#shes from a few months ago but i remain obsessed w her so........ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hailene · 3 years

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Blood Red Running Hood

𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖑𝖋!𝖜𝖔𝖓𝖜𝖔𝖔, 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐.𝟑 𝐊

𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓈𝓉| 𝓋𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓊

The cold foggy morning was sending chills down your spine, the coldness reaching all the way to your flesh, to your bones. It was about to rain, you could tell. But nothing could stop you from going to your granny's house, in order to take care of her like you always said you would.

The thing is granny was dead.

You found her months ago, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, sheets stained. You were horrified, not having seen anything like that before. But back then, a tiny little part of you sighed in relief. Granny was dead. The evil witch you had always been forced to take care of was now dead.

More than that, however, granny was murdered. And as you locked gazes with the murderer minutes after you found your grandmother dead, you body froze. You had heard about werewolves, you knew they existed, but the villagers had always tried their best to protect themselves from such creatures by going on patrols at night, killing anyone and anything that was out of the common. Your village was a small, simple gathering of poor houses. But it was tinted with so much sin and blood that it seemed like the village itself was cursed.

You had heard about werewolves. But you'd never believed you'd actually see one with your eyes. And more than that, you had never thought they would look so... human.

Probably, you would have never been able to tell the man sitting in front of you wasn't exactly human if it hadn't been for the steel-like glint in his eyes. And for the blood smearing at his lips.

For a moment, you were frozen, fear pumping through your veins and making it hard for you to breath. Then, you blacked out.

When you woke up, hours later, you thought you were in heaven. You were sure, absolutely sure that you were dead. But the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes were the steel-like eyes from earlier... except this time, they held some sort of warmth.

You looked around, realizing you were still at granny's, in her bed, with a new mattress, her lifeless body nowhere to be seen. The man sitting on the side of your bed smelled like rain, like mud, like the cold woods and the ashes in the chimney.

"I am Wonwoo," he said.

And you realized the smell was calming you down.

It's been a few months ever since then, a few months ever since you have started lying to everyone around you that you were taking good care of your beloved granny. When, in fact, you were obsessively visiting the small cottage just to meet Wonwoo. Again and again and again.

"What if they find out?" You remember yourself asking in fear one night, between two desperate kisses.

You remember him looking at you with so much love in his eyes that you could feel yourself melting, you remember wanting to pull him closer, closer... even though there was literally nothing between the two of you anymore, physically.

"Then I'll burn the whole damn village down," he answered before starting his hot work on you for the nth time that night.

Just to save you, you knew.

He was driving you insane.

Maybe that was why you couldn't help but come back to him. Again and again and again and...

When you enter the house, you find Wonwoo standing next to the hob, the delicious smell of food tingling your senses. You hum in delight as you close the door and take off your red hood, softly stepping towards the man. You hug him from behind and he lets the pots boil on the hob as he turns around to face you, kissing the top of your head gently. He smelled like rain, like mud, like fire and cold water. He smelled like home.

"I missed you, love," you hear him humming, filling you with warmth.

You haven't had a proper dinner in so long. You didn't have time for that, since you were always busy collecting the mail from the villagers and writing replies in the name of your beloved dead granny. She has always been seen as the wise woman, everybody was asking for advice from her. You knew everybody's secrets, you held way too much power for a little, young, unskillful witch.

But they didn't have to know that.

You occasionally told Laurette, your care-giver, that you'd stay over at your granny's. The woman was obviously glad that she wouldn't have to make sure she gives you any sort of dinner. You didn't quite stand her either. Ever since your parents passed and you and Kai, your younger brother, were given to Laurette to take care of you until you'd be able to take care of yourselves, your life had been a never-ending series of cloudy days. Kai used to be the only one able to cheer you up after a long, tiring day.

But now, Wonwoo could do much more.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as he goes down on you after the dinner, the dim light of the candles painting his skin in godly shades of gold. He was a murderer, an evil, a beast according to the villagers. That's why they didn't have to know about him, they didn't have to know about the two of you.

You had to admit that despite his humanly appearance, his werewolf features were showing sometimes, especially in bed. Sex with him was amazing. He was teasing, rough, but extremely good and even though you could have been scared of the extra-terrestrial strength of his choke-hold, you couldn't help but feel lured in towards him. You were obsessed.

"You should stop coming around for a few days, love," Wonwoo whispers after collapsing next to you.

You knew why. The full moon was coming.

He kisses you softly as you drift away to a sweet sleep. He was gone when you woke up the next morning.

When you returned home that day, you could feel that Laurette's gaze on you was different. Even if you didn't want to pay attention to it, the tiny drop of magic that was running through your veins was making it impossible for you to ignore it. It was almost like you could taste the fear in the atmosphere at home.

"What's wrong, Laurette?" You ask as she passes by your room with a heap of rags in her arms.

She looks at you for a few moments, as if she was surprised that you took notice of her behaviour. Then, she shakes her head, rushing towards the kitchen like she'd seen a ghost. You frown, unable to understand her behaviour. Did something happen while you were with Wonwoo last night? What could it be?

The answer, however, was about to be given to you in the form of Kai hastily waking you up the following night, incomprehensible cries and panicked whispers escaping his lips.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong, baby boy?" You ask while cupping his puffy cheeks, sleep still clouding your judgement.

"Fire, Y/N, they fire," your little brother cries.

You frown confused, rubbing your eyes to wake up.

"What fire, baby?" You ask as Kai starts crying harder. "What are you talking about?"

"They're coming, I've heard they want to burn the witch on a rug, Y/N!" He cries and your blood runs cold.

They can't possibly know, can they?

"Witch, baby boy? What witch?" You ask softly, trying your best to hide the panic.

"I-I think they were talking about y-..." he tries to say but you cover his mouth softly, your limbs already shaking.

"What else did you hear, baby?" You ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"They w-went to granny's h-house," he cries softly. "One of them wa-was... killed by-"

You didn't need anything more than this.

You get up from your mattress and put some clothes on, helping Kai to dress up as well. You take your blood-red hood and put it on, kneeling next to your brother afterwards.

You could already hear loud voices outside.

"You go to the water wheel and hide there until I come to get you, okay?" You speak, holding him tightly. "If I don't come by dawn, you run and never come back here, okay?"

"B-But, Y/N–"

"Y/N loves you, baby boy, Y/N loves you so much," you whisper as tears come streaming down your face.

Kai starts sobbing too. It breaks you.

"Chin up, baby, okay?" You say, trying to get a hold of yourself. "Just have faith and trust Y/N."

Before your brother can say anything else, you jump out the window.

You run through the night, far away from the angry voices and fire torches. You run through the woods, mindlessly, only having one thought in your mind.

Wonwoo.

Was he okay? Did he kill yet another villager? You were aware of the fact that he was so far from being a saint and that it wasn't the first time he'd kill one of the people in your village, but that only made you love him more. You weren't much of a good character either.

As you reach the cottage in the woods, you realize it was vandalized. The few pieces of poor furniture were broken, pots, candles and papers thrown on the floor. The few remaining potions, herbs and spell books you had stored were all torn open, pulled out from the secret places you thought you had secured them in. It was all a mess, a bloody, ruthless mess and the deep animal scratches on the wall weren't making it any better.

No sign of Wonwoo.

As you look around more carefully, your blood runs cold. You shouldn't have come here.

It was a trap.

"The little witch is here," the man in front of you shouts and you here footsteps coming from the outside.

Before you can turn around and run away, more men enter the cottage, blocking your way, and panic rises from the pit of your stomach, your vision getting blurry. Seconds later, you feel something hard hitting your head from behind, letting you fall in a dark abyss.

Before you open your eyes, you feel warmth, heat. You feel fire. And as you open them, you realize why. Your body was tied to a wooden rug, surrounded by a circle of flames. It was hot, almost unbearably.

"The witch woke up! It's time to burn her back to hell!" You hear someone screaming.

Your eyes meet Laurette's figure and you feel your whole body filling with so much rage that you swore the flames around you started burning brighter. And then you see it, the whole village gathered around you in hateful circles, looking at you as if you killed their families. Maybe you did. But not intentionally.

Rocks and sticks were being thrown at you, curses and words spit in your direction, but nothing that your mind and body could cope with. Your time has arrived, you were getting the fate that you deserved, so now, you could only hope that your brother and your lover were going to be okay.

You are a witch after all. You are evil. And you have been too stupid, too careless to keep on living. You deserve to die. You deserve to be burnt on a rug.

As one of the villagers approaches you with a lit torch, you hear a freezing growl, not that far from where you were. Moments later, the fire surrounding you starts reflecting in different places. You think it's your mind going insane, you think it's your vision getting damaged by fear, by defeat, by the unnerving warmth the flames were attacking you with. But as you hear the growl getting louder and the panicked screams of the villagers running around, you realize something went wrong in their plan.

You can't help but laugh as the villager who was coming towards you starts running for his life, screaming as the grey wolf with fire in his eyes starts chasing him. You couldn't be afraid of the wolves. You couldn't be afraid of Wonwoo.

People slowly disappear, corpses taking their place, the fire slowly starting to take over the whole town. You were surrounded by a realm of flames and you felt like you were on fire yourself, but you were laughing like a maniac, unable to control yourself.

Your curses worked. This God-forsaken village was now burning to fucking ashes.

You feel something or someone untying your wrists and ankles from the wooden rug and as you turn to look next to you, you meet the steel-like gaze of the man you were so in love with. He picks you up from the torture place and rushes out of the fire, running and running until you can actually feel the cold night wind whipping your bare skin.

Wonwoo turns around to look once again at the burning village, the fire contrasting with the dark night in such a sinfully-pleasing way. You adored that.

"It's finally gone," he whispers, your mouth watering at his hoarse voice.

I'll burn the whole damn village down, you remember.

You pull him by his torn shirt and he looks at you, warmth shining in his eyes brighter than that goddamn fire. You kiss him hungrily, tasting the smoke, the blood and the mud on his lips. It was all sweeter than honey, more addicting than any sort of herb you've seen before. This was Wonwoo, the forbidden taste you have always, always been longing for. Now you had it. And in the devil's name, you regretted absolutely nothing.

"The water wheel," you choke out as you pull away, your lips swollen, tinted with blood. "We have to find Kai at the water wheel."

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jinterlude · 3 years

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Grow a Pear

—Requested by @shadowsremedy: Seokjin + Kuroko’s Basketball + School Gym as part of @bangtan-headquarters Bangtan Anime Club Drabble Event!

—Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (Female OC) [feat. Seungcheol from SVT]

—Genre(s): Humor, Slight-Angst, & Slight-Fluff

—AUs/Tropes: Anime-verse, Kuroko’s Basketball!AU, High School!AU, Basketball Player!Seokjin, Basketball Club Manager!Reader, Opposites Attract Trope

—Warning(s) & Rating: Swearing, Reader threatening bodily harm onto Seokjin, Shameless flirting, & Jealousy from an old middle school rival / PG-15

—Word Count: 1.6K

—Summary: In which news of playing against a certain team sparks a rather interesting memory...

—A/N: This drabble is based on episodes 52 & 53 of KnB, but you do not have to watch the series to understand this story’s overall premise! It is also inspired by Kesha’s song “Grow a Pear” (hence the title LOL) because I immediately think of Kise’s character. Since Seokjin reminds me of that 2D pretty boy, I decided to write a fun story!

“Hey, ___!”

A faint hum exits your lips as your eyes remain fixated on your player statistics book. You flip between a few pages with the gears in your brain working in overdrive, almost forgetting for a split moment that Kaijo’s basketball captain asked for your attention.

“Yes, Sungwon?” You reply, closing the book and tucking it underneath your arm.

Pursing his lips, Sungwon strides over to you, leaning against the stage inside the gym. Don’t you love playing inside an auditorium?

“So…” He begins but grows silent. How on Earth is he supposed to ask you to be the sacrificial lamb? How will he tell you that you’ve been chosen to say the team’s resident narcissist yet talented prodigy that Kaijo will play against Fukuda Sugo? Specifically, they’re playing against a certain someone with a rather colorful history with yourself and said prodigy.

Tiny creases form on your forehead as your brows knit together. You know that carefree look anywhere. More often than not, you become chosen to do a specific task that no other teammate wants to do—talking to Kim Seokjin.

“Now, before you say no—”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t even hear what I have to say.”

“Doesn’t matter. My answer is still the same. No.”

With that, you turn on your heel, and not even a few steps in, you bump into the one person you don’t want to see.

“Princess!”

And to think…

You were having such a fantastic day…

“What do you want, Seokjin?” You question, grabbing the statistics book from your underarm and flipping it open to some random page. You already have the data mesmerized like the back of your hand. You just want to appear busy in front of the arrogant pretty boy.

“Well, besides you finally acknowledging that you’re my girlfriend? A little bird told me that we’re playing against his team in the Quarterfinals,” Seokjin replies, his tone dropping near the end. This serious expression slowly takes over his handsome features, almost sending shivers down your spine.

If looks can kill, then Seokjin is guilty of murder in the first degree...

Thank God he chose to attend a different school. Who knows what will happen if two people who absolutely despise each other play on the same team.

“Remind me to thank Namjoon for that…” You mutter, slightly shaking your head as you slowly draw in your breath. Then, a force, light chuckle escapes your lips, personally finding it rather humorous of the current situation.

“Anyway, so how are you feeling about playing against the dude who has a thing for your sloppy seconds?” You tease, attempting to lighten up the situation.

Seokjin’s brow perks up, “Sloppy seconds?” he repeats, a tiny grin form on his handsome face.

You nod, “Well yeah...I mean, he did steal your ex-girlfriend from you.”

In response, the arrogant basketball player hums. However, this exciting gleam enters the corners of his eyes.

What is he thinking now?

Suddenly, he turns to you, his gaze piercing into yours with this unexplainable emotion glazing over his eyes.

“Oh? I mean, he did come close to stealing you away from me that one day.” He states as this bright smile dances across his gorgeous face.

For a split second, your cheeks become hot. Your heart practically drums against your chest. Shit. Even your palms clam up, sticking to the cover of the player statistics book.

What is this feeling?

Then, it dawns on you. This nervousness is the same emotion you felt when you comforted Seokjin that fateful day—well, supported him in your own unique way…

Tapping your pencil against your chin, a soft growl emits from your lips as you try to figure out the best course of action. The Captain, Kim Namjoon, previously asked you to develop a plan to preserve the Generation of Miracle’s stamina, specifically when using their rather unique talents. At first, you thought Namjoon was flat out insane for asking such a request. Like, you’d have to take into account their height and weight difference. Oh! You couldn’t forget that you also keep in mind their current talent levels. All while these calculations occur during an official game with another team.

Yeah...

Namjoon might as well tell you to put on a fucking jersey while he’s at it.

Rubbing the sides of your forehead, you can’t help but let out a long, harsh breath as this throbbing sensation enters the left side of your head.

“Hey, manager ___.” You hear a familiar voice, interrupting your rather irritating calculations. You look up from the tiny pile of scattered papers containing player statistics. However, you don’t bother spouting words towards the overly cocky player. Instead, you merely hum in response, unknowingly irking the basketball player.

Plastering on a smug grin, the person leans against the stage, quickly glancing at what you’re doing.

“So, is that the special project Namjoon asked you to do for him?” The arrogant male student asks.

“Yep, and shouldn’t you be practicing Seungcheol?” You question back, raising a brow.

Seungcheol scoffs lightly, “Why? I mean, I already earned a permanent spot on the regular team, so…” He trails on, chuckling to himself. He finds the mere thought of his spot being taken away quite humorous.

You mentally roll your eyes. God, you don’t know who’s the bigger arrogant fool. Him or—

“Yo, Seokjin!” shouts Jungkook, running up to the new recruit.

Ah, Kim Seokjin. He recently joined the basketball club just a few months ago. He’s already showing promise despite being a second-year student. Shit. Seokjin’s talents have rapidly progressed to the point that Namjoon took notice of him and was promoted to first-string just last week.

Yet, you can’t quite put your finger on it, but something is holding Seokjin back.

But what?

Before you become entirely lost in your thoughts, you hear Seungcheol’s arrogant voice taunt Seokjin.

Oh, great…

You swiftly stand up from your seat and rush over to the argumentative duo. But as you draw near to the quarrelsome pair, you instantly halt. What is this intense atmosphere lingering in the air?

And why do you suddenly feel something other than agitation towards Seokjin?

“W-what did you say?”

“You heard me, Kim Seokjin. Whoever wins our 1v1 match earns the right to call ___ his girlfriend.”

“Hold on. You can’t just call dibs on ___!” shouts Jungkook in complete and utter shock.

Instantly slapping yourself back, in reality, you snatch a basketball from an innocent player and roughly throw it at Seungcheol, anger visible all over your face.

Sadly for you, the annoying prick catches it with ease, smirking at you.

“What’s the matter, babe? You don’t believe that I can put Seokjin in his place?” He coos, further taunting Seokjin. What sets the handsome prodigy over the edge is when Seungcheol abruptly pulls you against his chest, dropping the basketball in the process. His cheek brushes against yours, making you want to gag.

Just as you’re about to violently elbow him in the stomach, Seokjin shoves Seungcheol away before forcefully throwing the discarded ball at him.

“You start.”

“This should be fun.”

But it was just the opposite...

It was a complete slaughter with Seokjin on his hands and knees, panting and sweating profusely. His eyes widened from the shock of his defeat.

Not only has he lost horribly against Seungcheol, but he also lost you—or so he believes.

“So, how about that date, baby girl? After all, you’re now my girlfriend.” Seungcheol asks, making sure that Seokjin can hear him.

“Yeah, I don’t date dudes who have a thing for other fellas’ sloppy seconds.” You bluntly state, turning towards Yoongi and Jungkook, “I mean, first it was Yerin, right? The one that was going around the entire fucking school saying that she was Seokjin’s girlfriend. Oh, I feel sorry for her since it was just last week, you were chasing after her, and now you’re after me.” You say, clicking your tongue in fake disappointment.

Seungcheol’s arrogant smile vanishes and is now replaced with a scowl.

“Let me ask you this, why are you obsessed with Seokjin’s sloppy seconds? Like there are a million girls in this damn school who, oddly enough, would love to be your arm candy. Yet you go after the ones that either show interest in Seokjin or who Seokjin’s interested in. Like, dude. Stop. It’s honestly creepy to the point that I firmly believe you have a weird obsession with him.” You finish as you walk over to Seokjin, offering him a helping hand.

Seokjin faintly smiles, grabbing your hand, as he pulls himself up. Soon, his smile becomes bright. His sweet smile almost blinds you—and makes your heart skip a beat.

“I knew you had a soft spot for me, ___.”

“Don’t push it, Jinnie boy.”

Softly shaking your head, you playfully shove Seokjin, snapping him out of his thoughts. You then jump down from the stage, having popped yourself up there moments earlier.

“Well, all I have to say is that Seungcheol better watch out. He hasn’t seen your ‘Perfect Copy’ in action yet.” You warmly smile as you make your way towards the exit but soon halt. You glance over your shoulder, maintaining that sweet smile, and say,

“Besides, he’s no match for you with your girlfriend cheering you on from the bench.”

