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criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years

Text

Avoidance

masterlist

part two

Summary: Reader doesn’t know what she did to make Spencer hate her so much.

A/N: This fic is just a reminder that sub!Spencer lives rent free in my head at all times. Also, if anyone would like to be on a taglist for one shots like these, let me know! I’m going to work on getting one started.

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom! reader

Content Warnings: honestly way too much swearing, sexual harassment, slapping, hands free orgasm, oral sex (male and female receiving), hand job, orgasm denial, edging, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, degradation, femdom

Word Count: 8.2k

I have absolutely no idea what I’ve done to make Spencer Reid hate me.

Usually, when someone despises a person to the point of complete and total avoidance, there’s a reason. No one just wakes up and decides to resent another person for the hell of it – right? Wrong.

Because Spencer Reid positively loathes me – and I have no idea why.

It all started on my first day at the BAU. I had somehow landed the highly coveted job of media liaison after the previous one had decided to complete the training to be a profiler. For reasons unbeknownst to me, they thought a twenty-four-year-old fresh out of college with no prior job experience was the best fit for the position. I didn’t understand it, but I also wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

To say that I had been terrified the first time I set foot into the bullpen would be the understatement of the century. After a very formal and very intimidating orientation with the unit chief, my predecessor, a beautiful blonde named Jennifer, offered herself up to be my personal tour guide. Jennifer introduced me to the other members of the team, and with every smiling face I came in contact with, my fears of being the odd man out were assuaged. I could tell that Penelope Garcia, tech analyst extraordinaire, would most likely be my biggest ally – and it was abundantly clear that Derek Morgan and I would probably get into a fair amount of mischief together. Elle Greenaway seemed like the obvious choice for a future drinking buddy, and Jason Gideon – well, he merely grunted at me in acknowledgment before retreating back to his office. I figured three out of four wasn’t so bad.

I didn’t meet Doctor Spencer Reid until after lunch. Jennifer mentioned something about him guest lecturing at a local university, which surprised me considering she mentioned him being a year younger than me. Apparently, the kid was an actual genius, which was more than a little bit intimidating, but Jennifer assured me that Spencer was a sweetheart.

“He’s a little quirky, but I’m sure you’ll love him. Just don’t be surprised if he tries to talk your ear off,” Jennifer laughs. “Last week I asked him about the weather and he went off on a tangent about climate change that lasted nearly an hour.”

By the time Spencer strolled into the bullpen at exactly one in the evening, I was sitting perched atop Jennifer’s desk, thoroughly engrossed as she told me about their latest case. When she stops talking midsentence in favor of smiling at someone behind me, I half expect that Morgan is attempting to sneak up on me, when:

“Hey, look who’s back,” Jennifer greets, prompting me to turn around excitedly. I was eager to put a face to the man I’d heard so much about.

And when I turn, my eyes land on the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

Sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline are framed by shaggy brown hair, complete with beautiful brown eyes and soft, pillowy lips. As if his good looks weren’t enough, he’s dressed in the most adorably nerdy sweater vest and a pair of thin framed glasses. He’s absolutely precious – a fact that Jennifer had conveniently left out.

“How was the lecture?” Jennifer asks him as he places his satchel on the desk adjacent to hers. Spencer perks up at this, smiling excitedly from across the divider.

“I think it went really good, actually. I incorporated this really cool joke that I heard about quantum physics. Do you want to-”

He stops abruptly when he realizes Jennifer isn’t his only spectator, and those lovely brown eyes go almost comically wide when they settle on me.

“Spencer, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the new media liaison. Y/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

I give him my best smile, tacking on a small wave for good measure.

“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Reid. Jennifer’s told me a lot about you.”

“Uh, y-yeah. It’s n-nice to meet you, too,” Spencer stutters. He looks positively stricken and I’m fairly sure he hasn’t blinked in over a minute. I cast a glance at Jennifer, who seems just as confused as I am.

Well, she had mentioned that he was a tad strange.

“I’d like to hear the joke,” I offer, only to immediately regret it when I see him tense up.

“N-No, that’s o-okay,” he chokes out as he struggles to gather the files on his desk. “It’s n-not that good, anyways.”

And just as quickly as he came, Spencer leaves in a flurry of crumpled papers, leaving Jennifer and I wondering what the fuck just happened.

Things didn’t get better with time. In fact, they got much worse.

In the six months that I had been working for the BAU, I could count my interactions with Spencer Reid on one hand. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part – in my desperation to figure out what I’d done to make him avoid me, I sought out the young genius every chance I got. But every time I got within ten feet of him, it’s like an alarm would sound in his head and he’d make up some excuse to leave the room.

The others had noticed his strange behavior, too. It seemed they all had made a sort of game out of it – calling Spencer into rooms that I was in just to see him panic, or asking me to personally deliver files to his desk. At first, I played into it, hoping that their teasing would help to diffuse some of the tension.

After a month of being on the receiving end of Spencer’s cold shoulder, I started avoiding him, too.

I tried to act indifferent – like it didn’t hurt me as badly as it did. I no longer sought him out, and by month two, we had a sort of understanding. I didn’t go near him, and he didn’t go near me, and that’s how it went on for four miserable months.

Until today.

“Reid, Y/L/N, you’re in 202.”

I damn near drop my bag on the floor. This was bound to happen at some point or another, but I hadn’t planned on that day being today, and I was not prepared. After nine hours of running around the local police department, my body was weighed down from fatigue and I was downright grumpy. Not to mention I had picked the worst possible day to try and break in a new pair of heels, and my feet were throbbing.

Needless to say, I was in no mood to deal with Spencer Reid’s bullshit.

“Uh, Hotch? Could I maybe room with Elle?” I ask, sending a glare in Morgan’s direction when he snorts out a laugh. Hotch raises an eyebrow at me.

“Why? Is there a problem?”

Yes, sir, there certainly is. And your guess is as good as mine as to what that problem is.

“No, but I just think that-”

“Good. Then you should be fine to share a room with him.”

Right.

I spare a brief glance at Spencer, who, in the last thirty seconds, has turned the color of a tomato. I pray that he’ll speak up and voice his discomfort, but just like always, he stays silent.

Hotch doles out the room keys and I begin the trek down the hallway, my poor aching feet groaning in protest with every step. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind me, and it’s not until I swipe the key into the key card that Spencer speaks.

But not to me – no, never to me.

“Derek, please, I’m begging you. Just switch with me this one time, and – and I’ll do your reports for a month!”

After six months of dealing with Spencer’s aversion to me, his words should come as no surprise. And really, I’d expected as much - but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

“Not happening, kid. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get over whatever problem you have with Y/N. I bet you’ll even end up liking her. She’s not going to be rude to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“… T-That’s not what I’m worried abo-”

I don’t wait around to hear the rest of his sentence. I push open the door to the room, not bothering to wait for Spencer before closing it. I kick off my heels as soon as the door clicks shut, letting out a half relieved, half frustrated groan.

After claiming the bed nearest the air conditioner as my own, I pluck my pajamas and toiletry bag out from my suitcase and shuffle over to the bathroom. The way I see it, the quicker I get a shower and can go to sleep, the faster the night will pass. Before I know it, this unfortunate situation will be a thing of the past.

After drawing out the shower for as long as I possibly could, I exit the bathroom clad in a tank top and a pair of shorts, hair dripping wet and skin freshly scrubbed clean. Spencer’s sitting on his bed, book in hand and tie loosened. He doesn’t look up at me when I walk by - not that I’d expected him to. A thick silence hangs in the air as I pull a bottle of lotion out from my suitcase, and I debate turning on the TV just to make things slightly less awkward. In the end I decide against it, because I doubt even that could make this situation better.

I prop a leg up on the bed and begin to lather my legs in cherry scented lotion, paying special care to my aching feet before moving on. It’s not until both of my legs have been thoroughly massaged and coated in lotion that I look up.

Spencer’s eyes are locked on me, mouth hanging open and chest heaving up and down. His knuckles are white from how hard they’re clutching the book in his hands, but despite that I can still see the way they’re trembling. When he realizes I've caught him staring, he closes his mouth and gulps hard.

I straighten up and raise an eyebrow in a silent question, and that’s enough for Spencer to snap his book shut and scramble off of the bed. He’s clumsy as he moves to his suitcase, dropping his bottle of travel shampoo twice before he reaches the bathroom. If I wasn’t so off put by whatever the hell had just happened, I might have thought it cute.

As if the universe thought my current predicament wasn’t enough to deal with, the next morning I was dealt another shitty hand. This time, my distress came in the form of a young cop who couldn’t pick up on social cues to save his life. After an entire morning of dodging sleazy advances, I finally managed to shake him when his superior sent him out to go and actually do his fucking job.

Or so I thought.

I’m standing in the breakroom, pouring my fourth (or is it my fifth?) cup of coffee when I hear the sound of footsteps in the hall. I don’t know if I’ve developed a sixth sense about these things, or if I’m just particularly on edge today, but I know it’s the young officer before he can even cross the threshold.

And when he does, and he sees that he has me cornered, a saccharine smile stretches across his lips.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he drawls in an accent that could probably be attractive if he wasn’t so damn skeevy.

“Might wanna get your eyes checked,” I mutter, refusing to look in his direction as I stir my coffee.

“Pretty and feisty. Just how I like my women.”

“I am not your anything,” I seethe, and instead of backing off like any respectful human being would, he just chuckles and begins to saunter towards me.

“C’mon baby, you don’t have to be that way. You don’t have to act all professional with me.”

“Don’t call me that.” I look at him now, and the smug, self-righteous smile on his face makes my blood boil.

“You don’t like baby? That’s fine – I’m sure I can think of lots of other things to call you,” he murmurs. He’s closer now, so close that I can practically feel his breath against my neck.

“I’m going to tell you to stop one more time, and it would be in your best interest to listen,” I growl.

“Or what?” he taunts. “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

I jolt forward when a hand comes down hard on my ass, squeezing me harshly through the material of my skirt.

Oh, fuck no.

I’m whirling around faster than I ever thought possible, and then a harsh crack sounds throughout the room as my hand comes in contact with his face.

My hand stings from the contact, but the pain is welcome because he flies backwards, stumbling and grasping as his already reddening cheek.

“What the fuck?” he roars, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. I take several steps towards him, and to my utmost delight he nearly trips over himself in his hurry to put distance between us. I stop when his back hits the wall and I lean in until our faces are only inches apart.

“Listen here, you limp dick fuck,” I snarl. “I’m getting real sick and fucking tired of pathetic pieces of shit like you thinking they can put their hands on women. What’s your problem? Are you so fucking tactless that you can’t get anyone to fuck you?” I punctuate my question by jabbing my pointer finger into his chest and cocking my head to the side. “Are you so unappealing that the only way you can get your hands on a woman is to wait until she’s alone and try to corner her?

Or is it a power thing? You’ve got the gun and the badge so you think you’re entitled to just take what you want, don’t you? You think no one can stop you because you’re in a position of power. Well, I have some news for you – I outrank you, and you just assaulted a federal agent. I will not stop until I ruin your fucking career, and if you even think of trying to lie your way out of this, I’ll do a helluva lot fucking worse. After the week I’m having, I am just looking for an excuse to kick your fucking dick into the dirt. Do you understand?”

By the time I finish speaking, my chest is heaving up and down and my eyes are narrowed into slits. The officer is so angry that he’s shaking, hands balled up to fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he’ll try to hit me, but then his hard-exterior cracks and the anger gives way to fear.

“You – You can’t tell anyone about this,” he says, trying his best to sound menacing. But his voice wavers, and I can tell he’s losing his grip. “It’ll r-ruin my career.”

I raise my hand up to his cheek, placing my palm over the red imprint I had left on his skin. And then I flash him the sweetest goddamn smile that ever there was.

“I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

I give him a pat on the cheek before turning around and heading for the door, only to stop halfway when I see that I have an audience of one.

Spencer stands in the doorway, a coffee mug gripped tightly in one hand, mouth agape and eyes wide. He’s standing stock still, eyes darting in between the police officer and me. I let out an exasperated sigh because of-fucking-course it would be Spencer that would happen to walk in on whatever that just was.

“Close your mouth, Reid. That’s how you catch flies,” I deadpan, prompting Spencer to snap his mouth shut.

Without another word, I brush past him and leave the break room.

I suppose the universe had decided to finally give me a break, because that afternoon we were able to apprehend the unsub. But my good fortune only went so far, because Hotch announced that we would be leaving first thing in the morning – which meant another night alone with Spencer Reid.

He didn’t mention what he walked in on when the two of us arrived back at our room, and I didn’t expect him to. The two of us went about the motions of unwinding from the day in complete and utter silence, and by the time I emerge from the shower I decide that I’ve had enough.

“I’m gonna go stay with Elle and Derek,” I murmur as I zip up my suitcase and slip on my shoes.

“Oh. O-Okay.”

And that was that.

It’s about an hour later when my phone is on four percent that I realize I hadn’t remembered to bring my charger with me. I contemplate just letting it die, but the idea of sitting through a seven-hour jet ride tomorrow without it sounds excruciating. Then again, so does the idea of having to suffer through an interaction with Spencer.

The phone wins out in the end, and with Derek and Elle still snoring softly in their respective beds, I slip out of the room and into the hallway. With any luck, Spencer will be in a similar state and I’ll be able to sneak in and out without him waking up.

I think thank my lucky stars when I slowly crack open the door to Spencer’s room and see that the lights are off. I take special care to close the door as quietly as possible before tiptoeing across the carpeted floors, feeling my way around in the dark so that I don’t trip over anything.

I make it halfway across the room when I hear it – it’s quiet, and if the air conditioner had been on, I wouldn’t have even heard it at all. It’s faint, so faint that I wonder if I’d imagined it, but then that same sound breaks through the silence and I know it’s not a product of my imagination.

I hear the covers rustle, and then a low moan followed by the distinct sound of skin on skin. My blood runs cold as the moans grow louder and more frequent, rolling off Spencer’s lips in rapid succession. There’s heavy breathing and whimpering and holy fuck I just walked in on Spencer Reid masturbating.

Spencer cries out a particularly load moan, one that sounds so pornographic that it shoots straight to my core. It’s sexy and dirty and he sounds absolutely wrecked, and the part of my brain that is still capable of logical thinking is screaming get out! Get out, now!

I begin to slowly backtrack, moving at one tenth of the speed that I had coming in because the possibility of being caught is absolutely not an option. If Spencer hates me now, he’d really hate me if he found out I snuck into his room at night and heard… that.

I’m about five feet away from the door when:

“O-Oh my God, yes! Y/N, please - fuck!”

I think then that I certainly have to be dreaming, because there’s no way I’d just heard him correctly. There’s no way that Spencer – the same Spencer that scurried out of the room when I walked in – was moaning my name while he touched himself. Absolutely not.

But then it happens again and again and again – my name falling from his lips incessantly like some kind of debauched chant.

It feels like my skin is on fire – my mind a befuddled mess – and before my brain can tell me what a terrible idea it is, my feet are carrying me back into the room and I’m coming to a stop at the foot of Spencer’s bed.

Bathed in the glow of the moonlight shining through the window, Spencer looks ethereal. There’s a thin line of sweat beading on his forehead, and his usually meticulously slicked back hair is fanned out on the pillow like some sort of halo. His teeth are nestled into his bottom lip now, and all that can be heard are tiny whimpers as his hand slides up and down underneath the bed sheets. Spencer’s always beautiful, almost painfully so. But the way he looks now, shadows dancing across his face as he works himself to orgasm, is infinitely more breathtaking than words can express.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to release his lip from beneath his teeth, and when he does my name is flying out of his mouth once more.

I take that as my invitation to speak.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before.”

Spencer’s entire body stills and his eyes fly open to reveal two dark pools full of sheer panic.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, moving to clutch the comforter to his chest in an attempt to cover himself.

I let out a hum and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Please do. I’m very interested in hearing about just what you were picturing me doing.”

Spencer sucks in a harsh breath. I can practically see the wheels in his brain turning -desperately trying to concoct some kind of reasonable explanation.

“I-I… I don’t… I’m s-sorry,” he stutters, and it’s so adorable how he’s squirming underneath my gaze that I decide to help him out.

“Was I sucking you off? Or were you fucking me?” I wonder aloud. He tries to hide it, thinking the covers will mask the way that his hips buck up, but I definitely see it.

“I-I…”

“Which was it, Spencer? Was I taking you down my throat or were you fucking my pussy? Or maybe I was coming undone on your face – was that it?”

Spencer lets out a low groan, and if my patience hadn’t been running so fucking thin, I probably would’ve left it at that. But after the hell he’d put me through for the last six months, I feel like he deserved to squirm a little.

“Fucking answer me.”

“Y-You were, um… r-riding me. And you s-slapped m-me.”

Oh.

This just got a lot more interesting.

I raise an eyebrow at him and I can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

“So, you liked what you saw today, did you?”

Spencer nods so fervently that I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a laugh.

“Words, baby. Use them.”

“I-I liked it. A lot.”

“Apparently so, seeing as you were moaning for it like a desperate little slut,” I breeze, my tone cool and indifferent. “Have you done this before, Doctor? Touched yourself to the thought of me, that is.”

“… Y-Yes. I’m s-sorry. I didn’t m-mean to. It just kind of happened one night, and once I started, I couldn’t s-stop.”

I reach out a hand and brush away the hair that had fallen into his face, tucking it back behind his ear before continuing.

“Why the cold shoulder, then? And here I thought you hated me,” I muse, before pausing and cocking my head to the side. “Do you hate me, Doctor?” I ask, and just when I thought he couldn’t look more guilty, he proves me wrong.

“No! I just… couldn’t be around you. I felt so b-bad. You were so nice, and I was using you to g-get off,” Spencer explains. “I couldn’t look you in the eye. Not after picturing you… like that.”

I let out a sigh. Knowing that Spencer didn’t actually hate me for the last six months was a relief. Knowing that Spencer was secretly rubbing one out to me was something else entirely. Whatever was I to do with this information?

“So, you want to fuck me, then?” I reiterate. “Why not tell me this sooner?”

“The probability of you responding positively to me telling you that I, uh, m-masturbate to you was very l-low. And after what I saw today, I think I was wise for keeping that from you,” Spencer says, the last part coming out in a rush. I can’t help but let out a low laugh.

“Yes, but the guy that was coming on to me today wasn’t someone I find attractive. He was pompous and crass and pushy - and you, Doctor Reid, are none of those things.”

“R-Really? You think I’m attractive?”

I hum.

“Very much so, Doctor. But I’m afraid you may have waited too long, and now I don’t feel as inclined to be nice,” I murmur, allowing my hand to trail down from his shoulder to his collar bones before lightly grazing his nipple with my thumb.

“O-Oh my… God,” Spencer whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as my fingers continue to dance across his skin.

“But then again, I don’t think you really want me to be nice to you. I think you want me to treat you like my little play thing.” I stop my hand just below his navel and I thumb across the light layer of hair that makes up his happy trail. “You want to be my dirty boy - don’t you, Doctor Reid?”

“P-Please,” Spencer chokes out, hips jerking up when I allow my thumb to graze a little lower.

“Please what?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan.

“Please, I-I want you to u-use me. However you want, just as l-long as you just do-don’t stop touching me,” he rambles. He’s shuddering underneath me, his breaths coming out in harsh pants as my hand wanders lower and lower until I abruptly pull away. “W-Why did you stop?”

“Because I don’t think you deserve to be touched just yet. You’ve got six months to make up to me, after all. I think I want you on your knees for me first,” I say, and from the way his eyes seem to dilate even further, I don’t think he has any objections. “Are you familiar with the color system?”

Spencer nods.

“Green for good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop now.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I… I’ve never really, uh. Done t-this.”

Oh. Oh.

I withdraw my hand from its place on his leg and Spencer lets out a distressed whine. “No, please! Don’t go. I’m not a complete virgin, I promise. I got a h-hand job once,” he argues. “And I think I’ve done enough, uh, research, and I really want to try to make you cum. I want to be good for you. Please let me try.”

Spencer looks like he’s about two seconds away from crying, and I can feel my argument dying before it even leaves my mouth.

