#that scene has not been beta'd but i still liked it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

javier-pena · 6 months ago

Text

quicksand

Pairing: Pedro's unnamed character in Materialists x f!reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You meet a stranger at a party.

Notes: Last week I saw these behind the scenes shots of Pedro in Materialists and somehow I had to write 8,000 words about that? I'm also not quite sure what happened, it was supposed to be like 3k max. There was also this ask Han @swiftispunk received that I couldn't get out of my head. The title is inspired by Ms Swift's song Treacherous (And I'll do anything you say / If you say it with your hands / And I'd be smart to walk away / But you're quicksand), the rest is inspired by going completely feral whenever new pictures dropped. Tremendous thanks to Dani @alexturner who just beta'd a long-ass fic last week and then this fic this week - you're being way too good to me with indulging all thoughts I have that I have to turn into short stories 🫣 My dear, sweet anon who kept sending me encouraging asks, this is for you!!

***

There’s laughter coming from downstairs, deep, rumbling laughter impossible to ignore. Your whole body seems to shake with it, your heart stutters in your chest angrily, and you press your hands over your ears. But the loud voices are still there, mocking you with their indifference to your pain. You bury your face in your cool satin pillow and sob into it, ruining the expensive fabric. You don’t fucking care.

All your friends warned you this would happen and you hate how they were right. “You’re nothing but a toy to him.” Shut up, Marissa, you’re just jealous. “Maybe you should look for a boyfriend who’s closer to you in age.” Maybe you should look for a boyfriend, period. “You’re only a fuckmaid to him, do you realize that?” That was the point you stopped listening to them and, at the same time, it was the point you should have started listening.

You are nothing but a toy to him. You should have looked for someone closer to you in age. You are … no, you can’t bring yourself to even think the word, because the truth hurts too much. The truth and your blindness and your stupidity and the fact that you’re throwing your life away for a man who breaks every promise he makes and who treats you like a pet. A beautiful, expensive pet that can be ignored whenever it’s convenient.

“Come with me to the Keys,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hotter than his steadily cooling release sticking to your thighs.

“What?” you asked, heart clenching painfully. When was the last time he cared enough to make you come? Months ago?

“Come with me to the Keys,” he repeated. “The change of scenery will be good for us. I’ll show you around. We can go deep sea fishing. I’ll buy you some dresses and bathing suits. Just take my card tomorrow.”

He brushed your hair away from your neck, kissed the skin there, cupped one of your breasts, squeezed it hard. “Piers,” you warned, tried to get away from him. But there was nowhere to go.

The truth is you had been looking forward to his trip. Had been looking forward to having the apartment to yourself for a while. It’s not like you would’ve done anything in particular except just breathe for once.

“Don’t be like that,” he mumbled against your neck, squeezed your breast again. “Don’t you want to sip on a nice cocktail? Wear a risqué outfit for me?”

No, you didn’t want that. But if you didn’t say yes soon, he’d get angry. “Okay,” you gave in. “But you have to promise me that you’ll spend one day with me. No business.”

What’s easily promised is easily broken.

Today is supposed to be your day. And for once in your life, you thought it would be. Piers took you out for breakfast, right by the water. You watched the sunshine dance across the waves. Then he showed you around town, took you to his favorite spots in Key West, even held your hand. And you thought, This is it. I’m finally worthy of him. Then came the call, followed by those emails, and suddenly Piers was like, “Sorry, babe, I have to meet them, they’re important business partners. Why don’t you go to the beach club, buy yourself a nice massage? Here’s my card.”

Here's my card. You’ve never hated three words more.

What you didn’t expect was to come home to a party. At least twenty men were milling around the house Piers liked to refer to as his “Key West Residence”, a late 19th century villa. Twenty loud men, rich like Piers, most of them his age, leering at you as you stepped through the front door, mistaking you for tonight’s entertainment.

“Babe!” Piers boomed, spilling half his drink while opening his arms as if he meant to hug you. The glances didn’t stop. “Go upstairs, freshen up, put on something nice, and then let me show you off.”

You managed to complete the first step before breaking down on your bed. You’ve been sobbing ever since.

Something breaks downstairs and some of the men roar. You bury your face deeper against the pillow, terrified to go back downstairs, terrified to stay up here. Whatever you do, it will be the wrong thing. You close your eyes and think about what it would be like if the men downstairs vanished. If you had the house to yourself, sharing it with a person you loved and who loved you in return. You could be having dinner on the patio now. Before that, you might go for a swim in the pool, knowing the only eyes on you were your partner’s, the only glances you received were welcome.

You sit up straight. You might hate it when Piers’ business partners look at you like you’re a piece of meat, but Piers hates it too if they don’t do it without being invited. Twenty men imagining all the vile ways in which they could fuck you is the last thing you want right now, but it’s also the last thing Piers wants.

You stumble into the bathroom and wash your face with ice cold water, willing the puffiness of your eyes to recede. You put on your most expensive makeup, the kind that only comes off with intensive scrubbing, then you pick your most revealing bikini and put it on. If those men stared at you like that in a long sundress, their heads will probably explode if they see you like this.

Chin held high, beach towel thrown over your shoulder, you make your way downstairs on high heels the same shade of black as your bikini. You feel utterly stupid, like you’re giving them exactly what they want, but the flush that spreads across Piers’ cheeks when he sees you is worth it. There are some whistles, a few crude comments, one man slaps your ass, but you make it to the pool. None of them are brave enough to follow you outside.

The water is cool against your skin, doing its best to extinguish the fire that burns within you. The flames don’t die down completely but they’re certainly soothed. You start to swim, one length, then three, and soon the party resumes and the men pick up their conversations again. This almost feels normal; this almost feels like a life you could enjoy. Except that you’re alone. And not in a way you crave.

You stop swimming and start drifting on your back, watching the sky above turn from a gentle blue into a soft pink, a bright orange, a deep purple. Soon, the sun will go down and the party will pick up speed. You should go, put on a dress, let Piers show you off, vanish before they’ve had too much alcohol.

You climb out of the pool, squeeze water out of your hair, wrap the towel around yourself. No one is paying attention to you now, so you pick up your heels to carry them back upstairs. There’s no way you’ll make it back to your room without one or two unwanted glances, without the odd rude comment, but you can live with that. You step onto the patio, eyes firmly fixed on your destination, then start walking through the gathering, careful not to look at anyone, careful not to be seen.

Someone sees you though. It’s not Piers, and it also isn’t one of the men who look at you and lick their lips. It’s someone watching you from the shadows, someone on one of the chairs in the parlor. Keep your eyes on the stairs, you tell yourself. Nothing good can come from this. While you were in the pool, Piers must have turned on the music, old jazz songs he always plays when he wants to appear sophisticated. The tinny sounds of saxophones make your ears ring, irritating you more than the heavy smell of cigar smoke that seems to be seeping into every corner of the house. You feel horrible between all those men dressed in their suits, even with the towel covering most of your skin. And you wish that one man would stop watching you because it makes you feel hunted, makes your body beg to run and hide.

At the foot of the stairs you pause, your heart in your throat. A man brushes past you, pretending like there is only so little room he has to press his palm against the small of your back. You turn around looking for Piers, ready to pretend you have a horrific migraine and won’t be joining him after all, when your eyes land on the man who is making the hair at the back of your neck stand with his unrelenting gaze.

You can’t see him properly because he’s half hidden behind the door to the parlor, a room that’s devoid of proper lighting and full of cigar smoke. But you see his dark eyes on you, feel them look right through you, see you for who you are, while he laughs at something the man next to him is saying. You crane your neck to get a better look at him but two other men walk past, obscuring your view. When they spot you and start to make their way toward you, you bolt up the stairs. At least no one will dare to follow you up here.

*******

“There she is!” Piers announces later, opening his arms wide again. He doesn’t spill his drink this time. You step into his embrace and let him kiss your cheek. “Took you long enough, doll.” You hate it when he calls you that, but you keep on smiling. Then he leans closer and whispers, “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it. Letting another man touch you! What’s wrong with you?”

So it did bother him after all. It should make you feel proud, but it only makes you feel empty. “I’m sorry,” you whisper back and kiss him. Someone at the back of the room whistles.

“Just try to behave for the rest of the night,” he says coldly, then smiles at you and asks in his loud business voice, “Isn’t she lovely?”

Some of the men nod but none dare to look at you directly. Not when Piers has his arm slung around your shoulder anyway.

“How about a drink?” he asks you and when you nod, he takes your hand and leads you toward the bar at the back of the parlor. You follow him, shivering slightly from the evening breeze blowing in through the open French doors. The smoke in the room makes your eyes sting.

With practiced ease, Piers fills a sparkling glass with vodka and soda, adding a bit of lime juice. You try to ignore the man who is standing a little bit too close to you, whose eyes hang a little bit too low.

“Here you are.” Piers hands you the glass. “I have something to discuss with those gentlemen over there,” he nods at two men standing by the door to his study, “but I shouldn’t be too long. Try not to cause too much of a scene while I’m gone.”

You close your fingers around the glass and nod. All you want to do is run.

As soon as he’s gone, they start to close in on you. It’s what Piers wants. He wants others to desire what belongs to him – his apartment, his car, his life. You’re part of all of that. He wants these men to desire you, to think they can have you. You should have listened to your friends, to Marissa and Annie and all the others. If you had, you might hate yourself less.

You know they all want to talk to you and they won’t take no for an answer, so you start to make your way toward the open French doors to escape into the garden. If you stand right at the edge, you can hear the waves whisper and feel the ocean breeze on your face. And if you keep still long enough, they might forget about you.

You don’t even make it out the door before your eyes start to wander from the lush green bushes and trees outside and land on a man sitting in a leather armchair close to the open doors. You don’t know if it’s the same one whose gaze you felt on you earlier, but there’s something about him that makes it hard for you to look away. He’s in the middle of a conversation, one leg comfortably slung across the other, ankle resting against thigh. One of his hands is spread on his knee, his fingers stroking and tapping the expensive fabric of his back dress pants in a nervous tick. His other hand is wrapped around a glass full of amber liquid that he takes a swig from right as you walk past, pretending not to notice how the muscles in his neck work as he swallows, pretending not to notice the gold ring on his little finger that clinks against the glass as he lowers it again.

Your own drink untouched, you stand on the patio, off to the side where you hope no one will notice you but where you can look at that stranger from time to time. You don’t think you’ve seen him before, but you don’t usually pay a lot of attention to Piers’ associates. None of the men here this evening look familiar. Still, there is something about the way this man runs his fingers through his dark curls from time to time, the way he tries to smooth the wrinkles in his white shirt, the way he takes a drag from a big, dark brown cigar once in a while that makes it impossible for you to look away. Until another man demands your attention.

“Hi there,” he says, his laugh showing off perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “I’m Hutton.”

You think about saying, “And I’m not interested,” but to Piers that would probably count as causing a scene. And Hutton looks like he’s one of the younger men here, probably in his late 30s. There are worse guys to talk to. “Hi,” you reply with a sweet smile.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” He steps closer to you, encouraged by your smile.

“Yes,” you reply. “So how do you know Piers?”

If he’s annoyed by you bringing up your boyfriend right away, he doesn’t let it show. “We work together,” he answers, which could mean anything in Piers’s world.

“And what brings you to Key West?”

“The scenery,” Hutton answers, not even trying to hide his hungry gaze that glides over your naked shoulders and cleavage.

“I thought it was business,” you say, your smile faltering slightly. “Seeing you’re here.”

“I try not to mix business with pleasure.” Hutton leans against the small sliver of wall between the French doors and the corner of the house. “It’s neither good for business nor pleasure.”

You hum, trying to take a step back. You’re already at the edge of the patio though, and you almost stumble off it, losing your footing.

Hutton grabs your arm and pulls you toward him. “Careful there, pretty girl.”

You try to pull your arm back but he won’t let go. “Thank you,” you say at the same time as he says, “Have you ever thought about exchanging Piers for a younger model?”

It didn’t take him more than a few words exchanged to get to the point.

You yank your arm free but he grabs it again. “Stop it,” you command in your strictest voice but he only grins at you.

“Don’t be like this. I’m only fooling around.”

“Then let go of me.” He doesn’t.

You’re about to throw your drink in his face, even if it means Piers will be angry with you again, when someone steps out onto the patio.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He’s standing right there, one hand in the pocket of his dark pants, the other holding his cigar. Shame washes over you and your palms grow sweaty. You really don’t need this right now. But Hutton immediately lets go of you and turns to face the newcomer.

“We’re good here, thanks,” he says, his jaw clenched.

The stranger takes his time to take a drag on his cigar, lets out the smoke while looking up at the now deep purple evening sky. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” he asks and Hutton lets out a sigh.

“Are you just going to keep standing there?” he asks.

The stranger shrugs.

You glance into the parlor, at all the men milling about, wondering if you could make your escape without anyone noticing. But there is something in the way the stranger holds himself that makes you want to stay and find out how this ends. Piers, by now, would have rushed past Hutton, a snarl on his lips, his anger directed at you. The stranger just stands there, his shoulders relaxed, acting as if he doesn’t even particularly care that you and Hutton are out here on the patio as well. It’s a different kind of threat … a different kind of protectiveness.

Hutton turns to you. “Are you coming?”

You shake your head and with a roll of his eyes and an annoyed, “Whatever,” he vanishes into the house, leaving you alone with him.

The silence unbearable, you say, “Thank you.”

He takes another drag on his cigar, then comes closer to you. You ignore how your heart flutters at his approach. He reaches for your hand and for a wild moment you think he’s going to grab your arm too, but he only takes the drink from your hand, sniffs the contents of the glass, then dumps it over the edge of the patio. “Let’s get you a proper drink,” he says.

You’re too stunned to do much more than follow him back into the house and toward the bar. Around you, the volume has risen since you stepped out onto the patio, but you don’t care as much as you did before. It’s hard to care about anything when your stomach is in a tight knot and when you feel like the world around you has gone completely quiet.

The man steps behind the bar, gently places his cigar in an ashtray, then regards the collection of bottles before him with his hands on his hips. “You don’t look like a vodka girl to me,” he mumbles, and you feel your face grow hot. You don’t know why. “Here.” He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vermouth. You only now notice how big his hands are, and your mind immediately starts to replay the evening. His hand on his knee, his hand around his glass, his hand … You shake your head, but the shiny gold ring on his little finger glitters enticingly as he unscrews the bottle of vermouth to smell the alcohol within. It’s like you’re a magpie, enchanted by everything that glitters.

“Sweet enough,” he concludes, pouring a little vermouth and a lot of whiskey into a martini glass. Then he goes through all the bottles once more until he finds one of lavender bitter and adds it to the mix.

“What is that?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m not done yet.” There’s a small jar of cocktail cherries he unscrews. With skilled movements, he skewers two of them onto a silver cocktail stick before handing you the glass. The mix inside is orange on top, a reddish purple deeper below. It looks like the sunset you watched earlier.

“What is it?” you ask again.

“Taste it,” he tells you, an eager glint in his eyes.

You take a careful sip and widen your eyes in surprise at the strong yet sweet taste. “Oh, this is really good!”

“It’s sweet, like you,” he says, then seems to change his mind, adopting a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “It’s a Manhattan. That’s where you belong, not in this tourist trash kind of town.”

That makes you laugh. “Hey, I like it here.”

The bar is still between you but he leans on it to get closer to you. “I bet you would also like Manhattan if I showed you around.”

“I’m from Manhattan,” you tell him. “I live there, actually.”

“I do too,” he responds. “Funny how we should run into each other here, of all places.”

You inhale shakily. You don’t know why. “If you hate it here so much, what are you doing here?”

He smiles at you, and you’re sure your heart stops. “I heard you talk to that other guy. I’m not here to have a conversation like that with you.”

You take another sip from your cocktail even though it makes your head spin. “What are you here for then?”

“That’s just another way of asking me what I’m doing here, angel eyes,” he points out. He does it so smoothly you almost don’t notice the diminutive.

You straighten your back, only now realizing you were leaning on the bar close to him. He mirrors you, then walks around the wood between you so he can stand directly next to you. “You tell me what you want to talk about then. After all, you approached me, you made me a drink, you wanted to whisk me off to Manhattan.”

“That was before I realized how worldly you are,” he says and his smile turns sly.

“Oh?” you make. You swallow. “Am I too difficult for you then?”

“I like a challenge.”

This is where you should stop. This is where you should thank him again for rescuing you, and for the drink, and where you should walk away to find your boyfriend, who surely has to be done with his meeting by now. But how can you step away when he’s still smiling at you as if he’s having the time of his life, when you felt drawn to him all evening, when having his eyes on you makes you feel truly seen? Yes, he isn’t exactly subtle in the way he flirts with you, but there is a kindness in his gaze you’ve never seen on another man before. And then he touches you, straightening the strap of your short, tight dress, and your whole body comes alive.

“You know smoking is bad for you, right?” is the only thing you can come up with, willing your voice to remain steady.

“I like things that are bad for me,” he replies.

It’s such a cheesy line, it makes you want to bury your face in your hands. But, god, does talking to him make you feel good.

“Ha!” He points at you. “That’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen all evening.

“Call me ‘sweet’ again and you might see some more,” you retort. All you want to do is to tell him you don’t mind his harmless flirting, that whatever this is between you is fun, but it comes out heavy with implications. Implications you can’t take back because you don’t want to.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and you think you might die. “You’re very brave.” It’s a statement. “I saw you walk to the pool earlier in –”

“I know,” you interrupt him. “I saw you watching me.”

He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. “It made me want to kiss you.”

You freeze. There is nothing you can say that won’t end badly for you. “So you made me a drink instead?”

He plucks the cocktail stick out of your glass and holds it up to your mouth. You close your lips around the first cocktail cherry and pull it off slowly, your eyes fixed to his. It might just be the low lighting but you think his pupils dilate. He drops the stick back into the glass and takes a big swig of your drink, his eyes momentarily leaving yours. You do your best not to watch his throat as he swallows.

“You really are something,” he concludes, putting down the glass on the bar.

You feel lightheaded, as if you’d just made out with him for half an hour. “I’m also in a relationship.” The words are out before you can stop yourself. You didn’t mean to say them.

“I don’t give a damn.”

You giggle, actually giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “You sound like the hero in one of those ancient black-and-white movies.”

“Or maybe I’m the villain.”

This time you do bury your face in your hands. “Oh, stop it.”

“No,” he simply says, and you get it. You want to kiss him too.

Instead, you glance at the small gold wrist watch on your arm. “It’s late. I should –”

He interrupts you. “Don’t –,” but you don’t let him finish.

“Thank you for the drink. And thank you for making me laugh. You made this whole thing bearable.”

You don’t know if you should shake his hand or kiss his cheek so you don’t do any of it. You pat his arm, once, trying not to notice how it feels against your palm, then walk toward the stairs, your heart breaking with each step. If you were single, you wouldn’t have hesitated to sleep with this man. If you weren’t Piers’ girlfriend, he would never have looked your way. It’s better to end it here.

The quietness of your room engulfs you, just like the soothing coolness of the pool earlier. As soon as you close the door behind you and lean against it, you can breathe. Yes, you can still hear the sounds of the party, but they’re muffled. You can finally hear yourself think again and you exhale shakily. You almost made the biggest mistake of your life. The adrenaline rush you got from it makes you snicker.

Piers isn’t entirely faithful. He attends parties with strippers, he looks at other women, you know all that. But it doesn’t mean anything because at the end of the day he comes home to you. What you just did … it goes beyond everything Piers has ever done, and you wouldn’t have been able to look at yourself in the mirror if you had spent one more minute in the presence of that handsome stranger. Even if your flirting made you happier than Piers has in months.

There’s a knock at your door and you jump. Expecting Piers, you open it without a second thought. “I’ll be right …,” you start but forget every word in the English language when you come face to face with the stranger.

“Hello,” he says, and that handsome smile is back on his face, even if he keeps a careful distance. “You vanished so quickly it made me wonder … did I do something wrong?”

“What?” you ask because it’s the only word you can remember.

“I’ll go back downstairs if you don’t want me here,” he goes on, “just say the word.”

They never come up the stairs. Never. Who does he think he is? “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just tired.” You try to close the door in his face, but he steps closer, bracing a hand against the wooden doorframe. “Excuse me,” you say insistently.

“Can I come in?”

Into your room? “Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” you reject him. You laugh, but it sounds insincere. “You should go back downstairs.”

