#the benefits outweigh the cons so long as you know what you are doing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carolinasgirl · 4 years ago

Text

RELIEF

Summary: [6k words] After you have been struggling to orgasm for a while your friend recommends a sex therapist to you. When you finally work up the courage to set up an appointment, not expecting to have the best sex of your life.

!! WARNINGS: unprotected sex, oral (male receiving), degradation kink, slight pain kink, fingering, daddy kink, thigh riding, mentions of anal, could suggest cheating.

special gif credits to @chasm2018 !!

“Is his stroke game bad?” Your best friend, Sydney, asks you, digging into her lunch after taking a sip of her drink.

The sun gleams down on your face, your fork playing around with your food as the conversation makes your mind run in circles, slowly turning you crazier and crazier. “No, it’s not that, I just don’t think I can orgasm and my gynaecologist sucks, it’s like she just doesn’t listen to what I’m saying.” You sigh, shaking your head and placing down your fork with aggravation. “It’s nothing to do with Brandon, I think it’s just me.”

“You had mind-blowing orgasms with Josiah though?”

“God, that was years ago. All the one night stands I’ve had, you’re telling me I can’t squeeze out one orgasm. Brandon’s ex always talked about how great he was in bed, my body just doesn’t like him for some strange reason.” You rant, venting out your frustrations that have been building up for a while now.

For a while now, you’ve been hooking up with Brandon, he’s been a friend with benefits for months and within all these months you are yet to have one single orgasm. You’ve been craving that cloud nine feeling for so long. The one night stands you have indulged yourself in have been one-sided, guys being blinded on how to please a woman. Brandon is interested in pleasuring you, yet you don’t believe he knows how to, even if he is has given his exes joyous sex.

Sydney sighs from the other side of the table, bringing her phone out which makes you tip your head to the side in confusion. “Remember that sex therapy place I told you about?”

“Sydney, no. Who goes to sex therapy alone?”

“I do and it blew my mind. It’s pricey but the orgasm he gave me with just his fingers… Amazing. It’s literally just like a gynaecologist, but purely just orgasms.” She hums at her final word, tapping at her phone, sending you the contact for the ‘therapist’ she is talking about.

You grab your phone that lies on the table, picking it up so you can enter your passcode and click onto your texts with Sydney. “Harry Styles?”

“Okay if you’re going to bitch about it, then continue to fake your orgasms.” She rolls her eyes, calling the waiter over to ask for the bill. “Just think about it.”

As you sit at home later on that day, your fingers are twitching against the contact that your best friend has sent you and your mind is hammering with all the pros and cons of what this sex therapy will do to you. The pros are outweighing the cons massively. You’ve reread the website over 1000 times, the reviews all positive and everything looking just as tempting as Sydney described it.

“Fuck it,” You say out loud, fingers dancing across the screen.

To Harry Styles: Hello, my friend suggested you to me early today for solo sexual therapy. She gave me your number and the link to the website and I was just wondering if you have any appointments free for anytime this week. Thank you.

You throw your phone onto your bed, avoiding looking at it and cringing at yourself from the awkward text that you just sent off. Questions taking over your body; was the text too informal? Should you have been more friendly? You even forgot to mention your name. Maybe a smiley face at the end would’ve made it seem kinder. Is it too late to send one?

A ping from your phone draws you out of your discomfort and you finally emerge out of the ball that your limbs instantly curved into as soon as you hit that send button.

From Harry Styles: Hi! Thank you for the text and thank you to your friend for referring me. We have an appointment today at 6 PM to get everything checked out, you can read up about it on our website, but it’s just to check if you’re able to take part in the sexual therapy. If you’ve ever visited a gynaecologist, it’s as simple as that, you’re with a professional doctor so don’t worry. The results take 7 days to come back if they are all clear, I can book you in for an appointment with me next Monday at noon.

And that is where it all begins.

You let Harry know your name and any other necessary details and you are all booked. You arrive at your check-up appointment on time, bringing your ID and letting the receptionist know all your details which she typed into the system, letting you through to the female doctor who sat you down and explained everything to you calmly. She was brief but detailed, leaving all the important facts for Harry to tell you. She took the tests which went by like a breeze and made you tick from a list of things you would like to do with Harry and things you didn’t want to do. You ticked all the boxes.

Time rushed by. Even though you were dreading the appointment, the 8 long-awaited days felt like a rush. You were working from home and you spent a lot of your time with friends, all of them hyping you up for your appointment that they have been pushing you to make for the longest time.

And now you are currently sitting in the waiting room, scrolling through your phone and on the verge of backing out, spamming the group chat to hopefully emit some nerves that are running through your entire body, creating goosebumps along your freshly waxed skin.

From Sydney to Girls Group: Girl shut up and just do it, I promise you, you’ll have the time of your life. It’s not awkward, he’s not rough, he’s not a dirty talker, he cares about his clients.

“Number 12.” A husky voice from the door calls and your body shakes, looking down at the small square of paper and flickering your eyes back up to look at the face of the voice. The receptionist gives you a number when you arrive for client confidentiality and no one else in the waiting room will know your name, which helps cure your nerves and embarrassment a little bit.

For a second you lose your voice, you feel breathless. The man standing there, looking like a slice of heaven, a glow radiating from his beautiful skin. The tight black button-up he is wearing is clinging to his chiselled abs and the black leather trousers are held together with a Gucci belt which just makes him look 10x more delicious. You do not regret wearing the skimpy red dress that Sydney forced you to buy along with the matching lingerie set.

You stand up, smiling at the man, who is holding the door open for you, waiting for you to follow him.

After following him down the short corridor, you both turn him to the room that has his name in the door and you sit on the chair facing the leather one tucked under the dark oak desk, a large iMac sat on top of it.

“So… Y/N.” Harry breathes out, sitting back on his leather desk chair and turning towards you. “S’nice to meet ye’.” He sticks out his rough palm. The accent. He has no right to sound and look that gorgeous.

You take his large hand into your small one, giving him a timid shake and friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“So, what brings ye’ to do solo sex therapy?”

Taking a deep breath, trying your hardest not to nervously play with your fingers, you instead play with your silver angel necklace that is hanging around your neck. Harry takes notice of it and licks his lips at the look of it. “So, I’ve not had an orgasm in like two years. The last time was when I was in a committed relationship so I don’t know if it’s the thought of commitment holding me back or if I’m stressed. I don’t know.” You shrug, feeling your cheeks begin to redden and your palms get a little sweaty.

Harry nods, listening to every word that you say, trying so hard to keep his focus on your eyes, but he can’t help but watch you play with that little necklace that lies just above your cleavage. He’s only been in the job for a year, deciding to use his degree and mix it with desire, becoming a sex therapist. In this whole year, Harry has been working here, he has never seen someone so gorgeous and has never been more thankful that this is a solo appointment and you aren’t tagging a clueless boyfriend along. All his mind is thinking right now is about how well he is going to treat you.

“Good sex is good sex,” Harry says point-blank, resisting the impulse to take you on his desk right then and there when you begin to play with the strap of your dress, pulling it up which only pushes your tits closer together. “The thought of commitment will never hold ye’ back from having an orgasm and sex s’supposed to be a stress reliever, so it’s sound like you’re being tense during sex and holding y’self back,” He explains, watching your eyes fall to look at the floor.

“Yeah, that’s probably it.”

He notices the small damper on your mood and clears his throat, shaking his head, looking towards his computer. “So ye’ tests came back all clear, I know Doctor Willis told ye’ the outline of things, but I’ll be telling ye’ what we will be doing today,” Harry says clicking around on his computer, trying to pull up your document.

As you let your eyes rise, they stop abruptly, noticing something that soaks the red lace hidden underneath your dress. He’s hard. A large tent beneath all that leather, it’s begging for attention. You are creating excuses in your head, positive that you aren’t the reason to cause that. You can’t be that cocky, it’s his job to get hard and fuck people.

“Normally we would start with foreplay, the foreplay s’mainly focussed on you and we don’t take part in any intercourse until y’are completely relaxed and comfortable. Some girls want to take it further.” His words completely drowned out in your ears, focussing on how gorgeous this work of art is which is right in front of you. Yet he continues to stare at his computer, not acknowledging how zoned out you are. “Everything will be protected and safe, the safe word is ‘book’”

Harry finally turns to you, pushing his chair away from his desk and leaning back a little. “Are you ready t’start?” He asks, noticing your eyes quickly move from his crotch to his pair of golden orbs.

You just can’t resist him, leaning over from your uncomfortable seat, to reach out for the prominent bulge. Once your hand touches him, there is no denying that he’s huge, even the thick material that is straining him is struggling to hold him back.

Harry looks down at your hand and tries his hardest not to let out a single sound. He’s so hard because of you, he wants to drop down at his knees and worship you. He doesn’t know what friend recommended you, but he wants to worship them too for sending such an angel to him. He can’t give in though, the contract he signed when in this job is that he solely can’t use clients for his pleasure.

“M’sorry Y/N, but this isn’t what we do here,” Harry informs you, the last word of his sentence weak and coming out as a satisfied sigh.

“But it’s what I would like,” You reply, a smug look on your face. He inhales deeply to speak again, however you quickly interrupt. “You said you want your client to be relaxed and comfortable.” You remind him. “And nothing would relax me more than sucking your cock… Mr Styles.”

He can’t help but give in, now you’re groping his cock and he doesn’t even realise that his hands are gripping his belt to tug it off. He wants you so bad, is it bad to want you? This isn’t professional, but he’s never throbbed this hard for someone. “For fucks sake, fine do it. But y’better do it like ye’ life depends on it,” He demands, sliding out his belt from his belt loops.

You are quick to slide off the chair onto your exposed knees, hands flying for his zipper to pull down his pants and expose his tattooed thigh. “Tattoos,” you tut, teasingly tracing your nail over the outlines. You noticed the couple in his hands too and he takes the opportunity to push up his sleeves and show off his inked skin. “Not very professional of you Mr Styles.” You tease, lips kissing up to his inner thighs.

He’s growing impatient and these teasing touches and tormenting words, they’re pushing him to the edge. “Put me in your mouth before I fuck it m’self.” He sighs, watching you pull down his boxers, with the help of him lifting his hips so you can watch his cock hit his covered abdomen.

You took a second to admire him. You knew he was big by the size of him just in his pants, but he looks like a whole meal that you want to devour right now. He’s thick and tall and has a long vein running along the side of him and you can see it pulsing, waiting for some desperate attention.

Inching closer to him, you let your hand wrap around his stiff length to hold it still as your tongue ran along that throbbing vein, receiving a heavenly grumble, deep within his chest.

“Y’gonna play with it or actually do something?” He challenges, getting frustrated with your actions.

Instead of smart-mouthing, you decide to swirl your tongue around his leaking tip, pulling back to watch a bead of cum slip out his slip and run down his length, which your tongue does not hesitate to swoop into your mouth, tasting the sweet but salty divine taste against your taste buds.

Harry can’t take it anymore. “Okay, since ye’ want to be a brat,” he mutters out through his clenched teeth, wrapping your hair around his hand. “I’ll treat ye’ like a brat.” He adds on, his spare hand coming down to slap your cheek lightly indicating for you to open your mouth, which you obliged, not expecting him to push you down onto his cock, your mouth engulfing half of him and already gagging around him.

Something about him calling you that and the aggressive tone in his voice soaks you completely, even more than you already were. You felt the need to sneak your hand down and give attention to your throbbing clit, but once Harry starts to create a rough rhythm, fucking himself into your face, you instantly snap back into action.

“Oh fuck- you like that, don’t you? You fucking love it.” Harry’s voice is a raspy whisper and it sends shivers down your spine, creating goosebumps to rise on your skin.

Nodding slightly, you meet his thrusts into your mouth, supporting his pulls on your hair, by helping him create a rhythm. There’s spit everywhere, mixing with pre-cum and you can hear the wet sounds bouncing off the white boring walls along with the sounds of his moans and your loud gags.

Harry is in complete bliss. He’s always been so used to clean and precise head, which has always made him finish, but nothing has ever made him feel this way. Messy, sloppy, careless. He’s in love with it, he’s never felt his balls tighten so fast and his hips begin to falter so quickly. He’s not supposed to use clients for his own pleasure, he’s even advised to try his hardest not cum, even when using a condom, which his contract orders him to always do. And that promise he made to his boss, the contract he signed with this company is running through his mind, adding on to the pressure that is building up in his stomach.

Harry pulls back on your hair, trying to slip your mouth off his slick cock, but you instantly retract back, wanting more of him. “Get off,” he grunts, pulling at your hair a little harder, which makes you finally pull back.

You send him a soft pout, cock still held in your soft palm, mouth dividing the attention between each of his balls, innocent eyes looking up at him.

He notices the mascara that is starting to run underneath your watery eyes, begging for attention. He knows he’s done for when he looks down at you through hooded eyes, moans, and groans leaving his lips and mouth desperately wanting to cum in that smart ass mouth, but knowing he can’t. He’s about to burst any second… ‘It won’t be so bad if I cum on her face’ Harry begins to tell himself, so wanting to cover you up with his cum. How bad he wants to fill up all your holes should be illegal. Every single hole. Over and over and over again.

However, you aren’t thinking the same, you want more. You’ve already tasted him the slightest bit, but you want to taste him again, this time his whole load in your mouth. You quickly go back to sucking on the tip as your hand-worked against his entire cock.

This made Harry jolt up in panic and pleasure. His thighs begin to tremble and he feels his arms go numb and weak, unable to physically hold you back, even if he didn’t want to. “Y/N, you’ve- fuck! Fuckin’ ‘ell! Oh my god!” And that’s it. He makes the mess in your mouth, that he wanted so bad, but knows he shouldn’t.

You easily swallow him back, letting out a content sigh at the taste you have been craving for. You sit back on your calves, watching the man in front of you, lean over in his leather chair, placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, still panting heavily.

You teasingly chuckle, slipping your hands up his thighs. “I know I’m good but didn’t realise I was that good.”

At that moment, something snaps in Harry. He looks up from his hands, darkness, and lust in his green eyes as he stares you down. “You know what, I thought fucking that bratty mouth would shut you up.” He grabs onto your wrist pulling you onto your feet. “I guess I have to try another way.”

He quickly moves his hands to your waist to lift you onto his reasonably empty desk, the only things in the way is his computer and little pot of pens.

“Cute little dress, did ye’ think you could seduce me in this?” He heaves, pulling it up to bunch at your waist.

Your breath hitches for a second when he begins to play with the soaking lace, his fingers inches away from your dripping pussy. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Smack. A shot of pain shoots through your inner thigh, making you let out a small whimper, positive that your panties are completely soaked through. The sting is so pleasant and the slight burn of the cold metal from his collection of rings sends a shiver down your spine.

He slides off your underwear with one single finger, taking in how your pussy glistens under the bright white light in the room. You’re pretty sure you are so flooded that you are soaking through. Your thighs are sticky and your thighs are twitching, a sign that you need that attention from him.

His hand comes down to slap against your throbbing heat, clenching around nothing. “You’re a wet little thing, aren’t you princess.” He snickers, slapping you once more to receive another small whimper from you.

He begins to slip off his rings, indicating that he’s going to finger the fuck out of you, starting with the one on his middle. But, you’re totally against that idea, so you are quick to stop him. “Please.” Your voice is small but demanding. “Keep them on.”

He obeys and slides it back on. “What do you want?” He asks, slowly shifting in his index finger, watching your face twist from need to thrill. “My fingers?” He asks, keeping his finger still, deep inside of you, feeling you clench around him, silently begging for more. “My tongue?” He asks again, crouching down and sticking out his tongue to give the attention that your clit is hungry for.

“Anything.” You breathe out.

“Anything?” He replies, beginning to move his finger, creating a slow and steady rhythm.

You nod eagerly, hands gripping onto his shoulders for some stability, but his other hand quickly grabs both of your wrists to fling them off him.

“Little sluts, don’t get to touch.” a smirk on his face, letting him slip his middle finger to speed up his pace, curling them up to hit all your sweet spots.

Heavy, hot breaths leave your moist lips, the occasional cry mixing in with them, wanting more from him every time he tickles against that place that makes you squirm. Needing more, your hand sneaks down your body to touch against your throbbing clit.

Once again, his hands resist yours, this time slapping them away. “They don’t touch what’s mine either.” He growls this time, hand moving faster, so fast he is moving your whole body with his hand too.

Your body begins to grind on his hand unintentionally trying to bring yourself closer to your orgasm, needing more from his fingers, but somehow he’s also giving so much. Never have you ever been this close to an orgasm. It’s so overwhelming that you begin to feel your arms go weak, turning into spaghetti. Your legs are beginning to shake and you notice that you’re so close to the edge.