“Right…” He mumbles, totally ignoring your words. Then, it hits him as if someone doused him with cold water.

“Wait! Did you just call yourself my girlfriend?!!” Seokjin hollers, chasing after you.

“I don’t know. Win tomorrow’s match, and I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, that’s cruel, princess…”

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yandere-society · 4 years

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True Love

Prompt: Can I have a delusional Jungkook who is obsessed with fairytales and the whole idea of “prince meets princess and falling in love at first sight”, and is convinced that y/n is the princess and he has to “save” her in order to achieve a happen ending?

Admin: @psycho-slytherin 🐍

Warnings: Yandere-themes, stalking-themes, and profanity.

»»————-　♔　————-««

It was all coming together. Jungkook swiped through his phone, checking and rechecking his plans. Tomorrow, between 9:14 and 9:18 AM– depending on foot traffic– she’d round the eastern corner of 14th and Park. She’d be carrying her purse and a coffee, but she’d be finishing her drink by the time she reached the corner. The point, the most crucial part, is that her hands would be full. He’d bump into her, she wouldn’t be able to catch herself, and he’d swoop her up before she fell. She’d have to fall in love with her Prince Charming, and he’d, at last, have his princess. His y/n. Everything would be perfect.

They were destined to be together– Soulmates, Jungkook was sure, he’d known it since he’d first laid eyes on y/n. She was his true love.

»»————-　♔　————-««

You check your watch, careful not to twist your wrist enough to spill your coffee. 9:12. Finally, it looks like you’ll get to work early today! With a spring in your step, you weave through the usual crowd of hurried suits and turn the corner. You have a meeting that you’ve been preparing ages for, and you’re thinking of nothing but your various talking points, everything you’re going to present, when–

“Oof!” You bump into someone, hard, and lose your balance. Shit, shit, your hands are full. You drop your coffee and purse in an attempt to catch yourself, but instead of solid concrete, you feel the contact of strong arms holding you tightly.

“Are you alright?” You look up at your rescuer and see gorgeous dark eyes full of soft concern. The stranger helps you to your feet and hands you your purse. “That was quite a fall.”

“Ah, thank you– I’m okay. Appreciate it, man.” You breathe deeply to calm your pounding heart. The handsome stranger seems to be waiting for something. What else can you say? “Er… thanks again.” With that, you turn and begin walking to work, your pace increasing. Dammit, you really hope this won’t make you late.

“W-Wait!” The stranger grasps at your wrist, his eyes bright, his voice revealing an emotion you can’t understand. “Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

“Uh…” Aaaand he’s crazy. You pull your arm from his grip and hurry away, flustered. Love at first sight? What fairy-tale bullshit. Sure, he’s cute, but the creepy-to-cuteness factor is way off balance in this case. Love at first sight… When you were a kid, you dreamed of being a princess and riding off into your happily ever after. But you’ve grown up since then, and you know fairy tales aren’t real.

You glance backward. He’s staring after you, and you feel a rush of guilt. He looks like a kicked puppy… or a wounded prince.

Prince? “Gah– stop it!” You scold yourself, blinking hard. The guy messed with your head, distracted you with that love-at-first-sight stuff. Whatever, you’ll forget about it soon enough. In the meantime, you’ve got your meeting to think about.

“And now I believe y/n, head of our innovation department, has the latest proposal?”

You stand. “Yes, thank you. With help from our customer surveys, we’ve noticed there are a few flaws in our current system.”

“Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

“We, uh, have devised a few options: First, we could begin requiring browser logins and game downloads for individual accounts– that will cut down on incidents such as the one that went viral last quarter. Additionally, we could consider removing ourselves from the browser-based gaming market entirely and shift to a downloaded application-type medium. We predict a decrease in traffic but profits should remain largely steady–”

His eyes, his lips, his hands, his skin, his voice...

“Due to ad revenue and potential membership opportunities.” You continue. “We could also consider discounted subscription packages, which seemed popular in our surveys.”

He was really cute. Maybe you were too hasty? You don’t even know his name.

“...We believe that changing the medium of the game presentation will improve security, decrease online harassment, and increase profits within the next three quarters. I will now take questions.”

Usually, creeps gave off a vibe, the type of thing you could sense right away. This guy didn’t give you that vibe.

“Very well said, y/n.” The company president clapped several times. “What software changes do you propose making for this to work?”

You beam. “It’s rather simple, we only need to move our content offline to an external database– we already have games in development using this system. The cost for the whole switch would be a fraction of potential profits.”

“Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

“The board members will give it some thought, y/n, and I’d be very optimistic. Great work.”

Yes! “Thank you.”

At the end of the day, you leave the office grinning. The meeting went really well, and if you pull off this project, you’re certain to be looking at a promotion. You’ve been working on the proposal for three months and now that it’s looking so good, you could sing.

“Y/n?”

At the summons, you turn around– and then stop dead. “You again.”

And it is the love-at-first-sight stranger from the morning. He waves awkwardly, breaking into a cute bunny-like smile. “Hi.”

“H-hi.” You brush some hair out of your face, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, how did you know my name?”

The guy winks. “Magic.”

“Or stalking.”

“Or…” The guy hands you a business card. Your business card. “Maybe you dropped this in the morning.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

In truth, Jungkook had your business card for a few months. He couldn’t say that, though, and he needed an excuse to know your name and place of business.

You look at him with your beautiful doe eyes, the kind of eyes that a man would kill to protect. “Why were you waiting for me?”

Jungkook smiles. “I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier. I saw you dropped your card and, well… it seemed like a second chance.” A chance to be your prince, my love.

“Oh.”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook by the way.”

You smile shyly, that smile he’s seen a hundred thousand times, directed at everyone but him. You’re active on your social media accounts, and he’s seen all your photos. When you’re with your friends, your family, even today at your meeting– when you smile, you shine, a princess without a throne. It’s one of the things Jungkook loves about you. He can’t wait until your smile for him alone.

“I’m y/n. But I guess you knew that.”

“I did. Y/n, I’ll be honest, and I hope this doesn’t come off as too forward.” Jungkook leans towards you, his princess– his queen. “I’d love to get to know you better.”

“Um…” You hesitate, and a hint of fear makes its way up Jungkook’s spine. He really hopes you don’t reject him. In the months since he’s first noticed you, you’ve remained single. If you were to reject him, he couldn’t leave you to prance around in front of other men. If you, Jungkook’s princess, didn’t want his love, well… something would have to be done about that.

“Sure. That sounds cool.” You nod, a light blush coloring your cheeks.

Something akin to joy floods Jungkook’s psyche. The first step achieved. She said yes– she must see that what they have is true love.

Jungkook has always loved fairy tales. He was teased as a kid for how much he enjoyed princess stories. But Jungkook’s mom made it clear that she didn’t like him, and his dad was rarely around– unless he came home to berate Jungkook. No one could blame him for yearning for true love; it’s not like he ever experienced it at home. When he first saw you, he knew you were his princess. He needed to rescue you, sweep you off your feet, and carry you off into your happily ever after. True love is real, and you’ll help him prove it. The characters in Disney movies were happy after finding each other. He knows you’ll make him feel happy. In fact, he’ll make sure of it.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Well, he’s cute, and he did return your business card. You’ll be careful. What harm can come from a date?

Later that night, you’re catching up on some work. The company president said he’d have the board’s answer on your proposal by next week, and since it seemed like a sure thing, you’re anxious to get the OK to move ahead with the project.

Your phone buzzes.

Jeon Jungkook: Are we on for Friday at six, milady? [10:43]

Y/n: Haha yep, see you then! [10:43]

Jeon Jungkook: Can’t wait :) [10:43]

Jeon Jungkook: What are you up to? [10:44]

Y/n: Just organizing resources for a project [10:45]

Y/n: I’ve been working really hard on it [10:45]

»»————-　♔　————-««

Oh, Jungkook knows. He’s a decent hacker. When you were out drinking with friends last month, he accessed your laptop and installed a backdoor program that lets him see whatever you’re doing on your computer. It’s been useful: he knows about your work projects; the failed first dates; your porn preferences; your email contacts. He just wanted to make sure you weren’t cheating on him. Perfect princesses don’t cheat, and he knows you’re his perfect princess.

Friday arrives. Even though it’s only been a few days since he asked you out, Jungkook has been waiting for months to finally sweep you off your feet. It’ll be amazing. He walks up to the door, the details of which he’s practically memorized, and knocks. Three grand knocks, just like he’d imagined.

“Half a moment!” Your sweet voice floats from inside the house. Jungkook presses his lips together– do you even know how beautiful, how kind, how regal you are?

And when you swing the door open, his heart aches with desire. He can’t wait to possess you entirely. You’re wearing what Jungkook has to assume is your favorite light pink dress. You wore it to your birthday dinner four months ago, and again to your friend’s wedding three weeks ago. He hasn’t seen you wear this dress on other dates, though– does that make Jungkook special? He knew it. You do believe in love at first sight. You see the same thing he does: you’re destined to be soulmates.

“Your highness,” Jungkook says, holding out his arm.

You giggle and take his offered arm. Jungkook knows you think you’re just playing along with a joke. It’ll take a bit of time to introduce you to his royal fantasy– you don’t know you’re already Jungkook’s princess. But you will. Oh, you will.

»»————-　♔　————-««

The date goes surprisingly well. You haven’t been having good luck with dating lately, and you can actually see Jungkook being the one to break your dry spell. He’s a perfect gentleman, respectful and humorous. He continues to call you milady and your highness, and it’s cute, honestly. He makes you feel so special, almost like a princess.

“Thanks for tonight, Jungkook,” you say as he walks you to your door. “You finding my business card ended up being a pretty great coincidence.”

“I agree. I’m glad you decided to go out with me, y/n. I hope we can do this again.”

You nod. “Definitely.”

You smile as you change into your pajamas. You’re excited to see what Jeon Jungkook has in store. Before you get into bed, you open your laptop and notice a new email from the company president. Yes! Have you finally gotten the go-ahead and funding for the project you’ve poured yourself into?

Y/n, the email reads. I wish I had better news to give. The board declined your recent project proposal. Don’t let this discourage you from continuing to do great work! I’ll see you on Monday.

You sit back, slack-jawed, and rub your eyes. What? But… but it was looking so good. You worked so hard. What did you do wrong?

»»————-　♔　————-««

Jungkook frowns, looking at your computer screen on his phone. He’s still sitting in his car, parked around the block from your home. He knows how much you cared about getting this project approved. And this, this board. They kept his princess from achieving her goals. He blinks once, twice. Surely you’ll love him if he gets the board members to change their minds, if you realized he’d do anything for you. Jungkook turns the key in the ignition and drives home, thinking about how he can cheer you up. The individual board members are named on your company’s website– perhaps he’ll pay them a visit.

»»————-　♔　————-««

That night, you can’t sleep. This proposal was a display of your hard work, all the thought you’d put into making the company more successful. It was supposed to be a straight line to a promotion. The night started off so well, your date with Jungkook was so fun. Ugh. You bury your face in your pillow. How will you face your team members on Monday? And the board members. You know some of them don’t like you– you’re too determined, too innovative for a woman.

How you wish you could show them.

Whatever. It’s just one more failure. You’ll start brainstorming new proposals tomorrow.

You spend the rest of the evening tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, and sulking. The weekend passes much in the same way. You’re not one to get discouraged, but it’s hard to feel hopeful. If the project had been approved, your responsibilities and funding would have shifted into seeing it through for at least the next year. Monday morning, you’re headed out the door when you get a text.

Jungkook: When can I see you again? [8:35]

Y/n: Want to grab dinner after work? I get off at 5. Shall we say 6:30? [8:36]

Jungkook: Your wish is my command. Have a good day at work ;) [8:36]

Y/n: Yeah fat chance [8:37]

»»————-　♔　————-««

What you don’t know, Jungkook decides, wiping a bit of something red off his cheek, won’t hurt you. You wanted this project– and your knight in shining armor will ensure you get it.

»»————-　♔　————-««

“Y/n, can I see you in my office for a moment?”

“Hm? Uh, yes. Sure.” You follow the president into his office.

“How are you doing?” He asks as he settles into his chair. You sit across the desk from him. “I know how hard you worked on that project– it’s okay to be upset.”

You straighten up in your chair. “I’m fine, sir. Just focusing on moving forward.”

“That’s good. Well, I’ve actually got some surprising news for you today. Three board members– that is, the three that voted down your proposal– contacted me separately over the weekend to let me know they changed their minds.”

“I- I’m sorry, what?”

“Your proposal has been unanimously approved, y/n. Congratulations. I’m excited to see where your vision will take this company.” The president reaches across the desk and shakes your hand. You can only stare, half euphoric, half numb. “You will, of course, be transferred along with your team to the advanced development department. I’ll have the paperwork ready for you by the end of the day.”

“Okay! Uh… thank you.” You break into a radiant grin. “Thank you so much, sir!”

“Don’t thank me, the board members made their decisions. That being said, you really deserve this. Good luck.”

You practically skip out of your boss’s office. You did it! You knew the meeting went well, they just needed more time! You did it!

That evening, you hum to yourself as you put on your makeup. Jungkook will be here soon, and you’re really excited to see him. Even though you told him you could meet at the restaurant, he insisted on picking you up. What a gentleman.

Three knocks at the door. “Coming~” you sing as you pad into the hall.

“You look beautiful, y/n,” Jungkook murmurs as you swing open the door.

“Oh stop it, charmer!” You laugh, swishing your skirt like it was a ballgown.

“You’re in a good mood today, what happened?”

“My project got approved! The board changed their minds. Isn’t that great?”

Jungkook laughs. “That’s fantastic! Congrats!”

On impulse, you throw your arms around him and hug him tightly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

You snuggle into his shoulder. “For being so nice. For making me feel like a princess.”

You’re so preoccupied with how good Jungkook smells that you don’t notice him tugging his jacket up to cover a red stain on his sleeve.

“I’ll always be your prince, milady.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

This is true love, Jungkook thinks. We’ll get our happily ever after.

#yandere bts #yandere #yandere jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #yandere!jungkook #yandere!bts #bts #BTS jungkook #jungkook #yandere-society

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georgemackayhey · 4 years

Text

Rules For Falling In Love: #1

summary: In which George wants to get married. But... you're not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: Here it is I'm obsessed with this concept my dear friend thought up, so much so that I was inspired to write this multichapter fic about it all. Please let me know if I forgot to tag anyone, or if you'd like to be added to the list! And as always... feedback of any and all kinds are greatly appreciated!

w/c: 2k

Part 2 >

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Don't be a third wheel, come on now!" Dean's publicist shooed him away from where you stood next to George, counting down the seconds till the red carpet came to an end. You gave the guy a quick, twisted frown, as George's publicist pulled him further down the carpet, his hand holding on to yours, silently bringing you along.

This was just another normal Friday evening.

When the time came to flood into the award ceremony, you sighed in relief and reached for a drink from the tray of a despondent boy meant to stand right where he was for most the night.

"Don't you have any place better to be?" Dean laughed your way, thanking the waiter for the drink he swiped.

"We were going to go bowling." You shot George a look. You'd only made the plans as a joke, wondering how much shit either of you would get for ditching this stupid ceremony to go have a bit of real fun. But you'd made a promise to George long ago, to attend all these silly little Hollywood shindigs with him.

"And we will go bowling if we make it out of here alive" George declared with a nod, leading you toward the row of seats with your names on them. He hated these events almost more than you did. He insisted your presence aided to quell his anxieties these circumstances stirred up. And you couldn't tell George no, very often.

"If one of you ever did one thing without each other, I think hell would freeze over." Dean chuckled as you all settled into your seats. You looked to George again, and he looked to you and you both laughed, but Dean was probably right.

After the awards had been given out between long, sometimes painful speeches, the boy's publicists insisted they linger around the after-party for as long as they could manage. You kept your usual pace in between them, cackling over stupid old jokes and offering forced toothy grins to celebrities who asked if they could steal George away for photos and chats about the magic of acting- or whatever.

"You know, no one has even ever asked about us." You pointed out to Dean, sharing a piece of cake in the quietest corner of the party. "Showbiz people I mean. They just assumed right away. Even the times we've insisted we're only friends, they insist we're joking." You huffed a laugh.

"That's Hollywood for you, I suppose. But you've gotta admit... you and George-"

"Are just friends." You finished. Dean halted, smiling in agreeance to drop the subject, but clearly held back from stating his other points, whether they were valid or not.

After one too many sweets and drinks, George found you and informed his sister was on her way to give the two of you a lift home. You traded a few hugs with Dean, making rough plans to meet up again very soon, without all the cameras and microphones in the way.

///

"How was your date, then?" George's sister wondered as you clamored into the back of her car. George followed behind with an answer.

"It wasn't a date, it was work thinly veiled as fun."

"But you went together, which makes it a date."

"Nice try," You rose a finger, buckling in as the girl sped off toward the city streets. She'd always found sly ways to get you and George to admit there was something deeper to your connection. She'd introduce you to her friends as her brother's girlfriend. She'd address Christmas presents to the both of you, handing them out with a wink.

"I don't understand you two." She dramatically croaked now, as if your denial was her personal defeat. "You're catfishing the world!"

"We're not pretending to date." George reminded his sister, "And we're also not pretending we don't live together."

"Yeah so why aren't you dating? You do everything else together."

"We live to torment you. It's all to drive you mad" George falsely confessed.

"I wouldn't put it past you." His sibling let out a whine.

You and George shared a roll of your eyes, dulling snickers and exhausting explanations that weren't worth wading through. The midnight ride to your flat fell silent then. The night had been long, but it was a seemingly usual evening, these days.

By the time you and George shuffled up the drive, waved his sister goodnight, you were ready to forgo your usual routine and drop face-first into bed.

"I think my sister has a point," George mumbled, shutting and locking the front door.

"Hmm?" You encouraged George to go on, halfway in tune to listen, more so gearing up to head to bed after such a long evening out. George remained silent as you kicked your shoes off, and didn't speak again until he had your undivided attention.

"Let's get married," George said.

You tossed your head back in a laugh as you floated further into your shared home.

"I'm serious, y/n." George hurried along, moving to stop you from walking away, boring his sleepy eyes into yours.

"What?" You chuckled again, shaking your head, trying to keep up.

"We already live here. We've been talking about sharing a bank account. And it'll be so much easier to introduce as my wife than as 'my best friend who I live with but am not dating but go everywhere with.'"

"But that's the truth!"

"Marriage could be true! Think of how much easier life would be."

"George, how much have you had to drink?" You cackled as you pushed past him, into the kitchen for a glass of water. You clattered about the cupboards as he followed you, rambling still.

"I'm serious! We've planned out our lives together already. Future vacations, birthday parties, career deadlines, all accounted for with each other in mind. We should just get married."

"George! I will not let you lie at the altar. A wedding is for two people who want to commit every bit of their lives together for the rest of the foreseeable future."