“Alright,” he agrees, “but you have to say it like you mean it.”

“Listen here,” you start in your best no-nonsense voice. He tightens his grip on the wood and you hear it creak, despite the noise downstairs. “I want you to …”

It’s no use. You don’t know who he is, you don’t even know his name, but you also know that if you don’t let yourself have this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

“You need to say the words, sweet –”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You both freeze. His mouth hangs open, still in the middle of forming the next word he wanted to say. You tense, well aware that you said something you can not take back.

The few seconds that pass feel like an eternity. Then he pushes himself past the doorframe into your room, into your personal space. You smell the heavy scent of cigar smoke on him, you smell leather and lavender and citrus. You see his smile that turns into something more determined the closer he gets to you. You notice the stubble on his cheek, the glint in his eyes, the small dark spot on the collar of his white shirt. You feel … you feel his body pressing against yours, his hand pressing against the small of your back, his breath on your face, and then everything is reduced to his lips on yours, your breaths mingling, his … his tongue coaxing you open, not gently but insistent, and you not hesitating to open yourself up for him.

It's as if you’re watching it all from above, you pushing him backward, him closing the door with a hard slam, the both of you pulling at each other while kissing and kissing and …

“Careful,” he chuckles when you bite down on his bottom lip. “You said kiss, not –”

“I don’t give a fuck what I said,” you interrupt him, pulling his shirt out of his pants.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says and grabs your wrist.

You groan. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

He pulls you in for another kiss. “I’m not. You’re just … We’re doing this on my terms or not at all.”

Something throbs deep within your core.

He tightens his hold on you. “I’ve had all evening to think about this. To picture all the things I want to do to you.”

“It’s not going to be just kissing then?” you ask, relishing the chuckle you draw out of him.

“I knew I wouldn’t leave here tonight without feeling your pretty little cunt clench around me.”

It sounds like a line straight out of a porn movie. You should laugh, tell him to take you seriously. But all you can do is whimper at the thought of him sitting in his chair downstairs, talking to one of Piers’ associates or even Piers himself while thinking about being buried deep inside of you. Every other man would send you fleeing. Not him though.

“Who are you?” you whisper.

“Does it matter? Once I’m done with you, you’ll have forgotten your own name.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Those are some big words,” you point out.

He lets go of your wrist, then bunches the fabric of your dress up in his hand until he can reach below the hem, his broad, warm hand landing on your naked skin, his ring digging into your soft flesh. You gasp.

“Do you really think I’d disappoint you?”

“No,” you say too quickly, too rashly.

He grabs your dress again. “How about you take this off for me?”

“No,” you repeat, biting the inside of your cheek so you don’t laugh at the look of shock on his face. Then you turn around. “I can’t really open the zipper without some assistance.”

He runs both his hands over your naked shoulders and down to the middle of your back. You expect him to take his time, but he yanks the zipper down so quickly you think you hear fabric tear. You almost don’t have enough time to slip out of the thin shoulder straps before he falls to his knees behind you, pulling the dress with him. His hands are on your butt cheeks now, massaging, grabbing you as if he’s set on memorizing every detail. He slips his thumb under the hem of your panties, dips the tip into the wetness there.

You gasp at the same time as he whispers, “Knew it.”

You pull him away from you and turn around, well aware you’re completely naked except for your panties. “Well, it’s hardly surprising,” you start, your voice airy, but then it dies down completely at the sight of him kneeling in front of you looking up at you with so much heat in his gaze you’re getting burned. How did you get here?

You want him to tease you back, but he only pulls you close, his hands clasping your hips insistently, and kisses your belly, right above the hem of your panties. Then he kisses your thighs and your sides, and your belly button, and then he pulls down your panties and buries his face in your wetness with a relieved sigh. Your hands shoot forward and grab his curls, dig into them, desperate for purchase, as your head swims from the overstimulation. You would like to focus on the feeling of his hair between your fingers. You would like to focus on his tongue swirling around your clit. You would like to focus on the growl he makes when you run your nails over his scalp.

You think you’re laughing. You think you say, “Does that still count as kissing?”

“Yes,” he mumbles against the soft skin of your thighs. His curls are already a mess, his face is flushed, but when he glances up at you, his eyes are bright with determination.

“I think you have to show me that definition of kissing someday,” you go on, glancing up at the ceiling. You can’t look at him directly, it feels too intimate.

“That’s enough talking,” he decides and licks a broad stripe across your drenched folds.

You tighten your grip on his curls in response because your legs start to quiver. You hope he doesn’t notice, but his fingers dig into your thighs to steady you. The edges of his ring are cutting into you almost painfully – you want more of it. His hair wrapped around your fingers you pull him closer into you and he moans against you … actually moans. You push away those thoughts that make you compare him to Piers, how Piers would never moan if he was between your legs, how Piers never eats you out. This isn’t about him – it’s about you.

There’s something in the way that stranger rolls and flicks his tongue that tells you he won’t make you wait for an orgasm. You want to hold on longer because you can’t bear the thought of this being over already, but there is something in the way he devours you that pushes you toward the edge at a rapid speed. You don’t even hear the sounds of the party anymore, the laughter, the music; it’s just him and his deep sighs and moans.

You’re almost embarrassed by how fast you come. One second you’re appreciating the way his tongue flicks your clit, the next you can barely stay upright when your whole body releases months and months of built-up tension. You quiver in his grip and he holds you close, licking and licking until you can’t take it anymore. You think you mumble, “Fuckfuckfuck,” but there is no way to be sure. All you know is that you just had one of the best orgasms of your life.

You laugh as if the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders. What else is there to do? “So this is doing things on your terms?” you ask.

He sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You think you might explode at that sight. “No, that was for your benefit. The rest is going to be for mine.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you glance over your shoulder at your bed that’s rumpled from you crying on it earlier. If he can make you feel like that with just his tongue, what will he be –

“No, sugar, not like that,” he tells you, immediately pulling your attention back to him.

Your throat is dry when you ask, “What then?”

He stands and cups your cheek, his hand pleasantly warm. You lean into the touch immediately. “Don’t be so impatient. Enjoy the moment for a while.”

“What moment …?” you start but you don’t get far. He claims your mouth in a searing kiss that makes you wish you had been paying more attention to what he was doing when he was eating you out. You kiss him back, slinging your arms around his neck, the soft fabric of his white shirt rubbing against your naked chest. He licks across your bottom lip until you open your mouth for him, and then he claims you like no one has before. You fear that if you start thinking about how you can taste yourself on him, you’ll go insane.

“You’re so easy to kiss,” he mumbles against your lips. You’re not quite sure how he means it, but your chest still expands at the compliment.

“And you’re very handsome,” you retort lamely.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about telling me all evening?”

“No,” you reply too slowly this time.

He kisses your temple, then brings his mouth right next to your ear. “I’ve been thinking about watching myself fuck you.”

He doesn’t give you time to process, takes you over to the vanity that stands opposite your bed, its mirror dull in the dim light of the room. Even when he places your hands on the table top, telling you to hold on, you still don’t think he’s serious. You look at yourself in the mirror, at the makeup smudges below your eyes, the birth mark on your throat that you hate, how your mouth hangs open in a way that looks so very unsexy. Behind you, that stranger you invited into your room, this man you know nothing about, is unbuttoning his expensive dress pants, his white shirt obscuring the view. What does he see in you that makes him want you like this?

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut.

He’s holding himself now, but you can’t see his hand moving without turning around. And he didn’t tell you you’re allowed to look. Your palms begin to sweat against the wooden surface of the vanity, at the thought of him telling you what you are and aren’t allowed to do, at him praising you for doing well and punishing you if you don’t. You don’t recognize that side of yourself.

His eyes are open again and he searches for yours in the mirror. “I asked you a question.”

You swallow hard. “No, I don’t,” you say, fighting down a giggle. It’s nerves.

“I’d better show you then,” he concludes, and he pushes inside of you with one hard stroke, filling you faster than you can spread your legs.

You both take a moment to breathe. He adjusts himself, you try to get used to the angle, the feeling of fullness. You haven’t seen his hard cock, but you know he’s more than Piers, so much more the stretch is almost uncomfortable. The wood beneath your fingers starts to swim when your vision blurs and –

“No, none of that.” He grips your chin and lifts your head, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. “I’ve also been thinking about you watching me fuck you.”

His hand looks so big holding your face like that, and when you swallow again, he can feel it against his fingers.

His own face is right there next to yours, his eyes firmly fixed to yours through the glass. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure you can take it.”

Before you can think of anything to say, he pulls out of you and thrusts back in in a tentative motion that is enough for your eyes to flutter shut in pleasure.

“No, no, no,” he whispers into your ear. “Keep them open.”

You do as you’re told and he rewards you with a sharp bite to the spot where your neck meets your shoulders. Your hips thrust back of their own accord, meeting his in a quick snap.

“You make such pretty sounds,” he mumbles against your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were making any, too transfixed by watching him move behind you. Whenever your gaze wavers and flutters to your own face, embarrassment sends adrenaline shooting through your body. But he … watching his shoulders and arms tense and relax beneath his shirt that looks all too tight now, watching him meet your gaze, eyes full of lust … you don’t know why you would fuck anyone any other way than this.

He straightens his back, changing the angle slightly, and now you do hear yourself groan. He grabs your chin tighter and pushes two fingers into your mouth. “You know,” he says, and his hips snap with more force, faster, making the vanity rattle beneath your hands, “if you were mine, I’d let no man touch you. I would’ve broken his arm.”

It takes you a few seconds to figure out what he means; you’re too busy relishing the taste of his skin on your tongue. There must have been a man who touched you … when you were coming down the stairs … You can see it all clearly now. He would grab that man’s arm, calm and collected, twist it, make him shout in surprise … you can almost hear the bones snap.

“Oh, look at that,” he groans, and you do. You look at yourself in the mirror, unashamed, eyes wide. You watch how you eagerly suck and lick his fingers, watch it as if another person was doing it. You’re trembling in his grip … or is he making everything shake with his thrusts that are coming faster and faster now as he fucks you, taking what he needs? “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You almost don’t hear him, too transfixed by how depraved he’s making you feel. “You’d get off on that, a good man protecting you. Shame I’m not good, really.”

You don’t care. You’re done with those men who act politely, who treat you with care when they know Piers is around, but who talk about you taking it up the ass when your back is turned. You’d much rather have this, a man who isn’t scared to say these things to your face. Even if he thinks he isn’t all good, he still protected you.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and you whimper at the loss, watching how a thread of spit connecting his digits to your lips breaks. With his other hand, he suddenly grabs one of your breasts, squeezing your hard nipple with practiced ease, and you arch your back with a moan, exposing your throat to him. His fingers close around it, hard, restricting the airflow, his ring pressing against one of the most vulnerable spots of your body in a way that doesn’t leave any room for doubt – you’re doing this on his terms.

He tightens his grip on your throat until you start seeing stars, the loosens it. “I’m going to make you come now. I want you to watch yourself. I want you to see what you look like coming around my cock.”

If you could, you would nod, but he isn’t looking for your consent. He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger one last time, then lowers his hand to find your clit. When he touches you, you make a sound like never before, one that’s feral and animalistic and can’t possibly be coming from you.

He shushes you, his breath tickling your neck. “You don’t want anyone to hear us.”

You don’t? You have no idea. You can’t form a single coherent thought as he pounds into you, making sure you’ll be able to feel him long after he’s done with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your voice is breathless after that scream, hoarse and raw. Your gaze flickers to his fingers curled tightly around your neck.

“Keep your eyes on yourself, baby girl,” he orders.

Baby girl.

That’s what does it. You watch your eyes widen and your mouth fall open as your body shakes first from his thrusts and then from wave after wave of pleasure. He was right. You love this. You love watching yourself come while he forces you to watch yourself, love to watch your orgasm play out across your face. He’s watching you too, licking his lips hungrily, never faltering. But you can see it in his eyes, the way he’s memorizing every detail of your orgasm.

“Well done,” he says once you’re done and moves your chin so he can kiss your lips.

Then he suddenly pushes you down so your chest connects with the table top. You grunt in surprise, then in pain when he rolls your head to the side so you can still somewhat glimpse his reflection above you.

“My turn,” he growls.

His teeth are digging into his bottom lip, his eyes are firmly fixed on his own reflection, and he holds you down with such a strong grip you can’t move, but also in a way that’s so casual it makes you feel like he’s using you. Your heart stutters with longing so intense at that thought that the feeling spreads to the rest of your body and becomes so intense he feels it in his own. At least you think that is what’s going on when he smiles down on you.

The position you’re in and the tenderness between your legs steadily turns from pleasurable to uncomfortable to simply too much. But he doesn’t finish. He keeps going and going, not as fast as before, seemingly transfixed by what you’re doing. You reach back for him and he grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back.

“Please,” you whimper, and it makes his intense gaze falter for just one second.

“Almost there, baby girl,” he replies, “you’re doing so well. Just keep taking it a little while longer.” You think you could bear anything if he just kept talking to you like that.

Then suddenly it’s over. There is one last thrust that pushes you onto the tips of your toes and then he stills. The only movement comes from his hips that are twitching as he empties himself inside of you. You don’t even dare to breathe, watching as his reflection slowly relaxes and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath.

Finally, he pulls out of you and you try to stand, but he pushes you back down again. “Stay. We’re not done yet.”

Your legs tremble in anticipation, but your mind is blank, unable to imagine what else he could have in store for you. You don’t feel anything at first, you just hear him moan, and then you realize he’s kneeling behind you, cleaning you up with his tongue, eagerly licking his own release off your skin. It makes you feel so lewd you forget about everything, even Piers. Especially when he doesn’t stop at your thighs but moves further and further up your legs until his tongue and nose are buried in your folds once more and he’s spreading you open with his big hands.

You can’t help it.

“Fuck, fu- I- I’m gonna –”

There’s no time for you to finish the warning before you’re coming a third time, your hips desperately twitching against the vanity. He licks you through it, catching every last drop you’re giving him on his tongue. You can’t tell for sure but you think he’s chuckling and for some reason the shame you feel turns you on even more.

When it’s all over, he peels you off the vanity and pulls you into his arms, brushing your hair out of your face that is sticky with sweat. “You sure are a greedy little thing,” he says before he kisses you tenderly.

You swallow a sob and give him a sigh instead.

“Half the people downstairs probably heard us.” There’s a big grin on his face at that thought.

“I don’t give a fuck,” you repeat your earlier sentiment, surprised to discover that it’s true.

“Someone wants to get caught,” he teases and kisses you again.

“What I want is for you to fuck me like that again.”

“Oh, baby girl.” You almost hate how he’s already figured out what hearing him call you that does to you. “There are a million more things I want to do with you. This was just a taste.”

You’re not sure if you can believe him, but you decide to indulge that fantasy. You put on your sweetest smile. “Can’t wait.”

He lets go of you and walks toward your door. “Why don’t you give me a call once you’re back in Manhattan.”

A red warning light switches on somewhere in your brain. “But I don’t even know your name.”

“Something tells me you’ll find out.” And with that, he’s gone.

#materialists fanfiction #materialists #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #is this anything?#quicksand

343 notes · View notes

argetcross · 2 months ago

Text

Happy 4th anniversary to wasting beats of this heart of mine, my Zagreus becomes mortal AU! Another year, some more adventures undertaken.

This year, I've unearthed more concepts and half-finished paintings all the way from 2021. I've included notes under the cut about each piece, as well as more reflections.

If you told me in October 2020 that you'll write a fic over 100k words long, spanning multiple cities, with multiple POVs, I would have said, "Are you sure?". I think I never really imagined I could keep a story running, much less one that demands so much of its author. At the same time, this work has been my deepest and most fulfilling pleasure. It lives in my dreams, haunts my waking moments, and demands I regularly carve my heart out and poke through the viscera. I suppose such is the nature of art.

We've been approaching the end of Part III, and readers up-to-date know I've mentioned planning for five parts in total. Five acts, five biomes: it only feels fitting. Many things I had looked forward to (the chariot race! Kyane and Persephone! The return of Thymoetes!) have come to life on the page, but there's still so much of the yarn left to spin. I never expected needing years to complete this story, but I also feel strongly I am beholden to it now. To Zagreus, to Demeter's children, to the mortals and gods, above and below. I will continue to try my best.

Thank you to jules, val, nan, robin, and spleen for having beta'd for me during these years. This story wouldn't be what it is without you. Thank you to mag, for having crawled through the trenches of creating an enormous fanwork and countless hours of spreadsheeting, with me. To every artist that has ever drawn me anything, it is truly humbling to be able to inspire your work. To the House Party, whose friendship I am grateful for every day.

And to anyone who has ever read part of the story, left a comment, and stepped along on this journey with me, I cannot overstate how grateful I am. I remain baffled and pleasantly surprised that this world of mine can touch your heart. It's a story that I hope, when it completes, you will pick up again from time to time, and take pleasure in its telling once more.

With all my love,

Arget

Notes about each image:

Thanatos and Zagreus by the sacred olive trees of Athena. This painting was based on a photo I took in Athens. The quality of the sunlight astounded me and, in turn, made me think about life and death.

Thanatos anointing the body of the god Zagreus with nectar. This is related to the scene in Chapter 23, when he and Nyx converse by Zagreus' bedside.

Eleusis concepts. For such a powerhouse of a cult, Eleusis itself has a provincial feeling to it. I was captivated by the idea of the sea, and the fact that Zagreus had never spent any time on the coast. This would have been his first experience with it.

Athens. What can I say about Athens that hasn't been said? The trip I took late 2022 provided a lot of the inspiration for the citadel aspect of the acropolis. This is not the Athens of Classical Greece, the polis of democracy, but a fictionalized city-kingdom, under the rule of its royal family. The idea that Callisto had a student living in Athens was both a nod to the extensive trade happening during the Bronze Age and a deconstruction of the Amazon myth that the Greeks told themselves.

Clymene, the Oracle of Delphi. This was originally meant to be a Hades game-like portrait, but I scrapped the idea. She is dressed in the fashion closer to the Minoans, to give her a more Bronze Age feeling. As the head priestess, I wanted to show her age.

Apheidas and Thymoetes sketches. The two brothers are supposed to look night and day from each other. I tried to give Apheidas a pleasant sort of face, in comparison to Thymoetes' haughtiness.

The tapestry sketch. This was one of the first drawings I ever made about wasting beats, in an attempt to understand the type of story I was about to write. Key elements had already been decided, such as the chariot race and the way Demeter and Hades would play the role of the absent gods, for above as well as below. I had not written Apollo at this time, so you see him here with short hair.

Zagreus, reaching for a bloodstone. The chlamys, a gift from his foster-father's wife, has been the simple denotation of mortal Zagreus. Something bright and red, simple for it was woven by a farmer's wife, and barely able to protect his weaker mortal body.

Megaera, hurt and angry, and Than, stricken and alarmed, amidst a storm of paper. This is a scene from Chapter 18, Primordial Winter, that I had always wanted to illustrate.

#hades game #zagreus #thanatos #thanzag #zagthan #wasting beats of this heart of mine #my fic #my art #callisto #megaera #zagreus becomes mortal au #happy anniversary my beloved fic

148 notes · View notes

banal-lotus-eater · 2 months ago

Text

[Image ID: A digital painting split into three parts. The middle portion is an abstracted scene of Arthur and Oscar at a church-like bar and the side portions are of mirrors with painted scenes showing previous and future events inside. The mirror frames are etched with various small details which make reference to the themes found in the fic and in the podcast. The left mirror’s scene makes reference to scene where Noel and Arthur hug in the chapter “The collapse” and the right mirror’s scene is an exaggerated version of end of the chapter “The ritual”. endID]

I participated in the Malevolent Big Bang (check out more works @malevolentbigbang) this year with a bunch of other artists! Here is my piece for @crowfeatherquill's fic Final Miles, a post season 5 fic that sees the return of my boys Oscar and Noel. Its so good and I've been chomping at the bit to post this. Also!! Check out the other artist's pieces for this fic on their tumblrs, @gazebodj and @stokiss

(also also @aetheremin beta'd the fic and i think they should get some extra recognition)

Zoom ins/ Timelapse / ranting under the cut!

Here's the piece cut up into it's thirds with more in-depth image IDs. It has the Mirror sections first then the middle section. Warning, the second mirror has R'lyehian (Cthulhu conlang) text in it.

