#truths; ( if my hopeless self talks –– one wrong step i end up in the jaws of death . )

[psychewithwings]

alright so i know you just wrote a really big piece so please don’t feel obligated to do this anytime soon but i was hoping i could request a shikamaru x reader nsfw w a praise kink? not like. in a super submissive way but just mutual praise and compliments back and forth? i’m so sorry if this is clunky, this is my first time requesting something like this!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND I AM SO SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You’re amazing, it wasn’t clunky, I totally get you, you’re an angel. Drink your water and just keep being your beautiful self. This one is for you Anon <3 I hope you like 

Relaxation:

WARNINGS: NSFW sex! fingering, blow job, pretty vanilla and sweet but still spicy xx

 Shikamaru was watching the clouds roll over the sky from his favourite section of the Nara forest, the sun peacefully hitting his face in a way that made him look especially handsome. It was unfortunate that he was a colossal idiot and a constant pain in your ass, even if you were best friends. “Hey dummy,” you said, stepping in front of the sun rays he was so greedily absorbing. He opened an eye and raised a brow in question. “Whattya want?” he asked, smirking at your reaction to his blasé response. “We were supposed to practice that new formation with Hinata and Kiba... remember?” Shikamaru thought about it for a second and then closed his eyes, “not really.” You stared for a second more but he resumed his peaceful day dreaming. “You’re hopeless,” you groaned as you sat down next to him in the grass. “And you’re too high strung,” he pushed back. He glanced over, watching you turn the thought in your head over and over again. “I am not high strung, you just know how to push my buttons!”He laughed, “is that so?” You began to respond, trying to explain how you just need to get things prepared before the mission and how he was upsetting your preparation process... but he cut you off before you’d barely begun. “When was the last time you took a day off?” You inhaled ready to spit back that you take days off all the time, but you couldn’t remember the last time you’d really had a chill day.

You flopped back against the hill and sighed. “You make a fair point Shikamaru Nara... but you still can’t commit to plans and not show up.” He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow to look at you. “Maybe this was just an elaborate scheme to get you to take some time off,” his gaze on you was never wavering. “We won't succeed our mission if you wear yourself out before hand,” he added with a chuckle. “Fine, you made your point,” you shifted in the grass, “I’ll try to relax.” He rolled onto his back once again, “good girl, relax,” he said.

You blinked. D-did he just say good girl? Your heart rate sped up and you shifted in the grass again, trying to get comfortable as well as quell the growing ache in your core. You stayed still for a few seconds, then adjusted yourself again, then again, and then again. You tried putting your arm behind your head as a pillow, but it started to go numb so you went to move it back. Shikamaru grabbed your arm as you were moving it. Your breath hitched in your throat as he held you in his grip. He softened his hand and slid his fingers down to interlace with yours. He pulled you closer to him, “just relax,” he said. It wasn’t a question but it was said with care.

You’d known Shikamaru forever, you’d been friends since your academy days, but he had never once held your hand. You could feel your palm starting to sweat anxiously against his. You turned your head to look at him, his eyes were closed and his mouth was parted slightly. His lips glistened in the light, as if he’d just licked them recently... and now your hand was really sweating. You tried to slowly remove your hand but he didn't let go. He instead held on tighter and you watched the hint of a smile form on his face.

You looked back towards the sky. Shikamaru’s hold on your hand was enough on its own but he started to rub slow circled on your skin with his thumb. “You have soft hands,” he said matter of factly. Your eyes were wide with shock. Was he coming on to you? Was he just being nice? No he wasn’t nice like this... ever. But maybe he was just bored... or horny? Or both. Your thoughts were bouncing around in your head and causing you to wiggle your foot anxiously.

“That’s it,” Shikamaru sighed annoyed as he flipped over on top of you. “Is this what I need to do to keep you still?” He looked down at you, smirking that he had successfully ended your wriggling. A soft moan escaped your lips from the pressure to your wrists. He held you so firmly, but tenderly at the same time. It was all becoming too much. You stared at him with curious eyes before you asked him softly, “what are you doing?” He stared down at you, his gaze flicking over your mouth. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. You shifted beneath him, trying to create friction between your thighs. He moved to whisper in your ear, “we’ve been friends this long and you haven’t figured it out yet?” You froze, expecting him to pull away but he stayed close enough for you to feel his breath on your neck. “Y/n, don’t be naive,” he chided. He wasn’t going to say it so easily. A smile crept over your lips as you flipped him on his back, straddling him. He didn’t struggle and almost seemed to enjoy your execution of control in the situation. You were trying to think of something witty to say back, to coax the truth out of him. But instead your own desires took over and you pressed your lips to his. It was a soft kiss, to test the waters, and as you pulled away he reached up to attempt to capture your lips again. But you pulled away teasingly, “I want to hear you say it,” you bargained.

He sat up and wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you onto his lap. He kissed you again before saying, “I like you.” He kissed you again, “ a lot.” And again, “you’re beautiful.” And again, “and smart.” And again, “and funny.” And again, “and everyday,” again, “spent with you,” again, “is better.” You kissed him deeply this time, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth while your hands roamed over his arms, his chest, and his body. “Shika,” you pulled away. He looked at you with a soft look you hadn’t seen from him before. His eyes were almost shining as he looked at you with pure adoration. You cupped his face with your hand and suddenly everything you wanted to say disappeared but was replaced with a need to be closer to him. “You’re... wonderful,” you said before you kissed him again, trying your best to pull him close, your body grinding against his slowly.

He groaned as you nipped at his neck. The sounds he made were driving you feral and you kissed down his body to the button of his jeans. You could feel how hard he was beneath his clothes and you couldn’t resist. You undid his pants and slipped your hand below the waist band of his pants. You began to stroke his cock teasingly slow. “Fuck you’re big,” you said as you continued your lazy movements. He smiled, both shocked and delighted with your actions. “Ah fuck, wh-what are you-” “Just relax,” you shot back with a mischievous glare. “Here?” he asked as he tenderly brushed his hand down the side of your face, making sure you were comfortable. You lapped your tongue over the head of his cock, in response before saying, “isn’t this your secret hide out?” He didn’t have time to think and watched with lidded eyes as you took him into your mouth. You drank in his sweet sounds of pleasure, bobbing along his length. Your eyes flicked up to see his head rolled to the side and his fingers digging into the earth. He looked down at you, his breath shaky, “you’re- really good at that.” You sucked harder wanting to draw out more of his pleasure. He half gasped, half cried out when you swirled your tongue around the tip and then took him back into your mouth. “Fuck you’re perfect,” he said as his cock hit the back of your throat. He was really just encouraging you, talking like that. You began to force more of his length down your throat and his hands found their way to the back of your head. He didn't force your head down, just held your head, wanting to feel the motions of your neck as you moved up and down on his length. You were taking him deeper, determined to hilt him inside of your throat, even if you were gagging around him. The sloppy sounds of you sucking him off and gagging while doing so; and his moans were driving you crazy. You could feel yourself dripping into your underwear. You tried to rub your thighs together to create any type of friction but it was difficult. You whined around him in frustration when he pulled you off his cock. “Stop.”

You looked at him with watery eyes, spit making your lips and chin glisten. “Did I do something wrong?” you asked him, feeling worried. He held your face in his hands and kissed you. “Not at all, it was just too good, I don’t wanna cum yet,” he said and then in a second you were on your back. His hands roamed over your body and stopped at your clothed core. He pressed the pads of his fingers into you, feeling the slick that had bled through already. “You’re so wet,” he groaned as he closed his eyes, drawing circles over your clit. He slipped your panties to the side and slid a finger inside your tight heat. “Oh Shika,” you sighed as he pressed his finger into your walls and dragged it in and out. Your jaw went slack in pleasure and your eyes were rolling in the back of your head. How had he found your spot so quickly. He pressed another finger inside of you and relished in the feeling of you squeezing around his digits. “You look so beautiful like this, so calm,” he praised. “So fucking pretty,” he admired, staring at your cunt. “I want you inside me, Shika please,” you begged. “Be patient gorgeous, just let me play with this pretty pussy a little longer,” he thumbed over your clit. You mewled in pleasure, trying your best to be patient, but as soon as his thumb moved faster you couldn't hold back. “Please,” you asked again. He pulled his fingers out and you whined at the empty feeling. He sucked his fingers that were dripping with your essence. “You taste fucking amazing,” he moaned.

He removed his clothes and then yours and laid over you. His skin felt warm against yours and you stroked up and down his back. He peppered kisses over your face before finally locking onto your lips.  He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth as he pushed the head of his cock past your entrance. “You feel so good,” he managed before hilting himself inside you. He drank your cries of pleasure as he began to move, slow and deep. “So fucking perfect,” he said. You pressed your hips up to meet his thrusts, “Shika, you’re going so deep.” He kissed the top of your head, “you can take it pretty girl.” He began to thrust slightly faster as he added, “I wanna feel this pretty pussy cum all over me.” Your nails dug into his back upon hearing his words and his thrusts were somehow taking the air from your lungs. Your breath was ragged in pleasure and you could feel tears pricking at the sides of your eyes. “It’s so fucking good Shikamaru, please don’t stop, don’t ever stop.” You could feel yourself getting closer, your pussy clamping down on his cock as it dragged against that one spot and hitting another deeper inside you. He trailed one of his hands down to circle over your clit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and broken syllables of his name fell from your lips. “You’re so beautiful making that face as you take my cock,” he praised. “Cum, I wanna feel it so bad.” The quiet of the Nara woods was replaced with the sounds of your pleasure and his hips slapping against yours. You could feel the heat building inside of you as he continued to fuck you harder, his fingers on your clit moving faster.

“Ah Shika! I’m cumming, I’m cumming so hard,” you cried out as your nails dug into his shoulders, making little half moons. It was the squeezing of your pussy mixed with the sharp pain of your nails that forced him over the edge as well. You could feel the hot ropes of his cum painting your insides.

He collapsed on top of your and rolled you to where you were the one on top of him. He was still inside you as he kissed the top of your head. You lay there in silence and stillness for a moment before Shikamaru spoke. “I- I think I love you,” he said. You drew a little heart over his chest with your fingers and snuggled further into his chest. “I love you too,” you sighed. “Mine?” he asked, interlacing your fingers with his once more. “Yours,” you replied, and then kissed his chest, right over his heart.

#shikamaru #shikamaru nara #nara #nara clan #shikamaru x you #shikamaru x reader #naruto #narutoverse

[writingfromkitchenator]

Lucifer ~ Victimised

Alphabet Challenge Masterlist (700 Followers)

Masterlist

Sequel to Part 1: Ensorcell | Part 2: Pride

Words: 1,509

Warnings: Neutral Reader, angst, bad/toxic relationship, mortal wound reader death

You kept your head down, unable to look at any of them, unable to bare the guilt you know you'd see in their eyes.  In all your years of hunting, you'd never felt so helpless before, and you were at a complete and utter loss on what to do about it.

How did you handle always knowing that you would lose?

Lucifer chuckled next to you.  "Don't look so dejected gentlemen, this plan was put in motion long before my dear little hunter here even came into the picture.”

No more tears would come. You felt empty, barely even registering his hand resting on your shoulder.

"There was nothing any of you could do about it.  So why don't we just let bygones be bygones and move things along?"

Your feet blurred for a moment, as if tears were actually threatening to spill, but it quickly cleared. There was nothing you could do anymore, there was nowhere to go, and you had done the one thing you shouldn’t have.

“Sammy, are we really going to keep playing this cat and mouse game, it is so boring.  I think it’s pretty clear from here that I have already won, so why keep fighting it?”

“Why didn’t you talk to us?” Dean asked angrily, his question directed at you.  “Why didn’t you come and tell us what was going on?”

Your body visibly shuddered as Lucifer’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, but you kept your eyes on your feet.  “You wouldn’t have believed me.”

“Wouldn’t have believed you?”  Dean growled. “After all that we’ve been through, don’t you think we’d have the slightest clue on just how to handle something like this?  That we would be the only ones that would have the slightest idea of what you were going through?”

Lucifer chuckled.  “It’s all well and good to claim that Dean, but we all know deep down how that conversation would’ve gone.  There’s more to my little human than meets the eye, or have none of you ever noticed the little witchcraft talents?”

“Y/N,” Bobby’s voice was quiet, almost broken, and that hurt you more than anything.  “Is that true?”

“I dabbled,” You said weakly.  “And found I could do it rather easily.  I never…I never put anymore thought into it than that.  This was never what I wanted.”

“Dabbled indeed, summoned me out of sheer curiosity.”  Lucifer squeezed your shoulders, making you flinch.  “But a little angel and demon blood will do that in the right person, as you should know by Sammy alone.”

The glint of silver in Lucifer’s hand caught your eye and you couldn’t help but stare at his sword, the hopelessness growing in your chest, knowing that this was the worst thing you could’ve done.

Lucifer ruffled your hair. “Aren't you just the cutest?  All that misery and self-loathing.  Don’t worry, you’ll get over it eventually.  You’ll see things my way.”

“No,” Dean said firmly. “This ends now.  You let Y/N go and then you go back to Hell you son of a bitch.”

You took the risk, glancing back up at Dean, your heart in your throat.  The three of them were anger, there was no doubt about it, but there was also a concern for you, at the tight grip Lucifer had around your shoulders.  Despite what you had done, they still wanted to ensure that you were safe.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Don’t you idiots get it yet?  Y/N is mine, will always be mine.  You want me to go back to Hell, that’s exactly where Y/N will go too.  There is no escaping it, running from it, or trying to find a way out of it.”

Sam’s jaw clenched and his hand gripped Dean’s shoulder to stop him stepping forward.  “I made the choice against you, just as Dean did with Michael.  There’s no reason Y/N can’t do the same.  We will not just be victims of whatever sick game that angels and demons want to play.”

“Please,” Lucifer’s hand slipped into your hair, tugging your head back, making you flinch.  “Do you really want proof of how much Y/N is bound to me?”

There’s nothing the three of them could do as Lucifer’s lips hungrily claimed yours, fire igniting throughout your body, following him without question, needing the kiss as much as air itself.  A shudder goes through you, making you whimper, your heart echoing in your ears, every fibre of your being craving his even as he pulled away, his eyes dark, flashing red for a brief, hungry moment.

Bobby’s grip was tight on both Sam and Dean’s arms now, holding them both back, your gaze breaking away again, shame flooding you.

“There’s your proof,” Lucifer said coldly, his sword spinning in his hand, his other still holding onto you.  “As if my sword wasn’t enough.”

“Walk away Y/N,” Sam said through gritted teeth.  “Just ignore him and walk away.  Make the choice now before it kills you.”

You knew he was right, you knew that that was how it should be, but your feet were solidly planted on the ground, and no matter how much you stared at them, they refused to move.

“If you desire them that much Sammy, then you could just say yes,” Lucifer chuckled.  “Then we can both have what we want.”

“I want to protect Y/N,” Sam said coldly.  “Whereas you simply want to use.  We all know that you won’t keep them around Lucifer, not once you’ve gotten what you want.”

Lucifer said, his expression surprisingly serious.  “That is where you are wrong, and it wouldn’t matter how far my little hunter got away from me, I’d always find them, or they’d always come running back.”

You hated hearing those words and knowing that they were true.  It was so hard to be able to face that fact, especially when you knew Sam, Dean and Bobby knew that Lucifer spoke the truth as well.  Everything was just spiralling further and further out of your control.

“Now, this is getting rather dull,” Lucifer said, finally letting you and go and taking several slow steps forward.  “So let’s just stop these games, shall we?  We all know that you will say yes, to both myself and Michael, so how about we just move this along and get it over with.  There's no fun in resisting.”

Sam, Dean and Bobby were talking some more but you let their voices fade away, your gaze raising to watch Lucifer, his entire focus on the three men standing before him.  Slowly, a plan began to form in your mind, you didn’t think about it too hard, you knew that if you did, Lucifer would pick up on it, but taking in what you could see yourself doing, on what you could read of the situation developing, you knew that, well, something would happen.

For the first time since arriving before them, your feet moved, shuffling you just a little forward, towards Lucifer.  He didn’t suspect anything, and the others made no indication to your movement, so you moved a little more.

What needed to happen had to do so now, so you didn’t have a chance to talk yourself down, so you couldn’t give him the opportunity to figure out what you were about to do.

It was so foolish, but it was the only way out.

Dean was shouting and it was exactly what you were waiting for, quiet words muttered from your lips, barely audible, but enough that the spell should work.

He shook off Bobby’s hand and stepped forward, an angel blade in his hand, and Lucifer reacted accordingly.

“It’s not like Michael can win either way, so let’s just remove his sporting chance, shall we?”

The magic curled around you as Lucifer moved, and in a brilliant flaring instant, you appeared between Lucifer and Dean, Lucifer realising far too late as his sword plunged into your chest.

A deafening silence fell as it caught up to them on what had just happened, a few shuddering breathes managing to leave you, holding Lucifer’s shocked gaze.  A coldness was soon following though, even as you felt the warmth of your blood blossoming from your chest, and your knees quickly gave out.

Lucifer pulled his sword away and caught you, your head slumping to his shoulder, and it was strange, but you could actually feel him trembling as he held you.

Sam, Dean and Bobby didn’t get a chance to see what was really going on, or to say anything else, in that moment, Lucifer vanished, and they honestly didn’t know whether they’d see you again or not.

Everything was going dark, and there was a certain peace to you feeling like all the pain was slipping away.  Lucifer was talking, but there was nothing you could do to hear his words, barely even feeling the touch of his hands holding onto you.

You had made a choice, and whether or not it was the right one, you weren’t entirely sure whether you would ever find out.

#supernatural #lucifer #lucifer x neutral reader #lucifer x reader

[mysticmylifeisamess-enger]

Forget Me Not - Ch. 20

Pairing: Saeran/Reader

Word count: 2,492

Summary: Saeyoung gets ready to throw hands, for realsies

Warning: I mean if you’re reading to this point, there have been a ton of spoilers but I warn again, spoilers for Ray route & Saeyoung’s route. 

A/N: This chapter took me a while to write due to 1) how much I wanted in this & 2) contrary to having more time on my hands, quarantine made it hard to write. I hope that you are all safe during this time, wearing masks, & social distancing ✨ And don’t forget to demand justice for Breonna Taylor

Context references (if you need them): Letters mentioned are from chapter 11 & 15.