Harry is quick to notice the way your body is moving against his hand along with the way your arms are slowly dropping and legs are shaking, so he begins to create that steady, but a rough pace that he knows makes all his clients shake.

It’s so wrong what Harry is feeling right now. His emotions are high and his head is spinning. He’s so unbelievably attracted to you that he has to double-check if you’re real by moving his fingers at an angle to reach the perfect spot that makes you scream. Yup, you’re real. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, you’re a client, and not only is his contract making him feel guilty so many other things are too, but he’s choosing to ignore them and deciding to watch you cum around his beefy fingers.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You scream out, not even bothering to try and keep it down, his fingers still slipping in out of you as your whole body shakes against him, head dropping down to rest on his shoulder, high-pitched whines leaving your lips as you grip onto his biceps.

He smirks, slowly pulling them out as you still tremble against him. “Two fingers and already got ye’ shaking for me.” He slips his fingers into his mouth, a pleasing moan leaving his mouth once he tastes you against his skin. A combination so heavenly it should be a sin.

He crouches down eager to taste more of you, craving your delicacy. His tongue sticks out to lick up your wetness, trying to clean you up before you quickly jolt away, hand pushing his head away from you.

“That sensitive?” He asks, watching you nod in reply.

Your thighs have been clenched together for so long you have to check if they’re not glued together. Seeing stars is an understatement. You’re seeing the whole galaxy. Mind completely clouded and you’re positive you are never going to feel something like this ever again. That’s why you want more. Even though you’re so sensitive, you need more of him, you need to make the most of this.

“Still want your cock though.” You whimper, leaning forward to help him tug his shirt off, revealing his golden chest, symmetrical tattoos splattered across it.

He watches you begin to admire him in all his glory, once he completely pushes all his material of clothing far away from you both. “Sure ye’ can handle it?” He asks, proud of how much of a mess he has made you.

It takes that for you to build up the energy to place your hands on his shoulders, pushing him to sit back on his leather chair.

As soon as you slip that dress off that has been taunting Harry since he saw you in the waiting room, he was tempted to bend you over that desk and pound into you right there. He should be doing that. He should be taking control as the therapist. Why is he letting his client control him? He knows he’s fucked for you and it’s so wrong, although when you shimmy out of that little red lace, that is barely covering anything, he somehow persuades himself that it is so right.

Once you unhook your bra, throwing it across the room, you climb onto his lap, hands on his shoulders to keep yourself steady. “Your tattoos make you a lot sexier,” You state as you admire the art… on art.

He chuckles, hands instantly finding your ass to help you grind on his hard cock. He’s never gotten so hard this quick, he’s just got a mind-blowing head and had one of the best orgasms he’s ever had, yet he’s hard again just from looking at you completely stripped of clothing.

“There’s a lot of them,” You mumble, looking down at your wet core grinding against all the inkwork splattered over his thigh. “Can you tell me what all of them mean?” You ask, looking down at the wet streak you are leaving as you trail your fingertips across that bible tattoo on his arm.

No one has ever found pleasure in grinding on his thigh before and he loves it, he knows you both don’t have much time to get yourself off like this, but he wants to watch you crumble all due to his thigh.

“I guess we can do that on our date.” You say boldly, hand reaching down to grab his cock so you can line him up with your entrance, feeling your juices trickle down him at the slightest push.

You just asked him out on a date. Or told him you are going on a date with him. He doesn’t know how to feel about that, but for some reason, it makes him harder. Harder than he thought he ever could get.

Big. That single word describes Harry. Everything about him is huge and that doesn’t exclude his dick. When you sink onto him, you can feel absolutely everything that makes your jaw drop and your body feel so small. You take him halfway and stop there, giving yourself some time to adjust to his thickness, his length, every single detail.

Harry sits back, head tilting back at the feeling of you clenching around him with hard pants leaving your desperate lips. “C’mon, I know y’can take more than that, ye’ minx,” he mumbles, getting frustrated with waiting for you, just wanting to feel all of you.

“Of course,” You smirk, trying to cover any expression of pleasure as you take all of him in, allowing him to let out a satisfied sigh. “Was just trying to feed your ego with your small dick.” You tease.

That’s it for Harry. He doesn’t know what flips the switch in him, he’s never been teased like this, never even been this rough with his clients either not with the people in his love life. But there is something special about you that brings out this side of him. The side that makes his eyes darken and his jaw clench.

His hand wraps around your throat, his grip so harsh that you nearly fall back, having to place your hands on his knees so you don’t fall off of him. “Fuckin’ brat.” He growls, starting to thrust up into you at a heavy and fast rhythm, not giving you any time to build the pace. “Remember why ye’ came here.”

You can’t even focus on what he’s saying, your ears are ringing out with the sounds of your skin slapping with his, the sounds of your wetness slicking against his cock, the sounds of your loud moans, begs and pleads.

“Y’came here because ye’ fuckin’ wanted me. Say it, say ye’ wanted me.” He lifts his hips off the chair, his one hand that isn’t wrapped around your throat holding onto your waist so tight that he is sure his fingertips are leaving faint bruises. You stay silent, too overwhelmed with the way his tip is hitting your cervix, so deep he is ruining you. “Say it.” He near yells, slapping your ass to get your attention.

“YES! Yes Harry I wanted you so bad- please don’t stop! Please keep on fucking me, daddy.” You cry out.

That name. God that name. It allows him to go harder, rougher, faster. His hand around your throat tightens too, slightly restricting your breathing, only making the pleasure that much more overwhelming. You’re grinding against him now, getting more friction.

“Y’like that, ye’ little slut, like being a brat for me, god, look at ye’. So desperate f’me.” he rambles out, between grunts and huffs with each thrust.

His eyes lift from staring at the way he’s slipping in and out of your tight, restricting cunt to your body, noticing that familiar sight of your legs shaking and your body twitching. “Y’gonna cum around m’cock? Ye’ gonna cream around me, show me how much of a whore ye’ are for me.” He groans, watching your face contour into complete pleasure.

Your moans turn into cries and your cries turn into screams of his name. There’s tears of ecstasy escaping from your eyes, your velvet walls clenching around him once you feel tour overwhelming orgasm take over your whole body.

As you tremble, shake, and shudder, Harry watches you, mouth dropped open and no sound coming from your mouth. You have to pull yourself off of him, letting your peak hit. You don’t even notice that you are squirting all over him. His thighs, his cock, his chest, completely soaked from you.

Harry is in awe, he can’t stop looking at you, he thinks he’s about to cum untouched. Just looking at you can make him explode. But he continues to slap his cock against your clit, only bringing you to slump forward completely blacking out.

Harry’s hands are on your back, keeping you stable trying to control the uncontrollable amount you’re jerking. He’s given many girls mind-blowing orgasms, but they have never reacted like this.

It takes a few moments for you to snap out of it and get back the slightest bit of your stamina, so determined to get him off.

You reach down, grabbing his rock hard cock in your warm palm, stroking him against your soaking entrance which makes your thighs shake that once more.

“Hey, you don’t need to- Ohhh fuck!” he moans out, once you push him into you, unintentionally letting out another eruption of your wetness.

It takes that little push to tip Harry over the edge, feeling his balls tighten and his stomach begin to clench. And that’s when he realizes… he’s not wearing a condom. It’s too late for him to pull out, he can feel himself releasing inside of you, his warm load filling you up to the brim as he jerks and twitches inside of you.

“Fuck, get off.” he protests through his pants, cock still sensitive and throbbing, but he doesn’t know what to do. He’s so overwhelmed.

He watches the way his cum drips out of you like sweet honey and he groans at himself, not knowing if he’s ashamed or proud. “I didn’t wear a condom,” he mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s fine, I’m on the pill,” you reassure him, leaning down to kiss his neck, leaving a trail of kisses, wanting more from him. “Come on, want you in my ass Harry, want you-“

A ringing sound from his computer stops you, making you look up with a confused look.

“Time’s up.” He mumbles, reaching out for the mouse to cancel the notification, giving you a slight nudge to tell you to get off of his lap.

As he wiggles his mouse around, you notice something that makes your stomach turn. You were innocently admiring how beautiful his hands are, how his rings are so striking and intriguing, but one stands out. It’s placed directly on his ring finger, much more mundane than the rest and not as thrilling. Extremely similar to a wedding ring.

Quickly, you get redressed, not caring how his cum was running down your thighs and trying so hard not to look at him redressing himself.

“You can book yourself in for another appointment if y’would like.” He breaks the silence, concentrating on his hands that are trying to fix his shirt to cover his half-naked body.

“Are you married?” You ask, probably way too fast for him to understand, but the sex you two just had is not the type of sex a married man has with a random girl.

“Excuse me?” he turns to look at you, eyes stern as to tell you not to ask him something like. “I don’t see how that’s any of ye’ business.”

“The sex we just had, there was a connection there. You wanted to cum in me because you wanted to claim me, you were that rough-“

“That’s how I am with all m’clients, better orgasms.” He interrupts. Pathetic excuse but his straight face could convince anyone, but not you.

You scoff. “My friend said you weren’t rough and you didn’t dirty talk, Harry you pounded me so hard you were in my fucking guts.”

Those words make his cock twitch in his pants, how ironic since he is fumbling to buckle his belt, trying to completely ignore the effect your words have on him.

“Are you married?” You ask again, this time a lot more clearer.

He lets out a large exhale, crossing his arms. “Yes, I am. But-“ Harry watches you turn on your heel, walking out of the door. “Y/N, wait c’mon!” Too late. You’ve already slammed the door behind you, leaving him to stand in the middle of the room feeling all types of emotions.

He fixes his clothes, brushing himself down and trying his hardest to push his thoughts aside, looking through his lists of clients and time slots on the wall. Great. You were the last appointment, meaning he now has to go home and dwell on you. Probably have a cold shower and use his hand as a replica for your sweet pussy.

After grabbing his phone and other things he needs, he begins to exit the building, saying goodbye to the odd member of staff standing around in the corridor.

“See you later Harry.” One of the receptionists speaks up, watching him rushing to the door.

He stops, turning to her with a false smile on his face. “See you later, Julia. Say hi to the husband f’me, will ye’?” Harry bids her a farewell, also referring to her husband who he also is good friends with.

“And say hi to your wife from me,” Harry gives her a tight-lipped smile, cringing at the thought. “Still can’t believe she’s pregnant, she’s already got that glow.” She adds on.

“Yeah, either can I.”

#Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader

3K notes · View notes

rare-and-beautiful-things · 2 years ago

Note

i'm not sure if your requests are open or not, but if they are, can you do how the union members would confess to someone they like?

i kind of mentioned it (for donald and wolf) here, but it was about oblivious crushes specifically. so what I'm writing now is for the kinds of relationship where both people actually have an idea that they like each other, and not as friends, so it's not completely out of the blue, yknow?

Donald Na

he's not going to confess. not for a long time - a lot longer then you both and everyone around you need to figure out that you are deeply in love. you might easily kiss, fight, (not) date, have sex, do business, almost die for each other - before he confesses.

it's not because he's in denial, he knows perfectly well what's happening between you two, but at first he's simply unwilling to waste his time for something as unnecessary and inconsequential as a crush. when he thinks that way, even if you confess he's just going to reject you.

when this first period ends and he knows for sure that it's not just a crush, that he actually loves you, he's still not going to tell you - simply because having kind of ambiguous but obviously deep and important relationship is more fun for him. he doesn't deny you his affection at this stage, and if you confessed your feelings, he'd tell you he loves you too.

i think he'd only confess on his own when the benefits of the confession would outweigh its cons. i.e. if he thought he was going to lose you unless he admitted his feelings, or if the ambiguity simply wasn't as fun anymore and he craved clarity and sureness now.

the "how" doesn't actually matter much to him. if the situation dictated he do something immediately, he'd just tell you then and there exactly how he felt about you. if not, he could do it in a nice restaurant - exclusive, and expensive, and allowing some kind if privacy to its guests. he'd the conversation with some easy topics, like the recent business or how your day was, but when it came to actual confession, he wouldn't mix words. it'd be almost plain, no poetry at all, he'd tell what he feels and what he wants, and at this point he would be 99% sure that you'll respond in kind, but he would still ask for the final confirmation.

it would only be restaurant if it was something you enjoyed though. as i said, the place and the surroundings wouldn't matter much for him - meaning he would follow what he thought you'd like. it could as well be after training when you're both sweaty and exhausted and sharing a bottle of cool water, or one late evening in the office after a particularly tough but successful day, or maybe in the rarest case when you're both resting in a dark flat, watching tv and eating tteokbokki. he'd like it to be something pleasant and meaningful if possible, something you'll remember - but he knows you'll remember anyway.

Wolf Keum

i was gonna say that wolf would want to confess with his hands bloodied and teeth bared, but it's probably not true. he would confess in any way only after you saw him like this though. because, well, that's him. he'd fight you first if you're a fighter or if you made yourself into his target before, but if not, if you never felt his violence yourself, he'd made sure that you saw him fighting other people. he'd even be extra cruel with them. he'd need to see if you were scared and if fear of him prevented you from doing something - and if yes, he probably wouldn't confess until it was fixed, resolved. if you're going to be his partner, you need to be an equal, and you can't truly be his equal in his eyes if you're pissing yourself when he beats someone up. if you're afraid, you'd at least need to be able to act despite the fear.

when he's sure, he... probably still wouldn't confess tbh! he probably doesn't see much point in confessions, so if he believes his feelings are requited, he'd just start acting as if you're partners already!

and if you let him, then there's obviously no need to discuss all this useless stuff, right?

he'd probably only start talking about his feelings if you make him (i.e. don't let him introduce himself as your boyfriend out of nowhere), or if something else in your relationship doesn't work the way it in his opinion should.

so the confession probably wouldn't be very romantic, as you can imagine. it would be a simple, honest, open conversation about his and your feelings, expectations, and boundaries. perhaps a rather short conversation the first time, but wolf would feel the need to work through this once you start talking. it could be anywhere - on the school rooftop, in a club, in the middle of the street. he'd do something nice for you after he thinks it over - give you your favourite coffee or dessert, or bring you somewhere nice, like an old bridge or a deserted park.

Forrest Lee

he's the nicest and normalest in this bunch tbh. the confession would still be kind of delayed, but his reasons are a lot less obscure than Donald's or wolf's. he just wants to make sure he actually has a chance with you, that he won't make you uncomfortable with his unwanted feelings. he also takes in consideration his position in the union - if it could put you in danger, especially if you are a... civilian, let's say. forrest would call it "a good person" in his head.

after the decision is made, he's gonna plan. book a table in a restaurant, order your favourite flowers in advance, prepare the perfect speech. he'd think about writing a poem, but give up halfway, too embarrassed to even actual finish it. he'd choose some nice clothes, maybe a suit, but not too formal. he'd take you to the cinema first, any good movie with a happy end to set the mood. he'd probably stumble a few times during his speech, and have a hard time looking you in the eyes.

after he stops talking, forrest would wait for your answer as if its a judgement. a part of him will expect you to reject him, and even if you do - he's awkward and angsty, but still nice. if you say you feel the same, he's a lot less awkward and much more over the moon and beaming with happiness. he'd kiss you if you let him - probably for the first time.

Jake Ji

the king of joking and pranking confessions. if you have casual relationship (not childhood friends or something), he'd probably go with this kind.

what will it be? maybe your favourite pen or lipstick stolen and replaced with a note, informing you of the time and the place with no other specifications. and when you go there, you find your favourite dessert, but if you take a bite it tastes like hot sauce! and in the centre of the dessert there's another note with another time and place - a karaoke room, and when you get there, there's jake with freshly combed hair, smelling like The perfect perfume tm, and rapping about love! truly romantic! he won't give you your pen/lipstick back, but he'll give you another one he chose specifically for you.

all in all, i think jake would something completely ridiculous but requiring a lot of time, effort and attention. something lightheaded but showing he sees you, cares about you, cares to know you.

it's different if your relationship is not so casual. if you know a bit more about his dark side or if you simply know him more, better and longer, he'd have a lot more reservation about confessing - at least while he's in the union. if he decides it was worth it, i think he'd go with something much plainer too, less fun and more harsh truths.

#weak hero #headcanons #weakhero webtoon #wolf keum #weak hero x reader #donald na #jake ji #Forrest Lee

38 notes · View notes

procyongaaay · 2 years ago

Text

This! Adding onto this that Okura and I have been planning on getting a farm and raising dairy goats, and just waiting on the finances to be right. We've already done years of research into things and weighed the pros and cons and talked to people and follow several farm vlogs who explain in detail what choices they make with their animals and why, and everyone I've talked to or followed has chosen to disbud and selectively breed for polled animals as possible. I know people who have lost goats, even after being disbudded in fights with other goats, even without horns.