“Oh, baby, I know you’d be so good,” I coo, and just like that Spencer’s leaning towards me, desperate to have the contact. I indulge him, placing my hand on his cheek, and he relaxes into the touch. “Are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m not what anyone would call vanilla, and I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I trust you. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” Spencer whispers, and he sounds so damn sincere that I feel my resolve crumbling.

“You’ll let me know if at any point you want to stop?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

Enthusiastic little shit.

“Safe word?”

“Um… Tolstoy?”

I let out a snort.

“Alright, smarty pants. We’re going to start now, okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” Spencer pants out.

Fuck me running. He clearly has been doing his research.

“Get on your knees for me, baby. I wanna see just how eager to please you are,” I instruct as I stand up and shimmy out of my shorts. I discard my shirt, too, absentmindedly throwing it somewhere across the room. Spencer lets out a startled squeak when he sees that I’m now completely naked, aside from my underwear.

“Y-You’re so pretty,” Spencer breathes out. “Even better than I imagined.”

The sentiment tugs at my heart, really, it does, but I specifically requested that he get on his knees and he seems a lot more content to just sit and stare.

“On your knees,” I command, and Spencer jumps up almost comically fast.

“S-Sorry, Miss,” he apologizes as he lowers himself down. I seat myself on the edge of the bed and spread my legs for him.

“Don’t apologize, just do as I ask of you, okay baby?”

Spencer nods.

“C-Can I kiss you? Like on the lips first?” Spencer asks as he looks up at me with big doe eyes. It’s a beautiful thing, the image of Spencer Reid sitting in between my legs, cheeks flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling. I give Spencer a sweet smile and lean forward, and the excitement radiating off of him is practically palpable. He leans forward, too eager to wait for me to close the gap, and the action makes my chest swell in adoration.

Just as our lips are about to meet, I pause, and Spencer barely has the time to look confused before my palm connects with the side of his face. The moan it draws out of him is obscene and his hips jolt forward, desperate for some kind of friction. His dick rests painfully hard between his legs, flushed red with precum beading at the tip.

I waste no time in taking his chin in my hand and tilting his head upwards.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” I ask him, voice sugary sweet, contrasting starkly with my actions.

“N-No, Miss. I’m sorry,” Spencer pants out. His hand twitches at his side and I can see how desperately he wants to touch himself, but his desire to please keeps him still.

“Then the answer is no. Maybe if you can prove to me that you aren’t completely incompetent at eating pussy, I’ll consider it,” I allow a moment for my words to sink in. “Color?”

“Green. So fucking green,” Spencer whines.

“Good boy,” I praise him, and the effects of my words are instantaneous. Spencer rests his cheek against the skin of my thigh and then he’s nuzzling his face against me in a silent plea for permission. After a moment, his pleas become a lot less silent.

“Wanna be your good boy - please let me,” Spencer begs as his nose brushes against my skin. “I want to make you feel good. S’all I ever think about, since the first time I saw you.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure to my core and I reward his brazen honesty with a tender smile and a nod.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

The words barely have time to leave my mouth before Spencer is reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the waistband of my panties. I raise up off the bed just enough for him to slide them down my legs, and before I even manage to settle back down onto the bed, Spencer literally dives in. He starts with one long lick, and by the time he reaches my clit he’s crying out lewd moans against me. The feel of the vibrations mixed with the feel of his mouth on me is maddening in the best possible way, and my eyelids threaten to flutter closed under the weight of my pleasure.

“Fuck, baby – you’re doing so good,” I sigh as I lift my hand up and card my fingers through his hair. “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Spencer’s movements stutter when he feels my hand tangle itself into his hair, and I let out a light chuckle. I grab hold of the roots and give an experimental tug. My actions cause his hips to jolt forward violently.

“O-Oh my…” Spencer keens, raising his glossy, lust filled eyes to mine. “H-Harder, please.”

I oblige, and Spencer lets out a particularly filthy groan before lapping at my pussy like a man possessed. His hands come to wrap around my thighs and he pulls me closer to him, causing me to let out a gasp when his nose nudges against my clit. The sound only spurs him on further – Spencer begins assaulting my clit, alternating between short, kitten licks and light sucking. The control I had so adamantly been asserting over him began to slip from my fingertips the longer he worked his mouth against me, and quiet, breathy moans started falling from my lips.

“Such a good boy, Spence,” I moan as I scratch my fingernails against his scalp. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. Love that dirty little mouth of yours.”

Spencer thrives on the praise – that much is made obvious by the way he whimpers and tightens his grip on my thighs. He’s completely submitted himself to the act of getting me off, only stopping long enough to cry out when my hands give a particularly harsh tug on his hair.

“Add a finger, baby,” I tell him, allowing my hand to drift down the side of his face, caressing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Spencer releases my thigh from his hold and tentatively raises a hand to my entrance, eyes raising to meet mine.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” he asks, and his concern is so endearing that I tilt his chin upwards and lean forward until my lips meet his.

Spencer gasps into the kiss, shocked, but it doesn’t take him long before his lips are moving against mine fervently. His lips are slick with my arousal, and I dart my tongue out just long enough to swipe it across his bottom lip.

“D’you like how I taste, baby?” I murmur against his lips, pulling back slightly when Spencer tries to bring his lips down against mine.

“S-So much,” he whispers, before letting out a frustrated groan when I tease him with the slightest brush of my lips before pulling away again. “P-Please, kiss me again.”

I bump my nose against his before I reach down and grab his hand in mine.

“Don’t be a greedy boy, Spencer. Greedy boys don’t get to cum,” I chastise him as I raise his hand up to my mouth. I trace my bottom lip with his pointer finger as Spencer watches on in rapt fascination, before taking the digit into my mouth and sucking. Spencer chokes out a pathetic cry and his hips hopelessly buck into the air as I swirl my tongue around the pad of his finger, taking special care to coat it with spit before releasing it from my mouth.

I guide his hand back down to my pussy, gasping when the tip of his finger brushes across my entrance.

“Just take it slow, baby. Start with one and move up to two once you get the hang of it.”

Spencer nods, eyes alternating between my face and my entrance as he slowly slides his finger in me.

“You’re so warm, oh my God,” Spencer breathes out, tentatively pulling out his finger before inserting it back in. I hum appreciatively as he begins to move faster, eyelids fluttering shut when he lowers his head and begins languidly licking my clit.

“Feels so nice, Spence. I fucking love your fingers. Knew that they’d feel like this. I can only imagine how good your cock will feel,” I ramble, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tugging on his honey brown hair.

I groan as he inserts a second finger, reveling in the way he’s stretching me out.

“Curl your fingers when you – fuck! Just like that, baby. Gonna make me cum if you keep doing t-that.”

Spencer speeds up both the onslaught of his fingers and his mouth at my admission, tongue working figure eights on my clit while his fingers brush up against my g-spot. A familiar warmth starts to spread in my lower belly, and with every swipe of Spencer’s tongue against my clit, the coil in my stomach winds tighter and tighter until, finally:

“O-Oh, fuck, Spence!”

The coil snaps, sending jolts of pleasure straight through my core. I can feel the way my walls tighten around Spencer’s fingers as my orgasm rips through me, never stopping their ministrations in an attempt to help me ride out my high. Vibrations ripple across my clit when Spencer lets out a cry of his own before his movements halt completely as shudders wrack his body.

I know he didn’t just…

I allow myself a moment to recover before I lean forward and drag my eyes down Spencer’s slender frame – and sure enough, his tummy is covered in white ropes of cum and his now softening cock is hanging limply between his legs.

Spencer’s eyes reluctantly open when his shudders cease, and one look at my pissy expression is enough to send him into a fit.

“I-I didn’t mean to cum! I’m so sorry, Miss. It’s j-just that you looked so pretty when you came, and you taste so good! And you were pulling my hair, and you called me a good boy and I just couldn’t do it anymo-”

“Shut up,” I seethe, voice cold and laced with annoyance. Spencer’s mouth snaps shut and he gulps. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember saying that you were allowed to come. Am I mistaken?” “N-No, Miss.”

“Mm, that’s what I thought,” I hum. “Stand up.”

“B-But I want to make you cum again! Can I plea-”

“Shut the fuck up and stand up, Spencer.”

Spencer rushes to his feet, stumbling a bit when his legs begin to shake. He corrects himself, standing perfectly still in front of me with a shameful look on his face. I scoot back on the bed and fix him with a stony look.

“I want you to lay on your stomach across my lap. Can you do that, Doctor Reid, or are you too stupid to follow simple directions?”

Spencer adamantly shakes his head, scrambling to splay out across my bare thighs. Once he’s comfortable, I raise a palm to his bare ass cheek and smooth my hand across the skin.

“Color?”

“G-Green,” Spencer stutters out.

“Wonderful. Since you’ve decided to be a greedy little slut and cum before I gave you permission, I’m going to punish you. Do you remember your safe word, baby?”

“Tolstoy.”

“Good boy. I’m going to give you ten, and I want you to count them out for me. One for every month you held out on me, and four because you’re an insolent little whore who can’t do as he’s told. Does that sound fair to you?”

“Y-Yes, Miss. P-Please.”

A harsh smack sounds throughout the room, and Spencer lets out a whorish moan that’s bound to wake the people in the neighboring rooms. The pale skin of his ass transforms to red, and I rub my palm across it soothingly.

“O-One,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as he rocks his hips against my legs.

“You okay, baby?”

“Y-Yes, Miss. Please don’t stop. I deserve it. P-Punish me, please.”

My palm comes down across his ass four more times, and with each strike I watch Spencer fall apart right before my eyes. Tears are gliding down his flushed cheeks, and his cock is now painfully hard against my legs.

“Five more to go, baby. Keep counting for me, my pretty boy.”

By the time my hand comes down against his flesh for the final time, Spencer has devolved into a mess of pathetic whimpers. His cock is smearing precum across my thighs as he rocks against me, and his ass is covered in a litany of bright red marks. Incomprehensible pleas are falling from his lips, and his hands are tightly fisted in the sheets.

I lean forward and place a gentle kiss to each of his battered cheeks.

“T-Thank you, Miss. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

“You’re welcome, baby. Can you go lay in the center of the bed for me?”

Spencer gives a feeble nod and crawls to the center of the bed, carefully laying himself down and letting out a low hiss when his ass came in contact with the mattress.

I let him rest against the sheets before I roll over and settle in between his legs.

Spencer’s cock, painfully hard and leaking precum, sits against his belly. Spencer watches as I trace lithe fingers up his thigh, his chest rising and falling quickly as I get closer to where he demands my attention.

A garbled groan rips from his throat when my hand grasps his cock, and I have to place my other hand on his hip and force him back down onto the bed when he tries to buck up.

“Stay still, baby,” I tut as I drag my fist up and down at an agonizingly slow pace.

“S-Sorry, M-Miss,” Spencer stutters. His brows are drawn together and his eyes are heavy lidded. “Need m-more, please.”

“Mm, I don’t think you need more. You just want more. Dumb little greedy baby,” I tease as my thumb swipes across his head.

“Oh… G-God, please!” Spencer mewls.

“Is what I’m giving you not good enough?”

“N-No, it’s just-”

I raise an eyebrow at him and halt my movements.

“No, it isn’t good enough?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan and his fists clench the sheets.

“P-Please, Miss! I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Just let me cum, please, I want it so bad!”

Thoroughly pleased by his shameless begging, I start moving my hand again.

“Let me know when you’re about to cum, baby.”

That moment comes when, not thirty seconds later, the muscles in Spencer’s abdomen start to spasm – telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Spencer is so lost in the way my hand is moving against his cock that he makes no move to warn me, and just as I see his eyes start to flutter shut, I withdraw my hand.

“W-Why did yo-”

“You didn’t tell me you were about to cum. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy, Spencer? You sure aren’t acting like someone who wants to cum.”

“S-Sorry, please, just… fuck!”

Spencer’s whole-body folds in on itself when my mouth wraps around the head of his cock. I swirl my tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that had gathered before I pull away.

“You’ve got such a pretty cock, baby. Can’t believe nobody’s had you in their mouth yet,” I murmur, pausing to drag my tongue along the veiny underside of his erection. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna know how much you like when I use my mouth on you.”

“Love it so much, oh God… Feels so warm and wet. Thank you so much, Miss. God, it feels perfect,” Spencer keens as I take him into my mouth again. Mumbled praises fall from his lips as I take him deeper, and the second my nose hits the soft skin of his belly, Spencer’s hand comes up and begins to tap incessantly on my shoulder.

“S-Stop! I-I’m close – Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking close and I really want to cum inside you, i-if that’s okay with you,” Spencer babbles, eyes wide and pleading. I smile up at him.

“Do you think you deserve to cum in my pussy?”

“H-Honestly, no, but I’m hoping you’ll let me anyways,” Spencer says, shooting me an adorably shy smile that has my heart doing somersaults in my chest. I let out a light laugh and shake my head, moving to straddle his lap.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Spence?” I murmur as I caress the side of his face with my hands. “This can stop right here, if you want it to.”

“Please, Miss. I want this. I want you,” Spencer reiterates, eyes shining and filled to the brim with adoration.

“Want you, too, baby. You can call me my name now, if you want,” I say as I place a gentle kiss on his lips. I move to pull away, but Spencer’s hand is quick to grasp the back of my neck and pull me back in.

While our lips move together, frenzied and desperate, I sneak a hand in between our bodies and grab Spencer’s cock. He gasps into my mouth as I drag his head in between my folds.

“I-I won’t last long,” Spencer chokes out, eyes trained on where I’m rubbing him against me. “I’ll try my b-best, but I’m sorry if I c-cum too fast.”

I sink down just enough that his head is the only thing inside me, watching as his face contorts beautifully as a result.

“Don’t worry about me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

With one last, chaste kiss to his lips, I slowly begin to lower myself down onto his length. The sound of our moans fill the room as Spencer clings desperately to me, hands finally finding purchase on my hips.

“Y/N, fuck, you feel so good,” Spencer whimpers as I begin to slowly rock against him. “I-I knew it would feel good, but oh my God. I-I can’t… I’m gonna cum, soon. M’so sorry.”

His admission prompts me to move faster, raising my hips until he’s almost completely out of me before I’m slamming back down.

“Spence, you feel so good. Such a good boy – my good boy.”

“Yes, yes, I’m all yours! Only yours, please!” Spencer whines. I lean forward, and the change of angle is enough for both of us to cry out.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me, Spence?” I murmur into his ear, biting lightly against his earlobe. “I want you to cum in me, baby. Don’t you want to be my good boy?” I punctuate my words by lightly wrapping my hand around this throat and squeezing, and that’s all it takes for Spencer to completely fall apart underneath me.

“Y/N - fuck!”

Spencer’s grip on my hips tightens as he bucks up into me, painting the inside of my pussy with his cum as he yells out strangled exclamations of my name. He presses his face into my shoulder as I ride him through his orgasm, whispering quiet thank yous and pressing open mouthed kisses to my skin as the euphoria floods through his body.

I place a kiss to his forehead before I crawl off of him, having every intention of getting up and procuring a wet washrag. But Spencer reaches out to grip my arm, and his eyes look so sad that I stop in my tracks.

“C-Can you stay? Please?”

The insecurity in his voice tugs at my heart.

“Of course, I’m staying. Was just gonna get a wet washrag for us. M’not gonna leave you, Spence,” I murmur. Spencer visibly untenses, but his grip on my arm doesn’t lessen.

“Could you just stay here a little bit longer?”

“Sure thing, baby,” I say, prompting Spencer’s lips to pull up into a pleased smile. I crawl back into the bed and lay on my back, and Spencer instantly plasters himself to my side. He hums contentedly as he wraps his arms around me, and I let out a light laugh when I catch him stealing glances at me.

“What is it, baby?”

A rosy blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?”

After everything we just did, he still feels the need to ask permission to kiss me. What a sweet boy.

My answer comes in the form of me pressing my lips to his, and that’s how we stay until he pulls away.

“I have another question,” he says shyly.

“Lay it on me, baby.”

The blush on his cheeks gets significantly more pronounced.

“It’s just that, uh, you didn’t get to cum again. And I really want you to, because you took such good care of me,” Spencer pauses, and his fingertips lightly graze the inside of my thigh. “C-Could I please eat you out again?” Another pause, and he retracts his hand. “I-It’s okay if not. I understand if you just wanted this to be… a one-time thing. I guess I was just kind of hoping that it w-wouldn’t be. But that’s silly – you were just doing me a favor. I’m sorry I asked.”

Spencer cringes as he finishes speaking, not even giving me a chance to reply before he’s trying to pull away. I tighten my grip on his arm, and Spencer gives me a weary look.

“First of all, I don’t think I would ever say no to being eaten out – especially if you’re the one offering. Second, this is definitely not a one off. I have lots of plans for you, pretty boy,” I explain, and the relief that radiates off of Spencer is almost palpable.

“Thank God,” he sighs, and then he’s scooting down the bed and settling in between my legs.

And if the rest of the team notices the way Spencer starts following me around like a lost puppy - well, they’re all kind enough not to point it out.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #sub!spencer #dom!reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #smut #dom/sub #sub spence

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sergiovinazzi · 3 years

Text

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

____________

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

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goddess-pan · 3 years

Text

c!Technoblade having a crush on a strong!Reader

Dsmp x reader prompt; c!Technoblade having a crush on a strong!Reader. Credit would be appreciated so more people can find this and make their own things based on it.

Requested from my idea list by @vanhakirja and @universal-vibe , if you would like to request something, you are still able to.

Mostly fluff and crack type prompt, romantic-coded

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

Techno being very shy around the reader, but at the same time trying to show off. He'd get super flustered whenever the reader showcased their strength no matter if it was intentional or not. Even just the thought of a strong partner/lover makes his brain go brrrrr.

He finds strength really attractive and it would relieve his concerns in someone hurting them solely for the reason that it was him that was interested in them, because they would be able to defend themselves. While that is the first reason he would be attracted to them, he soon finds more by spending time with them. When they end up hanging out together they tend to gravitate towards things that interests them both, but occasionally they do something only one of them really has an interest in.

Even though the reader can defend themself, and Techno knows that, but he still has an urge to protect them. But due to not wanting to seem like he thinks less of them or that he's babying them, he tries to push it down and indulges himself only rarely in not demeaning ways like gifting them better armour and weapons. Though sometimes when his instincts get better of him he might ask to walk them home to make sure nothing happens to them or secure the perimeter around their house. One time he ended up fixing the stairs to the reader's house to make sure they didn't trip and hurt themself. While he might be able to find something to distract him from the thoughts of protecting the reader, because of the voices starting to immediately talk about it he isn't going to be able to shake the thought.

The voices might like the reader a lot too, but he is much more interested in the reader than they are. In fact he’s the one ranting and fawning over them constantly to the voices. And if Techno coached his voices on how to spot the reader in the wild in case he somehow missed them just so he could get a glimpse of them before they were out of his sight, that’s his business and his business alone.

Techno would consider telling Phil about his crush just so he could have a another person to rant to about them. He’s kind of on the fence about it because there was this one time where the reader was helping him and Philza chop wood for the fires keeping their homes warm and he ended up not being able to keep his eyes of them and blushing every time they hauled wood back to the stockpile. Phil noticed it, because of course he did, and then began the light teasing of him over his interest in the reader and his blushing. Is Philza teasing him every waking second of his life worth talking about the reader to an actual person instead of just the voices in his head, not to mention a person he could get advice from regarding his crush? Techno sure as hell doesn’t know.

Should the reader at any point flirt with him or show interest in him in a romantic way, he would just be a flustered mess. When giving compliments to Techno he responds the best to compliments about his skills and talents since he can recognize that he’s good at those, usually it ends up with his tail wagging and ears flapping with blush spread across his cheeks while he makes tiny proud snorts unconsciously. If they called him pretty, beautiful or handsome (etc.) his brain would just shut down while he heavily blushed, averting his gaze and being unable to speak. If they compliment his voice he goes on a small tangent on how he polarizing his voice is and how some people like it, but other’s think he sounds like he’s smoked a pack for like a decade despite that not being the case, and with his tangent he forgets that the reader complimented him in the first place. He is also easily flustered by physical contact, though with hugging him they would have to keep an eye on not hugging him for too long since he can get super antsy due to being restricted and not being able to do anything if his mind doesn’t turn off. Though he would get the most flustered if the reader lifted him or picked him up. Please reader, pick this boy up and carry him, he will swoon hard.

