#this is why I still wear clothing from high school it's impossible to find things I actually like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sofiadragon · 5 months ago

Text

Magic and Bluejays

Lord, she coming. First, however, I need to get through writing this stupid Hogwarts Express chapter. It's been through 2 full scraps and a major re-write and... you know what? Have at it. I like this much of it, so I'll post this much here and continue to fix it before posting on AO3.

Concrit welcome on this, it is a draft!

Most of the train to Hogwarts was empty since people who arrived this early were still mostly out on the platform waiting for friends. The carriage where the Prefects’ meeting was held was near the front, just behind the engine and a carriage with an employees only sign. Figuring thats where the snack trolley started, Harry Potter wanted to try a compartment closer to the front than he normally had. Gryffindors tended to be near the end of the train while Ravenclaws were nearer the front, but he was sure his friends would find him eventually no matter where he sat. He wanted people to assume he was a transfer Snape picked up from France at least until he got to the school where he could better evade public opinion. With long red hair tipped in black like a fox’s tail, high-quality thin lens glasses that emphasized his mother’s features instead of obscuring his eyes, and a coming of age that had him growing to look more like his mum in general, he wasn’t very recognizable. Most of a month in hospital getting his head shrunk by mind healers and the curse scar healed properly meant the usually red and irritated scar on his forhead was now a hair-thin line that was nearly impossible to see without bright light and an invasion of his personal space. In robes bought in Paris that were wonderfully androgynous he was easily mistaken for a girl, the traditional cut high-quality robe and waitstcoat he wore something The Boy Who Lived with his baggy mismatched muggle rags would never wear. The idea that he’d set a trend and caused a lot of people who read Witch Weekly to wear outfits that weren’t fit to use as dust rags was something the tailor said that Harry ignored to process later, and it still sat poorly in his head. Thankfully he had his emancipation as a ready excuse for why he changed his look now. He could just say he’d never been allowed, and leave it at that.

The second carriage open to students had at least one upperclassman or trunk in each compartment already, but there was one near the lav in the second that he claimed by leaving his trunk on the seat. There was a remote possibility that someone would recognize the trunk, especially if it wasn’t in the hands of a long-haired redhead in traditional wizard clothing, but with Hedwig’s cage shrunken inside he hoped only his dormmates would recognize it, if anyone did. He double-checked the security spell Sirius showed him, which would cover anyone who broke through it in bright red paint and feathers, and headed back up the train.

The first open carriage of the train had no compartments, just rows of bench seats with fold-down tray tables on the back of each row. MacMillan was there already, with a few older students Harry didn’t know well. The stout blond boy had the Defense book laid out in front of him on the tray table close to the window. He’d been decent back in second year about the whole Heir of Slytherin thing, and not too rabid about supporting Cedric, so Harry cautiously took a seat on the bench across the center aisle from him and hoped to make some kind of conversation. Ron and Hermione did a lot of the talking even when he was with other kids, and the mind healers had gone through a whole thing about him hiding behind them too much that hurt his Gryffindor pride.

“That book’s thick as treacle,” Harry said. “I hope the professor makes up for it in class, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Eh? Yeah, it’s a thick one. Better than Lockheart’s nonsense, at least,” the Hufflepuff said. “Sorry, I don’t recognize you.”

“Bonjour, I’m Master Snape’s new apprentice, fresh back in England from Paris,” Harry babbled, a bit nervous despite himself, and the older prefects all turned around to look. “He’ll be right hacked off if we ruin his big announcement, so we should probably keep the finer details in this compartment if we can. I got cornered by Lord Malfoy on the platform when Master Snape dropped me off, though, so I’m sure some people saw that. Best I can do now is keep the rumor mill starved for details, so I’ll just sit on my family name if you don’t mind.”

“I’m all for keeping him in a good mood,” MacMillan agreed. The older students nodded.

“What year are you in?” The tall brunette asking the question had pinned the Head Girl badge to her lavender casual robes. The badge was blue and bronze for Ravenclaw.

“Fifth, and I’ll be playing a bit of catch-up so Master Snape doesn’t plan for me to help with prefect duties until the second term, but the Headmaster might overrule that at the meeting he’s in right now,” Harry said. Other prefects were tricking in, and Malfoy looked at Harry’s seat choice with open irritation. Pansy Parkinson was just behind him, so Harry figured they wanted to sit together and hopped across the aisle to sit next to MacMillan. Parkinson giggled a bit and pulled Malfoy down onto the now free bench.

“Are you behind?” a seventh year Slytherin boy asked. Harry decided to tell as much of the truth as he could now, when people wouldn’t be judging him as The Boy Who Lived and deciding not to listen to any of it because it didn’t fit their expectations of how he should be.

“Last year was awful for me for a dozen reasons, and I had a curse put on me that has been making it hard for me to concentrate and giving me insomnia since I was really little. They made me wait until I was fifteen to get it removed, which Master Snape thinks was very stupid and unnecessary. The specialists we were working with this summer all agreed. Master Snape may not be the nicest person, but he really does hate it when kids get hurt, especially when it’s any kind of on purpose. We got to know each other after he helped me out with all that, he thinks he can get me up to standard enough to take the arithmancy O.W.L. this year despite never taking the class before, and then we had the bonding ritual just a few days ago.”

“You’re doing three years of Arithmancy in one?” MacMillan asked, aghast.

“That sounds like Professor Snape’s work ethic,” the Slytherin seventh-year boy said sagely.

“I went to muggle primary school, long story don’t ask, and he says that I remember the maths I learned there well enough that I should pass as long as I put the work in. It’s the N.E.W.T. score that really matters, anyway, so I just have to do well enough to get into sixth year Arithmancy,” Harry said with a shrug. “He doesn’t expect straight ‘O’s on my O.W.L.s because I’m starting on the back foot, just passing marks, but he wants passing marks in at least ten and no excuses. I’m just glad he didn’t ground me from playing Quidditch if I want to.”

“You any good?” Malfoy asked.

“I love flying,” Harry replied vaguely.

“Do you know why Professor Snape’s plan for you to start prefect duties late wouldn’t be approved by the Headmaster?” the Head Girl asked. A school owl flew in with a scroll with a wax Hogwarts seal, and she turned to take it while she talked. “Masters tend to have total control over their apprentices, and Slytherin has two prefects per year already as far as I’m aware. It’s always nice to have another person available in case somebody needs to switch up the schedule, but we should be fully covered.”

“There’s some kind of silly thing going on with the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he warned me about, not that I know why one thing would effect the other short of him having to teach some of their classes,” Harry said. “That’s a total guess, by the way. I just can’t think of anything else that would throw things off, and he couldn’t rather than wouldn’t give me details, which irritated him on its own so there wasn’t much I could read into it beyond that he doesn’t like it. He had been hacked off about the whole thing since whoever it was got the post, so I assume the new Defense Professor either isn’t qualified or has upset him personally some way.” “Who was upset by the new Defense professor?” Anthony Goldstein asked as he walked in. The Ravenclaw took a seat ahead of Harry. “Professor Snape,” MacMillan said. “Is he on the train?” Hanna Abbott asked as she chose the bench behind Malfoy and Parkinson. “This is Professor Snape’s new apprentice,” Malfoy cut in. “We haven’t had proper introductions, yet.” “And you won’t be having any. Professor Snape wants to have his big announcement at the feast tonight,” the Head Girl called out over the gathering group. “Snape’s Apprentice stays nameless and as unknown as possible unless you want to step on his cloak about it, so we’re not. End of.” “It isn’t just Master Snape the new Professor rubbed the wrong way. From what he said even Professor Sprout is upset, though that might be a bit of cause and effect,” Harry said. “Why would Professor Snape being upset make Professor Sprout upset?” Abbott asked. The older students weren’t even trying to pretend they weren’t listening. “No, no, the other way around. She was at the bonding ritual for my apprenticeship and they act…” Harry trailed off, waving a hand vaguely as he tried to come up with something without saying anything too personal.

“What’s this hot gossip?” asked a sixth year girl that asked Harry to the Yule Ball, getting up to take a seat closer to Harry. All he could remember about her was that she was a Hufflepuff and wore about three times as much perfume as necessary. “No!” Harry shouted, raising both hands defensively. “Not like that. She’s married to one of her old apprentices for Merlin’s sake. I was trying to figure another way to say they act a bit like she’s his mum. I… He told me he lost his mum before he graduated, and Professor Sprout was his Herbology teacher too; I think she sort of scooped him up like an especially grumpy stray cat. If not immediately, then when he started as a professor. He’s only, like, thirty-something, you know? Anyway, I think if someone was mean to her he’d start looming menacingly around the place until they backed off or earned a hex.” With his expressive gestures, his sleeve fell all the way down and exposed the flapping bluejay. “Oh, that’s so pretty!” A seventh-year Gyrffindor girl said. He really should know her name, but she’d never so much as given him the time of day and very deliberately ‘wasn’t taken in by famous Harry Potter’ as she made clear whenever he approached a prefect for anything. “Is that the bondmark or just a tattoo?” “It’s my bondmark,” Harry confirmed, and then was swamped as all the prefects wanted a closer look at it. He ended up scrambling onto the back of the bench Goldstein was sitting on, pressing against the window, and grabbing onto the curtain rod for stability to escape the sudden lack of personal space. “SIT DOWN!” The Head Boy shouted as the train lurched into motion, causing most people to stumble. The brunette Hufflepuff glared in disappointment at everyone from the front of the carriage. Harry wondered if he practiced mimicking Professor Sprout to get that look just right. “Have you all lost your minds? Let her alone.” “Not a her,” Harry said, pointing to himself from his perch as the rest of them slid back into their seats. Outside, parents were waving goodbye to the departing train. “It’s not just the hair, it’s the way that waistcoat lays over the robe,” Malfoy said. “It’s pulling your waist in, flaring out the fabric at your hips, and giving the illusion there’s something hiding under the top to give you a girlish shape.” “I know what I look like, and like I said before I don’t mind it,” Harry said, walking on the back of the bench a couple steps so he didn’t drop down on MacMillan’s books. He gathered his courage as he stepped down onto the seat where he’d been sitting before. “I’m queer, and it’s a bit like a compliment in my book if you think I’m pretty.” “Wouldn’t gay boys want someone that looks like a guy?” MacMillan wondered aloud. “Queer doesn't just mean gay,” Hermione said from the back of the carriage. Ron looked like he wanted to push up closer, but there weren’t any empty seats left except in the very back.

“And with that, we should get started before we go off on an inappropriately wild tangent,” the Head Girl said. “We’re all going to pretend we know nothing about Professor Snape’s new apprentice when we leave this meeting, so we don’t ruin his big announcement at the feast tonight. If you’ve made it this far without realizing that getting on his bad side is a bad idea not even Merlin could help you. If you aren’t a prefect or a quidditch captain, or an apprentice to a professor, get out. Let’s get this done and dusted.” Nobody left, everyone settled down into silence, and she started to read off the scroll the owl brought. “All of last year’s fifth and sixth year prefects are returning as sixth and seventh years. New fifth year prefects are: Hannah Abbott, Anthony Goldstein, Hermione Granger, Ernie MacMillan, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Padma Patil, and Ron Weasley.”

“Weasley?” several people said, looking back at the taller redhead incredulously. There was general muttering over how most people expected the headmaster to pick Harry Potter. “George isn’t still mad he didn’t get the apprenticeship, is he?” Harry asked to cover the rather unflattering comments. Ron looked at him weird then smirked as he caught on to the subject change. “The twins are a law unto themselves, mate. If anyone thinks I’m going to do what Percy couldn’t to keep them in line, they’ve lost the plot,” Ron said. “Best I can do is give McGonagall a bit of advanced warning for the big things. I think it should be fine, though, since Snape helped them with their patent and they want another star from the potions’ guild like nothing else. Just don’t eat anything they offer you without asking them what it does, first, though anyone in here should be smart enough to know that much already.” Harry gave Ron a thumbs-up, and the meeting continued on from there. The upper years introduced themselves in a flurry of names Harry mostly absorbed. After that, it was basically a rehash of all the school rules prefects were expected to enforce and listing out the usual point deductions for each infraction. Prefects could take a few more or less based on circumstances, but they couldn’t take points from other prefects and were expected to focus on policing their own house. More than twenty points would need a written explanation. Prefects could report infractions worthy of detention to a member of staff, but couldn’t assign detention themselves. They could also report actions of distinction if someone was helpful in a way that should earn points, but couldn’t give any out. It was in the official scroll the Head boy and girl had that Snape’s apprentice wasn’t starting as a teaching assistant until next year at the earliest and might not be part of the patrol schedule until second term, confirming what Harry had told them. “The name’s been burned off this paper, I can only assume by Professor Snape himself, so he’s serious about not spoiling his announcement,” the head boy said with a nervous laugh. “I’m tempted to just keep you safe in here wrapped in cotton batting.” “I really wouldn’t try locking me in anywhere,” Harry said, his smile showing too many teeth to be friendly. “Well, I was thinking he’s too nice to be bonded to Professor Snape, but there it is,” one of the older Hufflepuffs said. “Fred and George came back right terrified of the pair of them, when Snape picked him over George,” Ron added from the back. “I’m nice,” Harry grumbled. “Just, not indiscriminately, and I’ve been locked up just to make other people feel safer before and that’s not on.”

“You what?” MacMillan said, leaning away from Harry before checking himself and very carefully trying to look neutrally pleasant. “Part of that long story,” Harry said, realizing he’d said more than he should. “Master Snape got me out of it for good, and you can ask me to explain after you know my name if you want to, not that I’m likely to answer.” “Oh, shit,” said one of the four older Slytherin prefects. They shoved their heads together to have a muffled conversation. Malfoy and Parkinson weren’t sitting close enough to join in, and looked very put out by it. “You need anything related to getting pulled out of where you were, you can come to us directly,” the Slytherin seventh-year boy, Arturous Stems, stood up and waved at the other Slytherin prefects. “Professor Snape did the same for me. Nobody is welcome to ask me about that, and if you badger anyone about what we might be talking about expect me to take it personally.” “Thanks, Stems, I’d like to get back to my trunk for reasons I think you can guess, so… Can we drop it for now?” Harry said. Stems nodded and sat down, clearly getting the message.

“I think we’re about done,” the head girl, Conifer, said. “Unless someone has questions.” When nobody did they declared the meeting closed, and most people started moving out of the carriage to find their friends. MacMillan didn’t move, clearly intending to use the tray table as desk space to study for a while. This was probably meant as a dining car but used for studying since everyone ate in their compartments when the trolley came by, and that was probably why the upper-year Ravenclaws liked to claim compartments close to the front of the train. Once the prefect meeting was over, anyone could come use the space and there was a schedule for one of the seventh-year prefects to always be here in case someone needed them in addition to the patrol schedule that was now written across a board at the front of the car. Ron and Hermione were scheduled for the back end of the train first thing and then again just before arriving at Hogwarts. Harry hung back to avoid the initial crush of traffic, and found himself surrounded by all six Slytherin prefects crowding in the seats in front and behind him. The air got fuzzy, a muffling spell wrapping around them.

“Are you living with the professor now, or do you have to go back for inheritance reasons?” Stems asked quietly. “I’m emancipated, I’ve already inherited my father’s estate, and there’s a friend of the family willing to put me up in exchange for helping him out with the house. It was a moldy pile when he moved in, but it gets better every day. By winter holidays it should be nice and cozy, at least in the most important areas.” That should be sufficiently vague. They would likely assume he means Lupin once they realized who he was. Stems whistled lowly.

“Emancipated? That’s lucky. I got yanked out in third year, after a bad spring break. My family isn’t wealthy enough to bother worrying about being disowned, so I just left. I was living in the Professor’s spare room for part of the following summer, and then the professor found a second cousin of mine that wanted me around,” Stems said. Malfoy’s pointy face was scrunched up in total confusion. “Yanked out of what?” Malfoy asked. “My mum’s magic flared up when I took your mum’s hand at the station. There is no way you’ll understand without detailed diagrams and several hours to think it over,” Harry said with a shake of his head. Malfoy puffed up in indignation. “I mean that as a compliment to your parents,” Harry added, and then Malfoy was confused again. “Yeah, Malfoy’s got a winning hand in that game,” Stems laughed. “Don’t dismiss him too fast, though. He’s good at understanding people, and you’ll be sharing a dormroom for the next few years.”

“That assumes a lot,” Harry said with a bright smile. “You seem like a Slytherin to me, and you said you aren’t a girl anymore,” Stems said, leaning back with a casual shrug. “Some reason you don’t think you’d be in your master’s house?” Harry held up his left arm, and all of them got a good look at the image of a bluejay in flight. “I assume you’ve seen the papers recently. We should run. It would be smart to run, to save our skins and never look back, but we’re too brave and loyal to do that. Maybe a bit of that stubbornness that borders on stupidity, too, but mostly bravery. Master Severus should never have left France, or if he did he shouldn’t have come back to England. Not with a bluejay on his arm instead of a snake and skull. He wouldn’t do it, though. He’s Hogwart’s Head of Slytherin House, and he’ll hold the line until the castle falls around him.” “Professor Snape was really a Death Eater in the way?” the sixth year girl asked.

“He was a spy in the inner circle working against you-know-who. He talked his way around it as if he’d been a double-agent so neither side questioned his loyalty. He was prepared to do it all again if he had to, but then when our bond overwrote the dark mark, well, there’s no explaining that except the obvious. His bond to me was more important to him than whatever made that other mark. It’ll be on sight, if you-know-who comes around. For either of us.” Beside Harry, MacMillan swore. “You’re inside the privacy spell?” “I won’t say a word, I’m not that suicidal,” he replied. “Olive,” Stems said, shooting the other seventh year an irritated look. “Sorry, the seats aren’t very big,” Ollive Olmo said. “So, it’s true then?” MacMillan asked. “You-Know-Who is back?” Malfoy, Parkinson, and the sixth-year boy looked down to avoid eye contact, while the rest shared MacMillan’s expectant expression. “Do any of you think Harry Potter capable of killing Cedric Diggory in cold blood? Because that’s the best explanation if he’s not back,” Harry said. “I’m not sure exactly what the English press was saying, but in France the British Ministry was torn to bits about that whole thing.” “You mean Potter’s trial? I heard he got off on a technicality,” Parkinson said. “Which one?” Harry asked. “The technicality that defending a muggle family member from a six-X creature when they already know about magic neither breaks the statute of secrecy nor is an unexcused breech of the underage sorcery laws, or did you mean the technicality that participating in the tournament to his best ability emancipated him so the trace shouldn’t have still been on his wand to register the spell being cast in the first place?” “Wait, the muggle was a member of his family?” Stems asked.

“His cousin, who he’s lived with since, well, you know,” Harry said, trailing off with a shrug. It was weird talking about himself in the third person like this. Beyond the huddle of Slytherin prefects (and one unwilling Hufflepuff) the carriage was nearly empty. A few people had come in with books or a late breakfast, but they stayed in the back well away from Stems’ group, and the head boy and girl were at the far front. “The Minister didn’t seem to know the details before the trial, so someone hadn’t bothered to do even the most basic fact-finding. Not that there could have been, since they decided to snap his wand over it inside of five minutes late in the evening after-hours and had to be talked down to treating it like he’d been shooting off fireworks in front of Buckingham Palace. There was an interview in the French papers when it first happened, and his solicitor put out a statement explaining it all when the case was dismissed. Wasn’t that published in the Prophet?” “It certainly wasn’t,” Parkinson said. “So you know all about it? How?”

“Only one magical hospital in Paris,” Harry said with a shrug. He was blushing a bit, more because he was flustered trying not to give himself away than from embarrassment. “Master Snape came to check up on what the interview implied, we got to know each other, and it really was all over the French press the last month. Madam Maxine came, and the French Minister, and lots of other people coming and going all the time. The Weasley twins are impossible to miss, and George really did ask to be Master Snape’s apprentice while I was still bedridden. I was too sick to notice much in the middle of the month when they were pulling the curse off me, and Master Snape was with me every other day through the worst of it, but the broad strokes were known to everyone on that floor of the hospital no matter how off their head they were. There are privacy spells so I can’t tell you anything about the health of other patients, but it was tcompletely impossible for me to miss.” Considering it was happening to him, that is.

“Snape. At your sickbed. For more than a week.” MacMillan’s mind was blown.

“He absolutely does not have a soft gooey center, it’s spikes all the way down, but the spikes are all pointed outward. If you’re brave or lucky enough to make it inside, the spikes will protect you too,” Harry said. “He would have been at Potter’s sickbed too, if he could manage it,” Malfoy said. “Professor Snape would know first hand what went on, so we might be able to ask him. My Father told me what he knows about it, of course, but Professor Snape wasn’t around for tea. Mother has him over once a month, usually, so she was quite worried. We get the French papers, of course, though I didn’t believe half of what I read. Potter’s always being so dramatic.” “Pot meet kettle, Malfoy,” MacMillan said. Harry bit his lip to stay silent. He wasn’t supposed to know anyone. “Where’s your trunk? Professor Snape packed it for you, right?” Stems asked. “He did back on the fifth of August, yeah. Didn’t miss a thing, and I’d pay good money for a picture of my aunt’s face when he laid into her about it,” Harry said. “The trunk has some really nice anti-theft spells, but it’s still, you know, everything.” “Let’s get it. You can stay in one of our compartments,” Stems said, standing up. “Assuming you are sorted Slytherin, is there anything we’ll need to know? Things that might set you off that we should try and avoid?” “Master Snape reconfigured the class schedule to be less explosive. Beyond that, I think I’m good,” Harry said. “No more Longbottom in our class?” Parkinson said. “Thank Merlin for that.” “It’ll be Gryffindors with Ravenclaws and Slytherin with Hufflepuffs,” Harry said, nodding. “Sounds like I dodged a hex,” MacMillan said. “Longbottom really is that bad,” Malfoy said. “It was always a bit fun watching him implode, though it ruined my shoes more than once when he was sitting near me.” Harry felt the privacy spell pop around them. “Master Snape says the Ravenclaws who want to experiment too confidently should be humbled by class with the Gryffindors, Gryffindors need someone to match Granger’s energy to make some slackers more obviously behind, and the Slytherins could do with seeing what consistent hard work looks like when it’s at home,” Harry said. “Ha!” MacMillan laughed. “Sounds like Professor Snape’s favorite fifth-years aren’t his own.” “I was just taking a breath. Fifth-year Hufflepuff needs to see Slytherin creativity and not plod along in mediocrity by doing everything by the book,” Harry finished. “It should be a better mix all the way around, so both fifth-year potion labs should be less likely to go bang or fizzle.”