Goats fight eachother all the time. It's how they maintain herd status and know where in their strict social hierarchy each individual stands. It's normal goat behavior and will absolutely happen regardless of how much food or space is available. Also durring breeding, does are often aggressive towards the buck for part of their heat before they go into what's called a 'standing heat' where she will allow him to mount her, and if they both have horns, you could loose animals in trying to breed them. And don't get me started on "then don't breed them" because a dairy animal that isn't bred will quickly become overweight and sickly because their metabolisms are different than non dairy animals.

When animals are domesticated, their needs change. Just like my shih tzu has different needs than a wolf, a modern domesticated dairy goat will have different needs than their wild counterparts. Their ancestors needed horns to keep them safe. In domesticated environments they are often more harmful than helpful. For example a wolf doesn't need a haircut, but my dog does. My dog was fixed because that's what was best for him and he was impacted far more than baby goats are by disbudding, and took several days to recover.

Yes, it absolutely does hurt. So does getting your shots or setting a broken bone. Sometimes things hurt but as long as it's not being done to be cruel, is done as painlessly as possible, AND has significant improvement to the animals quality of life and chances of survival? When the benefits outweigh the downsides, it's a bit of a no brainer. When done properly disbudding is safe and effective. If a farmer does not know how to do it properly, a livestock vet should be called to do it absolutely. Dehorning, as mentioned above, is dangerous. It can cause infections and animals can die of blood loss even with a vet in attendance, never mind way more painful. Sometimes horns even grow curled so that they grow into the skull or eye of the animal and it needs to be attempted to save the animals life and it's rarely successful. Plus all that risk also comes in with horns being able to broken in fights, possibly leading to the animal bleeding out before the farmer knows they were injured. It is FAR safer and more humane to have goats disbudded as babies than to let their horns grow and have them hang themselves, kill another goat, break their horns or have their horns grow back into their skulls.

"work" aka "listen to a talkative farmer go on and on about Subjects and Anecdotes while hardly anything gets done because you are both distracted"

2K notes · View notes

plant-flwrs · 4 years ago

Note

hi love, it's me again! i just can't get enough of your writing... i'm sorry to be asking for another fic, i guess i just can't help myself. lately i've been obsessed with the fake dating thing, so i was wondering if you could write a fred x reader (basically same reader as my last request, gryffindor, same year as ron) with that? like, maybe george knows they fancy each other and makes a bet with him so they start fake datig but realise they're in love with each other? aaa thank you so much, ly

bets off // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: i used the same pronouns from the last request, hope you don’t mind!! i apreciate u sm ur always so active w my fics ily <3333 this is the first thing i’ve written in a while that i’m actually proud of so i hope u guys like it :D

summary: Fred makes a bet with George that entails fake dating you for at least a month. He never expected to fall in love with you.

(5k)

-----------

Competition was healthy. At least, that’s what Fred told himself as he looked at George’s outstretched hand, a cocky smile etching the boy’s lips.

“Two weeks?” Fred asked, looking suspiciously at George.

“Two. Weeks.” George answered definitively, smirking at his brother.

Fred considered this in his head. Two weeks to get you, someone who had never previously shown any romantic interest in him, to date him for at least a month. He doubted it would be hard, for he had never had any trouble getting girls to swoon for him in the past. A few winks and charming sentiments and you would be putty in his hand. With this air of confidence, he shook George’s hand.

“You idiot!” Lee, who had previously been silently watching the exchange, called from across the table, a baffled smile on his face.

George laughed, leaning back in his chair and looking at Fred like he agreed with Lee.

“What?” Fred asked, the overly confident look still littering his features.

“You can’t win with this one,” Lee explained, shaking his head, “you either piss off Ron when this goes right, you piss of Ron when this goes wrong, you come out the git for breaking a girls heart, or you come out the embarrassed git who was rejected by your kid brother’s best friend.”

“Hey,” Fred said, faking offence, “I never agreed to ask out Harry.”

George and Lee rolled their eyes, hiding smiles as they continued their homework.

Fred was not deterred by Lee’s warnings, for he had a plan to avoid all of that. He was simply going to tell you the truth.

He found you on your way to the green house, pulling you away from a Slytherin girl you were walking with.

“He just stared at her? Like he didn’t eve-” you felt an unexpected tugging, “Ah!”

You squealed, feeling your feet stumble under you for a moment as you gathered your wits again. You looked down at the hand pulling you, following it up to the face. It was Fred, which was odd, because you two were not known for pulling at each other in hallways.

“You’re going to miss Herbology!” your friend called out to you, a worried expression on her face.

“I’ll meet you there, save me a seat!” you called back to her, turning away and following Fred as he still dragged you.

“Fred? What are you doing?” you asked him, making no effort to move from his strong grip.

“Got to talk to you,” he said airily, barely looking back at you as he pulled you down an empty corridor.

He let go of your arm, smiling down at you as you waited for him to speak. He didn’t take the hint, just looking at you.

“What did you want?” you glanced at your watch, seeing you only had a few minutes before Professor Sprout would start class.

“I have a proposition for you,” Fred drawled, a mischievous glint in his eyes as per usual, “what do ya say?”

You squinted your eyes at him, frowning, “I have to hear the proposition first.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, thats how propositions work.”

“I hadn’t realized,” he replied sarcastically, dropping his cool demeanor and letting some desperation seep into his voice.

“What do you want?” you repeated, slightly more annoyed.

“I may have made a bet that heavily relies on your willingness to do me a huge favor,” he said, a hopeful smile coming to his face.

“Oh god, Fred, what did you do?”

“George may have implied that I was in a dry spell when it came to girls,” he said, smirking, “and obviously that’s just not true. So, he suggested a bet to see if I still had my skills-”

“Your skills?”

“-yes my skills, would you listen?”

Fred leaned closer to you, his eyebrows raising as you rolled your eyes.

“Back to what I was saying,” he drew in a breath, dragging out this entire conversation, “George suggested a bet to see if I could still charm the ladies,” he wiggled his eyebrows and you quirked one of yours.

“Long story short-”

You interrupted again, “That was the short version of that story? Fred can’t we do this later, I’ve got class in,” you glanced at your watch. “two minutes.”

“No! Give me a second,” he ran a hand through his hair, putting his strong hands on your shoulders to keep you in place, “I made a bet with George that I could get you to fall in love with me in two weeks and date you for a month!”

You looked up at the boy, thinking he had gone off the end. He had to, either that or he was messing with you. Or maybe he had been slipped a potion of some sort.

“Fred,” you started, your kind tone giving Fred the impression you would agree to the plan, “you just waisted the very limited break I have between classes, successfully pulling me away from a very entertaining story about Snape, and probably making me late for Herbology.”

Fred groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance.

“I’m serious!”

You pulled against Fred’s grip, but he kept you in place. His face lit up, obviously coming up with what he thought would be a great plan. He released you briefly, digging his hands in his bag and moving crumpled papers around. He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, brandishing it like it was a diamond.

“This, my love, is going to get you out of Herbology this class period,” he said, unfolding the paper.

He revealed a blank piece of paper with tiny sparkles floating on the page. As he held it for a second longer, words began to form on the paper, writing something.

‘Professor Sprout,

Please excuse Y/n from Herbology this period, she came to me with a pain in her stomach and I gave her a potion to fix it. She stayed in the infirmary during the period.

-Poppy’

You had heard about these before, enchanted notes that were written in authentic handwriting and enchanted the reader to believe it, no matter what they said. Perfect for forging notes from teachers.

You stared at the paper in awe, grabbing it from Fred’s loose grasp.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. That’s the last one I have,” he said, feeling a bit remorseful having to give it up. He had been planning to use it to get out of Ancient Runes tomorrow.

You folded the paper again, putting it neatly in your bag and looking back at Fred.

“Alright, let’s go,” you sighed, allowing him to lead you to the great hall, through the courtyard, and out to the Quidditch Pitch where no teachers would be.

You sat in the stands, overlooking the empty and wet field,

“You want me to date you for two weeks?” you asked, sounding reluctant.

“No,” Fred said, sounding annoyed, “I want to fake date you for a month, but we won’t start until two weeks from now.”

You squinted, looking out at the stands on the other side of the field. You were thinking about this, finding the cons to outweigh the pros.

“What’s in it for me?” you paused, hearing Fred’s groan from beside you, “I mean, this could ruin my friendship with Ron, I get the embarrassing reputation when you fake dump me in a month, I don’t see how this is benefiting me.”

“Ron won’t care, I promise you,” Fred said acting as if this was obvious, “he lets Harry ogle Ginny all the time. And as for our fake dumping, that can be totally on your terms. I just need to win the bet with George.”

“What do you get if you win?”

Fred had hoped you weren’t going to ask that, but he was realizing you were smarter than he thought.

“Three Galleons,” he lied, looking at your skeptical face in the corner of his eye, “fine, six Galleons.”

You looked expectantly at him, waiting for his offer.

“I’ll split it with you,” he finally gave in.

He was a little upset at having to share his future winnings, but once you agreed to the bet and squealed excitedly at the possibility of some Galleons, a smile spread on his face.

Fred began laying the groundwork the next day. He made sure to send you flirtatious smiles when George was looking, waving to you in the halls, and talking to you in the common room.

You, Hermione, and Ron sat at a table in the corner, the three of you poured over a chess match. Ron was successfully beating Hermione, watching her as she tried to remember the rules he had taught her over and over.

“You can’t do that,” he said impatiently as Hermione tried to move a pawn backwards. His hand reached out and returned the piece back to where it was, and Hermione groaned.

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and turning your head up towards the ceiling.

“Hello,” Fred purred from above you, looking down at you.

You snapped your eyes open, not entirely used to Fred’s flirting yet. It took you by surprise most days, and he always managed to get you when you weren’t expecting it. You looked to Ron, gauging his reaction. His eyes stayed locked on Hermione’s frustrated face, arms crossed as he waited for her move.

“Hello,” you replied, turning your head to face Fred as he move to your side.

He leaned against your chair, his hand supporting his weight as he wrapped it around the back of your chair. The top of his hip bumped into your shoulder, and you resisted the urge to lean away from him. It’s not that Fred Weasley was disgusting or anything, he certainly wasn’t, but he had a reputation. Fred wasn’t known to be faithful or respectful of the usual rules regarding relationships. He wasn’t tied down, and half the student body has seen him naked (or wanted to). You had gone through your phase of liking Fred, and that phase lasted longer than you’d like to admit. You refused to boost his ego, though, and felt determined to not let this fake dating get to your head.

Ron was still busy with his chess match, now watching Hermione’s focused gaze turn into a nervous one as she became aware of Ron’s eyes on her. She bit her lip, tapping her fingers on the table.

Fred glanced down at you, quirking an eyebrow and nodding his head towards Ron. He was showing you that Ron wouldn’t care if you two dated, testing Ron’s limits.

Fred’s hand moved slowly from the back of your chair to your shoulder. His slender fingers pressed gently on your clothed arm, moving to brush a piece of hair from your neck. He twirled a piece of your hair in his fingers, raising an amused eyebrow at Ron’s lack of reaction.

“Merlin, Hermione! I’ve taught you 100 times!”

Hermione scoffed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“Ron!” she exclaimed back, offended.

“Look,” he moved his hand to one of her pieces. He whisked it across the board, then one of his pieces, and then one of Hermione’s, and then one of his own, “Check.”

“Maybe if you had patience and didn’t stare me down every time it was my turn-” Hermione started, glancing to you for support.

Her eyes widened when she saw the somewhat intimate position you were in with Fred, her sentence dropping.

“If you didn’t take so long, I wouldn’t stare you down!” Ron huffed and pushed his chair back, standing suddenly.

He hadn’t even glanced at you and Fred, missing Hermione’s shocked expression.

“What are you doing?” she questioned Fred, sounding even more offended than when Ron was yelling at her a moment ago.

“What?” Fred replied nonchalantly, pushing his body away from yours and taking Ron’s seat.

He moved the chair closer to the table, purposefully brushing his knee against yours. You knew he was watching your face, so you kept a neutral expression.

“He was all over you,” Hermione whispered to you, as if Fred wasn’t right in front of her,

“So?” you asked, acting as if it wasn’t abnormal for Fred to ‘be all over you’.

You were internally cringing at the whole thing, at Fred’s forwardness, lying to Hermione, the whole situation.

“Something must be in the air today,” Hermione said to no one in particular as she stood from the table, “everyone’s lost their minds.”

She left you and Fred, leaving him with a smirk on his face.

“I think that went well,” Fred said, moving the pieces on the chess board around swiftly as he set it up for a new game.

You moved to Hermione’s seat so you were across from him, rolling your eyes.

“This is ridiculous, Fred,” you said, and at the sound of your genuine annoyance his eyes were on your face.

The board in front of you was set anew, white closest to you. You let yourself sit in your frustration for a moment, looking down at the board and moving a pawn. Fred made no move to his own pieces, just staring at you from his side of the table.

“What d’you mean?” he said, watching your hand retreat from the board.

“These public displays of affection- isn’t it a little ridiculous?” you said, locking your eyes on the game in front of you.

A look of hurt flashed across Fred’s face, not that you would have seen it, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. His hand lazily moved one of his pawns.

“I don’t think so, no,” he said, leaning back in his chair and still studying your face, “I think they’re quite effective.”

“They’re only effective because I’m playing along,” you moved another pawn, hoping Fred would take the bait so you could steal his pawn.

“Which I appreciate fully,” he said, leaning forward and moving his pawn exactly where you wanted him to.

You stole his piece, advancing on the board. He hadn’t even registered the game, frankly, only looking at you.

“I feel like-” you didn’t know what you felt. You hadn’t put it into words, but you knew you didn’t like it.

Fred, and older, charming, handsome boy, was showing you a new amount of attention. Fred, a boy you had a crush on almost the entire time you’ve known him, was sending you flirtatious winks in the hallways and being very affectionate. Fred, your best friend’s older brother, was trying to date you to win a bet.

“-nevermind,” you finished, realizing you could not say any of this aloud.

Fred had a quizzical look on his face, watching you as you silently sat across from him. You met his eyes for the first time since he sat down, swallowing hard. You stared at each other for at least a minute, neither of you moving or breaking the contact. His eyes had an intensity in them that you had never seen before, but they were also gentle and kind. He looked soft, his face illuminated by the faint candle light and fireplace, casting a yellow hue over his skin. His hair was grown out and pushed off his forehead, falling easily on the sides of his face. He had taken his tie off, though still in his school uniform, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His mouth, usually in a resting smirk, was thin and straight, making him look rarely serious.

You felt like it took ages, but you finally broke his stare and cast your eyes downward at the board. You looked back up at him, seeing his eyes unmoving from your face.

“Your move,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Fred’s eyes shot to the board, and he moved the first piece he saw. His mind was racing as he tried to collect his thoughts, all of which were about you.

He had no idea what happened, but his heart was beating incredibly fast and his hands were sweating. Fred, a man who had never once done anything serious, was feeling very serious. He didn’t know what was going on inside his head, but all he knew was that he thought you were remarkably beautiful. You were perfect, really, and he could not wait for this game of chess to end so he could get the hell away from you.

Fred had never been in any sort of serious relationship. He had never dated a girl for longer than a few weeks, usually doing something that offended them (that was often mentioning how hot another girl was, or, in the worst case, snogging said other girl). He didn’t care for anything long-term, anything serious, because he couldn’t be bothered to find anyone that interesting. You, however, made his hands sweat. No one had ever made Fred’s hands sweat. No one had ever made Fred’s mind run blank.

He blinked at the board, realizing it was his turn again, and felt like giggling like a school girl. He shot his head up, looking around the common room and pretending to be in a hurry.

“Have you got the time?” he asked, watching as you looked down at your wrist- eyes flickering to your hand, which he realized he wanted nothing more than to hold in that moment- checking the time on your watch and telling him. He sprang from his chair, “I told George I’d meet him in a few, can we continue this later?”

He hadn’t even waited for an answer before he was running through the portrait hole, nearly knocking a few first years off their feet when he bumped into them.

Fred disappeared from the common room, leaving you with the chess board.

For the next few days, Fred’s flirting was non-existent. He wasn’t ignoring you, but the entire dynamic between you had shifted; something changed. He wasn’t painfully arrogant, seeming to take more effort in the way he treated you. There was no inappropriate flirting, no lustful winks. You wondered if the bet was still on.

You found out soon that it was.

You and Hermione left the library fairly late into the afternoon, but neither of you minded the time that got away from you. You spent the day doing very little actual studying, talking and laughing instead. There was a very few amount of people who could tear Hermione away from her studies, and she didn’t often like to admit that you were one of them.