"My plans for the weekend are always to ask you what you want to do the next. I'm your only emergency contact." George listed off these points as if they were dead giveaways.

"Okay, let's say we get married." You entertained, standing in front of George as he noshed on some deserts he'd brought home from the after-party. He raised a pretty brow, waiting for you to go on.

"Sure nothing changes at first, not really. You're already my ride to work, and I already promised to go to all those silly Hollywood parties with you. But what happens in five years when I want to move to France and you want to stay here? What happens in six months if some super hot mailman comes and sweeps me off my feet? What happens when you fall in love with some leading lady, George?"

"People get divorced all the time." He shrugged.

"That's a lot of money to blow. And for what? For a lousy label and some ugly rings?"

"So we pick out some bloody cool rings and promise to only get divorced if shit hits the fan. Neither of us can stay mad for long. Remember when I spilled wine on your great grandma's old lounge chair? I was fully prepared to be excommunicated. But you just hugged me while you cried." George chuckled, keeping his desserts close.

"Do you really wanna kiss me in front of your mother and the world and pretend that this is normal?" You tried to ask with a serious glare, but it was just too funny. You couldn't help but let out a little giggle of disbelief that this was the conversation you were having on an otherwise normal weekday evening.

"Y/n, we're practically already married."

"George I love you, but this is a stupid idea."

"I don't think it is, but I love you too. I'm taking this box of macaroons to bed, now."

"Okay goodnight you two." You laughed, pulling at the sleeves of your too-tight dress on your trek down the hall.

"Wait!" You called out, a few steps from your room. "Can you unzip this, please?" You took a few backward steps to meet where George had stalled in the hall, macaroon halfway in and out of his mouth, he balanced one hand on your shoulder and used the other to undo the zipper that hugged your spine.

"G'night!" You heard him mumble past his dessert as you gave him a wave of thanks and practically threw yourself into your nice warm bed.

///

You met George when you were kids. You grew up attending the same local festivals and schools. His acquaintance turned more familiar with each passing summer until you'd become rather inseparable. It was that fact that kept his number in your contacts when you moved to the city, and he went away to film more often.

You'd kept up lunch dates when he came back home, and celebrated holidays with his family every time they invited you to come round like they'd been doing for years. You'd even attended a few birthdays and dinner parties with his family when George was out of town, when you hadn't spoken with him in months.

You moved in with George some odd years ago, when the flat you rented threw one too many unfixable issues your way. His home was the closest to your work, and he was one of the only friends you trusted enough to reach out to for help. After occupying his guest room for a few months, George insisted you move your things into the place you'd already practically been living in.

His home was big enough, tucked away just outside of the city. It's high ceilings, warm decor and a manageable rent were easily and comfortably split between the two of you. It made sense. You'd been sharing most of your free time together for years, anyway.

You shuffled through the bright halls, past framed photos of George's family. Of you and George. There was no difference, you'd been close for so many years, your lives were complexly intertwined whether you liked it or not. Luckily, you did.

George was already in the sun-drenched kitchen when you entered, stretching into the new day.

After trading usual morning greetings you could practically hear George's silent, burning thoughts. He poured you each a cup of coffee and shot you a look you knew was meant to say much more than words could.

"Okay, what?" You asked in a warning tone, accepting the drink he placed before you at the table, before sitting in the chair at your side. You knew George had something to say, and he'd say it whether you asked him about it or not.

"My mum thinks we've been dating since Uni. You know we can't talk her out of it. If anything she'd be relieved."

Oh, he was really still hung up on this huh?

"So you wanna do this because of your mother?" You asked, watching the steam curl up from the drink between your hands.

"No. I wanna do this because being together officially would make all our being together anyway, so much easier. Bills, plans, excuses, rainy days."

You looked at George, his start blue eyes, his unkempt hair, that stupid withheld smile he got when he was focused on something. You loved him for longer than you had the patients to do the math for. You planned on loving him for a while, even when he pissed you off, you couldn't imagine struggling alongside anyone else...

"Earth to y/n."

"I'm not responding because you're starting to make sense and I don't like it." You pretended to pout. Then George went silent for a beat, his brilliant eyes searching your face.

"Do you still want to go bowling?" He pipped up as if he'd just remembered you'd said something about it a day earlier.

"Sounds fun, doesn't it?" You asked, hoping he'd join you in wasting a day having childlike fun. George bit back a grin, leaned in close to catch your eye, and said,

"If I win... we'll get married."

You wanted to curse his name through a laugh, but you very rarely could tell the man no. And you hated to admit it even to yourself, but the more you thought about it... the more you liked the idea.

"And if you win?" George mused, egging you on. But you didn't need to place bets to play.

"Let's go bowling, Mackay."

///

As you took turns knocking pins down, George brought up several valid points.

How his family adored you. How he'd drop anything to be there for you when you needed him. How you'd always talked about how scary the future seemed, but agreed it was better to face together, like always.

And you argued for a moment that maybe neither of you knew any better, how you were all each other knew since growing up.

But George pointed out that simply wasn't true. He'd traveled. Met girls, none of whom were around at all anymore. You'd dated and failed to find anyone worth keeping around. It was as if you and George were the survivors of some twisted game of life, having only managed this far because of how you relied on each other.

But you weren't on the same bowling team.

You were scoring strikes left and right a few solid points ahead in the game.

But George was close to beating you, one good turn and he'd wind up the winner.

All the while, George only stalled his passionate speeches to listen and laugh over yours. And as you considered how familiar his presence was, and the way you couldn't imagine living life any further apart, you'd made up your mind.

But every time you thought of voicing your decision, something stopped you. You bit your tongue and decided that you'd wait to see if your feelings changed soon. And after some serious thought, you could either tell George that you'd hate to let him down, but plan a movie night alongside his favorite dinner, to make up for your decline. Or you'd tell him yes, and agree to his stupidly sweet idea to get hitched. Because you couldn't tell him no.

He won the game.

But of course, George wasn't living and dying by the bet he made that coaxed you to play. And you never really agreed to it anyway. The two of you simply went on arguing on the way home, more or less about how you were on the same page, and just what to do next.

And while you made dinner together, your conversation stopped when you sucked in a big breath and spun on your heels across the room. You'd heard enough.

George raised a pale brow, sitting patiently at the table as the oven did its thing. Then he watched as you settled back to the seat across from him, placing a pad of paper and a pen down.

"If...we do this, I'm writing down rules."

George watched on, sipping tea as you scribbled away. Once you felt comfortable with the list of regulations you'd penned, you read from the marked-up note pad, one at a time.

"Okay, listen up..."

MARRIAGE RULES

one. No lying to family and friends. They get to know that this isn't conventional.

two. No lying to each other. We're only doing this to make things easier. We must remain every bit a team.

three. We must celebrate our anniversary because there's no point in not milking the chance to go on holiday.

"Now," You flipped the page to a new set of rules before George could go on smooth-talking.

DIVORCE RULES

"We can only get a divorce under dire circumstances. Which include the following..."

one. If we betray each other's morals or trust in a way that cannot be fixed or forgiven after a year's time.

two. If one of us is dying. Actively dying.

three. If one of us finds and falls in love.

"We've managed to work out all the bad shit together so far and I'm sure we can keep that up. A divorce is too much money to waste over one fight we end up resolving and remain otherwise together."

"So you'll do it?" George grinned, setting his drink to the side.

"Is this you asking me to marry you? It's very unromantic. Negative three out of ten." You laughed, George did too. But you needed to make yourself very clear.

"I'll think about it." You clarified. "You should too."

You’d tell him yes later. Because as much as it scared you... you'd already made up your mind.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @haileymorelikestupid @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 years

Text

Appearances (Tom Hiddleston one shot)

Hello, this is for @babylevines 4k challenge. It didn’t go as long as I planned nor did it go exactly where I planned but I had fun with it.

Tom Hiddleston x ofc, warnings: None, Rating: everyone.

~~~~~~<3

Rena pushed the wild curl back off her sweaty forehead with the side of her arm as she set the hollow rod on the steel stabilizing frame in front of her. Her assistant, Matthew’s dark skin gleamed under the warm florescent lights as he pushed the tip of the rod into the red hot furnace and began rotating it, slow and steady.

Even with the studio doors open wide and the large fan on the ceiling rotating slowly, there was little relief from the heat and Rena’s pale skin was flushed with it. They were almost done however. The design they were working on was done by Matthew and this was their one scaled down practice before he had to execute it himself with an assistant of his own as his last project for his art degree.

He rolled the cart back and Rena snagged the hot pipe off the rack and set the end on a rack some feet away, supporting the end just above the red hot orb of molten glass. She rotated it as she blew into the end and slowly the orange blob at the end expanded.

Behind her, Matthew set out rods of blue tinted glass on a steel table where he stabilized them before fetching a small container of crushed blue glass and a torch. It was quite for once in the studio and if it wasn’t for the furnaces running, it would have been silent. The furnaces run most of the day almost every day. Between the two of them and any guests renting shop space at any given time, it was more efficient to leave them fired up.

Rena was busy blowing the last of thirteen clear glass bubbles and so when Matthew called out, “Loki’s here!” She could only glance up to the man who at the moment looked only vaguely like the character Matthew insisted on calling him by.

“Has she eaten today? Or you for that matter?” Tom asked, scratching at the stubble on his chin for a moment as he always did coming into the studio when the furnaces were running. He’d once told her when she asked why that it was the heat and humidity mixed that simply made him break out into a sweat instantly. Somehow that resulted in his chin having an itch when stepping inside.

It warmed her heart that he asked after Matthew as well as her. He was a good man, a kind man and she couldn’t even begin to guess what she had done to be blessed enough to have him in her life. Somehow, she caught his eye and her obsessive work schedule hadn’t sent him running. Yet.

His curls were dyed dark for his latest project and allowed to grow out. It was a look while only slightly reminiscent of Matthew’s favorite role, Rena was fond of. The dark color of his hair often left his skin looking cool and his lack of a tan at the moment didn’t help. The harshness of the look was lessened by the smile on his face and the flush that quickly climbed his cheeks as he moved into the hot room.

“I grabbed some Subway earlier. I don’t think Miss Rena’s left all day. I threw a bottle of water at her an hour ago but it’s still sitting in the reject bin.”

“Why’s it in the reject bin?” Tom absently asked, coming closer to examine Matthew’s work. The young man had talent and even in the few short months Tom had been hanging around the studio he had been able to watch as his art grew and evolved. Glassblowing was an art so outside of Tom’s frame of reference that he seemed to never grow bored watching them work.

“That’s where it landed.” Rena answered, picking up the rod with the glass ball now about the size of Tom’s head and whipping it through the air as if it was some staff and not a steel pip with a ball of still soft glass that would leave extensive burns behind if she made one wrong move. With each whip of the pole, the ball shifted and contorted just a little more into a raindrop.

Tom nodded, as if that made sense while he watched Matthew melt the ends of the thin clear rods and dip them in the powdered blue glass. Before the torch was turned back on to melt the powder he asked, “So you’ve not eaten?”

“I had breakfast. Got caught up making a castle around lunch and forgot. I had a sandwich about an hour ago though.”

Tom walked, chuckling at her meager excuse for a dinner toward her while carefully watching his step. He’d learned early on that the studio was a minefield on some days with shattered glass and broken projects left on the ground in a fit of frustration.

She was a vision to him. Her tank-top was soaked through in places with a mixture of sweat and the water she often dumped over herself throughout the days. Her dark wavy hair was pulled back into a messy bun that somehow still looked just as it should be. The dark blue paint on her nails glittered in the light as set the rod down on a flat work table with the glass hanging off the edge. She rolled the rod and grabbed a soaked bundle of newspaper.

“Can I help?” Tom asked, rather than saying what he really wanted to say which was that she was more beautiful in her element than any of her stunning creations though he could never understand how that was possible.

“Roll the rod?” And so he did as he watched her run the dripping newspaper under the bubble, refining its shape ever so slightly. Each time she pulled the paper away embers glowed where the paper burned away but she was unconcerned and though Tom had seen this before, it always amazed him that the glass was crystal clear and not marred by ash. This was her element and she was bending the glass to her will.

When she told him to stop, he held the rod steady. By now, the thin glass orb was cooling and becoming stiff though still far too hot to handle with bare hands alone. With one hand on the rod, she handed him a pair of thick leather mitts.

“Oh, Loki’s playing catcher today?” Matthew called from where he was shutting down the furnaces. With all the pieces fabricated and it getting late, there wasn’t a reason to keep them burning. Tomorrow they would assemble the pieces once the glass was cool “Dude, don’t drop it.”

Without much of a choice in the matter, Tom was directed to the end of the rod where he couched down with tan leather mittens covering his hands, reaching up almost to his elbows. He’d seen Matthew and Rena do this countless times but he was terrified of mucking it up and dropping the fragile bubble just the same.

He watched as Rena grabbed a pair of large tongs from a bucket of hot water and ran their tips around the base of the bubble, where it narrowed and connected to the pipe before asking, “Ready?”

“Not really, no.” Tom answered in all seriousness only to have Matthew laugh from across the room. This was a terrible idea, he was sure of it.

She picked up a chunk of wood and with a solid whack, it clanked on the side of the rod once. There was a crack that filled the air and in an instant one very hot, very thin bubble of glass fell into his hands and he let out a breath.

“Come on.” Rena was up and leading him toward the annealing ovens in the back. She was moving quickly and he was struggling to keep up. It was like she forgot that he was carrying a glass orb that was dangerously hot and that if he dropped it there would be a mess of shattered glass on the ground rather like the one to the left he almost stepped in.

Matthew had the oven door open as Rena veered to the side and shut down the main lights. Tom carefully set the glass orb inside as if it was a bomb primed to explode with the slightest nudge.

“Miss Rena, we need to make Loki a tesseract.” Matthew grinned like it was a completely original idea. Yet Tom had to smile because if they made him a glass tesseract he was sure it would be a breathtaking piece of artwork far better than any prop he had used with Marvel.

“Let’s get you graduated first.” Rena laughed and the sound was music to Tom’s ears as it danced around the concrete studio, seeming to fill the space.

It amazed him the beauty that could be found in the simple concrete room with the dull gray walls and floors. The first time he had been here, it was early in the morning and he was picking up a gift for his sister that their mother had commissioned. The studio had seemed so cold when Matthew took him inside. The furnaces had been off and the lights turned off. Only the light from outside streamed into the room and the overcast sky hadn’t done their studio any benefits ascetically though he soon learned how much the cool days were valued.

But then he heard her chuckle in delight as she pulled something out of the large oven that must have turned out just as she wanted and everything about the room seemed to change in his eyes. It was as if creative fairies were drawn to the sound of her laugh and danced around the room, bringing it to life as Matthew powered on furnaces and their warm glow added light to the room.

Now, it didn’t matter how early he visited the studio. It didn’t matter if the furnaces hadn’t been lite in days. There was nothing that could banish the warmth he found in the studio. It didn’t matter because now he knew that this was where her creativity lived, where she took glass and twisted and shaped it to her will.

As Matthew climbed the rather rickety ladder that lived near the ceiling window, Rena went to the large shop sink and turned on the tap. It was Matthew’s job to climb the ladder and open and close the custom ceiling window as needed. That window, Rena had once told Tom, did more to vent the heat that builds up in the shop than the large doors that were left open all day regardless of the weather outside.

Tom watched as Rena ended her day as she always did- by shoving her head under the cool stream of the water until she felt the day had been rinsed from her. Tom couldn’t do that- the way the water streamed down her face would have caused him to pull his head out from under the stream. Rena however remained under the stream until her hair was soaked through and she felt like all the sweat was rinsed from it, than longer still.

She scrubbed at her arms, neck, chest and shoulders, washing away the sweat from the day. It wasn’t a replacement for a shower but left her feeling human enough to leave the studio. She blindly turned the water off before wiping it from her face.

Tom couldn’t say if she knew that he watched her, mesmerized by her end of day routine. Matthew noticed and sat midway down the ladder with a small smile. With a shake of his head, he came the rest of the way down to take his own place at the sink, running cool water over his own dark mass of tightly packed curls.

“I’ll lock up.” He mumbled from under the stream of water leaving Tom amazed he hadn’t choked on any water in the process.

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

Stepping outside of the studio was always refreshing but today was a bit cooler than normal. They walked hand in hand down the winding path through the garden. Tom told her of his day, of the interviewers who wanted to pry into if he was dating anyone and he dodged. They hadn’t been public yet and thus far had been careful to keep their relationship, young as it is, private in order to allow what was between them to grow unhindered by the public eye.

Once on the street, her hand slipped from his as it so often did. This time however, Tom was quick to snatch it back up. “Rena?”

“Yes, Tom?”

“It’s dangerous out there.” She laughed at him though he was going to great measures to school his face.

“Yes, the crickets are mighty aggressive this time of year.”

“They are. I’d feel much better if you let me walk you home.”

“Someone will see us.” Rena bit her lip and looked down. “And I look a fright.”

“Let them see us. Let them know that a beautiful artist has captured my heart and my soul with her stunning beauty.”

“What will they say about you?” Rena motioned to herself, wet hair quickly drying to a frizzy mass of waves and sweat mixed with water causing her shirt to cling to her back. “I look like shit. They’ll talk about how terrible it is for you to-”

“You look beautiful. A creative vision in the night. The fantasy I hadn’t known I was looking for and now can’t imagine my world without.” He couldn’t keep his face straight and this time when she laughed at him, he joined her. He was being over the top, knowing that though he meant every word of it, she found such grand words beyond her. In truth, they made her nervous, she was an artist not a poet and worried she’d never be able to tell Tom just how much she truly cared for him already.

She stepped away and he stepped toward her, wrapping his arm around the small of her back as if he couldn’t feel the lingering dampness. “You are so full of shit.” Laughing, she slapped his chest before looking around and making sure no one was watching them. “There’s a guy with a big ass camera.”

Tom looked behind him. “So there is.” Yet he didn’t let go.

“They’ll get pictures.”

“Are you ashamed of me?” He asked softly, knowing or perhaps hoping that she wasn’t. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, drawing them up in a peaceful smile as he gazed down at her.

“No- but I look like a mess. Tom, what will they say? Be serious.”

Slowly, he leaned down and brought his face closer to hers. “They’ll say how damn happy I look.” His whispered words left his soft lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

“They’ll say I don’t deserve you.” She mumbled into his lips as they moved just a hair closer, teasing her with the breath of a kiss.

“It is I who doesn’t deserve you.” He answered before removing her ability to debate her point further. The kiss was soft, sweet and full of love not yet given proper voice though it grew by the day within their hearts just the same.

Come morning, the gossip rags would feature their pictures on the front page and talk of Tom finding himself a normal girl and sweeping her off her feet. The world would see their love filled kisses and pictures of Tom slipping into her front door in the night paired with him spotted leaving in the morning, disheveled and wearing what looked to be the same suit after sharing a kiss on the doorstep. There was no doubt that the internet’s boyfriend had found himself a girlfriend.

