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foxgloveprincess · 10 months

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Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: You didn’t mean to catch Ransom’s attention, and you’ll do whatever it takes to lose it.

Word Count: 8.1k

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Dubious Consent (Kissing, Blow Job, Vaginal Sex, Overstimulation, Mild Degradation/Humiliation, Praise Kink), Coercion (Payment for Sex), Stalking, Fear/Paranoia, Yandere Vibes, BDSM (Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Rope Bondage, Suspension, Aftercare, Leather Cuffs), Pet Names (dear, birdie, pidge). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: Hope you enjoy it. Let me know if I should continue it! Up next is A.W.A. Meeting (#2), then hopefully Lloyd.

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

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Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

The song has been stuck in your head all day. Soft and sweet and romantic, it buzzes past your lips in a quiet hum while you end your work day by tidying your space.

“You know,” Harlan says as he leans back in his chair, contemplation narrowing his stare, “my offer still stands to make you my full-time personal assistant.”

You sigh and continue to clean up your papers, clipping them in neat packets for easy access when the research becomes relevant. “And you know I have other commitments.” You glance over your shoulder with a grin and shrug. “I can’t leave Chase hanging.” You snort at the unintended pun and continue working. Your hand brushes a spec of fuzz from the corner of your table, leaving it immaculate.

Harlan makes a noise of agreement and sits up before standing. “Well, if things ever change.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you agree. The final clip snaps onto your last packet. “Now,” you address your boss with a playfully stern finger pointed in his direction, “don’t mess this up.” You nod toward the space set aside as your desk. Pens, post-its, and papers neat in a row.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” There’s a mischievous twinkle in the man’s eye, and you know you’ll be reorganizing on Monday morning, but you don’t mind. Not when Harlan’s done so much for you, and you know he’ll inevitably make your job easier somehow.

The dogs start barking outside. The front door slams and heavy steps thud toward the kitchen. No greeting, no real indication of who it might be. But you’ve worked in the Thrombey house long enough to make an educated guess.

“Looks like your grandson’s paying you a visit,” you muse while packing away the last of your belongings. “Don’t tear each other to pieces, alright? I still need this job at the end of the weekend.”

Harlan chuckles and shakes his head. He’s a good man, kind but indomitable. You admire him a moment longer. Fond warmth reflects back at you in his gaze. You’ll never forget how lucky you were he decided to take a chance on you.

“Goodnight,” you bid with a smile.

Harlan sends the same after you as you turn to the stairs, waiting for his grandson to make his surely dramatic entrance. The Go board already in hand. You wonder if he will take his grandfather up on the challenge.

Passing Marta and Fran on your way out the door, you say your farewells. And you almost make it out before coming face to face with the notorious ass—Hugh Ransom Drysdale. To think you’d been able to avoid him for so long. You should have taken the back exit through the patio.

“Who’re you?” he asks, inspecting you like a blot of dirt on his Beemer.

“Hello, Mr. Drysdale,“ you greet softly, short and professional. His head tilts and his gaze narrows at the address. “I’m expected elsewhere. If you’ll excuse me.” But you don’t wait for him to move, skirting around his broad frame before making it out the front door. His stare burning into your back the whole way. Constant, uncomfortable.

Safe and locked in your car, you’re able to shake it off. At least for a moment. When it starts to creep back up your spine while pulling out of the driveway, your hand reaches over to flick on your stereo, blasting the feeling away. You sing along, belting out any lingering unease. Getting yourself ready and letting the week’s stress seep from you.

The drive back into the city winds long, but passes quickly. Only forty minutes. But part of that convenience is negated by the absolute bear it is to find parking downtown. Another ten minutes of struggle before you get out—the urban parking gods not on your side tonight. Your car beeps with the lock and you sigh. It’ll be a longer walk.

The sun sinks behind the buildings and the orange glow of the streetlights paint the sidewalks. You bundle yourself in your jacket, shift your duffle higher on your shoulder, and start marching. One foot in front of the other. Glancing at familiar storefronts and navigating around the few passersby finding their Friday night adventure.

By the second block, you pause. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle. Eyes bore into you from behind. Heated, focused. You spin on your heel, but find no culprit. You swallow and breathe deep. Just your imagination, surely. Maybe.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath and turn to begin walking again. Quicker.

Your steps beat light on the pavement, though you don’t want to seem rushed. Trying to find a steady, rapid pace that doesn’t signal your distress. Still, the sensation doesn’t cease.

The evening gets darker and you see Chase’s studio in the distance. The industrial building looming and dark, intimidating. But your safe haven. The back door stands just within reach. You knock a rapid shave-and-a-haircut on the wood and wait for it to open. Phantom fingers dance along the back of your neck and you whip around. The alley stands empty save for a grimy dumpster and a few trash bags. Yet your heartbeat continues to thunder in your ears.

“There you are,” a gruff yet relieved voice exclaims. Long fingers wrap around your bicep and pull you in, the door closing behind you and cutting you off from your paranoia.

“Sorry,” you reply automatically, distracted before you shake away the adrenaline and turn to your friend. He beams brightly and lets his hand slip down to yours. With a turn on his heel, he guides you through the hallways to the back room. “Minor delay and had to find parking a few blocks away.”

“Don’t worry about it, li’l bird,” he shrugs and opens the door. “The room’s still filling out and Caleb is doing his sensation thing.”

You hum and enter behind your friend, setting your bag down in its usual place by the futon and shrugging off your coat. Your neck rolls on your shoulders, releasing any residual tension. Warm hands wrap over them and knead the muscles.

“You okay?” Chase asks, genuine concern in his voice. “You’re looking a little rattled.”

You lean into his gentle but firm touch, letting your eyes drift shut. Sinking into the feeling and focusing on it. Keeping yourself out of the instinctive loop of fright that lingers at the fringes of your mind. Chase’s hands travel down your back and over your sides—comforting, but objective in their precision.

“I’m fine,” you reply, breathy and calm. You pause, feeling his hands do the same. “Just,” you bite your lip, “maybe have the others keep a watch on the crowd tonight? I’ve had this strange feeling.”

Chase’s warm hands move back up to grasp your shoulders, reassuring in their press. “Of course.” He steps back and releases you. You spin to meet his eyes. “You know I always look out for my girl.” His lips lift in a soothing grin. “Now, let’s get you ready.”

You nod and begin to strip. Your blouse unbuttons and falls from your shoulders. Chase helps you step out of your skirt and grabs your outfit from your duffle. You change quickly from your everyday bra into the elaborate sports bra saved for these occasions. Chase helps straighten the straps, keeping them from turning on themselves and arranging them as they’re supposed to be. The bike shorts slide up your legs and sit at your waist. A quick peek in the mirror ensures you’re presentable—effortless yet alluring.

“You ready?” Chase asks softly.

You catch his eye in the mirror and nod with a small grin. “Ready.”

He offers his hand and you turn to accept it. Fingers squeeze around yours and draw you out. The crowd gathers around the elevated stage. The rig is all set up, the mats on the ground, the spotters standing on the fringes, everything waiting for you both.

Chase stops right by the steps up. He turns to you and takes your other hand in his. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you reply immediately. A deep breath calms your spiking heart and the butterflies in your tummy. Displaying yourself in such a vulnerable position never stops being terrifying—or exhilarating.

“Then come along, birdie.”

The lights blare bright on the stage. Hot and revealing. You cannot look to the crowd waiting out past your line of sight. You’d freeze if you did. Instead you keep your focus on Chase—your constant, your rock, your Dom.

He brings you to the center of the stage and releases your hands. His chin dips in a bid for you to kneel. You sink the onto the floor, hands resting on your thighs, waiting. Your eyes locked still on him.

“Good evening.” He addresses the crowd with all the charisma you expect from him. “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourselves.”

As he continues, you let your mind center on your body. Keeping yourself present, but counting your breaths and feeling the steady pulse of your heartbeat. Rope uncoils. Instructions and explanations fall to a rapt audience.

Chase walks over, turning his back to the crowd to face you. He smiles. “There’s my good girl,” he says just for you. Your lips stretch, preening at the compliment.

He cups your cheeks, tilting your face up. His lips descend to press a kiss to your forehead before he finds the bite of his rope and begins.

The rope slides over your exposed skin. Each caress precise, purposeful. Chase works quickly, but pauses every so often to address the audience again or check in with you. Your arms lift. You bend and submit to the way he moves your body. The rope cinches too tight. You wince. Immediately, Chase corrects it.

Around and around, you’re bound. Your thoughts quiet, steady and calm. The last knot ties everything together and Chase steps away.

Another speech before he positions you and the hooks pull taut. You breathe deep, preparing yourself. Your body rises from the stage, suspended. Like you’re flying. It takes a moment to adjust. Chase places his hand on your side, grounding you in the way you need. Your eyes fall shut. Blissful in the darkness behind your eyelids.

Chase stays nearby. He watches. The spotters watch. The people watch. You’re used to the appreciation. Admiring the way you hang from the ceiling, the way your body contorts to the shape of Chase’s vision.

Music begins to play through the studio. You hang like a piece of art. Whispers and conversations pick up until it’s the drone of a crowd filling the high ceilings. Talk about your dedication and grace. Discussion of Chase’s skill. Various mingling. But all the buzz of the background mellows in your head. Your blood flowing through your veins and the tension of the rope on your frame.

Chase brings you down earlier than usual. He lowers the rig and starts to untie you, except for the final ring that keeps you hooked. You stay there for a few minutes until he’s certain of your stability.

All the while, he begins your favorite part. His hands pet over your limbs. The blood already pooling under your skin, creating tender contusions. He whispers words of affirmation and praise. You savor the bliss of his aftercare and feel exhaustion’s tug.

The spotters dissemble the rest of the rig and release you from the final tether. Chase’s arm wraps about your shoulders and the two of you exit off the stage to wind your way back to your room.

It’s quick, habitual work for Chase to prepare the futon for your nap. And you sink onto the bed with a sigh. The mattress dips beside you. Your Dom strokes his hand over you head. As always, he insists you drink electrolyte water and eat a little snack, each presented to your lips by his own hand.

“You did so good for me, li’l bird,” he whispers, coaxing you toward rest. “Just close your eyes for me and I’ll let you sleep for a while.”

You hum in response, knowing he’ll stay beside you until you’re under. A thought drifts toward the surface before it escapes your grasp, floating away from you until it’s gone and you’re asleep.

By Monday morning, you’ve forgotten the encounter with Ransom Drysdale, too distracted by your weekend to remember an insignificant meeting. Pleasantly fuzzy feelings and bright spirits follow you in your drive to the Thrombey estate. But it all evaporates when you turn toward the house and see Ransom standing there, leaning against one of the porch columns. A grimace twists his lips and his arms fold across his chest.

“So, you’re grandad’s research assistant,” he says with a derisive edge to his tone.

“Morning, Mr. Drysdale,” you return on a whisper, waking past him and into the house. Ignoring the derogatory sting of his remark.

His brow furrows and he follows. You take off your coat and scarf, hanging each with care in the entryway. The whole time, Ransom’s stormy presence grows increasingly agitated behind you. When your feet turn toward the kitchen for a calming cup of tea, you take only one step before finding yourself flailing and dragged backward by a strong arm clutching at your waist.

The hard wall of Harlan’s office digs into your back. But you would take that discomfort if not for the fire flashing in Ransom’s eyes.

“Your grandfather is waiting for me,” you say without inflection, staring at him and waiting for his tantrum to cease—for him to get bored and release you. “Please let me go.”

His lips screw up in disdain before he responds with an decisive, “No.”

You keep your breath even, refusing to let him get under your skin. Hoping you haven’t unintentionally gotten under his.

“Tell me how you came to be Harlan’s assistant.”

You don’t reply. The hallway clock ticks. Your nerves spike as it continues, knowing Harlan expects promptness.

“You’re being quite rude, pigeon,” he says after a tense minute, stretching his arms to brace against the wall, keeping you cornered but elongating his body in a spectacle of power. He leans close, invading your space until his breath brushes your cheek. “Why don’t you coo for me? I would hate to have to contact my Uncle Walt at the publishing company and get your position filled by someone more…friendly.”

A swallow clicks in your throat. “Mr. Drysdale, your grandfather hired me himself, and I’m not directly associated with Blood Like Wine Publishing,” you explain in clipped syllables, clinging to your calm while he looms closer.

His brow quirks in intrigue and his lips press into another smirk. Words form on his tongue. But as the stairs creak at someone’s approach, they remain unspoken.

“There you are,” Harlan calls from the stair landing, peering into his office. “Come along, dear, time to get to work.”

His eyes flash to his grandson, a sharp look challenging his obstructive position. Ransom meets it and they lock gazes for a charged moment. You take your window of opportunity for what it is, surging forward under Ransom’s left arm. In the space between his frame and the wall paneling, you squeeze through. Though your body drags against his and your balance falters, you get past. Ransom grunts in displeasure and protests, but you march your way upstairs following your boss.

“Be careful of him,” Harlan warns in a whisper as you pass him along the stairs.

You nod and continue on. A final glance over your shoulder confirms your suspicions. Ransom remains planted in place, jaw ticking and arms crossed. His attention focuses on your retreating figure, brow furrowed in thought—a glint in his eye you instinctively fear.

In. Out. You focus on breathing. A steady cadence, a calming exercise. Your safety and escape with the ropes biting into your flesh.

This week pushed your limits. Every day affected by unease—following like a burning gaze. You’ve seen little of Harlan’s grandson. Yet every time you feel yourself tipping into that unsettled state, you find your thoughts turning toward him.

In. Out. Now is not the time to think about it. Not when you don’t have to. Not in this state. Suspended above the mats. On display. In. Out. Focus. It works, mind drifting on the softy syllables of Chase’s conversation with a curious patron. Grounding you, guiding you toward peace.

Until it returns. That burning prickle at the back of your neck. The paranoia. It sets your teeth on edge. Despite your head being supported above your heart in tonight’s position, it becomes light, dizzy. Your eyes snap open, darting from face to face. Searching for his sinister features.

A flash—brown hair, sharp blue eyes, a regal sloping nose, a tan coat. It’s just a glimpse, but you meet their eye and see the beginnings of a smirk. Your vision swims. The studio blurs. Your heart pounds in your ears. You swallow, throat dry.

A croak escapes your lips. Chase’s concern meets your panic immediately. The spotters step forward, but his form eclipses your view of the rest of the studio—the crowd, the figure hidden amongst them—first. Your Dom reaches out to you and steadies the unconscious flail of your limbs. His fingers stroke across your skin. Slowly, it calms you. Your fear receding in the surety of his presence.

“Do you need to come down?” he asks, ready at a moment’s notice to lower you back to the ground—cut you out of the rope, if need be—and sweep you away to the safety of your room.

“No,” you say after a minute and a few deep breaths. “I thought…” Your words trail off in a mumble as you shake the silliness of your concerns away. It couldn’t have been Ransom. How would he know about this? It’s your mind playing tricks on you.

Chase examines you a moment longer before conceding with a wary nod. He steps back, letting the flood of the room rush back. Your eyes close again to force your way back down to comforting darkness. In. Out. In. Out.

Yet the evening becomes soured by that one moment. Chase’s distance expands like a chasm between you as he unwinds the rope from your body and steadies your walk back to your room. His methodical aftercare lacks in a way that sears a hole deep in your belly. Though you can’t name why. You wait for his tenderness to make it all feel better, but it doesn’t.

He settles you down on your futon and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. His eyes flicker with that same concern, but he says nothing more of it. Simply feeds you your snack and tilts your water past your lips. They slosh uneasy in your stomach, but you follow your routine, praying for some solace.

His muttered praises do little to coax you toward rest. Fidgeting and turning over and over, you body thrums even as you feel the weight of exhaustion. You close your eyes, forcing yourself to give in. Chase stays a moment longer before leaving you to the sticky blackness of sleep.

Though it’s not long until you’re disturbed. Like pulling you up through tar, you find the surface. Your reluctance to awaken keeps your eyes stubbornly shut, but the figure beside you strokes their hand over your head. You sigh and a small smile twitches at your lips. The touch soothes your soul.

“Chase,” you mumble on a sleepy murmur. He makes no response, but lets his fingers trail over your cheek. Your hand reaches out, grasping his and tucking it close to your chest. “Stay with me til I’m back asleep?” A yawn punctuates your request. He says nothing but stays beside you. His legs stretch alongside your body. And he makes no protest when you half-consciously scoot closer, letting you cling to him for the first time as you sink once again.

Harlan’s warning rings constant in your mind, “Be careful of him.” But there is no careful—there’s no more safety, no escape. Because you weren’t wrong. That figure in the crowd, watching you and sending you spiraling toward panic—that was Ransom. Following you again and again to the studio. Each week struggling to find a way to bring it up with Harlan, and failing. Each weekend spent suspended with Ransom’s eyes piercing through you.

You’ve tracked his approach, stalking closer and closer to the stage with each passing week. His eyes never leaving you. Not concerned with whatever Chase says. He has his focus. And it never wavers.

He doesn’t glare or glower—his observation far from menacing. Though foreboding still blares at the back of your mind each time your gaze meets. And you cannot stop yourself. Hanging from the rigging, you always find him. Your heart always lurches before you cut away the room by closing your eyes.

You drift awake, rested from your nap. Your phone proclaims the time and you groan at the early hour before sitting up on your futon and stretching. Muscles protest in the most delicious way and your lips tilt toward a grin. With a roll of your neck, you stand to gather your belongings into your duffle so you can return home.

The door to your small room clicks behind you. A step, two, and you catch a dark figure in you periphery. Your bones jump and you gasp. Turning toward the intruder, you clutch at your heart. Your diaphragm starts spasming, hiccups bobbing up your throat.

“Who,” you hiccup, “Who’s there?”

They step forward, their head bent and hands hanging by their sides. The glint of the ring on his pinky catches the light. You lick your lips and hiccup again. A hand presses to your abdomen hoping to calm the convulsions of the muscle.

“Oh, pigeon, did I scare you?” His mirth grates on your thin tolerance. He doesn’t do anything technically inappropriate during the demonstrations, but this confrontation is.

“Mr. Drysdale,” you say with a heavy breath, trying to swallow around the hiccups. “Why are you here?

Amusement continues to dance bright in his eyes. You’re just waiting for him to start laughing at you. Like there’s a cosmic joke to which you aren’t privy. But you’re willing to wait while he explains himself. All the while starting to feel sick from the incessant hiccups—and maybe something more.

“Let’s just say I have an itch I need you to scratch,” he replies with a teasing shrug.

“That doesn’t explain much, Mr. Drysdale.”

His jaw ticks and the amused light in his eyes dims a fraction. He shifts on his feet and stands straighter. The glint of a gold watch shines in the light. You swallow at the reminder of his status and your precarious position in the hallway with him—the ways this could spiral unpleasantly numerous and beginning to swarm in your head. A thought of Chase materializes in your mind. His bedroom nearby but too far all at the same time.

“Call me Ransom,” he suggests, though even the way his head ticks to the side reads more as a command than counsel.

“Right,” you mumble with a hint of disregard—too focused on yourself, your position. Your eyes dart around the cramped hallway, looking for an escape. “What do you want?”

He hums, deep and threatening in his throat. “You.” The statement simple. Yet it rocks your world—sends you reeling and off-kilter. But he continues, “You see, I can admit you intrigued me on our first meeting. Especially after Harlan refused to tell me much about you other than your job title.” He sighs and takes a step closer. In retreat, you press yourself to the wood of the door. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since. And I need to fix that.” His arm cages you in, resting beside your head as he leans forward, crowding into you. “So,” he says, drawing out the word. His chin dips and his voice lowers to a whisper. “Name you price.”

Your chest jumps in another hiccup, voice jumping with it when you yelp, “What are you talking about?”

A smirk twitches on his lips. “I’m a very wealthy man. I need one night to get you out of my system.” His breath brushes your cheek. “Name. Your. Price.”

You sputter, mind whirring. You’re not naïve. You know for what he’s asking. You used to consider it, when the rent wasn’t adding up—before Chase, before Harlan. But not with someone like him. Your tongue swipes over your lips. His gaze continues to wander over you, examining you like a slab of meat.

“Five hundred thousand dollars?” The number, plucked from the air, grits past your clenched teeth in hopes it will deter him.

He grins and gives you a sliver more space to breathe. “Done.”

You gape in shock. Such an easy agreement. “Wait—”

“Do you want more?” His fingers tickle along your throat while his brow quirks in curiosity.

Your head shakes, vehemently against it. “No. I don’t—”

“Then, what’s the problem, pidge?” His voice husks, a moment away from descending upon you. The glimmer in his eyes hungry.

“I don’t want you,” you reply. The force of your statement knocks him back. His head tilts and his jaw ticks in irritation. His gaze narrows. “I wouldn’t want you for a million.” You push at him, but he doesn’t budge. Too strong, too firm.

His nostrils flare with his ire. A deep breath expands his lungs, pressing his chest to yours. He closes his eyes and calms himself. When he captures you again with his sapphire blue eyes, they’re softer. The sharpness dulled for his plea.

“Look, pidge,” Ransom croons. Sweet as pie but far too deadly. “It’s one night. That’s all.” He backs away, though he keeps his touch close by, ready to swoop back in and strangle you. “You’ll get one million dollars, alright? I never bother you again—never show up to this dump, never meet you at granddad’s. You’re done with me and I’m finally done with you. Got better things to do anyway.”

He lets you think. The moment stretches taut between you. Your hiccups the only disturbance.

“I’ll never have to see you again?” you ask, wary of his answer.

He grins, triumphant. As if he’s already won—which he has. A million dollars can do a lot for you. Clear most of your debt. Make your paycheck stretch further for a little while. Maybe give you a little cushion for a rainy day.

“When?”

“Oh, I knew you’d say yes.” He smirks and trails his fingertips over your cheeks. You turn your head away but he follows, ducking to catch your eye. “You made the right choice. I’m gonna give you the night of your life.”

Air expands your lungs and escapes in a steady hiss. Another hiccup interrupts the stream and you close your eyes in frustration. Lips press to your cheek. You jerk away, startled.

“I’ll text you the details, pidge.”

He leaves, his business concluded by sneaking a pat to your ass. The hallway expands around you once more and fills with your precarious relief.

The door looms too tall before you. You eye the keycard slot. Check the time on your phone. Another minute passed. You wonder if he knows you’re here. Your hand rests on your abdomen for a moment, calming your nerves. Your other reaches out and swipes the card. The light blinks green. You breathe deep, open the door, and stop right in your tracks.

There in the center of this great, grand hotel room sits Ransom cushioned by a big black leather chair. You swallow hard and glance over your shoulder. Your heartbeat flutters anxiously in your throat. You take a step back. Fingers cling tight to the doorknob. You clear your throat.

“Well,” he hums with a twisted grin, “there you are. I guess it’s true—amazing what some people will do for a chunk of change.” He eyes your position, still straddling the threshold and clutching at the doorknob. “You gonna try to run?” His brow quirks and he stands, relaxed and unconcerned. His hands shove deep in his pockets, but his sweater sleeves sit folded up near his elbows. “I thought you were braver than that, pidge.”

With a defiant tilt of your chin, you step forward and let the door close behind you—accepting his challenge. It brings a smug grin to Ransom’s face, but you ignore it by setting aside your bag and toeing off your shoes.

“How are we going to do this?” you ask without looking at him. “Do you have some kind of contract? Or will oral negotiations suffice?” You grab a small notebook from your purse and the attached pen, releasing it from its holder and clicking the cam down.

The scoff and eye roll you receive in reply sets your teeth on edge. Ransom shakes his head and says, “we’re not going to do that, no matter how fun oral negotiations sound.”

You blink. “But—” you begin in your shock before closing your lips and clearing your throat to gather your thoughts. “I realize this is for one night only, but it’s important—”

“You’re right,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand, turning his back on you and meandering around the back of the chair. “This is only for one night. We don’t need all that boring shit. I want to fuck you, not exchange friendship bracelets.” As he comes around to settle on the cushion, he tucks something beside him you can’t catch. “Now.” He leans forward. You stare, entranced by the confidence of his movements. The way his fingers clench on the arms of the chair and his chin tilts. “Get on your knees.”

They threaten to buckle at the command, but you stand firm. Still uncomfortable with this little exchange, you’re not yet ready to start. Not like this. Your tongue lashes out to lick your lips, eyes darting about for something to prolong the conversation. Another question to ask, another point to make.

“Will you listen if I safeword at least?” you ask as your toes tap on the floor in a nervous rhythm. The notebook in your hand crinkles with your grip until you place it and the pen back in your bag.

“You have my word,” Ransom promises, hand pressed—sincere or mocking—to his chest. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not exactly.”

He chuckles and shrugs. Whether his word means anything, you don’t know. All you know is that he’s not getting any more patient. He nods toward his feet, the open place between his knees.

You take a moment to gather yourself and find that safe space in your head, taking slow steps to approach him. Watching him—wary of any sudden shift. The fluffy carpet meets your knees when you sink down. Closing your eyes, you concentrate on steadying your breath.

Ransom waits—for what, you couldn’t guess. Until he rasps, “Open your eyes. Look at me like you look at him.”

Your eyes snap open and meet his. “Like him?”

But he simply holds up a pair of padded cuffs, dangling from his index finger. “You want me to stop, you say ‘Hugh’. Understand?”

Your head bobs in a nod, keeping eye contact. “Yes, Mr. Drysdale.”

In a flash, he grips your chin with his free hand. His fingers dig into your cheeks, anger flaring in his gaze. “You. Call me. Ransom.”

You swallow hard at the abrasive grit in his tone. “Yes, Ransom,” you respond with a stilted nod.

“Good,” he hums in satisfaction, “I prefer good girls.”

The tension drips away as he releases your face. Fingers scratch at his jaw and he stretches, relaxing back into the cushion of the chair. The cuff chain clinks, drawing your attention. His follows, lips twitching toward a smirk.

“Now, can we begin?” he asks with a raise of his brow.

“Yes, Ransom,” you reply, resisting the urge to drop your gaze. Unsure of what reaction might await at such a disregard for his request, but unwilling to risk a punishment—not from him.

“Give me your hands.”

You offer them up, blood vibrating in your veins. He holds them gently despite his prickish nature. The cuffs wrap around your wrists, latching snug to your skin. Perfect—not too tight or too loose. You stare at them. The detailed leather work. The minky lining. The safety buckle ready to release at a moment’s notice. They’re quality, expensive—an indication of forethought, research, commitment.

A weight lifts from your shoulders. The nerves buzzing inside you start to disperse. With a final pat to the leather, his hands stray to explore your body. He traces the curve of your lips. He feels your pulse throbbing at your throat. He cups your breasts and kneads the flesh until your breath hitches.

“Just like that,” he purrs while toying with you. “You’re gonna sing for me, aren’t you?” He plucks at your nipples through your shirt, staring you down to drink in your reaction.

You swallow a whimper—needy and plaintive. Thoughts flurry in your head tinged by heat. Submission tempts, at odds with an insistence on remaining in control. He catches the hesitance when your teeth worry your lower lip. He clicks his tongue in disappointment, and your heart lurches.

He lets the silence settle around you both, reclining back and taking his touch with him. A minute ticks by. His attentions drift over you, searching. Only he knows for what. Your lungs draw in a steady flow of air, each calmer than the last. Your hands itch in impatience, craving contact. Your fingers flex toward him. The chain rattles.

Ransom reads something in that sound and tilts his head, lowering his lips to yours. You blink, unsure of your boundaries with such intimacy, but he swallows any protest with a kiss.

You expect it to be harsh and demanding. Clacking teeth and a suffocating intrusion. That’s not what you get. The way he kisses you like a lover locked in a forbidden embrace between the stacks of an old library—sensual, passionate, and all-consuming. Letting you taste a hint of his hunger, his desperation.

Your bound hands raise to cup his jaw. Drawn to him like a magnet. Because this is the best you’ve ever been kissed. Sure, you’ve been kissed by amateurs, by creeps, by lovers, but nothing like this. It’s addictive.

Without meaning to, you sigh your delight against his lips. His twitch toward a smirk, even as he licks into your mouth and drinks you in. His hands cradle your throat and tilt your head back. The dance between you a delicious exercise of control.

With one last brush of his lips to yours, he draws away. Your head floats, hazy with the sparks of lust ignited by his kiss. Unconsciously, you follow his retreat, leaning up to him like a flower seeking the sun.

He stands, a slow movement that breaks your hold until your falling hands rest upon his thighs. He stares down at you, a conceited pleasure glinting in his appraisal. But you’re past the point of caring or becoming peeved by his superior attitude. You just want him to kiss you like that again. It’s only for one night anyway, what does it matter if he’s proud of himself for making you his plaything—or that you think you’ll enjoy every minute of it.

“Up,” he beckons with an outstretched hand.

You place your hands in his and rise. He squeezes and saunters toward the bed. A noise of approval rolling in his throat, observing your body.

“We’ll need to fix this,” he says with a gesture. You glance down—the plain tee, the jean shorts, your socks. He steps forward, pressing his lips to your ear. “You wear something special for me, pidge?”

You swallow, but can’t answer. Voice stuck in your throat.

“That’s okay,” he coos, playing with the collar of your shirt. “I’ll see soon enough.”

Fabric falls from your body. It pools on the floor at your feet. Your gaze falls with each article of clothing. Exposed to his scrutiny, you stand in your best lingerie set. Thinking he should get what he paid for, you’d donned it but now find a seed of apprehension blooming in your belly. Another thing he’ll nitpick or tease.

“Look at that,” he rasps, hand smoothing across your waist and gripping you close. Your feet stumble over each other and you brace yourself against his chest. “So pretty and just for me.” His fingers pluck at a bow on the front of your bra.

A shock of arousal hits you at his praise, leaving your knees weak. Gripping at his shoulders, you try to support yourself, and his eyes shine with amusement.

“You like when I talk sweet to you, pidge?”

He spins on his heels and takes you with him. With another stumble and a toss, your back bounces on the mattress. You gaze up at him, eyes wide as he chuckles and undoes his belt. With a snick of his zipper, he releases himself and strokes his cock. And, god you hate to admit it, it’s a thing of beauty. You meet his eye and feel the heat crawling up your cheeks.

He quirks his eyebrow and dips his chin. You push yourself clumsily to kneel before him on the soft mattress. His fingers trace your lips until your tongue licks over them. He smirks and leads you down with a firm hand.

The first tentative taste of his flesh sends a shiver up his spine and a breath puffing from his lips. You kiss his tip, eyes locked with his. His cock twitches. He growls and urges you forward until he enters your mouth and rests on your tongue. You purr around him and begin in earnest.

A few bobs of your head work him back as far as you can manage. Eyes close as you focus on your task. Head drifting on greedy waves of sensation and muscle memory, you swallow him further and further. Listening, yearning to hear how you affect him. Drool pools on your tongue, stimulating every part of him it can reach. Part of you wishes you might have your hands free, if only to feel him. Urge him further toward release.

His hips buck against your face and you gag. But he keeps you steady, a guiding hand pressed to the back of your head, gripping and massaging your scalp.

“So cute,” he muses with a brush of his fingers over your forehead. “Look up at me, li’l birdie.” Your eyes flutter open, waterline wet with the start of tears. Ransom smiles down at you and winks. You hum around him. His head falls back on his neck with a groan, abdominals flexing as he pulls you off and up. A weak noise of protest escapes your lips, plump with blood from the stretch of his cock. He pants, tongue darting out to lick over your swollen flesh. “Not bad,” he comments with a tilt of his head. “But I think I’m ready for a bit more, aren’t you?”

With a hand smoothing across your throat, his other lowers to find the apex of your thighs. A twist and pinch, a rip and your panties fall away. His fingers free to explore the most intimate part of you. You whine at the squelch of your arousal. The slickness shamefully copious as he plays with your pussy and grins. He hums in delight, but doesn’t say anything. That sound enough of a gloat to humiliate you.

“I can’t help it,” you protest, brow tilting pathetically.

“Oh,” he croons, smearing his lips across your cheek, “I know.” The gentle mocking of his words pierce through you. You huff in pitiful indignation.

His fingers pinch at your lower lips and your hips jolt. He barks a laugh, but his touch turns nicer. Stroking over your folds and swirling around your clit. Your breath hitches. The sensation curling in your belly, building your pleasure. Teeth nip at your pulse point, startling you. Ransom chuckles against your skin and begins to suck.

You’re weak with him. The prick of his teeth and the soothing swipe of his tongue mingling with the skill of his fingers. Filling your head until you can hardly think. Moans and gasps build in your chest, too persistent to ignore. Just as you reach the precipice of your climax, though, Ransom stops.

He grips your chin with sticky fingers, pecks a kiss to your gaping lips, and smirks. “Not yet.”

Once again your back finds the mattress. You stretch out, bones jelly and blood thrumming. You crave release now. More than you can say, leaving you only able to reach out as he strips off his sweater and jeans.

A chiseled Adonis he is not. Muscles flex beneath skin supple with just the slightest layer of cushion borne from a life of luxury and indulgence. So when he descends and pins you to the bed, you feel it against you—his strength and softness.

He slots himself between your thighs, pulling them up to his hips. His cock finds its place, slicking itself against your sex. You sigh and loop your bound hands around his neck.