“Are you going to tell me why Fred was so-” she broke off, shuddering in some sort of disgusted way that made you laugh “-touchy with you the other day?”

Hermione had been pressing a little bit every time she saw you about Fred, and you had been avoiding it every time.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about. That was just Fred being Fred,” you insisted, rolling your eyes playfully.

The guilt of lying to your friends left you a few days ago, instead you only felt overwhelming uneasiness as your schoolgirl crush for Fred resurfaced. You couldn’t help it; the hot older boy you had liked since your first year was suddenly putting himself in compromising situations with you. So, you couldn’t tell Hermione about Fred’ bet, because then you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself telling her about your genuine crush.

“Really?” Hermione teased, bumping her shoulder into yours.

“Yes, really,” you insisted, turning the corner to the main staircase that was crowded with students wandering the castle on the weekend afternoon, “ I don’t get why your fixating on this, ‘Mione.”

Your words, however, fell on deaf ears. Her gaze was locked on something on the stairs beneath you both. You followed it, seeing the heavy stream of students starting to part. From your position, you couldn’t see much through the crowd, but soon the crowd thinned around you and you got closer.

Fred stood on the landing, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hands. You bit your lip, trying to hide the laugh bubbling in your chest. Such a grand gesture for a fake one-month relationship, this boy was determined to beat George and win those three Galleons. You felt Hermione clutching loosely to your arm, a dazed sort of look overcoming her features. You couldn’t help but laugh at this, prying yourself free from her grip and walking down the stairs to meet Fred.

He also looked sort of dazed, and with a quizzical expression you felt your face heat up under the stares of everyone in the stairwell. You came to the landing, looking up at Fred. His hand shook a little as he held the flowers, and he bit his lip harshly.

“Want to go out with me?” he asked, a surprisingly earnest voice replacing his usual smug one.

You glanced at your watch, moving to stand on your toes to reach him. You moved your mouth to his ear, speaking so only he could hear you, “You’re about a week early with this gesture, Freddie.”

He chuckled, and from being so close to him his chest bumped yours slightly. You fell to stand flat on your feet, still close to him. He looked down at you, holding the flowers between your chests.

“I don’t like following schedules,” he said, grinning down at you.

You resisted the urge to wrap your arms around his shoulders and never let go, settling instead on a bashful smile. He handed you the flowers, the brown paper they were wrapped in feeling a little damp from how profusely his hands were nervously sweating.

When he made this bet with George, he had just planned on kissing you in some busy hallway to announce the start of your relationship, as he did with most of his relationships. Somehow, though, you felt more special. His stomach sank every time he thought about the limited and fake month he’d have to with you, but he forced his way through it.

So he went to the field by Hagrid’s hut and picked the best flowers he could find, wrapping them in a brown paper and organizing them so they were perfect, because you were perfect.

He looked down at you, watching you as you held the flowers up to your face and smelled them. Your eyes were light and filled with innocent excitement, giving him an enchanting smile that showed all your teeth; you looked incredibly and undeniably happy, and that made Fred happy.

You had both nearly forgotten about the entire student body surrounding you both, watching the exchange. Fred, feeling unnerved by the vulnerability he had exhibited in such a large crowd, looked up and smiled smugly, wiggling his eyebrows. The entire staircase erupted in a somewhat jumbled mix of cheers and laughter, sending a deep red blush to your cheeks. Fred looked down at you, and in a moment of unfiltered happiness, brought his hands to your cheeks. He lifted your head from where you had ducked it to hide the blush, forcing you to look up at him with the embarrassed grin on your lips. Before he could think about what he was doing, his face was leaning closer to yours and his hands on your cheeks were pulling you closer to him. You barely had the time to register what was happening, only hearing the laughter and cheers around you get louder as Fred’s face was pressed against yours.

He was fast at first, passionate and quick as if he thought he only had a second before you pulled away. You couldn’t though, even though every bone in your body was telling you to. Your lasting feelings for Fred were telling you that this kiss was okay, that your friendship with Ron would take the backseat for a while as you let Fred press himself against you. Your thoughts were fading, being replaced with the hyper awareness of everywhere Fred was touching you. His lips slowed and his breathing became slower too. He let out a sigh through his nose, the air hitting your face and sending a brand new flush to your cheeks. His hands on your cheeks stopped pulling you towards him, now being a gentle and soft presence on your skin. His left hand was grazing your jaw, his calloused fingertips tickling the skin lightly. His right hand cupped your cheek firmly still, but his thumb rubbed against your cheekbone. You held the flowers in one hand, and it wasn’t until a few seconds into the kiss that you had even remembered you had hands. You rested your hand holding the flowers against his chest, tilting the bouquet so it didn’t hit Fred in the face. Your other hand snaked up his arm, clutching loosely at his strong forearm as it hung between your bodies.

You were both at each other’s wills, you would do anything Fred and Fred vowed to himself that he would follow you to the ends of the Earth, if you asked him to.

The spark moving through Fred’s body was nothing he had ever felt before. He didn’t feel it when he kissed Angelina Johnson, his first kiss, after winning a Quidditch match. He didn’t feel it when he drunkenly kissed Alicia Spinnet at a party. He didn’t feel anything close to this when he kissed Katie Bell in a game of truth or dare last year. You were completely new to Fred, and part of him already knew he wanted to spend every second with you from then on out.

You pulled away first, entirely and completely breathless. You looked up at Fred, mouth opening and closing like an out of water fish as you tried to find words to say in this moment. Fred just chuckled, bringing his hand on your cheek to graze his knuckles against your swollen lips. You closed your mouth, feeling okay with having nothing to say, and figuring it was better to not say anything anyways.

The crowd registered in your brain, making you feel extremely embarrassed again. You shoved your face into Fred’s chest, hiding the flush all over your face.

“Alright! Shows over, you perverts,” Fred called out, smiling widely at the group.

You heard the shuffling of feet begin around you, the traffic beginning once again. A few wolf whistles reached your ears, and you didn’t remove yourself from Fred’s chest until you were sure everyone had moved on.

Fred’s large hand rested on the back of your head, soothing down your hair. You found it oddly intimate, and you knew letting all of this happen was only setting yourself up for hurt when this bet was inevitably over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Pulling away finally, your flowers clutched at your side, you took a deep breath. You were bringing your gaze to look up at Fred, but a group of redheads standing behind him caught your eyes and made them widen.

“I am so telling mum you have a girlfriend!” Ginny squealed, her voice easily heard in the now empty stairwell.

Fred turned to face his family, seeing Ginny, Ron, George, Hermione, and Harry looking at him as if he’s sprouted five new limbs.

Ron elbowed Ginny, sending her a wide-eyed look, “my bestfriend is not his girlfriend!” Ron said confidently, then turning to Fred with a threatening look, “My bestfriend is not your girlfriend.”

Fred smiled nervously, “I’m not dating Harry, Ron,” he attempted to joke, only earning a laugh from George and an embarrassed look from Harry.

You peaked from behind Fred, meeting the group. You smiled at them sheepishly, meeting Hermione’s baffled eyes.

“I knew it!” she called, causing the entire group to turn their heads to look at her, “I knew you fancied her.”

Hermione looked quite proud of herself, but Ron looked fuming. Harry had sort of a ‘I-saw-this-coming’ look on his face.

“Guys,” you said, stepping towards them, “Ron.”

You gave Ron a pleading look, prepared to embarrass yourself and set the whole thing straight, even prepared to lose 3 Galleons. Suddenly, Hermione stepped between you and Ron.

“Ronald,” she said sternly, snapping Ron out from his angry mood briefly, “I hope you are not about to prevent a lovely relationship just because you have no emotional intelligence or maturity regarding these subjects.”

Your eyes widened from behind Hermione, casting a shocked glance to Fred. George and Ginny stifled their laughter, saving an embarrassed Ron some of his pride after being scolded by Hermione.

“But he’s my brother!” he whined, his anger leaving him and instead being replaced by some sort of tame disgust.

You couldn’t take it, every part of you wanted to tell them it was a bet, the galleons be damned. You looked to Fred with a warning look, only to see him digging in his pockets.

“George,” he called out, removing his hand from his pocket and clutching something, “catch.”

Fred tossed six coins at George, and George caught them with surprise.

“Bets off,” Fred said, looking painfully serious.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, an immense feeling of guilt wash over you. You had cost Fred six galleons, even after the work he had put in. He had kissed you for the sake of it, and you couldn’t go one month.

“Fred,” you stuttered, looking at him with guilt

His mouth broke into a grin, however, and he took a few steps towards you. George watched Fred’s movements, and began pulling away the group. Ron, still standing there with a confused look on his face, was tugged away by the back of his collar.

“I don’t want to fake date you,” he whispered to you once he was close enough, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“Well, that seems like a lot of work for nothing, then-” you started, only for his lips to fall onto yours and silence you.

You couldn’t help it, again, as you let yourself melt into him. He pulled away all too soon however, resting his forehead on yours as he looked into your eyes.

“I want to date you for real,” he said, biting his lip nervously, “not as a bet.”

Your eyes widened, and once again you could not think of anything to say. You opened and closed your mouth, searching for the words, but gave up. You gave a relieved sigh, hearing the words you had dreamed of hearing since you were 12, and kissed Fred Weasley.

#fred #weasley #fred weasley #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x gryffindor!reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x gryffindor #fred weasley x gryffindor reader #gryffindor #hogwarts #fred weasley fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fake dating

1K notes · View notes

mbluee · 3 years ago

Text

Warmth (Thirteenth Doctor x Reader)

Word Count: 2,769

Warnings: none, bit of a description of depression at the beginning but that’s all!

Summary: The Doctor has her own ways of helping out when you're feeling down.

A/N: i wrote this from 2 am - 6 am. was it wise? maybe not. is it for the good of the gays? yes it is. so it cancels out. please enjoy!! i’m yearning.

✩✩✩✩

You were underwater.

Well, at least, that’s what it felt like – surrounded by suffocating liquid, falling deeper, straying from the light that now seems all too far away – yet simply laying in bed with tear-stained cheeks and puffy red eyes, barely any physical evidence of the pain that wracked your mind and left no imprint on your body.

Your lungs couldn’t get enough air. The blankets around you didn’t feel warm.

It just got like this, sometimes, when nothing was enough and everything was too much, when the heat under the covers didn’t reach your bones and the chill in the air didn’t ease your burning face; When the comforting words that people said had no effect, and the sparkle of all your adventures dimmed into that deepening darkness inside of you.

Locked away in your room and hiding from the one person who could possibly care, not wanting to put that burden on her when the rest of every world already rested atop her shoulders. Was your suffering as horrific as the rest of the universe’s? It couldn’t be. So why would you bother her with it?

You settle deeper into the cocoon you’ve created for yourself, another wave of salty tears spilling from your tired eyes. You needed to sleep, or to cry, or to just be okay – or maybe you just needed someone, and you were too afraid to ask. That thought gets pushed into the back of your currently tragic mind without the consideration of it’s benefits. The cons outweighed the pros, and you were too ashamed to face her with this. There was no use going back and forth. You’d just sit in your own silence, as you always did.

A scary thought creeps in from the chasms of your conscious, and you furrow deeper into the blankets in the same way your brow furrows into your eyeline.

If she saw you like this, she’d think you were weak.

You close your eyes and feel the tears that release with the scrunch of it.

If she saw you like this, she’d be disappointed.

You sniffle and try to stifle the small sob that escapes your lips. Your runny nose runs faster.

If she saw you like this, she’d show you pity.

You pray to whoever’s listening that those thoughts would simply stop, and you take a shaky breath, and you cover your face with your hands, and you hear the door open with a creak.

Wait, you-

“Ah, hello! Hiding out in here, I suppose? Well, couldn’t blame you! Had a busy week, haven’t we? No worries, I’ll just let you get back to resting, suppose you humans do need a bit more sleep than-“

Her rambling stops, and that’s when you know she noticed something’s wrong. You hold your breath and hope for once in her life, she doesn’t investigate. Perhaps she’d turn around and leave, and shut the door, and walk away, and never wonder about what she walked into because she respects your privacy and definitely understands when she shouldn’t intervene.

The entire door opens with a long and drawn out creak.

“Oh, what’s this?” The Doctor asks softly, and you can’t bear to look at her. Her shadow stretches across your floor as light seeps in from the now open doorway. Your vision stays stuck to that piece of your room, that section of the ground that she slowly approaches, until her boots appear right beside your bed, and her knees bend until she’s crouched next to you. Her head tilts, and you see her face, and the engulfing darkness inside of you stutters for just a moment. Her eyes are bright and worried. You think it’s the most beautiful case of contradiction that you’ve ever seen.

“What’re you all teary eyed for?” She murmurs kindly, mouth in a downward sort of frown at your depressive state. You want to wipe that frown from her – to see her smile, to let it set you alight in the way the sun does to the sky.

You don’t answer. You’re afraid of what might come out, or maybe you don’t know if anything would come out at all.

The Doctor hums, shifting slightly and putting her weight on one knee to the ground, dipping her head to look closer at you. She raises a hand to your face and lightly brushes a stray section of hair from your eyes with a soft smile.

“Hi there,” She greets you, eyes twinkling sympathetically.

Pitifully.

You close your eyes in a tight blink and hope she doesn’t notice.

“Nice and cozy?”

The Doctor inches closer, hand that had been at your forehead now resting just beside your head. Her thumb brushes against your cheekbone, grazes the skin, collects a traitorous teardrop that leaks from your gloomy eyes and inspects it with a squint. She pinches her fingertips together and notes the wetness with a growing frown.

“Ah. Not so much, then.”

You elect to shake your head at that, finally supplying an answer, seeing as she didn’t seem to be up and leaving any time soon. In fact, she leans closer to your bed; Her chin resting on the mattress with a small tilt as she analyzes your bundled up body. A tiny smile plays at her lips at your weak – nonetheless responsive – acknowledgement of her voice.

“What seems to be the matter?” The Doctor questions carefully with a sort of side-frown. “Can’t so much as help if I don’t know the diagnosis.”

She gives you a shrug, another tilt of the head, and awaits a response semi-patiently. Her fingers thrum lightly against the pillow your head lays upon. It’s endearing, you think, to just be in the presence of her tiny, just-so-Doctor actions. It was the little things, like her fingers tapping that random rhythm. You noted each detail and stored it for safe keeping.

It’s that little thing that makes you meet her eyes completely, finally, and shift with a sniffle in bed. The first time you’ve moved in what felt like days, aching body complaining and suffocating headspace drowning – yet the encouraging grin she gives you feels like the brightest sun in any known galaxy shining personally upon you. You swallow and sniffle again, deeper into the blankets but a bit more attentive.

“I don’t… know,” You tell her, voice riddled with dejection while unflatteringly nasally. Another sniffle.

The Doctor reaches into her coat pocket with a quick movement and immediately pulls out a tissue, and you scrunch in almost amusement at her impeccable preparedness.

“Where-“

“For emergencies,” She supplies, rolling up a grey sleeve and reaching towards you. “Like this one.”

You attempt to shimmy your hand out from the fortress of blankets surrounding you, but she tuts and holds the tissue to your face herself.

“No, no. Stay there. I’ve got you.”

You watch her fingers and the surprisingly pristinely white tissue – you question how long she’s had that in her coat pocket – approach your irritated nose, your tear-stained cheeks, your half-closed eyelids with careful consideration and a very focused gaze. She raises an eyebrow and looks into your eyes.

“You were saying?”

“Oh, but I wasn’t. I don’t really… know what’s wrong,” You repeat, and when her eyes narrow just slightly, you follow up. “Really. It just sometimes… Gets like this. You know?”

You know?

Oh, what a ridiculous thing to say. She’s constantly happy, constantly moving about – never seeming to face the certainly human trait of rest and sudden sadness – always on her toes and working to help others. Help others. Others, with bigger problems than yours, with problems that can be seen visibly, shockingly, with problems that extend beyond the hidden cavern of your obnoxiously broken mind. These sorts of wounds don’t show outwardly, so surely they don’t mean nearly as much as all of the other issues the Doctor has faced over the years. Mass extinction on an entire planet, or the trivial negativity occupying your darkening mind? Take your pick. The choice seems entirely obvious.

“Oh,” The Doctor says simply. “I see.”

You feel a piece of you shatter, her movements stilling on her task of wiping your tears. Your lungs constrict as you struggle to keep the tears at bay, and her face seems entirely unreadable. She shifts just once, landing on her other knee, pursing her lips.

“Hm,” She adds. That only breaks you further.

