#that duck plush is like. older than i am i’m pretty sure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago

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Clubbing 101

Written by @alliswell21

Prompt 144: She has a night of fun before the start of the semester. She meets this guy, they hit it off that they sleep together. But when she shows up to her class the next day, she sees the guy again. But he’s her professor and he’s way older than she originally thought. #olderPeeta [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Rating: Explicit. NSFW.

Tags and Warnings: Canon Divergence; College!AU; Age gap, older man/younger woman; The opposite to slow burn? Smut; Unprotected sex; technically impaired consent since alcohol, but their both into each other while sober too 🤷🏻‍♀️; Ethical dilemmas; Teacher/Student relationship (sort of); One Shot, with an ambiguous open ending? Almost 10K words. Unbetaed.

Notes: Thank you to the moderators once more for putting up with us, procrastinating writers. You gals are saints! Thank you to @animekpopxx for her amazing prompts that never fail to snag my attention and give me the best ideas ever! You rock! I projected this story to be a smutty short thing, but it sprouted words and a background out of nowhere and I had to forced myself to stop adding to it, to get back to my other submissions waiting in my docs. Hopefully, it’s a good read for the ones who take the chance with it.

Thank you all!

KPKPKPKPKP

It starts with a harmless ranting.

“I’m not outgoing, or fun. I’m not even ‘cool’… hell, I don’t care what my sister says, I’m too old for this place!” I tell the handsome, bearded, guy sitting in the barstool next to me, “She’s a med student, you know, but she insists that partying is part of the college experience, especially when one’s career is so demanding… plus, is the last weekend of summer break, which apparently means you’re contractually obligated to party extra hard,” I roll my eyes, “I never saw the appeal personally, but I let her drag me out here so I can keep an eye on her. Is not like I’m gonna let her piss away her future for a night of clubbing,” I scoff, taking a long pull of my beer.

The guy chuckles, but I’m not done just yet.

I slam down my bottle and continue listing my grievances, “The thing that grinds my gears, is that she begged for a ‘girls’ night out’, and instead of drinking with me and people watch, she goes off with the first fucker that asks her to dance! I mean… did it ever occur to her, I may want to dance with her on OUR girls’ night out?!” I scowl and gulp another mouthful of beer, “then, to add insult to injury, thirty minutes later I get a text from her, saying to go on home without her ‘cause she found a ride, followed by that cursed eggplant emoji, like I needed an illustration of what kind of ride she’s getting,” I mock gag, rearranging the strap of my tiny purse across my chest.

“I guess she’s young, and beautiful, and does work very hard, but if you invite me to go clubbing with you, don’t abandon me within the first 15 minutes of arriving!”

My companion winces before sipping his drink, and smiling ruefully, “That’s harsh… sorry you’re having a shitty night,”

“Meh… little sisters, right?!” I shrug.

The guy smiles crookedly at me, and I find myself enjoying his smile, “I wouldn’t know about that. I’m the baby of three brothers, and the only thing I got away with was learning how to wrestle and spring awesome comebacks on the fly… the brutes kept me on my toes,” he chuckles.

“Three boys? Sounds chaotic. Your poor mother!”

“Yeah… life’s chaotic.” He averts his eyes for a second, his smile goes away. I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong, but he suddenly looks back at me, and confesses, “I’m not into clubbing either.” His eyes sparkle, despite the awful, dim, blue lights bathing the place.

I smile, “Look at us wallflowers, bonding over drinks and sibling shenanigans,” we clink our drinks together and sip. I’m chatty and relaxed, so unlike myself; I guess the two beers I’ve had are starting to get to me. “I’m Katniss, by the way.”

“That’s pretty,” he says, shyly; makes my chest warm up. “Nice to meet you, Katniss. I’m Peeta.”

I arch my eyebrows, “Peter?” I repeat, because I’m pretty sure I miss-heard him over the obnoxiously loud music.

The guy shakes his head, “Pee-ta… like the bread?” He chuckles. Then adds, “Family name. Everyone on my dad’s side are bakers.”

I snort-laugh, “Punny!” I say, taking another sip. Yup, beer’s getting to me, I’m not this cleverly funny. “My dad was into survivalism and botany… I’m named after a plant also known as Duck Potato, so I win the weird name competition!”

“Hey, it’s something else to bond over,”

“Cheers to that!” We clink our drinks again, and partake in our booze.

He orders another whiskey neat when he’s out… sounds both snooty and distinguished at the same time. Goes well with his put together image, though: nicely trimmed beard, nicely combed hair, nice polo shirt with what I believe is a tiny loaf of bread embroidered on the chest, and dark-wash jeans… I think. It’s hard to tell under the black lights of the club.

He offers to get me another drink, and I order an appletini.

“J.D. from Scrubs always drank one,” I explain, swirling the coctel in my hand, “I’ve always been curious to try, but didn’t wanna spend my own money experimenting on a drink I could potentially hate.”

“Makes sense,” Peeta says, “So… what’s the verdict?”

“Is pretty good, actually. But I think I’ll stick with my Miller Light,”

Peeta nods, “I honestly don’t enjoy alcohol that much.”

I giggle. “Then, what brings you to this fine establishment tonight, sir, if you’re not much for clubbing, or drinking?” I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

I like that when he smiles, his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I lost a bet against a colleague.”

“Oh,” I’m suddenly self conscious and a little uncomfortable. I give the guy a scrutinizing look, and ask suspiciously, “what was the punishment exactly?”

The man rolls his eyes. “I have to spend one whole hour in the club, without criticizing anything, like the bitter old man I am,” he grins, “My friend’s words. Not mine!” He raises both hands, claiming innocence.

I laugh at the face he pulls, “Well, you’ve just defaulted on that punishment,”

“How so?” He beams.

“With the look in your face! It spoke volumes!”

“Am I that transparent?”

“You read like a preschooler’s board book, pal!”

We both laugh, I drink my beer, and he throws back his whiskey neat.

“So…” he makes a show of looking at his watch, “I still have 33 minutes to kill before I’m allowed to run out of this place… I know I’m not a Med student, co-Ed, sister of yours, but… would you, um, like to dance with me?” He sounds adorably hopeful.

I glance at the man sideways, toying with my bottle.

He smirks, mischievously, “I promise, spirits make me more coordinated on the dance floor. I become this amazing dancer when I have a couple of drinks on… or so my brain believes. I probably look like an idiot, but I’m too goofy to know the difference. You’re welcome to be the judge it for yourself,”

I take my sweet time finishing the last dregs of my beer, and wrinkle my nose, “You sure you wanna dance to this shit, kids call music nowadays?” I smirk, pointing a finger up, motioning wide circles into the ether.

Peeta gives a full belly laugh.

I really do like his laugh!

“Isn’t it our only choice?” He ventures.

Not if you follow me home, my thirsty brain supplies; my lips on the other hand, just let through a hint of a smile, because I’m buzzed, but not drunk enough to proposition a total stranger. I’ve never been one to sleep around anyway.

“Okay,” I say, too enthused. “As long as we both agree that this isn’t music,”

“Oh no, this just barely passes as noise!” Peeta agrees readily.

He guides me to the packed dance floor, and we start moving to the booming, deafening tunes playing overhead.

I’m not sure if one could call this dancing. Everywhere I look people are writhing against each other, like a pack of zombies without grace or rhyme.

I’m not sure Peeta will get an accurate assessment of his dancing skills, compared to what I’m seeing, he’ll probably look like a professional; plus, it’s too dark and busy in here to really appreciate anything, really, but after a few minutes of just shifting in place, robotically, I snatch two bottle beers from a waitress walking by, offering one to my partner, hoping that’s enough to get us loosen up. The waitress stares at me until I rummage on my crossbody mini purse and toss a crumple ten on her tray.

The liquid boost works. Before I know it, I’m grinding my hips against his. Peeta’s just the right height for his thigh to fit between my legs and brush against my front. I get tired of undulating my arms in the air, so I drop them around his shoulders, and feel just how firm and broad he is under my touch.

Our chests are tightly pressed together, and I’m at the right angle to just stare at his plush-looking lips. I turn around before I do something brash, like kiss him in the mouth. Peeta doesn’t question it, he just places his hands on my hips, and starts moving to the music’s beat.

I bring the beer to my lips, but the bottle’s empty… oops! It doesn’t matter, I’m having the time of my life!

Peeta’s swaying guides me. I basically drape my back over his front, and bump my ass into his groin. I feel the hint of a bulge there, and press my rear into it again, just to confirm if I felt what I hope I felt.

Peeta’s fingers tighten on my hip, emboldening me to keep going until I’m practically twerking into him, and his slight bulge morphs into a full blown hard-on.

I twist in his arms to face him, my lust idled brain barely thinking rationally, “Are your 33 minutes done yet?” I yell into his ear, so he can hear me over the noise.

He doesn’t even look at his watch, “To hell with time! I‘ll stay here all night, if you want me to,” He answers loudly.

“Come on, then!” I push off his chest, and snatch up his hand before he can reply.

Leaving the dance floor is surprisingly easily, considering the crowd bouncing in place together.

I make no conscious plan on where we’re going; I’m arguably familiar with the layout of this place from my many visits since Prim turned 21; I’m only mildly surprised when we navigate across the club, all the way to the restrooms. It’s like my clit is making all the decisions tonight… good for it!

There’s a line of disgruntled women waiting to get inside the Ladies Room, but the Men’s Room is available, and Peeta lets me guide him into it, like one of those pull toys children have.

“It stinks in here,” I comment blandly, but make a beeline for the last stall with a door.

There’s one guy at the urinal, but he doesn’t even look up from his pants, so I just shrug it off and yank Peeta into the stall with me.

The space is tight, but once inside the stall, I push Peeta into the door, and attack his mouth.

He makes a startled noise at the back of his throat, but his hands and arms immediately press me into his body more fully. My own hands trek down to his belt, where I fiddle with the buckle until it’s undone, and I can access his pants’ button and fly.

He hisses when my fingers graze his warm erection, and bucks into my knuckles. I’m in the process of sticking my hand inside his boxers, when Peeta growls, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, and letting it go with a wet pop.

“Switch places,” he pants against my mouth, and hoists me up, until my back hits the door and his hands grab my hips possessively, jutting my pelvis forward, “I’m hungry, would you mind if I eat you out?”

“Okay,” I gasp.

Thank you for forcing me to wear your tiny, clubbing dress, Prim!

“You’ll allow it?” He asks, incredulous, rubbing circles on my hips with his thumbs.

“Yes… I’ll allow it!”

His smile is sexy, his stare is hypnotic. Damned my drunken ass! I can’t believe I’m willing to do this in a smelly bathroom stall!

Peeta sits on the toilet and licks his lips while staring up at me. His hands disappear under the stretchy material of my skirt, bumping my purse out of his way. He skims his fingers under the elastic of my panties, and I bite my lip, nodding eagerly.

Slowly, Peeta slides my underwear down my legs, the tips of his fingers follow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced!

Once he brings my panties to my knees, his hands rush back up my thighs, pushing the flimsy skirt around my waist. My underwear drops to my ankles on their own.

Peeta’s level eye with my crotch, and I squirm restlessly. “Beautiful… absolutely soaked,” he whispers in a daze, he inhales pulling me closer, “You smell divine!” He descends, nose first, into the thatch of dark curls between my thighs, making me moan. He ruts his face against me, and suddenly drops to his knees, grabbing my calf to pull my leg up.

But the movement gets prevented by my stupid underwear, tangled in my ankles. Without missing a beat, I toe my panties off, so Peeta can maneuver my body however he wants.

He drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me up to his ravenous mouth. He grunts, burying his face into my core, and finally, FINALLY, his tongue swipes between my folds.

“Fuck!” I squeak.

My hands fly to tangle into his soft, perfectly coiffed hair. I nearly smother him, holding his face to my pussy, but he’s doing wicked things to me with his tongue: lapping, sucking, and nipping at my labia; drawing number eight figures around my clit with the tip of his tongue, to then sinking it deep inside my core. I can’t stop bucking into his mouth over and over.

When was the last time I was given head? Fuck if I know! Darius probably, he was decent, but didn’t do it often. And Thom was so boring at it, I actually preferred he didn’t do it. But this guy is amazing! A real expert in the matter!

“I’m so close! Please… I’m so close,” I wail like a cat in heat, writhing against the door.

Peeta looks up, and despite the horrendous lighting in the room, I realize he’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen… too bad I can’t hold his gaze too long, because he starts rubbing my clit with his thumb, while fucking my hole with his tongue, and is all I can do not shout and scalp him in my delirium.

He doesn’t stop drinking my juices while I convulse above him. On the contrary, he retrieves his thumb, but keeps his mouth busy, lapping away all the slick I give him.

It’s too much.

I tug on his hair to pull him off of my sensitive privates.

Peeta takes one last lick with the flat of his tongue and looks up at me, smiling wolfishly, “Was that good?” His beard’s dripping with me, he wipes some of it off on his sleeve.

I snort, unsexy and definitely rude. “You made me cum so hard I saw stars… yeah, it was good. Better than good, really!” I smile down at him, and try to pull him off from the floor.

All the gel holding his curls in place is gone now, rubbed off on my palms. His hair is sticking up on the top and towards the back of his head. I reach up to try and smooth it back, “I’m sorry, I seem to have made a mess of your hair,” I giggle. It’s adorable, but I feel bad that I ruined it.

“You can mess my hair any time you want, Katniss.” He says, almost shyly, he places his hands on my waist, over the bunched up dress.

It’s a big turn on to me, how his words are so flirty, but he delivers them so sweetly and awed. Is unexpected and endearing… which is odd, because I don’t usually find people endearing at all!

We both chuckle.

He licks his lips, and I feel heat pool in my lower belly again.

“Come’ere!” I wrap my hand around his nape, and pull his lips to mine.

He responds immediately, licking the seam of my mouth. I suck on his tongue when he slides it against mine.

He moans.

“Fuck me, Peeta,” I rasp into the kiss, palming his dick through his jeans.

He groans, “Are you sure?” He barely holds back another groan when I squeeze his clothed erection.

“Cock. In me. Now!” I command through gritted teeth, trying to pull his cock out of his pants with one hand, while taking his hand, and splaying it on my boob.

“Okay… shit… this is… surreal! This has never happened to me before!” He kneads my tit, gently.

I’m not sure I was supposed to hear that, so I pretend I didn’t and turn, facing the door to wiggle my ass, in an attempt to convince him.

Peeta makes a noise in his throat, quickly followed by the sound of shifting clothes, and a metallic thump from his belt buckle hitting the toilet.

I whine when Peeta’s warm, heavy cock caressed my bare ass cheek. “Please don’t tease me,” I beg.

“Fuck, Katniss… do you really want this?”

“Yes, Peeta… put your cock inside my cunt, and fuck me all the way to next week! Now!”

His warm body cocoons mine, “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, and I feel the blunt head of his cock parting my folds, coating himself with my natural lubricants.

He finds my entrance, pushing inside just the tip. He gasps, “Fuck!” One big hand wraps around my hip to keep me steady, bracing his other arm on the door, above my head.

“Peeta… Please!” I wiggle my ass, making him sink another inch deep.

“Hold still,” He hisses, “I’m trying to hold back… not ramming in too roughly… embarrassing myself, cumming too fast,” His hot breath warms my nape. “You feel like heaven!” He growls, tightening his hold on me.

I’m torn, wishing he’d drill into me without mercy already, while another part of me is grateful he’s trying to stay under control… I don’t know which I want more…

When was the last time I had sex?

As if reading my thoughts, Peeta shares haltingly, “It’s been such a long time for me. I want it to last, but I’m

Not sure if I can,”

I don’t have time to second guess myself, because Peeta’s moving, and he’s massive!

“Don’t hold back!” I bleat, “I want it rough… I want it fast!” I gasp, clenching down on him. I paw at the door for purchase, trying not to face-plant on the cold, hard surface, while Peeta’s fat prick stretches me to the brink of pain! I can’t stay put for him any longer; I buck into him.

“I said to hold still!” He slaps my ass, hard. It stings, but it’s a welcomed feeling.

I moan and melt, finally relaxing enough for him to penetrate me all the way to the hilt. He stays there a moment, breathing harshly into my neck, squeezing my hip on and off.

“You’re so tight. So warm. So wet, Katniss.” He nuzzles my ear, “I’m gonna move now, I apologize beforehand in case this ends too soon for you…” He drags himself slowly out of me, just to plunge right back in with a swift, hard thrust.

I squeak; he grunts..

Peeta holds me by the waist, “You’re so pretty and sexy, Katniss. I can’t decide if you’re real, or the most vivid wet dream I’ve ever had…” he’s fucking me like a jackrabbit in rut.

I’m speechless, vaguely wondering if I didn’t dream him instead?

His cock head hits a spot deep inside me I’ve never reached before. I start babbling nonsense— mostly praising his cock and his strength— I don’t really know what I’m saying, but he seems to be enjoying it thoroughly by the increase in his speed and the volume of his grunts.

I’m joisted up and down his shaft like a rag doll; I wish I’d thought of hanging my stupid little purse somewhere before we started, because now it’s bumping on my thighs, distracting me from the great ducking I’m getting; it’s no matter… I can feel my orgasm building in my belly.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart… I want you to cum too,” He nibbles on my earlobe.

“Yes, Peeta! Please make me cum, I’m so close!”

One of his hands slides around my waist to play with my clit, while his other tweaks my nipples over my dress and bra. That, added to the sensation of my g-spot being prodded repeatedly, sends me spinning over the edge.

I must’ve screamed or something, because he clamps his hand over my mouth, and then he’s grunting, digging his forehead between my shoulder blades, and pulling me back against his unyielding body.

“Fuck…” he gasps and shivers behind me. I feel his dick pulsing, his rhythm faltering, and then he goes still.

Peeta sags a little, wedging his shoulder into the door to keep from falling. I’m surprised he still has the strength to hold me up too; I have to be dead weight at this point, since my legs feel like overcooked noodles and my arms gave out a minute ago.

We both try to catch our breaths, too spent and weak for much more, at least for a few minutes.

Peeta stirs. “Are you okay?” He breathes out, ruffling the loose wisps of my hair with his breath.

I chuckle, leaning my sweaty temple on the cool door. “I can’t feel my toes… which is excellent!”

“Good,” he sighs.

Three heart beats later, he straightens up and pulls out of me. An indecent amount of spend flows down my legs as soon as his cock dislodges from my pussy, but Peeta shoves something soft between my thighs quickly, before I have time to freak out about the mess.

I look down mildly curious, staring at an embroidery of a tiny loaf of bread. Vaguely, I wonder if that’s his uniform? He said he was a baker, right? At least he’s named after bread or something. I giggle. “Is this your shirt?” I ask, widening my stance to gracelessly wipe myself clean.

“Yeah,”

“Thank you,” I say, dazedly, turning sideways to smile at him gratefully.

He’s wearing a simple, white, cotton t-shirt when I return the polo to him, now spoiled with cum and slick. I’m caught off guard by how broad shoulder he is, and by how nice he smells… cinnamon and sweat. Weird combination, but pleasant. I wonder if he baked any bread today?

“Um… would you… would you like to put these back on?” He asks awkwardly, leaning down to pick up my discarded panties from besides the foot of the toilet bowl.

I wrinkle my nose, “Not really,” I mumble. “Who knows when was the last time that floor got cleaned. Gross.”

Peeta smiles and shakes his head, “Here,” he grabs his polo, covered in our juices, and wraps my underwear in it. “Now it’s hidden.”

My body is finally catching up with the advanced hour, the beers and the two amazing orgasms. I’m starting to feel sore everywhere, and my eyelids are getting heavy. “Wow… think I’m officially all partied out,” I chuckle weakly.

“Ditto,” Peeta agrees, his smile is shy. “So… there’s this little dinner about two blocks from here,” he starts, eyes downcast; the space seems to shrink around us, now that the frenzy of our physical activities is done with. “Would you like to grab a pancake or som—“

My phone rings, startling us both into silence. I frown, but scramble to find it in my purse, to check who could be calling me… apparently at 2 a.m.!

My frown deepens. Prim’s smiling face flashes on the screen. She was supposed to be getting some herself! “It’s my sister,” I whisper, tamping down my rising panic. I don’t ask if it’s okay to answer, I just do it. “Prim?”

“Where the hell are you?!” I have to pull the phone off, or risk eardrum rupture by my sister’s screeching. “I’ve been texting and calling you! I’ve been worried sick!”

I scowl at the wall, confused and little annoyed, “Prim… Prim, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?” I try to ask.

“What?! No. I’m home! But you aren’t, and I’ve been scared shitless trying to find you!”

I give Peeta an apologetic grimace, and blindly feel around for the lock to get out of the stall. “Um… why are you home so early? Last time I heard from you, you were getting a ride,” I’m trying to sound unaffected; It’s all I can think to say in my mortification.

“Never mind that! Why aren’t you home already? I thought you had to work in the morning and then go to sch—”

While Prim rages at me, I place a hand on the phone and turn to Peeta, still in the stall, awkwardly facing the wall, I assume to grant me some privacy. I’m sure he can hear my sister’s frantic chastisement from where he’s standing. “I’m sorry… you’d think I was a teenager instead of a grown ass adult,” I roll my eyes.

Peeta waves me off good naturedly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping you so late,”

I’m about to say something else, but Prim yells loudly, something about calling the police and checking the hospitals for me, which truly prompts a reaction from me, “Calm down! I’m still at the club, exactly where you left me!” I cover the phone with my palm again, and turn to him. “I’m… I’m gonna go? Before she threatens to send the marines in,” I try to joke, but our situation takes all the levity out of it, and my attempt dies off, lamely.

Peeta nods, smiling softly; somehow I can tell it’s not genuine.

“Little sisters, right?” I offer halfheartedly, twisting my lips.

“Can I… walk you out at least?” He asks quietly; Prim hasn’t stopped nagging this whole time.

“I… it’s not necessary, but thank you…”

Peeta nods again, looking disappointed.

I don’t get to tell him a proper goodbye, because two dude-bros come in the bathroom, letting the noise from the club filter in; one of the idiots elbows the other, and both start making some lewd comments about me, but Peeta steps in, eyes wild with anger, and tells the guys to knock it off. Prim hears the whole thing of course, and goes nuts herself asking what’s going on?

Peeta looks at me, and motions his head towards the door.

Message received, I step outside the bathroom and book it out of the club, “I’ll be home in a bit. I’m gonna call and Uber,”

“Call me as soon as you’re in it!” Prim demands.

“Fine! Now stop nagging me, will you?!”

I don’t realize I never looked back at Peeta to wave my goodbyes until I’m in the car, heading home. Regret truly is a bitch. I can’t help feeling like I just lost something important, but I have no idea what it is.

>>—————> * <————<<

It’s been a very long Monday. I’m mainly running on caffeine at the moment, and can’t wait to get home and pass out in my fluffy bed, to see if I can catch up on last nights lost hours of sleep.

I enter my last class of the day and find a seat in the middle of the third row. I pull my laptop, a writing pad and my mechanical pencil out of my bag, and watch as my classmates start filtering in one by one, greeting each other and finding their places, lazily.

I’m the oldest student in this class, which is not surprising. I’ve only just come back from my extended— 5 year— sabbatical; and did it only after I was completely sure I could handle my workload and the financial strain of both me and Prim going to college at the same time, without giving myself an early grave.

It’s been hard, but I’m glad I came back to finish my schooling, I only need a handful of credits to graduate, which is great!

I check my watch. We still have a few minutes to kill before class starts. The professor— Dr. Mellark, according to the copy of my schedule— is not here yet, so I pull up the banking app on my phone to give it another glance. The balance is still the same as the last two times I’ve seen it, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful when one is on a tight budget. I scheduled payments for the power, gas and rent to go out in the next few days, and I want to make sure there’s enough money in the bank to cover them. We’re looking fine for the month, financially speaking.

The door to the classroom swishes open, and I start signing off my app.

“Good afternoon ladies and germs; I’m doctor Mellark, and provided you’re in this room for an English class, I’ll like to welcome you to the amazing world of Classic Literature!” Says a deep, male voice I find oddly familiar. “By the way, don’t any of you dare to disagree with me on the awesomeness of classic lit… I’m a doctor, I know what I’m talking about… unless you ask me about medicine, then please be free to disregard everything I say, because I’m not ‘that’ kind of doctor!”

A murmure of little chuckles fills the room; even I smile, silencing my phone and putting it away, before looking up at the professor.

I choke on a strangled gasp when I finally set eyes on the man I assume is the teacher, dumping a worn, leather, messenger bag on the desk near the podium. He’s the last person I would’ve expected to have as a professor.

Oblivious to my predicament, Doctor Mellark— or as I know him: Peeta!— keeps introducing himself.

“I’ve been teaching this course for 14th years, but I’m always pleasantly surprised to hear the different points of views my students bring to our discussions on the classics we study, which in a nutshell, is the beauty of this class.” He pulls a ream of paper out of his bag, and gives it to a student in the front, “Please take a syllabus, and pass the rest to the next person, and so on… thank you!”

My face is burning. I think I’m gonna faint.

“But enough about me,” his voice booms, making my whole body shiver. “I don’t normally do roll calls or care about attendance, as long as you’re not missing assignments, and are here during discussions, so this is the first and last time I’ll be reading this list,” he rises a piece of paper above his head, I surmise has the students names on it, and he instructs, before reading, “I’ll call your names, and you’ll introduce yourself, briefly, that way we can all get acquainted with each other, yes?”

Ugh!

He can scratch my name off that list right now! We’re more than acquainted with each other.

Bile rises to my throat. An intrusive, bitter thought pesters me: how many of his students has he gotten ‘that’ familiar with?

But the thought dies off quickly. An even worse, more worrisome thought springs front and center in my mind: Did we use protection?!

Panic rises in my chest, a nervous queasiness settles in my belly; a distant memory of warm goo sliding down my legs comes to mind… Oh shit!

Oh shit, oh shit! We didn’t use a freaking condom? Who does that?!

Oh shit!

Would a Plan B still be effective right now? It’s been less than 24 hours…

Peeta’s reading names. People stand from their seats and talk about themselves. I haven’t heard one word they’ve said, but I’ve been watching how some of the female students bat their eyelashes and speak all breathily, smiling coyly at him… Peeta seems oblivious to the flirting, but I still feel a cocktail of unpleasant feelings in the pit of my stomach.

I realize, I’m jealous!

My ass is frozen in my sit, I’m not even breathing. I don’t think Peeta’s seen me yet, but… what will he do or say once my name comes up? I send a quick prayer to heaven, he won’t recognize me since I look nothing like I did last night at the club, with my hair down and my face all made-up. Right now and plain ol’ me… the rub is gonna be my name. Darn my dad and his awful naming whims!

Soon enough, he reads a name that makes him stutter, “Kat…Katniss? Everdeen?” He does a double take, “Katniss Everdeen…” his eyes are the size of saucers when he scans the lecture hall, swiftly. When he finds me, he looks back down at his paper, and says the name out loud again, unsure, “Katniss Everdeen?” Like he doesn’t believe what he’s reading.

I stand up woodenly, my voice cracks a little, “I’m—I’m Katniss Everdeen… hi!”

I’m about to drop back into my chair, but Peeta kinda mumbles, “You know, Arrowhead, or Katniss is a water plant? The root is edible… like a swamp potato?”

There are quiet little giggles all over the place.

Peeta clears his throat, his eyes flit away; his face’s blank of emotion, but his cheeks seem pinker than a second earlier, “I just read that online, believe it or not. Interesting facts about local flora, people. Reading is knowledge, but so is learning from one another… what can you tell us about yourself, Miss Everdeen, besides that you have a very unique first name?”

“I…” I harrumph, avoiding eye contact with Peeta at all costs, “I’m a part time student. Majoring in Botany. I took this class to fulfill my last English credits requirement for graduation. I do love books and classic literature, in particular.”

“Thank you… Miss Everdeen,” he rasps.

I sit down, clumsily, hoping this horrible, horrible moment is just a nightmare and that I’ll wake up any second now, drooling on my desk, with indentations of my notepad on my cheek, because anything would be less embarrassing than what I’m going through at this point.

Mercifully, Peeta calls a different name, and then another, and then another. I don’t look up from my notepad once.

Peeta for his part, sounds stiff and monotonous— or so I’d like to think— no more jokes or clever sayings. Maybe he’s not as affected as I am about this ordeal, and I’m just making it a bigger deal than it really is? Maybe he does have experience sleeping with students— I mean, it’s not unheard off, right?— Not that either of us had any idea we were engaging in a teacher-student affair last night…

Although, calling it an affair is generous; it was a measly one night stand. A chance encounter. Two people letting off steam before a busy week ahead.

I’m getting increasingly angry with all this thinking… and the class seems to drag on. It feels like an eternity, and my mind keeps churning up all kinds of questions: Why would he not say he was a teacher at this particular college? Did he lie about being a baker? Is his name even Peeta?

I scoffed at the thought.

To my horror, I hear him ask, “Anything to say, Miss Everdeen?”

Looking up at him requires a great deal of bravery and self admonishment, but I do my best and face him— he’s wearing glasses now, which makes my belly tightened for inexplicable reasons— “No, Doctor Mellark, nothing of consequence anyway,” I retort as venemosly as possible, without alerting anyone else there’s something weird going on between me and the professor.

Peeta grimaces slightly. Then looks away, “Very well, as I was saying, we will start with the basics: The Iliad and Moby Dick, since those are High school level works, I expect your reports to be sufficiently well researched, and your personal ideas on the text somewhat fleshed out. It doesn’t have to be in-depth. I’m just looking to determine everyone’s style and needs for the semester ahead…” he continues his spiel, and I feel free to go back to my stewing and my musings.

Before I know it, Peeta’s dismissing the class, wishing everyone a good rest of their evening.

I jump into action, packing my stuff with my head bowed, but then I hear him again.

“Miss Everdeen, a private word, please?” It’s much too quiet to have been said from his podium. I still startled when I look up and find him standing right against the first row of desks, directly in front of me.

His face is not quite stern, but he’s definitely less smiley than when we met.

I force down a gasp, because under the better lighting of the lecture hall, and close up, I can see a plethora of details I missed at the club; like the arresting blue of his eyes, the slight reddish of his neatly trimmed beard, peppered with silver whiskers all over, while his perfectly combed hair is almost all silver on the temples, and ashy blonde on the top. His shoulders are even broader than I remember.

He’s overall stockier than I originally thought, and just a smidge shorter, which is fine, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t mind climbing him like a tree—

I shake my head off the intrusive, lecheros thoughts. I’m literally lusting after my teacher, for goodness sakes! This is beyond a silly schoolgirl crush!

Peeta arches one dark blonde eyebrow at me, expectantly.

I nod curtly, because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and gesture for him to lead the way.

I shove my laptop into my bag, and hastily shoulder the straps, hugging my writing pad to my chest, following my professor like a chastened little girl.

My stupid eyes find his ass, and I blink twice, at the exquisite sight in front of me. I groan internally.

He grabs his own bag, takes off his spectacles and slides them into his shirt pocket.

How old is this man?! He said he’s been teaching this class for 14 years, when do professors start their teaching careers? How did I never see him before now roaming campus? Is his age the reason he ate pussy like a master?

I shake my head, cursing my horny brain.

Peeta opens a door I have no idea how we came across, and then stands aside, gesturing for me to go in first.