#my writing #magic and bluejays #snippit #draft chapter #harry potter fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

sparkedblaze · 1 year ago

Note

wh—what if you talked more about the delanceys in your modern au 👉🏻👈🏻

I guess I'm answering Nox's first anon, sorry. My phone is literally deleting half my post every time I try to save or post it :)

Idk what I'm gonna put in here, so I'm gonna have the usual Delanceys t/w on here and come back if I need more: Violence, fighting, cursing

I've given the overall look for the Delanceys, so here are just little things that I think about with them + modern au:

They both would hate fast food. It's greasy and disguting.

Oscar's the one who cooks the food for them. Morris can if he really tries, but Oscar's just better at it.

They have a joint twitter account, it's just easier that way. Morris is absolute trash at remembering passwords (look at me projecting) so it's easier when Oscar also knows the log in info, and uses it regularly so he doesn't also forget.

Oscar is aro/ace, and is hella confused and frustrated when Morris gets crushes because they're supposed to be in this together

Morris doesn't understand why Oscar is so upset that he mentioned how pretty York had been that day. It was just an observation.

That's how all his crushes start. An observation. "Did you see York's hair was in a ponytail instead of a bun today?" "Did Graves finally have the surgery he'd been planning?" "Jack Kelly has a boyfriend now. His eyes are blue like the sky." It's the little differences he notices that always catch his attention.

Oscar doesn't make Morris eat things he doesn't like. This might not seem like a big deal, but their Uncle Wies had always made them finish what was on their plate, even if Morris was sobbing and pleading and begging not to.

Oscar, on the other hand, will clear a plate no matter the contents. He's grateful just to have food at all (though he doesn't cook anything he doesn't like, so this is mostly for get togethers)

Their job is more than just them liking fighting. It's about quenching a bloodthirst that sits deep in their bellies. It makes them feel whole, whereas someone like York does it because he's good at it and makes decent money. He isn't completely dependent on the actions in the ring to live a complete life.

Morris isn't good with words. Putting them together is hard. Remembering them is even harder. And trying to string along enough to make sense to someone that isn't Oscar is next to impossible.

That being said, he's incredibly good with numbers. Birthdays, holidays, counting. Once he learns how to do number things, he remembers is. Once he learns long division, he can do that shit in his head.

I feel like I need to put a list of the stims and quirks I think Morris has, so here: Chirping when excited, flappy hands (both when excited and when trying to get off the bad sensories), crab claws when thinking, hopping over the last step in a staircase, clacking his teeth together when he's anxious, snapping when he needs to/is trying to remember something, rocking back and forth, tapping his fingers, cracking knuckles.

Oscar collects vinyl records. And Morris likes to go to the vinyl section of every store that has them to find something for Oscar.

Morris likes rock music. Oscar does too, but prefers quieter music. He probably really likes something lame like jazz, but uses rock or metal to get pumped before a fight.

Morris is still wearing most of the same clothes he wore in high school (why fix what ain't broke?)

Oscar dresses nicely. They grew up with practically nothing. He allows himself to have nice clothes, to remind him of where they came from and what all their hard work has achieved.

They avoid Wiesel. They avoid the Refuge. They're always traveling, and don't have a house. They don't have roots set down. They feel like they don't belong anywhere because of this. Because they're always staying in different hotel rooms and going to different states for different fights.

I hope this tickles your fancy. These are thoughts making it through my frustrated haze, so I'm sorry if this sucks :)

Ily <3!!!

#newsies #livesies #92sies #uksies #morris delancey #oscar delancey #the delancey brothers #newsies modern au #thank you nox

20 notes · View notes

auroraescritora · 1 year ago

Text

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME - PERCY/NICO AU HIGH SCHOOL - CHAPTER XI

Hello, how you doing? Looks like I had some time in the the end. I hope you like it. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter.

Good reading!

Previous chapters: CHAPTER I / CHAPTER II / CHAPTER III / CHAPTER IV / CHAPTER V / CHAPTER VI / CHAPTER VII / CHAPTER VIII / CHAPTER IX / CHAPTER X

"Beautiful.’’

Nico ignored Percy who was lying on the bed and finished drying his hair with the towel, combing it back. He put on his t-shirt, pulled it down and buttoned his pants, pulled the zipper up and looked at himself in the mirror.

If it were up to him, he would’ve stayed in the kitchen, where he belonged, and finished helping with the preparations for the party later. Unfortunately, right after the wedding proposal, Sally had kicked him out of the kitchen, pushing him away from the stove while Percy had picked him up and carried him up the stairs until they reached Percy's bedroom. And with no choice, still full of flour in his clothes, Nico went into the bathroom without complaining, taking a long bath in the tub and then looking for clothes that still fit him. Apparently, Percy hadn't thrown away the things he’d left behind, like his favorite black jeans or his t-shirts with jokes and superheroes printed on them, or even his leather jacket, which his mother used to wear before the cancer prevented her from getting out of bed.

He admitted that the shirts that were previously baggy and reached his thighs now fit perfectly well, although a little tighter than he would like, contouring his not-so-masculine curves; apart from his broad shoulders and height, the rest was very... very thin in some parts and slender in others, impossible not to notice in those tight clothes. Nico didn't even like to think about it. Maybe that was why Percy loved so much holding his waist.

‘’Since when did you have those muscles, hm?’’ Percy asked again with good humor.

Muscles? He didn't see many. And of course, Percy could be able to fool him if it was a few years ago. Now? Nico could hear the pure jealousy behind the laughter.

"I don't know. I had free time in Italy.”

In fact, life in Verona was much easier and more uncomplicated than this first week back here. It’s like, when Percy was involved, trouble and strong emotions were guaranteed. He didn't even know why he was still complaining, things had always been like that.

‘’Don't make that face. Today is the day to celebrate. Or at least that's according to Sally.’’

"Sure.” Nico rolled his eyes and finally put on his jacket, slipping his feet inside his high-top sneakers that had also been left in Percy's wardrobe. Now, Nico was back in the past and with the complete look. He almost felt nostalgic; If it weren't for the anxiety and constant self-doubt, Nico would miss those times. "Let's go.’’

"Hold on. I bought you something.’’

‘’Another gift? What will it be now? A car?’’

‘’Do you need another one?’’ But Percy was smiling. Nico watched him get up and walk around the bed, opening the dresser drawer next to the bed. ‘’It's nothing expensive.’’

"What is that?’’ This time, the object in Percy's hands aroused his curiosity. He could see what it was, the thing was that Percy had never given him anything like this, which made him come closer and take the diary from Percy's hands, opening the hardf, black leather cover, finding simple, straight lined pages, noting a dedication on the inside of the cover, thar said: “To make sure your thoughts and ideas never get lost”. “Per?’’

“I thought about what you said… about not being able to express yourself.’’

"Express myself?’’

"In bed.’’ Percy said and then held his hands over the diary, making Nico face him. “I know how…how scary things can be from time to time. I want this diary to be a way for us to talk without needing all that… drama.”

Percy used the word “drama”, but for Nico it was more… “humiliation”.

“Are you going to write too?’’

"Yeah.”

"And you'll... read everything? Everything I write?”

"Only if you want.”

Nico stopped for a moment and looked at Percy, his fiancé, the love of his life, the person who always accepted him unconditionally. Percy seemed so calm and confident, so sincere… no one before had ever tried so hard to understand him.

“It doesn't have to be about that.’’ Percy said again. “You can write about anything. Or something you want me to know about.”

"Anything? Really?”

"What's wrong?” Then, Percy smiled again, carefree. “What do you still have to hide from me?”

That was the moment where the mortification took him by surprise. Nico looked away and stared at the diary they both still held, the rings shining on their fingers. If only Percy knew… Nico didn't know if it was the best or the worst idea Percy had ever had.

“Look, you don't need to force yourself. Let's leave the diary by the bed and if you feel like it, it will be here. Is that all right?’’

Percy smiled at him once again, took the diary from his hands and placed it on top of the dresser, less than a foot away from them. But that was the problem, Nico already felt the urge to flip through that notebook and write whatever came to mind, like a free writing exercise, only more stranger and embarrassing. He felt like writing and letting it all come out, like he hadn't done in years.

"No, I want it! Gimme.” And like a little kid, Nico reached out and took the diary, hugging it to his chest, feeling satisfied as he once again held that black leather notebook.

“I'm glad you liked it.’’ And acting like the daddy they both refused to admit, even though they were both the same age, Percy hugged him tightly and kissed his hair, saying: “Good boy.”

And, Of course, this had the expected effect. Nico hid his face in Percy's shoulder and groaned once again, mortified, berating himself for feeling so good and so happy with those words. Or with the care that Percy continued to show him day after day.

***

Before they left for the party, Nico put the diary away with the now empty ring box in his backpack and held Percy's hand, making Percy's chest warm with Nico's absent-minded gesture. It wasn't the most romantic or affectionate gesture he had ever seen, but Nico did everything with so much care that Percy was sure he had made the right choice by waiting until that moment. He knew that these attitudes, as much as his or Nico's, came from a painful place; of loss and abandonment, things that they both felt firsthand and wanted to avoid at all costs. That's why every moment that served to bring them closer together would be a reason to celebrate. Percy still couldn't believe that he had finally proposed to Nico. They were going to get married! There was a time when Percy thought he would never see Nico again, and even less that they would be so happy and content together, even if the little boy hid it behind an angry pout and the usual bad mood and insecurity. And who was he to judge how other people behaved when he was the worst of them? All Percy knew was that he had a plan, and he would do everything he could to make it reality. That’s why he smiled at Nico, took back the hand offered to him and the next thing he knew, one of his mother's helpers was guiding him to the outside of the house where tables were set up in the garden and people were already walking around the improvised dance floor next to a buffet table divided into three rows organized by sweet, cold and hot dishes, and there wasn't even all the food he had seen in the kitchen earlier.

“You guys went overboard this time.”

"It’s nothing out of the ordinary." Nico shrugged.

"Clearly. I wanted to--”

“Nico! I finally found you!”

Percy sighed and gave up, nnow that they were in the middle of all those people, it would be impossible to keep Nico's attention to himself. As if in slow motion, he saw Clarisse approach them in hurried steps and grab Nico in a bear hug, pulling him away from him.

"How long were you going to ignore me?’’

"I wasn't ignoring you!" Nico shouted back, but hugged Clarisse as tightly as she had done, closing his eyes with pleasure.

"Why didn't you tell me you were back? And when did that happen?’’

“It’s been… five days ago? Six?”

“I bet it's his fault.”

“Clare!”

"Don't give me that. I want to know everything!”

"So you can tell Annabeth later? No, thank you very much.”

"That's not true. I did it once and now--”

It seemed there was no way around it. Percy left Nico with Clarisse, watching the people approach the noisy pair, and went back into the house, finding his mother now in a long black dress and high heels, although she was still pacing the kitchen, giving orders and checking the still-working ovens.

"Mother.”

“Oh, Percy, darling.” His mother came up to him in quick steps and squeezed his cheeks, then kissed them. "You could have told me before. I didn't have time to prepare anything.”

“I didn't have time either.”

That was the moment Percy hugged his mother and let himself relax.

“What is it, darling?”

“I don't think Nico wants to be with me.”

“Percy, that doesn't make any sense. Why would you think that?” Then his mother touched his face again and looked at him affectionately.

“He changed. We seem to fight every step of the way, and now he has so many friends and things to do…”

“Percy.” Now his mother looked disappointed. “We talked about that. You need help?”

“No.” He denied, walking away. Percy didn't want to go back to endless hours at the psychiatrist or taking medication.

“Honey, Nico is growing up and you should too.”

"I know, I know. It's just... he's telling me so many things... I didn't know he felt that way.”

"That is great. That means he trusts you, right?”

Deep down, Percy knew this. He just wanted someone to tell him everything would be okay. But it wasn't what his mother was doing. As always, she told him what he needed to hear and not what he wanted to hear.

"What should I do?”

“Nothing you don't want to.”

“What if he only marries me out of pressure?”

“Percy!” Sally grabbed his shoulders and laughed in his face. “My little boy is growing up so fast. I remember how you ran away from any responsibility and now here we are, you worrying about someone else's well-being?”

“Mom! I'm serious!”

“Look, from my point of view, I've never seen Nico so happy or calm. He doesn't seem to be forcing himself into anything.”

“He said he didn't want to date me and I insisted! What if he told the truth?”

“Honey, none of this is your responsibility. He accepted of his own free will. Even if you want to protect him, it's Nico's decision. Whether he accepts it or not, even if in the future he decides to leave once again, it won't be your fault.”

"So whose is it?”

"It's nobody's fault. These are things that happen and we have to accept them. And being honest? It's about time, right? If you had talked to Nico, none of this would have happened.”

“You... you ruined the surprise. I should have talked to him alone.”

“Exactly, darling. Don't you see? The less you say, the more Nico will pull away from you.”

"Do you really think so?”

"Believe me. I know all about failed relationships. Don't create distance between you, okay?”

"I would never do that.”

"No? If you don't say what you feel, Nico might think you don't care.”

"I--”

“Have you talked to him in the last few days?”

"Yes, but--”

“How did he react?”

Percy wanted to roll his eyes. His mother was right, as always. Nico had been sincere back when he opened up. The worst thing was thinking that Nico had kept everything inside his chest, thinking that Percy wouldn't accept him or that Percy didn't care. At least the time he'd wasted at the psychiatrist had been useful for something.

"You are right.” Percy admitted, looking around at the people who continued walking back and forth. “I didn't want to admit defeat.”

"Darling.”

“I made Nico leave before and I don't want to be the one to blame again. Is it so bad to be careful to not destroy things again?”

"Of course not. I understand.”

“Do you really understand?” Percy then turned to face his mother again. “If you understand, can you stay out of this?”

“Fine, I won't interfere. But you should pay attention to who your friends are.”

"What does that mean?”

“That blonde friend of yours is at the party. I thought you guys didn't talk anymore?”

"Who? Annabeth?”

"She herself.”

“I didn't invite her.”

So, who invited her?” Sally and Percy stared at each other for long moments, not understanding what was happening, until Percy snapped and turned his back on his mother, going back outside. In the garden, he finds a scene he thought he would never see, Annabeth with her long golden hair, shining in the sun, looking furious and Nico, with torn pants and a black t-shirt, staring at her as if she were an earthworm about to be trampled over.

***

"What's going on here?”

The next thing Percy knew, he was standing in the middle of the crowd, seeing Annabeth and Nico staring back at him.

As if by magic, the atmosphere changed. Nico came to his side and held onto his hand, lowering his head and placing it on Percy’s shoulder like the most obedient and well-behaved little boy, while Annabeth stood there, head held high, looking even more furious with the display of affection.

“It’s nothing, Per. We were talking about old times. Isn't it, Anne?” Nico smiled, hugging him around the waist and suddenly there was silence, even the waiters and kitchen assistants were silent.

“Are you drunk, by any chance?”

"Me? Never!” He looked at Nico and Nico made a cute pout. "I would never do that.”

To prove his theory, Percy leaned over Nico and kissed him right there. This time, Nico didn't seem embarrassed at all. The little boy grabbed him tightly by the back of the neck and let himself be kissed, opening his mouth in the most shameless display of affection.

“My baby is jealous, hm?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” But the blush on Nico's face said what Percy needed to know.

"Why don't we talk somewhere quiet? But before guiding Nico away from the crowd, Percy turned to Annabeth: “You are not invited. Go away.”

“But, Percy! You promised!”

"I didn’t promise anything.”

“Your lying--”

“I won't repeat it.”

With that, he took Nico by the hand and led him into the house, leaving behind a curious crowd and a blonde foaming with anger.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, I'm enjoying their progress. This time I thought it was more interesting to give Percy this insecurity and Nico a bit more of impulsiveness. I imagine that this way the characters seem more real and interesting. I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am. See you next time!

#my writing #nico di angelo #percy/nico #percico #percy jackson #there's no place like home #pernico

4 notes · View notes

experthiese · 5 months ago

Text

@skullkxd asked: ⏳ they’re listening . . . / backstory revelations

Lupin's aware just how little information he shares. It's a part of the job--a phantom thief needs a certain air of mystery about him, feeding into that tiny suspicion in people's minds that there's something almost supernatural about his ability to move as silently as a shadow and bypass even the most impossible obstacles. For the Lupin family, gates and walls and locked doors simply do not exist. They mustn't, not if the world's greatest line of thieves intends to keep its place at the top.

Even those he trusts don't know everything about him. Even Jigen, his best friend and closest confidant, would be mistaken to believe he had uncovered every skeleton hidden in the thief's closet.

Not that Jigen's one to talk. Lupin's met enough of his friends from the military to know he's got no shortage of his own secrets.

They're in the safehouse he gave to them; the one with the photo frames and the kitchen cupboards that find themselves restocked every so often. It's the photographs that catch his attention now, actually. They're faded from the Alolan sun that shines in through the windows, the once-white photo paper turning sepia.

He doesn't care about most of these photographs, hence why he was so happy to leave them behind. They're old family portraits he was forced into taking, stuffed into uncomfortable clothes with collars too high and arms too tight and his father's hand weighing heavy on his shoulder. Sometimes they're even ones from his grandfather's estate, a toddler version of himself being held in the arms of some nameless maid with a pretty face. He hopes any pictures of Arsène have already faded. The last thing anyone wants is that crazy old bastard's face haunting the place.

But there's one image in particular that makes him stop. He remembers this one. He'd had it developed back when he was still determined to make a secret base in their school, believing no home was complete without some decor!

❝ Check this out! ❞ Lupin calls, holding the photo frame out in offering. ❝ That's me 'n Jiji, back in our school days. He was always wearing a hat, even then. I tell ya, sometimes I'm convinced he was born with one already on his head. ❞

The Lupin in the photo has Jigen in what can only be described as a headlock, keeping him in the frame through any means necessary. He can almost hear his friend gritting his teeth and yelling at him to 'stop screwing around, Lupin! Some of us have work to do!' Psh. As if a kid should have to spend their life stuck doing their parents' dirty work and shaking hands with the yakuza.

❝ I hadn't known him all that long then. A couple months, maybe? ❞ It occurs to him that this is the most he's said about his friends to Ree. This far outweighs whatever passing mentions he'd made, here and there. ❝ We got on like a house on fire. He needed some fun in his life, and I wanted a buddy to hang with. Someone cool. ❞

Dark eyes gaze down at the photograph, his expression one of warmth and fondness.

❝ He was the first treasure I ever stole. ❞

By the time Lupin leaves, bidding Ree a polite farewell and slipping out of the window as normal, the photo frame has been put back in its usual place. The picture that was inside it, however, is now missing.

#▸ answered #▸ in character #▸ connections; skullkxd #▸ connections; youandme-and / jigen #<- for the jigen mention :3

1 note · View note

sukirichi · 4 years ago

Text

fall from grace

“If you were in love,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “What would be the most beautiful thing those lips of yours would utter?”

“Your name.”

REQUEST/WARNINGS. (royal au, mutual pining, praise kink ) fake dating au, mirror sex, slight manhandling, fingering, body marking, prejudice, mentions of abuse, injustice, and inequality + unedited (I’m so lazy to edit tbh, I’m so sorry, just bear with me if there are typos or grammatical errors)

NOTES. I LOVE AND HATE THIS STORY

WC. 7k+

SONG INSPO. Ashes (Celine Dion)

The prince himself lifted his chin up higher; long, slender fingers deftly grazing against the pad of your knuckles that were pressed on his chest.

The tips of your ears burned at the sight of people pausing from their conversations all to witness the scene – one that was so rare to have come from the infamous Crown Prince known to have bedded more women than he could count.

“Your Highness,” you pinched your brows together, leaning closer into him to bring you the least bit of comfort. The dress you had to wear today had nothing but itchy lace; albeit elegant, you preferred the loose materials of your dance clothes, painted red lips fighting back a grimace. “Must we really do this in public?”

The Crown Prince laughs, his white hair fluttering against the soft kisses of the wind. Beautiful, you think, beautiful, you are reminded, prompting you to dig your free hand deeper into the flesh of your thighs.

“What would be the point of our ruse if we are not a little flashy, My Lady?”

You frowned at his words, head ducked down as you avoided everyone’s prying eyes. You supposed you should be used to this – you are a performer, after all – but the attention was terribly unwelcomed yet expected from your previous agreements.

The said agreement, however, did not affect your standing as a person, something you had to remind the happy-go-lucky Prince. “I am not of that title.”

“People regard you of it,” he commented at an off-beat, his crystalline eyes sweeping over the crowd with a chilling command, a slight bite of a challenge that asked his people to dare him. When they shifted away, scurrying behind fluffed up skirts and pressed down suits, the Crown Prince snickered, smiling down at you with a flash of his pearly whites. “You are, after all, hanging prettily off my arm.”

“Because you asked me to, Your Highness.”

“Ah, are you forgetting already?” he paused, his long and elegant stature towering over yours. “I’m doing this for the both of us. The agreement was clear – you steered me away from my arranged marriage, redeem my nettling reputation, and in turn, I shall pick you up from where you’ve fallen,” your lips parted in protest, finger raised to correct that no, you had not fallen, that was not the situation at all, but he silenced you when he leaned down close enough that his eyes twinkled before you, lips turned at the side arrogantly. “In fact, I am more than capable of providing you more than that.”

“I am well aware of that, Your Highness. I truly am indebted to you.”

Should you be humiliated? Forming an agreement with the Crown Prince would be the last thing that would ever arrive even in your craziest dreams, yet there you were, in the middle of the town square, leisurely strolling with the Kingdom’s heir as if it was but a daily occurrence.

Thoughts running back to your latest predicament – which he just had to bear witness to – you winced, swallowing the resigned sigh that threatened to spill.

You did not have enough shame in you to be humiliated, not when he was right. It was a mutually beneficial agreement.

“You do not have to be,” Prince Satoru blinked at you, gray lashes fluttered against the pads of his cheeks. “I take extreme pleasure in saving a damsel in distress,” Your lips puckered out, tireless with the need to tell him it wasn’t like that, and the Prince easily read through you, tugging you back into his arm as he laughed. “Even when I know you are not. Still, it does feel nice to take a walk in this fine day, don’t you think?”

You snorted at the heavy sarcasm under his sweet tone, “It feels a little embarrassing.”

“You feel embarrassed that you’re with me?”

“Yes,” you gritted at your teeth, the lace of your gloves digging into your flesh. You wanted nothing more than to rip it off, the material a silent reminder of the requirement that must be met to fool the crowd. “You’re a prince and I am—”

“I thought we already established titles mean nothing when we both mutually benefit from one another,” he cut you off, hands coming up to caress at your cheeks. You immediately froze at his touch, the iciness behind those eyes doing nothing to soothe you until he spoke, the Prince’s words oddly gentle and warm like the sun that shone down on you that fine day. “Worry not about that. I do not care what people think of you. All I care is that you do well and I shall do my part gracefully in return,” he declared for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

Back then, you never believed that people had power just because they were born with it. Power had to be manifested, trained, earned – yet Prince Satoru wielded it with his lips so effortlessly that in that moment, you believed magic really wasn’t a myth.

