#growing old single doesn’t sound that bad
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take me home, country road
[ao3]
You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7
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Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.
A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in.
It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time.
Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor.
There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket.
“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill.
“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway.
“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.
“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”
“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”
He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”
“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.
“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”
“And there it is.”
You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”
At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged.
A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away.
And then it lingers.
You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.
You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside.
You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head.
When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.
“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss.
Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.
He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what.
You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night.
Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again.
John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.
The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.
You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.
The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.
“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”
“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.”
“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”
“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”
“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.
Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate.
“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”
You frown. “Soap?”
The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”
Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”
It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking.
Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years.
There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you.
Like he did.
You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been.
When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get.
His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near.
In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.
John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting.
You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle.
“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone.
John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”
That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”
He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”
And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.
John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs.
It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound.
It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.
Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off.
You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake.
That day comes with another ache you can’t shake.
“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”
John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”
You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.
“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”
That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.
You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.
By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall.
You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.
“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.
John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”
“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him.
All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.
“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.
You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”
When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked.
“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid.
You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”
“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.
“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.
Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back.
“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.
The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you.
You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out.
You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”
As if you could look anywhere else.
He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken.
He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs.
But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft.
“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for.
“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss.
You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest.
It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it.
When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants.
Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you.
His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.
“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”
His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”
A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you.
“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming.
John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#price/reader#john price/reader#price x reader#price x you#john price x reader#john price
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someday
pairings: teacher!jake x single mom!reader
summary: Being a single mom to a 6 year old daughter isn’t always easy, and it doesn’t help that her class teacher awakens feelings inside of you, you haven’t felt in a long time. Will the love between you blossom, or will your complicated life drive you apart?
words: 11.6k
story colour: green
warnings: one heavy (?) make out session and a lot of tension
masterlist of ‘enhypen as jobs’
Life can change.
From one second to another, everything can change. Everything you have once known to be normal, everything you were used to. It all can get ripped away from you in the matter of a few seconds.
From one second to another a seventeen-year-old girl finds out she got pregnant from a boy that wasn’t ready to commit to a life like that yet and parents that felt nothing but disappointment towards their teenage daughter.
From one second to another this girl had to move away, raise a child on her own and build a life save for them to live in. She had to find a job with a steady income, find people who could help her and put all her needs aside for the small bundle of life she brought into the world.
Not only did she have to change her life, but she also had to rebuild it. She had to create a new, healthier and secure one. Suddenly it wasn’t about what outfit to wear to school, how to sneak out to go to a party or new drama that happened at school. It was about changing diapers, sleepless nights caused by a toothing child and soothing countless emotional outbreaks. It was about raising her child, teaching kindness and blaming every bad thing on herself.
But at the end of the day, it was being grateful, loving the child unconditionally and not being able to imagine her life any different. It was feeling purpose, feeling needed and feeling loved. It was showing exactly that love to her child and never letting her forget that.
♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆��⊹❀♡
Listening to the waves crashing against the shore, you soak in the last moments of this morning, the soft rays of sun on your face, the slight breeze making your cheeks rosy and the faint sound of birds chirping somewhere close by. You soak in this moment, because moments like this are rare in the life you’re living, quiet and undisturbed, protected from all the daily stress and complications.
You breathe in the air one last time, before you see someone approaching you out of the corner of your eye.
“Look mommy, I found a pretty shell.”, your 6-year-old daughter Nuri says as she holds her hand out for you to see. You show her a bright smile, admiring the pretty shell in her hands. Your daughter has always been a collector, shells, flowers, rocks, even leaves, nothing is safe from her. And it’s something you love about her. How she sees the beauty in the small things, always so eager to show you the new things she discovered, with her big bright eyes.
“It’s so pretty, Nuri. How about you put it into your bag and later we will get the other shells you collected and make a pretty necklace out of them?” You watch as the little girl enthusiastically nods, putting the shell carefully into her bag, before sitting down beside you on the blanket you laid over the sand.
“Are you excited about starting school today?”, you ask your daughter, as you gently pull her onto your lap, stroking her hair with one of your hands. Whenever you look at her, you get stunned by how much you see your younger self in her. The more she grows, the more the resemblance grows. But you also realize how awfully fast time passes, and how much has changed since the day you held your little baby in your arms for the first time.
“I am.”, Nuri says, her big eyes almost disappearing as she grins widely at you, showing off her missing front tooth. “But I will also miss kindergarten a lot. And I will miss you too, mommy.”
In an instant, tears fill up your eyes and it takes you a moment to swallow them down, not wanting Nuri to see you like that. You could cry after you dropped her off at school, but for now, those tears will have to stay hidden. “I will miss you too, sweet girl. But it is just a few hours that we don’t see each other. Every day after school I will pick you up and we can do whatever we want to do, okay?”
Nuri nods her head again, before wrapping her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “Do you think I will make any friends?”
“Of course, you will.”, you tell her, truthfully. Your daughter, in contrary to you, never had problems talking to others. She is a social butterfly, making friends wherever she goes. You admire her for that, wanting to have the same trait. Because while she plays with all the kids in the playground, you can only watch the other mothers sit together, talking about everything and nothing. Part of you wants to just go up to them, ask them if you could join them, but the other part of you feels anxious, scared of getting judged, the way you always do. Being a mom so young has only brought you trouble, wherever you go. And while Nuri is the best thing that has happened to you, others seem to not support that opinion.
If you got a dollar for every time someone told you that you would destroy your kids future, or that you are way too young to have this kind of responsibility, you would be rich by now. Everywhere you go, if it’s grocery shopping, getting gas, at restaurants, people try to give you advice or comment on the things that apparently went wrong with your life, without even knowing you or your story. You heard everything, from your parents not raising you right or having daddy issues because your dad left you when you were young, to being whore that slept around until she eventually got pregnant.
But they don’t know that it was just a simple accident. That it was two teenagers having their first times together, being nervous and not really knowing what to do. It was two teenagers who didn’t think and had to deal with the consequences of their moment together. Well, at least one did. It wasn’t your parents’ fault; it wasn’t you sleeping around. It was just something that happened, unplanned but not unwanted.
And they don’t know that ever since Nuri came into your life, everything felt like it had a purpose. You felt like you had a purpose. Being a mother has made you find out who you truly are, and what you truly want. It made you more aware of the process of growing up, and made you realize all the stupid things you did as a teenager. It helped you through the hardest times and gave you something to hold on to, a reason to fight. Nuri is the reason you wake up every day, the reason you can get out of bed and the reason you finally have a routine in your life.
And you truly believe that it was meant to happen. You were meant to get pregnant with her and build up a life for the both of you.
“If someone will make a lot of friends, it’s you. I just know that everyone will love you, just how I know that I love you, so so much.”
-
It’s a weird feeling, picking your daughter up from her first day of school. You watch all the kids run up to their parents, excited little faces, already going on and on about everything that happened while they spend a few hours apart.
And while you’re waiting for your daughter to exit the school, you realize you can’t wait to be with her again, to hear her tell all the stories about her experiences on her first day, to get ice cream with her and make necklaces and bracelets. You realize that this must be harder for you than for her. She doesn’t realize the quickness in which she grows up, but you do.
It feels like yesterday when she was still in your belly. It feels like yesterday when she took her first steps, falling face first to the ground. It feels like yesterday when she said her first words, going up to every stranger in the grocery store and proudly repeating that word to them. It feels like yesterday when she lost her favorite toy and cried for two days straight. When you threw a little goodbye party for that toy with her and explained to her that maybe another child found her toy and gave it a new home, only to find the toy four days later under your bed. And it feels like yesterday when she came into your room, telling you she had a nightmare. She crawled into your bed and shortly before sleep took over, she whispered that you are the best mommy in the whole world.
All these memories start crashing over you, one by one. Tears fill your eyes yet again, and it takes everything in you to blink them away, not wanting to break down in front of all these strangers.
“Mommy.”, you hear her voice before you see her. Turning in the direction of the voice, you see your daughter running up to you, her arms wide open. You kneel down, opening your arms yourself and a bright smile lighting up all your features.
“Hey, my sweet girl.”, you say as you wrap her tightly into your arms. All the sadness you felt a moment ago washes away the moment you relish in the feeling of having the most important person in your life in your arms. “How was your first day?”
“It was so amazing, mommy. We learned a new song and ate a lot of fruits together. I made a lot of friends, and all my teachers are so nice.” You can’t help but smile brightly at the excitement of your daughter. “Do we have some time before we go home? I want you to meet my teacher. He is still in the classroom, so we have to hurry.”
Before you can answer, Nuri already takes off with your hand in hers, leading you inside the school and to her classroom. You marvel at all the colorful decoration, the helpful quotes and the artistic pictures. “Hello, Mr. Sim.”, your daughter says, excitedly waving at her teacher.
You take another step into the classroom, looking for the man that is busy packing his bag. But when he turns around and shows your daughter a bright smile, it almost takes your breath away. You never expected a teacher to look this… gorgeous. Mr. Sim looks young, your age probably, his skin is soft and glowing, his eyes a deep shade of brown and his black hair framing his perfect face. He has full, pink lips and a smile so bright, it resembles a puppy.
“Hey, Nuri. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on your way home?” Even his voice sounds like it was dipped into honey and laced with cream and sprinkles. It does something to you, you haven’t felt in a really long time.
“I wanted you to meet my mommy.”, she says, pointing over at you. And the moment Mr. Sim’s eyes meet you, you can feel something in the air change. A uncuttable tension fills the room, and you can’t stop staring at him. You can’t stop looking at his perfect face and his perfect eyes and his perfect lips. You feel ashamed for feeling this way, for thinking about your daughter’s teacher that way, but you can’t help yourself. “Mr. Sim this is my mommy.”
“Hi.”, he says, his voice breaking with this simple word. “I’m Mr. Sim, but you can call me Jake.” Jake wipes his hand on his pants before reaching it out for you to take, which you do. Gently you place your hand in his, giving it a soft shake, almost sighing at the feeling of this small contact. Jake has big hands, long fingers and veins traveling up his arms, but his skin is so soft and smooth it almost doesn’t seem fair.
“I’m Y/N, Nuri’s mom.” You almost punch yourself for sounding so weak and pathetic. The last thing you want is for Nuri’s teacher to know what an effect his mere presence has on you. “Are you Nuri’s class teacher?”
“For now, yeah. I’m a substitute teacher since their actual teacher got into an accident and has to rest for probably a few months. I was meant to start at another school but got transferred here last minute.” You could listen to him speak for hours. “But you probably don’t care about that.” He chuckles softly, letting a hand nervously glide through his silky hair. “What you probably do care about is that we have a parents’ conference next week. I wanted to send an e-mail to every parent, but you know, seeing as you are here, I just wanted to let you know beforehand.”
You nod at him, showing him a small appreciative smile. “Thank you, Jake. I will see what I can do to come. Maybe someone will have the time to look after Nuri for a few hours.”
Jake nods one time, then another, before letting his hand fall to his side. “It’s a pretty important conference, seeing that this has a lot of information about the first school year. Maybe her father can look after her, so you can come.” You can hear the lingering note in his sentence, subconsciously knowing that he’s testing the waters.
“Nuri’s father is not in her life.”, you say, looking down at your daughter who only smiles up at you. “It’s just us, right, sweet pee?”
“Yep.”, she says, nodding her head a few times. “Our house is a girls’ only zone.” Jake chuckles at the words of the little girl in front of him. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and takes out his phone to hand it to you.
“You can see if you find someone to look after her for a few hours and if not, you can just text me and we will find a solution. Is that okay with you?” Stunned, you take his phone, seeing his contact list already open.
“Yeah, yeah of course. Thank you so much, Mr. Sim.”
“Jake.”, he tells you again, a gentle smile resting on his lips. “You can just call me Jake, okay?”
-
“God, it was so embarrassing.”, Jake says as he drinks a sip from his coke. “I kept on rambling and stuttering. Like my hands got all sweaty and I couldn’t even really look her in the eyes.”
He hears his friends laughing at him to which he just frowns. Jake knows the way he acted around you, his student’s mom, wasn’t appropriate, but it was like the moment he saw you his brain stopped working. All the blood rushed out of it, leaving him stupid and unable to form thought through sentences. It was like he was sixteen all over again. A teenager nervous around pretty girls, unable to talk to them without making a foul out of himself.
“Dude, you seem down bad for her.”, Jay, his friend, says, not being able to hide the amusement in his voice. It’s been a while since the boys heard any stories about women in Jake’s life. Jake always tried to keep in love life as clear as possible, only looking for something serious and whenever he noticed the other person wasn’t reciprocating the same feeling, he ended whatever it was between him and the other person. Ever since Jake was young, he had one wish and that was to be in love. To love unconditionally, find someone who feels the same way and spend the rest of his life with them. To marry, have kids and grow old together. That’s what Jake always wanted, and still does to this day. But finding someone with the same wish turned out to be harder than he thought it would.
“But doesn’t she have a kid? Doesn’t that mean she has a husband, or boyfriend?”, Sunghoon asks, joining in on the conversation.
Jake just shakes his head, sighing as he lets his free hand nervously glide through his hair. “No, I already asked her. It’s apparently just her and her daughter. But I don’t know where the father is, didn’t think it would be appropriate to ask her that.”
“Wait. You asked her about a man in her life?”, Heesungs’ eyes are wide, and he has to swallow the laugh that threatens to leave his lips. “Bro, there is no way, you had the balls to do that. She definitely knows that you are interested in her.”
“What?”, Jake exclaims, bewilderedly looking at his friends. “What do you mean she knows I am interested in her?”
“Bro, you asked if she has a boyfriend or not, that’s the first sign of testing the waters, checking if she’s single. Everyone knows that and I bet she does too.”
Jake lets his head fall into his hands, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips. “She probably thinks I am a weirdo. God, what if she doesn’t want her child to be in a class with a teacher that was shamelessly hitting on her? What if she tells the other parents and I’m going to get kicked out of that school?”
“Jake.”, Sunghoon puts a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I doubt she would do that. And come on, maybe she is interested in you as well. Look at you, you are an attractive man. Don’t overthink this whole thing, okay?”
-
“And they lived happier ever after. The end.”, you finish reading the bedtime story for Nuri, closing the book and putting it on her nightstand.
“Mommy?”, you hear her quiet voice asking for you. Immediately, you take her hand, showing her a soft smile. She looks so small with her eyes just half open, tiredness written all over her face.
“Yes, sweety?”
“Do you like Mr. Sim?” The question surprises you, makes you take a few deep breaths before feeling ready to answer.
“I think he is a lovely person. He seems very sweet to you. Why do you ask that?”
Nuri adjusts her position, trying to open her eyes more to look at you clearly. “I think you are in love with him. Mrs. Kim said that when someone is in love with another person, they get very nervous and start stuttering in their sentences. She told me that you can’t stop looking at the person and that you seem kind of starstruck. Just like the way I look at ice cream.” She hugs her little teddy bear closer to her chest before continuing. “That’s how you looked today when you looked at Mr. Sim.”
You can’t help but shake your head as you hear the words your elderly neighbor has told your daughter. But it shouldn’t surprise you. Mrs. Kim has always been a hopeless romantic, going on and on about how you will find the right guy for you, that you just have to be patient. She has been watching over Nuri ever since she was a little baby, and it was bound to happen that at some point she would fill your daughter’s head with this nonsense.
“I am not in love with Mr. Sim, baby. I don’t even know him.”
“But you could get to know him. And then you will fall in love with him and live happily ever after with him, just like in the stories you read me every night.” You can hear something underlying in your daughter’s voice. Something she hides as she speaks those words.
“Nuri, why do you want me to fall in love with Mr. Sim?”, you ask her, squeezing her hand softly. You can see the sadness forming on her little face and it breaks your heart seeing her like this. Whatever it is that she was thinking at that moment, must have been on her mind for a long time.
“Ever since last year the kids in kindergarten asked me why I don’t have a dad. Every kid there has a dad, just not me. I want to have a dad, too, just like all the other children do.” Small tears start dripping down her cheeks, and you can’t hide the ones threatening to leave your eyes too.
“Oh, my sweet girl. Come here.” You gently pull her into a hug, cradling her head in your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I didn’t want to make you sad. I know that talking about my dad makes you very sad, and I don’t want you to be sad, mommy.” Twice, you felt your heart break within a few minutes. You hadn’t realized the effect this theme has on you, the sadness that still lingers whenever you think about her father. You hadn’t realized that your daughter noticed that. Your empathetic six-year-old daughter. A part of you feels proud of her for being such a sweet considerate little girl, but the other part is scared of how much other stuff she has noticed.
“Nuri, I am so sorry for not talking a lot about your father with you. I promise I will answer you every question about him in the future. And I am not sad when you mention him, okay? It is so important for you to communicate your feelings with me. When something worries you, you can always come to me and tell me about it, no matter what, okay?” You can feel her nod against your chest, her little hands wiping away the tears on her face. “Good. Now try to sleep, sweety. You need to have a lot of energy for school tomorrow. I love you, Nuri.”
“I love you too, mommy.”
-
You feel nervous as you park at the school building. There are several cars there already, all parents who will also be at the conference. Anxiety builds up in your belly, the fears of judgement towards you rising inside of you. This happened a lot at parent conferences when Nuri was still in kindergarten. The parents would be delighted to see you at first, asking if you are her sister but when they find out you are her mom, all you got was weird looks and whispers from other parents. It made you almost skip every conference after that, but you had to go, for Nuri’s sake. So, it’s understandable why your hands are shaking as you enter the school.
You dropped Nuri off at Mrs. Kim’s appartement, not before telling her to stop bringing Nuri’s hope of you getting a boyfriend up. A part of you knows that Mrs. Kim didn’t mean it with any bad intention, but you still don’t want Nuri to think that she will get a dad. Her real father is still uninterested to be in her life, and you don’t think that will change any time soon, and bringing a new father figure into her life is something you are still afraid of. People these days are not looking for serious commitment, they get scared when they hear about the child in your life, and they leave before anything serious can even start to develop. And the last thing you want is to introduce someone to Nuri’s life, just to have them leave a few weeks later. You don’t want to do that to her.
“Y/N.”, you hear someone call out for you and when you turn around you are greeted with the bright smile of no other than Sim Jake. “You made it. I am so happy to see you.”
“Yeah, sorry for not texting you. I kind of forgot about it with the whole stress I was having the best few days.” Jake seems to only smile brighter at your words, one of his hands nervously scratching the back of his neck. It gives you a moment to take him in. He is wearing a baggy pair of blue jeans with a black button up shirt, the arms of his shirt rolled up, exposing his arms. You can’t help but to let your eyes trail to his hands, his beautiful hands, but before you let yourself trail off too long, you let your eyes wander back to his, only to be met by a smirking Jake. Jake noticed your wandering gaze, the way your eyes shamelessly roamed his body. And he can’t say he isn’t flattered.
“Don’t worry, Y/n. I’m just glad to see you again. I hope you are, too.” You can hear the shift in his voice, the confidence and pride in it. And it makes a shiver run down your spine. “But we should go inside the classroom, before the parents get worried where I am.”
For the whole conference, you try to stay focused, to take notes and remember everything Jake was telling the parents, but your mind always drifted off. You got lost staring at the way he was talking so animatedly with his hands, biting his lip, and licking it with his tongue after every sentence, and how he brushes his hair out of his eyes every few seconds. And looking around, you notice that you don’t seem to be the only one staring at Jake. Some other mothers in the room developed a certain fascination with the young teacher, tugging their hair behind their ears and looking at him with a starstruck gaze. Watching them, you notice that you must look the same way when you look at Jake, just how Nuri told you. And it makes an embarrassed flush appear on your cheeks. You should really get yourself together. This is the teacher of your daughter, you shouldn’t be thinking about him in that way, shouldn’t be staring at him with such hungry eyes.
So, when you Jake announces the end of the conference, you can’t help but to hastily back your things into your back and make your way to head out of the classroom. “Y/N.” But Jake’s voice stops you from that. “Can you stay back a bit? I want to talk to you.” You turn around and give him a quick and shy nod, before sitting down on one of the chairs again and waiting for all the other parents to leave. Which turns out to take longer than you thought it would, almost all of the moms line up in front of him, asking him questions and wanting his attention.
Every now and then you see the look on Jake’s face, the tight-lipped smile and the alarming eyes, seeming almost uncomfortable. But you could be wrong about that impression.
Finally, the last one left, leaving only you and Jake in the classroom. He turns to you, a soft and honest looking smile on his lips. “Thank you for waiting, Y/N. I really appreciate that.” You smile back at him, standing up so you can walk over to him.
“Why did you want me to stay back?”, you ask him as you stop in front of him, looking up at him with your wide eyes. Jake seems to be losing the ability to talk again, your eyes driving him crazy. You give him the type of look that makes him want to press you against the next wall and kiss you until your lungs give out.
“I wanted to ask you how you liked the conference.” His voice is low and coarse, and he has to clear his throat a few times to get rid of the lump in it.
“You wanted me to stay back just so you could ask me how I liked the parents conference?”, you ask him, eyebrows raised in a question.
“Yes?”, he answers, his yes almost sounding like a question itself. He scratches the back of his neck again, feeling suddenly so self-conscious. “I mean it was my first time doing something like this and I guess I just wanted to know how I was. You know, if I came across as nervous or insecure.”
You shake your head at him, a constant smile on your lips. “Jake, you did so well. Everyone in this room liked you, and you seemed so confident when you talked about everything. Believe me, no one could have done it better than you.”
Jake feels his heart swell at your words, not having thought you would say something like that to him. It has been a long time since Jake has gotten praised in such a way, and it does something to him, something he can’t admit to himself.
“Thank you.”, he mumbles, a faint bit of blush on his cheeks. “Hearing that means a lot to me.”
You gently squeeze his arm, showing him another bright smile. “No need to thank me. I am just telling you the truth.” You take a step back again, hand sinking back to your side. “But I sadly have to go now. I have to pick up Nari since it’s a school night and I don’t want her to stay awake for too long.”
“Yeah, sure, of course.”, Jake quickly says, walking to his bag and starting to pack in his things. “Give me a second, I will walk you to your car.”
-
This has been the third time in four months that you were too late to pick up Nuri from school. With the newfound time, your boss thought it was a good idea to give you more work, and normally you would decline this amount of work, since it gives you less time that you can spend with Nuri. But more work also means more money, and you need it more desperately than ever lately. The rent in your apartment got raised, fuel got more expensive and all the school stuff that you had to buy also didn’t make your bank account look good.
With your head lowered and guilt tripping down every part of your body, you walk into Nuri’s school. As you step into her classroom, your eyes widen. Jake is sitting beside Nuri on a desk, drawing inside a book with her, while talking to her with a soft smile on his face.