[Image ID: The left most portion is of an intricately etched and cast oval bronze mirror. The mirror has a section of music etched on it which are the first few measures of Faroe's theme. The inside of the mirror shows a scene of Noel and Arthur in armor hugging each other on a dark forest's floor. Arthur has a pure yellow cape that wraps around him and behind Noel. endID ]

I really liked this one and it was my first pass at drawing the mirrors. I learned a lot on drawing flur de lis and wasn't as focused on making specific design choices for specific references instead of busying up the design for lack of a better term. The left side was my more experimental/first pass side where I did that one first, learned, and then did the right side using the lessons I learned. Now onto the right mirror (again, this has R'yhlien in it)

[Image ID: The rightmost portion is of the other mirror, an equally intricate etched and cast rectangular mirror. The bottom of the mirror has banners with R'lyehian text on them. The sentences are "Y'ahuaah mg n'ghft'drn (Translated: I wear(lit: use) no mask) and "Mg n'ghft'drn? Mg n'ghft'drn!" (Translated: No mask? No mask!) The scene inside is of Oscar, Arthur, and Noel crouched in a magic circle. They are all wearing fantasy medieval garb with Oscar in a priestly/cleric outfit, Noel in his armor still, and Arthur in a tunic, pants, and yellow cape. The yellow cape wraps around the scene separating the trio from both Hattie behind them and the viewer. Hattie is in a traditionally witchy outfit and is holding a glowing book while pages fly around her. She has an oversized witch hat that has an eye on the underside and the tail of the hat splitting into a monstrous mouth with a bell hooked on to the mouth’s bottom lip. endID]

woo! Thats a huge ID and I'm sorry. I tried to cut it as much as I did but I am not brief. I may do a seperate post breaking down some smaller details on this haha. Lets move onto the middle.

[Image ID: The middle portion has Oscar sat on a stool at the left of the bar with Arthur across from him. Oscar is glaring at Arthur while Arthur is facing away from him. Behind the bar is replaced with a church window that has a painting of angels amongst the clouds. The angels are mostly all looking towards Oscar and there is a group surrounding him that are fretting over him. The only exceptions are, an angel hovering over Arthur pointing for him to leave, and an angel on the far right side holding a sword and looking towards the angle in the middle. The angel in the middle is the largest one that stares unreadably down at Oscar while pointing one hand up towards god and the other on their chest with a modified gesture of Benediction. endID]

I did this section last and honestly it was like dessert compared to the other two sections. No hate on those, but I loved painting the angles and clouds :).

And here is the timelapse. Its roughly 2 mins because I had to move canvases in the middle since my computer crashed twice in the middle of painting the right mirror's scene.

ID: A timelapse of the previously described pieces, starting from random sketches of angels to sketches of the scene to finalizing details and rendering. endID]

anyway, more malev stuff probably sometime, i have college to work on tho and midterms are coming up.

#malevolent #digital art #noel finley #oscar malevolent #noel malevolent #arthur lester #arthur lester malevolent #malevolent fanart #malevolent big bang 2024 #search engine optimization go go go #banal art

65 notes · View notes

llondonfog · 11 months ago

Text

oldstones

In the hopes of learning more about his past, Silver journeys to Wild Rose Castle where Lilia had found him as a baby. However, there may be more than just memories roaming these empty and forgotten halls.

this song has always inspired me when i reflect on silver and all that we’ve learned about his parentage during ch7. grief and family are odd things during the holiday season, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this indulgent little piece. may peace & light fill these cozy, dark winter nights, and the best of wishes for the new year, from my house to yours. i plan to eventually put this on ao3 as either one long piece or split into 3 parts, but this is un-beta'd for now with more to come :)

Wild Rose Castle lived up to its name.

Long forgotten and abandoned by those who could no longer quite recall the battles raged for dominance over its crumbling and mossy parapets, the cracked stone had been subsumed under the untamed growth of the forest that had sprawled lazily around it in the centuries since. Once pristine walls that must have dazzled so brilliantly beneath the sun and shone like a beacon of awe and wonder for miles around now stood pockmarked with age and weathered by time, a sagging version of what had been. It was as if one was viewing the last breath of a structure held trembling within its old and ancient bones, only supported by bloated veins of thick, dark vines from which sprung hundreds upon thousands of prickly thorns.

It was difficult to believe that the castle had once been home to the Draconia dynasty. It was even more difficult to believe that it had also once been home to him.

Silver laid a hand upon the trunk of one such tree and wondered what it would show if he could use Lilia’s unique magic upon the old, peeling bark. With the stooped age of its limbs, he wondered If it had witnessed such unspeakable tragedies as Meleanor’s defeat, the fall of the castle under the Knight’s command, the bloody and restless conflicts that followed, and the lonely approach of a still-grieving fae who had finally found the strength to revisit the scene of such devastation. And if he were to cut into that thick trunk, would he be able to count the circles within, and find that the very trees he walks among were the same age as himself— silent observers from over four hundred years ago.

It hurts his head to think as much. To imagine a baby, sleeping silent and still, all alone in the decaying tomb of a castle ahead, while Lilia roamed the world over in desperation to find a way to hatch Malleus from his egg. That for centuries, there had been none who had known of his meager existence, and that it might have continued that way for centuries to come, had Lilia not made the decision to visit the ruins of what essentially served as Meleanor’s unofficial grave. He simply cannot conceive of it, a world in which he would have never known his father, a world in which he would have lived, aged, and died centuries before Malleus’ hatching and Sebek’s birth.

In the aftermath of Malleus’ overblot, once the tears had halted, once the scolding of a lifetime was bestowed upon Malleus and Lilia by Maleficia, Styx, and Professors Crewel and Trein alike, and once Lilia had swept Silver up in his arms and pressed affection and apology in equal measure against his hair and cheeks and they had talked and talked and talked long into the midnight hours . . . there had come a peculiar sensation, a tightness in his chest that seized around an emptiness that had not existed before, as if something had been rearranged within him and left the pieces not fitting together quite the same as they used to do.

Silver didn’t know how to convey it, the disconcerting dissonance that lingered like a haunting in the back of his mind ever since Malleus’ overblot. It would emerge when he least expected it, this strange feeling that would creep up in his veins like an unwanted and unwelcome visitor, heavy like lead in his throat as if he was viewing the mundane scenes around him through someone else’s eyes. Kalim would be eagerly chattering to him about a end-of-year party to celebrate the Headmage’s cancellation of exams in light of the recent events, Riddle handing him a brush to help care for the horses as they tried to step back into the rhythm of club duties for a semblance of normalcy, even when the Ramshackle Prefect would wave at him with a bright smile to gesture to the open seat at their lunch table—

It was all he could think about, especially since he had asked the Headmage that the truth of his heritage not be shared through the school. Four hundred years weighed heavy and lonesome against his shoulders once he realized that had the fairies not intervened, he would never have known the life he now lived, the friends he’s since made. It would have been all too possible that he would have died in that cradle long before Lilia had ever found him, the bodies of his mother and father strewn over him in failed protection.

Not even “Meet In A Dream” could spare him from the new kinds of nightmares that caught him in the deepest hours of the night, though now he can’t help but wonder if they were truly nightmares, memories, or a hazy mixture of the two.

Where his other classmates merely assumed that his odd spells of silence could be chalked up to his still ever-present drowsiness and the cost of now rebuilding his magical reserves after utilizing his unique magic so many times that it too was a miracle that he did not overblot from sheer usage alone, certain members of Diasomnia could not be so easily fooled. In fact, it had been Lilia’s suggestion that Silver make the journey out to Wild Rose Castle. The fae had recanted his decision to so abruptly leave, instead agreeing to finish out the year with them with the compromise of spending the summer in Briar Valley where he would reflect upon if he truly wished to fade from their lives without a trace. And with an almost singular focus on reaffirming the bonds of family that existed between them all, he would have been a fool to not anticipate the strain upon Silver’s heart from the cruel trauma of being exposed so forcefully to the harsh truth, a strain that he was all too familiar with knowing that no amount of conversation and apology could ease its ache.

It was Wild Rose Castle that he had sought out to soothe his mourning heart, and it was Wild Rose Castle that bestowed upon him that which he holds most treasured and dear. Would it not do the same to an innocent who once resided within its very walls?

The sympathetic coo of a passing mourning dove heralding the end of daybreak leads him back to the present, and Silver finds himself standing at the ghost of what had once been upon a time a cobblestone pathway up to the castle’s imposing gate, now a bramble-infested deterrent to any who might think to slip with ill intent beyond its walls— a pathway that he had no memory of, not even in Lilia’s dream, and yet stumbled onto it all the same as if his feet had always known just where it laid. Without thinking, his fingers rise and touch the slight bump of the ring concealed safely beneath his shirt, the warmth of it bleeding into his skin as if to reassure him that it too remembers the road home.

Home.

Could he have once uttered such a word, looking at this hollowed out shell of grandiose splendor? Home conjured up a roughspun blanket, worn and frayed beneath his fingers, the scent of dew heavy upon sunlit grass, the warmth of a hand gentle upon his head and a voice like the moon itself singing a lullaby with a tenderness learned and all the more lovely for it. These memories that he held dearer than any trinket, could they have been so easily traded for a life of untold privilege and luxury, a life that would have placed him an equal to Malleus, to Leona?

The empty eyes of the castle turrets before him stare at him without answers; the gap-toothed grimace of the eroding embrasures beckon him to find out.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #diasomnia #lettie writes

85 notes · View notes

daechwitatamic · 2 years ago

Text

X. So I Follow || KNJ

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love.

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

In light of the incident with Taehyung, you prepare to spend Christmas alone.

Section Warnings: language, arguing/fighting (just some shoving), angst!, but also fluff in this one wow, bar scenes and recreational drinking

WC: 7.8k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

You watch it cross his face as Taehyung decides to make you prove it, but you don’t have enough time to react before he’s doing the thing you’d day-dreamed of time after time after time - before you knew Namjoon. He’s closing the gap between you, his hand curling in the fabric of your jacket, his lips finding yours, searching for something that three months ago he probably would have found.

You shove Taehyung in the chest with both hands, and he stumbles away from you.

“You fucking asshole,” you growl. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“You said we’re the same as we’ve always been?” he spits back. “You’re a fucking liar.”

You’re so blindingly angry, suddenly, that you can barely think, can barely match up words to make a sentence. “Fuck you,” you manage, the words feeling like they’re torn from your chest, leaving a bloody, gaping wound in their place. “I can’t fucking believe you.”

His brows furrow; for a minute, he looks genuinely lost. Then, something hard replaces the look. “You’re that serious about him? Already?”

You’re ready to answer this affirmatively, but he presses on. “You’ve never dated anyone, never even got to a second date. Now you’re seeing this guy for, what, a few weeks, and I’m nothing to you? Just like that?”

Something changes inside of you; you go from boiling angry to pure ice in only seconds. The silence pulses and then flatlines between you, as dead as your friendship. All you can do is stare at him, the seething rage knitting itself into something metallic instead.

“I waited for you,” you tell him, deathly calm, like you’re explaining a math problem. At your sides, your hands are shaking. “I waited for you for years. I cannot - I do not have words for how deeply unfair it is for you to show up now and try to ruin this for me.” You spit the words, clipping your consonants hard.

Neither of you has ever said it out loud. But it’s out now. No take-backs.

He stares at you, chest heaving, eyes wide. There’s no going back to how things were, now. That option is well and truly buried, nails in the coffin.

“Goodbye, Taehyung,” you force yourself to say, and you turn and take the steps at a clip, letting the door shut behind you, leaving him out in the cold for good.

You stop on the staircase, nearly at your floor, and slump against the bannister. What are you going to say to Namjoon? Hey, by the way, the guy you knew I had feelings for just kissed me. Maybe not quite like that. But you definitely have to tell him.

Honestly though, you don’t feel like you have the bandwidth for that conversation right now. You feel like… you feel like you’re grieving.

You need the space and time to mourn, to accept that you’ve walked away from something that you’ve lived in comfortably for years. To accept that you’ll never have back the friendship you once had - even if you and Taehyung manage to land somewhere okay when this is all over, the truth is things will never again be how they were between you. It just isn’t possible.

You don’t want to cry over Taehyung in front of Namjoon. He’s already given you so much grace, so much understanding and patience. This… this would be too much. At least until you can calm down, get your head right, talk about it rationally. So, when you enter the apartment and find his door closed, you leave him be. You head for your own bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind you.

–

Namjoon feels tortured and trapped in his room; he paces, he tries doing sit-ups, he takes a shower just to hold his breath under the spray of hot water.

None of it helps.

Finally, like a dog with its tail between its legs, he flops on his bed in defeat and picks up his phone.

[11:24 PM] Namjoon: you guys wanna say i told you so now, or later

[11:24 PM] Hobi: uh oh

[11:25 PM] Yoongi: what happened

Namjoon sighs, rubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to tell them. But he can’t shoulder this alone, he knows himself well enough to know it.

[11:27 PM] Namjoon: just caught her kissing him

[11:28 PM] Namjoon: literally right in front of the apartment

He closes his eyes, resting his phone on his chest. He can feel it buzz with the reactions rolling in, but he feels like he can’t make himself look at them.

Something niggles in the back of his mind, stirs in the pit of his stomach.

Something about how your hands had been balled into fists at your sides.

[11:29 PM] Hobi: what the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

[11:30 PM] Yoongi: dude i’m sorry

[11:31 PM] Hobi: bro that’s a dick move by taehyung

[11:31 PM] Hobi: like thats legitimately not okay he owes you a huge apology

[11:32 PM] Hobi: if i were you i’d go to his place and talk to him. like right now.

[11:34 PM] Yoongi: forget talking to taehyung, that can wait

[11:35 PM] Yoongi: have you talked to HER yet??

[11:37 PM] Hobi: wow double question mark. Mr Min is serious

[11:37 PM] Yoongi: shut up hoseok

[11:39 PM] Namjoon: i dont think i can even look at her right now tbh

[11:39 PM] Namjoon: let alone talk…

[11:42 PM] Namjoon: wtf would i even say to her?

[11:45 PM] Namjoon: ‘was it everything you ever hoped for?’

[11:45 PM] Namjoon: fuck

He sets his phone on the mattress beside him and closes his eyes. Stupid… stupid… stupid… It echoes through his head, harmonizing nicely with Hobi and Yoongi’s voices telling him he gives people - women - too much faith, lets them take advantage of him.

But you’d told him you were in this.

You’d told him you wanted to be with him, not Taehyung.

You’d told him this thing between you was real, and that it deserves to be.

He’s told you he trusts you. Did that change? Was he wrong to?

Or are things not adding up?

He picks up his phone again.

[11:52 PM] Hobi: might be nice to have some answers

[11:53 PM] Yoongi: that’s true… we all know this wouldn’t be the first time taehyung has shown his ass…

Namjoon considers this silently. He starts to get up, then stills. This repeats twice more, before he finally throws himself out of bed and leaves his room before his nerves can fail. He crosses the living room to find your bedroom door shut – rare, these days. He knocks, calls your name quietly. When you don’t answer, he tries the doorknob.

It’s locked.

“Hey,” he calls. “Let me in.”

You don’t answer.

He knows it’s not the same, not what’s happening now, but he’s picturing you on the day you’d gone silent, laying in bed, facing the wall, unmoving, unblinking. His chest clenches with the need to make sure you’re okay, despite what he’d seen, despite the conclusions he’d drawn.

He leans his forehead against the cool wood of the door. “Baby,” he says, voice so hushed it’s practically a whisper. “Please, open the door and talk to me.”

He waits a long moment, one hand against the door, and then the doorknob clicks. As soon as he can see your face through the crack, it’s clear you’ve been crying.

His brain starts running possibilities as fast as a bullet-train. You’re crying because you know you did something wrong, and you feel guilty. You’re crying because you’re conflicted about who you want, and it’s hurting. You’re crying because you’ve decided to be with Taehyung after all, and you know you have to let Namjoon down. You’re crying because…

“What happened?” he manages to ask, feeling like there’s glass in his throat as he tugs the words out of his stomach.

He resists the urge to reach out and touch your face, wipe a stray tear away.

You take a deep breath, avert your eyes. Then you seem to steel yourself and say very clearly, “Taehyung just kissed me.”

Then, you rush ahead, the rest of the words tumbling out of you so fast that Namjoon almost misses some of it. “But I pushed him away – I called him an asshole, I told him he missed his chance.”

You take another breath, eyes filling with fresh tears. You still haven’t looked up at Namjoon. “I’m sorry,” you finish in a whisper.

Namjoon doesn’t remember moving, doesn’t decide to move, but his arms are suddenly around you as you bury your face in his shirt, shoulders still trembling a little under his hands.

He’s so overcome with relief that it almost makes him go boneless – relief that he hadn’t been wrong to trust you, relief that you’d chosen him after all.

But as he holds you, as he feels your shaking slowly ebb away, he remembers the times you’d called Taehyung family, the stories you’d told of having no one else. In that moment, he truly feels your sorrow down into his own bones.

“You have me,” he thinks, then realizes he’s said it out loud. You shift in his arms to look up at him, eyes big and red-rimmed. He gives you a little squeeze, struggles to wade through how protective he feels with you. “I know that maybe it’s not the same… but for as long as you want me there,” he promises, “you have me.”

Tuesday December 11th

You lay in Namjoon’s embrace, chest to chest, his strong arms locked behind your back. You’re not sure how long you’ve been encased like this, one leg tucked between his, listening to his heart beating next to your ear. Long enough for the sweat to cool.

You shiver a little, and Namjoon runs a hand reverently down your arm, chasing away goosebumps with the warmth of his palm. Behind him, you can hear your phone vibrate on your nightstand.

Again.

You try to pretend you don’t hear it. You try to distract Namjoon by reaching up to kiss his jaw sweetly. He looks down at you, eyes narrowed, seeing right through your bullshit.

“Is that him again?”

“I don’t know,” you say innocently. “I haven’t looked at it.”

But you both know it is.

He’s been calling - and texting - since you left him on the sidewalk two nights ago. You’d turned your phone off on Sunday night, as soon as you’d cottoned on that he wasn’t going to give up. When you’d gotten brave enough to turn it on Monday morning, it was to three voicemails, unending missed calls, and a series of texts that blurred before you as you teared up over their desperation.

[12:18 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please pick up

[12:31 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: pick up the phone [12:32 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: talk to me

[2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m so sorry [2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: i’m such an asshole [2:52 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: fuck i’m so so sorry

[3:22 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: please talk to me [3:23 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’re probably sleeping so i’m gonna stop [3:24 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: but if you decide you want to talk please call me

[9:04 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: good morning [9:05 AM] Tae Bear 🧸: can we talk today?

You hadn’t answered any of it, and he’d continued Monday afternoon.

[4:46 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: please, talk to me so i can apologize for real [4:52 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: you’ve never not talked to me for this long before [4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: even that time i backed into Lin’s car and let her blame you… [4:54 PM] Tae Bear 🧸: did i fuck everything up that badly?

Yes, you want to tell him. But you don’t have the heart. It’s hard enough, takes enough of your self-control, to resist answering. To resist telling him it’s okay.

It isn’t. You know it isn’t.

As the texts roll in through Monday night and Tuesday morning, you feel like Namjoon’s steadying gaze on you, or his hand solid in yours, is the only thing that keeps you from skittering back into safe, familiar old habits. And to his credit, he barely leaves you alone while you’re both home. He stays in your space, quiet and calm, watching you carefully, searching for signs that you might need more from him.

The phone buzzes again, insistent - a phone call.

You sigh in Namjoon’s arms. “Maybe I should answer him,” you muse. “If for nothing else, then to tell him to knock it off.”

Namjoon rolls to pick up your phone and places it, still buzzing, in your hands. “It’s your decision,” he says carefully.

You watch Taehyung’s name, with the stupid emoji after it, scroll across the top of your screen. You don’t pick up.

“I don’t think I’m ready,” you admit. “I don’t even know what I’d tell him. I have nothing to say.”

“Then don’t,” Namjoon advises gently. “Turn it off for a while. Let’s get something to eat.”

“Yeah,” you say absently, pressing your finger to the power button. “You’re right.” You watch, feeling utterly hollow, as your screen goes black.

Thursday December 13th

It’s hard for Namjoon to watch, honestly, though he does his best to bite his tongue and just support you. But you float through the apartment like a ghost, and he can’t help but feel guilt over the fact that you chose to be haunted for his sake.