And then she moves, rises from her spot beside your bed, and you can’t stop the tears as they come crashing through the weak wall you’d half-heartedly thrown up, her rejection so painful that it stings like salt in wounds that you still can’t even see. You close your eyes tight and wish to go back to ten seconds ago, when you could have made something up – said that you were sick rather than just stupidly sad – came up with a better reason to be hidden away than it just gets like this. Your heart thumps painfully in your chest and echoes in your ears, anticipating the silence that would follow her exit through the door she once opened to flood your room with light.

Lucky for you, the silence doesn’t come. Something else entirely unexpected does.

“I do know.”

You furrow for a moment, eyes still shut and mind still suffocating, before taking the chance to peek an eye open at the Doctor before you.

She’s standing just beside you, not much further than she was on her knees, just with a difference in height. You still look at her questioningly. The door behind her remains ajar, the light illuminating her figure and making her a pretty silhouette.

“What?” You say quietly, a bit hopeful. She leans in and your prematurely shattered heart begins to piece back together.

“I know a lot of the universe can be overwhelming, and that you can get stuck inside that brilliant head of yours. Reality can be a scary place. It can get too much, at times, and it becomes difficult to cope. Happens to the best of us. Happens to me.”

You watch her intently and hang onto every word, as if each inflection of each point would somehow lessen the suffocation in your head. And maybe it would. The Doctor just had that kind of effect.

She leans forward further, a hand coming to your head again, now cupping the side of your face in her palm. Inspecting you, still. Paying attention to you.

Your face heats up slightly as her voice grows softer.

“How long have you been hidden away in here, for? What were you hiding from?”

You stare up at her. She stares back.

“I didn’t know if you’d understand,” You admit after a second’s worth of silence. She straightens herself, palm removed carefully from your cheek, and you resist the urge to follow it.

“Ah,” The Doctor starts. Her eyes look a bit sad, and you try to ignore it for the sake of not matching her expression. “Well, here I am. Understanding.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She smiles lightly, twinkle returning.

“There’s no need to be sorry. I’m glad you told me, so that way I can help.”

The two of you stare again, but it doesn’t seem so stifling. More so… contemplative. You sniffle, and this time it’s accompanied by a shiver.

“Cold?” The Doctor asks immediately, stepping closer. You shrug, though the answer is definite. Extremely definite. If it was possible, you’re certain you’d have been a popsicle full of tears by now.

“Guess so,” You answer. A shiver forces its way through your body again, and you attempt to tighten the blankets around your exceedingly freezing skin. The Doctor hums.

“Ah. Well. Can’t have that.”

You watch as the Doctor removes her coat in one swift movement, quickly bounding to your desk and draping the grey item across your desk chair politely. She returns in a quick second, rolling her sleeves up and putting her hands on her hips.

“Alright, then. Mind if I squeeze in?”

Your heart must simply stop.

“Sorry… What?”

The Doctor tilts her head, blonde locks grazing her jawline as she moves. She rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet to the tips of her toes.

“Simple solution, really. My body temperature’s much higher than the average human’s, and I want to help. So…”

She steps closer, until her knees hit the edge of the bed, and until you have to adjust your neck to look up at her properly.

“At your service. Never one to ignore a friend in need.”

Your brain takes a long minute to catch up with your flailing heart, body still cold as your entire face comes aflame. You open your mouth to speak but seem to have taken too long when the Doctor interrupts you, sounding suddenly nervous.

“Unless, of course, I’m overstepping. Which, you know, in that case-“

“No!” You interrupt a bit too loudly, a bit too abruptly, and she raises an eyebrow almost immediately. You clear your throat and look up at her. “No, that’s… I’d… That would be helpful.”

A bright smile erupts on her face as she bounces once. “Right. Perfect. I mean, yeah.”

You scooch backwards in the bed inelegantly as she climbs in to join you, yellow suspenders removed from her shoulders and hanging loosely by her sides, sleeves rolled up casually as she pulls the covers over herself beside you. You try to keep your breaths steady when you feel the heat radiating from her warmer body, mere inches away on her side as she keeps her gaze locked onto you.

“You could come closer, if you wanted,” She says, voice barely above a whisper, proximity allowing her hot breaths to fan over your face. You swallow hard and sniffle once, eyes meeting hers in the mostly-darkness of your bedroom, trying to come to terms with the fact that the Doctor was laying beside you in your bed and offering to hold you for warmth. You swallow again, sniffle a second time.

“Yeah, okay,” You whisper back, not recognizing the tense strain of your voice. “Thanks.”

You stay frozen, though, even after your confirmation, simply staring at her and then trailing down her neck, her chest, watching her breathe, uncertain of how to approach this but knowing you need her kind offer of comfort.

“Thanks,” You repeat breathily, hoping that saying it again would make you move forward into her embrace.

And you do.

Slowly.

The Doctor uses her arm to push back the covers between the two of you, leaving more room for you to wrap your arms around her back and place your head gently in the crook of her neck, slotting your body with hers as one of her thighs comes up between your legs. You shift slightly, humming appreciatively at the warmth of her hold, feeling her arms come up to wrap securely around you; One hand landing on your waist, the other snaking under you and around your back. You stutter a breath when her hot fingertips skim across the exposed skin between your shirt and your waistband. She keeps her fingers there, thumb under the fabric of your top and hand holding your hip loosely, your lips brushing unintentionally against the softness of her neck, just above her collarbones. Her own heartbeats seem to flutter, and you at least feel satisfied that you aren’t the only one effected by this intoxicating proximity.

She fits perfect with you, molded to embrace you, made to support your weight in her hold.

“Thank you,” You murmur, slightly muffled against her own skin. She hushes you with the gentlest kiss to the top of your head.

“Always happy to help,” The Doctor responds, her voice just as warm as the rest of her, dipped in a new depth – or maybe that was just because you could feel the rumble of it travel straight from her and into you.

You close your eyes slowly, eyelashes fluttering against her collarbones, and breathe out a content sigh onto her skin.

“Do you always help people like this?” Comes your risky question, fueled only by the adrenaline of being in her arms and the safety with which you’re held. She pauses. Her hand on your waist squeezes once.

“Just you,” The Doctor admits.

You shuffle closer, if that was even possible, needing to be one with her after those two words of unidentified confession. You smile against her skin, tears now dried, mind now clear.

“Perfect.”

And you fall asleep in the Doctor’s arms for what certainly wouldn’t be the last time.

#Thirteenth Doctor #thirteenth doctor x reader #thirteen x reader #thirteenth doctor x you #thirteen x you #the doctor x reader #the doctor x you #doctor who #the doctor #hurt comfort #ahhahaha #bed sharing #yeah that's right i said it #bed #sharing

76 notes · View notes

etheriadearie · 4 years ago

Note

I'm still reading you latest awesome essay but I wanna point out before I forget in the process: Shadow Weaver as you said used Adora as a puppet against Catra, and then almost immediately Light Hope does the same by using fighting simulations that are designed to make She-Ra comfortable into killing Catra and "letting go"

:: Adora and the darkness within-

Hey! Thanks so much for the kind review! And thanks for bringing this up, because you're exactly right. It not so cute like it seems- (Adora becomes completely useless in s2ep1 the second Catra shows up ☺️- turning her sword into a coffee mug and then a flute!? lol!!). That said, the meaning behind Adora's training is indeed something that's actually very scary to watch...

But it couldn't possibly be like that, right? After all, Adora wouldn't really do it, because when she puts her sword to Catra's throat in White Out, Catra then flirtatiously teases her...

.. Sadly, that's not the end of this, Adora does internalize to this brutal conditioning after all. (spoiler warn ⚠️) Adora thinks of herself as a solider, and does continue drilling hard on the idea of killing Catra. And, she almost does so- if you don't know to what I'm referring, it has to do with the one other 100% canon SPOP source material- I'll cover it below in the spoiler section.

Just... know that Adora really does internalize this concept-that she must kill her best friend as part of her 'destiny' (more later.)

It's this belief in 'destiny' by which Light Hope is still able to continue to manipulate Adora, even after she refuses to leave her friends behind, to "let go". Destiny is a concept that's so important to Adora's perception of self value that Light Hope uses it against her, towards the goal of her evil purposes, and of getting Adora to "let go." If Light Hope can get Adora to kill Catra, that's a whole lot of 'letting go' all at once. It would have broken Adora, she never would have recovered. It's so terrifying.

Where does this belief that Adora must do anything to fulfill 'destiny' come from, why is she so concerned with it that she stops thinking any further? Why must it be Adora's burden to do this horrible thing ?

For instance, we know Adora does show wisdom by refusing to leave her friends behind- she's not willing to give in to Light Hope's idea that she should seclude herself in the woods. Adora knows that something isn't right with Light Hope. And yet, isn't Catra also Adora's friend- one which she hurtfully turned against to enact a false destiny, much like how she played favorite to their abuser in the Horde, and whom Adora is now plotting to kill ?

What's really going on is something that's very ugly- despite the cute overtones to lighten the mood. Light Hope is using Adora's sense of duty against her to get her to potentially do something that's very hurtful to herself, and to the person who loves her most. What's so wrong with Adora's 'destiny', that she's got to kill someone she loves? How can that be right, is the only answer for this that war is terrible, or is the war on Etheria even what we think it is, or is it something different? And, is Adora killing Catra for it the right choice ?

Why- that's the big question. Why is it Adora's, or She-ra's, job to save the Princesses from the Horde? Why does Angella feel the need to make this Adora's burden? Could the Rebellion really not have done it themselves, or did they just give up out of grief? As Catra says in s5ep9: "Why does it have to be Adora?"

Like Catra says in s5- this is exactly right: all throughout SPOP, nothing about Adora's situation is right, or fair... it never was. Everyone is just forcing their burdens on her... and she ends up a desperately anxious person because of it.

And it's all a lie, a set up to make Adora fail- just like Mara did.

Like Mara, Adora was "never meant to succeed. They made a plan for" (..her) -it's history, all over again, and everything Adora thinks she's doing for 'destiny' and to end the war is part of this lie. That includes the 'destiny' as Angella describes it for her: it's just another likely set up: "I know the legend of warrior of the one the First Ones called She-ra, they said she would return to us in the hour of our greatest need to bring balance to Etheria". How, exactly ? By winning the war at any cost ?

This is also almost certainly a myth started by the First Ones to prepare the next She-ra for failure, as part of their plan to use the weapon. A deception purposefully implanted within cultural beliefs, meant to further enable their betrayals- Light Hope and the First Ones never had any intention of bringing balance to Etheria, they only wish to use the weapon. And again, why is it Adora's job to save the rebellion from the Horde???

Angella and the rebellion gave up on that all on their own, back when Adora was just a small child. Also... keep in mind that Shadow Weaver was allowed to run to the horde, where there was no accountability for her crimes and where she had complete control over little Adora and Catra, which she used to abuse the heck out of them. Considering how the Princesses gave up trying to fight the Horde when Adora was but a small, defenseless child, why is this war supposedly Adora's burden?? There's nothing fair about it.

We see Adora's legitimate feelings of pain, anger, desperation, and sorrow from how she's been forced into her position- everyone is hurting her with their burdens. It puts Adora in a constant state of anxiety, and her feelings of frustration and anger at this is well deserved.

And yet... what's so interesting about Adora's situation is that her anger towards Catra is perhaps the least deserved: even though Catra is fighting against her in a war which is wrong. Adora might feel mad at Catra for refusing to follow her as she enacts her beliefs in this false 'destiny', and Catra instead makes doing so harder for Adora by fighting back against her, and yet, Adora's not even doing the right thing in the first place as her entire destiny is a lie to use her as a weapon. Catra simply refuses to just accept her friend as this person who just turns on people who mean something to her, supposing evil upon them all while making no effort to understand them any deeper. Adora really is doing the wrong thing by enabling Light Hope's evil... and she can't even see it...

Well... in short, what Angella told Adora about her 'destiny' seemed to make sense- and so she went with it. It's not so much that Adora is naive as that they all are- Angella is naively playing into the First Ones deceptions, too. Adora is supposedly there to "bring balance" through 'destiny' by saving them from the Horde. So, for 'destiny', she assumes that she must be willing to do whatever she has to win that war- she has to hurt Catra...

Deception, and more deception- what even is the war on Etheria ? Where does Hordak even come from, other than Light Hope purposely crashing him on Etheria to set a conflict? It's a cruel war that likely started with the First Ones purposely bringing Hordak to Etheria, and it's not Adora's fault that the rebellion couldn't deal with Hordak- she was a small child when the rebellion fell apart. And, Adora's agreeing to win this war at any cost is a bridge too far... if she were to kill Catra, the damage to her own psyche... it would be beyond comprehension. When we see her talking to Light Hope in s2ep1, we finally get to see how Adora is all kinds of hurt by Catra's refusal of her, she's all broken up inside: "she's in my head". Catra wasn't supposed to be Adora's enemy: Adora couldn't realize this, and she made her one by essentially giving in to the prejudiced views of the rebellion.

Long story short, the war isn't quite what we think it is. Instead- who, really, are She-ra's greatest enemies? Next to Horde Prime and the First Ones, Hordak hardly even measures...

Adora's biggest enemy, as She-ra, is, in fact, the First Ones: and we know that because of Mara. We know Horde Prime must have existed as a threat in Mara's time, yet Mara considered her own people, and the weapon which they created, to be so much greater an enemy that she gave up everything to stop them. And just like Mara, what the First Ones want to do to Adora is so evil it outweighs anything having to do with the war on Etheria- the entire planet is at stake if Adora doesn't wake up to the reality of how the First Ones intend to use her for their evil...

What the First Ones did was always the original betrayal..

... this original betrayal is the reason for everything to do with Adora's situation- it's why she becomes She-ra, but also why she does ends up in Shadow Weaver's care, who wanted to use Adora's power for her own benefit and abused her because of it. It's all to do with the original betrayal of the First Ones by bringing her to Etheria to be part of their weapon...

But, Adora is a soldier, she's been trained to expect violence as a necessity of solving problems her entire life, and so she has a really hard time realizing that the entire concept of this belief is wrong and that she's being manipulated. Light Hope uses her belief in 'destiny' and false belief in duty before all else, including love, to control her- as a soldier, Adora does what she told (within reason) because what Light Hope tells her is what she expects to hear. Light Hope tells her that killing Catra will help end this war and fulfill her 'destiny', so she drills the moment of killing Catra to do it. But what hurtful act is too much, what price is too high, what cost to her own morality is too dark? How terrifying it would be for Adora if she actually did kill Catra...

So, here's the warn for LotFP spoilers 🚨🚨 -more good discussion is yet to come- and I promise not to spoil anything more than necessary for you folks-

💞🏳️‍🌈🌹

(..If you really don't want spoilers, now's your chance)

So... Adora does actually make the decision to try to kill Catra.

In LotFP, it's obvious that Adora had continued drilling the idea of killing Catra, over and over, with Light Hope following White Out. Because- like in White Out- Adora gets a chance to hit Catra- and this time she doesn't hesitate.

Adora consciously attempts to kill Catra. Keep in mind that Adora still had no idea how to heal at that point. Why does Adora try to do that, and what makes her believe she has to do it?

(*p.s- I won't go over how LotFP happens after s2ep5, but if you've been wondering when it took place- yup)

The rebellion may talk a cute game around being more 'humane' with war... but, that's mostly Bow. When it comes to it, both Glimmer and Adora at times choose actions that cross the line into the downright sinister to end the war- no act is too dark for them. Adora comes terrifyingly close to killing Catra because of it...

Luckily for Catra, in the moment of Adora's brutal confusion over her being conditioned to take Catra's life, Catra finally has someone in her life that will take care of her, and Scorpia steps in to protect Catra.

Scorpia then rightly tells Adora off for her continued, out of control, bloodlust towards Catra, willing to murder her friend for what turns out to be an evil destiny, anyways. Catra was never planning to take things that far- she only tries to bring Adora low, or capture her... and to force Adora to confront how naive she is. Why should Adora bear such a burden of the war, at such potential emotional cost to herself and to Catra's life?

The result is that Adora ends up suitably chastised for her actions in LotFP, and you can start to see a change in her behavior following it in s3ep3-ep6: she's realized she can't just kill Catra. She also begins to realize that Light Hope has been manipulating her, and that she's been living a lie.

Unfortunately, Adora's actions before this realization comes at a cost: SPOP is very clear about consequences: it leaves Catra desperately afraid after seeing the love of her life constantly trying to kill her. Each time Adora sees Catra following Promise, 3 times in total, she ends up trying to kill her- unwittingly during the Battle of Brightmoon, possessed during White Out, and then as a conscious decision in LotFP. Is that acceptable behavior ?