“Kiss me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Everyone is looking,” his eyes darted over the on looking crowd, his bare hand still caressing your warm cheeks, hot enough that it put the sun to shame. “Lest you want this plan to fail, I suggest you kiss me, darling. Passionately.”

The Crown Prince was right. Everyone was looking.

Your body’s response was instantaneous. A hiss of a breath, muscles tensed and fingers curled into a fist at your side; you could feel bile rising from your throat out of panic.

Then Prince Satoru leaned forwards, eyes snapped shut and his lips colliding with yours. The single touch had all the tension flooding away as you kissed the Prince, his lips tasting of cinnamon and sugar, vanilla and spice wafting off of him delicately that you had to fist at the collar of his shirt to prevent yourself from gobbling him up whole.

He would find that rather displeasing, claiming that you had little to no table manners, so you forced yourself to relax as he breathed air into your mouth, large hands cradled around your neck.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled between kisses, the mere scent of royalty and forbidden elegance dripping off of him making you fearful to open your eyes. It felt illegal to touch the most wanted bachelor in your Kingdom this way, felt wrong to have his hands roaming down the slopes of your body while everyone looked at your shameless public display of faux romance. But if it was wrong, then why did he hold you so tenderly, not moving to push you away even as you nipped at his lips once more?

“You’re alright – I’ve got you.”

It was not easy being a no-name ballerina. You’ve crafted your skill for what seemed like your whole life, yet getting even a step closer to your dreams proved to be a daunting task. Even as your toes bruised and your muscles ached, pants heaved from your chest while you bended your body at will, you couldn’t stop thinking about how no one told you it was never easy to reach your dreams.

The fairytales had lied to you. They made it seem to easy to grab a star, never really explaining on how to be a star.

It felt so far away – the galaxy and universe you’d longer your entire life to be a part of – yet the Crown Prince stood at the corner of your studio, eyes dark as he watched you sway to the music.

A few weeks prior to your spontaneous arrangement, you were foolish enough to believe you could become that star easily. You were the lowest of ranks when it came to other girls; orphaned, no-named, broke, and loveless.

Unlike your peers that were bred of the finest titles and fed with silver spoons, nannies and courts running after them in their growing years, you had to survive on scraps, taking three jobs at the young age of thirteen just to get into dance school and afford the fees.

You believed title or ranking shouldn’t have had to do anything with talent and worth, but then again, you were foolish beyond your years.

The moment you heard you were chosen to be the Black Swan of this season, allowing you to debut, you squealed behind your skirt, training day and night to the point you’ve skipped your meals just to perfect your routine.

That was until your classmates’ parents had come inside the school, twirling their moustaches behind soft fingers that had never known a day’s worth of work, belly round with cupcakes and all the delicacies only they were privileged enough to eat, the nervous laughter of your ballet master enough to let you know what it all meant.

Your classmate – the prettiest and the richest one – came rushing past you as she giggled over the announcement that she would be the Black Swan.

She was far many years younger than you, spoiled and with an attitude that tasted as bad as your leftovers, and definitely not skilled enough to debut – but of course, nothing was ever impossible enough with money, right? Before you could even defend yourself, your ballet master had cleaned out your quarters, your skirts and shoes thrown onto the muddy dirt while you cried under the rain, begging for another chance.

Second chances? You wanted to laugh.

Only people who did wrong should ask for it, and yet you sat there on your knees, hands clasped in a prayer that should only be reserved for wish bearers, desperate pleads of please don’t do this to me echoing into the empty night.

Was it fate then that the Crown Prince was half drunk inside his vehicle, shades slipping off his nose as he turned your way, your cries rudely interrupting the music blaring inside his car?

Perhaps it was – a cruel or a wonderful fate; no one could tell – the only thing that mattered now was that the Crown Prince had yet again found interest in a woman.

Only this time he didn’t lust after their body, wished nothing to do with their hands on his, completely sober around your presence as he watched you train endlessly in your studio, your sweat making your clothes stick like a second skin.

Prince Satoru leaned back against the walls then.

He should’ve brought a drink with him. Had he known that watching you dance sensually with such a blissed out expression he was mostly familiar with when he had his legs wrapped around another warm body would set his body alight, sober, then he would’ve left long ago.

Still, the Prince is rendered frozen at the edge, eyes trailing over your graceful form as you bended, legs flying out into the air while you arms dipped and curved into the most graceful of arcs and bows that put his combat figures into shame.

You weren’t even trying to seduce him and yet he was wholly captivated.

He wants to say that the woman he saw that rainy night and the woman stood before him now, figure bathed in the small slivers of sunlight that peeked through the blinds and stockings hugging each and every curve and dip of your body were entirely two different people, but the longer he looked, there was no mistaking it was still the same person. The passion burned through your eyes, the soft melodious tunes of the music guiding you – or rather you guiding the beat before you fluttered to another.

Prince Satoru smiled.

It first came off as a joke that he wanted to know more about you – his pretend lover – because everyone knew the Crown Prince was too frivolous to ever settle down and find interest in a woman beyond her looks. The confused pout you gave him as he followed you inside your studio burned at the back of his brain, a silent warning that you were different; that you were not someone he could touch lest he wished to burn and break you, though that would be a lie, it seemed.

For every strong ripple of your muscles and flowy movement of your body as you completely delved into the space of your own home and comfort, the Prince knew – you were not someone he could crush into the palm of his hands.

He came here out of boredom.

He left the studio with a confused heart, cheeks resting on his palm as he asked his chauffer, when is the next show?

The birds chirped above you, your fingers stretched out as you peeked from under it, lips pressed into a flat line. You were in the royal garden after persistent invitation from the Crown Prince himself. Speaking of, said Crown Prince had his limbs sprawled out beneath you, the edges of his hands slightly playing with the frills of your dress as he took his afternoon nap, a youthful smile on his face.

“Your Highness,” you huffed out, “What are we doing here? No one is looking. There is no need for us to continue our act.”

“I know,” he cheered a little too brightly for someone that looked to be deep in dreamland, “I just wanted to hang out with you without worrying about others. Not that I ever did, but it’s nice to be alone with you every once in a while. The prying eyes can get a bit too much.”

You hummed at the thought; he did have a point. This arrangement turned out to be a lot smoother than expected. The Crown Prince wasn’t lying about his intentions and not once had he laid a hand on you – without your permission, anyway – and he turned out to be…a lot more docile and easy going than what you originally thought of him. Not that you had much thoughts to begin with anyway, the Prince was a celebrity and therefore not someone that concerned you.

In your mind, he was merely your leader, more often than a not a name spoken between hushed whispers and dreamy moans.

This side of him was different, and all the time you’d spent him with was filled with nothing but ridiculed stares and taunts. The Crown Prince was a hilarious man who never feared trying out new things, always happy and eager to try exotic foods with you in the night markets or joining you in your spontaneous dancing during midnight ‘dates.’

He was the closest you could consider as a friend, and you relaxed against him, laying down on the flowery fields right next to him as you sighed in content. “I will miss this, Your Highness.”

“Miss what?”

“You and I – hanging out,” you mumbled a little dreamily, “I have a strong feeling things will finally get better for me. When I get scouted by a better company, I won’t be able to hang out with you anymore,” Silence befell the both upon you, the rustling of the wind against the flowers sounding like a far off memory. Soon, it would be. “I will miss this.”

“You could always call me. Or who knows, maybe I’d even drop by to watch your performances sometime.”

You snapped your eyes open, chuckling when the Prince had now sat up halfway, his regal face cradled in his hands while his elbow laid flat under him. He blinked innocently at you, and that’s when you realized – he was serious. That had you bursting into laughter, hands clutched at your stomach. “Please, you? You do not even enjoy ballerina!”

“I enjoy watching you,” he confessed in a heartbeat, his gaze falling from your crinkled eyes and all the way down to the silhouette of your body. “There’s something about the way you move that’s just so graceful and...phenomenal.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his heated gaze, the mere trails of his sight enough to warm your entire skin despite the cool wind. This was the Prince concerned though, and you had to guard your heart, eyes narrowed playfully at him while you desperately ignored the need to rub your thighs together.

“Are you flirting with me, Your Highness?”

The Prince snorted, “Flirt with you? My pretend girlfriend?” he clutched a hand at his chest as if the assumption offended him, “What makes you come to that conclusion?”

You chucked your handkerchief at him, still a little in disbelief that you were greeted by his laughter when it hit him right in the face.

You would miss this indeed.

Your gaze softened as you sat up, thighs pressed to your chest as you directed your gaze up in the sky. Prince Satoru may not always be around when the time came, but at least you still had the sky to remind you of this brazen and unexpected friendship that helped you grow.

“Thank you, though,” you squished your cheeks onto your knees, a lilted smile plastered on your face. “Dancing has always been a passion of mine. I can’t ever imagine a time of my life where I wasn’t moving with music. It almost feels as if I was destined with it; it speaks to me and deeper than the recesses of my bones, guides me until I’m one and entangled with it,” you ended with a dreamy sigh, turning your head to the side to look His Highness in the eye, stilling for a moment when you’re met with his solemn gaze.

Your throat parched dry. “Have you ever fallen in love with something like that before?”

“I don’t think so,” one of his shoulders lifted up in a lame shrug, voice turning deep and husky as he asked, “How do you know when you lack something or not?”

“If it comes to love...” you tapped your chin with a finger, “I think a life lived without one would feel quite empty. Hollow, I would say, and the skies would just be a plain blue instead of a calming yet mesmerizing one,” the courage that soared within you was an unexpected one, but it was enough to let you look him in the eye, form vulnerable and words slipping past your lips before you could control them. “If I were incapable of love, I’d say your eyes are nothing but gleams of sapphire.”

“And if you were capable of it? What would my eyes be?”

“Like cerulean galaxies crashing against one another,” you whispered, “Stardust sprinkled and heavens birthed out of passion and the desire to be something more. You’d be azure and brazen instead of crestfallen; the magnificence of the universe’s creation attesting to itself that it is wholly capable of designing divine beings.”

“Hmm,” he tipped his head to the side as he mulled over your words. His jacket was discarded somewhere along the grass, top three buttons of his shirt left opened and hair rustling with the wind. Beautiful, the image etched into your skin. “Are you sure you are a dancer and not a poet?”

“People say all sorts of beautiful things when they’re in love.”

The Prince straightened up, lips pursed. For a moment, you grew fearful, your heart frantically thumping in your chest as you thought, this is it – this is when he pushes you away. He does nothing of this as he scoots closer to you, using his rough thumb to tilt your chin until you were looking up at him, wide eyes sparkling – the sight of you vulnerable like this making the Crown Prince lick his lips.

“If you were in love,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “What would be the most beautiful thing those lips of yours would utter?” You shivered as his thumb moved up to graze at your bottom lip, almost prompting it to jut out, to which you happily complied with a shaky breath. “What would you say then?”

“Your name.”

The Prince smiled to himself at your hearty answer. To hide both of your nervous chuckles, the Prince took it upon himself to ease both your worries as he kissed you, nothing but the warmth and fluttering of butterflies rampaging in your stomach mixing at his sweet taste.

Beautiful, you hummed into his mouth. You could fall for as long as you wanted, but would the Prince ever fall from grace as he moaned into your mouth, tugging you until you were situated in his lap, arms wrapped tight enough around you in refusal to let you go? Maybe, your mind sighed, hands tugging at his hair when the Prince kissed you fervently, murmuring one word that made you melt right then and there.

Beautiful, he finds you.

Both your loud laughter echoed in his training grounds, the horses’ hooves padding against the firm earth. “Not fast enough, my Lady,” he taunts, his smile bright and wide as he sat perched atop his white stallion. “How would you catch my heart if you cannot ride faster?”

“I will catch up to you, just wait and see! Not everyone grew up riding horses, you know?”

“I bet a fine coin you do ride well, though, my Lady,” he remarked with a wink, his statement enough to tap the sides of your feet harder against your horse to catch after him.

“Your Highness!”

As you two chased around each other the wide field, carefree laughter and clothes swaying against the wind, skin warm from the flush of the sun, the Crown Prince’s servants stood at the side.

A particular woman – the servant that had been loyal long before the Prince was born – remained under a parasol, her wrinkled face tight with a frown.

“How nauseating,” she scrunched her nose, arms crossed on her chest. “To think I dedicated my life into raising the little prince to be a fine king someday, and his future would be tainted by a lowly performer who cannot even make a name for herself,” turning to one of the young boy servants, she narrowed her eyes at you. “Where does she work again? Is she of name?”

“She is an orphan, Madam, taken in at a young age in a dance school before she had to pay the fees herself, if the rumors are correct. I heard that she and His Highness met when she was kicked out by her own ballet master due to her stealing the original Black Swan spot for this season’s show.”

His old nanny’s face grew more gruesome. “Wasn’t the Black Swan supposed to be one of the Earl’s daughters?”

“Yes. Rumours had it that His Highness’ new plaything seized the spot to prove herself. Look at how that plan backfired.”

“How repulsive,” she spat out, venom laced in her tongue.

The roles had reversed, the Crown Prince insistent in catching you this time around, and you rode after him with panicked laughter, hands clutched tight on the reins. Although you’d only swished past the small group of servants that always seemed to be around, you’d heard enough.

“We must protect His Highness at all costs before this wretched woman rips his future away from him. The fate of the kingdom lies on his shoulders; we cannot afford him making mistakes.”

“Indeed, Madam.”

You stopped in your tracks until the horse slowed down with confused huffs, your Prince following behind you not long afterwards. Looking back at him again, you were no longer able to smile at him genuinely, not when discomfort, and most of all shame, had to be forced down deep into your system. Beautiful, you resigned, he was too beautiful.

His servants were right. Maybe you really were ruining everything for him. His reputation was frowned upon to begin with for his less than infamous sexual endeavors, that he was more often sighted in casinos and bars instead of his study room.

The barrack guards had grown tired and weary of trying to stop the Crown Prince from leaving the royal grounds. No matter what they did, he always found a way to escape.

The only difference this time around was that their Prince no longer frequented such sinful places and met with women of all titles and backgrounds. No, this time, the Prince leapt from the tall walls that had never been much of a challenge considering his tall frame, not bothering to get a car or even a horse as he dashed straight to your studio.

Sweat dripped down from your face as you slammed a fist on the floor, tears about to erupt. You couldn’t complete this routine that you were so close into perfecting.

Your mind was simply just in a mess.

There was a conflicting war inside you – one with your heart that yearned to stay longer in His Highness’ presence out of mere selfishness, and one with your mind that told you it was dishnoroubale to taint his name like this. The last thing you wanted was to destroy and push both of you even further into falling from grace; both reputations and name already tarnished.

You’d truly be heartless if you kept going on.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were feeling comfortable with him, having found home in the Crown Prince’s warm arms and spontaneous kisses of all places.

Was it absurd? Undoubtedly so.

Could it be helped? You certainly could try.

And you’d been doing a great job so far; quite a daunting task you patted yourself in the back for. Avoiding the Prince when he’d made it clear he also enjoyed your company proved a lot harder than reaching your dreams, but you pushed through, locking yourself in the unused studio and training day and night.

It wasn’t working well – not on your part, anyway. You’d been here for hours, your clothes uncomfortably sticking to your skin and your water bottles were all emptied.

You’d never felt this tired.

You fell on your knees, palms flat on the floor and sweat salty as it trailed down to your lips. With a groan, you untied your shoes off and stared at the bruised and blued toes, a witness to the countless years of hard work. Your lip quivered as you massaged the sore muscles, tears about to spill as you remembered the Prince.

Beautiful, he was, flawless and porcelain in each movement and breath.

But you? You were battered, scarred, broken and bruised – why would he want you of all people? It was clear he’s had multiple lovers before you. No, scratch that, you were never a lover to begin with. It was all a sham, an agreement formed out of lame survival. There was no beauty in a lie.

The music playing from your stereo kept repeating on loop, this time the tune no longer unrecognizable as your soft cries echoed around the studio. You weren’t beautiful – not enough for him, at least – everyone made that very clear to you.

Just as you wiped your tears away at the back of your hand, standing up to continue another set as you refused to come back home without completing one perfect routine, the doors slammed open. Heavy breathing entered afterwards and you scowled – you worked tooth and bone to claim this place as yours, who dared enter? “This studio is private—” your words fell dry on your skin when a tuft of white hair trudged over to you, his usual placid face replaced with a firm sneer. “Y-Your Highness?”

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

His voice was nothing but demanding, the authority behind them only natural and befitting for someone like him. Each step he took forwards equated to a step backward until your back hit the mirrors, eyes wide as you gazed up at him.

Your voice came out weak. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t act like I’m stupid,” he pointed a finger at you, then scoffed, hands running through the soft locks of his air while he shook his head. You stood there grasping at your tights; having never seen the Prince lose his composure before. “I know you’ve been avoiding me. Every time I try to contact you, you never respond. When I ask your friends where you’ve been, they all tell me you’re busy practicing.”

Somehow, you managed to find your voice again, tone heavy and biting. “I am busy practicing, do you not see that?”

“It’s not the only thing you’re occupied with. Clearly, you are quite determined to stay away from me too,” he bellowed, his loud voice bouncing back from the emptiness of the room. The booming sound must’ve snapped him back to consciousness because Prince Satoru sighed, stepping closer until his warm hand cupped your cheek, starry blue eyes filled with worry and anguish. Had you caused this?

Beautiful, you frowned, that even in his demise he managed to look like fine art. “Why are you avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?” he softened, breath warm on your lips. “If yes, then tell me and I’ll do everything it takes to make up for it.”

You fisted his shirt; cheek faced his way because you couldn’t look him in the eye right now. There was no way you’d let him see you cry.

“I don’t understand you, Your Highness,” you murmured, “You’re about to be King – why do you bother yourself with someone like me? I’m nothing compared to you, and I detest being compared to you for I am more than worthy despite not being born of a high ranking like yours.”

Prince Satoru froze. “Is this what this is about? My title bothers you?”

“We should stop whatever we’re doing,” was all you said, pushing him away as gently as you could, ignoring the gnawing pain that grew inside of you when your palms landed on his chest. “It is lowly of me to take advantage of the Crown Prince’s kindness anyway. My success should be paved out of my own hard work and not because of my lame connections to the Crown Prince.”

“Lame connections? Is that all I am to you?”

“You are my Crown Prince, Your Highness,” you reminded him of the stark difference firmly, “You mean a lot to your people, but I do not mean anything to you. I am just another nameless performer lost in the crowd of a thousand other girls who wish to reach their dreams, even if such a star is far beyond our reach,” Tears had now fallen until they formed into crystals on your cheeks, and he blinked back, unsure of what to do. “Could you ever understand what that feels like? To yearn for something you know you could never have but hope for anyway?”

“It would be a lie if I said I did,” he admitted quietly, “But I think I’m beginning to understand. It would make sense to me now – if you keep pushing me away, that is.”

You shook your head begrudgingly. “Your Highness...we shouldn’t.”

“And why not? Who said we couldn’t?”

You don’t stop him this time when he stepped closer once more, trapping you between his arms until you clutched desperately at his shirt, his erratic heartbeat pulsing under your touch. “It’s just you and I – neither a prince nor a performer – simply man and woman who crave each other’s touch. What could be so wrong into giving into one’s desires?” you gasped when his lips fell at the juncture of your neck, your head immediately tilting to the side as you allowed him to ravage you. “You still haven’t given me the chance to let you know what I feel,” he cradled your jaw, caressing your skin as he breathed you’re your ear, voice low and sultry, begging even, “Would you really deny me the pleasure of showing you how beautiful you are to me right now?”

“Satoru,” you keened at his teeth tugging at your skin, fists clenched on shirt. “Touch me.”

“That’s all I ever wanted to do, darling.”

Satoru swept down to capture your lips in his, his grip firm on the swell of your ass he kept you close to him, pressed hip to hip and his hardened front grazing your core through the tights. He pulled a moan from you as he flipped your body over, lips finding home in your neck while his large hand cupped your breast, the other trailing down to finger at your clothed, damp pussy.

In this angle, you could see the despondent way you easily spread your legs for him, your pants like music to ears.

“Do you still not believe me when I say you are worth more than a pound of gold? Look at you – your dripping cunt shines harder than the diamonds I keep in my room,” the both of you groaned when he pushed a finger through your hole, your tights stretching and sucked in by your walls enough to outline the arousal that seeped through. “Maybe I should keep you instead, hmm, don’t you think? You’d be a far grander treasure than all those riches.”

“I am a woman,” you tugged at his hair, panting heavily as he kept fingering into you, his thumb grazing at the sensitive bundle of nerves that swelled under your tight clothes. “I am not to be reduced to a possession you acquire.”

“No, of course not. Nothing could ever replace you in this world,” he growled, harsh in his movements as he tore your clothes with minimal effort.

You yelped when your precious tights had been ripped to the sides, a hole revealing your core and your breasts barely covered with the flimsy fabric. Satoru shuffled his pants down before placing you right on his cock, swallowing your moans with each inch of his length that slid inside you.

Hands dug painfully into his hair, Satoru hissed at the pain, grinning to himself at how wet you were through just light touches and a sloppy kiss. You’ve been good for him, though, you were always good for him that he had to reward you, show you how beautiful you were, and he spread his legs apart, relishing in the sight of you being fucked onto his cock.

“Nothing feels better than your tight pussy, huh? Take a good look at yourself, you’re so fucking precious, taking me so well,” you could only moan in response, unable to take your eyes off the way his length disappeared inside you, a shiver chilling your spine when he grasped at your breasts, nipples tweaked between his fingers. “Nothing, nothing, nothing could compare to this. You feel like heaven, taste like bliss and forgiveness,” he licked at the salty sweat that drowned your body, one of his hands now rolling your clit between his fingers. You screamed, bouncing yourself harder on him with your nails dug deep into his thighs. “You will be the redemption of my darkened soul, are you not?”

“Maybe I will be,” you cried out, head lolled onto his shoulder.

Satoru hummed, his eyes dark and coated with lust when your breasts bounced in front of the mirror. Thanks to years of dancing, you barely felt a stretch when Satoru suddenly lifted your legs up until your thighs were embarrassingly squished against your chest. You knew why he did this; it wasn’t that hard to understand why when he narrowed his focus on the way your juices slipped down his cock, the sounds of your pussy squelching drowning out the operatic music.

Satoru kissed your cheeks to wipe your previous tears away, his hands nothing but grabby and possessive as he gripped the flesh of your thigh. “You already are, sweet thing.”

