilizing cell-mediated immunity (CMI) and the S-based vaccines’ lack of CMI. He fails to see that there is currently no evidence of population-level immune selection pressure on CMI-mediated, sterilizing immunity induced in previously symptomatically infected persons. He doesn’t seem to realize that only a minor fraction of the population acquires protective immunity against COVID-19, whereas the vast majority are naturally protected by their first line of innate immune defense (a notion, he obviously didn’t even hear about).

Gorski specifically claims that younger people are now getting infected more because, “the variant is so much more transmissible and, therefore, the higher the percentage of the population that needs to be immune.” He doesn’t even seem to realize that these younger (<65 years) and healthy people (i.e., the majority of the population) proved to be immune during the previous waves. So why would they all of a sudden lose their immunity a few months later? Further hurting his credibility, Gorski refers to ivermectin as an “anti-worm” drug and wildly misrepresents the evidence so far showing that it can help with COVID-19. Again pushing the false either/or paradigm, he puts ivermectin in the “bad” category without any nuances.

Contradictio in Terminis

The doctor seems to miss the fact that, “spreading” SARS-CoV-2 relates to infection or pathogens, not to the disease they may potentially cause. Gorski seems to forget that despite the fact that all knew that the efficacy of these vaccines was not 100%, the primary goal of these mass vaccination campaigns was to generate herd immunity. Now, maybe Gorski doesn’t really understand what herd immunity is about, but it suffices to remind him that it relates to the observation that unimmunized people can be protected provided the vaccine coverage rate in the population is high enough to prevent viral transmission. Gorski is trying to make people believe that herd immunity would imply vaccination of the total population, which is almost a contradictio in terminis.

By going to ridiculous extremes to make his case, Gorki is basically just making himself ridiculous. He also lumps me in with folks claiming that stray spike proteins from the vaccinated are causing major harm, when I have never taken that view. He thinks that because a virus has a somewhat higher infectiousness, it will in no time dominate all other circulating variants, no matter the pressure that is exerted by the human population. All of the more infectious variants were isolated before end 2020. So why is it that only quite recently have the more competitive ones started to spread widely? For somebody who obviously has big holes in his knowledge of virology and basic immunology, it can, indeed, be difficult to understand that viral spread in a population is determined by the interplay between viral infectious pressure and population-level immune pressure. The most blatant example of this is where he contradicts himself in saying: ‘Vaccines is a selective pressure’. Per definition, though, selective pressure is known to drive immune escape. And thus, according to Gorski, ‘vaccinating as many people as possible as fast as possible’ is the way to go!

“Quo vadis, homo sapiens?”

It is simply impossible to achieve herd immunity with these vaccines for reasons I clearly explained in my contribution titled, “Quo vadis, homo sapiens?” No matter the level of uptake of these vaccines, they’ll never produce any kind of herd immunity, as they’re merely turning young and healthy people (who’re naturally capable of eliminating the virus) into asymptomatic spreaders. Secondarily, herd immunity has nothing to do with immune selection pressure. On the contrary: neither innate antibodies nor immunity induced by recovery from disease (i.e., the only 2 types of immunity that contribute to herd immunity) are spike (S)-directed, so they do not exert selection pressure on viral infectiousness (i.e., determined by S), in contrast to the immune response induced by vaccination. Gorki is among the many stubborn know-it-alls who pretend that further increasing vaccine coverage rates will stop the virus from spreading and further evolving. All this without any single scientific argument backing his statement. Substantial outbreaks are still taking place in countries with high vaccine coverage rates, clearly demonstrating that vaccine-induced herd immunity is a myth.

Gorski is also completely missing the point on the lambda variant. He stares at different variants in regard of their sensitivity to vaccine-induced neutralization whereas the key message of the publication I alluded to was that i) increased viral infectiousness is insufficient to ensure sustained viral transmission in a massively vaccinated human population (i.e., a population that exerts widespread spike-directed immune pressure on viral infectiousness and ii) that additional mutations in the N-terminal domain (NTD) of the spike protein may substantially contribute to the decreased neutralizing capacity of vaccine-induced antibodies against any given variant (as mutations in the RBD alone may not explain the decreased neutralizing titers). In other words, variants may incorporate additional mutations in the NTD to dramatically increase their resistance to vaccine-induced anti-S antibodies. This mechanism of escape neutralization is of course very problematic if it occurs in a variant that as already a high level of infectiousness (e.g., delta variant) as this may lead to a steep increase in morbidity and mortality rates in the population. Gorski’s conclusion that ‘there is plenty of reason to conclude that the vaccines offer considerable protection against at least severe disease from these variants’ is, therefore, anything but based on an understanding of the virus’ evolutionary adaptation to enhanced, widespread immune pressure on viral infectivity. As a matter of fact, a such dramatic combination of high infectiousness and complete resistance to wild-type spike vaccines has recently been reported https://www.biorxiv.org/content/10.1101/2021.08.22.457114v1.full.pdf.

We’re curious to learn about Gorski’s predictions on how much protection the vaccines are going to provide against highly infectious variants that are completely resistant against the vaccines…

Vaccine efficacy versus vaccine effectiveness

Regardless of the fact that Gorski does not understand the difference between vaccine efficacy and vaccine effectiveness, he doesn’t even realize that the main issue is not whether or not the vaccine protects 100% or less; the real issue is that imperfect vaccines will enhance propagation of naturally selected immune escape variants, especially if high infectious pressure is combined with widespread immune pressure (due to mass vaccination).

Lies

If Gorski is unable to make his point otherwise, he’ll rely on lies:

I never stated that the emergence of more infectious variants was caused by the vaccines as Gorski pretends

I never stated that vaccines are ineffective, dangerous and that they make the vaccinated dangerous to the unvaccinated as Gorski pretends

#Geert Vanden Bossche #immunology #sars-cov-2 #covid-19 #covid-19 vaccine #selection pressure #viral escape #family medicine

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alo-piss-trancy · 4 years ago

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Ok hi, I didn't wanna say anything, but please don't write knifeplay/bloodplay for Yuri. I def don't wanna spoil anything, but it's learned on a certain route that Yuri has a s*lf h*rm problem (I'll leave it at that).

You honestly seem like you're not trying to be a jerk with this ask, so I'm going to do my best to answer this as politely as possible without compromising my personal beliefs on the matter. This is going to be long and a little serious, but please note I'm not attacking you or trying to start a debate. I'm just laying all my thoughts on this down at once so I make myself clear, because a short answer would leave a lot of nuance out.

I understand what you're trying to do here. For the record though, I also considered that a pretty massive spoiler and I did not appreciate that at all. Even if you all think you're 'helping', don't do that again. Y/uri was pretty much the only character I'd managed to avoid most spoilers on and you killed the surprise for me. This game is already so full of fluffy 'filler' in the beginning that I don't have a ton of big plot points to look forward to in each route.

Now, I realise this is a very delicate topic and incredibly triggering to some people, especially with those two things combined. I am 100% willing to tag it with just about any variation needed to ensure you or others affected can blacklist/block it and never have to see a word of it in the future. I'd also be happy to go back and tag that original text post I made if needed. I mean that. You all are welcome to ask me to tag things anytime, and so long as you're polite about it I'm perfectly willing to oblige to the best of my ability in future posts! If I occasionally forget, just toss me a light reminder and I'll jump into editing and add it in.

That said, I want to make it clear that I am very firmly against censorship. I'm willing to take all necessary precautions to ensure people can curate their experiences on this blog and AO3, but at the end of the day I can still post whatever fictional stuff I choose to. As can anyone else. Same goes for more formally published media.

Now, it's entirely possible I would have gotten to that part of the game and decided 'oh dang, I'm not so enthused about that fic idea anymore...'. My whims and ideas change frequently, and what you mentioned is a heavy topic with a lot to unpack and process. It's also entirely possible that future plot would only provide more fuel.

Fyi, when I originally mentioned the knifeplay I was actually thinking a lot more along the lines of her doing it to the protagonist, not the reverse. But for the record, if I did choose to write it with focus on Y/uri, I would still be well within my rights to.

This next part of my answer is going to address some heavy topics, this is your warning!!!

Sometimes people's kinks are a way to take a thing that is personally scary or upsetting to them and find a way to reverse it. To find pleasure or power or get used to the idea of the awful thing in a safe, controlled fashion. I'm not going to go into the full details on this because there's plenty of explanation and research elsewhere already written up, as well as an excellent book on the subject, and I'm not turning this blog into a discourse debate. But I needed to mention it for my point.

There are plenty of stories that could be explored with Y/uri in this context. Did she have this kink before the self harm events started and it was completely unrelated, or did she develop it afterwards? How did she discover it beforehand? If developed afterwards, did it start out as another way of harming mixed with pleasure in a self-destructive way, often done sloppily and without proper technique? Or was it strictly used as almost exposure therapy to deal with those urges and thoughts in a safer, more contained scenario, maybe even allowing the partner she trusted to wield the knife to prove their bond/reinforce that she can be loved without being hurt deeply, that she is worthy of affection and trust and loyalty. Maybe this finally helps give Y/uri a tool to embrace her 'weirdness' without harming herself and others. Or, what if she thinks it can be a useful tool and is sure she's ready, but partway through the scene she gets triggered or has flashbacks... how does she deal with it? How does her partner? Can it be overcome with effort, research, and taking things slowly, or does she realize this kink is actually completely off the table for her?

What if she has this kink and is excited to try it, but her partner isn't? How does she take that rejection? Or do her poor social skills mean she skipped negotiation to begin with and attempted it in the middle of a vanilla session? Would her partner freak out or even get mad, or try to swallow their fear and let her do it so they don't hurt/offend her, even at the cost of their own comfort?

This topic also opens a ton of potential plots for darkfic, but I'll refrain from discussing that out of respect for you and others.

So as you can see, there's much more to explore than 'Knife=Hot'. I believe those discussions and ideas are necessary and provide important fuel for thought when explored fictionally, especially since mainstream media doesn't cover a lot of them.

~~~

I feel I should take a second to clarify knifeplay for those who may be unaware. It doesn't always equate to actual cutting/drawing blood. That can be an aspect, but usually only by those far more experienced and, you know, actually into that. A lot of participants don't actually go that far. Mostly, it's either about the physical sensation of the knife touching you at all, or the adrenaline/controlled fear and intimate trust of a partner bringing an object like that so close/teasing you with it.

In fact, it's frequently advised in those circles (especially to newcomers) to use a dull butterknife instead, because it simulates the same feelings of metal on skin/can dig in a little without any real risk of cutting/drawing blood. Even if one chooses to use a different knife, it's still pretty common to dull the blade, or some people even substitute with a closed pair of scissors (combined with the partner blindfolded, you can't really tell it apart from the real thing).

These versions of knifeplay are well controlled and ultimately pretty harmless, so long as both parties know what they're doing and stay alert. And more experienced players with sharper knives are even more cautious/have studied extensively to know where/how deep to go without risking scarring/serious injury.

Remember the golden rules of kink: Safe. Sane. Consensual.

With those in place, it is not nearly the same as self harm. Just as controlled, consensual, well-negotiated BDSM with safewords, respected boundaries and a trusted partner is never in the same league as abuse.

