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solomonish · 4 years ago

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longtime listener (solomon x reader)

“Hi, uh, I’m a longtime listener, first time caller. Is it just me, or are we two halves of the same soul?”

It felt like the late night talk show was made for you specifically….and you know what? Maybe it was.

ao3 link: here!

3 a.m. It was 3 a.m. in this nowhere town of yours, the summer crickets screaming loud enough to become a steady thrum in the back of your mind. This insomniac routine had gone on long enough that your bedroom light was not off. You had gone past the empty attempts at counting sheep, spent countless hours relaxing your muscles from head to toe, everything. The orange bottle of melatonin mocked you each time you opened your medicine cabinet, half-full of pills that didn’t do a damn thing for you. Now, surrounded entirely by trees and the sounds of nature keeping you company, you had taken to merely entertaining yourself in the hours of the night when you should be asleep.

If idle hands bored you in the daylight, it was even worse at night. The cover of darkness seemed to bring with it a blanket over your mind, insulating your thoughts with slowly creeping dread and loneliness the longer you allowed yourself to stew. Scattered across your house were projects in varying degrees of completion: a crochet granny square half-completed, a needle still stuck in a loop lying on the small table beside your couch. Sad as it is, it is still better off than the elephant who’s box was opened and instructions spread out, but too indecipherable to a novice like you. On your desk lay scattered coloring book pages and paint-by-numbers, even an adhesive jewel coloring activity that was far too expensive for the one page, delivered by a man who’s baseball hat brim never revealed his face. It was the first unfamiliar face you had seen in a while, even though you technically hadn’t seen it at all.

A small stack of books that you tried to read stared at you from your dresser, begging you to open them again as if the words wouldn’t blur together immediately. Beside them sat your radio, an old thing that you hadn’t touched in years before your sleepless nights came to plague you. Most of the time, static veiled the music that you expected to be playing, even though you could catch slivers of familiar lyrics between the fuzzy noises. The only station you could seem to get was a talk show.

Unlike other radio shows you had heard, this one was uninterrupted by music or, like the other stations, static. There were no guests either, as all you ever heard was one voice. It was a calm voice with a playful lilt, neither too deep nor too high. To you, it was the kind of voice that seemed to pull you in a trance, as if it knew exactly which senses to numb until you were pliable to the way the sound crashed into you. If you hadn’t been having these sleepless bouts, you could probably fall asleep to his voice.

The topic of the show was lost on you. Sometimes, if you listened real close, you could hear the man talk about old urban legends or strange, magical creatures. Other times, he was murmuring about spells and recommending potion recipes. More often than not, though, you spent your time in a stupor, not listening to the yarns he was spinning. Instead, it was as if his voice pulled your spirit out of your body and led you down a path of memories lost to time.

Such an idea seemed scary, but...it was comforting, honestly, and maybe the little bit of rest you needed to prevent your body from crashing throughout the day.

With the voice in the backdrop, you found yourself going on wild adventures you felt like you lived but could not actually remember. Sometimes, you found yourself on the edge of a rocky outcrop on the coast, stormy clouds above warning you to turn away from the ocean as the ebb of the tide beckoned you closer. You could feel the salt in the wind brushing against your mist-soaked cheeks, your hair limp and wet but still blowing wildly around you. Others, you could feel the thick moss sink under your weight as you traipsed through a nameless bog, searching for a vivid, unnaturally colored mushroom you knew you had seen before but could not name. You could even see, on occasion, a dark land lit by multi-colored lanterns, a decrepit manor filled with seven rambunctious figures you thought you remembered fondly.

Then, just before the sun started to peer above the horizon, you were brought back to your body and the voice signed off, almost affectionately. The room around you, bathed in the light purple of an early dawn, almost seemed to shimmer until the sun broke the spell.

It was baffling, but you couldn’t exactly share the experience with anyone without them thinking that you were crazy. Besides, it all seemed too intimate to share, and the selfish part of you thought it’d be best to keep these moments tucked away.

As you settled in the swivel chair with the radio static in the background, aimlessly fiddling with the threads on your old shirt, you began to feel nerves bundling in your stomach. Though you couldn’t quite explain why, it seemed as if something was about to change. You eyed the radio nervously, listening to the static that would soon give way to the voice.

After a few more nerve-wracking moments, the static subsided and the relaxing, smooth voice started to poke through. There was no introduction music and he was starting to come through mid-sentence, but you already leaned back, convinced that whatever he was saying was true. The two of you were on the same wavelength, after all.

He droned on for longer than you remembered him taking, and you remain - frustratingly enough - with your body and painfully aware of the world around you. You can actually hear what he’s talking about - something about coincidences, fate, reincarnation - the stuff of a pre-teen branching into philosophical thought. You can feel your interest waning, and you even debate turning the channel and slipping back into your old attempts at falling asleep when he says something of interest.

“...and if it’s alright with you, I’ll open the line for any callers. I’ll wait for you. Whenever you’re ready.”

You froze. What? That wasn’t how this type of show was supposed to go. You had never heard him even speak about anybody else specifically, let along open up his world to anybody who was listening. The thought scared you in a weird way, the kind of fear that you were sure should only be felt in prehistoric times, an almost primal fear of invasion.

Reaching beside you, you grabbed your phone and dialed. You didn’t remember him saying the number to call, but you already knew it. You must have, because before you know it, you’re bringing the phone up to your ear.

For just a moment, as the phone in your ear rings but nothing changes on the radio.Like a child whose schoolyard crush just rejected them, you feel like a fool - until you hear a click, and the voice that greets you matches the one you’ve been listening to for endless nights.

Your voice doesn’t come through on the radio, a fact that both relieves and confuses you. Faintly, you can tell that your heart rate has picked up and your breathing has gotten shallower. The nerves from a few minutes ago pick up again. Gracelessly, you manage to stammer out a nervous, “H-hi…” while your brain catches up with the rest of your body.

“Hello, MC,” he responds, his smooth voice erasing all the bumps in your own introduction. You wonder how he knows your name, but decide to focus on how nice it sounds on his tongue. “What is it that you wish to learn tonight?”

That you’re talking to me. Me, and only me, is what your brain wants to say. Istead, your eyes dart around the room for a less...needy response. “I, uh- gosh, this is embarrassing, but I don’t think I caught your name.”

He hummed. You couldn’t tell if you were hearing his voice over the radio or the phone, but you could only hear him once - the rest of the world had been turned down to silence. “Perhaps you haven’t, in this life.”

In this life. For a moment, you swore you could see a familiar smirk in the darkest corner of your mind, one slim finger pressed against sly lips in a gesture to keep your secrets to yourself. Your face felt warmer than it had ever been, but your chest felt hollow, like you were grasping vaguely for something just out of reach.

“I didn’t mean to forget, Solomon.” The name felt right leaving your mouth, and now that you had said it, you wanted to repeat it over and over. On the other end of the line, Solomon seemed as pleased as you did.

“As long as you remember now.”

Honestly, what were you to say to that? Simply talking, really talking to Solomon had your breath robbed from your lungs. If you looked down, you could see your hands shaking, and you worried your voice might start trembling if you spoke too soon. The longer you let the silence linger, the colder you felt inside, an empty chill filling the space where something you briefly realized was torn from you should be. Whatever it was, talking to Solomon thawed you out, and you feared hanging up on him now would freeze you solid.

So you swallowed thickly and hesitantly spoke. “Do you ever dream about the ocean, Solomon?” You just wanted to say his name again.

“Who says those are dreams? Maybe they’re memories.” And surely he was right, because there was no way a simple dream could leave such a potent taste of salt in your mouth.

The way he spoke to you felt so familiar, almost safe and welcoming. Even if your conversation was only just beginning, you had the distinct sensation that you were picking up where you left off with an old companion, falling into an easy rhythm you used to find solace in. At the same time, you couldn’t shake the fact that you knew nothing about Solomon, and that this phone call was telling you that tonight was his last broadcast.

“Do you have memories of the ocean?” Your voice was breathy, and you had to catch yourself just before reciting his name a third time. What was your fascination with it? Perhaps you were trying to call out to him, to keep his attention on you. Maybe you were hoping to summon him back to you. You supposed it didn’t matter in the end, anyway.

“Yes. Not all of them are fond, though. Some parts are.”

You could practically see the way his mouth turned down at the corners, a practiced display of displeasure. He always managed to express himself without giving away too much information - he was the type of person where you knew he was upset, but you could never begin to fathom why. That’s what everyone else thought, but you were the exception. You could watch his face fall and know what he was thinking. You would be the one to lift his spirits again, once upon a time. That, you remembered. Could you ever forget?

The silence that stretched between you didn’t feel like something that needed filled. It was a language all its own, a space where you could hear the other speak without anything being said. This, you realized, is what it felt like to be so perfectly in tune with someone, to understand them completely, better than you knew yourself.

But how could you know Solomon so intimately when this was your first time speaking to him?

No...no, it wasn’t. You’ve known Solomon for longer than you’ve been alive.

“Which memories are fond?”

He didn’t answer the question. He didn’t need to. He was thinking of you in lifetimes you just learned had already come to pass.

“Are you still on air?” You asked, your voice soft and uneven. As if awaiting horrible, surprising news, you brought your free hand to your mouth and bated your breath. The world around you had come to a standstill as you awaited his answer - even turning yourself mindlessly in your chair seemed wrong, but you couldn’t force yourself to reach out with your foot and stop.

The chuckle you received was rich, velvety, and it sounded much closer and clearer than a man talking to you through a phone. “Who’s to say I was ever on air to begin with?”

Your face warmed, and you gasped. Despite the ominous words, something in your chest told you that you could trust him, that this was meant to be. All at once, the sounds of the world came back to you. The crickets were chirping, the katydids screaming, frogs calling out to one another in their summer song. From a distance away, a sudden low rumble sounded as something made impact with the ground, sending a light shockwave that shook the old branches above you and sent exhilarating chills down your spine. A shocking cloud of purple light, glimmering like all the stars in the galaxy came down to visit you, caught your attention through your window. You should be scared. You really should be, but you weren’t. You felt like the late-night bus just arrived to take you home.

Once you were out of your trance, you brought the phone back to your ear. The line had been quiet since you started asking your questions, but you could tell Solomon was still there. You didn’t need to tell him that you were back - he already knew.

“Why…?” You had no idea what you were asking about, but you did so with a hint of anticipation in your voice. This was the moment you had been waiting for all your life, but you only just realized you’d been waiting. His answer made your heart flip the way it used to.

“I was merely looking for you, my love.”

#solomon x reader #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me solomon #solomon #solomon fics #solomon fluff #mine

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staywritten · 4 years ago

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Studio Time│Bang Chan

Synopsis: Your boyfriend is producing your groups comeback and you learn the downside of dating a perfectionist.

Genre: one shot, angst-ish? Happy ending, idol!Chan, idol!reader, fluff with more fluff at the end.

Word Count: 2108

I wrote this fic like 5yrs ago for a different artist lol But I re-read it recently and still really liked it so I re-vamped it for SKZ. Especially after that episode of Weekly Idol when the members said Chan was sweet to them but he was really serious when he was making music, so I figured this was the perfect fit.

When your label announced that your comeback album will be produced by Chan you weren’t really sure what to think. You prided yourself on keeping your careers separate, but on the other hand he was an amazingly talented producer and it wasn’t often that he produced for idol girl groups.

At this point of his career he was expanding outside of doing work for just Stray Kids. It was an opportunity at which both parties benefited. He could grow his portfolio in a way that wasn’t possible when just producing for Stray Kids and he was an up and coming name in the industry.

You two didn’t date publicly but your members and management were aware of the relationship, so some of the pressure was lifted. You didn’t have to pretend like you didn’t know each other.

Walking into the JYP building, you led your members to Chan’s signature studio. Despite coming to his studio pretty regularly, it was a little nerve racking coming to it for work. You felt just as nervous as you did when meeting a new producer. “Are you excited to work with Channie? How lucky are we! What kind of producer is he?” Your youngest member chimed, hooking her arm with you.

You nodded laughing, giving her hand a little pat. “I guess we are pretty lucky.” Not many producers would be open to input, but since your members had a close relationship with your boyfriend you figured the atmosphere would be lighter. “I’m not sure how he is as a producer honestly. He’s never let me see him work before. Like I’ve seen him make beats, but never recording.”

As you all walked into his studio you smiled seeing him sitting with Han on the couch. “Wally!” you chimed giving the bright green wall a little pat.

“What about me?” Chan pouted.

“What about you?” you teased, giving him a wink.

You did your group greeting and bowed, laughing at how silly it felt. Normally that would be saved for broadcast and fan meetings but it was a force of habit as a leader.

“Awww cute!” Chan chuckled before formally introducing himself just to cover the formalities. It wasn’t often you got to see your boyfriend while working, but you also had to keep in mind that you still had to work.

Chan walked over to you, pulling you into a hug. You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling brightly. “I missed you” he grinned. You did your best to ignore the aweing from your other members and Han. His nose brushed down the bridge of yours.

“I saw you this morning” you played with the hair at his nape.

“I know, I missed you this afternoon” he laughed, pecking your lips, lingering just a moment too long.

You giggled, melting into his arms. “Aww, you’re being really cute today” you whispered, pulling back to look at him. “Don’t look at me like that” a smile tugged at your lips, as you gently grazed your nails against his scalp. “We have work yo do”

“Mmmm” he sighed into your touch. “I’m just excited to make this song. I worked so hard on it, it’s perfect for you” he smiled. “I made it just for you”

“I can’t wait” you chimed, pulling away from him. He whined letting you step back, a cute pout on his lips.

“Awww you guys are cute, it’s kinda gross” Han pretended to choke back a gag before laughing and grabbing his bag. “I gotta head to an interview, so I’ll catch you guys later.”

After the formalities, he played the demo track for you. Your members loved it. It was fun, playful and it had a bit of an edge to it. You couldn’t wait to record it. That was one of the plus sides about working with your boyfriend. You were actually very vocal at home about the direction you wanted to go in with your group.

This would be your first track of the new year, and all of your members were officially adults now. You wanted something teasing, and mature, yet still youthful and in true Chan fashion, he nailed it.

All that was left now was to record it.

One by one your members did their lines, recording their parts in manageable segments. Chan was very caring with them, almost holding their hand through the process. “Minah, try singing it like this.” he coached her through it, reiterating her part, and changing the articulation toward the end.

She was your youngest, and still wasn’t completely confident in her own voice yet so she was a lot to handle. She did her best to follow directions, but sometimes things were just out of her vocal range and when that happened Chan adjust accordingly. He coached her to give her the confidence that was needed to reach the note. Once she adjusted he clapped and gave her a thumbs up. “Very good, that was perfect! One more time, from the top.” In the end he changed up her part to best suit her voice and she had a cleaner take.

You were proud seeing him so kind. You couldn’t help but watch him with the brightest warmth in your eyes. Your group were like your baby sisters and he was being so good to them.

Unfortunately Minah wasn’t the most difficult take of the day, but he worked with each one of them carefully. In their defense it was a difficult song to sing. It was a very dynamic with lots of changes, not only was this a genre change from your groups usual music it pushed your vocalist and rappers to step up.

Soon enough it was your turn to record.

Although you couldn't really call it recording.

Chan wasted no time in stopping you every few words. Perhaps you were spoiled with how doting and sweet he was with your members. Because it seemed that he had no intentions of treating you in such a manner.

“Babe, can you do it seriously?”

“No- Again that sounds horrible”

“Do it again”

“Again, from the top.”

“Again”

“It’d be nice if I had a single sample I could use.”

“If you can’t do it, perhaps we should have someone else do it?”

“This is kind of embarrassing”

Was this even the same person? You understood constructive criticism. Constructive is what he was with your members. This was just being mean. You slipped off your headphones and glared at him when he stopped you again. That time you were in the middle of another take. It would have been nice to get a single line out with his opinion.

You hated that you wanted to cry.

You had to deal with some pretty tough critics. Producers, songwriters, choreographers, your CEO. Making an album was a high stress process with a lot of hands on deck. It was your job, so naturally it wasn’t going to go smoothly. Especially when everyone had different creative views, but this was the worst recording you’ve ever dealt with in the entirety of your music career.

You just hated being yelled at.

He knew that better than anyone. All those nights, you would come home from work and he’d have to console you after you’d been scolded. Chan knew that yelling immediately shut you down. You bit back your tears, wanting to hold it together for your members. You could see them struggling from behind the glass. It looked like they wanted to say something, at least tell Chan to ease up, but you shook your head and took a deep breath.

Normally you would avoid confrontation and just sing it the way the producer wanted, but you just couldn’t do it. Because what Chan wanted, wasn’t you.

You finally set the headphones on the rack inside before walking out. “Where are you going?” he frowned watching you take your backpack. “We don’t have anything for your part. We need to start from the beginning”

You shrugged. “Give my part to Jieun, she’ll do it better”

Jieun gasped before reaching out to you, shaking her head profusely. “What? But Unnie-”

“It’s fine” you gave her a small smile, trying to calm her. “I’ll call the company directly and tell them I can’t participate in the recording”

“But it’s our comeback track! You can’t not have a part in it” Minah grabbed your hand. She looked back at Chan “Tell her to stay.” Seeing the hesitation in his eyes she frowned more “Chan tell-”

“That’s enough.” you gave her head a small pat. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get out of here. I’ll check in on you later.” you looked to your second in command “Jieun you’re in charge.”

Chan rolled his eyes before crossing his arms over his chest. “So you’re just leaving? Do you always quit like this? Is that the way you lead?”

You froze, hearing his words.

Was he trying to hurt you? What could you have possibly done? He was fine earlier. You gripped your fist, your body shaking before leaving the room with your head held high. You knew when someone was trying to get a rise out of you, and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

On your way through the lobby you ran into Han. He smiled initially seeing you, but as you wiped away your tears he frowned. “Hey…” His gentle voice pulled you out of your thoughts. It was too gentle. Almost sympathetic. You looked up, scrambling to bring a smile on your face. That signature idol smile you gave to the cameras. “You don’t have to do that…” he gave your shoulder a small pat. “Do you wanna get some coffee?”

You sat across from Han at the cafe across the street. He didn't push you to speak. He just gave you a moment to sort out your feelings, let you take your time and figure out what to say.

He sipped on his drink. “Chan-Hyung was being a jerk huh?”

It wasn’t really a question. There was a certain understanding in his voice. You looked up at him, your eyes narrowing. “Is he always like that?”

He chuckled. “Sometimes. Chan is a perfectionist. Always was. Always will be. There are times when our group has come to blows because Chan can just be a little too much when criticizing. Threatening to remove Changbin-Hyung’s part from the song, getting frustrated in vocal ranges…real harsh criticisms...things like that. I don’t even think he’s aware of when he’s doing it.” he sighed. “Like when we record it just seems like the stress finally gets to him.”

Your shoulders slumped. “But he was really nice to my members…Absolutely sweet to them…he was only mean to me. Not that I would want him to yell at my girls-I’d literally kill him. But…” you sighed staring into your coffee. “Why was he being so mean…”

“He was probably being extra careful with your members…”

“What do you mean?”

“When we were recording our collaborative stage with Niziu, Chan was really nice to them. Doting, constructive, an angel. But that day was hell on us. It’s like he had pent up frustrations and just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I swear Minho-Hyung almost quit that day.”

“What type of bullshit excuse is that?”

He shrugged. “No excuse. Just how it is…Like he can only be himself with people that he knows will forgive him. He can be an ass sometimes, but he sure does put out amazing songs.”

“But at what cost?” you sighed, taking a sip of your coffee.

Later that night Chan came home, sheepishly poking his head inside to see you sitting on the couch. His eyes widened as he entered. “You’re still here?” his voice a little more surprised than he’d like to let on. A lingering bit of reliefe to his tone.

You sighed turning the page of your book “I was going to leave your ass. But I figured we should at least talk. Despite what you make think of me. I’m not a quitter” you set your book down before crossing your arms. “So talk.”

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier. It’s just-” he groaned, raking his hand through his curly hair. “The track wasn’t going where I wanted to. It was getting away from me…The only way I’d like the track was for your part to be exactly what I envisioned...for you to bring everything back”

It made sense he did give you the biggest part of the song. The chorus, and bridge were the most memorable of his demo and he gave them to you. He even had you sing the demo for the company to pitch the idea. At the time you thought it was sweet, you had no idea the burden it’d be.

It was obvious this song was made to be a solo for you.

“Your members did their best, but they just didn’t have the vocal range to do the song the way I envisioned it… So I made adjustments and compromises...” he sighed heavily. “And more adjustments...and more compromises...” he rubbed his temples. “Especially because if they can’t sing it at recording they wouldn’t be able to perform it on stage. So one change became another….” he sighed heavily, slumping into the chair. “I loved the song so much because it’s what I knew you wanted to release… But they just couldn’t...and…”

“I don’t think we can work together Chan…” you frowned. “You’re my boyfriend, and an amazing producer…but you can’t be both. In order for us to be happy with the track, and in order for me to be happy with our relationship we can’t work together.”

“We can still make it work. Let’s try again tomorrow.” he looked so hopeful. “I promise I won’t yell, and I-”

“You don’t understand Chan. You made me hate you.” your voice small, as you looked down.

He sank down into himself. His shoulders slumping, hurt etched on his delicate features. Never in his lifetime would he have thought you’d say that. “You…You hated me?”

“I did…for a little bit…You made me hate myself…You made me feel like an inadequate leader, you made me question myself.” you hugged your knees. “I can’t feel like that ever again. I’m responsible for six other girls who look up to me. It’s so easy to get ransacked in this industry, to be pushed and pulled into concepts. They need to believe in me. I need to believe in me and my ability, but with you… I couldn’t. So for my sake…Let’s drop the project.”

He closed his eyes before nodding. “Alright…” He hated that he made you feel that way. He never intended it on getting that bad. He just panicked when he listened to the track, and you were the last person to record. You were supposed to be the saving grace of it. He wasn’t going to release something he didn’t at least like. Once again his overly perfectionist ways almost cost him something he wasn’t willing to lose. “I am sorry…” he whispered.

Producing was one of his greatest joys in the world, and singing was yours. There was just something so utterly heartbreaking knowing that you could never share your passions together. “I know…I’m sorry too.”

He bundled you in his arms, letting you lay your head on his chest. He pressed a kiss on top of your head. “I have one more compromise”

“You don’t give up do you?” you felt your lips tugging to a smile. “What’s your compromise lover boy?”

“What about I talk to your company into giving you this song for a solo for later this year? And you, me and Jisung write up a new song for your group comeback?”