~~~~~~~<3

Tag List: @winterisakiller, @dangertoozmanykids101, @alexakeyloveloki, @0-0-0-0-0-0-0-7, @theoneanna, @bambamwolf87, @j-u-s-t-4, @wegingerangelica, @missaphrodite23, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @michelegurl

#mimis4kchallenge #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x reader #Tom Hiddleston X Original Character #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston rpf

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thedyingmoon · 5 years

Text

💚 See Me Now 💚

***

XII. Drunk

***

Hange was laughing so hard.

So hard, that it was irritating the shit out of Levi.

"Will you shut the fuck up?!" he said through gritted teeth.

"I'm so sorry, I couldn't help it!" she was treating the wounds on his fist, cleaning it and putting a bandage around it. She was readjusting the bandage when she squeezed his broken knuckles by accident.

"Ouch! Fuck! Will you be careful, shitty - eyes?"

Hange was still laughing hysterically. "S-sorry,... Hahaha!"

Levi rolled his eyes.

After what happened in his office earlier, he couldn't go back there, knowing that (F/N) would still be there. And probably still angry at him.

"Anyway, that's what you get for insulting a woman, Levi."

"What did you say?"

Hange finally let go of his hand and took away her medicinal kit. He couldn't go to the infirmary to get his injury checked, for the nurse might get suspicious on how he actually got his wounds. His secret might be revealed, then. So, he had no other choice but to go to Hange's office to have it treated. He was actually quite regretting the decision he made to have the mad scientist treat him a few minutes later after telling her everything that happened between him and (F/N) an hour ago.

And she was still laughing like mad at him.

I swear, if I get my strength back,...

"What I mean to say is that we women are kind and patient. Just don't test our kindness and patience or even make us mad. You will surely regret it if you do. (F/N) is no exception to that. That's what you get for making her mad."

Levi looked at her and finally decided to ask her the one question he dreaded so much. "Is she always like that? That girl?"

"(F/N)? What do you mean by that?"

Levi looked away, embarrassed. No other female in his life has given him a total backlash of insults like what (F/N) did, not even Mikasa. The gloomy brat would just glare at him with murderous intent for ordering Eren around, but that's about it.

(F/N), on the other hand, may be timid and obedient. But, damn, the wrath she displayed,...

...she was even creepier than Mikasa, herself.

"What I mean to say is, does she always get angry like that? I mean, she's your subordinate, and all, you must've known her for quite a long time."

Hange smiled. It was actually the first time that he asked her about (F/N).

Levi,... seemed to have learned his lesson, she thought. But, that injury! If he didn't infuriate (F/N) in the first place, it would surely not get this bad.

"I've known (F/N) for almost two months, yes." she stood up and went to her desk to fetch herself some sweet treats. "She's a very quiet and shy person. As you may have witnessed, yes, she's weak compared to other girls here. But, she more than makes up for it with hard work and dedication to her job, which are the two things that others lack in this line of profession." She went back to the pink sofa where Levi was currently sitting and offered him a treat. He shook his head in refusal and she just plopped back down beside him, eating the treat she offered him. "But, you know, it was actually the first time I've heard her act like that. Considering the fact that, well,..."

Hange was hesitating but, Levi knew exactly what she was being hesitant about.

"I heard you, you know." he said. "That day when,..."

Hange looked at him and immediately realized what he was talking about. "Oh. So, you really heard us?"

He nodded. "Was it true, though? Does (L/N) like me?"

The scientist grinned at him. "What kind of a question is that? Of course, she does! Frankly speaking, after what you did to her, I strongly opposed her attraction towards you. I mean, come on, you know what I'm talking about. You keep pushing her away, and she knows it. And yet,... I don't know if she's just plain obsessed with you, or she just had a deep reason for hanging around you long enough until this,..."

The man absorbed all this, not making any objections of some sort. He was actually used to hearing stories about numerous girls who adore him to the point of obsession. But, he somehow felt that (F/N) was different. He knew it from the first time he met her.

"Those stories I heard from her batch, that she seduced her way to the Trainee Corps and that she was always referred to as a slut because of it, it honestly affected how I see her as a person. I thought that she even had you, Erwin and the others from your Squad bewitched because you all seem to give her special treatment. Particularly you. And Erwin."

Hange made an effort to keep her mouth shut. They were under the orders of the former Scouting Legion Commander to keep their mouths shut regarding the true reason of (F/N)'s presence in the group. They may have blundered one of his orders, but this time, Hange would not fail.

Levi,... must never know about it.

"Why? Doesn't she deserve it? She's willing to learn as a Scout, and we're doing the best we can to educate her. It's the best we can do for someone as dedicated and selfless as her. You, Levi, will never understand it, since you have not the slightest idea of her abilities, its possible worth to us,... or even her past, for that matter."

And that's just scratching the whole truth.

Levi crossed his arms. He was fully aware that Hange was not telling her the whole thing. "Her past?"

"Yeah."

"And what about her past?"

"Not telling."

Levi clicked his tongue, stood up and opened the door. "Thanks." he simply said and left her office.

If Hange would not tell him, he would find a way to know it, himself.

******

Erwin knocked for the third time at the door.

"Please, come in." a little female voice finally said.

Erwin entered and what greeted him inside awed him. Levi's office,... was so clean and tidy that he could even go to sleep on the floor without getting even a speck of dirt in his person.

But, where could Levi be?

"Here are the next documents to be filled out." he handed it to the girl, who was still wearing her cleaning outfit. She took it and put it on the desk. He noticed Levi's gear there. And he was a hundred percent sure that it has never looked that shiny before.

(F/N) felt guilty after what she did to Levi. A part of her was telling her that the awful man deserved it, and a part of her was crying out loud to her, regretting her impulsive actions. Levi is sick. He was probably only acting like that because he badly wanted to have his strength back, plus he was getting more and more frustrated because he could no longer do the things he normally does. Like cleaning.

I should've been more patient to him. This is all my fault!

Erwin felt the girl's unusual silence and decided to know the reason behind it. "(F/N), where is Levi?"

The girl looked as though she was about to cry. His suspicions were right on. "Did he do something to you?"

(F/N) shook her head. "N-no,... he didn't."

Erwin smiled at her. He could simply ask someone to deliver the documents to her. He,... just wanted to see her.

"Then,..."

"Commander?"

"Yes, (F/N)?"

She was still not used to the Commander calling her by her given name. "I've been meaning to ask you, what is Captain's favorite beverage?"

What - ? "Sorry?"

"W-well, ah, do you know if he prefers something? I mean, he doesn't like coffee, or hot cocoa,..."

Erwin sighed. Of course, she still has feelings for Levi.

He, on the other hand, must not let his emotions get in the way of Shadis' plans for her in the Legion.

"It's,..."

******

(F/N) slowly entered the quiet and dark mess hall, the cup of warm black tea in her hand. She was certain she could find him here, for after all, he hasn't had anything to eat, yet.

It was past eight in the evening. She perfectly knew that the Scouts, if not all of them, were already in bed. She knew that he would not hesitate to eat here, since no one would see him.

And she was right. Right there, in the middle of the room with only a single candle for a light, was the Captain, himself, drinking booze. And not just booze; the girl noticed that there were three different bottles of wine at the table, all empty.

He'll be fine, right? After all, it was rumored that the Captain never gets drunk. Right?

"Captain? Captain Levi?" she called. No answer. His back was turned against her. She slowly made her way towards the offended Captain, ready to atone for hurting him. "Look, I understand how hard it is for you, Captain. And I'm truly sorry for what I've done to you. I should've been more patient. But, you have to remain hopeful for yourself. I'm pretty sure that you'll get your strength back. I'll never leave your side until then. So, will you forgive me?"

Levi didn't say anything. She was about to place the cup of tea on the table when he suddenly grabbed her hand.

"Captain!" (F/N) said, but it was no use. Levi pulled her and brought her down on the table, the tea spilling and the cup shattering on the floor. The man placed his knee between her legs and brought his lips to her ear. His mouth reeked of booze. "Captain, please,..."

"Petra,..." he said. The girl's eyes widened. "I want you,..."

What,...?

"Captain, I'm not Petra. I'm (F/N),..."

Levi suddenly bit her neck. It would surely leave a mark there. "Please, sweetheart. I want to make love to you. Just like the old times,..."

Just like the old times,...

Levi groped (F/N)'s chest and rubbed his knee on her soft spot. "Please, Petra, I want you so much,..."

Fire suddenly raged inside (F/N)'s head. She forcefully pushed Levi away. He landed pitifully on the ground with an ugly thud.

"Ow! What the - "

Levi was stunned. In his drunken state, he was only aware that his beloved Petra was refusing him. So, is it true? Is she really cheating on him?

(F/N), on the other hand, was feeling different kinds of emotions, all at the same time.

Levi stood and tried to tackle Petra once more. "Why are you being such a bitch tonight, Petra? I said, I want you! Don't you want me anymore?" he whined.

(F/N)'s brows shut up to her hairline. "I'm. Not. Petra!"

"Petra,..."

Levi went for the hug,...

...and was met by (F/N)'s hardened fist.

The man fell unconscious on the floor, knocked out by the girl's powerful punch.

******

A/N: Okay. To tell the truth, I removed the last line because I was laughing too hard on it. Anyone who wanted to know the last line, just let me know. 😅👍👍👌

~ @levi4mikasa , @yepps , @clovemcpandas , @shewolfofficial , @unhappysap , and @shortbty14 . 💚

***

💚💚💚

***

#shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi ackerman #captain levi #see me now #levi x reader #levi x you #snk hange #snk petra #snk erwin #chapter 12 #drunk #snk mikasa

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thecurseisinourblood · 4 years

Text

A light knock at his office door and Frollo turned around, expecting it to be Lucy. To his surprise, it wasn’t. Though Claude spoke to Jean-Pierre on a daily basis regarding work, he wasn’t prepared to see the man after hours. He understood the implications. Dread and nerves overcame him in an instant. Lucy was the only one who was allowed into his office without permission and he glanced at her. She was decidedly looking away. How convenient! “Don’t look so jilted, my boy,” Jean-Pierre sat at the opposite side of the minister’s desk. That was a common title for Jean-Pierre and Remy, while Lucy to this day called him Sir. “I thought you would have gone home by now. This is late for you,” Frollo said. Trying to remain casual, he watched Jean-Pierre shrug. “This is an after business hours conversation. You’ve been particularly quiet this last year and I feel like I haven’t spoken to the real you within that time either.” “Being sentimental, are we? You know I have been busy--” Jean-Pierre gave him a stern look, which struck fear into his heart. He bit his tongue immediately. He remembered what Judge Remy had said about lying to the old man.The same man he admired so deeply. The more entrenched he became in his despair for Esmeralda, the more dishonest he was to the people closest to him. “It is all those theatre visits and afterparties you’ve been attending. Do you think Charlotte doesn’t tell me these things?” Jean-Pierre raised his thick eyebrows in expectation. “You don’t even appear to enjoy them as you are too busy fighting with the theatre staff.” Frollo abandoned the documents he had been attempting to sort on top of his desk, his back becoming rigid. Then, he turned to look at the old man. “What is this about?” “You know what it’s about. You have been brushing me off for some time. I ask Lucy how you are doing and she evades a real answer. Eventually over a few glasses of champagne at a dinner with my wife and I, she admits that she’s been trying to set up a doctor’s appointment for you.That was three months ago,” he sighed, and Frollo was feeling the pressure gradually getting heavier on his shoulders. “I ask again and she makes up some excuse for you. Then she tells me you have canceled the two appointments she called in for you two weeks ago.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Frollo snarled with no real anger. His heart began to pick up its pace. Jean-Pierre hadn’t forced a conversation on him this personal in years. He should have known this was coming. Damn Remy! This must be his doing because he wasn’t able to pry any answers from him.

“Then why are you back to the weight you were when you graduated college? I can understand a scrawny young man with a history of hardship from his parents, but someone your age… completely emaciated.Quite frankly you are scaring the hell out of me. At this rate you might go before I do.”` There was a ball in his throat that Frollo couldn’t swallow. He could sense the air shift. He already knew what Jean-Pierre was going to ask him and he felt like he was going to burst into an emotional rage before it happened. Jean-Pierre’s eyes lifted back up to him and Frollo was visibly uncomfortable. “Is this about the girl?” “Damn it!” Frollo hissed angrily. “Why is everyone so obsessed? I can’t have any personal struggles that don’t involve that airheaded ballerina? This has nothing to do with her.” “Claude--- you know she’s a sweet girl and your behavior has been abysmal. It embarrasses Charlotte at times how rude you are.” He hated hearing his first name. It was just a reminder why his parents called him that-- lame, crippled, and the people close to him still only used it when it suited them, when it was personal. The disappointment already coming off Jean-Pierre caused his chest to squeeze. He had been Claude’s only father figure in his entire life and he only had the desire to please him, but it didn’t mean he never lashed out. “I know you take-- what-- an antidepressant? At least that is what Lucy claims, but she is a terrible liar, especially when it comes to protecting you for my sake. If Lucy hasn’t expressed concerns over your drinking, I would think it was heroin.” Frollo’s mind flew to Jehan and took that as an incredible insult. “Heroin? Suddenly I am no different than my brother? I am not taking heroin!” “Then what can be worse? What is so dark you cannot simply confide in me after these twenty years? So what is it going to be? Are you going to lie to me again, son?” Jean-Pierre stood up from his seat and reached for Frollo’s shoulder. “I am not your son,” Frollo barked and promptly jerked away. The shock and pain that transformed on his friend’s features immediately made Frollo want to fall to his knees and apologize. Jean-Pierre looked so wounded and so old within seconds, Claude worried if his father-figure would fall over. The minister’s eyes were glossy and his fierce need to protect his privacy made him say things he didn’t mean to someone who meant the entire world to him. He never wanted to hurt Jean-Pierre so deeply. After the pain disappeared, the elder judge’s features turned to devastation. “Alright, I just wanted you to take care of yourself. You may not give a damn about your health, but stop punishing the people who do. Be nicer to Remy. We all know you were jealous in the past because of his relationship with Lucy, but that was seven years ago. Be nicer to Lucy, too. Do you hear me? This childish behavior doesn’t suit you.” “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Claude said much more defeated than he would have liked. This was the first time Jean-Pierre didn’t spare him and boldly attacked his privacy. “Fine then. If you want to talk, I hope I can live long enough for you to value our friendship over your pride,” Jean-Pierre said and turned to take his leave. He was to have heart surgery next month and it was a high-risk operation. Facing away from the door, Frollo blinked a single tear from his eyes and his chest hurt. Clenching his fists, he realized his hands were completely numb and trembling. Jean-Pierre sighed as he exited and Lucy looked up at him from her desk. “That bad?” She asked. “There’s something wrong,” the judge said as he walked toward the exit. “He’s acted out before, but never lied to me like that, or treated me with such blatant disrespect. He doesn’t want anyone’s help. He’d rather take that secret to his grave than tell any of us.” Lucy looked at him sadly and decided to wait around for Frollo, who she could see was just staring out the window with his back turned to her. After nearly an hour, he opened the door to his office to exit and locked it behind him. “You’re still here?” Frollo murmured vacantly “I wanted to make sure you were alright,” she said in her motherly fashion. The expression he gave her was that of repressed grief. He expected to be chewed out by her too. “I think that is the first time I have really upset him… disappointed him,” He paused.“Do you think he will make it through the surgery?” Lucy kept her eyes steady, but gentle. “Are you going to wait to find out,or are you going to apologize like he deserves?” Frollo looked away, his fingers tightening around his briefcase. “Be safe Lucy,” he bid and walked out of the second office.

#Ah another one following judge Remy's talk. This is Jean-Pierre the eldest judge that Frollo idolizes #Of course this is still all set a month or two after Confrontation with Murroyilodel #TW: drug and alcohol mention #Calligraphy #Frollo

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i-love-charles · 4 years

Text

A Chance Encounter

[a gift for my best friend in the entire world @earn-redemption because she’s a stubborn bitch and won’t let me send her a birthday present so here’s a lil OC fic for our online characters that we’ve been obsessing over for months]

[I really hope you like it queen, and I love you so much!]

Notes: Minor Violence, Angsty, Strong Language, Mini-Fic, OC, RDO

Wordcount: 2080

She lifts the mask swiftly across her ruby red lips, bringing the black cloth to a halt below her emerald vision as it trails the stagecoach in the bustling street below. Saint Denis’ many crowded roofs provided the best cover from possible threats as she assesses the clueless guards on horseback beside the wagon below. Five - maybe six - each with a shiny shotgun strapped to their backs, holsters sporting blunt knives and a quick-draw for their polished cattleman’s.

Her lips lift into a smug grin from beneath her mask; her trusty rifle could do a heck of a lot more damage.

This stage was in the bag - a piece of cake.

Her arms manoeuvre to support the tricky weight of her rolling-block as it begins to zero in on the exposed skulls of the driver and guards, whom rode closely by the goods wagon. If she focuses close enough through her scope she swears she can see the collectibles inside - boxes of French jewellery making their way to the docks of the city, ready to be transported back to Calais for some expert to prod at, no doubt. Each piece adorned with the most expensive rocks the world has to offer, the guards probably don’t even know the magnitude of money they’re protecting. Money that will sooner be in Mallory’s pocket - money that will sooner be well spent, too.

The possibilities that such an amount could do for her are endlessly, she ponders within her options - a temporary apartment in the city while she seeks Molly, most of all - until her attention is quickly, and rudely, grappled back by another figure thats hastily making his way towards the stagecoach.

A masked Graham rode hurriedly through the streets, the angered hollers of surprised pedestrians following. Mallory focuses in the view of the scope, and the strangers golden rifle shone arrogantly back at her. Black strands of thick hair escape their way through the anonymous thief’s cotton mask and tilted leather hat as he cocked in place the barrel of his matching sawed-offs before lifting them to perform.

Only, Mallory’s fingers work faster, rushing them to the readied silver trigger. Her bullet darted immediately forward, finding a bloody home in the skull of the driver - whom fell forward violently between the agitated horses of the wagon. The strangers bullet closely followed, but not quickly enough to catch the dropping head of the dead driver.

Her eyes remained watching through the scope as the masked gunman’s attitude turned to cautious confusion; and quickly their head scanned along the buildings above, just missing the exposed head of her sniper. She could’ve shot him then and there, dead on the cold streets. Curiosity got the better of her, what’s this guys next move?

During the strangers confusion the few coach guards had managed to muster together behind the cover of the halted vehicle, taking turns to jump out and attempt a clear shot at the gunman’s horse. Each shot failed as the strangers shotguns planted fast bullets in the lawmen’s peeping skulls.

The shots were skilful and precise, and Mallory’s ego felt slightly burnt at her envious admission. Maybe this was going to be a little trickier than she’d originally thought.

With no reveal from the sniper above, the confident outlaw dismounted as civilians rushed to safety from the armed criminal. Mallory took the opportunity of the emptying street to swing the snipers leather strap across her shoulder; making quickly for the ladder to confront the opportunistic, cocky thief stealing her loot.