I duck my head and step into a warmly decorated office, with a small desk and two chairs in the middle of the room. Bookshelves full of tomes line the office. A handful of pictures and framed diplomas hang from the only available wall space in the room, but I don’t get to study them before he catches my undivided attention.

“Let me start by apologizing,” Peeta stars, closing the door behind himself, “I assure you, it wasn’t my intention to cause you any stress, or embarrassment out there.” He pauses, “Would you like to sit?” He offers, wincing. He doesn’t wait and steps around me, to pace on the other side of his desk, “I… um, never been in this position before,” he scowls, “I’m not sure what assurances I can offer at the moment, except, that I will start the process to recuse myself from this class immediately, to not interfere with your academic—“

“Recuse yourself?” I cut him off, “what do you mean?”

Peeta squirms a little, and sits down heavily on his chair. My bag slides off my shoulder, and I just dump it in the empty chair I was offered a moment ago.

“Well, Miss Everdeen, it’s the right thing to do, given our circumstances. We’ve breached the appropriate boundaries of our pupil and teacher positions, and staying in the same class together will put you at a disadvantage… is a power imbalance situation, that calls for action.”

“Can you stop calling me ‘Miss Everdeen’? It’s weird…”

“I’m just trying to maintain an acceptable level of decorum between us,” he says sheepishly.

“That ship has already sailed,” I say tiredly.

“Perhaps, but it’s my responsibility to still try,” he rubs his forehead. “Anyway, I’ll call my department and see what is next. Stepping down myself is the only fair solution I see so far… it would be terribly unfair to ask you to switch classes. Simply disrespectful, but we both can agree this uncomfortable situation needs to be nipped in the bud, for both our sakes, Miss Everdeen.”

“This is bullshit!” I snap, “What happened in that club, isn’t that terrible of a problem! What we really need to do is stop acting so stiffly and guilty. By the way, you sound like a walking thesaurus!” I accuse, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he called my name at the lecture hall. “Stop it!”

Peeta inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Miss Everdeen, our actions last night may have been honest, and even innocent in nature, but they still carry consequences… unexpected ones, especially in light of the facts. And the facts are, that it would be unethical for me to remain in a position of authority over you. In any case… if you feel the need to report me to the school administration, for… harassment or inappropriate behavior or anything else, I won’t dispute any claims. I promise to distance myself from you and give you space so you can continue with your education without interference, in a safe environment.”

I grunt, “I’m not going to report you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I thought you were a baker… I mean your story about your name, and that little loaf of bread embroidered into your shirt, I thought it was your uniform,” I shrug one shoulder.

“Sorry about that… I never meant to mislead you,” he says bashful.

I ignore him, “Either way, I was the one pulling you into that bathroom. I threw myself at you. I begged you to do things to me, and you just granted me my wishes…” like a sexy gentleman, “The sex is on me. I’m 26 years old, I’m not some bumbling teenager who hasn’t learned to take responsibility for her actions, so, please… stop trying to shield me, or protect me, or whatever it is you’re doing,” my arms flap around in frustration. I finally push my bag off the chair, and sink into it. “Look, Peeta—“

“Professor…” he corrects, frowning a little.

I roll my eyes, if he knew he’s just making it sound kinkier than it already is, he wouldn’t be so adamant about the freaking titles.

“Fine… Doctor Mellark,” I enunciate, pettily. “I specifically chose your class as my last English elective for two reasons. One: it’s exactly the amount of credits I need to graduate at the end of the semester. And two: it fits my schedule to a T, which is important, since I do have a full time job when I’m not a college student. So, I’m sure we can both be adults about this unfortunate situation, and simply forge on. There’s no need for you to recuse from teaching this class, and I have absolutely no intention of switching. We both can wear our big people britches, and pretend last night was a… what did you call it?” I wave my hands, as if the answer will materialize from thin air, “A vivid wet dream? And leave it at that!”

Peeta glares at me, looking aggravated for the first time since I met him. “It’ll be unethical to continue like everything is normal, Miss Everdeen.” Peeta argues, stubbornly.

“Nobody has to know about last night,” I say, exasperated, then a horrifying thought flashes in my mind, “Unless you bragged about it already!”

“No!” He straightens in his chair, looking offended, “I would never do something so vile,” He looks indignant, “plus, the fact still remains that something did happen last night, and I know about it! I can’t, in good faith, be your teacher.”

“Are you planning on showing me favoritism because you know what my pussy tastes like, Peeta?” I deadpan, “Or are you gonna blackmail me into doing it again?”

“Stop calling me Peeta!” He growls through his teeth, his very thick fingers clenching into fists on his armrests.

I blink at his reaction owlishly, realizing I’m truly pushing it this time.

“I’ve always prided myself on keeping my nose clean. Being a decent man and tutor. Never in 17 years of teaching have I slept with a co-ed, let alone a student in my own class.” He breathes deeply, then pins me to my chair, with those arresting blue eyes of his, burning with controlled anger, “I would never extort you or anyone for sexual favors, Katniss. While I don’t really want to lose my tenure or face other disciplinary actions from the school authorities, the one thing I truly don’t want to damage are my personal standards, and my self image.

“Katniss, I’m already biased when it comes to you. Being your professor won’t be exactly fair to anyone. I’m not saying I would give you A’s willy-nilly, nor that I would grade your papers any differently than I’d do your peers or that I’d be less critical of your work,”

“That’s reassuring,” I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me that if I bring you a shit essay, you might not be persuaded to let me redo it?”

He sighs, “I don’t know…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll most likely hover over your desk a disproportionate amount of time compared to your classmates. There’s also a chance I’ll call on your name more often than the rest of them?”

“I still don’t hear one unscrupulous, wrong reason, why you can’t do your job, and teach this class.”

We sit there, staring at each other, at an impasse.

“Why are you so set on keeping me in that room, Miss Everdeen?” He asks, softly.

Finally, I relent, relaxing my tense shoulders, and exhaling tiredly. I raise my hands in defeat. “I don’t know, Peeta. Because I want to protect you, the same way you’re trying to protect me. But… recuse yourself if you have to. I still believe you’re a better man than your urges.”

Peeta relaxes in his chair too, “Thank you, Katniss.You didn’t have to say that, specially because you don’t know me. It still means a lot.”

I chew the inside of my lip, calculating stuff in my head. “You’re right, I don’t know you, but I consider myself an okay judge of character.” He opened this door, it’s time for me to walk through it, “Can I ask you some stuff?” I ask innocently.

Peeta arches his eyebrows. “Shoot,” he says.

“How old are you?”

“45. I’m sorry. I knew you were young last night… I just didn’t quite grasp just how young,” his eyes shift downwards, sheepish and uncomfortable.

“I’m an adult. I’ve been the head of my family for years. At this point, age is irrelevant for me.” I state, dismissively.

“What about your family?” He asks, tilting his head sideways.

It takes me a minute to answer. I cross my arms over my stomach, and exhale, “It’s been only Primrose and I for five years now. My mother had cancer. My father passed when I was eleven.” I rock in my chair, slightly, “That’s why my sister was being such a clingy bitch last night. She can’t bear to lose anyone else. Neither can I for that matter.”

Peeta leans forward on his desk. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Katniss.”

I sit back, feeling like a huge weight just got lifted off my shoulders. “It’s okay, really. I’m back in school, about to finish my last semester, Prim is doing great in university, the only debt we have right now is Prim’s car and my Target card… we are actually okay,” I smile, meekly at him.

“That’s… that’s good, Katniss. Admirable, really.”

“Peeta?” I start cautiously, “Would you really remove yourself from the class because of me?”

He looks me right in the eye, sincerity emanating fro his eyes. “Absolutely. Without hesitation. As soon as you leave, I’ll email my Head of Department, explaining my situation. Don’t worry, I won’t mention any names or details—“

I shake my head, vehemently.

Peeta squints, studying me cautiously, measuring me.

“Please… stay with me…”

Something in my tone catches his attention, and he eyes me curiously. “I’ve already told you why I can’t,” he says, almost soothingly.

I stand up. Go around my chair, and drop back down into it. I start shaking my leg nervously. “I had this feeling in my gut since last night. Like I lost something precious, I just couldn’t put a finger on it… I still can’t, to be honest. All I know, in my loins, is that I can’t let you step down from your position, and I sure as hell won’t walk away on you without figuring out what this…” I wiggle my fingers, pointing to the mouth of my stomach, “feeling is about.”

He stares at me.

I stand up again, and this time I just pace, to the wall with the pictures, and stare at a bunch of faces, too similar to Peeta’s not to be related to him somehow.

“I know I’m not making sense, but I just needed to say that.”

He watches me for a long beat, weighing his options no doubt, before answering, “I can’t be your teacher, Katniss…” he sighs, and rubs his forehead, “because I’m afraid seeing you every week, without being able to touch you will be absolute torture.”

“Really?” I bite my lip, giving him an open once over, not feeling one iota self conscious about. “How come?”

Peeta huffs, avoiding my eyes. “I’d be wondering what your breasts look like the whole time.” He confesses, flatly. “I didn’t get a chance to see them last night, and it kept me awake an indecent amount of time.” He twists his lips, “I’m gonna be pinning the whole semester, whether you’re in the classroom or not, craving the taste of your juices in my tongue, and worse of all, I’ll probably embarrass myself, giving me involuntary hard on’s just fantasizing about you.”

I practically prowl towards him. “You poor thing,” I coo, pouting. “Would you go home to masturbate on the soiled pair of panties I left behind on that dirty, bathroom floor?” I ask… more like, purr, really.

Peeta chuffs out an incredulous laugh, covering his face with both hands. He grunts, “Aw, fuck! That sounds so… it’s probably exactly what could happen. I’d try to stay professional in the classroom, but in the privacy of my home…” he chuckles weakly, shaking his head.

“What kind of fantasies are we entertaining here?” I ask, invested, and sit on the corner of his desk.

Peeta thins out his mouth, “Katniss… that’s a slippery slope you’re trying to climb,” he warns.

“Humor me?” I cajole.

He takes a stuttering breath. “I’ll bring you into this office, same way I did today, except I’ll rip your clothes off, throw you on the desk and take you hard and fast. From behind.”

I can’t stop a small sound at the back of my throat, nor the need to rub my thighs together.

I clear my throat, “I expect you’d want to fuck me on every surface in this office?”

Peeta pulls on the collar of his shirt, his face turning crimson, “And probably the lecture hall as well,” he adds conversationally.

I nod, scooting closer to where he sits. “I’m curious too you know. I didn’t get to see ‘any’ part of you naked. But my muscles still are deliciously sore from last night. A girl has to wonder… just how big a dick has to be to cause so much wreckage?”

It doesn’t take much effort at all to work him up. Peeta’s pants are tented in what looks like the most uncomfortable erection ever; he shifts in his chair to try and hide the effect my words have on him, yet, his hands remain folded on his lap, white knuckled with the effort of keeping himself in check. He’s really committed not to touch me while I’m still his student, but he rasps a question, full of concern.

“Did I hurt you?” His eyes search me, earnestly. “I’m sorry I was too rough, really,”

My heart gives a little somersault. “No, Peeta. You were pure perfection. I loved how you handled me.”

His lips twitch, and I’m amazed at how expressive his face is, even partially hidden under his near facial hair. “You said you were hungry last night before you got on your knees…” I murmur, “I think, next time I’ll return the favor,”

“Next time?”

I slide closer to him, but we both keep our hands to ourselves.

I lick my lips, resisting the urge to drop on my knees between his legs and gobble up his cock. I didn’t lie about wanting to see him in all his naked glory, but I can show the same level of restraint he does; I respect him for trying to keep a moral and ethical compass.

I smirk at him, slyly. “Are you sure you wanna abandon your post as my professor, now that my education is on the balance? We can wait a handful of months, Doctor Mellark… I promise not to tease you,” With that, I mean, I promise not to aggravate what could potentially be the worst case of blue balls in the history of slow burns.

Peeta hisses a mirthless chuckle, “You’re too much of a temptation, even if you don’t actively try teasing me, Katniss,”

I start playing with the end of my braided, dark hair. “You know what I’m most really looking forward to, from when I’m no longer your student?” I pose, shyly, “Going to that dinner you mentioned last night.” I shrug one shoulder. “I’ll let you buy me a stack of pancakes to celebrate my graduation. I’ll probably introduce you to my sister, Primrose… and we’d go from there… if you wanted to…”

Peeta smiles, disarmingly. “I’d love that too, Miss Everdeen.” He says quietly.

I let go of my braid, and hug myself, “Stay in the class?” I practically beg one last time. “We can do it, I know we can. We can have a platonic, completely innocent teacher-student relationship until I’m done with college,”

Peeta shakes his head. “We’ll see after I talk to my head of department. Who knows, maybe all the schedules are already locked in place, and I have no other choice but to stay put. There’s no guarantee a replacement is available for me.”

“We’ll make it work!” I say enthusiastically.

“Maybe…” he sighs, not entirely convinced.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Time is running out, I gotta get to the pharmacy before my window of opportunity closes.

“Hey, Peeta… um, invasive, weird question?”

I wait for him to nod.

“Have you by any chance, have gotten a vasectomy at any point?”

“Mmm no, never had. Why?”

Aw shit!

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Hopefully no reason.” I say quickly, too nonchalant for my own good, and he catches on it, I can see the gears turning in his brain, “Okay,” I make a big show of yawning and stretching my arms, “I have to run some errands before going home and crashing for the night.”

Peeta cringes, “Are you… okay? Really, okay? You said you were sore?” His eyes rove over my face full of concern.

“I’m fine,” I smile, “nothing a long soaking in Epsom salts can’t cure.”

“Okay,” he says, unsure. “I don’t want to overstep any worse than I already have, but… I’ve been anxious, wondering if you were alright, if you got home fine to your sister since you left the club. Which, obviously you did… but, I wanted to kick myself for not asking your number, just to be able to check on you… and this is frown upon, a d completely unethical, but—“

“I’ll email you,” I say quickly. “Nothing explicit. But I’ll let you know I’m home and okay.” I’ve spoken to people in code before, this shouldn’t be a problem, and really, sending my professor an email with a time stamp and some innocuous question about the syllabus doesn’t have to be nefarious at all.

“Alright… Just let me know if there’s anything wrong, okay? I swear this won’t become a routine thing or anything, just this time, to give me peace of mind, and because it is late… and well, yesterday…”

“It’s fine, professor. I don’t mind. And… everything will work out,” I say shouldering my bag and pocketing my phone, “everything will work out, even if my Plan B doesn’t,” I smile and scurry out the door, before the puzzlement in his face has time to settle.

After all, a semester is only 15 weeks long, give or take… that’s plenty of time to figure things out.

#alliswell21 #animekpopxx #prompt 144 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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legoshi-plz · 4 years ago

Text

Touch (Legoshi x Reader)

Summary: Angst. Legoshi opens up to Reader one night about why he won’t touch her. (This is slightly Anti-Haru/Dark-Haru)

Warnings: NSFWish Themes. Manipulation, Coercion, etc.

////////

You were in bed currently freezing. It was winter which meant you and your boyfriend liked to keep the heat off so that you two didn’t get too hot cuddling, seeing as you were both wolves and grew thicker pelts during the colder months. However right now neither your pelt, nor blanket were any help in shielding you from the bitter December air. You looked over to Legoshi on the other side of the bed. He was curled into himself tightly and looked to still be awake.

“Goshi...” you cooed, running your fingers alone the fur of his back. He was insanely tense. “Why are you all the way over there?”

“Oh, I, uh, hadn’t noticed,” He was still a terrible liar.

“Well why don’t we fix that,” you wrapped your arms around him and hooked your leg over his waist. Usually he loved this position, always taking on the role of the little spoon like a champ but now he only tensed more. You retreated, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable.

“Is.... is there a reason you don’t want to touch me, Legoshi?” You’d seen him draw into himself before at times but never to this extent.

“N-no....”

“.... Is there a reason you don’t want me to touch you?”

“.....”

“Goshi...”

“Maybe, okay.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” You prompted after a moment.

“Would you be mad at me if I said ‘no’?” Legoshi peeked at you from over his shoulder.

“No, I wouldn’t be mad.” You said, almost reaching out to touch him again then stopping yourself. You were so used to showing Legoshi physical affection as a form of comfort, you were unsure of how to express it in other ways.

“Then... no...?” Legoshi said almost childlike, as if he were afraid of being scolded anyway.

“Then no.” You hopped off the bed and Legoshi immediately shot up into a sitting position.

“Y/N, wait! I didn’t mea-“

“Relax, Legoshi, I’m not going anywhere. I’m just turning on the heater,” you smiled, trying to quell the uneasy feeling in your gut. You could tell by the near fearful look in Legoshi’s eyes that whatever he was going through was bad and it hurt like hell that you couldn’t help him right now.

Once back in bed with the heat on and two extra blankets, one of which you offered to Legoshi, you began to try and relax your alert system. You knew he could feel when your hormones were on high alert so you figured the only thing you could really do for him now was relax and try to sleep, hoping it would inspire him to drift off himself.

“Y/N.... I’m sorry....” Legoshi groaned in the darkness, his back still turned to you.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” despite him not being able to see you, you turned to face his form anyways.

“I still love you, y’know?”

“I know, Goshi, I know.”

/////////////

The next morning you awoke to a blazing heat. Legoshi has attached himself with you during the night and both your bodies were so entangled, you weren’t sure where yours ended and his began.

“G’Morning,” Legoshi murmured into your neck, startling you slightly.

“You’re awake....” Legoshi hummed in response and seemed to embrace you tighter.

“Are you feeling better?” You asked, basking in the feeling of his limbs wrapped around yours. Once again he hummed in agreement.

“Are you... ready to talk about it? Or would you rather we drop the subject altogether?” Legoshi was silent for a moment, contemplating his options.

“We can talk about it.... over breakfast?”

The next thirty minutes found the two of you at the kitchen table with plates of eggs (Legoshi’s Favorite) and pancakes in front of you both. You were about to reach for the syrup when Legoshi started suddenly.

“Remember when I told you I had a little.... experience dating intraspecies?”

“Yeah I remember,”

“Well I guess I never really talked about it beyond that point but it was my first girlfriend actually. She was a rabbit and she was older than me.” Legoshi looked over to you and you nodded for him to continue.

“I was a virgin at the time and she... wasn’t,” Legoshi blanched at the memory, “I was fine with that though! It wasn’t a big deal for me but she was very... assertive about what she wanted. And I just wasn’t ready to give it to her. Not how she wanted.”

“So she laid the pressure on pretty heavy and eventually I just... caved. We did everything on her terms when and how she wanted it, even if it hurt,” Legoshi seemed he was saying this more to himself than to you.

“Hurt? Did you.... hurt her?” You kept your face neutral to let him know you weren’t going to pass any judgement regardless of what his answer was.

“No, not her. Whenever I would- when we- it’s such a vast size difference, y’know. So when I would... put it in.... it didn’t feel good for me. It actually hurt pretty badly, it was way too tight. But she enjoyed it so I just kinda... endured it.”

“She was aggressive, despite her size, and she didn’t really treat me as an equal. She usually got... satisfied by a number of different guys but since she was with me, I had to make up for all of them. That was the ultimatum, my devotion to her pleasure or her unfaithfulness. And you know better than anyone how possessive wolves can be, so the latter wasn’t really an option for me.” Legoshi gulped and closed his eyes. You were stunned into silence.

The very notion of a rabbit strongarming a wolf was almost comedic in its irony yet everything about this situation was the furthest thing from funny. You always knew your boyfriend was different than the average wolf. He was kind and soft and loving. He was a pacifist and he kept pet insects for crying out loud.

“I wasn’t really happy, being with her that is. But I felt like that was how it was supposed to be. That I was supposed to give her the final say because I was- since she was-“ Legoshi was grasping for words but nothing seemed to come out.

“Take your time, Goshi. I’m here,” you would have killed to be able to touch him, to let him know physically you weren’t going anywhere but you doubted that was what he needed right now when he was reliving these horrors.

“When we broke up I felt... worthless. For a long time. It was like I had lost all value beyond my body and I couldn’t even do that right apparently. So that’s why it’s hard for me to.... touch.... and be touched. I know I’m not with her anymore but sometimes my body just... repels touch. It makes me feel dirty, and pathetic, and like I’m right back there with her again.” As he said those words your heart was breaking.

“I’m so sorry, Legoshi.” You whispered, trying to fight the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. “But you aren’t any of those things. I know it doesn’t mean anything coming from me...”

“It means everything coming from you!” Legoshi reached over the table and grasped you hands in his own.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. And I know I’m a little messed up in the head but that’s never going to change how I feel about you.” You could tell Legoshi was sincere and meant every word of what he said.

“What can I do to help? How can I try to make it better?” You asked rubbing light circles on his hands with your thumb.

“There’s really not much you can do, it’s something I have to come to terms with on my own. Which I am, the process just isn’t always so smooth,” Legoshi chuckled without any real humor, “ but for now.... you could come over here.”

“Legoshi are you sure? I don’t wanna push you too far if you’re not comfortable?”

“I’m sure, I’m sure. Besides, even though my body repels touch sometimes, it doesn’t stop me from missing you like crazy.” You could hear the slight hunger in his voice, the yearning clear in his eyes. You walked around the table and perched yourself on his lap. His arms instantly curled themselves around your body, one hand ducking under your shirt to rub the fur of your back while the other administered loving strokes to your tail. He was semi-hard and you could hear a faint growl escape his lips as you adjust your self on top of him.

“I love you...” you purred, trailing feather light kisses along his jaw. Legoshi hummed in content.

“I love you too, Y/N, and I’m always going to do my best to show it,” he pledged, his arms tightened around you to hold you still while he ground his pelvis upwards into you. He was getting harder by the second and you could tell if you didn’t stop now, you were gonna get worked up.

“Let’s just eat breakfast for now, big boy. There’s plenty of time for all of that later,” you smiled, attempting to get up from his hold but he wasn’t budging.

“Five more minutes?” Legoshi asked, his hands sinking into the plush fur of your hip. He knew that spot was your weakness.

“Fine, five more minutes.” You grinned. You had a feeling the two of you weren’t going to make it to breakfast.

#beastars #beastars legoshi #beastars legoshi x reader #legoshi x reader #legoshi x you #beastars legosi #legoshi

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frostsinth · 4 years ago

Text

Royal Flush - Pt. 3

Prologue - Part 1|2 - Grier Art - MasterList

GAAAAAAAAH!! This part had me near screaming while I wrote it. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’m changing the tag from ‘slow burn’ to ‘angst’ I think, though I don’t doubt that both are rather fitting.

Thanks to everyone for all your support thus far! I love getting all the nice messages, comments, and reblogs. I re-read them when I need inspiration. Feel free to check out my MasterList above if you haven’t already, and BuyMeACoffee while you’re there if you want.

As always, shoot me a comment, ask, or DM if you have any questions. ENJOY!

The knock at the door didn’t surprise me. I had been expecting it, ever since the greys of the room had faded and the sunlight had crested the horizon. I didn’t know I could miss a window quite so much, and turned slightly to consider it as I sat up and slid my feet out of the bed. For at least now the passage of time could be as marked as my suffering. It had been a long, restless night. Every time I felt sleep brushing at the edges of my consciousness, a pair of scarlet eyes had filled it and startled me back awake. I dreaded facing those eyes now, and slowly pulled a tunic over my head. Leery of a repeat of the previous morning.

The new bedroom was larger than the guest quarters of the night before, and blessedly bare. The only furniture was the four poster bed, and a short, dark oak table set before a plush crimson cushioned couch. Hibik had scowled deeply at the “sorry state” of the room when he had brought me up the night before, but I had quickly assured him it was better this way. He had been saved only by the suggestion that I meet with the designer later and decorate the room to my own preferences (it had been his suggestion, but I had politely agreed).

I hoped the sleepless night wouldn’t show too heavily in my face, and ran my palm quickly over the top of my head to hopefully smooth the worst of my morning frizz. I didn’t linger long, as the second thunderous knock made me grit my teeth at the impatience of goblins. Honestly, you would think creatures so small would be used to having to take extra time to do things. Yet it seemed like they were more impatient to be finished with one task and move on to the next.

I moved from the bedchambers to the small foyer before the door to the rest of the castle. There were more rooms beyond the sleeping quarters, but I had not yet explored them fully. Now, it seemed I would be leaving them without the chance. Of course, I reminded myself somewhat bitterly, they were mine for the foreseeable future… Taking a deep, steadying breath, I straightened my shoulders and set my face into its stoney fixture. I took one last moment to brace myself with my fingers wrapped around the door handle before dropping it down to tug the door open.

My head dropped back as I looked not down (as I had set my gaze), but up. And up a little more. I couldn’t quite catch my eyes in time before they widened slightly, and scrambled to recover with a soft clearing of my throat.

It was not the goblin King who stood outside my door, nor Hibik or another goblin attendant. Instead, it seemed to be… well, I was pretty sure it was a goblin, based upon the long pointed nose, grey-green skin, and huge ears. But it, or more “he”, was taller than even I was! At least a head, with beady yellow eyes that filled with his toothy grin as we took each other in. He was leaning against one lean, muscular arm propped against the door frame, and his ears flopped as he titled his head to the side when I opened the door.

“Good morning, Your Highness!” He exclaimed, thick brow knitting slightly and one raising up in a quizzical expression. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. Did I wake you?”

“Erm, not at all, My Lord…?” I recovered from my shock quickly, and left the end of my greeting hanging to allow for introductions. I certainly hoped I wasn’t supposed to know this man already.

He gave a snort, waving his hand through the air. “No ‘Lord’, Your Highness.” I almost gritted my teeth at the lack of proper titles in use at this castle. “I am Damjan. General of His Majesty’s Armies.”

I tried not to stiffen visibly at that. A thousand thoughts quickly raced through my head, most prominently the one wondering what the man likely most responsible for the untold losses of my Kingdom would be doing standing at my door. I felt a stab of resentment at the sight of him, remembering the scent of stale blood and soft wails of anguish from the last time I had visited the frontlines. Was this the ploy? I felt anger bubbling in my stomach. Set me off balance, push me to the very edges of my emotions and let me have a sleepless night. Then have the General of their Armed Forces interrogate me. Ply me for secrets. My jaw tightened. They would get nothing from me, of that I was quite determined.

I wasn’t sure if his friendly smile was more aggravating or comforting with such thoughts and memories rattling around in my brain. I offered the older man a curt nod, working extra hard to keep my voice flat.

“A pleasure to meet you, General Damjan. To what do I owe this honor?”

If he noticed that I spoke at him through my teeth, he didn’t show it. He dropped his arm from the door frame, his athletic body moving with a military grace I found myself pleasantly familiar with. He cupped his hands in the small of his back, presenting himself with his feet shoulder width apart.

“I have been asked to escort you to the training cliffs,” He informed me, his professional expression breaking slightly to let the edge of a smirk cuff his thin lips, “As of today, I will be your personal instructor.”

“By whose authority-” I started, my voice growing a sharp edge.

“Come along, Your Highness,” He interrupted, turning and marching down the hall, “Let’s get a taste of what you know.”

Put off my guard, I stifled a sigh. Just a breath’s delay more, and I stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind me. I had to lengthen my stride to catch up to him, but soon fell into step at his side down the obnoxiously loud and cluttered hallways.

I couldn’t help staring at him out of the corner of my eye. Wondering what freak genetic mix-up had placed the disproportionate, lanky goblin frame in such a huge body. I quickly darted my eyes forward as I saw his flick to the corner to consider me as well.

“Something I can help you with, Your Highness?” He asked lightly, sounding amused.

I shook my head, tucking my hands behind my back as we marched along. “Apologies, I forget myself.” I replied, fully expecting a barrage of insults or a reprimanding for my insubordination.

He chuckled instead, and I glanced at him again out the corner of my eye. “I can understand your confusion. But I assure you, I am a goblin.” He cocked his head to the side, and a mischievous smirk twisted the corners of his lips. “Half, at least.”

I managed to keep my stoney face in place, but nodded politely. “I beg your forgiveness for my slight. I did not mean to intrude upon your personal life.”

He gave another soft chuckle. “A glance is hardly an intrusion!” He exclaimed, turning and leading me down a separate hall. I noticed the torches seemed to be lit on our path, whereas other hallways remained dark. “And I am proud of my heritage. My mother was an orc, you see,” He continued, bypassing a dark hallway for a lit passage again, “And my father was… well… he was ambitious.”

I barely managed to stifle the laugh that formed in my nose. Ambitious indeed! I could almost picture it, a sprightly little goblin trying to romance a behemoth orc. I pursed my lips to keep from smiling. But the humor quickly faded as I remembered just exactly who this half-goblin was.

“I have never met an orc,” I intoned dryly, “I imagine their prowess as warriors has served you well, General Damjan.”

He seemed to sense the rising tension, and shrugged it away. “I was raised beneath this very mountain, so I imagine I wouldn’t know.” He paused at a darkened intersection, turning his head to consider me properly. “But I do not share their views on war, and am more than happy to retire at a young age. Relatively speaking.”

That stopped me in my tracks, and I met his gaze with steel as I turned to face him as well. The unspoken words on my lips in my eyes. What about all those men who would not get to retire? What of all the soldiers who never saw an age beyond “too young”? We squared each other up, soldier to soldier. I had seen a few battles, and he had seen a few too many. But the history of the last decade aside… The fact that a human and goblin soldier could stand across from each other in the same hallway? Without drawing swords or exchanging blows? Ten years ago it wouldn’t have even been imaginable. Five years ago it would’ve been our worst nightmare. As we eyed each other, we both came to the same quiet acknowledgement, and I felt a strange contentment wash over me. He offered me a stiff, respectful nod, and I returned it graciously. Honestly. And that was that.

It was a good reminder of what once was and what was to come, and I felt suddenly glad that I was going to be a part of it. In whatever capacity. This new peace… it was for the better. For both Kingdoms. I studied his face briefly as he snapped his heels together to lead the way back down the hallway once more. The exchange having succeeded in loosening the unspoken tension between us, a familiar goblin grin returned to his face.

“Now, let’s see what you’ve already got, Your Highness.” His grin grew a little. “And what you’ve got left to give.”

…...….

I sensed more than saw the set of eyes on me. As I dodged and ducked under another fast paced swing from the half-goblin’s meaty fist, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. But if Damjan noticed our new observer, he gave no sign. If anything, his attacks became even faster. I moved my feet quickly, tightening my core and flexing my thighs to bound back and forth out of the way. I saw his feint for what it was and spun easily on the ball of my foot, jabbing my elbow towards him.

He grunted as the blow landed against his raised defense, yet was not so easily defeated. His hand caught the back of my neck, and his own elbow shot towards my face. I twisted from his grasp, forcing my shoulder into his chin then sliding my foot out as he fell off balance. Sweeping him off his feet.

General Damjan landed heavily with an even louder grunt than before. I drew in a sharp breath, looking down at him with my fists still balled, instantly regretting my brashness. I had gone too far, knocking him off his feet. I fully expected him to be angry with me for besting him, my host and senior. Not to mention our tentative peace; would he take this slight as a personal insult? Had I taken the spar too seriously? I took a few steps back, panting slightly as the sweat dripped over my shoulders. Already planning out my apology and preparing for the worst.

But the big green fellow suddenly laughed, and I looked at him with surprise. Wiping the back of one over sized hand across his forehead, he rolled back to his feet.