“There’s no time”

He chuckled. “If anyone can write a song in crunch mode it’s Han Jisung” he smoothed down your hair. “I think with your help we can write something that’s mroe ideal for your girls”

“But a solo-”

“Baby I wrote that song for you.” he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours. “That song was yours...And I need you to have it. You said your company was planning a solo debut anyway... so sing this.”

“Chan I love you so much...But I can’t record an album with you”

His beautiful brown eyes gazed into you. “I offered you a compromise, offer me one too”

You pouted. “Fine, since you’re in the mood to make a deal. I’ll take your solo song only if I record with Jisung, and Changbin.”

“Deal” You smiled gently scratching his scalp, and placing a kiss at the base of his throat. “Mmmm...” a groan echoed from his throat. “I’m so sorry about today Baby”

“It’s fine” you relaxed into his touch as he traced patterns into your skin absently. You grinned. “It’s nice to know that you’re not perfect”

He chuckled, throwing his head back. “I never claimed to be perfect”

“Oh yeah?” You sat back, crawling onto his lap. A smile on your lips as you gazed into his eyes. “Mr. Perfect hair” you played with the hair on his nape. “Perfect smile” you placed a kiss on his lips. “Perfect dimples” your thumb brushing against his dimple. “Perfect voice” you pressed a kiss on his adam’s apple. “You are perfect in a million different ways.” you giggled “You’re just not meant t be my producer”

“I can live with loving you in a million other ways.” he stood up, lifting you in his arms and carrying you into the bedroom, your laughs echoing and filling the house.

End.

Hey Friends! I hope you enjoyed that. It was nice revisiting an old fic and breathing some new life into it. If you liked it let me know <3

I’m sorry my Felix scenario is taking so long... I’ve rewritten it like 8 times and I’m getting a bit overwhelmed I’m gonna try and revisit it when my mind is clearer. I’ve been starting at the screen for far too long.

Masterlist

∘Tags List:

@skzsprinkles @tophuphu @hugs4chan @channieboyo @tonfilm @innivspearb @mini-meanhoe @poutychangbinnie

#stray kids #stray kids scenario #stray kids oneshots #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #bang chan #bang chan oneshots #christopher bang #bang chan scenarios #bang chan angst #skz angst #skz chan #kpop scenario #kpop imagines

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years ago

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Sparks of Life Opera Edition

I am still not over Singing a New Tune so I am going to recap for you the experience of writing that fic because there were many interesting moments over the course of those three days. Lemme start from the beginning.

- So I’m writing a fic that mostly focuses on sexual stuff but it is also mainly happening in an opera so my first order of business is to figure out what that opera is. Both the building itself and the show they’ll be watching. Because that is of utmost importance.

- I have already mentioned that SoL is located in New York so I looked up New York operas. I do not vibe with research most of the time but I vibe even less with having to come up with names for any kind of thing so research was definitely the choice here.

- I somehow get results about operas that are in the other end of the USA. That was not great. I get to the Metropolitan Opera House at last (which I might have known existed if I cared about opera in any way, shape or form) which is great! I am so close to starting the fic! Just need to figure out what opera they’re watching. Because I need that for reasons.

- I end up downloading a PDF with the seatings inside the Met Opera so that I can figure out where the hell they will be seating. But I leave that for later. I look through the actual plays that they’re having while absolutely failing with the navigation of their site. I find a show that catches my eye. It’s called The Magic Flute. I have zero idea what it’s about so I read the Wikipedia summary just to be aware. It mentions that a character has a moment when he’s singing about his search for a wife and I think “Perfect! Foreshadowing!” (since this is set pretty early on in Griffin and Valtor’s relationship).

- I decide to look up the opera and see if I can find a part of it on youtube to figure out how it will sound. I am pretty sold on it already because of the summary I read and also because it implies there is magic as a subject in it which would call back to canon. Still, I look it up. I find a full version of it on the internet with English subtitles... It is 2 hours and 35 minutes:

youtube

- “Wow, okay... that’s a bit much. But hey, it has got subtitles in English. Maybe I’d actually watch that... once I’m done with the fic. I’m just gonna listen to a little bit while I finish my research, though, so I can have an idea of what it sounds like.”

- Now it’s time to open the engagement fic - Enough to Be Yours - because I don’t remember what year they got engaged in and I need that to reverse engineer the year in which this fic is taking place so that I can make sure that The Magic Flute was being performed back then. I don’t have an year stated in the engagement fic, though. I have a date - 9th October which is Friday and that means the year is 2015. Great! So I need to figure out if they were performing The Magic Flute back in 2010. Great.

- That takes a shit ton of time and nerves as it turns out. I spent over 4 hours just researching the logistics for this fic and a lot of that was unnecessary but I’m getting ahead of myself.

- I cannot find out whether they were performing the Magic Flute in 2010. I get results of it being broadcast in English (for the first time, I believe) in 2012 but that is way too late for this fic to be happening. Also, they are speaking of a broadcast which just doesn’t work for me. So I am having a hard time over here.

- I find a list of the new titles in 2011 but nothing mentions The Magic Flute as far as I can see.

- I am now considering switching to another opera. I see an opera that is based on events from The Song of the Nibelungs (I cannot be assed to go back and check what the actual title was). That catches my eye because I have read a book that was titled The Ring of the Nibelungs, I believe, and I kinda remember stuff from it... which is what makes me hesitate because that was a big tragedy.

- Meanwhile, I have stumbled upon a trailer for The Magic Flute:

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MY GOD IS THAT BEAUTIFUL! THOSE PROPS ARE FUCKING GORGEOUS! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN THAT YOU GET TO GO AND SEE THAT LIVE? THAT IS NUTS! (Also, when I mentioned paper birds (I think they are) in the fic, I meant the ones shown in 0:13, not the big one in the beginning but HOLY SHIT, DID YOU SEE THAT THING????? HOW IS THAT REAL?!?!?!?! IT IS SO FUCKING AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I CAN’T. I AM DYING. THIS IS JUST TOO BEAUTIFUL.)

- I somehow happen upon an old archive of the opera (idk how I did that but I bookmarked it in case I’ll need it again) that has information about plays going back as far as the year 1900. This is nuts! I am in too deep but I can’t pull myself away. I’ve gotten this far, I will see it through.

- I search for keyword “flute” and I get results. Some of them are pretty old but I finally find what I need. Performances of the Magic Flute in 2010! Bingo!

- ...Oh, wait, they’re all around Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Hmm... when will it be okay for them to go? I mean, Valtor has been established to have zero free time around that time of the year and I can’t see them going on the 24th or the 31st... Oh, those are matinees. Definitely no! I need them to go in the evening. And some of these are broadcasts which doesn’t work for me either.

- I looked up earlier years as well. I considered another opera again. I decided to switch up the timeline a little. It makes sense if it’s in 2009. I think they had spring performances of The Magic Flute then. Or was it 2008? Anyway, I finally settle on an early April date in 2009 (I think). Now that that’s settled, let’s go back to the seats.

- First I need to figure out what floor (let’s say) of the opera they’re on. I was thinking of the last one first (family circle) but the boxes (I figure those seats will be safest for their activities) look like this:

which isn’t vibing with me because they would be in the front row and it seems more visible. So I relocate to the previous floor (balcony) that looks like this:

That works a little better although there’s the danger of having more people in their box. But they’re sitting in box 14, seats 5 (Griffin) and 6 (Valtor) (where the arrow is pointing) and there’s only one man in seat 4 in front of them. So that is the best I can do.

- Wow, all that’s finally figured out. I decide to do all the rest of the research up front in order to be able to just write after that and not stop for another 4 hours. More on those other things later BUT I get to the part where I need to pick a vibrator and... well, I done fucked up.

- First thing that comes up for a remote controlled vibrator is Lush, of course. And I am immediately sold because it has a sound activated setting which Valtor will definitely love to utilize while in the opera.

BUT

Lush 2 (which is the first one to have the sound activated setting, I believe) came out in 2018. Even if we accept that Lush also has it, that came out in 2015. My fic is set in 2009. Searching for 2009 vibrators literally went no where so in the end I decided that the SoL verse is actually set in a parallel universe where time is a little warped so the Lush 2 is out in 2009. Plus, that way there isn’t going to be a pandemic in future installments. Overall, that works. Except that I needn’t have been so thorough with my opera research beforehand. Oh, well. It’s finally time to start writing.

- How do you write? How do you start a fic? One word in front of the other? Oh, okay, never mind. Lipstick is a girl’s best friend. Let’s start from there. And a kiss that leads to the discussion of lipstick... Damn, I forgot to spend one more hour on researching what kind of lipstick Griffin would have worn. Shame! You don’t get that detail now. I believe I didn’t even mention a shade.

- Oh, wait. Need for his breath to taste like something. Hmm, let’s see. Tonic water? Yeah, that sounds about right. Never mind that he should have probably drunk it right before getting out of the car to kiss her if it was still lingering on his breath. I mean, that’s not impossible. Just improbable.

- He’s also wearing cologne, right? Gotta research that too. How else would I get this:

and zero idea what it actually smells like despite the description. Also, did not check if that was a thing in 2009 but the story now exists in a vacuum so who cares.

- Apparently, Griffin doesn’t own any golden bracelets even though she does have a golden necklace? Or she could have a golden bracelet, just not one she likes for the current situation? Anyway, I wanted to mention Ediltrude as well because the twins always go together and that was the best I came up with. (That said, I didn’t need to put the mentions of them one sentence apart.)

- My god, I used a semicolon! That feels illegal. I sure hope I used that bitch correctly.

- Okay, I absolutely love all the banter and just flow in the car. Idk how I did that since it’s such a constricted space but I am really proud of it. However, the logistics were sometimes hard to logic my way through. I mean, Valtor doesn’t get to look at her a lot and I had to employ a red traffic light to give him the chance to do so.

- I hit a wall about three paragraphs later. Things started going in a weird direction. I was considering even deleting the last two lines but then I managed to get back on track thanks to having figured out how they met and I decided to write a little bit about that without spoiling it (that will be a fic of its own some day). Suffice it to say it was a meet-very-ugly. But it bailed me out. Also, they got over it so it’s all good.

- And now... that paragraph. You know which one I’m talking about. It stands out with the locations I’ve given. That paragraph required 30 minutes of looking at Google Earth to figure it out and I still nearly got it wrong. At that point it occurred to me that they’ll need a place to park. I mean, idk how parking is in NYC but it’s probably not the way it is in Bulgaria especially on small neighborhood streets where it’s just... park wherever (even in front of a garage if you’re brazen enough and don’t fear having your tires slashed). So first, I was going to have them coming down Tenth Avenue and passing by the backside of the Opera which is not ideal for me because I needed Griffin to figure out they’re going to the opera so that they can have the following dialogue. But there is the New York Public Library of the Performing Arts right next door so I figure Griffin will recognize the area if it’s next to a library. And I have them almost at the garage but... that’s not looking right. This garage is on 65th Street and mine is on 62nd... I have been looking at the wrong garage for the past hour. Now that I have caught that mistake, things get easier. They just drive right past the facade of the opera, take a right turn and then enter the garage. Easy peasy. For whoever’s actually paying attention to the map.

- They’re in the garage now and I have to write another kiss. Shoot! I do not vibe with writing kisses. Writing sex scenes is much easier. But I’ll try my best because this is a little bit necessary if we’re dealing with an insertion of a vibrator in a public bathroom one minute from now. (Again, logistics!) I actually went back to add in a little discomfort during the kiss (but not too much because they’re consumed with each other anyway and probably missed something) just to make it more realistic. They can’t be comfortable in the car. Also, you have got to love how I never even thought of what make the car is. But I did stop to research the tinting of the car windows.

- Now this is extremely funny but I would have had zero idea that there are different laws about how tinted your car windows can be in the USA if I hadn’t read a very extensive critique of Fifty Shades (whichever part it was that had that info). So I look up the VLT for New York and it says 70%. Great! Then it won’t be that visible through the windows what they’re doing inside. Oh, wait! VLT means Visible Light Transmission aka 70% of the light should be passing through the window. Aka it is only tinted on 30%. This much:

That’s practically nothing. You can see everything through it. Welp, then someone’s gonna see, I guess.

- Can’t believe I didn’t stop to look up clutches either. (Lmao, I was calling it a purse instead of a clutch at first even though I definitely meant a clutch. And then I remembered that clutch existed as a word. Who would’ve thought?) It’s baffling trying to figure out why my brain was prioritizing some details over others and I just genuinely have no idea what was going on.

- Griffin is blushing a lot in this. Can you tell I have no idea how else to convey Valtor giving her feelings through body language?

- I first envisioned the box being opened by the hair pin by turning it like a key. Only later did I realize that that wouldn’t be possible because the pin has two parts (whatever they’re called) and that would make turning it impossible unless all of the base fits into one hole in the lid of the box. So I had to adapt my vision to using the extensions at the ends of the hair pin like a hook that pulls the lid up once it’s clicked free. I have zero idea how that would be done but I’m sure it can be done. So yeah, anyway, the pin looks like this but with attachments at the ends to open the box:

- I might have gone a little overboard with Griffin’s reaction to having the vibrator inside her. I might have made her a bit too embarrassed but I still think that she simply wouldn’t appreciate someone knowing about what she considers a private experience (despite the very public setting).

- And I am being overly specific again with the seats but I worked for that information so you’re getting it against your will!

- Speaking of, that man in their box was pretty ignored throughout the fic. But then again Griffin wasn’t overflowing with lucidity. She is sure to have missed... A Lot, actually.

- My apologies (once again) to @her-majesty-wears-jeans for not letting Griffin punch Valtor in the face for the terrible pun he was about to make but I thought that that would ruin the mood so I had to skip it.

- I might have imagined things a little differently but then consent factored in and I had to change things up so that Griffin is clearly on board with everything. I hope it came through that way at least. She is on board even if she is very, very frustrated. She would never throw the bet just because it’s difficult for her. Though, I’m taking note for future fics of maybe being a little bit more explicit about the enjoyment of all parties involved. I just couldn’t really think of a way to convey it better back then and I am coming up with several ideas now and I will try to keep them in mind for future fics.

- I keep going back and forth on just how far into their relationship this is. Sometimes it feels like it’s not enough time for them to get this familiar with each other and sometimes it feels like too much for them to still be skirting their feelings for each other like that. Will update when I make up my mind about how long exactly it has been.

- In retrospect, probably should have picked up an opera that people would be less likely to bring their children to (as brought to my attention by @her-majesty-wears-jeans). I apologize for this. Did not consider it at all.

- A wild tangent about Griffin’s sexual experiences before Valtor popped up (for the second time now). This is giving me thoughts and I am not even sure if I’ll manage to get them all out in the bachelorette party fic. Oh, no, I am getting ideas again.

- God, I had to mention those paper birds because I adore them. Also, needed to do a time skip somehow (sure hope they don’t show up at the very end or the very beginning).

- So there are some things about the whole thing with the suit jacket that if you squint, you’ll miss the very far-fetched and convoluted ways in which I could make them make sense but again, it isn’t impossible to make them operate according to logic so good enough.

- And now for the dress:

I thought it would be reasonable for Griffin to own something like that. It doesn’t look overly expensive or dramatic.

- I swear that most of the 2% angst was an accident. Griffin was supposed to say the “You paid how much for tickets exactly just so you could fool around?” line but the following few paragraphs sprang on me out of nowhere. That was where I left it off the first day I was working on it and I wasn’t sure how to continue it. Then the angst happened.

- I do not believe the retaliation part was planned but would it really be a Griffin x Valtor story if something like that hadn’t happened? XD

- “reverberated”, “multitudinous” and “unobtainable” are probably not words that Griffin’s muddled mind would go to in that precise moment but everything else I came up with for them just did not sound right.

- I completely forgot the word for neckline and was so mad at myself for that but, luckily, I managed to remember it before posting the fic. I believe the original read “he slipped a finger under the fabric of her dress, running it over the top of her breast” which is not incorrect but just not precise enough for my liking.

- Sure hope the shortened version of the opera did not cut out the ending musical sequence. But that seems unlikely.

- The idea was running overly long in my head by having them going back to the penthouse so that I could have the scene where he picked her up so I decided to move things around and have him carry her bridal style on their way from the opera to the car. It’s not like she didn’t earn it.

- Pretty sure I had planned something a little different for the last several lines of dialogue but I couldn’t remember what so we get this. Which isn’t a disadvantage. I mean, Griffin is already thinking of marrying him. XD (That’s probably a bit of a stretch at the current status of their relationship but then again, she was thinking of a wedding, not necessarily of their wedding even though I’m clearly a little romance gargoyle that meant exactly that.)

- Originally, Valtor was supposed to floor the brakes while they were out in the NYC traffic but then I decided that doing it while still in the garage with only one car behind them and both vehicles driving at a very slow speed was a lot safer so I switched to that. It also saved me writing more words which was appreciated. I thought this fic would be a bit shorter.

- I was at a loss for how many orgasms Griffin should want from him but then the commitment line happened and that was all avoided.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #sparks of life #singing a new tune #trivia #trivia tuesday #research #my writing process #the magic flute #yeah no cut and this is gonna be hell on mobile #i know #i'm evil

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twokinkybeans · 4 years ago

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Stark On Ice: Starker Figure Skating AU Chapter 1

Summary: Six months ago, the broadcasters asked Tony to participate in Celebrity Spin-Off; an annual TV series where celebrities get paired up with a professional figure skater and compete against each other. Well, he’d laughed in their faces, wondering why they’d even ask. Were they really that stupid? He had better things to do. “If you can find me a male skater who lets me lead, I’m in,” he’d scoffed sarcastically to brush them off.

He didn't expect them to take his answer seriously.

Masterpost (to be posted) Find On AO3

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Chapter One: Let Me Entertain You Tony readjusts his jacket as he walks into the large building that is the Midtown Ice Arena. It’s a few minutes before 7 AM, and he already downed a triple espresso on his way here - amusedly ignoring Happy’s complaints about it being so damn early. He will give the man a raise soon. Tony can’t say he’s a morning person, but having to get up this early every single day for three months in a row helps to get used to it. Today is different, though. He feels jittery and on-edge just thinking about today’s events. It’s the final rehearsal. Tonight he’s going to skate in front of the entirety of the States. He knows many people won’t even bother to watch the TV series, but the idea has him slightly nauseous anyway. His first live show…

Live show.

Tony chuckles sarcastically at himself as he sits down on one of the benches in the changing room. Live show. Six months ago, the broadcasters asked him to participate in Celebrity Spin-Off; an annual TV series where celebrities get paired up with a professional figure skater and compete against each other. Well, he’d laughed in their faces, wondering why they’d even ask. Were they really that stupid? He had better things to do. “If you can find me a male skater who lets me lead, I’m in,” he’d scoffed sarcastically to brush them off.

He’s still not sure why they took his answer seriously, but they had. Tony Stark doesn’t back out of a promise, though. So, here he is, lacing up his skates after three months of intensive training, ready to work through his choreo together with his assigned partner Peter Parker. From what Tony’s heard, Peter is a pretty big deal in the skating world. He’s a sweet, enthusiastic 21-year-old who has enough talent and skill in pair skating to participate in the Olympics, yet he’d chosen not to. Instead, he tours across the US with Stars On Ice, coaches young kids at Midtown, and has a YouTube channel where he and his partner MJ post routines with traditional gender roles reversed. Tony admires Peter’s passion. The man doesn’t like other people very fast, but Peter was something else entirely. He’s endearing in a way. It’s easy to like him. Which, thank god, is a positive thing. They’ve had to train together for a minimum of eighteen hours for the past three months - both on ice and off. Tony had been surprised to see that the theory classes and off-rink practice were just as important.

When Tony finishes lacing up his skates he walks towards the rink, finally knowing how to do that without looking like a waddling duck. A smile creeps onto his face when he spots his partner on the ice already. The boy moves around ever so graciously, practicing his triple axel. A few days prior, Peter told him he hadn’t done it in a while, and he and MJ intend to use it in their new YouTube tutorial, so he’s been wanting to perfect his landing. It’s not like he pops it, but the boy isn’t content very easily. Tony enjoys watching him rehearse no matter how he lands. He’s so beautiful out there. Like he was born to skate. After landing perfectly three times, Peter slows down to give himself a short break, and that’s when he spots Tony at the entrance. The man waves awkwardly and Peter grins. “Mornin’, grumpy-head!” Peter laughs as he skates towards him. “Well, look at you. Always a beaming ray of sunshine, aren’t ya?” “You know me too well, Mr. Stark. Hope you didn’t forget to apply your sunscreen today!” Peter jokes, jumping off the ice to give Tony a short hug. Tony hates to admit he likes that Peter greets him like that every single day. The boy isn’t scared of him, unlike most other people. Another reason why Tony likes him. He grunts as a response to the joke and nudges Peter. “Think it’s time to start training. Steve here yet?” Tony asks, looking around to see if he spots their coach. Peter shakes his head. “No, his car broke down a few blocks from Midtown, he’ll be here soon enough. Let’s start warming up so we can dive right into the sequence when he gets here.” “Yes, coach.”

“Why- Why do these outfits have to be so glittery,” Tony jests as he eyes himself in the mirror. He’s wearing a tight and stretchy black button-up with thick, gold seams and shiny gold beads all over it. Thank god his pants are a simple plain black. Peter is adjusting his hair right next to him. The metallic gold tee hugs the boy’s skin so incredibly tight that Tony can’t help his gaze from wandering down a little, peeking at the boy’s gorgeous abs. Peter grins as he follows Tony’s gaze. “Well, I guess that’s why,” Peter retorts, and Tony blushes. He sniffs, staring at his own reflection again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Says the man who asked for a male partner. I still don’t-” “Oh shush,” Tony cuts him off playfully and waves his hand in the air. Peter simply chuckles and finishes styling his curls. They’re silent for a moment and Tony’s thoughts wander. He hadn’t meant to stare like that. Yes, he was bisexual but that doesn’t mean he liked Peter like that. They were already making headlines on entertainment websites. He can’t even imagine what’d happen if they’d actually feel something for each other. That’d be insane and highly unprofessional. The kid is too young, and- No. Tony doesn’t even have to make excuses for himself. Peter is nice. That’s it.