“There you are Ms. Park.”, you can hear the voice of Nuri’s other teacher Mrs. Song. “We waited for you for 30 minutes now. This is the third time this has happened, and I cannot tell you how disappointed I am with your punctuality. I get that you are young, but that doesn’t give you the right to abandon your own child for whatever party activity you have to do.”
Almost immediately you feel the guilt replace itself with anger. You know that picking up your child too late is irresponsible, but claiming you abandon your child and go partying is reaching too high. You feel like you’re seventeen-year-old you all over again, when everyone told you that you won’t be able to raise a child, that your child will grow up traumatized, wishing they had all the things other kids her age have. They told you to give Nuri up for adoption, that it would be the best possibility at your age.
“I am so sorry I was late picking up Nuri, again. But your accusations are what are disappointing here. As a teacher you shouldn’t have such prejudices against parents. Yes, I am young, but that doesn’t mean I am not able to love and provide for my daughter. Live on day in my shoes and see how well you can manage it.”
A short beat of silence fills the room, and before Mrs. Song can open her mouth to say another word, Jake speaks up first. “Mrs. Song, how about you take Nuri to one of the vending machines and get her a snack, while I talk to Ms. Park.”
With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Song nods, taking Nuri’s hand and walking out of the room with her, leaving you and Jake alone. “Y/n.” He gently says as he walks over to you. And there is something about his voice, so gentle and caring and something about his presence so comfortable and safe, that makes the tears in your eyes break their way free to roll over your cheeks. “Oh, come here.”
Jake gently pulls you into his arms, one hand on your back, comfortingly stroking it, and the other on your head. You wrap your own arms tightly around him and allow yourself for the first time in months to let it all out, the stress, the hurt, the pain, the longing, everything. A sob wracks through your whole body, and it breaks Jake’s heart. He doesn’t know how to help you, what to do to take all this pain away from you. So, all he does is pull you closer – if that’s even possible – and whisper encouraging words into your ear.
“Do you want to talk about it?”, Jake gently asks as he pulls away from the hug, taking your face in his hands and wiping the tears on your face away with his thumbs.
You close your eyes for a few seconds, trying to calm down from your little breakdown, before starting to talk to him. “Everything has just been so hard lately. I can barely pay rent, I have to work longer and harder to earn all the money I need, and Nuri hasn’t stopped talking and asking questions about her dad. I try to act unbothered by it, but if your daughter talks about the boy that has not only broken your heart but left you alone when you most needed him, it makes you relive it all over again. And I just feel like the worst mom on earth for not being able to give Nuri the live she deserves. Everyone is telling me that over and over again, what if they are right?”
“No.”, Jake says shaking his head. He cups your cheek with one hand, the other one taking its place on your waist. “Listen to me. You are an amazing mom, Y/n. God, half of the people that say those mean things want to be just like you. You sacrificed so much to provide for your daughter and that is more than just admirable. You should be proud of yourself, not doubt yourself. Nuri loves you. In fact, you are all she ever talks about. She admires you so much, Y/n, and she loves you with all her heart. That’s what matters the most.”
More tears start to stream down your cheeks, and you whisper a quiet ‘thank you’ to Jake, before pulling him back into your arms. He holds you close, leaving a gentle kiss at your temple every now and then. “How about we get Nuri and then we go out for ice cream? I don’t want to leave you alone right now.”
You nod against his chest, not ready to let go of him yet. “Thank you, Jake. For everything.”
-
Something changed between you and Jake after that day. It started with texts, him checking up on you every now and then, seeing if you need help. Then it developed to calls, once a week, talking about your feelings and worries, but those calls quickly got more frequent and happened every night after you put Nuri down to sleep. And you don’t know how it happened or when it happened, but now you find yourself getting ready to meet him for the first time in another place other than Nuri’s school.
“I think the purple top looks prettier on you, mommy.” Nuri says from where she sits on your bed. You have been changing outfits for an hour now, never finding the right thing to wear.
“You think so?”, you ask as you put it over put it on yet again. “I think you are right. This should be good enough.” You turn around to face Nuri, just to see her snuggled up with her teddy bear, big eyes watching you attentively. “You ready to spend some time with Mrs. Kim, sweety?”
You are answered with a wild nod and a bright smile. You know you could just take her with you, Jake wouldn’t mind that at all, but there is a part of you that really wants to spend some time with him alone. Just you and him.
You shouldn’t feel selfish about it, but you do. You feel like you put your own needs before your daughters’ ones. You know it’s far reached since this is the first time in a while that Mrs. Kim has to look after Nuri, but you hate depending on people. You hate having to drop Nuri off somewhere when you have plans. You hate that you can’t do this alone.
“Hey, pretty girl.”, Jake says as he sits down beside you on the picknick blanket you pulled out for the two of you, a bright smile is on his beautiful lips. “Can I ask you why exactly you wanted to meet here?”
You look at the ocean in front of you, at the soft waves crashing against the shore, glowing under the soft light of the sun peeking through the clouds. There is something magical about this place, something you can’t describe in words.
“I used to come here all the time when I was pregnant with Nuri. It was the only place that seemed to calm me down. I guess I just wanted to share that with you. You have become a very comforting part of my life, and I just thought you would like this place as much as I do.”
There is something in Jake eyes that changes the moment you speak those words. They seem to go lighter, wider, like a little puppy. It makes all the blood in your body rush right up in your cheeks and lets goosebumps rise over your skin. It makes you think about things you aren’t supposed to think, feel things that definitely aren’t appropriate to be thought in public.
Jake takes one of your hands, giving it a tight squeeze before sighing gently and looking out into the sea. You follow his gaze, admiring the sand glittering in the sunlight and listening to the sounds of the seals far off on the water. Both of you relish in the tranquility of the moment, no words needed.
“It’s my birthday next week,” Jake says after a few minutes. “I am throwing a small party. Just me and my three friends and I wanted to know if you want to come as well.”
You look at him only to be met with his hopeful, big eyes. He shows you an encouraging smile, and for a moment you unlearn the ability to speak. “Uhm, yeah, sure. Is it okay if I bring Nuri with me? I hate having to leave her at Mrs. Kims place all the time.”
“Of course, I was assuming she was going to come as well.” Your heart swells at his words, appreciating his attentive soul. You know how much Jake grew fond of Nuri. He talks about her approvements in school all the time, telling you about funny jokes she makes or impressive questions she asks. Jake tells you how smart and polite she is, and how she always tries to include everyone into the little friend group she built. He also tells you how well you raised her, and how proud he is of you for that, but that’s not something you want to focus on, because it makes you think about inappropriate things.
“Then we will definitely be there.” Jake shows you another one of his bright smiles, white teeth on his display. Sometimes when you look at him, through the phone or in real life, you wonder what it is the two of you have. You wonder if it is just a friendship the two of you are building up, or if it is more than that. There are moments- you don’t know if you are imagining them or if they are real- where the tension between you heightens, so much it could be cut with a knife. There are moments in which it feels like if one of you makes a move something is going to happen, something big and heavy. There are moments in which you think that this could be it. This could be yours forever. It sounds crazy, farfetched, but Jake is the type of person you always wanted to spend the rest of your life with. He is the kind of person, you know would treat you right, the kind of person that would have a good influence on Nuri. You know you two haven’t fully gotten to know each other. Jake may be in a completely different chapter of his life. He may not want to commit to something so serious, especially since he is only at the start of his teaching job, or because he is too young to think about having a family. You don’t know what this is between you guys and while you desperately want an answer to that question, you don’t want to risk losing whatever it is the two of your built up in the past weeks.
But when you look at Jake again you can feel the same tension, heavy and thick. You notice his eyes darkening, the way he licks his lips more often and glances down at your own every few seconds. One move, it will just take one move, and one of you is going to break the distance between the two of you.
Jake gently places one hand on your thigh, and you can feel his warmth burning through the material of your jeans and right onto your skin. You have to swallow the gasp that threatens to leave your lips, shocked at what such a little touch from him does to you. His hand travels further up and it almost feels impossible for you to think clearly. Every last piece of sanity left your body the moment Jake touched you and all you can focus on is him. Him and his plump lips, him and his big hands that are touching you in the most alluring way. And him and his big brown eyes, pulling you in and hypnotizing you.
“Y/n.”, he whispers, voice hoarse and rough. Suddenly, his face is closer, lips almost touching yours. You just have to lean forward a little more, but you are frozen, lost in his scent. You want him, you need him. Everything inside of you screams for him, in a way you have never experienced. Your body is pulled towards him like a magnet, and you need him to take you home to him right now.
But before any of you can suggest that a voice calls out for Jake in the background. Almost immediately the two of you pull away from each other, awkwardly looking around. “Hey Jake. I knew that was your big head.” A man, around your age, approaches the two of you. He is tall, with black hair and a few prominent moles on his face. His smile reveals two little fangs which you find quite adorable.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you have any company.” The man awkwardly glances at the two of you, noticing that he just interrupted something between the two of you.
“All good, bro.”, Jake says, not being able to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Y/n, this is Sunghoon. One of my friends I told you about.” You show Sunghoon a polite smile, reaching one hand out to for him to take.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sunghoon.” Sunghoon can’t hide the surprised look on his face as he takes your hand and gives it a quick shake.
“Hold on, you are Y/n?” You nod your head at him, confused as to why he was reacting like that towards you. “Wow, I heard a lot about you.” From the corner of your eyes, you can see Jakes head falling into his hands, as he lets out a frustrated grunt. A smug grin appears on your lips as you cock your head at the boy in front of you.
“I hope you only heard good stuff.”
“You best believe it was only good stuff. Jake won’t stop talking about you. All day long he goes on about ‘Y/n is so-“ But before he can continue his sentence, Jake slaps one of his hands on the mouth of his friend, shutting him up indefinitely.
“That’s enough from you, Sunghoon. Man, you never know when to shut up.” Jake mumbles that last part, but you hear it anyway. All the doubt you had in your mind earlier leaves your head. Maybe Jake does want you the way you want him. Maybe he really is different than all the other man you met.
“Well as much as I wanted to hear whatever your friend had to say, I have to go now. It was nice meeting you, Sunghoon. And we will call later, right?” As you ask the last question, you look at Jake, eyebrows raised, waiting for his answer.
“Yes, of course. I will call you.”
“Okay, then see you later.” You give Jake a quick kiss on the cheek and show Sunghoon a last goodbye smile, before grabbing your things and walking to your car, leaving an embarrassed Jake and a widely grinning Sunghoon behind.
“So, this is Y/n, huh? Man, now I get why you won’t stop talking about her. She is hot.”
“Hey, come on. Don’t talk about her like that.” Jake shakes his head, blowing out some air from his lungs and closing his eyes for a moment to clear his still foggy mind. He still hasn’t recovered from the moment you two had just a few minutes ago. Jake was so close to kissing you, so close to asking you to go somewhere private, because he knows you felt it too. He knows you could feel the tension in the air, the arousal dripping from your body. He knows it, and he could feel it by the way your body was reacting to him. “She is so much more than just hot.”
“I’m just saying.” Sunghoon shrugs his shoulders, reaching one hand out to help Jake stand back up. “I’m glad you finally found someone, Jake. Happiness looks good on you.”
-
Nuri and you spent three hours baking and decorating the cupcakes for Jakes’ birthday party, and judging by the way Jakes friends stuff them into their mouths, it was worth the effort.
At first you were worries bringing Nuri to a birthday party with three strange men she doesn’t know but watching her giggle at the cream smeared faces of Jakes’ friends, all the worry flew right of the window. From the moment you entered the apartment the boys made it their life mission to entertain Nuri. They went from playing tea party, to performing dance routines, to laying on the ground and acting like they are mermaids. There was not one single wish Nuri expressed, that they didn’t grant in a heartbeat. She wants them to put on lipstick and towels as dresses to make a fashion show. Done. She wants them to act like knights and protect the princess- her- from a dangerous attack. Done. She wants them to carry her around, spin her in circles and throw her high up in the air every five minutes. Done.
And you can see that Nuri enjoys all the attention she is getting. She thrives in it, and it gives you a sense of relief.
“They are so good with children.”, you tell Jake who is sitting beside you, watching as Nuri counts down from ten to search for Sunghoon, Jay and Heeseung in a game of hide and seek.
“They are.”, Jake says, resting his head on your shoulder. “They all want children someday. We had that conversation before, so I knew that they would also love it when Nuri comes over.”
“And you?”, you ask Jake, looking down at him. “Do you want children?”
You can feel him smile from where he has his face buried in your neck. He leaves a gentle kiss at the space between your shoulder and your neck, before lifting his head to look into your eyes. “Yes.” There is no sign of hesitation in his voice, his eyes reflecting his sincerity. “Yes, I really want kids.”
“Now, or in a few years?”
“I don’t care.”, he says, grabbing one of your hands, and playing with your fingers just for a few seconds, before intertwining your fingers. “If now or in five years, I’m ready to have kids. I’ve always wanted them. Why would you think I work at an elementary school?” You can feel the weight lifting from your shoulders. This question has been bothering you for some time now, and now that it’s finally out and is answer is so fitting, you can’t fight the smile lighting up your face.
“Hey, you two love birds. I hate to interrupt your little moment, but I just wanted to ask you if it’s okay that we take Nuri to the playground a street down from here?”, Heeseung asks, looking straight at you. “Ever since we told her about the playground, she has been begging us to take her there. I swear we won’t be long, and we will take good care of her. I swear, I will never leave her out of my sight and stay by her side the whole time.”
This isn’t something you would normally do. You wouldn’t trust someone you barely know to take your child somewhere, but it’s something about the way they took care of her today that makes you trust them. And you trust Jake. You trust him to know what kind of people to introduce to your daughter. “Of course, yes.”, you tell Heseeung, smiling as you see the excitement on his face. “Just make sure to be back by dinner and to not let her on the swing for too long. She always gets sick when she’s on it for a longer time.” With one last nod and a ‘We promise to take the best care in the world about her’, they are out of the door.
It takes a few seconds for you to realize that you and Jake are alone. And it takes another few seconds for you to face the man sitting beside you. There it again, the look in his eyes, making you weak in his knees.
1, 2, 3 seconds pass and Jake can’t handle this silence anymore. He can’t handle the way you look at him and what it does to him. With one tug, Jake pulls you closer and it doesn’t take him long before he presses his lips against yours.
This is different than any kiss you have ever experienced. Jake kisses with a passion, with a longing, you have never felt before. His hands are on your body, in your hair, holding your cheeks. He pulls you onto his lap, never once stopping the heated kiss. You have your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, needing to feel him everywhere.
There is an urgency in the kiss, a need to big it’s going to explode. Every pent of thought or longing the both of you have kept to yourself over the past week flows right into the kiss. It’s wild, passionate and so indescribable good. You can feel it tingling all over your body, waking up needs you didn’t know you have, thoughts you always tried to repress. Jakes hands wander over your body again, your thighs, your hips, your waist, your back. And it makes you moan softly into the kiss, breaking free just to take a deep breath which gives Jake enough time to explore the soft skin of your neck. He trails down kisses, stopping at the point where he feels your pulse and licking the sensitive skin.
Another soft moan slips out of your lips, and it drives Jake crazy. It makes his head spin and takes his breath away. There is no clear thought in his head anymore, everything is clouded by the pleasure of this moment. His hands pull you closer to him, eyes closing at the feeling of you, and you have to take another deep breath before whispering your next words.
“Take me to your room, Sim Jake.”
-
“You’re so beautiful.”, Jake whispers as he raises his hand to softly stroke your hair out of your face.
“Good morning to you too.” You have been waking up to the sight of Jake for the past few months now, and no matter how many times you see him like this, you never get used to the sight. His hair messy from the night’s sleep, his naked chest shining in the morning sun and his puffy pink lips puffy from the night before. He is gorgeous, ethereal even. No word describes the beauty he is carrying.
Jake pulls you into his arms so that your head lays on his chest and his arms are tightly around you. “I will never get used to this.”, he whispers. “This is a dream come true.”
“What is a dream come true?”
“You. This. Waking up next to you, getting to spend every day with you and Nuri. This, this is perfect.” You close your eyes, letting this moment sink in for a while. You capture it, take a mental photo and put it in a special box somewhere in your brain, so when things get hard again, this moment will remind you how easy life can be.
“I love you.”, you whisper softly, kissing his chest a few times before laying your head back down on it.
“I love you too, Y/n.” His voice is louder, clearer, like he never wants to hide those words from you, ever. “And I want this, forever. I know I have to move away soon for my job at another school, but we will make this work. I want to make this work. It’s just a two-hour drive, that’s practically nothing.”
You lift your head to look at Jake, admiring the soft glow of his skin. There is an ounce of doubt lingering in the air. You know that his move will complicate things for you. Visiting will be hard with Nuri having to go to school and you having to work every day, but there are always weekends. And if Jake believes that the two of you can make it work, then you will.
So, you nod your head, scooting up to leave a few kisses on his plump, puffy lips. “We can make this work. We will have to.”
-
The sun is shining brightly as you pull up to the school to pick Nuri up. Normally you would wait in the car until she walks out of the school, but since Nuri had an ‘end of the school’ project today, she wanted you to come in and take a look at what she made.
Life has been good, better than good, actually. Everything has been perfect. Jake had become a constant part of your lives, visiting a few times a week and taking the two of you out on trips. Nuri and Jake’s friends- well your friends as well now- have grown incredibly close. She doesn’t talk about anything else other than the boys and how fun it is to spend time with them. They have grown closer to you too, finding a weird kind of solace whenever you are around them.
Everything is the way you always wanted it to be. And sometimes you catch yourself thinking that everything is too perfect, that something is bound to happen any time soon to destroy the little perfect life you build yourself. But you never thought it would happen this soon.
As you walk inside the school, you search for the classroom where they exhibited the projects, stopping when you hear some voices not far from you. You know it’s rude to eavesdrop but when you hear your name in the conversation, you can’t help but to stop and listen.
“Yeah, apparently she and Jake are in a relationship.”
“What? Really? She is really trying to fuck herself to the top, isn’t she?”
“I mean we could have seen it coming, right? The way she always looked at him, like she wanted to eat him alive. It was concerning. It’s a real wonder he didn’t run away when he still could, but now she got him all under her claws.”
“I have known her since our daughters were in kindergarten, and she has always been like this. Whoring around and not caring about her daughter.”
“I mean I knew she was still young and immature, but that is shocking. First, she carelessly gets knocked up at seventeen and then instead of maturing she stays a naïve little girl who fucks her daughter’s teacher. If I were here, I would be embarrassed.”
“It’s no wonder she has no support from her parents anymore. I wouldn’t support my daughter if she were a disgrace to the family like she is.”
“I mean all that aside, I think she should take the time to mature first. She is still so young, not fit to be a mother. Maybe all she needs is a clear mind before she faces the hardships of life. Maybe no one taught her how to be an adult yet.”
“Are you defending her?”
“No, of course I am not. I’m just saying she needs a wake-up call. Something that will help her get all the horniness out of her mind and get her to take better care of her daughter.”
The world has stopped. You could feel it. The air feels heavier, time doesn’t go on anymore and all sounds went quiet. Everything has stopped, except for the thoughts in your head. A dark heavy cloud forms over your head, raining down on you with an intensity, you didn’t feel in a very long time.
Maybe you jinxed it. Maybe your constant worry of something ruining your perfect little life was the one thing that ruined it all together. You should have known it.
The worst thing is knowing that they are right, not with everything of course. You aren’t ready yet. There is so much you still need to learn, so many lessons you haven’t faced yet. You aren’t ready yet. You need to mature; become a proper adult and you really aren’t ready.
You noticed it a while ago, the lingering feeling in your chest whenever Jake was around, the nagging question in the back of your head. You noticed that there was a part of you- a part that grew stronger and stronger with time- that simply wasn’t ready for a relationship yet. And while whatever the women were saying was rude and uncalled for, they are right. They spoke out what you were too scared of admitting. They spoke out what you were too scared was going to ruin all the things you built up.
You can feel it now too, the pain consuming your heart, filling your lungs, and coursing through your veins. The tears filling your eyes, the stop stuck in your throat. But you can’t let it out, not here, not now. First, you have to be a mother. First, you have to look at Nuri’s project, tell her how proud you are of her and take her home to be the mother she deserves. Later, when she’s in bed, that’s when you can let it all out.
“Excuse me.”, you say, your voice surprisingly stable and strong. All four women turn around in a second, looking at you with wide eyes and open mouths. “I was searching for the classroom where they exhibit the school projects. Would you mind telling me where it is? I don’t want to get caught, what did you call it? Ah, yes, whoring around.”
A loud gasp leaves one of the mothers’ mouths and it takes all the strength in your body not to laugh out loud at their faces. One of the other women points in the direction of the classroom for you, gulping almost visibly as you show her a bright smile.
“Thank you so much.”, you say. As you walk past them, you stop, something nagging in the back of your head. “And don’t be jealous that my needs get satisfied every night, I bet your husbands will keep up eventually.”
-
You know that ignoring Jake’s calls wouldn’t be a good idea, but you didn’t think that he would turn up at your doorstep at 10 pm shortly before you were heading to bed.
You spent the past days thinking about your situation, about your relationship with Jake and your and Nuri’s future. Over and over again did you go through all the solutions in your head, trying to figure out what’s right for you, what you want. Because for once, just one time in your life, you have to think about yourself, what you need.
You thought that it wouldn’t take long for Jake to turn up at your doorstep, but seeing him standing in front of you, hair messy, cheeks tinted in a soft red and a worried look on his face, makes you want to change your mind all over again.
“Hey.”, he says, showing you a forced smile. “Are you okay? I was worried. You’ve been ignoring my calls. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt you? Because if I did then please tell me so I can make it up to you again. I swear the last thing I want is to lose you, but I can’t make it up to you if you don’t talk to me, if you don’t tell me what I did to make you shut me out.” There is an urgency in his voice, pain lingering in his words. You haven’t thought about what the past few days must have felt like for Jake, too caught up in your own head. He tried to call you multiple times and got disappointed every time you didn’t pick up yet again. It must have been torture for him not knowing if he did something wrong, not knowing the reason behind your sudden radio silence.
Looking at him like this, worried and distressed, tears fall down your face almost immediately. “Oh, baby.”, Jake softly coos. Carefully he takes a step towards you and as he notices that you make no move away from him, he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “Please talk to me, Y/n. Please tell me what’s going on.”