You’re staring at your phone, which - despite being powered off - is sitting by your elbow. Like, even though you pressed the power button yourself, you're waiting for the next call.

“You should do something for yourself tonight,” he hears himself suggest. Problem-solving mode again, like he just can’t help himself. But maybe it’ll be for the better. “Like a bubble bath or something. Why don’t you go run one? I’ll pour you some wine.”

The look you give him nearly knocks his knees out - you turn to him with a look of pure adoration, disbelieving wonder. You look at him like he’s too good to be true.

It breaks his heart. It breaks his heart that a simple act of kindness feels so large to you - because no one, not your family, or fucking Kim Taehyung, or any of your other friends, had ever done it for you.

“You should leave your phone out here,” he suggests. “Bring a book.”

You give him a different sort of look, then, one that says don’t tell me what to do.

“I’m just saying!” He smiles innocently. “It’ll ruin your inner peace if you turn it on.”

“Inner peace,” you grumble at him, but you head into your bathroom, your phone face down on the breakfast bar. A minute later, Namjoon hears the bathtub water running.

He brings you in a glass of wine as promised, also carrying in the poetry book you’d bought him at the antique shop a few days ago.

“Don’t get this wet,” he warns jokingly. You smile up at him, most of you hidden beneath an aggressive amount of bubbles.

“I won’t,” you promise. “I have a tray.”

Namjoon backtracks to the kitchen, recorking the wine and wiping down the counter. He’s humming absently, lost in thought about what he’d been writing, when he hears footsteps stop outside the front door.

His intuition kicks in with a quick slap of adrenaline. He opens the front door roughly and immediately shoulders Taehyung backwards into the hallway, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms, physically putting himself between Taehyung and you.

Taehyung gapes at him, eyes wide, mouth dropped in indignation. Then, his pride catches up, and his eyes narrow. “What are you, her bodyguard?” he asks sourly. “Did she tell you not to let me in?”

“No,” Namjoon admits, willing himself to stay logical, not to let his temper take over. “But I want to talk to you.”

“I just bet you do,” Taehyung mutters.

Namjoon breathes in for four, holds it for four, lets it out for six. He’s known Taehyung for years, sees him as a nuisance of a little brother in a lot of ways, has a lot of affection for him. But watching you hurt, and hurt, and hurt - it isn’t going to continue.

“I’m sorry you found out about us the way you did,” Namjoon says, hoping that beginning with his own apology will help soften the rest of the conversation. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t trying to be… it would have been better for her to talk to you about it on her own terms. I didn’t mean to take that away from her. Or you.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this with you,” Taehyung says, voice low and dangerous. “I want to talk to her. Move.”

“You need to back off,” Namjoon says carefully. “You’re breaking her fucking heart, bro. Give her some time.”

Taehyung laughs in his face, the sound ugly and echoing in the empty hallway. “Fuck you,” he says. “If it’s breaking her heart to stay away from me, doesn’t that tell you something? She wants to talk to me, she misses me. Move.”

Namjoon shakes his head, clings to reason, tries desperately to make Taehyung see reason, too. “Try to understand,” he begs. “You’re messing with her head. Do you even want her? If she came out here now and said she wanted to be with you, would you even know what to do with that?”

Taehyung’s eyes narrow even further, if possible. “What are you talking about?” he asks, the question like a hiss between his teeth. “You’re pissing me off, Namjoon. She and I need to talk - get out of the way.”

Namjoon’s temper flares. “Taehyung,” he says, just one of many times in their friendship he’s felt like he had to talk sense into the younger man. “You don’t love her, so let her go.”

Taehyung freezes, then raises his chin, face flat and impassive. “Who says I don’t love her?” he asks, bone-chillingly cold.

Namjoon breaks eye contact, takes another steadying breath. “Feeling like she’s yours,” he says quietly, like he’s trying to explain, “doesn’t make it love.”

Taehyung makes a disbelieving tch noise, but Namjoon pushes on.

“Feeling like you have a claim on her doesn’t mean you love her. And you know what? Even if it did, even if we agreed that you love her… this is not the right way. She deserves to be loved the right way, and this isn’t it. And if you don’t want to lose her completely, then you need to wrap your head around that.”

Taehyung is spared having to respond to this. Behind Namjoon, you’ve been listening from the doorway. You step into view, your face flushed from the warm bath and the glass of wine, flushed from what you’ve overheard.

Immediately, Taehyung moves closer, trying to dart past Namjoon to reach you, saying your name like a prayer.

“Please, let’s talk,” he begs, the words all a rush.

Namjoon keeps his body between you, but glances over his shoulder at you. Taehyung’s intended dig about being your bodyguard doesn’t feel too off, right now. “Do you want me to make him leave?” he asks, feeling so worked up he thinks he could probably carry Taehyung out of here by the back of his neck if given the okay.

“No,” you say, your voice tiny. Namjoon tongues his cheek, but steps aside. Taehyung shoots him a cutting, victorious look, but then you speak again, your voice still so little. “But… will you stay?” You creep into the hallway, looking entirely unsure, and Namjoon welcomes it happily when you press against his side, one of your hands resting over his diaphragm, the other curling into the material of his shirt over his back.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, and Namjoon’s heart breaks again at the look of betrayal and hurt that you level at your best friend. “What are you doing?”

“I –”

“Taehyung,” you say again, so broken, and it stops him in his tracks. “You don’t love me. You never did. So what the hell is happening here?”

He looks back at you, a look of absolute devastation crossing his face. For a second, Namjoon feels bad for him - just for a second. “Please, let’s talk by ourselves,” Taehyung begs.

You shake your head. “After the shit you pulled last time? Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I shouldn’t have - I know I shouldn’t have - it’s just -

“What?” you snap, suddenly pissed all over again.

“I can’t lose you,” he says plainly.

You look at the ground, then - inexplicably - up at Namjoon. Like you’re deciding something. Like you’re calculating. Then, you look back at Taehyung, your body language changing as you stand up straight again. When you speak, your voice is firm and even.

You grounded me.

“I don’t want that either,” you say, finally. “But I’m not going to be with you - not like that. And let’s both be honest - you don’t actually want that, either. You only went there because you thought someone else was winning. And frankly? I refuse to play. So you know what, Taehyung? When you can grow up and figure out what you actually want, you can call me to talk about it - not until then.”

You disentangle yourself from Namjoon and stalk back inside. Namjoon pauses. Taehyung is staring at the ground, unblinking.

“You’re my friend, too,” Namjoon says quietly, feeling like he can’t even look Taehyung in the face right now. “I hope we can figure that out, too, when you’re ready.”

Taehyung’s response is his middle finger over his shoulder as he stalks down the hallway towards the stairs.

Friday December 22nd

Through cobbled streets in tiny towns Through suffocating crowds on city sidewalks Down dirt lanes and past silent, towering silos

I follow you

Through pathless forests, over tripping roots Beneath canopies of black and green Over fallen trees whose rings tell of being felled

I follow you

To mountains bathed in sunlight’s glory Up slopes that want to pull me down To views of winding rivers - strips of ribbon below

I follow you

To ocean waves that crash and scream Tantruming relentlessly against packed sand shores The line of the horizon ebbing with the moonrise

I follow you

My feet are meant to follow yours My heart is meant to follow yours The world is mine, but I want only yours

So I follow

I follow you

–

You close the notebook before you can scratch anything out. That one needs to marinate a little. It’s not like you to forgo a rhyme scheme, and you’re not sure how you feel about the flow.

You haven’t heard from Taehyung in almost two weeks. But you haven’t reached out, either.

When you hear Namjoon come through the front door, you slide your notebook back into your backpack, leaving no incriminating evidence.

“Hey,” he says, stopping by your side and giving your shoulders some affectionate squeezes. “What are you up to?”

“Was writing,” you tell him. “Sort of.”

He laughs at sort of. “What a mood,” he says with a smile. Then, he drops himself in the stool next to yours at the breakfast bar, drumming his knuckles where your notebook had been just moments before.

You know that tic - he’s anxious.

“What is it?” you ask, instantly worried. “Did something happen?”

You’re imagining all sorts of scenarios - Taehyung confronted him, Elyse texted again, he failed an assignment, he’s breaking up with you -

“Nothing bad,” he assures you, stopping the spiral in its place. “I just had something to ask you. I guess I’m nervous. I know I shouldn’t be.”

“Oh,” you say. “Okay. Well - what is it?”

He glances at you shyly, and you feel your heart swell with affection.

“What are your Christmas plans?” he asks.

Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this.

“Oh,” you say again, deflating. “I was… just staying here, I think.”

The I think is a lie. Your plan was absolutely to stay, alone, in the apartment. You had no intention of going home for the holidays. It would mean over an hour in the car each way with Taehyung, whom you haven’t spoken to in ten whole days. Plus, Lin is working. Normally you’d go to Taehyung’s house and let his parents try to pretend you weren’t imposing, but that’s not an option this year either.

Honestly, the idea of your first Christmas without them - Taehyung’s mom and dad - is kind of depressing. You’d sent a gift in the mail, but it won’t be the same.

Namjoon raps his knuckles again. “Um,” he says, so uncertainly that it makes you smile a little bit, “how would you feel about coming home with me? To my parents’?”

You’re stunned into silence. “I - Do - Would your parents be okay with that? It’s not too last minute?”

“They’d be thrilled,” Namjoon tells you seriously. “They thought I’d never get ov- I mean, they’d be happy to meet you.”

You smile to yourself at his slip. “When were you going to leave?”

“I’m taking the train in the morning. Plenty of time to pack.”

“I need to do laundry,” you muse out loud, already in planning mode.

“So, you’ll come with me?” he clarifies.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, still mentally writing a to-do list. “If you’re sure I’m not imposing… they have to feed me and everything. You’re sure it’s okay?”

He laughs, kisses the top of your head. “I promise,” he says.

Later, as you and Namjoon sit side by side on the couch, folding laundry together, your phone buzzes on the coffee table.

Your heart leaps, hoping it will be Taehyung, caving just in time for the holidays, wanting to talk it out before Christmas Day.

It’s Lin.

Your heart sinks, your throat gets tight. You push the hurt and disappointment aside and avoid Namjoon’s knowing gaze as you open the text.

[6:22 PM] Lin: i just ran into taes family

[6:22 PM] Lin: they said hes coming home tonight

[6:23 PM] Lin: will you be here tonight? We didn’t talk about it

You purse your lips.

[6:25 PM] You: sorry, i should have called you. I know you’re working so i wasn’t planning on coming home

[6:26 PM] Lin: oh. Are you going to be alone?

You type the start of an answer - “no, staying with my -” and pause, looking over at Namjoon.

“Joon?” you ask, and he looks at you, surprised. “I don’t know - I mean - Should I say we’re -?”

He leans to read over your shoulder, smiling when he sees “with my -” and your cursor waiting patiently for you to finish the thought. Your what? Friend? Roommate?

You glance up at him, feeling your face flush. “Do I say boyfriend?” you finally ask in a whisper.

His smile almost splits his face. “Is that what I should tell my mom?” he counters, his own phone in his hand.

You grin at him. “I will if you will,” you tease.

His smile turns cocky. “At the same time, then?”

[6:31 PM] You: no, staying with my boyfriend’s family

[6:34 PM] Lin: your WHAT?????????

Namjoon brings his phone to his ear, still smiling at you. When someone picks up, he says, “Eomma? Listen, I know it’s last minute - my girlfriend will be alone for the holidays, would it be okay if she came home with me instead?”

On the other end of the line there’s a series of unintelligible shrieks, and Namjoon’s playful smile only grows. “Yah, I know, I know, I’m sorry!” he laughs. “You’ll meet her! I know! I’m sorry!”

You giggle quietly.

“No, no, Eomma, you don’t need a gift for her, just send us home with leftovers, that’s more than enough,” he says, eyes widening. “It’s last-minute for her, too, no one knew about this ahead of time. It’s okay. No, the guest room is perfect. Eomma, the guest room is fine. Let me talk to - Dad, hi.”

Giving him a reassuring pat on the knee, you stand, taking the folded laundry with you.

–

You’re essentially packed, your suitcase closed but still unzipped on top of your bed when Namjoon sticks his head in the door, that playful, up-to-no-good smirk on his face.

“What?” you ask him, smiling. It’s contagious, you can’t help it.

“Yoongi and Hoseok want to know if my girlfriend will come get a beer with us tonight,” he says, his smile growing sideways.

You laugh. “News travels fast.”

He gives a sheepish chuckle. “I tell those two everything. I can’t function without them.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Is this going to be an interrogation?”

He considers this. “Probably,” he admits. “But I’ll keep them in check. They’re just… protective. Especially after the Elyse debacle.”

You sigh. “You’re asking me to handle the best friend interrogation and meeting your parents all in the span of twelve hours, you realize that, right?”

Namjoon’s face falls a little. “You’re right,” he says. “Sorry. It’s okay - I’ll go by myself tonight -.”

“No, I want to go,” you say quickly, holding up a hand to stop his backpedaling. “I’m just saying. I think you owe me some cookies or something.”

His smile returns, tentative. “Let’s start with I’ll buy your beer tonight,” he jokes.

“Deal,” you tell him, but when you find yourself on a sticky barstool in a mostly dark hole-in-the-wall, a pitcher deep with the three guys, you’re wishing you’d demanded cookies after all.

Hoseok gets up to get a second pitcher, and Yoongi leans forward on his elbows, eyeing you carefully.

Here we go, you think. Namjoon shoots you an apologetic look and you shrug him off.

“So, it’s official now, huh?” Yoongi asks, voice a touch too casual.

“Apparently,” you say dryly, eyes on Namjoon. He’s kicking at Yoongi under the table, as subtle as an elephant.

Hoseok returns, carefully placing the new pitcher of beer on the center of the table. Namjoon reaches desperately for a refill.

Yoongi tilts his head to the side, eyes still on you, calculating. “You don’t want to be with Taehyung?”

“Hyung!” Namjoon protests, spluttering over his beer. Beside him, Hoseok frowns and murmurs Yoongi’s name reprimandingly.

You will yourself to stay calm, not to get defensive. “I don’t,” you say evenly. You hope the truth of it will be enough.

“You did though,” Yoongi points out.

“Hyung!” Namjoon barks a second time, starting to actually look pissed now.

But it’s a fair point. And Namjoon has never once through this whole thing asked you to explain yourself, has never asked you to defend or examine the way your feelings have changed since he met you in August.

So maybe he deserves to hear this answer, you think.

“Yeah,” you say, because it’s true. Yoongi’s entire demeanor changes with this admission - like he’d expected you to lie, or deflect. Like he’s ready to take you way more seriously now that he knows you’re willing to be honest.

You rub your hands down the tops of your thighs, trying to dispel the sweat collecting on your palms. “I guess I learned…” you say, thinking as you speak slowly, “I know that Taehyung loves me, but… I didn’t have anything to compare it to, before. I had never felt anything for or… received love from anyone else. I had nothing to put his… fragmented version of loving me into perspective.”

“Yah, you writing people are so well-spoken,” Hoseok sighs over his beer. Namjoon glares daggers at him.

Yoongi presses forward. “But now?”

You give Namjoon a tiny smile across the table. “Honestly… now I’m not sure how I could have ever been so wrong,” you say to him, not to Yoongi. You know he needs to know.

Saturday December 23rd

“Explain to me why I’m nervous,” you complain, your foot bouncing as the countryside rolls past the train’s window outside.

Namjoon smiles at you indulgently, and then places a large hand over your knee to quell the bouncing. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m scared out of my mind.”

“So what you’re saying is, this is a bad time to tell you that my parents hated Elyse?”

Your blood runs cold. “They what? You’re fucking with me, right?”

He grimaces. “Unfortunately, no. I mean, they were never rude to her. They just… never warmed up. Each time we’d fight and get back together, my mom… well, she made sure I knew how she felt about it.”

“Great,” you say dourly, eyeing the window.

He gives your knee a squeeze. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

You’re a jumble of nerves for the rest of the ride.

When the train slows to a stop in Namjoon’s hometown, he leads you by the hand down the steps and out into the cold.

“That’s my dad’s car,” he says, pointing to a dark green sedan. “You ready?”

“No,” you joke, but you follow him towards the car, hoisting your duffle bag higher on your shoulder as you go.

Namjoon’s father exits the vehicle and comes around to hug his son; it hurts to watch, for some reason. Something inside you aches at it.

When he turns his attention to you, you greet him respectfully, and then Namjoon helps move your duffle bag into the car.

The drive to the house from the train station is quick - if it weren’t December and carrying luggage it would be walkable. Inside, Namjoon hugs his mother as well, towering over her. You greet her formally, and she gives you a tight-lipped smile, welcoming you to their home.

“Thank you for letting me join Namjoon here for Christmas,” you say, glancing sideways at him for reassurance. “I know it was last-minute.”

“No one should be alone for Christmas,” she tells you, her voice soft and even, and Namjoon squeezes your arm affectionately. “May I show you the guest room?”

You follow them both through the house and to a small room with a narrow single bed, a nightstand, and a small chest of drawers. In the corner, in a beam of morning sunlight, is a tall, leafy plant. This makes you smile; it feels like Namjoon’s touch.

“How long are you staying?” Mrs. Kim directs this question at her son, and you turn to look at him as you place your duffle bag on the end of the bed.

Namjoon hums, considering. “I’m not sure yet,” he tells her, leaning comfortably against the doorframe. “We’d planned for the 27th, but I was looking at the weather forecast while we were on the train and there’s a storm coming through. We might have to try and get back before that, so maybe the 26th. We can play it by ear.”

She shakes her head, swats playfully at his elbow. “You know I’m no good at spontaneous decisions,” she chides.

“We’ll keep an eye on the weather and figure out the plan,” he soothes.

She turns back to you, casting a playfully sour look at Namjoon over her shoulder as she does. “If you want to use the drawers for your clothes, you can,” she tells you. “The bathroom is straight across.”

“Got it,” you say, trying to sound breezy and cheerful. “Thank you again for taking me in. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

She nods at you, smiling. “I’ll let you get settled in,” she says, and brushes past Namjoon on her way back down the narrow hallway.

His gaze on you is suddenly heavy.

“What?” you ask.

He opens his mouth to speak, then looks over his shoulder, seems to think better of it. “Want to go for a walk?” he asks instead. “I have a place I’d kind of like to show you.”

Everything inside you that’s been held tight like a breath melts into something soft. “Okay,” you tell him, reaching for your coat, which is shoved under your duffle bag on the bed. “Let’s go.”

As you pass back through the kitchen, Mr. Kim is seated at the table, buried in an open newspaper. A cup of coffee sits, untouched, near his elbow. Mrs. Kim stands on a step-stool, searching a high cabinet for something, muttering under her breath.

“We’re going to walk down to the pond,” Namjoon says. His father lowers the newspaper and smiles at him a little absently. “Gotta show off the geese.”

He steps out the kitchen door that leads to a sloping backyard and you follow. Once you’re halfway across the yard he reaches back for your hand, not turning to watch you take it.

“Geese, huh?” you ask.

He turns to grin at you. “It’s my favorite place. Come on, keep up.”

“We don’t all have long legs like yours!” you protest. At the end of the property, there’s a small space between two hedges, the grass in the gap long worn away by frequent foot-traffic, only dirt remaining. He leads you through the gap and down the rest of the hill, where you can see the ink-dark water of a still pond waiting below.

When you arrive at the water’s edge, you notice that there is - as promised - an entire flock of geese, as well as a large swan.

“I heard swans can be nasty,” you say, a little apprehensive.

Namjoon puts his arm around you, looking out over the water. “Ah, that’s Clarence. He won’t mess with you. The geese might, though, especially when their babies are around.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Clarence? You named the swan?”

He laughs, the sound low and melodic, warm and welcoming. “He’s been around for a few years. We have an understanding.”

This startles a giggle out of you, and Namjoon looks down at you, smiling.

“I love having you here,” he admits fondly. “This is my favorite place - I’d come here to think, to read, to write. Sometimes, to clear my head.”

“You like to go outside when you’ve got shit going on,” you agree.

“There’s a Welsh saying,” he says seriously, “that means to kind of get your head on straight, to sort your thoughts out. But when you translate the words literally, they say to return to my trees. That always spoke to me.”

“Wow,” you say lightly, running the words through your mind again. “To return to my trees. I like that.”

He stands quietly next to you for a minute, both of you watching Clarence and his geese friends cross the pond at a snail’s pace.