Thinking about them making the news doesn’t exactly settle his nerves. People are interested in them. Tony Stark on skates must be high-end entertainment for many people in itself, but the fact that they’re a male couple… He knows the public’s eye is on them tonight. “So tell me, kid. How does one contain nerves for a show, uh?” Tony asks, trying to keep it casual but failing massively. A gentle smile tugs on Peter’s lips. “Experience. Trusting yourself,” he starts. “You know, Tony. You won’t be flawless tonight. But that’s okay, remember? No one will be. Flawless is not what we aim for. Chemistry. Engaging the public, and-” “-just having fun on the ice,” Tony finishes for him with a nod. Peter has told him this many times before, but the reminder does settle his nerves. Tony’s a beginner, but he’s got the name and his charm. And Peter... They’ve got a pretty good shot. “Exactly. Now, tell me- what are you most nervous about?” “Honestly?” “Well, yes.” “Dropping you.” Peter sighs and takes a step closer to Tony. “You won’t. You’ve only dropped me once, and I wasn’t even hurt. Even if it were to happen, I know how to take a fall. We’ll be alright. You’re one of the best skaters in this competition. You’re gonna ace this.” “Thank you, Pete. Hey, for what it counts, I’m glad you’re my skating partner.” “And I’m glad you’re mine.”

Tony’s throat is dry, his heart beating rapidly in his chest when his fingers tangle into Peter’s. The boy is so close to him, just like during practice. It grounds him. The floor manager smiles at them. “Good luck out there, you ready for it?” Tony nods, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Smile. He should smile. Peter squeezes his hands once and Tony takes a deep breath. He’s got this. They’ve got this. The floor manager signals, “-Standing by…” Oh, God. This is it. Tony sniffs. His hands feel sweaty, his stomach knots together once more. As much as he appears to be comfortable in public, the moment right before always has him on edge. Any moment now. His gaze focused on the floor manager. Waiting for her cue. “And go!”

Tony forces his most charming smile on his face when he skates forward in unison with Peter, the cheers of the audience enveloping him. They stop in the center of the rink and he guides Peter in front of him. The boy’s arms are crossed in front of his chest. Tony puts a hand on Peter’s right shoulder. It’s quiet for a second, but then the familiar tune starts playing and Tony licks his lips. Peter smirks, pushing his skates into the ice to circle around the man, Tony’s gaze tracking him until he’s in front once again.

Hell is gone and heaven’s here There’s nothing left for you to fear Shake your arse come over here Now scream

Peter twirls and presses into Tony’s side. They grin at each other and skate forward, towards the edge of the rink. Tony’s nerves finally settle when he focuses on just how smooth Peter glides over the ice. The loud music cuts off the sounds of their blades crushing the frozen surface beneath them, but Tony hears it in his mind instead. He knows exactly where to turn, where to move. Peter sends him a little nod right before they go into the crossovers. Tony doesn’t like crossovers all that much, it makes him feel stiff and uncoordinated. Yet, somehow his body seems to do it on autopilot today, simply mimicking Peter’s lead.

I’m a burning effigy Of everything I used to be You’re my rock of empathy, my dear

Tony feels powerful in a way, his movements loosening up with every passing second. It’s time for their waltz jump. He turns around to transition into backward crosscuts and then shifts his weight from the right outer edge to the left one, throwing his right leg up in front. He gasps when he feels how smoothly he lifts off the ice. He’s flying through the air, weightless, and a quick glance confirms that Peter is too. When his right foot hits the ice again, he bends his right knee and extends his left leg behind him. The applause envelopes him like a warm blanket and the adrenaline coursing through his veins is an exhilarating sensation. He did it. He did it!

So come on let me entertain you Let me entertain you Let me entertain you

Tony turns around again to find Peter skating in his direction with a proud and goofy grin on his face. Tony’s heart leaps out of his chest when he realizes his partner is just as impressed as he is. Their hands find each other as they increase their speed to make it through another set of crossovers. Tony doesn’t even worry about them anymore at this point. Everything is just fucking amazing.

Let me entertain you Let me entertain you (let me entertain you) So come on let me entertain you (let me entertain you) Let me entertain you (let me entertain you)

Tony takes a deep breath when he realizes it’s time for their lift. He sets off for his continuous three turns and feels how Peter starts leaning into him. The man prepares for the boy to jump up from the ice gracefully. When Peter does so, he easily catches him and they spin into their rotational lift. Tony loves this one - loves to have Peter in his arms bridal style while spinning around and around and around while remembering his words. Don’t be afraid of the speed. Stalling is falling. Tony doesn’t feel like they’re falling. No, it feels like they’re floating, setting off for space.

Come on come on come on come on Come on come on come on come on Come on come on come on come on

Peter moves slightly, indicating it’s time for Tony to help him back down again. They transition into forward strokes toward the center once more and slow down. Their arms are spread wide proudly. Peter then circles Tony just like he did in the beginning, leaning into Tony’s side when the music comes to an end. He can’t help wrapping an arm around him to pull him in closer, bathing in the applause and the cheers that are thrown their way. Oh my god. They pulled it off. He can’t believe they did it. Of course, he doesn’t have Peter’s finesse but fuck. As Peter would say, they aced it. Together.

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Next Chapter: To Be Posted

#adult peter parker #peter parker #peter x tony #tony x peter #tony stark #ironspider #starker #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fic #fan fiction #ao3 fanfic #marvel #mcu #stark on ice #au #alternate universe

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labyrinthof-fan-fiction · 4 years ago

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That Love was an Ember About to Billow

Part 8 of Try to Remember

Bucky X music teacher fem!Reader

Summary: First night at Tony’s Cabin, aftermath of the press.

A/N: You poor sweet angels that thought they were going to have a nice week away. If you come for how I make tea, so help me god I’ll probably cry.

Warnings: Angst, Feeling Unworthy, Anxiety, Anxiety attacks, Long Hair Bucky (I need this as a warning)

Word Count: 2,081

About an hour into the drive you couldn’t take the silence and you paired your phone with the car’s wifi and turned on your 40’s playlist. Bucky’s thumb began to rub against the back of your hand. A few weeks ago you had been telling him about some recordings that had been found and he started naming off his favorite tunes, which lead you to create a playlist for him. A few of the songs were ones you had heard before. Listening to the music of his time often soothed Bucky, but it helped when you were at his side.

Bucky glanced over at you listening to the music as he drove the road. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t worried. He had panicked when he got the news that the press had gotten ahold of your name and apartment. He had felt his soldier side awakening, wanting to protect you, but he was so sure he had him pushed down deep inside himself. He watched your face as you sang along to the music, you seemed calm, but he could see the way your eyes flitted around as you glanced out the windshield, the way your knee continued to bounce. You were obviously nervous, anyone would be if they had gone through what you had today.

“Doll?” He asked, giving your hand a squeeze.

“Hmmm?” You asked turning to meet his blue eyes.

“How are you doing?” He asked, bringing your hand up to his lips for a quick kiss.

“I’m okay, still processing.” You replied, eyes raking over his body. “How are you?”

He sighed, head resting back against the headrest, hand still wrapped around yours. “Still processing.” He smiled at you, “But glad that you are safe.”

You smiled back, “I’m glad you’re okay too.”

The sounds of the music filled the car as you pulled up to the cabin, it was more traditional than you had expected from Tony, but it felt right. Bucky grabbed the bags out of the car and nodded to you to continue to the cabin. The doors opened as you stepped in.

“Good Evening Sergeant Barnes, Miss.” Jarvis’ voice stated as you entered the cabin.

“Hello Jarvis.” You answered, glancing at Bucky as he placed your bags on the floor.

The coffee table in the center of the living room lit up. “Here is the floor plan of the room, you can have your choice of guest rooms or the master bedroom. Everything has been cleaned, kitchen has been stocked, if you need anything just let me know. I can also go over the security protocols if you wish.”

“Maybe later.” Bucky responded.

“Thank you.” You said to Jarvis.

“You’re welcome.” Jarvis answered as the coffee table holograph disappeared.

You turned to Bucky, “You could have at least been polite.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Add it to my list, be kind to Stark’s disembodied voice.” You walked to the couch and sat down letting out a sigh, you looked over to Bucky who was still nervously standing in the doorway. He fidgeted with his fingers for a moment. “I’m going to go check security with Jarvis."

“Okay.” You answered, watching him walk into another room. You picked up the remote and turned on the television. Immediately you were greeted by a news report with you and Bucky’s face in the center.

“Who is this mystery woman who has thawed the Winter Soldier’s heart?” The female news anchor asked. “And what is she wearing? Maybe her style is the secret to bagging an Avenger. Watch out Captain America, we’re coming for you.” As she closed her segment with a wink you changed the channel in disgust, a man’s face appeared.

“I just don’t think it’s right for someone who is a serious threat to national security to just be able to go out and date. Maybe he’s keeping this girl hostage and it’s being covered up by the Avengers.” An angry man argued on the screen. “Maybe Tony Stark thought, hey, if we say they’re dating it’ll all be fine."

“But he was pardoned…..” Another man tried to interject.

The other scoffed, “Pardons are just handed out left and right, anymore. He should be locked up and left to rot in a pit where no one can get him out. A killer is a killer simple as that.”

“They’re right.” A voice said behind you, you turned around to see Bucky in the doorway, metal arm across his chest. You turned off the TV to give him your undivided attention. “I’ve done terrible things. Why should I get to be with you? I should be locked somewhere to become a forgotten piece of history.” He made his way to the couch and sat opposite of you. You remained silent, letting him continue. “Your life just got completely uprooted, because of me. You were put in danger because of me. If something would have happened…” He dropped off, you glanced down at his hands that were shaking, you took them in yours.

You took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “I am right here, nothing happened, at least to me. Can’t really say anything for the press outside my apartment, my landlady and roomie are forces of nature.” You cracked a smile, his brow was still wrinkled, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. “You are worthy of love, you are worthy of every good thing in your life. Your time as the soldier wasn’t fully you, the soldier was a part of you, but I don’t think he’s sitting in front of me right now. Just because you did things in your past does not mean you are damned to live a life of misery. Everyone is entitled to mistakes, how they react after is what makes the person.” He scoffed, glancing away, you furrowed your eyebrows. “James Buchanan Barnes, I love you.” His blue eyes opened wide as they met yours. “I know what comes along with that, it’s not going to be a walk in the park, but I don’t care. As long as you’re with me.”

Bucky’s eyes softened and he murmured. “I love you and I’m with you to the end of the line.” He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips, your hand threaded into his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

You both remained tangled up in the other on the couch, the cabin silent. Bucky planed a kiss to the top of your head, you could sense that the conversation you had earlier calmed his nerves, but that would not be the end, not for a while. “We should move to a real bed.” He murmured.

You groaned, “Master or guest?”

Bucky paused as he thought it over, “Guest, has more vantage points.”

You nodded and Bucky rose from the couch, pulling you up with him. He led you to the guest room. You were surprised at how easily he navigated the cabin. The room was obviously decorated by Pepper. It was a large open room, a bed in the middle, deep royal blue accents. You glanced at the end of the bed where a piece of paper was.

We figured you would be more comfortable in here. Closet and bathroom is fully stocked. - Pep

You smiled, watching Bucky glance around the room. You walked into the closet and pulled out a set of pajamas. You gestured towards the bathroom and made your way to the shower. You turned the water on and waited for it to warm. You stepped under the water, letting the heat soothe the tension in your neck. You lost track of time as you zoned out in the shower, trying to process all the events of the day.

It was odd to think that you were going to be on people’s televisions just because of who you happened to run into at a coffee shop on a September afternoon. You had to wonder why so many people would care about who another person would date. It started dawning on you that your private life was going to broadcast to the rest of the world, whether you wanted it to be or not.

You exited the bathroom and saw Bucky on the bed in his sweatpants and no shirt. He glanced up at you and opened his arms, you crawled into them and set your head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat.

You struggled to fall asleep, Bucky had his arm loosely wrapped around your waist, you listened for his breathing to even out before crawling out of his arms. You slid out from under the covers and watched him reach toward the empty space before engulfing a pillow in his arms. A small smile broke across your lips as you waited to be sure he remained asleep, when his brow softened you made your way into the living room and then the kitchen, the lights turned on.

“Anything I can help with miss?” Jarvis asked as you pulled a mug down from the cabinet.

“Nothing to worry about Jarvis, just making some tea.” You answered in a whisper, not wanting to wake Bucky.

“Mr. Barnes is still asleep.” Jarvis stated, causing you to chuckle. You’re not sure that you will ever get used to how intuitive he could be.

“What’s the sky like tonight?” You asked, reaching for a box of tea as the water started to boil.

“Clear, it’s a perfect night for stargazers.” Jarvis rattled off. “And Mr. Stark has rather nice porch furniture.”

You dropped the teabag into your mug and poured the hot water over it. “Sounds like a plan.” You walked out the kitchen to the porch, facing the lake. It was a cool night, but comfortable, you sat on one of the wicker couches and wrapped the blanket from the chair over your legs. You glanced out at the stars over the water, taking a sip of tea. Your thoughts turned back to your earlier musings from the shower. Everyone who knew you would know that you were now dating Bucky Barnes, The Winter Soldier. Your parents, your friends, coworkers, students. People you didn’t know were going to be weighing in on your personal life. You hadn’t even told your parents about Bucky yet, you weren’t sure how to in all honesty. What were you supposed to do? Pack him into a car and show up at your parent’s house and say. ‘Hey parents, here’s my new boyfriend. He’s a superhero/murderer depending on who you talk to.’

With these thoughts swirling in your head another broke through the surface, what if someone who wanted to hurt Bucky chose you? You were certain that no matter what, Bucky would do everything in his power to keep you safe, the Avengers probably would too. But the very real truth that your life and even existence was forever changed weighed heavy in the cool night air.

You heard a shuffling from the kitchen. “Doll?” You heard Bucky call out, a tinge of worry in his voice.

“On the porch.” You heard Jarvis answer. Bucky walked out onto the porch to find you sitting on one of Stark’s couches, a blanket wrapped around your legs and untouched tea in your hand.

You looked up at him, eyes shining with the beginning of tears. He sat beside you, you crawled into his arms, tears falling on his chest. “Doll, please talk to me.”

“I’m scared, everything is changing so fast.” You murmured, head still buried in his chest.

“That’s okay, you’re allowed to be scared.” He whispered, glancing down at you. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, or make you feel like this was all your fault, I didn’t want…”

Bucky cut you off, gently pulling your chin up to look at him. “Doll, you don’t have to be the strong one all the time. We can take care of each other.” You nodded and rested your face against his chest. “The stars are nice out here, clearer than in the city. We’ll make a plan in the morning.”

You let out a small sigh of relief and glanced up at the stars with Bucky. Uncertainty settled between the two of you. Both of you knew this wasn’t going to be an easy road going forward, but you both hoped that you could continue down the road, together.

#bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #angst #anxiety #try to remember

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quixotic-dragon · 4 years ago

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Kokichi Oma’s Crocodile Tears (MAJOR DRV3 SPOILERS)

Ah, good ol’ Kokichi Oma. The Ultimate Little Shit- and a controversial little shit at that! I’ve recently played v3, and Kokichi is the one character who always seems to be on my mind (aside from my fav, Keebo, of course) because he’s such a mystery. We never get to know what’s going on in his head, at least not openly, and many players are led to assume that he is a malicious troublemaker, or even an outright sadist.

I’m going to take a moment to analyze Kokichi specifically during that infamous scene at the end of Chapter 4 because that is all that’s been on my mind as of late.

Underneath the Keep reading, there WILL be major spoilers for the entirety of v3. There will also be a very long essay, but I will do my best to break it up so it is easier to read. Read at your own risk.

So without further ado, here is my analysis of and my thoughts on Kokichi, his actions, and his character circa Chapter 4:

INITIAL REACTION:

Before I go into how I feel about Kokichi now, I’m going to have a discussion about my thoughts on him while this scene was playing out. (I know my exact feelings because I was liveposting in a discord server as I played, haha)

At this point in the game, the player does not yet know that Kokichi is not the true mastermind, nor do they understand what Kokichi means by “winning” the game.

I had personally been spoiled of who the v3 mastermind was (thanks a lot danganronpa wiki), so I recognized that Kokichi wasn’t the mastermind, however I did not recognize that he was trying to win the killing game via unconventional methods. So from my point of view, Kokichi had just intentionally murdered Gonta (and Miu) just to increase his chances of winning and had the nerve to shed fake tears over it. I was furious! (behold, my fury!)

Kokichi sobs over Gonta’s death, and I interpreted this as entirely fake tears. One of my friends suggested, “i feel like there was a difference between like his / crocodile tears and this.”

I was enraged at this suggestion and stood beside my initial reaction because I felt that there were no signs that Kokichi never cared for Gonta as anything more than an asset, so I could not trust Kokichi to have any real remorse for his death with such a manipulative relationship having existed. (Massive disclaimer that this is my interpretation of their relationship; if you have a different interpretation, that is totally fine and valid!)

At this point, I considered why Kokichi might be crying so intensely even if it was an act, and came to the conclusion that if there was any sort of truth in those tears that Kokichi would be upset for a different reason than Gonta. He would be upset because he was truly alone. Not a single living person wanted to spare him the time of day besides Gonta. And now that Gonta is dead, nobody wants Kokichi. Even though I was fully convinced he was a sadistic, evil bastard at this point, I still figured that he must’ve felt some sort of sudden and crippling loneliness realizing that the only person who cared about him in the slightest was dead.

This interpretation of Kokichi I had really didn’t change much until after I had finished the entire game and stopped to think about Kokichi a bit more; his heartfelt final words to Kaito felt like lies to convince him to play along (blackmailing Maki certainly didn’t help with that much either), and his whole trick felt less like him trying to help and more like him just trying to cause chaos for the hell of it in my mind.

So, in conclusion, my initial reaction to the Kokichi scene? I thought Kokichi was a heartless bastard whose only remorse could be crippling loneliness. Although my initial analysis while I was still playing was quite interesting, I have some different opinions on it now that I’ve taken a step back and viewed the game as a whole.

KOKICHI ONLY WANTS YOU TO THINK HE’S EVIL:

Surprise! Kokichi isn’t a sadistic fuck! Crazy right?

Well, not really if you’ve watched/read any Kokichi analysis ever. However, Kokichi’s act seems to be a common thing that many casual players of v3 fall for. I certainly fell for it when I played, as you saw above!

It isn’t until far later in the game that it is revealed that Kokichi is the “supreme leader” of a pacifist prankster club (DICE), and it isn’t revealed until the end of Chapter 5 that Kokichi actually had good intentions in setting up his mastermind persona (although, as seen above, those good intentions are still very easily interpreted in a bad light).

So why does he bother to so obviously cry wolf at Gonta’s death just to double back on his persona ten-fold as soon as he’s called out on it? Because he’s just trying to sell his mastermind persona, not only to the other characters and the mastermind, but to the player themself. This is intended by both Kokichi and the writers themselves, made obvious by the fact that we get no real evidence of Kokichi being a benevolent person until long after this scene. (There are many moments in earlier chapters where Kokichi is trying to be helpful to the group or to a specific character, however every time he attempts this, it is painted in a negative light because he is either going against the protagonist’s will or achieving things in a more underhanded manner via lies or provocation).

When I saw Kokichi crying for Gonta, my first thoughts were, “I am going to THROTTLE this fucking BASTARD.” Because even if those tears were real, Kokichi was still the one fully responsible for Gonta’s death, so I felt that he had no right to shed tears over it. If it weren’t for Kokichi’s crying during this scene, I would have been very suspicious of how suddenly his evil villain act amped up. If he hadn’t shed tears that were so obviously fake, I would not have been nearly as enraged with him, and therefore not nearly as willing to just accept the fact: “Well. Guess he’s evil now.”

Whereas I would’ve chalked the scene without crying to bad writing, the viewers of the killing game, and by extent the mastermind, would garner suspicion towards his actions. Although Kokichi was not aware that Keebo had direct contact with the outside world, he was very aware that the killing game had to have been broadcasted to somewhere. He had to ensure that he was as convincing as possible; that meant no “bad writing” mistakes could be left anywhere.

I stand by what I said before in that Kokichi’s crying in this scene is just a bunch of crocodile tears. However, with new context and information surrounding the situation, they probably weren’t devoid of emotion. Kokichi only allowed himself to cry here in order to properly double back on his new mastermind persona, however, unlike what I believed before, he most likely did feel remorse at the deaths of Gonta and Miu. He just broke his last standing moral code: don’t murder people. And he broke it by indirectly causing the deaths of two people he may have considered to be his friends. That’s heavy stuff!

Kokichi is faking these reactions to the trial because he has to if he wants to deceive everybody. But... the best acting comes from the heart.

LONELINESS AND GUILT:

As I covered in my initial reaction to Kokichi’s breakdown, I felt as though he couldn’t possibly have any remorse for his actions, so he must have been devastated knowing that he would now be truly alone. This view was heavily influenced by Shuichi’s words after the trial... because they were true.

After Kokichi criticizes the group for coming to Kaito’s aid, Shuichi turns around and tells Kokichi that he is the pathetic one because he will always be alone. There are no lies to these words. Now that Gonta is dead, and now that Kokichi has gone so far into his persona, not a single person wants to even be near him.

Now that I’ve established that Kokichi’s actions post-trial were most definitely an act and not representative of his true feelings, we can discuss what his true feelings may have been. I come back to the idea of Kokichi fearing being alone because, hey! My past ignorant self was actually onto something!

The acknowledgement that Kokichi feels remorse for his actions just makes this situation even sadder for him; not only did he just indirectly murder two people and has to put up with the guilt of that, but now, nobody cares about him either. Not that anybody in the cast cared for him all that much in the first place (aside from Gonta), but Shuichi’s words to him here seal his fate as the permanent outcast and assigned villain of the group. He had already been struggling with loneliness throughout the beginning chapters of the game, and now Shuichi - the only person he finds truly trustworthy (according to his little whiteboard, at least) - is confirming to him that nobody wants him. Ouch.

I am personally led to believe that a large part of the reason that Kokichi ends up sacrificing himself in Chapter 5 has a lot to do with the broken feelings he would’ve had under the combined guilt of his actions and the crushing reality of loneliness.

Would Kokichi have offered to sacrifice himself anyways given the circumstances? Probably, yeah. However, the way he was so accepting of his death reminded me a lot of Kaede in Chapter 1; she couldn’t allow herself to take the First Blood Perk because she felt that she had to atone for her sins, or she could never live with herself. Kokichi seems, in the moment, to be more than willing to die, perhaps for the same reasons. Not only would be feel like he has to make up for the deaths he caused, but he would also feel like he had nothing left to live for, at least not within the academy anyway.

Or maybe he was just tired from the poison, not from life. But who’s to say? We can’t see inside of his head.

FINAL THOUGHTS / CONCLUSION:

OK, so some final thoughts before wrapping this up: Holy shit, Kokichi is an asshole.