You clear your throat, shakily wiping away the tears on your face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Jake. Please, you have to believe me that that is the last thing I ever want to do. I love you, so much. Sometimes it scares me just how much I do, but lately I’ve been realizing that I am not ready. I am not ready for this, not ready for a relationship. There is so much in my life that I need to fix, so much about myself that I need to fix. I still haven’t lived, you know? I don’t know what it is to actually live, to find myself, to know what I want and what I need. I have so much to learn. And I know that you would be by my side through whatever I am going through, supporting me and lending me a helping hand. But I realized that I need to do this alone. I need to fight through this on my own and grow from it. We are still so young, Jake, so much in our life can still happen and I don’t want you to get caught up in all of this. Especially since you’re moving away and starting a whole new chapter in your life.”
There is a beat of silence, a few seconds where everything is quiet. You only hear your own heart beating out of your chest. Jake wipes at his eyes, one, two times before he nods, slow and steady. “Okay.”, he whispers. Silence again. It’s like Jake is fighting with himself, having an inner conflict, he doesn’t want to share with you. He blows out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. His eyes red from the unshed tears.
“Okay, Y/n.”, he repeats again, blinking a few times. “Everything inside of myself is screaming for me to fight for you right now, to tell you that we can work this out and fix those things together. But I know you, and I know that once you made up your mind about something, no one can change that again.” He sighs another time, long and hard. “So, I will let you go. For now, at least. As you said, we are still young. This may be our end now, Y/n, but it won’t be our end forever. I will never give up on you. Someday, I will find you again. Someday, I will make you mine again.” Jake cups one of your cheeks in his hands, gently letting his thumb caress your soft skin. One small tear drops down his face, that is the only one he allows to escape, before he softly places a kiss on your lips. It is not a long kiss, not the type of kiss that leaves you breathless, yearning for more. It’s the type of kiss that is so soft, you wonder if it even happened after it’s over. It’s the type of kiss that rips you open from the inside, tears your heart out and leaves you bleeding out. It’s the type of kiss that makes you want to turn back time and fix all the mistakes you made in your life.
It's the type of kiss that makes you hope for a tomorrow, for a forever.
-
There is nothing you love more than a warm autumn day, watching the leaves fall down the trees, coloring the ground in bright orange and brown shades, or feeling the cold breeze in your hair. You love listening to the rustle of the trees, watching squirrels searching for nuts on the ground and tasting the fresh air on your tongue.
But what you love the most is sitting on a park bench, not one person in sight, with a book in your hand. It has become your favorite activity over the past few years. You read books like it is your job, finally having the time with Nuri almost being eleven years old. It became your little break from reality, something to look forward to on stressful days, something that would ease your mind.
Looking at the watch on your wrist, you realize that it’s almost time to pick Nuri up from her friends’ place, since you promised her to go visit uncle Sunghoon who lives a few streets from you. You put your book back into your bag, swinging it over your shoulder and standing up from where you were sitting to head to your car. But before you could even take one step, you stop in your tracks.
It's been years, you realize. Years since you’ve seen that familiar face. Years since you last hugged him, touched him, kissed him. Years since you heard his voice, seen his face. You almost can’t believe your eyes, thinking that your mind is playing a trick on you. But when you hear him speak for the first time, in what felt like forever, you know that this is real.
“Sunghoon told me I would find you hear.” He steps forward, not stopping until he is right in front of you. His wide, puppy like eyes, look down at you, lips pulled into a wide grin, as he takes the shock on your face. “Hey, Y/n.”
And that’s when it hits you. All the promises he made about not letting you go about making you his again. Now, years later, with everything different, he still intended on making all his promises come true. And you realize that it’s perfect. Right now, it’s perfect. Right now, you can start your forever.
“Hey, Jake.”
Bonus scene
You lean back in the chair on the front porch of the summer house you rented for you and the boys and watch the way Nuri teaches the other kids how to draw a butterfly with chalk. It’s a strange sight to see, Nuri all grown up, taking care of all the small little children. It makes a deep feeling of pride blossom in your chest, admiring just how far you have come.
“It’s crazy, isn’t it?”, Jake speaks up from the seat beside you. “Just how fast the time passes.”
You let your gaze wander to him, to his perfect face with his perfect eyes and perfect lips. He looks older now, more mature. But it is a good look on him. It suits you perfectly.
“It is.”, you say, letting out a soft side before leaning your back against Jakes chest, enjoying the feeling of being in his arms. “But I am so grateful for this. I am so grateful we get to watch the boys’ kids grow up. I am so grateful I get see Nuri so happy and content. And I am so happy I can be with you, Jake.”
“Forever?”, he asks, eyes looking deeply into yours and a soft smile, that is only dedicated to you.
“Forever.”, you answer his question, and you have never been more honest in your whole life.
#enhypen x reader#enhypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen fluff#sim jake#sim jake imagine#sim jake x reader#sim jake x you#sim jake enhypen#sim jake imagines#enhypen fanfiction#jake enhypen#jake enhypen imagines#jake enhypen x reader
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Morning Routine [nsfw]
(Wakatoshi Ushijima x F!Reader)
a/n this is something i wrote and edited today in a single run >.< I wanted to release a haikyuu fluff fic for my tumblr debut but i was just possessed by something this morning and rolled outta bed and just typed this up hehe.. reblogs and comments appreciated!! i have like 12 unfinished works rn and i am busting my ass off to get those finished and published! please be on the lookout for more from me!
summary:: wakatoshi has a bad habit-- his morning routine revolves around you. more specifically, cumming to the sounds of you.
warnings:: wakatoshi is highkey a creep/stalker but this fic is fluffy i promise
music rec!:: 2fast by superm <AKA the song i listened to when writing>
word count:: 1.9k
6:33 AM, the blinking clock reads.
He doesn’t even need an alarm now.
Silently, Wakatoshi rolls over, reaches over to his nightstand and grasps the two items he needs most– lube and toilet paper.
Sighing, he sits himself up, leaning against the headboard of the bed, and, as if awaiting instructions, goes very, very still.
In a way, he is waiting for orders. You just aren’t aware that you’re the one giving them.
6:34 AM. A mere minute before you’re up and he can get started with his day. It doesn’t feel right, yet he can’t stop. Shaking his head, Wakatoshi shifts his weight around, impatient.
I should stop.
There it is. That nagging voice of reason that scolds him every morning. But really, at this point, he can’t function normally without you.
There’s a certain amount of stress that comes with carrying the title of ace. All the papers praising his skills, cheering fangirls, and words of encouragement from coach only added to the ever growing expectations that people had for him.
Luckily, when he was a senior in high school, Wakatoshi had discovered what best alleviates this pressure– not meditation, not Tendo’s comics, but sexual relief.
Every morning, a quick handjob does the job, gets him into prime condition. He even checked with his primary doctor to ensure it’s safe and healthy to release everyday– “you’ll be fine, Wakatoshi, as long as you don’t consume too much porn,” the old man had advised kindly.
He took the doctor’s words to heart– since he had discovered this method of relief, Wakatoshi had never viewed porn. Some of his teammates laughed at him when they found out he almost religiously avoids it, but he doesn’t want to contaminate his brain with potentially intrusive or disturbing visions. His imagination has always been enough, after all.
Until he met you.
In a way, you’re both a blessing and a curse– probably the latter, he admits to himself. Because since he’d met you months ago, the only thing that’s been able to get him up is you.
He’s never slept so well, his skin has never looked so clear, and, most importantly, his condition on court has never been better. He’s considered the possibility of you being a goddess, or possibly his guardian angel and can only rule those out with the fact that you, like him, masturbate.
More accurately, masturbate. Every. Single. Morning.
Then he hears it. The first soft moan. Wakatoshi glances at the time– 6:37 AM. You’re getting a slightly late start today.
No matter. He lifts his hips, gently rolls down his gray sweats to his lower thigh. He’s already hard. He doesn’t even have to touch himself now to get excited. Your quiet voice and the thoughts of you are enough.
Poor you. You’re unaware that despite residing in a luxurious, single-person room reserved for school athletes, the walls are criminally thin.
Wakatoshi pops open the lid of the lube, squirting a glob into his warm hand. He throws aside the bottle, barely registering as it bounces off the bed, only intent on listening into the sounds of you and your body.
When he first grasps his cock, he has to hold back a groan. Despite it being an everyday routine, he still feels the same surge of pleasure as when he first started this nasty habit months ago.
You're breathing slightly more heavily now, and he hears the sounds of your fingers inserting and exiting your body at a familiar pace. He follows along, carefully stroking up and down.
He wonders where you’ve learned this from, because you always go at the perfect pace. Somedays, you go slower, teasing yourself, pausing just before you orgasm, but it’s always.
It’s always exactly what he needs.
God. He knows this is wrong, even as he pumps faster with his left hand to keep up with your quick fingers. It feels so good.
Next door, you’re beginning to let out soft cries.
He presses his thumb against the tip, holding back a moan of his own as he envisions you jerking him off.
He’s seen your hand before– extra soft from being in gloves for multiple hours daily as a fencer.
Thinking about your sport has him thinking about his, and now he’s back to thinking about how wrong this is. But he can’t help it, he’s already tried to give it up once– yielding horrible results.
The day he held back and skipped a morning fap session with you was also the hardest day of his life. He had found himself unable to focus in lecture, especially grumpy towards Tendo’s typically bearable antics, and worst of all, all his hits were off.
“Your schedule must be off,” his captain had said, casually tossing a ball high into the air.
“Bad sleep? Rough morning?”
Wakatoshi had blinked at him wordlessly, wondering how the tall setter had guessed accurately.
“It’s fine,” the third-year had reassured him, “just get back on track tomorrow.”
With that, Wakatoshi had found himself ‘back on track,’ masturbating with– no, to you– every morning.
You’re moaning out loud now, almost whimpering. His cock pulses in his hands, veins bulging, growing hotter and heavy. Fuck, he just wants to see you right now. Your cute face, your sexy neck, gorgeous arms...
He can almost see it now– your smooth thighs shaking and twisting as your small hands would grasp your pillow. He’d make you feel so good, he just knows it. He’d lean against you, kiss your neck and ear before whispering how good you are, how you’re making him cum, how much he loves you!
You’d cum, and he wouldn’t stop. He’d want to see your eyes roll back over and over again, and he’d memorize every inch of your face.
Wakatoshi holds back another groan. His fisted hand feels so good against his cock, especially as it imagines it’s your tight pussy.
Contrary to what Tendo believes (the only one to know about this bad habit) it wasn’t just your soft moans and quiet gasps that had him clenching his sheets as he lifted his hips.
He had long fallen for you, since you had first locked eyes with him in the long hallway.
There was something about you. The way you always smile up at him gently– not in the way that other girls smile at him, as if they want something (usually his number)– but a genuine smile, eyes crinkling slightly.
This unexpected attraction was only exacerbated when you sat next to him at the first-years’ dinner party. You smelled so fucking good and listened to his words with actual interest, asking him about his family and laughing at his lame jokes.
Unfortunately, he was also scared.
He had heard about the countless rejections you’d dished out since the first day of university.
Despite his perceived sexual ignorance, Wakatoshi knew everything there was to know– he was popular, too, in his own right. Tall and lean, there were girls throwing themselves on him left and right.
But he only wanted you.
Today, he must be extra stressed (especially with that upcoming psychology exam that he hasn’t studied for yet) because he’s so, so close, yet can’t seem to finish.
Fine then.
He leans over, grabs his cell phone. He only does this in emergency cases, which occurs about once or twice a month.
Swiping up, he’s greeted by his photo gallery, opened the night prior for this cause.
In his locked gallery awaits dozens of photos of you.
Obviously none were taken by him!
Wakatoshi’s a creep, but one with manners and boundaries.
This gallery is cluttered with headshots of you from the school’s official website, silly photos of you that were sent into the college athlete’s group chat, and his favorite– photos of you from your close friend who sells them to him at fair prices, starting at $10 minimum.
None are suggestive. But they still rile him up, maybe because the only connection he has with you is through your early morning activities.
Wakatoshi desperately taps on the newest picture he bought for $40, quadruple the usual price– he can hear your breath hitching, and he knows you’re almost done.
He wants to finish with you so bad.
He was going to save this picture for next week, when he knows you’ll be gone for the fencing nationals and he’ll have to cum without you for an entire miserable, dreadful, god-forsaken week–
but he doesn’t care now. Nothing matters.
It’s a glorious photo– when he heard your friend had it, he had grabbed her by the shoulders and demanded a price.
You. On the beach. Under an umbrella. Lying on a purple towel.
He had paid an extra ten dollars for the motion picture– so he could watch you go from ass up onto your back, breasts jiggling and cheeky smirk in full action.
That’s enough.
He holds his fist tight–one more pump and he’s finished, but he wants to make sure you’re cumming first– and he hears it– to his relief, you’re moaning and whispering– “‘m cumming!”
Yeah, he’s cumming too. His hips lift again, and he drags his closed fist downwards against his wet cock. His vision blurs.
“Fuck!”
He can’t help it, today’s orgasm is especially strong, taking control of his full body. He’s shaking, mind barely in control as he continues to slowly pump to ride out the whole orgasm. After all, that’s what you’d do, right? You’d keep riding him, even as he finished and begged you to stop.
Thank God we came together.
Sometimes, you bait him. More often than he likes, you switch it up, holding yourself back and not allowing yourself to cum before masturbating all over again for an even more powerful orgasm. Those days suck– when he’s already softening, cum all over his large hands, and you’re still going.
He hears your bed squeak, and he sighs– as soon as it starts, it’s already over.
6:45 AM, his phone reads. Wakatoshi tosses it aside.
Thankfully, he had pulled his phone away in time, avoiding tainting the device with his release. A few times a month, he gets careless and cums onto an open picture of you, causing him to have to run through his shower extra fast so he can leave time to wipe down the device.
Rolling off the bed, he heads towards the shower leisurely. It’s also become a part of his routine to time his shower. It makes him feel even more intimately connected to you.
Wakatoshi’s grateful you take long showers– you’ve never taken less than 24 minutes to shower, typically, they last about 34 minutes on average. That gives him the time to jump out first and wait to exit his room at the same time you depart from yours.
Under the heat of warm water, he’s usually consumed with thoughts of you, impossible thoughts, like maybe you know.
The wall between you and him is equally thin, and your hearing may be as equally good as his…
Maybe you know, and you like masturbating with him.
And then, just as a precaution, he douses himself with cold water at the end of his shower, and those thoughts dissipate with the steam escaping towards the vent.
Like everyday, Wakatoshi laces his shoes, sprays on his favorite cologne (that your friend claims you like) and inhales, bracing himself to see you.
As he hears your feet shuffle, he pushes his door open first, stepping out into the warm hallway.
“Good morning, Wakatoshi!” You greet, eyes brightening. He nods, gulping. That’s an acceptable form of greeting, right?
As the two of you walk towards the elevator in silence, Wakatoshi can’t help but hope that this morning routine won’t be coming to a stop anytime soon.
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a/n and that's a wrap :,) i really hope you liked and sorry the ending is highkey shit LOL as i kept editing i kept adding and removing more and more and honestly that's kind of my biggest weakness:: i'm never satisfied with my work and i'm scared ppl won't like it ... but i'm trying to overcome that!
#haikyuu smut#haikyuu#wakatoshi x reader#ushijima wakatoshi#haikyuu wakatoshi#hq wakatoshi#ushijima x reader#ushijima smut#haikyuu ushijima#haikyuu fic#haikyuu x you#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu x reader
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“Tongue Tied” H.J.
{ MDNI } [ SEMI PROOFREAD ]
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Jisung is so cute when he laughs and you get giddy hearing it but oh does it hurt to know he can’t be yours. You sit alone, mind running rampant with less than pure thoughts you’ve had about him, and not a single person suspects why you’re so quiet.
You’re always silent, everyone knows that, so you sit and imagine scenario after scenario.
You keep from staring at him by occupying yourself with a game on your phone. It works for a while but at some point Jisung sitting near you, talking up a storm as usual, and barely acknowledging your presence.
That is until he accidentally bumps into you. It’s not on purpose. Just a little nudge against the back of your head. You wince, not because he’s hurt you, but because you weren’t expecting to be this close to him all of a sudden.
Jisung smiles at you before apologizing, “My bad. I didn’t see you there. We good?” He holds out his hand, suggesting a fist bump to reconcile his mistake. You don’t say anything, just flash him a small smile before bumping a closed fist against his, and just like that he turns around to resume his conversation. You frown at the loss of attention and decide to leave your spot on the couch and go to the bathroom instead.
You want a minute alone, just to think, and maybe unwind yourself to get through the rest of the night with your sanity still intact.
Jisung is just…he drives you crazy…and you can’t do a thing about it.
You’d risk being hated by everyone, people would question your morality, and he’d definitely reject you. If locking yourself in a bathroom to get off on the thought of him was what you had to do to keep things the way they are now…it wasn’t a problem for you.
So, you stand, slipping past everyone towards the farthest bathroom. It’s upstairs and you doubt anyone will come looking for you up there. No one ever notices your absences in the first place. Jisung did though.
The moment you stood up from the couch he was leaning against his attention shifted from the conversation to your empty seat. He’d ask himself why you would leave, not aloud, but a singular thought he keeps to himself. His focus would be disconnected, trying to come up with reasons you’d disappear, and he comes to the conclusion it’s his fault. Maybe it really bothered you when he accidentally hit you. Maybe you felt even more alone when he continued to speak to someone else after apologizing.
These tiny assumptions about your behavior made him feel guilty and so Jisung excused himself, “I’m gonna go use the restroom. I’ll be right back.” He followed the path he’d seen you take upstairs, jogging up the steps, and heading down the hall to see which room you were in. Not his old one. Nor the master bedroom. You weren’t in the loft either. So that left the bathroom.
He hesitated to check there but eventually decided it wouldn’t hurt to be sure. He was about to knock, but instantly froze when he heard your soft moans and trembling whispers.
You were so quiet, barely mumbling louder than the running faucet you’d turned on to muffle any noise you make that might be heard outside. That little diversion doesn’t work too well since he’s inches away from the door, unable to speak, and even less capable of moving as he eavesdrops on you.
“Jisung…��� you moan shakily, face burning up as the sound of his name edges you closer to your high. He bites his lip, having to shut his eyes to keep from reacting impulsively to your delicious little sounds. You, of all people were saying his name, chanting it between breathless sighs and strained whimpers. His cock twitched to life, growing firm in his jeans as he listened more closely.
You slid down to the floor, two fingers deep inside your cunt that was dripping cum at this point. Your clit was slick and ever so sensitive each time your thumb circled it in slow repetition.
You were sure his tongue could do so much better than your small fingers. His hands firmly gripping your inner thighs, pushing your legs apart as far as he needed to have unrestricted access to your count while eating you out.
Fuck, you swore his dark eyes would look so gorgeous staring up at you when your cum flowed onto his tongue. He wouldn’t hesitate to lap up the mess you make, smiling proudly when he spits on your overstimulated cunt.
Jisung is always so chaotic, charming, and easy to get along with. Just the thought of him being shamelessly filthy with you is a sin you indulge in.
He wouldn’t care about the disassociated look in your eyes when he sits up, admiring the sight of your fucked out state before rising to his feet, and fisting your hair into a makeshift ponytail. You whine in pain but he doesn’t care. “You’re okay sweetheart,” he reassured you, taking his belt off and setting it on the counter before unzipping his pants. A deep sigh rumbles in his chest as the confines keeping his erection hidden are loosened. You help him, expertly tugging his cock free from his boxers and pants.
Jisung bites back a groan feeling your bare hands wrap around his shaft. Your touch is soft and your fingers are still damp from touching yourself. A perfect combination. He can’t help the smile on his face as he stares down at you, on your knees, kitten licking his leaking tip with the most lustful look he’s ever seen.
You lick at his cock like candy, savoring how salty his precum is, and pumping his cock for more when it’s gone. Jisung leans back, dragging you with him, and bucking his hips towards your face for more. He’s not ready to force himself into your mouth, no, he wants to see how long you’ll tease him despite dreaming of tasting his cock for god knows how long.
“Come on, pretty girl. Let me fuck your face…” he pressed the tip to your pouty lips, a longing look in his eyes as he waits for you to oblige him. You do without a warning, deep throating him in one go.
He nearly moans too loud, head reeling back as the warmth of your mouth envelops his dick generously. It’s heaven on earth for him. Your delicate tongue swirling up and over his length in intricate patterns and your hands fondle his base gently with every bob of your head.
He’d be lying if he told you he wasn’t jealous of the other men who’ve had the honor of getting head from you.
A strangled chuckle leaves his chest as you deep throat him again, inviting his tip to abuse the back of your throat, and each time you’d moan like it was a personal reward for you.
Jisung looked back down at you, drops of sweat forming on his temple from the unrelenting heat coursing through him, and it was no help to him that you looked perfectly in love with him fucking your face. Drool trickled down your chin, tears glossing your half lidded eyes, and your face a shade of light pink.
He could only admire you for so long before his eyes rolled back slightly in pleasure.
You moaned on his dick, vibrating it with pressure, and then you felt him twitch. He was close and you were eager to feel his release coat your tongue and slide down your throat. “Fuck…fuck you’re so…gooooddd Ahm…” he moaned quietly, whimpering in utter bliss, and struggling to find any other words to praise you.
Your heart swells with pride hearing Jisung’s compliment and you take extra care in sucking him off then. Your tongue circled his tip slower and your hands pump his base faster.
The overstimulation paired with the impending height of his climax has him growling and groaning like a touch starved man .
You think it’s so cute.
“Want you…need you to take it alll…” he stutters, nearly pleading for you to swallow his seed as it pours out into your dainty mouth.
There’s so much of it, warm, salty, and thick. It flows down your chin but you keep milking his tip with your tongue for more as you swallow it down greedily.
You’ve got him shaking at this point, whining in immense pleasure, and it’s so intoxicating. Jisung has no words, only a stunned expression when you finally remove your lips from his cock with a soft ‘pop’ a string of cum and saliva connects you to him and you lick it up with a content smile.
“M’ sorry if I did too much…I’ve just wanted to do that for a while,” you break the silence with a genuine apology and a heartfelt smile.
He regains his composure and starts to fix himself up, shaking his head in disbelief from what just happened.
Jisung doesn’t regret it though and he lets you know that with a pleased smirk on his face. “No need to apologize. I needed it anyway and…” his gaze trailed over your body, dark eyes hazing over with lust again when they met yours, “I have a few things I want to do to you too…”
Your face heats up and you have to look away from him as he leans down to caress your face with one hand. “I want to keep you as my little secret alright? You’d like that too, right sweetheart?” Jisung kisses you, knowing you’ll say yes, knowing you’ll chase his lips for another kiss.