“Good match!” He exclaimed and I almost winced as he reached out. For of course there would be repercussions for having embarrassed my new instructor. But his heavy hand simply clapped me on the shoulder proudly. “You’re stronger than you look!”

I glanced up at him, beaming down at me with his pointed teeth. “...Thank you.” I replied finally, slowly loosening my stance as I realized this was no feint. “I found our spar quite… educational, General.”

He laughed again, dropping his hand and stretching. “Let’s do it again, Your Highness. You’ll keep me in my fighting prime.” He winced slightly, running his hand over the grey streaks in his short cropped hair. “My old age prime.” Then he cocked his head to the side, big ears flopping. “Tomorrow morning sound good?”

I offered him a curt nod, straightening back into my square shouldered formality. “I look forward to it.”

The half-goblin grinned again, bumping my shoulder companionably with his as he strode past me. I turned with the force of the gesture, absorbing the blow and spinning lightly on my heels with it, watching him head over to the ring wall where we had left our towels.

I stiffened at the sight of the goblin King leaning against it, an equally toothy grin on his own face. Luckily, my face was already flushed from the heat of the day and the strenuous activity. I was sure he wouldn’t notice it had darkened a few more shades. I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. Who else would make the hairs on the back of my neck rise quite like that? Still, it was the first time I had seen him since… the embarrassing misconduct.

Damjan gave the King a respectful half-bow, and I used their temporary distraction to consider my options. But there was no avoiding him, though I glanced out the corner of my eye to absolutely assure myself of that. The memory of the previous night had me hotter at the collar than the sparring match, and I steeled my gaze and my nerve as I slowly paced over to the wall.

“... Your Majesty,” I almost mumbled, nodding to him respectfully.

He held out my towel to me, still grinning like a fool. “You’re a good fighter.” He said as I gingerly took the cloth from his outstretched hand. “I am glad Damjan was available today.”

“You sent him.” I concluded. As I had expected, though no one would confirm it for me.

Grier cocked his head to the side. “You said you enjoyed training and sparring. I figured most of our soldiers would be no match for you, simply on account of their size, but the General might be more your level.”

“Yes, I found him a challenging opponent.” I replied formally, glancing down at the towel in my hands and resisting the urge to shift on my feet again.

“Perhaps we can spar sometime,” The King offered eagerly, “I would love to see if I might be an equally worthy challenge.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, and said nothing for a long moment. “...As you wish.”

I felt his scarlet eyes running over me, and was careful to keep my facade of stoicism uncracked in the face of his scrutiny. His smile returned, and he leaned down on his elbows over the wall. He was outlandishly dressed again, his tight shirt a faded orange pinstripe with a collar almost down to his navel and washed-out, billowing black pants with green embroidery. I wondered briefly if he owned a single article of clothing even mildly subdued in nature.

I wrung the towel in my hands, feeling very self-conscious standing before the goblin bare chested again. Though this time I was also coated in sweat and dust from the dirt ring. I rubbed one foot into the ground, longing to look away from those bright beady eyes. Struggling to find some words to say but finding everything wholly inadequate. The hot sun beat down on my bare shoulders, and I swallowed the dry lump in my throat. I began wiping down my arms with the rough cloth as an excuse to break our eyes apart.

“... Come, I am sure you would like to wash up. ” He exclaimed, straightening once more. “And the day is early yet, perhaps you would like some breakfast? Some tea perhaps?”

I hesitated again, chancing a glance up at him through my dark lashes. He had already begun to make his way back between the walls of the barracks, and paused, looking over his shoulder at me. He gathered my boots and shirt from where I had left them while he waited. I sighed internally, then placed one hand on the low wall of the ring. Hoping over it as easily as opening a door. I saw his scarlet eyes watching me intently as I did, and thought I saw his lips twitch slightly. He tossed me my things as I got closer. I dropped my gaze with the pretense of pulling on my boots, following after him as he finally turned and led the way back into the castle proper.

Once again, each windowless hallway we passed down had torches lit while others we passed by were so dark they appeared to be walls of black to my weak human eyes. I noticed Grier shooting a glance over his shoulder at me as we passed another such intersection, his red eyes glinting in the firelight.

“What are your feelings on magic?” He asked, his tone light.

“In what regards, Your Majesty?” I returned warily, following into a small side room which was still shrouded in mostly darkness.

I blinked a few times to clear my vision as he lit a few lanterns about the room. It appeared to be a small washroom, set with basins of clear water. I looked around carefully, considering the decadent mirrors that framed my sweat and dirt caked form now edged with the soft yellow glow. The basins flowed like small fountains, with fresh water pouring from intricately carved patterns in the walls. The water pooled in deep stone basins, then trickled over the edges into the pitted floor below before descending into some unseen place. I walked over to one curiously, as Grier gathered up a clean towel from a stack of linens in the corner.

“Goblins are quite practiced in magic,” He replied, wandering back over with a vivid red towel in hand, “It is integrated heavily into our days. Small magic for that, granted. Little charms and enchantments mostly. I do not believe it to be as common in human culture.”

I dipped my hands experimentally in the basin that stood at my waist. The water was cool and refreshing to the touch, and I cupped a small amount in my palms. It glistened beautifully in the lantern light, almost unnaturally. I brought my face down to splash it over my cheeks experimentally. It felt somehow crisper than normal water, and I watched the drops from my face shoot ripples across the surface below. A distorted reflection of my face peered back at me, and I ran my hand back through the water again to break my own gaze. I was very consciously aware of the watching eyes as I brought my wet hands over the back of my neck.

“I have little experience with it,” I said stiffly, “Except for-”

I stopped short, hesitating. I slowly ran water up my arms and shoulders, swallowing and half-hoping he wouldn’t notice the slip. I saw him tilt his head to the side in the mirror above the basin. I almost sighed. No such luck then.

“Except for?” He prompted, taking a few steps closer with a small smirk dancing on his lips.

I didn’t answer for a moment, dropping my gaze down to the surface of the water again. “... Except for the magic used against us on the battlefront.”

“Ah... yes,” I heard him shuffle, then give a nervous laugh, “I would apologize for that, but it seems tasteless to do so…” I glanced over at him as he came around to stand facing me, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. “... I am pleased that I can assure you that our magic will only be a boon to your people now,” He cocked his head to the side slightly, holding out the towel to me, “And it gives me no small amount of relief to be able put this war behind us.”

I took the towel gingerly, making a point not to meet his eyes. I felt his fingers brush mine and tried not to stiffen noticeably. Unfortunately, I had never managed to master a flushing face. I prayed he wouldn’t notice the subtle darkening of my skin, and if he did, would choose not to comment.

“I was not, however, asking simply for the conversational effect,” He continued as I patted at my face with the surprisingly soft towel, “But to gauge your willingness to be charmed.”

I froze, looking up at him with the towel pressed against the lower half of my face. I had managed to keep the worse of my surprise from my eyes, yet judging from the twitch at the corners of his mouth, I hadn’t managed to completely hide it.

“I am afraid I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty.” I breathed after a moment, composing myself.

He waved one three fingered hand in the air, smiling brightly. “Well, I am quite the charmer myself, if you don’t mind me saying. I would certainly be willing to put a spell on you.”

I turned away, clearing my throat and twisting the towel in my hands. So it was finally time for the conversation I had dreaded. My ears felt like they were on fire, and I cleared my throat.

“I beg your forgiveness for my rude behavior-” I started quickly, spilling out the words I had been practicing all night.

“Rude behavior?” He interjected, sounding surprised.

“My actions were improper.” I continued, trying to remember the rest of the rehearsed speech. Though his interruption had been unplanned, and let me a little lost. “I acted brashly, and hope you will not take them the wrong way.”

His silence sent a tingling spark down my spine, and raised the hairs on my arms. I gathered up my shirt, pulling it over my head with my back still to him. When he still didn’t answer, I slowly turned, carefully to keep my face expressionless as I tucked the edges of the tunic into my pants. I wasn’t sure if he had ever gone so long without speaking, at least not in my experience.

Scarlet eyes were waiting for me when I turned, and perhaps it was my imagination, but he seemed a little paler than usual. He managed a small, crooked grin that didn’t reach his eyes, and a chill rattled through me.

“... I was talking about casting a charm on your eyes. So you can see in the dark as we do…” He clarified quietly, then his eyes dropped. “But I don’t believe that’s what you are talking about.”

I blanched, my stomach turning over in somersaults. I very much wished at that moment to turn and bolt. Back out to the training cliffs perhaps, to have Damjan crack his fist into my face. Or to the empty tower bedroom, to throw myself out the window. Anywhere but in that small washroom across from the goblin King.

By some small miracle, I managed to keep my composure. I tucked my hands behind my back and squared my shoulders. Denying even to myself the absolute chaos that reigned in my head at that moment.

“My apologies, Your Majesty-”

“Grier.” He interrupted, perhaps a bit too harshly. The goblin stopped short, seeming to catch himself in surprise at his own tone. I saw him chew at his own cheek. “...You were talking about our kiss.”

I didn’t answer, my tongue feeling heavy and dry in my mouth. Maintaining my stony composure even as he began fiddling with the collar of his shirt. As per usual, I found myself without words. I scrambled, thinking over everything else we had talked about.

“I… I would want to know more about the magic,” I started, deciding ignoring the conversational switch had ever happened was the most polite thing to do, “Before I agreed to it. I do not have any charm experience.”

“Obviously.” The King snorted, and I felt my spine twitch at that.

I kept my gaze level though as he turned his attention back to me. In his eyes, something flickered; not quite anger, nor sadness. Something somewhere in the middle. Finally, he waved his hand in the air again, brushing aside the strained silence.

“But we have business to attend to, Prince Nikostratus.” He stated, then with lithe grace pushed himself off the wall with his shoulders and strode to the door. “I sent for Hibik to bring over the Treaty for our final review.” His usually languid stride was quicker, and I had to lengthen my own to keep up. “I thought it might be most poetic to sign them in the War Room, if you are in agreement.”

His voice was light and airy. As if whatever tension from just moments before had never happened in the first place. But as he continued on, babbling some nonsense about converting the War Room to some other purpose, I noticed it was distinctly too light. Too airy. His laughter was flat, and his toothy grin didn’t reach his eyes. I wondered if he was perhaps more insulted than I had initially thought; perhaps in goblin culture I had offered him some slight. I racked my brain over the memory of the previous evening, trying to pinpoint exactly where I had insulted him. If I didn’t know, then I could certainly never be sure I wouldn’t accidentally do it again.

I barely noticed as he led us into the large room, centered around a huge oval table with the world mapped out in intricate detail. Like all the other rooms, it was cluttered, though less with fabrics and mirrors. Instead, there were bits and pieces of armor, as well as swords and maces and pikes and numerous other weapons. They were… displayed, for the most part. Though a fair few looked as though they had been taken from their place, fiddled with, then never quite put back. I made my way over to the table, studying the intricate carved mountains and painstaking details of the plains and forests. It was actually quite beautiful, and I reached out to delicately stroke the polished edge.

I realized a silence had settled, and turned to find Grier watching me, his own hands clasped behind his back. I belatedly came to the conclusion that I had completely zoned out and stopped listening to whatever he had been saying. I removed my hand from the table like a child who had been caught at the sugar jar and cleared my throat. I noticed the corners of his mouth twitch, though somehow those deep red eyes managed to look a bit sadder.

I dropped my own eyes, and shuffled slightly. “Your Maj… King Grier,” I started, and the words felt heavy in my mouth. I felt my composure waver slightly, and tried not to let my guard down as I turned to face him properly. “I feel I should… “

“You have nothing to explain.” He assured me, his voice strangely thin. “I meant what I said last night.” I winced slightly, and he sighed heavily at that, sounding resigned and more than a little disappointed. “I will never ask more than you are willing to give.”

I was saved from having to scramble for some form of answer for him yet again by the sound of the door opening and the appearance of Hibik, arms overflowing with parchment. A step behind him was Damjan, who gave me a hearty grin when my eyes settled on him. And behind him… was Gareth.

I felt my back tighten at the sight of my guard, whom I had hardly expected to see here. I had thought him long gone from the region. His lips were tight, his eyes dark. There was an unkept scruff on his chin and cheeks that suggested he had not had the most relaxing two days. I squared my shoulders again, meeting his gaze with as much unwavering confidence as I could muster. Raising back up the walls I had foolishly allowed lowered just moments before. He offered me an overly formal and polite bow. Hibik’s ears bounced as he too bowed to me, handing me a copy of the Treaty, then bustled over to hand another to the King. Damjan dropped his heavy hand on my shoulder, and I jerked a little under the weight.

“ A historic day indeed, Prince Nikostratus.” The General exclaimed, still grinning. “And an early retirement for me!”

I offered him a polite nod, listening with half an ear as Hibik explained something about the need for witnesses. I watched Gareth out of the corner of my eye, but my old guard seemed to be making a point not to look at me. The goblins, varied in shape and size as the three of them were, seemed so very animated compared to the two of us. In fact, their chatter and gestures made me feel like a statue, and I clenched my teeth a little tighter for the fact of it. I couldn’t see the words on the page before me, but moved my eyes as if I was reading them anyways. Wave of emotion after emotion hit me, so fast and powerful I couldn’t even begin to register them before the next one rushed through.

Here was my mentor, a man who once had been one of the few people I would call my friend. He had also been a childhood friend of my mother’s and my only connection to her once she passed. There had been many years I had looked up to Gareth, and many spent training in his direct shadow. I had become a soldier because of him; and now I knew, above all else, that I had committed a crime barely shy of treason in his eyes. The distant way he addressed me, the cold anger that even now I could feel bleeding from him. I felt my own temper flare. What else could he have expected from me?? Allow my sister to be wed in my place? Allow my kingdom to fall to ruin?

I was glad we had spent so much time discussing and debating the previous day. It meant I didn’t have to worry that I absorbed none of the words my eyes ran over. Of course, that also meant I trusted Hibik, and in turn, Grier, to have transposed our agreements honestly and without malintent. I wondered briefly if they had guessed the effect Gareth’s presence would have on me, and had planned this moment. But one last glance at the edge of my vision, where the man stood with a chiseled expression that just barely held his rage, and I decided I would much rather trust my life to the goblins.

“If you are ready, Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Hibik intoned.

Grier nodded, and I thought him overly subdued despite himself. I didn’t have time to linger on it though. My heart raced and my head swirled as the parchments were placed on the notary stand and an inkwell was brought forth. Grier signed first, and I saw his mouth set in a tight line as he did. I felt equal measures of guilt and pain at the sight, which was quickly replaced by a heavy weight that settled on my squared shoulders as Hibik passed the pen to me. I tried not to hesitate. Tried to move with a befitting grace and poise. But my hand shook a little as I brought the quill back from the inkwell. Luckily, Grier would be the only one who would be able to see that. And I hoped he would not begrudge me the fear that drowned out all the sounds of the room as I brought the tip to the page.

I felt numb as I stepped back from the notary stand, passing the quill back to Hibik. I saw Gareth and Damjan exchanging looks that looked more akin to threats than peace, and could feel the tension in the air as palpably as if someone had filled the room with water. Hibik was dutiful and meticulous, however, and quickly sanded both signatures. He delicately rolled one copy, sealing it with wax and the Royal Goblin Crest before passing it to me.

Gareth stepped over, a lingering distrust in his eyes as he considered not only Damnjan, but even tiny little Hibik. I tensed as he squared up to me, bowing ever so slightly. The rest of the room forgotten.

“Your Highness.”

“Sir Gareth,” I greeted him formally, trying not to spit the words, “I trust you are well.”

“As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” He replied, his tone so cold it burned. I felt his disapproval like a knife in my chest, and tried to stand a little taller in the face of it. He bowed his head slightly again. “... Your Highness.”

The way he added my title almost as if an afterthought might as well have been a slap to the face. And the malice in his eyes�� I felt my pulse falter at it. But there was no going back now, and despite his disapproval… I knew this was for the best. I had to believe that.

“Your sister sends word,” He interjected, even as I opened my mouth to speak again, “She believes you have been held against your will.” I saw his eyes flicker over my shoulder ever so briefly as my retort died in my throat at the mention of my sister. “... It is not an uncommon belief.” My free hand clenched into a fist, so tight the knuckles turned near white.

I steeled my jaw, knowing his intent to cause me as much anguish as he could. “Assure her I am well, and enter into this Treaty of my own free will.”

His sneer was hardly perceptible to the less trained eye, as his fixed features barely shifted. But I knew him too well. “Your Highness speaks of the Marriage Contract, I believe?” Again, he didn’t give me time to respond. “... She wants to see you.”

My heart sank in my chest and I almost broke. The numbness in my breast had spread, and I could hardly believe I was still standing. I tucked my fisted hand behind my back. I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing it shake.

“No.”

Gareth’s head cocked to the side. “Surely Your Highness has not forgotten the Princess’ tenacity already?” I wanted nothing more to punch the arrogance right off his face, and felt my eyes narrow slightly. “If you try to deny her, she will still find a way.” His face softened slightly for fondness of her. “Regardless of any attempts to detain her.”

I knew he was right. My sister was nothing if not intelligent, perceptive, and endlessly persistent. A drive that got her into trouble almost as much as it got her out of trouble. But the thought of her coming here? I almost shuddered. As though seeing her might remind the goblins of their initial marriage arrangement plan. And Morgana knew me far too well; I would never be able to convince her I was safe and happy if I brought her here. To the castle that made my head pound with the disorder and chaos.

“Your sister is welcome here.” Came a light voice from my shoulder.

I didn’t look at Grier, I didn’t need to, and felt the hairs on the back of my neck quiver as he moved to stand at my side, considering the guard before me. His scarlet eyes were filled with an unfamiliar chill. His disdain for the man hardly hidden.

“No.” I repeated firmly, my own anger barely kept in check and bleeding ever so slightly into my voice. “...Not here.”

“The border then.” Gareth decided, and I could have slapped him for his insubordination. I saw the glint in his eye daring me to. Proving to him what he had already decided.

Thankfully, Grier stepped in before I decided if I would, slipping the sealed Treaty from my clenched fist at my side. Physically putting his smaller form between the two of us. Forcing the soldier’s eyes to focus on him.

“Two days time, at the Northern Border. Noon, and no later.” He ordered him, then held out the treaty. “I trust you will be able to handle the safe delivery of this to your King?” One slender brow twitched. “Or shall I send an escort?”

The authority of his tone was undeniable, and again I found myself impressed with the strength of his execution. Despite being a foot shorter than both of us, his presence was powerful, and demanded respect. No quarters were given, no room for argument.

Gareth was forced to take a step backwards to keep the ample space required for royalty at the goblin King’s intrusion. I delighted in his outrage at having to do so, but knew he was far too wary of his tense standing with the goblins to act in any way that might be even remotely disrespectful. I saw him grit his teeth, then dip into a bow at the waist.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” He took the parchment as graciously as he could, his voice hard.

“You are dismissed.” Grier ordered, even as the guard opened his mouth to speak further.

I wished I could somehow record the moment. The way his eyes flashed, the way his open mouth stayed that way, shock in every corner and crack of his stoic mask. I would have enjoyed revisiting it on future days. He cast me a final, borderline treasonous look, then straightened. Spinning on heel and marching out.

“All of you,” Grier waved his hand indistinctly after the man had made his exit, “Out.” I started to follow Hibik and Damjan, but was stopped in my tracks as the King quickly added. “Not you.”

I paused, glancing after the other goblins as they slowly closed the door behind them. My pulse raced, and I was hardly in the best place to keep my guard up. I struggled to keep my lingering anger in check, turning to face Grier with my hands clasped behind my back. I built the mask back up, piece by piece, soldering each into place. Leaving nothing but a cold stone statue to face the goblin King.

He took a long, slow breath, standing by the notary table, looking down at the parchment there. As he let it out through his teeth, I felt my own breath hitch in my mouth.

“So it is done.” He said finally, then reached out to trace the edge of the contract lightly with one finger. “For better or for worse.”

Most definitely worse, I thought quietly to myself. But said nothing. The numbness was returning. The weight of the rest of my life laying itself one brick at a time before my eyes. My breathing was shallow and thin, and I felt light headed. Yet still I stood, in silence. Staring down the man that was soon to be my husband.

“It has been a long day,” He continued, then chuckled softly, “And it is not even noon.” Scarlet eyes swept over to me. “Are you hungry?”

I shook my head, hardly feeling the motion. “No, Your Majesty.” My voice sounded distant, even to my ears, and painfully cold.

He sighed again, shaking his head and placing his hands on his hips. “I’ll take you to your rooms then.”

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t give an answer, stepping to the side to allow him to lead the way out of the chamber. I felt my eyes dart a final time to the Treaty on the stand, felt the lump forming in my throat. I didn’t linger long, and was soon following the King down the hallways.

I didn’t bother to try and keep stock of our path. I walked through a fog of my own design, each step heavier than the last. Each thought more painful than the one before. I wondered in that moment if I would ever see my Kingdom again. If I would ever see the castle where I was born, or walk among my people. I was a pariah now, an outcast. In signing the Treaty that sealed their peace, I had also signed my death to them. I would never be accepted at court, most especially after we held an official ceremony. Least of all was the fact that I knew my father would disown me in whatever way he could without completely nullifying the Treaty. But for all that… I had brought peace. I had saved lives. Even as I tallied my losses and as visions of my dreary future paraded before me, I could hold that close to my heart. Like a balm to soothe the other pains.

I nearly ran into Grier as we reached the door to my quarters in the high tower. So lost was I in my thoughts. He shouldered open the door, gesturing for me to enter before lingering for a moment in the doorway. I would have groaned, had I less restraint. He had something more to say. And I wasn’t sure I had the strength to take one more beating that day.

“... Prince Nikostratus,” He began finally, seeming to carefully pick his words even as he spoke them, “I cannot begin to fathom what you are… feeling… or thinking…” He straightened, running one three fingered hand over the stone doorframe. “But I… I can not press enough that you never need to do anything you are uncomfortable with. And…” He took a deep breath, “And I apologize that I cannot just pretend it never happened as you do, but if last night… if that was the only kiss I shall ever receive from you… Then...” He hesitated, dropping his eyes, “Then... I will treasure it... For it is not your fault you are marrying a fool…” He shifted again, unable to stand still. “I just had to let you know that. And to know that you owe me nothing. Ever. You have already given more than enough in the service of your people.”

I faltered at his words, my heart racing at an alarming pace in my breast. The anger bubbled up in me, and my hands purled back into fists behind my back. Was this to be my life? Endless back and forth emotional assaults? Would I ever be given more than a sleepless night to just-

I grabbed the door in my hand as he moved to close it, and his eyes widened in surprise. I watched them look me up and down briefly, and took a step back, gesturing with my free hand. His pronounced brow jumped up at that, and I saw him draw in a sharp breath. But then he stepped into the foyer. I closed the door behind him, facing it for a moment while I composed myself. And tried to figure out what the hell I was doing anyway. I berated myself for my brash impulsiveness. Tried to sort through my spinning thoughts.

I turned back to him, standing with a very puzzled look on his face. I opened my mouth, but realized… I still hadn’t decided what I wanted to say. So I was forced to shut it again.

“... You owe me no explanation,” He offered, raising his palms as if to show me he was unarmed, “I need no apology. It was not my intent to make you feel guilty, or trapped.”

“Your Majesty-”

“I just needed to tell you. I am not like you; I wear my emotions on my sleeves,” He offered a light laugh as the words seemed to gush out of him, “Honestly, I found I am beginning to wonder if humans even have emotions. Or maybe it is just Royals. I have little experience with either you see.”

“I-”

“I mean no insult,” He said quickly, interrupting me again, “It will just be an adjustment. Or, or I suppose we can just keep it to the basics, yes?” He tapped his chin, “Some sort of schedule or routine. Whatever you are comfortable with. Limited to whatever capacity you want.”

“Your Majesty-”

“I mean professionally, of course!” He rushed to add, “I understand if our… private arrangements are to remain separate. I am sure that we can come to something comfortable for you, I mean, and you just need to tell me what that is. I don’t want to assume and therefore end up in an uncomfortable situation. Because honestly, I-”

“Oh, would you just, SHUT! UP!” I snapped finally, “Just shut up! SHUT UP! For two, goddamn, bloody seconds. Just-”

I cut myself off, realizing not only had I spoken out loud, my voice had risen to an almost disturbing volume. That, and the fact that the goblin King was staring at me with eyes the size of dish saucers. I stared back at him for a long moment. Then I felt myself crack, and shook my head. It was too late now. I’d already yelled at the King... Might as well let it all out.

“I just… By the Gods you are so absolutely…” I started, then dropped off again. I began to pace, from one side of the room to the other. I felt like with each step, a little bit more of my composure dropped away. “Do you realize how ridiculous… You think that just because I don’t spew my emotions everywhere every time I speak I don’t have any??” I managed to control my volume a bit better, but the tone was still harsh. “I just. Want. Two. GODDAMN SECONDS. Just let me breathe! Please, for the sake of the Gods and all that is…” I jerked to a halt, glaring at him, clenching and unclenching my fists. “You just make me so… I just… GAH!” I threw up my hands, pacing back and forth again.

For his part, Grier watched my track, following me with his scarlet eyes. He remained frozen in place, a million things flashing across his face as he stared. But I didn’t have the patience to try and sort them out. I was exhausted, worn out, and sick of it all. I stopped in front of him again, throwing up my hands one last time before crossing them over my chest.

“So there!” I snapped. “You broke me. Congratulations. You see the cogs behind the, what, let’s call it ‘seriousness’, shall we?” I clenched my jaw to keep it from shaking. “How surprising that the human statue has feelings.” I waited barely a breath, but when he didn’t answer, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Well?? You’ve really nothing to say now?”

To my surprise, a small, coy smile played across his thin lips. He offered his hands, palms up again, giving a small shrug. “You told me to, what was it? ‘Just shut up’... Remember?”

I almost laughed at that, but instead heaved the heftiest of sighs, lifting my hand up and pinching the bridge of my nose between two fingers. I felt my anger starting to ebb away, and regret was quickly taking its place.

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” I breathed, “I am… very tired… And that was incredibly rude of me.” I winced, my face falling, “I would beg your forgiveness, and will throw myself at your mercy.”

He did laugh, loud enough for the both of us, and it made me jump slightly. “At my mercy? Good lord, where do you humans come up with these things?” He shook his head, wild hair dancing about his shoulders. “It is I who should apologize, my young Prince. I should not have pushed you. Which is ironic, as I was trying to do exactly the opposite…” He sighed as well, though lightly, shaking his head again, “I just thought that… well, I know what humans think of my kind, and last night when you…” He cleared his throat, looking down at his feet and shuffling them. “It confused me, but you have certainly set me straight, and I assure you it will not-”

“That’s not what I meant.” I interrupted, then flinched. Even going so far as to take a step back as if the King might strike out at me. But he merely looked up at me curiously. “... What I said earlier… My apology.” I swallowed hard. “It was not… ah…”

I dropped off, flustered, and rubbed at the back of my neck. Why was this so damn hard? It was like every word I knew had fled from my mind. And each strange thought and emotion this man caused to rise up inside me had no name, no label. No way for me to describe it to myself, let alone to him. He waved his hand errantly, as if he was detached from the situation. Though I didn’t believe it for a second. There was too much eagerness at the edges of his voice when he spoke next.

“Please, spare my feelings and speak honestly, my young Prince.”

I swallowed hard again, dropping my gaze politely. “I… I simply meant that it was improper of me to…” I cleared my throat, unable to say the word, “It was… unwarranted and impolite. I was certain you would take it as an insult, to be… assaulted in such a manner.”

“Assaulted?” He echoed, his lips curling back into the toothy smile. “I would hardly call a kiss an assault,” He cocked his head to the side, his grin becoming arrogant, “Especially when I already had my hand on your knee, as I recall.”

I felt my face growing hot at his words, and the memory they recalled, but buried my embarrassment and attempted to return my face and tone to be as flat as possible. “Such a thing, in any circumstances, is simply not done.”

“But you are my fiance,” he scoffed, “Surely you humans are not so uptight that kissing your intended is considered abuse?”

I had to purse my lips to keep them from quivering. “It is not common practice, to my knowledge.”

“Well then, I hope your knowledge on the matter is limited.” He laughed again, and moved a few steps closer. “So… You did not mistakenly kiss me?”

I took a step back, nearly stumbling. He paused, considering this, then fixed me with a new smile. I wasn’t sure I liked it. It made my heart rate erratic and brought more of those nameless emotions to my chest. I swallowed hard again.

“... No…” I admitted softly, and felt the same stabbing guilt at the confession as I had when I had admitted to him my preference in partners.

His grin grew to be almost unbearable, and I dropped my eyes. Then rubbed at the back of my neck. I saw him take a tiny step closer out of the corner of my eye.

“... Would it be too bold, then, to invite my betrothed to dinner?”

I stammered through a few useless phrases, and felt my face darken several more shades. Honestly, I was surprised the top of my head didn’t catch fire from the heat. My ears were painfully hot, and I rubbed at one as I tried to compose myself. I could see the goblin out of the corner of my eye, and couldn’t help but notice he seemed to be enjoying himself.

“I… ah…” I mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

“To give you a few hours for your own company,” He offered, “Or to rest, if you wish.” I started putting the mask back up, forcing myself to meet his gaze and opening my mouth once more. “Don’t.”

He closed the distance between us in a final stride, craning his head to look up at me and efficiently halting whatever false politeness or proper response I had planned.

“You don’t need to… hide behind… all that.” He gestured to my face, and then laughed at his own ridiculousness. “You can be yourself around me… if you want, of course. If you prefer to keep up your.. Let’s call it ‘seriousness’, shall we?” He smirked, and I managed to close my mouth. “If it makes you more comfortable, then by all means. But maybe I can see a little more of who you really are…”

I hilted a sigh, glancing off to the side. “...I don’t know who that is.” I confessed, my voice thin and weak.

I started slightly at the feeling of his hand brushing my jaw. I looked down at him, meeting his scarlet red eyes as his hand slid to cup my cheek

“Perhaps I can make a suggestion then?”

He had to stand on his tiptoes to brush his lips against mine. Instinctively, I started to pull back. His hand was light against me, and he let me retreat. But I paused, a hair’s breadth from his mouth, his breath on my face. Hesitating. Because, perhaps... that hadn’t been all that bad.

He waited a moment, likely to see if I would prefer he cease and desist. Giving me the opportunity to break away. When instead a quivering breath chased out from between my lips, he chased after them. Kissing me more sincerely. I hesitated again, feeling my eyes and heart flutter. He ran his fingers along my jaw, tracing up to nestle the tips behind my ear. Stretching up to me and kissing me so gently it made my head spin.

I lost myself in the sweet taste of his mouth. My arm came up, wrapping about his waist. Pulling him closer to me. Pressing his torso against mine. I curled down, letting him rock back onto the balls of his feet. I could taste his smile then, and felt our kiss deepen.

I jerked back after a moment, and quickly dropped my hands, staggering back a step.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize,” He ordered me, “Never apologize for actually taking something you want for once. For enjoying yourself for half a second.” His grin returned. “Especially when I enjoyed it too.”

I shook my head, unsure what else to do. He sauntered closer a step, but his proximity unsettled me again, and I matched it with a step back.

“In goblin culture,” he mused, staying a few paces away now, “It is quite expected for an intended couple to be physically affectionate towards each other.” He cocked his head to the side. “... Can I try again to tempt you with dinner?”