Even knowing the emotional turmoil Kokichi must have been going through, it was still infuriating to see him treat Gonta so poorly in Trial 4. Perhaps it was just a part of his act as well? Regardless, it really just did not sit with me well. Under no circumstance should Kokichi be continulessly yelling at Gonta while he’s crying from the insults, for real. But hey, at least if it was just another act from Kokichi, then he can rest easy knowing he certainly had me fooled.

...

So, in my opinion, Kokichi’s infamous breakdown was entirely fabricated. He had to fake both his tears and his sadism in order to fully convince the world that he was a force of pure malice in order to get away with what he had planned. However, despite his apparent change in personality, he never really was sadistic, and may have even cared for the people around him till the very end.

That’s all I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#danganronpa v3 #danganronpa #drv3 kokichi #kokichi ouma #kokichi #v3 spoilers #danganronpa spoilers #danganronpa v3 spoilers

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years ago

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Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 5

Catch up on Chapter 4 here

“No, nothing’s wrong,” You hear him exhale smoke, his breath making noise in the microphone. “We got booked to do a show for one of the big rock stations in L.A..”

You realize now he’s looking for someone to share in his good news. “That’s amazing!”

“Right, it’s awesome. But here’s the thing: they’re not selling any of the tickets to the public. It’s gonna be all contest and giveaway shit. So the team needs a headcount as soon as possible for the guest list so we set aside enough tickets. So if you and Mary and Theo were wanting to see us live, here’s your chance.”

You blink, stunned at the twist the conversation had taken. “Guest list?”

Van’s back in L.A., and you cancel all your plans to see him perform for the first time.

A/N: It’s been four weeks of posting this!! Whether you’ve been following from the beginning or are binge reading it now, thank you for making this story I’ve put so much blood, sweat, and tears into a part of your day ❤️

Word count: ~9.2k

Chapter Five May 2019

The morning after the party is the last time you see Van while he’s in L.A.. For the rest of his trip, his schedule is packed with studio time and meetings in preparation for the album launch.

You finally follow the band on Instagram, although you shy away from following the boy’s personal accounts. Their relationship with social media didn’t seem to be the strongest, and you figured one of Van’s random flings following all of them probably wouldn’t send the best message.

The night of the album release they post a black and white photo of a pile of albums and vinyls to mark the occasion. You text Van the next morning, when it’s officially out, simply: Congrats on The Balance!!

Thaaaanks, Van sends back, Buzzing over it!

Each day you watch their feed fill with new posts promoting live shows. They announce tour dates so often it makes your head spin. Peppered amongst event announcements are videos of Van singing enthusiastically into a microphone, always promoting one of the different singles. You watch them more times than you’d care to admit.

Your conversation thread with him runs dry. You try to send him something here or there, to keep things going, but Van isn’t the best at a consistent reply. You try to convince yourself he’s tired from work, or the time difference is hard to maintain, but your brain can’t help but insist he’s busy with someone else.

That’s why two weeks after release day, when your phone lights up on the kitchen counter with a phone call from Van, you practically faint.

“Hello?” You respond hesitantly. You two have never called each other. You’re convinced he’s dialed you by accident.

“Whatcha doing?” Van asks down the line, his voice breezy.

“Um, cooking dinner,” You say, still confused.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Uh, lasagna…” You peek inside the oven to make sure it’s cooking alright. “It’s in the oven right now.”

“Sounds class.”

“Yeah…” You trail off, unsure why this warranted a phone call. “What are you up to?”

“Having a cig real quick. But I got an email from our team and I wanted to talk to you.”

Instantly, your mind flashes to the worst case scenario. Was this about Instagram? Had you done something wrong? You hadn’t even posted anything!

“Is something wrong?” You press, when Van doesn’t continue.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” You hear him exhale smoke, his breath making noise in the microphone. “We got booked to do a show for one of the big rock stations in L.A..”

You realize now he’s looking for someone to share in his good news. “That’s amazing!”

You blink, stunned at the twist the conversation had taken. “Guest list?”

“Yeah. It’s not a backstage kind of thing, nothin’ like that. But I can put your names down. You can choose balcony or G.A., whatever you like. If you want G.A. I could probably weasel you in a little earlier so you can get a good spot.”

The opportunity already sounds amazing. There’s only one thing on your mind: “When?”

Van chuckles. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Oh God, why?”

“It’s on Friday.”

“What?!” You spin around in the kitchen, making a beeline for the calendar you’ve got hanging up in there. “Van, that’s in five fucking days!”

“I’m sorry! It was kind of in talks, but they really like the album. They wanna do a whole week spinning it and really pushing us. It was all penciled in last minute.”

“Right,” You sigh, your mind going a mile a minute. “Okay, I need to call Mary. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah, sooner the better. If I don’t pick up I’ll call as soon as I’ve got a moment.”

You say your goodbyes, hitting call on Mary’s contact card as soon as the screen clears.

“Hey, Mare?” You start hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“What are you and Theo doing on Friday?”

As soon as Mary starts detailing her plans, the oven timer rings out.

“Okay hold on,” You interrupt her. You put the call on speaker, resting it back on the counter while you fuss with the lasagna. “Whatever you’re doing, I need you to cancel it.”

“What? Why?”

You struggle to lift the heavy glass pan of food out of the heat. “Van’s doing a show and he wants to put us on the guest list.”

“Huh?” Mary’s voice rings tinny through the speakers. “I can’t hear you!”

“Van’s doing-” You huff in frustration, jabbing your finger against the oven keypad to stop the timer. “He’s doing a show and wants to put us on the guest list!”

“Who’s guest list?”

“Van’s!” You yell, your voice echoing through the silent kitchen. “Catfish and the Bottlemen are doing a show and he wants us on the guest list!”

Silence. Then: “You’re joking.”

“No,” You tell her breathlessly.

“Okay, fuck, okay,” Mary panics. “Lemme grab Theo.”

You don’t give your friends enough credit. All Friday plans were dropped in exchange for this show you knew nothing about.

Theo and Mary had pestered you with questions as you three scrambled to devise ways to clear your schedules. Mary was going to bail on her cousin’s baby shower, and Theo was in the process of texting any co-worker that could possibly cover for him. You had no idea what your plan was. Worst case scenario, you’d have to play sick. Through the entire ordeal, they’d asked where the show was, the capacity of the venue, what time, what radio station. You had answers for none of these.

You call Van back with an adrenaline rush, praying he picks up. He does.

“Okay, we’ll take three for G.A.,” You say instead of a greeting. “But I have some fucking questions for you, okay?”

Van laughs. “Okay, yeah. Grab a pen and paper, I’ll read you the email.”

During your workweek you do your research. You listen to the radio station, curious to hear fan’s reactions to their new stuff. Almost every fan that wins tickets is a female that’s jumping for joy. Every commercial break consists of a minute-long ad of Van and Bondy introducing themselves and pushing their album and the chance to win tickets to hear it live. The radio announcers enthusiastically discuss how much they enjoy every song of the band’s that they play. You realize you’d been sorely underestimating their success. People seem genuinely interested in their work, and a lot of the people that call in are long-time fans.

But nothing prepares you for the actual day.

Getting the day off work had seemed like that was going to be your biggest obstacle, but it was surprisingly easy. The real challenge came with all the coordinating required between you, Mary, Theo, Van, and the band’s team.

The event was happening early afternoon, at 2. You’d never even heard of shows happening that early besides all-day festivals. But you supposed it made sense with the way it was going to be broadcasted over the radio this afternoon, and Van had mentioned they also had interviews to do.

That meant you were up as early as a workday, except last night you’d had the worst sleep possible because of your nerves. You slug through your grogginess, attempting to get ready with the help of multiple cups of coffee. Through the entire process you’re glued to your phone, fielding questions from Mary about what time you three should leave, who’s car to take, and who’s driving, along with questions from Van about what time you think you’ll be arriving, the address to the venue, and details about the guest list.

The whole guest list concept was so casual it made you nervous. The only thing Van took down was everyone’s first and last names, and their choice of general admission. He insisted that was enough. He’d arranged to meet you guys at the side door of the venue a half hour before doors opened to get you in early, but other than that he only told you to tell security your name if asked. It felt too easy for something to go wrong.

And to be fair, something did go slightly wrong. Communicating with everyone all morning keeps you from finishing your hair and makeup on time, which delays the three of you from leaving, which means that by the time you get through traffic and pull into the venue, Van has texted that he can’t wait at the side door any longer as it’s time for him to warm up.

No worries, securitys still waiting, He insists when you apologize for running late, When you get here go to the side.

You don’t even understand how you’re supposed to make it around the front of the venue. The entire building is swarmed with fans, most of them sitting on the cement in the sweltering L.A. heat for their best chances at a good spot. There’s a disorganized line crowded around the ticket booth, and at any moment more people are exiting their cars, heading to congest the building further. It hadn’t seemed like this many tickets had been given away when you’d been listening to the station. There’s way more people here than you expected.

You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you walk past the line. Girls sitting on the sidewalk peer up at you, their heads following as you breeze past them. You actually feel bad. They must’ve been out here for hours, considering how far the line goes down the sidewalk. And yet here you are with your friends, scaling the line in a matter of minutes. As much as it feels elite, you’ve got a healthy amount of fear running through your veins. You pray that something doesn’t go wrong, that you don’t get turned away in front of all these people.

The last thing you see as you, Mary, and Theo turn the corner is necks craning to see what you’re up to. You’re relieved to be out of everyone’s sight around the brick building.

The door is exactly as Van had described, but there’s nobody attending to it. Your stomach sinks as you realize you’re probably locked out. But still, you turn the knob, needing the weight of your body to help maneuver the heavy door. You guys struggle to get through.

On the other side is a security guard watching you curiously.

“Van was waiting for us,” You explain. You’re so nervous that the true statement comes out like a question.

The guard eyes you three. Then he gestures to a spot on the floor. “One at a time, let’s get you checked.”

Just like that, the three of you are scanned over quickly by his portable detector, your bags skimmed through before he gestures to one of the doors.

“Stage is through that one.”

Everyone hurriedly thanks him as you head through the giant space, your footsteps echoing against the flooring as you head towards the door. There’s equipment everywhere, cords in tangled piles, and you even spot overflowing boxes of merch. You can hear some hustle and bustle in the distance, coming from one of the nearby rooms.

You’re thrown off when the door leads you right onto side stage. You’re instantly in the way of crew members who are maneuvering a drum set over the hardwood.

“Sorry, sorry,” You say immediately, scrambling to clear their path. Thankfully you spot the stairs to descend the stage nearby, although they’re blocked by a thick, dusty stage curtain you’ve got to press through.

Once you’re down, another security team member nearby makes a gap in the barricade railing for you to get through. And just like that, you three are standing at the barricade, no other fan in sight. With no questions, hassle, or mishaps. You look to Mary and Theo in relief.

“That was so weird,” Mary agrees with your silent communication. Her voice echoes eerily around the space.

“We should grab drinks,” Theo gestures to the bar nestled into one of the walls. There’s only one woman attending it currently, stocking plastic cups.

By the time you’ve been served, the doors have opened and people are starting to flow in. You nestle yourselves in the front corner of barricade, a spot that looks like it’s going to have a great view and also prevent the band from being able to see you.

You listen to the conversations that the fans pressed against barricade are having. Soon the space up front is packed tightly, everyone jostling for the best view. You pick up on a few people’s opinions of The Balance, a few general criticisms, and listen curiously to a couple of girls enthuse about a time they managed to meet Van. According to them, he was very nice. You glance over to catch one of the girls showing the other her picture. There’s Van, arm slung around her, lopsided smile on display. There’s something about knowing him personally and listening to the girls speak as if they know him personally that unsettles you. You decide to try and tune them out.

Without an opening act, the lights going down catch you off guard. One moment there’s a pre-show playlist playing happily over the amps, the crowd cheerfully bopping along, and the next the lights are out and the entire room erupts in screams. And just like that there’s blinding lights shining down, the band taking their positions before Van emerges, electric guitar slung low on his hips, the opening notes of Longshot ringing out.

There was nothing in your radio station research that could have prepared you for what you were witnessing today.

You knew Van loved music. It was as much a part of him as one of his organs. He was constantly talking about it, playing it, writing it, singing it. And he’d mentioned that he loves live shows. And you knew from his fans that Catfish made music that people really loved, really connected with. But you had made a fatal mistake. Your brain had not added these facts up correctly.

Because seeing the boys actually on stage was insane.

The band rips through their setlist relentlessly. You’re barely able to catch a breath before they’ve launched into the next song. And the next. And the next. The fast pace only seems to wind everyone up more, leave everyone eager to bask in every note. Van is magnetic on stage. The crowd goes crazy for him, and he knows it. Simply resting his foot on one of the amps makes the entire crowd swell and swarm in an attempt to get as close to that amp as possible. He improvises lyrics and note changes that keep everything interesting. Every one of the boys performs flawlessly. There’s not one moment where it looks like they’re anything less than over the moon to be entertaining.

As soon as it feels like the show is slipping by too fast, Van will drop the pace. He’ll chant a lyric a few extra times. He’ll strum his guitar a bit longer than what you’d been hearing on the radio. He’ll lean forward, voice low, and make direct eye contact with different people in the crowd. It’s so electrifying that when your desire for him washes over you in a surprisingly intense wave, you’re almost positive that every single person- regardless of sexual orientation- feels the same.

The show feels like it exists outside of time. It lasted hours but also only ten minutes. When Van thanks everyone for coming out it shocks you, but also fills you with extreme exhaustion as if you’d just run a marathon. Before you know it the boys have walked off, the lights are back up, and the air is still crackling with electricity.

The three of you gape at each other.

“They’re phenomenal,” Theo says after a moment of shocked silence. “Do they have their albums at the merch stand? I wanna give them a listen after that!”

“I dunno,” You mumble, numb. “I can probably get Van to grab you some.”

Someone next to you pauses at your mention of Van. You realize how strange that sentence sounded only after it’s out of your mouth. When you don’t say anything else, they keep moving.

“You do that,” Mary nods, eyes wide. “I guess we should… go?”

“Right,” You try to come back to reality, fishing your phone out of your bag. There’s a text from Van.

At the side door having a smoke. Come say hi?

“He wants us to come say hi,” You announce, your head spinning.

“You go say hi,” Mary elbows you playfully, “Meet us at the car.”

You don’t think security would take you heading to the side door through backstage well, so you head out the front door with them in a daze. Once you’re outside again you round the corner, ending up back at the side door, which is now cracked.

You knock softly, a warning before you try to heave it open again. This time there’s another set of hands helping you.

“Are you allowed to smoke inside?” You ask curiously once you’re inside, Van shutting the door behind you.

He shrugs. “Ceilings are high enough.” He nods towards outside. “M’not in any state to take a picture with anyone.”

“Right,” You breathe. Fans are looking for him. Another piece of information your brain doesn’t have the capacity to handle.

Van is soaked from head to toe in sweat. He resembles a wet dog, hair matted and sticking to his skin while he tries to catch his breath. His face is cherry red from his last two hours of exertion, his freckles standing out. He’s undone half of the buttons on his shirt, his chest as splotchy red as his cheeks. Although you two have a healthy distance between your bodies, you pick up on his body odor with every inhale. He’s radiating heat like a furnace.

“Did you like it?” He asks breathlessly.

“I loved it,” You beam. “So did Mary and Theo. You’re, like… incredible on stage. You all are.”

Van shakes his head around an inhale of his cigarette. “We had a really nice crowd, s’all. Makes everything more massive. I wanted to change up the setlist a bit but it couldn’t get done this fast.”

“I loved the setlist,” You assure him. “Everyone else clearly did, too.”

“Aw, quit. But you liked it? Honest?”

“I loved it,” You insist again. “Loved it. It was amazing.”

“Okay, good.” Van nods. “Wanted to make sure. I’m gonna go clean up now. I’ll see you after, if you want.”

“Yeah, when?”

Van flicks his finished cigarette out of the door. “You can head to my place. You remember the gate code?”

“010892,” You recite. Van smiles. “What about your front door?”

“Spare key under the mat.”

He’s already undoing the last buttons of his shirt. You try not to stare.

“I gotta shower real quick and do an interview, it shouldn’t be long. I’ll try to be quick.”

“Don’t rush an interview,” You urge him, shocked that he would even think of doing that. He laughs you off, parting with a quick goodbye before practically jogging away.

You make your way out of the side door and back into the melting heat, your mind going a mile a minute as you walk back to the car.

Sliding into the air conditioned vehicle feels heavenly. You slump in your seat.

“How’d it go?” Mary asks, turning in her seat to face you. “Did you jump into his arms?”

You laugh. “Fuck off.”

“Ready to go?” Theo asks as he kicks the car into reverse, carefully backing out of his parking spot.

“Yeah, but is there a way you could… Drop me off at Van’s?”

Mary cackles.

You’re starting to get quite accustomed to the route to Van’s. You’re easily able to direct Theo around the twisted, uphill roads through the neighborhood. When you helpfully add that the 8 sticks, Mary only raises her eyebrows in amusement. Soon you’re at his front door, fishing around under the welcome mat laid out on his porch for the key. It’s easy enough to find, and you wave Mary and Theo off as you unlock the front door.

It’s strange being at his house alone. His luggage is strewn about the front room, a couple of the bags open and oozing clothing. There’s a MacBook charger plugged into the outlet by the stairs, but no MacBook in sight.

You take in his mess of things for a moment before locking the door and leaving the borrowed key on the end table, making a mental note to lecture him about finding a new hiding spot.

The air smells stale, a sure sign nobody’s been here for weeks. You take it upon yourself to turn one of the lamps on, noticing a notebook and pen resting on the coffee table. It’s got a leather cover, clearly some sort of journal or agenda. Maybe he writes songs in there? The temptation to snoop is strong, but you know better. You physically force yourself to turn away.

You crack the door to the outdoor lounge, hoping to let some fresh air in. You look around for the thermostat to make sure the air conditioning wouldn’t run itself silly trying to keep up with the L.A. heat breezing in, but you’re not able to spot one on the walls.

Your next stop is the kitchen. Van’s obviously been in here, a few tea mugs in the sink. You peek in the fridge; judging by the smell, it’s seen better days. There’s a rubbery-looking bundle of celery, it’s ends the crisp brown of decaying produce. A head of lettuce has rolled onto its side on the shelf, sharing a sheath of white fuzzy mold with the few soggy tomatoes next to it.

What is intact, however, is a gallon of unsweetened iced tea that’s still sealed, and a lonely beer bottle that’s tipped over in the door compartment. You extract the iced tea from where it’s resting on its side by the moldy tomatoes, and open various cupboard doors looking for a glass.

For lack of anything better to do you head out to the outdoor lounge, perching yourself on one of the chairs and setting your iced tea on one of the expensive-looking frosted glass tables. You get your phone out and flip through your photos and videos from the show, experiencing the magic all over again. You wonder if Van would be against you posting some of these. You’d have to ask him about it.

From your spot outside you hear the gate creak on its hinges, signaling Van’s arrival. You head back inside, your heart suddenly racing in anticipation. It seems silly considering you’d just seen him after the show, but you’re nervous nonetheless.

You’ve just locked up the patio when Van’s knuckles rap against the front door. You rush to unlock it, leaving your mostly-empty iced tea on the mantle.

“Fucking sweltering,” Van says as soon as he comes through the front door. As promised, he’s freshly showered. His hair is still wet except the ends, which are flipping this way and that as they dry. He’s in clean clothes, which you recognize immediately as the worn out gray sweatpants you’d seen him in once or twice, and the gray sweatshirt you’d borrowed the last time you’d seen him. He’s got a backpack slung over one of his shoulders.

“Lock me out of my own house, huh?” He jokes as he closes the door behind himself.

“Yeah,” You murmur, too busy processing the fact he’s in front of you for the first time in five weeks. At the memory of the key under the mat, you come back to your senses. “And you need to move that key,” You tell him sternly. “Under the mat is too easy! Anyone could guess that!”

Van makes a psh noise with his lips. “Nobody gives a fuck about my house.”

“Um, everyone at that show?” You argue.

“Worried they’re gonna come in and raid my drawers?” Van grins. “Steal one of my condoms as a souvenir? Nah, it’s fine.”

You roll your eyes in disagreement, but drop the subject.

Van turns to you then, taking you in.

“Long time no see,” He breathes, his grin reappearing.

“I think you’ve already used that line,” You point out. And without further ado you get up on your toes, going in for a kiss. Van lets his head tip, your lips crashing together effortlessly.

Kissing Van makes the tornado of feelings that have been swirling around for the last month settle. Any doubts about your chemistry, whether or not the party was the last time he’d be this close to you, or whether you’d failed the meet-the-friends test all come to rest now as Van deepens the kiss, getting a hand on the hem of your shirt to tug you closer.

You get a hand on the back of his neck in response, pressing your lips tighter together. Running your fingers through the damp locks of hair sticking to his skin.

The way you’ve missed him washes over you, crashing waves no longer able to be ignored. It’s the strange mix of sadness and relief pressing down on your chest that suddenly has you getting down on your knees.

“Oh fuck,” Van murmurs, swinging his backpack off of his shoulder in one motion. He sets it down safely before leaning back, letting the front door hold most of his weight.

He cooperates eagerly as you get his pants down in one smooth motion. He’s close to hard, but not enough to get started yet.

You stroke the inside of his thighs with your palms in big, sweeping motions. They’re still clammy from his shower. He smells clean, like men’s body wash. You ease your hands under the hem of his sweater and the t-shirt he’s got layered underneath, running your fingers over the bump of his lower stomach. His skin is silky smooth wherever you touch. Even the trail of hair that thickens in a stripe down his belly feels less wiry. You can’t help but run your fingers over the hairs as you bring your hands back down to the matter at hand.

Van lets you keep him waiting without complaint, watching you with hooded eyes.

He’s hard now as you wrap a hand around him, your wrist twisting around him in muscle memory. You only hope that muscle memory applies to the rest of what you’re about to do.

He’s waiting for your next move, the muscles in his thighs clenched tight. His desperation is palpable. You’re taking too long to get your mouth around him, trying to work up the courage.

“I’m rusty,” You blurt out suddenly. “I haven’t, um, done this recently. So if something’s not right…”

You trail off at the way Van’s shaking his head vehemently, his damp hair rustling with the motion.

“I don’t care,” He says, resting his head against the door, chin tipping upwards, his eyes falling shut. “It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t fucking matter.”

You figure it will matter in a minute, when you’re not up to his expectations, but his reassurance comforts you enough to get started. You carefully maneuver his foreskin under the ridge of his head so you can get your lips around him, pressing the flat of your tongue against his slit as you plan your next move.

Van jolts at the sensation, his hips jerking forward, feeding you more than you were ready for.

He grimaces apologetically when you pull back. “My bad, my bad, love,” He apologizes. “Took me by surprise s’all. Sorry.”