~~~

Now that that's out of the way, back to my point:

There's no perfect representation or narrative for everyone, in any group (be that gender/sexuality/triggered by certain things, etc). Every human being is different, everyone interprets media differently, and everyone takes away different elements from stories.

What one person in a particular group may find cathartic, relateable, or painful but necessary food for thought, another may find completely repulsive, personally hurtful, offensive, something they can't stand to hear. And guess what? Both of those can be true at the same time. One side is not immediately right over the other.

There are queer characters or interpretations of them in fics that I vehemently despise, might even find hurtful or sickening and think 'how can anyone create this, it's insufferable! People in 'my group' aren't like that, it's a horrible representation. I can't relate to it at all!' But you know what? Other people can and do, may find comfort in those exact narratives and experiences, may heal their pain instead of inflicting more. And that's great. It's what they needed or wanted and if I don't like it, I click away and do my best to avoid it.

There are specific tropes and narrative themes I personally cannot get through without being triggered into anxiety attacks or dragged back to bad times and places in my life. Sometimes I see them tackled in ways that are hurtful or seem insensitive to me. But I recognise that for someone else, it's exactly what they needed to see to get through that or come to terms with it, or see a way they wish that thing could play out. I would never dream of telling those people they aren't allowed to enjoy it, OR telling the creator of that piece of media or a tv show 'Hey ummm please don't use this plot because it turns me into a human wreck for a week'. Because it's not remotely my place to do so. They can create whatever they want, they have no responsibility towards me or my well being. A few might be kind enough to include a warning at the beginning of that episode or in the description, but they are in no way required to. It's up to me to curate my experience and try to keep my guard up/research what might have those tropes, and in the rare occasions I get blindsided, yeah, it hurts like hell. I struggle, I might even backslide a bit. But I just have to try my best to deal with it and make a note to be more careful next time. Because you can't control the world around you, not even the online world, and you have absolutely no right to. The only right you have is to protect yourself without infringing on other people's boundaries/rights.

And there's also another important point. There doesn't have to be a big important point or explanation for why a creator creates something, or why consumers can enjoy that creation! If someone wants to create a plotline with all of my triggers used in the most 'insensitive', 'wrong', pointless ways possible, strictly for Entertainment or pure kink material instead of some deep dissection of the issues involved? They can go hog wild!!! They are 100% allowed to do so on this earth, and I can't (and wouldn't want to) do a thing to stop them.

One person can read a kink fic and it hits a very emotional theme for them/they think it explores a deep topic well. Another person can read that same fic and get nothing out of it except their rocks off. Both of those readers are completely equal and 'allowed' to enjoy that fic. Both reasons are completely valid reasons for why the creator was 'allowed' to post/create that fic in the first place. Nobody needs permission, nobody has to answer to anybody except themselves. Period. This extends to any topic, any type of fic.

Yes, even for things I find absolutely abhorrent and insensitive and don't understand/want to read ever. I may resent everything about its existence, but I will defend to death the creator's right to make it exist in the first place.

It only affects me if I let it affect me. If someone's making content I despise or am upset by and can't handle, I can choose to ignore or avoid them, blacklist those tags, I can block them and move on with my day. I can do anything within my own bubble, but the second I consider going into their bubble and saying they can't make that thing, I am in the wrong. Because I'm not respecting their space and rights.

If someone makes cookies with ingredients I'm highly allergic to, pastes the ingredient warnings all over the box where I read them, and I still eat one, would anyone cheer me on for blaming them when I have a reaction? Would anyone think it was remotely okay of me to start calling up every bakery in town and saying they weren't allowed to bake those cookies EVER, because some people somewhere might be allergic?

No. They'd tell me I was crossing the line, because I'm infringing on other people's boundaries and lives. I'm expecting everybody else to take responsibility for something that, while horrible and painful, was my fault for touching.

Now, if someone sets out unlabelled cookies not realizing I'm allergic to something in them, and I eat it and have a reaction, that sucks. It's an awful experience. But is it the baker's fault? As long as they didn't do it maliciously, not really. They can be advised politely to label it in the future, and I can do my best to remember to ask/be more cautious next time I come across something I'm unsure of, but they're still allowed to bake those cookies for themselves and others.