While the reader is a strong person if their fighting techniques aren’t that great, Techno would gladly teach them what he knows and he knows a lot. Probably starting with the basics and then onto more advanced techniques plus any kind of life saving tricks he thinks they might need to know just in case. When the reader has gotten most of it down he would happily spar with them to help them practice that way as well, but he wouldn’t exactly feel comfortable fighting them if they didn’t know what they were doing despite their strength. And when the lessons are over and done with he wouldn’t be opposed to sparring with them in the future to hone both of their skills, but also to spend time with each other and have fun.

A funny thing that has happened to him was when he was just hanging out with the reader at his base feeding the hounds. While he was congratulating himself in his head for keeping his cool and appearing somewhat normal today, the reader stared at Ranboo’s house for second and then at Philza’s with a puzzled expression before snickering to themself. This drew Techno’s attention to them and they remarked

“You know both your neighbours are married...” He just grunted in affirmation, so they continued

“With your guys’ similarities, when is your wedding coming up big guy? Got someone special in mind already?” His mind immediately went to ‘Marry me’ as he locked eyes with them. Feeling way too self-conscious about his thoughts and feelings, he averted his eyes quickly and coughed clearing his throat. “Sounds nice, but probably not” he said.

“Why’s that?” They continued to question. He looked at them again, his face blank as he gestured himself. They just raised an eyebrow and stared at him in silence for a second. “If you so much as are even referring to yourself as being unlovable I will hug you until you stop talking nonsense.”

“First of all, I didn’t even say anything an-”

“Now listen up here mister wise gu-”

“AND second of all is that supposed to be a threat?”

“It is, you handsome bastard, so unless you want to be unable to move for the next 10 minutes you better start watching yourself.” That caused his face to flush harshly while he quickly turned away going back to feeding the dogs and mumbled out a “Shut it.” Which got him a giggle in return and thankfully they didn’t deliver on their threat this time. While they changed the topic to something else, his mind was still running away with the thought of what their wedding would look like and the fact that he was called handsome.

#technoblade x reader #techno x reader #dsmp x reader #dsmp fanfic #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #Pans Writing Prompts

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rotshop · 3 years

Note

Jebus x Gender neutral reader who's secretly a demon?

anon im grabbing you so so tightly by the throat im holding you up off the ground you are like a stress ball abt to burst . i love you. /p j

i kinda changed the prompt a LITTLE methinks ,,, idk ,,,

[ maybe very brief gore revolving around horns and tail ]

-now. jeb does try and give people some sort of benefit of the doubt. he tried to be patient with phobos, he might've not always been that way- some sort of weird side effect of dealing with employers. he gave crackpot the benefit of the doubt, he obviously had some sort of fondness for phobos, it was only natural to imitate his snarky and childish behavior in some form of flattery. he doesn't pry into people's lives, that's not his thing. he doesn't like being investigated, so he won't investigate others. you understood that pretty well. he figured it was because people seemed a little off around you, half steps back when you got close and whispers shared with pointed glances. he wasn't sure what that was all about, either way though, it'd made him work up some sort of guts to speak up when you'd been around him- something simple he could play off as talking to himself aloud if you didn't respond. yet, you had with earnest interest and wit.

-you were some co-worker or otherwise were someone who he ran into often, a few simple interactions turning into routine. he'd started spending lunch with you, introducing you and hofnarr officially for the first time (side note i think poly would be cute w/ that sort of concept but that's not the ask so i digress). then he'd started checking in on you whenever he got the time and chance to, even if you were ways away, in some whole other branch of the core, he did his best to come see you. which then turned into you joining him on his way back after seeing just how exhausted he was, the occasional tease of age and stress getting to him earning you a half-hearted, amused glare. of course, he wouldn't make you walk back immediately- then he'd have to come with you as repayment and the cycle wouldn't end. so instead you make yourself at home sitting on the corner of his desk or on the counter and watching him work.

-long story short ; you both talked a lot. he was never a very chatty person, it wasn't that he didn't have any opinions or things to say really, he just wasn't a fan of all the eyes and attention, it made him nervous. he could appreciate that you did your best to alleviate that, happy to go on even if the first few conversations he only pitched in occasional short answers, avoiding staring too much and not pushing eye contact- it meant a lot. before he knew it he was going on and on, minutes passing far too fast with every little tangent and bridge to a new topic before something snapped him back, making him apologize and rub the back of his neck in some sort of embarrassment at the act. you'd always laughed and reassured him it was fine, he vividly recalls a certain time you'd waved your hand dismissively, tilting your head to the side a tad as you smiled and told him it was fine, you liked his voice anyway.

-other people noticed he voiced his thoughts more in meetings for the next few days.

-then y'know shit got fucked up or whatever ig. it's a little bit fuzzy, it comes in vague outlines and colours that he can't exactly pin the source of. all he remembers was some shape coming towards him with something drawn behind its back(? was it even a person? it was really too hard to tell, it hurt his head.), then there was black and red, it was black for a long time. then, after either a very long or very short period (time seems to fade when you're dead. dead, it was something he'd scoffed dryly at the first time. after the halo it never really seemed to phase him, he can't remember exactly when it'd started to become mundane.) he'd seen the vague outline of you over him, something felt off about it though. maybe it was just the blurriness, he wasn't in any shape to start making attempts. the last real coherent thought he had before slipping back unconscious was how he was surprised you could pick him up, he didn't expect you to be strong enough to be able to without too much struggle. he'd thought about asking when he'd woken up, bandages tight around his torso (you'd asked him several times if they were too tight, it was funny how concerned you were) when he'd managed to find you after only vaguely recalling his surroundings as some old nearby medic's area the aahw had abandoned. the complete lack of eye contact and withdrawn, curled body language made him hold his tongue on that thought. besides, he already had enough to think about when you were handing the halo over to him to worry about it.

-anyway skipping ahead bc this is getting lengthy.

-when he eventually finds out (which, he will. he's smart and worries too much, it'll inevitably come out), he's not sure what to think at first. he (very guiltily) compares you to tricky. that clown is the only thing he knows that's even close to what you are. demon might not be its exact classification but .. he's desperate to say he has something to base his 'theory' off of. it puts a bitter taste in his mouth at first, the thought that you could come to that level of sadism and chaos. it hurts to think it would mean he'd lost two of his closest companions to the same spiral of kindness to bloodthirst. there was a noticeable silence for a while between the two of you. but . you weren't tricky. you weren't popping out of thin air with a weapon held high and a glimmer of brutality and gore in your eye. you weren't tearing him to shreds and bringing him back. (you'd only brought him back once, that very first time. you didn't really like talking about it much. the memory made you tight with worry and anxiety, so he simply avoided the topic for your sake.) you were kind.

-you didn't like talking about it too much, something about you feeling alienated by and for it. you told him enough about it though, little things you were comfortable with sharing. you'd told him about the abilities it gave you, the little physical differences you'd worked to alter or otherwise hide (there was always a certain weight on his chest whenever he traced over the slight stumps left from your horns that were hidden under your hair and the scar on your lower back, a noticeable dip in your skin left from your tail), you'd briefly mentioned where you came from- some Other Place. youd been a little more nervous about that last tidbit, he'd thought about it a little more. inevitably, he came to the same conclusion as he had on the overall matter; you were still the same person he'd fallen for.

#jebediah christoff x reader #jebus x reader #madness combat imagines #madness combat x reader #madcom x reader #madcom imagines #rot writes

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snuggetfish · 3 years

Note

This is kinda random but I often wonder about majima’s lack of depth perception; if you have any headcanons about this, I would love to hear them!

Oh yes, I've given this some thought! And I've read up a bit on what adjusting to life with one eye is like, the main takeaway being: it is actually just a matter of adjustment.

Although you'll never have full binocular vision again, throughout the course of roughly a year (according to medical websites I found) the brain adapts to no longer needing cues from the other eye in order to correctly perceive depth. It learns to rely more on perspective, shading, texture, occlusion, etc.

But how would this work out for Majima specifically? I think it's likely his adjustment period was longer than average. He spent the first year after his traumatic eye loss chained up in a dungeon after all, with little light around and no means of exploring his surroundings or getting used to this change in vision. It was only once they let him out that he could start re-acquiring the dexterity he once had.

And think of how humiliating and enraging this process must've been... To constantly be faced with the reality that you're struggling to pour drinks without holding down the glass... or that you have to reach for the railing when walking down the stairs, because that last step is just a little too deceptive. Or that you miss 90% of the balls at the batting cages, a particularly devastating blow to someone like Majima who's got some very tender memories attached to the sport.

And if you can't even hit a ball right, what hope is there for wielding a weapon? I like to think that this is why Slugger is one of Majima's Y0 styles: he's determined to master the bat again and if there isn't always time for baseball... well there's bound to be some goons he can practice on instead. Not to mention some of the other things he spends his free time on that also involve depth perception - darts and UFO catcher games.

In terms of his job at the Grand, in addition to the drinks pouring thing, I imagine he had to learn to work around his blind spot when tending to patrons. Most aren't sober enough to notice, but the manager seems to favour the tables on the left side of the floor, which seems counter-intuitive at first, but that's how he can keep his good eye's peripheral vision out for trouble also on the right side.

Similarly, when he's in the backroom tidying stuff up or counting the day's earnings, Majima's one rule is: always keep a view of the door. He learned this lesson the hard way when Sagawa once managed to sneak in without making a sound and stood there watching Majima smoke and curse under his breath for god knows how long... before clapping him roughly on the shoulder just to see him unsuccessfully stifle a flinch.

As more and more years go by though, he gets pretty good at hiding this vulnerability. Either his hearing sharpens or he learns how to peer to the left without others noticing, so it's hard to really sneak up on him. Actually, here's something that's worth mentioning, since I think it's a deliberate choice on RGG's part: when Majima looks over his shoulder, particularly in high tension scenes, he often does so from the left. This struck me as odd the first few times, because I mean, how much can he really see from that angle? But now I'm inclined to say it's his unique intimidation tactic. Exposing the eyepatch side makes his expression difficult to read, plus it gives off this ominous vibe of "I don't even need my good eye to see you trembling in your boots." A pretty striking combo, if you ask me!

Anyway, this was more of a tangent, but yeah I think around the tail end of Y0 and then for sure as of Kiwami, Majima already has a lot more confidence in his perception. Maybe he's even surprisingly good at some trivial things that most of the Majima family boys never gave a thought to....like aiming crumpled up documents at the office trashcan 😌 Thanks for this prompt anon! These are the kinds of details I really love discussing haha

#anon asks #snugasks #majima goro #I hope you're all bearing with my slowness in answering 🙏#I had close to thirty asks when I closed my inbox and I'm now halfway through #don't want to rush them out though otherwise they just end up nonsensical #words hard

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calaofnoldor · 4 years

Text

Drug of Choice

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 3,790

Summary: A night of drunken rambling leads to an unexpected change in your relationship status.

Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, feelings of inadequacy, very slight allusions of alcoholism/talk of drug addiction, reader likes the sound of their voice a bit too much when drunk, fluff, implied smut

A/N: written for @deanwanddamons 1st blogiversary and 2k follower celebration challenge! my prompt was “I wish I knew how to quit you“ which is bolded in the fic. congrats on the incredible milestone, sorry this is late! also for @spnfluffbingo and it fills the mood board square for @girl-next-door-writes‘ Make Me Feel Bingo challenge!

Square Filled: Kissed to Keep Quiet

MASTERLIST

It was four in the morning when Dean finally came home, and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat before you atop the library table was over a quarter of the way through.

The heavy thud of his boots against the bunker floor drew your dark-adjusted eyes toward his shadowy figure, while the alcohol in your bloodstream loosened your lips, "How was she?"

"Jesus- Fuck!" There was a slight commotion before the lights flickered on, forcing your eyes to shut against the onslaught of sudden brightness. "Y/N??” Dean’s gruff, alarmed voice shattered the previously eerie silence, “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark by yourself?"

Your eyelids lifted an experimental sliver but you kept your gaze directed down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. "It wasn't dark when I started."

Dean narrowed his eyes when he noticed the slur behind your words. "Started what? Are you drunk?"

His second question prompted a dismissive snort from you, "Hunters can't get drunk; you should know that by now, Dean."

"Yeah alright, we need to get you to bed." The man of your dreams began to make his way over to you until your gravelly words ceased his steps.

"I can't sleep... you haven't answered my question yet."

"What question?"

"How was she?"

"Who?"

You looked at him like he was crazy, "You know, the girl from the bar, the one with the curly hair… the one that was climbing onto your lap when I left?"

"I don't- there was no girl," Dean stumbled. His lips were parted and his eyebrows pulled together in an ever-gorgeous expression of bewilderment, but you were too busy examining the way the newfound light danced along the lustrous amber liquid between your fingers to notice.

"Oh," you grumbled in response, sounding a bit disappointed, which only served to deepen those adorable lines of confusion between Dean’s brows. "She sure was pretty though.” There was a pause as you pondered his declaration before blurting out in disbelief, “You really didn't fuck her in the back of Baby?"

"What- No! Y/N, there was never a girl and nothing happened, OK?" He sounded genuinely serious, so you conceded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why are you sorry?"

"I know you needed to blow off some steam after today, after I pissed you off by fucking up the hunt." You ventured a glance up at him through your lashes and the unadulterated pain in your eyes almost had Dean reeling back in surprise.

"What are you talking about? You didn't 'fuck up' the hunt," he argued, shaking his head as if to accentuate his point.

"Course I did. I got you hurt and I nearly let that dickbag get away."

A weighted sigh escaped Dean, "Y/N, you have to know that wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing for me. Besides, I wasn’t pissed off, I was... I was scared, OK?”

You were about to take another sip of your drug of the night when you lowered your glass to let the irrepressible giggle leave your system, “Scared? Since when does the big bad Dean Winchester get scared? And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t be talking about it out loud. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

“I mean, I have been drinking but that’s beside the point. Look, Y/N, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, alright? You’ve just gotta sleep this off.”

"Pft. This isn't something I can just sleep off. Trust me, I've tried." There was a tickle in your throat that alerted you of the oncoming word vomit, but your friend Mr. Daniels seemed to be gaining complete control of your tongue; it was all he was ever good for really, “I’ve also tried drinking it away, but clearly that doesn’t work either. There’s just- so much- of it, of you… and now, now you’re in me-“ Dean’s eyes went wide but you were no longer at liberty to stop, “and I can’t get you out. Sometimes I don’t even think I want to. But I don’t think I can keep going like this any longer either… all this waiting, and wondering, and watching.” Some fragment of sobriety within you recognized how ridiculous and melodramatic you sounded and it gave you enough sense to avoid eye contact with the subject of you’re alcohol-induced speech, as if that could help you elude further embarrassment.

“OK, you’ve gotta slow down, Y/N/N. What the hell are you talking about?” At this point, Dean had moved to take the seat across from you, subtly sliding the bottle of Jack out of your reach as he sat down.

A mirthless laugh was your reply, "Of course you don’t know. Why would you?“

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I? Y/N, what’s going on?”

But you ignored his questions and answered with one of your own, “Why am I never enough? You know what, don't answer that; that was a rhetor- rhetor…”

“Rhetorical?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, flailing your index finger in his direction, “Yes, that’s the word. See, even your brain is too good for me.”

“What- why would you say that? Y/N, you know that’s not true. And why do you think you’re never enough? You’re plenty enough.” Concern now painted Dean’s features. He hated seeing you this way, broken and depressed, trying to drown your feelings in whiskey; he’d figured that was his trademark amongst the bunker residents. And he couldn’t understand how someone as incredible as you would think themselves unworthy of anything. Whichever son of a bitch made you feel this way would pay, Dean swore it.

“Then how come you never pick me?” you countered simply, deciding it was finally time to call out his hypocrisy.

The accusation floored Dean. He scooted back in his seat as he stared at you with a slack jaw, utter perplexity swirling within his emerald eyes. Over the years, Dean had garnered an inkling that you felt some kinda way about him, but he never really let himself believe, and not once did he think he could be hurting you. On the contrary, he always figured it was his own hopeful heart playing tricks on him. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing you correctly, or that your drunken state could be trusted, though he remembered you once told him that you were always the most honest version of yourself when you drank, whiskey in particular.

“I watch you go out with waitress after bartender after waitress, but I’ve been here the whole time, and you never consider me. It’s like I don’t even exist, like I’m not even an option, like I could never even help you scratch that itch, at least not as good as any barfly across the Midwest could.” You were aware that this was getting out of hand, but you couldn’t seem to find the brakes. “But that’s not even the real problem – I mean, sure, a roll around the hay with you would probably be mind-blowing as fuck – but it would never solve the root of it, never be enough for me.”

Dean had been studying you meticulously as you spoke, your words starting a fire to the embers of his soul, breathing life into a long-forgotten hope that brought him both joy and fear. “What would? Be enough for you, I mean?” His tone took on a raw sultriness that matched the intense, borderline predatory glaze of his eyes. Needless to say, Dean hadn’t expected your sardonic laughter to fill the air, and your sudden frenzied, carefree state certainly took him off guard.

“Nothing!” you laughed, “I don’t think anything will ever be enough for me! C-cause you’re like this drug that I’m hooked on and it’s just so fucking hard to get off… I mean, it’s also hard to get off without you now, or thoughts of you anyway...” Your tangent was quickly overcome when you remembered the topic of your initial spiel, “But it’s like everything about you draws me in! From the way you reference classic literature even though I’ve never seen you pick up a book that’s not about lore, to the way you rebuild Baby from scratch like it’s no big deal, to the way you’re so good with kids even though you never got to be one yourself, to the dumb way you bottle up all your feelings and never let them see the light of day yet still manage to do so much good in the world, t-to the way you get excited over classic rock and crappy horror movies and pie, and don’t even get me started on the way you love Sam! I mean, it’s just all of it! It’s your strength and perseverance through literal hell, it’s your huge fucking heart despite the mask of swagger and charm, it’s that stupid grin you get when you make a dumb joke and Sam rolls his eyes at you, it’s just those god damn lips in general! And then you walk around looking like that!?” you gestured wildly at all of him, “I mean, who gave you the right?!”

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but you cut him off. There really was no stopping your tirade now, “I’m like an addict who can never get enough, and when you leave, I get feelings of withdrawal, and I don’t know how to fucking deal with those either… You’re so deeply ingrained in me; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to flush you out of my system. And I just-“ you took a rare pause to heave a large breath before admitting quietly, “I wish I knew how to quit you. I really do, because as much as I love you, and trust me, it’s a whole fucking lot – God, does it feel good to finally say that out loud – but for every ounce of love that I have for you, for every bit of you that I’ve inhaled, it hurts just as much. Because you don’t feel the same, and you never will, and I don’t blame you, because you’re Dean fucking Winchester and you could have whoever you want with just a wink and half a smile, and you deserve to have whoever you want-”

“Are you done?” Dean was quick to latch onto the brief respite in your monologue, “Fuck, Y/N, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you are to me?” His head shook in disbelief while his troubled green eyes searched yours.

“What I am to you? I’m your hunting buddy, Dean. The one you call when you need an extra hand with a vamp nest or an extra set of eyes to scour the books, the one who stays up with you when you have nightmares about the souls you tortured in hell, the one you sing rock songs out of tune in the car with, just never the one you go to for a booty call,” you finished with a bitter laugh.

Dean’s head had never ceased it’s shaking, even as he got up and walked around the table towards you. “Only because you’re worth so much more than that. Y/N, you deserve so much more than me.”

It was your turn to shake your head. How typical, you thought as you rolled your eyes and stood up to meet his eye line, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dean. I know you’re trying to let me down easy and that’s nice of you and all, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well, Dean Winchester, and I know there’s no way in hell that- Mmf!“ The rest of your words were intercepted by Dean’s lips on yours.