Instead of a response you pet his thigh with the back of your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s forgiven. This time when you start again you press one of your hands to his hip, nudging him back against the door. You use your other hand to guide him into your mouth. When his muscles go tight you quickly shift your hand from his hip to lower stomach, pressing him away from you more firmly.

With the security of your hand holding him away you’re able to get into a rhythm. It’s a bit sloppier than you’d prefer, and the entire time forgotten pointers from your past are flashing through your mind, but Van doesn’t seem to notice. He leans uselessly against the door, occasionally cursing quietly.

Giving head is a precise game to play, but fortunately Van makes things easy. You devote all your focus to him, taking careful note of what tricks make his stomach clench against your palm or leave him groaning. A slightly faster pace gets his thighs trembling. You’re not sure if there’s someone else in London, but considering Van’s desperation she must not give head.

When it’s clear he can’t hold off much longer you shut your eyes tight, willing your throat to relax as much as humanly possible before taking him down deep.

Van’s reaction comes instinctually. In your focus you’ve relaxed the pressure on his stomach, and you feel his hips lift off of the door, chasing the feeling.

“Oh fuck,” He groans, his hands scrambling for something to hold on to. He settles for restlessly combing his fingers through your hair.

Your other hand flies to his stomach, pressing him back forcefully to prevent yourself from being choked. There’s only an inch or two space between him and the door, and you’re more forceful than you’d intended, the door making a heavy thud as his body lands against it. Instantly you get a sinking sensation in your stomach that you’ve accidentally hurt him.

As you go to pull back and check, you’re stopped by the way Van’s entire body goes stiff.

“Shit, I-”

But before he can finish uttering his warning you feel his orgasm rock through him, his dick throbbing against your tongue as you feel him pulsing heat down the back of your throat.

Thankfully, he’s deep enough so the taste is minimal. Van pulls out as soon as he’s done while you stay put, only slightly sputtering as you swallow everything down.

“Fuck,” Van exhales. You look up at him.

“Holy shit,” He says, dazed and lost for words. He tugs up his pants before melting down the door until he’s on the floor with you.

“Rusty,” He scoffs. “Fuck you. You’re hustling me!”

You’re still cringing from the taste of him. “Can you go grab me my iced tea?” You request, pointing him in the direction of the mantle.

Van obliges.

“Sorry for such a shit warning,” He says when he brings the iced tea back. He offers you his hand, helping you up from the floor. “I was trying to hold off. Wanted to do other things.” He winks. “Been a while since I had that, though. Doesn’t help you’re fucking amazing at it, either. Shit.”

You roll your eyes, brushing off his compliment. “You’re fine,” You insist. “I was just worried I hurt you.”

“Nah. Quite the opposite, actually.”

You two make your way to the sectional, plopping down. As soon as your body comes to rest you feel the exhaustion from the concert wash over you, only amplified by your front door activities.

“Do you want me to return the favor?” Van’s lying on his stomach, head resting on his arms.

You perk up at the suggestion, bummed when you remember you need to shower. There’s no way you’re letting Van down there when you’ve been sweating like a pig.

“Raincheck,” You sigh, disappointed. “I need to shower. I’m disgusting.”

Van hums in acknowledgement.

A lazy silence blankets you both. You hear Van’s stomach grumble.

“You hungry?” You ask, realizing as you say it that you are, too.

“Yeah,” Van sighs, rolling onto his back. “Haven’t had anything but toast. All the food went bad.”

“You didn’t eat at the venue?”

“Not right before a show. Doesn’t sit right in my stomach on stage.”

“Oh my god,” You groan suddenly. “I forgot I have the best frozen pizza in my freezer.”

“What toppings?”

“Cheese. But then I got fresh pepperonis. The expensive kind.” Your mouth practically waters thinking about it. “It’s one of those giant ones.”

A beat of silence from Van. And then: “We could go to yours?”

“Like, for dinner? That sounds good. And then I can shower.”

“I mean, I can pack a bag and stay over. It’s up to you. Is Mary your roommate?”

“Nope. Just me.” You sigh gratefully as you think of your past living arrangements. “But yeah, stay over if you wanna.”

Van sits up. “I do. Need to give this place a good cleaning.”

“It smells weird,” You admit.

“Always does,” Van says, heaving himself up off of the couch. “From being closed up. Should smell my place in London when I get back from U.S. tours.”

You crinkle your nose, staying put as Van starts picking through his bags.

Soon he’s got his backpack repacked and slung back over one of his shoulders. “Ready?”

It feels like it takes a superhuman amount of effort to get yourself up from the couch, slip your shoes on, and head out the front door with him.

You’re in such a sleepy haze as you direct Van to your house that you almost forget to be anxious that he’ll absolutely hate your place.

But once he pulls up, his range rover out of place behind your beat up car, your anxiety makes itself as present as ever. There’s no driveway, so he’s parked against the sidewalk behind you. You pray nobody scratches his car during the night, even though your neighbors are quite good about that kind of thing.

“Here it is,” You laugh nervously as you two clamor out of the air conditioning and into the humidity.

Your front yard is the only space with grass, enclosed with a moderately new white picket fence. You fuss with the latch before it comes undone, and the gate creaks open for Van to follow you down the path to the front porch. Van holds the screen door while you unlock the door.

“Well,” You say, stepping inside, “This is my place.”

You actually love your house. Considering the L.A. housing market, you’re blessed to even rent a home rather than an apartment, let alone without roommates. Renting this space is only made possible by the fact it was one of your ex-girlfriend’s friends that owned it, and he cut you a great deal on rent.

Van walks around, examining the decor. All of the walls are painted the same color, a light gray that matches the wooden floors nicely. And although furniture is sparse throughout the rest of the house, you’re actually quite proud of the work you’ve done furnishing the front room; There’s a dark blue sectional, although not as plush or big as Van’s, along with a nice coffee table that has storage built into the sides. They sit atop a white and blue striped rug that ties everything together nicely, facing the television sitting proudly on it’s stand.

The dining table shares the space, a cheap white set with metal legs you had managed to snag on sale.

You’ve got two bedrooms, but one of them is unfurnished, instead holding boxes of things from your move you’d never felt like unpacking. A lot of it is things you’d packed to move cross country as a teenager. Too sentimental to throw away, too childish to keep around.

Your actual bedroom is simple, a queen bed and a dresser. A bookshelf that was covered with more clutter than books. You feel yourself holding your breath as Van peeks his head into the different rooms, getting a feel for everything.

“It’s really fucking nice,” He says finally, and you feel yourself exhale. “I love the windows.”

You beam at his mention of the windows. The natural light is one of the things that made you feel like it was love at first sight here. “Me too.”

Van sets his backpack down on the kitchen table.

“Sorry it’s smaller than you’re used to,” You can’t help but say.

Van cracks a lopsided smile. “I’m used to hotel rooms, really. This place is huge compared to those.”

You laugh, your nerves always eased by his humor. “I’ll get the pizza going.”

The evening slides by quietly. You two work side by side in the kitchen, bumping hips and hands while you place pepperonis. You’re quiet during dinner, too focused on scarfing down your food. Afterward, Van offers to wash the dishes while you start on your shower. You try to talk him out of that plan, but he’s insistent on helping. You eventually give in.

As you scrub your makeup off under the hot water, you realize this is the most natural you’ve ever been in front of Van. Even if you’re not always wearing a full face of makeup like did today, you’re always adamant about having some tinted moisturizer or mascara on when you’re with him. You knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t criticize your appearance; You just hoped he’d keep the shock off of his face when he first sees you.

The hot water invigorates you with a fresh boost of energy, washing off the fatigue that’s been hanging over you since Van’s house.

You head into your bedroom, the only thing covering you the threadbare towel wrapped around you. Van is sitting on your bed, tapping away at his laptop. He doesn’t look up as you make your way to your dresser.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, and you hear the soft noise of his computer closing.

“Getting dressed,” You tell him, procuring a pair of underwear and folded t-shirt from their respective drawers.

“Well, stop,” Van demands. At the slap of his hand against your comforter you turn around, confused. He’s slapped the space next to him, and he motions to it with a nod of his head. “Get over here.”

You feel a laugh bubble up from the nerves stewing in your stomach. “What?”

Even as you question him you still obey, abandoning the underwear and shirt in favor of sitting on the edge of the bed in your towel.

“Lay down,” Van insists, patting the bed again. “I’ve got a favor to return, don’t I?”

You swallow hard. You hadn’t forgotten his proposal, the way it fizzled away with no real resolution. A part of your brain had clung onto his words, nervously hoping he’d follow through. The part of you that didn’t want to get your hopes up had convinced yourself to forget about it and get dressed.

“It doesn’t work that way,” You assure him sternly. “It’s not tit-for-tat.”

Van isn’t phased. His lopsided smile makes another appearance from where he’s already stood up from the bed, stripping away his clothes.

“But that wouldn’t be polite of me.” He tosses his crewneck at you teasingly. It’s damp from being pressed against his post-shower body. You throw it to the floor for him. He does the same with his t-shirt.

Once he’s down to his briefs he meanders around the room, setting the scene. You gaze at him in wide-eyed curiosity as he shuts the bedroom door, turns off the bedside lamp, and motions to the windows.

“Want me to close these?”

The sun was close to slipping under the horizon, the last rays of light weakly shining. And unlike Van’s house, there were neighbors with their own windows close by. “Yeah, close ‘em,” You agree.

Once that’s done Van turns back to you, still sitting shell-shocked on the bed. He motions to your towel, still wrapped tightly around your midsection. “You gonna let go?”

You hadn’t realized how tightly your fingers had been clenching the fold to keep it in place. At his words you relax your hands. The fabric doesn’t unfold all the way, but Van climbs back onto the bed, his fingers slipping against your bare skin as he untucks it.

“Why are you so tense?” He asks as he slips the towel away from your body, off the edge of the bed. He smiles at you, amused and relaxed. “You’re stiff as a board.”

“I’m nervous.” It’s easier to admit now that the lights are off and the windows are closed. There’s still light pressing against the blinds, but the blanket of shadows relaxes you.

“Bad experiences?”

Van is still fussing with the pillows while he talks to you, getting some to fill the gap between the two sleeping spaces. Once he’s satisfied he pushes at you gently, silently asking you to lay down. You do.

You stare at your ceiling for a moment before answering. “Not really bad.” You chew the inside of your cheek in contemplation. “Mediocre, for sure. Lots of pressure.”

Van’s palm presses warm against the soft skin of your stomach. You shiver, tilting your neck so you can look at him where he’s hovering next to you, sitting on his knees. He swipes his thumb back and forth against your skin in a reassuring motion.

“Lucky for you, there’s no pressure,” He shrugs. “We can always do somethin’ else. Just say the word.”

You nod, taking his words in. “Right.”

He lifts his hand from your stomach, running it through his hair. “No bullshit, remember?”

You remember the pinky promise you’d made after your first date. It feels like forever ago. You jokingly lift you arm to salute him. “No bullshit.”

Van chuckles as he salutes you back. The lightheartedness helps you relax.

After the salute Van climbs up onto his hands and knees, making his way down your body. He places a kiss here or there as he goes; one on your shoulder, one near one of your nipples, by your belly button, the top of your thigh. He takes his time getting comfortable between your legs, squirming and adjusting. He presses his fingertips against the inside of your knees and you let him bend your legs, opening them to his preferred angle.

You clench your hands into the fabric of your comforter, laying there open and vulnerable. The build up is excruciating. He spends time running his fingertips over you, feather light. There’s not enough pressure to create friction but you feel the sparks nonetheless. He nuzzles into the crook of your thigh, his hair tickling you wherever it brushes. You’ve got to reach one of your hands down to scratch an itch from it, and since you’re there you lace your fingers into his hair. It grounds you to be able to feel him, to have an idea of his next move.

It still catches you off guard when he presses his lips right against your clit. He pulls away quickly, leaving a light kiss, but the sensation buzzes through you for much longer. Just when it starts to fizzle out he leans in again, more pressure but too quick again, over as soon as it began. You groan in impatience, tugging on his hair.

He takes you seriously after that. In one sweeping motion his breath floats hot over your skin before his mouth is pressed against you, there to stay. His lips part for his tongue to caress you, firm but forgiving, rough and smooth and warm all at once and you cry out from it.

Van is relentless. You can’t catch a full breath, desperately gasping for air as he works enthusiastically and without pause. Even as you squirm against the blankets he’s determined to keep his spot, his face pressing between your legs insistently. It only makes you squirm more, every nerve in your body firing off without being able to catch a break.

You’re so focused on his mouth that the sensation of his calloused fingertips brushing against your entrance goes unnoticed at first. It’s only when he gets a rhythm going, a smooth circle that repeats over and over that you jolt. You don’t have the brainpower to give him any verbal affirmation. Your body lifts it’s hips on its own, instinctively attempting to press down onto his fingers, physically begging for more, more, more.

If there’s only one lesson you can take from this experience, it’s how attuned Van is to your body. At your hip’s request he eases his two fingers in, pressing slow and deep, persisting even as you clench tight around him, desperate to feel the contours of his fingers.

He makes some small movements, but they’re not necessary. The sensation of being full and also stimulated by his mouth at the same time is so overpowering that he’s barely got to put any work in anymore. The two distinctly different sensations blend together, running up your spine. It feels like you’re about to be split down the center from how good it feels.

Holding Van’s hair just isn’t enough. No matter how tight you were clenching the roots of his hair you needed more. It felt like if you grabbed your comforter you’d rip it apart at the seams. You grope at your pillows, sinking your fingertips into the soft surface, contorting it as your hands clenched into tense fists.

Van groans against you seconds before you come, like he feels something you don’t. His arms hold your thighs open wide as you seize through it, shouting at first before quieting down to moans. You whimper when it’s done washing over you, the sensitivity setting in as he continues to gingerly lick.

“Okay,” You croak, gently nudging at his scalp. “Ow.”

He’s beaming as he pulls away, satisfaction oozing off of him as he wipes at his mouth.

“Bad experience?” He jokes as he scrambles off of the bed. He’s still in his briefs, a fact that surprises you. He strips them off, clumsy in his eagerness, clamoring back on the bed.

You’re still on cloud nine, too far away to be able to engage with his teasing. You only snort in laughter.

Van’s sitting up on his knees, hand around himself. His dick looks painfully hard.

“Gimme something to blow into.” His voice is laced with urgency.

“C’mere,” You murmur, spreading your legs apart. You use a hand on his side to try and guide him to kneel between your legs, but he falters in confusion. “Between my legs,” You whine, too hazy for explanations.

He knees you as he repositions himself. Unable to read your mind, he starts jerking off again, preparing to come on your thighs.

“Hold on, chill out,” You grumble playfully, batting his hand away from himself.

He huffs in frustration but you ignore him, stretching your arm to the limit in order to grasp the bottle of lotion you’d left on your bedside table the other day after moisturizing after your shower. You squeeze a good dollop into your palm before wrapping your fingers around him. His sigh of relief cuts so raw through his throat you feel your body buzz with an aftershock.

“Come forward a little,” You guide him, jerking him off over your stomach. He thrusts against your hand, his balls hanging heavy between his legs.

You do him the favor of using your other hand to lend them some attention, realizing with regret you had no idea what his preferences were. Thankfully, your standard palming seems to work fine.

You watch his face as he comes, your focus unbroken as he splatters hot and thick all over your stomach. You keep your hand moving until you see the tension ease out of his forehead and around his eyes. Until he’s finally blinking back at you, disoriented.

There’s only the sound of heavy breathing for a moment. It’s jarring compared to all the noise that previously filled the room.

“I gotta go clean myself off,” You excuse yourself quickly, feeling his come dry against your skin. You make your way on wobbly legs to the bathroom, soaking a towel in the sink before scrubbing at your stomach.

You startle when Van taps at the door. At your invitation he peeks his head in, watching your futile attempt to clean his mess. Everywhere the water dried there was a crusty sheen of white.

“Get in the shower with me,” He mumbles, taking it upon himself to start fussing with the knobs, getting the water running without any assistance.

“You just showered,” You point out.

“Gotta rewash my hair.” He sounds completely zapped of energy.

You abandon the wet hand towel on the tile, deciding to worry about it tomorrow. You climb back into the shower you’d just emerged from, shifting around the tight space to share it with Van, who’s already wetting his hair.

It’s strange being in this space with Van. You’ve never been one for casual nakedness, always at least wearing a shirt and underwear around the house. Standing in the fluorescent bathroom lighting, watching Van carefully rinse away any excess lotion from the folds of his foreskin feels too intimate. You focus on yourself instead, keeping your head bent low while you run your loofa over your stomach. It only takes Van a few minutes to massage your shampoo through his hair, and then you two are getting back out. You pass him a towel before wrapping one around yourself.

“Got a toothbrush I can borrow?” He requests, and you pull a spare one from the closet, letting him struggle with the cardboard packaging as you get a head start brushing your own teeth.

He bumps you with his hip, nudging you over so you two can both share the mirror.

Then you’re both back in your bedroom, a sense of deja vu as you get dressed in the shirt and underwear that was already sitting on top of the dresser.

The quiet starts to worry you as you climb into bed. You worry suddenly that this was intended to be some sort of goodbye. That this whole strange ritual of head-giving and spending the night at your place and staying close to each other was Van’s way of giving you guys a last hurrah before letting you know that he realized things weren’t working. Maybe the hypothetical London girl wanted commitment.

Van lights a cigarette as you slip under the sheets with him.

“So…” He starts, before looking over at you. You gulp.

“That was… not mediocre, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“M’serious!” Van laughs, his cigarette moving dangerously through the air as he gestures with his hands.

“You just want me to stroke your ego,” You scoff, lightly elbowing him.

“Guess I’m the devil for checking in on you, then.” Van shrugs in a faux pout.

“What do you want me to say?” You tip your head back, sighing dramatically. “Oh, Van McCann, that was the best head I’ve ever gotten. I’ve only come twice from head and it’s been from you both times.” You flop down onto your mattress dramatically. “I’m truly so blessed you chose me tonight out of all those girls at the show.”

“Oh, that was a low blow,” Van jokes, hand over his heart in mock pain. “No need to bring up the groupies.”

You giggle, flipping onto your stomach and shifting your weight on your elbows so you can look up at him.

“I guess I’m just asking because I’m confused,” Van says, tapping his ashes into the empty can of Coke he’d left on the bedside table. “Like you said, you’ve only ever made it across the finish line two times. But… you had that girlfriend, didn’t you?”

You tense in habitual defensiveness. Through the course of your relationship with her, and any time coming out after, fielding questions from nosy men who want you to indulge them in their girl-on-girl fantasies is a familiar insult.

“Did I have a girlfriend? Yes,” You play dumb, pressing him for a question with more specifics.

Van sees right through you. He rolls his eyes. “I mean, lads aren’t great at getting it right, y’know. Your setup’s fucking confusing. I’m the first to admit I’m daft about the whole thing and fucking shit to sleep with. But wouldn’t another girl get it?”

At its core, Van’s question has a lewd essence you’ve encountered before. One that wants you to describe how good women are in bed, how they always get it right and every encounter is sensual and just like they’ve seen in porn.

But it’s clear Van has a genuine interest. A real desire to get to know you better and learn about your sexual history. With that in mind, you sigh.

“I mean…” You start, then stop. Try to carefully put your words together. “First of all, every girl has a different… setup. You’ve got to know that much,” You narrow your eyes at him, accusatory.

Van waves his hand in dismissal. “Right. Does my head in.”

“Well it’s the same with guys! I can’t walk up to any guy on the street and know exactly what he’d like. You might know your way around- for the most part- but it’s still different with everyone. Plus,” You feel self-consciousness creep over you at how intently Van’s clinging onto your words, “We were each other’s first girl, ya know, so it was all new and weird. And she wasn’t very interested in that sort of thing. It’s not something we did often. I dunno. It just didn’t work the way you think it does.”

Van stubs his cigarette out. “And how do I think it works?”

“Like porn,” You insist. “That’s how everyone thinks it goes.”

Van shakes his head, amused. “I’m grown enough to know that absolutely nothing goes like porn, okay? You say shit that I get curious about!”

When you don’t respond, he elaborates.

“Like… If you’re telling me you’ve never come from getting head, and I’m planning on doing that, I’d like to know why!” He laughs, throwing up his hands in innocence. “Like I said, I’m shit! I’d like to improve my chances!”

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re weird!” You tell him. “Asking about exes is weird! I don’t wanna know about yours. It makes for competition.”

You flop onto your back after your declaration, feeling Van’s body shake in silent laughter beside you.

“I lied,” You blurt out, rolling onto your side to click your lamp off as Van starts to settle in. “I do wanna know one thing.”

“Alright.”

“How many have you told about the roughing-up thing?”

“None. And you weren’t supposed to remember that,” He frowns in the darkness at you.

“None? Really?”

“Well… Most of the times something would happen organically, I guess. Things get rough in the moment, y’know. But I never spelled it out.”

You hum. There’s a strand of hair that’s flopped over his eyes, and you carefully tuck it away. “Gotcha,” You say around a yawn.

The room goes quiet.

“G’night,” You tell Van, giving him a pat on his shoulder before turning around, nestling into your sheets.

“Night,” Van says quietly.

Soon, the room glows blue from his phone.

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #van mccann fic #vanfic #catb

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 years ago

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Guilty. (Part 4.)

Part Four.

Steve Rogers (Lawyer AU) x Reader Insert.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Alcoholism, drunk driving, a bit of angst. Plot twist! Natasha Romanoff is that bitch, Pepper Potts is cute and domesticated, Tony Stark has this whole thing figured out, and Y/n is left alone to fill in the pieces.

Notes: The media has been very overwhelming the past few days and I’m really struggling to wrap my head around everything going on. I am a person of color, I do sympathize with the movement, but this is crazy and too much. If anyone needs to talk my asks are open, I don’t mind discussing it, but if it’s overwhelming for you as well, it’s perfectly fine to log out and collect your thoughts. Remember to take care of yourself, and stay safe. Be informed, and remain aware.

Masterlist.

Part Four:

Natasha looks nervous when you pick her up from her office, she tells you that you should be too, she also compliments you on your lipstick. "Where's Steve?"

You shake your head, and she clicks her tongue at you. "Trouble in paradise?"

You would like to think that you could make a friend out of Natasha after all of this, trust her with your secrets and welcome her into your personal life, but you simply can't get a read on her character. One minute she's sweet, kind to you even, then the next she's like a bat out of hell seeking to ruin you, making jabs at everything she can. It confuses you, shakes you up, and brings you back down to earth all in one. She's a whirl wind of a woman, and if you didn't respect her, you wouldn't tolerate it.