You bite back a “please,” but he sees it shining in your eyes and denies you. Content to roll his hips. Each thrust knocking the head of his cock against your clit until you whine and wriggle beneath him.

“Don’t be like that, pidge,” he says with a mocking pout, swiping a thumb over you cheek where unbidden tears fall from your eyes. “I’ll let you have what you want.”

With the slightest shift, he prods at your entrance. Bare. You breath hitches. Hands grip at his hair.

“Protection!” you protest at the last minute, surfacing from the lusty daze with fear in your eyes.

Ransom takes it in stride, continuing his persistence. “What for?” he asks with another roll of his hips. A delicious, sparkling sensation skitters up your spine. “I’m clean, you’re clean, you’re on birth control. Right?” The drawl of his voice accompanies his descent toward your neck. Another nip and suck of your skin as you reluctantly nod. He reaches a hand down between your bodies, gripping his dick. “Then there’s no problem here, pidge.”

You whimper, “I—”

He thrusts into you. The stretch divine. His gorgeous cock filling you inch by inch until you ache. A moan rips from the depths of you, a wounded sound of pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut, sweat dotting your brow. How can a douche like Ransom Drysdale feel so right when he’s inside you?

He pauses, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. “Fuck,” he hisses beneath his breath. Your own hips roll in an attempt to adjust, but his hand lashes out to stop you. His grip tight. “Squeezing me like a vice, pidge.” The husk of his voice, the strain, the need dripping from each word, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ransom,” you plead with a gentler tug at the roots of his hair, “please move.”

His eyes open, the blue tinged dark with desire. His lips part around a shuddering breath. Finding his composure, he tilts his hips, filling you just that little bit more until you gasp. “I’m gonna fill you up just right. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

There’s not a moment more to prepare yourself before he begins fucking you. The drag of his cock against your walls enough to make an endless stream of sounds dribble from your lips. You grip him for dear life. The clap of your bodies filling the room with your moans and heavy breaths.

Ransom takes and takes, filling you and grinding against you until your vision blurs. You cum on his cock, screaming your release. Your knees squeeze his sides. You cling to him. Yet no matter how he ruins you, he keeps going. To sate his own pleasure, to see you crumble just a little more, to chase some ineffable desire.

It takes him longer. The stutter of his hips, the warmth of his cum flooding you. You mewl, hips shifting at the sensation.

“Hold still,” he commands, gripping your face with one hand.

His other travels down your body. Pausing to play with the sensitive beads of your nipples. You squeak. But his true destination lay between your thighs where he keeps himself nestled. Your clit throbs with your pulse, overstimulated and tender. You tense, bracing for whatever his plans.

He plucks at the aching bundle of nerves despite your every twitter of protest. Smirk plastered on his face. His intentions clear as he rips another orgasm from you and another. Letting you milk his swelling cock with your sex.

Your tongue swipes across your dry lips. Knowing by the wiggle of his hips he prepares himself for another round—one that will surely be a delicious torment. Your head shakes, arms tightening around him. Hoping your silent pleas will be understood. Already overwhelmed by the night’s exertion.

But he starts again, pleasure gleaming in his eyes every time he knocks your aching clit with his pelvis. You reel with the sensations scourging your body. The way the pain washes over you with the sweetest hint of pleasure. That hint just enough to keep your mind searching for more. Clinging closer and rolling your hips in tandem with his.

Your head lolls on your shoulders, sure to keep your eyes locked with his. Knowing he might stop if you let them wander just a moment—both needing and dreading that brief reprieve.

“There we go, that’s what I’m looking for,” he purrs staring deep into your glassy eyes.

Sweat dampens his chest, pressed against you as he cages you in with his weight. His fingers lift, two of them prodding your lips and delving into your mouth. Your tongue tangles with them, teeth nipping his knuckles. You swallow around them and they withdraw, trailing a cool line of saliva down your throat. His wet fingers trail beneath the cups of your bra, pinching at the tender buds. A raw moan rises out of you at a particularly wicked thrust of his cock. And another. You shudder, an unstoppable wave of pleasure ripping through you and leaving you in a fit of pained euphoria.

But Ransom says nothing more. A look shining in his eyes, thoughtful and indecipherable. If you could contemplate the dawning of such a look, you might. Though, with the rush of your own orgasm flooding your head, the stutter of his hips and the spill of his cum, you’re lost. He falls off you with a grunt, sprawling across the open area of the bed.

“Shit,” he mutters to the room. Sweat glistens along his skin and musses his hair. His chest rises and falls with deep breaths. A hand wipes over his face. You might have taken offense to the utter disbelief radiating from him, if so inclined.

Instead, you rise, prising through the quick release of the cuffs. Emptiness and pain halts your movement. An ache between your thighs that plucks its sweet agony. No choice but to push through it.

As Ransom recovers, you gather your things. Aftercare far from your thoughts. Willing to face any possible repercussions yourself and in your own space. You dress hastily, intuition begging for retreat. Knowing that another moment with him might cement something inside you. Something you know will only end in pain and disappointment.

Each step, each movement he follows with his eyes. They burn into you. Whether in anger or some other resentment, you don’t know—don’t need to know. Slipping your shoes on at the door and gathering your bag, he says nothing to stop you. You pause with your hand on the doorknob and glance over your shoulder. He continues to rest on the bed, body gloriously lax, and stares. Quiet and contemplative. You leave him there.

All thought of the money forgotten. No. All you want now is to escape that seductive lure he offers. You pray he’ll keep his word. That you’ll receive what he feels he owes. You’ll manage with what you’ve got until he does and start forgetting this night ever happened. Move on, work with Harlan, perform with Chase—lead your normal life.

You rush from the hotel, cool morning air slapping you in the face. You stop and tilt your head back. Your regret washes over you. Your lips press together, holding it back. Keeping it at bay.

The trek home stretches before you. Tenuous hope growing that you’ll never see Ransom Drysdale again, even as you feel the fierce burn of a gaze at your back.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfic #dark #dark fic #dub con #tw dub con #yandere vibes #attic wives anonymous #18+#minors dni

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journalxxx · 3 years

Text

By Hook or by Crook (7)

“So! How does it look?” Toshinori asked, with a booming voice and his best hands-on-hips pose to kickstart the endeavor with a healthy dose of enthusiasm.

He wasn’t particularly successful.

“Daunting. Impossible. Like I’m gonna die of old age before I’m anywhere close to making a change.”

“A little optimism goes a long way, you know?”

“...I may not die before I’ve lugged away some of this.” Midoriya amended tentatively, scanning the extensive length of garbage-filled beach stretching before them. “And… what doesn’t kill me will make me stronger?”

“That’s the spirit!” Toshinori gave him a pat on the back, strong enough to make the boy stammer forwards. He walked around the back of the truck and started unloading the few supplies he’d brought.

“Wear these.” Toshinori threw him a pair of work gloves. He hoped he’d eyeballed the size right. “I trust you’re up to date with all your vaccines.”

“Uhm.”

“Hopefully no one’s dumping organic waste in here, but I’ll bring some traps if you see any rats. They won’t solve the problem, but it’s better than letting them scurry around freely.”

Midoriya’s eyes darted between the gloves and the beach with muted horror. “R-Rats?”

“Scared of rats?” Toshinori couldn’t help but tease. “Did I mention that I had to wade through the sewers for half an hour before finding you and the sludge villain the other day?”

Midoriya instantly looked mortified. “I-I’m sorry-”

“Not your fault! Don’t apologize!” Toshinori tossed his hands in the air. This kid desperately needed to learn the basic mechanics of humor. “I’m just saying that heroes can’t be squeamish! Rats come with the job, as well as a variety of nasty stuff and filth.”

“Right.” Midoriya followed him as Toshinori, cooler in one hand and bag of papers in the other, sat down on the last steps of the stairs. He picked an egg sandwich for himself and fished a folder out of the bag, opening it on his thighs and starting to read it.

It took him a few seconds to realize that Midoriya was still staring at him, as if awaiting further instructions.

“Well? Have at it!” Toshinori gestured widely at his new playground.

“Oh, uhm, okay.” The kid donned the gloves and took a single step towards the piles before pausing to look at Toshinori again. “I thought you wanted to ask me… stuff.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure you can handle working and talking at the same time without building up some stamina first.” Toshinori answered, eyeing the boy’s scrawny frame critically. “We’ll talk while you’ll be taking a break to catch a breather, which is probably going to happen sooner rather than later.”

“Oh… All right.” Midoriya turned away, his arms hanging limply from hunched shoulders as he muttered to himself. “...Where do I even start...?”

“From the small things. Working your way up to the heavier objects.” Toshinori explained patiently, then gave him a pointed look. “I get the feeling you’re procrastinating.”

The boy approached the closest stack… and did nothing. Was he ever going to stop waffling and get cracking? “Meanwhile, you’ll just, uh… do your own thing?”

“Surely you don’t need me to guide you through the elaborate process of moving objects from point A to point B, do you?” Maybe the kid detected the hint of annoyance in Toshinori’s voice, because he finally, finally set to grab the closest piece of junk- “...Oh. Okay, that’s not a great start.”

“What?” Midoriya stopped halfway through picking up what was probably the first electric fan ever invented, all the way back in the Iron Age. “I haven’t even done anything yet!”

“Bend your knees, not your back. Otherwise you’re going to- do you really not know this? Isn’t the correct way to lift weights Household Chores 101?”

“Oh, right, I know.” Midoriya rearranged his stance in a way that was less likely to earn him a slipped disk within the next two hours. “Do people really lift things like this though? It’s… a lot harder than the normal way.”

“For your legs, yes. For your back, no. You’ll thank me when you’ll be old enough to realize you aren’t made out of rubber.”

Toshinori munched slowly while he watched the kid carry his first loads to the truck. That act alone seemed to distract Midoriya to an amusing degree, his gaze often flicking to meet Toshinori’s eyes for just a moment before shooting back in front of him with blatant self-consciousness. Toshinori allowed the boy a few minutes of warm-up, just the time for him to finish his sandwich and sip a small cup of apple juice, before deciding to kick things into proper gear.

“Running from the truck to the heaps and vice versa would help you gain some endurance too, rather than leisurely strolling back and forth.” Toshinori commented as Midoriya walked past him.

The kid stopped in his tracks and regarded him with a mix of horror and aversion that vaguely reminded him of death-row inmates when faced with their executioners.

“What?” Toshinori went on, unperturbed. “Are you expecting to get fit without getting tired?”

“No, of course not-”

“Besides, you’ll need to keep a swift pace if you want to clear the whole beach before the admission exam.”

“Wha- All of it?! Before the…” Midoriya sputtered, arms wrapping more tightly around the broken chair he was holding as if that was supporting him instead of the other way around. “Y-You never said…”

“But of course! They don’t do things by half measures in U.A., so why should you?” Toshinori grinned. “Plus Ultra, am I right?”

Midoriya let out an incredulous chuckle. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way I can do something like that...”

“Depends on how much elbow grease you’re willing to put into it.”

Midoriya’s expression shifted minutely as he caught onto Toshinori’s seriousness. “But… but that’s impossible! No matter how hard I work, I can’t- I can’t move stuff like that!” He griped, pointing at the wrecked husk of a van half-buried under a mound of assorted refuse. “Even if I do my best-”

“And pray tell, what’s your best?” Toshinori stood up and walked to the kid, ditching the whimsical demeanor. If playful cajoling wasn’t enough to stir him, maybe it was time to bust out the big guns. “What’s the heaviest you can lift? The fastest you can run? The hardest you can push yourself? When’s the last time you actually tried your very best, and how did it fall short?”

Toshinori was already well and truly spent for the day, but he let the provocation and drive in his words stoke the fire within him, and it flared. The Symbol of Peace broke out of his diminutive shell among dramatic wisps of steam, ready to bestow his wisdom more effectively than his rickety counterpart ever could.

“Do you know what’s the only way to gauge your limits? Reaching them. And the only way to get stronger?“ Toshinori held out his arm between them, and clenched his fist resolutely. He relished the sensation of unyielding muscles tensing and bulging under his skin, tangible proof of the truth of his assertions. “Gritting your teeth and smashing past them! Little by little, but constantly!”

Midoriya had only witnessed that transformation once, poorly and by accident, and it showed. The chair had slipped from his hands without him even noticing, and now lay forgotten at his feet on the bare sand. The kid was gawking at him with wide eyes and mouth agape, the very picture of spellbound rapture. It was far from an unfamiliar reaction from whoever was graced by the Symbol of Peace’s presence, and yet it was still flattering, every time.

“You’ll never improve if you keep dwelling on what you think you can do now. Focus on what you want to do next. Visualize it as a clear goal. Build an image out of it, and then carve it in reality. If you really want that van to move, then it will move. If you really want this beach to be clear, then it will be. But you have to put your back, sweat and heart into making it happen!”

All Might captivated his one-man audience with the usual effortlessness, boisterous showmanship and honest positivity deeply intertwined in a way that boggled his detractors’ minds, but that felt so natural and appropriate to Toshinori. He’d made an art out of it, down to the rumble of his voice and the firmness of his gestures and the levity of his attitude, the art of highlighting and displaying the very best parts of himself so that they could resonate louder, better, brighter.

“So what will it be, young Midoriya? Will you clean up this place within the next ten months or not?”

“Y-Yes. I will.” That had done the trick. It was obvious from the way Midoriya’s back straightened and his expression toughened. It was obvious from the spark kindled in his eyes, a reflection of Toshinori’s own passion, still lacking in heat but full of potential.

“Then you’d better get down to it!” The hero sealed the deal with a radiant smile and a thumbs up. “Time’s a-wastin’!”

“Yes, sir!” Midoriya picked up the chair and dashed towards the truck to unload it there, then he immediately bounced back down the stairs and towards the nearest heap of waste. Toshinori observed the boy’s next rounds with his unwavering smile and few approving nods that kept the kid a bit lighter on his feet.

How much easier it was for All Might to touch people’s hearts. How much easier to inspire, to reassure, to nurture. How much easier everything was for All Might, really. If only that shining beacon of hope wasn’t shackled by the whims of a withering body, how much richer society at large would be for it.

Toshinori let out a deep exhale that took more than just air out of him, and the flame settled down to a low glow. He couldn’t hold back a few wet coughs, and he promptly turned his shrunken back on Midoriya’s concerned glance to sit back on the cool steps.

Unfortunately, there was a lot more than motivation to strength training. Right off the bat, Toshinori could tell that Midoriya wasn’t going to last twenty full minutes of workout. He honestly didn’t know that an ostensibly healthy individual could reach the ripe age of fourteen with such poor body awareness. The boy had coordination and balance on par with a toddler’s: he stumbled on his feet, he tripped on sand, he nearly fell off the stairs twice before realizing that trying to climb them while his view was obstructed by the very items he was carrying might be a less than optimal solution. He seemed to be unaware of the existence of entire muscle groups, and Toshinori had to physically get up and mime movements for him to understand how to exert force more efficiently. Not to mention that he needed incessant needling lest his sprints quickly devolved into lax jogs.

This whole training thing was going to be… an interesting experience, Toshinori could already tell.

Exactly sixteen and a half minutes later, the boy all but collapsed on the stairs beside Toshinori, gasping for air and wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

“B-Break?” He pleaded, quite redundantly.

Toshinori took pity on his plight and pushed the cooler in his direction. “Have a drink.”

“Oh, thank you…” The lack of polite refusal made Toshinori suspect that Midoriya had forgotten to bring his own water.

“There’s sports drinks and fruit juice in there too. Save the snacks for after you’re finished, food and heavy workouts don’t always agree with each other.” Toshinori had packed food primarily for himself, expecting their after-school meeting to last long enough for him to slot in one or two meals in the meantime, but he had taken care of adding a few extras for the kid. A good idea, because the possibility of Midoriya face planting on the ground halfway through out of sheer exhaustion seemed more and more likely by the minute.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to…”

“I promised bribes, didn’t I?”

Midoriya flashed him the tiniest smile, and eagerly drank some water while Toshinori retrieved a small journal and a pen from the other bag. He skimmed through the list of preliminary topics he’d scribbled on the first page under Tsukauchi’s advice, wondering which one he should tackle first.

“All right.” Deciding to follow his instinct in spite of basic common sense, Toshinori decided to begin from the end. “These phone calls of yours. Give me an idea of what they’re like. The last one you had with your father was on April 1st, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it. Everything you talked about, as precisely as you can remember it.”

The good thing was that Midoriya’s memory was very accurate, and he was able to recall the whole conversation basically step by step. The less good thing was that said conversation was largely commonplace and unremarkable, consisting of very ordinary small talk and inquiries about school, grades, news, local events-

“Quirks?”

“Mh-hm.” The boy nodded. “We always end up talking about quirks, in one way or another. Quirks and heroes. It’s always been… a common interest.”

“Always, uh?”

“Yeah, we’ve been doing it since… forever, really. I’ve always found quirks fascinating, and he has lots of great insight to offer.”

“I can imagine...” Toshinori mumbled. Asking who had initiated that habit was probably pointless, it sounded like it had started too early in the boy’s life for him to remember - or even to understand if he had been deliberately led to develop that interest. Some intriguing nature-versus-nurture speculations could be made on the matter, but they weren’t likely to aid Tsukauchi’s case. “And in what way do you talk about them?”

“We… analyze them, discuss them. What is known for sure about a certain quirk, what can be deduced from footage and descriptions of its use, what its unmentioned limitations might be, how it could be further developed… You saw my notebook, right? Basically the kind of stuff that’s in there.”

“Wait.” Toshinori blinked. Could he have already stumbled into a treasure trove of All For One-certified information? “You mean that all that’s written in that notebook was dictated by your father?”

The kid almost choked on his next gulp of water, and shot Toshinori an almost offended look. “No! No, no, it’s all stuff I found out on my own! Well, almost all of it, there are some additions of his here and there, but… Uh, I’d say at least 90% of it is mine, and 10% of it is his… Actually, more like 95% and 5%-”

Well, that sounded less promising, but it was still a lead. “So he’s been basically teaching you how to conduct your own quirk analyses?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say teaching. I wish our school teachers were that engaging...” Midoriya let out a small sigh. “But I guess we do go about it a little like with school essays. Research, deadline, discussion and all that…”

“Pardon?”

“Well, every month we decide which heroes or quirks we’re going to talk about the next time - back in March we chose Hawks, Kido and Snatch for last month’s call, for example. During the rest of the month we gather information and draw our conclusions, and then we compare them during the next chat.”

“You’ve got quite the well-oiled routine going on there, haven’t you?”

“Actually, I think it’s just to give me a chance to make my own deductions with a clear head instead of on the fly.” Midoriya scratched said tousled head in embarrassment. “I bet he doesn’t even need to do any research, he’s always on the top of his game. I’ve never been able to, uh… one-up him, you know? He always knows what I’m driving at, and somehow he always brings my hypotheses two or three steps further than where I stop.”

Toshinori answered with a non-committal hum. No surprise there, the man was a living quirk storeroom complete with its own self-congratulatory, sentient database. “You don’t seem too bothered by it though.”

“Oh, I’m not. It’s not like he’s ever… disappointed or angry or anything, even if I don’t get stuff. He just enjoys chatting, I guess.” That he surely did, Toshinori grimly thought. Way too much. “And I do too. It’s kind of like a game. Or a challenge.”

“A challenge?”

“Yeah, uh… How can I explain…?” The boy drummed his fingers on the bottle as he collected his thoughts. “Okay, for example: one of the first things dad asked me about Hawks was what shape his wings are, and what I could deduce from that about his flight capabilities. Which was a trick question! I knew it as soon as I heard it, because I’d already figured out the real answer during my research.”

“Ah.” Toshinori blinked. “And… how is that a trick question, exactly?”

“Because Hawks doesn’t actually fly! Not like a bird, at least, so his wing shape doesn’t matter!” Midoriya beamed, and suddenly Toshinori realized that that was the first real, genuine, enthusiastic smile the boy had given him since they’d met. And, without exaggeration, not crying, panicking or grimacing made him look almost like an entirely different person. “He simply can’t! Humans can’t fly even if you stick a pair of wings to them, they’re just too heavy! Other heroes who can fly properly are mostly transformers, like Ryukyu - their whole bodies change when they shift, bone structure and all - but Hawks’ body is entirely human if you exclude his wings.”

Midoriya reached for his backpack and drew out the same charred notebook Toshinori had signed days earlier. An item so vital to the kid’s daily life that he always had it with him, apparently, even more essential than beverages during a workout session. A peculiar, if questionable, trait.

“What Hawks actually does isn’t flying, it’s levitating!” The kid held the notebook open before Toshinori’s eyes on a spread page dedicated to the hero in question. “He uses the second facet of his quirk, the telekinesis that allows him to control his feathers singularly! That also explains his incredible speed, which is completely unjustifiable if you only take into account normal bird flight aerodynamics. His propulsion is powered by his feathers - and each of them is quite speedy and powerful on its own, so it stands to reason that he would be lightning-fast when his wings contain so many of them pushing him in unison!”

Toshinori politely elected to wait for the onslaught of words to subside on its own, although he already suspected that it was a little like standing right under a waterfall and waiting for someone higher up to turn off the faucet.

“That said, that doesn’t explain everything about his quirk… For example, a single feather of his is capable of lifting and transporting an adult person, that has been extensively documented. Yet, he loses the ability to levitate relatively soon after dispatching too many of them - he becomes unable to float even when he still has at least several dozens of them attached to his body. We couldn’t figure out why that happens with the information we have. Maybe it’s harder for him to apply his power to himself, that is often the case for emitters. Maybe it messes with his proprioception, and he can’t control the feathers he hasn’t detached as finely as all the others…”

If there was one thing Toshinori was absolutely certain of at this point, it was that the kid wasn’t short on breath any more. “And this is the part you inferred on your own.”

“Yep! And dad agreed with all of it!” Midoriya’s smile grew even wider. It was astonishing how much it didn’t look like dad’s deranged, shark-like, nightmare-inducing sneer, and Toshinori could only send a quiet thanks to the heavens for that. “This is all guesswork though. Do you… by any chance, do you know if we were on the right track? I’d be really curious to know…”

“Ah, I can’t help you there, kid.” Toshinori felt suddenly on the spot. “I’m not acquainted with Hawks, nor do I know more about his quirk than the average person.”

“Oh, I thought… Since you’re both- I mean, I thought All Might may have met him during the billboard chart events, what with them both being in the top ten.”

“We passed by each other, yes, but we were never properly introduced. He wasn’t particularly interested in rubbing elbows with the old guard, I suppose.”

“Oh. Well, that’s his loss, for sure.” Midoriya, funnily enough, pouted. “Pity, I was wondering… Even if he doesn’t fly, he does flap his wings in a way that resembles a bird’s. I wonder if that’s intentional, to mislead opponents and prevent them from figuring out how he actually moves. Or maybe he does it subconsciously…”

“I’m afraid I really don’t know…” Toshinori had never met Hawks on the field either, it wasn’t common for accidents to require more than a single big-name hero to intervene these days. Especially if one of them was the number one, who often showed up first and invariably solved any incident in mere minutes-

Toshinori suddenly came back to himself and almost facepalmed in frustration. Why was he letting himself be interrogated about completely irrelevant hero trivia? He was the one asking questions! God, he was bad at this. “And your father had nothing to contribute about all this?”

“Not about this specifically, but he did raise a point I hadn’t considered.” Midoriya looked up at the sky, once again lost in his very wordy, very deep lucubrations. “Hawks has an astonishing control on his quirk. He can use his telekinesis to move hundreds of feathers at once, to sense his surroundings, he can even harden them and turn them into weapons. He made Fierce Wings into an incredibly versatile ability, and he’s so young too… And yet, there’s no record of him attending any hero school or training facility in Japan, nor abroad. He claims to be self-taught, but… admittedly, it is hard to believe. One would think he must have had some excellent education and tutoring to make it into the top ten when he was only eighteen…”

Toshinori didn’t reply. Midoriya looked back at him when the silence stretched, and whatever he spied on Toshinori’s face made him immediately backpedal. “I-I mean, it’s odd, but, uh… not suspicious per se, nor a sign of anything… weird or bad about him. There are many heroes who, ehr, prefer to keep their personal history private, especially geniuses, and that’s fine! They have all the right to! Same goes for their quirks, it makes total sense-”

Toshinori massaged his left temple slowly. Right, better just nip this topic in the bud before it got irredeemably out of hand.

He peered again at the notebook in Midoriya’s hands. So All For One had been imparting occasional, amicable quirk analysis lessons to the kid for a good decade, which sounded suspiciously like the kind of knowledge a potential underling or successor might use. On the other hand, Toshinori could think of a million other ways for the Symbol of Fear to instil skills in his son - all of them remarkably more efficient, safe, manageable and ruthless. The whole thing was contradictory in a way that didn’t sit right with Toshinori.

“Mind if I take another look at that?” Toshinori had been in a bit of a rush the first time round, and he’d only taken a cursory glance at the contents of Midoriya’s notes. But if there was a chance of those pages containing words uttered by All For One himself, a more thorough examination was in order.

“Not at all! But, uh…” Midoriya was fast to hand out the item, but his eagerness to assist was even faster to dampen. “Are you going to retain this as evidence too?”

“Mh, I don’t think that will be necessary...” Right, the poor kid’s house had probably been ransacked even further after Toshinori and Tsukauchi’s first pass. No wonder he was worried about losing this prized possession too. “But if it will be, I can make a copy of it for you to keep, so you won’t lose all your, uh, data.”

“Oh, thanks! That would be great!” The kid perked up instantly. He was so easy to please. “Although… I guess I should make a copy of it myself anyway. It’s already kind of… unrecoverable. I could detach the pages with All Might’s sign and preserve those separately, and just photocopy everything else…”

Toshinori’s imagination mercilessly supplied him with the picture of a new addition to Midoriya’s bedroom decor, his five-second poorly-made signature hung to a wall in an elegant frame. He repressed a groan, deliberately neglected to point out that he could simply provide as many new authentic signs as needed, and directed his attention back to the scorched edges of the notebook. “Right… What happened to this thing, anyway? Did someone put it in a toaster?”

Midoriya let out a totally not nervous chuckle as he wrung his hands in a totally not nervous fashion. “Oh, uhm... You know…” Toshinori didn’t, actually, but the kid didn’t elaborate either.

Well, he was allowed to have a modicum of privacy, still. Toshinori let the issue drop, and nudged the boy with his foot. “You seem well rested. Back to the trash you go.”

Midoriya shuffled to his feet less than enthusiastically, and resumed toiling away at his task. While still checking on him often, ready to poke and prod at the first hint of sluggishness, Toshinori browsed through the kid’s notebook. While the contents were indeed worthy of attention, they were scarce in quantity. It must be rather new, since less than a quarter of the pages had been filled. However, the promise of more material to be discovered made Toshinori withhold his judgement on the matter for the time being.

Once that was done, he continued his perusal of the few files Tsukauchi had already put together about the Midoriya case. Toshinori had practically begged his friend to let him have an active role, any active role in the case: he simply couldn’t bear to twiddle his thumbs until someone else kindly pointed him to All For One’s hideout for another overdue thrashing. He simply needed to be involved, or he’d probably start crawling up walls within a week.

Questioning the kid was pretty much the only suitable occupation for him, currently… Well, it was either that or questioning Mrs. Midoriya, and Toshinori was fairly sure that his brain would leak out of his ears if he heard any more details about All For One’s romantic escapades. He wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to investigative work, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was going to spare no effort to earn some results. If that meant poring over reams of police reports in the hopes of spotting some helpful clue, so be it. At least it would keep him busy, and busy was good, especially in trying times.

He’d applied the same logic to Midoriya, in a sense. The boy seemed the kind of person who’d very easily overthink himself into a negative spiral, even in less dire circumstances than the messy family drama he’d found himself into. It would do him good to focus on a better future, rather than on his depressing present. Giving him a goal to set his sights on would keep him going more smoothly.

At first Toshinori had thought to motivate him towards his dream career, but it turned out that the boy’s strategy about the admission test was… nebulous at best. Not that he could truly blame him for it: fourteen-year-old Toshinori didn’t exactly have a multi-step plan towards becoming the Symbol of Peace either, one couldn’t help being somewhat scatterbrained at that age.

The illegal dumping site had been a serendipitous discovery, and cleaning it up was the perfect type of goal to incite the boy towards. It was very obvious and straightforward, and required no intricate planning: he simply needed to roll up his sleeves and buckle down. And the muscle he’d build while doing it would serve him well for heroic purposes too, so it was a win-win on all fronts. Not to mention that some good old physical exertion would help him sleep at night, which he was still struggling with, if the persistent bags under his eyes were of any indication. Toshinori dearly missed the times when that trick still worked on him too, when driving himself to the brink of exhaustion was a guaranteed one-way ticket to restful and regenerative dreamland. Nowadays, if he accumulated even a sliver of excessive fatigue, all he got was… well, fatigue. And a metric ton of unrelenting body pains and lasting debilitation.

The rest of the afternoon went by smoothly and unremarkably. Midoriya drudged through many rounds of garbage disposal with decreasing energy and verve, but that was to be expected. Toshinori collected more barely relevant and generally useless information, but that was to be expected too. They were both in for the long haul, there was no point in getting upset about it. Eventually the sun started to set, and Toshinori beckoned the boy back to him with a handwave.

“You have more of these?” Toshinori said, tapping his index on the big 13 on the cover of the notebook still on his lap.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Could you bring them with you next time?”

“All of them?” Midoriya seemed frazzled.

“If you still have them, yes. Would that be a problem?”

The boy scratched his head as his cheek reddened slightly. “N-No, not a problem, but some of them are really… I finished the first one when I was seven. They aren't just outdated, they’re… ehr, childish. Just doodles and misspelled ramblings.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not like I’ll be grading them.” Not yet, at least. Toshinori smirked at his own private joke. Maybe he should grade them, as a small practice run. “I just want to give a quick read to a few things here and there.”

“O-Okay…”

“Good. Well, I think we can call it a day.” Toshinori rummaged in his cooler to fetch a chocolate energy bar, and tossed it to the exhausted boy. “Catch.”

Despite the warning, Midoriya did not catch, and the snack bumped against his chest and fell to the ground with a sad clack. Reflexes were MIA too, apparently. What a rare specimen of a prospective hero Toshinori had crossed paths with.

“T-Thank you!” Midoriya immediately picked it up, unwrapped it and shoved it into his mouth as he hopped into the passenger seat of the truck. Whether it was real hunger or fear of passing as rude, Toshinori couldn’t tell.

The drive to Midoriya’s house was brief. The boy was too tired to chat - as if they hadn’t already had their fill for the day. When they arrived and Midoriya climbed out of the vehicle to be on his way, Toshinori finally addressed one last pressing issue.

“Tomorrow your father is going to call you.”

“Yeah.” The kid’s eyes dropped to the ground. Maybe Toshinori should have brought it up sooner. Way to end the meeting on a sour note.

“How are you going to handle that?”

“I’m not.” The boy shrugged. “Mom will tell him I just got my tonsils removed. It's… safer for now. I think.”

Toshinori nodded. “Let’s take a day off then. Even if you can’t speak, he might want to say something to you, and it would be strange for you not to be at home while recovering.”

“Okay.”

He looked so very small, and so very young like that, bathed in the warm hues of sunset, but with no real warmth to his eyes and demeanor. He was too small and too young to be dealing with this shit. No one was old or big enough to deal with any of All For One’s shit, really. Toshinori would have to make sure no one would have to ever again.

“Thank you for your help today. It’s very appreciated, believe me.” Toshinori offered, with his most sincere smile. “Feel free to text me or Tsukauchi if anything comes up, you should be able to reach at least one of us at any hour of day or night.”

“Okay. Thank you. Have a good evening.”

“You too, kid.” Toshinori watched him until the door of his house closed behind his back, then he drove off.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #deku #izuku midoriya #All Might #Toshinori Yagi

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noelliza · 3 years

Text

The Pursuit of Two Left Feet Ch 2 - Anderperry

Hey guys! Here‘s the final part of the fic. I hope you enjoy it! You can also read this on ao3 here.

Summary: Neil made the mistake of telling Charlie about his feelings for a certain poetic blonde, and in true Nuwanda fashion, he got up to some mischief. Now, stuck in a plan to sneak out of school to go to an underground swing dance club, Neil has to make the best of it and pray to God his father doesn’t find out. Hopefully, Neil will get something out of this excursion, perhaps the heart of the object of his affection. He believes it’s nothing more than a dream, a wish. However, Todd Anderson falling for Neil is more likely to happen than he thinks.

Part 1

Neil, Todd, you two ready for tonight?” Charlie asks, wiggling his eyebrows as he peeks his head into their room Friday morning.

“As ready as ever,” Neil says, the pit in his stomach growing at the reminder. He still doesn’t know what he’ll do if and when his father finds out.

Charlie pats the doorframe and winks at them before disappearing down the hall.

Neil turns to Todd who’s putting his sweater on, not phased by Charlie’s appearance. “This is not gonna go well,” Neil grumbles.

Todd laughs as the two grab their bags and decide to head down to breakfast.