Graham irritably pulled away the black cloth as he placed a cigarette between his chapped lips, striking a match against the rough sole of his black boot before lighting up. His other hand lifted a polished pistol to the stagecoaches doors, aiming at the padlocks that sealed them shut. A sharp clanking of metal resonated through the thick city air and her ear drums stung slightly from the pitch. The doors swung upon abruptly and unveiled the valuables within, and, with the stranger seeing no competition, he began to hurriedly shove the velvet boxes into a thick sack - although, just as quickly, he was interrupted by the clanking of heels against the cobble behind him.

“Goin’ somewhere?” She grinned aiming her pistol smugly at the stranger, whom released a slight grin at her endearing thick accent. He turned to face her, seemingly amused at the gun directed between his eyes judging by the smirk lifting from the corner of his lips. Her gaze drifted momentarily to them, taking a split second to skim across his rugged featured; a thick barrelled chest, dark beard and heavy eyes that were genuinely complimented by the messy loose tendrils of hair escaping around the brim of his leather hat.

“Whad’ya think?” He retorted sarcastically in a smooth southern drawl, shrugging a shoulder to the goods wagon. Graham’s tone was confident, but she could see right through its facade.

A second went by, neither of them making a move to stop the other. Instead they stood and stared, sizing up one another maybe or even simply assessing each others features. Without a second thought, her gun dropped, understanding this man was no danger to her, he was simply surviving as well. His eyes made their way to her lips, full and blood red not too different from the thick ginger curls that bounced in place around the frame of her porcelain face. Despite being pretty well adjusted around female company, his eyes couldn’t catch themselves quick enough from sneaking a hasty glance at the petite curves that framed her sides and the ample cleavage that snuck out from the top of her white-laced blouse.

The silence was long and unbearable, despite only being a split second, and was only broken by the sudden deafening blare of alarm bells throughout the city streets. They were each rudely reminded of their task, and the rush of multiple trotting law men’s horses making their way to the masked criminals.

Almost like a light bulb switching on, she returned to survival mode once again and lifted the pistol fast to face her rival. Only, he did the same. An equally shiny barrel zeroing in on her.

An agreement was made hastily to fight the lawmen off together and, when in the clear on the outskirts of the city, they would decide the next steps for their loot.

Graham held out a gentlemanly hand out to her, offering help to mount the stagecoaches front seat beside him. She gave a sarcastic smirk in return and mounted the vehicle herself before lashing the reigns against the horses backs, urging them to make an escape through the streets from the lawmen following close behind - their own horses ran fervently through the narrow streets, the sound of repeated shots echoing from behind them.

Graham cocked his shotgun barrels in place once more and confidently stood up on the wagon seats and turned around, firing rapidly at the lawmen horses, whom fell from the impact in a Mexican wave on pained noises and blood spatters.

“Do you wanna’ get us killed? Go faster!” Graham shouted over the thundering noise from the horses hoofs against the cold cobble.

“I coulda’ shot you back there, but I didn’t! So do your job and I’ll do mine!” She screamed back, almost inaudible compared to the atmosphere following them close behind.

“Well, at least take the shortcut!” She rolled her eyes in response but seemed hesitant on following his instructions. “I grew up here, trust me!” For once, he was genuine.

A few successful shots were made at the stagecoach, one which planted itself in the top layer of one of the stallions necks. In response, both horses agitatedly sped up and eventually successfully made their way to the abandoned confines of Lakay with the help of Mallory.

The wagon came to a harsh halt on the centre of the tiny swamp town, long abandoned and vastly decaying among the humid atmosphere.

Mallory listened out for any alarms or pistols from around her; only the occasional low growl from nearby gators could be heard, and she released a surprised giggle from the drivers seat. Mostly out of pride but soon the stranger joined in, relishing in his own success.

“What, you ain’t never done that before?” He asked through the chuckle, the only ounce of kindness he’d shown once then meeting only minutes ago.

“Not in such a big city.” She signed, releasing a heavily exhale out of relief.

The conversation was cut short, mostly by Graham whom cleared his throat and rebuilt the emotional barrier that he always towered around himself. His mind went back to business: behind them sat a few thousand dollars would of stolen jewellery. Once again Graham opened the wagon, searching through the boxes and inspecting his winnings. “Look, darlin’, thanks for the help but I think I can take it from here.” He muttered monotonously whilst trying on the different rings.

Mallory’s face turned red, a constant trait she resented due to her red hair: the bullying from her siblings was relentless. “Very funny, but we both know this is women’s jewellery.” A confident smile perched in the corners of her lips. Graham turned to face her, his expression blank but seemingly agitated.

“Who the fuck said I was gonna’ wear it?” He slammed the jewellery boxes shut, his tone harsh. Graham’s temper had always been notoriously short, but she seemed to challenge him more than most.

“Who’s gonna’ buy jewellery of a shady street rat from Saint Denis?” Mallory muttered back. Before the words escaped her mouth, she regretted them. All these years of being judged by her upbringing, she was now doing the same. Something about his messy look was a dead give away that he hadn’t been gifted the privileges she had.

“What the fuck do you know!” Graham saw red. “A prissy bitch like yourself comes to America and thinks it’s all gonna’ be handed to her like back home, huh? S’pose that’s why ya’ tryna’ get into the gunslinger life? You won’t last five minutes.”

“I’ve lasted two years; which is more than most can say.” She replies sternly. “And I know it’s not gonna’ be handed to me, that’s why I’m surviving. Same way as you, it seems.” The stranger seemed stunned and only nodded slowly in response.

The air became thick, and an awkward tension surrounded them. Mallory broke her silence with an alarming thought. “Neither of us put our bandanas back on, they know who we are, there’s probably a bounty out on us already!” She began to hyperventilate at the thought and Graham shrugged irritably before interrupting her dramatic performance.

“Rookie mistake.” Without his tone she would’ve taken it more as an insult, but it seemed he directed it almost entirely at himself. How could he not? All these years running with gunslingers and he’d forgotten one of the cardinal rules for keeping him from swinging. Speaking of which; maybe she did need his help but was too afraid to ask? With all of these years of experience, he could get her to the states border and then she could make her own way and he could carry on with his life – his good deed done until the next damsel in distress crosses paths with him. Or maybe he was just kidding himself for some company. “We can’t leave, at least not until dark. We’ll stay here until then.” Graham’s eyes moved rapidly from side to side, as if planning out their escape in his head, something he’d done for himself too many times before. “I know a man in Van Horn that runs the fence, we give him the jewellery and he’ll give us the money.” He nodded to himself, confident with his plan.

He turned back to Mallory expectantly, almost expecting her to time in with some snarky comment about how ‘it’ll never work’ or maybe ‘what makes you think I’m coming with you?’. Only, she remained quite.

“Mallory O’Shea.” She extended her hand politely, her accent almost singing out each syllables. She’d probably regret being so polite in the future.

“Graham.” He kept it simple, cautiously catching his rough hand with her dainty manicured one before giving it a rough shake. She giggled at the interaction before turning playfully on her heel to sit at the unlit abandoned campfire ahead.

Once she had her back turned, He couldn’t help himself and released a content smile as he trailed closely behind to join her. Quite the company they’d landed themselves.

#red dead #red dead 2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #red dead redemption #rdr2 #oc #rdr 2 online #rdo #rdo oc #graham hollander #mallory o’shea

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hangjie · 4 years

Text

see you soon. [ richie tozier ]

summary: reader breaks the news to richie about her move

warnings: sad, a bit of swearing, and angst if you squint

word count: 1,599

author’s note: i’m back y’alll!! i watched it: chapter 2 a month ago and i instantly had a lot of ideas about richie, but i didn’t have the time until now since it’s my sembreak until next week. i have a few more ideas regarding richie, so stay tuned!!

writing is a bit wack since i haven’t written a piece outside of school heheh.

i know that the filter i used for the gif is not the usual filter in my imagines, but the app that i usually use suddenly crops the gifs, so i had to use another source. from now on, that’ll be the filter in my imagines huhu.

also, let’s say that you’re living with your aunt lmao.

─── • ° *｡✧ ───

i take a deep breath and release it, letting the air fill my lungs. i repeat this over and over to calm my nerves. i close my eyes and listen to the rustling of the trees from the wind around the quarry.

you can do this, (y/n).

my eyes snap open when i hear footsteps behind me. richie holds his hands up as if to surrender whilst approaching me. “hey, hey, it’s just me, doll. no need to get your panties in a twist.” he chuckles, but i just stay quiet and look back to my front. richie immediately knows that something is up.

“hey, what’s wrong?” he sits down beside me and places his arm around my shoulders, but i still avoid his gaze and remain silent. “c’mon, doll. you can tell me anything.” richie rubs my arm. “if this is about bowers, i swear, i will fucking knock that mullet off his head and—“

“richie, i’m moving,” i say, tears prickling my eyes. he pauses. “m-moving? you mean houses? well, i’ll still come and pick you up every morning before school.”

“n-no, richie. i’m moving out of derry. my aunt told me this morning.” richie is now the quiet one. he takes his glasses off and looks down at the green water below the edge of the cliff. “you promised that we would run away from derry together.” i try to take a deep breath, but i couldn’t because tears start pouring down my cheeks. “i tried to convince her to let us stay or to leave me here in derry, but she was persistent,” i say, wiping away the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“you promised that we would run away to hollywood, you become an actress and i become a comedian, get married, get kids, and raise them together.”

“i know, richie. i’m so sorry, but i can’t change my aunt’s mind.”

“then to hell with her. let’s run away right now. we could go home, pack our bags, and leave this fucking town forever.” he continues to ramble on what we could do, making my heartbreak even more. i finally turn to him, placing my hands on firmly on his shoulders. “richie,” i call him, but he continues. his breathing starts to quicken. “richie, calm down.” he begins to sweat and the color from his face begins to drain. “richie,” i say louder. he speaks faster and his voice gets higher and louder.

“richie!”

“what?! what, (y/n)?! what could you possibly say that will make this better? you’re leaving me anyways!” he shouts, tears running down his cheeks. i look at him in shock and he immediately quietly apologizes. he covers his face with his hands and starts to sob. i immediately wrap my arms around his hunched figure and he wraps his arms around my body, clinging on to me like i was going to disappear in the next second. he sobs into my shirt as i rub his back and brush the ends of his hair to try to calm him down.

richie finally calms down after a few minutes. i continue to brush his curls and he starts to play with the end of my shirt. “when are you leaving?” he quietly asks. “by the end of the week,” i say. silence then fills us until richie says, “i just don’t want to lose you, (y/n). you’re the most important person in my life.”

“you won’t lose me, richie.” i kiss the top of his head and i feel him kiss my shoulder in return.

we stay in each other’s arms in the quarry for the rest of the day, savoring the last few moments we can be together.

***

i groan, feeling my arms go numb as i bring a box containing my belongings out. i sigh in exhaustion and stretch my arms. the rest of the losers come out one by one, carrying some of my boxes. they have a similar reaction to mine after putting it down until bill. when he straightens his back after putting down the box, we all look at each other with sadness in our eyes.

throughout the day, i tried my best not to break down, but when the sad eyes of my friends glanced at me, i couldn't help it.

i start crying and the losers immediately engulf me in a group hug. they hold me close to them and try to comfort me even though they were also upset and crying. i could hear their sniffles and eddie saying, "you know, us being this close could give us lots of diseases, but i'll gladly take one this time." we chuckle and hug for a few minutes until they pull away.

my eyes lock with richie's big brown ones which are filled with tears. the others notice us and start backing away. "w-w-we'll g-give you two some sp-pace," bill says and leaves with the rest of the losers following behind him.

as soon as the other losers were out of sight, richie pulls me into a tight hug. i tightly grip on to his shirt, soaking it with my tears.

“i’m going to miss you, doll. i’m going to miss you so much,” he cries as he cradles my head, but i only reply him through sobs.

“you’re going to be an amazing actress.”

“and you’ll be the best comedian.”

i feel richie kiss the top of my head and my forehead. i look up at him and see continuous tears rolling down his cheeks. i cup his cheeks and wipe the tears from his face then look at his eyes before softly pressing his lips to mine. my hands move to the back of his neck while his move to my back, pulling me as close as possible. i can even taste the saltiness of our tears on our lips. we only pull away when we hear my aunt's voice calling for me.

"(y/n)! c'mon, let's go!" richie and i pull away from each other with hesitation and he intertwines his fingers with mine before we walk to the car where my aunt and the other losers were waiting. i let go of richie’s hand and approach each one of my friends to say goodbye.

i walk up to eddie and he says, “i hope you don’t catch a disease." we all chuckle a bit. i playfully punch his shoulder and he jumps back. "never change, eds. never change." he mutters underneath his breath about me potentially breaking his arm. “i bet you’ll kick ass in your new school," stan says. "thanks for the confidence, stanley." i hold my hand up to high five him. “don’t forget us,” ben says. "of course! i also won't forget your kids on the block obsession." i ruffle his hair playfully before proceeding to mike. he places a comforting hand on my shoulder and smiles sadly at me. "visit us soon, okay?" i nod my head and smile back at him then walk towards beverly. before i could say anything, she pulls me into a tight hug. i sigh and wrap my arms around her torso. "thank you. thank you for everything," she shakily says. we stay in each other's arms before i feel beverly pull away. “w-we’ll miss you-u-u, (y/n)," bill says. "thanks, big bill. i better be the leading lady in the movie adaptation of your book in the future." bill chuckles and nods.

i then move to richie and he only looks down on me with sorrow. he slowly moves closer to me and cups my cheek, making me lean into his touch. he brings up his other hand to put a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"i love you, (y/n). i love you so much. never forget that."

"never."

"call me when you arrive, okay?"

he places a soft, but lingering kiss on my forehead and i hear my aunt telling me that it's time to go, making richie reluctantly pull away from me. i slowly get in the passenger's seat of the car and after i fasten my seatbelt, i turn towards the losers and they all have tears in their eyes. as my aunt starts the car, i wave them goodbye for the last time and they all repeat my actions before we drive away, the moving truck following us behind. before i knew it, the town of derry is out of my sight.

as my aunt and i continue to make our way towards our new home, a question kept popping up in my mind.

"who was i going to call when i arrive?"

(ghostbusters HAHAHAHA)

MASTERLIST

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night-filled-mountain · 5 years

Note

For the Hozier ask thing: No Plan, Be, Talk

- No Plan - Do you believe in a pre-determined purpose in life?

No, but I think it can be helpful–for some people!–to think and act like you have a pre-determined purpose, as long as you’re not too rigid about it. Sometimes the random twists and turns of life just get overwhelming, you know? And you need to weave them into some sort of pattern–“A, B, and C all happened in order to lead me to D,” or “Despite X obstacle, I know I’m meant to accomplish Y.” Humans are pattern-finding creatures–that’s why we like stories so much. I can’t imagine getting through life without periodically making it into a story, whether you actually believe in some divine Plan and Author or not. (This is reminding me once again of that Brian W. Foster lyric I’ve become obsessed with: “And if it wasn’t designed, then I’ll be damned if I ever know why.”)

Though honestly, for me? The opposite is true. I’ve faced, and continue to face, so many mental-health barriers to having the kind of life I’d like to have, and I’ve fought (and continue to fight!) such a harrowing, hard-scrabble fight to make that life happen anyway. It’s a massive struggle, it’s ongoing, it’s every day. It’s exhausting and humiliating and entirely without dignity. So the thing that I like to tell myself about the life I want? Is that I wasn’t meant to have it. Some particularly nasty gods have played a trick on me since birth, crafting a person for whom friends/romance/productive work/artistic fulfillment/Happiness are impossible–and day after day, I’m fighting them, trying to prove them wrong. Clawing and biting at them with everything I have in me. Forcing my way out of their boxes, grasping at what I want, and spitting in their eye for good measure.

I’m sure my preference for this narrative says something about me as a person, but I leave that up to you, anon!

- Be - Have you changed much as a person in the last year?

…I literally don’t know where to start.

In August 2018, I wasn’t married yet. I lived in a small town in New Jersey with my parents and sister, and was desperately terrified of moving (permanently) anywhere else. I had completed two master’s degrees just a few months before, but I’d never had a full-time job, and I was 250% convinced (for the aforementioned mental-health reasons, and a chronic physical illness to boot!) that I could never, ever have one. Oh, and I’d just gotten back from a visit to my former roommate (which remains the last time I saw her, not counting Skype), and I was suffering constant agony over the intense, passionate, mutually pining, emotionally needy, co-dependent mess that was that relationship.

And now?

I’m married. I live in Boston, in an apartment where I’ve paid 100% of the rent for the past six months (though that will soon be changing!). I have a full-time job that has challenged and transformed me in ways that I could not possibly have imagined six months ago. Like…literally could not have fathomed. Outside the scope of my brainpower. Beyond my wildest dreams.

I’m the head of my department…because I’m the entire department. I do heavy-duty customer service. I interact with dozens of strangers every day–children, teens, and adults–and I usually do it without a whisper of social anxiety. I pick up my desk phone when it rings. I make phone calls when I have to. I send and receive dozens of e-mails a week. I manage a budget! I place orders! I schedule programs! I answer reference questions! I operate and troubleshoot various forms of technology constantly, and teach others how to use them. I reason with, joke with, assist, educate, entertain, chastise, and discipline 20+ rowdy teenagers ON A DAILY BASIS. There have been many days, and once an entire week, when I was literally in charge of my entire workplace and everyone in it. And it was all still functioning when my boss got back.

…And it’s actually really timely that I should write about all this now, because I’m smack-dab in the middle of an extremely daunting work task, one that’s causing my ADD to kick my ass to hell and back. And I’ve spent the past few days wondering just how fucking desperate this place must have been to hire someone who’s been wretchedly sobbing over her utter lack of focus and organizational skills for almost 30 years. So it’s…quite the morale-booster to look at these paragraphs about just how goddamn far I’ve come in a year.

…Also, Ex-Roommate and I have gone no-contact, and most days, I don’t think about her. And if I do, it doesn’t hurt so much.

- Talk - What’s your best friend like?

I have three (3) best friends, and they are MY WORLD, so get ready for this.

(1.) My husband. We’ll call him Kit, which is, in fact, a name he often goes by. He is a Gemini, which I mention only because he’s a very classic Gemini: bursting with curiosity, interested in everything, with a dizzying array of hobbies and interests that seem to change and shift by the moment. He teaches science, and used to teach history. He loves camping, sea shanties, Lawrence of Arabia, board games, and tabletop RPGs. Being a teacher, he’s had the summer off, and he’s spent it being a house-husband: cleaning our apartment, buying all the groceries, doing my laundry an embarrassing number of times, and cooking me dinner every single night. He loves being useful to people and making people happy. He’s terrific at long-term planning, but has no sense of time, and he’d be late to everything without my intervention. We have separate bedrooms, and mine is obsessively neat, and his is…not. He was once bitten by a squirrel that he was hand-feeding on the Boston Common. A few days later, he received a serious electric shock from a string of Christmas lights, and the bandage he’d placed over the squirrel bite was burned black instead of his hand. This perfect balance of cursed and blessed is, in a way, all you really need to know about Kit.