Now, if I deliberately baked cookies with an ingredient that people are very frequently allergic to (ex. peanuts) and set it out in a crowded buffet without a warning label, that's a jerk move. That's intentionally trying to cause harm to others. But simply baking that flavour of cookies still isn't a crime or harmful by itself.

~~~

I'll be honest, I'm running out of steam and I think I've said most of what I have to say, so I'll wrap it up. I want to reiterate that I'm not ripping into you with this long answer, anon! I understand why you sent me what you did and I'm trying not to come off as harsh. I'm happy to go back and tag things and will tag anything else similar in the future!!! But at the end of the day, regardless of whether I personally end up writing that fic or not, or even want to after I get to that plot, I don't agree with telling anyone they can't/shouldn't write it at all. I wanted to try and explain my viewpoint thoroughly, and I hope you can respect that, just as I'll respect and try to accommodate you and other followers. This is the only time I'll really get up on a soapbox like this, and I have no interest in debating these things on my blog further, but it is a topic I've been passionate about all my life so I'm afraid I'm not budging on it.

#bear gets a letter #not omo #tw knives #tw knifeplay #tw cutting #tw self harm #d/dlc spoilers

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fleetingfigures · 4 years ago

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|| 2020: A Retrospective ||

With the year coming to a close soon, thank god, I thought it’d be cool to take a look back and see what’s transpired in FFXIV as well as this blog! Anyone also reading this, I invite to do the same, if you have time of course. It’s always nice to close out the year thinking of the positives. Though, without further ado let’s goooo~

Blog-Related

- Actually, well, started using this thing! Met a lot of cool peeps and had the chance to actually break out into the world RP thanks to it.

- Almost hit 100 followers, just 5 shy!

- Top 10 Posts of the Year!

1). Promise Me You’ll... 116 notes - Aug 19 2020

First and only post I’ve had reach 100 notes! Mighty proud of the posing I pulled off for this, and who knows, I might make a sequel in due time. WoL!AU’s are still very much my weakness. And G’raha. He’s a weakness of mine too, if it wasn’t readily apparent already.

2). LFRP - Saerno Glista (Balmung/Crystal DC) 75 notes - Jan 28 2020.

Ah... My old LFRP. I even updated it, but I feel the need to change it again, especially given the fact I’m Giving my Carrd a complete overhaul. Might do the same to this blog too lmao. New Year new me as they say, but in actuality a lot has occurred for a certain catboy and things must be adjusted.

3). I Was Busy Thinking ‘Bout Boys 70 notes - Dec 5 2020

I was surprised this even got the attention it did lol. Seems NPC-related content is my most popular stuff. Also I am highly disappointed no one could recognize Arnott from the HW anima weapon quests. Y-yea he’s a very minor NPC, but I think he’s a cutie.

4). Black Mage is a Fun Class 51 notes - May 6 2020

The first of my fun class series! Originally wasn’t supposed to be a series at all, but I decided that every class in the game deserved some love! Also can I just say how much I love staves? Oh and the pagos bandana. It fits oddly well Sae imo.

5). Eden’s Promise Eternity 46 notes - Dec 18 2020

One of my more recent posts, and one not all too involved in the posing. Though, like I said in the post, the MOMENT I saw that arena, I fell in love with its lighting. OST is also a banger. Glad that people enjoyed random glamour shots with Gshade improving the already good lighting.

6). A Guide to Arcanima 42 notes - Sep 28 2020

The post I put the most time into... Photoshopping became so tedious at some points, but it was well worth it! I’m proud of the result and the opportunity to share some of my views upon the RP-flexibility of Arcanima.

7). Random Shower Thought 32 notes - Feb 9 2020

...I genuinely do not remember making this post.

8). Astrologian is a Fun Class 31 notes - Nov 30 2020

My old healing main, but still without a doubt the most beautiful class in the game. I wish Tumblr didn’t restrict gif sizes, but I understand the need for people’s devices to not implode when loading resources. So much grain could be reduced and more detail could be added, but alas. The screenshot at the end is still my favorite screenshot of Sae I’ve taken, even if it’s not IC.

9). Crystarium Coat of Scouting 29 notes - Mar 20 2020

And I still stand by my statements today. Since last tier is a patch behind us now, I could spare some augments to finally dye the coat. And, like a basic bitch, I’ve made Saerno’s ninja Rogue glamour jet black as far as the eye can see; all leather, of course. What is a rogue really without their leather?

10). 26 notes - Nov 16 2020

One of my first gifsets next to my Ninja ones! It Showcases the wonderful land of La Noscea, Sae’s only true home, and highlights some of his personal favorite areas! Hence why Limsa is barely pictured. He likes the city, but growing up in the country makes one appreciate the more natural side of La Noscea.

(Created by TumblrTop10)

In-Game

- Levelled all classes to 80! Though it does feel a bit hollow not being able to get xp for doing stuff now...

- Started Raiding... Well, seriously. I used to be a scrub and only do e1,e5 and e6 savage in PF, but a friend’s static needed a healer and they all but convinced me I was good enough to join. It’s been a hell of a ride, I’ll finally be going into e12s soon, but my experiences thus far have been awesome to say the least. I feel like I’m actually getting the most out of this game now that I both savage raid and take the time to RP.

- FINALLY GOT A HOUSE ON BALMUNG.

God was the release of the new wards hella stressful. Stayed up all night, logged on the second I could, booted up next to the ferryman. Didn’t get my ideal plot, but got the neighboring one. I finally got to house something with more than 100 slots, and for that, I am eternally thankful.

- Finished those goddamn Shared Fates. And all so I could get a piece of music and possibly make a few million gil selling other SHB area themes. Crystarium night theme is the GOAT and you cannot tell me otherwise.

Roleplay

- Actually RP’ed outside of my circle of friends! Now I haven’t had the time recently to seriously go back to it like I once did, but the things I’ve learned and the people I’ve met... I wouldn’t trade it for the world. With this upcoming new year, and me taking a small break from Uni, I think I’ll begin in earnest again! First I’ve gotta update all these damn sites first to better reflect where Saerno is now.

- New Plotlines realized, old ones closed up. It’s cathartic and oh so satisfying, in a way, to see your OC go through legitimate change and to have them put a cap upon a phase of their life, slowly moving on to the next. While Saerno is still as brash as ever, he’s begun to realize just how fragile his life is. To slow down, to sit back, rest, to think about the direction his life is headed, that is the essence of his new arc.

- Secrets to uncover. To keep things brief and without many spoiler, Saerno has made the transition from Arcanist to Summoner, but with it comes its own host of problems, ones that Saerno has to grapple lest things take a turn for the worse.

- Potential Alts. Well, now that I have money again... I may actually follow through on one of the many alt ideas I’ve had, some tangentially tied to Saerno’s own story, others completely unrelated. A tailor with an unrequited love that’s inspired him throughout his hardships? Perhaps the prodigal daughter of a family whose cunning nature only fuels her desire of pure freedom? Or maybe the son of Doman liberators, trying desperately to gain the approval and praise of others so that his parents’ name do not die out completely. So many choices...

And, well, that’s all! So far while 2020 has been quite terrible, at least I have these moments to look back upon fondly. Thanks to any and all of your who have been here this year, and here’s to hoping for a wonderful 2021!

#ffxiv #rp #Balmung #Screenshots #Saerno Glista #Thank you all!#And a Happy New Year in advance~#It's been a lovely year for my creativity

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aliceslantern · 5 years ago

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Retribution, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 6

Newly a person again, Ienzo is weighed down by guilt and his humanity. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to atone... only to find unexpected solace in a familiar face. With more insight into the bonds between people than ever before, Ienzo reaches for a dangerous element from the past to help Kairi and Riku in their search for Sora. What is his life if it means saving another, brighter light?

Chapter summary: Ienzo grows closer to Demyx, but that closeness quickly becomes a confounding variable.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

He tried to let himself grow . He spent those few hours in the lab, with Even and Ansem and Kairi. Dutifully, he continued to feed himself and sleep the requisite eight hours. He practiced normal black magic, unrelated to his power. Occasionally, considering they were now “friends,” he spent time with Demyx.

Ienzo wasn’t sure if he were simply unused to casual conversation, or if Demyx were truly eccentric. He did have quite a lot of amusing stories about his customers, as well as Scrooge, who was by all accounts quite the character. So slowly, Ienzo began to stop seeing their relationship as it used to be, and began seeing it as it was. After all, Demyx was one of the only people he knew roughly his age.

They walked, got lunch and endless cups of coffee. Ienzo found himself… looking forward to it, whenever Demyx asked him to meet up, rather than dreading those texts. A handful of times he accompanied Demyx on deliveries, and found to his surprise that he was indeed competent at his job. Scrooge tried to rope Ienzo into porting as well, in his own jovial, oddly-accented way, and he had to evade out of the conversation quickly.

But beneath these pieces… something else began to emerge, something Ienzo initially confused for companionship, or kinship. A warmth, a start of the heart. He no longer minded when Demyx touched him casually in conversation--a hand on the shoulder, a playful punch, a “hey come on” take of the hand when going somewhere. The touch… evoked something in him, vague and weirdly insidious.

Ienzo began to notice things.

The subtle way his hair blended, brown to blonde, the way he seemed to be so slowly growing it into something different. The precise color green his eyes turned when light hit them just right. How easily he moved through space, how comfortable he was in his own body. The way his lips moved when he spoke, the rhythm of his speech.

Why was it Ienzo was focusing on these things? What did it mean?

On the verge of sleep, weighed down by one of his pills, it came to him.

Oh. Oh no.

In his brief hours in the lab he was distracted, terrified. He thought he’d understood this as a Nobody, but it was clear he’d had no idea.

His humanity was waking up. So were… other things.

Demyx had mentioned a desire for a partner of some sort. Unlikely at the time he’d meant Ienzo. Ienzo had written all of that off as too difficult to compute. He figured he may be asexual and was fine with that. He’d no need for anything physical. Messy. Complicated.

He… was not asexual.

Ienzo began to feel something almost like a pull, between them. A desire for that innocent touch, a squeeze of the hand. Was it possible he felt this way because, again, Demyx was the only person he knew his age? It seemed natural that, with the awakening of these feelings, he’d latch onto whoever was closest.

It made him feel pathetic, and not quite in control of himself, not that he changed his outward interactions. If emotions were difficult to reign, hormones were completely impossible. He started having vague dreams of longing--arguably worse than the nightmares--and woke up frustrated in a wholly new way. Difficult, and embarrassing, to be finishing puberty at this age. He said nothing about it to anyone. Those few times he woke to find stains on his sheets and clothing, he took care of it and pretended nothing happened.

Why did this have to be happening now ? Of all the confounding variables?

Ienzo needed to ride out this attraction until its inevitable end. To even entertain the idea of anything more substantial than quickly-quashed daydreams was insane. So, sweetly he asked Even if, considering he’s feeling so much better , he may add a few more hours to his day, and thank you so much for the medicine . Ego stroked and paternity soothed, Even agreed. With his remaining hours, he began so tentatively to work on his power.

He could still manipulate the lexicon with relative ease, so that had been gained. Finding the illusion was going to be so much harder. He spent hours trying to recall how that felt, to create things where there was nothing, then trying to draw simple objects from memory. And they were drawings, barely-perceptible flickerings in the air, but the exertion still made him gasp for breath. Though it was progress. At least Ienzo had something to tell Kairi and Riku when he saw them face to face, or over the phone. At least he could give them hope.

But Demyx wasn’t that easy to brush off. “Zo, are you ignoring me?” he asked. His tone was joking, but Ienzo felt vaguely caught. (And vaguely angry that “Zo” was growing on him.)

“I’ve been taking a few more hours since I’ve been doing better,” he said.

“You’re not… pushing it too hard, are you?” he asked.