“You know what I like about you?” he finally says, as a small breeze picks up enough to rustle his hair, to blow yours around your face. “I can say shit like that to you and you take me seriously. I’ve never had anybody like that in my life before - not even with my friends.”

You get it - you never really had that, either. You smile up at him. “I like pretty words.”

His smile goes crooked for a second. “I like pretty words and pretty girls.” He gives you a squeeze.

“What a line!” you laugh, but you can feel your face flushing. “Did you look that one up on the internet?”

He laughs too. “I was inspired, what can I say?”

You lapse into comfortable silence again, watching the edge of the dark water lap at the muddy shore. “Can I say something?” you ask after a minute, and Namjoon looks down at you, surprised.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

You think for a second about what you want to say - the points you want to hit, how you want to word it.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” you start slowly, “that I see and appreciate how patient you’ve been. How understanding.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide and he actually leans away from you a little, like he wants to look at you better. “What?” he asks hollowly.

“Seriously,” you insist. “When it comes to everything between us, you’ve been in a shitty position from day one. You never held it against me, never got mad, never made me feel like I wasn’t… worth wanting. You never demanded anything of me - not an explanation, not an answer. You just… stayed by my side and let me figure it out. And I… it’s not lost on me that that’s extremely fucking rare. That’s all.”

Namjoon’s chin is jutting a little, his jaw clenched. He keeps his eyes on the pond and clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is a little rough.

“Well, uh,” he says, then coughs to clear his throat. “Thanks for saying that. It’s all really… not that big of a deal.”

You lean against him, and he squeezes your shoulder.

“It is,” you whisper. “I know you don’t recognize it… but, it really is.”

–

Back inside, you somehow find yourself in a situation where you are way out of your depth: alone in the kitchen with Mrs. Kim.

Namjoon told you he’d be right back and went to - you assume - talk to his dad in the other room, and here you are.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to talk to mothers. You don’t know how kitchens work.

Mrs. Kim saves you from yourself by placing a large, yellow onion in your hand. “Will you chop this while I start the –”

You don’t even hear the end of the question over the panicked rush of white noise in your ears. You hold the onion like it might explode in your hand.

Her back is to you as she pulls out a cutting board from a lower cabinet. When she turns and sees you standing there like you’re holding a grenade, she freezes.

“You certainly don’t have to if you don’t want to –” she backtracks quickly.

“The thing is,” you say, face flushing, “I don’t… exactly… know how.”

The sigh of disappointment she lets out is almost comical. You cringe, feeling terrible, when she says, “Aish, no wonder my son likes you - you two are just the same.”

This makes you laugh out loud, and the tension breaks just like that. With a playfully chastising look, she takes the onion back from you, placing it on the cutting board. Then she cuts it in half and shows you how you’re meant to slice it before passing you the knife.

She watches carefully as you slowly and clumsily try to mirror her movements with the blade. And even though you’re slow and clumsy, she still smiles at you and says, “Very good.”

“I never really had the chance to learn,” you try to explain, your eyes on what you’re doing. “My, um, my parents passed away when I was really young. And my grandmother… she didn’t ask me to help, she didn’t try to teach me. I think because… she wanted to let me be just a kid in as many ways as I still could. But, yknow. Now I’m an adult who can’t cook.”

You’re not sure what reaction you expect from her, but all she does is hum quietly, an affirming, understanding listening noise, and lean just a little closer over your shoulder to watch the knife.

You’re about to say something else - anything, just to move on from the moment - when she speaks.

“His last girlfriend was a genius in the kitchen.” She cocks her head to the side sharply, almost as if flicking away an annoying bug. “But she certainly had her failings outside of it.”

Elyse. You’re suddenly picturing her here, at this counter, making her way effortlessly around the kitchen.

Mrs. Kim moves beside you, turning the sink on and grabbing a colander to wash some more vegetables. You keep working slowly on the onion, keeping your eyes on your fingers.

She looks sideways at you as she rinses whatever she’s holding. “All I’m saying is, sometimes change is good. And it’s never too late to learn,” she tells you.

Change. Like Namjoon letting go of his past. Like you letting go of yours.

“He told me you and Mr. Kim didn’t like her,” you admit, pushing the onion to the side and setting down the knife, ready for new instructions.

Mrs. Kim shakes her head, exasperated. “What did he say that to you for? No wonder you’re nervous. For such a smart boy, he just has no sense.”

You smile and hurry to defend him. “I think he just wanted me to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” she grouses. “We liked her fine until she broke his heart. We’ll like you that long, too.”

“I don’t think I ever could,” you say quietly.

Next to you, she softens. She touches your hand for just a second in a gesture that feels somehow like gratitude, and then removes it to plop whatever she just washed onto your cutting board.

“Chop,” she instructs. She watches, reaching over once to adjust your hold on the knife, then nodding in satisfaction when you carry on correctly. Her eyes on your hands, she asks, “So your grandmother raised you? Where did you grow up?”

You tell her - about your hometown, about your Grandmother’s strict upbringing and how it led into Lin’s barely-there parenting. She listens as she works, eventually moving over to the stove and starting the base of the sauce while you finish peeling and chopping the pile she’s left for you to handle.

“So, your aunt is working for Christmas?” she asks, stirring as you gently add the onion to the sauce when prompted.

“Yes, and she works nights and sleeps days,” you explain. “So I decided to just stay home.”

“You wouldn’t have seen her at all?” she asks, no bite or judgment to the question. Just asking. “Even Christmas Eve, or the day after?”

You think about this. In all honesty, you would have been home and awake with Lin for at least some of break. But you two didn’t really spend time together, never had. Plus it would have meant asking Taehyung for a ride, since he brought you to campus back in late August, and he isn’t currently speaking to you.

“Maybe in passing,” you say, which isn’t entirely true. But suddenly, you feel weirdly guilty - like you’ve done something wrong to Lin by leaving her alone for the holiday.

“That’s a shame,” she says. “Here, come stir this.”

As you finish the meal together, she asks you more questions - mostly about school and your major. It’s nice - calming. You feel like this is a place you could get used to.

“I think it’s good for him to have found another writer,” she muses. “Sometimes our Namjoon just has his head in the clouds. It’ll be nice for him to have someone who… understands.”

“Yeah,” you say, continuing to stir, as directed. “That’s nice for me, too.”

<- Prev || Next ->

what are we thinking?! am i in less trouble or more compared to last chapter? lol

254 notes · View notes

museumgiftshoperaser · 1 year ago

Text

80s New York Art Scene AU for @steddiebang Now on AO3

Written by me with art by @melonalemonade & @dreaminginpencil Beta'd by @lihhelsing & Nevertheless

If Eddie had known that sharing his art studio with Robin would include her buddy Steve, he never would’ve offered it in the first place. There. He said it. If that makes him a bad friend, so be it. Because Steve is around all the time. Pastel and prissy. Sculpted from marble, yet dressed like a Macy’s mannequin. Always hovering. They got Robin’s potters wheel up the stairs last week, a three man effort he can still feel in his lower back, and now she’s fucking teaching him. Full on, arms wrapped around his waist, hands guiding hands. Someone grab him a bucket, ‘cause Eddie’s about to throw up. He’s not even good at it. Steve can barely get the hump of clay centered on the wheel and he refuses to get stains on his clothes. It’s fucking clay. It comes out in the wash. Steve’s shirtless approach to pottery is borderline offensive to the arts.

More information under the cut:

The posting date is less than two weeks away and I'm beyond excited to start sharing this fic with you guys! I've been working on it since January and it's the longest thing I've ever written. This story is absolutely drowning in 80s neo-expressionist art, graffiti and street art. Think Jean Michel Basquiat and Keith Haring. Everything about this fic is covered in paint <3

Posting Schedule: Nov. 7: Prologue + Chapter 1 - "Takes One to Know One" Nov. 10: Chapter 2 - "You've Done This Before" Nov. 14: Chapter 3 - "The Boy From California" Nov. 17: Chapter 4 - "A Regular Thing" Nov. 21: Chapter 5 - "You Don't Have to Tell Me" Content warnings for: Past abusive relationship, mentions of abuse during childhood, addiction, slighty toxic relationship, period typical homophobia and mentions of homophobic parents, mentioned death of a parent, explicit sex scenes with dom/sub undertones I've got a little snippet for you here:

“Ta-dah,” Robin says with a big smile and an even bigger hand gesture. She stretches her arms like a big reveal, which only highlights how small the studio is. Both of her hands almost touch a wall. Eddie’s normally fucking proud of this space, but Steve’s presence is ruining it. It’s one of the reasons he hates rich people. The world always looks like shit through their eyes. A crease forms between Steve’s eyebrows, an expression Eddie has seen him make several times in the thirty minutes he’s known the guy. “This part is mine!” Robin says, sounding genuinely excited. She’s the only rich person Eddie respects. He cleared out the room directly to the right of the entrance for Robin. It’s slightly smaller than his own, but she agreed to it before she left to spend all of June and July with her mother in California. She said it had better light anyway, which Eddie doesn’t give a fuck about. There’s something twitchy about Steve’s movements. He baby birds his way across the space, like he doesn’t realize he has wings yet. Anxious, which, what the fuck? What did Eddie do to deserve that? Steve’s nose scrunches like he smells something he disapproves of. “I really don’t like this part of the city,” he says and he looks out the window like that proves his point. “Do you have to work here?” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. He promised Robin he’d play nice, but surely these are extenuating circumstances. “We don’t all have daddy payin’ our bills,” he says with a pout and a lilt that borders on sexual. Just to piss him off. Just to make everyone uncomfortable. Robin blinks a few times fast and shakes her head. Count that as a win. “I don’t…” Steve stutters before collecting himself. “I just want Robin to have a nice place to work.” “And I’d like a pony and a private jet, but we can’t all get what we want,” he says and he really should stop there. But… “Isn’t that right, pretty boy?” He doesn’t even have to wink this time. A blush stretches all the way to Steve’s ears. His eyes deepen from shock to anger like a bruise turning dark purple on day three. Yup. Worth it. “Eddie, could you please just behave,” Robin groans. “We still have to get the rest of my stuff.” “I can help you with that tomorrow,” Steve says, still flushed, but pretending like he isn’t. It’s a sweet offer until he turns to look Eddie up and down and adds: “So we can get out of here now.” “That would be great.” Robin looks up at Steve. “I could really use a drink, you?” There’s those puppy eyes again. Steve’s whole face lights up and he nods quickly. “You coming, Eddie?” She wiggles her fingers at him. “First round on me?” An offer to get drinks with his best friend and this random guy who makes him want to rip his own hair out? Fuck no. He has some sense of self preservation, thank you very much. “I’m just gonna work on my painting for a bit.” Robin rolls her eyes at him before pushing Steve back toward the front door. “Go home on time, okay?” she yells over her shoulder. “The painting’s gonna be here in the morning.” “Yeah, yeah…” He waits by the door until he can no longer hear their footsteps on the stairs. Once he’s confident they’re gone, he grabs the sheet turned blanket from the crate behind his easel. He never bothers with pajamas, just unbuckles his overalls and lets the pants sag around his hips as he sinks into the couch. It’s easier that way. If Robin comes back he can just tell her he was taking a nap. Sweatpants and a sleep shirt would be a dead ringer that sleeping here isn’t just a one off. He’s been doing it since he got evicted in April, but what Robin doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

#steddiebang23 #so so so thrilled #i will do so much infodumping about art in the chapter notes #cant wait!!!#I also think it's one of the best things I've ever written #I put so much time and energy into this #I've never edited something this much #and i think it really shows <3 #cant wait for people to read it!!#if you like excessive descriptions of the painting proces #and also mommy issues #this is the fic for you!!!#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

59 notes · View notes

birbleafs · 3 months ago

Text

[fic] Daemon Rent

A/N: Written for @ficwip5k. This idea has been percolating at the back of my mind for well over a year.... so, I finally brushed up an old scene just in time for ficwip5k 2024! It's self-beta'd and a little less polished than I like, but I hope you'll still enjoy :')

Read here on AO3.

#genshin impact #kavetham #kaveh #alhaitham #ficwip 5k 2024 #fanfic #rakshasa and daemons #daemon rent AU

8 notes · View notes

thelightsandtheroses · 1 year ago

Text

Everybody leaves, so why, why wouldn’t you? | Joel Miller x female reader

Summary - You and Joel haven’t heard from either of your brothers in weeks and, with Tess, start forming a plan to leave the QZ and find them. Warnings - none for this fic. Overall series warnings are on the series list. Un-beta'd. Word Count - 1776 Notes - While this stands alone, it’s part of my series of interconnected fics, Fuel to Fire. As a warning, I did write this entire one-shot while I've been ill this weekend so please bear this in mind. Time jump for this one as this scene has been in my head a while.This fic doesn’t mean we won’t return to the QZ at some point for those who want to see more between Between the Shadow … and here and I’ve scattered some hints about some plot points that have happened in between and I will explore those in the future. However, we’ve planted the seeds for the main TLOU plot here. Chapter title from Great Expectations - The Gaslight Anthem. Please let me know what you think of this one shot!

Series List | Masterlist

Boston QZ, September 2023

It’s been weeks since the last radio message. You can see the growing worry in Joel’s eyes. You can see the way it adds to his already loaded shoulders. He hides it as much as he can, wears a mask every time he leaves the apartment, tries to wear that same mask with you and Tess too, but you can see through it.

Tommy has never taken this long to respond to one of Joel’s messages before. In another world, it wouldn’t be a worry, just a sign of a busy life and changed priorities, but in this world it’s not so much a red flag as a glaring, flashing beacon and sirens. Something’s wrong.

Your own brother isn’t replying either and the last you had heard, he was with Tommy.

There’s a sickness in your stomach when you think about that.

“And you’re sure he got the message?” Joel asks, running a hand through his hair and then meeting your gaze directly. His brown eyes are heavy with the weight of his worries, of the last twenty years. Surviving comes at a cost. Everyone knows that now.

“Abe said he did. That’s as much of a guarantee as either of us are going to get here.”

“But he’s not replied?”

“No, but he has barely responded to any of my messages in years, Joel, I got most of my news on him from Tommy,” you say, putting an old scrap of paper into your book and placing it on the battered coffee table. Your brother has been lost to you for too long; first to the Fireflies and their cause and then to grief, pride and stubbornness. Both you and your brother are now your only ties to the lives you lived before the outbreak, the only other people who are linked to you by blood. That’s not enough though, clearly.

Joel sighs heavily. “He could be - they could be in trouble. They left the Fireflies, they - Tommy always replies. If he’s not, something’s wrong.”

You don’t reply.

“I have to find him.” You were dreading these words, but you expected them. This is Joel after all. If there is anyone left in the world, he would cross open country for, it’s his family. It’s his brother, even when they don’t exactly like each other anymore. You know this, because you feel it too.

“Where was Tommy’s last message sent from?” You take Joel’s hands into your own, exhale carefully as you entwine your fingers with his.

“Wyoming. Cody, I think.”

“That’s a lot of open country, Joel.” Wyoming feels like a world away from Boston at this moment. You think about the last time you crossed open country, in the years before you met Joel. You and your group were scared and vulnerable and every day you survived was a Pyrrhic victory. You can die a thousand small deaths while still breathing.

You look down and notice your hands are shaking. You quickly shove them into your jacket pockets before Joel can see. You can’t let him know how nervous this idea makes you. You don’t want him to go alone, or just with Tess, their smuggling runs are agonising enough. You don’t want to go with him either. You can’t let him go without you though.

Your brother is there with Tommy. Whatever fate has befallen Joel’s brother, is likely your brother’s too. Like Joel, whatever barrier is in place between you and your family doesn’t matter if they’re in need.

There is no choice here. You’ll both be going to Wyoming one way or the other if Tommy or your brother don’t reply in the next week or so.

“We’ll need a plan,” you say in a voice you can barely recognise your own. “Need to do this carefully, Joel.”

“I can talk to Tess. She can help.”

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Dammit, Tommy. What have you got yourself into this time?”

You wake up next to Joel. The bedcovers are half kicked off the two of you, Joel’s right hand lazily resting over your hip.

“What time did you come to bed?” you ask, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“A few hours after you. I had to think some things through.”

You turn to face him. It looks like he’s barely slept at all.

“We’d need a vehicle,” you say after a moment, running a hand lazily through his hair. “That would be the safest way to get there.”

For a moment, you see a glimpse of your life before the outbreak. You remember sunny days and driving through rural lanes, the sun out, windows down and stereo turned up high, laughing along with friends and singing songs out of tune at the top of your voice.

You remember the joy of carelessness.

You’re back in Boston all too quickly though.

“I know,” Joel replies.

“Do you think you can get one? FEDRA maybe? Decommissioned?” you ask, idly thinking aloud.

Joel takes your hand, kisses it briefly before getting out of the bed and pulling his jeans on.

“I can talk to some people. I think decommissioned is the way to go. They’ll never give us one that’s working, but the depot could be an option, maybe? I mean, they have old vehicles.”

“Okay, so how we do this?” you ask, pulling a shirt on and joining him in the kitchen area.

“It’ll take a lot of cards,” Joel says, his hands pressing down on the kitchen counter and showing every one of his back muscles through his shirt.

“I can pull some extra shifts -” you start to say, running a hand down his spine. “I have some old vinyl records I can trade. I think I heard Mark say he’s looking for some more music, and they’re worth a few cards now. My player’s done for so there’s no point hanging on.”

Joel spins around and places his hands on your hips. “Okay, I can talk to my guy about a vehicle and -”

“Tell me I’m not hearing this correctly, Joel. You’re trying to get a vehicle?” Tess says from the hallway. She raises a hand lazily in greeting as she walks over to join you both in the kitchen. Over the years, you’ve got used to this. At first the way Tess could just walk into Joel’s place and act like it was her own too panicked you, you didn’t know if you were meant to be in some strange competition for whatever it was between you and Joel. Things have settled though; you and Tess, you might even be friends now.

“Batteries?” you ask.

“Why’d you need a vehicle, Joel?”

“We’ve gotta find my brother and hers,” Joel says coolly. “Tommy needs me, Tess.”

“Okay. You know that the batteries are usually fucked in the old vehicles?”

This is what you like about Tess; she’s there for Joel. No questions asked. She’s smart, measured and wily. She’s an asset on your side and a thorn for her enemies. If Joel says he needs to get Wyoming, she’ll help find a way.

“Yeah, so we’d need a battery too,” Joel says, “But with a battery and one of those vehicles, maybe, maybe we have a plan? Tess, you and me are gonna get out, we get to Wyoming, get Tommy and we get your brother too, darlin’, and then we come back.”

“Wait, I’m coming too,” you say flatly.

“Like hell you are,” Joel says fiercely, shaking his head at you. You take a step out of his arms and cross your arms.

“When was the last time you weren’t in a QZ?” Tess asks. “This isn’t a trip to Disneyland; this is going through raider territory and -”

“It’s my fucking family too, Tess. It’s not just Tommy, is it? My brother might hate me but he’s the only one I have left, so I’m coming too. No arguments.”

Tess scoffs, shakes her head. Joel won’t look at you now either. You realise he genuinely thought you’d be happy with him and Tess crossing thousands of miles to rescue both your brothers and for you to stay in the QZ?

“I can bring him home,” he says.

“My brother, my problem.”

“You’re not backing down on this, are you?” he asks with a hint of affection in his voice.

You shake your head. You might regret this but you’re terrified that if you don’t go with them, you won’t see either of them and that, that is worse than your fear of the outside.

“Right, so the car battery, Tess?”

“I know someone who could have a lead on that,” Tess says after a moment, “Leave it with me.”

“How soon?” Joel asks. “I’m going to go find out about the vehicle now.”

“As soon as it’s possible, Joel, we can’t rush this. But I get it’s urgent.”

Joel nods. You notice a flash of light in his eyes; a fleeting sense of hope that he conceals all too quickly.

“I can try and start getting some supplies for the journey from work? Most of it’s locked down, but if I start now, by the time we go we could have some things together,” you offer, wanting to help in some way.

“That could be useful,” Tess says.

You check the watch around your wrist that was once your older brother’s. You’re going to be late for your shift. You squeeze Joel’s arm and are a little surprised when he briefly kisses you. While Tess knows that you and Joel are something, the habit of keeping yourselves to yourselves around others over the years has become hard to break.

Before you leave Joel and Tess to their plans, you remember the reason you were at Joel’s yesterday, the reason that had somehow faded away at the site of Joel’s worried face after not receiving a message yet again.

