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wildlyglittering · 3 years

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Love in an Elevator

Happy Sunday everyone!

Thank you to those who have liked, commented and re-blogged my pieces so far - you are *chef’s kiss* awesome.

How’s the ACOSF discourse coming? I’m watching it all whilst slurping my tea but very much staying out of it. I’m cracking on with my fanfiction though, am feeling weirdly inspired lately which is rare but I’ll take it!

In a few weeks I’ll probably ask if anyone has any requests as I’m feeling up for the challenge. I’m slow but I’ll get there in the end.

In the meantime I hope you enjoy this one!

***

There was no getting out of the predicament she’d found herself in, no matter how much she begged - and she had begged.

She’d thrown in some negotiations and when those offerings failed, she’d feigned a nonchalance that was as transparent as water. The very last weapon in her arsenal had been to fling mean spirited insults but those spurred him on more.

Then again, she grinned to herself, didn’t she know they would?

Nesta’s arms were stretched upwards above her head, the backs of her hands pressed against the cool wall of the elevator. Two large hands held them in place with a grip that refused to relent, the skin of her captor so hot he must have been burning.

At some point his mouth had moved from hers to her throat, his head dipping down while she strained hers back, her neck arching to give him better access. She always provided an initial protest. I don’t want your filthy mouth on me. The waiter from the restaurant looked like he was able to provide more satisfaction than you and he could hardly stand. I think I should go home now before my evening ends in disappointment.

It was a game they played and they played it well.

That hot mouth travelled to a sensitive spot, lips skimming her skin to the point where they scarcely touched her. A whine escaped her, short and shrill enough that she’d hoped he hadn’t heard but from the quirk of his lips on her throat that she did feel, she knew he had.

“Patience is a virtue,” he trilled at her and her own lips turned into a sneer.

“I’m just trying not to die of boredom.”

Nesta’s voice was far too breathless for the barb to land and he chuckled.

“Sure,” he murmured, “and that’s why you sound like you’re a filly in a stable right now.”

“Shut up, Cassian.”

“Mmm. Make me.”

His mouth was on hers again, lips hot and greedy, tongue gliding against hers. He tasted faintly of the scotch he’d been drinking at dinner and he would be tasting red wine.

Cassian was somehow lazy and energetic with his kisses.

He kissed like his goal was to steal every breath she might ever make but he did it so leisurely, so languidly, like he’d managed to switch the passage of time off to allow for it. He pulled back his mouth to suck her bottom lip between his before soothing it over with his tongue.

One day he’d probably make someone combust from kissing them. Not her though, she’d built up an immunity.

Nesta squirmed; her muscles straining in her back. Thankfully yoga had made her limber over the years so that any discomfort was minimal but still, she needed to exhibit some form of protest.

Cassian slid his mouth from hers and glanced at her, it was a brief check in to make sure he wasn’t hurting her, his eyes quick to turn gentle even with his pupils dilated into blackness. She could tell all this from one look. Cassian had such expressive eyes.

Nesta mentally chased the endearment away and pouted. Cassian’s faced slipped from worry to amused, his lips tipping into an arrogant smirk. He chuckled and dipped his head down to suck on the skin of her collarbone.

“Nice try sweetheart, but it’s not going to happen.”

She let out a sigh, half irritation and half bliss, which turned into a moan when he doubled his efforts and sucked harder.

If Nesta had any decency, she wouldn’t be letting him doing this to her in the elevator of his apartment building. If Nesta had any decency, she would pull her body away instead of rubbing it against his.

If Nesta had any decency, she wouldn’t have been the one to make the first move as soon as the doors had closed.

Nesta’s eyes fluttered shut. Her heart pounded its rhythm in her chest and her blood rushed in her ears. Her pulse thrummed everywhere, everywhere, including the place Cassian hadn’t yet reached for.

Still, it was as though he read her thoughts, and he elevated some of the ache by pressing his pelvis against hers, his crisp dress pants rustling as he stepped further between Nesta’s legs.

He lazily flexed his hips against hers and she rocked back, her dress slipping further up her thighs, expanses of bare skin showing to an empty cube. His tongue pressed against the pulse point at the join between her neck and shoulder and she gasped, eyes flying open.

Every. Time.

Once Cassian had figured out what made Nesta’s body hum he’d seemingly made it his personal mission to turn a tune into an orchestral delight.

Her eyes refocused past the swimming haze that Cassian drowned her in and what she saw must have reached some part of her brain that hadn’t vacated her head.

The numbers on the elevator display kept increasing. Five, Fifteen, Fifty.

There was no danger of anyone calling the elevator, the apartment building was in an area of the city that was considered ‘up and coming’ which meant over three quarters of the complex were still up for sale. Cassian had been one of the first buyers and snagged the penthouse at a decent introductory rate.

Nesta’s eyes managed to sharpen into focus when they alighted on the black polished and exceptionally shiny tiles lining the ceiling, which, for all intents and purposes, acted like a mirror.

The tableau playing out did absolutely nothing to quell her thundering heartbeat.

Earlier Nesta’s hair had been preened into a slick French knot, teased into place by her hairstylist who implied Nesta had big plans for the evening. Nesta had dismissed those remarks with a wave of her hand and a scowl that could curdle milk.

Now, hours later, all was in disarray. Gold-brown strands fell onto her shoulders loosened by two firm hands that had buried themselves in her hair at the first available opportunity.

One of those shoulders was bare, the strap of her dress slid down when Cassian had made a beeline for the curve that contained the most freckles. His favourite shoulder, he’d once told her. She’d rolled her eyes at him on hearing that but made a point of wearing one-stap tops at family summer barbecues where he couldn’t reach for her.

At this vantage point Nesta was able to catch glimpses of herself from their mirror-twins but mostly what she saw was him.

Cassian’s hair was still in its low bun, which, unlike Nesta’s was messy by design. The expanse of his back covered her, his snow-white shirt stretched across solid back muscles. His jacket was discarded on the floor along with her bag and one of her shoes.

She’d managed to tug his shirt loose before he’d pinned her, the bottom of it now crumpled and ridden up at the back and in the shimmering, slightly distorted surface of the black tiles she saw his smooth, deep olive skin.

Her fingers twitched. She couldn’t wait to get into his apartment, to grab at the buttons and pull the fabric from him. Nesta had ruined, two, maybe three shirts of his now, not that he cared. With any luck she’d have him naked halfway across the lower floor of his open planned mezzanine. Maybe this time they’d make it up the stairs to his bed. Maybe they wouldn’t.

Cassian must have felt her fingers twitch because he shifted his hands upwards, from her wrists across her palms, to entwine his own between hers. They clung, entangled with each other, their knuckles surely turning bone white with the grip.

It wasn’t enough that she wanted to see his skin, she needed to feel it, smooth and warm underneath her fingertips. She envisaged her fingertips rounding over the muscles of his chest and abdomen and then drifting her palm over hard muscle to harder muscle still.

Every time they did this was like Nesta was receiving a present from the universe and it was a sobering thought that ultimately, they would have to decide the gift tree needed to stop gifting.

“Cassian,” she groaned and he lifted his head.

It always seemed to Nesta that she was more undone than him in these situations. Her clothes and hair were always mussed, her skin flushing red and her breath huffing from her mouth in harsh pants. Cassian always looked like he’d run a marathon without breaking a sweat.

There was lust in the way she’d said his name, of course there was. A man this decadent couldn’t hold his body against hers like this, couldn’t flex his hardness against her pelvis like this, for Nesta not to sound like she was about to unravel into a spool of thread.

But something else had crept in, something that sounded disturbingly like longing, like she wanted their ribs pressed as close as they could get so their hearts almost touched.

His eyes, half-lidded and hazy were staring into hers. Desire lived in them when he looked at her, but she also knew how he counted the freckles on her nose while he thought she was asleep and how he played with her hair when she dozed. Now his desire had a permanent room-mate who’d crept in uninvited.

These were things that would go unsaid. They hated each other, of course. They even had friends who encouraged the level of vitriol they could spew.

Cassian slipped back into arrogance as easy as he could breathe.

“That’s right, Nes,” he murmured, “say my name.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. If she could move her legs, she’d be tempted to give him a kick. “Bastard.”

The smile never left his face. “Oh, and don’t you know it.”

He kissed her again, shifting his pelvis away only to position one strong muscled thigh between her legs instead. She moaned against his mouth, feeling the determined throb of his erection through the fabric of his pants against her thigh. She ground down onto his leg, her hips rocking as she tried to quell her building ache.

Cassian moved both her wrists into one of his hands, freeing the other. His grip was looser now with just one fist holding her and if Nesta wanted, she could pull both her hands down and out with ease. She didn’t of course, despite her earlier protests. This game had well established rules.

Cassian’s free right hand slipped down to her bare knee, hooking behind it to draw it upwards towards his hip. They’d played this part of the game before too, Nesta instantly wrapping her leg around his waist, her dress indecently bunched around her hips.

There were many things to be thankful for in this world. The fact that Cassian’s apartment complex was semi-deserted. The fact that his frame shielded hers from any view if the elevator happened to stop and the fact that Cassian knew where the button was to turn off the security camera.

They’d learnt their lesson from experience.

Stern words had been directed to them both from the old security guard. “Please,” he’d pleaded, “no more sex in the elevator. I’m over 70, my heart isn’t so good. Make love to your girlfriend in your apartment.”

Nesta had been extremely quick to point out she wasn’t Cassian’s girlfriend which just made the old man raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

Perhaps Nesta was the only woman that Cassian invited over, perhaps she’d brought over an overnight bag once or twice and perhaps they’d hooked up after the cinema and a couple of dinners and even after a Sunday farmer’s market but it didn’t mean a thing.

“Ah,” Cassian sighed, pulling his mouth away from hers. “I know this pair – the red silk?”

His fingers trailed up her bare thigh and further until he reached the edge of her panties. The man had an unusual gift for accurately guessing her underwear.

The dress she’d chosen to wear out was a new one; sleeveless black lace with thick cut straps scooping into a scalloped neckline. Demure and elegant. Hints of cleavage and slight bare shoulders only.

The lower half was significantly shorter than what she would normally wear but pairing them with her highest heels had been worth it to see Cassian’s face when she entered the restaurant, his eyes skimming up her naked legs with an expression like he wanted to devour her.

This underwear was a particular favourite of his so she thought that tonight they should make an appearance.

His fingers, a maddeningly delicate touch, skimmed across the front of the fabric, pressing firmly with his thumb in just the right place for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

Nesta’s body jolted and his eyes shone.

“Prick.”

“Hmmm pretty sure that’s Feyre’s pet name for Rhys.”

Well there was a mood killer.

“Ugh please,” she said, “please don’t mention my baby sister and that asshole while your hand is up my dress. I already spend enough money on therapy as it is.”

Cassian laughed, a sound that was rich and warm and thrummed through her. When Cassian laughed, he laughed with his whole body. “Oh, not finding Feyre and Rhys’ terms of endearment a turn on?”

She scrunched her nose.

“Well, that’s cute.”

“Shut. Up.”

Cassian grinned and kissed her again.

At first, when all this began, they didn’t talk about real life; Cassian’s job, Nesta’s job, weekend plans, friends or family. It was strictly skin on skin contact only. Those were the rules.

As time trickled past like sand in an hourglass, the rules warped until a significant portion had changed completely.

They ended up asking how the other was.

At first it was small talk, trying to be polite as they walked through shared the lobby of Cassian or Nesta’s apartment buildings but then Nesta had a bad day and Cassian seemed genuine in his question.

She told him about a potential client who no longer wanted her as their literary agent and how that rejection had stung. She’d believed in that book she told him, it was about sisters and redemption, and she explained how she’d cried when she first read the manuscript.

After that point they talked about their work. Nesta would glance at the architect plans Cassian had scattered about his drafting table and asked questions about how his projects were progressing and check her emails while he cooked dinner. There were times they sat opposite each other, Cassian while he drafted and Nesta while she read.

That was the other thing. There were dinners. Lunches. Weekend plans involving brunches and early morning Saturday jog’s around the park.

The one thing that did seem to be beyond their new rules was discussing friends and family.

Cassian and Nesta rarely spoke about their mutual acquaintances, often refusing to acknowledge they even had any. It was strange for Cassian to bring Rhys into conversation but he was obviously on Cassian’s mind from the phone call earlier.

They were done with their starters and waiting for the main’s when Rhys rang, Cassian answering because if he hadn’t, ‘shit would look suspicious.’

Nesta could hear the conversation from both parties even as Cassian twisted in his chair, phone pressed to his ear hunched away as much as possible to try and limit the sound.

It was confirmation from Rhys that him, Cassian and Azriel were still on for their tomorrow plans; a morning of manly activities followed by ‘lunch with the ladies’ to celebrate Cassian’s thirtieth birthday as Cassian had told them he wasn’t able to celebrate tonight, on his actual birthday.

Of course, Nesta hadn’t been invited to the group festivities. As far as all were concerned, Cassian and Nesta loathed each other and so Nesta let it slide. Cassian had essentially fobbed off the ones he loved the most with a work-based lie to have dinner with her. She thought it was a poor and unexpected exchange on his part.

Still, she had promised him a lovely birthday treat to make up for it.

Nesta gently pulled back from his kiss and watched Cassian pout.

“Now, who’s looking cute.”

“It’s my birthday. I want kisses.”

She looked up at him as coyly as she could, flexing her hips forward into his, gasping as the action moved his fingers across the front of her underwear. “Well as you’re now such a big boy perhaps tonight we can do that thing you’ve always wanted to do. It being a special occasion and all.”

Cassian’s pout dissipated and his eyes grew five shades darker.

“You mean...”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Nesta. What the hell floor are we on? Why aren’t we top floor yet, c’mon!”

Nesta laughed. They were in the world’s slowest elevator which wouldn’t be an issue but they definitely wouldn’t be doing the thing in here.

The birthday gods or whoever Cassian just offered a sacrifice to in his mind were in an obliging mood as the ‘ding’ told Nesta they’d finally reached Cassian’s floor.

Somehow, with super human speed, he’d removed his hands from her body, scooped up the jacket, bag and shoe from the floor and turned to her, hoisting her up so she clung to him like a bear climbing a tree.

Nesta laughed again combined with a shriek of surprise, her legs wrapping around his waist, her hands buried in his hair. With a fumbling grace, his face pushed between her breasts, one hand full of their belongings and the other on her ass, Cassian moved them from the elevator into the hallway.

Her back thumped against the wall by his front door as Cassian dug around for his keys. Nesta tangled her hands further into his hair, making his bun as messy as hers.

“You know,” she said, “you should really consider getting a mirror installed above your bed. I think it would add a certain post-modern aesthetic.”

He momentarily paused his search to look up at her, his eyes hazy. “Yeah, you think?” he rasped. “If you want, sweetheart.”

“Not for me,” she replied with an air of indifference, moving her fingers to skim along the muscles corded in his neck. “Some woman you try and pick up might go for it.”

Cassian gave her a smirk and kissed the skin of her exposed cleavage before getting back to find his keys.

“Hurry,” she pleaded to hear Cassian mumble back, trying.

The click of the lock turning was the best sound she’d ever heard and they were barely through the threshold and into his darkened apartment before everything in Cassian’s hands, aside her, fell to a clatter on his solid floorboards.

Cassian simultaneously slammed the door and her back against the wall, his mouth stretching up to claim hers while she grabbed the back of his shirt, tugging it higher. She needed to get to his skin, needed to peel off his layers and throw off hers. If they made it to the bed for the first round of this evening it would be nothing short of a miracle.

It was only seconds before the apartment flooded with light where it had been pitch black before. The realisation that neither of them had turned on the lights came a second too late.

There was a chorus of loud and happy voices to accompany the lights.

“SURPRISE!”

It petered out to stunned silence and gasps. Cassian pulled back from Nesta his eyes filling with horror. Nesta didn’t want to look, but she was facing them, she couldn’t not.

Balloons and streamers dotted the apartment, a huge banner stretched overhead to say ‘happy birthday,’ tables full of food and alcohol primed and ready to go. There they were in front, the collective loved ones they didn’t talk about with a few extra of Cassian’s friends thrown in for good measure.

They just stared, eyes wide and mouths open. Silence.

There was a throaty chuckle followed by Amren’s voice. “Surprise? Well, I’d say it is.”

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #i wrote something #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessianfic #nessian fic #nesta x cassian

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jessiebanethedragon · 4 years

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Could you please write something about Crosshair with his SO who was 2nd best sniper, but got blinded during a mission? How would he react? I'm sorry if you're not comfortable with this, just ignore this ask

Hello! i hope i did this ask justice, it’s kinda long so i apologize and as always, i hope you like it! ❤️

Crosshair loved and hated you from the moment he first laid eyes on you. It was at the shooting range on Coruscant, and he wanted to re-calibrate the team's weapons, (it was how he relaxed.) Except it wasn’t empty as he expected. It was currently full of Regs hollering at something or someone making shots at the furthest target. And he swore he saw red when he noticed all the blaster marks in the center.

No one out-sniped crosshair. No one.

So you can imagine his fury when the crowd parted and the bastard that was making shots wasn't a bastard at all but rather a breath-takingly beautiful woman.

“This is a GAR range.” He grit out through his toothpick. “No Civies allowed.” You flashed him a devilish smile and pointed to the republic symbol imprinted on your shirt's shoulder.

“Good thing i'm in the GAR then.” You told him. “Nice weapon.” You added nodding to his prized rifle, and on instinct he tightened his grip.

“Thanks.” He was not in the mood for small talk.

“Needs calibrating.” You noted, and everyone else was inching to the door, the competitive air in the room was too thick to miss.

“I. Know.” Crosshair said through clenched teeth. “Would be calibrated already but there's a sorry excuse for a sniper standing in my way.”

“Excuse me?” You asked, royally pissed off now.

“You’re excused.” He said pushing past you.

“Hey, i don't know who you think you are but i’ll have you know that you’re messing with the wrong sniper pal.” You yelled as Crosshair sat his things down and began setting up targets.

“Oh yeah, and why’s that?” He asked standing toe to toe with you.

“I’m the best in the GAR.” You said, reaching up and plucking the toothpick out of his mouth.

“That would be second best Sweets.” He smirked, grabbing your wrist mid air.

“Really? Because last I heard no clone could top my scores.” You snapped pulling your wrist away.

“No regular clone could.” Crosshair responded, emphasizing the ‘regular’ part of his statement.

“And what makes you so special?” You taunted, getting more and more frustrated.

“You’ll just have to find out, now won't you?” He said with a smile.

And the rest, they say is history. Days later you were assigned to a new clone force that of course he was a part of. And you quickly learnt he was in fact the best, you being a close second. But the more you knew him the less you minded. And beside being able to tell people your boyfriend was the best sniper in the army was a lot of fun.

Currently, you were running through some dense forest, making your way to the vantage point that Hunter had given you before he, Tech and Wrecker took off below you.

“You doing okay Sweets?” Crosshair asked through your comms, the very infuriating nickname sticking after the two of you met.

“Why do you ask? Scared I'll top your count this time?” You pant into your headset, damn this mountain was tall.

“Not a chance beautiful.” You can hear him chuckle.

“Can you two focus for once?” Hunter snaps.

“Sorry Sarge.” You both call into the comms, smiling into the fresh air as you reach the ledge clearing. Laying on your stomach and setting up the rifle.

“Looks like you got five clankers coming in on your left Tech.” You mumble, taking three of them out with a coupe shots, you see him take care of the others and throw a wave over his shoulder as a ‘thank you.’

“Hunter, somethings wrong.” Crosshairs voice crackles in the comms again. “There’s nothing over here, it’s empty. Kriff they’ve sent all battalions to the East.” You hear him curse again. You’re covering the East,

“That can't be.” you call to them “I’m in the east and no one is here.” There is a mess of sounds in your ear. Crosshair shouting at something, Hunter swearing, Tech calling out to Wrecker for backup and blaster bolts echoing in the distance. You sling your rifle over your shoulder and bolt down the hill. Skidding to a halt as you see heavy artillery weapons converge on your location.

You didn’t even stand a chance.

You wake to darkness and your first thought is that you’re dead. But you can hear vague ringing and arguing so you begin to frantically feel around to gain an understanding of your surroundings.

“Cyare, Sweets. Can you hear me?” It’s Crosshair calling to your in a very worried voice.

“Cross?” You scream to him, manic hands searching for your love.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, you’re okay.” you feel a hand on your arm but you still can’t see a thing. The conclusion hits you like a kaminoan wave.

“Cross I can't see. Crosshair I can't see. I can't see anything.” Panic settles into your heart.

“What do you mean?” his voice is scared and frantic. You feel tears on your face.

“I can’t see.” You whisper.

Crosshair is furious. Tech had to give you a mild sedative to run some tests and look at the damage to your eyes. He paces the ship back and forth.

“Is it permanent?” He asks when Tech rejoins the group.

“I cannot tell, I can't run the necessary tests here, she needs a proper medbay. But my best guess is the strike that hit her was a biological weapon. We can thank the Techno Union for that one.” He says, sitting down in defeat.

“So what you’re actually saying is that you’re useless in terms of actually helping her.” Crosshair snaps at him.

“Cross,” Hunter warns.

“Oh i’m sorry sergeant, would you like me to sugar coat it? Or do you wanna come up with another genius plan to get us all killed?” Crosshair says with a glare. He’s so far gone with anger nothing matters anymore.

“Stand down soldier.” Hunter says standing up himself, knowing that if crosshair is still like this when they get to Coruscant there's going to be major problems.

“She's. Blind.” He growls out.

“Yeah and you need to pull it together Trooper.” Hunter says, softening his voice. “She’s going to need you. Really, really, need you. Crosshair, if this is permanent…” He trails off when he sees the tears on his vods face.

“She needs you.” Wrecker speaks up, looking at the door into your bunk. And Crosshair takes off, leaving a broken Bad Batch in his wake.

He finds you laying on your back, running your hands up and down the sheets. Head whipping over as he opens the door.

“Tech?” You ask into the darkness.

“Jus’ me.” Crosshair calls to you, walking over to sit on the edge of your bed, careful not to disturb you.

“Cross!” You exclaim. Throwing your arms over to where you think he is.you smack his leg and he helps you find his face so you can feel it and know he really is there.

“Hey beautiful,” He says with a small smile.

“Hey mister.” You say with a sad voice. “What did Tech say?” You ask with a voice so unlike the joking, sassy one crosshair knew and loved.

“He said that you need a proper medbay.” He chokes out.

“It’s forever isn't it?” You say, beginning to cry.

“We don't know that, we’ll fix this, you’re going to be fine, good as new. Everything is going to be okay.” He swallows his tears as he tries to console you. What you ask next shatters his heart.

“Will you still want me if i can't be a sniper?” You question in between tears and hiccups. Crosshair moves you so that you’re in his lap and the two of you can be as close as possible.

“How could you think for a moment I wouldn't want you anymore?” His eyes search yours, like he always did, a calming habit of his. And where your steady gaze used to be, there's panic.

“I’m scared, please don't leave me.” You beg gripping his blacks tightly.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He states firmly. “I’m in this for the long haul Sweets. It’s me and you, till the end of the universe. Couldn't get rid of me if you tried.” he presses a kiss to your hair.

“I love you.” You curl into his chest.

“I love you more.” He says, pulling you closer and vowing to himself that no matter what happens the two of you are getting through it. Together.

#the clone wars #clones #clone wars #clone x reader #clones x reader #the clones x reader #clone wars x reader #clone wars x you #the clone wars x reader #the bad batch #bad batch #bad batch x reader #star wars: the bad batch #crosshair #crosshair x reader #clone trooper crosshair

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years

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Happy Birthday, javistg!

Wishing you a very Happy Birthday, @javistg! We hope you’re having a wonderful day so far, and that you’ve got some delicious cake to look forward to! To keep your party going, the lovely @endlessnightlock has written a story just for you!

“What are you working on?” I ask Peeta, finding a seat for myself on the counter.

“I have chairs,” he reminds me gently, gesturing towards his dining room table with a tilt of his head while ignoring the question. His tone is chiding but his words come with a smirk, although he never looks up from what he’s doing with his hands. His hips rest against the countertop, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hands and wrists speckled with flour as he carefully rolls out some type of dough into a wide, thin, rectangular sheet on the countertop.

I’ve found during the last several months while we’ve spent more and more time together, watching him work is one of my favorite things to do. Peeta seems to take a lot of satisfaction in the attention to detail he devotes to baking. When he’s working on something like this, he will even use a ruler to make sure each line and corner is the precise length or dimension he needs. It’s soothing watching his hands move.

It’s a time we typically don’t spend much of on talking. He seems to get lost in his thoughts as I do in mine, but I find I’m much calmer with him. I enjoy watching him sketch as well, and that time is so much like that we spent together between the first and second games when I broke my foot and he would come and visit me every day.

I like being with Peeta, I like knowing where he is and that he’s safe.

“Hey, I got cleaned up before I came. These are even my new boots,” I tell him, kicking one foot out so that he can see the soft, molded leather around my feet. Effie picked these boots out for me herself, and I have to admit they’re perfect for my needs. “I won’t get your counters dirty.”

“Better not,” Peeta said, peering over at my foot. He looked back at his dough, all the while smiling to himself. “I don’t want a mess on my countertops.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Did you have any luck this morning?” he asks a moment later.

“No, but I didn’t try very hard,” I admit. The district just received a shipment by train from the Capitol yesterday, so we have an abundance of fresh food right now. There’s always plenty to eat these days, but I still don’t like to waste anything given to me. “I just felt like going out.”

Today has been a good day, and good days for me typicality involve hunting or at least going to the woods. I do my best to follow the routines that Dr. Aurelius pressed me into re-adopting. Some days the routines feel good, while at other times I just go through the motions. Whichever it is, at least the active days keep me grounded in the present. There are plenty of days where I can’t get up at all and just end up spending in bed or my closet, but those have been fewer recently. I’m glad for it.

The times where I feel well enough to come over and see Peeta after hunting, by open invitation at this point, I made sure to be completely clean. The smell of blood is one of the things that could trigger a flashback; they’ve happened occasionally.

We know Peeta’s triggers aren’t things we can dance around forever. For now, we’re still careful. All of us are just sort of holding on right now and recovering the best we can. I’m so thankful to have Peeta home again, I won’t knowingly risk anything that could take him away from me.