The feeling was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. There was an urgent force behind the kiss as he pushed his mouth against yours with gentle yet firm ferocity, bracing your head with large hands cupping both sides. It felt as if he was desperately trying to convey a message to you, to disprove your woeful words of self-pity, or perhaps he just wanted you to shut up. You, of course, responded with tremendous enthusiasm regardless of his intent, grasping blindly at his forearms while slotting your tongue and lips around his in an increasingly frantic manner. You didn’t care if the kiss wasn’t good for him; this might be your only chance to take what you need from Dean Winchester, if only a tiny fraction of it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting for air. Dean still held your head in both hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead upon yours. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that; you’re drunk... Do you at least believe me now?”

A slight grimace contorted Dean’s features as his mind was suddenly bombarded by a multitude of conflicted thoughts and feelings, feelings of desire and regret and bliss and unease, but when he caught the dazed look in your eyes, Dean made up his mind, “Ah, what the hell, you’re probably not gonna remember much of this anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re wrong. I do feel the same way about you; I have pretty much ever since I saw that magnificent ass of yours.” Pausing to chuckle at his own words, Dean licked his lips, still able to taste the whiskey from yours.

“The only reason I fucked around with those other people was because I couldn’t stand not being able to have you,” he continued through closed eyes and gritted teeth before filling his chest with a deep breath, “Like today, when I saw that fucking werewolf come at you, I nearly lost it. The thought of anything happening to you scares me shitless, and I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so I let that girl at the bar get close. I was trying to fill the hole you created but it was pointless cause in the end, just like every other time, I couldn’t go through with it. Every time I try to forget about you, your face shows up in my head,” he growled in that low, throaty tone that always seemed to reverberate down to your nether regions.

“But I- I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve more than me. Y/N, you know me. I’m a broken, twisted, shell of a man. I’m-“

“Poison, I know,” you finally lifted your head away from his so that you could look directly into his dazzling eyes. Dean’s hands slid down along your neck and landed on your shoulders while yours remained on his forearms, not willing to lose all contact. “I know what you’re gonna say. You think you’re poison, that being with you puts a target on my back, that loving you is a death sentence… Did I get that right?”

Dean gave you a miniscule nod and a look of resignation as he reluctantly released you from his hold, forcing you to let go as well when he took a large step back. You suddenly felt extremely sober, the effects of the alcohol and that kiss all wearing off instantaneously, “And you hate yourself. No one hates you more than you, Dean.” Your voice was hardly a whisper now, “But that’s OK, cause I hate myself too, for never being able to make you realize that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, that you deserve all the things you think you can’t have, that you can have them all and still be Dean Winchester.”

You watched as Dean’s eyes began to water and when a single tear rolled down his cheek, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Approaching him as slowly as you would a nervous animal out of its natural habitat, you stopped directly before him before cautiously raising your arm to wipe the offending tear away with your thumb. Your eyes seemed to be locked in a silent exchange of colossal magnitude, expressing everything mere words could not, from harrowing regret to agonizing self-inflicted torment to desperate desire. It was the yearning in his shimmering eyes that gave you the courage to speak your next words, a runaway tear of your own joining the whispered plea, “Please, let me show you.”

When your eyes fluttered open the next day, they were greeted with the most beautiful sight you'd ever awoken to. Dean’s face was barely a foot away from yours, and the man himself was already awake, staring directly at you. He was lying on his back with his head turned towards you, while your body was twisted to face his. A bedside lamp was on, allowing you to marvel at the breathtaking perfection in front of you, and despite the booze having long since evacuated from your veins, your mouth still imparted the first thing that came to your mind, “You know, I've always wanted to count your freckles,” you murmured honestly, “Maybe map them out like tiny constellations so I can memorize them better, so that one day I could trace them even with my eyes closed.” Your fingertips moved of their own accord as you spoke, gliding softly over his cheeks and across the ridge of his perfect nose.

Dean caught your hand in his and kissed it repeatedly as his magical olive eyes continued to bore into yours, never once leaving your face. His pouty lips curved into the slightest smile as if he were afraid to rear hope yet couldn't fight the peaceful thrill you were bringing him by simply lying next to him. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Not unless it counts to be drunk on you… Sorry, that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head.” You cringed but Dean’s smile broadened.

“And no hangover?”

“No, I told you, hunters can’t-“

“Get drunk. Yeah, I heard. So does that mean you remember everything?”

“I don’t think I could forget that kiss if I wanted to; my brain wouldn’t let me.” You glanced down at his gorgeous mouth before meeting his gaze again, “I meant it all, you know? Everything I said was the truth. Every word.” You moved your thumb to graze his lower lip and he puckered his lips to kiss it.

“So did I, every word… Especially the part about that sweet ass of yours.” The hand that wasn’t holding yours roamed down to grab at your butt cheek with a hefty yet tender squeeze, causing you to squeal in delight. When you settled down, he moved your hand to place it above his heart, “You know I’m no good at chick flick moments, but you can trust me when I say I’m addicted to you too.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies through your stomach and your smile felt invincible. “I hope you know that when I called you a ‘drug’ I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Some drugs are good for you. Some drugs can save your life,” you whispered as you fisted lightly at the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that what you did yesterday?” Dean was about to retort but you sent him a raised brow and a look that said ‘don’t test me, I’ve got loads more evidence where that came from’ so he simply looked down with a small grin. “Does it still hurt?” You motioned to the white bandage on his shoulder where the werewolf had scratched him up yesterday when he jumped in front of you.

Dean shook his head, “Right now I can hardly feel it. Actually, it hasn’t hurt at all since I kissed you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted some more at his words. “See, that’s what I mean. To me, you’re like coffee on an early morning, morphine when I’m hurting, tranquilizers when I’m freaking out, Zoloft when the world’s got me down, mixed with a shot of ecstasy, and quite possibly the most potent form of Viagra known to mankind.” You might have lingered a moment to chuckle at your own joke, thinking ‘it’s funny cause it’s true’. Dean belted a guffaw himself and you were quite pleased as you continued, “You’re everything I’ve ever needed, all wrapped up in one beautiful, self-loathing man.” You stroked his stubbled jaw and caressed his cheek, letting your words waft softly across the distance between you, hoping he could sense the veracity within them, “And I just want you to let me love you, let me get high on you, so I can show you how good you are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

A wave a sadness flowed through Dean and he lowered his gaze from yours. “This could end bloody.”

“I know,” you nodded, “But it’s so much better than the alternative... It was getting a bit too hard to bear, even if you were only eye fucking all those other suitors. Besides, if it means I get to kiss you whenever I want, it’ll be worth it. And if it means I get a chance to prove to you how worthy you are, then it’ll be more than worth it.”

“I was only staying away because I wanted to protect you from me, but I didn’t realize it was hurting you. I never wanted to cause you pain; Y/N, I need you to know that.” Dean’s warm, calloused palm ran up your arm, it’s gentleness in stark contrast to his fierce tone, while yours continued to cup his cheek.

Astounded by the passion behind his words and the utter beauty of his face, you whispered in awe, “How are you so perfect?” Seeing the cogs begin to turn in his brain, you quickly moved your index finger to press against his plush lips, “Shh, just let me say it. Baby steps, Dean.”

He took your finger and guided your arm to wrap around his wide shoulders, careful of his injury, then reached out to pull you snugly towards him until your bodies were completely flush, your chest heaving against his. “Well do we have to take baby steps with everything? Cause now that I’ve finally got you in my bed, I was kinda hoping you’d let me take you for a spin in it. Maybe find out if it’s really – how did you put it again? – ‘mind blowing as fuck’ I believe were your words?” That signature smirk of his that always brought you to your knees came out to play.

Your laughter fanned across his face, and the smile on your face was effervescent, “You really are one hell of a drug, Dean Winchester.”

thank you for reading! as always, feedback is marvelously appreciated!

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tacticaldiary · 4 years

Note

Heyaa! I really love your stories 😭 Can i request for Osamu? He had a close friend, a girl, that likes him and plans on confessing to him. One day, she told him about her feelings then someone (a girl) hugged him and the friend was like "since when?". Ugh i'm so simp for him 😭 it's ur choice author-chan if u want the ending to be angst or fluff 🥺 thank youu!

---------------------------------------------------------------------- Here it is!

It’s Always Been You

Pairing: Reader x Miya Osamu

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Confessions don’t always go smoothly. It wasn’t the confession either of them expected, but they’re glad it turned out well. Both have two years of mutual pining to make up for.

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

This was it. She wills her hands to stop shaking, shoving them into her pockets. She was going to do this and this time she wouldn’t chicken out like last time. And the time before that. And the time before that...

Shaking her head to get rid of the thoughts, she takes a deep breath and leans against the wall next to their usual lunch spot. She was going to do this. It was going to be fine. She tries reassuring herself. Atsumu had told her that his brother reciprocated her feelings. He had practically forced her to admit her crush to him, after pestering her for weeks.

He was annoying, but had good intentions at heart. Y/N lets out a breathy, nervous laugh at the memory of his smug face, claiming that he ‘knew it all along’.

She had known the twins for over 3 years now, and they had clicked instantly. They were close friends and spent a lot of time together, in and out of school. Atsumu was the one she met first, but Osamu was the twin that had really caught her eye. Over the past few years she had slowly started developing a crush on him. Y/N found Osamu endearing. She felt her heart beating a little faster everytime he would grin at her, or when he went off on a tangent about his current favourite food. She couldn’t help falling for him.

Y/N had put this off for so long because she was so afraid of ruining their friendship, but she was tired of pretending now. If he didn’t feel the same way, she would try and get over it. She wouldn’t let their friendship collapse like that, even if she had wanted to be more than friends.

With those thoughts in mind, Y/N steels herself, and pushes herself off the wall turning the corner. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees him standing there, looking around a little confused as to why no one was there yet. When he spots her, Osamu’s face lights up with an easy smile which Y/N returns nervously.

She walks up to him, stopping a little bit away. He raises an eyebrow when she stays silent.

“You’re actin’ weird. What’s wrong?” He asks bluntly tilting his head to the side.

Y/N feels a blush creep up her face. “I-Nothing’s wrong!” she says quickly. “I just...I have something to tell you.” It comes out in a rush and if it were not for the curious look on his face, Y/N would’ve thought he hadn’t understood.

Nodding slowly, he waits for her to continue. She takes a deep breath and lets it out.

“I like you. A lot. I have since the moment I met you.” She can practically feel her face burning. “You make me really happy and I find myself wanting to be more than friends with you.” She holds her breath after speaking, her gaze fixed to the ground. There’s a few seconds of excruciating silence.

“Y/N” His soft voice reaches her ears and she finds the courage to finally look up.

Y/N can’t quite make out his expression. He doesn't look upset...but he doesn't look happy either.

“Y/N...I-” he speaks slowly, not quite processing that this was finally, actually happening, that his crush felt the same way. Y/N hangs on to every word, bracing herself for rejection. She’s spared from it though, when Osamu is cut off by a shrill, obnoxious voice.

“Osamu! There you are!” A girl Y/N recognises from one of her classes bounds up to them waving at the guy with a bright smile on her face. Osamu looks annoyed for a split second, before the girl invades his personal space and latches onto his arm, holding onto his bicep.

Y/N feels her heart sink, frowning as she glances between the two, her gaze lingering on the girl's hand on his arm. What was she doing here?

Osamu, noticing her questioning glance, attempts to subtly break free of the girl's hold but fails, as her grip tightens. Shaking his head a little, he scoffs under his breath. This girl, Mika, if he remembered correctly, had been bothering him for the past week, waiting outside his classes to talk to him. She had never been this bold before. Needless to say, Osamu was a little uncomfortable.

“Fancy seeing you here! I thought I asked you to meet me behind the gym, but this works too, I guess.” She laughs, a shrill sound. Osamu had remembered her request. He also remembers rejecting it, letting her know that he wasn't interested. This girl was too stubborn for her own good.

Y/N was heartbroken. There was clearly something going on between the two, and if it was what she thought... Had Atsumu prompted her to confess when he knew his brother was...no, that was too cruel, even for Atsumu. Was it?

“Oi, get off-” he hisses in a low voice to the girl, who just giggles and ignores him. He’s cut off by Y/N’s voice.

“Since when?”

“What?” Something tugs at his heart, seeing the sadness in her eyes as she looks at him, head on.

“Since when were you two...” she gestures between them. The other girl, Mika smiles brightly.

“Since about a month!” No. That wasn’t right?

“A month?” she asks, her voice hollow.

“Mhm! Osamu here helped me with my English once and that was that!”

“Oh.” he voice cracks. She clears her throat and manages a watery smile. “‘Samu never told me. I wish you the best of luck then.” With that she turns on her heel and walks away rather quickly, willingly her tears to not fall for a few more moments. Until she was alone, at least.

Osamu is stunned. What just happened? He’d finally gotten a confession from his long-time crush...and now she was walking away. By the shaking of her shoulders, he realises she’s crying? What the hell was going on. Glancing at the girl, still holding on to his arm, he snaps back to reality with a start.

“Oi, what the hell!?” he rips his arm away from her grasp, glaring at her. “What are you tryin’ to do?” The girl just shakes her head and pouts.

“You said you’d meet me behind the gym. I had a whole confession planned, then that bitch comes along and ruins everything.” she rolls her eyes.

With that, Osamu steps closer to her threateningly. “What the fuck did you just say? She’s better than you’ll ever be. The next time you try and pull shit like this again I’ll-”

“Woah there!” Osamu stumbles as he’s yanked backwards by none other than his brother. Atsumu’s a little startled when he catches the furious look on his twin's face. Glancing between the two, he makes a very useful observation.

“That’s not Y/N.” he tilts his head in confusion. He thought Osamu had been yelling to Y/N and had decided to intervene, but that clearly wasn’t Y/N.

“Yeah, no shit ‘Tsumu.”

“Where is she? Did she do it?”

“If you mean confess, then yeah. She did.” he shoots Mika a glare. Ignoring Atsumu’s confused questions, he looks back at where Y/N had left. He had to find her, had to make this right. Osamu pushes past his brother, leaving him to deal with Mika and sets off to find her. As he walks, he curses his luck. He’s been pining over her for almost two years. Two years he had to watch her smile light up the room. He had to bear the annoying butterflies in his stomach for two whole years, only to find out that she felt the same way?

He wasn’t about to let this go to shit this easily. Osamu weaves through the hallways and stops in front of her classroom. His heart drops when he hears small, watery hiccups from inside. Pushing the door open he sees Y/N with her head on the desk, staring dejectedly out the window. She freezes as she hears the door open, her shoulders visibly tensing.

He slowly walks over to her and sits on the desk next to her silently. After a few beats of silence, Y/N breaks the silence.

“‘Samu?” her voice is a little shaky and Osamu wants to kick himself for being the cause of it.

He nods, before realising she can’t see him. “Yeah. It’s me.” He sees her take a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling, before she sits up, turning towards him. It’s very obvious she’s been crying, the red rim around her puffy eyes giving her away. The sleeve of her uniform is damp with tears.

“Did you need something-”

“I like you too.” he blurts out, cutting himself off. He winces at his bluntness. He had imagined he would tell her those words when being out on a romantic walk in the park or after having dinner together or-or something, anything other than this.

She looks at him in disbelief. “You-...you do?” she frowns and Osamu wants to do nothing but smooth out the slight furrow of her eyebrows with his hand. He sighs and moves so he’s kneeling next to her desk, looking up at her. He explains how Mika had done that because she wanted him to accept her confession, and how he wanted nothing to do with her.

“It’s you. It’s always been you.” He mutters out the last part, the tip of his ears dusted a deep red. “Sorry ya had to-”

He cuts himself off with a grunt as Y/N launches herself towards him, knocking him off balance. He narrowly misses bumping into the desk behind him and wraps his arms around her waist to steady the both of them.

“You’re an idiot.” He feels her mumble into the crook of his neck.

“Hey, you held off confessing too. I’m not the only idiot here.” He tightens his arms around her, happiness welling inside him. He couldn’t quite believe that this was actually happening.

“We’re both idiots then.” She giggles, pulling away to look at him.

“Whatever ya say.” he leans up, bumping their noses together playfully, grinning at her giggle. He admires the hue of pink dusting her cheek bones and realises that he had missed two years of this.

Well, they could make up for lost time starting now.

Requests are Open and Welcome

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themadhatterofficial · 4 years

Text

Eyes, Bodies, and Potions

The Golden Trio was always meant to take down Voldemort.

Perhaps, if things happened a bit differently, if the pieces managed to link together in another way...

(Dark Golden Trio AU)

********************

Harry Potter only knew violence growing up.

The young boy hidden away in the cupboard under the stairs would sit in fear and anticipation as heavy footsteps pounded above and rattled the dust onto his tiny bed. He had a single mirror in his cupboard that Aunt Petunia had given him as a Christmas present after his uncle had slammed his head into it hard enough to cause cracks to run through it like an overzealous spiderweb.

No matter how many times he tried to avoid it, Harry always ended up watching himself in the dingy glass. In anything remotely reflective, really.

Everywhere Harry went, people commented on his eyes. On how pretty they were, how they made him look respectable, how much they stood out against the darkness of his skin and the heavy bangs that resembled a rat's nest at the best of times.

It had jump started Harry's obsession.

Everywhere he went, Harry would stare at eyes. Brown ones, blue ones, grey ones, green ones, and every mix you could think of. He liked the emotions that ran through them, how they told stories that faces and bodies would never reveal.

He could see the happiness when a couple held hands.

He could see the fear when a man gripped his girlfriend's arm a little too tight.

He could see the joy in a father's eyes when his baby snuggled further into his neck.

The fear was nice sometimes. When it was someone who deserved it. Like when Dudley's friend Henry punched Harry hard enough to take out his baby tooth and split his lip. Harry had launched forward and kept hitting and hitting and hitting until Henry was crying too hard to make noise and he was covered in reds and blues that never blossomed on Harry's deep skin.

(Henry's eyes were grey. They were scared. It was nice.)

(Henry's parents also moved their whole family far away from the neighborhood the very next week. Harry chalked it up to coincidence.)

Harry liked the happiness a lot more than the sad or scared ones. He liked sitting in the little park far from the Dursleys' and letting the long cuffs of his torn hand-me-downs scrape below the swing, watching the happy families laugh and jump and run around with one another without caring about anything else.

For as long as Harry could remember, he had wanted that. He longed for it. He would sit in his tiny cupboard on the last night of July and beg and plead whoever was up there for someone to find him. At first, Harry wished for someone to take him away. Now, Harry would be content with someone approaching him to just talk. It was a far-fetched dream, something he only dared to dream of in the quiet darkness when he pretended that his parents weren't worthless drunks who cared for the bottle more than their son. That he had a mother that took the time to tame his bird's nest of a head and read to him at night, that he had a father who taught him how to play chess and cook breakfast for his mum in bed, and maybe even an uncle that bought him secret ice creams that ruined his dinner and taught him how to talk to pretty girls at school and maybe even a sister who laughed too loud and grinned too wide and let him wrap her up in soft blankets when she was too cold to ask for it.

But for now, Harry would settle for their eyes.

********************

Ron Weasley, in Ron Weasley's opinion, was not very special.

He was the sixth child of seven in his impoverished family. He got hand-me-down everything, and was expected to do as well as his brothers, if not better. It was nothing special if he could do this, because Percy could too, and if he could do that, well, Bill already had years before.

Sometimes Ron wished he was an only child, if only for the attention he would have.

(He never wanted his siblings dead, Merlin no. He loved them all and wished them the best, even if he was a bit jealous of them.)

Perhaps this was why he was often seen hanging on Harry or Hermione's arm, spending every bit of his free time with the first things that were his, and only his.

They weren't things, and Ron knew this. He knew that they were people, and he knew that they were their own people. He never claimed them aloud, and especially didn't hint at it to Harry. He was already treated like a Thing by his muggles. They locked him away and took him out when he was of use. Ron wanted to be with him all the time, even when he didn't listen and remained as stubborn as an ass.