My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears, I almost didn’t hear his request. Finally, I nodded, if belatedly, and swallowed a lump in my throat.

“As you wish, Your-”

“If you say ‘Your Majesty’, I am going to scream.” He warned, flexing one elongated digit at me.

I pursed my lips, swallowing at the lump again. “... As you wish… Grier…”

His toothy smile returned quickly, and he beamed up at me like a fool. “Then I look forward to it.”

...

UPDATE: Part Four HERE

#goblin x human #goblin romance #goblin king #goblin lover #goblin husband #mlm #monster romance #monster lover #monster boyfriend #angst #slow burn #Royal Flush #royal marriage #monster marriage #terato #exophilia

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skullrock · 5 years ago

Text

the lovers - Steve Harrington x Reader

pairing: Steve x Reader

summary: you’re a college student working at the info desk at your local art museum. you meet Steve when his class comes in to see the latest exhibit. Steve keeps coming back to see you. awkward flirtations/cuteness ensues.

word count: 2,036 (I am sorry)

warnings: none!

a/n: hello!! this is my first oneshot in many years! please feel free to leave feedback/constructive criticism! my requests are open :)

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You enjoyed your job as an information desk attendant at the local art museum. It was nice to meet new people and listen to their observations about the exhibits. You loved art, too, and were currently majoring in it. Plus, on really slow days, you were able to get homework done. It seemed like the perfect job for a college student.

It was on one of those agonizingly slow days that you first saw Steve Harrington. You were waiting for an art class from your college in town to come look at the newest installation. Your job was to check the class in and take them to their guide. As the crowd of students flooded in, you scanned for any familiar faces, waving to a few. Your eyes landed on a boy, no older than you, standing towards the back of the group. You hadn’t seen him here before; you definitely would have remembered. Long hair, tall and toned, plush lips. He was the kind of beautiful that made your heart ache, the kind that deserved to be considered art.

He looked over at you, making eye contact, and you smiled at him, quickly looking down and moving to the front of the group. Once acquainted with their guide, you left to sit back at the desk. You picked up a textbook to study. It was pointless, though. You couldn’t get the boy out of your head.

You were surprised when he came back the next week. This time, he wasn’t alone. He came with a pretty girl with short brown hair and bright eyes. You knew her – Robin – from a class you had together last semester. As they approached, you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“Two student tickets?” you ask as they approach. Steve stares for a long moment before Robin pinches his arm.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair. “Yes. Two.”

You laugh slightly, awkwardly, and hand him two tickets and two gallery maps. “I remember you from last week,” you say. “Are you back for more?”

“I wanted to bring my friend, ya know, show her around,” he replies, fiddling with the edge of the tickets. There’s an awkward pause before you respond.

“Well, enjoy! If you have any questions I’ll be right here.”

He pauses, whispers, “I-okay,” and turns on his heel. Robin says a quick thanks before running to catch up with him. As they walk away, you hear him say, “Shut up, Robin!”

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Robin and Steve wander aimlessly through the galleries. Steve tries to act like he really is interested in what they’re looking at, but she knows him better than that.

“You dragged me here to see this girl,” Robin says, “and all you do is make weird faces at her?”

Steve rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond.

“I thought you were going to get to know her,” Robin continues. “At this rate, how long is it going to take? Five years?”

“I- Robin!” Steve says, exasperated. “I have a system! I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you? You haven’t been King Steve in a while, dingus. Do you even remember what a girl is?”

Steve wanted more than anything to rebuke her, to tell her she’s wrong, but he knew she was right. He could remember the unfortunate flirting he attempted at Scoops and the disaster that was his relationship with Nancy. He usually ducked his head around pretty girls. But something compelled him to go for you. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew he couldn’t mess this one up.

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The week after, he is back. This time, he walks in with a more confident swagger. You ready a ticket for him.

“Hi,” he says as he approaches.

“You must really like coming here,” you joke, handing him his admission and another gallery guide.

“What can I say? I’m a connoisseur.”

“Okay, connoisseur,” you remarked, smiling. “Who is your favorite artist?”

“Well, you know,” he says, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s hard to pick. But if I had to, I’d probably go with...” In a moment of panic, his eyes shift down to the first name he sees on the gallery guide. “Monet.”

He pronounces this with a hard T.

You stare at him, almost stunned. You realize now that he’s putting up a front, trying to be confident, in an attempt to talk to you. You laugh.

“Uh, it’s Moe-ney,” you smirked. “But I appreciate the effort.”

His face falls and his eyes widen, looking panicked. You could see the blush creep up on his cheeks, almost hear his heartbeat speed up. You reveled in it.

“I know!” he defends. “Monet isn’t even my favorite. I was kidding.”

“Okay, mister big artiste. Do you have a name?”

“Steve,” he sighs. “It’s Steve.”

“I’m Y/N. You better start studying.”

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“You said what?!”

Robin nearly rolls on the floor from how hard she’s laughing. “You called him what?!”

“I know how its pronounced, okay?” Steve groaned. “I just – I said it phonetically.”

“Literally everyone knows that’s not how you say it.”

“Whatever!” Steve huffs, plunking down on the couch. “You’ve gotta help me, Rob. I really want to know this girl. I want to have a chance. I can’t be an idiot around her.”

“But you’re smart, Steve.” Robin pats his knee. “Why don’t you impress her with the knowledge you dopossess?”

“Oh, like what? Like how to take care of 6 kids that aren’t even yours? Or how to make microwave mac and cheese? Or how to carry 9 empty cups out of a room in one trip? Or- “

“Okay, okay!” Robin interjects. “Alright. I will help you. Where do we start?”

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You were pretty sure at this point that Steve was coming to see you, not the art. You started to dress up a bit for your shifts; dress to impress, right?

Another week or so passed before Steve came back. You smiled the moment he came through the door, and he shared one back, approaching you quickly.

“Learn anything new?” you ask, subconsciously adjusting your hair.

“I learned how Pollock changed the entire trajectory of American art.”

“Oh?” you ask, shocked. “Last week you came in here and mispronounced Monet, now you’re talking about Pollock’s impact?”

“A man can change,” he says with a smile. Then he leans down, onto the desk, becoming eye level with you. You can feel your breath hitch in your throat, a blush creeping up. You noticed a lot from this new angle: the smell of his cologne, rich and woodsy; the scar above his right eyebrow; the golden flecks in his dark eyes.

“And that’s not all,” he whispers. You blink, inclining your head, expecting an answer.

Finally, he says, “I know about Picasso, too.”

He straightens up, a victorious smile crossing his face. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, clearing your throat.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Color me impressed.”

“Yeah, I don’t mean to brag or anything, but uh,” he looks around before continuing, “I also know about Kandinsky.”

“I’m so proud, Steve.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but a few more people walk in, getting in line behind him.

“We’ll talk soon,” he says, giving you a warm smile before walking away. You watch him disappear around the bend; a smile plastered on your face.

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The week after that, you have a shift with one of your coworkers. It was always nice to have company, but on a slow day like this one, it seemed pointless. To pass the time, you both talk. You decided to tell her about Steve, about how cute he was, about how wholesome you thought he was.

“I mean, this guy doesn’t know anything about art. But each week he comes back to learn a little bit more. Isn’t that cute?”

“Is this why you’ve been dressing up the past few weeks?” she asks. You roll your eyes.

“You should really see him. He is so damn-“

As if on cue, Steve enters the building. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in his red tee, how toned his arms are, how his jeans hug his legs…. You become acutely aware of how you were staring and quickly look away. He approaches the desk, tapping on it twice, smiling down at you.

“Hi Steve.”

“Hi Y/N.”

“Are you going to impress me this week?” you question.

“I thought maybe you could impress me,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you tell me something?”

“Like what?”

He exhales. “I don’t know. Who’s your favorite artist? What’s your favorite work here?”

“Oh, that’s too much to get into,” you laugh, shifting in your chair.

“Why don’t you show me around?” His eyes are suddenly bright and eager, and he bounces nervously on his feet.

You stare up at him, slack jawed. You weren’t expecting the forwardness. “Well – I – I have to work. I don’t get off until-“

“I’ll cover your shift,” your coworker pipes up. You nearly forgot she was there.

You look back between her, and Steve, then back at her. Your mouth opens and shuts, a protest dying on your lips. Yes, you wanted to; but you suddenly felt self-conscious and silly. You really weren’t expecting this, not today, not ever. A boy like Steve wanting to know you seemed unreal. Is this even ethical? Are you allowed to show a visitor around? One that you’re definitely attracted to? That you have been flirting with for, what, literally five weeks?

Fuck it, you decide. You can’t mess this opportunity up. Standing (shakily), you tell your coworker that you’ll be back before closing, and meet Steve on the other side of the desk.

“I figure that you know a bit about me, so I wanted to know more about you,” he says quickly as you both walk towards the first gallery. You could sense he was nervous, too. “I hope that’s not weird.”

“It’s not,” you beam, trying to shake off your apprehension. “Come on. I’ll show you my favorites.”

And so you walk around the galleries, pointing out the different works you like. As time passes, you both relax. Steve took it all in, asking questions when appropriate, seeming genuinely interested in your observations. You make him talk to you about the ones he likes, too. You laugh when he points out a Monet, pronouncing it correctly this time. You are both laughing, talking, trying to get to know each other in the short amount of time you have before the museum closes. It feels natural, like you’ve known him for years.

At the last gallery, you reach your favorite work in the galleries. A couple, caught in a kiss, in a crowded subway.

“This one is perfect to me,” you say. “It makes me feel so many things.”

“What’s your favorite part about it?” Steve inquires.

“The atmosphere,” you answer, “and the way those two interact. It’s like they are the only people in the world. Among the chaos of a busy subway, they only notice each other.” You smile sadly. “Have you ever felt that with anyone?”

Steve thinks for a minute. He wishes he could say yes, with Nancy. But even at their best, he never felt the stillness and calm the figures in the painting did.

“No,” he replies eventually. “Have you?”

“No,” you whisper. “Not once.”

There’s a comfortable quietness and peace between you two as you both stare at it a little longer. After a while, Steve clears his throat.

“Well, do you want to try?”

You look over at him, bewildered. He continues to look at the painting; you notice his brows slightly furrowed and his fingers tapping on his thighs. He finally looks over at you and smiles weakly.

“Try what?”

“This,” he responds, gesturing to the painting. “You and I. Chaos. Peace. Do you want to try?”

Your heart swells, a smile spreading over your face as quickly as oil on canvas. You gently take his hand, turning to face him.

“What are you doing tonight?” you inquire.

“Nothing,” he breathes. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you take me to that Italian place on the corner.”

He smiles widely, relief and confidence soaring through him. Finally, he thinks. You didn’t fuck this one up.

“It’s a date.”

#Steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things oneshot #this was rly self indulgent I am SORRY #pls leave feedback xox #my fics

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starkerforlife6969 · 5 years ago

Text

Poison - Mob boss Tony x College Student Peter

AudreyInTheUniverse’s amazing prompt Imagine peter, sweet little peter, is blackmailed into murdering mob boss/king tony because tony has a soft spot for boys like peter and surely no one would suspect peter. And peter is all torn up about it, but they’re threatening to kill his aunt, and tony is being so nice.

TW: mentions of violence and kidnapping and poisoning

Tony looks up with a smile that breaks Peter’s heart.

He does his best to ignore it, as he comes in, clutching the tray of tea.

Two mugs. The white one for him, the blue one for Tony.

Peter can hardly bear to look at the amber liquid as it sloshes with his steps. He can’t bring himself to think about what he’s done. About the poison swimming in each infused droplet of the blue mug.

He doesn’t want to. God, he doesn’t. But they have May, and Peter would- he’d do anything for May.

If that means infiltrate the biggest mafia in the east coast, it that means sleeping his way into a position of trust, and then violating it-

As he sets down the tray, Tony tugs Peter into his lap, and noses at the soft skin of his neck. The contact makes Peter shiver, makes him feel safe, and he burrows into Tony’s touch.

He hasn’t slept his way here. He knows it. Tony loves him. He loves Tony. And it’s all built on a lie, and he’s the worst person ever, and he hates himself for what he’s done. For what he’s doing. For what he’s about to do.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart,” Tony rumbles, rubbing Peter’s back, “what’s wrong? Want me to shoot someone?”

He laughs wetly at that, ducking his head in shame. “I just- I’m just tired.” He lies weakly, and Tony kisses his cheek warmly.

“Well then, I’m sure this delicious tea you’ve made will help.”

Tony would shoot someone for him. He’d do anything for him. This man, this enigma. This King Pin of New York. With his dark eyes and his sharp tongue. He’s a vision in his sleek black suit, with blood splatter on the underside of his jaw and gun oil on his hands.

He’s so gentle. So warm and loving to Peter.

His enemies had got it half right.

Stane had known about Tony’s penchant for pretty young things, and he’d played on that.

He knew that Tony would stop when he saw Peter ‘accidentally’ bump into him in the coffee shop. He knew Tony would try to get him into bed.

He’d been right.

But he’d been so wrong.

Tony wasn’t just some- some playboy with a type, he was thoughtful and considerate and so protective that Peter had felt like- like maybe he could tell Tony about May. That Tony was so powerful, and his reach was so wide, Tony could fix it. And Peter wouldn’t have to go through with this horrible plan.

But the if hangs in the air. What if Tony can’t save his aunt? What if it’s too late?

He starts shaking again. He can’t stop himself.

Tony holds his shoulders steadily, face creased in a frown. “Come on, baby, shh, it’s alright. Let’s have a drink, huh?”

Reluctantly, Peter slides off of Tony’s lap and into the cushy armchair opposite him by the fireplace. Tony’s chair is a sleek burgundy leather, it’s like a throne, and between them sits the low lying mahogany table- carrying death.

The flames cast embers into Tony’s eyes, and he’s so beautiful, so handsome, so loving.

Peter loves him fiercely. Fiercer than the flames and the fire, fiercer than the heat that rolls over them both.

He won’t hurt Tony.

He could never.

So, when Tony reaches for his cup, Peter beats him to it, and grabs the blue one. His movements shaky with instinct and desperation.

He gets a curiously arched eyebrow in response.

“Sugar,” he mutters, cheeks red, and Tony chuckles delightedly.

“Aren’t you sweet enough already?” He grins, taking the white one.

It’s blood orange tea.

Peter clutches it tight, lets the hot ceramic burn his fingers.

Tony will kill him for this. He’ll have to. He’ll never be able to- never be able to trust Peter again. But he might still save May anyway. Because Tony’s a good man.

Peter takes a long, deep sip.

He can’t even taste the poison Stane gave him. He can just taste citrus and honey.

“Tony,” he whispers, taking a deep breath, “I have to tell you something-“

But when he looks up, Tony’s eyes are on him, and they’re wide with love and incredible pride. “You drank it.” He whispers and Peter feels cold all over.

“What? You- you know-“

Tony’s laugh is rich but not mean. He sets down the mug and pats his knee.

Peter lets out a half-sob and falls for him. He collapses onto his knees on the plush rug, crawling over and he buries his face in Tony’s thigh. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-“ he weeps, and he can’t stop the jittery, furious relief that courses through him as Tony cards his fingers through his hair.

This is a fine way to die.

“You’ll save her, won’t you? Please.”

“Sweetheart,” Tony sighs, “my precious boy, I knew the second you spilt coffee all over me that you were with Stane. Have you forgotten who I am? It took maybe an hour to find out Stane had your aunt, to put a bullet in his head and free her. We’re quite good friends. I’ve told her you’re working very hard at college.”

Peter looks up, eyes huge with awe.

“Peter,” Tony breathes, his name a caress, and his fingers tilt Peter’s chin up further, craning his neck back, “I threw that poison out the day you came here. What you put in the tea was just water.”

“I…” He feels so ashamed.

“I needed to see what you would do, darling,” Tony hushes him, leaning down to lift Peter up onto his lap like he doesn’t weigh a thing. His thighs spread across Tony’s legs, and he buries his face into the man’s chest, shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry-“

“You drank it.” The man murmurs, admiration and a tinge of lust in his voice. “You’re my perfect angel. So loyal.” He strokes down Peter’s flank approvingly.

At that, Peter gasps and looks up. Hope burns bright. “You’re not- you don’t hate me?” He whispers.

Tony tucks a lock of auburn hair behind Peter’s ear and smiles. “I love you.”

Tony loves him. His aunt his safe. Stane is dead. Tony loves him. He feels giddy with glee.

“You drank it.” The older man says again, shaking his head in marvelled wonder. “You’d die for me.” He sounds like he never dreamt in a million years that this would be the outcome. Peter knows how he feels.

“Yes.” Peter promises, a vow, and Tony clutches him tight.

“And I you, my darling. But that will never have to happen. You’re safe, you understand that?”

“I love you,” Peter sniffles, and Tony laughs again.

“I knew that, too.”

#starker #mob boss tony #mafia boss tony #college student peter #power imbalance #protective tony #attempted poisoning #guilty peter #love #blackmailed peter parker #evil obie #kidnapping #mentions of poisoning #peter x tony

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all1e23 · 5 years ago

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Astrophile [Pt.16]

Chapter: Double Star

Summary: Pizza and Cuddles.

Warnings: Fluff.

A/N: So sorry this has taken so long to get out, but here it is! Only one more chapter to go. I can’t believe it’s nearly over!

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed! Thanks!**

Pizza was Y/n’s pick for dinner. Mostly because it was rather late by the time they made their way towards a place that served food, thankfully they live in New York though and can get pizza nearly any time of the day or night. Within reason, there was an unfortunate incident when Steve and Bucky were in college, and it turns out six in the morning is pretty hard to find a pizza place that will deliver. Tonight though Bucky wouldn’t have cared what they ate or what they did, she could have offered to make macaroni and cheese back at her apartment and, not the good kind either – the old school blue box with the powdered cheese and, he would have taken those stairs two at a time if it meant he got to spend a few hours alone with Y/n.

All he’s wanted for weeks now is to have her to himself for just a little while. Selfish? Might be, but Bucky doesn’t spend a lot of time being selfish these days. The last time he did anything remotely selfish he ended up with a late-night phone call from a panicked one night stand letting him know he was about to be a dad and, hey, that time it all worked okay – scratch that, it worked out better than okay. It was amazing. Ori is the best part of his life, and maybe she came from a self-indulgent moment, but she is one of the few good things in his life.

He can add one more thing to that list now that he has Y/n.

Y/n spent a lot of time talking over dinner. Who knew extra cheese makes her so chatty? Not that she didn’t open up to him on any other night they’ve spent together, but something about this conversation is different. She tells him about growing up with her grandparents, which kids always thought was so cool because who doesn’t like going to their grandparents, right? It’s all candy and hugs, and dollars slipped into tiny hands with the whispered promise not to tell mommy and daddy.

Of course, Y/n loves her grandparents, but it wasn’t always easy when she was little. They were older grandparents because her parents had her later in their lives so they couldn’t go on field trips or participate in field day. There wasn’t a lot of money to hire extra help for the bookstore so often only one of them could make it to dance recitals or talent shows. That made Bucky briefly wonder if Ori ever feels the same on those long nights when she’s sleeping at Nat’s because he can’t be home with her. He’s spent countless nights lying awake worrying that she’s spent more time with Nat than with him and, one day when she’s all grown up she’s going to resent him for that.

Y/n being Y/n picks up on it right away, quickly squashing the thought with a firm reassurance, Don’t even think about it, James Barnes. You give that little girl your whole self. I’ve never seen a more devoted father. It’s not the same.

At the time, Bucky had rolled his eyes and leaned forward to wipe a bit of sauce off her nose before urging her to go on. Which she does but not before ducking her head to hide that little shy smile of hers. She goes on to tell him about college and taking over the store when her grandparents could no longer run it. She reveals how her parents left to attend a conference and never came back – the calendar, the ink, and the childhood heartbreak.

All of it.

By the time they arrive back at her place, she’s told Bucky about the pencil on her calendar and how she’s still hesitant to write anything down in permanent ink. He caught a quick glimpse at the faded marks where their date should have been written on their ascent up the back stairs that lead directly into her apartment from the back office. Bucky knows nearly every secret her heart has to tell, so he figures sharing a few of his wouldn’t hurt. After all, she’s the reason his heart is beating faster, the cause behind those butterflies in his stomach and her smile… well, nothing sparkles quite the way she does when she’s smiling at him.

And when they are together like this, the whole world makes sense. Everything snaps into place as if it’s always meant to be the three of them.

“And she just left?“

Bucky nods and leans back against the arm of the couch so he can see Y/n as he continues, "Yeah, she grabbed her skinny jeans and took off."

"I hate that for Ori and you,” she tucks her legs under her and leans her head on the back of the couch facing Bucky, and says with disbelief, “It’s hard to believe she didn’t want to know Ori. She’s the best kid, Bucky. She’s bright and funny and so kind and generous. You did such a good job raising her, and she adores you. You should see the way she lights up when you’re around.”

He offers her a shy smirk and drops his eyes to the woven red thread of the couch because it’s too much to hear those words and see the spark in her eye as she says them. He’s only human. He can only take her beauty in small doses.

"Thank you. That means a lot. I had a lot of help, though. I’m not sure she would be so amazing if it weren’t for all the help I’ve had over the years. Especially Nat.”

"Yes, she would. She’s half you after all. Where do you think all that good came from?”

Bucky looks up and shakes his head, but he couldn’t stop the grin. She scoots closer to him and nods towards the television.

“Pick a movie, Buck. You know I’m right.”

They are navigating something wholly new, and somehow it didn’t feel new at all. Having Y/n tucked against his side as a movie plays in the background and feeling her fingers tracing the lines of tattoo suggests this isn’t the first time he has held her like this, but the thudding in his chest is there to remind him how fresh her touch is. Her fingers pause on the main star of his tattoo, and she looks up at him raising her brows. Bucky reveals the reason behind ink on his arm without her having to ask. He tells her it was a bad night a few months after Ori was born. Steve got hurt pretty badly, and they weren’t able to save a little girl who lived on the top floor of a three-story brownstone.

He tells her how he couldn’t explain what happened, but Bucky knew at that moment he needed to have a piece of his little girl with him when he was running into buildings most people were running out of and, she had said, “So, you put your heart on your sleeve for all to see.” If it was even possible she gained another piece of his heart right then – that’s assuming she doesn’t already have all of it.

“You would make a very handsome chimney sweep,” Y/n observes as they watch Jack dance across the small television in her living room. Bucky had whined until they put on Mary Poppins Returns, claiming he really didn’t like that she missed movie night and things wouldn’t be right until she watched it.

Bucky dramatically clutches his chest and gasps, “Are you just hanging out with me for my looks?”

She giggles and buries her nose in his neck, admitting against the soft skin below his jaw, “You do have very pretty eyes, but no. You like me for me. That’s why I like being with you.”

He doesn’t say anything. Bucky can’t because there is an extremely high chance he’s going to say something stupid. He simply grips her legs that are resting on his lap, pulling them securely against him and she can feel a soft kiss landing on the crown of her head. The world calms enough to let her know she’s the one that’s spinning and everything outside her window quiets, waiting for them to admit what everyone around them already knows. Y/n’s head falls to his shoulder, and she looks up to meet his admittedly pretty eyes, but the words she wants to say die on her tongue and the stars sigh in frustration.

They had time to talk about it about another night. There is something she needs to know now, though.

“Hey, for Halloween–”

“Nope.”

“Come on! How cute would it be?!”

“It’s not gonna happen, Beck. No matter how far you stick out that lip.”

“What if I cry?”

“Christ– Dammit…Please don’t.”

She breaks down into a burst of laughter thanks to the look of panic mixed with genuine pain on his face. Bucky playfully narrows her eyes and grips her hips, curling his fingers into just enough to give her a hint to what’s about to happen. She doesn’t have time to protest or beg him not to, his fingers are squeezing her sides until she’s breathless with laughter and somehow amid all the tickling, she ends up on his lap with her head resting against his chest. Her chest is still heaving as she attempts to steady her breathing and debates climbing off his lap to claim her former place beside him, but Bucky rests his chin on top of her head and wraps his hand around her calf – his silent plea for her to stay and keep his heart in one piece.

So she stays.

Her attention turns back to the movie after tangling her fingers into the soft fabric of his dark blue Henley and burrowing herself as close to his warmth as she can get. This is the first time in nearly a week she let herself relax, and her body is taking full advantage allowing her to give in to how truly exhausted she is, skimming the surface of sleep while surrounded by that earthy, slightly citrus scent that can only belong to Bucky.

“Come on sleepyhead,” Bucky whispers against her ear as the credits begin to roll on the screen. He is already lifting her into his arms and carrying her towards her bedroom by the time her sleep riddled brain thought up a comeback, and it’s a fairly weak retort that she manages to mumble into his chest, “I am not sleepy."

Bucky chuckles, "Sure, you’re ready to run a marathon.”

He lays her on top of her heavy red and orange comforter and pulls the plush white blanket at the end of her bed over her, whispering into the darkened room, “ Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bucky slowly pulls back letting go of her hand as he retreats from the queen size bed. Something about the whole moment makes him think of putting Ori to sleep, and it has him grinning. Y/n’s eyes flutter open for only a second, and she grabs his hand to keep him from leaving her alone.

“Don’t go. Stay. Cuddles.”

Even through her sleepy haze, she can tell he’s hesitant, she cracks an eye and sticks out her bottom lip, pleading with a sleepy voice, “Please? I’ll cry if I have to.”

Good grief, between Ori and Y/n he’s completely screwed.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stay,” Bucky says instantly.

He toes his boots off in record time and parks himself next to her on the bed, running his fingers through her hair. He can tell she’s still floating around the edges of sleep despite the proud smirk on her face from getting her way. It’s not that he doesn’t want to slip under those cotton sheets and spend the night wrapped around her, he does. He wants to wake up to find her legs tangled with his and her whole body draped over him, but he also wants her to feel safe when she’s with him.

Always.

“I’ll stay till you fall asleep, but then I’m moving to the couch. I am not sure you’re in the right headspace to consent to cuddles.” She smiles at that as she leans her head against his thigh and takes a deep breath of his scent before letting herself drift off.

The early afternoon sunlight comes too soon. They were up till nearly four in the morning and waking up before noon feels like a punishment no one deserves, but maybe Y/n can convince Bucky to sleep in a bit longer. She rolls to her left side and throws her arm out, hoping to connect with a warm body for cuddles; all she finds is a cold empty space, and she jolts up.

Did he leave after he carried her to bed?

Y/n tosses the blankets off her and slowly wanders into the living room looking for her phone in hopes he at least left her a message, but as she approaches the couch she sees Bucky– He’s crammed his massive body onto her tiny couch and used the small crochet blanket she keeps on the back of said couch to cover him; it doesn’t come close to enveloping him and all those holes didn’t help to keep the cold air out. She decides to let him sleep. Muffins were put in the oven and coffee was brewing, they stayed up late, and he deserves a morning without rush or worry. Breakfast is nearly done and she's in the middle of debating if she should wake him now or let the muffins cool first when a hoarse voice calls from the couch, “Are you making me breakfast babydoll?”

The spinning is back.

“Maybe,” She calls back as she makes her way towards the couch with two cups of coffee, “Or maybe I’m just making myself breakfast.”

Bucky drapes her blanket back over the arm of the couch and sits back down, making room for her to join him. He pictured her apartment a few hundred times, and this is close to what he thought it would look like. The couch was big and red, sitting right in the middle of the room, two green armchairs sit under the far window and the old twenty-four inch tv they watched the previous night is sitting on a lime green chest that he is sure her grandparents bought brand new.

The black trunk she uses for a coffee has Y/n written all over it, with well worn leather straps and the curio cabinet on the far wall across from the chairs has hand painted flowers on the doors. It felt warm and full of light and all Y/n. Everything had a place he noticed. There isn’t a mess. Not like his place where the mess never seems to end and after getting to know Y/n’s heart the last few months he understands why she likes the mess so much. Y/n sits down next to him and the again cushions sinks, Bucky raises a brow and shakes his head in disbelief.

“Nah, you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t want me to cry now, would ya?”

“No, I think it would break my heart to see you cry,” Y/n glares at his playful wink and passes him the mug full of coffee she made for him – Black with two sugars. Just the way he likes. She takes a sip from her own mug and smirks as she asks, “Did you say consent to cuddles last night?”

“What?” Bucky clears his throat and holds the ‘i need space’ mug in front of his face, hoping to block the red he knows is rapidly spreading over his face, he says, “No, I didn’t say that. I don’t– I don’t recall that.”

She giggles, and it makes Bucky grin. He loves that sound almost as much as he loves– likes her. His head is telling him it’s too soon for big feelings like those. If only he can get his heart and head to agree.

“I have to work tonight,“ Bucky mentions, letting it linger in the air and lifting his left arm for Y/n to curl into his side like she’s been hinting at with every little scoot closer. She’s awake. She can consent to cuddles now and he’s hardly able to keep his hand off her. She looks up from his side where she snuggled up to and asks, “When do you need to leave to get Ori?”

“Uh, here soon, actually. I like to spend time with Ori before I go in if it’s possible. Do you want to come with me to pick her up? I have to bring her to Nat’s for the night, but I thought maybe we could pick her up and get an early dinner together before my shift.”

Her entire face lights up, and so does Bucky’s soul.

“You don’t mind me coming with you? I don’t want to take up your day with her. I know you guys have your alone time and it’s hard to come by.”

“Ori will be excited to see you. She’s had me all week. I think she’s missed our hangouts and I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to come,” He assures her with a kiss to the side of her head and a gentle squeeze to her hip.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go with you after muffins, deal?”

“Deal. Oh, and you can plan on being at movie night on Wednesday because it feels wrong without you.”

“Hold on a second,” Y/n says as she practically jumps off her couch and runs over to the wall calendar that hangs on the wall in her kitchen. She grabs the nearest pen and scribbles on next Wednesday, “Movie night with Bucky and Ori.”

Tony was right. It’s not so scary when Bucky is the one holding her hand.

-------

When Bucky told Y/n, Ori would be excited to see them all together he was not kidding in the least. She screamed so loud Bucky’s pretty sure the neighbors are going to call the police to do a welfare check. Sam spent their entire twenty-minute visit grinning like a maniac because Bucky held Y/n’s hand the full 1,200 seconds they stood in their doorway– he fully intends to make Sam pay for every single comment the second he falls asleep tonight. After lunch, Ori asked Bucky if she could spend the night with Y/n instead of Natasha. If it were anyone else he would have told her she needed to stay with Aunt Nattie, but it’s Y/n – it’s their Beck.

Ori would be just fine with her.

They swing by the house and grab Ori’s things so the girls could have a sleepover in the bookstore because who wants to sleep in a comfy bed when you can spend the night in a sleeping bag on the hard floor in the middle of the bookstore? Y/n and Ori Facetime him before bed, making sure he got a picture of their tent with the twinkle lights from Ori’s birthday party, and first thing in the morning they are calling with a cheerful good morning shout. By the time Bucky hangs up he’s grinning like an idiot and he can’t help but wonder if this is what it would be like if it were the three of them all the time.

He would be okay with that.

Sam collapses next to Bucky on that old orange and brown couch, glancing at Clint and Steve before nudging Bucky’s boot with his own, “So, she asked you to be her date to Tony’s wedding? That’s a year from now. I am pretty sure that means she doesn’t plan on dating anyone besides you. Not to mention you spent the night at her place.”