We love to watch movies and TV shows together and discuss/analyze them obsessively. We love to have looong philosophical discussions and/or debates. We take walks, we get Italian food and/or ice cream far too often, we go on jolly road-trip adventures, and we read out loud to each other. He’s currently reading me Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend, which I have read before (twice) and he has not, because I love it so intensely, and I know that he will too. He’s the best person on earth to discuss virtually anything with, to be honest. He’s my DM in the best D&D campaign I’ve ever been part of. I’ve just made a new D&D character, although I don’t have a campaign for her yet, and Kit cannot stop lavishing praise on her and getting excited about her…even though she’s a hobgoblin, and he spent a significant portion of a recent car ride passionately arguing with me about the viability of hobgoblins as player characters.

He is absolutely extraordinary at admitting when he’s wrong, owning it fully, changing his opinions, pursuing personal growth, and just becoming a better and better person all the time. And I’m so damn honored that I get to be here for it.

(2.) We’ll call my second best friend Unicorn, which is a multilayered inside joke.

I met Unicorn during my freshman year of college. We lived on the same floor. I was the odd woman out among my suitemates because I had crippling social anxiety; he was the odd man out among his because he was gay. Somehow we started watching movies and TV shows together, and it became our Thing; I think our current marathon record is six or seven movies in a row. We’re both from New Jersey, and he still lives there, and there are few places in the world I feel safer than on his giant couch, in front of his giant TV, with snacks and glasses of Limeade close at hand, and his neurotic little dog nosing about. He has a pool, a massive movie collection, and an encyclopedic knowledge of state politics, because he works as a full-time environmental canvasser. His hours are absolutely terrifying, as are the physical and social demands of his job, but he still finds time to run a D&D campaign for his coworkers, and to visit the rest of us in Boston at every possible opportunity.

Unicorn is barely a month older than I am (a fellow Leo, though I think it suits him a hell of a lot better than it suits me), and he understands me in specific ways that the other two members of our little quartet just can’t. We get each other’s humor, we have similar tastes in men, we both love to swim. When the four members of our found family are all together, he is invariably the only person who notices all my little puns and innuendos, and laughs every time. He listens to me, and asks me questions, in a way that no one else in the world quite seems to do. He made a speech at my wedding that reduced me to a blubbering mess. And, most importantly of all: He started inviting me to our college’s LGBT group when we were juniors (right after Kit and I started dating), which was how I met my third best friend, and how we all became a family.

(3.) I’m going to refer to Best Friend #3 as “Dragon,” because…he loves dragons, and because he was Unicorn’s roommate when I first met him, and it keeps the mythological-creature theme going. …And once again, I don’t know where to start, so I’m going to go dig up an old post I made about Dragon, copy and paste it below, and then figure out how to elaborate on someone who both my husband and I have identified as the best human being we have ever met.

This is a friend who invites the whole gang of us to his apartment for entire long weekends, and cooks for us, repeatedly. Who hosts “fake Christmas” every year, complete with a tree decorated with blue and silver ornaments because he is Jewish, and made all of us hand-stitched, personalized stockings, and fills them with gifts and sweets purchased specially for each of us. Who once baked me a cake just because I was coming to visit him. Who organized and directed my entire move from New Jersey to Boston because his Tetris-like car-packing skills and his utter laidback unshakable calm in the face of any task are absolutely unparalleled. Who is a goddamn wizard at literally everything, from cooking and baking and sewing to Photoshop and graphic design to painting D&D miniatures to putting together elaborate cosplays to theater tech to writing and research to courageous and tireless activism to law (did I mention he’s a lawyer?).

…That was my old paragraph, so let me add a few things. I can’t emphasize enough how much he carries that aura of calm and kindness and competence about him at all times. Never in my life had I had a cooking/baking experience that didn’t stress me out until Dragon let me help him make an entire dinner and various desserts for our friend group, and it was just…so chill. So well-organized and perfectly timed, but without ever feeling like those things took any effort whatsoever. He was so kind and patient with me, demonstrating each task step by step, then being entirely confident in my ability to perform said tasks, and never trying to nitpick at the way I did them or take them over himself. Part of his job involves teaching, and I know he must be fantastic at it, because no one else has ever been such a soothing balm and a stimulant (both at once, somehow!) to my poor, tormented ADD brain. Someday (maybe soonish!), our whole found family is going to live together, and the thought of being around Dragon all the time just makes me weep with joy. And did I mention his sweet, child-like enthusiasm for holiday celebrations and ghost tours and spooky TV shows and musicals and fantasy novels and text RP and all other Best Things? (Ok, he also loves dogs and Marvel movies, and I love neither, but I forgive him for this.)

Oh, he also officiated my wedding. And he also had top surgery today, and I have maybe never been this happy about anything ever, what an auspicious day to finish this post!

#asks from the askbox #personal #long post #she's just about to close up the library!#dungeons & dragons #d&d #dnd #this got RIDICULOUSLY long holy moly #i have a lot of feelings about my job and my friends guys

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missmeikakuna · 5 years

Text

Bitter Beer and Very Gay Ice Cream

Rated: T

Fandom: Original Story

Relationship story: Male/Male

Description: Kei wishes he could forget the night he drunkenly made out with his male co-worker. He really does. But covering up the taste with mints and Golden Gaytime ice cream is doing nothing, and someday he's going to have to figure out what his damn sexuality is.

This is a sequel to my story Cheap Beer and Ciggie Cheeks, but you don't need to read that to understand this.

The beep of the car woke Kei up, though he had somehow driven all the way to his ex-wife’s street. He swiftly turned his head around.

“Lisa, put your seatbelt back on.”

“But Daaaaad, we’re almost here!” his daughter whined, puffing her already chubby cheeks out and kicking her little legs against his seat.

“Do you want Dad to go to jail because you couldn’t keep your seatbelt on for five minutes?” he asked as calmly as he could, ignoring the knots in his brain. Lisa huffed but put her seatbelt on. “Good girl. You wouldn’t want your mother to be upset.”

He pulled up in Jane’s driveway and got out of the car. After hugging Lisa goodbye he looked up at Jane and immediately reached into his pocket for a mint.

Jane took Lisa by the hand and rested her remaining hand on her hip, laughing a little. “I’ve never seen someone so addicted to mints. Those are actually mints, right?” she asked as she stood in front of her daughter. Their daughter. Kei nodded, looking down as he gulped two mints at a time.

That taste was still in his mouth three weeks later. Well, it wasn’t technically still there, but his stupid little brain kept reminding him of it every time he looked at Jane. The taste of bitter beer and the failure it induced.

He didn’t just take mints upon seeing Jane. After all, it wasn’t Jane who caused the taste in the first place.

He still refused to talk to Terrence unless he absolutely needed to at work but just seeing him stirred up a great need to take more mints. He was going to get the mix of his Victoria Bitter and Terrence’s Grand Ridge Supershine from that fateful night out of his mind, even if it gave him diabetes in the process.

Jane saw the way Kei held his arms in, his head facing the ground, and asked him to come inside with her and Lisa. She chortled at his wide eyes.

Her house was narrow but tall, with two stories, smooth grey walls, simple vertical windows and a black, white and red modern interior. Upstairs looked considerably less modern with princess dolls, plush animals and action figures scattered on the Fanta-stained carpet. The only thing downstairs that looked messy that day was the unfinished Tim Tam on the kitchen bench.

As Kei took off his jacket and sat down in the living room, Jane headed to the bench to finish the chocolate biscuit and turn on the kettle. She took out her phone and handed it to Lisa, suggesting she put her headphones on and play a game. Lisa squealed and ran upstairs, clutching the phone like it was a precious artifact she discovered on an adventure through the jungle. Jane put two mugs on the bench and dropped a tea bag in each one.

“Do you still like green tea?” she asked after the fact. Kei grunted his yes, causing her to sigh.

While waiting for the kettle to boil and taking advantage of the rumbling sound it made, she sat on the couch next to Kei’s chair.

“Okay, what’s up? You’ve been different for a couple of weeks now so don’t try to pretend it’s nothing.” Kei was silent. “You haven’t been like this since we were married. What, did you remarry without me noticing?” Jane believed Kei’s shake of the head. “So what is it? You’re like…” She instinctively looked up the stairs for a second and lowered her voice. “You’re like the scared man you were in our bed. You’re not going through a midlife crisis or something like that, are you? I don’t think Lisa’s ready for something like that.”

Kei smiled like he was about to laugh, but didn’t go through with it. “Define ‘crisis’.”

“Tell me what’s going on and I’ll let you know if it counts.”

Kei leaned back until his head rested on the top of the chair. With the voice of a mail carrier picking up a heavy package, he said, “Just something I’ve got to work through. I’ll be fine, I swear.”

Another sigh from Jane. She said nothing but looked at Kei’s pale face and sunken-in eyes. His once ever-present dimples had hidden underneath a frown. Gone were the big gestures and nostrils that jumped up and down from his constant laughter. Gone was the smooth talker she fell in love with years ago.

The kettle clicked and Jane stood up to pour hot water into the mugs. After handing Kei his tea and sitting down, she drank and waited. And waited. And waited.

“Look, are you going to spill what’s been going on or not?” Kei looked at his distorted reflection in the tea and kept his mouth shut. “Whatever it is, you can tell me any time. You’re still my friend, okay?” Kei nodded and smiled, but with real feeling this time. His dimples finally showed themselves.

That expression soon disappeared when he remembered what he said to Terrence at work before going to the bar.

"Hey, you've got a pretty nice smile. You should wear it more often.”

Of course, he meant nothing strange when he said that. But did Terrence know that? Kei found his answer when he pressed his fingertips against his own lips and tasted the Supershine-VB blend again.

Once again he reached for his mints but this time Jane smacked his hand away. “You don’t need them. Your breath is fine.”

Kei leaned forward until his arms were on top of his knees, swirling around the mug in his hand. As he responded his swirling got faster and faster.

“You’ve got it all wrong. It’s not about my breath.”

“Then what’s it about?”

“W-well-”

“Muuuuuuuuum! Make me fairy bread!” The two parents heard little feet run down the stairs.

“Please?” Kei suggested with a gentle smile.

Lisa crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks again. “Please.”

He put his hand behind her head, guided her towards him and kissed her forehead. “Good girl.” He stood up and placed the half-full mug down. “I’ll get going. See you both Saturday.” He slipped his jacket back on.

“Wait, we’re not done talking,” Jane said.

Kei grinned at her. “You’ve said plenty.” He clicked his fingers, making the shape of a gun with his hand. “Thank you.”

When he arrived home, he spent an hour lying in bed. He stared at his cracked ceiling, which he hadn’t bothered to fix because his mind was on something else, the same thing that caused him to lie in his bed staring at the ceiling.

His house was usually spotless, with clean country-style furniture that contrasted against the industrial exterior of the building. But over the course of three weeks, takeout boxes and plastic cups had piled up around his living room. Lisa didn’t complain and Jane hadn’t seen the inside of his house in months, so he saw no reason to.

However, whenever he looked at the state of his home, he would call himself one word over and over.

“Obsessed.”

That afternoon, he forced himself out of bed. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he said aloud despite no one being there to hear him, his ex-wife’s declaration of friendship playing in his mind like a world leader’s inspirational speech. He stumbled over to the bathroom and washed his face. He put on a smile big enough for his dimples to show and winked at his own reflection as if he was talking to May from work. After all, she was still cute, right?

Work the next day went smoothly. As per usual, Kei didn’t talk to Terrence, who kept his head down and ignored him like a good boy. Kei got a fair bit done with time to spare. He used that time to sneak into his coworkers’ cubicles and chatter about various things with them.

May even said, “You’re back. I missed happy Kei. What happened?”

Kei rubbed the back of his neck and laughed but told her nothing.

That was how the first half of the day went. Lunch was when it all went downhill. He and May were chatting in the lounge room when a jittery Terrence brushed past him in the room. Seeing that put Kei’s heart in an apple slinky machine but he had to keep a happy face and talk to May about his nostalgia for classic rock and how he was teaching his daughter how to fish. By the time Ian shouted for everyone to get back to work, sweat was dripping down Kei’s forehead like he already needed another break.

When he got back to work Ian yelled at him for getting something wrong. The worst part was when the yelling transformed into a hushed hiss.

“You lot are supposed to be smart, eh?” he asked as he quirked one corner of his mouth up and pushed his eyebrows up and down. The question felt more like an order.

Kei wondered if HR had taught Ian how to whisper.

He remained silent throughout the torrent of abuse and then had to work with the efficiency of someone who hadn’t just been yelled at. He couldn’t help but smile a little by the end of his shift, though. Working and thinking about Ian’s words did provide a welcome distraction.

Gary, the insensitive son of a bitch, came into Kei’s cubicle and asked, “Hey, you wanna go to the bar with the others? You haven’t been in a while.”

Bar. Alcohol. Victoria Bitter. Supershine. Tongue.

Kei’s cheeks flared up, prompting him to grab his little tin of mints. “Nah, I’m…. I’m good. You lot have fun.”

Gary stood there for a few seconds and opened his mouth but didn’t end up saying anything. He sighed and left him alone.

Instead of following him, Kei headed to his car and was about to go in when he saw an ice cream shop nearby. The faint smell of butterscotch tickled his nose and presented a worthy alternative to the peppermint he kept swallowing.

Then again, with the mints he practically chugged every day and now ice cream, developing diabetes was a distinct possibility.

But then the butterscotch was overpowered by rich chocolate and Kei found himself shambling like a zombie towards the ice cream shop. When he opened the door, he was reminded of what the inside of a liquor store’s freezer room was like, but it was so cool and refreshing that he didn’t feel the need to cleanse the split-second thought of alcohol with a mint. The rush of cool air brought with it the scent of caramel, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and several more obscure flavours.

He looked around the room and saw three display freezers, one smaller than the other two. The two larger ones had a wide selection of ice creams in different tubs, while the smaller one contained various brands of ice cream on sticks. Above that small freezer was a sign indicating a sale on a particular brand of ice cream, but he couldn’t read which one from where he stood. In front of the freezers were multiple tables. Long benches were bolted to two walls beside the tables, accompanied by stools one would see in a diner in the 1950s.

Several families sat at the tables, some children happily chatting and others arguing with each other over the right to have some of each other’s flavours. The outlier, a lone middle-aged man, sat by the bench, wobbling on the stool as he tried to keep his large frame on it. He was stuffing his face with strawberry ice cream in a big paper cup. Next to him were two empty sticks and wrappers.

Kei’s heart twisted all over again. Of course it had to be him.

Terrence saw him and waved with a grin the size of the paper cup on his bench. Immediately after doing that he gulped air and looked back down at his ice cream. Kei’s initial instinct was to ignore him as per usual, but some unknown force pushed him towards him. Or perhaps it pulled him towards him.

He sat on the stool beside him. “Didn’t expect to see someone from work here.”

Terrence swallowed the ice cream in his mouth. “Yeah, this place is pretty great. By the way, there’s a special on Golden Gaytimes today. I might buy another one.”

Kei shifted his gaze from the softly smiling Terrence to the empty wrappers on the table and, naturally, they were from Golden Gaytimes.

Kei coughed. “G...Gay...times, huh?”

Terrence chuckled and patted Kei on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. The Golden Gaytime is an Australian classic. If this ice cream makes you gay, then all of Australia’s been gay since 1959.”

Laughter tumbled out of Kei’s mouth. “You know the exact year and everything? You an ice cream aficionado or something?”

Terrence winced and blushed but joined in the laughter. “Maybe. In New Zealand, they call it the Cookie Crumble instead of Golden Gaytime. I mean, Jesus, first you take our Pavlova and act like you invented it and then you take our best ice cream but give it a shittier name? This is why I never leave this country.”

He gasped through his nose and took another bite of his strawberry ice cream. “I mean, you know, I could go to Japan. Seems like a cool place.” With his head facing his cup as he finished the ice cream, he looked up at Kei for approval. Kei’s dimples returned and Terrence’s body relaxed. “Don’t, uh, tell anyone at work about this. I must look pretty pathetic to you, comfort eating like this.”

Kei stood up and patted him on the back. “I’d be a hypocrite if I did that. I came here to do the exact same thing. I’ll be back in a second.”

“Oh. Wait a second.” Terrence reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, slipping some coins into Kei’s hand. “Get me a Gaytime. It’s my last one for today, I promise.”

Kei obliged and even got himself a Golden Gaytime. After handing one to Terrence, the two ate in silence. Kei’s tongue became engulfed in toffee, vanilla, chocolate and biscuit crumbs. He breathed slowly with contentment.

Terrence eventually broke the silence. “Work troubles? Is that why you’re comfort eating?” Kei nodded. “Same here. I swear Ian’s the garlic ice cream of people.”

“I know, right? The absolute worst. Wait, garlic ice cream’s a thing? Please don’t tell me you put something like that in your body. And I thought you had no hobbies. When did you become this ice cream expert?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call being the most cliche fat person in existence a hobby,” Terrence replied with a chuckle. “I only started looking up stuff about ice cream a few weeks ago, after… well… after I came here to forget about you.”

Kei’s entire body was lit aflame. The pounding of his heart in his ears quickly gave him a headache. The taste of Supershine took over his taste buds faster than the ice cream in his mouth could cover it, so he picked up the speed of his eating. He finished off the frozen treat so quickly that he gave himself a brain freeze.

“I-I see. Sorry,” he said hoarsely as he repeatedly slammed his hand on the bench. He touched the back of his teeth with his tongue in the hope of stopping the freeze.

Terrence waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry about it, mate. I’ll be over you in a coupla weeks and you won’t have to worry about a thing. Maybe less than that if you keep acting differently.”

Kei looked away and scratched his cheek. “You noticed that, huh?”

Terrence froze for a second and then dropped his shoulders. “Yeah. Sorry. I swore to myself that I’d stop watching you when I’m eating lunch, but I just can’t help it. I don’t know what’s been bugging you since work hasn’t gotten any worse lately, but keep being bugged. I’ll soon get bored of watching some guy act all depressed.”

“You’ve changed a little too. You’re a little more… what’s it called… open, I guess? How did that happen?”

Terrence pointed to the now three empty ice cream wrappers and Kei understood immediately.

They said goodbye to each other and Kei drove home. In his car, the image of Terrence blushing and getting excited talking about ice cream stuck to his mind. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Adorable,” he whispered and, right after that word escaped his mouth, he stopped the car for a second, right in the middle of the road. Car horns blared from behind him and he went back to driving.

He swore under his breath. He hadn’t called an adult adorable since divorcing Jane. Yes, Jane. A woman he used to be in love with. A woman.

He remembered a question Terrence had asked him when Kei declared, during the next time they saw each other after that drunken makeout session, that he was, in fact, not gay.

"Are you… bisexual?"