"Steve didn't want me to go." You say. "But if there's the slightest chance that this is true-"

She nods, looking at herself in the visor mirror of your car. "Yeah, it's better than risking it all by going up against him in court."

But Steve is willing to take that risk, he told you that just minutes before you got the call. Does he feel betrayed by this? Are you somehow dishonoring his confessions to you by doing this? All you want is for this to go smoothly. If Tony really is being voted out of his company, this could have a completely different outcome for Bucky and Brock. The only way to find out is to meet with him.

Steve will be mad for a while, but you're hoping he can see the good in your intentions.

"We don't always see eye to eye, but I'm prepared to do this." You say. "You're the only person he would agree to bringing along with me."

She raises and eyebrow at that. "Really? He might actually be telling the truth then." She says. "All his debts to me are paid, and vice versa. Dragging me into this willingly must mean he genuinely needs help." She pauses, slamming the visor closed. "Either that or he plans to burn us after all of this is over."

You swallow, ignoring her words, choosing to remain optimistic.

The address he gave you turns out to be a house in a neighborhood out of the city, private property. It works your nerves a bit, anxiety filling your veins as you realize how far out you are, and how remote the area is. You can tell Natasha is thinking the same thing when you look over at her.

She grabs your arm before you can turn off the car, a look on her face you've never seen before. She's dead serious as she says, "Be open minded. Who knows what he's going to offer, but he's not a bitch. What he says goes, or we walk away with nothing." She lets you go and gets out of the car, fluffing her hair as if she were entirely care free about the situation.

You take a page out of her book, taking a deep breath before turning off the car and getting out. The house is large, well kept, the lawn cut short, grass a shade of green that almost looks fake. There are flowers lining the walkway up to the front door, a stone path that leads across the lawn and around the back. You try to picture Tony Stark as a family man, wearing shorts and a tank as he waters his plants, his children running around the yard, and it doesn't click with you. But when a woman answers the door, strawberry hair and kind eyes, your mouth goes dry.

"Y/n, Natasha." She greets you with a smile. "My name is Pepper, I'm Tony's wife."

Natasha looks unphased, however, your jaw drops. A wife, and a pretty one at that. But you recover quickly, smiling as you stick out your hand. "A pleasure."

She shakes your hand, fingers worn, but soft. She must be a hard worker, you can tell that by her demeanor. "Please, come inside."

The house is warm, farm house decor giving a clean, domestic vibe. It's not as large as you expected for a man like Tony Stark, but you decide that maybe that's the whole point. The neighborhood is quiet, the house average, perhaps this is something he wanted, a place to get away from the spotlight, a place to settle down out of public view.

But why bring you here to talk?

"Tony is in the dining room, straight ahead to the left." Pepper is kind enough to close the door behind you, "Can I get you ladies anything to drink."

Natasha places her hand on your arm, "We'll have tea please, thank you."

Pepper nods, rushing off to the kitchen, you glance at Natasha, who smiles at you. "Always ask for the most difficult thing to make. It makes a statement."

It did make a statement, Pepper probably now views you as a pair of uptight bitches, and that's not the first impression you wanted to give off. But it does state that you're here on business, that while she may be a nice woman, you won't be buttered up by a cute house wife. Natasha knows exactly what she's doing, and you're glad that you brought her along. You've never dealt with someone like Stark before, you're way out of your league.

Tony is where Pepper said he would be, sitting at the table in the dining room, a tablet in front of him, and it almost makes you laugh at the sight of Tony Stark using such obsolete technology in comparison to his own.

He looks up with a smile, gesturing to the seats across from him. "Ladies," Is all he says, not bothering to stand or reach out for a handshake. It's not at all professional, but given the circumstances, you can understand why he may not be one hundred percent hospitable. "So you've met the missus then?" He's looking right at you, and indication that Natasha has not only been here before, but also that she knows Pepper well.

You nod, "She's lovely. I wasn't expecting that at all."

He chuckles, "If I were in a generous mood I would let you meet my daughter Morgan, you'd love her. Smart mouthed and all." He shifts, sitting up, folding his arms on the table. "I want to get right into it, all bullshit aside. Everything I said on the phone was true. I'm going to prove that here and now, and then together we can decide what to do."

You're hesitant, because your business partner isn't here, and you can't promise Tony anything that you aren't sure Steve would agree to. So you start off small. "Why did you ask me here of all places?" You ask.

"It's the only secure location I know they can't get to me." He says, knocking his knuckles against the wooden table. "I have network protection here, everything is hidden and secure and I know for a fact no one is listening to us or watching us." He points to your cell phones. "Those are walking broadcast signals, if anyone is watching me, or you, they can't listen in here."

Pepper comes in with your tea, setting two cups down in front of you and Natasha. You thank her, admiring the delicate placement of a lemon wedge on the lip of your cup. Natasha goes in for a sip, and you notice that her lipstick is transfer proof this time. She sets her cup back down carefully, clearing her throat, Pepper leaves.

"This is his way of laying all the cards out on the table in hopes that we'll trust him." Natasha says. "He's vulnerable, his family life is a secret, and now you know it. You in turn have to lay your cards out on the table as well."

It's fair, you now have something to use against him, and the only way to make the playing field even and ensure cooperation is to do the same.

"Someone on our team is a spy." You say, catching even Natasha off guard. "My assistant, Wanda Maximoff has a twin brother who is working the case on team Stark. We believe the angle might have been for you to try and use her as a spy, but we've kept her away from important work and were going to miss fed her information to report back to you." You shrug. "But seeing as you're here, either you didn't know, or that wasn't your plan."

He looks confused as he scratches his beard. "I had no fucking clue." He points a finger at you, speechless. "You're good. I wish we didn't have to meet this way." He then turns to Natasha. "She's good. I like her."

She nods. "She came to me for help, was smart enough to put two and two together."

You can't help it, hearing the praise boosts your ego, and you go for a sip of tea. If only Steve could see it the same way.

Tony turns his attention back on you. "Alright, fair enough." He presses his palms flat against the table. "I'm going to tell you everything, and at first it's going to sound outrageous, but the more I talk the more it will make sense."

He goes on a tangent about his father, Howard, a good man who left behind a good legacy. he also goes on about how he was a problematic child, and a problematic teenager, and an even more problematic young adult. So when his father died, he wasn't ready to take over the company, so someone else filled that role until he was. That man was Obadiah Stane, and for the first time in ten minutes, his story starts to form solid structure. Stane worked closely with Howard, so in his death, Stane filled the role of CEO. But when Obadiah also passed, it was his son Zeke who took on a role as a board member for Stark Industries.

Zeke is someone you have never heard of, most of the public was unaware that there even was a board making decisions for the company. Tony Stark is the public face, his last name on the building for crying out loud, so he takes most of the heat and popularity points.

Tony tells you that Zeke has been trying to buy him out of the company for years, and that recently he discovered encrypted files hidden in the company's software, incriminating proof of falsifying charges against workers in order to make up for unpaid taxes.

It all makes sense, workers being slammed with lawsuits after trying to go after the company for not paying compensation. It was simply taking advantage of an opportunity, the missing tax money being blamed on a worker to get the IRS off of their asses. But a good story is only that, a good story. You need to see those files.

"I truly do hope, Mr. Stark, that you didn't bring me out here just to tell me that story." You toy with your tea cup. "Because it is a great story, my deepest sympathies for the loss of your parents, but as a lawyer I can't believe it without seeing any proof."

He taps the tablet in front of you. "I have proof, everything I found has been uploaded to this tablet, that's the only reason I have the ancient thing." He says. "But I can't give it to you."

Natasha shifts, crossing one leg over the other, and you can tell she's loosing her patience, as are you. "Oh?"

"I need you to keep me out of it." He says. "In exchange for these files I need you to tell me something that you don't want to get out into the media. Don't say my name, I won't say yours."

The grin on Natasha's face is scandalous, lips barely touching her tea cup when she says, "She's screwing her business partner."

Your eyes go wide, heartbeat in your ears as Tony smiles. "Cute. Kinky." He has the nerve to wink at you, and you swear you feel a heat flash coming on. Steve is going to kill you. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Pepper was my assistant once."

If only to ease your mind, you try to picture her behind a desk typing away on a keyboard, and while a business suit seems to suit her, you much rather prefer her cute mom jeans and t-shirt.

As promised, he slides the tablet over to you. "There is no password, but it is connected to my VPN for protection." He says, eyes on yours. "I promise I won't tell your secret, just as long as you keep me out of this. Your battle is with the board, with Zeke Stane. I have nothing to do with this."

You're almost thankful for his cooperation, he made it simple, said what he needed to say and turned over what you need to help your case. You can imagine that Tony wants what you do, to get justice for those who need it. You just never expected that he needed justice too.

"Thank you for this." You say, tucking the tablet into your bag.

"Sure, just don't tell anyone you have it. Especially not your little spy."

Pepper walks you out, throwing in a dinner invite for some date in the future. You doubt she'll make good on it, but you can't deny that she is thoroughly hospitable. You get into your car quickly, pulling out of the driveway and leaving the neighborhood. The farther you get, the lighter you feel about the situation. Things were starting to look up, and while this may not be what you expected, you now have a solid case. The files on the tablet will no doubt seal the case in your favor, and everyone will get what they want. Bucky, Brock, Tony, they can all walk away getting the justice they deserve, and you feel proud to have a part in it.

Natasha invites you to join her for a glass of wine when you drop her off, and after careful consideration, you decide that it couldn't hurt.

Natasha is exactly the woman she perceives herself to be, sophisticated, preferring luxury as compensation for the hard work she's done in her life. Her home is something out of a vogue fantasy, vintage decor, gold and white details screaming expensive as you walk inside. She throws her bag on the couch as if it didn't cost her a full stack, heels clicking against polished floors as she makes her way into the kitchen.

She doesn't ask you for a preference, she simply grabs a bottle and two glasses, gesturing for you to sit. She twists the bottle open, filling each glass before handing one to you. She watches as you take a sip, pleased with herself when you nod in approval.

"I figured you liked sweeter wines." She says, "I like to guess."

There's a power to her that you wish you could manifest for yourself, and you decide to at least try as you sit in her presence. You cross your legs, sitting back against the couch cushions.

"Natasha, why did you give up being a lawyer?"

The sigh that comes form her is heavy, she goes in for a long sip of wine before rolling her eyes. "Because it's exhausting work, and there's little reward." You're ready to argue, remind her of the justice you help serve, but she stops you with a raised finger. "I'm a woman who has built a career, and significant wealth. Yet I am surrounded by nothing. I have no family, no one to share my success with. I have given so much to others, freedom, settlements, but I have nothing to show for myself."

You imagine her to have much experience, traveling, studying abroad, you wish you had the time to find out all of her secrets. But as you both continue to drink, you become a bit looser with your tongue, laughing with each other as if you've known each other your whole lives.

Until finally, a question you've been dreading slips from her mouth, "So, Steve Rogers?"

You feel like a school girl, gossiping at recess on the playground, a blush coats your cheeks that you can't hide from her, making her laugh. "Don't be shy, it's already out there at this point. I knew the moment I saw you. Even Tony knows."

"Because you told him." You counter, "Besides, there's nothing there. We aren't official, we've never even-"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Never?" You shake your head. "Is he pulling the sacrifice card?" she asks. "You know, I want you but I won't have you because I have to fulfill my destiny and you're a distraction?"

He's never said it that way before, it's never come off as him wanting to pursue his career and you being something that could hold him back, but in the context of him considering you a risk, it sounds a lot like what she's saying.

"Yeah." You're a bit embarrassed that you didn't realize it sooner.

Steve Rogers is stringing you along like you're a love sick puppy.

"What you need to do is grab him by his balls." She says. "Literally. Corner him, grab him, and demand him to make a choice, you, or his career. And no matter what he chooses, don't beg, and don't ever look twice at him. If he doesn't chose you, you can't show him a single sign of interest from that moment forward, otherwise it won't work."

You're clueless, the guide she has to men flying right over your head. "What won't work?"

"You want him to realize what he's missing, you want him to understand that all of your benefits come with commitment, and if you make him miss you he might reconsider." She says.

She's obviously been around the park, and you envy her wisdom. "We need to do this more often." You say, glancing at your wine.

She smiles at you, warm and genuine, a smile you've never seen come from her before, "That can be arranged."

After another glass of wine, she kicks you out with words of encouragement to go grab Steve Rogers by the balls, and a kiss on the cheek, "If you ever need me, have no doubt that I'm more than willing. Take care of yourself, I'll be rooting for you."

You're a bit tipsy, but you manage to get to your office in one piece, ignoring the curious stares you get from the other lawyers that work at the firm.

You've made multiple allies in this, and you have a good feeling as you head back to your office. You're bursting with excitement, quick to step out of your heels and toss your purse down. You make sure the door to your office is closed behind you, rushing off in search of Steve, but he isn't in his office when you look. He isn't on the balcony either, and the proud feeling you felt for yourself quickly vanishes.

He's pissed, your small victory doesn't even feel worth it knowing you've upset him in the process. Your mind clouded, your emotions swimming, tears slip from your eyes as everything sets in on you. The consequences of your career choice catching up with you. In doing the right thing for one person, you've done wrong by someone else. Too much sacrifice and far too little reward.

With no one here to tell, nothing left to do until you can both sync your thoughts, you decide to head home.

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

Guilty Masterlist.

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #lawyer steve rogers #lawyer au #lawyer series #avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #avengers au #steve rogers angst #adult themes #steve rogers series

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calligraphist-artemisia · 4 years ago

Text

Soul of a Lion (chapter 3)

Sequel to The Smallest Blade.

Summary: After the Red Lion steals them away from the Marmora base and takes them through a wormhole, Shiro, Keith, Katla, and Lance find themselves in front of a majestic castle with nowhere to go but inside. The events that unfold while they’re there will change the fate of the universe.

Also posted on AO3 under the username “kishirokitsune”.

☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆

3 | Communication

The dim lighting of the castle's nighttime cycle made everything feel far more ominous than it needed to be, with the way it cast long shadows across the floor and highlighted any curvature in the architecture around them. Katla stayed close to the wall as she and Lance snuck towards the security panel she spotted during their tour. With luck, she would be able to hack into it without setting off any alarms.

Neither of them dared speak for fear of getting caught.

Katla gestured for Lance to stop as they reached the end of the hall. She waited a moment and then, with more caution than necessary, peered around the bend. When she saw that the coast was clear, she nodded to him and waved him forward so they could continue towards their task, which was all the way down at the end of the hall on their left.

“This is it,” Katla whispered to him. She held up her right arm and pressed on a slightly raised plate on the underside of her bracer. It clicked and released a tiny cable, which she pulled out and, after taking a deep breath, connected it to the control panel on the wall. The screen flickered in and out for a moment and then turned from blue to a pale violet, signaling that she was successfully wired into the system.

Both of them let go of the breath they were holding.

“Is that it?” Lance asked.

“Almost,” Katla responded, turning her wrist so her hand faced palm down. She double-tapped the top of her bracer, which activated a small, holographic display. “Keep an eye out, would you? Hopefully, this thing will give me a map to an engineering room or something. It's bound to have parts I can use.”

Lance nodded sharply and stood up straight. Though he didn't move away from the wall, he listened as hard as he could for any sound that wasn't the tiny beeps from Katla scouring the system for anything useful.

After a few tense doboshes, Katla cried out in triumph, and although she managed to do it quietly, it still made Lance visibly jump.

“Sorry,” she apologized as she disconnected from the control panel. “There's a spare parts room two halls over and I disconnected the security cameras and put them on loop. It'll last us one varga, so we'll have to be quick.”

“Can you build your-” (Lance vaguely waved his hand) “-whatever-it-is in that short amount of time?”

“Who do you think you're talking to? Of course I can,” Katla said confidently.

Lance snorted in amusement. “Lead on, team captain. I'd like to get some beauty rest at some point tonight and the sooner you do your thing, the sooner I can curl up in bed.”

Katla grinned at him and then set off down the hallway at a much faster pace, more at ease with the knowledge that there was no one around to catch them. According to the system, there was one person three floors above them and there were two other people up in the topmost spire of the castle. (And of course, she checked in to find Shiro and Keith, who were steadily making their way to the front door when she spotted their dots. Or at least, she assumed it was them.)

When they got to the correct door, Katla didn't even have to hack into it, it simply slid open with a simple press to the keypad.

“You know, I'd say I should talk to them about upping their security around here but it's really benefiting me right now, so I won't,” Katla said in a light-hearted tone. “Oh, look at this!”

Lance looked around, but all he saw were heaps of junk and scrap metal. “Uh, yeah, it's really something. Very... metal-y.”

Katla wasn't paying him any attention as she eagerly delved into the piles and began pulling things out, cooing and humming over what she could use and what may be useful for future things. As Lance watched, the pile in front of her grew, and while he didn't see how any of it was meant to fit together, Katla was clearly delighted by her mess of wires and metal pieces, so he didn't say anything until she tried to scoop it all up and carry it to one of the mostly empty tables.

“Here, let me help,” Lance said, stooping down to help pick up some of the stray pieces.

Together the pair got all of the parts over to a desk, where Katla began to assemble them and occasionally looked up to ask Lance to fetch some kind of tool or computer chip or another cable or wire.

Lance did his best to help while also listening for anyone's approach, but by the time Katla had her little machine buzzing to life, he'd forgotten the whole reason he was there. And because both of them were so focused on the communication device, neither noticed there was someone else in the room with them until that person loudly cleared their throat to get their attention.

Lance gasped and back up into the desk so hard that he winced.

Katla's hand flew to her side and grasped the hilt of her dagger as she turned to face the potential threat. She froze when she saw Hunk standing there with his hands held up in front of him to show he didn't mean any harm.

For a moment, there was only silence.

“What do you want?” Lance asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You guys set off a sensor when you left your rooms, so I came to make sure everything is alright,” Hunk said, slowly lowering his hands back to his sides.

“You bugged our rooms?” Pidge asked incredulously.

“Well, yeah. I mean, wouldn't you if you were in my shoes?” Hunk asked in response. “What are you two doing in here anyway?”

Lance watched as Katla tried to move over in front of her device before Hunk could get a better look at it. He copied her and closed in as well, though he could tell from the expression on Hunk's face that he'd already seen that they were building something. Maybe if they were lucky, he wouldn't be able to figure out what it was?

A few ticks passed and then Hunk sighed. “I know we don't have any reason to trust each other, but can we try and get along? At least until we figure all of this out with the Red Lion.”

Katla puffed herself up in anger, her tail lashing as she very slowly stepped aside. “We need to send a message back to our families and let them know we're alright.”

Hunk took a single step closer and both of them tensed up, but that was as far as he went. “You could have just asked. Though, uh, I guess the real issue would be convincing Allura and Coran.” He paused for a moment to look at the machine. “Wait, is that a sub-frequency radio? Are you sure you don't want to use something a little faster? I could try and sneak you up on the bridge once they leave and you could send a message that way.”

Katla shook her head. “This is more reliable. And since no one uses it anymore, no one is looking or broadcasts through it anymore. Well, except for Keith's dad and my family.”

There was something about Hunk that made Lance feel more at ease, despite his determination to dislike all three Alteans found in the castle. He figured Katla must have been feeling the same way. She wouldn't reveal so much if she wasn't.

“And you built it using pieces you found around here?” Hunk asked. “What are you using to power it?”

Katla hesitated to respond, but after another few ticks of silence and Hunk patiently waiting for her to decide whether or not to tell him, she finally did. “I was going to make a double coil generator so it keeps recycling the energy and gathers displaced electrical currents from the air, but it needs a jump start so I don't have to wait for that to build up. I figured something around here would have enough power to do that, but...”

“Maybe I can find something,” Hunk suggested.

Lance stayed close to Katla as the Altean began to walk around, opening drawers in search of what they needed. He didn't know why Hunk was so willing to help them. Was it a trap? A way of luring them into a false sense of security, prying their secrets from them, and then finding a way to betray them?

His panicked thoughts didn't have time to gain any momentum or spiral off into a more ridiculous scenario. A wave of calm washed over him, soothing his fraying nerves and forcing him to relax. And all at once, Lance realized why he felt so at ease with Hunk.

It took everything in his power not to blurt it out right then and there.

Later. He would tell Katla and the others later. If he brought it up right at that moment, then he would have to explain how he knew so much about Altean secrets and that was a wormhole he had no plans on opening up.

Hunk made a triumphant exclamation as he lifted a tray of shiny rocks from one of the drawers and carried it over to them. “These are power crystals,” he explained, picking up one shaped like an obelisk with a broken base and passing it to Lance. “We'll have to dig through and find one that still has some power left.”

Lance rolled the opaque white gem around his palm, watching with slight alarm as a faint glow began to build up in the center. He quickly passed it off to Katla before anyone could notice what was happening.

“How do you know which ones have power?” Katla asked, curiously eyeing the box before looking at the stone she was just handed. “Because it looks like the one you gave us might work.”

Hunk shook his head. “They'll glow if they have any power left. That one was... oh!” his voice stuttered in surprise as he took a second look. “You're right! That one should work. That's odd...”

Katla didn't question their good fortune and busied herself with installing the crystal in the communication device, practically bouncing in delight as it immediately began to work.

Lance's heart was pounding in his chest. He could feel Hunk's eyes on him. 'Please don't figure it out,' Lance prayed, turning his back towards the Altean and pretending to focus solely on the coils within Katla's device which were steadily directing the energy through the wires and looping back around into itself, glowing brighter with each pass.

If Hunk learned anything from the exchange, he didn't say anything and instead went to put the tray away before returning to watch Katla begin to input her message. It became apparent after a moment that he, like Lance, couldn't make heads or tails of the series of numbers Katla was typing out.

“A coded message?” he guessed.

“My brother and I made our own secret code when we were kids, so we could write to each other without anyone else knowing what we were saying,” Katla explained. “Kol – Keith's dad will pick up on the broadcast, but only Matt will be able to translate.”

“That seems a little excessive.”

Katla gave a humorless laugh. “Maybe you hadn't picked up on this, but we're not exactly friends of the Empire. All of that caution is how we stay alive. We haven't had the luxury of hiding away and sleeping for all these years.”

Hunk flinched, but when he spoke again it was without anger in his voice. “You're right. We hid the Lions and ourselves because we were afraid of what would happen if Zarkon found us. I didn't like it. Allura argued that we should keep fighting. But we listened to our King because he thought it was the right choice. Maybe it was or maybe it wasn't, but we're here now and ready to stand up and fight. The Red Lion brought the four of you here for a reason and I know it's because you've been chosen as the new paladins. Well, four of them. Because there should be five of you.”