“Oh, I forgot to say. They’ve arrested Jason and Maria - unauthorised exit and entry into the QZ, they were pulling the apartment apart when I left it last.“

Joel takes a step towards you, a mix of annoyance that you hadn’t told him and concern. He knows what this is - Maria’s your best friend and she’s going to be hanged for this. Another loss, another person you will only remember.

“I’m fine, Joel, there’s nothing they can get on me. I’m not a smuggler. I’m fine, but Jason and Maria’s - Maria’s not, they’re not going to be okay” you say softly, “Both of you, be careful. Please.”

I can’t lose anyone else, you think, I can’t lose everybody.

Tag Lists

Fuel to Fire- @ginger-swag-rapunzel

All Pedro Characters - @harriedandharassed @hiroikegawa @pedrostories

#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #tlou hbo #pedro pascal character #*fuel to fire

59 notes · View notes

wildemaven · 2 years ago

Text

A Burden At The End of The World

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

WC: 350

Warnings: T; Mentions of loss/death, feeling like a burden

A/N: I literally had zero intention of writing today, or all weekend, but when I posted the new prompt for @wildemaven-prompts my brain started going and this came out! I've been wanting to write more for Joel but it feels so overwhelming, especially with the show playing out right now. I'll have to keep brainstorming something. This isn't beta'd as usual.

Masterlist

It’s night and yet your brain still won’t shut off. You don’t think it really has in all the years since that day— the day the world became decrepit and doleful.

You turn yourself away from him, his warmth sometimes too much to bare— you don’t feel worthy of it anymore.

He shifts in response, adjusting his broad self on the makeshift bed, he settles and his breathing evens out.

Your eyes fight to focus on the wall. Black and white like static, mottled by the filtered light pouring in through window. The inky spots dancing before you, like little Rorschach scenes fading in and out, never the same shape twice.

Sometimes in moments like these you wished it were you instead of her that night. How he’d preferred that outcome over the present day.

She’d be here, still among this ashen place, but she’d be here. It must be why you can feel resentment ooze out from him day after day— you’re a daily reminder of what he lost.

His life would hold more meaning and purpose than it does now. The light in his eyes would still shine, and he would feel whole.

It’s nights like these your thoughts wage war against your heart— deeming you not enough for him now or ever.

You toy with the thought of staying behind when he packs up his bag for the next location, less of a burden to his load— Ellie already enough for him to worry over.

By early morning your eyes are stale and dry from the silent tears you’ve grieved like every night before. Your lids heavy with sleep as you decide to no longer fight it.

Before you drift off, his body will find yours again. The warmth radiating off of him will feel like a time of happiness and comfort you once knew— when he had looked at you with wonder and saw a life of wholeness.

You’ll relish in it for the short time you have it, and pretend the pain that resides in your chest is just a figmental ache that doesn’t exist.

Read Joel’s Perspective Here

#Joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou #the last of us #Joel Miller tlou #Joel Miller the last of us #wildemaven writes #wildemaven prompts

144 notes · View notes

campingwiththecharmings · 2 years ago

Note

✨ hi would it be possible to get poe's pov during the closet scene in Love is a Game (For Fools to Play)? or anything else from that fic. pleeeeeeeeeeeeease? 🙏

*POV Ask Game*

AN: Thank you so much for your patience, nonnie. For some reason, I really struggled to start this. idk if it's because it was for something that was finished or if it was the different POV, but it was a little challenging for me. Once I got in a groove though, it was kind of fun lol.

Anyway, no more blathering, here is the closet scene from Love is a Game (For Fools to Play) as told from Poe's POV. Hope you enjoy it 💖

(Un-beta'd)

Rated: T Words: 775 Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Warnings: kissing, mutual pining, friends to lovers, references to alcohol and/or drinking, internalized angst. AO3

——————

He’s nervous. Uncharacteristically so. It’s just you, he thinks, what’s there to be nervous about? You’re his best friend, after all. But that is the problem, he realizes: You’re his best friend. The one he comes to for anything and everything. Suddenly he’s wishing the bottle had landed on a stranger; strangers he has no problem kissing, but you…

“Alright then. You ready?” He asks, clearing his throat, willing his thoughts to stop spiraling.

“Sure. Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He sniffs a quiet laugh through his nose at your response before moving forward, your familiar scent invading his senses. It’s dark in here, darker than he’d anticipated, so he can’t see much more than the outline of your head before him. It’s difficult to determine exactly how far you are from him so, to avoid headbutting you, he reaches out a hand, searching for your face.

“Uh, what are you doing?” you ask, voice laced with confusion as he places a hand on your shoulder.

He remains silent as he gingerly feels his way up the side of your neck, the gentle thrum of your pulse against his fingers. He continues his path up, moving to cradle your face. He hears your breath catch, the sharpness of it cutting into him like a knife.

“Not much light in here,” he says, more nonchalant than he feels. “Need a little assistance if I’m gonna have to land blind.”

“My face isn’t a landing strip, Poe."

He snorts, the joke calming him somewhat as he absently strokes his thumb over your cheek. “Noted.”

Your warm breath fans across his lips, smelling sweetly of the Jet Juice you’d both been imbibing. His nose bumps yours as he leans in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth as he turns his head. When he finally presses his mouth to yours, something swells in his chest, something he can’t quite put a name to. He feels like he’s moving in slow motion, his lips sliding against yours unhurriedly, like they could do this all day. When you begin to reciprocate, pressing your lips back against his, he pauses, like his brain is unable to process the action; you’re kissing him back. Obviously you’re kissing him back, that’s the game, isn’t it?

So why does it feel like there’s more to it than that?

This thought flips a switch inside him—suddenly this is all he’s ever wanted, you are all he’s ever wanted. Why did it take him so long to realize it?

He sighs, whether in relief or contentment, he’s not sure, all he knows is he wants more—more of you, of this. He angles your head, deepening the kiss as he presses his mouth harder against yours. Your lips are soft, molding to his like they were made for this, for him. When he pulls you closer, he hears your breath catch, a jolt of pleasure rushing through him at the sound. This isn’t the first time he’s held you (hell, you’ve fallen asleep on him more times than he can count), but it’s never been like this—like he can suddenly feel every inch of you.

Somehow though, it’s still not enough. He needs more.

When he traces the seam of your lips with his tongue, you part them without hesitation, sighing softly when he dips inside. The taste of you is intoxicatingly sweet, both from the alcohol and from something so inherently you. He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding hotly against yours as he cradles your cheek, his fingertips caressing your velvet-soft skin. He feels your fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt, a groan escaping his throat when you somehow manage to pull him even closer, his chest bumping against yours.

Lust clouds his head, makes him forget where he is, forget the game, the horde of Resistance personnel outside the door, forget everything—except you. So lost is he in you, in this moment, he almost misses the click and whoosh of the closet door opening. At the last second, he panics, quickly schooling his features as the light spills inside, squinting as his eyes readjust.

He doesn’t look at you; he can’t, is too afraid you’ll see, see that inside he’s a mess, a jumble of thoughts and feelings he needs to untangle. He just needs time, he decides, time to figure out what just happened, what he feels…what you feel. When you pull away from him, a piece of him dislodges, becomes unmoored. He pushes the feeling away, nodding awkwardly to the crowd as the two of you exit the closet to return to the party.

Review (pretty please)?

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fic #poe dameron reader insert #my fic

87 notes · View notes

recurring-polynya · 9 months ago

Text

Writing/Art Update 3.5.2024

So, Polynya, did you finish the fanfic? Well...sort of? No. No, I guess the answer is actually no.

Last week, I said I had two and a half scenes left, one of which was the epilogue, and one scene I wanted to rewrite. I wrote the scene and a half that were not the epilogue, and then I tried to do that scene re-write. It came out better than it was, but I still didn't love it. I figured I would just go ahead and write the epilogue and then maybe come back and try again. 3/4 of the epilogue went great, and then I just couldn't manage to end it, and got stuck for three days. I went back and tried to re-write that scene I didn't like *again*, and barely got into before realizing that the way I was hoping to make it better did not, in fact. Yesterday, after Much Struggle, I managed to pull together an end to epilogue with is...okay...but I don't love it. So the current state of things is: 107,408 words, and it is strictly speaking, A Whole-ass Fanfic, but with two half-scenes that I hate.

It's really frustrating, because I had a bunch of productive weeks in a row, and my brain has just utterly collapsed on me in the eleventh hour. I've been trying so hard to push it over the finish line, but it's one of those things where I can't just brute force it, I need to somehow have a good idea. I am also so so tired this week. I know, logically, that probably I just need to relax and rest up for a few days and this will be easy to fix when I am feeling better, but it's hard to relax when I have this stupid almost-but-not-quite-done fanfic hanging over my head.

Here are some other stupid facts:

The scenes in question are important and I want them to be good, but they aren't exactly load-bearing, in the sense that nothing else depends on them

I don't even *need* the epilogue, and in fact, after I realized that I end all my Heart is a Muscle fics with people drinking (not on purpose, I'm just unoriginal), it made me want to drop the whole thing on principle (except that I also don't because it's sort of a thematic lead-in to the next story in the series and also Ukitake is there)

The two problem scenes are way at the end of the fanfic. When I do start posting this thing, I plan to post one chapter per week like I often do, meaning that I have literal months to fix these

Chapter 1 is beta'd and ready to go and literally nothing is stopping me from posting it this very second

BUT I don't want to post Chapter 1 until my beta has seen the whole fic because what if she notices something in Chapter 12 that needs to be fixed back in Chapter 1

AND literally nothing is stopping me from just sending my beta the last few chapters with a little note on the scenes I'm not happy with. It's highly possible she might have some ideas! Or just be like "you are insane these are fine"!

EXCEPT I don't want her to see my bad writing that I am embarrassed about

And so, here we are. I am probably going to give it another day or two, and if I can't manage to fix those two scenes, I'll just suck it up and send the rest to her.

I guess I also should re-do the banner, except I don't feel like re-doing the banner. It's....okay. I don't know. I just kind of slapped it together based on a thing we were doing at Art Club. Maybe I don't even want a banner.

Speaking of Art Club, it's March now, which meant there was a new theme at Art Club (nature) and I decided to try to get back into my daily drawing. I think this is possibly what killed my momentum on my fanfic. I am just literally only capable of having one priority at a time, even if it's a little tiny one, otherwise my brain just plays tug of war with my priorities and it's hard to manage either of them.

Anyway, I've been in kinda rough shape for the last few days, but I am sure it will pass. It's got some good bits, but I think I just never really managed to fall in love with this one, and I'm really worried about it getting a cooler reception than I'm used to, since the fandom seems to have quieted down significantly since the last time I posted one of these. On the other hand, I've worked too hard on this to not post it. Also, it's got some stuff in it that had to happen for the series to progress. And maybe other people will like it! Who knows! Not me!!

I had hoped to be able to start posting it this week, but that's not looking likely at this point, so I guess you can have another preview.

--- from Ch 3

"You really didn't have to go to all this trouble," Rukia pointed out, as she methodically piled her bowl with a heaping serving of everything on offer.

Renji grabbed a big pinch of the shirasu before passing it over to her. "It's fine. I'm not sure when I'll be up for cooking again, so I'm trying to clean out my fridge."

"Oh, so I'm helping?"

Renji grinned. "Sure."

"I love helping! If you need me to take this pickled ginger with me, I could take it off your hands."

"I think the pickles will probably keep for a bit."

"Hmmph," Rukia replied skeptically, and scooped some more into her bowl.

It was always difficult not to just sit and watch Rukia eat, in part because she truly did have an extraordinary talent for shoveling food into her mouth, but mostly because it reminded Renji of why they had come to the Seireitei in the first place, of how lucky he was these days. You have to go to work, too, this morning, he reminded himself, and dug in.

"You know, speaking of helping…" Rukia said a few minutes later, once she'd managed to eat enough to shave the edge of her morning ravenousness. "There's something I want to talk to you about."

The pleasant feelings in Renji's chest abruptly turned cold and gloppy. He frowned, and raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Yeah?”

Rukia looked up at him with her big, stupidly blue eyes. “Do you remember when we talked about how important it was for you to have a comfortable and peaceful recovery from your surgery?”

“I do. I distinctly remember asking you to drop it and not bring it up, again, actually.”

“Right, well, I never actually agreed to that. I think that you should come stay at my house.”

Renji gave her an incredulous look. “Your house? Kuchiki Manor, you mean? Your house that is actually my captain’s house?”

“It’s very nice there, as you know. The food really is very good and we have a million servants with nothing better to do--”

“I am sure they have better things to do, Rukia.”

“--and you can sit in a sunny spot in the garden and I’ll read you books and it will be so much nicer than staying in the Coordinated Relief Station!”

Renji heaved a huge, exasperated sigh. “It’s a nice idea, Rukia, but think about the look on Captain’s face if you even--”

“He said it was okay.”

Renji felt all the blood run out of his face, possibly out of his body entirely. “You asked him?”

“I know you’re only getting it done because he ordered you to. He obviously wants you to do your best to heal up well. He cares about you, too, you know, in his own way.”

Renji stiffened, his fingers tightening on his chopsticks. “You probably told him the whole story, then? How I broke my arm in the first place?” His voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away.

“Not the whole thing!" Rukia shook her head vehemently. "He knows you broke it saving me, that's the only important part.”

Renji drew in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. All he could focus on was the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. “Why do you always have to do this?” he finally managed through gritted teeth. “I asked you to just leave it, but you never can.”

Rukia shoved out her lower lip. “Maybe if you took care of yourself half as well as you take care of everyone else, I would!” she protested. “Just let me spoil you for a few days, would it be so terrible?”

“Yes.”

#writing update #art update #here's hoping that posting all this will expel it from my system and i can turn around the fix my stupid bad scenes

14 notes · View notes

dmitri-smerdyakov · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter Six: “Iceberg! Right Ahead!”

Hello all! I’m afraid that chapters have been slow because six weeks on from me going to work at camp and thinking "ugh my throat and chest feel scratchy", I'm STILL ill. Today has literally been me going to the doctor first thing, going to the pharmacy to get antibiotics, going to a health clinic for a chest x-ray, and then going home to nap before watching television. I am, in short, VERY sick, which is why I had to take a break writing this chapter because all of last week was me battling sinusitis and a chest infection. I'm still not well at all but I wanted to get this down because, hey ho, I love writing it!

As of the end of this chapter, there's about an hour left of the film to cover - plus deleted scenes and my own additions. I'm hoping this fic will be about ten chapters, but we'll have to see how it goes.

A lot of the first two sections of this chapter are lifted heavily from Jonathan Mayo's book "Titanic: Minute by Minute" - it feels very jumpy and chaotic, and it's for a reason. In the film, the time between Fleet calling out the iceberg warning and the actual impact is something like two minutes - in real life, it was barely forty seconds. The Titanic really did not stand a chance sadly. As I saw it once so adequately described online (on Quora I think - I still have the screenshot of it saved to my phone), "the sinking was a 'perfect storm' (in calm seas) of COCK-UPS" - the crew not being trained on evacuation procedures, the missing binoculars for the look-outs, the lack of lifeboats, the fact the iceberg warnings from other ships were ignored etc.

Potential warnings for this chapter include a man hitting a woman, same man also slut-shaming her, swearing (let Newt/Tina/Theseus/Lally swear, goddammit!), people being idiots, passengers panicking because they've been locked on the lower decks, a very sad Thomas Andrews, and my un-beta'd writing.

The soundtrack that corresponds with the scene(s) at the beginning of this chapter (and the last bit of the one before it) is called "Hard to Starboard" and I highly recommend listening to it (or watching the scene if you haven't already seen the film) to get into the mood!

#newtina #newt scamander #tina goldstein #porpentina goldstein #theseus scamander #newtina au #newtina titanic au #my fanfiction #newtina fanfiction #my writing #titanic #rms titanic #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #fantastic beasts fanfiction #percival graves #just peddling my little 58k+ fic don't mind me #newt x tina

27 notes · View notes

affectionatelyrs · 1 year ago

Text

Weekend WIP Game

My goodness I've been tagged so many times LET'S DO THIS Y'ALL

Thank you very much to @inexplicablymine @rockyroadkylers @gay-flyboys @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @daisymae-12 and @kiwiana-writes for the tags I loved reading all of y'alls answers this is so much fun to see - thank you to @welcometololaland also for creating the game! :)

Rules: List your WIPs below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more).

WIP List (Bolded ones have an outline/words/some ideas, others are mostly just floating around in the dome for now) (none of these actually have legit titles kind of sort of whatever)

Walk and Talk (irl epistolary)

Soulmates (Music System)

3+1 companion fic to All of This Silence and Patience (prequel from Alex's POV)

Henry is a Painting

Phone-Sex Worker/Coffee Shop

5+1 love confession through non-verbal cues

S.M.U.T

Threesgiving

Secret Santa

Beach at Night

There is probably more but this is already getting long LOL

2. Which of your WIP’s is currently the longest?

I haven't "officially" started writing any because I tend to write one at a time and I just finished my halloween huh fic, but as of now it's either Walk and Talk or Soulmates - Walk and Talk has a ton of random scenes/snippets written and Soulmates has a 9 page (and still in progress) outline

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest?

Soulmates or Henry is a Painting. They are both legitimate multichaps (my debut into them scary). I'm predicting that they will both be around 30-40K but I have a...tendancy...to go way over my predictions because I've like never been succinct in my life

4. Which WIP is your favorite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why?

I've been having SO much fun with Walk and Talk - the idea is so special to me and it's just like pure fun and silliness and I think the formatting of it is very interesting too (this fic is my pride and joy if you can't tell yet)

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why?

I think, as of now, Soulmates and Henry is a Painting. Soulmates is going to be my first real multichap so that in itself has me shaking in my boots nerves and excitement) - it also has a good amount of world building in it. I have the system figured out but now it's about how I'm going to incorporate it throughout the story. Henry is a Painting is also magical realism but it takes place in one setting and is essentialy a lot of conversations, so I'm a bit trapped in what I can do, but I think I can pull it off? I just have to put a lot of thought into it ha ha

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why?

Maybe Henry is a Painting? The idea is very special to me but because of what I said in #5 I have to ensure it doesn't get tiring. A lot of introspection and mental health discussion and important conversations are mixed in to this one, but it's also mysterious and fun

7. Which of your WIP’s will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why?

All of them. Maybe even two. I will never not have any of my fics beta'd because I want to ensure that they're the best that they can be I have too much anxiety and need for praise to not have them

8. Have any of your WIP’s been struck by the curse of writers block?

Not really? If anything, I'm just very indecisive and it takes me a long time to figure out where I want to go with certain aspects of a fic. I try to make sure that I start on fics that I feel a lot of excitement for when I choose what I want to do next

9. Which WIP has your favorite OC? Tell us about them?

Threesgiving with @happiness-of-the-pursuit is the only one as of now. His name is Collin. That's basically all we've got ish for now

10. Which WIP is the sexiest?

Threesgiving and Phone-Sex Worker/Coffee shop for sure. The latter is essentially... a lot of sexting... if that wasn't obvious - but also it's a double plotline (think love triangle but there's only two people quote unquote double identity but no one knows it vibes LOL). S.M.U.T withe @inexplicablymine will be too because it'll explore a lot of fic tropes but it's also very silly funny

11. Which WIP is the angstiest?

Henry is a Painting for the reasons I mentioned. Soulmates too because it deals a lot with unrequited love in a way that parallels canon but with much higher stakes

12. Which WIP has the best characterization (in your humble opinion)?

I would hope all of them but maybe Walk and Talk. It's from Henry's POV but I really love how I'm writing Alex - he's very open and effervescent and full of light vibes

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)?

I'll answer this in a slightly different way and say Soulmates because it's my foray into world building and I have an entire soulmate system (and the magical realism elements) planned out that I'm very proud of because I don't think the exact thing that I'm doing has been done before

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on?

Walk and Talk has extensive scenes planned and a full outline - there's still some wiggly room in the middle/figuring out the order of things though but I'll figure it out. Soulmates too because, y'know, the outline is nine pages long and isn't even done yet

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why?