The whole school day Neil’s thoughts are directed to the vision of sitting in Nolan’s office with his father, his life officially over. If this goes south, Neil’s father will never let him down for it. He wants to have faith in Charlie, but part of him struggles to. Charlie doesn’t care about getting in trouble, he wants to get kicked out. Neil just doesn’t think he’s really thinking this whole thing through.

During english, Neil notices that Mr. Keating shoots him a couple knowing looks, a flash of a smile that’s gone before Neil can process it. It makes him nervous, wondering if somehow he found out about their plan and therefore so did Nolan. Keating would never fink, but Charlie isn’t particularly great at keeping his mouth shut.

That night, Charlie grabs Neil’s suit and drags him to the bathroom, shoving a hair comb and gel into his hands.

“Charlie, aren’t we making this a bit obvious if we’re getting ready in the bathrooms? Hager is gonna see us.”

“Relax, there’s no reason to hide. This is allowed,” Charlie says. “But I won’t be getting ready here, I have a new suit to give Todd, so we’ll be in my room. See ya!”

Before Neil can object and question his motive, Charlie is out of sight. Neil shakes his head and begins changing into the suit, trying to push back the looming anxiety of his father finding out about this scheme.

As he's combing his hair into place, he hears two pairs of feet barge into the bathroom, and in the reflection of the mirror is Charlie with Todd in tow.

“Perry! Lookin’ like a dreamboat!”

Neil nods in thanks before turning to Todd, whose mouth is open slightly, his eyes roaming up and down his body. “Um, you… you look… really nice,” Todd mutters with a gulp.

“Thank you, uh, so do you,” Neil replies distractedly, his eyes unable to focus on a single part of Todd as he takes in the sight of him. Todd looks incredible in his suit, and he’s surprised Charlie did such an amazing job dressing him. It fits him perfectly, as if it tailored to his exact measurements—he wouldn’t be surprised if that was intentional on Charlie’s part. The coat, tie and slacks are a rich navy blue with a white button up underneath, and the color makes his eyes gleam. His hair is slicked back with gel, revealing more of his face, his cheekbones appearing more prominent. It makes him look more open, soft, and Neil is completely stunned. He’s always thought Todd is handsome, but right now he’s completely mesmerizing.

“Earth to Neil?” Charlie calls, waving a hand in his face. Neil blinks rapidly and clears his throat. “Hey, your bow tie’s crooked. Todd, fix it for him, yeah? I’ll be right back,” he says, giving Todd’s shoulder a firm pat before swaggering over to Meeks who’s combing his hair at the other side of the bathroom.

“Uh, sure,” Todd stammers a beat late, his eyes darting around nervously. He steps up to Neil, reaching out with slight hesitation. Neil holds in a breath as he adjusts the tie back into place. He inadvertently stares at Todd's focused face, tempted to press a soft kiss to his now exposed forehead.

“Alright, let's head out!” Charlie shouts, motioning for them to head out into the hall. Todd pulls back, ducking his head and walking out of the bathroom in one swift motion. Neil sighs, turning his head and catching Charlie’s knowing gaze as he heads towards him. He throws an arm around Neil’s shoulder and leads him out.

Together, the boys make their way outside into the cold night, all of them chattering excitedly. Awaiting them, leaning against his car looking ready for a night out, is Mr. Keating.

Neil gapes. “Charlie, how did you…”

“Amazing, right?” Charlie says proudly, stalking off to the car.

“Hello boys, you all look fetching. Ready?” Mr. Keating greets the noisy bunch, a wide grin on his face as they approach him.

Before Neil can even say anything, he’s being shoved into the backseat, smushed between Todd and Charlie in the third row. Knox lays himself across the boys, his face right in front of Charlie’s.

“I’m liking this view,” Charlie smirks.

Knox rolls his eyes, slapping Charlie’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Wait, Captain, are you coming with us to the club?” Pitts asks as he slides into the second row after Meeks, closing the door.

“Oh no,” Keating chuckles, turning the car on. “I’m much too old for a hullabaloo. Don’t sweat it, this old man has plans of his own with a special lady tonight.”

The boys all holler and whistle, making Keating flush in embarrassment. “Yes, yes, your teacher has a real life too, I know it’s surprising. Let’s get rolling!” He calls, putting the car in motion.

“Captain, how did the school allow this?” Neil can’t help asking. Charlie gives him a look, but he ignores it.

“Well, they think we’re off to see an invigorating show about the life and work of William Shakespeare. As illuminating as I imagine it would be, that is not on the itinerary for you boys tonight. You’re off to a much more exciting endeavor filled with music, dancing, and a bit of romance,” he says, and Neil swears Keating meets his eyes through the rear view mirror. He looks away hastily.

“Aww, that actually sounded pretty interesting…” Cameron mutters, trailing off forlornly and glancing out the window.

Charlie elbows Neil in the ribs to make a point, and he makes an effort to hold in a groan. “We can drop you off there if you’d like Cameron?” Charlie smirks.

Neil returns the elbow in reprimand and Charlie squawks indignantly. “We can all go see that another time. I’m sure it’s quite interesting,” he says, sending Charlie a glare that he responds to with sticking his tongue out childishly. Knox snorts, resulting in a jab in the ribs courtesy of Charlie.

“Good idea,” Cameron says, his face lighting up. “You know, something interesting about Shakespeare is that there was a seven year period between 1585 and 1592 where no one knew—”

“I’m going to claw my ears out before the end of this car ride and you’ll be next,” Charlie whispers aggravatedly in Neil’s ear.

“You’ll forget that as soon as we get there and you spot someone attractive,” Neil says wryly.

Charlie leans back, taking a deep breath with a startling, fierce look in his eye. Oh God…

“Thou doth thinketh I'm a predictable young squire? I willith kick thy bosom!” Charlie pronounces, sticking his finger in the air. Knox rolls his eyes.

“Charlie, a bosom is a woman’s chest,” Neil chuckles.

“Thine ears will suffer great of mine Shakespearean drivel until a most suffering death graces itself upon thee when mine fist meetseth thy cheek,” he says, folding his hand into a tight fist.

“I feel like you speak Shakespeare a bit too well for you to hate it as much as you say you do,” Knox prods with a crooked smile.

Charlie turns to Knox, leaning into his face. “Thou wilist meet a fate much alike if thou speaketh onward.”

“Bite me, nerd,” Knox grins.

In a blink, Charlie attacks Knox with his fingers, tickling his armpits and ribcage fervently as he cackles wickedly. Knox yelps and squirms fiercely, kicking his legs erratically, his arms flailing.

“Boy, boys, I’m all for a bit of roughhousing but please settle down until we get there,” Mr. Keating cuts in.

Charlie lets off, allowing Knox to catch his breath, and they both call back a low ‘yes, Captain.’ Neil feels Todd’s quiet laughs beside him, the breath hot beside his ear. He tries not to shiver at the sensation by focusing on the road ahead. They pass by trees lining both sides of the street, and in the distance he can see the beginnings of the town. As they proceed, he can make out the buildings, growing larger with each passing second. The illuminating signs on the buildings shine high above the people walking merrily down the sidewalk, contrasting the subdued ambience of their school. Neil thrums in excitement, and he tries to stay hopeful, pushing down the looming anxiety that this will all suddenly go wrong.

“I-I guess Charlie was right. This is working out.”

Neil looks at Todd, an amused smile gracing his face. “Yes, for now. Though any minute I anticipate something to blow up,” Neil jokes, knowing Charlie can hear him.

“Hey now, we’re off to fill our minds with the knowledge of the legendary William Shakespeare. If anything, Nolan is happy that a select few of Keating’s students seek such a riveting educational opportunity,” Charlie says in his most dramatic tone, and Knox sends him an exasperated look.

“Right.” Neil scoffs, earning poke on the cheek. Neil responds with a quick pinch on Charlie’s thigh, eliciting a yelp from him. Knox cackles as Charlie attempts to attack back with jabs to his arm and ribs, Neil giving a harder pinch on his arm. Before he can continue the attack, a hand wraps around his wrist, stopping his movement.

“I- we can’t until we get there. Captain’s orders,“ Todd says, flushing.

“It’s alright, trouble is what I live for,” Charlie says though he lets off, leaning over the seat to pull Meek’s hair. “Right Meeks?”

Neil hasn’t moved, his brain still frozen at Todd’s touch. “I- right.” Neil laughs faintly. He shakes his head and pulls his hand into his lap, ignoring the looks he’s getting from Charlie and Knox.

Neil stays silent the rest of the car ride, tuning out everyone’s voices around him. He’s fighting to ignore the feel of Todd’s leg pressed against his, the slight shake of his leg as he bounces it anxiously, the sight of his fingers tapping on his leg in repeated patterns. It’s also impossible to forget the feel of Todd’s hand circling his arm, his touch soft, almost like a caress. Neil aches to place his hand in Todd’s lap and let him hold it how he wants, yearning to feel his palm against his skin, perhaps in his own hand, once again.

Eventually, Keating pulls over in front of a lit up, cozy diner, with a neon sign hanging up titled “Leggy’s Breakfast Town.” Next to it is a smaller sign that reads, “Open 24 hours.”

"Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow,” Mr. Keating says as the boys all climb out of the car.

“Romeo and Juliet!” Knox calls back proudly, closing the door once he steps onto the pavement.

“You got it Mr. Overstreet! Have fun!” Mr. Keating drives off, waving at them through the window before disappearing down the street.

Suddenly, Neil hears a car door open. He turns to see a green car parked up ahead, and stepping out of it is Chris in a flowy, emerald dress reaching her knees, fit slim on her waist. When Knox catches sight of her, he stares, drooling.

“Hey Knox,” Chris says with a radiant smile as she walks over to the group, her heels clicking on the sidewalk with each step.

“Chris… wow, you look…” he stumbles.

“Knox, save it for the club, come on buddy,” Charlie cuts in, clapping his shoulder and steering him inside. The other boys and Chris all tumble into the diner, following Charlie and Knox into the diner. The place is packed, filled with loud families and couples, eating burgers and dipping their fries in milkshakes, so no one bats an eye as the group crowds in the entrance.

Charlie stops and looks around before spotting a waiter cleaning behind the counter. He approaches the counter and leans over, resting his elbows on the surface with his famous Charlie smirk in place. “Hello, we’re here about your duck special,” he says in a low yet overly casual tone.

The waiter, a long haired boy looking about their age, holds Charlie’s gaze for a moment before nodding. “Yes, right this way,” he says, walking toward a long hallway. Neil glances at Todd who looks just as confused as he does before they walk after them. They reach a door that opens to a flight of dark, descending stairs, and the waiter leads them down, instructing the last person to close the door behind them.

“Isn’t it a bit noticeable when they take a bunch of teenagers to the back room that they’re not here for dinner?” Neil whispers furiously in Charlie’s ear after catching up to him.

“Relax, everyone here knows about the club, but no one says anything about it. They make major dough, so no one complains. The customers get good food, and the city makes capital. It’s a win win.”

Neil shakes his head as they reach the bottom, and the waiter opens the door, revealing a huge, bright room buzzing with life. It’s packed with people dressed in their most fancy attire—women in stunning, flowy dresses and men wearing fine suits. He sees numerous couples dancing across the expansive dance floor and others chatting away with cocktails in hand and wide smiles on their faces. Neil stares in awe, taking in the sight, unable to fathom that he’s standing here right now. He’s half expecting his father to appear any moment to shut down the place, ready to drag Neil home and give him the reprimand of his life. Abruptly, he feels Charlie pat his shoulder, which brings him back to himself.

“Alright mates, I’ve got some ladies to charm and men to woo, enjoy yourselves,” he says to the group with a wink before disappearing into the fray.

Neil stands there dumbly as the other boys start wandering off into the room. Since when does Charlie say ‘mates’? he wonders bemusedly. He hears someone clear their throat beside him and he turns to see Todd still standing there, looking at him with a nervous but expectant expression. A flash of panic shoots through him. This is it, the moment he’s been dreading and waiting for this entire week. He opens his mouth, the words on his lips, and panics.

“So… a drink?” Neil suggests, hating himself.

“I- uh, yeah sure. I’ll come with you..?”

“No, no. I’ll go. Find us a table?”

“Yeah sure,” he says, looking almost disappointed.

At that, Neil flees to the bar to get away from Todd, his heart crying more the further he goes. As he approaches, he schools his features into a more mature, serious look and straightens his posture. He leans over the counter until the bar man catches sight of him.

“I’ll have your strongest, please, and something sweet,” he says hastily as the bar man walks over. He frowns slightly, but just nods. “You got it.”

When he turns around, Neil releases a long breath, slouching over the bar. He’s such a fucking coward. Charlie put too much faith in him, there’s no way he can do this. Todd is just going to reject him and that’ll be the end of their friendship. He can’t afford to lose it.

Soon, the bar man returns with the drinks before turning to another customer. Neil grabs them and turns around, taking a step away from the bar to scan for Todd. He walks listlessly as he looks, but stumbles when he catches Todd on the dance floor with some random guy.

Suddenly, he collides into someone’s chest, and he returns his gaze in front of him to see his drinks spill right onto a man’s shirt, staining the white button up red. Neil pales in horror. “Oh my— I’m so sorry, I—”

“No! Don’t worry about it, nothing I can’t get out later,” the man says, sending Neil a reassuring smile. Neil’s face heats up at the sight—he’s quite attractive. He’s tall and lean with golden hair and a charming smile. His eyes are a blinding blue, shining in amusement.

“Want this one? I have an extra. They’re not the best here, but they sure do the trick,” he says, holding out a small, dark colored drink.

“Sure, thanks,” Neil says, putting his emptied drinks onto the bar with a grimace and accepting the glass. He takes a quick sip and has to withhold a cough at the strength of the drink, not wanting to embarrass himself.

“What are you doing on your own? Come here with anyone? Surely you didn’t have two drinks for yourself,” he chuckles softly.

“Yeah, my friends,” he says solemnly, his eyes glued to Todd across the room, having a grand old time with some stranger.

“Where are they?” he asks.

Neil watches dolefully as Todd is swung around the dance floor, his smile bright, blinding. He feels the man follow his gaze and soon he makes a noise of realization.

“Ah, I get it. You like him?”

Neil flushes, almost choking on his drink. “Wha— um… it’s…”

“No judgement, that charming fella over there is my boyfriend,” he says, pointing to the far corner of the dance floor where he’s dancing with a woman around his age, tall and gorgeous. They’re moving together like water, twirling around the floor without missing a single beat. It’s incredible. “Plus, this place is meant for people like us, so don’t sweat it,” the man adds.

People like us, Neil repeats internally. He supposes the man’s not wrong. Neil has come to accept that he isn't like most other boys his age, especially not the kind his father wants him to be. He relents with a sigh. “Well, yeah, fine. I do. Like him, that is.”

The man hums understandingly, taking a swig of his drink. “Does he know it?”

Neil shakes his head. “No, it’d ruin… everything.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well… I don’t think he’s…” Neil trails off, a part of him still terrified of saying the word.

The man laughs, which makes Neil frown. “I’ve been there too. I get that it’s scary, risking your friendship like that. But that’s the thing about life, sometimes it’s worth taking that leap. What’s that one saying… carpa dem…”

“Carpe diem,” Neil corrects, hiding a smile.

He snaps his fingers. “Yes! Carpe diem.”

Neil huffs a laugh at the irony. “Yeah, I try to live by that every day, actually.”

“Well, then why is this any different?”

“Because… he’s the most important person in my life. If I lost him…” Neil swallows, looking away.

“I see,” he says, taking a breath. “Well, I’m not gonna sit here and force you to do anything, this is your life. But take it from someone who was in your shoes once. If he’s meant to be in your life, telling him won’t ruin a thing. If not, then it means there’s someone else out there who’s meant for you.”

Neil simply nods. This man doesn’t understand that no one could ever replace Todd, but he doesn’t bother explaining it. “Yeah, well my father wouldn’t be pleased by this either.”

“Not accepting?”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Neil says. “He’s trying to take hold of my entire life, insisting I have to go to Harvard, go to medical school and become a doctor.”

The man sighs sympathetically. “That’s a tough situation, what do you want to do instead?”

“Act, but that’s never going to happen,” he snorts.

“You know, my boyfriend said the same thing when he was around your age.”

Neil whips his head towards him in shock. “Really? He’s an actor?”

“Yeah, and he loved it. Now, he owns a small, local theater for children and teens in New York.

“That’s amazing,” Neil breathes.

“It is, I’m proud of him,” he says with a fond smile.

A part of Neil wonders if that future is possible for him, that despite everything, he has a shot. But even that doesn't overpower the voice in his head telling him it’s impossible, so he moves on from the thought. “What do you do?” Neil asks, taking a large sip of his drink, ignoring the burning in his throat as he swallows.

“Nothing nearly as exciting. I’m a lawyer,” he laughs. Neil nods. “Do you like it?”

The man shrugs slightly with a smile. “I do now, but I didn’t at first. Too much paperwork and talking to a bunch of stuck up people in overpriced suits. But then I got a case where I was defending this girl who was getting abused by her boyfriend. We won the case, and when I saw her face, it reminded me why I wanted to do this in the first place, to help people. It’s cheesy, but true.

“That’s really great,” Neil says.

“Thanks. But just know I’m not saying that to make you feel bad for not wanting to be a doctor,” he clarifies.

“Oh, no of course, I get it,” he says, not offended. He understands that helping others that way is their calling, but in Neil’s heart he knows it's not meant for him.

“My mother wasn’t very accepting of my choice of career either. Growing up, she wanted me to take over the family business. We own a restaurant in town called “Leandro’s Italian Restaurant.” My grandfather opened it, and after he got old, he passed it onto my mom. But let me tell you, I’m the last person you want in the kitchen. I manage to burn anything I lay my eyes on. Andrew won’t let me lift a finger when making dinner,” he chuckles.

“But she let you pursue that career instead when you told her?”

“Yeah, but I know it’s only because it pays well,” he says regretfully. “Unfortunately, that’s not always the case. Andrew’s parents were horrified at the idea of him becoming an actor. He told me about how they fought all the time, his father insisting he needs to have a real career with a steady income, but my stubborn Andy refused, of course. He worked as much as he could in school, saving up his money. Once he graduated, he got a second job and worked day and night until he was able to support himself and move out. It took him a few years to get it together, but eventually he made it onto the stage. He told me it was gruesome in the beginning, but that he’s never regretted it for a second. Such an optimist he is,” he says admiringly.

Neil nods absently, completely absorbed in the story. It’s possible, a small, hopeful voice in his head says. But that was one person… what if he’s not so lucky?

“Alright, I’ve chatted your ear off enough,” the man says, breaking Neil out of his thoughts as he pats his shoulder. “Go out there and dance! You’re young, enjoy it!”

“Okay. Thank you though, Mister…?”

“Emerson. But call me G.”

“You like poetry?” Neil asks with a playful smile.

G laughs, throwing this head back. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who hasn’t asked me some version of that question. I do, but not Emerson, funny enough. I’m more into the beat poets like Gary Snyder. Some powerful words, I’ll say. You?”

“Nice, I prefer Whitman,” Neil smiles. “Thanks for the drink!” He says, swallowing the rest before placing the glass on the table.

“Of course, don’t go too crazy though! Enough of those and you’ll wake up in the alleyway next to the diner. Trust me, I’ve been there,” G says slyly.

Neil laughs with a nod, holding G’s gaze for a moment longer before striding to the dance floor in pursuit of Todd. He supposes there's truth to the phrase “liquid courage,” because with just a glass of alcohol in his system, he feels unstoppable. Carpe fucking diem.

He taps on his shoulder and Todd spins around, his face lighting up at the sight of Neil. “Neil, you’re here! Oh, I-I’m so glad. I missed you!” Todd shouts, clearly very drunk.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, not feeling sorry in the slightest, “but Todd… will you dance with me?”

The guy Todd was just dancing with gives him a nasty look, but doesn’t protest. “I- of course! I’ve been waiting all night for you to ask!” Todd beams, stumbling over to him.

“Well, here I am,” Neil laughs, taking in Todd’s smile.

“Y-you should try the drinks I had. They sucked b-but my anxiety, it went POOF!” He says, making an exploding gesture with his hand, swaying closer to Neil.

“I’m glad, but I’ll try it later. Come on,” he says, leading Todd gently to an open spot on the dance floor with a guiding hand on the small of his back.

Neil takes deep breaths, trying to control his nervousness. He may have learned ballroom dancing, but swing dancing is a foreign concept to him. He’s going to embarrass himself and Todd will laugh at him. He darts his eyes around, trying to see how the other couples are dancing. As he’s about to begin his attempt, Todd takes hold of his arms, leaning in close.

“Don’t worry,” Todd says, “I-I think I have the hang of it. Follow my lead.”

Neil gasps as Todd pulls him around, bouncing on his heels a bit unevenly. Neil copies his movements, trying to let his body feel the music. The pair are off beat to the music, but Neil doesn’t care. They could be tap dancing to an opera ballad and he would be over the moon, just happy to be dancing with Todd, holding his hand and moving around the space together.

At first, Neil fumbles a bit, tripping over his feet a few times and moving his limbs in awkward motions, but eventually, he starts getting into the groove. Todd still misses a few steps every so often, but he laughs it off and warmth spreads through Neil’s chest at the sound. He laughs breathlessly, boldly deciding to pick Todd up by his hips and swinging him around his body. Todd lets out a surprised gasp, giggling as Neil moves him through the air, holding on for dear life. Neil keeps a firm hand on his waist and places him back on his feet carefully. Once Todd finds his balance, he haphazardly reaches out for Neil’s hand again, losing his grip a couple times, and twirls him around, pulling him into his chest and spinning him back out again. Neil’s heart is soaring, and he can’t hear anything besides the music ringing in his ears and Todd’s unrestrained laughter.

They dance song after song, and Neil loses track of how long they’ve been there, moving under the flashing lights and through the bodies of the crowd, throwing one another into the air. Eventually, Todd leans close to his ear, clutching his shoulder to keep balance. “‘ve gotta go to the bathroom,” he mumbles, his words slurred and breathy.

“Oh, ok! Want me to come with…?”

Todd shakes his head smiling, placing his hand on Neil’s chest. “No, no, ‘m alright. I’ll be… right back,” he slurs.

“Alright, I’ll be at the bar. I’m gonna get another drink,” Neil says.

Todd nods, staring at him for a moment before stalking off the dance floor towards the bathroom. Neil breathes out, trying to settle his nerves down. Adrenaline is coursing through his body, and his heart is thumping out of his chest. Dancing with Todd is exhilarating, and Neil could do it for the rest of his life—even as an old man in a wheelchair.

He walks off, ready to drown himself in liquor until he can gather enough courage to tell Todd how he really feels. But he’s quickly intercepted by Charlie who jumps in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Having a good time?” He asks smugly.

“Yes!” Neil shouts. “I feel… I feel so alive!”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Charlie cheers. “Next thing you know you’ll be getting at it like bunnies in the bathroom stall,” he winks.

Neil tries not to choke on air as he stares at Charlie, his eyes wide. “Charlie, stop! But it doesn’t matter, Todd was dancing with someone earlier. I don’t think he… he can’t.”

Charlie rolls his eyes, letting out an overly exasperated sigh as if Neil is out of his mind (which he isn’t). “Oh sit on it Neil, did you miss the way he looked at you? He looks like a lovesick puppy.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Neil mutters.

“Not now no, if anything I’m understating it. Go over there and swap some spit with him before I do it myself.”

“Charlie! It’s- you don’t understand. He’s my best friend, besides you of course. We… it’s not like that,” Neil stresses.

Charlie doesn’t look the least bit swayed by his words, giving him a wry look. “Neil, Todd only wants to dance with you. The only reason he was with that chump was because I made him. I know how possessive you can get.”

“Nuwanda…”

“Hey, I needed something to push him onto the dance floor, loosen up a bit, you’re welcome. Later, lover boy!” Charlie hurries off into the crowd, and Neil sighs. Of course Charlie would meddle like that.

Neil heads to the bar, already plotting Charlie’s murder when he spots Cameron leaning against the counter talking to a young, gorgeous blonde woman.

“Hey Cameron! Who’s this?” He asks as he approaches them, clapping his shoulder and turning to the woman with a smile.

“Neil! This is Caroline, she goes to Ridgewood,” Cameron says. He looks happier than Neil has ever seen him.

“Neil, nice to meet you! Cameron’s such a charmer isn’t he? I could just drown in those freckles,” she says dreamily, kissing his cheek.

Neil refrains from laughing as Cameron’s face turns beat red, more fiery than his hair. “I’m glad you’re having a good time!”

“The best! Thanks for inviting me, I know Charlie didn’t really want to,” he says.

“Oh, it’s nothing, you know how Charlie can be, he doesn’t really mean it,” Neil says with a nervous laugh, feeling guilty at how transparent Charlie’s disdain has been. He doesn’t think Cameron deserves it.

“If you say so, but you’re cool, Neil. So thanks,” Cameron says gratefully.

Neil gives a quick nod, feeling a bit embarrassed at the praise. “Course, don’t mention it. Anyway, Caroline, it was lovely to meet you, but I’ve gotta get a drink before my… friend returns from the bathroom.”

“Ooh, Todd?” Cameron ribs, elbowing him and raising his eyebrows with a smirk.

“Uh, yeah,” he stammers. Neil turns to the bar man walking in their direction as a distraction from this topic. “Excuse me, can I have—“

“OH!” Cameron lights up with a thought, cutting him off. “Get a pina colada, they’re really good!”

“You might also like a dirty martini!” Caroline chimes in, winking at him.

Neil blinks and looks back at the waiter who’s waiting patiently. “I’ll take both,” he says. The bartender nods and promptly grabs a glass and a vodka bottle.

Not even a moment later, Cameron and Caroline start making out passionately next to him. Neil turns away awkwardly, hoping that Todd comes back from the bathroom soon. He looks at the dance floor and spots Knox and Chris together, laughing as Knox spins her in the air. Off to the side, he notices Meeks and Pitts dancing to the music at their own speed, away from the throng. Charlie, however, is nowhere to be seen, which is never a good thing.

After what feels like an eternity, the bartender slides his drinks across the bar, and Neil hands him a few dollar bills. “Keep the change,” he says quickly and turns away from the bar, desperate to get away from their slobbering and moaning. As soon as he takes a step, he crashes into someone, once again spilling the drinks he was just holding. He refrains from cursing, almost choking on air when he recognizes the victim of his clumsiness as G’s boyfriend.

“Oh, hey, you alright bud?” He asks, his voice deep and warm. He’s tall with curly, brown hair gelled back, and his smile is friendly, his green eyes soft and benevolent. The drinks drip down his cream colored suit, the large stains prominent.

Neil lets out a long breath and closes his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I’m not having the best luck with carrying drinks tonight.”

“No it’s alright, now my boyfriend and I can have matching, stained shirts,” he says with a hearty laugh. Normally, Neil would feel like he’s being made fun of, but from his sincere expression, it comes off lighthearted.

“Yeah, that was me…”

His eyes widen in recognition. “Oh! He mentioned you. Neil, right? Potentially an Armstrong?”

“Yes, I’m Neil, but no, unfortunately not related,” he says with an embarrassed laugh.

“Damn, that’s too bad. I’m Andrew McDorman,” he says, holding out his hand. Neil grips it, Andrew’s handshake solid and firm. “Giovanni told me you act!”

“Well… I’d like to, yes. But, my father wants me to become a doctor,” he says, pausing as a thought hits him. “And he told me he goes by G.”

He laughs. “Yeah of course he did. He’s been trying to sound younger now, but I refuse to call him that. He’ll always be my Giovanni, even if I always butcher the pronunciation, according to him,” he says with a sappy expression. Neil can tell they both truly love each other, and it makes him ache to have this with Todd, speaking of one another fondly, others sensing how close the two of them are.

“And about your father,” he adds, going back to the original topic, “mine wanted me to become a dentist. It’s not easy, I know. You feel like you’re stuck, that there’s nowhere to go. But trust me, Neil, there is.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you were able to pursue your dreams, but I’m not sure if I can…”

Andrew sighs with a smile. “Okay, you got me”eks planning that” an idea has dawned on him. “Tell you what, you wanna follow your own path, get away from your shitty father? Our door is always open, alright? I know, I know, stranger danger, but the offer is there. Actors gotta support each other, and I wanna be able to help out someone who’s in the same situation I was,” he says earnestly, the unspoken homosexuals falling between them.

Neil stands there completely speechless, his mind whirling in a million directions. This sounds too good to be true, because there’s no way he could escape his father’s grasp. He’d track him down, make him come home and ensure he makes it to medical school. But… what if…?

“No pressure kid. Here, let me replace those drinks. On me,” he offers kindly before Neil is able to respond. He’s left with his mouth hanging open as the man passes him, walking up to the bar to order.

“Neil!”

Neil turns to see Todd walking towards him, and his distress melts away as his eyes lay on Todd. His hair is slightly disarrayed, a few hairs drooping down his forehead, his cheeks still red from the dancing. He’s absolutely perfect. “There you are,” he says breathlessly.

“Hey, there was a guy in there who said I looked like uhh Nikola Tesla,” he giggles.

“Huh, not a bad guy to be compared to I guess,” Neil says, amused.

“Here we are!” Andrew says, holding out the drinks.

“Oh! Pina colada, I had one earlier and it was great!” Todd shouts gleefully, taking the glass and sucking the drink down, practically inhaling it.

“Ah, is this your boyfriend?” Andrew asks, directing the question to Neil, handing him his martini.

“N-no I wish,” Todd answers, swallowing his drink before returning to it promptly, the glass already halfway empty.

“I- he’s had a lot to drink…” Neil says, taking a big gulp of his drink.

Andrew gives him a knowing look. “Don’t fret, I’ve been there,” he says quietly so only Neil can hear him. “Alright cool cats, I gotta scoot, have fun and stay safe!” Andrew says to the pair, giving them both a wide grin before walking off.

As Neil turns to Todd, getting the nerve to ask him to dance again, a voice booms through the room.

“All the lovers to the dance floor! For this next song, we’re going to slow things down a bit. This is a special request from a man who goes by the name Nuwanda, and this is dedicated to Neil and Todd,” the singer announces.

Neil stares at the stage, noticing Charlie standing nearby with a shiteating grin. Charlie catches his eye and winks. Bastard.

“Um, Neil?” Todd asks, his voice cracking.

Neil turns to him and stops breathing at the look on Todd’s face. His eyes are wide, appearing anxious but hopeful, like he’s placing his heart in the palm of Neil’s hand for safe keeping. Neil hopes to God it doesn’t slip from his grasp.

“Yes?” He says, almost in a whisper.

Todd slowly reaches his hand out, palm up. “W-will you dance with me?”

A smile grows on his face. “Always.” Neil accepts his hand, placing his glass down on the table beside him, and allows Todd to walk him to the dance floor. He can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or his nerves, but Neil can’t feel the floor beneath his feet as he moves through the crowd, almost like he’s floating.

When I fall in love it will be forever

Todd positions them both, placing a gentle hand on Neil’s back. His face heats up inadvertently at the touch, his back tingling at the sensation. Todd looks at him, his eyes steady. “I’ll lead,” he says.

Or I'll never fall in love

Neil smiles in response, and it doesn’t wane even the slightest as Todd stamps right on his toes. Neil breaks out in a laugh, resting his forehead on Todd’s shoulder. Todd doesn’t move or make a sound, so Neil pulls back and gives him a reassuring smile. “It’s ok,” he says softly.

In a restless world like this is

Todd looks down at his feet self-consciously and Neil tilts his head back up with a finger under his chin. “Don’t worry about it, really.”

Love is ended before it's begun

Todd takes a hesitant step, breathing out as he manages to avoid Neil’s foot. Slowly, he takes another, and another, and Neil follows, feeling gratified that Todd is so dedicated to this.

And too many moonlight kisses

Neil revels in the feel of Todd’s hand in his own, his fingers wrapped around it firmly as they step around. Until this moment, Neil hasn’t realized how desperately he needs Todd in his life. How he wants to wake up beside him in the morning, make him breakfast in bed, go on walks with him through a park full of birds and laughing children, listen to him read poetry as they sit by a toasty fire. These images flood his mind, and he’s overwhelmed by how much he craves for this to become reality.

Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun

Neil gazes into those soft, blue eyes, never wanting to escape their grasp ever again. As they stare at one another, drowning in each other, their movements slow. Neil is too distracted by the sight to acknowledge it. His body is moving on his own accord, leaning in to take in his face, the scent of strong cologne he assumes Charlie sprayed all over him.

When I give my heart it will be completely

“Todd—”

In a blink, Todd grabs both sides of his face and in a singular movement he crashes their lips together, cutting him off with a bruising kiss. Neil doesn’t react at first, completely stunned by the feel of Todd’s lips. He quickly comes back to himself, sliding his hands behind Todd’s neck, cradling it as he moves his lips, taking him in. Todd places a hand on his cheek, which sends a shiver down his neck. After a moment, they slow, and Neil gradually pulls back to look at him, aware that he’s now plunged in the water, completely head over heels for this boy.

Or I'll never give my heart

“Todd,” he breathes.

A flash of worry crosses Todd’s eyes. “Y-yeah?”

Neil stares at him before speaking. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

“O-oh sorry you can—”

“Todd,” he laughs fondly.