But they were still Ron's. He didn't like when Fred or George or Ginny would try to covet Harry's attention, or tease Hermione until all the blood rushed up to darken her cheeks to a deep blue. She would hide behind her massive hair that curled around her wildly in a way that she wasn't.

Later, Hermione would shyly admit that she'd never felt wanted, and that she quite liked the way Harry and Ron so openly expressed their need for her. Harry would say the same.

Ron Weasley liked watching people.

He saw everything he needed to from a distance, even if he wanted to get closer. He liked watching quidditch especially, how their bodies moved so gracefully and held no hesitation in their gestures. (This did not extend to his brothers and sister. He actually didn't like watching them in particular, even if he could never pry his eyes away from Harry twisting and turning and reaching as far as he could.)

Every quidditch match was exciting. Ron would emulate certain things, ever since he could remember. Bill's easy-going swagger. Charlie's big hand movements. Percy's chin tilt he did when he was trying to make a point, or the seamless weaving and bobbing Fred and George had mastered together. He'd mostly out grown it before Ginny came along, but sometimes he even ran his hand through his hair like she did. His dad did it, and it was a small thing the three of them shared, and Ron coveted it.

The most ingrained thing about Ron was probably his tactile nature. His mum was the same way. They were probably the most expressive, always ready to give out a hug and kiss on the cheek or just to hold someone.

This came in handy later in life.

Hermione likes to stand on her toes.

It's a small thing that he's sure she isn't really aware of. She'd mentioned offhandedly that her parents had forced her to do ballet when Ron mentioned it, and it became more and more clear. When she stretched she pointed her toes perfectly, and when she turned to speak she'd often spin around on the tips of her feet. It was endearing, especially even when she went on her long winded tangents about anything and everything.

When she talked, her smile lit up the room and her hands flitted about excitedly. When she saw something that caught her eye, Hermione would stretch out her neck and raise her eyebrows high into her uneven bangs.

Hermione was also very awkward. She hid behind her big kinky curls, which Ron soon learned were in that weird frizzy stage because of repeated failed attempts at straightening it. (He quite liked her hair just the way it was, but Hermione didn't, which was disappointing.) Ron would shake his head and teasingly pull on one of her coils so it bounced tightly. She would flush, and when they first met she absolutely despised it. It wasn't until they'd known each other for so long that she would allow him to do so. He was the only one other than Harry that was allowed. Soon after she began to grow comfortable with his casual touches.

So when she would awkwardly put her hand forward to shake Ron's, he would push it away in order to wrap her up tightly in his arms. She'd tense at first before hugging back tentatively, then tightly, as if she never wanted him to let her go.

Harry tugs at his sleeves when he gets nervous.

He does it a lot, actually. When they ride up, he pulls the cuffs down to grip in his palms.

When adults speak to him, he squeezes himself inward to make himself smaller. When they raise their voices, his head drops down ever so slightly, as if it's an instinct he's trying to fight. When they get too close, his body twitches away as if it has a mind of its own.

Ron soon noticed that Harry couldn't handle yelling. Ron and Hermione began to fight about Merlin-knows-what one night by the lake. It wasn't until Ron's voice was slightly hoarse and he paused to take a breath that he remembered that Harry was still there. He was sitting on the damp grass, completely still with his hands muffling his ears and his head tucked between his knees.

Ron always warns Harry before reaching to him. Always asks if its okay. It's soon obvious to Ron that no one has truly hugged Harry, and does so whenever he has the chance. And Harry absolutely clings onto Ron, which is really nice. No one's really done that. His siblings weren't always the touchy-type and his parents were always too busy with this or that to dedicate so much time to the Least Favorite.

(Ron knew that they loved him. He never doubted that. But he was nothing if not a realist.)

But Ron's favorite thing was when Harry would jump on him. Harry never talked much unless one prompted him endlessly, and it was even rarer for him to initiate a conversation or reach out for anyone or anything. So when Harry would get so excited he tackle-hugged Ron into the grass or the floor of the common room, and Hermione would burst into giggles beside them, he'd feel his heart burst open for these two people that truly appreciated him.

Watching people fall was pretty fascinating.

Their bodies would turn and prepare for the inevitable, bracing in fear before the impact came.

They showed something real, in those moments. The shock, the resignation, pure, unadulterated fear that overtook their entire bodies dominated Ron's attention when it happened. And when the fear happened, he saw who they were. How one handles the fear, the harsh reality ready to break their nose it, shows who they truly are.

When Hermione fell into the Devil's Snare, and Ron and Harry were stuck in the stage of fear, he could see Hermione's brain turn over. He saw the way she went straight from the fear to the calm determination of someone who was not ready for the end. He could see the clear fuck you on her face before she sunk below the vines.

When Harry's broom began to shake and throw him off in a violent rage, Ron saw the fear. He saw the clear fear outline every bone of his body before his grip tightened and his body swung upwards. He could see the resignation, and he could see the acceptance of what would happen. But that wasn't standing out as much as the look that overtook his entire face. He could hear it from the stands, the way he was telling himself - not without a fight.

Ron quite liked the fear. He liked seeing them panic and squirm. He liked knowing who they were, if only for a moment.

When he punched Goyle in the face, he saw it. When he beat him over and over in the empty corridor, Ron knew. He didn't have that fight in him, the way his best friends do. He was pitiful, really. Ron felt no sympathy afterwards, merely watched as the larger boy scrambled away bloody and terrified.

And later, when Ron let Harry bandage his knuckles in a way that no eleven year old should be able to do with such ease, he watched the blood swirl down the drain with morbid fascination.

His knuckles were swollen and bruised, and Harry was endlessly careful with them.

Goyle had gotten a good punch in, and Hermione's hand flitted around his cheek worriedly for a good two minutes before calming down.

And the next day, when Goyle's bruises were yellow with some kind of accelerated healing potion, Ron was quite disappointed that the colors had left so quickly. He felt put-out, robbed even, of the satisfaction he'd wanted. That he'd earned.

But when their eyes met, and Goyle flinched to look down with shameful fear, Ron decided that he could settle for that.

********************

Hermione Granger had always been a smart girl. It was something she had always prided herself in. Top of her class, always on time, always perfect.

Her parents had made sure of that. The Grangers would not permit their only child to fail. They refused to have a fuck up for a daughter. It would disgrace them beyond belief, leaving the family humiliated and shame-faced for all of the world to see.

Hermione Granger was used to the low expectations. She had long since grown accustomed to people looking down on her. From her buck teeth, to dark skin, to her frizzy hair, not many expected much from her.

They were proper people, the Grangers. Practical and no-nonsense types that expected their child to achieve a level of success that they were never able to reach.

So it was quite a shock when one day a severe-looking woman appeared on their doorstep in a tall pointy hat and bright green bathrobe that smelled faintly of cat treats.

Hermione had had an inkling about the magic. Strange occurrences, things that logic simply could not explain.

"It snowed once," she had murmured under her breath.

The three adults stopped their snapping, which had been quickly escalating into a fully-blown argument, to look towards the girl.

"What was that?" the professor had sniped quickly.

Hermione looked towards her parents, their lips pressed together tensely as they stared down their daughter through narrowed eyes.

"It snowed," Hermione'd said a bit more clearly. "When... when I read Narnia." She barely kept from flinching when her mother's fist clenched at the mention of one of those horrid fairy tales, but Hermione looked down and twisted her lips from side to side.

"Why is that?" the woman had asked a touch less harshly.

"In the story the kids went through a wardrobe and found a place where it snowed all year round. I just wanted to visit somewhere... somewhere different. Like..."

When Hermione made no effort to finish the professor made the effort to kneel before her to match their heights.

And slowly, the professor's lips began to pull up ever so slightly into an encouraging (and slightly conspiratorial) smile. "Somewhere magical?"

"Yes," Hermione had breathed out emphatically, nodding her head so vigorously that the beads in her weighty braids clanked together loudly enough to echo around the silent room.

"Well, I think that I may be able to make that happen."

To be entirely truthful, Hermione didn't much like school.

She loved learning. She had always loved learning. It was her favorite thing in the whole world. But the pressure, both from the school and her family, made Hermione want to tear her hair out until there was nothing left. Her parents were terrible about it. They monitored her grades as closely as humanly possible. And it was't enough to just do good, or great, or perfect. She had to be better than everyone in anything and everything she did.

Hermione had done ballet when she was little. It wan't her favorite thing in the world, but it had been fun.

But she wasn't The Best.

So her parents made her quit.

Harry and Ron were different than most.

They were her friends. Her real friends. Most people sneered at her in class when her hand always shot up and she jumped at the chance to answer every question she could and fight to be the first one to demonstrate how much better she was than them. (There had been a period of time where Hermione had stopped doing so. Her parents found out. She began raising her hand again.)

Her boys sometimes did that. When Hermione got overexcited and cut off the teacher Harry would sometimes hide his face with his hand or Ron would groan and roll his eyes. But the second someone else said something to her, they would jump at the chance to defend her and take no prisoners.

The three of them were family. A real family. Not like at home where dinner was tense and silent while Hermione's father picked apart every single sentence of her school progress reports, or when Harry would talk about his relatives in quivering whispers before quickly changing the subject before they could ask about his over-sized clothing and the gruesome pattern of raised skin on his arms.

Hermione laughed more with them in her first year at Hogwarts than she ever had in her entire existence. While Harry had a strange kind of gasping laugh that she could hardly distinguish between joy or pain, Ron's was full-bodied and bright. But they were both amazing. They sounded happy. Safe. Kind of like home.

She had never been so happy in her life.

Hermione loved magic.

It had a strange set of rules to it. Strange. Different. But soon enough, Hermione understood it.

Her favorite was potions. There was a definitive way to it, logic that was always followed. Hermione could follow a method and it would be perfect. Action and reaction. That was all it was. Action and reaction. Action and reaction.

(Snape was obviously terrible. He made her face burn and tears spring to her eyes. But she couldn't stop raising her hand or jumping in to answer questions. She just couldn't. If it got back to her parents it would be a thousand times worse than anything Snape could ever do to her.)

But outside of the classroom, Hermione fell in love with the method of potion-making. It was soothing and gentle and welcoming and just so perfect for her. Outside of the dankness of the dungeons and the harsh bearing of Severus Snape's beady black eyes, Hermione Granger sat in the sunlight of the second floor girls' lavatory and created masterpieces. She used her tools to create art. From potions of brilliant greens to velvety purples to bright blues so clear that she could see the bottom of the cauldron through. It was stunningly beautiful. And it took her breath away.

But she wasn't The Best.

(not yet, at least)

It was early on a Saturday morning.

The sun streamed through the tall window of the second floor girls' lavatory and landed on Hermione and her cauldron at the perfect angle. It was a potion recipe that Harry had found in the restricted section and given to her. (Normally, Hermione would never condone breaking rules. At school, no less. But this was a Special Circumstance.) It caused the consumer's heart to beat so fast that the blood couldn't make it through the arteries quickly enough, causing them them to clog and trigger a heart attack.

Hermione hadn't planned on actually giving it to anyone. It would be disgustingly terrible. To cause someone's death...

But then, the colors were so pretty. Swirling pinks and purples moving like waves crashing upon the sand, splashing against the sides of the cauldron of their own accord. Her eyes traced their movements, transfixed into a deep state of pure calm.

She didn't even notice when some of it had splashed up over the lip of the cauldron. It landed on the tiles with a decisive plink that echoed in the silence.

Hermione hadn't seen the rat until it was too late. She watched in horror as the small rodent moved towards the spilled potion, sniffing at it before licking hesitantly.

Before she could yell for it to stop, the rat began to convulse on the dirty floor. Hermione could do nothing but watch as the poor thing's body shook violently, squealing pathetically and rolling around in excruciating pain.

And then the blood.

There was so much in its tiny body. It was actually quite shocking. Spilling from everywhere from its eyes to its mouth to its ears. It was a horror scene - party of one.

Hermione wanted it to stop. She wanted to save the little rat. It was cruel and unkind and unfair and...

Disgustingly beautiful.

The vividness of its blood threw her off. It was smooth and thick, running through the grooves of the tiles in gentle rivulets akin to that of the rivers that carved through the Forest of Dean.

It was very different to see this kind of pain tearing its course through something. It felt almost satisfying to watch. Like she was seeing her own pain manifest itself within a tiny conductor, forcing everything inside of her inside of it.

And it was Hermione that was doing it. Hermione's potion. Her own knowledge and power transferring into another living breathing thing, wreaking its havoc as it went.

Action and reaction.

Sometimes Hermione would watch others in school with the same lens that she had watched that rat. She would bore holes through the side of Pansy Parkinson's head or clench her hands to avoid tilting the entirety of her scalding potion down the back of Professor Snape's robes during class.

(She would fantasize about it. Sometimes Hermione felt like a monster for doing so, but then she would look at Ron when he dug his fingertips into the desk and glare at Draco Malfoy with a barely concealed type of rage that she Knew meant that they were the same.)

(Harry was a little different. He didn't always have that kind of rage inside of him. But he would watch when Ron would fight others, untamed and wild in every aspect. And it would glimmer behind the vibrant green of his irises that Hermione had yet to recreate with one of her potions.)

Hermione wanted to do it. She wanted to drip just the littlest bit of her art onto their wrists. Just a drop. She wanted to watch their skin shrivel and burn, eaten away by the nature of her poison. She wanted to hear them scream. She wanted them to feel what she feels, if only for a bit. She wanted to paint with their blood, tracing sigils of old into her skin and practicing the kind of magic that would have her mother fainting on the front lawn and her father puking into the ugly orange tulips tracing the stark white walls of her pretty little muggle home.

But for now, she'd have to settle for the rats haunting the bathroom floor.

#Harry Potter #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #black hermione granger #INDIAN HARRY POTTER #dark au #dark golden trio #golden trio #not v happy #and ive brought you mur #thank you #mur-dur!#JUDAS

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Ch. 3

In which: Danny getting yeeted into the Lazarus Pit yields anticlimactic consequences and Bruce Wayne converses with a fruit loop.

AO3 | Prologue | 2 | [ 3 ] | 4 |

DANIEL BARELY HAD TIME TO SCREAM before he’s plunged into the green depths of the Lazarus pit, primeval waves crashing against the walls of the pool. Talia flicked her wrist, signaling the ten League members hidden in the shadows to approach. Each one spaced equally apart around the pit with smoke pellets synthesized from blood blossoms held in their hands, ready to drop at a moment’s notice.

Pit madness rendered the majority of the living uncontrollable, with even the weakest of humans imbued with a strength that could only be induced by the purest of rage. The League was not taking chances as to how a being like her son would react to it.

The waters stilled.

Then—

A bright flash of light. Then, faster than the eyes could follow, a figure erupted from the waters. Bone white hair that twisted and curled as if it were still underwater. Skin lightly tinged frostbitten blue and clad in a suit of black and white and shrouded in an aura of blinding light. Phantom appeared from the depths, floating above the pit like a god reborn.

His eyes burned a toxic green.

“What the fuck was that?”

But not pit madness green.

Talia ordered her assassins to at ease with a raise of her hand. She slowly walked to her father’s side just as her son—Phantom—landed at the edge of the pool. Idly, Talia noticed how different Phantom seemed in comparison to her son. Physical attributes aside, Daniel tended to make himself smaller. What venom that may coat his words and the vitriol in his glares dampened by the way he held himself. Shoulders hunched and head tilted down. Non-threatening. Hands always needing to do something, whether it be holding his arms or shoved inside his pockets or constantly brushing it through his hair. No matter how she and his instructors taught him how to hold himself like a warrior, like a soldier, he still tended to present himself as a skittering little animal.

Phantom was different. He squared his soldiers and lifted his chin high, unafraid to stretch out to his fullest height and use his defiance of gravity to make himself look bigger. Stronger. His arms held steady at his sides, curled into tight fists. Green eyes—green as the Lazarus pit yet without that spark of madness that so consumed everyone else—burning with righteous fury.

“You fucking threw me into the weird green pool. What even—who does that?”

Ra’s tilted his head. “Fascinating. It seems you have a resistance to the pit madness.”

Phantom blinked, caught off guard. “Pit…madness,” he echoed. A statement, though from the wrinkle in his brows and the look he shoots Talia, it was more a question than anything else.

“It is one of the side effects of the Lazarus pits.” Talia approached her son with caution, holding his face with both hands and inspecting for any differences. “While the waters rejuvenate, restore, and even temporarily imbue one with supernatural strength, it also tends to inflict users with temporary insanity.”

“Insanity?” His eyes widened, trembling hands coming up to hold her wrists. Strangely, Daniel did not pull away from her touch. “I could have gone insane?”

Those bright eyes of his looked so frightened. Haunted. Pupils dilated to mere pinpricks of blackness, lost in a sea of Lazarus green. “Oh habeebi, only temporarily.”

“Like that’s better!” He yelled. “Even temporarily, I’m—” He staggered back, breaking out of her hold. Harmless Danny Fenton bleeding into proud Phantom as he ran his hands through his hair, unwilling to look at anyone.

Ra’s continued to watch, his arms crossed beneath his sternum, muttering to himself. Her father had prided himself on being one of the most knowledgeable about the Lazarus pits and its effects. Now, faced with a new mystery, the scholar within the Demon’s Head emerged as he observed his grandson.

“No,” Ra’s said, mostly to himself. “Perhaps less of a ‘resistance’ and more of an ‘immunity’ to it, given how both Daniel and the Lazarus pit have similar compositions. It would be a fascinating tangent to follow.” He chuckled to himself. “How droll. The life-restoring Lazarus pit holding a connection to the land of the dead.”

Talia turned to her father. “So, Daniel will not feel any of the pit’s side effects, then?”

Daniel perked up at the sound of his name, halting in his pacing. “I…might not go insane?”

“Perhaps, though it is too soon to tell. You have the waters of the Lazarus pit flowing through your veins, Daniel.” Ra’s smiled; eyes gleaming with the sparks of pride. “You and it are made of the same chemicals, the same reality-defying compounds that can bring the dead back to life.”

“Well, great. I have the same chemical makeup as a glowing hot tub, what else is new—” Her son staggered, and she caught him. Impossibly bright rings formed at his abdomen and then split, transforming Phantom back into a human. Mortal. His face haggard and sweating from the temples, eyes back to her beloved��s pale blues.

Her father did not bat an eye. “The pit’s healing effects are slowed down, then? Or perhaps it is because he has no wounds to heal?” Ra’s hummed; chin cradled in his hand. “Set him back into the pits, Talia. I believe young Daniel has yet to absorb all his needed energy.”

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine. Put me back in the crazy water, why not?” Daniel tugged at her shoulders. “Just…gently, please?”

Talia smoothed down his dark hair with a smile. “Of course, habeebi. I will even stay with you as well.”

When he looked at her, it was something almost akin to gratefulness.

------

In Gotham City, the upper echelons of society gather together at the Gotham Expo Center. The shining halls, which had been used as the site of a week-long exhibition of new scientific research, was reoutfitted to serve as the venue for the exhibition’s final event.

A gala. The hunting ground of the nouveau riche and old money families. Corporate moguls and debutants made their rounds across the floor, chatting with heirs and politicians and the who’s who of the upper class.

Scientists and researchers attempted to step out of their shells and dazzle the crowds. Wanting to fish a willing patron with deep pockets to fund their next project. Reporters huddled together like schools of fish, warily approaching the predators in their midst for a question or a photo. Both things many of the wealthy and affluent are easily ready to give, as long as it only showed off their best side in tomorrow’s society papers.

Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, and society’s darling observed everything as he always did, in that most people believed he barely noticed anything beyond what’s right in front of him. He raised the flute glass of champagne to his lips, pretending to take a sip as he listened to the chatter of sycophants around him. A few were even some promising researchers of which he made a mental note to pass along to Lucius.

Two nights ago, Bruce received a tip of unusual movements from the League of Assassins. The organization had been quiet as of late, and while Bruce had been very carefully monitoring their activities in the background, the sudden tightening of their security prompted him to take a closer look.