Of course, the three jerks Bucky has chosen as his best friends have not quit him about Y/n for the last sixteen hours. That is all thanks to Sam informing the entire station Y/n was there when he picked up Ori. He really needs new friends – friends that mind their own business.

“I slept on her couch,” Bucky retorts with an eye roll and, Sam is quick with a recovery, “Yeah, but she wanted to snuggle. Why can’t you just admit you love her? She’s perfect. I am failing to see the problem.”

There’s that big, monumental four-letter word again – love. Why can’t they take things one day at a time? Why does he have to jump in headfirst and possibly ruin everything they have right now? The last time he asked her out, she cancelled for crying out loud! Bucky doesn’t want to push too fast and maybe, lose her for good this time.

“I wouldn’t say we are at love just yet and it’s a big step, Sam. It’s not like Zoey or Claire–”

“God, I did not like her,” Sam groans. “She couldn’t even say Ori’s name right.”

“I don’t think she had much interest in peanut,” Clint pipes in after Sam.

“She’s not some woman I met at a bar that I’m bringing home for the night,” Bucky continues ignoring Sam and Clint’s commentary on his past relationships – well, hookups. No one can call those relationships. “Ori knows her and spends more time with Y/n than I do some weeks. She’s already spun into our lives and Ori’s heart. If things end badly or we don’t fit like everyone keeps insisting… what’s going to happen when Ori gets hurt?

“You mean when you get hurt? Because that’s what we are talking about here, right?”

Bucky meets Sam’s eyes and then looks up at Steve standing behind them. They are all wearing the same expression, the one that says they had him all figured out and maybe they do. Perhaps he is scared, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong either. “Look, I’m doing this my way. I need to be sure before It’s too late to take it all back.”

“I hate to tell you pal, but it’s already too late and I think you know that, Buck,” Steve is quick to point out and Sam takes this chance to jump in, “Look, take her out this weekend, and we will watch Ori. You’ve got forty-eight hours off so do whatever you do that makes chicks believe you actually have game and win her over. No more dancing around each other. Just tell her how you feel very clearly. In the plainest words possible because I’m telling you the two of you–”

“Sam,” Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t helping.”

“I’m just saying, they need it spelled out for them like they are in a Kindergarten class.”

“What if she doesn’t like me like that?” Bucky grumbles halting Sam and Steve’s bickering. Sam runs a hand down his face in frustration and shakes his head, answering before Steve or Clint could, “Christ, you are dumb. Why would she want to cuddle your ugly ass if she didn’t like you?”

Bucky has a snappy comment on the tip of his tongue, but there’s no time for snark or a shove off the back of the couch. The board is lighting up, they’ve got a call and Bucky has no time for payback. He jumps up and points at Sam, “Wait till we get back. I’ll show you who’s ugly. I’m damn adorable, and everyone knows it.”

“Enough,” Steve orders. It’s strange how easily Steve fades away, and he slips right into Captain mode. Steve recites the address back to the team and Bucky goes still, repeating the address in his head several times.

“Let’s get moving. Buck?” Steve murmurs, coming to a stop in front of the dazed man, “You all right? We’ve got to get going. If this is about what Sam said I need you to let it go till we handle this–”

“No, that’s not– That’s not the right address. That’s- that’s the store. Y/n’s bookstore.”

“Shit.”

“Steve. Ori is with Y/n today. They are at the bookstore together.”

And, Bucky’s entire world went up in flames in a matter of seconds.

Previous // Next

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #SINGLE DAD AU #single dad bucky #fireman!Bucky #Firefighter AU #alternate universe #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes

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youarejesting · 4 years ago

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Curse.11 Instru-mental

[First] [Masterlist] [Next] Beta: @lpayne612 Rating: PG Pairing: Prince!Jin x Reader Genre: fantasy, romance, comedy, drama, mystery, and more good stuff Words: 2.5k

Summary: A modern-day fairy tale whereby seven young princes born under King Bang’s greed cannot find true love. Unless they break a special spell, called the ‘Bang curse’. In order to break the curse, Prince Seokjin must be loved by a ‘Blue’ blood, by a royal. That seems almost impossible when you have a pig nose. (based off the movie Penelope)

Seokjin strolled through the palace, his face mask on in the event he ran into any unfortunate servants. He moved leisurely down the halls and peeked out into the gardens until he arrived at the main common area that his brothers would use. Like any other home with the boys, there was a collection of each of their hobbies.

A collection of mixed sports equipment: one basketball, a riding crop, hockey sticks, and a football. Seokjin passed the living room with its plush couches and bean bags, and an array of video game consoles, and he moved along - passing the trophies and bookshelves and figurines until he landed at the end door.

Reaching out his hand, his fingertips slowly brushed the smooth wooden door until he reached the letters engraved into the mahogany wood. Letters that spelled out his name ‘Seokjin’, like the nameplate at a zoo. His childhood prison.

“Are you kids ready for the ball? We are leaving in five minutes,” his father called, it was the annual Christmas ball. The royal family always attended and led the ball and all the winter activities. Seokjin, every year, would watch them while sitting on his bed.

“Why isn’t hyung going?” Taehyung finally asked, old enough to understand that his older brother was sitting out.

“He can’t go Taehyungie, people might get scared, they aren’t used to seeing Jin’s face. Remember, we can’t tell anyone about his face because then they might get scared and try to hurt him,” Yoongi said

“I don’t want to go if hyung doesn’t get to go!” Taehyung said, his eyes watering.

“Tae,” Seokjin called his younger brother, “I want you to go. I love watching everyone having fun on the TV, and one year I will get to go to the party with you, so go and have fun for your big brother.”

Seokjin wiped his four-year-old brother's eyes and grabbed the zip of the white padded jacket, securing it under Taehyung’s chin. “You stay warm Tae. You can borrow my scarf and it will be like I’m there with you.”

Wrapping the emerald green scarf around his younger brother, he smiled fondly. “I will be home soon hyung.” Taehyung hugged Seokjin tightly and pulled back with a bright grin, “I’m going to bring back a goodie bag for you!”

“Alrighty get out of here and have some fun.”

Seokjin smiled pulling down the gold lever door handle with filigree details, pushed the door open, and the nostalgia hit him like a freight train. He strolled to the big bed and touched the small stuffed toy he had been given that very same night.

“Kim Seokjin! Where have you gone?” the governess called stomping through Seokjin’s room searching for him. He had climbed down from the second-floor landing in the garden and ran to the courtyard. “There you are. Come back you little--”

Seokjin kept running until he reached the side of the courtyard and was in the middle of playing when he heard some kids laughing. Curious he strolled closer; through the fence he saw them making fun of a young girl. Seokjin began throwing snowballs at the bullies and they ran away, throwing her stuffed toy over the fence.

She was crying clutching the fence. She looked to be a little younger than himself, but not anything too significant. He picked up the small stuffed pig and covered his face with his hand, cursing that he didn’t bring a mask with him.

“You dropped this?” he said, holding out the pink plush. She looked up at him and took the small toy from his outstretched hand with a small smile. He handed over an embroidered handkerchief.

“Who are you?” she asked quietly, her small hands took the small square of fabric and wiped her eyes.

“I’m Jin,” Seokjin’s voice was barely audible but she picked it up.

“Are you the prince? Good evening.” She bowed low, the stuffed toy falling from her hands and he dived for it, forgetting about his abnormality until he heard her gasp. He nervously covered his face, his face and ears turning red.

“I am sorry.” He was close to tears, his father would be furious if he found out someone had seen him. “I’m a monster.”

“My mum says monsters are monsters if they do bad things and hurt people without feeling sad.” Her smile was unique, starting off a little lopsided before pulling up into a full charming grin that turned up the outer corners of her eyes.

Seokjin hummed holding the small pig plush; that night had changed him so much. He opened the bedside table and saw a picture Taehyung drew for him. He smiled, his younger brother was so gentle and kind. Seeming to remember the purpose of entering this wing of the house, he shut the drawer holding the picture in his hand.

With as much stealth as he could manage, he ducked his head out of his bedroom door, looking down the hallway. Turning to the door to his right, he could see a faint glow under the frame. He was sure Taehyung said they had all gone out. It was the door to Yoongi’s room, and he would honestly be livid if he caught Jin snooping around. Opening the door, he grabbed the guitar from across the room and turned from the darkroom dully illuminated by a few LED cords.

Moving quickly from his brother’s chambers, Seokjin made it to the middle of the living room when he heard talking, and the door opened. He ran as fast as he could down the halls, ignoring his brother’s lion shouts knowing he was too lazy to chase him, Seokjin made it to the meeting room - peeking inside making sure the space was empty before entering and placing the guitar against the sofa.

Checking his phone, he saw you had messaged your arrival to the palace. He ran through the hidden door and closed it firmly, moving his chair and sitting in front of the mirror. He pulled the small table with the PA microphone closer so as to talk to you when you arrived. Waiting, Seokjin shuffled trying to get comfortable and even started pacing, fiddling with his hands and more.

He saw the door open and you entered looking positively radiant in the same pink coat. He laughed as he saw you giggling over the guitar, picking it up and smiling at the mirror. “Any requests?”

The two of you were in a fit of giggles with the way you were playing the guitar in an awful rendition of Epiphany by an unknown artist. You were strumming awfully, not even trying to make some semblance of the tune.

“I’m the one I should-” your brows furrowed as you strummed different notes in hopes of strumming the correct one but failing. “love, love? love? In this… I’m the one I should love, in this world...”

Seokjin received a text, and he looked down at his phone and cackled. Yoongi had messaged and by the wording, he didn’t seem happy.

[Yoongi: Stop, you borrowed my guitar for this? If you don’t stop her I will disown you, my brother]

“Okay, stop. Stop!” Seokjin called into the speaker. “You don’t play the guitar, I get that now!”

“I thought I did pretty well?” You pouted playfully but conceded to his demands, “So it’s not the guitar. I can’t wait for what instrument you choose next week.”

“If I don’t figure it out soon, Yoongi is going to murder you and then me,” Seokjin sighed, his sides aching pleasantly from the laughter.

“You know what your laugh sounds like.” You walked closer to the mirror. Seokjin, who didn’t realize he had lent forward, sat up straight pulling away from you nervously. His heart beating like in the dramas he often watched. The small scrunched up paper bag (with the bakery logo that once held the delicious pastry you had brought for him to try) fell with a soft thud.

You looked up at him, and something about the delivery of a small lopsided smile struck a chord. The way it pulled up into a lazily grin - lifting the outer corners of your eyes in an almost mischievous way.

“It reminds me of cleaning windows or mirrors. If I wipe this mirror, that would be your laugh.” You were so close to the mirror that your smile dropped.

“Is everything okay?” Seokjin asked, hoping you couldn’t see him.

“I don’t like looking at myself in the mirror. I don’t know why, but I just don’t enjoy seeing myself.” Looking at the ground Seokjin gave a small smile understanding how that felt. “Honestly you’re beautiful, so I don’t think you need to hide from yourself.”

“Thank you,” cheeks heating up, you sat on the couch across from the mirror and smiled. “Okay I have thought of some questions?”

“I have as well,” he smiled pulling the microphone closer “But ladies first”

“Okay, get comfy, and don’t answer anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

“Of course, my lady, ask your first question.”

“What is your favorite color?”

Seokjin sat across from the young girl, “Your nose is turning pink.” Seokjin watched the small girl giggle as she unwrapped her pastel pink scarf,leaned her hands through the bars of the fence, and looped it over his shoulders - wrapping it around to cover the lower half of his face. “You have to protect your precious little nose.”

“What about you?” he asked, snuggling into the warmth and the sweet buttercream scent embedded into the soft worn fabric. “Won’t you get cold?”

“I am not a prince, so you are more important. My mother told me to respect others who are older and more important. You look good in pink, it’s cute.”

“Pink,” he smiled fondly thinking of that night many years ago. “What is your favorite holiday?’

“Hmm… I think it would be Christmas. It was the last holiday I spent with my parents, even though I can’t remember much, just knowing that I had one last night with them means a lot to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be it is totally fine, I can’t remember much. They said I lost some memories in the car accident.”

“That’s such a nice way to see the holiday - instead of blaming and cursing the Christmas you saw the good in the situation.”

The questions were passed back and forth, exploring everything and anything the two of you could think of. “When was the last time you were outside?”

“Other than walking onto my balcony or passing from one building to another across the courtyard, the last time I left the palace was to play on the grounds. It was the day after Christmas when I was nine.

Seokjin was standing in the snow waiting for her to return. He held the pig plush hoping she would come back,ut as an hour passed, he started to feel disheartened. A hand fell softly against his shoulder, and he turned to see Yoongi standing there looking positively freezing.

“Come on. Her parents probably don’t let her walk around at night.” His words were gentle - which was not like Yoongi, but it still didn’t stop the harsh reality stinging in Seokjin’s chest.

That day had made him distrustful of everyone. She was supposed to see him that day so he could return the plush and her scarf, but she was a no show.

Your phone chimed, cutting through the laughter abruptly. Seokjin sat up, his face falling. He knew this was you having to leave, and his chest felt weird with the idea. Watching your face fall would have normally made the eldest prince laugh, but he was resigned to a small sad smile. Clearly, you too were reluctant to leave. He reached out wanting to stop you as you collected your things, but his hand hit the cold mirror instead. “I have to go, I’ll be back tomorrow?”

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” he spoke softly watching you pull your hair into a messy ponytail.

“If I could stay I would,” you looked up at him with a coy smile, “but a young lady shan’t spend the lengthy evening unchaperoned with a man.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask that of you - it would ruin your reputation.” He felt his ears turn red at the fact you saw him as a man just like any of his handsome brothers.

“I mean, you haven’t even prepared me a bed,” you laughed gesturing about the room.

Your words caused his heart to race at the prospect that you might stay the night. Separated by a thin layer of cold glass But there, where he could see and talk to you, things he was often deprived of as a child.

“I really must go,” you said, giving a wave rushing out the door backward. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I will hold you to that,” Seokjin waved letting his hand fall after you had disappeared out the room. He sat for a moment before falling back onto the couch, kicking his feet in the air.

He picked up the guitar and raced it back through the palace, grinning behind the fabric mask he wore and entering the common living area. His brothers were all sitting surrounded by snacks watching intently. The TV showed footage of the room but lagging by a few minutes. He watched you laying on the couch describing some of your favorite places to go and places you would dream of going to.

He watched as your phone rang and the boys shouted. Taehyung pointed his ice cream at the TV, “No, she can’t leave yet!”

“Seokjin is here, of course she left,” Yoongi said, but they were all shushed by Hoseok, Jungkook, and Jimin who were watching with giddy smiles.

“I mean, you haven’t even prepared me a bed,” you laughed gesturing about the room.

Namjoon choked on his tea and Jungkook hit him on the back, not seeing his older brother wincing with the impact of his hand. Seokjin’s face went warm again as they all cheered suggestively. “She likes you,hyung!” They cheered looking around, “She’s the one, she’s going to break the spell!”

The boys circled Seokjin jumping around,kicking and slapping his back happily showing their enthusiasm. For a moment, Seokjin felt normal, as though he was no different from his brothers. A young man with a woman that - dare he say - he loved and he hoped he wasn’t wrong for assuming that, one day, she might love him well.

He knew if she broke the curse, he would be handsome and someone worthy of being loved, but she would just have to wait for him. He had handed back the guitar and was ready to retire to his room for the evening to process everything that had happened.

“Hyung,” a voice called as he walked down the halls. Seokjin turned to see Jungkook had followed him with a shy smile, “You weren’t around much when I was young. The others said Father had moved you pretty young to the other wing, and well, I just wish you were there. I wish I could have known you the way I do now - back then. I’m proud of you.”

“Ya! How old are you to be speaking like that?” Seokjin laughed and the two started playfully fighting. After they were done, Seokjin excused himself, patting Jungkook’s head and resuming his walk across the palace to his solitude.

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metaphysical-human-being · 5 years ago

Text

Switcheroo

Pt1

Pt2

A/N- Okay so you all remember this headcanon, right? Well, anyway, I loved it so much that I decided to make it a series? I don’t know how long it’ll go but, yeah! Also, I’m not the best writer so sorry in advance!

Warnings- death mention, abandonment mention, guilt mention, nightmare mention, swearing. Tell me if I missed any others!

Summary- Roman and Remus reunite after four years…

It doesn’t go well

Remus zoomed down the hallway, smile on his face and madness in his eyes. He could hear the voices of a few of those dipshits chasing him but he didn’t really care. He knew they’d never catch him and if they did..

Well, let’s just say that he won’t be the one wobbling away with a busted lip and a broken nose.

He turned the corner and looked around wildly. The voices were getting a bit closer and as much as Remus would willingly fight them, it was his first day and De would be really mad if he got expelled on his first day again-

“There he is! Get him!” He heard the “leader of the pack” yell. He snuck a glance behind him and shot them a crazed smile before taking off running once more. He ran up a flight of stairs and hopped over a few kids skipping class but they never caught him. They got close, but never got him.

Turning onto a random hallway, he spot two large double doors. A sign saying Auditorium directly above them.

“Perfect!” He mumbled before opening them and closing them quietly. He waited a few seconds to catch his breath before pushing his ear to the door.

“I think he went this way!” He heard one of the guys call from the end of the hallway. He listened to them run closer and closer to the doors. They stopped right outside the auditorium and Remus heard them discuss going inside. He backed away from the door and looked down the long rows of chairs. Velvety red and plush looking. Kinda comfy. Maybe he could come in here during free periods to nap…

He looked over to the stage before running through the aisles and hopping onto it. The doors opened and he heard the guys walk in. Remus ducked behind the curtains and crouched down as small as possible.

Just then, someone walked onto the stage.

“Garrett! And poise…what can I do for you fine gentleman on this beautiful January day!” The loud yet… familiar voice boomed. Something inside Remus seemed to stir but he didn’t pay attention. He only payed attention to the voices.

“Roman, a pleasure as always.” The main guy, Garret, sneered.

Remus felt all the air in his lungs leave his body and he had to uncurl from his crouched position to sit down instead. A dread filled his stomach and he kinda felt like throwing up.

Roman?! Roman?! Like, the twin he tricked, Roman? That one? Remus didn’t know he went to this school! Or…maybe he doesn’t? Yeah! Maybe he doesn’t and Remus is just overreacting!

He peaked his head out from behind the curtain, enough to look at the teen in the middle of the stage and…oh ever-fucking Zeus..

It was Roman. He hadn’t seen him since they were twelve and Remus…

At first Remus thought that it wasn’t him but then he saw that deep and prominent dimple on his right cheek and his fiery red hair. (“Just like the Weasley twins!” Ms. Malevolent would always say. “I’m trouble!” Remus would say. “And I’m double!” Roman would always say after him and then they’d laugh and laugh. Hey…at least neither of them were dead).

Although the clothes were definitely strange to Remus. He had only ever seen Roman in rags and hand me downs, never anything new. Unlike the bright white t-shirt and…Remus guessed maroon pants and the bright Adidas, the only non-new looking thing was…was the sports jacket Remus found when they were ten.

It was way too big for Roman but now that he was older it fit pretty well. Remus was surprised he still kept it

“It usually is! Now, why are you here, exactly? I know none of you have drama as an elective and you all definitely aren’t trying out for the school play so…” Roman trailed off, a sense of confidence in his voice that Remus always admired. It didn’t surprise Remus that Roman was in drama either. His twin always loved being the center of attention and putting on little plays for Remus and all the other kids in the orphanage whenever the power went out or any of the kids were having a bad day. They always cheered everyone up and Roman, again, adored the attention.

“Some new kid tripped my pal Ricky over here,” he heard, presumably Ricky, grunt out an agreement. Remus and Roman both rolled their eyes, although neither knew it. “ And we wanted to…. teach him a lesson! Yeah, teach him a lesson. We thought we saw him go in here.” All the other guys agreed and Roman huffed.

“Well, I can assure you all, that no one ran in here. Virgil and I are the only ones in here and we didn’t hear anyone come in except you four.” He said, his voice almost song like but that was always Roman. Actually, the only thing Remus could pick out that was different was the deepness of the voice. It had definitely gotten deeper since they were twelve but…it suit him. Remus bet he sounded even better singing than when he did when he was young. Less whiny and more rich.

Garrett huffed. “Yeah, okay. But if you see him, tell him that Garrett just wants to…talk. Yeah, a nice friendly little chat.”

“And if they don’t show up?” Roman asked, merely out of curiosity, Remus had to guess.

“Oh, if he’s smart…he will.” Garrett answered before him and his gang walked out. Remus turned back around and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He got ready to go until a voice stopped him.

“Okay, they’re gone! You can come out now!” Roman announced, still standing on the stage. Remus froze.

“Oh, come on! I promise I won’t bite~” Roman chuckled. “Well, if you’re cute then I might.” Roman said. Remus gagged. He would have not said that if he knew who was behind the curtain. Still, Remus stayed silent.

“Y'know I can see your foot, right?” Roman asked. Remus quickly pulled his foot to his chest and cleared his throat.

“I think I’m comfy right here.” Remus replied, making his voice sound as different as possible. It’s only been three years, it would not take Roman long to figure out who he was if he used his normal voice.

He heard Roman chuckle, it was melodious and he felt tears gather in his eyes. God he missed that sound.

“Oh, come on. I’m not gonna hurt you-”

“I doubt that,” Remus cut him off. He knew that Roman would probably beat the shit out of him for what he did and he really can’t blame the guy. He did kind of trick him and abandon him.

“How are you so sure?” Roman asked. Remus let out a watery bark of laughter.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said. He heard Roman walk closer to where he was. His footsteps were slow and light sounding.

“Can I at least know your name?” Roman tried. Remus shook his head no but then realized that Roman couldn’t see him.

“Hey Roman, I’m heading out. Pat and I are going to lunch! You spending your free period here?” A new voice, presumably Virgil, said. Roman just let out a loud hum and then the doors opened and closed.

“That was my friend, Virgil. Although, if you were listening, you already knew that. Can you please come out?” Roman asked once more.

“I’m gay.”

“Haha. Very funny.” Roman responded, tone light. Remus chuckled slightly too. “I am too, if that makes you feel any better.” Roman said.

“It does, actually.” Remus whispered. A tear had streamed down his face but he kept his voice level.

“If…if I show you who I am…do you promise not to get mad?” Remus asked after a few seconds of silence. He heard Roman back away to the center of the stage.

“That depends…are you my long lost twin?” Roman joked, voice layered with a type of sadness that made Remus’ stomach twist with guilt. He rose to his feet and walked out from behind the curtain.

“Actually,” he walked over to Roman who was now frozen to his spot, eyes wide and filled with a lot of emotions. “I am.” Remus said, spreading out his arms in a “here I am” type way.

There wasn’t much to show though. They both had pretty much the same build. Except, Roman was a lot more muscular in the arms while Remus was more muscular in his legs( due to running a lot of track…and away from the cops sometimes)

Their wardrobe was a lot more different too. At first De had offered to buy Remus all new clothes but he liked the more raggedy and dirty clothes. (“They fit my ass-the-dick” young Remus had said. De chuckled. “You mean, aesthetic?” He had asked. “Yeah, that thing” Remus waved off, marching out of the random store.) His dirty and very ripped jeans and his old crop top that he found. The only decent thing he had was the army jacket De insisted he get when he first got adopted.

The silence that dragged on through the air was as thick as Remus’ book of regrets and as sharp as his many knives.

The slap that rang out across the room easily broke that though.

Remus fell to the ground, hands cradling his right cheek. He didn’t even realize Roman moved closer to him.

“I…I deserve that.” Remus winced, feeling the spot. Damn, how hard did Roman hit? There was definitely gonna be a bruise.

“Damn right!” Roman yelled but Remus rose to his feet and held out his hand.

“You said you wouldn’t get angry,” Remus reminded.

“I said I wouldn’t get angry if you weren’t my long lost twin.” Roman corrected. Remus sighed. He did say that.

“What are you doing here?!” Roman yelled. Remus winced at the loud noise and covered his ears.

“Aye, quiet would ya? I don’t need the whole school knowing about this.” Remus muttered, fiddling with a loose piece of thread on his jacket. Roman quieted down his tone but it was still filled with the same venom as when he was yelling.

“What. The hell! Are you doing here?! Roman seethed. Remus licked his lips before answering.

“Well, I was on my way to second period but then I accidentally tripped one of those assholes and spent the next five or so minutes getting chased around the school.” Remus explained, attempting to ease the tension. Roman did not find it funny.

“I’m serious, Re."

Time seemed to stop. That nickname, the old nickname Roman used to call him. No one is allowed to call him that anymore, not even De! It made Remus feel something that he didn’t particularly like.

"I-I mean, Remus."

"Yeah..yeah I know uhm. I got expelled from my last school for….a certain incident and De and I moved up here, to NC, to be closer to his family…also because I got expelled from almost every school in a 100 mile radius.” Remus rushed through the last part but Roman still got it.

“So…so what you just went to this school to-to- I don’t even know! Rub it in my face! Humiliate me more than you already did? Mock me for being tricked by my brother!”

“No! Of course not! I didn’t even know you went here!” Remus defended, although a bit weakly. It seemed to go unnoticed by Roman.

“And then you show up here-of all places! You haven’t even bothered trying to get into contact with me once since I left!.” Roman said. It felt like a kick in the gut to Remus but Roman didn’t seem to see that. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

“I know tha-"

"Do you know how long I waited? Just waiting for you to contact me? Tell me that you missed me-that you regret what you did- that you loved me- that you were safe?! Cus I had no idea if you had died or anything!,” Roman continued. Remus looked across the large auditorium guiltily. The rows of seats and the box seats on top. They all looked almost brand new and very…regal.

Damn, this school was rich.

“Oh, nothing to say? Well maybe you’ll say something when I tell you that I had to go to therapy because of what you fucking did to me!” Tears had started to stream down Romans cheeks but he kept going. “Think about it? How traumatizing that is? Knowing that my twin- my brother, my only family- had gotten rid of me and didn’t even feel bad enough to send me a fucking emai-”

“I do too,” Remus whispered.

Romans paused.

“What?” he sneered.

“I do too.” Remus said, louder. “Go to therapy, I mean. The guilt I felt, the nightmares I got…I didn’t know if you were okay and your last name changed- I couldn't find you- then I got adopted and we moved to Florida and I just-…I gave up. On everything, actually. De got me therapy not long after ….” Remus trailed off.

A range of emotions swimmed through Romans dark brown eyes. The same eyes that Remus possessed but they looked…older. Like he’d seen the universe crumble and couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Remus probably looked much the same.

“I-I…I have to go!"

"Roman, wait!” but he had already jumped down from the stage and ran through the double doors and straight into the crowd of students.

Remus collapsed into a crying mess in the middle of the stage. Tears mixed with snot as they met at his chin and he didn’t bother to wipe it away. He just pulled out his phone and clicked the first contact. He held it up to his ear and waited.

“Remus? Wha-”

“C-c-can you p-pick me up…” Remus stuttered, voice low.

“What? Why? And why are you crying? Remus what ha-” the concern seemed high in the man’s voice and Remus felt bad for putting it there. Not bad enough to continue through the rest of the day though.

“I-I…I wan-wanna go h-…h-home!” He pleaded, curling into himself as tightly as possible. It almost felt like a comforting hug. Almost.

“Of…of course, darling. We can go home. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes so gather your things.”

“O-okay….I love you D-De.” Remus whispered, wiping away a few tears. They kept coming but at least he tried.

“Of course. I love you too, Rem.” De hung up with a click. Remus lifted himself up from his folded position, wiped a few more tears, and headed towards his locker to grab the few things he brought.

God, he wished he kicked those kids asses after all.

#bob rites #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil mention #patton mention #deceit sanders #tw death mention #tw abandonment mention #tw cursing #tw guilt mention #nightmare mention #remus angst #roman angst #switcheroo

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

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Athena/Ash AU: Whiskey and Nightmares

Continuing the crack AU @whump-tr0pes and I are collabing on with her Honor Bound characters and my Daniel Michaelson characters... Isaac wakes up from a nightmare and heads downstairs for a drink... only to find Danny Michaelson is already up, for the same reason.

CW: Referenced past trauma and violence, some dehumanizing language (brief), and, uh... drunken makeouts and PG-13/Light R if you squint spice!

First Second Third

Isaac came out of sleep fighting for air through a what felt like a pinhole to breathe through, a panicked gasp lodged somewhere midway down his throat.

He was in an unfamiliar bed, too nice of a bed, too richly luxurious - the pillows were soft and there were so many. There were warm fuzzy blankets draped over him and the room smelled faintly like vanilla and tobacco. It was a space designed for absolute relaxation, and a faint breeze blew through from the open (but barred) window, rustling the long, semi-sheer drapes that ran to the floor.

Where the fuck was he?

For a second, as he moved to push himself up to sitting, Isaac was absolutely sure the door to the bedroom was locked, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

He felt off-balance, coming out of a nightmare where something… what had happened? He had a sense of deep-seated terror, a soft voice whispering you’re never leaving this room again in his ear. That was all he could remember.

It was already fading, the way that nightmares slip away and leave the aftermath and the fear without the context to explain it.

His heart was pounding in his chest like it’d try to break its way through, and he took a deep breath, blinking rapidly, trying to calm himself down.

Next to him, there was a soft movement in the bed, and Isaac jerked so hard to the side he rolled right off in a tangle of sheets wrapped around his ankles, hitting the ground with a muffled thump as he landed on a soft, plush rug that was nearly as thick as the bed itself.

He stared up, heart pounding, blinking as he realized the ceiling above his head was painted with a jungle scene. He was staring at a tiger, its jaws open wide over the back of some kind of lizard that clearly didn’t know it was there.

“Am I the lizard…?” Isaac asked, hearing his own voice hoarse and wavering.

He was being held here. The door was locked, he knew the door was locked. The Michaelsons were going to keep them here, Gray’s instincts had been wrong. They had been taken captive all over again but it was all of them this time, there was nothing he could do to save anyone.

Worse than that, he was locked in and there was someone else in the bed. He didn’t know how it had happened but he was locked in a bedroom with someone else, someone-

“Isaac…?” Sam’s voice slurred, bleary with sleep, and his head jerked over to stare as Sam shifted around to look back down at him from up on the bed. Their curly hair was an absolute mess, smashed flat on one side and nearly haloing their head on the other, and they rubbed at one eye, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “You okay?”

“Uh…” Isaac took a deep, shaky breath, raking one hand back through his hair, looking around. “Y-Yeah, Sam, I’m fine. Just fell out of bed, I guess. I’ll just, uh…”

He had to see if the door was locked. He had to. There was still worry beating in the back of his mind, that they’d all been locked in like guests in some weird horror movie. It wasn’t an impossible thought, either.

The Michaelsons could just keep them here. Gray had taken a huge risk, agreeing to this to get through the territory safely, and what if this family couldn’t be trusted? What if their hatred for the Stormbecks wasn’t stronger than their greed? They could trade them back to Gavin’s family or… or worse, somehow, and he wasn’t sure what could be worse than what he’d already survived or what might be in store for the if they were dragged back, but…

What if the Michaelsons took one look at you and just knew that you’re so fucking entertaining to break?

“I’ll just go splash some water on my face,” Isaac said a little gruffly, getting to his feet, feeling an ache along his back. Phantom pains he was starting to get used to feeling, hints of fire along the places where the whip had come down. “Go back to sleep, Sam, I’m okay.”