And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too

Before Todd starts to ramble, Neil shuts him up with another kiss, slotting his lips between his with a hmph. This one is softer, more tender than the last, yet just as remarkable. He pours out every emotion he can into the kiss, wanting Todd to understand how he loves every inch, every quirk, every fiber of his being.

Is when I'll fall in love with you

As the last note rings through the room, Neil hears a sudden whoop. He turns, watching in horror as Charlie barrels towards them in glee. “Fucking finally you nimrods!” He shouts, giving Neil a quick noogie. “I thought I was gonna have to smash your faces together myself.”

Neil can’t hold back a grin as he rolls his eyes. “Get out of here, you’re kind of ruining the moment, you know,” he teases.

“That was the most romantic kiss I’ve ever seen!” Charlie exclaims, completely missing the hint, or purposefully ignoring it. “Knox wishes he could be on that level.”

“Charlie, I heard that!” Knox calls, pacing over to them.

“That’s my queue to leave, see you!” Charlie says, dashing away as Knox chases after him.

Neil laughs and looks back at Todd who’s smiling dazedly at him. He swipes his thumb across Todd’s cheek, and leans in for a quick kiss. “Sorry, I just can’t help it now.”

Todd blinks. “D-don’t apologize for that. Ever,” he breathes.

“Okay,” Neil says, recapturing his lips in a searing kiss. He doesn’t care that they’re surrounded by a bunch of strangers, any care in the world is lost among the feel of Todd’s lips between his own. After a moment, Todd pulls back, his eyes taking in every feature of Neil’s face.

“What is it?” Neil asks, smiling. He hears the lively music pick up again, everyone dancing around them, but he doesn’t move.

“I- nothing I… just never thought you’d…”

“I thought the same about you,” Neil admits.

“But.. how?” He asks, astonished. “Y-you’re… you’re literally perfect, Neil.”

Neil shakes his head. “No, I’m far from it. But Todd, you’re incredible. You’re better than any dream I could ever fathom, you’re single handedly the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You always listen when I rattle nonsense to you as if every word I say is meaningful, you’re there for me on my low days, ready with an open ear and a shoulder to lay on, you write the most outstanding poetry known to man. How could I not be completely in love with you?”

Todd gapes at him, disbelieving. “You… you love me?”

Neil laughs. “Of course, dummy,” he says affectionately.

“I- I do too. Love you. I… I love you,” Todd says.

An overwhelming sense of joy floods through him, and without thinking, Neil wraps his arms around Todd’s waist and picks him up, spinning him around as he shouts in elation. Soon, Neil sets him back down and brings him into a tight embrace, nuzzling into his neck. Todd returns it, sliding his arms around his back, holding him close.

Suddenly, someone bumps into Todd’s back as they dance, shouting a quick apology as they pass, and it seems to send them both back into reality. They pull back and glance around, watching as everyone is jiving to the upbeat music. Neil looks back at Todd who returns his gaze and they break out into a fit of laughter, making their way over to a table.

They collapse into some seats, breathing heavily. Neil is relieved to have a break; he’s starting to come back down from his rush of energy, and his eyelids are getting heavy.

“Neil,” Todd says, shaking his shoulder lightly.

He lifts his head and looks at him questioningly.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, wait until we get in the car.”

Neil makes a noise of complaint. “I’m tired. Be my pillow, Todd?” He asks, leaning his head over onto Todd’s shoulder.

Todd sighs defeatedly, raising a hand to card through Neil’s hair. They stay like that for a few minutes, relaxed and at ease, until Charlie approaches their table.

“Seems it's a general consensus that it’s time to go,” Charlie says, plopping into the seat across from them and taking a swig from his drink. “The others are starting to get tired too. They wanna grab a bite upstairs before Keating comes. What do you say?”

Neil lifts his head, sitting up in his chair. “Sure, Todd?” He nods in agreement.

“Alright, perfect. I’ll go grab the others, be back in a flash,” he says, darting away.

“Tell Charlie to wait up, I got to say bye to some people first.”

Todd’s eyebrows raise in remembrance. “Oh, that man who gave us the drinks?”

“Yeah, and his boyfriend.”

“O-okay I’ll tell him,” Todd says.

Neil leans over and kisses his cheek before walking off in search of G and Andrew. He goes toward the bar first and doesn’t see them, so he looks through the crowd of the dance floor. After a few seconds, he feels a hand clap his shoulder. Neil whips around.

“Hey kid! How you doing? I saw you and that boy earlier, I’m proud of you,” G says. “And you’ve got one hell of a friend to request a song for you two like that.”

“Yeah, that was more romantic than our first kiss,” Andrew adds, sliding an arm behind G’s back. “You’re gonna have to step up your game.”

“Hey, don't you forget my proposal, I spent weeks planning that!”

Andrew sighs with a smile. “Okay, you got me.”

G gives him a quick peck before returning his attention to Neil.

“I’m- we’re great. I’m… really happy,” Neil says, beaming. “And yeah, Charlie is not one to be subtle about anything.”

The couple laugh. “Well, I’m glad it worked out,” G says sincerely.

As Neil nods in thanks, Andrew gasps in realization. “Give me your hand,” he requests.

Neil complies, pulling back his sleeve. Andrew pulls a pen out of his pocket and writes on the back of his hand. Once he’s done he releases his arm and caps the pen. “In case of anything, don’t hesitate to call us. If things don’t bode well with your father, we’ll be here for you, okay? Any hour of any day. I never really sleep anyway,” Andrew says with a crooked smile.

Neil looks down at the phone number written on his hand, and holds in the tears welling up in his eyes. “Thank you,” he croaks, keeping his eyes down and wiping them surreptitiously.

“Any time,” G says, a smile in his voice.

Finally he looks up at them both, feeling fiercely grateful for them—despite the unideal introduction of Neil ruining their clothes.

“My friends and I are heading up to the diner before we leave. But it was great to meet you both. Sorry again for spilling the drinks on you. Both of you,” he says, wincing as he peers at their stained outfits.

“Oh, don’t even stress it. It’s a good thing you did now, isn’t it?”

Neil laughs. “I suppose it is.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before they bid each other good night, Neil returning to his table. Todd looks up at him as he approaches. “They’re all waiting by the door. Ready?” Todd asks, standing from his seat.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something first,” Neil says, his heart pounding out of his chest.

Todd blinks. “Okay,” he says, anxiety creeping into his features. Neil reaches out and strokes his cheek in reassurance.

“I just wanted to know… now that we’ve… you know, told each other how we feel… where are we?”

Todd’s eyes widen in understanding. “Um, I mean what can two guys be to each other?” He asks.

“Boyfriends?” Neil tries, unable to breath.

Todd’s face lights up, and it sends a flood of relief over Neil. “Uh, Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Todd nods, beaming, and Neil can’t resist leaning over to give his nose a quick peck. He never thought this would ever be possible, and yet here he is, able to call Todd his boyfriend. With Todd by his side, he’s willing to take anything his father tries to throw at him.

Neil slots their fingers together and the pair walk over to the other poets who are standing by the door. Upon seeing them, Charlie grins. “The new lovely couple has arrived! Let’s go!”

The boys make their way up to the diner and slide into a booth, ready for a late dinner before Mr. Keating arrives to pick them up. Todd seats himself beside Neil, and he wraps an arm around his shoulder, kissing Todd’s forehead.

“Alright, as happy as I am that you two finally got your act together, please don’t be necking each other and being all lovey dovey in front of me. I don’t need it getting in my food,” Charlie says.

“No promises,” Todd says.

Neil laughs breathlessly, at Todd’s bold comment and the way Charlie gapes, shellshocked. “Yeah, don’t be a hypocrite. If you had someone you’d be slobbering all over them any second you could.”

“I guess you’re not wrong there, but it makes me wish I did.” Charlie winks. Neil and Todd grimace, and at that the subject is dropped.

“So Cameron, who was that girl I saw you all cozy with?” Meeks asks, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Cameron was with a girl?” Charlie asks, nonplused. “Did someone give you drugs, Meeks? You might have been hallucinating.”

“No, I saw. They were locking lips,” Neil adds.

“No way!” Charlie calls, his eyes blown wide.

Cameron blushes, staring down at the table, “Yeah, I did. I saw her at the bar and we started talking. She’s… great.”

Knox leans over and high fives him with a proud smile as Charlie chokes on air. Once he recovers, he shakes his head and huffs a laugh. “Well… atta boy Cameron!” Charlie hollers, smacking his back.

Cameron looks at him for a moment before smiling back. “Thanks, Charlie.”

Soon, the food arrives and after much more rowdy laughter and chatter, the boys pile back into Keating’s car.

“Enjoy yourselves boys?”

The boys all agree and over the rest, Charlie shouts, “Hell yeah!”

“Thank you for your exuberance, Mr. Dalton,” Keating deadpans, chuckling.

“Enjoy your date, Captain?” Pitts asks.

“Yes, thank you,” he smiles.

“What’d you do? Spend any cozy alone time together,” Charlie asks, grinning mischievously.

“If you’re insinuating what I think you are, then I am not at liberty to discuss that with my students. However, we went for a nice dinner and afterwards we walked along a nearby lake. They’re quite a lovely spot to bring your significant other, actually,” he says, and Neil catches his eyes in the rear view mirror. Neil’s face flushes and he looks away, unable to hold back a smile.

Multiple different conversations among the other boys pick up after that, but Neil stays quiet, taking time to enjoy the moment. A few minutes later, when Todd lays his head on his shoulder as he dozes to sleep and Charlie gives him a smug look, Neil feels truly grateful for his friends, Keating, and Todd. He looks down at the number scrawled on his hand and realizes that he’s no longer dreading the future. His future. It won’t be easy, but with Todd by his side, Neil can do anything. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

#dead poets society #anderperry #todd anderson #neil perry #todd and neil #dps fandom #dps #anderperry fic #dps fic #dps fanfiction

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

Text

We've Got Tonight - Ch 5

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This chapter in particular is dedicated to @foxyjwls007 . If I'm going to torture you with something, it's not going to be a cliffhanger. I'm going out of town for two weeks, so you get an update early since I won't be able to post while I'm away. Thank you for the encouragement.

In case you missed it: Chapter 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 5

“Miss? Miss? Hey, are you okay?”

A hand grips Andy’s arm, firm but polite, and she jerks to, almost losing her footing. It’s been a long day already, and she still has two hours before she can go home, shower, and put her feet up for a little while before karaoke at the Brass Monkey starts up.

Maybe I can even fit in a nap, she thinks excitedly. But first, gotta wake up and make it through the rest of my shift.

Of course, if she hadn’t been tossing and turning all night from a crazy dream, she wouldn’t be as tired as she is now, but that’s neither here nor there. And it doesn’t help that she can’t even remember the stupid dream. It was really long, though, and there was blood and books and…someone...

“Can I get a refill over here?”

One hour, forty-seven minutes, and twenty-two seconds to go. She can do this.

The minutes crawl, though, and it’s all she can do to stay on her feet and focus. The lunch crowd has long since thinned, and she’s about to ask if she can maybe take off a little early when the door chimes, and she catches the tail end of the entering customers’ conversation.

“Could you at least consider putting something green on your plate? Like, ever? Broccoli won’t kill you.”

“I’ve already told you, I’m getting breakfast since you didn’t wake me up early enough to eat a decent one this morning. Pancakes, bacon, and coffee, which, I might add, grows on a tree, so it counts as a plant. That’s balanced enough for me. You like broccoli; knock yourself out, Jolly Green.”

“Sam isn’t green, Dean. Is your vision faulty? Perhaps we should get your eyes examined. Or you could try carrots along with the broccoli. Carrots are supposed to improve vision.”

No. No, no, no, she thinks, her mind whirling frantically. It was a dream, they can’t be here. This is...this is how it started, and...

She turns, and there they are, Sam and Dean dolled up in their clean, pressed feds suits and Cas looking just as rumpled and bewildered as she suddenly remembers. They seat themselves at an empty table in her section, but any thoughts of leaving early evaporated the second she heard their voices.

Every moment of the dream, every minute of those four weeks comes screaming back, cramming each terror-laden, tension-ridden second into her mind so fast she actually does stumble and has to grab the back of a nearby booth to keep from hitting the worn-out linoleum.

“It...hasn’t happened yet.”

“I’m sorry, did you say something? Hey, hey, hold on there. Are you okay?”

Then Sam’s hand is supporting her elbow, helping her straighten up, and she looks up into his concerned eyes, unable to express how glad she is just to see him breathing. Behind him, Dean and Cas are arguing about something trivial, wonderfully animated and alive and completely unaware of her.

“I’m sorry, hun, it’s just been a long shift. Gimme a minute to grab some waters and menus, and I’ll be right over.” Sam accepts her flimsy excuse at face value, and why wouldn’t he? He hasn’t lived with her for the better part of a month, hasn’t saved her life once, hasn’t tried to save the world with her. He doesn’t know her at all.

Why should he question a strange waitress in a strange diner who says she’s had a long day? He’s met hundreds of women just like her, maybe thousands, and he’s got no reason to question a completely legitimate statement.

She rushes into the back to find the coldest water possible to splash on her face. Her reflection gapes back at her from the staff bathroom mirror as the enormity of her situation begins to dawn on her.

Why? Why is this happening? Either she actually lived through those weeks and is somehow getting a do-over, or she dreamed the whole thing and is getting a shot to fix things from this end. But why? And how?

How in the hell?

Think, Andrea, think. It was real. It will be real. It hasn’t happened yet. You haven’t screwed everything up yet. You have to fix this. But how? How can I fix it when I screwed everything up so very badly last time?

Just...think. Think. Start small. Try to stop it before it happens. But...the cult. Crowley said they were real. They found me before, they’ll find me again. I could talk to Sam and Dean and Cas about what's going to happen. They’ve been through enough insanity in their lives that I actually have a pretty good shot at convincing them.

She stares into the mirror, racking her brain for every helpful detail she learned during her time with the Winchesters.

They're already investigating all the break-ins hereabouts; those were the cultists looking for me in the first place. Then they find me, take me, bleed me, and start the apocalypse. The boys could stop the ritual before it even happens.

Her reflection in the mirror frowns, unconvinced the solution could possibly be that easy.

But the literature, the books, it’s all still out there. Someone else could find it, could come after me. My blood is the problem. I’m the key. As long as I’m around, someone could still use me to end everything. Crowley can still use me to get to them. Think. You’ve got to actually stop everything and save them this time.

Her eyes widen as realization dawns. The world can’t make it without the Winchesters. There’s only one way out of this.

Fifteen minutes later, she sets a fresh green salad in front of Sam before dropping a towering stack of steaming pancakes in front of Dean.

“Fresh pot of coffee coming off in two, be right back with your refills. Need any more butter or syrup, hun? How ‘bout a couple of extra pieces of bacon on the house?”

“Don’t encourage him, please,” Sam groans. Dean slaps his brother on the back of the head, sending Sam’s coiffed hair into a tizzy of disarray. Sam swipes back at his brother, who waves off Sam’s attempts at retaliation like he’s swatting a fly.

“You shut your pie hole. She said free bacon. That makes her a queen.” He turns his most charming smile on her, glancing down at her name tag then back up to meet her gaze squarely. The crinkles around his eyes deepen with his grin. “Andrea, is it?”

“Andy,” she corrects automatically, and she can’t help her answering smile. He throws her a wink that clearly says he knows he’s cheesy but it's all part of his irresistible charm.

She doesn’t disagree.

“You are a goddess, Andy. I love you, and you need to know that.”

“You don’t,” she says, only just managing to keep her voice and smile level, “but you could.” His answering laugh sends a twinge through her chest, and if she clenches her jaw a little around her smile, she figures she’s entitled.

When the men finally finish eating, she offers a slip of paper to Dean, while Sam pretends he isn’t rolling his eyes.

“There’s a karaoke competition at the Brass Monkey tonight. Winner gets tab on the house for a week. Interested in maybe meeting up there around ten or so? We could have a drink, sing a song, and see where the rest of the night takes us.”

He grins and takes the slip from her with sure fingers. She’s certain he has her number memorized before the paper even retains his prints, but he makes a special show of tucking it safely into his pocket.

“Dean, do you think it wise to allow yourself to be so distracted when we’re in the middle of an investigation?”

And without even realizing it, Cas gives her the perfect opening.

“Oh, you boys investigating all the break-ins hereabouts? Were they too much for our local boys to handle? Listen, hun, my friend was one of the ladies whose house got broken into. If you want to stick around for a few minutes, I can fill you in on what I know and send you her way. Would that help?”

Castiel’s eyebrows lift in surprise, and he is clearly pleased with his first-rate investigating skills. “That would help immensely, Miss Andrea. Thank you.”

She can’t believe her luck at such a perfect lead-in, and she runs with it.

“Now that I think about it, the shop next door mentioned something about their alarm getting tripped a few nights in a row. Maybe I could talk to your friend while you two check it out? And I’ll see you tonight, Dean? Ten o’clock?”

Dean’s grin softens, and she can see the faintest tinge of red along his cheeks. She didn’t notice it the first time around, and now she wishes she’d paid more attention. Then the brothers leave, and she’s alone with the angel. ...

Chapter 6

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writingletterstothefire · 3 years

Text

my sweet baby

A/N: Hi friends! This was my first attempt at writing, initially submitted to the lovely Clarke on @sergeantkane. She was kind enough to post this for me when I was too scared to post it to my own blog. If you like it, please let me know!

Additionally, I’m going to try to make my reader inserts as inclusive as possible. Please let me know if you see anything too specific when I describe my reader that would take you out of the experience. Thank you!

You were purposefully trying to piss him off now. You had to be. That’s the only explanation for why you were here, again, wearing that infuriating white sundress and those strappy heels that were just casual enough for the outfit to be called casual. The low back, which showed off nearly the entirety of your smooth back, also showed precisely what he expected; you weren’t wearing a bra. The confirmation of his theory only served to infuriate him even more. You had to know the effect you had on him. Santi was furious. How could you tease him like this?

Of course, you had no idea of the effect you had on him. How could you? You’d been at this resort for a week, and you’d attended every single dance lesson provided for the patrons of said resort. You’d also attended all of his performances, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the complex lifts and beautiful spins that he and his fellow dancers made look so easy. And, at each of those events, he regarded you with nothing short of disdain and fury. You had no clue what you had done to offend him. You had greatly admired him from the first moment you walked up to the gazebo he was teaching in as you and your family arrived to the resort. A trip to this lovely Columbian get away had been planned for months, and while you knew the locals were a beautiful people, you never could have dreamt of him. All dazzling smiles and charm as he spun the middle-aged mothers around, shouting out words of encouragement, no matter how much of a travesty they truly looked while trying to replicate the incredibly complicated dance steps he made look so simple. Once he’d made the rounds, you had smiled hopefully, walking straight up to him with full intent to tell him how amazing you thought he was, but as soon as you got within two feet of him, he seemed to freeze up. He’d muttered out his name, Santiago Garcia, in a choked manner, his face turning scarlet in what you now assumed was poorly concealed fury. At what, you didn’t know to this very moment. What bothered you the most, was how hard you tried to get him to like you. You cheered extra loudly, chose to sit front row, brought roses to hand out to all the dancers. Each time, he brushed you aside.

But what you didn’t know about was the war, raging inside Santi. Each time your name passed someone lips, he grew jealous, wanting to be the only one to speak that name. Every moment your gaze burned into his, he felt the flames of desire licking at his skin. This was wrong. So wrong. He was closer to your father’s age than yours. Granted, you were a fully consenting adult, or at least you would be, had he bothered to show you any interest. Still, he grew concerned. Fourteen years divided you. You were twenty-five, he was pushing thirty-nine. Surely, this was wrong. And that’s why he had to push you away. He couldn’t give you the life you deserve, he couldn’t even get down on one knee to propose. Wait, propose? Oh, damnit, he’s a goner.

All of this to wind up back to the current matter at hand—you, here at this reception in honor of the dancers, looking beautiful as ever. You were here as one last attempt; if he disregarded you now, you would give up. Your family was here for another month, you couldn’t keep harboring this silly crush on a man who clearly had no interest. But, when Santi brushed by you again, in favor of charming the older women of the resort, you deflated. You made your move to the table where your families’ discarded drinks and half eaten dinners sat, thrown to the side as you had been, in favor of a dance lesson. But, before you got to that coveted seat you were longing to take, a large body appeared in front of you. Benny Miller.

You knew Benny, you’d met him plenty of times before in dance lessons where he tried to sweep your cousin, Alicia, off her feet. She was a stunner, a true ten out of ten, and every man within twenty miles of the resort had been vying for her attention, including Benny. Lucky for him, she seemed to only have eyes for him. He gave you that heart-stopping grin of his, and you knew what he wanted.

“Benny, I can’t sneak Alicia out again,” you groaned. “Our parents are going to figure out that there’s no luau being held by the tennis courts, and I’m getting tired of waiting outside, alone, in the damn humid nights they have here.”

His grin only widened, quickly grabbing your waist and guiding you out to the dance floor, pretending you were just another tourist getting a lesson. “Come on, dulcita, I’m begging! It won’t be as long as last night, I swear.”

The dancers had taken to calling you “dulcita”, on account of them finding you so sweet, what with constantly supporting them and gifting them flowers. All the dancers but one. Speak of the devil, you noticed him angrily knock back his drink that he’d previously been nursing, storming across the dancefloor to his dance partner. Bella was a tanned, long-legged, brunette, with a heart of gold and an ass of steel. You watched over Benny’s shoulder as the two dancers, moved seamlessly in sync. It made sense that the two of them would wind up together. Both professional dancers, both equally drop-dead gorgeous, and both charming as hell. Blinking away any wetness that had gathered in your eyes, you looked up at Benny.

“Fine. You’ll have two hours, that’s it.”

Why had you agreed to this? The weather tonight had skipped over humid, and dropped completely into freezing. It was like the weather was mocking you. Benny and Alicia had disappeared into the locker rooms by the tennis courts, leaving you to wander the grounds nearby to escape any unwelcome sounds coming from the building. You’d learnt your lesson that first night. Since then, you’d discovered a small garden near the back of the property. This became your favorite place to wander while you waited for the two lovebirds to wrap up.

“Dulcita,” the familiar voice called out, the word feeling alien because of who was saying it. “What are you doing out here? It’s fuckin’ freezing.”

You were speechless. You were overwhelmed, this was the most he’d ever said to you in one shot. And to use your nickname on top of it all? You very well might pass out. He huffed at your silence, hurrying over to you and wrapping his suit jacket around you, before stepping back quickly, as though he may catch some disease from standing too close.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Oh no. You hadn’t meant to blurt that out. You saw your mistake as his ears began to turn red, not from the cold, but from the anger reflected in his eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not the one standing out in the fuckin’ cold, wandering around a garden at all hours of the night. I was just passing through, and I see you flitting around the flowers like some goddamn fairy. What are you doing out here, anyways? Waiting for Benny?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes, I’m waiting for Benny! Who do you think sneaks Alicia out so he can fuck her in the fucking locker rooms?” You rolled your eyes, fed up with his attitude. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business. Where’s Bella, anyway? Shouldn’t you be dry humping her on a dancefloor somewhere?”

A look of confusion passed over him. “Alicia? But I thought you and Benny… What the hell are you talking about? Bella, my dance partner? The one who’s about to go on leave because she’s pregnant with her and Frankie’s second kid?” He looked almost amused now. “Now wait just a minute. Dulcita, were you jealous of Bella?”

You must have stood there gaping for a full thirty seconds, before you could muster up a weak, “N-No…”

Yeah, you weren’t convinced either. But you mustered up courage from somewhere, getting in his face. “Wait! Were you insinuating that I was fucking Benny?! Because, first of all, I’m offended that you would think so little of me-“

The words of protest died on your tongue, and were replaced with Santi’s own tongue as it dove into your mouth, mid-argument. You melted right into the kiss, arms flailing for a moment, before coming to rest on his chest, leaving them there until Santi pulled back.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since you showed up to this shithole,” he whispered, breath fanning across our face at his still-close proximity. His arms stayed wrapped around your waist, where they’d moved to pull you in for the kiss.

“I-I’m confused,” you squeaked, gripping his shirt lightly as the chest to keep him from pulling any further back. “I thought y-you hated me?”

Santi sighed, “I never hated you. I… I hated myself. I hated myself for falling for a girl like you. Thought that there was no way you’d go for an old man like me, when you’re so young and in your prime. I’d just… hold you back. I thought it might be easier if I didn’t get attached, but I did anyways, and, fuck, dulcita… Now that I’ve kissed you, I can’t turn back.”

“What if I didn’t want you to turn back?” Your bright eyes bore into his. “What if… we see where the rest of the summer takes us? See where we’re at when it’s time to for me to leave? I could summer here from now on, you could winter in the States…” You blushed deeply, “I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of everything…”

Santi’s grin had grown with every word you said, gently grabbing your chin to keep your eyes level with his. “Sounds like a plan to me, dulcita.”

With that, he closed the gap between you, small as it was, and kissed you with more fire and passion than you had ever felt in your life.

#santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia #santiago x reader #santi x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #my writing

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argylemnwrites · 3 years

Text

Facts, Fibs, and Futures

Pairing: Mal Volari x MC (Raina - f!human)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow (Chapter 4)

Word Count: ~3300

Rating: PG-13 (innuendo)

Summary: A evening of games, cards, and fortune-telling gives Mal a better understanding of Raina.

Author’s Note: Wish I had time to do more for @bladesappreciationweek, but happy to have at least snuck this piece in under the wire for Day 7 - MC/wildcard. It’s a little bit about my MC, a little about the gang in their early days, and a little glimpse at some early Mal/MC flirtation.

“...And so I convinced the Contessa of Ditorilla that I was merely a figment of her imagination, conjured up by her deepest desires.”

Raina couldn’t help but snort as she caught the tail end of the undoubtedly false story Mal was spinning for Nia and Tyril as she walked towards them on the deck. She’d been staring at the horizon, trying to calm her stomach. She didn’t want to admit it and give Mal more of a reason to see her as naive, a kit with no experience, but the truth was that the rocking of Gerhard’s ship on the waves left her fairly nauseous. She hoped she would get used to the sensation soon, but in the meantime, she had to resort to attempting simple solutions. Hopefully, the hour she just spent by herself along the railing would be seen as her just wanting to take in the ocean. Not that that would make her seem any less like a damn kit.

“Based on Raina’s reaction, I am going to go with ‘fib’ on that tale.” Tyril’s voice floated through the air, drawing Raina out of her introspection.

“Come on, Kit. It’s bad enough that you are shockingly skilled at this, but now you have to ruin it for me when you aren’t even playing?” She stopped and glanced over at Mal, tipping back in his chair, one foot braced against the deck, the other resting on the edge of the table where he was sitting with Nia and Tyril. When they made eye contact, he winked at her before placing his hand on his chest in mock pain.

“Raina, you should join us!” Nia called out, twisting around in her chair to flash a bright smile.

“Yes, please do,” added Tyril. “This… ruffian has convinced us to play some sort of game where we have to determine whether a statement is the truth or a lie.”

“Yeah, Fib or Fact,” Raina said as she sat down in the free chair between Nia and Tyril, “but you aren’t really playing unless you are drinking.”

“See! Thank you! I told you guys this was a drinking game!” Mal cried out, gesturing across the table to Raina with a flourish.

Tyril shook his head briskly. “I do not understand the human fascination with needing to create banal games to drink.”

“I don’t know; I think it’s just a fun way to pass the time.” Raina glanced over to her left and gave Tyril a little shrug.

“But we know Elf Boy here would rather die than have fun.”

Tyril opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Nia cut in. “Please, we can’t be at each other’s throats constantly.”

Tyril glanced between Nia and Mal, the openingly-mocking grin plastered on Mal’s face clearly fueling the fire that Nia was trying to extinguish. After a few tense and silent seconds, he gave a terse little nod. “Fine, but if I have to listen to any more stories of his romantic... conquests, I make no promises.”

Nia let out a little sigh. “Good. Well, maybe we should pick a different game anyway, since Raina is always right at this one.”

“Is that so?”

Raina smiled and tilted her head to the side. “I’m very good at reading people. Particularly his Magnificence over there.” She gestured across the table towards Mal, who plastered a fake shocked expression on his face, eyebrows raised and eyes wide, as he mouthed “Me?” before grinning and shooting Raina a wink.

“They played quite a bit on our journey to Port Parnassus,” Nia added. “I think Mal only got her four or five times.”

“Well, nevermind then. Let’s keep playing,” Tyril said, leaning back slightly and crossing his arms, the corners of his lips quirking upwards as he glanced back at Mal.

“Nah, don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities with my more scandalous accounts,” he responded, waggling his eyebrows.

“Does anyone know any other games we could play? I don’t know if I want to gamble again.” Nia said, clearly trying to move past any sniping between the two males of their little party.

“Awww, priestess. Didn’t enjoy your first taste of betting?”

Her cheeks flushed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s for me, Mal.”

"Just you wait. We'll bring out your wild side one of these days," Mal said, winking at Nia before giving her a very genuine looking smile. "Since cards are out, does anyone have any other ideas?"

Tyril didn't move to suggest anything, sitting still, his arms still locked across his armor. Nia kept glancing around the group, a hopeful gleam in her eyes that made it clear that she was counting on someone else to offer up an idea.

Raina found her mind drifting to Kade. He always knew how to entertain a group. He could tell stories, pull out random facts and tidbits of info. He just kept the conversation flowing.

"Maybe we can still use the cards," she said, tilting her head to the side. "My brother would sometimes use the deck to tell fortunes. I think I remember the basics."

"I can do you one better than that, Kit. I happen to be a fortune telling expert." Mal was grinning widely as he shuffled the deck while he stared her down.

"Really." Tyril's deadpan answer conveyed extreme skepticism.

"Yes, really. Are you doubting my skills?”

“As a rule, yes. But doubly so here, seeing as you lack any ability to channel the Light.”

“Don’t need your Light to do this, just pure intuition. So how about it, Elf Boy? Want a chance to glimpse into your future?”

Raina thought Tyril might unsheathe his blade right there, but after a moment he merely shook his head and pushed his chair back as he stood up rapidly. “I’ll pass. Goodnight, Nia. Raina. Vagrant.” And with that he was off, heading below deck without a glance back. Nia looked worried at his rapid departure, but Mal seemed utterly unfazed, leaning forward and letting the front legs of his chair fall to the deck as he spun to face Nia.

“What about you, priestess? Care to see what’s in store for you?”

“Oh! I think I would rather just watch, if you don’t mind.”

“I guess that leaves you, Kit. You up for it, or are you scared of what the cards might hold?”

Raina laughed, leaning across the table and grabbing the cards from his hand. “Oh, I definitely want to see this.”

Mal chuckled in response. “Alright, you’re going to need to pick out seven cards and-”

“Lay them out in a row in front of me; I know.”

“Wow, talk about pushy! You aren’t even giving me the chance to explain how this works to poor Nia.” Mal’s tone was light and carefree, making it clear he had no qualms about letting her get started.

“Seeing how much you love to hear your own voice, I just figured I would actually get to work while you talked her ear off,” Raina replied, throwing Mal a teasing smile as she shuffled the cards and placed one slightly to the left in front of her.

Nia giggled as Mal clutched his shirt and gasped in exaggerated shock. “Raina, you wound me.”

“Something tells me you’ll survive that devastating blow. Nia, have you ever seen this done before?”

She shook her head, watching as Raina placed cards down one by one in a row.

“It’s pretty simple, really,” Raina said, shuffling the deck again before selecting her next card. “I’m supposed to select seven cards that ‘speak to me’ and place them face down in front of me. The first two are said to represent elements of my past, the middle three my present, and the final two my future.”

“Does it work?”

“Of course! Don’t you trust me? Would I make something up?”

“Constantly,” said Nia, causing Raina and Mal to both burst out laughing.

“Slowly but surely, we’ll get you out of your Drakna shell, priestess. It’s inevitable,” said Mal before taking the remaining cards back from Raina. “You happy with your seven?”

“Just get started, Mal. Let’s see if you can back up your bragging with some action.”

“What type of action are you interested in, Kit? Cause I can do a lot-”

“-That’ll make Nia feel real uncomfortable. So how about we stick to the fortune telling for now.”

“For now? Oh, I can work with that,” he said with a wink before pointing to the card Raina had set further to the left. “Alright, first card here is the Base Card. It reflects your origins, your roots.” Mal flipped the card over, showing a village burning, humans crying in the streets, causing Raina’s breath to catch in her throat for just a second.

“The Destruction,” she finally said, trying to hide her shock.

“Yeah. Obviously not a very happy card. In this position, it usually means death and tragedy.”

It was a very fitting card for someone orphaned in a bandit massacre. Raina didn’t quite know how to process it. She didn’t put much stock in things like this. In fact, when she’d watched Kade do this before, he’d never had something so… perfect come up. He usually had to spin things with some very nebulous interpretations to make the cards even remotely work for the person in front of him. But Mal had stumbled into an accurate first card for this reading, and he knew nothing about that part of her past.

“Raina, is that-” Nia started, but she stopped abruptly. Raina glanced up from the card to see Mal shaking his head subtly. Given his reluctance to discuss his own history, it made sense that he could recognize a similar desire in her at this moment.