He’ll let you have it, dominating your tongue with his, and only pulling away when you’re panting for air.
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I wrote this for a crush a while back but it fit Jisung so well that I decided to tweak it to feed all the Jisung stans 🖤 hope you enjoy it…
BONUS CONTENT +
#skz#stray kids#skz smut#stray kids x reader#skz imagines#skz x reader#han jisung skz#han jisung smut#han jisung scenarios#han jisung stray kids#han jisung#skz jisung#jisung x you#stray kids jisung#jisung x reader#jisung imagines#jisung smut#jisung skz#jisung stray kids#jisung scenarios#Spotify
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More random HCs for the creeps
Because I’m having a rough morning but I still wanted to write something
Toby can't pronounce Worcestershire sauce. No matter how hard he tries to pronounce it correctly, he never manages to do so, and everyone has just learned to interpret whatever word babble leaves his mouth that sounds similar as Worcestershire. He tries his best, but it's too adorable when he tries to say it so nobody can bring themselves to tease him or correct him about it.
Jeff has a growing plant addiction. As he over time starts to recover his relationship with Liu, he ends up picking up some of Liu's hobbies and traits, and one of those is plants. Liu's bedroom is basically a full garden, with a whole bunch of different kinds of plants and shelves filled with them, and Jeff has started picking up this habit. He only has a few plants right now, most of them easy to care for varieties because he doesn't want to end up killing one, but having the greenery around his room just makes him feel so at peace and so much happier than he was without it. Liu even gives him advice every now and then, and as much as Jeff won't admit it, it makes him really happy.
After seeing so many similar Tiktoks, BEN has started just putting random rocks in drawers. It doesn't matter if it's a desk drawer or a drawer in the kitchen, someone's bedroom, drawers in the art room, or any other hobby room, so long as it's a drawer, BEN has started hiding rocks in them. Some people have started to notice it happening, but nobody is able to figure out who's doing it, and BEN isn't going to stop until they figure out by themselves that he's the one doing it.
EJ can get some pretty bad pollen allergies, as as it's started getting warmer, Jack has been sneezing up a storm. The unfortunate thing for Jack is that despite his demonic form, his sneezes are very cute, as it always takes him by surprise, and he always scrunches up his face and shakes his head when he sneezes, and he always lets out a disgruntled, tiny little growl afterward, and every single person in the mansion always coos over him because of it when he sneezes, much to his chagrin.
To help him with his anxiety, LJ ended up making Jason a very large knitted plush of a bumblebee, something he could squeeze and hold onto in private when he needed it. What neither of them expected was how attached to it Jason would get, and now he carries this very large bee around with him everywhere. He named it Sir Stinger, and if anyone makes a negative comment about it he absolutely verbally destroys them because nobody is allowed to talk badly about Sir Stinger. The only time he doesn't carry it around with him is if he's working out of the mansion or out doing high society noble things.
Slender, when he has to go away on very long trips, misses the residents of the mansion much more than he openly admits. Because of this, he ended up collecting a picture of each resident over time, and he keeps a picture of each one tucked away in his wallet in one of those small wallet photo insert books. This was a small secret for a little while until one day he dropped his wallet, and upon picking it up, Jeff discovered the photos. Slender tried to deny it, but now everybody knows about it and lightly teases him for it, however, none of them were upset by it, and everyone ended up getting him updated photos of themselves and also ended up getting him a few new group photos. It makes him incredibly happy to be able to just pull out his wallet when he can't have a phone on him (because he's old-fashioned and probably doesn't carry one everywhere), and to just be able to see their smiling faces. It makes him feel like a proud dad.
#slender mansion mayhem#creepypasta#creepypasta headcanon#creepypasta headcanons#creepypasta x reader#ticci toby#ticci toby headcanon#ticci toby headcanons#jeff the killer#jeff the killer headcanon#jeff the killer headcanons#homicidal liu#homicidal liu headcanons#homicidal liu headcanon#ben drowned#ben drowned headcanon#ben drowned headcanons#eyeless jack#eyeless jack headcanon#eyeless jack headcanons#jason the toymaker#jason the toymaker headcanon#jason the toymaker headcanons#laughing jack#laughing jack headcanon#laughing jack headcanons#slenderman#slenderman headcanon#slenderman headcanons
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Namjoon gives you a belly bulge
thirst drabbles (7/∞)
fandom » bts
pairing » namjoon x f!reader
rating » 18+ (minors dni!)
genre » smut, established relationship.
word count » ~ 550
warnings » profanity, dom/sub undertones, belly bulge, big d*ck!joon, size kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, lmk if i missed anything!
Another whimper escapes you, eyes closed shut from the bliss that enraptures your mind and body. Namjoon buries his nose in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent. His hand, gentle yet firm, puts pressure on the bulge that has appeared in your belly. You gasp, soon followed by a groan that reverberates in his throat.
“Would you take a look at that! Fuck. Your little pussy can’t even take my cock properly.” He nips on the sensitive flesh of your neck. You jerk a little in response, overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock filling you up so well. Namjoon repositions himself to look into your eyes.
“Look at me, baby, c’mon.”
The moment you open your eyes to meet his gaze, he starts to pull out. You shudder, feeling all those veins and ridges of his length dragging deliciously along your gummy walls. Before you can process anything else, Namjoon thrusts back inside. You cry out as you’re pushed upwards from the force.
“Joonie—” your voice is small, barely audible. He sets a pace that is ruthless, cock repetitively hitting all those sweet spots inside you. The sounds you make with each of his thrusts are like punctuation. Your eyes roll back whenever his tip brushes over your cervix. You’re overflowing with fluids, leaking and gushing around him. Some of it runs down your inner thighs, slathering over him also.
“You’re making a mess, baby, fuck.” Namjoon catches your lips in a searing kiss. Your back arches, breasts pressing into the hardness of his chest. He growls when he feels your pebbled nipples against his skin.
“M– ugh, I need more!” you whine, breaking the kiss abruptly. Your hips buck up to match his rhythm. Namjoon lets his hand slip between your joined bodies, gently stroking the belly bulge.
“Oh baby,” he rasps, “wonder how your cute tummy will look when all nice and round.” Your pussy clenches when you realize what he’s implying. “You’d love that, won’t you? Do you want me to breed your little womb? Yeah?”
“Fu–fuck— Joonie! Yes!” A strange wave of carnal desire pulses in your body. Namjoon notices immediately.
“Is that what you want, hm? Pretty tits full of milk for our baby who’ll grow inside your tummy?”
You shudder against him, his hips roughly pounding into you. He takes the hold of your left leg to place it on his shoulder, cock now hitting deeper into your pussy.
“I’m gonna fill you up with all my cum, baby,” he mutters under his breath, pressing a kiss on your stomach. “And you’re gonna keep every single drop of it in your pussy like a good girl. Okay?”
However, you’re way too preoccupied to answer his question, brain addled at how good he’s screwing you, promising you things you’ve never dared to think about. Namjoon doesn’t appreciate your silence. His hand slowly runs down from your belly bulge to clit, a shocked gasp escaping you.
“Answer me, baby. You’ll keep my entire load inside your pussy like a good girl, right?”
You clench around him upon those words, lips moving to utter a breathless “yes”. Your teary eyes meet his, head nodding fervently. Namjoon can’t help but groan at your eagerness, thrusts turning sloppy.
He loves you so, so bad. And it will be the same for your kid.
˗ˏˋ꒰ 💌 author’s notes ꒱
thank you so much for reading <33!! i hope you enjoyed it hehe 🫣! this a repost from my old blog but i edited it and added more... stuff 🥴! apologies for any mistakes left in there!
consider leaving a reblog or a comment to let me know what you think of this!! feedback through asks will be appreciated too! support your local writers, it keeps us motivated to create and share 🌸!
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#🪄; things i’ve written#♨️; thirst drabbles!#bts smut#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#kpop smut#bts x reader#namjoon imagine#bts imagines#bts scenarios#namjoon scenarios#kpop imagines#kpop scenarios#editing this got me 🫢😵💫😳#i've written some really filthy stuff that cater *cough* to me *cough*#anyway i hope this caters to other people too jfhdfbhjjfuj
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Poll Adventure: Rarijack Dinner
Index | [prev] - Part 03 - [next]
Special thanks to @babydarkstar for putting out great writing
Previous Poll:
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“Rarity…”
Deep down, AJ knows she doesn’t want there to be any uncertainty about what this means to her. She doesn’t want to have to read Rarity for romantic feelings during dinner. It has to be a proper date or nothing at all. Though it might sting in the end, she’s going to have to rip the bandaid off. Inside her has lived a deep longing for this moment, long enough that she’s not sure what it’ll feel like once it’s gone. But at least she’ll never have to live with the guilt of a “what if,” and the pain of the unknown. She’ll be able to say she gave it a shot.
If it does end up badly, she knows at some point she’ll get over it. Hell, if the answer’s a no, maybe Rarity will just find the offer flattering and move on. Surely she’s used to turning plenty of suitors away.
“I’m callin’ because I wanted to ask you somethin’.”
She can feel the blood pumping in her veins.
“Anything, darling,” Rarity says, and the energy between them grows serious.
“I’ve been meanin’ to ask you for a while now,” she begins, taking a huge breath to make sure she’s still alive. Here goes nothing. “Would you…wanna have dinner with me? Just us, I mean.”
There’s a moment of silence. Then—
Rarity’s elegant laughter sparkles like bells in AJ’s ears—and she can’t decide if that’s good or bad.
“Is that what the fuss was about, dear? Of course I’d love to have dinner with you! Dining is much more pleasant with friends.”
…oof. Maybe she should have said it differently. Is it so unusual to Rarity that AJ would mean it romantically?
Though she can’t help but notice the slight tremor in Rarity’s voice, the brimming question of diffidence just beneath her perfectly curated tone. She has to know that AJ wouldn’t call so randomly and sound so nervous just to ask for bonding time between friends.
Well. AJ has to say it—loud and clear. She doesn’t want there to be any misunderstanding.
Her hands are shaking now; she feels like even a weak gust of wind could knock her over.
The voice that comes out of her own mouth—trembling, pitchy, almost timid—doesn’t even sound like her own.
“I meant”—AJ pauses; it feels like the room is spinning—“as a date.”
“Oh…!”
Adrenaline washes over her upon hearing that single reaction. Nothing matters right now except the voice on the line. Try as she might to stay focused, the pounding in her ears makes everything feel muffled. She feels like she does after finishing a rodeo.
Another sound on the phone, barely a murmur.
“Applejack, I—”
But Rarity doesn’t end AJ’s suffering.
Her grip on the counter tightens and she leans into it for support, the weight of her work-toned body causing the old wood to squeak.
The silence on the line is what kills her.
She feels like a lamb backed into a dark corner, timberwolf-shadows cast on the walls of her doubt-addled mind. This is certain death.
Seconds pass, each one growing longer and more painful than the last. She doesn’t know how to react; she doesn’t know what to say—or if she should say anything. All she knows is that with each passing second, fear and doubt cloud her mind until she’s blind with anxiety.
She shouldn’t have done this. This was a horrible idea. Why couldn’t she have just been happy as friends? Is friendship off the table now? What if Rarity thinks she’s a creep now, with all those times they went to the spa together?
Great, now she’s gonna be known as the stereotypical lesbian friend that hits on her straight friends—it’s a fucking myth anyways, but that won’t matter. Has Rarity ever even shown interest in a woman? Now that she thinks about it…
Hell.
AJ’s seconds away from telling her it’s a joke and just backing off. But before she can, she finally hears a response from her longtime crush, the heart-heavy ache that beats in her chest and haunts her dreams with a silver tongue and soft curls.
“Absolutely, I will,” comes the response, and AJ feels like she can breathe again, “I would love to go on a date with you.”
Rarity, however, sounds breathless, like a feather wisp floating on a breeze. The usual high-pitch, energetic frenzy of her cadence has been replaced with a certain poise and composure that’s hard to place. Maybe reverence is the word AJ’s looking for?
AJ blinks twice, trying to form some sort of a coherent sentence. Her brain feels fried. And. She’s kind of in shock? It takes her a few seconds to process that this is a yes, and not the blatant rejection she was expecting.
While it’s not quite the answer she usually fantasizes about in her daydreams, it still pricks the back of her neck with chills—and a wave of relief washes over her.
“I…Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
Okay. This is happening.
“That’s…that’s great news! Okay, well, uh, I’ll see you then and—”
She’s interrupted by a heartfelt giggle from Rarity.
“Slow down, darling,” she laughs, light amusement clear in her tone, “Where will we go? And when?”
Oh. Right.
AJ lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “Oh, yeah—sorry.”
“You must let me know what you have in mind. A lady needs to properly prepare herself…for a date.”
Rarity sounds a bit giddy now, and much more like her usual self again.
But. Shit. AJ hasn’t planned anything out yet. In her nervousness, she didn’t even consider what would happen after if Rarity said yes.
Hmm...
She could invite Rarity over. Cook something for her. Pinkie may do it more often, but cooking and baking are skills AJ takes pride in having. She knows she’s a good cook. Besides the obvious benefit of getting to show off, cooking for Rarity feels personal. It’s more work to do, but cooking can be very romantic. Plus, there are plenty of romantic spots on the farm. Though she doesn’t plan on dining on the floor of the barn, it’s still a farm (and a farmhouse) and she knows how Rarity can be. AJ would hate for one of her dresses to get dirty as a consequence. Even worse, get blamed for it.
There’s also the option of a more traditional romantic evening. A nice restaurant would mean less prep for AJ, and it shows Rarity that she knows what she likes. It would also give Rarity permission to go all out with her outfit, unlike the farm. (Though AJ has a feeling she’ll do that regardless.) She could put on a fancy getup herself and show Rarity she cares about the impression she makes when she’s not toiling in the fields. Oh, but the thought of leaving the fashionista unimpressed by her attempts at an outfit…it makes her itchy. She’d have to ask someone for help besides Miss Haute Couture herself. It’d feel a little taboo to have her pick it out for their date. While dining out means AJ gets to stare unashamedly at Rarity the whole night, it could also be…awkward to sit opposite to each other if it ends up being stiff. Hopefully it won’t be. It’s Rarity; she couldn’t be boring if she tried. And besides—they always find something to joke about, even if it’s themselves.
Then there’s the financial aspect of going out. AJ doesn’t splurge on anything. Ever. She would for Rarity, though. She’s got enough saved for that. Still, she gets annoyed at people trying to nickel and dime her on every little thing. If it comes to that, she hopes she can keep her annoyance to herself. For Rarity.
Ugh. What to say…
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Tag List: @mrrrpmeow @babydarkstar @butwerebothmares @chaosdraconequus @chrysaliswife
#Curious what people will choose#poll adventure: rarijack dinner#polls#rarijack#applejack#rarity#mlp#my art#accidentally making AJ lefthanded with that dicing art lmao#guess she's ambidextrous now
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i meant cozy making dinner at home/movie night blurb with ross my bad 😭😭😭 still love matty tho lmao (now that i think about it can we make it dad!ross too 👀)
aaah lol got you!! i love writing dad ross very much 🥹
april is always a little ball of excitement—even at almost three years old, she wants to know everything! from “why can’t i eat the ball from the avocavo, daddy?” to “can i help?” even when she barely reaches his knees and is strictly not allowed near an open flame.
you, at 10 weeks pregnant, dread stepping foot into the kitchen at the risk of angering the tiny fetus inside you who has not stopped making you throw up every single item of food they do not like. (the list is long)
and ross happily takes care of it all, one hand holding april’s as he stirs the stew with another and answers her endless questions without faltering.
you can’t exactly see them—what with your reluctance to go near food smells—but you can hear her babbling away, mispronouncing words and using some big ones (albeit incorrectly) that she’s no doubt learned from her uncle matty. you decide to pick a film instead.
the little mermaid is the obvious choice considering your daughter’s newfound obsession with the ocean and her self-declared wish to become a “sea expert” when she grows up but there’s also coco, which you’ve cried over multiple times both before and after april’s arrival. you even remember the day when she declared that uncle matty should sing poco loco at the next show. today, however, you do not trust pregnancy hormones enough to put that on.
“picked a film yet?” ross calls from the kitchen and you frown.
“not yet, can you send april here?”
there’s some shuffling, and then the sound of you baby toddling over to you. the second she sees her picks on the screen, her eyes go round and she lets out an extended oooohh.
“feel like watching any of these?” you laugh at her and then make room as she climbs onto your lap.
at this stage, there’s still space on your lap for her to snuggle in but ross has told her endlessly to be careful around you now. (“we can’t let mummy get hurt okay? you and me, we have to take care of her.” which makes your heart melt every time.) so even when she wiggles around, she’s careful not to do it too much.
“ooh, ooh,” she claps her hands, “can we watch daddy’s show? please please!”
now you know what she means by this. every once in a while she begs and begs to watch the msg recording, singing along to whatever songs she can with broken lyrics that she doesn’t fully know yet. if ross is home, he lifts her up in his arms and dances with her, singing the songs to her in a soft voice and changing any not safe for children lyrics at the last minute in a way that makes you laugh every time.
from the kitchen ross cheers. “yeah! that’s my girl.”
and so you relent, quickly finding it and putting it on amidst the sound of your husband and daughter cheering.
“right!” ross appears dramatically from the kitchen, food in hand and right in time for the claps and cheers on screen to echo around the room.
he grins. “my biggest fan! learn a thing or two from her,” he teases much to your indignation. but then he sets the plates aside and bends down to kiss her and just like that all of it is melted away leaving you a pile of mush.
while april puts on her own show, singing and dancing along to the songs on tv, ross makes his way to sit next to you. the food on the plate actually does look really fucking nice, and for the first time in days you feel the urge to eat properly.
“keep this down for me, will you? i don’t like seeing you so uncomfortable.”
the concern in his voice is heartwarming, and your bottom lip starts to wobble at the thought of how sweet he’s been to you so far.
“your baby thinks the food looks good,” you joke, “i might even go for seconds.”
the palm of his hand rests flat against your stomach, caressing the bump that’s barely even there at this point but he’s attached to it just as he was the first time with april.
“good,” he smiles, “just wanna see both my girls happy.”
#asks#blurb requests#the 1975#ross macdonald#ross macdonald x reader#ross macdonald x you#ross macdonald fluff#ross macdonald blurb#dad!ross
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Slightly more polished version on ao3 here
They're summoned to a local fishing village to investigate some kind of water demon. Just the three of them, which Shen Yuan thinks is hardly fair. Sure, there’s Shen Jiu, who’s worth at least four decent disciples. Shen Yuan doesn’t think he’s too bad. But Shang Qinghua is so far out of his depth it’s almost funny.
They find out it’s a carp demon, old and hungry and slowly picking off the locals over the span of months. Trapping it is the hard part and it goes wild when it realizes it can’t go anywhere. Which Shen Yuan kinda wishes it wouldn’t, since he’s currently hanging above the thrashing water by one leg and staring down into the gaping maw of the carp demon and wondering why all of this feels so familiar.
Shen Jiu is shouting from the side, sounding panicked. But Shen Yuan sincerely hopes his shixiong (bestie? fbf? boyfriend? what the hell?) doesn’t try to play the knight in shining armor (…again).
But it’s actually Shang Qinghua who frees his trapped leg for him, even though it leaves him cursing the An Ding disciple and plummeting into the disturbed water far below. There’s a glimpse of horrified green eyes, then he’s past. There’s no time to worry about Shen Jiu’s weird hero complex at the moment.
But there is a moment of revelation though, the moment before he hits the water: he knows why this whole situation is familiar. Change the demon, change the people dealing with it. But it’s the same. …Fucking Airplane.
And when the demon is suppressed and Shen Yuan drags himself up into the wharf, he’s spitting water and furious. “You fucking ripped off Journey to the West, didn’t you?”
Shang Qinghua’s eyes grow wide for a split second before the biggest grin practically blinds Shen Yuan. “Do you like that movie too?! I thought I was only one!
“I hated that movie.”
Shang Qinghua has the gall to look betrayed. “But Stephen Chow is a national treasure! It’s hard not to be a fan!”
“And it shows in your writing.”
“What does that mean?!”
Shen Yuan is relentless. “So you don’t deny it.”
“It was a good movie,” Shang Qinghua mutters defiantly, as though that’s going to change Shen Yuan’s mind.
But before he can snap back, Shen Jiu is dropping from his sword and grabbing his shoulders to examine him for injuries. “You absolute fool,” he hisses.
He very easily ignores Shang Qinghua in favor of a much prettier face. “A fool for you.” Shen Yuan’s hazy grin is all that saves him from Shen Jiu’s sharp tongue
“Focus.” His eyes flick between Shen Yuan’s, looking for—what? Concussion? His hands don't leave Shen Yuan’s arms, as if afraid he’ll disappear too.
It’s only afterward in their shared inn room that Shen Yuan fixes a gimlet eye on Shang Qinghua. He’s glad Shen Jiu left to check in with the local magistrate, if only so he doesn’t have to explain more than he has to. “You plagiarized the whole beginning scene—didn’t you. Even the little girl, you sick freak. Is there not a single original thought in your head?”
“The girl lived! You saw it! It’s completely not the same! And you have no room to talk, Mr. I-hated-it. You even remember what happened in such a short scene. Even if you deny that, you liar, I know you like the monsters I made up,” he points out. Now that a scowling Shen Yuan can’t deny. Shang Qinghua’s brow rise pointedly as he adds: “…And my bastard son. When’s the wedding, by the way? You’ve gotta make a honest man of him sometime.” A thought suddenly comes to him and he freezes. “Wait. If you got married, would that make me your father-in-law?”
Shen Yuan gags. “Never refer to yourself like that ever again. I hope Stephen Chow finds a way to kill you in your sleep. And if he doesn’t, I will. We never speak of this again and I pray to any bodhisattva who decides to have pity on your sorry ass, that you have not plagiarized any more of that movie. Especially the pig demon.”
Shang Qinghua’s sweating silence says more than words.
“…Are you fucking kidding me?!”
#svsss#shen yuan#shen jiu#shang qinghua#jiuyuan#cumplane bros#I literally wrote this instead of studying for finals#I love stephen chow#and sqh just gives me stephen chow fanboy vibes sososo much#while kung fu hustle is a classic#I think shaolin soccer and journey to the west are my faves#my writing#stephen chow#journey to the west
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𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕒 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕪, 𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕚𝕥 𝕘𝕠 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣
ᴘᴛ ɪ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪ ꜱᴛᴀᴠᴇ. ᴘᴛ ɪɪɪ ꜱᴛᴜᴅʏ. ᴘᴛ ɪᴠ ꜱɪɴ. ᴘᴛ ᴠ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ. ᴘᴛ ᴠɪ ꜱᴇɴᴅᴏꜰꜰ.
➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴇɴᴛᴀɴɢʟᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ꜰʟᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜰʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴄᴏᴜɴꜱᴇʟᴏʀ.
➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴀᴜ, ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ᴡᴀʀꜱ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱᴇ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, (ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ) ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴀᴡᴋᴡᴀʀᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ, ɪ ꜱʜɪᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʜᴏꜱᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴏɢ (ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴀɢꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ/ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ)
➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 3ᴋ
➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ
⋆ ★ ᴍʏ ʙʀᴀɪɴʀᴏᴛ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴀᴜ ɪꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ.
⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ
You try to avoid Hunter at all costs.
The task pertains to be quite difficult, seeing as how frequently your cabins get paired up. And how he (unknowingly) makes you fawn over him even more whenever you spend time with him.
But he stays the same. Relatively. That makes things just a twinge easier.
He still has that gorgeous way he holds himself and the sweet way he is with the campers, giving the kids piggyback rides and exchanging friendship bracelets until his wrists are ill-defined under all the string, but that same sense of his eyes on you is all too common now. He knows something’s up; you’re acting strange—more strange than usual, at least. (You're always a bit of a mess around him).
The point stands, though; you can’t help but feel like you’ve violated his privacy, even if it was an accident. Especially since you can’t get the view of his bare chest and hips out of your mind, how the droplets perfectly cascaded down his skin, and how his strong arms reached up to pull his hair back, taking a deep breath of salvation when he broke through the water. Before you go to bed, in your depraved thoughts that help lull you to sleep, you feel him, how his muscles contrast with the softness of his expression, how his lips might feel against yours, then trailing over your skin lower and lower, to where your heat pools in a sopping center, all belonging to and due to his doing. Oh, to be pressed up against him; to not feel salaciously dirty imagining such fantasies with a fellow camp counselor.
You keep it on the down-low. Spend your time having fun with your campers and gossiping with Mona, finding new locations to sing about in ‘Once there was a Jedi’ before the boys complain the song is getting old. Help Omega finish a lanyard to add to her growing keychain collection adorning her backpack.
Hunter asks you about your behavior eventually, in passing and almost half-heartedly, when your groups cross paths on the way to and from the archery range.
His eyes linger when he walks past. You tense up and anticipate the worst.
“Hey,” is all he says at first. You blink hard, deciding to focus your stare right on his shark-tooth necklace. “Are you okay?”
You nod, unable to form coherent words. He doesn’t respond for a moment, studying your face to see if there’s anything else hidden underneath the surface.
“Are you sure?” He asks, more serious this time. “You just seem a little quiet recently. Avoiding something.”
Hunter barely finishes his sentence before you’re shaking your head aggressively.
“I’m sure!” You sound a little too enthusiastic about your statement, and Hunter frowns. Your eyes widen a little but don’t allow yourself to show your panic any more than that.
“Alright,” he finally says with a shrug, turning to walk away. “See you around, then.”
You let out a sigh of relief, though feel a little bad when he turns away and walks off without a single glimpse back at you. Despite this little detour of awkwardness, you wouldn’t like to be unfriendly. Or not hang out with him at all.
But your campers don’t give you time to think about that when they’re already racing ahead of you, yelling that they can’t be late to the range or else Crosshair will chew them out.
-
You huff and suppress a loud yawn, wiping the hair that’s stuck to your face from all the sweat. The day turned into a restless chase as the girls saw a deer while practicing their archery skills, quickly abandoning their bows and arrows to instead go find the animal they affectionately named Philomena.
They never found Philomena, but instead found what happens when you’re exhausted and stressed.
“You’re all going to stick by my side, understand?” You emphasize, blocking the door so no one can leave before they listen to what you have to say. “No scurrying off because you see a critter.”
The girls don’t look too happy about it, but you’re not about to chase after them again.
You let them out, watching as they trudge in front of you while you wave Mona and Hunter over, both groups already looking like they’re waiting for you. With a tender apology, followed by a ‘not necessary’ comment from Hunter, you all begin to make your way to the trail.
Steady steps and melodic marches keep you sane in the silence save for chirping birds and crunching leaves, the girls oddly silent as you make your way through the bramble. The boys wait for them to speak, and when they don't, they begin to get testy.
"I'm bored!" Ryan whines, head lolling to the sky.
"Hm, are you now?" Jackie, one of Mona's campers, deadpans.
"Shut up!"
"Ryan. What did we talk about?"
Hunter's stern ream puts Ryan back in his place, and he half-heartedly mutters,
"...Sorry."
It’s not long before the boys' boredom starts to claw at their skin and they begin a game.
“The topic is… fruit!” Nate declares.
“Apple!”
“Banana!”
“Uh… Cantaloupe?”
“I thought that started with a K!”
Omega and Betty erupt into giggles, and you and Mona exchange looks.
The older girls aren’t as nearly interested in playing any silly games and find more enjoyment in talking about their plans when they go home and see their boyfriends; Mona has to reprimand them when their recollections get too suggestive for the ears of the younger kids.
Meanwhile, you remain healthily spaced out, your gaze often drifting between the cartoon clouds softly floating in the sky and the back of Hunter’s hair where his bandana is tied, too tired to focus on anything else. You’d be completely fine and enthusiastic even if the campers just decided to go up to the spot they’d been planning to go to, watch the sunset, and go back without any deviations in between. That is not how it goes, however.
Your attention is piqued fully when a strewn tree branch renders the walking path clear.
“Hunter!” Cam whines, pointing at the brown twigs and leaves that’d been knocked to the ground beside the larger branch. “I can’t step over it!”
Hunter turns his head a little, which just manages to get you a glimpse of how he bites his lip and lets out a deep exhale before going to help.
He rolls up his sleeves and lifts the branch of the path easily, tossing it to the side brush.
Your eyes almost instantly (and embarrassingly) lock onto Hunter’s forearms slipping out of his rolled-up flannel, the light hair neatly brushed, the tanned and rough skin so perfectly contrasting to the pink and yellow friendship bracelets on his wrists. Fuck, you can’t look away.
Which makes you acutely unobservant of your surroundings.
You step right on a rock and your foot slips.
In your surprise, you almost yell out a rather inappropriate curse word, but you yelp weakly instead as your entire body slides down under the unbalance of your feet and you fall off the path. The dry, rough texture of the ground suddenly turns wet and rather smooth as you fall further, with the entire side of your face getting smushed. You quickly lift your head and sputter out the disgusting taste suddenly covering your tongue.
“Maker!” Is all your grit, jaw slack as you just process what happened to you. Over your shoulder, the sound of small snickers graces your ears, and you want to scowl in whatever direction they’re coming from. No doubt, it’s from Mona’s campers. Teenage girls are mean.
Wet steps come from your side, and you feel a hand on the arm not covered in mud.
“Are you okay?”
The question is pity-doting, worried, and from that voice again. You’re unsure if you should be more embarrassed that you’re drenched in mud or that you’re drenched in mud because of your shameless ogling.
“Yeah, I’m fine." Your words are barely pushing out of your chest as you try to get up. Hunter still has a steady grip on your arm to help you up. “Damn it!” You curse under your breath. Your hand covered in mud brushes your sodden hair out of your face, and you watch his pronounced frown as he looks down at you. “I should uh, probably head back.”
“Want me to come with you?”
It’s the initial reaction of surprise that almost makes you fall back down again.
“I think I could make it back on my own,” you insist, shaking your head as you try to leave his grasp. Hunter moves, remaining in front of you so you can’t leave.
“Are you sure? Because, well, I don’t want you falling again. Your vision’s a little impaired.”
Without any regard for how soiled and gross you are right now, his thumbs reach and softly wipe away the dirt covering your face. Your eyes flutter but remain half-lidded, with the blaring sun right in your line of vision. Hunter’s eyes are on you again.
You feel your heart jump a few notes ahead as his gentle touch sends a shiver down your spine. Taking deep, long breaths to steady your breathing, he continues to wipe away the dirt and mud from your face, and you become suddenly unsure if the heat in your face is from the glare of the sun or your blush.
“Thanks, Hunter,” you finally manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.
He nods.
“It’s not a problem. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
That moment, entirely your own, gets tragically interrupted by Mona.
“You two head on back,” she says before gesturing to the campers. “I can handle them myself.”
Hunter whips his head around and yells back, “Are you sure?”
She lets out a dismissive ‘pssh’ sound, waving a hand in the air.
“Absolutely! Just make sure she doesn’t lose her way.”
You chuckle, flashing a daring look in Mona’s direction, before all of your thoughts cease with the feeling of Hunter’s fingers slowly interlocking around your wrist.
“Come on, Maple,” he says, tugging you gently. “Let’s get you back to camp.”
The walk stays relatively silent, save for Hunter’s occasional grunts and your yelps when something eludes your line of sight.
His hand remains locked around your wrist, keeping you no more than a few inches apart as you walk, but you still consciously try and keep a relative distance; this is a burden on him, isn’t it? Hunter’s walking you back to camp while you're covered in mud when he could’ve been watching the sunset and enjoying his night with his campers. You don’t want to make it worse by getting him all dirty too.
Yet you get that same oh-so-familiar feeling again; why does it feel like his eyes are perpetually fixed on you?
When you arrive on your porch, you hesitate before entering. Hunter looks at you, tilting his head while you rock back and forth on your heels.
“Something wrong?” He asks you.
You whine squeamishly, shifting your weight from one foot to another.
“...Don’t wanna track mud inside.”
Hunter's jaw slacks, nodding slowly as he considers an alternate option to wash you off. His scanning, drifting eyes, drinking in your appearance at long intervals, are nothing to read into, you try to assure yourself. How dare your brain indulge in this silly crush when he's simply just a kind person?
“I can just go through the backdoor; it’s fine." You begin to pull away instead, but he tightens his hold and pulls you back. You almost fall into his chest, which would frankly make you feel even worse.
He proposes a new idea.
“How `bout we grab you a hose?”
You blink, then snicker. A smile threatens to crack your expression, and small giggles bubble out of your throat as you try to suppress them. Something in his face is deadly serious. You notice it starkly after a moment, even without the clue his eyes might’ve given you.
“What?” You say, breathy and stunned.
“I’m serious!” His expression softens as he laughs. Your chest doesn't have to be so tight, but it remains stiff under your skin. “It’ll be an easier way to get all the mud off. Then we can wring you off, and you can take a proper shower in your cabin.”
You giggle again, still processing his audacious offer.
“Alright, that could work." You finally settle, still snorting softly to yourself as he lets go of your wrist and leaves you on the porch.
“Don’t move, alright?” He rests a hand in the air, eyebrows raised in an affirming manner. You grin coyly and nod. “I’ll be right back.”
You shrug.
“There’s no place for me to go, really.”
That manages to get a genuine laugh out of Hunter before he scurries off.
When he returns, he gestures to the side of your cabin with two towels in his arms that he sets on the porch while he uncoils the hose from the side. You drop your backpack, shaking off glops of mud that have been collecting on your clothes. You flash Hunter a meek smile when he points the hose at you, still trying to fathom how damn comedic yet productive this is.
“Ready?” He asks with a smile.
You nod, laughing again.
“Fire away, Hunter.”
He turns on the hose.
The first rush of water hits you like a bucket of ice. Your eyes close and your jaw slacks, limbs tensing up. You gasp and shiver, shielding your body with your arms. Hunter laughs.
You gasp at his temerity, tilting your chin up to gawk in what you believe to be his direction.
"Hunter!" You call out his name; the circumstances melt away that strange fear you held to even say it.
"What's up, Maple?" He answers nonchalantly. You mean to gasp in offense again, you really do, but you can't stop your giggling.
“It’s freezing!” You squeal, eyes shut, as you shiver again.
“Colder than the lake water?” He asks, and if your eyes were open you would’ve let them roll to the back of your head.
“Yes! Really damn cold! Kriff !” You allow yourself to swear, not caring about watching your language when no one else is around. He laughs again, but it’s sweet and feels warm in your body in contrast to how cold the water is.
You tilt your head back as Hunter moves the hose over your face, then your hair, getting the last bits off before he turns it off. His eyes are on you; you can feel it, as suddenly there’s one last spray poured onto you that makes you squeak.
Both of you erupt into giggles once he finally decides to stop tormenting you; your eyes are still closed when you feel a towel wrapped around you.
“You alright?” There are calloused fingers by your face, brushing your hair aside and tucking it gently behind your ear. You’re smiling like a damn fool; you know that. But you let yourself, let your eyes flutter open softly, and look into his eyes for the first time.
They’re brown, just like his sister’s.
“Yeah, I’m fine." You respond softly, gripping the towel close to your body. Your clothes have begun to stick to your body, fitting your form and revealing way more than what's appropriate. You shiver again, adjusting to the temperature, and Hunter runs his hands up and down over your shoulders.
Your eyes flutter once or twice, feeling the way his hands run up and down you, soothing your nerves as you steady your breath.
“Good,” He smiles, and you grin back. You bet there’s a sparkle in your eyes, based on the way your stomach leaps and your heart beats in your ribcage. If you look closely enough, you might think you see his eyes flicker like fireflies as well.
The world dissolves; singing birds, rippling water, and the sound of distant campers by the activities cabin are no longer background noises as you look into his eyes. How did you manage to stave off capturing his stare for so long? They’re beautiful. Kind and soft and endearing, like the perfect reflection of afternoon sunlight on sudor. You don’t even dare to blink, lest you waste a single moment getting wrapped in his gaze.
Hunter is the one to break eye contact, breathing deeply and looking down. He licks his lips, keeping his gaze down for a moment before tilting it up again. Your jaw slacks.
“Uh, you should probably take an actual shower now,” he says, stagnating and labored. You take a step back, shoulders slumping.
“Yeah, I should,” you tell him. That smile of his comes back again, and that moment of uneasiness leaves you. He's not unhappy, far from it; looking into his eyes lets you know that.
"Maybe when you're done..." He trails off. Your head follows his movements when he circles you, turning toward the direction of the mess hall. "We can hang out together."
You tilt your head.
"Yeah?"
Hunter shrugs half-heartedly, his smile a little weak with a new sense of insecurity in his actions.
"I mean, we didn't get to see the sunset," he brings up. Your jaw slacks, and your lips part.
"We didn't," is all you say.
He nods, clicking his tongue.
"We can find our own thing to do." Hunter says it like a statement, something that is sure to happen. He doesn't ask for your input, seeing in your eyes the wistful hope you carry while he stands there. You want to spend time with him. He wants to spend time with you.
"Yeah. Yeah."
Clearly, you've learned from before that you should probably use more words around Hunter before he thinks you're an imp. That doesn't seem to cross his mind as he grins.
"Let's circle back to it when you're out of the shower."
You nod a little too aggressively and speak a little too meekish.
"OK."
Hunter's grin widens to a smile.
"See you soon, Maple."
With his wave, you turn your back and skitter into your cabin; it's only as you're stripping off your damp clothes still insistently clinging to your body do you realize Hunter had been able to see your bra through your white shirt the entire time.
tags: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @starrylothcat @blueink-bluesoul @aconstructofamind @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen
#nour writes stuff#the bad batch#star wars#the bad batch fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#star wars fanfic#bad batch fanfiction#star wars bad batch#star wars the bad batch#sw the bad batch#sw tbb#sw tbb fanfic#bad batch#tbb#hunter tbb#tbb hunter#sergeant hunter#bad batch hunter#the bad batch hunter#tbb hunter x reader#tbb hunter x you#sergeant hunter x reader#sergeant hunter x you#the bad batch x reader#tbb fanfic#tbb fanfiction#the bad batch fanfic#hunter bad batch#hunter the bad batch#hunter x reader
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Yandere tfp Soundwave and shockwave?
Yandere Soundwave Fic:
TFP Yandere Shockwave X Reader
Shockwave doesn’t really feel emotions like everyone else. Yes, he has feelings like anger and pride- but he very rarely felt sad or sympathetic- and never the feeling of love.
When he saw you with the Autobots he just saw you as another annoyance- not someone he would grow to care for.
When Soundwave took Ratchet, you were cradled in Ratchet’s arms. You were his assistant. You didn’t know much about science to start out with, but you were a mechanic. That helped you to be a good medic for basic repairs- eventually you learned a lot more under Ratchet’s care. You were very quick to learn and quickly surpassed him in knowledge (though he would never admit it).
Once on the ship, Ratchet agreed to help Megatron- on the terms you stayed with him the entire time. You were his assistant, and he needed you.
Shockwave objected to having a small being getting in the way of their science, but Megatron told him it would only be temporary.
Shockwave was impressed when he discovered that you were proficient in Cybertronian sciences. This made him wonder about the brain capacity for humans.
Soon enough, he started experiments on humans in a separate lab. He wanted to know all about you and your brain.
When the synthetic energon formula was almost completed, he went to Megatron to ask him a favor.
“Lord Megatron,” he bowed.
“What is it, Shockwave?” Megatron’s eyes never left the datapad he was reading through.
“I would like to keep the human once the use for the autobot medic is no more.”
This made Megatron look up in interest. “Oh?”
Shockwave sucked up his pride to admit that you were better than him. “The human is… incredibly intelligent. They are also barely a threat as long as they are kept under a watchful eye. It would be a waste to simply dispose of them.”
Megatron couldn’t help but smirk. “I see. Well, as long as you prevent another ‘incident’ from happening again, I suppose you can keep it.”
Shockwave wouldn’t let another incident happen again. You had gotten out of the room somehow, and gotten into the dinner hall’s energon supply- which you proceeded to blow up. Three Vehicons were killed, and another seven injured. You were attempting to find a way out when you were cornered, so you tried to escape anyway you could. When they caught you, you weren’t punished out of a worry Ratchet would stop working.
When Ratchet grabbed you up in an attempt to escape, Megatron caught you both. Megatron snatched you up in his claws as he forced you both back into the lab. You were dropped onto a table when Ratchet grabbed you up.
Knockout was there, and he clicked his glossa at you. “Nice try~” he mocked, holding the correct Synthetic Energon recipe.
Shockwave pulled a sample out of a machine. “Spectral analysis confirms- that the synthetic energon is stable.” He held the glass up to Megatron. “The formula is now complete.”
You whispered to Ratchet while they talked. “Ratch, maybe we can try to escape again.” The old bot merely shook his head when Megatron turned to us.
“Ahh, a pity you won’t live long enough to witness the fruits of your labor. But as much as we appreciate your contributions, doctor, I’ve made a promise to someone I intend to keep.”
You’re suddenly plucked from Ratchet's hand and you scream loudly. “No! Let me go!”
You watch as Ratchet is dragged out of the room as you struggle to try to get to him. “Your struggle is illogical. There is no escape.” The deep voice of your captor sounded above you. You looked up at Shockwave with fear.
“What do you want from me? You have the formula! And where did you take Ratchet?!”
His single optic glowed a little bit brighter. “It is illogical to kill you when you possess so much potential. As for your Autobot friend, I suspect that Predaking has already made quick work of him.”
You felt as if your world fell apart around you. “I’ll never work for you.” You say quietly.
Shockwave learned in, inches away from your face. “We’ll see about that. There’s more than one way to get you to do as I want. For example- do you still care for the human children?”
The look of horror on your face was all he needed to see. “It would be a shame if something were to happen to them. The only logical thing to do now is to work with me. Now, hand me the number 13 driver.” Shockwave ordered as he put you onto the table, continuing his work.
You began to cry as you dragged the heavy tool over to him, knowing that you have to do what he says or else he'll take everyone else you love from you.
#yandere#shockwave#tfp shockwave#transformers#transformers prime#yandere shockwave#ratchet#megatron#vehicon#vehicons#knockout#transformers prime shockwave#yandere tfp shockwave#tw#tw yandere
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Drop of Starlight
Summary: Feyre is obsessing over seating charts, Rhysand comes for the rescue.
Rating: G
Word count: 960
AO3
Feysand Week 2023 Day One: ✨Night Triumphant and Stars Eternal ✨
@officialfeysandweek2023
Seven days. That was how long she had until her precious little boy turned one year old. Seven days. And she had a feeling that her sanity would be completely drained by the time next Sunday rolled around.
Feyre hated planning parties. It was one of the things that kept nagging at her when becoming The Spring High Lord’s wife was still very much a possibility. Back then, she had an immortal future of pretty dresses, polite smiles, and fake conversations and had hated the prospect of being that trophy wife with every fiber of her being.
But she had come a long way from the fragile-minded and weak, underweight creature she had been then. This celebration was special – and she had probably set herself up for failure, but she was adamant about planning every single detail of Nyx’s first birthday party.
They would have it at the House of Wind, as close to the night sky as they possibly could. Velaris itself would also be celebrating down below, for that little boy was hope impersonated, and there was yet to exist a faerie in the city that didn’t love and dote on Nyx. A few of them had been personally asked to attend the festivities, the invitations made of starlight.
With the help of Elain and the twins, she had mapped out all the foods and drinks that would be available as snacks for the party itself, but also for the formal sit-down dinner that was not only for their family but also for a few of the other high lords as well. Tamlin was, by default, not invited; she refrained from wondering if he would have said yes if had indeed mailed that particular letter.
The cake and decorations would be of the night sky and stars. It might be bordering on cliche, but Nyx was the first baby to be born to a Night Court High Lord in centuries and Feyre hoped to be forgiven for the commonplace thought, but that baby was their tiny star.
“You need to relax for a little bit, darling”. Rhysand’s voice reached her like a soft caress, her tiredness showing as she rubbed the sting from her eyes.
He was fully behind her a second later, her back suddenly flush with his chest. Feyre sighed and let herself sink into the comfort and darkness of her love.
“I know, but I still need to figure out the seating chart for the dinner. I don’t want to risk Beron actually coming and the only place he has to sit is beside Lucien. Or Helion.” Her mumble sounded too much like a whine to her own ears. “Why did we even send an invitation to the Autumn Court? It is bad decorum to retract it, isn’t it?”
The nameplates she was writing down had the sketch of a sitting chart beside them, crossed over many times as she played with who would sit next to whom. Sure they had some semblance of peace, for now; and Spring had been the only court not to get an invitation at all. Feyre had decided she liked Lucien’s mother and if this was an opportunity for her to see her son –and maybe Helion– then so be it.
“I hope you know you don’t have to babysit our guests”. He murmured, picking up her hand and tugging her from the stool she sat at.
She instantly wrapped her arms around him and hid her face in his neck. “Then who is going to babysit them?”
Rhys chuckled at her grumble and held her close, his warm hand soothing her by traveling the expanse of her back, up and down and back again.