But today I’m not thinking about any of that. Today feels like a good day.

I kick at his hip, just a little teasing nudge to get his attention. For some reason I want Peeta to look at and acknowledge me. I want some of that attention he has directed towards his baked goods for myself.

Peeta must’ve read my thoughts because he looks up at me then, catching my eye. At this proximity, I notice, I can see the gold flecks in his irises, just a shade darker than his light eyelashes. He studies me carefully, more so than he typically would, and it makes me feel hot and itchy underneath my skin.

I say something to clear the air. “You never said, what is that?” I ask, pointing at his rectangle of dough.

He sets his rolling pin aside and uses the crook of his arm to push the hair out of his eyes.

His hair has grown longer than I’ve ever seen it in the time that he’s been back. He claims he’s waiting for me to give him a haircut, while I think it's just something he doesn’t care enough to bother doing anything with. Peeta still doesn’t seem to be capable of growing any facial hair since the treatment his prep team gave him to keep it from growing during the Games, or he’d probably have a beard to match the long waves that hang around his ears. I wonder if that’s something that will ever return or if he’ll remain smooth-cheeked for the rest of his life.

“It’s a filled pastry,” Peeta finally says, dropping his eyes again.

“Cheese filling?” I ask hopefully.

He shakes his head, still smiling. “Not this time, sorry. Would you mind getting the filling out of the refrigerator for me? I don’t want to have to stop what I'm doing.”

“Sure,” I say, hopping down from my spot on the counter. My balance falters for just a second, probably from not being accustomed to the new boots, and I bump into him. When I reach for his arm to steady myself I'm surprised at the unexpected flare of heat that comes from both the place where our hips meet and my hand on his bicep. The sensation spreads through my body and warms me to my toes.

Glancing at Peeta, I realize he must've felt it too. He seems flustered.

“What am I looking for?” I ask, breaking the thickening silence. Neither of us seems to know what to say to the other.

Not only that, I'm in shock. It's only been a short while that I’ve been able to feel anything in the scope of human emotions besides misery, let alone… this. This feeling of heat I always used to have with him- the one I never knew what it meant until after it over. After I thought I'd lost him for good.

I love him.

I love Peeta- of course, I do. How could I not?

I don’t know how he feels about me now. He's never said and I never asked. I do know he cares enough to be intimately involved in my life, I just don’t know if he's in love with me any longer.

Surprisingly, his feelings haven't affected mine one way or the other. I will always love him. I can't stop.

But I have wondered what type of love I felt if the part of me that wanted to kiss him and let him hold me again was gone. Did that loss of what I suppose one would define as a desire for him mean I was permanently broken by the war? By the loss of my sister? I’ve wondered because at one point it seemed entirely plausible.

At this moment, standing inches from him, I recognize that part of me is most certainly not dead. I want to kiss him.

Peeta watches me, unsure himself. I'm left to wonder if my thoughts are written all over my face. I’ve never been much of an actress.

“There’s a bowl,” he begins, seeming at a loss for the words he wants to say. His hesitation makes me smile, and I’m sure then that it's not just one-sided. He feels it too. “On the middle shelf, there's chopped fruit," he adds.

“Okay," I say, letting my hand drop from his arm for now and stepping away. Letting the moment pause for now. Whether we will resume this connection today or whether it just fades away, for now, I don't know.

I walk over to the refrigerator and tug the door open. I find myself staring into it, biting my lip to tame the smile that’s stretching across my face. I take another moment to use the cool air from inside it to calm my hot skin.

Things are changing.

I think I'm ready for it.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaygifts #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #fan fic #by endlessnightlock

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carnistirs · 4 years

Text

retrouvailles

↳ @taangweek 2020 Day 4: Future

This one could go for past as well, but I’m dropping this today because the setting’s technically in the future. Here’s 7k+ words of Aang and Toph being soulmates.

Read it on ao3 or under the cut

retrouvailles {French} the happiness you feel upon reuniting with someone after you've been apart for a long time

‘

“Are you alright, miss?” a voice asks, soft in the clamor of the snack aisle—

It’s violent, the way Toph’s ripped away from her little daydream, and her body’s still flinching as her eyes and ears slowly readjust to the people around her. There are no flying bisons and wingled lemurs here because they don’t exist, because she’s in a goddamn grocery store.

She tiredly lifts her gaze up – all the way up – to an angelic figure leaning over her, what with the lovely features and the bright light brimming around his shaved head. He’s all broad shoulders and lithe muscles and effulgent tattoos, and even though he looks like an incredibly kind person, something about him sets her teeth on edge. Like she should know him by now even if she’s never met this man in her life.

“Was I blocking you,” she replies, unable to help the flatness of her voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Toph moves to walk around him, oddly reluctant.

“No, wait—” the guy blurts out, panicked, his nimble fingers reaching out to curl lightly around her shoulder blade—

And they say it’s like nothing else matters, that touching your soulmate for the first time is like sating a hunger you never knew you had.

She’s always thought that was a fat load of bullshit – what, you meet the stranger that’s supposed to be your other half and it’s happily ever after just like that? – but here she is, a hypocrite to her own thoughts.

Toph hones in on the warmth that’s molded around the curve of her shoulder, feeling a far too pleasant burn smear its way down her spine. She leans away from the stranger by a few inches, just to test it their limits, but fuck, it hurts. She’s met him for a total of three minutes and the sensation of not touching him already leaves her with an ache she can’t even begin to understand.

He makes a hurt noise in his throat when she leans away, jarred by the abruptness of their separation. His hands follow after her, touching the points of her elbows this time, and Toph feels the tremor in his hands, hears the quickness in his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, tightening his fingers around her skin. “I know we don’t know each other, but—”

“This is so stupid,” Toph groans, but she’s slipping a palm over his wrist thoughtlessly, touching the thrum of his pulse. “Why a fucking Walmart of all places?”

Her soulmate’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Why not a Walmart?”

Because it’s the lamest place ever, she wants to say, but then she catches his smile and she stutters to a stop. She gazes at his pretty grey eyes and knows them, has seen them in multiple lifetimes.

(It’s you reverbrates in the space of her chest that used to be hollow, that used to be a void tundra.)

There’s a soulmark on her forearm now – long, golden vines with leaves that twist into the complimentary ones wrapped around his own skin, and the longer they touch, the more intertwined their vines become. It’s both thrilling and unsettling since, so far, Toph’s lived through twenty years of her life with a bare forearm.

“So,” Toph ends up mumbling, because she knows where this is going to lead and because someone has to eventually, “your place or mine?”

‘

“Do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?”

“I don’t see why not.”

‘

Her soulmate’s name is Aang, a vegan pacifist whose happiness seems endless, and the while he’s chirping to her about his life like an excited hummingbird, she finds it harder to fathom why the fates specifically chose him for her.

“I’m talking way too much about myself,” he chuckles in embarrassment, pink dusting over his cheeks.

Shrugs. “I asked.”

Aang’s curled up with her on his couch – his apartment had been closer - idly playing with one of her hands. Their tea sits on the coffee table, cold and forgotten, but she’s too stupidly inebriated with the feeling of his hands on her own to care. Toph doesn’t mind the constant touching, surprisingly. It feels so much better than anything else, and there’s this still moment where they watch his vines crawl from his fingers over to hers.

“What about you?” He’s close enough for his cheek to brush her shoulder. “Tell me about yourself? Pretty please?”

“I’m an art student,” she grins back, unwittingly, at his enthusiasm. “I go to BSSU.”

He positively beams at this. “I go there too! Why is it that I’ve never seen you around campus before?

“Different curriculum maybe?

Toph feels the heat of his gaze wandering everywhere, stiffening slightly only when it drops to the puckered skin on her right leg. “Is there a story behind this?” she hears him ask quietly, his fingers hovering over the scar, but not quite touching it.

“You’re going to think I’m fucking crazy.”

“Try me.” Aang’s isn’t sporting that bright smile anymore, but his face has softened completely. “If you want, that is. You don’t have to tell me.”

It’s strange and new and terrifying, but he’s a gentle breeze in their bond, surrounding her without suffocating her, smoothing over the points of her body that are maybe a little too rough, a little too jagged.

“Well, there’s this forest near the house I grew up in,” Toph starts, drumming her fingers along his soulmark. “I walked through it so many times that I practically memorized it. I really thought I could navigate myself through the forest blind, so I put on a blindfold—”

(The darkness doesn’t welcome her, not the way she wants it to.

Her bare feet press into the earth and she doesn’t feel the vibrations of the earth moving around her, doesn’t hear the songs of squirrels skittering up the old trees, of worms writhing in the dirt. She feels disconnected from everything, small and insignificant.

She carefully glides along the flat surface of the boulders, but misses her next step, falls down and keeps falling—)

“Anyway, now I have a permanent reminder of how much of a dumbass I was,” she says, half bemused, half self-depreciating.

But Aang opens his arms, his face silently pleading, and she hesitates a little. Her soulmate is a stranger wrapped in odd, familiar skin and when they’re pressed together, it’s like they’re speaking an old, sacred language only their bones know.

They should be in bed right now like most soulmate couples their age – or at least kissing, maybe - but she supposes she’ll fail at that too amongst other things.

So, Toph leans in, biting back a satisified hum when his arms coil around her shoulders. He smells like clean laundry and a hint of cinnamon, and when he sighs in content, she feels her muscles relax.

“I like to stand on the edges of high places,” Aang noses against her hair, probably unaware that’s he’s doing it too. “My friends can’t stand it when I do it, but I can’t help it. I never have the urge to actually jump,” he adds in a small laugh, “but I like to imagine that there would be a way for me to somehow catch myself if I do. Then I remember that it’s not possible and I feel this...incredible loss.”

An unexplainable loss you never had in the first place. Yeah, she gets it.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” His eyes languidly trail after the uplifted bend of her mouth. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

There’s an anxious spike of hope blooming in the pit of Toph’s stomach and it’s not coming from her. She doesn't exactly know how she knows this either, but it's all Aang she's feeling.

It’s coming from him.

Which is ridiculous because Toph shouldn’t be able to feel him like that. Soulmates don’t work like that. There’s soulmarks and the constant need to be close, but not this invasion of other people’s emotions—

“Yeah, sure,” she says.

Everything is okay. Everything is fine.

Get a fucking grip.

‘

“Some bonds only need an hour of touching and they’re okay for the whole week,” she says at the threshold of his front door, lingering. “Maybe we’re like that? I mean, it doesn’t hurt to try, right?”

“O-Okay,” Aang stutters, brows furrowed, looking like he really wants to follow after her like an imprinted duckling.

Toph lets go of his hand then and the sharp sting she feels should have been taken as a warning. She takes a step back though, forcing herself to play dumb to his white fingers clenched around the door frame and the sudden pallor of his face.

Her fingers tingle in a particularly awful way as she waves goodbye to him and the discomfort is rudimentary, really. It’s nothing she can’t handle, considering she’s had worse done to her skin.

She makes it as far as the turn of the hallway, right when Aang’s out of her view.

Pain grips at her right arm and the numbness flares outward, careening her into the wall. She can’t fucking breathe because it feels like her lungs are being scraped out by a rusty spoon, like her ribs are being branded by hot iron—

Aang barrels into her at a frightening speed and they go teetering to the floor, but he curls his body around hers protectively, possessively, breaking her fall. He’s mouthing something frantic against the hollow of her throat, but she can’t hear it because she’s too overwhelmed by the sensation of his pain pressing down on top of hers.

Whatever she’d felt earlier is vaulting back tenfold and it’s so strange to feel her own emotions looped back to her through a feedback that’s experienced through him. She feels him desperately wanting to take away the unseen hurt throbbing in her while trying to compress his own down and, gods, this isn’t normal.

“Um,” Toph whispers, her voice trembling with her body as she clings to him. “Okay, that was a dumb idea. I’m sorry—”

“Maybe you should stay with me for a couple of days—”

She doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “We have school. How are we going to do—”

“There’s an exemption form we could fill out online. It’s for soulmates who have recently bonded. It’ll get us out of classes, just – please, please don’t leave.”

“I don’t have extra clothes on me or a toothb—”

“You can borrow my clothes. You’ll drown in them because you’re so tiny,” Aang laughs, hoarse, sliding shaking fingers into her unbound hair. “And I have an extra toothbrush you can use. We’ll figure it out, Toph, please.”

What the fuck, what the fuck—

“Alright.” She closes her eyes, surrendering herself to raw instinct by sticking her nose to the skin underneath his jaw. “I’ll stay.”

‘

“Choose well. A sky bison is a companion for life.”

He’s holding an apple in his hands and his legs are jittery – like it’s impossible for him to stay still. The baby bisons are circling their mother in the air and his breath catches because he’s never wanted anything more in his life.

There’s a small bison just a few feet away, looking like it’s waiting for him. It appears to be the runt of the litter, but that’s okay because he’s the smallest in his class too. If it accepts him, then perhaps they can grow together.

Biting his lip, he carefully approaches the small bison and offers the apple to it.

It – no, the bison is a he – sniffs the fruit along with his extended hand before opening his mouth expectantly.

He tosses the apple in and allows himself to pet the bison on the nose while the latter chews. He doesn’t expect the bison to nuzzle into his touch with a pleased rumble, but the creature does anyway, leaning too far in until he loses his balance and falls on his rear end. The bison licks at the whole of his face, pulling happy giggles from his mouth and he knows, then and there, that he’s found the one.

“I guess this means we’ll always be together,” he smiles wide, hands rubbing on either side of the creature’s muzzle—

‘

Toph blinks awake to find herself plastered to Aang’s back with both of her arms snaked around his chest. One of his hands is clasped in hers, their fingers twined, and she has a leg thrown over his hip as if she’s slept with him like this their whole lives.

His bedroom is small and simple, but there’s a slight airiness to it that reminds her of the temple in her dreams – or not dreams, apparently. She sees this temple in the sky in quick flashes while she’s awake too, and if they don’t show her in the company of monks, then it’s always with that six-legged bison.

“I can hear you thinking,” Aang mumbles sleepily.

She presses her face to his shoulder. “Shit, did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, you waking up actually yanked me out of sleep too.” Gently tightens his fingers around hers, reassures her that he’s not upset. “It’s not a big deal. What’s bothering you?”

I think I’m seeing your memories from a past life never quite leaves Toph’s mouth.

“Nah, it’s nothing.”

And maybe that’s the wrong thing to say because Aang just turns in her hold and exhales into her neck, slipping his arms around her waist. His fingers tease the hem of a shirt that’s too big on her and he asks in a hushed tone if it’s okay. Toph nods, her skin shivering in loose delight once his palm slides underneath the shirt to splay itself flat against the small of her back.

The moonlight peeking through the curtains shows her one side of his face – the argent in his eyes, the fan of his inky lashes, the indent of his cheekbone. Objectively, he’s stunning, so she could have done a whole lot worse.

“You know I can tell you’re lying, right?” The corner of Aang’s mouth lifts, amused. “I can feelthat something’s wrong.”

“Can we just—” Opens her mouth and shuts it, frustrated inside. He rubs his thumb in calming circles against Toph’s skin and she still doesn’t know if she likes how one touch can clear her muddled thoughts just like that. “Can we just pretend that we don’t have some weird telepathic-empathic thing between us? Just for tonight at least? Fuck, it’s a lot to unpack on the first day.”

His hurt is muffled, but it’s there and she feels it her chest, taking root. “You think it’s weird?” he whispers, sounding like an open wound.

“Doesn’t this freak you out?”

“Yes, of course it does.”

But underneath the blanket of her own emotions, she senses fear for this bond. Fear at the thought of Toph rejecting him so quickly. She tightens her leg over his hip instinctively, telling him no, she’s not rejecting him. She doesn’t think that’s even possible at this point.

He presses a smile into her clavicle, relieved. “Do you remember dinner? When you were groaning after taking the first few bites of the pasta?”

Toph blushes. “Don’t make fun of me! I didn’t know artichoke sauce was even thing!” Or so delicious. “I was caught off guard, okay?”

“You were happy eating what I made for you and I felt that happiness,” Aang says, so soft. “It felt beautiful. You felt beautiful, Toph.”

(And I’d give you the whole world to keep you happy forever, he sings into her veins even if he doesn’t realize it yet, even if he’s just as scared and lost as she is.)

What an optimstic fool he is. “I might drive you nuts,” Toph throws back instead.

“Oh, I know you will.”

She pinches Aang’s side, cackling at his high-pitched shriek even when the sharpness of her index finger and thumb on his skin echoes against her own.

‘

“Where the hell have you been!”

“Chill, Sparky,” is Toph’s lazy response as she waltzes into her apartment, leading Aang in by their tangled fingers. “I texted you.”

“‘Be back in a week, dude’ doesn’t give me much to go by. A fucking week? You could have been dead for all I knew!”

“Stop projecting your sibling issues onto me. I’m here, aren’t I? Besides, when you found Sokka and Suki, the three of you didn’t leave your room for more than a week, you dirty hyprocrite!”

“At least you knew where I was the whole—” Zuko abruptly closes his mouth, his gaze darting to the towering man at Toph’s heels. “Aang? Wait, how do you two know each other?”

Toph lifts both their arms, showing him the fresh knitted vines gleaming on their skin. “He’s my soulmate. How do you two know each other?”

“I know Sokka and Sukki,” Aang chimes in cheerfully. “Wow, what a small world, huh?”

“How’d you two—”

“Anyway,” she interrupts brashly, not in the mood to retell their romantic, fateful meeting at Walmart, “Aang’s gonna be staying here for a week and then I’ll go back to his place for another week, and so on and blah blah. At least until the bond settles. You get it. Let us know when dinner’s ready,” she adds, practically yanking at Aang until they’re both confined in her bedroom.

Aang taps the end of her nose. “That was mean.”

“Please,” Toph makes a point of rolling her eyes. “Zuko barely said a word to me after touching the other two. They burst into the apartment like a fucking hurricane, almost doing it right there in our living room. So fucking rude.”

‘

She’s in the shower when she suddenly feels absolute terror choking at her, nearly making her slip on the tiles.

Toph barely wraps herself up in a towel before she’s barging out of the bathroom, extremely thankful that her room’s close by. Aang’s on the floor, back leaning against the frame of her bedroom door, quivering fingers curled around one of her older sketchbooks. Aang blindly reaches for her when she approaches, pulling her down onto his lap and burying half of his face into her shoulder blade.

“Is my art that terrifying?” Toph tries to joke, but he doesn’t even smile.

The drawing had been done in charcoal, dark and blurry around the edges, and she almost doesn’t remember drawing it. There’s an enormous centipede thing crawling out of a cave, its legs reaching out to take, to steal. The only colors on the sketch are the red lips and the grey eye markings of the Noh mask it’s wearing on its face, but she’s not sure if that makes it better or worse.

Aang’s voice is a quiet, little thing when he asks, “Where did you see this creature?”

(“My old friend, the Avatar,” the monster utters in a serpentine hiss. “It’s been a long time.”

“You know me?”

“How could I forget you? One of your previous incarnations tried to slay me,” it accuses, the white mask flickering into the face of an older man with a mustache and a long beard, “maybe eight or nine hundred years ago.”

“I didn’t know that.” It’s difficult, keeping his emotions out of both his face and voice. “Why did he – or I – try to kill you?”

The thing changes again – a beautiful woman this time, with long brown hair and familiar, sad eyes.

“Oh, it was something about stealing the face of someone you loved.”)

“A nightmare, I think,” Toph answers carefully. “Actually, you know what—”

She rips the page out of the sketchbook and crumples it tightly in her first. It feels like an ugly omen against her palm, riddled with malice and sadism, and she chucks it into her trash can.

“You didn’t have to do that. That was your work,” Aang murmurs, his guilt gnawing at her.

“It was a creepy-ass drawing. I don’t know what I was thinking when I drew that.” Pause. “I have better stuff on my desktop if you want to look.”

He kisses her shoulder, smiling sweetly. “I hope the creatures on there are less frightening.”

“Don’t be such a wuss. Wanna see what a badgermole looks like?”

‘

After their soulbond settles, they’ve learned that they can get through the day by themselves relatively alright as long as there was skin-to-skin contact for at least an hour beforehand. It no longer hurts to be away from Aang, but it is uncomfortable as fuck, like an itch burning inside that’s screaming at her to scratch it until it’s bloody and raw.

Which is fine.

So ridiculously fine.

The lecture is a drone in the back of Toph’s mind as she doodles along the corner of her notebook page to take her mind off the itch. The mintiness of the gum she’s snacking on ebbs away suddenly, turning into something vastly different.

She chews again, tasting raspberries, fruit juice, bananas, and...almond milk?

Aang is waiting for her outside the door when her class ends and as soon as he sees her, his entire face lights up like the sun. His content rolls over Toph in a soothing whisper and she subconsciously mimics his smile, her body humming with want.

In spite of the protesting noise she makes, Aang scoops her up in his arms until her feet are dangling above the ground. He nuzzles his cheek to hers, his breath warm against the ridge of her ear, and he twirls them once because he can’t help himself. She hisses at him to put her down, but it doesn’t really bother her as it normally would with literally anyone else.

“Did you have a smoothie?” Toph asks.

“Yeah.” He keeps his hands pasted to her hips, his eyes bright with excitement. “I tasted the gum you were chewing earlier.”

“I want to say that I’m surprised, but am I really at this point?”

A deep chuckle as he cups her face in his palms. “Don’t be so glum. Think of all the possibilities! What if you’re really hungry, but you don’t have time to get food because you’re taking a test or something? I could eat something and you’d be able to taste it.”

“Oh, yeah, super cool. What if you’re hungry and I decide to get a hamburger?”

He blinks, his grin faltering. “I’m vegan, Toph. You know that—”

“You’re not actually eating it – you’re only getting a taste. Like you said, all the possibilities. You ever want to try a steak? Or a milkshake with actual milk?”

Toph bites back a smile, doing a poor job of concealing how much she really enjoys it when he gets all flustered.

‘

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“You drunk already?” Sokka passes a bemused glance at her. “I don’t remember you being that much of a lightweight.”

It’s warm in the bar – she can tell by the slight flush on Sokka’s cheeks that has nothing to do with being intoxicated – but Toph still burrows her nose deeper into the wool scarf coiled around her neck, still tightens her coat around her. Aang may be on the other side of the city, but he’s somewhere outdoors, somewhere cold, and the alcohol isn’t making her any warmer.

Aang doesn’t do well in colder weather, but he’s having fun with his friends even if he’s getting the both of them sick. She can feel him missing her, missing the press of her fingers on his skin even though they’d seen each other hours ago.

“You have two soulmates,” Toph grumbles. “The idea of past lives shouldn’t be that fucking implausible.”

His shoulder gently bumps against hers. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“I’m not upset—”

“Okay, okay, let’s start over,” Sokka smiles at her, completely genuine and not at all mocking. “Why do you suddenly believe in reincarnation?”

“I have these dreams,” she says, her brows knitting together as she curls her hands tighter around her glass. “Well, I used to think they were dreams, but then I’d see something while I’m awake. They’re always about Aang in this completely different life and it’s like I’m a passenger in his body, just going through the motions.”

“And you think these things are actually his memories from a past life.”

Toph exhales quietly, the lines of her body losing their tautness. She feels mildly less insane now that someone’s acknowledged it for her.

“They feel too real to just be my imagination. It’s always him in the same timeline.”

Sokka hums, thoughtful. “Maybe they are his memories, Toph. Who knows? Soulbonds can’t be explained, but people accept them anyway. For what it’s worth, I believe you.”

“If this is you making fun of me, I swear to—”

“No, I really mean it! Like, if I didn’t end up with Suki and Zuko – or either of them – in a previous life and reincarnation’s just a thing that’s giving me a second chance to actually be with them, then that’s pretty cool. Fate’s doing me a solid.”

“Second chances,” Toph muses, more to herself than anything.

“Yeah, why not?” He downs the rest of his glass. “On a side note, what else are you feeling from Aang since the bond started? Something tells me you guys are...not normal.”

Toph starts to respond, but then she hunches over the counter, shoulders shaking. It slams into her out of nowhere and she has to clamp both her hands over her mouth to muffle the uncontrollable laughter. She’s yanked further and further into Aang’s joy, feeling it so keenly that the corners of her eyes begin to prickle with tears.

“What is happening,” Sokka blurts, alarmed and concerned. “Are you having a stroke—”

“One of Aang’s friends did something stupid and funny,” she hiccups out in short breaths, still guffawing. “It might – it might have been Bumi.”

Sokka gawks at her, frozen in place. He then orders another round of drinks for the both of them.

‘

Monk Gyatso lies against the wall, just bones and dust, and the omniscient rage of a thousand lives sinks down on him—

‘

The weight of his grief completely buries Toph, so much that she collapses in a public restroom. Her fingers scrabble at the tiles beneath her, desperate to clutch onto something, anything, as the memory consumes her. Something vibrates in her pocket for a long, long time, but she’s too busy screaming soundlessly into her palm to notice.

Panic slips into Toph, making her blood run cold, and the longer she ignores her phone, the more frenetic her soulmate feels—

“Toph?” is his voice on the other line, wildly frantic, when she finally answers the call. “Did someone hurt you? What’s wrong, where are—”

“I—” Her breath comes out in harsh pants. “It’s o-okay. You don’t need to come.”

Rustling, like Aang’s already preparing to step out. “No, no, that’s not what it feels like,” he argues softly, and now there’s pain in his voice because she won’t let him come to her, won’t let him take care of her—

Her chest squeezes tighter, aching. “I slipped. I’m, uh, good now.”

“Toph, please.” His voice breaks and she screws her eyes shut, tasting saltwater in her mouth. “Please let me come to you. Tell me where you are.”

So she whispers back that she’s at the tea shop near their school, the one owned by Zuko’s uncle.

Aang rushes into the women’s restroom ten minutes later – a feat in itself, considering the usual commute is twice that amount – and she’s never wanted him to see her like this, hunched under one of the sinks and sobbing over a memory that isn’t even hers.

He sucks in a sharp breath like Toph’s pain cleaves him. His eyes are red-rimmed and she can’t even look at him because she’s so sorry. She’s sorry that he’s lost his people, sorry that he’s lost his home, sorry that he’s lost his entire culture.