Sam squinted at him. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

They looked like they wanted to argue, but exhaustion won out and they flopped back onto the bed. Sam wrapped themself up tightly in all the blankets until one side of the bed was absolutely devoid of even a single corner of the sheets.

"I'm going to want some of those back when I come back, you know," Isaac said, fighting a smile.

"Wish you th' best of luck takin’ ‘em," Sam muttered from deep within the little Sam burrito they had made.

Isaac sighed, good-naturedly, and padded barefoot to the door. He hesitated with his hand out, swallowing, just an inch from trying to open it. As long as he didn't, he wouldn't know for sure if it was locked or not, if he'd had a nightmare or a premonition.

It’s not going to open. You and Sam are locked in this room, with bars on the windows and a door you can’t get out of, and they’ll come and tell you that you’re never leaving alive.

He curved his fingers around the gilded handle and firmly pushed it down.

It’s not going to open, Isaac.

It opened easily, swinging in on silent hinges to show him the hallway. For a half-second he jumped at the sight of a man staring right at him… before he realized it was his own reflection. There was a large mirror with a gold frame hung on the wall opposite the door. He hadn't really noticed it earlier, but he was very aware of it now.

Isaac closed the door behind him as quietly as he could, and stood for just a second, listening. Someone was snoring loud enough to hear - he was pretty sure that was Gray - and he was also pretty sure he heard low voices coming from Ryan Michaelson's room, low soft male laughter followed up by a voice he knew.

Two voices he knew.

Well, that didn’t take long.

“I need a drink,” Isaac murmured, dragging a hand down his face. He could see the starry sky through the window next to the stairwell, moonlight shining in well enough to nearly light the dark hallway. He rolled his eyes upward, slowly looking at the ceiling above him, wondering if Gavin was asleep yet, or still whining to the wall about how small his queen-sized bed was.

How was it Ryan and Daniel Michaelson had been so polite and nice and Gavin Stormbeck was such a piece of whiny, sniveling shit?

Maybe Ryan and Danny’s parents don’t teach their children to cut people up for fun. Or to be better at pretending they don't, anyway.

He was thinking too much.

Isaac set his jaw, carefully blanked his mind, and made his way down the winding staircase, listening to the sounds of the house settling around him. This house was older than any place he’d seen still standing, evidence of the time before the syndicates - if you ignored the more newly-added bars on the windows and the fact that he was fairly certain the front door was bulletproof.

There was greenery everywhere, now that he thought about it. Plants on shelves and in corners, ivy growing up the outside of the house, a heavily wooded area out back that they had been warned to not go in without Nate or Ryan giving them explicit permission.

“... in case it gets shoot-y,” Isaac said to himself as he stepped onto the first floor, lips twisting with wry humour, stretching his arms up over his head.

"Is-... Is s-someone there?"

The voice was slightly wavering, a little worried. Isaac turned, still mid-stretch, to see Danny Michaelson, a nearly looming presence in the open doorway to the kitchen, peering out at him.

"It's just me," Isaac said, opening his palms wide where they were held above his head, in a don't shoot gesture. "Uh. Isaac. I don't know why I thought you'd know who 'me' is in the dark…"

"No, I… I recognized your… hi." Danny hesitated, eyes dropping, and Isaac realized his shirt had ridden up to show a wide band of his stomach, criss-crossed with scarring from Gavin’s knife. He quickly dropped his arms, shirt falling back down to cover them up. "What, um… are you doing up?"

"Could, ah, ask you the same."

"Oh. Um." Danny ducked his head, smiling with an odd, shame-faced expression. His scars were nearly invisible in the blueish white moonlight coming through the windows, warm light from the kitchen making him nearly a silhouette. "Had a nightmare, thought drinking would, um, would help. You?"

"Yeah… same reason, same thought."

Danny blinked at him, then he laughed - it was a low, soft laugh, and Isaac had the distinct feeling that if he so much as acknowledged it, Danny would not laugh again. “Well, sit on the couch, then. I’ll get you… I’ll get you a glass.”

Isaac nodded and watched him duck back into the kitchen before he moved quietly over to the ‘formal family room’ or whatever Ryan had called it, looking around at the multiple couches that took up the seemingly cavernous space before he settled on a large sectional nearly wide enough to be a bed in and of itself, sitting down only to nearly sink into the cushions, letting out a soft breath.

Seeing Danny made his nightmare, and his certainty when he’d first woken up that they were locked in and never getting out, seem ridiculous, nearly insanely absurd. Gray had said Danny lived through something similar to Vera’s experience with Gavin’s father, that his captivity had lasted years. He had a feeling the shy, nervous redhead would never have been here if anything like that had been planned.

Granted, he could see Ryan Michaelson being just fine with it if it meant Sam would stick around… Isaac caught himself smiling again, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples with his fingers.

Danny came back out with a bottle in one hand and two whiskey glasses braced between his arm and his ribs.

“Why not hold them with your hand?” Isaac asked, blinking, as Danny came around the side of the couch and settled close - but not too close - to him.

“I don’t have the best grip with my, um, my hands any longer,” Danny said with a shrug, not quite looking at him. He set the glasses down on the coffee table before pouring them each a good three fingers of brown liquor with practiced expertise.

“You’re good at that,” Isaac said softly. “I always have to keep evening out the pour for what feels like minutes to get everyone the same amount.”

Danny looked up at him, considering, and then said softly, “I had to be good at it, for them.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” Isaac felt his face burn, embarrassed that he’d manage to so thoroughly tapdance right into uncomfortable territory, but Danny just smiled at him and pushed his glass closer, quickly pulling his hand back before Isaac could reach out.

“No problem. You wouldn’t know.” Danny picked his own glass up, taking a long drink, and Isaac followed suit.

It was whiskey, hints of vanilla - what was it with the Michaelsons and vanilla? - and it went down so smoothly he could nearly drink it like water. He was drinking it like water, he realized only after a good third of it was already gone, and he’d barely even taken a breath in between drinks.

“You did it, too,” Danny said, his voice low enough that Isaac nearly missed it over the welcome warmth beginning to spread through his shoulders, relaxing muscles that felt like they never stopped being tense. When Isaac blinked at him, he pointed at the scar that ran over Isaac’s left forearm. “You were… held.”

“Um. Yeah.” Isaac found himself gulping even more, and made himself put the glass down on the table, nervously rubbing at the skin between thumb and forefinger with his other hand. “I was. Not for, uh, not for nearly as long as you, not by a longshot.”

“Pain is relative,” Danny said quickly, in the practiced cadence of someone who had tried to memorize the phrase. “It doesn’t, um, matter how long. What matters is that it happened. I, um, I thought so when I, I saw you…” His voice trailed off and he took another drink, and Isaac realized Danny was drinking pretty fast, too.

“Shit. So you can tell just from looking at me,” Isaac muttered, and Danny laughed again, surprising enough in the moment to make Isaac look back up at him. The warm blue eyes were sparkling with real humor, in a way he hadn’t seen before.

But then, Danny was drinking before Isaac ever came downstairs.

“No. I mean, um, yes. I can. And Nate can. When you’ve, um, been there… you can see it in each other, I think.” He gave Isaac a slightly nervous smile, and picked up the glass to hand it to him again. Isaac took it with a soft thanks and took another drink, wondering if Danny was trying to get him drunk, or if he was just trying to be nice.

Get you drunk and you wake up and then you really are locked in, and it was all part of some sadistic fucking game, just like Gavin-

“I know because I, um, I have them, too,” Danny said, and tapped with one finger the scars on the back of the hand that held his own glass. “Scars. This was, um, knives. Your stomach was knives?”

“How do you-”

“When you were stretching,” Danny said, shyly. “Not that I was looking. I just… saw them.”

“Oh.” Isaac felt his face redden again, and he shrugged, trying to look casual and uncaring about it, his eyes drifting over to the windows that ran along the front of the house. Barred, in a subtle way he hadn’t picked up on at first. This was a sweet, lovely little country house - and it was also a fortress. Even as he looked, he saw the shadow of one of the Michaelsons’ armed men move past, walking the grounds, armed to the teeth. “Yeah. That was knives.”

When he was Gavin’s favorite fucking entertainment. And now he had to cart him around and save his life, because he was supposed to be better than Gavin, even if he knew, deep down, that he wasn’t.

The two fell into not-quite-awkward silence, punctuated only by the sound of the bottle when Danny picked it back up and refilled both their glasses once they were empty. Isaac was watching more closely this time, and he could see a flicker of emptiness in Danny’s face when he did it, as though he were sliding somewhere back into himself, just for a fraction of a second, as he did something he had done in captivity.

It reminded Isaac uneasily of Vera - and made him wonder if it would remind any of the rest of the team of him.

“What was your nightmare?” Danny asked, looking up at him. It was weird, to sit next to such a tall man hunched over to make himself so small, and see him look up at you, with big eyes.

“What?” Isaac was feeling the whiskey, now - he could feel the flush of it in his face, warm under his skin, relaxed back into the couch now instead of sitting up straight and tense.

“Why you woke up. You said you had, um, nightmares, and wanted to drink. What was your nightmare?” Danny grinned at him, a flash of the kind of smile he’d given his brother and the other one - Nate - earlier. Less shy, now that he also had plenty of whiskey in him.

He was… kind of cute, Isaac thought, and carefully looked away before that thought got any further away from him or - in the most horrifying possibility - found its way out of his mouth. “Um. I just… I don’t really remember. I know I was dreaming that we were locked in, that you had, uh, decided to-”

“Keep you?” Danny tilted his head, a little hair falling over one eye. Isaac was just drunk enough to lean forward and push it back out of the way - but not drunk enough to miss the way Danny went very, very still, almost instantly, at the touch.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” Isaac said, jerking his hand back like maybe he’d burned him. “Shit. Gray said you don’t like touch, that was part of our, uh, shit. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s… it’s not as bad when I’m drunk? It’s okay. You’re okay. You’ve, um, you’ve been there, too…” Danny trailed off. “That makes it easier. When someone has, um, has… been there, too.”

“Not like that,” Isaac said quickly. “I mean. Shit. I’m too drunk not to fuck this whole conversation up, Daniel.”

“Danny. My… not a lot of, um, people call me Daniel. I like Danny better. That’s okay, I’m drunk enough that this whole… conversation… is going pretty well from, um, my perspective.” Danny grinned at him again, and he found himself smiling back. “So you thought we were, um, going to keep you here?”

“Yeah. I mean. It’s just a bad dream, but we’ve been running from… so many fucking people. I think my brain just… doesn’t want to admit there’s anyone out there who doesn't have an ulterior motive.”

“Oh, we do.” Isaac felt a vague sense of alarm before Danny only shook his head and laughed again, sitting more upright. “Sorry. I just mean, we’re not doing this because we’re good people, my mother just wants to piss off the Stormbecks. They stole some, um, some stuff from her a long time ago, and she figures, why not? But we wouldn’t, uh, hold you.” Danny glanced away, over at the window outside. Looking at the driveway lined with trees gently swaying in the nighttime breeze. “We don’t… do that.”

“Well… good. I’m glad my nightmare was as ridiculous as it sounded. What was yours?”

“My nightmare?” Danny looked back at him, hesitating, and then just shrugged. “Same as always. That coming home was, um, a dream. They’re not dead, and I’m still… there. What happens in the dream is, um, different, but… that’s always what it’s about. This time I was being whipped again. They liked whipping me.”

Isaac took another drink, nodding as he let the flavor rest on his tongue, then swallowed. “I’ve been whipped, too. Does your back still hurt when you wake up?”

“Every fucking day,” Danny said dryly, and the both of them laughed together. “I mean every day. My hands, too, but my back’s the, um, the worst.” He shrugged, finishing his second drink and setting the glass a little too firmly down on the table, both of them wincing at the loud thunk. “Whoops. I’m glad you guys asked us for help.”

“You… are?” Isaac blinked, not entirely sure he hadn’t just drunk enough to start hearing things. “Why?”

Danny smiled but looked away at the same second, and Isaac knew that expression, and felt vaguely alarmed and sort of enthralled by it all at once. “It’s just… nice to meet other people who, um, who know. I mean. Other than Nate. But we talked about it, and he’s okay with it, he said…”

“You talked to Nate? About what?” Isaac’s voice was lower than he meant it to be, a little shaky. His face had never stopped being red, and it had to be the whiskey.

Danny looked at him, briefly, and then away. “You.”

“You talked to him… about… me?” Isaac’s voice caught, and he drank the rest of his whiskey way too fast, coughing as it went down the wrong way, leaning forward wondering how ridiculous it was to make it through everything he’d survived and then choke to death on goddamn whiskey. “Shit. Sorry, I just-”

He coughed again, harder this time, bent nearly in half with the effort.

“Are you, um, okay?” Danny patted him on the back, firmly, and with his eyes closed - still coughing - Isaac wondered if Danny had done that for anyone but Nate since he’d come back here from whatever it was he’d lived through. “Hey, I can, let me go get some water-”

“N-No, I’m fine.” Isaac cleared his throat, putting one hand up, taking a few deep breaths. “I’m fine, thanks, I’m okay. I’m-” He coughed once more, and finally sat back, only to find Danny leaning in closer than he had been before.

Either he was really drunk, or it just didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. He looked up to meet Danny’s eyes, only a few inches away from his. “I’m okay,” He said, again, more softly. Nearly a whisper.

“I think you’re safe,” Danny said, quietly, without pulling back. “So I want to try something. Are you safe?”

“I don’t-... I don’t know what that means.”

Danny shook his head, and that bit of hair fell over his eyes again. “I mean, I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

“Hurt you… One of us has about three dozen armed guards outside, Danny, and it’s not me.” He reached up and pushed the bit of hair back out of the way again, tucking it behind Danny’s ear. Danny went still - but this time, Isaac got that he wasn’t going still because he wanted it to stop. “Did you seriously talk to your boyfriend about-”

“Yes.”

Danny cut him off with lips pressed to his, a kiss that surprised him with intensity, that he was answering with the same warmth before he even understood what had happened.

Danny’s rough, scarred hands were on either side of his face. His hands went up over Danny’s, not to pull them back, just laying over the pattern of scars, feeling the rough bumps under his palms.

He could taste the whiskey they’d both been drinking, when he opened his mouth, when Danny pressed the kiss deeper.

“Are you sure this isn’t going to, to fuck something up-”

“Me, maybe,” Danny whispered. “Or you. But not us, not me and Nate. Please, you can say no, but-”

“I don’t want to say no,” Isaac said, and groaned when Danny kissed the side of his neck, sliding his hands up into his hair, tangling his fingers around it. “I just-... haven’t, in a long time-”

“That’s okay, we don’t have to do-... I don’t think I, um, I can, anyway, we can just do this.”

“Oh, okay, just-... this is good, I think, this is good, to start.”

They were whispering, heads together, and Isaac wasn’t sure exactly how it happened but somehow a few minutes later he ended up on his back on the couch with Danny laying on top of him, their hands up under each other’s shirts, the other man’s tongue in his mouth, feeling his body light up in ways it hadn’t done in way too long.

The world was a sort of delightful drunken spin centered around the simple solid weight of Daniel Michaelson’s hips on his, the warmth of his ribs under Isaac’s hands, the odd rough coolness of Danny’s fingers sliding up his back as he arched into him, pressing over scars.

His own hands moved up Danny’s back, under the fabric of his heavy knit sleeping shirt, feeling along the scars as they kissed, the house shifting, creaking around them in the middle-of-the-night stillness. “Got whipped right there, too,” Isaac murmured into Danny’s jaw, licking at the scar there, the little dip of evidence of something darker than Isaac was prepared to name.

“We both did,” Danny whispered, voice and breath heavy, moving his hands to feel over the knife-marks on Isaac’s stomach, curving over his hips through the fabric of his pants. He rocked their hips together, to Isaac’s low moan. Then Danny smiled and pushed himself back and away, sitting slowly up with his weight still on Isaac’s hips. “Want to see?”

“Not, uh, exactly, b-... but your shirt off… yeah.”

“I asked as a, uh, to see if you wanted… to see my shirt off… I’m bad at this. Hold on.” Danny smiled shyly, pulling his shirt off over his head, and Isaac pushed himself up on his elbows to look up at him. Jesus, it had been a while - they’d been so busy running and fighting and living on pure adrenaline, he hadn’t even thought about doing anything like this…

Are you about to sleep with a syndicate son? After what the syndicates have done to your entire fucking life? Seriously?

Danny didn’t feel like a syndicate heir, though. Talking to him felt more like talking to one of them, one of the normal people the syndicates had crushed and brought to heel when they took over. Talking to Ryan felt like talking to a syndicate member, but… not Danny.

Danny shifted back and off of him, moving to turn around while still kneeling on the couch, and in the dim light of the single lamp in the living room and the moonlight coming through the windows, Isaac stared at a back absolutely coated in scars exactly like his own. He moved around and up onto his knees, pulling his own shirt off in silence.

“I, I know they’re bad,” Danny whispered, shoulders hunching forward. “I’m sorry, I can put my shirt back on-”

“Don’t.” He was drunk, and this probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but Isaac leaned forward and kissed Danny’s shoulder blade, hearing his breath hitch and smiling a little as he grazed his mouth over the scars, rough and silk-smooth at the same time. “I like, I like how you… look, I think.”

Danny laughed, a low soft sound, and turned around on the couch, grabbing at him again, and this time Isaac didn’t hesitate, the two of them kneeling together on the couch, wrapped in each other, and Isaac realized the vanilla-and-tobacco smell was Danny’s cologne.

“Christ, you’re good at kissing,” Isaac said, sucking a spot red on Danny’s neck until he was shivering and moving his hips again, almost helplessly, breathing in little gasps that Isaac wanted to hear more of, all night or potentially for-fucking-ever.

“Y-you, um, you, too,” Danny murmured, sliding a hand over Isaac’s stomach, over the scars, and then slipping it underneath the waistband of his pants, fingers skimming lower and lower until Isaac dropped his forehead onto Danny’s shoulder and groaned, bucking into his hand.

“Jesus. Fuck. Yes, right there, Danny... ah, I want that-”

“Oh my god,” Isaac heard an all-too-familiar voice say. “What the f-”

THUNK.

“Ow! Jesus Christ that hurt!”

Danny and Isaac both jumped apart, turning to look over the back of the couch to where Gavin was sitting on his ass on the ground, rubbing at one side of his face, next to a doorframe.

“Gavin, what the fuck?” Isaac grabbed at his shirt, moving to pull it rapidly back on over his head, and saw Danny doing the same. He tried to ignore his disappointment - which was easy, since he was rapidly papering it over with anger. “Did you just walk into the fucking doorway?”

“I was surprised! I came down to get a glass of water, I didn’t expect to find you and this asshole fucking playing ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ at 2 in the morning!” Gavin pushed himself to his feet, glaring at Danny with real anger and something else, something even sharper, in his eyes.

“It’s, um, it’s my house,” Danny said, trying for firm, but his voice shook just a little, and Isaac stood, walking around the couch to stand between them without even thinking about it.

“Sure, it’s your house, but he’s-” Gavin cut off.

“If you were about to say what I think you were about to say,” Isaac said, voice low and dangerous, “Then you need to get your ass upstairs right. the fuck. now.”

“How would you know what I was going to say,” Gavin muttered, a pouting whine to his voice that stabbed into Isaac’s brain like a hundred icepicks. “I mean, with him? What, you going to thank him for letting us stay here flat on your back? I kind of get the other one, but this one? All he’s done is cook and clean like a fucking maid and he just follows the other guy around like a-... like a, a fucking…”

“Like a what, Gavin?” Isaac asked, his voice low and soft.

Danny had gone silent, but in the moment, Isaac didn’t notice.

“Like a fucking puppy or something!” Gavin half-shouted. “That’s what I was trying to say! He’s like a puppy!”

There was a strangled sound, and Isaac turned to see a look in Danny’s eyes that he’d seen before… in Vera. Wide, and distant, and terrified.

I am going to fucking murder Gavin Stormbeck one day, and right now I could happily bludgeon him to death with anything in this room.

“Gavin, go upstairs right now,” Isaac said quickly. “Right. Now. Get back in your room and don’t come out until everyone else is up.”

“What? Why?” Gavin blinked, looking at Danny directly for the first time. He swallowed hard, face going pale. “Oh, shit. I fucked him up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you dumbass. You did,” Isaac said, and it took real effort to keep his tone even. All the warmth from the whiskey had drained out of him, leaving him feeling coldly sober and furious - at the look on Daniel Michaelson’s face, at the interruption and the way his body was still lit at every nerve ending, at just fucking everything. “Get upstairs. Now. I’ll handle this, and maybe we don’t get our asses thrown to the fucking bounty hunters chasing us.”

Gavin muttered something that could have been the world’s lamest attempt at an apology and all but fled back up the stairs.

Isaac turned back to look at Daniel Michaelson and took a deep breath. “Okay, what do I do now?”

Danny looked up at him, eyes wide and frightened of something only he could see. “I’m sorry,” He said, voice shaking. “I’ll… I’ll be good, for y-you.”

Isaac felt dread like cold water run down his spine. “Hey, it’s okay,” He said, putting his hands up, palms out, then dropping them when Danny flinched back and put his own hands over his head protectively.

“I’ll be good,” Danny said, closing his eyes, steeling himself as if waiting for a blow. “I’ll, I’ll try h-harder, I’ll be good, I want to be good for y-you, Abraham…”

Isaac ran through everything he could think of to do, and finally he just stood there, feeling helpless. The only thing he could think of… “Shit. Okay. Stay here, uh, Danny. Just stay here, I’ll go get Nate, okay?”

He did not look forward to explaining the last few minutes of his life to Danny Michaelson’s boyfriend.

If they weren’t going to fuck us over before, there’s a distinct possibility they’ll do so now.

He went for the rooms at the back of the first floor, and felt more than a little embarrassed that at least part of him was upset that he probably wasn’t going to get to do any of that with Danny Michaelson again.

#whump #honor bound au #honour bound au #crack au #ash/Athena au #Athena/ash au #tw: referenced past violence #tw: referenced past abuse #SPICE #like a hint of paprika spice #like PG-13 spice #or light R if you squint #scars #escaped whumpees #nightmares #tw: drunken makeouts #does that need a tw?#I'll just stick one in here anyway #drunken makeouts

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transdonaldduck · 6 years ago

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idk if you already answered this, but what was mason and donalds first meeting like?

Mom was confident, a pillar of strength Mason desperately wanted to emulate- she was certain and steady all the time. At most she was reserved, modest, gentle… but never has her hand hovered over a doorbell for so long, waiting to gather the courage to ring the bell. A heart beat passes and Jessica pushes the buzzer to McDuck Manor.

There’s a pause, then- “McDuck Residence, state your business.” It’s a curt tone, feminine, and her sharpness makes Mason frown.

“Yes, hi! Hello.” Jessica’s nerves finally smoothed out on the last word, jitters vanishing as her professional persona kicked in, “I’m looking for Donald Duck.”

She doesn’t get a reply for a long moment, and just when she thinks she’s been denied, there‘s the voice again, “May I ask what this is about?”

“Of course, um, My name is Jessica Quackmire. We met about fifteen years ago, and I have… something that uh…” Her face twists as she fishes for the right words, “…Belongs to him?”

Mason turns her head slowly, unamused. Jessica shrugs helplessly, mouths I didn’t know what to say!

There’s a loud sound, the grinding of metal against metal and Mason jumps, watching the gates peel backwards to allow them entrance, “Please proceed forward.” The woman says over the intercom before the line drops dead. Mom puts the car in drive.

“Something that belongs to him?” Mason asks wryly.

“I’m an adult, I can admit it: I panicked.” Jessica says reasonably, grimacing at her own word choice, “This is a delicate situation, I didn’t want to just tell him about a surprise family over a gate intercom.”

“Fair enough.” Mason concedes, drumming out a tune on the dashboard, trying to expel some built up energy.

“…Are you nervous about meeting him?” Jessica asks gently.

Mason balls her hands up to stop the incessant habit, dropping them to her lap, “What’s there to be nervous about?” She tries for nonchalant, “It’s not like I don’t know all about him… he’s got his own wikipedia page.”

“It’s different reading about someone versus actually meeting them.” Mom points out as she finally makes it to the manor, pulling into the roundabout in front of the main entrance, “Do you want to stay in the car until I talk to him?”

“No way, I want to be there the whole time.” She says, unclicking her seatbelt, “I can handle it.”

Once mom had decided to start med school, she’d sat Mason down and had a long talk about her father. It’s not as if Mason wasn’t aware of him before, and while she’d always kind of wondered about what he was like in person, she also was pretty happy with her life and never really felt the need to reach out badly enough to actually do it. Mom wanted them to build a relationship, though, since she wouldn’t be around a lot once she went back to school. Mason had a sneaking suspicion there was another reason there somewhere, but she didn’t pry. The thought of meeting her dad was good in theory, but he was a difficult man to track down. Turns out he hopped from job to job, didn’t have a landline listed in the phone book, and his previously listed house(boat) had apparently blown up and then sunk spectacularly during the return of magica De Spell- so, he was hard to get a hold of… which meant they were stuck here, jumping right into the fire instead of asking him to meet them out for lunch or something. No warning ahead of time. Oof.

Mason pops open her door and jumps out of the car, following her mom up to the door. The closer she got to actually meeting Donald Duck, the more anxious she was getting. What if he didn’t like her..? What if he didn’t want her.

Mom knocks on the door politely and firmly without delay, this time, shoulders squared. Mason mimics her, straightening her spine, schooling her expression. The woman who opens the door was an imposing figure. She was dressed very sweetly in a matronly apron and a skirt, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, and Mason understood almost immediately she was the no-nonsense type and strains to stand stiffer under her eyes.

“Jessica Quackmire,” Mom smiles, solding out her hand.

“I am the housekeeper, Miss Beakley.” She smiles back, shaking her mom’s hand twice, “Please follow me, Donald is out back.”

Miss Beakley hardly gives them time to register her words before she’s off, and Mason and her mom are pressed to chase after her. The Manor is huge, bigger than Mason’s elementary school and highschool combined, there’s tasteful crown moulding and paintings and marbles flooring with plush red carpets on top, they pass a fireplace as tall as her stacked with wood for its next use- its fancy and clean and well put together. Her Dad lived here?

As she looks around, craning her neck to take it all in, she gets the distinct feeling of being watched. She glances behind her suspiciously, frowning at the empty hallway and then scrambling to keep up when she realizes she’s being left in the dust. Finally they come upon a kitchen area and, past that, a set of sliding glass doors that lead out to a pool area, and in the pool… is a giant boat.

Are rich people really like this?

There’s two people on deck of the boat and, now that Mason is looking closer, the ship is in rough shape- it’s banged up and scraped, huge sections of paint missing, the bow is cracked and splintered in places, the smoke stack up top dented and banged up. There’s signs of work all around the pool, stacks of wood, buckets of paint, other things Mason doesn’t know enough about to identify… but the thing that really catches her attention is that the two men on the boat are arguing loudly.

“Donald!” Miss Beakley calls, “Your guests are here!”

The man in the sailor suit pauses the argument, grabbing the edge of the railing to peer over and look at them. He’s handsome, a few stress wrinkles here and there, but his feathers are still bright. He’s wearing a sailors outfit, and even leaning over the railing he stands like the boys in JROTC stood- military. He’s got his feathers cut short, a tuft or two poking out from his hairline, and before she can quite take it all in he leans too far over the edge and pitches forward into the water with a loud quack of surprise.

Mason barks out a startled laugh, clapping a hand to her beak to smother it as mom hurried forward to try and help. This was Donald Duck? Scrooge McDuck’s nephew and one of the worlds most skilled adventures in the world? Mason felt a bit better, knowing now he wasn’t exactly the intimidating figure she’d built him up to be. Jessica leans out and offers him her hand as he pops out of the water, blinking chlorine out of his eyes, but before he can take it Scrooge leans down from the entrance plank and uses his cane to hook the back of his shirt, pulling him over to the edge of the pool so he could haul himself out.

He sits in the edge of the pool and coughs a few times, smacking his chest, and gathers his bearings.

“Hello Mrs. Quackmire,” Scrooge says, coming down the rest of the way to greet them, “Scrooge McDuck.”

Jessica reaches out to shake his hand, “No introduction necessary, Mr. McDuck, I think the whole world knows who you are.”

Donald gets to his feet, water rolling off his feathers, ringing out his shirt, “Don’t say that, it’ll just go to his head.”

And Masons heart skips a beat.

“Your voice…” She says without thinking at all.

He blinks, winces, and she can see his face flush under his feathers, “I have a speech impediment.” And it almost sounds like an apology.

She wants to say don’t worry, I had the same one but her throat is suspiciously tight and she can’t quite get the words out, dropping her eyes to the ground so she doesn’t make him feel worse. Mom has put her through several speech therapy classes when she was young and, while she never fully lost the scratchy undertone, she wasn’t even a fraction as garbled as he was. If there was any more proof she’d needed…

“Hey, Donald. It’s been a while,” Jessica steps forward, crossing her arms across her stomach, drawing his attention, “Would you mind if we talked in private?”

He blinks and his eyebrows furrow, and Mason can tell he’s trying to place where he knows her from. He nods, “sure, would you like to come inside my houseboat? It was recently sunk so sorry about the work in progress.”

“You could always stay inside the manor like I was offering.” Scrooge mutters, rolling his eyes, “I’ll be inside if you need me. It was nice meeting you, Miss Quackmire.”

“Likewise!” She responds, following Donald inside the boat with Mason in tow.

And Donald hadn’t been lying, like the outside of the boat, the inside was a mess. The railing on the stairs was broken along the base, missing several slats, and the kitchen had been gutted, empty holes where a stove or a dishwasher should have been. The place was sparsely decorated, the kitchen table piled with picture frames and photo albums, the living room with only a worn looking couch and matching chair, an ancient tv set.

“She was damaged during the return of Magica De Spell,” he tells them, “I’m trying to fix her up. Make yourself at home, I’m gonna go get out of these wet clothes.”

Jessica smiles at Mason encouragingly, “Well, this is kind of nice, isn’t it?” She says, looking around, “It needs a few repairs, but it’s so… sweet. Quaint.”

“Not something I expected from the nephew of a trillionaire.” Mason admits, walking over to the kitchen table, peeking at the photos, “This must be Huey, Dewey, and Louie.” She says, looking at the picture. It’s Donald with the boys, they’re all smiling, at a park, and the boys look no older than six or seven. The picture is warped around the edges from water damage and she can see the care Donald took to try and salvage it.

Donald comes back into the room wearing a loose black t-shirt and Jessica smiles at him, stepping away from the kitchen table, “Please, have a seat.” He says warmly, motioning to the couch. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, “Would you like some tea?”

“No, that’s alright.” Jessica shakes her head, taking her satchel off and setting it aside.

“Okay, let’s get down to business. You said you had something of mine?” Donald says, sitting across from them in the chair, “I hope it’s not her!” he says jokingly, motioning to Mason.

Mason and Jessica’s eyes get as big as dinner plates.

There’s a long pause, and Donalds own eyes widen comically as the puzzle pieces slide into place. “Oh- Oh-” He stutters, hands reaching out to clutch the arms of the chair, “ Is she- she’s mine?” Donald asks, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, disbelief in his gaze.