“Wait, there are five Lions?” Katla asked.

Hunk looked taken aback by the question. “Yeah. You didn't know?”

“How would we?” Katla asked in response. She took another moment to read over her message and then send it before picking up the device. “So, where are these other four Lions? Are they as well hidden as Red?”

“They should be. We know that the Black Lion is safe since it's here in the castle, but we won't know about the others until we go looking. Allura should be able to tell us where they are,” Hunk said.

“Which means we'll never find them,” Lance stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn't say that. The princess will come around, she just needs a little time,” Hunk said defensively. “I should get you back to your room. It definitely won't help things if she or Coran learn that you're out here sending messages and that I helped you.”

Neither Katla nor Lance protested as Hunk gestured for them to follow him out of the room and back through the halls. None of them spoke; Lance didn't even blurt out the storm of questions left to thunder around in his mind.

When they got back to their rooms, Katla didn't give Lance a chance to go into the room he'd been given and instead grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into Shiro's without giving him a chance to protest. While she looked around for the best place to hide her device, just in case they needed it again, Lance sat down on the edge of the bed and mulled over everything he'd learned, slotting it into place with what he'd known before.

Most of it boiled down to one fact: as much as he didn't want to like him, Hunk was someone they could trust.

It wasn't just the fact that he helped them send their message.

It wasn't even that he kept his patience even when Katla verbally attacked him.

It had everything to do with his Aspect.

They didn't have a lot of records from the time when Altea still hung whole in the sky. All that they knew of their heritage was what had been verbally passed down from parent to child and there were scarce few books and items that remained. Their knowledge of Altean Aspects – the special abilities that their quintessence granted them – was a limited one born of experience.

Body.

Mind.

Spirit.

Heart.

Lance had been born graced with the power to change his form at will. He began far earlier than most babies, changing the color of his skin for his own amusement, as well as the amusement of the other children he grew up with. By the time he was a tween, he could hold color and form for days if he needed to, even through sleep.

His mother said he was extraordinarily blessed.

Lance didn't always see it that way. Not when there was Leifsina, whose sharp mind was leagues above everyone else. Or Rykin, who was gifted with tremendous strength and just enough spirit to power the lamps around their village when needed. And then there was Curtis, who wore his Aspect of Heart like a shield, able to soothe those in need of it and calm tempers when they began to flare.

And all Lance could do was shift his appearance. That was nothing special. Most Alteans carried that ability.

Hunk was one of those special Alteans – like Curtis – who was born with the rarest ability of all. There were no others in their village who boasted the Aspect of Heart and even their records of it were scarce; there was perhaps one born with that Aspect every one-hundred decaphoebs. Still, if there was one thing they knew for certain it was that those with Heart were incapable of lying. There was always some kind of tell when they tried and no amount of practice or emotional control was enough to fix that.

Lance still didn't like him.

But if he had to pick one of the three who he trusted, it would be Hunk.

Shiro and Keith returned with little fanfare and news that the Red Lion hadn't responded to any of Keith's pleading, which meant they were officially stuck on Arus until she changed her mind. After hearing that, Lance was reluctant to tell them about their run-in with Hunk, but Katla had no such fears about telling them all about it.

At least they had gotten a message sent. It was only a question of Kolivan recognizing it as coming from them and getting Matt to translate.

“We should get some rest,” Shiro said once they were all caught up. “The three of you are welcome to stay here for the night. The bed's a little small, but I think we could manage.”

Katla perked up. “Do you mean it?”

“I wouldn't have offered if I didn't,” Shiro responded, sounding amused.

Lance thought for sure Keith would scoff and say he was going to sleep in his own room, but to his amazement, Keith yawned and claimed the middle before climbing over the bed to settle in his chosen spot. Katla grinned as she joined him, rolling over him to settle between Keith and the wall.

“Lance?” Shiro questioned. “Do you want to stay too?”

Lance agreed with only a little embarrassment.

☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆ - ☆

Allura sat in front of her vanity, slowly running a brush through her hair as she reflected on the events of the evening before. After a night of proper sleep, she was ashamed by the way she reacted to their guests and the obstinacy she displayed in refusing to believe that the Red Lion had accepted one of them as her paladin.

She set her brush down with deliberate delicacy and closed her eyes.

Her father's Lion had chosen a Galra and it hurt as surely as if she were in physical pain. And while she couldn't fully blame that pain for her actions, it certainly added to the helpless rage that she felt from the very moment she awoke in the cryo-pod, the betrayal of the people she once called allies still a freshly bleeding wound.

Regardless of her reasons, she had acted disgracefully and her guests deserved an apology.

Allura opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. “I will apologize, but this doesn't mean I trust them.”

There was a quiet scratching sound followed by several squeaks that seemed to overlap one another and Allura blinked in surprise as she watched four mice of different sizes climb up onto her vanity and begin to tumble around. There was a tickling in the back of her mind as though four voices were trying to speak and gain her attention, though it wasn't in words but feeling and a quick flash of images.

“Can you... understand me?” Allura murmured, tilting her head to the side as she regarded the mice.

There were more excited squeaks and a starburst of delight.

As she learned that a connection between them existed thanks to their 10,000 years spent in the same cryo-pod, Allura began to consider how she could use it to her benefit. They were small and inconspicuous. No one would even think that she could understand what they were saying.

They would be the perfect little spies.

“Perhaps you'd like to help me with something,” Allura said with a growing smile. “And in return, I'll find whatever food you like to eat.”

#voltron #kidge #kidgemas #fanfiction #soul of a lion #galra shiro #half galra keith #half galra pidge #altean lance #altean hunk #the space mice join the party!

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trickstermiraculous · 4 years ago

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Consequences Alya, Every Action Has A Consequence

Summary: Alya did not fact check before she posted on an article on her blog like always. The outcome of this was unexpected but fully deserved.

Author's Notes: slightly inspired by Charlatans by shoryubug on ao3 premise (only by the description of the story to be honest).

It was a quick and simple article which was something Alya was unhappy with but considering that she only a night to post it before she was banned off the internet while she visited her family outside of Paris, she wanted it out. What was this big news? you ask well Lila had revealed that someone in her class was Ladybug but Lila didn't know who since they only hinted at it, so by midnight on Friday the article was online and as they left early to avoid traffic no one in her family realised the shit storm that Alya had realised on the city.

The weekend was nice, her cousins were annoying but that was expected since most were younger than her. Her aunt and uncles were fun to chat with as they were all interested in how her school had been since the last time she had visited. She got strange looks from her relatives when she mentioned Lila but Alya ignored them as she focused on telling them how popular her blog ha become.

When Alya finally came back to Paris she was too tired to go online and the next morning she was late so had to quickly run out of the house only saying a quick goodbye to her parents, ignoring whatever they had to say. As she ran to school, she noticed the strange looks she got from people but that didn't matter, she couldn't afford to be late as she was on thin ice with Miss Bustier from filming on Akuma battles instead of getting to class on time.

Bursting through the door, she quickly started her apologise while she also focused on getting her breath back. Only after that, she noticed how eerily quiet the classroom was. Standing up to face the class she saw that many of her classmates looking exhausted, some of them were glaring daggers at her while others just avoided her eyes entirely. Lila looked as white as a sheet while she stunk down into her chair. What was shocking was Marinette and Adrien.

Both were at the back of the room, Adrien sitting down in his seat with a cold demeanour that resembled his father while Marinette was stood at the top of the steps arms crossed and had a calm face that seemingly hid a tidal wave of anger behind it. That along caused Alya to step back.

"Marinette are you ok?" asked Alya keeping her voice calm trying not to show her nerves, she had never experienced Marinette's anger, sure she had seen the girl angry outbursts at Chloe and Lila or when she messed up a design but this kind of anger was different and completely foreign to Alya.

"Am I ok? Really that's your first question, not I'm so sorry for all the trouble I caused you and the rest of the class" replied Marinette, confusing Alya,

"What do you mean?" questioned Alya,

"She means the article you posted Alya" stated Adrien in a tone similar to the one you would use when talking to a toddler,

"Article? You mean Ladybug being someone in this class" responded Alya slightly annoyed with the tone Adrien had used "speaking of which, why did no one tell me about one of you guys being Ladybug".

"Because no one in this class is Ladybug" growled Alix who was one of the few people who were able to look Alya in the eye,

"What do you mean?" question Alya raising her voice at Alix's tone, "Lila said-" she was cut off by Rose yelling which was something she never expected out of the girl,

"Lila lied" the girl yelled with eyes starting to water, "Lila lied about everything".

Rose collapsed in her seat sobbing as she was comforted by her girlfriend Juleka. Marinette looked at the pair with pity while Adrien shook his head. "What do you mean she lied?" responded Alya, she was getting more confused by the second,

"Bae, no one in here is Ladybug, Lila lied she lied about everything" replied Nino in a small voice.

Before Alya could respond, Marinette began to speak, "Everyone fact-checked Lila after the Akuma battle your article caused",

"I missed an Akuma battle and no one told me" exclaimed Alya which caused Marinette face to morph into an expression that showed her true anger,

"Did you not hear me when I said it was caused by you?" she snapped,

"What do you mean it was caused by me, I didn't do anything" replied Alya,

"Your article did, did you not realise that you would paint a big red target on our back when telling the whole of Paris that a rumour about someone in our class being Ladybug was true" respond Adrien standing up from his chair.

"Target what target?" question Alya louder than she meant to but she couldn't help it she was so confused,

"The target of hawkmoth being after everyone in this class for a miraculous that no one has" yelled Marinette, "you publicly posted that to a blog that almost everyone in Paris uses and not only that your story was broadcasted on almost every major news network because they trust you to tell the truth about Ladybug", Marinette got closer with every word.

"We had to deal with a two-day Akuma attack that was focused on us and us alone" continued Adrien "As well as the press demanding answers from us",

"They even accused parents of child neglect since they wonder on why our parents never notice that their child was out fighting Akuma battles" stated Max,

"We had to deal with a two-day Akuma attack that was focused on us and us alone" muttered Nino,

"I...I..." Alya trailed off as she tried to figure out how to respond.

"You put everyone in this class in danger for what, a few views on your blog" stated Marinette pointing a finger at her former friend,

"Lila said-" Alya said trying to defend herself but was swiftly cut off by Adrien,

"Who cares about what she lied about, you still made the decision to post it on your blog",

"You put everyone her in danger because you didn't fact check, you didn't bother to try and track down Ladybug to her what she had to say or even Chat Noir, you instead were blinded by a big scoop that you didn't think of the consequences like always" continued Marinette.

"What do you mean like always?" exclaimed Alya,

"When you broke into my locker because you thought I was Ladybug or the fact you run headfirst into Akuma battles" replied Chloe in a bored tone while she picked at her nails,

"Alya you are lucky that Ladybug and Chat Noir cleared up the lie or we would still be in danger from Hawkmoth or from the press," Adrien said.

Before Alya could respond the door swung open to reveal a depressed-looking Miss Bustier and an angry Mrs Mendeleiev, "Rossi, you are needed in the headmaster's office" Mrs Medeleiev and when Lila looked like she was about to protest, the angry teacher cut her off, "it's not up for debate" and with Lila and Mrs Mendeleiev left.

The class was left in awkward silence with Miss Bustier looking on the verge of tears. "Class as of today, I will no longer be your teacher as I have been fired" the women choked out most of the class look shock but not Adrien and Marinette, in fact, they looked happy,

"And because of that along with the attack you experienced, your class have been cancelled for the rest of the week with you only getting online homework to complete".

"Miss Bustier, why were you fired?" asked Alya,

"I was fired because of how I handled Lila and her lies along with how I dealt with bullies" answered Miss Bustier softly as the class began to pack up and leave giving Miss Bustier looks of pity while they left. "If anyone here was Ladybug, it's no wonder nobody told you considering the shit we had to deal with because of your article" sneered Chloe as she left.

"Alya, consider me to be only your classmate and not your friend" stated Marinette as she went to leave,

"What why?" stuttered Alya,

"I can't be friends with someone who was that foolish enough to put my loved ones in danger" the girl replied coldly,

"Same here," said Adrien not even sparing her a glance as he left with Marinette.

As the door swung shut leaving her in a silence cold classroom that normally is filled with joy, "I'm sorry" the girl whispered as she started to cry, collapsing on the wooden floor with only Nino to comfort her but even that wasn't enough to stop the pain of her mistake.

Author's Notes: Fun fact this was originally labelled as 'Alya you fucked up' in google docs.

I thought this premise was interesting so I wanted to do my own spin on it.

I have been working on my other stories but I have been catching up on anime I have missed so it may take a while for them to come out.

If you want to see what I have been doing while not writing follow my twitter: @marionettetrick

AO3 Wattpad

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #ml salt #lila salt #lila's lies are exposed #Lila Rossi #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #alya salt #the ladyblog #press #akuma attack #press being dicks #mild bustier salt #miraculclass #djwifi #Julerose

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stevenuniversetanzanite · 5 years ago

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The Angel Among Us (Cordelia X reader) Part 1

(This chapter has been rewritten/ edited since original post)

General Notice: I’m trying to get more works out during this time that is rough for all of us. That being said I am trying to keep it’s quality up.

This is technically a prequel to Fallen Angel (Work in progress), however it can be read as a stand alone series.

Summary:

If your reading as a stand alone: A witch heads back to Miss Robichaux's 20 years after she left in hopes of being a teacher there. The only problem is she hasn’t aged a day.

If your from Fallen Angel: The event’s leading up to Y/N joining Michael and the Cooperative.

Warnings: N/A

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4(will be added when done)

It had been years since you left Miss Robichaux's academy or spoken to your best friend from that place. How long it had been exactly was something you were unsure of. It felt like days, but it could have been decades. The school's exterior hadn't aged a day since you first stepped into that academy for extraordinary young ladies. To be fair, neither had you.

The two-story building towered over you as it did at 18. You tried to move on from those days alas your memory of the place remained in your stagnant life. You had ambitions once, now unsure of what they were. You weren't necessarily from New Orleans, but your ancestry was from Salem or at least from what the letter your mother sent you explaining your oddities.

Years on and you stood in front of the cast iron gates just as petrified as you were on your first day. You had nothing to lose except your old way of thinking. Now, there was her. You wouldn't expect someone to accept you as you are. There was no way to explain what has become of you because nothing has, you were the same person you were when you exited her life.

The chuckles of girls playing in the yard filled your ears on the fine summer's day. Break time, you thought to yourself as you tugged your cardigan closer to her frame. You used to spend all your free time in the greenhouse with your friend. Potions weren't your forte, but she loved it so acted like you did...for her. It wasn't until recently that you learned to appreciate the natural science of it.

Your friend was your main reason for your resurgence into the world of magic. Her passion to teach the next generation of witches fuelled your pilgrimage of discovery of the world. To teach the wonderous world of extraordinary beings to the youth of today. You excelled in the history of Salem witches and your passion extended across other magical beings. The two of you used to joke that after years you would be the only two to remain behind. You wished for nothing more than to be with her for all eternity. Some dreams never go as they're planned. Namely, her husband, Hank Foxx. It could have been because you spent years surrounded by women, but that man didn't sit right with you. Nor did he to your friends Mother, one of the few things you got on with that woman about.

Her mother was a vile woman, the supreme witch since she was 18. She rarely took interest in the coven unless it was for self-benefit. She was a distant mother to her daughter, shipping her off to the school at the early age of 7. Your friend sought out a mother figure elsewhere, finding it in Myrtle Snow who ended up working for the council and doing the work the supreme refused to do. Her mother, Fiona, was long since dead, four years to be exact. Her title ironically passed down to her daughter. The worlds changed since your school days. You'd heard the news from your local sources, discovering Fiona's death when news of witches was broadcasted to the world. There was no way in hell Fiona would allow that. You were tempted to go to the opening, say hello to your old friend. But what would you say? It's been years. You left her all alone for years. How were you going to forgive yourself?

With a flick of the wrist, the gates were open. Your heart pounded to the beat of your footsteps. Your breath stilled when you knocked on the door. Maybe this was a mistake, you contemplated leaving. No one was answering. It was probably for the best.

The truth was years ago you had the chance to return but you refused. The only reason you were here now was for purely selfish reasons. The balance of good and bad had shifted and in your trail to correct the scale, you wound up in a lot of trouble. You had nowhere to go. Your home was no longer your own and you were on were on the run.

You sighed, turning around, and heading down the concrete path. The iron gate closed before you could leave. Your ears register a voice a second later. You spun around to be greeted by a young woman. She was short (but compared to you most women where) with long straight brown hair.

"Good, I got your attention, I thought you were going to escape," the woman joked. You chuckled awkwardly in response. Now that you were leaving, you did not really want to be there. "You knocked on the school's door?"

"-Yeah." You didn't even imagine the possibility of it not being- of course, it wouldn't be her. She was supreme now, she had better things to do than answering the school's door. "Yeah, sorry. I'm slighting out of it, nerves and all."

"It's alright. Most girls are nervous when they first arrive."

You chuckled once again, awkwardly, "I bet."

The woman let you inside telling you she would lead you to the Headmistress to fill out all the paperwork.

"Crap, I forgot she's in a meeting right now," the young woman said. "And I have to teach a class in a minute."

"You're a teacher?" The woman was used to the question from how young she was. "What age range are you teaching?"

"Right now, Pre-teen years. They're usually the worst to deal with."

"I bet. I could sit in and watch you teach them while we wait for Cordelia. Hell, you might be able to teach me something." Zoe hadn't mentioned the Supreme's name, so she assumed you knew it from the television segment a while back.

"If it doesn't bother you."

"It's no problem at all."

The woman led you to the kitchen dining room where a bunch of restless girls were mucking about. They all stilled, taking their seats, a few still mucking about as they did so. All the girls stared at you, one asking why you were so tall. You laughed, saying "Platforms" showing your four-inch platforms that were hidden by your floor-length skirt before you stole one of the free seats moving it out of the way so the woman could teach.

As the lesson when on you noticed one of the girls was struggling with her work. You noticed how she seemed to be too shy to ask for help. The girl beside her flying head and boasting about her skills, most likely bringing the girl down (unintentionally), in the process. You stood up and quietly as to not disturb the class and moved over to the girl.

"Hi, my name's Y/N. What's yours?" You asked her quietly.

"Emily," she whispered.

"Nice to meet you, Emily. Do you need any help with your work?" She shook her head. "Can I help you with your work?" She looked at you hesitantly then up to Ms who was too busy to notice you had moved over to the girl.

"If you want."

"How about you tell me what you're learning?" You started with. She shrugged. "What's the title of your worksheet?"

"Types of Magic?"

"Yes, that's correct. Now, what are the two main types of magic?" She remained quiet. "Clue: what's above you?"

"A roof?"

You chuckled, "Technically, that is right, but I meant that-" you point to the light globe.

"Oh, a light. Light and dark!" She got excited, raising her voice from a whisper. This caught the attention of the teacher.

"Yes, that's correct. All magic users fall into one of those two. Us witches fall into the light magic, even the darkest, most evil witch still uses light magic. There are others who would also fall into this side such as angels."

"Angels exist?"

"Supposedly. I've never met one," You said. "Even though there is light and dark magic, the purpose a person uses it for can differ. You know who I mentioned a witch using her light magic for evil?" Emily nodded. "She would be using-"

You went on explaining to Emily. A few of the girls around her joined in listening to you explain the course to her. You added pointers their teacher hadn't mentioned and some you picked up from your years of living a magic-filled life. You only noticed you had stolen the attention of all the girls when the others began asking you questions. The teacher was gone from where you last saw her. You asked the girl what the teacher's name was. You had forgotten to ask earlier.

"I'm so sorry Zoe, I didn't mean to take over your class," you said when you finally spotted her. "I was only trying to help Em with her work."

"Em?" Emily repeated.

"I give all my friends and family nicknames. I didn't think-" She leapt up and gave your waist a hug before you got another word in. She repeated the word friend back to you excited by the prospect of gaining a new friend. You gathered she was new or had a hard time with people since she found the idea of you being her friend exciting. You chuckled, rustling her hair with your hand. "Okay, enough hugging. I better let you get back to class. I stole enough of your time."

"Actually, class is over," Zoe said.

"Oh~ I'm so-" You went to apologise when the woman cut you off.

"No, it's fine. It's better they understand the work then rushing ahead and then not knowing it correctly." She silently conferred that what you had said to them was correct. She would have interrupted, adding her two sense if something seemed off. The teacher found your allegory's to be helpful in explaining the content as well as refreshing.

"Zoe's right, it's better that they understand the work. One wrong preformed spell and it could be disastrous." You knew that voice anywhere. "I was informed that we had a new student, so I came down as soon as I-"

Your head perked up to look at the woman that owned your body and soul. Your eyes begged for her to recognise you, to pull you into her embrace. You smiled sweetly at her in the way only you could. She returned the gesture. Her face was warm and welcoming as ever but as she got a better look at you, you noticed the change in her expression. The shift was slight but noticeable solely because you sought it out. You pulled yourself away from Emily carefully. As soon as you were detached, you headed over to the headmistress offering your gloved hand to her.

"L/N." She accepted your offer of a handshake. Her grip was strong excuding confidence dissimilar to the woman you left behind years prior. You kept a natural level of eye contact to not seem suspicious. Giving your last name was a test. You didn't want to scare her off immediately nor face the slap she will most likely give you when she puts the pieces together. "I was actually here to offer to be a teacher if you needed one," you said. "I know you had a large incline of students recently as well as limited staff. I don't know if that has since changed. Even if you just need someone to mark homework or assessments, I don't mind. I have all the credentials I would need for a normal teaching job along with working with children's card. Everything's in my satchel." You didn't find in necessary to mention the repercussions of not being accepted. Stating your problems wasn't your way. They were yours, there was no need to share.

"We can discuss this further in my office." Cordelia gestured into the hallway. You waved bye to the girls and said goodbye to Zoe.

Before Cordelia left Zoe pulled her aside. She noticed the facial expression shift too.

"You alright Cordelia?"

"Yeah," She whispered back to her friend. "She looks like a friend, I had years back."

"She could be a relative. Sister, daughter, cousin-"

"She had no living family," Cordelia told Zoe. "The girl's too old to be a daughter." She sighed, "It's fine, it's a freaky coincidence."

"You don't need to hire her."

"It would be helpful to have some extra help around here. She seemed to be great with the younger ones and we know how much of a feat that is." They both chuckled. "I shouldn't keep her waiting."

Cordelia kept eyeing you occasionally when talking to Zoe. You gathered she was talking about you, but it wasn't your place to listen. It's not nice to eavesdrop.