“Keep going.” Raina said after a few seconds of tense silence. Mal only paused for a second more before he kept going.

“Second card is the Core Card. It is still about your past, but it focuses more on the personal, the fundamentals of your personality more than your background.” He turned over the next card and started laughing as what could best be described as two elves in a very intimate embrace was revealed.

“The Passion. Tell me, Kit - you have a lot of heartbroken lovers pining for you back in Riverbend?”

Raina chuckled, glancing up and staring Mal straight in the eye. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Absolutely,” he said without missing a beat, causing Raina to laugh in earnest and Nia to cough into her Bristlegreen tea.

“Let’s just say I have no objections to your reading so far,” Raina said with a smirk. Mal joined in laughing at that, while Nia’s cheeks flushed very dark.

“I think I might turn in,” she said, placing one of her hands against her cheek, her bracelet catching the moonlight.

“Aww, sorry priestess. I promise this is the most scandalous card in the deck,” Mal said, giving Nia a contrite little nod.

Nia glanced between Mal and Raina before shaking her head. “No, it’s alright. I’m rather tired, and something tells me the innuendo will find a way to come back with you two.”

“Nia, we’re sorry.”

“Yeah, we can keep it clean… or at least mostly clean,” Mal added with a little shrug that was probably meant as an apology.

But Nia just shook her head. “It’s fine. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” She gave them both a gentle smile before standing up, waving as she made her way below deck to their shared quarters.

“And then there were two,” said Mal. “You want to keep going, or do-”

“Of course,” said Raina. “You promised me a glimpse at my future. I expect you to deliver.”

Mal grinned before shifting his hand towards the third card positioned in front of Raina. “This position is the Breaking Card. It’s supposed to represent the turning point that takes you from your past to your present.”

“Kade always said the Breaking Card represented the transition from childhood to adulthood when he did this.”

Mal shook his head. “Sometimes that’s the case, but it is more about growing up in the abstract, not literally aging.” He flipped over the card, revealing an unbalanced scale.

“The Unjust? What is that supposed to mean here?”

“It is usually interpreted to mean an imbalance and loss of stability, an upsetting of how life had been. Sometimes it refers to political upheaval or a change in power structure, but it can also be more personal, like a messy break up or the loss of the family business-”

“Or the entrapment of a brother in the Shadow Realm?”

He glanced up at her, wincing a little bit. “Uhh, yeah. That would apply here.” He moved as if to grab her hand, but apparently thought better of it, dropping his fingers to the table and tapping them restlessly a few times instead. “Do you want to stop, Raina?”

She shook her head. “This reading feels shockingly accurate. Who would I be to turn down a chance at knowing my future?”

He nodded, then moved to the middle card. “Alright, so the middle position is considered the Drive Card. It reflects the biggest event of your present.” The card he flipped over showed white light pouring from above colliding in the center with dark smoke from below. It was the Morality, the card that everyone who did readings like this interpreted as a conflict between good and evil forces.

“Well, that’s easy enough to interpret. Battle between light and dark has to represent our taking on the Shadow Court. Keep going.”

“Woah, I thought I was the one doing this reading, Kit.”

Raina smiled and shrugged. “I told you Kade liked to do this around the tavern. Besides, I’m far more interested in the outcome of the Drive Card,” she said, tapping next to the sixth card.

“Ahh, yes. The Reckoning Card. But first we need to see your Key Card to figure out what part of your present is going to be most important for your future. Shape your journey going forward.” He revealed the Twins, a male and female orc with nearly identical features.

“Well I knew the accuracy couldn’t last,” Raina said with a little laugh. “I know for a fact I don’t have a long lost twin waiting for me out there.”

Mal shook his head. “No one interprets this card so literally, Kit. It usually thought to indicate meeting someone with a… similar soul.” He paused before finishing that thought, almost as if trying to find a less emotional phrasing.

“I’m surprised your head didn’t explode from saying something so sentimental.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules! I’m just the messenger.”

“Uh huh. So I’m going to meet someone very like me and they’re going to define the rest of my life?”

“Yeah, that’s a fair interpretation of this card in that position.”

“So, you’re saying I’m going to meet someone else with a drive for adventure and to see as much of the realm as possible and what? Go into business with them?”

Mal took a sip of his ale without breaking eye contact. “Possibly. The key card is usually read in a more passionate light than that, though.”

“Is this considered a romantic card then?” Raina found herself staring at Mal, unable to break his gaze.

“For humans, yes. The Key Card in general is often considered to be a romantic card. Or at least it usually gets interpreted that way.”

“So I’m going to fall for my fellow adventurer?”

He kept looking right at her as he said, “Well, that would be the most common way the Twins are read in this situation.”

Things suddenly felt tense and loaded, far more expectant than they had any right to be. Not wanting to dwell on the implications of that card, Raina looked to diffuse the moment. “Of course, given that my Core Card was the Lovers, it might just be that I flirt with this adventurer until the next best thing comes along.” Raina knew she was ignoring the fact that the Key Card was supposed to carry the reading from the present to the future, but she didn’t know how to process the depth of such a statement. Not now, when so much was left to do to defeat the Shadow Court and to save Kade. And certainly not when she was staring at the person she felt more similar to than anyone else she’d met in a long time.

Mal seemed to sense her desire to not address the realities and details of such a prediction, instead laughing at her joke. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em your style, too?”

She smirked as she gave him a coy little shrug. “No comment.”

“Fair enough. I want stories later though, Kit.”

Raina waved him off and shook her head. “Just finish my reading, Mal.”

“A valid subject change, I’ll grant you that. So, you already told me that you know that the Reckoning Card represents the eventual outcome of the Drive Card. Ready to see how things go on your mission of doom?”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded. With how attuned this whole reading had been, she found herself eager to see the next card, almost believing it might actually represent their future.

Mal pulled the card toward him, drawing out the reveal. “Huh,” was all he said before placing the card face up in front of her.

“The Double-Edged Sword?”

“Yeah.”

“Does that mean we defeat the Shadow Court?”

Mal shrugged. “This card usually reflects either a desired outcome at a high price, or a wish come true that causes a new set of problems.”

“So not exactly the greatest card for the Reckoning Card.”

“But not the worst either. It’s often portrayed as a mixed outcome. Most tellers would interpret this as reflecting success when it comes to the Shadow Court, but either after suffering some steep consequences or having to traipse through all three hells. That sort of thing."

“Well, I guess that’s better than outright defeat.”

“That’s the spirit! Surviving by the skin of your teeth is all you need, anyway! Easy success is overrated.”

“And highly unlikely?”

“Yeah, that too. You ready for your final card?”

“Hit me with it.”

“Alright, so the final position is the Unwinding Card. It’s supposed to represent the overall course of your life once you’ve fully moved out of the present.” Mal flipped the final card over, showing a golden, gleaming, cup, letting out a little whistle as he saw it.

“The Golden Chalice feels like a good card here.”

“It’s a great one, Kit. It represents comfort, pleasure, contentment. In this position, it’s basically saying your life will be filled with all you could want in the future.”

Raina nodded. “Well, at least it seems like no matter what the Shadow Court deals us, we come out of it alright. Unless you are just an awful fortune teller.”

Mal chuckled at that, sliding the seven cards back into his deck. “I make no promises for the accuracy of these predictions.”

“Where did you learn how to do this anyway?”

Raina noticed that he swallowed roughly as he tucked the cards back into his sack. “That’s a story for another time,” he said finally. “You ready to call it a night?”

She shook her head. “Not just yet."

"You want any company?"

Raina gave him a smile and nodded. “Sure, that would be nice.”

And so he moved over into the chair next to her, following her gaze as she looked up at the stars. The silence was comfortable and easy and for several moments, she just soaked in the night sky.

“So really, how many jilted lovers are we talking for you?” Mal’s teasing question pulled Raina out of her thoughts.

She laughed and shook her head. “Let it go, Mal. Some facts are just better left unmentioned.”

“Fair enough, Kit. Fair enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

Blades: @marshmallowsandfire

Mal x MC: @anotherbeingsworld

#bladesaw #mal volari #mal x mc #tyril starfury #nia ellarious #blades of light and shadow #blades fanfic #choices fanfiction

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pretty-setter-bois · 4 years

Text

slow dancing in the dark

request; none! just me indulging in self-induced fantasies (listen to the album while reading, save the song for last) ღ

summary; you’ve been day-dreaming about this moment since middle school, and he flies out in your first year of college to make it true.

word count; 1994™

warnings; swearing, someone almost falls off the roof.

OIKAWA TOORU. MANY know him as the previous setter for aoba johsai’s volleyball team, the handsome captain with a fanclub (wherever he goes), or even the grand king. you know him as your up-to-no-good, determined, and impulsive best friend.

the one you’ve been in love with on-and-off since middle school, that is. iwaizumi is the last to figure it out, but scolds you for it the most.

how can you not fall in love with those beautiful brown eyes? especially when they’ve come all the way to tokyo, and currently reside on the rooftop of your dorm, over a smug smile.

your groceries slip, and you almost slip trying to catch them. your first instinct is to scold him, yell at him because he might slip, or that he’ll injure his knee.

how’d he even get there in the first place? how’d you even get there in the first place? let’s back track a little, shall we?

“(Y/N),” YOUR ROOMATE, kiyoko calls. “we don’t have any food in the fridge. it’s your turn to go grocery shopping.”

“i’ll go tomorrow, i promise!” you answer, being too engrossed in your music to even think about doing anything else. “can’t you see i’m working?”

“you said that yesterday." kiyoko deadpans. "besides, you’re just listening to ‘BALLADS 1′ on repeat. go buy the groceries.”

“you’re too cruel, yoko-chan.” you grumble, pausing the music you’ve been annoying kiyoko with.

you walk into your room — well, shared room, considering the dorms consist of one bedroom each — and change. you decide to second guess your outfit, knowing there was no one you’ll want to impress in the middle of the night at the grocery store.

you grab your phone and wallet, slipping your device into the pocket of your pants and yelling one last annoying phrase to kiyoko before closing the door, knowing she’ll lock it after you.

the two of you live on the second floor dorms, so the walk to the exit was much longer than it was from the first floor. it only took a few steps away from the stairs before you hear a buzz from your phone.

kiyoko (❁´◡`❁)

8:57 PM

Eggs, toast, milk, cucumbers, lettuce, carrots, tomatoes, rice.

8:58 PM

is that all?

kiyoko (❁´◡`❁)

8:58 PM

No, just all I can remember off the top of my head.

8:58 PM

don’t tell me there’s more-

kiyoko (❁´◡`❁)

8:59

Start capitalizing your words and I’ll tell you.

8:59 PM

but capitals arent pretty!

kiyoko (❁´◡`❁)

8:59 PM

Aren’t*

Aren’t you an English major? Why do you still type like this?

9:00 PM

do you want groceries?

kiyoko (❁´◡`❁)

9:00 PM

Do you want to kicked out? I can tell the headmaster who has actually paid rent for last month...

9:00 PM

No ma’am, I apologize for breathing your air.

kiyoko (❁´◡`❁)

9:01 PM

as you should.

you chuckle at the irony, tucking your phone back into your pants as you assume that kiyoko would send you the rest of the list after checking the contents of your mostly-empty kitchen.

you pick out the groceries she sent you, and sure enough, get another list, which you also buy. you stand in the checkout lane, scanning and paying for all of your items.

you can’t help but notice the air around you get chilly, but that doesn’t matter. you’re almost home, where kiyoko has promised a warm dinner with the ingredients you bought.

you turn around the corner, navigating the ever-long rows and columns of dormitories of your university. once you find yours, your grip loosens on the bags.

oikawa tooru. many know him as the previous setter for aoba johsai’s volleyball team, the handsome captain with a fanclub (wherever he goes), or even the grand king. you know him as the dumbass, standing on the rooftop of your dorm, “yahoo, (Y/N)-chan!”

“WHAT THE HELL?” you ask, though it was more like a question for yourself.

“you’re going to get cold in that t-shirt, (Y/N)-chan!” he answers, his teeth shining through his smile.

maybe you should have dressed to impress, instead of going out looking like you've just rolled out of bed.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, long forgetting the groceries set on the floor. “aren’t you supposed to be in argentina?”

“ah, we got an early vacation.”

“in the middle of fall? you just arrived, like, two months ago.”

“yeah.”

“how long have you been in japan?”

“since this morning.”

“aren’t you tired?”

“no, not much.”

that wasn’t a lie. the adrenaline in oikawa’s veins was more than enough to keep him awake.

“why are you on the roof?”

“so that i could look for you.”

“how’d you even get up?”

“i climbed the balconies.”

“do you know how to get down?”

“um...”

“dumbass...” you facepalm, before climbing the balconies to make your way up to him. “you’re the stupidest person i know, you know?”

he gives out his hand to help pull you up.

“but you love me, (Y/N)-chan!”

“sadly...” you mumble. “you can’t even last two months without me or iwaizumi keeping you in check.”

“take a seat.” he says, patting the spot on the roof next to him.

“just so you know, my roommate is still awake, so if i fall, she’ll avenge me.”

“i’m well aware.” he chuckles, his side profile glistening in the moonlight. “are you cold?”

“no.” you lie, teeth clattering and arms frozen to the touch.

he wordlessly takes off his jacket, draping it over your arms. “i have a hoodie on underneath.” you nod.

“so, why’d the grand king come to visit me of all people?” you giggle, to let him know you were joking.

“i missed you.” he says, his playful tone no more.

“you met up with iwaizumi this morning, right?” you clear your throat, trying to diminish any hope of the love you held for him being reciprocated.

“yeah, but just for a bit. i came to japan because i wanted to talk to you.”

“about what?”

“dance with me, (Y/N)-chan.”

you’re confused, scared of falling off the roof, and freezing.

“okay.”

he stands, moving higher up for a smaller chance of falling off. he extends his arm to you, the look of plain serendipity on his face. you grasp his fingers in yours, feeling them hoist you up close to him.

since the dorms only consist of two floors each, the rooftops were mostly flat, making it easier to maneuver on them.

you could faintly hear the music you’d been listening to before you’d left your flat. you could’ve sworn you’d turned it off.

“i didn’t know they taught slow dancing in argentina.” your voice was low, and he only hears it because he was that close.

“you’d be surprised.” he chuckles, continuing to dance with you.

you forgot about the jacket on your shoulders until it almost falls off, being whisked away by the light breeze of the night.

you catch it, and oikawa catches you.

the jacket hangs off of your hand loosely as your grasp on it tightens. oikawa’s grasp around your own wrist tightens, as he pulls you close to his chest.

an arm around your head, the other around your back, he says, “i love you, (Y/N)-chan.”

you turn to face him, heart pounding in your chest as your mind swells with disappointment.

i wasn’t going to get my hopes up.

“i know, tooru.”

“no,” he holds you tighter. “you don’t.”

you try to look up at his face, but his hold stays strong.

“just let me have this, yeah?”

you nod, staying silent.

“it’s not the type of love i have for iwaizumi, and hopefully not the type of love you have for iwaizumi.” he cards his fingers through your hair. “i think about you all the time, about how it’d be like to hold you. to see your smile everyday. to know you’d be there for me, and i’d be there for you.”

“but i am?” you look up at him.

his face is a mix of something melancholic and something hopeful.

“i think about how it’s be like to call you mine.”

you don’t say anything, instead trying to stop the overflowing tears that pool in the corners if your eyes.

“you can’t just say that!”

he stays quiet, his grip on your biceps staying firm. you were sobbing.

“y-you can’t just come t-to tokyo, a-all the way fr-from argentina, to t-tell me that you love me!”

you look at him. you can’t help but think your tears make you unattractive, but that doesn't matter to him.

“not after all these years...” you sniffle. “this better not be one of your stupid jokes, shittykawa!” you point a finger at his chest and continue to poke. “i’ve been in love with your dumbass since fucking middle school, you idiot! do you know how many times i’ve day-dreamed about you saying those words to me?”

his eyes widen, looking down at your shorter figure.

“yeah, stupid! even coach irihata knew! i had to bribe kunimi and ask for kindaichi’s help to keep him quiet!”

“well, i don’t think an impulsive plane ticket could make up for that,” he says. “but let’s make up for lost time?”

you cross your arms, pouting as you look off to the side. he has to admit, you look adorable. he moves his arms up to your shoulders, wrapping them around your back.

“wh-what are you doing?” you ask.

he tackles you, laying over you as his arms move beside you. your faces were mere inches apart.

“my knee hurts from all that dancing, (Y/N)-chan.”

you know he’s lying, but you’ll be lying if you say you don’t like the proximity.

has the music always been this loud?

“this is your favourite song, isn’t it?”

you nod, your face flushed. you can’t help but sneak a small peak at his lips.

he notices. “hey, (Y/N)-chan?”

“yeah, tooru?”

“kiss me.”

“h-huh?!”

“timid as always, aren’t you?” he shakes his head as he chuckles, leaning in slowly.

you close your eyes, awaiting the contact of his lips against yours.

they were soft, almost as soft as the moon made them out to be under its reflection.

more than that — they felt so right against yours.

extra:

IT IS AROUND midnight when you get back to your dorm, the grocery bags are messy and your skin is red from the cold. kiyoko doesn’t seem to mind instead telling you to place them on the table and offers you a cup of tea.

“hey, yoko?” you ask, keeping the tea close to you as a second source of warmth.

“yeah?” she answers, taking the groceries.

“you didn’t happen to be playing ‘BALLADS 1′ while i was gone, where you?” you sip on the tea, almost downing half of it in one sip.

“i don’t recall doing so, no.” she turns to the sink to wash the rice, and you can see the smile on her face despite her attempts to hide it.

you finish the rest of your tea, hugging her from behind as you place the cup in the sink.

“well, tooru told me everything! he told me you were the one who told him where to find the dorm, and when to come. you even set me out to buy groceries just to find him on the roof. you do have a soft spot for me after all!”

she chuckles, your arms still around her. “did he tell you about how i emailed your professor for an extension on your essay?”

“you did?!” you beam at her. “what’d he say?”

“he said you have until friday, so you better spend the next few days with your boyfriend and get right back to school afterwards, okay?”

“yes ma’am!” you smile widely, dashing out the door to find a certain brown-haired setter.

NOTES ♕❣⁂ღ

going thru an oikawa phase, this just felt so right in my head bahaha-

also stan kiyoko.

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyuu x reader #seijoh #seijoh imagines #aoba johsai imagine #aoba johsai #oikawa tooru #tooru oikawa x reader #tooru oikawa imagine #oikawa tooru x reader

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shortytori · 3 years

Text

Tori Tales

Robert Moss: First Day of School

“What is this?” Robert angrily demanded as he slammed a class schedule on the kitchen counter in front of Delta.

Without looking at him or the schedule he took a sip of her morning coffee and responded, “Those are the classes you’ll be taking starting next week. We know that you haven’t been going to school for some time, and I have decided that it would be best for the team if you also worked out your mind as well as your body.”

“Bu-but,” the young teen took a deep breath, “but I didn’t join the Alliance to go to school--I joined because I want to get to the same level as those on Team B and Team A!”

Delta looked down at him from the side, “As long as you remain dumb and ignorant you will never be on their level. You will go to Townsville High Monday to Friday, and you will not skip any of your classes. I have requested Adam and Zuri to keep an eye on you and make sure you are on the school grounds during school hours. If you do go to your classes there will be consequences, understood?”

Robert wanted to object but as he looked her in the eye he just frowned and nodded. He knew she was strong and a great leader, and he respected her commands even when he didn’t agree with them. “Yes ma’am.” He picked his schedule back up and walked back to his room. As he walked he passed Zuri and Adam and slipped them a pouted glare.

“What’s his problem?” Zuri made a face back at him.

Back in his room, Robert slammed the door and threw himself on his bed. This would be the first time he’d ever go to school. The last three years he had Cherry and Boss teach him what he needed to know to survive living on the streets, and before that he learned some things in the science lab. Was school like how shows and movies made it look? Drama about romance, teen girl fights in the hall, clique arguments? ‘What if I get made fun of and they all don’t like me?’ He sat up and frowned at himself in the mirror, then smirked after seeing his reflection. “Nah, I’m too handsome for anyone to make fun of!” He shook his head as he fed his ego.

Robert was humming to himself as he brushed his hair, getting ready for the big day ahead of him. He had woken up two hours early and had already gone for his morning swim, his strength workout, taken a shower to smell fresh and clean and eaten breakfast. Since today he decided to switch up his look and dressed in a white button up shirt tucked into light seafoam green pants and finished the outfit with laced up white vans. One last brush and finished! He smiled proudly to himself and winked, “Looking good like always!~”

With a knock on his door, Zuri called out, “Are you done looking at yourself yet? We have to make our way to the school now. I wanted to hang out with Gigi before classes start!” Robert took one deep breath as he stared at his reflection, getting rid of any nerves that were trying to make their way up.

Opening his door he smirked at Zuri, “How can I not look at myself when I look this good?” He did a few poses to show off his pampered self while Zuri rolled her eyes and walked away. “Hey! I wasn’t done showing off how good I look!” Closing his door he ran after her and they, along with Adam, made their way to their private driver--which was curtesy of the Alliance. Within twenty minutes they were in front of Townsville High.

Getting out of the car Robert looked up at the school and was only shocked for a second. It was pretty big for a school--didn’t these things usually only have one building? There were multiple! But those were the only things that impressed the young teen. As the three of them walked up to Gigi who had been waiting for them, Robert looked around while Zuri elbowed Adam playfully causing him to blush. It was similar to a mall that there were teens everywhere, which was good for him because he enjoyed hanging out with people his age.

Gigi waved excitedly at Adam, who shyly waved back blushing and quickly made his way into the school alone. She looked at Zuri and Robert questioningly which they just shrugged and walked into the building together. “It’s really cool that you’re going to be going to school with us Robert!” She threw an arm over his shoulder and brought him in for a side hug. “Lucky for you, you have a cool and awesome older friend who can tell you the ins and out, the whose and what’s, and the best places to hang out!”

“Already covered all of that in the car ride here,” Zuri smirked as she too wrapped her arm around Robert’s neck. Gigi pouted and Robert laughed at her reaction.

“Don’t worry, Gigi,” Robert smiled at the blonde, “since I’m new I’m going to need some help. So please be my ‘cool and awesome older friend’ who makes sure I don’t make a fool of myself.” She nodded with a grin and threw an arm up in a cheer.

They showed Robert where his locker was, got his books from the school library, and showed him where his first class was. “This is your first period; 9th Grade English with Mr. Go,” Zuri gestured to the entrance of the classroom, “a warning before you see him. He looks big and intimidating, but he’s a big softie who is really into helping his students.” Gigi nodded along in agreement. “The rest of your classes are pretty close by, so just pay attention to the numbers by the classroom doors and hopefully you won’t get lost too much on your first day. We’ll see you at lunch, don’t make any trouble!” Gigi and Zuri waved as they walked to their first period class.

As he opened the door and walked in, all eyes were on the new kid in the classroom. Mr. Go stood up and Robert immediately realized why Zuri said he looked big and intimidating--the guy was huge! He walked up to him and reached out his hand, “Hello, you must be Robert! It’s great to have you in our class. Once the bell rings I’ll have you introduce yourself to the rest of the students and we’ll start our first day! If you ever need any help, please don’t be shy with asking me anything.” He pointed to a seat in the second to last row, “no one is currently assigned to that seat, so that’s where you’ll be sitting. Get your materials out and get comfortable because there’s about seven minutes before class starts.” He smiled, then walked back to his desk and took a seat.

Robert, unsure of what he needed, looked around the classroom and saw that some students had their notebooks, their copy of Lord of the Flies, and a pen or pencil so he copied them. He had noticed since he walked in that a few students were talking and looking at them, and he smirked at the thought of them talking about how good he looked. A few classmates came up and introduced themselves and made some small talk, but none of them were very memorable.

The “bell” sounded more like a loud buzzer and it made him jump. “Alright class, in your seats! You know when the bell goes off it’s time to start the day’s learning. I know you all have noticed a new face in our class, and I’m going to give him the floor so he can introduce himself.” Mr. Go gestured to Robert who nodded and stood up.

Loving the attention, Robert smiled as he spoke, “My name is Robert. I like swimming; I actually have swam a few times in local competitions where I used to live. I also making myself look good all the time, because I do not like looking like a mess in front of other people. I also love taking walks on the beach,” at his last statement he laughed to himself and winked at the student to his right, causing them to blush with a confused look on his face.

Mr. Go laughed as well as Robert sat down. “You seem like a character Robert, so I know you’re going to fit in well with the class. Now we’re going to start class by reading the next chapter in Lord of the Flies. Last class we finished chapter two, so can everyone please open to the start of chapter three.” As everyone opened their books and found the page, Hue’s eyes scanned the room, and his eyes met Robert’s. “Robert, since you’re new how about you take the honor and read the first page of chapter three?”

Nodding, Robert looks down at the page and began to read. The way he read was slow and choppy, and he made multiple pauses to slowly sound out words. It took him about seven minutes to read the entire page, and as Mr. Go thanked him with an awkward smile and moved on to picking the next student, Robert could feel the rest of his classmates talking about him and giving him weird looks. His ego was deflated and he felt weird, his shoulders felt tense and his stomach felt like it was flipping around inside of him. The rest of class didn’t get better, they had a group conversation about the book and he didn’t know how to take part in and they had to write and he wasn’t able to finish and was lucky to have at least wrote a page. First period ended, and Robert put his writing face down on Mr. Go’s desk and quickly waved goodbye before he had the chance to look at his work.

Second period went even worse than first, and by the time the lunch bell rang he was ready to go home. ‘I don’t get any of this. Why does any of this matter? Haven’t seen Adam or Zuri since before classes started, so how would they know if I skip my other two classes?’ He then remembered that the teachers took attendance and Zuri has most likely been hacking into the school’s system to make sure he had been in his classes. He groaned and not looking where he was going, accidentally bumped shoulders with another student. He looked at them and saw it was a girl with blonde hair and looked like someone poured 90s fashion all over her and dyed it all pink.

“I’m sorry,” the girl apologized.

“No, it was my fault. I’m sorry,” Robert mumbled and walked away before she could reply.

Having followed a crowd of kids to the cafeteria, he looked around and couldn’t find Gigi, Zuri, or Adam anywhere in the mob of teens. As he took out his phone from his pocket to text one of them, someone shoved him as they walked passed him causing him to drop his phone. “The hell!” He bent down to pick it up and tried to glare at the jerk that bumped him, but was shocked when he saw who it was. “Vain?!”

The said teen turned around and looked down at him, looked surprised for a second, then smirked. “Well, well, well, I didn’t know you went to Townsville High.”

Wiping the dirt off his pants, Robert shook his head as he stood up. “I didn’t before today. This is my first day here.”

“Hopefully not being a complete loser,” Vain circled around Robert, “because last time I saw you was last year at the local swimming meet behind me and losing.” He then leaned in to Robert and whispered in his ear, “do you think others would find it weird that you’ve been living in Townsville all this time but haven’t been attending school? Hopefully word doesn’t get out.”

Robert’s eyes flashed red for a second and he snapped at Vain, yelling out, “Why don’t you just mind your own business!?” The students that were around the two all turned and looked at them.

A hand was placed on Robert’s shoulder, pulling him back and he heard Zuri’s voice, “There you are Robert! Already making friends I see. Hey there, hope he wasn’t being too friendly with ya,” Zuri gave Vain a friendly yet deadly glare and he scoffed.

Before he could reply another familiar face walked up in the form of Mr. Go, “I heard some yelling over here. Not fighting now, are we?” He gave all three teens a look, and with a frown Vain shook his head.

“Why of course not, sir,” he then looked Robert and Zuri and then looked back at the adult. “If you don’t mind I’m going to go eat lunch.” Without getting a response he walked off.

Mr. Go shook his head as he looked at the two teens still in front of him. “Thank you, Zuri, for helping Robert here out. It’s good to see that he’s already made some friends while he’s been here--I know being new to a big school like this can be hard to adjust to.” Zuri and Robert shared an eyebrow raised look, if only he really knew. “Though if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to talk to Robert for a minute.”

Not having an excuse to argue Zuri nodded her head. “After you’re done talking to Mr. Go, you can come sit over there with us,” she gestured to a far off table where he finally spotted Gigi and left to go sit with her.

With a smile Robert looked up at his teacher, “What’s up Mr. Go?”

The man had a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face as he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I saw this morning you were having a hard time in class, and I’ve talked to your second period teacher and found out you had a difficult time in their class as well. I know it’s your first day, but I could tell that you’re quite behind academically. So I...” he hesitated, feeling bad and mumbled, “I hate doing this.” He took a deep breath and looked Robert in the eyes, “I sent an email to your guardian. You’re not in trouble, but I don’t want you to fall even more behind.”

From there all Robert could think about was what would happen when he got home. How was Delta going to react?

Finally home, and instead of running to his room to hide, Robert walked into the kitchen and found Delta sitting and waiting at the dining table. Nervous, he sat down as well and waited for her to speak first.

“First day of school and already getting emails from your teacher? I know this is all new to you, but I never expected I would get news so quick.” She looked at him and noticed his head was down, his eyes looked sad, and his hands were clenched into fists. She picked up the mug that sat in front of her and took a sip of her tea. “I know you feel disappointed in yourself. You’re a crucial member of this team, and you feel you’ve let us all down by being so behind in school.” She placed a hand on his head and smiled, “But you haven’t.”

Robert looked up at her in surprise. He’d expected her to be mad, to get yelled at, or even a punishment of some kind. It’s what he was used to. But Delta wasn’t like that. She is understanding, she’s smart, she’s a good leader and knows how to help her comrades--that made Robert’s respect for her grow even more. Giving him a couple pats on the head she folded her hands in front of her.

“Luckily for you there are ways to help you out with your schooling. You’re going to go to tutoring after school Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” He looked at her in horror as she continued to speak, “it will be good for you to get the extra help so you can get to where you need to be.” Robert rubbed his face in annoyance; he understood why but it was just going to take time out of other things he could be doing. “I also heard that you almost got into a fight today during lunch--”

“Who told you--” Robert tried to interrupt her while he spoke but immediately stopped talking when she gave him a cold look.

She sighed. “Because of your ‘almost’ fight and the large amount of information the Alliance apparently failed to collect on you, you will be seeing a professional psychologist by the name of Jocelyn Drakken every other Tuesday.” Robert made a face at the therapist’s last name, wasn’t that-- “yes, she is Charles’ younger sister.” Delta got up from the table and pushed in her chair. Before leaving she told Robert, “I know you will be able to handle the additions to your schedule and will work hard to improve mentally and emotionally. You are an amazing member to this team and we wouldn’t be as strong without you. Just know that all of this extra work doesn’t give you an excuse to skip your strength and combat training.”

Robert groaned as she gave him another pat on the head and left the kitchen with a soft smile. She was happy that he had a teacher like Hue that cared about their students’ education.

‘That actually could have gone a lot worse,’ he thought to himself and smiled while he stared out the window to the beautiful view of the beach.

Hue Go belongs to @kururu418 and is a part of the callyieverse

Mention of Blair Mystery Vanquez belongs to @aj-thegreatest

Delta, Vain, and Jocelyn belongs to @princesscallyie

Adam belongs to @purfectprincessgirl

Zuri belongs to @des-the-girl

#robert moss #first day of school #school anxiety #hue go #callyieverse #writing #oc #aboutmyoc #other people's ocs #my oc #fanfic #story #teen story #villain story #qued #tori tales

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

Text

Yes, Sheriff || Chapter 3

Sheriff Carol Danvers takes her job of protecting the citizens of her small town very seriously — there are just some that she cares about more than others. A lot more, in fact, and she will take care of her sweet baby girl whether she likes it or not.

relationship: Carol Danvers/Reader rating: Explicit chapters: 3/? length: 3k warnings: Dark Carol Danvers, coercion, manipulation, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat additional warnings: open the read more and CTRL + F, search “content warnings” to skip to detailed trigger warnings at the bottom of the chapter. note: another long wait, but here it is! hope y’all enjoy it. remember to reblog and comment! please.

The barstool was incredibly hard and you found yourself wishing for the 8th time in an hour that you were back at home. Carol had managed to coerce you back to her place for the second night in a row, citing collecting your belongings as the bare minimum necessitating your return. You'd grabbed your belongings immediately, having darted inside and into the bedroom before Carol even turned on the lights. Before you could make an escape back to the car though, she'd been quick to pull you into the kitchen and sit you at her breakfast bar. She was puttering around with something on the counter, 'just real quick' she'd said.

She at least hadn’t touched you since picking you up from the library at the end of your shift—a small blessing after she’d nearly made you cry while taking you to the Town Hall and then did make you cry upon returning you to the library. You prayed she couldn’t read your thoughts from your face, hoping you didn’t blush and betray yourself. She’d forced your legs apart while she drove and used some sort of little vibrator on your clit until you gushed, soaking the passenger seat of her cruiser. It had been humiliating but the pleasure was overwhelming and you’d just started to wail when she pulled into the library’s parking lot.