AO3 Link | Chapters Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (in the works)

What V saw could only be described as his deepest fear; one he didn’t realize he had until it was in sight. A fear that knocked him to the ground, left him watching on as the wrenching feeling deep in his stomach topples him over. He was numb and a voice in the back of his head repeatedly whispered ‘this is over.’

In front of him was a monument to his incompetency; every lingering doubt that led to complete and utter hopelessness, every time he hesitated and it ended up being too late, and every minor mistake that left a crucial impact. It was all too far out of his grasp now.

It blew out the small flame of hope that kept him going, descending into a dark unlike any other and fueling his self-hatred and deprecation. The only thoughts running through his mind is how he could have prevented this, all of this.

~

As the door shut behind him, V slumped against it at the thought of being home. A place that should have felt safe, that should emanate warmth and security, held a menacing and unsettling air that always ran a deep chill down the length of his spine.

“You’re back.”

“Rika, I-”

“I told you not to follow me.”

“You didn’t leave with a choice, I had to see for myself what you were doing,” he said, collecting himself as he pressed forward. “And this has gone too far, you need to end this.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“But you can, and I can help you,” he said as he reached for her hands to fully plea, only to retreat right as soon as he made contact. “Please let me help you end this. I understand wanting to help those people, but this isn’t the way to do it. Those are innocent lives you are hurting.”

“You never understood my intentions and you never will!” She snapped, pacing the room as she spoke. “I’m saving those people from their pain! They look up to me, they need me! How can I turn my backs on them now in their time of need?!”

“This isn’t saving anymore.”

She scoffed at his words, rolling her eyes before continuing.

“You said you would be there for me, help me in any way you can. You said you would always put me and my needs first. What happened to that? Once it’s something as big as this, you want me to stop?”

“Rika-“

A banging on the door startled V in his place, a momentary paralyzation until he heard the voice on the other side.

“V, Rika, open up right now!” He immediately recognized Saeyoung’s voice, followed by incessant pounding that shook the door. He didn’t hesitate to walk over, disregarding the argument at hand.

“What kind of sick fucking game are you two playing here?!” He hissed as the door opened, pushing passed him as he made his way in.

“Is everything oka-“

“You’ve got some fucking nerve to be asking that,” he snapped, though his movements hadn’t ceased as he rummaged through the drawers of their coffee table, moving all over the living room to find any sort of hidden compartment.

“Saeyoung, what has gotten into you?” Rika asked, taken aback by the intrusion.

He didn’t answer, he simply pushed passed her to the hallway, opening each door until he reached her office. He flicked on the light and quickly rummaged through each drawer, the two watching in disbelief from the doorway.

“Well V and I were in the middle of something, I think you need to leave-“

“Found it!” He exclaimed, pulling out handfuls of letters from the bottom drawer.

“Care to explain these to me? And I want the real explanation,” he emphasized his last words with a wave of the papers in his hand.

“I told you, these all piled up on the door of your shop.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie, now tell me the truth.”

“Would I ever lie to you?” She asked, fearlessly inching towards him with the same uncanny smile.

“You are, you’re lying to me right now!”

“I’m not, I told you I found these at your door.”

“Then why did I see you leave them?!” He questioned, voice raising in demand.

She fell stunned, taking a step back at the venomous words aimed at her. Her gaze flicked between him and the letters in his hands, but she couldn’t find it in her to look him in the eyes. Instead, they fell to her feet as she spoke.

“I-,” she paused, collecting her words, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Unbelievable,” he scoffed in annoyance, “I have video from a CCTV of you leaving letters taped to the door the same time we received them. I saw you do it, now tell me why?!”

She was at a loss for words, unable to find a response as her eyes continued to dart anywhere but his. His patience wore thinner, turning back to the desk and sifting through the documents that sat atop. He picked up a journal out of the pile, opened it up, and pointed at the writing on it.

“Is this not your handwriting?” He said, comparing the letters side by side, “It’s a perfect match, now why did you do this?!”

She turned to V, looking for some sort of help from him only to meet an expression that was just as perplexed. He was stunned to see him like this, but he knew this was bound to happen. But he looked at her with slight curiosity as to how she was going to explain this.

“And why didn’t you tell me it was her?!” Saeyoung’s accusatory finger moved to the tall man behind her, “Why did you let her get away with this? You have no idea the mental hell you put us through, and for what?! Tell me why you two did this!”

He was fuming, jaw and fists clenched as he watched them flounder for an answer. A burning rage in his eyes that they had never seen before, practically scorching the two that couldn’t bare to meet his gaze. A long, drawn-out silence only serving to further boil his blood before V broke it.

“Saeyoung, I-I’m so sorry, I-“

“Sorry doesn’t explain it! I want an explanation!”

From his peripheral, V could see Rika contemplating her next words, looking over to him desperate for an answer. She could see the subtle plea in his eyes to tell the truth once and for all, a silent conversation that had Saeyoung frustrated as he watched the two.

“I was scared,” she admitted, finally looking at Saeyoung. His expression hadn’t shifted as he waited for her to go on.

“I didn’t want to lose you and Saeran, I thought you two were slipping from me so I used scare tactics to keep you close. And I know it was wrong and I shouldn’t have done it-“

“Lose us to what?” He interrupted, maintaining his stern gaze, “You’re not making any sense.”

“To MC,” she said, sighing deeply as she continued, “I didn’t get a good feeling from her and I saw Saeran falling in love way too fast. I thought it would lead to him leaving the RFA so I acted on instinct.”

Behind V’s shades was a downcast look of absolute disappointment. The frown on his face deepened slightly, eyes averting from the scene in front of him. He fought back a twinge at the ache in his chest, knowing that the amount of transparency in her statement was none.

“But I shouldn’t have judged so quickly, and I definitely should not have interfered like I did. I’m sorry.”

Her words sounded heartfelt, but something in her features contradicted it. Looking over at V, he found where that sincerity went.

“I can’t forgive you for this, you’re only sorry because I caught you in the act,” he paused, collecting his thoughts, “I have to tell the others about this.”

“No, you can’t tell them anything,” Rika blurted in a panic.

“Why shouldn’t I? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t get them involved.”

“Because even though you’re upset with me right now, I know you still want to trust me. There’s a part of you that, passed this anger, still sees me as your guardian,“ she answered without skipping a beat, regaining her composure. She circled Saeyoung while speaking, as if sizing up her prey, “When I first took you in, I did everything I could to keep the two of you safe while having a normal childhood. I put you two before my own needs and I never regretted it.”

He could still feel her unnerving ambiance fill the room in tenfold, but he couldn’t help her words getting to him. He felt that maybe he owed her that much, a second chance. Her reasoning didn’t add up, the air around this situation only making it more suspicious, but maybe digging deeper wouldn’t turn up anything he didn’t already know.

“This was all just a mistake that’ll never happen again, trust me.”

“You can’t do this again, I won’t give you the chance to even think about doing it once more. If I so much as see anything off about you, I won’t hesitate to tell the rest of the RFA about this.”

“I understand, and you have my word that it won’t. But know my intentions were in the right place,” she said, earning an exasperated, sarcastic laugh.

“You think that leaving threatening notes from someone that wants us dead is ‘in the right place?’ You think that fear mongering and convincing us that we’re in danger correlates with good intentions?” He asked rhetorically, “I knew you were starting to become different, but I didn’t realize you were becoming delusional too.”

“Saeyoung-“ V tried to intervene.

“No, I’m done with you excusing this! You told us you knew exactly who left these from the start, and you continued to let it happen!”

The silence that enveloped the room brought attention to the way his chest rose and fell heavily from tension, taking slow breaths to even out. His fists unclenched to reveal the way his nails dug and marked his palm. Once his shoulders fell, a sudden thought occurred.

“Where were you really?” he asked calmly, watching the puzzled look on V’s face.

“The business trip you were supposedly on the last few days that restricted you from taking our calls. Where were you really?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not? If it really is just a case of an impulse decision going too far, if you’re not hiding anything, then why can’t you tell me where you were?”

“That,” he started, looking over to Rika before settling on his words, “You’re just going to have to trust me when I tell you that it has nothing to do with this. And that I won’t let this happen again.”

One long look at the taller man, and Saeyoung could see the dark circles under his glasses. His furrowed brows softening with every passing second. And the longer he stared, the more he noticed the features on his face seemed different.

This wasn’t the same V from even a month ago. He seemed tired and worn out, the weight of the world on his shoulders and he couldn’t quite shake it off. But the most noticeable were the bruises behind the dark shades. He was told not to worry about it before, but it only seemed to get worse.

“Alright,” he settled, “I want to trust you. But this can’t happen again.”

“It won’t, you have my word,” V said.

Looking over at Rika, the same feeling of uneasiness from last night surfaced, but with it an anger bubbled in his chest. He couldn’t look at her the same, no words to say as passed the two to leave.

“I’ll walk you out,” V said, following him down the hall and out the door.

Once they were outside and the door clicked closed behind them, Saeyoung noticed the large envelope in V’s hand, eyes darting back up to meet his dark glasses. He extended it forward, waiting for him to take it only to receive a puzzled look.

“What is this?” Saeyoung asked, taking it hesitantly as he opened it.

“It’s every piece of evidence I could find on your father’s crimes,” he said, much more collected than before, “Every election he rigged, hitmen he hired to take out his competition, allegation he avoided by paying someone to look the other way, and countless of other heinous acts. I spent years collecting these, waiting for the right time to expose him publicly and end his hold on the two of you.”

The stack in his hand was thick, sifting through to see exactly what he was describing and more. Everything Saeyoung had found last night and much more sat in his hands.

“Why are you giving this to me now? Why didn’t I get this sooner?”

“There’s still a lot missing, but I felt I owed this to you now. I thought I could take care of this myself, but I’ve proven I can’t. And I need you to help me end this now, I can’t drag this on any longer.”

“Once you feel like you have enough, I’ll help with handling this information,” V continued, “But with this, I have to ask that you keep everything that just happened between us three while I take care of it.”

Saeyoung struggled to look him in the eyes, contemplating the weight of this decision. He knew none of this was right, taking this and staying silent didn’t seem morally correct. But the idea of being out of his father’s grasp, for Saeran’s sake, outweighed the days of psychological torture.

He shoved the documents back into the envelope and without a word, turned to leave. A few steps in and he couldn’t shake a thought that weighed heavy on his mind, turning back around immediately.

“Did,” he paused, collecting himself as he pushed his words out, “Did Rika do that to your eyes?”

V fell silent for a moment, eyes averting his gaze and almost confirming his answer. His expression went cold for a second before they met Saeyoung’s attentive look. It was like watching him collapse in on himself, the V he saw mere seconds ago completely gone.

“She wouldn’t, you don’t have to worry about this” he tried to assure, but his body language contradicted.

“You should head home, you look like you haven’t slept all night.”

Before Saeyoung could respond, he had made his way back inside. A feeling in the pit of his stomach turned at the thought of what V could be walking right back into, contemplating whether he should knock again and find out. But he fought it, instead turning back around and leaving.

#mystic messenger #saeran choi #saeran x reader #saeran x mc #flower shop au #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #mystic messenger fanfic #alternate universe #forget me not #cheritz

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

The Price of Privilege - Part 13 (A Kyungsoo Series)

Genre: ANGST / Romance / Arranged Marriage / Royalty AU

Characters: Kyungsoo X You

Description: The time has come to marry the man your family has selected to take your hand. As royalty, these important matters are arranged for you, but when you meet your soon to be husband, he is nothing like you expected.

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Self-Harm, Mentions of Murder -- When i say angst, i really do mean angst

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

You were burning.

And you were running. 

A fire had begun somewhere within your depths and your ragged breaths fanned the flames that licked at the base of your skull by now; burning and singeing and blistering; they had already made they way up your weakened ribcage as they rose up higher — it was panic. It was conviction. It was hideous.

You were alight with it and in its wake —charred, sooty, black ash began to fill your chest cavity.

You were burning. 

He was gone. 

Each hallway you searched came up empty of his face. The other faces, faces of strangers with their useless surprised expressions and their unfamiliar eyes that were not his. 

You mindlessly ran with your search and that fiery dread inside of you devoured the structure of your bones and the faster you ran; the less you saw — the panic was taking you — he was gone, he was gone —

Where could he have gone? Gone with those devastating words on his lips and that determined and desperate look in his eyes that told you with absolute certainty that he was capable...that he was capable…

Something horrible.

What would he do? What could he do? 

Another empty hallway. Your panic had taken your rational mind and thrown it away and you groaned out loud when you recognized the same ornate golden bust that stood atop of a marble pillar at the end of this hallway. 

You’d gone in circles. You didn’t even know where you stood nor for how long you had been searching. 

The fire inside of you was beginning to change from something that burned and ached into something else. Something that was hopeless. Something you could not overcome. 

The hands that you ran over your face felt like someone else’s. They were shaking so hard. 

You could not feel their pressure against your wet cheeks. 

You could not feel any warmth in them at all. 

Think.

Just think, please—

Your lungs fought you, but you managed to pull in a deep breath. Something substantial. Something that brought a flash of clarity into your mind that quickly faded into the background of all the chaos inside of you and you lifted a numb and trembling hand up, parallel to your face — just before you lost the nerve.

The flash was a memory. Something that you had lived through before. When the realities of your life overcame and you mistakenly believed that you were allowed to forget. When you could not control yourself and act correctly. When you failed to behave as a member of the royal family and you were reminded again and again of the importance of playing your part well. 

Reminded by your tutors. Reminded by your instructors who had been given and taken as many liberties as needed to shape you into the Princess you were always meant to be. Reminded with hot, heavy hands and in places that would be hidden well by designer clothing — reminded of your place; of what was expected of you. 

How absolutely silly of you to think that you could get away with this sort of behavior; so unbecoming of the title bestowed upon you by God himself; so uncouth; so graceless and so ill-bred. 

Without the swift hands of someone who held some temporarily ordained power over you, you had to do it yourself. 

You hit hard; an echoing slap sounded out in the space around your burning body and a pair of eyes — a stranger; not him — turned at the shock of the heavy sound as the pain erupted over the entire right side of your face and you felt it. You felt the sting of the swift slap. You felt the burning in your skin and much deeper into your muscles and your jaw and you ached as the vibration of the impact settled and lingered there. 

You felt shocked awake. It felt so familiar; this pain to set you right again. 

Your once hazy and stupid brain sharpened and you forced your hands to still themselves of this absurd trembling and you remembered now. 

Rushing around this palace in aimless circles would do no good. Only a fool would approach this situation that way. Only a crude individual would act in such an untoward manner. 

You had to find him. If not him, then someone who was close to him. An ally. Not your own; you had too few precious friends in this place, but someone who would bend over backward to help Prince Kyungsoo. To save him from himself if needed. Someone who he wouldn’t push away. Someone who could get to him.

Someone who loved him.  

With your newfound steady mind, you found a touch of the familiar in your surroundings. There was a haunting painting on the wall. This one showed a beautiful maiden; perhaps someone important from the history books. Her eyes followed you as you walked by. She had so much judgment in them. With each step you crept her eyes brought a fresh wave of guilt for your many sins. You were certain she knew of all of them. She’d have had a front-row seat to it all. 

A turn to the left would bring you to a fork and a right after the second set of picture windows overlooking the courtyard would bring you to Kyungsoo’s hallway; to his front door. 

The first set of swift knocks you placed upon his door went unanswered. When you pounded a second time, louder and with more urgency, you heard a sound on the other side of his doorway that preceded the beeping of an alarm system being deactivated and the door pulled open.

From what you knew about the man and the very little trust he placed in people, there was only one person other than himself who would be opening this door. 

“Ara.” You said her name as soon as her eyes met yours and her head bowed quickly as a look of surprise flashed over her features.

“Your Highness, what brings—”

“Is Prince Kyungsoo inside?”

There was but a moment of pause in her eyes before she glanced over your appearance and her expression changed from idle curiosity to genuine worry. You hadn’t even thought about how you might look. Your tear-stained face and loose sweats hastily thrown on after dinner when Kyungsoo showed up at your place to demand his painful truths. Her head was shaking back and forth quickly and her lips hung open for a moment as she considered.

“He...was, but he left — has something happened? Something…bad?” Her voice was small and unsure and you couldn’t be certain that she wasn’t whispering due to the sensitive nature of the situation or if she was just that quiet all the time. 

You could feel your mouth wanting to close. Wanting to clam up and deny any wrong-doing; any culpability in this. You wanted to keep everything deep down inside and turn around and go back, but you straightened your shoulders and lifted your head, leaning in close to the smaller woman who stood halfway through the doorway of his home.

Kyungsoo. For him, you would talk to her. He trusted her completely and there had to be a good reason for that. 

“Ara, I need to speak with you urgently. It’s about His Highness.” Your own voice had dropped to a whisper to match her quiet voice and you eked out the subject of the discussion in a nearly inaudible tone. 

She physically stiffened and her eyes glanced away from you, somewhere off in the hallway where when you followed her eyes you saw a ceiling-mounted camera. 

“I am sorry, Your Highness, but I don't believe I could be of any help to you.” 

At last, she spoke up. You knew it was for the cameras that monitored this hallway and you wondered who might be listening in. 

“Ara, I think something bad—”

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but my loyalty to my lord prohibits me from having this conversation here with you.” Her voice had interrupted your words and you caught the intense way her eyes held on tightly to your own. There was something hidden inside her eyes. It was there in the final words she spoke. 

Here with you.

This was not a safe place to talk. Your words here were not private. Ara was quick-witted and cautious. Perhaps this was why he had trusted her so.

“I understand,” you said softly, racking your own mind for some solution, some way that you could speak openly and honestly with her about the delicate situation without every word from your mouth being on some sort of official royal record.

“Perhaps a walk around the west gardens might serve to soothe your worries. It’s nighttime and the moonflowers are ready to bloom. You might find it to be just the recipe to cook up a perfectly satisfying solution to your problems, Your Highness.”

Ara’s tone had changed halfway through her words to you, the first half being quite light and jovial, and of perfectly audible volume, while the second half; something cryptic about a recipe,, was muttered at a lower, more hidden volume. 

When you did not immediately agree with her assessment of what you needed to be doing in the west gardens after the sunset — which hadn’t quite happened yet, you had definitely still seen some light peeking through the windows when you walked by the garden’s earlier, you actually caught half an eye roll that punctuated the frustrated sigh that left her lips. 

“Do you understand my meaning, Your Highness?” 