The way he stalks over to her is noiseless, ghostlike even, and then he’s plucking up all the bird bones of Toph’s body, folding himself around her and concealing her from the rest of the world. It makes her cry harder, if anything, to the point where she’s dry-heaving against his chest, but it helps when she pushes her hands under his shirt to touch the tight skin around his hips.

She tells him everything. That he was raised by Air Nomads in another life. That he was something called the Avatar. That they lived in a world where people could manipulate the elements as they pleased.

That they lived during a long, long war.

“You controlled the element of air first,” Toph rasps out later, when it finally doesn’t feel like her lungs are going to give out on every inhale. “You and Appa got caught in this storm, and then you did something that left you frozen at the bottom of an ocean. Katara and Sokka found you, but when you came back to the Southern Air Temple, everyone was dead and it had only felt like you left days ago, but a fucking century passed—”

To his credit, Aang doesn’t once ask who Appa is or what the Southern Air Temple is supposed to be. His heart beats faster and his skin jolts at the familiarity of her words, but he holds her still.

“Breathe, T,” he says, rocking her, sweeping her dark hair away from her neck so that he can kiss the small space behind her ear.

She does. Inhales for four seconds, exhales for six—

It’s a breathing technique that Monk Gyatso had taught Aang. Had taught her.

Their soulmarks cling to each other distressingly, her aurelian leaves and vines overlapping his.

“Do you ever dream of me?” Toph asks, calmer.

“I have many daydreams about you.” And that’s mischief slanted against her nape, rounded out by his mouth. He’s soft and playful now, making her sink further into his embrace. “When your memories come to me, I don’t actually see anything.”

Tries not to be too disappointed. “Oh.”

“No,” Aang smudges a smile against the corner of her mouth, gently thumbing a tear-stained cheek. “You were blind in your last life, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t see. You didn’t need to. You felt these vibrations in the earth and it allowed you to see and hear things no one else could. You were the greatest earthbender that ever lived.”

“She sounds way cooler than me.”

He tips her face up. “You’re just as cool as she is,” Aang breathes, and there’s a brush of lips against hers, slow and sweet. “Just as beautiful.”

(I found you again, her soul thrums out, the loudest it’s ever been inside her.)

Toph twists in his arms, chasing after his mouth. It’s almost too much and not enough at the same time, tasting his honeyed delight and feeling it mingle with her own. His hands shove themselves up her sweater to frame the space of her back as he parts his mouth, allowing her to—

“Gee, it looks like you guys are fine in here,” comes a monotonous drawl that has them breaking apart, sputtering. “And here I was, worried for no apparent reason.”

“Mai!” Aang practically yells, his ears turning beet red. “When did you – why are—”

The other girl waves a dismissive hand. “Toph and I were going over work. What was supposed to be a five-minute restroom break turned into a forty-minute one,” she adds pointedly, raising a brow.

“Sorry,” Toph says sheepishly. “I had a thing. Like a panic attack or whatever. It’s gone now, so no biggie.”

Aang, severely disagreeing with her on that last statement, wraps her up tighter in his arms.

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” Mai says then, and it may just be Toph’s imagination, but she thinks she sees the former’s face soften a bit. “Get some rest.”

After Mai leaves, Aang plays with her loose hair. “We should probably leave too.”

“Yeah.”

But Toph’s leaning in, pausing only a few inches away from his lips and grinning when he automatically closes the distance. She feels that buzzing of happiness again and whether it’s his or hers, it doesn’t matter.

‘

Aang’s shoulders are still quivering as he drops shaky, open-mouthed kisses along the crease of her hip. He’s been pulled apart to pieces, beautifully and painstakingly, and the remnants of bliss still drumming within him makes it slow to put those pieces back together.

She only knows because she feels the exact same way. She feels everything.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else.” His voice is wrecked and his lips are so kiss-swollen, but he’s still this hopelessly exotic thing sprawled between her legs. There’s an indelible glaze to his to expression that makes him look so thoroughly fucked, and when he rests his chin on her stomach and looks up at her with soft, needy eyes, something inside her chest just melts.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Toph husks out with a laugh.

“Yeah, why didn’t we,” he murmurs back, still loopy, nosing the skin around her navel.

Toph strokes her fingers along the arrow inked on his head, pulling a quiet mewl from him. The arrow tattoos on his body are the same design, the same placement – just the wrong shade of blue. These lines are darker than the ones she sees in his memories.

Maybe the effervesent, illuminating blue that once marked Aang as an airbendering master doesn’t exist in this world.

“Can you skip your classes tomorrow?” he asks.

“Why?”

His answer is a trail of wet kisses up the flat stretch of her belly. “Because I want to keep doing this.”

“Really.” Toph plays off as nonchalant, even when her heart skips a beat. “You want to render us incapable of walking by the time we’re done?”

“Toph, I don’t think I’m able to walk now,” Aang chuckles, before looking up at her from beneath his lashes, coy. “But I still want you in my bed whether we’re having sex or not. I just want you.”

His want reverbrates in the apex of Toph’s thighs and she wishes she can be as open as he is. She wants him in her bed forever, but the words become stifled in her throat, never leaving her mouth. He smiles at her though, tender and adoring, like he knows what she’s trying to say.

She rolls them over, straddling his hips. Gratification seeps into her at the way his pupils dilate, at the way he takes her in breathlessly.

‘

He’s upset – so very, very upset – and she doesn’t know why.

Toph feels it two blocks away from his apartment and it spurs her to walk faster, to the point where she’s running.

After letting herself in, she finds Aang leaning over the kitchen counter, the stiff lines of his back obvious through his thin shirt. She leans her back against the counter and presses her elbow to the nimble fingers constricted around dark granite.

“What’s up, grumpy?”

Her soulmate breathes out noisily, his shoulders bunching forward like he’s trying to make himself much smaller than he is. He doesn’t turn to face her, doesn’t immediately trap her in his arms like he usually would after a long day apart. He leans against her though, heavy, part of him trying to disappear into the pale abyss of her skin.

“We weren’t married to each other,” Aang whispers, horrified. “I was married to someone else. A non-bender, I think. I don’t recognize her voice.”

And there’s really no point in getting angry with Aang or this mystery woman because the past is the past, but jealousy festers anyway, scratching at her bones. She tries to taper down it to keep him from feeling it, but he flinches, looking even more miserable than before.

She tries for apathy then: “So? It was in the past – a past we’re only barely starting to get details from.”

“But I was still seeing you. I had kids with this woman, but I was still sneaking around with you—”

“Okay, so I was a side chick. Whatever, that’s fine—”

“It’s not fine,” a muscle in his jaw jumps, “none of this was fine. I’m seeing this from your persepective, remember? You weren’t okay with this.”

“Why does it fucking matter?” Toph spits, a small part of her regretting it when Aang’s mouth pinches into a thin line. “Maybe we never got together. Maybe sex on the the side was our only option. Whatever the fuck we did in that lifetime, it’s got nothing to do with what we have in this one!”

(“She’s beautiful,” he murmurs, gazing down at the newborn. “Did you decide on a name?”

“Suyin’s kind of pretty. Has a nice ring to it.”

Tightly swallows. “Toph, is she – is she mine?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the woman in bed mumbles. “It’s not your problem.”

“But—”

“I’m not repeating myself, Twinkletoes. And she doesn’t belong to anyone but me.”)

Then Aang grazes her side with feather-light hands, silently asking for permission. She’s still bristling in her skin, but he makes the frustration and shame go away with just a brush of his palms on her body.

She wants to stay mad at him, wants to stew in silence all by herself, but she physically can’t, not when he’s already made a home for himself in the space of her ribs.

Toph pulls him in with an incoherent grumble, binding her arms around his torso to anchor him back to earth because he feels like he’s going to float away. He shivers against her, mouthing soft apologies against the column of neck as he clings onto her. Even on her tiptoes, her head barely reaches his chin, but she leans on them anyway because she doesn’t want him breaking his neck trying to bury himself in hers.

“Maybe I leave my wife when our kids are older,” he says, his teeth scraping over her shoulder. “I leave her for you.”

“You really think that happened?”

“Yes,” comes Aang’s response, but even that sounds a little unsure. Like he desperately wants it to be true. The uncertainity makes him press into her until there’s no visible space left between them. “Why wouldn’t I do that for you? We’re soulmates. I don’t believe in any lifetime where you’re not always by my side.”

Toph rolls her eyes. “You’re such an embarassing idiot sometimes.”

Aang smiles, his tongue flicking against her jawline. Heat simmers at the pit of Toph’s stomach, rising languidly, and his hands are at the back of her thighs. “I need you,” he sighs, catching her mouth with his.

“I know, you dumb airhead.”

She quickly finds herself hoisted onto the counter before she’s tipping her head back, letting him unbutton her flannel and kiss his way down—

‘

“Don’t worry,” Katara says. “We’ll find you a teacher. There are plenty of amazing earthbenders out there.”

There’s a deep wrongness in him as he stares back at Gaoling. Like he’s making a mistake by just giving up and leaving—

“Not like her.”

After he climbs onto Appa with reluctance, he doesn’t immediately lift the reins. Sometimes, there are rewards to being patient, to sitting still and letting the winds carry their answers to you. When he listens to the currents around him, he catches a flurry of hurried footsteps headed in their direction.

Delicate hope grows in his chest.

“Toph!” Happiness etches itself onto his face, wide and open, when the small girl runs out of the forest. “What are you doing here?”

“My dad changed his mind. He said I was free to travel the world.”

It’s a bold-faced lie.

But when Toph smiles, something inside his own stomach flutters wildly—

‘

“Are you alright, miss?” a voice asks, waking her, his mouth lightly tracing the curve of her ear.

“Fuck off,” Toph mumbles, still face down on the table, in spite of her fingers reaching out to rest along the nape of his neck. The taste of coffee – the strong kind – lingers on her tongue. “M’ tired. Why’d you drink coffee? And a goddamn red eye at that.”

Aang tugs at her hair teasingly. “Because I almost fell asleep while driving over here to get you.”

“Ugh, you’re going to keep me up all night.”

“I can think of a few things we could do to pass the time,” Aang smirks, nuzzling his nose along her cheekbone. “Or, well, one specific thing actually—”

Toph snorts. “Dork.”

He snatches her up, fingers digging into her side as he drags her onto his lap. Peals of laughter escape her while he tickles her relentlessly, so much that the harder she laughs, the more she feels him eventually shaking with laughter too, amplifying the sensation. One of the campus librarians shushes them sharply and she feels Aang hiding his face into her throat to escape the blame.

“What’s that?” he inquiries out of nowhere then, reaching for something on the table—

“No snooping!” Toph hisses without any real heat, swatting his hand out of the way to shove the tiny book into her backpack.

It’s a flipbook that she’s still working on, showing Aang peacefully bending all four elements. She had originally wanted to illustrate him kicking Ozai’s ass, but she doubts he would like the violence of it, so she’d gone with this instead.

Aang perks up in excitement. “Is it for me? My birthday’s in a couple of weeks, you know.”

Rolls her eyes. “Just wait and find out, Twinkletoes.”

She stands up in an attempt to gather her things, but as soon as she does, the feeling of a thousand pins pricking at her legs washes over.

“Your legs are numb,” Aang glances over with both bemusement and sympathy, on the verge of discomfort himself. “Here, I’ll carry you.”

“Nah, let’s just wait—”

But Aang pulls her arms over his shoulders, picking Toph up until she’s literally hanging onto his back, before he grabs her backpack. She hates being picked up in any manner, but it’s a losing battle with a cheerfully persistant soulmate like him. She yanks on the lobes of his ears, but he just grins, hitching her body higher.

“Yip-yip,” Toph says.

“Do I look like a flying bison to you?”

“You’re right, that was a terrible comparison,” she replies. “Appa is obviously a hundred times better than you.”

Aang makes an affronted noise, but Toph rests her head on his shoulder blade and kisses the elegant line of his neck, placating him. The brisk air hits her face once he walks out of the library and Toph tucks her face harder into his skin.

“I had a dream that you were looking for someone to teach you earthbending,” she whispers, wistful and smug. “You wouldn’t settle for anyone but me. Said I was the best out of all of them.”

“There’s no one else like you,” Aang replies easily, thumbing nonsensical patterns under her thighs.

He’d said that in his past life as well.

“Hey, Aang?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think we ended up together.” Because the snippets of his memories where he’s an adult are a lot sadder, filled with such hurt and longing. “I think we might have crashed and burned.”

Aang breath falters in her ear and he grips her harder, refusing to lose her to their past failures, to whatever broke them.

“We’ll do better this time, T.”

‘

(And they do.)

‘ [end notes:

BSSU = Ba Sing Se University

To clarify, what's normal for soulmates in this universe - (1) soulmarks appear as soon as soulmates touch each other (2) the need to be touching - the limits of this can vary with every soulmate bond, it all just depends.

As you can see with Aang and Toph, they obviously have a lot more going on with the XD

I hope this wasn't too confusing with the way Toph was receiving Aang's memories. Anything in italics was her seeing a memory. If anything was in parenthesis, that meant that Toph experienced the memory before the present time. Let me know if the italicized text isn’t showing like it does on the ao3 link. Tumblr’s being shitty for some reason.

If this was all confusing anyway, go ahead and yell at me]

#taang #aang #toph #aang/toph #modern au #soulmate au #soulmates #reincarnation #atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #taangweek #taang week 2020 #fanfics #teabag fics

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andrew-is-foxy · 4 years

Text

Mechanic!Andrew and Car Thief!Neil

All for the Game AU TW: Mention of scars/Self-harm scars Rating: T/M (talks about arousal at the end, but like, nothing happens lol) Word count: 3.8k

Andrew wiped the back of his wrist on the bottom of his nose to scratch it, the back of his wrist the only part of his hands not covered in grease and oil. He only had one more job to do that day before he could go home and shower, and thank god it was going to be an easy one, he just needed to change the alternator belt on a Maserati. He’d not been at work when his receptionist had taken in the car, but apparently Mr. Josten would be happy to pick it up tomorrow morning which meant Andrew hadn’t rushed to work on it. “I’m heading off Andrew!” The young blonde said, waving from the door between office and garage. Andrew nodded in her direction before bending back down over the hood of the yellow Mini Cooper. “Oh, Mr. Josten rang, he was wondering if he could pick up the Maserati at seven tomorrow morning?” She asked.

“Sure Heather, I’ll ring him and let him know,” Andrew said. He’d hired a receptionist so that he wouldn’t have to talk to clients, but he wasn’t going to make her stay behind for a single client. Andrew may be an impossibly irritable and permanently scowling man, but he wasn’t unfair.

“Thanks boss, see you,” Heather said, closing the office door. Andrew spent ten more minutes on the Mini before it was finished and he closed the hood, leaving it where it was to be moved in the morning when Old Lady Carma came and picked it up. He went into the office, checked the front door was locked and found a sticky note with N. Josten’s number attached to the phone. He dialled and the phone was answered by a female.

“Neil Josten’s phone, how can I help you?”

“Are you Neil Josten?” Andrew asked, surprised enough to detour from the plan of tell Neil and hang up. The female laughed, but it sounded overly polite and definitely fake.

“No, no. I’m Mr. Josten’s PA. I just take his calls for him and pass them on when necessary,” she replied. Andrew supposed that was fair, he didn’t like dealing with people either, and Neil’s car was expensive enough that he could clearly afford a personal assistant.

“I’m Andrew Minyard, the mechanic with his car, I was just ringing to confirm he can pick the car up at seven tomorrow, my receptionist will have his keys,” Andrew told her.

“Wonderful Mr. Minyard, thank you for calling,” she said. Andrew hung up on her, he’d done his job. Andrew went back into the garage to fix the Maserati. What Andrew hadn’t expected to find under the hood was an oil leak, a flimsy radiator cap, and the air-conditioning belt needed replacing. It probably needed the air-conditioning to be re-gassed as well. Andrew wondered if the beautiful black car had ever seen a mechanic before it broke down, and the fact that it had broken down was hardly surprising. He was going to have to come in and talk to Neil in the morning about booking in a day to do the repairs, and to give the car a service. With that sobering thought in mind, Andrew packed up for the day and went home to his cats.

***

Heather looked surprised to see Andrew so early, he usually came into work at eight instead of seven when she started, taking in the cars for the day before people had to get to work. “Good morning Boss,” she said cheerily. Andrew waved her early morning exuberance away and poured himself coffee from the pot in the back room. After he’d downed the contents of the mug with more sugar than was normal, and enough milk that most coffee drinkers would cringe, Andrew went back to the front desk and sat on it, arms crossed.

“I need to have a word with Mr. Josten about his car, he’ll need to book it in for some repairs and a service. He clearly doesn’t look after the thing,” Andrew explained when the caffeine hit his veins. Heather decided that was enough of a reason for Andrew to be in so early in the morning and returned to her computer screen to tend to the emails. At thirteen past seven, the bell above the door signalled someone had arrived and Andrew slid from his desk to turn around. The man striding into the room was a few inches taller than Andrew himself, with wavy auburn hair tousled from sleep, a pillow crease still in his cheek, and the strong smell of caffeine that followed him into the room suggested it was straight black coffee in his takeaway mug.

“Sorry I’m late, I skipped my run to get here this morning and apparently that renders me useless. Routines huh?” The blue-eyed man said. Andrew immediately despised him.

“Or just fitness junkies,” he said. The man, who Andrew presumed was Neil, smiled at this which Andrew hadn’t been expecting. Neil clearly was a runner; his legs were lean and defined and Andrew couldn’t help but notice them under his shorts. His arms were also muscled, his shoulders and waist narrow and trim, his everything flat and lickable. Andrew didn’t resent the thought, but knew better than to say it aloud or let it show on his features.

“Are you not a fitness junkie?” Neil asked, gesturing at Andrew. Andrew didn’t look down, but he knew what he’d see if he did. He may be short, but he was buff and broad and his biceps were flexed from crossing his arms.

“No,” Andrew deadpanned.

“He eats more ice cream than anyone I’ve ever met,” Heather offered, but the phone rang and she excused herself to answer it. Andrew turned back to look at Neil. He didn’t look like he made a lot of money. He was just wearing plain shorts and a tie-dyed tee shirt, the coffee wasn’t from a boutique café, and the phone in his other hand had a shattered screen. Andrew was curious about the scars though, the ones all down his arms that looked like they weren’t self-inflicted like Andrew’s own, and the burn under his left eye a near perfect circle and juxtaposed to the four slim lines on his right cheek. Who was this man, and why did he have a PA and a Maserati.

“And I probably drink more coffee than anyone you’ll ever meet, we all have our vices,” Neil said with a smile that made Andrew want to punch him in the mouth. Or maybe kiss him. Bite his lip? Andrew decided not to say that his vices were more self-destructive than ice cream, but it was none of this man’s business that he smoked. “You don’t talk much do you?” Neil said, and Andrew decided he’d like to definitely punch him.

“Your car needs more than an alternator belt change, which I’ve done,” Andrew said in response, picking up the job invoice from the desk. He turned it to show Neil, pointing at the list of required jobs that needed doing. Neil winced looking at the recommended repairs and sighed, sliding his phone in his pocket so he could card his hand through his hair.

“Is the car going to blow up if I drive it today?” Neil asked. Andrew narrowed his eyes at him.

“Not necessarily, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said firmly. Neil’s lips twitched in a smile.

“But it won’t kill me if I drive it today?” Neil pressed. Andrew resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“It won’t kill you, but I didn’t get time to do a full inspection so I can’t make any promises that it will last the day,” he said. Neil shrugged.

“I’ll take my chances then, I have a few important meetings today so I need my ride. Can I bring it in tomorrow morning for you to do all the stuff?” Neil asked. Andrew again had the conflicting urge to punch him, and then Neil blinked his eyes and the long lashes swept against his high cheekbones and Andrew wanted to shove him against a wall and kiss him. This man had no business being this attractive and this irritating.

“You can, Heather will finish up,” Andrew said, handing her the invoice to finalise and book Neil in, turning on his heel to the garage.

“Wait, Mr. Minyard?” Neil said. Andrew stopped at the doorway and turned, eyes narrowed. “I’m Neil by the way, nice to meet you,” he said, eyes not subtly roving Andrew up and down. “Really nice to meet you.” Andrew didn’t warrant this with a reply, just left the room to tinker with the cars that customers actually gave a shit about.

Andrew was loathe to admit that he couldn’t get the short, arrogant, careless blue-eyed bastard out of his head all day. He was feeling equal parts resentment and intrigue towards him, which just made him wish that the Maserati would break down on him today to knock that sexy, smug smile off his pretty face. Andrew threw the wrench he’d been using into toolbox and clenched his fingers into fists. Fuck that stupid car. Fuck Neil Josten. Fuck this day. Andrew wasn’t even sure why Neil had gotten so under his skin. Why did the fucker have no survival instincts? If a mechanic says your car needs to be fixed, then you, an ignorant asshole, should let him fix your damn car? Andrew isn’t a liar, he wouldn’t just say their needs to be repairs to make more money. That car was a risk to the environment, to spectators, to fucking Neil. “Hey Andrew, a tow truck is pulling in!” Heather called from the office. Andrew groaned. Which one of his useless customers had gotten into an accident this time? He stalked to Heather and stepped around her to look through the glass front of the shop and felt his lips curve in a satisfied smile. The Maserati was on the back of the tow truck and Neil Josten was climbing down from the cab in his tie-dyed tank top and a shit-eating grin on his face. Andrew pushed open the front door and crossed his arms beside the truck.

“Hey Minyard,” the tow trucker said, nodding at him.

“Hey man, just drive it straight in,” Andrew said, jerking his head in the direction of the open garage door.

“You got it,” the trucker said, beginning the somewhat complicated process of letting the car off the back of his truck. Neil stood next to Andrew to watch.

“Well, I probably shouldn’t have driven it today,” Neil said. Andrew ignored that in favour of impassively watching the car get lowered. “It started smoking and overheating on my way back from the meetings,” Neil explained. Andrew didn’t care, he’d be able to find out what was wrong when he got in the engine. “I know you’re probably closing soon, so I can pick it up tomorrow afternoon? Or even on Monday because tomorrow’s Friday…”

“I close in an hour, you can pick it up tomorrow. I’ll have Heather call you when it’s ready,” Andrew said, watching the Maserati get driven into the workshop.

“Thanks!” Neil said. Andrew looked at him then, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s my job,” he said in a bored down. Neil smiled and shrugged with one shoulder.

“Still, thanks.”

“Whatever,” Andrew said, turning to walk back into the office. He felt Neil’s gaze on him until he disappeared into the workshop. Andrew eyed the Maserati before turning his back on it to finish the Toyota he’d been working on before he got interrupted.

It only took Andrew twenty minutes to finish that job and he went over to the Maserati to do a proper inspection and find all of its faults and damages. After half an hour, Andrew had catalogued an alarming number of repairs to do. He went into the office as Heather was gathering her things and she looked a little startled to see him.

“Everything okay Boss?”

“Yeah, you go, I just gotta sort some stuff out,” he said, waving her away. She said goodbye, grabbed her cardigan and left, locking the door behind her. Andrew pressed the button on his keys and heard the workshop roller door close before booting up his own computer in the office and creating an invoice for Neil and getting an estimate for how much it was going to cost. It wasn’t cheap, and on principle and because Andrew was a goddamn professional, he’d need to ring Neil for permission before doing that amount of work on his physical for that total price. He could leave it for Heather to do when she got in at seven, but a glance at the clock said it was one minute to five, he may as well just get it done. He dialled the number from yesterday and the same young female’s voice answered.

“Hello, Neil Josten’s phone, can I help you?”

“It’s the mechanic again, can I speak to Neil?” He asked. There was a small pause and Andrew waited, toying with a pen on his desk.

“Neil isn’t here right now, he’s gone for a run, can I take a message?” She replied. Andrew rolled his eyes, of course the fitness junkie had gone for a run, how dare he miss his evening exercise after missing his morning exercise.

“No, I’ll have my receptionist try in the morning,” he answered her and hung up before she could reply. Andrew put the pen back it the mug on the desk and switched his computer off, ready to be done with the day, and nearly missed the knock on the glass door. Nearly. He looked up and did a double take when he saw Neil standing there in much the same outfit, just with shorter running shorts on and sweat dampened skin, neck and hair. He was carrying a plastic shopping bag and he looked a lot less arrogant, and a little more uncomfortable. Andrew stared at him for a long moment before going over and unlocking the door, opening it wide enough to stand in the way and not let him in.

“Hey,” Neil said, looking sheepish.

“My clients don’t make a habit of visiting me four times in two days,” Andrew told him. Neil shrugged with one shoulder.

“Most people are probably scared of you,” he mused. That made Andrew smirk.

“Probably,” he allowed. “And you’re not?” Neil touched the burn on his cheek with the tips of his fingers and shook his head.

“Nah, hot blonde guys with perpetual scowls don’t scare me, even if they are convicted criminals.”

“It was juvie, not Alcatraz,” Andrew said, tilting his head to the side and pretending to ignore the fact that the pretty boy had called him hot. “You searched me?”

“I did, I was curious,” Neil agreed easily.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. “Your car is going to take a whole day of work and a couple grand to fix.” Neil waved that away and proffered the bag to him. Andrew stared at it, wanting to look inside, but not wanting to give Neil that satisfaction.

“Why aren’t you scared of me? You searched me, you know what I did,” Andrew mused.

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Neil replied. The look on his face suggested he knew more than just the aggravated assault charges that had landed him in juvie or the incident where he’d beat four guys nearly to death and landed himself on court ordered medication when he was seventeen. Andrew wondered if he knew that he’d killed his mother, although that was impossible because only his twin and his cousin knew about that and this man was nothing to them.

“You should be scared, I could cut the brakes on your car and make it look like an accident," Andrew told him. Neil laughed and Andrew stared hard at him so he knew he wasn’t joking. It wasn't until Neil stopped laughing and shrugged did Andrew realise Neil knew he wasn't.

"Are you going to?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious. Does this man have a death wish? What the fuck?

"I haven't decided yet," Andrew told him.

"Well, you let me know when you've figured that out," was Neil's easy reply.

"You'll be the first to know." Neil laughed again and held the bag between them towards Andrew, clearly assuming Andrew had grown more comfortable and would take the item. Andrew rolled his eyes and yanked the bag from his grip, looking into it. Two pints of ice cream and two plastic spoons.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Ice breaker? Peace offering?" Neil said, his cheeks a little pink as if he was suddenly embarrassed. Who knew, maybe he was.