Carol had been very quick to remind you how lucky you were that she’d forgotten to call Tony about your car, otherwise he would’ve been waiting in the parking lot when the cruiser pulled in. The look on her face had been sincere and soft; you couldn’t even begin to reconcile the ever morphing faces she could exchange at the drop of a hat. She’d run circles around you in the few minutes after that, easily managing to talk you into going to her house later in the evening and she’d gotten that dopey little half smile on her face when you agreed and it gave your stomach butterflies.

"Get yourself a drink from the fridge baby girl, there's wine and some beers," Carol didn't even look over her shoulder at you, too focused on whatever she was stirring on the stove, "probably a soda."

A shiver ran down your spine, nervous at the tone she'd used; it was an order, not a request. You’d gotten so many of those today, most of which had ended in either pain or humiliation. You quickly stood up and crossed to the fridge, grabbing the half empty 2-liter of coke. It was the only nonalcoholic thing in there and you didn't want to end up in the same situation as the previous night. You hesitated for a moment, glancing back towards Carol.

“Which cabinet are the cups in?”

The smile that slithered over the blonde’s lips was both parts coy and apologetic, “the cabinet next to the sink, over my cutting board. You’ll have to grab it, my hands are dirty.”

She took two measured steps back from where she’d been pressed against the counter top, gesturing to the cabinet that had been right in front of her. An icy cold sensation dripped down your spine, your brain immediately kicking into high gear. It had only been a day, but you’d already come to realize that keeping up with Carol meant staying potentially several steps ahead of where you both agreed to pretend you were. It wasn’t that Carol was smarter than you, or more clever, but she had some sort of underhanded cunningness to her. She was methodical and calculated and you had to figure out how far along in her planned progression of this evening she was and what she was steering you towards, so you could avoid it.

“Baby girl,” the exasperated sigh made you blink, surprise widening your eyes, “could you please come grab your cup? I need to finish this up so it can cook while I take you home.”

Heat rose in your cheeks—you were acting like a freak and the Sheriff was obviously getting tired of it, especially since all you were doing at this point was interrupting her evening and delaying your ride home. Maybe you’d made your disinterest clear enough now and she was just ready for you to be out of her hair. You skirted forward quickly, carefully pressing against the countertop to leave as much space between her body and yours. The smallest glasses were on the lowest shelf and you quickly grabbed one from the front. An embarrassing sound escaped you when her hand brushed your ass, on ‘accident’, of course.

On accident.

Your rational brain struggled. You kept accusing Carol of these things in your mind, of trying to manipulate situations or assault or trap you. Sheriff Carol. You kept accusing Sheriff Danvers of such heinous things and it was baffling.

Carol Danvers was the first outsider to move to Burgess to be entirely accepted by the reputable population (which was most people, with the notable exception of some wife-beaters and a couple of folks who’d gotten busted for cooking meth). She went out of her way on a regular basis, literally daily, to go above and beyond her duty to help the town. You knew for a fact that just today she’d taken Ms. Bea to the grocery store—the older woman’s son was out of town for a few days for a wedding and had asked around to see if anyone could help his mother during his absence. Carol had immediately taken the responsibility, according to Paul. You knew this because you’d gone to school with Paul and he’d called you after hearing about your breakfast date.

Unbeknownst to you, Carol was watching your internal struggle with a wary eye. The same argument had played out before her multiple times today, where you tried to reign yourself in or change an instinctive behavior. It was interesting—you had an incredibly strong gut instinct and it was trying its best to direct your attention to every suspicious thing she’d done. But you had trained yourself to be rational over the years and Occam’s Razor was a wasp stuck in your ear, whispering that it made more sense for you to be misinterpreting the situation rather than her actually having insidious intentions.

The coke was slightly flat when you poured it but you couldn’t have cared less. All you wanted to do was keep her happy for the next ten minutes while she finished whatever it was she had going on.

“That’s a lot of sugar this late in the evening, don’t you think?” Her voice broke you out of your reverie and your shoulders scrunched up, embarrassment coursing through you.

“Yeah, probably,” you murmured in response, shifting to dump about half of what you’d poured down the sink; whatever it took to make her happy for the next ten minutes, you could deal.

“Good girl.” The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, “sit down and relax, I just need a few minutes.”

Returning to the barstool hurt your ass and your soul. The waiting was agonizing. You finished your drink relatively quickly and found yourself absently watching the glass reflect light while she continued to putter around. Your attention peaked when she put a lid on the pot and started washing her hands.

“You should go grab your bag, I’ll be ready in a minute,” she called over her shoulder and you immediately darted out into the living room, shifting the strap over your shoulder and standing next to the front door.

Carol was only a few seconds behind you, grabbing her keys off the table by the door and opening it for you. Thor was outside again, likely having worked a similar shift to Carol, and was mowing his lawn. The blond’s exchanged waves but you barely noticed, swiftly stepping up to the passenger side door before stopping patiently. It took a second before you realized she’d stopped moving too and was instead just standing there, smiling at you.

“Uhh—”

“Sorry baby girl, I spaced out a little,” she shuffled into your space, one hand curling around to the small of your back while she opened the door with the other, “watch your head.”

This would hopefully be the last time you ended up in Carol’s cruiser. She’d called Tony after returning to you the library and he had arrived sometime in the afternoon to tow away your car. He’d couldn’t make any promises but assumed he should be able to fix whatever was wrong tomorrow. Luckily Monday was your day off and you didn’t need to be anywhere you couldn’t walk to.

“You have my personal number right, in case you need a ride anywhere?” The blonde asked, once again featuring a brutally sincere smile, “I wouldn’t mind hearing from you, even if you don’t need anything.”

“I-I’ll keep it in mind,” your eyes flashed from her face to the road ahead apprehensively; thank God she’d waited until the ride was more than half over, there was no way you could hold a convincing conversation while your heart raced so fast it almost made you dizzy.

“I’ll walk you up to your door,” Carol had gotten out and was on her way around the front of the car before you could respond beyond a nod, opening your door and holding out her hand to help you up, “is that Mr. Taylor?”

Your eyes followed hers as she pulled you to her feet, finding your neighbor puttering around in his yard with the last vestiges of light from the day. He’d owned one of the local bakeries and you had practically grown up on his pastries.

“Yes,” you swallowed when Mr. Taylor seemed to notice you both, waving kindly from across the way with the blonde returning the gesture.

“Alright, up you go,” she ordered with a smile, one hand settling onto the small of your back to nudge you up the steps to your porch, “I’m gonna wait until I hear the lock.”

It was so thoughtful your brain swirled. Was it thoughtful or was she pretending? What kind of idiot were you to think she was pretending?

“Have a good night, Carol,” you offered the parting words quietly after stepping over the threshold, “thanks for your help.”

Help was kind of a stretch, if you were being honest with yourself. It had been one of the most stressful days you’d had in ages and you were so tired, all you could think to do was grab a bottle of red from the kitchen and take it to your room. You weren’t hungry but the wine would help you make it through your shower because no matter how exhausted you were, there was no way you could go to sleep feeling as dirty as you did.

Luckily you managed to get through the whole thing on your feet, occasionally reaching out through the curtain to grab the neck of the wine bottle and take a swig. The combination of the alcohol and steam enhanced your drowsiness and you yawned, quickly rinsing off before getting out of the shower. You barely managed to squeeze some of the water out of your hair before collapsing into bed and almost immediately passing out.

Carol had arrived home by the time you fell asleep, moving quickly to empty the 2 liter of coke down the drain. She’d put a carefully measured amount of rohypnol in the bottle, knowing she’d be able to monitor the amount you imbibed. It had seemed to be just barely starting to kick in when she’d walked you up to your door, your eyes not quite as focused as usual. It wouldn’t take long before you were firmly knocked out for the next 10 to 12 hours.

She’d been on edge the entire time you’d spent in the kitchen, having no idea if you would follow the steps she’d set out in her head. You were very intelligent but had been conditioned by small town living, as most people had, to operate on the belief that everyone was inherently good unless proven otherwise. Carol learned it was hard to manipulate someone who outmatched her in intelligence, even with the social handicap offered by societal expectations.

The empty coke bottle was filled with bleach and water before she threw it in the trash, the cup you used receiving the same treatment before going into the dishwasher. It was unlikely that Carol would ever come up as a viable suspect but she wouldn’t take the risk of not destroying evidence. She passed the next few hours cleaning, turning all of the lights out around 11 pm. Thor’s went off not half an hour later and she took that as her cue; he’d seen her arrive home after dropping you at your place, it wasn’t an alibi but it did lend credit to her story.

The nice thing about the way the houses were arranged in Burgess was the trees that surrounded most properties; it was so windy that the trees were necessary to protect the houses from damage. They provided excellent camouflage as Carol silently walked to your house from hers, winding between branches and making a mental note that she needed to be encouraging people to clean up the debris that had fallen. No need to potentially feed another fire.

The lights in most of the houses were out and Carol avoided the ones that weren’t. It extended her walk a few minutes, especially when she had to go wide around Mr. Taylor’s house. It was easy to break the lock on the backdoor though, even as new and well maintained as her baby’s house was. The blonde dropped her head back on her shoulders as soon as it closed behind her, sighing in relief. It was incredibly unlikely anyone would see her but it was still an adrenaline rush—she hadn’t been involved in such delinquent activities since she was a teenager.

The house was cute, just like her girl. There were little rose accents in the classic little farm house kitchen, lace pillows and curtains in the living room, fairy lights trailing up the banister to the second floor. It was also very obviously rarely used; there was no wear on the floors, no clutter, the refrigerator was practically empty and the pantry looked similar. The only evidence she saw of her girl was the cork from a wine bottle on the kitchen floor, just shy of the trashcan and a purse hanging next to the front door.

Carol hummed quietly to herself as she roamed, grabbing a knife from the block in the kitchen and wandering into the living room. The first thing she did was cut up the sofa and arm chair, ripping out the stuffing and repeating the action with the throw pillows. She scooped every row of books off each shelf on the many bookshelves in the living room, leaving the books in piles at her feet. The pictures and knickknacks went with them, some shattering against the hard wood floor.

Her baby wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, no matter how much noise and Carol took advantage of that by knocking a flower vase off a side table. Water and glass went everywhere, the sound jarring in the silent house. She grabbed the purse off the hook and tipped the contents out, stealing the wallet from inside and dumping the rest on the floor. The main floor was mostly for show and she continued up the stairs, where she could already hear soft breaths coming from the bedroom.

She was passed out face down on her bed, a towel somewhat wrapped around her body. Carol smiled, it was too easy and she was thrilled by her baby’s current state but focused on destruction first. She grabbed the jewelry off the dresser, pulled out and emptied all of the drawers. Her attention got caught on the top drawer, filled with panties and bras and socks. That one was left in the dresser, but Carol made sure that her rummaging was noticeable and stole at least three pairs of panties. She took a few more ‘valuables’, anything that looked like it might fetch some cash at a pawn shop that was also easy to carry, before turning her attention back to the lovely little drugged up baby girl in the bed.

The towel was dispatched quickly and Carol smiled at the sight of her still reddened little ass. It had been a lasting spanking and the blonde enjoyed seeing the results of her labor.

“Spread your legs baby,” she cooed into the silent evening, easily shifting y/n until her knees were tucked up under her torso, spread wide for the best angle, “let’s take some pretty pictures, huh?”

Carol must’ve taken a hundred pictures; some with her fingers seated deeply in her baby’s pussy, some with her fingers breaching that tight little asshole. The pièce de résistance being the fifteen minute long video the blonde recorded after turning y/n onto her back, leisurely riding the younger woman’s face until it was dripping with Carol’s arousal. She had to be careful when she started to cum, forcing herself not to smother her baby with her cunt—she couldn’t get carried away.

“That was good baby girl,” she murmured reaching between her legs and scooping her cum onto her hand, spreading it on her lips and tongue, “I’ll be the first thing you taste when you wake up. You’ll be the last thing I taste before I go to sleep, sound fair?”

Feasting on her baby’s pussy wasn’t nearly as fun when she wasn’t awake to thrash and cry at the overstimulation and mind-blowing orgasm. She made her cum twice anyway, forcing herself not to lick up the mess dripping from her pussy. Her baby girl would wake up in the morning with her own cum dripping out of her, naked and spread wide on the bed. All of Carol’s cum and arousal was beginning to dry on her pretty face, sticky and shiny in the light of the moon.

It would be hard to stay in bed until she received the phone call, that her baby’s house had been broken into and burglarized and she had potentially been assaulted. There would be no viable evidence, no fingerprints or unexplained hairs. The cum smeared on her baby’s face would be washed away in panic the moment she noticed something amiss, washing the evidence down the drain. Even if something did make it back to the station, it would obviously pass her desk. Maybe she’d set someone in town up to take the fall, like that shitty mechanic Hammer who’d scammed her when she first moved into town.

All she needed was the rose colored glasses to remain for a little longer, to mislead her baby for a few more weeks.

That was all it would take, after all.

content warnings: non-consensual (all of the following) somnophilia, vaginal and anal fingering, face riding, cum play, drugging, nudes, manipulation.

#carol danvers x reader #dark!carol danvers x reader #dark!carol danvers #dark!carol danvers fic #carol danvers fic #dark!mcu #will reblog with tags list asap

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

(mobster/cop au) what did the foxes think Andrews husband would be like before they met Neil? Did they had a bet?

this is…..not what you asked. i went off on a tangent lol, but i aint sorry.

(also i, for some reason, just cannot write good betting scenarios. might be because gambling addictions are p.serious. i know its all in good fun though! so im sorry i couldn’t include it)

Getting information about Andrew was like pulling teeth, and this was news to no one. Seeing as Kevin was - probably, maybe, most likely - Andrew’s closest friend at the precinct (other than Renee. And Wymack, possibly), Dan and Matt seemed to look to him after the discovery that Andrew had a husband when they’d all been trapped in that basement.

“Why would I know anything?” Kevin objected, when they’d approached him.

“Because Renee won’t give up his secrets and I know you’re as curious as we are,” Matt supplied.

“Well, I know nothing that y’all don’t already know. Apparently he’s married to a guy. I once overheard him talking on the phone to a Neil. Assuming that Andrew has no social life - which is an easy assumption to make - his husband is Neil.”

“Ooh,” Dan said, wiggling her eyebrows conspiratorially. “Mr Neil Minyard. Anything else?”

Kevin just shrugged. “Nope. Andrew’s a wall. You’ll never get anything more than that.”

Dan crouched down behind the car, breathing heavily. “Fucking hell,” she muttered, as another round of bullets sprayed out. She hated shootouts. At least Matt was safe at the precinct: she’d been doing a patrol with Andrew and Renee when they’d been radioed.

“Good that it’s a dead area,” Renee insisted, forever a ray of sunshine and goodness. How she and Andrew got along was a conspiracy to be marveled at, but it worked. “We shouldn’t be dealing with any civilian casualties.”

“Hey, coppers!” came a voice. “Fuck off! This ain’t your problem!” More bullets.

Dan rolled her eyes, then flinched as the car they were all crouched behind was fired at. Andrew grunted, a furrow between his brows.

“We told you to fuck off - !” the same guy yelled, before he was most definitely shot, making a gurgling noise in lieu of words.

“Andrew, south east,” Renee called. Andrew got up on his knee and aimed quick: he was one of the sharpest shooters on the squad. Dan heard a female scream “Shit!” as the shooting quietened.

“Nice shot,” she told the detective. He just grunted. “Right, clear out. Let’s never sign up to patrol this section of town on a Friday night again.”

“Agreed,” Renee mumbled, holding her gun close.

It seemed that whoever Andrew had shot got away: a pool of blood without a body remained evident on the path. The other group had abandoned their loud-mouthed friend, who was still writhing on the tar as the ambulance arrived. He’d only been shot in the arm, and it hadn’t hit bone. He’d be fine.

“Alright,” Dan told her two officers. “How about we sign off?”

They both grunted in agreement.

It was Tuesday morning, and Andrew’s desk was empty for a second day in a row. Dan folded her arms and stalked towards Wymack’s office to demand that the captain give Minyard a call, but he held up a broad palm as she entered the room.

“Andrew’s cited a family emergency.”

Dan narrowed her eyes. “Sure.”

Wymack simply arched a brow at her. “His husband was shot. If you want to cross-check for me and give him a call, be my guest, Wilds.”

Dan slowly retreated out of the captain’s office. She wasn’t suicidal enough to give Minyard a ring, not under those circumstances. Wymack’s word was definitely good enough.

She went back to her desk as Matt sidled up beside her, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“No PDA at work,” she complained.

“Shift’s over,” Matt pointed out, grinning. She rolled her eyes. “What should we get for dinner?”

“Not sure…” Dan trailed off as she watched Renee packing her desk, checking her watch rapidly and hastily slinging her bag over her shoulder. She pattered over to the bullpen’s kitchen and drew out a casserole dish from the freezer, lifting the foil to check its contents. With the dish held against her hip, she checked the freezer closed and made her way to the elevator.

“Whatcha got there, Renee?” Matt piped up, helping the dish out of Renee’s hands when she’d dropped her phone. It wasn’t often that Renee got flustered: she hastily picked up the mobile and tucked her hair behind her ears. Dan noticed she was wearing lip gloss.

“Well, since Neil’s been - sick,” she started.

“Shot,” Matt supplied. Dan glared at him: he shrugged. “What? I read Captain’s lips.”

Renee snorted, taking the dish back now that she was more organised. “I offered to make dinner, and Andrew prefers punctuality. I just hope that Neil likes it: I’ve never made this quiche before.” she worried, quietly. “Andrew said he hates vegetables but will put up with them when they’re hidden away. And hopefully Allison will eat eggs, and cheese.”

“Allison?” Dan inquired.

“Neil’s best friend,” Renee said, still distracted as she looked for her car keys. “Oh, heavens, I’m so late.”

“Go,” Dan insisted. Renee smiled gratefully. “Tell Andrew we say hello.” She nodded and jogged towards the exit.

“And tell Neil to get shot less!” Matt added, unhelpfully. “I won’t keep doing his paperwork!”

Dan laughed and leaned into her husband’s shoulder. She looked up at him, her chin brushing the crook of his neck. “Do you think Andrew will ever let us meet him?”

“Not sure,” Matt said. “It would probably completely ruin his cred as a stoic asshole. He’s probably a massive sap at heart.”

Dan smiled into the collar of Matt’s shirt. “Never put Andrew Minyard and sap in the same sentence again, babe.”

Matt just laughed and looped a hand around her waist.

“So,” Matt said, leaning against the edge of Minyard’s table. “How was your week off?”

“Great,” Minyard said flatly. “Go away.”

Matt ignored him and sat in the victim’s chair, leaning his chin on his hand. “You know, I’m pretty sure you and your husband have been married longer than Dan and I have. Do you have any anniversary suggestions?”

“Get a divorce,” Minyard grunted, looking at his report.

Matt grinned. “Don’t be like that. What did you and Neil do last time?”

“Nothing,” Minyard mumbled. Matt noticed his cheeks going red and rose up his eyebrows. Minyard noticed his look and scowled. “It was our anniversary this week and he was bedridden. Quit looking at me like that, Boyd.”

“A January wedding,” Matt cooed. “Did you take photos in the snow?”

“I will castrate you.”

“Cool,” Matt said, airily. “Well, happy anniversary, Andrew. Tell Neil we said hi.”

“I won’t,” Andrew insisted. “Get lost.”

Matt snorted and did as he was told. He’d intended to say hi to Renee, but she was over at Dan’s desk, so he sauntered over with his thumbs hooked into his pockets.

“Hey, Renee,” he said, grinning. His fellow detective and his sergeant raised their eyebrows at him. “I’ve been thinking,”

“You should be working,” his wife reminded him.

“Andrew just had his anniversary, right? But they couldn’t do anything because Neil’s been bedridden. We should all pitch in for a gift. Maybe a weekend away?”

“That’s a lovely idea, Matt,” Renee said, grinning.

“How the hell did you get that information out of him?” Dan said, incredulous.

“I’ll email you some ideas: you know the two of them, best.” Matt rubbed his hands together.

“Preferably not New York, not somewhere warm, or somewhere with lots of people,” Renee advised. “Neil is apparently forever antagonistic and it drives Andrew up the wall.”

“Sexy up the wall or angry up the wall? I don’t think we should be encouraging strenuous activity when Neil’s been recovering from a bullet wound.” Renee just laughed, neither confirming nor denying Matt’s inquired. She bid both of them good day and went back to her desk, ignoring Minyard’s inquisitive looks.

“Why are you doing this?” Dan murmured.

Matt shrugged. “Dunno. I feel like he deserves it.”

Dan smiled at him. “Alright.”

Kevin, Renee, Matt and Dan were all sitting in the breakroom. Andrew stormed in, bright and cheery as ever. It was a blissful Tuesday morning, sleet pelting down and temperatures well below freezing: As Andrew tugged off his scarf, revealing a wind-pinked nose and a fair amount of love bites just above his collar, he chucked a tin onto the table.

“Who’s idea was it?” Andrew accused.

Kevin watched Matt grin, looking up at Andrew. They were almost the same height even with Matt sitting down. “How were the mountains?”

“Very pleasant,” Andrew muttered, peeved. “Neil baked those as thanks. I hope he poisoned them. You’re all the worst.” After a moment, and a reprimanding glance from Renee, he mumbled out a quiet “Thank you.” and just as quickly as he’d come in, he turned to leave. He must have caught his reflection in the window, because he hastily tugged the scarf back around his neck, cheeks turned pink.

Kevin huffed, looking to his colleagues. “Are you satisfied enough, now? I, for one, now know way more about him than I ever wanted to.”

The Boyd-Wildses opposite him just grinned.

ehheeheewill i ever post the renison + wedding thing? hopefully yes - if i dont run out of steam first. almost 2/3s of the way through my rbb and its taking longer than i thought!!!! also moving out of state, so a lot is happening rn and if that means i neglect ur asks and prompts i am very sorry!!!!

#andreil #dan wilds/matt boyd #andrew minyard #neil josten #cop!andrew #cop!foxes #butcher!neil #married couple #all for the game #aftg #mobster/cop au #jem writes

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.08

On a Pedestal

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,019

Warnings: mentions of sex, language, angst

A/N: I know I just released one last night but here’s another one. I will wait before posting another chapter at least a day in between so that I can respond to all of your lovely comments. I read each and every one of them and I appreciate them so much! Enjoy and let me know what you think! xoxo

His Majesty comes to you again that night. And the next. And the next.

For two weeks, every night, his Majesty climbs into your bed. He’s grown softer in that time and his touches are kinder. He throws in a caress every now and then but the act is over quickly and though the discomfort is all gone now, you feel nothing more than his now familiar stretch, the heat as he releases within you, and then he’s up and gone before you’ve caught your breath.

It doesn’t even hurt that he leaves you. It’s routine.

You feel no rejection anymore. You sleep.

Finally, at least you can sleep.

In fact, you oversleep. You sleep for almost twelve hours every day and Nat grows increasingly worried.

“How are you feeling?” She’s wrapping you up in your thin white robe which clings and turns sheer as the residual water from your bath left on your skin is soaked up.

“I’m fine.” You follow after her, looking over her shoulder as she rummages through your wardrobe.

She moves dress after dress aside before she stops on an orange and white number with florals stitched into the voile skirt. The waistline is broken by golden ribbon with orange tails of the same material as the bodice that hang to the right side of your waist. Golden vines have been embroidered up and down along the long white sleeves to match those mirrored on the bodice.

When she turns, she bumps into you with a small ‘oof’.

“Your Majesty,” She laughs as you take a step back.

“Sorry.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She checks again, holding the dress over her arm.

“Yes.” You smile at her, a real smile. You feel better. “That’s a pretty one.”

“It should be, you’re meeting with Steve today.” She explains and your heart suddenly clenches.

“What?” Your hands are clammy, your heart is pounding. Your lungs are suddenly struggling.

Why are you so anxious?

“His Majesty has asked me to get you ready. He will give you a proper tour of the castle and then he will discuss with you your duties as Queen. You’ll be with him all day.” She smiles as if this is a good thing.

And yes, okay, you’re a little excited you get to spend some much-needed one-on-one time with him. Maybe he’ll finally open up to you? It is depressing only seeing him when he comes to lay with you.

You’re not exactly sure what to do now that you’ll have to try and connect with him again though.

“What do I say to him?” You ask her, nervously dropping your robe as she moves to you with your underdress.

“What do you-?” Nat stops, hands spread between the dress as she stares at you with confusion.

You hold your hands out to her and she snaps out of her thought to slip your hands in the sleeves and then lead the underdress over your head.

She’s thinking very fast as she dresses you and doesn’t answer your question.

Once your outfit is complete and she’s got you sitting in front of your vanity to brush and do your hair—she puts an orange ribbon through it and then braids your hair around it—she watches your face as she works.

“Hasn’t Steve been coming to you at night?” She asks.

“Yes.” You reach out to pull over a small box which you open to find several rings inside. Some of them are simple gold and silver bands. Others have gems.

Your eyes are drawn to two thin bands; both are silver. One is a weave of two thinner bands that loop around each other like lattice work, the other is a very thin silver band with a small perfectly round blue gem.

You slip one onto your forefinger, the other onto your middle.

They feel weird.

“Then why don’t you know what to talk to him about?” She asks, looking as if she already knows the answer.

“What do you mean?” You nearly chuckle.

“Well, don’t you talk when he comes to see you?”

“No.” You finally meet her emerald eyes in her reflection. “He comes in, wakes me up sometimes when I’ve fallen asleep, he sleeps with me, sometimes he’ll lay beside me for a bit, but then he gets up and leaves. He’s never in here for more than an hour. At most.”

You take off the rings and put them back.

“So, he’s not even trying.” Nat says, not a question.

“I suppose he’s doing his best.” You tell her. “I didn’t marry him because I thought that he’d fall in love with me.”

You turn your eyes back to the box and open it again to look at the jewelry inside. You reach up to fidget with your necklace, tracing the star with your finger.

“I’d…I’d hoped that maybe he might have come to like me, but I didn’t know just how much he was still in love with Margaret.” You shrug, meeting Nat’s eyes again which stare at you with a sorrowful sympathy. “I have a good life, Nat. Before I came here, I worried about whether I would go to bed hungry or whether Martin Argus would come to my cottage to try and steal my virtue again. I was unprotected and alone and poor and…now I’m the Queen of a prosperous kingdom. I have jewelry that I’ll never wear and dresses that cost more than I could have earned in six months with my stitching.

“I’m not alone anymore. I have you and Peter and Bucky and…even his Majesty. I have a husband and hopefully soon I’ll have a baby. I’ll have my own family. I had nothing, Nat. Now I have everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is the garden. There are flowers of various types but we’re missing quite a few from the Southern countryside. Most of the ones we do have were grown by hired gardeners but that little plot just beyond the fountain is off limits.” His Majesty points across the cobbled path, over the teal waters of a limestone fountain, across the Snapdragons in varying shades of pinks, yellows, and purples, to a pavilion made of dark stones, deep oaks, with a sturdy slate roof.

Inside the pavilion is a bench with pale yellow cushions and a small table. Large blood red gerbera daisies surround the base and sit in a large vase to the left of the stairs that lead up into the cozy space.

You don’t have to ask why that spot is off limits.

With an ache in your chest you move around the fountain, staring at the gazebo you’ll never sit in until you’ve put it out of sight as you wander further into the maze of beautiful foliage in his Majesty’s massive garden.

It’s very structured. Most flowers kept together in various displays. It’s pretty but it lacks charm. There’s no real theme. Just flowers planted in a very orderly fashion.

His Majesty follows behind you. You walk until you reach a peach stone wall then turn to move down along a row of violets. The smells in the garden are sweet and rich. They saturate your hair and clothes and the breeze that flows in over the walls of the garden feels good.

“You won’t ask me why that pavilion is off limits?” His Majesty suddenly asks.

He’s speaking a bit more quietly. Intimately. There’s no one around but you and him so his easy volume feels personal. Peter stayed by the arched gateway to give you two some time alone. Nat and Bucky have no doubt snuck off for a bit of time alone themselves. You lost both of them about an hour ago when his Majesty took you through the enormous library on the second floor.

“In fact, you’ve been very quiet throughout the entire tour.” He observes.

“I have nothing to say.” You tell him. “And I don’t have to ask you why that place is off limits. I know, without you needing to say.”

You’re a little miffed and maybe you’re not as good at hiding it as you hoped.

“Margaret always spoke her mind.” He says, unknowingly driving a small nail through your chest.

You have only yourself to blame. You’d gotten enamored with him before you married him and only more so since. Even after he’s hurt you several times, you can’t find it in yourself to care less although you’ve gotten better at not showing the hurt.

“Tell me why you’re so quiet.” He asks, it’s not an order.

You turn to look at him and the sight of him nearly kills you. He’s heavenly in his primary blue tunic, white stitching highlights the fine fabric. His black undershirt and trousers draw focus to the pleasing way he fills it all out. His hair is still long and full, flowing yellow strands in the afternoon breeze.

And those eyes. So focused, so blue.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say that he can see right through you, but you know it’s the other way around.

What is he expecting you to say? That you’re disappointed? That you hate his castle? He’s made sure to point out the flaws of the architecture when he can, and he pointed out to you the lack of foreign language books in his library. He complained about the small size of his throne room and the room where balls and parties are to be held is too narrow.

The balcony where the musicians are to sit and play is too high up to truly enjoy the music, and the kitchens have a surprising amount of mold in its storage and the cooks seem to only cook the same things over and over.

He’s tried to get you to complain about something since the moment he began to lead you around and you know that he’s looking for fault in you. Something has to be wrong with you, he’s sure of it.

So, you give him what he wants.

“I haven’t said much because I don’t understand how someone with so much can find room to complain.” You stop and turn to face at him, meeting his eyes with all the courage you can muster. “You say that your stores in the kitchen have too much mold? There were four other closets above ground that most of that food could be moved to. A simple fix if you really wanted to remedy the problem.

“You said there isn’t enough variety in the dishes your cooks serve but I ate stale bread and cold beans for most of my life when I was in that school for my emotional problems so I don’t really see how you can complain about roasted chicken, pies, and cakes.”

“You said that your castle is crumbling on the first floor but the school I went to had a large hole in its roof. It was always too cold in the winter and too wet in the spring. I caught several colds and still have a little trouble breathing when it gets too humid.” This isn’t a complete lie. You did get sick often at home and you do still have trouble breathing but the condition didn’t develop in this fictional school that your father is supposed to have sent you to.

“Personally, I have never seen so many pretty flowers and if there is one flaw that I see it’s that you keep them all separated. For this garden to be truly beautiful you need only mix them in together. Then your garden will look like the Gods have blessed you with a small bit of heaven. It already smells wonderful here. How you can want more…?

“And if it’s a fault that you’re looking for in me, I can’t read. That’s why I didn’t say anything when we were in the library. You wish you had more books in foreign languages, but I can’t even read one in my own tongue. I can’t write. I received no lessons in history or arithmetic at my school.

“Your life of privilege…it’s a blessing, your Majesty. One that is not bestowed upon many. That’s why I’ve bee-”

“Tony sent you to a school where they didn’t teach you to read or write?” His Majesty interrupts, moving a step closer to you as his brow furrows with his frown.

His takeaway from the little speech you just gave surprises you and you open your mouth to respond but can’t find what to say.

“How often did you get sick?” He asks, stepping closer.

You blink, frazzled, heart pounding. “I…Enough that I struggle to breathe at times. It’s not uncommon. Most of those that I went to school with developed the same symptoms.”

“Does Tony know that you struggle to breathe?” He wonders, reaching out this time to place his hand around your arm showing a surprising amount of concern.

It’s throwing you and you can’t seem to think straight.

What is he doing? What is he saying? Why is he touching you?

“Wha-? I um…No.” You finally say. “He doesn’t. Didn’t. I was only back with him for a week before I came here to be with you, he had hardly any time to reacquaint himself with me.”

This is making Tony sound worse than what he really is. This isn’t right.

“But I hid it from him.” You add, hoping to remove some of the taint. “Every time he visited and when he came for me, I tried my best to present him with the daughter he deserved and not the one he was given. It’s not his fault that I was born broken.”

Steve frowns, sliding his hand down to your elbow before he releases it. “You’re not broken.”

He moves around you, rounding the corner and giving you a moment to catch your breath.

“Are you coming?” He asks, and you quickly follow.

He waits until you’re beside him and this time he walks with you.

“You’re right about my privilege.” He nods. “Sometimes I forget how good I have it here. Things are stressful. Being King and having responsibility over so many people isn’t easy. The stress of that can dim the brightness of what makes this life good. I didn’t mean to make you feel as if I were looking for a flaw. I just wanted to-”

“Yes, you did.” You cut him off, looking straight ahead as he turns to watch you. “I know that you don’t want me. I know that if you could trade my life for Margaret’s you would, and I think trying to find something very wrong with me helps you feel better about all of this. About having to marry me.

“I don’t want to replace your dead wife, your Majesty. I would never presume to think that I could. But I will do my duty. I will give you an heir and then I will step out of your way. I know that’s what you would prefer.”

He stays silent.

He doesn’t deny it.