Frankly, you did not. You just wanted to meet with her to speak somewhere privately. Why was she suggesting the gardens? They were situated in a central courtyard, not even on the west side of the house if you really thought about it. Those gardens that were overlooked on all four sides by floors and floors of window-lined hallways. Literally, everyone who walked by any of the number of windows would see you meeting with her under the light of the moon standing in front of whatever in the world a moonflower plant was supposed to look like. 

The moon wasn't even out yet, there had to be 10 more minutes of sunset before the light disappeared enough to see the moon. And what was this about cooking? Recipe? She had practically whispered that part. You were never very good at riddles. What could she mean to mention cooking? 

But… there was something that was coming to your mind now. Something related to him. His kitchen — his passion, his cooking, his recipes. The one that was smashed to bits by the Queen’s cronies when he didn’t immediately respond to her demands.

The one that had been closed off for some time now and had been located on the west side of the palace. It would be unmonitored, and perhaps there weren’t even cameras over there since it had been completely destroyed all those weeks ago. 

Your expression must have changed as you figured it out because you saw the first hints of a smile appear on her face. You’d never seen any sort of positive emotion there before. At least not directed at you. 

“I understand,” you said with a nod of your head and you were certain that she wanted you to meet her in Kyungsoo’s kitchen in about as much time it took for you to get there from here.

 There was an urgency in your steps and while you moved toward your destination, the secluded hallways that led toward the west side of the palace, you felt the ever-present sensation of being followed that persisted in nearly every crook and corner of this place slowly fade from your mind.

It wasn't until you found yourself standing alone in that hallway in front of that heavy metal door that you hadn’t seen in such a long time, that you realized just how oppressive the cameras had been making you feel. 

There was nothing here. There were no eyes watching and no quiet strangers to give you glances and take notes and likely report on your odd behavior as soon as you left their sight. 

Ara was right. This place was perfect. You pushed at the door and found it just slightly ajar and when you slipped inside the stillness of that dark kitchen you could make out a shape that stood inside. She was small and easy to recognize.

“Don’t turn on the light,” she whispered from the shadows and half of her serious face was illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight that came through the skylight in the ceiling. 

“Ara, we have to make this quick. I think the prince may be in danger. I think it might be an emergency.”

With the freedom to speak, the words you had been holding on to so tightly came bursting from your chest and you heard the sound of your own panic on your voice. 

She did not immediately speak. Nor did the shadowed outline shape of her move.

“Ara, please, I...I don't know what to do. I thought that maybe...maybe you could get through to him. He—He trusts you, Ara.” 

The sounds of your heavy breathing floated around the quiet space and you lifted a hand over your mouth to try and quiet yourself; to calm this down some. Why wasn’t she speaking? Why wasn’t the jumping into action to help? How could she be so calm when something horrible was about to happen to him?

“What makes you believe he is in danger, Your Highness?”

When she finally spoke, her own voice was steady and very controlled. You heard absolute calm inside that voice and it was nearly hypnotizing in cadence. Your panic was much too strong of a force to be compelled.

“He...He said some things, that he was going to do something to stop the wedding and — we were arguing about the tape, and why I did that to him and then about May and — how much do you know about what has been happening?” 

The urgency inside of you made your words stumble their way out of your mouth. You sounded nowhere near as composed and clear as you wished you would. Perhaps this explanation of yours did not properly relay the urgency here. Perhaps she just didn't take you seriously and her stubborn inaction was making your heart race harder inside your chest. 

Had this been a mistake? Suddenly this side trip that you’d made to enlist her help was causing you to doubt yourself. Had you only wasted precious time in coming to her? Should you have just continued your search for the prince on your own? Perhaps you should have gone to the security house instead. Maybe Jun would be able to find him and stop him. 

“I know more than you know, Your Highness.” 

She knew. She already knew everything. You sighed in relief. At least you would not have to relay the entire events that led to this situation. This would save time. For once, you were thankful for the ever-present eye of the help in this house. The quiet witnesses to the disasters that the royal family inflicted on themselves and on one another. 

“Then you know what he is capable of, Ara, he says he doesn’t care what happens, that he will stop the wedding — he’s disappeared, why are you so calm when something awful might happen?”

Your volume was a high shout. This was maddening. You reached forward for her hand, for some glimpse that this person was alive and real and could actually hear and understand the urgency of the situation the prince was in. 

Your fingers grasped at the air in front of her; only brushing along the fabric of the sleeve of her palace uniform. 

“May I have your permission to speak bluntly, Your Highness?” 

She’d evaded your grasp and what kind of question was this? Someone’s life was in danger, and she was preoccupied with rules and formalities regarding the relationships between the help and the royal families? Did the woman not understand the meaning of the word emergency? Rather than argue, you quickly nodded your head and the quick up and down was just visible in the moonlight you both stood under.

“What makes you think he is the one in danger?” 

Her next question did not have your title attached and the sudden sharpening of her voice felt accentuated by its absence. It caught you off guard and your panic hitched somewhere inside of your chest. A temporary stutter in the urgency. 

Your mind spun and you looked into her eyes with a small shake of your head, not having imagined any other scenario in which he did not inflict this horror and tragedy upon himself. 

You hadn’t ever considered the possibility that someone else may become a casualty of this war. 

Impossible, right? You’d been so certain.

“Do you want to know what he picked up when he came home? I’ll tell you now. There’s nothing you could do to stop it anyway.

Insurance. 

Actual physical evidence against you. I had warned him not to trust you so easily and He was quite cross when I presented him with it. He always swore he would never use it; never even touch it. 

But now I know, My Lord is most grateful for my gift. And now he will use it to oppose the marriage.” 

With each word she spoke the oxygen in the room seemed to be sucked out and you were quite thankful for the crisp clean and perfectly restored kitchen countertops that you gripped to keep yourself upright and present in this conversation. Or was it a negotiation now? This conversation had taken a rapid shift and you felt like you just might drop to the floor if you didn't hold on tight.

“What...what are you talking about? I haven’t done a-anything.” 

Your own words felt feeble. You couldn’t even believe in them. You’d had so many sins against the man stacked up already. The many possibilities were flying by inside your head all you had to do was reach a hand out to grab one and that would be plenty. 

May’s face flew by and images of her smile, her laughter, her hand resting over a swelling belly where an innocent baby grew; oblivious to the horrors of the life it would soon be born into. 

“Did you know that it is illegal for a defiled woman to present herself as the bride of a Prince in line for the throne? You might not think it’s much, but if wielded correctly, it’s a powerful enough weapon to stop the wedding.”

Her words hit you hard and you had to take a step back and away from her. You felt the oven door at your back. It was cold and steel and brand new and it pulled your mind sharply at the shock of the temperature difference. 

This was a scenario you had never ever imagined. That he would invoke such an outdated law and worse, that he would stoop so low as to use your own love for him against you. Your head shook back and forth. Your disbelief was thick and heavy, taking over for the panic that had been so all-consuming.

“But...that doesn’t make sense. He was the one who...”

You heard the smallest puff of air from her; a single syllable chuckle. A laugh.

“I know, right? Imagine being thrown into prison just for sleeping with the man you were going to marry anyway.” 

Your mind was dizzy. The shallow breaths you managed did little to clear it. 

You had to look away from that splash of blue moonlight and from those eyes that in no way reflected the horrors you felt inside of you at her revelations. 

The stainless steel hood that reflected that light over the stove; the rows of pots and pans that hung from hooks from the ceiling and the rows of sharpened knives that stuck on to the wall, ready to carve and chop and slice and butcher. The pristine and lovely kitchen that surrounded you; cleaned up, repaired and completely untouched by his hands that were now elsewhere, gripping a new weapon. 

Would he treat you with the same care as his precious ingredients? Would he do it quickly? Would he chop off your head to put you out of your misery before serving you to his many esteemed guests for dinner? 

In a way, you’d done the same with him. Faking the drunkenness to sleep with him, just so you could search his home for that useless tape. You’d used his love against him too. 

But the idea that he would turn something once lovely and beautiful; your first time, your first love, the first time you trusted someone with yourself, that he would dare turn that into a public spectacle. 

You felt a sickness surge up inside of you with the dread and you caught the shine of the kitchen sink along the far wall behind where Ara stood smirking, taking note of its location in case you needed it quickly. 

“So to address your worries, Your Highness, no, I don't believe the prince, himself, is in any danger tonight. Although, you might want to prepare yourself for what is coming.”

Despite the impact of her words, the volume of them was fading. Despite the devastation that was growing inside of your gut, something else was also taking over. Something that accepted this as your fate. Something saw no way out. Something that caved and surrendered. 

It must have been relief. 

He would be okay. 

You would be ruined, but he would be okay. 

As she often did, Ara left you standing alone in that dark place without so much as a farewell and only when you were by yourself for a good ten minutes did you unclench your fists and let your hands drop uselessly to your side and you exhaled the deep breath that you had been holding inside of your lungs. 

It was as you stood alone in this kitchen that a thought dawned on you and you began to really question the kind of person you had become since you had arrived in this place. 

Everyone likes to believe they are the hero of their own story. Some people are so deluded into believing that they are the good one; they could never accept that they might actually be the villain; but you felt a cloudy, foggy, hazy feeling descending.

You’d always considered yourself to be the good one. 

You were good, right? Every move you had made in your life had been for the greater good, for your country, for your friend, for your family, for some end that would be righteous and just, but — 

But what if, what if all along you had been the bad one? What if this comeuppance that Prince Kyungsoo and his trusted Ara had hatched up was just the universe washing itself clean of all the vile, disgusting transgressions you had committed. 

What if you deserved what was coming to you?

You left the kitchen and you took your time with the journey through the palace, looking around carefully at the beauty of the ornately decorated hallways. You’d never quite appreciated anything in this place. 

You’d never let yourself quiet down enough to let any of it in, but really, this palace had some impressive works of art, some amazing architectural feats and was quite lovely. You had been surrounded by so much beauty and only now that you had forced down the nerves of the unknown future you held in this world, did you have enough clarity of mind to appreciate it. 

It was a shame it had taken you this long. 

Even here, right in front of your home, hung the most impressively lovely painting you had ever seen up close. It had flowers strewn across a table in some picturesque cottage in the country; roses and irises dumped out hastily and the details painted in each stem astounded. You’d always just walked by it, but now, you lightly ran your fingertips over the surface of the canvas. You could feel the peaks and planes of the dried oil paint that gave the work so much depth and realism. 

You struggled to pull yourself away from it and when you finally pried your hand down to reach for the doorknob to your front door there was a sound from behind you that startled you. 

You tried to turn, you tried to spin on your heels but there was something dark and heavy placed over your head; making you gasp and stealing your light completely. You were, all at once, thrust into complete, terrifying darkness as strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, squeezing and holding your arms down at your waist and a fabric bag of some kind was pulled tightly around your neck. The sensation of being suffocated; both by your overwhelming shock, and the literal small amount of air inside of this cover you were in.

Breathing was hard, but you inhaled as much as you could and you let out the loudest scream you could manage. It was muffled by heavy fabric and sounded loud inside your own ears. You tried again but were caught off guard when the floor left your feet and you were lifted and handled by whoever had placed the bag over your head. By whoever it was that had come for you.

If you believed you had reached your limits of panic before, you had absolutely no idea of what real panic felt like. Your entire body shook and trembled with it. It radiated through your chest and cascaded over your limbs and you knew...you knew...

You were done for. 

You were dead. 

There was no doubt now, this was it.

There had been so little in your life. You’d only just made your first real friend. You’d only just fallen in love and hadn’t really had a chance to embrace the pain of having your heart broken by him. 

You had never felt the sand between your toes at the ocean side. You’d never tasted cotton candy at a carnival. You’d never seen a midnight show. The unfairness of it all made you weep. What a shitty excuse for a life you had lived.

You had never held a baby; not in your whole life; not one. It was one stupid little daydream you liked to entertain; the rumored smell they had, the way they squeezed an offered finger and looked up into your eyes. So tiny and full of promise. 

You had the sensation of being carried and shoved through an open doorway and you felt the hard wood of a chair below you as you were roughly pushed into a seated position and there was a swish as the strong arms that had held you so tightly abruptly released their hold on you. You swung your arms out, trying to reach someone. Trying to hurt someone. Trying to fight whatever strong oaf had dared to put his hands on you so liberally. You were met with no one and you instead reached up for the black cloth bag that had closed our your light. 

To your astonishment, the person who had accosted you did not stop you from lifting the bag and you slowly pulled it up and over your head, peeking carefully through the blinding light that erupted in your field of vision. 

At first, you only saw feet. You recognized the view of your own living room and realized that the seat you had been placed in was from your own kitchen. 

Feet, connected to legs and he wore black slacks, a white dress shirt and he stood alone in your strangely decorated living room. Around you — balloons, streamers, confetti all over the floor and a huge banner hanging on the wall behind and there, on his face, the enormously victorious smile of Prince Baekhyun who giggled and laughed and pointed his fingers at the apparently humorous look of sheer horror and terror on your face.  

“Congratulations on your wedding!” He was shouting, jumping, and laughing loudly and your head was reeling as the shock from the trauma of this ill-timed event began to settle heavy inside your belly. 

You felt so dizzy. 

You needed out of this chair. You rose on shaking legs. 

Your hands were shaking too hard to be able to grip the kitchen table that you now stumbled beside, holding on as best you could, you made your way to the sink with a leap and the dizziness pulled everything from inside your stomach up and out of your mouth. You vomited everything into the stainless steel basin of the sink. Again and again. The small bits of dinner you’d had and red wine. 

Only when your retching quieted down did you have enough strength to swat away his hands that pounded on your back in some attempt to comfort your spasms. 

Only when you were done vomiting did you realize that you were sobbing. The words to rebuke him got lost in the ragged cries that erupted from your chest and wave after wave of tears flowed down your face. 

Baekhyun’s words were rushed. A combination of ‘Jesus-fucking-Christs’ and ‘It was only a joke’ and then many, many soft apologies when your crying refused to settle down with his attempt at an explanation for what he had just done to you in the name of some stupid idea he had for a bachelorette party with just the two of you in attendance.

It took too long to calm yourself and only when he sank down with you on your kitchen floor and wrapped both of his arms and legs around you in a full-body hug did you begin to feel like you hadn’t almost just died and maybe, just maybe, you would be okay again someday. 

His head was rested over your shoulder and when he felt the shuddering breathing begin to even out he lifted a cautious face to look into yours with as much worry inside of his eyes as you had ever seen directed at you. 

“If you cry this much you’ll be all puffy for the wedding tomorrow,” he whispered against your face and you slowly nodded your head as you willed your emotions to settle down enough to stop the hiccups that had erupted with the crying. 

“Here,” he declared after a moment of looking into your eyes, clearly having reached some conclusion on his own, “I’ll run you a bubble bath and you pick out which movie we’re going to watch first.” 

He was lifting himself from the floor and his hands pulled you into a standing position, but Baekhyun seemed reluctant to release you from his grip entirely. He merely guided you along through your own home until you reached the large sectional sofa that faced the television. 

In your lap, he dumped a pile of movies and you looked at the titles with a disconnected mind, noticing how each one was a romantic comedy with some sort of wedding theme. He brought a lot and you looked at each movie cover with hazy eyes, randomly deciding on one without much reasoning at all. Anyone of them would do. Something to fill up the silence of this home and maybe bring a laugh or two to lighten your down-in-the-pits-of-hell mood. Something to distract you. 

You trotted toward the sound of running water in your bathroom and handed him the movie box. Baekhyun had set out a pair of pajamas that you did not recognize and upon closer inspection, you noticed the wedding bells and hearts strewn all over them. ‘Bride to Be’ was embroidered on the seat of the pants and they were as ridiculous as you would imagine Baekhyun would have picked out for you to wear tonight; the night before your wedding that would probably never even happen. 

The pajamas took away some of the dignity that the bath had given back to you and when you emerged from the steamy bathroom you actually smiled to see Baekhyun sporting matching pajamas that proudly displayed ‘Maid of Honor’ in bright pink letters across his ass. 

He had ordered pizza. There were rows and rows of assorted cookies and sweets spread across your kitchen counter and much to your surprise, not a drop of alcohol to be found. Instead, you saw some juice boxes designed for children’s parties and even a few small containers of chocolate milk in an ice bucket at the end of the counter. 

You were aware of the time on the clock and when you grabbed a slice of something salty and fattening, pairing it with something chocolate and something sugary sweet, lamenting the fact that you’d only have a few hours of this before it would have to end and you’d be thrust back into your frightening and uncertain reality again. 

Baekhyun was starting the movie by the time you snuggled on the sofa next to the spot where he had set a stack of cookies and a container of chocolate milk. Apparently, he was having a cheat day as well. This was a party after all. It was your party. The tiny number of party guests did not bother you one bit. You had your friend here at least. You’d enjoy it with the knowledge that it might be the last time you would be this happy again in your lifetime. 

“It’s a shame that we can't watch two movies. I really wanted to watch The Proposal. Sandy Bullock and Ryan Reynolds…double swoon.” 

You watched the opening notes of the song that began the movie. You had selected something called 27 Dresses, although you hadn’t really selected with any method in mind. You should have just let him pick, with as little as you knew about movies. 

“We can watch both,” you said with a shrug and a bite of your pizza. It was hot and cheesy and saucy and just about the most delicious thing you had ever put in your mouth. “I do it all the time, just play it on double time and we will have enough time to watch both of them.” 

“Wait, is that a thing?” He asked suddenly and had lifted the remote control to press buttons to access the menu on the movie player. Soon enough, he found the spot to control playback speed and he began to giggle as the voices of the characters acting out their roles lifted in tone and took on a chipmunk-like sound. 

“You’ll get use to it. Let’s just watch it like this.” 

It took a few minutes, and a few silly impressions of serious emotional scenes acted out in high pitched double-time voices for him to become engrossed enough in the film to quiet down. 

After a while, snacks were abandoned and Baekhyun shifted on the sofa beside you, patting once on his lap, he produced a hairbrush from the bag at his feet that you’d recognized from the time you’d played dress up as a pair of nurses. You gave in and snuggled between his legs, giving him the back of your head where his fingers combed your hair gently and his brush dealt with the tangles of your wet hair. 

He whispered that it was going to be your last girl’s night as a single woman and the gentle touch of his hands through your hair felt too nice for you to correct him. Perhaps you’d break the news after the promised matching pedicures. He said you could pick the color and you were going to pick the raciest red he had in his bag. 