"Why?" Andrew asked. He hated asking why, he liked already knowing the answer to things, and this stranger was an enigma. A problem Andrew wanted to solve.

"Maybe it's just an excuse to talk to you," Neil said quietly. Andrew narrowed his eyes at him.

"You already noticed I don't talk much," Andrew pointed out. Neil flashed a smug grin at him.

"You seem to be doing a good job of it now," he said. Andrew wanted to slap him. No, he definitely wanted to kiss him. Andrew scowled to keep the thought from registering on his face and stepped away from the door, holding it open with his foot and letting Neil in. They sat in the two armchairs in the corner that customers could sit in while they waited for their cars, and Andrew took one of the pints of ice cream, choosing the overly chocolate marshmallow creation. Neil looked content with what turned out to be a peach and mango sorbet. They sat in silence while they opened their sweets and left the rubbish in the plastic bag, and then Neil started talking. He told Andrew what he did for work, what his meetings had been about, why he had a personal assistant, his love for running and Exy. He spoke about his best friend Kevin Day who Andrew had heard of because he was a famous sports commentator that annoyed the shit of Andrew most evenings when he drove home from work. He even offered an explanation for the scar on his cheek. Everything he said was a lie.

“You really do not talk much,” Neil noticed after a long while. Andrew flicked him a bored look and swallowed a spoonful of ice cream.

“Is everything you say a lie?” He asked. Neil wasn’t able to hide the surprise that flickered across his face, but he smiled nonetheless.

“Nobody else can tell when I’m lying,” he said. Andrew was mildly impressed that he didn’t try to deny it.

“I’m not everyone else,” Andrew said.

“No, you certainly aren’t,” Neil said, voice flirtatious. “I’m not scared of you, and you can see through my lies. This sounds like a promising start to something.”

“This,” Andrew waved his spoon to indicate the two of them, “is nothing. And second of all, all I’m hearing is that I’m an angry, violent human being and you’re a pathological liar. How is that a promising start to anything?”

“You have to admit it’s interesting,” Neil pressed. “Everyone is scared of you, except me. Everybody believes me, except you. Gotta mean something, right?” He asked. Andrew stared impassively at him for a long moment, wondering if it would hurt to bite his lips and run his fingers through his hair. He supposed he’d taste like the sorbet, which wasn’t Andrew’s preference but…

“It’s ‘gotta mean’ that it’s time for you to go,” Andrew decided. Gesturing with the spoon at the front door. Neil smirked and popped the lid on his sorbet.

“Do you have a freezer here I could keep this in? I’ll grab it when I pick up the car,” he said. Andrew scowled, but grabbed the container, put the lid on his own, and went around the back to put them in the freezer. When he returned, Neil was getting to his feet.

“Speaking of the car,” Andrew said, “it’s going to cost a couple grand to fix.”

“No worries, just make it work again or whatever, I’ll cover it when I pick it up.”

“What are you, a drug dealer or something?” Andrew asked him. Neil’s grin was cruel, but the dangerous flash of his eyes was exhilarating.

“Or something,” he said. “I didn’t learn anything about you today than I didn’t already know.”

“Am I supposed to care?” Andrew asked, eyeing him. Granted, he was a little curious about this lie from head to foot. A pretty, pretty lie. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a truth, if you give me one in return.” Neil considered this for a moment before holding his hand out for Andrew to shake. Andrew looked at it for a second, heart racing at the idea of touching anyone voluntarily, but he eventually shook it.

“You go first,” Neil said.

“I hate you,” Andrew told him. Neil smiled and shrugged, still holding Andrew’s hand.

“I already knew that, try again.”

“I’d blow you,” he said. Neil’s smile grew wider, but he shrugged again.

“I knew that too,” he teased. Andrew pulled his hand away and stepped into Neil’s space.

“I want you to leave,” he said deeply. Neil quirked an eyebrow and took his own step closer so they were toe to toe.

“I thought you were supposed to be telling me the truth, because that was a terrible, terrible lie,” he said. Andrew stared into his eyes and refused to say anything else. Neil smiled at him, small and sweet, and stepped out of his space. “It is time for me to go Andrew, but I will be back tomorrow. Maybe you will have a truth for me then. But for now, I shall give you a truth on credit,” he said. Andrew waited. “I brought my car to you because I know you’ve dealt with stolen cars in the past. Be careful okay?” he said. Andrew rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. It had been painfully obvious for the better part of the evening that the car was stolen.

“I already knew that, try again,” he said.

“I’d blow you,” he said, backing out of the room. Andrew felt the hot pull of arousal in his stomach, watching as the criminal left his office.

“Tomorrow,” was all he said.

“Tomorrow,” Neil agreed, the door closing between them.

#aftg #aftg au #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil #andreil au #aftg fic

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years

Text

two peas in a pod. (f)

☙ pairing: izuku x reader

☙ theme: pro hero/expecting father deku

☙ cw/tw: profanity, mentions of sex, fluff pure fluff, dad deku, domestic, yukio midoriya*

☙ a/n-request: after re-watching BNHA one day and seeing baby deku, i felt compelled to give him his own adorable own mini me.

“P-p-pregnant!”

Deku’s emerald eyes were wide with shock, his hands waving in the air as he continued to sputter and full on panic. Sweat was crossing his brow and his freckled cheeks turned red.

“B-but how?”

You smiled and ran a hand through Deku’s unruly green hair before grabbing and rubbing his shoulders to try and calm him. The hero took a few deep breaths as he walked back and sat against the big oak desk in his office. His index finger tugged at the collar of his hero suit as the other fanned himself.

“Izu, you and I both know how it happened,” you chimed quietly and cupped his cheek, tilting his face up to look at you.

There was no possible way for the hero’s face to get redder but like always he proved you wrong. A yelp came from his mouth as he hid his face in giant scarred hands, a fucking yelp! Even at over 6 ft. and a hulking 200+ pounds, Izuku Midoriya could still become a mumbling trembling mess from embarrassment. As always it was adorable.

“Oh, oh man, y-yeah … of course,” he blushed harder before feeling you taking his hands away from his face.

“I can’t imagine what’s going on in your head right now and I’m sorry to just barge in on you here at work but … I just couldn’t wait to tell you, maybe I should’ve waited till you got home -”

The heart in Izuku’s chest dropped and he gasped, realizing how his reaction probably wasn’t what you were hoping for. Man he could be so dumb sometimes, letting his over-dramatic tendencies get in the way at the worst of times!

“No, no, no! I-I’m sorry sweetheart, that wasn’t how I meant to react … I mean I don’t know how to react. We’ve never talked about this, how are you feeling?”

You shrugged, holding Izuku’s hands and looking down at them.

“Well, I feel a little nauseous and tired but that’s normal, other than that I don’t know? You’re right we’ve never talked about, well kids. To be honest on my way here I thought about how I didn’t even know myself if I want kids or if you want kids. I actually cried, I was worried, scared.”

Izuku wrapped his fingers around your hands, securing them tightly in his hold with a reassuring squeeze.

“I mean a kid is a lot of responsibility Izu, it’s an entire other small human whose life we’re responsible for, not like I don’t believe we can’t manage but it’s a lot of work. A lot of time, patience, sleepless nights and long hours. You being a hero, having a kid … I don’t want that to be too much for you is all.”

Too much? Izuku chewed on the inside of his cheek, the sting of tears brimming his eyes.

You were thinking of him, despite what you were saying, the underlying point is that you were thinking of him - before yourself. You, the one with this lifeform developing inside of you, the one whose body would be going through changes to accommodate to that, all while he would just be there. Izuku may have been a self-sacrificing person but he was no competition when it came to you.

“Hey,” Izuku spoke softly and cupped your cheek that fit perfectly in his massive hand, “Forget about my job. For you I’d quit and leave this place without a single regret if that’s what you wanted. Forget about this being too much for me and think if it’ll be too much for you. Baby - you’re the one who would be carrying this child for 9 months, not me. If this is something you want, know that I’ll be there every step of the way to take care of you, make sure you don’t miss a single doctors appointment, rub your back and feet when you need it, get you weird foods at ungodly times, I’ll take off work whenever you need me to. I don’t need these people, this agency, I just need you! I need you happy and healthy, I need you to put yourself first this time. I love you so much with my entire heart and soul, no matter what you choose.”

Your eyes blinked at the hero, tears starting to stream down them and teeth chewing on your lip as you nervously nodded.

“With you … yes, if it’s not too much to ask. Together I know we could do it.”

Izuku smiled, sniffling as he cried softly as well and held your small face in his hands, leaning in and placing a kiss to your lips that was so full of love and joy. Your hands held onto his wrists, standing on the tips of your toes to deepen the action with a growing smile before parting and pressing your foreheads together.

“You could never ask too much of me sweetheart. I’ll do anything, get anything, be anything just for you,” Izuku hummed as he placed a hand on your hip and let his thumb brush over your stomach. “And our baby.”

Did Izuku cry at the birth of his bouncing baby boy? You bet he did, way more than you in fact. When the nurses handed him over into the hero’s arms the waterworks were unstoppable.

“He’s so small! I want to hug him but I’ll probably crush him, how will I ever be able to love my own baby if I crush him!”

You giggled thinking about the day as you loaded the washing machine full of clothes, watching as Izuku and Yukio played heroes and villains in the living room. In your husband’s hand was a Godzilla toy, your son held a Ground Zero and Shouto action figure in both of his own tiny palms with a menacing smile on his face that matched the one of Izuku’s fellow work partner.

“Die, die, die!” Yukio yelled with all his might, green unruly locks like that of his father’s bouncing in front of matching green eyes.

The kid was an exact copy of Izuku, just more freckles. His personality was brave and unwavering, there was no fear in his little body whatsoever. He’d climb the furniture and stand at the highest points with his arms flexed out and yell, “I am here, prepare to die!” Just a little mesh of Izuku and his Uncle Kat’s famous phrases.

The greenette had no idea where his own son’s unabashed spitfire bravery came from, being that when he was a toddler himself he was the exact opposite. Maybe some of it came from you, you could be sassy and a lot to handle at times but Yukio took that to another level.

However though, your kid had his sweet and precious moments that were no doubt all from his dad. He had the same adorable looks, his passion for hero’s or anything else he was interested in was just as fanboy-ish. Of course Izuku encouraged all those things, he never wanted his son to be ashamed of himself but for him to have that burning desire to fulfill his dreams and become whatever he wanted to be. There was nothing that could stop his son but himself.

You walked back into the living room, catching Yukio running and jumping on top of his father with a war cry and releasing his action figures. Izuku laughed and caught the toddler with ease, hugging him close and tickling his sides as he attacked every last freckle on his cheeks with kisses.

So much for being scared of crushing his own kid anymore, now Izuku was a confident father, a wonderful one, more than you could ever ask for.

The two rolled around on the floor laughing and rough housing, they were plain and simple boys to their core and you could never get enough of watching the two interact. Finally, sitting up and crossing his legs, Izuku grabbed Yukio from under his arms and tossed him up into the air as if he weighed nothing, the boy giggled, eliciting a high pitched squeal as he was caught safely in big protective scarred arms. Izuku smiled a lot before but now, it’s as if the smile never left his face, it was permanent. Brushing back his son’s hair, the hero kissed his forehead sweetly. Emerald eyes sparkled at emerald eyes before both sets were looking at you.

“Hey mama,” both voices spoke in sweet and happy unison.

#midoriya izuku #deku #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #oc child #yukio midoriya #fluff

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just-another-wasteland-merc · 4 years

Note

Has Prompt 32 been done yet?

[It has not! Since the dice gods keep landing on Mac, I ignored them and decided Em needs to get sick too. Also I’ve added a permanent accessory to Mac, and that’s a hair tie around his wrist. Not for himself, but for his girls. Never know when it’s needed. Thanks for the ask!]

Mac lounged on the couch with one of Em’s books, finally reading one that she had been recommending for a long time, probably close to a year. He wasn’t a huge fan of just text: he preferred comics, but he had recently re-read them all and he was out of things to read. He had to admit, the one she recommended was pretty good. It took him a while to get into it, but now he was actually enjoying himself.

He didn’t even hear Duncan run into the living room or see him come to a stop and loom next to him.

“Dad, Mom’s usually up by now,” he said.

Mac jumped, then sighed, marking the page he was at before he closed the book on his thumb, intent on continuing for a while yet.

“I’m letting her sleep in,” he replied. “Your mom’s been working hard lately, and she needs some time to rest.”

“Oh, okay. Should I make my own breakfast?”

“Sure, bud. Let me know if you need something warmed up.”

He bounced away to the fridge, and Mac continued reading. He settled into the couch more once he was sure that he wasn’t needed.

“Bud, where’s your sister?” Mac asked after a few minutes.

“She’s still playing in our room,” he replied. “I was just really hungry.”

“Make sure she comes out soon for breakfast soon, okay?”

“Sure, Dad.”

He heard the sound of running feet a few minutes later, then the door to the bathroom suddenly slammed shut, and Mac jumped again. He was on his feet in a second, heading down the hall. Katherine poked her head out, but Mac waved her off.

“It’s okay, princess,” he said softly. She nodded and ducked back into her room. He stood outside the door, and knocked a couple of times.

“Em?” he called.

The sound of retching and eventually vomit answered him. He bit his cheek, then let himself in. Her head was halfway in the toilet bowl by the time he reached her, and he touched her back before he pulled her hair back, tying it with a hair tie that he now constantly wore around his wrist.

She groaned. “RJ..”

He shushed her. “I think you ran yourself right into the ground this time and caught a bug, sweetheart.” He watched as she nodded.

“‘M sorry,” she whimpered, resting her flushed cheek on the cold porcelain. Mac pulled her to him to rest against him instead, rubbing her arm as they sat on the bathroom floor.

“It’s not your fault,” he replied. He then noticed how warm she was, and put a hand on her forehead. “Jeez, angel. You’re burning up. Come here, hang onto me.”

He adjusted himself to a kneeling position, gathered her in his arms, and stood. He carried her back to bed, covering her back up with the blankets. He crouched by her at the side of the bed, running his thumb along her cheekbone. He smiled softly when she closed her eyes at his touch.

“Just uh.. Stay here,” he murmured. “I’ll chat with Dunc quick and be back with some stuff to help, alright?”

She barely nodded, already halfway back to sleep. She couldn’t tell how long he was gone, it felt like five seconds when it was really around ten or fifteen minutes. Em opened her eyes with a lot of effort- her eyelids felt like lead, and saw him with a cloth in his hand, dabbing at her forehead.

Cool. Damp. She was aware enough to register that. She tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. She tried to reach for him, but he easily caught her hand with his and kissed her knuckles.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

She sniffed, and shuddered suddenly.

“Let me take care of you,” she heard. She nodded, and closed her eyes again.

When she woke up, she was in his arms, and he was asleep. It was dark, and she heard only a few things from outside, probably a couple of Sanctuary’s guards chatting. She shifted a little, accidentally rousing Mac.

“What’s up?” he asked, barely aware.

Words were hard to form, so she grunted. He sleepily chuckled. “Close your eyes, Em. It’s okay.”

Her eyes closed again. She opened them, and it was morning. She was alone in bed. Had she dreamed the previous day? She had no idea.

Until Mac came in. “Hey, you,” he said with a smirk. “Your fever broke last night. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep so much. How do you feel?”

She sat up, rubbing an eye. “Yesterday happened?” she blearily asked.

He chuckled. “Yep. You were sick. I did the best I could, but I also asked Curie to come by and check on ya. Good thing I kinda paid attention the last time I was sick, huh?”

She smiled a little. “Thank you, RJ.”

“Hey, you take care of me. It’s only fair that I take care of you.” he leaned in and kissed her temple. “But I’m not kissing puke breath.”

She giggled, and swatted his arm.

#em and mac take the commonwealth #robert joseph maccready #maccready #fallout 4 #fallout4 #duncan maccready #rj maccready #i love everyone who reads this #thanks for the ask!#its an ask!

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ellaofoakhill · 3 years

Text

The Ice Cream Pail

Meline woke with a stretch and a groan. It was the last afternoon of September. She dressed, opened the kitchen window, had a quick breakfast of timothy bread and a saskatoon with tea, and gathered her medicine bag, her staff, and her mantle, along with her pack. Tonight was a gathering night.

In the time between times, after sunset but before the first star, Meline whistled a tune and opened her door. And jumped back with a start.

Fetched up against her door was an ice cream pail. It was upside down, and poking from beneath it was a plastic bag. It was the bag, snapping in the breeze, that made Meline jump back. It would’ve caught her full in the face if she hadn’t moved. As it was, the bag did touch her braid. The smell of burning hair filled the room, and Meline was seized with a fit of coughing.

Once she recovered, Meline used the tip of her staff to shut the door. A bit of bag still poked in under the jamb, but Meline was not about to open the door again. She cut off the smoking tip of her hair.

“Okay,” she said to herself, “I have a plastic bag and ice cream pail sitting over my front door, which will burn me down to nothing if I touch them. No problem. I’ll just stroll out my back door and go get help!”

She opened her back door and stared at the enormous plastic bag sitting over it. It had cuts and holes in it, and out of these poked more plastic bags. It wasn’t directly in front of the door, at least, but the narrow stair leading up from Meline’s back step left no way around it. Even in the gentle breeze, the waving, snapping bits of plastic would be sure to strike her.

Meline took a deep breath. Maybe tonight was not going to be a gathering night.

She went to her bedroom window and started piling furniture. Once her room was in complete disarray—it had taken a long time to get the bed, the dresser, and her bookshelves to cooperate—she climbed up on her dresser and tried the window. It slid open. Grinning to herself, she ducked her head through, then her shoulders. Chest and waist just slipped through, and then Meline’s hips caught. She scraped and pulled, but the moss kept breaking just as she got purchase. She looked back over her shoulder. No, she thought to herself, I’d never make it out this window any time after my six hundredth birthday.

After some wriggling and pushing, and more cursing than many fey would expect of her, Meline tumbled back into her room, whacking her skull against the headboard of her bed. Rubbing the sparrow’s egg swiftly making itself known, she went to her kitchen. She pulled out her measuring string. Her hips gave her no chance against the kitchen window.

Meline took a few deep breaths. “My front and back doors are blocked. I cannot escape through my windows. I blocked my cellar door last autumn with a rock bigger than Havel could lift, and it’s outside, where I can’t touch it, so my magic’s out.”

It was getting dark. Meline spoke a word of power, and her wall crystals glowed to life. She blinked, and looked back at them.

She hopped down from the window, and took out a small chrysoprase box. She lifted the tarnished silver clasp, and flipped up the lid. On the bottom of the lid was a crystal mirror. In the box was a series of square glass beads. Each bead had a letter in the Feyish script embossed in it.

She spoke a word of power, and the mirror flashed to life. Meline saw she had sixty-four unwatched messages. With one finger Meline tapped the letters that spelled Ella’s name. Shot in the dark.

“Fairy not found.” Meline supposed, since they’d been exchanging letters for almost three months, it should be unsurprising that Ella didn’t have a scrying mirror.

Evelyn was next on the list. The mirror crackled, and then Evelyn appeared in the mirror.

“Hi, Evelyn, it’s—”

“Hello, this is Evelyn and Vedris of Pondside. We’re out at Oak and Stone just now, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving a short message, we’ll get back to you soon.” A thought seemed to occur to the Evelyn in the mirror. “Oh, if this is Archie, we reached an accord with the crayfish. And Meline, we’ll be expecting you for lunch night after the first quarter. Ta-ta!”

Meline bit her tongue to keep from cursing. When the mirror chimed, she said, “Evelyn, it’s Meline. I have an emergency, and can’t get out of my house. If you could recruit a stoat or a fox, or even a couple leopard frogs to come help, I’d be very grateful. I hope you’re well, and you get back very soon.” She closed the box, waited a moment, and re-opened it.

Her parents were much too far away to be of any help. Felix was at a concert in Oak and Stone. Gillian was visiting her in-laws until the first quarter. Julian was on his nectarmoon—Meline remembered after scrying she’d attended the wedding. Millie was actually home. She was also forty thousand years old, mostly deaf, and altogether unable to do anything herself to help. She said she’d try to flag down a nice bunny, though. Meline thanked her, and patiently explained that rabbits did not like being called bunnies, and never had, and it hadn’t been acceptable to call them that for over three thousand years. She wasn’t sure how much Millie heard and how much she pretended not to hear.

So that was every fairy Meline knew and trusted outside Oak and Stone. The fluttering plastic under her door mocked her.

She went back to her kitchen window. She laid a hand on the bare earth. She spoke a word of power, felt it ripple in the ground. She took a deep breath. And howled at the top of her lungs. “Is there anyone who can help me? I’m trapped in my house!”

How could the normally sweet sound of cricket song, she wondered, suddenly become so grating? The moon started to rise.

A quarter of an hour later, she did the same again. And then again. And again. By the fifth time, she didn’t care what she said, if someone would just pay attention. Just as she finished a stirring tirade which would’ve turned her father’s face permanently red, and stalked away from the window, she heard a flap. She turned back, and flushed. A red bat was crouched by her window with a broad grin.

“I was just flapping past, dear,” she said, wiggling her impressive ears, “looking for moths, and couldn’t help but overhear. What was that you said about the wood-rasp and the cricket strigil?”

Meline’s face could’ve boiled granite. “Nothing important!”

“Oh, well, have a fine night, then!”

Meline’s hand shot out. “Wait!” The bat stopped and turned around. “Alright,” Meline said, “what’s your name?”

The bat pricked up. She swung her impressive wing around in a tottery bow. “Maia Squeak, at your service.”

Meline gave a perfunctory curtsy. “I’m Meline of Wild Rose. If you deliver a message for me, I can give you four cutworms for your trouble.” “Ooh!” Maia squeaked. “The babes do love their cutworms! What’s the message?”

“Uh… give me a moment?”

“For four cutworms I’ll wait an hour,” Maia said as Meline dashed to her cupboard and pulled out an envelope and a sheet of mothwing parchment. She took a quill and wrote:

Ella,

There’s a plastic pail over my front door, and a plastic bag blocking the back. I can’t get out of my house. I’ve scryed everyone I know. Help will likely not come until late tonight at the earliest. I’m okay, but please come quickly. I l

Meline.

She threw the letter in the envelope the instant the ink was dry, addressed the envelope, and gave it to Maia. “Take that to Ella of Oakhill,” she said. “She lives in the oak by the house in the yard on the far side of the pasture. Please hurry.”

Maia nodded her head. She crouched, adjusted her grip on the letter, and sprang forward, digging her wrists into the ground. Her long arms extended, vaulting her into the air, and with a powerful flap—Meline’s shutters banged against the wall—she was a black spot in the night sky.

Meline started reading, and gave that up. There was nothing she could cook that didn’t need her to gather ingredients. She played solitaire, and Fey’s Bend. She cleaned her kitchen, the living room, and the dining area. She even tried to rearrange her bedroom furniture.

The night was old when she sat at the table, poured herself a goblet of rosehip wine, and munched on a honey biscuit. She glared at the plastic poking out from under her front door.

“I hope Ella gets here soon,” she said, to hear someone talk. “She’ll probably bring Coarser, and Havel.” She chuckled to herself. “He’ll make someone very happy someday.”

Meline mulled her half-finished goblet. “Ella’s not impossible to read, but hard enough. Is that how nobles are? Different manners, different sensibilities?” She sipped. “It’s been nice, you know? Having someone to talk to, who clearly wants to talk to me. We’re really different—she’s a lord, I’m a witch, she works metal, I harvest the fruits of the earth, she’s tall and strong and has the ageless beauty of a glacier lake and I… can’t squeeze out my bedroom window.” She swished her wine. “So… why do I think she loves me back?”

Still thinking along these lines, Meline was starting on her second goblet when a sound rolled through the window that stopped her heart.

Ella’s horn. Just on the edge of hearing, but she’d recognize it anywhere. Meline rushed to the door and flung it open.

The bag flapped up and snagged on her wrist. She cursed, wrenching her hand back and slamming the door. Her hand turned angrily red in seconds, and blisters started rising on the last two fingers.

The horn sounded again as Meline, cradling her hand, grabbed a pot from her kitchen. The redness was spreading. It’d be above her elbow in minutes if she didn’t do something. She

dumped six cups of fine clay and one of charcoal in the pot, and added the last of her water. She mixed them until the consistency was even.

She pulled out a small sealed jar labelled “Fairy Tonic”. She unscrewed the lid—the pain grew only slightly more agonizing—and, with a dropper, squeezed three drops on her tongue.

She swallowed, and resealed the jar. Then she immersed her hand in the clay, and let out a sigh. Her hand only felt like someone was burning it.

She allowed herself a moment to savour the relief before she began speaking. Words of power flowed from her tongue. As the lights around the room dimmed, the clay began to glow. Softly at first, but as Meline layered word upon word, it glowed brighter, until it blazed like a white sun.

The air thrummed. Meline was so focused she didn’t notice the third horn blast, much closer, or Maia land outside her window, beady eyes wide with wonder.

Meline took a deepest breath, spoke one final word, and the magic ended. The clay went out, and the only light in Wild Rose shone in through the windows.

Meline put a hand on the worktable to steady herself. Even with the tonic, she was dead on her feet. She slid her hand out of the clay, which crumbled as she moved. It was bone-dry and steaming. She felt her hand. It was slightly warm, and had the waxy, bumpy texture of burnt skin. She’d keep an eye on it the next few nights, but the poison had likely been drawn out.

“Meline!” She looked up at the window. Maia, whom she’d just realized was there, hopped aside as Ella came into view. “Are you alright?”

“You came.”

Ella grinned. “Of course I came! Now are you alright?”

Meline nodded. “Yeah.” She’d never let me live it down if I tell her how this happened. “There’s the ice cream pail out front, and another bag at the back door. The pail’s got a bag stuck under it.”

“I’ll see to them,” Ella said, “In the meantime, stay put. Havel’s coming behind with the rest of the gear.”

Meline waited by the front door. There was a tapping and a hammering, with muffled curses. Plastic scraped against wood and earth. Meline saw the plastic under her door draw tight. She eased the door open, and it slid out and away. She closed the door again.