He hadn’t admitted it during that conversation, but a voice in the back of his head had screamed that Terrence was spot on. When Terrence left, another voice had then argued with the first.

‘Jesus Christ, you’re not thirteen. You’re in your bloody forties and now’s not the time to be having some sort of sexual reawakening. You’re not fucking bisexual. Grow up.’

A third voice had chanted in Japanese.

‘What about Ayumu? What about Ayumu?’

The second voice had been quick to retort to that.

‘Doesn’t count. Experimenting in college doesn’t mean anything. You were both young and stupid, not middle-aged men with full time jobs and shit. And besides, it’s not like you really liked Ayumu. He just liked you.’

That response hadn’t been enough to shield Kei from the flurry of memories about Ayumu and his stupid mischievous smirk and his stupid Terrence-like face and his stupid, stupid sexual skill.

Now that Kei was in his car, the memories came back and spread heat throughout his body. He groaned and his knees bumped up and down as he tried to concentrate on the road.

When he reached home, he grinned. He hadn’t felt this young in years. He spent the next twenty minutes in solitary bliss, his thoughts gradually transitioning from Ayumu to Terrence.

As soon as that ended, shame slammed into him with the force of a ute. He went back to his old habit of staring at the cracked ceiling. He thought of his parents back in Japan. He hadn’t called them in ages and now he was doing this while thinking of things like that?

After an hour of moping about, his stomach grumbled, but before preparing dinner he washed his hands and called Jane.

He waited and waited. He exhaled and let his shoulders down when he thought she picked up the phone.

“You’re speaking to Jane Pearce. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a ten-second message after the beep.”

He heard the beep before he even had time to be disappointed.

“H-Hi Jane, it’s Kei. I really want to talk to you about something. It can wait until tomorrow but I need to get it off my chest and work through some things so I kind of need your help. I don’t know if I’ll be able to actually tell you when the time comes but-”

Another beep. “Shit.”

The next day arrived and he tried to look at and be friendly to Terrence, but every time he saw him he got run over by that shame and had to look away.

Luckily, Jane called him soon after work. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Uh, well, you see… Can I talk to you about this in person? Like, today?”

“I guess so. Lisa did a lot of running around today so she’s having a nap.”

“Thank you.”

He drove to her house and she prepared him some tea. They drank quietly for a moment before Kei finally started talking. “Um, you know when we were talking about me possibly having a midlife crisis?” She nodded and placed her hand on his. “Uh, well, I was wondering…” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Does bisexuality count as a midlife crisis?”

“I’m sorry, what? How is… Oh... Oh! I didn’t know… huh?”

Kei did something he hadn’t done in years: bow. “I’m sorry. I just… shit. This is what’s been worrying me all this time.”

Jane grabbed his arm and pushed his upper body up. “What… what should I say? Thank you for telling me, I guess. Why’d you start worrying about this now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I… God, I... “ Kei started trembling a little. “Honestly, to find this out about me this late in the game,” he said as rubbed one side of his face up and down with his hand. He took another sip of his tea. “You probably don’t want to hear about this from your ex.”

“I’ll survive. You’re my friend, remember?”

“Yeah. You’re right. You see… there’s this man, and…. God, I think I’m… at this point it isn’t even falling head over heels, it’s falling arse over tit. I’m a mess. You’re the only person I’ve told. I even lied to him about it.”

“Wow, that’s… quite the honour. You haven’t even told your parents before me?”

Kei slammed his mug onto the coffee table. “No way! I’m never telling them. I’ll just have to wait until they die.” His eyes widened and he began pulling at his own hair. “But, shit, they’re Japanese people with a good diet! How long are they going to live and how long will I have to keep this a secret? I should have called them but this has kinda distracted me.”

“You don’t have to tell them, but you should at least call them. They probably miss you a whole lot.”

“You’re right. But I want to make things right with Terrence first. Before it’s too late. Oh, he’s the man.” Kei laughed awkwardly. “I’ve kind of been avoiding him.”

Jane rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You’ve been what? Is he straight?”

“No, he’s gay, or at least gay for me. But if he gets over me, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Footsteps raced downstairs. “Muuuuum! Wait, Dad’s here? Is he picking me up early?” Lisa walked up to Kei and lightly touched under his eyes. “Why are you crying?” she asked with a face contorted with confusion bordering on disgust.

Kei blinked quickly and finally felt the tears on his cheeks. “I was crying?” He turned his head to Jane. “How long for?”

Jane smirked. “About a minute.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The colour of Kei’s face made him look like he’d just spent several days in the Gold Coast during the height of Summer with no sunscreen.

“I’d never seen you cry before. It was refreshing.”

“You bitch- uh, sorry, Lisa.” He stroked her hair. Lisa still looked dumbfounded.

“Would you like me to tell her?” Jane asked, finishing off her tea.

“Why would you want to do that? She’s a kid!”

“So? I’ve raised her to be open-minded. Have you not been doing that?” Jane leaned in closer with narrow eyes.

“I-I’ve been an excellent father. Haven’t I, Lisa? You like hanging out with Dad, don’t you?”

Lisa nodded. “But your house is a lot messier than Mum’s.” Kei flinched. “There’s food and boxes everywhere.”

Jane stood up and glared at Kei with the power of a kangaroo’s legs. “What did she say? Do you want CPS to come knocking down your door? Having a midlife crisis or whatever this is is no excuse for not putting Lisa in the best environment for her development! Let me guess, you didn’t read the parenting books I sent you, did you?”

Kei held his hands up as if to shield himself. “Calm down, Jane-”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! This is your daughter! Our daughter!” With that sentence, Jane put her hands on her hips. “As soon as you get home, you’re going to clean up your house and tomorrow you’re sorting things out with Terrence and calling your parents! I shouldn’t have to mother you at this age. You’re a grown man and I thought you were responsible!”

“Alright, alright!” Kei picked up his coat and kissed Lisa’s forehead. “I’ll see you both on Saturday.”

Kei followed Jane’s order to clean his house and as soon as he was done he wiped the sweat from his forehead and beamed at the open space. Everything was back to normal. Well, almost everything.

In the middle of their lunch break the next day, Kei asked Terrence to chat outside the employee lounge. They stood by the door.

“What is it?” Terrence asked. He looked down and frowned. “Did I stare at you too much? I’m sorry.”

Seeing Terrence’s concerned face and red cheeks made Kei wonder if he should see a doctor with how fast his own heart was beating.

“No, it’s just… I…” Kei coughed. “I should be the one apologising. I’m the one who ignored you for so long.”

“It’s okay. I get it. I told you I’ll get over you soon. Then we can go back to how things were.”

“I don’t know if I want…” Another cough from Kei. He tried to get the words out but couldn’t. Instead, he looked side to side before pushing Terrence into a wall not visible from the window of the lounge door. He leaned in closer, almost touching his lips, but he stopped himself and stepped back.

“Sorry. I don’t want HR to get the wrong idea.” He turned around and began to walk back to the lounge but Terrence grabbed him by the shoulder.

“It’s fine! Go ahead. You can kiss me if you want.”

Instead of kissing him immediately, Kei wrapped his arms around his torso and gave him a big, strong hug. Terrence loosened the hug and initiated the kiss. It was soft and chaste, yet Kei could still taste a hint of blueberries from the yoghurt Terrence ate. Warmth from his heart spread throughout his entire body until he felt as if he’d just chucked on ten blankets and started watching his favourite childhood movie while it rained outside. For the first time in three weeks, he felt no need to to take a mint.

“What’s going on, eh?”

Terrence and Kei’s shoulders and back became as stiff as bamboo. They immediately let go of each other. Ian stared at them with a sneer and a scrunched up face.

“Nothing!” The couple said in unison.

Ian scoffed a laugh. “Sure, sure.” He waved his hands. “Do whatever, so long as you don’t let it interfere with work. Wanna be poofs, be poofs. It’s the 21st century.”

Kei’s legs shook, fumes coming out of his ears.

Poofs.

That word was so light and yet it dropped a painful weight onto him. Since moving to Australia, certain words followed him. He’d been called a ‘cunt’ as both an honest insult and a fun, irreverent joke. He’d been called a ‘drop kick’ a couple of times and always returned that insult with another. The word ‘dag’ was basically fused to his soul. But ‘poof’? The sound of that word, fluffy as a cloud, seemed like it was designed to hurt no one, so why did it get under Kei’s skin like no insult ever had?

He turned towards Terrence and saw no reaction to the word. Part of him wanted to get angry with him. The word applied to him more, right? Why wasn’t he frothing at the mouth?

But then he remembered something. Terrence was simply called a poof. Ian never said ‘you lot’ to him followed by some stereotype, at least not yet. Kei was no longer just ‘you lot’; he was ‘you lot’ and a ‘poof’ at once.

Kei’s fists hurt from being clenched so tightly. “Then what about my race? Is that not included in this century?” As soon as he asked that, he froze with moon-sized eyes.

Ian stormed up to them. “What did you say to me?”

Kei’s heart went cold and dropped down into his stomach. The rest of his body joined his legs to tremble in solidarity. He put on a smile but not one big enough to show his dimples.

Terrence gave Kei’s shoulder several gentle squeezes. “He just wants to be able to work without you bringing his race into everything.” With a smooth, controlled voice, Kei assumed Terrence looked as confident and manly as Kei did not feel at that moment, but when he turned towards him, he saw that he was shaking as well.

“Come on, that’s just a joke. He’s lived here awhile. He knows I’m just being a larrikin.”

Kei shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like that sometimes. I don’t want to report you to HR, but if this keeps happening, I will do it.”

Ian glared at them before turning around and leaving them. Kei hugged Terrence in thanks, basking in the warmth that the man’s arms provided.

Terrence looked at his watch. ‘1:24.’ There was still time. He hesitated before taking Kei’s hand. He cocked his head towards the lounge and Kei nodded, the dimples on his cheeks and the wrinkles by his eyes finally showing.

They chatted by the water cooler and Kei made a grand gesture to show the size of the fish Lisa caught. Terrence instinctively clapped, causing Kei’s nostrils to jump up and down again.

After work, Kei called his parents. “Hi, sorry it’s been so long. Yeah, I’m good.” His father commented in a coarse voice that Kei sounded happy. “I do?” Kei asked with a laugh. His mother asked him with a chipper voice if it was because he found a new wife. Kei laughed again, grabbing Terrence’s hand. “Well, uh, not exactly. I did start seeing someone, though. H… He’s pretty great.” The other end was silent. “Mama, Papa? Are you okay?”

“Yes, it’s just… did you say ‘he’?” his mother asked. “That’s unexpected. So you’re a… what’s the word?”

Papa pitched in. “Homo? Is that the right word?”

“No, Papa,” Kei said with a sigh, though he admittedly had to take a few seconds to remember the Japanese term. “I’m bisexual. Are you mad at me?”

“No, we’re just worried,” Mama said. “We want you to be happy. You won’t be able to marry this man, right?”

Kei’s limbs stopped shaking as relief swept over him. “Mama, it’s a bit too early for that. And I could in Australia if I wanted to.”

“Really? Then good luck! And send us some souvenirs! Talk to us next week!”

After saying goodbye and hanging up, Kei took Terrence by the hand to the pub where everything changed. Gary and their other work pals Pete, Dave and Bob were waiting for them, already chugging beers with the exception of Pete, who was on sober duty that night. They immediately made room for the two of them.

“You gonna get a Supershine again?” Kei asked Terrence, who shook his head and went up to order a Crown. Kei followed him to the bar and pretended to sulk. “I miss the taste already.”

Terrence’s cheeks looked like the end of a ciggie. “You’ll have to get used to tasting Crown with your VB. I’m not getting a hangover that bad again.” He turned to Kei. “I didn’t just say that, did I?”

Kei burst out laughing. He heard a familiar song playing in the bar and started dancing his silly little dance.

“Come on, Terry, join me, ya cunt!”

Terrence chuckled and left his bottle with the others before doing what Kei said. It was just two dags dancing badly to an old song and ignoring anyone in the bar who dared to stare at them. And they didn’t need mints or multiple rounds of beer or even ice cream to do it.

#Bisexual #story #shounen ai #romance #gay #yaoi #original fiction #LGBT #Opposites Attract #Australia #Australian slang #fiction #interracial relationship #asian australian #office romance #Cheap Beer and Ciggie Cheeks

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kaz3313 · 5 years

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Reawakened

Day 12- Fusion

Alice had experimented too much on Boris. So much so that karma had finally caught up to all her sins and gave her it's retribution.

The cause of the freak accident was the wolf and angel were brought into one; neither were anywhere close to being perfect anymore. They're form though isn't the important part instead it's their minds.

Alice snarled trying to reach out in her new unstable form but Boris made it let out a whimper. The creature writhed as the two toons clashed together eternally.

They weren't the only ones but the others had no desire to fight.

They were originally just lost whispers in the back of their minds but with the chaos that ensued whispers turn to more tangible thoughts. Thoughts that were disconnected from the rest of themselves and were more than just an anomaly ; truly they were a separate entity then the cowardly wolf and fallen angel.

See, at first appearance this was a simple fusion of two but in actuality it was of four. While Alice and Boris fought for control over their body the other two sat in the back of the mind. They'd long ago lost the fight for control but for entirely different reasons.

Susie Campbell was just waiting. She learned to regret all she'd done in her last months alive. She'd become obsessed with being the perfect angel. That trait was carried into Alice and became her only driving force; reach perfection any means necessary. Susie rejected Alice's actions so her voice was pushed to the back. It was rare she even could manage to sway the angel's decisions but it did happen every once in a while.

Wally Franks on the other hand had no quarrel with Boris or vice versa. The reason he wasn't in control, or had any say on the wolf's decisions, was because he was only a shell of his former self. Wally really wasn't there anymore; just his soul. Yet some remblence of his mind remained but it was strung out in little pieces. However the fusion brought just enough together that he could refer to himself as a separate being.

In the mind you make the image of yourself, as you were not a physical entity, based on how you view yourself. However in this case it's more of how much you remember yourself. This made Susie and Wally have an "appearance" slightly different than when they were alive and human.

Susie had more memories so she was mostly accurately save having no bags under her eyes and a few more curls of hair. She wore a plain yellow dress; it was one that she had in childhood but this one was fit as if it grew with her into adulthood. Her mind was fragmented but she held on to memories much better then other employees lost into the ink.

Wally... resembled his old self. They're was just something off about him. His entire colour scheme was changed to black and the sepia yellow so prevalent in the studio. Save for his red curls he'd fit in with the hellish studio. At least in colour appearance. He had a few freckles but not even half as many as he used to. His outfit was Boris's. His eyes were flashes of different shades of grey. Sometimes though a thick fog covered his face as it escapes him how all the features once looked.

Susie realized he really had lost his identity and that she felt horribly strong pity. If she was in control of a body she would've even let out a few tears.

"W-what are we?" She must've spoke up-or at least made that thought louder than the rest. It was an overwhelming feeling being fused with one other already jumbled your mind enough. Now she had two more minds to deal with (albeit one was not really a full mind. Maybe he counted as a quarter of one).

"Cartoons," Wally said plainly and he tilted his head "what else?"

"No Wally, what are we now? People, monsters-"

"Who's Wally?" He asked cutting into her thoughts.

"You are,"

"Oh, I guess I forgot,"

"I'm Susie; used to be a voice actress,"

"I guess I'm Wally. Used to be Boris. Or maybe I am Boris still. Maybe I'm just not,"

"Not what?"

"Not anything,"

"You have to be something otherwise you wouldn't be talking to me-or thinking with me. Whatever you want to call it,"

"I used to be someone but I'm not sure I'm anyone anymore. Can somebody turn into nobody?" He asked. For being "nothing" he had a lot of questions.

"...I'm not sure. But I remember you a little bit,"

"Me? Are you sure it's not someone else?"

"Positive. You might've changed but your still Wally; can't change your soul. You're still just as talkative as before. Not as smiley though,"

"Smiley," he echoed.

"Yep, I remember you used to annoy Sammy. He'd get so upset at you, I think it's cause you lost things often,"

"Well I still lose things. Lost quite an important thing,``he said as if it was something to be proud of.

"And what have you lost?" Susie asked.

"My mind," His form flickered and nothing else was said.

#the ink demonth #batim #bendy and the ink machine #my writing #long post #I hope this isnt confusing!#i kinda like this concept so i might try more of it later

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incubatordruid · 5 years

Text

MtG Month of the Ship, Day 5 - "I Love You”

Emrakul returns to bring you another story of romance in the multiverse! Today it's a pairing that has become possible thanks to War of the Spark, and that I am rapidly developing an obsession with, Domri x Vivien.

One benefit of being sealed in a moon is that nothing disturbs my thoughts. It is far better than the noisy entropy of the world below, and is also a decent improvement over being trapped in stasis on Zendikar with Ulamog and Kozilek. Especially Ulamog. He snored. And without such disturbances, I am free to think on the nature of the planes and their inhabitants, and to look in on them from time to time. I have come to be particularly interested in the development of the deeper relationships that the plane-bound seem to have with each other, and the emotions associated with those relationships. It strikes me that I should perhaps investigate how these patterns emerge in the younger members of these species. And there is one in particular who presents a particularly interesting case...

“Wooooo!” Domri stood up on the back of his rendhorn, pointing his staff at the nearest intact section of stone wall. The stampede of war-boars around him charged straight through it, smashing its cleanly-cut bricks into pebbles. “For the Clans! For Nicky B! For freedom!” He’d stolen that battle cry from a Boros angel that he’d knocked out of the air the previous day. Well, originally it was “For the Legion, for Ravnica, for freedom”, but screw the Legion! Screw Ravnica! And what did the Boros know about freedom, anyways?

Sigh. Another human dead-set on destroying things other humans have built. Why do they do that? Time’s arrow, entropy’s pull, and sometimes things like me impose enough destruction on the world, yet somehow humans find ways to add to it.

On the other side of the now-nonexistent wall stood a Selesnyan vernadi, its marble chambers and staircases curling around and through the branches of the tree at its center. Domri spat at it. Whoever built this thing deserved to be impaled by an arynx. Even if the top dragon hadn’t asked Domri to annihilate the place, he probably would’ve done it anyways. No tree deserved this kind of disfigurement. Plus, there was always a chance he’d attract the attention of--

A bellow from his left, followed shortly by the squealing of boars, grabbed Domri’s attention. A ghostly green bull, larger than any Domri had ever seen on Ravnica, was barreling through his mob of boars, tossing them left and right. Just behind it, a trio of slender maaka, the same ghostly green, leapt from boar to boar, surgically ripping out each one’s throat. And a little bit beyond them, oh please let it be her, there she was! Vivien… Domri made a note to himself to ask if she had any more names… strode through the space that her animals had cleared, flanked by a pack of spectral wolves, of which she was clearly the alpha.