It was going well enough until the climax of the film when the romantic interest gave his emotional confession and you heard Baekhyun groaning beside you out of frustration. 

“Nope. Nope. I don't like this. See, I was okay until this point, but some things in life you can’t just fast forward through. Some things have to be slow and careful. I’m missing all the good shit like this.” He was complaining right out loud as he reached for the remote and slowed the playback down to normal speed again and he rewound the scene again to the start to pay closer attention to the big emotional moment. 

And it played again. Only this time, and boy was he right, this time you could see the unspoken body language acted out. You could see every nuance and every little touch that was so very important to this important love confession and there was a building and nagging thought that was growing and bulging in the back of your mind. 

“See. See that right there? That can't be rushed. You have to slow it down and feel it. Listen to all of the sounds around. Listen to the way he’s breathing, God. He’s in love with her and there’s something so delicate about that.” 

A feeling outside of the movie was nagging you. 

Slow it down.

You can't just fast forward through.

Something related to what he was saying, but outside of Byun Baekhyun and this bachelorette party and the movie you were both sitting in front of and the cookie crumbs that were scattered all over his legs and the carpet below his feet. 

Baekhyun had said it himself. Some things cannot be rushed. Sometimes you have to slow it down and listen to the sounds around. 

Shit. Shit.

You had just fast-forwarded through it, hadn’t you? 

He wasn’t even aware of what a mind-blowingly profound thing he had just said to you, and every cell inside your body prickled and came alive. You felt a fire inside of you and you leaped up out of your seat and rushed to your bathroom, beyond the bathroom into the closet, to the spot where you had left the cell phone he had given you that sat there inside of your walk-in closet. Your hiding spot was invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.

Your heart was pounding noisily in your eardrums. 

“Are you going to be sick again?” You heard him shouting from the living room. “Shit, you aren’t pregnant, are you?” He added and his voice grew louder as he followed you through the bathroom to stand behind where you now stood inside of your closet holding on to your phone.

You were swiping furiously over the screen, reaching the log-in screen for your cloud storage. The only place where you had backed up the video from that tiny stolen cassette tape that had lived inside of Kyungsoo’s childhood teddy bear for a decade. 

The video was hidden behind several layers of passwords, you logged in to each hidden and well-secured folder to find the file and you hastily pressed play, making sure to turn the volume up to full blast as you scrolled to the moment on the tape that you had in your foolish haste, watched only at double and triple the normal playback speed without even considering what might be happening off-camera. Without even thinking about the sounds the camera might have picked up.

You found the moment when the change happened.

You found the spot in history when sweet little Prince Kyungsoo had gone from a loved, carefree, happy child to a fractured, broken shell of a human and you carefully dragged your finger backward, to the hours right before. When you had been sure you’d seen the camera still and motionless and laying on its side somewhere, with only the view of feet on screen. 

“What...what the hell is that?” Baekhyun was watching over your shoulder and you waved a hand in his direction, shushing loudly with your mouth as you listened to the tiny speakers of your phone as close as you could. 

The video played and showed two sets of feet. One a man in black leather shoes, one a woman in expensive heels, and when you listened closely enough you could hear a clear and profound conversation. You heard the words there, the subject of their conversation was more significant than anything else in the world. 

This was it. 

This was it.

Baekhyun’s hands moved. Something was sparked inside of him when he heard the words they discussed. He gripped at the phone and roughly grabbed it out of your hands and he pressed on a symbol in the corner of the screen as he dragged you by the hand in a rush, from within the depths of your closet back to the living room where the tiny video was now being cast directly onto the enormous tv of your living room as clear as day. 

Baekhyun then reached for the volume remote and turned it up with his hand sat over his mouth and his eyes were wide, he watched with you as a conversation was had about the very recent murder of the Queen, Queen Do, Prince Do Kyungsoo’s mother and the wife of King Lee, by the two individuals who had been responsible for her death. 

The brakes lines had been cut, just as She had ordered him to do. He’d done well. He would be handsomely rewarded for his role once she was married to the king. One she had taken the throne for her sons.

They were both supposed to die in the accident, but this might be even better, She said. They were both supposed to die, but only the queen died. Only Queen Do was crushed. 

The young Prince Kyungsoo, her only son, her only child, would take the blame, and the coverup to save the Prince would prevent a thorough investigation.  

They’d never be caught this way. And the Prince would do anything for them; he’d even give up his right to the throne; even finally agree to take a bride from another nation. A union of such that would require him to abdicate. The prince would agree to anything they wanted if he believed he was a murderer. 

The entirety of the conversation happened off-camera with only their shoes visible until the camera was moved by the owner of a third set of shoes that came into view. A third person had arrived, and the highly incriminating conversation that had just taken place had ceased upon his arrival. Yet as the camera moved, as the teddy bear was picked up, there was the smallest split-second pan as the camera flashed up, to show as clear as day, the faces of the co-conspirators to the queen’s murder. 

Baekhyun gasped out loud and reached for the phone, pausing the playback, he pulled the video progress bar back slowly and right there on the screen of this tv was the face of Queen Hong, and the evidence that she had been the person to order the murder of the Late Queen Do, Kyungsoo’s mother. He was framed. He was a victim. 

It had been a murder plot that had been a decade in the making. And you, you were part of it. Your union with him was designed to steal his rightful place as an heir to his throne. They had done this to him. She had killed his mother, made him believe he was to blame and taken his throne from him. 

That sweet little boy. This monster had destroyed him, and for what? So her two sons could have some more power? So she could become the queen?

Kyungsoo had been right, this marriage could not happen. Although he had so much to learn about the real reasons why. 

Baekhyun again resumed the video, unable to look away from the shock of what he had just learned and you saw at the teddy bear was handed to her. To a younger, less plastic, Lady Hong and you felt sick to hear the wicked laugh that echoed over the sound of her heels pounding on the marble flooring. “I want to be the one to tell him his mother is dead,” she said. 

You had to stop it. You couldn’t stomach any more of this. Baekhyun had a similar reaction and looked down at the phone, pressing something to stop the playback of the video on the big screen. 

He was silent, clearly processing the bombshell that had just fallen into both of your laps. It was too much for you, and you had already fallen back onto the sofa, too overwhelmed stand anymore, you felt the shift of his weight as he did the same and sat down beside you with his focus far ahead of himself; his eyes wide and staring at nothing, his mouth agape, and his hands lifeless in his lap, your blackened phone still sitting inside of his hand. 

“Where did you get this and has anyone else seen it?”

His question was quiet and so uncharacteristically serious in delivery and the old habits of mistrust and caution made your hackles raise as you let doubt coat your tongue and make your mouth close up. 

You heard a groan from him and his hands raised up to cover his face and all at once, everything about him changed and he was overcome. You heard a soft sound from behind his hands and he was trembling. He was shaking and you saw drops of wetness falling freely down his cheeks and something deep inside of him broke.

Baekhyun was crying. He was crying hard and very suddenly he sniffled his nose hard, fighting the emotion, he ran a rough hand over his face, drying some of the wetness there. This was grief. It was all-consuming. You felt your own face wet. You felt powerless against such a kind of soul-crushing pain. 

“He...He—” He tried to get the words out through the heavy emotion that had taken control. “He changed so much. He was my friend. He was my brother, once and they...they just fucking—

You sat motionless and useless, still too overcome to do anything at all. Still, too shell shocked to move. 

Baekhyun stood up and his face was bright red as he inhaled a deep breath; his jaw clenched tight. His eyes changed and darkened. You saw the anger coursing through his body in waves and he was cursing. He was screaming out loud and he was raging within himself, and outside too. He grabbed at random bits of things; pillows, trash from the table, throwing objects with the rage and the anger that had taken ahold of him. Bits of the broken and the scattered remains of items, things, stuff. Everything and anything that could be thrown; that could be broken, but none of the destruction touched that anger. None of it could satiate the madness. Nothing broken could match the pain. It was simply too much for one body to withstand.

“I always thought both of them died that day. And this is why. They killed him when they killed her. They killed his mom. They killed her and made him think...made him think—

They did the same to me. They did it to him just like they did it to me.” 

It was too much for him. He was one person alone. You moved and you wrapped your arms around him and he fought against your arms, he pushed against your hold on him, but still, you did not let up. Still, you squeezed around him as tightly as you could squeeze and you held him tight; through the sobbing and through the sounds of pain that escaped his lips, you held on and you absolutely refused to budge until you felt the change. His arms quit their movements. His legs and his torso and his tension and his anger quit and it all gave up. 

You held on to your friend until you felt the softening of his strong muscles as he gave up and gave in to you. And when he collapsed onto the floor in your living room you went down with him, holding on tight until there was simply no more of that anger and destruction with which he could fight you. Until he did not want to fight it anymore, and you felt his arms move around your waist. He buried his head in your neck and he accepted the comfort you offered. You accepted his warmth as well. 

When he had gone quiet, you finally opened your mouth to speak. And you began at the beginning. You began with May and her concealed love affair with Sehun. You told him of the rumors; the queen had been murdered. And without any thoughts otherwise, May believed, as many others did, that Kyungsoo had been the murderer. May had tried to protect you from him. May tried to get you to leave this place. May was caught by Kyungsoo and the evidence in your mind against him piled up. Your doubts and insecurities piled up. 

Of course, Baekhyun knew of his role in deceiving Kyungsoo to save May. Baekhyun knew that Kyungsoo would shoulder the blame for May’s demise. Only now did he realize just how hard Kyungsoo must have taken the news of May’s death. Only now did Baekhyun realize the damage that must have done to his brother by the lie.

You told Baekhyun of your tricks and your lies to search Kyungsoo’s home for this tape. You told him of the unforgivable things you had done. You told him everything. 

“We have to show him this tape.” Baekhyun’s convictions matched your own and you nodded in agreement; an unspoken covenant forming between the two of you and he was on his feet again, copying, editing, saving multiple copies of the evidential and important parts of the video. He sent it to himself in what looked like multiple places and you let him. You trusted him. He was in this with you. 

There was a moment, after the progress bars and the sending and the saving and it was a moment of heavy silence. It was a tranquility that sat down on this sofa between the both of you and you felt the warmth of his hand as he grabbed yours and held on tightly to you.

“We might have just become the most dangerous people in this entire kingdom,” he said with a sad smile on his face and you responded in kind. You were completely unsure and terrified of the future, and yet knowing you weren’t in this alone gave you an incredible strength that you had never felt inside of you before. 

The shared moment was interrupted by a loud sound. A rapid and angry pounding on your front door. A sound designed to call to action. You both leaped up and Baekhyun scrambled to turn off the tv. He scrambled to clear out both phones of any traces of illicit activity and incriminating videos and you rushed to the door, half terrified that you’d find palace security there ready to send you both to the gallows. 

The knocking sounded out again. It was urgent-sounding. It sent a chill of fear through you and you turned your doorknob and pulled it open to face the latest test of your fortitude. 

Ara. 

It was Ara. Not royal guards, or palace police. It was just Ara. 

You had no time for relief because something was wrong. 

She was trembling and she was crying and she was holding something in her hands. You quickly pulled her by the arm inside of your home and closed the door behind her.

“Y-Your Highness, I...I think you might have been right — something is wrong. Something is wrong with him.” 

Inside her hands, she held a small plastic bag that contained a folded up scrap of fabric. On that fabric, you saw old stains. Old bloodstains. You saw a disk laid on top with a hand-written date on it and what appeared to be a timestamp. The date you first slept with Do Kyungsoo and the exact time you would have been exiting his home so early in the morning. It took you two seconds to realize what this was. This was his insurance. This was the evidence to destroy you and he didn't have it with him anymore. 

“H-He gave this back to me. He said he couldn't do it. After all you had done to him he still said he couldn’t. He ordered me to return it to you.” Her head was shaking in disbelief. 

You felt the cold of the room flooding over your face as your skin blanched. 

You understood at once the reason for her fear. 

“Ara, where is the prince?” Baekhyun was speaking to her now. His voice was direct and well-controlled and you looked at his profile with a dream-like haze taking over your vision. 

She did not respond and Baekhyun reached up to grip the smaller girl’s arms. He shook her; waking her back up. Bringing her back into her body enough to answer his question. 

“I-I...don’t know. He—”

Her words came too slow. You felt the same sense of urgency Baekhyun betrayed and you wanted to shout. You wanted to shove her out of the way and run out of your home to find him. 

“Where is he, Ara?” Baekhyun shouted louder and the girl’s face screwed together in pain. 

“He k-kissed me. He thanked me for loving him all this time, and he—he said he was sorry he could never give me anything back. And then he just left. I don't know where he went. I don't know where he went.” 

She was crying openly and Baekhyun turned to face you with his eyes wide and his instructions clear and concise. 

“Find him. Search the kitchen and check the rooftop. I’m going to check the gardens and the garage. Text me the instant you find him.”

“Ara,” Baekhyun gripped the girl’s arms tightly and lowered his head down to look into her eyes. “Ara, I need you to come with me and help me find him, can you do that for me?” 

She was nodding in earnest when you brushed past them both with your shoes on and your phone in your hand and you ran as fast as you could. You ran until your muscles complained and your lungs burned and you ran with direction and with purpose. 

You would find him. 

You would never be able to live with yourself if you failed him. 

You had to find him.

The Price of Privilege [M]: - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 , part 9 , part 10 , part 11, part 12 , part 13 , part 14, part 15

#exo #kyungsoo #exo angst #kyungsoo angst #kyungsoo series #exo series #kyungsoo smut #kyungsoo fic #kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo fanfiction #kyungsoo ff #exo smut #exo fic #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #exo ff #exo story #kyungsoo story #exo kyungsoo #kyungsoo exo #exo scenario #kyungsoo scenario #exo scenarios #kyungsoo scenarios #kyungsoo mature #exo mature #fluff smut #angst smut #smut angst

[thesoundofnat]

After the second or third snap

ENDGAME SPOILERS AHEAD

Tony/Pepper, Peter, Morgan, Rhodey, Harley, Nebula, aka his family

Summary: Tony wakes up after the second or third snap and finds himself with a prosthetic arm and four kids.

A/N: A super self-indulgent post Endgame fix it fic where that one thing didn’t happen and Tony suddenly has four kids. Enjoy!

Warnings: Endgame spoilers, nightmares, hints at trauma and PTSD.

Words: 2 258

So you’d saved the universe, almost died, gotten resurrected and were now living your life with a mechanic arm like some sort of Winter Soldier 2.0 and also found yourself with four children instead of the one you’d had before? Yeah, Tony had had a busy year.

He’d woken up at the hospital a week after the snap. The second snap, that is. Or was it the third? The one that had fixed it all, anyway.

(He still couldn’t believe it had worked.)

No one was leaving him out of their sight and apparently hadn’t since he’d ended up there. He wasn’t complaining, though. He had a hard time believing they were real and that this wasn’t an elaborate prank Thanos was pulling off. Despite being dead. They were telling him he was dead. That Tony’s snap had killed him, or whatever being turned to dust meant.

“Can you stand?”

Tony wanted to roll his eyes so badly, but truth be told he wasn’t entirely sure he could. He looked at Rhodey for a moment, unblinking, jaw working. Rhodey got the hint and took a step closer, letting Tony hold onto him as he slowly moved off the hospital bed, the two of them pulling him upright. His body would most likely never be the same again. He could probably use his prosthetic arm just as well as he’d used his flesh one - once he’d figured out all the quirks because it wasn’t as easy as it looked - but the rest?

He groaned, every muscle straining, screaming, as he and Rhodey put more and more weight onto his legs. They’d been doing this for the past week, slowly testing his body and preparing it for the eventual separation from the bed. Tony was weak, but he was getting restless. Needed to get out of here as soon as possible.

“Don’t overwork yourself, Tones,” Rhodey said, a gentle reprimand. They all knew Tony would break his own legs in an attempt to seem strong enough to leave.

He deflated, suddenly falling back onto the mattress. “Shit.”

“Don’t.”

“I-”

“You shouldn’t even be alive and you’re mad your body hasn’t recovered in a month?”

“God, I hate it when you’re right.”

Rhodey let out a laugh. He’d been doing that more often recently.

The door pushed open slowly, a face peeking in. “Mr Stark?”

They all ignored the heart monitor acting up. It always did that when Peter walked into the room; his mere presence always a surprise. His existence still not something Tony was used to. Could barely believe.

Tony sent him a tired smile. “School let you out early?”

“It’s Saturday,” he said and opened the door fully to pull a dimpled Morgan in with him.

It still got to him, seeing his kids together, after thinking he’d never be able to introduce them. It still made him tear up so violently he sometimes actually shed tears. No one - but Morgan - ever commented on that either.

“Hi, kiddo,” he said as she bounced over, careful not to touch him like she’d been instructed. God, Tony couldn’t wait to hug her so tightly they became one. “Did you have fun with Peter?”

She nodded. “Uh huh.”

“What did you do?”

“Got ice cream.”

“Ice cream, huh.” He ran his palm over her cheek. “He’s a nice babysitter.”

He also had nightmares, but Tony only found that out several months later.

Peter had stayed over so many times after Tony was able to go back home that they installed a whole new room for him.

“That way you won’t have to fight everyone over the couch,” Tony had said and used all his strength to punch him lightly on the shoulder.

Peter had been beaming for days.

On most nights, Tony slept well, if only because he was constantly exhausted. But on the occasional restless neverending turning and tossing fest, he would wander the house just to remind himself of the people who occupied it. Remind himself that they were all there, safe, asleep.

It was a night like such that he first heard Peter crying.

He paused, ears straining, practically pushing himself against Peter’s door in order to hear him better. It wasn’t necessary. It was the type of sobbing that you couldn’t really muffle.

He entered, panicked. “Pete.”

Peter untangled from the heap beneath the covers. “Tony.”

“Kid, what’s wrong?”

Peter wore his emotions on his sleeve. Tony had always admired that about him, but he’d never seen him break down like this before. Not even his panicked rambling before the snap was on this level of hysteria.

Tony held him as he cried that night. Reassured him that everything was fine and he was here and Tony was here and everyone was all right. In the end he almost believed it himself.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said once he was calm, his breathing regular.

“Don’t,” Tony said, running his thumb over Peter’s cheek to wipe the tears away. “Don’t apologize for feeling.”

“I don’t really feel as if I have the right to feel like this.”

“Stop that.”

“You’re here, right? You made it. We’re all back. I don’t know why I’m so-”

“Peter.”