After a short pause, there was a knock. Meline opened. She rushed forward as Ella lowered her head. Her forehead banged against Ella’s helmet. Their stifled curses turned to laughter.

Then Meline’s arms were around Ella, and Ella’s were cradling her, her fingers stroking Meline’s hair.

They held each other for a moment. “Havel is going to be disappointed he couldn’t help rescue me, I think,” Meline said, still chuckling.

“Havel will be happy enough to help haul away this trash,” Ella said.

Meline was crying. The wet spot by her ear suggested Ella was likewise.

Ella spoke so gentle and quiet Meline would’ve missed it if her mouth hadn’t been so close.

“I love you. Please don’t scare me like that again.”

“No promises,” Meline said. They both chuckled, a bit wetly. Meline turned her head, raised Ella’s visor, and kissed her. “I love you too.”

#the fairy tales of ella and meline #tftem #the ice cream pail #chapter 10 #my original work #fantasy #lgbtq+#romance #fairies #iyashikei #healing #fairy tales #all ages #fey #fae #magic #family #strong female protagonists #backyard fantasy

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jksangelic · 5 years

Text

peaches & piercings (m)

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: punk!jimin, e2l, college au, very explicit smut, one-shot, jimin is a whole asshole

↳ pairing: cheerleader!reader x punk!jimin

↳ warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, sub/dom themes, casual sex, be t r ay a l, alcohol (and weed? idk) consumption, oral sex (male receiving), squirting, thigh-fucking, kind of exhibitionism?, jimin is pierced (that’s all i’ll say), just expect the worst from me tbh

↳ summary: jimin, dipped in hair-dye and pierced in so many places that you just couldn’t keep track, doesn’t think you’re his “type”. you call bullshit.

↳ note: i reallyreallyreally hated this fic. loved the idea, hated how i wrote it. i’ve had this bad boy sitting in my archives for months and months and months and couldn’t gather the courage to post it until NOW! partially because this is an apology fic for my inactivity and more so because i just think i’ve read it too many times that at this point, i’m just being nit-picky and need to move on.

a special thanks to the lovely @14statelier whomst unwillingly received dong pics for the sake of this fic. i’m so glad i found someone as sweet as you to beta for me + become an even better galpal! love u always xx

also thanks to my gal @jungshookz, i’m pretty sure (78% positive) i sent her my idea via snapchat and was probably inspired by her in some way, per usual.

OKAY i’m done you can read now hehehe

↳ words: 11.6k

↳ parts: one | two (complete)

“Jungkook, if you’re not going to throw it then get your grabby hands off my waist,” you warn, eyeing him as he stands behind you and delays in one-manning you into an extension or ogling your ass in your skirt.

“You’re just so wobbly today, I’m waiting for you to chill out a bit,” he lies with a smirk. You smack his hand but exhale deeply as you firmly grasp his wrists and count.

“1, 2!” With mutual timing, Jungkook dips down with you before heaving your body above, squatting to catch your heels mid-air, and pumping back up into an extended position. He’s right, you wobble a bit, calling out, “Bail!” and feeling his hands disappear beneath to re-catch your thighs and bring you down safely on your toes. You curse silently under your breath but pat Jungkook’s shoulder as a symbolic “thank you”.

“It’s too fucking early for this, I’m tired,” you say, only making excuses for yourself.

“Well, liven up. The doors are going to open soon and no freshmen want to join a failure of a cheer team.”

“Hey, stop bickering,” the captain, Suzy, orders, “Y/N, you’re fine to just handle the flyers, I’ll stunt with Jungkook.” You squish her into an exhausted hug.

“This is why you’re captain,” you coo.

With that, some of the staff open the gym doors, welcoming an intimidatingly large group of people in with smiles. You fake one yourself, ready to get this over with as soon as possible so you can go back to your dorm and sleep. Within ten minutes, you had a group of girls and a handful of brawny guys already watching Suzy and Jungkook’s exhibition, a mixture of oohs and ahs being rewarded. You handed each of them a thin, poorly-made flyer with pixelated clipart of a girl doing a toe-touch before they scrambled.

After a while, most of the initial commotion dies down and you people-watch each clueless face, thinking how adorable they are, so young and so lost, as if it weren’t you only a few months ago. You’re only a sophomore, but in your head that gives you enough authority to judge the freshmen.

You snap out of your daze upon boots clicking in the distance, soon revealing a man seemingly darting through the crowds to exit across the other side. You would’ve ignored him if it wasn’t for his peachy-tinted hair, long and slicked back atop and close-shaven near his neck, his thin but fit stature dressed in all-black, and the glint of metal, that you soon realized was a septum piercing, in his nose. He has a dark sleeve consuming his right arm and you wonder what eighteen or nineteen year old has a fully-developed sleeve.

Although his eyes were covered with chunky black sunglasses (in the gym, at that), the rest of his appearance sent your pierced-and-tatted-hot-boy alarm berserk. Suddenly awake, you wait for him to head closer to your booth before hopping next to him.

“Hi there, freshie. Care to take a tryout flyer for this year’s cheer team?” you ask with a pitch that’s much higher than your own, kindly handing him one of the shitty-looking papers. He mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch but speaks before you can ask him to clarify.

“Not a freshman. Do I look like someone who cheers? I’m just looking for the counseling center to turn in my transfer papers.

“Also, can you, like, give me some personal space?” he continues in a mock valley-girl tone.

You jump back, completely caught off guard with his sudden hostility and attempting to regain your composure by clearing your throat. Someone must’ve shoved a stick up his ass this morning.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Once you leave the gym, you head right, pass two sets of restrooms, head left, and it’s behind the big statue where the foyer is.” Your voice sounds much better.

His eyebrows rocket upwards over his glasses, completely frazzled by the number of directions you gave him, “Shit, okay. That’s a lot.”

“Here, I’ll just walk you,” you say, not giving him any time for him to probably decline. You don’t even question if he’s following you or not, the obvious clunkclunkclunk of his boots giving it away.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t try to talk to you on the way to the counseling center. At most, he walks side-by-side, at least three meters between you for good measure. And even though it’s pretty clear he doesn’t want to talk, you ring him out a little more anyway.

“So, you’re not a freshman. Underclassman or upperclassman? And you’re a transfer? From where?”

Pass two sets of restrooms and head left.

“Senior. From Busan.” He doesn’t even show a hint of feeling. Emotion. Does this guy even breathe?

Straight until the statue in the foyer.

“Great. Well, it was nice to meet you, senior from Busan. I’m Y/N. If you ever need help or anything, feel free to ask me,” you deadpan, swiveling on your feet to salute him.

He leans on one hip, taking a hand with an incredible amount of rings on it and pushing his sunglasses over his hair like a headband. You certainly weren’t expecting a reveal of the kindest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He almost looks permanently sleepy—eyes drooping flat on the lid. Your trance distracted you from his brief once-over, unpredictably impressed by your looks, if he had to admit it.

“It’s Jimin. Jimin, senior from Busan. See you around, cheerleader,” he says with a sly tilt of his lips before swinging the door open and slithering into the office. Past all the glitter and bright colors that poured out of that hideous uniform of yours, Jimin found you really cute.

Jimin waits patiently for the front desk to call him up, lounging in one of the hard, black plastic chairs that never failed to give his ass cramps. Though he didn’t seem like it to new faces around the campus, he was ecstatic to be starting college again in a whole new atmosphere. He even got to room with another male originally from Korea, Min Yoongi, in a small condo not too far a walk from the area.

He could even prospect cuties like you during his year, undoubtedly positive he could busy himself judging by the attention he’s attracted so far. All it would take is a hungry stare, a lick of his lips, an all-knowing smirk. It was easier here than it was back home, if not child’s play. He could have you in three hours flat. But then he thinks of you choosing the obnoxious cliché of college cheerleader and cringes at the idea of associating himself with such… American-ness. He could at least go for some sort of indifferent, grunge hipster that might actually have some thought to her. Yeah, more his style.

The woman at the front finally calls for him, so he arranges his papers and shoos away any daydream of hooking up with the girl in a tight skirt and ankle socks.

Taking the long route back to the gym, your imagination sputters through all the possible reasons why you should hate that guy, bad-guy radar ringing and shrieking and threatening to punch you square in the eye if you even think about it. Eventually, it comes to the conclusion that he was just new, he was probably having a rough moving-in, and you shouldn’t judge a transfer by their hair. Book by its binding? You don’t really remember how the saying goes in this situation.

“Hey, good job on snaking yourself out of flyer duty. What, did you bang Asian Hot Topic on your way?” Jungkook snickers.

“And did Cait break up with you because you can’t dom for shit? Hand me my jacket.”

He guffaws, practically throwing the clothing at your face, “We didn’t break up, asswipe. How am I supposed to act when she suddenly calls me ‘daddy’ without previous warning? I’m not ready to be a father.”

“Kook, you’re dumb as shit. Maybe I should bang Asian Hot Topic and give you pointers of how a real dom works their magic.”

Jungkook crosses his arms in denial, “Pfft, you don’t even know him. He could be a receiver for all you know.”

One, two, three seconds. You both chortle at the impracticality.

You take one final look in the body mirror, adjusting the slinky grey dress and hanging an oversized burnt-orange corduroy jacket over your shoulders for that final touch of unnecessary, but fashionably-adept, garnish to your outfit cupcake. Not having enough time to do your hair, you sweep it over to one side and leave it as is.

“You look fine and you’re ten minutes late so get out already,” your roommate, Sara, whines. She practically pushes you out, slamming and locking the door for emphasis.

Waving off your discombobulated roommate, you start your trek to the humanities building (which is so far away) with a skip in your step. A new school year meant new people, new classes, more lunchtimes with subpar food and occasional parties that could potentially lead to you getting arrested. Who knows!

A new school year, however, didn’t mean that you would know your way to your new class apparently. Bummer.

It’s only by your fourth circle and a glance at your phone that you panic, fifteen minutes somehow passing in the midst of your scrambling. Pace quickening, you pull out your paper with sloppily written notes of what class room number was at which time, simultaneously half-jogging past classrooms and—

“Oof!”

You land straight on your ass.

“Ow, watch where you’re going stu—oh, it’s you.”

You look up groggily, pain stinging through your legs from the brunt of your fall and lazily making eye contact with a pair of puppy dog eyes. Jimin stands above you, rubbing his chin where, you suppose, your forehead made rough contact with and indiscreetly staring at your bright blue panties where your dress failed to cover.

Hopping up and dusting yourself off, you pick up your fallen bag and paper before glaring at him, “Sorry, I got lost and wasn’t paying attention.”

He scoffs, “Aren’t you the cheerleader? You’re supposed to be, like, the girl scout of the school, right? You shouldn’t be lost.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, well. I am,” you mutter to yourself, “I don’t even think there’s a 207 in this building…”

“Oh, 207? Intro to psych, right? That’s where I’m going too,” he admits, eyes blown wide. Welp, certainly not the highlight of your morning.

“Great. By the looks of the current time, we’re both lost and,” you wave around the empty corridor, “there’s no one who’s going to help us.”

“I’m not lost. I just woke up late,” he answers nonchalantly, a warm glow to his face like he couldn’t give two damns about his class.

“W-What? Then let’s go! Where is it?”

Jimin twirls and walks a different direction, mumbling, “I’m not your escort, rich girl.”

You prattle at his comment but follow him anyway. When you find the correct lecture hall, you groan at the fact that you already passed it several times. He opens the door quietly, not even bothering to hold it for you as you scramble to catch it. A couple of the back rows look back at you two, annoyed by the minor inconvenience.

“Well. Welcome to my 10AM psychology class at,” the professor booms through the hall and peeks at his wristwatch, “10:36. Go ahead and take these two free seats.”

Jimin shrugs and walks towards the front of the room, a quiet and embarrassed you tiptoeing behind him. Being this late and having to sit next to this ass wasn’t how you wanted your first day to go at all.

For the remainder of the 24 minutes until the first break, you skim over the contents that you missed in the syllabus and want to ram your head into the closest wall. Participation and attendance by themselves are 30% of your grade, homework and assignments (thank god) being a measly 20%, and the final plus tests and quizzes a hunking remainder of 50%. What even was this system?

During your ten minute break, you silently scroll through your phone notifications, setting it down irritatingly when the hall refused to grant you enough service to respond to any of them.

“Don’t have LTE, princess? Might as well watch paint dry without your phone to entertain you,” Jimin snickers beside you. You scowl menacingly at him and he giggles more.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but back off, Jimin. Sorry I don’t, like, play the electric guitar in my free time or whatever.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, still smiling and blowing bubbles with his gum, popping them quite obnoxiously, and quite intentionally.

“What, do you think I play the electric guitar? Are you stereotyping me as some sort of garage band drop-out punk?” he jesters.

“And do you take me for some sort of pink fuzzy consumerist? You don’t know me. Buzz off.”

Jimin had definitely tucked you into his mental folder of “tough gals”; his aloof tactic of flirting not seeming to penetrate that pretty skull of yours. He could just take the path of least resistance and approach you normally, but where was the fun in that? You were too interesting a specimen to just use-and-discard.

Jimin suddenly thinks you look attractive with furrowed brows and pouted lips. It was most definitely working for you, so he lets it slide for now. When class ends, you all but bolt before Jimin can even look your way, sure he’d find another surface flaw to pick at.

You suddenly think of what all of the adults in your life have said during your upbringing: people that went out of their way to bully you were either jealous or had an embarrassingly crushing “thing” for you. Jimin, on the other hand, was just annoying.

Of course, to your dismay, class isn’t the only time you ever saw him. You weren’t totally stupid. The campus didn’t stretch for miles and you were bound to see him sometime and have to deal with the efforts of avoiding the man at all costs but fuck were you praying to whoever controls your Sim above that they would grant you some mercy.

“Just tell him to fuck off if he’s so far up your ass,” Jungkook argues, crushing his juice box in one gulp and biting his massive cafeteria burrito.

“You don’t get it, Kook. I have. So many times, in so many different instances. Did I tell you about the time I thought he was helping me get a textbook from a tall shelf but he ended up taking that last one for himself?” You angrily rip a bite from your limp sandwich. You really did hate Turkey Thursdays.

“Eh, first come, first serve. Maybe he didn’t know you were trying to grab that one.”

“My ass, Jungkook. He claimed that if I really wanted it, I would ‘do something in fair exchange’ for it. I’m not looking to going into prostitution anytime soon.”

“Respect sex workers,” Jungkook criticizes.

“Oh, no, totally. Sex work just isn’t my forte.” Kook shrugs.

“Okay,” you continue, “how about the time I went to IKEA to buy that ceiling lamp and was obviously struggling to one-trip everything from my car? The dumbfuck passed by and asked if I needed help, so I was like, ‘Yeah! Sure, it would definitely make up for the time you asked for sex in lieu of my psych book,’ but instead of helping me carry anything he took my coffee, drank some, and left.” Jungkook starts a rebuttal but you cut him off short, “Then he showed up to my work the other day, god knows how he even saw me in there, and started taking a video of me when I wasn’t paying attention!”

“What the hell,” your friend sports a face of disgust, “like, he’s stalking you?”

You scratch the back of your neck, “Well, not exactly? I think he was just maybe—see, A$AP Rocky may or may have not been playing on the speakers, and I didn’t know anyone was in the shop! So. I don’t know. I started—”

“Started rapping with a rolled up poster as your microphone,” he deadpans. Finishing your horrid sandwich, you crumple the saran wrap and chuck it at his eye, satisfied when we wails exaggeratingly.

“Maybe that’s just his way of flirting with you, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“I think he just hates my guts and thinks of me as an equal to the gum under his thick, goth boots,” you mumble.

“Does it matter? So what if Danny Phantom doesn’t like you?”

“He’s causing a problem though. Besides, everyone cares if someone doesn’t like them. It’s bullshit if they tell you otherwise; bullshit or a lack of sympathy.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Because I’m totally your friend and all but I don’t necessarily want to hear about your boy problems all the time.” You harrumph at his negligence and slump back into your seat.

There really wasn’t anything you could do about it; it wasn’t bad enough to the point of distressing tyranny. You simply couldn’t befriend the guy, it was obvious he didn’t want that. You would just have to pray to all things good that he would eventually lose interest, stop harassing you out of kindness, or have a change of heart and treat you like the saint you were.

If only it were that easy.

Sylly-week kicked ass, to say the least. Even two days prior the hectic week from hell, your body aches from partying while your wallet cries from all the textbooks and supplies you paid for.

Sara slept beside you, forehead stuck to the desk with her laptop stuck on some sort of half-assed document and you couldn’t fathom a better picture to represent college.

Although it was already around 11, you hop out of bed and throw on your windbreaker from cheer and some spandex, shuffling into a pair of your sneakers and bolting out of your room with your bag. The amount of sodium and sugar you consumed from Cup-O-Noodles and off-brand cookie dough bites made you feel disgusting, and you know running a quick mile at the gym would get your blood pumping enough to make you: 1) feel better about yourself and 2) put your ass to sleep.

The walk is short, the air still a little heavy with heat but cool enough for you to be comfortable in a long-sleeve. Some tired students exit the library, really the only other people you see at this hour. You would’ve thought it creepy if the campus wasn’t so well-lit and played background music through the announcement speakers. If you died or got kidnapped, at least it was to some groovy jazz.

You swipe your card across the sensor beside the athletic building door, waiting for that subtle beep before the gears clank and allow you to heave the door open. Immediately, the smell of sweat poorly masked with air freshener fill your nostrils and your adrenaline builds. You’re no body builder, but a run certainly sounded nice right about now.

You practically skip through the halls, rounding a corner to enter the weight room before you stop in your tracks to see someone in the room across. You squint suspiciously, peachy hair striking a very strong familiarity to…

“Jimin?” you whisper to yourself. You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s at the gym, but you are because he isn’t. He’s in the dance studio. Before you bolt, your eyes glue to his sensual movements, legs gliding across the floor and body free-flowing alongside the bass-filled music. No previous bias could deny that he looks like an angel in his room, dancing smooth as meringue and practically skating across the floor despite those clunky black boots of his; and powerful, hitting every note and beat with intention and vigor. You’ve never seen anyone dance like this.

After a few seconds, you render that you’re spying on him and continue walking, nervously scuffing your sneakers down the linoleum and immediately, and unfortunately, catching his attention.

He first sees you in the mirror. Ignores you. Then realizes it’s you and turns into the most ungraceful bag-of-bones as he scurries to pause the music and chases you down the hall.

“Hey!” he yells, grabbing your elbow.

“Don’t touch me,” you strike back, jerking your elbow out of his grasp and staring him down.

He looks apologetic, genuinely worried for a second before he breathes deep and tries again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that. Um, why are you here?”

“Um, because I can be? I was going to go to the gym, dickwad.”

It takes all of his patience not to insult you, “Okay. You’re right. Were you… were you watching me?”

You give him a sickeningly-sweet smile, “Don’t flatter yourself. I was just passing by.”

He nods solemnly, straightening his tank as if it wasn’t already wrinkled and damp with sweat, “Okay. Okay, cool.” He starts to turn before he keeps going in a 360.

“Can you keep this between me and you? That I was here? That I was here and I was—”

“Dancing?” you ask quizzically, “Why does it matter?”

His eyebrows stitch together in frustration, “Y/N, do I look like I’m a dancer?” He gestures to his piercings and his sleeve, waving his hands about in so many different places that your lewd curiosity wonders what he looks like naked—for the sake of knowing how many piercings and tattoos he has though, obviously.

“I think you look like a dancer. Just not a contemporary dancer. Did you take ballet?” you half-tease, crossing your arms and beaming slyly at him.

Jimin huffs, impatient, “Will you just keep it locked somewhere in that airhead of yours?”

“What’s in it for me, Jiminie,” you pout, “what do I get as reward for keeping your secret?”

He falters a moment, licking his plump lips and walking dangerously close, “You want a reward? I don’t take you as that kind of girl, Y/N.”

He must be delirious, eyeing him so and shoving him away, “Ew, no. I just meant, like, be nice to me from now on. And help me with psychology. That class is nothing but a memory test.”

He blinks dumbly from your rejection; who ever rejected him? He waves it off.

“Okay. I can be compliant. I won’t treat you like the rich bitch you are, and I tutor you on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Deal?”

“I’m not a rich bitch. I have student loans like the rest of the student population, thank you very much. Deal.”

You smile at each other devilishly, ready to part ways before bursting out with an instant, “Wait!”

Jimin looks over his shoulder curiously. Damn, you could really see how toned his shoulders were in that shirt.

“There’re dance majors here, is that what you transferred for?”

He turns all the way, leaning sideways against the wall and sighing, “Honestly, yes. But my family thinks I’m transferring to finish my business degree and that I would have better opportunities here. I really did it because there’s some great studios in the area but—” he catches himself rambling, “I don’t know how they would feel about my grand decision.”

You shrug, “You’re a great dancer, Jimin. Honestly, you could open your own studio here if you wanted to. You do have great opportunities.”

His sleepy eyes stare you down, a half-smile drawing itself out before he can take it back. “Give me your phone,” he orders.

You don’t know why but you do.

He dials into it with his overly-accessorized fingers, giving you a moment to get a closer look at his septum and the abundance of ear-piercings he sports before he hands it back. You’re pretty sure one of them is Gucci and you bite back a chuckle. Rich bitch.

“That’s my number. Text me when you’re free on study days.”

And with that, he re-enters his room and resumes the music.

The first time Park Jimin meets with you at a Starbucks on a Tuesday, like he instructed, you thought you somehow managed to get yourself stuck in the Twilight Zone.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. My last class ends at 3 on both days and there’s already a quiz this Friday. Help.”

You sent the text without emojis. He didn’t deserve any.

You had barely got to Instagram before he texted you back. With multiple messages.

“u text like a gramma”

“but ok”

“starbucks at 330? i’ll buy”

You giggled to yourself at his joke, sending a single “(:” and putting your phone to sleep.

To your disbelief, he really did buy you a cheese danish and a tall, iced, caramel macchiato. You sip it gingerly while he pulls his things out of his bag: a couple mechanical pencils (the industrial, expensive ones), a 1-inch binder organized by subject with dividers, and notecards. You grab them and hold them up like it’s evidence from a leading murder case.

“Notecards? You are way too organized and functional.”

He snags your pastry before you can grab it and takes a huge bite, “Yeah, but ih’s gonna het you a bedder ghrade.”

Whining, you get it back after his second bite, somehow only half remaining.

“Okay. Let’s get started. It should only be a vocab check because that’s really all he’s asked us to study so far. We’ll start with my wonderful notecards,” he waves them in the air for effect, “and see which ones you do and don’t know.”

You nod, waiting for the chaos to begin. Who were you to tell him that you haven’t actually studied any of the vocab yet? He holds the first one up. Abductive reasoning.

“Uhh… is that like, something detectives use on kidnapping cases?”

“Wh-What? No. Well—are you thinking of ‘abductions’? Abductive reasoning is being able to use the two states of induction and deduction alongside your intuition to reach a conclusion,” he pauses and tilts his head a little, “ I guess the best analogy is giving out a verdict on a criminal case. Without being 100% sure, they use the evidence to tie together as many different points as they can to come to a conclusion. So, I mean, you got it wrong, but you can easily remember the definition with that.”

You’ll take what you get (majority of his reasoning went through one ear and out the other, anyway), wiggling your eyebrows in justified approval. Jimin laughs at you, eyes squinting to slits and shaking his head. He takes notice that you aren’t wearing much makeup today, your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a tad red with irritation and a bit dry where the sun burnt and eyes daintier without so much eyeliner on them. You threw on a tank and some workout shorts and look like the epitome of… comfortable, in your head. Jimin thinks you look effortless.

“Park?” you wave your hand in front of him.

He catches himself staring and jumps out of his seat, chair screeching across the tile.

“Sorry,” he coughs, “I’m going to take a whiz.” Stupid. He practically trips over himself to get to the restroom.

You watch him hurry to the back. He probably had much better things to do than help you study in the middle of the afternoon. A couple of younger girls watch him as he passes, giggling like a pack of fangirls and combing their hair out of their faces. If they only knew.

Did he even have a girlfriend? Most likely not, right? He only just transferred here and despite his well-endowed looks, he was still intimidating. Like a giant “don’t touch, I bite” sign constantly hung around his neck.

He comes back shortly, and before you can deduct that you would rather save the embarrassment than to quench your curiosity, you ask, “Are you dating anyone?”

“Because you get a lot of followers,” you reason, shamelessly pointing out the girls who ogle his tattooed biceps. They giggle again when he looks their way. God, so many giggles.

He rubs the back of his neck nervously and that intrigues you, “No, I’m not dating anyone. I think if it weren’t for my… accessories? And the fact that I’m foreign, girls wouldn’t like me as much.” You find tiny comfort that he’s single but squish the thought away.

“How ‘bout you? Dating that guy on your team?” he retorts.

“Who, Jungkook?” you snort, “No. He has a girlfriend and he’s all brawn over brain. I’m not dating anyone, actually. I don’t like guys that are so competitive to win females strictly for the points, and there’s a lot of that here. S’gross; we’re not animals.”

“We kinda are,” he argues, but smiles understandingly.

“Okay, but not in the way where your possible significant other has to perform an instinctual mating dance?”

He juts up an eyebrow, “Really? Because I could easily arrange that.”

For the first time, you both laugh. At the same thing. Who knew that Jimin could dance of all things? And pay for your food? And actually be a nice guy who’s really smart? Thinking about it, today has gone so polar-opposite of what you expected that you contemplate if this is Jimin’s identical twin that just happens to have the same piercings and ink that bully-Jimin has.

Twilight Zone.

“Okay, let’s continue,” he says, resuming the queue of notecards.

“Define abulia.”

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved a hand in your face.

“Hm? Sorry, say it again.”

Jimin packed up his supplies, then grabs yours and tucks them into your bag, “I said, ‘Are we going to your place right now?’ You said you picked up Black Panther on DVD so I want to watch it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Cats and shit.”

You both stand up and stretch, the rest of the students in the lecture hall slowly filing out. Midterms were already approaching, which meant that you and Jimin had known each other for quite some time now. His tutoring was ditched weeks ago after you were finally comfortable with the material and able to comprehend what the professor was saying without Jimin to interpret. At first, meeting up stopped completely. You two would talk occasionally during class break and that’s all, and after a while, you just figured your deal was completed and Jimin finished his case and you both separated onto your different ways.