Domri felt himself blush, and didn’t even mind. He’d first seen Vivien a few days ago, when she’d summoned an immense lizard of some sort that had whipped a hellkite to death with its tail. She’d only lingered for a moment before she was called away by another of the “resistance” - that was how Domri had learned her name - but in that moment he’d already known that he wanted to find out more about her. So since then, he’d been directing Gruul scout parties specifically to follow her, under the pretense that Bolas was interested in capturing her. Not that he would ever actually tell the big N.B. where she was. She was far too beautiful to become just another one of the dragon’s playthings. Instead he’d followed the scouts’ reports himself, and managed to catch a few glimpses of her before, each time, she vanished into whatever concealment was around. And each time, Domri felt that same hard-to-describe feeling, akin to the excitement of demolishing an Azorius library, but so much better.

Well, it’s rather reassuring to know that at least someone else in the multiverse is as confused about this feeling as I am right now. Perhaps it is this way with all the youth among the plane-bound, perhaps they all begin without good words for this sensation.

And now here she was, finally, paying attention to him! Domri let out a yell, half out of battle rage and half out of excitement, and channeled a spell through his staff, turning the entire horde of boars and other beasts under his command to focus fully on Vivien and her small pack. She noticed this shift immediately and called her animals back to her with a quick hand gesture. Still with a look of total calm on her face, she drew her bow, conjuring a brilliant green arrow, and raised her gaze to look right into Domri’s eyes. The warm feeling around Domri’s cheeks intensified, and, looking away just so slightly, he channeled that feeling into a shouted command. “Charge!”

The battle was over within minutes. Corpses of boars lay in heaps around the Selesnyan courtyard, blood running out and staining the white marble flagstones. Domri’s rendhorn, too, lay dead, its neck crushed by the jaws of one of Viven’s enormous lizards. That lizard was now continuing the destruction of the Selesnyan temple, which made Domri feel oddly giddy. Domri himself was caught in the claws of another lizard, his feet dangling inches above the ground, his staff out of reach. Vivien, barely even winded, stepped over a few corpses to stand eye-to-eye with him. She was more beautiful up close, Domri thought, and looked even better covered in blood.

Vivien retrieved a knife from her belt and held it to Domri’s throat. “Servant of Nicol Bolas. Do you have any last words?” Her voice was stern and measured. It had the same air of authority that Borborygmos’s voice had had, though with none of the spittle and stench. Domri opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“None? Then your death will be silent and--”

“W-wait!” Domri’s voice cracked. The thought of dying this way felt surprisingly okay, but at the very least he was going to tell her. “I think -- I think you’re beautiful!”

“What.”

“I just think, the way you move so gracefully, it’s like a prime maaka on the hunt,” the words rushed out of him almost uncontrollably, “and how you can command your pack so perfectly, and all the different animals that you can call on, it’s so amazing. It makes my heart go all funny. Vivien, I think I love you.”

Domri felt Vivien’s grip on her knife tense, and then loosen. She tucked it back into its sheath on her belt. Then, with a silent gesture, she called a pair of wolves to her side and instructed the lizard to drop Domri. “Uh, um… I guess, thank--”

“Go tell your master Vivien Reid is coming for him.” She seemed as calm as ever. What did that mean? Did she feel the same way? “Now.”

“Ahhh-- yeah. Right.” Domri turned around to hide his silly smile. Reid! She’d told him her surname! “I’ll just… I’ll tell him. Um.” He turned back around to see Vivien still staring at him. “Maybe… see you soon?” With that, he broke into a dash and leapt over the remains of the wall his boars had destroyed earlier. He’d see her again. He’d make sure of it!

It may be a crucial point to note that the statement “I love you” correlated with the highest peak of that bonding emotion that has been of interest to me. It is, of course, not the first time I have heard those words spoken. Though in the past usually I have heard them in association with a person’s last moments, quite often before one of my extensions claimed them and their companions. I wonder if, in light of my new knowledge that that statement carries such emotional impact, I should feel worse about that.

In any case, “love” seems as good a term as any to stand in for this bright, sweet-tasting emotion of connection. Love. Love love love. A good word. I suppose I shall go looking for more of it.

The above is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

#mtg #fanfic #domri rade #vivien reid #war of the spark #mtgwar #tw: violence #notice me senpai #MTGShip

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you-guys--are-losers · 6 years

Text

When Waffles Mean Trouble

//I have had “Replay” by Zendaya stuck in my head for literal days, so this happened.

The two nerds are still snoring, and MJ doesn’t feel like getting slapped in the face while waking up Leeds. The loser is notoriously dangerous to wake up; Parker swears he still can see a scar from the last time he tried to rouse Ned after a late night marathoning.

The night before, they managed to get through every single Harry Potter movie except for the last one. Several minutes passed in which MJ mocked them for being too tired to finish at 3:49 AM, and then Leeds and Parker had passed out immediately. As soon as they were asleep, MJ turned the volume down and finished the movie. She didn’t like leaving it unfinished before bed, and there was a large chance she would not be able to sleep anyway.

When MJ wakes that morning, the selection menu is playing over and over above her. She must have fallen asleep, she realizes as she rolls over to fumble for the remote to turn off the television. A quick glance at the old clock that hangs on the wall, plus the added five minutes to account for the time discrepancy, indicates that it is 7:44.

Funny, really, that she can fall asleep much more easily at the Parkers' than when she is actually home. MJ doesn't feel much like thinking about the irony this morning.

MJ flicks off the TV and glances over at the two sleeping teens, one of which is on the floor and the other dozing in an armchair. Michelle studies the boy on the floor, the one who had insisted she take the couch the night before. He has a thin blanket kicked off of his feet and his curly brown hair and his pillow are the only things between his face and the carpet.

MJ's eyes find his face, which has been much paler and more tired than it should be lately. It's not like she's worried about him, really. She may not see him eating enough, and she may have noticed that he is carrying too much on his shoulders without enough sleep, but that doesn't matter. It would be stupid of her to be this worried about the loser... But then, she can’t really help her tiny obsession.

She jumps as stomach growls so loudly that MJ is sure she will wake them both. Neither boy stirs, and she can't help rolling her eyes. They are both heavy sleepers whenever she stays over with them after marathoning. They are also terrible cooks, and she is starving.

MJ has been here often in these past few months, whether she is reading while they watch Lord of the Rings or fiddling around with the pieces while the nerds construct a Lego ship. She's good at observing, and she always has been. For instance, she has observed that May always buys flour and sugar under the pretense that she will be cooking. She also knows that they sit in the upper right-hand cabinet in the kitchen, where they never will see the light of day.

On her way to the kitchen, MJ steps over Parker and walks past Leeds’s chair. Her fingers absentmindedly tug his hat down slightly so that it will keep the sun out of his eyes as it comes in through the window. She steps into May Parker’s tiny, sunny kitchen and pauses as she glanced down at her phone.

May has an old speaker with tinny sound quality on the counter, and there is an aux cord connected to it. MJ knows the speaker doesn’t play too loudly, but it does play, so she moves to insert the cord into the headphone jack and presses shuffle on her Spotify playlist.

The song starts immediately, and MJ begins to move around the kitchen to the beat of the song. She grabs the sugar and the flour, as well as the baking soda and powder. She finds an old bag of chocolate chips in the cabinet as well, so she takes those and sets them on the countertop as she grabs the remaining ingredients.

MJ begins to stir the bowl vigorously, folding the chips into the batter. She starts humming with the song, but then the chorus comes, and MJ is tempted.

Does she hate the way the entertainment puts a price on talent? Yes. Does she think that celebrities are just a way for companies to suck the money out of people and make sure they enjoy it at the same time? Definitely.

Does she like this pop song? Of course.

“He-ey, wanna put this song on replay,” she sings to herself as she pours the wet ingredients together and sharply raps an egg on the counter. “I could listen to it all day, I could listen to you all day.”

Her voice grows louder as she becomes slightly more confident in the fact that they won’t wake. After all, Parker snored loudly enough that Leeds could probably sleep through Armageddon. MJ finishes mixing in the dry ingredients, and there is a smile on her face as she stirs the bowl until the batter is smooth.

“Don’t stop.”

Rippp. The bag of chocol dumps a liberal amount into the batter. Some people say that this is dangerous as compared to sprinkling them in the iron because the chips are prone to sinking, but MJ has discovered a solution to this. If there are a ton of chocolate chips in the batter, it is not hard to make sure that they are in every waffle since they can only sink so far. Also, she is just a little addicted to chocolate chips.

“Turn it on, turn it up, make it louder. I don’t wanna miss a single thing, wanna hear every melody...”

The waffle iron sizzles as MJ drops a chunk of butter onto it, and the sound only intensifies her hunger.

“Beating,” she continues, enjoying the feeling of the music leaving her lips. She has not sung just to sing for a very long time, and it feels amazing... Freeing, because she is the only one who can hear it. “Beating so loud you can feel it... Beating, beating for you-” MJ turns around, and the spatula clatters to the floor.

Not is only one who can hear it.

Leeds and Parker stare at her from the living room with eyes the size of the waffles currently steaming in the iron. Ned gapes at her, and Peter blinks several times, swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobs. The way they are looking at her, she might as well have just announced her sudden, passionate lust for Flash Thompson.

“U-um, we...” Peter stammers. “We didn’t, w-we didn’t wanna, like, freak you out or anything-”

“What were you doing?” Ned interrupts.

MJ blinks several times, and her mind is whirring as she struggles to speak. “Waffles,” she finally manages to force out. Her voice is tight and constricted, and she quickly turns and presses the button on the speaker to switch it off.

“Um... I meant the other thing- ow!” Ned mumbles, and there is the thud of an elbow meeting someone’s side.

MJ does not turn around. Instead, she grabs a fork and attempts to salvage the burnt waffles from the iron. They are so badly scorched that she practically has to scrape them from the heated metal. She stabs the burnt crisp far harder than necessary, with a violence that seems to put both of them on edge.

As MJ pries the burnt waffle into the trashcan, Ned’s phone begins to buzz. MJ can hear the sound of repeated notifications on his Stark Industries phone, and Peter appears terribly uncomfortable.

“Right,” Ned stammers. “I’ve got to, um... It’s my mom, she’s-”

“Out of town this weekend,” MJ says in a sharp voice. She is still smarting with embarrassment as she pours more batter into the iron, and it makes her slightly more caustic with Ned than she normally is.

“-Has... A... Sister,” Ned slowly forges ahead. “Um. Who’s texting me? About her baby. My mother has a sister who’s having a baby.”

“You’d better answer it, then,” Peter interjects. MJ cannot see with her back turned, but she thinks that he shoots Ned a look.

“Right,” Ned fumbles. He turns and quickly shuffles out of the room, and then MJ and Peter are alone.

MJ closes the iron and listens to the hissing sound filling the empty kitchen. She likes it, normally, but right now it is substantially less satisfying thanks to the smoke clouding the with the smell of burnt waffles. She moves to open the apartment’s tiny kitchen window.

“I didn’t know-” Peter begins from behind her.

MJ stiffens. She knows what he will say... Both Ned and Peter have heard her rants at the lunchroom table about the cancerous, parasitic nature of the entertainment industry and the way that people are willing to sell anything, even abstract concepts, to make a profit.

“I know, Parker, you don’t need to tell me about how much of a hypocrite I am,” she fires off, talking quickly. MJ whirls around, brandishing the spatula in the air like a baton as she rambles. “Just because I think that the entertainment industry is corrupted doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy the music, even pop, because if I like the song then I’ll be damned if I don’t listen to it, and-”

“-that you could sing,” Parker finishes quietly. “I didn’t know that you could sing.”

MJ blinks repeatedly in surprise, clearing her throat quickly. She is much closer than she expected now that she has stalked over to the couch, and a little bit of batter is on her cheek from her waving of the spatula.

“Really? You get stuck on that, Parker?” she mutters, turning to face the waffle iron. She doesn’t want to look into his earnest puppy-dog eyes, because she doesn’t want to feel the things that she feels every time she does. She doesn’t know what those things are, exactly, but she knows she hates them and she knows they’re his fault.

“Well, I mean, you don’t really seem like the type- not that you’re bad at it! You’re good, really, really good, but I... Um... I just never really thought you might sing.”

“I don’t,” she retorts, ignoring the way his flustered rambling sort of makes her want to push him against a wall, but not in an angry way. In the kind of way that she definitely, definitely will not be thinking about. “Not for people, or ever.”

“Then what about a minute ago?”

“You caught me in a moment of weakness. They’re rare, so treasure it, loser,” she mumbled, using the fork to move the waffles to a plate. MJ slathered enough syrup to drown them onto the plate, and then she shoved them in his direction over the counter. Parker nearly lets the plate fall to the floor, and he spends a minute fumbling with it that she uses to put more batter in.

“How did you know-”

“May doesn’t like syrup on her pancakes or waffles, but you always have a bottle and every time I come it’s almost gone,” she rattled off without looking back at him.

He sighs, and then his stupidly earnest voice says, “I will treasure it.” Her heart skips a beat, damn him. “Why don’t you?”

“I don’t like it. Coincidentally, I also don’t like idiots asking me impertinent questions.”

“That’s a lie, we saw you. You were smiling.” He is eating standing up the way every man in MJ’s life ever has, although there are a whopping two of them as of now. One is in Peter’s bedroom being a liar who lied to her, and the other eats his breakfast with so much syrup that she thinks he must be a diabetic.

She glares down at the waffles as she yanked them from the iron. MJ loves waffles, especially chocolate chip ones. But right now, they have caused her a lot of trouble no matter how fluffy they are.

“I used to take voice lessons,” she mutters, unplugging the iron and setting down her plate. In need of something to do, she covers the batter and slides it into the fridge so May can make more later. “They didn’t end well.”

“How do voice lessons end badly when you sing like that?” Peter asks incredulously. She shoots him a look only to find that his plate is already empty.

“How do you stay that skinny when you eat so much?” she asks, mimicking his tone. She moves to take his dish, but he swipes it from her grasp and walked to the sink with it. Leaving her waffles on the plate, MJ gathers all the dishes and begins to load them into the sink. It becomes an assembly line then, with Peter washing and MJ drying.

“I’ve got fast metabolism. Your turn.”

MJ sighs as she sets down the now clean glass mixing bowl. “I didn’t... It wasn’t my voice,” she mutters as she turns to wipe the spatula. “It was the recitals.”

“You... Have stage fright?” he asks, and his eyes are huge. He pauses in his rinsing of a teaspoon measure, quickly saying, “Not that that’s so crazy, I mean a lot of people do, I-I don’t like talking that much in front of people-”

“I would never have guessed.”

He passes her the teaspoon, and he is quiet for a moment, urging her to continue. Maybe it is foolish, but she does.

“My dad used to come to all of the recitals,” she sighs, taking much longer than necessary on the teaspoon. “He bought those daisies, the ones they color with cheap dye, and they were always purple because that was my favorite color. And then my parents...”

Peter winces, looking away. “MJ, you don’t-”

“They divorced, and then he stopped coming,” she finishes. “No more daisies and no more ice cream on the way home, and no more dad. And he went out and got a new family, and I stopped taking voice lessons.” MJ slams the teaspoon on the counter with the other dry dishes. “So no, I don’t sing, not anymore.”

MJ turns with open hands to grab the next dish, and she finds Parker staring at her instead. His stupid eyes look like they were transplanted out of a puppy, and they bring a lump to her throat that she shoves down.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and she looks at him with eyes as sharp as the kitchen knife that has clearly been sitting in the sink for days.

“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault, and I don’t want your pity.” MJ picks up the knife by its wooden handle and snatches the dishrag from him.

“But you can’t let him define it for you.”

Her eyes snap up to him, and she raises an eyebrow dangerously. “And who are you to tell me what I get to do?” she hums.

He returns her gaze. “I’m your friend, and don’t deny it, because I know that you have books to read and that you could be at any party you wanted if you felt like trying,” he insists.

Her face heats up, and she hopes it doesn’t show. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

“But you’re good at it, MJ, and you love it. Why should he get to decide if you like it or not?” he insists. “Your dad let you down. Not everyone will, MJ. Not me, not Ned, and definitely not May. She loves you, and I know she would love your voice.”

“But-” She accidentally starts speaking, and now she knows she has to continue. “Whenever I do it, I think about him. And I don’t want to, Parker. It isn’t worth it, and I always end up hurt.” Her throat aches, but she ignores the feeling. She is not in pain, Michelle Jones does not feel pain.

Peter winces, and she knows that he realizes how serious she is. “I know. But just then, you weren’t singing for him. You were doing it for you.”

MJ blinks, and she opens her mouth to speak. However, he continues.

“If you do it for you, you get to rise above him. You get to put him behind you and choose people who won’t let you down,” he insists. His gaze doesn’t leave her face, and she slowly begins to wipe the knife blade. HIs eyes hold warmth as he looks at her, and a tentative hand moves to swipe the batter away from her cheek. “It’s not about him, it never was. It’s about you, and it’s beautiful.”

MJ’s grip tightens, and she nearly drops the knife, but it is at that moment that Ned comes stumbling into the room.

“Hey, Peter-”

Peter’s head snaps to Ned, and MJ has a chance to recover her fumbling fingers.

“Oh,” Ned says slowly. “Was I...”

“Um, no, no, of course not,” Peter stammers.

“Good, because... Because you have a thing,” Ned insists with wide eyes.

“Right,” Peter says quickly. “That thing. The one I forgot.”

“Yeah, that one.”

Peter’s eyes flicker to MJ. “Look, MJ, I-”

“Nah, it’s fine,” She hums as she sets down the knife. “I have to go anyway.” She glances at the lukewarm waffles on the counter and decides to leave them for May as she goes to fetch her bag. “You do your thing. Sounds important.”

Peter gapes at her, seeming shocked she isn’t questioning. “But-”

“Seriously,” she assures the pair. “I forgot, I’ve got to go and get my teeth cleaned at the dentist anyway.”

“Oh, cool,” Peter says slowly. He offers her a tentative smile, one that makes MJ’s hands shake the way they did when she almost sliced her middle finger off holding the knife. That would have been a disappointment the next time she saw Flash.

“See you guys later,” she hums as she swings her bag over her shoulder. “Tell May I say hi.”

Are they the worst liars in the world? Yes. But that doesn’t mean that she is going to confront them. She wants Peter and Ned to choose to tell her on their own, not to have a part of themselves forced out by a sleep-addled mind, waffles, and a tinny speaker. She wants to know... Wants in on that part of their friendship, to be that much closer to them in a way that she hasn’t with anyone else.

MJ leaves the two nerds sitting in the kitchen, appearing quite bemused. That’s her favorite way to leave people with a look like they’re wondering what just hit them.

The rest of the day goes normally, for the most part. It is only when her mother points out later that she has been humming while doing the dishes that MJ realizes something. She was singing... And it wasn’t for her father. It wasn’t for her mother, it wasn’t for Peter, and it wasn’t for anyone.

Her song had been for Michelle Jones, and no one else.

#michelle jones #michelle jones x peter parker #peter parker x michelle jones #spider-man: homecoming #spiderman:homecoming hc #spideychelle #spiderman #one-shot #spideychelle oneshot #oneshot #mj x peter #mj #peter x mj #peter parker #original work

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