He thinks as you walk, moving deeper into the garden until the only sounds you can hear are the shift of the wind, the twittering of birds, and the soft buzz of bees somewhere in a tree nearby. The soft hiss of both your feet as you step along the sparse cobbled path is mesmerizing in its repetitive nature.

“How did she die?” You ask him, fearful of upsetting him but you’ve been dying to know.

“Nat hasn’t told you?” He asks, surprisingly calm about it as he stops just as the two of you reach a small area, closed off with a stone bench nestled beside a pond where small fish nip at the surface as tiny flies land for a drink.

“I didn’t want to hear it from Nat.” You explain, moving to sit on the bench. You’ve been walking all day, up and down stairs without much of a break.

His Majesty watches you and when you’re seated, he moves to sit beside you, shoulders slumped as he stares at the pond and the purple, wine, and yellow irises that surround it.

“I don’t want to learn about you from someone else.” You continue.

He’s quiet for a while and the two of you sit in silence. You don’t interrupt whatever train of thought he’s on and he finally sighs.

“She fell off her horse.” He says, shaking his head. “It was nothing, at first. A swollen ankle. A small bump on the head. But she’d cut herself on a rock when she fell, and we didn’t see it right away. She didn’t feel it for a few days. By the time her fever set in, we were already too late.

“The infection spread. It did its damage and it took her from me.” His Majesty bites his lip, miles away from you back in the past. His eyes darken.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper, afraid to disturb his grief.

“It’s a stupid reason to die.” He mutters darkly.

Then, as if he hadn’t been talking about her death, he moves on.

“You’ll start your duties tomorrow. You’ll visit the poor for an hour every day. Maggie used to pick a single day and visit for longer. She was very kind to those less fortunate. Maggie used to host the ladies at court for a while every day as well, and once a week she threw a small dinner for the ladies and their husbands.”

He looks at you, up and down as if assessing you.

“We probably shouldn’t do that until you can at least read.” He spits, maybe more aggressively than he means to.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, ashamed at your lack of education.

“Why are you apologizing?” He asks, upset. “You didn’t do it to yourself. Tony’s the one that should have made sure you were receiving a proper education. He throws you off to that school and then acts like you’re not even a part of his family for so many years then throws you at me so that you’re my problem…Maggie wouldn’t apologize for her circumstances. Stop apologizing.”

You shrink as his tirade lengthens and you look away, fearful that he might see the way his anger affects you.

“Maggie used to be up at dawn. I expect you to do the same. You’ll get lessons in the morning and in the afternoon, you’ll make your visits. On Fridays we receive the people to address their concerns. I expect you to be at my side every Friday. No exceptions.” He orders and then rises.

You make to get up, but he turns to look at you, is that contempt? It’s something. Not good. You’re not sure what.

“Stay out of that pavilion.” He warns. “And never bring up Maggie again.”

He leaves you sitting there, shaking and wondering why you’d had to open your mouth and ask about Margaret. Next time, you’ll just ask Nat.

You do as you’re told.

Your days all start to look the same.

You wake up, bathe, dress, eat breakfast, go to your lessons for four hours, have lunch, then you leave the castle to visit the poor. And that’s where you stay until Nat has to pry you away.

At first, you’re scared to get involved. You don’t remember any nobility in your father’s kingdom coming to visit but you were slightly better off than these people. You help them cook and you help them clean up the small homes they live in.

You aren’t a doctor and you can’t help in that sense but you can at least help make their living spaces cleaner.

Most of them remind you of your own little cottage only theirs seems to be falling apart at the seams.

When you realize how little money it costs to help make their homes a bit better—new roofs, patched floors, new lumber to reinforce walls and ceilings—you give up your own allowance to help get it done.

Fridays—since it’s the day of your shortest visit—are the day you dedicate to bringing them as much food as you can.

His Majesty had already started the practice of giving away food that isn’t eaten to the poor, but you take it a step further and set up locations around the castle city for donations of foods about to expire.

Many people donate when words gets out that the new Queen has started this new program.

With the influx of food, the poor are able to eat more regularly. It lightens your heart and you feel more at ease when you lay your head on your pillow at night.

Despite being able to see him more often during the day while you go to your lessons and then help him on Fridays with his people, it’s at this time that you spend the most time with his Majesty.

At night, he comes to you, when you’re on the brink of sleep after a tiring day.

For a while after your tour, his Majesty had only come in and done his deed, then left. Sometimes he would sit with you, ask about your day, but say very little himself.

Tonight, he sits at the end of your bed but doesn’t look at you.

You sit up, startled by his hesitance. By now he’d be on top of you, getting this part of his and your duties over with.

“My king?” You probe, staring at the taut lines of his back.

“Why are you staying so late in the villages?” He sounds tired, like he’s had a long day too.

Is he going to be mad at you for staying late?

“They need so much.” You explain. “I’ve been helping them with their mending. The children need clothes. The women also lack proper garb. Their houses were falling apart and the cost to help them is so little-”

“Is that what you’ve been using your allowance for? That money is so that you can get what you need.” His Majesty counters.

“I don’t need anything.” You laugh a little, just a small chuckle. “I have more dresses than I’ve ever had in my-”

Shit…wait…no. You were a princess. You are rich. You’ve had lots of dresses. Or so he thinks…

“-than I’ve ever had need to wear.” You quickly recover and hope he doesn’t realize your slip.

What would he do if he found out you were common? Just as poor as the people you help every day? Margaret was of noble birth. She deserved to be Queen.

“I have no need for anything else.” You assure him.

“Take some time off. You need to take care of yourself too.” He orders. “I saw you in the city yesterday. What were you doing?”

You scoot closer to him, pushing your sheets away as you slide to sit slightly behind him and to his right.

Excited, you can’t help but lean around to look at his face better. “I saw that you have the food we don’t eat here in the castle delivered to the poor and I thought…I’ve started a donation program with the churches and business in the city. People bring the food that they do not need or that is about to expire, and I have a few soldiers distribute it to the poor. The food will only last a day or two by the time they receive it but for some of them, it’s all they have.”

“Whose idea was that?” He looks over his shoulder at you, his exhaustion evident in his storm blue eyes.

“Mine.” Your brief excitement fades. He’s so tired. He looks so damn tired. “Have you not been sleeping?”

He ignores your question. “I’ll see what funds we have free so that those that help you get a small payout for their assistance.”

You hadn’t even thought of that. Of course, the good people letting you take donations at their places should get something in return.

“Thank you. You don’t mind my using a few of your soldiers to help me?” You almost whisper, heart soaring, butterflies in your stomach making your body hum.

“No. I don’t mind. They’re you’re soldiers too.”

This is the first time he’s included you in ownership of anything in the castle or kingdom. You feel like you could fly.

“I’m sorry that I snapped at you in the garden.” He says, remorse tainting his usually luscious deep tone.

You shake your head. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have asked about Margaret.”

“I don’t know that I have the energy for you tonight.” He admits, sighing lightly and a startling thought occurs to you.

Does he consider it a chore? To sleep with you?

You don’t exactly find it fun either. It’s never felt like those girls back home said it would. Good? It just…you’re not even sure what to compare it to. Nothing you’ve ever felt before. Invasive a bit but you’re not unwilling.

Your heart however is full of disappointment that the few moments you get to have him all to yourself is nothing more than a task to be checked off his schedule.

“I’m at your leisure, your Majesty.” You can’t help the way you curl in on yourself again, feeling once more unwanted and out of place.

He scoffs a small laugh, there’s humor in it. “You make it sound like all I need you for is-”

He stops as he meets your eyes. His smile fades. There’s surprise in his eyes and you’re not sure what it means.

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as he turns towards your fire and his fingers flex into a fist.

“Why aren’t you pregnant yet?” He suddenly asks, and you’re so startled by the question that you don’t know how to answer.

That tiny seedling of doubt and fear that has been growing in the depths of your soul for the six months that you and the king have been married…why haven’t you gotten pregnant yet? Every night for six months…something should have stuck. Is there something wrong with you?

Will he leave you if you can’t give him an heir? You’ll have to go back to father a failure. Will he then turn you out too? Everything depends on you holding up your end of the bargain.

“I don’t know. I’m-”

“Maggie was pregnant when she died. And we were only married three months.” His Majesty says, and although you know he doesn’t speak the words to hurt you…you feel like a failure. Once again, you don’t rise to the level at which Margaret was at. And, wait, she’d been pregnant when she passed?

So, his Majesty hadn’t lost one love of his life, but two?

“I’m trying.” You tell him, suddenly yearning to comfort him.

“If she could do it in less than three months, why can’t you? I only have six months left.” He tells you wiping way your compassion as fear takes its place once again.

What does he want you to do? What can you do? You’ve done what you should. You’ve been here for him. You’ve made no protest and you’ve made sure his seed is kept within you.

“Until you’re with child, you’re to stay here in the castle and keep yourself well. I’ll send for a doctor in the morning.” He gets up and moves to your door

“Yes, your Majesty.” You sigh, slide back into bed, and settle in for the night.

Strangely enough, you don’t hear your door close for a while. Almost as if his Majesty hadn’t left right away. What reason would he have to linger?

Your sleep is restless.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re depressed.” Nat says, Peter walking a few feet behind the two of you.

“I’m not.” You argue.

“She is.” Peter says.

“Hey!” You turn to look at him, throw him the book you’d brought down with you which he dodges easily then smiles as he turns and moves to pick it up.

You’re much better at reading now but you’re very slow. You try to keep a book with you at all times for practice.

“What’s wrong? Is it because Steve told you to stay in the castle?” Nat knows you too well.

“And because I’m still not pregnant.” You sigh. “The doctor said I was fine. So…why?”

“Maybe you’re both trying too hard? He’s got all the stress of the Kingdom on his shoulders, not to mention-”

Peter clears his throat.

“I’m not stupid, kid.” Nat tells him, frowning at him.

They exchange a significant look and you suddenly feel out of the loop.

“What, Nat?” You probe.

“And you’re not exactly stress free either. Since the moment you married Steve you’ve been on edge.”

That’s not what she was going to say. You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously. They’re keeping something from you. All of them.

This isn’t the first time something has seemed off. Sometimes you’ll catch Steve, Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Peter huddled together in the throne room or the library and when they see you they rush off in different directions.

What are they hiding?

“Maybe taking a break from trying is what’s best for both of you?” She nods.

“But it’s the only time I spend with him, except for Fridays in the throne room. And even then, he doesn’t look at me or speak to me. That time belongs to his people. If he would just…” You give up, defeated.

Stopping where you are, you turn to stare at Margaret’s pavilion and hate her just a little bit.

You shouldn’t. It’s wrong of you to hate her but you do. For a few moments, right now, you hate her for being here first. For winning his love so easily when you seem to struggle even for a shred of kindness.

He will never love you, but you still can’t give up. Something must make you this stupid. You should know by now that the King holds no regard for you whatsoever.

You’re a means to an end for him. His Queen in name alone. You are not the love of his life. You are to give him his heir and then you’re expected to slink into the background where he’ll never have to deal with you again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Where is she?”

“She’s in her room.” Bucky informs him. “Not happy about it, but she’s safe. Natasha’s helping her pick something out for dinner.”

“Mm.” Steve nods.

“Is it wise to host this dinner tonight? All of those people? All of them watching the two of you. Most of them know you don’t love her, but they’ll be expecting to see a united front.” Bucky explains. “Can you give them that? Can you pretend for a night?”

“Am I wrong to ask her to stay in the castle?” Steve wonders, ignoring Bucky completely or maybe he just didn’t hear him?

“I don’t think so. But I think you’re wrong to order her to. You didn’t ask her, Steve. You and I both know that you told her to do it and gave her no room to argue.” Bucky shakes his head and Steve watches him with annoyance. “She’ll do anything you ask her to.”

Steve knows and hates that. He hates that you’re so compliant. He wants you to tell him no. To fight and argue with him. He feels like you’re not being yourself. As if he broke you that first night and since then you’ve cowered and given way to every one of his wishes and whims.

“Will you take a break? From sleeping with her?” Bucky wonders, keeping his voice quiet as he and Steve pace through the garden, the fading light of sunset burning with a soft orange glow as it paints the sky a pink blush.

“How can I? It’s been six months and she still isn’t pregnant. I need to get this done before the year is out.” Steve sighs, frustrated.

“You’re letting all of these outside issues affect both of you. Why can’t you just stop thinking about what you should or shouldn’t be doing and just…I don’t now…get to know her? Just be there for her. She’s already there for you. Would it kill you to focus on her for a change?”

“I am focusing on her.” Steve argues, and he really is but no one can see inside his head.

“Says the man in head-to-toe black. You didn’t even tell her what today was, did you?”

Steve hates it when Bucky knows him this well.

“It’s none of her business.”

“Horseshit.” Bucky spits. “There’s paying your respects, Steve and then there’s wallowing. You’ve been wallowing for three years now. When are you going to let yourself be happy?”

Steve stops, staring at the pavilion with it’s red daisies swaying in the evening breeze.

“She’d want you to be happy. If she could see you and the way you’ve been—what would she say?” Bucky asks, waiting as Steve stares at the place he’d first asked his first wife to marry him.

That had been the beginning of his life. Steve had chosen his Queen and they’d begun down a road that he would have braved fearlessly with her at his side. He’d been so ridiculously happy that he hadn’t anticipated a time when things would not be right.

Then she was taken from him and he was stuck in this world without her.

He thinks back to last night, your eyes cast down at your bed as the disappointment radiates off your womanly form.

“I’m at your leisure, your Majesty.” You’d said, as if you exist only for his amusement. To be used and discarded.

Steve couldn’t believe the look in your eyes, the clarity of your emotions on display by body language alone.

He’s made you feel small and unwanted. Which is ridiculous.

It’s not that he doesn’t want you. More and more you’re on his mind.

You’re in his thoughts when he wakes, but then Margaret is there, and he feels guilty.

You’re the best part of his day, when he gets to go see you in passing in the library while you’re busy with your studies or those moments he’s with you in front of his people.

As desperately as he’d tried to find something wrong with you, he’d failed. He does want you, but something happens between the moment that he walks into your room to make love to you and the act itself.

Something stops him from letting go and he can feel it in you, the stiffness with which you hold your body as he takes you, that you aren’t there with him.

Is that because of that first time? When he’d hurt you? Are you afraid of him?

Fuck.

You’re so smart despite the lack of education you received at that school Tony had sent you to. You’re compassionate and so damn kind. You’ve done more for the people of his kingdom than anyone else ever did. Your empathy is unparalleled, and he knows that you’re too good for him.

“Steve?” Bucky checks, as Steve hasn’t said anything for several minutes.

Steve sighs, knowing exactly what Maggie would have told him.

“She’d tell me to hold onto what I have. She’d tell me to see what I’d lose if I don’t start to appreciate Y/N for what she’s worth.”

He shakes his head.

“What?”

“I’ve never made her smile. Not once.” Steve admits.

“Margaret?” Bucky asks, confused.

He can remember Maggie laughing and smiling with Steve all the time.

“No. Not Maggie. Y/N.” As he turns to walk towards the gate, he reaches for a pale pink peony and gently cuts it from its stem. These flowers smell like you. They remind him of you, every time he sees them. “Do you think this will make her smile?”

He looks at his friend and as Bucky follows, he smiles at Steve, tilting his head to the right as he stares at the flower.

“I don’t know. But it’s a good place to start.”

Steve thinks so too.

1K notes · View notes

non-stop-imagines · 4 years

Text

Baby Daddy Stark (Part 6)

Here's Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Pairing: Tony Stark x Black!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: As you guys can see, I'm on a bit of a writing rampage. After writing that Bucky piece last night it felt right to go and update one of my series. It feels good writing again especially after the weird depression moment I had when it was official that all of my classes for the rest of the semester were gonna be online. I would also like to just thank everyone that have been so supportive as I begin to write again and even through my hiatus and hopefully I can get much more writing done. But any way, here's part 6! Hope you all like it! Love you all!!!💛💖💛💖💛💖

Warnings: Some mention of throwing up, Some curse words, Reader being mama bear, Tony on the come up as a dad, Travis develops a little crush, I'm telling y'all right now this is 99.9% fluff

UNIVERSAL TAGS LIST: @beautifulwisdom2001 @iamzion-therealhabesha @thottio @jetaimeamore @shakzer00 @mixedfandxms @here-for-your-bullshit

Baby Daddy Stark Tags List: @blackreaders-assemble @blueoz @mixedfandxms @walawalaboom

Masterlist

_____

It's been about 2 weeks since Travis' tournament and since then the calls from Tony have become more frequent and lengthy. He would call every other day at around 7 at night because he knew you got home at about 6:30 every day and liked that half an hour to come down from whatever mood that work had you in but it's not too late so he has more than enough time to sit and talk with Travis until his bedtime. Even though you didn’t want to admit it, Tony was really making an effort to be more present, and it confused you. Why would a man in his prime put so much effort into being in the life of a son he just found out he had? Your thoughts were broken when the timely sound of your ringtone came through.

“IS THAT TONY?!” You hear Travis yell from his room. A large smile grew on your face once you heard his excitement.

“Yes, but you can’t talk to him until your done with homework!” You yell back from the kitchen, then answer the phone. “Hey Tony. How was your day?” You put the phone on speaker and place it on the counter so you can wash your hands to start dinner.

“Fine, I’m actually getting ready to come upstate tomorrow. How was your day?” Your smile dims to something like a dreamy grin, more than likely matching the smile on his face at the moment.

“Great, I have a presentation for a new surgical robot that I’ve been working on for years. Since Travis was, wow, seven?” You grab the package of defrosted chicken that sat on the counter, grinning at the satisfaction of being able to tell your child to put the chicken in the sink to defrost it before you got home, something you don't think you’ll ever get tired of.

“What is this innovation that I’m going to be seeing in hospitals worldwide someday?” His smile travels through the phone, causing you to have to fight an even larger smile from your face as you finish cleaning the chicken, preparing to season it.

“Well…” You continue on into a long explanation about your innovation that makes brain surgery 15% safer which, in the world of neurology, is an immense difference. Once you got to the point where you were basically giving the exact presentation you were going to give the next day, Travis came into the kitchen looking slightly exhausted.

“Homework done, I am ready to talk to Tony.” His words came out as a sigh, eyes hooded with a hoodie on in the 78 degrees house.

“Okay.” You turn to the phone. “Hey, Tony, here’s Travis.” You go to hand him the phone but stop mid-transfer. “Baby, you look sick. And you feel warm.” You retract your hand from Travis’s forehead and hand him your phone.

“Eh, I’ll be fine. I have a test tomorrow, so I can’t stay home but-” His words come out as a groan before your attempted to say something he is obviously used to. “I know, I know. I’ll go to the nurse if I’m not feeling good.” A sad and somewhat pain smile flashes across his face before you fluffed his hair and sent him off. “Dinner will be ready in a bit. You’re going to eat, take some medicine and go to bed, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” He smiles back at you from the couch then goes to talk to Tony. You smile when you hear a faint ”Hey, kiddo!” then turn back to the stove to finish cooking.

_____

“Y/N, you ready for today? I know how hard you’ve been working on it.” Your coworker, Kate, pops her head into your office then steps in. Her smile has always been calming for you from your first day there. Her heels click across the floor as she makes her way to the seat in front of your desk. “So, how do you feel?”

“Ahhh, excited. Nervous as hell. And it doesn’t help that I’m just waiting to get a call from the nurse at Travis’s school which would only further postpone the presentation and would do just short of killing me.” You twist a coil of your low pulled back hair around your finger.

“And the, uh, Tony Stark thing?” She leans close and whispers to you, allowing some light brown hair that didn't make it into her bun fall in front of her glasses. Other than Naomi, Kate is the only other person who knows about Tony.

“It's going surprisingly well.” You lean in toward your computer monitor, looking closely at an email before quickly answering it. “He calls… gosh, everyday at a perfect time. Talks to me and Travis-" You stop midway through your gushing, realizing the feeling you get when you even just think about Tony. You love feeling so happy, comfortable and open with another person but it's not just you in this new relationship. Your son is there too, probably just as enamored by the feeling of having his father, having THE Tony Stark as his father. Whenever these thoughts flood through your mind you can't help but think about the hurt that could happen if something-

"Uh, Y/N… your cell." You break from your slowly darkening thoughts and look at your phone. Seeing the somewhat familiar number of Travis's school. You quickly answer it, apologizing to Kate for answering the phone during your conversation to which she hastily dismisses it with a smile, leaving you alone in your office.

"Hello, Ms. Y/L/N? This is Mrs. Johnson, the nurse at North Albany Middle School." Your heart drops. You knew you shouldn't have let him go to school.

"Hello, how are you doing today?" You try hard to continue the conversation as normal as possible.

"I'm doing fine, thank you. I'm calling because I have Travis in here with a fever and just a couple of minutes ago he threw up. I believe it would be the best to have you or an emergency contact come pick him up and take him home." As you were about to answer, you receive a text from Tony.

Tony:

Hey, just wanted to let you know that I just got to the Upstate Compound. Hoping to see you and Trav tonight 😊

"Umm, hold on one secondd… I just have to send this text real quick." You quickly type out a text to Tony.

About how far away from North Albany mid school?? Travis isn't feeling well and I want him to get somewhere and rest as soon as possible and I'm an hour and a half away, not including any possible traffic. Could you pick him up?

Barely ten seconds later you receive a response and sight in relief.

Tony:

Only 25 min. Of course I'll pick him up.

"Hi, I'm so sorry I left you waiting. I'm actually quite far from the school but his uh… dad is just under a half an hour away so he'll come and pick up Travis. I'll give you his contact information so you can get in touch with him. His name is Tony… uh just Tony." You look at the clock on your desktop. Five minutes until your presentation. If you're late, you're late and they're just gonna have to wait.

"Uh, Ms. Y/L/N, I'm gonna need a last name." The nurse giggles her response, slightly confused. You sigh and whisper into the phone.

"Tony Stark. Please keep this private. And his phone number is…" Once you give the phone number you thank her for calling. Then hang up. You quickly gather your things needed for your presentation and head out your office quickly going to and tapping on Travis's contact in your phone. One ring. Two rings.

"Hi, mama." He groans into his phone.

"Hey, baby boy. How are you doing?" You continuously press on the elevator button, quickly hopping in when the doors open and then swiftly removing your heels.

"My stomach feels a bit better but my head and throat are killing me. Mrs. Johnson gave me some apple juice and saltines to eat while I wait for you to pick me up." The elevator dings on the floor you need and you high tail it out of the elevator.

"Actually, Tony is already upstate and much closer than I am, so he's gonna pick you up. He'll be there in about 20 minutes and then once I'm done I'm gonna come up the Compound to pick you up and take you home, okay?" After a couple of minutes of walking down a long straight hallway, you get to the meeting room, smiling at Kate, who was doing an amazing job at stalling for you, through the large glass wall.

"Oh, okay." You can hear the small smile grow on his face. "Also, I lasted through my test in math. I think I did alright, considering that right after I turned in my test I ran to the bathroom to throw up." He chuckles then groans at what you assume to be irritation of his throat and pain in his head.

"Alright baby, I'm gonna go into my meeting now. Try and take a nap while you wait, and call me or text me if you need anything. Okay? Love you." You finish pulling on your heels and smooth out your skirt in the reflection produced by the dark windows of the empty meeting room next door.

"Okay, love you too." You give him a kiss through the phone and after receiving one from him, you two share one last goodbye and you wait for him to hang up before heading into the meeting room to give the best presentation of your life.

_____

"North Albany, North Albany…" Tony recites to himself as he drives his large SUV down the street the school is presumably on, when out of nowhere he hears the voice of what sounds like a GPS come from the very back row telling him in 1000ft his destination is in the right, almost giving him a heart attack.

"Crap, crap, crap!" He hears an all too familiar voice in a frantic panic as tussling and tapping on a phone screen comes from the back.

"Pete, what the actual fuck are you doing in the back of my car? Aren't you supposed to be in school or something?" Tony takes peeks into his rear view mirror watching as Peter slowly sits up from his previously laying position.

"We had early release today and I told Aunt May that you were heading upstate and may have made it sound like you invited me so I jumped into your car as quick as possible." By the time Peter was done rambling, Tony was already parked in a visitors parking space, look at Peter over his dark sunglasses.

"Get in the passenger seat, Parker. I'll be right back." He sighs, then gets out the SUV, leaving the keys in the transmission. "Make sure you lock the door." He reminds Peter before making his way to the front office. He walks in and up to the the front desk labeled "Pick Up/Drop Off", patiently waiting for the receptionist to speak to him.

"Hello. Picking up or dropping something off?" She asks as she finishes typing something.

"Uh, I'm here to pick up my son from the nurse's office." He hesitantly removes his sunglasses and taps them in his hand, hoping it would make him seem less suspicious.

"Okay, first and last name and date of birth?" She looks up at him, a hint of shock passing through her expression before going back to her job.

"Uh, Travis Y/L/N. And date of birth is..uh… oh. Date of birth 2-18-2009." He smiled at his ability to remember fairly new information.

"Okay, and your name and phone number sir?" She smiles at her need to ask this question, knowing fully well who was standing in front of her.

"Tony Stark. And my phone number is…" After giving his number she politely thanks his cooperation and gives him directions back to the nurse's office. He take a deep breath before knocking on the office door before opening it. "Hi, I'm Tony, Travis's dad, and I'm here to pick him up." The nurse, who was and old black lady, looking to be close to her mid 60's, looks up from what she was writing, surprised to actually see Tony Stark standing in front of her, nervous as hell.

"Oh, Mr. Stark. I-uh- nice to meet you. Travis is just laying in bed 3 but first I'm just gonna need you to sign him out. Just put his name here, your name here, your phone number here, your wi- his mom- Ms. uh-Y/L/N's number here and the date here, please." Tony does as told then makes his way over to his son's bed, giving him a gentle shake to wake him up.

"Hey, kiddo. Ready to go?" He pushed some rouge curls that fell from his pulled back hair while he was sleeping. He touched his head with the back of his hand, feeling the overwhelming warmth radiate. He earns an affirmative groan from his awakening son which prompts his to stand from his kneeling position, picking up his surprisingly heavy backpack in the process. He slings the backpack onto his right shoulder then helps his still partially asleep son from the bed and to the door. "Thank you so much, uh-"

"Mrs. Johnson." The old lady smiles at him. "Please pass onto your wife to make sure to contact the school if Travis is still too sick to come to school Monday. It was very nice to meet you." She smiles politely at Tony then shifts her attention to Travis. "Hope you start feeling better soon, Travis." Travis quietly thanks her then the two leave the nurse's office and out the front office door, but not before thanking the receptionist.

"Alright, you get in the backseat here since Peter decided to tag along. Make sure to buckle up and once you do you can lay down." He helps Travis into the backseat and then gets into the driver's seat, handing Peter Travis's backpack. "We're gonna head over to the compound and you're gonna wait there for your mom, okay" Travis grunts and okay and greets Peter before quickly falling back asleep.

"Dang, what does he have in here? Cinder blocks?" Peter places the backpack in front of him then looks at the sleeping ten year old in the back seat as Tony pulls out of the parking lot.

_____

It's been about half an hour since Tony got Travis and Peter to the Compound and around 15 minutes since you texted Tony and Travis that you were coming to pick Trav up. Travis just woke up from his nap, fully for the first time since Tony picked him up from school, this not including the two times he woke up for no more than a minute to throw up. He sits up on the couch he was sleeping on, taking a moment to let the thumping pain in his head subside, before standing up and beginning to roam around the compound, immediately heading for an elevator not far from where he sat. He pressed the only button present outside of the elevator which pointed down and entered once it opened. He looks at the destinations that labeled each button and decided to go down to the floor labeled "Kiddy Lab", then pulled out his phone to see your text.

Mama (ICE) 🐻:

I'm on my way to the compound, should be there by 330 or 400. Text me when you wake up. 😘

He quickly texts back when he finishes reading.

Just woke up a couple of minutes ago. Head still hurts and so does my throat but my stomach feels a lot better.

He pressed send right as he reached the destined floor, slightly surprised to hear Kendrick Lamar blast through the speakers in the ceiling of the shockingly large and well equipped lab. He walks further in, tightening the blanket around his shoulders, and turns a corner to see Peter at a workbench, seeming to be doing homework and ever so slightly moving to the music.

"Hey, Peter." Travis musters his first full sentence that he's said within the last 45 minutes.

"Oh, hey Trav! How are you feeling?" He places down his pencil and turns around on the lab stool to look at him. His eyes scan down his lanky body, slightly jealous of his height at such a young age, but the overwhelming feeling of practically being a big brother overshadowing everything else.

"Better. Throat and head still hurt…" he looks around the bright lab, somewhat confused about why the lab has what seems to be very advanced technology. "Is this all your's. Like, did… did Tony make this for you?"

"Oh, ha, not exactly. I share this lab with Shuri, who is somewhere around here. Most of this stuff was transported from her lab in Wakanda." Peter calls out for Shuri a few times, knowing of her incoming presence when he hears the volume of the music decrease. From around a large machine comes a dark skinned, tall, thin girl, hair in a ponytail of long braids, streaks of blue flowing through them. She had on black skinny jeans, a large light blue t-shirt with "The Birds Work for the Bourgeoisie." written across the chest in simple black letters and baby blue Air Max's.

"What's up, Spider Boy?" Her thick accent was like heaven to Travis's ears as he took in Shuri's presence.

"Shuri, this is Travis, Tony's son. Travis, the is Princess Shuri of Wakanda and arguably the smartest person in the world." He whispers that last part but still earns a smack from Shuri.

"He just doesn't want to admit that I'm smarter than his beloved Mr. Stark." She turns back to Travis with her hand out and a bright beautiful smile on her face. "Nice to meet you Travis."

"N-n-nice to-uh- meet you too, your majesty." Travis does an awkward hybrid hand shake bow, unsure what to do and too nervous to even look into her eyes.

"Please, just call me Shuri. So, Trav, how old are you?" She begins to walk back around the large machine in the middle of the lab, to which Travis swiftly follows suit.

"I'm, uh, t-ten. Eleven in February." He shivers from the cold air in the lab and wraps his blanket tighter around him.

"That's cool. So, being Tony's son, you must be into something science related, right?" She goes over to a large holographic computer-type set up and types something on the keyboard embedded in the table.

"I like robotics, but it's mainly because my mom is a biomedical engineer and mainly works with robotics. B-but I have always felt some connection to Tony Stark, though." He tries to puff his chest out at his more fanboy-like intuition but has to move quickly to cover his mouth with the crook of his elbow when he feels a cough coming on.

"That's cool. So, you've got smarts on both sides. Do you do anything else? Sports or something?" She manipulates something in the hologram and then continues to type.

"I'm in my schools robotics club, we actually got 4th place at our most recent competition. I'm also on a club baseball team because my mom used to play softball and I liked the stories she used to tell me about her playing and though it sounded cool." At the moment his rambling siezed, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, promoting him to take it out, knowing it's a text from you.

Mama (ICE) 🐻:

I'm here. Be ready to go in 5. I just need to talk to Tony real quick.

Travis groans at the text, coughing at the irritation he imposed on his throat. "My mom is here. I have to get going." He says loud enough for Shuri and Peter to hear.

"Hey, Shuri, we should go up with him. You have to meet his mom. She's super nice." Peter gets up from his stool and makes his way over to the two.

"Alright. I just need to finish one last thing and we'll head up." She looks back at Travis, lowering her gaze ever so slightly when she realizes that Travis just so happened to be slightly shorter than her.

____

Hey, I'm in the compound where are you?

You press send on the text to Tony then head to the elevator, picking up Travis's backpack as you pass it. You press the button and wait for the doors to open, and once they do you enter and press the button labeled "Lab". A minute later you arrived at the end of a short hallway, one side with concrete walls and the other side with tall glass windows allowing all visibility into the lab. As you walk to the end of the hallway where the door was you look in and wave at Tony, adjusting Travis's backpack on your shoulder along with your purse.

"Welcome, Ms. Y/L/N." You hear a female A.I. voice greet you as you open the door into the lab, light rock music playing in the background.

"Hey, Y/N. Uh-how was your presentation?" Tony meets you halfway, which just so happened to be next to a workbench that he decides to lean against.

"I think it went well. The reason I'm coming so late is because they had me take them to the hospital where the robot is being held to show them how it's used. They seemed quite pleased." A quiet fell over the two of you which gave you a second to look around his lab as he watched you admirably. "Oh, uh, thank you so much for picking up Travis and taking care of him for me. It really helped take a load off of my day." You grin at Tony, the natural sparkle in your eye making him melt.

"It was no problem at all. And if you ever need me to do anything at all just text, call, email, face time…" You two giggle at the last suggestion and sit in now more comfortable silence.

"Well, I guess we better get back up to the, uh, main room." You turn to the door that exits back out to the short hallway but stop when you hear Tony call your name.

"Are you free, say, next Friday? I passed a restaurant, uh, Italiano Roma. It seemed right up your alley and I mean we have to celebrate your great presentation. I heard it's pretty new…" He does an open arm gesture and raises his eyebrows, waiting for your answer.

"Yeah, new and expensive." You laugh and begin to walk to the door again.

"Come on. It's all on me." Tony rushes from behind you to open the door. You sigh and turn to look at him holding open the door.