Peter leaned forward, pressing his face into Tony’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

Tony wrapped his arms around him. “Please stop.” Stop repeating the last sentence you’d said before vanishing. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Morgan found them like that, eyes blinking in a way that told him the noise had woken her up. “Daddy?”

Peter tried to push away from Tony’s embrace, something he often did whenever Morgan was around. Assuring her he wasn’t stealing her father.

Tony almost rolled his eyes. “Come here, bean,” he said, opening one of his arms to let her crawl into the hug. “There’s plenty of space.”

He noticed Morgan seemed much more attached to him now after his hospital stay. Every morning she would wrap her hand around the fingers of his uninjured hand, hold them for a moment, before allowing him to continue making breakfast. As if she, too, needed to remind herself that he was real. That little mind and heart of hers. They were bigger than all of them.

“I can’t regret anything that’s happened,” he told Pepper one evening, the two of them curled up on the couch, alone for once thanks to Happy taking Morgan to the movies. “Not when it brought her to us.”

Pepper hummed, her fingers in his hair in that soothing manner of hers. “I know what you mean.” A pause, and, “I’m happy you can finally have some peace of mind, now that they’re all back.”

He squeezed her. “On a scale of one to ten, how angry are you at me for doing the snap?”

Her lips twitched. “I would’ve been angrier had you not survived.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m around to face it then.”

She laughed. He laughed. The topic slowly getting easier to talk about, as did everything.

Pepper kissed his prosthetic knuckles and said, “So when are we inviting Nebula over for dinner again?”

Nebula. Tony had been worried that they would only remind each other of the time stuck in space, starving and hopeless, but they didn’t. In fact, he felt even more protective of her once they were on Earth. She’d been one of the few people who semi regularly visited him after Morgan was born. She respected his choice to lead a quiet life and never asked anything of him. Rhodey had once called her his second daughter, which was ridiculous but… well, he couldn’t deny it. She was in such obvious need of a good parental figure, after everything.

“You don’t have to adopt everyone, you know,” Pepper had once said, but there was no malice in her voice. Only fond amusement.

“I know,” he’d replied, bouncing one year old Morgan in his lap. “But I know all too well what it means to not have that kind of support in your life.”

That had been the last time Pepper had brought it up.

Nebula told him she wasn’t on Earth when he called, but that she’d come over as soon as she was back. Tony asked her to be careful, and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re such a dad,” Peter told him, having been sitting quietly on the couch doing homework during Tony’s call.

Tony snorted, giving him a poke to the ribs. “I’ve never heard you complain.”

Peter grinned. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve complained. Remember the baby monitor?”

“I don’t regret that one a bit.”

“Of course not, pops.”

When Tony had nightmares, he dreamt of Peter and Morgan and Pepper being torn to pieces. Not dust. Pieces. The time Harley appeared in one of those dreams, was the first time he called him in five years. He’d tried to, after the first snap, but he’d been one of the victims. His world felt so small after everything, and he had a hard time imagining people having lives outside of his bubble. People being back when he couldn’t see them.

Harley told him he’d heard Tony had saved everyone, after he’d returned. He was about Peter’s age now, both of them teens even though they should’ve been in their 20s by now.

“You wanna come over?” Tony asked. “Or can I come see you?”

“I’ll come over. Old men like you shouldn’t travel.”

“Brat.”

Harley was laughing on the other end, and Tony felt his heart soar. He’d missed their phone calls.

No one questioned Tony flying a kid they’d never met over. They’d heard of him, of course, but Tony had a feeling he could bring just about anyone to the lakehouse and no one would say a word. Saving the world - and almost dying - had its perks.

“Peter offered you to have his room for the weekend,” Tony said.

Harley, taller than Tony now that bastard, put his bag down. “Is Peter your son?”

“Something like that. But don’t you worry.” Tony nudged him in the ribs. “You were my first born pain in the ass.”

Morgan adored him, just like she’d adored Peter and Nebula. They all had an obvious soft spot for her too, but Harley fell in love. For two whole days, he wouldn’t stop carrying her. Tony jokingly asked if he was gonna try to sneak her into his bag before leaving.

“Don’t tempt me,” Harley had said, giving Morgan a squeeze.

His weekend turned into a week, which just so happened to be the same week Nebula was coming over. Suddenly their lakehouse felt a bit smaller, but his heart so much fuller.

“I can sleep with Harley and Nebula can have Peter’s room and Peter can sleep with you,” Morgan was saying, and Tony had to laugh at Peter’s scandalized face as he said, “The couch works just fine, really.”

They compromised. Morgan slept with him and Pepper, Nebula got Morgan’s room and Harley stayed in Peter’s while Peter took the couch, stating that he could just go home but chose to stay, therefore he wasn’t forced to sleep on the couch.

Despite all the love in the house, Tony had a nightmare that night. He woke up trembling, heart beating so wildly that he was scared he was dying. He wasn’t dying. Not anymore. He was merely reliving it; dying.

He rolled over to find Pepper and Morgan asleep, breathing calmly. Unaware of his breaking heart. He watched them for a moment, willing the sight to fix it, before he left the bed, left the room, and let his feet steer him to the kitchen. Grabbing a glass of water, he walked to the living room and watched Peter sleep, mumbling something, but it didn’t seem to be because of a nightmare. Tony hadn’t caught him crying again, but he knew it didn’t mean he never did. He himself was a living example of people not always noticing when you were cracking.

He took a sip of his water and moved on, toward the room were Harley was sleeping. He stopped before the door, listening. Opening it just a crack to find him curled up, back toward him, but breathing deeply enough that Tony knew he was asleep. He had no idea how Harley actually felt. If the snap had been traumatic. If he felt like he’d missed out on things. They hadn’t talked about it. Maybe they had to.

Another sip. He closed the door.

It took him longer to enter Nebula’s room. He felt that, out of everyone, she was the most likely one to be lying awake, thinking and overthinking. Maybe that was why he should enter. Give her some sense of peace in not being alone in that.

He cracked the door open, sticking his head in. She’d never looked so calm as she currently did. Her ever present frown all smoothed out, her mouth half open. Tony left immediately. Couldn’t bare the thought of accidentally waking her.

He took another sip and by the time he re-entered the kitchen his water was gone. He felt better. His heart felt more whole.

He was aware it would always be like this, but for once his reality was enough to make it worth it. He had his wife, best friends, and four kids. He’d saved the world for them and was grateful for it every single day. Life after the second or third snap was more than he could’ve asked for, really.

He went back to bed, Morgan claiming his prosthetic arm immediately.

#tony stark #avengers fic #post endgame #iron fam #iron dad #tony and peter #endgame #tony and morgan #pepperony #tony and nebula #tony and harley #tonyrhodey #fix it fic #mine #after the second or third snap #nat writes

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 4

Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait… how does the saying go again?

Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL

A/N: In this story, Peter has Tom’s dog, Tessa.The dogs in the story play a minor but key role.

Word count: 2.8k

Part 3 <<< >>> Part 5

MASTERLIST

                Peter had had an entire argument, from start to finish, with himself over whether or not to do what he was currently doing, and he wasn’t too sure who won in the end, but the fact remained that he was now climbing down the side of Emmeline Gerard’s building to get to her balcony, and possibly scare her to death.

                He knew it wasn’t his most brilliant idea – it wasn’t even a good idea – but he didn’t know how else to hear from her. He had met her now, as himself, and not just Spider-Man. He technically could have asked her if she was alright, but that wouldn’t have worked. Most people don’t just confide to near strangers. She had had a longer conversation with Tessa than him after all.

                And why would he ask her that? He wasn’t supposed to know anything happened to her. It would make her suspicious. It would maybe scare her off and she would never speak to him again.

                Peter didn’t want that. Peter wanted to sit next to her in class once he grew the courage, and he wanted to ask her if she’d like to have lunch some time.

                Instead, he was hanging outside her window, watching her read on her couch, legs tucked under her, Bella lying on her back next to her, foot twitching in that way it did when a dog was dreaming.

                He knocked on the window and she frowned, looking at the front door. He knocked again, seeing her look at the window this time and dropping her book in surprise, slamming a hand over her chest.

                She got up, Bella in her wake - she woke up when the young woman cursed loudly upon seeing Spider-Man outside her twenty-second-floor window.

“What in the goddamn hell are you doing here?” she hissed in a whisper as she slid open the window and stepped onto her balcony.

                Bella, who must have remembered him as being there when her mistress had been attacked, growled until Emmeline shooed her off, approaching from the dangling silhouette.

                Peter expected a warmer welcome but then again, he was technically trespassing, so…

                He let go of the web and landed on the tiled balcony, standing up slightly taller than her. She wore blue slippers with fluffy pom-poms, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Just checking in,” he told her.

                Emmeline stepped back. He had caught her in a moment of relaxation at home, she was wearing sweatpants and probably no bra and stiffly held her robe closed over her chest. When he said that, she looked taken aback.

“Oh.” She seemed to realize she had just verbally attacked her savior for no reason at all and embarrassment tainted her cheeks. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect-“

“It’s nothing,” Peter assured her. “I’d freak out too if a dude wearing tights hung outside my window upside down.”

“Glad we agree on that.” She nodded with a little smile. “So, uhm, I’m fine. Thank you again for what you did.”

“Are you sure?”

                Emmeline stared at her feet and wiggled her toes inside her slippers.

“I- yeah, yeah I’m good. Nothing happened in the end, you came before…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. “I’m not gonna talk to you about my problems, that’s what therapists are for and surely you’ve got more important things to do than listen to me.”

“I just finished my day.” He shrugged, deciding to sit in one of the iron chairs around the small round table that stood on the balcony. “I have nothing else to do.”

“It’s almost midnight, sleeping would be a better activity.”

“I have my morning off, I’ll sleep in to catch up,” he countered.

“I don’t, I have class in the morning.”

“You weren’t sleeping when I arrived,” he argued, watching her narrow her eyes at him.

“Don’t play smarty pants with me. Just because you saved me doesn’t mean I’ll treat you any different than other men.”

“Ouch!” Peter clutched at his heart but stood up still. If she didn’t want to talk, then she didn’t want to talk. “I’ll leave you alone if you do me a favor: talk about what happened to someone. A friend.”

“Blackmailing me, are we?” She raised a brow and clicked her tongue inside her cheek. “Fine. But I decide when I’m ready to talk about it. No time limits.”

“No time limits.” Peter shot his web upwards to climb up again. “By the way, Bella doesn’t count.”

                Then he disappeared, right when he saw her open her mouth to argue.

 *

                 Ned gaped at his friend when on Monday, in their Introduction to Mechanics and Biomechanics lecture, Emmeline smiled and waved at Peter. Both of them looked behind them to see who she was smiling at but saw no one. It really was for Peter!

“What was that? Since when do you know her?” Ned questioned, watching Peter smile back like a total goof and wave slowly as if he couldn’t believe she noticed him. “Didn’t she yell at you’re the last time you looked her way?”

“Ugh, I guess you could say we turned the page,” Peter said with an enigmatic smile and a shrug. “We had a chance encourage this Friday.”

                He ended up explaining everything to Ned since he kept insisting on getting all the juicy details because “wow Peter, this is major! You’re finally on speaking terms with the girl you’ve been pining after since Freshman year”.

“I haven’t been-“ he started to deny then saw the look Ned was giving him. “Fine, I may have noticed her, but it’s nothing crazy, I’m not forgetting myself whenever we’re in the same room. You’re always making me sound so lame, dude.”

“That’s because you are. Like, no offense, I say this with the utmost respect, but you’re a hopeless romantic and all your brain cells drop dead whenever she looks at you.”

“They most certainly do not!” he objected, sounding so much like Tony that he had to take a second and reflect on his life.

“Sure,” Ned said, clearly not believing a word of it. Then he proceeded to mimic the way Peter had waved at Emmeline, dumb smile and all.

“Okay, yeah, maybe I get a little awkward around her, but who doesn’t? Even teachers get all fidgety when she speaks in class.”

                It didn’t happen often because she rarely raised her hand, but he really had seen grown adults get nervous around her. Of course, back then, he didn’t know she was the mayor’s daughter. Neither did Ned. He didn’t share a lot of classes with Ned, they had chosen different specialties.

“That’s because she’s the mayor’s daughter, they all think she can get them fired if they say something wrong,” Ned told Peter. “And the biochem teacher doesn’t do that. She gives zero craps about your girlfriend’s pedigree.”

“She’s not my-“ Peter groaned and threw his head back, closing his fists in frustration. “Forget it. You’re right, I’m the lamest guy in this whole city, and we’ll probably never move past speaking terms, so can we drop the subject now?”

                Ned hadn’t meant to upset Peter, but the truth in what he had said stung all the same. She was the mayor’s daughter, she was out-of-this-world pretty, and she was smart and intimidating. She was great with dogs too apparently, and while it could have played in his favor to have something so close to their hearts in common, it was ruined by the fact that his dog running away was literally the reason why they had shared a conversation the other day. At best she thought him clumsy, but it was more likely that she thought he shouldn’t even own a dog if he couldn’t do something as simple as go on a walk without losing her.

                He didn’t have a single chance with this girl, he was deluding himself.

                Just when his thoughts were getting darker, the lecture started.

 *

                 Three days after that eye-opening moment, when Peter had accepted that his little crush was a dead-end, she had waltzed into his life again. Peter was sitting at a table in a nearly empty library this early Thursday morning when someone dropped a pile of books next to him, even though the long table was entirely void of people.

“Hey, can you-“ he began before setting his eyes on the person standing behind the chair to his right.

“Can I what?” She smirked, pulling back the chair and sitting down. “Can I fuck off and find an empty table?” She laughed.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Peter objected, already mentally cursing himself. “I swear.”

“Oh, I know,” she assured him. “You’d have said it way more politely.”

                Everything Ned had said and every self-deprecating thought that had bloomed in Peter’s mind since Monday resurfaced and he didn’t know what to say. Say something Peter, just say whatever comes to mind, but don’t just sit there with your jaw hanging, he admonished himself.

“Don’t sweat it,” she added when Peter finally opened his mouth. “I’m not going to bother you, I just thought it’d be silly to sit at the end of the table when you’re right here. Is it okay if I stay and study with you for a bit?”

                His heartbeat slowed down a bit and he felt slightly better. That was the problem with putting people you didn’t know on a pedestal: you end up having wrong ideas about them. Emmeline undoubtedly had a strong personality and wasn’t afraid to say things as they were. But she wasn’t haughty or trying to intimidate anyone.

“Sure, I was beginning to feel lonely anyway,” Peter told her.

“I never realized you came here this early too. I like to walk my dog when there’s few people outside, so I come here after, since I’m awake anyway,” she explained, flipping the pages of her manual to find the right chapter.

“I get nervous where there are too many people around me, so…” Peter shrugged and only then realized what he had just said. Holy f***, he was socially inept. Quick Peter, change the subject! “M-maybe I’ll meet Bella one of these days.”

                Emmeline looked up and frowned.

“How do you know her name?”

                Shit, shit, shit, shit. Today wasn’t his day.

“You- uh, you mentioned it last time, when you found Tessa.” A big fat lie! Hopefully she wouldn’t question it.

                Her expression shifted to one of acceptance and she nodded with a little hum.

“Are you studying for the exam next week in Differential Equations?” he asked, deeming it a safer conversation topic.

                It was an advanced class with only a handful of students, and she was in it too.

“Uhm, no. I’ve got that covered, I think. I’m here to finish the assignment in Molecular Genetics.”

                Peter didn’t have that class, he took Microbiology.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to help me she chuckled.” She must have seen the panic on his face when he realized he wasn’t in that class. “But if you need me to help with D.E. I can.”

                He didn’t miss the mischievous air about her when she turned down his help but offered hers. Peter had to smirk to himself, feeling like she had somehow won this conversation if such a thing was even possible.

“Noted,” he said, accepting defeat – this time.

 *

                 Without thinking much about it, they had both developed new habits since that day Peter had saved her from her assailant.

                Ned was wrong, Peter had to believe it. He had to believe that she wasn’t so far out of his league that she wouldn’t even look his way, because she did. Emmeline Gerard looked at him, talked to him, laughed with him. And he could feel himself get deeper in deeper every time he saw her stunning dimpled smile.

                The other side of the coin was his visits as Spider-Man. He couldn’t help himself, he wanted to see a side of her that she didn’t show to Peter Parker, or anyone else for that matter. Somehow, she didn’t treat him any different than she did when he wasn’t wearing a mask, but she acted a little different.

                He could tell she told him things she wouldn’t share with anyone but Bella – who had grown accustomed to Spider-Man’s random visits and now accepted pats and ear scratches from him. Perhaps she thought her secrets were safe with him because she trusted him after he saved her from sexual assault, or perhaps it was because he didn’t have any motive to spill them, Peter didn’t know. But she did confide in him nonetheless.

                He knew that her father bought her this flat when she was got her bachelor’s degree. What a gift for a barely out of high school teen! She had taken it as a not-so-subtle way of being kicked out of the bigger and much fancier penthouse he shared with her mother.

                She had never felt much like home there anyway, so she came here and adopted a dog. She was an Aries; she didn’t like coffee; she couldn’t stand horror movies; she was allergic to cats; she read poetry in her spare time; she made an impeccable impression of Gollum and had a broad knowledge of obscure Lord of the Rings lore.

                Peter Parker didn’t know most of those things, but Spider-Man did. And as days and weeks went by, he was starting to feel he might be stagnating in his relationship with her. She didn’t open up and bare her soul to him the way she did to Spider-Man when it was near midnight and they were both sat on her balcony (she never let him in) and talked like old friends.

                Peter felt as though he was in competition with himself. Peter feared she might like his other self better than his actual self.

“So,” Peter started, sitting Indian style on the tiles, rubbing Bella’s belly now that she liked him well enough to roll on her back and show him her most vulnerable part. “Did you talk to a friend, like we agreed you’d do?” he inquired.

                He hadn’t forgotten her promise, even though it has been two months now.

“I haven’t forgotten but I-“ She paused and rubbed her arms. It was late November; it was starting to get too cold to have these chats outside. “I just don’t know who to talk to. I don’t have this kind of friendship with anyone.”

                It hurt to hear that. Peter tried not to show it.

“No one at all?” he pressed her on, hoping she would say his name, his real name.

“There’s…” Emmeline sighed, looking skyward and deploring the lack of stars here. Of course, she knew the stars were there, rationally. But after not seeing any for a while, she began to wonder if they were here at all. “No, there’s no one. No one I would share this kind of personal stuff with anyway.”