This cruel behavior Adora so hurtfully has towards Catra for false destiny sets up Catra's biggest mistake and her following mental break down:

Catra desperately looks elsewhere for any kind of support- the person she loves wants to kill her... and Hordak is being hurtful and threatening her. So, Catra decides to try to get Shadow Weaver to help her. After all, why not- nobody can be THAT evil, right??? She must have SOME humanity...

That's a mistake, as Shadow Weaver is all bad, and all that Catra gets for trusting her is more horrible emotional wounds and so much more damage that by the time Adora sees Catra in s3ep3, she's one bad hit from totally losing her mind. And the hit comes... and she does... and Adora simply cannot reach Catra through her grief and her anger.

Even though Adora changes her behavior towards Catra in s3ep3-ep6- showing deference for her past mistakes, love for Catra, humility, Catra is too far gone to hear it- she only sees protecting herself from further harm at any cost- that includes pulling the switch and winning the war. It was how she was going to finally be safe...

Everything proceeds to fall apart, so much chaos ensues. One thing that's so scary about Adora's behavior is that it shows she was fighting while having no idea where her line was: what action was too much, too sinister, in service of her 'destiny'? She didn't really understand her own feelings, her own darkness.... and if Adora had taken Catra's life... it's real scary to think about. Fighting without knowing your own moral beliefs and convictions is always scary, it was scary to see for both Adora and Catra.

And so, by the time Portal happens... there's not much Adora can do for Catra. She's too hurt to hear Adora's pleas of love. All she can really do is ask Catra to be better, to heal herself. As Adora says:

"You made your choice, now live with it!*

*WOMP*

She's right, Catra can't live with herself- she's been corrupted by her grief and her fear- and in s4 we see as Catra's anger begins to break down into something else.

Catra is stuck in a downward spiral, and at least Adora is always trying to be better, even if she didn't know what that really is. Can we say the same about Catra? No not really.

One last appreciation-

Scorpia is a good, smart, interpersonal person, she realizes Catra's needs, she protects her like no one else ever has, including Adora. Yeah, Catra doesn't really deserve her, (also- Scorpia was always Catra's best source of healthy emotional support, something Catra should have worked harder at accepting), but it's really good for people like Catra to see someone show care for them, besides. And, Scorpia also stops Adora from doing something she herself never would have recovered from.

Hooray for Scorpia! Hooray!! Without her, no kiss, no saving the universe. Hooray!! for Scorpia!! She's the best- 🖤♥️🤍

Happy 1 year anniversary to Catradora kiss!! 🎉🏳️‍🌈 💞🎉🥰

Everything in SPOP is always a team effort. Scorpia deserves Adora's gratitude, after all, Scorpia saved Catra from Adora's own hurtful confusion. How scary it is that Adora came so close to taking the life of her future lover... 😥

Thanks as always for a like or a ✨✨✨rebloggg✨✨✨ and let me know if you have questions or concerns! I will gladly answer them-

With Love,

~EtheriaDearie

::Here's a link to the original post to which this refers- all links are on tumblr

🥰 Got time for one more fast and fun read about Catradora love to help the author out? Check on this quick read-💞🏳️‍🌈

LotFP = Legend of the Fire Princess

Here's the total list of more reading if you'd like to read more 🙂 -

#she ra #spop #catradora #she ra meta #she ra and the princesses of power #scorpia #my writing #shadow weaver #she ra spoilers #adora #Catra

130 notes · View notes

alexbkrieger13 · 2 years ago

Text

The Swedish players positive about the Nations League - Eidevall critical: "Who will play?"

The Nations League starts in 2023 on the women's side. The news is welcomed by the Swedish players. - I think it will benefit us, says Magdalena Eriksson. Jonas Eidevall is critical. - Who will play all the matches?, he says to Arseblog.

The Uefa Nations League has been played since 2018 on the men's side. And last week Uefa announced that the Nations League will be played for women from the autumn of 2023. This means that the national teams will play more competitive matches than ever before.

The idea is that the tournament should lead to more matches at a similar level so that the numbers do not rush, something that the Swedish national team players are positive about.

- I think it feels exciting. I like innovation and when you evaluate something and think about it. The format is exciting and if you look at it from a Swedish perspective, we get a lot of tough, really good matches and that's what we players want. I think it benefits us as a national team to get good matches and be matched against tough teams throughout the calendar year so you come well prepared for a championship, says Magdalena Eriksson.

Zecira Musovic also feels positive about the Nations League setup.

- It is fantastic fun and good news in the whole development that is underway. There will be more top matches and matches that matter. Most importantly, we will hopefully eliminate 10-0 wins or losses. It will benefit players and our supporters and the whole development, I think. This is a step in the right direction.

Nathalie Björn:

- It is very positive, we know that it has been very difficult to qualify for the Olympics before, so I see only advantages in qualifying in this way.

But the increased load on the players is critical of the Arsenal coach, Jonas Eidevall.

- We don't just increase the matches, we increase the number of tougher matches. We do it at club level with the Champions League group stage and now we do it in the international calendar. Who will play all the matches? It is great that we are creating more meaningful matches but now we have to ask, how do we develop more players to play these matches?, Eidevall tells arseblog and continues:

- Players will get hurt. I don't have stats on that but I get a gut feeling from what I'm seeing because there are so many high profile players out with long term injuries right now.

Stina Blackstenius understands her coach and to some extent shares that view.

- I understand the reasoning and of course also see many advantages considering that I think it will be a system where we get to play many good matches, but it is clear that there is a risk that there will be a higher load on players. Perhaps it is as Jonas says that there are both pros and cons. Then I don't know too much about how the system is laid out and shouldn't comment too much before I know exactly how everything will look.

Björn believes that she did not think about that aspect and that the positives outweigh the negatives of the tournament.

- Actually, I haven't thought about it very much. It is clear that there is a heavy burden on national team players and there will always be pros and cons. But right now the positives outweigh the negatives. But it's clear that there can be disadvantages to the Nations League, but now it's new and cool and something to look forward to, to really get to play against top nations and get to play together as a team.

#swewnt article

5 notes · View notes

jae-daddy · 4 years ago

Text

Duff (4)

jaebum au series

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight masterlist

pairing: im jaebum x reader genre: angst, smut, cheating, CEO! i guess too now plot: you are the duff, and guys use you to get close to your bestfriend, turns out jaebum was no exception. but as time goes on the tension between you and your bestfriend’s unoffical boyfriend grows a/n: it so late, I'm literally seeing double rn... hope y’all like it! <3 not edited.

Life is brimming with lessons that teach you how to live without being naive and a fool.

You were already taught a few lessons by life, as it made you jump through endless hoops burning with malicious flames waiting to scorch your skin at slightest touch.

So you found it fair to hold yourself as intelligent and mature.

Therefore, you trusted your conclusion to ignore whatever happened in the elevator with Im Jaebum.

What was said, what was done; none of it mattered.

An important lesson you’ve learnt is people say and do crazy things when they are riding high a shot of adrenaline.

Jaebum’s near-death experience led him to say things that he would not on a normal day. It was only because he was scared that he did. And everyone wants to die an honest man. You were certain if it were Paul in the elevator instead of you, Jaebum might have confessed something outrageous to him too.

So that was not the reason why you were staring at the two males in front of you as they spoke absolute nonsense to you. You already knew not to take what happened in that tiny metal box seriously. Instead, it was another life lesson you knew that made you stare at them as if they had grown two heads: everything has a price.

“Not everyone gets an opportunity like this, y/n,” Paul spoke, a second away from begging on his knees.

You shook your head in distaste, this was not part of the plan. Actually, there was no plan, but if you had one, this would definitely not be it. This was not how you imagined your lottery internship to turn out.

“Paul, I am flattered the company believes me to be capable of such an important role,” you breathed, trying to keep a polite smile as your eyes bounced between the bald man and the smirking jerk. “However, I do not think I would be suitable for this role. I made it clear in my internship contract that I will not have my studies affected by this opportunity. Unfortunately, being the secretary of the -”

“I’m sorry to stop you, y/n,” Paul cut you off, not apologetic at all. You bit your cheeks to hold back a sneer. “We have thought about this through, and believe it to be the best plan of action to take right now. Mr Im is new to this company and is temporary, and while we have made a public announcement, he is still on trial.

“We could get someone in a fixed-term confidential contract, but that’s too complicated.”

Your brows furrowed as you disagreed with that, but you didn't say anything.

“The remaining time left in your contract and Mr Im’s trial period match up perfectly. You already have secretarially role in the company, so you already know the ups and downs, the tricks and tips, so we really believe this is the best way. And about your studies, the summer break began last week. However, if you believe this to be in violation of your contract, we will compensate.”

“Compensate?” You rose an eyebrow, payment would be better than slaving away for free.

“Pay you, just like any other employee,” Paul smiled happily. Finally seeing some indication of interest from your side. He added, proudly, “with all employee benefits.”

You bit your lip in deep thought.

You mentally weighed the pros and cons.

There were pros, so many pros; a better resume, money, free coffee and healthcare, etc. But the con, the big con stared at you in bold, italics, highlighted in large red fonts: you’d be working for Im Jaebum.

If this was someone else you would have said yes the moment they offered it, even without the benefits. But with Im Jaebum, things got complicated.

You weren’t sure if he could maintain the professional relationship between the two of you. And if you were being completely honest, you didn’t know if you could maintain it too.

Even now, with Paul standing at one end of the table, and Jaebum settled on the long side. Your mind couldn’t help thinking about how short your skirt was, and how easy it would be for Jaebum to bend you over the wooden table, and make you a moaning mess.

It would be quite difficult to maintain professionalism when you’d be spending time alone with him. Or maybe, he would use his position to make you suffer. He might end up not coming to work at all, have you do all his work, and just show up to sign and show his face.

So much could go wrong with working for Im Jaebum.

And you also had to consider the fact that you hadn’t talked to him since the elevator incident.

You haven’t been to Heather’s place, too busy with the piled up assignments all due within the last two weeks. The twenty hours of weekly internship didn’t give you any freed up time either. You didn’t get an opportunity to see Heather, or her boyfriend, Im Jaebum, to have a talk.

“Oh come on, y/n,” Jaebum smiled at you, making your blood boil instantly. This was the first thing he said to you in the past two weeks and somehow managed to be an arrogant shit-eater when he did. Your glare didn’t make his smile falter as he sang, “It’ll be fun.”

No way. You thought. There is no way you would be able to work for that self-centred, cocky, incredibly hot jerk.

“We’ll cover your fees.” Paul stopped you before the no on the tip of your tongue tumbled out. You stared at him in shock, as he looked at you expectedly.

“My university fees?” You asked, shocked.

“Yes, all of it.” He nodded.

That’s a lot.

Your eyes fell on Jaebum who smirked at you as if he had the whole entire world at his feet's disposal, and maybe he truly did. He had something similar to that power if the company was willing to go to such extents to make him stay.

The pros were really starting to outweigh the annoying, irritating con.

“Fine,” you licked your lips, with a sigh. “I’m in.”

Paul almost jumped in his place with excitement, “Thank you, y/n! Thank you so much!”

Paul walked out swiftly muttering something about going to the HR and having a contract formed immediately. Your eyes followed him as he left, remaining on the doors that closed behind him.

You could feel his gaze burning the side of your face, and it truly felt as if you were about to combust.

“What?” You snarked, turning towards him annoyed.

Jaebum just snickered as he swirled side to side, carefree, on his chair, “Why are you always so mad, love?”

You rolled your eyes getting up, “I guess this meeting is over.”

“I didn’t dismiss you, y/n,” Jaebum said, stopping his playful actions.

“You’re not my boss until I sign that piece of paper, so,” you gave him a middle finger with a tight smile before walking out the office.

You could hear his light laughter follow you, but you ignored it.

You stopped in your tracks as you remembered something and entered the room once again. Jaebum looked up at you, surprised, before smiling brightly, “Welcome back.”

You cursed yourself for returning after such an amazing exit, but there were more pressing matters than your pride.

“Have you told Heather about what happened?” You closed the door behind you, making sure no one could hear you.

Jaebum’s eyes danced with amusement, as he shrugged, drawling, “What happened?”

“In the elevator, Jaebum,” you gritted through your teeth as you stepped closer towards him.

Jaebum’s smiled only grew as he frowned with feigned innocence, “I can’t seem to remember, maybe if you could help me remember.”

His lazy gaze fell to your lips before meeting your eyes again. A spark ignited deep inside you, and you told yourself it was anger; it was an annoyance.

You clicked your jaw as you smacked your hands onto the desk, leaning over it. Jaebum watched you, carefully, not intimidated a bit, only amused.

Your eyes narrowed at him, before you smiled sweetly, “You were holding my hand and crying like a child.”

Jaebum hissed, unaffected, as he tsked, “I can’t seem to remember that.”

“Did you tell her or not?” You groaned, your annoyance at peak.

What you would do to this man if you got a chance. He wouldn’t be smiling like that, he’d be begging you for forgiveness, for release.

Jaebum smirked as if he could read your mind, “No, I didn't.”

“Good,” you nodded, gulping as his eyes watched you with unsettling darkness. “Don’t.”

He rose his eyebrow, before nodding, “As you wish, y/n.”

You turned and felt his gaze watch you as you walked out. You felt it lower, watching your hips as it swayed side to side. Your hand gripped the cool handle as your shoulders sagged slightly.

You let out a low sigh, “Thanks.”

You disappeared behind the door before Jaebum could reply.

“Babe!” Heather sang as her long limbs fell over you loosely. You laughed, as you helped her sit straight. She leaned against you again, snuggling her face into your neck as she hugged you, “I love the way you smell, baby!”

You chuckled as you patted her red matted hair soiled with glitter and sweat at the back of the Uber, “Thanks Heather, I like how you smell too.”

“Don’t lie,” you could hear her pout, and it only made you smile. “You always make fun of my feet.”

“But that’s only after the gym or a hike, Heather,” you told her, as you brushed the hair off her face.

Heather was completely wasted tonight.

She was already drunk by the time you walked into the club. Jaebum wasn’t anywhere to be found, and you found her with a group of her “friends” that you didn’t like.

They would always make her drink too much, give her a little white sugar, and let her waste her platinum card on those low lives.

You didn’t like the way the guys would touch her as she slumped back onto the couch unable to see straight. You didn’t like the way the girls sitting around would not help her, instead, encourage her to be worse.

You were mad when you were pulling her away from the crowd and towards the bathroom when you had found Jaebum. He had just got to the club himself but was ready to leave as soon as he saw the state Heather was in.

He sat on the other side of Heather, holding her purse, as Heather held you from the middle seat.

Heather mumbled something in return and you couldn’t understand it.

“By that red letterbox is fine,” you told the Uber driver as he slowed down.

Jaebum got out first, and you helped Heather onto his back before getting out. You turned to the driver, giving him a small smile, “Thank you.”

“No problem, have a good night,” he said, already accepting a new ride.

“You too,” you said, as you closed the door. You turned to Jaebum, with Heather hanging her head over his shoulder. Her long ember curls falling down his chest as he grunted and halted her up.

“Woah, stop,” Heather moaned, heaving.

Jaebum looked at you with terror in his eyes, and you laughed at him, “Come on, let’s get this party animal into bed.”

“Is this where you live?” Jaebum asked as you led him up the small walk to the door.

You snorted and shook your head, “No, this is Heather’s home.”

Jaebum rose his eyebrows, and you continued, as you unlocked the doors,

“Her parents don’t live in this house anymore, so Heather skips between here and the apartment.”

You turned the lights on and took in the home that greeted you.

“They love sure love red, huh?” Jaebum commented, taking in the red couch, red feature wall, and red details spread over the living room and kitchen.

You laughed at that, agreeing with him. The Blacks sure did take pride in their red-haired heritage, and didn’t hide the fact that it was family’s favourite colour, “Mrs Black was going through an interior design phase.”

“Thank god it was just a phase,” Jaebum snickered, making you turn to him with a pointed look as you tried to hide the smile.

“She wasn’t too bad,” you replied and began walking towards Heather’s room.

Jaebum followed behind you, grunting as he adjusted Heather on his back, “No, she was just too red.”

You rolled your eyes as you opened her bedroom door and walked towards the bed. You pulled down the covers and Jaebum gently set her down. You took off her shoes, and earrings carefully.

Jaebum didn’t say anything and just watched you as you walked around the room getting out her nightshirt, and face-cleansing products.

“Why are you looking at me, Jaebum?” You asked, not looking at him. Instead, you pumped out the cleanser on a pad and gently took off the makeup from her face.

“Is there a problem?” Jaebum asked back, making you snort.

You gently turned her face and began the other side, “Yes, it’s making me nervous. I can feel you judging me.”