Pleasure had completely taken over you at this point, that familiar heat building up in your stomach until it snapped into two. Pupils blown wide open, you gasped as you came all over him, your cum creaming down onto his cock until it lined with a thick ring of cum.

It was filthy to say the least, and your body burned at the thought that you were disrespecting him, defiling him with the mess you’ve made. But the Prince only fucked into you harder, his teeth grazing at your already abused skin with relentless and merciless thrusts. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d show you how beautiful he found you, going hell and beyond because you felt nothing but worshipped when he kissed you feverishly, his moans romantic as he came. “S-Satoru!”

“That’s right,” he slipped a finger, the stretch adding a slight tinge of pain that had your hips rutting out in sensitivity, your hole clenching around his everything. “Cum for me. Come on, I know you can do it for me. You’re so good, sweetheart, come for me.”

You were mindlessly babbling his name as both of you came down from your highs. Satoru doesn’t stop once from running hands everywhere, gripping your hips, flicking your nipples, rubbing your clit, and running a finger down your slit to wipe your juices everywhere. It had become too much that you had to push his hand away, legs locking around his arms that refused to stop cupping your pussy.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” he cooed, shameless and teasing when he brought his hands up to your face, fingers stretched to show the webbing of your arousal between them. “We made such a mess,” he chuckled, his kisses a lot softer now on your neck.

Beautiful, you whimpered internally as you fluttered around nothing.

Satoru must’ve grown an addiction to kissing your lips for he dived in one last time, murmuring the word you always tied him with until they felt printed, tattooed, on your skin. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to bask in this, your kisses slow and sensual as you both enjoyed this serene moment.

He came to this studio to prove you something.

He left the studio with a swelling heart, cheeks resting on your breast as he wrapped his arms around you in the comfort of your worn-out mattress as he asked, can I stay here longer with you?

The cheers and applause directed your way were deafening, the spotlight blinding as you bowed. You gasped for air, every muscle in your body screaming both with delight and exhaustion.

You could barely fathom the crowd hidden in darkness before you, the sight like a black sea, but instead of feeling like you were drowning, you don’t think you’d ever been able to breathe this well before. The smile on your face was bright – brighter than the star you’ve become and bigger than the galaxy and universe you’ve made for yourself – and you waved your arm gracefully, toes pointed outwards while the roses and flowers thrown your way came flooding like a waterfall.

You’d made it.

And through the crowd, at the back where someone the likes of him wasn’t supposed to be, His Majesty’s white hair stuck out like a sore thumb. His draperies were replaced with finer ornaments of gold embroidery, those large hands that had grown accustomed to holding yours and marking handprints on your delicate skin covered with gloves as he applauded, following the crowd from where they all stood.

Your smile directed him was nothing less of a beam, the stars he’d hung for you reflecting back in your eyes. Tears blurred the vision of him for a moment until you saw him again – crystal clear – his expression both proud and longing.

The memory of you and him had been a beautiful one, but it was distant and with each passing day, it blurred until it became nothing like swirls of I love you’s and good luck’s whispered onto one another’s skin. Your heart still soared and broke each time at the sight of him, the majestic Queen hanging off the arm that was locked with yours just years ago a painful reminder that there would always be an invisible divide between you and the Prince you’d fallen in love with.

There was no regret, however, in where things had led. You knew he loved his kind wife as much as he loved you, and he knew you loved him as much as you loved your career, and things were simply just…meant to be this way, you concluded.

It was never supposed to be a great love story that told of breaking traditions. Not all stories were meant to go against the odds; some were told to show that people could be capable of change without having to change anything. You were thankful, still so extremely grateful you met your beloved Prince even as he left the theatre before people crowded around him, leaving you to your devices until you retired back into the changing room, a set of rare flowers only a certain person could afford.

Beautiful, you cried as you picked up the card, his once messy scrawls improved into a neater cursive befitting for the new King.

And so it was that you parted ways, with him leading his country into further prosperity while you moved away and stole people’s hearts with each phenomenal show, one after the other.

Your summer rendezvous with the Prince was not meant to be a love story that went against all odds; you were there to save each other from reaching damnation, loving one another as passionately as your souls were able to until you picked each other back up.

Once the other stood firm, tall, and ready to take on the world with their bare hands, you pushed one another in your respective directions.

Beautiful, you smiled as you clutched at his present close to your heart where he’d built a garden out of itself, that we’d saved each other from falling from grace.

1K notes · View notes

talesofstyles · 4 years ago

Text

Good Morning Indeed

absolutely no plot whatsoever, just a bit of husband and dad harry in the midst of the family’s morning chaos 😂

Harry

“Go get the condom on.”

“I’ll pull out, I promise.”

“Your pull out game is weak.”

“Oi, them’s fightin’ words.”

“There’s a reason we’ve got six kids.” Says the missus with a roll of those pretty—but sometimes deadly (please don’t tell her I said this)—eyes. “‘Sides, I’ve just changed the sheets yesterday. You are not coming on the sodding sheets.”

“Fine,” I sigh and reach down to the bedside table. Why is the drawer filled with sodding Duplo and those tiny, pricey Sylvanian Family bunnies? I’m guessing kid number two, three and four have something to do with that. A few more seconds of rummaging before I finally found my treasure in the very back of the drawer. I lay on my back as I sheath myself up, and seeing as I’m already here… might as well, right? I smirk at her as I say, “hop on then.”

“Fat chance that,” she mutters. “Do I have to take off my top?”

“Nah,” I shake my head, it’s cold, and I’m a considerate husband. “A flash will do. Just give me a visual.”

She rolls up my shirt that she wears to sleep, a really old white rolling stones t-shirt that has two holes and a loose thread hanging on for dear life from the hem. She looks homeless. Gorgeous homeless though.

“Nice,” I flash her a boyish grin, like a teenage boy seeing his first pair of tits. “You’ve got great racks.”

“You’re just saying that…”

I know what she sees when she looks at herself in the mirror and I wish she could look at herself through my eyes.

“Hey, don’t you dare. My babies grew in that body, that’s everything.”

Her tender smile hits me right in the gut. “I love you.”

“Love me enough to ride me?” I say with a playful flick to one nipple.

“Nice try.”

“I love you,” I mutter near her mouth and give her a searing kiss. I run my tongue over her bottom lip, then I kiss her down her neck, her cleavage and her breasts. I slowly circle one nipple, and she giggles, knowing it’s a well-rehearsed move that is guaranteed to do what’s needed. See, her tits are kind of like start buttons. No matter the situation, a little attention to those bad boys switches things around real quick. Her head slams back against the pillow. And she moans, holding my head in place.

We’ve got ignition lads.

I nestle my body on top of hers, and there’s a bit of wayward angling and poking until I find my way inside of her. And then it’s on. Two bodies writhing on the bed. My hips rotate in long, slow circles.

“Bollocks!”

“What? The condom isn’t broken, is it?”

“No, it’s bin day. I forgot to take out the recycling bin.”

“S’fine, we’ve got time before the school run.”

The bin’s sorted, back to the shag…

I slide my hands under her, bringing us closer. Rocking us faster. My forehead hovers close to hers and I open my eyes so I can watch. What can I say? I’m greedy like that. I want to soak up every gasp, every flicker of pleasure across her face. Pleasure I’m giving her.

Her breathing changes. It turns panting and desperate, and I know she’s close. I move harder, grinding against her, inside her, with every forward push. Warms sparks tickle my spine and heat spreads down until every nerve in my body is shaking. I slam inside her, burying deep as her hips jerk upward. She spasms hard around me, gripping me tight.

I rock back my hips and pull almost all the way out, but then I freeze. Because a dreaded sound echoes across the room, grabbing our full attention. It’s coming from the baby monitor. It’s a rustling, the sound of cotton rubbing cotton. Like snipers in the jungle, we don’t move a muscle. We don’t say a word. We wait, until the rustling stops. And all is quiet again.

Too bad it’s not for long. Because two thrusts in, a light comes on in the landing. Followed by small footsteps heading down the stairs. Shit.

“Harry, just come already. They’ll all be up soon.”

“I’m close… don’t rush it, you’re scaring it away.”

She grinds her hips. Also another well-rehearsed move that she knows will get me off. But I freeze again, because there’s a second set of footsteps and the sound of a toilet flushing. Oh, and the babies next door are starting to whimper.

Great.

“I’M HUNGRY!” That’s James, darling little cockblocker number four who likes to be fed on time. He’s three.

“WE’LL BE OUT IN A SECOND!” My wife shouts over my shoulder. “Harry for the love of god-”

I pick up the rhythm. Small beads of sweat form on my brow. She grinds her hips again, and I try to focus. “Just like that, fuck, keep doing that.”

“Sshh, keep your voice down.”

“IS THERE ANY BREAD THAT ISN’T 50/50?” That’s Eleanor, child number two. She’s seven, and she’s one of those children who seem to possess a discernible palate that knows when we’ve changed brands of baked beans or attempt to bring sugar-free fruit squash through the doors.

“IT’S THE SAME,” I reply.

“NO, IT’S NOT. DO WE HAVE OTHER FOOD?”

“THERE ARE SHREDDIES.”

“DON’T LIKE ‘EM.”

“PORRIDGE.”

“I’M NOT A BEAR!”

Honestly, seven-year-olds gunning for a fight this early in the morning can go do one.

The babies are starting to gather volume next door so I try to focus again. It only takes a few more thrusts before ecstasy wrecks my body, making me shudder. I press my lips against her neck as I come back down to earth. But I don’t move yet. I know we should get going because things are already chaotic outside our door, but I just don’t have the will yet. I’m considering going back to sleep for a minute or two. She won’t mind, will she? Well, I’m wrong. Because she proceeds to perform the move that seems to amuse every sodding woman on earth. And causes every man to squeal like a bloody pig. Without warning, she uses her powerful muscle to squeeze my extremely sensitive cock.

Girls, grab a piece of paper and write this down. I’m speaking on behalf of every man to walk on earth here; we hate that. We don’t think it’s funny.

I jerk back, pull out, and roll off her. I try to look annoyed as she giggles, and obviously I fail, because that freshly fucked, flushed-face makes it impossible not to grin back.

“CAN I HAVE JAFFA CAKE?” That’s Victoria, child number three. She’s five, and she’s yelling as she thunders up the stairs.

“JAFFA CAKE ISN’T BREAKFAST,” my wife shouts back as she sits up and hands me a nappy sack. “Harry…”

I wrap up the condom with it and toss it to the bin. “You’ve just taken me life force, woman, give me a moment.”

“CUSTARD CREAM?”

“NO.” We shout in unison.

“HOBNOB THEN?”

“STAY AWAY FROM THE BISCUIT TIN!”

“You want to wrestle a biscuit-hunting kid out of a cupboard and 50/50 bread drama or fussy babies with full nappies?”

“Babies.” I hear a small child get whacked by a sibling downstairs and I feel like I may have got the better deal here.

Next door, the twins are not happy. They’re six months old now, and they’re both teething. Thing one glares at me as I walk into their nursery and thing two stares at me stroppily from the corner of her cot. Their cheeks are scarlet, and thing one proceeds to bark at me like a seal. I pick his warm, sleepy, cuddly body and cradle it close to mine as I lay him down on the changing table. I smell the dampness. It’s definitely wee. He’s soaked through, I think I didn’t tuck his willy in when I last changed him around three in the morning so it sprayed in some upward motion and drenched his clothes. See, this is why girls are better than boys. There’s no way they can pee upwards.

After I put a fresh nappy and a change of clothes, I put him down on the rug so he can wiggle around while I grab his sister and sort her out. After six kids, I’m definitely a pro with baby duty and can practically change their clothes one-handed. The whole thing takes only a few minutes.

I cuddle the babies on each side as I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. They immediately reach out to their mum who’s cracking some eggs as soon as they spot her, knowing she’s the only one who can cure their hunger this morning.

“Uniforms!” She says to the big kids as she takes one baby into her arms. “We’ll do breakfast after. Please, please, please…”

Desperate pleas lead them to saunter out and up the stairs. I follow my wife into the living room and hand her the other baby as she plops down on the couch. She rolls up her shirt and the babies latch instantly. Tandem nursing is harder now that they’re a little older and aware of their surroundings. They’re trying to scratch each other’s faces as they nurse. “Oi, what’s this? You each get a tit, stop fighting.”

They seem to somehow listen to me and have stopped trying to poke each other’s eyeballs. We’ll see how long that lasts. “Finish the eggs?”

I nod. “I’m on it.”

I brew some coffee, finish the scrambled eggs, and pop the slices after slices of bread in the toaster. Breakfast is done just in time as my wife walks back into the kitchen with two full and happy babies. She puts them in their high chairs and I scoop a bit of eggs on each of their trays for them to nibble on.

George appears back in the kitchen clad in his uniform with his also dressed brother trailing behind. We always lay his clothes the night before on his bed and he gets dressed all by himself in the morning. And he’s getting better at it, seeing he only missed a button on his shirt.

“Hi mate,” I say as I fix his button and he flashes a toothy grin at me. I plop him down on the chair, he’s graduated from the high chair now but still uses a booster seat.

“No toast!”

“What do you want then?”

“Chee-yos?”

I nod before I grab a handful of cheerios and set them on his plate next to his eggs. Then I take a few steps back across the table. “Hey, James, set it up.”

He flashes me another toothy grin before he opens his mouth wide and keeps it open. I hold a single Cheerio between my fingers while I bend my knees and bounce my hand as if I were dribbling a basketball. “Three seconds left on the clock, down by one. Styles got the ball. He fakes left, he drives in, he shoots…”

I toss the Cheerios in a high arc. It lands right into his mouth.

“He scores! The crowd goes wild!”

James holds both hands over his head. “Core!”

“Viv stole the biscuit tin, you know? She ate three jammie dodgers upstairs.” Eleanor says as she walks in with book bags and school shoes.

George, seeing his sister walks in, proceeds to open his mouth wide and flashes her the half-chewed eggs on his tongue. It’s his current thing and it annoys his sisters to death. The young’uns think differently though as they double over in laughter.

“Eeewww!” She shrieks. “You’re so gross!”

“VICTORIA, PUT THAT BISCUIT TIN DOWN AND GET YOUR BUTT IN THE KITCHEN! AND GO GET THEM HAIR TIE THINGIES…”

“I didn’t have any biscuits!” She yells and runs down the stairs.

This kid is the quintessential daddy’s girl. She climbs up onto my lap right away, handing me the brush and a hair tie.

“See, poppet, I would’ve believed you if you didn’t leave evidence all over your face,” I arch one of my eyebrows as I sweep a speck of raspberry jam on the corner of her mouth.

“You always do a ponytail,” she huffs.

“Either that or I give you a bowl cut with kitchen scissors. I reckon that fruit bowl will do. Your choice.”

“Can I have some more eggs?” George asks with his mouth full of his last bite.

“God, that’s like your third serving,” Eleanor grumbles.

“Nag.”

At that insult, Eleanor flings a piece of toast like a ninja. Before George can retaliate, my wife gives them both the look.

“Viv, will you at least have some eggs?”

“No.”

“Fine,” my wife sighs. “I’m gonna get changed then.”

I glance at the clock and, well, shit, I should get dressed too. “Can you lot watch the babies and try not to kill each other for the next five minutes?”

“Five quid each?” Eleanor tries to negotiate. “Babysitting isn’t supposed to be free, you know? That sounds like child labour to me.”

Bollocks.

“Two quid each,” I give her my dad look that says the offer is final and indisputable.

“Deal.”

#harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #dad harry imagines #dad harry styles #dad!harry #husband!harry #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles ff #harry styles one shot #the styles gang

2K notes · View notes

reidsnose · 4 years ago

Text

love letters

overview: spencer has a wonderful idea after finding out that reader had never gone to her senior prom

genre: fluff fluff fluff

a/n: i mixed two ideas that have been sitting in my notes app for this lol but i think its sweet!! i wrote it a little rushed and definitely not bc im not getting a prom this year due to miss rona👀 LMAO but as always please lmk what yall think ab it :)

masterlist

the idea had fully occupied his thoughts the second after the words left your mouth.

it was "the buttcrack of dawn" as you had called it, though spirits were high on the late jet ride home. it was a rare but much needed positive end to the case, and everyone was happily chatting with each other. since the case was involving high schoolers, the subject fell on prom. everyone went around sharing their prom stories one by one, recalling awful dresses and questionable dates til the questions turned to spencer.

"what ab you, pretty boy, what was your prom like?" morgan asked, still smiling widely from recalling his own.

you watched spencer shift uncomfortably for a second.

"i uh..i never went to prom." he stammered, a tight lipped smile on his face.

"no! you just dont wanna tell us!" prentiss cried, throwing her hands in the air.

"i graduated high school when i was 12! why would i have gone to prom?" he reasoned.

"you had to have gone when you were older or something! everyone has!" jj countered.

"thats not true, i never went to prom either," you defended, subconsciously inching closer to spencer.

before anyone could even ask you to explain why, spencer got the idea. he mentally left the conversation after you gave your answer. he spent the whole rest of the ride home and the next couple of weeks brain storming and planning.

and casually after work one day, as he was walking you to your car, he asked you if you wanted to hang out with him that weekend; at his house.

you and Spencer had hung out before, but mostly at your house or at coffee shops; he didn't invite people over very often.

of course you agreed but you grew confused when he told you to dress fancy.

you raced home afterwards to raid your closet, looking for any fancy dresses you may have stuffed in there.

spencer spent the whole day preparing his apartment. he put up streamers and balloons. he made a playlist of all your favorite songs. and then he rushed to get his clothes from the cleaners.

and when you knocked at his door the breath that left your lungs struggled to come back after he opened the door.

he stood in a gorgeous suit, different than he had ever worn to work. he rubbed the back of his neck and gestured to the living room, revealing the adorable (albeit poorly made but its the thought that counts) decorations.

"um.. welcome to prom," he said, turning back to you, revealing a blushy smile.

he tried not to stare too much at you, but it was difficult. your eyes sparkled as you stepped inside and looked around. and the dress you were wearing fit you so gorgeously he truly couldnt take his eyes off of you.

"spencer, i..." you trailed off, enchanted by what he had done.

"sorry if it looks bad. or if you think its weird that i did this. i just thought cause neither of us went to prom maybe you wanted to have a little one with me? yeah now that i say it out loud maybe you hate it im sorr-" he rambled behind you.

you turned quickly to him as he got lost in his words, eyes glued to the floor. cutting him off by wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him as tight as you could. you could feel the tension leave his body as he melted into the embrace, returning it gladly. he doesn't like to be touched by anyone really, except for you.

"i love it. thank you," you whispered, giving him one last squeeze before letting go.

he has a spread of snacks lying out on the coffee table which he has mooved to the corner of the room to make space for a makeshift dancefloor.

he turns on the music and you two start talking and dancing and laughing. two fools with four left feet completely and obliviously in love. well, oblivious the the other anyway.

a slower song came on, an old one that you had wanted to slow dance to ever since you were a little girl. and somehow naturally you two came together, his hand dropped to your waist, the other delicately cradling your own. your other hand found its way up to his shoulder, feeling as though a magnet was pulling you two closer. and closer.

he looked absolutely stunning. the soft lights he had strung around the apartment sparkled like stars in his eyes; its was...dizzying, in the most incredible way.

unbeknownst to you, as you stared at the stars in his eyes he was looking at his whole world that he had been somehow lucky enough to hold in his arms.

he held his arm out, allowing you to spin and when he pulled you back both of your arms ended up wrapped around his neck, and his around your waist. you were less dancing now and more...hugging. with your head pressed to his chest, he hoped with all his might that you wouldn't be able to hear his hammering heart. you most definitely could, but it was calming to know he was as nervous as you were. you smiled, listening more to his heart than the music he had played for you.

you were both sure that you could burst from pure bliss. the song ended a little too quickly for either of your liking and reluctantly you let go of each other. and suddenly Spencer was hit with the realization that he forgot something.

"oh my gosh," his eyes widened as he looked around the room.

"what?" you asked, mirroring him and looking as well.

"i can't remember where i left your corsage! i was gonna give it to you at the door but i forgot!" he exclaimed, running around the room checking shelves.

you smiled to yourself. he got you a corsage!

"ill help you look" you decided.

"please do," he chuckled.

"i thought you had an eidetic memory, shouldn't you know where you left it?" you joked, shooting him a smug smile.

"y/n, my brain was all jumbled to day and it wasn't just from being around you," he realized what he had said and quickly turned back to the shelf he was looking at, "could you check in my room please?"

his heart was racing at his own stupidity; how could he just say that so nonchalantly? he had been planning to tell you that he liked you for the longest time he cant afford slipping up and having it be anything less than perfect.

you slipped into his room, your cheeks warm from the idea that you make his big brain all jumbled. he probably didn't mean it like that, you were just looking too much into it.

you sighed as you crouched to look under his bed for it. you found a small wooden box that you slid out from underneath. it had your name on it.

is it normal to keep a corsage in a wooden box? you wouldn't know, you never went to prom.

you shrugged your shoulders, "i found it spence!"

with out thinking you opened the box, except instead of a band of flowers you were greeted with letters, all addressed to you. there were annotations written in the margins with purple ink. you furrowed your eyebrows as you scanned the various letters.

dear y/n,

today you complimented my glasses and my heart skipped a beat. thats dumb spencer dont start like that

dear y/n,

im in love with you. too forward

dear y/n,

you make life worth living. shes gonna think youre a creep

you felt a rush of euphoria fill your chest. did he really feel these things for you? your thoughts swirled in the most wonderful way. a wide smile broke across your face, butterflies running rampage through your stomach as you reread his words. his words addressed to you.

"oh thank God i really thought i lost-oh. oh no." spencer started as he walked through the door of his room immediately walking back out. you followed, blinking your watery eyes at him. "i can explain.

"i think youve explained enough, theres like 20 letters in here!" you chuckled, flipping through them.

"i didnt know how to tell you and i dont want to ruin what we already have and i-"

"it wasnt too forward." you stated, grabbing one of the letters.

"what?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"in this one," you held up the letter, "you wrote dear y/n, im in love with you. and then you crossed it out and wrote that it was too forward but i dont think it was."

"youre not mad?"

"mad? spencer ive been trying to admit the fact that im in love with you since i realized it myself, why would i be mad?"

"youre..you feel the same way?" he looked back up at you, a hesitant smile pulling on the corners of his lips.