“I’m trying not to.” And he was; with magic use, he needed to be doubly careful how he treated his body.

Was it the light, or did he blush? “I miss our hangouts.”

Just the right thing to trip Ienzo up, to make his heart flutter-- it’s merely hormones, control yourself. “As do I.”

“I mean, I know this is like, important, big-picture stuff. But…” He hesitated. “Do you… have time, later? Just to talk?”

The sensible thing to do would be to nicely brush him off. “Maybe a few moments,” he said instead. How strange, to be at odds with his mind. A first.

He smiled. It was a wide, uncontained grin, one that changed his face, made it seem softer. “The greenhouse?”

Ienzo nodded once. “I’ll see you then.”

Only once he had returned to scouring data did he realize that getting both of them together in an enclosed, private space was one of the stupider moves he could’ve made. Demyx had blushed. Demyx had smiled. Was it possible that this… whatever it was… was mutual? Or was Demyx also merely feeling the backlog of hormonal impulses blunted by Nobody biology?

(And did it matter? Would it be so terrible to explore these feelings?)

(Yes, it would. Should it go south--the likely conclusion--they still lived together. He didn’t need more tension in his life.)

Ienzo should’ve made up an excuse that night and stayed in. He didn’t. He was so unused to managing impulses that he simply didn’t . Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

The summer evening was cool, and he could hear the soft chirp of crickets. The air felt nice on his skin, freed at last from that infernal white coat and ascot at the throat. There was already a warm light emanating from the greenhouse, meaning Demyx was already there.

Not too late to turn back.

He took a deep breath. Took two.

The music he heard was soft, meandering, inviting. He’d never really listened to Demyx before when he played sitar, stubbornly tuning it out. Ienzo realized he was rather good , technically and aurally; it sounded light, effortless, the notes graceful and leaping like water. The boy’s power made sense, now. It all flowed.

Demyx wasn’t a scientist, but he was a student in his own ways. Ienzo felt the blood rush to his face. His hands trembled. His own internal protests were quickly waning. He opened the door. “Are you early, or am I late?”

Demyx looked up. The melody didn’t quite cease. “Believe it or not, I can actually be on time.”

“...Sorry about that.”

“I wanted to work on this anyway.”

Ienzo sat on one of the cushions. The space smelled vaguely like incense, a heady but oddly clean scent. “That’s something of your own creation?”

“Yessir.”

“I suppose you were always… composing, creating. Is it very much different, now that you’ve a heart?”

Demyx snorted. “It’s harder.”

Ienzo cocked his head. “Really?”

“It’s easy to… approximate emotion,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “You know, this sounds like love, or anger, or whatever. To really feel those things, and then, say, to try and work on something with a completely different theme, is like wading through concrete.”

Hearing him speak so technically made Ienzo’s blush worsen. He wanted to reach out and take one of his hands. He gripped his ankle in an attempt to stop himself. “Have you been at this long?”

Demyx chuckled. “At least five years. Probably before that, I would guess, but… there’s nothing.” His expression changed, became wistful.

“Still? After all this time?”

He let the sitar vanish. The silence was particularly notable. “Yeah. I…” A laugh. “I had Even look at me. Neurologically, I think it’s called? There’s nothing… physical about the memory loss. So it must’ve been… whatever brought me here, from the past.”

“Forgive me… I quite forgot that’s the truth of your life.” Even had told him as such, scowlingly, in disbelief.

Demyx shrugged. “You’ve got a lot on your mind. Sometimes I forget.”

“Do you want your memories?”

He leaned back on his hands. “I go back and forth,” he said. “On the one hand, not knowing about the trauma that’s, uh, for sure there is awesome. On the other… it’s like… who am I really, you know?”

“I remember everything, and I feel much the same,” Ienzo said softly.

His smile was sad now. He reached into a crate and pulled out two bottles.

“Beer?”

“Nah. I hate beer. Cider. It’s sweet. Want it?”

Ienzo doubted one drink would kill him. “...Why not.”

He popped the top for him. “Ha. That’s the spirit. I mean. You are legal.”

He scoffed a little. The drink was fizzy, sweet and also metallic. It was a taste of summer, he thought. “I’m sure it doesn’t surprise you this is my first real drink.”

“Really?”

“...I was too young. Then, I never wanted to… cloud my mind.” Ienzo sighed. “I wouldn’t mind taking the edge off things.”

Demyx laughed a little. “Hate to break it to you, but I only have the two and I doubt you’ll get turnt off that.”

“...You’re probably right.”

“Maybe you and me could go to the bar some time. Try it out.”

He looked into the mouth of the brown bottle. “Not sure nightlife is for me.”

“You never know until you try something.”

“I… suppose I should never say never.” After all, he’d never thought he’d like sitting here with Demyx, their knees almost touching. “Maybe. Yes, that might be nice.”

For a few moments they finished their drinks in silence. He definitely wasn’t drunk, or even tipsy, but he did feel a little warm. The lantern cast softened the room, almost pinkish. Perhaps it was the memories of calm here, perhaps it was the ambiance or simply not being alone, but Ienzo found himself… relaxing. The sudden lack of tension in his muscles felt strange. “I remember why I used to love this place. It’s very calming.”

“On a good day you can see the stars,” Demyx said. “Look. Here.” He reached over and snuffed out the lantern. “Lay back.”

The cushions were odd, lumpy. It wasn’t totally dark; there was enough moonlight for the silhouettes to be clear. Ienzo looked up through the crystal ceiling. “Been a while since I looked up,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“The feeling of insignificance. But it’s surprisingly reassuring.”

“You think?”

“Well, the world is bigger than just us, don’t you think?”

“I do,” he said softly.

Ienzo could feel Demyx looking at him. A nervousness, a fizz, spread throughout his body, completely different than anxiety. Arguably, the opposite of it. He should fight this. Should get up and leave right now. Instead, he shifted, just slightly, onto his side so they were locking eyes. With a shaking hand, Demyx touched his cheek, a touch that made him shiver.

“...I…” Demyx’s voice cracked. “Have you also been… feeling this?”

So it was mutual. Oh. Oh, no. He tried to keep it together. He had to fight this. Didn’t want to. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Oh,” he said, very softly, with the same sort of fear Ienzo felt.

“I know.”

“I tried to stop.” He almost sounded as though he might cry.

“Me too.”

“What do we--do?”

“Well…” That touch did feel so nice. “As I see it… there are two options. We both walk out of here and forget this ever happened.”

“Or?”

He took a trembling breath. “We see it through.”

“What do you want?”

“I think…” He was trembling all over. “I think I would like to stop thinking.”

There was a moment when they both very clearly knew what was about to happen, but did nothing. Demyx inched closer to him, so they were almost touching; Ienzo could smell him again, the salt and ginger. He rested his hand on Demyx’s waist, and feeling the warmth of him under clothing was purely too much.

They both met in the middle, awkward, not quite meeting one another’s lips the first time. Ienzo shifted up a little and tried again. Demyx’s lips were so soft against his own. It became clear very quickly that neither of them had done this before; they weren’t sure what to do. For some reason Ienzo figured Demyx had some experience. After a moment they pulled apart.

“I suppose,” he began softly, still reeling more from the fact that he’d kissed more than the kiss itself, “It’s rather obvious I’ve never done this.”

He laughed a little. “I don’t think I have either--if I did, I don’t remember.”

“A learning curve, then.” He’d figured it’d have been natural, instant. He thought of the feel of Demyx’s lips. “Let’s try again.”

“Okay.”

It took a moment or so of fumbling and discomfort before they seemed to get it. This was more what Ienzo thought it would feel like, a fragile give and take. It was all so gentle . They were both shaking. He hadn’t realized how exhausting fighting this attraction had been. Giving into it made him feel more awake than he had in days.

He wanted to go further. Couldn’t. Already a dangerous frazzle of overstimulation was breaking over him. He wasn’t used to platonic touch, much less this; he was overloading his own wires.

“I like this. I do,” Ienzo said. He felt his eyes watering, an anxiety of too much too much threatening his tenuous moment of joy. “But I’m so… it’s so much. I have to…” He sat up and pulled away, shivering as if he were cold.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m afraid as a human… I get very overwhelmed by stimuli,” he forced out. “I used to as a child.”

“Oh,” he said softly. “Can I… how can I help?”

“I need space. Calm, quiet.”

“Should I go?”

He considered. Despite it all… the last thing he wanted to be was alone. “No, stay.”

#retribution #ienzo #demyx #zemyx

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afternoonpoppy · 5 years ago

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Your Turn Now

Intended to get something written for Thanksgiving a couple weeks ago, but I ended up going a bit off topic with that piece and also made some continuity errors that need some fixing up if I am going to put that on here.

In the meantime, Allister’s not much better than Wolfram sometimes when it comes to overeating, oops.

Allister had been surprised to find out that the topic of studying magic was not as different and otherworldly a pursuit as he’d originally imagined. In fact, it was quite familiar and reminiscent of his time spent studying in college. If only he hadn’t suffered all throughout college.

In his attempt to be of some help to Wolfram with studying magic, Wolfram had instructed Allister to begin memorizing the sigils that functioned as the written language for magic. Allister had initially assumed that to mean it would be a fairly easy step like learning an alphabet. As it had turned out, it was far more work than that.

“This particular symbol represents the concept of light, and is pronounced as ’vetru,’” Wolfram said, drawing a symbol consisting of multiple jagged lines on a stray piece of paper. “In this form, it can refer to the light given off by the sun or by fire, anything that might be considered to be ‘warm’ light. If you were to write it this way, however,” Wolfram redrew the sigil, inverting a line on top and curving it more, “- then this would refer to 'cold’ light such as the moon and stars.”

“Uh… Right,” Allister scribbled the sigil - to the best of his ability - along with some hasty notes in his notebook. He felt like he should have been using a hefty leatherbound tome and a quill pen of some sort for this, but a college-ruled composition notebook and a dollar store pen that threatened to leak ink over the pages if pressed too hard would have to do. “When you say stars are, uh, 'cold’ light…”

“Yes?”

“Uh… Never mind.” Allister thought better of derailing the conversation into the gaseous makeup of stars. Besides, maybe stars worked differently in Wolfram’s world.

“You should ask questions if you have any, it’s essential to learning new topics,” Wolfram lectured.

“No, really, it’s unrelated.” Allister shifted position in his chair and one of his feet kicked aside a book that had somehow made its way to the floor. He looked around, suddenly realizing just what a mess the study had become over the past while. Paper and books were beginning to clutter the floor as space was lost on the desk. Granted, that was bound to happen quicker than usual since both Allister and Wolfram were sharing desk space. A second chair had been dragged up the stairs from the kitchen, something Allister hadn’t realized would be more of a hassle than simply studying in the kitchen until after he’d already made it most of the way up the stairs. “Hey, Fram, should we clean some of this stuff up?”

Wolfram glanced away from the desk long enough to see the floor and say, “Oh, I had forgotten.” He paused, then looked at Allister with a raised eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be ‘Fram?’”

Allister grinned a bit. “What? I thought it sounded cute, you don’t like it?”

Wolfram thought over it for a moment. “It is… different, but I don’t dislike it.” With a hand gesture and a string of 'magic words’ as Allister had continued to dub the arcane language, a mote of light appeared in Wolfram’s hand. Wolfram gently spoke a command to it and it leaped to the ground in the form of a weasel.

Allister watched the spirit scurry over to some of the books and begin pulling them to the bookshelves. “You make that look so easy. Do they alphabetize the books, too?”

Wolfram conjured two more spirits before setting them loose into the room, then said, “No, of course not. They can’t read.”

“Oh. Well, they’re still helpful. Can you teach me to do that?”

“Eventually, yes,” Wolfram looked out the study window where the sun was beginning to lower and the sky was dimming. “Perhaps not today, if that is what you meant.”

Allister flipped through the few pages he’d filled over their study session, unsure if he should be taking more thorough notes on this. “No, I didn’t think so. We’ve been at this for a while already, though. Should we take a break?”

Wolfram looked back at Allister. “Oh. Is this still a lot for you?”