“Let the others take care of anyone who might misbehave. It’s our son’s first birthday. The only person we should worry about is him and pray to the Cauldron that Mor doesn’t sneak him chocolate all day long.”
“Great. Now I’ll have to add that to my list of worries.” She laid her forehead on his shoulder and pinched his side, a comeback for mocking her. And damn him for adding to her ever-growing anxiety.
“Try not to worry about it, darling. Here, let me help you with this chart.” Rhysand let go of Feyre and peered over her work. He took three of the blank, black nameplates and the silver pen she used to write their guests’ names with. “These are the only nameplates we’re bothering with.” He spoke with a finality that made her shiver the slightest bit. She loved it when her mate made decisions and took care of her worries, in a way that was entirely welcome.
The nameplates read Drop of Starlight and Stars Eternal. Lifting them up, he looked at her with a face-splitting grin. Feyre matched his smile with a bright one of her own. Incorrigible. But she’d be damned if she didn’t adore his playfulness.
“You seem to be forgetting another very, very important guest.” She took the pen from his hand and leaned down to write on the remaining plate. With a flourish, she added two stars beside the name, one of them very, very small.
Night Triumphant.
Rhys smiled, pulling her back into his arms, cuddling her impossibly closer, and chanced a look at their baby, silently playing on the floor, surrounded by Illyrian dolls. He held one tightly in his chubby little fist, the other hand yanking at the doll’s wings. He was obsessed with anything that had wings.
“I can’t believe he is turning one. I can’t believe we survived this.” He chuckled; Nyx had progressed to holding one doll in each hand and was munching on their heads, one at a time.
“Are you kidding? I can’t believe he survived us.”
#feysand#feyre archeron#rhysand#pro feysand#feysandweek2023#feyre x rhysand#pro feyre#pro rhysand#nyx archeron
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David Farland’s Writing Tips—Why Scenes Go Bad
Have you ever found yourself reading a story and discovered that, “Hey, life is too short for this.” So you close the book and toss it aside.
It that happens to you, there may be dozens of reasons why the scene isn’t working for you. As a writer, you certainly don’t want readers to quit reading your books. Here are a few things to think about.
First, not all stories are written for you, and you can’t write a story that every single person on earth will connect to. A romance that works beautifully for a sixteen-year-old girl just doesn’t interest me as a sixty-year-old man. A mystery that intrigues me might seem tepid to you.
But let’s say that an author is struggling to interest me as a reader. Here are the next most-common problems that I find:
The scene is poorly imagined. Sometimes I will be reading a nice thriller or mystery or fantasy, and the author is trying to hit the right emotional beats, but just not doing it exceptionally well. I’d rate them a five out of ten. When that happens, I’ll find that they are dealing with stock characters and stock situations, or writing blah dialog that doesn’t sound like real people. In short, they aren’t exercising their imagination. Sometimes even just the language the author is using is cliché.
Remember this key: All failures in writing are due to a failure of the imagination. Each day in your world needs to be different from the day before. Each scene and character needs to be unique, different from anything else you’ve encountered. If a scene feels tepid, it’s because the writer is being lazy.
Another common problem is that the author is growing “wordy.” The author stacks adjectives in an attempt to heighten description. You can spot this if the author has fallen into a pattern where every noun (or sometimes every verb) has a modifier. She might say, “The cozy nook in Le Café Blue featured antique chairs that looked to be covered in genuine leather, and the dark walnut table was battered from years of use. Jonathan scrupulously studied the newspaper-style menus and ordered a dark lager with his deep-fried halibut and English-style chips.” Now, these details might make the story richer, but if the whole point of the conversation is to get to a new clue that Jonathan hears, then the wordiness can sometimes just be clutter. Remember, you want to bring the story to life, not bore the reader to death.
The writer got “diverted” and from the goal of the scene and the prose begins to meander. Maybe an interrogation scene suddenly devolves into a philosophical essay on the nature of reality, or gets hijacked by the author’s interest in coffee beans. Or maybe a romance scene turns into a fight, or a wonder scene transforms into horror. Particularly, this becomes a problem for “pantsers,” writers who write for pleasure and don’t have a clue where the hell they’re taking the story. It is easy to become over-enamored with your ability to morph prose from one purpose to another, rather than stick to a goal.
Here’s a clue. If you’re writing a mystery scene, the scene should be exploring the mystery, not gratifying your vanity by showing how much you know about ancient history or current affairs. It probably won’t help if your mystery scene flirts with romance or if you begin languishing in despair about the vicissitudes of life.
While diversions occasionally add something fun and give a story an extra dimension, they usually lose more readers than they will gain. So be careful with them.
For more on David Farland's Writing tips, visit https://mystorydoctor.com/writing-blog/
And you can also click here to get your David Farland Daily Meditations.
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Sweet Dreams--Part 11
Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.
Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.
Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.
Series Masterlist
Complete Masterlist
Melvin, reads the contact name. The 11 digits that follow stare back at you from the contact record of your phone. There’s never once been a text thread. His name wouldn’t come out on your phone outside of the contact in a search. But you had your distraction. You had your time to wallow and time to let pity make a fool of you. You can’t stay there. You refuse to stay there. So you tap the phone icon. It rings and rings. It might be a bad time, you realize now, as there’s no guarantee that Melvin will answer at ten in the morning. But that doesn’t matter much now.
Melvin answers the phone breathlessly. Your name tumbling from his lips in a rush. There’s concern in your name that paints his voice as he asks, “Is everything okay?”
“I’m calling to ask you that, actually,” you answer. The words nearly don’t leave your throat. He’d always been the easier of the two to interact with. He cared--you saw that with Teagan and Charlie. He seemed genuinely interested in your life when you spoke of it. But you didn’t think the care or the concern he had for your siblings would make him worry about you. Maybe now you’re even afraid of what that means.
“What-what are you referring to? Did something happen?”
You can’t get off track here. You’re calling about Diana. You’re calling to fact check the conversation from last week and to make sure they’re not drinking again. “Do Charlie and Teagan have new winter coats?”
“Uh, yes, they do. Diana and I--we got them nearly a week ago. There’s no guarantee now either that they don’t have another growth spurt, but we’re hopeful these coats will last the season and into the next.”
The more you talk with Melvin the more you realize Charlie got the gift of talking from him. At least Diana hadn’t been lying about the coats. But the bitter bite of her words rings back against your ears. “Diana called me last week,” you start. It’s the safest way to start.
The line crackles and you hear the sigh from Melvin. Something shuts--you hear the creak of hinges in the background. “I was worried when I saw the two ignored calls from you on her phone that something might’ve happened.”
“Is she drinking? Are you?”
“I’m not, no. God, no,” Melvin returns. His offense is palpable. He sounds as if the thought disgusts him.
“And what about Diana?”
A pause. Moments are passing by, the clock in your room ticking loudly as you listen to Melvin breathe. He better say no. He better answer with the same disgust. But the longer the two of you stay in silence, the more dread leadens in your gut. “I’m trying to get her some extra support,” he answers slowly. Like he might even be unsure of the words himself.
Not an outright denial but not an outright confession either. “Could it be vodka this time that gets her to her senses?” It’s a vile question to ask. But it falls and behind it comes more vitriol. That old wound, exposed again to the elements. “Could she go zero for three with her kids?”
“Enough,” Melvin commands. It falls clipped but tired. “We didn’t do right by you and we know that. We live with it every single day. We failed you in ways no child should’ve ever been failed by a parent. But it is not easy to watch from the sidelines now. And I don’t want to make it your responsibility to let us back in after what we’ve done, but please, do not mock us. The closer you get to Charlie and Teagan, the more hope grows in your mother. And the more you shut her down, the more she crumbles. It’s not your fault. She’s got to get better, face the consequences of her actions like we all must do. But she is human.”
“A terrible condition to be human, I’ve heard.” Your chest aches. It certainly still feels like your responsibility; it still certainly feels like that wound will never close up right. You still wish to every god that you could’ve had what Charlie and Teagan had. Wish you could move the stone of anger off your chest when it comes to Diana and Melvin. But you cried for them. You begged for them and it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough.
“Just, please give her grace. I’ll get her help. I will.”
“Grace is Charlie and Teagan. You can give her grace.”
“And what about you? Is there satisfaction in wrath?”
“Wrath is rather hollow.” You don’t know what you have anymore. There is something between contempt and regret filling you. Yet, you are tired of both of them. You’re tired of the wheel you feel stuck on. You’ve got to let it go. It’ll kill you if you don’t.
“We hurt you. I know that. It was easy at first to keep our distance. It gets harder now—sometimes. She just needs some extra help.”
“Then you get her help. But I don’t like knowing she’s on a spiral in the same house as Charlie and Teagan. They don’t deserve that pain. I will do whatever possible so they are not subjected to the same thing I was.”
“As you should,” Melvin agrees. “As you should. I’ve been worried about disrupting Charlie and Teagan’s routine too much. I don’t think the kids are catching on.”
You have to tread lightly. You can’t tell him that Teagan’s caught on, as unknowingly as she is about what she's stumbled upon. But you can warn him. “Children are more perceptive than you give them credit for. You can hope. But that’s not the same as the reality.”
“Was it Teagan? What did she hear?”
“I hope Diana’s kept up with bedtime stories.”
“Fuck,” Melvin whispers. You’d never be able not to answer his question. He’d hear what you’re saying between the lines. “I can’t lose them too.” It’s soft as Melvin says it, thick with emotions you can’t see, but can hear. A true terror shakes his voice.
Here you think is where you might reassure Melvin. That he won’t lose them. But you can’t promise that. You’d possibly be the hand that orchestrates it. You remain silent.
Melvin fills in the gap of silence in a flurry of panicked words. “There’s a birthday party this weekend and then a field trip next week. Please give me some time. You have every right to save them from the fate that fell you. But they’re just kids. They’ll only see what they lost out on. Give-give me just a little bit more time. If things are getting out of hand, let’s arrange something then. Okay? Just give me a few more weeks to get through to Diana.”
You only remember what you lost out on too. The dances you never attended, the nights spent hoping that your parents' breath didn’t reek in the morning. Praying you had just a little bit more attention so you could ask them about field trips, tell them about the things you were learning about in school. All you wanted was a crumb of attention, more than just the plate of food at dinner. You wished you could’ve told them about the crushes, the dreams you had--that maybe one day you’d been a veterinarian as all children hope to become. Maybe even then you could’ve told them how much you wanted to paint too.
You don’t know what’s more important, to save Charlie and Teagan from a potential fate or let them live their lives as children knowing what looms for them if Melvin is not successful. But they are just kids. They might hate you either way--if you pull them now, if you save them later. They’re just children. You don’t expect them to understand it all right now.
“You’ve got until of November.” October’s nearing its end in another week and a half. “But if I get wind of anything that even smells like Diana’s losing her grip, I’m taking them.”
“That’s only--”
“I know. And Christmas will be right behind that. But I’d rather they hate me for ruining Christmas than letting their lives be at further risk.” Doing good might mean at times having to be the villain. A spark never knows it’s going to start a wildfire, but you’re wiser than that ember. You know the damage that could be done. You know the damage you will do as well.
“End of November,” Melvin agrees. “I’ll, uh, we’ll have to come up with a contingency plan. I don’t know where you’re living these days. But I don’t want to pull them out of school.”
“We’ll figure something out,” you agree. Your hours at work will allow you to drop them off in the morning. But you’ll need help in picking them up in the afternoon. You wonder if Calum would be okay to do it. Though you don’t want to interrupt or commandeer his schedule either, you’ll still ask him. It’ll take a village to help now. You’ll need to figure out where they’ll stay. You have no qualms with them taking over your bedroom in the place you’re staying. But it couldn’t be a long standing agreement. You’d need to move and give them their own bedroom at the very least. You don’t have a lot saved, but you could afford a two bedroom apartment on your own now. The first few months would be tight, but it’d be doable now.
“Thank you,” Melvin nearly whispers. “I see how much you care for them.” The weight rounds your shoulders at his words. Is this what it means to be recognized—quiet and weighty recognition that feels like relief and lead?
Beyond a sense of duty, you only want for them what you didn’t get. Teagan and Charlie are getting everything you wanted. Watching out for them is everything you needed. They’re children who do not deserve to be punished for what was between your parents and you.
“It’s what they deserve,” you return. Melvin let’s you go and you blink up at the ceiling, swirling in your vision. You want them to be safe. You need it. But you still feel the whisper of Melvin’s gratitude. How it feels like thick humidity on your skin in the middle of summer. Your skin is hot and the tears caress your cheeks as they descend to your chin. As stupid as the thought feels,, you hope Melvin can find it in himself to be proud of you no matter what you wind up having to do.
_____________________
It’s bright--the windows to the right bring in streaks of sunlight and though Calum sometimes wishes he’d opted for a slightly lighter brown, there’s few clouds today which makes the shed feel lighter. The clear skies make the deepening chill tolerable. Your slippers rest on the floor right under the easel you sit in front of. Your socked feet tapping lightly against the metal bar on the stool you perch up on. The stroke of your brush scratches against the canvas--a deep red cutting through the top left corner.
Calum’s sure that even with your apron on the sleeves to his black and white striped long sleeved shirt will be stained forever. Not that he minds. He’d prefer to carry that little piece of you in the threads. He’ll be able to say that it’s your work if anyone asks about the stain. He’s supposed to be doing preliminary comments on this briefing. It’ll become part of the address he gives at the charity event in December, but given the magnetitude of the event it’s best to get started on these things earlier rather than later. Yet, he has no interest in the words on the document in front of him. He’d rather watch you as you gather more paint onto your brush. You stroke once, twice, and then reach for something else in the glass jar which holds other brushes and tools.
From this angle, Calum watches the twist of your lips, fingers fluttering over the jar. Debating, he concludes--you’re debating which tool to go for next. The bottom right part of the canvas is still blank. He traces the faint line you’ve etched into the white fibers. You’ve told him that you plan to include pages from several print media types--books, pamphlets, and missing posters-- layered and attached to the canvas. You don’t want to add those yet until all the painting is done and can cry before you glue them up there to keep bleeding minimal.
A knock sounds from the door and Calum turns to see his mum at the door, thanks to the addition of the glass cutouts in the door frame. He waves her in and she only opens the door just far enough for her head to poke through. “I don’t want to interrupt,” she starts. “Just wanted to say hi.”
“Hi, Mum. You’re not interrupting. They’ve got headphones in and I’m not really doing anything much myself,” Calum laughs.
She laughs, sliding in through the crack. “So only one of you is being productive. But that’s alright. Rest, too, is important.”
“Something like that.”
His mother nods and shuffles softly over to you. You turn at the touch on your shoulder, slipping your headphones down off your ears. “Hi, Joy,” you laugh.
The embrace is tight, even Calum can see how tightly his mother winds you into the one armed embrace. “The painting looks good, sweetheart. It’s coming together nicely,” Joy comments.
“Thanks, I’m trying over here.”
“You’re succeeding. How was the feedback from the check-in?”
“They’re excited. They did ask to see what printed materials I’m using for the piece and said they were a little outdated. But they replied with some other books and materials that are more updated and relevant to their mission I could use. It was constructive at the end of it,” you explain.
“And those pages are going here, yeah?” Joy asks, pointing to the blank corner.
“Yeah, they are,” you nod.
“Okay, okay. I’m excited to see where it goes. I hope you’re proud of the work you’ve put in.”
“I think I am. For right now. I’m sure once I start painting in the gold details it’s going to kick my ass again,” you laugh.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so. It looks good.”
“Thanks, Joy. And I finished off the last of those beets.”
“Oh, good, good. I was wondering. Did you roast them again?”
You nod. “Easiest way for me to get through them. But they were really good. Better than store bought.”
Joy’s laugh is loud, taking a firmer grip on your shoulder and tugging you into her. “You wouldn’t be attempting to butter me up, would you?”
“I’d never attempt such a thing. I always succeed.”
The shed falls into a round of laughter, even a round of small snickers from Calum as he unabashedly watches the two of you. Joy never falters, squeezing one more time at your shoulders. “Succeed, you do, I’ll admit. Don’t tell Calum though.”
“I won’t,” you promise.
“Hmm, well, I guess I’ll leave you to work. Need anything?”
“No,” you return with a small shake of your head. “I’ve got everything.”
“Good.” Joy presses a kiss to your forehead and then steps away.
Calum watches the way you linger, still pushed forward into where her embrace once was, like you might chase behind her. But you don’t. You lean back and put the headphones back on. But there was a pause. Long enough for Calum to see it. And he knows--or at the very least figures--what that pause means. How much you get from the small interactions with his mother. He’d be glad if you did steal his mother, as you called it, if it means that you were getting the pieces of what you’d missed.
And it’s only a moment--the briefest of pauses. The headphones are settled back on and pick up your paints again. Joy slides into the bench next to Calum and nods in your direction.
“Everything okay?”
“With them?” Calum clarifies, pulling the top of his laptop down as he sits up a bit straighter.
“Yeah. With them. You’ve been a little tight lipped lately. If it’s not something you can share I get it. Just want to make sure of course.”
Calum looks back over to you. Your foot’s tapping again, the brush ever so gently scratching over the canvas again. You’d been tight lighted about it too to some degree. The only thing Calum has is that you asked if need be, could he help pick up Charlie and Teagan from school. He agreed that he could. Considering that sessions were closing in another two weeks for the holidays until January, his free time was considerably much larger than usual. And even if you needed help once sessions resumed, he’d always be able to take a recess whenever Charlie and Teagan were almost done with school to get them.
He’s not sure what’s caused you to ask this--if you’re planning something for Charlie and Teagan, but the alternative is much more sinister. Calum turns back to his mother and she’s only watching. Her fingers are wrapping around his and he exhales. “We’re okay. But something might be happening with Charlie and Teagan. I don’t know.”
“What makes you think that?”
“They asked if I could pick them up from school in the afternoons.”
Understanding crosses her face, brows rising before she looks your way. “Parents drinking again?”
Calum shrugs at the question, but tightens his hold around his mother’s hand. He felt more comfortable telling his mother more about your situation than his dad. She was a bit more careful with what information she was given. “If anyone, it’s probably Diana. But they haven’t said anything to me. Not yet anyways.”
“Will their current living situations support Charlie and Teagan?”
“Temporarily, I’m sure. But not long term, I don’t think.”
Joy hums and it’s a sound that Calum knows well. Her wheels are turning. “Well, we shouldn’t assume. But if they need help relocating, we can help. If not here, then wherever they feel most comfortable being of course.”
“We will. We will,” Calum agrees.
The conversation between you two had been short--that you needed a plan in place should you need it. Only as he rethinks through the conversations, does he think it was confirmation. I just need to have a plan, sooner rather than later. He should’ve pressed more about it, he thinks. But he does trust you. If there’s anything he needed to know, you’d tell him. But that doesn’t mean Calum can easily swallow down his desire to help. Yet, trust is the only way any of this will work. Choosing you means choosing trust.
“How’s the garden going?” Calum asks.
“It’s all mostly harvested. But good.”
“Any new recipes you think you’ll try?”
Joy laughs, patting at Calum’s hand. “Oh, no, not this time around. Gave it to the staff mostly. But if you are interested, I could always use a second pair of hands for the spring planting. We can put something together.”
Calum knows that dance--dangerous as it is. He laughs. “Do you need some help right now?”
“Oh, no, no, I came out here just to say hi to the two of you. Feels like I haven’t talked to my boy properly in a few weeks.”
Calum waves her in, arms opening for a hug. “Love you, Mum,” he whispers into the embrace.
“Love you too.”
Calum remains until she lets go first and when she does, he slides back into this original spot. “It's been rather boring lately if I’m honest.”
“Hmm, nothing from the boys either?”
Calum shakes his head at the question. “Nothing that I’ve heard. Well, there is Michael’s birthday next month”
“Yes, yes, his mother was talking to me today about that. She said he’s just doing dinner?”
“That’s what he said he’d prefer. Ashton, Luke, and I are still working out the details and getting a table reserved.”
“Do you know who I talked to recently?” Joy asks. She grins as she speaks, a little bop to her head as well. It’s good news then.
“Who did you talk to recently, Mum?” Calum laughs.
“Do you remember Ms. Brenda, Joshua’s mum?”
Calum nods. He still keeps in contact with Joshua from time to time. It’s not nearly as frequent as Luke, Michael, or Ashton. But Joshua and Calum were thick as thieves as kids on the time. “I remember Ms. Brenda.”
“She told me Joshua is proposing at Christmas.”
Calum whistles. Joshua had told him that he was dating seriously and they were moving in. That was only a few months ago, maybe almost a year, but not more than that. “Wow. God, we are really growing up, huh?”
“Oh, god, you can say that again,” Joy laughs. “When’s the last time you talked to Joshua anyway?”
Calum had texted Joshua a few weeks ago, mostly to say he hoped Joshua was doing well and Joshua replied with his usual, hanging in there by my toes, but hanging. As they’d gotten older Joshua moved away from football. In high school, he’d gotten a little gig to help out at home. But he didn’t talk about it much and since, Joshua mentioned he’s swapped from trade work to an office job. But the conversations were filled more with jokes and laughter than catching up on their lives.
Calum shrugs a little. “A few weeks ago. He said he was doing alright, but not this alright to be proposing. Has Ms. Brenda given up her banana bread recipe?”
“No,” Joy laughs. “But I’m going to get it from her eventually.”
“One of these days,” Calum teases. “If I get any more updates from the boys, I’ll be sure to share. As long as you share too.”
Joy holds up her hands, one at her chest. “Swear it,” she grins.
“The holidays are coming up soon too. I’m sure they’ll have some juicy stories then. ”
“Never fails,” Joy hums. “Anything you want? While we’re on the topic of the holidays.”
The question does make Calum ponder. There’s nothing that he wants that he thinks could be given by his parents. His gaze falls back to you. The sun cascades down around you, propped in the almost perfect center of the room. It's a small floor plan to begin with--the shelves help give storage without sacrificing the too much square footage. But finding a good place to put the easel for you really only had a few places to go--along one of the walls that was taken up by the bench and table or go into the center. But it’s nice to have your work at the center. What Calum really wants is time with you, time where you don’t have to worry about anything, where nothing is hanging over your head.
“Something that I could get would be ideal,” Joy laughs.
Calum snorts. There’s no embarrassment about being caught. “Can I take a rain check on that question then?”
“Absolutely, son. Absolutely. But besides the stuff with their parents, you two are okay, right?”