He was probably thinking what everyone else seemed to think when they saw you and Heather. They never saw the whole you both had for each other, how you would do anything for one another. All they saw was Heather in all her brilliance, beauty and wealth, and you, as her second, her side-kick.

“I’m not judging you,” he replied instantly.

Something about the way he said it made you believe him. You bit your lip, as folded the dirty make-up pads and put them on the side table.

“Then what are you doing?” You took a wet towel, wiping her face. You patted it dry and misted some toner and moisturiser. You turned back and met Jaebum’s eyes that remained on you, “Why are you looking at me?”

“There’s nothing else to look at,” he simply shrugged.

You rolled your eyes and pointed to the wall covered with photos of Heather through the years. Most of them had you in them, celebrating every holiday, and some photos from random days when the sun was shining brightly.

Jaebum stared at the wall as if noticing it for the first time. He got up and slowly walked up towards it. He took in the photos for a while, a small chuckle leaving him sometimes, “How did you two become friends?”

You smiled at the memory, “She saved me.”

You stared at your gorgeous friend, as she got up slightly. She searched around, her eyes disappearing as she smiled spotting you, “Oh, you’re here, y/n. I was going to the store on Wednesday.”

She trailed off, falling back into her pillow dozing off again.

“Her hangover is going to kill her tomorrow,” you turned to Jaebum with a tight smile, as you held up the nightshirt, “I’m going to change her.”

Jaebum instantly turned on his heels and walked out, closing the doors behind him.

You walked out to the smell of coffee and Jaebum sitting at the kitchen counter with two mugs in front of him. You furrowed your eyebrows as you settled on the chair in front of him, “Is this poisoned?”

Jaebum snorted rolling his eyes.

You blew the coffee before sipping it. It was still searing hot, so you placed it down on the counter, and turned towards Jaebum.

You took in his midnight hair pushed back, revealing his forehead. You didn’t know you could find someone’s forehead so sexy, but after seeing his hair down while he was at work, you had to admit it was hot. His piercings that were normally missing during office hours had returned too, a few missing.

You frowned your eyes focusing on his nose and eyebrows, “Why aren’t you wearing all your piercings?”

“It’s a nuisance putting it on and off,” Jaebum shrugged, before pointing to his lips, his tongue coming out to flick the sliver hoop, “Just wore my favourite.”

You held your breath, as the image of the cool metal against your lips, flicked by your tongue, gently tugged by your teeth invaded your mind. Your cheeks heated but you continued like nothing was happening to your body.

“Do you have piercings anywhere else?”

Jaebum smirked, “If you’re into pierced nipples, I can get them done for you.”

You groaned, a ridiculous smile on your face as you shook your head, “Can you ever have a conversation without being a prick?”

“A prick?” he gasped, “that’s a bit harsh. I would say I’m more of a flirt.”

“Oh, so you know? This is a conscious decision. You wake up every day and decide to be the bane of my existence.”

“I do wake up every morning and think of you,” Jaebum smiled at you. He chuckled, seeing you roll your eyes at him.

“You’re ridiculous,” you snorted. Jaebum simply shrugged, smiling.

Something beeped from the kitchen and Jaebum got up. You watched him walk over to the stove and turn it off. He reached for a mug before looking through the drawers for something.

You narrowed your eyes watching him, “What are you looking for?”

“Uh... a strainer?” He turned back to you, scratching the back his head. “I don’t know what it’s called.”

Your heart melted at how adorable he looked standing there, confused and unsure. The smile on his lips was so beautiful as he watched you, waiting for you.

“The second drawer over there,” you pointed, not looking at him as your cheeks tinted rosy again.

Jaebum murmured thanks, before using it to drain the liquid from the pot and into the cup, “It’s a hangover tea. My mum makes it for me every time I get too drunk.”

“You live with your mum?” You asked. Jaebum peered back at you a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah, but I rarely ever get to see her.”

“Why’s that?” You frowned. The way Jaebum talked about her, the lightness in his voice and the softness of his smile, told you how much he adored his mother.

Jaebum shrugged before giving you a cheeky smile, “My house is too big.”

You laughed at that. You were not expecting that at all. You heard Jaebum’s low chuckle as you sobered up.

“What about you?” He asked as placed the cup onto a tray with a glass of water and two tablets he found next to the refrigerator. “Do you live alone?”

“Yup,” you nodded, before frowning, “Not even a pet.”

“No pets?” He asked, sympathetic.

You nodded, “I’m scared of animals. It doesn’t matter what size, or how well-trained, or what the animal is. I am terrified of them all the same.”

Jaebum gasped as if you had confessed to a murder, “What is wrong with you?”

“Wow, I thought this was a safe place,” you mumbled before taking a sip from your coffee that had cooled down. You hummed at the taste, he made good coffee.

“What about your parents?” Jaebum asked, making you stiffen. “Where do they live?”

You remained quiet.

You opened your mouth to tell him what you always told anyone who asks. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed or thought it was something to hide. You didn’t want people in your business and telling them to mind their business when they asked only piked up their interest more.

So you opened your mouth to tell him what you’ve been telling everyone for the past five years, “I don’t live with them.”

Normally you would follow up with something about living here was better for your education or future jobs. You would say something, an excuse, that was reason enough for many young people to move out of their parents home. But what you said surprised you, “I don’t talk to them anymore.”

“Oh,” was all Jaebum said. “That’s cool too.”

You peered up at him with a frown. You took in his relaxed gaze, the smile on his face just like it there was a minute ago. There was no sympathy, no pity. There was no spike in interest or anything.

He really didn’t want to pry. He didn't want to know why unless you told him. He only took as much as you could allow him.

Suddenly there was an iridescent pond shimmering in your chest. It swirled, making your whole body feel alive as you took in Im Jaebum. It felt as if your entire body was one cell, one tiny speck of dust caught in the breeze of Im Jaebum, and it didn’t mind.

You gulped, your body and mind acting quicker than you could control, “They couldn’t stand the sight of at me after they found out I was still doing something I promised I wouldn’t do anymore.”

The faces of your parents appeared in front of your eyes. The shock, anger, the disappointment on their face as they found you lying in a pool of your urine and vomit. The horror in their eyes, their desperateness as they shook your body, pleading for you to reply.

“They didn't kick me out. I left,” you ran a hand through your hair, as you let out a heavy sigh. You thought of the letter you wrote them, the way they had cried when they came to the hospital to meet you during those months, “I couldn’t hurt them anymore.”

“Do you think you would ever go meet them again?” You looked up to Jaebum watching you. You were thankful for the lack of pity in his eyes as he kept his gaze on you.

You sighed again, and it came out as a little laugh, “One day I will.”

You nodded, as you met his eyes. He smiled at you softly, and you smiled back as you scrunched your nose to stop the tears from threatening you, “When I am good enough, I will.”

“I hope that day comes soon.”

You didn’t realise Jaebum had come this close to you as you were talking. He leaned against the counter between you, his eyes intently taking you in. He folded his hands on the dark marble, his face leaning half-way over the counter.

You watched him back.

He was so beautiful.

You huffed out a smile as you shook your head at him. Jaebum instantly changed, leaning back, the playfulness in his eyes glinting once again as he rose an eyebrow in question.

“You’re not too bad, you know?” You smiled at him, before adding, “When you’re acting like a normal human being at least.”

Jaebum laughed at that before giving you a mocking smirk, “You’re not too bad yourself, y/n.”

You grinned about to say thank you, when he added, “When you’re not acting like a stick is stuck up your ass at least.”

“What an asshole,” you shook your head, laughing at him.

Jaebum beamed back, his eyes shining, “What a bitch.”

You took in the dark flecks in his eyes. You noticed their velvety blackness absorbing all light around it, but something else existed in those captivating eyes of his eyes. They didn’t get dragged away into the twilight of his gaze.

Instead, it shone brightly. It glistened, it was golden, white and sparkled like a starry night. It dragged you in, it made you want to lean close to him.

It made you want to place your lips on his and see how that shimmering halo swirled as he pulled you in closer. It made you want to reach for him, to place your hand on his soft cheeks. It made you want to walk around the counter and hug him in the middle of the kitchen littered with red embellishments.

Jaebum’s smile curled into an easy smirk as he winked at you before turning around. He picked up the tray with a cup of tea, a glass of water and Panadol, as walked towards the door the red-haired beauty was sleeping in.

Everything had a price.

Somewhere deep within your heart was a corner buried so deeply in the darkness you had forgotten it existed. The room was cold, dark, and there was nothing. Nothing except for a lone candle standing in the middle of the emptiness.

There had been nothing there for an eternity, and it was almost like magic. It almost felt like a trick of the eye, but then it happened again.

A flame, a spark, flickering at the tip of the candle; it sparked again.

This time it caught on. It burned, slowly getting brighter and livelier.

You watched Jaebum disappear behind the door of Heather’s room.

A sharp ache twisted your heart as you saw his broad back enter the dark room she was sleeping in.

The flame spreading over the wick twisted in shades of ember, their shadows dancing over the room.

You saw a word, you saw a face.

You knew the price for this feeling tugging, craving to grow bigger in your heart. You walked into the room, hidden in a deep corner of your heart. The ivory trail of your dress dragged on the dusty floor, turning brown with every step.

You didn’t look at the walls, you didn’t take in the shapes of the flames.

You took sharp, clear steps. You reached the candle, the flame reflecting softly against you. You closed your eyes, took in a deep breath and exhaled, blowing out the candle.

The flame was gone.

The candle extinguished, the room engulfed in darkness, once again.

You looked to the wall, the photo was no longer there but the image there was burnt into your mind.

The price of this feeling was too expensive.

It was too precious, and you couldn’t afford it.

223 notes · View notes

lgcjisoo · 3 years ago

Text

𝕂𝔼𝔼ℍ𝕆 .. ( family is ) what you make of it

it shouldn’t feel foreign to come home to his parent’s home, but somehow it is due to the duration of time that he’d spent away. at least he’s not coming alone this time. and he’s not even technically there to visit the parents, though that’s a side perk, of course. honestly, he’s there to borrow the use of the kitchen, which his mother gladly accepted, then chided that it’s been far too long since she’s seen him. what she doesn’t know is he’s also lugging back home with him, @lgckeeho.

this made it even more of a point that he should move out once he has the funds to do so, because while jisoo would have preferred cooking and baking in his apartment, the one room was too small and didn’t really have any sort of ventilation or anything for.. a practical use of the kitchen. cheap, sure. but the benefits were starting to not outweigh the cons. “let’s see if you really are as good as you say you are at being a chef, or .. baker, whatever we decide to do today.” they have some bags of groceries in their hands just so that they didn’t completely go home just to deplete all the food from his home and then dip out the next moment.

“wow, it’s been a long time since you... came over, right?” jisoo scratches at his temple guiltily. “i feel like my mom would kill me for not coming home in so long but... since you’re there, there’s no way she’ll scream at me, right?” they’re standing outside the door, as he exchanges a long look with keeho, before unlocking the door and stepping in, taking his shoes off. “i’m home!”

#( t : what you make of it )#( lgckeeho )#short and sweet for now HAHAHA #i am sO TIREd

5 notes · View notes

solarune · 4 years ago

Text

drop out

@rasapad said: Hello! Here’s an idea: “Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” + Renjun, and motorcyclist au… except let’s make it fun and have the reader as the one with the motorbike!

pairing: huang renjun x reader

genre: angst, some fluff, college au

warnings: swearing

word count: 1,996

a/n: my first renjun fic!! hopefully i got his characterization right, please let me know what you think!

Renjun has never been one to take risks. Before every choice he makes, he always makes a mental list of pros and cons, thinking of every single outcome possible and what they could potentially lead to. Do the pros outweigh the cons? Does this benefit him in the long run or this is only temporary? Will he get hurt?

Renjun never takes risks but when it comes to you, it’s very hard to say no.

And that’s exactly how he finds himself on the back of your motorcycle, hands clasped together over your torso as he holds on for dear life while you zoom down the highway. You weave around cars and buses alike to avoid the traffic, some of them honking at the two of you, but unlike Renjun, you like taking risks. Where Renjun is logical, you’re emotional. Where Renjun is overthinking, you’re spontaneously doing. The two of you are exact opposites and it’s for that reason that you’re best friends and for that reason that Renjun caught feelings for you. How could he not? You’re everything he isn’t. You with your confidence, no bullshit attitude, easy laughter, and attention-grabbing aura. You’re everything he wants to be.

You reach a red light on the way to your destination and Renjun’s grip finally loosens to allow his hands to rest for a few seconds. The leather jacket that you’re wearing squeaks as you turn to look over your shoulder at him and you push the visor of your helmet up to reveal a bright smile. His heart skips a beat and he clears his throat, raising an eyebrow and asking in a bored voice, “So are you going to tell me where we’re going or are you just going to keep on driving? I would at least like to know which ditch I’m potentially going to be left for dead in because of this metal death trap you’ve forced me on to.”

You roll your eyes with a smile still on your face as one of your hands leaves the handlebars to gently hit his leg. “We’re not going to die, Junnie, you’ve been on my motorcycle enough times to know that! And-”

“And yet I still feel like I’m close to death every time I get on,” he interrupts you. “Funny how that works.”

“And no, I’m not telling you where we’re going,” you continue with a pointed look after his rude interruption. “It’s a surprise!”

“You know I hate surprises,” he grumbles but his words are lost in the sound of your motorcycle’s engine revving the second the light turns green. His grip on you tightens once more and when he lets out a squeak when he feels you accelerate, he prays to every higher power out there that you didn’t hear him. It would only cause you to go faster and it’s taking everything in Renjun to not press his entire body up against you and hide his face in your neck until you get to your destination.

Renjun doesn’t even notice that he falls asleep until you’re shaking him awake, soft voice calling out his name while the two of you just sit on your parked motorcycle. His vision is blurry from just waking up but it doesn’t explain why everything is dark and he begins to panic and is about to call out to you for help when he realizes that he’s still wearing your spare helmet.

“You’ve been overworking yourself, haven’t you, Junnie?” you question him as you take the helmet from his hands. “I don’t know why you keep doing this to yourself, you know that lack of sleep and caffeine just end up making you more tired.”

Renjun huffs as he rubs at his tired eyes. He knows that but-

“I can’t afford to waste any time, (Y/N). My classes as a second year music theory major are some of the hardest classes I’m going to take, I can’t afford to fail.”

The two of you have had this argument before; Renjun telling you that sacrificing proper sleep is necessary to maintain his perfect GPA and you telling him that taking a 15 minute break and getting at least 8 hours of sleep twice a week isn’t going to kill him. It’s like you’re both talking to a brick wall but neither of you are willing to back down. Renjun wants to succeed and you just want to keep your best friend alive and functioning.

But you don’t argue with him this time. “I know,” you simply reply, and Renjun is taken aback. No snarky response? No threats to his life? What the hell is going on? “Anyways, we’re here!”

When he looks around, all he sees are trees and grass lit up only by the moon. That’s it, Renjun thinks to himself. I’m going to die here. You begin to walk deeper into the forest and Renjun scrambles off of your bike and runs to catch up with you, the darkness of the unfamiliar forest keeping him on edge. “Can you please tell me what we’re doing here?” he asks. He doesn’t care if he sounds scared or desperate because those are the only two things he’s feeling right now. “Because the more we walk, the more I feel like you’re going to murder me-”

The two of you emerge out onto a cliff and the entire city is laid out before you. It’s enough to take Renjun’s breath away as he stares down at all of the lights, and even in the dark, he can just make out all of the cars on the highway that you were on before. When he takes a deep breath and the cold night air enters his lungs, Renjun feels like he’s at the top of the world. When he looks over at you, he finds that you’re already looking at him with a fond smile on your face and Renjun can’t help but smile back. “This place is amazing, (Y/N)!” he exclaims. “How did you even find it?”

You take a seat on the edge of the cliff, your feet dangling off and swinging in the air, and you pat the ground beside you as a silent request for him to sit beside you. “I was just driving around one night looking for a place to think and just happened to come here.” You shrug and don’t even look up at him as you pull up handfuls of grass. “It’s been around a month since I first found it and I thought it was finally time to bring you here.”

Renjun only nods in response and a comfortable silence falls over the two of you while the wind and muffled sounds from the city provide you with background noise.

“Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” you ask randomly and Renjun swears he almost topples off the cliff from how fast his entire body turns to look at you. You’re staring up at the moon and even though you’re not looking at him, Renjun can tell that you have a strange look in your eyes. He doesn’t like that. “I’ve always thought that moon is pretty, but to be honest…” Your eyes finally meet his and a sad smile appears on your face. “I think you’re prettier.”

All Renjun can do is stare at you as he attempts to process what you just said to him. “Are you okay?” he asks, leaning forward to touch the back of his hand to your forehead. “Are you sick? Why are you being so weird tonight?”