“Well, uh,” Allister fumbled with the notebook in his hands, laughing nervously. Mostly, he was just tired and not keeping up with Wolfram’s method of marathon learning, but Wolfram wasn’t wrong, either. “I just figured, maybe we should get something to eat.”

Wolfram nodded slowly, then leaned himself against Allister’s shoulder. “I understand if this is difficult for you. I will not mind or judge you if you need to slow down.”

Allister smiled and reached his arm around Wolfram’s waist. “I know I’m not the supreme sorcerer that you are. But this is important to you, so I’m going to try my best.”

“I appreciate that.” Wolfram sat up and looked Allister in the eye. “However, I will not object if you think now is a good time for a meal.”

Allister opted to place an order for pickup, rather than let a delivery driver wander the wooded backroads to the house. Wolfram had objected to the idea of food cooked by anyone other than Allister, but there was no way Allister was doing anything else on his day off other than a thirty-minute round trip for food if he was already studying magic of all things. So, dinner would be Chinese takeout instead, complete with whatever movie seemed like it would make a good change of pace to watch on TV. Allister didn’t know How It’s Made had so many seasons.

Despite Wolfram’s objections about the food, he seemed to quickly take a liking to it and had cleared his plate of dumplings and fried rice before the movie had really even gone anywhere. Allister had half a mind to suggest Wolfram not eat so fast before he realized his own plate wasn’t fairing much better, being nearly devoid of food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was before, nor how full he was starting to feel now. He placed his plate on the living room coffee table, figuring it would be a good idea to separate himself from the food before he overate. Allister leaned back on the couch, hand resting on his stuffed stomach. Maybe it was too late to avoid the overeating part.

Once Wolfram was done with his own food, he settled in closer to Allister, pressing up against him.

“I never would’ve thought you’d be so cuddly when we first met, you know,” Allister observed.

Wolfram rested his head on Allister’s shoulder. “And I hadn’t expected you would make such a good pillow.”

Allister chuckled, but he was becoming increasingly aware of Wolfram’s arm pressed up against his sensitive stomach. “Good to know, Fram, but my stomach’s not as happy about that right now.”

“Oh?” Wolfram pouted for just a moment before straightening his posture and lifting himself off of Allister. “Is that better?”

Allister had intended to answer, only to be interrupted by a loud HIC that cut him off. He clasped a hand over his mouth just in time to muffle a second hiccup into a still-loud HMPH sound. “Ugh, crap…”

Wolfram looked startled at the sudden appearance of Allister’s hiccups, but quickly switched to a more amused expression. “It’s good to see I am not the only one of us who gets them.”

“Yes, we - HIC - well you wouldn’t - HUC-UP - get them so - HUC - so mu - HIC -” Allister gave up on talking despite his intent to point out Wolfram’s poor eating habits. It was clear his hiccups weren’t going to let him make that point.

Wolfram watched Allister struggling with the nonstop chain of hiccups bouncing through his chest and stomach. “Are they always this… aggressive when you have them?”

Allister nodded. “Don’t get - HIC - get them oft - HIC-UP - often, but - HYUC - but -”

“Right, I understand,” Wolfram said, holding up a hand so Allister didn’t need to finish the sentence. “Should I get a glass of water for you?”

“M-may - HIC - maybe,” Allister said. On the one hand, it may help, but the thought of filling his stomach with anything else, especially with how his hiccups were constantly bouncing through his stomach and shuffling around everything he’d eaten, was less than an appealing idea.

Wolfram seemed to key into that same thought, seeing how Allister pressed a hand against his stomach. “Or… perhaps holding your breath would be a better option?”

Allister shook his head, knowing that was definitely a terrible idea. “Makes - HIC-UP - makes 'em wor - HIC - worse.”

Wolfram raised an eyebrow. “They have room to be worse? Love, fate is cruel to you. I’m going to fetch you a glass of water as I think you’ll suffer less if your hiccups at least stop.”

Allister grimaced but was in little position to argue with his hiccups still interrupting him every other word. When Wolfram returned from the kitchen shortly after, Allister opted to get it over with, taking the glass of water he was handed and gulping it down as quickly as his body would allow.

“Well?” Wolfram asked expectantly once Allister had finished the water.

Allister had to catch his breath at first while the sudden influx of cold water settled in his stomach. Much like he’d expected, forcing the extra liquid into his stomach had not ended well as he noticed how bloated and tight his stomach was by the end of it. On the bright side, at least, not a single hiccup had forced its way through him. “I… I think they stopped…”

Wolfram made something of a victorious “hmph” sound and smiled, sitting back down next to Allister. “Much better. Are you feeling alright?”

Allister rubbed a hand over his stomach and groaned as he became aware of the growing ache in his stomach. “Maybe I should have gone slower with the water…”

“Here, let me make it up to you. Lie down.” Wolfram gently pulled Allister closer, lying him down across his lap. “Comfortable?”

“Mm…” Allister nodded. It was as comfortable as he was going to get, anyway. “Does this mean it’s your turn to take care of me?”

“I imagine it’s only fair, isn’t it?” Wolfram traced his hands over Allister’s stomach, commenting, “I always thought you were the more restrained between us.”

“For your information, I was holding up alright before you made me drink all that water. Besides, do I hear you admitting to your own gluttony?”

“Don’t make me use your precarious position against you, Allister,” Wolfram poked a finger against the side of Allister’s stomach. Gently, though.

Allister rolled his eyes. “You don’t have a mean enough bone in your body for it, Fram. But, uh… Thanks for this.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“Yeah, but, I know you’re… probably not used to this stuff, right?”

“Hm… Not with most people, no. But you’re my lo…” The confidence in Wolfram’s voice suddenly wavered as if that last word got caught in his throat, a hesitant expression coming over his face. He cleared his throat and poorly faked some composure as he shakily whispered, “M-my lo-lover… So - so, this is the least I can do for you, isn’t it?”

The term threw Allister off a bit and brought a blush to his face. He had thought 'boyfriend’ was fine enough, but he realized terminology probably varied a bit between his and Wolfram’s worlds. Despite the more intense sound of it to Allister’s ears, though, it was wonderful to hear that. “I appreciate it, Fram. I’m really happy you’re here with me.”

Allister glanced over to the TV, realizing neither had been paying any attention to it, and reached for the remote on the coffee table to hand it to Wolfram. “Here, if you keep massaging my stomach, you can put on whatever you want.”

Wolfram’s eyes lit up at the offer. “Gladly.”

#Poppy Writes #wolfram and allister #hiccups #hiccup kink

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winterisakiller · 5 years ago

Text

Get Better - Chapter Two

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 2/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @theheartofpenelope @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @noplacelikehome77 @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @wolfsmom1 @just-the-hiddles @theoneanna

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER TWO

The heat of August gradually cooled into early September. It was with a twinge of nostalgia that Tom found himself sitting around with Joanna Hogg, Mary Roscoe, and Kathryn Worth discussing Unrelated. It had been his first film and therefore quite the learning experience. But one that he remembered fondly. Later that same week he’d found himself on a red carpet and then on a stage presenting an award to a man he’d first seen on a big screen in a film he adored, and feared, as a young boy. The same man he later had the pleasure of working with in another film in Australia of all places. Funny thing time, he thought smiling as he stood beside Jeff Goldblum, chatting about life and film and the world. It still brought him up short the chances and opportunities he’d been blessed with in his career. Funny, sometimes painful, but wonderful all the same.

And now he found himself once again waiting on the side of another stage, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He chatted amicably with his fellow actors and readers, waiting for the signal from the now closed double doors. He could clearly hear the excited murmurings of the crowded auditorium and felt the familiar nervous energy bubbling in his gut. It was the same feeling he got anytime he’d prepared to walk onto a stage or a set. It was an old friend at this juncture and one he both missed and dreaded.

When he’d been approached with this project two months back, he had all but jumped at the chance. Getting not only to read but debate with fellow actors and writers over literature he’d loved for years, to be able to perform and share that love with others. It would a nice testing of the waters, so to speak. He hadn’t been on stage in a performer sense in over a year, and hadn’t done something of this nature since school. It had seemed like an interesting challenge and one he couldn’t see turning down. Rehearsals had been full of laughter and amusement.

Tom was sharing the stage with several talented actors; amongst them an actress in talks to join him in the Pinter production he was very much looking forward to in the New Year. Zawe Ashton was her name and while he’d seen bits and pieces of her work in the past, she was not someone he’d had the pleasure of working with beforehand. He found her funny and a delight to play off of. She had a wicked sense of humor that went very much along the lines of his own. And what was best was she hadn’t seemed to give a toss who he was. Yes, she’d known his name and was familiar with his work, but none of that seemed to matter to her. He could very easily see them getting along quite well during a grueling show run. If things went well tonight and the following week at the gala, then schedule permitting she would be a shoe-in for the role of Emma.

Beyond the doors, a hush fell over the crowd and he could see the lights begin to dim. Not long now. He could feel the tension and excitement running through their small group as the talked and laughed amongst themselves.

“Alright, places,” the woman manning the door called. Tom took a deep breath and walked through the doors and onto to the stage.

The debate itself seemed to fly by and Tom found that he had enjoyed himself immensely. His competitive nature was certainly getting its chance to shine and he was absolutely delighted when his team, the correct team as far as he’d been concerned, won. They’d taken their respective bows and headed off stage in ones and twos. “That was absolutely fantastic,” Zawe breathed, smiling as she turned back to face Tom.

“Oh completely. I haven’t had that much fun in longer than I care to admit.”

Zawe laughed in earnest. “Same.”

They were ushered around the auditorium and handed collection buckets before being let loose to collect as much money for charity as they could. Tom had smiled, laughed, and talked with as many people as he could; never fully able to turn off the ‘public Tom’ persona he’d worn for so many years now. It was him, in a way, but more like a perfectly sculpted mask. Something he could slip in and out of depending on the place and the company he kept. In the past he’d been more open, more playful and less guarded with how he spoke and acted, but time and experience had taught him to pull back. To keep a respectable distance between who he was and who he was expected to be. To still be warm and engaging, but to never cross that line. It had been a difficult lesson to learn.

It was with a grateful sigh that Tom folded himself into the backseat of the black cab, leaning his head back against the seat rest. He watched with half lidded eyes as the brightly lit streets of London flitted past. He loved the city; loved its hustle and history. It was one of the main reasons he still lived in the converted terrace he’d owned for several years now when he could so easily have moved to California like so many others had before him. London held his heart in a way very few other places had.

He blinked in momentary confusion as the cab slowed to a stop. It took far longer than he cared to admit to realize that he was, in fact, home. With a warm smile, Tom paid his fare and lumbered slowly to the black gate surrounding his home. He absently entered the code, pushing the gate open and heading up the dimly lit walk to his door. From behind it, Tom could hear Bobby’s excited barking and smiled to himself. It wasn’t quite the welcome home he’d longed for, but it was nice to have someone waiting for him. He made quick work of the lock and slowly pushed the door open.

The spaniel’s barking increased in pitch and volume, jumping and wagging his tail as if his life depended on it. Tom sighed and shook his head. “Alright you heathen, let’s get you outside.” More excited barking followed as Tom padded through the hallway and into the kitchen towards the back door into the garden. While Bobby rummaged around outside, Tom filled his food bowl and topped off his water bowl. “Come on now, food’s ready!” he called out the door to little effect.