"Fine, next Friday. " You smile and continue out the door and down the hallway.

_____

You and Tony finally make it to the main room, and your heart swells when you see Travis pulling on his shoes, wrapped in a blanket and laughing with Peter and another teenager, a very pretty dark skin girl.

"Mama!" Travis calls over to you then coughs after the sudden throat irritation.

"Hey baby. You ready to go home?" You remove the blanket from his shoulders and help him pull his jacket on.

"Yeah. But before we go, I wanted you to meet Shuri. She's from Wakanda, practically a genius, and only 16." You look at the dreamy look in your son's eyes then at Shuri who already had her hand out.

"It's a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Y/L/N. Your son is a delightful and very bright boy." She smiles a bright smile and gives you a slight bow.

"It's a pleasure meeting you too. I'm glad that Travis has been exposed to such bright talented young adults like you and Peter. Actually…" You briefly at Tony, then back at the teens. "Would you two mind watching Travis next Friday? I made plans with someone and I feel like you two would be the best people to watch him and make sure everything runs smoothly. I'll pay you both, say, $10 and hour?"

"We would love to, Ms. Y/L/N, right Shuri?" Peter walks by Shuri and nudges her.

"Oh, yes. Of course, it would be no problem at all." She smiles.

"Oh, thank you both so much." You look over at where Travis was previously sat only to find that he moved. You turn around to see him talking to Tony. "Trav, time to go." You give him a sorry smile which he nods to, then proceeds to hug Tony and bid everyone in the room goodbye. "Tony, I'll text you when we get home, okay?"

"Okay." He gives you a bright smile and watches as you walk Travis out, feeling his forehead with the back of your hand then rubbing back his rouge curls.

#tony stark x black reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark x reader #tony stark #iron man imagine #iron man x reader #iron man #robert downey jr #marvel #marvel imagine

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growingingreenwood · 4 years

Note

Hey I start college this week any advice? Hope all is well you are amazing!

Omg good job!! That's so exciting!!!! Alrighty, I have a bachelor’s degree and now i'm working on my Rec Therapy Degree so I’ve had like 5 and a half years of college/university experience so hopefully at least something here will be helpful for you.

What are you going to collage to take?

One- Try to sit in the front of of the lecture hall

Classes will probably be a lot bigger than you’re used to and many people find this intimidating. I used to sit at the very back of lecture halls because I hated having to walk past rows of people, but you know what? My grades suffered for it. I’m an easily distracted human being with crippling ADHD and so being able to see everybody's computer screen was a nightmare for me. Half the class was watching movies or playing games or whatever so I didn't hear a damn word my teacher said. The closer I was to the front, the less distracting it was for me. Plus, I find that when I’m more familiar with being closer to my teachers it's easier and less intimidating for me to ask them for help or to re-explain things.

Two- Don’t be embarrassed, everybodys a mess and other people have your question.

The colleges I’ve been to have been nothing like highschool. We’re all in this together, we’re a suffering squad okay. So if you're too tired to ‘look good’ SICK half your class probably has not showered in like five days. Have a question that you think might make sound dumb? I can literally assure you that other people have the same question and pray somebody else will ask it. All of you are confused, it's okay.

Three - BUY YOUR TEXTBOOKS USED!!!!!

Oh my god I cannot stress this enough. For some reason professores and schools are out here hustling textbooks like starving soundcloud rappers. We don’t need that shit. Your school probably has a facebook group or two where students are selling their old textbooks much cheaper than you could get them in bookstores. And when I mean cheaper, I mean by like 100 - 200 dollars. If you're on a physical campus, lots of people put lists of what books they're selling on their lockers so keep an eye out for flyers as well.

Four - Join a club!

One of the things I really love about college is all the low pressure social situations. There's literally tons of clubs at most universities rankings from really open (First Year Social Club!!) to ridiuclously niche (We All Play Super Smash Brothers In Full Costume Once A Month) so its a great place to start when it comes to making new friends and finding some cool stuff to do!

Five - Don’t fall for the ‘too cool’ trap.

Lots of people have endless fun in college (like me) and some people really, really hate it. Personally, I think it has a lot to do with your attitude about being there. There's tons of pep rallies, carnivals, festivals and whatever else held by your school that can actually be super fun to attend but many people think they're ‘too cool’ for things like that. Don’t fall into this trap, I can assure you those that went to the events had like 9 billion times more fun.

Six - ASK FOR THE HELP THAT YOU NEED

This lesson took me so long to learn, but it was life changing once I did learn it. There's tons of resources available to you though most universities, and most of it was probably paid for through your tuition so it makes no sense to NOT access these things. See what your school offers for counseling services, stress reduction, learning activities held in the library, financial aid, make use of your teachers office hours, things like that. Crawl through your school’s website and see what they have to offer you, you can get some really really good life advice sometimes. If you’re falling behind in school work and need an extension, ask for it. Literally the worst thing that can happen is your teacher telling you ‘no.’ Which, honestly, in my near six years of schooling has literally only happened once and it was because the teacher personally didn’t like me.

Seven -- C’s Get Degrees

School Burnout Is REAL, she is sneaky, and she will hit you when you least expect it. I really struggle with having too high of expectations of myself when it comes to my work/life balance. This is the only year that I haven't worked at least 20 hours a week on top of full time university education and that only because of COVID and my immune issues, however for some reason I always expect myself to do like 3 - 4 hours of homework a day. Which is lunacy. At least it is for me. I literally cannot even count how many times I’ve put my grades before my physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental wellbeing. How many times I’ve forced myself to keep studying when I knew that I had already surpassed my limit hours ago because I thought that getting an A was more important than anything else. Especially myself. That’s not true.

You weren’t put on this earth to get straight A’s, you were put on this earth to be the best you that you can be.

So sometimes, you really do just gotta accept that ‘C’s get Degrees’ and you gotta close your textbook, go paint your nails, call your friend, and go to bed.

Eight -- Everything Can Be A Learning Experience

There are endless things to learn at college, and most of them aren't what the teachers are telling you. College is where I first learned that it really isn’t the end of the world to fail sometimes. It happens, it happens to everyone, but there's always something to learn from every ‘failure’ and part of it is how you can better handle failures in the future. It teaches you how to work with people, share ideas, and grow in your self-confidence. If you take the time to self-reflect when you find yourself struggling in aspects of your life in college, you can really learn a lot about yourself and how you present.

It was through self-reflecting on some of my peer interactions that I realized my vocabulary was creating a rift between me and them, as several people as it as a way of me purposefully trying to make myself seem ‘better’ or ‘more educated’ when in reality I just forget a lot of simple words and end up using some ridiculous monstrosity in casual sentences. The more I made that known about myself in interactions, and mentioning how much I read, helped my interactions because it helped people to better understand WHY I speak that way. This lesson has continued to help me throughout my life.

Nine -- Missing Lectures is a Slippery Slope

My attendance rate was already a lost cause by the time I got to University (my highschool almost didn't let me graduate because I had an 87% absentee rate and something like 300 missed detentions but I was 1 of 3 Full Honors Students and they wanted the funding so they ecentually let me lol) but I have watched many a student crawl into this 'Chronic Skipping' pit with me in my years. Im not really sure why it happens, but basically as soon as you miss 2 lectures for no concrete reason (like a dentist appointment or cause your sick or something) it's game over for you. You'll miss two classes, then three, then four, then 2 a week, then 3 a week. Then you start skipping other subjects too. Then you end up like me and suddenly its the end of the term and you realize you've only attended 4 entire classes, one of which was the first day and the other 3 were exams. (True story, that was my 8am Political Science Class in my second year)

I hope this helps somewhat!!!! Let me know if you have any specific questions!

And thank you lovely, I’m chugging along doing my best trying to get back into my creative bubble which for some reason seems to be rather elusive and hard to track down thus far.

#not tolkien #momma tolkien #tolkien mom things #collage tips #tips for collage #tips for university #answered asks #haleigh speaks

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absoluteyoongit · 4 years

Text

Just Dance pt. 1

⇢ pairing: bestfriend!Hoseok x dancer!Reader, more pairings to come

⇢ genre: fluff

⇢ word count: 1.7K

⇢ warnings: just some swearing

⇢ series summary: Jung Hoseok, your best friend since childhood, is one of the best parts of your life. You have always supported him with everything, including his band BTS. Hoseok always kept you a secret from the rest of the group, but now he’s ready to introduce you to everyone. Who knew your presence would improve the members lives, one more than others.

⇢ author’s note: Hey guys! This is the first part of a series I'm concocting. Not much happens in this chapter, it’s just setting the scene, but I hope you all like it. I hopefully will post a new update once a week. So stay tuned!

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

You have always been the type of person to let one thing after another pile up and completely ruin your day. Today was just one of those fucking days that wouldn’t let you catch a break.

You looked up just to see heavy dark clouds fill the sky. You frown as the first couple drops hit your forehead, your mood instantly plummeting further down the drain.

“Why does it have to rain right now,” you mumbled aloud as you continued trudging home from work.

The tapping of rain on your head was the last thing you needed right now. The steady tempo lulled you into a stupor and all you could think about was how horrible your day was as you mindlessly walked home.

Your alarm had not woken you up this morning like it usually did, making you rush out of the house without breakfast so you could make it to class. The professor didn’t appreciate your sweaty asthma induced labor walking in 15 minutes late for class. Your sheepish smile hid the actual heat death of the only dignity you had left.

At work, a woman complained three times in a row that her coffee was made incorrectly and you had to remake that very coffee three times in a row. By the third time you remade her drink you could had killed that Karen with the glare that hid behind the sickly sweet smile on your face. That was when your boss told you to go home, no longer able to put up with your attitude.

You huffed remembering how the woman’s nose turned up every time she practically threw her coffee back at you. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were doing. You have been working at the same damn coffee shop for three years now and not one person complained about your coffee before.

Now it rained even harder, the cold seeping into your bones. The fuzzy coat you wore today did nothing but capture more rain and your feet squished inside of your sneakers. You were soaked and bitter.

All you wanted right now was to warm up and cheer up. You made it your mission to always have some happiness during the day even if the majority of it sucked. Coming to a stop at an intersection you finally raised your head up seeing the road that would lead you home and the road that would lead you to the dance studio you volunteered part-time at.

You knew that no classes were being held right now and your manager, Joowon, would be just handling desk work. You could have the whole studio to yourself to dance freely.

With new determination you spun on your heels and headed toward the studio. The heaviness of your shoulders immediately lessened. You had a pretty average but busy life, but you would always find time for dancing. It always put you in a good mood.

By the time you reached the dance studio your face was beaming. Pulling the front door open blasted you with the warmth you knew you would find.

Sliding your feet across the mat at the door you removed the matted fuzzy coat you were wearing. With the jacket gone you felt ten pounds lighter but even with the main culprit gone you were still completely drenched.

“Joowon-oppa! Where are you! I am in desperate need of a hug.”

“I am in the office! Where else would I be?”

A sly smile crept onto your face as you tiptoed over to your friend, trying to keep the squeaks of your shoes down to a minimum. You knew that the studio was pretty soundproof and Joowon probably has not noticed the heavy amounts of rain falling from the sky.

Opening the office door with a small creek, you saw the back of Joowon. He was a few yes older than you, not that it would matter, but he wasn’t the type to care for honorifics. He was one of your only friends, the older brother type who I could always count on if I needed help, and you were so grateful for him.

Joowon’s shoulders looked tense and his hair was disheveled, like he had ran a mile through his hair. The air around him suggested that he was also not having the greatest day, which made you sad.

Maybe a nice hug would brighten his day.

“Joowon!” You yelled, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

The combination of your damp skin and clothes, along with your sudden outcry had Joowon jump in his seat.

“Yah! Y/n. Don’t do that,” Joowon huffed, grasping his chest, looking at you with wide eyes.

You shrugged, tucking some wet hair behind your ear, “You knew I was here. Should’ve expected that from me honestly.”

Joowon gave an annoyed look, “You could have scared me and not gotten me wet,” he gestured to his now slightly damp back.

Shrugging again, you went around and plopped down in the chair across from him. “I’m sorry. You looked kinda stressed so I wanted to loosen you up a bit. Did it work?”

You stared at him expectedly wanting an answer to his dejected look.

Joowon sighed looking back down, “I am just working out some money stuff. Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing too bad yet.”

He raised his gaze back to yours as you raised your eyebrows in worry and disbelief.

“I promise if something was really wrong I would let you know,” he let out with a small chuckle.

You nodded in acceptance. This place was like a second home to you and Joowon knew it. He would let you know if he was in jeopardy. Standing up, you headed towards the door.

“Okay. I am gonna head to studio one,” glancing back at your friend, “Please let me know though if I can do anything to help.”

“I will.”

--------

You stared at your reflection in the wall to wall mirror of the studio. You wore one of the backup outfits you had stashed in the office for situations like this. It was just a plain black sports bra with blood red biker shorts. While it was one of the simpler looks you usually wore, it was one of the ones that made you feel the most powerful.

Turning to the phone in your hand you scrolled through songs you were planning on creating choreography for to post on your YouTube channel. That was you. y/n: part-time barista, part-time student, part-time dance instructor, part-time youtuber.

You only made dance videos. It wasn’t much deeper than that, even though some fans comment on how they would love if you vlogged or had sit downs with them. You just wanted a space to share your love of dancing.

Nothing was catching your eye as you scrolled through the music. “What am I feeling? What am I feeling, huh?” you mumbled before your eyes landed on a certain song. A small smile graced your face. Content with your decision, you set it to repeat and played the song.

The sound of gunshot echoing in the room got you riled up as UGH! by BTS started playing over the speakers.

Relaxing, you let your body move to the music, feeling it out. Your process to create choreography was to do what felt right with the music and refining it from there.

You loved BTS. Not just because they were talented and made great music but because your best friend since childhood, Jung Hoseok, was one of the members.

As the song ended for the tenth time, you felt like you made enough progress for the day. You were sure that you would have a fully-fledged out dance by the end of the week.

As you packed up, your mind wandered to Hoseok. You missed him so much. He was your only friend growing up and dancing was something you both shared.

All the days and nights practicing, the breakdowns when either of you thought you were not good enough, all the times Hoseok cried to you when his father would belittle him. Those memories and experiences forged an unbreakable bond that is still strong, even with him traveling the world.

You were always his number one supported and he never forgot that.

When BTS first debuted, he had called you first, basically screaming at you over the phone in excitement. You obviously matched his excitement tenfold, jumping and yelling with him. That was one of your happiest memories.

You have been with Hoseok every step of the way; comforting him when haters said he was ugly and untalented, facetiming each other to create choreography for their songs and even helping him write lyrics.

You were his secret weapon. Literally a secret because he hasn’t told the other boys about you. He wanted you to be his best friend. He didn’t want to share and he knew he would have to if the others knew about you. You were just that special to him. A piece of home.

You didn’t mind keeping your existence a secret, knowing how much it meant to him. You just wanted to have a happy and supported Hoseok, no matter what you had to do. Even if that meant pretending to be his mother when another member would interrupt your call, or hiding from view when Jimin would make an appearance during one of your studio facetimes sessions.

It was all worth it. Even if it meant seeing him in person less when he was home or losing sleep to talk to him when there was a large time difference. You would do anything to not lose him. He was one of the best things in your life.

Hoseok supported and loved you as much as you loved him. He would express it as often and in as many ways as he could. Sometimes he would mobile order your favorite coffee when he was on the other side of the world.

You finished packing and started your trek back home. Thankfully it had stopped raining but that didn’t stop you from splashing in puddles on the way. You smiled at the thought of Hoseok; It had been a week since you last talked to him and to you that was unacceptable.

You’ll have to call him when you get home and ask how he’s doing.

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 years

Text

Blessed: A Thor One-Shot

Thor loved being back in the training room with the Avengers. After the Second Snap and the Blip, After Thanos. After getting his life back, it felt better. He felt better. Some of the endless pain and desperate longing lifted off of his chest.

It also brought new challenges. And Frustrations. For instance, the struggle to get his body back to what it had been. He hated to admit it but part of the reason he had adored Midgard was the adoration of its women. And Men. Now though, there was less of it and that irritated him. Still, he reflected, deflecting the team up move that Steve was doing with Tony, it wasn’t the worst. He didn’t hate his new body. He was still strong. And fast. And... And there was you. You didn’t seem to mind his soft middle. Or have any desire for that to change, as long as he was happy. And healthy. But then, you’d never seemed to notice his body before either.

And he did, in fact, really like eating. Midgardian food was leaps and bounds away from Asgard. Ever evolving. So many flavors and textures. He loved being able to sample them all.

Thor had never really known what to make of you. Not even before the snap. He admired you greatly. A Fierce warrior with a surprisingly tender heart, though, he hadn’t been meant to see that part. No one had. Thor could see that night in the back of his mind as he wandered towards the shower. It was snowing outside but that didn’t mean he wasn’t coated in sweat. And all he wanted was out of his armor and into his clean clothes. The warm water reminded him of that night, you’d found him in the shower.

He’d been hurt on a mission. Hurt and he was angry about it. Frustrated at the foolish pride that made him ignore orders. He’d charged headlong into battle and left his comrades vulnerable and scrambling for cover. Steve had been furious and that fury had been well deserved. Thor had studied the gaping wound in his side with detached interest. It would heal. He had no real need of the medical bay he knew. Only if he wanted it to heal without a scar. But this one would be a lesson. A reminder to follow orders. He hadn’t heard you behind him. Going to your locker for something from your kit. This hadn’t been your mission. You had still been healing from the last one. One where you’d put yourself in harm’s way to protect some terrified civilians.

“Thor!” You’d gasped, startled.

“Lady, Y/N,” he said curtly, wiping the blood off this side. “I see you’re recovering well.”

Your cheeks had heated and you looked away. As if he had rebuked you. As if you were ashamed you hadn’t been alongside all of them. He didn’t like that. You were a good fighter. There was no shame in being too injured to fight again. “I’m sorry,” he said, hissing as the corner of the towel brushed his wound. It stung.

You’re at his side in an instant. Unphased by his nakedness which somehow makes him feel more exposed. “May I?” you ask quietly. Thor doesn’t know why but he nods. He finds your presence oddly settling. The way his mother’s had been. “Lie down,” you instruct, “This doesn’t look bad but the creature’s venom seems to be slowing down your healing factor. You’ll bleed to death if I don’t at least put some stitches in.”

Thor complies, feeling his cheeks color. He hadn’t even realized and your keen eye had seen it in an instant. He should have known. You work quickly. Efficiently. A row of neat stitches into his side like it was nothing and he hardly felt it. He was too distracted by the freckles that dot your nose and cheeks. The way your lashes brush your cheeks when you blink. When you finish and help him sit up slowly he wants to kiss you but you’re too busy cleaning up the kit. Carefully wiping up the blood and stripping off your gloves, “You should be fine in a couple days,” you tell him, “But I’d go to medical to get them taken out.”

“Thank you, My lady,” he said, claiming your hand. “What brought you down to bring my rescue?” he asked.

“I needed my coat,” you say, not looking at him.

“Ah, you go to meet a paramour,” he teases, “one your mentor Barton doesn’t approve of.”

“No,” you snort, “Nothing that interesting.”

“For what then?”

“I have Christmas presents to deliver,” you tell him simply.

“It’s the dead of night.”

“All the better to be unseen then. Everyone should be asleep,” You smile and mischief, a childlike sweetness glows in your eyes for a moment. Infectious and warm. He can’t help but smile back, “This is a secret then?”

You wink and shrug into your coat, bundling your hair under your hat simply. “Then it will stay that way,” he chuckles, “Your secret is safe with me.”

He watched you go. Smiling to himself. He didn’t know how many gifts you had to deliver. Or where. But he knew that all over, there was going to be a little bit of magic where there hadn’t been before and the thought warmed him. Christmas brought out the best in some Midgardians. This time of year always had. The darkness drew them closer together. It opened their hearts almost as if to protect them from the horrors of the long nights. Even now. Even now that they didn’t huddle around central fires and make merry in defiance of their shivering.

Even today, years later, as Thor stripped off his armor, he wondered. He wondered if you had gifts to give tonight. If anyone had gifts to give you.

Thor couldn’t get a fix on you. Your face was unchanged but, like so many who had lost five years, time seemed sort of, meaningless. There was nothing of that childlike glee in your face and it stung in a way he couldn’t quite define. Like some fundamental piece of you. A piece of you no one even knew to miss, was gone.

“FRIDAY,” he called, “Could you call a meeting for me? Excluding the lady Y/N?”

“Certainly, Sir,” she chirped, “What message shall I give the others?”

“That we have a friend in need of assistance.”

_____________

“So,” Stark said sipping coffee, “You’re saying you want us to buy and deliver literally hundreds of thousands of gifts and deliver them to poor kids all over the city?”

“Yes,” Thor said.

“And you want us to not say one word to Y/N until we’re doing it?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” he said again.

“Thor,” Natasha cautioned, “This could end really badly. Y/N didn’t really. I mean. It wasn’t a public thing. She did it in someone’s memory. Not as a public spectacle... She’d take lists from shelters and stuff. People whose requests no one took and fill as many of them as she could then drop the stuff off Christmas Eve... It was like. A months-long process getting enough money to do all of it and then hustling to get it all bought.”

Thor frowned and nodded, “Then what do we do?” he asked.

Natasha and Bruce traded looks, “Tony,” Bruce said, “How many shelter’s lists can you get hold of?”

“All of them,” Tony snorted, “Most of them are online.”

“How many did Y/N Usually do?” Bruce asked Natasha.

Natasha sighed, “As many as she could. Usually Seven or Eight. Wherever she could find where her old Clients were, you know? Her people from legal aid. She always felt bad she couldn’t do both jobs.”

“Legal Aid?” Thor asked.

Barton nodded, “It was her other life, you know? Before she was a science experiment she was a bright little legal eagle helping get people out of shitty leases and going after bad bosses. Then the accident happened and. Well. SHIELD sent me out to go get her.”

Thor nodded, “Does anyone know why she does this?”

Natasha smiled a little, “Her Grandma,” she said, “Every year on Christmas Eve they did volunteer work.”

“Can we find the woman?”

The spy shook her head, “She’s been dead 10 years now,” she said, “Died before Y/N finished law school.”

“Why is this so important?” Bruce asked gently, mindful that Thor is getting upset. That he doesn’t understand that you might not want help.

“She is sad,” he stated simply. You had always been hard for Thor to get a fix on. Friendly but uninterested in him. He’d only gotten one small glimpse into who you were beyond your Avenging. And it made him feel like he knew you.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, “Look, Point Break,” he said, “You’re heart’s in the right place. Really. It is but-”

“But?” he pressed, folding his arms.

“What if she doesn’t want to be your elf while you play Santa?” Rhodey snorted.

“Wait-” Barton said holding up a hand, “Tony, how many of her old clients are still nearby?”

“Why?” He asked.

“Because what if we throw a Christmas Party?”

“Bring clients here?” Tony asked.

“Whoever we can find,” Clint said nodding.

“You do like a Party,” Pepper pointed out, nudging his arm.

“Alright!” Tony said throwing up his hands, “We’ll do it. But only because It’s two days before Christmas and Y/N has yet to bake one single cookie. And that’s just depressing.”

Thor beamed, “Excellent, now how do we keep her from finding out?”

Natasha and Steve exchanged a look and Natasha hopped off the table easily, “Pepper, Girl’s day?”

“Yes!” she gasped, “Perfect. There’s never been a bought of seasonal depression some retail therapy can’t cure.”

_____________

Thor was giddy. Actually honest to goodness Giddy with excitement. It had been a long time since he felt that way. He’d been a boy. A young boy. Back when Odin still had both eyes. Before they’d gone to Midgard the first time.

He’d been racing through the columns, chasing Loki with Fandral and Volstag on his heels. Loki had stolen his toy sword and he wanted it back. They were all laughing. Breathless with childish joy. Until. Until they weren’t. Until Odin had thundered at them to stop and ordered them taken away. Called them fools and declared them too old to act like hellions. After that there had been no more play. Only training. Only study.

This. This felt like that. It was exhilarating, knowing what was coming. Knowing that in all corners of the tower, for the first time in 5 years, a proper party was going to be thrown. His old friends and many new ones in one place. The chance to maybe, hopefully, give you back some of the magic you had made for others. It makes him feel light. And the more he sees you, the more he feels like he’s doing the right thing.

You don’t look like yourself. Not like the self he remembers. You’re quiet and withdrawn. Sad. Still nice to everyone, just. Sad. There is not Christmas tree up in your room. You aren’t singing Christmas Songs at the top of your lungs with Banner or Tony. It’s like you’re completely removed from the time of year. He hasn’t even seen you using your “Don’t Get Your Tinsel in a Tangle” mug. He’s not really sure what tinsel is. Or why it shouldn’t be tangled but, gods if it wasn’t weird. Having you back and not being carried along on a tide of Christmas Cheer starting the day after Thanksgiving.

That he doesn’t like. So, as he stands outside your door, fidgeting and holding a plate of cookies, he hopes this helps. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and he desperately wants to try and lift you out of your funk. That moment of kindness years ago still seared into his mind. The scar left on his side, paler now and stretched out with the changes in his flesh, a souvenir. A momento. Something that, over the years, he wore as a badge. A reminder of how much he’d grown.

When the door opened, you leaned heavily on the door frame and rubbed your eyes. “Are we suiting up?” you ask confused, rubbing your eyes with a too-long sweater sleeve.

“I- no I thought you might be hungry. I hadn’t seen you all day,” he says uncertainly.

You smile a little, “Do you want to share them with me?”

Thor blinks at you for a second. The messy hair. The sleepy eyes. The sweater that fell to your mid-thigh and the soft bare legs underneath. It looks so inviting. He nods, swallowing hard for a moment and following you as you stepped back.

Your room was dark but for the glow of your television and a candle on the coffee table. He knew what wallowing looked like. Seeking whatever felt comfortable. Whatever numbed the pain. He watched you climb back into your nest and snuggle into a soft white faux fur blanket. Rabbit fur, he figured it was supposed to be. It looked silk soft.

Thor set the plate on the coffee table and went to your little coffee bar, helping himself to making cocoa to go with the cookies. Warmth, he decided. You needed warmth. Comfort from another person. A real person.

He watched you flip through things to watch impassively and his heart twisted. It was Christmas films. Things you’d shown to him his first Christmas on Midgard. Kindly explaining things to him when he didn’t understand. He liked the Santa creature. And the Reindeer. He liked the songs. Men finding redemption through a simple act of giving. Love lighting the way. It was comfortable if a bit dull. “What about the Elf movie?” he asks.

“Sure,” you murmur, flipping the program on easily. Thor smiles and hands you one mug and sits carefully on the sofa. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Thor felt his cheeks color. Your voice was so genuine and soft. “You’re welcome, Lady Y/N,” he hummed, satisfied. The movie plays quietly and Thor gently hands you a cookie, “Are you cold, my lady?” he asks when you shiver slightly.

“Pretty much constantly,” you answer snorting.

“Well,” he hums, “I may not be much to look at anymore but I am, I’m told, very warm.” He grins at you and it’s satisfying when your eyes lighten just a little and you bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Come on,” he presses gently, still teasing you gently, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

That makes you smile and you snuggle close tentatively, resting against his side with a sigh. “Thor?” you murmur after a long moment.

“Hmm?” he answers, afraid to move too much. Your cheek is resting on his belly and he’s comfortable with it. He likes knowing you’re there and cozy.

“What’s all this about?” you ask softly.

“I missed Christmas when you were gone,” he admitted, “And I miss Christmas with you now. I don’t like knowing it isn’t the same for you.”

You look up at him and he brushes hair out of your eyes gently, “I’ll be okay,” you tell him, “I mean. I’m alive. I’ve got nothing to complain about.”

Thor smiled a little, “But up here,” he said, tapping your forehead gently, “Might think that while your heart is broken. It’s okay. You can feel sad. And I’ll sit with you for a while.”

“You don’t mind?” you ask, snuggling close again.

“A beautiful woman, cookies, and some hot drinks? Gods no. That sounds like a nice way to spend a day.”

Thor isn’t lying. He’s pretty sure this might be heaven. It’s nice, holding someone. It’s nice when you doze off against him. He wraps you gently in you furry blanket and shifts you onto his lap, letting your head rest on his heart. He just lets you sleep and lets movies play. This is less about making you feel like celebrating, he realizes, and more about. About something else. About finding solace of his own. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed you. Until you were back and just. Not the same. Until you weren’t a puzzle to him anymore. Someone for him to flirt with and tell jokes to. Someone he loved flirting with precisely because you had no real attraction to him. You were a puzzle. And now? Now you weren’t. Not long ago, he would have gotten bored. It wouldn’t have been fun to watch you sleep. He’d have pressed buttons until you fell into his arms and begged him to fuck you until you were a mess of trembling limbs and bodily fluids. And there may come a day where he’ll be blessed with the opportunity to do that for you. But now? Now he wants you to rest. He knows what it feels like to be dragged down by the weight of a warzone in your mind. How it feels to FEEL so unworthy that you can’t bring yourself to do anything but lie there and rot. Because you deserve it. You deserve this suffering.

When you stir, nuzzling his chest and making some of the cutest sleepy confused sounds Thor had ever heard, He chuckles. “You snore, you know,” he hums affectionately.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, cheeks heating.

“It’s cute,” he reassures you, chucking you under the chin, “How do you feel?”

“A little better,” you concede, “I forgot how nice it is to have someone to cuddle.”

Thor tilts your chin up gently and brushes his thumb gently against your cheekbone, “I’m happy to be of service,” he breathed, feathering a soft kiss against your forehead. Careful not to press for too much and mindful that you are, in fact, a lady in truest fashion. Your affections are not given, they are earned.

“I like you better when you’re not being an asshole,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him.

“Was I?” he asked, slightly surprised.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “Always so loud. And kinda mean to me.”

“Mean to you?” he frowned, He didn’t like that. He didn’t like to think he’d ever been mean to you. Even not meaning to.

“You laughed at me a lot,” you murmur, face heating.

“I thought you were funny,” he said, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“But I wasn’t kidding.”

He chuckled and sighed, “And that, dearheart,” he says, “Is why you’re funny. Hearing you yell ‘Jesus suffering fuck, Stark,’ over comms made me laugh so hard one day that I very nearly fell right out of the sky. I didn’t expect such things to come out of a mouth that sweet.”

You snort, “Clearly you weren’t paying attention.”

“Oh but I was,” he hums, shifting you over slightly to straddle his hips and resting his hands on your lower back. “Especially after the night, you patched me up.” He doesn’t move his hands to ride up your sweater or seek the silk of your skin. He can feel you heating under his hands and he doesn’t want to push. He just wants you closer to him and he likes having women straddling his lap. Even with his belly in the way, he decides as you snuggle close and lean against him. “Such gentle hands,” he praised, taking them in his gently, “So soft. And so skilled. You’re blessed, dearheart, and we’re blessed to have you.”

When you tear up, and he pulls you gently closer, he holds you tightly, “Shh,” he soothes, “Please no tears, my lady. I mean that sincerely. And I want you to know that your mind is lying to you. Come to the Party with me tomorrow?”

“I don’t know Thor,” you murmur.

“Please?” he pleaded uncertainly, “You don’t have to stay all night. If you get tired we’ll leave. We’ll come back up here and I’ll tuck you into a mountain of soft furry blankets.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

__________________

Thor decides as he watches you sip a glass of champagne and try to stay out of sight that he likes you in red. Your red sweater, bought by Natasha, is soft and looks warm. It suits you.

Clint catches his eye and jerks his head towards the main room, prompting him to herd you in. Thor, over your quiet protests, sweeps you into the other room, excited, he said, to show you the tree that he helped pick out. It doesn’t take long though, for your surprise to be unveiled.

Kids, and their parents. People who grieved you. People who knew you as a friend. People you had grieved yourself, were waiting for you. And in that moment, together, as they hug you and everyone is having trouble fighting back tears, one of your kids, now almost grown takes up a song.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas Let your heart be light From now on your troubles will be out of sight.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas Make the Yuletide gay From now on your troubles will be miles away.

One by one, voices join that one child until everyone is singing the words back at you. It fills the air in ways that Thor has never heard before and won’t hear since. It’s a thank you. It is a welcome home. It is an I love you all in one.

Here we are as in olden days Happy golden days of yore Faithful friends who are dear to us Gather near to us once more

Through the years we all will be together If the fates allow Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

So have yourself a merry little Christmas Have yourself a merry little Christmas So have yourself a merry little Christmas

Thor doesn’t know the song, but it doesn’t matter. As he watches the tears fall down your cheeks, all he knows is that this might have been what you needed. It might have been the reminder you needed that the things you did had mattered. That you had fought. And died. And people had noticed.

He pulls you gently into his side and uses his sleeve to wipe the tears off your cheeks tenderly. “Merry Christmas, my Lady,” he rumbles, kissing your forehead.

“Merry Christmas, Thor,” you murmur, cheeks heating as you wrap your arms around him.

Tags: @lancsnerd @etherealwaifgoddess @blameitonthecauseway @thorfanficwriter @stevieang

#Thor Odinson #Thor x reader #thicc thor #fluff #angst if you squint #hurt/comfort #Christmas #christmas party

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