Calum regards his mother. The grays are prominent and continue to grow more so as the years pass in her hair. She shares a nearly identical cut to Calum’s though her sides are cut nearly as close as his. Calum had teased his mother when she first cut it that she was copying him. Joy never denied it. Just hugged Calum in tight and laughed. It’s going to destroy him when he can’t get one of those hugs--bone crushing and warm. Calum wonders if he’ll ever be able to recover from such a loss like that--death or not. He doesn’t know how you do it. How you’ve survived this long, but you do. He’s glad that for the time being the both of you can get soul warming hugs from his mother.
Because she’s real and present and looking back at him with the same concern she used to direct his way when he’d talk about a bad day at school. But instead of feeling like a child, instead of feeling small, he finds himself proud that he looks back into his mother’s face and knows that he’s got nothing to hide, that he can put it out on the table and she will always be there for him. He’s a little scared, how much he feels and how much of him is so willing to take the risk to get hurt again.
“We’re okay,” Calum answers. “I told them about Nora though.”
Joy whistles, brows rising at the news. “How’d that go?”
“Better than expected.” He’d prepared for the day he told you about Nora. How it might send you into a panic or even worse might cause an argument given how some that hurt still lingers, how he still mourns what could’ve been while discovering how much of the desire isn’t broken or gone with you. But thankfully it didn’t. For all that could’ve happened, nothing bad did.
“How do you feel about that? Now that it’s out there?” Joy asks, reaching for his hand again.
Calum shrugs, gazing back up as a shadow passes. A few birds flying overhead, he assumes. “It feels like I’m hiding less things now. Like I can be human with them more. But it’s hard. I-” His throat jumps. Fear he can place as it thumps in his veins. “I love them. But the last time I loved someone like this…” The words are catching. He wants to get them out but the emotion seizes his throat.
“It ended poorly. I know, I know,” she whispers in return. Both her hands wrap around Calum’s left hand.
“Yeah. But it’s so strange. To know that this all falling apart is still a possibility but not caring as much. All I find myself focused on is what I can still experience. Like even if it does have to end, and I don’t. I really don’t want that. But if it has too, I don’t want regrets on the table.”
“Well, that sounds like something to me. Like you know what you want,” Joy returns. “Sounds like you know what’s worth taking the risks for, which in turn, means you don’t have regret.”
Calum notices the hand retreating now from his space. A bottle of water rests onto the table, on the coasters you insisted on having for the shed. “It’s a good thing I don’t have plans on leaving. I’m right here, love,” you whisper against his cheek before pressing a kiss to the stubble he knows he needs to shave.
Calum takes his free hand and tugs you back when you go to step away. Your legs hit the edge of the bench with a stop thump. There’s red and gold paint on the end of the sleeves decorating the threads. Your fingers are stained too, but that doesn’t make Calum hesitate as he threads his fingers through yours. “You’re supposed to be painting.”
“I took a hydration break,” you laugh. He spies now the second bottle of water in your hand that’s now being lowered to the table. With your second hand free, you reach into the pocket of your apron and unearth a clean rag and drape it over his shoulder. “For any snot.”
Calum laughs, head dropping into your stomach. “If we’re keeping score about who’s cried the most, I think you’ve got me beat.”
“I’m a water hose, sue me.” You press a kiss to the top of Calum’s head though.
The paint is tacky against Calum’s fingers. His skin will be stained red and gold too, but it doesn’t matter. He drags his thumb over yours, a soothing action back and forth. You are there. You are just within reach. “I won’t,” Calum answers. Your hum is reassurance coupled with the squeeze of your hand.
Calum takes a deep inhale, attempting to commit to memory the way you smell in his clothes. The smell of paint powering over everything and yet, there is something so deeply you at the root of it--fresh like how clean linen smells. He tries to only take a minute or two, knowing that you’ll probably draw back first to head back to your painting. But you stay in the embrace.
“You two hungry by chance?” Joy asks. “I’ll go fix us something.”
Calum nearly tells her that she doesn’t have to go. But she’s giving his one hand one last squeeze as she slips out from behind the table. Joy gives your shoulder a squeeze and then slips out the door; it shuts softly behind her. You stand, towering over Calum. But he pulls you even closer into him, hands winding around your waist.
“You’re going to have paint all over your face,” you laugh.
“I don’t care.”
“Is everything okay?” you ask.
“Yeah. Just…I love you, that’s all.”
“I love you too.” The return is even and quick. You ease him out of his embrace and Calum looks back up at you. “Is now an appropriate time to make an inappropriate joke about why I’m not leaving you?”
“No,” Calum laughs. “Now is not the time for an inappropriate joke, but thank you for asking.”
The cap on the water releases with ease and you pour a little bit of your bottle onto the rag. The touch is tender as you swipe it over Calum’s cheek and forehead. “You’ll let me know when I can, right?”
“Yeah, of course. The world needs all your inappropriate jokes.” Your work is steady on his cheek, one hand holding ever so gently against his chin. “Sorry to interrupt your hydration break.”
“Not an interruption at all,” you laugh. “How’s the speech coming along?”
Calum gingerly tugs at the rag in your hand. “You see how that laptop is closed?” You nod. “That’s how well it’s going. I don’t even need to worry.”
“Or are you too distracted?”
“Some might say those are the same.”
“Yeah, all people named Calum Hood,” you snort, before taking a sip from your bottle. Your gaze is steady. But Calum can see it, the question brewing behind your eyes. “Would I be correct in assuming that I’m the first person since Nora?”
There it is. Calum doesn’t even need to ask what you heard. “You are.” He’s sure it’s more obvious than needed but at least you asked.
“I know I can’t promise not to break your heart. But I’d like to politely ask for the space to prove to you I’m not her.”
Calum knows you’re not her. It’s not even a comparison of people, just a comparison of situations. He’s right where he was before. And it’s all different than it was before. Less tense, more space to converse and to be. But he’s scared. He doesn’t want to fall on his face again, doesn’t want the person he cares about most taken away from him. “Since when do you have a polite bone in your body?”
“Since my sarcastic timing isn’t always well loved. And I know that’s rich coming from me, considering everything I’ve done and yet to tell you. However, still, I wanted you to know that I want this relationship with you.”
Calum knows that on an intellectual level. But it’s nice to hear the words again. “Thank you.” It feels too small a phrase for what he means. Because what he means to say is that you are right--you and Nora are two different people. These are two different relationships. But the fear has a strong hold. What he means to say is the sound of you saying that you want him makes his stomach knot, makes his toes curl, makes Calum feel like a kid again in the most innocent of ways. What he means to say is that he never wants to forget that, but he knows he’s human. So he will forget, but please always remind him.
The kiss to his forehead is wet, no doubt to the water on your lips, but gentle. “I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear.”
If he could have you say it all the time, he would. But Calum revels in the whisper of your voice even as you slip away. He knows you’re in a bit of a time crunch. The paint will need plenty of time to dry so you’re trying to get through this with enough time to spare. He lets you go, promising him to himself that he’s going to spend the entirety of the night having you say it again and again how much you want him.
“Baby,” he calls out, just before the headphones cover up your ears.
“Yes, my love?” you ask, turning on the stool.
“I’m glad it’s you.”
“You’re glad it’s me?”
Calum nods. “Yeah, I’m glad it’s you.” He’s not sure if you understand, if you’ll get what he’s saying. But he is glad it’s you. Someone that got to know him from the ground up, someone that he got to know out of pure interest. He’s glad you’re who you are and that the two of you have this. Truly, what other ways can he say it? He’s just really glad it’s you.
You smile, headphones covering your ears, but you’re still facing him. “I’m glad it’s you too.”
______________________________
The heat from the oven grazes your arms as you slip the tray onto the rack. The orange pumpkins dyed into the white dough smile back at you--gaps between their carved teeth. You hope it’s not too much--that you’re coming over with a basket of things for what might be a pretty small holiday. But you are curious--has Mevlin made progress with Diana? Charlie makes no mention of noticing anything strange. Teagan hasn’t tipped you off that more things are happening out of the ordinary. It looks as though things might be on the up and up. Yet, you know looks can and will be deceiving. Its hardly been a week but the anxiety is gnawing on your innards—a feast for it and starvation for you.
With ease you wind the white timer for 10 minutes and set it down onto the counter. The ticking seconds are background noise for you cutting persistently through the crackle of plastic as you tear open the package of black tissue paper. The orange plastic pumpkin mirror the cookies--blackness around their gaped teeth, a hollow but practiced smile. You line the bottom of the buckets with a couple sheets and then start to toss in the socks, and stickers. They get a book to color in each, a fresh pack of coloring pencils, and Halloween pins for jackets or backpacks. Charlie gets one in the shape of a ghost and you slip a bat theme pin packet in for Teagan.
The candy waits in big bags--an unfortunate reality that you’d waited a little too long to get the smaller bags for the occasion but Calum promises to help when you get back to divvy up the remaining lollipops, chocolate, and other sweets into bags for people on staff and their children too considering he’d gotten a hefty amount of the remaining bags as well when he accompanied you on your errand run for the baskets. Teagan likes the sweeter stuff and Charlie’s a big fan of chocolate. So you slide a bag of the respective kind of candy in front of each one of the brackets for them.
“Oh my god, a ghost,” Declan laughs, sliding in next to you at the kitchen island.
“Boo,” you smile in return.
“You know that you and the Prince are both adults? I didn’t suspect the two of you to be into Halloween this hard.”
“These are for my siblings,” you return.
Declan pauses, hands having stretched out towards the back of Snickers, Reeses, Almond Joys and other chocolates. “Oh. Well, that makes a lot more sense. Need help?”
You know you don’t. There’s only the candy left aside of their bags of cookies that you’ll be putting together after they cook and cool. “If you’re truly that bored, sure,” you offer.
It’s an easy out, a way for Declan to slide into the bench at the table and take a load off before he works. Dinner will most likely be starting soon and you’re hoping that your timing hasn’t interrupted Declan’s work. He started to take weekend dinner shifts most often. “I’ve got time. Just vouch for me if Janet chews out my ass.”
“I hope I’m not in the way. The cookies only have like another 8 minutes or so and I will always vouch for you if Janet comes.”
“You’re not in the way,” Declan answers, but takes the bag into his grasp and pulls it open.
You slide him a few more sheets of black tissue paper. “I was trying to time between shifts,” you offer.
“You timed it well. How much candy am I giving your dear old sibling? Whole bag? Half?”
“No more than half? They’ll be going trick-or-treating this weekend too.”
Declan laughs, reaching into the bag for a handful. “Oh, your parents are going to hate you for all this extra sugar.”
“Perhaps that’s the point.” Perhaps, you’re adding fuel to a forest fire. But you’ll add it. You shimmy a few extra packets of the nerds into the bucket.
“Are they still super young? Your siblings, I mean.” Declan tips the bucket in your direction a little for you to get a better view. “Too much or too little?”
You peer onto the bucket. It’s not empty, but it does look a little sparse. “Tiny bit more if you don’t mind. And they’re in middle school. 13 and 11.”
“And you’ve never talked about them before because?”
You didn’t know about them before. You were terrified of what it meant. There’s a small part of you that feels vindicated. You knew something would happen with your parents involved. You knew that if you got too close you’d wind up in a mess. But god, there’s a larger part hoped you’d been wrong.
“It’s complicated,” you answer. “My parents and I aren’t close. But I am trying to be there for my siblings at the very least. They’re important to me.”
“Well, I--should it matter in the slightest-- think you’re killing it. This enough?”
You take a peek into the bucket. There’s enough candy that you know Melvin will be dealing with wrappers and sugar highs for at least a week. You nod. “Thanks for your help.”
“Anytime.”
“How-how are things with you?”you ask. There’s a bit of hesitation. The timer ticks around you and with the baskets full, including the extra bits of tissue paper tucked in, there’s still something that lingers. Something that you don’t want to fall flat with Declan--like you know how friends do.
Declan shrugs. “They’re going.”
The shrills interrupts what you think might’ve been on his tongue. Declan turns, kitchen towel already fall off his waist as he tugs on it. “Just going?”
“These extra shifts are a little bit killer, but they’re helping pay off the work I had to get done to my car, so it’s all evened out.”
“What happened to your car?”
“Brakes needed to be replaced, and new tires.”
You hiss at the answer, watching Declan slide the tray onto the aisle. The cookies are a golden color now around the edges--perfectly cooked. “At the same time?”
He nods. “Same time. I could’ve done the brakes myself but they were closing in on being dangerously thin. I was already going to have to go in for the tires so I just tacked on the brakes and figured I’d work out the money later. Was not the smartest financial decision, but it was either taking two days off from work or just one. I need my remaining PTO for the holidays.”
“Your sister’s graduation right?” He’d mentioned it once to you before but hadn’t really talked about it since.
Declan nods. “Yeah.” It comes slow. And you’re not sure what’s causing his hesitation but he laughs with a shake of his head. “I shouldn’t be shocked you remember that.”
“Yet you are, you jerk.”
“Credit where credit is due. My apologies.”
“What is your sister studying?”
“Data Analytics. She’s got a job lined up too once she graduates.”
A feat you know given the current landscape. A whistle leaves you. “A whiz, I see.”
“Just don’t let her hear that.”
“Promise,” you laugh.
“Her plan is to move out in another two years time, I think,” Declan offers. “Of course it all depends on how the market stabilizes."
“Do you know if she is looking for roommates? Could help her a little bit but it comes with its own risks of course.”
Declan shrugs. “I’d offer for her to move in with me. I know our parents are going to be a little overbearing, but it’s not cool to move in with your older brother and his roommate. But I did at least tell her that if she’s interested in my complex, to let me know. I’m only a ten minute drive from our parent’s place so she’d still be close enough to them too.”
“Sounds like that’ll be nice if it works out.”
“Time will only tell in the end. Things still going good at the new job? You sure you don’t want to come back to us?”
It’s a tease and you can tell by the way he bats his lashes. But even just the offer makes your heart leap. You think you’d take this job back in a heartbeat if you could. But Forest has its perks. There was a reason why you had to leave. “It’s good. It’s a lot more hectic than here on average. But pays the bill. Health insurance is a small step down but not that I needed more than yearly check ups for anything.”
“Good health is a fountain of wealth in the end,” Declan returns. “I’m glad it’s going well. I think Val said she tried to pop in but didn’t see you.”
“I’m back of house right now. Until I get licensed to bartend. When that happens I’ll be on the front a bit more.”
He nods, a hum falling from his throat. “Sounds like the place is still stretched thin though.”
More than a handful of times you’ve heard runners complain about how many shifts they’ve been asked to cover. The kitchen staff is pretty solid. It’d come up as you worked more than the person you took over for left because of needing to move back home for family needs. But Turner seemed to still be struggling to retain servers. You were sure that she’d train you up by now but perhaps the concerns you voiced about your relationship with Calum were keeping her from getting you onto that boat. Though, once you got on the bar you’d undoubtedly have to learn tables too.
“It is,” you agree after a meaty pause. “But it’s not so much that I think I’m getting screwed over. I guess. I know my time will come once I move to the bar.”
“Does it make you nervous at all? To move to the floor? Given your relationship, I mean.”
“Makes Calum more nervous than me. But seeing what I have of the bartenders right now, I’d run food and take care of those right at the bar. Right now, it’s like a bridge that I can’t see enough to worry about if I'll have to cross it or not.”
You slide over to the cookies, testing the temperature with your finger. They feel cool enough and you gingerly wiggle them loose from the sheet. Declan slides you two plastic bags. “I guess in some ways it’s like not trying to stress yourself out twice about things,” Declan states.
“Yeah,” you nod. You seal up the last four cookies for Charlie. Two more remain on a piece of paper towel. Declan takes the sheet and moves it to the sink. “Oh, I can wash it.”
With a pointed stare, Declan turns on the water and squeezes a bit of dish soap onto the sheet. “What was that? I can’t hear you over the water,” he shouts.
You’re not sure what you expected but when he’s done, you toss him one of the remaining cookies, hoping he doesn’t drop it but hoping just a little that it tumbles. Declan catches it with ease. “For all your hard work,” you return.
He snorts. “Thanks.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Oh, anytime as long as I get fed cookies at the end of it.”
The door to the kitchen opens, you catch the movement from your peripheral and look up from Declain. Calum peeks his head through the door. “Ready, baby?”
“Yeah, I just finished up.” You offer Declan the second cookie as well. He waves it off.
“Nah, I’m good. I’ll see you around.”
“I’m not going to eat it,” you laugh and Declan huffs before plucking the sugar cookie from your fingers.
“You owe me,” he calls out around his bite. “I need advice on what to get my sister for her graduation present.”
“Call me. I’ll help. But you can’t go wrong with money.”
“Aye, yeah, I thought about that. But I want to do something more personal. As the oldest, I can do better than that.”
The bags of candy rattle in your grasp as you slip the shopping bag they’re in on your wrist. The two baskets are wrapped securely into the curve of your fingers from the plastic handles. You get Declan’s concerns. The pride in his voice makes you realize perhaps you’re less alone than you felt with Charlie and Teagan’s situation.
You nod at Declan. “We’ll cook up something. Be thinking about what she likes or what she needs. Text me whatever you think of and then we’ll grab coffee or something to solidify a plan.”
“Thank you,” Declan grins. “You’re a life saver.”
“Don’t I know it,” you laugh over your shoulder. Calum steps in closer, his fingers brushing over your wrist as he takes the Target bag with the leftover candy.
“Shut up. No one told you to brag about it.”
Calum holds the door open for you. “Sorry I couldn’t help with the baskets. But it looks like you still had some help around.”
“Don’t worry. I know you had other obligations. Declan sort of forcefully helped out. In a way.”
“Declan has a sister?” Calum questions. “Didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, he does. She graduates university in December.”
“Oh, that’s nice. I didn’t realize Declan was old enough for a sister graduating uni.”
“He’s 27. So not that much older.”
The lights on Calum’s truck light up briefly and you two slip inside. You’re not sure what you’re about to head into. Though you hope it’s good news, there’s dread in the bottom of your stomach. Calum doesn’t know. You only asked if he could help pick up Charlie and Teagan from school. But he doesn’t know.
“When’s your next day off again, baby?” Calum asks. You were off today--having spent most of that time doing laundry and cleaning out your car. But then came by after were done so that both you and Calum could go over to your parent’s place--at Charlie’s request that Calum come.
“Uh, next Tuesday, I think,” you return. “I have to look at the schedule again.” You take a picture of it when it gets posted. You can only imagine what haunts you in the photo album of your phone should you ever go back through it more thoroughly.
“When you do, can you let me know? Next month we’ll need to schedule a fitting for outfits to the auction and banquet. It’ll be pretty straight forward for me. But I know they’ll want to do your measurements, talk about what you’re comfortable wearing and show you some pieces. It’s….going to be a lot. But it won’t take the whole day.”
That part you hadn’t considered. Though you were still working on the painting religiously in the evenings, the banquet was being pushed further and further down on your list of concerns. Having to actually go was a dream, or perhaps you held onto some delusion that you wouldn’t have to go. Though you definitely did. “I’ll let you know,”you return.
“I’ll be there, the entire time,” Calum promises, a hand on your knee. “It’s really not bad. If you want, we can sit down together and look at stuff to help you prepare. Brands, maybe colors, silhouettes and such.”
“That would be nice.”
“Of course, baby. I’d be happy to.”
The first part of the journey is smooth, the tires gliding down the road. Calum seems to find a sense of content with his hand on your knee, a gentle gliding up to the middle of your thigh and then a slide back down. Rhythmic in a way that you’re partially sure it’s not conscious. It feels unbothered, unworried in a way that only the subconscious is capable of doing. And the longer his palm slides along your denim cladded knee, the longer you think about the mess Calum could be walking into. He might already suspect, but it is still your responsibility to be transparent, to tell him what’s going on in your life even if it’s hard, even if it’s tiring.
“I want to say thanks,” you start, capturing Calum’s free hand for a moment to give it a squeeze. “For agreeing to help me with my siblings. I do know I need to explain what’s going on right now. It’s just hard—I guess it’s also shame. But Teagan noticed that Diana missed tucking her in a few nights back in August or so. And things just sorted to feel off with how pushy she started to get. Melvin confirmed a couple weeks ago that she’s drinking again.”
Calum hisses, his hand squeezing against your knee. “I am so sorry, baby. That’s so awful.”
“Melvin asked for some time to get her more help. He’s worried about disrupting too much of Charlie and Teagan’s schedule. I gave him until the end of next month to make progress with her. But if she’s not better, I’m taking them in for a little bit.”
“Outside of pickup from school, what other help do you need? I-there’s-whatever you need, I want to help.”
You know Calum’s being careful. You can hear how much might be behind those words. “We might need a room at the palace if that’s okay. I don’t know how suitable my room is long term. Until my lease is finished and I find a two bedroom apartment.”
“We have space. That’s not a problem.”
Your cheeks are warm. He says it so easily like he doesn’t have to think. And some in ways he probably doesn’t have to. But the deep pressure of his hold tells you that he means it deeply. “Thank you.”
“Of course. I’m really sorry that this is happening. To them. To you all over again in a way. All three of you deserve so much better. But I think you’re doing what you might’ve wished someone did for you. And that in and of itself is incredibly powerful.”
The tears burn. You watch the way the highway signs wave in their wake. It’s not exactly what you’d want, though maybe in your younger years you did wish someone to save it before it started. And you can be that light. You can be the hero that your siblings need, even if they’ve never wanted for one. “I just hope they don’t hate me.”
“I can sympathize with that fear, baby. They’re kids right now. They maybe won’t get it immediately. But when they get older, you can explain more. And maybe you and Melvin find a way to frame it so it doesn’t seem so bad right now and they don’t take it so hard. And I hope they don’t hate you either. I can’t say they won’t. But Charlie and Teagan seem like kids that would at the very least listen.”
You hope. You’d beg of the universe that Charlie and Teagan at the very least listen to you, understand that you don’t want to make any changes to their lives unless it’s to improve it. But they are just kids. Temporary displeasure for more stable and permanent change seems like a fair price to pay, but you know they’ll take years to see it that way.
“I hope,” you return softly, sniffling back the snot that threatens to slip down your cupid's bow. “I hope.”
Calum motions to the glove box. “Tissues if you need them. But I’m here. Mum is too. So is Dad. You’ve got people in your corner. I’ll talk to security and we can get Charlie and Teagan set up so they’re safe and they have a nice place to hang out. We’ll create a plan so that they’re always on time to school and picked up and for any after school activities they’re in as well. All hope is not lost.”
Hope is not lost. Just beaten and maybe a little battered. “You sure you still want to be with me?” you tease, taking out the small pouch of tissues from the glovebox.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby. But I am going to make sure Charlie and I have the best jack-o-latern on the block, so be prepared for that.”
“Not if Teagan and I have the best one.”