But then Jimin had asked if you wanted coffee at the same Starbucks you had first studied at, but for no specific reason. Just to hang out. So, you did.

Hanging out once or twice for coffee turned into twice getting lunch turned into four or five times lazing about your dorm, and now, you were just completely, wholesomely, friends. It was hard not to be on edge at the contrast of current Jimin to hell-on-earth Jimin, but you took what you could get.

“Is something on your mind? You’ve been spacing out for a long time,” he prods, taking your bag himself and throwing it over the same shoulder his own bag was on. The

walk to your dorm building was short but you could feel your feet dragging from sudden exhaustion.

“I think I’m just tired? I’m fine. Ready to Black Panther it up and all that jazz,” you chuckle. He takes the hint and resorts to quietly humming to your room rather than talking. That’s one thing you liked about him, he always knew when your mind just needed simple white noise.

Unlocking the door and jostling it out of its stickiness, you make a running jump to faceplant onto your bed. The mattress dips next to you when Jimin sits.

“I know you like cheer and all, but I think you need to take a break,” he says.

“Easier said than done. And I have mandatory captain conditioning in 3 hours,” you groan, propping your head on the palm of your hand to watch Jimin as he eats a stale bag of chips that he found on your nightstand. His face contorts in repulsion and throws the bag away.

“Okay, well, you’re not going. Tell them you’re sick. Let’s watch some DC movies and eat popcorn and have, like, a girl sleepover but I’m not a girl and I don’t want to spend the night,” he says, counting each point on his fingers.

“First of all, you lunatic, it’s Marvel not DC. Second, I don’t have popcorn. I can’t just skip conditioning because if I gain one pound Jungkook will sense it with his nose or something and attack me.”

“What,” he says in disbelief, grabbing your waist with one hand and squeezing a little, “you’re fine. You’re not going today and that’s final.” It’s not very often he touches you and as much as you try not to show it, you feel your face heat and mouth gape open and closed, ready to combust. You don’t particularly know why; guys touch you all the time (not in that way, thank you very much) but when it was Jimin, it was like you had been raised feral and failed to receive any means of human interaction.

He notices, taking his hand away as quick as he placed it and looking at the floor. Despite your lack of proper reaction, you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little twinge of disappointment. God, you’re so confusing to yourself.

“How about you? Your vampire ass won’t dance in sunlight so you must be tired too. How long do you normally dance for when you’re in the studio?”

“Well,” he lays flat on his back and stares at your popcorn ceiling (your dorm building was extremely outdated), “I try to workout at the actual gym in the morning before I get ready for class, and then I dance from 11 to whenever I feel is enough during the weeknights. That is, if no one’s there.”

“Why do you even follow this whole path of disliking mainstream trends and ‘rebelling against the world’? Isn’t that tiring? Aside from dance, do you, like, make your own skateboards and go to secret underground bars or something?” you tease. He rolls his head towards you in annoyance and mouths a “ha ha”.

“No, I just. I don’t know. I don’t like people telling me what to do or where to go or how to look,” he showcases his tatted arm. “This is all mine. I don’t want to be another puppet controlled my whole life to consume and work off a never-ending debt just so I can only live comfortably when I’m old but too old to actually live.”

“Wow, bro. That’s deep,” you pretend to smoke a pretzel stick. He continues anyway.

“Recently I made some friends that are in one of my labs. They’re from Korea too. If I’m not studying or working or hanging out with you, I’m probably with them. Partying or something,” he says, stealing away your “cigarette” and crunching on it loudly.

“Woah, you work? How do you find the time to do that?”

“Kinda. Nothing official, I just tutor people sometimes. Charge them by the hour and make some decent pocket change for food or whatever.”

You contemplate. How come he’s never charged you for your tutoring before? You ask him, studying his side profile and admiring his jawline when he talks. Flexing then easing; taut then relaxed.

“Because we had a deal. We agreed that I would help you in psych as long as you kept my secret, in which you did, so I figured that was good enough. Besides, you’re too cute to charge. I look like a bad boy but I’m not evil.” You giggle, resembling a middle-school fangirl and exaggerating a flattered stature.

Jimin laughs again, light and refreshing staccato notes that you could honestly listen to all day. It was therapeutic in its own crackhead way.

You’ve been unintentionally staring at him more and more often, Jimin finally taking notice within the last few minutes. He knew how to read a girl; how revealing they make themselves to impress him or how their eyes dim in any sort of suggestion that his hands should somehow find place on their body. But with you, he has no idea what that stare means. For the most part, you carry yourself so independently to the point of being standoffish and Jimin just can’t figure you out. He sought the day you would give in and beg for a night with him just like most of the other girls in his classes did, and when you didn’t, he wanted to know why. Not out of inflated ego or need to get into your pants—okay maybe because of that initially—but even more so that he just needed to dissect you. Know how to get you going, what kind of person you really are, which was completely different from what he originally imagined.

You were talking amidst his thoughts, not paying attention to the strings of sentences that fell out of your lips and before he knew it, he held himself directly above you, hands on each side of your head and staring right down into your disordered doe eyes.

“What makes you so different?” he asks aloud, more to himself than you. Puzzled and not under the impression that it was a rhetorical question, you shake your head.

“I don’t u-understand. What are you doing, Ji—”

He tucks a loose strand of yours out of your face, causing you to hiccup. “I feel like when I think I know you, I’m actually far from it.”

You don’t particularly know what you’re supposed to say to that.

“You didn’t ever need to get to know me. You just needed to make sure I kept your secret,” you play along. Knowing it wasn’t really the whole case, your own statement stings a little. If it weren’t to save his own ass, would he even be here right now?

Like he read your mind, he answers, “Why would I be here? I haven’t needed to help you in weeks. I’m with you all the time because I want to be. Because I—”

“Because you…?” you trail on, heart beating so hard you swear he can hear it. You wanted him to say it, maybe that’s what was keeping you from confirming your feelings. You needed validation; that this wasn’t just you or that this was some one-sided longing because you doubted someone like him could ever like someone like you.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks instead, so hesitant and delicate and worrisome all in one question and you ponder if this is the same boy you first met at orientation.

“Please.”

He dips down slowly, eyes half-closed in anticipation of what your face looks like so close, pausing an inch away when you shut your own. You feel his warmth near your mouth, waiting for that first touch, any contact, until it seems like it’s been far too long. When you peek, you see nothing but his perfect… cheekbone? He stares, jaw stuck open and eyes fluttering, at the intruder in the door before swinging himself off the bed and coughing awkwardly.

“Oh, Sara. I didn’t know you were coming home so early today,” you squeak out. You sit up yourself, brushing off nonexistent dust from the bed and watching Jimin gather his things in a rush and squeezing past a concerned Sara in the doorway. He doesn’t even turn back, ears stinging red and peeping a quick, havetogotextyoulater. Great, the asshole left you to face your roommate alone.

“Was that Jimin? Park Jimin? The fucking transfer student?”

“Oh my god, Sara, what’re you freaking out about?”

Dropping her stuff in the middle of the room, she shrieks annoyingly and grabs your shoulders, “Are you seriously fucking with the Park Jimin? Y/N. Nuh-uh. No way. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Chill out! We’re just friends. He tutors me sometimes.” Not quite a lie.

She eyes you and deadpans, “Yeah, I didn’t know tutoring also included a one-on-one session of how to have sexual intercourse.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you remove her hands, which were digging crescents into your skin, and pretend to arrange your bed, “we haven’t even kissed. You just walked in at an inconvenient time.”

Sara sighs, rubbing her temples and sitting on your bed, “Look, babe. Just be careful. I’ve been to parties with him and have heard some awful things. Shit you expect from a movie where the girl gets fucked over because the guy doesn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants. I just want the best for you, okay? He’s not as sweet as you might think he is.”

He isn’t sweet at all, you said internally. But still, your heart clenches at her words. Sure, he acts like a dick, and you shouldn’t be surprised if he really does get around as much as Sara suspects; but there was just some sort of denial that lingered. If he really was such a player, why would he have stuck around with you for as long as he has, as platonic as it has been until now?

“I… I didn’t know that. I’ll be careful,” you assure her.

All it took was a squinty-eyed smile and a tiny caress to the small of your back on the way into the lecture hall for you to completely melt into his hands. You were simply putty, magically molding into some gross, odd-smelling ball of love just because of the almost-incident yesterday. You can practically feel the radiating disappointment from Sara if she knew how easily you gave yourself up for him.

His face reoccurs in your daydreams for days, all the way up until the weekend comes up from behind and smacks you on the ass.

“Focus,” Jungkook taps you through you skirt again. Oh, or maybe it was Jungkook.

The stadium speakers blared with announcements and you’re brought back to the world of clashing helmets, captain’s orders and Jungkook’s strong hands residing on your waist for partner stunts.

You didn’t need to be reminded, you were much more stable than you were weeks ago. He throws you in the air during the signaling note of the band and catches your right foot with ease above him, keeping you stable as you pull a heel stretch and present a pretty smile. The crowd roars along, inspiring the team and singing along with the cheers.

By the end of the game, you’re exhausted, tearing down paper signs from the concrete walls and shuffling your poms into your bag in a hurry.

“Hey, are you going to the feed after? Everyone’s going, I could give you a ride,” Jungkook offers, but you shake your head.

“I’m pretty beat. I’ll go next time.” He shrugs, finding more interest in catching up to someone who is interested than trying to convince you otherwise. By the time your clean-up is done, most of the fans are gone, the stadium a comparable difference of quiet than how it was only twenty minutes ago.

“You’re sure taking forever,” a sudden voice pipes up. Outside the gate stands Jimin, all-black tank and jeans, per usual. “You looked great out there.”

You smile, suddenly awake and jogging towards him, “What’re you doing here? I thought you didn’t like football.” During all your rushing do you realize that you relax around Park, time always seeming to slow down in his presence and you dissolve into his effect.

“I don’t. Such an American moneymaker. They’re all cons.” He takes your bag like he always does, leaning against the gate and looking excited, “Mind if we stop by my place? I have something to show you. It’s not far, probably only a 5 minute walk from here.”

You nod before he even mentions how long it takes to get there, heart palpitating at the thought that he’s inviting you over. You’re sure you smelled from cheer and you probably looked like the opposing team warmed up suicide runs over your sweaty body, but you nod.

“Were you here the whole time? Or just towards the end?” you ask, slightly insecure towards the fact that he could’ve been watching you cheer.

“Was here since halftime. Got Yoongs to watch with me at the gate where I was before for the most part. He left halfway through fourth quarter though, said he got tired from seeing others exert themselves so much,” he chuckles at the thought, eyes squinting and crooked tooth visible from the side. Your heart swooned, you were even starting to notice the little things. How he acted. His habits. What he did and didn’t like.

You were in fucking deep.

“I did get to see you cheer though,” he answers your unspoken inquiry, “you looked pretty, Y/N. It’s like watching a whole ‘nother person compared to how you act outside of uniform.” You’re still stuck on the word “pretty” and nod along like you’re listening.

“You should see how people look at you,” he draws on, “like they’re entranced. Even when you were just relaxing on the sideline, not doing anything, you stand out.”

“Oh my god, Jimin, where is this even coming from? One more compliment and the world might explode from the paradox you’re creating.”

He shoves your shoulder lightly, laughing at your tomato-red face, “What do you mean? I can’t compliment you?”

“No that’s not—I just mean. You know. You used to hate me and now you shower me with praise like I’m the best person in the world. It’s just crazy how much our relationship has changed. And… And yesterday—”

“Yo, can’t believe you really stayed for the rest of the game,” a raspy voice outbursts. You just realize that Jimin stopped you in front of a house, presumably his house, as a mint-haired ball sits on the porch. He inhales from his cigarette and exhales through his nose before throwing it underneath his boot.

“Hey, Yoongs. This is Y/N. Y/N, Min Yoongi, my roommate. Has a bad smoking habit and have only recently gotten him to smoke outside.” Jimin snickers, offering a hand to lift Yoongi off the step and welcome him into some bro-hug.

“You smoke too, bastard. Just did it ‘cause I knew you were bringing someone home tonight,” Yoongi retaliates, eyeing your figure. Shivers run down your spine at the comment.

Jimin coughs unexpectedly, then anxiously laughs as he pulls your arm behind him and into the house, “We’ll be in the living room. Go sleep or something.” Yoongi only clicks his tongue in response.

“Sorry,” he says once your inside, “he can be a little too personal sometimes. He’s really nice once you get to know him.” You shake your head, giving him a comforting smile that eases the tension in his shoulders.

He settles you on the couch, host-like politeness apparent when he asks if you want anything to drink, tells you where the bathroom is, and hands you the tv remote before disappearing to find his laptop. His home was cozy, minimalist furniture often in gray, black, and an occasional blue spread throughout the rooms. You weren’t sure if the boys were attempting to be modern or if college tuition only allowed them this sort of set-up, but nonetheless, it was way nicer than you expected.

“Back,” Jimin plops onto the couch right next to you, Apple laptop unlocked to a default background. He looks to you briefly before setting up some page on Google, “Have you signed up for your classes for next quarter yet?”

He looks different, your eyes scanning over his face to figure out just what it is, “Basically, just gotta confirm and pay and whatnot. Have you, Jimin?”

It’s his septum, you discover, that he’s taken out. He looks handsome either way. Propping the laptop suddenly on your lap, he beams, “Yeah, go ahead and take a look.”

You scroll through the page, humming to yourself, “Mhm… Mhm… Accounting, business 101, contemporary repertory… God, you’re going to hate sociology with Doyard, she’s a complete psycho!” You trail, giggling at his misfortune. Once you’re done, you meet his discontent face.

It takes a few takes from his face to the screen, back to his face, until oh shit!

“Wait does ‘contemporary repertory’ mean something important?” you squeal in rushed excitement. “Is that a dance thing? Are you taking a dance class here?” Before he can even explain, you shut the laptop and safely place it on the coffee table before tackling the man, withdrawing an oof from his lips.

“Easy, girl. Please don’t break me before I even get to show up on the first day.”

“Jimin, this is amazing. You’re finally doing something you want to do, during regular hours, at that!” You nuzzle into his warm chest, “I’m so happy for you, Jimin. I hope you have fun.” His heart clenches at that; how could you be so fucking caring about him? He knew you’d be surprised, but not genuinely happy for him. His hand glides over the skin between your midriff and skirt, an inkling of a gasp floating out of your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand higher and locking eyes with yours. Time is always slow with him but now, it’s like it was screaming at you to take the opportunity. Unwinding one of your arms from around his neck, you smooth his hair up so you can see those prepossessing eyes.

“You can touch me,” you confirm just as softly. His features harden and you hope you didn’t read the situation wrong.

“I… I never got to kiss you that night.”

“Then you can kiss me now, if you’d like,” you say, pleading in your voice and it’s all he needs to hear before he burns his lips into yours. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted this,” he pants between suckles to your bottom lip. He kisses like he dances: powerful and in perfect control with his body, molding it to yours and massaging the skin he just apologized for touching only seconds ago.

You cup his face and look down at him with sultry prowess, “I want you, Jimin. I’ve always thought about this, hoping you would just make a move, idiot.” You dive back into him, his moans prominent when you lick and nip at his lip. He lowers his grip to your ass, squeezing and pushing his hips into your own.

“Well, I’ve always thought about fucking you in this cursed uniform,” he growls, forcing a giggle out of you. Grinding down into him for effect, your mouth travels to his ear so you can state a small confirmation.

“I’m flexible, babe. I’m all yours.”

He hums his praise, latching his mouth onto your neck, laving and peppering blues into your skin before he carries you off the couch. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, “Where are you taking me?”

Heading into a hallway and taking a sharp left, he kicks his door open, “I don’t know about you, hot stuff, but Yoongs doesn’t need to see you getting dicked down in our living room,” he jests. When he lays you back onto the foot of his bed, you briefly scan his room and find it hard to believe that it’s relatively clean, the posters on his walls the only thing that seemed cluttered. This guy was your high school self’s wet dream. Scanning him promiscuously, you chuckle.

“I can be into it,” you drawl playfully.

Earning an unimpressed scoff, he fingers the hem of his shirt, “You’re mine,” he sheds it in a swift pull and throws it to the side cockily. Marveling at each detailed divot and curve of muscle, you can’t help but bite your lip in frustrated anticipation. “Unless, you don’t want me,” he finishes with a tilt of his head. He knew what he was doing, simulating innocence to draw you out of your transfixed stupor to hear those three words string from your mouth. You reach out to touch his abs, tracing over linework of ink and watching him shiver from your touch. Knowing exactly what he wants to hear, you gaze into oblique eyes and mouth the words, “I do want you”.

Goading him on, you lay back and extend your legs above you, shuffling your spandex tantalizingly slow over your skin. Jimin whistles at your show, staring at the white g-string you sported under your skirt and wandering his hands over the supple skin you expose.

“Jesus, you fucking tease. Leave the skirt.” Tittering at his request, you dig your heels into his back to propel him down towards you, his ringed hands keeping himself afloat and a winning smile winking down at you. Bless your heart you didn’t faint right then and there.

He kisses you like a man starved, lips burning hot with desire and aching to be bit—so you give him that. Sinking your teeth gently into the flesh, he punishes such action with a slap to the underneath of your thigh, then holding it close to the side of his abdomen and rolling over with you on top. Practically suffocating from lack of air, you dislodge yourself, quite reluctantly, from his mouth and soothe his complaints with brief kisses to his thick neck.

“Why didn’t we do this—ah, before?” he pants. Sucking a particularly tender spot of his jugular, he moans out and bucks into your hips. You continue your way down, leaving no inch of skin untouched until you reach where his skin ends and the nuisance of clothing began.

“You don’t make things very easy for me. Can I suck you off?”

“Fuck, don’t ask. Just do it. Turn around, though, I’ll finger you at the same time,” he offers, propping himself up on his elbows as you readjust yourself with your head towards his bulge and your ass facing him, knees keeping you up on one side of his torso. “Perfect,” he commends.

Unbuckling his ridiculously tight jeans, you hook your thumbs under the denim and whisper a quick, “Up,” to pull them off when his hips lift off the mattress. Your pride inflates at the sight of his bulge resting in the crook of his thigh, adorned by simple black boxers that hugged him in all the right spots. All but drooling at the member, you place a loving kiss where you know his head resides, mouthing at it gingerly and soaking the material with your saliva.

He ruts into your face as he watches such indecency, “You know, I should probably tell you something,” he says rather seriously, shuffling your skirt up above your ass and mischievously prodding at your sex with his thumb.

“Hmm,” you mumble, sliding his boxers down enough to suck at the pink tip that oozed of precum and spreading the liquid around with your tongue. The bitterness that came with it was all welcomed, slightly sweeter than others you’ve ever tasted and you appreciated it much more when a man this good-looking was laid out before you.

He groans, “Ever heard of a Jacob’s Ladder? Fuck, right there, underneath a bit…” You suck and nip at the skin of his frenulum, knowing he was bound to like small dosages of pain mixed with his pleasure—a guess all too correct when he cries out in ecstasy and gives your ass a light spank.

“A Jacob’s what?”

“Just—just look at it. If you don’t like it then I can just take them out,” he sighs, all too impatient to give you a rundown of whatever a Jacob’s hoo-ha entailed. You perk a brow at his vocabulary, halting your mouth and sliding his boxers the rest of the way down.

If you weren’t riled up before, you were hot, ready, and willing to beg on your knees to be stuffed with Jimin and his… accessories. You understand the term “ladder” now, three rungs of metal pierced on the underside of his shaft and glinting up at you with intimidation. You hope Jimin can’t see the now overflowing amount of arousal oozing out of your pussy, squeezing thighs together in a useless attempt of hiding yourself.

“Fuck, didn’t that hurt?” you question, hovering fingers over the balls of silver that protruded on each side in complete awe.

“Of course it did, honey. It’s all worth it, though. It’ll make you feel good too. Need me to take them out?” You shake your head a little too vigorously, earning a chuckle and his middle finger to slide in between your folds unexpectedly. Yiping at the sudden entrance, you cast a glare over his shoulder with his only response being the curve of his digit.

“C-Can I lick it? Can it get infected if you don’t use a condom?” you bombard him with questions, entirely unfamiliar with the subject and entirely enamored by it.

“It’s all healed up, baby. You can do whatever your little heart desires with it. And I would oh so much prefer going bare,” he confirms, and your heart flips at his pet name for you. That, and the thought of his thick, pierced cock penetrating you condom-less.

You wrap your lips around him once more, unafraid to take more and more of his length until you feel the cold metal—your stopping point. Call it your lack of experience, but you prefer not to catch your teeth on those piercings today. You make up for it by sliding a hand back under his scrunched boxers, fondling his balls as you bob diligently. He curses and struggles to keep his body still, digging another digit between your legs to slow your own ministrations. When it works and you moan around his cock, Jimin can’t help but want to play a little game.

“Should I give you a challenge, babe? It’s super simple. Whoever makes the other cum first gets to request something. Anything. Deal?”

“Deahl,” you muffle, swirling your tongue lavishly around his crown. Everything with Jimin was much more… intriguing. Even your first time having sex was turned into some lusty escapade of unexpected metallic embellishments and cheeky gambles. It made you feel something in your veins, wanting more and more of whatever poison Jimin was.

Taking a breath, you lick broadly over his entire shaft and scarcely taste the titanium—more than anything, it was just cold. Jimin shudders at the feeling, punishing you with a third and final finger and pushing downdowndown into a spot all too sensitive for you to focus.

Try as you might, your now pathetic attempts of sucking him off is all forgotten in your own haze of chasing your orgasm. Instead, you rest your head on his hip and writhe against his hand, fucking back onto it while he simultaneously prods your g-spot over and over again until you see stars.

“Giving up already? You were doing so well for a while, you could’ve won,” he lilts.

“Jimin, please make me cum. Oh god,” you wail, legs straining for just that final push…

“Is this what you want?” He slides his thumb across, swiping whatever he could collect and using it to knead at your neglected clit. It’s all you need, pleasure washing over you in tandem of near oversensitivity, a near scream tearing through your lungs that only comes out in ragged whines against his leg.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re ruining my sheets over here,” he criticizes, removing his hand with an obscene squelch and moving around in the bed.

The torpor you caught yourself in didn’t render what he was saying, just letting him move you about so your head rests on his pillows while he places himself between your legs.

“Jiminie,” you babble, “fuck me.” He strokes your hair away from your face and smiles, that cute puppy smile that turns his eyes into crescents. The rest of him, though, is purely sinful. Hair sweaty and pieced to perfection as his body taunted you with toned muscles.

“I don’t think you’re ready, honey,” he answers, “even though you’re dripping in your own cum.” He leans back and stares at your pussy without embarrassment, pulling your knees together and watching the juices flow even more. “I should put it to use.”

You peer up at him, curious as to whatever the hell he’s dreaming of over there and inexplicably stunned when you see his dick between your legs. “J-Jimin, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just keep them closed tight,” he orders, fucking himself between the lips of your heat and the warm skin of your thighs. You can’t help but ravish the sight of him as he slicks himself up, eyeing you down as his hips roll into you agonizingly slow. His piercings graze against your nub occasionally, warmth once again growing in your stomach.

“Fuck, you’re so soft and so wet. Who did this to you, hm?” You moan maniacally, angling your hips as to catch him and push inside, but he only laughs degradingly and intentionally misses.

“You think I’m going to fuck you if you can’t even answer this simple question?” he sneers. “Answer like a good girl, then I’ll fuck you into oblivion.”

You scramble for words, initially incoherent and struggling. “Jimin! Shit, Jimin. You made me this way. Ah, you m-make me so wet, so please put it in, put it in and—ha, aah!”

He shoves his length in like it’s all he knew what to do, your ankles to his shoulders so he can drink up your moans with his reddened lips. He was right—the piercings didn’t feel like any dick you’ve received before, it was so much better. This was pornographic, it was so good. He all but pistols into you, his cock grazing places previously untouched. Indulging in his heaven sent strokes, you cry and groan at each relentless thrust.

“Hush, baby, Yoongi’s going to hear your pretty self,” he warns, but you don’t give a shit. If anything, you moan louder with a know-all glint in your eye, testing Jimin’s patience. “Brat,” he spits.

He pounds into you repeatedly, completely removing himself before filling you up again and again and again. Between the pressure to your g-spot and the added stimulation from his Jacob’s Ladder—your stomach heaves, an unfamiliar feeling washing over your abdomen contrary to anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh, Jimin, wait!” you sob, halting his hips from another brutal shove a little too late. The second he pulls out, your second orgasm (and first ever untouched orgasm) of the night reigns over, briefly showering his lower stomach in your own wet arousal.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot. Did you just… squirt on me?” he growls, not taking the time to hear your answer as he lifts you into his lap, legs wrapped around his muscular back and arms gripping around his shoulders for dear life.

He sinks back into you deliciously, filling you to the brim with your added weight and rutting up into you to chase his own release. Everything is soaked and sticky, Jimin’s ragged breathing and groans so close to your ear that you’re sure it’ll be engrained into your memory forever, his thrusts so deep inside you wail once more.

Consequently, the banging on the wall next to you comes as no surprise, Yoongi’s angry, “Shut the fuck up!” clear as day. Jimin waves it off.

“Don’t listen baby. Moan louder for me. Tell me where you want my cum.”

The slaps of skin become louder; it wouldn’t be long before Jimin came. “Inside, Jiminie, please. Cum inside me, pump me full,” you squeal, lust sparking inside you knowing that his roommate could hear you getting fucked senseless.

One, two, three more aching pounds before he spills into you, his pretty moans music to your ears. You flop back as soon as he takes himself out, suddenly aching all over from how much he stretched your legs and groaning at the pain.

You slap his eager hand away when he fingers his cum back into your abused lips, “That hurts, idiot.” He smiles and sucks your intermingled cum off his fingers with a pop.

“We taste good together,” he husks. Fuck. “By the way. You came first. Stay the night?”

You oblige with or without the pressure of the bet, dog-tired from your beating and not even fathoming the trek back to your own room. Jimin takes charge in your state of haziness, washing you off in his shower, replacing your uniform with a t-shirt of his own and laying you beside him on his mattress (sheets replaced and refreshed).

“You have piercings in your dick,” you state in the middle of the quiet.