There had been sightings of the League of Assassins centered around a small town in Illinois—Amity Park. A rural tourist trap championing itself as the most haunted place in America. Something that Bruce would normally scoff at or zealously research about if not for John Constantine’s warning to “never go within a ten-mile radius of that hellhole.” With similar sentiments from others in the occult community, the Justice League decided to take that warning to heart. Bruce’s curiosity may have been piqued, but even he was tactful enough to avoid courting more trouble.

Suffice to say, Bruce—and especially Batman—could not afford to ignore Ra’s al Ghul’s movements. Whatever his plans were involved whatever anomalies were going on in Amity Park. And wasn’t it simply serendipitous that one of the guest lists for tonight’s gala was Vlad Masters, the mayor of Amity Park?

“Vlad Masters, is that you?” Bruce, slapping on his signature Brucie smile, masterfully detached himself from his previous group, quickly heading towards the nearby bar where he spotted Vlad getting another drink.

“Why, Bruce Wayne, it’s been so long!” The two shook hands, of which Bruce was slightly surprised at how cold to the touch Vlad was. A health condition, perhaps. Then again, there was something in Vlad’s appearance and stature that spoke of a deeper reason.

“It’s been, what, two years? What brings you to Gotham?”

“Business; the usual really.” Despite whatever friendly aura they’re projecting, Bruce Wayne and Vlad Masters weren’t friends. More acquaintances that have been forced to mingle a few times because of the nature of their business and the demands of high society. From what Bruce knows, Vlad is a business tycoon that’s as blindingly charismatic as he was infamous for his quick rise to wealth and a few rather shady dealings.

Bruce stuck his hand in his pocket. “Well Vlad, last we all heard was you dipping your toes into politics. You’re a, uh, what, a governor?”

Vlad let out an obviously fake chuckle. “Oh nothing as grand as that. I’m only a small-town mayor, really.”

“Right!” Bruce snapped his fingers. “So, what’s that like?”

“Oh dreadful work, really. So much paperwork, so many things to do or oversee, but rewarding in its own way.” He puffed out his chest. “Many of the people in Amity Park do rely on me, you know. Though I’m afraid my schedule’s busy enough that I barely have time to go home!”

“Well, we’re very happy that you made room enough to visit us here in Gotham.”

Bruce sensed Damian coming to stand beside him and instinctually placed a hand around his shoulder. Though his youngest had been steadily adjusting to his new life here in Gotham, he still preferred to stick to his father’s shadow than mingle with those of his own age groups at galas. (Then again, Bruce was very similar when he was younger so perhaps it was a genetic thing).

He smiled down at Damian—frowning as he’d rather be patrolling the streets in uniform as opposed to schmoozing with people he hardly cared about. “Have you met my son, Vlad? Damian, this is Vlad Masters, a business partner and a, uh—” He scrunched his face, pretending to remember what Vlad’s current occupation is. “Mayor of some small town out west.”

Bruce turned to look at Vlad, expecting to see some variation of ‘insulted but trying to keep up a polite façade’—only to freeze.

Vlad’s face paled considerably. His beady eyes comically wide as he looked at Damian, the fingers curled around the stem of his flute glass bone white. Damian, unnerved, steadied his stance but shifted minutely closer to Bruce.

Well, this was interesting. “You alright, Vlad? You looked like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Vlad jerked his head towards Bruce. Surprise—and fear? —contorted his features for a brief moment before smoothed back down into a proper mask. “Mayor of Amity Park, yes. My apologies,” he chuckled. “Young—Damian, was it? —only reminded me of someone I knew once.” He shifted his gaze back to Damian. “The resemblance is actually quite uncanny.”

Damian furrowed his brows. “Amity Park?”

“You’ve heard of it, Damian?”

“I would be surprised if you did.” Vlad masters took a small ship of his champagne. “Then again, it should be expected that you might have heard of it. The town does love it’s ghosts.”

Bruce laughed. “What, like Casper?”

“Something like that, yes.” There’s a tightness to Vlad’s voice. “Amity Park is its own breed of strange. We’ve handled things well enough on our own in the past, and quite honestly you get used to all of the spooks eventually. Though I must say the shadows are quite new—I’d often ask myself if I should petition your city’s vigilante and put him on the case.

“Shadows?”

Vlad easy smile shifted into a faint grimace. “They have a rather nasty habit of snooping.”

------

Despite Bruce and Damian’s attempt at plying Vlad for more answers, Vlad kept his mouth shut, evading questions and changing topics skillfully. Something that only raised Bruce’s alarm that something was going on.

“So,” Bruce unbuttoned his suit as he stepped into the car, “How did you hear of Amity, Damian? Ghosts and ghouls don’t exactly seem like something you’d be interested in.”

He waited for Damian to buckle his seatbelt before shifting the Bentley into drive and pulling out of the Expo. They had stayed at the gala long enough, making their rounds and giving the media enough for a headline in the society pages.

Damian rested his hand against the window. His face scrunched as he watched the looming facades of Gotham’s architecture pass by. “Mother mentioned the name once or twice,” he said. “I was not…privy to every operation that happened in the League, so I don’t know anything despite that my grandfather took an interest in Amity.”

“And I’m sure that from Masters’ odd phrasing, Ra’s didn’t just magically lose that interest either.” He narrowed his eyes. “Contact Oracle and have her dig up everything we need to know about the situation in Amity Park. I think it’s time Batman made his introductions to some out-of-town guests.”

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #phantom children.txt

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vegalocity · 4 years

Note

10/18 spicynoodles plis

Prompt meme || @deborahsworld

10.A Shy Kiss/18. Holding Hands

Hell yeah time for fluff

Okay... first date....Going pretty well so far. The Movie was okay—MK wasn't very big on horror movies even ones as old as this one was, but Red Son was really excited when he saw it was being played for a ‘foreign movies’ night at the movie theater and what, could have have argued against such enthusiasm?—if a bit slow going and atmospheric.

Though after the heroes found the monster frozen and seemingly dead in the abandoned Norwegian outpost, all twisted and malformed, he really hoped his appetite wouldn't be killed by the end of this with even worse when the monsters started actually moving.

And then the monsters actually started moving.

The dog turning into a monster and killing the other dogs hurt the animal lover inside him, and he felt a bit of his latent arachnophobia begin to rear its head when the hairy legs sprouted from its back, and then the actual form the monster, halfway through killing the remaining trapped dogs had sent a chill up his spine and then-

“See how they were able to make the monster look goopy? It's not really very goopy except during the close up shots, because it's an animatronic so it had to be dry most of the time, they got the shine effect by piling liquid latex ontop of the finished paintjob until it started drying while it trailed off of the frame. And that right there? When it took the hurt dog? That was actually filmed in reverse, having the tentacles start out around the dog puppet and then rapidly pull away so when they reversed it it looked like they actually moved and had torque behind the action.”

“Really?”

“Yeah it's really fascinating how they went about effects before computer graphics were refined, everything had to be practical so even if it doesn't look the best, it doesn't hit that uncanny valley that bad CGI makes because even if it doesn't look real it looks real enough.”

It didn't feel quite as disturbing with that rattling around in his head, focusing on how much work must have been done to make the monster move as realistically as possible, how many times they'd practiced and trained in a controlled sound stage and adapting it to the set...

They weren't the only ones in the theater, but it was a mostly empty showing, as was usually the case with foreign films as old as this one. So it wasn't like they were disturbing anyone with Red Son leaning over to whisper interesting details MK would have never even thought to look up to make the overall experience less scary. Red Son seemed aware that he wasn't the biggest horror fan, and was trying to soften the blows the more intense moments would bring by talking through them and bringing back the reality that it was just a movie they were watching.

“I was alive in this era and I can state with general expertise that computers were certainly not that advanced yet. Computer AI wasn't past that of your average graphing calculator until at least the mid 1990's.”

“They got that sound effect by putting a microphone in a tin trash can and recording the sound of a racecar zooming by and put it in a reverb chamber until it sounded completely unrecognizable”

“Blair is already a Thing at this point, you remember when he was dissecting the Norwegian base's monster? He was using a pencil eraser to point out that era in its chest and then he'd touched the eraser to his lip! And since it started by probably just a small contingent of shed cells it probably took him longer to assimilate than the others.”

“This is actually really cool! The stunt double for Copper that they got for the scene actually was a double amputee! They made fake hands for him out of latex, filled them with fake blood, and styled the chest jaw like a bear trap for that disgusting pulling shot.”

Though... That one didn't work as well... When the long tendril shot from the Thing's stomach and sprouted slider legs and a second head, the extending neck hissing and glaring down at the heroes, he felt his gut turn, even as the heroes took the flamethrower to the monster.

The monster's first head ripped from its body and grew spider legs. And Oh GOD that was disgusting, without thinking he reached for the edge of the armrest to grip as the heroes had to play cat and mouse with a severed, spider head. He'd missed, and his hand clapped down atop of Red Son's and squeezed.

Red Son jolted beside him and MK saw him turn in his direction in his periphery.

“You know if this is freaking you out too much we can leave.”

“No! No, it's okay. You like this movie! You wouldn't know so much about it if you didn't like it!” Besides, he shouldn't be getting so spooked about some kinda gross kinda spidery horror movie from the 1980s, what kind of hero got freaked out at a little practical effects?

He couldn't see Red Son's face very well with only the light of the movie itself to see by, but he made a strange sort of humming noise and slipped his hand out of MK's, moving his arm to put the arm rest up and then slide his hand back into his own.

“Here, that should be more comfortable then.”

And it was. Red Son's factoids and chatter alongside the movie were doing well at cutting the edge off of it again, and it was aided by not just their connected hands, but now by his physical closeness as well.

“I've heard the director had this stylistic rule about after the Things start invading, the idea is that if a character has light reflecting off their eyes they're human, if not they're a Thing.”

“Most people think Palmers was the shadow the dog assimilated back earlier but I think it was Norris, Palmers didn't get turned into a thing until after they go and talk to Blair again I don't think.”

“Actually...I don't think I like that translation very much. Like yeah it's more polite and Gary's a gentleman, but 'I'd rather not spend the rest of this winter tied to this fucking couch' emphasizes the stress of the situation better.”

And then came the time of the final confrontation, MK braced himself, squeezed Red Son's hand in his own. It was indeed gross, and frightful, and the puppetry alone was REALLY good. All those moving parts and there's no way that THAT was an animatronic so it HAD to be a puppet. And wow that was a REALLY good explosion.

...huh...Apparently he could do it too.

The movie ended with what MK felt like was a tentatively optimistic note. The remaining two heroes sharing a drink as the research facility and the monsters it housed burned around them. And you maybe get the feeling the two of them won't survive the cold, but they stopped the monsters and that’s what matters.

Though MK was right to worry over the movie killing his apatite because by the time the lights went up and the credits rolled he found he wasn't very hungry. Which felt ridiculous since he was always in need of quick carbs for Monkie Kid things. But Red Son had lost his own apatite as well apparently and the two of them could do nothing but laugh a bit awkwardly at their date being derailed by a movie being a bit too gross.

So MK pulled him into a nearby park and they went for a walk instead of the restaurant they'd planned for.

“Most people think that Childs is a Thing and I'm tempted to agree, He doesn't have the eye shine but neither does MacReady and we know he's not a Thing, but MacReady's breath is steaming and Childs' doesn't until the very end there, and MacReady wasn't drinking, those were Molotov Cocktails, that was gasoline and Childs just downed it without a thought to taste or smell.”

“So you think the Thing won at the end?”

“I don't know, but they do have one flamethrower left and Childs whether he's a Thing or not just drank gasoline. So MacReady as a person is probably as good as dead.”

“I Dunno, I like the idea that he wasn't a Thing in the end, gives it something not dissimilar to a happy ending, but like, it's not like they hadn't been wrong about who was a Thing before. The dog handler wasn't a Thing but he got shot anyway.”

“That's very true.”

It was about there that MK realized he'd yet to let go of Red Son's hand.

Well... he hadn't pulled away... MK squeezed Red Son's hand in his own, and Red Son—on a tangent about how in the time before CGI they'd made the stylistic title card with use of a fishtank, garbage bag, flash paper and a lot of smoke—squeezed him back.

A few hours and a plate or two of street vendor food when either of their appetites returned later and Red Son had insisted on walking him home. He was staying in a penthouse that his family technically owned but he was the only one who actually knew about it, and he wanted to be a gentleman before he headed back there.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself a bit. I feel as though I should apologize for choosing such a niche film, mother always said I was the only one who cared about foreign horror movies and just because I find movie effects fascinating especially in a time before technology was as advanced as it is now doesn't mean I should subject others to my incessant yammering.”

he didn't really think Red Son could pull off shy, but he'd folded his arms tightly and was very pointedly NOT looking at him now. And Sure, this felt like a big step, but that playfully self deprecating tone wasn’t gonna fly here. He moved slowly, giving Red Son time to pull away if desired. Placing one hand on Red Son's shoulder, the other on the side of his face to turn his head. He had to get on his tiptoes to make it to his level, but he leaned in-

It was nice. Soft, and Red Son of course ran hotter than an average person so it was warm too. He pulled away just as he felt Red Son start to press back against him. When MK opened his eyes, he noticed Red Son's were still closed for a moment longer before fluttering open.

“I like your incessant yammering.” He had such a cute blush. “it means you're passionate about something.”

“You... wanna come in? Monkey King gave me this new tea blend I've been meaning to try out.”

Prompt meme (I’ll stop when y’all stop sending stuff)

#Spicynoodleshipping #soff first date #Monkie Kid #MK Red Son #MK #letters to vega #Vega writes stories too #prompt meme #deborahsworld #The more times i write for Red Son the more I project hashtag autism moods #tfw u infodump on your date about an SI all night #and then SHCOK DELIGHT when you find out they think its charming

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percyinpanties · 4 years

Note

hey I'm the pipeyna anon and that's ok!!! can u do pipeyna with piper pining after hot jock Reyna which hopefully ends happy (smutty)

just a quick warm-up, i say, i won’t spend too much time on this. i really had to resist just going on and on and on with this. i miss writing this ship, damn.

anyway - this fits really well with an enemy to lovers prompt i have for jercy, so thats what im hinting at too here.

Read on Ao3

for context : i always write college aus from a UK uni perspective bc that’s all i know and i don’t care to adapt to how it might or might not work in the u.s. (sorry)

rating: teen+ (no smut in this one, but let me tell you, this TEMPTED me)

words: 2.2k

___

“An actual goddess” Piper says wistfully from where she’s leaning against the wall next to Percy, taking back the cigarette she’d just bummed of him. Her eyes are glued on the field, and more precisely on Reyna, smile on her face and water bottle in her hand as she jogs over to Jason standing at the side of the field. They greet each other with a hug, even as Reyna wrinkles her face, seemingly complaining about her own sweatiness.

It’s coincidence that the end of Reyna’s soccer practice collides conveniently with Piper’s and Percy’s late seminar on Mondays. It isn’t coincidence that Percy and her have taken to sharing a cigarette on the side of the building that looks out toward the field during their break, however.

Percy makes a non-committal noise and his eyes follow Piper’s gaze while she takes a drag of the cigarette and wrinkles her nose. She needs to quit smoking for good, she thinks, and flicks the ash to the ground. There was a brief moment in first year when Piper thought that Percy might be interested in Reyna, or she in him, but luckily, nothing ever came of that.

“You think they’re dating?” Percy asks, arms crossed over his chest now, making no move to take the cigarette back again. He’s not even pretending not to be staring, his eyes intense where they flit between Reyna and Jason. Piper on the other hand has the common decency to at least cast her eyes away every now and again before she’s caught looking for a little too long.

At the edge of the field, Reyna and Jason are standing close together now, chatting about god knows what, smiling and laughing. They’re certainly comfortable with each other, but Piper can’t say that’s much of an indication given how she’s around Percy.

“I hope not.” Piper mutters and Percy laughs at that, even though she knows he agrees. Percy wouldn’t admit it in a million years, but Piper would bet real money that he has a thing for Jason, too, as much as he claims to hate the guy. She’d have to be deaf and blind not to notice the tension between them.

It would make sense, though, in a way. Jason is captain of the men’s rugby team, Reyna of the women’s soccer team. Some of their practices collide and the two clubs do most of their weekly socials together, and Piper’s seen the two of them hanging out aside from that plenty as well. Reyna and her haven’t talked much about Jason, maybe because Piper hasn’t actually exchanged more than five words with him and never had much of an urge to change that, but she knows that Reyna and Jason have known each other before university.

Around Jason, Reyna seems to let her guard down, something Piper has only managed to achieve a handful of times since they met during their first year.

Jason laughs at something Reyna says, eyes bright and head thrown back and Piper can’t deny that he’s handsome, at the very least. He’s fairly decent, too, as far as guys go, and really, Piper knows she shouldn’t be hoping that there is nothing between Reyna and him if that is what would make Reyna happy.

“Invite her to the party.” Percy suggests then, drawing Piper’s attention back from the tangent her brain was so insistent to start on. When Piper turns her face to look at him, he’s already looking back at her, one eyebrow arched. “I was going to, anyway, but it’s different coming from you yourself.”

He’s not teasing her, it’s an honest suggestion, and technically not even a bad one. It’s Percy’s birthday this weekend, and if nothing else, it would be a good excuse to hang out again. Percy knows a ton of people, but he usually doesn’t invite too many to his party, so with any luck, it won’t be too crowded to actually spend some time with Reyna.

More than that, though, it’s another opportunity for Piper to finally get a move on. Percy, Piper knows, thinks that Piper’s pining had reached a point where it’s almost comical halfway through last year, but even so, Piper has yet to manage to actually act on her feelings.

A party is casual enough that she can always play it off as nothing serious when it ends up blowing up in her face. Piper might finally get over herself and just ask Reyna out already – although she’s tried that a few times before only to find herself tongue tied and staring at Reyna like she hung the moon in the sky. She’s been head over heels for Reyna since maybe three weeks after they met in first year, and now that they’re starting their third and final year, Piper needs to get a move on or it’ll simply be too late. Granted, she’s scared shitless at the prospect of being turned down, but at this point, even that would be better than pining forever and never finding out if she’d even stand a chance.

“Yeah… maybe.” Piper says finally, and manages a small smile towards Percy who bumps his shoulder against hers playfully. They should be heading back inside, so Piper sneaks a last glance toward Reyna and this time, finds her looking back.

They don’t share any classes this year, and Piper doesn’t usually run into Reyna on campus, so on Wednesday morning, she ends up texting Reyna on her way to class. She fumbles with her phone, almost tripping over her own two feet trying to type the words out as fast as possible, and ends up having to sidestep off the path to actually send the texts.

Hey you.

we’re having a party on Saturday, it’s Percy’s birthday.

Piper wants to add more, but instead, she bites her lip and stuffs her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. It’s almost an open invitation like this already anyway, and Piper wants to gauge Reyna’s first reaction before deciding exactly how she’s going about asking. Technically, it would be so easy to just as Reyna to go with her, specifically, to the party, but the intention might be lost over text and anyway, wouldn’t it be simpler to just invite her generally?

Piper frets throughout the entirety of her first lecture, and most of the second one, for nothing. Reyna doesn’t answer, even though the messenger app shows Piper that she’s read both texts already, and Piper tries not to be disappointed about it. She doesn’t know what Reyna’s schedule is like today, the girl might just be busy and planned on replying later. It makes sense, much more than Piper’s second thought that Reyna is not answering because Piper is annoying and Reyna doesn’t actually want to spend any time with her. She knows that thought is stupid, knowing that however does nothing to ease the anxious knot in Piper’s stomach.

Piper finds herself checking her phone more often than not. It would be funny if it wasn’t so ridiculous, and if the lecturer wasn’t so clearly catching on that Piper isn’t paying as much attention to the class as she is to her phone. She texts Percy as well, but she knows he’s in that seminar he shares with Jason, so chances are that she won’t be getting a reply on that end anytime soon either. In the end, she has to force herself to put her phone away and actually focus on the lecture up front, even though by that point, she is already lost as to what they’re even talking about in the first place. It’s no good, and Piper can’t deny being relieved when the lecturer eventually dismisses the class.