"more so," you beamed, stepping closer.

he wrapped his arms around you, "thats good or else the rest of this prom would have sucked."

you chuckled, pulling him impossibly closer to you as another perfect song played.

ultra mega super cool taglist

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @spenxerslut @violetspoetic @aperrywilliams @b-a-utiful @eevee0722 @srhxpci @reidemandweep @imdefinitelyfloating @random-human-person @gurkiloni @luvspence @calm-and-doctor @ssavanessa22 @singularityjc @sydnee-kom-spacekru @sydneekomspacekru

532 notes · View notes

akakeiiji · 4 years ago

Note

Headcanons for how the boys will react or what will they do when their S/O is sick but hides it from them? (For Tobio, Bokuto, Oikawa, Ushijima, Iwa) please

-`,✎ Kageyama, Bokuto, Oikawa, Ushijima and Iwaizumi’s reaction to you hiding your fever from them

Kageyama Tobio

You would arrive at school flushed and tired, dressed in many layers but your ever so clueless boyfriend wouldn’t actually suspect anything

He’d greet you as usual and ask if you were cold or something despite the relatively warm weather

You didn’t want him to worry though so you just agreed with him and went on with your classes like normal

As the day went on though, your symptoms would start worsening

During lunchtime, you wouldn’t have the energy to leave your desk

Kageyama would go looking for you when you failed to arrive at your usual meeting place and found you fast asleep in your classroom

He’d scoff and call you a dumbass to himself but when placed his hand on your head and felt your warm temperature the small smile on his face would immediately turn into a frown

He’d shake you awake and the first thing you’d see is his concerned face

“Are you an idiot or something?”

He’d pull you up and support you as he walks you to the nurse’s office his admirers would stare at you two angrily the entire time

you can’t tell me he doesn’t have at least a few fangirls, i mean have you seen him??

He’d lecture you angrily the whole way to the infirmary

Though he’d mostly just be repeating “Dumbass!” and “You should have told me.” over and over again because he’s so worried and can’t focus on forming coherent sentences

You were sent home obviously and Kageyama would wait by your side at the infirmary the whole time till your ride came to take you home

He’d still be pouty and grumbling, upset over the fact that you forced yourself to school

But at the same time, he’d be feeding you a bit of your lunch, little by little so as to not upset your stomach

Once you were home, he’d be even more distracted and antsy during class than ever before

He wouldn't even be thinking of volleyball, just of you

HE’D SKIP PRACTICE FOR YOU

THE KAGEYAMA WILLINGLY MISSES PRACTICE FOR YOU, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT

He’d stop by the gym though and ask Sugawara or Daichi what he should get for you because he has no idea what to get sick people

He’d buy you your favorite snacks and drinks on the way to your house and spend the evening with you

He doesn’t really know what to do tbh, you’d have to instruct him on how to help you

He doesn’t get sick very often and whenever he does his sister usually takes care of him so he’s never been in the position of caring for someone else like this

But he tries his best and that’s what matters

He’s just an adorable little blueberry okay? Pls protect him

Bokuto Koutarou

Your disheveled appearance and lethargic state would literally fly over Bokuto’s head

He’s mainly focused on how happy he was to see you again, like how he always is in the morning before class

After a while though, Bokuto would notice that something was off

He’d tilt his head to the side and ask you if you were okay, concern evident in his eyes

You could already see Bokuto’s reaction if he found out how sick you actually were so you just told him you were a little tired

He’d frown and tell you not to overwork yourself, he’d then pull you into his chest to hug you in hopes that it would cheer you up or give you some energy

He’d freeze though, feeling just how high your body temperature was even through your layers of clothes

He’d pull you away and examine your face and finally realizes just how sick you were

Panic ensues

I shit you not, Bokuto would literally scoop you up in his arms and carry you all the way to the infirmary

“MAKE WAY PEOPLE, EMERGENCY HERE!”

“KOUTAROU! YOU DON’T HAVE TO CARRY ME—”

Akaashi would be walking to class and witness this scene from afar and just nope the fuck away from you two

He is literally so concerned, he knows that you just have a fever but he still can’t help but worry

He wouldn’t leave your side the entire time while waiting for your ride home, his hand never leaving yours

He’d beat himself up over the fact that he didn’t notice that something was wrong right away

He’d be in dejection mode the whole time during the rest of classes, his hair would get droopy and his little pout would never leave his lips

He’d spend most of his classes staring out of the window, sighing wistfully, thinking about you

He’d try to function normally and go to practice but Akaashi—knowing that it would be virtually impossible to pull him out of his moods this time—would send him home

He’d be moping the whole way home before an idea suddenly popped in his head, he should just visit you!!

He’d run all the way to your house, practically bouncing with anticipation

He’d be like a loyal puppy as he takes care of you, he’ll bring you literally anything you need, just name it and he’ll find it

He doesn’t care if you’re sick, he’s going to hug and kiss you all he wants

Needless to say, he ends up catching your fever as well and you two end up sick together

The volleyball team goes to visit you two after classes the next day and you two are basically just two red-nosed, lumps wrapped in blankets and heating pads

Konoha still has pictures and likes to show it to the team when they get sad

Oikawa Tooru

Good luck trying to hide your fever from him, he may not look like it but he’s hella perceptive even outside of the court

He’d wait by your lockers as usual in the mornings, probably chatting (and failing to wave off) some fangirls when you’d walk in wearing a thick sweater and wrapped in a scarf to hide your face

The small smile on his face would drop and he’d immediately be by your side, examining your face

“Tooru, what are you doing—?”

He’d place a hand on your forehead—ignoring your protests—and click his tongue, a hand coming up to rest on his hip

“What am I doing? What are you doing? You’re obviously sick.”

Dramatic brat, i love him so much

He’d grab your hand and march you all the way to the infirmary, telling you off the entire time

He’d tell you all about having to take care of your body and prioritizing your health over studies or something, as if he were such a great example of taking care of one’s body but you decided not to bring that up

He’d kind of be like a mom really as he watches the nurse take your temperature, his arms crossed and a concerned look evident on his face

You were obviously sent home not even after fifteen minutes of being in school

Oikawa would seem normal to most people, going about his day like usual but those who know him well can tell that he was bothered

His foot would be tapping rapidly the entire time during classes, his eyes always drifting to his watch to check the time

The minute that classes were dismissed, Oikawa was on his feet, bag already packed and ready, practically sprinting out of the building

“How’s my little patient doing?”

He’d refrain from kissing and hugging you though, unlike Bokuto he has some semblance of self-restraint despite wanting to do it sooo badly

He missed you a lot

Okay, fine, he gives a few kisses here and there

After taking care of you, making sure you ate and drank and stuff, Oikawa would fill you in on all the stuff you missed during classes

If you had the energy, he’d tutor you on all the lessons you missed

He’d also be the type to spoon-feed you your favorite food or soup, even if you insist that you could feed yourself he will still do it no matter what

A firm believer that laughter is the best medicine so he tries his best to keep your mood up

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Another clueless baby

He isn’t the best at reading people—especially outside of the court—so he doesn’t really notice anything wrong at first

He’d pick you up at your dorm like usual so that you could have breakfast together

You’d be visibly sluggish and flushed but he’d just assume you were tired or overworked

“Did you not get any sleep last night?”

You’d just wave him off, telling him that you were perfectly alright and that he didn’t need to worry

He would drop the subject but would make sure to keep a close eye on you

You wouldn’t eat much at all during breakfast which would just feed more to his worries

Then while you two were walking to class, you started getting lightheaded and had to lean on the wall for support

Ushijima was able to catch you as you stumbled, a deep frown on his face as he takes you to the infirmary, practically carrying you the whole way

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

He immediately disregards the fact that he’s gonna be late for class and stays with you at the infirmary

It isn’t obvious but anyone who knows Ushi well can tell that he’s really concerned and worried about you

The nurse instructs him to bring you back to your dorm and head to class

He only does the latter and literally skips classes for you

You would try to get him to go back to class but this boy is stubborn, he doesn’t want to leave you alone and wants to take care of you

I say take care of you loosely, he’s just like Kageyama, he has absolutely no idea what to do

He knows he needs to get medicine, get some food and water in you and stuff but asides from that he’s clueless

He’d go to Google and you two would spend some time researching on how to properly care for someone sick

You two end up falling into a rabbit hole of weird articles and get distracted

Ushijima will make sure you never have to leave your bed except for when you need to use the bathroom, he doesn’t want you up

Most of the time would be spent in silence, you two doing your own thing because Ushijima wouldn’t want to risk catching your fever

He has to take care of his body okay? He can’t play if he’s sick so he’s probably going to wear a mask when he’s with you and will always have a bottle of rubbing alcohol with him at all times sakusa is proud

He wouldn't get upset over the fact that you hid your fever from him but he just doesn’t understand why you chose to hide it from him and force yourself to go to class

When you explain that you don’t want to miss any of your lessons and fall behind, Ushijima would just shake his head and tell you a matter a factly that you need to take care of yourself

“Your health should be your top priority, (Y/N). Next time you’re feeling unwell just tell me.”

HE CARES SO MUCH OKAY, PLEASE MY HEART

Iwaizumi Hajime

You are not going to get past Iwaizumi and you knew that so you’d try to avoid him the morning before class

Iwa has a sixth sense when it comes to these sort of things, it’s how he always knows when Oikawa is overworking himself or when his teammates are down

He’d immediately seek you out and once he sees you he can tell that you’re sick instantaneously

I feel like Iwa is an older brother and knows the symptoms when he sees them because he takes care of his siblings all the time

He’d touch your forehead, throw his blazer over you and rush you towards the infirmary

He starts lecturing you immediately, calling you an idiot for not taking care of yourself but you know he means it out of love

He’d give you a list of instructions to do when you get home, typing it rapidly on his phone at the same time making sure to send them to you in case you forget

“—drink a lot of water okay? Make sure you have a bottle by your bed. I’ll come by after classes, just text me if you need anything, I can drop by the store on the way.”

Basically Iwa is a super mom, okay? He knows just what to do for fevers, he knows the best medicines to use and the best food to eat

He may not seem like it but he is super caring also probably the most normal out of these boys

He’d check his texts after classes and as promised, would drop by the store and buy whatever you asked for along with stuff you need to deal with fevers (electrolyte drinks, meds, soup, etc.)

He’d walk into your room and immediately check your temperature and make sure you’ve already eaten and have been drinking water

He’d use more traditional home remedies to help you get better because that’s what his family always did

He’d also take out a Vicks vaporub and start slathering you in that shit

Half-Filipino Iwa? Half-Filipino Iwa.

He’d be like Ushijima and try to keep his distance from you at the same time, he doesn’t want to catch your fever

But at the same time he always finds himself back by your side, he just can’t help it

Constantly asks you if you’re okay, if you need anything, if the room is too hot

He’ll do anything to make your life a little easier and make sure you’re comfortable and resting well

His main priority is to get you up and well in no time, he doesn’t want to see you bedridden any longer

Basically Iwa is the epitome of “aggressively cares for you”

It may not be obvious but Hajime has one of the biggest hearts in the series and he deserves the literal world

i love him so much please i can literally write a whole essay about how much i love this boy

4K notes · View notes

hobbitsnapes · 3 years ago

Text

YOU GUYS ARE DATING

Corpse x MGK!sister reader

(Found this image on Pinterest so all credit goes to artist, if you know who it is please comment below so I can credit them)

A/N: this was requested by @heyitssab

Tree is tall of sex in this, but it’s more in a joking matter, plus corpse has stated he doesn’t mind as long as you are not a minor or send or tag him. I’m literally 2 years younger than him, and have no intentions of ever tagging him or sending him any of my work XD

Summary: how many idiots does it take to tell the brother and friend they’re dating? Apparently takes 2 very forgetful people, who kept their relationship secret without knowing it.

It had just been by chance, a small chance that he had been scrolling through his tags. liking and reposting art, when he saw a tag from someone he followed. He wrecked his brain for when he had followed her, coming up empty. She was cute, no denying the beauty she had as she laughed in the video. It was a clip from a stream that he didn’t know she had, as he couldn’t even remember her name, wearing his merch as it fit her snug. It fit her perfectly in fact, the large hood covering her face, hiding the flush to her face from her rather large chuckles that left her body. He couldn’t help but like the photo, and he couldn’t help but to press message either.

It was first only small likes to posts, an Occasional message, and a view on their livestreams, but that all changed when he spoke of the song he was working on with her older brother.

It all started that night, when both lay in their beds as they talked, laughed, and felt their hearts flutter each time they heard one another speak.

Her phone rang violently in her bag, nearly making her drop the to go bag all over the ground as she walked. “Hello?” She asked, as she held both bags with her hands as her shoulder gripped the phone as if it’d fall down a cliff. “Hey bug!” He exclaimed, making her chuckle as she heard the booming sound of his voice. She had always detested the nickname, as he gave it to her as kids due to her horrendous fear of the creatures. But, it brought more joy to her, as it reminded her of their youth. Having been adults for years, it was fun to hear such a childish name that’s stuck.

“Hey mopey.” She chuckled, as that was the name she gave him when he was in his emo phase that he never outgrew.

Both talked as she walked towards the elevator, mainly about how his day had gone as she silently listened.

She had always been this way, always the shyer of the two, the one to listen to others first before she said a word. He had teased her for it most of their childhood and teen life, but he had grown to love it, as he could let loose or rant to her about anything, and he knew she’d be there just to listen to him.

“So what’re you doing right now?” He asked, as she got into the elevator. “Just grabbed some dinner a few minutes before you called and nearly made me shit.” A smile painted on her face at his boisterous laughter.

“Are you at home?” He asked, as he heard the sound of the elevator beeping in the background. “No, I’m spending the night with my boyfriend.”

She had mentioned about a month prior that she was seeing someone, the joy it brought him to hear the excitement and joy in her tone as she gushed about their first date.

If this was 7 or 8 years prior, he would be bombarding her with questions about the man, who he was, where he lived, where he could meet him to find his intentions with his baby sister. But, in the last few years, he found himself feeling calmer whenever she’d mentioned her love life. He knew she was smart, and would never date a man who treated her poorly. The few breakups she had, they always ended amicably, her head still high as she told him. So, he never asked her any questions about the man, as he could tell from the few times she mentioned him, he could feel the love this man had for her, and Vice versa.

The strong barreling of her phone alerted them awake, both groaning out as she reached for her phone without lifting her head from his shoulder. “Hello?” She mumbled, voice slurred as the saliva was thick in her mouth, barely awake as she fought to listen in on who dares to wake them up.

“Hey!” He exclaimed, making her equally exhausted lover groan. She shifted off of him, laying on her back as he turned away from her, as to hopefully shut his eyes and fall back asleep. She was used to her brother's large voice, as it hardly phased her after growing up with him. “Colson, why are you calling me this ungodly hour?” “Oh come on, it’s not that early.” “Col its-“ She pulled her phone from her ear, eyes shutting violently as the bright light blinded her “5 o’clock in the morning. So again, I’m going to ask you, why did you call me at the asscrack of dawn?” “You don’t remember?” He asked, making her irritation grow. “No, that’s why I’m asking.” She says, as she rubbed her sleep crusted eyes. “You were coming up today to hang out with casie, remember?” Her hand stopped rubbing her face, as she felt her heart stop momentarily. “Wait, you mean today? I thought I was coming Friday?” “No, both of you settled on today, remember I told you that’s perfect because I have a day off?” She felt her heart pain as she heard the sadness in his tone, knowing he’s expecting her to bail. “Yeah sorry, I thought you meant Friday so I mixed it up, let me get ready and I’ll be out the door okay? Love you” she said, as she hung up the line.

Before she could even move, she felt his arm wrap around her body. A tired groan leaving his lips. “Nooo stayyyy.” He groaned, pulling her body to his. She smiled as she looked down at him, wrapping her arm on his chest and the other behind his neck. “I wish I could live, but I can’t.” Planting a soft kiss against his lips. “Stay in bed for a few more hours, please?” Her heart pulled at his tone, hearing just how tired he was. “I can’t, casies wanted me to come up for weeks now. And it takes a good 3 hours to get there. I wanna spend as much time as I can with them before it gets dark so I can get back safely.” He groaned at this, wrapping his arms around her. “Yeah but it’s only 5, it wouldn’t be safe to drive since we went to bed like, 2 hours ago.” “Yeah, and whos fault was that mister?” She teased, “hmm, sorry but I just couldn’t keep my hands to myself after not seeing you for a few days.” He mused, pulling her body closer to his, planting his lips against hers. A small hum left her lips as he pulled her thigh over his, grabbing the flesh harshly as their lips cascaded together. “Mm, no no no, you’re not gonna convince me to stay here just to go another round.” She said, as she got off from his warm body, throwing his large hoodie over her bare body. “Oh come on babe, are you sure about that?” He said, making her turn around to him. A small gasp left her lips as her eyes took in his milky white complexion. His honey brown eyes looking back at her with a small smile etched onto his face. His hair a tousled mess that resembled a bird's nest, some pieces falling onto his face. “Honey, I’ve been wanting to see my family for weeks now, I see you almost everyday and practically live here. I’ll be back tomorrow so I can grab more clothes from my place okay?” She placed a kiss to his lips, both holding one another in their arms. “I don’t know why you don’t just say fuck that place and just move in.” He mumbled, making her chuckle and heart warm. “Don't you think it’s a little soon though? I mean we’ve only been together a few months love.” “Yeah, but you’ve practically lived here since we got together, you literally just go there to get more clothes that you end up leaving here.” She looked into his eyes as she thought about his words. “Hm, I’ll think about it today okay?” She mused, planting a kiss to his lips. A soft okay leaving him as she got up.

“And babe, remember if you live here, we can have all the sex we want and not have to worry about driving to get one another.” He exclaimed, laughing at the loud honey she screamed from the bathroom.

She couldn’t help but laugh out as she watched, as her niece tried her hardest to braid her fathers grown out hair. It was near impossible not to, as pieces would fall out, resulting in her pulling them harsher, nearly pulling his eyelids back due to the tension from his temples. “Okay okay you’re gonna fuckin scalp me.” He chuckled , as all three bursted out in large laughter.

“So how’s school going this year?” She asked her, as she delicately painted her nails. Both of the girls had found themselves on the floor in front of the nice coffee table, as colson sat and chatted with them. “It’s going really well.” “Oh yeah? Make any new friends?” She teased. “I mean, kinda.” She couldn’t help but hear the wavering in her tone, spotting the faint blush dusting her skin. “Ohh, so there’s a someone eh?” She teased to her, making the preteen hide her face as to conceal the flush. “His names Garrett, and we both take social studies together. He always sits next to me at lunch, and we’ll draw on my notebook.” She gushed, making her smile. “Soo, do you think he likes you?” “I mean, that’s what everyone keeps saying.” “Yeah well don’t worry about it to much cas, you’re not dating anyone for many more years. You’re still a kid.” Her das said, making the young girls face fall.

Y/N knew he was only saying this to protect her, as he said the same thing to her growing up. “Hey, don’t be bummed out about it. He is right, you both are only 12 and should focus on school. But don’t worry, he’ll come around. He was just like that with me up until my current boyfriend.” She whispered, making the young girl chuckle.

“Speaking of which, how are you guys doing?” He asked, as she hadn’t mentioned hun to her in a while. He didn’t think it’d hurt to ask. “Great actually, we’re thinking of moving in together actually.” “That’s great! I’m really happy that y’all met.” “Yeah, I am too.” She hummed, a flush dusting her cheeks.

Both men laughed as they chatted on the phone, talking about anything that would come to mind. What was once only a collaboration for a song, turned into an amazing friendship that caused both of them to call at late hours just to shoot the shit.

A yawn left his lips, as he listened to colson ramble on about another song he was making. “Woah, you tired man?” Colson asked, shocked to hear the sound. “Yeah sorry, was up most of the night last night.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Were you feeling alright?” He asked, worry laced in his tone. He knew all about his friends illnesses, even once being on the other end of the phone during a bad spell one day.” “Oh yeah yeah yeah, was just, up with the misses last night.” He chuckled, a flush blooming on his cheeks. “Ohhh yeah? And how was it?” This shocked him, nearly feeling his heart stop. Like, does he usually know about his sisters sex life? He didn’t think much of it, as he knew just how close both were. “It was absolutely fucking amazing. Like I thought we’d be done for the night, fully tapped out but after like 5 minutes she’d be right back on me for another round.” He chuckled, his flush even worse than before. “Ayyyeee good for you corpse, glad to hear that puss is bussin.” He laughed at this, throwing his head back. “Yeah, it’s bussin bussin.”

Both men talk as they read from their phones, eyes wide in absolute awe of the love they received from the song. They had just dropped it a few days prior, not expecting the cry of joy from both fan bases.

He didn’t even look up from it when she walked in, until she bent down to plant a kiss to his forehead. “Sorry I had completely forgot about the tea I made you an hour ago, but I put it back on the stove to heat it up so if it’s twisting funky just tell me okay?” Before he could even thank her, both their heads whipped towards the loudness from the other line. “Y/N? Is that you? What in the hell are you doing there with corpse!” He didn’t sound angry, more shocked than anything, both of them looking at the phone in confusion. “I, I love here? Remember I told you like a month ago I was moving in with him?” “WHAT!” Both jumped at the loud scream. “Wait so you guys are dating!?” Both we’re even more perplexed, until it dawned on both of them. Their eyes wide as they turned their heads to one another slowly. “Wait you didn’t tell him?” “No? He’s one of your best friends so I thought you did!” “He’s your brother! So I thought you did!” Both whisper, until all three lay silent. That was until, the large cry of laughter that leaves the two, leaving colson even more confused. He wasn’t mad, not at all actually. More shocked and confused than anything. Until he started thinking, it does make sense, all the times they spoke about one another without him knowing, all the times they mentioned-“OH GOD!” He yelled, gagging violently, making them stop their laughing fit. “What's wrong? Why are you yelling?” She asks “like a month ago corpse was talking about how he was tired cause he was up all night having sex AND I HAD NO IDEA HE WAS TALKING ABOUT YOU! OH GOD WAS THAT WHY YOU WERE LIMPING THAT DAY WITH CAS AND I!” Both laugh even harder, as they listen to his ever growing gags.

“So yeah,. That’s literally how we had no idea we were keeping the relationship secret from her brother.” He laughed, as he red the comments and listened to his friends' laughter. She sat beside him, head laying on his shoulder as he told the story. She couldn’t help but to look back up into his eyes, as he glanced down at her, planting a soft kiss to her lips. “Keep it pg guys.” Colson said from the other line, making them chuckle.

#corpse husband imagine #corpse #corpse husband fanfic #corpse x reader #corpse imagine #corpse fic #corpse x you #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband

310 notes · View notes

anystalker707 · 3 years ago

Text

Pleasantly Surprising

Pairing: Gerard x Reader Word count: ~ 4 000 Genre: Fluff / Enemies to lovers Summary: (Y/n) meets a nice group of guys in a concert. Warning: Blood, but no violence or wounds description.