“Oh, game on, baby. I hope your mouth is not writing checks you can’t cash.”
“All my checks are good.”
Calum gives a disapproving hum but risks a glance in your direction. “We’ll see about that. We’ll see. Is it this exit or the next one?”
“Next one,” you answer. “Once you got off, I’ll help more.”
“Next one. Got it. Thanks.”
“No, thank you.”
The front of the house is dark when you arrive. There’s no lights bleeding through the curtains. There’s no flutter or wide swinging of the door as you and Calum ascend the stairs. You’re not sure what this means and from what you can see there is at least one car in the driveway at the very least. There were two--a car for Dian and Melvin each. But you’re not sure who drives what. It feels a little pointless to knock on the door, but you do so anyway. It sits unanswered for a minute or two.
Calum’s hand rests gingerly in the dip of your lower back. “Want to try the door bell?”
It feels silly to think you haven’t had to use the doorbell in months. But you wait a moment more and then reach for it. The toll rings out, so much so that even you hear it from behind the closed door. The seconds pass and you don’t hear anything. Melvin had told you to come at this time. You worried nothing had happened in the meantime but a few seconds later you catch a faint call, “Coming, coming!”
Melvin smiles as he opens the door. There’s light but from deeper in the house, from the kitchen you think. The front of the house is dark. “Uh, we’re in the backyard,” he notes, pushing his glasses back up on his face.
You nod and step inside. “Okay.”
“That’s cute,” he comments, pointing down to the buckets in your hand. “For Charlie and Teagan?”
“Uh, yeah. There’s a lot of sugar as a warning.”
“To be expected,” he laughs. “Just head straight back. I’ve got to run upstairs and I’ll be right back down in a minute.”
Calum slides in around you, giving Melvin a passing greeting before taking a couple steps further ahead of you. You watch Melvin though, as he ascends the stairs one hand on the railing. He moves quietly though you distinctly remember the sixth step always having a little bit of a squeak to it. So far, there’s no Diana. Not that you can see but you know you’re staring too much when you notice just how Melvin skips over the second noisiest step too.
“Ready?” Calum questions.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you return and then catch up. “It’s just this way.” You lead Calum deeper into the house, past the living room and kitchen to the sliding glass doors. Charlie and Teagan sit at the wooden bench in the backyard, two pumpkins resting already on the table on top of newspaper. The big kitchen trashcan sits outside--ready and lined with the black garbage bag.
The two turn at the sound of the door sliding in the grooving, faces immediately brightening up when they spot you and Calum. Teagan slides out and rushes up the porch steps. “Hi!” she laughs colliding into your lower body.
“Hi,” you laugh in return.
Charlie follows up behind his own cheer leaving his throat. You wrap him up in a hug as well. But as you do, you pause. He’s hitting the middle of your chest nearly. Just a few weeks ago he was maybe at your waist. But now you feel it in your bones. In the next year, you’ll be looking him directly in his eye. It would break your heart for it to be sooner, but the longer you take in the extra inches, you think it might be sooner.
“You’re getting so tall,” you marvel.
Charlie laughs. “Yeah, I guess so. The basketball coach asked me if I’d considered joining the sport last week.”
“No more baseball?” Calum questions, slinging his arm around Charlie’s shoulders.
“Never giving up on that. But I might consider basketball too. If they don’t share the same season schedule.”
You know you shouldn't be shocked. It’s supposed to happen. They’re supposed to grow up. But as Charlie collects his basket full of goodies and carries on back to the table, you find yourself still in awe of how much he’s grown. They won’t be little forever--a terrifying thought to have. But they still laugh, digging into the baskets for their first pick of candy.
“We’re supposed to wait,” Charlie notes, warning Teagan of some previous agreement. You think you hear somewhere in there where his voice cracks too. Just a little, hardly enough for you to think it’s real. But you swear you can catch it.
She huffs, but places the box of Nerds back onto the table. “You could let me slide.”
“No, Dad said to wait, so we wait.”
“Where is Dad anyway?” Teagan questions. Her gaze falls behind you back towards the house but when she doesn’t seem to garner enough for an answer she looks back to you. “You going to help me destroy Charlie and Calum from over there?”
The shock glued your feet. You hadn’t made it from the bottom of the steps of the porch but you soldier on and settle onto the bench next to her. “No, sorry. Any ideas on what you want to do with this here pumpkin?” you ask with a slap to the side. It’s a dull thud, but the gourd is still firm under the weight of your hand.
She nods, reaching for a stack of papers. “I drew up some ideas at lunch. Which one do you think is best?”
As you begin shuffling through Teagan’s ideas, you can catch the murmur of Calum and Charlie discussing too. For a brief moment, you lock in again on Charlie’s voice. There’s nothing there, not another crack. It’s enough that you think you could convince yourself that you imagined the earlier sound. But you know it’s a fruitless wish. So you zero back in on the four sketches--one has furrowed brows and though the brows aren’t quite even in the drawing, you do like the added touch. You slide it out towards her. “I like this one.”
“That was my first choice. But I liked this one too a lot.” She reaches for the drawing with the word, Boo written in a speech bubble out from the pumpkin’s mouth.
You look back up to her pumpkin. Charlie’s chosen pumpkin is shorter and wider, which you think would fit the words a bit more. But Teagan’s pumpkin is much taller and a tad bit narrower. The word would inevitably wrap around the side. “I think given the pumpkin you’re working with this one is the best bet,” you return, holding the picture in your hand up a little bit more. “The pumpkin’s a bit too narrow for the word. But if you really want it, we can try to make it work.”
Teagan holds the design up to the pumpkin, eyes flickering up and down from the picture to the pumpkin, around the edges of it. “I think you’re right.”
“Save that one for next year, if you want. Then we can make sure you get the right size pumpkin for it.”
“There’s also the tiny pumpkins we’re going to paint too today,” Teagan begins, “so I’m sure I can use that design on one of them.” She points to the side of the table you’re at but there’s nothing a top of the table so you look down and spot a collection of six mini pumpkins waiting.
“Oh, yeah, that works too.”
The four of you wait for another minute or two, but you can see how antsy Teagan and Charlie are getting. They fidget near their boxes of candy and near the tools assembled on the table for carving. Melvin made it sound like it would only take a minute or two. It settles into your gut that Diana’s the reason for the hold up. And behind that lead is bile at the realization that Melvin may not be getting to her. If your lungs could collapse at a thought, this would be their undoing.
Charlie looks back to the house. “I’m going to go look for Dad,” he states.
It flashes before your eyes--how he might discover Diana drunk, Melvin doing his best to coax her from the glass, or worse, an argument. His world would crumble in an instant. You know that it might be the wind to bring the house of cards down and it might make whatever you do in the future make more sense, but you call out his name instead. He doesn’t need to be dropped into reality just yet.
“We can get started, if you want. I think Calum and I count as adult supervision,” you tease. “Even if just barely on Calum’s part.”
“Excuse me?” Calum laughs. “I have been well into adulthood for quite some time now. Not nearly as old as you, but it still counts.”
Charlie laughs at the exchange. “No, but like, we always do it with Dad,” he counters. He’s not moved closer back to the bench, hovering in the few feet between the bench and the deck steps.
“You can blame me,” you counter, nodding for Charlie to come back. “C’mon. Teagan’s got ass to kick--yours specifically.”
“Oh no, now that’s unfair,” he retorts, inching back towards the table, back towards safety. “And you owe money to the jar.”
“Add it to my tab,” you grin, sliding him an apron.
“Game on,” he grins. Devious as it is, you count this as a win. You know the trouble won’t get smoother, won’t get easier, but Charlie doesn’t need the veil torn down just yet.
As you help Teagan into her apron, you notice her own concern, the flickering of her gaze back up to the house. God, what you wouldn’t have done to save her the first time, when she snuck down to that kitchen and caught those few seconds of the cabinets slamming.
“Do you want to scoop or cut?” you ask, trying to pull her back. You can save her now, even if it’s only for pumpkin carving. “After we get the outline done, of course.”
“I’ll take a stab at the cutting.”
You snort at the pun, but nod. “If it’s too tough, just let me know and I’ll take over.”
She nods and takes the sharpie with ease to begin outlining the brows, eyes, and mouth of her jack-o-latern. She works with little hesitation until she has to make the brow on the right with the one on the left. Charlie and Calum laugh from their side of the table as Charlie works to get the knife through the thick rine.
“Please watch your fingers, yeah?” Calum states as Charlie works.
Teagan slips out from the bench and takes a couple steps back. You watch her and she tilts her head just a little. “I can’t get the brows straight for the life of me,” she laughs.
You lean over to get a more straight one look. The right brow is just a little lower than the left. “It’s now an aesthetic choice. Adds to the character,” you offer.
She snorts. “We can call it that.”
As she returns back to her spot, you hear the slide of the glass doors. Melvin slips through but pauses with the door not fully closed behind him. You see it, the flash of fear and disappointment over his face. It makes you wonder if he ever consider that even this particular path of action would have its own cost? The hand of the universe is always perfectly balanced--for every x that is solved, there is a z.
The two of you lock gazes, as you stand to help Teagan with getting the gourd open, and you know that Melvin’s truly not prepared. Neither are you. The two of you are wading in the same sea. Neither one of you has a buoy, neither one of you have a life vest for what’s coming or what’s already here. The difference between you and Melvin are merely only the reasons that brought you into this stormy sea. You already know the cost of every choice. You already know that every action you take or don’t take will come with its own weighty consequence. You know the cost of keeping Charlie from going inside is that when the truth does come out, it will destroy him tenfold. You know when you take them in, when you do what you must do, there will be anger and resentment. As much as it scares you, you know you’re going to do it--regardless. You don’t know how to navigate those feelings. You don’t know how to live with the fear of what you know must be done. But you will still do it.
Does some part of this feel like deja vu for Melvin? Not that you envy his position. He is at the crossroads of his own impossible trolley problem. If Melvin wanted to save his wife, save the mother of his children, Charlie and Teagan would become the sacrifice. If Melvin wanted to save his two youngest children from the same fate that fell upon you, his wife would become the sacrifice. You watch the crushing reality swallow him whole. You’ve never seen true horror on someone’s face until now. Until Melvin watches as you work the knife through the flesh of the pumpkin and the foundation of a tradition cracks.
You could and would do whatever necessary to protect them. You wish you could tell him, say to him that this is the moment of sink or swim. This is the very second to decide if he’s going to let Diana’s own choices destroy what he’d worked so hard to build. But you’ve the rest of the rind to get through. There’s Teagan waiting eagerly to your right with the spoon to scoop out the innards of the pumpkin. So you look back down to the work you’re doing, sliding the knife through the tough outer flesh and resign yourself come the end of November, even if you have to sink, Charlie and Teagan will still swim.
You can only hope Melvin’s accepted that fate too.
#calum hood#calum hood fanfic#calum hood fic#calum hood imagine#calum hood series#prince!calum#calum hood au#calum hood x reader#calum hood x gender neutral reader#prince!calum au#5sos#5 seconds of summer#5 seconds of summer fanfic#5 seconds of summer fic#5sos fic#5sos fanfic#5sos series#5sos imagine#sweet dreams#h writes
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↬ general yandere! stanley headcanon
character: stanley snyder [dr. stone]
warning: yandere, mentions of m0rder, mentions of viol3nc3 ; MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI, PUT YOUR AGE IN BIO/PINNED POST TO INTERACT
words: 698
a/n: this is a repost from my main blog (@/hikari-writes) so yes this writing is old + bad, i just moved them here w/o editing bc im lazy and wants to keep reminding myself how bad my writing used to be <3
➳ Stanley would definitely be the more possessive type of yandere if anything.
➳ He’s the type of guy that doesn’t take no for an answer, so you will be his no matter what.
➳ His obsession would start as a simple attraction towards you. He just finds you amusing to a degree and he likes interacting with you.
➳ As he found himself falling more and more in love with you, his desires to keep you all to himself grow alongside his feelings.
➳ Which is never a good thing to happen, by the way.
➳ You should definitely expect him to remind you of who you belong to constantly, even to the point of suffocating you.
➳ I’d say he’s one of the most extremely dangerous yandere in the Dr. Stone universe. Not only because he won’t hesitate to kill anyone that he detests, but also because there’s a chance for you to be one of them too.
➳ Stanley has lived his life as a military officer and I’m betting he has never experienced love before, therefore making his understanding of it to be extremely twisted.
➳ He expects you to obey him, and if you don’t, well, let’s not talk about the consequences.
➳ As I said before, I somehow imagine Stanley to consider the choice to kill you, even though it’s a rare occasion for yanderes to kill their darlings and the most they would do is to break them to the point of no return.
➳ Although, for him to actually consider this decision, you must have pushed him a tiny bit too far.
➳ He thought that maybe as a corpse, you’d be more obedient to him and won’t question his love.
➳ But enough talking about him killing his darling, let’s talk about how he’d act around you.
➳ He’s not a fan of PDA but he still occasionally does so just to show the others that you belong to him. It wasn’t even done out of true affection for you. He just did that to assert dominance.
➳ When you two are alone, he would have you sit down beside him and let him rest his head on your lap after completing whatever task Xeno had given him.
➳ He’s a manipulative and calculating type of yandere and would fabricate a lot of lies in order to make you stay with him.
➳ He’s not a delusional yandere, but his limited understanding and knowledge of love made him not quite realize what he’s doing is wrong.
➳ Actually, even if he knew, he won’t actually stop his behaviour.
➳ His way of showing his affection is by playing with your hair. Whenever he rests his head on your lap, he would twirl some of your strands of hair and kiss it.
➳ He’s a very blunt and straightforward guy so he constantly would tell you how beautiful you are. He won’t actually shower you with lots of praises every single minute or anything, so he makes sure his compliments sounded as genuine as possible.
➳ He won’t hesitate to kill or at the very least, break a bone or two, of anyone who does as much as stare at you.
➳ He’d be so disgusted by them. You’re not at fault for being so beautiful. No, of course you’re not at fault. It’s those filthy pigs’ faults for not understanding their damn place and even thinks of getting their hands on you.
➳ Stanley won’t hesitate to kill anyone or everyone but he has made Xeno an exception. Not because he felt indebted to him for whatever reason that makes him work for the scientist nor is it because he considers Xeno to be his friend. Rather, it’s because it would be extremely inconvenient to live in the Stone World without the aid of a genius such as himself. Even with all that has been said and done, he still loves you albeit a little too twisted. He doesn’t wish for you to live in the wilderness anytime soon.
➳ He can show his undying affection for you, but only under one condition and that being you not opposing him in any way possible. All you need to do is just humor him and you will be safe from the clutches of Death.
#yandere#tw: yandere#dr stone#dr stone yandere#dr stone x reader#dr stone yandere x reader#stanley snyder#dr stone stanley#dr stone stanley x reader#dr stone yandere stanley
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Circus AU + Bodyguard AU: Supercorp, if you please
I read this and knew instantly I had to add a story to the MCU (mimecorp universe).
---
Lena was born to be an aerialist. That’s not hyperbole – her birth mother was a brilliant acrobat. Lena did not know much about her, but she knew that. She knew she was poor and talented and desperate, and that when the illustrious Ringmasters of the Luthor dynasty offered her weight in gold for the baby she carried the woman jumped at the chance.
She got a handsome payment to live off of for years, and they got Lena.
From the moment she could grip silk she was trained in the aerialist arts. Her childhood consisted of unbearably hot spotlights and grueling routines, hours and hours on end pushing her body to its limits. It was all she knew.
She was raised alongside the Luthor’s son Lex, who took a cruel liking to her. He dragged her around with him wherever he pleased. He took a perverse pleasure in showing her off to all the other performers as his “little sister”, though he treated her more like a pet. It was all a funny game to him, this little girl they bought for their entertainment. They even gave her their last name.
Even still, she was not their family. There was no love for Lena in the Luthor household, and she was made to sleep on the floorboards of their mansions as they traveled from show to show. But she wasn’t in the tents like the rest of the performers, and as far as they knew she was sleeping on silks like royalty.
The Luthors mocked and neglected her. The circus resented her for her supposed status. She was, at all times, utterly alone. She lived like that for years, well into her young adulthood.
And then Lex burned the big tent down.
He was drunk and reckless, and one of the acrobats he’d had an eye on rejected his advances and he’d become so enraged that he’d torn the backroom apart, screaming and throwing and tearing in such a fury that he didn’t even notice the candle he’d knocked into the cloth siding until the entire room was ablaze.
Three performers died that night, a dozen were injured. Lex was arrested and set for trial, and the Luthor empire crumbled. The circus dissolved.
Lena remembers running into the house and grabbing onto Lillian, the closest thing to a mother she’d ever known, and asking her what they should do. In disgust Lillian shook off her grip. “I’m going up north to support my son. What you do is your prerogative.”
“Mother-” Lena said, and Lillian snapped back. “I am not your mother, and you are not a child. There is no more circus so there is no more reason to keep you around. Figure your own life out.”
And with that, the only life Lena had ever known was gone.
She floats aimlessly for a while, working odd jobs and trying to build something for herself. She’s bad at most things. Clumsy and slow. Her entire life was driven by a single, solitary purpose of performance. Working in anything else feels unnatural and difficult.
Eventually, a circus comes to the town she’s been trying and failing to build a life in. It’s a small one, nowhere near the glamor and prestige Luthor Circus once had, but the second Lena sees Those show lights she feels a yearning she can’t shake. That is, for all its faults, the only life she’s ever known.
She approaches the ringmaster, a surly man named J’onn with an unreadable face, and begs for an audition. He watches her performance, sees the way she twists and contorts in the air with ease, and tells her no.
It’s too expensive, he says, and their equipment isn’t up to par to her skill level. He doesn’t need an old loose rope to snap and send her hurdling to her demise. He doesn’t need her to spend a few weeks with them only to grow bored and seek better opportunities. She’s too qualified for a place like theirs.
“Please,” she says, with a desperation that fills the room like a noxious fume. “I have nowhere to go.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he almost sounds sincere. “I’ll walk you out, Miss…”
“Luthor,” she says. “Lena Luthor.”
She can see it register in his eyes then.
He hires her.
It feels like slipping into a well-worn pair of shoes, being in the circus. The lights, the sounds, the obvious disdain of everyone around her – it all feels like home.
Word spreads fast that she’s a Luthor, and before she even meets them the entire acrobat crew actively despises her. They stop talking when she walks into rooms, they leave when she sits down at a table to eat. They make it clear she can sleep somewhere other than their tents. The first night she wakes up to find her clothes soaked with some foul-smelling liquid and her mud smeared in her hair. She opts to sleep outside the night after that.
Thankfully, they’re in a dry place for a while, and there’s a strange sort of peace in laying on her cot under so many stars. She sleeps through most of the night peacefully but wakes up shivering sometime before dawn, her blankets mysteriously gone. At some point, someone stole them. Of course.
She tries to lay for a few more futile minutes before it becomes unbearable, and she has no choice but to get up and find warmth. She follows the smoky smell and crackling sounds until she finds the main campfire and, much to her misfortune, a stranger sitting beside it.
They don’t see her immediately, eyes aimed distantly at the flames, and Lena deliberates on just going back to her cot. The frosted dew behind her feels unthinkable against that intoxicating warmth, and despite the consequences Lena quietly sits by the fire a ways from the stranger staring ahead.
It's surprising how long it takes the stranger to notice her, but when they do, she’s met with a warm smile and a laugh.
“Oh jeez, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was here. I must have looked quite odd just sitting here.”
Lena is quiet. She’s not sure if they know who she is at this point, and anything she can do to prolong her access to the fire she’ll do.
“Is it okay if I sit here a while?” she finally asks, and the stranger smiles. It’s a kind smile. She’s not used to those.
“Of course,” the stranger says, and goes back to that strange fire stare.
They sit in silence for a long time. Lena finds herself relaxing into the steady warmth. Despite herself, she nods off. She wakes up some time later to scuffling and shouting above her (when had she laid down?) and she opens her eyes to see the stranger punching someone in the face.
“Get away from her!” the stranger shouts, standing between her and the dazed man sprawled on the ground. She recognizes him from earlier – he’d dumped a drink on her book she’d been reading after dinner.
“Why are you protecting her?” the man screams back, clutching his now heavily bleeding nose. “She’s a fucking Luthor!”
Lena’s heart stops at hearing that, and she scoots away from the conflict until her back hits the log she’d been sitting on just a few hours before. She wonders if the stranger will turn and punch her like that. Instead, the stranger seems even angrier with the man.
“I don’t care if she’s Satan’s sister, you’re not gonna touch her.”
Lena can’t see whatever expression they have, but she can see the man’s reaction to it. He looks almost frightened.
“Whatever,” he says, dusting himself off. “It’s your fucking funeral, Kara.”
And with that he stumbles away, ego and face aching, and the stranger – Kara, apparently – turns to smile at her.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” Kara says, absolutely baffling her. “If you’d like to go back to sleep I’ll stand watch.”
Some feeling prickles inside of her, radiating from her chest down to her lap. She doesn’t know what it is, but it terrifies her. She wants to feel it forever.
“I’m… I’m fine. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course I did! I’m not going to let some knucklehead mess with you when you’re asleep.”
“Do you not know who I am?” she’s almost desperate as she asks. She doesn’t understand.
Kara shrugs.
“Lena Luthor. I heard. Still not gonna let anyone mess with you.”
How the hell does she respond to something like that? A voice in the distance calls out Kara’s name then, cutting off her anxious spiral, and Kara smiles at her.
“I have to go to practice, but my tent is the blue one just over there. I’m the lead so I have it to myself, so. You can stay there with me, if you'd like.” Her face must look some kind of way because Kara is quick to add, “I can sleep on the floor, or outside by the fire. I’m not- I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
Every part of her mind tells her it’s a trap, it’s a setup, there’s a shoe waiting to fall hard on her head. That unfamiliar feeling tingles even harder. The feeling wins.
“Okay,” she whispers, and is rewarded with another bright smile from Kara. “You said you’re the lead. Are you an acrobat?”
For the first time since meeting, Kara looks uncomfortable, face going bright red all at once. It’s sweet, and that feeling hits Lena again somewhere low and terrifying.
“No not so much, I’m actually, uh,” a cough, and finally, “I’m the lead clown.”
For the first time, Lena really notices Kara’s face. Notices the faint remnants of paint, the slight white hue left behind after washing. She notices how bright Kara’s clothes actually are. She’s a fucking clown.
“Oh,” Lena says, and the feeling intensifies.
#I am only able to write if I'm writing something absolutely unhinged#I fucking love writing clown kara and horny-for-clowns lena#aka just canon supercorp#mcu#supercorp mime au#trope mashup
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