Tom let out a grunt of exasperation and headed out into the dimly lit back garden. Bobby was snuffling around the bushes at the far end of the garden, telltale small piles of dirt surrounding him. Tom grumbled under his breath and yelled for the dog again. Reluctantly, Bobby heeded his master’s call and trotted back up the yard and into the kitchen.

“You, my friend, are very lucky indeed that I am as fond of you as I am.” Bobby raised his head from his supper bowl and gave Tom an astonished look before returning to his meal. Tom merely shook his head and headed back through the house and towards the stair case to the upper level and bed. He stripped mechanically, making a brief stop in the bathroom to wash his face and clean his teeth, before falling into bed.

The next morning dawned bright and cool. Tom stretched his arms above his head, a jaw cracking yawn echoing through the sunlit room. Bobby, who had been curled up contentedly at the edge of the bed, raised his head. He’d tried, when the spaniel was younger, to keep him downstairs in his own crate overnight. It had lasted all of about the span of a week for the puppy’s pitiful cries to break Tom’s resolve and allow him into the bedroom. ‘Just for the night,’ he’d sworn. And now nearly a year later, it was quite clear Tom had lost that battle.

With determination, Tom pushed himself up and out of the bed, padding down the stairs and into the kitchen, Bobby quick on his heels. He opened the back garden door and let the spaniel out, turning his attention towards the coffee press and feeding his much needed caffeine addiction. He set to work boiling his kettle and gathering the bag of coffee from the cabinet above the sink. Tom took great pleasure in setting about brewing his morning coffee, loving the way the strong, warm scent filled the kitchen.

Once it had brewed he poured the steaming liquid into his mug; a green one with a chip in its lip, one that Amy had given him. The thought of her still stung, though the pain had lessened throughout the intervening years. He still missed the life they’d had…Still bitterly regretted the stupid and selfish choices he’d made that had broken them. But he had slowly begun to come to terms with them and, in turn, with himself. Little things still caught him off guard but he’d learned to accept them and to try to move on from them. It was a hard road but one he was beginning to believe he could navigate on his own.

Coffee doctored to his liking, Tom headed out into the back garden. He lowered himself into one of the wooden patio chairs and watched Bobby run around like mad chasing squirrels. It was a wonder any still dared to enter the garden with how valiantly Bobby guarded his territory. That dog was a menace and Tom loved him dearly for it. Closing his eyes, he savored the warmth the bloomed inside him as he sipped the gently steaming mug in his hands. There were many things he could make do without, coffee was most definitely not among them. He took his time, enjoying the sun on his face and the slowly dwindling coffee in his mug. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that man could not survive on coffee alone.

“Bobby!” He called, pushing himself to his feet. The spaniel, paused mid-bark and turned to face his master. “Come.” Tom laughed as the spaniel broke off into a mad dash towards the door, nearly knocking him off his feet. Apparently someone was wanting his breakfast as well. Once kibble was added to Bobby’s bowl, Tom turned his attention towards his own meal; a quick toast and egg would do. He’d glanced at the clock above the stove when he’d entered the kitchen and found it to be well after nine. He would need to get moving soon, especially if he wanted to get a decent run in before heading into town to meet Emma.

Not bothering with a shower, after all what would be the point if he was just going to end up a sweating mess again, Tom changed into his running kit and slipped into his trainers. He thundered down the stairs and towards the front door, grabbing Bobby’s lead from the key hook. Bobby, sensing walkies were afoot, was standing at the front door and began to twirl in tight little circles as Tom approached. He laughed and hooked the lead to the spaniel’s collar before leading them both out the door and into the crisp, late morning air.

Several circuits around the neighborhood and nearby park helped to clear his head and focus his mind. He loved running, loved being able to lose himself in the rhythm and peace of it. It was the one pastime he could do anywhere and had been a godsend on long and grueling shoots. Tom was, in fact, a sweating mess when he and Bobby pushed their way back inside the house. Unclipping Bobby, and patting him playfully on the back, Tom climbed the stairs two at a time, stripping his clothing as he went.

He showered quickly, enjoying the feel of the steaming water on his protesting muscles, and padded back into his bedroom to dry and dress. A quick glance at clock on the bedside table told him it was half eleven. With a grunt, he pulled on a pair of jeans and his well-loved blue jumper, which he noted with a fair bit of disdain was starting to get a hole in one of its sleeves. He ran a quick comb through his damp hair and shoved his feet into the grey boots he’d had for nearly as long as he could remember.

Another quick glance at the watch he’d fastened onto his left wrist as he pounded down the stairs told him he needed to leave, and quickly, if he had any hope of meeting Emma at the restaurant she’d chosen on time.

“Shit,” he cursed at himself, ushering Bobby into the back room and his kennel.

Things situated, Tom grabbed his wallet and keys from the hallway table and darted out the front door. He considered trying to cab it in, but all things being equal and knowing London traffic far too well, he dismissed the matter out of hand; the tube was often a great deal faster than the car.

Forty minutes later, Tom dashed into the warmth of the fairly busy café; woolen coat open and breathing heavy. He’d made a mad dash from the underground station once the train had finally come to a stop. He was late and Emma was sure to give him hell about it. He scanned the room, finally resting on her strawberry blonde head at a table in the corner.

She smiled up at him as he took the opened seat across from her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m dreadfully sorry. I lost track of time and…”

Emma simply rolled her eyes and held up her hand. “Tom, the day you show up to a non-work event on time is the day I know the world’s ending.”

“Oh ha ha,” he retorted, shaking his head. “I’m only what, ten minutes late?”

She snorted, “Only…But I guess coming from you that is actually pretty decent. I was honestly expecting at least twenty minutes.”

Tom looked up at her, affronted. True he did tend to run slightly behind if not harassed, but surely not that badly and with such consistency? “I am not that bad.”

“My darling brother, unless you’ve got someone there to push and pester you, you are indeed that bad. Need I remind you of mum’s birthday last year…?” Emma quirked an eyebrow at her brother as if daring him to challenge her.

He scoffed. “That was once time…”

“And I can list at least a dozen others offhand, if you’d like. My wedding, Sarah’s wedding, last Christmas, the Christmas before…I could go on,” Emma countered. “But I don’t have all day. I left Jack minding Alice and while I love that husband of mine, our offspring has been cutting a new tooth and has frankly been crankier than you on a bad day.”

Tom narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance. “Why are you always such a brat, Brat?”

“Because someone needs to put you in your place, brother dear. And since I am here, I guess that leaves me.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as they locked on Tom’s. “Lord knows you aren’t going to manage it yourself and Luke’s earned a break don’t you think?”

The teasing volleyed back and forth throughout their meal. It had been a good while since he had done anything with his baby sister, save for larger family gatherings. She’d been busy between the chaos of new motherhood balanced with local and national theatre work and he’d been in and out of the country with promotional work. He smiled as he watched her talk, the way her face lit up as she told him about the latest thing his tiny niece had done or the mishap she’d had with a prop during a sold out performance. It was difficult to reconcile the grown woman before him with the bratty little sister she’d always been in his eyes, but it was wonderful all the same.

“Oh,” Emma started, placing her half-drunk mug of coffee onto the table. “Have you talked with mum recently?”

Tom shook his head, “Not in the last week or so? Has something happened?” He leaned forward, anxiety clearly painted across his features.

“No. No, she’s fine. She’s just trying to get things sorted regarding Christmas.”

“Christmas? It’s barely October,” he countered.

“Which I tried telling her, but alas, she wants to get everyone together this year and with you and Sarah and your insane schedules, she figured starting sooner rather than later would make sense.”

Tom laughed and shook his head. He loved his mother, loved her dearly, but she was a planner. Had been his entire life. And the holidays were her weakness. They had always attempted to gather for Christmas, with varying success; between Tom’s own insane schedule over the last several years and Sarah and her family living and working in India, it was rare to have all three Hiddleston siblings under one roof. And as inane as it sounded, Tom could see the sense in her trying to plan so far in advance.

“…usual nonsense. And she is thinking of trying to have Amy and her family around on Boxing Day.”

Tom blinked in confusion as Emma’s words sank in. “What now?”

“Mum is talking about inviting Amy, Teddy, and their little one over for either lunch or dinner on Boxing Day.”

His heart clenched at the mention of Amy and her husband but slowly relaxed as he let out a breath.

“Is she now?”

While he’d run into both Amy and her husband on several occasions since the wedding, the idea of spending time with them in his mother’s home felt…strange. Not as unbearable as it would have been even a year ago, but still strange. ‘And their little one.’ He’d known they’d been expecting, Emma had mentioned it months back, but hadn’t really let himself think on the matter. He was…happy for her, for them both, even if they idea set uneasily in his gut. And it wasn’t the idea that it should have been him, he’d long since come to terms with that, more so a longing. Something he’d felt when he looked at Sophie as she held either of her and Ben’s sons. Stupid and selfish, but very much real.

Emma nodded. “Henry will be four months by then and mum is desperate to meet him.” She sighed, “You’d think she didn’t have any grandchildren of her own with the way she’s acting.”

Tom shrugged. “You know mum, she always had a soft spot for Amy…”

“That she did,” Emma echoed. “But still…The nerve of the woman.” They both chuckled at that. “So just be aware that she’s most likely going to call and pester you.”

“I don’t doubt that for a single moment,” Tom laughed. “Has Sarah said if they were coming yet?”

Emma took another sip of her coffee and nodded. “Yeah, they should be able to come. You are the wild card at the moment.”

Tom stroked his beard with his free hand. “I should be able to come…As of now I don’t think I have anything that would make that impossible. The con in Phoenix isn’t until the new year…I’ll double check with Michael and Luke to make sure.”

“I still cannot believe people pay actual money on purpose to meet my dork of a brother. Cannot wrap my head around it.”

He chuckled, “It’s still strange for me, Em.”

“I bet.” She paused and pulled her mobile from her purse, glancing at the screen. “And on that note, I have to run. It’s nearly three and I promised Jack I’d be home before four.” She reached for the bill their server had left on the edge of the table but Tom beat her to it, flashing her a warm smile.

“My treat,” he said in way of explanation.

Emma shot him a pointed glare, “You are a menace, you know that right?” She pushes her chair back and pulled on her coat.

Tom chuckled, climbing to his feet himself and pulling his sister into a warm hug. “Give Alice a kiss for me and give Jack my best.” Nodding, she slipped her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. Tom followed behind, pausing to pay the bill before venturing into the chill of the late afternoon and home.

He spent much of the following week juggling the things he’d been putting off. He’d called and visited his mother; and she, as Emma had predicted, pestered him about his schedule around Christmas. He’d assured her, with back up from Luke, that he was indeed free and would most definitely be coming home this year. He’d also started sorting through his clothing and washing and packing for his trip to the states. He found himself both excited and wary for the trip. Conventions could be a thoroughly enjoyable experience; he’d had several wonderful ones and had enjoyed interacting with fans at the events. But just the same they could be draining and demanding. Sometimes it seemed, no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. Tom hoped for the former this time around.

—

The evening of the gala celebrating the life and work of Harold Pinter arrived far sooner than Tom had anticipated. He was excited and anxious and terrified all at once. He’d been so wrapped up in trying to organize his life and make sure he had his lines memorized, that when the driver rang the bell on his gate he’d stood staring in complete confusion for several seconds before realization dawned. God, feared he’d lose his head if it weren’t attached. Tom had been approached for the event shortly after talks began regarding his involvement in reviving Betrayal in the West End. He’d agreed almost immediately, looking forward to sharing the stage with several talented actors and testing out the material on stage before fully committing to the play. The nervous energy had run off him in waves as he’d darted upstairs and dressed quickly. Thankfully, Luke had seen to having his suit pressed and waiting in his closet. Tom dressed in a mad dash before heading back down stairs and out to the waiting car.