Requested on Wattpad

a/n: This one if for you blood kink bastards </3

(Y/p) = Your pronouns

Feeling the cold night air filling my lungs with a faint smell of grass is much better than the smoky and sweaty, heavy air present among the public that gets worse near the mosh pit. I lean back against the brick wall, feeling the cold surface through the thick jeans of my jacket, digging into my shoulder blades as I try to control my breathing, quietly watching the band leaving the stage to give place to another.

My throat feels dry, aching the slightest after I swallow around the sharp and cold breaths, so I look around for a stand to buy at least a soda, ankling over to the nearest one. The line isn't actually that long – thank hell –, but that doesn't prevent a random bastard from trying to cut in line.

"Hey, what in the fuck you think you're doing?" I raise an eyebrow, pulling them back by their collar and they just look at me with this sulky face, bottom lip sticking out and lip ring glowing lightly under the reduced lighting. "No cutting in!"

"Says who?" they retort bitterly. "What you gonna do about it?"

"Aw, bold, aren't we?" I raise an eyebrow, glancing down and... the motherfucker is wearing school clothes, lacking the tie and shirt untucked. Private school. "What are you? Not like the other kids? The line isn't even that long, stupid."

"Fuck off," they sigh, shrugging out of my grip and harshly fixing their clothes.

"Frank– Fuck, Frank, the hell, can't we leave you alone for a single second?" A random voice suddenly interrupts our interaction before a tall person approaches, a motherly and worried air lacing their gaze. They look from me to Frank before exhaling, raising an eyebrow, at which Frank shrugs. "I'm sorry for whatever Frank did, he–"

"Fuck, no, Ray!" Frank cuts them off, "you're not playing the good guy here! I was just trying to–"

"Trying to cut in the line, yeah, very nice of you, isn't it?" I roll my eyes, twisting my mouth. At least he isn't lying, but is he stupid or something? Why would he try to convince us what he was trying to do was alright?

It looks like Frank is going to argue for a second, but ends up just groaning through gritted teeth and looking away with a sigh and tense shoulders.

Ray doesn't look any amused, only observing Frank like who looks at a puzzle after having tried to solve it for weeks without success. They shake their head, turning to me instead. "I'm Ray, he/him, nice to meet you. Sorry for Frank, what he did is... unfortunately usual."

I observe him looking at him from head to toes. School uniform just like Frank's, tucked shirt, loose tie. "Hi. I'm (y/n), (y/p). And don't worry, I would've done the same," I breathe, looking away from the two to hand the person behind the counter the money after pointing to the drink I want.

"What?" Frank gasps. "You would've done the same and still acted all like that towards me?"

I roll my eyes, sighing. "Me doing it doesn't mean I like being affected by it." I grab the change, shoving it in my pocket then step aside for Frank and Ray, cracking the can open.

"Y'know–" Frank crosses his arms over his chest, throwing his nose in the air, "–my momma says that you should treat the others as you want to be–"

"Aw, honey, so you'd like me cutting in the line right in front of you? Shamelessly?" I raise an eyebrow at him, unable to hold back a grin when his face gets bright red, hands balling into fists. Not gonna lie, it's kinda cute how he twists his mouth. Frank is about to curse when Ray is shoving a couple of cans into his hands – a sigh leaves his lips instead. "Two for each?" I question and sip on my drink.

Frank smirks, looking at me with humor. "Yeah, wanna watch me drink them at once?"

Ray rolls his eyes at Frank, shoving him out of the way after noticing there were people behind them. "We're actually with two other friends. Are you alone here? Do you wanna come along?" He smiles, ignoring Frank's complaints, so I opt for doing the same.

"I guess that'd be nice," I hum, shrugging. Otherwise, I'd be going home right now and Ray actually seems nice... I mean, Frank does too, but I'm not feeding his ego.

The other two stand against a brick wall when we find them, both quietly chatting to each other until seeing us approaching. The first one doesn't exactly react, more interested in the can Ray hands him, but the second, greasy punk, hums questioningly, straightening their posture as taking a good look at me almost like I did to Frank earlier. "And who are you?"

"(Y/n), (y/p)," I mutter, looking at them from over the rim of the can, taking a sip of my drink.

"Found lying in the trash when I approached," Frank adds, but doesn't seem so confident after I playfully shove him aside.

"Gerard, he/they," Gerard replies, eyes never averting away from mine. What is he, kind of a gang leader? Got a hell of an ego, though a bit differently from Frank – I'm noticing a pattern here, huh. "Mikey, he/him," he continues, nodding to the other guy.

I throw my empty can in a trashcan before leaning in towards Gerard. He tries to escape the touch, but he's against a wall, there's nowhere to go. How cute. "Belleville High," I say, finally able to make out what the small black letters embroidered on the chest area says, and step away, allowing Gerard to breathe. "Isn't it that private school? Catholic one? Wow, who'd know I'd find BH students here!"

"Stereotyping, are we?" Frank raises an eyebrow. It's impossible holding back a smile at him.

"No, never," I chuckle. "It's just a... rare occurrence. You came here right after school?"

"Not really." Ray shakes his head. "Just didn't have the opportunity to change. Good thing it's Friday, tho," he chuckles humorlessly and I nod in a silent agreement.

"And where do you study?" Frank takes a better look at my face. "If you study, that is."

I scoff, but don't reply just yet. Mikey is the most tidied up out of the four whereas Gerard has his tie loose around his neck, shirt untucked, blazer all wrinkled. "Of course I study, dumbass!" I glare. "But I'm in the public school near the park. But I've seen you before." I nod towards Gerard. "Just don't know where."

Gerard's eyes narrow. "Are you sure?"

"It's not always that I see a greasy vampire looking around, so yeah."

A silence hovers between us for a moment, both of us staring at each other until he feigns unamusement, looking away – I smile with a stupid pride swelling in my chest.

The night ends with us exchanging numbers after a solid hour of joking around and throwing sarcastic insults at each other. Teasing Gerard was particularly fun because he often ran away from the whole joking or at least tried to and even Mikey laughed when it failed, though sometimes succeeding when Frank finally managed to get the spotlight on himself. Ray is sweet, despite being the perfect example for 'looks like a cinnamon roll, but can actually kill you.'

Gerard got my attention, to be honest.

Saturday and Sunday go by quite slowly and thankfully texting the guys every five minutes doesn't make it as depressing as usual. Texting Gerard isn't the same as texting Frank – who replies a text to each word I send him –, however. Gerard often replies with a word or a vague comment and guess what? I'm only more interested.

No Gerard manages to slip between my thoughts during school, but it ends up happening as soon as I step past the gates. Belleville high, isn't it? Shitty elite, but they don't really seem to be like that... let's see if that wasn't just great acting. That's not even a mile away from here. I look down the street, the direction opposite to where I would usually go. It won't hurt to say hi, right? Not to mention I've got nothing to do for the rest of the day.

Belleville High's classes finish about ten minutes later compared to my school's, so I don't bother walking too fast, but not slow enough to let my palms get clammy or overthink anything. Amazing how I can feel like this about people I only met once. Okay, whatever, take a deep breath because I guess I know these curls.

"Look at who we have here!" I throw an arm around Frank's neck, interrupting whatever they were doing and attracting wide eyes towards me. Turns out I found them earlier than expected, hanging out in the park.

"Damn, are you everywhere?" Frank raises an eyebrow at me and presses his lips together, though never stepping away. Blood?

"Who knows?" I joke. "Also..." I trail off, only now taking a good look at them. "Man, what in the hell fucking happened to you guys? Seriously–" I yank a paper off Frank's back, sighing at the 'kick me' written across it and hand it to him, shaking my head. What fucking idiot did this? How the hell did they even get into a fight? It doesn't seem like they were fighting each other.

Frank groans poorly, wadding the paper into a ball and tossing it at the nearby trash can. He's got a few scratches above his eyebrows and blood trailing down the corner of his lips. Mikey and Gerard are probably in the best state out of the four – Gerard got blood trailing down his nose and same for Mikey, though on opposite sides and Mikey's cheek is smeared with blood. I can't say the same about Ray... I don't know how he's not even wincing with all that blood trailing down his face.

"Well," Mikey breathes, bringing a hand to the back of his head, "you can say that–"

"Why do you even want to know?" Gerard steps forward, hands clenched into fists by his sides. "You got nothing to do with it, okay?"

"Aw," I breathe a chuckle. So he wants things to happen like this? But does he have the nerve to keep it? I may not have known him for long, but the attitude is clearly foreign, unmatching. "And what, baby? You lost, didn't you? And you're a fucking sore loser!"

"I just don't see why you should know." He twists his mouth, looking at me uninterested, but it doesn't take long until he's looking at me with these eyes, irises barely seen, eyebrows scrunched close. "And don't talk to me like that! Maybe it would even be better if you fucked off and left us alone, don't you think?"

Man, he talks a lot. Too much. No wonder why he's in such a state. Maybe he'll shut up if I...

"Holy..." Frank trails off with a quiet chuckle and I'm certain Gerard would have glared at him if he wasn't processing what just happened.

Meanwhile, Mikey and Ray stare at me with wide eyes – as wide as Gerard's, but they're not as petrified as Gerard is, for sure, only with hesitant, unsure grins on their faces. I suppress the urge to laugh at Gerard, instead more focused on rubbing my tongue against the roof of my mouth, trying to get rid of the salty and metallic taste.

A quiet sound comes from Gerard as he finally moves, maybe a groan, not sounding really comfortable. He brings a hand up to his lips. The perfect trail of almost dry blood is now smudged, following the direction I licket it to, having the blood smeared across his chin and bottom lip. "Ugh, ugh, ugh," he groans, frantically cleaning his lips and chin with the back of his wrist, against the sleeve of his blazer. "What the fuck? You're gross!"

I roll my eyes with a sigh. "Man, I wonder why I thought being an asshole could be solved."

"Eh, trust me, he isn't normally like this," Ray says with a shrug, looking at Gerard like if he was a chained angry dog even after receiving a glare.

No one gives Gerard's tantrum much attention as we soon sit down on the grass and change the subject before we can notice. Surprisingly, Gerard sits down next to me. Even more surprisingly, he leans closer at some point and whispers, "well, look at who's the vampire now."

Saying Gerard's words got stuck in my head would be an understatement. Maybe it's a nightmare, maybe it's not, but it does get me randomly blushing or stupidly grinning during random times of the day. Nonetheless, school the following day does help a bit with cleaning my head a little.

After a few hours of staring at blackboards, the setting changes to staring at records hanging on the walls and it's honestly better. Incoherent, loud chatter being changed to music of my choice is a lot better, even if I need to talk to a customer now and then.

"This is the place I told you about. I've only been here once, but it seems good," a voice says from the outside, but I don't look up from my homework.

"Never been here," someone else says. A pause follows then their footsteps sound clearer and I sigh, shoving my things on the space under the counter.

"Hello, good afternoon," I say automatically, holding back a groan at how my eraser insists on falling and grabbing it fast. "How can I help you?" I finally look up just to freeze. And the four have the same reaction, to be honest. "I knew I had seen you before," I say to Gerard.

"What a small world!" Frank approaches, immediately narrowing his eyes and throwing his nose in the air as looking over to me. "So you're not a rebel who only wanders around and goes to free concerts during the night and stalks us?" He raises an eyebrow, looking around the place, inspecting the shelves full of records and CDs.

"So you only got one set of clothes?" I mock, staring at his school uniform.

Frank exhales, shoulders dropping. "We just got here from school." He motions vaguely to his messenger bag and I nod, humming, not like it matters a lot.

While we talk, Ray and Mikey wander around, talking quietly to each other and sometimes taking a record in hand, but Gerard... he stands there awkwardly, observing Frank and I with a lost gaze. What is he doing? Trying to act all cool like last time? Or doesn't know how to react?

"Hello," I greet, which sounds more like a question. Frank turns around to look at him, apparently understanding Gerard as much as I do.

Gerard presses his lips together and steps forward, also leaning against the counter. "You didn't mention you work here."

"Didn't have a reason to." I shrug.

The corner of his lips twitch and he's holding eye contact until sighing. "Okay, whatever. Got anything new on Misfits or Pumpkins? Also, Bauhaus." He glances at me, black strands falling over his eyes for a moment before he's pulling them away. Cute.

"Of course." I grin, moving to the cabinets behind the counter.

Frank eventually darts off as I show Gerard the records and cassettes like he wanted. I glance around to make sure Frank is paying attention to whatever Mikey is telling him and Ray before I turn to Gerard again, grinning lightly. "Y'know," I mutter, leaning forward with my elbows over the counter. "I've got passes for a bar concert tonight. Wanna come?"

"What do you mean by passes?" His eyes never avert from the records – he runs his fingers over them delicately, examining each of them closely.

"Each ticket was about ten dollars and they're sold out, but the store is sponsoring the event and I got free passes." I smirk, watching his eyebrows raise lightly. "I usually can get one person in with me. What do you say?"

He pauses. "Why me?"

"Because you're the one I know the least." And also the one I'm interested in. "Pick you up at seven, what do you say?"

He sighs. "I'll text you my address."

"Wow, you're..." Gerard stares at me with a blank face, standing there and letting all the cold air get in. He rushes into the car, closing the door carefully.

"I'm...?" I raise an eyebrow, sinking my foot down on the gas, pulling away from the sidewalk.

"I don't know." Silence. "Not what I expected."

"Glad to know." I grin. "You're also not what I expected. You're never what I expect, to be honest..." He wasn't all open in the beginning, but also wasn't the asshole he was in the park – in his defence, at least, he had just gotten out of a fight, nerves still on edge. At the store, however, he seemed more like himself. "Also, you're looking good."

Gerard's eyes are surrounded by eyeliner and a red eyeshadow – definitely nothing I would see him in, but also nothing I'm disappointed about –, bringing out his paleness. And for the first time, he isn't wearing that stupid school uniform and fancy shoes are replaced by platform boots. A leather jacket clutches his shoulders, decorated with a few studs and patches, and covering a nice Slipknot shirt. And there are his jeans, fucking tight and I swear I hadn't noticed this guy got such a nice ass and, fucking hell, it's difficult not staring at his thighs flat on the seat, with a chain falling over one of them.

"Thank you," he mutters quietly. Even in the reduced lighting, I can see his cheeks gaining a red tone before he looks away.

The place is crowded, but not overly – which is why the tickets were even sold, at first place – and it's fun seeing Gerard's chin drop when he looks at the sign of the place. To simplify, everyone is either always wanting to play in this bar or come watch someone play and the tickets are not only always sold in small quantities, but also expensive.

"Let's go," I chuckle after having spent a good moment observing Gerard.

We jog across the street, towards the entrance, just straight away skipping the whole line. The guy in charge of letting people in looks at us indifferently, in a silent question, muscles clear under the tight staff shirt. Even if there's no visible difference in his expression, he does relax a bit after I show him my pass and steps aside to let us in.

"Wow," Gerard mutters, almost inaudibly.

"You like it?" I ask as we walk through the people. No answer comes. He stayed back, of course; the boy is kinda shy and hesitant, after all. "C'mon!" I take a hold of his hand to pull him with me until we're in the bar area, which's much calmer. He stands there for a moment, looking around, until I point at one of the stools, sitting down on the one beside it.

Gerard shifts on his seat, hands resting on his lap and clenched into fists. He observes everything with wide eyes and I can't bring myself to avert my attention away from him. He's beautiful.

When the band starts playing, however, the atmosphere starts changing. It's a classic punk band – the kind of people you'd see around in skate lanes, spraying anarchist messages on a building's wall or behind a McDonald's counter – and the music is good, nonetheless, raw and emotional and demanding. Great to dance to.

Gerard is shy, as already stated – what makes me wonder how he even agreed on coming –, taking a good time to actually stand up from the stool and join me.

His hand is warm under mine, maybe not as warm as his cheeks seem to be. I had taken it in mine to pull him up from the stool, only, but he didn't let go and... oh well. Aren't you interesting, Gerard? I grin to myself and take his other hand to pull him to dance with me; that if you consider moving around to the rhythm of the song some kind of dance, but Gerard doesn't complain.

I'm not sure how much time goes by – I only question myself about that once the band is saying good night, breathing audibly as they get off the stage. The live music is replaced by a momentary incoherent chatter when loud music fills the place again, this time coming from the speakers. Gerard and I are out of breath when averting our attention from the stage to each other. My arms feel a bit sore after all of that, almost the opposite to my numb legs.

"Wanna grab a drink?" I nod towards the bar. "We can go to the alley to take a breath, then."

"Sounds good."

The non-alcoholic drinks are as cold as the night air, suddenly making it even more obvious how much we jumped around to the band's sound. We lean against the wall opposite to the side of the bar and I look at Gerard, watching his chest rise and fall fast, only coming to a longer pause when he brings the glass to his lips. He observes something above us, maybe the sky, but I don't care.

"Your nose is bleeding again." I suddenly note, seeing the dark red trail now almost reaching his upper lip. Not a surprise. He hurt his nose not much over a day ago and all the jumping must have opened the wound.

"Fuck." Gerard brings a hand to his nose and sighs when seeing the red stain on his fingers; I chuckle softly, halfheartedly. "What? You wanna lick it again?" he teases, raising an eyebrow at me. He apparently opts for not ruining the sleeve of his leather jacket, regarding it more than his school blazer.

I roll my eyes, smiling helplessly. "Well, if you'd like me to," I decide to tease back, looking at him through half lidded eyes.

"Ah, you wouldn't dare!" He chuckles, blood staining his lips according to how he talks.

"You think so, honey?" I raise an eyebrow. A few stutters come from him, but I just grab his glass and set it aside with mine, on the ground, before stepping towards him. "Tell me, why are you always so... bold around me? It's clear it's not part of you, as Ray even said." I suppress a humorous chuckle at how he frantically backs away against the wall, having nowhere to go. This brings me memories. "Maybe it has a specific reason?"

Gerard's eyes are wide, lips twitching, though no word ever comes through and his expression changes instantly once I get a hold of his hips and pin him to the wall. Feeling the heat coming from his cheeks is almost possible and all that resistance is gone, tendering into compliance and shyness.

"Look at you, Gerard," I mutter, rubbing circles into his hips as leaning in. "How surprising can you be?"

Having Gerard only letting out a quiet whine in response as his hands rest hesitantly over my shoulders make my heart flutter in my chest. I finally lean in, pressing my lips to Gerard's; he returns the kiss right away, lips sliding against mine easily.

And there it is; the rich metallic taste of Gerard's blood. I run my tongue over his bottom lip, snatching a hum from him, which turns into a whining-gasp once my teeth sink into it slightly.

His hands tighten around my shoulders, I grip harder onto his hips in consequence and he's sent relaxing back against the wall. He never had control over the kiss, but he's suddenly just giving up on the power at once with a quiet sound, slowly wrapping his arm around my neck to pull me closer and I gladly deepen the kiss.

"Wow, love," I breathe as soon as we part the kiss, lungs screaming for air. Gerard doesn't reply verbally, with his lips brushing lightly against mine and, by now, the blood is starting to get sticky, on its way to drying, also on my lips.

"I hope we can go out more often," he mutters shyly, not long before burying his face in the crook of my neck.

154 notes · View notes

mcheang · 4 years ago

Text

Exclusive

Edna Mode was a renowned designer, famed for her harsh but accurate critiques, her fierce and practical lines, and of course, being the designer of the majority of superheroes.

And now she was hosting a fashionista gala, inviting those worthy of a Mode gala. As for those asking for an invite, Edna just asks who they are and calls security.

Lila, as the self-proclaimed BFF of Ladybug, and Gabriel’s muse, had already boasted of receiving the glamorous invitation. It didn’t just come in an envelope, it came out of the sky in a rosewood chest, accompanied by a bottle of wine and canapés. (Or so she says. Adrien and Marinette rolled their eyes. Chloé wasn’t paying attention)

Alya: Girl, I’m so jealous. But hey, maybe this will be a good thing. After all, Adrien is going with Kagami. Chloe will just stick with her mom. That means it’s a chance for you and Marinette to know each other better.

Oh yeah, did I mention that everyone knows Marinette is MDC?

Lila forced a grin but didn’t want to make any promises.

Imagine Lila’s rage to know she wasn’t given an invite because she was just a model. Adrien was the heir to a fashion company. She was not.

With all the bragging Lila did, she can’t back out or Chloe and Marinette will call out her absence. (Chloé learned about Lila being a guest from Sabrina later from gossiping)

So, she stole Marinette’s invitation. She did some editing and made her own customised invite, brandishing it for her class to see.

Marinette saw her invitation missing, rolled her eyes and reported the theft to Edna. Plz, everyone knows Edna invited her. She didn’t really need a piece of expensive paper.

The day of the gala arrived, and Lila brought out her invite.

The guard looked at his clipboard. “You’re not on the list.”

Lila: No, but I do have an invite. Obviously someone must have made a mistake with your list.

The guard snorted. “If that’s the case, then your fingerprints and eye scans should have already been registered. That’s what opens the doors.“

Lila gulped and thought about sneaking in with the next guest. But no such luck. Security made sure one person entered at a time.

As the security guard moved to push Lila back into the crowd of fans, Lila cried out that she knows Ladybug and Gabriel.

Guard: what’s your point?

Lila: You’ll be fired for this!

Guard: Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this all before.

Another guard just scoffed. “You’re only a model. One of many in the industry. Miss Mode doesn’t care for models.”

Lila: what are models if not the face of fashion?

“Spoiled, stupid little stick figures with poofy lips who think only of themselves” Edna herself was at the entrance, wondering what was causing the disruption in her guest entrance flow.

Lila: How can you say that? Then why would Ladybug be my Best Friend?

Edna: the day Ladybug says she is your Best Friend is the day I wear crocs. And I don’t mean crocodile leather.

Edna points at a random guard. “You, get this so-called model out of the way. She is blocking the queue.

Oh by the way, Edna calling out Lila was caught on camera by the reporters.

One of them questioned why she was kicking out Gabriel’s muse when his son, a supermodel himself, was invited.

Edna: I did not invite the boy because of his face. I invited him because I saw potential (basically she realized he was Chat Noir. She would never invite Adrien otherwise. As seen from her quote, she doesn’t have a high opinion of models) That is, if he ever gets out of his father’s shadow. Because, let’s face it darling, what can Adrien do besides look pretty and play with swords and piano? You would think the boy would be in part of business meetings, but no. At this rate, Gabriel needs this gala to get out of that stuffy house. Realize that maybe his parenting methods are flawed compared to some other talented figures here. Look at Miss Kagami, focused on upholding her family legacy of fencing. MDC already knows how to run her own business after learning a bit from her parents. Even Audrey’s daughter has been joining in on becoming a fashion critic and throwing parties for political parties. But I must go, my guests await.