                He didn’t seem happy with her answer, she noticed.

“Isn’t it enough that I tell you? You only made me promise that because you didn’t want me to bottle up my feelings after all.”

“I see the way you act with me. Like I only exist to you when I’m here and not outside of this balcony,” he told her, and she couldn’t have missed the sadness in his voice if she had tried. “You talk to me the same way you would write in a journal you intend to burn once full.”

“That’s not tr-“

“It is, even if you haven’t realized yet,” Peter insisted.

Maybe it was wrong to come here twice a week to check in on her, to hear about all the things she did not tell him during the day. All the things that she didn’t tell him, period.

                It felt like cheating. When he talked to her as Spider-Man, she told him things that she didn’t want to tell Peter Parker, and it was wrong of him to listen to these secrets.

“I won’t come back after tonight,” he announced, having decided to leave her alone. He had to do this right if he really liked the girl – and he did, God he liked her.

                She didn’t even attempt to argue, further confirming his sentiment of not even being real to her. 

“Oh.” She looked disappointed but that was it. “Alright. I guess you couldn’t have come here forever.”

                No, he couldn’t have. He only wished he had realized it sooner.

                Spider-Man was a mask, and Peter had allowed himself to forget it because it allowed him to be close to the girl he liked. It was easier than being Peter Parker, awkward nerd who had set his eyes on a girl who was out of reach.

“You’re a nice girl, Emmeline,” he told her, refusing to use her nickname. “You might think nobody cares about a rich girl’s problems, but I’m sure you have friends who would listen. Just have a little faith.”

                Have a little faith. It was a solid piece of advice that Peter was committed to follow too.

.

.

.

Reblog to save a writer

#peter parker #tom holland #peter parker imagine #spider-man #spider-man far from home #peter parker x oc #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fanfic #marvel #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad #aos #writing is hard #feedback is important #reviews are important #support writers #peter parker fluff #fluff #aged up!peter parker #college au #post-canon #canon divergent #tony stark is alive #dogs #tessa

[faveficarchive]

The Book of the Body

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: A series of vignettes from the perspectives of Mel and Janice respectively. Non-linear time jumps in a retrospective series that provides the shading for the created universe we already have from Darkbloom’s previous stories. This is some peak Vivian Darkbloom, y’all; absolutely beautiful writing.

Note: If you haven’t read Coup de Grace and Venezia yet, go do that before you head down into this story because you will be so confused if you do not. 

“The transmission of knowledge is in itself an erotic art.”

—from The History Boys, Alan Bennett

1. Mykonos, 1953

Another moment passes, slowly sculpted by her breath, each one a stepping stone toward awakening. The cobbled path snakes to the beach and beyond, to the coastline gently disrupted by villas and cottages burning white against pale sand and the translucent cool Aegean. Even now, on this overcast morning, the warmth of stone gently blazes under her feet. Going native, or her idea of such: Suntanned, loose hair, wrinkled clothes, barefoot. She had been surprisingly unsurprised by waking up alone. If not for the imprimatur of sex upon the bed, a scented still life of peaks and eddies of bunched-up sheets, pummeled pillows, and dips in the aging mattress, she might have thought it all a fantastic dream, courtesy of her inverted self. But this was what happened when you loved a wanderer: The morning after was usually a solo affair. Mouth scorched dry by the plentiful wine of the previous night, you quietly took account of every delicious ache and made plans to keep yourself occupied until she returned. What was for lunch? Dinner? Would the family from Heidelberg reappear on the beach armed with their gramophone, wooing the seagulls with Beethoven concertos? Where was she? No doubt scrambling over the ruins of a Byzantine church, the very one that made her eyes light up three days ago when they arrived on the island. Under normal circumstances, work would be a legitimate distraction. But this was a vacation: enforced frivolity. The rule had been no books, and none of their attendant paraphernalia either! No lumpy tomes on pre-Hellenistic culture, or pretentious modernist novels, or even racy paperbacks about naughty boarding school girls. No notebooks accompanied by ostentatious yet leaky fountain pens or humble pencil stubs. She felt grateful for the stingy allowance of one Greek newspaper. Was she more troubled by the absence of her lover or the absence of her languages? That morning she had dreamt she was a paragraph. Every motion typed a sentence. She would stretch and with breathless length—hands on the headboard, toes capturing the mattress edge—be a Virginia Woolf sentence, elegantly sprawling, perfectly composed. Or in sleep’s fetal contraction she would mimic Hemingway’s brevity. The absentminded curl of her fingers could be punctuation, perhaps a clutch of semi-colons, and a toss of her black hair an unrepentantly bleak little Brontë descriptor: Brooding on the beach. Too much wine last night. She had stared at the bed, at the meringue of sheets that remained defiantly unmade, reminding her of a thing that before last night she had never done before—well, more specifically, of a thing that she had only ever been on the receiving end of. Even within the prim corridors of her own mind she found it difficult to employ the proper terminology. It was truly unfair to blame the wine. Blame desire, blame love, blame the taste of that body, more an intoxicant than any liquor, blame those hands tangled in your hair and the tongue tracing the edge of your jaw, blame that blessedly husky voice: Do you want to? Blame curiosity. Blame that yearning to dominate, to hold onto what was easily given and somehow never quite yours—never quite yours, because she loved exploring as much as she loved you. I will do anything you want. She took to the role with confident ease. Her body knew what her mind did not, and if she wondered what it would really be like to be a man inside a woman, she did know what it was like to be a woman inside another woman. She always had. The language of her body was not one she had ever easily understood, and as a result screeds lay within her, waiting for discovery, waiting to be read. The sun pulses under thinning clouds, teasing at breakthrough. In the midst of spending alone a glorious day, her most beautiful pages grow distracted, and shiver.

2. Paris, 1944

“I will give anything for a goddamn book in English.”

The old man was the third merchant to whom Janice had made this melodramatic declaration—indeed, she thought of it as rather French-like, resplendent with a sweeping hand gesture. Whether or not he understood, she could not discern: He shrugged apologetically and she moved on to the next stall.

There she found a small volume of Robert Browning, beautifully bound in green cloth, letters stamped in enticing gilt. She hated Browning, but she was desperate. The ambulance unit was grounded for the day. Liberated Paris was cold, occasionally dangerous, and—not surprisingly, for someone who did not want to be there—boring.

Janice waved the book like a flag of surrender, a hopeless declaration of her monolingualism. “Eh—combien?”

The bookseller, finally taking note of her customer, looked up. “Whatever you can afford,”  she replied in the kind of rapid, accented English where the words seemed both slow and fast at once—spoken quickly, yet reaching the ear in their own sweet time, like the echo of a transatlantic call where the listener perfectly predicts every stress and syllable. She was small and slender, wrapped tightly in what once was a fashionable belted jacket that now possessed a threadbare glory, and with the type of ripe mouth that demanded lipstick. Her eyes were dark and no doubt held depths that Janice could not, would not imagine plumbing because there was too much pain, too much loss accumulated in four years alone. She was nothing like Mel and yet precisely for that reason, she could not help but remind Janice so powerfully and completely of Mel and of that connection between them, perhaps destroyed forever by arguments as fierce as their lovemaking had been.

Unexpectedly, the bookseller stiffened and Janice realized that she had stared too long. The idle sport of comparison had mercilessly returned her to square one of that inescapable intersection between the truth of her loneliness and her desire.

And, in the wrong place and time, it was the kind of look that could get one’s face slapped. Or worse. But not this time. The Frenchwoman nodded at the book. “I’d take food for it.” With unmistakable intent, both her head and her voice lowered. “Or whatever you’re willing to offer.”

Janice fumbled, caught between the boldness of acceptance and the urge to drop the book on the wooden cart and plunge through the narrow, book-lined street, which now taunted her as if it were an obstacle course. “I don’t have anything with me.”

The bookseller lunged across the carrel and for a moment Janice thought their hands would meet, but instead she tapped the cover of the Browning book, as if sending a seduction in Morse code. “Come back later.”

It was not the first time she had slept in sheets rough and musty, and with a woman whose name she did not know. Afterward, the food she brought—two tins of meat, a package of crumbling biscuits—sat forlorn upon a kitchen table and the twilight mounted within a window frame matched the toneless color of the walls. Perhaps unwilling to spoil things with conversation, or unsure of asking Janice to leave, the woman feigned sleep. Janice sat up in the bed, lit a Gauloise, and watched an elegant distortion of smoke scrolling up the darkening wall. She thought of Mel’s nearly indecipherable handwriting—a particularly angular loop of smoke looked almost precisely like her capital G. I’m in love with someone, she wanted to tell this woman. It seemed bad form, though, to say it aloud to someone you just fucked, particularly for the sole purpose of erecting a boundary between what she had just done and the confines of her heart. So she repeated it within the quiet of her mind, and wrote it, indelibly and invisibly, upon the walls.

3. Venice, 1973

“Don’t you have to go?”

Go? Francesca thought. And leave the sheets that gently lapped at her skin, the soft cradle of the pillow, the experienced hand gliding along her back? Abandon all this, for seeing Lo straniero senza nome—Clint Eastwood on screen, lasciviously serenaded by an audience of stoned, giddy whores?

So she does not move. “Do you want me to go?”

Mel does not answer. Rarely does she answer any direct question put to her, leaving Francesca to methods of interrogation both rigorous and rude, and steeped in dirty tricks: She demands answers while naked and seemingly immersed in the task at hand—while teasing a breast with her mouth, while pushing a hand between two willing thighs.  The coin of knowledge, she has discovered, can rival the lure of real money, at least under certain desperate circumstances.

Tell me where you grew up. Later, Francesca recalled the strange thrill she had in a bookstore, finding a map of the United States and seeing the jagged, prescription-pink state of South Carolina resting under her finger.

Tell me about your mother and father. “I don’t remember my mother very well—anymore. But I do remember she never liked to sit still, and she loved to sing along with the radio. My father was very tall and very charming and very smart. I inherited the tall part from him. I’ve never been quite convinced about the rest.”

The first person you kissed? “A boy named Jason. I was 17, he was 18. He had invited me to his grandmother’s house for dinner. Dessert was strawberry pie—fragole, cara. So when he kissed me later, it tasted like that. Like strawberries. It led me to believe all sorts of mistaken things about men.”

Tell me about the woman you won’t talk about. Melinda’s eyes had closed at that. “You know I can’t.”

Tell me why I feel deeply for you. This one she never asked. Feelings were an exaggeration, a fiction for those who had the luxury of reading, a dangerous imperative that would be the first line in a story of fantastic heartbreak.

The fingers stop their intricate gavotte upon her back. “I have something for you.”

Francesca rolls over and already Mel, dark robe silkily billowing with motion, is halfway across the room and retrieving something from the hazardous stacks of papers and books that threaten a literary landslide from the hotel desk.

It’s small, rectangular, flat, wrapped in brown paper. Definitely not a dildo. But a book? One of those fantastic old bound volumes carrying the heady scent of leather, the seductive undertow of dead languages? What in hell would she do with something like that? Even more importantly, Francesca wonders as she fondles the parcel, why does she want something like that? “Such exquisite wrapping!”

As only a retired professor can, Mel smiles indulgently. “Showing off your English again.”

“You do the same in Italian,” Francesca retorts and, for good measure, throws in a contraction, something which she usually avoids because she fears her tongue will not leap over that peculiar floating apostrophe: “Don’t you?”

“Touché.”

She peels away the brown paper. It is a simple blank cahier, with lined pages and a ribbed, elastic enclosure that promised to hold tightly whatever words that may be entrusted to it. It’s the kind of black notebook she sees in use among many skinny, bespectacled café habitués, the ones who drink and smoke and talk too much. The ones who could not afford a minute of her company. “An empty book.” To reflect my empty mind?

Mel seems amused at her visible and puzzled disappointment. “For you to write in.”

Her face tingles with the burn of self-consciousness. “And why would I want to do that?”

“You’re always scribbling away on those pieces of paper you keep in your pockets. So I thought you might benefit from a proper writing journal.”

“Oh.” You notice me. This prompts elated anguish.

“But—if you don’t like it, or if you have no real use for it—“ Mel makes a teasing reach for it.

“No.” She clutches the journal to her bare chest, as if it were really going to be taken away. “I want it.”

Mel permits a smile to cross her features. Twice in one day, Francesca thinks, even though this one is small, spectral—a ghost of a smile for a ghost of a woman. “Good.”

Imagining herself in a kind of freefall, Francesca keeps the black notebook against her as she tumbles back onto her stomach.  The slick cover warms against her skin as she presses her face deep into the pillow, smothering the dangerous feeling that tightens her throat. The inscription upon her body begins anew, and she submits to fingers upon flesh, bone against sinew, to a language that, in its state of partial comprehension and consummate allure, is maddening.

4. Cambridge, 1947

This room, this house, this Indian summer, this woman.  More specifically, this beautiful woman who had somehow alchemized the dreary task of organizing their combined libraries (including the sizable one she had inherited from her scholar father) into a kind of sacred erotic act. Whether human or book, spines fit sublimely snug into Mel’s palm—that very morning, the heel of her hand had pressed deep into Janice’s back, I can feel your bones, she had said in a voice that marveled and with a touch unraveling into reverence, and then Janice had realized that no one had ever touched her quite like this, as if wanting to get under her skin.

Now, in the study, Mel sifted through pages tissue-thin or frayed and stiff, and with every touch and caress she recalled the provenance attached to every book—Janice could read it plainly upon her relaxed face—the gifts, the impulsive purchases, the ones she loved when younger, the ones her father loved, the ones mocked and marked in the margins by the ruthless academic tag team of Pappas pere and fille.

“We don’t need three copies of Suetonius, do we?”

Acutely aware of her uselessness in this endeavor, Janice languished sweatily on the sofa. If her damp shirt were not marrying itself to the leather material, it was at the very least in the act of a fevered proposal.  “I’m not sure we even need one.”

“Indeed we do. A professor needs a proper library, Dr. Covington.”

“But I plan on being a very improper professor. Given what we did here last week—”

“We can’t ever do that again.”

Her forcefulness both surprised and disappointed Janice. “No?”

“Not on the desk, I mean,” Mel amended.

“Oh.” Relieved, Janice wondered how sturdy the dining room table was.

“Because the whole time I kept thinking my father would be spinning in his grave, knowing what I was doing on his desk.”

“I dunno. I think he’d be happy to see you get good use out of it.”

Mel laughed. “You’re terrible.” She knelt before the open foot locker where Janice’s books had been moldering for several years—and where Janice would have been quite content to keep them—and pulled out a particularly warped, water-damaged clothbound edition of Joseph Conrad’s Nostromo. Her mouth curdled. “Good thing you didn’t fall in love with a librarian. This would be grounds for separation.”

“Oh Christ, toss that,” Janice groaned. As it was placed in the disappointingly small “to go” pile, her eyelids fluttered shut.

“I didn’t know you liked Browning.”

“I don’t.” It slipped out before Janice realized it. She opened her eyes, sat up, and stared at the slender, green-gold book that Mel held.

Her mind had successfully buried the incident surrounding her acquisition of the book, and had even gone so far as to spin out several convincing, believable plot lines involving its perceived loss—left in a café or on a bench near the Tuileries, given it to one of the other drivers, tossed it into the Seine—but here it was again, in all its unforeseeable stupidity, glaringly out of place and time. At odd intervals over the years, she had wondered what happened to the woman, thought of her stiff, trembling body, her awkward caresses, her unconvincing compliments: You’re very handsome. Was she happy, and no longer lonely? Was she even alive?

Mel raised an eyebrow. “A gift?”

I thought I would never see you again. “You could—say that.” If only because it made me realize how much I really love you, and how no one could make me feel the way you do.

As excuses, they were worthless. The truth was usually like that.

“Well.” Mel touched the bridge of her glasses. “I like Browning.” She gave the book a thoughtful glance before consigning it to the poetry shelf. As if performing a magic trick, her hand passed elegantly across murky cloth spines as she aligned the Browning against the other books. And then she met Janice’s look with a smile simultaneously kind and serious, as befitting someone intent on acceptance no matter the act or the consequences, and generous in the difficult art of forgiveness.

It took no more than two bold, long steps for Janice to reject the sofa, cross the room, and surrender to an embrace. The v-neck of Mel’s blouse formed a luscious snare hinting at the mysterious intoxicant of her scent, her skin. From this source Janice indulged in a deep draft and instantly felt as if she’d downed a dozen blazing shots of bourbon—and while her legs wavered, it was only because they were tangled with a pair much longer than her own. Mel’s mouth, hot and insistent, found hers and with a delighted shiver she opened her mouth wider, welcoming the sweet exploration that followed. Frenzy subverted intention by creating a panicked taskmaster—Mel was attempting to unbutton her shirt while unbuckling her belt—while they staggered away from the desk and toward the desk’s companion, an broad old leather chair which, Janice hoped, did not share the desk’s verboten status. Regardless, they tumbled into it and she found herself neatly straddling Mel’s lap and anticipating the hand that successfully breached both belt and trouser buttons.

The important things would come later. Only under the complete cover of night did she feel safe enough to say things like I love you, to savor the words in her mouth, to taste their reverberation as they unfurled into darkness—to see and feel nothing beyond that, and to give nothing but the purity of words and their intent to a woman who loved language.

5. South Carolina, 1933

The backyard spilled down the incline at such a precipitous angle that it appeared the land was running away from the civilization implicit in the large, domineering house— until it was finally truncated by a dirt road that had seen a history of horses, carriages, wagons. Runaway slaves had also traveled this same road, limned in moonlight and heading north—or so she had been solemnly told by the family maids, cooks, grooms, and stablemen. Now it served largely as a shortcut to and from the high school.

From the vantage point of the back porch she watched the occasional straggler from the school walking home, and she felt an absurd sense of superiority: for she was already at home, had drunk an entire glass of sweet iced tea, and was studying even though she was officially a week ahead of everyone in history and geometry and math and everything else and light years ahead of them all in Latin. Mel looked up from The Elements of Structural Botany. No one was on the road now, except for one girl.

She had never paid much attention to the girl before. Her name was Carol Ann and she was relatively new in town—her family was from Beaufort. Practically an entire year had passed without them saying much to one another beyond cordial hellos and drawling how-are-yous. And now it was late spring, blossoms bedded on the ground, and that girl Mel had barely spoken to all year long was now loping down the path from the school, alone, with the sun etching gold into every darkened shade of her dirty blonde hair and her bare arms swinging with a loose-limbed grace and slowing, for a barely imperceptible moment, as she turned toward Mel and waved with neighborly vigor.