She doesn’t allow herself to check her messages until she’s across campus in the coffee shop, queuing for some much needed caffeine and fishing out her phone so she doesn’t have to make small talk with anyone while she waits in line. Reyna still hasn’t replied, but at least Percy has messaged her after his seminar.

I’m gonna strangle him, Piper. You’ll have to bust me out of prison because they are going to arrest me for goddamn murder.

All she’d asked was if his classes were as boring as hers today, and while she had expected Percy to go off about Jason in reply, this isn’t exactly what she’d thought to be reading today. She smiles at her phone, types out a quick reply and moves up in the queue.

That bad? What’s he done now?

The way Percy talks about Jason makes Piper think of a Cartoon Network villain, always plotting, provoking and scheming. The few times she’s spoken to Jason, the guy wasn’t half bad, and if Piper is honest, she doesn’t quite get the vendetta these two have with each other. She suspects though that it has something to do with how ‘infuriatingly attractive, like fucking superman or something’ Percy described Jason after their first class together.

It’s like he thinks I’m stupid or something. Got a dumb fucking project to do together and he honestly told me that he ‘needs to pass this class so iif I’m not planning to put in the work, we might as well ask for new partners right away’

Like, excuse me, bitch? My grades are better than yours, for one thing

And for another, it’s not like good-old Dodds is gonna let us switch anyway

Piper huffs audibly while she reads the texts. It’s clear Percy’s actually upset by this, and she figures it will only get worse if they actually have to do the work together in the coming weeks. Before she can shoot Percy a reply though, she’s next in line.

Piper orders her coffee, steps aside to wait once she’s paid, and rereads Percy’s texts before she types her reply to Percy.

Sounds like a dick move.

Piper’s almost inclined to defend Jason for a moment, since Percy mostly doesn’t pay much attention in class, especially in Mrs. Dodds seminars – so how is Jason meant to know how much effort Percy puts in outside of it? On the other hand, though, Piper knows how Percy is, and how personally he’s clearly taken Jason’s comment already, so trying to convince him otherwise would simply be fruitless.

Once Piper’s coffee is done, she heads back outside, finding an empty bench to enjoy the break before her next class. If nothing else, at least Percy’s ranting is distracting her from Reyna, and the party, and asking the other girl out – and in between the rapid texts Percy and her are sending back and forth Piper almost forgets about it entirely. Until she has to head back to her last class, that is, and sees that Reyna has, so far, still left her on read.

Piper hesitates for a moment, clicking on the text field without typing anything just yet. Is she going to come off as desperate if she texts again, or should she just clarify now before it gets too late and Reyna already makes different plans for the weekend?

Piper types out a few words, deletes them again and pockets her phone only to get it back out a few seconds later to try again. She shouldn’t be walking and texting, especially given that she should be going faster to actually make it to her lecture in time, but Piper knows that if she doesn’t send this text now, she’ll spend another lecture agonising over what to say.

So yeah, I wanted to invite you too ofc :)

Piper cringes at her wording, but figuring it won’t get much better, she sends the text anyway and finally tucks her phone back into her pocket to actually hurry to class.

By the time Reyna replies, it’s late and Piper is sitting on the beat-up couch in her shared flat’s living room, watching something trashy on TV without really paying much attention at all. Percy is clanking around in the kitchen, making something that smells good enough to remind Piper that she should probably be getting herself some food, too. She’s about to get up and rummage through her fridge compartment in search of something edible when her lock screen lights up with a message from Reyna, and that derails any thoughts of food immediately. Piper isn’t subtle in the way she practically lunges for her phone, but luckily, Percy can’t see and judge her from his position in the kitchen.

Sorry, long day, reads the first text, following a few seconds later by another one.

Promised Jason to hang out but I’d love to :(

Piper bites her lip, knowing before typing out the words that Percy won’t like what she’s doing in the slightest.

You could bring him? Percy won’t mind.

Except that Percy most certainly will mind, Piper thinks, and grimaces. If she hadn’t come off as desperate before, she most certainly does now – texting back within less than a minute after having been left on read all day, only to offer that Reyna can bring her friend (boyfriend?) along as well if that means she’ll be there.

There’ll be other opportunities, Piper tells herself, and scrubs a hand over her face. She needs to chill, and maybe she needs to grab a cigarette and step outside and calm down before she embarrasses herself even further.

Piper stares at the screen. How on earth is she meant to interpret this? At this rate, she won’t make it until Saturday, dying of one crisis or another before then.

if you’re sure? I’ll ask him.

haven’t seen you in a while, would be nice to hang out again ;)

I’m sure.

#will i continue this? maybe #i do kinda wanna write the party part and have it ending ~spicy~#pipeyna #piper mclean #reyna ramirez avila arellano #my stuff #my fic #prompts #teen+#pjo #Anonymous #jercy #in the bg

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freckled-petals · 4 years

Text

The Relationship: Part 1; Talbott/Reader

Summary: When Talbott’s “fan club” causes him trouble, Penny’s idea for you to step in causes quite the uproar.

Word Count: 3970

It was a brisk, fall afternoon at Hogwarts, half way through the semester. The castle was lively with students running to classes and to meet with their friends, and there was still enough interest in school before the winter holidays brought that interest to a halt.

You were on your way to your last obligation of the day - a study period in the great hall. It was probably your favorite time of the week, mainly because it allowed you to get quite a bit done and have a place to hang out until dinner time arrived.

After entering the large hall, you made your way over to your typical spot by the fireplace, unsurprised to find Penny there waiting for you.

“Afternoon,” you hummed, placing your things on the table before dropping into your seat. “All right, Penny?” you questioned, and she finally looked up. It usually took a few tries to pull her attention when she had her favorite potions book in hand.

“Hi!” She chimed, flashing a smile before turning back to her book. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

“Always predictable,” you grinned, pulling out a few books of your own.

“There’s a really interesting part here on Mandrake root—“ she began, but you were quick to interject, lest she go off on another one of her tangents.

“No Charlie or Liz today?” You questioned. “Talbott?” You added as an afterthought. The two of you had become friends at the end of last year - at your insistence, of course - and he’d been occasionally joining your group during this period. Glancing around the hall, you didn’t see any of your other friends.

“Charlie and Liz stayed to help Professor Kettleburn,” Penny answered, creasing the corner of the page she was on before closing the book. “Something about an angry Bowtruckle,” she giggled.

“Of course,” you grinned, adjusting your robes as a chill blew through the hall.

“And Talbott?”

“I’m...not sure,” she trailed, her lips forming a pout. “He’s been skipping class again, you know. I hope he’s all right...”

You frowned as Penny elaborated on Talbott’s whereabouts - or rather, her lack of knowledge on that. Based on what he’d told you, you were pretty sure it didn’t have to do with the reason he’d been skipping last year - it wasn’t near the anniversary of his parent’s passing. Then again, he hardly spoke, so you were at a loss.

“Hm,” you hummed in thought, resting your head on your hand. After he’d opened up to you just the slightest bit last year, you’d realized just how fragile the silent boy was. You couldn’t help but be a bit concerned for him. “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” you said, though Penny had already returned to her book.

——

The study period passed...unproductively. You learned absolutely nothing from the passage on the history of wandlore that you’d been trying to read, and you found yourself glancing towards the door more often than not. By the end of the period, you’d all but decided to go hunting for Talbott.

Then you scoffed. Why were you thinking so hard on this? You barely knew him, and you were hardly friends. Hell, you were only friends because you’d practically forced it on him. He certainly hadn’t been keen to the idea.

The next hour and a half dragged on dreadfully slow, and Talbott had yet to make an appearance. Your huffy attitude had once again given way to concern.

“Hey!” Penny suddenly called, jolting you from your thoughts. Looking at her, then the direction she was suddenly waving, your eyes settled on the slender form of Talbott, now failing to slip into study hall unnoticed from the attention Penny was drawing.

He hurriedly made his way over to the two of you, ignoring the frown Professor Sprout was sending him.

“You’re too cheery, Penny. It’s a real fault,” Talbott grinned at the Hufflepuff before slipping into the spot beside her.

“This is a perfectly appropriate tone, thank you very much,” she responded indignantly, though her smile didn’t fade. Sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder how the two of them became friends.

“Sure,” he responded simply.

You couldn’t help but watch him as he settled in. He let out a deep sigh, definitely looking a bit stressed. He didn’t look nearly as hopeless or distraught as he had last time, though. He pulled out a book and ran his fingers through his hair before looking up, his eyes meeting with yours. You quickly opened your mouth to ask him something - anything - to cover up for your blatant staring, but thankfully, Penny had beaten you to it.

“You weren’t in potions today,” she spoke, turning towards Talbott.

“Is...everything alright?” She questioned, her concern evident on her face and in her tone.

Talbott turned, clearly looking taken aback by her question. Maybe he was surprised she had even noticed.

“I...” he began, casting another glance at you, then Penny again, before his gaze settled on a spot of nothing on the table. “It’s a long story,” he sighed, scratching the back of his head. He didn’t elaborate further, so you spoke up.

“Is it...about your—“ you began, though he was quick to look up and shake his head.

“No, no, it’s not,” he said, continuing to shake his head. You were vaguely aware of Penny glancing between you in confusion. You raised an eyebrow, prompting him to elaborate.

“It’s...?” Penny trailed.

“It’s these bloody third years!” Talbott erupted, surprising both you and Penny with his outburst.

“Excuse me...?” You questioned, your brow creasing in confusion.

“Talbott, you’re not making any sense. You’re going to need to explain to us what’s going on,” Penny said, her voice soft and caring.

Talbott let out a huff, rubbing his forehead in an act that looked almost like annoyance. It wasn’t long before his expression morphed into one of embarrassment.

“There’s these third years...a few Ravenclaws and one or two Slytherins - it really depends on who they grab at the time...” Talbott sighed, shaking his head as if to rid himself of a bad dream. “They won’t leave me alone,” he frowned.

“Are they...bothering you?” Penny questioned, clearly following just as well as you were.

“Jinxing you...?” You offered, your confusion evident. You didn’t understand how a group of third years would keep him from class.

“They won’t leave me alone,” he repeated. “Following me everywhere, leaving me notes. I think one tried to sneak me a love potion,” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh, which clearly wasn’t the right response, because Talbott shot you quite the glare.

“Come on,” you said, glancing between him and Penny. “They’re just third years. How bad can it be?” You questioned.

“Love. Potion,” he repeated unhappily.

“Have you tried...I don’t know...asking them to leave you alone? Expressing your disinterest?” Penny suggested, clearly trying to help.

Talbott sighed again, pursing his lips. “I think they like it when I get annoyed,” he frowned. “Like they want a rise out of me.”

“Talbott Winger, the ladies man,” you grinned at him. He shot you another look before turning back to Penny.

“I barely have a moment to think before one of them’s chirping in my ear or—“

“Ruffling your feathers?” You grinned, unable to let the opportunity for a bird pun fly by.

“You’re as bad as them,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So words don’t work on them...” Penny hummed, ignoring your bantering. “Have you tried actions?”

“I don’t follow...” Talbott frowned, his thick brows knitting together.

“Well, you can tell them you’re not interested all you want, but maybe it would sink in if you showed them you’re not,” Penny mused, her eyes bright like she’d just successfully brewed Draught of Living Death.

“...meaning?” Talbott frowned, glancing over at you briefly before looking back at Penny.

“You need a girlfriend,” she said simply. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing aloud, especially at the flustered look on Talbott’s face.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose, Pen? He clearly doesn’t want that or he wouldn’t be complaining about all of this,” you said, continuing to giggle in amusement.

“I certainly don’t want to date third years,” Talbott responded, his eyes narrowed.

“It wouldn’t be real, of course. Just a show. You know, to get them off your back,” Penny said, tapping her chin in thought. “But who would fit?” She hummed.

“I don’t know about this...” he frowned, glancing between the two of you at the table.

“Chiara, maybe...?” Penny continued to muse, ignoring his hesitation. “Just for a few weeks to get the third years to leave you be...”

“It can’t be that bad getting attention from some girls, can it?” You questioned him. His eyes met yours and you felt a slight jolt at the intensity of his gaze.

“You know I don’t like attention,” he responded, quirking his lips. It was true, you did know. You knew just how much he preferred being left to his own devices. It was his way to avoid getting hurt. But maybe Penny’s plan did have some merit. He definitely needed some more friends, as far as you were concerned.

You listened to Penny list off names, watching as Talbott remained stoic, as usual. The more you listened, the more you felt a slight nagging in the back of your head. The thought of Talbott with a girl - real or not - didn’t quite sit well with you. You didn’t want to dwell on why that was the case, though.

“Maybe Badeea if we want to keep it in your house...” Penny hummed.

“No,” you spoke up quickly, drawing looks from both of them. “I-I mean,” you frowned, clearing your throat. “Who would go along with this? It would be an odd request to approach someone with. Plus, those girls don’t know him that well.”

Talbott caught your gaze, holding it for a moment before you quickly looked away.

“Its just...I mean to say that it might appear fake, and then the third years would never leave him be,” you quickly tried to clarify, ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Penny hummed, quirking her lips. “It can’t be just anyone,” she hummed. “They’d have to play the part well, and it has to be someone the third years wouldn’t walk all over. Someone well known and respectable,” she mused.

“Sounds like you, Pen. You’re the most popular witch in our year,” you chuckled, scratching the back of your head. Mentally, you were kicking yourself for even suggesting that. You saw the looks she and Talbott would exchange on occasion. You couldn’t help but wonder if there was something there between them. Penny was his first friend at Hogwarts, after all.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Penny offered, turning to Talbott with a warm and inviting smile. You suddenly felt nauseous.

“You’re too bubbly for me. No one would believe it,” Talbott grinned at Penny and she playfully stuck her tongue out at him. You couldn’t help but think of how couple-ish that exchange looked.

“Actually...I was thinking you would be perfect,” Penny said, and your eyes doubled in size when you realized she meant you.

“Wh-what...?” You asked dumbly, chancing a look at Talbott who was silently observing you.

“I don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner. You’d be perfect!” Penny continued.

“I...I hardly think I’m someone people would respect or anything like that,” you denied.

“Rubbish. You’re a top-notch student, prefect, everyone’s seen what a star you’re becoming at Quidditch,” Penny rambled, your cheeks darkening as she went on. It didn’t help that Talbott was staying silent on the matter either. “And how many cursed vaults have you broken in to? Everyone’s heard about that and I’ll tell you: everyone’s impressed. Shall I go on?” She grinned.

“N-no, that’s quite alright,” you murmured, quirking your lips. You chanced a look in Talbott’s direction, finding his gaze still locked on you. It was...unnerving, to be honest. “Well?” You questioned finally with a relenting sigh. “How ‘bout it?”

Talbott gazed at you for a long, hard moment. You felt as though you’d melt on the spot. “Alright,” he finally spoke, and you released the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Great!” Penny chimed, clearly looking pleased with herself. “This will be fun,” she added and you caught Talbott rolling his eyes.

“Fun,” he scoffed. “I fail to see the fun part,” he drawled.

“You’ve got a fan club and a new girlfriend. How is that not fun?” You questioned sarcastically. Talbott shot you a look, though for a moment, you thought you saw amusement flicker in his eyes.

“So, how should we go about this...?” Talbott questioned, turning back to Penny.

“Well, you two will need to get close. Really close,” Penny grinned, glancing between the two of you. “In fact, you should be sitting over there,” she told Talbott, pointing to the spot beside yourself. “Go,” she nudged, grinning at him.

Talbott let out a grunt, pushing himself up from the table before walking all the way around it.

“You’re way too excited about this,” you drawled as you waited for Talbott to rejoin you.

“It’ll be fun, trust me. Messing with a couple third years? Pretending to be in a relationship? It’s all very amusing. I wish I had someone to fake-fancy me,” she giggled.

“You passed on the opportunity,” you reminded, just as Talbott slid into the spot beside you.

“Sit closer,” Penny urged, a bright grin on her face. Maybe the fun was just going to be on her end, you thought.

Talbott begrudgingly slid closer, his arm momentarily brushing yours. “Okay?” “Well, you have to look happy about it. She is your girlfriend, now,” Penny hummed, and it was your turn to scoff.

“He’s never happy,” you drawled. You could feel Talbott glaring, but you forced yourself to keep your eyes on Penny.

“What’s going to sell this? The third years are unrelenting,” Talbott grumbled. “Obvious things. Things only friends wouldn’t be doing,” Penny grinned, looking between your two. “Hold hands, keep the physical contact whenever you can, longing looks - no more glaring, Talbott,” Penny giggled.

By this point, your cheeks were on fire. It hadn’t sunk in before that you’d actually be doing all of this. You suddenly felt very self conscious.

It certainly didn’t help that in the next moment, Talbott had reached over and taken your hand. Without thinking, you quickly snatched it back, ignoring the pleasant jolt you’d felt from the brief contact.

“What are you doing?” You asked hurriedly. “There aren’t any third years around now,” you said, though you felt your face growing hot.

“You two really should practice,” Penny frowned at the exchange. “So it’s believable when the third years are around,” she said.

You couldn’t even glance at Talbott in that moment. You were embarrassed and unsure of why the contact had felt so nice. Sighing, you reached for his hand, allowing him to take it once more. You watched his hand shift for a few moments before his fingers ended up slipping between yours.

“More comfortable that way,” Talbott mumbled, refusing to look directly at you.

“So cute,” Penny giggled. “Besides, the more people that see you acting like this, the better. Word travels, you know,” she hummed.

“You probably shouldn’t tell your friends about this,” Talbott spoke up, glancing down at you beside him. “That it’s not real,” he mumbled.

“Good point,” Penny chimed, nodding her head. “If your closest friends believe it, there’s no double the third years will too!”

“This all seems rather involved, don’t you think?” You drawled, letting out a sigh.

“Come on. It’s just for a week or two until the third years lose interest,” Penny said. All you could do was sigh.

“If they lose interest,” Talbott grumbled, turning to his unopened books.

——

Eventually the study period came to an end and the great hall began filling with students eager for a meal. You friends began filing in as well, each one casting glances at where Talbott’s hand remained linked with yours. He hadn’t let go once, and you were sure your cheeks were a permanent shade of red at this point.

“Evenin’ everyone,” Charlie chimed as he joined you and your already seated friends, including Talbott and Penny from before, plus Ben, Liz, Barnaby and Tonks. “This is...new,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow as he gazed at your linked hands.

Despite the looks, none of your other friends had remarked on it yet, and you felt a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“Thank Merlin someone said something,” Tonks exclaimed, slamming her hands on the table in excitement. “I thought we were all gonna avoid the giant hippogriff in the room!”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Penny supplied, grinning brightly. “They just told me this afternoon,” she hummed.

You glanced over at Talbott who was clearly trying to melt into his seat, though he hadn’t dropped his hold on your hand. You quirked your lips, unamused he wasn’t speaking. This was all for his benefit, after all!

“Yup, it’s true,” you said, resting your head on your palm.

“I didn’t know the two of you were that close,” Barnaby remarked, looking over at you curiously.

“Well, Talbott’s a very private bloke,” you playfully drawled, patting his hand that was linked with yours.

“You should have heard him gushing during our study period,” Penny grinned at the two of you. You felt your cheeks burn - clearly, Penny was determined to mortify you.

“Good on you, mate,” Charlie said approvingly before beginning to eat. The rest of your friends quickly followed, changing the conversation to an array of things that thankfully did not focus on your new relationship.

“Maybe next time you can speak up,” you quietly grumbled to Talbott, shooting him a look before beginning to eat.

About half an hour passed - both you and Talbott remaining awkwardly silent. Well, at least with each other. You chatted with a few of your other friends, though they didn’t miss the opportunity to ask a few questions about you and Talbott along the way. You were definitely looking forward to hiding in your dorm for the remainder of the evening. This was far too much for one day.

“That’s them,” Talbott’s deep voice spoke quietly, his hand clenching the slightest bit around your own. Looking up, you found him staring across the hall at the table on the far side of the room. Penny turned as well, craning her neck to get a good look.