I'm such a broken record wow. Walk and Talk is my BABY - it has a very fun formatting because it is essentially and irl epistolary and i've been sitting on it for over a month now waiting to get started. Soulmates is an idea I'm insanely proud of and I can't wait to see it come to the page. Henry is a Painting has the potential to be... dare I say it... kind of beautiful and introspective? Idk when I'll start it because it scares me I need to handle it carefully and when I'm truly ready

16. Do you dream about any of your WIP’s?

Not that I can remember. Though, it will be like 2 a.m. and I'll roll over to tell siri to write stuff down and hope it's legible in the morning

17. Do any of your WIP’s have any particular complexities that your other fics don’t?

Walk and Talk has an interesting formatting to separate scenes. Soulmates has a... soulmate system (duh) and magical realism elements. Also any of these that are a multichap or a 3/5+1 because I've only ever written one shots

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humor?

Walk and Talk, Phone-Sex Worker/Coffee Shop, and Secret Santa I would say

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process?

Sadly no but I'd like to do so one day

20. Tell us one thing we don’t know about one or more of your WIPs.

I could ramble forever (maybe I should do an ask game... hmmmm)

The idea for Walk and Talk came from my real life. Essentially, it's when you make a pal in class, they wait for you when it's over, and walk down the hall with you to carry on conversing until y'all have to part ways. And then it happens the next day. And the day after that. And the one after that too. You get the vibe. Now make it FirstPrince

I told myself that All of This Silence and Patience would never get a sequel until I got one (one.) comment asking for Alex's POV and then my mind starting buzzing and now y'all get a prequel instead

Uhhhh I've been tagged a lot so idk if I can tag as many people as WIPs but I would love to see anything from @anincompletelist @whimsymanaged @read-and-write- @tintagel-or-cockleshells @littlemisskittentoes @cricketnationrise @myheartalivewrites (no pressure) and anyone else who is seeing this! :)

#tag game #weekend wip game #wip tag game #affectionatelyrs #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #firstprince #rwrb fandom #fanfiction

14 notes · View notes

gojotenshi · 2 years ago

Text

No one should have found out that she was an omega, least of all the crown prince of Yuei.

But Izuku Midoriya was smart.

With two other lives on the line, Lia made the choice of accepting the deal given by the prince - her submission for his secrecy.

It should have been an easy arrangement, if not for the group of homicidal maniacs that had been using omegas as a bartering coin in order to take over the kingdom and the prince’s penchant for wanting more than she was willing to give.

Fate was just one big joke, was it not?

Chapter Three - don't know if you love me or you want me dead

a/n: wanted chapter four done before i posted this chapter but fuck it because that one has taken my mental power? because he does not wish to cooperate. no sexual scenes on this one and it's shorter compared to the past two chapters. hope you guys like it! not beta'd as always

wc: 6745 words

warnings: omegaverse dynamics, omegaverse based sexism, general foul language, slight gore (?), toxic behavior

chapter 1 | chapter 2

The fight was over and Lia held her heart on her throat, feeling like she couldn’t breathe as the dust still hadn’t settled. There was no victorious shout, no cackling laughter. Katsuki was hurt, one arm hanging limply at his side, gash on his shoulder bleeding. There were already dark bloomings of bruises on his chest and he had a split lip and probably a broken nose as well.

Ochako was buried beneath rubble, the exploded rocks she had been using as projectiles pining her down to the ground. They were both panting, but it was obvious who had been the winner of their battle. There was a roar of cheers from the crowd that had watched the both of them, deafening in its volume as the pounding of her heart kept a fast rhythm.

Her friend had lost.

For the first time in a while, Ochako had lost a battle. One she had even prepared for, taken in lieu of Lia because she had wanted to protect her. Guilt churned on her gut at the thought that she was at fault for her friend’s injuries, for having made the alpha so angry that he had to go after someone. It didn’t matter that Ochako had chosen to fight, had been the one to give the time and place. Lia had been the one to set the dominos tumbling down when she had held Katsuki back from burning the library to the ground.

He took a step forward, then another, and the brunette almost leapt out of her place before the blond collapsed on the ground, finally giving in to his injuries. Silence fell upon the training grounds before, finally, she jumped from her spot at the fence to go towards her friend. Small legs ate away the distance in more time than she would have liked, but it prompted others to follow her. It was good because the omega doubted that she would have the strength to move the rubble away from her unconscious friend. In the corner of her eye she could see another group tending to Katsuki, Eijiro picking him up to probably bring him to the infirmary.

“Oh God.” Lia winced as more of her friend’s body was uncovered, trembling hands touching the torn skin and the obviously broken arm. Hopefully the healers would be able to heal her back to shape.

“Fuck, ok, so gotta make some painkillers.” Mina winced next to her, and both of them worked to quickly adjust Ochako on a stretcher that had somehow materialized - someone must have brought it in, right? Ah, it didn’t really matter who had brought it, just that they could take Ochako to the healers.

Two soldiers from the same division as her friend picked the wooden handles of the stretcher, quickly making their way with the two omegas in tow, worry etched on all of their faces, though the two betas did leave once her friend was resting in one of the cots, opposite the blond that had put her there in the first place. It was obvious that though she had gotten quite the damage, her friend had done her fair share of it.

The oldest of the healers was shuffling closest to the prince, a kiss being pressed to his forehead, breathing easing as the quirk worked its magic. The one that approached them was young, soft and sweet, flower petals being placed on her friend’s forehead and just bellow her throat. It was with amazement as Lia watched them dissolve into the skin, tinging it a deep red that soon dissipated through the body, turning pink before fully integrating into her body. There was a sickening crack as the bone pulled itself back together, skin knitting over the now correctly set arm. Though unconscious, there was a whimper, as if she had actually felt the pain of the healing, as if it wasn’t simple magic at work but a quickening of the time it would have taken Ochako to heal by herself.

“She should be back into shape by tomorrow.” The voice is as soft as the face, kind eyes taking in both her and Mina, each one holding one of Ochako’s hand now that the broken arm had been dealt with. “You’re free to stay here, but she does need rest.”

It wasn’t really a chiding, just an advice, but it deflated both omegas anyway. And the fact was that they both had work to do, even if worry would hold their attention, keeping them here with their friend, their sister. There was nothing more than Lia wanted than to make sure Ochako would be well, the fear that another loved one would be torn from her was deep seated. It didn’t matter that she was safe, that there were people who could so easily fix a broken bone. This was someone she loved, deeply. Her sister by choice and circumstance.

“Let them stay, Ao.” The voice was stern but it held an edge of softness that left Lia in a strange sense of ease. Lia didn’t really know Chiyo, had mostly only heard from the old beta from Nezu and some of the scholars that were interested in the medicinal arts and quirks. Motherly. That was how her presence was read. That strength of sternness wrapped up in the softness of caring. A core of steel and a coat of silk. “The presence of loved ones always helps.”

“Thank you.” Mina bowed with a warm smile, and the brunette tilted her head in acknowledgment, though her fingers gripped Ochako’s tighter.

A wave of a deeply wrinkled hand, so small and yet the benefits it could sow were so great “Everyone expected the fight to be grand, but not as long as it was.” Fifteen minutes. That’s how much Ochako had lasted against Katsuki before being overpowered by the blunt force of his attacks. Lia probably wouldn’t have lasted more than a minute, and that was counting on her being able to use her quirk. Mina would probably fare better, but Ochako had always been the skilled fighter out of the three of them. “Your friend did well, but…” eyes went to the unconscious prince before setting on the three once more “I would wonder what the lasting effects will be.”

Of catching the attention of a dangerous alpha.

Lia didn’t know if that was what Choiyo meant, but it was what she deduced, what she felt on her skin. There was no way there wouldn’t be repercussions of her friend going against Katsuki, and even if she lost, she had still managed to bring him to the edge. If curiosity had been what made her appear in Izuku’s radar, the absolute bloodbath that had been the battle probably would catch Katsuki’s attention. And then there was the fact that Ochako smelled something on him that the other two omegas didn’t, that there was an added incognita that hadn’t been on their plans.

There had to be some meaning to it. The same way there had to be a meaning to why Izuku smelled like lightening. What came to mind was a bit scary if she was honest, and damn right stupid.

“She’ll be fine, she’s a survivor.” Mina smiled softly, and Lia nodded in agreement. They were all survivors, first due to the protection of their parents and then due to their own resilience. They would survive some hard headed alphas and come back on top, they always did.

✧ — ⋆ — ✧

“How’s Uraraka?”

Izuku’s voice took her out of the daze that Lia had found herself in, worry for her friend still present in her mind even if she had been more than stable when both omegas had left the infirmary.

“Still out.” She sighed and proceeded to finally put the book she had been holding back on its place, it wouldn’t do well to keep staring at it, if she hadn’t been able to even read the title, she wouldn’t be able to read the actual pages, would she? “Choiyo said that it would take her a while to wake up due to her injuries.”

Most had been internal, some bleeding and broken ribs from the rubble that had been brought down on her. Then there had been the broken arm. The prince gave a hum, settling next to her while she continued to put books away, it wasn’t the first time that she wondered if he didn’t have anything better to do than stay by the library. She wasn’t egotistical enough to think she was the reason, after all, the prince had been a fixture long before she even came to the castle. It was just that she sometimes would rather be alone with her thoughts.

“If it will make her feel better when she wakes up, Kachaan was pretty beat up too.” He mused with a chuckle, making Lia turn to him with a soft gaze.

“How was he?”

“He’s back in his room with orders to rest.” He grinned “Pretty pissed off at not being able to wipe the floor with your friend, so he’s fine, recovered.”

That did bring a smile to her face. “Ochako’s always been the best fighter out of the three of us.”

“She was inspiring, you know.” He crossed his arms and looked out at the window, it was already becoming dusk, the sky turning to shades of orange and purples that would soon bleed into navy. “Kachaan is ruthless in everything he does, that includes the fight. And she managed to keep up with him, and if he hadn’t landed the hit that broke the rocks she was levitating, well… he might very well have been the loser.”

“She’ll love to hear that.” And Lia was going to tell her friend, even if it would bring questions of why the crown prince was talking to her in the first place. Though they knew that he came to the library, neither of her friends was privy to the arrangement that she had with Izuku. After all, they would rather leave than allow Lia to sacrifice her body and mind for their sake.

Which was kind of funny because she didn’t think of it as a sacrifice. It was more of a task, just something she had to do in order to keep up appearances. And though he was a menace, the prince wasn’t half as bad when he wasn’t teasing her or dropping his cheery half dumb persona.

“She has great control of her quirk.” He commented after a minute or so of silence, Lia thought that the conversation had simply died down, and honestly, his presence was always very reassuring, his scent settling in a way that she did not want to think about.

“She does.”

“Which makes one wonder why don’t you?” Lia sighed, of course they would have to circle back to her. For some reason, Izuku was interested in her, which meant that her quirk would have to eventually come out into conversation. She just didn’t think it would be over her mastery of it.

“I do have control of my quirk, your highness.” A huff was given, as well as a roll of her eyes, the brunette moving to another shelf so she could continue her job. As always, Izuku followed.

“Holding my brother for less than a minute is considered control?” he wasn’t accusing, but his tone held a slight edge of mocking that made her hackles rise.

“I don’t make it a habit of using it on living beings.” She bit back with an irritated huff, it only annoyed her further when he just seemed to smirk at that, as if she had just proven his point.

“Which is exactly what you should be doing.”

“It’s wrong!” couldn’t he see it? The fact that living beings had wills and messing with that wasn’t on her plans? Something that Lia didn’t wish to do, not now and not ever. But how could he understand when his powers had to do with physical prowess and nothing like hers? It was stupid and annoying and so not fair.

But when had her life even been fair?

“It is.” She looked at him dumbfounded when he agreed with her, a shrug of his shoulders being given before he was frowning “But so is burning a whole village to the ground. Decaying anyone that gets on your way. Stabbing them with glee.” Oh. “We can try to fight fire with water, and it might help in most cases, but on this one…” his frown deepened and the omega had the sudden urge to soften the skin of his brow with her hand. What the fuck was wrong with her? He continued as if she wasn’t having an internal conflict with herself. “On this one, I am afraid it has to be fire with fire.”

“You don’t think defeating them is enough.” Even though she had already gotten to that conclusion, her heart still bled for the pain that shone behind his green eyes, usually so bright and striking, now dulled and somber.

“I think this will end in death.” A deep breath. In. Out. “Ours or theirs.”

✧ — ⋆ — ✧

Ochako left the infirmary with a healed body and a bruised ego. But all Lia could care about was the fact that her friend was awake and whole, though it did give Mina more teasing ammunition that she probably didn’t need. She was already famous enough for being able to tease them about anything, and now Ochako had lost to an alpha.

“Just saying ‘Chako, dear, you pulled your punches.” A giggle was given at the look of sheer and utter betrayal that passed over the brown eyes of their friend, and Lia did have to hold back a giggle behind her palm. It had been obvious that there hadn’t been any pulled punches, the other omega had given her all.

“He’s a beast.” Ochako pouted, puffy cheeks becoming even more pronounced before she blew the air and shook her head “He has no self preservation instincts, it’s all or nothing. Did you see the way he blasted his way through the rocks I threw at him? I think he broke a finger or two doing that.”

Probably, though they had been given the extent of their friend’s injuries, they hadn’t been told about the prince’s. Mostly, he had been tired and overworked, but she didn’t doubt that there should be some sort of injuries that they couldn’t see. But who would claim the weakness of the second in line? No one in their right mind, that’s for sure.

“And he had some internal bleeding, really nasty stuff, really.” The voice was bright and cheery, the smile sharp not because of wickedness but because of the sharp pointy teeth. Had he been born with those or had he filed them down? Maybe that was a question for another time, because besides prince Izuku, Eijiro Kirishima would of course be the only one brave enough to speak of Katsuki’s injuries… Or was that more dumb that smart?

“Kiri!” Mina grinned widely, throwing herself into the arms of the much taller alpha, who laughed whole heartedly and spun her around with a shout of her name. It was cute, and Lia wondered when Mina had met the alpha, and why Ochako was looking at him with something akin to awe and reserve.

Lia had the thought that was how she had first looked at Izuku. Or maybe she was just thinking of the worst case scenarios.

But the saying must be true, speaking of the devil did seem to summon him. Even if it had only been on her mind.

“Kirishima don’t go on telling the whole castle of Kachaan’s injuries or he’ll have your head.” Izuku laughed, waving off the bows and calls of your highness from her two friends. They did eye her after noticing she hadn’t bowed, and Lia almost flushed at the faux pas, too used to his presence now to even think of his damn title. Of course she should have bowed to the fucking prince, instead she had just glared at him as if the two of them had been alone.

“Midoriya, don’t be like that, she deserves to know the ass kicking she gave Bakubro.” Instead of letting go of Mina, he allowed her to climb to his shoulder, easily sitting on the expanse of it. Alone he was already big and intimidating if not for the smile on his face, next to Izuku, who already towered over the three omegas, Eijiro’s size was monstrous. Probably due to his quirk, or something of the sort. He probably towered over Katsuki as well, and the second in line was already taller than his brother as well.

Prime alphas.

The hazy designation came to her suddenly, a story her mother had told her when she was younger. The stronger and the fastest, the ones more in tune with the inner wolves they had descended from, that they still held the secondary gender from. They were the apex predators, the ones everyone wanted to be or wanted to be claimed by. Rarer than omegas were becoming.

Three of them in the same castle, what were the odds?

But it did make some sort of sense that Izuku was so keen on dominating as he was, an exacerbated trait from his alpha heritage made even stronger by his prime status. Maybe she did need to search for some information about it, because maybe the power exhibited by the League was somehow related to that same designation. If they were dealing with primes… fuck, things had just gotten even more dangerous.

“Are you sure, your highness?” the happiness and adoration in Ochako’s voice brought Lia back from her thoughts, cheeks flushing at being caught so out of herself. Quickly, her aqua eyes settled on the two alphas, noticing the curious glance that Izuku gave her, a later being mouthed without her even meaning to. His gaze shone with surprise and was that… happiness?

“I am, Lady Uraraka.” The omega’s eyes widened at the title, mouth hanging open as she looked at her friend. Did that mean that Izuku would be… “I think you will like to know that the request was put in by my brother himself.” Surprise flared OChako’s nostrils, brown eyes blinking in confusion, mirroed by the other two omegas.

“Why would he..?” the question hung in the air, answered with a shrug of Izuku’s shoulders.

“I’m not going to pretend to understand the way my brother thinks sometimes, but he was impressed by your prowess, Uraraka, and I am more than glad that father has decided that he would be accepting the proposal.” His smile was gentle, beaming, warm. Something in Lia melted a little at that look, as if the sun was shining from within him. “Everyone was impressed by your fight and your prowess with just a few months of intensive training. Your superiors had nothing but commendations to give you, and it has been proven first hand that you are an asset if you could go against my brother for as long as you did. Knighting you will be an honor.”

“’Chako!” Mina screamed, jumping from Eijiro’s shoulders and running towards the smaller omega who was opening her mouth like a fish out of water. There were tears on the corner of three pairs of eyes, bodies coming together in a deep hug. It had been a dream of Ochako, to be a knight, more than a soldier, there was something to being tasked with defending honor and values and not just the land. It was something that many vied for but only a handful got.

There was a need for a formal request from a patron, someone of high standing or another knight; then there was the need to ascertain skills and character. It was an arduous process, and from the handful of people, only one of two ever did reach the King’s blessing. And without even meaning to, her friend had managed it.

“Oh my god!” Mina laughed, pressing pecks to Ochako’s cheek as Lia rubbed her own with hers, even if they didn’t exude any scent due to the concoction, that didn’t mean that instincts weren’t instincts. And all she wanted was to show how happy she was for her friend.

“You’re going to be a Knight!” laughter fell from her lips, fingers gripping her friend’s arms as they jumped in glee. “Lady Ochako Uraraka! Can you believe that?”

“Not really, I… Oh!” laughter and tears ran at the same time, wetting cheeks and warming hearts. It was a pretty sight, three friends congratulating one of them for a job well done. “Thank you so much, your highness, thank you.”

Izuku shook his head while Eijiro just laughed “You should thank Kachaan if you can manage to catch him.” A slow, amused grin was given “I think he would appreciate some gratefulness.”

“I’ll make sure to thank prince Bakugo for his generosity.” A bow was given, copied by Mina and Lia as they still hadn’t let go of their friend, much to the amusement of the two alphas in front of them.

“My mission here has been resolved.” A nod of Izuku’s head, a meaningful look being sent to Lia, completely missed by the other three, but the brunette was well aware that she would have to deal with a noisy prince later in the day. Hopefully in a public space.

As her body warmed at the thought of alone time with the prince, she wondered who she was trying to fool besides herself.

✧ — ⋆ — ✧

Izuku was smart, had always been. It was there before the brawn had come in, and would always stay even as he lost it once again. He was good at strategies, trusted to resolve the trickier court problems and asked to tutor some of the children. So it had been no surprise that he had found out the secret of the pretty new addition to the court, what had been a surprise had been the time it had taken him to make that discovery.

Rather, for the first month and a half, he hadn’t even noticed anything more than her presence. A sure, steady thing that caught his attention but was quickly brushed out of his mind. He had more pressing matters to attend to, not only his duties to the crown and his people but the information he was trying to gather on the League. So yes, there had been some sort of unconscious draw to the brunette, but nothing that had warranted his full attention.

And then he had noticed the missing manuscripts. The texts that he had been trying to get his hands on had always seemed to disappear right before he needed them. Of course, they would reappear just a week later, but by then he had found new ways to gather the same information. He was a resourceful one, after all, his research was based as much on texts as it was on hands on methods.

At first, he had thought it was a spy. Someone who knew what he was looking for and got to it before he did, thwarted him at every corner, and the suspicions had fallen to the library beta that had arrived at the same time the coincidences had started.

There had been no proof at first, only suspicions, but then Izuku had seen her sneak into the Hall of Records.

The proof that he had needed.

She had to be a spy sent to thwart their progress, to make sure that the League stayed out of their reach, that they could complete their nefarious plan.

But he needed more proof before confronting the brunette. Had to be sure of his suspicions because above all, he was a fair alpha, and he didn’t want to accuse someone who held no guilt. As such, he had broken into her room, found what he soon understood was her research.

What he thought would have been information on him and the inner workings of the court ended up being research on the League. Still information Lia shouldn’t have been privy to, information that he had buried in the hall of records and thought that no one would find, spy or not.

His was still more complete, after all, he had the counter intelligence that gathered information behind the lines, the people that he had stationed in the seedy bars the League usually went to. His could be better, but she still had some, and he had no clue why. Not the why of her wish to gather details and plans, not the why of why she even needed that information.