For whenever I look at you even briefly

I can no longer say a single thing

In her father’s library, there were secret compartments of books discerned to be too dangerous and too adult, still, for her youthful tastes. She found them months ago, including the Loeb Lyra Graeca and, contained between its green cover, the slender treasure of Sappho’s verses.

In the turmoil of reading them, she was not exclusively undone by the poet’s objects of affection, but by the rule of passion that governed every word. She waited for passion. Every day, when she would witness Ruthlee desperately seize the arm of her boyfriend, or the fiery, slavish intensity of girls gathered around Mr. Maines, the English teacher, or Jason’s bright, adoring gaze aimed squarely at her, she waited.

But within the sharpened shadows of a late spring afternoon, on a dirt road where a beautiful girl walked alone, she waited no longer; the knowledge she craved was finally hers. A delicate flame runs beneath my skin, the ancient poet had written, and now she knew exactly how that felt. And yet she could find no other words to describe the feeling, or to say, even to herself, what it made her. It would take years to build the vocabulary of love and desire and to discard much of the shame she would feel as a result, but now, for the first moment in her life, she burned.

#xena #xena warrior princess #mel/janice #mel/janice fanfiction #author: vivian darkbloom #mature #femslash #fanfiction

[jenanigans1207]

Accidental kiss? :)

Oh my God I had so much fun writing this. It ended up breaking 3k so I hope you like it. THANK YOU for this prompt!!

–x–x–x–x–x–x–x

The music was loud, beating away in Lance’s chest like a drum. He loved it; loved the way it felt like a second heartbeat, loved how fuzzy his head felt. He was leaning against the wall of Hunk’s basement, red solo cup in hand. His head was thrown back with laughter and Hunk was standing across from him, a flush painting his cheeks the softest shade of pink. Pidge was next to him, sly grin on her face as she watched Lance laugh like her silly pun was the funniest thing he’d ever heard in his life. This was what he needed. Midterms had just ended and it had been hell week to say the least— Lance had taken five midterms in two days and his brain was officially mush.

“This party is going great, Hunk.” Pidge said as she waited for Lance to calm his tipsy self back down. It was true, the basement was filled with nearly fifty people milling about, playing pong and just generally having fun. It was the most successful party they’d had to date.” But I can think of one thing to make it better.”

“You’re gonna say truth or dare!” Lance accused, thrusting a finger towards Pidge.

Pidge had been trying to get them to agree to truth or dare since the start of the year and every time Hunk and Lance had refused. Lance wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but he knew Pidge had a plan and he did not want to walk right into what was an obviously set trap. “Of course I am.”

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was because midterms had just wrecked them all, but Hunk met Lance’s gaze, gave a slight shrug and finally said “I’ll play.”

Lance looked back at him for a long moment. When he agreed, it was definitely because of the alcohol. Pidge was one his best friends, though, so he figured it couldn’t go too wrong. Still, the way Pidge’s grin spread all the way across her face made him a little nervous. He lifted his cup to his mouth and took another swig. He’d never liked the taste of beer but at this point he couldn’t really taste it anymore. Plus, they called it liquid courage for a reason.

“Finally!” Pidge set her bottle down on the nearby table and clapped her hands together happily. “Okay! Are you guys ready?”

“Is it literally just going to be the three of us?” Hunk asked.

At the same time, Lance rolled his eyes, exclaiming “I don’t know what you’re up to but this is so suspicious!”

“Fine, fine!” Pidge waved a hand in dismissal, turning away from them briefly to call to another group of people standing nearby. “Hey! You guys wanna play truth or dare? We’re just about to start!”

The group rushed over in excitement and Lance could immediately understand why. It was his sister, Veronica, and her group of friends. Lance liked them for the most part, but there was one person is particular he hated. He was constantly asking Veronica why she was friends with Griffin and she insisted that he wasn’t that bad once you got to know him but Lance remained unconvinced.

“Can we play, too?” Lance turned to see his RA, Shiro, with his boyfriend, Adam. Technically Lance wasn’t supposed to be friends with his RA but Shiro was really cool and laid back and he laughed at all of Lance’s jokes. And since the party wasn’t in the dorms, Lance had thought it would be okay to invite him.

“Of course! The more the merrier!” Pidge stepped closer to Hunk, making room for them to join the circle.

Lance glanced around at their odd group and felt a swell of happiness in his chest. Suddenly he didn’t care what was about to happen because he was surrounded by some of his favorite people. He leaned to his right, pressing into his sister, and smiled to himself when she pressed back, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

“Okay, rules! You get to pick truth or dare. If you pick truth and refuse to answer, you are given a dare that you have to do. And if you pick dare and refuse, you get truth and have to answer that. Everyone cool with that?” There was a murmur in response of agreement.” Okay, Hunk you start us off and then we’ll go clockwise.”

“Right.” Hunk looked around the circle, taking time to really stare at each person. Lance wasn’t sure why, this was Hunk after all. He was going to ask something completely benign and harmless no matter who he chose. “Adam, truth or dare?”

“It’s early enough in the game that I can choose Truth without being too lame. So, truth.” Everyone chuckled at his response.

It took a few moments and a long drink on Hunk’s part before he asked, “If you had to date anyone in this circle besides Shiro, who would it be?”

Surprised by his boldness, Lance shot Hunk a proud smile. Adam hummed as he thought, looking around the circle himself. Lance sipped at his drink.

Finally, Adam answered. “Lance, probably.”

“Hell yeah!” Lance cried, throwing a fist in the air in triumph. “I’m a ladies man and a mans man! And everybody man!” Veronica nudged him but everyone laughed. He pointed dramatically at Shiro, “Better watch your back!”

Shiro laughed, taking Adam’s hand and threading their fingers together. “Somehow I’m not worried about it. I am worried about your ego though, it’s getting a little big over there.”

“A little big?” Hunk stepped forward so he could see Shiro around Pidge. “Have you met Lance before? It’s always been huge!”

“Hey!” Lance cried indignantly.

“Okay, okay, my turn.” Pidge settled everyone down and then pretended to think of who to choose. It was clear that she knew ahead of time by the mischievous look in her eyes. “Lance, truth or dare?”

Lance was distinctly unsurprised to have Pidge pick him and answered with a simple “Truth.”

The smile that Pidge gave him in response indicated that he had just given her exactly the answer she wanted. Not even the alcohol or the slight fogginess in his head could stifle the dread that came with that look. “Who do you have a crush on?”

Suddenly Lance wished nobody else had joined their game. Pidge knew he had a crush on someone, but he’d been adamantly refusing to tell her who. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, it was more that he didn’t want to admit it to himself. Still, as soon as she asked her question he got a flash of violet eyes and a dark mullet that he would know anywhere. Immediately his drunk brain moved from that to flushed cheeks and soft looking lips that he’d dreamed about kissing so many times. He’d memorized Keith so well that he could trace the sharp angle of his jaw completely in his mind. Involuntarily, Lance’s eyes focused past Pidge’s shoulders to where Keith was on the other side of the room, talking to Hunk’s crush, Shay.

“I don't—” Lance cleared his throat, hoping to make him voice sound a little steadier as he looked back at Pidge. “I don’t have a crush on anyone.”

“If you refuse to answer, you have to do a dare.” Pidge reminded him.

“I’m not refusing! I just answered! The answer is nobody!” Lance swallowed, suddenly feeling too hot.

“Then why are you blushing so much?” Adam asked with a grin.

Shiro chimed in, too. “Seriously, give it up. We all know there’s someone.”

“No there isn’t!”

“One more chance to tell us or I get to give you a dare!” Pidge warned.

Lance could only imagine what dare Pidge would come up with for him, but somehow it still wasn’t as terrifying as the prospect of admitting his crush on Keith. It wasn’t that the others wouldn’t understand, because literally everyone had a crush on Keith. He was just one of the masses, no different than everyone else, pining uselessly over someone he’d never have a chance with. Plus. he and Keith had just become lab partners in Chemistry and things were going okay. Lance didn’t want to ruin that by word getting around about his hopeless crush.

With a defeated sigh, Lance met Pidge’s gaze. “Give me a dare.”

To his surprise, Pidge didn’t look disappointed. He had expected her to be upset at missing her chance but, instead, she looked even more pleased than she had before. It was a moment before Pidge gave her dare that Lance realized that Pidge knew exactly who he had a crush on, she just wanted him to admit it. He felt his world crash around him as she said. “I dare you to give Keith a kiss.”

“No, no way, absolutely not.” Lance was shaking his head so fast it made him dizzy. “I will absolutely not give Keith a kiss.”

“Sorry Lance,” it was Veronica, her hand suddenly clasping his shoulder. “But you agreed to the rules at the beginning. You can’t refuse your dare.”

Next to her, Griffin was laughing, practically doubled over on himself. “Kogane is gonna kick the shit out of you, man. “

The world was spinning around Lance and it wasn’t the alcohol. He could feel his hands trembling. This couldn’t possibly get any worse. And yet, still, he knew Veronica was right. He had agreed to the rules, agreed to do a dare if he didn’t want to answer his truth. Something in the back of his mind was ringing, telling him that this was why he’d refused to play this game with Pidge so many times in the past.

“I never said you have to kiss him on the lips,” Pidge amended. “Just that you have to kiss him at all. It can be anywhere.”

Lance wanted to die. He wanted to shrivel up into a little ball and disappear from existence forever. Instead, he steeled himself against what he was about to do. Ignoring everyone around him and his thundering heart, Lance chugged the rest of his beer and set the cup down on the table nearby. He took a deep breath and tried to tell himself that this was okay. He could just blame it on Pidge, or on being drunk. He could blame it reasonably on a lot of things other than his crush. Keith was a cool guy, he would understand when Lance explained it away in class on Monday.

“I hope you’re happy about this.” He said to Pidge.

As he started to march across the room, he heard Pidge laugh, “Oh, I am.”

The lights in the basement were low and yet he could see Keith clearly as he approached. He could see the casual ease with which Keith stood, one hand shoved deep in the pocket of his jeans. Lance paused a few steps away, struggling with all of his might to maintain his nerve and just go through with it. He could get revenge on Pidge later. He watched Keith talk to Shay for a moment, trying not to wish he was the one making Keith laugh. Again his focus drifted down to Keith’s lips. He thought about being bold and kissing him square on the mouth, but he knew he’d never have the guts to do it, no matter how badly he wanted to. Instead he was going to go for a simple peck on the cheek and then retreat to the other side of the room as fast as he possibly could.

Before he could chicken out, Lance took a deep breath and started moving again. He approached Keith as quick as he could, heart thundering in his chest so loudly it was all he could hear. He was three steps away from Keith. Two. One.

“Hey Lance!” Shay said as he leaned in to plant the kiss on Keith’s cheek. He figured no preamble was better. He didn’t want to stand here and stutter out an explanation for why he was kissing Keith on the cheek, he just wanted it to be done. He also didn’t want to give Keith the chance to send him away because he knew deep down that Pidge wouldn’t accept that and he’d have to try again which would be mortifying.

Except, maybe a preamble would have been better. Because Keith turned to look at Lance as Shay greeted him, as Lance was leaning in to kiss his cheek. He turned all the way around just at the right moment and suddenly Lance was no longer giving Keith a peck on the cheek but instead was kissing him full on the mouth. The world came to a screeching halt around Lance and the moment of their kiss seemed to stretch on and on and on and on for eternity.

After what felt like years or maybe even centuries, Lance pulled back from Keith.

“What… the hell?” Keith was looking at him, lips parted in wonder.

Lance tried not to reach up and touch his own lips. Tried not to think about what it had felt like to have Keith’s lips under him. He definitely tried not to acknowledge the fact that Keith tasted like some fruity alcohol drink. Lance had never liked those but damn it was immediately his new favorite flavor. He wanted to taste it again, and again, and five hundred more times after that. He took a steadying breath, trying to focus on Keith and the question he’d asked and not on the way his lips were tilting up at the corner in a slight smirk.

“I, uh,” Lance shook his head, snapping his attention back up to Keith’s eyes. Not that it was significantly better, because Keith’s eyes were gorgeous and enchanting. “I was dared to kiss you. I was planning on just a cheek kiss but, uh, well… that didn’t happen.”

Everyone in the world had heard of sobering moments and suddenly Lance found himself in one. Staring at Keith, waiting for his response, pushed all of the haze out of Lance’s brain. Instead of the fog, his brain was filled with an alarm telling him to get out before Keith had a chance to kick his ass. But he couldn’t move, he didn’t want to move. Not away from Keith, at least. He’d be happy to move closer.

“You were dared to kiss me?” Keith was clearly looking over his shoulder at what Lance could only assume was his group of friends. He raised an eyebrow before focusing back on Lance. “That’s why you did it?”

There was an undertone of… Lance couldn’t name it. He watched as Keith took a step closer to him, and then another. He glanced down to Keith’s hands to find them empty, no solo cup in sight. Lance looked back up and held his breath as Keith came yet another step closer, their chests brushing.

“You didn’t do it because you… wanted to?” Keith’s gaze was fiercely unwavering.

Lance swallowed, certain his entire body was on fire. He could feel his soul leaving his body. “What makes you think I want to?”

“Well, for starters,” Keith leaned a little closer, dropping his voice so only Lance could hear it. Suddenly this was the most intimate moment of Lance’s life and he forgot the rest of the party existed. He could still feel the bass of the music thumping in his chest with his heart and he just prayed that it would keep him alive if his heart failed. “You keep glancing at my lips.”

As if cued, Lance lowered his gaze to Keith’s lips again, cursing himself for being so blatant. For getting caught. “That might be true,” He breathed so quietly he wasn’t sure that Keith heard it. He wanted Keith to hear it, but he also didn’t.

“And what if I wanted to kiss you?” Keith prompted, his lips forming a full smirk now.

“I’d say you were drunk.”

“I’m not,” Keith assured a moment before gripping the collar of Lance’s shirt and pulling him down into a fierce kiss, slipping a hand around his waist and pulling their bodies flush together.

Lance was absolutely certain he had died and gone to heaven but he didn’t care. He threaded his fingers into Keith’s mullet, tugging gently on the strands and marveling at the shaky breath Keith let out against his lips in response. His other hand traveled up and down Keith’s back, feeling his muscles moving under his shirt as he held Lance firmly, nipping at his lip. Lance succumbed, leaning all of weight into Keith. Lance could still taste the fruity alcohol and somehow managed to love it even more than before.

Kissing Keith the first time, though accidental, had been great. But kissing him now, with him kissing back, fingers insistent upon his hips, was so much greater. Every nerve ending in Lance’s body was singing as Keith continued to kiss him insistently, like it was something he’d been wanting to do for ages. Lance tugged gently on his hair again and Keith let out a low groan in the back of his throat. Lance never wanted to ever pull away.

But he had to. Because he had to breathe. If he didn’t breathe, he’d die. And if he died, he wouldn’t be able to kiss Keith again.

“That was…” Lance wasn’t even sure how to finish that sentence. Wasn’t sure he wanted to finish that sentence. He didn’t want anything to end right now.

“Just so you know,” Keith’s lips were flushed from kissing, a pink that matched the blush on his cheeks. Lance reached up and ran his knuckles gently along his cheeks, watching as the color darkened below his fingers. “You’re literally welcome to do that any time.”

“Really?”

Keith laughed and the sound lit a new flame inside Lance’s soul, making him feel alive. “I knew you were oblivious but damn, I didn’t think you were this oblivious.”

“Hey!” Lance defended, stepping back and crossing his arms.

Keith didn’t let go of his hips as he moved, keeping them connected. “Lance, seriously? I went out of my way to trade lab partners so I could have you. I’ve been dropping hints for months.”

“You have?”

With a fond shake of the head, Keith leaned in and gave him another sweet kiss. “Yes. I have. And clearly you have not been picking up on them. But you did kiss me back, so I’m hoping…?”

“That I feel the same?” Lance completed for him, smiling and letting his arms drop to his sides. “I do.”

He let Keith pull him in to a hug then, trying not to shiver as he planted a kiss on the side of Lance’s neck. They stayed that way for a moment and as they did, the world seemed to expand around Lance again. He became aware of the weight of all the stares on him, but he didn’t care. Because this was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“So, why don’t you take me back to the people who made this happen so I can thank them?” Keith teased with a smile. “At least someone was observant enough to make this happen.”

Lance shoved him but immediately reached for him, pulling him back to his side. “Fine. Shay, you should come, too. I know there’s someone over there who’d love to have you around.”

With a smile, Lance grabbed Keith’s hand, trying not to faint as Keith intertwined their fingers and led them over to the group, trying not to blush as everyone hooted, hollered and clapped as they approached.

#klance #klance drabble #klance fanfic #kick #kick fanfic #kick fanfiction #kick drabble #klance fanfiction #voltron #Voltron fanfic #Voltron fanfiction #Voltron drabble #vld #otp: i cradled you in my arms #fluff #fluff bingo #drunk #one shot #I need to finish adding italics after I'm out of class lmao

[americaswritings]

Fight you

Warnings: angst, a little dramtic lol, horrible writing tbh

Prompt: “I will fight you”

Summary: You’re on Caps team while Peter is on Team Iron Man. Will you really go as far hurting each other or can your friendship still be saved?

Words: 1.7k

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

A/N: Takes place during Civil War. This is for @thedevilwearsvibranium writing challenge! Congrats!! 💓 

Add yourself to my taglist!

You made your way over to Peters apartment. Your backpack felt heavier on your shoulders with every step you took, mirroring your nervousness and the uneasy feeling in your stomach.

You had to tell Peter something, which could lead into not only an argument, but a fight.

The way to his apartment was too short for you liking. When you reached the front door of the building you hadn’t prepared your words at all.

But there was no way out of this so you sighed and pushed the door open.

May let you in with a big smile on her face, returning to the kitchen to continue baking what smelled like cookies.

You walked over to Peters room, taking a deep breath before knocking on his door.

“Come in”, you heared his voice and you opened the door, seeing Peter bent over his computer.

His face lit up when he saw that it was you and he stopped his work instantly.

“Hey, did I forget something?”, he wondered, but you shook your head.

“No, I just came to- you know- tell you something”, you stated, sitting down on Peters bed insecure.

He sensed that whatever you had to tell him was serious so he sat down next to you, patiently waiting for you to speak up.