You remained quiet, listening for her to talk as the two of you headed to her office. Upstairs, first room on the right, just as you remembered. "As you know, that is Zoe. We had another teacher but unfortunately, we lost her. You will occasionally see an older woman here named Myrtle; she doesn't teach the students, but she helps me with council work." You smiled knowing Myrtle was here and still a part of the council.

Cordelia opened her office allowing you to walk in first. You noticed the familiar redhead in the corner of Cordelia's office drinking. Cordelia told you to take a seat at her desk while she got the paperwork ready. You pulled out your documentation placing it on the table before drawing your attention to the older woman behind you. Myrtle was talking to Cordelia about something irrelevant to you when she stopped mid-sentence, something you had never seen her do.

Cordelia cleared her throat, earning your attention. You spun around slowly. Cordelia told you that your documentation would not be relevant since they had an unorthodox away of job selecting. The past isn't relevant to her as long as you weren't her to bring harm to her girls. You insisted she took a look to ease your mind and to make her away of your qualifications.

"Now Y/N-" She wasn't meant to say that. She quickly went to cover it up, "Sorry I mean-" She picked up your papers searching your name on them.

"No, you were right." You adjusted the wire framed glasses on your face. One of the few new things about you. "Y/N M/N L/N."

"Is Y/N a family name?" Cordelia asked. "Like how some men name their son's the same name but call them junior."

"I don't believe so," You said, acting oblivious. You already came off strong demanding a job. "I don't have much of a family."

Cordelia's eyes widened. It couldn't be?

"Can I see your ID?"

"Sure." You fish through your bag pulling out a worn-down purse that she gifted to you years ago. Cordelia went to say something but held herself back, instead looking over to Myrtle with a questioning look. The oldest woman in the room shared the same level of confusion. "I should warn you; I apparently look a lot younger than my age."

You handed over your card to Cordelia.

"Y/n, what had you want to become a teacher?"

"Well, that's a tough question. I mean, where to begin?" You laughed. "I've always had a knack for the history of the Salem coven and it transformed into a fascination with magic in general. I guess I want to put my knowledge to good use. There's no point allowing it to waste away up here and recording it down in a book never sounded as appealing as verbally communicating it." Cordelia nodded along keeping a hold of your identification. "One of my friends used to joke that we'd both be here teaching together. Things didn't go as planned."

"They never do." Cordelia said. "I hope you don't mind but I need a secondary opinion on your resume." She ushered over Myrtle and the two had a quick conversation. She didn't believe you, she had to be asking about if it was possible, Myrtle would probably suggested plastic surgery as a possibility as to your appearance or some other thing you couldn't do.

"Could she have done Tempus Infinituum or something similar? It would explain why I- we haven't heard anything from her." The two look at you sat there twiddling your thumbs.

You always assumed your ageless appearance was some genetic thing or something to do with your magic. You're still trying to figure that out and was hoping she could help you out with that, or someone here could. Obviously, that wasn't your purpose for coming back.

"Is it really you Y/N?"

You nodded. Her eyes teared up and a smile formed on her face. She shook her head not wanting to jump the gun or overstep her boundary. It had been years and she had no clue what you had been through. It would have to be hell in order for you to leave. The two of you were inseparable before you vanished.

"I can prove it. Ask me anything only I would know."

Your words were enough, the tale you told of your friend and how much of a history buff you were.

"I can do one better, give me your hand." She laid her hand out for you to grab. You didn't understand. "A lot has happened since you left, one being I got The Sight."

As soon as you heard that you grabbed her hand allowing the skin to skin contact to explain away everything it had to. It hit you a second later, you shouldn't have rushed it. There were things she didn't need to know that she may now have access too. She tore your glove from your hand allowing her fingers to slip between yours. She gasped watching your earlier twenties up until now flash through her mind.

She retracted from you, allowing herself a moment to get air in her lungs. "Y-y-you-" she stuttered. Her eyes flicked from you to her aunt. Shock covered her face. Her eyes settled on you and you expected her to say something about how this was unbelievable. "Why are your hands so cold?"

"What?" Not what you were expecting.

"You're freezing, I'm going to find you a blanket."

"You don't need to, I'm fine-" Her glare at you urged you to shut you up quickly. She used to do the same thing back in the day. "I'm serious, I'm always this cold. Why do you think I dress like this?"

You got up, following her down the corridor and up the stairs to a bedroom. You attempted to reason with her that you were fine, you were always ice cold which concerned her more. "That's not normal Y/N/N" 'Y/N/N?' You smiled upon hearing your nickname from long ago.

"You'll learn not a lot about me is-" You kidded.

"Sit down on the bed, I'm getting out the winter blankets."

"But it's summer-"

"And your freezing."

She headed into her closet only returning a few minutes later with the thickest blanket she owned. You were already dressed inappropriately for the weather, cloaked in long sleeved maxi length dress, thick woollen stockings, below the knee boots that were hidden by your dress. You also had a cardigan you removed upon entering the school grounds. Cordelia wrapped the blanket around before forcing you to lay down. You whined, using that you were wearing shoes as an excuse. She removed them, seeing how much big the sole was she asked, "How do you walk in these?"

"How do you walk in heels?"

"Touche."

The two of you started cackling. Soon you were swaddled up in a blanket, lying on what you assumed was Cordelia's bed telling stories and laughing at each other's misfortune like it was old times. You had learned the unfortunate events that led to her ex-husbands death. A witch hunter, you should have guessed.

"I missed you," Cordelia admitted. You remained quiet, wanting to say it back but not having the courage. Like the last time, you had seen her, her wedding. You, the maid of honour, left early. You knew you would have to explain it to her, but you couldn't. You didn't want to force your feelings onto her, that's why you never told her then and that's why you can't tell her you missed her now. You missed her more than she could ever believe. "I saw- I mean... I know. I know you miss me too." She moved closer to you, resting her head onto your shoulder. "I know you missed me too."

#cordelia x reader #cordelia foxx x reader #cordelia goode x reader

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onthesandsofdreams · 4 years ago

Text

We’re Dating (No, We’re Faking It)

Fandom: Iron Man/Marvel Cinematic Universe Pairing: Tony Stark/Pepper Potts Rating: T Summary: Pepper stares at the face of an unrepentant Tony Stark. “Are you kidding me?” She manages, once she’s recovered from the shock. She shakes her head, as if trying to clear it. “Why exactly did you do that?!” Tony, looks at her as if she were slow. To be honest, she’s feeling it. Tony grins at her, leans forward from his seat and she fights the impulse to slap him. “Because you’re the only one Christine would not dare mess with.”

Words: 1372 Notes: Written for Fictober-Event, prompts: 4. “that didn’t stop you before” & 24. “are you kidding me?”

Read @ AO3

Pepper stares at the face of an unrepentant Tony Stark. “Are you kidding me?” She manages, once she’s recovered from the shock. She shakes her head, as if trying to clear it. “Why exactly did you do that?!”

Tony, looks at her as if she were slow. To be honest, she’s feeling it. Tony grins at her, leans forward from his seat and she fights the impulse to slap him. “Because you’re the only one Christine would not dare mess with.”

She closes her eyes, she really doesn’t need a rival nor the whole school newspaper team giving her wide berth. Some already do, but she really, really doesn’t need them is printing stuff about her. She’s the student’s association treasurer, she doesn’t need a scandal. Much less, when Yale Business calls. But, now thanks to one Tony Stark, she will likely will be putting fires and dealing with unwanted attention. All because he couldn’t think of someone else, all because he had to go and tell Christine Everheart that they were dating. “And you couldn’t think of someone else?” She asks, once she opens her eyes and glares at him, Tony doesn’t flinch from her gaze. The bastard’s quite amused.

Tony shrugs. “The other person she would’ve not dare mess is my Platypus, and Rhodey would sooner kick my ass than kiss it.” He leans again, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Besides, we make a power couple. And we’re totally made for each other.”

She knows he’s joking, the light tone is a dead giveaway. And now, she wants to cry. This is her last year of high school and, much to her chagrin, she has developed feelings for him. She likes him more than what she should. And now, he’s basically told the school they are together, because telling Christine is basically broadcasting it in the news, she’ll probably make a good journalist someday. “And what do I get out of it? I mean, what if I wanted to date someone else and you’ve gone and ruined it.”

For a moment, Tony flounders. Then in what she has now realize is typical behavior, gives her a winning smile, “C’mon miss Potts, you can’t do better than me. Well, truth be told, Rhodey would be better than me. But the school’s full of losers and you know it. As to what you get out of it, well, you’d be fake dating me and I’m awesome. I’m willingly offering some actual dates, just because of the trouble and yes, I’m paying.” Of course he could, he’s rich. Not that’s saying much, because the private high school they attend is not cheap. It’s for the wealthy. But even surrounded by wealth, Tony’s inheritance is larger than just about everyone else.

It’s not, but she’s really not interested in risking her heart. And another, smaller, traitorous part of her wants to size up the opportunity and see where things go. She knows which is going to win. But she might as well set some rules. “Fine. But I have rules…”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less of you, Pep.”

She glares, but his smirk is now smug and, right now, she’s torn between kissing it or slapping it away. “First of all…”

They spend the next several minutes laying down rules. She feels quite accomplished at the fact that he didn’t argue, much. But there’s the logical part of hers that is telling her that she’s being a complete idiot. That doesn’t do much for how her heart skips a beat when Tony takes her hand after they leave the council room. Tony simply looks smug.

Tony and her have been fake dating for two weeks when one day, she’s talking with some of her girl friends and Tony all but rushes towards her and kisses her in full public view. She’s left rather dazzled after that. Tony winks and ‘reminds’ them that they are going for a date after school. Her girlfriends giggle.

It’s been a month when it happens, Christine is trying to make some rumors about her. Since printing them would be out of line and would risk her loosing her spot on the newspaper, Christine opts for rumors. She catches them very soon and she deals with Christine in the same way she deals with everyone, with polite, but cutting words. Ok, maybe all but calling Christine trash wasn’t the best, but she did get on her nerves. And she will not allow anyone to put her down as just ‘a handy woman – if you know what I mean.’

Tony kisses her in public again when he finds out.

It’s been two months, when they’re sitting on a booth in a fifty’s style dinner, eating (a burger for him, chicken wings for her and both have milkshakes) when Tony looks up and says, “I need your permission to kiss you.”

She arches a brow, “You have before, without proper warning. That didn’t stop you before.”

Tony squirms under her gaze, “Yeah, but this time it’s different. My mom’s been asking about you, and since you agreed to come to the fundraiser we’re throwing, well, I figured that I’d give you head’s up. Since my parents will be there, don’t want to make it awkward.”

She bites into her wing, chews carefully and washes her food with milkshake. “That’s fine.”

The smile that Tony gives her, could match the sun itself in its intensity.

The fundraiser is quite something, she’s sitting with Tony, next to his parents. His mother, had welcomed her with a hug and a kiss on her cheek, “Tony has spoken so much of you, I’m glad that we’ve finally meeting.”

She had turned to Tony, he’d blushed. “Thank you Mrs. Stark. It’s very lovely to meet you.” She will not be intimidated, even by a woman who is on the society pages for all the charity work she does and her business acumen.

The whole even had been flawless, Tony had asked her to dance several times. They had spoken about everything and she found that she didn’t want to leave, it was only when the fundraiser was winding down that she and Tony were walking away from the other people. “What did your mom meant?” She asked.

Tony did not met her eyes, in fact, he was looking everywhere but her. “Ah, well, I’ve talked about you with her, about you wanting to go into business. Did you know my mom went to Yale?”

She was flattered that he had, but it didn’t made sense. “Why? I mean, I appreciate it, but why talk about me? And no, I didn’t know.”

Tony turns to her, stops walking and she’s forced to stop too. “Because I like you Pep.” He says and she freezes. “I like you very much.” Then he sighed loudly. “Okay fine, I might be in love with you.”

It would be much latter, when she’s had some time to think about it, that the garden was like a fairy garden and the moon was high and flowers gave a lovely scent. It was quite romantic. “Tony Stark if you’re joking…”

Tony panics, holds her hand and makes her look at him. “No! I wouldn’t play with you! Never!”

She looks at him, really looks at him. And he’s looking back at her, eyes soft and shinny and warm. Oh. He means it. Her heart speeds up, she takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. “You’re serious?” Her own voice is soft and quiet.

“I am.” Upfront, simple, easy and very, very Tony. “I love you, Pep.”

She tries to smile at him, but she’s still a bit dazzled. “I love you too,” she finally admits. “Now what?”

“Now, we’re officially dating.”

“Okay.”

Tony beams at her, she can’t quite resist that face and leans forward, he meets her halfway. His lips are soft and warm and it’s perfect. And they will continue dating and see where that goes, and she’s happier than she’s ever been. They separate when the need to breath grows. But they only stare at each other for a good while and then kiss again. Neither spots the camera taking their picture, it makes it into the society pages. Neither of them care.

#fictober20 #tony x pepper #pepperony #tony stark #pepper potts #marvel fic #au: high school #marvel

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odos-bucket · 4 years ago

Text

Next part of this story. There will probably be three or four in all.

It’s a bit less than two months from the first time Jaskier heard the song that he and Geralt meet again. They’re not exactly planning their reunions at this point, so much as they’re making sure to casually mention a few of their intended destinations over the course of the next few weeks or months whenever they part ways, and then happen to run into each other at some point or other. Jaskier’s been a little more deliberate these past few weeks, about being in the right place at the right time, and keeping an ear out for word of a silver haired witcher, and it’s paid off.

He’s greeted warmly. Geralt’s never been overly comfortable with public affection, but he takes a moment when they meet to briefly touch their foreheads together. Jaskier studies him for any indication that he may have heard the farcical songs being sung about him, without having any real idea of how such a thing might manifest.

It’s become routine for them to turn in early on their first nights back together. Not to fool around (well, not just to fool around); it’s easier to be with Geralt when there aren’t a million other people and things going on around them. So they get a room in the small town where they’ve convened, and within seconds of the door closing Jaskier is throwing his arms around the witcher and pulling him close. Geralt presses his face into his neck, and the bard feels his chest rise and fall with deep inhalations.

“I missed you.”

Geralt hums his reciprocation of the sentiment before pulling away to shed off his road worn outer layers. Jaskier makes a noise of protest at the loss of contact, even as he turns to flop onto the bed, where he’s alone for less than a minute. Geralt waits for him to initiate contact- he always does- but once Jaskier kisses him he responds with full enthusiasm. They get to spend a few blissful minutes narrowing their world down until all of the shit is pushed to the outside. But Geralt pulls away too soon.

“I need to tell you something,” he says. It comes out almost like it’s a question.

Jaskier’s essentially on top of him at this point, and he has no intention of changing that (not unless he’s asked to), but he does angle his head so they can look at each other.

“I did something stupid,” says Geralt.

“We do stupid things all the time.”

“I…” Geralt begins again, makes the first sound, or gets out the first syllable of a few words, then hums and falls silent.

He’s frustrated. He doesn’t like it when other people try to force words out of him, but he really hates not being able to pull the words out of himself.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as an especially patient person, but for this he can wait, though the anxieties he had momentarily been able to push away begin to return as he does so.

“I’d rather be the one who you hear about this from.” Geralt takes a long pause. “And seeing as you don’t seem to be the only troubadour chronicling my exploits anymore…”

Jaskier winces, though he had known they would only be able to put off talking about it for so long. It was far too much to ask for Geralt and the song to somehow never cross each other’s paths.

He presses closer at every point where their body’s already touch, and feels Geralt relax under the deep pressure. He nods slightly, just in case any confirmation is needed that he understands.

“I hurt someone.” The witcher's voice is a rough whisper. “Someone who I didn’t need to. Someone who I should have- fuck! How could I have been this stupid?”

Jaskier squeezes his arms.

“What happened?”

“It’s that damn song. It was playing in a tavern… and I had Ciri with me. Normally I wouldn’t have-“ he shakes his head. “But it upset her. She asked the bard if he could play something else.”

He can't help but smile at that. He can practically hear her. There's this special tone of voice she sometimes uses, a very queenly way of sounding polite while making a request that's really a command. Not the best way to pass through places unnoticed perhaps, but he's still finding it very difficult not to feel proud of her.

“I should have been more careful, made sure she was keeping her head down, but… Jaskier, she was so upset. And there are some things I never wanted her to hear.” He says the last part like it’s some kind of shameful secret, and not a feeling that every parent in the world could easily empathize with. “She started to argue with him. I didn’t want to make things worse by making myself known. But then he put his hands on her, and I just…”

“Did you kill him?” Jaskier asks conversationally.

Geralt shakes his head.

“And I'll assume that if Ciri had been hurt in any way I would already know.”

“She’s not hurt.”

“I don’t think I exactly see what the big deal is.”

“I attacked a man who was unarmed! A man who wasn’t a threat to me!”

Jaskier shrugs.

“You must know me well enough to know that the only possible response I could have to that is the son of a bitch deserved it.”

“I should be able to control myself.”

“Seems like a bit of an unreasonably high standard to hold yourself to when you look at the utter lack of self control everyone else seems to display so proudly- Oh!”

Geralt is shaking. And the way they’re sitting he can feel the vibration run through every nerve in his body.

“Sweetheart…”

“…I can’t believe I fucking did that.”

“It’s okay.”

“It was okay for me to hurt someone who’s weaker than I am?”

“Under the circumstances? Yes! You were protecting your family!”

Geralt just keeps shaking his head.

“He couldn’t have hurt her.”

“He was hurting her. And I’m not so sure it’s fair to say that he wasn’t a threat to you either. No don’t give me that look. You have been through hell, and your pain is not a fucking joke! And if I could just get my hands on the bastards who think it is…” His voice wavers partway through, and then cracks, and by the end he’s just barely holding back a sob.

They’re both trembling. Jaskier presses his nose into Geralt’s hair, and Geralt buries his face in Jaskier’s neck. For a while the only noise in the room comes from their erratic breathing, punctuated occasionally by soft and strangled cursing.

Jaskier had spent plenty of time worrying about Geralt hearing the song. He hadn’t thought about Ciri. He feels sick, and furious, and useless.

“I’m sorry,” he breaths out after a while. “I’m so sorry.”

“I have to be better than this.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong. Hell, when I heard that shit for the first time I ambushed the kid who had been playing it in an alleyway.”

“… You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Maybe not,” Jaskier allows. “But I’d probably do it again.” He plays with the witcher’s hair, wraps sections of it around his wrists and fingers. “… Is all of it true?”

It’s hardly a surprise when Geralt doesn’t answer right away. Jaskier wouldn’t fault him for choosing not to answer at all. In fact he is beginning to think that maybe he should apologize for even asking, when Geralt finally speaks.

“Truer than most of your accounts.” He says it without lifting his eyes from the bed.

The attempt at levity ignites something warm in his chest, and feeds into the protective flame that’s been growing for the last several- well since he met the witcher really.

“So… what? Someone’s interviewing people who have hurt you, to write novelty songs? They don’t have anything better to do with their worthless life?”

Geralt shrugs. He’s still looking down, seemingly very focused on something on the floor behind Jaskier’s left elbow. He’s still, except for the the steady working of his jaw. The bard waits. If Geralt’s lost in his own head there’s nothing pressing him for a response will do to help him get out. It’s some time before the witcher speaks.

“So you,” his gaze stays fixed on the floor. “So you know…”

Guilt rips through him as Geralt trails off.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have heard any of that. I didn’t mean to-" he swallows and breaths in to level out his voice. “Can you forgive me?”

A part of him knows it’s a ridiculous question even as he asks it, but he can’t shake the feeling that he somehow needs to atone for what he now knows.

It’s the plea for forgiveness that finally bring’s Geralt’s eyes back onto him. Incredulity replaces his previously blank expression as his gaze shifts upward.

“What?”

“I feel like I’ve betrayed your trust,” Jaskier admits.

“By what reasoning have you betrayed my trust?”

“Well if you’d wanted me to know any of that you would have told me yourself.”

Geralt looks him over with an intense expression.

“Witcher’s aren’t taught to broadcast our deficiencies,” he says after a while.

“Deficiencies?” Jaskier echoes. The word leaves a rotten taste in his mouth. "Other people’s cruelty is not a denouncement on you.”

“… I’m meant to be able to endure.”

“You have endured. More than anyone should have to.”

Jaskier leans forward, but waits for Geralt to close the gap between them. The kiss satisfies his imagined need for forgiveness.

“We’ll fix this. I’m going to figure something out, I swear to you.”

“It isn’t your responsibility.”

“Isn’t it though? Isn’t this the exact kind of thing I’m supposed to be able to protect you from?.” He reclines sideways onto the bed, and pulls the witcher with him. “I don’t care if you think it’s my responsibility or not. I won’t let this stand. You deserve so much better than this shit.”

The skeptical look that Geralt gives him at that makes him want to set the godsdamned world on fire. Jaskier meets his eyes, and speaks as clearly and as calmly as he can.

“You. Don’t. Deserve. This.”

Geralt starts to roll his eyes, then closes them partway through.

“I need you to believe me.” He tries to keep his voice steady, even though he knows by now that there are a million other things letting Geralt know that he’s anything but calm.

The only response he gets is a soft hum, as the witcher shifts forward until his head is resting against the bard’s shoulder.

Jaskier weaves their fingers together, and doesn’t press any further. He doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure what to say, so he waits for Geralt to break the silence.

He falls asleep waiting.

It is not a restful night.

It’s not night at all. It’s dark because he’s inside. Underground? Somewhere the sun can’t get to. Somewhere where it could be day or it could be night and it wouldn’t really matter. And somewhere where it’s hard to breath. There’s a smell? Or the air’s the wrong consistency? Or maybe a problem with his lungs? He doesn’t know. He can’t breath. And there are sounds. Cries. Screams. And there’s blood. And it’s warm. And it’s not his, but it’s all over him. And there’s a child bleeding out right into his lungs. And. And…

Jaskier wakes up screaming. This can’t be happening. He can’t be back here. It isn’t real. He tells himself it isn’t real three more times before he realizes that that might actually be true. And then he repeats it twice more because nothing else seems to be able to fit in his head.

There are arms around him when he comes back to himself. And he cringes because he knows Geralt hates this, knows the sound of screams brings him physical pain, and that when he wakes up to them he wakes up ready to fight.

“You’re okay.”

He makes a pitiful noise.

“Do you know where you are?”

He nods, and pulls the arms around him to tighten.

“You’re safe.”

“Geralt…”

“I’m here.”

“… Those fucking bastards.” Jaskier finds he can’t keep his voice calm. “… Fucking bastards…”

#jaskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #witcher #geraskier #ignore me #I don't know how to end things #my writing

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