You swat his hand away with a laugh, but the happiness on your face is short-lived and is immediately replaced by a somber expression. “I’m not sick, Junnie, I’m fine.”

When Renjun looks at you, he can tell there’s more you want to say but you just don’t know how. So he waits in silence, allowing you to gather your thoughts and giving you the time that you need to say what you want. Maybe her dog died, Renjun thinks to himself, trying to think of every possible thing that could have happened that would cause you to be this serious around him. Or she had a bad day, maybe it was her idiotic chemistry lab partner. Or-

“I dropped out today,” you finally blurt out. “Like, out of college.”

All of the air feels like it just got knocked out of Renjun’s lungs. “You what? Why?” It’s okay, it’s fine, he reassures himself. She’s always been impulsive. Maybe she just needed this semester off and she’ll come back next year. And it’s not like I’ll never see her again.

“I’m moving to America to live with my sister.”

No.

“What the fuck, (Y/N)?” Renjun practically shouts as he jumps up from his seat on the ground. “This isn’t funny, stop joking around.”

“I’m not joking around, Renjun,” you say softly as you get up to stand in front of him. “I’m leaving in 2 weeks.”

Renjun. You never call him that. It’s always ‘Junnie’ or ‘Jun’ or ‘idiot’. Never ‘Renjun’.

His vision goes blurry and Renjun doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he feels tears running down his cheeks. He wipes away at them angrily as he glares at you. “What the fuck were you thinking, (Y/N)? Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of dropping out? I could have helped you, we could have figured this out together!”

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” you respond, and Renjun can hear frustration in your voice. “I knew you would be like this. You wouldn’t understand-”

“Understand what?” he asks. “Understand that you just threw your entire life away?”

“Understand that this is me finally starting to live the life that I want!” you retort and at this point, you’re both shouting at each other. Your fights have never been like this before and the anger between you two is so visceral that it makes Renjun even more scared. “I don’t belong here, Renjun; in this school, this city, this country. There’s so many things the world has to offer that I wouldn’t ever learn in school and I want to find out what they are. I’m tired of sitting still. I want to do something.”

Renjun doesn’t know what to say at this point. You’ve always been restless but he didn’t think it would come to this. You’re taking a big risk and even though the decision was never his, he still feels scared.

“I’m not like you, Junnie.” Your voice is soft and when Renjun looks at you, all he sees is sadness and uncertainty, plain as day on your face. “There isn’t one thing I particularly like enough to study, I don’t have a dream job, I’m not passionate about something that’s able to make me a ton of money in the real world. At this point, I don’t even know what the hell comes after moving to America. But I need to get out of here.”

More silence. Renjun can’t bring himself to say anything. His mind is blank.

“I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish I could be like you,” you confess. “You’re always so sure of yourself, you always know the right choices to make to get to where you want to be. You’re so smart, Junnie. I wish I could be like that.”

Renjun’s hand balls up into a fist at his side. “You are smart, (Y/N), don’t you dare think otherwise. I may not agree with your decision but I always knew deep down that college isn’t meant for you.”

He looks back out onto the view of the city. I’ve always wanted to be like her but she wants to be like me. How ironic. Now he knows why you brought him here after all this time. You were waiting for the right moment. “I just wish you weren’t leaving me.”

81 notes · View notes

squeeneyart · 4 years ago

Text

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 19

AO3

Beta reader is @thesnadger!

Social interaction has its pros and cons.

Martin considers a way to pass the time.

Technically, there was no call that night.

Martin had had months to familiarize himself with the strange predawn that added a little color to the sky each morning. His home was on the western coast, so of course he didn’t see much of it until he’d made the trek uphill. With some cloud cover and dense fog, though, the light would scatter and cast a cold blanket of grey light over his corner of the world.

Early on he found it sort of nice, seeing the world ‘wake up’. He’d even started to get up earlier than necessary, just to make himself some tea and look out the window for signs of birds or other creatures who made their lives at dawn and dusk. There were some lines of poetry about it somewhere in his notebook, something about the magic of a quiet morning in solitude.

He’d lasted about a week with that. Turned out his life was already quiet and full enough of contemplative solitude, and warm blankets were much better than cold kitchen tile against his feet.

It was during this little sliver of morning when his mobile, vibrating against the wood of his bedside table, dragged him back to consciousness.

“No…” he groaned, nuzzling into his pillow. It could only be one person. “Don’t make me come in early. Don’t make me come in early, you prick-”

He reached over (god it was cold) and grabbed the offending object, keeping as much of himself under the blankets as possible and slipping the mobile back under with him. The screen was bright and painful in his cozy darkness. His eyes adjusted, and on his lockscreen the time read 4:06 a.m.

Before he could convince himself to let the damned thing ring itself out, he glanced at the caller ID. If anything it should’ve given him even more reason to let the call go, but Martin’s finger was already pressing the answer button.

Attempting to whisper, his voice came out rough and croaky. “Jon?”

“Martin. Glad you’re still up,” Jon said in that distant way of someone paying attention to another task entirely. Keyboard clicks could be heard in the background. “How are you doing?”

Still up? Bleary and confused, Martin replied as if he’d just run into Jon at the store, “Fine, I guess? How are you?”

“I’ve successfully whittled down my assignments enough to have personal research opportunities.” There was a weary but nevertheless triumphant edge to his words. “If this is some sort of test of my abilities, I’d say I deserve a raise.”

“Impressive,” Martin yawned. “Does that mean anything for me, or…”

“No, not yet.” He could feel Jon deflate on the other end. “I’ve only just started looking, and Elias is still acting rather blasé about what we found. I hadn’t pegged him as the type to put business relations over the mission statement, but if that’s the case then-”

“Why send you out here?”

“Precisely.” Jon clicked his tongue. “So I’m going to pry in that direction while digging through old reports. I assume the others will do the same once they’re caught up.”

Well, progress was as good as anything to wake up to. He reluctantly pulled the blankets from over his head and peeked out at his window. The frost was just visible at the edges, its frigid hands creeping across the glass. Perhaps a little while longer under the covers.

“Anyway, I’m glad I caught you,” Jon continued, filling the space Martin had left empty. The keyboard taps had ceased. “I’d decided to give you some breathing room, but you were quiet during the call with everyone and I thought- well, I wanted to make sure you were okay. As much as can be expected.”

A small, halfhearted smile found its way onto Martin’s face. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“So… are you okay? I know you said you were, but it sounded like you were being polite.”

Martin looked up at his ceiling. “I mean I was being polite, but… Yeah, I’m okay. As much as can be expected, like you said, but okay.”

“Hm.”

“Hm?”

“What? Nothing, it’s good. I’m gl- I’m happy that you’re… doing okay.” Midway between this thought, Jon seemed to switch the mobile from one ear to the other. “If you aren’t, I just hope you know that you can tell me if something is going on. Sometimes there are emotional aspects that contribute to an event-”

As Jon spoke at length, Martin noticed a distinct tumbling feel in the way Jon spoke, like his thoughts were coming faster than his mouth could follow. Not alcohol, surely? No, a different idea had been bothering Martin since Jon had first called.

“-can’t speak for Tim or Sasha about hours, and if you’d rather just talk one-on-one, I’m sure-”

“Right, hours. Jon, I don’t mean to pry, but have you slept at all?”

The stream of consciousness halted in its tracks. “What?”

“You seem a bit… out of it? Have you checked the time recently?”

A moment passed. Then another. Then- “That can’t be right.”

Weakly, Martin replied, “Good morning to you, too.”

“I-” Jon began. He then made a small, irritated noise. “I woke you up.”

Martin ran a hand over his face and pressed it to his upturned mouth. Into it he mumbled, “You really need to sleep.”

As if the hours had finally come crashing down upon him, Jon’s voice dropped low and soft and properly tired. “I could’ve sworn it was earlier.”

“I mean, in a sense-”

“You know what I mean.” A yawn finally broke through, but he fought it back down. “I hope it wasn’t too much earlier than your normal wake-up time?”

“Nah. You’ve seen how early my day starts. Besides, my alarm isn’t the most pleasant thing to wake up to, and you could’ve been Peter calling me in early.” It was like getting up to enjoy the morning, but he was still in bed and someone else was there (sort of). As far as he was concerned, the pros outweighed the cons.

“Then I’ll hold my apology for a later date, if you don’t mind.” He spoke bluntly, but possibly in a way that was meant to be funny. Martin was still working out when Jon was being blunt in a rude way or in a friendly way, and his gut pushed him toward the latter. “I also won’t apologize for my work ethic. I work better at night, without distractions or other people.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Martin asked, “Okay, I can play along with that, but when do you sleep?”

“We have a cot.”

Martin scoffed. “What, at work?” An image of the three researchers finding different corners in some dark back room to snooze on company time was almost too much.

“Working after-hours is implied in the description of any academic job. If we didn’t steal some of the day back to sleep, we’d all have dropped dead by now.” For a moment his voice strained as if he was stretching, dipping into the background before returning to normal. “Though this past week has been a bit more extreme due to circumstances. I’m not always up until dawn, calling people in a stupor.”

“First time for everything?” Martin said helpfully, pushing down weakly against the rising guilt. “I know it’s a bad situation, but I’m sorry you all have to work so hard.”

“No need for that. I can choose to sacrifice a few nights for something important.”

Slowly, very slowly, Martin pressed his burning face into his pillow. Maybe it was too early for him after all, to handle anything approaching concern. The heat was surely enough to melt the ice right off the window. Ignoring the ridiculous reaction happening in his cheeks, he turned his face back upwards and mumbled, “Thanks.”

There was a small rustling of papers. With the same damned softness, Jon continued, “I’m sure Tim and Sasha would say the same.”

A quiet thing clung deep in Martin’s throat, and in his nose, and he imagined a version of himself from the night before, scared and powerless and ready to dump any and all his feelings on the first person who would speak with him. Would that have been something Jon was prepared for, if he’d called at a sensible hour? Or if Martin had called first? But it was nearly morning, and he was well rested, and eventually the thought fell away in his wakefulness.

Without a response to go on, Jon said, "I’m not going to be as… outwardly optimistic as before, but…”

“You’re making progress,” Martin finished, coughing lightly. “I know. I’ll be patient, and careful. It’s hard after the weird stuff we did last week, though.”

“I’d like to say it was all due to extreme circumstances, but we are just like this.”

“There go my hopes of you all getting proper rest when this is over.”

“S’not impossible, but terribly unlikely.”

Martin sighed, checking his screen clock again. Still some time left. “Is it safe to assume you won’t be sleeping at this point?”

“Won’t be long until I can go to the archives. I’ll wait until then and avoid being groggy on public transit.” A pause. “Also my last energy drink is still working.”

“Mm.” Letting his forearm fall across his eyes, Martin gave up that particular battle. “Anything new set off your ‘fake’ alarms recently?”

“You’re in luck. Just yesterday a man came in to tell me about his experience with ‘spy birds’ that even you can’t devil’s-advocate your way through.”

“I’ll be the judge.”

It was a tough sell, even for Martin whose own situation made a lot of things seem possible. Midway through he even began to resent the person for wasting time better spent solving Martin’s problems, but that was an emotional rabbit hole for another time. By the end he had to concede that it was more of a conspiracy than a supernatural encounter, if they were going to get into the semantics of it. Still, Jon made it easy to be contrarian.

“When we’re not busy with all this,” Jon said, accepting that Martin wasn’t yet ready to forgo the benefit of the doubt, “I’ll be happy to sit outside and film birds all day for the sake of science, but the man finds perfectly normal birds unsettling.”

With a silly kind of bullheadedness, Martin replied, “Plenty of seabirds around here. Maybe that’s what I’ll do while I wait for something to happen.”

Jon snorted. “I expect a full report by Monday.”

Before Martin could respond, his phone made an all too familiar and dreadful noise. He really should’ve picked a song or something, he thought as he dismissed his alarm. “Well, it’s that time.”

“Yes, I should be getting along with my morning as well. Good luck with your birdwatching,” he said with joking scorn.

“Have fun sleeping on the bus.”

“Ha ha. Goodbye, Martin.”

“Bye.”

Dropping his arm onto the bed, mobile in hand, Martin ignored the numbness in his fingers and considered how invested he was in writing a fake report about birds just to see the reaction it would get. Maybe he would text Tim about it.

The idea sat in the back of his mind as he got dressed, as he made breakfast, as he put on his shoes and coat and hat. When he opened the door to meet the cold that had settled in overnight, he couldn’t help but wince at the extra bit of sting the wind delivered, but he clung to his fanciful little idea all the way up the hills and through town.

Creative writing had never been his strong suit. It was debatable if poetry was, but he’d reached a point where it was more of a comforting activity than a skill. Still, as he got to work in the blessedly empty lighthouse, he thought of the little notebook he’d stashed into his bag. If it all came to nothing, he could end up with scraps of text to rearrange into poetry someday.

It was a mess of a book. Technically bound, it was still cheap with some pages starting to come loose from his handling. He’d long ago given up on the idea of a nice looking notebook, especially as it had become personal enough to count as horribly embarrassing. It was inevitable for any poetry notebook of his to become more akin to a scattered, flowery journal of sorts, and this one was no different.

It was also a step up from previous ones in that it wasn’t some spiral-bound school notebook he’d found in the discount section of the general store. No, he had found it in a bookstore discount section. The stiff cover even had sort of a nice texture before he’d beaten it up by shoving it into a drawer a million times.

The day crawled by with no interruptions, leaving Martin on edge. Peter hadn’t come by once. Perhaps he’d assumed Martin had had any boldness scared out of him, an aggravating thought. He had the will to act. He also had some amount of self preservation left in him, that was all.

By lunchtime he was itching to talk to anyone, but texting the others was off limits and it was so dreary outside that going out to eat was a non-starter. He supposed he could stop by the grocery store. He knew some of the people from when he’d worked there. Most of the ones he’d worked with had also left, but maybe…

No, that was a stupid idea. He wasn’t seeing anyone unless they came to him.

No one did.

So in his time off the clock, he stared at his little notebook and hoped his brain would think of anything to say.

The weather had taken a more miserable turn by the time he’d left work in the evening. He only saw a few birds struggling in the gales, none of them particularly watchful. If he had to guess, they didn’t care much about what anyone was doing. Not great material for a report, but maybe for a poem when the feeling hit.

The streets were largely empty as people avoided the high winds and mist that sprayed against Martin’s glasses, making it a challenge to see anything around him. He had half a mind to just stow them away, but there was going to be water in his eyes no matter what he chose to do. Just another little thing to make his day worse that he couldn’t change.

Part of him considered that the weather often matched his mood, but it wasn’t hard for bad weather to pair with sour thoughts. Nearly all weather was bad and nearly all moods were sour. Correlation, etcetera.

As much as he’d wanted to check his phone as soon as work was over, the others could wait until he’d stopped feeling so damned sorry for himself.

And he did feel awful, though there was no inciting incident. It had been a long, tedious day where the words wouldn’t flow, the world was grey, and any residual happiness from his conversation with Jon had been slowly eaten away by the loneliness of the present. Why was it so hard to hold onto those good things? A good start was supposed to make the day better, not make the rest of the day look worse.

It had to be everything at the lighthouse. He’d always been moody as a person, but the stress had to be getting to him. His head shouldn’t have been hurting from holding back tears when nothing had happened.

God, the squinting wasn’t helping, either. He knew where he was going, of course, but the streetlights were barely helping. The sky had decided to paint itself over everything, a dark, grey blob of water and concrete and fog. The walk down the hill was going to be a slippery pain, even in his grippy boots.

Had he passed by the florist? He probably should have by now, but the main road hadn’t ended yet.

And even when he got home, oh joy, it would be to sit at a table and eat with his mother, and based on her tastes she would love to stand outside in the misery of it all even though it would be terrible for her health. What was the point of trying when another person wouldn’t even listen-

He’d been walking for too long.

The road continued on, no longer heading into the surrounding trees but stretching itself past the point of impossibility. And at the end, in a place where it should not have been visible through the colorless mist, was a large, familiar house.

Ah, Martin thought. Someone had decided to talk to him today.

Looking behind him, the lighthouse was just barely visible. Looking to either side was a fool’s errand, as everything had been consumed by the grey.

He slipped the mobile phone out of his pocket and bent over to shield it from the rain. The screen lit up at his touch, but as expected any and all communication was blocked. Nevertheless, he opened the group chat and began to type.

Martin: i think simon wants to talk. everything is fog and i cant go anywhere else. hoping my phone makes it out so this makes it

He pressed send, then mustered up whatever hope he had and added:

Martin: talk to you soon

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #tim stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au

31 notes · View notes