Jessica takes a deep breathe, “Fifteen years ago you and your band the Three Caballeros were playing at a bar in Las Vegas. I invited you back to my place- I don’t know if you remember that, or me, but I have a picture of us when we met. I was into photography back then.” She grabs her satchel, pulling out an old looking photo, handing it to him, “After that night, you went back to duckburg…” She closes her eyes for a brief moment, “And I laid an egg.”

He studies the photo.

“I chose to raise her on my own,” She continues, balling her hands into fists in her lap, “I thought it was the best choice and I never told you, but I shouldn’t have made that decision for you. We came here today to… to give you the option to have a relationship, with her.”

He looks up, face still slack jawed, “I have a daughter?” he asks, in the softest voice Masons ever heard, looking back and forth between them.

Jessica nods, “Yeah.” She says, just as soft.

He looks at her and he absolutely glows. She feels her breath catch again, and she almost feels lightheaded, “What’s your name?” He asks her, smiling wide, eyes sparkling.

“Mason.” She says automatically, blinking away the burn in her eyes, “Mason Victoria Quackmire.”

“Mason!” he repeats in awe, jumping up and coming to sit beside her on the couch, “I was just joking before,” He says earnestly, “I’m really happy it’s you. I’m really happy to meet you.”

Before she can burst into tears she throws her arms around him, burying her face into his chest, and a warm feeling cascades over her heart when he envelopes her in a bear hug, pulling her close, tucking his beak over her head. He’s solid, steady, and warm.

“On the event that this was a happy reunion,” Jessica ventures, giddy, digging through her bag, “I brought you some things I think you’d like to see.” She pulls out a photo album, ones that has a dated floral pattern, worn along the edges.

Mason groans playfully, too busy wiping away happy tears to really put any ire into her teasing.

Donald gasps, reaching out to take the book, keeping her held close with one arm. He sets it on his lap, flipping through the pages with one hand. The first is a picture of her the day she hatched and he gets so excited he almost jumps off the couch, cooing at the picture, “You’re so adorable!” He fawns, positively glowing as he flips through each page.

“There she is on her first birthday, we had a special cake for her to eat with her hands,” Jessica squishes close on Masons other side, pointing to different photos and offering context, “There she is on her first day of kindergarten- oh there’s the Halloween where she dressed up as Darkwing Duck! From that old-school tv show!”

“I know the one,” Donald smiles fondly, trailing a finger lightly over the edge of the photo, and Mason slyly tries to wipe away her tears. Jessica and Donald both press reassuringly closer and Mason gets the idea that she wasn’t subtle enough.

They spend who knows how long going through photo albums and school yearbooks, her parents gushing over elementary school graduation and awkward middle school dances, the ones where Mason has braces and ugly glittery dresses she had thought looked amazing when she’d picked them out. Jessica had even brought home videos she’d taken of Mason when she was a kid, Donald hunting down his salvaged VCR to play them, Masons speech impediment mirroring her fathers, and the first time he heard her childhood voice he started quacking excitedly, grinning ear to ear.

“Uncle Donald!” A voice calls down the stairs, a kid bouncing down the steps, “Dinner’s-” he stumbles to a stop, blanching at the other people in the house, “Uh, Dinner’s done?”

“Ah,” Donald says eloquently, glancing at his cell phone, “I didn’t realize how much time had passed.” He admits, “Would you two like to stay for dinner?” He asks, turning to them.

“Ah, no thank you, we wouldn’t want to impose.” Jessica refuses politely, both she and Mason had agreed beforehand that they wouldn’t stay for dinner, putting a time limit on their stay in case it wasn’t a very good reunion.

“But we’re staying in town for the next few days, so we’ll be able to come back and see you again when you’re free?” Mason ventured hopefully.

“I’m free- I’m always free, no problem, anytime.” Donald nods, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. “Anytime.” He stresses.

The boy’s eyebrows keep climbing, confusion written on his face as he slowly inches up the stairs, adjusting his hat awkwardly. He disappears the last of the way when Jessica stands, taking his queue to leave finally. He’s one of Donald’s nephews, Mason’s pretty sure that was Huey, the one who dresses in all red. Mason follows after her mom, standing and getting ready. Donald is slower to follow, sad to see them go.

“Before you Leave- please, let me introduce you to my family.” He implores, “Officially.”

Jessica looks at Mason, asking her silently if that’s what she wanted, “Yeah, Okay.” Mason nods nervously, “I think I’d like that.”

The manor is just as nice and high class as before, but after spending all day in the houseboat it feels emptier, a bit too cold compared to the lived in and well loved old ship… the dining room is full, several people gathered around to eat, Donald’s nephews and a little girl- maybe a friend of theirs?- are gathered to one side, whispering and conspiring over their silverware. Scrooge Mcduck is at the head, glancing over a map- which is spirited away suddenly by the housekeeper from before, tutting at him when he tries to snatch it back. Also there’s a ghost. What the fuck. He’s serving mashed potatoes.

“Oh, Mrs. Quackmire, I didn’t realize you were staying for dinner.” Mrs. Beakley notes apologetically, “I’ll set out two extra place settings for you.”

“No, no, that’s alright.” Jessica holds out her hands, “We’re actually on our way out!”

“But before they leave, I’d like you all to be acquainted.” Donald steps forward, “Boys, Uncle Scrooge,” He says, turning to them, placing a warm hand on her shoulder to steady them both, “This is Mason. She’s my daughter.”

“…What?” Scrooge asks blankly, processing his words slowly, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, “Did you just- Daughter?” He wheezes out, shocked.

Donald squeezes Masons shoulder, “Yes, I didn’t know about her until today. Jessica and I met at one of my shows with the Three Caballeros. Mason, this is your great uncle Scrooge and your cousins Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby.” He says, pointing them each out in turn.

She does a little wave, smiling awkwardly, “Hi, it’s… really nice to meet you.” She says earnestly. They seem too shocked to say anything, except for Webby, who looks like she’s about to jump out of her seat in excitement. She whips a camera out of nowhere and snaps a picture of Mason, much to her confusion.

“Oh this one is SO going on my corkboard!” She crows, holding it out so Mason can see her own surprised face.

“Wait wait, Uncle Donald has a kid?” Louie finally snaps out of his surprise, peering at her over his dinner plate, “When did that happen?”

“About fifteen years ago.” Jessica jokes, nudging Donald with her elbow playfully.

Mason doesn’t quite catch Scrooge frowning but she can sort of tell he’s not happy, “It’s nice to meet you, lass.” his smile is tense.

At that, Jessica claps her hands together, “Well, it seems like you all might need some time to process! We’ll go ahead and get out of your hair.”

“Let me walk you out!” Donald insists, walking along with them as they leave his flabbergasted family behind. Once they reach the car, there’s a moment where they all just stand around, obviously not sure how to end this interaction. “It’s been wonderful, Mason.” Donald says sincerely, “Would you mind if I gave you a hug?”

On other adults, Mason would have felt obligated, but with Donald it really did feel like she could have said no if she wanted to. “I’d like that.” She says honestly, jumping forward to lean into his embrace. He rubs her back and sighs happily, releasing her after a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks.

He nods, “Tomorrow.”

“Mason, could you start the car? I’d like to talk to Donald for a moment alone.”

Grabbing her keys, Mason nods, getting into the passengers side and cranking the engine. She turns the radio off, leaning over to press her head to the window so she can hear what they’re saying. She jumps when Mom taps loudly on the window, rolling it down sheepishly.

“No eavesdropping! Turn the radio back on.” Mason groans but compiles, spacing out and staring up at the stars as pop music muffles whatever her parent were talking about. Jessica finally leans over to give Donald a quick hug, pulling away and resting her hands on his shoulders as she says her final piece. She squeezes his shoulder and smiles, finally pulling away. He retreats up the stairs, standing there as Mom gets into the car. He doesn’t go inside until they pull away.

“What’d you two talk about?” Mason prods.

“Nosey!” Jessica teases, staring at the road, “It was nothing, just boring mandatory adult small talk.”

Mason hums in response, resting her head against the passenger side window as they pull out of McDuck’s driveway. “…He’s really okay with us coming back tomorrow?” she asks softly.

“Yeah, Honey Bee,” Jessica matches her tone, “He’s so excited to know you.”

Mason smiles, “I’m excited to know him too.”

#sugarfr0g #mason duck #jessica quackmire #ducktales oc #my writing

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silkkpopbonnet · 6 years ago

Text

Teenager

“I’m gonna tell you what I always told you, I hate the bitch. Never liked Nia, but I gave her ass the time of day because she was your wife and Areum’s mother.” Jinyoung practically yelled into the phone, as Jaebum rolled onto his back in bed.

“Yes, I know.” Jaebum sighed, rubbing his hand down his face.

“So she can sit there and write all the damn e-mails she wants if she tries to be cute with me I’m not watching my mouth. You hear me? I’m gonna say how I feel.” Jaebum could hear Jinyoung practically snarling through the phone.

“I know you will.” He chuckled softly.

Jinyoung yelled again. “It isn’t funny! You know she knows, why else would she say something now?”

Sitting up in bed, Jaebum ran his hand through his hair. “I know. I just don’t want any drama, that’s my biggest thing. She doesn’t know about the party, so that’s something.”

Jaebum watched Amina walk into the room, his shirt on her came to her thighs. Feeling the need to crawl back into bed with her, he smiled when she came near, taking the coffee cup she offered him.

“She better not!” Jinyoung was still seething. “I want to see Areum and you, see Y'all for what?”

Taking a sip of coffee, Jaebum answered. “You sound like my wife or something.”

Jinyoung grumbled. “Shut up, Areum is my niece, and you’re my best friend. I’m yelling because I care.”

“I know, I know.” Jaebum took another long sip. “Areum will be up soon, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Using Areum as an excuse? You got some ass last night, and you’re trying to-”

Cutting him off Jaebum laughed. “Ok Jinyoung, talk to you later, bye bye.”

As he hung up the phone Jaebum finished his coffee standing up, he looked at Amina, who was sitting on the bed watching him over the coffee cup. “What was all the yelling for?” Amina asked.

“Jinyoung, I sent him an e-mail that my ex-wife sent me. Made him mad.” Walking towards the kitchen, Amina was behind him.

“She sent you an e-mail? No calling?” As Jaebum washed his cup, she sat on the counter, legs crossed at the ankle.

Placing his cup in the dish drainer, Jaebum stood in between her legs, pulling her body close to his. “That shows you how estranged we are, I told you, four years now, just Areum and me.”

“She doesn’t speak or see her own daughter?” Amina sipped her coffee, watching Jaebum’s face.

“No.” He took her cup from her hands, pressing his pelvis into hers, letting her feel the growing length. “It’s seven A.M. Areum is not an early riser, let’s go back to bed and do something besides talk.”

Amina placed her arms around Jaebum’s neck. “Like what exactly?”

Making his member jump on her stomach, Amina leaned her head back laughing as Jaebum kissed her throat. “Something like that.” Grabbing a handful of ass, he pulled her from the counter kissing her.

“Apa, I want cereal.” A sleepy-voiced Areum announced as she wandered into the living room rubbing her eyes.

“Can I get a rain check?” Amina asked, her hand quickly grabbing his length giving him a squeeze.

Groaning Jaebum adjusted himself as he spoke to Areum. “Have you brushed your teeth? Washed your face? Do that, and your cereal will be ready.”

“Ok.” The girl replied, before realizing someone else was in their house. “Oh, Mina, hello.”

Amina suddenly felt underdressed, standing in the kitchen, with just Jaebum’s shirt on, she waved at Areum. “Good morning Areum.”

“Did you sleep at my house?” Areum asked as she played with the hair on her unicorn plush head.

Quickly looking at Jaebum for an answer, he shrugged at her and Amina went wide-eyed. “Uhm, yes I did.”

Areum looked from her father to Amina and was seemingly thinking. “Did you brush your teeth this morning?”

Amina chuckled. “No, I did not, so I should do that.”

“Yes,” Areum put her hands on her hips. “Daddy said he doesn’t like stank breath, so I’m going to brush my teeth now.” With that, she walked away leaving them laughing.

After Jaebum and Areum saw Amina off to work, he took Areum to get fitted for a unicorn inspired dress she was having made for her party. With the birthday party less than two weeks away, mostly everything was done, except the cake but all he had to do was sit back and watch the planners and coordinators work. Instead of holding it at the house, he had rented a space in a hotel for Areum. She had a handful of friends from her daycare class, and from her art class. Inviting them, the eight girls and two boys should have fun. He threw the idea of dragons into the unicorn world just so the guys would have something. He didn’t know how they would feel about all the glitter, but it was Areum’s day, not theirs.

The white dress was fitted at the top; the bottom portion was a tutu in a rainbow of colors. The back of the dress sported little gold wings, and she had a matching crown headband with jewels and a unicorn horn. The other girls would receive a dress like Areum’s but not as fancy. The boys had a onesie sleeper like dragon costume.

As Areum came from the dressing room, she did a twirl for her father, her broad smile beaming at him. Her small eyes, just like his glowed with excitement as she danced around the room much to the pleasure of the tailor and his assistants.

“She’s so charming.”

“How beautiful.”

“Pretty little girl.”

“So spoiled by her father, it’s adorable.”

“Apa, look!” Areum finally came to him, standing in between Jaebum’s legs, she clapped her hands. “I love it! I love it!”

“I’m glad, look at you.” Taking her tiny, brown hand, he spun her around. “A princess.”

“Princess unicorn.” Areum corrected him.

“Yes, I’m sorry. You look gorgeous, Areum.”

“You certainly do look pretty, if you don’t look like your father he would be lying.” A familiar voice made Jaebum’s heart turn cold. His teeth ached in his mouth, turning around to see Nia standing in the foyer of the building. She had one a fitted velour tracksuit with heels, slowly making her way across the floor towards them.

“Hello, Areum.” Nia took off her sunglasses as she stood next to Jaebum, bending at the waist to smile at the girl.

Not knowing what to do, Areum pressed herself into Jaebum, hiding her face in his chest. “Who is that?” She whispered to her father, tiny fingers latching around his neck.

“Nia.” Jaebum picked Areum up as he stood up. “When did you get here and how did you know we were here?”

Waving a hand dismissively, Nia pushed her Brazilian bundles behind her back. “Anyway, I’m here for the party and to see the birthday girl.” She reached out a hand stroking Areum’s back. “You don’t want to say hello to your mother? Definitely got that melanin from me.”

Areum was quiet, holding onto Jaebum’s neck. Turning towards the women in the shop, Jaebum bowed politely and placed Areum on the ground. “Go with them and put your clothes back on, then we can leave.”

Looking at the ground, Areum held the older woman’s hand and went to change her clothing. Turning back towards Nia, Jaebum put his hands in his pockets. She hadn’t changed much, she was still attractive. Her heart-shaped face and full lips. She was slimmer, sunglasses on her head, she tapped a heel.

“Done looking?” She reached a hand out to touch his arm. “It’s ok, I look good I know. Look at you though, still handsome.” Her fingers ran down his jacket.

“What are you doing here?” Jaebum kept his voice level as he watched her face. She always kept a straight face, right up until the point she exploded.

“I came to see you and Areum, I have time now-”

“You have time? You made some time for us, after how many years?”Clicking his tongue, Jaebum sighed. “That sounds like bullshit Nia.”

“Yet, it’s what I’m telling you.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like some part of you isn’t happy to see me. As fast as we fell in love, something like that doesn’t just fade.”

“Give it enough time and it will.” Jaebum countered. He watched as Areum came out of the dressing room, she ran to him, hiding her face in his arm.

Ducking down, Nia smiled at Areum. “Hey lady, maybe I can come over and have some ice cream with you. We can chat a little?”

Areum moved her face so that one eye was visible. She held tight onto the unicorn plush that was freshly washed but had seen better days. Her small eyes moved over Nia’s face taking in her features. She breathed slowly, taking in the scent of the woman that she thought to be her mother, Areum wasn’t exactly sure, but from the way, her father reacted she was quite sure. She had heard her uncles talk about “that woman” and was sure this had to be her. They never said anything negative about her in front of Areum, but she knew they didn’t like her. Exposing her whole face, Areum looked at Nia’s coloring and then at Jaebum’s then back to her own. She was the same color. A light brown that was like a peanut shell.

“You’re my mother.” Not asking a question but stating what she thought to be true.

Nia smiled at her and nodded her head. “I am.”

Areum took a deep breath, this was the woman that had left, this was the lady that her father had cried over. “You made Apa cry.”

Nia’s smile faltered a little, she picked it back up smoothly and ignored what Areum had just said. “Do you think it’s ok if I come over and have some ice cream with you? Talk a little?”

Areum shrugged her shoulders, she felt her father’s hand tighten on her own. It felt the same like when he was holding onto her in a crowd. Just as Nia was about to say more, her father spoke. “We’re leaving now, I suggest you do the same.”

He quickly picked Areum up and thanked the women in the shop before heading out the door. Jaebum tried to keep his emotions in control, he attempted to make his heart calm down, his mouth retain some sort of moisture, to maintain his breathing level. Wait till Jinyoung and the others heard, about this. Heading to his car, he looked at his watch and cursed, he was late for the cake appointment now. Strapping Areum in, he turned around, and there Nia stood.

“Don’t be a jerk, Jaebum, listen she’s my daughter as well.” Nia placed her hands on her hips. “Play nice, I don’t want to take you to court.”

“Take me to court?! Are out of your fucking mind? You show up- you show up out of the blue Nia, four fucking years! Four!” He held up the number of fingers. “You come back today, a week till her fifth birthday and you want to talk to her? To say what? Oh yeah, I’m sorry for barely taking care of you when you were an infant. I’m sorry for leaving you at home with your father as soon as you were a month old. I left, I left, and I didn’t look back, but hey I’m here now, so that counts for something right?” He closed the space in between them getting in her face.

Nia was always one for witty comebacks and poised sass. She crossed her arms over her chest, a grin on her face as she moved her sunglasses to her head once more. “Yea, I’m here now. I would like to spend some time with my daughter. Isn’t that good for you? I’ll take Areum, and you can go run around with your little girlfriend.”

Now she got to the meat of why she was here. Jaebum took a step back, wagging his finger at her. “So now I know why you’re here. What? Tabloids? Someone watching me? What’s wrong Nia, are you jealous? Does it hurt you to know that I moved on?”

Rolling her eyes, Nia groaned. “Please Jaebum, your new little bitch doesn’t concern me. I just don’t like how you think you’re trying to make her play like she’s Areum’s mother.”

“Watch your mouth about Amina.” Jaebum spat. “She knows she isn’t, Areum knows she isn’t. You certainly aren’t. You birthed her, but that’s it.”

“Let’s just talk.” Nia put her hands out in front of her. “I’ll come over, and we can talk. See you tomorrow afternoon?” Walking away without waiting for him to answer, Nia walked off to a sleek, black car getting inside.

Fuming, Jaebum turned around to see Areum crying in the car. He opened the door, rubbing her leg as she covered her face. “Don’t cry baby, don’t cry.”

“I want to go home!” Areum screamed, she laid down on the seat, hiding her face in her unicorn.

Sighing, Jaebum rubbed her arm before closing the door. It seemed like a long drive home, he kept looking at Areum in the back seat, she had finally cried herself to sleep. Picking her up, he took her into the house and laid her down on her bed. Her perfect day was probably going to be ruined all because of her mother.

Amina looked down at her phone for the fourth time that time. Voicemail again, she pursed her lips wondering why Jaebum wasn’t answering, did something happen. Bringing the phone back to her ear, she sighed and spoke.

“Hey, it’s me, I just wanted to say I love you and I was wondering how Areum was doing at her fitting. I guess I’ll talk to you later? I was going to stop by after work, if you don’t want me to, let me know? Please? Bye.”

“Boyfriend not answering?” Jun scared her, and Amina jumped holding her phone close to her chest.

“Jesus, you scared me. Yea, he must be busy or something.” Putting her phone away, she took a deep breath and smiled at Jun. “What’s up? Is the video done?”

“For a little while.” Sitting down in her chair, Jun gave Amina his best smile. “He’s got a kid right?”

Amina sat in another chair, opposite of him looking down at her phone again. “A daughter, yes, why?”

Jun hummed. “Oh, a daughter, so now you have to wonder who has priority.”

Looking up at Jun, Amina raised an eyebrow. “I would hope his daughter, I wouldn’t date a man who put another woman over his flesh and blood.”

Jun seemed surprised, he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “That surprises me to hear. Beautiful, humble and selfless.”

Amina was a tad irritated now. “So you expected me to give some immature, selfish answer some dumb bitch would?”

“Calm down.” Jun put his hands up. “No, not from you, it’s still impressive hearing it though. I just mean like you amaze me more each day.”

Amina rolled her eyes, bringing her phone to her face. “Nice save.”

Jun reached across the small space and pulled Amina’s chair closer to his so that their knees were touching. “Don’t be mad beautiful, other than your boyfriend ignoring you, how is your day going?”

Looking up, Amina placed her phone on the table. “Number one. He’s not ignoring me. Number two, I’m fine, now what can I do for you?”

Deciding to be risky, Jun grinned at her, reaching out he rubbed her knee. “A lot of things if I’m honest. Let’s go out tonight, dance, have some fun.”

She pushed his hand off her knee. “You guys just debuted, sure you need some bad press like that?”

“Any kind of attention is good attention in the idol business.” He chuckled, touching her fingers. “Come on Amina, we like each other, we’re cool with each other.”

Amina stood up starting to clear her station, she needed to keep her hands busy or else she might end up smacking Jun and losing this job. “We are cool, but if you want to stay that way, you’ll stop pressing my buttons.”

“How?” He stood up near her, close enough that he could smell her perfume.

“By saying things about Jaebum and generally being annoying.” Amina turned, so her back was on the edge of her station, her hands holding onto the edge. “You know what you’re doing, don’t play with me.”

“Fine then.” Jun pressed her back against her desk, his hands holding onto her wrists as he spoke in her face. “Kiss me, you know that’s what I want, you, if we’re honest, I want to get inside you, but I can wait. Just one kiss.”

Amina felt every hair on her body stand on end as she tried to move her arms in front of her. “Stop and move, now.” She hissed in pain as he pressed her hands against the marble of the stand hard.

“I like it when you play hard to get, but damn you don’t know how hard it makes me.” Leaning in, Jun held her close as his lips pressed to hers. Amina squealed, turning her face away.

“I said stop.” Bringing her knee up between his legs, she pushed Jun over as he grabbed his sack.

“Bitch.” He groaned, rolling around on the ground.

“Serves you right hyung.” Sungchul was standing at the door. “I’m sorry noona, as soon as I got here you had pushed him off but I saw him.”

With shaky hands, Amina touched her lips. “I…he just…”

“It’s fine noona. I wondered what was taking him so long to come back. I should have come here as soon as I realized he was gone.” Sungchul came over to her rubbing her arms. “I’ll tell the manager.”

“No, no. I should.” Amina grabbed her bags and stepped over Jun.

“Just go home, you’re shaking like a leaf. I’ll tell manager hyung, it’s fine. He’s been pushy with other girls before.” Sungchul rubbed her back as Amina left out the door.

She heard Sungchul scoff. “I told you she had a boyfriend.”

In another part of the studio, Nia stood looking at her phone as one of her friends talked to her. She had seen the whole thing take place as she was shown around the studio, attaching the picture to a text from Jaebum, she hit send.

“Now, let’s see what happens next.” She chuckled to herself.

It had been a long day going into an even longer night, and all Jaebum wanted to do was to eat and sleep. Areum had woken up and hardly talked to him. She had eaten her dinner, took a bath and watched television until it was time for bed. He had tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t. Silently cursing Nia, he had told Areum that he loved her and that he wouldn’t make her do anything that she didn’t want to do. She nodded and laid in bed, saying nothing.

His phone had died earlier, and now fresh out the shower, he took it off the charger turning it on. Immediately texts and voicemail notifications flew in from Amina.

“Fuck, she’s gonna be pissed.” Clicking the first voicemail, he listened to it as his phone continued to beep from the other messages he had.

After the last voicemail, he heard her say she was coming over tonight, he needed to see her, he wanted to tell her that Nia would try to find or show up to the party. He wondered if he had any legal standing to keep her from coming, and if she did try to take him to court would it make him look bad if she said that he had held her away. That was a question for a lawyer, but as he looked through his texts he had several from all the guys, and one from Nia.

Nia’s preview was a picture message, and he rolled his eyes skipping it and clicking on Jinyoung’s first.

What the hell!

Don’t look at the tabloids…

Fuck, ok look

shit, whatever, I’m sending a link

I’m so sorry…call me when you see this, I’m serious

CALL ME! I’ve left you three voicemails!

His heart skipped a beat as he wondered what idiot recorded Nia and him arguing.

Instead, he saw a tagline for that group that Amina worked with and a picture. He didn’t think he saw what he did, quickly reading the hangul around the picture. Jaebum zoomed in on the photo of that Jun kid, kissing Amina. He had to look at it twice to make sure it was her, but the image was clear enough. He knew. Half of him wanted to throw his phone, the other half was ready to scream. She had said that she wasn’t…he read the comments, the small article itself, mostly fans pissed at whoever this woman was. Primarily mad that she was a foreigner.

Jaebum panicked looking through his texts from the others. Youngjae first.

Ava says she’ll beat her ass hyung, I’m so sorry, Bummie, please call me, or call Jinyoung, please

JB, call me, Bummie please, are you ok?

Then Jackson.

Jaebum, please call one of us and let us know where you are and what you’re doing. Is Areum ok? Don’t just go silent on us.

BamBam followed.

Hyung, we love you, and we are here for you, you know that. Call Jinyoung please, he’s going insane.

Mark had texted as well.

Jaebum, I think this is some sort of stunt, who took the picture? Amina isn’t like that, don’t jump to conclusions, talk to her and let’s figure this out first. Amina isn’t like that.

Jaebum found himself shaking. In anger or grief, he didn’t know.

Finally one from Yugyeom.

Hyung, call someone, one of us. If we don’t hear from you by midnight, we are all coming over. Midnight! No later!

Jaebum sat down on his bed rubbing his forehead, what the fuck was happening today. He re-read Mark’s text and tried to convince himself that Mark was right, Amina wouldn’t do that. She had gotten upset that he had accused her before, but then his mind started to wander. What if she had gotten upset because he was right? He gripped his phone hard in his hand, remember he had a text from Nia. Opening it up, he looked at the image of Amina and Jun, clear as day again. Reading the line under it, he tossed his phone against the wall.

Well, well, looks like she’s having fun. Your young toy wouldn’t last anyway…

Amina hurried from the elevator to Jaebum’s door. He would not believe the day she was having, and she got to his door knocking on it. She had gone home after the incident, showered and sat on her bed thinking about what she could do or wanted to do. Finally, she went down to the offices and told her boss that she couldn’t work with the group anymore. She made a complaint against him, and went back home. Jaebum stil hadn’t answered any of her calls or texts and by the time she got off the phone again, it was time to go see him.

Now as she stood in front of his door, she wondered if he was asleep, or if he was even home. She called his phone again, and knocked once more. Slowly, the door opened and there stood Jaebum his eyes looking heavy and dark.

“Amina.” He let her inside, but the aura around him was very off. She stepped into his house, smiling at him.

“Jaebum, you haven’t answered my calls all day, and I have some shit going on-”

Jaebum cut her off, shoving his phone with a cracked screen in her face. “What’s this?”

She blinked, once then twice, the picture of Jun kissing her right in her face. “Who sent you that?” She tried to take his phone from him, but he snatched it back, not before she caught the name of who sent it. “Nia? Isn’t that your ex-wife?”

“That’s not what I asked you.” Locking the door behind her, Jaebum walked to the dining room. He pulled out a chair for Amina and sat down on his own folding his hands in front of him. “What was that? I’m trying to sort my head around the picture of my girlfriend, kissing the guy she told me not to worry about. The same guy I told her, had a thing for her. This picture that everyone is fucking talking about.”

“Who is everyone?!” Amina tossed her hands into the air. “Ok, look, yes that happened, but apparently she didn’t send you what happened next. He forced himself on me, look at the picture, he’s holding my arms down!”

“Or he’s holding you close.” Jaebum put his head in his hands. “Amina. Are you fucking him?”

“No!” She crossed the room and sat in the chair. “Listen to me, he came onto me, he held my arms down, I asked him to let go, he kissed me, and I kicked him in the balls and pushed him off. That’s what I’ve been doing all day, making a complaint and telling my boss that I won’t work with that group anymore.”

Jaebum listened to her, his folded hands in front of his face. His heart told him that he loved her, he had taken a chance and gave his heart to another woman. Amina wasn’t lying, and her story was easily verifiable, he should believe her and let that be that. His head told him that he had been hurt before and to cut ties with her before everything came crashing down on him, and he was in the same spot that he was three years ago.

“Are you listening to me?” Amina asked him, she reached across the table, trying to grab his hand. “Jaebum, I love you, you know I wouldn’t do that. I mean, look who sent that!”

She was right, Nia had, and after they had that argument today. It was too much of a coincidence. The picture had come from Nia, an original and not a screenshot, at least as far as he knew, could Nia have been the one to have taken the picture and sent it out to the tabloids?

Taking a deep breath, Jaebum shook his head. “He came onto you.” He looked at the picture again, her fingers were open, his hands holding Amina’s against the table. Her mouth was hard, his face smashed on hers. This wasn’t what she looked like, or felt like when she kissed him. Still, his mind screamed at him.

“Yes.” Amina looked relieved as he slid his phone away from him. “You believe me? Do you believe me?”

“I-” As soon as Jaebum was about to answer, there was a quick knock at the door, and then the guys rushed inside.

“He’s here!” Yugyeom cried out as he rushed past Amina and hugged Jaebum. “We were so worried about you!”

As everyone else, minus BamBam and Mark, filed in, Jinyoung sauntered over, looking straight at Amina. “You should leave, he’s been through too much shit for people like you to come in and break him again. We’ve had too much of this. If you aren’t here for him then leave, it’s that simple.”

“You wasted his time, ok fine, he’ll be ok cause we’re here, but please leave Amina,” Youngjae added.

Standing up Amina, backed up, so she was near Jaebum. “What the fuck are you talking about? The picture?! You mother fuckers think I did that? I just told Jaebum what happened! That was not me! He forced himself on me!”

Jaebum watched the skeptical looks on his friend’s faces. He felt Amina’s hand around his. He knew he should say something.

“She’s right.” Mark came in with BamBam close behind him. “He did, and we confirmed it.”

BamBam moved in between everyone. “I know one of the girls who works were Amina does, they’ve been talking about it all day. Jun assaulted Amina, and one of his members, some kid named Sungchul confirmed it.”

“On top of that,” Mark added. “As a trainee, he was pushing up on girls and got in trouble for it before. He can sing, they call him the next Taeyang, so people turned a blind eye to it, but after the picture and someone said different, they’ve let him go. So everyone should calm the fuck down.”

BamBam walked over to Amina. “It’s cool, we knew you weren’t like that.”

Amina didn’t want to hear that though. Turning around to look at Jaebum she stared down at him. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”

Standing up, Jaebum tried to reach for her, admittedly when BamBam and Mark confirmed what she said, he did feel a weight drop from his shoulders, but he also felt guilty for doubting her. “I did, Amina, but I was also hurt by the thought of it.”

Amina shrugged him off. “So, Jinyoung and Youngjae can come in and talk all that good shit, and you didn’t defend me. You just believe me now that Mark and BamBam say something?”