It was half past five when Tom slid into the leather backseat, apologizing profusely for his tardiness. Luke would murder him if he were late. As the car started off, Tom pulled out his mobile, shooting his publicist a quick message that he was on his way. It most likely wasn’t necessary, but Tom knew Luke liked to be kept in the loop as much as possible. Shoving his mobile back into his pocket, he turned his attention back to the present. He made small talk with the driver as they moved along, chatting about the weather and later about the dismal amount of traffic they’d run into. They’d pulled aside the theatre half an hour later and once he’d climbed from the car, Tom was ushered inside and backstage. He chatted with Zawe and several other familiar faces as they waited for the theatre to fill and for the start of the evening.

Things had been going rather well, in Tom’s humble opinion until he’d gone to grab his folder and managed to slice his thumb open. He’d stared, dumbfounded, at the welling blood before he was rushed towards the side of the room and quickly patched up. “Score one for my dumb luck,” he joked as he once again picked up his folder, this time taking much greater care. His scene with Zawe had gone off splendidly. They played well off each other and he looked forward to working more with her, providing she was willing and able to commit to the run.

Bows taken, they were all rushed backstage and then quickly to their waiting cars to be driven to the Brasserie Zedel for the after party. Once arrived, Tom walked the short carpet and took his time talking with the various reporters encamped along it. He enjoyed talking about not only Harold Pinter and the fun he’d had that night but of theater and acting in general. He knew, without a doubt, that he was allowing his inner theatre and literature nerd run amuck, but couldn’t find it in him to care.

Tom mingled with the arriving guests. He caught sight of several familiar faces and did his best to talk with them all. As he allowed himself to scan the room once again, he found his eyes drawn to the short dark haired figure talking animatedly with Zawe. She was all of five foot nothing in her heels but commanded the attention of those around her as though she were much, much taller. Her dress was navy in color and came to mid-calf, clinging to her curves in ways that made Tom desperate to trace with his own hands. Her dark hair hung in a low, loose pony over one shoulder. She tossed her head back, laughing at something Zawe had said and the sound that echoed from her lips was captivating even from such a distance.

Stealing himself, Tom made to start for the both of them, wanting nothing more than to know just who this tiny, vivacious woman was. He just managed to work his way through the densely packed room when the announcement was made for all to begin to filter their way into the restaurant proper. He cursed under his breath and allowed himself to be moved with the crowd inside. He’d found his table easily enough and was quickly pulled into conversation. He caught glimpses of the mystery woman throughout the night but never quite managed to catch up with her.

He’d managed, however, to catch Zawe on her own and, despite feeling very much like a desperate twelve year-old, ask her about her earlier companion. Confusion flitted across Zawe’s features for a moment before understanding seemed to dawn. “Oh! That was Cath. She is a doll. Worked with her on a few projects a handful of years back.”

“Is she an actress then?”

Zawe shook her head, “Nah. She works behind the scenes; hair and make-up. Talented as hell, that woman is.” He tried then to arrange an introduction, ignoring the odd regency undertones such a thing invoked, but the woman, Cath, had been nowhere to be found.

Tom sighed, just as well then. He did his best to let the disappointment flow off his back and made a few more circuits around the room, smiling and talking with various guests before calling it a night. He had a flight to catch in the morning (an international one at that which tended to be a headache at the best of times), and while he could sleep just about anywhere, he wanted to have at least one last good night’s rest in his own bed. Hotel beds, and airplane seats for the matter, were never quite as comfortable as his own bed. A few moments later, Tom stepped out into the brisk October evening air and climbed once more into the backseat. He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the seat and allowed the hum of the car’s engine to lull him into a state of almost sleep.

Next Chapter

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x orignal character #get better fic #Tom and Cath

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winterisakillerwrites · 5 years ago

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Get Better - Chapter Two

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 2/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

CHAPTER TWO

“Alright, places,” the woman manning the door called. Tom took a deep breath and walked through the doors and onto to the stage.

“Oh completely. I haven’t had that much fun in longer than I care to admit.”

Zawe laughed in earnest. “Same.”

“Shit,” he cursed at himself, ushering Bobby into the back room and his kennel.

She smiled up at him as he took the opened seat across from her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m dreadfully sorry. I lost track of time and…”

Emma simply rolled her eyes and held up her hand. “Tom, the day you show up to a non-work event on time is the day I know the world’s ending.”

“Oh ha ha,” he retorted, shaking his head. “I’m only what, ten minutes late?”

She snorted, “Only…But I guess coming from you that is actually pretty decent. I was honestly expecting at least twenty minutes.”

Tom looked up at her, affronted. True he did tend to run slightly behind if not harassed, but surely not that badly and with such consistency? “I am not that bad.”

He scoffed. “That was once time…”

Tom narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance. “Why are you always such a brat, Brat?”

“Oh,” Emma started, placing her half-drunk mug of coffee onto the table. “Have you talked with mum recently?”

Tom shook his head, “Not in the last week or so? Has something happened?” He leaned forward, anxiety clearly painted across his features.

“No. No, she’s fine. She’s just trying to get things sorted regarding Christmas.”

“Christmas? It’s barely October,” he countered.

“…usual nonsense. And she is thinking of trying to have Amy and her family around on Boxing Day.”

Tom blinked in confusion as Emma’s words sank in. “What now?”

“Mum is talking about inviting Amy, Teddy, and their little one over for either lunch or dinner on Boxing Day.”

His heart clenched at the mention of Amy and her husband but slowly relaxed as he let out a breath.

“Is she now?”

Emma nodded. “Henry will be four months by then and mum is desperate to meet him.” She sighed, “You’d think she didn’t have any grandchildren of her own with the way she’s acting.”

Tom shrugged. “You know mum, she always had a soft spot for Amy…”

“That she did,” Emma echoed. “But still…The nerve of the woman.” They both chuckled at that. “So just be aware that she’s most likely going to call and pester you.”

“I don’t doubt that for a single moment,” Tom laughed. “Has Sarah said if they were coming yet?”

Emma took another sip of her coffee and nodded. “Yeah, they should be able to come. You are the wild card at the moment.”

“I still cannot believe people pay actual money on purpose to meet my dork of a brother. Cannot wrap my head around it.”

He chuckled, “It’s still strange for me, Em.”

“My treat,” he said in way of explanation.

Emma shot him a pointed glare, “You are a menace, you know that right?” She pushes her chair back and pulled on her coat.

—

“Is she an actress then?”

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Tom & Cath #Get Better

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k-fiction-therapy · 5 years ago

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Into The Night (Version 7 - Changkyun)

Moodboard by Admin Scar

Starring: Im Changkyun & Reader

Includes: Vampire!AU, Library Sex & Dirty Talk

Rating: 18+

~*.*..*“Are you really a vampire like they all say?”*..*.*~

A/N: Hello, all! This is the seventh installment of “Into the Night”, a series that highlights seven very different Vampire!AU stories, each involving a different member of Monsta X as the main male lead. <3 I hope you enjoy them. I have been obsessed with Vampires since I was a child, and my attraction to them only grows the older I get~ I do hope that my take on these different vampire tropes tickles your fancy as it has mine.

Version 1 - Shownu

Version 2 - Wonho

Version 3 - Minhyuk

Version 4 - Kihyun

Version 5 - Hyungwon

Version 6 - Jooheon

Version 7 - Changkyun

Asks Open for Feedback, Comments, Kudos and Thoughts. <3

The air outside was perfectly cool, and you felt the seasons changing as if it was happening in your bones. Your feet met the sidewalk outside of your school, and you stared up at it, its visage a blanket of opportunity to most, and a prison to some. Although you were still a new student, you generally thought of yourself in the neutral mindset between those absolute poles, but today you’d rather be at home in your bed, curled up and comfortable–though, your bed didn’t have quite this many handsome faces, and bright smiles. Serenaded by the male section of the student body even now, you swayed a bit, the bell shocking you out of your daydreaming, making you go a bit rigid, uniform ruffling slightly. Glancing up the front of the school, your eyes settled on flags and the like, sighing at how displays of school spirit made you feel even less proud.

Newton High flew its banners with confidence, the bright yellow lettering of the school motto “Shine Forever” vibrant as ever as it stretched the length of the banner; which billowed outside the tall doors. The closer you got to the doors, the sweeter the air smelled, and you felt as if the cherry blossoms had been in bloom since you transferred there, framing the fairytale world you had always imagined the school to be. You had been there a few months by this point, but it was still a bit of a culture shock—and you were sure you’d never seen this many handsome boys in your life. God, you had heart palpitations every day over it—and as you dropped into your assigned seat in History class, you wondered how you’d ever force yourself to pay more attention to the lectures; even the teachers here were sexy.

Your professor entered moments after you found yourself seated, and you watched him walk across the room, your eyes focused on how good he looked in those slacks. He smiled and faced the board a moment, writing the date and lecture title on the board before turning to face the class, “Good morning, students.” He smiled wide, opening the history textbook on his desk, fingers pushing up the nose of his glasses to situate them perfectly, “I know you are all eager to get to today’s lesson, but let’s begin class today by going over the homework from last night—oh, don’t groan, it’s only five questions, please.” He seemed annoyed, and though you found yourself unable to focus on anything but him at the moment, you hoped he wasn’t made enough to assign even more work, “Start with number one under multiple choice, at the end of chapter 12—Y/N—” He gestured to you, and you could have fallen out of your seat, clamoring to sit up straight. He nodded, eyes focused on you, “Can you answer it for me, please?”

“Wha—um…well, it’s…Um…” You were panicking, staring down at a page of notes and nothing else. You had completely forgotten that you had had homework in the first place. Sinking a bit, you lifted your shoulders, wishing you could curl up in a ball, or at least hide in plain sight. Cringe. You wrinkled your brows, you hadn’t expected to be called, “I—didn’t do it. I’m sorry, Yoo Senpai.”

Yoo Senpai turned to look at a girl in your class, a bit of a bratty troublemaker that sat closer to the front, but off to the side. He raised a brow at her, the corners of his lips twitching in what could almost be called a smile,“That makes both of you.” He said evenly, “Maybe I should keep you both after class.” He drug teeth across his bottom lip, before realizing what he was insinuating. Stammering, he swallowed, pushing his glasses back into place again, a nervous habit, “Ahem, anyone want to help Y/N out?”

A voice, from your right, deeper than the other boys in class, was the first to answer, “It’s C. The Berlin wall came down in 1989.” They said, the sound causing you to turn your head and focus on its source. Im Changkyun, the resident bookworm and all-around odd ball, had answered the question for you. Rumors had always flooded the air around the male, but you had never actually spoken to him yourself—and now that you found your position directly next to him, you observed him, and found him to be quite handsome.

So, this was the boy everyone talked about all the time? That jaw, those plump lips, pretty eyes, and slender frame—this was the weirdo? You could hardly believe it—but, you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you curious about him. You crossed your arms slowly, and regarded him for a moment, just looking over him, your eyes watching his elegant fingers open the book he had been reading, his focus leaving the lecture to focus on the words before him—he probably wouldn’t be called on again, anyways. You inhaled slowly, something about him speaking to you, making you feel the need to talk to him, to get closer.