Back inside the party, guests were avoiding a seething Gabriel’s eyes. He had come to scout out the superhero guests, only to be called out by Edna on live tv.

Marinette went up to Edna and asked one of her fashion idols why she burned the Agrestes in public.

Edna: do you think Gabriel would change his parenting ways if we did not expose them to the influential figures of this industry, as well as the public eye? I guarantee you Adrien will be allowed more freedom of choice, lest Gabriel wants his son to be known as a coddled boy who can’t even make his own decisions.

Edna didn’t bother softening her sharp voice as she says these words.

Adrien flushed.

Quickly changing the subject, Marinette asked why Edna hated models.

Edna: it’s not that I hate them personally. I just hate their jobs and what they represent. Models nowadays are beautiful only according to the world standards. People who see them want to be like them, never mind that the models they see on the screen are airbrushed to unrealistic and impossible perfection. Now models focus only on their own appearance, trying to maintain their beauty as time ages them. They go on diets and become superficial. Whereas outside the modelling industry or such like, you don’t need to be stereotypically beautiful to be worthy. Where your worth is measured in kindness and bravery and talent and intelligence and anything beyond superficiality.

Adrien overheard and he frowned, not liking the idea where his appearance on ads is not exactly right. He only joined the company to make his father happy. But maybe it’s time he stepped into the business side of things and exit the modelling world. Bonus: no more Lila!

Edna snorted, “Though I must admit Gabriel surprised me with his newest model. Her attitude is lousy but she doesn’t strike me as a model. She just doesn’t have that model walk. But enough about the old man, my dear MDC, let’s talk about you. I love your gender-neutral line. And was wondering if you would like to join me in creating my next line of clothes for the Incredibles. A rare opportunity but I like style. Now take this offer before I change my mind.”

Marinette: wait, do I have to fly over or-

Edna: you are too excited, darling, but don’t worry, my assistants will send you the details.

Why are the Incredibles getting a new look? The kids are growing up and Edna wanted to move on to new styles.

As Marinette was flabbergasted, Audrey congratulated her for landing the job. Kagami and Adrien also beamed at her good fortune.

Even the Incredibles admitted they looked forward to working with her. Violet was a big fan.

Gabriel was seething and thought about akumatizing himself but come on, one villain against a room of superheroes? No thanks.

Drinking a glass of wine, he eventually admits that Edna had a point, however loudly and rudely it had been announced.

He would not be around forever and he wanted to leave the company in Adrien’s hands. In order for that to happen, his son needs to know business (if he can’t design, he can hire designers)

And yes, Lila was a lousy model. She survived by shooting with professional models who managed to overpower her mediocre work. But a deal was a deal. Besides, her contract was only for a year.

After the gala, Adrien happily quit modelling (aka Lila) to spend more time with his father, learning about how to run a company.

Marinette and Edna proudly claimed credit for the fashionable Incredibles.

Violet also became the talk of the school for her MDC exclusives.

Lila had been humiliated on air. Alya hesitated but finally did her research. At the end, she collapsed over the ruined credibility of her blog. But she can still get revenge by informing the principal, Ms Bustier and Mrs Rossi what Lila lied about. The perks of being a class vice president for a busy class president is that she also has the contacts list for emergencies.

Considering how Lila framed Marinette, there would be no suspension or detention. Only expulsion. Good luck finding a new school when Edna’s gala was a global topic.

When Lila returned to school for her last week (it takes time to gather evidence and get the attention of busy adults), nobody wanted to talk to her or even exchange glances. She quietly kept to herself, hoping for this to blow over soon. She was still a model working for Gabriel. She could befriend other supermodels (as if. Like they would want to befriend her after Edna called her out)

Hell, even her jobs were down. Gabriel just told her to take test shoots to fill up her portfolio until the hype died down (aka her contract expired)

When Lila was expelled, she was ready to be akumatized into Chameleon again. Except one problem. Everyone avoided her like hell so how could she kiss her target. Even Adrien was told to stay away lest his reputation be tarnished.

Ok, I admit it. I was hit by “I’m no Angel” quotes as I wrote this. But seriously, does anyone feel weird at the idea of trying to become thinner when your weight is just right, all the while you know there are people out there even thinner than you are and are starving, not because they want to be stereotypically thin, but because they cannot afford food?

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #Lila is exposed #Lila gets exposed #everyone knows Marinette is MDC #post ladybug episode #post episode ladybug #Gabriel salt #ml salt fic

427 notes · View notes

tryingmybestpls · 4 years ago

Text

Not A Team-Part 1: The Start

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The Reader tries to live a normal life, but her memories won’t leave her alone. Rhodey comes to visit the reader with a proposition.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Talks of death, talks of mental illness, mentions of feeling alone

Four Months Ago

"Y/N, do you think you can tell me why you're here?" The female therapist asks, clicking her one before setting it down on her notepad. The ex-hero shifts on the charcoal grey couch, wanting to be anywhere but here. While she knows that the room should be sort of calming, but it has the directly opposite affect on Y/N. Her stomach is twisting in knots and she feels like her breakfast is going to come up.

"I was told I had to come here." Y/N replies, looking down at her chipping burgundy nail polish. There was hardly any color left on her nails, but what was left was stubbornly holding on, a constant reminder of what she had painted them for.

"Yes, but why were you told to come here?" The doctor-whose name was escaping Y/N at the moment-pushes, shifting in her own seat. Y/N continues to stay silent, which makes the therapist sigh, "Look Y/N, you have to be here. The only way you are able to get out of this is when I am able to determine that you aren't a danger to yourself or others. The government needs to know that you are okay. It's apart of the Acco-"

"I-I messed up. I messed up bad." Y/N cuts her off, wanting to get this all over as quickly as possible.

It's the understatement of the century. I messed up bad. That's what you say when you crash your car or get too drunk and text your ex. "Messing up bad" doesn't land you in court mandated therapy. No, Y/N hadn't "messed up bad", but she couldn't say what she had actually done. Even if she couldn't get the words out of her mouth, she was well aware if she had done. The smell of burning flesh used to be something she would wear like a perfume. Now it threatens to invade her nose, forcing her to go back to that night. Y/N tries her best to ignore it, but it's so hard to forget a smell like that.

"And when you say mess up-"

"I used my powers and people got hurt." Y/N answers, her hands getting hot. She glances down, trying to will away the heat and the fire that will surely follow. The therapist writes down a few more notes. Y/N finds herself hating the way the pen scratches at the paper, the sound almost deafening.

"Is it hard to control your powers?" The doctor asks, to which Y/N immediately shakes her head. She looks back up at the therapist, clasping her hands tightly together. Y/N is trying to look as normal and okay as possible, hoping that the therapist believes her little act.

"No. It-They're just slightly influenced by my emotions and I was just really emotional that day." Y/N replies as she feels the heat move away from her hands. She shifts on the couch, hating the attention she's getting right now, hating the way the therapist's eyes seem to notice every little movement and thought. The therapist writes that down, nodding.

"Why were you so emotional, Y/N?" The woman questions. The ex-Avenger looks back down at her hands, her wedding ring shimmers in the light that's streaming through the windows. Just seeing it makes her stomach sink, her throat tightening with that same emotion.

Now

Y/N has always hated silence.

It's the reason why she loved being in the city so much. It was constantly awake. There was never a moment of silence, no the city was always screaming and shouting. Y/N had welcomed the sound with open arms. Even when the Avengers moved out of the city and went upstate, it was still loud. Everyone kept different hours, everyone had different tasks so the base was never completely quiet. Life on the run with Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Nat wasn't quiet either. The five of them were a family, always constantly talking and bickering.

But now, she lived alone.

It was raining out today. The incessant pounding of the water droplets against the roof and the ground outside provided a much needed melody as Y/N moved around the house. Boxes still littered the rooms, precariously stacked on top of each other. She's been leaving here for a while, but some boxes she can't bring herself to unpack. For example, the large one in the middle of the living room that was labeled "WEDDING DRESS + BOUQUET" was now being used as an impromptu side table. Another one that was shoved into the second bedroom had "PICTURES FROM COMPOUND" scrawled on the side in sharpie. She doesn't think she'll ever open that one, not knowing how she handle all of those memories.

Y/N forces herself to pick up one of the boxes in the kitchen, this one labeled "WINTER CLOTHES". Usually, she would be outside tending to the garden (her therapist had told her that she needed a hobby to keep herself busy) or doing small tasks that needed to be done. However, because of the rain she was stuck inside with all the boxes that she had yet to unpack. The box is heavy, most of the weight most likely coming from her bulky winter coats.

Y/N had left the city she had loved so much, packing up her life to move to a small little house upstate. The city didn't feel like home anymore. Living in Steve's apartment without him felt wrong. It had never felt like home, didn't feel like she belonged there. They never lived at the apartment together, they didn't share any memories here. No, this place was all Steve. She was constantly surrounded by Steve-his things, his memory, his smell. It was suffocating, being surrounded by a man that had abandoned you.

Five years she was gone. Five years he had grieved and mourned over her and then-almost immediately when Y/N came back, Steve decided he didn't want to stay with her. He didn't tell her what he was going to do. Maybe he knew that if he had, she would've tried to talk him out of it. Y/N knows that she would've begged for him to stay with her. She was a. proud woman, but she wasn't proud enough to beg.

She had expected him to come back to her. Y/N thought he was going to return the stones and come back. She had thought they were going to be able to continue where they had left off, they were going to able to be together after all this time. They were finally going to be able to settle down and start that family that Steve had always hinted at. Get a house with a white picket fence and get a cute little dog. The fucking American Dream.

And then he had came back as an old man, with a gold wedding band that she hadn't given him on his finger. Steve gave Sam his shield and his legacy, no longer able to carry the mantle of Captain America. And Y/N-well Y/N's world just crumbled around her, her dreams shattering because Steve decided that he was going to move on.

She still loved him, she even still loves him now. It was impossible not to love him, even though he had left her behind. Y/N tried her best to hate him-told herself that Steve had betrayed her and that he didn't want her. She tried to tell herself that Steve didn't even love her, because if he had loved her why would he be so willing to abandon her, especially after he had just got her back? It didn't matter how much he hurt her or what he did to her, Y/N's heart would always belong to Steve whether she liked it or not.

Feeling incredibly conflicted, Y/N had forced herself to stay her by husband's side as he got sick. She didn't ask for an apology, even as Steve told her over and over that he was incredibly sorry for what he did. Y/N knew that he wasn't actually sorry because if he was actually sorry, he wouldn't have lived an entire life with Peggy. She wouldn't tell him how hurt she was or how looking at her wedding ring made her feel sick now. No, Y/N had played the role of the dutiful wife. She held his hand as his condition worsened and made sure his affairs were in order. Her feelings didn't matter as she tried to make his last days more comfortable.

And then he died.

Steve died, leaving her behind. She didn't dare talk about what had happened, what he had put her through. Y/N, even with all of the bullshit he had put her through, didn't want to tarnish his legacy. Steve Rogers was a hero and she wasn't going to be the one that ruined that for everyone. Even Sam tried to ask her if she was okay and she had just brushed it off, telling him that she was glad that Steve had picked him to carry on the legacy attached to the shield he had received.

Y/N had tried to carry on after Steve was buried, but it was hard. She was dropped into a world where all of her friends were gone, a world that had moved on without her. It was a world that she didn't belong in and she knew it. Y/N tried her best to return to normal, but she quickly learned that there was no such thing as the normal she was used to. Everything felt wrong, felt off in some minuscule way that made her unable to adapt to regular life again.

Y/N just kept bottling up her emotions, the pressure continuing to build up as the days went on. She was drowning it and there was no life preserver in sight. Everyone else went back to normal, going back to school or getting a job or finding ways to get busy. Y/N knows that she should've gotten help, that she should've tried talking to someone, but she didn't. Maybe a part of her didn't want to admit there actually was a problem, that Steve hadn't been the perfect husband and she felt abandoned by the man she married.

And that had led to her completely losing it.

Y/N would later be told that it was a nervous breakdown. A nervous breakdown. She felt-and still feels-like that name wasn’t what she experienced. It was so much more than just a nervous breakdown.

It had led to innocent people getting hurt, people that hadn't cause her pain, people that were most likely suffering just as much as she was. Her emotions were just too high and her powers-her powers decided to act on her impulses and her feelings. She had just been so God damn angry at Steve-

Y/N has to drop the box she was holding, her hands growing hot. She mutters curse words as she hears what sounds like glass shattering inside the box as she forces herself to calm down. She does the breathing exercise that the therapist had told her to do, attempting to rein in her emotions. Her eyes shut, breathing in through her nose, and out through her mouth. Y/N tries to pull the heat back inside of her, but it just won't go back in.

Her heart is beating fast in her chest as she quickly moves back into the living room, her feet carrying her to the front door. Her bright red hand grabs ahold of the doorknob, throwing the door open.

The rain is much louder now, making it almost hard to see with how much is coming down. It hits the ground violently, a cold wind trying its best to cool Y/N off, to no avail.

She quickly walked down the steps of the porch as the heat crawled up her arms, her temperature rising. Y/N knows she won't have the time to take off her clothes and she also knows that she's gone past the point of attempting to rein her powers in. Her hands catch first, bright yellow and orange flames quickly covering her skin, coating them until no skin remained.

The flame crawls over her body, burning away her clothes before the flames take over her entire body. The rain turns into steam as soon as it hits her fire covered body, a cloud surrounding her. Y/N feels more relaxed as the flame licks at her skin, covering her from head to toe. It's easier to calm down after she does this, getting some of those stronger feelings released in order to return back to normal.

Hours later while she is in the middle of cooking, someone knocks on her door. Y/N sighs softly, putting her slotted spoon back down on the counter, quickly wiping her hands on a dishcloth. She makes her way to the front door, not bothering to look through the peephole before she opens the door.

Rhodey stands before her, dressed in far more causal clothing that he usually is in. Y/N's eyes are immediately drawn to the thick manila folder in clutched tightly in his hands. He gives her a small smile. Y/N knows that he isn't just here to visit. No one ever comes to visit.

"Hey." Rhodey says gently, almost as if he's testing the waters. They haven't seen each other in a few months, not since the events that had led her to moving all the way out of here, not since she got out of the psych ward she had voluntarily gone to after her accident. Voluntarily is the wrong word here. The US Government had all but strong armed her into going.

"Hi. Uh-Here, come in. It's cold out." Y/N responds, opening the door a little wider. Rhodey's smile grows as he steps inside. He stops for a moment, looking around at her home. It's small, almost more of a cottage than an actual home. He takes note of the lack of any personal items, no pictures out on display, no tchotchkes. Boxes still litter the living room even though she's lived here for a few months.

"It looks good. Real cozy." Rhodey comments as Y/N shuts the door. She nods, giving him a polite smile as she moves past him to go back into the kitchen.

"Why'd you come by? I know it isn't for dinner." Y/N cuts straight to the point. She doesn't even bother looking at him as she checks to see if her pasta is ready. Rhodey's smile falters for a moment while she strains the pasta. He clears his throat, quickly regaining his composure.

"I-Well I stopped by because I wanted to talk to you about something." Rhodey walks into her kitchen, leaning against the counter as she pours the pasta back into the now empty pot. Y/N holds out her hand for the folder, which he immediately hands over. She flicks through it, seeing the plans for an exhibit honoring her husband. Rhodey shifts slightly as he sees her eyebrows knit together. As she goes through the pictures, she can see that it wasn't in the preplanning phase. They had their exhibit ready, all done up with a fresh paint job.

She's seen the exhibit before. Y/N had teased Steve constantly over it, thinking it was the funniest thing that he had a whole exhibit dedicated to him, a man who couldn't even use a cell phone. Steve told her once that he didn't mind the teasing, told her that it was one of his favorite things about her.

But that was then and this is now.

"The Smithsonian wants to expand their exhibit on Steve. I don't exactly see why this has anything to do with me." Y/N's eyes catch on a picture of her and Steve at their wedding, big stupid smiles stretched across their faces. The page notes possibly names for this part of the exhibit, all of them making that emotion crawl up into her throat.

"They want you to speak at the opening. You and Sam." Rhodey answers, watching as her face drops. Y/N closes the folder, still looking down at it. The papers suddenly feels like they're a million pounds, weighed down so many memories. For a second, Rhodey gets his hopes up, thinking that she is actually considering it.

"Get someone else to do it." Y/N tells him, handing the folder back over to the man. Her voice is a lot colder than it was before and her friend could practically see Y/N building her walls back up. Rhodey sighs, holding it for a moment before setting it down on the counter.

"They want people who knew him, Y/N."

"Then get someone else because I sure as hell didn't." She snaps, the fire on the stove growing. Y/N quickly shuts off the burners, shaking her head, "Ask Barnes, ask literally anyone else."

Rhodey opens his mouth before shutting it. He didn't know how to respond. He knew that his friend was upset, but as soon as Steve did what he did, she had shut herself off. Rhodey had tried and tried to get through to her and after what she had did...Rhodey knew she was going through a lot and that Y/N wouldn't tell him or anyone else how she was feeling. She just wasn't that type of person, never has been.

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat that threaten to swell up, serving Rhodey a plate full of food without him asking if he wants one. She ignores all the memories that flash in her mind, trying to keep it together. She hands the plate to Rhodey without saying a single word before serving herself . Y/N grabs them both drinks and napkins, moving around the kitchen in complete silence. They both sit down at her little table, the only sounds being the two of them breathing and their forks hitting their plates.

"How are you doing?" Rhodey breaks the silence, looking across at her. Y/N pushes her food around her plate, shrugging her shoulders.

"Doing better. I go to therapy once a week like I'm supposed to. It's-It's a lot easier to breathe out here." She replies, setting her fork down. Rhodey gives her a small smile.

"I'm glad you're doing better. I'm sorry I haven't been checking in on you. I know you wanted space and some time." He says softly, to which Y/N shakes her head, taking a sip of her drink. She knew that Rhodey felt guilty over her situation, but the man has enough on his plate. He doesn't need to adding 'taking care of Y/N' to his long list of tasks.

"You've been busy. There's a lot of rebuilding that needs to be done and you shouldn't have to be checking in on me." She looks up at him attempting to give him some peace of mind, "I'm doing better, I promise."

It wasn't the biggest lie she's ever told. She was doing better, but she still wasn't herself. Although, Y/N didn't know if she could ever return to being herself pre-Blip. Before all of this shit, she had Steve to lean on. Now...well now she didn't have anyone, and she didn't want to burden any of her friends with her issues. They had their own shit they were going through. They didn't need to deal with hers.

Later on, long after dinner had finished and the rain decided that it was done working for the day, Rhodey stood up from his spot on the couch. Y/N smiled warmly at him, walking with him to the front door. When they step outside onto the porch, the night air is cool and calm, the lovely smell of rain surrounding them.

"Y/N, I just wanted to say that I didn't want to ask you. I know-I know you're still healing. They told me I had to ask, but I didn't want to. I just want you to know that." Rhodey suddenly announces, turning towards her. Both of them were barely illuminated by the porch lights and the light spilling out from her front door. Y/N nodded, that lump in her throat returning.

"I know. I know, Rhodey." She replies, her voice cracking slightly. Y/N stands there for a moment, both of them looking at each other before she decides to throw her arms round him. Her friend is a little surprised by the action, but hugs her back happily. Y/N shuts her eyes for moment, resting her chin on his shoulder. He rubs her back soothingly, wondering if this is the first hug she's had since Steve's funeral. They pull part, once again looking at each other.

"You take care of yourself okay? I'm going to try to come and visit more, but I need to take care of yourself." Rhodey tells her, giving her a kind smile, "And don't be afraid to text, okay? You can tell me about anything, it doesn't even have to be important."

"I'll be sure to text you all about the growth of my sunflowers and whether or not I am capable of fixing a sink." She teases, which makes the man laugh.

"That's all I ask. It was nice seeing you Y/N." Rhodey tells her, making his way down the steps of his porch. Y/N leans against one of the posts, wrapping her arms around herself.

"It was nice seeing you too." Y/N responds as she watches him walk over to his car. He gives her a small wave before climbing inside. She stays on the porch until he drives away, not moving until she can no longer see his tail lights.

Y/N relaxes her shoulders, sighing softly as she turns on her heel and walks back inside. The ex-hero shuts and locks her door. She walks back into the kitchen, gathering the discarded and used plates. As she is putting them in the sink, her eyes land on the manila folder resting on the counter.

Y/N knows that Rhodey most likely deliberately left it behind. She reaches out and picks it up again, a picture slipping out and falling into the floor. Y/N bends over to grab it, holding it gently between her thumb and forefinger. She flips it over, being greeted with the sight of her husband smiling back at her. Y/N knows the picture well-it's one she took.

She finds herself smiling back at him, her finger tracing over the image. She took it after a mission. Steve's hair is a mess from his helmet, his face dirty and he has a split lip. The shield is propped up in the seat beside him and he's just smiling at her. He looks incredibly tired, but he's still smiling at her. This is the Steve she fell in love with, the Steve that had promised to give the world. The one she had seen herself raising a family with.

Y/N leans against the counter, resting the photograph beside the open folder. She flicks through it again, her eyes studying the exhibit dedicated to her and her relationship with Steve Rogers. 'Two Heroes United' was the name they ended up on. It makes tears brim in her eyes as she looks over all of the pictures that make up this part of the exhibit. While normally she didn't like sharing her personal relationships with the world, this felt okay somehow, it felt almost cathartic.

She shuts the folder, taking another glance at it. Her finger traces the embossed Smithsonian logo on the cover of it. If she did it, she wouldn't be doing it alone. If Sam could do it, it couldn't be that bad.

Right?

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #chris evans x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #tfatws

261 notes · View notes

supercorpkid · 3 years ago

Text

Rescue Mission – Suicide Mission.

Part 2 – You can’t trust anybody.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader, Brainy x Reader, Eliza Danvers x Granddaughter!Reader.

Word count: 3105.

Warnings: Angst. Injuries.

Previously on the series - Part 1

You fly back to the DEO, to meet with Alex and Kelly. It’s your fault, you know, you couldn’t save Jamie, now they got her too. You get there before they do, and you go to the infirmary to see Kara. The crushing weight of your choices stare right back at your face when you look at Kara’s injured face. All of this, all of it, it’s all your fault.

You should’ve been out there with Kara when she was fighting Rao knows what. Two Kryptonians are better than one. You should’ve been aware of what was happening, and you should’ve been there to keep Lena safe from the kidnappers. You shouldn’t have left Jamie behind; you should’ve brought her to the DEO with you so she could be safe from all of this. There are so many things you should have done but didn’t.

Some superhero you are.