“I said, I believed you. You would still be reeling from the shock and hurt by the accusations as well if you were me!” He countered.

“I am hurt, because you chose to believe Nia, over what I said.” Turning back to Jinyoung and Youngjae, Amina pointed her finger at them. “I don’t know who you guys think I am, but think again, you won’t run over me and say whatever slick shit you want. You’ll get your asses beat in this living room if you think I’d do him dirty just like that bitch did. Apologize to me, now.”

Youngjae was the first to step forward. “I am sorry Amina, I judged you too quickly. I was afraid for Jaebum, and his feelings and I acted without thinking.”

Looking at Jinyoung, Amina inclined her head waiting. “Well?”

Jinyoung hated being wrong, and he hated being put on the spot as well, yet he knew he was in the wrong here, and Amina deserved his apology. “I’m sorry. Jaebum is my best friend, and we don’t know you well, that’s not an excuse though. I apologize Amina.”

“Thank you.” Looking at BamBam and Mark, she smiled. “Thank you for actually believing me. Now can Y'all leave so we can talk?”

Ushering everyone out, Mark was the first to the door, stopping as he opened it. “Oh shit.”

There stood Nia, dressed for the evening and maybe something more in a short dress, the plunging neckline did nothing to hide her cleavage. Long legs in heels, she pushed past the open-mouthed group and smiled at Jaebum and Amina. “Hey, Bummie.”

Chapter Five

#teenager #got7 #got7JB #got7i im jaebum #im jaebum #kpop for POC #kpop for black fans

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sockablock · 7 years ago

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From Where We Came (Ch. 1)

I couldn’t stop thinking about backstories and now I think I’m going to do a whole thing for the whole party, so here’s Jester first cause she has the most revealed ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ thanks for reading!

Word Count: 1,606

From Where We Came (Ch. 1)

Jester sits in her room, alone.

Out the western bay window, she can see ships and boats bobbing on the gleaming waves of what Mother calls the Lucidian Ocean. Mother knows the names of everything, even of things that Jester has never seen before. Sometimes, when Mother has a chance, she lets Jester climb into her lap and together, they test out the names of all they can see in Jester’s view of Nicodranas, from the big domed temple of the Storm Lord, to the little pastry shop right along the coast. Jester has tried the pastries from there many times; when she is good Mother will bring her doughnuts and cakes, along with gifts from “the beach.” There are many things to find on the beach, according to Mother, especially during her long walks with the people that like to come and take her away from the house. Jester’s bureau sports a growing assortment of these presents, sometimes giant clam shells or spiraling conches or obsidian mussels or bone-white starfish. Jester loves collecting the things Mother brings, and hopes one day, she can walk along the sand and find them herself.

Until that happens, though, Jester will settle for giggling from up, up in her room, out the window at beautiful carriages and the tiny shapes of sailors and merchants and make up stories about them through the glass. She wonders if all people are so tiny like these, and if she and her Mother are the only big people there are. She will have to ask Mother this, when she comes to visit again.

But sometimes—and Jester calls these the bad days—Mother won’t come see her for a very, very long time.

This happens more as Jester gets older, as Mother starts forcing Jester to read all of the books that sit untouched on her desk, as Mother tells her to practice her singing and her painting, as Mother starts yelling at her and hurting her for being too loud, too disruptive, I can’t do my work with you around all the time, Jester!

You must be quiet, she says with steely eyes. Nobody can know you are here.

Jester doesn’t like the men and ladies that take up Mother’s time. But Mother insists that they are very nice people, and more than that, they give her all the money that lets Jester have nice things. And Jester—whose entire life is a smiling Mother who brings her beautiful dresses and lacy ribbons and shiny rings and gave her the silk sheets and the glittering inkwell and lovely toys and the huge bay window and one, gorgeous room—understands.

So she keeps quiet. And everything, for a very long time, continues to be quiet.

Jester sits in her room, alone.

Now she is much older, or at least she thinks so, and asks Mother again and again when she will be allowed to leave her room. Mother never really gives her an answer to this, but always tells Jester, one day.

Jester decides that today will be that day. Or rather, tonight will be that night.

She has been preparing for this moment. She’s practiced sneaking around the house, though she sticks to the upstairs hallway that holds hers and her mother’s room. The carpets are plush and a deep red so dark and rich it invokes a very specific feeling that Jester isn’t quite mature enough to understand yet. There are marble and silver statues lining the corridor that Jester ducks behind any time she hears footsteps coming from downstairs, or from behind her mother’s door. She sometimes musters up enough bravery to peek down the staircase, past the poles of the ornate banister, but she has never before been able to convince herself to take a step. She knows that down below, there’s a beautiful golden chandelier, smooth tiles, but nothing else.

Dreaming of the world outside her room, Jester squeezes stuffed animals beneath her blanket in a tiefling-shaped bundle. Then she moves to the wardrobe. She knows, from things that Mother says sometimes, that not everybody will be alright with her horns and her tail. They are jealous, she assumes, but she is wise enough to know that jealousy can be a dangerous thing. So she pulls her nicest blue cloak over her head, and tucks her tail into her skirt even though it’s kind of uncomfortable. She slips on some brown boots and ties her little pouch onto her belt. She listens at the wall and can her hear mother in the middle of a song, one of Jester’s favorites, a slow and sad melody about a girl lost at sea. This song means her mother is right now showing off to a new client, and since it is evening, she will be busy for hours.

She snuffs out her candles, and slips out the door.

Jester sits in her room, alone. There are tears running down her face. It is dark.

The first hour had been wonderful, better than anything she could ever have dreamed up herself. The glowing strings of lights between the colorful buildings had looked like stars, and there were people—huge, tall people!—milling about and laughing and smiling at every corner. She had bought a doughnut off a man who looked very confused about the five gold she had paid him, and was told by a nice lady that her dress was pretty. She had stopped and smelled huge red flowers growing by the side of a building, and had watched golden birds flit across the evening sky. A nice stranger in a long cloak like hers pointed her towards “the beach” when she asked, and she skipped along the cobblestone path, under the faint warm glow of the streetlights, until she got there.

It went wrong, so very wrong, when she was caught fixing a merchant’s cart. She thought it would be funny if she mixed around the trinkets and shiny baubles he had lying around. She wasn’t stealing, she was just trying to make him laugh. But the man, hornless and tail-less, had not believed her. She could remember the anger in his eyes, the way he called her “little devil,” and the fear that churned in her chest when he picked up a large wooden stick from behind his stall and started moving closer. For a moment, his tangled black hair was beautiful deep red curls and his clenched teeth were pointed and the stick was a candlestick and Mother was very, very angry with Jester and she didn’t mean to do it, she just tripped in her room and please mother I promise I’ll be good I’m sorry I’ll be quiet—

—and now Jester refuses to let a sound escape her. Her cloak is lying on the bed, ripped. It had gotten caught on something as she was running back to her room, from the scary man and his scary friends and something else pounding in her tired little heart.

She wants to try and comfort herself with a song, but knows that if she wakes anybody up next door, Mother really will be angry with her. She can never know that Jester had been outside her room, let alone outside the house. So Jester buries her face into a stuffed owlbear and shakes in the quiet.

And then a warm hand gently touches her on the shoulder. She almost flinches away, hard, but the gesture is so comforting and so peaceful that she finds herself relaxing slightly.

And then she hears a voice, lilting and calm, echoing in the back of her mind.

It wasn’t your fault, Jester.

She looks around, holding the owlbear close to her chest. “…hello?” She whispers as quietly as she dares.

Hello, Jester.

Her voice is barely a breath on the wind. “How do you know my name?”

I know a lot of things. I am a god.

Growing excitement makes her voice quiver. “A god?” she asks. “Like the Storm Lord or the Dawnfather or the Annoying Mistress or the—”

She breaks off when the stranger starts chuckling. Oh, that’s a good one. I’ll remember that one. No, I’m not a god like they are. And before Jester can get disappointed the voice says, I’m a different kind of god. I’m not looking for servants or worshippers. I’m just looking for a friend. And you seem to be someone who might also want a friend.

Jester’s eyes widen. “I do!” she says just a little bit louder than she intended, “I want one really badly. Will you be mine? I have lots of toys and books that we can share, and oh, I can tell you all about today! It was very, very cool, mostly.”

I’d like that, says the voice.

“What should I call you, if we’re going to be friends?”

How about…the Traveler?

Jester beams, though she still isn’t sure where to look. “It is very nice to meet you, the Traveler,” she says quietly. “Would you like to hear about the flowers I saw today?”

Why don’t you show me? A breeze suddenly stirs through the room, and a little, leather-bound sketchbook that had been lying on Jester’s desk briefly flies open. A charcoal stick rolls off a nearby shelf, and bumps into it.

I hear you’re a very good artist, says the Traveler.

“I am!” Jester whispers excitedly.

She rushes over to the desk, dragging a cushioned stool to the space on her right so her new friend can watch her draw. And as her charcoal darts across the blank pages, for the first time in a very, very long time, Jester sits in her room. And she is not alone.

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kootenaygoon · 6 years ago

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So,

They called it the suicide blanket—the ominous, low-hanging fog that settled over Kootenay Lake and plunged Nelson into a perpetual grey gloom.

Paisley and I huddled under porch blankets as the trees frosted at the summit of Elephant Mountain, the white descending slowly on to the city. Winter is coming. From the comfy warmth of our little hermitage I watched YouTube theory videos about Game of Thrones and scribbled on my chalkboard wall, creating character lists and fine-tuning a timeline for my ever-evolving thesis manuscript. I wanted it to be composed of multiple interlinking stories, like my favourite novel A Visit from the Goon Squad, but I was constantly swapping out one story for another, never reaching any conclusion.

While Paisley worked on her desserts I huddled down at my laptop and hammered away at my real work. Journalism was still only a secondary concern in my head, a means to make money until I sold this manuscript and vaulted up into the world of novelists. I sent out excerpts to literary journals, receiving a flurry of rejection letters in response, and tried to ignore the fact that I hadn’t made any legit progress on my fiction since arriving in Nelson. I felt this insistent fear that I wasn’t good enough, that I wasn’t going to live up to my ambitions, while meanwhile Paisley would remind me that we had a pretty nice life and maybe I needed to chill out a bit, okay?

“I don’t think I can go into work today,” I said one morning. “I feel like somebody’s sitting on my chest. I can’t do this.”

“So take a sick day.”

“I don’t have any yet. You have to be an employee for like a year before you start getting them.”

“This is your mental health, Will. Calvin can handle things without you.”

I hesitated.

“Stay home and I’ll take care of you, okay? I don’t have a co-op shift today.”

Around that time I wrote a story for the Star about a music video called “Junkyard Bettie”. It was directed by a local dude named Jonathan Robinson and featured an Aussie singer named Sofiella Watt. She was backed up by her banjo-plucking hipster band the Huckleberry Bandits. Set in an actual junkyard just outside of town, the video told the story of a lonely young traveler struggling to make it through a Canadian winter. Oh, lady winter, you have done me wrong, you’ve done me wrong. Oh dark December, won’t you please be gone, please be gone? Played by Sofiella’s friend Lauren Herraman, the dark-eyed protagonist wanders morosely through a bleak landscape populated by derelict cars, only to discover some friends and end up at a barnyard dance party. When I interviewed Sofiella, she told me the lyrics were a true story she picked up from a housekeeping co-worker at a local hotel. The woman’s boyfriend had left her, her cat went missing, and all her missing posters were rained on and got torn down.

Then the junkyard dog bit her.

“It was one of those quintessential blues song scenarios where everything goes wrong. I said ‘that’s terrible, but such an amazing story’. I asked her if I could write a song about that, because I could never make up something that good.”

I admired Sofiella’s ability to take a dark experience and create something beautiful out of it, but wasn’t sure how to accomplish that in the Star newsroom. Calvin had found himself embroiled in a number of community conflicts, and his stress level was rubbing off on everyone around him. I made excuses to leave the office when he was upset, setting up interviews across town or just wandering down to the park to take some pictures, because I couldn’t stand being around his energy. Tamara felt the same way, and when he wasn’t around we’d sit commiserating over all the unnecessary drama he’d brought into our lives.

“At the end of the day, you have to take care of yourself. And if Calvin’s negatively affecting your mental health, maybe that’s something you should report to management,” she said.

“I feel like such a whiner.”

“You’re not whining — you’re just expressing your truth.”

“The truth is I think he’s going to quit any day now, and I can’t wait.”

It wasn’t just work getting me down. Though I couldn’t admit it to myself, cannabis had become my primary mental health problem. In Victoria we’d been consuming a little baggie of weed a week, maybe two, while in Nelson we were literally burning through hundreds of dollars’ worth of pre-rolled joints a month. Was it the solution, or was it the problem? It was like an extra rent payment. Somewhere along the line we started buying pot before groceries, and a few times we ended up with an empty fridge while we waited days for the next paycheck. Sometimes we went begging to our parents. It was our ritual, the way we bonded, watching Pineapple Express and making candy runs to 7-11, but it was also the way we coped with our feelings post-fight, it was how I treated my depression and she treated her pain, and increasingly it was more of a chore than a fun time.

As we started to make friends our age, it became apparent that we weren’t alone. We were surrounded by functional chronics, people who operated in a perma-stoned state, and for many of them cannabis was nearly interchangeable with coffee. Both were something you consumed to tweak your mood and outlook, both lasted a few hours, and both cost around five bucks a hit. I found myself hosting never-ending debates in my head about the benefits and drawbacks of my new lifestyle, trying to weigh what it was costing me against all the benefits I was becoming dependent on. Was my memory worse? Was I less present? Could I really stop smoking if I wanted to? Paisley and I repeatedly made vows to quit, sometimes lasting a few days, but inevitably it crept back into our lives. Whenever her parents visited we had to do a thorough job of hiding the evidence.

“I never would have predicted that I’d become a stoner,” said Paisley. “My whole life I avoided it, never touched it, was never interested. And now it’s got this fucking hold on me.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“Watch me.”

Despite this, Paisley’s job at Kootenay Co-op was going well and she was making new friends. Her desserts were generating us a third income, and she was writing recipes and coming up with new culinary innovations all the time. From September to December she was happily busy, walking downtown once a week to practice her burlesque routines at Boob Camp with Charlotte Coco Orchid, and the rest of the time she spent nesting with the dogs and decorating our house. She went out and purchased the costume she was going to need for the upcoming show, then showcased it in our living room before heading out to a photo shoot with the other women. She looked adorable, in clown makeup and fishnet stockings, and I held her in my arms.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Maybe you should be in the show.”

I snorted. “It’s next week.”

“Charlotte’s looking for a male performer to pick up the clothes left on stage between sets. I was thinking about it, and you went to theatre school. You should totally do it.”

“I’m not going to do burlesque.”

“Why not?”

That was a good question. She continued to push the issue until I agreed to talk to Charlotte, and pretty soon I’d been recruited. Paisley took me out shopping for a pair of white “manties”, a baggy Speedo decorated with bright red hearts, then we bought a set of blood-coloured wings that matched the plush bow and arrow I would be carrying. I did love being onstage, and had arguably done more outrageous things in high school, but the concept of prancing around in my underwear in front of a bunch of Kootenay strangers definitely gave me pause. It would be a spectacle. For it to work properly I was going to have to be thoroughly shit-faced, I knew. I worked my way through four or five beers before we even headed down the hill to the show, at the Hume Hotel.

“You’re not allowed to hit on the other girls,” she said. “And don’t be creepy.”

“I won’t be creepy.”

“I mean it.”

“The only one I care about is you, okay?”

Once we arrived in the warm-up room, it was game on. Women were rushing in and out, changing from one costume into another, and some wild-haired dude was giving himself a sponge bath in the sink. Show-tunes and party anthems were blaring from nearby speakers. I met a little person named Cotton Candy and an older burlesque legend named Suzanna Sultry who the women all worshipped. We all posed together for a photo. One of Paisley’s friends took charge of decorating my torso with lipstick, inviting the others to leave kisses from my treasure trail to my collarbone. Don’t be creepy, I reminded myself, as they took turns kneeling in front of me. Over the months that Paisley’d been doing Boob Camp I’d come to know a bunch of them, and a few of us ducked into a back alley to smoke a joint. Upon my return the photographer grabbed me, and said she wanted a few shots of me with Paisley. I turned to her, held her close to my chest, and gave her a gentle kiss as the shutter snapped. Eventually Charlotte gathered everyone into a circle for a pep talk. The topless woman standing across from me was missing one of her nipple tassels, so was clutching her boob with one hand.

“Look at all the power in this room,” Charlotte said. “I am so proud of each and every one of you. You’re going to go out there and blow them away. You’ve done all the hard work, and now you get to reap the reward.”

Standing back-stage clutching a beer, feeling cold sweat collect in my hairline, I wondered if I was about to humiliate myself. There had been no rehearsals, no real instructions. Was I supposed to go out between every number, or just a select few? Was I supposed to dance, and if so, what kind of dance was I supposed to do? There’s a subversive element to burlesque, I knew, and a sense that nothing is sacred and everything is silly. I could get down with that. For her first performance Paisley marched out with the five other women, working her way through an elaborately choreographed sequence that saw the women crawling across the floor, hurling themselves on to their backs and spreading their legs wide. I congratulated her as she came breathlessly off-stage, then kissed her as Charlotte beckoned me forward. I was in bare feet, brandishing my bow and arrow, and upon my entrance the audience roared with approval. I gyrated, spinning around to bend over like a porn star, and frolicked drunkenly as I went searching for the various layers and lacy bits that had been left behind. Charlotte was loudly announcing something into the microphone as I gave the audience a last wink and departed. My back and shoulders were shimmering with sweat, my hair wet against my forehead, my limbs vibrating.

I can’t believe I just did that, I thought.

While the show progressed I stood at a gap in the curtains and looked out at the rowdy crowd, some of them in costumes, who were roaring and shouting for the performers onstage. These are my people, I thought. Charlotte was a champ, commandeering the entire thing while performing multiple sets herself, and Paisley cuddled up beside me. Charlotte chased Cotton Candy around the stage, both of them half-naked, and then a boylesque performer did a leather-clad striptease. I was continuing to drink, and somewhere along the way I’d been forgotten — which I was fine with. I wanted to get back into my real clothes, but that would mean cutting through the parking lot in my underwear. I was just planning my escape when Charlotte introduced Isla Valentine, who was performing her first ever solo set. A milky-skinned brunette, she slinked across the stage and threw herself down on a chair. She smiled languidly at the audience, undoing her bra. Upon release she whipped it into the air triumphantly and flung out her jiggling breasts — dislodging both her pasties, which flew into the audience.

“Oh, shit,” said Paisley, as the crowd gasped. “She must not have glued them right.”

Isla quickly clasped her hands to her nipples, her face furrowed, and for a moment it looked like the number would be over. But as we watched, a look of determination crossed Isla’s face. Fuck it. She dropped her hands, stood up, and continued dancing to elated whoops. Striding from one edge of the stage to the other, she jutted out her hips and whipped back her hair, grinning defiantly.

“Wow, she really went with that,” I said. “Good for her.”

“No, not good for her. She’s going to get Charlotte in trouble. She told us ahead of time: the hotel can get fined for nudity.”

“Really? You think they’ll actually fine Charlotte?”

“They could.”

“It was a mistake! What was she supposed to do?”

Paisley frowned. “You don’t get it.”

The remainder of that evening is a haze, but one memory remains intact: meeting Ryan Martin, the owner of the hotel. I’d heard from multiple people in town that he was an important person to know, a powerhouse in the business community, but we hadn’t crossed paths yet. While I padded along the carpet coming back from the bar, double-fisting and still in my underwear, I nearly bowled him over coming around a corner. As soon as I realized who he was I was embarrassed, and felt like I needed to explain myself. Nearly naked, with lipstick smeared all over my stomach and the crimson wings drooping over my shoulders, I knew I was something of a radical sight. I stammered out that I don’t actually drink that much, told him this wasn’t usual behaviour for me. He grinned and clapped me on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “This is the Kootenays.”

The Kootenay Goon

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formdrop · 8 years ago

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Leather and feathers

Reborntale belongs to @reborntale 18+ and @skellyhell the original creator. Warning: may have gore and sexual themes.

Main Reborntale fanfic by @purrfecktlysinful called ‘sunlight and shadow’. Recommended read.

Chapter 4: The angels and the core

Sans was paralysed. He hadn't expected this. Not with his new friend. He had no idea why the demons were acting like this. As the head one, the one he thought was his friend, started to reach towards him at their close proximity, an axe sliced down with precision between them and made it flinch back and back away as Sans gave a sigh in relief. There, on top of the building, was Alphys. Sans smiled to see her again but then saw this other angel which Sans figured was her friend. She jumped down and stood in front of Sans, “alright ya mother f#ckers. Who wants to get sliced to little bits?” the demons hissed at her and backed away some more the other angel landed beside her. This one was a little taller than Alphys, that had skin; A purple two striped robes, small horns on top, large glowing purple wings, short brown hair, and from where Sans was looking at towards the angel; yellow skin, squinting eyes where it looked like they were closed, a straight mouth and the look of determination. Sans looked up to see a very bright glowing ring above their head. brighter than Alphys that’s for sure.

They stood their ground and brought out a long knife from what seemed like thin air and leaned forward as if to charge. The demons flinched and started to scramble away. Sans watched amazed as the demons retreated. The large angel turned and smiled, “greetings. My name is Frisk. I’m unsure what type of angel I am since I appear to be way too different for the usual angel. But aside from that. I have to ask, are you alright?” as they said that, more different angels appeared. One was a goat man with blond looking wings like his hair and beard, and a slightly brighter ring than Alphys above his head. another was a dog smoking a dog treat and holding two axes with holes that looked like eyes, his ring dimmer than the old mans but brighter than Alphys. There were soo many as more appeared. It was hard to describe them all and they all seemed ready for a big battle.

Frisk seemed to notice Sans staring at the other angels and smiled kindly, “ah. I see. These are other angels. There are many more as there are also many demons as you saw. They were just trying to get close to do their twisted bidding to others, including angels. They like to have their ‘fun time’ witch are activities such as picking out our feathers, messing with our halo, the ring, and even doing the unspeakable.” Sans gave a confused look and Frisk gave a sigh. Alphys had gone off and started to talk to the other angels.

Sans looked behind to the still sleeping Papyrus. He gave a sigh as it seemed nothing had woken him. Sans was sure he needed the rest. He turned back to Frisk as they gave a patient smile; curiosity nagged at him as he wanted to know as much as he can before Papyrus wakes up and leaves. Sans doesn’t want to leave him for one second more than he has to, which Sans hopes is none, “could you tell me more about angels. Please?” Sans gave his best begging face which resulted in his eyes turning to stars.

Frisk gave a laugh, “you don’t have to beg. The more you know, the less likely those demons will get to you. You see, since this killer has been going through this place the grounders call the 'underground’ there has been a lot more of both angels and demons popping up. It appears that the demons have a natural instinct while angels are too pure to start with and they get taken away quickly if we do not get there in time. You were lucky as not many of them go near the grounders. You see, we have witness a 'monster’ being reborn into an angel or demon. A monster is a type of grounder, we are unsure about this 'human’ species. We are unsure as to how it is decided which one they will become, but we know the origin. We have many angels trying to find out more in hopes of making sure balance stays in this world. It was usually one would pop up every now and then but with soo many deaths of grounders, there has been an increase and everyone is working hard to make sure there is balance.”

This put Sans to thought as he started to take all of this in. he felt a hand on his shoulder as found Frisk smiling at them, “it is alright. there is a bit more. I am sure you have noticed the halos. The brighter the halo is, the stronger the angel is. It tends to change from time to time, depending on an angels’ mood or determination. The smoother and shinier it is, the older the angel is. Please take note so you can tell who is more knowledgeable. Now, come. Lets go to the angel headquarters and we can fill you in.” Frisk started to reach to place a hand on Sans shoulder which Sans ducked from under frisks grab.

Sans furrowed his eye brow bone while he shook his head violently, “no! I want to stay with my person, my grounder. He needs help and I want to be there to help him.” Sans furrowed his eyebrows more and gave a large frown. Frisk seemed shocked as they retracted their hand with wide eyes and a lightly open gaped mouth but recovered and gave a patient smile.

They stepped back as their mighty wings stretch to their full length and raised slightly to show their power, almost filling up the entire large alleyway., “as you wish young angel. Take care. If you change your mind, just find a passing angel and they will lead you to our base. Just one thing, never take a demon with you. That is all we ask. Now, farewell.” And they took off, the others not far behind when they realize the lead angel had started to fly, Alphys giving a smile then taking off at a high speed, as if she thought it was a competition. Sans looked at their halos and saw how the others were rough but frisks was smooth and shiny. They must be very old.

Sans figured he had one as he reached up in an attempt to grab it. He waved his hand above his head in hopes of being able to take hold but he met with empty air. He tried harder as he sat down cross legged and frantically waved his arms and hands waving above his head as he tried to find where it was, his wings puffing up out of anger in the process. He waved his hands above his head in an even more frantic motion where they even become a blur to anyone watching. The halo had in fact risen when he had lifted his arms. It seems that he would need someone to grab it and bring it down. After an hour of a fruitless attempt, Papyrus started to groan. Sans froze with his arms raised high and looked back as Papyrus started to open his eye sockets. He looked up and Sans followed suit to see tiny twinkling lights. They look pretty as Sans lowered his arms and stared in awe.

Sans was hypnotised staring upwards before Papyrus walked straight through him. Sans jumped up in surprise at first with his wings puffing up but calmed down, chased after the slow papyrus and began to walk beside him as he watched his face relax into the emotionless look again. His eye sockets un-focused. Mouth tight in what looked like a grin for others. This worried Sans a great deal, he had hoped Papyrus would be better after the… sleep but he seemed worse now, almost like he was crying but with no tears to be seen, like a mask being worn to hide himself away from the world. They walked through the glass doors and for once, Sans could see what the inside looked like. It has plush light blue carpet with a darker blue walk paths to the different areas. There was yellow writing sowed into the carpet. 'dining’ 'rooms’ 'reception’ 'elevator’ 'core entrance’ 'nice-cream shop’. Papyrus seems to heading towards the 'core entrance’ one. In the middle was a stature of a square robot that had turn tables connected and little water jets squirting from the middle of the disks of the turntable and it went down into the crystal-clear water below with an almost neon blue walls to keep the water in, coins and small trinkets at the bottom as if people throw things in there.

Sans took a little bit of time to look around a bit more, to the left was, from the small glance, a dark room with tables, a dance floor and speakers. The right has a hallway with different doors that have sparking rocks decorating them. Straight ahead was a door with the words 'CORE’ over the top. To the left of the CORE door is a desk built into the wall and a space behind with keys and paper. To the right of the CORE door way is a set of foggy glass doors and then even further was elevator doors but there was a red light to indicate that it was in use.

Sans had started lagged behind too much, Papyrus had already passed under the core door way. Sans rushed and even flapped his wings enough to get him air born as he raced after Papyrus. As Sans landed beside him he found that if he didn’t over think with flying, he could do it well. He started to think that Alphys was right with just going into it. It still scared him though…. In a very cool and manly way. Papyrus had already started to walk over a bridge that had no rails. Sans took a little moment to look down and saw it was a bottomless pit. He didn’t fancy finding out what’s down there or how far down it goes. Sans looked at the approaching building and saw dark purple metal over the flat wall that covered the entire opposite wall. There was a large glowing red sign that says 'CORE’ and the rest was bare. The other platform in front of the door had a few occasional plants that looked a bit sick.

Sans didn't feel safe going the platform or on the rail-less bridge so he kept extremely close to Papyrus which Papyrus in turn seemed conflicted between a pleasant feeling and a scared feeling. As soon as Sans noticed this he calmed down and Papyrus leaned towards the positive feeling. He guessed that his emotions can also effect those around him. He had to keep that in mind to give Papy less worry. Sans almost missed a step when he realized he nicknamed Papyrus Papy. He has no idea why though. He decided to shrug it off and make sure he followed Papy as he finished going across the bridge. Sans felt relief as they arrived on the other platform. Sans glanced back and saw the nice outside of the resort. He wished he could have spent longer there but he didn't want to lose Papy. Maybe he can go back once Papy was better. Sans kept close to Papy which he started to match Papy for strides as he navigated through the core.

He made many turns and the scene changed a few times. First it was incomplete corridors then a maze and finally he was going across another bridge that had swirling mist. That was terrifying Sans. He shuddered as he walked a bit away from Papy as not to affect him. He heard a hiss from the mist which Sans froze up. He looked down to see something almost oozing just through the mist. He didn’t leave it to chance and ran across to the other side and leaned against his knees as he caught his breath. He would wait for Papyrus. He watched carefully at his grounder as he made his way across slowly. This was when Sans wished he would move faster. Like he was for that person in the lizard head house. He also kept an eye on the goo thing as it just stayed there. Sans felt like it was watching him with some sort of hidden eyes.

Not soon enough, Papy made it across and Sans was quick to follow him as he continued on, unknowing to the creature below. He wanted to be away from that thing. He didn’t like it. But as Papy entered the building that involved the open doorway since the elevator had a red light for 'out of use' as Sans was glad to find that he was finally out of sight of the thing. But it had gone down back into the swirling mist by then. There was a figure up ahead. As Papy got close Sans saw it was a blue….. robot with….. DJ boards that had disks already on top, it was different from the statue in the hotel place. Papy smiled, “Hey Blook. Fighting the human thing?” he seemed to actually show care for this robot, like he did with Undyne.

The robot, Blook, snapped its head to Papy and smiled, “Yeah skeledude. Its real close too. Killing everyone in their path. Best to hide skeledude.” Papy shook his head with a large sigh escaping through his teeth.

He took a moment before he spoke again, “You can’t win. The human has dusted over half the population in the entire underground, excluding the capital since that is out of the way to the queen, they evacuated and the human hasn’t gone there yet. They are way too powerful for you. You will get killed and you will leave Mettaton alone” Papy went up and placed a hand on Blooks’ metal shoulder, Sans moving to get a good look at the exchange.

Blook looked at Papy with sympathy in his robot eyes, “I know. He came to me in tears. The human had tried to attack him and that human had dusted dummy. We both knew they got to happy dummy in the ruins where he was happy and sweet. I want revenge on that brat. I want to avenge Alphys for Undyne. And I want to avenge my number one fan, your brother. He didn’t deserve that. He was sweet and kind to others. I was there watching the feed as it cut him. He didn’t deserve that. He was showing kindness. He was showing MERCY. And that thing cut through him like it was nothing. I won’t let him die in vain. I know I won’t win but I will try dying. Please. Get away if you can and warn the queen. Maybe she is strong enough to defeat it. Or tell the judge. Whoever it is. They might be the one to stop it. We can only hope.” And Blook went back to checking his equipment. Sans wondered how that Alphys was, if they were like the Alphys he knew.

Papy shrugged with sadness over his face and kept walking, placing his hands in his pockets. Sans felt that Papy did that when he knew something big would happen and would be happening soon. Both the skeletons passed through the next doorway before it closed behind Papyrus. Papy taking a deep breath, continuing on with his journey. It was near the end. They had passed the core, onwards to the unknown.

{1} {2} {3} ]4[ {5} {6} {7} {8}

#Leather and feathers #RebornSwap #Reborntale #Sans #Papyrus #SwapSans #SwapPapyrus #AngelSans #Fanfiction

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