Huddled in a group were three Ravenclaws and two Slytherins, just as Talbott had initially described. They were giggling loud enough that you could hear them from across the hall, waving their wands exuberantly.

“You have your own little fan club,” you grinned, observing the third years with interest.

“Very funny,” Talbott grumbled. “The blonde is the ringleader,” he jutted his chin in the girl’s direction. You observed the girl he singled out, inspecting the Ravenclaw girl with long, curly blonde hair and deep dimples. She was truthfully, very pretty. You were surprised he didn’t have at least some interest in her.

“That’s Isabella Mott,” Penny said. “Her parents work in Hogsmeade,” she informed. Leave it to Penny to know everything about everyone.

“She’s a pain in the arse is what she is,” Talbott scoffed. “Can’t even sit in the common room in peace anymore.” You couldn’t help but grin at his frustrated remark.

Beside the blonde was another Ravenclaw with short, red hair and a Slytherin with jet black hair and sharp, arched eyebrows. Penny was quick to identify them as Ella Wilson and Avery Thorne.

Amelia Stevens and Madison Lee were the remaining Slytherin and Ravenclaw, respectively. The former was quite small with frizzy chestnut locks while the latter had a thin face framed by dark hair with slight waves.

The group chatted boisterously, unaffected by the looks they were garnering from a few surrounding students. You could definitely see how Talbott found them annoying.

“They’ll leave you alone soon enough,” Penny tried to assure the unamused Talbott. “This plan will work,” she nodded.

“That remains to be seen,” Talbott drawled before letting out a sigh. You could tell he was at his wit’s end with these girls and you couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for your earlier teasing. You were quick to decide that you’d make sure to see this plan though as best as you could.

——

By the time dinner had finished, you were beyond exhausted. Keeping up a façade in front of your friends wasn’t as easy as you’d been anticipating, but you supposed it was good practice.

Letting out a small yawn, you stood and bid good night to your friends, only for your brow to crease when Talbott pulled himself up as well. You turned to give him a questioning glance, but he was silent packing up his things.

“What are you doing?” You frowned, speaking just loud enough for him to hear.

“I’ll walk you,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “It’s a boyfriend’s job,” he added cheekily.

“Have a good night, you two,” Tonks called, a knowing smirk on her face. You felt hot all over again.

Once you had your things gathered, Talbott was quick to reach for your hand once more. Thankfully, you didn’t pull away as you had earlier. After holding his hand for the last few hours, you supposed you were used to it.

You headed out with Talbott, hearing your friends playfully jeering behind you. When someone let out a whistle, you were sure you’d die on the spot. It caused multiple people to look and you just wanted to hide.

You quickened your pace, forcing Talbott to hurry as you slipped out of the great hall. You were quick to drop his hand, flexing your fingers to ward off the stiffness that had formed.

“Well, that was something of an event,” you said, turning to glance at him as you slowed your pace, the two of you headed for the grand staircase.

Talbott cracked a smile, nodding his head as he continued gazing straight ahead.

“Do you...think it’ll work?” You questioned softly, pursing your lips.

“I...would hope so,” he murmured, casting you a glance as you climbed onto the first staircase. “It has to,” he said, steeling his voice. You offered a nod at his determination.

“Well...I’ll be as convincing as I can,” you said, leaning against the railing after moving to the next set of stairs. “Where do you usually see these girls?” You questioned, gazing at him steadily. He looked as exhausted as you felt, maybe even more so.

“After potions. One o’clock,” he responded shortly. “When I’m trying to leave. They have the period after me,” he said. “Then of course, they always seem to find me around the castle,” he sighed.

You quirked your lips, nodding intently as you listened to him. “Alright. Tomorrow at one. I’ll meet you after your class,” you said.

“Huh?” He questioned, confusion spreading across his face.

“I’ll meet you,” you repeated with a slight laugh. “We’ll let those third years get an up-close look at us,” you grinned. “Sound good?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure,” Talbott nodded, gazing down at you. “I...” he trailed, biting his lip. “I didn’t, y’know...thank...you...for doing this...for me,” he stuttered out, unable to meet your surprised gaze.

It only took you a moment to recover before you offered him a smile. “Have a good night,” you responded simply, just as you reached your house’s portrait. “Boyfriend,” you added, before quickly ducking inside. It was only then that you allowed yourself to acknowledge how fast your heart was pounding.

#harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery fanfic #hphm #hphm talbott #talbott winger #talbott winger x jacob's sibling #talbott winger x mc #talbott winger x reader #talbott x mc #talbott x jacob's sibling #hogwarts mystery talbott #jacob's sibling #hphm mc #hphm reader

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does-this-look-logicality-to-you · 4 years

Text

Ordinary

words: 3256 universe: human AU characters: Patton, Logan, Poman pairings: romantic Logicality, platonic Royality warnings: angst, crying, kissing (which i’m not very good at writing in the first place) a/n: this is a sequel to “little miss perfect”, an absolutely wonderful fic written by an absolutely wonderful person, @katlikethesword. this is my first songfic, and my first time writing a kissing scene, so i hope it’s okay. enjoy!

I notice how she looks at me, but I pretend that I don’t see. It’s easier if I let the tension subside. It had been three months since Patton had last spoken to Logan. It tore at his heart every time he saw his friend avoiding his gaze, averting his eyes whenever they met Patton’s. He missed Logan horribly; after all, he had always considered the intelligent boy to be one of his best friends. Patton often wondered if Logan hated him. After the last time they’d spoken, he wouldn’t be surprised. He’d moved much too quickly, and had made a fool of himself. As usual.

I’ve seen it in the books I read, a magic that you cannot see. There’s no limitations, they wear it with pride. Patton was standing by his locker, getting ready for his next class. His eyes fell on a drawing he had attached to the door of Steven and Connie from Steven Universe. Roman had drawn this for him as a gift for his last birthday, a very nice drawing that had taken him days to complete. Patton stopped for a moment. They looked so happy together, without a care in the world. He couldn’t help but wish he and Logan could be like that again, like they used to— whether he wanted their relationship to be platonic or not, he wasn’t sure. Still, why couldn’t it be that easy?

But the characters I read never act or look like me. I can’t depend on them to lead me through the right door. Suddenly, Patton felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He spun around and, to his delight, there was Logan. “Logan!” His voice was probably about five times as loud as it had to be, but he didn’t care at all. Logan was talking to him again! By his own free will! “I’ve missed you! Where have you been?” “I’ve still been in school, Patton. I’m legally obligated to be here, after all.” Logan gave Patton one of his rare, genuine smiles, making his heart do a flip in his chest. “That’s a good point. So what’s up?” Patton asked him. “Well, I actually wanted to ask you if you would like to come to my house tomorrow night? My parents will be out of town, and I figured it would be a good time to reconnect.” Hold the phone. Logan wasn’t mad at him? He wanted to see him? And spend time with him? “That sounds perfect, Lo! I’ll absolutely be there.” He beamed up at his friend and was rewarded with another smile. “Good to hear. I’ll see you then.”

And what’s the point of falling when I know I’m only stalling? For the rest of the day, Patton could hardly focus in class. His thoughts all went back to Logan, Logan, Logan. What had prompted him to invite him over? Why had he stayed away for so long? What was going to happen that night? Was it going to be awkward, after what had happened before? Were they going to be alone, or were there going to be other people there? This went on for the rest of the day, which meant that he had hardly thought about anything else. After the last class of the day had ended, Roman was waiting at the door. “Hey, Pat. You okay? You’ve been kinda zoned out all day.” “Oh, yeah, I’m- I’m fine!” Patton replied cheerfully. “Just… got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” Roman gave a knowing smirk as the two of them started heading out of the building. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain nerd, would it?” “What?” Patton let out an awkward laugh. “I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about!” “Uh-huh. Okay, sure. It’s not like I saw him talking to you in the hall earlier or anything. For the first time in months. What was that all about?” “Nothing!” “Looked like a little more than nothing.” “He just asked if I could come over tomorrow.” They reached the building’s exit. Patton held the door for Roman as he passed. “It’s not that big a deal, he’s my friend.” “Yeah, because friends ignore each other for three months, and then suddenly invite them over out of the blue.” Patton went silent for a moment. “It’s… It’s complicated.” “Whatever you say, Padre,” Roman chuckled. “I’ll text you the notes when I get home, okay?” “Thanks, Roman. I really appreciate that.” “No problem.” Roman started toward the school parking lot. “You driving home?” Patton shook his head. “I’m walking today. It wasn’t my turn to take the car this morning.” “I can drive you home, if you want.” “No, that’s okay. I can walk.” “It’s really no problem. C’mon, hop in.” Patton opened his mouth to object, but Roman was already opening the door and pushing him into the passenger seat. Patton buckled his seatbelt as his friend went around the car, got into the passenger seat, and turned on the engine. “You know where I live, right?” “‘Course I do.” “Really? You sure you won’t get lost.” “Patton, I’ve been to your house dozens of times. I know exactly where you live.” Roman buckled his seatbelt and backed out of the parking spot. “So, what’re you gonna wear tomorrow night?” “Probably the same thing I’m wearing to school that day.” Roman shook his head as he left the school parking lot and turned right. “No, absolutely not. You’ve gotta look nice! This is your first date!” “It’s not a date!” “Did he invite you over?” “Yeah, but—” “Is anyone else gonna be there?” “I dunno. I don’t think so.” “It’s totally a date. So you need to wear something nice. What about that skirt you got last weekend? The light blue one, with the cats on it?” “Do you think he’ll like it?” “Oh, he’s gonna love it.” Their conversation went on like this for a while. Patton found it refreshing to talk about his feelings with Roman without anyone else around to hear. Soon enough, Roman arrived at Patton’s house. Patton got out of the car and onto the sidewalk by his house. “Bye, Pat!” Roman called, rolling his window down. “I’ll see ya tomorrow!” Patton waved goodbye. “Bye!” With that, Roman drove away. Patton sighed and, dragging his feet, trudged to the front door of his house.

‘Cause I have to go back home… where I’m just one in the herd, tripping over my words, trying hard to go with the grain, keeping the quirks in my brain. As usual, Patton received no acknowledgement upon entering his house. His mom was on the phone, likely talking to one of her clients, and his dad was playing outside with his two little sisters. This didn’t surprise him; nobody in his family ever greeted him when he got home. Sighing, Patton headed up to his room, throwing his backpack down on the floor and laying on his bed. He took out his phone and opened Tumblr, scrolling absent-mindedly.

I’m on the brink of discovery I think, but what if I’m dreaming? That’s what it seems like. Logan hardly left Patton’s mind the rest of the night. His head buzzed with endless questions for his classmate, none of which he would dare ask. Why had he invited Patton over? Why was he only now expressing a desire to rekindle their friendship, after avoiding him for so long? Patton knew he should probably resent Logan for acting as if he didn’t exist. After all, he wasn’t sure he had done anything wrong. Had he? Maybe he had, and he just didn’t remember. After all, he did have a pretty lousy memory. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to be upset with Logan. He couldn’t help it; he cared too much for him to harbor any hard feelings. He instead felt relief that Logan hadn’t given up on their friendship, alongside a giddy kind of excitement for the next night. He loved all of his friends, of course, but there was something different about Logan. The way he listened intently to Patton’s ramblings no matter how absurd they were, the subtle smile that crossed his face when he was amused by Patton’s ridiculous puns and not wanting to admit it, the way he went off on tangents about the things that interested him. All of these little things, to which nobody else seemed to notice, were what made Logan special. All of a sudden, Patton felt a twist of fear in his chest. What if tomorrow went horribly wrong? What if this was some kind of elaborate joke? What if he messed up somehow, and made Logan hate him all over again? Patton shook his head to clear it. Everything would be fine. It had to be.

‘Cause this girl thinks I’m part of her world, and that new territory’s scary. If I turn the handle, am I asking for a scandal? Patton stood at the door, fidgeting with his skirt. The same worries that had swarmed in his head the night before remained all throughout the day, no matter how hard he’d tried to ignore them. Finally, after hours of waiting and worrying and wondering, he was standing on Logan’s front porch. He took a deep breath, smoothed out his shirt, and rang the doorbell. Almost immediately, the door swung open, and Logan was standing in front of him. The sight of Patton seemed to take him off guard, opening and closing his mouth as if searching for the right words. Patton broke the silence. “Whaddya think, Lo?” he asked, swishing his skirt a little. “I saw it had cats on it and I knew I had to get it immediately.” “You look… magnificent. I mean gorgeous! No, I mean good! You look good, Patton.” He couldn’t help but giggle. He’d always found it endearing when Logan got all flustered like this. “I know what you mean, don’t worry. Thanks!” Logan moved out of his way, and Patton stepped inside. “Make yourself at home.” He followed the other boy into the living room and sat down on the couch.

Should I try to be ordinary? “So… what do you wanna do?” Patton asked, feeling a bit awkward. “It’s up to you. You’re my guest, after all.” “Yeah, I guest that’s true,” he cracked with a goofy grin. Logan rolled his eyes, groaning. “You haven’t been here for a minute and you’re already making puns?” “Aww, c’mon, you gotta admit, they’re pretty pun-derful!” Despite his dramatic eye-roll, Patton didn’t miss the soft laugh that escaped Logan’s lips, making his heart skip a beat. Baaah!

I’ve always been a little odd, the only pea inside the pod. That’s not an expression, I’m guessing, oh well. Before long, the two were going about their night as if nothing had changed. Logan had ordered a pizza— Patton had offered to pay multiple times but he had insisted on it being “his treat”— and they ate their dinner on the couch, watching Steven Universe. Logan had nestled between Patton’s legs, Patton’s arms draped around him. A peculiar sight for many, but it wasn’t that unusual for them. Patton was a naturally affectionate person, and Logan didn’t seem to mind his cuddly tendencies. When the episode ended, Patton was struck with an idea.

“Let me braid your hair!” he blurted without thinking. See, that’s exactly what I mean! I’m just as awkward as I seem! Plus she makes me nervous, I hope she can’t tell. Embarrassment flooded over him. What a stupid thing to stay! He hadn’t been prompted by anything, they hadn’t even said much at all, and here he was suggesting something Logan surely thought was childish! “What?” “Let me braid your hair! I have two younger sisters, so I know how! Plus I think your hair would look really good braided!” His suggestion may have been stupid, but he couldn’t retract it now. Logan looked as if he was about to object, but, in an act of desperation, Patton broke out his secret weapon: his puppy-dog eyes. “Alright, fine.” Logan’s reluctant response discouraged Patton more than he would like to admit, but he didn’t show it. Instead, he just clapped happily, cheering in triumph. Gosh, he must look so ridiculous! “You’re too tall to do it like this,” he said. “Here, lay down in my lap.” Logan moved to do as he was told, and Patton slipped into the familiar motions of braiding, using his fingers to comb through his silky hair.

What is it she sees in this cluster clump of me? Or, could it maybe be I’m going crazy? And hey, who am I kidding? This isn't some sweet beginning! Just a detour to the end. Then back to the herd, tripping over my words, trying hard to go with the grain, ignoring the quirks in my brain. It didn’t take long for Patton to finish the braid, as Logan’s hair was much shorter than what he was used to. Satisfied with his handiwork, Patton started to lean back. Alarm shot through him as Logan reached up and grasped his shirt. His deep brown eyes met Patton’s. The voice inside his head was yelling at him, urging him to kiss him, kiss him, KISS HIM! I’m on the brink of discovery, I think. “If you’re uncomfortable, please tell me to stop,” Logan breathed, before Patton could do anything. “What? Why would I be uncom—?”

But what if I’m dreaming…? Patton didn’t get to finish his sentence as Logan’s lips met his, moving his hands to Patton’s cheeks. He felt his heart soar as he kissed back, closing his eyes and taking Logan’s face in his own hands as if it had always belonged there. He took in the moment, wanting to remember all of this, as he kissed the boy he loved at last. All of a sudden, Logan pushed him away and dashed out of the room as Patton felt his heart shatter.

Do I rewind, induce amnesia? Pretend I didn’t see her? Succumb to stupid fear? Or just believe in my heart? Patton just sat there, tears rolling down his face, in shock and in disbelief, trying to process what had just happened. That kiss, that small handful of seconds, had felt more perfect, more right, than anything he had ever experienced. But Logan’s reaction… he had been the one to initiate it in the first place, so why did he panic like that? Was it because of Patton? Had he done something wrong? Was he that bad a kisser? When they’d kissed, Logan had seemed so sure in his actions. He had been the one to initiate the kiss in the first place, so why did he run away? If it wasn’t Patton’s fault, then what other reason would there be? Patton sat there, pondering for a while. After what felt like an eternity, Logan returned. Patton looked up at him, and just seeing Logan’s expression made his heart ache. “Lo?” He cringed mentally at how pathetic he sounded. “I’m sorry, Patton. I don’t know what overtook me. Silly impulses, I’m sure. It would be best for both of us if we acted as if this never happened.” Patton blinked back the fresh tears that began to form in his eyes. “Do you not… like me that way? I thought that after what happened in the bathroom, I might actually have a shot with you. I guess not.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I do like you, Patton.” The other boy sat down beside him. “It’s just that the people at school… what will they do if they find out that I’m…?” He trailed off. Patton looked at him. Was that all he was worried about? A handful of other students judging him because he was attracted to men? Why play a part? Why follow the herd? Why not trust in my words? Don’t wanna go with the grain! Why try to make myself plain? I’m on the brink of rediscovery, I think. So what if I’m dreaming? I like the scene that I’m in! “Gay?” he finished for him. “Logan, please don’t start with that,” he pleaded. “Who cares what they think? It’s just high school.” “Yes, but high school leads to college, and college leads to graduate school, and graduate school leads to the rest of our careers.” Logan slumped his shoulders. “I have to be perfect if I want to achieve everything I want to do.” “Logan, no one is going to care who you do or don’t kiss in high school. It won’t affect your future at all, assuming that you and I…” He couldn’t bear the thought of it. “don’t see each other after high school.” They were silent again for a minute. Did Logan really care about his reputation that much? Patton hadn’t realized how important it was to him. More important than friendship or even romance, that he couldn’t tell.

And this girl is a part of this world. The thought of being normal’s far more scary. “No, I… I really do like you a lot, Pat. And if I could, I’d love to try dating you some day. But the others at school—” Patton let out an exasperated noise and leaned forward to kiss Logan again, this time only for a few moments. “Forget about the others at school for a second, Logan! Literally no one will care! Sure, people will spread gossip for a week, but then they’ll move on to some other thing. Think about what you want here, right now.”

I’ll be brave and I’ll be kind. I’ll make a choice and change my mind. I will mess up all the time. They’ll say I’m weird but I’ll be fine. He looked into Logan’s eyes, his exasperation giving way to fondness. “Why did you kiss me?” “Because I’ve wanted to for several years,” he replied without hesitation. “Okay. And do you want to kiss me again?” “Yes, very much so.” Patton forced himself to keep his voice steady as he said, “Then do it.” Logan didn’t argue; he simply leaned toward Patton and lightly pressed his lips to his. “Do you want to kiss me again?” Patton repeated once Logan pulled away, feeling confidence building up inside him. He nodded. “Do it, then.” Again, Logan obeyed, this time letting the kiss last a few seconds longer. Patton couldn’t stop the smirk that spread across his face. “Do you still care about what the others at school will say?” he asked. Logan didn’t answer with words this time. He instead surged forward and once again his lips met Patton’s. Instead of pulling back again, like Patton had expected, Logan held the kiss. Patton moved his tongue ever so gently against Logan’s teeth, and the other parted his lips for entry. Everything was perfect— in Patton’s eyes at least— and neither seemed to want to pull away. When they finally did, Patton found himself on top of Logan. He worried for a moment that Logan would try to pull away again, but he didn’t. “If you want me to stop kissing you, I will,” he told him, smiling softly. “But do you get my point now?” He nodded. “Screw the others.” He moved his hands to his cheeks. “You’re right, it doesn’t matter what they say.” Patton’s smile widened, nodding. Without either saying a word, Logan sat up and kissed him once again. I’ll be anything but ordinary!

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