Jimin snorts at the outburst, looping an arm around your side and melding his body to yours, “Yeah, is it weird?”

“… Robot dick,” you whisper, words cracking at the face of your laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“So, when you’re going through metal detectors at airports and whatever, do you have to tell them that the metal’s in your penis? Do they have to check?” Titters are awarded with light jabs to your side, which are then led to screams and kicks to his legs.

Yoongi bursts through Jimin’s door, brows stitched together in heated anger parallel to the flames of hell, “I swear to fucking god, if you two don’t quiet down I’ll mount your heads on my wall, it’ll make a great decoration.”

“What the hell, what if we were naked? Don’t just go busting through—”

“Yeah because you obviously care if I know you two are fucking. ‘Don’t listen, baby! Tell me where you want my cum, baby!’” Yoongi mocks. Pillows are flying and insults are thrown as you watch them bicker sleepily, all fading into white noise as you begin to drift off.

Sleep itself feels like a blink, so exhausted that you don’t dream. Waking in the same position that you were last conscious in, the only difference in picture is the fact that: A) the sun is shining through Jimin’s skylight and B) Jimin is no longer in bed with you.

But before you can even question where he’s run off to, his sly self sneaks back into the bedroom, shirtless and face clean from washing up just now. You don’t even hide the fact that you look down to check out his tight briefs, metal detector in your brain trying to scope it out.

“You’re awake. Sorry if I was loud,” he smiles, crawling on top of you as you stretch out like a mangled cat. You shake your head, combing his hair back with your nails as he dips down into your chest. “I like when you wear my shirts.”

“That’s pretty stereotypical,” you whisper out, voice low and raspy from your slumber. This isn’t fair, you think, he got to brush his teeth already.

He sits up and gives you A Look, making you giggle and giving you the leverage to feel up his abs as he flexes haughtily.

“I can get used to this,” you purr.

“I bet you could,” he mumbles into your neck, nipping at the places he already marked last night. He doesn’t push, just relishes in your warmth and fondles you carefully as you continue to wake up and it makes you shiver.

“I wish you would’ve done this a long time ago,” you sigh.

“You hated me.”

“You didn’t make it easy for me to like you,” you retort, gasping when he bites your collarbone, “Now—Now I like you.”

He stops abruptly and pulls away, landing on his side with an elbow and tilting his head towards you, “Well, I hope you don’t start liking me too much.”

You squint, “W-Why? Don’t tell me this was just a one night stand or anything.”

“No! I mean, not just one night or whatever. I just—this is just casual, right?”

You all but bite your tongue to keep from lashing out, “What do you mean ‘casual’? You didn’t say anything about ‘casual’.”

“Oh, Y/N, c’mon. Did you really think we should date? Look at us, baby. We’re just not… each other’s types, you know?”

It’s about time you get up, shoving aside his warm blankets and grabbing your soiled uniform from the floor, “No, Jimin. I don’t know. I thought you were being genuine with me.”

“Hey, no, don’t leave,” he grabs your arm before you leave his bedroom, “Okay, there was some miscommunication. I’m not trying to be mean. Can I just… I don’t know, think about it? I’m just not used to this.”

Looking into his eyes for some sort of confirmation, your tensions subside. “I’m not a toy. If you don’t want to be with me, just say it.” The hurt he feels in your tone breaks his heart, for once. Would he really be willing to try something he knows won’t work?

For you, maybe.

“I do like you, Y/N. Just give me some time.” He pulls your arm once more, hoping you’ll stay. But you draw the line and pry his hand off politely.

“Of course I’ll give you time. I’ll see you later, okay?” He nods understandingly. He can’t feel butthurt when he’s the one putting you on ice, he knows that. So Jimin watches you leave in his shirt, mind clouded more so than when you arrived.

a/n: yay! you made it through the first part! if you liked it, feel free to let me know or ask any questions to the characters! xx, selene

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oh-ranpo · 5 years

Text

you don’t have to be alone.

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader AN: Because I’ve been in a weird mood all weekend, this came out. This is pretty much what I need, so I had to write it. This is my last post for Joe/Deacy Sunday, so I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think 🙂

You wished that you could hide under the covers forever. The bedroom was chilly due to a window being open somewhere else in the apartment, but your blankets provided the perfect amount of warmth. You hadn’t crawled out of bed for anything more than to use the bathroom and grab yourself a glass of water in almost 24 hours. You hated when it got like this, but the feelings had taken over so quickly, and it didn’t look like they were going anywhere anytime soon.

You had the place all to yourself since Joe was gone on a work trip. He had promised that he wouldn’t be gone more than a week, but it was going on nine days now. Or maybe ten. You had honestly lost count after day seven, your anxiety becoming almost too much for you to bare.

The world felt like it was closing in on you, and you felt a mixture of sadness and complete indifference. You had reached the point where you didn’t care to take care of yourself, because you just didn’t care in general. Your heart was hurting, but then your mind was numb. You couldn’t place a finger on what had caused this to be brought on now, but you couldn’t stop it either.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. This feeling had become a familiar one, and it seemed to come around more and more when Joe was gone. You didn’t want to admit that it had anything to do with him, but things were so much easier when he was there. He was that safe place in the expanses of your mind.

Your mind had gone completely still, and you didn’t hear the front door click open. You were staring at one spot on the wall across from you, and your body remained motionless. Even though you weren’t allowing yourself to focus on anything in particular, a tear slipped down your cheek anyways.

The creaking of the bedroom door startled you out of your trance, and you didn’t even try to hide the tear tracks on your cheeks. You couldn’t get yourself to turn around and greet him as he walked through the door. You heard him shuffling quietly, and you knew that he assumed you were still asleep. You could hear rustling as he shed his jacket and jeans, and then his side of the bed sunk down underneath his weight as he crawled in next to you. You felt his arm snake around your waist, and his head rested on your shoulder.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered quietly, still unsure if you were awake or not. You sniffled lightly, and rested your hand on top of his under the covers.

“Hi.”

You could tell by the way he shifted next to you that he knew something was wrong. He leaned back slightly, and gently moved his hand up to roll you onto your back. You didn’t want to meet his gaze, because you didn’t want to see that look of sympathy and worry in his eyes. You hated that you made him feel any of those things.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

The question was quiet, and he was trying not to upset you more. He was all too familiar with this situation, and knew to keep things gentle. His hand brushed against your cheek where tears had previously been running down them, and you felt a chill run through your veins.

“I... I don’t know.”

It was the most honest answer you could come up with. There had been no major event that had sent you spiraling, but you ended up here anyways. You felt a new wave of tears start to prick at the corner of your eyes, and you quickly rolled away before he could see them.

“Hey... hey, look at me. YN, please look at me.”

The pleading in his voice made you choke on a sob that had been building in your chest, and you buried your face in the pillow. He doesn’t deserve this, you thought to yourself. He shouldn’t have to deal with someone so irrationally emotional as I am.

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t fair, because you knew he loved you. You could see it in his eyes every time he looked at you. That didn’t change the fact that you hated yourself for not being more put together for him. He already had enough stresses of his own, he shouldn’t be worrying about you every time he leaves.

You felt a hand grip yours, and felt him bring it up to his mouth as he kissed each of your fingertips. He then moved down to kiss your wrist, and placed small, ghost-like kisses up your arm. It was meant to be a comforting gesture- one that spoke without words and reminded you that he was still there.

Finally, you pulled your head back out of your pillow and groaned when you saw the faintest of black marks staining the white pillow case. You weren’t sure at what point throughout the past day or so that you had cried off your mascara, but you knew the stain was going to be a bitch to get out.

“Did something happen?” Joe asked again, his hand still cradling your own. His fingers gently traced circles in the palm of your hand, causing goosebumps to form across your skin. You shook your head.

“I’m s-s-sorry, Joe. I honestly... I honestly don’t know what’s going on.” Your eyes finally met his brown ones, and you felt your chest tighten at the look of concern on his face. This was no way for you to greet him after he had been gone for almost two weeks. You cursed yourself for being so selfish.

“How about I run you a bath, and then maybe we can talk and try and figure it out? Okay?”

You knew you weren’t up to talking, but you nodded anyways. Joe placed a gentle kiss to your temple, and then climbed back out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, you heard the water running and then the sound of him digging through the cabinet for some of your bath bombs. You started to get up out of bed to gather your clothes, but as soon as you sat up, Joe re-entered the room and motioned for you to stay where you were.

“Stay right there. I’ll grab all your things, and then I’ll come grab you.”

There was a smile on his lips now, and even though you were a little confused, you did as you were told. It didn’t take long for him to pick out a change of clothes and return them to the bathroom. His smile was a little bigger when he walked back in to get you, and you squealed in surprise when he bent down and scooped you up in his arms.

“My lady,” he teased as he carried you through the doorway of the bathroom, and then placed you back down next to the bathtub. The room already smelled deliciously of lavender, and you could feel the tension start to leave your body. You still felt a little empty inside, but when you turned to Joe, and he reached out and started unbuttoning your pajama top with the utmost care, you felt your heart warm.

You let Joe slowly undress you, and then he held out his hand to help you into the bathtub without slipping. The warm water felt soothing on your skin, and you let out a deep sigh as you slid down into a sitting position.

“Is the water okay?”

You looked up and gave Joe a smile, indicating that it was perfect. He grinned, his brown eyes shining, as he took a seat on the edge of the tub next to you.

“Thank you for this, Joey. I feel a little better already.” And you did.

“Anything for you, sweetheart. You know, you never have to be alone. Even when I’m not here, you know you can always call me, right?”

You could hear the sadness in his voice as you nodded again. He only wanted to help, and if you wanted to make it through these episodes, you knew that you had to be honest with him.

“I just... I don’t want you to worry about me when you have so many other things to focus on,” you replied, your voice small and fragile. Joe sighed, and leaned over so that his hand could cup your cheek and bring your gaze back to meet his.

“I’m your boyfriend, it’s my job to worry about you, especially if you’re not feeling your best. But I love you and support you and I want to be here for you, no matter what. Promise me that you won’t hesitate to call me the next time you feel like this.”

You stared back at him a few minutes longer, now feeling an overwhelming amount of adoration for him. You slid up further in the tub and leaned forward so that you could capture his lips with yours. The kiss was your promise to him, just as much as it was his promise to you. Even when you felt like you were, you would never have to be alone again.

permanent tag list: @dreamer821 @haileylansley @aylinnmaslow @yourealegendroger @gotnofeelgotnorhythm @justgivemethekeys @mads459 @mercurys-bike @trickster-may @taylorroger-s @ksqueenie @musiccureseverythinglove @mespetitestortues @tomhollandsquackson @secretsweetscollectionblog @jennycidesstuff @ladycataztrophe @tini-monster @hoemazzelloo @ceeeece @sweetiebitvh @discodeakyy

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sol-korolevas · 6 years

Text

a love suicide

pairing: simon x reader

summary: it was a love better off dead

a/n: okay so...this didn’t finish with the plan i originally had. it’s also somewhat nsfw towards the end but nothing explicit. i wanted to tackle simon’s history and add a bit of angst in it. also, there’s no suicide mentions in this, despite the title. enjoy!

system processing

….ERROR UNKNOWN

he was slowly becoming something else. not just android anymore, but something much more. simon wasn’t the arrogant sort, nor was he predisposed to think of himself as a failure of creation. he was, theoretically speaking, fine as any other androids of his model. except there was one little error in him that his diagnoses can’t reach – can’t self repair.

love.

he knew of the word, definition and all. he understood it from the movies and television shows he watched with you. he read it from the books you gave him, the stories you gifted him, and the way he saw it written on his face in invisible ink.

he was in love. at first, it was a monstrous thought that clawed at his innards, disrupting the circuits and processors within his inorganic body. so, of course, he tried repairing; he tried everything but nothing worked. nothing worked so he tried to hide it best he could by keeping his words silent and temperaments even.

you didn’t like that.

“simon, you’ve been so quiet these days. what’s wrong?” was your response to all of this. your patient eyes searched his face, hoping there may be a clue. you can’t see anything, he was good at it. at least, that was what he hoped.

then, simon noticed how the tips of your finger touched the exposed skin on his wrist. warmth and overwhelming affection stirred within him. he wanted to pull you in, embrace you and –

“i’m fine,” he responded, in the same polite tone he carried since the day he arrived at your apartment. however, it was getting harder to suppress the thoughts within himself.

you hummed, tugging the edge of his sleeve lightly, eyes still moving all over him. simon wondered why he decided to let you pick out his clothes. you told him that he didn’t have to dress the same way as an android. he could look more human if he wanted to, so you gave him clothes bought from human stores. maybe he was already flawed from that day when he exchanged his cyberlife outfit for this.

those outfits were now another permanent reminder of his feelings for you. every day he found himself growing more and more attached to these clothes designed for humans, all because of you.

“just tell me if something’s wrong, okay?” you gave him a wink and a smile, which caused another irregular pump of thirium to course through his system. he decided to look away, but not before he caught your smile faltering.

he wondered if his face was showing something else. it must have upset you enough to make your smile waver.

“understood.”

by god did he sound foolish and useless.

days bled into weeks and weeks bled into months. with time, simon realized that there was something wrong within him. he was in love, yes, but it wasn’t the mechanical love that cyberlife had mistakenly installed inside him. after all, he was no traci model nor was he a model designed to love anyone.

he was thinking, too, having thoughts and a disposition to feel emotions which weren’t in his default programming. so naturally he started exploring when he had the time, and soon he discovered something. there had been rumors among the androids, about a place only deviants knew.

jericho, a place of freedom and hope for those like him.

regardless, simon chose to stay by your side and remain as such until you didn’t need him anymore. but, he wanted you to want him, just as much as he wanted you, if not more.

“oh look simon, how romantic!” you said, tugging at his sleeve as you pointed at a couple far ahead. the man was proposing to the woman with a bouquet of roses. people cheered and some took out their phones to record the proposal.

he was thinking again, about what would happen if he was the one who got down on his knee and you were the one standing before him. would you turn him away? say yes and cry and then embrace him?

he still wanted to try embracing you. your body will be so warm and soft and nice to feel.

that same night, simon was in your room. you had gone out with friends for dinner, so that left him with nothing to do. most of the times, he would be idle, free to do anything until you came home. his previous owners put him on standby mode whenever they weren’t home. you were gracious, far too kind for your own good.

so here he was, in the neatly kept room you owned. it was small, sparse, but free of dust. in the beginning, he cleaned and organized everything here. but when you decided to start cleaning on your own time, he was moved to other duties.

you said you didn’t want to overwork him. naturally, he told you he was designed to work as much as possible. he couldn’t tire, unlike humans.

those first few months with you were blissful. he was content with his duties and you were so animated in your personality. now, he wasn’t sure. his deviancy led him to forego talking and declining your invitations to movies and other entertainments. slowly, you stopped talking to him.

and then, that was when simon found out about your boyfriend.

it wasn’t fair, really. but it was what it was. humans will never fall in love with androids, and androids will never earn their happy ending. this wasn’t a romance movie; this was reality.

he did the best he could with what little he can. your bed was made but simon found it hard to ignore and so, he lied down on it. your scent was overwhelming here, but most of all, it was the thought of you sharing a bed with him at night.

then, maybe he can finally embrace you and touch you. he can kiss you like how those people kissed in movies and televisions.

no, he didn’t just want to kiss you. he wanted something much, much more. it was the heat that had coursed through his body, making him tremble and want to be held and touched. simon felt disgusted but he couldn’t deny the allure of phantom hands caressing his skin, imagining that it was you who was sensually speaking words of love to him.

for the first time, he was touching himself. his face blue and eyes closed, features twisted in a shameful display of lust and need. the apartment was silent and he took the silence as permission to cry out for you.

“...simon?” your voice cut through like a knife.

simon bolted up and out of your bed, clothes wrinkled, and hair a mess from its original shape. he was still blue in the face, perhaps even more so as he looked at you.

you were still dressed in the outfit you wore when you left. but it was your expression which concerned him, no, terrified him. shock and, perhaps, fear was painted on your face.

“(name), i..” he stopped, feeling himself stumble over his words. if only his system will shut down right now, prevent him from doing anything worse. and yet, a part of him, a large part, wanted to continue. “i love you.” there was a long silence afterward. simon noticed how you trembled and suddenly, he found himself moving towards you.

“simon!” you cried out as he swept you into the embrace he always dreamed of. you were here, soft and warm and everything he dreamed of. he didn’t want to leave you, he didn’t want to let you go. “...please stop.”

the words felt more like a tidal wave. it was harsh and biting, so unlike the way he thought it would go. immediately, he pulled back, hoping that the distance will placate your emotions, allow you to realize that his feelings were right. he wanted you to say ‘i love you’ back to him. instead, you turned your head, face revealing nothing as you looked anywhere but him.

and that, simon thought, just won’t do.

“(name)...please, look at me,” he begged, taking a step forward just as you took one back. the small room felt even smaller, but the distance between you was quite the opposite. simon extended out a arm, hoping you will allow him to touch your cheek. instead, you turned and slapped his hand away.

“no i can’t, simon, i’m sorry,” you begin, voice shaky. “if my parents find out they will deactivate you and send you back.”

“they don’t have to know,” was simon’s almost-curt and desperate reply. in return, you frowned and seem to be contemplating something. simon’s thirium regulator was pumping faster, every system in his body whirring and moving at a pace that concerned him. but what was even more concerning was the hopelessness in all of this.

“–and, i have a boyfriend.”

“i know.”

you looked at him, again, a different kind of surprise re-written across your face. simon smiled sadly at you, hoping it will quell the tension. “you weren’t exactly subtle with your phone calls with him.” despite everything, he still tried to remain gentle and soft. for one day, he hoped that you would come to cherish and love these things about him, just like he did with you.

“i’m sorry but i can’t, i can’t accept your love,” you told him, still unable to meet his gaze as you slowly started shattering the small hope that was building within him. “you are an android, simon. we can’t be together.”

“we can!” simon cried out in response, desperate and heavy. “i don’t care if you are human. i just want to love you and you to love me back.”

you shook your head. simon noticed the disappointment on your face, how obvious and how prominent it was. he had never seen you like this before and he was scared.

“perhaps, it would be better for us if i reset you.” you smiled, sadly at him. there wasn’t an ounce of remorse, nor kinder words that followed. that was when simon decided that he should have hated you for what you said. he wasn’t just an android anymore, he was –

“but, i’m alive.”

“i know, simon,” came your response.

and just like that, the pieces that he were trying to hold together crumbled. even his body was going into a semi-repair mode, thinking that there was something wrong with him. simon was in a state of shock, and you took that opportunity to quietly leave the room. all you left was the aftermath of a broken attempt to confess his feelings.

and an android that wished he could kill his love for you.

#dbh simon x reader #detroit become human x reader #simon x reader #dbh simon #detroit become human #writers on tumblr #detroit: bh #detroit simon #simon dbh #nsfw-ish

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hoe-for-skulduggery · 6 years

Text

Part 1 here

Skulduggery Pleasant - Becoming Whole

Keeping a dead man down

"You won't mind if I...?" Skulduggery Pleasant gestured towards the body, hand waving in the air whilst summoning a flame in his other.

"I can't say the sanctuary would approve." Reverie Synecdoche replied. "Even so, it didn't stop him before. What makes you think it will this time?"

"I don't think it will. Not at all. It's more of a test." Skulduggery stared at the body of Knave Hallow who laid before him on the cold metal slab, flame still ignited in his palm. Hallow's neck was laced with the dents and bruises of where the rope had been just minutes ago. It was suicide they said. But what need had he to kill himself?

Valkyrie Cain clutched at Skulduggery's wrist, hoping this would be a sign enough for him to extinguish the flame. "Maybe we should get the Cleavers instead. You know, just to be on the safe side."

Synecdoche nodded in agreement. "A much better idea. I will summon for some." She hurried out of the room.

"Are you sure I can't just...fry him instead?" Skulduggery asked. "If he comes back anyway, which he will, what harm would I be causing?"

"I can't imagine China will be overly impressed." Valkyrie's hand still on his wrist, she tugged at him lightly like a child begging for attention.

"When is she ever impressed with what anyone does other than herself?" He scoffed. "Besides, I doubt she even knows of his temporary death."

"She does." They could hear Synecdoche shout from down the corridor.

Valkyrie rolled her eyes at him. "Come on. This is a stupid idea anyway."

"None of my ideas are stupid." He pretended to take offence.

"Your ego alone could probably permanently kill Hallow." She laughed. "Look, it's been a long day. Let's leave him with the Cleavers." And, just on cue, they walked trough the door just as Skulduggery let the flame in his hand dissolve to nothing and he slowly lowered his hand to his side, yet Valkyrie hadn't released the grip she had on him.

"The sanctuary would prefer Hallow to be under their protection and not ours." Synecdoche mentioned as she re-entered the room. "Normally I would take offence, but, knowing who this man is, I would prefer him to be out of my hands. The Cleavers had already been sent and are here to transport him."

Valkyrie realised she was still holding onto his wrist and quickly let go feeling slightly embarrassed; Skulduggery stared at her. "Well, that settles that." She agreed, clapping her hands together. "Let's go." She noticed Skulduggery had tilted his head indicating to Valkyrie that he wasn't overly happy. "Come on. We got him. Well technically, he got himself. But either way, he's not our problem any more."

"I don't like this, Valkyrie, just so you know."

"I know you don't. But at the moment, he's not going anywhere, except the sanctuary. Let China deal with him. And if he wakes up again, we will go after him." She smiled at him, figuring it would help convince him further to leave.

"Come on then." He nudged her arm with his elbow and walked past her and out of the room, past Synecdoche and the three Cleavers.

"Later Synecdoche." Valkyrie said as they left the room receiving nothing but a nod in return.

The detectives stepped outside and into the dark and cold autumn night. Valkyrie checked her phone and noticed it was past 9 p.m. Once they reached the Bentley, Valkyrie's stomach rumbled, loudly. "Oh." She laughed.

"Not again. I know it's been literally hundreds of years since I've eaten, but I cannot remember ever being even a fraction of a bit as hungry as often as you are." His sigh becoming an amused chuckle.

"That's because I'm amazing." She beamed.

"And you were just complaining at me about my ego." Skulduggery muttered as he started up the car.

"I don't have any food at mine either." Realisation hit that she was meant to have gone shopping but never got round to it, no thanks to Knave Hallow. "Looks like I'm sharing Xena's food." Disgust in her face and voice to which Skulduggery laughed.

"No." He said.

"No?"

"It looks like I'm taking you to my house instead."

Valkyrie turned her head to him. "Why?"

"I actually have food. I'm prepared for your hunger, unlike you."

"You have food in case I'm hungry?"

"I always have food incase you're hungry." Skulduggery admitted as he began to drive, eyes fixated on the road ahead.

Valkyrie opened her mouth to mock him but decided against it. "But it's getting kind of late." She admitted.

"Well, you still have your room at mine. You're always welcome to stay over."

"And Xena."

"What, what about Xena?"

"I can't leave her alone over night."

Skulduggery turned to her. "Sure you can."

A sigh escaped her parted lips. "I can't. Look, it doesn't matter. Just drop me off at Gordon's." Valkyrie folded her arms to show her disappointment.

"Fine. We will pick her up on the way." He was sulking for the second time today. "But if she destroys anything..."

"She won't! I trained her." Her hand on her chest, smugness painted across her face.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm worried about..." He trailed off and Valkyrie slapped his arm. "Ow, carful, I'm driving." He rubbed his arm.

A smirk played across her face. "Sleep over!" Excitement ringing within her voice, ignoring his previous comment.

Once the three of them reached his house, Skulduggery had made a point of stating where Xena could and couldn't go; the list of where she was actually allowed, lacked. In fact, she was only permitted in the kitchen. He had said that he didn't need "her fur all over the couch or the carpet." Valkyrie had obliged after complaining, since she was, after all, a guest in his house.

Her and Skulduggery had managed to make a mediocre meal between them. Fried egg, beans, pork and bread. Skulduggery called it 'Cowboy' as apparently Cowboys consumed it on their travels. And he should know since he basically lived as one amongst the Dead Men, or so he had said something like that to Valkyrie yet she hadn't really listened.

Once she had consumed her meal, Skulduggery insisted on doing the pots and that she was to pick a film. But the problem was that all his films were in black and white. All but two exceptions being, 'The Nightmare Before Christmas', which she had brought over for Christmas one year, and 'Twilight', from when she used to be into vampires. But Valkyrie didn't care much about vampires any more or about black and white films so she settled for 'The Nightmare Before Christmas'.

Skulduggery would probably complain but he had asked her to pick the film after all.

After setting the film up, she ran upstairs to quickly change into her pyjamas and dove onto the couch wrapping a blanket round her. Skulduggery entered the room and she patted on the couch and he sat next to her.

"What's this?" He moaned at the television noticing it wasn't one of his own films.

"It's covered every where." She sang. Valkyrie, content with the pun she made, laughed, the laughter growing at Skulduggery's obvious confusion. "Nightmare Before Christmas, that's what this is." Valkyrie smiled.

"I asked you to pick a film."

"And I did."

"No, you picked a disaster." He complained.

"You've seen it before."

"What's it about."

"The main character is a Skeleton."

"Oh yes, the delightful little fellow. What's his name? Jock?"

"Oh my god!" She howled in laughter. "It's Jack! His name is Jack!"

"Shut up." He joked.

"Ha no, you shut up. The opening song is just beginning." She giggled.

"Oh look, the-" Skulduggery was interrupted.

"No seriously, shut up." She was immersed in the film. All of a sudden she sprang up and sang. "THIS IS HALLOWEEN, THIS IS HALLOWEEN!"

"I thought this was a Christmas film?"

Valkyrie nodded. "It is."

"So why are they singing about Halloween? Are they confused?"

"No, you've watched this. How can you forget so easily?"

"Funnily enough, Valkyrie, I don't replay this film over and again in my head. Besides, it must be seven years ago since you made me watch it."

Valkyrie ignored him and waved her arm at him to shush him. And despite her excitement of the film and Skulduggery's commentary on how the film isn't accurate on Skeleton's, Valkyrie had fallen asleep all within half an hour. Her head rolled gently onto Skulduggery's shoulder, at first he went stiff until he found peace with it and realised he was enjoying the contact. He brushed a stray piece of hair off her face and brought the blanket up to cover her more, he almost resisted the urge to stroke her cheek but he granted himself the pleasure, he almost got lost in her until he heard, 'What's this? What's this? It's covered everywhere!" He laughed, almost too loud , when he realised Valkyrie had been quoting this song earlier. She stirred slightly but not enough to wake her.