“I’m sorry, mommy.” You say, stroking her face wherever it is not bruised. “I know you’re hurt, but please, you have to wake up. Please. I-I don’t know where mom is, and you’re hurt, and Jamie is gone-” You can’t hold the tears back, no matter who can see you through the glass walls. “It’s all on me. And I’m just-just a kid. I know I’m your kid, but still not enough for all of this. And I’m scared and lonely. Aunt Alex will blame me, as she should, it’s my fault.” You put your forehead on the bed next to her face and reach for her hand. “It’s all my fault, I didn’t protect the most important people in the universe for me. And now-�� You can’t even finish.

It’s all laid out in front of you, you are aware of how all of this is your fault. Your heart beats unsynchronized, and you feel like it wants to just stop beating. Why is this happening? Why would anyone want to destroy your family so bad? And why-why are you letting them?

“Excuse me Superkid, I need you to come with me.” You hear Brainy’s voice behind your back, and you snap your head up, aggressively cleaning your tears. You let go of Kara’s hand, not before kissing it and squeezing reassuringly, and follow him out of the infirmary and into the closest empty office.

“What is Brainy? Where is Alex and Kelly?” You ask and you see him moving uncomfortable, shifting on his feet. “What!”

“They didn’t make it here yet.” Brainy answers and you furrow your brows at the thought. “I don’t think director Danvers was who she said she was. Or maybe she was, and now isn’t. There’s a 50% chance that-”

“Brainy! What the hell are you talking about?” You ask and he slides his tablet on top of the table, and you stop it with your hands when it gets to you.

“See? That’s the Alex who picked up Kelly.” You agree with your head at the image on the tablet, still confused as to where he is going with this. “And then this Alex walks in the building a few minutes later.”

“What?” You look at the video playing in front of you. The two of them look exactly alike but are dressed in slightly different clothes. You shuffle your brain for a sentence you heard earlier. ‘Both of the Danvers have left with Jamie’s mother.’ Everyone in school knows Alex, they wouldn’t let Jamie leave with anyone else except her mothers. So, she left with one Alex, but there is another one out there.

Brainy has put both videos, side by side, so you can look at it more carefully. You weren’t paying attention to what your aunt was wearing today, but you remember she had a jacket on.

“This one is the real Alex.” You point at one of the images. “Does she have Kelly?”

Brainy looks at the video again and agrees with his head, reluctantly. “It doesn’t matter who has her. You can’t trust anybody. If there’s a shapeshifter out there, anyone could be the enemy. Maybe even in your family.”

“Are you saying it could be any of us?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he denies with his head.

“Unlikely that a shapeshifter would be able to impersonate a 12th-level intellect like me in a believable manner.” Brainy says and you shake your head in denial, throwing yourself in one chair. “Or you, I should think so. But Alex, Kelly? We don’t know.”

“Should we ask for back-up? J’onn? Nia?”

“Weren’t you listening?” He snaps at you, aggressively. “We can’t trust anybody! Also, no! We’re not bringing Nia into this!”

“Well, 12th-level intellect-” You look him up, and he stops typing on his tablet to look at you. “Where’s Lena and Jamie?”

“To that question, I still don’t have an answer.” He says, making you growl. “But fear not! Agent Dox is on the case.”

He leaves the room, and you breathe deep. You can’t trust anybody. Kara is still unconscious; Lena and Jamie have both disappeared and there’s someone out there using your aunt's face. This feels like a suicide mission. How on Earth will you find them without help?

You jolt out of the room and fly high in the sky looking for them. You fly everywhere. The entire Earth once, twice, three times. You can’t see them.

You’re up high in the sky of National City, thinking about all the alternatives that you have. You should bring the aliens to you, surrender yourself before they get to Alex, Kelly -IF they haven’t yet- and even your… GRAMM!

You fly to Midvale so fast, you only blink again when you get there. “Gramm! You home?”

“Hey sweetie!” Eliza comes to the door, and your heart seems to gain strength to beat again when you see her smile.

“It’s you!” You throw yourself in her arms, and she holds you gently.

“Yeah, it’s me.” She chuckles at the absurdity of the sentence.

“You have to go to a safe place, you-” You stop, thinking about it. Where is a safe place? The DEO? Probably not anymore. Your home? You doubt it. Even here in Midvale she is not safe, because fake Alex can show up at any time and she would go with her, unable to differentiate them. “You have to come with me.”

“Where?” Eliza steps away from you and holds your face in between her hands. “Look at you in your superhero suit all dirty and blo-” She furrows her brows when she realizes. “You’re bleeding! Come in, come in. Let me look at you.”

“Gramm, I’m not bleeding. This is not my blood.” You clench your eyes shut, holding back the tears and the guilt. “It’s Kara’s. Gramm, please. You’re not safe here, you must come with me. Please. I’ll explain everything when you’re somewhere safe.”

“Ok. I trust you, sweetheart.” Eliza says and you smile at her, before picking her up and flying to the Fortress of Solitude. You pick up the ‘key’ under the snow, and open the door, rushing Eliza in. “It’s so cold in here.”

“Wait.” You use your super speed, and, in a flash, you are before her eyes with a warm coat. She dresses in it, and you guide her somewhere she can be more comfortable -if it’s even possible to be comfortable in a place with nothing but ice-.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on and what we’re doing here?” Eliza asks and you do. You start talking and you can’t stop anymore. You tell her everything and even though her eyes are filled with worry and tears, she still holds your hands and smiles lightly at you when you’re finished. “Sweetheart, I know this feels almost impossible, and I can’t tell you how much I wish none of you were going through this, but-” She looks around and breathes in, gathering up courage. “Look where we are.”

“At the Fortress?” You ask, wondering if this is some enigma you must solve. She agrees with her head.

“Superman and Supergirl's hiding place, because they are Kryptonians who came to Earth and got superpowers.” She says, like the thought is somehow ridiculous. “Would you say they can’t solve this?”

“No.” You think about it for a second. “I mean, they are the Supers! Of course they can.” But Supergirl is right now laying in a bed under the sun on the DEO, and she can’t help. So, should you ask for Superman’s help?

“Well, you’re half Kryptonian. You have the same superpowers. You have the same hiding spot. You’re the daughter of the champion of the Earth. You wear the same crest on your chest.” Eliza taps lightly at the ‘House of El’ crest on your suit. “If they can do this, you, Superkid, can do it too.”

“But Gramm, I’m all alone. And I can’t trust anyone.” One single tear falls from your eye, and Eliza cleans it with her thumb.

“You can trust yourself.” She whispers softly. “Just listen to your heart, sweetie.”

Listen to your heart. Listen. That’s it! That’s all you need to do.

“I have to go!” You get up in one motion. “You’ll be safe here, and I’ll come back with our family. Thank you, Gramm!”

You fly out of the Fortress leaving her behind. You feel bad for leaving her alone in such a cold-lonely-place, but it’s for her own safety, so you shove this thought to the back of your mind and fly to National City.

Just listen to her heart.

You’ve been doing that since you’re ten. You know your mom’s heartbeat like the palm of your hands now. So just listen.

You hear a steady thump-thump somewhere almost out of the city, and you follow the sound like a clear signal. You land in front of a lead covered shack, and you try to even your breath, and calm your brain. This is it. This is the moment you can put a stop to this nonsense. You can save your mom, and your cousin. You can do it, this is a rescue mission, not a suicidal one.

You clench your jaw, and your fists, and focus on Lena’s heartbeat. Save her. Get her out of here. Your hands shake with anticipation and energy. You kick the door open and feel no resistance for a few seconds. Odd.

Soon you feel gunshots ricocheting on your body, and you keep walking in, unaffected. You’re in a dim-light big space. You see four guys on each side with nothing but guns shooting at you. There’s something wrong. This is almost too easy.

“Gentleman.” You say, and one of them makes a signal for them to stop shooting. “This feels like a waste of time. Are you sure we’re going through with this?”

Your answer is guns shooting at you again. Fair enough. You fly to one side, pulling the rifle out of one of the guy’s hands. You look at him, lips twitching in anger, before knocking him down with his own gun. One by one get knocked down by you, until all eight men lay blacked-out on the ground, and you find no more resistance.

You go inside exploring what it seems to be a lab. It doesn’t take long until you find Jamie tied to a chair with metal cuffs. A metal ring surrounds her head like a halo. And you notice that her eyes can't focus on anything. You break it off. Both hand cuffs, and head metal ring. And her body slumps forward, for you to hold it.

“You’re ok.” You tell her, holding her up straight. “You’re safe. I’m here. Talk to me, big-Danvers.”

“Get away from me.” Jamie fights out of your embrace with so much anger, she falls on the floor. You see her crawling away from you, so scared it makes your heart squeeze on your chest out of guilt.

“Jamie, Jamie.” You follow her, while she slumps forward like she is petrified of you. “It’s me! Your cousin. Little-Danvers!”

She shoots her head back at you at the sound of that. She blinks, still trying to decide whether you are really you. You come closer and kneel in front of her, but you don’t touch her yet.

“Is this really you?” Her hand makes way to your face, holding your jaw tight. “Are you one of them?”

“Hey, it’s me! It’s really me.” You look at her and realize her gaze is far away, and she can’t really focus on you. You look around, asking yourself who they are, and where they are. “Where’s Lena?”

“Locked up.” Jamie says slowly, dropping her head low. “Gone.”

Your heart stops at the sound of that word. She can’t. She can’t be gone. You hold her up on your side and make your way deep inside the lab. You can hear Lena’s heartbeat. She’s not gone, she is right here, and you’re going to find her.

When you find Lena, she is laying down on the floor, behind bars, like she is nothing. You put Jamie against the wall, and she stays there, unable to move. You run to Lena, breaking the bars of the cell she is in.

You kneel next to her, with horror. You look at the pool of blood around her head and terror washes over you. Your hands shake and you can’t move.

“She’s gone.” Jamie says, sliding down the wall and falling on her butt, as terrified as you are.

You wish you could move. You want to pick her up and shake her until she opens her eyes, until she says, ‘it’s ok babygirl, I’m ok’. You only notice your tears when they fall on her cheek, and your stomach twists in consternation. Is this real?

Your breath finally catches up to your lungs, and you try to stop your desperate sob so you can hear her. You heard her heartbeat, you’re not insane. Lena is alive. She has to be!

Your hands finally move, and you touch her face, she still feels warm. You drop your head, laying it on her chest, and you hear it. Her heart, her breath, her blood still cursing through her veins.

“Mom, mom, wake up.” You ask, holding her up against you. Feeling her body completely limp, like Kara’s have felt, hours ago. You look at the side of her head, there’s a long gash going down her face. You tear the fabric of her shirt and blow over with your freeze breath, putting it over her injury.

“Jamie, Jamie. I need your help. Please!” You ask your cousin, looking at the amount of blood on your hands, and legs.

“She’s gone.” Jamie says and your heart ponds against your ribs, and you want to yell. You want to tell her to shut up, she is not gone! She is right here! She’ll be fine! “And they’ll come back to take me too.”

You know who she’s talking about, the shapeshifters. You pick Lena up, throwing her floppy body over your shoulder and you make your way to Jamie, knowing well enough you can’t stay here waiting for them to show up. You hold Jamie’s waist, and like a reflex, or a body memory, she clenches her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes knowing what is coming.

You fly out of the hiding place with both on your arms, and your heart is almost easing up when you realize you have found them. They are with you and you’re bringing them to safety, and you can care for them in the right way. But your heart beats fast again when you realize this fight is far from over. You still must come back and find your aunts. And still need to find the shapeshifters and stop them from doing anything worse.

You fly to the Fortress. Taking them inside is no easy job, but soon Eliza shows up and helps you with them. She apparently found where the coats are kept, because she comes in with a few in hand. She wraps Jamie gently close to her, and you lay Lena down, enfolding her with as many blankets as you can find.

“Gramm.” You call her and she comes closer to look at Lena. “She was bleeding, so I stopped it with my freeze breath.”

Eliza smiles at you, and nods. “You did the right thing; it will constrict the blood vessels.” She looks at you, cleaning the tears on your face. “I’ve got her now. She will be fine.”

You breathe deep trying to convince yourself this is true. It has to be true. What other alternative do you have?

“I’ll go pick up Kara.” You look at Jamie, who seems to be coming down from her shock state. “Then you’ll tell me what was going on inside that lab.”

You fly into the DEO unceremoniously and pick Kara up without anyone being able to stop you whatsoever. You’re almost out of there when you hear Brainy’s voice.

“Superkid. Alex and Kelly have appeared.” You look behind you, with Kara still unawake in your arms, but at least her body feels a little more rigid, and that must be a good sign. “They are locked up and-” He narrows his eyes at you. “Where are you taking her? She needs sunlight.”

“I’ll come back for Alex and Kelly. We still have to find the other Alex.” You look down at Kara and breathe deep. “But Supergirl comes with me.”

Brainy thinks about it for a second. You both have a stare down for what it feels like minutes, but it probably wasn’t that long until he breaks eye contact.

“How do I know you’re really you?” He asks and you raise an eyebrow.

“I could ask you the same question, but it wouldn’t matter. You said they couldn’t impersonate us, didn’t you?” You say, decisively. “My momma comes with me. Please don’t try to get in the way of that, I would hate it if I had to ensure our way out.”

“Fair enough.” He nods and you fly away, getting Kara to safety too. It’s just when she is wrapped around in blankets, lying next to Lena, with the yellow sunlight of the ‘Lena Luthor protocol’ on her, that you can breathe.

You look around your family, knowing damn well you’re still missing both of your aunts, and you know this is far from over. You know it’s been too easy. Nothing is ever this easy. Something big is coming, you can just feel it and it sends shiver down your spine.

#supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp #supercorpfamily #lena luthor #supercorp daughter #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp fanfic #lena x reader #reader insert #superkid #eliza danvers

129 notes · View notes

spookybias · 4 years ago

Text

[ attractiveness everywhere, stupidity everywhere ] — kang taehyun

pairing: kang taehyun x gn! reader. genre: fluff, crack. warning: mention of bugs, mc doesn't have any friends. for: @ficscafe's dialogue prompt event. word count: 1960 note: obviously i wasn't sure how to end this T_T

prompts: #22: "stop staring, it’s creepy" + #23: "what the hell are you wearing?" + #25: "you got something on your face." "what? where?" "your stupidity. it’s everywhere."

You shrieked at the sight of a tick crawling up your leg, and immediately began swatting at the skin in an attempt to slap it and any comrades that might have kept it company off of you. As a cold breeze passed, you brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around yourself in a hug. The thought of more ticks crawling all over you, consuming your blood and body in their tiny, red glory, sent shivers to your spine. The wait for your guardian to come pick you up from school was beginning to feel endless, and although the sun was shining, the warmth was certainly not existent on this particular day.

The thought of having to wait longer in the chilly weather only produced more thoughts of ticks and ants and other bugs finding the time to crawl on you. Anxiously, you dusted off your tutu skirt and legs once more, and even your jean jacket every few minutes. You thought that waiting at a nearby cafe instead of at the high school grounds was a better option, considering you refused to let any of your peers find out that you were still being picked up by someone. But you weren't expecting to become the seven course meal for some ticks.

The sunlight began to beam down. You were gracious for the heat to finally be hitting your shivering physique, but immediately became irritated at the brightness that you were sure would blind you if you sat at the table for another half and hour. You rose a hand to your head, trying to block out the sunlight, and caught sight of a boy from your school making his way over.

You realized who it was, and your knees began to tingle. You were eighty-five percent sure that the tick hadn't bit you, and that the twinkling panic in your body was due to the pretty guy plopping down in one of the seats across the table. Taehyun shuffled through his backpack, pulling out some snacks.

The desire to impress one of the cool kids from you school flew in like a pigeon at the sight of bread. You leaned back in your chair, legs crossed in what you hoped was a sexy angle, and twirled a piece of your hair around your fingertips. Before you realized what you were doing, you made a mental note of everything that was attractive about taehyun; his half brown, half blonde hair, his pearly whites, and his gentle but assertive hands. overall, his face was amazing. You mumbled to yourself as you watched him eat his animal crackers, unaware of just how creepy you appeared.

"Is there something you need?" Taehyun looked up from his notebook and sighed. He picked up his pack of crackers and held them out to you. "Are you hungry? Do you want some?" He waved the food in front of your face.

You were left dumbfounded. The tone of his voice made you feel like you were some kind of wild animal trying to prey on him, and he was trying to distract you in order to escape. You knew you weren't the best around people, but never predicted that the boy you'd seen people swoon over for ages talked to others like they were beneath him. "No, I don't want anything from you." It came out much more rude than you had intended. perhaps you were something feral, and your defensive instincts had kicked in.

Taehyun blinked twice before setting his pack of crackers back down. "Stop staring, it's creepy." Then he looked down, taking note of your appearance. He had never seen someone combine a jean jacket and a tutu skirt in forty degree weather. "What the hell are you wearing?"

Feeling self-conscious, you pulled your knees up to your chest again, tugging at your skirt. "What? You think I'm weird or something?" You weren't trying to sound so targeted, but you were used to people picking on your taste in everything, and attacking first had become your immediate reaction to others. "You don't have to sit here."

"Calm down," Taehyun held his hands up with a look of so much disbelief that you wondered if you seemed like you were about to shoot. "You seemed cold, even from all the way over there." Your eyes followed his thumb pointing over his shoulder to the nearest crosswalk, the direction he had come from earlier. "And it's no wonder. You're wearing a skirt in weather like this."

"I thought I looked cute..." You mumbled into your arms crossed over your legs. "Besides, you have no control over what I wear. I can show as much leg skin as I want to." You ended your sentence with a pout.

"I'm not saying you don't look cute." Taehyun looked directly into your eyes. "It's nice seeing an already attractive person in a strange, but nice outfit." Your face started to feel hot. "And you're right, I have no control over what you want to wear. I was just concerned is all. It's freezing and I know you're cold in that skirt."

"So you care?" The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could catch a hold of what you were saying. You weren't exactly used to people who weren't your guardian worrying about you.

Taehyun rolled his eyes and flipped to a new page in his notebook. "I would rather you don't pass out from the temperature right in front of me."

"My guardian usually tells me if it's hot or cold," You went on to say, no longer remembering that Taehyun was one of the cool kids, and instead eating up the idea that someone seemed interested in you. "The sun was out, so I assumed it would be better weather today."

Look at me, you thought to yourself, talking about the weather with someone handsome.

"You have a phone right?" Taehyun suddenly questioned.

Your eyes widened, a tiny bead of sweat dripped down the side of your face. You managed to stutter out, "Y-yes. I do. W-why?"

"Phones have weather apps, idiot. Start checking yours." Taehyun didn't bother to look up from his book. You wondered if he was still interested in what you had to say, if he had more questions after this one. "If you don't have the mental capacity to do that, then at least open your window and stick your hand out."

"Oh ok." You screamed into your skull. You had let yourself get a little too excited about Taehyun's question. You were brought back to reality. Taehyun was a cool kid, and you were a weird new student, an outsider. There was no way he'd give you his number.

The clouds moved in, blocking the sunshine that had previously been annoying you. Taehyun's appearance had made you forget about your irritation entirely, though. It was silent except for the occasional sound of the cafe door a few feet away swinging open joined by the sound of a customer's footsteps as they power-walked out with whatever they had bought. You wanted to talk to Taehyun some more, but wasn't sure what you could possibly say that hadn't already been said to the boy a million times —that day.

He was just that popular.

Taehyun jumped at the sudden sound of a slap on skin. You shrieked at the sight of an ant on your leg. Taehyun could distract you from the cold and the sunlight, but not from your worst nightmare coming true.

"Oh my gosh, they're eating me!" You wailed.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Taehyun closed his notebook and put it away. It was impossible for him to get some studying (and snacking) done with you around. "You really are crazy."

"There was an ant, and earlier there was a tick. Am I gonna die? They've been attacking me all day!"

Taehyun squinted. He wondered if you were mentally okay. Maybe the lack of social interaction was the cause of your eerie behavior. "Ants aren't much of a problem, but did the tick bite you?"

"No, I don't think so." You patted down your clothes.

"Then you're fine," Taehyun started to pack up his things. "I mean, if the tick did bite you, it's possible that your legs could go numb and you'd never walk again—"

"WHAT?!" You weren't sure if your life was flashing before your eyes or if the sun's demonic brightness had finally gotten to you.

Taehyun stared blankly at you. "You got something on your face."

"What? Where?" Panic began to strike again at the thought of a bug crawling on your cheek.

"Your stupidity. It’s everywhere." Taehyun grabbed his bag and stood up. "And I'm starting to believe it might be contagious, so I'll go now."

"You're leaving?" You scrambled around for your bag on the back of the chair and followed suit.

"Yeah, my ride should be here in a few minutes. I'm just going to stand by the corner." Taehyun walked off. You stood frozen in place.

"T-Taehyun!" You called out.

"Yes, ____?" He looked over his shoulder expectantly. "I don't have all day," He reminded as he took a look at the invisible watch on his wrist.

"You know my name?" You didn't think anyone at your school knew your name. No one talked to you unless they hadn't been paying attention to what the teacher was saying and needed a recap.

Taehyun turned around and looked at you. "Of course I know your name. We're in the same grade."

Oh. You had gotten ahead of yourself again. "Taehyun." You fiddled your fingers and lowered your voice. "Can I stand next to you while you wait for your ride?" It was silly, really, but that was the kind of person you were.

Taehyun continued walking. "Yeah, sure. Stop being creepy about it." There was a hint of teasing in his voice and a growing smile on his face. You were so stupid and weird, and that made him want to learn more about you.

And so you stood beside Taehyun for the next three minutes, utter and comforting silence surrounding you both. You thought you looked like two strangers who talked to each other and stood next to each other like they weren't strangers at all. You shook your head, letting the desire to be close to Taehyun shake. He'd probably let anyone stand next to him on the sidewalk.

A black van with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. It looked suspicious and you wondered if Taehyun was quite the suspicious character. You also wondered if you should probably run as far away as you could from the van. Then the door opened, and you caught a glimpse of an older guy with red hair sitting inside.

"Hurry up, Taehyun. We're gonna be late to game night, and I just know Beomgyu and Kai are hiding all the good cards." The guy peaked his head out and eyed you. "Taehyun you have an interesting taste."

"Your hair is weird," You immediately shot back.

Taehyun turned around. "Do you need a ride?" You gulped as you watched him put his bag in the car.

"Uh, no my guardian should be on their way. And I'm not allowed to take rides from strangers." You scratched your head awkwardly. "Not that I would want to ride with that weird guy in the back," You managed to finish.

Taehyun chuckled. "I'll leave first. Don't wait here on the corner by yourself, though. Someone might mistake you for a prostitute. It's not exactly safe," Taehyun warned. "See you at school."

"Got it." You retreated back to your empty cafe table, and watched from afar as Taehyun's car drove our of sight.

155 notes · View notes