There had been so many questions. And that had made him pay closer attention to her.

Much to his surprise, there had been a draw, something that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It had been there before, a pinch on his conscience that ached to look for someone. Always happening when the brunette was near, but he had never connected the dots, not at first.

And it had bothered him, this kind of obsession that he couldn’t shake. The need to look for her even when she wasn’t in the room, as if the beast inside of him was calling out for its partner. It was biological and instinctual and Izuku did not enjoy it.

So he had confronted her, waited until she was alone and vulnerable. Caught her red handed in something. After all, why would she and her friends be inside a barely lit room in a hallway that was barely used? He had decided then, maybe on a whim, that he would get to wash her off of him. Satiate himself with her body and mind and then simply go on with his life while she went on with hers.

It was a really good idea.

On paper.

In reality he had found out that the beta they had hired was lying through her teeth. An omega. She had found a way to fully hide her designation as if it wasn’t impossible, as if the prince himself hadn’t tried to do it for as long as he had presented. There was just something quite not there when it came to hiding your designation, in a way the smell of alpha still clung to him when he used moonclover. But not to her, and as he deduced after finding out what she was, neither to her friends.

On the outside they appeared as a beta would, no one had suspected them. And there he had been, finding out that they had not only one but three omegas in the kingdom. And as he soon after found out, the same ones that had somehow escaped the League’s attack.

And he still hadn’t managed to get a lot of answers to his questions. Even though she had accepted his deal ( blackmail? ). Even after he had touched her, mellowed her out with pleasure. There had been no answers. Cards held close to her chest.

Maybe if she was easier to ply, easier to work around, maybe he could have washed himself off the obsession that seemed to clung to his inner workings. Maybe he wouldn’t search for her outside of the thirsts he set. Maybe he wouldn’t look for her, wish to protect her, keep her close.

Something was missing, and that incognita held his interest more than he had ever could have foreseen. It was stupid and unplanned and unlike him.

A mess of instinct.

And something Izuku had never been was a slave to such baser desires. He was ruled by logic and knowledge, by sheer determination. He should have never been an alpha, hadn’t even been born with a quirk, if it wasn’t for the king taking him under his wings, adopting him and giving his mother a place to stay…

His life would have been much different, wouldn’t it? Instead he had presented as an alpha instead of the beta everyone thought he would have been. His adoptive father’s quirk had been passed down to him, and he had become the official crown prince. His tenacity and the will to protect the kingdom had solidified the choice, even when he had no powers.

He worked harder than anyone, tried his best. Would go to the moon and back if it would help better the lives of those under his rule. The League was a danger to everyone, and that was where his attention should be.

Not on the omega that was starting to burrow under his skin.

✧ — ⋆ — ✧

When Izuku said later, Lia had been expecting him to do what he had done before and jump into her room. Apparently, later meant pebbles thrown into her room to catch her attention. Which was silly and something she had seen in romance books, not real life. And whatever there was between her and the prince definitively didn’t belong in a romance, maybe one o fthe books stowed away in the corner of the library that made everyone blush and giggle.

He wanted her body and her secrets, maybe her mind as well, but definitively not her soul or personality. He wanted to know how she and her friends had managed to pass as betas. He wanted to know why she had an interest in the League. He wanted to know what she had planned and why she had planned it. There was no romance, no flowers, no giggles and shared looks.

He wanted more than she was willing to give.

There were quick steps taken from where she had been resting on her desk to the window, hands laid on the windowsill so she could lean to look at him. “Are you crazy?” Lia questioned, green eyes darting from side to side in worry. Wasn’t this all supposed to be a secret? Him throwing pebbles and having to speak louder to reach her.

Their dirty little encounters could still ruin her reputation, she wasn’t just an omega, she was also a woman. And women shouldn’t frolic before marriage. Or at least, they shouldn’t be caught doing it.

“Everyone is asleep, live a little.” He laughed at her affronted expression. “Nezu’s the only one who sleeps at this side and he’s with Aizawa.”

“Oh.” It still had been quite the gamble, hadn’t it? “What do you want?”

“To spank you again, apparently.” Was that mirth? And yet, she couldn’t help the flush that spread across her cheeks at the memory of his touch on her skin, of the warmth and the sting of it all. She hadn’t been able to sit without squirming for two days. A reminder of their time together. One that hadn’t been as unpleasant as it should have been.

“Why would…” Oh yeah, his stupid rules. Lia rolled her eyes at Izuku “Why are you here, master?”

If someone heard them, she was going to kill him, consequences be damned.

“Jump.”

Did he just? “This is the second floor!” she hissed at him, shaking her head, baffled by his absolute disregard for her safety. Didn’t she have to be healthy and unharmed to be his little toy? Lia certainly didn’t have his powers or even his training, jumping from the second floor would hurt her.

“I know, kitten.” Another quick look to each side from Lia, hoping that no one would hear them, even if Izuku wasn’t bothered by the possibility, she was. “I’ll catch you.”

“What if you miss?” what if she hurt him when she fell, it was still a good distance, she would gain enough momentum that her weight would be greater than it was. “What if you can’t catch me?”

“Trust me.”

Those words made her eyes widen, her mouth open in a gasp at the indecency of them. Not because they were lascivious but because between the two of them, it wasn’t like trust was a needed detail. He wanted her submission, her body, her pleasure and his own. She didn’t have to trust him to submit to him, right? She hadn’t even wanted to submit in the first place, but had been coerced into it. Did it matter that she actually enjoyed it? Did it matter that he was worried with her pleasure as much as he was worried about his own?

“C’mon, kitten, I’m not asking for much.”

He was. Izuku was asking for something that she definitively wasn’t ready to do. A deep breath was given, no, he really wasn’t asking for much, was he? She only had to trust him with her body, nothing more. That was all he was asking, right?

“You’re crazy.” But even then, Lia was climbing onto the windowsill, glad that she hadn’t changed into her night clothes or she would have flashed the prince. Did he mind? Probably not. But she also would rather not get caught in such a position by the guards that kept patrol.

A deep breath was given before she jumped, hands clamped on her mouth so she didn’t scream at the feeling of falling, waking up the few people who slept near her rooms. God, she was going to get hurt, she was going to break her bones, she was going to…

Be caught.

Strong arms wrapped around her, cradled her to his chest, having caught her middle fall, a squeak leaving Lia when he landed with her. “I can’t believe I jumped.” She was as crazy as he was, heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird, hair wild from the fall.

And still, she was smiling.

It had been crazy and stupid and reckless, but she still felt kind of proud that she had actually gone through with it, that she had managed to jump from the window. “You did.” Izuku himself laughed, one arm wrapping around her shoulders and bringing her close, nose pressing against the top of her head before he nuzzled her. “You did well, kitten.”

The praise coupled with the pet name he had given her made her flush, body disentangling from his own so she could hide the reaction. Though by the glance that she stole before she turned, the smug tilt of his lips said that he was well aware of her reaction.

“Why did you bring me out of my room anyway?” it was easier to distract him, take his attention away from her warm cheeks than to come to terms with the why of such reaction. He was being pushy, was trying to get her to give him more than she was comfortable with. There were rules in the coerced relationship, an unbalanced dynamic that she should hate more than anything.

And yet, here Lia was, waiting for his words instead of still being in her room.

“You promised me an explanation earlier…” his voice was held amusement, head tilting to the side before he was walking towards the training grounds, not even bothering to tell her if she should follow him or not. It was obvious was it not? “And I happen to think that it would be fun to take a midnight stroll.”

There was something wrong with the second part of his logic, there was so double meaning there. Somehow Lia didn’t think that he wanted to do something so leisurely with her. At least he was slowing down his pace, allowing her smaller legs to keep up with his pace. And still, she was worried about what he may be planning, especially in such an open field during the night.

“What do you know about primes?” the question seemed to surprise him, steps halting so he could turn his body to hers, curiosity and interest colliding on his green eyes.

“Oh?” he grinned widely at that, and then there it was, that out of focus stare, Lia certainly wouldn’t need a book now, would she? “There is little information about them in the books, which is not a wonder having into account that both prime alphas and omegas are really rare. The latter of which is becoming even rarer with the dwindling number of omega births.” The amount of knowledge that his brain could hold was impressive, and Lia could only stare transfixed as he continued “They’re said to just be more… I think that’s the best kind of explanation I can give you. Alphas are more aggressive, stronger, faster.” A frown “I would think prime omegas would just be more submissive in nature, but there’s actually no accounts of them, not like there are of alphas. But you have to think they exist, there is always some sort of balance in the world, right?”

“I would think so.” She really wasn’t sure, there were so many incognitos, even more when… “But how can one know when we’re locked up after marriage? And even before, if you aren’t kept inside four walls, there is the risk of someone kidnapping you, of attacking you and marking you. Either way, our lives get stolen.”

He frowned “And we’re going to change that.”

There was no helping the laughter that slipped from her lips, much to his distaste. “Oh, please, we’ve gone over this. You cannot change the world.”

“Your faith in me is staggering.” He drawled out in irritation, restarting his pace, this time she had to jog to keep up with him.

“Why do you expect so much from me, your highness?”

He was quick to stop, turn until his gloved hand was clutching her jaw, making her look at him with startled aqua eyes “Why do I keep having to remind you of the fucking rules?” it was like whiplash with him, like from one moment to the other he turned from jovial to brooding.

“I forget.” And she did. She really did forget his stupid rules and the why of them. She forgot that she was nothing but a means to pleasure. A mystery that he wanted to solve, one that she kept trying to thwart him from finding out. Lia wanted to keep him away, and yet it seemed that everything she did only made him try and entangle himself in her life.

“You forget.” He snickered, eyes malicious as he let go of her chin, hands coming to rest on her shoulders before he turned once more, forcing her to move in front of him, facing the forest that bordered the training grounds. She hadn’t noticed that they had walked around the grounds instead of entering them, which kind of made sense if they wanted privacy. “This was going to be a fun little game.” He commented lightly, pushing her towards the woods.

Lia turned to look at him confused, brows furrowed and mouth slightly open. He continued “I wanted to help you train for a little bit, maybe even have your use your quirk on me for us to understand your limits on living beings.”

He planned on helping her? Why would he do it? “Master,…”

“No, you don’t get to remember it now.” She didn’t understand why he was so frustrated with her, it wasn’t the first time that he had to remind her about the damn title rule, so what had changed? Was it because she didn’t believe in his willingness to make it a better world for omegas? On his claims that he could change things? That he could help her and her friends? “So, kitten,” the pet name held a sharpness that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, one step backwards being given. Izuku smirked sharply at that. “I’m going to be really, really, nice and give you five minutes of head start.”

“Why would I need that?” even though Lia was asking, in the back of her mind she already knew the answer, already knew why he would want to give her time. Why she shouldn’t even wait for his answer before bolting towards the dark cluster of trees. It should worry her that the idea of such wasn’t bringing dread and fear into her body, no, it was anticipation and arousal that were spread across her veins. Instincts that she had thought tamped down because of the lack of scents, there but hidden away, coming to the surface.

“Because I’m going to hunt you down.”

#deku x oc #midoriya izuku smut #my hero academia smut #izuku midoriya smut #boku no hero academia smut #bnha smut #mha smut #deku smut #izuku x oc #alpha izuku #alpha deku #alpha izuku midoriya

50 notes · View notes

kerryweaverlesbian · 1 year ago

Note

for the ask thing->😅🥺🤡😈🛒✨️💌❌️👀🧠🤲✅️ (for the 🧠 i choose cas hehe)

omg thats so many but 👉👈 yk

mwuah <3

I just spent a FULL half hour trying to find the post this was from and I finally found it by remembering I reblogged it from @castielsprostate and getting to August 6th from another post and scrolling down to august 4th from there. Anon if you're out there....my answer is crossing time and space to reach you....also BIG KISS FOR Y9OU AS WELL

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

I'll be honest, I think this one, ineffable husbands observatory date was kinda cowardly haha. In it I pretend like Aziraphale wasn't fully about to shoot a kid. I think I should have let that be a true moment of darkness! These days I wouldn't shy away from it I think.

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

uargh. 'I don't need to be taken care of' 'but I WANT to take care of you'. Kills me dead every time.

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

haha almost every fic I write has something that made me laugh!! An undervalued one, from my Jo/Bela heist fic:

She doesn’t get like this. She doesn’t get distracted on the job, she doesn’t get flustered over sly little compliments, she doesn’t want to be seen. Why did it have to be here, now, on her biggest job in years? “You know,” Jo says, unperturbed by the mental anguish she was causing, biting off the end of the thread with her teeth, “since we’re partners, we should get matching balaclavas.” And why was it for someone so stupid? “All balaclavas are matching,” Bela says, and Jo smiles up at her cheekily, proving she only said it to wind her up, “and we’re not partners.” “We’re totally partners! We look out for each other.” “No. You’re not on my level. It’d be like saying Michelangelo and his finger painting niece were partners.” “Fine,” Jo huffs, “accomplices?” “You are an accessory at best.” “Yeah? Do I rate above or below your shoes?” Bela pretends to think about it. “So far my shoes have done more quality work for this shindig than you, so I suppose the jury is still out.”

Actually you know what. Fuck it I'm doing 2. You can't stop me!!!! This is from my Cas timetravels to the episode Faith fic

"What year is it?" Cas asks suddenly. "Uh." Maybe he shouldn't tell him. That's one of those concussion questions, right? He doesn't want to fuck up his examination. "What year do you think it is?" "It is certainly within the AD range," Cas says, deadpan, and he doesn't laugh when Dean does but his frown does lighten. He looks expectant, so Dean caves: "It's 2005. The year of the rooster. Or, as I like to say, the year of -" "Cock. Yes. I've heard it before."

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

hmmmmm! There is one in one that I'm writing right now in fact! This is Endverse Cas, talking to Dean about Endverse Dean:

"Did you know," Cas says, leaning right into Dean's space, the smell of weed and dank sweat rolling off him, "He trusts me. He needs me. He - what did he say? Oh, yeah. He couldn't do this without me."

A cruel play on the Crypt scene - "I need you". Maybe people won't pick up on it but I have the intention of being mean.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Themes....you ask me of themes...would you ask mozart of staves...jdsavbhfav I'm kidding about. I love themes my book club and anyone I've beta'd for will tell you!! In my own work, I like animal imageryyyyy. Dean is a dog (and sometimes rabbits), Bela is a rabbit, Jo is a horse, Cas is birds. I like scenes characters talking around things but both understanding what they mean. OR, the inverse, when one of them THINKS they're being perfectly clear and straightforward and the other one is coming to very different conclusions. And grief. And absence highlighted by an intense focus on objects. I think that last one is most clearly done in The Aftermath, Time/Body Problem and Brought to the Flame. I OBVIOUSLY love make-out scenes lol. Scenery used as character! It is the only way I am able to write scenery!!

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

I am...good at weaving scenes together. Dialogue and exposition and jokes and deeper character moments. Pacing, I think, would be the word. I heard some advice from the guy who wrote Not Going Out: if you end a scene high, the next "should" (usually) start or become low, and vice versa. We did it! We fucked it up. Things are looking fucking bleak. There's a moment of hope!! Peaks and valleys yknow. See here I am deflecting my compliment to someone else's advice ajkfsjbv. I write good original characters who don't distract from the narrative, how about that!! And titles! You didn't ask but my favourite titleset I've ever done is my [aged up]Bela/Edward kinky series Frames of Mind. The first is called Metacognition because Edward is thinking about Bela thinking about him (and metacognition means thinking about thought) and the second is Projection because Edward is mentally prjecting himself into the threesome Bela is in. And Bela's putting him in there too, in her mind. Also, I do a lot of stupid jokes in these, I was seriously debating a third in that catagory. I suggest that Edward turned one of his pet mice into a vampire, and that Bela's being lusted after by a swamp monster. <3

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

I LOVE THEM. I LOVE I AM IN LOVE. To any person who has ever commented on anything I've ever written (apart from that one bot lol) I kiss you I kiss you I kiss you a thousand times. Knowing that people took the time to read my works and say what they thought, even if they thought "<3" or "nice"...it's so kind. Also every beta reader I've ever had, I keep their joyful comments active so I can reread them over and over <3 shout out to @sonorousangels @eboyeasy @homoangel @sweater-soup and @mrcowboydeanwinchester <3

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

Never, huh....? Hm. I like a lot of things, I think there's a way to make pretty much any trope interesting if you think about it long enough. I think it's unlikely that I'd ever write something with a matchmaker!character, like, get a life? lol. It's often foisted on Sam or ANY nearby female character. BUT I do think you could make that interesting potentially, if that character was the protagonist. Like, why ARE you so obsessed with them, why DON'T you have anything going on in your own life, how can you break out of that and come to see your friends as people again instead of dollies?

btw, complete tangent, one time at [redacted] I met an old lady and told her my name and she said. "You have the same name as my dolly." Not even, the doll has the same name as ME. I have the same name as HER DOLL. Horror movie type interaction.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

Perhaps I should have preread these questions and mentioned my smoking sequel here lmao. OH WELL. I will talk about another!

I am working on a Cas timetravel fic wherein (late-)s4 Castiel (who is considering rebellion) gets pulled to...s15? ish? And Dean is NOT coping well with having a younger Castiel who doesn't have anything to resent Dean for yet, and Cas is trying to reconcile his jealousy and his resurfaced guilt (this Castiel hasn't done any of the things Cas despises himself for yet, and he's lonely and untethered, but he's also not as much of a Person and Cas can only take so much Angel Mode Bluntness and he misses Jack while Castiel it there). Also. Well the Castiels do make out but I mean. It's my fic. It was sort of inevitable.

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them. Castiel.

Cas is the tv angel!!!!!! He doesn't read very much, he watches tellyvision! He watches old sit coms at any available moment, and he does NOT get the MAJORITY of the jokes but he adores the laugh track and I love him. And, king of sick burns that he is, he'd pick up some good ones. I think if he was explaining it, perhaps to Dean, he'd say something like that he likes that "Humans have, with every theme and concept available to them, so often chosen to imagine a softer world, where the consequences are limited to a punchline, and there is a constant unity and connection with others. When you laugh at Niles Crane, you laugh with every other being in that room at that time. A snapshot of the past, with its defined limits, to a timeless creature such as myself, it has a remarkable beauty. Also, I enjoy the antics of the little dog."

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

I REALLY should have read ahead haha. This is frommmmm I can't really say what it's about without spoilers. Um. It is a plot fic wherein Cas returns post-empty and Dean is a little TOO happy about it. This is from the opening:

Cas wakes up in a car wreck. He pushes himself up from the smoking bonnet gingerly, and hears the crumple of metal below. He'd made an impact; a whole stack of rusted vehicals have been crushed beneath him, threatening the integrity of the surrounding towers of scrap. He doesn't remember the fall. The last thing he remembers is - Dean, the confession, the debt being paid. There's a pervasive ache in his muscles and his heart is beating at a sickening pace, as if he'd been running for a long time. It's possible that he had been. [...] "Dean?" Cas asks, and gets an answer he didn't expect. There's a tired sigh on the other end of the line, and Sam's voice says: "Who is this helping?" "Sam, it's me. I'm at Bobby's. I need someone to pick me up." A faint, plastic-y creak. Cas imagines Sam pressing his flip phone against his forehead. His voice is distant, mournful, "Can't you guys leave any bodies in the ground?" "Sam?" "It's not going to work. I wish you'd all stop trying." Closer, now, louder, "Just leave him alone, you hear me? You better leave him the hell alone!" The line goes dead. Cas tries calling again, but even with his Grace it doesn't go through...

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

Haha, Meg. Okay, serious answer...............whenever I do sex it always turns romantic and sweet at some point. Even the "rough sex" in my jo/bela heist, it IS rough sex and then ALSO Jo says "You're really special and I like you". In my kinky vampire rimming fic! When they just reference having other sex offscreen in my struck by lighting blowjob fic! The closest I get to not going crazy romantic is in the pseudo-sex scenes of my grace feeding fic but even then it's echoed in a sweetie darling honeypie way later.

I think I may deep down be a romantic at heart.

Uah the end!! Did you know I have posted 54 fics to Ao3??? That's wild. 39 of them are for the CW's Supernatural. Thank you sooooooo much for asking meeee as you can see I love talking about my own writing. I put a lot of thought into it!

#ask game #cawis creates

8 notes · View notes