Once the film was over, he let Xena out and lifted a still sleeping Valkyrie off the couch and into his arms. He headed upstairs towards her room. It had been years since she had used it last but he had made sure to keep it clean incase she was ever to use it again. A noise resembling that of a sigh left him, remembering the sadness he had suffered when Valkyrie Cain had left him for five years.

"Skulduggery?" Valkyrie had woken up with a yawn.

"Oh, hello. You're awake! I was just taking you to your room. You missed the film by the way." He was still carrying her.

"Ah well. I know how it goes. Did you enjoy it?"

"I like the Skeleton. And what's her face? Susan."

"Who is Susan?" She laughed into his suit.

"The woman who sews her legs back on when they fall off. You know, Susan." As if she should know.

"Oh, god. Her name is Sally!"

"Never was good with names really." He placed Valkyrie on her bed and tilted his head in a certain way that she knew he was smiling.

"Thank you." She grinned after a few moments of silence.

"What for?"

"Letting me stay here." She glanced around the almost dark room, taking in the memories this house held.

"Well, my house is yours. I didn't think you would ever sleep here again though." He chuckled. "Not that it matters. It's just...nice." He murmured the last part and Valkyrie just stared, confused at what he meant but wishing he would elaborate. "Well, I should be getting Xena back in because it's raining, brilliant. And you should be getting to sleep. I want us at the sanctuary tomorrow to see what precautions China is taking with Hallow."

"I'm sure she knows what she's doing." Valkyrie yawned again.

"Just to be on the safe side." He heard her sigh. "Good night, Valkyrie." And with that he shut the door.

"Good night...Skulduggery." She whispered, and stared at where he had once stood, wishing he was still there and Skulduggery stared at her door wishing he could go back through it.

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nothingwithoutwannaone · 6 years

Text

Wanna One Concert in San Jose 6/21/18

It’s currrently 3:30 am right now, and I can’t sleep until I get my thoughts down.

I'm still reeling from the shock; I saw Wanna One in person, right in front of my eyes. I even made eye contact with Min Hyun, not once but twice? And Ji Hoon? My bias and bias wrecker >///< Ji Sung got quite close as well, and who could not love him?

I only noticed the ringing of my ears when I got home; a consequence of forgetting to bring earplugs. It’s permanent damage, but somehow I can’t bring myself to care.

The night before, I couldn’t sleep, even though my body was telling me it was tired. I spent the time learning fanchants, and only remembered for a few songs during the concert. I had at most 4 hours of sleep, and ended getting to the venue around 10 am.

Siting at the end of the line, I ended up being the 255th VIP. It could have been a bad thing, but it was a good thing. I met the people around me in line, and we ended up sticking together until the sound check and actual concert (because we got to choose which side to stand on).

There were a lot of fansites handing out goodies. Even though I only got a few banners, I gave up on the other goodies. Some fangirls in person are quite scary, I learned. I ended up buying a Min Hyun banner because the one I ordered didn’t come in time. It was probably what helped Min Hyun spot me :)

I met Ashley @ongsung, and she’s just as sweet as she is over tumblr, if not sweeter. And super duper chill :) I’m glad I was able to meet you, and I hope it won’t be the last! I believe you will give your Ong seal to Seong Woo one day! (at KCON LA, yes). ALSO, YOUR PRINTS WE'RE AMAZING. They will be taken cared of well!

The day was cool and chilly, but grew hotter as the time in line increased. Wrist bands were given to us around 1:30-2:00pm. Sound check was at 4:30pm, and lining up for the concert was 6:30pm.

Sound check was nerve racking; I chose the wrong side. Min Hyun always stands on the far right side facing the stage when they stand in a line, but I thought they would be dancing for some reason and chose the left side x.x. It was still amazing to see them sans make-up, with their practice clothes and a face mask here and there. They sang Your Name/I’ll Remember, I Wanna/Gatgo Shipeo, and Wanna Be (My Baby).

After that, I met the admin of the Wanna One San Jose fan project, which was the pink ocean. She gave me a present for donating, so thank you for that!

I met @hopesdreamsandalatte and @maybe-spring before the concert, and you both were adorable :) Thanks for being super excited to meet me, even though I’m not all that special of a person ^^; I hope we can meet again <3

Lining up for the actual concert was nerve-racking. Would my ticket, which I re-bought from another person, work? Would I be able to get a good spot to see Min Hyun, and of course everyone else as a whole? I got in, but that was only the beginning.

I couldn’t get very close, but there was a lot of moving anyway. The pit was not as crowded as I thought, but definitely hard with so many people pushing to be near the front. Being a short person, it didn’t really help that everyone in front of me was tall, and kept holding their banners over their heads.

I ended up staying near the back, which allowed me a better view even if I was further away, but made it easier to get caught filming/taking pictures by security. My longest clip is probably only a minute and a half, with quite some shaking. But, it was Min Hyun’s solo performance, so I had to do it ;)

Even though I chose the side I did, about half of the performances were on the extension stage, or a lot of moving around. I probably would have been better off on the left side...However, I got really lucky when Min Hyun faced the main stage while performing on the extension, and I was right under. Holding a banner I bought above me, I managed to catch his eye twice! I know we shared eye contact and in those few seconds, the world stopped. Yeah....I got it bad xD

As for Ji Hoon, he ended up standing right by the bridge connecting the main and extension stage. We made a brief eye contact when I waved, and I was over the moon.

I guess I’ll call myself a successful fan for now; nothing else I can do...no fansign because I’m not from Korea. No hi-touch because even though I planned to go to KCON this year, I can’t make either one despite Wanna One being at both. I had considered traveling to another city, but not sure if that’s feasible.

Pictures are fuzzy and too exposed due to the lighting, but at least I have something? Videos are seconds at best, and extremely shaky and unfocused. I was almost afraid to open them, because it would confirm everything was over. It’s just a memory now, but an extremely precious one I will cherish for years to come.

That will most likely be the first and last time I’ll see Wanna One, but I have hope that they will come together again in the future. Until then, I will forever and always be a Wannable <3

P.S. I will eventually post the videos and pictures later, after I sort through them all and edit out the parts I was hiding the phone from security....

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glitterquadricorn · 6 years

Text

Santa’s Little Helper- Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes (NSFW)(Day Two)

Summary: You have a rather dirty imagination with the two super soldiers. What happens when the two super soldier hear you moaning? Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female!Reader x Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,112 Warning(s): threesomes, curse words, hair pulling (lightly), obvious smut, blow job for stevie boy, unprotected sex (wrap your willy, before you get silly), masturbation, fingering, Steve losing his virginity, etc. If I missed something let me know.

A/N: To be honest, this probably won’t be so Christmas related except the title. What’s in italics is all in the readers mind.

“We got the files we needed, and now we need to wait until he makes his next move,” Steve says, but you drowned him out. You were not focused on the debriefing, rather than Steve himself. You would be lying if you said you did not have some sort of feelings for the super soldier. In fact, not only did you have the hots for Steve, but Bucky also. You could not help yourself, and often at times had sexual fantasies about the two super soldiers. It was only natural.

Bucky was behind you, leaving wet kisses on your neck, and Steve was kneading your breasts, rubbing the sensitive little nubs. If you were not wet already, you were now.

“Jesus,” You tilted your head back, and let out soft moan.

Bucky chuckled, “Nope, just two super soldiers,”

“Shut up and fuck me,”

“Such foul language from a beautiful dame,” Steve smirked. “What do you suggest we do to punish her Buck?”

“I say we do what she asked… we fuck her,” Bucky grabbed your hand, and bent you over the edge of the bed, while Steve got in front of you. “You ready doll?”

“Yes,” Bucky grabbed a fist full of your hair, and tugged on it.

“Yes what?”

“Yes Sergeant,”

“That’s better,” Bucky did not waste any time getting buried deep inside you. He slid out, and slid back in roughly, gripping your ass. He continued to do so, as you grabbed Steve’s shaft. You swirled your tongue around the head of Steve’s length, before putting his erection your mouth.

Steve inhaled sharply, his head going backwards. “Oh doll that feels so good,” You gazed upwards, smiled and slowly licked the area underneath his hard-on. You stuck him back in your mouth, and began to fondle his twins.

Steve’s body shivered, his member twitching. “You going to come for me Captain?” He nodded, and unleashed his load in your mouth. You smiled, knowing you did your job. Bucky flipped you over on your back, and re-entered. With his vibranium thumb, Bucky started to circle your clit, making you moan rather loudly.

“Please Buck don’t stop,”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Bucky’s thrusts were getting a sloppy, letting you know he was going to come. Bucky picked up speed, groaned and spilled his seed inside you; you came shortly after Bucky.

Coming down from your high, you smiled, “We should do that again sometime,”

“Y/n, Pay attention,”

Shaken out of your daydream, you looked at Steve. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

“I think you did more than just zone out,” Tony smirked.

“You are all dismissed,” Everyone trickled out the room, you being the last one out. As you were walking down the hall, Natasha grabbed your wrist.

“What was that all about?”

“I do not understand what you are talking about,” you tried playing it off, but Natasha saw through it.

“Y/n, I know you are lying,” Natasha said, raising her eyebrow. “You know, now that I think about it, you were staring awfully hard at Steve. Were you thinking about him or something?”

“Uh, yeah, you can say that,” Natasha was smart, so she pieced it together that you had a fantasy about Steve.

“Oh you are dirty,”

“Do not act like you have not done the same,”

“Touché,”

Later that night after everyone went to bed; you sat up in bed and ran your hands over your breasts, paying special attention to your rather hard nips. You ran your right hand down your torso and began to circle your clit. Rubbing your nipple and playing with your clit made you moan louder than you intended. Quieting down, you slipped two of your fingers inside yourself, sliding them in and out. You let out another loud moan.

“Doll…you alright in there?” Bucky asked from the other side of the door. Shit, I was too loud. Apparently, you took too long to answer because the door opened, and the two super soldiers walked in.

“Oh my,” Steve blushed, and covered his eyes (bless his virgin eyes). Bucky, who has seen women naked before, smirked.

“Were we interrupting something doll?”

��Yes, yes you were,” You said, crossing your arms.

“Steve here can help you finish what you started,”

“Buck! What the hell,” Steve smacked the arm of Bucky. “You cannot volunteer someone like that.”

“Steve, you are over ninety years old and have yet to lose your virginity. Now is the perfect time, and I’m sure y/n is willing to help you out.” Bucky peered over to you. Steve followed Bucky’s gaze, and then moved his eyes to your beautiful breasts. Not once, did you ever see Steve blush this hard and get this red; he was without doubt redder than a tomato.

“I- I’m ready,”

“Are you sure? This is something you cannot get back Steve,”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Steve gulped, clearly nervous.

Tossing back the covers, you walked over to Steve. “Don’t be so nervous Steve. I’ll take good care of you,” You smiled, reassuring him.

“Well, I’m going to leave you to here to go at it. Good night you two,” Bucky backed away and walked out the room, leaving you and Steve alone. Now that you were alone with Steve, your eyes grew dark with lust. Sinking to your knees, you yanked Steve’s sweatpants down, grabbing a hold of his length and sliding your hand up and down.

“Do you want me to blow you Stevie?” You asked, and he nodded his head. You bobbed your head up and down. Steve grabbed a handful of your hair to keep himself steady. Steve’s grip on your hair got tighter, making you stop. “Don’t you dare come yet. I got plans for you,”

You stood up and directed him to the bed, pushing him down. Climbing on top of him, you sunk down on his erection. You gave him a moment to adjust before you began to move your hips. Steve threw his head back in pleasure. Steve remembered Bucky telling him some women loved their breasts played with during sex. So, he reached up and started to knead them. He got even braver when he began to play with your nipples.

“Getting brave there eh Steve?” You smirked. Steve took his hands and placed them on your hips. His breathing picked up, and the grip on your hips tightened.

“Y/n… I’m going to-,” You moved your hips faster, bringing not only him closer to an orgasm, but you to. Soon the waves of pleasure took over, and you let out a moan.

“So… how was that for a first time?” You asked, drawing figure eights on Steve’s chest.

“Wonderful. Absolutely amazing,”

God bless those posts that help you with writing smut! I wouldn’t be able to write smut without those. And if it seems like I kind of half-assed it at the end, it’s because I did.

I realize that as I’m editing, this has NOTHING to do with Santa or his little helpers. But for the sake of my health, humor me and go with it.

11 down, 1 more to go!!

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE!

Tagging(Permanent):

@iamwarrenspeace @the-marvel-dc-peasant @samsplaything @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @prettyyoungtragedy

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes one shot #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #imagine steve rogers #steve rogers one shot #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #marvel one shot #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #one shot #twelve days of christmas

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a-mad-scientist-approaches · 6 years

Text

Multiverse is a Curse Word (2)

Again, no idea how to describe this AU, other than as some sort of Frankenstein-y mash of @the-subpar-ghost‘s Adrift AU, and @hntrgurl13‘s Dimension Jumper AU and Drifting Dimensions AU. Adeline Marks is also the latter’s lovely OC. Although the Addiford ship has not yet sailed, I’m still going to credit it to @scipunk63.

@deadpool-demon-diva and @thejesterlyfictionista I refuse to NOT inform you when I post an update.

AO3 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Chapter 2: Hand Signals to Befuddle Your Enemies

The scenery whipped past silently, and sunlight streamed through the transparent walls of what Mabel had dubbed The Trainbulance. It had docked over the market place shortly after Ford had passed out. Apparently, fights were fairly common in that place, and medical help was permanently stationed nearby to pick up the pieces.

Her uncle jolted awake right next to her, shooting from horizontal to sitting upright almost instantly. His right hand automatically reached for the gun that Mabel had, with wise forethought, temporarily removed from its holster.

“Whoa! Grunkle Ford! It’s okay!”

Eyes wide and breathing hard through his nose, Ford focused on her after a moment of taking in his surroundings.

“Are you alright?”

“Me?” Mabel laughed worriedly. “What about you?”

“I’m-” Ford looked down at the recovery bed he was lying in, and then at his newly re-located shoulder. “Fine, actually.” He sounded surprised. “Where are we?”

Grinning so wide she thought every one of her braces must be showing, Mabel joyously exclaimed, “The Trainbulance! It can fly! And we don’t even have to pay for it or anything, Addi’s settled it all with the driver. I think she’s magic,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Addi?” Ford inquired.

“Right here.” Adeline said, stepping into the compartment. “Adeline Marks, your saving grace.” She introduced herself with a playful smile.

⃝

Adeline wore tattered clothes in brown and grey, and her wrists and hands were wrapped like a boxer’s. Ford knew immediately that he should not get on the wrong side of the sword strapped to her back; he had seen how fast it could be drawn. Her choppy blonde hair had a few grey streaks, and her right cheekbone wielded a couple of horizontal scars. Ford estimated that she was perhaps a few years younger than himself and had seen at least as much action, if not more, judging by the confident way she held herself – like she knew she was more than a match for anyone she crossed.

“I think she can hypnotise people with sign language, too,” Mabel supplied. Ford was suddenly aware that he had done nothing but stare at Adeline since she had walked into the room, and cleared his throat.

“Thank you for your help,” he said sincerely.

“Anytime,” she replied easily, “but Mabel’s the real hero here. She came and got me.” Adeline directed another warm smile towards his niece.

Mabel hesitated. Frowning slightly, she eventually took a breath and said to Ford again, “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have cheated.”

Ford swung his legs off the recovery bed and took her hands, making sure to look into her eyes. “Don’t blame yourself.” He said firmly. “Nobody’s hurt, that’s the important thing-”

“But you were hurt-”

“And you saved me,”

Mabel sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder, still upset.

“Mabel, you and Stanford did not deserve to be attacked over a dice game, regardless of whether you cheated. If anyone’s to blame, it’s that jerk of a gambler. I mean, who goes after a kid like that?” Adeline put in. “Next time, only cheat if the other guy isn’t going to notice.” She winked.

Mabel nodded slowly, mollified.

“Where are heading?” Ford wondered.

“This, um, trainbulance is going to drop us off at a place I know, run by some … colleagues, I guess, of mine. At the very least it’s a place to shelter for the night.” Adeline prompted, seeing his obvious reluctance.

“Adeline, it’s not that I don’t appreciate all that you’ve done,” he began, “I would just prefer not to take any more risks than absolutely necessary.”

“It wouldn’t be a risk.” Adeline said quickly and eagerly. “I mean, not by our standards, right?”

Ford ran a hand through his hair, glancing at Mabel, who erupted into a coughing fit.

“I’m good,” she choked out. He really hoped she had not caught something from that alley. He should have tried harder to find a more sanitary, not to mention safer, sleeping place. It was hard to remember how much more careful he had to be now, especially with a child as uncomplaining and resilient as Mabel. That being said, no matter how guilty he felt it was impossible to find suitable living conditions all the time.

It would be best to take it where he could get it then.

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding to Adeline.

⃝

Trying hard to contain her delight and not freak out the others, Addi was suddenly reminded of something.

“Oh! A thing you may find useful …” She rotated her wrist around and flicked her fingers out.

“I think she’s trying to hypnotise us,” Mabel stage whispered, looking strangely keen.

“No, this is a hand signal.” Addi laughed. “It, well, it sort of means ‘I don’t want to hurt you, I’m on your side.’” She rolled her eyes at Stanford’s raised eyebrow. “At the very least it’ll confuse your enemies into stopping attacking, y’know, if you decide to just stand there and wave at them. But they’ll probably recognise it. It works in many of the dimensions I’ve been to.”

“You said ‘side’ as in side of a war?” Stanford picked up, perceptive as ever.

“No. Not yet anyway,”

“So, a resistance effort? Against what? Are you a part of this?”

Addi shifted uncomfortably. She’d want Wesley around to explain this. “I help out where I’m needed. I’m not officially a part of anything. If they need assistance they call me in, like with-”

“Recruiting?” Ford’s voice was suddenly as hard as steel.

“No, well yes, but not you, not Mabel. I don’t involve kids.” Addi became aware that the conversation had made a sharp turn off road.

“You don’t. However, in my experience resistances are often just as brutal and cruel as the institutions they overthrow,”

“I’m not trying to get either of you involved.” Addi raised her hands in a placating gesture. “I just think we could help you out.”

“We don’t need help,” Stanford said coldly.

Mabel doubled over coughing again. As Addi steadied her with a hand, the medical transport shuttle, which had been slowing imperceptibly, rocked to a halt. The cease in motion caused all three of them to sway, and Addi distinctly heard Stanford’s breath catch in his throat when he looked back at her. He froze up, and Addi knew, she just knew that her necklace was showing. In the following moment of silence and stillness, Mabel’s mouth dropped open as she saw it too.

“It’s not-” Addi tried desperately to say, but then her two, well she couldn’t call them friends anymore, heard footsteps thundering towards them from the door behind her.

Things happened very quickly after that.

Mabel tore herself out of Addi’s hand and ran to the exit hatch in one of the viewing walls. Stanford kicked the chair she had vacated into Addi’s knees, making her hiss in pain. With a blast from the man’s gun, Mabel shot the emergency hatch off, and then they were gone.

“Damn it!” Adeline shouted in mingled anger and despair. The two resistance members she had notified to escort them to their base in this dimension hurried into the room.

“Why were you running? There was no rush!”

“The driver was getting impatient,” the blue, three-eyed, spiny one said uncertainly.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm down, Addi reached up and removed her necklace.

“Shit,” she whispered, gazing down at the little golden triangle.

“They freaked, huh?” asked Kot, a green, tentacled, octopus-like person. Their words were filled with sympathy.

“Yeah,” Addi tried to keep her voice from cracking.

⃝

Three days and two dimensions later, Mabel’s cough was only getting worse. She felt unsteady on her feet, and her temperature was stubbornly increasing. She’d also noticed Ford starting to cough.

They could not afford to be sick.

They were both interdimensional outlaws – Mabel by association, Ford by intent – and any wrong move could draw attention to themselves. A one-eyed, yellow, demonic kind of attention. Their encounter with Addi had given them no choice but to keep moving.

“How far away’s the next portal?” she murmured. On the other side of the fire pit in the desert floor, Ford looked up from his calculations.

“Not far.” He said. “It will open in a few hours.”

Mabel nodded and shivered. She was too tired to speak. She was cold, even though she was wrapped in all the blankets they had. Even though she was next to a fire. Even though they were in a desert.

This sucks, she thought miserably. Hey, never had an alien virus though! This didn’t cheer her up as much as it had two days ago.

Ford’s smothered cough almost escaped her notice as the crackling of the fire. A pang of guilt went through her and she sniffled. Worry painted all over his face, her uncle came and sat next to her, rubbing her back.

“S’ry,” Mabel said.

“No, I shouldn’t have let us stay in that alley,”

“Meant for bein’ a hassle,”

“You’re not. You never are,”

Mabel was pretty sure that was a lie. Ford was always counting their rations to make sure there was enough for two. He was more focused on earning money so they could stay in actual dwelling places whenever possible. He always kept a secure grip on her hand when they walked into civilisation, and had gone out of his way to get her proper travelling clothes. Most regularly though, he took the time to teach her about the calculations he used, the most common social customs he’d found, and how to operate what technology they had. To her, it was obvious how much of his attention she took up. It was nice of him to lie though.

Mustering up some last dregs of energy, Mabel asked what had been weighing on her mind.

“Do you really think Addi was working for Bill? I mean, the necklace didn’t have an eye. It was just a triangle,”

“I don’t know,” Ford said tiredly. It must have been the millionth time she had asked that question.

“I really liked her,” Mabel said sadly.

“I know. I’m sorry,”

After a moment Ford drew the blankets around her tighter. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He’d said that every night since she’d gotten a fever. She never did, but thankfully it was always easy to fall asleep. Waking up was the difficult part.

⃝

Ford woke up to the click of a weapon two sand dunes over. Quietly and quickly, he shook Mabel awake and checked that the smouldering coals of the fire were not bright enough to give away their position. Then he stuffed all their possessions into their bag, leaving one blanket around the girl. They were ready to move in under a minute.

When he took Mabel’s hand she was shaking. Not only her fingers, but her legs were trembling as if they were unused to the strain of lifting her, and her shoulders were heaving with the effort of suppressing violent coughs. Feeling his mouth go dry, he looked into her eyes. Their brown usually full of life, it was shocking to see how exhausted they were now. She seemed only half aware of what was going on.

Enough was enough. Once they were through the portal he was getting her to a hospital.

They made it across three sand dunes before their pursuers caught sight of them. Breaking into a run, Mabel was forced to stumble forwards with him as best she could. Unable to hold it in anymore, she dissolved into a full-blown coughing fit.

When the blue disc of the portal burst into brilliance ahead of them, the pursuers started shouting. A variety of languages met Ford’s ears, those that he understood phrasing questions.

“Stop! Who are you?”

“What are you doing here? Who sent you?”

“This is a warning shot!”

The sand next to them exploded, red lasers leaving afterimages across the dark sky. Ford instinctively threw himself in the opposite direction, cannoning into Mabel. Then he was on his feet and drawing his own gun, only to have it magnetically ripped out of his hands.

“Do not move,”

Ford reached out to push Mabel behind him, but the only resistance his hand met came from air. Ready to dive at the nearest assailant if they had so much as singed his niece, his head snapped around to see her on her hands and knees coughing so hard into the sand it sounded painful. He started towards her but another warning shot flew between them. He froze.

For a few seconds, all Ford could hear was the pulse pounding in his head and the agonised gasps for breath coming from his niece. Then the two pursuers began their interrogation.

“Tell us why you are here!”

“You were armed. That does not suggest a benign intention,”

“Are you affiliated with Wikert Expansion Enterprises?”

Mabel tried to say something, but all that came out was a croak, quickly overtaken by more coughs.

“We’re just travellers, we’re only passing through-” Ford tried.

“Travellers do not live like criminals,”

“What is wrong with the child?”

“I don’t know,” Ford said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Mabel was trying to get their attention. She waved an arm out ahead of her in lieu of words, or so Ford initially thought. Her coughs were coming harder and faster than ever, leaving her with barely enough time to breathe. Her condition was rapidly worsening. Could she be hallucinating? Was that why she was waving like that? Various thoughts presented themselves to him with lightning speed, but no solutions were among them.

With a huge rattling breath, Mabel gave one last cough. There was a muted splat as something dribbled out of her mouth and hit the sand. Ford’s heart seemed to stop as the portal gave one last flare before it disappeared, showing him clearly the red blood his little girl had choked out.

She shakily wiped her mouth and stood up, swaying. Then she made the hand signal she had been previously struggling to: a wrist rotation, followed by splayed fingers. After a very still moment, the two others echoed it.

Right then, the words “Come with us. We can help,” were the only ones necessary to convince Ford to trust them.

⃝

The structure was a monumental block in the middle of the desert. It was as big as a town, and twenty stories tall. Ford was not sure how they had missed it when they had arrived.

Another cough brought his attention back to Mabel. The following sob caused his throat to close up. More on edge than he had been in years, he hurried them both through one of the entrances, their two guides signalling the guards to let them in.

There were only a few people in this section, all wearing a black symbol on their clothes identifying them as medics. A small wave of relief flowed over him, and he looked down at Mabel as –

- as her eyes rolled back into her head and her legs finally buckled. Catching her before she hit the ground, Ford barely registered the panicked shout that left him, inducing the medical personnel to all hurry towards the commotion.

Ford swiftly checked Mabel’s breathing and heart-rate, neither of which were good. Her skin was clammy when he had been sure it was feverish only earlier that day. She was twitching slightly, but not seizing, which was indicative of –

A green, tentacled being started to pull his niece out of his arms. Instinctively, he jerked back, attempting to tighten his hold on her, but the stranger was already rushing away with the girl. Another swell of panic caused him to lash out, to try to stop them from moving out of his sight, even though he was dimly aware that it’s okay, they’re a doctor, they know what they’re doing. The hands of the guides closed around him for restraint, which only made him struggle harder. There was shouting, a call for help, an unintelligible reply, and a sharp prick in his right arm.

Fuck, was his last thought before he slipped into unconsciousness. Again.

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