Yoo Senpai carried on as if you hadn’t just blatantly checked out, and Changkyun wasn’t reading something unrelated to class entirely. Eyes set on another part of the class, he waved a hand, “Very good, now. Let’s move on. Question 2—"

Not wanting to call too much attention to yourself, you would pull a piece of scratch paper from your notebook and scrawl a quick “Thanks” on it, clumsily passing it to him with one finger, sliding it onto his desk. Yoo Senpai didn’t, and wouldn’t notice, seemingly done with the two of you for the day.

Changkyun unfolded the piece of paper and smiled lightly as he stared at the word. Shifting his head to the side, his gorgeous hair undisturbed, though he tweaked a pierced eyebrow, dark makeup around his eyes making them look all the more piercing. Writing back in fairly good script, Changkyun sent back, “Don’t mention it”, tossing it onto your desk, the paper sliding close to your resting hand.

It didn’t take you long to answer, figuring you might as well take the plunge. No time like the present, right? You wrote quickly, ‘Can I ask you a question? Are you really a vampire like they all say?’. You felt as if you had no tact, but you couldn’t just not ask him, and you couldn’t figure out a gentile way of posing such a question to someone. Better blunt than silent, you thought.

Raising a brow, Changkyun scribbled, ‘Why?’

‘You’re always reading those books, and your teeth really look like fangs.’ You offered it back, your fingers brushing his, but you shrugged off the feeling.

‘Do you really want to know?’ He returned, tipping his head toward you, book sat down for the moment, his eyes focusing on you through slight periphery. He ran fingers down the slender column of his neck as he waited, curious what you might say.

‘Yes. Please.’ Was all you could manage to get back to him, both eager and a bit freaked out.

When he offered the note back, you held it up, staring at the words for a long time. ‘Meet me in the library after school. Three-twenty, after she locks the front doors. The entrance by the back is left open for safety.’ What should you do? You swallowed the lump in your throat and looked back at him, slowly nodding your head, hesitation only making you look more innocent.

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

Sneaking into the library was easy using the door that Changkyun had suggested. You pretty much just walked right in as you would have if it were open during the day. The place was nearly dark, and in its dimness, you navigated your way around tables, looking around for the outcast, sure he was there somewhere. Standing in the center of the room, you wrinkled your brows, whispering rather loudly, “Changkyun…?”

“Under here—” was all you heard from a nearby table, so you bent down, looking until you met the inhuman eyes of the other. Slipping down under the desk, you crawled to him, sitting with crisscrossed legs across from him.

Settling, you laughed gently into the back of your hand, thinking it was very immature that you had just snuck into the library, of all places, in order to hide under a table with a guy—though, a small part of you felt a tiny thrill, “Why are you under the desk?”

“Hey, we may be seniors, but we will still get in deep shit if we are caught breaking into the library after hours—” He said with a light shrug, looking more than at home right where he sat. You could tell this wasn’t the first time he’d snuck in here, “—so, I’m just trying to stay hidden so we can talk and no one will see us through the windows over there.” He pointed to a line of transparent glass windows, and you made an understanding sound, nodding.

“Good call…” You said slowly, rolling your gaze back to him, focusing even in the dark, “So, back to my question. Are you a vampire? Or are you just faking everyone out?”

He laughed as if he was about to call you cute for being so adamant, his body language rather controlled, yet relaxed, “Well, you do see my fangs, don’t you?” He asked, opening his lips slowly and licking over the vampiric shape of his canines.

You blushed at the way he licked his teeth, but the dark hid it for the most part, “Yeah, but—”

“You don’t believe they are real. I’m telling you, I am what I am.” He shrugged before leaning forward slightly, with confident intent, his hand lifting to point towards his teeth, “Here. Touch them.”

“I—” Something compelled you to act, like an invisible force, and you couldn’t help yourself. Normally, you wouldn’t go anywhere near someone else’s teeth, but now you found yourself reaching forward, touching a fang slowly. Moving down and over the tip, you felt it prick your finger, almost sharp enough to cut without pain, “Ouch—Nn—”

Blood pooled in a small sphere at the prick where the fang had met the tip of your finger, and you stared at him, his reaction sealing your suspicions. Pupils swallowing the color of his eyes, he growled low, the scent of your blood striking him, making his lust flare. Taking your hand by the wrist, he pushed your finger into his lips, sucking the blood from it, making you whimper hard. That handsome face twisted a bit in pleasure, and he moaned around your digit before pulling back, showing you the length of his tongue, a gentle smear of red against the center of it.

You took your hand back and stared at the finger that he had been sucking on, blinking as you found it no longer bleeding, a tiny prick point still visible. Before you could say a word, or fully react to what he had just done, he was in your space, his nose brushing yours. Palms bracing on either side of you, he came over you until you fell to your back, legs spreading to allow him closer, mesmerized by the primal look in his eyes, that nearly glowed in the dim light of the unattended library. Settling his hips against your core, you swallowed hard, finding yourself intensely aroused at just the way he pressed himself to you. If you were honest, you’d never thought of him this way. He was just the odd outcast in class that spent more time reading books than he did socializing with the rest of the student body—and now he was on top of you, and you thirsted for him as much as his eyes reflected the same need.

It wasn’t that you were against this happening in that moment, completely enchanted and transfixed by the vampire that had all but pinned you to the ground. Blushing, you breathed deeply, words betraying your throbbing core, “Changkyun, we shouldn’t—” You gestured between them and to the table you were beneath, “Like this…”

Changkyun smirked deviantly and wiggled his brows, “You’re right…I know a better way.” He said, moving back just enough to gain leverage, hands coming upon you to turn you gently, forcing you dominantly onto your stomach, your face against the dense carpet of the library floor. You whimpered, and he ran hands down the curve of your spine, growling softly as his digits met the waistline of your bottoms, slipping beneath them slightly so that he could easily pull them down, revealing the supple shape of your backside and the tops of your thighs—lowering them just enough to give himself a bit of space.

Nails at carpet, you breathed heavily, the feeling of being exposed arousing you even further, your muscles fluttering with need. You snuffled out a soft moan, and you could almost sense him smirk, driven forward by your obvious arousal. You would hear his belt, and zipper, and then feel the press of his body against yours, the length of his cock slipping perfectly between supple flesh, the hooked shape of his cock perfect for the angle he’d chosen. Groaning, he pushed the thick head into your needy muscles, and you gasped loudly, arching your back to aid, your pants causing a bit of restraint, though you didn’t mind.

Hands braced on either side of your head, fingers overlapping yours almost affectionately, he would gently slide himself in deeper, inch after inch taken until he was fully hilted inside of you, “Ah, fuck…you’re already so tight…” He whispered, voice infinitely deeper than before, the tone shaking you to your core. He paused for only a moment before he began to thrust, his pace set as steady as the ticking clock, fucking you gorgeously into the floor, the carpet harsh on your skin, but your focus was on how that cock struck you deep, making you writhe.

Changkyun’s hips picked up their pace and he arched over you, his fingers shifting so that his hands were over yours, entwining your digits, his muscles working to pull him from your depths before forcing back inside of you deeply, filling you beautifully with each movement that he made. He breathed ragged, skin heating as he worked himself in and out of you, aiming to hit every sensitive nerve, making you crazed with pleasure. Your lips peeled open against the floor and you moaned sweetly, shaking, “Ch-Changkyun—y-yes!”

After a while, Changkyun was shaking a bit himself, the strength of his arms wavering just a bit, “Shh, baby. Keep quiet…Mm…fucking take this cock…” He groaned, his head tipping down, allowing you to feel the bangs of his hair against your shoulder-blades, “…ah, you like my dick so deep inside of you, don’t you? Mmm…You’re going to cum for me quickly, aren’t you?” His voice was the sexiest thing that had ever met your ears, and you found yourself shaking as he spoke, muscles undulating around his cock, showing how close you were.

“O-oh, you’re going to make me—oh, fuck…c-cum!” You grit your teeth as you took thrust after thrust, the pace of those hips intoxicating, driving you to the edge and then over, your fingernails digging into the carpet for purchase that would not be found, your entire body quaking as your eyes shut tight. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning loudly into the floor, and your orgasmic sounds filled the empty library. You swore you were seeing stars in the dark, the hard pulsing of your muscles as they milked him causing your hips to jerk and muscles to jump a bit.

He could hardly take how your body worked him, your spasming core taking him for all he had. Eyebrow wrinkling and hair falling out of place, Changkyun rolled his hips in circles, the friction and change of movement causing his demise quickly. Throwing his head back, he howled in bliss, nails mirroring your own as they flexed, his body trembling, cock pumping hot cum into you, filling you to the brim. Changkyun exhaled harshly, trying to calm himself, but it would take several moments.

Leaning down, body still jerking a bit with aftershock, his cock still perfectly buried inside of you, he would press his lips to your spine, allowing you to feel his fangs graze your skin a moment. You shivered, your heart beginning to calm, though you still shuddered from leftover spikes of pleasure. As your eyes fluttered open, you smiled, keeping your fingers entwined with his, flexing them so that you made it more of a hand-hold than a primal urge.

“I just had sex with a vampire…” You blurted, hating yourself the moment it came out of your mouth. He chuckled and kept his lips against your skin, just kissing around the areas of flesh that he could reach, giving his girth enough time to settle before gently pulling out of you. You made a disappointed noise once he was gone from you; though you would swear it was involuntary.

“Come on, I’ll help you get cleaned up. We should get out of here.” He said softly before moving to his knees, practically sitting on the backs of your thighs, admiring the cum that dripped down your core. He licked his lips in appreciation before backing up, offering you a hand before winking, “…I won’t bite you this time.”

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

Cleaned and returned to the hallway, Changkyun would see you out the door. It was oddly sweet that he wanted to stay close to you for the time being, but you could take it from here. Smiling, you waved to him, and he nodded, “I’ll see you around. I have to return a book, then I’ll be on the road as well.” You could have called him a nerd for being so concerned about book returns after he’d just fucked you into oblivion, but you figured you’d let him have this one considering how mind blowing the orgasm he’d just given you was. So, you settled for a quick goodbye before prancing off down the hall and toward the doors, sneaking back out and down the road toward your house.

Back in the library, Changkyun returned to his backpack and pulled out the book he had been reading prior in the classroom. Moving through the stacks, he found the proper section, glancing at all the books before hooking his copy beneath his arm for the time being. Dropping a hand, he pulled a small medicine bottle from his pocket and opened it, his free hand working off the fangs he’d been wearing with a dense pop, revealing fairly normal canines beneath. Smiling, he dropped both faux fangs into the bottle before pocketing it again. Thank God for dental glue.

Looking back to the books, his eyes glowed, his own supernatural element dancing behind them. Pulling the seventh volume from under his arm, he would put it gently back into its place on the shelf, a smile covering his face as he looked at the line of books. How he loved them—but, if the alpha found out he was reading about vamps, he’d be the laughing stock of the pack. Ears wiggling, he reached a hand up, almost as if he were saying goodbye to the series, fingers trailing over gold gilded words—

“Into the Night.”

Admin Death

#i.m #changkyun #im changkyun #monsta x #into the night #series #into the night version 7 - changkyun #mx #kpop #fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #one shot #part 7 #mine #original #admin death

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