“Clint called me”, you began and Peters face twisted in realization. He knew where this was going.

Since Peter had revealed to you that he was spiderman, you had helped him as much as possible, including accompanying him when he first met the avengers.

While Peter spend most of the time with Tony working on a new suit you waited in the living room.

The other avengers didn’t have much time, being busy with missions and other secret stuff, but Clint was always there for you, talking and helping you overcome the time Peter was gone.

You two had grown close so it was only logical that he was the first one you turned to when you discovered that something was different about you.

A wave of energy you had never felt before was flooding your body, giving you a sudden strength you didn’t know how to handle.

You didn’t tell Peter at first, since he had already many problems on his own, but after you pushed him a little too hard while tickling each other, you couldn’t hide the truth from him anymore.

You later found out that you were able to manipulate the constant vibrations of the universe, which allowed you to produce shockwaves and gave you the ability to affect objects by shaking and moving them.

“What did he say?”, Peter asked, although he already knew the answer to his question. 

“He wanted to recruit me on Caps team”, you stated, your eyes scanning Peters face for any hint on what he felt.

“But you said no, didn’t you?”, he concluded with an stiff laugh.

You stayed silent, knowing that this was the part you had feared the most.

“You said no, didn’t you?”, Peter repeated more forcefully this time and you adverted your gaze to the ground.

“I can’t let them down”, you mumbled instead and you heared Peter snort. “You can’t be serious”, he whispered, while getting up from the bed to pace the room.

“What else should I have done?”, you snapped, giving him a pleading look to understand your decision.

“Say no?”, Peter suggested with a huff.

“You know I can’t do that”, you reasoned and he stopped pacing. “You know what that means, do you?”, he asked and you slowly nodded.

“It means that we will be enemies (y/n)! We will have to fight each other in two days!”, Peter went on, the rage and desperation visible in his voice.

“I won’t fight you”, you whispered, turning your gaze back to his.

“But I will”, he declared and you felt your jaw clapping open.

“I will fight you.”

“Why?”, you murmured, starring up at Peter with big eyes. The shock must have been visible on your face, because he shifted uncomfortably.

“Mr. Stark- they are all counting on me”, Peter tried to argue, but you shook your head.

“So this is your decision?”, you asked, tears making their way into your eyes.

He put his chance to prove himself over your friendship?

“I don’t have a choice”, Peter hissed, but you shook your head again.

“You always have a choice”, you commented, grabbing your backpack, and left the room, not looking back at the heartbroken boy once again.

-

“Are you sure about this? You can always back out, you know that right?”

Clints voice woke you out of your thoughts, but you kept putting on your suit.

“I have to do this”, you cut him off and he knew that it was time to let it go.

You had just arrived in germany, everyone preparing for the plan.

In only a matter of time you had to face Peter, your best friend, your enemy.

Your only hope was that maybe you could fight somebody else and didn’t have to face him in a hand-to-hand combat.

But soon you found yourself standing in the group of your team, directly facing Tony and the others. 

You couldn’t discover Peter anywhere and for a split of a second you hoped that maybe he had changed his mind, but suddenly you saw a small figure jumping through the air, landing gracefully on the opposite side.

Peter was dressed in his new spiderman suit, Captain americas shield in his hands, which he had stolen during his arrival.

A few words were exchanged, but you didn’t really pay attention. All you could focus on was the boy in front of you.

It broke your heart to see him like this, not even paying attention to you. 

All he was focused on was proving himself to Tony and as much as you saw that he wanted to please the man, who was like a father figure to him, you couldn’t understand how easily he threw away your friendship.

Surely, you were the one agreeing on joying Caps team, but you had never imagined that you had to fight Peter. You would have refused, but here you were. 

He seemed to have made his decision, so why shouldn’t you do too?

The fight followed soon. Everyone began running towards their opponents and you did the same. You picked Natasha, who was trying to throw punches at Clint.

Within a second you had send a shockwave at her, sending her several meters through the air until she fell to the ground.

You wanted to go at her again, but a pain shot through your back and you were thrown to the ground.

Black panther was standing behind you, ready to attack you again.

You send a shockwave at him but he ducked away in time and began attacking you.

While his fists collided with your body you wondered why no one had thought about teaching you self defence.

You tried your best to escape his grip, but it was too firm. Helplessly you felt your panic increase, but in a last attempt to get rid of your oponent you kicked him.

The second he was distracted you used to free yourself from his grip, rolling to the side and standing up again quickly.

Before he could attack you, you send a shockwave at him, sending him through the air away from you.

The fight seemed to endure ages, but also went on too quickly.

You needed to be focused every second. Every little distraction could be determining how this would end.

Sweat was dripping down your forehead and your hair was flying wild around your shoulders, but the adrenaline kept you going.

Suddenly you saw a red-blue figure and not a second later you stood directly face to face with him.

Spiderman.

Peter Parker.

You were only a few inches apart, but it felt like something was seperating you. A barrier, a thin line turning you into enemies.

You had prepared for this to happen, considered his weaknesses and planned how you could overpower the spiderboy. 

But now, when you were directly facing him, you felt frozen.

You couldn’t attack him. It felt wrong, no, it was wrong. This was your best friend and you wouldn’t try to hurt him no matter what.

Even if that meant losing. Peter was worth it.

“I’m not gonna fight you”, you spoke up, your voice calm and steady.

Somehow you didn’t feel nervous nor afraid. You didn’t fear Peter attacking you and you didn’t fear giving up.

It didn’t make you weak, but strong.

No one could ever be able to make you turn against Peter, your best friend, the person you felt at home with.

Peters face twisted in confusion, but he seemed determined. “But I will”, he said and you nodded, waiting for him to get it over with.

Peter stepped a little closer, his hand ready to shoot a web at you, but you could see the determination on his face leaving him.

Deep inside he knew this was wrong.

“I have to do this”, Peter whispered, the inner conflict displaying on his features.

You nodded, relaxed and prepared for what would follow.

“Then do it”, you encouraged him with a small smile.

This somehow irriated Peter even more and you could see his hand shaking.

“C’mon it’s just a little web”, you chuckled, but you knew that this wasn’t about what impact it would have on you. It was about if he would do it. If he was willing to let this destroy your friendship. If a simple decision could make him attack his best friend.

“I can’t”, Peter confessed, his hand falling to his side again.

Tears had filled his vision and his face was twisted in confusion.

You carefully walked over to him, embracing the boy in your arms with a smile.

He was surprised at first, but then pulled you close to him.

“I knew you wouldn’t do it”, you muttered proudly, forgetting that you were in the midst of a battlefield.

Peter made you forget, about all the pain and hopelessness in the world.  When you were with him it didn’t matter.

You were at home.

Little did you know Tony had been watching the two of you, but instead of disappointment a proud smile was covering his face.

He had been right about Peter all along. He was better than him.

Tags:

Permanent Tag List: @capkilljoy @white-chocolate-mocha-fan@justanotherfangirl272 @theshortegg @not-reptilian @breezy1415  @msdrpreist @teaand-cookies Marvel: @iamwarrenspeace @embrace-themagic @mbsgr

Add yourself to my taglist!

#thedevilwearsvibranium #tdwv2kwritingchallenge #peter parker #peter parker x reader #mcu peter parker #marvel peter parker #marvel #marvel fanfiction #Marvel Movies #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu images #mcu fanfiction #marvel images #spiderman #spiderman x reader #tom holland #civil war #civil war images #angst #peter parker images #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman images #spiderman fanfiction

[formerprincess]

Grieving and Loving | Thiam Week Day 1

Hurt/Comfort

Something is off with Liam. Theo goes to search for him and finds out what exactly is wrong with the young beta.

Liam was missing. Well, not exactly missing but more like actively avoiding meeting any pack member. He didn’t show up for pack movie night and he didn’t pick up any phone calls or answer any texts. Needless to say, Scott was worried and sent out the pack to look for the young and reckless beta. They were all scattered around town, looking everywhere for Liam, ready to rescue him in case hunters got him. The war was over but you never knew. 

Theo was doing a tactical search. After he had looked for Liam at his house, he was now driving to the school, searching for Liam there. He refused to think about the possibility of the younger one getting kidnapped and probably being tortured somewhere. It only led to feelings Theo wasn’t ready to face yet. He could do it after he knew Liam was safe and sound, maybe pissed off but alive, and when he was in bed that night in the guestroom of the Dunbar-Geyer household. When the reason for his thoughts and nagging feelings was sleeping right next door, also another reason why Theo barely slept at night and spend more time thinking about a certain beta. 

Now he parked his truck and got out of the car, sniffing the air for any traits of Liam. He heard sounds coming from the lacrosse field, the swoosh of the ball when it was shot through the air and hit the goal and so Theo decided to follow those sounds. When he finally reached the field, he saw Liam right in front of the goal, surrounded by balls, and shooting ball after ball into the goal with a ferocity that made known how agitated he was. Theo slowly inched closer until he was close enough to get a whiff of Liam’s chem signals. What he smelt made him frown deeply. Liam was angry but not because somebody pissed him off but because it was his initial reaction to the bigger emotions he was feeling: hopelessness and sadness.

“Liam?” Theo said softly, making himself known. Liam had been so focused on the goal, he had not noticed him stepping closer and now obviously decided to ignore Theo’s entire presence. He picked another ball up instead and fired it at the goal; Theo was positive if he had used any more force, the net would have been ripped. Liam’s whole posture was tensed, jaw clenched, and the way he gripped his lacrosse stick made his knuckles turn white.

“Liam?” Theo tried again. “What’s wrong?” “Why should there be something wrong?” Liam snarled, aiming another shot at the goal. The ball hit the net even harder this time and he went to pick up another ball but Theo grabbed the lacrosse stick firmly.  “Stop that and talk to me!” He demanded, earning a glare from Liam. 

“Let go!” He growled, even going so far to flash his eyes at Theo. “Little beta, that doesn’t work on me. We live together, I had my nose broken by you a few times by now, I learned to deal with you growling and snarling at me. So for heaven’s sake, stop acting like a brat and tell me what’s wrong with you. The whole pack is worrying and searching for you because you’re MIA.”

Liam’s face fell at that and his own grip on the lacrosse stick loosened slightly. “I wasn’t in the mood for movie night, is that so wrong?” “No, but you could have let us known before disappearing. Which, by the way, I’m still waiting to get an explanation for.”

Liam growled and ripped his lacrosse stick from Theo’s grip. “Why do we always have to talk? I don’t want to talk! I want to practice my goal shots right now!” “I smell that something is wrong with you!” Theo retaliated and when he saw Liam’s face harden again, he went for a softer approach of coaxing the truth out of Liam. “Hey, Liam, we are friends, right? You let me live with you and your parents and we’ve grown so close over the last couple of weeks. I trust you and until now I thought you trusted me too. I know something is not right, Liam, but I can only help if you let me. Please, don’t block me out now.” He said slowly. 

Liam stared into thin air, face blank, and Theo’s shoulders slumped. he had really thought this would work in his favor. Maybe he wasn’t meant for soft. “If you don’t want to talk to me, I can bring you to the pack. Scott is a good listener or Lydia. Mason will listen too and so will Corey.” He listed a few pack members, ignoring the faint sting in his heart at the realization that maybe they weren’t as close as Theo had thought. Now wasn’t the time for self-pity. He should have seen it coming in hindsight. Theo wasn’t somebody you considered a best friend. He was an ally, nothing more. Liam liked him just as a friend; just friends and nothing more. He could stay in Liam’s house because Liam pitied him for being homeless and because Liam was a good person and had a good heart. The least Theo could do was to give him back some of his help and try to help him now.

Everything to make Liam happy again. Damn, he really had it bad for the young wolf...

A sob broke through his thoughts and startled him. Theo’s eyes widened when he saw the tears glistening in Liam’s eyes. He had dropped his lacrosse stick and was now turning his head to look at Theo.

“My gramps died this morning, mom told me when I got home from school.” He finally told Theo, voice shaking. “It was a heart attack and now he’s just gone. I couldn’t even say goodbye. I promised he would see me go to college and I didn’t even manage to do that.” Liam was crying now, tears after tears running down his cheeks and Theo realized what he smelt earlier had not been sadness but pure grief. “He said we would take a silly picture at my graduation but now that’s not possible anymore and I just can’t. He will never see me play lacrosse again, never shout my name from the stands ever again. He’s gone, just gone. He was my gramps, I know he was older, but I thought we still had more time together.” When he ended, Liam was sobbing.

“Liam.” Theo’s voice was soft and full of compassion. Seeing the younger one so broken and grieving made his own heart clench and he stepped closer to pull Liam into a tight hug. He usually was good with words but right now he had no real idea what to say. Liam gripped his hoddie, pressing closer to Theo and hiding his face against the chimera’s shoulder. Theo didn’t care about how Liam got his shirt wet, he cared about running his hand over Liam’s back and hugging him as tightly as possible.  “It’s okay, I got you.” He whispered and that seemed to break a dam inside Liam because now he really started to cry, body shaking with sobs. Theo could only hold him at this point, muttering softly “Let it out.” s and “I got you.”s into his ear.

 He faintly registered Scott stepping to the field and stopping when he saw Theo and Liam. The state his beta was in made Scott frown deeply and look more worried than before. Theo looked at him and gently shook his head. This wasn’t a supernatural threat, nothing they could fight. This was something Liam had to endure on his own and they all could just help. Scott seemed to get it because he stepped back and formed “Call me if you need help.” with his lips before walking off, obviously sensing Theo was doing everything somebody could do in this current situation, He wouldn’t have done anything else than holding Liam while he was falling apart.

Theo didn’t know how much time had passed since Liam started to cry but after a while he noticed the sobs dying down and Liam starting to shiver. He had been sweating while shooting the goal and now that he cooled down and the sweat had dried on his body he was freezing, even as a supernatural, even more since the crying exhausted him. “Hey, Liam, wait a second.” Theo muttered and untangled himself from the other who wiped his eyes while Theo shrugged off his hoodie jacket. “You’re shivering.”  He explained and Liam blinked at him before lowering his head, seemingly ashamed of his outburst. He only looked up again when Theo draped the jacket over his shoulders.  “What about you?” He asked in a weak voice, still shaking from crying so much, and tugged at the thin light grey t-shirt Theo was only wearing now.  “It’s alright.” The chimera shrugged it off. “You need it more than me.” And before he could stop himself, he stroked over Liam’s cheek and wiped the tears away.

Liam stared at him, leaning his face into the soft touch he got from the older. “Promise me you will stay.” He suddenly said and from how his voice sounded, Theo had to suppress a shiver.  “Of course, I’ll stay. Why should I leave? Beacon Hills is my hometown.” But Liam shook his head. “No. Promise you will stay with me!” He looked deep into Theo’s eyes and Theo’s heart rate picked up. No way Liam meant it that way! Theo knew Liam only saw him as a friend. He was just emotional right now and wasn’t probably aware how this sounded to someone who had feelings for him. Because yes, dammit, Theo had feelings for him. The feelings he had been trying to hide since weeks, which he battled at night because if he didn’t chances were high he had dreams he really didn’t need about Liam. And at the next morning, he felt bad. Like he was using that one person who had been supportive of him, the one person who had reached out to him when he needed it the most. 

“Liam, we’re friends. Of course, I’ll stay with you.” He tried to play it off with a laugh, desperately trying to lighten the mood and not dwell on the way his heart was beating inside his chest. Unfortunately, Liam wasn’t having it. “Not what I meant.” He said with a shake of his head and wrapped his arms around Theo. “Look, my gramps died this morning and with him so many things we still wanted to do. Yes, I am devasted but if that’s not a lesson about not waiting for certain things, I don’t know what is.” “You’re emotionally unstable right now.” “I'm suffering from IED, I’m emotionally unstable my whole life.” “You’re confused right now.” “This is not me exploring my sexuality.” “You’re grieving, it’s understandable to search for an outlet! Doesn’t mean you should choose that particular outlet!” “What are you doing?” Liam asked softly, a bit incredulous, arms still wrapped around Theo’s neck.  “Finding arguments for you not to kiss me.”

Liam raised his chin slightly. “Why?” “Because it would change everything.” “Really think so? Why did you come looking for me then?”  “The whole pack is looking for you!” “Are we really doing this again?” Liam inquired. “I’m not a child anymore, Theo, and I’m not dumb.” “But you’re suffering from a loss!” Theo knew he sounded desperate. Liam was usually fairly oblivious, why did he have to change this right now? “You’re really trying to do the right thing now, huh?” Theo rolled his eyes. “Trying being the key word here.” “Then kiss me.”

It was a statement, not an order, but it also made a low whine escape Theo’s throat. He was trying really hard not to take advantage of Liam’s current emotional state but it was getting harder by every second. Why was Liam making this so hard for him? Who said this was what Liam wanted in the morning when he had calmed down a bit?

“Me. I’m saying that.”

Theo had not even noticed he had voiced his thoughts but when Liam answered he mentally slapped himself. Idiot!

“Liam...”

“Don’t Liam me! I told grandpa he would see me graduate and he was healthy but one moment in life can change everything. With how our life is, we could die any day too if we’re being honest here. So stop finding lame excuses to not do what you want to do so badly, stop trying to spare me when that’s exactly what I want. Why? Because I’m searching for a way to tell you about my feelings for you since weeks and I’m tired of waiting. So, Theodore, what are you wai...”

Theo kissed him. No matter how much he tried to ignore his own longings, no matter how badly he wanted to think of Liam an just an emotional boy right now, he could not do it when Liam talked like that.  Because the young beta was right, life could be over any minute, they already made that experience first-hand themselves, and Liam’s heart had not shown any sign of lying when he told him about his feelings for Theo. So Theo was selfish, okay? He got himself a kiss from the one person he desired and he couldn’t bring himself to stop enjoying it. Feeling Liam’s lips pressed against his own in a sweet and gentle kiss before pulling apart again. Theo’s heart was hammering and Liam smiled softly. “I won’t change my mind when I stop grieving. if you don’t believe me, ask Mason. He knows how badly I have it for you.”

Again his heart didn’t show any signs of a lie and Theo felt himself returning the smile. This wasn’t probably the normal way to start this thing between them, but they rarely did anything the normal way and mostly they did it all at once, so why not this too?

“Only fair. His boyfriend knows everything about my feelings for you.”

I literally had different ideas for this prompt and none of them made it in the end. Instead, this happened. Did you like it? Let me know.

#thiamweek2k17 #thiam #my writing